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COMPLETE  WORKS 


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COMrRISIXG  IIIS 


Dramatic  aiitr  goctical  ra^rlis 


ACCURATELY    PRINTED 


FR03I  THE  TEXT  OF  THE  CORRECTED  COPY 


LEFT  BY  THE  LATE 


GEORGE  STEEVEXS,  Esq. 

■(rlTII    A 
AND    A 

M  E  INI  O  I  R 

ILLUSTRATED     WITH     HISTORICAL    STEEL    ENGRAVINGS 


IN   ONE   VOLUME 


CINCINNATI: 

R.   W.   CAREOLL   &   CO. 
1866. 


BEPLACIMB 

7?^  r  A,) 


CONTENTS. 


PAOE 

Sketch  of  the  Life  of  Skakspeare...  3 

Temtest 11 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona 27 

Meery  Wives  op  Windsor 43 

TwEiFTii  Night 63 

Measure  for  Measure 81 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing 101 

Midsummer's   Night's   Dream 119 

Love's  Labor's  Lost 134 

Merchant  of  Venice 154 

As  You   Like  It 172 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well 191 

Taming  qp  the  Shrew 211 

Winter's   Tale  230 

Comedy  of  Errors 252 

Macbeth 265 

King  John 282 

Richard  II 300 

Hexky  IV.— Part  First 320 


TAOJ 

Henry  IV. — Part  Second 341 

Henry  V 364 

Henry  VI. — Part  First 387 

"         "      Part  Second 407 

"        "      Part  Third 430 

Richard  III 452 

Henry  VIII 479 

Troilus  and  Cressida 502 

TiMON  OF  Athens 527 

coriolanus 545 

Julius  C-esar 571 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 589 

cvmbeline 614 

Titus  Andronicus 040 

Pericles 058 

EiNa  Le.^r 076 

Romeo  and  Juliet 701 

Hamlet 723 

Othello 751 


POEMS, 


Venus  and  Abonis,  . . . , 
Tub  Rape  of  Lucrece, 

Sonnets, 

Passionate  Pilgrim, 

Lover's  Complaint,  . . . . 
Glossary 


775 
7S3 
795 
811 
814 
819 


9^1 


SKETCH 


LIFE    OF     SHAKSPEAEE. 


BY    ALEXANDRE    CIIALMEKS,    A.    M. 


William  Siiakspeare  ivas  born  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  ■Warwickshire,  on  the  23rcl  clay  of  April, 
1564.  Of  the  rank  of  his  family  it  is  not  easy  to  form  an  opinion.  Mr.  Kowe  says  that  by  the 
register  and  certain  public  writings  relating  to  Stratford,  it  appears  that  his  ancestors  were  "  of  good 
figure  and  fashion,"  in  that  town,  and  are  mentioned  as  "  gentlemen,"  an  epithet  which  was  more 
determinate  then  than  at  present,  wlicn  it  has  become  an  unlimited  phrase  of  courtesy.  His  fiitlier, 
John  Shak.ipeare,  was  a  eousidcrublc  dealer  in  wool,  and  had  been  an  officer  and  baihfl' (probably 
high-bailiff  or  mayor)  of  the  body  corporate  of  Stratford.  lie  held  also  the  office  of  justice  of  the 
peace  ;  and  at  one  time,  it  is  said,  possessed  lands  and  tenements  to  the  amount  of  £500,  the  reward 
of  his  grandfather's  faithful  and  approved  services  to  King  Henry  VII.  This,  however,  has  l)een 
asserted  upon  very  doubtful  authority.  Mr.  Malone  thinks  ''it  is  higldy  j)robable  that  he  distinguished 
himself  in  Boswortli  Field  on  the  side  of  King  Henry,  and  tliat  lie  was  rewarded  for  his  military 
services  by  the  bounty  of  that  parsimonious  prince,  tliough  not  with  a  grant  of  lands.  No  such  grant 
appears  in  the  Cha|iel  of  the  Kolls,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  Henry's  reign."  But  whatever  may 
have  been  his  former  wealth,  it  appearn  to  have  been  greatly  reduced  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  as  W8 
find,  from  the  books  of  the  CorporatioUj  that,  in  1579,  he  was  excused  the  trifling  weekly  tax  of  fourpenco 
levied  on  all  tlio  aldermen  ;  and  that,  m  15SI5,  another  alderman  was  appointed  in  his  room,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  declining  to  attend  on  the  business  of  that  office.  It  is  even  said  by  Aubrey,'  a  man 
sufficiently  accurate  in  hicts,  although  credulous  in  superstitions  narratives  and  traditions,  that  lie  followed 
for  some  time  the  occupation  of  a  butcher,  which  Mr.  Malone  tliinks  not  inconsistent  with  probability. 
It  must  have  been,  however,  at  this  time,  no  inconsiderable  addition  to  his  difficulties  that  lie  httd  a 
family  of  ten  children.  His  wife  was  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  Kobert  Arden  of  Wellingcote,  in 
the  county  of  Warwick,  who  is  styled  "a  gentleman  of  worship."  The  family  of  Arden  is  very 
ancient,  Robert  Arden  of  Bromieh,  Esq.,  being  in  the  list  of  the  gentry  of  this  country  returned  by  tlio 
commissioners  in  the  twelfth  year  of  King  Henry  VI.  A.  D.  1433.  Edward  Arden  was  sheritf  of  tha 
county  in  136S.  The  woodland  part  of  this  country  was  anciently  called  Ardtm,  afterwards  softened 
to  Ardeji ;  and  hence  the  name. 

Our  illustrious  poet  was  the  eldest  son,  and  received  his  early  education,  however  narrow  or  liberal, 
at  a  free  school,  probably  that  founded  at  Stratford.  From  this  he  appears  to  have  been  soon  removed, 
and  placed,  according  to  Mr.  Malone's  opinion,  in  the  office  of  some  country  attorney,  or  the  seneschal 
of  some  manor  court,  where  it  is  highly  probable  he  picked  up  those  technical  law  phrases  that  so 
frequently  occur  in  his  plays,  and  coufd  not  have  been  in  common  use,  unless  among  professional  men. 
Mr.  Capell  conjectures,  that  his  early  marriage  prevented  his  being  sent  to  some  university.  It 
appears,  however,  as  Dr.  Farmer  observes,  that  his  early  life  was  incompatible  with  a  course  of  c'duea- 
tion  ;  and  it  is  certain,  that  "  his  contemporaries,  friends  and  foes,  nay,  and  himself  likew'ise,  agree  in 
his  want  of_  what  is  usually  termed  literature."  It  is,  indeed,  a  strong  argument  in  favor  of 
Shakspeare's  illiterature,  that  it  was  maintained  by  all  his  contemporaries,  many  of  whom  have  left  upon 
record  every  merit  they  could  bestow  on  him  ;  and  by  his  successors,  who  lived  nearest  to  his  time, 
when  "  his  memory  was  green  ; "  and  that  it  has  been  cfenicd  only  by  Gildon,  Sewell,  and  others  down 
to  Upton,  who  could  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  truth. 

In  his  eighteenth  year,  or  perhaps  a  little  sooner,  he  married  Anno  Hathaway,  who  was  eight  years 
older  than  himself,  the  daughter  of  one  Hathaway,  who  is  said  to  have  been  a  substantial  yeomui  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Stratford.  Of  his  domestic  economy,  or  professional  occupation  at  this  time,  w6 
have  no  information ;  but  it  would  appear  that  both  were  in  a  considerable  degree  neglected  by  Ida 

'  MSS.  Aubrey,  Mus.  Ashmol    Ojon,  examined  by  Mr.  Malone. 

000  ~ 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


associatiug  with  a  gang  of  deer-stcalers.  Being  detected  with  them  in  robbing  the  park  of  Sir  Thomas 
Lucy  of  Charlecote,  near  Stratford,  be  was  so  rigorously  prosecuted  by  that  gentleman,  as  to  be  obliged 
to  leave  his  family  a  'd  business,  and  take  shelter  in  London.  Sir  Thomas,  on  this  occasion,  is  said  to 
have  been  exasperati  d  by  a  ballad  Shakspeare  wrote,  probably  his  first  essay  in  poetry,  of  which  the 
following  stanza  was  communicated  to  Mr.  Oldys : — 

A  parliament  member,  a  justice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scare-crowe,  at  London  an  aase, 
If  lowsie  is  Lucy,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Then  Lucy  is  lowsie  whatever  befall  it; 

He  thinks  himself  greate, 

Yet  an  asse  in  his  state 
TTe  allowe  by  his  ears  Imt  with  asses  to  mate. 
If  Lucy  be  lowsie,  as  some  volke  miacalle  it, 
Sing  lowsie  Lucy,  whatever  befall  it.  , 

These  lines,  it  must  bo  confessed,  do  no  great  honor  to  our  poet ;  and  probably  were  unjust;  for  al- 
though some  of  his  admirers  have  recorded  Sir  Thomas  as  a  "vain,  weak,  and  vindictive  magistrate," 
he  was  certainly  exerting  no  very  violent  act  of  oppression,  in  protecting  his  property  against  a  man 
who  was  degrading  the  commonest  rank  of  life,  and  had,  at  this  time,  bespoke  no  indulgence  by 
Biiperior  talents,  'i'he  ballad,  however,  must  have  made  some  noise  at  Sir  Tnomas's  expense,  as  the 
author  took  care  it  should  be  affl.xed  to  his  park-gates,  and  liberally  circulated  among  his  neighbors. 

On  his  arrival  in  London,  which  was  probably  in  15S6,  when  lie  was  twenty-two  years  old,  he  is 
said  to  have  made  his  first  acquaintance  in  the  play-house,  to  wliicli  idleness  or  taste  may  have  directed 
him,  an  1  where  his  necessities,  if  tradition  may  be  credited,  obliged  liiiii  to  accept  the  office  of  call-boy, 
or  prompter's  attendant.  This  is  a  menial  whose  employment  it  is  to  give  the  performers  notice  to  be 
ready  to  enter,  as  often  as  the  business  of  the  play  requires  their  appearance  on  the  stage.  Poi'C,  how- 
ever, relates  a  story,  communicated  to  him  by  Howe,  but  which  Kowe  did  not  think  deserving  of  a 
place  iu  the  life  he  wrote,  that  must  a  little  retard  the  advancement  of  our  poet  to  the  office  just  men- 
tioned. According  to  this  story,  Shakspeare's  first  employment  was  to  wait  at  the  door  of  the  play- 
house, and  hold  the  horses  of  those  who  had  no  servants,  that  they  might  be  ready  after  the  perform- 
ance. But  "I  cannot,"  says  his  acute  commentator,  Mr.  Steevens,  *' disjuiss  this  anecdote  without 
observing,  that  it  seems  to  want  every  mark  of  probability.  Though  Shakspeare  quitted  Stratford  on 
account  of  a  juvenile  irregularity,  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  forfeited  the  protection  of 
liis  father,  who  was  engaged  in  a  lucrative  business,  or  the  love  of  his  wife,  who  had  already  brought 
him  two  children,  and  was  herself  the  daughter  of  a  substantial  yeoman.  It  is  unlikely,  therefore, 
when  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of  his  prttsecutor,  that  he  should  conceal  his  plan  of  life,  or  place  of 
residence,  from  those  who,  if  he  found  himself  distressed,  could  not  fail  to  afford  him  such  supplies 
as  would  have  set  him  above  the  necessity  of  JuilJiriij  horses  for  subsistence."  Mr.  Malone  has  re- 
marked, in  his  "attempt  to  ascertain  the  order  iu  which  the  Tlays  of  Shakspeare  were  written,  that  ho 
might  have  found  an  easy  introduction  to  the  stage :  for  Thomas  Green,  a  celebrated  comedian  of  that 
period,  was  his  townsman,  and  perhaps  his  relation.  The  genius  of  our  autlior  prompted  him  to  write 
poetry;  his  connection  with  a  player  might  have  given  his  productions  a  dramatic  turn  :  or  his  own 
sagacity  might  have  taught  him  that  fame  was  not"  incompatible  with  profit,  and  that  the  theatre  was 
an  avenue  to  both.  That  it  was  once  the  general  custom  to  ride  on  horseback  to  the  play,  I  am  like- 
wise yet  to  learn.  The  most  popular  of  the  theatres  were  on  the  Bankside  ;  and  we  are  told  by  the 
satirical  pamphleteers  of  that  time,  that  the  usual  mode  of  conveyance  to  these  places  of  amusement 
was  by  water,  but  not  a  single  writer  so  much  as  liints  at  the  custom  of  riding  to  them,  or  at  the 
practice  of  having  horses  held  during  the  hours  of  exhibition.  Some  allusion  to  this  usage  (if  it  had 
existed)  must,  I  think,  have  been  discovered  in  the  cour.sc  of  our  researches  after  contemporary 
fashions.  Let  it  be  remembered,  too,  that  we  receive  this  tale  on  no  higher  authority  than  that  of  Cib- 
ber's  Lives  of  the  Poets,  vol.  i,  p.  130.  Sir  William  Davenant  told  it  to  Mr.  Bctterton,  \\'lio  communi- 
cated it  to  Mr.  Eowe,  who,  according  to  Dr.  Johnson,  related  it  to  Mr.  Pope."  Mr.  Malone  concurs 
in  opinion,  that  this  story  stands  on  a  very  slender  foundation,  while  he  differs  from  Mr.  Steevens  as 
to  the  fact  of  gentlemen  going  to  the  theatre  on  horseback.  With  respect,  likewise,  to  Shakspeare's 
father  being  "engaged  in  a  lucrative  business,"  we  may  remark,  that  this  could  not  have  been  the  case 
at  the  time  our  author  came  to  London,  if  the  prcceeding  dates  be  correct.  He  is  said  to  have  arrived 
in  London  in  15S6,  the  year  in  which  his  father  resigned  the  office  of  alderman,  unless,  indeed,  we  arc 
permitted  to  conjecture  that  his  resignation  was  not  the  consequence  of  his  necessities. 

But  in  whatever  situation  he  was  first  employed  at  the  theatre,  he  appears  to  liave  soon  discovered 
those  talents  which  afterwards  made  him 

Th*  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage  I 

Some  distinction  he  probably  first  acquired  as  an  actor,  although  Mr.  Kowe  has  not  been  able  to 
discover  any  character  in  which  he  appeared  to  more  advantage  than  that  of  the  ghost  in  Hamlet. 
The  instructions  given  to  the  player  in  that  tragedy,  and  other  passages  of  his  works,  show  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  skill  of  acting,  and  such  as  is  scarcely  surpassed  iu  our  own  days.  lie  api'cars 
to  have  studied  nature  in  acting  as  much  as  in  writing.  llut  all  this  might  have  been  mere  theory. 
Mr.  Malone  is  of  opinion  he  was  no  great  actor.  Tlie  distinction,  however,  which  he  might  obtain  as 
an  actor  could  only  be  in  his  own  juays,  in  which  he  would  be  assisted  by  the  novel  appearance  of 
author  and  actor  combined.  Before  his  time,  it  does  not  appear  that  any  actor  could  avail  himself  of 
the  wretched  pieces  represented  on  the  stage. 

Mr.  Eowe  regrets  that  he  cannot  inform  us  which  was  the  first  play  he  wrote.  More  skilful  research 
has  since  found,  that  Komeo  and  Juliet,  and  Kichard  II  and  III  were  printed  in  1697,  when  ho  was 
thirty-three  years  old  ;  there  is  also  some  reason  to  think  that  he  commenced  as  a  dramatic  writer  in 
1592,  and  Mr.  M.alono  even  places  his  first  play,  "  First  Part  of  Henry  VI."  in  15S9.  His  plays,  how- 
ever, must  have  been  not  only^  popular,  but  approved  by  persons  of  tlie  higher  order,  as  we  arc  certain, 
that  lie  enjoyed  the  gracious  favor  of  (iueen  Elizabeth,  who  was  very  fond  of  the  stage :  and  the  p»ar- 
ticular  and  afleetionate  patronage  of  the  Earl  of  Southampton,  to  whom  he  dedicated  his  poems  of 
'■  Venus  and  Adonis,"  and  his  "  Tarquin  and  Lucrcce,"  On  Sir  William  Daveuant's  authority,  it  has  been 
asserted,  that  this  nobleman  at  one  time  gave  liim  a  thousand  pounds  to  enable  him  to  complete  u 
p'.;rchase.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  advertisement  prefixed  to  Lintot's  edition  of  Shakspeare's  poems, 
It  is  said,  "  That  most  learned  prjpce,  and  great  patron  of  learning,  King  James  the  First,  was  pleasedi 
with  liis  own  hand,  to  write  an  amicable  letter  to  Mr.  Shakspeare  ;  which  letter,  though  now  lost. 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


remainud  Ions;  in  the  hanils  of  Sir  William  D'Aveuant,  as  a  credible  person  now  living  can  testifj;." 
Dr.  Fanner  with  great  probability  supposes,  that  this  letter  was  written  by  King  James,  in  return  for 
the  coinplimcut  paid  to  him  in  Macbeth.  The  relator  of  this  anecdote  was  Shellield,  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham." These  brief  notices,  meagre  as  tliey  are,  may  show  that  our  author  enjoyed  high  favor  in 
his  day.  Whatever  wo  may  think  of  King  James  as  a  "  learned  prince,"  his  patronamj,  as  well  as  that 
of  his  predecessor,  was  sutlicient  to  give  celebrity  to  the  founder  of  a  new  stage.  It  ra.iy  be  added, 
that  his  uncommon  merit,  liis  candor,  and  good  nature,  are  supposed  to  have  procured  him  the  admira- 
tion and  acquaintance  of  every  person  distmguished  for  such  qualities.  It  is  not  ditficult,  indeed,  to 
suppose,  that  Shakspoare  was  a  man  of  humor,  and  a  social  companion,  and  probably  excelled  in  that 
species  of  minor  wit  not  ill  adapted  to  conversation,  of  which  it  could  have  been  wished  ho  had  been 
more  sparing  in  his  writings. 

How  long  he  acted  has'not  been  discovered,  but  lie  continued  to  write  till  the  year  1014.  During 
his  dramatic  career  he  acquired  a  property  in  the  theatre,^  which  he  must  have  disposed  of  when  ho 
retired,  as  no  mention  of  it  occurs  in  his  will.  Ills  connection  with  Ben_  Jonson  has  been  variously 
related.  It  is  said,  that  when  Jouson  was  unknown  to  the  world,  he  offered  a  play  to  the  theatre, 
which  was  rejected  after  a  very  careless  perusal,  but  that  Shakspeare  having  aecidently  cast  his  eye  on 
it,  conceived  a  favorable  opinion  of  it,  and  afterwards  recommended  Jonson  and  his  writings  to  the 
public.  For  this  candor  he  was  repaid  by  Jonson,  when  the  latter  became  a  poet  of  note,  with  an  en- 
vious disrespect.  Jonson  acquired  reputation  by  the  variety  of  his  pieces,  and  endeavored  to  arro- 
gate the  supremacy  in  dramatic  genius.  Like  a  French  critic,  he  insinuated  Shakspeare's  incorrectness, 
his  careless  manner  of  writing,  and  his  want  of  judgment ;  and,  as  ho  was  a  remarkably  slow  Avriter 
himself,  bo  could  not  endnre  the  praise  frequently  bestowed  on  Shakspeare,  of  seldom  alteiing  or  blot- 
ting out  what  he  had  written.  Mr.  Malone  says,  "  that  not  long  after  the  year  IGOO,  a  coolness  arosa 
between  Shakspeare  and  him,  which,  however  he  may  talk  of  his  almost  idolatrous  affection,  produced 
on  his  part,  from  that  time  to  the  death  of  our  author,  and  for  many  years  afterwards,  much  clumsy 
sarcasm,  and  many  malevolent  reflections."  But  from  the.^e,  wliich  are  the  commonly  received  opinions 
on  tliis  subject.  Dr.  Farmer  is  inclined  to  depart,  and  to  think  Jonson's  hostility  of  Shakspeare  abso- 
lutely groundless ;  so  uncertain  is  every  circumstance  wo  attempt  to  recover  of  our  great  poet's  life. 
Jonson  had  only  one  advantage  over  Shakspeare,  that  of  superior  learning,  which  miglit  in  certain 
situations  give  him  a  superior  rank,  but  could  never  promote  his  rivalship  with  a  man  who  attained 
the  highest  excellence  without  it.  Nor  will  Shakspeare  suffer  by  its  being  known,  that  all  the  drannitio 
poets  before  he  appeared  were  scholars.  Greene,  Lodw,  Pcele,  Marlowe,  Nashe,  Lily,  and  Kyd,  had  all, 
says  Mr.  Malone,  a  regular  university  education  ;  and,  as  scholars  in  our  universities,  frequently  com- 
posed and  acted  plays  on  historical  subjects.' 

The  latter  part  of  Shakspeare's  life  was  spent  in  ease,  retirement,  and  the  conversation  of  his  friends. 
He  had  accumulated  considerable  property,  which  Gildon  (in  his  '•  Letters  and  Essays,"  IG'J-t)  stated  to 
amount  to  £300  per  annum,  a  sum  at  least  equal  to  £1000  in  our  days  ;  hut  Mr.  Malone  doubts  whether 
all  his  property  amounted  to  much  more  than  £200  per  annum,  whieh  yet  was  a  considerable  fortune  in 
those  times,  and  it  is  supposed  that  he  might  have  derived  £:iOO  per  annum  from  the  theatre  while  he 
continued  on  the  stage.  ,        ,     . 

lie  retired  some  yeare  before  his  death  to  a  house  in  Stratford,  of  which  it  has  been  thought  impor- 
tant to  gi\e  the  history.  It  was  built  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  a  younger  brother  of  an  ancient  faraiiy  in 
that  neighborhood.  Sir  Hugh  was  Sheriff  of  London  in  the  reign  of  Richard  III,  and  Lord  Mayor  in 
the  reio-u  of  Henry  VII.  By  his  will,  he  bequeathed  to  his  elder  brother's  son,  his  manor  of  Clopton, 
&c.,  and  his  house  by  the  name  of  the  Great  Hmse  in  Stratford.  A  good  part  of  the  estate  was  in 
possession  of  Edward  Clopton,  Esq..  and  Sir  Hugh  Clopton.  Knight,  in  173.3.  The  principal  estate  had 
been  sold  out  of  the  Clopton  family  for  above  a  century,  at  the  time  when  Shakspeare  became  the  pur- 
chaser ;  who  having  repaired  and  modelled  it  to  his  own  mind,  changed  the  name  to  JS'ew  Place,  which 
the  mansion-house,  afterwards  erected  in  the  room  of  the  poet's  house,  retained  for  many  years.  Tho 
house  and  lands  belonging  to  it  continued  in  the  possession  of  Shakspeare's  descendants  to  the  time  of 
the  Eestoration.  when  they  were  re- purchased  by  the  Clopton  family.  Here,  in  May,  1T4-2.  when  Mr. 
tiarrick,  Jlr.  Mucklin,  and  Mr.  Delano,  visited  Stratford,  they  were  hospitably  entertained  under 
Shakspeare's  mulberry  tree  by  Sir  Hugh  Clopton.  He  was  a  barrister  at  law,  was  knighted  by  King 
George  I,  and  died  in  the  80th  year  of  his  age,  in  December,  17.31.  His  executor,  about  the  year  175-J, 
sold  Sew  I'lace  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gastrell,  a  man  of  lar^e  fortune,  who  resided  in  it  but  a  Jew  years,  in 
consequence  of  a  disagreement  with  the  inhabitants  ot  Stratford.  As  he  resided  part  of  the  year  at 
Litchticld.  he  thought  ho  was  assessed  too  highly  in  the  monthly  rate  towards  the  maintenance  of  the 
poor  :  but  being  very  properly  compelled  by  "the  magistrates  of  Stratford  to  pay  tho  whole  of  what  was 
levied  on  him,  on  the  principle  that  this"  house  was  occupied  by  his  servants  in  his  absence,  ho 
peevishly  declared  that  Aat  house  should  never  be  assessed  again  ;  and  soon  afterwards  pulled  it  down, 
sold  tho  materials,  and  left  the  town.  He  had  some  time  before  cut  down  Shakspeare's  mulberry  tree,' 
to  save  himself  tho  trouble  of  showing  it  to  those  whose  admiration  of  our  great  poet  led  them  to  visit 
the  classic  ground  on  which  it  stood.  That  Shakspeare  planted  this  tree  appears  to  be  sufficiently  au- 
thenticated. Where  New  I'lace  stood  is  now  a  garden.  Before  concluding  this  history,  it  may  be 
necessary  to  mention,  that  the  poet's  house  was  once  honored  by  the  temporary  residence  of  Henrietta 
Maria,  queen  to  Charles  I.  Theobald  has  given  an  inaccurate  account  of  this,  as  if  she  had  been  oliliged 
to  take  refuge  in  Stratford  from  the  rebels  ;  but  that  was  not  the  case.  She  marched  from  Newark, 
June  IG,  1013.  and  entered  Stratford  triumphantly  about  the  '22d  of  the  same  month,  at  the  head  of 
threa  thousand  foot,  and  fifteen  hundred  horse,  with  one  hundred  and  fifty  wagons,  and  a  train  of 
artillery.  Here  she  was  met  by  Prince  Rupert,  accompanied  by  a  large  body  of  troops.  She  resided 
about  three  weelis  at  our  poet's  house,  which  w.as  then  possessed  by  his  grand-daughter,  Mrs.  Nasho, 
and  her  husband. 

•Note  hy  Mr.  Malone  to  "Additional  Anecdotes  of  TVilliam  Shakspeare." 

sin  1003,  he  and  several  others  obtained  a  licence  from  King  James  to  exhibit  comedies,  tragedies, histories, 
&c.,  at  the  tllobe  Theatre  and  elsewhere. 

4  This  was  the  practice  in  Milton's  days.  **One  of  his  objections  to  academical  education,  as  it  was  then  con- 
ducted, is,  that  men  designed  for  orders  in  tho  Church  were  permitted  to  act  plays,"  &c.    Johnson's  Life  of  Milton. 

^  "As  the  cariosity  of  this  house  and  tree  brought  much  fame,  and  more  company  and  profit  to  the  town,  a  cer- 
tain man,  on  some  disgust,  has  pulled  the  house  down,  so  as  not  to  leave  one  stone  upon  another,  and  cut  down 
the  tree,  and  piled  it  as  a  stock  of  firewood,  to  the  great  vexation,  loss,  and  disappointment  of  the  inhabitants  ; 
liowever,  an  houest  silversmith  bought  the  whole  stock  of  wood,  and  makes  many  odd  things  of  this  wood  for 
the  curious."  Letter  in  Annual  Register,  1700  Of  Mr.  Gastrell  and  his  lady,  see  Boswell's  Lite  ot  Dr.  John 
•on,  vol.  ii,  p.  330.     Edit.  1793. 


Ti  LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


During  Shiikspearc's  abode  in  tliis  house,  liis  pleasurable  wit,  and  good  nature,  says  Mr.  Eoirc,  en- 
gaged him  the  acquaintance,  and  entitled  him  to  the  friendship,  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood. 
Among  these,  Mr.  Kowe  tells  a  traditional  story  of  a  miser  or  usurer,  named  Combe,  who,  in  couver- 
Bation  with  Shakspeare,  said  he  fancied  the  poet  intended  to  write  his  epitaph  if  he  should  &ur\"ive  liim, 
and  desired  to  know  what  he  meant  to  say.  On  this  Shakspeare  gave  Him  the  following,  probably 
extempore : 

Ten  in  the  hundred  lies  here  engraved, 

'Tis  a  hundred  to  ten  his  soul  is  not  saved  ; 

If  any  man  aslt,  who  lies  in  this  tomlje? 

Oh!  hoi  quoth  the  devil,  'tis  my  John-a-Combe. 

The  sharpness  of  the  satire  is  said  to  have  stung  the  man  so  severely,  that  he  never  forgave  it. 
These  lines,  however,  or  some  which  nearly  resemble  them,  appeared  in  vanous  collections,  both  before 
and  after  the  time  they  were  said  to  have  "been  composed  ;  and  the  inquiries  of  Mr.  Steevens  and  Mr. 
Malone,  satisfactorily  prove  that  the  whole  story  is  a  fabrication.  Betterton  is  said  to  have  heard  it 
when  he  visited  Warwickshire  on  purpose  to  collect  anecdotes  of  our  poet,  and  probably  thought  it  of 
too  much  importance  to  be  nicely  examined.  We  know  not  whether  it  be  worth  adtling  of  a  story 
which  we  have  rejected,  that  a  vi-itrer  in  Shakspeare's  time  did  not  mean  one  who  took  exorbitant,  but 
any  interest  or  usance  for  money,  that  ten  in  the  hundred,  or  ten  per  cent.,  was  then  the  ordinary  in- 
terest of  money.  It  is  of  more  consequence,  however,  to  record  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Malone,  that  Shaks- 
peare,   during  his  retirement,  wrote  the  play  of  Twelfth  Night. 

He  died  on  his  birth-dav,  Tuesday,  April.  23.  IGlii,  when  he  had  exactly  completed  his  fifty-second 
year,°  and  was  buried  on  tiie  north  side  of  the  chancel,  in  the  great  church  at  Stratford,  where  "a  monu- 
ment is  placed  in  the  wall,  on  which  he  is  represented  under  an  arch,  in  a  sitting  posture,  a  cushion 
spread  before  him,  with  a  jien  in  his  right  hand,  and  his  left  rested  on  a  scroll  of  paper.  The  follow- 
ing Latin  distitch  is  engraved  under  the  cushion  : 

Judicio  Pylium,  genio  Socratem,  arte  Marouemy 
Terra  teglt^  pojtutus  mteret    Olympus  kat/et. 

"  The  first  syllable  in  Socratem,"  says  Mr.  Steevens,  "  is  here  made  short,  wliioh  cannot  be  allowed. 
Perhaps  we  should  read  Sophoclem.  Shakspeare  is  then  appositely  compared  with  a  dramatic  author 
among  the  ancients  ;  but  still  it  should  be  remembered,  that  thoeulogium  is  lessened  while  the  metre  is 
reformed  ;  and  it  is  well  known,  that  some  of  our  early  writers  of  Latin  poetry  Avere  uncommonly 
negligent  in  their  prosody,  especially  in  proper  names.  The  thought  of  this  distich,  as  Mr.  Toilet 
observes,  might  have  been  taken  from  the  Fafiry  Queene  of  Spenser,  B.  ii,  c.  Lx,  st.  48,  and  c.  x,  st.  3. 

"  To  this  Latin  inscription  on  Shakspeare  may  be  added  the  lines  which  are  found  underneath  it  on 
his  monument : 

Stay,  passenger,  why  dost  thou  go  so  fast? 
lU-ad,  if  thou  canst,  whom  envious  death  hath  placed 
Within  this  monument;  Shakspeare,  with  whom 
Quick  nature  died  ;  whose  name  doth  deck  the  tomb 
Far  more  than  coat ;  since  all  that  he  hath  writ 
Leaves  living  art  but  pag"  to  serve  his  wit, 

Oliiit,  Ano.  Dni.  lOlG. 

ait.  53,  die  23  Apri. 

"  It  appears  from  the  verses  of  Leonard  Digges,  that  our  author's  monument  w.as  erected  before  the 
year  1623.     It  has  been  engraved  by  Vertue,  and  done  in  mezzotinto  by  Miller." 
On  his  grave-stone,  underneath,  are  these  lines,  in  an  uncouth  mixtiire  of  small  and  capital  letters : 

Good  Friend  for  Icsus  SAKE  forbear 
To  dioo  IE  Dust  EncloAsed  IIEKe 

Blese  be  T-E  Man  ^  spares  TEs  Stones 

And  curst  be  He     moves  my  Bones. 

It^  is  uncertain  whether  this  request  and  imprecation  were  written  by  Shakspeare,  or  by  one  of  his 
friends.  They  probably  allude  to  the  custom  of  removing  skeletons  after  a  certain  time,  and  depositing 
them  in  charnel-houses  ;  and  similar  execrations  are  found  in  many  ancient  Latin  epitaplis. 

We  have  no  account  of  the  malady  which,  at  no  very  advanced  age,  closed  the  life  and  labors  of  this 
unrivalled  and  incomparable  genius. 

Ilis  family  consisted  of  two  daughters,  and  a  son  named  Ilamnet,  who  died  in  1596,  in  the  twelfth 
Tear  of  his  age.  Susannah,  the  eldest  daughter,  and  her  father's  favorite,  was  married  to  Dr.  Jolin 
Hall,  a  physician,  who  died  November.  1635,  aged  sixty.  Mrs.  Hall  died  July  11,  10-19.  aged  sixty- 
six.  Thoy  left  only  one  child,  Eliz.abeth,  born  1607-8,"and  married  April  22,  1620,  to  Thomas  Nashe, 
Esq.,  who  died  in  1647  ;  and  afterwards  to  Sir  John  Barnard,  of  Abington.  in  Northamptonshire  ;  but 
died  without  issue  by  either  husband.  Judith,  Shakspciire's  youngest  daughter,  was  married  to  a  Jfr. 
Thomas  Quiney,  ancl  died  February.  1661-62  in  her  seventy-seventh  year.  By  Mr.  Quiney  she  liad 
three  sons,  Shakspeare,  Richard,  and  Thomas,  who  all  died  unmarried.  Sir  Hugh  Cloptnn,  who  was 
bom  two  years  after  the  death  of  Lady  Barnard,  which  happened  in  1669-70,  related  to  Mr.  Macklin, 
in  1742,  an  old  tradition,  that  she  had  carried  away  with  her  from  Stratford,  many  of  her  grandfather's 
jiapers.  On  the  death  of  Sir  John  Barnard,  Mr.  Malone  thinks  these  must  have  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Edward  Bagley,  Lady  Barnard's  executor  ;  and  if  any  descendant  of  that  gentleman  be  now 
living,  In  his  custody  they  probably  remain.  To  this  account  of  Shakspearc's  family  we  have  now  to 
add,  that  among  Oldys's  papers  is 'another  traditional  gossip's  story  of  his  having  been  the  father  of 
Sir  William  Davenant.    Oldys's  relation  is  thus  given  : 

"  If  tradition  may  be  trusted,  Shakspeare  often  baited  at  the  Crown  Inn  or  Tavern  in  Oxford,  in  his 
journey  to  and  fi-om  London.  The  landlady  was  a  Woman  of  great  beauty  and  sprightly  wit.  and  her 
husband,  Mr.  John  Davenant.  (afterwards  mayor  of  that  city,)  a  grave  melancholy  man  ;  who,  as  well 
as  Ills  wife,  used  much  to  delight  in  Shakspearc's  pleasant  company.  Their  son,  young  Will.  Davenant, 
(afterwards  Sir  William,)  was  then  a  little  school-boy  in  the  town,  of  .about  seven  or  eight  yeare  old, 
and  so  fond  also  of  Shakspeare,  that  whenever  he  heard  of  his  arrival,  he  would  fly  from  school  to  sea 

*  The  only  notice  ve  have  of  his  person  is  from  Aubrey,  who  says,  '*  he  was  a  handsome  well-shaped  man;*'  and 
»dds,  "  verie  good  company,  and  of  a  vcrie  ready,  and  pleasant  and  smooth  wit." 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


him.  Oqo  {lay,  an  old  townsman,  observing  the  boy  running  homeward  almost  out  of  breath,  askej 
him  whither  he  was  posting  in  that  heat  and  huri^.  lie  answered,  to  see  his  (/ud-futheT  Shakspeare. 
Thcre'3  a  good  boy,  eaid  the  otlier,  but  have  a  care  that  you  don't  take  God's  name  in  vain.  This 
etory.  Mr.  Pope  told  me  at  thb  Earl  of  Oxford's  table,  upon  occasion  of  some  discom-se  which  arosa 
about  Shakspeare's  monument,  tlien  newly  erected  in  Westminster  Abbey." 

This  story  appears  to  have  originated  with  Antliony  Wood,  and  it  has  been  thought  a  presumption 
of  its  being  true,  that,  after  careful  e.xaraination,  Mr.  Thomas  Warton  was  inclined  to  believe  it.  Mr. 
Staevens,  however,  treats  it  with  the  utmost  contempt ;  but  does  not,  perhaps,  argue  with  his  usual  at- 
tention to  experience,  when  he  brings  Sir  William  Davenant'a  "  heavy,  vulgar,  unmeaning  face,"  as  a 
proof  that  he  could  not  be  Shakspeare's  son. 

Ic  the  Tear  1741,  a  monument  was  erected  to  our  poet  in  Westminster  Abbey,  bj  the  direction  of  the 
Earl  of  Burlington,  Dr.  Mead.  Mr.  Pope,  and  Mr.  Martyn.  It  was  the  work  of  beheemaker,  (who  re- 
ceived £300  fur  it.)  after  a  design  of  Kent,  and  was  opened  in  January'  of  that  year.  The  performers 
of  each  of  the  London  theatres  gave  a  benefit  to  defray  the  expenses,  and  the  Dean  and  Chapter  o. 
Westminster  took  nothing  for  the  ground.  The  money  received  by  the  performance  at  Drury  Lane 
theatre  amounted  to  above  £200,  but  the  receipts  at  Covent  Garden  did  not  exceed  £100. 

From  these  imperfect  notices,  wliieh  are  all  we  have  been  able  to  collect  from  the  laboi-s  of  liis  biog- 
raphers and  commentators,  our  readers  will  perceive  that  less  is  known  of  Shakspeare  than  of  almost 
any  writer  who  has  been  considered  as  an  object  of  laudable  curiosity.  Kothing  co\ild  be  more  highly 
gratifying  than  an  account  of  the  early  studies  of  this  wonderful  man,  the  progress  of  liis  pen,  his 
moral"  and  social  qualities,  his  friendships,  his  failings,  and  whatever  else  constitutes  personal  history . 
But  on  all  these  topics  his  contemporanes  and  his  immediate  successors  have  been  equally  silent,  and 
if  aught  can  be  hereafter  disoovered,  it  must  be  by  cicploring  sources  which  have  hitherto  escaped  tha 
anxious  researches  of  those  who  have  devoted  tlioir  whole  lives,  and  their  most  vigorous  talents,  to 
revive  his  memory  and  illustrate  liis  writings.  In  the  sketch  we  have  given,  if  the  dates  of  his  birth 
and  death  be  excepted,  what  is  there  on  which  the  reader  can  depend,  or  for  which,  if  he  contend 
eagerly,  he  may  not  be  involved  in  controversy,  and  perplexed  with  contradictory  opinions  and 
authorities  ? 

It  is  usually  said  that  the  life  of  an  author  can  be  little  else  than  a  history  of  his  works  ;  but  this 
opinion  is  liable  to  many  exceptions.  If  an  author,  indeed,  has  passed  his  days  in  retirement,  his  life 
can  afford  little  more  variety  tlian  that  of  any  other  man  who  has  lived  in  retirement ;  but  if,  as  is 
generally  the  case  with  writers  of  great  celebrity,  he  has  acquired  a  pre-eminence  over  Ms  contempo- 
raries, if  lie  has  excited  rival  contentions,  and  defeated  the  attacks  of  criticism  or  of  malignity,  or  if  ho 
has  plunged  into  the  controversies  of  his  age,  and  performed  the  part  either  of  a  tyrant  or  a  hero  in 
literature,  his  history  may  be  rendered  as  interesting  as  that  of  any  other  public  character.  But  what- 
ever weight  may  be  allowed  to  this  remark,  the  decision  will  not  be  of  much  consequence  in  the  case 
of  Shalcspeare.  Unfortunately,  we  know  as  little  of  his  writings  as  of  liis  personal  history.  The  in- 
dustry of  his  illustrators  for  the  last  thirty  years  has  been  such,  as  probably  never  was  surpassed  in 
the  annals  of  literary  investigation  ;  yet  so  far  are  we  from  information  of  the  conclusive  or  satisfactory 
kind,  that  even  the  order  in  which  his  plays  were  written,  rests  principally  on  conjecture,  and  of  some 
plays  usually  printed  among  his  works,  it  is  not  yet  determined  whether  he  wrote  the  whole,  or  acy 
piart. 

Much  of  our  ignorance  of  every  thing  which  it  would  bo  desirable  to  know  respecting  Shakspeare's 
works,  must  be  imputed  to  the  author  himself.  If  we  look  merely  at  the  state  in  which  he  left  his  pro- 
ductions, we  should  bo  apt  to  conclude,  either  that  ho  was  insensible  of  their  value,  or  that,  Avliile  he 
was  the  greatest,  he  was  at  the  same  time  the  humblest  writer  the  world  ever  produced — "  that  ho 
thought  his  works  unworthy  of  posterity — that  ho  levied  no  ideal  tribute  upon  future  times,  nor  had 
any  farther  prospect,  than  tliat  of  present  popularity  and  present  profit.'"  And  such  an  opinion,  al- 
though it  apparently  partakes  of  the  ease  and  looseness  of  conjecture,  may  not  be  fur  from  probability. 
But  before  we  allow  it  any  higher  merit,  or  attempt  to  decide  upon  the  affection  or  neslcct  with  which 
he  reviewed  his  Libors,  it  may  be  necessary  to  consider  their  precise  nature,  and  certain  circumstances 
in  his  situation  wliich  aftected  them  ;  and,  above  all,  we  must  take  into  our  account  the  character  and 
predominant  occupations  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived,  and  of  those  which  followed  his  decea.se. 

With  respect  to  himself,  it  does  not  appear  that  he  printed  any  one  of  his  plays,  and  only  eleven  of 
them  were  printed  in  his  lifetime.  The  reason  assigned  for  this  js,  tliat  he  wrote  them  for  a  particular 
theatre,  sold  them  to  the  managers  when  only  an  actor,  reserved  them  in  manuscript  when  himself  a 
manager,  and  when  ho  disposed  of  his  property  in  the  theatre,  they  were  still  preserved  in  manuscript 
to  prevent  their  being  acted  bv  the  rival  houses.  Copies  of  some  of  them  appear  to  have  been  surrep- 
titiously obtained,  and  publislied  in  a  very  incorrect  state  ;  but  we  may  suppose,  that  it  was  wiser  in 
the  author  or  managers  to  overlook  this  fraud,  than  publish  a  correct  edition,  and  so  destroy  the  ex- 
clusive property  they  enjoyed.  It  is  clear,  tlierefore,  that  any  publication  of  his  plays  by  himself 
would  have  interferred,  at  iii'st  with  his  own  interest,  and  afterwards  with  the  interest  of  those  to  whom 
he  had  made  over  his  share  in  them.  But  even  had  tliis  obstacle  been  removed,  we  are  not  sure  that 
he  would  have  gained  much  by  publication.  If  he  had  no  other  copies  but  those  belonging  to  the 
theatre,  the  business  of  correction  for  the  press  must  have  been  a  toil  which  we  are  afraid  tlie  taste  of 
the  public  at  tliat  time  would  have  poorly  rewarded.  Wo  know  not  the  exact  portion  of  fame  he  en- 
joyed :  it  was  probably  the  highest  which  dramatic  genius  could  confer;  but  dramatic  genius  was  a  new 
excellence,  and  not  well  understood.  His  claims  were  probably  not  lieard  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  tho 
master  of  the  revels,  certainly  not  beyond  the  metropolis.  Yet  such  was  Shalcspeare's  reputation,  that 
we  arc  told  his  name  was  put  to  pieces  which  he  never  wrote,  and  that  he  felt  himself  too  confident  in 
popular  favor  to  undeceive  the  public.  This  was  singular  resolution  in  a  man  who  wrote  so  unequally, 
that  at  this  d,ay,  the  test  of  internal  evidence  must  be  applied  to  his  doubtful  productions  with  tho 
greatest  caution.  But  still  how  far  his  character  would  have  been  elevated  by  an  examination  of  his 
plays  in  the  closet,  in  an  ago  when  tho  refinements  of  criticism  were  not  understood,  and  the  sympathies 
of  tasto  W'Ore  seldom  felt,  may  admit  of  a  question.  ''  His  language,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  "  7u4  being 
desitjnfd  for  the  i'eade?-'s  desk,  was  all  that  he  desired  it  to  be  if  it  conveyed  his  meaning  to  the  audience.'* 
Shakspeare  died  in  1616  ;  and  seven  years  afterwards  appeared  the  first  edition  of  his  plays,  published 
at  the  charges  of  four  booksellers, — a  circumstance  from  which  Mr.  Malono  infers,  "  that  no  single 
publisher  was  at  that  time  willing  to  risk  his  money  on  a  complete  collection  of  our  autlior's  plays." 
This  edition  was  printed  from  the  copies  in  the  hands  of  liis  fellow-managers,  Heminge  and  CondoU, 
which  had  been  m  a  series  of  years  frequently  altered  through  convenience,  caprice,  or  ignorance. 

'Dr.  Johnson's  Preface. 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


Ilemmge  and  Condell  had  now  retired  from  the  stage  ;  and,  we  may  suppose,  were  guilty  of  no  iujuir 
to  their  successors,  in  printing  what  their  own  interest  only  had  formerly  withheld.  Of  this,  although 
we  have  no  documents  amounting  to  demonstration,  we  may  be  convinced,  by  adverting  to  a  circum- 
stance, which  will,  in  our  days,  appear  very  extraordinary,  namely,  the  declension  of  Shakspeare'a 
popularity.  "We  have  seen  that  the  publication  of  his  works  was  accounted  a  doubtful  speculation  ; 
and  it  is  yet  more  certain,  that  so  much  had  the  public  taste  turned  from  him  in  quest  of  variety,  that 
for  several  years  after  his  death  the  plays  of  Fletcher  were  more  frequently  acted  than  his,  and  during 
the  whole  of  the  seventeenth  century,  they  were  made  to  give  place  to  performances,  the  greater  fart 
of  which  cannot  now  be  endured.  During  the  same  period,  only  four  editions  of  his  worl^  were  pub- 
lished, all  in  folio  ;  and  perhaps  this  unwieldly  size  of  volume  may  be  an  additional  proof  that  they 
were  not  popular  ;  nor  is  it  thought  that  the  impressions  were  numerous. 

These  circumstances  which  attach  to  our  .author  and  to  his  works,  must  be  allowed  a  plausible  weight 
in  accounting  for  our  dcflciences  in  his  biography  and  literary  career  ;  but  there  were  circumstances 
enough  in  the  history  of  the  times  to  suspend  the  progress  of  that  more  regular  drama  of  which  he 
had  set  the  example,  and  may  be  considered  as  the  founder.  If  we  wonder  why  we  know  so  much 
less  of  Shakspeare  than  of  IJis  conteioporaries,  let  us  recollect  that  his  genius,  however  highly  and 
justly  we  now  rate  it,  took  a  direction  wliich  was  not  calculated  for  permanent  admiration,  either  in 
the  age  in  which  he  lived,  or  in  that  which  followed.  Shakspeare  was  a  writer  of  plays,  a  promoter  of 
an  amusement  just  ernergin^  from  barbarism  ;  and  an  amusement  which,  although  it  has  been  classed 
among  the  schools  of  morality,  has  ever  had  such  a  strong  tendency  to  deviate  from  moral  purposes, 
that  the  force  of  law  has,  in  all  ages,  been  called  in  to  preserve  it  witliin  the  bounds  of  common  decency. 
The  Church  has  ever  been  unfriendly  to  the  stage.  Apart  of  the  injunctions  of  Queen  Elizabeth  is 
j)articularly  ciirected  against  the  printing  of  plays ;  and,  according  to  an  entry  in  the  books  of  the 
btationers'  Company,  in  the  forty-first  year  of  her  reign,  it  is  ordered,  that  no  plays  be  printed,  except 
allowed  by  persons  in  authority.  Dr.  Farmer  also  remarks,  that  in  that  age,  poetry  and  novels  were 
destroyed  publicly  by  the  bishops,  and  privately  by  the  puritans.  The  main  transactions,  indeed,  of 
that  period,  could  not  admit  of  much  attention  to  matters  of  amusement.  The  Reformation  required 
all  the  circumspection  and  poHcy  of  a  long  reign  to  render  it  so  firmly  established  in  popular  favor  as 
to  brave  the  caprice  of  any  succeeding  sovereign.  This  was  eft'ected,  in  a  great  measure,  by  the  diffusion 
ofreliffious  controversy,  which  was  encouraged  by  the  Church,  and  especially  by  the  puritans,  who 
were  the  immediate  teachers  of  the  lower  classes,  were  listened  to  with  veneration,  and  usually  inveighed 
against  all  public  amusements,  as  inconsistent  with  the  Christian  profession.  These  controversies  con- 
tinued during  the  reign  of  James  I,  and  were, in  a  considerable  degree,  promoted  by  him,  although  ho, 
like  Elizabeth,  was  a  favorer  of  the  stage,  as  an  appeudase  to  the  grandeur  and  pleasures  of  the  Court. 
But  the  commotions  which  followed  in  the  unhappy  reign  of  Cliarles  I,  when  the  stage  was  totally 
abolished,  are  sutiicient  to  account  for  the  oblivion  tlirown  on  the  history  and  works  of  our  great  bard. 
From  this  time,  no  inquiry  was  made,  until  it  was  too  late  to  olitain  any  information  more  satisfac- 
tory, than  the  few  hearsay  scraps  and  contested  traditions  above  detailed.  "  How  little,"  says  Mr. 
Steevens,  "  Shakspeare  was  once  read,  may  be  understood  from  Tate,  who,  in  his  dedication  to  the  al- 
tered play  of  King  Lear,  speaks  of  the  original  as  an  obscure  piece,  recommended  to  his  notice  by  a 
friend ;  and  the  author  of  the  Tatler  having  occasion  to  quote  a  few  lines  out  of  Macbeth,  was  content 
to  receive  them  from  D'Avenant's  alteration  of  that  celebrated  drama,  in  which  almost  every  original 
beauty  is  either  awkwardly  disguised,  or  arbitrarily  omitted."* 

In  fifty  years  after  his  death,  Dryden  mentions  that  he  was  then  become  "  a  little  obsolete."  In  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century,  Lord  Shaftesbuiy  complains  of  his  "  rude  unpolished  style,  and  his  an- 
tiquated phrase  and  wit."  It  is  certain,  that  for  nearly  a  hundred  years  after  his  death,  partly  owing  to 
the  immediate  revolution  and  rebellion,  and  partly  to  the  licentious  taste  encouraMd  in  Ciiarlcs  II's 
time,  and  perhaps  partly  to  the  incorrect  state  of 'his  works,  he  was  almost  entirely  neglected.  Mr. 
Malone  has  justly  remarked,  "  that  if  he  had  been  read,  admired,  studied,  and  imitatedj'in  the  same 
degree  as  he  is  now,  the  enthusiasm  of  some  one  or  otlier  of  his  admirers  in  tho  last  age  would  hava 
induced  him  to  make  some  inquiries  concerning  the  histoi-y  of  his  theatrical  career,  and  the  anecdotes 
of  his  private  life."* 

His  admirei-s,  however,  if  he  had  admirers  in  that  age,  possessed  no  portion  of  such  enthusiasm. 
That  curiosity,  which  in  our  days  has  raised  biography  to  the  rank  of  an  independent  study,  was  scarcely 
known,  and  where  known,  confined  principally  to  the  public  transactions  ot  eminent  chaVactcrs.  And 
if,  in  addition  to  the  circumstances  already  stated,  we  consider  how  little  is  known  of  the  personal 
history  of  Shakspeare's  contemporaries,  we  may  easily  resolve  the  question,  why,  of  all  men  that  havo 
ever  claimed  admiration  by  genius,  wisdom,  or  valor,  who  have  eminently  contributed  to  enlarge  the 
taste,  promote  the  happiness,  or  increase  the  reputation  of  their  country,  we  know  the  least  of  Shaks- 
peare :  aud  why,  of  the  few  particulars  which  seem  entitled  to  credit,  when  simply  related,  and  in  which 
there  is  no  manifest  violation  of  probability,  or  promise  of  importance,  there  is  scarcely  one  which  has 
not  swelled  into  a  controversy.  After  a  careful  examination  of  all  that  modern  research  has  discovered, 
we  know  not  how  to  trust  our  curiosity  beyond  the  limits  of  those  barren  dates  whiili  afford  no  personal 
history.  The  nature  of  Shakspeare's  writings  prevents  that  appeal  to  internal  evidence,  which  in  other 
cases  has  been  found  to  throw  lijrht  on  character.  The  purity  of  his  morals,  for  example,  if  sought  in 
his  plays,  must  be  measured  against  the  licentiousness  of  his  language,  and  tlie  question  will  then  be, 
how  much  did  he  write  from  conviction,  and  how  much  to  gratify  the  taste  of  his  hearers?  How  much 
did  he  add  to  the  age.  and  how  much  did  he  borrow  from  it?  Pope  says,  "he  was  obliged  to  p'lease 
the  lowest  of  the  people,  and  to  keep  the  worst  of  company;"  and  Pope  might  have  said  more  :  for  al- 
though we  hope  it  was  not  true,  we  have  no  means  of  proving  that  it  was  false. 

The  only  life  v\hich  has  been  prefixed  to  all  the  editions  of  Shakspeare  of  the  eighteenth  century,  is 
that  drawn  up  by  Mr.  Kowe,  and  winch  he  modestly  calls,  "  Some  Account,"  &c.  In  this  we  liavo 
what  Eowe  could  collect  when  every  legitimate  source  of  information  was  closed,  a  few  traditions  that 
were  floating  nearly  a  century  after  the  author's  death.  Some  inaccuracies  in  his  account  have  been 
detected  in  the  valuable  notes  of  Mr.  Steevens  and  Mr.  Malone,  who,  in  other  parts  of  their  respective 
editions,  have  scattered  a  few  brief  notices  which  we  have  incorporated  in  the  present  sketch.  The 
whole,  however,  is  unsatisfactory.  Shiikspeare,  in  his  private  character,  in  liis  friendships,  in  his  amuse- 
ments, in  his  closet,  in  his  family,  is  no  where  before  us ;  and  such  was  the  nature  of  tho  writings  on 
which  his  fame  depends,  and  of  that  employment  in  which  he  was  engaged,  that  being  in  no  important 
respect  connected  with  the  history  of  his  age,  it  is  in  vain  to  look  into  tho  latter  for  any  information 
concerning  him. 

^Mr.  gteovens's  Advertisement  to  the  Reader,  first  printed  in  1773. 
•Mr.  Walone'a  Preface  to  his  edition.  1790. 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPE-AliE. 


Mr.  CapcU  is  of  opinion,  that  he  wTote  some  prose  works,  because  "  it  can  hardly  be  supposed  that 
he,  who  had  so  considerable  a  share  in  the  confidence  of  the  Earls  of  Essex  and  Southampton,  could  be 
t.  mute  spectator  only  of  sontroversies  in  which  they  were  so  much  interested."  This  editor,  however, 
appears  to  have  taken  for  granted,  a  degree  of  confidence  with  these  two  statesmen,  which  he  ou^lit  first 
to  have  proved.  Shakspeare  might  have  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  their  social  hours ;  but  it  is  mere 
conjecture  that  they  admitted  him  into  the  confidence  of  their  state  alfairs.  Mr.  Malone,  whose  opin- 
ions are  ectitled  tj  a  higher  degree  of  credit,  thinks  that  his  prose  compositions,  if  they  should  ba 
discovered,  would  exhibit  the  same  perspicuity,  the  same  cadence,  the  same  elegance  and  vigor,  which 
we  find  in  his  plays.  It  is  unfortunate,  howe'ver,  for  all  wishes  and  all  conjectures,  that  not  a  line  ot 
Shakspeare's  manuscript  is  known  to  exist,  and  his  prose  writing  are  no  where  hinted  at.  We  have 
only  printed  copies  of  his  plays  and  poems,  and  thos^so  depraved  by  carelessness  or  ignorance,  that  all 
tlie"  labor  of  all  his  commentators  has  not  yet  been  able  to  restore  them  to  a  probable  purity.  Many 
of  the  greatest  difficulties  .attending  the  perasal  of  them,  yet  remain,  and  will  require,  what  it  is  scarcely 
possible  to  expect,  greater  sagacity  and  more  happy  conjecture  than  have  hitherto  been  employed. 

Of  his  Poems,  it  is  perhaps  necessary,  that  some  notice  should  be  taken,  although  they  have  never 
been  favorites  with  the  public,  and  have  seldom  been  reprinted  with  his  plays.  Shiatly  after  his  death, 
Mr.  Malone  informs  us,  a  very  incorrect  impression  of  them  was  issued  out,  which  in  every  sub.sequeut 
edition  was  implicitly  followed,  until  he  published  a  corrected  edition  in  17S0  with  illustrations,  <fce.     But 


ers  into  their  service.  Had  Shakspeare  produced  no  other  works  than  these,  his  name  would  have 
reached  us  with  as  little  celebrity  as  time  has  conferred  on  that  of  Thomas  Watson,  an  older  and  much 
more  elegant  sonnetteer." 

The  elegant  preface  of  Dr.  Johnson  gives  an  account  of  the  attempts  made  in  the  early  part  of  the 
last  century  to  revive  the  memory  and  reputation  of  otir  poet,  by  Rowe,  Pope,  Theobald,  llanmer,  and 
■Warburton,  whose  respective  merits  he  has  characterized  with  candor,  and  with  singular  felicity  of  ex- 
pression. Shakspeare's  works  may  be  overloaded  with  criticism,  for  ■«  hat  writer  has  e.xcitcd  so  much 
curiosity,  and  so  many  opinions?  but  Johnson's  preface  is  an  accompaniment  worthy  of  the  geniu^-i^it 
celebrates.  His  own  edition  followed  in  1765  ;  and  a  second,  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  Stcevens,  in  1T73. 
The  third  edition  of  the  joint  editors  appeared  in  17S5,  the  fourth  in  17^3,  and  the  last  and  most  com- 
plete, in  1S03,  in  twenty-one  volumes  octavo.  Mr.  Malone's  edition  was  published  in  17'J0,  in  ten 
volumes,  crown  octavo,  and  is  now  become  exceedingly  scarce.  His  original  notes  and  improvements, 
however,  are  incorporated  in  the  editions  of  1798  and  1S03,  by  Mr.  Stcevens.  Mr.  Malone  says,  that 
"from  the  year  1716  to  the  date  of  his  edition  in  1790,— that  is,  in  seventy-four  years,  above  30,000 
copies  of  Shalvspeare  have  been  dispei-sed  through  England."  Among  the  honors  paid_  to  his  genius,  we 
ought  not  to  forget  the  very  magnificent  edition  un(5ertaken  by  Messrs.  Boydell.  Still  less  ought  it  to 
be  forgotten  how  much  the  reputation  of  Shakspeare  was  revive!  by  the  unrivalled  excellence  of  Gar- 
rick's  performance.  His  share  in  directing  the  public  taste  towards  the  study  of  Shakspeare  was,  per- 
haps, greater  than  that  of  any  individual  m  his  time,  and  such  was  his  zeal,  and  such  his  success,  in 
this  laudable  attempt,  that  he  may  readily  be  forgiven  the  foolish  mummery  of  the  Stratford  Jubilee. 

When  public  opinion  had  begun  to  assign  to  Shakspeare  the  very  high  rank  he  was  destined  to  hold, 
he  became  the  promising  object  of  fraud  and  imposture.  This,  we  have  already  observed,  he  did  not 
wholly  escape  in  his  own  time,  and  he  had  the  spirit  or  policy  to  despise  it.'  It  was  reserved  for  modern 
impostors,  however,  to  avail  themselves  of  the  obscurity  in  which  his  history  is  involved.  In  1751,  a 
book  was  published,  entitled,  "  A  Compendious  or  briete  examination  of  certayue  ordinary  Complaints 
of  diuers  of  our  Countrymen  in  those  our  days  :  which,  although  they  are  in  some  Parte  unjust  and 
frivolous,  yet  are  they  all  by  way  of  dialogue  t'hroushly  debated  and  discussed  by  William  Shakspeare, 
Gentleman."  This  had  been  originally  published  in"l5Sl  ;  but  Ur.  Farmer  has  clearly  proved  that 
IF.  S.,  gent.,  the  only  authority  for  attributing  it  to  Shakspeare  is  the  reprinted  edition,  meant  }y-iUiam 
Stufora,  gent.  Theobald,  the  same  accurate  critic  informs  us.  was  desirious  of  palming  upon  the  world 
a  play  called  "Double  Falsehood,"  for  a  posthumous  one  of  Shakspeare.  In  1770,  was  reprinted  at 
Feversham,  an  old  play  called  "  The  Tragedy  of  Arden  of  Feversham  and  Black  Will,"  with  a  prelate 
attributing  it  to  Shakspeare,  without  the~smallcst  foundation.  But  these  were  trifles  compared  to  the 
atrocious  attempt  made  in  1795-6,  when,  besides  a  vast  mass  of  prose  and  verse,  letters,  &e.,  preteiid- 
edly  in  the  liandwriting  of  Shakspeare  and  his  correspondents,  an  entire  play,  entitled  Votigern,  Mas 
not  only  brought  forward  for  the  astonishment  of  the  admirers  of  Shakspeare,  but  actually  performed 
on  Drury  Lane  stage.  It  would  be  unnecessary  to  expatiate  on  the  merits  of  this  play,  which  _Mr. 
Stcevens  h,as  very  hapily  characterized  as  '-the  jicrformance  of  a  madman  without  a  lucid  interval,"  or 
to  enter  more  atlarge  into  the  nature  of  a  fraud  so  recent,  and  so  soon  acknowledged  by  the  authors 
of  it.  It  produced,  however,  an  interesting  controversy  between  Mr.  Malone  and  Mr.  George  Chalmers, 
which,  although  mixed  with  some  unpleasant  asperilies,  was  extended  to  inquiries  into  the  history  and 
antiquities  of  "the  stage,  from  which  future  critics  and  historians  may  derive  considerable  information. 

'  Mr.  Malone  has  given  a  list  of  fourteen  plays  ascrihcd  to  Shakspe.are.  either  by  the  editors  of  the  two  later 
fclios,  or  by  the  compilers  of  ancient  catalogues.  Of  these  Pericles  has  fouuJ  aJvocatcs  for  its  admission  into 
his  works 


TEMPEST. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Ar.osso,  King  nf  Naples. 

SEBiSTiAif,  /lis  brother. 

PiiosPEiio,  the  rightful  Duke  of  Milan. 

AxTONio,  his  brdthtr,  the  usurping DukenfMilsn. 

KEnniNANU,  son  to  the  King  of  Naples. 

GoxzALO,  an  hojicst  old  Counsellor  of  Naples. 

ADRIAX,  ]L^rdS. 

FnAXCisco,J 

C.iiiBAN,  a  savage  and  deformed  Slave. 
TnixcuLo,  (r  Jester. 
Stephano,  a  drunken  Butler. 
Master  of  a  Ship,  Boatswain,  and  Mariners. 


Miranda,  Daughter  to  Prospero. 

AniEL,  an  airy  Spirit. 

Inis,        ~| 

Ceres,       I 

Juno,        >  Spirits. 

NyntphSy   ) 

Reapers,  J 

Other  Spirits  attending  on  Prospero- 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I. — On  a  ship  at  sea. 
A  Storm  with  thunder  and  lightning. 
Enter  a  SI]ip-master  and  a  Boatswain. 

Master.    Boatswain, — 

Boats.    Here,  master :  what  cheer  f 

Master.  Good:  Speak  to  the  mariners:  fall  tq't 
yarelyi,  or  we  run  ourselves  asround  :  bestir,  bestir. 

[Ex-it. 
Enter  Mariners. 

Boats.  Hei^h,  my  hearts;  chcerly,  chccrly,  my 
hearts ;  yare, y are :  Talie  in  the  top-sail;  Tend  to 
the  master's  whistle. — Blow  till  tliou  burst  thy 
wind,  if  room  enou?;h  ! 

Enter  Aloxso,   SEnASTiAjf,   Antonio,   Fcnni- 
NANii,  GoNZAio,  and  others. 

Alon.  Good  boatswain,  have  care.  Where's  the 
master]    Play  the  men. 

Boats.    I  pray  now,  keep  below. 

.4/*/.    Whore  is  the  master,  boatswain  1 

Boats.  Do  you  not  liear  him '!  You  mar  our 
labor!  keep  your  cabins:  you  do  assist  the  storm. 

Gon.    Nay',  pood,  be  patient. 

Boata.  When  tlie  sea  is.  Hence!  What  care 
these  roarers  for  the  name  of  king]  To  cabins: 
silence  :  Trouble  us  not. 

Con.  Good;  yet  remember  whom  thou  hast 
aboard. 

Boats.  None  that  I  more  love  than  myself. — 
You  are  a  counsellor;  if  you  can  command  these 
elements  to  silence,  and  work  the  peace  of  the 
present*,  we  will  not  hand  a  rope  more;  use  voiu" 
authority;  If  you  cannot,  i:ive  thanks  you  liave 
lived  so  lon^,  and  malce  yourself  ready  in  your 
cabin  for  the  mischance  of  the  hour,  if  it  so  hap. — 
Cheerly,  good  hearts. — Out  of  our  way,  I  say. 

[Exit. 

Gnn.    I   have  frreat  comfort  from   this  fellow ; 

metliinks  he  hath  no  drowning:  mark  upon   him: 

his  complexion  i?  perfect  i^allows.    Stand  fast,  sood 

ftite  to  his  hani^iug  !  make  tlic  rope  of  his  destiny 

'  Keadily,  *  Present  instant. 


our  cable,  for  our  own  doth  little  advantage !  If  ho 
be  not  born  to  be  hanged,  our  case  is  miserable. 

\^Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Boatswain. 

Boats.    Down  with  the   top-mast;  yare;  lewer, 

lower;  bring  her  to  try  with  main  course.    \A  cry 

within.]    A  plaiiue  upon  this  howling!  they  uro 

louder  than  the  weather,  or  our  olhce. — 

Re-enter  Peiiastian,  Antonio,  and  Gonzai.o, 
Yet  again  7  what  do  you  here  '.  Shall  we  give  o'er 
and  drown  T  Have  you  a  mind  to  sink  1 

Seh.  A  pox  o'  your  throat!  you  bawling,  blas- 
phemous, uncharitable  dog! 

Bouts.    Work  you,  then. 

Ant.  Hang,  cur,  hang!  you  whoreson,  insolent 
noise-maker,  we  are  less  afraid  to  be  drowned  tlian 
thou  art. 

Gon.  I'll  warrant  him  from  drowning ;  though 
the  shi])  were  no  stronger  than  a  nut-shell,  and  as 
leaky  as  an  unstaunched'  wench. 

Boats.  I. ay  her  a-hold.  a-hold ;  set  her  two 
courses;  oft' to  sea  again,  lay  her  olT. 

Enter  Mariners,  wet. 
Mar.    All  lost!  to  praj'ers,  to  prayers!  all  lost! 

[Exeunt. 
Boats.    What,  must  onr  mouths  be  cold] 
Gon.    The  king  and  prince  at  prayers!  let  ua 
assist  them. 
For  our  case  is  as  theirs. 
Self.    1  am  out  of  patience. 
Ant.    We  are  merely  cheated  of  our  lives  by 
drunkards. — 
This  wide-chapped  rascal ;  —  'Would  thou  mightst 

lie  drowning 
The  washing  often  tides! 

Gon.         '  He'll  bo  hanged  yet, 

Though  every  drop  of  water  swear  against  it, 
And  gape  at'wid'st  to  glut  him. 
[A   conjused  noise  H-itkin.]    Mercy  on  us! — We 
split,  \ve  split!  Farewell,  my  wife  and  children  !  — 
Farewell,  brotlier  ! — We  split,  we  split,  w'C  split.  — 
« Incontinent.  *  Absolutely. 


12 


TEMPEST. 


Act  I. 


Ant.    Let's  all  sink  with  the  king.  [Exit- 

Seb,    Let's  take  leave  of  him.  [Exit. 

Goii.    Now  would  1  give  a  thousand  furloiii;s  of 

fei  for  an  acre  of  barren  ground;  long  heath,  brown 

furx»%  any  thing;  the  wills  above  be  done!  but  1 

would  fain  die  a  dry  death.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— The  island .-  bvfure  the  celt  of  Pnos- 
PF.I10.    Eater  PuosrERo  anil  Miranda. 

Mir.    If  by  your  art,  my  dearest  father,  you  have 
Put  the  wild  waters  in  this  roar,  allay  tliem : 
Tiie  sky,  it  seems,  woud  pour  down  stinking  pitch, 
But  that  the  sea,  mounting  to  the  welkin's  cheek, 
Dashes  the  fire  out.    o,  1  have  suflerd 
Witli  those  tiiat  I  saw  suili^r!  a  brave  vessel. 
Who  had  no  doubt  some  noble  creatures  in  her, 
Dash'd  all  to  pieces,    n,  the  cry  did  knock 
Against  my  very  heart !  Poor  souls !  they  perish'd. 
Had  I  been  any  god  of  power,  I  would 
Have  sunk  the  sea  withui  the  earth,  or  e'er 
It  should  the  good  ship  so  have  swallow'd,  ar.d 
The  freighting  souls  within  her. 

pro.  Be  collected; 

No  more  amazement;  tell  your  piteous  heart, 
There's  no  harm  done. 

Mira.  O,  woe  the  day ! 

Pro.  No  harm. 

I  have  done  nothing  but  in  care  of  thee, 
(Of  thee,  my  dear  one  !  thee  my  daughter  !)  who 
Art  ignorant  of  what  thou  art,  nought  knowing 
t  If  whence  I  am  ;  nor  that  I  am  more  better 
Than  Prospero,  master  of  a  full  poor  cell. 
And  thy  no  greater  father. 

Mini.  More  to  know 

Did  never  meddle  with  my  thouglits. 

Pi-o.  'Tis  time 

I  should  inform  thee  further.    Lend  thy  hand. 
And  pluck  my  magic  garment  from  me. — .So  ; 

[Lai/s  ilmvn  his  mantle. 
Lie  there,  my  art. — Wipe  thou  thine  eyes  ;  have 

eomtbrt. 
The  direful  spectacle  of  the  wreck,  which  touch'd 
The  very  virtue  of  compassion  in  thee, 
1  have  with  such  provision  in  mine  art 
.So  safely  order'd,  that  there  is  no  soul — 
No,  not  so  much  perdition  as  a  hair. 
Betid  to  any  creature  in  the  vessel 
Which  thou  hcard'st  cry,  which  thou  saw'st  sink. 

Sit  down; 
For  thou  must  now  know  further. 

Mira.  You  have  often 

P,egun  to  tell  me  what  I  am  ;  but  stopp'd 
And  left  me  to  a  bootless  inquisition; 
Concluding,  Ulaij,  not  yet.— 

Pro.  The  hour's  now  come ; 

The  very  minute  bids  thee  ope  thine  ear; 
Obey,  and  be  attentive.    Canst  thou  remember 
A  time  before  we  came  unto  this  cell ! 
I  do  not  think  thou  canst;  for  then  thou  wast  not 
Outs  three  years  old, 

Mira.  Certainly,  sir,  I  can. 

Pro.  I'y  what  ]  by  any  other  house,  or  person  T 
01  any  thing  the  image  tell  me,  that 
Hath  kept  with  thy  remembrance. 

Mira.  'Tis  far  off, 

And  rather  like  a  dream  than  an  assurance. 
That  my  remembrance  warrants ;  had  1  not 
Four  or'five  women  once,  that  tended  me  ] 

Pro.  Thou  hadst,  and  more,  Miranda:  but  how 
is  it. 
That  this  lives  in  thy  mindl  What  seest  thou  else 
In  the  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  time! 
I  f  thou  remember'st  aught,  ere  thou  cam'st  here, 
Ilow  thou  cam'st  here,  thou  may'st. 

Mira.  But  that  I  do  not. 

Pro.   Twelve  years  since, 
Miranda,  twelve  years  since,  thy  father  was 
The  duke  of  Milan,  and  a  prince  of  power. 

Mira.   Sir,  are  not  you  my  father  f 

Pro.   Thy  mother  was  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
She  said — thou  wast  my  daughter :  and  thy  father 
Was  duke  of  Milan  ;  and  his  only  heir 
A  princess  ; — no  worse  issued. 

Mira.  O,  the  heavens  ! 

What  foul  play  had  we,  that  we  came  from  thence  ? 
Or  blessed  wast  we  did  ! 

Pro.  Both,  both,  my  girl. 

By  foul  play,  as  thou  say'st,  were  we  hcav'd  thence; 
But  blessedly  liolp  hitlier. 

» Quite. 


Mira.  0,  my  heart  bleeds 

To  think  o'  the  teen"  tliat  I  have  turn'd  you  to, 
Which  is  from  my  remembrance  I  Please  you  fur- 
ther. 

Pro.  My  brother,  and  thy  uncle,  eall'd  Antonio, 
I  pray  thee,  mark  me, — that  a  brother  should 
He  so  perfidious  ! — he  whom,  next  thyself. 
Of  all  the  world  I  lov'd,  and  to  htm  put 
The  manage  of  my  slate  ;  as,  at  that  time, 
Through  all  the  signiories  it  was  the  first, 
And  Prospero  the  prime  duke  ;  being  so  reputed 
In  dignity,  and,  for  the  liberal  arts. 
Without  a  pamllel ;  those  being  all  my  study. 
The  government  I  cast  upon  my  brother, 
And  to  my  state  grew  stranger,  being  transported. 
And  wrapt  in  secret  studies,    'i'hy  false  micle — 
Dost  thou  attend  me  1 

Mira.  Sir,  most  heedfully. 

Pro.  Being  once  perfected  how  to  grant  suits, 
How  to  deny  them  ;  whom  to  advance,  and  whom 
To  trash^  for  over-topping;  new  created 
The  creatures  that  were  mine  ;  1  say,  or  chang'd 

them. 
Or  else  new-form'd  them:  having  both  the  key 
Of  officer  and  olTice,  set  all  hearts 
To  what  tune  pleas'd  his  ear  ;  that  now  he  was 
The  ivy,  which  had  hid  my  princely  trunk, 
And  suck'd  my  verdure  out  on't. —  I'hou  attend's. 

not; 
I  pray  thee  mark  me. 

Mira.  O  good  sir,  I  do. 

Pro.  I  thus  neglecting  worldly  en<is,  all  dedicate 
To  closeness,  and  the  bettering  of  my  mind 
With  that,  which,  hut  by  being  so  retir'd, 
O'er-priz'd  all  popular  rate,  iii  my  false  brother 
Awak'd  an  evil  nature ;  and  my  trust. 
Like  a  good  parent,  did  beget  of  him 
A  falseliood,  in  its  contrary  as  great 
As  my  trust  was  ;  which  had,  indeed,  no  limit, 
A  confidence  sans  bound.    He  bein:r  thus  lorded. 
Not  only  with  what  my  revenue  yielded. 
But  what  my  power  might  else  exact, — like  one 
Who.  having  unto  truth,  by  telling  of  it, 
Made  such  a  sinner  of  his  memory. 
To  credit  his  own  lie, — he  did  believe 
He  was  the  duke;  out  of  the  substitution. 
And  executing  the  outward  face  of  royalty, 
With  all  pr<!rogative : — Hence  his  ambition 
Growing, — dost  hear  1 

Mira.  Your  tale,  sir,  would  cure  deafness 

Pro.   To  have    no  screen  between  this  part  he 
play'd 
And  him  he  play'd  it  for,  he  needs  will  be 
Absolute  Milan;  Me,  poor  man! — my  library 
Was  dukedom  large  enough;  of  temporal  royalties 
He  thinl^s  me  now  incapable:  confederates 
(So  dry  he  was  for  sway)  with  the  king  of  Naples, 
To  give  him  annual  tribute,  do  him  homage; 
Subject  his  coronet  to  his  crown,  and  bend 
The'  dukedom,  yet  unbow'd  (alas,  poor  Milan!) 
To  most  ignoble  stooping. 

Mira.  0  the  heavens ! 

Pro.  Mark  his  condition,  and  the  event ;  then 
tell  me. 
If  this  might  be  a  brother. 

Mira.  I  should  sin 

To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother: 
Good  wombs  have  borne  bad  sons. 

Pro.  Now  the  condition. 

This  king  of  Naples,  being  an  enemy 
To  me  inveterate,  hearkens  my  brother's  suit ; 
Which  was,  that  he  in  lieu  o'  the  premises, — 
or  homage,  and  I  know  not  how  much  tribute, — 
Should  presently  extirpate  me  and  mine 
Onl  of  the  dukedom;  and  confer  firir  Milan, 
With  all  the  honors,  on  my  brother.    Whereon, 
A  tre.aclierous  army  levied,  one  midnight 
Fated  to  the  purpose,  did  Antonio  open 
The  gates  of  Milan;  and  i'  the  dead  of  darkness, 
The  ministers  for  the  purpose  hurried  thence 
Me,  and  thy  crying  self. 

Mira.  Alack,  for  pity! 

I,  not  remenib'ring  how  I  cried  out  then. 
Will  cry  it  o'er  again,  it  is  a  hint, 
That  wrings  mine  eyes. 

Prn.  Hear  a  little  further, 

And  then  I'll  brins  thee  to  the  present  businesii 
Which  now's  upon  us;  without  the  which,  thu 
story 
0  Sorrow.  '  Cut  away. 


Scene  IL 


TEMPEST. 


13 


Vrcre  most  impertinent. 

^fira.  Wlierefore  did  they  not 

That  hour  destroy  us  7 

j'ro.  Well  demanded,  wench ; 

My  tale  provokes  that  question.    Dear,  they  durst 

not; 
(So  dear  tile  love  my  people  hore  nic)  nor  set 
A  niarl^  so  bloody  on  the  business;  but 
With  colors  fairer  painted  their  foul  ends. 
In  few,  they  hurried  us  aboard  a  burli. 
Bore  us  some  leagues  to  sea;  wliere  tliey  prepar'd 
A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat,  not  riirs'd, 
Nor  tactile,  sail,  nor  mast;  llie  very  rats 
instinctively  had  quit  it :  there  they  hoist  us, 
To  cry  to  tile  sea  that  roar'ri  to  us ;  to  sigh 
To  the  winds,  whose  pity,  siijhiiis  back  again, 
Did  us  but  loving  wrong. 

J\Iira.  .^lack !  what  trouble 

Was  1  then  to  you ! 

Pro.  O !  a  cherubim 

Thou  wast,  that  did  preserve  me!    Thou  didst 

smile. 
Infused  with  a  fortitude  from  heaven, 
When  1  have  decked  the  sea  with  drops  full  salt; 
Under  my  burden  groaiiM;  which  rais'd  in  me 
An  undergoinir  stomach*,  to  bear  up 
Against  what  should  ensue. 

Mtrct.  How  came  we  ashore  ? 

Pro.   By  Providence  divine. 
Some  food  we  had.  and  some  fresli  water,  that 
A  noble  Neapolitan,  Gonzalo, 
Out  of  his  charity  (who  being  then  appointed 
Master  of  this  design)  did  give  us;  with 
Kich  garments,  linens,  stuffs,  and  necessaries, 
Which  since  have  steaded  much  ;  so,  of  his  gentle- 
ness. 
Knowing  1  lov'd  my  books,  he  furnished  me, 
Kroai  niy  own  library,  with  volumes  tliat 
1  prize  above  my  dukedom. 

Mira.  'Would  I  might 

But  ever  see  that  man  ! 

Pro.  Now  I  arise :  — 

Sit  still,  and  hear  the  last  of  our  sea-sorrow. 
Here  in  tliis  island  we  arriv'd;  and  iicre 
Have  I,  thy  sclioolmaster,  made  thee' more  profit 
Than  oilier  princes  can,  that  have  more  time 
For  vainer  liours,  and  tutors  not  so  carel'ul. 

Mira.  Heavens  thank  you  fort!    And  now  I 
pray  you,  sir, 
(For  still  'tis  beating  in  my  mind,)  your  reason 
For  raising  this  sea-storm  ! 

Pi-o.  Know  thus  far  forth. — 

By  accident  most  strange,  bountiful  fortune, 
Now  my  dear  lady,  hath  mine  enemies 
Brought  to  this  shore:  and  by  my  prescience 
I  find  my  zenith  doth  depend  upon 
A  most  auspicious  star  ;  whose  iiiOuence 
If  now  I  court  not,  but  omit,  my  fortunes 
Will  ever  after  droop.  —  Here  cease  more  ques- 
tions ; 
Thou  art  inclin'd  to  sleep ;  'tis  a  good  dulness, 
And  give  it  way ; — I  know  thou  canst  not  choose. — 
IMiHAXDA  steeps. 
Come  away,  servant,  come :  I  am  ready  now  : 
Approacli,  my  Ariel ;  come. 

Enter  Abiel. 

Ari.  All  hail,  great  master!  grave  sir,  hail!    I 
come 
To  answer  thy  best  pleasure  ;  be't  to  fly, 
To  swim,  to  dive  into  the  fire,  to  ride 
On  the  curl  d  cloutls;  to  thy  strong  bidding,  task 
Ariel,  and  all  his  quality. 

Pro.  Hast  thou,  spirit, 

Pcrform'd  to  point*  the  tempest  that  I  bade  thee  1 

Ari.   To  every  article. 
I  boarded  the  king's  ship  ;  now  on  the  beak, 
Now  in  the  waist,  tlic  deck,  in  every  cabin, 
I  flamed  amazement:  Sometimes  I'd  divide. 
And  burn  in  many  places;  on  the  top-mast, 
The  yards,  and  bowsprit,  would  I  fiame  distinctly. 
Then  meet,  and  join:  Jove's  lightnings,  tlie  pre- 
cursors 
O'  the  dreadful  thunder-claps,  more  momentary 
And  sight-outrunning  were  not :     The  tire,  and 

cracks 
Of  sulphurous  roaring,  the  most  mighty  Neptune 
Seem'd  to  besiege,  and  malve  his  bold  waves  tremble, 
«  Stubborn  resolution.        •  The  minutest  article. 


Vea,  his  dread  trident  shake. 

I'ro.  My  brave  spirit ! 

Who  was  so  firm,  so  constant,  that  this  coil' 
Would  not  infect  his  reason  ! 

A  ri.  Not  a  soul 

Bui  lelt  a  fever  of  the  mad,  and  play'd 
Sonic  tricks  of  desperation  :  .-Ml,  but  mariners, 
Plung'd  in  the  foaming  brine,  and  quit  the  vessel, 
Then"  all  a-flre  with  me :  the  king's  son,  Ferdinand, 
Willi  hair  up-staring,  (then  like  reeds,  not  hair,) 
Was  the  first  man  that  leap'd:  cried,  }ltit  ts  empty, 
Ami  all  the  devils  are  liere. 

Pro.  Why,  tliat  s  my  spirit  ! 

But  was  not  this  nigh  shore  ] 

Art.  Close  by,  my  master. 

Pro.   But  are  tliey,  Ariel,  safe  ! 

Ari.  Not  a  hair  perish'd ; 

On  their  sustaining  garments  not  a  blemish, 
But  fresher  than  before  ;  and,  as  thou  bad'st  me, 
In  troops  1  have  dispers'd  them  'bout  the  isle: 
The  king's  son  I  have  landed  by  himself; 
Whom  Tleft  cooling  of  the  air  with  siglis, 
III  an  odd  angle  of  llie  isle,  and  sitting. 
His  arms  in  this  sad  knot. 

Pro.  Of  the  king's  ship, 

The  mariners,  say,  how  thou  hast  dispos'd. 
And  all  the  rest  o'  the  tlect ! 

Ari.  Safely  in  harbor 

Is  the  king's  ship  ;  in  the  deep  nook,  where  once 
Tliou  call'dst  me  up  at  midnight  to  fetch  dew 
From  the  still-vex'd  Bermootlies^,  there  she's  hid  : 
Tlie  manners  all  under  hatches  stowd; 
Whom,  with  a  churm  join'd  to  their  sull'er'd  labor, 
I  have  lel\  asleep  :  and  for  the  rest  o'  llie  lleet. 
Which  1  dispers'd,  they  all  have  met  again: 
Aim  are  upon  the  Mediterranean  llole^ 
Bound  sadly  home  for  Naples  ; 
Sujiposmg  thai  they  saw  tlie  king's  ship  wreck'd, 
And  his  great  person  perish. 

Pro.  Ariel,  thy  charge 

Kxactly  is  perform'd;  but  there's  more  work: 
What  IS  the  time  o'  the  day  ! 

Ari.  Past  the  mid  season. 

Pro.   At  least  two  glasses  :    The  time  'twixt  six 
and  now, 
JIust  by  us  both  be  spent  most  preciously. 

Ari.  Is  there  more  toU  1  Since  thou  dost  give  me 
pains, 
Let  me  remember  thee  what  thou  hast  proinis'd. 
Which  is  not  yet  perform'd  me. 

i^ro.  How  now  !  moody  1 

What  is't  thou  canst  demand  ? 

Ari.  Jly  liberty. 

Pro.  Before  the  time  be  outi  no  more. 

Ari.  1  pray  tliee 

Remember,  I  have  done  thee  worthy  service  ; 
Ti  Id  thee  no  lies,  made  no  mistakings,  serv'd 
Witliout  or  grudge  or   grumblings;    thou  didst 

promise 
To  bate  me  a  full  year.  , 

Pro.  Dost  thou  forget 

From  what  a  torment  I  did  free  thee  ! 

Aru  No. 

Pro.  Thou  dost ;  and  think'st 
It  much,  to  tread  the  ooze  of  the  salt  deep ; 
To  run  upon  the  sharp  wind  of  the  north  ; 
To  do  me  business  in  the  veins  o'  the  earth. 
When  it  is  bak'd  with  frosU 

Ari.  I  do  not,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  licst,  malignant  thing !    Hast  tliou 
forgot 
The  foul  witch  Sycorax,  who,  with  age  and  envy, 
Was  grown  into  a  hoop  !  hast  thou  forgot  her  ! 

Ari.   No,  sir. 

Pro.  Thou  hast :  where  was  she  born  ' 

sjjeak;  tell  me. 

Ari.   Sir,  in  .\rgier'. 

Pro.  O,  was  she  sol  I  must, 

tlnce  in  a  month,  recount  what  thou  hast  been, 
Which  thou  forget'st.  This  damn'd  witch,  Sycorax, 
For  mischiefs  manifold,  and  sorceries  terrible 
To  enter  human  hearing,  from  Argief, 
Thou  know 'st,  wasbanish'd;  for  one  thing  she  did. 
They  would  not  take  her  life  :  is  not  this  true  'i 

Ari.  Ay,  sir. 

Pro.   This  blue-ey'd  hag  was  hither  brought  with 
child. 
And  here  w  as  left  by  the  sailors  :  Thou,  my  slave, 
t  Bustle,  tnmult.       aBt-rmudas.       s  Wave.       *.tl5ier3. 


14 


TEMPEST. 


Act  I. 


As  thou  rcporfst  thyself,  was  then  her  servant : 

And,  for  tliou  wast  a  spirit  too  delicate 

To  act  her  earthly  and  abhorr'd  commands. 

Refusing  lier  graiid  hests',  she  did  confine  thee, 

By  help  of  her  more  potent  ministers, 

And  ill  her  most  unmitifiable  rage, 

Into  a  cloven  pine  ;  within  which  rift 

Imprison'd,  thou  didst  painfully  remain 

A  dozen  years;  within  wliich  space  she  died. 

And  left  thee  there  ;  where  thou  did'st  vent  thy 

fcroans. 
As  fast  as  mill-wheels  strike :  Then  was  this  island 
(Save  for  the  son  that  she  did  litter  here, 
A  freckled  whelp,  hag-born,)  not  honor'd  with 
A  human  shape. 

Ai-i.  Yes;  Caliban  her  son. 

Pin.   Dull  thing,  1  say  so  ;  he,  that  Caliban, 
Whom  now  1  keep  in  service.    Thou  best  know'st 
What  torment  I  did  find  thee  in  :  thy  groans 
Did  make  wolves  howl,  and  penetrate  the  breasts 
f)f  ever-angry  bears  :  it  was  a  torment 
To  lay  upon  the  damn'd,  which  Sycorax 
Could  not  again  undo  ;  it  was  mine  art, 
When  I  arriv'd,  and  heard  thee,  that  made  gape 
The  pine,  and  let  tliec  out. 

Jn.  I  thank  thee,  master. 

Prn.   If  thou  more  mnrmurst.  I  will  rend  an  oak. 
And  peg  thee  in  his  knotty  entrails,  till 
Thou  hast  howl'd  away  twelve  winters. 

Ari.  Pardon,  master : 

I  will  be  correspondent  to  command, 
And  do  my  spriting  gently. 

J'rn.  Do  so ;  and  after  two  daj's 

I  will  discharge  thee. 

Ari.  That's  my  noble  master ! 

\Vhat  shall  I  do  7  say,  what  7  what  shall  1  do  "! 

Pro.  Go  make  thyself  like  to  a  nymph  o'  the  sea; 
Be  subject  to  no  sight  but  mine ;  invisible 
To  every  eye-ball  else.    Go  take  this  sliape. 
And  hitiier  come  in't :  hence,  with  diligence. 

[Ej-i/  AniF.L. 
Awake,  dear  heart,  awake  !  thou  hast  slept  well ; 
Awake  ! 

Mird.  The  strangeness  of  your  story  put 
Heaviness  in  me. 

pro.  Shake  it  off:  Come  on, 

\Ve'lI  visit  Caliban,  my  slave,  who  never 
Yields  us  kind  answers. 

Mira.  'Tis  a  villain,  sir, 

I  do  not  love  to  look  on. 

Pro.  But,  as  'tis. 

We  cannot  miss  him:  he  does  make  our  fire. 
Fetch  in  our  wood  ;  and  serves  in  offices 
That  profit  us.    What  ho  !  slave  !  Caliban, 
Thou  earth,  thou!  speak. 

Cul.   I  IVifhin.]  There's  wood  enough  within. 

Pro.  Come  forth,  I  say :  there's  other  business 
for  thee  : 
Come  forth,  thou  tortoise !  when'! 

Re-enter  Atiif.l  like  a  ical er-nymph. 
Fine  apparition  !  My  quaint  Ariel, 
Hark  in  thine  ear. 
Ari.  My  lord,  it  shall  be  done.    [Exit. 

Pro.  Thou  poisonous  slave,  got  by  the   devil 
liimself 
Upon  thy  wicked  dam,  come  forth  ! 

Enter  Calip.as. 

Col.   As  wicked  dew  as  e'er  my  mother  brush'd 
\Vitii  raven's  feather  from  unwholesome  i^n^ 
Plop  on  you  botli  !  a  snuth-wcst  blow  on  ye. 
Anil  blister  you  all  o'er  ! 

Pro.   For  'this,  be  sure,  to-night  thou  shall  have 
cramps, 
Side-stiches  that  shall  pen  thy  breath  up  ;  urchins" 
Shall,  for  that  vast  of  ni-lit  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee  :  tliou  shall  be  pincli'd 
As  thick  as  honey-combs,  each  pincli  more  stinging 
'Than  bees  that  hiade  them. 

Ciil.  I  must  eat  my  dinner. 

This  island's  mine,  by  Sycorax,  my  mother. 
Which  thou  tak'st  from  me.    When  thou  camest 

first. 
Thou  strok'dst   me,  and    mad'st   much  of  me; 

w^uldst  give  me 
Water  with  berries  in't ;  and  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less, 
That  bum  by  day  and  night ;  and  then  I  loved  thee, 
I  Commands.  =  Faries. 


And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  the  isle, 

The  fresh  springs,  brine  pits,  barren  place,  and 

fertile ; 
Cursed  be  I  that  did  so ;  —  all  the  charms 
Of  Sycorax,  toads,  beetles,  bats,  light  on  you ! 
For  1  am  all  tlie  subjects  that  you  have. 
Which  first  was  mine  own  king;  and  here  rou  sty  me 
In  this  hard  rock,  whiles  you  do  keep  f  ■lii.  me 
The  rest  of  the  island. 

Pro.  Thou  most  lying  slave, 

Whom  stripes  may  move,  not  kindness !  I  have  us'd 

tlice. 
Filth  as  tliou  art,  with  human  care  ;  and  lodg'd  thee 
In  mine  own  cell,  till  thou  did'st  seek  to  violate 
The  honor  of  my  child. 

Cat.  n  ho,  (1  ho  !  — 'would  it  had  l)een  done' 
Thou  did'st  prevent  me;  I  had  peopled  else 
This  isle  with  Calibans. 

Pro.  Abhorred  slave ; 

Which  any  print  of  goodness  will  not  take. 
Being  capable  of  all  ill!  I  pitied  thee. 
Took  pains  to  make  thee  speak,  taught  thee  each 

hour 
One  thing  or  other:  when  thou  didst  not,  savage. 
Know  thine  own  meaning,  but  wouldst  gabble  like 
A  thing  most  brutish,  1  endow'd  thy  purposes 
With  words  that  made  them  known :  But  thy  vile 

race, 
Thougli  thou  didst  leam,  had  that  in't  which  good 

natures 
Could  not  abide  to  be  with  ;  therefore  wast  thou 
Deservedly  coufin'd  into  this  rock, 
Who  hadst  deserv'd  more  than  a  prison. 

Cat.  'Vou  taught  me  language;  and  my  profit  on't 
Is,  I  know  how  tn  curse :  the  red  plague  rid'  you, 
For  learning  me  your  language ! 

Pro.  Hag-seed,  hence! 

Fetch  us  in  fuel :  and  be  quick,  thou  wcrt  best. 
To  answer  other  business;    Shrug'st  thou,  malice  ■! 
If  thou  neglect' St,  or  dost  unwillingly 
What  T  command,  I'll  rack  thee  with  old  cramps  ; 
Fill  all  thy  bones  with  aches  ;  make  thee  roar. 
That  beasts  shall  tremble  at  thy  din. 

Cut.  N"!  pray  thee !  — 

I  must  obey  :  his  art  is  of  such  power  {Aside. 

It  would  control  my  dam's  god,  Setebos, 
And  make  a  vassal  of  him. 

Pro,  So,  slave;  hence  ! 

[Exit  Caliban. 

Re-enter  Anir.T.,  invUihle, playing  and  singing; 
Y^.n-Biif i.'STi  following  him. 
AniKL's  Song. 
Come  vnto  thrne  yellow  sands 

And  /hen  lake  hands  : 
Court'sied  irhen  yon  hare^  and  kissed, 

(Thr  irtld  H'Oi'es  wlmt') 
Foot  it  feathi  here  and  there  ; 
And,  street  s/in'/c.v,  the  burden  bear. 

Uark.hiirk!  ,j.  j, 

Bur.    Bowgh,  wowgh.  \dispcrsedly 

The  u-nlch-dngts  hork  : 
Bur.    BowL'h,  wowgh.  [dispersedli/. 

Hnrk,  horlc  .'   I  hear 
The  strain  nf  .stnitting  chanticlere 
Cm,  eock-a-dnodle-elo. 
Fer.  'Where  should  this  music  bel  i'  the  air,  or 
tlie  earth  1 
It  sounds  no  more  :  —  and  sure,  it  wails  upon 
Some  god  of  the  island.    Silting  on  a  bank. 
Weeping  again  the  king  my  father's  wreck. 
This  music  crept  by  me  upon  the  waters  ; 
Allaying  both  their  fury,  and  my  passion,    ^ 
With  its  sweet  air;  thence  I  have  follow'd  it, 
Or  it  hath  drawn  me  rather :  —  But  'tis  gone. 
No  it  begins  again. 

AniT.L  sings. 
Full  fathom  fire  tfiy  father  lies  ,■ 

Of' his  honei  are  mrnl  made  ; 
Those  are  pearls,  that  were  his  eyes: 

Nothing:  if  him  that  dothfaile, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  .strange. 
Srei-ni/mphs  hourlil  ring  *J.f  knell  : 
Hark.'  now  I licarthem.— ding-dong,  bell 
[Burden,  ding-dong. 
Fer.    The   ditty    docs   remember  my  drown'd 
Father :  — 
'Destroy.  p Being  stilled,  sitenced. 


Act  II.     ScEN-E  I. 


TEMPESl. 


15 


This  is  no  mortal  business,  nor  no  sound 
Tliatthe  earth  owes' :  —  I  hear  it  now  above  me. 
Pro.   The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eye  advance 
And  saj-,  what  tiiou  seestyond'. 

j\lira.  What  is't  1  a  spirit! 

Lord,  how  it  looks  about !  Believe  me,  sir, 
It  carries  a  brave  form : — But 'tis  a  spirit. 
Fro.  No,  wench;  it  eats  and  sleeps,  and  hath 
such  senses 
As  we  have,  such  :  This  gallant  which  thou  seest. 
Was  in  the  wreck  ;  and  but  he's  something  stain'd 
With  grief,  that's  beauty's  canker,  thou  mightst  call 

him 
A  goodly  person  :  he  hath  l^st  his  fellows. 
And  strays  about  to  find  them. 

nfira.  I  might  call  him 

A  thing  divine;  for  nothing  natural 
I  ever  saw  so  noble. 

Pro.  It  goes  on,  [Asidf. 

As  my  soul  prompts  it:  —  Spirit,  fine  spirit!  Ill 

free  tliee 
Within  two  days  for  this. 

Pg^.  Most  sure  the  goddess 

On  whom  these  airs  attend ! — Vouchsafe  my  prayer 
May  know,  if  you  remain  upon  this  island  ; 
And  that  you  will  some  good  instruction  give, 
How  I  may  bear  me  here :  My  prime  request, 
\Vhioh  I  do  last  pronounce,  is,  O  you  vronder ! 
If  you  be  maid,  or  no  ! 

Mira.  No  wonder,  sir ; 

But,  certainly  a  maid. 

Per.  My  language ;  heavens  !  — 

I  am  the  best  of  them  that  speak  this  speech, 
Were  I  but  where  'tis  spoken. 

Pro.  How !  the  best ! 

What  vvert  thou  if  the  king  of  Naples  heard  theel 
Per.   A  single  thing,  as  I  am  now,  that  wonders 
To  hear  thee  speak  of  Naples  :  He  does  hear  me  ; 
And,  that  he  does,  I  weep :  myself  am  Naples  ; 
Who  with  mine  eves,  ne'er  since  at  ebb,  beheld 
The  king  my  father  wieck'd. 
Mira.  Alack,  for  mercy  ! 

Per.  Yen,  faith,  and  all  his  lords ;  the  duke  of 
Milan. 
And  his  brave  son  being  twain. 

Pro.  The  duke  of  Milan, 

And  his  more  braver  daughter,  could  control'  thee. 
If  now  'twere  fit  to  do't :  —  At  the  first  sight 

[Aside. 
They  have  chang'd  eyes: —  Delicate  Ariel, 
I'll  set  thee  free  for  this !  —  A  word,  good  sir ; 
I  fear,  you  have  done  yourself  some  wrong  :  a  word. 
Mira.  Why  speaks'  my  father  so  unsently  T  This 
Is  the  third  man  that  e'er  I  saw ;  the  first 
That  e'er  1  sighed  for :  pity  move  my  father 
To  be  inclin'd  my  way  ! 

Pa:  O,  if  a  virgin, 

And  your  affection  not  gone  forth,  I'll  make  you 
The  queen  of  Naples'. 

Pro.  Soft,  sir,  one  word  more.  — 

They  are  both  in  either's  powers ;  but  this  swift 

business 
I  must  uneasy  make,  lest  too  light  winning  [Ande. 
Make  tlic  prize  light.  —  One  word  more ;  I  charge 

thee. 
That  thou  attend  me  :  thou  dost  here  usurp 


The  name  thou  ttw'st  not;  and  hast  put  thyself 
Upon  this  island,  as  a  spy  to  win  it 
From  me,  the  lord  on't. 

Per.  No,  as  I  am  a  man. 

Mira.  There's  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in  such  a 
temple: 
If  the  ill  spirit  have  so  fair  an  house, 
Good  things  will  strive  to  dwell  with't. 

Pro.  Follow  me.  —  [To  FenD. 

Speak  not  you  for  him  ;  he's  a  traitor. —  Come. 
I'll  manacle  thy  neck  and  feet  together ; 
Sea-water  shalt  thou  drink,  thy  food  shall  be 
The  fresh-brook  muscles,  wither'd  roots,  and  husKs 
Wherein  the  acorn  cradled  :  Follow. 

per.  No; 

I  will  resist  such  entertainment,  till 
Mine  enemy  has  more  power.  [lie  draws. 

Mira.       .  0  dear  father. 

Make  not  too  rash  a  trial  of  him,  for 
He's  gentle,  and  not  fearful.* 

Pro.  What,  I  say. 

My  foot  my  tutor!  —  Put  thy  sword  up,  traitor; 
Who  mak'st  a  show,  but  dar'st  not  strike,  thy  con- 
science 
Is  so  possess'd  with  guilt :  come  from  thy  ward' ; 
For  I  can  here  disarm  thee  with  tliis  stick, 
And  make  thy  weapon  drop. 

l\[ira.  Beseech  you,  father ! 

Pro.  Hence ;  hang  not  on  my  garments. 

Mira.  Sir,  have  pity ; 

I'll  be  his  surety. 

Pro.  Silence  :  one  word  more 

Shall  make  me  chide  thee,  if  not  hate  thee.  What ! 
An  advocate  for  an  impostor?  hush  ! 
Tliou  think'st  there  are  no  more  such  shapes  as  he. 
Having  seen  but  him  and  Caliban :  Foolisn  wench  ! 
To  the  most  of  men  this  is  a  Caliban, 
And  they  to  him  are  angels. 

Mira.  My  affections 

Are  then  most  humble  ;  I  have  no  ambition 
To  see  a  goodlier  man. 

Pro.  Come  on;  obey:  [To  Fekii. 

Thy  nerves  are  in  their  infancy  again, 
And  have  no  vigor  in  them. 

Per.  So  they  are  : 

My  spirits,  as  in  a  dream,  are  all  bound  up. 
My  father's  loss,  the  weakness  which  I  feel. 
The  wreck  of  all  my  friends,  or  this  man's  threats, 
To  whom  I  am  subdued,  are  but  light  to  me. 
Might  I  but  through  my  prison  once  a  day 
Behold  this  maid  :  all  corners  else  o'  the  earth 
Let  liberty  make  use  of;  space  enough 
Have  I  in  such  a  prison. 

Pro.  It  works :  —  Come  on.  — 

Thou  hast  done  vfcll,  fine  Ariel !  —  Follow  me.  — 
[To  FEttn.  and  MiB. 
Hark,  what  thou  else  shalt  do  me.         [To  Anir.i. 

Mira.  Be  of  comfort ; 

My  father's  of  a  better  nature,  sir. 
Than  he  appears  by  speech ;  this  is  unwonted, 
\Vliich  now  came  from  him. 

Pro.  Thou  shalt  be  as  free 

As  mountain  winds  :  but  then  exactly  do 
All  points  of  my  command. 

Ari.  To  the  syllable. 

Pro.  Come,  follow  :  speak  not  for  him.  [Exeunt 


ACT  11. 


SCENE  I.  —  Another  part  of  the  Island. 

JEn/er  Alovso,  SEntsTiAjf,  A^tosio,  fJoszALO, 
AniiiAS,  Frascisco,  and  others. 
Gon.  'Beseech  you,  sir,  be  merry:  you  have  cause 
(So  have  we  all)  of  joy  ;  for  our  escape 
Is  much  beyond  our  loss:  our  hint  of  woe 
Is  common;  every  day  some  sailor's  wife. 
The  masters  of  jpme  merchant,  and  the  merchant. 
Have  just  our  theme  of  woe  :  but  for  the  miracle, 
I  mean  our  preservation,  few  in  millions 
Can  speak  like  us  :  then  wisely,  good  sir,  weigh 
Our  sorrow  with  our  comforL 

sowna  iConfuto 


Alon.  Pr'ythee,  peace ! 

Seb.  He  receives  comfort  like  cold  porridge. 

Ant.   'i'he  visitor  will  not  give  him  o'er  so. 

Sell.  Look,  he's  winding  up  the  watch  of  his  wit ; 
By  and  by  it  will  strike. 

Co;!.  Sir, 

Seb.    One: Tell. 

Con.    When  every  grief  is  entertain'd,  that  'a 
olTered, 
Comes  to  the  entertainer — 

Seh.  A  dollar. 

Gon.  Dolor  comes  to  him,  indeed ;   you  have 
spoken  truer  than  you  purposed. 

»  Frightful.  "  Quard. 


l() 


TEMPEST. 


Act  II. 


SV&.  You  have  taken  it  wisclier  than  I  meant  you 
should. 

Gun.  Therefore,  my  lord. — 

Ant.  Fie,  what  a  spendthrift  is  lie  of  his  tongue  ! 

Alan.  I  pr'ytliee,  spare. 

(nin.  Well,  I  have  done:    But  yet  — 

Sc/j.    He  will  be  talking. 

Ant.  Which  of  them,  he,  or  Adrian,  for  a  good 
wager,  first  begins  (o  crow  ! 

Sell.  The  old  cock. 

Ant.  The  cockrel. 

Seh.  Done:  the  wager  1 

Ant.  A  laughter. 

Sch.  A  match. 

A'Ir.  Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert, — 

Seb.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ant.  So  you've  pay'd. 

Adr.  Unmhabitablc,  and  almost  inaccessible, — 

SeM.  Yet. 

Adr.  Yet  — 

Ant.  He  could  not  miss  it. 

Adr.  It  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and 
delicate  temperance*. 

Ant.  Temperance  was  a  delicate  wench. 

Seb.  Ay,  and  a  subtle  ;  as  he  most  learnedly 
delivered. 

Adr.  The  air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly. 

Seb.    As  if  it  had  lungs,  and  rotten  ones. 

Ant.  Or,  as 'twere  perfumed  by  a  fen. 

Gun.  Here  is  every  thing  advantageous  to  hfe. 

Ant.  True;  save  means  to  live. 

Sob.  Of  that  there's  none,  or  little. 

Gon.  How  lush'  and  lusty  the  grass  looks !  how 
green. 

Ant.  The  ground,  indeed,  is  tawny. 

Seb.  With  an  eye"  of  green  in't. 

Ant.  He  misses  not  much. 

Se").  No:  he  doth  but  mistake  the  truth  totally. 

Gmi.  lUit  the  rarity  of  it  is  (which  is  indeed 
almost  beyond  credit)  — 

iSe/j.  As  many  vouch'd  rarities  are. 

Gon.  That  our  garments,  being,  as  they  were, 
drenched  in  the  sea,  hold,  notwithstanding,  their 
freshness,  and  glosses ;  being  rather  new  dy'd,  than 
stain'd  with  salt  water. 

Ant.  If  but  one  of  his  pockets  could  speak, 
wouhl  it  not  say,  he  lies  ^ 

Se'i.  Ay,  or  very  falsely  pocket  up  his  report. 

G(ni.  Methinks,  our  garments  are  now  as  fresh 
as  when  we  put  them  on  first  in  Afric,  at  the  mar- 
riage of  the  king's  fair  daughter  Claribel  "to  the 
kiiig  of  Tunis. 

Seb.  'Twas  a  sweet  marriage,  and  we  prosper 
well  in  our  return. 

Adr.  Tunis  was  never  graced  before  with  such  a 
paragon  to  their  queen. 

Gun.  Not  sipce  widow  Dido's  time. 

Ant.  Widow  1  a  pox  o'  that!  how  came  that 
widow  in  1     Widow  Dido! 

Seb.  What  if  he  had  s:iid,  widower  .ffineas  too? 
good  lord,  how  you  take  it ! 

Adr.  Widow  Dido,  said  you  7  you  make  me  study 
of  that :  she  was  of  Carthage,  not  of  Tunis. 

Gon.  This  Tunis,  sir,  was  Carthage. 

Adr.  Carthage! 

Gon.  I  assure  you,  Carthage. 

Ant.  His  word  is  more  than  the  miraculous  harp. 

Seb.  He  hath  raised  the  walls,  and  houses  too. 

Ant.  What  impossible  matter  will  he  make  easy 
next! 

Seb.  I  think  he  will  carry  this  island  home  m  his 
pocket,  and  give  it  his  son'for  an  apple. 

Ant.  And,  sowing  the  kernels  ol  it  in  the  sea, 
bring  forth  more  islands. 

Gon.  Ay  '! 

Ant.  Why,  in  good  time. 

Gon.  Sir,  we  were  talking,  tliat  our  ^arinents 
seem  now  as  fresh,  as  when  we  were  at  Tunis  at 
the  marriage  of  your  daughter,  who  is  now  queen. 

Ant.  And  the  rarest  that  e'er  came  tliere. 

Se'j.  'Bate,  I  beseech  you,  widow  Dido. 

Ant.  O,  widow  Dido  ;  ay,  widow  Dido. 

Gon.  Is  not,  sir,  my  doublet  as  fresh  as  the  first 
day  I  wore  it !     I  mean,  in  a  sort. 

Ant.  That  sort  was  well  fishd  tor. 

Gon.  When  I  wore  it  at  your  daughter's  mar- 
riage 1 

A!on.  You  cram    these    words  into  mine  ears 
against 
*  Temperature.         »  Hank.         «  Shade  of  color. 


The  stomach  of  my  sense  :  'Would  I  had  never 
Married  my  daughter  there  !  for,  coming  thence, 
My  son  is  lost;  and,  in  my  rate,  she  too. 
Who  is  so  far  from  Italy  removed, 
I  ne'er  again  shall  see  her.    O  thou  mine  heir 
Of  Naples  and  of  Milan,  what  strange  fish 
Hath  made  his  meal  on  thee  ! 

Fran.  Sir.  he  may  live  : 

I  saw  him  beat  the  surges  under  him. 
And  ride  upon  their  backs;  lie  trod  the  water, 
Whose  enmity  he  flung  aside,  and  breasted 
The  surge  most  swoln  that  met  him  :  his  bold  head 
'liovc  the  contentious  waves  he  kept,  and  oar'd 
Himself  with  his  good  arms  in  lusty  stroke 
To  the  shore,  that  o'er  his  wave-worn  basis  bow'd. 
As  sfooping  to  relieve  him ;  I  not  doubt, 
He  came  alive  to  land. 

A  ton.  No,  no,  he's  gone. 

Seb.  Sir,  you  may  thank  yourself  for  this  great 
loss ; 
That  would  not  bless  our  Europe  with  your  daugh- 
ter, 
But  rather  lose  her  to  an  African  ; 
Whpi-e  she,  at  least,  is  banish'd  from  your  eye. 
Who  hath  cause  to  wet  the  grief  on't. 

Alon.  Pr'ytliee,  peace. 

Seb.  You  were  kneel'd  to,  and  importun'd  other- 
wise 
Ry  all  of  us  ;  and  the  fiiir  soul  herself 
W'eigh'd,  between  lothncss  and  obedience,  at 
Which  end  o'  the  beam  she'd  bow.    We  have  lost 

your  son, 
I  fear,  forever :  Milan  and  Naples  have 
More  widows  in  them  of  this  business'  making. 
Than  we  bring  men  to  comfort  them :   The  fault's 
Your  own. 

Alon.  So  is  the  dearest  of  the  loss. 

Gon.  My  lord  Sebastian, 

The  truth  you  speak  doth  lack  some  gentleness, 
And  tiuie  to  speak  it  in  ;  you  rub  the  sore, 
W  hen  y  ou  should  bring  the  plaster. 

Seb.  Very  well- 

Ant.  And  most  chirurgeonly. 

Gon.  It  is  foul  weather  in  us  all,  good  sir, 
When  you  are  cloudy. 

Seb.  Foul  weather  1 

A  nt.  Very  foul. 

Gon.   Had  I  a  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord, — 

Ant.   He'd  sow  it  with  nettle-seed. 

Seb.  Or  docks,  or  mallows. 

Gon.   And  were  the  king  of  it,  what  would  I  dol 

Seb.  'Scape  being  drunk  for  want  of  wine. 

Gon.  r  the  commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Rxecute  all  things;  for  no  kind  of  trallic 
Would  I  admit;  no  name  of  magistrate; 
Letters  should  not  be  known;  no  use  of  service, 
Of  riches  or  of  poverty  ;  no  eonti'acts. 
Succession;  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none  : 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil : 
No  occupation  ;  all  men  idle,  all; 
And  women,  too;  but  innocent  and  pure  : 
No  sovereignty  :  — 

Seb.  And  yet  he  would  be  king  on't. 

Ant.   The  latter  end  of  his  commonwealth  for- 
gets the  begining. 

Gon.  All  things  in  common  nature  should  pro- 
duce, 
W'ithout  sweat  or  endeavor  :  treason,  felony. 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine. 
Would  I  not  have  ;  but  nature  should  iiring  forth. 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foison',  all  abundance, 
Ti)  feed  my  innocent  people. 

Seb.   No  marrying  'mong  his  subjects  ? 

Ant.   None,  man  ;  all  idle  ;  whores  and  knaves. 

Gon.  1  would  with  such  perfection  govern,  sir, 
To  excel  the  golden  age. 

Seb.  'Save  his  majesty ! 

Ant.  Long  live  Gonzalo  ! 

Gon.  And,  do  you  mark  me,  sir?  — 

Alon.  rry'thee,  no  more:  thou  dost  talk  nothing 
to  me. 

Gon.  I  do  well  believe  your  highness  ;  and  did  it 
to  minister  occasion  to  these  gentlemen,  who  are  of 
such  sensible  and  nimble  lungs,  that  they  always 
use  to  laugh  at  nothing.  ^ 

Ant.   ''Fwas  you  we  laugh'd  at. 

Gon.  Who,  in  this  kind  of  merry  fooling,  am 
nolliing  to  you ;  so  you  may  continue,  and  laugh 
at  notliin;^;  still. 

1  Plenty. 


Scene  II. 


TEMPEST. 


17 


Ant.  What  a  blow  was  there  given ! 

Seh.   An  it  had  nut  fallen  llat-loni;. 

Gim.  You  are  gentlemen  of  brave  metal :  you 
would  lifl  the  moon  out  of  her  sphere,  if  she  would 
continue  in  it  live  weeks  without  changing. 

Enter  Anir.L  iitvUible,  playing  solemn  music. 

Sfft.  We  would  so,  and  then  go  a  bat-fow!ing. 

Ant.   Nar,  good  my  lord,  be  not  angry. 

Onn.  No,  I  warrant  you  ;  I  will  not  adventure 
my  discretion  so  weakly.  Will  you  laugh  me  asleep, 
for  I  am  very  heavy '.' 

Ant.   Go  sleep,  and  hear  us. 

{Alt  sleep  hut  Alon-.,  Sr.n.,  and  An'T. 

Alnn.  What, all  so  soon  asleep!  I  wish  mine  eyes 
Would,  with  themselves,  shut  up  my  thoughts :  I 

find 
They  are  inclined  to  do  so. 

Sc'i.  Please  you,  sir. 

Do  not  omit  the  heavy  offer  of  it ; 
It  seldom  visits  sorrow:  when  it  doth. 
It  is  a  comforter. 

Ant.  We  two,  my  lord. 

Will  guard  your  person,  while  you  take  your  rest, 
And  watch  your  safety. 

Alon.  Thank  you  :  wondrous  Iicavy. — 

[XiAtsso  sleeps.    Exit  Am  el. 

Seh.  What  a  strange  drowsiness  possesses  them! 

Ant.   It  is  tlie  quality  o'  the  climate. 
.     Seb.  Why 

nnth  it  not  then  our  eyelids  sinki    I  find  not 
Myself  dispos'd  to  sleep. 

Ant.  Nor  I ;  my  spirits  are  nimble. 
They  fell  together  all,  as  by  consent; 
Tliey  dropp'd  as  by  a  thunder-stroke.  What  might. 
Worthy  Sefiastian  \ — O,  what  might? — -No  more : — 
And  yet,  mcthinks,  I  see  it  in  thy  face. 
What  thou  shouldst  be:  the  occasion  speaks  thee ; 

and 
My  strong  imagination  sees  a  crown 
Dropping  upon  thy  head. 

Seh.  What,  art  thou  waking  1 

Ant.  Do  you  not  hear  me  speak ! 

Seb.  I  do ;  and  surely, 

It  is  a  sleepy  language  ;  and  thou  speak'st 
Out  of  thy  sleep  :  What  is  it  thou  didst  say  1 
This  is  a  strange  repose,  to  be  asleep 
With  eyes  wide  open  ;  standing,  speaking,  moving. 
And  yet  so  fast  asleep. 

Ant.  Noble  Sebastian, 

Thou  let'st  thy  fortune  sleep  —  die  rather;  wink'st 
Whiles  thou  art  waking. 

Seh.  Thou  dost  snore  distinctly ; 

There's  meaning  in  thy  snores. 

Ant.  I  am  more  serious  than  my  custom :  you 
Must  be  so  too,  if  heed  me;  which  to  do, 
Trebles  thee  o'er. 

Seb.  Well ;  I  am  standing  water. 

Ant.  rU  teach  you  how  to  flow. 

Seb.  Do  so:  to  ebb, 

Hereditarj'  sloth  instructs  me. 

Ant.  0, 

If  you  but  knew,  how  you  the  purpose  cherish, 
\\'hiles  thus  you  mock  it !  how,  in  stripping  it. 
You  more  invest  it!     Ebbing  men,  indeed. 
Most  often  do  so  near  the  bottom  run, 
By  their  own  fear,  or  sloth. 

Seh.  Pr'ythee,  say  on : 

The  setting  of  thine  eye,  and  cheek,  proclaim 
A  matter  fi  jm  thee;  and  a  birth,  indeed. 
Which  throes  thee  much  to  yield. 

Ant.  Thus,  sir. 

Although  this  lord  of  weak  remembrance,  this, 
(Who  shall  be  of  as  little  memory. 
When  he  is  earth'd.l  hath  here  almost  persuaded 
(For  he's  a  spirit  of  persuasion  only) 
The  king  his  son's  alive  :  'tis  as  impossible 
That  he's  undrown'd.  as  he  that  sleeps  here  swims, 

Seh.   I  have  no  hope 
That  he's  undrown'd. 

Ant.  O,  out  of  that  no  hope. 

What  great  hope  have  you  !  no  hope,  that  way,  is 
Another  way  so  high  a  hope,  that  even 
Ambition  cannot  nierce  a  wink  beyond, 
But  doubts  discovery  there.    Will  you  grant,  with 

me. 
That  Ferdinand  is  drown'd  ? 

Seh.  He's  gone. 

Ant.  Then,  tell  me, 


Who's  the  next  heir  of  Naples  ? 

Seh.  Claribel. 

Ant.   She  that  is  queen  of  Tunis;  she  that  dwells 
Ten  leagues  beyond  man's  life ;   she  that  from 

Naples 
Can  have  no  note,  unless  the  sun  were  post, 
{The  man  i'  the  moon's  too  slow)  till  new-born  chins 
Be  rough  and  razorable :  she,  from  whom 
We  were  all  sea-swallow'd.  though  some  cast  again  ; 
And.  by  that,  destin'd  to  perform  an  act, 
\Vlicrebf  what's  past  is  prologue ;  what  to  come. 
In  yours  and  my  discharge. 

Seh.  What  stuff  is  this  >  —  How  say  you  T 

'Tis  true,  mv  brother's  daughter's  queen  of  Tunis; 
So  is  she  heir  of  Naples;  'twixt  which  regions 
There  is  some  space. 

Ant.  A  space,  whose  every  cubit 

Seems  to  cry  out,  llont  shall  ttiaf  Claribel 
Measure  us  baek  tii  Najiles  ?  —  Keep  in  Tunis, 
And  let  Sebastian  wake!  —  Say,  this  were  death 
That  now  hath  seiz'd  them ;  why,  they  were  no 

worse 
Than  now  they  are  :  there  be,  that  can  rule  Naples 
As  well  as  he  that  sleeps  ;  lords,  that  can  prate 
As  amply,  and  unnecessarily. 
As  this  Gonzalo  ;  I  myself  could  make 
A  chough"  of  as  deep  chat.    O,  that  you  bore 
The  mind  that  I  do !  what  a  sleep  were  this 
For  your  advancement!  Do  you  understand  rae  1 

Seb.   Methinks  I  do. 

Ant.  And  how  does  your  content 

Tender  your  own  good  fortune  1 

Seb.  I  remember, 

You  did  supplant  your  brother  Prospero. 

Ant.  True: 

And,  look,  how  well  my  garments  sit  upon  me  ; 
Much  feater  than  before  :  My  brother's  servants 
Were  then  my  fellows,  now  they  are  my  men. 

Seh.    liut,  for  your  conscience  — 

Ant.   Ay,  sir  ;  where  lies  that !  if  it  were  a  kjbe, 
'Twould  put  me  to  my  slipper;  but  I  feel  not 
This  tleity  in  my  bosom :  twenty  consciences. 
That  stand  'twixt  me  and  Milan,  candied  he  they, 
And  melt,  ere  they  molest !  Here  lies  your  brother 
No  better  than  the  earth  he  lies  upon, 
If  he  were  that  which  now  he's  like:  Whom  I, 
With  this  obedient  steel,  three  inches  of  it. 
Can  lay  to  bed  fpr  ever :  whiles  you,  doing  thus, 
To  the  perpetual  wink  for  aye  might  put 
This  ancient  morsel,  this  sir  Prudence,  who 
Should  not  upbrai<l  our  course.    For  all  the  rest. 
They'll  take  suggestion,  as  a  cat  laps  milk  ; 
They'll  tell  the  clock  to  any  business  that 
We  say  befits  the  hour. 

Si'b.  Thy  case,  dear  friend, 

Shall  be  my  precedent;  as  thou  got'st  Milan, 
I'll  come  by  Naples.     Draw  thy  sword  :  one  stroke 
Shall  free  tliee  iVom  the  tribute  which  thou  pay'st ; 
.\nd  I  the  king  shall  love  thee. 

Ant.  Draw  together : 

And  when  I  rear  my  hand  do  you  the  like. 
To  fall  it  on  Gonzalo. 

Seh.  0,  but  one  word  ! 

[They  converse  apart 

lifusie.    Re-enter  Arif.i.,  invi.iihle. 
Ari.  My  master  through  his  art  forsees  the  danger 
That  these,  his  friends,  arc  in ;  and  sends  me  forth, 
(For  else  his  project  dies.)  to  keep  them  living. 

[Sinffs  in  Goszalo's  car. 

If'hile  you  here  ito  snoring  lie, 
Open-eti^il  conspiracy 

His  time  (ttjth  take  : 
If  of  life  ynti  keep  a  care, 
Shiike'off  slumber,  and  beware: 

Aioake .'  .iwake  .' 

Ant.  Then  let  us  both  be  sudden. 

Gon.  Now,  good  angels,  preserve  the  king  ! 

[Ttieii  wake. 
Alon.  Why  how  now,  ho!   awake!    Why  are 
yon  drawn  1 
Wherefore  this  ghastly  looking  1 

Gcni.  What's  the  matter 

Seb.  Whiles  we  stood  Here  securing  your  repose. 
Even  now,  we  heard  a  hollow  burst  ofbellowing 
Like  bulls,  or  rather  lions;  did  it  not  wake  you? 
It  struck  mine  ear  most  terribly. 

'  A  bird  of  the  jackdaw  kind. 


18 


TEMPEST. 


Act  II, 


Alon.  I  heard  nothin;;. 

Aiil.   0,  'twas  a  din  to  friglit  a  monsters  ear; 
To  make  an  eartliquake  !  sure  it  was  tlic  roar 
Of  a  whole  herd  of  hons. 

A'.on.  Heard  you  this,  Oonzalo  1 

G:ni.  Upon  mine  honor,  sir,  1  lieaid  a  humming;:, 
And  thai  a  strange  one  too,  wliich  did  awake  me  : 
I  shak'd  you,  sir.  and  cry'd  :  as  mine  eyes  open'd, 
I  saw  their  weapons  drawn  :  —  there  was  a  noise, 
Tliat's  verity  :  'iiest  stand  upon  our  ^uard  ; 
Or  that  we  quit  this  phice:  let's  draw  our  weapons. 

Aton,  Lead  oil*  this  ground  ;  ami  let's  make  fur- 
ther search 
For  my  poor  son. 

Gon.  Heavens  keep  him  from  these  beasts  ! 

For  he  is,  sure,  i'  the  island. 

Alun.  Lead  away. 

Ari.  Prospero,  my  lord,  shall  know  what  I  have 

done :  [AaUle, 

So,  king,  go  safely  on  to  seek  thy  son.       [Excttnl. 

SCEN  E  IL  —  Another  part  of  t/ie  Islaml. 

Enter  Caliban,  witti  a  burden  of  wood. 

A  nol'^e  of  thunder  heard. 

Cat.   All  the  infections  tiiat  the  sun  sucks  up 
From  bogs,  fens,  Hats,  on  Prosper  tall,  and  make 

him 
By  inch-meal  a  disease !    His  spirits  hear  me. 
And  j'et  I  needs  must  curse.  Hut  they'll  nor  pinch, 
Fright  me  with  urchin  shows,  pitch  me  i'  the  mire, 
Nor  lead  me,  like  a  fire-brand,  in  the  dark 
Out  of  my  way,  unless  he  bid  them  ;  but 
For  every  triUe  are  they  set  upon  me  : 
Sometime  like  apes  tliat  moe»  and  chatter  at  me, 
And  after,  bite  me ;  then  like  hedge-hogs,  which 
Lie  tumbling  in  my  bare  foot-way,  and  mount 
Their  pricks  at  my  foot-fall;  sometime  am  1 
All  wound  with  adders,  who,  with  cloven  tongues, 
Do  hiss  me  into  madness :  —  Lo  !  now !  lo ! 

Enter  TiiixcuLO. 
Hero  comes  a  spirit  of  his  ;  and  to  torment  me. 
For  brineing  wciod  in  slowly:  Fll  fall  Hat; 
Perchance,  lie  will  not  miini  me. 

Trin,  Here's  ncillier  Inish  nor  shrub,  to  bear  off 
any  weather  at  all,  and  another  storm  brewing;  I 
hear  it  sing  i'  the  wind  :  yond'  same  black  cloud, 
yond'  huge  one.  looks  like  a  foul  boinbardi  that 
would  shed  his  liquor.  If  it  should  thunder,  as  it 
did  before,  I  know  not  where  to  hide  my  head : 
yond'  same  cloud  cannot  choose  but  fall  by  pailfula. 
\'v^hat  have  we  here"?  a  man  or  a  lish?  dead  or  alive] 
A  fish :  he  smells  like  a  fish ;  a  very  ancient  and 
lish-like  smell ;  a  kind  of,  not  of  the  newest,  Poor- 
John.  A  strange  fish !  Were  I  in  England  now,  {as 
once  I  was.)  and  had  but  this  fisli  jiainted,  not  a 
holiday-fool  there  but  would  give  a  piece  of  silver  ; 
there  would  this  monster  make  a  man  :  any  strange 
beast  there  makes  a  man  :  when  they  will  not  give 
a  doit  to  relieve  a  lame  beggar,  they  will  lay  out 
ten  to  .see  a  dead  Indian.  Legg'd  like  a  man  ]  and 
his  fins  like  arms!  Warni.o'  my  troth  !  I  do  now 
let  loose  my  opinion,  hold  it  no  longer  ;  this  is  no 
lish,  but  an  islander,  that  hath  lately  sull'er'd  by  a 
thunder-bolt.  [Thunder.]  Alas!  the  storm  is  coming 
again :  my  best  way  is  to  creep  under  his  gaber- 
dineo;  there  is  no  other  shelter  ncreabout:  Misery 
acquaints  a  man  with  strange  bedfellows.  I  will 
litre  shroud,  till  the  dregs  of  the  storm  be  past. 

£;i/er  STErHANo,  singing;  a  bottle  in  liis  tuind. 
Ste.  I  shall  no  more  to  sea,  to  sea, 

Here  shall  I  die  a-shore  ,■  — 
This  is  a  very  scnrvy  tune   to  sing  at  a  man's 
funeral ; 
Well,  here's  my  comfort.  [Drinks. 

Ths  mauler,  the  swabber,  tlie  boatswain,  and  I, 

The  gunner,  and  his  mate, 
tov'd  Malt,  Meg,  and  Marian,  and  Margery, 
B'lt  none  of  us  cared  for  Kale  : 
For  she  had  a  tongue  with  a  tang, 
iVouM  crij  to  a  saihr,  Co  hang  : 
She  lov'd  not  the  savor  of  tar  or  of  pitch. 
Yet  a  tailor  might  scratch  Iter  where'er  she  did 
itch  ■• 
Tlien  to  sea,  lioi/s,  and  let  tier  go  hang. 
»  Make  mouths.    »  X  Ijlack  j.ock  of  le.athor  to  hold  beer. 
oTho  froek  of  a  iivasant. 


This  is  a  scurvy  tune  too:  but  here's  my  comfort. 

[Brinlis. 

Cal.  Do  not  torment  me :  O  ! 

Ste.  What's  the  matter  !  Have  we  devils  here  1 
Do  you  put  triclvs  upon  us  with  savages,  and  men 
of  Inde  I'  Ha  !  1  have  not  'scap'd  drowning,  to  be 
afeard  now  of  your  four  legs  ;  lor  it  hath  been  said, 
As  proper  a  man  as  ever  went  on  four  legs,  cannot 
make  him  give  ground:  and  it  shall  be  said  so 
again,  while  Stepliano  breathes  at  nostrils. 

Cal.   The  spirit  torments  me;  O! 

Ste.  This  is  some  moiisler  of  the  isle  with  four 
legs  ;  who  hath  got,  as  1  tiike  it,  an  ague:  Where 
the  devil  should  ne  learn  our  language?  I  will  give 
him  some  relief,  if  it  le  but  for  that":  If  I  can  re- 
cover him,  and  keep  him  tame,  and  get  to  Naples 
with  him,  he's  a  present  for  any  emperor  that  ever 
trod  on  neat's  leather. 

Cal.   Do  not  torment  me,  pr'ytliee  ; 
I'll  bring  my  wood  home  faster. 

Ste.  He's  in  his  fit  now  ;  and  does  not  talk  after 
the  wisest.  He  shall  taste  of  :ny  bottle  :  if  he  have 
never  drunk  wine  afore,  it  will  go  near  to  remove 
his  fit :  Iff  can  recover  him,  and  keej)  him  tame,  I 
Will  not  take  too  much  forliim:  he  shall  pay  for 
him  that  bath  him,  and  that  soundly. 

('(//.   Thou  dost  me  yet  but  htlle  hurt ;  thou  wilt 
Anon.  I  know  it  by  thy  trembling: 
Now  Prosper  works  upon  thee. 

Ste.  Come  on  your  ways :  open  your  mouth  ; 
here  is  that  which  will  give  language  to  von,  cat ; 
open  your  mouth  :  this  will  shake  your  sliak'ing,  I 
can  tell  you,  and  that  soundly  :  you  cannot  tell 
who's  your  friend  :  open  your  chaps  again. 

Trin.  I  should  know  that  voice :  It  should  be  — 
Put  he  is  drowned  ;  and  these  are  devils:  0  !  de- 
fend me !  — 

Ste.  Four  legs,  and  two  voices;  a  most  delicate 
monster!  His  forward  voice  now  is  lo  speak  well 
of  his  friend;  his  backward  voice  is  to  utter  foul 
speeches,  and  to  detract.  If  all  the  wine  in  my 
bottle  will  recover  him,  I  will  lielii  his  ague;  Come, 
Amen  !  I  will  pour  some  in  thy  other  mouth. 

Trin.   Stepbano  !  — 

Ste.  Doth  thy  other  mouth  call  meT  Mercy! 
mercy  !  this  is  a  devil,  and  no  monster  ]  1  will 
leave  him  ;  I  have  no  long  spoon. 

Trin.  Stepbano  !  —  if  thou  beest  Stepbano,  touch 
me.  and  speak  to  me;  for  I  am  Trinculo; —  be  not 
afeard,  —  thy  good  friend  Trinculo. 

Ste.  If  thou  beest  Trinculo,  come  forth ;  I'll  pull 
thee  by  the  lesser  legs :  if  any  be  Trinculo's  legs, 
tliese  are  they.  Thou  art  very  Trinculo,  indeed. 
How  cam'st  thou  lo  be  the  siege*  of  this  moon-calf? 
Can  he  vent  Trinculos  ? 

Trin.  1  took  him  to  be  killed  with  a  tbuuder- 
stroko  :  —  But  art  thou  not  drowned,  Stepbano! 
I  hope  now  thou  art  not  drowned.  Is  the  storm 
overblown  '.  I  hid  me  under  the  dead  moon-calf's 
gaberdine,  for  fear  of  the  storm:  and  art  tliou 
living,  Stepbano  !  O  Stepbano,  two  Neapolitans 
'scaped  ! 

Ste.  Pr'yihee,  do  not  turn  me  about ;  my  stomach 
is  not  constant. 

Cat.  These  be  fine  things,  an  if  they   be  not 
sprites. 
Tbaf  s  a  brave  god,  and  bears  celestial  liquor  : 
I  will  kneel  to  him. 

Ste.  How  didst  Ihou  'scape  '!  how  cam'st  thou 
hither  1  swear  by  this  bottle,  bow  thou  cam'st  hither. 
I  escaped  upon  a  butt  of  sack,  which  the  sailors 
heaved  overboard,  by  this  bottle  !  which  I  made  of 
the  bark  of  a  tree,  with  mine  own  hands,  since  I 
was  cast  ashore. 

Cal.   I'll  swear,  upon  that  bottle,  to  be  thy 
True  subject ;  for  the  liquor  is  not  earthly. 

Ste.   Here;  swear  then  how  thou  escap'dst. 

Trin.  Swam  a-shore,  man,  like  a  duck  ;  I  can 
swim  like  a  duck,  III  be  sworn. 

Ste.  Here,  kiss  the  book:  Though  thou  canst 
swim  like  a  duck,  thou  art  made  like  a  goose. 

Trin.  O  Stepbano.  hast  any  more  of  this  ! 

Ste.  The  whole  butt,  man  ;  my  cellar  is  in  a  rock 
by  the  sca-.side,  where  my  wine  is  hid.  How  now, 
moon-calf!  how  does  thine  ague  ! 

Cal.   Hast  thou  not  dropped  from  heaven  ? 

Sle.  Out  o'  llie  moon.  I  do  assure  thee:  I  was 
the  man  in  the  moon,  when  time  was. 

itudia.  'Stool. 


Act  ITI    Scene  I. 


TEMPEST. 


19 


Cal.  I  have  soon  thee  in  her,  nnd  I  do  adore  thee; 
Mv  mistress  f^howed  me  thee,  Ihy  do^  and  bush. 

Ste.  Come,  sweiir  to  that ;  kiss  the  book  :  I  will 
furnish  it  anon  with  new  contents  :  swear. 

Trin.  By  this  ^ood  li^ht,  this  is  a  very  shallow 
monster: — I  afeard  of  liim  ? — a  very  weak  monster: 
—  The  man  i'  the  nioonl — a  most  poor  credu- 
lous monster:  —  Well  drawn,   monster,  in  good 
sooth. 

Cfil.  I'll  show  thee  every  fertile  incho'  the  island; 
And  kiss  thy  foot:  I  pr'ythee,  be  my  °;od. 

Trin.  By  thislifjht,  a  most  perfidious  and  drunk- 
en monsttT ;  when  his  gods  asleep,  he'll  rob  his 
bottle. 

CaL  I'll  kiss  thy  foot ;    I'll  swear  myself  thy 
subject. 

Sfe.  Come  on,  then  ;  down  and  swear. 

Tri?i.  I  shall  Ian;xh  myself  to  death  at  this  puppy- 
headed  monster  :  A  most  scurvy  monster!  I  could 
find  in  my  heart  to  beat  him, — 

Sfe.   Come.  kiss. 

Trin.  — ■  but  that  the  poor  monster's  in  drink. 
An  abominable  monster : 

Cal.   Ill  show  thee  the  best  springs  ;  I'll  pluck 
thee  berries; 
I'll  fish  for  thee,  and  2;et  thee  wood  enough. 
A  plague  upon  the  tyrant  that  I  serve  ! 
I'll  bear  him  no  more  sticks,  but  follow  thee, 
Thou  wondrous  man. 


Trin.  A  most  ridiculous  monster!  to  make  a 
wonder  of  a  poor  drunkard. 

C'jI.   I  pr'ythee,  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs 
prow ; 
And  I  with  my  long  nails  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  t!iee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmozet;  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clusfrin*^  filberds,  and  sometimes  I'll  trot  thcc 
Young  sea-mells*  from  the  rock  :    Wilt  thou  go 
with  me  ! 

Sfe.  I  pr'ythee  now  lead  the  way,  without  any 
more  tatkimr. — Trinculo.  the  kins  and  all  our  com- 
pany else  being  drowned,  we  will  inherit  here. — 
Here;  bear  my  bottle.  Fellow  Trinculo,  we'll  liU 
Iiim  by  and  by  again. 

Cal.  Farewell,  master ;  farewells  fareivelK 

\Sinss  drunkenly. 

Trin.  A  howling  monster  ;  a  drunken  monster. 

Cal.  No  more  dams  Til  make  for  fish  ; 
Nfir  fetch  in  firing 
At  requiring, 

Nor  scrape  treiiching;,  nnr  wash  dish, 
^Ban  'Ban,  Ca —  Caliban 
Has  a  new  master —  Get  a  new  man. 

Freedom,  liey-day !    hey-day,  freedom!   freedom, 
hey-day,  freedom ! 
Ste,  0  brave  monster  !  lead  the  way. 

[ExeuTtf, 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.  —  Bf/ore  Prospero's  Cf //. 

Enter  Fetidi>'and,  bearing  a  log- 

Fer.  There  be  some  sports  are  painful;  but  their 
labor 
Delight  in  tliem  sets  off;  some  kinds  of  baseness 
Arc  nobly  undergone;  and  most  poor  matters 
Point  to  ricli  ends.    This  my  mean  task  would  be 
As  heavy  to' me,  as  "tis  odious;  but 
The  mistress,  which  I  serve,  quickens  what's  dead, 
And  makes  my  labors  pleasures :  (),  ahe  is 
Ten  times  more  gentle  than  her  father's  crabbed; 
And  he's  coninosed  of  harshness.    1  must  remove 
Some  thousands  of  these  logs,  and  pile  them  up, 
Upon  a  sore  injunction  :  My  sweet  mistress 
Weeps  when  she  sees  me  work ;   and  says,  such 

baseness 
Had  ne'er  like  executor.    I  forget: 
liiil  these  sweet  thoughts  do  even  refresh  my  labors ; 
Most  busy-less,  wlien  I  do  it. 

Enter  Minxynx;  «;?.(/ PnosrEno  at  a  distance. 

M'lra.  Alas,  now!  pray  you 

W^ork  not  so  hard  :  I  would  tlie  lightning  had 
Burnt  up  those  logs,  that  you  are  enjoin'd  to  pile  ! 
pray  set  it  down,  and  rest  you  :  when  this  burns, 
'Twill  weep  for  having  wearied  you  :  My  father 
Is  hard  at  study ;  pray  now  rest  yourself; 
He's  safe  for  these  three  hours. 

Fer.  O  most  dear  mistress, 

The  sun  will  set,  before  I  shall  discharge 
What  1  must  strive  to  do. 

Mira.  If  you'll  sit  down, 

I'll  bear  your  \oi.s  the  while :  Pray,  give  me  that ; 
I'll  carry  it  to  the  pile. 

Fer.  No,  precious  creature  : 

I  had  rather  crack  my  sinews,  break  my  back. 
Than  you  should  such  dishonor  undergo, 
While  I  sit  lazy  bj'. 

Mira.  It  would  become  me 

As  well  as  it  does  you:  and  I  should  do  it 
With  much  more  ease  ;  for  my  good  will  is  to  it, 
And  yours  against. 

Fro.  Poor  wonn !  thou  art  infected ; 

This  visitation  shows  it. 

Mira.  You  look  wearily. 

Fer.    No,    noble  mistress;    'tis  fresh    morning 
with  me, 
When  you  are  by  at  night.    I  do  beseech  you, 
(Chiefly,  that  I  niight  set  it  in  my  prayers,) 
What  IS  your  name  ] 


Mira.  Miranda:  —  0  my  father, 

I  have  broke  your  hosts  to  say  so  ! 

Fer.  Admir'd  Miranda  ! 

Indeed.  tliC  top  of  admiration  ;  worth 
Whafs  dearest  to  the  world  !  Full  many  a  lady     • 
I  have  ey"d  with  best  regard  ;  and  many  a  time 
The  harinony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear  :  tor  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik'd  several  women;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  delect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  ow"d% 
And  i)Ut  it  to  the  foil:  But  you,  0  you, 
So  perlect,  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  besL  _ 

Mira.  I  do  not  know 

One  of  my  sex  ;  no  woman's  face  remember, 
Siive,  from  my  glass,  mine  own  ;  nor  have  I  seen 
More  that  I  may  call  men,  than  you,  good  friend, 
And  my  dear  father  ;  how  features  arc  abroad, 
I  am  skill-less  of;  but,  by  my  modesty, 
(The  jewel  in  my  dower,)  I  would  not  wish 
Any  companion  in  the  world  but  you; 
Nor  can  imagination  form  a  shape. 
Besides  yourself,  to  like  of;  but  I  prattle 
Something  too  wildly,  and  my  father's  precepts 
Therein  forget. 

Fer.  I  am,  in  my  condition, 

A  prince,  Miranda;  I  do  think,  a  king  ; 
(I  would,  not  so!)  and  would  no  more  endure 
This  wooden  slavery,  than  I  would  sufi'cr 
Tiie   flesh-lly  blow  my  mouth. —  Hear  my   soul 

speak ; — 
The  very  instant  that  I  saw  you,  did 
My  heart  lly  tu  your  service  ;  tliere  resides. 
To  make  me  slave  to  it ;  and,  for  your  sake, 
Ami  this  patient  log-man. 

Mira.  Do  you  love,  me  1 

Fer,  O  Jieaven,  O   earth,  bear  witness  to    tins 
sound, 
And  crown  what  I  profess  with  kind  event, 
If  I  speak  true  !  if  hollowly,  invert 
W'hat  best  is  boded  me,  to  mischief!  I, 
Beyond  all  limit  of  what  else  i"  the  world, 
Do  love,  prize,  honor  you. 

Mira.  I  am  a  fool. 

To  weep  at  what  I  am  glad  of. 

Pro.  Fair  encounter 

Of  two  most  rare  affections  !  Hcuvens  rain  grace 
On  that  which  breeds  between  them  ! 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you  ? 

•  Sea-gullB.  e  Command.  TOwn'J. 


20 


TEMPEST. 


Act  III. 


Mira.   At    mine    unworthiness,   that  dare    not 
oiler 
What  I  desire  to  give  ;  and  much  less  take, 
\Vliat  I  shall  die  to  want :  but  this  is  trilling; 
And  all  tlie  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself. 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.  Hence,  bashful  cunning ! 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence  ! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me  ; 
If  not.  Ill  die  youi^  maid  :  to  be  your  fellow 
^ou  may  deny  me  :  but  111  be  your  servant, 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

/•>'■■  My  mistress,  dearest, 

Anrl  I  thus  humble  ever. 

Mira.  My  husband  then  1 

/•>r.    Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing 
As  bondage  e'er  of  freedom  :  here's  my  hand. 

Mira.  And  mine,  with  my  heart  int :  And  now 
farewell. 
Till  half  an  hour  hence. 

Fcr.  A  thousand!  thousand! 

[Exeunt  I-'kr.  and  Min,\. 

Pro.   So  glad  of  this  as  they,  I  cannot  be. 
Who  are  surprised  with  all ;  but  my  rejoicing 
At  nothing  can  be  more.    I'll  to  my  book  ; 
Kor  yet.  ere  supper-time,  must  1  perform 
Much  business  appertaining.  [Ejcit. 

SCENE  II.  —  Another  part  of  /he  Island. 

Enter  Stephano  and  Tni:fcni.o  ;  Calibas/o/- 
hiwing  tvith  a  bottle. 

Ste.  Tell  not  me ;  —  when  the  butt  is  out,  we 
will  drink  water;  not  a  drop  before;  therefore 
bear  up  and  board  'em :  Servant-monster,  drink  to 
mo. 

Trin.  Servant-monsler]  the  folly  of  this  island  ! 
They  say.  there's  but  five  upon  this  isle:  we  are 
three  of  them  ;  if  the  other  two  be  brained  like  us, 
t  lie  state  totters. 

s/e.  Drink,  servant  monster,  when  I  bid  thee; 
lliy  eyes  are  almost  set  in  thy  head. 

Trin.  Where  should  they  be  set  else'f  he  were 
a  br.ave  monster  indeed,  if  they  were  set  in  his  tail. 

Sle.  My  man-monster  hath  drowned  his  tongue 
in  sack :  for  my  part,  the  sea  cannot  drown  me :  I 
swam,  ere  I  could  recover  the  shore,  five-and-thirty 
leagues,  off  and  on,  by  Ibis  light.  —  Thou  shall  be 
my  lieutenant,  monster,  or  my  standard. 

Trin.  Your  lieutenant,  if  you  hst ;  he's  no 
standard. 

Ste.  'We'll  not  run.  monsieur  njonster. 

Trin.  Nor  go  neither :  but  you'll  lie,  like  dogs  ; 
and  set  say  nothing  neither. 

Sle.  Moon-calf,  speak  once  in  thy  life,  if  thou 
beest  a  good  moon-cilf. 

Cat.  How  does  thy  honor  1  Let  me  lick  thy  shoe  : 
I'll  not  serve  him. —  he's  not  valiant. 

Trin.  Thou  liest,  most  ignorant  monster ;  I  am 
in  case  to  justle  a  constable  :  Why,  thou  debosheda 
lisli  thott,  was  there  ever  man  a  coward,  that  hath 
drunk  so  much  sack  as  I  to-day  7  Wilt  thou  tell  a 
monstrous  lie,  being  but  half  a  fish,  and  half  a 
monster  ] 

Cat.  Lo,  how  he  mocks  me!  "wilt  thou  let  him, 
my  lord  "! 

Tiin.  Lord,  quoth  he  !  — that  a  monster  should 
be  such  a  natural ! 

Cat.   Lo,  lo.  a^rain  !  bite  him  to  death,  I  pr'ythee. 

Ste.  'frinculo,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  your 
head  ;  if  you  prove  a  mutineer,  the  next  tree — The 
poor  monster's  my  subject,  and  he  shall  not  sufli^r 
indignity. 

('//,'.  1  thank  my  noble  lord.  Wilt  thou  be  pleas'd 
To  hearken  once  "again  the  suit  I  made  thee  ] 

Ste.  Marry  will  1:  kiieel,  and  repeat  it;  I  will 
stand,  and  so  shall  Trinculo. 

Enter  Ariel,  invisible. 

Cat.   As  I  told  thee 
nefore,  I  am  subject  to  a  tyrant ; 
A  sorcerer,  that  liy  his  cunning  hath 
Cheated  me  of  this  island. 

Art.  Thou  liest. 

Cat.  Thou  liest,  thou  jesting  monkey,  thou  ; 
T  would  n^y  valiant  master  would  destroy  thee: 
1  do  not  lie. 

Str.  Trinculo,  if  you  trouble  him  any  more  in 
hig  tale,  by  this  hand,  I  wiM  supplant  some  of  your 
teeth. 

•  Debauched. 


Trin.  Why,  I  said  nothing. 
Ste.   Mum  then,  and  no  more.  — [To  Caliban.] 
Proceed. 

Cat.   I  say.  by  sorcery  he  got  this  isle; 
From  me  he  got  it.    If  thy  greatness  will 
Revenge  it  on  him  —  for,  I  know,  thou  dar'st; 
But  this  thing  dare  not. 

Ste.  That  s  most  certain. 

Ca!.  Thou  shalt  be  lord  of  it,  and  I'll  serve  thee. 

Ste.  How  now  shall  this  be  compassed  ]  Canst 
thou  bring  me  to  the  party? 

Cat.  Yea,  yea,  my  lord:  I'll  yield  him  thee  asleep, 
Where  thou  may'st  knock  a  nail  into  his  head. 

An.   Thou  liest,  thou  canst  not. 

Cat.  What  a  pied  ninny's  this!"    Thou  scurvy 
patch  !  — 
T  do  beseech  thy  greatness,  give  him  blows, 
And  take  his  bottle  from  hiin  :  when  that's  gone, 
lie  shall  drink  nought  but  brine  ;  for  I'll  not  show 

him 
Where  the  quick  freshes*  are. 

Sle.  Trinculo,  run  into  no  further  danger  :  inter- 
rupt the  monster  one  word  further,  and.  by  this 
hand,  I'll  turn  my  mercy  out  of  doors,  and  make  a 
stock-fish  of  tiiee. 

Trin.  Why,  what  did  H  I  did  nothing;  I'll  go 
further  off". 

Ste.  Didst  thou  not  say,  he  lied  7 

Ari.   Thou  liest. 

S/e.  Do  I  so  7  take  thou  that.  [Strilies  him.]  As 
you  like  this,  give  me  the  lie  another  time. 

Trin.  I  did  not  give  the  lie:  —  Out  o'  your  wits, 
and  hearing  too  7  —  A  i)0X  o'  your  bottle!  this  can 
sack  and  drinking  do.  —  A  murrain  on  your  mon- 
ster, and  the  devil  take  your  fingers  ! 

Cal.   Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Ste.  Now,  forward  with  your  tale.  Pr'ythee ! 
stand  further  oil'. 

Cal.   Beat  him  enough:  after  a  little  time, 
I'll  beat  him  too. 

Ste.  Stand  further.  —  Come,  proceed. 

Cat.  Why,  as  1  told  thee,  'tis  a  custom  with  him 
r  the  afternoon  to  sleep  :  there  thou  may'st  braui 

him. 
Having  first  seiz'd  his  books;  or  with  a  log 
Batter  his  skull,  or  paunch  him  with  a  stake, 
fir  cut  his  wezand'  with  thy  knife  :  Remember, 
First  to  possess  his  books  ;  for  without  them 
lie's  but  a  sot,  as  I  am,  nor  hath  not 
One  spirit  to  command  :  They  all  do  hate  him, 
.As  rootedly  as  I  ;  Burn  but  his  bonks; 
He  has  brave  utensils,  (for  so  he  calls  them,) 
Which,  when  he  has  a  house,  he'll  deck  withal. 
And  that  most  deeply  to  consider,  is 
The  Ijeauty  of  his  daughter ;  he  himself 
Calls  her  a  nonpareil :  I  ne'er  saw  woman, 
But  only  Sycorax  my  dam  and  she; 
But  she  as  far  surpasseth  Sycorax, 
As  greatest  does  least. 

Ste.  Is  it  so  brave  a  lass  7 

Cat.  A  y.  my  lord :  she  will  become  thy  bed,  . 
warrant. 
And  bring  thee  forth  brave  brood. 

Ste.  Monster,  I  will  kill  this  man  :  his  daughter 
and  I  will  be  king  and  queen  ;  (save  our  graces!) 
and  Trinculo  and  thyself  shall  be  viceroys:  —  Dost 
thou  like  the  plot,  Trinculo? 

Trin.   Excellent. 

Ste.  Give  me  thy  hand  ;  I  am  sorry  I  beat  thee  : 
but,  while  thou  livest,  keep  a  good  tongue  in  thy 
head. 

Cal.  Within  this  half  hour  will  he  be  asleep ; 
Wilt  thou  destroy  him  then  7 

Ste.  '  Ay,  on  mine  honor. 

Ari.  This  will  I  tell  my  master. 
Cal.  Thou  mak'st  me  'merry  :  I  am  full  of  plea- 
sure ; 
Let  us  be  jocund  :  Will  you  troll  the  catch 
You  taught  me  but  while-ere  7 

Sle.  At  thy  request,  monster,  1  will  do  reason, 
any  reason  :  Come  on,  Trinculo,  let  us  sing.  [Si»!j.«. 

Flout  'em,  and  sliout  'em ;  and  sl<out  'em,  and  ^ 

flout  Uin  ; 
Thought  i.5  free. 

Cat.   That's  not  the  tune. 
[.\niKL  plai/s  the  tune  on  a  tabor  and  pipe. 
» .\lluding  to  Trinculo's  party<olorcd  dresi. 
•  Springs.  » Throat. 


Scene  III. 


TEMPEST. 


21 


S/e.   What  is  this  same  7 

Trin.  This  is  the  tune  of  our  catch,  plaj-ed  by 
the  picture  of  N'o-body. 

S.'e.  If  thou  beest  a  man,  sliow  thyself  in   thy 
likeness:  if  thou  beest  a  devil,  talie't  as  thou  list. 

Trill.   0,  forgive  me  my  sins  ! 

Ste.  He  that  dies,  pays  all  debts :  I  defy  thee :  — 
Mercy  upon  us ! 

Cai.  Art  thou  afeard  ? 

Sfe.   No,  monster,  not  I. 

Cat.   Be  not  afeard;  the  isle  is  full  of  noises, 
Sounds  and  sweet  airs,  that  give,  delight  and  liurt 

not. 
.Sometimes  a  thousand  twan^lin?  mstruments 
Will  hum  about  mine  ears  ;  and  sometimes  voices, 
That,  if  I  tlicn  had  wak'd  after  long  sleep, 
Wdl  make  me  sleep  again  :  and  then,  in  dreaming. 
The  clouds,  methought.would  open,  and  sliow  riches 
Ready  to  drop  upon  me ;  that,  when  1  wakd, 
I  cry*d  to  dream  aixain. 

Ste.  This  will  prove  a  brave  kingdom  to  me, 
wliere  I  shall  have  my  music  for  nothing. 

Cal.   When  Prospcro  is  destroyed. 

Ste.   That  shall  be  by  and  by  :  I  remember  tlie 
story. 

Trin.  The  sound  is  going  away  :  let's  follow  it, 
and  after,  do  our  work. 

S/e.   Lead,  monster  ;  we'll  follow.  —  I  would  I 
could  see  this  taborer:  he  lays  it  on. 

Trin.  Wiltcomn?  Ill  follow,  Stephano.  [£j;e«n/. 

SCENE   III.  — Allot ker  part  of  Me  Island. 

Enter  Alovso,  SEnASTiA>',  Antonio,  Gonzalo, 
Adrian,  Fuancisco,  and  ot/ters. 

Con.   By'r  lakin,"  I  can  go  no  further,  sir; 
My  old  bones  ache  ;  here's  a  maze  trod,  indeed. 
Through  forth-rights,  and  meanders  !  by  your  pa- 
tience, 
I  needs  must  rest  me. 

Altin.  (lid  lord,  I  cannot  blame  thee, 

Who  am  myself  attach'd  with  weariness. 
To  the  dulhng  of  my  spirits  :  sit  down,  and  rest. 
Even  here  1  will  put  olt  my  hope,  and  keep  it 
No  longer  for  my  flatterer  :  he  is  drown'd. 
Whom  thus  we  stray  to  fmd  ;  and  the  sea  mocks 
Our  frustrate  search  on  land  :  well,  let  him  go. 

Ant.  I  am  right  glad  that  he's  so  out  of  hope. 
{.iude  to  Skbastian. 
Do  not,  for  one  repulse,  forego  the  purpose 
That  you  resolv'd  to  effect. 

Se.b.  The  next  advantage 

Will  we  take  thoroughly. 

Ant.  T.et  it  he  to-night ; 

For,  now  they  are  oppress'd  with  travel,  they 
Will  not,  nor  cannot,  use  such  vigilance. 
As  when  they  are  fresh. 

Seb.  I  say,  to-night :  no  more. 

Solemn  and  strans^e  Musir  ,-  and  Pbospkhip  alore. 
iiivmtile.  r.nter  Severn  I  strniiKe  Shapes,  tirina- 
ing  in  a  Banquet ;  ttiei/  dance  (fhortt  it  with 
gentle  actions  of  salutatimi  ;  and,  inviting  tlie 
King,  A'c.  to  eat,  ttieij  depart. 

Alon.  What  harmony  is  this  1  my  good  friends, 
hark  ! 

Gon.  Marvelous  sweet  music ! 

Alon.   Give  us  kind  keepers,  heavens!    What 
were  these  1 

Sell.   A  living  drollery  :«  Now  I  will  believe. 
That  there  are  unicorns:  that  in  Arabia 
There  is  one  tree,  the  phoenix'  throne ;  one  phoenix 
At  this  hour  reigning  there. 

Ant.  I'll  believe  both  ; 

And  what  does  else  want  credit,  come  to  me, 
And  I'll  be  sworn 'tis  true:  Travelers  ne'er  did  lie, 
Tliougli  fools  at  home  condemn  them. 

Gon.  If  in  Naples 

I  should  report  this  now.  would  they  believe  me  T 
If  I  should  say  I  saw  such  islanders, 
(For,  certes.  these  are  people  of  the  island.) 
Who,  though  they  are  of  monstrousshane,  yet,  note. 
Their  manners  are  more  gentle-kind,  than  of 
Our  human  generation  you  shall  tind 
Many,  nay,  almost  any. 

Pro.  Honest  lord. 

Thou  hast  said  well :  for  some  of  you  there  present 
Are  worse  than  devils.  [Aside. 

aOurla.Jy.  «Show. 


Alan.  I  cannot  too  much  muse. 

Such  shapes,  such   gestures,  and  such   sound,  ev- 

pressing 
(Although  they  want  the  use  of  tongue)  a  kind 
Of  excellent  dumb  discourse. 
I'ro.  Praise  in  departing. 

[Aside, 
Fran,   They  vanish'd  strangely. 
Sell.  No  matter,  since 

They  have  left  llieir  viands  behind ;  for  we  have 

stomachs. — 
Will't  please  you  taste  of  what  is  here  1 
Alon.  Not  1. 

Con,  Faith,  sir,  you  need  not  fear :    Wlien  we 
were  boys. 
Who  would  believe  that  there  were  moHntaineers, 
Dew-lapp'd  like  bulls,  whose  throats  had  hanging 

at  them 
Wallets  of  flesh  1    or  that  there  were  such  men. 
Whose  heads  stood  in  their  breasts  ?  which  now 

we  And, 
Each  putter-out  on  five  for  one,  will  bring  us 
Good  warrant  of. 

Alon.  I  will  stand  to,  and  feed, 

Although  my  last:  no  matter,  since  I  feel 
The  best  is  past:  —  Brother,  my  lord  the  duke. 
Stand  to,  and  do  as  we. 

Thunder  and   liithtninfr.     Enter   Aiuki.   like  a 
liarpij  ;    claps  his  ivirms  ajyin  the  table,  and, 
with  a  quaint  device,  the  banquet  vani.ihes. 
Ari.   You  are  three  men  of  sin,  whom  destiny 
(That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world. 
And  what  is  in't.)  the  never-surfeited  sea 
Hath  caused  to  belch  up  ;  and  on  this  island 
Where  man  doth  not  inhabit ;  you  'mongst  men 
Being  most  unfit  to  live.    I  have  made  you  mad  : 

[Seeing  Alon.,  Sek.,  iVc  draw  their  swords. 
And  even  with  such  like  valor,  men  hang  and 

drown 
Their  proper  selves.    You  fools!  I  and  my  fellows 
Are  ministers  of  fote;  the  elements 
Of  whom  your  swords  are  temper'd,  may  as  well 
Wound  the  loud  winds,  or  with  bcmock'd-at  stabs 
Kill  the  still-closing  waters,  as  diminish 
One  dowie' that's  iii  my  plume;  my  fellow-ministers 
Are  like  invulnerable  :  if  you  could  hurt. 
Your  swords  arc  now  too  massy  for  your  strengths. 
And  will  not  be  upliflcd  :  But  remember. 
(For  that's  my  business  to  you,)  that  you  three 
From  Milan  did  supplant  good  Prospcro; 
Expos'd  unto  the  sea.  which  liath  requit  it. 
II  im,  and  his  innocent  child  ;  for  which  foul  deed 
The  powers,  delaying,  not  forgetting,  have 
Incens'd  the  seas  and  shores,  yea,  all  the  creatures, 
Ai;ainst  your  peace  :  Thee  of  thy  son,  Alonso, 
They  have  bereft!  and  do  pronounce  by  me, 
Lingering  perdition  (worse  than  any  death 
Can  be  at  once)  shall  step  by  step  attend 
You,  and  your  ways;  w.ho3e  wrath  to  guard  you 

from 
(Which  here,  in  this  most  desolate  isle,  else  falls 
l'I)on  yiinr  heads,)  is  nothing,  but  heart's  sorrow, 
And  a  clear"  life  ensuing. 

He  vani-thes  in  thunder:  then,  to  soft  music,  enter 
the  Shapes  again,  and  dance  with  mops  and 
niowes,  and  carry  out  the  table. 
Pro.  \Aslie.\   Bravely  the  figure  of  this  liarpy 
hast  thou 
Perfonii'd.  my  Ariel ;  a  grace  it  had,  devouring  : 
t)f  my  instruction  hast  tliou  nothini;  'bated. 
In  what  thou  hadst  to  say;  so,  with  good  life, 
.\nd  obser\'ation  stranse,  mv  meaner  ministers 
Their  several  kinds  have  done :  my  high  charms 

work. 
And  these,  mine  enemies,  are  all  knit  up 
In  their  distractions  :  they  now  are  in  my  power; 
And  in  these  fits  I  leave  them,  whilst  I  visit 
Young  Ferdinand,  (whom  they  suppose  is  drown'd,) 
And  his  and  my  lov'd  darling. 

[Exit  PuosPEno  from  above, 
Gon.  r  the  name  of  something  holy,  sir,  why 
stand  you 
In  this  strange  stare  ? 

Alon,  O,  it  is  monstrous !  monstrous ! 

Methought  the  billows  spoke,  and  told  me  of  it ; 
The  winds  did  sing  it  to  me  ;  and  the  timnder, 
6  Down.  6  Pure,  blameless 


'2-2 


TEMPEST. 


Act  IV 


That  deep  and  dreadful  orf;an-pipc.  pronounced 
Tlie  name  of  Prosper  ;  it  did  bass  my  trespass. 
Therefore  mj-  son  i'  the  ooze  is  bedded ;  and 
I'jl  seek  him  deeper  than  e'er  plumjnet  sounded, 
And  witli  him  tliere  lie  niudded.  [£.rit. 

Sell.  Ji  ut  one  fiend  at  a  time, 

I'll  fisht  their  legions  o'er. 

-i"l-  I'll  be  thy  second. 

[Exeunt  Skb.  and  Ast. 


Con.  All  three   of  them  are  desperate;    tlieir 
great  guilt, 
Like  poison  given  to  work  a  great  time  after. 

Now  gins  to  bite  the  spirits  : 1  do  beseech  yon 

That  are  of  suppler  joints,  follow  them  swiftly, 
And  hinder  them  from  what  this  ecstasy 
May  now  provoke  them  to. 
'!'''■•  Follow,  I  pray  you. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  h  — Before  Prosperous  CelL 
Enter  Pnosptno,  FEninsAXD,  and  MinA:?DA. 

Pro.  If  I  have  too  austerely  punish'd  you, 
Your  coinpensation  makes  amends  ;  for  I 
Have  friven  you  here  a  tfircad  of  mine  own  life, 
Or  tliat  for  which  I  live  ;  whom  once  again 
1  tender  to  thy  hand ;  all  thy  vexations 
Were  but  my  trials  of  thy  love,  and  thou 
Hast  stran2:ely  stood  the  test :  here,  afore  heaven, 
I  ratify  this  my  rich  gift.    0  Ferdinand, 
])o  not  smile  at  mc,  that  I  boast  her  ofV, 
For  thou  shall  find  she  will  outstrip  all  praise. 
And  make  it  halt  behind  her. 

Fcr.  I  do  believe  it, 

Against  an  oracle. 

Pro.  Then,  asmyfrift,  and  thine  own  acquisition 
Worthily  purchas'd,  take  my  dauirhter:  But 
If  thou  dost  break  her  vir;^in  knot  before 
All  sanctimonious  corcmnnies  may 
With  full  and  holy  rites  he  minister'd. 
No  sweet  aspersion'  shall  the  Iieavens  let  fall 
To  make  this  contract  prow  ;  but  barren  hate, 
Sour-ey'd  disdain,  and  discord,  shall  bestrew 
The  union  of  your  bed  with  weeds  so  loathly. 
That  you  shall  hate  it  both  :  tberet'ore,  take  heed. 
As  Hymen's  lamps  shall  light  you. 

Fer.  As  I  hope 

For  quiet  days,  fair  issue,  and  Ions:  life, 
With  such  love  as  'tis  now  ;  the  murkiest  den. 
The  most  opportune  place,  the  strongest  suggestion 
Our  worser  Genius  can,  shall  never  melt 
Mine  honor  into  lust ;  to  take  away 
The  edj:e  of  that  day's  celebration, 
When  I  sliall  think,  or  Phoebus' steeds  are  foun- 

derd, 
Or  night  kept  chair'd  below. 

Pro.  Fairly  spoke : 

Sit  tiien.  and  talk  with  her,  she  is  thine  own. — 
What,  Ariel ;  my  industrious  servant  Ariel ! 

Enter  Arikl. 

Ari.  What  would  my  potent  master  ?  here  I  am. 

Fro*  Thou  and  thy  meaner  fellows  your  last  ser- 
vice 
Did  worthily  perform;  and  I  must  use  you 
In  such  another  trick  :  go,  bring  the  rabble, 
O'er  wiiom  I  give  thee  power,  Jierc  to  this  place  : 
Incite  them  to  quick  motion  ;  for  I  must 
IiPstow  upon  the  eyes  of  thi'?  young  couple 
Some  vanity  of  mine  art ;  it  is  my  promise, 
And  they  expect  it  from  me. 

Ari.  Presently '! 

Pro.   Ay,  with  a  twink. 

Ari.   Refore  you  can  say.  Come,  and  go, 
And  breathe  twice  ;  and  cry,  so,so  ; 
Kach  one  tripping  on  his  ioe. 
Will  be  here  with  mop  and  mowe; 
Do  you  love  me,  master  !  no. 

Pro.  Dearly,  my  delicate  Ariel :  do  not  approach, 
Till  thou  dost  hear  me  call. 

Ari.  Well  I  conceive.  [Exit. 

Pro.  Look,  thou  bo  true  ;  do  not  give  dalliance 
Too  much  the  rein ;  the  strongest  oaths  are  straw 
To  the  tire  i'  the  blood  :  be  more  abstemious, 
Or  else,  good  night,  your  vow! 

Fi-r.  I  warrant  you,  sir; 

Tiie  white-cold  viririn  snow  upon  my  heart 
Abates  the  ardor  of  my  liver. 
'  Sprinkling. 


Pro.  Well.— 

Now  come,  my  Ariel;  bring  a  corollary,*" . 
Rather  than  want  a  spirit;  appear,  and  pertly. — 
No  tongue  ;  all  eyes  ;  be  silent.  [Soft  music, 

A  Masque.    E?iter  Inrs. 
Tn.9.  Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 
Of  wheat,  rye,  barley,  vetclies.  oaLs.  and  peas ; 
Thy  turly  mountains,  where  live  nibhlins  sheep, 
And  flat  meads  thatch'd  with  stover,  them  to  keep; 
Thy  banks  with  peonicd  and  hllied  brims, 
AVhich  spongy  April  at  thy  hest>  betrims, 
To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns;   and  thy 

broom  groves. 
Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves, 
Heing  lass-lorn  ;  thy  pole-clipt  vineyard  ; 
And  thy  sea-mar^e,  stcrii,  and  rocky-hard, 
Where  thou  thyself  dost  air:  The  queen  o'  the  sky, 
Whose  w^ifry  arch,  and  messenger,  am  I, 
Bids  thee  leave  these;  and  with  her  sovereign  grace, 
Here,  on  this  grass-plot,  in  this  very  place. 
To  come  and  sport :  her  peacock's  lly  amain  ; 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain. 

Enter  Ceties. 
Cer.  Hail,  many-colored  messenger,  that  ne'er 
Dost  disobey  the  wife  of  Jupiter; 
Who,  with  ihy  satlron  wings,  upon  my  tlowers 
DilPuscst  honey-drops,  refreshing  showers; 
And  with  each  end  of  thy  blue  bow  dost  cro\Mi 
My  boskys  acres,  and  my  unshrubb'd  down. 
Rich  scarf  to  my  proud  earth;  Why  hath  thy  queen 
Summon"d  me  hither,  to  this  short-grass'd  green'.' 

Iris.   A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate ; 
And  some  donation  freely  to  estate 
On  the  blessd  lovers. 

Cer.  Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 

If  Venus,  or  her  son,  as  thou  dost  know. 
Do  now  attend  the  queen  ?  since  they  did  plot 
The  means,  that  dusky  Dis»  my  dauL;hter  got, 
Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandalM  company 
I  have  forsworn. 

Irt^.  Of  her  society 

Be  n£t  afraid  ;  I  met  her  deity 
Cutting  the  clouds  toward  Paphos  ;  and  her  son 
Dove-drawn  with  her  :   here  thought  ilicy  to  have 

done 
Some  wanton  charm  upon  this  man  and  maid. 
Whose  vows  are,  that  no  bed-rite  shall  be  paid 
Till  Hymen's  torch  be  li^dited:  but  in  vain; 
Mar's  not  minion  is  return'd  airam  ; 
Her  waspish-headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows, 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more,  but  play  with  spar- 
rows, 
And  be  a  boy  right  out. 

Cer.  Highest  queen  of  state, 

Great  Jvmo  comes  :  I  know  her  by  her  gait. 

Enter  Juxo. 

Juno.  ITow  does  my  bounteous  sister  ?   Go  with 
me. 
To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous  he, 
And  honor'd  in  their  issue. 

SONG. 
Juno.  Honor^  rirk^-i,  rjiarriag-e-ble-'^ain^^ 
Lons:  confinj/onre,  and  iricreaMng, 
IIimr!i/J<)Uft  he  s'iU  upon  you  ! 
Junn  shi?:;^  tier  blfi'^sinfcs  on  you. 
"  Alit-natioQ  of  mind       'Surplus.      '  Command, 
a  Woody.  "  Pluto. 


Scene  I. 


TEMPEST. 


23 


Ccr.  Earlk's  increase,  andfui'-on*  jilenly  ; 
Barns,  and  ^arnci'S  never  en/ptif  ; 
Vines  wilk  clusVring  bunches  growing  ; 
Plants,  n'Uh  suudlij  burden  bowing  ,- 
Spring  come  hi  you,  at  thefartluii, 
In  Ike  very  end  of  harvest .' 
Scarcity  and  want  shall  shun  tjou  ; 
Ceres'  blessing  su  is  on  you. 
Fer.  This  is  a  most  majestic  vision,  and 
Harmonious  cJiarmingly  :  May  I  be  bold 
To  tliinJv  tliese  spirits'! 

Pro.  Spirits,  which  by  mine  art 

I  have  from  their  confines  call'd  to  enact 
My  present  fancies. 

Per.  Let  me  live  here  ever  : 

So  rare  a  wonderM*  father  and  a  wife, 
Make  this  place  paradise. 

[JcNO  and  Cents  whisper,  and  send  Iris 
on  employment. 
Pro.     .  Sweet  now,  silence : 

Juno  and  Ceres  whisper  seriously  ; 
There's  something  else  to  do  :  hush,  and  be  mute, 
Or  else  our  spell  is  marrd. 
Iris.  You  nymphs,  call'd  Naiads,  of  the  wan- 
d'rins  brooks, 
With  your  sedg'd  crowns,  andever  harmless  looks, 
Leave  your  crisp  channels,  and  on  this  ^'reeji  land 
Answer  your  summons  ;  Juno  does  command: 
Come,  temperate  nymphs,  and  help  to  celebrate 
A  contract  of  true  iove  ;  be  not  too  late. 

Enter  certain  Nymphs. 
You  sun^urn'd  sicklemcn,  of  Autrust  weary. 
Come  hitlier  from  the  furrow,  and  be  merry  ; 
Malce  lioly-day  :  your  rye-straw  hats  put  on. 
And  these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  one 
In  coutitry  footing. 

Enter  certain  Reapers,  properly  habited  :  they  join 
v:Uh  the  Nijmphs  in  a  grateful  dance;  toward 
the  end  wfiereof  Phospkro  starts  suddenly  and 
spealvs ;  after  which,  to  a  strange,  hollow,  and 
confused  noise,  they  heavily  vanish. 
Pro,  [A»idf.]  1  had  forgot  that  foul  conspiracy 
Of  the  beast  Caliban,  and  his  conl'ederates. 
Against  my  life;  the  minute  of  their  plot 
Is  almost  come.  —  [To  the  Spirits.]  Well  done  ;  — 
avoid;  —  no  more. 
Fer.  Tliis  is  most  strange  :  your  father's  in  some 
passion 
That  works  him  strongly. 

^tira.  Never  till  this  day. 

Saw  1  him  toucliM  with  anger  so  dislemperd. 
Pro.  You  do  look,  my  son,  in  a  mov'd  sort, 
As  if  you  were  dismay'd  :  be  cheerful,  sir  : 
Our  revels  now  are  ended  :  these  our  actors. 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air.  into  thin  air  ; 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision. 
Tile  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces. 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itsylf. 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve  ; 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind:  We'arc  such  stutf 
As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  witti  asleep.  —  Sir,  I  am  vex'd  ; 
Hear  with  ni3*  weakness :  my  old  brain  is  troubled. 
Be  not  disturbed  with  my  intirmity  : 
If  you  be  pleasM.  retire  into  my  cell. 
And  there  repose;  a  turn  or  two  II  walk, 
To  still  my  beating  mind, 
Fer.  Mira.  We  wish  you  peace. 

[Exeunt. 
Pro.  Come  with  a  thought : —  I  thank  you  :  — 
Ariel,  come. 

Enter  Auin. 
Ari.  Thy  thoughts  I  cleave  to ;  What's  thy  plea- 
sure ! 
Pro.  Spirit, 

We  inust  prepare  to  meet  with  Caliban. 
Ari,   Ay,    my   commander :   when   I   presented 
Ceres, 
I  thouglit  to  have  told  thee  of  it ;  but  I  fear'd, 
Lest  I  might  anger  thee. 
Pro.  Say  again,  where  didst  thou  leave  these 
varlets  1 
*  Abundance.      •  AWe  to  produce  such  wonders. 


Ari.    I    told  you,  sir,  they  were  red  hot  with 
drinking: 
So  full  of  valor,  that  they  smote  the  air 
For  breathing  in  their  faces:  beat  the  ground 
For  kissing  of  their  feet;  yet  always  bending 
reward  their  project:  Then  I  beat  my  tabor, 
.\t  which,  like  unback'd  colts,  they  prick'd  their  ears, 
Advanced  their  eyelids,  lifted  up  their  noses. 
As  they  smelt  music  ;  so  1  channM  their  ears. 
That,  calf-like,  they  my  lowing  followd,  through 
Toothd  briers,  sharp  furzes,  pricking  goss,  and 

thorns, 
Which  enter'd  their  frail  shins  ;  at  last  I  left  them 
V  the  lillhy  mantled  pool  beyond  your  cell. 
There  dancing  up  to  the  chins,  that  tlie  foul  lake 
O'er-stunk  their  feet. 

Pro.  This  was  well  done,  my  bird. 

Thy  shape  invisible  retain  thou  still : 
The  trumpery  in  mv  house,  go,  bring  it  hither. 
For  stale'  to  catch  these  thieves. 

Ari.  I  go,  I  go.  [Exit. 

Pro.  A  devil,  a  bom  devil,  on  whose  nature 
Nurture"  can  never  stick  ;  on  whom  my  pains. 
Humanely  taken,  all,  all  lost,  quite  lost ; 
And  as,  with  age,  his  body  uglier  grows, 
So  his  mind  cankers  :  I  will  plague  them  all. 

Re-enter  Ariel,  loailen  until  glistering  apjiarel, 

Ac. 

Even  to  roaring:  —  Come,  hang  them  on  this  line. 

PnnspEno  and  Ainr.i.  rrmnin  inrhi'ile.    Enter 

Calibax,  Stepiiano,  and  TiiixcuLo,  all  wet. 

Cal.   Pray  you,  tread  softly,  that  tile  blind  mole 
may  not 
Hear  a  foot  fall ;  we  now  are  near  his  cell. 

Sle.  Monster,  your  fairy,  which,  you  say,  is  .\ 
harmless  fairy,  has  done  little  better  than  "played 
the  Jack'  with  us. 

Trin.  Monster,  I  do  smell  all  horse-piss,  at 
which  my  nose  is  in  great  indignation. 

Str.  So  is  mine.  Do  you  hear,  monster  7  If  I 
should  take  a  displeasure  against  you;  look  you, — 

Trin.  Thou  wcrt  but  a  lost  monster. 

Cat.   Good  mv  lord,  give  me  thy  favor  still : 
Re  patient,  for  the  prize  I'll  bring  tlice  to 
Shall  hood-wink  this  mischance :  Uierefore,  speak 

softly, 
All's  hush'd  as  midnight  yet. 

Trin.  Ay,  but  to  lose  our  bottles  in  the  poo!, — 

Sle.  There's  not  only  disgrace  and  disinuior  in 
that,  monster,  but  an  inlinite  loss. 

Trin.  Thai's  more  to  nie  tlian  my  welting  :  yet 
this  is  your  harmless  fairy,  monster. 

Sle.  I  will  fetch  oil'  niy  bottle,  tliough  I  be  o'er 
ears  for  my  labor. 

Cul.  Pr'y  thee.my  king,  he  quiet :  Secst  thou  here. 
This  is  the  mouth  of  the  cell :  no  noise,  and  enter  : 
Do  that  good  mischief,  which  may  make  tills  island 
Thine  own  for  ever,  and  I,  thy  Caliban, 
For  aye  thy  foot-licker. 

Sle.  Give  me  thy  hand:  I  do  begin  to  have  bloody 
thouglils. 

Trin.  n  king  Stcphano!  O  peer!  O  worthy 
Stephono  !  look  what  a  waidrobe  liere  is  for  thee"! 

Cal.  Let  it  alone,  thou  fool ;  it  is  but  trash. 

Trin.  O,  ho,  monster;  wo  know  what  belongs  to 
a  frippery:'  —  ()  king  Slephano! 

.S/(,  P"ut  olT  that  gown,  Trinculo  ;  by  this  hand, 
I'll  have  that  gown. 

Trin.   Thy  grace  shall  liave  it. 

Cat.   I'he  dropsy  drown  this  fool !  what  do  you 
mean. 
To  doat  thus  on  sucli  luggage  1    Let's  along 
And  do  the  murder  first:  ifbe  awake, 
From  toe  to  crov/n  he  II  fill  our  skins  with  pinches; 
Make  us  strange  stnlf. 

Sle.  lie  you  quiet,  monster.  —  Mistress  line,  i^ 
not  this  my  jerk.n  !  Now  is  ti.e  jerkin  under  the 
lino:  now,  jerkin,  you  are  like  to  lose  your  hair, 
and  prove  a  bald  jerkin. 

Trill.  Do,  do:  We  steal  byline  and  level,  a'nt 
like  your  grace. 

Sle.   1  tliank  tliee  for  that  j-st ;  here's  a  srarment 
for't :  wit  shall  not  go  unrewarded,  wbiic  I  am  king 
of  this  country  :  Steal  by  line  and  Icrtl,  is  an  ex- 
cellent pass  of  pate ;  there  s  another  garment  "br'U 
•  Bait.        iLdiication.        e.T;«:k  with  u  lanli-m. 
«.\  shop  for  sale  of  oU  clothes. 


24 


TEMPEST. 


Act  V. 


Trin.  Monster,  come,  put  some  liine^  upon  your 
fnii^ers,  and  awiiy  with  the  rest. 

Ca'.  I  will  have  none  on't:  we  shall  lose  our  time, 
And  all  be  tuni'd  to  barnacles,  or  to  apes 
With  foreheads  villaneous  low. 

Sfe.  Monster,  lay-to  your  fin°;ers ;  help  to  bear 
this  away,  where  my  hogshead  of  wine  is,  or  I'll 
turn  you  out  of  my  kingdom;  go  to,  carry  this. 

Trin.   And  this. 

.S7e.  Ay*  and  this. 

A  nnUe  of  hunirrs  heard.  Enter  divers  Spirits,  in 
shape  of  fwunds^  and  hunt  them  about  ;  Pkos- 
PEHO  and  AuiEL  setting  them  on. 

Pro.  Hey,  Mountain,  hey  ! 


ArL   Silver  !  there  it  goes,  Silver/ 

Pro.  Funi !  Fury  !  there.  Tyrant,  there  !  hark, 
hark  ! 

Cat,.,  Ste.,  and  Ttiin,  ore  driven  out. 
no,  charge  my  goblins  that  they  grind  their  joints 
With  dry  convulsions  ;  shorten  up  their  sinews 
With  aged  cramps;  and  more  pinch-spotted  make 

them, 
Than  pard»,  or  cat  o'  mountain. 

Ari.  Hark,  they  roar. 

Pro.   Let  them  be  hunted  soundly  :   at  this  hour 
Lie  at  my  mercy  all  mine  enemies  : 
Shortly  shall  all  my  labors  end,  and  thou 
Shalt  have  the  air  at  freedom  :  for  a  little. 
Follow,  and  do  me  service.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  \.  — Before  the  Cell  of  Prospero. 
Enter  PnospEno  in  his  ynag^ic  robins,  and  Ahiel. 

Pro.   Now  does  my  project  gather  to  a  head  : 
My  charms  crack  not;  my  spirits  obey  ;  and  time 
Goes  upright  with  his  carriage.    Hows  the  day  7 

Ari.   On  the  sixth  hour ;  at  which  time,  my  lord, 
You  said  our  work  should  cease. 

Pro.  I  did  say  so. 

When  first  I  rais'd  the  tempest.    Say,  my  spirit, 
How  fares  the  king  and  his] 

Ari.  Confin'd  together 

In  the  same  fasliion  as  you  gave  in  charge; 
Just  as  you  left  tliem.  sir;  all  prisoners 
111  the  liine-grove  which  weather-feuds'*  your  cell; 
They  i-annot  budge,  till  you  release.    The  king. 
His  brother,  and  yours,  abide  all  three  distracted  ; 
And  the  remainder  mourning  over  them, 
Iirim-t\)ll  of  sorrow  and  dismay  ;  but  chiefly 
Him  you  termd,  sir.  The  good'  old  lord,  Gonzalo  ,• 
His  tears  run  down  his  beard,  like  winter's  drops 
From  eaves  of  reeds:  yourcharmso  strong-ly  works 

them, 
That  if  you  now  beheld  them,  your  afTections 
Would  become  tender. 

Pro.  Dost  thou  think  so,  spirit  T 

Ari.  Mine  would,  sir,  were  I  human. 

Pro.  And  mine  shall. 

Hast  thou,  which  art  but  air,  a  touch,  a  tVebng 
of  their  alTlictions]  and  shall  not  invsel;". 
One  of  their  kind,  that  relish  all  as  sharply 
Passion  as  they,  be  kindlier  mov'd  than  thou  art? 
Though  with  their  high  wrongs  I  am  struck  to  the 

quick. 
Vet,  with  my  nobler  reason,  ''gainst  my  fury 
Do  I  take  jiart :  the  rarer  action  is 
In  virtue  than  in  vengeance;  they  being  penitent, 
The  sole  drift  of  my  purpose  doth  extend 
Not  a  fVown  further  :  Oo,  release  them,  Ariel ; 
My  charms  III  break,  their  senses  I'll  restore. 
And  they  shall  be  themselves. 

Ari.  I'll  fetch  them,  sir. 

[Exit. 

Pro,  Ye  elves  of  hills,  brooks,  standing  lakes, 
and  groves ; 
And  ye,  that  on  the  sands  with  printless  foot 
Do  cbase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  Ily  him. 
When  he  comes  back  ;  you  demi-pnppets,  that 
Hv  moon-shine  do  the  green-sour  riniilets  make. 
Whereof  the  ewe  not  bites;  and  you,  whose  pastime 
Is  to  make  midnight-mushrooms;  that  rejoice 
To  hear  the  solemn  curfew  ;  by  whose  aid 
(Weak  masters  though  you  be)  I  have  be-dimm'd 
The  noon-tide  sun,  calPd  forth  the  mutinous  winds. 
And  'tvvixt  the  ^reen  sea  and  the  azAir'd  vault 
Set  roaring  war  :  to  the  dread  rattling  thunder 
Have  1  given  fire,  and  rifled  Jove's  stout  oak 
\W\\h  his  own  bolt:  the  strong-bas'd  promontory 
Have  I  mado  shake;  and  by  the  spurs  pluck'd  up 
The  pine,  and  cedar:  graves,  at  my  command. 
Have  wak'd  theirsleepers;  oped,  and  let  Iliem  forth 
Hv  my  so  potent  art:  But  this  roui^h  nia^iic 
I  )icre  abjure:  and.  when  I  have  requirM 
Some  lie:iven!y  music,  (which  even  now  I  do,) 
»  BirJ-lime.  a  Defends  from  bad  weather. 


To  work  mine  end  upon  their  senses,  that 

This  airy  charm  is  for,  I'll  break  my  stalf, 

Bury  it  certain  fathoms  in  the  earth. 

And  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound, 

I'll  drown  my  book.  [Solemn  Music. 

Re-enter  Ariel  :  after  him  Aloxso,  icith  a  frantic 
gesture,  attended  by  Gonzalo  ;  Sebastian  and 
Antonio  i/i  like  manner  attended  /)j/ Ad  in  ax 
and  FnAN*"jsco :  They  all  enter  the  cirele  ichich 
PnospETto  had  made,  and  there  stand  charmed  ; 
which  PitosrETio  observing,  speaks. 

A  solemn  air,  and  the  best  comforter 

To  an  unsettled  fancy,  cure  thy  briiins. 

Now  useless,  boiled  within  thy  skull!  There  stand, 

For  you  are  spell-stopp'd. 

Holy  Gonzalo,  honorable  man. 
Mine  eyes,  even  sociable  to  the  shew  of  thine. 
Fall  fellowly  drops. —  The  charm  dissolves  apace; 
And  as  the  mornnig  steals  upon  the  niL'ht, 
Melting  the  darkness,  so  their  rising  senses 
Hegin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason^  —  O  my  good  Gonzalo, 
My  true  preserver,  and  a  loyal  sir 
To  him  thou  follnw'st ;  I  will  pay  thy  graces 
Home  both  in  word  and  deed.  —  Most  cruelly 
Didst  thou,  Alonso,  use  me  and  my  daughter. 
Thy  brother  was  a  furtheier  in  the  act;  — 
Thbu'rt  pinch'd  for't  now,  Sebastian. — Flesh  and 

blood. 
You  brotlier  mine,  that  entertain'd  ambition, 
Expeird  remorse'  and  nature;  who.  with  Sehastian, 
(Whose  inward  pinches  therefore  are  most  strong,) 
Woulil  here  have  kill'd  your  king;  1  do  forgivethee, 
Unnatural  though  thou  "art!  —  Their  understanding 
neizins  to  swell;  and  the  approaching  tide 
Will  shortly  til!  the  reasonable  shores, 
That  now  lie  foul  and  muddy.     Not  one  of  them, 
That  yet  looks  on  me,  or  would  know  me  : — Ariel, 
Fetch  me  the  hat  and  rapier  in  my  ceM  ; 

[Exit  Ariel, 
I  will  dis-case  me,  and  my  self  present, 
As  I  was  sometime  Milan  :  —  quickly,  spirit : 
Thou  shalt  ere  long  be  free. 

AniEL  re-enters,  singing,  and  helps  to  attire 

PuosrETio. 
Ari.   Where  the  hee  sticks,  thei'e  suck  I ; 
In  a  coivslip''s  bell  I  lie  : 
There  I  couch  when  oiids  do  cry. 
On  the  bal^s  back  I  dnfiy. 
After  summer  merriiv  : 
Mfrrili/.  inrrrilv,  shall  I  live  note. 
Under  the  blossom,  that  hangs  on  the  hough. 
Pro.  Why  that's  my  dainty  Ariel  ;  I  shall  miss 
thee ; 
But  yet  thou  shalt  have  freedom  :  so,  so,  so. — 
To  the  king's  ship,  invisible  as  thou  art : 
There  shalt  thou  find  the  mariners  asleep 
Under  the  hatches;  the  master  and  the  boatswain. 
Being  awake,  enforce  them  to  this  place; 
And  presently,  I  pr'ythec. 

^r(.   I  drink  the  air  before  me,  and  return 
Or  e'er  your  pulse  twice  beat.  [Exit  Ariel 

a  Leopard.  «  Pity  or  tenderness  of  heart. 


Scene  I. 


TEMPEST. 


Gon.  All  torment,  trouble,  wonder,  and  amaze- 
ment 
Inhabits  I'.sre:  some  heavenly  power  guide  us 
Oat  of  this  fearlul  country  ! 

Pro.  Behold,  sir  king, 

The  wrong'd  Duke  of  jMilan,  Prospero: 
For  more  assurance  that  a  livinj?  prnice 
Does  now  speak  to  thee,  1  embrace  thy  body : 
And  to  tliee,  and  thy  company,  1  bid 
A  hearty  welcome. 

Aluii.  Whe'r'  thou  bcest  he,  or  no. 

Or  SQTno  enchanted  trille  to  abuse  me. 
As  late  I  have  been,  1  not  know ;  tby  pulse 
lleats,  as  of  flesh  and  bluod  ;  and  since  1  saw  thee. 
The  allliction  of  my  mind  amends,  with  which, 
I  fear,  a  madness  held  me  :  this  must  crave 
(An  if  this  be  at  all)  a  most  strange  story. 
Thy  dukedom  1  resign  ;  and  do  entreat 
Thou  pardon  me  my  wrongs:  —  But  how  should 

Prospero 
Be  livinc^  and  be  here  1 

Pra.  First,  noble  friend, 

Let  me  embrace  thine  age  ;  whose  honor  cannot 
Be  measurd,  or  confin'd. 

Gun.  Whetlicr  this  be, 

Or  be  not,  I'll  not  swear. 

Pro.  You  do  yet  taste 

f5omc  subtilties  o'  the  isle,  that  will  not  let  you 
Believe   things    certain:  —  Welcome,   my    friends 

all:  — 
But  you,  my  brace  of  lords,  were  I  so  minded, 

lA.ii'le  to  StB.  and  Ast. 
I  here  could  pluck  his  highness'  frown  upon  you, 
And  justify  you  traitors:  at  this  time 
I'll  tell  no  tales. 

Seb.  The  devil  speaks  in  him.  |.1sirfe. 

Pro.  No:  — 

For  you,  most  wicked  sir,  whom  to  call  brother 
Would  even  inti?ct  my  moutli,  1  do  forgive 
Thy  rankest  fault ;  all  of  them  ;  and  require 
My  dukedom  of  thee,  which,  perforce,  1  know, 
Thou  must  restore. 

Alan.  If  thou  bcest  Prospero, 

Give  us  particulars  of  tby  preservation  : 
How  thou  hast  met  us  here,  who  three  hours  since 
Were  wreck'd  upon  this  shore;    where  I   have 

lost. 
How  sharp  the  point  of  this  remembrance  is  ! 
My  dear  son  Ferdinand. 

Pro.  I  am  woe'  fort,  sir. 

Almi.  Irreparable  is  the  loss ;  and  Patience 
Says,  it  is  past  her  cure. 

Pro.  I  rather  think. 

You  have  not  sought  her  help;  of  whose  soft  grace, 
For  the  like  loss,  1  have  her  sovereign  aid, 
And  rest  myself  content. 

Alon.  You  the  like  loss  ! 

Pro.   As  great  to  me,  as  late  ;  and,  portable 
To  make  the  dear  loss,  have  I  means  much  weaker 
Than  you  may  call  to  comfort  you :  for  1 
Have  lost  my  daughter. 

Alon.  A  dauglUer  1 

0  heavens!  that  they  were  living  both  in  Naples, 
The  king  and  queen  there!  that  they  were,  1  wish 
Myself  were  muddod  in  that  oozy  bed 

Where  my  son   lies.     When  did  you  lose  your 

daughter'! 
Pro.  In  this  last  tempest.   I  perceive,  these  lords 
At  this  encounter  do  so  much  admire, 
Tliat  they  devour  their  reason  ;  and  scarce  think 
Their  eyes  do  offices  of  truth,  their  words 
Are  natural  breath  ;  but  howsoeer  you  have 
lieen  iuslled  from  your  senses,  know  for  certain, 
That  I  am  Prospero,  and  that  very  duke 
Wliich  was  thrust    forth   of   I\lilan;   who    most 

strangely 
Upon  this  shore,  where   you  were  wreck'd,  was 

landed. 
To  he  the  lord  on't.    No  more  yet  of  this  ; 
For  'tis  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not  a  relation  for  a  breakfast,  nor 
Befitting  this  first  meeting.    Welcome,  sir  ; 
This  cell's  my  court :  here  have  1  few  attendants. 
And  subjects  none  abroad  :  pray  you  look  in. 
My  dukedom  since  you  have  given  me  again, 

1  will  requite  you  with  as  good  a  thing; 

At  leasi,  bring'  forlh  a  wonder,  to  content  ye 
As  much  as  mc  my  dukedom. 

•  Whether.  •  Son- y. 


2"Ae  en/rance  of  Ih'  cell  opens,  and  Alscovers  F£a- 
uixAND  and  Miuaniia  playing  at  chmn. 

M'tra.  Sweet  lord,  you  play  me  false. 

Ftr.  No,  my  dearest  love, 

I  would  not  for  the  world. 

Mira.  Yes,  for  a  score  of  kingdoms  you  should 
wrangle, 
And  I  would  call  it  fair  play. 

A  ton.  If  tliis  prove 

A  vision  of  the  island,  one  dear  son 
Shall  I  twice  lose. 

Rrh.  A  most  high  miracle  ! 

i-'tr.   Tho'  the  seas  threaten,  they  are  merciful ; 
I'have  curs'd  them  without  cause. 

Feiiu.  linreli  to  Alox. 

Alon.  Now  all  the  blessings 

Of  a  glad  father  compass  tliee  about ! 
Arise,  and  say  how  thou  cam'st  here. 

Mlra.  O  !  wonder ! 

How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here! 
How  beauteous  mankind  is!  0  brave  new  world, 
That  has  such  people  in't ! 

Pro.  'Tis  new  to  thee. 

Alon.  What  is  this  maid,  with  whom  thou  wast 
at  play '! 
Your  eld'st  acquaintance  cannot  be  three  houre: 
Is  she  the  goddess  that  hath  sever'd  us, 
2\nd  brought  us  thus  together  ! 

P'er.  Sir,  she's  mortal ; 

But,  by  immortal  Providence,  she's  mine; 
I  eiiose  her,  when  I  could  not  ask  my  father 
For  his  advice  ;  nor  thought  I  had  one:  she 
Is  daughter  to  this  famous  duke  of  Milan, 
Of  whom  so  often  I  have  heard  renown. 
But  never  saw  before;  of  whom  I  have 
Received  a  second  life,  and  second  father 
This  lady  makes  him  to  me. 

.ilon.  I  am  hers: 

But  O,  how  oddly  will  it  sound,  that  I 
Must  ask  my  child  forgiveness ! 

Pro.  There,  sir,  stop: 

Let  us  not  burden  our  remembrances 
With  a  heaviness  that's  gone. 

Gon.  I  have  inly  wept. 

Or  should  have  spoke  ere  tliis.    Look  down,  you 

gods. 
And  on  this  couple  drop  a  blessed  crown; 
For  it  is  you,  that  have  chalk'd  forth  the  way 
Which  brought  us  hither! 

Alon.  I  say.  Amen,  Gonzalo  ! 

Gon.  Was  Milan  thrust  from  JVIilan.Uiat  his  issue 
Should  become  kin^s  of  Naples  !  O,  rejoice 
Beyond  a  common  joy  :  and  set  it  down 
W^ith  gold  on  lasting  pillars:  In  one  voyage 
Did  ciaribel  her  husband  llnd  at  Tunis  ; 
And  Ferdinand,  her  brother,  found  a  wife. 
Where  he  himself  was  lost ;  Prospero  his  dukedom 
In  a  poor  isle  ;  and  all  of  us,  ourselves. 
When  no  man  was  his  own. 

Alon.  Give  mc  your  hands: 

[To  Fkii.  anil  MiuA. 
Let  grief  and  sorrow  still  embrace  his  heart. 
That  doth  not  wish  you  joy  ! 

Gon.  Be'tso!  Amen! 

Re-enter  Ariel,  tvilh  the  Master  and  Boatswain 
aniu-cdly  following. 

0  look,  sir,  look,  sir;  here  are  more  oi  us  ! 

1  propliesied,  if  a  gallows  were  on  land, 

Tills  fellow  could  not  drown :  —  Now,  blasphemy. 
That  swear'st  grace  o'erboard,  not  nn  oath  on  shore! 
Hast  thou  no  mouth  by  land  !    What  is  the  news 7 

Boats.  The  best  news  is,  that  we  have  safely  found 
Our  king,  and  company  :  the  next  our  ship, — 
Which,  but  tliree  glasses  since,  we  gave  out  split, 
Is  tight  and  yare,'  and  bravely  rigg'd,  as  when 
We  first  put  out  to  sea. 

An.  Sir,  all  this  service) 

Have  I  done  since  I  went. 

Pro.  My  tricksy" 

Alon.    These   are   not   natural    events;     they 
strengthen 
From  strange  to  stranger:  —  Say,  how  came  you 
hither  1 

Tioatx.   If  I  did  think,  sir,  I  were  well  awake, 
I'd  strive  to  Icll  you.    We  were  dead  of  sleep. 
And  (how,  we  know  not)  all  clapp'd  under  hatches, 
''  Ecady.  i  Clevei,  adroit. 


is  service) 

\  Aside. 
y»  spirit !  j 


26 


TEMPEST. 


Act  V. 


Where,  but  even  now,  with  stran^'C  and  several 

noises 
Of  roaring,  shrieking,  howlin?,  pinp^iins  chains, 
And  more  diversity  of  sounds,  all  horrible, 
\Ve  were  awaJi'd  ;  straijihtway,  at  hl;erty  : 
Where  we,  hi  all  her  trim,  freslily  beheld 
Our  roj-al,  good,  and  gallant  ship';  our  master 
Cap'ring  to  eye  her  :  On  a  trice,  so  please  you, 
Kven  in  a  dream,  were  we  divided  from  them, 
And  were  brought  moping  hither. 

Ari.  Wast  well  done  1) 

Pro.  Bravely,  my  diligence.  Thou  shalt  J.  Aside. 
be  free.  \ 

Alo7i.  This  is  as  strange  a  maze  as  e'er  men  trod; 
And  there  is  in  this  business  more  than  nature 
Was  ever  conduct*  of;  some  oracle 
Must  rectify  our  knowledge. 

Pro.  Sir,  my  liege, 

Do  not  infect  your  mind  with  beating  on 
The  strangeness  of  this  business;  at  pick'd  leisure. 
Which  shall  be  shortly,  single  I'll  resolve  you 
(Which  to  you  shall  seem  probable)  of  every 
These  happen'd  accidents:  till  when,  be  cheerful. 
And  think  of  each   thing  well.  —  Come    hither, 
spirit ;  [Aiide. 

Set  Caliban  and  his  companions  free  : 
Untie  the  spell.    [Exit  Ahiel.]     How  fares  my 

gracious  sir  ? 
There  are  yet  missing  of  your  company 
Some  few  odd  lads,  that  you  remember  not. 

Re-enter  Auiel,  driving  in  Caiibax,  Stephaxo, 
and  TnixcrLo,  in  ttieir  stolen  apparel. 

Ste.  Every  man  shift  for  all  the  rest,  and  let  no 
man  take  care  for  himself;  for  all  is  but  fortune  : — 
Coragio,  bully-monster,  Coragio ! 

Trin.  If  these  be  true  spies  which  I  wear  in  my 
head,  here's  a  goodly  sight. 

Cat.  O  Setebos,  these  be  brave  spirits,  indeed  ! 
How  fine  my  master  is  !  I  am  afraid 
}lc  will  chastise  me. 

Se!}.  Ha,  ha; 

What  things  are  these,  my  lord  Antonio  ] 
Will  money  buy  them  7 

Ant.  Very  like,  one  of  tliem 

Is  a  plain  fish,  and,  no  doubt,  marketable. 

Pro.  Mark  but  the  badges  of  these  men,  my  lords. 
Then  say  if  they  be  true:' — This  mis-shapen  knave, 
His  mother  w.as  a  witch ;  and  one  so  strong 
That  could  control  the  moon,  make  Hows  and  ebbs. 
And  deal  in  her  command,  without  her  power: 
These  three  have  robb'd  me ;  and  this  demi-devil 
(For  he's  a  bastard  one)  had  plotted  with  them 
To  take  my  life  :  two  of  tliese  fellows  you 


Must  know,  and  own  ;  this  thing  of  darkness  I 
Acknowledge  mine. 

Cut.  I  shall  be  pinch'd  to  death. 

Alon.  Is  not  this  Stephano,  my  drunken  butler' 

Seb.   He  is  drunk  now  :  Where  had  he  wine  1 

Alon.  And  Trinculo  is    reeling   ripe:     Where 
should  they 
Find  this  grand  licjuor  that  hatli  gilded  them  '!  — 
How  cam'st  thou  m  this  pickle  1  ' 

Trin.  I  have  been  in  such  a  pickle,  since  I  saw 
you  last,  that,  I  fear  me,  will  never  out  of  my 
bones:  1  shall  not  fear  tlv-blowini. 

Seb.  Why,  how  now,  Stephano  1 

Ste.  O,  touch  me  not ;  I  am  not  Stephano,  but  a 
cramp. 

Pro.   You'd  be  king  of  the  isle,  sirrah  1 

Ste.   I  should  have  been  a  sore  one  then. 

Aloti.   This  is  as  strange  a  thing  as  e'er  I  look'd 
on-  [Pointing  to  Ca-likas. 

Pro.  He  is  as  disproportion 'd  in  his  manners, 
.\s  in  his  shape  :  —  Go.  sirrah,  to  my  cell ; 
Take  with  you  your  companions  ;  a's  you  look 
To  have  my  pardon,  trim  it  handsomely. 

Cat.   Ay,  that  I  will ;  .and  I'll  be  wise  hereafter. 
And  seek  for  grace  :  What  a  thrice-doubled  ass 
Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
And  worship  this  dull  fool  1 

Pro.  Go  to  ;  away  ! 

Alon.  Hence,  and  bestow  your  luggage  where 
you  found  it. 

Seb.   Or  stole  it,  rather. 

[Exeunt  Cat..,  Ste.,  and  Tnijr. 
■  Pro.  Sir.  I  mvite  your  highness,  and  your  train. 
To  my  poor  cell :  where  you  shall  take  vour  rest 
For  this  one  nisht ;  which  (part  of  it)  I'll  waste 
With  such  discourse,  as.  I  not  doubt,  .-ihaU  make  it 
Go  quick  away  :  the  story  of  my  life, 
And  the  particular  accidents  gone  by. 
Since  I  came  to  this  isle  :  And  in  the  morn, 
I'll  bring  you  to  your  ship,  and  so  to  Naples, 
Where  I  have  hope  to  see  the  nuptial 
Of  these  our  dear  beloved  solenmiz'd  ; 
And  thence  retire  me  to  my  Milan,  where 
Every  third  thought  shall  be  my  grave. 

Alon.  Hong 

To  hear  the  story  of  your  life,  which  must 
Take  the  ear  strangely. 

Pro.  I'll  deliver  all ; 

And  promise  you  calm  seas,  auspicious  gales, 
And  sail  so  expeditious,  that  shall  catch 
Your  royal  fleet  far  oft'.  — My  Ariel ;  —  chick. 
That  is  thy  charge  ;  then  to  the  elements 
Be  free,  and  tare  thou  well !  —  [,4iK/f.]  Please  you 
draw  near.  [Exeunt. 


EPILOGUE.  —  Spol-en  by  Prospero. 


Now  my  charms  are  alt  overthrown. 
And  ivhat  strength  I  liave's  mine  own  ; 
Wliich  is  most  faint :  noir,  '/!.■<  true, 
I  must  be  here  confined  hi  vini. 
Or  sent  to  Naples  .-  Let  me'nol. 
Since  I  have  nui  dukedom  got. 
And  pardon'd  the  deceiver,  dwell 
In  this  bare  U:land,  bi/  your  spell  ; 
But  release  me  from  'my  bands. 
With  tlie  help  of  your  good  hands.'' 
Conductor.  •  Honest 

tApphiuse;  noise  was  supposed  to  dissolve  a  spell. 


Gentle  breath  of  yours  my  sails 
Must  fill,  or  el.'^e  my  project  fails. 
Which  was  to  plea.'ic:  Now  t  want 
Spirits  to  enforce,  art  to  enchant  ; 
And  mu  ending  is  despair. 
Unless  I  be  relieved  btj  prayer ; 
Which  pierces  so,  that  it  cissnul/s 
Mercy  itself,  a7id  frees  nllfuults. 

As  you  from  crimes  would  pardoned  &e, 
Let  your  indulgence  set  me  free. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  YERONxi. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


Duke  of  Milan,  Father  to  Silvia. 
I'^tl^'Zl^^'  ]  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 
An'ton'io,  Father  to  Proteus. 
Thuhio,  u  foolish  Rival  to  Valentine. 
EoLA?iOUR,  Agent  for  Silvia  in  hei-  Escape, 
SrF.Eii,  a  clownish  Servant  to  Valentine. 
Lauxce,  Scn'anl  to  Proteus. 


Pan-thixo,  Servant  to  Antonio. 
Host  where  Julia  lodges  in  MUan. 
Outlaws, 

Julia,  a  iMity  of  Verona,  beloved  by  Proteus. 
Silvia,  llie  Duke's  Daughter,  beloved  by  Valentine. 
LucETTj,  Waiting-woman  to  Julia. 


Servants,  Musicians. 
SCENE,  so?nelimes  in  Verona  ;  sometimes  in  Milan ;  a«d  on  the  Frontiers  of  Mantua. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I.  —  An  open  Place  in  Verona. 
Enter  Valentine  and  PnoTEus. 

Val.  Cease  to  persuade,  my  loving  Proteus  ; 
Tlome-keepini^  j'outh  have  ever  homely  wits: 
Wer't  not  atTection  chains  thy  tender  days 
■  To  the  sweet  silances  of  thy  honor'd  love, 
I  ratlier  vi'ould  entreat  thy  rompany. 
To  see  the  wonders  ol'  the  world  abroad. 
Than  livins  dully  sluirirardizM  at  home. 
Wear  out  thy  youth  with  shapeless  idleness. 
But,  since  thou  lovst,  love  still,  and  thrive  therein. 
Even  as  I  would,  when  I  to  love  be?in. 

Fro.  Wilt  thou  beijone  1  Sweet  Valentine,  adieu! 
Think  on  thy  Proteus,  when  thou,  haply,  seest 
Some  rare  note-worthy  object  in  thy  travel : 
Wish  me  partal<er  in  "thy  happiness. 
When  thou  dost  meet  Rood  hap ;  and, in  thy  danger, 
If  ever  daneer  do  environ  thee. 
Commend  the  srievanee  to  my  holy  prayers, 
For  I  will  he  thy  bead's-man,  Valentine. 

TV//.   And  on  a  love-book  pray  for  my  success. 

Pro.    I'pen  some  book  I  love.  Til  pray  lor  thee. 

T^o/.   Tliat's  on  some  shallow  story  of  deep  love. 
How  younij  Leander  eross'd  the  Hellespont. 

Pro.   That's  a  deep  story  of  a  deeper  love  ; 
For  he  was  more  than  over  shoes  in  love. 

Val.   'Tis  true  ;  for  you  are  over  boots  in  love. 
And  yet  you  never  sw'am  the  Hellespont. 

Pro.   0\cT  the  hoots  ?  nay,  give  me  not  the  boots. • 

Val.   No,  I'll  not,  for  it  boots  thee  not. 

Pro.  What  ? 

17//.  To  be 

In  love,  where  scorn  is  bought  with  groans  ;  coy 

looks. 
With  heart-sore  sighs;  one  fading  moment's  mirth, 
Witii  twenty  watchful,  weary,  tedious  nights; 
If  haply  won.  perhaps,  a  hapless  gain  ; 
If  lost, "why  then  a  grievous  labor  won; 
However,  but  a  folly  bought  with  wit. 
Or  else  a  wit  by  folly  vanquished. 

Pro.  So.  by  your  circumstance,  you  call  me  fool. 

Val.  So.  by  your  circumstance,  1  fear,  you'll  prove. 

Pro.   'Tis  love  you  cavil  at ;  I  am  not  Love. 

Val.   Love  is  your  master,  for  he  masters  you  : 
And  he  that  is  so  yoked  by  a  fool, 

»  A  humorous  punishment  at  harvcst-home  feasts,  &C. 


Melhinks  .should  not  be  chronicled  for  wise. 

Pro.   Yet  writers  say.  As  in  the  sweetest  bud 
The  eating  canker  dwells,  so  eating  love 
Inhabits  in  tlic  finest  w  its  of  all. 

Vol.   And  writers  say.  As  the  most  forward  bud 
Is  eaten  by  the  canker  ere  it  blow, 
Even  so  by  love  the  young  and  tender  wit 
Is  turn'd  to  folly  ;  bhasting  in  the  bud, 
Losing  its  verdure  even  in  the  prime, 
.•\nd  all  the  fair  elTects  of  future  hopes. 
Hut  wherefore  waste  I  time  to  counsel  thee, 
Tliat  art  a  votary  to  fond  desire  '.' 
Dncc  more  adieu  :  my  fatiier  at  the  road 
Expects  my  coming,  there  to  see  me  shipp'd. 

Pro.   And  thither  1  will  bring  thee,  Valentine. 

Val.  Sweet  Proteus.no;  now  let  us  take  our  leave. 
At  Milan  let  me  hear  from  thee  by  letters. 
fM'  thy  success  in  love,  and  what  iiews  else 
P.ctideth  here  in  absence  of  thy  friend  ; 
And  I  likewise  will  visit  thee  witJi  mine. 

Pro.   All  happiness  bechance  to  tliee  in  Milan! 

Vol.  As  much  to  you  at  home !  and  so  farewell ! 
[Exit  Valentine. 

Pro.  He  after  honor  hunts,  1  after  love  : 
He  leaves  his  friends  to  dignify  them  more ; 
1  leave  myself,  my  friends,  and  jU  for  love. 
Thou,  Julia,  thou  hast  metamorphos'd  me  ; 
Made  me  neglect  my  studies,  lose  my  time. 
War  Willi  good  counsel,  set  the  world  at  nought ; 
Made  wit   with    musing  weak,  heart    sick  with 
thought. 

Enter  Speed. 

Speed.  Sir  Proteus,  save  you :    saw  you   my 
master  1 

Pro.  But  now  he  parted  hence,  to  embark  for 
Milan. 

Speed.   Twenty  to  one  then  he  is  shipp'd  already ; 
And  I  have  play'd  the  sheep  in  losing  him. 

Pro.   Indeed  a  sheep  doth  very  often  stray, 
And  if  the  shepherd  be  awhile  away 

Speed.  You  conclude  that  my  master  is  a  shep- 
herd then,  and  1  a  sheep  '! 

Pro.  I  do. 

S.yed.  Why  then  my  horns  are  his  horns,  whether 
I  wake  or  sleep. 

Pro.  A  silly  answer,  and  fitting  well  a  sheep. 
27 


28 


TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


Act  1 


Speed,   This  proves  me  still  a  sheep. 
Pi-o.   True  ;  and  thy  master  a  shepherd. 
Speed.  Nay,  tliat  I  ean  deny  by  a  circumstance. 
Pro.  It  shall  go  hard,  but  111  prove  it  by  another. 
Sperd.   The  shepherd  seeks  the  sheep,  and  not 
the  sheep  the  shepherd ;  but  I  seek  my  master,  and 
my  master  seeks  not.  nie  ;  therefore,  I  am  no  sheep. 
'I'm.  The  sncep  for  fodder  follow  the  shepherd, 
the  shepherd  for  food  follows  not  the  sheep ;  thou 
for  wa-ies  foUowest  thy  master,  thy  master  for  wages 
follows  not  thee  :  therefore  thou  art  a  sheep. 
Speed.  Such  another  proof  will  make  me  cry  baa. 
Pro.   But  dost  thou  hear  !  gav'st  thou  my  letter 
to  Julia  ^ 

Speed.  Ay.  sir  :  I,  a  lost  mutton,  gave  your  letter 
to  her,  a  laced  mutton  ;■■  and  she.  a  laced  mutton, 
gave  me,  a  lost  muttO[i,  nothing  for  my  labor. 

Pro.  Here's  too  small  a  pasture  for  such  a  store 
of  muttons. 

Speed.  1  f  the  ground  be  overcharged,  you  were 
best  stick  her. 

Pro.  Nay,  in  that  you  are  astray,  'twere  best 
pound  you. 

Speed.  Nay,  sir,  less  than  a  pound  shall  serve  me 
for  carrying  your  letter. 
Pro.   You  mistake;  I  mean  the  pound,  a  pinfold. 
Speed.  From  a  pound  to  a  pin  .'  fold  it  over  and 
over, 
'Tis  threefold  too  little  for  carrying  a  letter  to  your 
lover. 
Pro.  But  what  said  she?  did  she  nod  ? 

[Speed  nods. 
Speed.  I. 

Pro.  Nod,  I  T  why,  that's  noddy." 
Speed.  You   mistook,  sir ;    I  say,  she  did  nod : 
and  you  ask  me.  if  she  did  nod ;  and  1  say,  I. 
Pro.   And  that  set  together,  is —  noddy. 
Speed.   Now  you  have  taken  the  pains  to  set  it 
together,  take  it  for  your  pains. 
J'ro.  No,  no,  you  sliall  have  it  for  bearing  the  letter. 
Speed.  Well,  I  perceive,  I  must  be  fain  to  bear 
with  you. 
Pro.   Why,  sir,  how  do  you  bear  with  me  ? 
Speed.   Marry,  sir,  the  letter  very  orderly  ;  having 
nothing  but  the  word,  noddy,  for  "my  pains. 
Pro.   Beshrew  me,  but  you  have  a  quick  wit. 
Speed.   And  yet  it  cannot  overtake  your  slow 

purse. 
Pro.  Come,  come,  open  the  matter  in  brief:  'What 
said  she '! 

Speed.  Open  your  purse,  that  the  money,  and 
the  matter,  may  he  both  at  once  delivered. 

Fro.  Well,  sir,  hero  is  for  your  pains:    What 
said  she  1 

Speed.   Truly,  sir,  I  think  you'll  hardly  win  her. 
Pro.   Why?     Couldst  thou    perceive  so   much 
from  her  ] 

Speed.  Sir,  I  could  perceive  nothing  at  all  from 
her ;  no,  not  so  much  as  a  ducat  for  delivering  your 
'  letter  :  And  being  so  hard  to  me  that  brought  your 
mind,  I  fear  she'll  prove  as  hard  to  you  in  telling 
lier  mind.  Give  her  no  token  but  stones  ;  for  she's 
as  hard  as  steel. 
Pro.  What,  said  she  nothing  ? 

Speed.  Nc,not  so  much  as fake  ^hv^for  thy 

pains.    To  testify  your  bounty,  I  thank  you,  yoti 
nave  testern'd*  me  ;  in  requital  whereof,  henceforth 
carry  your  letters  yourself:  and  so,  sir,  I  '11  commend 
you  to  my  master. 
Pro.  Go,  go,  begone,  to  save  your  ship  from 
wreck ; 
Which  cannot  perish,  having  thee  aboard. 
Being  destined  to  a  drier  death  on  shore  ;  — 
I  must  go  send  some  better  messenger ; 
I  fear,  my  Julia  would  not  deign  my  lines. 
Receiving  them  from  such  a  worthless  post. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. —  The  same.  Garden  o/ Julia's  house. 
Enter  JvLik  fl«d  Lucetta. 
Jut.   But  say,  L\icetta,  now  we  are  alone, 
Wouldst  thou  then  counsel  me  to  fiill  m  love  1 
Luc.  Ay.  madam,  so  you  stumble  not  unheed- 

fcilly. 
/;//.  Of  all  the  fair  resort  of  gentlemen, 
TlKit  every  day  with  parle  encounter  me, 
In  thy  opinion,  which  is  worthiest  love  ? 

*  A  term  for  a  courtezan.         '  A  game  at  carda. 
*QiTon  me  a  Bixpencc. 


Luc.   Please  you,  repeat  their  names,  111  show 
my  mind 
According  to  my  shallow  simple  skill. 
Jul.  Whatthink'st  thou  of  tlie  fair  Si."  Eglamourl 
Luc.  As  of  a  knight  well  spoken,  neat  and  fine: 
But  were  1  you,  he  never  should  be  mine. 
Jut.   What  think'st  thou  of  the  rich  Mercatio' 
Luc.   Well  of  his  wealth  ;  but  of  himself,  so,  M 
Jut.  What  think  St  thou  of  the  gentle  Proleus' 
Ijic.   Lord,  lord  !  to  see  what  folly  reigns  in  U3  . 
Jut.  How  now  !  what  means  this  passion  at  his 

name  ! 
Luc  Pardon,  dear  madam  ;  'tis  a  passing  shame, 
That  I,  unworthy  body  as  I  am, 
Should  censure*  thus  on  lovely  gentlemen. 
Jul.   Why  not  on  Proteus,  as  of  all  the  rest? 

Luc-   Then  thus, of  many  good  I  think  hira 

best. 
Jut.   Your  reason  ? 

Luc.  I  have  no  other  but  a  woman's  reason ; 
I  think  him  so,  because  I  think  him  so. 
Jut.  And  wouldst  thou  have  me  cast  my  love  on 

him  'I 
Ltie.  Ay.  if  you  thought  your  love  not  cast  away. 
Jut.  Why.  he  of  all  the  rest,  hath  never  mov'd  me, 
I^ue.  Yet  he  of  all  the  rest,  I  think,  best  loves  ye. 
Jut.  His  little  speaking  shows  his  love  but  small. 
Luc.  Fire,  that  is  closest  kept,  burns  most  of  all. 
Jut.  They  do  not  love,  that  do  not  show  their  love. 
Luc.   O,  they  love  least,  that  let  men  know  their 

love. 
^Jul.   I  would  I  knew  his  mind. 
I^uc.  Peruse  this  paper,  madam. 

Jul.  To  Julia,  —  Say,  from  whom  1 
Luc.  That  the  contents  will  show, 

/(//.   Say,  say  ;  who  gave  it  thee! 
Luc.  Sir  'Valentine's  page;   and  sent,  I  think, 
from  Proteus: 
He  would  have  given  it  you,  but  I, being  in  the  way, 
Did  in  your  name  receive  it;  pardon  the  fn  ult,  I  jiray. 

Jul.   Now,  by  my  modesty,  a  goodly  broker!* 
Dare  vou  presume  to  harbor  wanton  lines  ! 
To  whisper  and  conspire  against  my  youth  T 
Now,  trust  me,  'tis  an  office  of  great  worth. 
And  you  an  officer  fit  for  the  place  ; 
There,  take  the  paper,  see  it  be  return'd, 
Or  else  return  no  more  into  my  sight. 
Luc.'To  plead  for  love  deserves  more  fee  than 

hate. 
Jut.   Will  you  begone  ? 

Luc.  That  you  may  ruminate.  [E.vi/. 

Jut.  And  yet,  I  would  I  had  o'erlook'd  the  letter. 
It  were  a  shame  to  call  her  back  again. 
And  pray  her  to  a  fault  for  which  I  chid  her. 
W'hat  fool  is  she,  that  knows  I  am  a  maid, 
Aiul  would  not  force  the  letter  to  my  view  ] 
Since  maids,  in  niodisly,  say  No,  to  that 
Which  they  would  have  the  protlerer  construe,  Ay, 
Fie,  fie!  how  wayward  is  this  foolish  love. 
That,  hke  a  testy  babe,  will  scratch  the  nurse, 
And  presently,  all  humbled,  kiss  the  rod  ! 
How  churlishly  I  chid  Lucetta  hence, 
When  willingly  I  would  have  had  her  here! 
How  angrily  r  taught  my  brow  to  frown. 
When  inward  joy  eiiforcd  my  heart  to  smile  ! 
My  penance  is,  to  call  Lucetta  back. 
And  ask  remission  for  my  folly  past :  — 
What  ho!  Lucetta! 

Re-enter  Lucetta. 

Luc.  What  would  your  ladyship  ? 

Jul.  Is  it  near  dinner  time  1 

Luc.  I  would  it  were  ; 

That  you  might  kill  your  stomach'  on  your  meat, 
And  not  upon  your  maid. 

Jul.  W^hat  is't  you  took  up 

So  gingerly  1  ■ 

Luc.  Nothing. 

Jut.  Why  didst  thou  stoop  then  ? 

Iaic.  To  take  a  paper  up  that  I  let  fall. 

Jul.   And  is  that  paper  nothing  1 

J^uc.  Nothing  concerning  me. 

Jul.   Then  let  it  lie  for  those  that  it  concerns. 

Luc.  Madam,  it  will  not  lie  where  it  concerns, 
Unless  it  have  a  false  interpreter. 

Jul.  Some  love  of  yoturs  hath  writ  to  you  in 
rhyme. 
s  Pj\ss  sentenco.  c  Matchmaker. 

1  PassioQ  or  obstiDacy. 


Scene  III. 


TWO    GEXTLEiMEX   OF   VERONA. 


29 


Luc.  That  I  ini;;ht  sin^  it,  madam,  to  a  tune  : 
Give  me  a  note:  your  ladysiiip  can  set. 

■Jul.   As  little  by  such  toys  as  may  be  possible  ; 
Best  sins  ''  '"  the  tune  of  Lighl  o'  love. 

L'-ic.   It  is  too  heavy  for  so  light  a  tune. 

Jul.   Heavy  !  belike  it  hath  some  burden,  then. 

Luc.  Ay ;   and  melodious  were  it,  would  you 
sing  it. 

J:t!.  And  why  not  you  1 

Lie.  I  cannot  reach  so  his:h. 

Jul.   Let's  see  your  song  :  —  How  now,  minion  1 

L'lc.  Keep  tune  there  still,  so  you  will  sing  it  out: 
And  yet,  methniks,  1  do  not  like  this  tune. 

Jul.   You  do  not  J 

i'/c.   No,  madam;  it  is  too  sharp. 

Jut.  You,  minion,  are  too  saucy. 

Luc.  Nay,  now  you  are  too  Ilat, 
And  mar  the  concord  with  loo  harsh  a  descant ;' 
Tfiere  wanteth  but  a  mean"  to  till  your  song. 

Jut.  The  meanis  drown'd  with  yourunruly  base. 

Luc.   Indeed  I  did  the  base'  for  Proteus. 

Jut.  This  babble  shall  not  henceforth  trouble  me. 
Here  is  a  coil"*  with  protestation  ! 

[Tears  Ike  teller. 
Go,  get  you  gone  ;  and  let  the  papers  lie  : 
Y'ou  would  be  fingering  tliem,  to  anger  me. 

L'M.   She  makes  it  strange;  but  she  would  be 
best  pleas'd 
To  be  so  anger'd  with  another  letter.  [EtH. 

Jul.  Nav,  would  I  were  soanger'd  with  the  same! 

0  iiatet'ul  hands,  to  tear  such  loving  words  ! 
Injurious  wasps !  to  feed  on4uch  sweet  honey. 
And  kill  the  bees,  that  yield  it,  with  your  stings  ! 
ril  kiss  each  several  paper  for  amends. 

And  liere  is  writ  —  kind  Julia  ;  —  unkind  Julia  ! 
As  in  revenge  of  thy  ingratitude, 

1  throw  thy  name  against  the  bruising  stones, 
Trampling  contemptuously  on  thy  disdain. 
Look,  here  is  writ  —  tove-wuunded  Proteus  :  — 
Poor  wounded  name  !  my  bosom  as  a  bed. 

Shall  lodge  thee  till  thy  wound  be  thorouglily  heal'd: 

And  thus  1  search  it  witb  a  .sovereign  kiss. 

But  twice,  or  thrice,  was  Proteus  written  down  1 

Be  calm,  good  wind,  blow  not  a  word  away, 

Till  I  have  found  each  letter  in  the  letter, 

Kxcept  mine  own  name  ;  thatsome  whirlwitidbear 

Unto  a  ragged,  fearful,  hanging  rock, 

And  throw  it  thena;  into  tlie  raging  sea  !    • 

Lo,  here  in  one  line  is  his  name"  twice  writ, — 

Poor  forlorn  Proteus,  passionate  Proteus, 

To  tlie  sweet  Julia  :  —  that  I'll  tear  away  ; 

And  yet  I  will  not,  sith  so  prettily 

He  couples  it  to  his  complaining  names: 

Thus  will  I  fold  them  one  upon  another  ; 

Now  kiss,  embrace,  coi^tend,  do  what  you  will. 

Re-enter  Llcetta. 

Luc.   Madam,  dinner's  ready,  and  your  father 

slays. 
/■(/.  ^Vell,  let  us  go. 
Luc.  Wliat,  shall  these  papers  lie  like  tell-tales 

here  \ 
Jul.   If  you  respect  them,  best  to  take  them  up. 
Luc.  Nay,  I  was  taken  up  for  laying  them  down : 
Y'et  here  they  shall  not  lie,  for  catching  cold. 
Jul.  I  see  5'ou  have  a  month's  mind  to  them. 
Luc.  Ay,  madam,  you  may  say  what  sights  you 

see  ; 
I  sec  things  too,  although  you  judge  I  wink. 
Jut.  Coiiie,  come,  wili't  please  you  go  1  [Extunt. 

SCENE  III. —  Tlie  same.    >4  roo;rt  !«  Antonio's 
House. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Panthixo. 

Ant.  Tell  me,  Panthino,  what  sad'  talk  was  that. 
Wherewith  my  brother  held  you  in  the  cloister'! 
Pant.   "Pwas  of  his  nephew  Proteus,  your  son. 
Ant.    Why,  what  of  him'! 

Punt.  He  wonder'd  that  your  lordship 

Would  suffer  him  to  spend  his  youth  at  home ; 
While  other  men,  of  slender  reputation,* 
Put  forth  their  sons  to  seek  preferment  out: 
Some,  to  the  wars,  to  try  their  fortune  there: 
Some,  to  discover  islands  far  away  ; 
Some,  to  the  studious  universities. 
For  any,  or  for  all  these  exercises, 

•  A  term  in  music  *  The  t^nor  in  music. 

1  A  ch.illenge.  ^  IJii«tle,  stir. 

■  Serious.  «  Little  consequence. 


He  said,  that  Proteus, your  son.  was  meet; 
And  did  request  me  to  imp6rtune  you, 
To  let  him  spend  his  time  no  more  at  home, 
Which  would  be  great  impeachment*  to  his  age, 
In  having  known  no  travel  in  his  youth. 

Ant.  Nor  need'st  thou  much  imp6rtune  me  to 
that 
Whereon  this  month  I  have  been  hammering. 
I  have  consider'd  well  his  loss  of  time  ; 
And  how  he  cannot  be  a  perfect  m  m. 
Not  being  try'd  and  tutor'd  in  the  world  : 
Experience  is  by  industry  achiev'd. 
And  perfected  by  the  swift  course  of  time  ; 
Then,  tell  me,  whither  were  I  best  to  send  him? 

Pant.   I  think,  your  lordship  is  not  ignorant, 
How  his  companion,  youthful  Valentine, 
Attends  the  emperor  in  his  royal  courU 

Ant.  I  know  it  well. 

Pant.  'Pwere  good,  I  think,  your  lordship  sent 
him  thither : 
There  shall  he  practise  tilts  and  tournaments. 
Hear  sweet  discourse,  converse  with  noblemen  ; 
And  be  in  eye  of  every  exercise 
Worthy  his  youth  and  nobleness  of  birth. 

Ant.   I  like  thy  counsel ;  well  hast  tliou  advis'd  : 
And  tliat  thou  mayst  perceive  how  well  I  like  it. 
The  execution  of  it  shall  make  known  ; 
Even  with  the  speediest  execution 
I  will  dispatch  him  to  the  emperor's  court. 

Pant.   To-morrow,  may  it  please  you,  Don  Al- 
phonso. 
With  other  gentlemen  of  goodesteem, 
.\re  journeying  to  salute  the  emperor. 
And  to  commend  their  service  to  his  will. 

Ant.  (iood  company;  with  them  sliall  Proteus  go; 
And,  in  good  time, — now  will  we  break  with  him." 

Enter  Proteus. 

Pro.   Sweet  love !  sweet  lines  !  sweet  life  ! 
Here  is  her  hand  the  agent  of  her  heart ; 
Here  is  her  oath  for  love,  her  honor's  pawn  : 
O,  that  our  fathers  would  applaud  our  loves. 
To  seal  our  happiness  with  their  consents  ! 

0  heavenly  Julia  ! 

Ant.  How  now?   what  letter  are  you  reading 
there  ! 

Pro.  May't  please  your  lordship, 'tis  a  word  or 
two 
Of  commendation  sent  from  Valentine, 
Deiiver'd  by  a  friend  that  came  from  him. 

Ant.   Lend  me  the  letter ;  let  me  see  what  news. 

Pro.  There  is  no  news,  my  lord;  but  that  he 
writes 
How  happily  he  lives,  how  well  belov'd, 
And  daily  graced  by  the  emperor; 
Wishing'inc  with  him,  partner  of  his  fortune. 

Ant.   And  how  stand  you  alTertcd  to  his  wish  : 

Pro.  As  one  relying  on  your  lordship's  will. 
And  not  depending  on  his  friendly  wish. 

Ant.  .My  will  is  something  sorted  with  his  wish  : 
Muse  not  that  I  thus  suddenly  proceed; 
For  what  I  will,  I  will,  and  there  an  end. 

1  am  rcsnlv'd.  that  thou  shalt  spend  some  time 
V\^ith  Valentinus  in  the  emperor's  court ; 
What  maintenance  he  from  his  friends  receives, 
Like  exhibitions  thou  shalt  have  from  me. 
To-morrow  be  in  readiness  to  go : 

Excuse  it  not,  for  I  am  peremptory. 

Pro.  M  y  lord.  I  cannot  be  so  soon  provided ; 
Please  yoii.  deliberate  a  day  or  two. 
yl»/.  Look,  what  thou  want'st  shall  be  sent  after 
thee: 
No  more  of  stay  ;  to-morrow  thou  must  go. — 
Come  on.  Panthino  ;  you  shall  be  employ'd 
To  hasten  on  his  expedition. 

{Exeunt  Ant.  and  P.»>"t. 
Pro.   Tluis  have  I  shunn'd  the  fire,  for  fear  of 
burning  ; 
And  drench'd  me  in  the  sea,  where  I  am  drown'd: 
I  fear'd  to  show  my  father  Julias  letter. 
Lest  he  should  take  exceptions  to  my  love ; 
Ami  with  the  vantage  of  mine  own  excuse 
Hath  he  excepted  most  against  my  love. 
O.  how  this  spring  of  love  resemtilcth 

The  uncertain  glory  of  an  Aprd  day  ; 
Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun. 
And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away  ! 
*  Reproach.  ^  Break  the  matter  to  him. 

'  Wonder.  8  Allowance. 


30 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF  VERONA. 


Act  II. 


Re-enter  Pantiiino. 
Pant.   Sir  Proteus,  your  father  calls  for  you ; 
He  is  iii  haste,  therefore,  1  pray  you,  go. 


Pro.   Why,  this  it  is  :  my  heart  accords  thereto; 
And  yet  a  thousand  times  it  answers,  no. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.  —  Jlilan.  An  Apartment  in  the  Dukc'3 
Palace. 

Enter  Valentine  and  Speed. 

Speed.  Sir,  your  glove. 

Val.  Not  mine  ;  my  gloves  are  on. 

Speed.  Why  then  this  may  be  yours,  for  this  is 
but  one. 

Val.  Ha !  let  me  see  :  ay  give  it  me,  it's  mine : — 
Sweet  ornament  that  declis  a  thing  divine  ! 
Ah  Silvia!  Silvia! 

Speed.  Madam  Silvia!  madam  Silvia! 

Val.   How  now,  sin"ah  ] 

Speed.  She  is  not  within  hearing,  sir. 

Val.  Why,  sir,  who  bade  you  call  her  1 

Speed.   Your  worsliip,  sir  ;  or  else  I  mistook. 

Val.   Well,  you'll  still  be  too  forward. 

Speed.  And  yet  1  was  last  chidden  for  being  too 
slow. 

Val.  Go  to,  sir ;  tell  me,  do  you  know  madam 
Silvia  1. 

Speed.   She  that  your  worship  loves? 

Val.   Why,  how  know  you  that  I  am  in  lovel 

Speed.  ]Marry,  by  these  special  marks:  First,  you 
have  learned,  like  sir  Proteus,  to  wreath  your  arms 
like  a  male-content;  to  relish  a  love  song,  like  a 
rol)in-red-breast;  to  walk  alone,  like  one  that  had 
the  pestilence:  to  sigh,  like  a  school-boy  that  had 
lost  his  .\,  B,  C ;  to  weep,  hke  a  young  wench  that 
had  buried  her  grandam  ;  to  fast,  like  one  that  takes 
diet;s  to  watch.  like  one  that  fears  robbing;  to  speak 
puling,  like  a  beggar  at  IIallowmas.»  You  wore 
wont,  when  you  laughed,  to  crow  like  a  cock ;  when 
you  walked,  to  walk  like  one  of  the  lions ;  when 
you  fasted,  it  was  presently  afterdinner;  when  you 
looked  sadly,  it  was  for  want  of  money ;  and  now 
you  are  metamorphosed  witii  a  mistress,  that,  when 
I  look  on  you.  I  can  hardly  think  you  my  master. 

Val.  Are  all  these  things  perceived  in  mel 

Speed.  They  are  all  perceived  without  you. 

Val.   Without  me  !     They  cannot. 

Speed.  Without  youl  nay,  that's  certain,  for 
without  you  were  so  simple,  none  else  would  :  but 
you  are  so  without  these  follies,  that  these  follies 
are  within  you,  and  shine  through  you  like  the 
water  in  a  urinal ;  that  not  an  eye,  that  sees  you, 
but  is  a  physician  to  comment  on  your  malady. 

Vat.  But,  tell  me.  dost  thou  know  my  lady  Silvia'! 

Sp'-ed.  She,  that  you  gaze  on  so,  as  she  sits  at 
supper! 

('(//.   Hast  thou  observed  that  1  even  she  I  mean. 

Speed.   Why,  sir,  I  know  her  not. 

Val.  Dost  thou  know  her  by  my  gazing  on  her, 
and  yet  know'st  her  not '! 

Speed.  Is  she  not  hard  favored,  sirt 

Val.  Not  so  fair,  boy,  as  well  favored. 

Speed.  Sir,  I  know  tliat  well  enough. 

Val.  What  dost  thou  know  '! 

Speed.  That  she  is  not  so  fair,  as  (of  you)  well 
favored. 

Val.  I  mean,  that  her  beauty  is  exquisite,  but  her 
favor  infinite. 

Speed.  That's  because  the  one  is  painted,  and 
the  other  ovit  of  all  count. 

Val.   How  painted  1  and  how  out  of  count  7 

Speed.  Marry,  sir,  so  painted,  to  make  her  fair, 
tliat  no  man  counts  of  her  beauty. 

Val.  How  estcemest  thou  me!  I  account  of  her 
beauty. 

Speed.  Y"ou  never  saw  her  since  she  was  de- 
formed. 

Val.  How  long  hath  she  been  deformed  ! 

Speed.   Ever  since  you  loved  her. 

Vat.  I  have  loved  her  ever  since  I  saw  her ;  and 
clill  I  see  her  beautiful. 

9  Under  a  rcEimcn.  t  AllballovrmM. 


Speed,  If  you  love  her,  you  cannot  see  her. 

Vat.  Why? 

Speed.  Because  love  is  blind.  0,  that  you  nad 
mine  eyes;  or  your  own  had  the  lights  they  were 
wont  to  have,  when  you  chid  at  sir  Proteus  for  going 
unirartercd. 

Vat.   What  should  I  see  then  1 

.'ipeed.  Your  own  present  folly,  and  her  passing 
deformity  :  for  he,  being  in  love,  could  not  see  to 
garter  his  hose ;  and  you,  being  in  love,  caimot  see 
to  put  on  your  hose. 

Val.  Belike,  boy,  then  you  are  in  love  ;  for  last 
morning  you  could  not  see  to  wipe  my  shoes. 

Speed.  True,  sir;  I  was  in  love  with  niv  bed;  I 
thank  you,  you  swinged'  me  for  my  love,  which 
makes  me  the  bolder  to  chide  you  for  yours. 

T7//.   In  conclusion,  I  stand  atl'ected  to  her. 

S;iecd.  I  would  you  were  set ;  so,  your  aflcclion 
would  cease.  ♦ 

^'at.  Last  night  she  enjoined  me  to  write  some 
lines  to  one  she  loves. 

Speed.  A  nd  have  you  ^ 

Val.   I  have. 

Speed.   Are  they  not  lamely  writ  ? 

Vat.   No,  boy,  but  as  well  as  I  can  do  them  :  — 
Peace,  here  she  comes. 


Enter  Silvia. 

Speed.  0  excellent  motion!'  O  exceeding  pup- 
pet !  now  will  he  interpret  to  her. 

Val,   Madam  and  mistress,   a  tiiousand   good- 
moripws. 

Speed,  O,  give  you  good  even!  here's  a  million 
of  manners.  [Axide. 

Sit.  Sir  Valentine  and  servant,  to  you  two  thou- 
sand. 

Speed.  He  should  give  herinterest ;  and  she  gives 
it  him.  [Aside. 

Val.    As  you  enjoin'd  me,  I  havewTit  your  letter, 
T'nto  the  secret  nameless  friend  of  yours  ; 
Which  I  was  much  unwilling  to  proceed  in, 
But  for  my  duty  to  your  Ij^dyship. 

Sit.  I  thank  you,  gentle  servant, 'tis  very  clerkly* 
done. 

Vat.  Now,  trust  me,  madam,  it  came  hardly  off; 
For  being  ignorant  to  whom  it  goes, 
I  writ  at  random,  very  doubtfully. 

Sit.   Perchance  you  think  too  much  of  so  much 
pains! 

Val.  No,  madam;  so  it  stead  you,  1  will  write. 
Please  you  command,  a  thousand  times  as  much: 
And  yet,  — 

Sit.   A  pretty  period  !  Well,  I  guess  the  sequel ; 
And  yet  1  wiU'not  name  it :  —  and  yet  I  oare  not; 
And  yet  take  this  again ;  —  and  yet  1  tliank  you  ; 
Meaning  henceforth  to  trouble  you  no  more. 

Speed.  And  yet  you  will;  aiid  yet  another  yet. 

[A.side. 

Vat.  What  means  your  ladyship  7   do  you  not 
like  it? 

Sil.  Y'es,  yes;  the  lines  are  very  quaintly  writ, 
But  since  unwillingly,  take  them  again  ; 
Nav,  take  them. 

Val.   Madam,  they  are  for  you. 

Sit.   Ay,  ay  ;  you  writ  them,  sir,  at  my  request: 
But  I  will  none  of  them  ;  they  are  for  you  : 
I  would  liave  had  them  writ  more  movingly. 

J'at.   Please  you,  I'll  write  your  lad j-^bip  another. 

Sit.  And,  when  it's  writ,  for  my  sake  read  it  over; 
And  if  it  please  you,  so;  if  not,  why,  so. 

IV//.   I f  it  please  me,  madam !  wliattben? 

Sit.  Why,  if  it  please  you,  take  it  for  your  labor; 
And  so  good-morrow,  servant.  [Ei'it  Silvia 

Speed.   0  jest  unseen  inscrutable,  invisible, 
9  Whipped.  3  A  pu  J  pet-show, 

*  Like  a  Fcholar. 


Scene  IV. 


TWO    GEN'TLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


31 


As  a  nose  on  a  man's  face,  or  a  weathercock  on  a 

steeple ! 
My  master  sues  to  her;  and  she  hath  taught  her 

suitor. 
Hr  beinn  lier  pupil,  to  become  her  tutor. 
0  excellent  device  !  was  there  ever  heard  a  better  1 
That  my  master,  being  scribe,  to  liimsclf  should 
write  the  letter  ! 

Va!.  How  now,  sir  ?  what  are  you  reasoning 
with  yourself! 

Speed.  Nay,  I  was  rhyming;  'tis  you  that  have 
the  reason. 

Val.   To  do  what  1 

Speed.  To  be  a  spokesman  from  madam  Silvia. 

Val.  To  whom  1 

Speed.  To  yourself:  why,  she  woos  you  by  a 
figure? 

Val.   What  figure  1 

Speed.  Hv  a  letter,  I  should  say. 

Vat.   Why,  she  Imth  not  writ  to  me. 

Speed.  What  need  she.  when  she  hath  made  you 
write  to  yourself!  Why,doyou  not  perceive  the  jest! 

Viil.  No,  believe  me. 

Speed.  No  believing  you,  indeed,  sir:  But  did 
you  perceive  her  earnest  ^ 

Val.  She  gave  me  none,  except  an  angry  word. 

Soced.  Why,  slie  hath  given  you  a  Iptler. 

Val.   That's  the  letter  1  writ  to  her  friend. 

Speed.  And  that  letter  hath  she  dehvered,  and 
there  an  end. 

Val.   I  would  it  were  no  worse. 

Speed,  ril  warrant  you,  'tis  as  well. 
For  often  you  have  writ  to  her  ;  and  she,  in  mo- 

deMif, 
Or  else  for  rntnt  nf  idle  time,  could  not  again  reply; 
Or  fea'rinf!  else  some  messenger,  that  might  her 

iiiiad  discover, 
Ikrsrlf  hulh  tauKhi  her  love  himself  to  write  unto 

her  luver.  — 
All  this  I  speak  in  print ;  for  in  print  I  found  it,  — 
Why  muse  you  sir  !  'tis  dinner-time. 

Val.   I  have  dined. 

Speed.  Ay,  but  hearken,  sir :  though  the  chame- 
leon Love  can  feed  on  the  air,  I  nni  one  that  am 
nourished  by  my  victuals,  and  would  fain  have  me«l: 
()  be  not  Uke  your  mistress  ;  be  moved,  be  moved. 

'  [Kieunt. 

SCENE  II. —  Verona.    A  rnoni  in  Julia's  Hmise. 
Enter  PnoTF.rs  and  Julia. 
Pro.  Have  patience,  gentle  .Tulia. 
Jul.   I  must,  where  is  no  remedy. 
Pro.   When  possibly  I  can,  I  wdl  return. 
Jul.  If  you  turn  not,  you  will  return  tlic  sooner: 
Keep  this  remembrance  for  thy  Julia's  sake. 

[Giving  a  ring. 
Pro.  W' hy  then  we'll  make  exchange  ;  here  take 

you  this. 
Jul.   And  seal  the  bargain  with  a  holy  kiss. 
Pro.   Here  is  my  hand  for  my  true  constancy  ; 
And  when  that  hour  o'erslips  me  in  the  day, 
Wherein  I  sigh  not,  Julia,  for  thy  sake. 
The  next  ensuing  hour  some  foul  mischance 
Torment  me  for  my  love's  forgetfulness ! 
My  father  stays  my  comjng ;  answer  not; 
The  tide  is  now:  nay,  not  the  tide  of  tears; 
That  tide  will  stay  me  longer  than  I  should  : 

[Exit  JriTA. 
Julia,  ferewcll.  —  What !  gone  without  a  word '! 
Ay,  so  true  love  should  do;  it  cannot  speak; 
For  truth  hath  better  deeds,  than  words,  to  grace  it. 
Enter  Panthino. 

Pa)it.   Sir  Proteus,  you  are  staid  for. 
Pro.  Go;  I  come,  I  come  ;  — 
Alas  I  this  parting  strikes  poor  lovers  dumb. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. —  The  same.    A  street. 

Enter  Launce,  leading  a  dog, 

Laiin.  Nay,  it  will  be  this  hour  ere  I  have  done 
weeping:  all  the  kind*  of  the  Launces  have  this 
very  fault :  I  have  received  my  proportion,  like  the 
prodigious  son,  and  am  going  with  sir  Proteus  to 
the  Imperials  court.  I  think.  Crab  my  dog  be  the 
Bourest-natured  dog  that  lives :  my  mother  weeping, 
»  Kindred. 


my  father  wailing,  my  sister  crying,  our  maid  howl- 
ing, our  cat  wringing  her  hands,  and  all  our  house 
in  a  great  perplexity,  yet  did  net  this  cruel-hearted 
cur  shed  one  tear  ;  he  is  a  stone,  a  very  pebble- 
stone, and  has  no  more  pity  in  him  than  a  dog  ;  a 
Jew  would  have  wept  to  have  seen  our  parting  ; 
wliy.  my  grandam  having  no  eyes,  look  you,  wept 
herself  blind  at  my  partmg.  Nay,  I'll  show  you 
the  manner  of  it:  This  shoe  is  my  father;  —  tio 
tliis  left  shoe  is  my  father  ;  —  no,  no,  this  left  shoe 
is  my  mother  ; —  nay,  that  cannot  be  so  neither  ; — 
yes,  it  is  so,  it  is  so ;  it  hath  the  worser  sole ;  This 
shoe,  with  the  hole  in  it,  is  my  mother,  and  this  my 
father ;  A  vengeance  on't !  tliere  'tis  :  now,  sir,  this 
stalf  is  my  sister;  for,  look  you,  she  is  as  white  as  a 
lily,  and  as  small  as  a  wand  ;  this  hat  is  Nan,  our 
maid  ;  I  am  the  dog  :  —  no,  the  dog  is  himself,  and 
I  am  the  dog ;  — (),  the  dog  is  me.  and  I  am  myself; 
ay,  so,  so.  Now  come  I  to  my  father;  Father,  your 
blessing  ,■  now  should  not  the  shoe  speak  a  word 
for  weeping:  now  should  I  kiss  my  father;  well,  lie 
weeps  on  :  now  come  I  to  my  mother,  (0,  that  she 
could  speak  now  !)  like  a  woods  woman  ; —  well,  I 
kiss  her ; — why  there  'tis ;  here's  my  mother's  I>rea1  h 
up  and  down  ;  now  come  I  to  my  sister ;  mark  the 
moan  she  makes  ;  now  the  dog  all  this  while  sheds 
not  a  tear,  nor  spe^iks  a  word  ;  but  see  how  1  lay 
the  dust  with  my  tears. 

Enter  Pa>'thino. 

Pant.  Launce,  away,  away,  aboard  ;  thy  master 
is  shipped,  and  thou  art  to  post  after  with  oars. 
What  s  the  matter"!  why  weepcst  thou.  man1  Away, 
ass  ;  you  will  lose  the  tide,  if  j'ou  tarry  any  longer. 

Laun.  It  is  no  matter  if  the  ty'd  were  lost:  for 
it  is  the  unkindest  ty'd  that  ever  man  ty'd. 

Pant.   What's  the  unkindest  tide] 

Laun.   Why,  he  that's  ty'd  here  ;  Crab,  my  dog. 

Pant.  Tut,  man,  I  mean  thou'lt  lose  the  llood  ; 
and,  in  losing  the  flood,  lose  thy  voyage;  and,  in 
losing  thy  voyage,  lose  tiiy  master ;  and,  in  losing 
thy  master,  lose  thy  service ;  and  in  losing  thy  ser- 
vice,—  Why  dost  thou  stop  my  mouth. 

Laun.  For  fear  tl.ou  should'st  lose  thy  tongue. 

Pant.   Where  should  1  lose  my  tongue  7 

Laun.   In  Ihy  tale. 

Punt.   In  thy  tail! 

Laun.  l.ose  the  tide,  and  the  voyage,  and  the 
master,  and  the  service  ]  The  tide  ! — Why.  man,  if 
the  rivcrwcre  dry,  1  am  able  to  fill  it  with  my  tears; 
if  the  wind  were  down,  I  could  drive  the  boat  with 
my  sighs. 

Pant.  Come,  come  away,  man ;  I  was  sent  to 
call  thee. 

Loan.   Sir,  call  me  what  tliou  darest. 

Pant.   Wilt  thou  go'! 

Laun.  Well,  I  will  go.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. —  Milan.  An  Apartment  in  tlie  Duke's 
Palace. 

Enter  Vaie^itim,  Silvia,  Thcbio,  and  Spled. 

Sil.   Ser\'ant  — 

Val.  Mistress] 

Speed.   Master,  sir  Thurio  frowns  on  you. 

Val.   Ay,  boy,  it's  for  love. 

Speed.  Not  of  you. 

I'al.   Of  my  mistress  then. 

Speed.   'Twere  good,  you  knock'd  him. 

Sil.   Servant,  you  are  sad.i 

17//.  Indeed,  madam,  I  seem  so. 

Tliu.   Seem  you  that  you  are  not  1 

Val.   Haply,  I  do. 

Thu.  So  ilo  counterfeits. 

Val.   So  do  you. 

Tliu.  What" seem  I  that  I  am  not  ] 

Val.  '\VisP. 

Thu.  What  instance  of  the  contrary  '! 

17;/.  Your  folly. 

Thu.  And  how  quote*  you  my  folly  ! 

Val.   I  i|Uole  it  in  your  jerkin. 

Thu.  My  jerkin  is  a  doublet. 

Val.  Well',  then,  I'll  double  your  folly. 

Thu.  How? 

Sil.  What,  angry,  sir  Thurio'!  do  you  change 
color?  .        ,  .,     p 

Val.  Give  him  leave,  madam ;  he  is  a  kind  or 
chameleon, 

•  Crazy,  distracted.  i  Serious. 

"  Note,  observe. 


32 


TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


Act  11. 


Thu.  That  liuth  more  mind  to  feed  on  your  blood, 
than  live  in  your  air. 

Vat.   You  have  said,  sir. 

Thu.   Ay,  sir,  and  done  too,  for  this  time. 

Vat,  I  know  it  well,  sir;  you  always  end  ere  you 
be;riii. 

Hit.  A  fine  volley  of  words,  gentlemen,  and 
quiekly  shot  ofl'. 

Val.   'Tis  indeed,  madam;  we  thank  the  giver. 

Sit.  Who  is  that,  servant  ? 

Val.  Yourself,  sweet  lady ;  for  you  gave  the  fire  : 
sir  Thvirio  borrows  his  wit  froih  your  ladyship's 
looks,  and  spends  what  he  borrows,  kindly  in  your 
company. 

Thu.  Sir,  if  you  spend  word  for  word  with  me, 
I  shall  make  your  wit  bankrupt. 

Vfi/.  I  know  it  well,  sir ;  you  have  an  exchequer 
of  words,  and  I  think  no  other  treasure  to  give 
your  followers:  for  it  appears  by  their  bare  liveries, 
that  they  live  by  your  bare  words, 

Sil.  No  more,  gentlemen,  no  more  ;  here  comes 
my  father. 

Enter  Duke. 

DnJi'e.   Now,  daughter  Silvia,  you  are  hard  beset. 
Sir  Valentine,  your  falhers  in  good  health  : 
What  say  you  to  a  letter  from  your  friends 
Of  much  good  news  I 

Vat.  My  lord.  I  will  be  thankful 

To  any  happy  messenger  from  tlirnce. 

Duke.   Know  you  Dou  Antonio,  your  country- 
man ■? 

Val.   Ay,  my  good  lord,  I  know  the  gentleman 
To  be  of  worth,  and  worthy  estimation, 
And  not  witlmut  desert  so  well  reputed. 

Dtfke.   Hatli  he  not  a  son  '! 

J'al.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  a  son  that  well  deserves 
The  linnor  and  ret^ard  of  such  a  father. 

Dnl{e.   You  know  him  well  1 

Val.  I  knew  him  as  myself;  for  from  our  infancy 
We  Iinve  conversed  and  spent  our  hours  together; 
And  thouiih  myself  have  been  an  idle  truant, 
Omitting  the  sweet  benefit  of  time, 
To  clothe  mine  age  with  angel-like  perfection; 
Yet  liath  sir  Proteus,  for  tliat's  his  name, 
Mado  use  and  fair  advantage  of  his  days ; 
His  years  but  young,  but  his  experience  old  ; 
His  head  nnmellow'd,  but  his  judi.nncnt  ripe; 
And,  in  a  word,  (for  far  behind  his  worth 
Come  all  the  praises  that  1  now  bestow,) 
He  is  complete  in  feature,  and  in  mind, 
VVilh  all  good  grace  to  grace  a  srentleman. 

Duke.   Beshrew  me,  sir,  but  if  he  make  this  good, 
He  is  as  worthy  for  an  puipress'  love. 
As  meet  to  be  an  emperor's  counsellor. 
^VpIl,  sir;  tliis  gentleman  is  come  to  me. 
With  commendation  from  great  potentates; 
And  here  he  means  to  spend  his  time  awhile; 
I  tlilnk,  tisno  unwelcome  news  1o  you. 

I'///.   Should  1  have  wish'd  a  thing, it  had  been  he. 

Dr/he.  Welcome  him  then  according  to  his  worth: 
Silvia,  I  speak  to  you;  and  you.  sir  Thurio:  — 
Kor  Valentine,  I  need  ntit  "cites  him  to  it : 
I'll  send  him  hitherto  you  presently.  [Exit  Dukk. 

Vat.  This  is  the  gentleman,  I  told  your  ladyship, 
Had  come  along  with  me,  but  that  his  mistress 
Did  hold  his  eyes  lock'd  in  her  crystal  looks. 

Sit.  Belike  "that  now  she  hath  enfranchis'd  them 
Upon  some  other  pawn  for  fealtv. 

Vat,  Kay,  sure,  I  think  she  holds  them  prisoners 
stiil. 

Sit.   Nav,  then  he  should  be  blind;  and  being 
blind. 
How  could  lie  see  his  vt'ay  to  seek  out  you  1 

Vat.    Why,  lady,  love  liath  twenty  pair  of  eye^. 

Ttni.   They  say  that  love  halh  not  an  eye  at' all. 

Vat.   To  see  such  lovers,  Thurio.  as  yourself; 
Upon  a  homely  object  love  can  wink. 

Enter  PnoTF.ufi. 
Sil.   Have   done,  have   done;    here    comes  the 

t'cntleman. 
Val.  Welcome,  dear  Proteus! — Mistress,  I  be- 
seech you, 
Confirm  his  welcome  with  some  special  Aivor. 

Sil.  His  wortli  is  warrant  for  his  welcome  hither, 
If  this  be  he  you  oft  have  wish'd  to  hear  from. 
Val.  Mistress,  it  is:  sweet  lady,  entertain  him 
fi  Incite. 


To  be  my  fellow-servant  to  your  ladyship. 

Sit.  Too  low  a  mistress  for  so  high  a  servant. 

Pro.  Not  so,  sweet  lady  ;  but  too  mean  a  servant 
To  have  a  look  of  such  a  worthy  mistress. 

Val.   Leave  ofl'  discourse  of  disability:  — 
Sweet  lady,  entertain  him  fbr  your  servant. 

Pro.    My  duty  will  I  boast  of,  nothing  else. 

Sil.   And  duty  neve-*  yet  did  want  his  meed  ; 
Servant,  you  are  welcome  to  a  worthless  mistress. 

Pro.   I'll  die  on  him  that  says  so,  but  yourself. 

Sit.  That  you  are  welcome  r 

Pro.  No;  that  you  are  worthless. 

Enter  Servant. 

Ser.  Madam,  my  lord  your  father  would  speak 

with  you. 
Sil.  I'll  wait  upon  his  pleasure.    [Exit  Servant. 
Come,  sir  Thurio, 
Go  with  me  : — Once  more,  new  servant,  welcome: 
ril  leave  you  to  confer  of  home-affairs; 
When  y)(u  have  done,  we  look  to  hear  from  you. 
Pro,   We'll  both  attend  upon  your  ladyship. 

[Exeunt  Silvia,  Thuhio,  aad  Speed, 
Vat.  Now,  tell  me,  how  do  all  from  whence  you 

came  '! 
Pro.  Your  friends  are  well,  and  have  them  mucli 

commended. 
Val.  And  how  do  yours  f 

Pro.  I  left  them  all  in  health. 

Val.   How  does  your  lady  T    and  how  thrives 

your  love '.' 
Pro.  My  tales  of  love  were  wont  to  weary  you ; 
I  know  you  joy  not  in  a  love-discourse. 

Val.   Ay,  Proteus,  but  that  life  is  alterM  now  ; 
T  have  done  penance  for  contemning  love  ; 
Whose  high  imperious  thoughts  have  punish'd  me 
With  bitter  fasts,  with  penitential  groans. 
With  nightly  tears,  and  daily  heart-sore  sighs  ; 
For,  in  revenge  of  my  contempt  of  love, 
Love  hath  chiis'd  sleep  from  my  enthralled  eyes, 
And  made  them  watchers  of  mine  own   heart's 

sorrow. 
O,  gentle  Proteus,  love's  a  mighty  lord  ; 
And  hath  so  humbled  me,  as  I  confess, 
There  is  no  woe  to  his  correction. 
Nor,  to  ills  service,  no  such  joy  on  earth  ! 
Now,  no  discourse,  except  it  be  of  love ; 
Now  can  I  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup,  and  sleep, 
Upon  the  very  naked  name  of  love. 

Pro.   Knouih  ;  I  read  your  fortune  in  your  eye  : 
Was  this  the  idol  that  you  worship  so? 

T7//.    Even  she;  andJs  she  not  a  heavenly  saiull 
Pro.   No ;  but  she  is  an  earthly  paragon. 
17//.   Call  her  divine. 

Pro.  I  will  not  flatter  her. 

T7//.   O,  flatter  me  ;  for  love  delights  in  praises. 
Pro.   When  I  was  sick,  you  gave  me  bitter  pills; 
And  I  must  minister  the  like  to  you. 

17//.   Then  speak  the  truth  by  her  ;  if  not  divine, 
Yet  let  her  be  a  principality. 
Sovereign  to  all  the  creatures  on  the  earth. 
Pro.   Except  my  mistress. 

T7//.  Sweet,  except  not  any  ; 

Except  thou  wilt  except  against  my  love. 
Pro.  Have  I  not  reason  to  prefer  mine  own? 
17//.   And  I  will  help  thee  to  prefer  her  too: 
She  shall  be  dignified  with  this  high  honor. — 
To  bear  my  lady's  train;  lest  the  base  earth 
Should  from  her  vesture  chance  to  steal  a  kiss, 
And.  of  so  great  a  favor  growing  proud. 
Disdain  to  root  the  summer-swelling  flower, 
And  make  rough  winter  everlasting' ly. 
Pro.  Why,  Valentine,  what  braggardism  is  this? 
17//.   Pardon  me.  Proteus;  all  I  can.  is  nothing 
To  lier.  whose  worth  makes  other  worthies  nothing; 
She  is  alone. 
pro.   Then  let  her  alone. 

Val.  Not  for  the  world  :  why,  man,  she  is  mine 
own  ; 
And  I  as  rich  in  havinsr  such  a  jewel, 
As  twenty  seas,  it"  all  their  sand  were  pearl. 
The  water  nectar,  and  the  rocks  pure  gold, 
Forgive  me,  that  I  do  not  dream  on  thee, 
liecause  thou  seest  me  dote  upon  my  love. 
My  foolish  rival,  that  her  father  likes, 
Oiily  for  his  possessions  are  so  huge. 
Is  gone  with  her  along  ;  and  I  must  after. 
For  love,  thou  know"st,  is  full  of  jealousy. 
Pro.   But  she  loves  you  ? 


SnBNE  VII. 


TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


3;i 


VaL  Ay.  and  we  are  betroth'd ; 

Nay,  more,  our  niorriasc  hour, 
Witli  all  the  ouniiini;  manlier  of  our  llislit, 
Determm  d  of:  liovv  I  must  climb  her  wuidow  ; 
The  ladder  made  of  cords  ;  and  all  the  means 
plotted,  and  'greed  on.  for  my  happiness. 
Good  I*roteus,  go  witii  me  to  my  chamber. 
In  tliese  ad'airs  to  aid  nie  with  thy  counsel. 

Pro.  lio  on  belbrc  ;  1  .shall  inquire  you  forth  : 
I  must  unto  the  road,  to  di-scmbark 
Some  necc!^sarics  tliat  I  needs  must  use ;    • 
.And  then  I'll  presently  attend  you. 

I'al.   Will  you  make  haste  ! 

Fro.   1  will'.—  [Exit  Val. 

Even  as  one  heat  another  heat  expels. 
Or  as  one  nail  by  streiii;th  drives  out  another, 
So  tlie  remembrance  of  my  Ibrnier  love 
lb  by  a  newer  object  quite  forgotten. 
is  it  mine  eye,  or  Valentinus"  praise, 
Ilrr  true  pcTfeetion,  or  my  false  transgression, 
'i'l.it  m  dies  me,  reasonless,  to  reason  thus  ! 
Shi's  fair;  and  so  is  Julia, that  1  love:  — 
That  1  did  love,  for  now  my  love  is  thawd; 
Whicli,  like  a  waxen  image  'gainst  a  tire. 
Bears  no  impression  of  the  thing  it  was. 
Methinks,  iny  zeal  to  Valentine  is  cold  ; 
And  that  I  love  him  not,  as  I  was  wont: 
CI  !   but  I  love  his  lady  too,  loo  much; 
And  thats  the  reason  1  love  him  so  little. 
How  shall  I  dote  on  her  with  more  advice,' 
That  thus  without  advice  begin  to  love  her  ? 
'Tis  but  her  picture  1  have  yet  beheld. 
And  that  hath  dazzled  my  reason's  light ; 
Hut  when  I  look  on  her  perfections. 
There  is  no  reason  but  1  sliall  be  blind. 
If  1  can  cheek  my  erring  love,  I  will ; 
If  not,  to  compass  her  I'll  use  my  skill.  [Exit. 

SC  KN  E  V.  —  Tlie  same.    A  street. 
Enter  Spekd  and  Launce. 

Speed.  Launce !  by  mine  honesty,  welcome  to 
Milan. 

Latin.  Forswear  not  thyself,  sweet  youth  ;  for 
I  am  not  welcome.  I  reckon  this  always  —  that  a 
niin  is  never  undone,  till  he  be  hanged  ;  nor  never 
Welcome  to  a  place,  till  some  certain  sliot  be  paid, 
and  the  hostess  s.iy  welcome. 

Sp^ed.  Come  on,  yon  mad-cap,  I'll  to  the  ale- 
house Willi  you  presently  ;  wliere,  for  one  shot  of 
five-pence,  thou  shall  have  live  thousand  welcomes. 
Hut.  sirrah,  how  did  thy  master  part  with  madam 
Julia? 

Liiun.  Marry,  after  they  closed  in  earnest,  they 
parted  very  fairly  in  jest. 

Speel.   Hilt  sliall  she  marry  him  ^ 

Laun.   No. 

Speed.  How  then  T   shall  he  marry  her  T 

Laiin.   No,  neither. 

Spee  I.  What,  are  they  hroken  7 

Limn.   No.  they  are  both  as  whole  as  a  fish. 

Speed.  Why  then,  how  stands  the  matter  with 
them  I 

Laun.  Marry,  thus;  when  it  stands  well  with 
him,  it  stands  well  with  her. 

Speed.  What  an  ass  art  thou!  I  understand  thee 
not. 

Laun.  Whit  a  block  art  thou,  that  thou  canst 
Dot!  My  staif  understands  mc. 

Speed.   What  thou  say'st  ! 

Laun.  Ay,  and  what  I  do  too:  look  thee.  Ill 
but  lean,  and  my  stall'  understands  mc. 

Spee  1.   It  stands  under  thee,  indeed. 

Laun.   \Vhy  stand  under  and  understand  is  all 
one. 

Speed.   Hut  tell  me  true,  wiU't  be  a  match '! 

Laun.  Ask  my  dog :  if  he  say,  ay,  it  will ;  if  he 
say,  no,  it  will;  if  he  sliake  his  ta"il,aiid  say  nothing, 
it  will. 

Speed.  The  conclusion  is  then,  that  it  will. 

Laun.  Thou  shall  never  get  such  a  secret  from 
me,  but  by  a  parable. 

Speed.  '  I'is  well  that  I  get  it  so.  But,  Launce, 
how  say'st  thou,  that  my  master  has  become  a 
notable  lover ! 

La'in.   I  never  knew  him  otherwise. 

Speed.  Than  how  ! 

Laun.  A  notable  lubber,  as  thou  rcportest  him 
to  be. 

I  On  further  knowledge. 


Speed.  Why,  thou  whoreson  ass,  thou  mistakcst 
me. 

Laun.  Why,  fool,  I  meant  not  thee;  I  meant 
thy  master. 

Speed.  I  tell  thee,  my  master  is  become  a  hot  lover. 

Laun.  Why,  1  tell  thee,  1  care  not  though  he 
burn  himself  in  love.  If  thou  wilt  go  with  me  to 
the  alehouse,  so  ;  if  not,  thou  art  a  Hebrew,  a  Jew, 
and  not  worth  the  name  of  a  Christian. 

Speed.   Why  '! 

Laun.  Hccause  thou  hast  not  so  much  charity 
in  Ihee,  as  to  go  to  the  alehouse  with  a  Christian  ■ 
Wilt  Ihiiu  go! 

Spec^t.  At  thy  service.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  VI. —  Ttie  same.    An  Apart inent  in  t lit 
Palace. 
Enter  PnoTF.cs. 
Prn.   To  leave  my  Julia,  shall  I  be  forsworn; 
To  love  fair  Silvia,  shall  I  be  forsworn  ; 
'ro  wrong  my  friend.  1  shall  be  much  forsworn  ; 
And  even  that  power,  w  hich  save  me  first  my  oath, 
Provokes  me  to  this  threefold  perjury. 
Love  bade  me  swear,  and  love  bids  me  forswear: 

0  sweet-suggesting»  love,  if  thou  h.ist  sinn'd. 
Teach  mc,  thy  tempted  subject,  to  excuse  it. 
At  first  I  did  adore  a  twinkling  star. 

Hut  now  1  worship  a  celestial  sun. 

Unheedful  vows  may  heedfully  be  broken  ; 

And  he  wants  wit,  that  wants  resolved  will 

To  learn  his  wit  to  exchan-'e  the  bad  tor  belter. — 

Fie,  fle,  unrcverend  tongue !  to  call  her  bad. 

Whose  sovereignty  so  oft  thou  hast  preferr'd 

With  twenty  thousand  soul-confirmmg  oaths. 

1  cannot  leave  to  love,  and  yet  I  do; 

Hut  there  1  leave  to  love,  where  I  should  love. 
Julia  1  lose,  and  Valentine  I  lose: 
If  1  keep  them.  I  needs  must  lose  myself; 
If  I  lose  them,  thus  find  1  by  their  loss. 
For  Valentine,  myself;  for  Julia.  Silvia. 
1  to  myself  am  dearer  than  a  friend  ; 
For  love  is  still  more  precious  in  itself. 
And  Silvia,  witness  heaven,  that  made  her  fair! 
Shows  Julia  but  a  swarthy  Kthiope. 
I  will  forget  that  Julia  is  alive, 
liemcinbring  that  my  love  to  her  is  dead; 
■\nd  Valentine  I'll  hold  an  enemy, 
Ximing  at  Silvia  as  a  sweeter  friend. 
T  cannot  now  prove  constant  to  myself. 
Without  some  treachery  used  to  ^  aleiitine:  — 
This  night  he  meaneth  with  a  corded  ladder 
To  climb  celestial  Silvia's  chamber-window  ; 
My.self  in  counsel,  his  competitor :' 
Now  presently  I'll  give  lu-r  father  notice 
of  their  disguising,  and  pretended-  llight: 
Who  all  enrag'd,  will  banish  Valentine; 
For  ■fhnrio,  he  intends,  shall  wed  his  daughter: 
Hul  Valentine  being  gone.  Til  quickly  cro.ss. 
By  some  sly  trick,  blunt  Thurio's  dull  proi-eeding. 
Love,  lend  me  win-s  to  make  my  purpose  swift. 
As  thou  hast  lent  me  wit  to  plot  this  drill !     [hxit. 
SCENE  VII.  —  Verona.    A  room  in  Julia's  House. 
Enter  Julia  and  Lucetta. 

Jul.  Counsel.  Lucetta;  gentle  girl,  assist  me! 
And,  even  in  kind  love,  I  do  conjure  thee,— 
Who  art  the  table  wherein  all  my  thoughts 
\re  visibly  character  d  and  engraved.— 
To  lesson  me ;  and  tell  me  some  good  mean, 
How,  with  my  honor,  I  may  undertake 
\  iourney  to  my  loving  Proteus. 
'  Luc.   .Mas!  the  way  is  wearisome  and  long. 

Ji'/.'  A  true  devoted  pilgrim  is  not  weary 
To  measure  kingdoms  with  his  fi"eble  steps: 
,M  ucli  less  shall  she,  that  hath  love  s  wings  to  Hy : 
\iid  when  the  flight  is  made  to  one  so  dear. 
Of  such  divine  perfection,  as  sir  Proteus. 

Luc    Better  forbear,  till  Proteus  make  return. 

Jul.  O,  know'st  Ihou  not,  his  loolis  are  my  soul » 
food!  .J. 

Pity  tlic  dearth  that  1  have  pined  in, 
By"lon--ing  for  that  food  so  long  a  time. 
Didst  Kioa  but  know  the  inly  touch  of  love. 
Thou  wouldst  as  soon  go  kindle  fire  with  snow. 
As  seek  to  quench  the  fire  of  love  with  w"/*- 

Luc.  1  do  not  seek  to  quench  your  love  s  hot  hre  , 
But  qualify  the  fire's  extreme  rage, 

» Tempting.  »Confi:dcrate.  •Intended. 


•M 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF  VERONA. 


Act  III. 


Lest  it  should  burn  above  the  bounds  of  reason. 

Jul.  riie  more  Ihou  duni'st  it  up,  the  more  it  burns; 
The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  gh  es, 
Thoukuow'st,  bemgstapp'd,  impatiently  doth  rage; 
But,  wiien  his  fair  eouise  is  not  liindered, 
He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enaiucrd  stones, 
Givm^^  a  f^entle  kiss  to  every  sedge 
He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage  ; 
And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays, 
With  willing  sport  to  the  wild  ocean. 
'I  lien  let  me  go,  and  hinder  not  my  course  : 
VU  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  stream, 
And  make  a  pastime  of  each  weary  step, 
Till  The  last  step  have  brought  me  to  my  love; 
And  there  Til  rest,  as,  after  much  turmoil,* 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Klysiuin. 

Luc.   But  in  what  habit' will  you  go  along'! 

Jul.   Not  like  a  woman  ;  for  1  would  prevent 
The  loose  encounters  of  lascivious  men: 
Gentle  Lucetta,  fit  me  with  such  weeds 
As  may  beseem  some  well-reputed  page. 

Luc.  Why,  then  your  ladyship  must  cut  your  hair. 

Ju/.    No,  girl;  Til  knit  it  up  in  silken  strings, 
Willi  twenty  odd-conceited  true-love  knots: 
To  be  fantastic  may  become  a  youtli 
Of  greater  time  than  I  shall  show  to  be. 

Luc.  What  fashion,  madam,  shall  1  make  your 
breeciies  1 

Jul.  That  fits  as  well,  as — "tell  me,  good  my 
lord, 
What  compass  will  you  wear  your  farthingale  1  " 
Why,  even  that  fashion  thou  best  likst,  Lucetta. 

Luc.   Vou  must  needs  have   them  with  a  cod- 
piece, madam. 

Jul.  (mt,  out.  Lucetta!  that  will  be  ill-fiivord. 

Luc.  A  round  iiose,  madam,  nows  not  worth  a 
pin, 


Unless  you  have  a  cod-piece  to  stick  pins  on. 

Jul.  Lucetta,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  let  me  have 
What  thou  thiiik'st  meet,  and  is  most  mannerly : 
Hut  tell  me,  weiR-h,  how  will  the  world  repute  me, 
For  undertaking  so  unstaid  a  journey  1 
I  fear  me,  it  will  make  me  scandaliz'd. 

Luc.  If  you  think  sojthen  stay  at  home,and  go  not. 

Jul.   Nay,  tliat  1  will  not. 

Luc.   Then  never  dream  on  infamy,  but  go. 
If  Proteus  like  your  journey,  when  you  come, 
No  matter  who*s  displeas'd,  when  you  are  gone: 
I  fear  me.  he  will  scarce  be  pleas'd  withal. 

Jul.  That  is  the  least,  Lucetta,  of  my  fear: 
A  thousand  oaths,  an  ocean  of  his  tears, 
And  instances  as  infinite  of  love, 
Warrant  me  welcome  to  my  Trotcus. 

Luc.   All  these  are  servants  to  deceitful  men. 

Jul.   Base  men  that  use  them  to  so  base  etfect! 
But  truer  stars  did  govern  Proteus'  birth  : 
His  words  are  bonds,  his  oaths  are  oracles  ; 
His  love  sincere,  his  thoughts  immaculate; 
His  tears  pure  messengers  sent  from  his  heart; 
His  heart  as  far  from  fraud,  as  heaven  from  eurtl). 

Luc.   Pray  heaven,  he  prove  so,  when  you  come 
to  him  ! 

Jul.   Now,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  do  him  not  that 
wrong. 
To  bear  a  hard  opinion  of  his  truth : 
Only  deserve  my  love,  by  loving  him; 
And  presently  go  with  me  to  my  chamber 
To  take  a  note  of  what  I  stand  in  need  of. 
To  furnish  me  upon  my  longin'^«  journey. 
All  that  is  mine  1  leave  at  thy  dispose, 
My  EToods,  my  lands,  my  reputation; 
Only  in  lieu  thereof,  dispatch  me  hence: 
Come,  answer  not,  but  to  it  presently; 
I  am  impatient  of  my  tarriance.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


St'ENK  I.  —  Milan.    An  Ante-room  in  /lie  Duke's 
Futace. 

Enter  Dcki:,  Thurio,  and  Proteus. 

Duke.  Sir  Thurio,  jiive  us  leave,  I  pray,  awhile: 
We  have  some  secrets  to  confer  about. — 

[Exit  THrRio. 
Now,  tell  me,  Proteus,  what's  your  will  with  nie  ? 

Pro.   My  gracious  lord,  that  which  1  would  dis- 
cover. 
The  law  of  friendship  bids  me  to  conceal : 
liiit.  when  I  call  to  mind  your  gracious  favors 
I)one  to  me,  undeserving  as  I  am. 
My  duty  pricks  me  on  to  utter  that 
"Which  else  no  worldly  }j:ood  should  draw  from  me. 
Know,  worthy  prince,  sir  Valentine,  my  friend. 
This  nisht  intends  to  steal  away  your  daus-'hter; 
Myself  am  one  made  privy  to  the  plot. 
I  know,  you  have  determin'd  to  bestow  her 
On  Thurio.  whom  your  identic  dauj^htcr  hates  ; 
And  should  slie  thus  be  stolen  away  from  jou, 
it  would  be  much  vexation  to  your  aise. 
Thus,  for  my  duty's  sake.  1  ralher  choose 
To  cross  my  friend  in  his  intended  drift, 
Tlian.  by  concealing  it,  heap  on  your  head 
A  pock  of  sorrows,  which  would  press  you  down, 
lienii;  unprevcnled,  to  your  timeless  ^ravc. 

Duke,  Proteus,  I  thank  thee  for  thine  honest  care ; 
Which  to  requite,  command  me  while  1  live. 
This  love  of  theirs  myself  have  ollcn  seen, 
Kaply,  when  they  have  judged  me  fast  asleep; 
And  oncutimes  have  purpos'd  to  forbid 
Sir  Valentine  her  company,  and  my  court: 
Hut.  fearing  lest  my  jealous  aim  '  might  err, 
And  so.  unworthily,  disgrace  the  man, 
(A  rashness  that  lever  yet  have  shunn'd,) 
1  gave  him  gentle  looks;  thereby  to  find 
That  which  thyself  hast  now  disclosd  to  me. 
And,  that  thou  mayst  perceive  my  fear  of  this, 
Knowing  that  tender  youth  is  soiin  suggested,' 
I  nightlv  lodge  her  in  an  upper  tower. 
The  key  whereof  myself  have  ever  kept ; 
*  Trouble.  "Guess.  flTempteJ. 


And  thence  she  cannot  be  convey'd  away. 

Pro.   Know,  noble  lord,  they  have  devis'd  a  mean 
How  he  her  chamber  window  will  ascend. 
And  with  a  corded  ladder  fetch  her  down  ; 
For  which  the  youthful  lover  now  is  gone. 
And  this  way  comes  he  with  it  presently  ; 
Where,  if  it  please  you,  you  may  intercept  him. 
But,  good  my  lord,  do  it  so  cunnm^'ly, 
That  my  discovery  be  not  aimed'  at: 
For  love  of  you,  not  hate  unto  my  friend. 
Hath  made  me  publisher  of  this  pretence.' 

Duke.   I'pon  mine  honor,  he  sfiall  never  know 
That  1  had  any  light  from  thee  of  this. 

Pro.  Adieu,  my  lord  ;  sir  Valentine  is  coming. 

[Exit. 
Enter  'Vaiextixe. 

Duke.   Sir  Valentine,  whither  away  so  fe.st  ? 

I'(7/.   Please  it  your  grace,  there  is  a  messenger 
That  stays  to  bear  my  lelters  to  my  friends, 
And  I  am  going  to  deliver  Ihein. 

Duke.   He  they  of  much  import? 

Vol.   The  tenor  of  them  doth  but  signify 
My  health,  and  happy  being  at  your  court. 

Duke.  Nav.then, no  matter;  stay  with  me  awhile- 
I  am  to  break  with  thee  of  .some  alTairs, 
That  touch  me  near,  wherein  thou  must  he  secret, 
Tis  not  unknown  to  thee,  that  1  have  sought 
To  match  my  friend,  sir  Thurio,  to  my  daughter. 

Vul.  I  know  it  well,  my  lord ;  and.  sure,  tlie  match 
Were  rich  and  honorable ;  besides,  the  gentleman 
Is  full  of  virtue,  bounty,  worth,  and  qualities 
lieseeming  such  a  wile  as  your  fair  daughter: 
Cannot  your  grace  win  her  to  ftincy  him  ? 

Duke.  No.  trust  me;  she  is  peevish,  sullen,  for 
ward. 
Proud,  disobedient,  stubborn,  lacking  duty  ; 
Neither  regarding  that  she  is  my  child. 
Nor  fearing  me  as  if  I  were  her  father: 
And,  mav  1  sav  lo  thee,  this  pride  of  hers. 
Upon  advice,  halh  drawn  my  love  from  her; 
And,  where  1  thought  the  remnant  of  mine  ago 
•  Lonscdfur.         'Guessed,  i  Design. 


Scene  I. 


TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


35 


Should  have  been  chcrish'd  by  her  rhild-hke  duty, 
I  now  am  full  resolved  to  lake  a  Wife. 
And  turn  iier  out  to  who  will  take  her  in  : 
Then  let  her  beauty  be  her  wedding  dower: 
For  me  and  my  posscs:;ions  she  esteems  not. 

Vuf.  What  would  your  j;race  have  me  to  do  in  this? 

Duke.  There  is  a  lady^  sir.  in  Milan,  here, 
Whom  I  affect;  but  she  is  niee  and  coy, 
And  nou^cht  esteems  my  a;icd  eloquenee: 
Now.  therefore,  would  I  have  thee  to  my  tutor, 
(Fur  Ion?  a^one  1  have  fori^ot  to  court : 
Besides,  the  fashion  of  the  time  is  chan^M;) 
How,  and  which  way.  I  mriy  bestow  myself, 
To  be  regarded  in  her  sun-bright  eye. 

Vat.  Win  her  with  sifts,  if  she  respect  not  words; 
Pumb  jewels  often,  in  their  silent  kind, 
More   than    quick    words,  do   move    a   woman's 
mind. 

Duke,   but  she  did  scorn  a  present  that  I  sent  her. 

Vul.   A    woman    sometimes    scorns  what   best 
''ontents  her: 
Send  her  another;  never  give  her  o'er; 
For  scorn  at  first  makes  after-love  the  more. 
Tf  she  do  frown,  'tis  not  in  hate  of  you, 
But  ratlier  to  lx*>;et  more  love  in  you: 
If  she  do  chide,  'tis  not  to  have  you  p;one  ; 
For  why,  the  fools  arc  mad.  if  left  alone. 
Take  no  repulse,  whatever  she  doth  say  ; 
For,  ^et  you  pone,  she  doth  not  mean,  away : 
Flatter,  and  praise,  commend,  exto!  their  un'sces: 
Thou'^h  ne'er  so  bia'*k.  say.  they  have  amrels'  faces. 
'I'hat  man  tliat  hath  a  ton'irue,  1  say,  is  no  man, 
If  with  his  tonirue  be  cannot  win  a  woman. 

Duke.   But  she,  I  mean,  ispromis'd  by  her  friends 
Unto  a  youthful  gentleman  of  worth; 
And  kept  severely  from  resort  of  men, 
That  no  man  hath  access  by  day  to  her. 

\'ii(.   Why  tlicn  I  would  resort  to  her  by  nig^ht. 

Duke.   Ay.  but  the  doors  be  lockM,  and  keys 
kept  safe. 
That  no  man  bath  recourse  to  her  by  nisht. 

Vfff.  What  Ii'ts.but  onemay  enb'rat  herwindowl 

Duke.   Herchainlier  is  alotl.  far  from  the  ground ; 
And  built  so  sbohinL',  that  one  cannot  climb  it 
Without  apparent  hazard  of  his  life. 

Val.   Why  then. a  ladf1er,quTintIy  made  of  cords, 
To  cast  up  with  a  pair  of  anchorini;  hooks, 
Would  serve  to  scale  another  Hero's  tower, 
So  hold  Leander  would  adventure  it. 

Duke.   Now.  as  thou  art  a  gentleman  of  blood, 
Advise  me  where  I  may  have  such  a  ladder. 

Val.  When  would  you  use  it  ?  pray,  sir,  tell  me 
that. 

Duke.   This  very  night ;  for  love  is  like  a  child. 
That  lonirs  for  everything  that  he  can  come  by. 

!'(//.   By  seven  o'clock  I'll  get  you  such  a  ladder. 

Duke.   But,  hark  thee;  I  will  go  to  her  atone; 
How  shall  I  best  convey  the  ladder  thither? 

]'<if.   It  will  be  light,  my  lord,  that  you  may  bear  it 
Under  a  cloak,  that  is  of' any  len::th. 

Duke.  Acloakasloujg  as  thine  will  serve  the  turn? 

Vaf.   Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.  Then  let  me  pee  thy  cloak ; 

I'll  get  me  one  of  such  another  lenstb. 

Vol.  Why,  an V  cloak  will  serve  the  turn,  my  lord. 

Duke.   How  sball  I  fashion  me  to  wear  a  cloak"! 
T  pray  thee.  let  mc  feel  thy  cloak  upon  me. — 
What  letter  is  this  same  T  What's  here  I  —  To  Silvia. 
And  here  an  engine  fit  for  my  proceeding! 
Ill  be  80  bold  to  break  the  seal  for  once.       [Reads. 

Mil  thoughts  do  harbor  wifh  my  Silvia  niffhfly  ; 

And  Silavcs  ihey  arcto  me,  fha! send  ffictn  flyiug: 
O,  fould  fheir  master  come  and  go  as  fighf(i/y 

Himself  irould  lodge  where  senseless  they  are 
lyins. 
Mil  herald  thoughis  in  fhy  pure  bosom  rest  them  ; 

While  J, their  kin<^,lho{  Ihilhfr  them  importune. 
Do  eurse   the  f^racc  that  witli   such  grace  hath 
blessed  them. 

Because  mi/.-elf  do  want  my  senvmt^s  fortune  : 
I  curye  myself  for  they  are  sent  by  me. 
That  they  should  harbor  where  their  lord  should  be. 
What's  here! 
Silvia,  this  ni^ht  I  will  enfranchise  thee : 

*Tts  so  ;  and  here's  the  ladder  for  the  purpose. — 
Why.  Phafiton,  (for  thou  art  Merops'  son,) 
Wilt  thou  aspire  to  guide  the  heavenly  car, 
And  with  thy  daring  folly  burn  the  world? 


Wilt  thou  reach  stars  because  they  shine  on  thee  ! 

do,  base  intruder  !  over-weening  slave! 

Bestow  tliy  tawning  smiles  on  equal  mates; 

And  think,  my  patience,  more  than  thy  desert, 

Is  privilciic  for  thy  departure  hence: 

Thank  me  for  this,  more  than  for  all  the  flavors. 

Which,  all  too  much  I  have  hestowd  on  thee. 

But  if  thou  linger  in  my  territories. 

Longer  than  swiftest  expedition 

W'ill  give  thee  time  to  leave  our  royal  court. 

By  heaven,  my  wrath  shall  far  exceed  the  lovo 

I  ever  bore  my  dauirhtcr,  or  thyself. 

Begone.  I  will  not  hear  thy  vam  excuse. 

But,  as  thou  lov'st  thy  life,  make  speed  from  hence. 

[Exit  DlTKE. 

"fai.  And  why  not  death  rather  than  live  in  tor- 
ment ! 
To  die,  is  to  be  banish'd  from  myself; 
And  Silvia  is  myself;  banish'd  from  her. 
Is  self  from  self;  a  deadly  banishment! 
What  light  is  light,  if  Silvia  be  not  seen  1 
What  joy  is  joy.  if  Silvia  be  not  by  ] 
Unless  it  be  to'think  that  she  is  by. 
And  feed  upon  the  shadow  of  perfection. 
Kxcept  I  be  by  Silvia  in  the  night. 
There  is  no  music  in  the  nightingale; 
Unless  I  look  on  Silvia  in  the  day, 
There  is  no  day  for  me  to  look  upon: 
She  is  my  essence ;  and  I  leave  to  be. 
If  I  be  not  by  her  fair  inlluence 
Foster'd,  illumin'd,  cbensbM.  kept  alive, 
I  lly  not  death,  to  ily  bis  deadly  doom: 
Tarry  I  here.  I  but  attend  on  death  ; 
But,  lly  1  hence,  1  lly  away  from  life. 

Enter  Photeus  and  Launct. 

Pro.   Run,  boy,  run,  run,  and  seek  him  out. 

Luun.   So-ho !  so-ho  ! 

Pro.   What  seest  tho\i ! 

Laun.   Him  we  go  to  find:  there's  not  a  hail 
on's  head,  but  'tis  a  Valentine. 

Pro.   Valentine ! 

Vat.   No. 

pro.   Who  then?  his  spirit? 

Val.   Neither. 

Pro.   What  then? 

Val.   Notlung. 

Laun.  Can  nothing  speak?  master,  shall  I  strike? 

Pro.   Whom  wouldst  thou  strike  ! 

Laun.   Nothing. 

pro.    Villain,  forbear. 

Laun.  Why, sir.  I'llstrikenothing:  1  prayyou. — ■ 

Pro.   Sirrah,  I  say,  forbear:  Friend  VaU'nline,  a 
word. 

Val.  My  ears  are  stopp'd,  and  cannot  hear  good 
news, 
So  much  of  bad  already  hath  possessM  them. 

Pro.   Then  in  dumb  silence  will  I  bury  mine, 
For  they  are  harsh,  untunable,  and  bad. 
1       Val.  Is  Silvia  dead? 

pro.   No,  Valentine. 

Val.   No  Valentine,  indeed,  for  sacred  Silvia  !  — 
Hatli  she  forsworn  me? 

Pro.   No,  Valentine. 

Val.  No  Valentine,  if  Silvia  have  forsworn  me !  — 
What  is  your  news? 

Laun.   Sir,  theres  a  proclamation  that  you  are 
banish'd. 

Pro.  That  thou  art  banished.  O,  that's  the  news ; 
From  hence,  from  Silvia,  and  from  me  thy  friend. 

}'al.  (),  I  have  fed  upon  this  woe  alreacly. 
And  now  excess  of  it  will  make  me  surfeit, 
both  Silvia  know  that  I  am  banished  ? 

Pro.   Ay.ay ;  and  she  bath  oilered  to  the  doom, 
(Which,  unrevers'd,  stands  in  etlectual  force.) 
A  sea  of  melting  pearl,  which  some  call  (ears: 
Tliose  at  her  father's  churlish  feet  she  tenderd  ; 
With  them,  upon  her  knees,  her  humble  suif; 
Wrin;jiing  her  hands,  whose  whiteness  so  became 

them. 
As  if  but  now  they  waxed  pale  for  woe: 
But  neither  bended  knees,  pure  hands  held  up. 
Sad  sighs,  deep  groans,  nor  silver-shedding  tears, 
Could  penetrate  her  uncompassionate  sire  ; 
But  Valentine,  if  he  be  ta'en,  must  die. 
Besides,  her  intercession  chafd  him  so. 
When  she  for  thy  repeal  was  suppliant, 
That  to  close  prison  lie  commanded  her, 
With  many  bitter  tiireats  of   biding  there. 


3G 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF   VERONA. 


Act  III. 


VaL   No  more;  unless  the  next  word  that  thou 
speak"  St 
Have  some  m.ih^nant  power  upon  my  life  : 
If  so,  1  pray  thee,  breathe  it  in  mine  ear, 
As  ending  anthem  of  my  endless  dolor. 

Fro.  Cease  to  l.uiient  ibrtliat  thou  canst  not  help, 
And  study  help  for  that  wliich  tliou  lamenfst. 
Time  is  the  nurse  and  breeder  of  ail  ^ood. 
Here  if  thou  st:iy,  thou  canst  not  see  thy  love  ; 
Besides,  thy  staying  will  abridge  thy  life, 
Hope  is  a  lovers  statT;  walk  hence  with  that. 
And  manai;e  it  a^ainst  despairing  tliou?Iits. 
1'hy  letters  may  be  here,  thouiih  thou  art  hence: 
Which,  being  writ  to  mc,  shall  be  deliver'd 
Kven  in  the  milk-white  bosom  of  thy  love. 
The  time  now  serves  not  to  expostulate  : 
Come,  I'll  convey  thee  throu;;h  the  city  f^ate; 
And.  ere  1  part  with  thee,  confer  at  large, 
Of  all  that  may  concern  thy  love  alfairs: 
As  thou  iov'st  Silvia.  tliou:;h  not  for  thyself, 
Kcirard  thy  dau'^er,  and  along  with  me. 

I'///.  1  pr;iy  thee.  Launce.aniflhou  seestmyboy, 
Bid  him  niike  haste,  and  meet  me  at  the  north  gate. 

Pro.  (io,  sirrah,  find  him  out.    Come,  Valentine. 

Vul.  O  my  dear  Silvia  !  hapless  Valentine  ! 

\ Exeunt  Valkntine  awl  Photeus. 

Laurt.  I  am  but  a  fool,  look  you  ;  and  yet  I  have 
the  wit  to  think  my  master  is  a  kind  of  a  knave: 
but  that's  all  one,  if  he  be  but  one  knave.  He  lives 
not  nnw,  that  knows  me  to  be  in  love:  yet  I  .am  in 
love ;  but  a  team  of  horse  shall  not  pluck  that  from 
me ;  nor  who  'tis  1  love,  and  yet  'tis  a  woman :  but 
what  woman.  I  will  not  tell  myself;  and  vet  'tis  a 
milk-maid:  yet 'tis  not  a  maid,  for  she  hath  had 
gossips:  yet  'tis  a  maid,  foT  she  is  her  master's 
maid,  and  serves  for  wages.  She  Iiath  more  quali- 
ties than  a  water  spaniel. —  which  is  much  in  a 
bare  Christian.  Here  is  the  cat-Ioii^  [pnUing  out  a 
jiaper]  of  her  conditions.  Imprimis,  Sk"  can  fetch, 
and  carry.  Why,  a  horse  can  do  no  more;  nay,  a 
linrsc  cannot  fetch,  but  only  carry ;  therefore,  is 
phe  better  than  a  jade.  Hem,  She  can  milk  ;  look 
you,  a  sweet  virtue  in  a  maid  with  clean  hands. 

Enter  Speed. 

Spfpfl.  How.  now,  signior  Launce?  what  news 
with  \"our  mastership] 

Laiin.   With  my  master's  ship]    why,  it  is  at 
sea. 

SpeeiL  Well,  your  old  vice  still;  mistake  the 
word  :  W' hat  news  then  in  your  paper  '. 

Larm.  The  blackest  news,  that  ever  thou  heard'st. 

Speed.   Why,  man.  how  black] 

Lnini.   W' hy.  as  black  as  ink. 

Speed.   Let  me  read  them. 

Lann.  Kieon  thee,  jolt-head;  thou  canst  not  read. 

Speed.   Thou  liest,  1  can. 

Latin.  I  will  try  thee;  tell  me  this:  who  begot 
thee  ] 

Speed.  Marry,  the  son  of  my  grandfather. 

Laiin.  ()  illiterate  loiterer!  it  was  the  son  of 
thy  brrandmother :  this  proves,  that  thou  canst  not 
read. 

SpeeJ.  Come,  fool,  come;  try  me  in  thy  paper. 

Lditn,   There  ;  and  Saint  Nicholas'^  be  tliy  speed  ! 

Speed.   Imprimis,  She  can  milk. 

Lann.   Ay,  that  she  can. 

Speed.  Item,  She  brews  ^ood  ale. 

Lfi'in.  And  thereof  comes  the  proverb, —  Bless- 
in  j:  of  your  heart,  you  brew  good  ale. 

Speed.  Item,  She  can  seti.^ 

L'lun,   That's  as  much  as  to  say,  Can  she  so] 

Speed.   Hem,  She  can  knit. 

Lann.  What  need  a  man  care  for  a  stock  with 
a  wench,  when  she  can  knit  him  a  stock  ] 

Speed.   Hem.  She  can  ivash  ani  scour. 

Lean.  A  special  virtue;  for  then  she  need  not 
be  washed  and  scoured. 

Speed.   Hem,  She  can  spin. 

L'f'in.  Then  may  I  set  the  world  on  wheels 
when  she  can  spin  for  her  living. 

Speed.   Hem,  She  hath  man  ij  nameless  virtues. 

Jjiun.  That's  as  much  as  to  say.  bastard  vir- 
tnes:  tliat.  indeed,  know  not  their  fathers,  and 
therefore  have  no  names. 

Speed,    llerejhllnir  her  vices, 

Lfi'in.   Close  at  the  heels  of  her  virtues. 
*St.  Jiicbolas  presided  over  youug  scholars. 


Speed.  Hem,  She  is  nut  io  be  kUi.sed  fasting,  in 
respect  of  her  breath. 

Latin.  Well,  that  fault  may  be  mended  with  a 
breakfast:  read  on. 

Speed,  Hem.  She  hoth  a  svjcet  mouth. 

Latin.   That  makes  amends  for  her  sour  breath. 

Speed.   Hem,  She  doth  talk  in  her  sleep. 

Latin.  Us  no  matter  for  that,  so  she  sleep  not 
in  her  talk. 

Speed.  Hem,  She  is  slow  in  words. 

Lann.  0  villain,  that  set  this  down  among  her 
vices!  To  be  slow  in  words,  is  a  woman's  only 
virtue  :  1  pray  thee,  out  with  t;  and  place  it  for  her 
chief  virtue. 

Speed.   Item,  She  is  proud. 

Latin.  Out  with  that  too;  it  was  Eve's  legacy, 
and  cannot  be  ta'en  from  her. 

Speed.   Hem,  She  hath  tto  teeth. 

Latin.  I  care  not  for  that  neither,  because  I  love 
crusts. 

Speed.  Item.  She  w  curst.* 

Laun.  Well;  the  best  is,  she  hath  no  teeth  to  bite. 

Speed.  Item,  She  ivill  often  praise  tur  liyiior. 

Lann,  If  her  liquor  be  good,  she  shall  :  if  she 
will  not.  1  will  ;  for  good  things  should  be  praised, 

Spte^L   Hem.  Shf  is  too  libtral.* 

Luun.  Of  her  tongue  she  cannot ;  for  that's  writ 
down  she  is  slow  of;  of  her  purse  slie  sliall  not; 
for  that  1  11  Keep  shut:  now,  of  another  thing  she 
may,  and  that  I  cannot  help.    Well,  proceed. 

Speed.  Items  She  hath  more  tiuir  than  wit.  and 
more  faults  than  hairs,  and  more  wealth  than 
faults. 

iMun.  Stop  there  ;  I'll  have  her  :  she  was  mine, 
and  not  mine,  twice  or  thrice  in  that  last  article: 
rehearse  that  once  more. 

Speed.  Hem,  She  hath  more  hair  than  wif^  — 

Laun.  More  hair  than  wit, —  it  may  be;  I'll 
prove  it :  the  cover  of  the  salt  hides  the  salt,  and 
therefore  it  is  more  than  the  salt;  the  hair  tfiat 
covers  the  wit,  is  more  than  the  wit ;  for  the  greater 
hides  the  less.    What's  next  ] 

Speed,  And  more  faults  thun  hairs, — 

Laun.  That's  monstrous  :  O,  that  that  were  out ! 

Speed.  And  more  wealth  than  faults. 

Laun.  Why.  that  word  makes  the  faults  gra- 
cious :  Well,  I'll  have  her ;  and  if  it  be  a  match,  as 
nothing  is  impossible, — 

Speed.  .What  then] 

Laun.  W'hy,  then  I  will  tell  thee,  —  that  t!iy 
master  stays  for  thee  at  the  north  gate. 

Speed.   For  me  ] 

Latin.  For  thee]  ay;  who  art  thou  1  he  hath 
staid  for  a  better  man  than  thee. 

Speed.  And  must  I  go  to  him  ] 

Luxnu  Thou  must  run  to  him,  for  thou  hast 
staid  so  long,  that  iroing  will  scarce  serve  the  turn. 

Speed.  Why  didst  not  tell  me  sooner]  'pox  of 
your  love-letters!  [Exit. 

L^aun.  Now  will  he  be  swinged  for  reading  my 
letter:  An  unmannerly  slave,  that  will  thrust  him- 
self into  secrets  !  —  I'll  after,  to  rejoice  in  the  boy's 
correction.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.  —  The  same.    A  room  in  ttie  Duke's 
Palace. 

Enter  Dcke  and  Tnrnio;  Photevs  behind. 

Duke.  Sir  Thurio,  fear  not,  but  that  she  will  love 
you. 
Now  Valentine  is  banish'd  from  her  sight. 

Thu.   Since  his  exile  she  hath  despised  me  most, 
Forsworn  my  company,  and  rail'd  at  me. 
That  I  am  desperate  of  obtaining  her. 

Duke.   This  weak  impress  of  love  is  as  a  figure 
Trenched*  in  ice  ;  which  with  an  hour's  heat 
Dissolves  to  water  and  doth  lose  his  form. 
A  bttle  time  will  melt  her  frozen  thoughts, 
And  worthless  Valentine  shall  he  forgot, — 
How  now,  sir  Proteus  ]  Is  your  countryman, 
According;  to  our  proclamation,  gone  T 

P)'o.  Gone,  my  good  lord. 

Duke.   My  daui^hter  takes  hisi  going  erievously. 

Pro.  A  little  time,  my  lord,  will  kill  that  grief. 

Duke.   So  I  believe  ;  but  Thurio  thinks  not  so, 
Proteus,  the  good  conceit  I  hold  of  thee 
(Por  thou  hast  shown  some  sii^n  of  good  desert) 
Makes  me  the  better  to  confer  with  thee. 

"Frowurd.        •Licntious  in  language.        "Cut. 


Act,  lY.  ScEXE  I.         TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


37 


Pro.   I.onircr  than  T  prove  loyal  to  your  grace, 
Let  me  not  live  to  look  upon  your  i:r:ire. 

Duke.  Thou  know'st  how  \vilhii;:ly  I  would  ciTect 
The  matcii  between  Sir  Timrio  aiid'my  d^u-hler. 

Pro.   I  do,  niy  lord. 

D'lke.   And  also,  I  think,  thou  art  not  ig;norant 
How  she  opposes  her  ai^ainst  my  will. 

Pro.  She  aid.  my  lord,  when  Valentine  was  here. 

Duke.   Ay,  and  "perversely  she  pers^vcrs  so. 
What  mijiht  we  do  to  make  the  girl  for^^et 
The  love  "of  Valentine,  and  love  sirThuriol 

Pro.  The  best  way  is  to  slander  Valentine 
With  falsehood,  cowardice,  and  poor  descent; 
Three  tilings  that  women  highly  hold  in  liate. 

Duke.  Ay.  bnt  she'll  think,  that  it  is  spoke  in  hate. 

Pro.    Ay,  if  his  enemy  deliver  it : 
Therefore  it  mu»t.  witli  circumstance,  be  spoken 
By  one,  whom  slie  csteemeth  as  his  tViend. 

Duke.   Then   you    must   undertake  to  slander 
him. 

Pi  n.   And  Ihnt.  my  lord.  I  shall  be  loth  to  do  : 
'Tis  an  ill  office  for  a  •renllemm  ; 
Especially,  against  his  very  friend. 

Duke.  Where  your  good  word  cannot  advantage 
him, 
Your  slander  never  can  endamage  him  ; 
Therefore  the  othce  is  indilferent, 
Being  entreated  to  it  by  your  friend. 

Pro.   You  have  prevail'd,  my  lord :  if  T  can  do  it, 
By  aught  that  I  can  speak  in  his  dispraise, 
She  shall  not  ions  continue  love  to  him. 
But.  say  this  weed  her  love  from  Valentine, 
It  follows  not  that  she  will  love  sir  Thurio. 

Thu,  Therefore,  as  you  unwind  her  love  from  him, 
Lest  it  should  ravel,  and  be  good  to  none, 
Vou  must  provide  to  bottom  it  on  me  : 
Which  must  be  done,  by  praising  me  as  much 
As  you  in  worth  dispraise  sir  Valentine. 

Duke,   And,  Proteus,  we  dare  trust  you  in  this 
kind  ; 
Because  we  know,  on  Valentine's  report, 
You  are  already  love's  firm  votary, 


And  cannot  soon  revolt  and  change  your  mind. 
Upon  this  warrant  shall  you  have  access, 
Where  you  with  Silvia  may  confer  at  large; 
For  she  is  lumpish,  heavy,  melancholy, 
And.  for  your  I'riend  s  sake,  will  he  glad  of  you  : 
Where  you  may  temper  her,  by  your  persuasion, 
To  hate  young  Valentine,  and  love  my  friend. 

Pro.    As  much  as  I  can  do,  1  will  ellect : — 
But  you,  sir  Thurio,  are  not  sharp  enou;;h  ; 
Vou  must  lay  hme,i  to  tanijlc  her  desires. 
By  wailful  sonnets,  whose  composed  rliymos 
Sliould  be  full  fraught  with  serviceable  vows. 

/Ja^'f.  Ay,  much  is  the  Ibrce  of  heaven-bred  poesy. 

Pro.  Say,  that  upon  the  altar  of  her  beauty 
You  sacrifice  your  tears,  your  sighs,  your  heart  : 
Write  till  your  ink  be  dry  ;  and  with  your  tears 
M'tist  it  ai;ain  ;  and  frame  some  feeling  line. 
That  may  discover  such  integrity  :  — 
For  Orpheus"  lute  was  strung  with  poets'  sinews  ; 
Whose  tiolden  touch  could  soften  steel  and  stones, 
Make  tiiicrs  tame,  and  huire  leviathans 
Korsake  unsounded  deeps  to  dance  on  sands. 
After  your  dire  lamenting  elegies. 
Visit  by  night  your  lady's  chamber-window 
With  some  sweet  concert :  to  their  instruments 
Tune  a  deploring  dump;«  the  night's  dead  silence 
Will  well  become  such  sweet  complaining  griev- 
ance. 
This,  or  else  nothing,  will  inherit  her. 

Duke.  This  disciplines  hows  thou  hast  been  in 
love. 

Thu.  And  thyadvice  this  night  I'll  put  in  practice. 
Therefore,  sweet  I^roteus,  my  dircction-giver, 
Let  us  into  the  city  presently 
'I'o  sort'  some  gentlemen  well  skillM  in  music: 
I  have  a  sonnet,  that  will  serve  tlie  turn. 
To  give  the  onset  to  thy  ^'ood  advice. 

Duke.    About  it,  gentlemen. 

Pro.  We'll  wait  upon  your  grace  till  afler  supper: 
And  afterward  deterni'iie  our  proceediritis. 

Dtike.  Even  now  about  it:  1  will  pardon  yon. 

[Exeuiil, 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.  — v4  Forest  near  Mantua. 
Enter  certain  Out-laws, 

1  Out.  Fellows,  stand  fast ;  I  see  a  passenger. 

2  Out.  If  there  be  ten,  shrink   not,  but  down 

with  'em. 

Enter  Valentive  and  Spf.kd. 

3  Out.  Stand,  sir,  and  throw  us  that  you  have 

about  you  ; 
If  not,  well  make  you  sit,  and  rifle  you. 

Sj>eei.  Sir,  we  are  undone!  these  are  the  villains 
That  all  the  travelers  do  fear  so  much. 

Vol.  My  friends  — 

1  Out.  That's  not  so,  sir;  we  arc  your  enemies. 

2  Out.  Peace;  we'll  hear  him. 

3  Out.  Ay,  by  my  beard,  will  we; 
For  he's  a  proper"  man. 

Vol.  Then  know  that  I  have  little  wealth  to  lose ; 
A  man  I  am.  cross'd  wiLii  adversity  : 
My  riches  are  these  poor  ha!)iliments. 
Of  which  if  you  should  here  disfurmsh  me. 
You  take  the  sum  and  substance  that  I  have. 

2  Out.  Whither  travel  you] 
Vaf.   To  Verona. 

1  Out.  Whence  came  you? 
Vat.    From  Milan. 

3  Out.  Have  you  long  sojourn'd  there? 

Val.  Some  sixteen  months;    and  longer  might 
have  staid. 
If  crooked  fortune  had  not  thwarted  me. 

1  Out.  What,  were  you  banish'd  IhenccT 
Vaf.   I  was. 

2  Out.  For  what  oflense? 

Vol.  For  that  which  now  torments  me  to  rehearse: 
I  kill'd  a  man,  whose  death  I  much  repent ; 
eWfU-lookiiig. 


But  yet  T  slew  him  manfully  in  fight, 
Without  false  vantatie,  or  base  treachery. 

1  Out.  Why.  ne'er  repent  it.  if  it  weie  done  so: 
But  were  you  hiinish'd  tor  so  small  a  fault? 

Vat.   I  was,  and  held  nie  glad  of  sucli  a  doom. 

1  Out.  Have  you  the  louiiucs?' 

VfiL  My  youthful  travel  therein  made  me  happy  ; 
Or  else  I  often  had  been  miserable. 

3  Out.  By  the  hare  scalp  of  Hobin  Hood's  fat  friar, 
Tliis  fellow  were  a  king  for  our  wild  faction. 

2  Out.  Well  have  him  :  sirs,  a  word. 
Spee'f.  Master,  be  one  of  them  ; 

II  is  an  honorable  kind  of  Uiievcry. 
17//.    peace,  villam! 

2  Out.  Tell  us  this:  have  you  anything  to  take 

to? 
Vaf.   Nothing,  but  my  fortune. 

3  Out.  Know  then,  that  some  of  us  are  gentlemen, 
Such  as  the  fury  of  ungoverned  youth 

Thrust  from  tiie  company  of  nuful'*  men  * 
Myself  was  from  Verona  banished, 
For  praclisin;;  to  steal  away  a  lady. 
An  heir,  and  near  allied  unto  the  duke. 

2  Out.  And  I  from  Mantua,  for  a  gentleman, 
Whom,  in  my  mood, a  I  slaltb'd  unto  the  heart. 

1  Out.  And  1. 1.ir  such  liKe  petty  crimes  asthcsc. 
But  to  the  purpose.  — (for  we  cite  our  faults, 
That  they  m;iy  hold  excus'd  our  lawless  Uves,) 
And,  partly,  st-eing  you  are  beautified 
With  goodly  sbnpe  ;  and  by  your  own  report 
A  hnguisl ;  and  a  man  of  sneli  perfection. 
As  we  do  in  our  quality  much  want;  — 

2.  Out.  Indeed,  because  you  are  a  banish'd  man 
Therefore,  above  the  rest,  we  parley  to  you: 
Are  you  content  to  be  our  general  ? 

1  Birdlime.        ■  Mournful  ck-cy.        "Choosp  out. 
I  Lauguagea.      ^  Lawful.      »  Anger,  reseutuieut. 


38 


TWO    GENTLEMEN    OF  VERONA. 


Act  IV. 


To  make  a  virtue  M'  necessity, 
And  live,  as  we  do,  in  this  wilderness  1 
3  Out.  Wiiat  say'st  thou  '.'  wilt  tliou  be  of  our 
consort ! 
fay,  ay,  airf  be  the  captain  of  us  all : 
We'll  do  thee  honiase,  and  be  rul'd  by  thee, 
Love  thee  as  our  commander,  and  our  kius;. 

1  Ouf.  Itut  if  thou  scorn  our  courtesy,  thou  diest. 

2  Out.  Thou  shait  ftot  live  to  brag  what  we  have 

ofler'd. 
Val.   I  take  your  ofTcr,  and  will  live  with  you  ; 
Provided  that  you  do  no  outrages 
On  silly  women,  or  poor  passeirif^erg. 

3  Out.  No,  we  detest  such  vile  base  practices. 
Come,  "o  with  us.  we  II  brin:;  thee  to  our  crews, 
And  show  thee  all  the  treasure  we  have  got ; 
Which,  with  ourselves,  all  rest  at  thy  dispose. 

[kxeimt. 

SCENE  II.  —  Milan.     Court  of  the  Palace. 

Enter  Protkus. 

Tro.  Already  have  I  been  fiilse  to  Valentine, 
And  now  I  must  he  as  unjust  to  Thurio. 
Under  the  color  of  commending  him, 
I  have  access  my  own  love  to  prefer  : 
But  Silvia  is  too  fair,  too  true,  too  holy. 
To  be  corrupted  with  my  worthless  gifts. 
When  1  protest  true  loyalty  to  her, 
She  twits  me  with  my  falsehood  to  my  friend: 
When  to  her  beauty  I  commend  my  vows. 
She  bids  me  think,  how  1  have  been  forsworn 
In  breaking  faith  with  Julia  whom  I  lov'd  : 
And,  notwithstanding  all  her  sudilen  quips,« 
The  least  whereof  would  quell  a  lover's  hope. 
Yet,  spaniel-like,  the  more  she  spurns  my  love, 
The  more  it  grows  and  favvneth  on  her  still. 
But  here  comes  Thurio:  now  must  we  to  her  window, 
And  give  some  evening  music  to  her  car. 


Thii. 


Enter  Tiidrio  and  Musicians. 

Proteus,  are   you 


crept 


TIow  now,  sir 
before  us  ? 

Pro.  Ay.  gentle  Thurio  ;  for  you  know,  that  love 
V\  ill  creep  in  service  where  it  cannot  go. 

Thu.  Ay,  but  I  hope,  sir,  th.at  you  love  not  here. 

Pro.   Sir,  but  1  do  ;  or  else  I  would  be  hence. 

Thu.   Whom?  Silvia  1 

Vro.    Ay,  Silvia,  —  lor  your  sake. 

Thu.  I  thank  you  liir  your  own.  Now,  gentlemen, 
Lets  tune,  and  to  it  lustily  a  while. 

Enter  WosT,  at  a  di-<tanre;  and  Julia  in  boys 
c/otlies. 

Host.  Now,  my  young  guest!  methinks  you're 
allyrholly  ;  I  pray  you,  why  is  it  1 

Jul.  Marry,  mine  host,  because  I  cannot  be  merry. 

Hoyt.  Come,  we'll  have  you  merry:  I'll  briri" 
you  where  you  shall  hear  music,  and  see  the  gen- 
tleman that  you  ask'd  fur. 

Jul.  But  shall  1  hear  him  speak? 

Host.   Ay,  that  you  shall. 

Jul.  That  will  lie  music.  [Music  plays. 

Tloxt.   Hark  !  hark  ! 

Jul.   Is  he  among  these  ? 

Host.  Ay,  but  peace,  let's  hear  'em. 

SONG. 

Who  is  Silvia  ?  What  is  she  ? 

That  all  our  siruins  commend  her  ? 
llohi.fair.  and  wise  is  she  ,- 

The' heavens  such  srare  did  lend  her, 
Ttiut  she  miftht  admired  be. 

Is  she  kind,  as  she  i<ifair  ? 

For  beaut ij  lives  with  kindness: 
Ltn'e  doth  to  her  ei/es  repair. 

To  lielp  him  of  his  lilindness  ,- 
And,  ieinif  heljj'd,  inhabits  Itiere. 

Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sin.g, 

Tlutt  Silvia  i.s  excellin);  ,- 
She  excel.9  each  mnrliil  thioi;. 

Upon  the  dull  earlh  dwelling  ; 
To  her  let  us  garlomls  bring. 

Host.   How  now  ?  are  you  sadder  than  you  were 
before  ! 
How  do  you,  man  ?  the  music  likes  you  not. 
*  I'ossionato  roproacbes. 


Jul.   "i  ou  mislake  ;  the  musician  likes  me  not. 
Host.   Why,  mv  pretty  youth  ! 
Jul.   He  plays  false,  father. 
Host.    How!  out  of  tune  on  the  strings? 
Jul.   Not  so  ;  but  yet  so  false  that  he  grieves  my 
very  heart-strings. 
lliLst.   You  have  a  quick  ear. 
Jul.  Ay,  I  would  1  were  deaf!   it  makes  me 
nave  a  slow  heart. 
Host.   1  perc(*lve  you  delight  not  in  music. 
Jul.   Not  a  whit,  when  it  jars  so. 
Host.   Hark,  what  fine  change  is  in  the  music  ! 
Jul.   Ay  ;  that  change  is  the  spite. 
Host.    \o\x  would  have  them  always  play  but 
one  thing  ? 

Jul.  1  would  alw.ays  have  one  play  hut  one  thing. 
But,  host,  doth  this  sir  Proteus,  that  we  talk  on, 
often  resort  unto  this  gentlewoman  ? 

Host.   I  tell  you  what  Launce,  his  man,  told  nie, 
he  loved  her  out  of  all  nick.' 
Jul.   Where  is  Launce  ? 

Host.  Gone  to  seek  his  dog;  which,  to-morrow, 
by  his  master's  command,  he  must   carry  lor  a 
present  to  his  lady. 
Jul.  Peace  !  stand  aside  !  the  company  parts. 
Pro.   Sir  Thurio,  fear  not  you  I  I  will  so  plead, 
That  you  shall  say,  my  cunning  drift  e.\cels. 
Thu.   Where  meet  we  ? 
Pro.  At  Siiint  Gregorys  well. 
Tliu.   Farewell. 

[E.veunt  Tiiunio  and  Musiciarjs. 

Silvia  appears  above,  at  her  u-indow. 


Pro.  Madam,  good  even  to  your  ladyship. 
Sil.  I  thank  you  for  your  music,  gentlemen: 
Who  is  that,  that  spake? 

Pro.  (inc,  lady.  It  you  knew  his  pure  heart's  truth, 
You'd  quickly  learn  to  know  him  by  his  voice. 
Sil.   Sir  Proteus,  as  I  take  it. 
Pro.   Sir  Proteus,  gentle  lady,  and  your  servant. 
Sil.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Pro.  That  I  may  compass  yours. 

Sil.  You  have  your  wish  ;  my  will  is  even  tins, — 
That  presently  you  hie  you  home  to  bed. 
Thou  subtle,  perjur'd,  false,  disloyal  man  ! 
Think'st  thou,  1  am  so  shallow,  so  conccilless. 
To  be  seduced  by  tliy  llattery. 
That  hast  deceiv'd  so  many  with  thy  vows? 
Return,  return,  and  make  thy  love  amends. 
Kor  me,  —  by  this  pale  queen  of  night  I  swear, 
I  am  so  (\ir  from  granting  thy  request, 
That  1  despise  thee  for  thy  wronsrful  suit; 
And  by  and  by  intend  to  chide  myself, 
Even  lor  this  time  I  spend  in  talking  to  thee. 

Pro.   I  grant,  sweet  love,  that  I  did  love  a  lady ; 
B  ut  she  is  dead. 

Jul.  'Twcre  false,  if  I  should  speak  it ; 

For  I  am  sure  she  is  not  buried.  {Aside. 

Sil.   Say  that  she  he;  yet  Valentine,  thy  friend, 
Survives;  to  whom,  thyself  art  witness, 
I  am  betrothed:  And  art  thou  not  asham'd 
To  wrong  him  with  thy  importiinacy  ! 
Pro.  I  likewise  hear,  that  Valentine  is  dead. 
Sil.   And  so,  suppose,  am  I ;  lor  in  his  grave 
.Assure  thyself  my  love  is  buried. 
Pro.   Sweet  lady,  let  Kie  rake  it  from  the  earth. 
Sil.  Go  to  thy  lady's  grave,  and  call  her's  thence; 
Or.  at  the  least,  in  her's  sepulchre  thine. 
Jul.   He  heard  not  that.  [.4side. 

Pro.  Madam,  if  your  heart  be  so  obdurate. 
Vouchsafe  me  yet  your  picture  fur  mv  love. 
The  picture  that  is  hangini  in  your  chamber- 
To  that  I'll  speak,  to  that  111  sigh  and  weej, ;' 
Kor,  since  the  substance  of  your  perlect  self" 
Is  else  devoted,  I  am  but  a  shadow; 
And  to  your  shadow,  1  will  make  true  love. 
Jut.   If  'twere  a  substance,  you  would,  sure,  de- 
ceive it. 
And  make  it  but  a  shadow,  as  I  am.  I  iside. 

Sil.  1  am  very  loth  to  be  your  idol,  sir; 
But,  since  your  filseliood  slmll  liivonie  you  well 
To  worship  shadows,  mid  adore  Ihlse  sli'apes. 
Send  to  me  in  the  muriiiiig,  and  I'll  send  it: 
And  so  good  rest. 

Pro.  As  wretches  have  o'er  nighl. 

That  wait  for  execution  in  the  morn. 

[Exeunt  PiiOTKi-s,  and  Silvia/towi  above. 
6Buyoud  all  rL-ckoning. 


Scene  IV^. 


TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


39 


Jul.   Host,  will  you  sol 

Husl.   By  my  liai[ilom,«  I  was  fast  asleep. 

Jul.   Pray  you,  wliere  lies  sir  Proteus  ? 

Huxt.  Harry,  at  my  house :  Trust   me,  I  think 
'tis  almost  day. 

Jul.   Not  so;  liut  it  liatli  been  the  longest  night 
Tliat  e'er  1  walcli'ii,  and  the  most  lieuvicst.  [Exeunt. 

SCKNK  III.—  The  same. 

Enter  Eglamour. 

Egl.   This  is  the  hour  that  madam  Silvia 
Entreated  me  to  call  and  know  her  mind  ; 
There's  some  great  matter  shed  emiiloy  me  in.— 
Madam,  madam  ! 

Silvia  appears  above,  at  her  icindow. 

Sil.  Who  calls'! 

E/il.  Your  servant,  and  your  friend ; 

One  that  attends  your  ladyshii>'s  command. 

mi.  Sir  Kglamour,  a  thousand  times  good-mor- 
row. 
Eg!.   As  many,  worthy  lady,  to  yourself. 
According  to  your  ladyships  impose.' 
1  am  thus  early  come,  to  know  what  service 
It  is  your  pleasure  to  command  me  in. 

Sil.   0  Kglamour,  thou  art  a  gentleman, 
(Think  not  I  Hatter,  for  I  swear  I  do  not.) 
Valiant,  wise,  remorseful."  well  aceomplish'd. 
Thou  art  not  ignorant,  what  dear  good  will 
I  bear  unto  the  banish'd  Valentine; 
Nor  how  my  father  would  enforce  nie  marry 
Vain  Thurio,  whom  my  very  soul  abhorr'd. 
Thyself  hast  lov'd;  ani  I  have  heard  thee  say, 
No  grief  did  ever  come  so  near  thy  heart. 
As  when  thy  lady  and  thy  true  love  died. 
Upon  whose  grave  thou  vow'dst  pure  chastit}'. 
Sir  Kglamour.  I  would  to  Valentine, 
To  Mantua,  where,  I  hear,  he  makes  abode; 
And,  for  the  ways  arc  dangerous  to  pass, 
I  do  desire  thy  worthy  company. 
Upon  whose  faith  and  honor  I  repose. 
Urge  not  my  father's  anger,  Ku-lamour, 
But  think  upon  my  grief,  a  lady's  grief; 
And  on  the  justice  of  my  llyiinr  hence. 
To  keep  me  from  a  most  unholy  match, 
Whichheaven  and  fortune  still  reward  with  plajues. 
I  do  desire  thee,  even  from  a  heart 
As  full  of  sorrows  as  the  sea  of  sands 
To  bear  me  company,  and  go  with  me : 
If  not,  to  hide  what  1  have  said  to  thee, 
That  I  may  venture  to  depart  alone. 

Eg/.   Madam.  I  pity  much  your  grievances: 
Which  since  1  know  'they  virtuously  are  plac'd, 
I  give  consent  to  go  along  with  you  ; 
Recking'  as  little  what  betidcth  me, 
As  much  I  wish  all  good  befortuiie  you. 
'When  wiU  you  gol 

Sit.  This  evening  coming. 

Egl.  Where  shall  1  meet  \ou  7 

Sil.  At  friar  Patrick's  cell. 

Where  T  intend  holy  confession. 

Egl.  I  will  not  fail  your  ladjship  : 
Good-morrow,  gentle  lady. 

Sil.   Good-morrow,  kind  sir  Eglamour.  [Exacrit. 

SCENE  IV.—  TIte  same. 

Enter  Lacsce,  with  his  dog. 

When  a  man's  servant  shall  play  the  cur  with 
nim,  look  you,  it  goes  hard:  one  that  I  brou:;ht  up 
of  a  puppy;  one  that  I  saved  from  drowning  when 
three  or  four  of  his  blind  brothers  and  sisters  went 
to  it!  I  have  taught  him  —  even  as  one  would  say 
precisely.  Thus  1  would  teach  a  dog.  I  was  sent 
to  deliver  him,  as  a  present  to  mistress  Silvia,  from 
my  master;  and  \  came  no  sooner  into  the  diniuir- 
chami)er.  but  he  steps  me  to  her  trencher,  and  steals 
her  capon's  leg.  (1.  'tis  a  foul  thing  when  a  cur 
cannot  keep'  himself  in  all  companies!  I  would 
have,  as  one  should  say.  one  that  takes  upon  him 
to  be  a  do.'  indeed,  to  be,  as  it  were,  a  dog  at  all 
thins-s.  If  I  had  not  had  more  wit  than  he,  to  take 
a  fault  upon  me  tliat  he  did,  1  think  verily  he  had 
been  han'.'ed  for  t :  sure  as  1  live,  he  had  sulTered 
for  't:  you  shall  judse.  He  thrusts  me  himself 
into  tlie"  company '  of  three  or  four  gentleman-like 

•  Holy  dam(»,  hk'ssed  lady.  "i  Injunction,  comniainl, 

•  Compassionate.  '  Caring.  '  Ilestrain. 


dogs, under  the  duke's  table:  he  had  not  been  tliere 
(bless the  mark!)  a  pissing  while;  but  all  the  cham- 
ber smelt  him.  Qui  icilh  the  dog.  says  one ;  Wlud 
cur  j'.v  that  ?  says  anotlier ;  JVhip  him  out.  says  the 
third;  Hang  him  up.  says  the  duke.  I.  having 
been  acquainted  witli  the  smell  before,  knew  it  was 
Crab;  and  goes  me  to  the  fellow  that  whips  the 
dogs:  Friend,  quoth  I.  lou  mean  to  ichip  the  dog? 
Ay,  nuirrij,  do  I.  quoth  he.  You  do  him  the  more 
wrong,  qiioth  I ;  7««-«  /  did  the  thing  ynu  wot  of. 
He  makes  me  no  more  ado,  but  whips  me  out  of 
the  chamber.  How  many  masters  would  do  this 
for  their  servant!  Nay.  I'll  be  sworn,  I  have  sat 
in  the  stocks  for  pudlings  he  hath  stolen,  otherwi.so 
he  had  been  executed;  1  have  stood  on  the  pillory 
for  geese  lie  hath  killed,  otherwise  he  had  sullcred 
for  't:  thou  think'st  not  of  this  now!  —  Nay,  I 
remember  the  trick  you  served  me,  when  I  toolc 
my  h'ave  of  madam  Silvia;  did  not  I  bid  thee  slid 
mark  nie,  and  do  as  I  do!  When  didst  thou  see 
me  heave  up  my  leg,  and  make  water  against  a 
gentlewoman's  tarthingale!  didst  thou  ever  see  me 
do  such  a  trick ! 

Enter  Pboteus  and  Julia. 

Pro.   Sebastian  is  thy  name  ■!     I  like  thee  well. 
And  will  employ  thee  in  some  service  presently. 

Jul.   In  what  you  please  ;  I  will  do  what  I  can. 

Fro.   I  hope  thou  wilt. — "How  now.  you  whore- 
son peasiint !  [ToLaunce. 
Where  have  you  been  these  tW'O  days  loitering  1 

Laiin.  Marry,  sir,  I  carried  mistress  Silvia  the 
dog  you  bade  me. 

Pro.   And  what  says  she  to  m'y  little  jewel ! 

Laun.  Marry,  she  say*,  your  dos-  was  a  cur; 
and  tells  you,  currish  thanks  is  good  enough  for 
such  a  present. 

Pro.   liut  she  received  my  dog  T 

Loan.  No,  indeed,  she  "did  not:  here  have  I 
brought  him  back  asain. 

Pro.   What,  didst  thou  olTer  her  this  from  me  ? 

Laun.  Ay.  sir ;  the  other  squirrel  was  stolen  from 
me  by  the  hansman's  boys  in  the  market-place : 
and  then  I  ollered  her  mine  own  ;  who  is  a  dog  as 
big  as  ten  of  yours,  and  therefore  the  git\  the  greater. 

Pro.   Go.  get  thee  hence,  and  find  my  dog  u^jaiii, 
rtr  ne'er  return  again  into  my  sight. 
Away.  I  say:  stay'st  thou  to  vex  me  here! 
A  slave,  that,  still  an  end,'  turns  me  to  shame. 

[Exit  Lausce. 
Sebastian.  I  have  entertained  thee. 
Partly,  that  I  have  need  of  such  a  youth. 
That  can  with  some  discretion  do  iny  business, 
For  'tis  no  trusting  to  yon  foolish  lovit; 
Hut,  chiefly,  for  thy  face  and  thy  behavior; 
Which  (if  my  augury  deceive  ine  not) 
Witness  good  bringing  up.  Ibrtune,  and  tnith: 
Therefore  know  thou,  for  this  1  entertain  thee. 
Go  presently,  and  take  this  ring  with  thee, 
Deliver  it  to  madam  Silvia  : 
She  loved  me  well,  deliver'd  it  to  me. 

Jul.   It  seems  you  loved  her  not,  to  leave  het 
token  : 
She's  dead,  belike. 

]>ro.  Not  so ;  I  think,  she  lives. 

J; I.   Alas! 

Pro.   Why  dost  thou  cry.  alas ! 

Jul.   I  cannot  choose  but  pity  her. 

Pro.   Wherefore  shonldst  thou  pity  her*! 

Jut.   P.eeause.  mettiinks.  that  she  lov'd  you  as  well 
As  you  do  love  your  lady  Silvia; 
She  dreams  on  nim,  that  has  forgot  her  love; 
You  dole  on  her,  that  cares  not  for  your  love. 
'Tis  pity,  love  should  be  so  contrary; 
And  thinking  on  it  makes  me  cry.  alas! 

Pro.   Well,  give  her  that  ring,  and  therewithal 
This  lelter;  —  That's  her  chamlier. —  Tell  my  lady 
I  claim  the  promise  for  her  heavenly  picture. 
Your  messaiie  done,  hie  home  unto  my  chamber. 
Where  thou  shall  fmd  me  sad  and  solitary. 

[Exit  PnoTF.rs. 
Jut.  How  many  women  would  do  such  a  message? 
Alas,  poor  Proteiis !  thou  hast  entertain'd 
A  fox  to  be  the  shepherd  of  thy  lambs: 
Alas,  poor  fool!  wliy  do  I  pity  him 
That  with  his  very  heart  despiseth  me  7 
Because  he  loves  her.  he  despiseth  me; 
»In  the  end- 


4:) 


TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF   VERONA. 


Act   v. 


IJocause  I  \o\e  Inni,  I  must  pity  him. 

This  nil;;  I  jj;avc  liim,  wlieii  lie  parted  from  me, 

To  bind  liim  to  rcinetnbcr  my  good  will: 

And  now  am  1  [uniiappy  messenger) 

'J'o  plead  lor  that  which  1  would  not  obtain  ; 

To  carry  that  which  I  would  liave  relusd; 

To  praise  his  tU'th.  which  I  would  have  disprais'd. 

I  am  my  mah^ters  true  continued  love; 

lUit  cannot  he  true  servant  to  my  master, 

IJnless  I  prove  fitlse  traitor  to  myself. 

Yet  I  wUl  woo  for  him  ;  but  yet  so  coidly, 

As,  heaven  it  knows,  I  would  not  liavc  liim  speed. 

Enter  Silvia  utlended. 

Gentlewoman,  sood  day  !  I  pray  you,  be  my  mean 
To  brinj;  me  where  to  speak  with  madam  Ndvja. 

Hit.   What  would  you  with  her,  if  that  I  be  she! 

Jul,   If  you  be  she,  i  do  entreat  your  patience 
To  hear  mc  speak  the  message  I  aih  sent  on. 

Sil.   Krom  whom  ! 

Jul.   From  my  master,  sir  Proteus,  madam 

i>U.   O  !  —  ho  sends  you  for  a  picture  .' 

Jul.    Ay,  madam. 

Sit.   Ursula,  bring  my  picture  tliere. 

{Picture  brought. 
Go.  give  your  master  this:  tell  him  from  me, 
One  Juha  that  hischun^xin^  thouL^hts  forj<et, 
Would  tietter  ht  his  chaml)er  than  this  shadow. 

Jul.   Madam,  please  you  peruse  this  letter. — 
Pardon  me,  madam;  I'have  unadvis'd 
Deliver'd  you  a  paper  that  I  should  not; 
This  is  the  letter  to  your  ladyship. 

Sil.   1  pray  thee,  let  me  look  on  that  a^ain, 

Jul,   It  may  not  be;  good  madam,  pardon  me. 

ait.   There,  hold, 
I  will  not  look  upon  y<^ur  master's  lines: 
I  know  they  are  stuiVd  with  protestations. 
And  full  of  new-found  oaths;  which  he  will  break 
As  easily  as  I  do  tear  his  paper. 

Jul.   Madam,  he  sends  your  ladyship  this  rin.?. 

Sit.  The  more  shame  for  him  that  ho  sends  it  me  : 
For  I  have  heard  him  say  a  thousand  times. 
His  Julia  gave  it  him  at  his  departure: 
Though  his  false  finger  hath  prof.ind  the  ring, 
Mine  shall  not  do  his  Julia  so  much  wrong. 

Jul.  She  thanks  ynu. 

Sit.   What  say'st  thou  1 

J\lL   I  thank  you,  madam,  that  you  tender  her : 
Poor  gentlewoman  !  my  master  wrongs  her  much. 

Sil.   Dost  thou  know  her? 

Jul.  Almost  as  well  as  I  do  know  myself. 
To  think  upon  her  woes,  I  do  protest. 
Tliat  1  have  wcjit  a  hundred  several  times. 

,Sj/.    Belike,  she  thinks  that  Proteus  hath  forsook 
her. 

Jul.   I  think  she  doth,  and  that's  her  cause  of 
sorrow. 

Sit.  Is  she  not  passing  fair"! 


Jul.   She  hath  been  fairer,  madam,  than  slie  is: 
When  she  did  think  my  mister  loved  her  well, 
She,  in  my  judgment,  was  as  fair  as  you ; 
But  since  she  did  neglect  her  looking-glass. 
And  threw  her  sun-expelling  mask  away. 
The  air  hath  starvd  the  roses  in  lier  cheeks. 
And  pinchd  the  lily-tincture  of  her  face. 
That  now  she  is  become  as  black  as  I. 

Sit.   How  tail  was  shcl 

Jut.  About  my  stature  :  for  at  Pentecost," 
When  all  our  pageants  of  delight  were  play'd, 
Our  youth  got  me  to  play  tlie  woman's  part, 
And  I  was  trimra'd  in  madam  Julia  s  gown  ; 
VVhioh  served  me  as  fit,  by  all  mens  judgment. 
As  if  the  garment  had  been  made  lor  me: 
Therefore  I  know  she  is  about  my  height. 
And,  at  tliat  time,  I  made  her  weep  a-good,« 
For  I  did  play  a  lamentable  part: 
Madam,  'twas  Ariadne,  passioning 
For  Theseus'  perjury,  and  unjust  flight; 
Which  I  so  lively  acted  with  my  tears. 
That  my  poor  mistress,  moved  therewitJial, 
Wept  bitterly;  and,  wouki  I  miglit  be  dead, 
If  I  in  thought  felt  not  her  very  sorrow  ! 

Sit.   She  is  beholden  to  thee,  gentle  youth!  — 
Alas,  poor  lady!  desolate  and  loft!  — 
I  weep  myself  to  think  upon  thy  words. 
Here,  youth,  there  is  my  purse;  I  give  thee  this 
For  thy  sweet  mistress  sake,  because  thou  lov'st  her. 
Farewell.  [Exit  Silvia. 

Jul,   And  she  shall  thank  you  for  "t,  if  eer  you 
know  her. — 
A  virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild,  and  beautiful. 
I  hope  my  masters  suit  wdl  be  but  cold, 
Since  slie  respects  my  mistress'  love  so  much. 
Alas,  how  love  can  trifle  with  itself! 
Ilere  is  her  picture  :     Let  me  see;  I  think, 
If  I  had  such  a  tire,»  this  face  of  mine 
Were  full  as  lovely  as  is  this  of  hers: 
And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little, 
tlnless  I  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 
Her  hair  is  auburn,  mine  is  perfect  yellow: 
If  that  be  all  the  ditVerence  in  his  love, 
111  get  me  such  a  colord  periwig. 
Her  eyes  are  grey  as  glass;  and  so  are  mine: 
Ay,  but  her  forehead's  low,  and  mine's. as  high. 
What  should  it  be,  that  he  respects  in  lier, 
lUit  I  can  make  respective  in  myself, 
If  this  fond  love  were  not  a  blinded  god  1 
Come,  shadow,  come,  and  take  this  shadow  up. 
For  'tis  thy  rival.    O  thou  senseless  form, 
Thou  shalt  be  worshipp'd,  kiss'd,  lovd,  and  adofd; 
And,  were  there  sense  in  his  idolatry. 
My  substance  should  be  statue  in  thy  stead, 
ril  use  thee  kindly  for  thy  mistress'  sake. 
That  us'd  me  so;  or  else,  by  Jove  I  vow, 
I  should  have  scratch'd  out  your  unseeing  eyes. 
To  make  my  master  out  of  love  with  thee.    L-^'*^''^^' 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.—  The  same.    An.  Abbey. 

Enter  EcLA^ioun. 

Egl.  The    sun    begins    to     gild    the    western 
sky ; 
And  now,  it  is  abovit  tlic  very  hour 
That  Silvia,  at  Patrick's  cell,  should  meet  me. 
.';he  will  not  fail;  for  lovers  break  not  hours, 
Unless  it  bo  to  eome  before  their  time; 
So  much  they  spur  their  expedition 

Enter  Silvia. 

See.  where  she  comes:  Lady,  a  happy  eveninj;! 

Sit.     Amen,  amen!  so  on.  sood  t.ulainour! 
Out  at  the  postern  by  the  abbey  wall; 
I  fc  ir  I  am  attended  by  some  spies. 

Egl.  Fear  not:  the' forest  is  not  three  Icigues 
oil"; 
If  we  recover  that,  we  arc  sure  enough.    [Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. —  Tlie  .vime.    An  Aparlment   in  the 
Duke's  Patacc. 
Enter  Tiicnio,  Piioteus,  n7id  Juha. 
TIm.   Sir  Proteus,  wdiat  says  Silvia  to  my  suit! 
Pro.   O.  sir,  I  find  her  milder  than  she  was; 
And  yet  she  takes  exceptions  at  your  person. 
Tlit(.   What,  that  my  le;;  is  too  long  1 
Prn.   No;  that  it  is  too  liltle. 
Tliu.   I'll    wear  a  boot  to  make    it   somewhat 

rounder. 
Prn.  [iutlo\*will  not  be  spurr'd  lowhat  it  loaths. 
Tint.   What  says  she  to  my  lace? 
Pro.   She  says.'it  is  a  fair  one. 
TtiM.  Nay, then, the  wantonlies;  my  face  is  black. 
Pro.   But  pearls  are  fair;  and  the  old  saying  is, 
Black  men  are  pearls  in  beauteous  ladies'  eyes, 
Jut.   'ristrue;  such  pearls  as  put  out  ladies'  eyes. 
5  Wliitsuntiae.  •  In  Rood  uarufst. 

•  IIciul-Jioss.  sOwn. 


SCE-N-E  IV. 


TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


41 


for  I  had  rather  wink  than  look  on  them.     [Aside. 
Thit.   How  hkes  she  my  discourse] 
Pro.   Ill,  when  j'ou  talk  of  war. 
Tliii.   But  well,  when  I  discourse  of  love,  and 

peace ! 
Jul.  But  Ijctter,  indeed,  when  you  hold  your 
peace.  [Aside: 

Thii.   What  says  she  to  my  valor  1 
Pro.  O,  sir,  she  makes  no  doubt  ol*  that. 
JuL   She  needs  not,  when  she  knows  it  cowardice. 

[Aside. 
Thu.  What  says  she  to  my  birth  1 
Pro    That  you  arc  well  derived. 
Jul.  True ;  ("rom  a  gentleman  to  a  fool.    [Aside. 
Thu.  Considers  she  my  possessions  ! 
Pro.  O.  ay  ;  and  pities  tliem. 
TItu.  Wherefore  1 

Jul.  That  such  an  ass  should  owe«  them.   [Aside. 
Pro.  That  they  are  out  by  lease. 
Jul.  Here  comes  the  duke. 

Enter  Dukk. 

DuT;e.  How  now,  sir  Proteus]  how  now,Thurio'! 
Which  of  you  saw  sir  Kglaniuur  of  late] 

Thu.   Not  1. 

Pro.  Nor  I. 

Duke.  Saw  you  my  daughter] 

Pro.  Neither. 

Duke.  Why,  then,  she's  fled  unto  that  peasant 
Valentine; 
And  F.;;lamour  is  in  Iier  company. 
' Tis  true  ;  for  friar  Laurence  met  them  both. 
As  he  in  penance  wauder'd  thronsh  the  forest: 
II im  he  knew  well,  and  gucss'd  that  it  was  she; 
But,  beim;  maskd,  he  was  not  sure  of  it: 
Besides,  she  did  intend  confession 
A  t  Patricks  cell  this  even  ;  and  there  she  was  not : 
These  likelihoods  confirm  her  lli^'ht  from  hence. 
Tiierefore.  1  pray  ymi,  sland  not  to  discourse, 
P,ut  mount  you  presently  ;  and  meet  with  me 
Upon  the  risins  of  the  ii'iountain  foot 
That  leads  towards  Mantua,  whither  they  arc  lied  : 
Despatch,  sweet  s;entlemen,  and  follow  me.     [ICxit, 

Thu.   Why,  this  it  is  to  he  a  peevish  girl, 
That  Hies  her  fortune  wlien  it  follows  iicr  : 
111  after;  more  to  be  revenged  on  Kglamour, 
Than  for  the  love  of  reckless,'  Silvia.  [Kxil. 

Pro.    And  1  will  follow,  more  for  Silvia's  love, 
Than  hate  of  K.slamour,  that  goes  with  her.  [Exit. 

Jul.    And  1  will  follow,  more  to  cross  that  love. 
Than  hate  for  Silvia,  that  is  gone  for  love.      [Exit. 

SCENE  111.— Frontiers  of  Mantua.    The  Forest. 
Enter  Silvia  and  Outlaws. 

Out.  Come,  come ; 
Be  patient,  we  must  bring  you  to  our  captain. 

.S(,/.    A  Ihousan'l  more  mischances  than  this  one 
Have  learn'd  me  how  to  brook  tliis  patiently. 

2  O'lt.   Come,  bring  her  away. 

1   Out.  Where  is  the  gcnth'mali  that  was  with  her] 

3  Out.   Being  nimbic-footed.  he  hath  out-run  us, 
But  Moyses,  and  Valerius,  follow  him. 

Go  thou  with  her  to  the  west  end  of  the  wood. 
There  is  our  captain;  we'll  follow  him  that's  lied; 
The  thicket  is  beset,  lie  cannot  '.scape. 

1   Out.  Come,  I  must  bring  you  to  our  captain's 
cave; 
Fear  not;  he  bears  an  honorable  mind, 
And  will  not  use  a  woman  lawlessly. 

Sit.  OValentme,  this  1  endure  for  thee!  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. —  Another  part  af  the  Forest. 
Enter  Valentine. 

Vol.   How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man ! 
This  shadowy  desert,  imfrequented  woods. 
I  better  brook  than  llonri.shing  peopled  towns: 
Here  can  I  sit  alone,  unseen  of  any. 
And,  to  the  nightingale's  complaining  notes, 
Tune  my  distresses,  and  record'  my  woes. 
O  thou  that  dost  inhabit  in  my  breast. 
Leave  not  tlie  mansion  so  long  tenantless ; 
Lest,  growing  rninnus,  the  building  fall, 
And  leave  no  memory  of  what  it  was! 
Repair  me  with  thy  presence,  Silvia  ; 
Tlioa  gentle  nymph,  cherish  thy  forlorn  swam  :  — 
What  halloing,  and  what  stir  is  this  to-day  '. 
•  Own.  'Car,;les3.  ■  Sing. 


These  arc  my  mates,  that  make  their  wills  their  law, 
Have  some  unhappy  passenger  in  chase ; 
They  love  me  well ;  yet  I  have  much  to  do, 
To  keep  them  from  uncivil  outrages, 
Withdraw  thee,  Valentine  :  who's  this  comes  here  ] 

[Steps  aside. 

Enter  Pboteds,  Silvia,  and  Julia. 

Pro.   Madam,  this  service  I  have  done  for  you, 
(Though  you  respect  not  aught  your  servant  doth,) 
To  hazard  life,  and  rescue  you  from  him 
That  would  have  forc'd  your  honor  and  your  love 
Vouchsafe  me  for  my  meed  hut  one  fair  look  ; 
A  smaller  boon  than  this  I  cannot  beg. 
And  less  than  this,  I  am  sure,  you  cannot  give. 

Vul.   How  like  a  dream  is  this  I  see  and  hear! 
Love,  lend  me  patience  to  forbear  a  while.    [Aside. 

Sil.  O  miserable,  unhappy  that  I  am! 

Pro.  Unhappy  were  you,  madam,  ere  I  came; 
But,  by  my  coming,  1  have  made  you  happy. 

Sit.   By  thy   approach  thou  mak'st   ine  most 
unhappy. 

Jut.   And   me,  when  he  approacheth    to    your 
presence.  [Aside, 

fill.   Had  1  been  seized  by  a  hunsry  lion, 
I  would  have  been  a  breaklast  to  the  beast. 
Rather  than   have  false  Proteus  rescue  me. 
O.  heaven  be  judge  how  I  love  Valentine, 
Whose  lil'e's  as  tender  to  me  as  my  soul ; 
And  full  as  much  (lor  more  tliere  cannot  be) 
I  do  detest  false  perjurd  Proteus; 
Therefore  begone,  solicit  me  no  more. 

Pro.   What  dangerous  action,  stood  it  next  to 
death. 
Would  I  not  undergo  for  one  calm  look  ? 
O.  'tis  the  curse  in  love,  and  still  ajiprov'd.' 
When  women  cannot  love  where  they're  belov'd. 

Sit.   When    Proteus    cannot    love    vs'hcre    hc'3 
belov'd. 
Read  over  .lulia's  licart,  thy  first  best  love. 
For  wliose  dear  sake  thou  didst  then  rend  thy  faith 
Into  a  tiiousand  oaths;  and  all  those  oaths 
Descended  into  perjury,  to  love  me. 
Thou  hast  no  faith  left  now,  unless  thou  had.st  two, 
.And  that's  far  worse  than  none;  better  have  none 
Tlian  plural  faith,  which  is  too  much  by  one  : 
Thou  counterfeit  to  thy  true  friend ! 

Pro.  Hi  love. 

Who  respects  friend] 

Sil.  All  men  but  Proteus. 

Pro.   Nay,  if  the  gentle  spirit  of  moving  word* 
Can  no  way  change  you  to  a  milder  form, 
III  woo  you  like  a  soldier,  at  arms'  end ; 
And  love  you  'eainst  tile  nature  of  love,  force  you. 

Sil.   ()  heaven ! 

Pro.  I'll  force  thee  yield  to  my  desire. 

Vul.   Ruffian,  let  so  that  rude  uncivil  touch ; 
Thou  friend  of  an  ill  fashion  ! 

Pro.  Valentine ! 

i'ul.  Thou  common  friend,  that's  without  faith 
or  love, 
(For  such  is  a  friend  now.)  treacherous  man ! 
Thou  hastbeguil'd  my  hopes;  nought  but  mine  eye 
Could  have  persuaded  me:     Now  I  dare  not  say 
1  have  one  friend  alive  ;  thou  wouldst  disprove  me. 
Who  should  be  trusted  now,  when  one's  right  hand 
Is  pel  jnr'd  to  the  bosom  ]     Proteus, 
1  am  sorry,  I  must  never  trust  thee  more. 
Rut  count  the  world  a  stranger  for  thy  sake. 
The  private  wound  is  deepest :  O  time,  most  curst ! 
'Mongst  all  foes,  that  a  friend  should  be  the  worst! 

Pro.   My  shame  and  guilt  confound  me. — 
Forgive  me,  Valentine  :  if  hearty  sorrow 
He  a  sufhcient  ransom  for  olTence. 
I  tender  it  here ;  I  do  as  truly  suiter. 
As  e'er  I  did  commit. 

y„[.  Then  I  am  paid ; 

And  once  again  I  do  receive  thee  honest:  — 
Who  by  repentance  is  not  satisfied. 
Is  nor  of  heaven,  nor  earth  ;  for  these  are  pleas'd ; 
By  penitence  the  Eternal's  wrath's  appeas'd  :  — 
And,  that  my  love  may  appear  plain  and  free. 
All  that  was'mine  in  Silvia,  I  give  thee. 

Jul.  O  mo  unhappy  !  [Faints. 

Pro.   Look  to  the  boy. 

Vul.   Why,  boy!  why,  wag!  how  now]  what  ii 
tlie  matter] 

f  Felt,  experienced. 


42 


TWO    GENTLEMEN   OF  VERONA. 


Act  V. 


Look  up;  speak. 

Jul,  0  good  sir,  my  master  cJiarg'd  me 

To  deliver  a  rin?  to  madam  Silvia; 
VVhifli,  out  of  my  neglect,  was  never  done. 

Pro.  Where  is  that  ring,  boy  1 

Jul.  Here  'tis  :  this  is  it.  \_Gives  a  ring. 

Pro.   How !  let  me  see  : 
Why  this  is  the  ring  I  gave  to  Julia. 

Jul.  O,  cry  your  mercy,  sir,  I  have  mistook ; 
This  is  the  rmg  you  sent  to  Silvia. 

[Shows  anoffuT  rmg. 

Pro*  But,  how  cam'st  thou  by  tiiis  rm^l  at  my 
depart, 
I  gave  this  unto  Julia. 

Jul.   And  Julia  herself  did  give  itmc; 
And  Julia  herself  halh  brought  it  hitlier. 

Pro.    How!  Julia! 

/(//.    Behold  lier  tliat  gave  aim*  to  all  thy  oaths. 
And  entertain'd  them  deeply  in  her  heart: 
How  oft  hast  thou  with  perjury  cleft  the  root  ?« 
i)  Proteus,  let  this  habit  make  thee  blush! 
Pe  thou  asham'd,  that  I  have  took  upon  me 
Such  an  immodest  raiment;  if  shame  live 
III  a  disguise  of  love: 
U  is  tlie  lesser  blot,  modesty  finds, 
Women  to  change  their  shapes,  than  men  their 
minds. 

Pro.  Than  men  their  minds'!  'tis  true:  0  heaven! 
were  man 
But  constant,  he  were  perfect:  that  one  error 
Fills  him  with   faults;  makes  him  run  through  all 

sins  : 
Inronstancy  falls  off,  ere  it  begins: 
What  is  in  Silvia's  face,  but  1  may  spy- 
More  fresh  in  Julias  with  a  constant  eye  1 

Val.  Come,  come,  a  hand  from  either: 
Let  me  be  blest  to  make  this  happy  close; 
'Twere  pity  two  such  friends  should  be  long  foes. 

Pro.   bear  witness,  lieaven,  I  have  my  wish  for 
ever. 

Jul.   And  I  have  mine. 

Enter  Outlaws,  with  Ddke  and  THunio. 

Out.  A  prize,  a  prize,  a  prize ! 

Val.   Forbear,  I  say  ;  it  is  my  lord  the  duke. 
Your  grace  is  welcome  to  a  man  disgraced, 
Banisiied  Valentine. 
Duke.  Sir  Valentine! 

Tku.  Yonder  is  Silvia;  and  Silvia*s  mine. 
Val.  Thurio.give  back,  or  else  embrace  thy  death; 
» Direction, 
a  An  allusion  to  cleaving  the  pin  in  archery. 


Come  not  within  the  measure  of  my  wratb:^ 
Do  not  name  Silvia  thuie ;  if  once  again, 
Milan  shall  not  behold  thee.    Here  siie  stands 
Take  but  possession  of  her  with  a  touch ; — 
1  dare  thee  but  to  breathe  upon  my  love. — 

Thu.   Sir  Valentine,  I  care  not  for  her,  I ; 
I  hold  him  but  a  fool,  that  will  endanger 
His  body  for  a  girl  that  loves  him  not : 
1  claim  her  not,  and  therefore  she  is  thine. 

Duke.   The  more  degenerate  and  base  at  thou, 
To  make  such  means*  for  her  as  thou  hast  done, 
And  leave  her  on  such  slight  conditions. — 
Now,  by  the  honor  of  my  ancestry, 
I  do  applaud  thy  spirit,  Valentine, 
And  thmk  thee  worthy  of  an  empress'  love. 
Know  then,  I  here  forget  all  former  griefs, 
Cancel  all  grudge,  r-^peal  thee  home  again. — 
Plead  a  new  state  in  thy  unrivall  d  merit, 
To  which  1  thus  subscribe, —  sir  Valentine, 
Thou  art  a  gentleman,  and  well  deriv'd; 
Take  tliou  thy  Silvia,  for  thou  hast  deserv'd  her. 

I'ul.   1  thank  your  grace;  tlie  gift  hath  made  me 
happy. 
I  now  beseech  you,  for  your  daughter's  sake, 
To  grant  one  boon  that  1  shall  ask  of  you. 

Duke.   I  grant  it,  for  thine  own,  whateer  it  be. 

Vul.  These  banish'd  men.  that  1  have  kept  withal, 
Are  men  endued  with  worthy  qualities; 
Forgive  tliem  what  they  have  conmiitted  here, 
And  let  them  be  recalld  from  their  exile  : 
They  are  reformed,  civil,  full  of  good. 
And  fit  for  great  employment,  worthy  lord. 

Duke.   Thou  hast  prevail  d:  I  pardon  them,  and 
thee ; 
Dispose  of  them,  as  thou  know'st  their  deserts. 
Come,  let  us  go;  we  will  include*  all  jars 
With  triumphs,  mirth,  and  rare  solemnily. 

17//,   And,  as  we  walk  along,  I  dare  be  bold. 
With  our  discourse  to  make  your  grace  to  smile: 
What  think  you  of  this  page,  my  lord] 

Duke.   I  think  the  boy  hath  grace  in  him:  he 
blushes. 

Val.  I  warrant  you,  my  lord;  more  grace  than 
boy. 

Duke.   What  mean  you  by  that  saying  7 

J'al.   Please  you,  I'll  tell  you  as  we  pass  along. 
That  you  will  wonder  what  hath  fortuned. — ■ 
Come.  Proteus;  'tis  your  penance,  but  to  hear 
The  story  of  your  loves  discovered: 
TJiat  done,  our  day  of  marriai^e  shall  be  yours  ; 
One  feast,  one  house,  one  mutual  happiness. 

[Exeunt 
3  Length  o*  my  sword.  «  Interest.       » Conclude. 


MERRY  WIYES  OF  WINDSOR. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


[two  Genllemen  dwelling  at  Windsor. 


Siu  Jon^  Falstaff. 

Fenton. 

Shallow,  a  country  Justice. 

Slkniiku,  cjtusiii  to  Sliallow. 

Mn.  FoHi),  \f 

Mil.  Park,  J' 

William  Psr.r.,  a  Boit,  son  to  Mr.  Page. 

Sin  HcGH  Evans,  «  IVelsli  Pursun. 

Ph.  Caii's,  a  Fr  nch  Pfiysician. 

HusT  of  ttie  (5arter  Inn. 

Bahiiolpu,  I 

Pistol,        \  Followers  of  Fsisliff. 

Ny.>i,  ) 


RoBis,  Page  to  Falstaff. 
Simple,  Servant  to  Slender. 
RuGBT,  Servant  tu  Dr.  Caius. 

Mns.  FoTtn. 
Mils.  Page. 
Mns.  Anxe  Page,  tier  Daughter,  in   love   with 

Fonton. 
Mns.  Quickly,  Servant  to  Dr.  Caius. 

Servants  to  Page,  Ford,  <frc. 


SCENE,  Windsor;  and  tlie  parts  adjacent. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I.— Windsor.    Before  Vice's  House. 

Enter  Justice  SaxLLOw ,  SLExnEn,  a«(Z  Si>'  Hcgh 
Evans. 

Skril.  Srn  Hccn,  persuade  me  not;  I  will  make 
a  Star-chamber  matter  of  it;  if  he  were  twenty 
sir  John  FalstalTs,  he  shall  not  abuse  Robert  Shal- 
low, esquire. 

S!en.  In  the  county  of  Gloster,  justice  of  peace, 
and  coram. 

Skal.   Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  Cust'ttlorum.^ 

S'en.  .^y,  and  ratoloruni  too  ;  and  a  gentleman 
born,  master  parson;  who  writes  himself  arniigero; 
in  any  bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation,  arnii- 
gero. 

Slial.  Ay,  that  we  do:  and  have  done  any  time 
thesD  three  hundred  years. 

S!en.  All  his  successors,  gone  before  him.  have 
do-iet ;  and  all  his  ancestors,  that  come  alter  him, 
may :  they  may  give  the  dozen  white  luces  in  their 
coat. 

S'lal.  It  is  an  old  coat. 

Eva.  The  dozen  wliite  louses  do  become  an  old 
coat  well;  it  agrees  well,  passant:  it  is  a  familiar 
beast  to  nun,  and  signifies  —  love. 

S'ln'.  The  luce  is  the  fresh  tish;  the  salt  fish  is 
an  old  coat. 

ti'en.   I  may  quarter,  coz '! 

Sh  il.   Vou  may.  by  marrying. 

Ei:a.   It  is  marring  indeed,  if  lie  quarter  it. 

SfiaL   Not  a  whit. 

Evil.  Yes,  py'r>  lady;  if  he  has  a  qu.arter  of 
your  coat,  there  is  hut  three  sUirts  for  yourself,  in 
my  simple  conjectures:  but  this  is  all  one:  if  Sir 
John  FalstalTliave  committed  disparairemeiits  unto 
you,  I  am  of  the  church,  and  will  be  glad  to  do  my 
benevolence,  to  make  atonements  and  compromises 
between  you. 

Slia!.  The  Council  shall  hear  it;  it  is  a  riot. 
»  .\  title  formerly  appropriated  to  ch.iplains. 
a  Custos  Kolulorum.  3  By  our. 


Eva.  It  is  not  meet  the  Council  hear  a  riot ;  there 
is  no  fear  of  (lot  in  a  riot;  the  Council,  loal<  vou, 
shall  desire  to  hear  tlie  fear  of  (lot.  and  not  to  hear 
a  riot;  take  your  vizamcnts<  in  that. 

Sluit.  Ha  !  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again,  the 
sword  should  end  it. 

Eva.  It  is  petter  that  friends  is  the  sword,  and 
end  it:  and  there  is  also  another  device  in  my  prain, 
which,  peradventure,  prings  goot  discretions  with 
it:  There  is  Anne  Page,  which  is  daughter  to 
master  George  Page,  which  is  pretty  virginity. 

Slen.  Mistress  .Vnne  Page  (  She  lias  brown  hair, 
and  speaks  small  like  a  woman. 

Eva.  It  is  that  fery  person  for  all  the  'orld,  as 
just  as  you  will  desire:  and  seven  hundred  pounds 
of  monies,  and  gold,  and  silver,  is  her  grandsire, 
upon  his  death's  bed  (Got  deliver  to  a  joyfal  resur- 
rections!) give,  when  she  is  able  to  overtake  seven- 
teen years  old :  it  were  a  goot  motion,  if  we  leave 
our  pribbles  and  prabbles.  and  desire  a  marriage 
between  master  Abraham  and  mistress  .\nne  Pa-c. 

Sli'il.  Did  her  grandsire  leave  her  seven  hundred 
pounds ! 

Eva.  A  y.and  her  father  is  make  her  a  petter  penny. 

Sfiul.  1  know  the  young  gentlewoman  ;  she  has 
good  git'ls. 

Eva.  Seven  Iiundred  pounds,  and  possibilities, 
is  good  gifts. 

S4(//. 'Well,  let  us  see  honest  master  Page:  Is 
Falstatr  there  1 

Eva.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  lie?  I  do  despise  a  liar, 
as  I  do  despise  one  that  is  false ;  or  as  I  despise 
one  that  is  not  true.  The  knight,  sir  John,  is  there ; 
and,  I  beseech  you,  be  ruled  by  your  well-willers. 
I  will  peat  the  door  [knocks]  for  master  Page. 
What,  hoa !  pless  your  house  here! 

Enter  Page. 

Page.   Who's  tliere  ? 

Eva.  Here  is  Gofs  plessing,  and  your  friend, 
«  Advisement. 

43 


44 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  I, 


and  justice  Shnllow:  and  hrre  youn^  master  Slen- 
der ;'that  peradventurrs  shall  tell  you  another  tale, 
if  mailers  frrow  to  your  likings. 

Page,  lam  p;Iad  to  see  your  worships  well:  I 
thank  you  for  my  venison,  master  Shallow. 

Shfif,  Master  Page.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  ;  Rtuch 
pond  do  it  your  good  heart !  1  wished  your  venison 
bolter;  it  was  ill-killed  :  —  How  doth  good  mistress 
Pago  '.  —  and  I  love  you  always  with  my  heart,  la; 
with  my  heart. 

Page.   Sir.  I  thank  you. 

S/io/.  Sir,  1  thank  you ;  by  j'ea  and  no,  I  do. 

Pfge,   I  am  glad  to  see  v^u,  good  master  Slender. 

S/f-H.  How  does  your  ttillovv  greyhound,  sir?  I 
heard  say  he  was  outrun  at  Cotsale.» 

Page.   It  could  not  be  judged,  sir. 

S/fH.  Yon*Il  not  confess,  you'll  not  confess. 

^hal.  That  he  will  not; — 'tis  your  fault,  'tis  your 
fault :  —  *Tis  a  good  dog. 

Page.    A  cur,  sir. 

ShnL  Sir.  he's  a  good  dog,  and  a  fair  dog  :  Can 
there  be  more  said  1  he  is  good,  and  fair. —  Is  sir 
John  Falstatr  here] 

Page.  Sir,  he  is  within  ;  and  I  would  I  could  do 
a  good  office  between  you. 

Eva.   It  is  spoke  as  a  Christian  ought  to  speak. 

i^hal.   He  hath  wrong'd  mc,  master  Page. 

Page.   Sir,  he  doth  in  some  sort  confess  it. 

i^hal.  If  it  be  confessed,  it  is  not  redress'd  ;  is  not 
that  so,  master  Page?  He  hath  wrong'd  me;  in- 
deed, he  hath;  —  at  a  word,  he  hath  ;  —  beheve  me; 
—  Robert  shallow,  esquire,  saith,  he  is  vvronj^'d. 

Page.   Here  comes  sir  John. 
Enter  Sir  John  Falrtaff,  BAnnoLpn,  Nym,  a?id 
Pistol. 

Fal.  Now,  master  Shallow;  you'll  complain  of 
me  to  the  king  ? 

Sha(.  Knight,  you  have  beaten  my  men,  killed  my 
deer,  and  broke  open  my  lodge. 

Fal.   But  not  kiss'd  your  keeper's  daughter, 

ShaL   Tut.  a  pin!  tliis  shall  he  answer'd. 

Fal.  I  will  answer  it  straight;  —  I  have  done  all 
this:  — That  is  now  answer'd. 

Shat.   The  council  shall  know  this. 

Fal.  'Twere  better  for  you,  if  it  were  known  in 
counsel:  you'll  he  laughM  at. 

Era.   Pauca  verba,  sir  John,  good  worts. 

Fal.  Good  worts!*  good  cabbage. —  Slender,  I 
broke  your  head  ;  What  matter  have  you  against  me? 

Silei).  Marry,  sir,  I  have  matter  in  my  head 
against  you;  and  against  your  coney-catching"' 
rascals,  Bardolph,  Njm,  and  Pistol.  They  carried 
me  to  the  tavern,  and  made  me  drunk,  and  after- 
wards picked  my  poclict. 

Bar.   You  Banbury  cheese  !• 

Slcn.   Ay,  it  is  no  matter. 

Piyf.   How,  now,  Mephostophilus  1» 

Sim,   Ay.  it  is  no  matter. 

Nuai.  Slice,  I  say, paucdj  pauca.-  slice!  thafs 
my  humor. 

Sleti.  Where's  Simple,  my  man! — can  you  tell, 
cousin  1 

Eva.  Peace :  T  pray  you !  Now  let  us  understand : 
There  is  three  umpires  in  this  matter  as  I  under- 
stand: that  is — nia-ter  Pas^cfidelicet,  master  Page; 
and  there  is  myself. J?  //'/?>?/  myself;  and  the  three 
party  is,  lastly  and  finally,  mine  host  of  the  Gjtrtcr. 

Page.   We  three,  to  hear  it,  and  end  it  between 
them. 

Fva.  Fery  goot:  I  will  make  a  brief  of  it  in  my 
note-book;  and  we  will  afterwards  'ork  upon  the 
cause,  with  as  great  discreetly  as  we  can, 

Fal.     Pistol. 

Pist.   He  hears  with  ears. 

Era.  The  tevil  and  his  tam  !  what  phrase  is  this, 
Jle  hears  irilh  ear  ?     Why,  it  is  afl'eciations. 

Fal.   Pistol,  did  you  pick  master  Slender's  purse? 

S'en.  Ay,  by  these  gloves,  did  he.  (or  I  would  I 
might  never  come  in  mine  own  great  chamber  again 
else.)  of  seven  groats  in  mill-sixpences,  and  two 
Kdward  shovel-Hoards.*  that  cost  me  two  shillings 
and  two  pence  a-piece  of  Ycad  Miller,  by  tiiese 
gloves. 

tCotswnld  in  Gloucestc rehire. 

s  Worts  v,aM  the  aiici<'nt  name  of  all  the  cabbage  kind. 

1  Pbarpcrs.  »  Nothing  but  paring! 

•  The  uanie  of  an  \icly  spirit. 

I  King  Edward's  .shilling  uaed  in  the  game  of  shufflo- 

board. 


Fal.  1b  this  true.  Pistol  7 

Eva.   No  ;  it  is  false,  if  it  is  a  pick-purse. 

Piit.   Ha,  thou  mountain-foreigner!  —  Sir  John, 
and  master  mine, 
I  combat  challenge  of  this  lalfen  bilbo :« 
Word  of  denial  in  thy  labras*  here; 
W' ord  of  denial ;  froth  and  scum,  thou  liest. 

Slen.   By  those  gloves,  then  'twas  he. 

Ni/77i.  Be  advised,  sir.  and  pass  good  humors:  I 
will  say.  marry  /7Y/7),  with  you  if  you  run  the  nut- 
hook's*  humor  on  me;  that  is  the  very  note  of  it. 

Slett.  By  this  hat.  then  he  in  the  red  far-e  had  it: 
for  though  I  cannot  remember  what  I  did  when  you 
made  me  drunk,  yet  I  am  not  altogether  an  ass. 

Fal.  What  say  you.  Scarlet  and  John  ? 

Bar.  W'hy.  sir.  for  my  part.  I  say.  the  gentleman 
had  drunk  himself  out  of  bis  five  sentences. 

Eva.  It  is  his  five  senses:  fie,  what  the  igno- 
rance is ! 

Bar.  And  being  fap,»  sir,  was.  as  they  say, 
cashler'd;  and  so  conclusions  passd  the  careires.s 

S/en.  Ay,  you  spake  in  Latin  then  too:  but  'tis 
no  matter:  I'll  ne'er  be  drunk  whilst  I  live  airain 
hut  in  honest,  civil,  godly  company,  for  this  trick; 
if  I  he  drunk,  ril  be  drunk  with  "those  that  have 
the  fear  of  God.  and  not  with  drunken  knaves. 

Eva,   So  Gdt  'ud?e  me.  that  is  a  virtuous  mind. 

Fal.  You  hear  all  these  matters  denied,  gentle- 
men ;  you  iiear  it. 

Enter  Misfress  Anne  Page  icUh  wine,-  Misfj'ess 
FonD  and  Mistress  V xgt.  foUowin g. 

Page.  Nay,  daughter,  carry  the  wine  in;  we'll 
drink  within.  [Exit  Anne  Page. 

S'en.  O  heaven  !  this  is  mistress  Anne  Page. 

Page.    How  now,  mistress  Ford  ? 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford,  by  my  troth.  \c>\\  are  very 
well  met :  by  your  leave,  good  inistress.  \Kissing  her. 

Page.  WMfe,  bid  these  gentlemen  welcome:  — 
Come,  we  have  a  hot  venison  pasty  to  dinner; 
come,  gentlemen,  I  hope  we  shall  drink  down  all 
unkindness. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Shat,..  ST.ExnF.n,  o??'^  Fvans. 

Sltn.  I  had  rather  than  tbrty  shillings,  I  had  my 
book  of  Songs  and  Sonnets  heVe  :  — 

Enter  Simple. 

How  now.  Simple !  where  have  you  been  ''  I  must 
wait  on  myself,  must  I  ?  Ynu  have  not  The  Bonk 
of  Riddles  about  vou,  have  you  1 

Sim.  Briah-  of  Piddles!  why.  did  you  not  lend  it 
to  Alice  Shortcake  upon  Ailhallowmas  last,  a  fort- 
night afore  Michaelmas?' 

Shot,  Come,  coz;  come,  coz;  we  stay  f-^r  you. 
A  word  with  you,  coz;  marry,  this,  coz;  There  is, 
as  'twere  a  tender,  a  kind  of  tender,  made  afar  off' 
by  sir  Hugh  here;  —  Do  you  understand  me  \ 

Slcn.  Ay,  sir,  vnu  shall  find  me  reasonable;  if 
it  he  .so,  I  shall  do  that  that  is  reason, 

Shal.   Nay.  but  understand  me. 

Slen.   So"l  do,  sir. 

Eva.  Give  ear  to  his  motions,  master  Slender:  I 
will  description  the  matter  to  you,  if  you  be  capa- 
city of  it, 

Slen.  Nay  T  will  do  as  my  cousin  Shallow  says: 
T  pray  you,  pardon  me;  he's  a  justice  of  peace  in 
his  country,  simple  though  I  stand  here. 

Eva.  But  this  is  nnt  the  question;  the  question 
is  concerning  your  marria-re. 

Sh(iL   Ay.  there's  the  point,  sir. 

Eva.  Marry,  is  it;  the  very  point  of  it ;  to  mis- 
tress Anne  Page. 

Slen.  Why.  if  it  be  so,  I  will  marry  her,  upon 
any  reasonable  demands. 

kva.  But  can  you  atlection  the  'omanl  Let  us 
command  to  know  that  of  your  mouth,  or  of  your 
lips;  for  divers  philosophers  hold,  that  the  hps  is 
parcel  of  the  moutli;  —  Therefore,  precisely,  can 
you  carry  your  good  will  to  the  maid ; 

Shal.  Cousin  Abraham  Slender, can  you  lovelier? 

Slen.  I  hope,  sir, — I  will  do,  as  it  shall  become 
one  that  would  do  reason. 

Eva.   Nay,  Got's  lords  and  his  ladies!  you  must 


oT^lado  as  thin  as  a  lath. 
•  If  you  pay  I  am  a  thief, 
s  Tht'  liounds  of  good  behaTior. 
'An  intended  blunder. 


» I.ip3 
•  iJrunk. 


Scene  III. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


45 


spealv  po^sitaI)lc,  if  you  can  cayry  her  your  desires 
towards  ficr. 

Shut.  Tiiat  you  must:  Will  you,  upon  good 
dowry,  marry  her  { 

Slea.  I  will  do  a  greater  thhii  than  that,  upon 
your  request,  cousin,  m  an>'  reason. 

Sliitl.  Nay,  conceive  nie,  conceive  me,  sweet 
coz;  what  Ido,  is  to  pleasure  you,  coz;  Can  you 
love  the  maid  i 

SJen.  I  will  marry  her,  sir.  at  your  request;  but 
if  there  be  no  prreat  love  in  the  be;fmiiins.  yet 
heaven  may  decrease  it  upon  hetter  acquaintance, 
when  we  are  marned.  and  have  more  occasion  to 
know  one  another:  1  hope,  upon  familiarity  will 
prow  more  contempt;  hut  if  y<iu  say.  ittarrii  her, 
I  will  marry  her,  that  1  am  ircely  dissolved,  and 
dtpsnluteiy. 

Era.  It  is  a  fery  discretion  answer;  save,  the 
faul'  is  in  the  ort  dissolutely  :  the  'ort  is.  accordiivJ 
to  our  meaning,  resolutely :  —  his  meanintr  is  good. 

Skal.   Av.  1  think  my  cousin  meant  well. 

iSlen.   Ay,  or  else  1  would  I  might  be  hanged,  la. 

Re-enter  Axse  Page. 

Sh'if.  Here  comes  fair  mistress  Anne:  —  Would 
I  were  young,  for  your  sake,  mistress  Anne  ! 

Anne.  The  dinner  is  on  the  table;  my  father 
desires  your  worships'  company. 

Shal.    I  will  wait  on  him.  fiir  mistress  Anne. 

£i'a.  Ods  plessed  will !  I  will  not  he  absence  at 
the  grace.    [Kxe'inl  Shallow  anrl  Sir  H.  Kvans. 

A'ivie.  Will't  please  your  worship  to  come  in.  sir! 

'S!en.  No,  I  thank  you,  forsooth,  heartily ;  1  am 
very  well. 

Anite.  The  dinner  attends  you,  sir. 

Slen.  I  am  not  a-hnnirry,  1  thank  you.  forsooth: 
Go,  sirrah,  for  all  you  arc  my  man.  go,  wait  upon 
mv  cousin  Shallow  :  \Ejcit  SiiieLF..]  A  justice  of 
pe'acc  sometime  may  be  beholden  to  his  friend  for 
a  man:  —  1  keep  Imt  three  men  and  a  boy  yet,  till 
my  mother  he  dead:  liut  what  though?  yet  1  live 
like  a  poor  gentleman  born. 

Anne.  I  may  not  go  in  without  your  worship: 
they  will  not  sit  till  you  come. 

Slen.  V  faith.  I'll  eat  nothing;  1  thank  you  as 
much  as  though  I  did. 

Anne.   I  pray  you.  sir,  walk  m. 

Slen.  I  had  rather  walk  here,  I  thank  you:  1 
oruised  my  shin  the  other  day  with  playing  at  sword 
and  dagser  with  a  master  of  fence,  three  veneyss 
for  a  dish  of  stewed  prunes  ;  and,  by  my  troth.  I 
cannot  abide  the  smell  of  hot  meat  since.  Why  do 
your  dogs  bark  sol  be  there  hears  i'  the  town  ! 

inne.'  I  think  there  are,  sir;  I  heard  them  talked 
of. 

Slen.  I  love  the  sport  well ;  but  I  shall  as  soon 
quarrel  at  it  as  any  man  in  Kngland  :  —  Vou  are 
afraid,  if  you  see  the  hear  loose,  are  you  not  ! 

Anne.   Ay.  indeed,  sir. 

Slen.  That's  meat  and  drink  to  me  now  :  I  have 
seen  Sackeison»  loose,  twenty  times:  and  have 
taken  him  by  the  chain  :  Imt,  I  warrant  you;  the 
women  have  so  cried  and  shriek'd  at  it,  that  it 
pa^sdi  —  hut  women,  iudcerl,  cannot  abide  'em; 
they  are  ill-favored,  rough  things. 
Re-enter  Pace. 

Page.  Come,  gentle  master  Slender,  come  ;  we 
stay  for  you 

Slen.   I'll  eat  nothing;  I  thank  you.  sir. 

Pane.  Uy  cock  and  pye,  you  shall  not  choose, 
sir ;  come.  come. 

Slen.  Nay,  pray  you,  lead  the  way. 

Pngp.   Come  on.  sir. 

Slen.   Mistress  Anne,  yourself  shall  go  first. 

Anne.   Not  I,  sir.  pray  you.  keep  nil. 

Slen.  Truly,  I  \iull  not  go  first;  truly,  la;  I  will 
not  do  you  that  wrong. 

Anne.  I  pray  you.  sir.  .       ,, 

.S(fH.   Ill  rather  be  unmannerly  than   trouolc- 
somc;  you  do  yourself  wrong,  indeed,  la.  [Exeunt. 
SCENE  II. —  Tlie  same. 
Enter  Sir  IUtgii  Evans  and  Simple. 

Era.  Go  your   ways,  and    ask  of  Dr.  Caius' 

•  Threeset-tos,  bouts,  orbits.       ,„     .    „      ,       „      .. 

«The  name  of  a  bi-nr  exhil.itud  at  Pans-Garden,  South- 
wark.  '  Surpassed  all  expression. 


house,  which  is  the  way :  and  there  dwells  one 
mistress  Quickly,  which  is  in  the  manner  of  his 
nurse,  or  his  dry  nurse,  or  his  cook,  or  his  laundry, 
his  washer,  and  his  wringer. 

Sim.   Well,  sir. 

Eva.  Nay,  it  is  petter  yet : give  her  this  let- 
ter ;  for  it  is  a  'oniin  that  altogetliors  acquaintance 
with  mi.stress  Anne  Pa,;:e;  and  the  letter  is,  to  de- 
sire and  to  require  her  to  solicit  your  master's  de- 
sires to  mistress  Anne  Page:  I  pray  you  het^one  : 
1  will  make  an  end  of  my  dinner;  there's  jiippirs 
and  ehe.ese  to  eoiue.  yExeuni. 

SCENE  III. —  A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 

Enter  Falstaff,  Host,  Bahdolph,  Nym,  Pistoi, 

and  RoBiy. 

Fat.   Mine  host  of  the  Garter. — 

Hiiff.  What  says  my  bully-rook?  Speak  schol- 
arly, and  wisely. 

/'(//.  Truly,  mine  host,  I  must  turn  away  some 
of  my  followers. 

Iliisl.  Discard,  bully  Hercules ;  cashier:  let  them 
wau^:  trot.  trot. 

Fill.   I  sit  at  ten  pounds  a  week. 

Host.  Thou  art  an  emperor,  t'ffisar,  ICeisar.  and 
Pheezar.  I  will  entertain  Hardnlpli ;  he  shall  dravi', 
he  shall  tap:  said  I  well,  bully  Hector? 

Fal.    Do  so.  t:ood  mine  host. 

Hiift.  I  have  spoke;  let  hiiii  follow  :  Let  me  sec 
thee  froth,  and  lime:  I  am  at  a  word;  follow. 

\K.rit  Host. 

Fnl.  Hardolph.  follow  him  ;  a  tapster  is  a  good 
trade;  an  old  cloak  makes  a  new  jerkin;  a  with- 
ered servinL-man.  a  fresh  tapster;  Go.  adieu. 

Bar.  11  is  a  life  that  1  have  desired ;  1  will  thrive. 

\Exif  IJaiui. 

PL-it.  n  base  Gongarian'  wight !  wilt  thou  the 
SpiiTOt  wield  ? 

Xiini.  He  was  soften  in  drink :  is  not  the  humor 
conceiled  ?  His  mind  is  not  heroic,  and  there's  the 
luiinor  of  it. 

Fal.  1  am  glad  I  am  so  acquit  of  this  tinder-box  ; 
his  llicfis  were  too  open  :  his  fiiehing  was  like  an 
unskilful  sinircr,  he  kept  not  time. 

Nt/ni.  The  good  humor  is,  to  steal  at  a  minute's 
rest. 

Pixt.  Convey,  the  wise  it  call :  Steal !  fob,  a  fico« 
for  the  plirase  1 

Fat.   Well,  sirs.  I  am  almost  out  at  heels. 

Pi'.t.   Why  then  let  kibes  ensue. 

Fal.  There  is  no  remedy  ;  I  must  conej-catch ; 
I  must  shift. 

Pi.'.l.    \'oung  ravens  must  have  food. 

Fat.    Which  of  vou  know  Ford  of  this  town? 

Pij.t.   T  ken  the  'wi^ht ;  he  is  of  substance  ^ood. 

Fal.  My  honest  lads,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am 
about. 

PL^I.   Two  yards  and  more. 

Ffil.  No  quips  noAV.  Pistol;  indeed  I  am  in  the 
waist  two  yards  about ;  but  I  am  now  about  no 
waste;  I  am  about  thrift.  Rrictly.  I  do  mean  to 
make  love  lo  Ford's  wife;  1  spy  entertainment  in 
her;  she  discour.ses.  she  carves,  she  gives  the  leer 
of  invitation;  I  can  construe  the  action  of  her 
Aimiliar  style;  and  the  hardest  voice  of  her  beha- 
vior, to  be   Englishd  rightly,  is,  /  am  Sir  Mm 

Pi.s/.  lie  hath  studied  her  well,  and  translated 
her  well ;  out  of  honesty  into  English. 

\i/m.  The  anchor  is  deep :  will  that  humor  pass? 

Fill.  Now.  the  report  i-'oes.  she  has  all  the  rule  of 
her  husband's  purse;  she  hath  Iciions  of  angels.' 

P)'.v/.    As  many  devils  entertain;    and,  Tu  her, 

bou,  say  1.  .  .    .  ,    , 

Niiin.  The  humor  rises;  it  is  good:  humor  me 

the  angels.  ,  .,      .    i  j 

Fat.  I  have  writ  me  here  a  letter  to  her:  and 
here  another  to  Paje's  wife;  who  even  now  gave 
me  "ood  eyes  loo;  examin'd  my  parts  with  most 
iudicious  evliads  :•  sometimes  the  beam  of  her  view 
"t'ilded  mv  foot,  sometimes  my  portly  belly. 
"  Piyl.  Then  did  the  sun  on  dunghill  shine. 
Num.   I  thank  thee  for  that  humor.  , 

Fat.  O,  she  did  so  course  o'er  my  exteriors  with 

a  Tig. 


iFor  ITungarlan. 
«GoM  Coin. 


sEyea 


4G 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  I 


eucli  a  greedy  intention,  that  the  appetite  of  her 
pye  did  seem  to  scorch  me  up  I  kc  a  burning-^hiss! 
Here's  another  letter  to  hur:  she  bears  the  l)ur^■e 
loo;  she  is  a  re:4ion  in  Guiana,  ali  j;old  and  Itounty. 
I  will  be  cheater^  to  them  both,  and  they  shall  be 
exciu-qucrs  to  me;  they  shall  be  my  Kastand  West 
Inilies,  and  I  will  trade  to  them  both.  Go,  bear 
thou  tills  letter  to  mistress  Page;  and  thou  this  to 
mistress  Ford:  we  will  thrive,  lads,  wc  will  thrive. 

Fut.   Shall  I  sir  Pandarns  of  Troy  becnmc, 
And  by  my  side  wear  steeH  then,  Lucifer  take  ail! 

N1//11.  1  will  run  no  base  humor  ;  here,  take  the 
huiiior  letter;  I  will  keep  the  'havior  of  repuUition. 

Ful.   Hold,  .^irrah,    [I'o  Rob.]    bear   you    tliesc 
letters  tightly;' 
Sail  like  my  pinnace  to  these  golden  shores. — 
Rojiues,  hence  avaunt!  vanisti  like  hailstones,  go: 
Trud;^e,  plod  away,  o'  the  hoof;  seek  shelter,  pack  i 
Falstatr  will  learn  the  humor  of  this  aL;e, 
French  thrift,  you  rogues ;  myself,  and  skirted  pa;;e, 
[Exeujit  h' A-LST AW  und  IUuhn. 

Pi'it.   Let  vultures  gripe  thy  guts  !  for  gourd  and 
fullam"  hold. 
And  high  and  low  beguile  the  rich  and  poor: 
Tester  111  have  in  poueh,*  when  thou  shalt  lack, 
Base  Phrygian  Turk  ! 

Nt/ni.  I  have  operations  in  my  head,  which  be 
huniors  of  revenge. 

Pisf.   Wilt  thou  revenge T 

Ni/m.   By  welkin,  and  her  star! 

VUf.   With  wit,  or  steel! 

N!/m.   With  both  the  humors,  T  : 
I  will  discuss  the  humor  of  this  love  to  Page. 

Fiat.   And  I  to  Ford  shall  eke  unlbld, 
Ilow  Falstair,  varlet  vile. 
His  dove  will  prove,  his  gold  will  hold, 
And  his  soft  couch  delVle. 

Ni/rn.  My  humor  shall  not  cool:  I  will  Incensei 
I*age  to  deal  with  poison  ;  1  will  possess  him  with 
yeHowness,*  for  the  revolt  of  mien  is  dangerous; 
that  IS  my  true  humor. 

Pisf.  Thou  art  the  Mars  of  malcontents:  T  second 
thee;  troop  on.  [Extunt. 

SCKNE  IV. —  A  Room  in  J)r.  Caius'  House. 
Kntct'  Mrs.  Quicklt,  Simple,  and  RrcHY. 

Quick.  What;  John  Rugby!  —  I  pray  thee,  go 
to  the  casement,  and  see  if  you  can  see  my  mas- 
tor.  master  doctor  Caius,  coming:  if  he  do.  i'  faith, 
ftrul  tiud  any  body  in  the  house,  here  will  be  an 
old  abusing  of  Gods  patience,  and  the  king's  Eng- 
lish. 

Rtif^.   I'llgowatch.  [E.ri/RrnnT. 

Quick.  Go;  and  we'll  have  a  posset  ibr't  soon  at 
niglit.  at  the  latter  end  of  a  sea-coal  tu*e.  An  hon- 
f  St,  willing,  kind  fellow,  as  ever  servant  shall  come 
in  house  withal;  and,  1  warrant  you,  no  trll-(a!e, 
nor  no  breed-bate  :3  his  worst  fault  is,  that  he  is 
given  to  prayer:  he  is  something  peevish*  that 
way:  but  nobody  but  has  his  tault; —  but  let  that 
pass.    Peter  Simple,  you  s:iy  your  name  is  ! 

Sim.   Ay,  for  fault  of  a  better. 

Quirk.   And  master  Slender's  your  master! 

Sim.  Ay,  forsooth. 

Quirk.  Does  he  not  wear  a  great  round  beard, 
like  a  glover's  paring  knife  '. 

Sim.  No,  forsooth:  he  hath  but  a  httle  wee  face, 
with  a  little  yellow  beard  ;  a  Cain-colored  beard. 

Quick.   A  softly-sprighted  man,  is  he  not ! 

Si.'H.  Ay,  forsooth:  but  he  is  as  tail*  a  man  of 
his  hands,  as  any  is  between  this  and  his  head;  he. 
liatii  fought  with  a  warrener. 

Quirk.  How  say  you  ?  — O,  I  should  remember 
jiim  ;  does  he  not  hold  up  his  head,  as  it  were '!  and 
strut  in  his  gait! 

Sim.   Yes,  indeed,  does  he. 

Quick.  Well,  he;iven  send  Aiine  Page  no  worse 
fortune.  TrII  master  parsim  Kvans,  1  will  do  what 
I  can  for  your  master;  Anne  is  a  good  girl,  and  I 
wish  — 

Re-enter  Rugbt. 

Ru^.   Out,  alas!  here  comes  my  master. 
Quick.   We  shall  all  bo   shent:a    Kun  in   here, 

«  E.-ichf.afnur,  au  ofRccr  iu  the  Exchequer. 

■>  Cleverly.  ■  F.ilse  dice. 

•  Sixpeni^e  I'll  have  in  pocket.  <  Instinato. 
^.leiiloufy.  "  Strife, 

*  Foolish.  ^Brjive. 


good  young  man  ;  go  into  this  closet,  [Stiuts  Sim- 
PLK  iti  f/ie  clnstt.]  He  will  not  sUiy  long —  What, 
Joim  liugby  !  John,  what,  John,!  say  !—^ Go,  John, 
go  enquire  for  my  master ;  1  doubt  he  be  not  well, 
that  the  coines  not  home:  —  and  down,  ttuirn, 
advivn-a,  &c.  [Si/igs. 

Enter  Doctor  Caius. 

Caius.  Yat  is  you  sing  !  T  do  not  like  dese  toys ; 
Pray  you,  go  and  vetch  me  in  my  closet  iin  boi'tier 
verd  ;  a  box.  a  green-a  box ;  Do  intend  vat  i  speak  ! 
a  green-a  box. 

Quick.  Ay  forsooth.  Fll  fetch  it  you.  I  am  glad 
he  went  not  in  himself;  if  he  had  found  the  young 
man,  he  would  have  been  horn-mad.  [A.'^i'Ie. 

Cains.  Fe,fe,fe,fe/  nm  fui,  it  fait  fort  cttauk, 
Je  m''en  val^'d  la  cour, —  la  grande  ajjuire. 

Quirk.    Is  it  this,  sirl 

Caius.  Ouj/ ;  nictfe  la  an  mon  pocket;  Depecke 
quickly. —  Vere  is  dat  knave  Rugl)y  T 

Quick.   What,  John  Rugby  !  John  ! 

Ru'^.   Here,  sir. 

Caius.  \  ou  are  John  Rugby,  and  you  are  Jack 
Ruyby  :  Come,  tal:e-a  your  rapier,  and  come  after 
my  lieel  to  de  court. 

Rug.   'Tis  ready,  sir.  here  in  the  porch. 

Caius,  By  my  trot,  1  tarry  too  long:  —  Od'sme! 
Qu'  ai/'J'  oub/ie  .^  dere  is  some  simples  in  my  closet, 
dat  i  viU  not  for  the  varld  I  shall  leave  behind, 

Qtiick.  Ah  me  !  he'll  fmd  the  young  man  there, 
and  be  mad. 

Caius.  0  diable,  diahle !  vat  is  in  my  closet?  — 
Villany!  lurronl  [Pulling  Simplk  out.]  Rugby, 
my  rapier. 

Quick.  Good  master,  be  content. 

Caius.  Veretbre  shall  1  he  content-a  . 

Quick.  The  young  man  is  an  honest  man. 

Caius.  Vat  shall  de  honest  man  do  in  my  closet  1 
derc  is  no  honest  man  dat  shall  come  in  my  closet. 

Quick.  I  beseech  you,  be  not  so  llegmatick  ;  iiear 
the  trutli  of  it.  He  came  of  an  errand  to  me  from 
parson  Hugh, 

Caius.   Veil. 

Si/n.   Ay,  forsooth,  to  desire  her  to 

Quick.   Peace,  I  pray  you. 

Caius.  Peace-a  your  tongue: — Spcak-ayourta'e. 

Sim-.  To  desire  this  Iionest  gentlewoman,  your 
maid,  to  speak  a  good  word  to  mistress  Anne  I'ago 
for  my  master,  in  the  way  of  marriage. 

Quick.  This  is  all,  indeed,  la  ;  but  I'll  ne'er  put 
my  lini^er  in  the  tire,  and  need  not. 

Caius.  Sir  Hugh  send-a  you  !  — Rugby,  haitlez 
rae  some  paper:— Tarry  you  a  httlc-a  wliile. 

\\V  riles. 

Quick.  1  am  glad  he  is  so  quiet :  if  he  hiid  been 
tlioroui;hly  moved,  you  should  have  heard  him  so 
loud,  and  so  melancholy:  —  But  notwithstiiuding, 
man,  11!  do  vmir  master  what  good  I  can :  and  the 
very  yea  ana  the  no  is,  the  French  doctor,  my  mas- 
ter,^—  I  niay  call  him  my  master,  look  you,  ibr  I 
keep  his  Iiouse;  and  1  wash,  wring,  brew,  hake, 
scour,  dress  meat  and  drink,  make  the  beds,  and  do 
all  myself;  — 

Sim.  'Tis  a  great  charge,  to  come  under  one 
body's  hand. 

Quirk.  Are  you  avis'd  o'  that!  you  shall  find  it 
a  great  charge :  and  to  be  up  early  and  down  late: 
—  hut  notwithstanding,  (to  tell  you  in  your  ear;  I 
would  have  no  words  of  it,)  my  master  himself  is 
in  love  with  mistress  Anne  Pajje;  but  notwith- 
standing that, —  I  know  Anne's  mind, —  that's 
neither  here  nor  there. 

Caius.  You  jack  "nape;  give-a  dis  letter  to  sir 
Hugh;  by  gar,  it  is  a  sliallcnge;  I  vill  cut  bis  troat 
in  de  park;  and  I  will  teach  a  scurvy  jack-a-nape 
priest  to  meddle  or  make:  —  you  may  be  gone:  it 
is  not  good  you  tarry  hero:  — bv  gar,  I  will  cut  alt 
his  two  stones;  by  gar,  he  shall  not  haf.c  a  stone 
to  trow  at  his  dog.  {Exit  Si.mi'Lk. 

Quirk.    Alas,  he  speaks  hut  for  his  friend. 

Caius.  It  is  no  matter-a  tor  dat;  —  do  not  you 
tell-a  me  dat  I  shall  huve  Anne  Page  for  myself !  — 
by  t;ar,  1  will  kdl  de  jack  priest;  and  1  liaxe  ap- 
pointe{l  mine  host  ofVc  Jarterre  to  measure  our 
weapon:  —  I)y  gar,  I  vill  myself  have  Anne  Page. 

Qiiu:k.  Sir.' the  maid  loves  you.  and  all  shall  be 
well:  we  must  give  folks  leave  to  pra  e:  What, 
the  good-jer!' 

•  Sroldfil,  reprimandcJ. 

1  The  ^oujcrci what  the  poxl 


Act  II.     Scene  I. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


47 


Cains.    Ru^by,  come  to  the  court  vit  me;  —  liy 

gar,  if  I    have  not  Anne  Paj^c,  1  yliall  turn  your 

head  out  of  my  door:  —  Follow  my  lieels,  Ku^t>y. 

\Exeunt  Caiu«  ati'i  Uuiiiiv- 

Quick.  You  shall  have  An  fools-head  of  your 
own.  No,  I  know  Anne's  mmd  for  that;  never  a 
woman  in  Windsor  knows  more  of  Anncs  mind 
thun  I  do;  nor  can  do  more  than  I  do  with  her,  1 
tliank  heaven- 

Fe/tt.   [IVUhin.]  Who's  within  there,  ho? 

Quick.  Who's  there,  1  trowl  Come  near  the 
house,  I  pray  you. 

Enter  Fextox. 

Fenf.  How  now,  good  woman  :  how  dost  thou  7 

Quick.  The  better,  that  it  pleases  your  ^ood 
worship  to  a^k. 

Ftnf.  What  news  T  how  does  pretty  mistress 
Anne] 

Quick.  In  truth,  sir,  and  she  is  pretty,  and  honest, 
anl  fi;entle:  and  one  that  is  your  friend  1  can  tell 
you  that  by  the  way;  1  praise  heaven  for  it. 

Ftnf,  Shall  I  do  any  good,  thlnkest  thou  I  Shall 
1  not  lose  my  suit.' 


Quick.  Troth,  sir,  all  is  in  his  hands  above:  but 
notwithstanding,  master  Kenton.  1 11  be  sworn  on  a 
book  the  loves  you:  —  Have  not  your  worship  a 
wart  above  your  eye"! 

Fenf.   Yes,'marry,  have  T ;  what  of  that  7 

Quick.  Well,  thereby  ham^sa  taie;  — i;ood  faith, 
it  is  such  another  Nan;  but,  I  detest.' an  hnnc^t 
maid  as  evt-r  broke  bread:  —  We  had  an  hours 
talk  of  that  wart ;  —  I  shall  never  lautih  but  in  t!i;it 
maid's  company!  —  lint,  indeed,  she  is  t^iven  too 
much  to  a  lichollys  and  musing:  But  for  you  — 
Well,  go  to. 

Fcfif.  Well,  T  shall  see  her  to-day:  Hold,  there's 
money  for  ihce ;  let  me  have  thy  voice  in  my  behalf; 
—  if  thou  seest  her  before  me,  commend  me  — 

Quick.  Will  1  !  i'faith,  that  we  will:  and  I  will 
tell  your  worship  more  of  the  wart,  the  next  time 
we  have  confidence;  and  of  other  wooers. 

Fenf.   Weil,  farewell;  I  am  in  great  haste  now. 

I  Exif. 

Quick.  Farewell  to  your  worship. —  Truly,  an 
honest  ireiitleman  ;  but  Anne  loves  him  not:  for  I 
know  Anne's  mind  as  well  as  another  does:  —  (tut 
upon't!  what  have  1  forgot  f  [£xi^ 


ACT   II. 


SCENE  I.— Before  Page's  House. 
Enter  Mistress  Pack,  with  a  letter. 
Mrs.  Page.   What!  have  I 'scaped  love-iettcrs  in 
the  lioly-day  time  of  my  beauty,  and  am  I  now  a 
BUliject  for  them  !     Let  me  see :  [Reuii-s. 

Ask  me  no  rea-ioh  whij  J  Inve  you  ;  for  Ittmi^li 
love  use  rea-yon  for  kis  preclswn/  tie  wUnits  tiim 
not  for  his  counsellor.  You  are  not  i/oun/r,  no 
viore  am  I:  go  to  then,  there's  sijnipdthy ;  you  are 
nierrii,  so  am  I:  Hii .'  tia  !  then  there's-  oiore  sym- 
jiafhi/ ;  you  lore  yark,  and  sit  (bt  I :  Winild  i/ou 
i*'Mrf  hettrr  si/nipathi/?  Let  it  suffire  thee,  mhfress 
I'ogr,  {III  the'  Iro.yt,  if  the  lure  of  a  .lolilier  can 
suffire.)  thill  I  lore  thee.  I  will  not  sai/,inty  me. 
'lis  out  a  .\iililierlike  phrase;  but  I  say,  hoe  me. 
By  me, 

Thine  own  true  knight, 

Bii  day  or  night. 

Or  any  kind  of  lisht, 

With  all  his  might, 

For  thee  tu fight, 

Jons    FtLSTAFF. 

What  a  Tferod  of  Jewry  is  this!  — 0  wicked,  wick- 
ed worlil ! —  one  that  is  well  ni^fi  worn  to  pieces 
with  age,  to  show  himself  a  young  gallant !  What 
unwcighcd  behavior  hath  this  Flemish  drunkard 
jiickeil  (with  the  devil's  name)  out  of  my  convcrsa- 
linii,  that  lie  dares  in  this  in  inner  assay  me!  — 
Why,  he  hath  not  been  thrice  in  my  company! — 
■What  should  I  say  to  him?  —  I  was  then  frugal  of 
ray  mirth:  —  heaven  forgive  me!  —  Why.  I  II  ex- 
hibit a  bill  in  the  parliament  for  the  putting  down 
of  men.  How  shall  I  be  revenged  on  him  !  for 
reve'LL'ed  I  will  be,  as  sure  as  his  yuts  are  made  of 
puddings. 

Enter  Mistres.'i  Fonn. 

Jtfrs.  Flint  Mrs.  Paje  !  trust  me,  I  was  going  to 
your  hou-:e. 

^frs.  I'lige.  And  trust  me,  I  was  coming  to  you. 
■you  look  very  ill. 

l^Irs.  Ford.  Nay.  I'll  ne'er  believe  that;  I  have 
to  show  to  the  contrary. 

il/rs.  Page.   'Faith,  but  you  do,  in  my  mind. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Well,  I  do  then;  yet,  I  say,  I  could 
show  you  to  the  contrary :  O,  mistress  Page,  give 
me  some  counsel ! 

Mrs.  Page.  What's  the  matter,  woman  ? 

Mrs.  Ford..  O  woman,  if  it  were  not  for  one 
trilling  respect.  I  could  come  to  such  honor ! 

Mrs.  Page.   Hang  the  trirte,  woman;  —  take  the 

t  Most  probably  Shakspeare  wrote  physician. 


honor :  What  Is  it'!  —  dispense  with  trillcs ;  —  what 
is  It! 

Mrs.  Ford,  Tf  I  would  but  go  to  hell  for  an  eter- 
nal moment,  or  so,  I  could  be  knighted. 

Mrs.  Page.   What  1 —thou    liest!— -Sir    Alice 

Ford! These  knights  will  hack;  and  so  thou 

shonldst  not  alter  the  article  of  thy  gentry. 

Mrs.  Ford.  We  burn  daylight; — jiere,  read, 
read  ; — perceive  how  1  might  be  knighted, —  I  shall 
think  the  worse  of  fat  men.  as  long  as,l  have  an 
eye  to  make  diUerence  of  men's  liking  ;  And  yet 
he  would  not  swear;  praised  woman's  modesty; 
and  gave  such  orderly  and  well-behaved  reproof  to 
all  unconieliness,  that  I  would  have  sworn  his  di.s- 
position  would  have  gone  to  the  truth  of  his  words : 
but  they  tlo  no  more  adhere  and  keep  place  to- 
gether, I  ban  the  hundredth  psalm  to  the  tune  of 
Green  sleeres.  What  tempest,  1  trow,  threw  tills 
whale,  with  so  many  tons  of  oil  in  his  belly,  ashore 
at  Windsor^  How  shall  1  be  revenged  on  him'! 
i  think,  the  best  way  were  to  enlertain  him  with 
hope,  till  the  wicked  tire  of  lust  have  melted  him  in 
ills  own  grease.     l)id  jou  ever  hear  the  like! 

Mrs.  Page.   Letter  tor  letter;  but  that  the  name 

of  Page  and  Ford  ditVers! To  thy  great  comfort 

in  this  mystery  of  ill  opinions,  here's  the  twin- 
lirother  of  thy  letter:  but  let  thine  inherit  first;  for, 
1  ]irolcst,  mine  never  shall.  I  v.arrant  he  hath  a 
thousand  ot  these  letters  writ  with  blank  space  for 
dillerent  names,  {sure  more.)  and  these  are  of  the 
second  edition  :  He  will  print  them  out  of  doubt; 
for  he  cares  not  what  he  puts  into  the  press,  when 
he  would  put  us  two.  1  had  rather  be  a  giantess, 
and  lie  under  mount  Pelion.  Well,  1  will  find  you 
twenty  lascivious  turtles,  ere  one  chaste  man. 

l\Irs.  Ford.  Why  this  is  the  very  same;  the  very 
hand,  the  very  words :    What  doth  he  think  of  us  ! 

Mrs.  Page.  Nay,  I  know  not:  it  makes  me  al- 
most ready  to  wrangle  with  mine  own  honesty, 
ril  enlertain  myself  like  one  that  I  am  not  ac- 
quainted withal;  tlir,  sure,  unless  he  know  some 
strain  m  me.  that  I  know  not  myself,  he  would 
never  have  hoarded  me  In  this  fury. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Hoarding,  call  you  it!  I'll  be  sure 
to  keep  him  above  deck: 

Mrs.  Page.  So  will  I ;  If  he  come  under  my 
hatches,  I'll  never  to  sea  again.  Let's  be  revenged 
on  him  ;  let's  appoint  him  a  meeting;  give  him  a 
show  of  comfort  in  his  suit:  and  lead  him  on  with 
a  fine-baited  delay,  till  he  hath  pawn'd  his  horses  to 
mine  host  of  the  (barter. 

Mrs.  Flint.  Nay,  I  will  consent  to  act  any  villainy 
against  him,  that  may  not  sully  the  chariness'  of 

«  She  moank,  I  protest.  9  .Melancholy.        sc.aution. 


48 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  II. 


our  Iinnesty.  O,  that  my  husband  saw  this  letter! 
it  woiiM  give  eternal  foot!  to  his  jealousy. 

Mrs.  P//irf.  Wliy.  look,  where  lie  conies;  and  my 
pomi  man  too:  he's  as  far  from  jealousy,  as  I  am 
from  LilvuiL'  him  cause;  and  that,  1  hope,  is  an  un- 
nie  isurable  distance. 

^[rs.  Furd.  You  arc  tlie  happier  woman. 

Mrs.  Page.  Let's  consult  together  against  this 
greasy  knight:    Come  liither.  {They  retire. 

Enter  Foiid,  Pistol,  Page,  mid  Nym. 

Fnrd.   Well,  I  hope  it  be  not  so. 

Pi'^t.   Hope  is  a  curtail^  dog  in  some  affairs: 
Sir  John  artects  thy  wife. 

Ford.   Why.  sir.  my  wife  is  not  youn?. 

Pist.   Tie  woos  both  high  and  low,  both  rich  and 
poor, 
Hoth  youuic  and  old.  one  with  another.  Ford ; 
lie  loves  the  gally-mawfry  ;*  Ford,  perpend. » 

F'ird.   Love'my  wife"? 

PiM.  With  liver  burning  hot:  Prevent. or  ^o  thou 
Like  sir  .Actreon  he,  with  Ring-wood  at  thy  heels: 
O,  odious  is  the  name! 

Ford.   What  name,  sir? 

Pht.   The  horn.  I  say:  Farewell. 
Take  heed  ;  have  open  eye ;  fur  thieves  do  foot  by 

night: 
Take  heed^  ere  summer  comes,  or  cuekoo-birds  do 

sing. — 
Away,  sir  corporal  Nym. — 
Believe  it.  Paii:c;  he  speaks  sense.     \Exii  Pistol. 

Fori.    I  wdl  be  patient;  I  will  find  out  this. 

Nam.  And  this  is  true.  [ToPxgf.A  I  like  not 
the  liuinor  of  lying.  He  hath  wronged  me  in  some 
humor-i ;  I  should  have  borne  the  humored  letter  to 
lier;  hul:  I  have  a  sword,  and  it  shall  bite  upon  my 
necessity.  lie  loves  your  wife;  there's  tlie  short 
and  thelon^.  My  name  is  corporal  Nym;  I  speak, 
and  I  avou-'h.  'Tis  true:  —  my  name  is  Nym.  and 
Falsfalf  loves  your  wife. —  Adieu!  I  love  not  the 
humor  of  bi^ad  and  cheese;  and  there's  the  humor 
of  it.    Adieu.  IFrit  Nym. 

Pdi^e.  The  humor  nf  if,  quoth  'a!  here's  a  fel* 
low  frights  humor  out  "of  his  wits. 

Fnrd,    I  will  seek  out  Falstair. 

Pa^t.  I  never  hea  rd  such  a  drawling,  affecting 
roguei 

Fi>rd.   If  I  do  find  it.  well. 

Pof^e.  1  will  not  believe  such  a  Cataian.e  tho'  tlie 
pri«'st  o*  the  town  commended  him  for  a  true  man. 

Fnrd.   'Twas  a  t:ood  sensible  fellow  :    Well. 

Pd'^e.   TIow  now,  Meg  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Whithor  go  you,  George?  —  Hark 
you. 

Mrs!.  Fnrd.  How  now,  sweet  Frank  ]  why  art 
thou  inrlancholy  .' 

Fnrd.  1  melauclioly !  I  am  not  melancholy. — 
Get  you  home,  go.  ■ 

Mrs.  Ford.  'Faith,  thou  hast  some  crotchets  in 
thy  liead  now.' — Will  you  go.  mistress  Pai:e  .' 

Mrs.  Pfis:e-  Have  with  you.— You'll  come  to 
diiuirr,  George?  —  Look,  who  comes  yonder:  she 
siiall  be  our  messenger  to  this  paltry  kiiiiiht. 

[Aaide  to  Mrs.  Foiiit. 

Enter  Mistress  Quickly. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Trust  me.  I  thought  on  her:  shell 
fit  )t. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  are  come  to  sec  my  daughter 
Anne  ! 

Q'lick.  Ay. forsooth;  and,  I  pray,  liow  does  good 
mistress  Anne  ? 

Mrs.  Page.  Go  in  with  us,  and  see  ;  we  liave  an 
hours  talk  with  you. 

{Kxfuni  Mrs.  Page,  Mrs.  FoRn,  and 

Mrs.  Ql'M'KLY. 

Page.   How  now,  master  Fordt 

Ford.  You  heard  what  this  knave  told  me  ;  did 
yon  not? 

Page.  Yes ;  and  you  heard  what  the  other  told 
me  ! 

F'n-d.   Do  you  think  there  is  truth  in  them  ? 

Page.  HauiT  Vui,  slaves!  1  do  not  think  the 
kniglit  would  offer  it:  but  these  tliat  accuse  him  in 


■••A  doK  that  niissi'S  Lis  game. 

*  A  wdley. 

8  A  lying  sliarper. 


»  Consi  Jer. 


his  intent  towards  our  wives,  are  a  yoke  of  liis  dis- 
carded men  ;  very  rogues,  now  they  be  out  of  ser- 
vice. 

Ford.   Were  they  his  men? 

Page.  Marry,  were  they. 

Ford.  I  hke  it  never  the  belter  for  that. —  Docs  he 
lie  at  the  Garter  ? 

Page.  Ay,  marry,  does  he.  Tf  he  should  intend 
this  voyauie  towards 'my  wife,  I  would  turn  her 
loose  to  him;  and  what  he  gets  more  of  her  than 
sharp  words,  let  it  lie  on  my  head. 

Ford.  I  do  not  misdoubt  my  wife;  but  I  would 
be  loth  to  turn  them  together:  A  man  may  be  too 
confident :  I  would  liave  nothing  lie  on  my  head : 
1  cannot  be  thus  satisfied. 

Page.  Look  where  my  ranting  host  of  the  Garter 
comes  :  there  is  either  liquor  in  liis  pate,  or  money 
inhis  nurse,  when  he  looks  so  merrily. —  How  now, 
mine  host? 

Enter  Host  and  Shallow. 

Host  How  now,  buIly-rook?  thou'rt  a  gentle- 
man: cavalero-justice,  I  say. 

i>.kal.  1  follow,  mme  host,  I  follow. —  Good  even 
and  twenty,  good  master  Page!  Master  Page,  will 
you  go  with  us?  we  have  sport  in  hand. 

Host.  Tell  him,  cavalerg-justice ;  tell  him,  bully- 
rook. 

Hhal.  Sir,  there  is  a  fray  to  be  fought,  between 
sir  Hugh  the  Welsh  priest,  and  Caius  the  French 
doctor. 

Ford.  Good  mine  host  of  the  Garter,  a  word  with 
you. 

Host,   What  say'st  thou,  bully-rook  ? 

I  They  go  aside. 

Shot.  Will  you  r/n  Pare]  go  with  us  to  behold 
it?  my  merry  host  Iiath  had  the  measuring  of  their 
weapons;  and,  I  think,  he  hath  ajijiointcd  them 
contrary  places:  for,  believe  me,  I  hear,  the  parson 
is  no  iester.  Hark,  I  will  tell  you  what  our  sport 
shall  be. 

Host.  Hast  thou  no  suit  against  my  knight,  my 
guest-cavalier? 

Ford.  None,  I  protest:  but  I'll  give  you  a  pottle 
of  burnt  sack  to  give  me  recourse  to  him,  and  tell 
him,  my  name  is  Brook  ;  only  for  a  jest. 

Ho  t.  My  hand,  bully;  thou  shalt  have  egress 
and  regress;  said  I  well?  and  thy  name  shall  be 
lirook :  It  is  a  merry  knight. —  \VilJ  you  go  on, 
hearts? 

Shal.  Have  with  you,  mine  host. 

Page.  I  have  heard  the  Frenclunan  hath  good 
skill  in  his  rapier. 

Shal.  Tut,  sir,  I  could  have  told  you  more!  In 
these  times  you  stand  on  distance,  your  passes, 
stoccadoes,  and  I  know  not  what:  'tis  the  heart, 
master  Page;  'tis  here, 'tis  here.  I  have  seen  the 
time,  with  my  long  sword,  I  would  have  made  you 
four  tall  fellows  skip  like  rats. 

Jlnst.   Here,  boys,  here,  here!  shall  we,wag? 

Page.  Have  with  you:  —  I  had  ralher  hear  them 
scold  than  fight. 

[Exeunt  Host,  Shallow,  and  PAnF. 

Ford.  Though  Page  he  a  secure  fool,  and  stands 
so  firmly  on  his  wife's  frailty,  yet  I  cannot  put  otf 
my  opinion  so  easily :  she  was  in  his  company  at 
Page's  house;  and  what  they  made  there,  I  kiiow 
not.  Well,  1  will  look  further  into  t :  and  I  liavc  a 
disi^uise  to  sound  FalstalT:  If  1  tind  I.er  lionest.  I 
lose  not  my  labor;  if  she  be  otiu-rwise, 'tis  labor 
well  bestowed.  _  [Exit. 

SCENE  U.—A  Roojn  in  the  Garter  hnu 
Enter  Falstaff  and  Pistol. 

Fiih   T  will  not  lend  thee  a  penny. 

Pisf.   Why  then  the  worlds  mine  oyster, 
Which  I  with  sword  will  open. — 
I  will  retort  the  sum  in  equipage.' 

Fal.  Not  a  penny.  I  have  been  content,  sir.  you 
should  lay  my  countenapce  to  pawn  ;  1  have  grated 
upon  my  good  friends  for  three  reprieves  for  you 
and  your  coach-fellow^  Nym;  or  else  you  had 
looked  through  the  grate'Iikea  geininy  of  baboons. 
I  am  damned  in  hell,  for  swearing  to  gentlemen 
my  friends,  you  were  good  soldiers,  and  tail  fellows; 

T  Pay  yf^ii  a^ain  in  stolen  goods. 
«  rra\v.s  along  with  you. 


SCEN-E  II. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


49 


and  when  mistress  Bridget  lost  the  handle  of  her 
fan,  I  took  't  upon  my  honor,  thou  hadst  it  not. 

Fist-  Didst  thou  notsliarel  hadst  thou  not  fif- 
teen penee '! 

Fal.  Reason,  you  rogue,  reason :  Think'st  thou, 
I'll  endanijer  my  soul  ffra/i.i  ?  At  a  word,  hang  no 
more  about  me,  1  am  no  gibbet  for  you  :  — go  —  A 
short  knife  and  a  throng:'  —  to  your  manor  of 
Pickt-hatch,"  go.— Voull  hot  bear  a  letter  for  me, 
you  rogue !  —  you  stand  upon  your  honor !  —  Why, 
thou  unconfinable  baseness,  it  is  as  much  as  I  can 
do,  to  keep  tlie  terms  of  my  honor  precise-  I,  I,  I 
myself  sonietiines,  leaving  the  fear  of  heaven  on 
the  left  hand,  and  hidiug  mine  honor  in  my  neces- 
sity, am  fain  to  ^hurtle,  to  hedge,  and  to  lurch  ;  and 
yet  you.  rogue,  will  ensconce^  your  rags,  your  cat- 
a-mount,iin  looks,  your  red-lattice"  phrases,  and 
your  bold-beating  oatlis,  under  the  shelter  of  your 
honor !     You  will  not  do  it,  you  1 

Fist.  I  do  relent:  what  wouldst  thou  more  of 
man  \ 

Enter  RoniN'. 

Roh.   Sir,  here's  a  woman  would  speak  with  you. 
I'ul.  Let  her  approach. 

Enter  Mrs-  QuicKir. 

Quick.  Give  your  worship  good-morrow. 

Fat.  Good-morrow,  good  wife. 

Quick-   Not  so,  ant  please  your  worship. 

Ful-   Good  maid,  tlien. 

Quid;-  I'll  be  sworn;  as  my  mother  was,  the 
first  hour  I  was  born. 

Fal-   I  do  believe  the  swearer ;  'What  with  me  ; 

Quick.  Shall  I  vouchsafe  your  worship  a  word 
or  two  1 

Fal.  Two  thousand,  t\\r  woman;  and  I'll  vouch- 
safe thee  the  hearing. 

Quick.  There  is  one  mistress  Ford,  sir;  —  I  pray, 
come  a  little  nearer  this  ways;  —  I  myself  dwell 
with  master  doctor  Caius. 

Fal.   Well,  on:  iMistress  Ford,  you  say, 

Quick.  Your  worsliip  says  very  true;  I  pray 
your  worsliip,  come  a  little  nearer  this  ways. 

Fal.  I  warrant  thee,  nobody  hears;  —  mine  own 
people,  mine  own  people. 

Quii-k.  Are  they  so!  Heaven  bless  them,  and 
make  them  his  servants! 

Fal.    Well:    Mistress  Ford:  —  what  of  her'! 

Quick.  Why,  sir,  she's  a  good  creature.  Lord, 
lord!  your  worship's  a  wanton:  Well,  heaven  for- 
give you.  and  all  of  us,  I  pray ! 

Fal.   Mistress  Fonl ;  —  come,  mistress  Ford, — 

Quick.  Marry,  this  is  the  short  and  the  long  of 
it;  you  have  brought  her  into  such  a  canaries,*  as 
'tis  wonderful.  'Hie  best  courtier  of  them  all, 
when  the  court  lay  at  Windsor,  could  never  have 
brought  her  to  such  a  canary.  Yet  there  has  been 
knigiits,  and  lord.s,  and  gentlemen,  with  their 
coaches;  I  warrant  you,  coach  after  coach,  letter 
after  letter,  gift  after  gift ;  smelling  so  sweetly  (all 
musk)  and  so  rushling,  1  warrant  you,  in  silk  and 
gold;  and  in  such  alligant  terms;  and  in  such  wine 
and  sugar  of  the  best  and  the  fairest,  tliat  would 
have  won  any  woman's  heart ;  and,  I  warrant  you, 
they  could  never  get  an.  eye-wink  of  her. —  I  had 
myself  twenty  angels  given  me  this  morning;  but 
I  defy  all  angels,  (in  any  such  sort,  as  they  say,) 
but  in  the  way  of  honesty  :  —  and,  I  warrant  you, 
they  could  never  get  her  so  umch  as  sip  on  a  cup 
with  the  proudest  of  them  all ;  and  yet  there  has 
been  earls,  nay,  which  is  more,  pensioners;  but  I 
warrant  you,  all  is  one  with  her. 

Fal-  liut  what  says  she  to  ine  !  be  brief,  my  good 
Bhe-Mercury. 

Quick.  Marry,  she  hath  received  your  letter;  for 
the  which  she  thanks  you  a  thousand  times;  and 
she  gives  you  to  notify,  that  her  husband  will  be 
absence  from  his  house  between  ten  and  eleven. 

Fal.   Ten  and  eleven  1. 

Quick.   Ay,  forsooth;  and  then  you  may  come 

and  see  the  picture,  she  says  that  you  wots  of;  — 

master   Ford,   her   husband,   will   be   from  home. 

Alas!  the  sweet  woman  leads  an  ill  life  with  him; 

e  To  cut  piirsc.i  in  a  crowd. 

'  Pickt-hatch  va.s  in  Clcrkenwell.  »  Protect. 

*  Ale-house. 

«  A  mistake  of  Mrs.  Quicklv's  for  quandary- 

*  Know. 


he's  a  very  jealousy  man :  she  leads  a  very  fram- 
poh^  life  with  him,  good  heart. 

Fal.  Ten  and  eleven :  Woman,  commend  me  to 
her;  I  will  not  fail  her. 

Quick.  Why,  you  say  well:  But  I  have  another 
messenger  to  your  worship  :  Mistress  Page  hath  her 
hearty  commendations  to  you  too;  —  and  let  me  tell 
you  in  your  ear,  she's  as  fartuous  a  civil  modest 
wife,  and  one  (I  tell  you)  that  will  not  mi.ss  your 
morning  nor  evening  praj'er,  as  any  is  in  Windsor, 
whoe'er  be  the  other ;  and  she  bade  me  tell  your 
worship,  that  her  husband  is  seldom  from  home; 
but,  she  hojjcs,  there  will  come  a  time.  I  never 
knew  a  woman  so  dote  upon  a  man ;  surely,  I  think 
you  have  charms,  la  ;  yes,  in  truth. 

Fat.  Not  I,  I  assure  thee;  setting  the  attraction 
of  my  good  parts  aside,  I  have  no  other  charms. 

Quick.   Iile.s.sing  on  your  heart  fort! 

Fal.  But,  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  this:  has  Fords 
wife,  and  Pages  wife,  acquainted  each  other  how 
they  love  mel 

Quick.  That  were  a  jest,  indeed! — they  have 
not  so  little  grace,  I  hope:  —  that  were  a  trick,  'n- 
decd  !  But  mistress  Page  would  desire  yon  to  send 
her  your  little  page,  of  all  loves  ;t  her  husband  has 
a  marvellous  inlection  to  the  little  page:  and,  truly, 
master  Page  is  an  honest  man.  Never  a  wife  in 
Windsor  leads  a  better  life  than  she  does;  do  what 
she  will,  say  what  she  will,  take  all,  pay  all,  go  to 
bed  when  she  list,  rise  when  she  list,  all  is  as  she 
will ;  and,  truly,  she  deserves  it ;  for  if  there  be  a 
kind  woman  in  Windsor,  she  is  one.  You  must 
send  her  your  page ;  no  remedy. 

Fal.   Why,  I  will. 

Quick.  Kay,  but  do  so,  then;  and,  look  you.  he 
may  come  and  go  between  you  both;  and.  in  any 
case,  have  a  nay-word,^  that  you  may  know  one 
another's  mind,  and  the  boy  never  need  to  under- 
stand any  thing;  for  'tis  riot  good  that  children 
should  know  any  wickedness:  old  folks,  you  know, 
have  discretion,  as  they  say,  and  know  the  world. 

Fal.   i-'are  thee  well :  commend  me  to  tlieni  both : 

there's  my  purse;  I  am  yet  tliy  debtor. —  Boy,  go 

along  with  this  woman. —  This  news  distracts  ine. 

[Exeunt  Quickly  and  Uoiiix. 

Fust.  This  punk  is  one  of  Cupid's  carriers:^ 
Clap  on  more  sails;  pursue,  up  with  your  tights; 
Give  fire;  she  is  my  prize,  or  ocean  whelm  thein  all ! 

[Exit  Pisriii.. 

Fal.  Say'st  thou  so,  old  Jack'!  go  thy  ways;  111 
make  more  of  thy  old  body  than  I  have  done.  \Vill 
they  yet  look  after  thee  !  Wilt  thou,  after  the  ex- 
pense of  so  much  money,  be  now  a  gainer!  Good 
body,  I  thank  thee :  Let  theiii  say,  'tis  grossly  done  ; 
so  it  be  fairly  done,  no  matter. 

Enter  BAnnoLPii. 

Bar.  S'r  John,  there's  one  master  Brook  oelow 
would  fain  -speak  with  you.  Snd  be  acquainted  with 
you;  and  liath  sent  your  worship  a  morning's 
draught  of  sack. 

Fal.    Brook,  is  his  name  ■} 

Bar.   Ay,  sir. 

Fal.  Call  him  in.  [Exit  EinnoLpn.]  ."^uch 
Brooks  are  welcome  to  me,  that  o'ertlow  such 
liquor.  Ah!  ha!  mi.stress  Ford  and  mistre-ss  Page, 
have  I  encompassed  you  !  go  to;  via-" 

Re-enter  BARiioi-ru  wilk  Fonu  dbguised. 

Fiinl.   Bless  you,  sir. 

Fal.    And  you,  sir:   Would  you  speak  with  me ? 

Ford.  1  made  bold,  to  press  with  so  little  prepa- 
ration upon  you. 

Fal.  You're  welcome;  What's  your  wiin  Give 
us  leave,  drawer.  [Exit  B.*uiiolpii. 

Furd.  Sir,  I  am  a  gentleman  that  have  spent 
much  ;  my  name  is  Brook. 

Ful-  Good  master  Brook,  I  desire  more  acquaint- 
ance of  you. 

Ford.  Good  sir  John,  I  sue  for  yours:  not  to 
charge  you  ;  for  I  must  let  you  understand.  I  think 
myself  "in  better  plight  for  a  lender  than  you  are : 
the  which  hath  something  embolden'd  nie  to  this 
nnseason'd  intrusion  :  for  they  say,  if  money  go  be- 
fore, all  ways  do  lie  open. 

«  Fretful,  pecvi.'sh  '  By  all  means.     . 

•  A  watch  word.  "  .^  cant  phrase  of  exultation. 


50 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  II. 


Fal.  Money  is  a  gond  soldier,  sir,  and  will  on. 

Ford.  Troth,  and  I  have  a  ba;^  of  money  here 
troubles  me:  if  you  will  help  me  to  bear  it,  sir 
John,  take  all,  or  liall',  for  easing  nie  of  the  carriage. 

Fal.  ^h\  1  know  not  how  I  may  deserve  to  be 
your  porter. 

Ford  1  will  tell  you,  sir,  if  you  will  give  me  the 
IieLiring. 

Fill.  Speak,  good  master  Brook;  I  shall  be  glad 
to  lie  your  servant. 

Ford.  Sir,  I  hoiir  you  arc  a  scholar, —  I  will  be 
brief  with  you;  —  and  you  have  been  a  man  long 
known  to  me,  ihougii  I  had  never  so  good  means, 
as  desire,  to  make  myself  acquainted  with  you.  1 
shall  discover  a  thing  to  you,  wherein  I  must  very 
much  lay  open  mine  own  imperfection;  hut,  good 
sir  Juhn.  as  you  have  one  eye  upon  my  follies,  as 
you  hear  them  unfolded,  turn  another  into  the 
register  of  your  own;  that  1  may  pass  with  a  re- 
proof the  easier,  sith'  you  yourself  know,  how  easy 
it  is  to  be  such  an  oilcnder. 

Fal,  Very  well,  sir;  proceed. 

Ford.  There  is  a  i,'eni!cvvoman  in  this  town,  her 
husband's  name  is  Foid. 

F(/l.  Well,  sir. 

Ford.  I  have  long  loved  her,  and,  I  protest  to 
you,  bestowed  much  on  her;  followed  her  with  a 
doting  observance ;  engrossed  opportunities  to  meet 
her  :  fee"d  every  slight  occasion,  that  could  but  nig- 
gardly give  me  sight  of  her ;  not  on  !y  bought  many 
presents  to  give  her,  but  have  given  largely  to 
many,  to  know  what  she  would  have  given  :  briefly, 
I  have  pursued  her,  as  love  hath  pursued  me  ; 
which  halii  been  on  the  wing  of  all  occasions.  But 
whatsoever  I  have  merited,  either  in  my  mind,  or 
iu  my  means,  meed,  I  am  sure,  I  iiave  received 
none;  unless  experience  bed  jewel:  that  I  have 
purchase!  at  an  infinite  rale:  and  that  hath  taught 
me  to  say  this : 

Love  like  a  shadow  Jlics,  ivhen  substance  love  pur- 
sues ; 
Pursuifig  that  thafJlieSj  andjlying  wliat  pursues. 

Fal.  Have  you  received  no  promise  of  satisfac- 
tion at  her  hands ! 

Ford.   Never. 

Fill.  Have  you  importun'd  her  to  such  a  i)urpose  ? 

Ford.   Never. 

Fal,   Of  what  quality  was  j'our  love  then  1 

Ford.  Like  a  fair  house,  built  upon  another  man's 
ground ;  so  that  I  have  lost  my  editice,  by  mistak- 
ing the  place  where  I  erected  it. 

Fal.  To  what  purpose  have  you  unfolded  this  to 
me! 

Ford..  When  I  have  told  you  tliat,  I  have  told 
3'ou  all.  Some  say,  that,  though  she  appear  honest 
to  me,  yet,  in  other  places,  she  enlargeth  her  mirth 
so  far.  lliat  there  is  shrewd  construction  made  of 
her.  Now,  sir  John,  here  is  the  heart  of  my  pur- 
pose :  You  are  a  gentleman  of  excellent  breeding, 
admirable  discourse,  of  great  admittance,^  authen- 
tic in  your  place  and  person,  generally  alloweda  for 
your  many  warlike,  courttike,  and  learned  prepar- 
ations. 

Fal.   O  sir! 

Ford.  Believe  it.  for  you  know  it. —  There  is 
money;  spend  it,  spend  it;  spend  more;  spend  all  I 
have  ;  only  give  me  so  much  of  your  time  in  ex- 
change of  it,  as  to  lay  au  amiable  seige  to  the  hon- 
esty of  this  Ford's  wife;  use  your  art  of  wooing, 
win  her  to  consent  to  you  ;  if  any  man  may,  you 
may  as  soon  as  any. 

Fal.  Would  it  apply  well  to  the  vehcmency  of 
vour  alTection,  that  1  should  win  what  you  would 
enjoy'?  Methinks  you  prescribe  to  yourself  very 
preposterously. 

Ford.  O,  understand  my  drift !  she  dwells  so  se- 
curely on  the  excellency  of  her  honor,  that  the  folly 
of  my  soul  dares  not  present  itself;  she  is  too  bright 
to  jje  looked  against.  Now,  could  1  come  to  her 
willi  any  detection  in  my  hanil,  my  desires  had  in- 
Ftan'c  and  ar^nniciit  to  cdminciid  themselves;  I 
cdiiM  drivi'  her  Ibcii  from  the  ward  ot'  lier  purity, 
her  rfpnlatinn,  licr  niarriage-vovv,  and  a  thousand 
olhiT  ln'r  defences,  which  now  are  too  strongly  em- 
battled ai;ainst  me:     What  say  you  to't,  sir  John"? 

Fal.  Master  Brook,  I  will  first  make  bold  with 
your  money  ;  next,  give  me  your  hand ;  and  last,  as 


1  Sinco.       3  In  the  greatest  companies. 


3  Approved. 


I  am  a  gentleman,  you  shall,  if  you  will,  enjoy 
Ford's  wife. 

Ford.   O  good  sir  ! 

Ful.  Master  Brook,  I  say  you  shall. 

Ford.  Want  no  money,  "sir  John,  you  shall  want 
none. 

Fal.  Want  no  mistress  Ford,  master  Brook,  you 
shall  want  none.  I  shall  be  with  her  (1  may  tell 
you)  by  her  own  appointment;  even  as  you  came 
in  to  me,  her  assistant,  or  go-between,  parted  from 
me:  I  say,  I  shall  be  with  her  between  ten  and 
eleven  ;  for  at  that  time  the  jealous,  rascally  knave, 
her  husband,  will  be  forth.  Come  you  to  me  at 
night;  you  shall  know  how  1  speed. 

Ford.  I  am  blest  in  your  acquaintance.  Do  you 
know  Ford,  sir! 

Fal.  Hang  him,  poor  cuckoldly  knave!  I  know 
him  not :  —  yet  I  wrong  him  to  call  him  poor;  they 
say,  the  jealous  wittoUy  knave  hath  masses  of  mon- 
ey ;  for  the  which  his  wife  seems  to  he  well-favored. 
1  will  use  her  as  the  key  of  the  cuckoldly  rogue's 
culler;  and  there's  my  harvest-home. 

Ford.  I  would  you  knew  Ford,  sir;  that  you 
mi^ht  avoid  him.  if  you  saw  him. 

Fal.  Hang  him.  mechanical  salt  butter  rogue  !  I 
will  stare  him  out  of  his  wits;  I  will  awe  him  with 
my  cudgel:  it  shall  hang  like  a  meteor  o'er  the 
cuckold's  horns:  master  Brook,  thou  shalt  know.  I 
will  predominate  oer  the  peasant,  and  tliou  shalt 
lie  with  his  wife. —  Come  to  me  soon  at  night  :^ 
P'ord'sa  knave,  and  1  will  aggravate  his  stile;*  thou, 
master  Brook,  shalt  know"  him  for  a  knave  and 
cuckold:  —  come  to  me  soon  at  night.  [Exit. 

Ford.  What  a  damned  Epicurean  rascal  is  this! 
—  My  heart  is  ready  to  crack  with  impatience. — 
WTio  says  this  is  improvident  jealousy  I  My  wife 
hath  sent  to  him,  the  hour  is  hxed.  the  match  is 
made.  Would  any  man  have  thought  this  ! — See 
the  licll  of  having  a  lalse  woman  !  my  bed  shall  be 
abused,  my  eolTers  ransacked,  my  reputation  gnawn 
at;  and  I  shall  not  only  receive  this  villanous 
w'rong,  but  stand  under  the  adoption  of  abomina- 
ble terms,  and  by  him  that  does  me  this  wrong. 
Terms !  names ! Amaimon  sounds  well ;  Luci- 
fer, well ;  Barbason,  well  ;  yet  they  are  devil's  ad- 
ditions, the  names  of  fiends:  but  cuckold  !  wittols 
cuckold  !  the  devil  himself  hath  not  such  a  name. 
Page  is  an  ass,  a  secure  ass;  he  will  trust  his  wife, 
he  will  not  be  jealous:  I  w'ill  rather  trust  a  Flem- 
ing with  my  butter,  parson  Hugh  the  Wclchnian 
with  my  cheese,  an  Irishman  with  my  aqua-vitie 
bottle,  or  a  thief  to  walk  my  ambling  gelding,  than 
my  wife  with  herself:  then  she  plots,  tlien  she 
ruminates,  then  she  devises:  and  what  they  think 
in  their  hearts  they  may  eflbct.  they  will  break  their 
hearts  but  they  will  ehect.  Heaven  he  praised  for 
my  jealousy  !  —  Kleven  o'clock  the  hour;  —  I  will 
prevent  this,  detect  my  wife,  be  revenged  on  Fal- 
start',  and  laugh  at  Page.  I  will  about  it;  better 
three  hours  too  soon,  than  a  minute  too  late.  Fie, 
fie,  fie  !  cuckold  !  cuckold  !  cuckold !  [Ejcit. 

SCENE  III.—  Windsor  Park. 

Enter  Caius  and  Rugby. 

Caiiis.   Jack  Rugby! 

Rag.   Sir. 

Cains.   Vat  is  de  clock,  Jackl 

Rug.  'Tis  past  the  hour,  sir,  that  sir  Hugh  pro- 
mised to  meet. 

Caius.  By  gar,  he  has  save  his  soul,  dat  he  is  no 
come;  he  has  pray  his  Pible  veil,  dat  he  is  no 
come  :  by  gar,  Jack  Rugby,  he  is  dead  already,  if 
he  be  come. 

Ru^.  He  is  wise,  sir;  he  knew  your  worship 
would  kill  him,  if  he  came. 

Caius.  By  gar,  de  herring  is  no  dead,  so  as  I  vill 
kill  him.  Take  your  rapier,  Jack;  I  vill  tell  you 
how  I  vill  kill  him. 

Rug.  Alas,  sir,  I  cannot  fence. 

Cuius.   Villany,  take  your  rapier. 

Rug.   Forbear,  here's  company. 

Enter  Host,  Shallow,  Slewdeh,  and  Page. 

}iost.  'Bless  thee,  bully  doctor! 
i^haL  'Save  you,  master  doctor  Caius, 
Page.   Now,  good  master  doctor. 


« Add  to  his  titles. 


» Contented  Cuckold 


Act  III.     Scene  I. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


51 


Sle7i.  Give  you  ^ood  morrow,  sir. 

Caius.  Vat  be  all  you,  one,  two,  tree,  four,  come 
for] 

Hosf.  To  see  tliee  tif^Iit,  to  see  thee  foin,e  to  see 
thee  traverse,  to  see  thee  here,  to  see  thee  there ;  to 
see  thee  pass  thy  punto,  thy  stock,  thy  reverse,  thy 
distance,  tliy  montint."'  Is  he  dead,  my  Ethiopian  ! 
is  he  dead,  my  Francisco'?  ha,  bully  !  What  says 
my  j^^sculapius  (  my  (ialen  '.  iny  heart  of  elder  .' 
ha !  is  he  dead,  bully  Stale  !    is  he'  dead  ] 

Caius.  By  gar,  he  is  de  coward  Jack  priest  of 
the  vorld;  he  is  not  show  his  face. 

Host.  Thou  art  a  Castilian  king.  Urinal!  Hector 
of  Greece,  my  boy  ! 

Cuius.  I  pray  you,  bear  vitness  that  me  have  stay 
six  or  seven,  two,  tree  hours  for  him,  and  he  is  no 
come. 

ShaL  He  is  the  wiser  man,  master  doctor:  he  is 
a  curer  of  souls,  and  you  a  curer  of  bodies;  if  you 
should  fi^ht.  you  go  against  the  hair  of  your  pro- 
fessions: is  it  not  true,  master  Page] 

Pu^>:.  Master  Shallow,  you  have  yourself  been 
a  great  fighter,  tlioui^h  now  a  man  of  peace. 

Shal.  Bodykms,  master  Page,  though  I  now  be 
old,  and  of  the  peace,  if  I  see  a  sword  out,  my  fin- 
ger itches  to  make  one:  thougli  we  are  justices,  and 
doctors,  and  churchmen,  master  Page,  we  have 
some  salt  of  our  youth  in  us;  we  are  the  sons  of 
women,  master  Page. 

Page.  'Tis  true,  master  Shallow. 

Shut.  It  will  be  found  so,  master  Page.  Master 
Doctor  Caius,  I  am  come  to  fetch  you  home.  I  am 
sworn  of  tlie  peace;  you  have  showed  yourself  a 
wise  physician,  and  sir  Hugh  hath  shown  himself  a 
wise  and  patient  churchman:  you  must  go  with 
ine.  master  'loctor. 

H/i.st.  Pardou,  guest  justice:  —  A  word,  monsieur 
Muck-water  ]• 

Caius.  Muck-vatcr!  vat  is  dat] 


Host.  .Muck-water,  in  our  English  tongue,  is 
valor,  bully. 

Cuius.  iJy  gar,  then  I  have  as  much  niuck-vater 
as  de  Kngiishinan: — Scurvy  Jack-dog  priest!  by 
gar,  me  viU  cut  his  ears. 

Hit.sl.   He  will  clapper-claw  thee  tightly,  bully. 

Caius.   Clapper-de-claw  !  vat  is  dat  ] 

Host.   That  IS,  he  will  make  thee  amends. 

Cuius.  By  gar,  me  do  look,  he  shall  clapper-de- 
claw  me;  for  by  gar,  me  vill  have  it. 

Host.  And  I  will  provoke  him  to  H,  or  let  him  wag. 

Caius.   Me  tank  you  for  dat. 

Hosf.  And  moreover,  bully. —  But  first,  master 
guest,  and  master  Page,  and  eke  cavalero  Slender 
go  you  through  the  town  to  Frogmore. 

[Aside  to  them. 

Page.   Sir  Hugh  is  there,  is  he? 

Host.  He  is  there:  see  what  humor  he  is  in;  and 
I  will  bring  tlie  doctor  about  by  the  hclds:  will  it 
do  well  ] 

Shut.   We  will  do  it. 

Page,  Shal.,  and  Slcn.  Adieu,  good  master  doc- 
tor. [Exeunt  Pare,  Shallow,  and  Slknijeu. 

Cuius.  By  gar,  me  vill  kill  de  jiriest;  for  he 
speak  for  a  jack-an-ape  to  Anne  Page. 

Host.  Let  him  die:  but,  lirst,  sheath  lliy  impa- 
tience; throw  cold  water  oh  thy  choler:  go  about 
the  fields  with  me  through  Frogmore:  I  will  bring 
thee  where  Mrs.  Anne  Page  is,  at  a  farm-house,  a 
feasting;  and  thou  shall  woo  her:  Cry'd  game, 
said  I  well  ] 

Caius.  By  gar,  me  tank  you  for  dat;  by  gar,  I 
love  you;  and  I  shall  procure-a  you  de  good  guest, 
de  earl,  de  knight,  cle  lords,  de  gentlemen,  my 
patients. 

Host.  For  Oie  which,  I  will  be  thy  adversary  to- 
wards Anne  Page;  said  I  well 7 

Caius.   liy  gar,  'tis  good;  veil  said. 

Host.   Let  us  wag  then. 

Caius.  Come  at  my  heels,  Jack  Rugby.  [Exeunt, 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  L— ^  Field  near  Frogmore. 
Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans  and  Simple. 

Eva.  I  pray  you  now,  good  master  S  lender's 
serving  man,  and  friend  Simple  by  your  name, 
which  way  have  you  looked  for  Master  Caius,  that 
calls  himself  Doctor  of  Phi/sic  ? 

Si/n.  Marry,  sir,  the  city-ward,  the  park-ward, 
every  way  ;  old  Windsor  way,  and  every  way  but 
the  town  way. 

Eva.   I  most  fehementiy  desire  you,  you  will  also 
look  that  way. 
Sim.   I  will,  sir. 

Eva.   'Pless  my  soul !  Itow  full  of  cholers  I  am, 

and  trembling  of  mind!  —  I   shall  be   glad,  if  he 

have  deceived  me:  —  how  melancholies  I  am!  —  I 

Will  knog  his  urinals  about  his  knave's  costard," 

when  I  have  good  opportunities  for  the    ork  : — 

'picss  my  soul!  [.Si/ig^5. 

To  shallow  rivers,  to  icfiosF  falls 

Melodious  birds  .sings  uiadi'igals  ; 

There  viU  tv  make  our  vcds  of  roses^ 

And  a  t/omsond  frograui  posies, 

To  shullow 

]\Icrcy  on  me  !  I  have  a  great  dispositions  to  cry. 

Melodious  bird.'i  sing  madrigals  ; 
When  us  I  sat  in  Pahnlony—-~ 
And  a  thousand,  vugram  posies. 
To  shallow 

Sim.   Yonder  he  is  coming,  this  way,  sir  Hugh. 
Eva.   He's  welcome  :  — 

To  shallotv  7'ivers,  to  whose  falls 

Heaven  prosper  the  rigiit !  —  What  weapons  is  he  ] 
Shn.   No  weapons,  sir:  There  comes  my  master, 
sFcnre.  iTerma  in  Fencing. 

ej)rain  of  a  dunghill.  a  Head, 


master  Shallow,  and  another  gentleman  from  Frog- 
more, over  the  stile,  this  way. 

Eta.  Pray  you,  give  me  rny  gown;  or  else  keep 
it  in  your  arms. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slender. 

Shfil.  How  now,  master  parson]  Good  morrow, 
good  sir  Hugh.  Keep  a  gamester  from  the  dice  and 
a  good  student  from  his  book,  and  it  is  wonderful, 

Slen,   Ah.  sweet  Anne  Page! 

Page.   "Save  you,  good  sir  Hugh  ! 

Eva.  'Ploss  you  from  his  mercy  sake,  alt  of  you  ! 

Shut.  What!  the  sword  and  the  word!  do  you 
study  them  both,  master  parson] 

Puge.  And  youthful  still,  in  your  doublet  and 
hose,  tiiis  raw  rheumatic  day  ] 

Eva.  There  is  reasons  and  causes  for  it. 

Page.  We  are  come  to  you,  to  do  a  good  .'flice, 
master  parson. 

Eva.   Fery  well:    What  is  it] 

Puge.  Yonder  is  a  most  reverend  gentlemnn, 
who  belike,  having  received  wrong  by  soi7ie  per.soti, 
is  at  most  odds  with  his  own  gravity  and  patience, 
that  ever  you  saw. 

Shal.  I  have  Hved  fourscore  years  and  upwards ; 
I  never  heard  a  man  of  his  place,  gravity,  and 
learning,  so  wide  of  his  own  respect] 

£(*«.  What  is  he] 

Puge.  I  think  you  know  him;  master  doctor 
Caius,  the  renowned  French  physician. 

Evu.  Gots  will,  and  his  passion  of  my  heart! 
I  had  as  lief  you  would  tell  me  of  a  mess  of  por- 
ridge. 

Puge.   Why] 

Eva.  He  has  no  more  knowledgo  in  Hibocrates 
and  Galen,' — and  he  is  a  knave  besides;  a  coward- 
ly knave,  as  you  would  desires  to  be  acquainted 
withal. 


52 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  III. 


I'a/fe.  I  warrant  you  he's  Ihe  man  should  iight 
with  liim. 

Stcii.   O,  sweet  Anne  Page ! 

tihat.  It  appears  so,  by  his  weapons;  —  Keep 
tlicai  asunder;  —  here  comes  doctor  Caius. 

Enter  Host,  Caius,  and  Rigbt. 

Page.  Nay,  good  master  parson,  keep  in  your 
weapon. 

Skat.   So  do  you,  good  master  doctor. 

tliiat.  Disarm  them,  and  iet  tliein  question  :  let 
tliem  keep  their  hmhs  wliole,  and  hack  our  En;r- 

liSll. 

Cuius.  I  pray  you,  let-a  me  speak  a  word  vit 
your  ear:  veretore  viH  you  not  meet-a  me! 

Eea.   Pray  you,  use  your  patience:  In  good  time. 

Cuius.  By  gar,  you  are  de  coward,  de  Jack  dog, 
.Toliu  ape. 

Eva.  Pray  you,  let  us  not  be  laughing-stogs  to 
other  mens  humors;  1  desire  you  m  friendship, 
and  1  will  one  way  or  other  make  you  amends: 
aiul  1  will  knog  your  urinals  about  your  knave's 
cii^si-oiub,  for  missing  your  meetings  and  appomt- 
mrats. 

Caius.  Viable.'  —  Jack  Rugby, —  mine  Host  de 
Jaittrre,  have  I  not  stay  for  hiiu,  to  kill  him !  have 
1  not,  at  de  place  I  did  appoint .' 

Eva,  As  1  am  a  Christians  soul,  now,  looic  you, 
this  is  the  place  appointed;  111  be  judgment  by 
mine  iiost  of  the  Garter. 

Ihist.  Peace,  I  say,  Guallia  and  Gaul,  French 
and  Welsh  ;  soul-curer  and  body-curcr. 

Caliu.   Ay,  dat  is  very  good  !  excellent ! 

iio^t.  Peace,  I  say  ;  hear  mine  host  of  the  Garter. 
Am  I  jiohtic!  am  1  subtle!  am  1  a  Machiavell 
Shall  1  lose  my  doctor!  no;  he  gives  me  the  po- 
tions, and  the  motions.  Shall  I  lose  my  parson] 
my  priest !  my  sir  Hugh  !  no ;  he  gives  me  the  pro- 
vert)s  and  the  noverbs. —  Give  me  tliy  hand,  terres- 
trial ;  so ;  — ■  Give  me  thy  hand,  celestial ;  so. 

Boys  of  art,  1  have  deceived  you  both ;  I  have  di- 
rected you  to  wrong  places:  your  hearts  are 
mi;;hly,  your  skins  are  wliote,  and  let  burnt  sack 
be  the  issue. —  Come,  lay  their  swords  to  pawn:  — 
Follow  me,  lad  of  peace ;  follow,  follow,  toUow. 

Skal.  Trust  me,  a  mad  host:  —  Follow,  gentle- 
men, follow. 

aten.  O,  sweet  Anne  Page  I 

[Exeunt  Siiii..,  Slev.,  Pake,  and  Host. 

Caius.  Ha !  do  I  perceive  dat !  have  you  raake-a 
de  sot  of  us !  ha,  ha ! 

Eva.  This  is  well ;  he  has  made  us  his  vlouting- 
stog. —  I  desire  you,  that  we  may  be  friends;  and 
let  "us  knog  our  prains  together,  to  be  revenge  on 
this  same  scall,  scurvy,  cogging  companion,  the 
host  of  ihe  Garter. 

Caius.  By  gar,  vit  all  my  heart:  he  promise  to 
bring  me  vere  is  Aime  Page;  by  gar,  he  deceive 
me  too. 

Eva.  Well,  I  will  smite  his  noddles :  —  Pray  you, 
follow.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.—  Tfie  Street  in  Windsor. 

Enter  Mistress  Page  and  Robin. 

I\Irs.  Page.  Nay,  keep  your  way,  little  gallant ; 
you  were  wont  to  be  a  loUower,  but  now  you  are  a 
leader:  Whether  had  you  rather,  lead  mine  eyes, 
or  eye  your  mx-^ter's  heels  ! 

Rob.  1  had  rather,  forsooth,  go  before  you  like  a 
man,  than  follow  him  like  a  dwarf. 

Mrs.  Page.  O  you  are  a  Ilattermg  boy;  now,  I 
see,  you'll  be  a  courtier. 

Enter  Fonn. 

Ford.  Well  met,  mistress  Page:  Whither  go 
you  ! 

Mrs.  Page.  Truly,  sir,  to  see  your  wife  :  Is  she 
at  home'! 

Ford.  Ay;  and  as  idle  as  she  may  hang  togeth- 
fr,  for  want  of  company;  1  think  if  your  husbands 
were  dead,  you  two  would  marry. 

Mrs.  Page.  Be  sure  of  that, —  two  other  hus- 
bands. 

Ford.    Where  had  you  this  pretty  weather-cock  ] 

Mrs.  Page.  I  cann'ot  tell  what  the  dickens  his 
name  is  my  liusband  had  him  of;  What  do  you 
rail  your  knights  name,  sirrah  ! 

Hob.   Sir  John  Falstall'. 


Ford.   Sir  John  Falstafl"! 

Mrs.  Page.  He,  he:  1  can  never  hit  on's  name. 
There  is  such  a  league  between  my  Kood  man  and 
he  !  —  is  your  wife  at  home,  indeed  ! 

Ford.   Indeed,  she  is. 

Mrs.  Page.  By  your  leave,  sir;  —  I  am  sick,  till 
I  see  her.  [Exeunt  Mrs.  Pace  and  Robis. 

Ford.  Has  Page  any  brains!  hath  he  any  eyes! 
hath  he  any  thinking!  Sure  they  sleep;  he  hath  no 
use  of  tliem.  Why,  this  boy  will  carry  a  letter 
twenty  miles,  as  easy  as  a  cannon  will  shoot  point- 
blank  twelve  sco.e.  He  pieces-out  his  wife's  in- 
clination ;  he  gives  her  folly  motion,  and  advantage : 
and  now  she's  going  to  my  wife,  and  Falstall  s  boy 
with  her.  A  man  may  hear  this  shower  sing  in 
the  wind!  —  and  Falstaff's  boy  with  her!  —  Good 
plots !  —  they  are  laid ;  and  our  revolted  wives  share 
damnation  together.  Well;  1  will  take  him,  then 
torture  my  wife,  pluck  the  borrowed  veil  of  mo- 
desty from  the  so  seeming  mistress  Page,  divulge 
Page  himself  for  a  secure  and  wilful  Actaeon ;  and 
to  these  violent  proceedings  all  my  neighbors  shall 
cry  aim.i  [Clocli  strilies.]  The  clock  gives  me  my 
cue,  and  my  assurance  bids  me  search  ;  there  1  shall 
tind  Falstatf:  I  shall  be  rather  praised  for  this  than 
mocked;  for  it  is  as  positive  as  the  earth  is  lirm, 
that  Falstair  is  there :  1  wJl  go. 

Enter  Page,  Shallow,  Slendeb,  Host,  Sir  Hugh 

Evans,  Caius,  and  Rugbi. 

S/ifil.,  Page,  &c.   Well  met,  master  Ford. 

Foril.  Trust  me,  a  good  knot:  I  have  good  cheer 
at  home;  and  I  pray  you,  all  go  with  me. 

Sliat.   I  must  excuse  myself,  master  Ford. 

Sten.  And  so  must  I,  sir;  we  have  appointed  to 
dine  with  mistress  Anne,  and  I  would  not  break 
with  her  for  more  money  than  I'll  speak  of. 

S/tat.  We  have  lingered  about  a  match  between 
Anne  Page  and  my  cousin  Slender,  and  this  day 
we  shall  have  our  answer. 

Slen.   I  hope  1  have  your  good-will,  father  Page. 

Page.  V on  have,  master  Slender;  1  stand  whol- 
ly for  you :  —  but  my  wife,  master  doctor,  is  for  you 
altogether. 

Cuius.  Ay,  by  gar;  and  de  maid  is  love-a-me; 
my  nursh-a  Quickly  tell  me  so  mush. 

Host.  What  say  you  to  young  master  Fenton! 
he  capers,  he  dances,  he  has  eyes  of  youth,  he 
writes  verses,  he  speaks  holyday ;»  he  smells  April 
and  May ;  he  will  carry't,  he  wdl  carry't ;  Tis  in  his 
buttons;  he  will  carry't. 

Page.  Not  by  my  consent,  I  promise  you.  The 
gentleman  is  of  no  having:  he  kept  company  with 
the  wild  Prince  and  Poms;  he  is  of  too  high  a 
region,  he  knows  too  much.  No,  he  shall  not  knit 
a  Knot  in  his  fortunes  with  the  linger  of  my  sub- 
stance: if  he  take  her,  let  him  take  her  simply;  the 
wealth  1  have,  waits  on  my  consent,  and  my  con- 
sent goes  not  that  way. 

Ford.  I  beseech  you,  heartily,  some  of  you  go 
home  with  me  to  dinner:  besides  jour  cheer,  you 

shall  have  sport ;  I  will  show  you  a  monster. 

Master  doctor,  vou  shall  go;  —  so  shall  you,  mas- 
ter Page;  —  ana  you,  sir  Hugh. 

Slial.  WeB,  fare  you  well: — we  shall  have  the 
freer  wooing  at  master  Page's. 

[Exeunt  Shallow  and  SLKxitER. 

Caius.   Co  home,  John  Rugby;  1  come  anon. 

[Exit_  itUGBT. 

Ho.st.  Farewell,  my  hearts :  I  will  to  my  honest 
knight  Falstall,  and  drink  canary  with  hmi. 

[Exit  Host 

Ford.  [Aside.]  I  think,  I  shall  drink  in  iiipe-wine 
first  with  him;  I'll  make  hiin  dance.  Will  you  go, 
gentles  ! 

All.  Have  with  you,  to  see  this  monster.  [Exeuni 

SCENE  III.—  A  Room  in  Ford's  House. 

Enter  Mrs.  Foiin  and  Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Ford.   What, John!  what,  Robert ! 
Mrs  Page.   Quickly,  quickly  :    Is  the  buck-bas- 
ket— 
Mrs.  Ford.   I  warrant:  —  What,  Robin,  I  say. 

Enter  Servants  with  a  basliet. 
Mrs.  Page.   Come,  come,  eome. 
1  gLull  c-ucourage.  a  Out  of  the  common  style. 


Scene  III. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


53 


Mrs.  Ford.   Here,  set  it  down. 

Mrs.  Page.  Give  your  men  the  charge  ;  we  must 
be  brief. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Marry,  as  I  told  you  before,  John 
and  Robert,  be  ready  here  hard  by  in  the  brew- 
house  ;  and  when  I  suddenly  call  you,  come  forth, 
and  (without  any  pause,  or  stags^cnng)  take  this 
basket  on  your  shoulders:  that  done,  trudge  with 
it  in  all  haste,  and  carry  it  among  the  whitsters  in 
Datchet-niead,  and  there  empty  it  in  the  muddy 
ditch,  close  by  the  Thames'  side. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  will  do  if! 

Mrs.  Furd.  I  have  told  them  over  and  over;  they 
I.ick  no  direction:  Begone,  and  come  when  you 
are  called.  [Exeunt  Servants. 

Mrs.  Page.   Here  comes  little  Robin. 

Enter  Robin. 

Mrs.  Ford.  How  now,  my  eyas-mnsket1»  what 
news  with  youT 

Rob.  My  master,  sir  John,  is  come  in  at  your 
back-door,  mistress  Vord ;  and  requests  your  com- 
pany. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  little  Jack-a-Ient,«  have  you 
been  true  to  us? 

Rub.  Ay,  I'll  be  sworn:  My  master  knows  not 
of  your  being  here;  and  hath  threatened  to  put  me 
into  everlasting  liberty,  if  1  tell  you  of  it;  for,  he 
swears,  heli  turn  me  away. 

Mrs.  Page.  Tliourt  a  good  boy;  this  secrecy  of 
thine  shall  be  a  tailor  to  thee,  and  shall  make  thee  a 
new  doublet  and  ho.se. —  III  go  hide  me. 

Mrs.  Fiird-  Do  so: — Go  tell  thy  master,  I  am 
alone.    Mistress  Page,  remember  you  your  cue. 

[Exit  Rob IX. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  warrant  thee;  if  I  do  not  act  it, 
hiss  me.  VFxit  Mrs.  Pace. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go  to  then;  we'll  use  this  unwhole- 
some humidity,  this  gross  watery  pumpion;  we'll 
teacli  him  to  know  turtles  from  jays. 

Enter  Falstaff. 

Fat.  Have  I  cauglit  thee,  mij  lieavenly  Jeivel .' 
Why,  now  let  me  die,  for  I  have  lived  long  enough: 
this  is  the  period  of  my  ambition :  0  tins  blessed 
hour ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  O  sweet  Sir  Jolin  ! 

Ful.  Mistress  Ford,  I  cannot  cog.  I  cannot  prate, 
mistress  Ford.  Now  shall  1  sin  in  my  wish:  I 
would  thy  husband  were  dead;  I'll  speak  it  before 
the  best  lord,  I  would  make  thee  my  lady. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  your  lady,  sir  John  !  alas,  I  should 
be  a  pitiful  lady. 

Fat.  Let  the  court  of  France  show  me  such  an- 
other: I  see  how  thine  eye  would  emulate  the  dia- 
mond :  Thou  hristllie  ri:.'lil  arched  bent  of  the  brow, 
that  becomes  tin-  >hip-lire.  the  tirc-valiant,  or  any 
lire  of  Venetian  aiiniittiince. 

Mrs.  Ford.  A  plain  kerchief,  sir  John :  my  brows 
become  nothing  else ;  nor  that  well  neither. 

Fat.  Thou  art  a  traitor  to  say  so :  thou  wouldst 
make  an  absolute  courtier:  and  the  firm  fixture  of 
thy  foot  would  give  an  excellent  motion  to  thy  gait, 
in  a  semi-circled  farthingale.  I  see  what  thou  wert, 
if  fortune  thy  foe  were  not ;  nature  is  thy  friend: 
Come,  thou  canst  not  hide  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Believe  me,  there's  no  such  thing  in 

Fat.  What  made  me  love  thee  1  let  that  persuade 
thee,  there's  something  extraordinary  in  thee. — 
Come,  I  cannot  cog,  and  say,  thou  art  this  and  that, 
like  a  many  of  these  lisping  haw-thorn  buds,  that 
come  like  women  in  mens  apparel,  and  smell  like 
Bucklers-bury»  in  simple-time;  I  cannot:  but  I 
love  thee;  none  but  thee;  and  thou  deservest  it 

Mrs.  Ford.  Do  not  betray  roe,  sir ;  I  fear,  you 
love  mistress  Page. 

Fat.  Thou  mightest  as  well  say,  I  love  to  walk 
by  the  Counter-gate  ;  wliich  is  as  hateful  to  me  as 
tlie  reek  of  a  lime-kiln. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Well  heaven  knows,  how  I  love  you ; 
and  you  shall  one  day  find  it. 

Fat.   Keep  in  that  mind ;  I'll  deserve  it. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  I  must  tell  you,  so  you  do;  or 
else  I  could  not  be  in  tliat  mind. 

Rob.   [ivitliin.]  Mistress    Ford,   mistress    Ford! 
»  A  yountr  small  bawlt. 

4  A  puppet  thrown  at  in  Lent,  like  ahrove-cocks. 
'■Formerly  chictly  inhabited  by  druggists. 


here's  mistress  Page  at  the  door,  sweating,  and 
blowing,  and  looking  wildly,  and  would  needs  speak 
with  you  presently. 

Fal.  She  shall  not  see  me;  I  will  ensconce"  me 
behind  the  arras. 

Mrs-  Ford.  Pray  you,  do  so;  she's  a  very  tattling 
wouian. —  [Falstaff  hides  hintselj. 

Enter  l\[rs.  Pace  and  Robin. 

What's  the  matter!  how  now! 

Mrs.  Page.  O  mistress  Ford,  what  have  you 
done!  You're  shdmed,  you  are  overthrown,  you 
are  undone  for  ever. 

Mrs.  Furd.  What's  the  matter,  good  mistress 
Page! 

Mrs.  Page.  0  well-a-day,  mistress  Ford !  having 
an  honest  man  to  your  husband,  to  give  him  such 
cause  of  suspicion ! 

Mrs.  Ford.   What  cause  of  suspicion  T 

Mrs.  Page-  What  cause  of  suspicion! — Out 
upon  you  !"how  am  I  mistook  in  you  ! 

Mrs.  Ford.   Why,  alas  !  what's  the  matter! 

Mrs.  Page.  Your  husband  s  coming  hither,  wo- 
man, with  all  the  ollicers  in  Windsor,  to  search  for 
a  gentleman,  that,  he  says,  is  here,  now  in  the 
house,  by  your  consent,  to  take  an  ill  advantage  of 
his  absence :  you  are  undone- 

Mrs.  Ford.  Speak  louder.  iA.nde.] — 'Tis  not 
so,  I  hope- 

Mrs.  Page.  Pray  heaven  it  be  not  so,  that  you 
have  such  a  man  here;  but  'tis  most  certain  jour 
jiu.sband  s  coining  with  half  Windsor  at  his  lieels, 
to  search  for  such  a  one.  1  come  before  to  tell  you  : 
If  you  know  yourself  clear,  why  1  am  glad  of  it: 
but  if  you  have  a  friend  here,  convey,  convey  him 
out  Be  not  amazed :  call  all  your  senses  to  you  : 
defend  your  reputation,  or  bid  farewell  to  your 
good  life  lor  ever. 

Mrs  Ford.  What  shall  I  do'!  —  There  is  a  gen- 
.tlcman,  my  dear  friend :  and  I  fear  not  mine  own 
shame,  so  much  as  his  peril:  1  had  rather  than  a 
thousand  pound,  he  were  out  of  the  house. 

Mrs.  Page.  For  shame,  never  stand  you  had 
rather,  and  you  hud  rattier;  your  husband's  here 
at  hand,  bethink  you  of  some  comeyance :  in  the 
house  you  cannot  hide  liim. —  0,  how  have  you 
deceived  me  !  —  Look,  here  is  a  basket :  if  he  be  of 
any  reasonable  stature,  he  may  creep  in  here;  anil 
throw  foul  linen  upon  him,  as  if  it  were  going  to 
bucking :  Vr,  it  is  whiting-time,'  send  liiin  by  your 
two  men  to  Datchet-mead. 

Mrx.  Ford.  He's  too  big  to  go  in  there:  What 
shall  1  do  ! 

Re-enter  Falstaff. 

Fat.  Let  me  sect  I  letmesee't!  0  let  me  see't! 
I'll  in,  III  in; — follow  your  friend's  counsel;  — 
111  in. 

Mrs.  Page.  What!  sir  John  Falstafl"!  Are  these 
your  letters,  knight! 

Fat.  1  love  thee,  and  none  but  thee ;  help  mo 
away:  let  me  creep  in  here;  I'll  never  — 

[He  goes  into  the  bast<et ;  they  cover  him 
iviltifout  tinen 

Mrs.  Page.  Help  to  cover  your  master,  boy: 
Call  your  men,  unstress  Ford:  —  Y'ou  dissciiibhng 
knight  .    ,„   ,. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What,  John,  Robert,  John!  [Exit 
Robin;  Re-enter  Servants.]  Go,  take  up  these 
clothes  here,  quickly.  Where's  tlie  cowl-stall!' 
look,  how  you  druiiible;*  carry  them  to  the  laun- 
dress in  Datchet-mead;  quickly,  come. 

Enter  Fonn,  Page,  Caivs,  and  Sir  Hush  Etans. 

Ford.  Pray  you,  come  near:  if  I  suspect  without 
cause,  why  then  make  sport  at  me,  then  let  me  be 
your  jest;'!  deserve  it. —  How  now?  whither  bear 
you  this '! 

Serv.   To  the  laundress,  forsooth. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  what  have  you  to  do  whillier 
they  bear  it!  You  were  best  meddle  with  buck- 
washing.  ..    ^ 

Ford.  Buck'!  I  would  I  could  wash  mysell  of 
the  buck!  Buck,  buck,  buck?  Ay,  buck;  1  warrant 
you  buck ;  and  of  the  season  too,  it  shall  appear. 
I  E.reunt  Servants  luiih  the  basket.]    Gentlemen, 

sjiiJe.  '  Bleaching  time. 

•  A  staff  for  carrying  a  large  tub  or  basket.       '  Drone. 


54 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act   hi. 


1  havp  dreamed  to-ni^lit:  III  tell  you  my  dream. 
Here,  here,  here  be  my  keys:  aseend  my  cliambers. 
search,  seek,  lind  out:  111  warrant  we  II  unkennel 
tliG  fox:  —  Let  me  stop  this  way  first;  —  So  now 
unoape.i 

Pdi^e.  Good  master  Ford,  be  contented:  you 
wron^  yourself  too  mvich. 

Ford.  True,  master  Pa.i^e. —  Up,  gentlemen ;  you 
sliall  see  sport  anon :  follow  me,  gentlemen.  {Exit. 

Em.  This  is  fery  fantastical  humors,  and  jea- 
lousies. 

Cui'i.^:  By  gar,  'tis  no  de  fashion  of  France:  it  is 
iiol  Jealous  in  France. 

Pifr^c,  Nay,  follow  him,  gentlemen ;  see  the  issue 
of  his  search,    [Exeunt  IOvans,  PAfiE  and  Cmv^. 

Airs.  Page,  is  there  not  a  double  excellency  in 
this? 

Mrfi.  Ford.  I  know  not  which  pleases  me  better, 
that  my  husband  is  deceived,  or  sir  John. 

Mm.  Page.  What  a  taking  was  he  in,  when  your 
husliand  asked  who  was  in  the  basket] 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  am  Iialf  afraid  he  will  have  need  of 
wasliing;  so  throwing  him  into  the  water  will  do 
him  a  benefit. 

Mrs.  Pa.i^e.  Hang  him.  dishonest  rascal !  I  would, 
all  of  tlie  same  strain  were  in  the  same  distress. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  think  my  husband  hath  some  spe- 
cial suspicion  of  Faistall's  being  here  :  for  1  never 
saw  him  so  gross  in  liis  jealousy  till  now. 

Mrs.  Page.  I  will  lay" a  plot  to  try  that:  And  we 
will  yet  have  more  tricks  with  Falstalf:  his  dissolute 
(hseasc  will  scarce  obey  this  medicine. 

Mrs.  Fo/-d.  Shall  we  send  that  foolish  carrion, 
mistress  Quickly,  to  him,  and  excuse  his  throwing 
into  the  water;  and  give  him  another  hope,  to  be- 
tray him  into  another  punishment'! 

Mrs.  Page.  We'll  do  it;  let  him  be  sent  for  to- 
morrow eight  o'clock,  to  have  amends. 

Re-enter    Ford,  Page,    Caius,  and    Sir    Hugh 
EvA?rs. 

Fi>:-d.  I  cannot  find  him:  may  be  the  knave 
bnigi,^ed  of  that  he  could  not  compass. 

Mrs.  Page.   Heard  you  that  f 

Mrs.  Ford.  Ay,  ay.  peace:  —  you  use  me  well, 
master  Ford,  do  you  ! 

Ford.   Ay,  I  do  so- 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  make  you  better  than  your 
thoughts! 

Ford.   Amen. 

Mrs.  Page.  You  do  yourself  mighty  wrong, 
master  Ford. 

Fo'd.    Ay,  ay;  I  must  bear  it. 

Eva.  If  there  be  anypody  in  tlie  house,  and  in 
the  chambers,  and  in  tne  colfers,  and  in  the  presses, 
lieaven  forgive  my  sins  at  the  day  of  judgment! 

Caius.   By,  gar,  nor  I  loo;  dere  is  no  bodies. 

Page.  Fie,  fie,  master  Ford  !  are  you  not  ashamed"? 
■\Vhat  spirit,  what  devil  suggests  this  imagination  1 
I  would  not  have  your  distemper  in  this  kind,  for 
the  wealth  of  Windsor  Castle. 

Ford,  'Tis  my  fault,  master  Page:  I  suffer  for  it. 

Eva.  You  suffer  for  a  pad  conscience ;  your  wife 
is  as  honest  a  'omans,  as  I  will  desires  among  five 
thousand,  and  five  hundred  too. 

(Uiitis.   Ry  gar,  I  see  'tis  an  honest  woman. 

Ford.  Well ;  —  I  promised  you  a  dinner:  — 
Come,  come,  walk  in  the  park  :  1  pray  you,  pardon 
me;  I  will  hereafter  make  knov^n  to  you.  why  I 
have  done  this.  Come,  wife;  —  come  mistress 
I'age  :  I  pray  you  pardon  me;  pray  heartily,  par- 
don me. 

Page.  Let's  go  in,  gentlemen;  but  trust  me.  we'll 
mock  him.  I  do  invite  you  to-morrow  morning  to 
my  house  to  breakfast;  after,  we'll  a  birding  to- 
gether; I  have  a  fine  hawk  for  the  busli :  Shall  it 
be  so  ] 

Ford.   Any  thing. 

Eva.  If  there  is  one,  I  shall  make  two  in  the 
company, 

Caius.  If  there  be  one  or  two,  1  sliall  make-a  de 
tird. 

Eva.  In  your  teetli :  for  shame. 

Ford.   Pray  you  go,  master  Page. 

Eva.  I  pray  you  now,  remembrance  to-morrow 
on  the  lousy  knave,  mine  host. 

Caius.   Dat  is  good ;  by  gar,  vit  all  my  heart. 
»  Uubag  the  fox. 


Eva.  A  lousy  knave;  to  have  his  gibes  and  big 
mockeries.  [ExeunU 

SCENE  IV.— ^  Uoom  in  Page's  House, 
Enter  Fenton  a7id  Mistress  Anne  Page, 

Fenf.   I  see,  I  cannot  get  thy  father's  love: 
Therefore,  no  more  turn  me  to  him,  sweet  Nan. 

Anne.   Alas!  how  then  1 

Fenf.  Why,  thou  must  be  tbysclf. 

He  doth  object,  I  am  too  great  of  birth ; 
And  that,  my  state  being  gall'd  with  my  expense, 
I  seek  to  heal  it  only  by  his  wealth  : 

Besides  tliese,  other  bars  he  lays  before  me, 

My  riots  past,  my  wild  societies; 
And  tells  me,  'tis  a  thing  impossible 
I  should  love  thee,  but  as  a  property. 

Anne.   May  be,  he  tells  you  true. 

Fenf.   No.  heaven  so  .speed  me  in  my  t>me  to 
come ! 
Albeit,  I  will  confess,  thy  father's  wealth 
Was  the  first  motive  that  I  woo'd  thee,  Anne: 
Yet,  wooing  thee,  I  found  thee  of  more  value 
Than  stamps  in  gold,  or  sums  in  sealed  bags; 
And  'tis  the  very  riches  of  thyself 
That  now  I  aim  at. 

Annp.  Gentle  master  Fcnton, 

Yet  seek  my  father's  love:  still  seek  it,  sir: 
If  oi)portunity  and  humblest  suit 
Cannot  attain  it,  why  then  —  Hark  you  hither. 

[They  converse  apart- 
Enter  Shallow,  Slendeti,  and  Mrs.  Quicklt. 

Sfinf.  Break  their  talk,  Mrs.  Quickly ;  my  kins- 
man shall  speak  for  himself. 

Stcn.  I'll  make  a  shaft  or  a  bolt  on't:' slid, 'tis 
but  venturing. 

Shal.   lie  not  dismay'd. 

S/en.  No,  she  shall  not  dismay  me:  I  care  not 
for  that, —  but  that  1  am  afeard. 

Quick.  Hark  ye;  master  Slender  would  speak  a 
word  with  you. 

Anne.   I    come   to  him. —  This    is  my   father's 
choice. 
O,  what  a  world  of  vile  ill-fovor'd  faults 
Looks  handsome  in  three  hundred  pounds  a  year! 

[  Aside. 

Quicks  And  how  does  good  master  Fenton! 
Pray  you,  a  word  with  you. 

Shal.  She's  coming;  to  her,  coz.  O  boy,  thou 
hadst  a  father. 

S!en.  I  had  a  fatlier,  mistress  Anne ;  —  my  uncle 
can  tell  you  good  jests  of  him  :  —  Pray  you,  uncle, 
tell  mistress  Anne  the  jest,  how  my  father  stole 
two  geese  out  of  a  pen,  good  uncle. 

Shal.   Mistress  Anne,  my  cousin  loves  you. 

Sim.  Ay,  that  I  do ;  as  well  as  I  love  any  woman 
in  Gloucestershire, 

Shal.   He  will  maintain  you  like  a  gentlewoman. 

Slen.  Ay,  that  I  will,  come  cut  and  long-tail,  un- 
der the  decree  of  a  'squire. 

Shal.  He  will  make  you  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  jointure. 

Anne.  Good  master  Shallow,  let  him  woo  for 
himself. 

Shal.  Marry,  I  tliank  you  for  it;  I  thank  you  for 
that  good  comfort.  She  calls  you,  coz:  I'll  leave 
you, 

Anne.   Now,  master  Slender. 

Slen.  Now,  sood  mistress  Anne. 

Anne.   What  is  your  will  I 

Slen.  My  will!  od's  heartlings.  that's  a  pretty 
jest  indeed!  I  ne'er  made  my  will  yet,  I  thank 
heaven;  I  am  not  such  a  siclvly  creature,  I  give 
heaven  praise. 

Anne.  I  mean,  master  Slender,  what  would  you 
with  me 7 

Slen.  Truly,  for  mine  own  part,  I  wouW  little 
or  nothing  with  you :  Your  father,  and  my  uncle, 
have  made  motions:  if  it  be  my  luck,  so:  if  not, 
happy  man  be  his  dole!^  They  can  tell  you  how 
things  go,  better  than  I  can:  You  may  ask  your 
father;  here  he  comes. 

Enter  P\nF.,  and  Mistress  PAnr.. 
Page.   Now,  master  Slender;  —  Love  him,  daugTi- 

ter  Anne. — 
■»  \  proTi^rb  —  a  shaft  was  a  long  arrow,  ami  a  bolt  a 
thick  short  cue.  ■  Lot. 


ScEJfE  V. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


55 


Why,  how  now!  what  docs  master  Fenton  here"! 
You  wroiij  nie,  sir,  thus  still  to  haunt  my  house: 
I  told  you,  sir,  my  daughter  is  disposd  oJ'. 

Feat.   Nay,  master  Page,  be  not  impatient. 

Mrs.  Puge.   Good  master   Fenton,  coine  not  to 
my  child. 

Page.   IShe  is  no  match  for  you. 

Fent.   Sir,  will  you  hear  me  ! 

Page.  No,  2:ood  master  Fenton. 

Come,  master  Shallow  ;  come,  son  Slender;  in  :  — 

Knowing  my  mnid,  you  wrong  me,  master  Fenton. 

yExeuiU  Pagk,  Suallow,  and  Stusumi. 

Quick.   Speak  to  mistress  Fage. 

Fent.   Good  mistress  Page,  lor  that  I  love  your 
daughter 
In  such  a  righteous  fashion  as  I  do, 
Perforce,  against  all  checks,  rehukes,  and  manners, 
1  must  advance  the  colors  of  my  love. 
And  ni* retire :     Let  me  have  your  good  will. 

Anne.   Good  mother,  do  not  marry  me  to  yond' 
fool.      • 

Mrs.  Pa.s^e.  I  mean  it  not ;  I  seek  you  a  better 
hus'iand. 

Quick.    I'hat's  my  master,  master  doctor. 

Anne.  Alas,  I  had  rather  be  set  quick  i'  the  earth, 
And  bowl'd  to  death  with  turnijis. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  trouble  not  yourself:    Good 
master  Fenton, 
I  will  not  be  your  friend,  nor  enemy :     . 
My  daughter  will  1  question  how  slie  loves  you. 
And  as  I  find  her,  so  am  I  all'ected; 
'Till  then;  farewell,  sir:  —  She  must  needs  go  in  ; 
Her  fatiier  will  be  angry. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Page  and  Axxe. 

Fent.   Farewell,  gentle  mistress;  farewell,  Nan. 

Qiiicfc.  This  13  my  doing  now;  —  Nay,  said  I, 
will  you  cast  away  your  child  on  a  fool,  and  a 
physician  !  Look  on  master  Fenton :  —  this  is  my 
doing. 

Fent.  I  thank  thee ;  and  I  pray  thee,  once  to- 
night 
Give  my  sweet  Nan  this  ring :  There's  for  thy  pams. 

[Exit. 

Quick.  Now  heaven  send  thee  good  fortune !  A 
kind  heart  he  hath  :  a  woman  would  run  through 
fire  and  water  for  such  a  kind  heart,  hut  yet,  1 
would  my  master  had  mistress  Anne:  or  1  would 
master  Slender  had  her;  or,  in  sooth,  1  would  mas- 
ter Fenton  had  her:  1  will  do  what  1  can  for  them 
all  three ;  for  so  1  have  promised,  and  I'll  be  as 
good  as  my  word  ;  but  speciously  for  master  Fen- 
ton. Well,  1  must  of  another  errand  to  sir  John 
FalstalF  from  my  two  mistresses:  What  a  beast 
am  1  to  slack*  it. 

SCENE  V. —  A  Roum  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
7i'«to' Falstaff  and  Baiiiiolpu. 

Fal.  Bardolph,  1  say, — 

Bar.   Here,  sir. 

Fat.  Go  fetch  me  a  quart  of  sack;  put  a  toast 
in't.  [Exit  liAim.)  Have  1  lived  to  be  carried  in 
a  basket,  lilie  a  barrow  of  butcher's  otfal !  and  to 
be  thrown  into  the  Thames?  Well;  if  I  be  served 
such  another  trick,  I'll  have  my  brains  taen  out, 
and  buttered,  and  give  them  to  a  dog  for  a  new 
year's  gift.  The  rogues  slighted  me  into  the  river 
with  as  nttle  remorse  as  they  woulil,have  drowned 
a  bitch's  blind  puppies,  tiaeen  i'  the  litter:  and  you 
may  know  by  my  size,  that  1  have  a  kind  of  alacri- 
ty in  sinking ;  if  the  bottom  were  as  deep  as  hell,  1 
should  down.  1  had  been  drowned,  hut  that  the 
shore  was  sheivy  and  shallow  :  a  death  that  I  ab- 
hor; for  the  water  swells  a  m  in  ;  and  what  a  lliing 
should  I  have  been,  when  1  hid  been  swelled !  1 
should  have  been  a  mountain  of  mummy. 

Re-enter  BAnnoi.pii,  tuilli  the  wine. 

Bar.  Here's  mistress  Quickly,  sir,  to  speak  with 
you. 

Fal.  Come,  let  me  pour  in  some  sack  to  the 
Thames  water;  for  my  belly's  as  cold,  as  if  I  had 
swallowed  snow-balls  for  pills  to  cool  the  reins. — 
Call  her  in. 

Bar.   Come  in,  woman. 

Enter  Mrs.  Quicklt. 
Quick.  By  your  leave;  I  cry  you  mercy:    Give 
your  worship  good-morrow. 

4  Specially.  '  Neglect. 


Fat.  Take  away  these  chalices.  Go  brew  me  a 
pottle  of  sack  liiiely. 

Bar.   With  eggs,  sir? 

Fal.  Simple  of  itself;  I'll  no  pullet^pcrm  in  my 
brewage. —  [Exit  Baiuiolph.J  —  How  now  '. 

Quick.  Marry,  sir,  1  come  to  your  worship  from 
mistress  Ford. 

Fal.  Mistress  Ford!  I  have  had  ford  enough  :  1 
was  thrown  into  the  ford:  1  have  my  belly  full  of 
ford. 

Quick.  Alas  the  day;  good  heart,  that  was  not 
her  fault;  she  does  so  take  on  with  her  men  ;  they 
mistook  their  erection. 

Fal.  So  did  I  mine,  to  build  upon  a  foolish  wo- 
man's promise. 

Quick-  Well,  she  laments,  sir,  for  it,  that  it  would 
yearn  your  heart  to  see  ft.  Her  husband  goes  this 
morning  a  birding;  she  desires  you  once  more  to 
come  to  her  between  eight  and  nine :  I  must  carry 
her  word  quickly ;  she'll  make  you  amends,  I  war- 
rant you. 

Fal.  Well,  I  will  visit  her:  Tell  her  so;  and  bid 
her  tliinli,  what  a  man  is:  let  her  consider  his  frail- 
ty, and  then  judge  of  my  merit. 

Quick.   I  will  iell  her. 

Fal.   Do  so.    Between  nine  and  ten,  say'st  thou  1 

Quick.   F.ight  and  nine,  sir. 

Fat.   Well,  begone :  I  will  not  miss  her- 

Quick-   Peace  be  with  you,  sir.  [Exit. 

Fal.  1  marvel,!  hear  not  of  master  Brook;  he 
sent  me  word  to  stay  within :  I  like  his  money 
well.    O,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Fonn. 

Ford.   Bless  you,  sir! 

Fal.  Now,  master  Brook!  you  come  to  know 
what  halh  passed  between  me  and  Ford's  wife  i 

Fijril.   That,  indeed,  sir  John,  is  my  busine.-«. 

Fal.  MasUT  Srook,  1  will  not  lie  to  you ;  1  was 
at  her  house  the  hour  she  appointed  me. 

Ftiril.   And  how  sped  you,  sir  ! 

Fal.   Very  ill-favoredly,  master  Brook. 

Furd.  How  so,  sir!  Did  she  change  her  deter- 
mination ( 

Fal.  No,  master  Brook ;  but  the  peaking  coriuito, 
her  husband,  master  Brook,  dwelling  in  a  continual 
'larum  of  jealousy,  comes  me  in  the  instant  of  our 
encounter,  alter  we  had  embraced,  kissed,  pro- 
tested, and,  as  it  were,  spoke  the  prologue  of  our 
comedy  ;  and  at  his  heels  a  rabble  of  his  compan- 
ions, thither  provoked  and  instigated  by  his  distem- 
per, and,  forsooth,  to  search  his  house  Idr  his  wile's 
love- 

Fnrd.  What,  while  you  were  there  7 
Fat.   While  1  was  there. 

Furd.  And  did  he  search  for  you,  and  could  not 
find  you  ! 

Fat.  You  shall  hear.  As  good  luck  would  have 
it,  comes  in  one  mistress  Page;  gives  intelligence 
of  Ford's  approach ;  and,  by  her  invention,  and 
Ford's  wife's  distraction,  they  conveyed  me  into  a 
buck-basket ! 

Furd.  A  buck-basket  I 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  a  buck-basket:  rammed  me  in 
with  foul  shirts  and  smocks,  socks,  foul  stockings, 
and  greasy  napkins;  that,  master  Brook,  there  was 
the  rankest  eompound  of  viUanous  smell,  that  ever 
oll'eiided  nostril. 

Furd.   .Viid  how  long  lay  you  there? 

Fal.  Nay.  you  shall  hear,  master  Brook,  what  T 
have  sullcred  to  bring  this  woman  to  evil  for  your 
good,  lieing  thus  crammed  in  the  basket,  a  couplo 
of  Ford  s  knaves,  his  hinds,  were  called  forth  by 
their  mistress  to  carry  me  in  the  name  of  foul 
clothes  to  Datchct-lane:  they  took  me  on  their 
shoulders;  met  the  jealous  knave  their  master  in 
the  door;  who  asked  them  once  or  twice  what  tliey 
had  in  their  basket;  1  quaked  for  fear,  lest  the 
lunatic  knave  would  have  searched  it;  but  F'ate, 
ordaining  he  should  be  a  cuckold,  held  his  hand. 
Well ;  on  went  he  for  a  search,  and  away  went  I  for 
foul  dollies.  But  mark  the  sequal,  master  Brook: 
I  suH'ercd  the  pangs  of  three  several  deaths:  first, 
an  iiitnlcrable  I'right,  to  be  detected  with  a  jealous 
rotten-bell-wcllier:  next,  to  be  compassed  like  a 
good  billu),'  in  the  circumference  of  a  peck,  hilt  to 
point,  heel  to  head:  and  then,  to  be  stopped  in, 
e  Dilboa,  where  the  best  blades  are  made. 


53 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  IV. 


liUc  a  strong  distillation,  with  stinking  clothes  that 
fretted  in  their  own  grease:  think  of  that, —  a  man 
oC  my  kidney,  think  of  that;  that  am  as  subject  to 
heat  as  bulttg;  a  man  of  continual  dissolution  and 
thaw;  it  was  a  miracle  to  "scape  suHbcation.  And 
in  the  height  of  this  bath,  when  I  was  more  than 
half  stewed  in  grease,  like  a  Dutch  dish,  to  be  thrown 
into  the  Ihamcs,  and  cooled,  glowing  hot,  in  that 
surge,  like  a  horse-shoe;  think  of  tiiat;  —  hissing 
hot. —  tinnk  of  that,  master  Brook. 

Ford.  }n  good  sadness,  sir,  I  am  sorry  that  for 
my  sake  you  have  sullered  all  this.  My  suit  then  is 
desiderate;  you'll  undertake  her  no  more. 

FuL  Master  lirook,  I  will  be  thrown  into  ^tna, 
as  1  fiave  been  into  Thames,  ere  1  will  leave  her 
thus.  Her  husband  is  this  morning  gone  a  birding: 
1  have  received  from  her  another  embassy  of  meet- 
ing^; 'twixt  eight  and  nine  is  the  hour,  master  Brook. 

Ford.   '  ris  past  eight  already,  sir. 

FuL  Is  it !  1  will  then  address  me  to  my  appoint- 


ment. Come  to  me  at  your  convenient  leisure,  and 
you  shall  know  how  !  speed;  and  the  conclusion 
sliall  be  crowned  with  your  enjoying  her:  Adieu. 
Vou  shall  liave  her,  master  Brook:  master  Brook, 
you  shall  cuckold  Ford.  [Exit, 

Ford.  Hum!  ha!  is  this  a  vision  .'  is  this  a  dream'.' 
do  I  sleep?  Master  Ford,  awake;  awake,  master 
J-'ord ;  there's  a  hole  made  in  your  best  coat,  master 
Ford.  This  -tis  to  be  married !  tliis  'tis  to  have  lin- 
en and  buck-baskets!  —  Well,  I  will  proclaim  my- 
self what  1  am  :  I  will  now  take  the  lccJier;he  is  at 
my  house  :  he  cannot  'scape  me  ;  'tis  impossible  he 
should;  he  cannot  creep  into  a  halfpenny  purse, 
nor  into  a  pepper-box:  but,  lest  thedevii  that  guides 
him  should  aid  him,  I  will  search  impossible  places. 
Though  what  I  am  I  cannot  avoid,  yet  to  be  what  I 
would  not,  shall  not  make  me  tame :  if  I  have  horns 
to  make  one  mad,  let  the  proverb  go  with  me,  1  'II  be 
horn  mad.  .  [Exit, 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I.— The  Street. 
Enter  Mrs.  Pace,  Mrs.  Quickly,  and  William. 

Mrs.  Page.  Is  he  at  master  Ford's  already, 
tliiMk'st  thou? 

Q'iielc.  Sure  he  is  by  this;  or  will  be  presently: 
but  truly,  he  is  very  courageous^  mad,  about  his 
throwing  into  the  water.  JSIistress  Ford  desires  you 
to  oome  suddenly. 

Mrs.  Page.  1 11  be  will)  her  by  and  by  ;  I'll  but 
bring  my  young  man  here  to  school ;  look,  where 
his  master  comes:  'tis  a  playing-day,  I  see. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans. 
How  now,  sir  Hugh  !  no  school  to-day  7 

Era.  No;  master  Slender  is  let  the  boys  leave  to 
pl.iv. 

Qnick.  Blessing  of  his  heart! 

Mrs.  Page.  Sir  Hugh,  my  husband  says,  my  son 
profits  nothing  in  the  world  at  his  book;  1  pray  you, 
ask  lum  some  questions  in  his  accidence. 

Em.  Come  hither,  William;  hold  up  your  head; 
conic. 

Mrs-  Page.  Come  on,  sirrah ;  hold  up  your  head; 
answer  your  master,  be  not  afraid. 

Era.   William,  how  many  numbers  is  in  nouns? 

TV  ill.  Two. 

Quick.  Truly,  I  thought  there  had  been  one  num- 
ber more ;  because  they  say,  od's  nouns. 

Era.  Peace  your  tattliiigs.  What  is  fair,  Wil- 
liam. 

IVilt.  Pulcher. 

Quick.  Poulcats!  there  are  fairer  things  than 
poulcuts,  sure. 

Eva.  You  are  a  very  simplicity  'oman :  I  pray 
you,  peace.    What  is  /u/iis,  William? 

]VilL   A  stone. 

Era.   And  what  is  a  stone,  William? 

Will.   A  pebble. 

Era.  No,  It  is  lapis;  I  pray  you  remember  m 
your  prain. 

Will.  Lapis. 

Era.  That  is  good  William.  What  is  he,  Wil- 
liam, that  does  lend  articles? 

IVilt.  Articles  are  borrowed  of  llie  pronoun;  and 
be  thus  declined,  Singutariter,  nominativo,  hie, 
hax,  hoc.  . .     ,        ,  , 

Eva.  Nominativo,  hig,  hag,  hng ,-  pray  you,  mark  : 
gr/titii'o,  hujus:  Well,  what  is  your  accusative 
case  ? 

Will.  Acciisatiro,  hine. 

Era.  1  pray  you,  have  jour  remembrance, child : 
Acciisatiro,  hing,  hang,  hog. 

Quidc.  Hang  hog  is  Latin  for  bacon,  I  warrant 
you. 

Era.   Leave  vonr  prabbles, 'oman.    What  is  the 
focotive  case,  vViUiam? 
Wilt.  0—V(icatiro,  O. 

Era.   Remember,  William;/fica/a'e  is  caret- 
Quick.   And  that's  a  good  root. 

Eva.   'Oman,  lorbcar. 

Mrs.  Page.  Peace. 

1 0utrageous. 


Ei'a.  What  is  your  genitive  case,  plural,  Wil- 
liam ? 

IVilt.  Genitive  case  ? 

Era.  Ay. 

Will.   Cenilivo  —  horum,  harum,  li/irum. 

Quick.  'Vengeance  of  J/ ?i77j/'5  case  !  fie  on  her! 
—  never  name  her,  child,  if  she  be  a  whore. 

Era.   For  shame,  "oman. 

Quick.  You  do  ill  to  teach  the  child  such  words: 
he  leaches  him  to  hick  and  to  hack,  which  they'll 
do  fast  enough  of  tliemselves ;  and  to  call  horum  : — 
fie  upon  you ! 

Era.  'Oman,  art  thou  lunatics?  hast  thou  no 
understandings  for  thy  cases,  and  the  numbers  of 
the  genders  >.  Thou  art  as  foolish  Christian  creatures 
as  I  would  desires. 

Mrs.  Page.   Pr'ythee,  hold  thy  peace. 

Era.  Show  me  now,  William,  some  declensions 
of  your  pronouns. 

IVtll.   Forsooth,  I  have  forgot. 

Era.  It  is  ki,  km,  cod;  if  you  forget  your  kies, 
your  Icies,  and  your  cods,  you  must  be  preechcs.' 
Go  your  ways,  and  play,  go. 

Jl/rs.  Page.  H  e  is  a  better  scholar  than  I  thought 
he  was. 

Eva.  He  is  a  good  sprag'  memory.  Farewell, 
mistress  Page. 

Mrs.  Page.  Adieu,  good  sir  Hugh.  [Exit  Sir 
Hugh.]  Get  you  home,  boy. —  Cou.'e;  we  stay  too 
long.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11. —  A  Room  in  Ford's  House. 
Enter  Falstaff  and  Mrs.  FonD. 
Fat.  Mistress  Ford,  your  sorrow  hath  eaten  up 
my  sufferance:  I  see  you  are  obsequious  in  your 
love,  and  I  profess  requital  to  a  hair  s  breadth :  not 
only,  mistress  Ford,  in  the  simple  ortice  of  love,  but 
in  all  the  accoutrciiicnt.  complement, and  ceremony 
of  it.    But  arc  you  sure  of  your  husband  now? 
Mrs.  Ford.   He  s  a  hirding,  sweet  sir  John. 
Rlrs.  Page.   [11' it hin.]  What  hoa!  gossip  Ford! 
what  hoa ! 
Mrs.  Ford.  Step  into  the  chamber,  sir  John. 

[Exit  Falstatf. 

Enter  Mrs.  Page. 

Mrs.  Page.  How  now,  sweetheart?  who's  at  home 
besides  yourself! 

Mrs.  Ford.   Why,  none  but  mine  own  people. 

Mrs.  Page.   Indeed  ? 

Mrs.  Fori.  No,  certainly ;  —  speak  louder  |  ,4s-i'Je. 

Mrs.  Page.  Truly,!  amsogladyouhave nobody 
here. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why?  .     . 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  woman,  your  husband  is  in 
his  old  lunesi  again  :  he  so  takes  on  yonder  with  my 
husband;  so  rails  against  all  married  mankind;  so 
curses  all  Eve's  daughlers,  of  what  complexion  so- 
ever; and  so  buffets  himself  on  the  forehead,  crying 
Peer  out,  peer  out!  that  any  madness  1  ever  yet 
beheltl  seemed  but  tameness,  civility,  and  patience, 

•  Bruochcd,  i.  c.  flnggcd.       'Apttoloara.       ■.'Uadfits. 


SCEKE  II. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


57 


to  this  his  distemper  he  is  in  now  :  I  am  glad  tlie 
fat  knisht  is  not  here. 

Mrs.  Ford.   Wliy.  does  he  talk  of  him  '! 

Mrs.  Page.  (1f  none  but  him ;  and  swears,  he  was 
carried  out,  the  last  time  he  searched  for  him,  in  a 
basket:  protests  to  my  husband  he  is  now  here: 
and  hath  drawn  him  and  the  rest  of  their  company 
from  their  sport,  to  make  another  experiment  of  his 
suspicion :  but  I  am  slad  the  knight  is  not  here : 
now  he  shall  see  his  own  foolery. 

Mrs.  Ford.   How  near  is  he,  mistress  Page  1 

Mrs.  Page.  Hard  by;  at  street  end;  he  will  be 
here  anon. 

Mrs.  Furd.   I  am  undone  !  —  the  knight  is  here. 

Mrs.  Pnge.  Why,  then  you  are  utterly  shamed, 
and  he's  but  a  dead  man.  What  a  woman  are  youl 
—  Away  with  him,  away  with  him;  belter  shame 
than  murder. 

Mrs.  F(ird.  Which  way  should  he  go  7  how 
should  1  bestow  him  !  Shall  I  put  him  into  the  bas- 
ket again  ] 

Re-enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  No,  I'll  come  no  more  i'  the  basket :  May  I  not 
go  out  ere  he  come  ! 

Mrs.  Pnf^e.  Alas,  three  of  master  Ford's  brothers 
watch  the  door  with  pistols,  that  none  shall  issue 
out;  otherwise  you  might  slip  away  ere  he  came. 
But  what  make  ynu  here  1 

Flit.  What  shall  I  do  T  —  I'll  creep  up  into  the 
chimney. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Tliere  they  always  u.^e  to  discharge 
their  birding  pieces  :  creep  into  the  kiln-liole. 

Fal.  Where  is  it ! 

Tlfr.s.  Ford.  He  will  seek  there  on  my  word. 
Neither  press,  coffer,  chest,  trunk,  well,  vault,  but 
he  hath  an  abstract  for  tlie  remembrance  of  such 
places,  and  goes  to  them  by  his  note  •  There  is  no 
niding  you  in  the  house. 

Fal.    I'll  no  out  then. 

Mrs.  Page.  Ifyougooutin  yourown  semblance, 
you  die, sir  John.    Unless  you  go  out  disguised,  — 

Mrs.  Ford.   How  might  we  disguise  him  1 

Mrs.  Page.  Alas  the  day,  I  know  not.  There 
is  no  woman's  gown  big  enough  for  him;  other- 
wise, he  might  put  on  a  hat,  a  mufller,  and  a  ker- 
chief, and  so  escape. 

Fal.  Good  hearts,  devise  something:  any  extre- 
mity rather  than  a  mischief. 

Mrs.  Ford.  My  maid's  aunt,  the  fat  woman  of 
Brentford,  has  a  gown  above. 

Mrs.  Page.  On  my  word,  it  will  serve  him ;  she's 
as  big  as  he  is:  and  there's  her  thrum'd  hat  and  her 
inunier  too:  Run  up.  sir  Jolm. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Go,  go.  sweet  sir  John:  mistress 
Page  and  I  will  look  some  linen  for  your  head. 

Itfrs.  Page.  Quick,  quick;  well  come  dress  you 
straight:  pviton  the  sown  the  while.        [Exit  Fal. 

Mrs.  Ford.  I  would  my  husband  would  meet  him 
in  this  shape :  he  cannot  abide  tlie  old  woman  of 
Brentford ;  he  swears  she's  a  witch :  forbade  her  my 
house,  and  hath  threatened  to  heat  her. 

Mrs.  Faae.  Heaven  guide  him  to  thy  husband's 
cudgel;  and  the  devil  guide  his  cudgel  afterwards! 

Mrs.  Ford.   But  is  my  husband  coming? 

Mrs.  Page.  Ay,  in  good  sadness  is  he;  and  talks 
of  the  basket  too,  howsoever  he  hath  had  intelli- 
gence. 

Mrs  Ford.  We'll  try  that;  for  I'll  appoint  my 
men  to  carry  the  basket  again,  to  meet  nim  at  the 
do5r  with  it,  as  they  did  last  time. 

Mr.^.  Page.  Nay.  but  he'll  be  here  presently; 
let's  go  dress  him 'like  the  witch  of  Brentford. 

Hfrr.  Ford.  I'll  first  direct  my  men,  what  they 
shall  do  with  the  basket.  Go  up,  I'll  bring  linen 
for  him  straight.  [E.vU. 

l\[rs.  Page'.  Hang  him,  dishonest  varlet !  we  can- 
not misuse  him  enough. 

We'll  leave  a  proof,  by  that  which  we  will  do, 

Wives  may  be  merry,  and  yet  honest  too. 

We  do  not  act,  that  'often  iest  and  laugh, 

'Tis  old  but  true.  Still  swine  eat  all  tlie  drnjf. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter  Mrs.  Fonn,  with,  two  servants. 
Iilrs.  Ford.   Go,  sirs,  take   the  bxsket  again  on 
your  shoulders ;  your  master  is  hard  at  door;  if  he 
bid  you  set  it  down,  obey  him:  quickly,  dispatch. 

\Exit 


1  Serv.  Come,  come,  take  it  up. 

2  Serv.  Pray  heaven,  it  be  not  full  of  the  knight 
again. 

1  Serv.  I  hope  not :  I  had  as  lief  bear  so  much 
lead. 

Enter  Fonn,  Paoe,  Shallow,  Cahjs,  and   Sir 
HCGH  Evans. 

Ford.  Ay,  but  if  it  prove  true,  master  Page,  have 
you  any  way  then  to  unfool  me  again  !  —  Set  down 

the  basket,  villain:  —  S-omebody  call  my  wife:- 

■you, youth  in  a  basket,  come  out  here!  —  (),  you' 
panderly  rascals  !  there's  a  knot,  a  gansr,  a  pack,  a 
conspiracy  against   me:    Now  shall  the  devil   be 
shamed.    What!   wile,  I  say!   come,  come  forth; 
behold  what  honest  clotlies  j  ou  send  forth  to  bleach- 

"Page.  Why,  this  passes  !  Master  Ford,  you  are 
not  to  go  loose  any  longer;  you  must  be  pinioned. 

Eva. '  Why,  this  is  lunatics !  this  is  mad  as  a  mad 
dog! 

Slial.  Indeed,  master  Ford,  this  is  not  well ;  m- 
deed. 

Enter  Mrs.  Ford. 

Ford.  So  say  I  too,  sir. —  Come  hither,  mistress 
Ford  ;  mistress  Ford,  the  honest  woman,  the  modest 
wife,  the  virtuous  creature,  that  hath  the  jealous 
fool  to  her  husband !  —  I  suspect  without  cause, 
mistress,  do  I ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Heaven  be  my  witness,  you  do,  if  you 
suspect  me  in  any  dishonesty. 

Ford.   Weil  said,  brazen-face ;  hold   it  out. 

Come  forth,  sirrah. 

[Pull.s  tlie  clotlies  out  of  the  basket. 

Page.  This  passes! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Are  you  not  ashamed  1  let  the  clothes 
alone. 

Ford.  I  shall  find  you  anon. 

Eva.  'Tis  unreasonable !  Will  you  take  up  your 
wife's  clothes]    Come  away. 

Ford.   Empty  the  basket,  I  say. 

Hrrs.  Ford.   Why,  man,  why, — 

Ford.  Master  Page,  as  I  am  a  man,  there  was 
one  conveyed  out  of  my  house  yesterday  in  this 
basket:  Why  may  not  he  be  there  again  !  In  my 
house  I  am  sure  he  is :  my  intelligence  is  true ;  my 
jealousy  is  reasonable :    Pluck  me  out  all  the  linen. 

Mrs.'Ford.  If  you  find  a  man  there,  he  shall  die 
a  flea's  death. 

Page.  Here's  no  man. 

Shal.  By  my  fidelity,  this  is  not  well,  master 
Ford  ;  this  wrongs  you. 

Era.  Ma-ster  Ford,  you  must  pray,  and  not  fol- 
low the  imaginations  of  your  own  heart:  this  is 
jealousies.  ,       ,    , 

Ford.   Well,  he's  not  here  I  seek  for. 

Puge.  No.  nor  no  where  else,  but  in  your  brain. 

Ford.  Help  to  search  my  house  this  one  time  :  if 
I  find  not  what  I  seeli,  show  no  color  for  my  extre- 
mity, let  me  forever  be  your  table-sport ;  let  them 
say  of  me.  As  jealous  as  Ford,  that  searched  a  hol- 
low walnut  for  his  wife's  leinan.'  Satisfy  me  once 
more;  once  more  searcli  with  me. 

Mrs.  Ford.  What  hoa,  mistress  Page !  come  you, 
and  the  old  woman  down:  my  husband  will  come 
into  the  chamber.  .    .v  . , 

Ford    Old  vvomiin  !   What  old  woman  s  that ! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Why,  it  is  my  maid's  aunt  of 
Brentford.  ,j  .  , 

Ford.  A  witch,  a  quean,  an  old  cozening  quean ! 
Have  I  not  forbid  her  my  house"!  She  comes  of 
errands  does  she'!  We  are  simple  men ;  we  do  not 
know  what's  brought  to  pass  under  the  protession 
of  fortune-telling.  She  works  by  charms,  by  spells, 
by  the  figure,  and  such  daubery  as  tins  is,  beyond 

oiir  element:  we  know  nothing. Comedown, 

you  witch,  you  hag,  you ;  come  down,  1  say. 

l\lrs.  Ford.  Nay,  good,  sweet  husband;  —  good 
gentlemen,  let  him  not  strike  the  old  woman. 

E'lter  FiLsTAFF  in  woman's  clothes,  led  by  Mrs. 
Page. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  mother  Pratt,  come,  give  me 
your  band. 

Ford.   I'll  prat  her: out  of  my  door,  you 

witch!  [beats  him.\  you  rag,  you  baggage,  you 
a  Lover. 


58 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act    IV. 


role-rat,  you  ronyon  !'  out !  out!  I'll  conjure  you, 
']1  rortune-tel!  you.  [Kxii  Fal. 

Mrs.  Page,  Are  you  not  ashamed T  I  think  you 
have  kill'd  the  poor  woman. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  he  will  do  it:  —  'Tis  a  goodly 
credit  for  you. 

Ford.  Hang  her,  witch! 

Era.  By  yea  and  no,  T  think,  the  'oman  is  a 
■witch  indeed:  I  like  not  when  a  'onian  iias  a  great 
peard  ;  I  spy  a  sreat  peard  under  her  mulller. 

Ford.  Will  you  follow,  gentlemen  1  I  beseech 
you,  follow;  see  but  the  issue  of  my  jealousy:  if  I 
cry  out  thus  upon  no  trail,*  never  trust  me  when  I 
Open  again. 

Page.  Lets  obey  hishumor  a  liltle  further:  Come, 
gentlemen. 

[Exeunt  Pare,  Foup,  Siiai.tow,  and  Fvaxs. 

•Mrs.  Page.  Trust  me,  he  beat  Iiim  most  pitifully. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  by  the  mass,  that  he  did  not;  he 
beat  him  most  unpitifully,  methoughl. 

Mrs.  Pagp.  Ill  have  the  cudgel  hallowed,  and 
hung  o'er  the  altar;  it  hath  done  meritorious  ser- 
vice. 

Mrs.  Ford,  What  think  you  1  May  we,  with  the 
warrant  of  womanhood,  and  the  witness  of  a  good 
conscience,  pursue  him  with  any  further  revenge  ! 

Mrs.  Page.  The  spirit  of  wantonness  is,  sure, 
scared  out  of  him;  if  the  devil  have  him  not  in  fee- 
simple,  with  tine  and  recovery,  he  will  never,  I 
think,  in  the  way  of  waste,  attempt  us  again. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Shall  we  tell  our  husbands  how  we 
have  served  himT 

Mrs.  Page.  Yes,  by  all  means;  if  it  be  but  to 
scrape  the  tigures  out  of  your  husband'sbrains.  If 
they  can  find  in  their  hearts,  the  poor  unvirtuous 
fat  knight  shall  be  any  further  afflicted,  we  two  will 
stilt  be  the  ministers. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Fll  warrant,  they'll  have  him  pub- 
licly shamed:  and  methinks,  there  would  be  no 
period  to  the  jest,  should  he  not  be  publicly 
shamed. 

Mrs.  Page.  Come,  to  the  forge  with  it  then,  shape 
it :  I  would  not  have  things  cool.  [ExeunL 

SCENE  III.  — ,4  Rootn  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Host  and  Baudolph. 

Bar.  Sir,  the  Germans  desire  to  have  three  of 
your  horses:  the  duke  himself  will  be  to-morrow 
at  court,  and  they  are  going  to  meet  him. 

Host.  What  duke  should  that  be,  comes  so 
secretly?  I  hear  not  of  him  in  the  court:  Let  me 
speak  with  the  gentlemen;  they  speak  EngHsh  f 

Bar.    Ay,  sir  ;  I'll  call  them  to  you. 

Host.  They  shall  have  my  horses;  but  I'll  make 

'  them  jiay,  I'll  sauce  them :  they  have  had  my  houses 

a  week  at  command;  I  have  turned  away  my  other 

guests:  they  must  come  olf;  I'll  sauce  them  :  Come. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.  — ^  Room  in  Ford's  House. 
Enter  Page,  Ford,   Mrs,   Page,  il/rs.  Fonn,  and 
Sir  Hugh  Evans. 

Eva.  'Tis  one  of  the  pest  discretions  of  a  'oman 
as  ever  I  did  look  upon. 

Page.  And  did  he  send  you  both  these  letters  at 
an  instant? 

Mrs.  Page,   Within  a  quarter  of  an  honr. 

Ford.   Pardon   me,  wife:    Henceforth  do  what 
thou  wilt; 
I  rather  will  suspect  the  sun  with  cold. 
Than  thee  with  wantonness  :  now  doth  thy  honor 

stand, 
In  him  that  was  of  late  an  heretic, 
As  firm  as  faith. 

Pug^.  'Tis  well,  'tis  well;  no  more. 

lie  not  as  Extreme  in  submission, 
As  in  oftence; 

But  let  our  plot  go  forward  :  let  our  wives 
Yet  once  again,  to  make  us  public  sport, 
Appoint  a  meeting  with  this  old  fat  fellow, 
Where  we  may  take  him  and  disgrace  him  for  it. 

Ford.  There  is   no   better  way   than  that  they 
spoke  of. 

Page.  How!  to  send  him  word  they'll  meet  liim 
in  the  park  at  midnight !  fie.  lie  !  hell  never  come. 

Eva.  You  say,  he  has  been  thrown  in  the  rivers* 
3  Scab.  «  Scent. 


and  has  been  grievously  peaten,  as  an  old  'oman; 
methinks.  tliere  should  be  terrors  in  him.  that  lie 
should  not  come,  methinks  his  flesh  is  punished, he 
shall  have  no  desires. 

Page.  So  think  1  too. 

Mrs.  Ford.   Devise  but  how  you'll  use  him  when 
he  comes, 
And  let  us  two  devise  to  bring  him  thither. 

Mrs.  Page.  There  is  an  old  tale  goes,  that  Heme 
the  hunter. 
Sometime  a  keeper  here  in  Windsor  forest, 
Doth  all  the  winter  time,  at  still  midnight. 
Walk  round  about  an  oak,  with  great  ragg'd  horns* 
And  there  he  binsts  the  tree,  and  takes*  the  cattle; 
And  makes  milch-kine  yield  blood,  and  shakes  a 

chain 
In  a  most  hideous  and  dreadful  manner; 
You  have  heard  of  such  a  spirit,  and  well  you  know, 
The  superstitious  idle-headed  eld® 
Received,  and  did  deliver  to  our  age. 
This  tale  of  Heme  the  hunter  for  a  truth. 

Page.  Why,  yet  there  want  not  many,  that  do 
fear 
In  deep  of  night  to  walk  by  this  Heme's  oak: 
But  what  of  this! 

Mrs.  Ford.  Many,  this  is  our  device ; 
That  FalstatTat  that  oak  shall  meet  with  us, 
Disguis'd  like  Heme,  witii  hui;e  horns  on  his  head. 

Page.  Well,  let  it  not  be  doubted  but  he'il  come, 
And  in  this  shape:    When  you  have  brought  him 

thither. 
What  shall  be  done  with  him  ?  what  is  your  plot  ] 

Mrs.  Page.  That  likewise  have  we  thought  upon, 
and  thus; 
Nan  Page  my  daughter,  and  my  little  son, 
And  three  or  four  more  of  their  growth,  we'll  dress 
Like  urchins,  ouphes,'  and  fiiiries,  green  and  white. 
With  rounds  of  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads. 
And  rattles  in  their  hands;  upon  a  sudden, 
As  FalstatT,  she.  and  I,  are  newly  met, 
Let  them  from  forth  a  saw-pit  rush  at  once, 
Witli  some  dillused  song  ;  upon  their  sight 
We  two  in  great  amazedness  will  lly; 
Then  let  them  all  encircle  him  about. 
And,  fairy-like,  to  pinch  the  unclean  knight; 
And  ask  him,  why,  that  hour  of  fairy-revel, 
In  tiieir  so  sacred" path  he  dares  to  tread, 
In  shape  profane. 

Mrs.  Ford.  And  till  he  tell  the  truth, 

Let  the  supposed  fiiiries  pinch  him  sound, 
And  bum  hun  with  their  tapers. 

Mrs.  Page.  The  truth  being  known, 

We'll  all  present  ourselves;  dis-horn  the  spirit. 
And  mock  him  home  to  Windsor. 

Fo7'd.  The  children  must 

Be  practiced  well  to  this,  or  they'll  ne''er  do't. 

Era.  I  will  teach  the  children  their  behaviors; 
and  I  will  be  like  a  jack-an-apcs  also,  to  burn  tlie 
knight  with  my  taber. 

Ford.  That  will  be  excellent!  I'll  go  buy  them 
vizards. 

Mrs.  Page.  My  Nan  shall  be  the  queen  of  all  the 
l^iries. 
Finely  attired  in  a  robe  of  white. 

Pige.  That  silk  will  I  go  buy ;  —  and  in  that  time 
Shallmaster  Slender  steal  my  Nan  away.    {Aside. 

And  marry  her  at  Eton. Go,  send  "to  Falstalf 

straight. 

Ford.  Nay,  111  to  him  atrain  in  name  of  Brook: 
Hell  tell  me  all  his  purpose  :   Sure,  he'll  come. 

Mrs.  Page.   Fear   not    you   that:    Go,    gel    us 
properties. 
And  tricking  for  our  fairies. 

Era.  Let  us  about  it:  it  is  admirable  pleasures, 
and  fery  honest  knaveries. 

[Eirujit  Page,  FonUjOHd  Evaxs. 

Mrs.  Page.   Go.  mistress  Ford, 
Send  quickly  to  sir  John,  to  know  his  mind. 

[Exit  Mrs.  Ford. 
I'll  to  the  doctor;  he  hath  my  good  will. 
And  none  but  he.  to  marry  willi  Nan  Pairc. 
That  Slender,  though  well  landed,  is  an  idiot; 
And  he  my  husband  best  of  all  ellects: 
The  doctor  is  well  money'd.  and  his  friends 
Potent  at  court;  he,  none  but  he,  shall  have  her, 
Thoutrh  twenty  thousand  worthier  come  to  crave 
her.  [Exit. 


>  Strikea. 


«  Okl  age. 


'Elf,  hobsoblin. 


ScEXE    XI. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


59 


SCE.'-E  V.  —  A  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Knier  Host  and  SiMrtE. 

Host.  What  wnuldst  thou  have,  boor 7  what, 
thick-skin?  speak,  breathe,  discuss;  brief,  short, 
quick,  snap. 

Sim.  Marry,  sir,  I  come  to  speak  with  sir  John 
Falstatf  from  master  Slender. 

Hod.  There's  his  chaniljer,  liis  hoi^e,  his  cas- 
tle, his  standing-bed.  and  truckle-!)ed ;  'tis  painted 
about  with  the  story  of  the  prodijjal,  fresh  and  new; 
Go,  knock  and caU;  he'll  speak  like  an  Anthropoph- 
aginian'  unto  thee:  Knock,  I  say. 

Sin.  Th.ne's  an  old  woman,  a  fat  woman,  gone 
up  into  his  chamber;  Ml  be  so  bold  as  stay,  sir,  till 
she  come  down  :  I  come  to  sneak  with  iier,  indeed. 

Hit^t.  Ha!  a  f\U  woman!  the  knisht  may  be 
robbed:  111  call. —  liully  knight!  lUilly  sir  John! 
speak  from  thy  lunirs  military :  Art  thou  there  ?  it 
is  thine  host,  thine  Kphesian,  calls.- 

Fal.  [w^n/Y'.l  How  now,  mine  host! 

l{ost.  Here's  a  Bohemian-Tartar  tarries  the  com- 
ini;  down  of  thy  fat  woman  :  Let  her  descend,  bully, 
let  her  descend  ;  my  chambers  are  honorable :  Fyc  ! 
privacy!  fye! 

Enfer  Falstaff. 

Fal.  There  was,  mine  host,  an  old  fat  woman 
even  now  with  me;  but  she's  frone, 

Sim.  Pray  you,  sir,  was't  not  the  wise  woman  of 
Brentford  ! 

Fal.  Ay,  marry,  was  it,  muscle-shell;  What 
would  yon  with  her! 

Sim.  My  master,  sir,  my  master  Slender,  sent  to 
her,  seeiuii  her  eo  through  the  streets,  to  know,  sir, 
whetherone  Nym,sir,  that  bei^uiled  himof  a  chain, 
had  the  chain,  or  no. 

Fal.  I  spake  with  the  old  woman  about  it. 

Sim.   And  what  says  siie,  I  pray,  sir? 

Fal.  Marry,  she  says,  that  the  very  same  man, 
that  besuiled  master  Slender  of  his  chain,  cozened 
him  of  it. 

Sim,  I  would,  I  could  h.ive  spoken  with  the 
woman  herself;  I  had  other  things  to  have  spoken 
with  her  too,  from  him. 

Fal.  What  are  they  ?  let  us  know. 

Host.   Ay,  come;  quick. 

Sim.  I  niay  not  conceal  them,  sir. 

Fal.  Conceal  them,  or  thou  diest. 

Sim.  Why,  sir,  they  were  nothing  but  about 
mistress  Anne  Page;  to  know,  if  it  were  my  mas- 
ter's fortune  to  have  her,  or  no. 

Fal.   'Tis,  'tis  his  fortune. 

Sim.   What,  sir? 

Fal.  To  have  her, —  or  no:  Go;  say,  the  woman 
told  me  so. 

Sim.  May  I  be  so  bold  to  say  so,  sir  ! 

Fal.  Ay,  sir  Tike  ;  who  more  bold? 

Sim-.  I  thank  your  worship:  I  shall  make  my 
master  glad  with' these  tidings.  [Exit  Simple. 

Host.  Thou  art  clerkly,'  thou  art  clerkly,  sir 
John.    Was  there  a  wise  woman  with  thee  ? 

Fal.  Ay.  that  there  was,  mine  host ;  one,  that 
hath  tauzht  me  more  wit  than  ever  I  learned  before 
in  my  life:  and  1  paid  nothing  for  it  neither,  but 
was  paid  for  my  learning. 

Enter  Binnoi-pii. 

Bar.  Out,  alas,  sir!  cozenage!   mere  cozenage! 

Hoj/.  'Where  be  my  hor.ses?  speak  well  of  them, 
varletto. 

Bar  Run  away  with  the  cozeners ;  for  so  soon 
as  I  cane  beyond  Eton,  they  threw  me  olf,  from 
behind  one  of  them,  in  a  sloujh  of  mire;  and  set 
spurs,  and  away,  like  three  German  devils,  three 
Doctor  Faustuses. 

Ho.it.  They  are  gone  but  to  meet  the  duke,  vil- 
lain: do  not  "say,  they  be  lied;  Germans  are  honest 
men. 

Enter  Sir  Hnon  Evans. 

Eva.  Where  is  mine  host? 

Host.   What  is  the  matter,  sir? 

Eva.  Have  a  care  of  your  entertainments:  there 
Is  a  friend  of  mine  conic  to  town,  ti'Ils  me,  there  is 
three  cousin  gerinaiis,  that  has  cozened  all  the  hosts 
of  Readings,  of  Maidenhead,  of  Colchrook,  of  horses 
and  money.  1  tell  you  for  good  will,  look  you: 
•  .K  cannibal.  '  Scholar-like. 


you  are  wise,  and  full  of  gibes  and  vlouting-slogs; 
and  'tis  not  convenient  you  should  be  cozened. 
Fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

Enter  Doctor  Ciius. 

Cains.  Vere  is  mine  Host  <t.e  Jarterre? 

Ho.-t.  Here,  master  doctor,  in  perplexity,  and 
doubtl'ul  ddemma. 

Cains.  1  carmot  tell  vat  is  dat:  but  it  is  tell-a  me, 
dat  you  make  grand  preparation  for  a  duke  <ie  Jar- 
many ;  by  my  trot,  dere  is  no  duke,  dat  the  court 
is  know  to  come;  I  tell  you  for  good  vill:    Adieu. 

[E.nt. 

Host.  Hue  and  cry,  villain,  go:  —  assist  me, 
knight;  1  am  nnilone:  —  fly,  run,  hue  and  cry,  vil- 
lain !  1  am  undone ! 

[Exeunt  Vlr»tand  BATinot.pH. 

Fal.  T  would,  all  the  world  might  be  cozened ; 
for  I  have  been  cozened  a»id  beaten  too.  If  it 
should  come  to  the  ear  of  the  court,  how  I  have 
been  transformed,  and  how  my  transformation  hath 
been  washed  and  cud;:elled,  they  would  melt  me 
out  of  my  fat,  drop  by  drop,  and  liquor  fishermen's 
boots  with  me;  1  warrant,  they  would  whip  me 
with  their  fine  wits,  till  I  were  as  crest-fallen  as  a 
dried  pear.  I  never  prospered  since  I  forswore 
myself  at  Primern.^  Weil,  if  my  wind  were  but 
long  enough  to  say  my  prayers,  1  would  repent. — 

Enter  I^lrs.  Qcicklt- 
Now !  whence  come  you  ? 

Quid:.   From  the  two  parties,  forsooth. 

Fal.  The  tlevil  take  one  party,  and  his  dam  the 
other,  and  so  they  shall  be  both  bestowed  !  I  have 
sutTered  more  for  their  sakes,  more,  than  the  villau- 
ous  inconstancy  of  man's  disposition  is  able  to 
bear. 

Quick.  And  have  not  they  suffered?  'V'es,  I 
warrant ;  speciously  one  of  them :  mistress  Ford, 
good  heart,  is  beaten  black  and  blue,  that  you  can- 
not see  a  white  spot  about  her. 

Fal.  What  tell'st  thou  me  of  black  and  blue:  I 
was  beaten  myself  into  all  the  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow, and  I  was  like  to  be  apprehended  for  the 
witch  of  Brentford;  but  that  my  admirable  dex- 
terity of  wit,  my  counterfeiting  the  action  of  an 
old  woman,  deliver'd  nie,  the  knave  constable  had 
set  me  i'  the  stocks,  i'  the  common  stocks,  for  a 
witch. 

Quick.  Sir.  let  me  speak  with  you  in  your  cham- 
ber: you  shall  hear  how  things  go;  and.  I  warrant, 
to  your  content.  Here  is  a  letter  will  say  some- 
what.  Good  heart-,  what  ado  here  is  to  bring  you 
together!  Sure  one  of  you  docs  not  servo  heaven 
well,  that  vou  arc  so  crossed. 

Fal.  Co'me  up  into  my  chamber.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI. —  Anotlier  Room  in  t!ie  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Vf.^tos  and  Host. 

Host.  Master  Fenton,  talk  not  to  me  ;  my  mind 
is  heavj',  I  will  give  over  all. 

Fent.  Yet  hear  me  speak:   Assist  me  in  my  pur- 
pose. 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I'll  give  thee 
A  hundred  pound  in  gold,  more  than  your  loss. 

Host.  I  will  hear  you,  master  Fenton  ;  and  I  will, 
at  the  least,  keep  yonr  counsel. 

Fent.  From  tune  to  time  I  have  acquainted  you 
With  the  dear  love  I  hear  to  fair  Anne  Page; 
'VVho.  mutually,  halh  answered  my  atiection 
(So  far  forth  as  herself  might  be  her  chooser) 
Even  to  my  wish  :  I  have  a  letter  from  her 
Of  such  coiitents  as  you  will  wonder  at; 
The  mirth  whereof  so  larded  with  my  matter, 
That  neither,  singly,  can  be  manifested. 
Without  the  show  of  both;  —  wherein  fat  Falstaflf 
Hath  a  great  scene:  the  image  of  the  jest, 

[Showing  I  tic  letter. 
I'll  show  you  here  at  large.    Hark,  good  mine  host : 
To-night  at  Heme's  oak,  just  'twist  twelve  and  one, 
Must  my  sweet  Nan  present  the  fairy  queen  : 
The  purpose  why,  is  here:  in  which  disguise, 
While  otlier  jests  are  something  rank  on  foot, 
Her  fother  hath  commanded  her  to  slip 
Away  with  Slender,  and  with  him  at  F-ton 
Immediately  to  marry:  she  hath  consented : 
Now,  sir, 

1  A  game  at  cards. 


60 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act  V. 


Her  mother  ever  stroni;  ai^ainst  that  match, 
And  firm  for  doctor  Cains,  hath  appointed 
That  he  shall  likewise  shuflle  her  away, 
While  other  sports  are  taskinf^  otV  their  minds, 
And  at  the  deanery,  where  a  priest  attends, 
Straight  marry  her;  to  this  her  mother's  plot 
She,  seemingly  obedient,  likewise  hath 
Made  pronnse  to  the  doctor: — -Now,  thus  it  rests; 
Her  father  means  she  shall  be  all  in  white; 
And  in  that  habit,  when  Slender  sees  his  time 
To  tai;e  Iier  by  the  hand,  and  bid  her  go, 
She  shall  go  with  him:  her  mother  hath  intended, 
'J'he  better  to  denote  her  to  the  doctor, 
(For  tiiey  must  all  be  masked  and  vizarded,) 
That,  quaint  in  jircen,  she  shall  be  loose  enrob'd, 


With  ribands  pendant,  flaring  'bout  her  head: 
And  when  the  doctor  spies  liis  vantage  ripe, 
To  pinch  her  by  the  hand  and  on  that  token, 
The  maid  hath  given  consent  to  go  with  him. 

Hunt.   Whicli  means  she  to  deceive?   father  or 
mother  J 

Fenf.   Both,  my  good  host,  to  go  along  with  me  ; 
And  here  it  rests.  —  that  you'll  procure  the  vicar 
To  stay  for«ie  at  cinirch.  'twixt  twelve  and  one, 
And,  in  the  lawful  name  of  marrying. 
To  give  our  hearts  united  ceremony. 

Ilonf.  Well,  husband  your  device";  I'll  to  the  vicar: 
Bring  you  the  maid,  you  shall  not  lack  a  priest. 

Fenf.  So  shall  I  evermore  be  bound  to  thee ; 
Besides,  111  liiake  a  present  recompense-    {Exeunt, 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.  — .4  Room  in  the  Garter  Inn. 
Enter  Falstaff  ff7irZ  Mrs,  Quickly. 

Fal.   Pr'ythce,  no  more  jirattling;  —  go. I'll 

hold:*  This  is  the  third  time;  1  hope  good  luck 
lies  in  odd  numbers.  Away,  go;  they  say,  there  is 
divinity  in  odd  nnmhcrc,  either  in  nativity,  chance, 
or  death.  —  Away. 

Quick,  ril  provide  you  a  chain;  and  I'll  do  what 
I  can  to  get  you  a  pair  of  horns. 

Fal.  Away,  I  say;  time  wears:  hold  up  your 
head,  and  mince.  [Exit  Mrs.  Quicklt. 

Enter  Foun. 
How  now,  master  Brook  1   master  Brook,  the  mat- 
ter will  be  kRown  to-night,  or  never.    Be  you  in  the 
Park  about  midnight,  at  Heme's  oak,  and'  you  sJiall 
see  wonders. 

Ford.  Went  you  not  to  her  yesterday,  sir,  as  you 
told  me  you  had  aj)pointed'! 

FaL  1  went  to  her,  master  Brook,  as  you  see, 
like  a  poor  old  man  :  but  I  came  from  her,  master 
Brook,  like  a  poor  old  woman.  That  same  knave. 
Ford,  her  husband,  hath  the  finest  mad  devil  of 
jealousy  in  hnn,  master  Brook,  that  ever  governed 
frenzy.  I  will  tell  you. —  He  beat  me  grievously, 
in  the  shape  of  a  woman  :  for  in  the  shape  of  man, 
master  Brook,  I  fear  not  Goliath  with  a  weaver's 
beam;  because  I  know  also,  life  is  a  shuttle.  I  am 
in  haste;  go  along  with  me;  Til  tell  you  all  master 
Brook.  Since  I  plucked  geese,  played  truant,  and 
whipped  top,  I  knew  not  what  it  was  to  be  beaten, 
till  lately.  Follow  mc :  I'll  tel!  you  strange  things 
of  this  knave  Ford:  nn  wliom  to-night  I  will  be 
revenged,  and  I  will  deliver  his  wife  into  your  hand. 
—  Follow:  Strange  thinj^s  in  hand,  master  Brook! 
follow.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II,  — Wmdsor  Park. 
Enter  Page,  Shallow,  and  Slf-xder. 

Page.  Come,  come ;  wcMI  couch  i'  the  castle- 
ditch,  till  we  see  the  li^ht  of  our  fairies. —  Remem- 
ber, son  Slender,  my  daughter. 

Sf.e?i.  Ay,  forsooth;  I  have  spoke  with  her,  and 
we  have  a  nay-word,3  how  to  know  one  another.  I 
come  to  her  in  white,  and  cry  ;/iU/// ,-  she  cries 
budget ;  and  by  that  we  know  one  another. 

Skal.  That's  good  too:  Rut  what  needs  either 
your  inu7}i  or  Uvr  budget  ?  the  white  will  decipher 
lier  well  enough. —  It  hath  struck  ten  o'clock. 

Page.  The  night  is  dark;  light  and  spirits  will 
become  it  well.  Heaven  prosper  our  sport!  No 
man  means  evil  but  the  devil,  and  we  shall  know 
hnn  by  his  horns.    Let's  away  ;  follow  me. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.—  The  Street  in  Windsor. 
Enter  Mrs.  Vagf.,  Mrs.  Fonn,  and  Dr.  Caius. 
Mrs.  Pas;e.  Master  doctor,  my  daughter  is  in 
green  :  when  you  see  your  time,  take  her  by  the 
hand,  away  with  her  to  the  deanery,  and  despatch 
it  (juickly:  Go  before  in*o  tlie  ]'ark;  we  two  must 
go  togei'.er. 

ft  Keep  to  the  time.  »  Watch-word. 


Caius.  I  know  vat  I  have  to  do;  Adieu. 

Mrs.  Pap:e.   Fare  you  well  sir.  [Exit  Caius. 

My  husband  will  not  rejoice  so  much  at  the  abuse 
of  FalstalT,  as  he  will  cliafe  at  the  doctor's  maiTying 
my  daughter:  but  'tis  no  matter;  better  a  little 
chiding  than  a  great  deal  of  heart-break. 

Mrs.  Ford,  Where  is  Nan  now,  and  her  troop  of 
fairies  f    and  the  Welsh  devil,  Hugh  ? 

Mrs.  Pap;e.  They  arc  all  couched  in  a  pit  hard  by 
Heme's  oak,  with  obscured  lights:  which  at  lite 
very  instant  of  Falstaft^'s  and  our  meeting,  they  will 
at  once  display  to  the  night. 

Mrs.  Ftird.   That  cannot  choose  but  amaze  him. 

Mr.9.  Page.  If  he  be  not  amazed,  he  will  I)o 
mocked ;  if  he  be  amazed,  he  wUl  every  way  be 
moc  kcd. 

Mrs.  Ford.   We'll  betray  him  finely. 

Mrs.   Page.  Against  such  lewdsters,  and  their 
lechery. 
Those  that  betray  them  do  no  treachery. 

Mrs.  Ford.  The  Iiour  draws  on  ;  to  the  oak,  to 
the  oak !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.—  Windsor  ParJx. 

Enter  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  and  Fairies. 

Eva.   Trib,   trib,   fairies;  come;  and   remember 

your  parts:  be  pold,  I  jiray   you;   l't)liow   me    into 

the  pit ;  and  when  I  give  'the  watch  'ords.  do  as  I 

pid  you;  Come,  come;  trib,  trib.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Another  Pari  of  the  Park. 
Enter  Falstaf'f  di.s^uised,  tcith  a  huck^s  head  on. 
Fal.  The  Windsor  bell  hath  struck  twelve;  the 
minute  draws  on  :  Now,  the  hot-blooded  gods  assist 
me!  —  Remember,  Jove,  thou  wast  a  bull  for  thy 
Kuropa;  love  set  on  thy  horns. —  O  powerful  love  ! 
that,  in  some  respects,  makes  a  beast  a  man;  in 
some  other,  a  man  a  beast. —  You  were  also,  Jupi^ 
ter,  a  swan,  for  the  love  of  Leda;  O,  omnipotent 
love  !  how  near  the  god  drew  to  the  complexion  of 
a  goose  !  —  A  fault  done  first  in  the  form  of  a  beast ; 
—  ()  Jove,  a  beastly  fault!  and  then  another  fault 
in  the  semblance  of  a  fowl ;  think  ou*t  Jove,  a  foul 
fault. —  When  gods  have  hot  backs,  what  shall  poor 
men  do]  For  me,  I  am  here  a  Windsor  stag;  and 
the  fattest,  I  tliiuk  i'  the  forest :  send  me  a  cool  rut- 
time,  Jove,  or  who  can  blame  me  to  piss  my  tallow ! 
Wlio  comes  here  .'    my  doe  1 

Enter  Mrs.  Fonn  and  Mjs.  Pagk. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  Johnl  art  thou  there,  my  deer! 
my  male  deer ! 

Fal.  My  doe  with  the  black  scut  ]  —  Let  tlie  sky 
rain  potatoes;  let  it  timnder  to  the  tune  of  Grctii 
Sleeves;  Iiail  kissing  comfits,  and  snow  eringoes; 
let  there  come  a  tempest  of  provocation,  I  will  shel- 
ter me  here.  [Einhraelng  tier. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Mistress  Pago  is  come  witii  me, 
sweet-heart. 

Fal.  Divide  me  like  a  bribe-buck,  each  a  haunch: 
I  will  keep  my  sides  to  myself,  my  shoulders  f(ir 
the  fellow  of  this  walk,  and  my  horns  I  bequeath 
your  husbands.    Am  I  a  woodman  ]  ha!  Speak  I 


SCEKE  IV. 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


61 


like  Heme  the  hunterl  —  Why,  now  is  Cupid  a 
chrld  of  conscience ;  he  makes  restitution.  As  I  am 
a  true  spirit,  welcome.  [Noise  wilhin. 

Mrs.  Page,   Alas  !  what  noise? 

Mrs.  Ford.   Heaven  Ibrj^ive  our  sins! 

Fal.  What  should  this  be? 

m7s.  Po^e.  }  A^'^J''  ^"""J-  ^^'^'J  '"""  "■^- 

Fal.   I  think  the  devil  will  not  have  me  danirx'fi, 

lest  the  oil  tliat  is  in  me  should  set  hell  on  tire ;   he 

would  never  else  cross  me  tiius. 

Enkr  Sir  Hugh  Evaxs  like  a  miyr ,-  Mrs.  Quick- 
ly (md  Pistol;  Axxe  Pagf.  f/,s  the  Fain/  Queen, 
atlt7ideff  by  her  brother  and  nfherSy  drdscd  like 
fairies,  wilh  waxen  tapers  on  their  heads. 

Quirk.  Fairies,  black,  grey,  ffreen  and  white, 
You  moon-shine  revellers,  and  shades  of  night, 
You  orphan  heirs  of  fixed  destiny, 

Attend  your  ofliee  and  your  quality. 

Crier  llobiioblin,  make  the  fairy  o-yes. 

J'isf.  Klves,  list  your  names ;  silence,  you  airy  toys. 
Cz-icAv;/.  to  Windsor  chimney  shalt  thou  leap: 
Where  tires  thuu  find'st  unrak'd,  and  hearths  uii- 

swept, 
There  pinch  the  maids  as  blue  as  bilberry: 
Our  rauiant  Queen  hates  sluts  and  sliittery. 

Fal.   They  are  fairies;  he,  that  speaks  to  them, 
shall  die  : 
rU  wink  and  couch  :  No  man  their  works  must  eye. 
[Lies  down  upon  his  face. 

Eva.  Where's  Pede?  —  Go  you,  and  where  you 
lind  a  maid, 
That,  ere  slie  sleep,  has  thrice  her  prayers  said, 
Raise  up  the  orj;ans  of  her  fantasy, 
Sleep  she  as  sound  as  careless  infanry: 
But  those  as  sleep,  and  think  not  on  their  sins, 
pinch  them,  arms,  legs,  backs,  shoulders,  sides,  and 
shins. 

Quick.  About,  about; 
Search  Windsor  Castle,  elves,  within  and  out; 
Strew  ^ood  luck,  ouphes,  on  every  sacred  room, 
That  it  may  stand  till  the  perpetual  doom. 
In  state  as  wholesome,  as  m  state  'tis  tit; 
Worthy  the  owner,  and  tiie  owner  it. 
The  several  chairs  of  order  look  you  scour 
With  juice  of  balm,  and  every  precious  tlowcr; 
Kach  lair  instalment,  coat,  and  several  crest, 
With  royal  blazon,  evermore  be  blest! 
And  ninhlly.  meadow-fairies,  look  you  sing. 
Like  to  the  (iarter's  compass,  in  a  ring: 
The  exjiressiire  that  it  bears,  green  let  it  be, 
More  rerliie-fresh  than  all  the  field  to  see; 
And,  lliii/i/  .SY)(7  qui  mal  y  pcnae,  write. 
In  emerald  tiil'is,  llowers  purple,  blue,  and  white; 
Like  sapphire,  pearl,  and  rich  embroidery, 
Buckled  below  fair  knighthood's  bendmg  knee: 
Fairies  use  tlowers  for  their  charactery. 
Away;  disperse:  But,  till  'tis  one  o'clock, 
Our  dance  of  custom,  round  about  the  oak 
Of  Heme  the  hunter,  let  us  not  forget. 

Eva.   Pray  you,  lock  hand  in  hand;  yourselves 
in  order  set: 
And  twenty  glow-worms  shall  our  lanterns  be, 
To  guide  our  measure  round  about  the  tree. 
But,"  stay ;  1  smell  a  man  of  middle  earth. 

Fa!.  Heavens  defend  me  from  that  Welsh  fairy ! 
lest  he  tr;m-^f.")itn  me  to  a  piece  of  cheese  ! 

P(i/.  Vile  worm,  thou  wast  o'erlooked  even  in 
thy  birth.  « 

Quick.  With  trial-fire  touch  me  his  finger-end: 
If  he  be  chaste,  the  flame  will  back  descend. 
And  turn  him  to  no  pain  :  but  if  he  start, 
It  is  the  llcshof  a  corrupted  heart. 

Pisl.   A  trial,  come. 

Eva.  Come,  will  this  wood  take  fireT 

[They  burn  him  with  their  tapers. 

Fal.  Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 

Quirk.  Corrupt,  corrupt,  and  tainted  in  desire! 
About  him,  fairies;  sing  a  scornful  rhyme: 
And,  as  you  trip,  still  pinch  him  to  your  time. 

Eva.   U  is  riglit ;  indeed  he  is  full  of  lecheries  and 
iniquity. 

SONG. 

Fye  on  sinful  fantasy  f 
Fye  on  lust  and  luxury 
Lust  is  but  a  bloody  fir-e. 
Kindled  with  unchaste  desirCf 


Fed  in  heart ;  whose  jlames  aspire. 

As  tht/ughts  do  bUnv  Uunijdgker  and  higher. 

Pinch  hi/u,  fairies,  niutuaUy  ; 

Pinch  him  for  hi^  vtlUiny  ;  • 

Pinch  him,  and  burn  him,  and  turn  him  about, 
Till  candk's,  and  starlight,  and  moonshine  be  out* 

[During  this  song,  the  fairies  jnnch  FalstaiT.  Doc- 
tor Caius  comes  one  way,  and  steals  away  n  fairy 
in  green  ;  Slender  another  way,  and  takes  (rff' 
a.  fairy  in  xchite ,-  and  Fenton  comes,  and  steals 
away  Mrs.  Anne  Page.  A  noise  of  hunting  Is 
made  ivittdn.  All  the  fairies  run  away.  Fal- 
sid.^ pulls  (fff'hls  buck^s  head,  and  Tises.\ 

Enter  Pace,  Fnnn,  Mrs.  Page,  and  Mrs.  Fohd. 
They  lay  hold  on  him. 

Page.  Nay, do  not  fly;  I  think  we  have  watch'd 
you  now ; 
Will  none  but  Kerne  the  hunter  serve  your  turn  ? 

Mrs.  Page.    I  pray  you,  come;  hold  up  the  jest 
no  higher:  — ■ 
Now,  good  sir  John,  how  like  you  Windsor  wives  ? 
See  you  these,  husband  ?  do  not  these  fair  yokes* 
Become  the  forest  better  tlian  the  town? 

Ford.  Now,  sir,  who's  a  cuckold  now?  —  Mas- 
ter Brook,  Falstafls  aknave,  acockoldly  knave;  here 
are  his  horns,  master  Brook:  And,  master  Brook, 
he  hath  enjoyed  nothing  of  Ford's  but  his  buck- 
basket,  his  cudgel,  and  twenty  pounds  of  money; 
which  must  be  paid  to  master  Brook;  his  horses 
are  arrested  for  it,  master  Brook. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Sir  John,  we  have  had  ill  luck:  we 
could  never  meet.  1  will  never  take  you  for  my 
love  again,  but  I  will  always  count  you  my  deer. 

Fal.  I  do  begin  to  perceive  that  I  am  made  aii 
ass. 

Ford.  Ay,  and  an  ox  too;  both  the  proofs  are 
extant. 

Fal.  And  those  are  not  fairies?  I  was  three  or 
four  times  in  the  thought,  they  were  not  fairies :  and 
yet  the  guiltiness  of  my  mind,  the  sudden  surprise 
of  my  powers,  drove  the  grossness  of  the  foppery 
into  a  received  belief,  in  despite  of  the  teeth  of  all 
rhyme  and  reason,  that  they  were  fairies-  See  now, 
how  wit  may  be  made  a  jack-a-Icnt,  when  'tis  upon 
ill  employment. 

Eva.  Sir  John  Falstaf)'.  serve  Got,  and  leave  your 
desires,  and  fairies  will  not  pinse  you. 

Ford.   Well  said,  fairy  Hugh. 

Eva.  And  leave  you  your  jealousies  too,  I  pray 
you. 

Ford.  I  will  never  mistrust  my  wife  again,  till 
thou  art  able  to  woo  her  in  good  Knglish. 

Fal.  Have  I  laid  my  brain  in  the  sun.  and  dried 
it,  that  it  wants  matter  to  prevent  so  ^ross  o'er- 
reaching  as  this?  Am  I  ridden  with  a  Welsh  goat 
too?  Shall  I  have  a  coxcomb  of  frize?*  'tis  tinie  I 
were  choked  wilh  a  piece  of  toasted  cheese. 

Eva.  Seese  is  not  good  to  give  putter  ;  your  pelly 
is  all  putter, 

Fal.  Seese  and  putter!  Have  I  lived  to  stand  at 
the  taunt  of  one  that  makes  fritters  of  P^nglish  ? 
This  is  enough  to  be  the  decay  of  late-walking 
through  the  realm. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  sir  John,  do  you  think,  though 
we  would  have  thrust  virtue  out  of  our  hearts  by 
the  head  and  shoulders,  and  have  given  onrsilves 
without  scruple  to  hell,  that  ever  the  devU  could 
have  made  you  our  delight? 

Ford,   what,  a  hodge-pudding?   a  bag  of  flax? 

Mrs,  Page.  A  pufled  man  ? 

Page.  Old,  cold,  withered,  and  of  intolerable 
entrails. 

Ford.   And  one  that  is  as  slanderous  as  Satan  T 

Page.   And  as  poor  as  Job  f 

Ford.   And  as  wicked  as  his  wife? 

Eva.  And  given  to  tbrnications,  and  to  taverns, 
and  sack,  and  wine,  and  melheglins,  and  to  drink- 
ings.  and  swearings,  and  starings,  pribbles  and 
prabbles? 

Fal.  Well,  1  am  your  theme:  you  have  the  start 
of  me :  I  am  dejected ;  I  am  not  able  to  answer  the 
Welsh  flannel ;  ignorance  itself  is  a  plummet  o'er 
me:  use  me  as  you  will. 

FoJ-d.  Marry,  sir.  we'll  bring  you  to  Windsor,  to 
one  master  Brook,  that  you  have  cozened  of  money 

*  Horns  which  Falstaff  had. 

•  A  fool's  cap  of  Welsh  materials. 


(52 


MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 


Act    V. 


to  wliom  you  should  have  bceu  a  pantler:  over  and 
above  Ihat  you  have  suffered,  I  thuilc  to  repay  that 
money  will  be  a  biting  affliction. 

Mrs.  Ford.  Nay,  husband,  let  that  go  to  make 
amends. 
Forgive  that  sum,  and  so  we'll  all  be  friends. 

Furd.  Well,  here's  my  hand ;  all's  forgiven  at  last- 

Page.  Yet  be  clieerful,  knight :  thou  shalt  eat  a 
posset  to-night  at  my  house ;  where  I  will  desire 
thee  to  laugh  at  my  wife  that  now  laughs  at  thee: 
Tell  her,  master  Slender  hath  married  her  daughter. 

Mrs.  Page.  Doctors  doubt  that :  —  If  Anne  Page 
be  my  daughter,  she  is,  by  this,  doctor  Caius's  wite. 

[Aside. 
Enter  Sle:jder. 

Slcn.  Whoo,  ho  !  ho!  father  Page  ! 

Page.  Son !  Iiow  now  l  how  now,  son  ?  have  you 
despatched  1 

Slen.  Despatched  —  I'll  make  the  best  in  Glou- 
cestershire know  on't;  would  1  were  hanged,  la, 
else. 

Page.  Of  what,  son  1 

Sleh.  I  came  yonder  at  Eton  to  marry  mistress 
Anne  Page,  and  she's  a  great  lubberly  boy:  If  it 
had  not  been  i'  tile  churcn,  I  would  have  swinged 
liim,  or  he  should  have  swinged  me.  If  I  did  not 
think  it  had  been  Anne  Page,  would  I  might  never 
stir,  and  'tis  a  post-master's  boy. 

Page.  Upon  my  life,  then,  you  took  the  wrong. 

Sleii.  What  need  you  tell  me  tliat'?  I  think  so, 
when  I  took  a  boy  for  a  girl :  If  I  had  been  married 
to  him,  for  all  he  was  in  woman's  apparel,  I  would 
not  have  had  him. 

Page.  Why,  this  is  your  own  folly.  Did  not  I 
tell  you,  how  you  should  know  my  daughter  by  her 
garments  ? 

Slen.  I  went  to  her  in  white,  and  cried  mum,  and 
she  cry'd  budget,  as  Anne  and  I  had  appointed  ; 
and  yet  it  was  not  Anne,  but  a  post-master's  boy. 

Eva.  Jeshu !  Master  Slender,  cannot  you  see 
btit  marry  boys  7 

Page.  0,  I  am  vexed  at  heart :  What  shall  X  do '! 

Mrs.  Page.  Good  George,  be  not  angry :  I  knew 
of  your  purpose  :  turned  my  daughter  into  green ; 
and,  indeed,  siie  is  now  with  the  doctor  at  the  dean- 
ery, and  there  married. 

Enter  Caius. 
Caius.   Vere  is  mistress  Page !    By  gar,  I  am 
cozened ;  I  ha'  married  iin  garcon,  a  boy ;  unpaisan,  I 


by  gar,  a  boy ;  it  is  not  Anne  Page :  by  gar,  lam 
cozened. 

Mrs.  Page.  Why,  did  you  take  her  in  green? 

Vaiiis.  Aye,  by  gar,  and  'tis  a  boy :  by  gar,  I'll 
rai.so  all  Wnidsor  [Exit  Caius. 

Ford.  This  is  strange:  Who  hath  got  the  right 
Anne  1 

Page.  My  heart  misgives  me :  Here  comes  mas- 
ter Kenton. 

Eater  Fenton  and  Anne  Page. 

How  now,  master  Fenton  t 

Anne.  Pardon,  good  father!   -good  my  mother, 
pardon ! 

Page.  Now,  mistress  !  how  chance  you  went  not 
with  master  Slender  ] 

Mrs.  Page,  Why  went  you  not  with  master  doc- 
tor, maid  ] 

Fent.   'V'ou  do  amaze  her:    Hear  the  truth  of  it. 
You  would  have  married  her  most  shamefully, 
Where  there  was  no  proportion  held  in  love. 
The  truth  is,  she  and  1,  long  since  contracted. 
Are  now  so  sure,  that  nothing  can  dissolve  us. 
The  oHence  is  holy,  that  she  hath  committed : 
.\nd  this  deceit  lo.ses  the  name  of  craft, 
(If  disobedience,  or  unduteous  title; 
Since  therein  she  doth  evitate  and  shun 
A  thousand  irreligious  cursed  hours. 
Which  forced  marriage  would  have  brought  upon 
her. 

Ford.  Stand  not  amaz'd:  here  is  no  remedy :  — 
In  love,  the  heavens  themselves  do  guide  the  state; 
Money  buys  lands,  and  wives  are  sold  by  fate. 

Fat.  I  am  glad,  though  you  have  ta'en  a  special 
stand  to  strike  at  me,  that  your  arrow  hath  glanced. 

Page.   Well,  what  remedy  ?  Fenton,  heaven  give 
thee  joy  ! 
What  cannot  be  eschew'd  must  be  embrac'd. 

Fat.  When  night-dogs  run,  all  sorts  of  deer  are 
chas'd. 

Era.  I  will  dance  and  eat  plums  at  your  wedding. 

Mrs.  Page,   Well,  I  will  muse  no  further:  — 
Master  Fenton, 
Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days ! 
Good  husband,  let  us  every  one  go  lionie. 
And  laugh  this  sport  o'er  by  a  country  fire; 
Sir  John  and  ail. 

Ford.  Let  it  be  so :  —  Sir  John, 

To  master  Brook  you  yet  shall  hold  your  word; 
For  he,  to-night,  shall  lie  with  Mrs.  Ford.  [Exeunt. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT: 

OR, 

WHAT  YOU   WILL. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


Orsino,  Duke  of  Illyria. 

Skbastian,  a  young  Gentlenmn,  BroMer /o  Viola. 

Antonio,  a  Sea  Captain,  Friend  tu  Sebastian. 

A  Sea-Captain,  Friend  tu  Viola. 

Valentine,  1 

Cuiiio,  / 

SiiiToBi  Belch,  f7/ic/f  "/Olivia. 

Siti  Andrew  Ague-Cheek. 

Malvoho,  steward  to  Olivia. 


■  Gentlemen  attending  on  lite  Duke. 


Fabian, 
Clown, 


Servants  to  Olivia. 


Olivia,  a  rich  Countess. 
Viola,  in  love  witli  the  Duke. 
Mauia,  Olivia's  woman. 

Lords,  Priests,  Sailors,  Officers,  Musicians,  ami 
oilier  Attendants. 


SCENE,  a  city  in  Illyria;  and  the  Sea-Coast  near  it. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I. — An  Apartmaii  in  (he  Duke's  palace^ 
Enter  Duke,  Curio,  Lords;  Musicians  attending. 

Duke.  Ifmusicbethe  food  of  love,  play  on, 
Give  me  excess  of  it;  that,  surfeiting. 

The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die. 

That  strain  again;  —  it  had  a  dying  fill: 
O.  it  came  o'er  my  ear  hke  the  sweet  south, 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
StealiniJ,  and  giving  odor. —  Knough  ;  no  more; 
'Tis  not  so  sweet  now,  as  it  was  before. 
O  spirit  of  love,  how  quick  and  fresh  art  thou ! 
That  notwithstanding  thy  capacity 
Receiveth  as  the  sea,  nought  enters  there, 
Of  what  validity  and  pitch  soever, 
lUit  falls  into  abatement  and  low  price, 
Even  in  a  minute!  so  full  of  shapes  is  fancy 
That  it  alone  is  high-fanta.stical. 

Cnr.   Will  you  go  hunt,  my  lord? 

Duke.  What.  Curio'.' 

Cur-  The  hart. 

Vuke,  Why,  so  I  do,  the  noblest  that  I  have: 
O,  when  mine  eyes  did  see  Olivia  first, 
Methouglit,  she  purg'd  the  air  of  pestilence ; 
That  instant  was  I  turned  into  a  hart; 
And  my  desires,  like  fell  and  cruel  hounds. 
E'er  since   pursue  me. —  I  low   now!    what  news 
from  her  1 

Enter  Valentine, 

Val.  So  please  my  lord,  I  might  not  be  admitted, 
But  from  her  handmaid  do  return  this  answer: 
The  element  iUelf,  till  seven  years'  heat, 
Shall  not  behold  her  fice  at  ample  view; 
But,  like  a  cloistress,  she  will  veiled  walk. 
And  water  once  a  day  her  chamber  round 
With  eye  otTending  brine:  all  this,  to  season 
A  brother's  dead  love,  which  she  would  keep  fresh 
And  lasting,  in  her  sad  rememtirance. 

Duke.  0,  she,  that  hath  a  heart  of  that  fine  frame, 


To  pay  this  debt  of  love  but  to  a  brother. 
How  will  she  love,  when  the  rich  golden  shaft, 
Hath  kill'd  the  tlock  of  all  affections  else 
That  live  in  her!  when  liver,  brain,  and  heart. 
These  sovereign  thrones,  are  all  supplied,  and  fill  d 
(Her  sweet  perfections)  with  one  self  king  !  — 
Away  before  me  to  sweet  beds  of  flowers ; 
Love-thoughts  lie  rich,  when  canopied  with  bower.'?. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  n.—  The  Sea  Coast. 

Enter  Viola,  Captain,  and  Sailors. 

Vio.   What  country,  friends,  is  this! 

Cap.  Hlyria,  lady. 

Vk>.  And  what  should  I  do  in  Hlyria  1 
My  brother  he  is  in  Klysium. 

Perchance,  he  is  not  drown'd:  —  What  think  you, 
sailors  1 

Cap.  U  is  perchance,  that  you  yourself  were 
saved. 

Vio.  O   my    poor  brother!   and    so,   perchance, 
may  he  be. 

Cap.   True,  madam:   and   to  comfort  you  with 
chance. 
Assure  yourself,  after  our  ship  did  split. 
When  you.  and  that  poor  number  saved  with  you, 
Hung  on  our  driving  boat.  1  saw  your  brother, 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself 
(Courage  and  hope  both  teaching  hmi  the  practice) 
To  a  strong  mast  that  lived  upon  the  sea; 
Where,  like  Arion  on  thedolphni's  back, 
T  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves, 
So  long  as  I  could  see. 

Vio.  For  saying  so,  there's  gold ; 

Mine  own  escape  unfoldeth  to  my  hope. 
Whereto  thy  speech  serves  for  authority, 
The  like  of  him.    Know'st  thou  this  country  T 

Cap.   Ay,  madam,  well ;  for  I  was  bred  and  born, 
Not  three  hours'  travel  from  this  very  place. 

Vio.   Who  governs  here  ! 

63 


64 


TWELFTH  NIGHT : 


Cap.  A  noble  duke,  in  nature, 

As  in  his  name. 

Vk).  What  is  his  name  ? 

Cop.  (Irsino. 

V'm.  Orsino!  I  have  hcaril  my  fatlier  name  him! 
He  was  a  bachelor  then. 

Cap.  And  so  is  now. 

Or  was  so  very  late :  for  but  a  month 
Ago  I  went  from  hence;  and  then  'twas  fresh 
In  murmur,  (as,  you  know,  what  great  ones  do, 
The  less  will  prattle  of,)  that  he  did  seek 
The  love  of  fair  Olivia. 

Vio.  What's  she'! 

Cap.   A  virtuous  maid,  the  daughter  of  a  count 
That  died  some  twelvemontli  since ;   then  leaving 

her 
In  the  protection  of  his  son,  her  brother. 
Who  shortly  also  died:  for  whose  dear  love, 
They  say,  she  hath  abjur'd  the  company 
And  .sigiit  of  men. 

Vio.  O,  that  I  served  that  lady : 

And  might  not  be  delivered  to  the  world. 
Till  I  had  made  mine  own  occasion  mellow. 
What  my  estate  is. 

Cap.  .  That  were  hard  to  compass ; 

Because  she  will  admit  no  kind  of  suit. 
No,  not  the  duke's. 

Vw.   There  is  a  fair  behavior  in  thee,  captain  ; 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
I  will  believe,  thou  hast  a  mind  that  suits 
With  this  thy  fiir  and  outward  character. 
I  pray  thee,  and  I'll  pay  thee  bounteously, 
Conceal  me  what  I  am ;   and  be  my  aid 
For  such  disguise  as.  haply,  shall  become 
The  form  of  my  intent.    I'll  serve  this  duke ; 
Thou  shalt  present  nic  as  a  eunuch  to  him : 
It  may  be  worth  thy  pains;  for  I  can  sing. 
And  speak  to  him  in  many  sorts  of  music, 
That  will  allow  me  very  worth  his  service. 
What  else  may  hap,  to  time  I  will  commit ; 
Only  shape  thou  thy  silence  to  my  wit. 

Cap.  Be  you  his  eunuch,  and  I  your  mute  will  be : 
When  my  tongue  blabs,  let  mine  eyes  not  see! 

Via.  I  thank  thee,  lead  me  on.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.—  A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Sir  Toby  Belch,  and  Marta. 

Sir  To.  What  a  plague  means  my  neice,  to  take 
the  death  of  her  brother  thus  ?  I  am  sure  care's  an 
enemy  to  life. 

Mar.  By  troth,  sir  Toby,  you  must  come  in  ear- 
lier o'  nights;  your  cousin,  my  lady,  takes  great 
exceptions  to  your  ill  hours. 

Sir  To.   Why,  let  her  except  before  excepted. 

Mar.  Ay,  but  you  must  confine  yourself  withm 
the  modest  limits  of  order. 

Sir  To.  Confine!  Ill  confine  myself  no  finer 
than  I  am  :  these  clothes  are  good  enough  to  drink 
in,  and  so  be  these  boots  too ;  an  they  be  not,  let 
them  hang  themselves  in  their  own  straps. 

Mar.  That  quailing  and  drinking  will  undo  you . 
I  heard  my  lady  talk  of  it  yesterday ;  and  of  a 
foolish  knight,  that  you  brought  in  one  night  here, 
to  be  her  wooer. 

Sir  To-   Whol    Sir  Andrew  Ague-cheek 7 

Mar.  Ay,  he. 

Sir   To.   He's  as  tall  a  man  as  any's  in  Illyria. 

Mar.  What's  that  to  the  purpose  * 

Sir  To.  Why,  he  has  three  thousand  ducats  a 
year. 

il/or.  Ay,  but  he'll  have  but  a  year  in  all  these 
ducats;  he's  a  very  fool,  and  a  prodigal. 

Sir  To.  Fye,  that  you'll  .say  so!  he  plays  o' the 
viol-de-gambo,  and  speaks  three  or  four  languages 
word  for  word  without  book,  and  liath  all  the  good 
gifts  of  nature. 

Mar.  He  hath,  indeed, —  almost  natural:  for, 
besides  that  he's  a  fool,  he's  a  great  quarreler;  and 
but  that  he  hath  the  gift  of  a  coward  to  allay  the 
gust  he  hath  in  quarrelling,  'tis  thought  among  the 
prudent,  he  would  quickly  have  the  gift  of  a  grave. 

Sir  To.  By  this  hand,  they  are  scoundrels,  and 
substractors,  that  say  so  of  him.    Who  are  they '.' 

Mar.  They  that  add  moreover,  lic'sdrunk  nightly 
in  your  company 

Sir  To.  With  drinking  healths  to  my  niece;  I'll 
drink  to  her,  as  long  as  there's  a  passage  in  my 
throat,  and  drink  in  Illyria:   He's  a  coward,  and  u 


C'^ystril,'  that  will  not  drink  to  my  neice,  till  his 
brains  turn  o'  the  toe  like  a  parish-top.  What, 
wench  1  Castiliano  vulgo;  for  here  comes  sir  An- 
drew .\gue-face. 

Enter  Sir  Awdrk'w  Aguf.-cheek. 

Sir  And.  Sir  Toby  Belch!  how  now,  sir  Toby 
Belch  1 

Sir  To.  Sweet  sir  Andrew! 

Sir  And.  Bless  you,  fair  shrew. 

Mar.    And  you  too,  sir- 

Sir  To.    Accost,  sir  Andrew,  accost. 

Sir  And.   What's  that! 

Sir  To.  My  neice's  chamber-maid. 

Sir  And.  Good  mistress  Accost,  I  desire  better 
acquaintance. 

Mar.   My  name  is  Mary.  sir. 

Sir  And.   Good  mistress  M,ary  Accost, 

Sir  To.  You  mistake,  knight:  accost  is,  front 
her,  board  her,  woo  her,  assail  her. 

Sir  And.  By  my  troth,  I  would  not  undertake 
her  in  this  company.  Is  that  the  meaning  of  ac- 
cost 1 

Mar.  Fare  you  well,  gentlemen. 

Sir  To.  An  thou  let  part  so,  sir  Andrew,  would 
thou  miglitst  never  draw  sword  a^gain. 

Sir  And.  And  you  part  so,  mistress,  I  would  I 
might  never  draw  sword  again.  Fair  lady,  do^ou 
think  you  have  fools  in  hand? 

Mar.   Sir,  I  have  not  you  by  the  hand. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  but  you  shall  have;  and  here's 
my  hand. 

Mar.  Now,  sir.  thought  is  free:  I  pray  you  bring 
your  hand  to  the  buttery-bar,  and  let  it  drink. 

Sir  And.  Wherefore,  sweet  heart?  what's  your 
metaphor'! 

Mar.   It's  dry.  sir. 

Sir  And.  ^Vhy,  I  think  so ;  T  am  not  such  an  ass, 
but  I  can  keep  my  hand  dry.  But  what's  your 
jest! 

Mar.   A  dry  jest,  sir. 

.Sir  And.  Are  you  full  of  them? 

Mar.  Ay,  sir;  I  have  them  at  my  fingers'  ends: 
marry,  now  I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren. 

[Exit  Maria. 

Sir  To.  0  knight,  thou  lack'st  a  cup  of  canary : 
When  did  I  see  tliee  so  put  down  ? 

Sir  And.  Never  in  your  life,  I  think;  unless  you 
see  canary  put  me  down :  Methinks,  sometimes  I 
liave  no  more  wit  than  a  Christian,  or  an  ordinary 
man  has:  but  I  am  a  greater  cater  of  beef,  and,  I 
believe,  that  docs  harm  to  my  wit. 

Sir  To.    No  question. 

Sir  And.  \n  1  thought  that.  I'd  forswear  it. 
rii  ride  home  to  morrow,  sir  Toby. 

Sir  To.  Ponrquioi,  my  dear  knight? 

Sir  And.  What  is  paarqaoij?  do  or  not  do?  I 
would  1  had  bestowed  that  time  in  the  tongues,  tliat 
I  have  in  fencing,  dancing,  and  bear-baiting  ;  0, 
had  I  but  followed  the  arts! 

.Sir  To.  Then  hadst  thou  an  excellent  head  of 

.Sir  And.  Why,  would  that  have  mended  my  hair? 

Sir  To.  Past'question  ;  for  thou  seest,  it  will  not 
curl  by  nature. 

Sir  And.  But  it  becomes  me  well  enough,  does't 
not? 

.Sir  To.  F.xcellent;  it  hangs  like  fiax  on  a  dis- 
taff; and  I  hope  to  see  a  housewife  take  thee  be- 
tween her  legs,  and  spin  it  off. 

Sir  And.  'Faith.  I'll  home  to-morrow,  sir  Toby: 
your  niece  will  not  he  seen;  or,  if  she  be,  it's  four 
to  one  she'll  none  of  me :  the  count,  himself,  hero 
hard  by,  woos  her. 

Sir  To.  She'll  none  of  the  count;  she'll  not 
match  above  her  degree,  neither  in  estate,  years,  nor 
wit;  I  have  heard  her  swear  it.  Tut,  tliere's  life 
in't,  man. 

•Sir  And.  I'll  stay  a  month  longer.  I  am  a  fel- 
low o'  the  strangest  mind  in  the  world;  I  delight 
in  masques  and  revels  sometimes  altogether. 

Sir  To.  Art  thou  good  at  these  kick-shaws, 
knight? 

Sir  And.  As  any  man  in  Illyria,  whatsoever  he 
be.  under  the  degree  of  my  betters;  and  yet  I  will 
not  compare  with  an  old  man. 

Sir  To.  What  is  thy  excellence  in  a  galliard, 
knight? 

»  Keystril,  a  bastard  hawk. 


Scene  V. 


OR.  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Co 


Sir  And.   'Faitli,  I  can  cut  a  caper. 

Sir  To.  And  I  can  cut  the  mutton  to't. 

Sir  And,  And,!  think,  I  have  tlio  back-trick, 
simply  as  strong  as  any  man  in  Illyria. 

Sir  To.  Wherefore  are  these  things  hid!  where- 
fore liave  these  gifts  a  curtain  before  them?  are 
they  hke  to  take  dust,  Jike  mistress  Mall's  picture? 
Wliy  dost  thou  not  go  to  church  in  a  galliard,  and 
come  home  m  a  coranto'!  My  very  walk  should  be 
a  jig ;  I  would  not  so  much  as  make  water,  but  in 
a  sink-a-pace.*  What  dost  thou  mean  ?  is  it  a 
world  to  hide  virtues  in?  I  did  think,  by  the  ex- 
cellent constitution  of  thy  leg,  it  was  formed  under 
the  star  of  a  galliard. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  'tis  strong,  and  it  does  indifferent 
well  in  a  tlame-colored  stock.a  Shall  we  set  about 
B5me  revels  ? 

Sir  To-  What  shall  we  do  else?  were  we  not 
born  under  Taurus? 

Sir  And.  Taurus !   that's  sides  and  heart 

Sir  To.  No.sir:  it  is  legs  and  thighs.  Let  me  see 
thee  caper:  ha!  higher:  ha,  ha!  —  excellent! 

[Exeutit. 

SCENE  IV.—  A  Room  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Valentijte  ami  Viola  in  man^s  attire. 

Vat.  If  the  duke  continue  these  favors  towards 
you,  Cesario,  you  arc  like  to  be  much  advanced; 
he  hath  known  you  but  three  days,  and  already  you 
are  no  stranger. 

Viti.  Vou  either  fear  his  humor,  or  my  negligence, 
that  you  call  in  question  the  continuance  of  his 
love :   Is  he  inconstant,  sir,  in  his  favors  ? 

Val.  No,  believe  nic. 

Enter  Duke,  Cuiiio,  and  Attendants. 

Fio.   I  thank  you.    Here  comes  the  count. 

Duke.  Who  saw  Cesario,  ho? 

Vio.  On  your  attendance,  my  lord ;  here. 

Duke.   Stand  you  awhile  aloof. —  Cesario, 
Tho\i  know'st  no  less  but  all ;    I  have  unclasp'd 
To  thee  the  book  even  of  my  secret  soul: 
Therefore,  good  youth,  address  thy  gait  unto  her; 
lie  not  deny'd  access,  stand  at  her  doors. 
And  tell  them,  there  thy  rtxed  foot  shall  grow, 
Till  thou  have  audience. 

Vin.  Sure,  my  noble  lord, 

If  she  be  so  abandon'd  to  her  sorrow 
As  it  is  spoke,  she  never  will  admit  me. 

Duke.   Be  clamorous,  and  leap  all  civil  bounds, 
Rather  than  make  unprotited  return. 

Vio.  Say,  I  do  speak  with  her,  my  lord :  What 
then? 

Duke.  O.  then  unfold  the  passion  of  my  love, 
Kurnfisn  Jier  with  discourse  of  my  dear  taith  : 
It  shall  become  thee  well  to  act  ray  woes; 
She  will  attend  it  better  in  thy  youth, 
Than  in  a  nuncio  of  grave  aspect. 

Vio.  I  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Dnke.  Dear  lad,  believe  it; 

For  they  shall  yet  belie  thy  happy  years 
That  say,  thou  art  a  man  :    Diana's  lip 
Is  not  more  smooth  and  rubious;  thy  small  pipe 
Is  as  the  maiden's  organ,  shrill,  and  sound. 
And  all  its  semblative  a  woman's  part. 
I  know,  thy  coustellation  is  right  apt 
For  this  alfair:  —  Some  four,  or  five,  attend  liim  ; 
All,  if  you  will;  for  1  myself  am  best, 
When  least  in  company  :  —  Prosper  well  in  this, 
And  thou  shalt  live  as  freely  as  thy  lord. 
To  call  his  fortunes  thine. 

Vin.  I'll  do  my  best 

To  woo  your  lady :  yet,  \  Aside.]  a  barful*  strife ! 
Who'cr  I  woo,  myself  would  be  his  wife.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  M^niA.  and  Clown. 

Mor.  Nay,  either  tell  me  where  thou  hast  been, 
or  I  will  not  opeu  my  lips  so  wide  as  a  bristle  may 
enter,  in  way  of  thy  e,vcuse:  my  lady  will  hang 
thee  for  thy  absence. 

Clo.  Let  her  hang  me :  he,  that  is  well-hanged 
in  this  world,  needs  to  fear  no  colors. 

Mor.  Make  that  good. 

Clo.  He  shall  see  none  to  fear. 
9  Cinqiif-pace,  the  name  of  a  danoe.       s  Stocking. 
«  Full  of  impediments. 


Mar.  A  good  lentcn'  answer:  I  can  tell  thee 
where  that  .saying  was  born,  of,  I  fear  no  colors. 

Clo.   Where,  good  mistress  Mary? 

Mar.  In  the  wars;  and  that  may  you  be  bold  to 
say  in  your  foolery. 

Clo.  Well,  God  give  them  wisdom,  that  have  it; 
and  those  that  are  fools,  let  them  use  their  talents. 

Mar.  Yet  you  will  be  hanged,  for  being  so  long 
absent :  or,  be  turned  away ;  is  not  that  as  good  as 
a  hanging  to  you  ? 

Clo.  Many  a  good  hanging  prevents  a  bad  mar- 
riage ;  and,  for  turning  away,  let  summer  bear  it  out. 

Mar.   \  ou  are  resolute  then  ! 

Clo.  Not  so  neither;  but  I  am  resolved  on  two 
points. 

Mar.  That,  if  one  break,  the  other  will  hold  ;  or, 
if  both  break,  your  gaskins  fall. 

Clo.  Apt.  in  good  faith  ;  very  apt!  Well,  go  thy 
way;  if  sir  Toby  would  leave  drinking,  thou  wert 
as  witty  a  piece  of  Eve's  lle.sh  as  any  in  Illyria. 

Mar,  Peace,  you  rogue,  no  more  o' that;  here 
comes  my  lady:  make  your  excuse  wisely,  you 
were  best.  [Exit. 

Enter  Olivia,  and  Malvolio. 

Clo.  Wit,  and't  be  thy  will,  put  me  into  good 
fooling!  Tho.se  wits,  that  think  they  have  thee,  do 
very  oft  prove  fools;  and  1,  that  am  sure  I  lack 
thee,  may  pass  for  a  wise  man :  For  what  says 
Quinapalus  !  Better  a  witty  fool,  than  a  foolish 
wit. (^od  bless  thee,  lady  ! 

Oli.  Take  the  fool  away. 

Clo.  Doyou  not  hear,  lijlluws?  Tate  away  the 
lady. 

on.  Go  to,  you're  a  dry  fool :  I'll  no  more  of  you : 
besides,  you  grow  dishonest. 

Clo.  Two  faults,  madonna,'  that  drink  and  good 
counsel  will  amend:  for  give  the  dry  fool  drink, 
then  is  the  fool  not  dry;  bid  the  dishonest  man 
mend  himself;  if  he  mend,  he  is  no  longer  dishone.--t; 
if  he  cannot,  let  the  botcher  mend  him:  any  thing, 
that's  mended,  is  but  patched:  virtue,  that  trans- 
gresses, is  but  patched  with  sin;  and  sin,  that 
amends,  is  but  patched  with  virtue:  if  that  this 
simple  syllogism  will  serve,  so ;  if  it  will  not,  what 
remedy  l  As  there  is  no  true  cuckold  but  caiainilv, 
so  beauty's  a  llowcr:  —  the  lady  bade  take  away 
the  fool ;  therefore,  1  say  again,  take  her  away. 

O'i,  Sir,  I  bade  them  take  away  you. 

Clo.  Misprision  in  the  highest  degree!  —  I.ndy, 
Ctictt lilts  71071  facit  monarhuni ;  that's  .as  much  as 
to  say,  I  wear  not  motley  in  my  brain.  Good  ma- 
donna, give  me  leave  to  prove  you  a  fool. 

Oli.  Can  you  do  it? 

Clo.   Dexterously,  good  madonna. 

Oli.  Make  your  proof. 

Clo.  I  must  catecliise  you  for  it,  madonna  ;  good 
my  mouse  of  virtue,  answer  me. 

'OIL  WeII,sir,for  want  of  other  idleness,  111  'bide 
your  proof. 

Clo.   Good  madonna,  why  mourn'st  thou? 

Oli.  (uind  fool,  for  my  brother's  death. 

Clo.   1  think  his  soul  is  in  hell,  madonna. 

Oli.   I  know  his  soul  is  in  heaven,  fool. 

Clo.  The  more  fool  you,  madonna,  to  mourn  for 
your  brother's  soul  being  in  heaven. —  Take  away 
the  fool,  gentlemen. 

Oli.  What  think  you  of  this  fool,  Malvolio?  doth 
he  not  mend? 

Mat.  Yes:  and  shall  do,  till  the  pangs  of  death 
shake  him.  Infirmity,  that  decays  the  wise,  dotii 
ever  make  the  better  fool. 

Clo.  God  send  you,  sir,  a  speedy  infirmity,  for 
the  better  increasing  your  folly  !  Sir  Toby  w'ill  be 
sworn,  that  1  am  no  fox;  but  he  will  not  pass  his 
word  for  two-pence  that  you  are  no  fool. 

O'i.    ilow  say  you  to  that.  iVlalvolio  ? 

Mill.  I  marvel  your  ladyship  takes  delight  in 
such  a  barren  rascal;  I  saw  him  put  down  the  other 
day  with  an  ordinary  fool,  that  lias  no  more  brain 
than  a  stone.  Look  you  now,  he's  out  of  his  guard 
already:  unless  you  laugh  and  minister  occasion 
to  him,  he's  gagged.  I  protest.  I  take  these  wise 
men.  that  crow  so  at  these  set  kind  of  fools,  no  bet- 
ter than  the  fools'  ziinies.' 

OH.  O,  you  are  sick  of  self-love,  Malvolio,  and 

»  Shnrt  and  spare.  «  Jlalian,  mistrofls,  dame. 

1  Fools*  baubles. 


66 


TWELFTH  ISJIGHT: 


Act  I. 


taste  with  a  distempered  appetite.  To  be  generous, 
guiltless,  and  of  free  disposition,  is  to  take  those 
thin;j,s  for  bird-bolts,"  that  you  deem  cannon-bul- 
lets: There  is  no  slander  in  an  allowed  fool,  though 
lie  do  nothing  but  rail ;  nor  no  railing  in  a  known 
discreet  mani  though  he  do  nothing  but  reprove. 

Clu.  Kow  Mercury  endue  thee  with  leasing,'  for 
tlioii  speakest  well  of  fools. 

Re-cnier  Mauia. 
Mar.  Madam,  there  is  at  the  gate  a  young  geii- 
tloinan,  much  desires  to  speak  with  you. 
Oil.  From  the  count  Orsino,  is  it?    , 
Mar.  I  know  not,  madam;  'tis  a  fair  young  man 
and  well  attended. 
O/l.  Who  of  my  people  hold  him  m  delay  i 
l\!ar.  Sir  Toby,  madam,  your  kinsman. 
on.   Fetch  hiin  olf,  1  pray  yon;  he  speaks  noth- 
ing but  madman:    Kye  on  liim  !  [Kxil  iMauia.]  Go 
you,  Malvolio;  if  it  be  a  suit  from  the  count,  I  am 
sick  or  not  at  home;  what  you  will,  to  dismiss  it. 
[Exit  Malvolio.]     ^ow   you  see,  sir,  how  your 
fooling  grows  old,  and  people  dislike  it. 

Clii.  Thou  hast  spoke  lotus,  madonna,  as  if  thy 
eldest  son  should  be  a  fool :  whose  skulljove  cram 
with  brains,  for  here  comes  one  of  thy  km,  has  a 
most  weak  pia  iiiatcr.^ 

Enter  Sir  Tout  Bklcii. 
OH.   Dy  mine  honor,  half  drunk. —  What  is  he 
at  the  gate,  cousin'! 
Sir  To.    A  gentleman. 
Oii.   A  gentleman!    What  gentleman  7 
Sir  To  'Tisa  gentleman  here  —  A  plague  o  these 
pickle-herrings'. —  How  now,  sot. 

do.  Good  sir  Toby, 

O.i.  Cousin,  cousin,  how  have  you  come  so  early 
by  this  lethargy  1  ,       ,  . 

.Sir  Tu.  Lechery  !  I  defy  lechery :  there's  one  at 
the  gate.  ,    .  •    ,    , 

Oli.  Ay,  marry ;  what  is  he  ! 
Sir  To.  Let  liim  be  the  devil,  an  he  will,  I  care 
not:   give  me  faitli,  say  1.    Well,  its  all  one.  [£.£'(• 
Oii.   What's  a  drunken  man  like,  tool ! 
Clo.  Like  a  drowu'd  man,  a  fool,  and  a  madman  : 
one  draught  above  heat  makes  him  a  loot ;  the  sec- 
ond mads  him;  and  a  third  drowns  liim. 

on.  Go  thou  and  seek  the  coroner,  and  let  nim 
sit  o'  my  coz;  for  he's  in  tlie  third  degree  of  drink, 
he's  drown'd :  go,  look  after  him.  .  ..     ,    , 

Clu.  He  is  but  mad  yet,  madonna;  and  the  tool 
shall  look  to  the  madman.  [Exit  Clown. 

Ru-enter  Malvolio. 
Mai.  Madam,  yond'  young  fellow  swears  he  will 
speak  with  you.  1  told  him  you  were  sick;  he 
takes  on  him  to  understand  so  inucli,  and  therefore 
comes  to  speak  with  you:  I  told  him  you  were 
asleep :  be  seems  tu  have  a  fore-knowledge  ot  that 
too,  and  tlierefore  comes  to  speak  with  you.  What 
is  to  be  said  to  him,  lady  i.  he's  fortified  against  any 
denial.  ,      .  , 

Oli.  Tell  him,  he  shall  not  speak  with  me. 
Mai.   He  has  been  told   so;   and   he   says,  hell 
stand  at  your  door  like  a  sheritl's  post,  and  be  the 
supporter  of  a  bencli,  but  he'll  speak  witli  jou. 
OH.   Vv'hat  kind  of  a  man  is  he  • 
Mul.   Why,  of  mankind. 
Oli.   What  manner  orman7 
Mai.  Of  very  ill  manner;  he'll  speak  with  you, 
will  you,  or  no.  •    ,    i 

Oi'i.  I  if  what  personage,  and  years,  is  he  ! 
/./(/'.  Not  yet  old  enough  for  a  man,  nor  young 
enou'^h  for  a  boy ;  as  a  squash  is  before  'tis  a  peas- 
cod  or  a  codhng  when  'tis  almost  an  apple;  tis 
with  him  een  standing  water,  between  lioy  and 
man.  He  is  very  well  favored,  and  he  speaks  very 
shrewishly ;  one  would  think,  his  mother's  milK 
were  scarce  out  of  him. 

0:i.  Let  him  approach:  Call  in  my  gentlewoman. 
Mai.  Gentlewoman,  my  lady  calls.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Mauia. 
Oli.  Give  me  iny  veil:  come,  throw  it  o'er  my 
face; 
We'll  once  more  hear  Orsino's  embassy. 
Enter  Viola. 
Via.  The  honourable  lady  of  the  house,  which  is 
sbel 
•Short  arrows.        •  Lying.      ■  The  cover  of  the  train. 


wi 


Oli.  Speak  to  me,  I  shall  answer  for  her.    Your 
ill ! 

Vio.  Most  radiant,  exquisite,  and   unmatcliable 
bcauly,— I  pray  you,  tell  me,  if  this  he  the  lady  of 
the  house,  for  1  never  saw  her:   1  would  be  loth  to 
cast  away  my  speech ;   for,  besides  tliat  it  is  excel- 
lently well  penn'd,  I  have  taken  great  pains  to  con 
it.    Good  beauties,  let  me  sustain  no  scorn:   I  am 
very  coinptible,^  even  to  the  least  sinister  usage. 
Oli.   Whence  came  you,  sir  ! 
Vio.   I  can  say  little  more  than  I  have  studied, 
and  that  question's  out  of  my  part.    Good   gentle 
one,  give  me  modest  assurance,  if  you  be  the  lady 
of  the  house,  that  1  may  proceed  in  my  speech. 
0/i.  Are  you  a  comedian  1 

Vin.  Ko,  my  prolbund  heart:  and  yet,  by  the 
very  fangs  of  malice,  I  swear,  I  am  not  that  I  play. 
.\re  you  the  lady  of  the  house  .' 

Oil.  If  I  do  not  usurp  myself,  I  am. 
Vii).  Most  certain,  if  you  are  she,  you  do  usurp 
yourself;  for  what  is  yours  to  bestow,  is  not  yours 
to  reserve.  But  this  is  from  my  commission:  I 
will  on  with  my  speech  in  your  praise,  and  then 
sliow  you  the  heart  of  my  message. 

OH.  Come  to  what  is  important  in't:  I  forgive 
you  the  praise.  ,    .  ^  .^. 

I'ii).  Alas,  1  took  great  pains  to  study  it,  and  tis 
poetical.  .      ^  .        ,     , 

Oli.  It  is  the  more  like  to  be  feigned;  I  pray 
you,  keep  it  in.  I  heard,  you  were  saucy  at  my 
gates;  and  allowed  your  approach,  rather  to  won- 
der at  you  than  to  hear  you.  If  you  be  not  mad, 
be  "One;  if  you  have  reason,  be  brief;  'tis  not  that 
tim"e  of  moon  with  me,  to  make  one  in  so  skipping 
a  dialogue.  .,     .   ,  , 

Mar.  Will  you  hoist  sail,  sir  1  here  lies  your  way. 
I'io.   No,  good  swabber ;  I  am  to  hull  liere  a  little 
longer.—  Some  moUification  for  your  giant,"  sweet 
lady.  .   J 

on.  Tell  me  your  mind. 
I'io.   I  am  a  messenger.  .... 

Oli.  Sure,  you  have  some  hideous  matter  to  de- 
liver, when  the  courtesy  of  it  is  so  fearful.  Speak 
your  ortice.  . 

Via.  It  alone  concerns  your  ear.  I  bring  no 
overture  of  war,  no  taxation  of  homage;  I  hold  the 
olive  in  my  hand  :  my  words  are  as  full  of  peace  as 
Tin  ttcr 

Oil.  Yet  you  began  rudely.  What  are  you  7 
what  would  you  7 

Vio.  The  rudeness,  that  hath  appear  d  m  me, 
have  I  learn'd  from  mv  entertainment.  W  hat  I  am, 
and  what  I  would,  are  as  secret  as  maidenhead:  to 
your  ears,  divinity  ;  to  any  other's,  profanation. 

Oli  Give  us  the  place  alone:  we  will  liear  tins 
divinity.  [Exit  Mi.uii.]  Kow,  sir,  what  19» your 
text  7 

I'io.  Most  sweet  lady, 

on.    A  comfortable  doctrine,  and  much  may  bo 
said  of  it.    Where  lies  your  text ! 
Vio.   In  Orsino's  bosom. 

Oli.  In  his  bosom  7  In  what  chapter  of  his  bosom  ! 
I'io.  To  answer  by  the  method,  in  tlie  first  of  his 

Oli.  0, 1  have  read  it ;  it  is  heresy.  Have  you  no 
more  to  say  !  . 

I-'io.   Good  madam,  let  me  see  your  face. 

Oli  Have  you  any  commission  from  j  our  lord  to 
negot'iate  with  my  face  7  you  arc  now  out  of  your 
text  •  but  we  will  draw  the  curtain,  and  show  you 
the  picture.  Look  you,  sir,  such  a  one  as  I  was 
this  present:'  Is't  not  well  done 7  [Unveiling. 

Vio.  F.xcellently  done,  ifGod  didnll. 

on.  'Tis  in  grain, sir;  'twill  endure  wmd  and 

I'io.  'Tis  beauty  truly  blent.whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  swe'et  and  cunning  hand  laid  on : 
Lady,  you  are  the  cruel'st  she  alive, 
If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave, 
And  leave  the  world  no  copy.  ,     ^  ,       .,,-11 

on.  0,  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  bard-liearted;  I  will 
.'ive  out  divers  schedules  of  my  beauty  :  It  shall  be 
inventoried;  and  every  particle,  and  utcnsd,  la- 
belled to  invwill:  as,  item,  two  lips  indillcrent 
red ;   item,  two  grey  eyes,  with  lids  to  them ;  item, 

a  Accountable.  ,.,.,*,*  *»._ 

sit  appears  from  several  parts  of  this  play  that  tho 
original  Rctrosn  of  Maria  was  very  short. 
»  Tresents. 


Act  II.  ScEXE  II. 


OR,  WHAT  .YOU  WILL. 


07 


one  nei-Iv,  one  chin,  and  so  forth.    Were  you  sent 
hither  to  'pr.iise  me  ] 

Vu}.  I  see  you  what  you  are;  you  are  too  proud; 
But,  if  you  were  tile  devil,  you  are  fair. 
My  lord  and  master  loves  you ;   (),  such  love 
Could  be  but  rccompensM,  thouijh  you  were  crown'd 
The  nonpareil  of  teauty  ! 

Oii.  How  does  he  love  me  1 

Vio.  With  adorations,  with  fertile  tears, 
With  groans  that  thunder  love,  with  sighs  of  tire. 

Oli.  Your  lord  does   know  my  mind,  1  cannot 
love  him : 
Yet  I  suppose  hirn  virtuous,  know  him  noble, 
nf  great  estate,  of  fresh  and  stainless  youth; 
In  voices  well  divulg'd,*  free,  learn'd,  and  valiant. 
And,  in  dimension,  and  the  shape  of  nature, 
A  gracious  person  ;    but  yet  I  caunot  love  him; 
He  mii^ht  have  took  his  answer  long  ago. 

Vtii.   If  I  did  love  you  in  my  masters  flame, 
With  such  sutfering,  such  a  deadly  life, 
In  your  denial  I  would  lind  no  sense, 
I  would  not  understand  it. 

OIL  Why,  what  would  you! 

Vio.   Make  me  a  wiUow  cabin  at  ynnr  gate. 
And  call  upon  my  soul  within  the  house 
Write  loyal  caiitonss  of  contemned  love. 
And  sing  them  loud  even  in  the  dead  of  niglit; 
Holla  your  name  to  the  reverberate  hills. 
And  make  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air 
Cry  out,  Olivia  !  O,  you  should  not  rest 
Between  the  elements  of  air  and  earth. 
But  you  should  pity  me. 

Oli.  You  miglit  do  much:  What  is  your  paren- 
tage ! 

Vi/}.    Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well: 
I   am  a  gentleman. 

OIL  Get  you  to  your  lord ; 


I  cannot  love  him :  let  him  send  no  more ; 
Unless,  perchance,  you  come  to  me  again. 
To  tell  me  how  he  takes  it.    Fare  you  well: 
I  thank  you  for  your  pains;  spend  this  for  me. 

Vio.   I  am  no  feed  post,  lady;  keep  your  purse; 
My  master,  not  my.seli',  lacks  recompense. 
Love  make  liis  heart  of  flint,  that  you  shall  love ; 
And  let  your  fervor,  like  my  master's,  be 
Piac'd  111  contempt !    Farewell.  lair  cruelty.    [Exit. 

OH.  What  is  your  parentage^ 
Above  mil  fortunes,  ijil  tui/  state  is  ivell  : 
I  am  a  gentleman. —  111  be  sworn  thou  art; 
Thy  tongue,  thy  face,  thy  limbs,  action.s,  and  spirit, 
Do  give  thee  hvc-fold  blazon:  — Not  too  fast:  — 

soft!   soft! 
Unless  the  master  were  the  man. —  How  now  I 
Even  so  quickly  may  one  catch  the  plague  2 
Methinks,  I  foci  this  youths  perfections, 
With  an  invisible  and  subtle  stealth, 
To  creep  in  at  mine  eyes.    Well,  let  it  be. — 
What,  ho,  Malvolio!  — 

Re-enter  M.itvoLio. 

Mai.  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. 

Oli.  Run  after  that  same  peevish  messenger, 
The  county's  man  :   he  loft  this  ring  behind  him, 
Would  I,  or  not;  tell  him,  I'll  none  of  it. 
Desire  him  not  to  flatter  with  his  lord. 
Nor  hold  him  up  with  hopes  ;  1  am  not  for  him. 
If  that  the  yoiitli  will  come  this  way  to  morrow, 
I'll  give  him  reasons  for't.    Hie  thee,  Malvolio. 

Mai.  Madam,  I  will.  [KxU. 

Oli.   I  do  I  know  not  what:   and  fear  to  find 
Mine  eye  too  creat  a  flatterer  for  my  mind. 
Fate,  show  thy  force:    Ourselves  we  do  not 

owe:"* 
What  is  decreed,  must  be ;  and  be  this  so !    [Exit 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— The  Sea-coast. 
Enter  A^Toyio  and  Sebastian'. 

Ant.  Will  you  stay  no  longer  1  nor  will  you  not, 
that  I  go  with  you  ? 

Seh.  By  your  patience,  no:  mv  stars  shine  darkly 
over  me ;  the  malignancy  of  my  fate  miglit,  per- 
haps, distemper  yours;  therefore  I  shall  crave  of 
you  your  leave,  that  I  may  bear  my  evils  alone:  It 
were  a  bid  recompense  for  your  love, to  lay  any  of 
them  on  you. 

Ant.  Let  me  yet  know  of  you  whither  you  are 
bound. 

Sell.  No, 'sooth,  sir;  my  determinate  voyage  is 
mere  extravagancy.  But  I  perceive  in  you  so  ex- 
cellent a  touch  of  modesty,  that  you  will  not  extort 
from  me  what  I  am  willing  to  keep  in;  tlieretbre  it 
charges  me  in  manners  the  rather  to  express  myself 
You  must  know  of  me  then,  Antonio,  my  name  is 
Sebastian,  which  I  called  Rodorigo:  My  latiier  was 
that  Sebastian  of  Messaline,  whom,  1  know,  you 
have  heard  of:  he  left  behind  him,  myself,  and  a 
sister,  both  born  in  an  hour.  If  the  heavens  had 
been  nieas  d,  would  we  had  so  ended  !  but  you.  sir, 
alter  a  that :  for,  some  hour  before  you  took  me 
from  the  lireach  of  the  sea,  was  my  sister  drowned. 

Anf.   Alas,  the  day! 

Sell.  A  lady,  sir,  though  it  was  said  she  much  re- 
sembled me,  was  yet  of  many  accounted  beaiitil'ul : 
but,  though  I  could  not,  witli  such  estimable  won- 
der, ovcrfar  believe  that,  yet  thus  far  I  will  boldly 
puMish  her,  she  bore  a  mind  that  envy  could  not 
but  call  fair:  she  is  drowned  already,  sir,  with  salt 
water,  though  I  seem  to  drown  her  remembrance 
again  with  more. 

Ant.  Pardon  me,  sir,  your  bad  entertainment. 

Seb,  O,  good  Antonio,  forgive  me  your  trouble. 

Ant.  If  you  will  not  murder  me  for  my  love,  let 
me  be  your  servant. 

Seb.  If  you  will  not  undo  what  you  have  done, 
*  W«U  spoken  of  by  the  world. 
6  Cantops,  versi's. 


that  is,  kill  him  wliom  you  have  recovered,  desire 
it  not.  Fare  yc  well  at  once:  my  bosom  is  full  of 
kindness;  and  I  am  yet  so  near  the  manners  of  my 
mother,  that  upon  the  least  occasion  more,  mine 
eyes  will  tell  tales  of  me.  I  am  bound  to  the  count 
Orsino's  court:   farewell.  [Exit. 

Ant.  The  gentleness  of  all  the  gods  go  with  tiiee : 
I  have  many  enemies  in  Orsino's  court. 
Else  would  I  very  shortly  see  tliee  there  : 
lint  come  what  liiay,  I  do  adore  thee  so. 
That  danger  shall  seem  sport,  and  I  will  go.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— .i  Street. 

Enter  Viola;  MxLyoi.10  folloicing. 

MiL  Were  not  you  even  now  with  the  countess 
Olivia? 

Vio.  Even  now,  sir;  on  a  moderate  pace  I  have 
since  arrived  but  hither. 

Mai.  She  returns  this  ring  to  you,  sir;  you 
might  have  saved  me  many  pains,  to  have  taken  it 
away  j'ourself.  She  adds,  moreover,  that  you  should 
put  your  lord  into  a  desperate  assurance  she  will 
none  of  him:  And  one  thing  more;  that  you  be 
never  so  hardy  to  come  again  in  hisalTairs,  unless 
it  be  to  report  your  lord's  taking  of  this.  Receive 
it  so, 

Vio.   She  took  the  ring  of  me ;   I'll  none  of  it. 

Mai-  Come.sir,  you  peevishly  threw  it  to  her ;  and 
her  will  is,  it  should  be  so  returned  :  if  it  be  worth 
stooping  for,  there  it  lies  in  your  eye  ;  if  not,  be  it 
his  that  finds  it.  [Exit. 

Vio.   I  left  no  ring  with  her :    What  means  tliis 
lady  ! 
Fortune  forbid,  my  outside  have  not  charm'd  her ! 
She  made  a  good  view  of  me;  indeed,  so  much. 
That  sure,  methought,  her  eyes  had  lost  her  tongue. 
For  she  did  speak  in  starts  distractedly- 
She  loves  me,  sure;  the  cunning  of  her  passion 
Invites  me  in  this  churlish  messenger. 
None  of  my  lord's  ring!  why,  he  sent  her  none. 
'  Own,  possess. 


68 


TWELFTH  NIGHT: 


Act  II. 


1  am  tlie  rajii;  —  If  it  be  so,  (as  'tis,) 

Poor  lady,  she  were  better  love  a  dream. 

Disguise,  1  see,  thou  art  a  wicliedne^s. 

Wherein  the  pregnant"  enemy  does  much. 

How  easy  is  it,  liir  the  proper-false 

In  women's  waxen  hearts  to  set  tlieir  forms! 

AJas,  our  frailly  is  the  cause,  not  we  ; 

For,  such  as  we  arc  made  of,  such  we  be. 

How  will  this  fad^e  ?» xVly  master  loves  her  dearly  ; 

And  I,  poor  monster,  fond  as  much  on  him ; 

And  she,  mistaken,  seems  to  dote  on  me; 

What  will  become  of  thisl     As  1  am  man, 

My  state  is  desperate  for  my  master's  love; 

As  1  am  woman,  now  alas  the  day ! 

What  tlinftless  sighs  sliall  poor  Olivia  breathe ! 

O  tunc,  tliou  mu»t  unlangle  this,  not  1 ; 

It  111  too  hard  a  knot  for  me  to  untie.  [Exit* 

SCENE  III. —  A  Room  in  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Sir  Toby  Uelcii,  and  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 

CUEKK. 

Sir  To.  Approach,  sir  Andrew:  not  to  be  a-bed 
after  midniglit,  IS  to  be  up  betimes;  and  diluculo 
siirgere,  tliou  know'st, 

Sir  And.  Nay,  by  my  troth,  I  know  not:  but  I 
know,  to  be  up  late,  is  lo  be  up  late. 

Sir  To.  A  lalse  conclusion  ;  1  hate  it  as  an  un- 
filled can :  I'o  be  up  after  midnight,  and  to  go  to 
bed  then,  is  early  ;  so  that,  to  go  to  bed  alter  mid- 
night, is  to  go  to  bed  betimes.  Do  not  our  hves 
consist  of  the  four  elements  ! 

Sir  And.  'i'aith,  so  they  say;  but,  I  think,  it 
ratlier  consists  of  eating  and  drinking. 

Sir  To.   Xhou  art  a  scliolar;  let  us  therefore  eat 
and  drink.— Maria,  1  say!  — a  stoop  of  wine! 
Enter  Clown. 

Sir  And.  Here  comes  tlie  fool. 

Cto.  How  now,  my  hearts !  Did  you  never  see 
the  picture  of  we  three  1' 

Sir  To.   Welcome,  ass.    Now  let's  liave  a  catch. 

Sir  And.  By  my  troth,  the  tool  has  an  excellent 
breast."  1  had  ratlier  than  tbrty  sliillmgs  1  liad 
such  a  leg;  and  so  sweet  a  breath  to  sing,  as  the 
ihol  has.  In  south,  tliou  wast  m  very  gracious  fool- 
ing last  night,  when  tliou  spokest  ol  I'igrogroinitus, 
of  the  Vapi'aiis  passing,  the  equinoctial  of  t^ueubus; 
'twas  very  good,  'i  faiiii.  I  sent  thee  sixpence  for 
thy  leman :'  hadst  it ! 

Cto.  1  did  iinpeticos  thy  gratilhty  ;*  for  Malvo- 
lios  nose  IS  no  whipstocK:  my  lady  has  a  white 
hand,  and  the  Myrmidons  are  no  bottle-ale  houses. 

Sir  And.  Excellent!  Why,  this  is  the  best  fool- 
ing, when  all  is  done.    Now,  a  song. 

Sir  To.  Come  on;  there  is  a  sixpence  for  you; 
let's  have  a  song. 

Sir  And.  1  here's  a  testril  of  me  too;  if  one 
knight  give  a 

t'to.  Would  you  have  a  love-song,  or  a  song  of 
good  lite  ! 

Siir  To.  A  love-song,  a  love-song. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  ay  ;   1  care  not  lor  good  life. 

SONG. 

Clo.   0  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming? 
O  xlmi  and  liear ;    i/our  true  love's  coming, 

That  can  sing  botli  Aig/i  and  tow  : 
Trip  no/urtlicr,  ]>re:tij  sweeting ; 
Journcijs  end  in  tovers'  meeting. 
Every  wise  man's  son  dutti  know. 
Sir  And.   Excellent  good,  i'  I'aith! 
Sir  To.  Good,  good. 
Clo.   Wtwl  is  tore  '?  'lis  not  hereafter ; 
Trcsent  mirth  tiuthprcsenl  taugliter ; 

Wluil's  to  come,  w  stilt  unsure: 
In  delay  ttiere  tits  no  pienty  ; 
Then  come  1,'L^s  me,  siveet-and-twenty. 
Youths  a  stiijl'will  nut  endure. 
Sir  And.  A  mcllilluous  voice,  as  I  am  truekniglit. 
Sir  To.  A  contagious  breath.  .    ,  .  , 

Sir  And.  Very  sweet  and  contagious,  i'  faith. 
Sir  To.  To  hear  by  the  nose,  it  is  dulcet  in  con- 
tagion. But  shall  we  make  the  welkin  dance  in- 
deed 1  Shall  we  rouse  the  night-owl  in  a  catch,  that 
VTill  draw  three  souls  out  of  one  weaver !  Shall  we 
do  that  1 

■  Dexterous,  n-ady.  •  Suit. 

•  Lotriirlii-iuls  In--,  a  Voice.  •Mistress. 

•  1  did  inipeticoat  thy  gratuity. 


Sir  And.  An  you  love  me,  let's  do't;  I  am  dog  at 
a  catch. 

Cto.  By'r  lady,  sir,  and  some  dogs  will  catch  well 

Sir  And.  Most  certain :  let  our  catch  be,  Thou 
knave. 

Clo.  Hold  thy  peace,  thou  knave,  km^htl  I  shall 
be  constrain'd  in  t  to  call  thee  knave,  kniglit. 

Sir  And.  'Tis  not  the  first  time  1  have  constrain'd 
one  to  call  me  knave.  Begin,  fool;  it  begins, HoW 
thy  peace. 

Clo.   I  shall  never  begin,  if  I  hold  my  peace. 

Sir  And.  Good,  i'  faith!    Come,  begin. 

[They  sing  a  catch. 

Enter  Mabia. 

Mar.  W' hat  a  caterwauling  do  you  keep  here  !  If 
my  lady  have  not  caUed  up  her  steward,  Malvolio, 
and  bid  him  turn  you  out  of  doors,  never  trust  me. 

Sir  To.  My  lady's  Catalan,' we  are  politicians: 
Malvolio's  a  Peg-a-Uamsey,«  and  Thn  e  merry  men 
we  be.  Am  not  1  consanguineous  1  am  1  not  of 
her  blood  !  'Tihy-valley,' lady  !  TItere  dwelt  a  man 
in  Babylon,  lady,  lady  !  [Singing. 

Clo.  Beshrew  me,  the  knight's  in  admirable  fool- 
ing. 

Sir  And.  Ay,  lie  does  well  enough,  if  he  be  dis- 
posed, and  so  do  I  too ;  he  does  it  with  a  better 
grace,  but  1  do  it  more  natural. 

Sir  To.  O  the  twelfth  day  of  December,— [Sing- 
ing. 

Mar.  For  the  love  of  God,  peace. 
Enter  Malvolio. 

Mat.  My  masters,  are  you  mad  ?  or  what  are 
you  !  Have  you  no  wit,  manners,  nor  honesty,  but 
to  gabble  like  tinkers  at  this  time  of  night !  do  ye 
make  an  ale-house  of  my  lady's  house,  that  ye 
squeak  out  your  coziers'"  catches  without  any  mit- 
igation or  remorse  of  voice"!  Is  there  no  respect  of 
place,  persons.nor  time,  in  you"! 

Sir  To.   We  did  keep  time,  sir,  in  our  catches. 
Sncck  up!' 

Mat.  Sir  Toby,  I  must  be  round  with  you.  My 
lady  bade  me  tell  you,  that,  ihougli  she  harbors  you 
as  her  kinsman,  she's  nothing  allied  to  your  disor- 
ders. If  you  can  separate  yourself  and  yourmisde- 
meanors,  you  arc  welcome  to  the  house  ;  if  not,  an 
It  would  please  you  to  take  leave  of  her,  she  is  very 
willing  to  bid  you  farewell. 

Sir  To.  Farewell,deur  heart,  since  I  must  needs 
be  gone. 

Mar.  Nay,  good  sir  Toby. 

Clo.  Hi*  eyes  do  show  his  days  are  almost  done. 

Mat.  1st  even  so! 

Sir  To.   But  I  will  mver  die. 

Clo.  Sir  Toby,  there  you  lie. 

Mat.  This  is  much  credit  to  you. 

Sir  To.   Shall  I  bill  him  go  ?  [Singing. 

Clo.   IVhat  an  if  you  do? 

Sir  To.   Sliull  I  bid  him  go,  and  spare  not  .^ 

Clo.  O  no,  no,  no,  no,  you  dare  not. 

Sir  To.  Out  o  lime  '.  sir,  ye  he. —  Art  any  more 
than  a  steward  !  Dost  thou  Ihink,  because  thou  art 
virtuous,  there  shall  be  no  more  cakes  and  ale  ! 

Cto.  Yes,  by  saint  Anne ;  and  ginger  shall  be 
hot  i'  the  mouth  too. 

Sir  To.  Thou'rt  i'  the  right.— Go,  sir.  rub  your 
chain  with  cruras:  —  A  stoop  of  wine,  Maria! 

Mai.  Mistress  Mary,  if  you  prized  nn  lady's 
favor  at  any  thing  more  than  contempt,  you  «ouid 
not  give  means  for  this  uncivil  rule ;  she  shall  know 
of  it,  by  this  liand.  t 

Mar.  Go  shake  your  ears.  .     j  ■   , 

Sir  ind.  'Twere  as  good  a  deed  as  to  drink 
wlien  a  man's  a  hungry,  to  challenge  him  to  the 
lield ;  and  then  lo  break  promise  with  him,  and 
make  a  fool  of  him.  .      ,  ,    „ 

.Sir  To.  Do  t,  knight;  I'll  write  tliec  a  challenge; 
or  I'll  deliver  my  uidignation  to  him  by  wcrd  of 

mouth.  ......       •  1 « 

I\Iar.  Sweet  sir  Toby,  be  patient  for  to-night; 
since  the  youth  of  the  count's  was  to-day  with  my 
lady,  she  is  much  out  of  quiet.  For  monsieur  Mal- 
volio, let  me  alone  with  him:  if  I  do  not  guh  him 
into  a  nay-word,'  and  make  him  a  common  recrea- 
tion, do  not  think  1  have  wit  enough  lo  he  straight 
in  my  bed:  1  know  I  can  do  it. 

•  Romancer.  eXamc  of  an  old  song. 

1  Equivalent  i.0  fill y-f ally,  sliUly^sUalty. 

s  Cobblers.         « Hang  yourself.       i  liyc-ivord. 


SCEKE    IV. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


C9 


•  Sir  Tu.  Possess  us,'  possess  us ;  tell  us  something 
of  him. 

M'lr.  Marrj',  .=!ir,  sometimes  he  is  a  Idnd  of  Puritan. 

Sir  And.  6,  11' I  tliouslit  that,  Id  beat  him  hke  a 
doj. 

Sir  To.  What,  for  being  a  Puritan]  thy  exquisite 
reason,  dear  kuij^ht  f 

Sir  And.  I  have  no  exquisite  reason  for't,but  I 
have  reason  good  enough. 

Mur.  The  devil  a  Puritan  that  he  is,  or  any  thing 
constantly  but  a  timc-pleaser;  an  affectioned  ass, 
that  cons  state  without  book,  and  utters  it  by  great 
swarths;'  tlie  best  persuaded  of  himself,  so  cram- 
med, as  he  thinks,  with  excellencies,  that  it  is  his 
ground  of  faith,  that  all,  that  look  on  him,  love  him ; 
and  on  that  vice  in  him  will  my  revenue  find  notable 
cause  to  work. 

Sir  To.   Wliat  wilt  thou  do  1 

Mar.  I  will  drop  in  his  way  some  obscure  epistles 
of  love;  wherein  by  tliecolorof  his  beard,  the  shape 
of  his  leg,  tlie  manner  of  his  gait,  the  expressure 
of  his  eye,  forehead,  and  complexion,  he  sliall  find 
himself  most  feelingly  personated;  I  can  write  very 
like  my  lady,  your  niece;  on  a  forgotten  matter  we 
can  hardly  make  distinction  of  our  hands. 

Sir  To.   Excellent !  I  smell  a  device. 

Sir  Anil.   I  have't  in  my  nose  too. 

Sir  To.  He  shall  think,  by  the  letters  that  thou 
wilt  drop,  that  they  come  from  my  niece,  and  that 
slie  is  in  love  with  him. 

Mar.  My  purpose  is.  indeed,  a  horse  of  that  color. 

Sir  And.  And  your  horse  now  would  make  him 
an  a.ss. 

3Iar.  Ass,  I  doubt  not. 

Sir  And.  C),  'twill  be  admirable. 

Mar.  Sport  royal,  I  warrant  you  :  I  know,  my 
physic  will  work  with  him.  I  will  plant  you  two, 
and  let  the  fool  make  a  third,  where  he  shall  find  the 
letter;  observe  his  construction  of  it.  For  tliis  night, 
to  bed,  and  dream  on  the  event.    Farewell.    [Exit. 

Sir  To.  Good  night,  Penthesilea.* 

Sir  And.   Belure  ine,  she's  a  good  wench. 

Sir  To.  She's  a  beagle,  true  bred,  and  one  that 
adores  me:  Whato'that! 

Sir  And.   I  was  adored  once  too- 

Sir  To.  Lets  to  bed,  knight. —  Thou  hadst  need 
send  for  more  money. 

Sir  And.  If  I  cannot  recover  your  niece,  I  am  a 
foul  way  out. 

Sir  To.  Send  for  money,  knight;  if  thou  hast  her, 
not  i'  the  end,  caU  me  Cut.' 

Sir  And.  If  I  do  not,  never  trust  me,  take  it  how 
you  will. 

Sir  To.  Come,  come  ;  I'll  go  bum  some  sack,  'tis 
too  late  to  go  to  bed  now :  come,  knight ;  come, 
knight.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. —  A  Room  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 
Enter  Duke,  Viola,  Cunio,  and  others. 

Duke.  Give  me  some  music: — Now,  good  mor- 
row, friends: — 
■Now,  good  Cesirio,  but  that  piece  of  song, 
That  old  and  antique  song  we  heard  last  nigiit; 
Methought.  it  did  relieve  my  passion  much  ; 
More  than  light  airs  and  recollected  tenns 

Of  these  most  brisk  and  giddy-paced  times: 

Come,  but  one  verse. 

Cur.  He  is  not  here,  so  please  your  lordship, 
that  should  sing  it. 

Duke.   Wlio  was  it! 

Cur.  Feste,  the  jester,  my  lord ;  a  fool,  that  the 
lady  Olivia's  father  took  much  delight  in;  he  is 
about  ttie  house. 

Duke.  Seek  him  out,  and  playthetune  the  while. 
[ExU  Cnuio. —  Music. 
Come  hither,  boy  :   If  ever  thou  shall  love. 
In  the  sweet  pangs  of  it,  remember  me : 
For,  such  as  1  am.  all  true  lovers  are ; 
Unstaid  and  skittish  in  all  motions  else. 
Save,  in  that  constant  image  of  the  creature 
That  is  belov'd. —  How  dost  thou  like  this  tune1 

Fio.   It  gives  a  very  echo  to  the  seat 
■Where  love  is  thron'cl. 

Duke.  Thou  dost  speak  masterly: 
My  life  upon't,  young  tliough  thou  art,  thine  eye 
5  Inform  u3.  >  The  row  of  grass  left  by  a  mower. 

*AmazoD  '  Fool, 


Hath  stay'd  upon  some  favor  that  it  loves; 
Hath  it  not,  boy  ! 

Viji.  A  little,  by  your  favor. 

DuJce.   What  kind  of  woman  is'tl 

Vio.  Of  your  complexion. 

Duke.   She  is  not  worth  thee,  then.    What  years, 
i'faithi 

Vio.  A  bout  your  years,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Too  old,  by  heaven;  Let  still  the  woman 
take 
An  elder  than  herself;  so  wears  she  to  him, 
So  sways  she  level  in  her  husband's  heart. 
For,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  infirm. 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  worn. 
Than  woman's  are. 

Vio.  I  think  it  well,  my  lord. 

Duke.   Then  let  thy  love  be  younger  than  thyself. 
Or  thy  all'ection  cannot  hold  the  bent : 
For  women  are  as  roses;  whose  fair  rtower. 
Being  once  display'd,  doth  fall  that  very  hour. 

Vin.   And  so  tliey  are;  alas,  that  they  are  so; 
To  die,  even  when  they  to  perfection  grow ! 

Re-enfer  Cunio  nyid  Clowx. 
Duke.  O,  fellow,  come,   the  son^  we  had  last 
night :  — 
Mark  it,  Cesario;   it  is  old,  and  plain: 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun. 
And  the  free  maids  that  weave  their  thread  with 

bones. 
Do  use  to  chaiint  it ;   it  is  silly  sooth,* 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love. 
Like  the  old  age. 
CV".   Are  you  ready,  sir T 

Duke.  Ay  ;   prythee,  sing  [Music. 

SONG. 
Clo.   Come  away,  come  away,  death. 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid; 

Fly  away, fly  away,  breath; 
I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  wliile,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

0,  prepare  it ; 
My  part  of  death,  no  one  so  true 
Di'l  share  it. 
Not  ajlnwir,  }iot  a  flower  stueet. 
On  my  /dark  niflin  let  there  be  strotvn  ; 
Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be  thrown  • 
A  thousand  ttumsand  sigh£  to  save, 

Lay  me,  O  ivhere 
Sad  true  lover  ne'er  find  my  grave. 

To  weep  there. 
Duke.  There's  for  thy  pains. 
CUi.  No  pains,  sir;  I  take  pleasure  in  singing,  sir. 
Duke.   I'll  pay  thy  pleasure,  then. 
Clo.   Truly,  sir,  and  pleasure  will  be  paid,  one 
time  or  another. 
Duke.  Give  me  now  leave  to  leave  thee. 
Clo.  Now,  the  melancholy  go.l  protect  thee;  and 
the  tailor  make  thy  doublet  of  ibangeable  tafl'eta, 
for  thy  mind  is  a  very  opal. —  1  w  >uld  have  men  of 
such  constancy  put  to  sea,  tliat  their  business  miglit 
be  every  tiling,  and  their  intent  everywhere;   for 
that's  it,  tliat  always  makes  a  good  voyage  of  no- 
thing.—  Farewell.  [Exit  Clown. 

Duke.  Let  all  the  rest  give  place. 

[Exeunt  Cciiio  and  .Attendants 
Once  more,  Cesario, 
Get  thee  to  yon"  same  sovereign  cruelty  : 
Tell  her,  my  love,  more  noble  than  the  world, 
Prizes  not  quantity  of  dirty  lands; 
The  parts  that  fortune  hath  bestow'd  upon  her. 
Tell  lier,  I  hold  as  giddily  as  fortune; 
But  'tis  that  miracle,  and  queen  of  gems. 
That  nature  pranks'"  her  in,  attracts  my  soul, 
Vio.  But,  if  she  cannot  love  you,  sirl 
Duke.  1  cannot  be  so  answer'd. 
Vio.  'Soolh,  but  you  must. 

Say,  that  some  lady,  as,  perhaps,  there  is, 
Hatli  for  your  love  as  great  a  pang  of  heart 
As  you  have  for  Olivia:  you  cannot  love  her; 
You  tell  her  so ;  Must  she  not  then  be  answer'd] 

Duke.  There's  no  woman's  sides 
Can  bide  the  beating  of  so  strong  a  passion 
As  love  doth  give  my  heart:  no  woman's  heart 
So  big,  to  hold  so  much ;  they  lack  retention. 
6  Simple  truth.  ^  Decks. 


70 


TWELFTH  NIGHT: 


Act  II. 


Alas,  their  love  may  be  call'd  appetite, — 
No  motion  of  the  liver,  but  the  palate, — 
That  sufifer  surfeit,  cloyinent,  and  revolt; 
But  mine  is  all  as  hunj;ry  as  the  sea, 
And  can  digest  as  much:   make  no  compare 
Uetween  that  love  a  woman  can  bear  nK, 
And  that  I  owe  Olivia. 

Vio.  Ay,  but  I  know, — 

Duke.   What  dost  thou  know  '. 

Vio.  Too  well  wliatiovc  women  to  men  may  owe: 
In  faith,  they  are  as  true  of  heart  as  we. 
My  thther  had  a  daii;;htcr  iov'd  a  man, 
As  it  miglit  be,  perhaps,  were  I  a  woman, 
I  shnuld'your  lordship. 

Duke.  And  what's  her  history  ? 

Vio.  A  blank,  my  lord:   She  never  told  her  love, 
Hut  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i"  tlie  bud, 
Kerd  on  Iier  damask  cheek  :   she  pin'd  in  thous'ht: 
And,  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy, 
She  sat  like  patience  on  a  monument. 
Smiling  at  grief.    Was  not  this  love,  indeed  ? 
Wc  men  may  say  more,  swear  more:  but,  indeed, 
f)ur  shows  are  more  than  will ;  for  still  we  prove 
Much  in  our  vows,  but  little  in  our  hive. 

Duke.  But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy  7 

Vio.  I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  fatlicrs  house, 
And  a!l  the  brothers  too;  —  and  yet  I  know  not :  — 
Sir,  shall  I  to  this  lady  ! 

Duke.  Ay,  that's  the  theme. 

To  her  in  haste ;  give  her  this  jewel ;  say. 
My  love  can  give  no  place,  bide  no  denay.8 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Olivia's  Garden, 

Enter    Sir    Tobt  Belch,   Sir   Andrew   Ague- 
cheek,  and  Fabian. 

Sir  To.  Come  thy  ways,  signior  Fabian. 

Fab.  Nay,  Fll  come;  if  I  lose  a  scruple  of  this 
sport,  let  me  be  boiled  to  death  with  melanclioly. 

Sir  To.  Would'st  thou  not  be  glad  to  have  the 
niggardly  rascally  shcep-bitcr  conie  by  some  nota- 
ble shame? 

Fa'}.  I  would  exult,  man:  you  know,  he  brought 
mc  out  of  favor  with  my  lady',  ahout  a  bear-baiting 
liere. 

.S/>  To.  To  anger  him,  we'll  have  the  bear  again  ; 
and  we  will  fool  him  black  and  blue:— Shall  we 
not,  sir  Andrew? 

Sir  And.  An  we  do  not,  it  is  pity  of  our  lives.    ^ 

Enter  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Here  comes  the  little  villain:  — How 
now,  my  nettle  of  India  ^ 

Mar.  Get  ye  all  three  into  the  box-tree:  Malvo- 
lio's  coming  down  this  walk;  he  has  been  yonder 
i'  the  sun,  practising  behavior  to  liis  own  shadow, 
this  half  hour:  observe  him.  for  the  love  of  mockery  ; 
for,  I  know,  this  letter  will  make  a  contemplative 
idiot  of  him.  Close,  in  tlie  name  of  jesting!  [T/te 
men  hide  themselves.]  Lie  thou  there;  [Ttirow-s 
down  a  letter,]  for  here  comes  the  trout  Jhat  must 
be  caught  with  tickling.  [Exit  Mauia. 

&(/«"  Malvolio. 

Mai.  'Tis  but  fortune;  all  is  fortune.  Maria 
once  told  me,  she  did  atTcct  me:  and  I  have  heard 
lierself  come  thus  near,  that,  should  she  fancy,  it 
should  be  one  of  my  complexion.  Besides,  she  uses 
nie  with  a  more  exalted  respect  than  any  one  else 
th;it  follows  her.    What  should  I  think  on't? 

Sir  To.   Here's  an  overweeniuic  rogue! 

Fab.  O,  peace!  Contemplation  makes  a  rare 
turkey-cock  of  him,  how  he  jets^  under  his  ad- 
vanced plumesi 

N;>  And.   'Slight.  I  could  so  beat  the  rogue:  — 

Sir  To.   Peace.  I  say. 

Mai.  To  be  count  Malvolio; — 

Sir  To.   Ah,  rogue! 

Sir  And.   Pistol  him.  pistol  him. 

.S)>  To.  Peace,  peace! 

Mai.  There  is  example  for't;  the  ladv  of  the 
strachy  married  the  yeoman  of  the  wardrobe. 

.Sir  And.   Fie  on  him.  .lezehel! 

Fah.  O,  peace!  now  he's  deeply  in,  look,  how 
imagination  blows  him. 

Mai.  Having  been  three  montlis  married  to  her, 
fitting  in  my  state.— 


«  Denial. 


"  Struts. 


Sir  To    O,  for  a  stone-bow,  to  hit  him  in  the  eye! 

Alal.  Calhng  my  orlicers  about  me.  in  my  branch- 
ed velvet  gown;  having  come  from  a  day-bed, 
where  1  left  Olivia  sleeping. 

.Sir  To.   Fire  and  brunstone! 

Fab.  0,  peace,  peace  ! 

Mat.  And  then  to  have  the  liumor  r»f  state :  and 
after  a  demure  travel  of  regard. —  telling  them,  I 
laiow  my  place,  as  I  would  they  should  do  theij-s, — 
to  ask  for  my  kinsman  Tohy : 

iSir  To.  Bolts  and  shackles! 

Fab.   O.  peace,  peace,  peace!  now.  now. 

Mai.  Seven  of  my  people,  with  an  oI>edient  start, 
make  out  for  him:  I  frown  the  while;  and,  per- 
chance, wind  up  my  watch,  or  play  with  some  rich 
jewel.     Toby  approaches;  courlsies there  to  me: 

Sir  To.   Shall  this  fellow  live! 

Fab.  Though  our  silence  be  drawn  from  us  -with 
cars,  yet  peace. 

Mai.  I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus,  quenching 
my  l;^mihar  smile  with  an  austere  regard  of  control: 

Sir  To.  And  does  not  Toby  take  you  a  blow  o' 
the  lips  then  i 

Mai.  Saying,  Cousin  Toby,  my  fortunes  having 
cast  me  on  your  neiec,  give  me  tfiis  p7'€rosative  of 
speech  ■ — 

Sir  To.  What,  what? 

Mai.  You  must  amend  your  dnmkenness. 

Sir  To.   Out,  scab  ! 

Fah.  Nay,  patience,  or  we  breal;  the  sinews  of 
our  plot. 

Mai.  Besides,  ynu  zvaj^te  the  treasure  of  your 
time  irith  a  foolish  knight  : 

Sir  And.  That's  me,  I  warrant  you. 

Mai.   One  Sir  Andrew.- 

Sir  And.  I  knew,  'twas  I;  for  many  do  call  me 
fool. 

Mai.  Wh^t  employment  have  we  here? 

[Takinfr  up  the  tetter. 

Fab.   Now  is  the  woodcock  near  the  gin. 

Sir  To.  (^,  peace!  and  the  spirit  of  humors  inti- 
mate readini;  aloud  to  him! 

Mai.  By  my  life,  this  is  my  lady's  hand:  these 
be  her  very  C's,  her  f/'s.  and  her  Ts,  and  thus  makes 
she  her  great  P's.  It  is,  in  contempt  of  question 
her  hand. 

Sir  And.  Her  C's,  her  tTs,  and  her  T's,:  Why 
that? 

Mai.  [Read,s.]  To  the  unknonm  ijeloved,  this  and 
mi/goodwi.'<hes.-  her  very  phrases!  —  By  your  leave, 
wax. —  Soft! — and  the  impressure  lier  Lucrece, 
with  which  she  uses  to  -seal:  'tis  my  lady:  To 
whom  should  this  l)e  ? 

Fab.   This  wins  him,hverand  all. 

Mai.  iReads.]  Jove  knows,  I  love: 
But  luho  ? 
Lips  do  not  inovBy 
No  man  must  know. 
No  man  mu.%tknoxv. —  What  follows?  the  numbers* 
altered!  —  No  muJi  must  know : — If  this  should  be 
thee.  Malvolio? 

Sir  To.  Many,  hang  thee,  brock  !» 

Mai.    I  may  cnjumand,  ichere  I  adore  : 

But  silc?iee,  like  a  Lucrecc  knife. 
With  bloodless  stroke  my  heart  doth  goic  ; 
M,  0,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life. 

Fab.   A  fustian  riddle! 

Sir  To.   Excellent  wench,  say  I. 

Mat.  M,  O,  A,  I,  doth  sway  my  life. —  Nay,  but 
first  let  mc  see. —  let  me  see, — let  me  see. 

Fab.  What  a  dish  of  poison  hath  she  dressed  him  ! 

Sir  To.  And  with  wliat  wing  the  stannyel^ 
checks  at  it  !3 

Mill.  I  may  com?nand  ivhere  I  adm'C.  Why,  she 
may  command  me;  I  serve  her,  she  is  my  lady. 
Why,  this  is  evident  to  any  formal  capacity.  There 
is  no  obstruction  in  this;  —  And  the  end, —  What 
should  that  alphabetical  position  portend?  If  I 
could  make  that  resemble  something  in  me, —  Soil- 
Jy!-A/,  0,A,L~ 

Sir  To.  0,  Ay  !  make  up  that; — he  is  now  at  a 
cold  scent. 

Fab.  Sowter*  will  cry  upon't  for  all  this,  though 
it  be  as  rank  as  a  fox. 

Mai.  M, —  Malvolio;  — aV, —  why,  that  begins  my 
name. 


I  BaJger. 


a  Hawk. 

*  Name  of  a  hound. 


»  Flies  at  it. 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


71 


Fab.  Did  not  I  say,  he  would  work  it  out?  the 
cur  is  excellent  at  t'.iults. 

Mai.  il/, —  But  then  tlicre  is  no  consonancy  in 
the  sequel :  that  sutlers  under  probation :  A  should 
follow,  hut  0  does. 

Fall.   And  O  shall  end,  I  liope. 

Sir  To.  Ay,  or  I'll  cudgel  him,  and  make  liim 
cry,  O. 

Mai.   And  then,  Z comes  behind;  — 

Fab.  Ay,  an  you  had  an  eye  beliind  you,  you 
might  see  more  detiactiou  at  your  heels,  than  for- 
tunes betbre  you. 

Mai.  M,  0,  A,  I; — This  simulation  is  not  as  the 
former  —and  yet,  to  crush  this  a  little,  it  would 
bow  tc  mc,  for  every  one  of  these  letters  are  in  my 
name.  Soft,  here  follows  prose:  —  Iflhlifall  into 
Hiij  hand,  revolve.  In  iin/  stars  I  am  above -tliee  ,- 
but  be  not  afraid  of  greatness :  Some  are  born 
great,  some  ac/iieve  greatness,  and  some  have  great- 
ness tlinisl  upon  Ihcm.  Tliy  J'oles  open  tfieir 
hands;  let  titi/  tiloodandspirit  embrace  t/iem.  And, 
toinure  iliyself  to  udiat  tfiou  art  li!<e  to  be,  cast  thy 
humble  slough'  and  apttear  fresh.  Beopposife  with 
a  kinsman,  surli/  n-illi  servants:  let  thy  tongue 
tang  arguments' of  state;  put  thyself  into  the  trick 
ofsingularity :  slie  thus  advises  thee,  t/iat  sighs  for 
thee.  Remember  lolm  com  mended  thy  yellow  stock- 
ings, and  wished  to  see  thee  ever  cross-gartered  :  I 
say,  remember.  Go  to,  thou  art  made,  if  Ihou  de- 
sires! to  be  so :  if  twt,  let  me  see  tliee  a  steward  still, 
the  fellow  of  servants,  and  not  tvorthi/  to  touch  for- 
tunes fingers.  Farewell.  She  that  would  alter 
services  wit'i  thee.  The  fortunate-unhappy. 

Day-lisht  and  champian«  discovers  not  mote;  this 
is  open.  I  will  be  proud,  I  will  read  politic  authors, 
I  wdl  baffle  Sir  Toby,  I  will  wa*h  olf  gross  ac- 
quaintance, I  will  be  point-de-vice',  the  very  man. 
1  do  not  now  fool  myself,  to  let  imagination  jade 
me;  for  every  reason  excites  to  this,  that  my  lady 
loves  me.  She  did  commend  my  yellow  stockings  of 
late,  she  did  praise  my  leg  being  cross-gartered ; 
and  in  this  she  manifests  herself  to  my  love,  and, 
with  a  kind  of  injunction,  drives  me  to  these  habits 


of  her  liking.  I  thank  my  stars.  I  am  happy.  I 
will  be  strange,  stout,  in  yellow  stockings,  and  cross- 
gartered,  even  with  the  swiflness  of  putting  on. 
Jove,  and  mv  stars,  be  praised!  —  Here  is  yet  a 
postscript.  Thoii  canst  not  choose  but  know  wlio  I 
am.  If  thou  entertainest  my  love,  let  it  appear  in 
till/  smiling ;  thy  smiles  become  thee iL'cll:  there- 
fore in  my  presence  still  smile,  dear  my  stoeet,  I 
pr'ythee.  Jove,  I  thank  thee. —  I  will  smile;  I  will 
do  every  thing  that  thou  wilt  have  me.  [Exit. 

Full.  1  willnot  give  my  part  of  this  sport  for  a 
pension  of  thousands  to  be  paid  from  the  Sophy. 

Sir  To.  I  could  marry  this  wench  for  tins  de 
vice. 

.Sir  And.  So  could  I  too. 

Sir  To.  And  ask  no  other  dowry  with  licr,  bat 
such  another  jest. 

Enter  MiniA. 

Sir  And.  Nor  I  neither. 

Fob.   Here  comes  my  noble  gull-catclier. 

Sir  To.   Wilt  thou  set  thy  foot  o'my  neck! 

Sir  And.   Or  o'inine  either! 

.Sir  To.  Shall  1  play  my. freedom  at  tray-trip,i 
and  become  thy  bond  slave  \ 

Sir  And.  I'faith,  or  I  either. 

.Sir  To.  Wliy,  thou  hast  put  him  in  such  a  dream 
that,  vA'hen  the  image  of  it  leaves  him,  he  must  run 
mad. 

lilar.  Nay,  but  say  true ;  does  it  work  upon  him'! 

.Sir  To.  Like  oqua-vitse  witli  a  mid.wife. 

Mar.  If  you  will  then  see  the  fruits  of  the  sport, 
mark  his  lirst  approach  before  my  lady :  he  will 
come  to  her  in  yellow  stockings,  and  'tis  a  color  she 
abhors;  and  cross-gartered,  a  fashion  she  detests; 
and  he  will  smile  upon  her,  which  will  now  be  so 
unsuitiible  to  her  disposition,  being  addicted  to  a 
melancholy  as  she  is,  tliat  it  cannot  but  turn  him 
into  a  notable  contempt ;  if  you  will  see  it,  follow 
me. 

Sir  To.  To  the  gates  of  Tartar,  tliou  most  excel- 
lent devil  of  wit ! 

Sir  And.  1 11  make  one  too.  [Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I.  — Olivia's  Garden. 
Enter  Viola,  and  Clown  with  a  tabor. 

Via.  Save  thee,  friend,  and  thy  music :  Dost  Uiou 
live  by  thy  tabor  ! 

Clo.   No,  sir,  I  live  by  the  church. 

V'lo.  Art  thou  a  churchman  ! 

Clo.  No  such  matter,  sir ;  I  do  live  by  the  church  : 
for  I  do  live  at  my  house,  and  my  house  doth  stand 
by  the  church. 

Vio.  So  thou  mayst  say,  the  king  lies'  by  a  beg- 
gar, if  a  beggar  dwell  near  him:  or,  the  church 
stands  by  thy  tabor,  if  thy  tabor  stand  by  the  church. 

Cio.  You'liave  said,  sir.— To  see  this  age  !  — A 
sentence  is  but  a  chevcril"  glove  to  a  good  wit; 
How  quickly  the  wrong  side  may  be  turned  oulwardi 

Vio.  Nay,  that's  certain;  they,  that  dally  nicely 
with  words,  may  quickly  make  them  wanton. 

Clo.  I  would,  therefore,  my  sister  had  iiad  no 
name,  sir. 

Vio.  W  hy ,  man '! 

Clo.  Why,  sir,  hername's  a  word;  and  to  dally 
with  that  word,  might  make  my  sister  wanton  :  Hut, 
indeed,  words  are  very  rascals,  since  bonds  dis- 
graced them. 

Via.   Thy  reason,  man  ! 

Clo.  Troth,  sir,  I  can  yield  yon  none  without 
words ;  and  words  are  grown  so  false,  lam  loatli  to 
prove  reason  with  them. 

Vio.  I  warrant  thou  art  a  merry  fellow,  and  car- 
est  for  nothing.  . 

Clo.  Notso.  sir.  I  do  care  for  something  :  but  m 
my  conscience,  sir:  I  do  not  care  for  you;  if  that  be 
to  care  for  nothing,  sir,  I  would  it  would  make  you 
invisible. 


*Skin  of  a  snake. 
1  Utmost  exactness. 


eOpen  country. 
>  Dwells. 


Vio.   Art  not  thou  the  lady  Olivia's  fool ! 

Clo.  No,  indeed,  sir;  tlie  lady  Olivia  has  no  folly : 
she  will  keep  no  fool,  sir,  till  she  be  married ;  and 
fools  are  as  like  husbands  as  pilchards  are  to  her- 
rings, the  husbands  the  bigger;  I  am,  indeed,  not 
her  fool,  but  her  corrupter  of  words. 

Vio.   I  saw  thee  late  at  the  count  Orsino's. 

C'/o.  Foolery,  sir,  does  walk  about  the  orb,  like 
the  sun ;  it  shines  every  where.  I  would  be  sorry, 
sir.  but  the  foftl  should  be  as  otl  with  your  master, 
as  with  illy  mi-strcss :  1  think  I  saw  your  wisdom 
there. 

Vio.  Nay,  an  thou  pa.ss  upon  me,  I'll  no  more 
with  thee.    Hold,  there's  cxjiences  for  thee. 

Clo.  Now  Jo\e,  in  liis  next  commodity  of  hair, 
send  thee  a  beard  ! 

Vio.  I)y  my  troth.  I'll  tell  thee;  I  am  almcsl  sick 
for  one  ;  though  I  would  not  have  it  grow  on  my 
chin.    Is  thy  lady  within  ! 

CYo.   W  ould  not  a  pair  of  these  have  bred,  sir  ! 

Vio.  Yes,  being  kept  together,  and  put  to  use. 

Clo.  1  would  play  lord  Pandarus»  of  I'hrygia, 
sir.  to  bring  a  Cressida  to  this  Troilus. 

rill.   1  understand  you,  sir;   'tis  well  begg'd. 

CLo-  The  matter,  I  hope,  is  not  great,  sir,  beg- 
ging but  a  beggar;  Cressida  was  a  beggar.  My 
lady  is  within,  sir.  I  will  construe  to  her  when(« 
you  come:  who  you  are,  and  what  you  would,  are 
out  of  my  welkin:  I  might  say, element;  but  the 
word  is  over-worn.  [Exii. 

Vio.  This  fellow's  wise  enou£h  to  play  the  fool: 
And  to  do  that  well,  craves  a  kind  of  wit. 
He  must  observe  their  mood  on  whom  he  jests. 
The  quality  of  persons,  and  the  time; 
And,  like  tlie  haggard,'  check  at  every  feather 
1  A  boy's  diversion,  threii  and  trip. 
^  See  th»»  play  of  Troilus  nmt  Cresnda. 
3  A  hawk  not  well  trained. 


72 


TWELFTH  NIGHT : 


Act  III. 


That  comes  before  his  eye.    TJiis  is  a  practice, 

As  lull  of  labor  as  a  wise  man's  art : 

For  folly,  that  he  wisely  shows,  is  fit ; 

Dut  wise  men,  folly-fallen,  quite  taint  their  wit. 

Knier  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Sir  Andrew  Agce- 

CHKKK. 

Sir  To.   Save  you,  gentleman. 

Vio.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  And.   DLcu  vous  garde,  monsieur, 

Vio.   Et  vuus  aii&si ;  voire  serviteur. 

Sir  And.   I  hope,  sir,  you  are;  and  I  am  yours. 

Sir  To.  Will  you  encounter  the  house  T  my  niece 
is  desirous  you  should  enter,  if  your  trade  be  to 
licr. 

Vio.  I  am  bound  to  your  niece,  sir;  I  mean,  she 
is  the  list*  of  my  voya^ie. 

Sir  To.  Taste  your  legs,  sir.  put  them  to  motion. 

Vio.  My  le^s  do  belter  understand  me,  sir,  than 
T  understand  what  you  mean  by  bidding  me  taste 
my  le^s. 

Sir  To.  I  mean,  to  go,  sir,  to  enter. 

Vio.  I  will  answer  you  with  gait  and  entrance: 
but  we  are  prevented. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

Most  excellent  accomplished  lady,  the  heavens  ram 
odors  on  you ! 

Sir  And.  That  youth's  a  rare  courtier!  Rain 
odors  !   well. 

Vio.  My  matter  hath  no  voice,  lady,  but  to  your 
own  most  pregnant'  and  vouchsafed  ear. 

Sir  And.  Odors,  pregnant,  Aiidvouc/isafed  : — I'll 
get  'em  all  three  ready. 

Oli.  Let  the  garden  door  be  shut,  and  leave  me 
to  my  hearini^. 

[E.ftunt  Sir  Tonr,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Maria, 
Give  mc  your  hand,  sir. 

Vio.  I\Iy  duty,  madam,  and  most  humble  service. 

Oli.  What  is  your  name  ! 

Vio.  Cesario  is  your  servant's  name,  fair  princess. 

Oli.  My  servant,  sir!   'Twas  never  merry  world 
Since  lowly  feigning  was  call'd  compliment: 
Yon  are  servant  totne  count  Orsino,  youth. 

Vio.  And  he  is  yours,  and  liis  must  needs  be 
yours : 
Your  servant's  servant  is  your  servant,  madam. 

OH,  KorJiim.l  think  noton  him:  for  his  thoughts, 
'Would  they  were  blanks,  rather  thanlili'd  with  me  ! 

Vio.  Madam,  I  come  to  whet  your  gentle  thoughts 
On  his  behalf: 

OH.  O,  by  your  leave,  I  pray  you  ; 

I  bade  you  never  speak  again  of  him: 
But  would  you  undertake  another  suit, 
1  had  ratlier  litar  you  to  solicit  tliat. 
Than  music  from  tlie  spheres. 

Vio.  Dear  lady. 

Oli.  Give  me  leave.  I  beseech  you :  1  did  send, 
After  the  last  enchantment  you  did  licre, 
A  ring  in  chase  of  you:   so  did  I  abuse 
Myself,  my  servant,  ;ind,  I  fear  me,  you: 
Under  your  hard  construction  must  I  sit,. 
To  force  that  on  you,  in  a  shameful  cunning, 
■  Which  you  knew  none  of  yours:    Whatmight  you 
think? 
Have  you  not  set  mine  Iionor  at  the  .stake. 
And  baited  it  with  all  tlie  unmuzzled  thoughts 
That  tyrannous  heart  can  think!     To  one  of  your 

receivings 
Knough  is  shown  ;  a  cyprus,  not  a  bosom. 
Hides  jny  poor  lieart:   No  let  me  hear  you  speak. 

Vio.   I  pdy  you. 

Oli.   That  s  a  degree  to  love. 

Vin.   No,  not  a  grise;!   for 'tis  a  vulgar  proof, 
That  very  ot\  we  pity  enemies. 

Oli.  Why,  then,  methinks,  'tis  time  to   smile 
again ; 
O  world,  how  apt  the  poor  arc  to  be  proud ! 
If  one  should  be  a  prey,  how  much  the  better 
To  fall  before  the  lion  than  the  wolf!  [Clock,  strikes. 
The  clock  upraids  me  with  the  waste  of  time, — 
Be  not  afraid,  good  youth,  I  will  not  have  you: 
And  yet.  when"  wit  and  youth  is  come  to  harvest. 
Your  wife  is  like  to  reap  a  proper  man: 
Tliere  lies  your  way,  due  west. 

Vij).  Then  westward-hoe : 

Grace  and  good  disposition  'tend  your  ladyship  ! 
You  II  nothing,  madam,  to  my  lord  by  me  ! 

i  Bouna,  limit.    »  Ready,    e  Heady  npprelicnsion.   t  Step. 


Oli.  ."^tay: 
I  pr'ythre,  tell  me,  what  thou  think'st  of  me. 

Vio.  That  you  do  think,  you  are  not  what  you  are. 

OH.  If  I  think  so,  I  think  the  same  of  you. 

Vio.  Then  think  you  right;   I  am  not  what  I  am. 

Oli.   I  would  you  were  as  I  would  have  you  be  ! 

Vio,   Would  it  be  better,  madam,  than  I  am, 
I  wish  it  might ;   for  now  I  am  your  fool. 

OH.  O  what  a  deal  of  sconi  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip ! 
A  murdTous  guilt  shows  not  itself  more  soon 
Than  love  that  would  seem  hid  :  love's  night  is  noon. 
Cesario,  by  the  roses  of  the  spring. 
By  maidhood,  honor,  truth,  and  every  thing, 
I  love  thee  so,  tJiat,  niaugre  all  thy  pride, 
Nor  wit,  nor  reason,  can  viy  passion  hide. 
Do  not  extort  thy  reasons  from  this  clause. 
For  that  I  woo,  thou  therefore  hast  no  cause: 
But,  rather,  reason  thus  with  reason  fetter: 
Love  sought  is  good,  but  given  unsought  is  bettei 

Vio.   By  innocence  I  swear,  and  by  my  youth, 
I  have  one  heart,  one  bosom,  and  one  truth. 
And  that  no  woman  has;  nor  never  none 
Shall  mistress  be  of  it,  save  I  alone. 
And  so  adieu,  good  madam ;  never  more 
Will  I  my  master's  tears  to  you  deplore. 

Oli*  Yet  come  again:   for  thou,  perhaps,  mayst 
move 
That  heart,  which  now  abhors,  to  like  his  love. 

[Exeu7it. 

SCENE  U.~ARoomin  OYixia's  House. 

Enter  Sir  Toby    Bf-lcii,  Sir   Andrew    Ague* 
ciiKEK,  ai}d  Fabiax. 

Sir  And.   No,  faith,  III  not  stay  a  Jot  longer. 

Sir  To.  Thy  reason,  dear  venom,  give  tliy  reason. 

Fab.  You  must  needs  yield  your  reason,  sir  An- 
drew. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  I  saw  your  niece  do  more  favors 
to  the  counts  serving  man,  than  ever  she  bestowed 
upon  me :   I  saw't  i'  the  orchard. 

Sir  To.  Did  she  see  thee  the  while,  old  boy  T  tell 
me  that. 

Sir  And.   As  plain  as  I  see  you  now. 

Fab.  This  was  a  great  argument  of  love  in  her 
towards  you. 

Sir  And.   'Slight!   will  you  make  an  ass  o'  me? 

Fab.  I  will  prove  it  legitimate,  sir,  upon  tlie 
oaths  of  judgment  and  reason. 

Sir  To.  And  they  have  been  grand  jury-men, 
since  before  Noah  was  a  sailor. 

Fab.  She  did  show  favor  to  the  youth  in  your 
sight,  only  to  exasperate  you,  to  awake  your  dor- 
mouse valor,  to  put  fire  in  your  heart,  and  brim- 
stone in  your  liver:  You  should  then  have  accosted 
her;  and  with  some  excellent  jests,  fire-new  from 
the  mint,  you  should  have  banged  the  youth  into 
dumbnes.s.  This  was  looked  for  at  your  hand,  and 
this  was  baulked  :  the  double  gilt  of  this  opportun- 
ity you  let  time  wash  off,  and  you  are  now  sailed 
into  the  north  of  my  lady's  opinion;  where  you 
will  hang  like  an  icicle  on  a  Dutchman  s  hrnvd.  un- 
less you  do  redeem  it  by  some  laudable  attempt 
either  of  valor,  or  policy. 

Sir  And.  And't  be  any  way,  it  must  be  with 
valor;  for  policy  I  hate:  I  had  as  lief  be  a  Brown- 
ist,"  as  a  politician. 

Sir  To.  Why  then,  build  me  thy  fortunes  upon 
the  bnsis  of  valor.  Challenge  mc  the  count's  youth 
to  fight  with  him;  hurt  him  in  eleven  places;  my 
niece  shall  take  note  of  it:  and  assure  thyself,  there 
is  no  love  broker  in  the  world  can  more  prevail  in 
man's  commendation  with  woman,  than  report  of 
valor. 
Fab.  There  is  no  way  but  this,  sir  Andrew. 

Sir  Ant  Will  either  of  you  bear  me  a  challenge 
to  him '! 

Sir  To.  Go,  write  it  in  a  martial  hand;  be  curst* 
and  brief;  it  is  no  matter  how  witty  so  it  be  elo- 
quent, and  full  of  invention:  taunt  him  with  the 
licence  of  ink :  if  thou //joi/'s/  him  some  thrice,  it 
shall  not  be  amiss;  and  as  many  lies  as  will  lie  in 
thy  sheet  of  paper,  altiiough  the  sheet  were  big 
enough  for  the  bed  of  Ware*  in  England,  set 'em 
down  ;  go,  about  it.    Let  there  be  gall  enough  in 

•  Separatists  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign. 

•  Crabbed.    '  In  Hertfordshire,  which  held  forty  perfons. 


Scene  III. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


73 


thy  ink :  though  thou  write  with  a  goose-pen,  no 
matter :  About  it. 

Sir  And.   Where  shall  I  find  you  7 

a'lr  To.  We'll  call  thee  at  the  cH6tc»Zo.-«  Go. 

[Exil  Sir  AsuiiEW. 

Fab.   This  is  a  dear  manikin  to  you,  sir  Toby. 

Sir.  To  I  have  been  dear  to  liim,  lad  ;  some  two 
tliousand  strong,  or  so. 

Fab.  We  shall  have  a  rare  letter  from  him:  but 
you'll  not  deliver  it  i 

Sir  To.  Never  trust  me  then  ;  and  by  all  means 
stir  on  tiie  youth  to  an  answer.  I  think,  oxen  and 
Tvainropes  cannot  hale  them  together.  For  Andrew, 
if  he  were  opened,  and  you  find  so  much  blood  in 
ills  liver  as  will  clog  the  foot  of  a  flea,  1 11  eat  the 
rest  of  the  anatomy. 

Full.  And  his  opposite,  the  youth,  bears  in  his 
visage  no  great  presage  of  cruelty. 
Enter  Minn. 

Sir  To.  Look,  where  the  youngest  wren  of  nine 
comes. 

Mar.  If  you  desire  the  spleen,  and  will  laugh 
yourselves  into  stitches  I'ollowme;  yon  gull  Mal- 
voho  is  turned  lieallien  a  very  renegade  ;  for  theie 
is  no  Christian,  that  means  to  be  saved  by  believing 
rightly,  can  ever  beUeve  such  impossible  passages 
01  grossness.  He's  in  yellow  stockings. 

Sir  To.  And  cross-gartered  ! 

Mar.  Most  villanously;  like  a  pedant  that  keeps 
a  school  i'  the  church.—  1  have  dogged  him,  like  his 
murderer:  He  docs  obey  every  point  of  the  letter 
that  1  dropped  to  betray  him.  He  does  smile  his 
face  into  more  lines,  than  are  in  the  new  map,  with 
the  augmentation  of  the  Indies;  you  have  not  seen 
such  a  thing  as  'tis  :  1  can  hardly  forbear  hurling 
things  at  liim.  I  know,  my  lady  will  strike  him ;  i 
if  she  do,  he'll  smile,  and  take  t  for  a  great  tavor.      I 

Sir  To.  Come,  bring  us,  bring  us  where  he  is. 

[Exeunt.  I 
SCENE  III.— .4  street. 
Enter  .\ntonio  and  Sebastia.v. 

Seh.    1  would  not,  by  my  will,  have  troubled  you; 
Uut  since  you  make  your  pleasure  of  your  pains, 
1  will  no  further  chide  you. 

Ant.   1  could  not  stay  behind  you;  my  desire, 
More  sharp  tlian  filed  steel,  did  spur  me  forth : 
And  not  all  love  to  see  you,  (tliough  so  much. 
As  might  have  drawn  one  to  a  longer  voyage,) 
liut  jealousy  what  might  befall  your  travel, 
lieing  skilless  in  tliese  parts  :   wiiich  to  a  stranger, 
Unguided,  and  unfriended,  often  iirove 
liougli  and  unhospitable :    i\ly  willing  love, 
The  mther  by  these  arguments  of  fear, 
Set  fortli  in  your  pursuit. 

Seb.  My  liind  .\ntonio, 

I  can  no  otlier  answer  make,  but  thanks. 
And  thanks,  and  ever  thanks:    Ot\en  good  turns 
Are  shullled  otTwith  such  uncurrent  pay  : 
But,  were  my  worth,  as  is  my  conscience,  firm, 
'V'ou  should  lind  better  dealing.    Wliafs  to  do ! 
Shall  we  go  see  the  rcliques  of  this  town  i 

Ant.    I'o-morrow,  sir;   best,  first,   go   see    your 
lotlging. 

Seb.  I  am  not  weary,  and  'lis  long  to  night ; 
1  pray  you,  let  us  satisfy  our  eyes 
'With  the  memorials,  and  the  things  of  fame, 
That  do  renown  this  city. 

AnI.  'Would  you'd  pardon  me; 

I  do  not  without  danger  walk  these  streets : 
Once,  in  a  sea-figlit,  'gainst  the  Count  his  gallies, 
1  did  some  service  ;  of  sucli  note,  indeed. 
That,  were  I  ta'en  here,  it  would  scarce  he  answer'd. 

Seb.  Behkc,  you  slew  great  number  of  his  people  7 

Ant.   The  olienee  is  not  of  such  a  liloody  nature  ; 
Albeit  the  quality  of  the  time  and  quarrel, 
Might  well  have  given  us  bloody  argument. 
It  might  have  since  been  answer'd  in  repaying 
What  we  took  from  them ;  which  for  tratlic's  sake 
Most  of  our  city  did:  only  myself  stood  out: 
For  wliich,  if  I'be  lapsed'  in  this  place, 
1  shall  pay  dear. 

Seb.  Do  not  then  walk  too  open. 

Ant.  It  doth  not  fit  me.  Hold,  sir.  here's  my  purse; 
In  the  south  suburbs,  at  the  F.lephant, 
Is  best  to  lodge  :    I  will  bespeak  our  diet, 
WhUes  you  beguile  the  time,  and  feed  your  know- 
ledge, 
»  Chamber.  •  Caught. 


'With  viewing  of  the  town ;  there  shall  you  have  me. 

Seb.   \V  hy  1  your  purse  7 

Ant.  Haply,  your  eye  shall  light  upon  some  toy 
You  have  desire  to  purchase ;  and  your  store, 
I  think,  is  not  for  idle  markets,  sir. 

Sib.  I'll  be  your  purse-bearer,  and  leave  you  for 
An  hour. 

Ant.  To  the  Elephant.— 

Seb.  I  do  remember. 

I  Exeunt. 
SCENE  IV.— Olivia's  Garden. 
Enter  Olivia  and  Maria. 

OH.   I  have  sent  after  him :    He  says, he'll  come; 
How  shall  1  Ie:ist  hunt  what  bestow  on  hin»  1 
For  youth  is  bought  more  oft,  tlian  begg'd,  or  bor- 

row'd. 
T  speak  too  loud. — 

Where  is  Malvolio  !  —  he  is  sad.  and  civil. 
And  suits  well  for  a  servant  with  my  fortunes;  — 
Where  is  Malvohol 

Mar.  He's  coming,  madam ; 

But  in  strange  manner.    He  is  sure  possess'd. 

O  i.  Why,  what's  the  matter  1    does  he  ravel 

Mar.  No,  madam, 

He  does  nothing  but  smile ;  your  ladyship 
Were  best  have  guard  about  you  if  he  coLie  ; 
For.  sure,  the  man  is  tainted  in  his  wits. 

OH.   (io  call  him  hitfier.    I'm  as  mad  as  he. 
If  sad  and  merry  madness  equal  be.— 

Enter  Maltoho. 
How  now,  Malvolio  T 

Mat.  Sweet  lady,  ho,  ho.     [Smiles  fantastically 

OH.   Smil'st  tlioul 
I  sent  for  thee  upon  a  sad*  occasion. 

Mai.  Sad,  lady  1  I  could  be  sad :  1'his  does 
make  some  obstruction  in  the  blood,  this  cross-gar- 
tering: But  what  of  that,  if  it  please  the  eye  of 
one.  It  is  with  me  as  the  very  true  sonnet  is:  Please 
one,  a)id  yleaxe  all. 

OH.  \V  by,  how  dost  thou,  man  1  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  thee  1 

Mat.  Not  black  in  my  mind,  though  yellow  in 
my  legs:  It  did  come  to  his  hands,  and  commands 
shall  be  executed.  1  tiiink  we  do  know  the  sweet 
Roman  hand. 

OH.  Wilt  thou  go  to  bed,  Malvolio'? 

Mai.  To  bed  !  ay,  sweet-heart :  and  I'll  come  to 
thee. 

OH.  God  comfort  thee !  Why  dost  thou  smile  so, 
and  Uiss  thy  hand  so  oft? 

Mar.   How  do  you,  Malvolio? 

Mai.  At  your  request  ?  Yes;  Nightingales  an- 
swer daws. 

Mar.  Why  appear  you  with  tliis  ridiculous  bold- 
ness before  my  lady  ? 

l^Ial.  Be  not  afraid  of  greatness :  'Twas  well  writ. 

OH.  What  meanest  "thou  by  that,  Malvolio  ? 

Mai.  Slime  are  born  great. — 

OH.   Ha 7 

Mai.   Some  achiere  greatness, — 

OH.   What  say  St  thou  '. 

Mai.  And.  ffoiiie  hare  greatness  thrust  upon  ttieni, 

OH.  Heaven  restore  thee! 

Ma!.  Remember  iclio  coinmeniLd  thy  yellow 
stocliinf^s : — 

OH.   Thy  yellow  stockings  ? 

IVIal.  And  u'l-slied  to  see  thee  cross-garte-cd, 

OH.    Cross-gartered! 

Mai.  Colo:  titou  art  made,  if  itiou  d'stf..st  to 
be  .*o  ,• — 

OH.  Am  I  made  ! 

Slal.  If  not,  let  me  see  tfiee  a  servant  still. 

OH.   VVhy,  this  is  very  midsummer  madness. 
Enter  Servant, 

Serv.  Madam,  the  young  gentleman  of  the  count 
Orsino's  is  returned ;  I  could  liardly  entreat  liim 
back  :  he  attends  your  ladyship's  pleasure. 

OH.  I'll  come  to  hiiii.  [Exit  Servant.]  Good 
Maria,  let  this  fellow  be  looked  to.  Where's  my 
cousin  Toby  '!  Let  some  of  my  people  have  a  spec- 
ial care  of  "him;  I  would  not  have  him  miscarry 
for  the  half  of  my  dowry. 

[Exeunt  Oiivia  and  Maiiia 

Mai.  Oh  ho !    do   you  come  near  me  now  ?    no 
worse  man  than  sir  Toby  to  look  to  me?  This  con- 
curs directly  with  tlie  letter:    she  sends  him   on 
*  Grave. 


74 


TWELFTH  NIGHT : 


Act  hi. 


purpose,  that  I  may  appear  stubborn  to  him;  for 
she  mcitcs  me  to  that  iii  the  letter.  Cast  iki/  hum- 
ble slough,  says  she :  be  opposite  with  a  klnsmaJi, 
surly  with  servants,—  let  thy  tongue  tang  icilh  ar- 
guments of  state,— put  thyself  i?ito  the  trick,  of 
singularity ; — aud,  consequently,  sets  down  the 
manner  how  ;  as,  a  sad  face,  a  reverend  carriage, 
a  slow  ton^iue,  in  the  habit  of  some  sir  of  note,  and 
so  forth.  I  have  limed  her  ;  but  it  is  Jove's  doing, 
and  Jove  make  me  thankful!  And,  when  she  went 
away  now,  Let  this  ft  I  low  be  looked  to:  Fellow  I* 
not  Malvoiio,  nor  after  my  degree,  but  fellow. 
Why,  every  thing  adheres  together;  that  no  dram 
of  a  scruple,  no  scrujilc  of  a  scruple,  no  obstacle, 
no  incredulous  or  unsafe  circumstance, —  What  can 
be  said  .'  Nothmg,  that  can  be,  can  come  between 
me  and  the  full  prospect  of  my  hopes.  Well,  Jove, 
not  I,  is  the  doer  of  this,  and  lie  is  to  be  thanked. 

Rc-enier  Maria,  tvith  Sir  Tonr  Belch,  a?id 
Fa  II I  AN. 

Sir  To.  Which  way  is  he,  in  the  name  ofsanc^ 
tity "!  If  all  the  devils  "in  hell  be  drawn  in  little,  and 
Legion  himself  possessed  liim.  yet  1  '11  speak  to  him. 

Fab*  Here  he  is, here  he  is:  —  How  is'twith  you, 
sirl   how  is  t  with  you,  mani 

MaL  Go  oiV;  I  discard  you,  let  me  enjoy  my 
private ;  go  otf. 

Mur.  Lo,  how  hollow  the  fiend  speaks  within 
him!  did  not  I  tell  you  ? — Sir  Toby,  my  lady  prays 
you  to  have  a  care  of  him. 

Mai.   Ah,  ha!  does  she  sol 

Sir  To.  Go  to,  go  to;  peace,  peace,  we  must  deal 
gently  with  him;  let  me  alone.  How  do  you. Mal- 
voiio f  how  ist  with  youl  What,  man!  defy  Uie 
devil:  consider  he's  an  enemy  to  mankind. 

Mai.   Do  you  know  what  you  say  7 

Mar.  La  you,  an  you  speak  ill  of  the  devil,  how 
he  takes  it  at  heart!    Pray  God,  he  be  not  bewitched ! 

Fa'j.  Carry  his  water  to  the  wise  woman. 

Mar.  Marry,  and  it  shall  be  done  to-morrow 
morning,  if  I  live.  My  lady  would  not  lose  him  for 
more  than  I'll  say. 

Mai.   How  now,  mistress? 

Mar.   O  lord ! 

Sir  To.  Pry  thee,  hold  thy  peace:  this  is  not  the 
way :  Do  you  not  see,  you  move  him '{  let  me  alone 
with  him. 

Fab.  No  way  but  gentleness;  gently,  gently:  the 
fiend  is  rough,  and  will  not  be  roughly  used. 

Sir  To.  Why,  how  now,  my  bawcock  !«  how  dost 
thou, chuck? 

Mai.  Sir? 

Sir  To.  Ay,  Biddy,  come  with  me.  What,  man  ! 
'tis  not  for  gravity  to  play  at  cherry-pit^  with  Satan ; 
Hang  him,  foul  collier! 

Mar.  Get  him  to  say  his  prayers;  good  sir  To- 
by, get  him  to  pray. 

^[al*  My  prayers,  minx? 

Mar.  No,  1  warrant  you,he  will  not  hear  of  god- 
liness. 

Mai.  Go  hang  yourselves  all !  you  are  Idle  shal- 
low things:  I  am  not  of  your  element;  you  shall 
know  more  hereafter.  [Exit. 

Sir  To.   I s't  possible? 

F(/l>.  If  this  were  played  upon  a  stage  now,  I 
could  condemn  it  as  an  improbable  fiction. 

Sir  To.  His  very  genius  hath  taken  the  infection 
of  Lhe  device,  man. 

Mar.  Nay,  pursue  him  now ;  lest  the  device  take 
uir,  and  taint. 

Fab.   Why,  we  shall  make  him  mad,  indeed. 

Mar.   The  house  will  he  the  quieter. 

Sir  To.  Come,  v^'c'll  have  him  in  a  dark  room, 
and  bound.  My  niece  is  already  in  the  belief  that 
he  is  mad :  we  may  carry  it  thus,  for  our  pleasure, 
and  his  penance,  till  our  very  pastime,  tired  out  of 
breath,  prompt  us  to  have  mercy  on  him ;  at  which 
time,  we  wdl  bring  the  device  to  the  bar,  and  crown 
thee  fur  a  finder  of  madmen.    But  see,  but  see. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew  Agce-ciief.k. 

Fob.   More  matter  for  a  I\Tay  morning. 
Sir  And.  Hercs  the  challenge,  read  it ;  I  warrant, 
■  Uiere's  vinegar  and  pepper  int. 
Fab.  Is't  so  saucy? 
I  Compauion,  o, Tolly  cock,  heau  and  coq. 

f  A  play  amoug  boys. 


Sir  A7id.  Ay,  is  it,  I  warrant  him  ;   do  but  read. 

Sir  To.  Give  me.  [Reads.]  Youth,  whatsoever 
thou  art,  thou  art  but  a  scurvy  fellow. 

Fab.  Good  and  valiant. 

Sir  To.  VVondernot  nor  adnih'e  not  in  thy  mbid^ 
why  I  do  call  thee  soj  for  I  will  show  thee  no  rea- 
son for^t. 

Fab.  A  good  note :  that  keeps  you  from  the  blow 
of  the  law. 

Sir  To.  Thou  comest  to  the  lady  Olivia,  and  in 
my  sight  she  uses  thee  kindly:  but  thou  liest  in 
thy  throat,  that  is  not  tlie  matter  I  challenge  thee 
for. 

Fab.  Very  brief,  and  exceeding  good  sense-less. 

Sir  To.  Iivill  way-la//  thee  going  tio/ne,  where 
if  it  be  thy  chance  to  kill  me, 

Fab.   Good. 

Sir  To.  T/iOU  killest  me  like  a  rogue  and  a  vil- 
lain. 

Fab.  Still  you  keep  o'  the  windy  side  of  the  law : 
Good. 

Sir  To.  Fare  thee  ivell ;  And  God  have  mercy 
upon  one  of  our  souls  /  He  may  have  mcrai  upon 
mine ;  but  my  hope  is  better,  aiid  so  took  to  Uiyself. 
Thy  friend,  as  thou  usest  him,  and  thy  sworn  enc' 
m  If.  A  N  n  R  E  w  A  c;  u  E-c  n  E r,  K . 

'.Sir  To.  If  this  letter  move  him  not,  his  legs  can- 
not: I'll  givet  him. 

Mar.  You  may  have  very  fit  occasion  fort;  he 
is  now  in  some  commerce  with  my  lady,  and  will 
by  and  by  depart. 

Sir  To.  Go,  sir  Andrew;  scout  me  for  him  at 
the  corner  of  the  orchard,  like  a  bum-bailirt ;  so 
soon  as  ever  tliou  seest  him,  draw;  and,  as  thou 
drawest,  swear  horrible ;  for  it  comes  to  pass  oft, 
that  a  terrible  oath,  with  a  swaggering  accent  sliarp- 
ly  twanged  off.  gives  manftood  more  approbation 
than  ever  proof  itself  would  have  earned  him. — 
Away. 

Sir  And.  Nay,  let  me  alone  for  swearing.  [Exit. 

Sir  To.  Now  will  not  I  deliver  his  letter:  for  the 
behavior  of  the  young  gentleman  gives  him  out  to 
be  of  good  capacity  and  breeding;  his  employment 
between  his  lord  and  my  niece  confirms  no  less; 
therefore  this  letter,  being  so  excellently  ignorant, 
will  breed  no  terror  in  the  youth;  he  will  find  it 
comes  from  a  clodpole.  But,  sir,  I  will  deliver  his 
challenge  by  word  of  mouth;  set  upon  Ague-cheek 
a  notable  report  of  valor;  and  drive  the  gentleman, 
(as,  I  know,  this  youth  will  aptly  receive  it,)  into 
a  most  hideous  opinion  of  his  rage,  skill,  fury,  and 
impetuosity.  This  will  so  frighlen  them  both,  that 
they  will  kill  one  another  by  the  look,  like  cocka- 
trices. 

Enter  Olivia  and  Viola. 

Fab.  Here  he  comes  with  your  niece:  give  them 
way,  till  he  take  leave,  and  presently  after  him. 

Sir  To.  I  will  meditate  the  while  upon  some 
horrid  message  for  a  challenge. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Tout,  Fabia'v  a7id  Makia. 

Oli.  1  have  said  too  much  unto  a  heart  of  stone, 
And  laid  mine  honor  too  unchary  out: 
There's  something  in  me.  that  reproves  my  fault; 
But  such  a  headstrong  potent  fault  it  is, 
That  it  but  mocks  reproof. 

Vio.  With  the  same  'havior  that  your  passion 
bears. 
Go  on  my  master's  griefs. 

Oli.   Here,  wear  this  jewel  for  me, 'tis  my  picture; 
Kefuse  it  not,  it  hath  no  tongue  to  vex  you : 
And,  I  beseech  you.  conic  again  to-murrow. 
What  shall  yon  ask  of  me.  that  I'll  deny, 
That  honor,  sav'd,  may  upon  asking  give! 

Vio.  Nothing  but  this,  your  true  love  for  my  mas- 
ter. 

Oli.  How  with  mine  honor  may  I  give  him  that 
Which  I  have  given  to  you? 

Virj.  I  will  acquit  you. 

Oli.  Well,  come  again  to-morrow :  Fare  thee  well ; 
A  fiend,  hke  thee,  might  bear  my  soul  to  hell. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Fabias. 

Sir  To.  Gentleman,  God  .save  thee. 
I'io.  And  you,  sir. 

Sir  To.  That  defence  thou  hast,  betake  thee  to't 
of  what  nature  the  wrongs  are  thou  hast  done  him, 


Scene  IV. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


75 


T  know  not;  but  thy  intercepter,  full  of  despight, 
bloody  as  the  hunter,  attends  thcc  at  the  orchard 
end:  dismount  thy  tuck,'  he  yare'  in  thy  prepara- 
tion, for  thy  assailant  is  quick,  skilful,  aiid  deadly. 

Vio.  You  mistake,  sir :  I  am  sure,  no  man  hath 
any  quarrel  to  me ;  my  remembrance  is  very  free 
and  clear  from  any  image  of  offence  done  to  any 
man. 

Sir  To.  You'll  find  it  otherwise,  I  assure  you : 
therefore,  if  you  hold  your  life  at  any  price,  betake 
you  to  your  guard;  for  your  opposite  hath  in  him 
wliat  youth,  strength,  skill,  and  wrath,  can  furnish 
man  withal. 

Vi-o-  I  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  he  ? 

Sir  To.  He  is  knight,  dubbed  witli  unhacked 
rapier,  and  on  carpet  consideration ;  but  he  is  a 
devil  in  private  brawl;  souls  and  bodies  hath  he 
divorced  three ;  and  his  incensement  at  this  moment 
is  so  implacaijie,  that  satisfaction  can  be  none  but 
by  pangs  of  death  and  sepulchre:  hob,  nob,  is  his 
word;  give't  or  take't. 

Vio.  I  will  return  again  into  the  house,  and  de- 
sire some  conduct  of  the  lady.  I  am  no  fighter. 
I  have  heard  of  some  kind  of  men,  that  put  quarrels 
purposely  on  others,  to  taste  their  valor;  belike, 
this  is  a  man  of  that  quirk. 

Sir  To.  Sir,  no;  hi3  indignation  derives  itself  out 
of  a  very  competent  injury ;  therefore  get  you  on, 
and  give  him  his  desire.  Back  you  shall  not  to  the 
Iiouse,  unless  you  undertake  that  with  me,  which 
with  as  much  safety  you  might  answer  him;  there- 
fore, on,  or  strip  your  sword  stark  naked:  for  med- 
dle you  must,  that's  certain,  or  forswear  to  wear 
iron  about  you. 

(OV).  This  is  as  uncivil,  as  strange.  I  beseech  you, 
do  me  this  courteous  ofiice,  as  to  know  of  the  knight 
wlnt  my  offence  to  him  is:  it  is  something  of  my 
negligence,  nothing  of  my  purpose. 

Sir  To.  I  will  do  so.  Signior  Kahian,  stay  you 
by  this  gentleman  till  my  return.  [Erlt  Sir  Toby. 

Vio.  Pray  you.  sir,  do  you  know  of  this  matter? 

Fab.  I  know  the  knight  is  incensed  against  you, 
even  to  a  mortal  abitrement;  but  nothing  ot  the 
circumstance  more. 

Vio.   I  beseech  you,  what  manner  of  man  is  hel 

Fab.  Nothing  of  that  wonderful  promise,  to  read 
nim  by  his  form,  as  you  are  like  to  lind  him  in  the 
proof  of  his  valor.  He  is.  indeed,  sir,  the  most 
skilful,  bloody,  arid  fatal  opposite  that  you  could 
possibly  have  found  in  any  part  of  Iltyria:  Will 
you  v^'alk  towards  hinil  1  will  make  your  peace 
witli  him,  if  I  can. 

Vio.  I  shall  be  much  bound  to  you  for't:  I  am 
one,  that  would  rather  go  with  sir  priest,  than  sir 
knight:  I  care  not  who  knows  so  much  of  my  mettle. 

[Excunl. 
Re-enlfir  Sir  Tobt  unlh  Sir  AMmiw. 

Sir  To.  Why,  man.  he's  a  very  devil ;  I  have  not 
seen  such  a  virago.  I  had  a  pass  with  him,  rapier, 
scabbard,  and  all,  and  he  gives  me  the  stuck-in,' 
with  such  a  mortal  motion,  that  it  is  inevitable; 
and  on  the  answer,  he  pays  you  as  surely  as  your 
feet  hit  the  ground  they  step  on:  They  say  he  has 
been  fencer  to  the  Sophy. 

Sir  And.   Pox  ont,  I'll  not  meddle  with  him. 

Sii-  To.  Ay,  but  be  will  not  now  be  pacified:  Fa- 
bian can  scarce  hold  him  yonder. 

Sir  An-I.  Plague  on't;  an  I  thought  he  had  been 
v.aliant,  and  so  cunning  in  fence,  I'd  have  seen  him 
dammed  ere  I'd  have  challeiiged  him.  Let  him  let 
the  matter  slip,  and  III  give  him  my  horse,  grey 
Capilot. 

.Sir  To.  I'll  make  the  motion :  Stand  here,  make 
a  good  show  on't;  this  shall  end  without  the  per- 
dition of  souls.  Marry,  I'll  ride  your  horse  as  well 
as  I  ride  you.  [Aside. 

Re-enter  Fabian  and  Viola. 

I  have  hishcrse  [To  Fab.]  to  take  up  the  quarrel; 
I  have  persuaded  him,  the  youth's  a  devil. 

Fah.  He  is  as  horribly  conceited  of  him;  and 
pants,  and  looks  pale,  as  if  a  bear  were  at  his  heels. 

Sir  To.  There's  noremedy.sir;  he  will  fight  with 
you  for  his  oath's  sake:  marry,  he  hath  better  be- 
thought him  of  his  quarrel,  and  he  finds  that  now 
Bcarce  to  be  worth  talking  of:   therefore  draw,  for 
8  R.ipier.  9  Rnajy. 

1  Stoccato,  au  Italian  term  in  f^'nciug. 


the  supportance  of  his  vow ;  he  protests,  he  will  not 
hurt  you. 

I'io.  Pray  God  defend  me!  A  little  tiling  would 
make  me  tell  them  how  much  I  lack  of  a  man. 

[Asiile. 

Fnb.  Give  ground,  if  you  sec  him  furious. 

Sir  To.  Come,  sir  .\ndrew,  there's  no  remedy; 
the  gentleman  will,  for  his  honor's  sake,  have  oiic 
bout  with  you:  he  cannot  by  the  duello*  avoid  it: 
but  he  has  promised  me.  as  he  is  a  gentleman  and 
a  soldier,  he  will  not  hurt  you.    Come  on ;  to  t. 

Sir  Arid.  Pray  God,  he  keep  his  oath !     [Draws. 

Enter  Axtonio. 

Vio.  I  do  assure  you,  'tis  against  my  wili.[ Draww. 

Ant.  Put  up  your  sword;  —  if  this  young  gentle- 
man 
Have  done  offence,  I  take  the  fault  on  me ; 
If  you  offend  him,  I  lor  him  defy  you.    [Dravins. 

Sir  To.  Vou,  sir  1    why,  what  are  you  .' 

Ant.  One,  sir,  tiiat  for  his  love  dares  yet  do  more 
Than  you  have  heard  him  brag  to  you  he  will. 

Sir  To.  Nay,  if  you  be  au  undertaker,  I  am  for 
you.  [Draws. 

Enter  two  OiScers. 

Fah.  O  good  sir  Toby,  hold ;  here  come  the  officers. 

Sir  To.   I'll  be  with  you  anon.        [I'd  .'Vntomo. 

Vio.  Pray,  sir,  put  uji  your  sword,  if  you  i)lease. 
[To  Sir  AMiiir.w. 

Sir  And.  IMarry,  will  I,  sir;  — and.  for  that  I 
promised  you.  I II  be  as  good  as  mv  word:  He  will 
bear  you  easily,  and  reins  well. 

1  Of.   This  is  the  man.  do  thy  office. 

2  0(/'.   ,\ntonio,  I  arrest  thee  at  tlie  suit 
Of  Coiint  Orsino. 

Ant.  Y'ou  do  mistake  me,  sir. 

1  Off.  No,  sir.  no  jot;  I  know  your  favor  well, 
Though  now  you  have  no  sea-cap  on  your  head. — 
Take  him  away;   he  knows,  I  know  him  well. 

Ant.   1   must  obey.— This  comes  with  seeking 
you; 
Hut  there's  no  remedy ;  I  shall  answer  it. 
What  will  you  do?     Now  my  necessity 
Makes  me  to  ask  you  for  my  purse:    It  grieves  me 
Much  more  for  what  I  cannot  do  for  you. 
Than  what  befals  myself.    You  stand  amaz'd ; 
But  be  of  comfort- 

2  Off.  Come,  sir,  away. 

Ant.  I  must  entreat  of  you  some  of  that  money. 

Vio.   What  money,  sir .' 
For  the  fair  kindness  you  have  show'd  me  here. 
And,  part,  being  prompted  by  your  present  trouble, 
Out  of  my  lean  and  low  ability 
111  lend  you  something:    my  having  is  not  much; 
I'll  make  division  of  my  present  with  you: 
Hold,  there  is  half  my  coffer. 

Ant.  Will  you  deny  me  now  ! 

Is't  possible  that  my  deserts  to  you 
Can  lack  persuasion  ?     Do  not  tempt  my  misery. 
Lest  that  it  make  me  so  unsound  a  man, 
As  to  upbraid  you  for  those  kindnesses 
That  I  have  done  for  you. 

Vio.  I  know  of  none ; 

Nor  know  I  you  by  voice,  or  any  feature : 
I  hate  ingratitude  more  in  a  man. 
Than  lying,  vainness,  babbling,  drunkenness, 
Or  any  taint  of  vice,  whose  strong  corruption 
Inhabits  our  frail  hlfiod. 

Ant.  O  heavens  themselves ! 

2  Oif'.  Come,  sir,  I  pray  you,  go. 

Ant.  Let  me  speak  a  little.    'Ihis  youth  that  you 
see  here, 
I  snatch'd  one  half  out  of  the  jaws  of  death  ; 

Reliev'd  him  with  such  sanctity  of  love. 

And  to  his  image,  which,  methought,  did  promise 
Most  venerable  worth,  did  I  devotion. 

I  Off.  What's  that  to  us!    The  time  goes   by: 
away. 

Ant.  But,  0.  how  vile  an  idol  proves  this  god !  — 
Thou  bast.  Sebastian,  done  good  feature  shame. — 
In  nature  there's  no  blemish,  but  the  mind; 
None  can  be  called  deform'd,  but  the  unkind: 
Virtue  is  beauty,  but  the  beauteous  evil 
Are  empty  trunks,  o'erflourish'd  by  the  devil. 

I   Off.  The  man  grows  mad ;  away  with  him. 
Come,  come.  sir. 

Ant.   Lead  me  on.     [E.vrunt  Officers  luit/i  .Int 
^  Laws  i>f  duel. 


70 


TWELFTH  NIGHT: 


Act  IV.  Scene  I. 


Vio.  Meth  inks,  his  words  do  from  such  passions  fly , 
That  he  believes  himself;  so  do  not  I. 
Prove  true,  imagination,  O,  prove  true, 
Tliat  1,  dear  brotlier,  be  now  ta'en  for  you  ! 

Sir  To.  Come  hither,  knight;  come  liither,  Fabi- 
an ;  we'll  whisper  o'er  a  couplet  or  two  of  most 
safje  saws. 

Via.  He  named  Sebastian ;  I  my  brother  know 
Yet  hving  in  my  ^lass;  even  such,  and  so, 
In  favor  was  my  brother:   and  he  went 
Still  in  this  fashion,  color,  ornament, 
For  him  I  imitate:   O,  if  it  prove. 
Tempests  axe  kind,  and  salt  waves  fresh  in  love ! 

[Exit. 


Sir  To.  A  very  dishonest  paltry  boy,  and  more 
a  coward  than  a  hare  :  his  dishoiesty  appears  in 
leaving  his  friend  here  in  necessity,  and  denying 
him;  and  for  liis  cowardship,  ask  Fabian. 

Fab.  A  coward,  a  most  devout  coward,  religious 
in  it. 

Sir  And.  'Slid,  I'll  after  him  again,  and  beat  him. 

Sir  To.  Do,  cuff  him  soundly,  but  never  draw 
thy  sword. 

S'ir  yinrf.  An  I  donot,—  [Exit, 

Fab.  Come,  let's  see  the  event. 

Sir  To.  I  dare  lay  any  money,  'twill  be  nothing 
yet.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  l.—Tlie  Street  before  Olivia's  House. 
Enter  Sebastian  and  Clown. 

Clo.  Will  you  make  me  believe  that  I  am  not 
sent  for  you  f 

Seb.  Go  to,  go  to.  thou  art  a  foolish  fellow ; 
Let  me  be  clear  of  thee. 

Cln.  Well  held  out,  i'faith!  No,  I  do  not  know 
you  ;  nor  I  am  not  sent  to  you  by  my  lady,  to  bid 
you  come  speak  with  her;  nor  your  name  is  not 
master  Ccsario ;  nor  this  is  not  my  nose  neither. — 
Nothing  that  is  so,  is  so.  * 

Sc'j.  1  pr'ythee,  vent  thy  folly  somewhere  else; 
Thou  knovv'st  not  me. 

Clo.  Vent  my  folly!  He  has  heard  that  word  of 
some  great  man,  and  now  applies  it  to  a  fool.  Vent 
my  folly  !  I  am  afraid  this  sreat  lubber,  the  world, 
wdl  prove  a  cockney. —  I  pr'ythee  now,  ungird  Ihy 
strangeness,  and  tell  me  what  I  shall  vent  to  my 
lady :    Shall  i  vent  to  her,  that  thou  art  coming  T 

Se't.   I  pr'ytlieo.  foolish  greek,  depart  from  me; 
There's  money  for  thee;   it  thou  tarry  longer, 
I  shall  give  worse  payment. 

Clo.  By  my  trotli,  thou  hast  an  open  hand: — 
These  wise  men  that  give  fools  money,  get  them- 
selves a  good  report  after  fourteen  years'  purchase. 

Enter  Sir  Andrew,  Sir  Tonx  and  FAniAS. 

Sir  And.  Now,  sir,  have  I  met  you  again  T  there's 
for  you.  [Striking  Skiiastian. 

Seb.  Wily,  there's  for  thee,  and  there,  and  there  : 
Are  all  the  people  mad  ?      [Beating  Sir  Anduew. 

Sir  To.  Hold,  sir,  or  I'll  throw  your  dagger  o'er 
the  house. 

Ctu.  This  will  I  tell  my  lady  straight:  I  would 
not  be  in  some  of  your  coats  for  two-pence. 

1  Kxit  Clown. 

Sir  To.   Come  on,  sir;  hold.  [Ihtding  Sf.b. 

Sir  And.  Nay,  let  him  alone,  I'll  go  another  way 
to  work  with  him  ;  I'll  have  an  action  of  battery 
against  him,  if  there  be  any  law  in  Illyria:  though 
I  struck  him  lirsi,  yot  it's  uo  matter  for  that. 

Seb.   Let  go  tiiy  hand. 

Sir  To.  Come,  sir,  I  will  not  let  yon  go.  Come, 
my  young  soldier,  put  up  your  iron :  you  are  well 
fleshed;  come  on. 

SeJ.  I  wdl  be  free  from  thee.    What  wouldst 
thou  know  T  * 

If  thou  dar'sl  tempt  me  further,  draw  thy  sword. 

[Draius. 

Sir  Tn.  What,  whaf!  Nay,  then  I  must  have  an 
ounce  or  two  of  this  malapert  blood  from  you. 

[Draws. 

Enter  Olivia. 

Oli.  Hold,  Toby:  on  thy  life,  I  charge  thee,  hold. 

Sir  To.   Madam  f 

Oli.   Will  it  be  ever  thus]     Ungracious  wretch. 
Fit  for  the  mountains  and  the  barbarous  caves. 
Where  manners  ne'er  were  preach' d !   out  of  my 
sight. 

Be  not  offended,  dear  Cesario: 

Rudesby,!  begone!  —  1  pr'ythee,  gentle  friend, 

[E.veu7it  Sir  'j'or.v,  Sir  Avkhew  and  Fabiax. 
Let  thy  fair  wisdom,  not  tliy  passion,  sway 
In  this  uncivil  and  unjust  extent' 

3  KaJe  fellow.  *  Violence. 


Against  thy  peace.    Go  with  me  to  my  house ; 
And  hear  thou  there  how  many  fruitless  pranks 
This  ruflian  hath  botched  up,  that  thou  thereby 
Mayst  smile  at  this:  thou  shalt  not  choose  but  go: 
Do  not  deny :   Beshrew  his  soul  for  me. 
He  started  one  poor  heart  of  mine  in  tliee. 

Seb.  What  relish  is  in  this!  how  runs  the  stream  T 
Or  I  am  mad,  or  else  this  is  a  dream  :  — 
l.et  fancy  still  my  sense  in  Lethe  steep; 
If  it  be  thus  to  dream,  still  let  me  .sleep : 

Oli.   Nay,  come,  I  pr'ythee:    'Would  thou'dst  be 
ruld  by  me! 

Seb.  Madam,  1  will. 

Oli.  0,  say  so,  and  so  be ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— yl  Room  i7i  Olivia's  House. 

Enter  Maria  and  Clown. 

Mar.  Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  put  on  this  gown,  and 
this  beard;  make  him  believe  thou  art  sir  Topas, 
the  curate  ;  do  it  quickly :  I'll  call  sir  Toby  the 
whilst.  (iJxi/ Maria. 

Ctu.  Well,  I'll  put  it  on,  and  I  will  dissemble 
myself  int;  and  I  would  I  were  the  first  that  ever 
dissembled  in  such  a  gown.  I  am  not  fat  enough 
to  become  the  function  well,  nor  IcBn  enough  to 
be  thought  a  good  student:  but  to  be  said,  an  hon- 
est man",  and  a  good  housekeeper,  goes  as  fairly,  as 
to  say.  a  careful  man  and  a  great  scholar.  The 
competitors^  enter. 

Enter  Sir  Tobt  Br.LCti  c;irf  Maria. 

Sir  To.  Jove  bless  thee.  Master  Parson. 

Clo.  Bonos  dies,s\t  Toby:  for  as  the  old  hermit 
of  Prague,  that  never  saw  pen  and  ink.  very  wittily 
said  to  a  niece  of  king  dorboduc.  That,  tliut  is,  ts ,• 
so  1,  being  master  parson,  am  master  parson;  For 
what  is  that,  hut  that !   and  is,  but  is  ! 

.Sir  To.  To  bim.  sir  Topas. 

Clo.  What,  hoa  I  say, —  Peace  in  this  prison! 

.S/>  To.  The  knave  counterfeitswell ;  a  ;^ood  knave. 

Mai.  \In  an  inner  chamber.}     Who  calls  there] 

Clo.  Sir  Topas,  the  curate,  who  comes  to  visit 
Malvolio,  the  lunatic. 

filiil.  Su:  Topas,  sh:  Topas,  good  sir  Topas,  go  to 
my  lady. 

C7o.  Out,  hyperbolical  fiend  !  how  vexest  thou 
this  man  !    talkest  thou  nothing  but  of  ladies? 

.Sir  To.   Well  said,  master  parson. 

JI/«/.  Sir  Topas,  never  was  a  man  thus  wronged  : 
good  sir  Topas,  do  not  think  I  am  mad;  they  have 
laid  me  here  in  hideous  darkness. 

Clo-  I'ie,  thou  disiioncst  Satban  !  I  call  thee  by 
the  most  modest  terms;  liir  I  am  one  ^-^^  those  gen- 
tle one.s,  that  will  use  the  devil  himself  with  court- 
esy :   Say'st  thou,  that  house  is  dark  f 

Mill.  As  hell,  sir  Topas. 

Clo.  Wliy,  it  hath  bay-windows  transparent  as 
barricadoes,  and  the  clear  stones  towards  the  south- 
north  are  as  lustrous  as  ebony;  and  yet  complain- 
cst  thou  of  obstruction? 

Mai.  I  am  not  mad,  sir  Topas ;  I  say  to  you,  this 
house  is  dark. 

Clo.  Madman,  thou  errcst:  I  say.  there  is  no 
darkness,  but  ignorance  ;  in  which  Ibou  art  more 
puziled  than  the  Egyptians  in  their  fog. 

•  CoulVdi:riitca. 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


77 


Mat.*  I  say,  this  house  is  as  dark  as  igrioranre, 
though  ignorance  were  as  dark  as  hell;  and  I  say, 
there  was  never  man  thus  abused:  I  am  no  more 
mad  than  you  are;  make  the  trial  of  it  in  any  con- 
stant question." 

Clo.  What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras,  con- 
cerning' wild-fowl! 

Ma/.  That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  might  haply 
inhabit  a  bird. 

C/o.  What  thinkest  thou  of  his  opinion! 

Mat.  I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  no  way  ap- 
prove his  opinion. 

Clo.  Fare  thee  well:  Remain  thou  still  in  dark- 
ness: thou  shalt  hold  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras, 
ere  I  will  allow  of  thy  wits;  and  fear  to  kill  a  wood- 
cock, lest  thou  dispossess  the  soul  of  thy  grandam. 
Fare  thee  well. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas,  sir  Topas, — 

Sir  To.  My  most  exquisite  sir  Topas! 

Clo.   Nay,  I'm  for  all  waters.' 

Mar,  Thou  mighLst  have  done  this  without-thy 
beard  and  gown  ;  he  sees  thee  not. 

Sir  To.  To  him  in  thine  own  voice,  and  bring 
me  word  how  thou  findest  him  :  I  would,  we  were 
well  rid  of  this  knaver>'.  If  he  may  be  conveniently 
delivered,  I  would  he  were;  for  I  am  now  so  far  in 
offence  with  my  niece,  that  I  cannot  pursue  with 
any  safety  this  sport  to  the  upsliot.  Come  by  and 
by  to  my  chamber.  [Exeunf  Hir  Tody  a/idMARiA. 

Clo.  Heii  Robin.joUy  Robin. 

Tell  me  fu^w  thy  lathj  does.      [Singing. 

Mai.   Fool,— 

Clo.  Ml/  ladi/  is  unkind,  perdy. 

Mai.   Fool,— 

Clo.  Alas,  tchij  is  she  so  ? 

Mai.  Fool,  I  say  ;  — 

C!o.   She  loves  uuolher —  Who  calls,  ha  ? 

Mai.  Good  tool,  as  ever  thou  wilt  deserve  well  at 
my  hand,  help  me  to  a  candle,  and  pen,  ink,  and 
paper;  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  will  live  to  be  thank- 
ful to  thee  for  i. 

Clo.   Master  Malvolio! 

Mai.   Ay,  good  fool. 

Clo.  Alas,  sir,  how  fell  you  beside  your  five  wits  t 

Mai.  Fool,  there  was  never  man  so  notoriously 
abused;  1  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  fool,  as  thou  art. 

Clo.  But  as  well  T  tlien  you  are  mad,  indeed,  if 
you  be  no  better  in  your  wits  than  a  fool. 

Mai.  They  have  here  propertied  me;  keep  me 
in  darkness,  send  ministers  to  me,  asses,  and  do  all 
they  can  to  face  me  out  of  my  wits. 

Clo.  Advise  you  what  you  say  ;  the  minister  is 
here.  MalvoHo.  Malvolio,  thy  wits  the  heavens  re- 
store !  endeavor  thyself  to  sleep,  and  leave  thy  vain 
liibhie  babble. 

Mai.  Sir  Topas, 

Clo.  Maintain  no  words  with  him.  good  fellow. — 
who,  1,  sir !  not  1,  sir.  God  b'  wi'  you,  good  sir 
Topas. —  Marry,  amen. —  I  will,  sir,  I  will. 

Mai   Fool,  fool,  fool,  I  say, — 

Clo.  Alas.  sir.  be  patient.  What  say  you,  sir!  I 
am  shenta  for  speaking  to  you- 

Mai.  Good  tool,  help  me  to  some  light,  and  some 
paper;  I  tell  thee,  1  am  as  well  in  my  wits,  as  any 
man  in  lliyria. 

Clo.  Well-a-day, —  that  you  were,  sir  ! 

Mai.  By  this  hand,  I  am :  Good  fool,  some  ink, 
paper,  and  light,  and  convey  what  I  will  set  down 


to  my  lady ;  it  shall  advantage  thee  more  than  ever 
the  bearing  of  letter  did. 

Clo.  I  will  help  you  lo 't.    But  tell  me  true,  are 
you  not  mad  indeed?   or  do  you  but  counterfeit! 
Mai.   Believe  me,  I  am  not;   I  tell  thee  true. 
Clo.   Nay,  I'll  ne'er  believe  a  madman,  till  I  see 
his  brains.   I  will  fetch  youhght,and  paper,  and  ink. 

Mai.  Fool,  I'll  requite  it  in  the  higliest  clegree : 
I  prythee  be  gone. 
Clo.  /  am  gonCj  sir. 

And  anoJi,  sir, 
ril  he  ivith  you  again^ 
In  a  irici ; 
Like  to  the  old  vice^ 
Your  need  to  sustain. 


Who  with  dagger  of  lath, 
In  his  rage  and  his  n-ra/h. 

Cries,  ah,  ha  !  to  the  devil: 
Like  a  mad  lad, 
Pare  thy  nails,  dad. 

Adieu,  good  man  drivel. 


[Exit. 


SCENE  III.— Olivia's  Garden. 
Enter  Sebastiax. 


Seb.    This  is  tJie  air;  that  is  the  glorious  sun; 
This  pearl  she  gave  me.  I  do  feel 't  and  see't: 
And  though  'tis  wonder  that  enwraps  me  thus. 
Yet  'tis  not  madness.    Where's  Antonio  then  ! 
I  could  not  find  him  at  the  Elephant: 
Yet  there  he  was;  and  there  I  found  his  credit,' 
That  he  did  range  the  town  to  seek  me  out. 
His  counsel  now  might  do  me  golden  service: 
For  though  my  soul  disputes  well  with  my  sense, 
That  this  may  be  some  error,  but  no  madness, 
Y'et  doth  this  accident  and  flood  of  fortune 
So  far  exceed  all  instance,  all  discourse. 
That  I  am  ready  to  distrust  mine  eyes, 
And  wrangle  with  my  reason,  that  persuades  me 
To  any  other  trust,  but  that  I  am  mad, 
Or  else  the  lady's  mad  ;   yet,  if  "twere  so. 
She  could  not  sway  her  house,  command  her  fol- 
lowers. 
Take,  and  give  back,  affairs  and  their  despatch. 
With  such  a  smooth,  discreet,  and  stable  bearing, 
As,  I  perceive,  she  does:   there's  something  in't, 
That  IS  deceivable.    But  here  comes  the  lady. 

Enter  Olivia  and  a  Priest 

Oil.  Blame  not  this  haste  of  mine;    If  you  mean 
well, 
Now  go  with  me.  and  with  this  holy  man, 
Into  the  chantry  by:  there,  before  him, 
And  underneath  that  consecrated  roof, 
Plight  me  the  full  assurance  of  your  faith; 
That  my  most  jealous  and  too  d.oubtful  sou 
May  live  at  peace :    He  shall  conceal  it, 
Whiles*  you  are  willing  it  shall  come  to  note; 
What  time  we  will  our  celebration  keep 
According  to  my  birth. —  What  do  you  say  ? 

Seb.   I'll  follow  this  good  man,  and  go  with  you; 
And,  having  sworn  truth,  ever  will  be  true. 

Oil.  Then  lead  the  way,  good  father; And 

heaven  so  shine. 
That  they  may  fairly  note  this  act  of  mine  ! 

[Exeunt 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  I.— The  Street  before  OUxin's  House. 

Enter  Clown  a}id  Fabian. 

Fab.  Now.  as  thou  lovrst  me,  let  me  see  his  letter. 
Clo.  Good  master  Fabian,  grant  me  another  re- 
quest. 
Fab.   Any  thing. 

Clo.  Do  not  desire  to  see  this  letter. 
Fab.  Thot  is,  to  give  a  dog,  and,  in  recompense, 
desire  my  dog  agam. 

e  Regular  conversation. 

'  Any  otlipr  Oem  as  well  as  a  Topaz. 

8  Scolded,  reprimanded- 


Eiiter  Di'KE,  Viola,  and  Attendants. 

Duke.   Belong  you  to  the  lady  Olivia,  friends? 

Cla.  Ay,  sir  ;   we  are  some  of  her  trappings. 

Duke.  I    know   thee  well;    How  dost  thou,  my 
good  fellow  1 

Clo.   Truly,  sir,  the  better  for  my  foes,  and  the 
worse  for  my  friends. 

Duke.  J  ust  the  contrary ;  the  better  for  thy  friends. 

do.  No,  sir,  tiie  worse. 

Duke.   How  can  that  be  1 
»  A  buffoon  chfiracter  in  the  ol  J  plays,  and  father  of 
the  modem  Harlequin. 

1  Account  •Until. 


78 


TWELFTH  NIGHT: 


Act  V. 


CU).  Marry,  sir,  they  praise  me,  and  make  an  ass 
of  me;  now  my  toes  tell  me  plainly  I  am  an  ass: 
so  tiiat  by  my  lues,  sir,  1  protit  in  the  knowledge  of 
niy^self;  and  by  uiy  friends  1  am  abused :  so  tliat, 
conclusions  to  be  as  kisses,  if  your  four  negatives 
make  your  two  airirmatives,  wliy  then  the  worse  Ibr 
my  friends,  and  the  better  for  my  Ibes. 

Duke.   Why,  this  is  excellent. 

C/w.  By  my  trotii,  sir,  no ;  though  it  please  you 
to  be  one  of  my  friends. 

Duke.  Thou  shall  not  be  thp  worse  for  me; 
there's  goid. 

Vlij.  But  that  it  would  be  double-dealing,  sir,  I 
would  you  could  make  it  another. 

Duk-.  (-»,  you  give  me  ill  counsel. 

Cln,  Put  your  grace  in  your  pocket,  sir,  for  this 
once,  and  let  your  Uesh  and  blood  obey  it. 

Dnke.  Well,  1  will  be  so  much  a  sinner  to  be  a 
double-dealer;  there's  another. 

Clo.  Frimo,  aecundo,  ttrtio,  is  a  good  play ;  and 
tlie  old  saying  is,  the  third  pays  for  all :  the  triplex, 
eir,  is  a  good  tripping  measure ;  or  the  bells  of  St. 
Bennet,  sir,  may  put  you  in  mind ;  One,  two,  three. 

Duke.  You  can  fool  no  more  money  out  of  me  at 
this  throw :  if  you  wdl  let  your  lady  know,  1  am 
here  to  speak  witli  her,  and  bring  her  along  with 
you.  it  may  awake  my  bounty  further. 

Clu.  Marry,  sir,  lullaby  to  j  our  bounty  till  I  come 
again.  I  go,  sir;  but  1  would  not  have  you  to 
think,  that  my  desire  of  having  is  the  sin  of  covet- 
ousness:  but  as  you  say,  sir,  let  your  bounty  take 
a  nap,  I  will  awake  it  anon.  [Exit  Clown. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Ofiicers. 

Vio.  Here  comes  the  man,  sir,  that  did  rescue  me. 

Duke.  That  face  of  his  1  do  remember  well ; 
Yet,  when  I  saw  it  last,  it  was  besmear'd 
As  black  as  Vulcan,  in  tlie  smoke  of  war: 
A  bawbling  vessel  was  he  captain  of, 
For  shallow  draught,  and  bulk,  unprizable ; 
With  which  such  scathful  grapple  did  he  make 
With  the  most  noble  botto.n  of  our  Hcet, 
That  very  envy,  and  tile  tongue  of  loss, 
Cry-'d  f  ime  and  honor  on  him.    What's  the  matter  1 

1   Off'.  Orsino,  this  is  that  Antonio, 
That  "took    tlie    Phoenix,  and   her  fraught"  from 

Candy ; 
And  this  is  he,  that  did  the  Tiger  board, 
When  your  young  nephew  Titus  lost  his  leg: 
Here  in  the  streets,  desperate  of  shame,  and  .state, 
In  private  bra'ible  did  we  apprehend  him. 

I'io.   He  did  me  kindness,  sir;  drew  on  my  side ; 
But,  in  conclusion,  put  strange  speech  upon  me, 
I  know  not  what  'twas,  but  distraction. 

Duke.  Notable  pirate !   thou  salt-water  thief! 
W  hat  loolisli  boldness  brought  thee  to  their  mercies, 
Whom  thou,  ill  terms  so  bloody,  and  so  dear, 
Hast  made  thine  enemies  ! 

jint.  Orsino,  noble  sir, 

Be  pleas'd  that  I  shake  off  these  names  you  give  me ; 
Antonio  never  yet  was  thief,  or  pirate; 
Though,  I  confess,  on  base  and  ground  enough, 
Orsino's  enemy.    A  witchcraft  drew  me  hither ; 
That  most  ingrateful  boy  there,  by  your  side, 
From  the  rude  sea's enragd  and  foamy  mouth 
Did  I  rcdpem;  a  wreck  past  hope  he  was: 
His  life  I  gave  him,  and  did  thereto  add 
My  lovo,  without  retention,  or  restraint. 
All  his  in  dedication:   lor  his  sake. 
Did  1  expose  myself,  pure  for  his  love, 
Into  the  danger  of  this  adverse  town  ; 
Drew  to  delcnd  hiiii,  when  he  was  beset; 
Where  being  apprehended,  his  false  cunning, 
(Not  meaning  to  partake  with  me  in  danger,) 
Taught  him  to  face  me  out  of  his  acquaintance, 
And  grew  a  twenty-years-removed  thing. 
While  one  would  wink;  denied  me  mine  own  purse, 
Which  I  had  recommended  to  his  use 
JSot  half  an  hour  before. 

yif).  How  can  this  be" 

Duke.  When  came  he  to  this  town'! 

Ant.   To-day,  my  lord;   and  for  three  montlis 
before, 
(No  interim,  not  a  minute's  vacancy,) 
Both  day  and  night  did  we  keep  company. 
Enter  Olivia  and  Attendants. 

PuliC.  Here  comes  the  countess;  now  heaven 

walks  on  earth. 

3  Freight. 


But  for  thee,  fellow,  fellow,  (hy  words  arc  madness : 
Three  months  this  youth  hath  tendtd  upon  me; 
But  more  of  that  anon. Take  him  aside. 

Uti.   What  would  my  lord,  but  that  he  may  not 
have, 
Wherein  Olivia  may  seem  serviceable '! 
Cesario,  you  do  not  keep  promise  with  me. 

P'io.  Madam! 

Duke.   Gracious  Olivia,— — 

Oi!j.   What  do  you  say,  Cesario '! Good  my 

lord, 

Vio.   My  lord  would  speak,  my  duty  hushes  tie. 

Oli.  If  it  be  aught  to  tlie  old  tune,  my  lord, 
It  is  as  fat*  and  fulsome  to  mine  ear. 
As  iiowling  after  music. 

fluke.  Still  so  cruel  1 

Uii.   Still  so  constant,  lord. 

Duke-  What!  to  perverseness!  you  uncivil  lady, 
To  whose  ingrate  and  unauspicious  altars 
My  soul  the  faithfuU'st  ofl'erings  hath  breath'd  out. 
That  e'er  devotion  tender'd !    What  shall  1  do  ! 

Oli.   Kven  what  it  please  my  lord,  tliat  shall  be- 
come him. 

Duke.  Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  doit, 
Like  to  the  Kgyptian  thief,  at  point  of  death. 
Kill  what  I  love;  a  savage  jealousy. 
That  sometime  savors  nobly  !  —  But  hear  me  this: 
Since  you  to  non-regardance  cast  my  faith, 
And  that  I  partly  know  the  instrument 
That  screws  me  from  my  true  place  in  your  favor. 
Live  you,  the  marble-breasted  tyrant,  still; 
But  this,  your  minion,  whom,  1  know,  you  love, 
And  whom,  by  heaven,  1  swear,  I  tender  dearly, 
Him  will  I  tear  out  of  that  cruel  eye, 
Where  he  sits  crowned  in  his  master's  spite. — 
Come  boy,  with  me;  my  thoughts  are  ripo  in  mis- 
chief; 
I'll  sacrifice  the  lamb  that  I  do  love. 
To  spite  a  raven's  heart  within  a  dove.  {Going, 

Vio.  And  I,  most  jocund,  apt.  and  willingly. 
To  do  you  rest,  a  thousand  deaths  would  die. 

[Fullowins- 

Oli.  Where  goes  Cesario? 

Vio.  After  him  I  love. 

More  than  I  love  these  eyes,  more  than  my  life, 
More,  by  all  mores,  than  e'er  I  shall  love  wife: 
If  I  do  leign,  you  witnesses  above, 
Punish  my  life,  for  tainting  of  my  love! 

Oti.   Ah  me,  detested!   how  am  I  beguil'd  ! 

Vio.  Who  does  beguile  you  !   who  does  do  you 
wrong'! 

Oli.   Hast  thou  forgot  thyself?    Is  it  so  long?  — 
Call  forth  the  lioly  fatlier.  \ExU  an  Attendant. 

Duke.  Come  away.    [To  Viola. 

Oli.  Whither,  my  lord  ?  — Cesario,  husband,  stay. 

Duke.  Husband! 

Oli.  Ay,  husband;    Can  he  that  deny  ? 

Duke.  Her  husband,  sirrah  ! 

Vio.  No,  ray  lord,  not  I. 

Oli.   Alas,  it  is  the  baseness  of  thy  fear, 
That  makes  thee  strangle  thy  propriety; 
Fear  not.  Cesario,  take  thy  fortunes  up ; 
Be  that  thou  knovv'st  thou  art,  and  then  thou  art 
As  great  as  that  thou  fear'st. —  O,  welcome,  fatlier! 

Re-enter  Attendant  and  Priest 

Father,  I  charge  thee,  by  thy  reverence. 
Here  to  unfold  (though  lately  we  intended 
To  keep  in  darkness,  what  occasion  now 
Reveals  belbre  'tis  ripe)  what  thou  dost  know 
Hath  newly  past  between  this  youth  and  me. 

Friest.  A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 
Confirm'd  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands. 
Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 
Strengthened  by  interchangement  of  your  rings; 
And  all  the  ceremony  of  this  compact 
Scal'd  in  my  function,  by  my  testimony : 
Since  when,  my  watch  liatli  told  nie,  toward  my 

grave, 
I  have  traveli'd  but  two  hours. 

Duke.  O  thouili>seiiibliiig  cub!  what  wilt  tliou  be. 
When  time  hath  sow  d  a  grizzle  on  thy  case  ! 
Or  will  not  else  thy  craft  so  quickly  grow. 
That  thine  own  trip  shall  he  thine  overthrow  .' 
Farewell,  and  take  her;   but  direct  thy  liiet. 
Where  thou  and  I  henceforth  may  never  meet. 

Vio.  fily  lord,  I  do  protest,— 

Oti,  O,  do  not  swear ; 

*  Dull,  gross. 


Scene  I. 


OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


7y 


Hold  little  faith,  though  thou  hast  too  much  fear. 

Enter  Sir  Asdkew  Agce-cheek,  with  his  head 
broken* 

Sir  And.  For  the  love  of  God,  a  surgeon ;  send 
one  prosentlj,'  to  sir  Toby. 

Oil.   What's  the  matter  ! 

Sir  And.  He  has  broke  my  head  across,  and  has 
given  sir  Toby  a  bloody  coxcomb  too:  for  the  love 
of  tiod,  your  help  :  1  had  rather  than  forty  pound, 
I  were  at  home. 

Oli.   Who  has  done  this, sir  Andrew? 

Sir  Afci.  Tile  count*s  f^entletnan,  one  Cesario: 
we  took  him  for  a  coward,  but  he's  the  very  devU 
iiicardiaate. 

liuke.  My  gentleman,  Cesario! 

Sir  And.  (Id's  lifelings,  here  he  is  :  —  You  broke 
my  head  for  nothin^r ;  and  that  that  I  did,  I  was  set 
on  to  do't  by  sir  Toby. 

Viu.  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  ?  I  never  hurt  you : 
You  drew  your  sword  upon  me,  without  cause; 
But  I  bcspake  you  fair,  and  hurt  you  not. 

Sir  And.  If  a  blootly  coxcomb  be  a  hurt,  you 
have  hurt  me;  I  think,  you  set  nothing  by  a  bloody 
coxcomb. 

Enlcr  Sir  Tobt  Belch,  drunk,  led  by  the  Clown. 

Here  comes  sir  Toby  halting,  you  shall  hear  more: 
hut  if  he  had  not  been  in  drink,  he  would  have 
tickled  you  olhergatesi  than  he  did. 

Duke.  How  now, gentleman'!  How  is'twith  j-ou? 

Sir  To.  That's  all  one;  he  has  hurt  me,  and 
there's  the  end  on't. — Sot,  did'st  see  Dick  surgeon, 
sot! 

Clo.  0  he's  drunk,  sir  Toby,  an  hour  agone;  his 
eyes  were  set  at  eight  i'  the  morning. 

Sir  To.  Then  he's  a  rogue.  A  Iter  a  passy-mea- 
sure,  or  a  pavin  ;«  I  hate  a  drunken  rogue. 

Oli.  Away  with  him:  Who  liatli  made  tliis  havoc 
with  them ! 

Sir  And.  I'll  help  you,  sir  Toby,  because  we'll 
be  dressed  tosether. 

Sir  To.  Will  you  help  an  ass-head,  and  a  cox- 
comb, and  a  knave!   a  thin-faced  knave,  a  gull! 

Oli.  (Jet  him  to  bed,  and  let  his  hurt  be  look'd  to. 
lExeunt  Clown,  Sir  Tout  and  Sir  Anuhew. 

Enter  Sebastian. 

Seb.  I  am  sorry,  madam,  I  have  hurt  your  kins- 
man ; 
But  had  it  been  the  brother  of  my  blood, 
I  must  have  done  no  less,  with  wit,  and  safety. 
You  throw  a  strange  regard  upon  me,  and 
By  that  1  do  perceive  it  hath  oltendcd  you; 
Pardon  me,  sweet  one,  even  for  the  vows 
We  made  each  other  but  so  late  ago. 

Duke.  One  face,  one  voice,  one  habit,  and  two 
persons ; 
A  natural  persjiective,  that  is,  and  is  not. 

Se!j.    Antonio,  0  mv  dear  Antonio  ! 
How  have  the  hours  r'ackd  and  tortur'd  me, 
Since  1  have  lost  thee ! 

Ant.  Sebastian  are  you  1 

Seb.  Fear'st  thou  that,  Antonio " 

AnI.  How  have  you  made  division  of  yourself! — 
An  apple,  cleft  in  'two,  is  not  more  twin 
Than  Miese  two  creatures.    Which  is  Sebastian'! 

Oli.  Most  wonderful ! 

Set).    Do  I  stand  there  1    I  never  had  a  brother : 
Nor  can  there  be  that  deity  in  my  nature. 
Of  here  and  every  where.     I  liad  a  sister, 
W  honi  the  blind  waves  and  surges  have  devour'd  :— 
Of  charity,  what  kin  are  >  on  to  me !       [To  Viola. 
W  hat  countryman ''.  what  name  1  what  parentage  T 

Vio-  OfMessaline:  Sebastian  Wiis  my  father; 
Such  a  Sebastian  was  my  brotlicr  too. 
So  went  he  suited  to  his  watery  tomb: 
If  spirits  can  assume  both  form  and  suit, 
You  come  to  fright  us. 

Stb.  A  spirit  I  am,  indeed; 

But  am  in  that  dimension  grossly  clad. 
Which  from  the  womb  I  did  participate. 
Were  you  a  woman,  as  the  rest  goes  even, 
I  sliouid  my  tears  let  fall  upon  your  cheek. 
And  say — Thrice  welcome,  drowned  Viola! 

Vin.  'My  father  had  a  mole  upon  his  brow. 

S('>.   And  so  had  mine. 

l'i'«.  And  died  that  day  when  Viola  from  her  birth 
Had  number'd  thirteen  years 

*Otherways.  e  Serious  dances. 


Seb.  O,  that  record  is  lively  in  my  soul! 
He  finished,  indeed,  liis  mortal  act 
That  day  that  made  my  sister  thirteen  years. 

Vio.  If  nothing  lets  to  make  us  happy  both, 
But  this  my  masculine  usurp'd  attire, 
Do  not  embrace  me,  till  each  circumstance 
Of  place,  time,  fortune,  do  cohere,  and  jump, 
That  I  am  Viola:   which  to  confirm, 
1 11  bring  you  to  a  captain  in  this  town. 
Where  lie  my  maiden  weeds ;  by  whose  gentle  help 
I  was  preserv'd,  to  serve  this  noble  count: 
All  the  occurrence  of  my  fortune  since 
Hath  been  between  this  lady  and  this  lord. 

Seb.   So  comes  it,  lady,  you  have  been  mistook: 

[To  Olivia. 
But  nature  to  her  bias  drew  in  that. 
You  would  have  been  contracted  to  a  maid; 
Nor  are  you  therein,  by  my  life,  deceived. 
You  are  betroth'd  both  to  a  maid  and  man. 

Duke.  Benotamaz'd;  right  noble  is  his  blood. — 
If  this  be  so,  as  yet  the  glass  seems  true, 
I  shall  have  share  in  this  most  liapj)y  wreck : 
Boy,  thou  hast  said  to  mc  a  thousand  times, 

[To  Viola. 
Thou  never  shouldst  love  woman  like  to  me. 

T7ii,    And  all  those  sayings  will  I  over-swear; 
And  all  those  swearings  keep  as  true  in  soul. 
As  doth  that  orb'd  continent,  the  lire. 
That  severs  day  from  night. 

Duke.  Give  me  thy  hand ; 

And  let  me  see  thee  in  thy  woman's  weeds. 

I'io.  The  captain,  that  did  bring  me  first  on  shore, 
Hath  my  maicls  garments:   he,  upon  some  action, 
Is  now  in  durance;  at  Malvolio's  suit, 
A  gentleman,  and  follower  of  my  lady's. 

Oli.   He    shall  enlarge   him;  —  Fetch  Malvolio 
hither:  — 
.4nd  yet,  alas,  now  I  remember  mc. 
They  say,  poor  gentleman,  he's  much  distract 

Re-enter  Clown,  with  a  Letter. 

.K  most  extracting  frenzy  of  mine  own 

From  my  remembrance  clearly  banish'd  his. — 

How  docs  he,  sirrah  ! 

Clo.  Truly,  madam,  he  holds  Beelzebub  at  the 
stave's  end,  as  well  as  a  man  in  his  case  may  do : 
he  has  here  writ  a  letter  to  you ;  I  should  have  giv- 
en it  to  you  to-day  morning;  but  as  a  madman's 
epistles  are  no  gospels,  so  it  skills  not  much,  when 
they  are  delivered. 

Oli.   Open  it,  and  read  it. 

Clo.  Look  then  to  be  well  edified,  when  the  fool 
delivers  the  madman  :  —  Hij  the  Lord,  madam, — 

Oli.    How  now,  art  thou  mad! 

Clo.  No,  madam,  I  do  but  read  madness :  an  your 
ladyship  will  have  it  as  it  ought  to  be,  you  must 
allow  vox.'' 

Oli.  Pr'ylhce,  read  i'  thy  right  wits. 

Clo.  Sol  do,  madonna  ;  but  to  read  his  right  wits 
is  to  read  thus:  therefore  perpend,'  my  princess 
and  give  ear. 

Oli.   Read  it  you,  sirrah.  [ToFaiiian. 

Fab.  [Reads.]  By  the  lord,  madam,  you  irrong 
me,  and  the  world  shall  knoiv  it :  though  you  hare 
put  me  into  darkness,  and  given  your  drunken 
cousin  rttle  over  me,  yet  tmve  I  the'btnejit  of  my 
.senses  as  well  as  your  ladyshij*.  I  have  your  own 
letter  that  induced  me  to  the  semblance  I  put  on  ; 
with  the  which  I  dnubt  not  but  to  do  myself  much 
right,  or  ijou  much  sha7ne.  Think  (f  me  as  you 
plca.ye.  I  leave  my  duty  a  little  unthoug/if  of,  and 
speak  out  of  nty  injury.     Ttie  madly  used 

Malvolio. 

Oli.   Did  he  write  this'! 

Clo.  Ay,  madam. 

]}uke.  This  savors  not  much  of  distraction. 

Oli.  See  him  deliver'd,  Fabian  ;  bring  him  hither. 

[Lxil  Fabian'. 

My  lord,  so  please  you,  these  things  further  thought 

on, 
To  think  me  as  well  a  sister  as  a  wife, 
One  day  shall  crown  the  alliance  on't,  so  please  you. 
Here  at  my  house,  and  at  my  proper  cost. 

Duke.  Madam,  I  am  most  apt  to  embrace  your 
ofl'er. — 
Your  master  quits  you ;  [To  Viola]  and,  for  your 

service  done  him. 
So  much  against  the  mettle"  of  your  sex, 

'  Voice.        •  Attend.        8  Frame  and  constitution. 


80 


TWELFTH  NIGHT :  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL. 


Act  V. 


So  far  beneath  your  soft  and  tender  breeding, 
And  since  you  call'd  nie  master  for  so  long, 
flere  is  my  lumd ;  you  shall  from  this  time  be 
Your  master's  mistress. 
on.  A  sister? — you  are  she. 

Re-enter  Fabian  with  Malvolio. 

Duke.   Is  tills  the  madman  T 

OIL  Ay,  my  lord,  the  same : 

How  now,  Malvolio'! 

MaL  Madam,  you  have  done  me  wrong, 

Notorious  wrong. 

Oli.  Have  I,  Malvolio?  no. 

Mai.  Lady,  you  have.   Pray  you  peruse  that  letter. 
You  must  not  now  deny  it  is  your  hand, 
Write  trom  it,  if  you  can,  in  hand,  or  phrase; 
Or  say,  'tis  not  your  seal,  nor  your  invention: 
You  can  say  none  of  this  :   Wei!,  grant  it  then. 
And  tell  me,  in  the  modesty  of  honor, 
wiiy  you  have  given  me  such  clear  lights  of  favor; 
Bade  ine  come  pmiUng,  and  cross-gartered  to  you, 
To  put  on  yellow  stockings,  and  to  frown 
Upon  sir  Toby,  and  the  hghtcr  peojjlc : 
And,  acting  this  in  an  obedient  hope. 
Why  have  you  sutfer'd  me  to  be  imprison''d, 
Kept  in  a  dark  house,  visited  by  the  priest, 
And  made  the  most  notorious  gecli,»  and  gull, 
That  e'er  invention  play'd  on  ?    tell  me  why. 

Oli.  Alas,  Malvoho,  this  is  not  my  writing, 
Thou;ih  I  confess  much  like  the  character: 
But  out  of  question,  "tis  Marians  hand. 
And  now  1  do  betiiink  me,  it  was  she 
First  told  me,  thou  wast  mad ;  then  cam'st  in  smiling, 
And  in  such  forms  which  here  were  presuppos'd 
Upon  thee  in  the  letter.    Pr'ythce,  be  content: 
This  practice  hath  most  shrewdly  pass'd  upon  thee  ; 
But  when  we  know  the  grounds  and  authors  of  it, 
Thou  shall  be  botli  the  plaintid' and  the  judge 
Of  thine  own  cause. 

Fab.  Good  madam,  hear  me  speak; 

And  let  no  quarrel,  nor  no  brawl  to  come. 
Taint  the  condition  of  this  present  hour, 
Which  I  have  wonder'd  at.    In  hope  it  shall  not, 
Most  freely  I  confess,  myself  and  Toby 
Set  this  device  against  Malvoho  here. 
Upon  some  stubborn  and  uncourteous  parts 
We  had  conceived  against  him:   Maria  writ 
The  letter,  at  sir  Tobys  °;reat  importance  ;*» 
In  recompense  whereof,  ne  hath  married  Iier. 
How  with  a  sportful  noahce  it  was  follow'd, 
I  JcoL  •  Importunity. 


M:iy  rather  pluck  on  laughter  than  revenge; 
If  tliat  the  injuries  be  justly  weigh" d, 
That  have  on  both  sides  past. 

Oli.   Alas,  poor  fool !  how  have  they  baffled  thee ! 

Clo.  Why,  smue  are  born  great,  some  achieve 
greatness,  and  some  have  g?-eainesfi  ikroivn  upon 
them,  I  was  one,  sir,  in  tliisinterlude;  onesir  To- 
pas,  sir;  but  that's  all  one :  —  By  the  L(n'd^  fool,  1 
am  not  7»arf;— But  do  you  remember?  Madaniy 
why  tattsh  you  at  such  a  barrrcn  rascal?  an  you 
smile  mji,  he's  ga^g''d.-  And  thus  the  whirligig  of 
time  brings  in  his  revenges. 

Mai.  Ill  be  revenged  on  the  whole  pack  of  you. 

[ExiL 

Oli.  He  hath  been  most  notoriously  abused. 

iJahe.  Pursue  liim,  and  entreat  him  to  a  peace; — 
He  hall]  not  told  us  of  the  captain  yet; 
Wlien  that  is  known  and  golden  lime  convents," 
A  solemn  combination  shall  be  made 
Of  our  dear  souls:  —  Mean  time,  sweet  sister, 
We  will  not  part  from  hence. —  Cesario,  come, 
For  so  you  sliall  be  while  you  are  a  man: 
liut,  when  in  other  habits  you  are  seen, 
Orsinos  mistress,  and  his  fancy's  queen.  [Exeunt* 

SONG. 

Clo.  When  that  I  was  and  a  little  tiny  hoy^ 
With  hey,  ho,  the  tvind  and  the  rain, 
A  foolish  thing  wa^t  but  a  toy, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  to  man^s  estate. 
With  hey,  ho,  the  wind  ami  the  ?-ain, 

^Gainst  knave  and  thief  men  shut  their  ^ate, 
Fur  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came,  alas!  to  tvive, 
With  ftey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

By  swaggering  could  I  never  thrive, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

But  when  I  came  unto  my  bed. 
When  tiey,  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

With  toss-pots  stilt  had  drunken  head, 
For  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day. 

A  great  irhile  ago  the  world,  begun. 

With  hey,  ho,  the  ivind  and  th£  rain. 
But  that's  all  one,  our  play  is  done. 
And  weHl  strive  to  please  you  every  day. 
lExiU 
■  Shall  serve.' 


I 


MEASURE  FOE  MEASURE. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


ViNCENTio,  Duke  nf  Vienna. 

AwGEi.0,  Lord  Depti/v  in  the  Duke's  absence, 

EscALus,  an  ancient  l,nrd,joined  witti  Angelo  in 

the  deputation. 
CtAUDio,  a  younf^  Gentleman. 
Lucio,  a  Fantastic. 
Two  oilier  like  Gentlemen. 
Varbius,  a  Gentleman,  Servant  to  the  Duke. 
Provost. 

JbT;,S    T..  Friars. 

A  Justice. 

Elbow,  a  simple  Constable. 


FnoTH,  a  fooluih  gentleman. 
Clowx,  Servant  to  Ulrs.  Overdone. 
Ahhoiisos, an  Executioner. 
Bahxabdine,  a  dissolute  Prisoner. 

Isahella,  Suiter  to  Claudio. 
INlAniANA,  tietrothed  to  Angelo, 
JCLiF.T,  beloved  hij  Claudio. 
FiiAycTSCA,  a  Nun. 
Mistress  Oyt-nuasfi,  a  bawd. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Guards,  Officers,  and  other 
Attendants. 


SCENE.— Vienna. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— An  Apartment  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Duke,  Escalcs,  and  Lords. 

Duke.  Escalus, — 

Esc.  My  lord. 

Duke.  Of  government  tlie  properties  to  unfold, 
Would  seem  in  me  V  affect  sjieech  and  discourse, 
Since  I  am  put  to  know,  tliat  your  own  science 
Exceeds  in  that  the  lists  of  all  advice 
My  strength  can  give  you  :  Then  no  more  remains 
But  that  to  your  suliiriency,  as  your  worth  is  able, 
And  let  them  work.    The  I'lature  of  our  people, 
Our  city's  institutions,  and  the  terms 
For  common  justice,  y"  are  as  pregnant  in 
As  art  and  practice  hath  enriched  any 
That  we  remember  :  There  is  our  commission, 
From  which  we  would  not  have  you  v\-arp.    Call 

hither, 
I  say,  bid  come  before  us,  Angelo. — 
What  figure  of  us  think  you  he  willbear  ! 
For  you  must  know,  we  have  with  special  soul 
Elected  him  our  absence  to  supply ; 
Lent  him  our  terror,  drcst  liun  with  our  love, 
And  given  his  deputations  all  the  organs 
Of  our  own  power:    What  think  yon  of  it  ^ 

Esc.   If  any  in  Vienna  be  of  worth 
To  undergo  such  ample  grace  and  honor, 
It  is  lord  .\ngclo. 

Enter  Atig^i.o. 

Duke.  Look,  where  he  comes. 

Ang.  Always  obedient  to  your  grace's  will, 
I  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Duke.  Angelo, 

There  is  a  kind  of  character  in  thy  life, 
That,  to  th'  observer,  doth  thy  history 
Fully  unfold  : — Thyself,  and  thy  belongings, 
Are  not  thine  own  so  proper,  as  to  waste 
Thyself  upon  thy  virtues,  them  on  thee. 
Heaven  doth  with  us,  as  we  with  torclies  do. 
Not  light  them  f)r  themselves:  for  if  our  virtues 
Did  not  go  forth  of  us,  'twere  all  alike 

6 


As  if  we  had  them  not.  Spirits  are  not  finely  touch'd 

But  to  fine  issues :   nor  nature  never  lends 

The  smallest  scruple  of  her  excellence,  > 

Rut,  like  a  thrifty  sjoddcss,  she  determines 

Herself  the  glory  of  a  creditor. 

Both  thanks  and  use :  but  I  do  bend  my  speech 

To  one  tliat  can  my  part  in  him  advertise; 

Hold,  therefore,  Angelo: 

In  our  remove,  be  thou  at  full  ourself ; 

Mortality  and  mercy  in  Vienna 

Live  in  thy  tongue  and  heart :   Old  Escalus, 

Though  first  in  question,  is  thy  secondary. 

Take  thy  commission. 

Ang.  Now,  good  my  lord, 

Let  there  be  some  more  test  made  of  my  metal, 
Before  so  noble  ami  so  great  a  figure 
Be  stamp'd  upon  it. 

Duke.  No  more  evasion: 

We  have  with  a  leaven'd  and  prepar'd  choice 
Proceeded  to  yon  ;  therefore  take  your  honors. 
Our  haste  from  hence  is  of  so  quick  condition. 
That  it  prefers  itself,  and  leaves  unq\iestion'd 
Matters  of  needful  value.    We  shall  write  to  you. 
As  time  and  our  concernings  shall  imp6rtune. 
How  it  goes  with  us,  and  do  look  to  know 
What  doth  befall  you  here.    So,  fare  you  well : 
To  th"  hopeful  execution  do  I  leave  ybu 
Of  your  commissions. 

Aug.  Yet,  give  leave,  my  lord. 

That  we  may  bring  you  something  on  the  way. 

Duke.  My  haste  may  not  admit  it; 
Nor  need  you.  on  mine  honor,  have  to  do 
With  any  scruple  :  your  scope  is  as  mine  own. 
So  to  enforce  or  qualify  the  laws 
A  s  to  your  soul  seems  good :  —  Give  me  your  hand : 
I'll  privily  away;   I  love  the  people. 
But  do  not  like  to  stage  me  to  their  eyes: 
Though  it  do  well,  I  do  not  relish  well 
Their  loud  applause,  and  avei  vehement: 
Nor  do  1  think  the  man  of  safe  discretion 
That  does  alli^ct  it.    Once  more,  fare  you  well. 

Ang,  The  heavens  give  safety  to  your  purposes . 
81 


S2 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  I. 


£.sr.  Lead  forth.  Olid  briiiLT  you  back  in  happiness! 

Duke.  I  thank  juu.— Fare  jou  wcIJ.  [Exit. 

E>:c.  I  shall  desire  you,  sir,  io  gi\e  me  leave 
To  have  free  tpeccti  wilh  you  ;   and  it  concerns  me 
To  looli  into  the  bottom  ol  my  phice: 
A  power  i  have,  but  of  what  strength  and  nature, 
I  am  not  yet  ijisLiucted. 

Ang.   *Tis  so  with  me: — Let  us  withdraw  to- 
gether, 
And  we  may  soon  our  satisfaction  have 
Touching  lliat  point. 

£sc.  111  wait  upon  your  iionor- 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.—A  Street. 

Enter  Lucio,  and  two  Gentlemen. 

Lucio.  If  the  duke,  with  the  other  dukes,  come 
rot  to  composition  with  tlie  king  of  Hungary,  why 
then  :dl  the  dukes  fall  upon  the  king. 

1  <.!':, if.  Heaven  grant  us  its  peace  ;  but  not  the 
king  of  Hungary's  ! 

2  Gent.   Amen. 

Lucio.  Tliou  concludest  like  the  sanctimonious 
pirate,  that  went  to  sea  with  the  ten  commandments, 
but  scraped  one  out  oi  the  table. 

2  Ge)it.   Thou  shalt  not  steal? 

Lucio.   Ay.  that  he  razed. 

1  Gent.  \Vhy,  'twiis  a  commandment  to  com- 
mand tJie  captain  and  all  the  rest  from  their  func- 
tions; they  put  liirtii  to  steal :  there's  not  a  soldier 
of  us  all,  that,  in  tiie  thahks;^iving  hel'ore  meat,  doth 
lehsh  the  petition  well  tliat  |)rays  Inr  peace. 

2  Gent.  I  never  heard  any  sukher  dislike  it. 
L'tciii.  I  believe   tliee;   tor,  1  think,  thou  never 

wast  where  grace  was  snid. 

2  GL'nf.   No7   a  dozen  times  at  least. 

1   Gent.   What]   in  metre  1 

Lucin.   In  any  proportion,'  or  in   any  language. 

1   Gent.   I  think,  or  in  any  religion. 

Lucio.  Ay  !  why  not  ?  (^race  is  grace,  despite  of 
all  controversy  :  as.  for  example,  thou  thyself  art  a 
wicked  villain,  de^^pite  of  all  grace. 

1  Gent.  Well,  there  went  but  a  pair  of  sheers 
between  us.* 

Lucio.  I  grant;  as  there  mil y  between  the  lists 
and  the  velvet:    thou  art  tlie  list. 

1  Gent.  And  tJiou  the  velvet :  thou  art  good  vel- 
vet :  thou  art  a  three-pil'd  piece,  I  warrant  thee :  I 
had  as  lief  be  a  list  of  an  English  kersey,  as  be 
pifd,  as  thou  art  pil  d,  for  a  French  velvet."!  Do  I 
speak  feelingly  now  1 

Lucio.  1  think  thou  dost;  and,  indeed,  with  most 
painful  feeling  of  tliy  sjieech:  I  will,  out  of  thine 
own  confession,  learn  to  begin  thy  health;  but, 
whilst  1  live,  forget  to  drink  after  thoc. 

1  Gent.  I  think  I  have  done  myself  wrong  ;  have 
I  not? 

2  Gent.  Yes,  that  thou  hast;  whether  thou  art 
tainted,  or  free. 

Lucio.  Behold,  behold,  where  Madam  Mitigation 
comes!  I  have  purchased  as  many  diseases  under 
her  roof,  as  come  to  — 

2  Gent.   To  what,  I  pray  ? 

1  Gent.  Judge. 

2  Gent.  To  three  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
1   Gent.  Ay,  and  more. 

Lucio.   A  French  crown*  more. 

1  Gent.  Thou  art  always  figuring  diseases  in 
me:    but  thou  art  full  of  error;   I  am  sound. 

Lucio.  Nay.  not  as  one  would  say,  healthy,  but 
so  sound,  as  things  that  are  hollow:  thy  bones  ai-e 
hollow;   impiety  has  made  a  feast  of  thee. 

Enter  Bawd. 

1  Ge;//.  How  nnwl  Which  of  your  Iiips  has  the 
most  profound  sciatica  '^. 

Bau"i.  Well,  well;  there's  one  yonder,  an-eeted, 
and  carried  to  prison,  was  worth  five  thousand  of 
you  all. 

1   Gent.   Who's  that,  I  pray  theel 
Jiaivd.  Marry  sir.  that's  Claudio,  Signior  Claudio. 
I   Gent.   Claudio  to  i)rison!    'tis  not  so. 
Botrd.   Nay,  but  I  know  'tis  so:   I  saw  him  ar- 
rested ;   saw  him  carried  away ;  and,  which  is  more, 
within  these  tlnce  days  his  head's  lobe  chopped  ofl". 
I  Measure.  a.V  cut  of  the  sam<^  cloth. 

aA  ji^st  on  the  lo^is  of  h.air  by  the  French  disea.se. 
•  Ccn'ona  Vcncj-is. 


Lucio  But,  after  iiU  this  fooling,  I  would  not 
have  it  so:   art  thou  sure  of  this? 

Bawd.  I  am  too  sure  of  it;  and  it  is  for  getting 
Madam  Julietta  witli  child. 

Lucio.  Believe  me,  this  may  be:  he  promised  to 
meet  me  two  hours  since ;  and  he  was  ever  precise 
in  promise-keeping. 

2  Gent.  Besides,  you  know,  it  draws  something 
near  to  the  speech  we  had  to  such  a  purpose. 

1  Gent.  But  most  of  all,  agreeing  with  the  pro- 
clamation. 

Lucio.  Away;  lets  go  learn  the  truth  of  it. 

[Exeunt  htcio  and  Gentlemen. 

Bated.  Thus,  wdiat  with  the  war,  what  with  tho 
sweat ;»  what  wilh  the  gallows,  and  what  wilh  pov- 
erty, 1  am  custom-shrunk.  How  now!  -what's  the 
news  with  you  .' 

Enter  Clown. 

Clown.   Yonder  man  is  carried  to  prison. 

Bawd,  Well ;  what  has  he  done  ! 

Ctown.   A  woman. 

Bawd.  But  what's  his  offence? 

C/inen.   Groping  for  trouts  in  a  peculiar  river. 

Biiwd.    What,  is  there  a  maid  with  child  by  himl 

Cl'nrn.  No;  but  there's  a  wom:in  with  maid  by 
him:  you  have  not  heard  of  the  proclamation,  have 
}■  0  u  ? 

Bawd.   What  proclamation,  man! 

Clown.  All  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  'Vienna 
must  be  pluck'd  down. 

Baivd.  Aiid  what  shall  become  of  those  in  the 
city! 

Clown.  They  shall  stand  for  seed:  thoy  had  gone 
down  too,  but  that  a  wise  burgher  put  in  for  them. 

Bawd.  But,  shall  all  our  houses  of  resort  in  the 
suburbs  be  pulled  down! 

Vhavn.   To  the  ground,  mistress. 

Bawd.  Why.  here's  a  change  indeed  in  the  com- 
monwealth: what  shall  becoriie  of  me! 

CUnvn.  Come,  fear  not  you;  good  counsellors 
lack  no  clients.  Though  you  change  your  place, 
you  need  not  change  your"trade;  I'll  be  your  tap- 
ster still.  Courage ;  there  will  be  pity  taken  on  you  : 
you  that  have  w'orn  your  eyes  almost  out  in  the 
service,  you  will  be  considered. 

Baivd.  What's  to  do  here'!  Thoma-s  Tapster, 
let's  withdraw. 

Clown.  Here  comes  Signior  Claudio,  led  by  the 
provost  to  prison:   and  there's  madam  Juliet. 

[Exeimf. 
SCENE  Ul.-— Ttie  same. 

Enter  Provost,  CLAvnio,  Juliet,  and  Officers. 

Claud.  Fellow,  why  dost  thou  sliow  me  thus 
to  the  world.  Bear  me  to  prison,  where  I  am 
conunitted. 

Proc.   I  do  it  not  in  evil  disposition, 
But  from  lord  Angelo  by  special  char^ie. 

Claud.  Thus  can  thedemi-god,  Authority, 
Make  us  pay  down  for  ourolfence  by  weight. — 
The  words  of  heaven;  on  wliom  it  will,  it  will; 
On  whom  it  will  not,  so;  yet  still  'tis  just. 

£'??/fr  Lrcio. 

Lucio.  Why,  hovi'  now,  Claudio]  whence  comes 
this  restraint ! 

Claud.   From   too  much  liberty,  my  Lucio,  lib- 
erty : 
As  surfeit  is  the  father  of  much  fist, 
So  every  scope  by  the  innnoderate  use 
Turns  to  restraint:   Our  natures  do  pursue 
(  Like  rats  that  ravin  down  their  proper  haue) 
A  tiiirsty  evil ;  and  when  we  drink,  we  die. 

Lucio.  If  1  could  speak  .so  wisely  under  an  .irrest, 
I  would  send  for  certain  of  my  creditors:  And  yet, 
to  say  the  truth.  1  had  as  lief  have  the  foppery  of 
freedom,  as  the  morality  of  imprisonment. — What's 
thy  od'ence,  Claudio  ! 

Claud.  What,  but  to  speak  of  would  offend  again. 

Lxicio.  What  is  it?    nmrder'! 

Claud.    No. 

Lucio.   Lechery  1 

Claud.   Call  it'so. 

Prov.  Away,  sir;  you  must  go. 

Claud.  One  word,  good  friend  :  —  Lucio,  a  word 
with  you.  [Takes  him  aside, 

»  The  SATcating  EickncsB. 


ScEXE    1^1 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


83 


hnci'i-   A  liuiitlrcil,  li'tlicy'li  do  you  any  good. 
Is  lechery  so  loOf\  d  aitt-r  i 

Ciuud.  Idus  stands  il  with  me; — Upon  a  true 
contract, 
I  ^ot  posses..:io!i  of  Julietta's  bed ; 
You  know  the  hidy  ;  she  is  last  iny  wife, 
Save  tliat  we  do  the  denunciation  lack 
Of  outward  order;  this  we  came  nut  to, 
Only  for  propitiation  of  a  dower 
Remaining  in  the  coder  of  her  friends; 
From  whom  we  thoujjlit  it  meet  to  hide  our  love, 
Tih  time  had  made  them  for  us.    But  it  chances. 
The  stealth  of  our  most  mutual  intercourse, 
With  character  too  i^ross,  is  writ  on  Juliet. 

Liicio.  With  child,  perhaps  ! 

Claud.   Unhappily,  even  so. 
And  the  new  deputy  now  for  the  duke, — 
Whether  it  be  the  fault  and  glimijse  of  newness; 
Or  whether  that  the  body  public  be 
A  horse  whereon  the  governor  doth  ride, 
\Vho  newly  in  the  scat,  that  it  may  know 
He  can  command,  let's  it  straight  teei  tlie  spiar: 
Whether  the  tyranny  be  in  his  place, 
()r  in  his  eminence  that  lills  it  up, 
1  stagger  in;  —  liut  this  new  governor 
Awakes  me  all  tlie  unrolled  penalties, 
Wliich   have,  like  unscoured  armor,  hung  by  the 

wall 
So  long,  that  nineteen  zodiacs  have  gone  round. 
And  none  of  them  been  worn;  and  tor  a  name, 
Now  puts  the  drowsy  and  neglected  act 
Freshly  on  me;  — 'tis,  surely,  lor  a  name. 
•  Luciu.  I  warrant,  it  is:   and  thy  li-iad  stands  so 
tickle  on  thy  shoulders,  that  a  mdk-maid,  if  she  be 
in  love,  may  sigh  it  otl".    Send  afler  tlie  duke,  and 
appeal  to  hiin. 

Claud.   I  have  done  so,  but  lies  not  to  be  found. 
I  pr'ythce,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kiiul  service: 
This  day  my  sister  should  tlie  cloister  enter, 
And  there  receive  her  approbation,: 
Acquaint  her  with  the  danger  of  my  state; 
Implore  her,  in  my  voice,  that  she  make  friends 
To  the  stric.  deputy  :  bid  herself  assay  him; 
I  have  great  hope  in  that;  for  in  her  youth 
There  is  a  prone  and  speechless  dialect, 
Such  as  moves  men  ;  beside,  she  hath  prosperous  art 
When  she  will  play  with  reason  and  discourse. 
And  well  she  can  persuade- 

Lucio.  I  pray,  she  may:  as  well  for  the  encour- 
agement of  the  like,  which  else  would  stand  under 
grievous  imposition;  as  for  the  enjoying  of  thy  life, 
who  I  would  be  sorry  should  be  thus  Ibolishly  lost 
at  a  game  of  tick-tack.     I'll  to  her. 

Claud.  I  thank  you,  good  friend  Lucio. 

LucUi.  Within  two  hours, — 

Claud.  Come,  ollicer,  away.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.— A  Monaslery. 

Enter  Duke  and  Friar  Tuom.is. 

Buke.  No ;  holy  father ;  throw  away  that  thought ; 
lieLeve  not  that  the  ilribbling  dart  of  love 
Can  pierce  a  complete  bosom;   why  1  desire  thee 
To  give  me  secret  harbor,  hath  a  purpose 
More  grave  and  wrinkled  than  the  aims  and  ends 
Of  burning  youth. 

Fi-i.  May  your  grace  speak  of  it  7 

Duke.  My  holy  sir,  none  better  knows  than  you 
How  I  have  ever  lovd  the  life  remov'd; 
And  held  in  idle  price  to  haunt  assemblies. 
Where  youth  and  cost,  and  ivitless  bravery  keeps. 
I  have  deliverd  to  lord  Angelo 
(A  man  of  stricture  and  linn  abstinence) 
My  absolute  power  and  place  here  in  Vienna, 
And  he  supposes  me  travell'd  to  Poland ; 
For  so  I  have  strew'd  it  in  the  common  ear, 
<      And  so  it  is  receiv'd:    Now.  pious  sir. 
You  will  demand  of  me,  why  1  do  this? 

Fri.  Gladly,  my  lord. 

Duke.  We  have  strict  statutes,  and  most  biting 
laws, 
(The  needful  bits  and  curbs  for  headstrong  steeds,) 
Which  for  these  fourteen  years  we  have  let  sleep ; 
Even  like  an  o'er-grown  lion  in  a  cave. 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey :   Now.  as  fund  fathers 
Having  bound  up  the  threat'ning  twigs  of  birch, 
Only  to  stick  itiy  their  children's  sight, 
For  terror,  not  to  use ;  in  time  the  rod 


Becomes  more  mock'd  than  fcar'd;  so  our  decrees, 
Dead  to  iniliction.  to  themselves  are  dead; 
And  liberty  plucks  justice  by  the  nose; 
'I'hc  baiiy  beats  the  nurse,  and  quite  atliwart 
Goes  all  decorum. 

Fri.  It  rested  in  your  grace 

To  unloose  tiiis  tied-uj)  justice  when  you  pleas'd; 
.\ud  it  in  you  more  dreadful  would  have  seem'd. 
Than  in  lord  Angelo. 

Duke.  I  do  fear,  too  dreadful: 

Sith  'twas  my  fault,  to  gi\e  the  people  scope, 
'Twould  bo  my  tyranny  to  strike,  and  gall  them 
For  what  I  bid  them  do :    For  we  bid  this  be  done. 
When  evil  deeds  have  their  permissive  pass. 
And  not  tlie  punisliment.    Therefore,  indeed,  my 

father, 
I  have  on  Angelo  imposed  the  ofTice; 
Who  may,  in  the  ambush  of  my  name,  strike  home. 
And  yet  my  nature  never  in  the  sight. 
To  do  it  slander:  And  to  behold  his  sway, 
I  will,  as  "twere  a  brother  of  your  order. 
Visit  both  prince  and  people;  therefore,  I  pr'ylliee. 
Supply  me  with  the  habit,  and  instruct  me 
How  1  may  formally  in  person  bear  nic 
Like  a  true  friar.    More  reasons  for  this  action, 
At  our  more  leisure  sliall  I  render  jou; 
Only,  this  one  :  —  Lord  .\ngelo  is  precise ; 
Stands  at  a  guard  with  envy ;   scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  flows,  or  that  his  appetite 
Is  more  to  bread  than  stone :    Hence  shall  we  see, 
If  power  change  purpose,  what  qur  seemers  be. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  Y.— A  Nunnery. 
Enter  Isabella  and  Fraxcisca. 

I^ab.  And  have  you  nuns  no  further  privileges? 

Fran.   Arc  not  these  large  enough  1 

I.-ah.  Yes.  truly:    1  speak  not  as  desiring  more; 
But  rather  wishing  a  more  strict  restraint 
Upon  the  sisterhood,  the  votarists  of  saint  Clare. 

Lucio.  Ho !  Peace  be  in  this  place !         |  IVilkin 

hah.  Who's  that  which  calls  ? 

Fran.  It  is  a  man's  voice  :   Gentle  Isabelka. 
Turn  you  the  key,  and  know  his  business  of  him; 
You  niay,  I  may  not;  you  are  yet  unsworn  : 
When  J  ou  have  vowed,  you  must  not  speak  witli 

men. 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  prioress: 
Then,  if  you  speak,  you  must  not  show  your  face  ; 
Or  if  you  show  yonr  liice.  you  must  not  speak. 
He  calls  again;  1  pray  you  answer  him. 

[Exit  KnANCiscA. 

Isab.  Peace  and  prosperity !  Who  is't  that  calls? 

Enter  Lucio. 

Lucin.  Hail,  vir::in,  if  you  he;  as  tho.^e  cheek-roses 
Proclaim  you  are  nf»  less !    Can  you  so  stead  rac. 
As  bring  me  to  the  sight  of  Isabella. 
A  novice  of  this  place,  and  the  fair  sister 
To  her  unhappy  brother  Claudio  ] 

Isah.   Why  licr  unhappy  brother?   let  me  ask; 
The  rather,  i'ox  I,  now  must  make  you  know 
I  am  that  Isabella,  and  his  sister. 

Lucio.  Gentle  and  fair,  your  brother  kindly  greets 
yon ; 
Not  to  be  weary  with  you,  he's  in  prison. 

J.iah.   Woe  me!    For  what? 

Lucio.  For   that  which  if  myself  might  be  his 
judge. 
He  should  receive  his  punishment  in  thanks: 
He  hath  got  his  friend  with  child. 

Imh.  Sir,  make  me  not  your  story .« 

Lucin.  It  is  true. 

I  would  not  —  thoush  'tis  my  fiimiliar  sin 
\V  ith  maids  to  seem  the  lapwing,  and  to  jest. 
Tongue  far  from  heart,— play  with  all  virgins  so. 
I  hold  you  as  a  thing  ensky'd.  and  sainted; 
By  yoiir  renouncement  an  immortal  spirit; 
Ami  to  be  talked  with  in  sincerity, 
As  with  a  saint. 

/va'>.   You  do  blaspheme  the  good  in  mocking  me. 

Lucio.  Do  not  believe  it.    Fewness  and  truth,' 
'tis  thus: 
Your  brother  and  his  lover  have  embraced  : 
As  those  that  feed  grow  full ;  as  blossoming  time, 
That  from  the  secd'ness  the  bare  fallow  brings 
G  Do  not  make  a  jest  of  me, 
'  In  few  and  true  words. 


84 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  II. 


To  teemLng  foisoii;'  even  so  her  plenteous  womb 
Expresseth  his  fall  tilth-  and  has^iaiidry. 

isab.  Seine  one  with  cluld  by  lianl—  My  cousin 
Juliet  ! 

Lucia.   Is  she  your  cousin'!  . 

Isat).  Adoptedly:  as    school-maids  change  theur 
names, 
By  vain  tliou^h  apt  affection. 

Liiciii.  Slie  It  IS. 

J.SU&.  O,  let  him  marry  her ! 

l,ucm.  This  IS  the  point. 

The  duke  is  very  strangely  gone  from  lieuce ; 
Bore  many  gentlemen,  myself  being  one. 
In  hand,  and  hope  of  action  :   but  we  do  learn 
By  those  that  know  the  very  nerves  of  state, 
His  iivings-out  were  of  an  inlinite  distance 
Froiii  Ins  true-meant  design.     Upon  his  place, 
And  with  full  line  of  liis  authority, 
Governs  lord  .\ngelo ;   a  man,  whose  blood 
Is  very  snow-broth;  one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense  ; 
But  doth  rebate  and  blunt  liis  natural  edge 
With  profits  of  the  mind,  study  and  fast. 
He  (to  give  fear  to  use  and  liberty, 
Wliich  have,  for  long,  run  by  the  hideous  law, 
As  mice  by  lions)  hath  pick'd  out  an  act, 
Under  whose  heavy  sense  your  brothers  life 
Falls  into  forfeit!   he  arrests  him  on  it ; 
And  follows  close  the  rigor  of  the  statute, 


To  make  him  an  example :   all  hope  is  gone. 
Unless  you  have  the  grace  by  your  tiiir  prayer 
To  soften  .\ngelo:  And  tliats  my  pith 
Of  business  twixt  you  and  your  poor  brother. 

liah.  Dotli  he  so  seek  his  life  ! 

Litcio.  Has  censur'd'  him 

Already  ;  and,  as  I  hear,  the  provost  hath 
A  warrant  for  his  execution. 

Isuh.  Alas!  what  poor  abihty's  in  me 
To  do  him  good  ! 

Lucio,  Assay  the  power  you  have. 

Isab.  My  power!    Alas!  1  doubt, — 

Lucio.  our  doubts  are  traitors, 

And  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft  raiglit  win, 
By  fearing  to  attempt;  (Jo  to  lord  Angelo, 
And  let  him  learn  to  know,  when  mafdens  sue, 
Men  give  like  gods ;  but  when  they  weep  and  kneel. 
All  tlicir  petitions  are  as  freely  theirs 
As  they  themselves  would  owC  them. 

I.sab.  I'll  see  what  1  can  do. 

I.ucio.  But  speedily. 

J.va'j.  I  will  about  it  straight: 
No  longer  staying  but  to  give  the  mother 
Notice  of  my  affair.    I  humbly  thank  you: 
Commend  me  to  my  brother:  soon  at  night 
I'll  send  him  certain  word  of  my  success. 

Lucio.  1  take  my  leave  of  you. 

jsab.  Good  sir,  adieu* 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  II. 


'  SCENE  \.~A  Hallin  Anze\os  House. 

Enter  Akgilo,  Escaius,  Provost,  Officers,  a>;d 
other  Attendants. 

Aug.  We  must  not  make   a  scare-crow  of  tlie 
law. 
Setting  it  up  to  fear  tlic  birds  of  prey, 
And  let  it  keep  one  shape,  till  custom  make  it 
Their  perch  and  not  their  tciTor. 

E.'icul.  Ay,  but  yet 

Let  us  be  keen,  and  rather  cut  a  little. 
Than  fall,  and  bruise  to  death:    Alas!  this  gentle- 
man. 
Whom  I  would  save,  had  a  most  noble  fatliej. 
Let  but  your  honor  know, 
(Whom  I  believe  to  be  most  straight  in  virtue,) 
That,  in  tlie  working  of  your  own  affections. 
Had  time  coher'd  with  place,  or  idace  with  wishing. 
Or  that  the  resolute  acting  of  your  blood 
Could  have  attaind  the  ellect  of  your  own  purpose. 
Whether  you  had  not  some  lime  in  your  hte 
Err'd  in  this  point  which  now  you  censure  Inm, 
And  puil'd  the  law  upon  you. 

Ang.  'lis  one  thing  to  be  tempted,  Escalus, 
Another  thing  to  fall.     1  not  deny. 
The  jury,  passing  on  tlie  prisoners  hfe. 
May,  in  the  sworn  twelve,  have  a  Uiietor  two 
Guiltier  than  him  they  try:    What's  open  made  to 

justice. 
That  justice  seizes.    What  know  the  laws. 
That  thieves  do  pass  on  thieves!  "I'lsvery  pregnant. 
The  jewel  that  we  hnd,  we  stoop  and  take  it, 
Because  we  see  it ;   but  what  we  do  not  sec. 
We  tread  upon  and  never  think  of  it. 
You  may  not  so  extenuate  his  oll'ence, 
]''ora  I  have  had  such  faults;  but  rather  tell  me. 
When  1  that  censure  him,  do  so  otli?nd. 
Let  mine  own  judgment  pattern  out  my  death. 
And  nothing  come  in  partial.    Sir,  he  must  die. 
K^cal.  Be  it  as  your  wisdom  will. 
Ant!;.  Wliere  is  tlie  provost! 

I'rue.  Here,  if  it  like -your  honor. 
A>ig.  See  that  Claudio 

Be  executed  by  nine  to-morrow  morning : 
Bring  him  liis  confessor.  It  t  him  be  prejiared: 
For  that's  the  utmost  of  his  pilgrimage. 

[Kxeunt  Anuei.o  and  Provost. 
Escal.  Well,  heaven  forgive  hira ;  and  forgive  us 
all! 
«  Breeding  plenty.        '  Tilling.       a  BOcauso. 


Kome  rise  by  sin,  and  some  by  virtue  fall: 

Some  run  from  brakes'  of  vice,  and  answer  none ; 

And  some  condemned  for  a  fault  alone. 

Enter  EiBOW,  Froth,  Clown,  Officers,  &c. 

Elh.  Come,  bring  them  away :  if  these  be  good 
people  in  a  common  weal,'  that  do  nothing  but  use 
their  abuses  in  common  houses,  I  know  no  law; 
bring  them  away. 

Ang.  How  now,  sir!  what  s  your  name!  and 
what's  the  matter! 

Elh.  If  it  please  your  honor.  I  am  the  poor  duke  3 
constable,  and  my  name  is  Elbow;  I  do  lean  upon 
justice,  sir,  and  do  bring  in  here  before  your  good 
honor  two  notorious  benefactors. 

Ang.  Benefactors!  Well;  what  benefactors  are 
they  !  are  they  not  malefactors! 

Klh.  If  it  please  your  honor,  I  know  not  well 
what  they  are:  but  precise  villains  they  are,  that  I 
am  sure  of;  and  void  of  all  profanation  in  the 
world,  that  good  christians  ought  to  have. 

Exc'ul.  This  comes  oil  w^ell;«  here's  a  wise  officer. 

Ang.  Goto:  what  quality  are  they  of !  Elbow 
is  Vour  name  1    Why  dost  thou  not  speak.  Elbow  1 

Clo.  He  cannot,  sir;  he's  out  at  elbow. 

j4h2-.  What  are  you,  sir! 

i'/ft.  He,  sir!  a  tap.ster,  sir;  parcel' bawd:  one 
that  serves  a  bad  woman;  whose  house,  sir,  was,  as 
they  say,  pliickd  down  in  the  suburbs;  and  now 
she' professes'  a  hot-house,  which,  I  think,  is  a  very 
ill  house  too. 

£«a'.  How  know  you  Oiat ! 

Elb.  My  wife,  sir,  who.ii  I  detest'  before  heaven 
and  your  honor, — 

£«■«/.  How!  thy  wife! 

Elb.  Ay,  sir;  whom,  1  thank  heaven,  is  an  honest 
woman,^ 

Excal.  Dost  thou  detest  her  therefore  7 

Elli.  1  say.  sir,  I  will  detest  myself  also,  as  well 
as  she.  that  "this  house,  if  it  be  not  a  bawd's  house, 
it  is  pity  of  her  life,  for  it  is  a  naughty  house. 

Escal.  How  dost  thou  know  that,  constable! 

Elb.  Marry,  sir,  by  my  wife;  who.  if  she  had 
been  a  woman  cardinally  given,  might  ha\e  !)eeii 
accused  in  fornication,  adultery,  and  all  uncleanli- 
ness  there. 

Escal.  By  the  woman's  means  ! 

Klb.  Ay,  sir,  by  mistress  Over-done's  means:  but 

I  Sentenced,    a  Have.    «  Thickets,  thorny  paths  of  vice. 

•Wealth.  •'Well  told.  '  Partly. 

"  Keeps  a  blgnio.  '  Tor  protest. 


Scene  I. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


83 


as  --lie  spit  in  liis  face,  so  slin  (ietleti  him. 

Ctu.  Sir,  if  it  please  your  l)onor,  this  is  not  so. 

Elb.  I'rove  itliefore  these  varlets  here,  thou  hon- 
ornbie  man,  prove  it. 

Escal.  Do  you  hear  how  he  misplaces? 

\To  Avr.r.LO. 

Cto.  Sir,  she  came  in  great  with  rliild ;  and  lon^- 
ins  (saving  your  honors  reverence)  for  stew'd 
prunes;  sir,  we  had  but  two  in  the  house,  which  at 
that  very  distant  time  stood  ns  it  were,  in  a  fruit- 
dish,  a  dish  of  some  three-pence :  your  honors  have 
seen  sncli  dishes;  they  are  not  china  dishes,  but 
very  good  dishes. 

Kscal.  Go  to,  go  to:  no  matter  for  the  dish,  sir. 

Cln.  No,  indeed,  sir,  not  of  a  pin  ;  you  are  tlicre- 
fore  in  the  ri^ht;  hut,  to  tlie  point:  as  1  say,  this 
mistress  Klbow,  being,  as  I  say,  witli  cliild,  and  be- 
ing great  bellv'd.and  longing.as  I  said,  for  prunes; 
arid  liaving  but  two  in  the  dish,  as  1  said,  master 
Frolii  here,  this  very  man,  having  eaten  the  rest,  as 
I  said,  and,  as  I  say,  paying  fortlicm  very  honestly  ; 
—  for.  as  you  know,  master  Krotli,  I  could  not  give 
you  three-pence  again. 

Froth.  No,  indeed. 

Cln.  Very  well :  you  hcing  then,  if  you  be  re- 
membcr'd,  cracking  the  stones  of  the  'foresaid 
prunes. 

Froth.  Ay,  so  I  did,  indeed. 

Cln.  Why,  very  well:  I  telling  you  then,  if  you 
be  remeniber'd,  that  such  a  one,  and  such  a  one, 
were  past  cure  of  the  thing  you  wot  of.  unless  they 
kept  very  good  diet,  as  I  told  you. 

Frnlh.  All  this  is  true. 

cm.  Why,  very  well  then. 

Exral.  Come,  you  are  a  tedious  fnol:  to  the  pur- 
pose.—What  was  done  to  Klbow's  wife,  that  he 
hnth  cause  to  complain  of !  Come  me  to  what  was 
done  to  her. 

Ctn.  Sir,  your  honor  cannot  come  to  that  yet. 

Escal.  No,  sir.  nor  I  mean  it  not. 

Ctn.  Sir.  but  you  shall  con\e  to  it,  by  your  honor's 
leave:  and  I  beseech  you.  look  into  master  Froth 
here,  sir  ;  a  man  of  fourscore  pound  a  year;  whose 
father  died  at  Hallowmas:  —  Wast  not  at  Hallow- 
mas, master  I'roth  ? 

Frotti.  ,\ll-hollondi  eve. 

Ctn.  Why,  very  well:  I  hope  here  be  truths: 
he,  sir,  sitting,  as  "I  say,  in  a  lower'  chair,  sir;  — 
'twas  in  the  Bunch  of  Grn;iM,  where,  indeed,  you 
have  a  deli'-'ht  to  sit :  "have  you  not  1 

Froth.  1  have  so;  because  it  is  an  open  room, 
and  good  tor  winter. 

Cto.  Why,    very  well  then;— I   hope  here  be 
truths. 

ylng.  This  will  last  out  a  night  in  Russia, 
When  nights  are  lonirest  there:  I'll  take  my  leave, 
And  leave  you  to  the  hearing  of  the  cau.se; 
Hoping,  you'll  find  good  cause  to  whip  tJiem  all. 

Escut.  ]   think   no  less:  good   morrow  to  your 
lordship.  [Exit  A>c,i,i.o. 

Now.  sir,  come  on :  what  was  done  to  Elbow's  wife, 
once  more'* 

Cln.  Once,  sir!  there  was  nothing  done  to  her 
once. 

Etb.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  ask  him  what  this  man 
did  to  my  wife? 

Ctn.  1  beseech  your  honor,  ask  me. 

Escal.  Well,  sir:  what  did  this  gentleman  to  her? 

Clo.  I  beseech  vou,  sir.  look  in  this  gentleman's 
face:  —  Good  master  Froth,  look  upon  his  honor; 
'tis  for  a  good  purpose:  doth  your  honor  mark  his 
face  ? 

Escal.  Ay.  sir,  very  well. 

Ctn.  Nay.  I  beseech  you,  mark  it  well. 

Escal  Well.  I  do  so. 

Ctn.  Doth  your  honor  see  any  harm  in  his  face'! 

Escal.  Why,  no. 

Cln.  I'll  bo  suppos'd^  upon  a  book,  his  face  is 
Ihe  wor.et  thing  about  him:  good  then;  if  his  face 
be  the  worst  thing  about  him.  how  could  master 
Froth  do  Ihe  constable's  wife  any  harm?  I  would 
know  that  of  your  honor. 

Escal.  He's  in  the  right:  constable,  what  say  you 
toil? 

Elb.  First,  an  it  like  you,  the  house  is  a  respected 
house;  next,  this  is  a  respected  fellow;  and  his 
mistress  is  a  respected  woman. 

■  Eve    fAU  Saints  (lay.  a  EtLsy 

8  Deposed,  STVom- 


Clti.  By  this  hand,  sir,  his  wife  is  a  more  res- 
pected person  than  any  of  us  all. 

Elb.  \arlet,  thou  licst ;  thou  liest,  wicked  varlct: 
the  time  is  yet  to  come,  that  she  was  ever  respect- 
ed with  man.  woman,  or  child. 

Cto.  Sir.  she  was  respected  with  him  before  he 
married  with  her. 

Escal.  Which  is  the  wiser  here?  justice  or  ini- 
quity I'    Is  this  true? 

Klh.  O  thou  caititf !  O  thou  varlet!  O  thoti  wick- 
ed Hannibal!'  I  respected  with  her.  before  I  was 
married  to  her?  If  ever  I  was  respected  with  her, 
or  she  with  me,  let  not  your  worship  think  me  the 
poor  duke's  ofiicer:  —  prove  this,  thou  wicked  Han- 
nibal, or  Fll  have  mine  action  of  battery  on  thee. 

Escal.  If  he  took  you  a  box  o'  the  car,  you 
might  have  vour  actioii  of  slander  too. 

Elb.  IMarry.  I  thank  your  good  worship  for  it: 
what  is't  your  worship's  pleasure  I  should  do  with 
this  wicked  caititf? 

Escal.  Truly,  officer,  because  he  hath  some  of- 
fences in  him,  that  thou  wouldst  discover  if  thou 
couldst,  let  him  continue  in  his  courses,  till  thou 
know'st  what  they  are. 

£/4^Marry.  I  lliank  your  worship  for  it: — thou 
sccst,  mou  wicked  varlet  now,  what's  come  upon 
thee ;  thou  art  to  continue  now,  thou  varlct ;  tiiou 
art  to  continue. 

Escal.  Where  were  you  bom.  friend? 

{To  FnoTH. 

Froth.  Here,  in  Vienna,  sir. 

Escal.  Are  you  of  fourscore  pounds  a  year? 

Froth.  Yes,  and  't  please  you,  sir. 

Escat.  So. — What  trade  are  you  of.  sir ! 

|T»//ic  Clown. 

Clo.  A  tapster:  a  poor  widow's  tapster. 

K'-cat.  >'our  mistress's  name? 
Ctii.  Mistress  Over-done. 

Escal.  Hath  she  had  any  more  than  one  hus- 
band '.  • 

Cto.  Nine,  sir;  Over-done  by  the  last. 

Escal.  Nine  !  —  Come  hither  to  me,  master  Froth, 
Master  Froth,  I  would  not  have  you  acquainteil 
with  tapsters;  they  will  draw  you,  master  Froth, 
and  you  will  hangthem:  get  you  gone,  and  let  me 
hear  no  more  of  you. 

Fnilh.  I  thank  your  worship:  for  mine  own  part, 
I  never  come  into  any  room  in  a  taphouse,  but  I  am 
drawn  in. 

Esenl.  Well ;  no  more  of  it,  master  Froth:  fare- 
well. [Eril  Fiioiii.l —  Come  you  hither  to  me 
master  tapster  ;  what's  your  name,  master  tapster  ! 

Ctn.  Pomiiey. 

E.vat.  Wliai  else? 

Clo.  Bum,  sir. 

Escal.  'Troth,  and  your  bum  is  the  greatest  thing 
about  you  ;  so  that,  in  the  beastliest  sense,  you  are 
Pompey  the  great.  Pompey,  you  are  p;irtly  a 
bawd.  Pompey.  howsoever  you  color  it  in  being  a 
tapster.  Are  you  not?  conie,  tell  me  true ;  it  shall 
be  the  better  for  you. 

Clo.  Truly,  sir,  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  that  would 
live.  •    ,     ,    . 

Escal.  How  would  you  live,  Pompey  7  by  being 
a  bawd  ?  What  do  you  think  of  the  trade,  Pom- 
pey ?  is  it  a  lawful  trade  '. 

Clo.  If  the  law  would  allow  it,  sir. 
Escal.  But  Ihe  law  will  not  allow  it,  Pompey; 
nor  it  shall  not  be  allowed  in  Vienna. 

Cto.  Does  your  worship  mean  to  geld  and  spay 
all  the  youth  in  the  city  ? 

Esca'.  No.  Pompey. 

Ctn-  Trulv.  sir.  in  mv  poor  opinion.  Iliey  will 
to  't  then  :  if  your  worship  will  take  orders  for  tho 
drabs  and  the  knaves,  you  need  not  to  fear  the 
bawds. 

Escal.  There  are  pretty  orders  beginning,  I  can 
tell  you  :  it  is  but  headitur  and  haneing, 

Cin.  If  you  head  and  hang  all  that  offend  that 
way  but  for  ten  years  together,  you'll  be  glad  to 
give  out  a  commission  for  more  beads.  If  this  law 
hold  in  V  ieniia  ten  years,  I'll  rent  the  fairest  house 
in  it,  after  three-pence  a  day :  if  you  live  to  see 
Ibis  come  to  pass,  sav  Pompe'v  told  you  so. 

Esrat.  Thank  vou,  good  Pompey:    and,  in  re- 
quital of  your  prophecy,  hark  you, —  I  advise  you, 
let  me  not  find  you  before  me  again  upon  any  com- 
«  Constable  or  Clown.  >  For  cannil-al. 

6  MoasuEcs. 


86 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  II. 


plaint  (vhataocTer.  no,  not  for  dwelling  wlipre  you 
do:  If  1  do,  Ponipcy,  I  shi\ll  beat  you  to  your  tent, 
and  prove  a  shrewd  Cajsar  to  you ;  in  plain  deal- 
ing, I'ompey,  1  sliall  liave  you  wliipt:  so  for  tliis 
time,  Pompcy,  fare  you  well. 

Ctn.  \  thank  your  worship  for  your  sood  coun- 
sel;  but  I  sliall  follow  it  as  the  tiesh  and  fortune 
shall  better  determine. 

Whip  me  !  No,  no ;  let  carman  wiiip  his  jade ; 
The  valiant  heart's  not  wliipt  out  of  his  trade. 

[Exit. 

E.ical.  Come  hither  to  me,  master  Elbow ;  come 
hither,  master  Con.stable.  How  long  have  you  been 
in  this  place  of  constable? 

£lb.  Seven  years  and  a  half,  sir. 

Esm/.  1  thought,  by  your  readiness  in  the  office, 
you  had  continued  in  it  some  time:  You  say,  seven 
years  toirether  ? 

E/f>.  .ind  a  half,  sir. 

Esca!.  Alas!  it  hath  Ir.'cn  grreat  pains  to  you! 
They  do  you  wrouK  to  put  you  so  oft  upon  "t:  Are 
there  not  men  in  your  ward  sullicient  to  serve  it ! 

Elli.  Faith,  sir,  few  of  any  wit  in  such  matters: 
as  they  are  chosen,  they  are  glad  to  choose  inc  for 
them.  I  do  it  for  some  piece  of  money,  and  go 
through  with  all.  » 

Esail.  Look  you,  bring  me  in  the  names  of  some 
six  or  seven  of  the  most  sutticient  of  your  parish. 

Elb,  To  your  worship's  house,  sir  J 

EscnI.  To  ray  house:  Fare  you  well.  [Exit. 
Elbow.]     What's  o'clock,  think  you. 

Jit.it.  Kleven,  sir. 

Esrcd.  I  pray  you  home  to  dinner  with  me. 

Just.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

E.scaL  It  grieves  me  for  the  death  of  Claudio; 
But  there's  no  remedy. 

Ju.i/.  Lord  Angelo  is  severe. 

Escal.  It  is  but  needful: 

Mercy  is  not  itself  that  oft  looks  so. 
Pardon  is  still  the  nurse  of  second  woe. 
But  yet,  poor  Claudio  !  — There's  no  remedy. 
Come,  sir.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II. — Anoiticr  Room  in  ftie  same. 

Enter  Provost  and  a  Servant. 

Sen.  He's  liearing  of  a  cause ;    lie  will  come 
straight. 
I'll  tell  him  of  you. 

Pmi:  Pray  you  do.  \Exit.  Servant.]  I'll  know 
His  pleasure;  may  be,  he  will  relent:  Alas, 
He  hath  but  as  ollended  in  a  dream  ! 
All  sects,  all  ages,  smack  of  this  vice;  and  he 
To  die  for  it ! 

Enter  Axgelo. 

Ang.  Now  what's  the  matter.  Provost' 

Prov.  Is  it  your  will  Claudio  shall  die  to-mor- 
row? 

Ang.  Did  I  not  tell  thee,  yea'!    hadst  thou  not 
order  ? 
Wliy  dost  thou  ask  again 

Proi\  Lest  I  might  he  too  rash : 

Under  your  good  correetion,  I  have  seen, 
When,  after  execution,  judgment  hath 
Repented  o'er  his  doom. 

-4"?.  Go  to;  let  that  be  mine. 

Do  your  office,  or  s;ive  up  your  place. 
And  you  shall  well  be  spaf'd. 

Prov.  I  crave  your  honor's  pardon. — 
What  shall  be  done,  sir,  with  the  groaning  Juliet! 
She's  very  near  her  hour. 

Ang.  Dispose  of  her 

To  some  more  fitter  ])lace;  and  that  with  .speed. 
Jic-entcr  Scr\'ant. 

Serv.  Here  is  the  sister  of  the  man  condemn'd 
Desires  access  to  you. 

Ang.  Hath  he  a  sister? 

Prov.  Ay,  my  good  lord  ;  a  very  virtuous  maid, 
And  to  be  shortly  of  a  sisterhood, 
If  not  already. 

^ng.  Well,  let  her  he  admitted. 

,     ,      .  {Exit  Servant 

See  you.  the  fornicatress  beremov'd; 
Let  lier  have  needful,  but  not  lavish,  means; 
There  shall  be  order  for  it. 

Enter  Licio  and  Isabella. 

Pra».  Save  your  honor !  [Offering  to  retire. 


'     .Ing.  Stay  a  little  while.— JTo  Istn.)  You  are 
welcome  :  What  s  your  will '.' 
hub.  I  am  a  woeful  suiior  to  your  honor  : 
Please  but  your  honor  hear  me. 
Ang.  Well ;  what's  your  suit? 

Imb.  There  is  a  vice  that  most  1  do  ablior. 
And  most  desire  should  meet  the  blow  of  justice  ; 
For  which  I  would  not  plead,  but  that  I  must; 
For  which  I  must  not  plead,  but  that  I  am 
At  war,  twixt  will,  and  will  not. 
■Ang.  Well ;  the  natter  ! 

hub.  I  have  a  brother  is  condemned  to  die- 
I  do  beseech  you,  let  it  be  his  fault, 
And  not  my  brother. 

■    Prov.  Heaven  give  thee  moving  graces . 

Ang.  Condemn  the  fiuilt  and  not  the  actor  of  it! 
Why,  every  fault's  condemned,  ere  it  be  done: 
Mine  were  the  very  cipher  of  a  function. 
To  line  the  faults,  whose  fine  stands  in  record, 
And  let  go  by  the  actor. 

hiitr.  O  just,  but  severe  law ! 

I  bad  a  brother  then. —  Heaven  keep  your  honor! 

[Retiring, 
Litcw.    ITolSAE.]    Give 't  not  o'er  so:   to  him 
again,  intreat  him  ; 
Kneel  down  before  him,  hang  upon  his  gown  ; 
Y'ou  are  too  cold  ;  if  you  shoulcf  need  a  pin 
You  could  not  wilji  more  lame  a  tongue  desire  it: 
To  him,  1  say. 
Isab-  Must  he  needs  die  ? 

Ang.  Maiden,  no  remedy. 

Isab.  Y'es ;  I  do  think  that  you  might  pardon  him, 
And  neither  heaven,  nor  man,  grieve  at  the  mercy. 
Ang.  1  will  not  do 't. 

Iiab.  But  yon  can,  if  you  would? 

Ang.  Look,  what  I  will  not,  that  I  cannot  do. 
Isab.  Hut  might  you  do't,  and  do  the  world  no 
wrong? 
If  so,  your  heart  were  touch'd  with  that  remorse 
As  mine  is  to  him. 
Ang.  He's  sentenced:  'tis  too  late. 

Liicio.  Y'ou  are  too  cold.  [To  Isabella. 

Isab.  Too  late  ?  why,  no ;  I,  that  do  speak  a  word. 
May  call  it  back  again:  Well  believe  this, 
No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs. 
Not  the  king's  crown, nor  the  deputed  sword. 
The  marshall's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace. 
As  mercy  does.    If  he  had  been  as  you. 
And  you  as  he,  you  would  have  slipt  like  him; 
But  he,  like  you,  would  not  have  been  so  stern. 
Ang.  Pray  >'ou,  begone. 
Lab.  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  your  potency, 
And  you  were  Isabel?  should  it  then  be  thus? 
No ;  i  would  tell  what  'twere  to  be  a  judge, 
And  what  a  prisoner. 
Lneio.  Ay,  touch  him:  there's  the  vein,     [Aside. 
Ang.  Your  brother  is  a  forfeit  of  the  law, 
And  you  but  waste  your  words. 

hub.  Alas?  alas! 

Why.  nil  the  souls  that  were,  were  forfeit  once: 
.^nd  He  that  might  the  vantage  best  have  took, 
F'ound  out  the  remedy:    How  would  you  be. 
If  He,  which  is  the  top  of  judgment,  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are?'    O,  think  on  that ; 
And  mercy  tlien  will  breathe  within  your  lips. 
Like  man  new  made. 

Ang.  Be  you  content,  fair  maid; 

It  is  the  law.  not  I,  condemns  your  brother : 
Were  he  my  kinsman,  brother,  or  my  son. 
It  should  be  thus  Avith  him: — he  must  die  to-mor- 
row. 
Isab.  To-morrow?  O,  that's  sudden  T  Sparc  him, 
si)are  him : 
He's  not  piepar'd  for  death  !  Even  for  our  kitchens 
We  kill  the  fowl  of  season  ;  shall  we  serve  heaven 
With  less  respect  than  we  do  minister 
To  our  gross  selves?    Good,  good  my  lord,  bethink 

you  : 
Who  is  it  that  hath  died  for  this  offence  ? 
There's  many  have  committed  it. 
lucio.  Av,  well  said. 

Ang.  The  law  hath  not  been  dead,  though  it  hath 
slept: 
Those  many  liad  not  dar'd  to  do  that  evil. 
If  the  first  liian  that  did  the  edict  infringe. 
Had  answer  d  for  his  deed  :  now,  'tis  awake; 
Takes  note  of  what  is  done;  and,  like  a  prophet, 
Looks  in  a  glass,  that  shows  what  future  evils 
(Either  now,  or  by  remissness  new-conceived, 


bC£NE 


IV. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


87 


And  so  in  progress  tobe  hatcli'd  and  born) 
Arc  iiow  to  luive  no  biicci'ssive  decrees, 
•But,  vviicre  tiicy  live,  to  end. 

/s/i.  Yet  show  some  pity. 

Aug.  I  show  it  most  of  all,  when  I  show  justice; 
For  then  I  pily  those  I  do  not  know. 
Which  a  dismiss  d  offence  would  afler  Rail ; 
And  do  him  ri^iit,  that  answering  one  I'oul  wrong, 
Lives  not  to  act  another.    Be  satisfied; 
Vour  hrotlier  dies  ti>-iiiorrovv ;  he  content. 

Isab,  t^o  you  must  he  the  first  that  gives  this  sen- 
tence ; 
And  he,  that  sulTers:    O,  it  is  excellent 
To  have  a  giant's  strength  ;  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  lite  a  giant. 

Lucio,  Tliat's  well  said. 

Jxati.  Could  great  men  thunder 
As  Jove  himselfdoes,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet. 
For  every  pelting,'  petty  ollicer, 
Would  use  his  heaven   for  tliundor;    nothing  but 

thunder. — 
Merciful  heaven! 

'i'hou  rather,  witli  tliy  sharp  and  sulphurous  bolt, 
Spht'st  the  unwedgeable  and  knarled*  oak, 
Than  the  soft.myrtle ;—  (),  but  man,  proud  man ! 
Drest  in  a  little  brief  authority. 
Most  ignorant  of  what  lie's  most  assur'd. 
His  glassy  essence, —  like  an  angry  ape. 
Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  higli  heaven. 
As  make  the  angels  weep:  who,  with  our  spleens, 
Would  all  themselves  bugh  mot'tal. 

Liicin.  o,  to  him,  to  him,  wench:  he  will  relent; 
He's  corning,  I  perceive't. 

Proe.  Pray  heaven,  she  win  him ! 

Isab-  We  cannot  wei:;h  our  brother  with  ourself : 
Great  men  may  jest  with  saints:  'tis  wit  in  them; 
But,  in  tile  less,  foul  prolanation. 

Lucio.  Thou'rt  in  the  right,  sirl ;  more  o'  that. 

Isab.  That  in  the  captains  but  a  choleric  word, 
Which  in  the  soldier  is  llat  blasphemy. 

Lucio.  Art  advisd  o'  that  ?  more  on't. 

Ailg.  Why  do  you  put  these  sayings  upon  me'! 

Isab.  Because  authority,  though  it  err  like  others. 
Hath  yet  a  kind  of  medicine  in  itself. 
That  skins  the  vice  o'  the  top :    Go  to  your  bosom ; 
Knock  there ;  and  ask  your  heart,  what  it  doth  know 
That's  like  my  brother's  fault:  if  it  confess 
A  natural  guiltiness,  such  as  is  his. 
Let  it  not  sound  a  thouslit  upon  your  tongue 
Against  my  brothers  life. 

Ang.  She  speaks,  and  'tis 

Such  sense,  that  my  sense  breeds  with  it. —  Fare 
you  well. 

Isab.  Gentle  my  lord,  turn  back. 

Ang.  I  will  bethink  me:  —  Come  again  to-mor- 
row. 

Isab.  Hark,  how  I'll  bribe  you:    Good  my  lord, 
turn  back. 

Ang.  How,  bribe  mc  '. 

Isab.  Ay,  with  such  gifts,  that  heaven  shall  share 
with  you. 

Lucio.  V'ou  had  marr'd  all  else. 

Isub.  Not  with  fond  shekels  of  the  tested"  gold 
Or  stones,  whose  rates  are  either  rich  or  poor. 
As  fancy  values  them  :  but  with  true  prayers. 
That  shall  be  up  at  heaven,  and  enter  there, 
Kre  sun-rise ;  prayers  from  presjrvcdi  souls. 
From  fasting  maids,  whose  minds  are  dedicate 
To  nothing  temporal. 

Aug.  Well;  come  to  me 

To-morrow. 

Lucio.  Goto:  it  is  well ;  away.    [Asirle  to  Isxn. 

Isab.  Heaven  keep  your  honor  safe ! 

Aiie.  Amen:  fori 

Am  that  way  going  to  temptation,  [Aside. 

Where  prayers  cross. 

Isab.  At  what  hour  to-morrow  ■ 

Shall  I  attend  your  lordship  ! 

Ang.  At  any  time  'forenoon. 

Isab.  Save  your  honor ! 

[Exeunt  Lrcio,  Isabella,  and  Provost. 

Ang.  From  thee ;  even  from  thy  virtue  ! — 

What'sthis'!  what's  this!  Is  this  her  fault  or  mine  7 
The  tempter,  or  the  tempted,  who  sins  most !  ha  ! 
Not  she ;  nor  doth  she  tempt :  But  it  is  I, 
That  lying  by  the  violet,  in  t!ie  sun. 
Do,  as  the'carrion  does,  not  as  the  flower. 
Corrupt  with  virtuous  season.    Can  it  be, 

1  Paltry.  8  Knotted.  »  Stamped. 

.  t  Preserved  froai  the  corruption  of  the  world. 


j  That  modesty  may  more  betray  our  sense 
'I'han  woman's  li^hlucss!     Having  waste  ground 

enough. 
Shall  we  desirelo  raze  the  sanctuary. 
And  pitch  ou.-  evils  there  !     (>,  lye,  lye.  fye! 
\\  hat  dost  thou  ^  or  what  art  tliuu,  Ange.o  ! 
l-)ost  thou  desire  her  I'ouUy,  liir  those  things 
That  make  her  :iood  !    (i,  let  her  brother  live: 
Thieves  for  their  robbery  have  authorit)-. 
When  judges  steal  themselves.  What !  do  I  loveher. 
That  1  desire  to  hear  her  speak  again, 
And  feast  upon  her  eyes  !     What  is  1 1  dream  on'.' 

0  cunning  enemy,  that  to  catch  a  saint. 

With  saints  dost  bait  thy  hook!    Most  dangcrotis 
Is  that  temptation,  that  doth  goad  us  on 
To  sin  in  loving  virtue ;  never  could  the  strumpet 
With  all  her  double  vigor,  art,  and  nature. 
Once  stir  my  temper ;  but  this  virtuous  maid 
Subdues  me  quite  ; —  Kver,  till  now. 
When  men  were  fond,  1  suul'd,  and  wonder'd  how. 

IKxit. 

SCE.NE  lU.—  ARoorn  in  a  Prison. 

Enter  Dcke,  Itabited  Wee  a  Friar,  and  Provost. 

Viike.  Hail  to  you,  provost!  sol  think  you  are. 
I'rui:  1  am  the  provost:    What's  your  will,  good 

friar  ? 
Duke.  Bound  by  my  charity,  and  my  bless'd  order, 

1  come  to  visit  the  alllicted  spirits 

Here  in  the  prison:  do  me  the  common  rigiit 
To  let  me  see  them ;  and  to  make  me  know 
The  nature  of  tiieir  crimes,  that  1  may  minister 
To  them  accordingly. 
I'roD.  1  would  00  more  than  that,  if  more  were 
needi'ul. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Look,  here  comes  one ;  a  gentlewoman  of  mine, 
Who,  f.dhng  in  the  flames  ol' her  own  youth, 
Hath  blister  d  her  report:    She  is  with  child; 
And  he  that  got  it.  sentenced :  a  young  man 
More  lit  to  do  another  such  olli^mce, 
Than  die  for  this. 

Diilie.  When  must  he  die  1 

I'rui:  As  I  do  think,  lo-morrow. — 
I  have  provided  for  you;  stay  awhde,  [To  Juliet. 
.\nd  you  shall  be  conducted. 

Duke.  Repent  you,  lair  one,  of  the  sin  you  carry  ■! 

Juiitt.  Ido;    and  bear  the  shame  most  patiently. 

Duke.  Ill  teach  you  how  you  sliall  arraign  your 
conscience. 
And  try  your  penitence,  if  it  be  sound. 
Or  hollowly  put  on. 

Julicl.  Ml  gladly  learn. 

T)uke.  Love  you  the  man  that  wrong'd  you? 

Jutiet.  Yes,  as  1  love  the  woman  that  wrong'd  him. 

Dake.  So  then,  it  seems,  your  most  ollencelul  act 
Was  mutually  eomnntted  ! 

Juliet.  Mutually. 

Duke.  Then  was  your  sin  of  heavier  kind  than  his. 

Juliet.  1  do  confess  it,  and  repent  it,  father. 

Duke.  Tis  meet  so,  daughter:    But  lest  you  do 
repent. 
As  that  the  sin  hath  brought  you  to  this  shame, — 
Which    sorrow    is  always  toward  ourselves,  not 

heaven ; 
Showing,  we'd  not  spare  heaven,  as  we  love  it, 
But  as  we  stand  in  tear. 

Juliet.  I  do  repent  me,  as  it  is  an  evil ; 
And  take  the  shame  with  joy. 

Duke.  There  rest. 

Your  partner,  as  I  hear,  must  die  to-morrow. 
And  1  am  going  with  instruction  to  him. — 
Grace  go  with  jou  I     JltneUu-ile !  [Exit. 

Juliet.  Must  die  to-morrow!    O,  injurious  love, 
That  resjiites  me  a  lite,  whose  very  comlbrt 
Is  still  a  dying  horror ! 

rroL\  'Tis  pity  of  him.    [Exeunt, 

SCENE  IV. —  A  Room  in  Angelo's /iouse. 

Enter  Angelo. 

Ang.  When  I  would  pray  and  think,  I  think  and 
pray 
To  several  subjects:  heaven  hath  my  empty  words; 
'iVhilst  my  invention,  hearing  not  my  tongue, 
Anchors  ou  Isabel:   Heaven  in  my  moutli. 
As  tf  I  did  but  only  chew  Iiis  name; 
i  And  in  my  heart,  the  strong  and  swelling  evil 


88 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  II. 


Of  my  conception:  The  state,  whereon  I  studied, 
Is  like  a  good  thin:;,  heins  often  read, 
Grown  feard  and  tedious;  yea.  my  gravity, 
Wlierein  (let  no  man  hear  me)  I  taKe  pride, 
I'onld  I.  with  boot.'  eliangc  lor  an  idle  plume, 
Which  the  air  beats  for  Vain.    O  place;     ()  form! 
How  often  dost  thou  with  thy  case,  thy  liabit, 
AVrench  awe  from  fools,  and  tie  the  wiser  souls 
To  thy  false  seeming!    IJlood,  thou  still  art  blood: 
Let's  write  good  angel  on  the  devil's  horn 
'Tis  not  the  devil's  crest. 

Enter  Servant. 

ITow  now,  who's  there? 

Scrv.  One  Isabel,  a  sister, 

Desires  access  to  you. 

Aug.  Teach  her  the  way.         [Exit  Serv. 

O  heavens! 

Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart; 
Making  both  it  unable  for  itself, 
And  dispossessing  all  the  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness  1 

.So  play  the  'foolish  throngs  with  one  that  swoons  ;  ■ 
Come  all  to  help  him,  and  so  stop  the  air 
By  which  he  should  revive:  and  even  so 
The  general."  suliject  to  a  well-wish'ri  king. 
Quit  their  own  part,  and  in  obsequious  fondness 
Crowd  to  his  presence,  wliere  their  untaught  love 
]\Iust  needs  appear  olTence. 

Enier  Isabella. 

How  now,  fair  maid  ! 
Isab.  1  am  come  to  know  your  pleasure. 

Ang.  That  you  might  know  it,  would  much  bet- 
ter please  me. 
Than  to  demand  what  'tis.    Your  brother  cannot 
live. 
Isab'  Even  so  !  —  Heaven  keep  your  honor! 

\Retiring. 
Ang.  Yet  may  he  live  a  while;  and,  it  may  be 
As  long  as  you  or  I :    Yet  he  must  die. 
/s«^.  Under  your  sentence  ! 
Alts.  Yea. 

Imb.  When1  I  beseech  you'!  tlint  in  his  reprieve. 
Longer,  or  shorter,  he  may  be  so  hlted. 
Thai  his  soul  sicken  not. 

Ang.   Ha !  fye,  these  filthy  vices!  It  were  as  good 
To  ])ardon  him,  that  hath  from  nature  stolen 
A  man  already  made,  as  to  remit 
Their  saucy  sweetness,  that  do  coin  heaven's  image. 
In  stamps  that  are  forbid  :  'tis  all  as  easy 
Falsely  to  take  away  a  life  true  made, 
.\s  to  put  mettle  in  restrained  means, 
To  make  a  false  one. 
Isnb.  'Tis  set  down  so  in  heaven,  but  not  m  earth. 
Ang.  Say  you  sol  then  I  shall  pose  you  quickly. 
Which  had  you  rather,  that  the  most  'just  law 
Mow  took  your  brother's  life ;  or,  to  redeem  him, 
Give  up  your  body  to  such  sweet  uncleanncss, 
4s  she  that  he  hath  stained ! 

hah.  Sir,  believe  this, 

I  had  rather  give  my  body  tlian  my  soul. 

Ang.  I  talk  not  of  your  soul ;  our  compelfd  sins 
Stand  more  for  number  than  accompt. 
Isab.  How  say  you? 

Ang,  Nay  I'll  not  warrant  that;  for  I  can  speak 
Against  the  thing  1  say.    Answer  to  this;  — 
I,  now  the  voice  of  the  recorded  law. 
Pronounce  a  sentence  on  your  brotlier's  life : 
Might  there  not  be  a  charily  in  sin, 
To  save  this  brother's  life ' 

Ixab.  Please  you  to  do  't, 

I'll  take  it  as  a  peril  to  my  soul, 
it  is  no  sin  at  all,  but  charily. 

Ang.  Pleas'd  you  to  do  't.  at  peril  of  your  soul. 
Were  equal  poise  of  sin  and  charity. 

I.iab.  rhat  1  do  beg  his  life,  if  it  be  sin. 
Heaven,  let  me  bear  it!  you  granting  of  my  suit. 
If  that  be  sin,  ill  make  it  my  morn  prayer 
To  have  it  added  to  the  taults  of  mine. 
And  nothing  of  your  answer. 

Ang.  Nay,  but  hear  me: 

Your  sense  pursues  not  mine :  either  you  are  igno- 
rant. 
Or  seem  so,  craftily;  and  that's  not  good. 

Isnb.  Let  me  be  ignorant,  and  in  nothing  good, 
But  graciously  to  know  I  am  no  better. 
Ang.  Thus  wisdom  wishes  to  appear  most  bright, 


"  Profit. 


»  The  people. 


When  it  dolh  tax  itself:  as  these  black  masks 
Proclaim  an  enshicid'  beauty  ten  times  louder 
Than  beauty  could  displayed. —  But  mark  me; 
To  be  received  plain,  I'll  speak  more  gross: 
Your  brother  is  to  die. 
hah.  So. 

Ang    And  his  offence  is  so,  as  it  appears 
Accountant  to  the  law  upon  that  pain. 
hah.  True. 

Ang.  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, 
(As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other, 
Hut  in  the  loss  of  question.)  that  you,  his  sister, 
Finding  yourself  desir'd  of  such  a  person, 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place. 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manacles 
(if  the  all-binding  law;  and  that  there  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  eitlier 
You  must  lay  down  tlie  treasures  of  your  body 
To  this  supposed,  or  else  let  him  suffer  ; 
What  would  you  do'! 

hub.  As  much  for  my  poor  brother  as  myself; 
That  is,  were  I  under  the  terms  of  death, 
TThe  impression  of  keen  whips  I'd  wear  as  rubies, 
And  strip  myself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 
That  longing  I  have  been  sick  for,  ere  I'd  yield 
My  body  up  to  shame. 
Ang.  Then  must  your  brother  die. 

hah.  And  'twere  the  cheaper  way: 
Better  it  were,  a  brother  died  at  once. 
Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him, 
Sliould  die  for  ever. 

Ang.  Were  not  you  then  as  cruel  as  the  sentence 
That  you  have  slahder'd  so? 

hab.  Ignoniy  in  ransom,  and  free  pardon, 
Are  of  two  houses:  lawful  mercy  is 
Nothing  akin  to  foul  redemption. 
Ang.  \o\i  seem'd  of  late  to  make  the  law  a  ty- 
rant; 
And  rather  prov'd  the  sliding  of  your  brother 
A  merriment  than  a  vice. 

hab.  O,  pardon  me.  my  lord;  it  oft  falls  out, 
To  have  what  we'd  have,  we  speak  not  what  we 

mean : 
I  something  do  excuse  the  thing  I  hate. 
For  his  advantage  that  I  dearly  love. 
Ang.  We  are  all  frail. 

hah.  Else  let  my  brother  die. 

If  not  a  feodary,'  but  only  he. 
Owe,"  and  succeed  by  weakness. 
Aag.  Nay.  women  are  frail  too. 

hub.  Ay,  as  the  glasses  where  they  view  them- 
selves ; 
Which  are  as  easy  broke  as  they  make  forms. 
Women  !-— Help" heaven  !  men  their  creation  mar 
In  profiting  by  them.    Nay,  call  us  ten  times  frail ; 
For  we  n re  soft  as  our  complexions  are. 
And  credulous  to  false  prints.'' 

Ang.  I  think  it  well: 

And  from  this  testimony  of  your  own  sex, 
(Since,  I  suppose,  we  are  made  to  be  no  stronger 
Than  f.iults  may  shake  our  frames,)  let  me  be  bold; 
I  do  arrest  your  words ;  be  tliat  you  are. 
That  is,  a  woman ;  if  you  be  more,  you're  none ; 
If  you  be  one,  (as  you  are  well  exjiress'd 
By  all  external  warrants,)  show  it  now. 
By  putting  on  the  destin'd  livery, 

'hab.  I  have  no  tongue  but  one:  gentle  my  lord. 
Let  me  entreat  you,  speak  the  former  language. 
.Ang.  Plainly  conceive,  I  love  you. 
hall.  My  brother  did  love  Juliet ;  and  you  tell  me 
That  he  shall  die  for  it. 
Aag.  He  shall  not,  Is.abel,  if  you  give  me  love. 
hab.  I  know  your  virtue  liath  a  licence  in  't, 
Wliich  seems  a  httle  fouler  than  it  is, 
To  pluck  on  others. 

Ang.  Believe  me,  on  mine  honor, 

Mv  words  express  my  purpose. 

hab.  Ha!  little  honor  to  be  much  believ'd. 
Ami  most  pernicious  purpose ! —  Seeming,  seeming . 
I  will  proclaim  thee,  Angelo;  look  fort: 
Sign  me  a  present  pardon  for  mv  brother. 
Or.  with  an  ouLstretcli'd  throat,  I'll  tell  the  world 
Aloud,  what  man  thou  art. 

Anx-  Who  will  believe  thee,  Isabel! 

My  unsoil'd  name,  the  austereness  of  my  life, 
My  vouch  against  you,  and  my  place  i'  the  state. 
Will  so  your  accusation  overweigh. 
That  yo"u  shall  stifie  in  your  own  report, 
I         *  Covered,     » Associate.        «*  Own.        i  Iinpre.'=siona 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


MEASUKE  FOR  MEASURE. 


89 


And  smell  of  calumny.    I  liiive  bezun; 
And  now  I  sivc  my  sensual  race  the  rein; 
Fit  thy  consent  to  my  sharp  appetite  ; 
Lay  by  all  nicety,  and  prolixiouss  blushes. 
That  banish  what  they  sue  for;  redeem  thy  brother 
By  yieldins  up  thy  body  to  my  will; 
Or  else  he  "must  not  only  die  the  death, 
But  thy  unkindness  shall  his  death  draw  nut 
To  liiiii  rinjr  sulterance  :  answer  me  to-morrow, 
Or,  by  the  allection  that  now  guides  me  most, 
111  prove  a  tjTant  to  him:    As  for  you. 
Say  what  you  can,  my  false  o'erweighs  your  true. 

[Exit. 
Isnb.  To  whom  shall  I  complain  1  Did  I  tell  lliis. 
Who  would  believe  me?    0  perilous  moutlis, 


That  bear  in  them  one  and  the  self-same  tongue, 
Kither  of  condemnation  or  approof ! 
Bidding  the  law  mal<c  court'-sy  to  their  will ; 
Honking  both  right  and  wrong  to  the  appetite, 
To  follow  as  it  draws !    I'll  to  ray  brother : 
Though  he  hath  fallen  hy  prompture  of  the  blood, 
Yet  hath  he  in  him  such  a  jnind  of  honor. 
That  had  he  twenty  heads  to  tender  down 
On  twenty  bloody  blocks,  lied  yield  them  up. 
Before  his  sister  should  her  body  stoop 
To  such  abhorr'd  pollution. 
Then  Isabel,  hve  chaste,  and,  brother,  die: 
More  than  our  brother  is  our  chastity. 

;  I'll  tell  him  yet  of  Angilo's  request, 

I  And  tit  his  mind  to  death,  for  his  soul's  rest.  [Exit. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— A  Room  in  the  Prison. 
Enter  Duke,  Claudio,  and  Provost. 

Duke-  So,  then  you  hope  of  pardon  from  lord 
Angelo! 

Claud.  The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine, 
But  only  hope  : 
I  have  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepar'd  to  die. 

Duke.  Be  absolute  for  death :  either  death,  orlife. 
Shall  thereby  be  the  sweeter.  Reason  thus  with  life, — 
If  I  do  lose  thee,  I  do  lose  a  thmg 
That  none  but  fools  would  keep :  a  breath  thou  art, 
(Servile  to  all  the  skiey  influences,) 
That  dost  this  habitation,  where  thou  keep'st, 
Hourly  afflict:  merely,  thou  art  death's  fool; 
For  him  thou  labor'st  by  thy  flight  to  shun. 
And  yet  run'st  toward  him  still :  Thou  art  not  noble; 
For  all  the  accommodations  that  thou  bear'sl. 
Are  nurs'd  by  baseness:  Thou  art  by  no  means 

valiant; 
For  thou  dost  fear  the  sofl  and  tender  fork 
Of  a  poor  worm :    Thy  best  of  rest  is  sleep. 
And  that  thou  oft  provok'st;  yet  grossly  fear'st 
Thy  death,  which  is  no  more.   Thou  art  not  thyself; 
For  thou  exist'st  on  many  thousand  grains 
That  issue  out  of  dust :    Happy  thou  art  not ; 
For  what  thou  hast  not,  still  thou  striv'st  to  get ; 
Andwhatthou  hast,  forget'st:  Thou  art  not  certain; 
For  tliy  complexion  shifts  to  strange  ctrects,* 
After  the  moon:  If  thou  art  rich,  thou  art  poor; 
For,  like  an  ass,  whose  back  with  ingots  bows. 
Thou  bear'st  thy  heavy  riches  but  a  journey. 
And  death  unloads  thee:    Friend  hast  thou  none; 
For  thine  own  bowels,  which  do  call  thee  sire. 
The  mere  eflfusion  of  thy  proper  loins. 
Do  curse  the  gout,  serpigo,'  and  the  rheum. 
For  ending  thee  no  sooner :    Thou  hast  nor  youth, 

nor  age ; 
But,  as  it  were,  an  afler-dinner's  sleep. 
Dreaming  on  both  :  for  all  thy  blessed  youth 
Becomes  as  aged,  and  doth  beg  the  alms 
Of  palsied  eld;  and  when  thou  art  old  andrioh, 
Thou  hast  neither  heat,  affection,  limb,  nor  beauty, 
To  m.ike  thy  riches  pleasant.    What's  yet  in  this. 
That  bears  the  name  of  life  !     Yet  in  this  life 
Lie  hid  more  thousand  deaths:    yet  death  wc  fear. 
That  makes  these  odds  all  even. 

Claud.  I  humbly  thank  you. 

To  sue  to  live,  T  find.  I  seek  to  die: 
And  seeking  death,  find  life :    Let  it  come  on. 
Enter  Isabella. 

Isab.  What,  ho!    Peace   here;  grace  and  good 
company ! 

Proi:  Who's  the're?    come  in:  the  wish  deserves 
a  welcome. 

Duke.  Dear  sir.  ere  long  I'll  visit  you  again. 

Claud.  Most  holy  sir,  I  thank  you. 

Isab.  My  business  is  a  word  or  two  with  Clandio. 

Prov.  And  very  welcome.    Look,  signior,  here's 
your  sister. 

DuTce.  Provost,  a  word  with  you. 

Proi:  As  many  as  you  please. 

Duke.  Bring  tbem  to  speak,  where  I  may  be 
conceaPd, 
•  Beluctant.  "  Affects,  atTectiODS. 

iLeproua  eruptions. 


Yet  hear  them.  [Exeurit  Duke  and  Provost. 

Claud.  Now,  sister,  what's  the  comfort  ■? 

Isab.  Why,  as  all  comforts  are ;  most  good  indeed : 
Lord  Anselo,  having  alFairs  to  heaven. 
Intends  you  for  his  swil't  ambassador. 
Where  you  shall  Im?  an  everlasting  lieger:« 
Therefore  your  best  appointment  make  with  speed ; 
To-morrow  you  set  on. 

Claud.  Is  there  no  remedy  ? 

hab.  None,  but  such  a  remedy,  as  to  save'  a  head, 
To  cleave  a  heart  in  twain. 

Claud.  But  is  there  any  i 

I^ab.  Yes,  brother,  you  may  live; 
There  is  a  devilish  mercy  in  the  judge. 
If  you'll  implore  it,  that  will  free  your  life 
But  fetter  you  till  death. 

Claud.  Perpetual  durance'? 

Isab.  .^v,  just,  perpetual  durance:  a  restraint, 
Though  all  the  world's  vastidity  you  had,     . 
"To  a  determined  scope. 

Claud.  But  in  what  nature? 

Isa'\  In  such  a  one  as  (you  consenting  to  'tl 
Would  bark  your  honor  from  that  trunk  you  bear. 
And  leave  you  naked. 

Claud.  Let  me  know  the  point. 

Isab.  O,  I  do  fear  thee,  Claudio;  and  I  quake. 
Lest  thou  a  feverous  fife  shouldst  entertain. 
And  six  or  seven  winters  more  respect 
Than  a  perpetual  honor.     Darst  thou  dieT 
The  sense  of  deatli  is  most  in  apprehension; 
And  the  poor  beetle  that  we  tread  upon. 
In  corporal  sufferance  tiuds  a  pang  as  great 
\s  when  a  giant  dies. 

Claud.  Why  give  you  me  this  shame  1 

Think  you  I  can  a  resolution  fetch 
From  flowery  tenderness  t     If  1  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride. 
And  hus  it  in  mine  arms. 

Isab.  There  spake  my  brother;  there  my  father's 
grave 
Did  utter  forth  a  voice !    Yes.  thou  must  die : 
Thou  art  too  noble  to  conserve  a  life 
In  base  appliances.  This  outward-sainted  deputy, — 
Whose  settled  visase  and  deliberate  word 
Nips  youth  i'  the  head,  and  follie^oth  enmew. 
As  falcon  doth  the  fowl, —  is  yet  a  devil ; 
His  filth  within  beini  cast,  he  would  appear 
.\  pond  as  deep  as  hell. 

Claud.  The  princely  Angelo  1 

hah.  n,  'tis  the  cunning  livery  of  hell. 
The  vilest  body  to  invest  and  cover 
In  princely  guards!     Dost  thou  think,  Claudio, 
If  1  would  vield  him  my  virginitj', 
rhou  might'st  be  freed  ! 

Claud.  O,  heavens!  It  cannot  be. 

Isab.  Yes,  he  would  give  it  thee,  from  tliis  rank 
offence, 
9o  1  to  offend  him  still :  This  night's  the  time, 
Tliat  1  should  do  what  I  ablior  to  name. 
Or  else  thou  diest  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Thou  shalt  not  do't. 

Isab.  O,  were  it  but  my  life, 
I'd  throw  it  down  for  your  deliverance 
.\s  frankly  as  a  pin. 

Claud.  Thanks,  dear  Isabel. 

s  Resident. 


90 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  II 


Isa').  Be  readj',  Claudio.  for  your  death  to-morrow. 

Claud.  Vcs. —  Mas  he  allection?  in  liim, 
Tliat  thus  can  make  liirn  bite  the  law  tiy  the  nose, 
When  he  would  force  it  7     Sure  it  is  no  sin ; 
Or  of  the  deadly  seven  it  is  the  least- 

Isa''.  Wnicli  is  the  leasts 

Claud.  If  it  were  damnable,  he,  being  so  wise, 
Wliy,  would  he  for  tlie  momentary  trick 
13e  perduraWy  fin'd  '  — o  Isabel! 

Isuh.  What  says  my  brother  ! 

Claud.  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Imb.  And  shamed  life  a  hateful. 

Claudi  Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where ; 
To  lie  in  coid  obstruction,  and  to  rot: 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod;  and  the  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  Hoods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  regions  of  thick  ribbed  ice ;    . 
To  he  impl-isohd  in  the  viewless  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those,  that  lawless  and  uncertain  thoughts 
Imagine  howling! — 'tis  too  horrible! 
Tlie "weariest  and  most  loathed  worklly  life. 
That  age,  ache,  penury,  and  imprisonment, 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Ivi'i.  Alas!  alas! 

Claud.  Sweet  sister,  let  me  live : 

Wliat  sin  you  do  to  save  a  brother's  life, 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far, 
That  it  becomes  a  virtue. 

Isab.  O,  you  beast ! 

O,  faithless  coward  !    O,  dishonest  wretch ! 
Wilt  thou  be  made  a  man  out  of  my  vicel 
Is't  not  a  kind  of  incest,  to  take  life 
From  tliine  own  sister's  shame  1     What  should  I 

think  ] 
Heaven  shield,  my  mother  play'd  my  lather  fair ! 
For  such  a  warped  slip  of  wilderness 
Ne'er  issu'd  from  his  blood.    Take  my  defiance: 
Die;  perish!  miaht  but  my  bending  down 
Reprice  thee  from  thy  f.it'e,  it  should  proceed: 
I'll  pray  a  thousand  prayers  for  thy  death 
No  word  to  save  thee. 

Claud.  Nay,  hear  me,  Isabel. 

Imh.  O.fye,  fye,  fye! 

Thy  sin's  not  accidental, but  a  trade  : 
Mercy  to  thee  would  prove  itself  a  bawd: 
'Tis  best  that  thou  diest  quickly.  [Going 

Claud.  ■       0  hear  me,  Isabella. 

Re-enter  Duke. 

Sal-e.  Vouchsafe  a  word,  young  sister,  but  one 
word. 

Isah.  What  is  your  wiUI 

Uulce.  Might  you  dispense  with  your  leisure,  I 
would  by  and  by  have  some  speech  with  you :  the 
satisfaction  I  would  require,  is  likewise  your  own 
benefit. 

Isab.  I  have  no  superlluous  leisure;  my  stay 
must  be  stolen  out  of  other  affairs;  but  1  will  attend 
you  awhile. 

Duke.  [To  CtACnio,  n.Hde.]  Son,  I  have  over- 
lieard  what  hath  passed  between  you  and  your  sister. 
Angelo  had  never  the  purpose  to  corrupt  her;  only 
he  hath  made  an  essav  of  her  virtue,  to  practice  his 
judgment  with  tl«  disposition  of  natures;  she.  hav- 
ing die  truth  of  lioiior  in  licr,  hath  made  him  that 
gracious  denial  which  he  is  most  Klad  to  receive:  I 
am  confessor  to  AuKclu,  and  1  know  this  to  be  true; 
therefore  prepare  yourself  to  death :  Do  not  satisfy 
your  resolution  with  hopes  tliat  are  fallible :  to-mor- 
row you  must  die;  go  to  your  knees,  and  make 
ready. 

Claud.  Let  me  ask  my  sister  pardon.  I  am  so 
out  of  love  with  life.  Hint  I  will  sue  to  be  rid  of  it. 

Du.'.-e.  Hold  you  there:    Farewell. 

[E.rit  Clauiiio. 

Rc-enler  Provost. 

Provost,  a  word  with  you. 

Prnr.  What's  your  will,  father'! 

I>ul;e.  That  now  you  are  come  you  will  be  gone. 
Leave  me  awhile  with  the  maid;  my  mind  prom- 
ises with  my  habit,  no  loss  shall  touch  her  by  my 
company. 

Prnr.  'In  good  time.  1  En'/  Provost. 

DiUie.  The  hand  that  hath  made  you  fair,  hath 
made  you  good:    the  goodness  that  is  cheap  in 


beauty,  makes  beauty  brief  in  goodness:  butgrare, 
being  the  soul  of  your  complexion. should  Keep  the 
body  of  it  ever  fair.  The  assault  that  Angelo  hath 
made  to  you,  fortune  hath  convey'd  to  my  under- 
standing; and,  but  that  frailty  hath  examples  for 
his  falling,  I  should  woiiiler  at  Angelo.  How  would 
you  do  to  content  this  substitute,  and  to  save  your 
brother'! 

hub.  I  am  now  going  to  resolve  him:  I  had 
rather  my  brotlier  die  by  tlie  law,  than  my  son  should 
be  unlawfully  born.  Hut  0,  how  mucli  is  the  good 
duke  deceived  in  Angelo!  If  ever  he  retun,  and  I 
can  speak  to  him.  1  will  open  my  hps  in  •ain,  or 
disco\er  his  government. 

Duke.  Tliat  shall  not  he  much  amiss:  Yet,  as 
the  matter  now  stands,  he  will  avoid  your  accusa- 
tion ;  he  made  trial  of  you  only. — Therefore,  fasten 
your  ear  on  my  advisings :  to  'Uie  love  1  liave  in  do- 
mg  s;ood,  a  remedy  presents  itself.  I  do  make  my- 
self believe,  tluit  you  may  most  uprighteously  do  a 
poor  wronged  lady  a  merited  benefit;  redeem  your 
brother  from  the  angry  law ;  do  no  stain  to  your 
own  gracious  person;  and  much  please  the  atisent 
duke,  if,  peracfvenlure,  he  shall  ever  return  to  have 
hearing  of  this  business. 

Isab.  Let  me  hear  you  speak  further;  I  have 
spirit  to  do  any  thing  that  appears  not  foul  in  the 
truth  of  my  spirit. 

Duke.  Virtue  is  bold,  and  goodness  never  fear- 
ful. Have  vou  not  heard  speak  of  Mariana  the  sis- 
ter of  [•'rederick,  the  great  soldier,  who  miscarried 
at  sea  ] 

Isab.  1  have  heard  of  the  lady,  and  good  words 
went  wdth  her  name. 

Duke.  Her  should  this  Angelo  have  married;  was 
affianced  to  her  by  oath,  and  the  nuplual  appointed : 
between  which  time  of  the  contract,  and  limit  of 
the  solemnity,  her  brother  Frederick  was  wrecked 
at  sea,  having  in  that  perished  vessel  the  dowry  of 
his  sister.  But  mark,  liow  heavily  this  befel  to  the 
poor  gentlewoman  ;  there  she  lost  a  noble  and  re- 
nowned brother,  in  his  love  toward  her  ever  most 
kind  and  natural ;  with  him,  the  portion  and  sinew 
of  her  fortune,  lier  marriage-dowry ;  with  both,  her 
combinate'  husband,  this  well-seeming  Angelo. 

Isab.  Can  this  be  sol     Did  Angelo  so  leave  her7 

Duke.  Left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dry'd  not  one  of 
them  with  his  coml'ort;  swallowed  his  vows  whole, 
pretending  in  her  discoveries  of  dishonor:  in  tew, 
bestowed  her  on  her  own  lamentation,  which  she 
yet  wears  for  his  sake ;  and  he.  a  marble  to  her 
tears,  is  washed  with  them,  but  relents  not. 

Isab.  What  a  merit  were  it  in  death,  to  take  this 
poor  maiden  from  tlie  world !  What  corruption  in 
this  life,  that  it  will  let  this  man  live!  —  but  how 
out  of  this  can  slie  avail'! 

Duke.  It  is  a  rupture  that  you  may  easily  heal: 
and  the  cure  of  it  not  only  saves  your  brother,  but 
keeps  you  from  dishonor  m  doing  it. 

Isab.  Sliow  me  how,  good  father. 

Duke.  This  fore-named  maid  hath  yet  in  her  the 
continuance  of  her  first  alTection;  his  unjust  un- 
kindness,  that  in  all  reason  should  have  quenched 
her  love,  hath,  like  an  impediment  in  the  current, 
made  it  more  violent  and  unruly.  Go  you  to  An- 
gelo; answer  his  requiring  with  a  plausible  obedi- 
ence; agree  with  his  demands  to  the  point:  only 
refer  yeurself  to  this  advantage, —  first,  tluat  your 
stay  with  him  may  not  be  long;  that  the  lime  may 
have  all  shadow  and  silence  in  it;  and  the  place 
answer  to  convenience :  this  being  granted  in  course, 
now  follows  all.  \\  e  shall  advise  this  wronged  maid 
to  stead  up  your  appointment,  go  in  your  jilace ;  if 
the  encounter  acknowledge  itself  herealler,  it  may 
compel  him  to  her  recompense:  and  liere,  by  tins, 
is  your  brother  saved,  your  honor  untainted,  the 
poor  Mariana  advantaged,  and  the  corrupt  deputy 
scaled.'  The  maid  will  I  frame,  and  make  fit  for 
his  attempt  If  you  think  well  to  carry  this  as  you 
may,  the  douhleness  of  the  benefit  defends  the  de- 
ceit from  reproof.    W  hat  think  you  of  it ! 

Isab.  The  image  of  it  gives  me  content  already ; 
and  I  trust  it  will  grow  to  a  most  prosperous  per- 
fection. 

■Duke.  It  lies  much  in  your  holding  up:  Haste 
you  speedily  to  ,\ngelo:  if  for  this  night  he  entreat 
you  to  his  bed,  give  him  promise  of  satisfaction.  I 
will  presently  to  St.  Luke's;  there,  at  the  moated 
grange,  resides  this  dejected  iMariana:  At  that 
'  retrothca.  *  OTcr-re.ichc'd. 


Scene  II. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


91 


place  rail  upon  me  ;  and  di.spatch  with  Angelo,  that 
It  may  bo  cimckly. 

/.<«•<.  1  th.iiik  youfortliiscoinrijrt:  Fare  you  well, 
good  lather.  [Exeuiil  s.verutly. 

SCE.NE  n.—Tlie  Sired  b.'fore  the  Prison. 

Enter  Duhi;,  as  a  friar  s  to  Mm  Elbow,  Clown, 
and  Officers. 

Elb.  Naj',  if  there  be  no  remedy  of  it,  but  that 
vou  will  needs  buy  and  sell  men  and  women  like 
beasts,  we  sh  ill  have  all  the  world  drink  brown  and 
wJiite  bastard. I 

Duke.  (),  heavens!    what  stuff  is  here  T 

(,'to.  'Twas  nevei  merry  world,  since,  of  two 
usuries,  the  merriest  was  put  down,  and  the  worser 
allow'd  by  order  of  law  a  furr'd  gown  to  keep  him 
warm ;  and  furr'd  with  fox  and  lamb  skins  loo,  to 
signify,  that  craft,  being  richer  than  innocency 
stands  for  the  fa.-ing. 

El").  Come  your  way,  sir;  — Bless  you,  good  fa- 
tlier  friar. 

Duke.  And  you,  good  brother  father:  What  of- 
fence hath  this  man  made  you,  sir  i 

E!'>.  iNIarry,  sir,  he  hath  odended  the  law  ;  and, 
sir.  we  take  him  to  be  a  thief  too,  sir;  for  we  have 
found  upon  him,  sir,  a  strange  pick-lock,  which  we 
have  sent  to  the  deputy. 

Duke.  Kye,  sirrah  ;  a  bawd,  a  wicked  bawd  I 
The  evil  that  thou  causest  to  hii  done, 
That  is  thy  means  to  live :  do  thou  but  think 
What  'tis  to  cram  a  maw,  or  clothe  a  back, 
From  such  a  filthy  vice ;  say  to  thyself^ 
F'rom  their  abourinable  and  beastly  touches 
I  drink,  I  eat,  array  myself,  and  live. 
Canst  thou  believe  thy  livin'4  is  a  life. 
So  stinkiui^ly  depending!  Go,  mend,  go,  mend. 

CUi.  Indeed  it  does  stink  in  some  sort,  sir  >  but 
yet,  sir,  I  would  prove 

Duke.  Nay,  if  the  devil  have  given  thee  proofs 
for  sin, 
Thou  wilt  prove  his.    Take  him  to  prison  officer ; 
Correction  and  instruction  must  both  work, 
Kre  this  rude  beast  will  profit. 

Elh.  He  must  before  the  deputy,  sir ;  he  has  given 
him  warning:  the  deputy  cannot  abide  a  whore- 
master:  if  he  be  a  whoremonger,  and  comes  before 
Him,  he  were  as  good  go  a  mile  on  his  errand. 

Duke.  That  we  were  all.  as  some  would  seem  to  be. 
Free  fro.ii  our  faulU,  as  faults  from  seeming  free  ! 

Enter  Lucio- 

El^.  His  neck  will  come  to  your  waist,  a  cord.  sir. 

Clo.  I  spy  co.nfort;  I  cry  bail:  Here's  a  gentle- 
man, a  friend  of  mine. 

L'tcio.  How  now,  noble  Pompey  7  What,  at  the 
heels  of  Caisarl  Art  thou  led  in  triumph  I  What, 
is  .there  none  of  Pygmalion's  images,  newly  made 
woman,  to  be  had  now,  for  putting  the  hand  in  the 
ro,:ket.  and  extracting  it  clutch  df  VV^hat  reply? 
II. I !  What  say'st  tiiou  to  this  tune,  matter,  and 
method!  Is't  not  drownd  i'  the  last  rain!  Ha! 
What  say'st  thou,  trot!  Is  the  world  as  it  was, 
nran  T  Which  isthe  way  !  Ia  it  sad, and  lew  words  ! 
Or  how  !    The  trick  of  it ! 

Duke.  Still  thus,  and  thus !  still  worse ! 

Lucut.  How  doth  my  dear  morsel,  thy  mistress  ! 
Procures  she  still  *!  Ha  ! 

Ci(i.  Troth,  sir,  s!ie  hath  eaten  up  all  her  beef, 
and  she  is  herself  in  the  tub." 

Liccio.  Why, 'tis  good;  it  is  the  right  of  it;  it 
must  be  so;  ever  your  fresh  whore,  and  your  pow- 
der'd  bawd:  an  unshunn'd  consequence;  it  must 
be  so  :   art  going  to  prison,  Pompey  ! 

Cto.   Yes.  faith,  sii. 

L'.icio.  Why, 'tis  not  amiss,  Pompey  :  Farewell: 
Go;  say,  I  seiit  thee  thither.  For  debt,  Pompey! 
Or  how  ! 

Etb.   For  heinj  a  bawd,  for  being  a  bawd. 

L'irio.  Well,  then  imprison  him:  if  imprison- 
ment be  the  due  of  a  bawd,  why  'tis  his  right: 
bawd  is  he,  doubtless,  and  of  antiquity  too  ;  bawd- 
born.  Farewell,  good  Pompey  :  commend  me  to  the 
prison,  Pompey:  you  will  turn  -400  I  husband  now, 
Pompey;  you  will  keep  the  house. ^ 

Clo.  I  hope,  sir,  your  good  worship  will  be  my 
bail. 

Lucin.  No,  indeed,  will  I  not,  Pompey ;  it  is  not 

•  A  sweet  wine.     «  Pow.lerini;  tub.     '  St.iy  at  home. 


the  wear.     1  will  pray.  Pompey.  to  increase  your 
uondage:   if  you  la:,e  ii  not  patiently,  why  your 
mettle  is  Ihe  more :    Adieu,  trusty  Pompey.— lUess 
you.  friar. 
Duke.  And  you. 

L'lc'uj.   Does  liridget  paint  still,  Pompej'!  Ha? 
Et'j.  Come  j'our  ways,  sir;  come. 
Cto.   "i'ou  will  not  bail  me  then,  s.r  ? 
Lucio.  Then,  I'ompey  !  nor  now — What  news 
abroad,  friar  !     Wh^t  news  ( 
Elb.  CoMie  your  ways,  sir;  come. 
Lucio.  Go, —  to  kennel,  Pompey,  go: 

[Kxeiinl  Elhow,  Ciovvu,  atid  Officers. 
What  news,  I'l'iar,  of  the  duke  ! 
Duke.  1  know  none:    Can  you  tell  me  of  any  ! 
Luciu.   Some  say,  he  is  with  the  eiuperorof  Kus- 
sia;  other  some,  he  is  in  Home:    But  where  is  he, 
think  you ! 

Duke.  I  know  not  where:  But  wheresoever,  I 
wish  him  well. 

Lurio.   It  was  a  mad  fantistical  trick  of  him,  to 
steal  from  the  state,  and  usurp  tise  beggary  lie  was 
never  born  to.    I.ord    Angelo  dukes  it  well  in  his 
absence ;  he  jiuts  transgression  to  t. 
Duke.  He  iloes  well  in  't. 

Lucio.  \  lillle  more  lenity  to  lechery  would  do 
no  harm  in  him:  something  too  crabbed  that  way, 
friar. 

Duke.  It  is  too  general  a  vice,  and  severity  must 
cure  it. 

Luci').  '\*es,  in  good  sooth,  the  vice  is  of  a  great 
kindred;  it  is  well  allied :  hut  it  is  impossible  to  e.\- 
tirp  it  quite,  friar,  till  eating  and  dnnkinj  be  put 
down.  I'hey  say.  this  An,;clo  was  not  made  by 
man  an.d  woman,  after  the  downright  way  of  crea- 
tion :  is  it  true,  think  you! 
Duke.  How  should  he  be  made  then  1 
Lucin.  Some  report,  a  sea-maid  spawn'd  him:  — 
.Some,  that  he  was  begot  between  Iwo-stock-lishcs: 
but  it  is  certain,  that  when  he  makes  water,  his 
urine  is  congeal'd  ice ;  that  1  know  to  be  true :  and 
he  is  a  motion'  ungenerativc.  that's  infallible. 
Duke.  You  are  pleasant,  sir;  and  speak  apace. 
Lucio.  Why.  what  a  rutlile.is  thing  is  this  in  him, 
for  the  rebellion  of  a  eod-picce,  to  take  away  the  life 
of  a  man!  Would  the  duke,  that  is  absent,  have 
done  this  !  Ere  he  would  have  hanged  a  man  for 
the  getting  a  hundred  bastards,  he  would  have  paid 
for  the  nursing  a  tliousand:  lie  had  some  feeling  o{ 
the  sport ;  he  knew  the  service,  and  tliat  instructed 
him  to  mercy. 

Duk'.  I  never  heard  the  absent  duke  much  de- 
tected for  women ;   he  was  not  inclined  that  way. 
Lucio.  O.  sir,  you  are  deceived. 
Duke.   'Tis  not  possible. 

Luciu.  Who!  not  the  duke!  yes,  your  beggar  of 
fifty ;  —  and  his  use  was,  to  put  a  ducat  in  her  clack- 
dish:'  the  duke  had  crotcliets  in  him:  He  would 
be  drunk  too;  that  let  me  inform  you. 
Duke.  Y'ou  do  him  wrong,  surely. 
Lucio.  Sir,  I  was  an  inward  of  Ills  :  a  shy  fellow 
was  the  duke:  and  I  believe  I  kno',v  the  cause  of  his 
withdrawiii'iT. 

Duke.   What,  T  pr'ythce.  might  be  the  cause'! 
Lucio.  No, —  pardon ;— 'tis  a  secret  must  be  loek'd 
within  the  teeth  and  the  lips:  but  this  1  can  let  you 
under.'itaud, —  The  greater  tile  of  the  subject  held 
the  duke  to  be  wi.se. 
Dike.  Wise  !  why,  no  question  but  hi-  was. 
Lucio.   A  very  superticial,  ignorant,  unweighin" 
fellow.  ° 

Duke.  Either  this  is  envy  in  you.  folly,  or  mistak- 
ing;  the  very  stream  of  liis  life,  and  Ihe  business 
he  hath  he'med.'  must,  upon  a  warranted  need,  give 
him  a  belter  proclamation.    Let  him  be  but  testi- 
monie  1  in   his  ow  n  br;ngin:;s  firth,  and  he  shall 
appear  to  the  envious,  a  .scholar,  a  statesman,  and  a 
soldier:   Therefore,  you  speak  unskilfully;  or,  if 
your  knowledge  be  more,  it  is  much   darken'd  in 
your  malice. 
Lucio.   Sir,  [  know  him.  and  I  love  him. 
Duke.  Love  talks  with    belter   knowledge,  and 
knowled-ie  with  dearer  love. 
Lucio.  Come,  sir,  I  know  what  I  know, 
s  Puppet. 

9  Cach-flish:  The  beggars,  two  or  three  centlI^i^•^ngo, 
used    to  proclaim  their  want  hy  a  wooden  dish  with  a 
mOT.iUe  cover,  whieh  Ihey  claeked,  to  show  that  their 
vessel  was  em]  ty. 
iGuidea. 


92 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  III. 


Duke.  I  ran  hardly  believe  that,  since  you  know 
not  what  you  speak,  lint,  if  ever  the  duke  return, 
(as  our  prayers  are  lie  luay,)  let  me  desire  you  to 
make  your  answtr  beibre  liim:  If  it  be  honest  you 
have  spoke,  you  have  courage  to  maintain  it:  1 
am  bound  to  call  upon  you :  and,  1  pray  you,  your 
name  1 

Lucio.  Sir,  my  name  is  Lucio,  well  known  to  the 
duke. 

Duke.  He  shall  know  you  belter,  sir,  if  I  may  hve 
to  report  you. 

Lucio.   1  fear  you  not. 

Duke.  0,  you  nope  the  duke  will  return  no  more ; 
or  you  imagine  me  too  unhurtfulaii  opposite.  But, 
indeed,  1  can  do  you  little  harm:  you'll  forswear 
this  again. 

Lucin.  I'll  be  hanged  first:  thou  art  deceived  in 
me,  fiiar.  But  no  more  of  this:  canst  thou  tell,  if 
Claudio  die  to-inorow,  or  no  ! 

Duke.  Why  should  he  die,  sirT 

Lucio.  Why  !  for  filling  a  bottle  with  a  tun-dish. 
I  would,  the  duke,  we  talk  of,  were  return'd  again : 
this  ungenitur  d  agent  will  unpeople  the  province 
with  continency ;  sparrows  must  not  build  in  his 
house-eaves,  because  they  are  lecherous.  The  duke 
yet  would  have  daric  deeds  darkly  answer'd ;  he 
would  never  bring  them  to  light:  would  he  were 
return'd!  Marry,  this  Claudio  is  condemned  for 
untrussing.  Farewell,  good  friar:  I  pr'ytheepray 
for  me.  f  h-=  duke,  1  say  to  thee  again,  would  eat 
mutton  on  Fridays.  He's  now  past  it ;  yet,  and  I 
say  to  thee,  he  would  mouth  with  a  beggar,  though 
she  smelt  brown  bread  and  garlic:  say,  Ihat  I  said 
so.    Farewell.  [Exit. 

Duke.   No  might  nor  greatness  in  mortality 
Can  censure  'scape;  back-wounding  calumny 
The  whitest  virtue  strikes:    What  king  so  strong, 
Can  tie  the  gall  up  in  the  slanderous  tongue  1 
But  who  comes  here  ! 

Enter  Esc.ii.us,  Provost,  Bawd,  a;)(<  Officers. 

Excal.  Go,  away  with  her  to  prison. 

Bawd.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me ;  your  honor 
is  accounted  a  merciful  man :   good  my  lord. 

Escal.  Double  and  treble  admonition,  and  still 
forfeit^  in  the  same  kind  !  This  would  make  mercy 
swear,  and  play  the  tyrant. 

Frov.  A  bawd  of  eleven  years  continuance,  may 
it  please  your  honor. 

Baicd.  My  lord,  this  is  one  Lucio's  information 
against  me:  mistress  Kate  Keep-down  was  with 
child  by  him  in  the  duke's  time,  he  promised  her 
marriage;  his  child  is  a  year  and  a  quarter  old, 
come  Philip  and  Jacob :  I  have  kept  it  myself;  and 
see  how  lie  goes  about  to  abuse  me. 

E.icat.  That  fellow  is  a  fellow  of  much  Ii'-ense  : 

let  him  be  called  before  us. —  Away  with  her  to 

prison:  Go  to;  no  m  ire  words. i Exeu'i/  Bawd  and 
Oflicers.]  Provost  my  brother  Angelo  will  not  be  al- 
tered; Claudio  must  die  to-morrow:  let  him  be  fur- 
nished with  divini's,  and  have  all  charitable  prepar- 
ation: if  my  brother  wrought  by  my  pity,  it  should 
not  be  so  with  him.  ,  .  , 

Prill'.  So  please  you.  this  friar  hath  been  with 
him,  and  advis  -d  bun  for  the  entertainment  of  death. 

Excal.  Good  even,  good  father. 

Duke.   Bliss  and  •s.m  Iness  on  you ! 

Escal.  Of  whence  are  you  ! 


Duke.  Not  of  this  country,  though  my  chance  is 

now 
To  use  it  for  my  time :  I  am  a  brother 
Of  gracious  order,  late  come  from  the  see, 
In  special  business  from  his  liuliness. 

Esrul.  What  news  abroad  i'  the  world  f 

Duke.  None,  but  that  there  is  so  great  a  fever  on 
goodness  that  the  dissolution  of  it  must  cure  it: 
novelty  is  only  in  request ;  and  it  is  as  dangerous  to 
be  aged  in  any  kind  of  course,  as  it  is  virtuous  to  be 
constant  in  any  undertaking.  There  is  scarce  truth 
enough  alive,  to  niake  societies  secure;  but  secur- 
ity enough,  to  make  fellcwship  accurs'd  :  much 
upon  this  riddle  runs' the  wisdom  of  the  world, 
'i'his  news  is  old  enough,  yet  it  is  every  day'snews. 
I  pray  you,  sir,  of  what  disposition  was  the  dukel 

Escal.  One  that,  above  all  other  strifes,  contended 
especially  to  know  himself. 

Duke.   What  pleasure  was  he  given  to  1 

Escal.  Rather  rejoicing  to  see  another  meiTy,  than 
merry  at  any  thing  which  professed  to  make  him 
rejoice:  a  gentleman  of  all  temperance.  But  leave 
we  him  to  his  events,  with  a  prayer  they  may  prove 
prosperous :  and  let  me  desire  to  know  how  you 
find  Claudio  prepared.  I  am  made  to  understand, 
that  you  have  lent  him  visitation. 

Duke.  He  professes  to  have  received  no  sinister 
measure  from  his  judge,  but  most  willingly  humbles 
himself  to  the  determination  of  justice :  yet  had  he 
framed  to  himself,  by  the  instruction  of  his  frailty, 
many  deceiving  promises  of  life;  which  I,  by  my 
good  leisure,  have  discredited  to  him,  and  now  is  he 
resolved  to  die. 

Excnl.  You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function, 
and  the  prisoner  the  very  debt  of  your  ciUling.  I 
have  labord  for  the  poor  gentleman,  to  the  extrem- 
es! shore  of  my  modesty ;  but  my  brother  justice 
have  1  found  so  severe,  that  he  hath  forced  me  to  tell 
him.  he  is  indeed — justice. 

Duke.  If  his  own  life  answer  the  straitness  of  his 

Eroceeding,  it  shall  become  him  well;  wherein,  if 
e  chance  to  fail,  he  hath  sentenced  himsell'. 
Escal.  I  am  going  to  visit  the  prisoner :  Fare  you 
well. 
Duke.  Peace  be  with  you ! 

\Exeunt  F.cah's  and  Provost 
He,  who  the  sword  of  heaven  would  bear, 
Should  be  as  holy  as  severe ; 
Pattern  in  himself  to  know, 
Grace  to  stand,  and  virtue  go  ; 
More  nor  less  to  others  paying, 
Thau  by  self-ollences  weighing. 
Shame  to  him,  whose  cruel  striking 
Kills  for  faults  of  his  own  liking ! 
Twice  treble  shame  on  Angelo, 
To  weed  my  vice  and  let  his  grow! 
0,  what  may  man  within  him  hide. 
Though  angel  on  the  outward  side  ! 
How  may  likeness,  made  in  crimes. 
Making  practice  on  the  times. 
Draw  with  idle  spiders' strings 
Most  pond'rous  and  substantial  things  ! 
Craft  against  vice  1  must  apply  ; 
With  Angelo  to-night  shall  lie 
His  old  betrothed,  but  despis'd; 
So  disguise  shall,  by  the  disguis'd. 
Pay  with  falsehood  false  exacting, 
.\nd  perforin  an  old  contracting.  \Exit» 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  Mariana's  Hbtwf. 
MiKiiSA  discovered  sitting ;  a  Boy  singini^. 

SONG. 
Take  oh,  take  t  hnne  lips  awai/. 

That  so  swectbi  wtrefijrswnrn ; 
And  those  ei/cs,  the  break  of  >/«;/, 

Lights  that  di>  mislead  the  morn  ; 
£ut  my  kisses  bring  again, 

bring  again, 
Seals  of  love,  but  seul'd  in  vain, 

seal'd  in  vain. 
»  Transgress. 


Mari.   Break  off  thy  song,  and  ha-ste  thee  quick 
away ; 
Here  comes  a  man  of  comfort,  whone  advice 
Hath  ollen  stilld  my  brawling  discontent. — 

[Exit  Boy. 
Enter  Duke. 
I  cry  you  mercy,  sir;  and  well  could  wish 
You  had  not  found  me  here  so  musical ; 
Let  me  excuse  me,  and  believe  me  so. — 
My  mirth  it  much  displeas'd.  but  pleasd  my  woe. 
Duke.  '  lis  good :   though  music  oft  hath  such  a 
charm. 
To  make  bad  good,  and  good  provoke  to  harm. 


Scene  IT. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


93 


I  pray  yon  tell  me,  hath  any  body  enquired  for  me 
here  to-day  1  much  upon  tliis  time  have  1  pronns'd 
here  to  meet. 

Mari.  You  liave  not  been  inquired  after ;  I  have 
sat  here  all  day. 

Enter  ISAnELLA. 

Duke.  I  do  constantly  believe  you: — The  time 
is  come  even  now.  I  sliall  crave  your  forbearance 
a  little :  may  be,  I  will  call  upon  you  anon,  Jor 
s  jme  advantage  to  yourself. 

Mari.  I  am  always  bound  to  you.  [Exit. 

Duke.   Very  well  met,  and  welcome. 
\Vhat  is  the  news  from  this  good  deputy  f 

hab.  He  hath  a  garden  circummur'da  with  brick, 
■\Vhose  western  side  is  with  a  vineyard  back'd ; 
And  to  that  vineyard  is  a  planclfd*  gate, 
That  makes  his  opening  with  this  bigger  key  : 
This  other  doth  command  a  little  door. 
Which  from  the  vineyard  to  tlie  garden  leads; 
There  have  I  made  my  promise  to  call  on  him, 
Upon  the  heavy  middle  of  the  night. 

Duke.  But  s'hall  you  on  your  knowledge  find  this 
way  '. 

Isab.   I  have  ta'en  a  due  and  wary  note  upon*t ; 
"With  whispering  and  most  guilty  ddigence, 
In  action  all  of  precept,  he  did  show  me 
The  way  twice  o'er. 

Duke.  Are  there  no  other  tokens 

Between  you  'greed,  concerning  her  observance  I 

Isah.   No,  none,  but  only  a  repair  i"  the  dark; 
And  that  I  have  possess'd  him,  my  most  stay 
Can  be  but  brief:  for  I  have  made  him  know, 
I  have  a  servant  comes  with  me  along. 
That  stays  upon  me;  whose  persuasion  is, 
I  come  about  my  brother. 

Duke.  'Tis  well  borne  up. 

I  have  not  yet  made  kTiown  to  Mariana 
A  word  of  this: — What  ho!  within!   come  forth! 

Re-enter  Makiasa. 

I  pray  you,  be  acquainted  with  this  maid; 
She  comes  to  do  you  good. 
Isati.  I  do  desire  the  like. 

Duke.  Do  you  persuade  yourself  that  I  respect 

you ! 
Mari.  Good  friar,  I  know  you  do;   and  have 

found  it. 
Duke.  Take  tlien  this  your  companion  by  the 
hand. 
Who  hatli  a  story  ready  for  your  ear: 
I  shall  attend  your  leisure ;  hut  make  haste ; 
Tile  vaporous  night  a[ipro;iches. 
Mari.  Will  't  please  you  walk  aside? 

[ExrnnI  M  \uiana,  and  Iskbklla. 
Duke.  O  place  and  greatness,  millions  of  false  eyes 
Are  stuck  upon  t  liee !   volumes  of  report 
liun  wnth  these  false  and  most  contrarious  quests* 
Tpon  thy  doings!   thousand  "scapes'  of  wit 
Iilake  thee  the  lather  of  their  idle  dream. 
And  rack  Ihce  in  their  fancies! — Welcome!  How 
agreed '! 
Re-enter  M \aii.s i.  and  Isabella. 

Isab.  She'll  take  the  enterprise  upon  her,  father, 
If  you  advise  it. 

Duke.  It  is  not  my  consent, 

But  ray  intreaty  too. 

Imlj.  Little  have  you  to  say, 

When  you  depart  from  him,  but  soft  and  low, 
Renirraber  now  my  brut/ier. 

Mari.  "  Fear  me  not. 

Duke.   Nor,  gentle  daughter,  fear  you  not  at  all : 
He  is  your  husband  on  a  pre-contract : 
To  bring  you  thus  together,  'tis  no  sin; 
Sith  that  the  justice  of  your  title  to  hi  in 
Doth  nourish'  the  deceit.    Come,  let  us  go; 
Our  corn's  to  reap,  for  yet  our  tithess  to  sow. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— .4  Ronm  in  the  Prhon. 

Enter  Provost  and  Clown. 

Vrnr.  Come  hither,  sirrah:    Can  you  cut  olf  a 
man's  head  T 
Clo-   If  the  man  be  a  batchelor,  sir,  I  can:   but  if 
1  Walled  round.  «  Planked,  wooden. 

*  Inquisitions,  inquiries.        6  Sallies. 
"  Gild,  or  varnish  over. 

•  Tilth,  land  vjrepared  for  sowing. 


he  be  a  married  man,  he  is  his  wile's  head,  and  1 
can  never  cut  otfa  woman's  head  ! 

Prov.  Come,  sir,  leave  me  your  snatches,  and 
yield  me  a  direct  answer.  To-iiiorrow  morning  are 
to  die  Claudio  and  Barhardine :  here  is  in  our  prison 
a  common  executioner,  who  in  his  office  lacks  a 
helper :  if  you  will  take  it  on  you  to  a.ssist  him, 
it  shall  redeem  you  from  your  gyves ;»  if  not.  you 
shall  have  your  full  time  of  imprisonment,  and  your 
deliverance  with  an  unpiticd  whipping;  for  you 
have  been  a  notorious  bawd. 

Clo.  Sir,  I  have  been  an  unlawful  bawd,  time  out 
of  mind ;  but  yet  I  will  be  content  to  be  a  lawful 
hangman.  I  would  be  glad  to  receive  some  instruc- 
tion I'rom  my  fellow-partner. 

Proi:  What  ho,  Abhorson !  Where's  Abhorson, 
there  1 

En<er  Abbohsox. 

Abhor.  Do  you  call,  sir? 

Prov.  Sirrah,  here's  a  fellow  will  help  you  to-mor- 
row in  your  execution :  If  you  think  it  i.ieet,  com- 
pound with  him  by  the  year,  and  let  him  abide  here 
with  you?  if  not,  use  him  for  the  present,  and  dis- 
miss him:  he  cannot  plead  his  estimation  with  you; 
he  hath  been  a  bawd. 

,•1  bhor.  A  bawd,  sir !  Fye  upon  him,  he  will  dis- 
credit our  mystery.i 

Prov.  Go  to,  sir;  you  weigh  equal!)';  a  feather 
will  turn  the  scale.  [Exit. 

etc.  Pray,  sir,  by  your  good  favor,  (for,  surely, 
sir,  a  good  favor  you  have,  but  that  you  liave  a 
hanging  look,)  do  you  call,  sir,  your  occupation  a 
mystery  ? 

Abhor.  Ay,  sir;  a  mystery. 

Clo.  Painting,  sir,  I  have  heard  say,  is  a  mystery; 
and  your  whores,  sir,  being  members  of  my  occu- 
pation, using  painting,  do  prove  my  occupation  a 
mystery:  but  wdiat  mystery  there  should  be  in  hang- 
ing, if  I  should  be  hanged,  I  cannot  imagine. 

Abhor.   Sir,  it  is  a  mystery. 

Clo.   Proof. 

A  bhor.  Every  true  man's  apparel  fits  your  thief: 
if  it  be  too  little  for  your  thief,  yourtrueman  thinks 
it  big  enough;  if  it  be  too  big  for  your  thief,  your 
tliief  thinks  it  little  enough:  so  everj- true  man's 
apparel  tits  your  thief. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Prov.  Are  you  agreed? 

Clo.  Sir,  1  will  serve  him ;  for  t  do  find,  your 
hangman  is  a  more  penitent  trade  than  your  bawd; 
he  doth  oftener  ask  forgiveness. 

Prov.  You,  sirrah,  provide  your  block  and  your 
axe,  to-morrow,  four  o'clock. 

Abhor.  Come  on,  bawd;  I  will  instruct  thee  in 
my  trade ;  follow. 

Clo.  I  do  desire  to  learn,  sir;  and,  I  hope,  if  you 
have  occasion  to  use  me  for  your  own  turn,  you 
shall  find  me  yare :»  for  truly,  sir,  for  your  kindness, 
I  owe  you  a  good  turn. 

Prov.  Call  hither  Barnardine  and  Claudio : 

[Exeunt  Clown  and  ABUonsoy, 
One  has  my  pity  ;   not  a  jot  tlic  other. 
Being  a  murderer,  though  he  were  my  brother. 

Enter  Claudio. 

Look,  here's  the  warrant,  Claudio,  for  thy  death : 
'Tis  now  dead  midnight,  and  by  eight  to-morrow 
Thou  must  be  made  immortal.  Where's  Barnardine? 
Claud.  As  fast  lock'd  up  in  sleep,  as  guiltless 
labor 
When  it  lies  starkly  in  the  travellers  bones: 
He  will  not  wake. 

Prov.  Who  can  do  good  on  him? 

Well,  go,  prepare  yourself.    But  hark,  what  noise  1 
[Knocking  within. 
Heaven  give  your  spirits  comfort !   [Exit  Clacuio. 

liy  and  by:  — 
I  hope  it  is  some  pardon  or  reprieve, 
For  tlie  most  gentle  Claudio. — Welcome,  father. 

Enter  Duke. 

Duke.  The  best  and  wholesomost  spirits  of  the 
night 
Envelope  you,  good  provost!    Who  call'd  hereof 
late? 
Prov.  None,  since  the  curfew  rung. 

9  Fetters.  '  Trade.  '  Heady 


94 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  IV. 


Difkc.  Not  Isabel? 

Prov.   jVo. 

Duke.  They  will  then,  erc't  be  long. 

Prot'.    What  conilbrt  is  fjr  Chiudio  ! 

Duke.  -Thure  s  some  in  hope. 

Proi\    It  is  a  bitter  deputy. 

Duke.  Not  so,  not  so;  his  life  is  parallcl'd 
Kven  with  the  stroke  and  line  of  his  great  justice; 
He  doth  with  holy  abstinence  subdue 
That  in  hi!nse.'f,  which  he  spurs  on  his  power 
To  qualify  in  others:   were  he  meald* 
With  that  which  he  corrects,  then  were  he  tyrannous; 
But  this  bein?;  so,  he's  just. —  Now  are  they  couie. 

[Knocking  within. —  Provost  ^ocv  uut- 
This  is  a  gentle  provost :    Seldtun,  wlien 
The  steeled  gaoler  is  the  friend  ol'  men. — 
How  now  ?  what  noise?  That  spirit's  posscss'd  with 

haste. 
That  wounds   the  unsisting  postern  with    these 
strokes. 

Provost  returns,  speaking  to  one  at  the  door. 

Prov.   There  he  must  stay  until  the  onicer 
Arise  to  let  him  in  ;  he  is  calTd  up. 

Duke.  Have  you  no  countermand  for  Claudio  yet, 
But  he  must  die  to-morrow  ! 

pror.  None  sir,  none. 

Duke.  As  near  the  dawning,  provost,  as  it  is, 
You  shall  hear  more  ere  morning. 

Prov.  Happily,* 

You  something  know;  yet,  I  believe,  there  comes 
No  countermand :   no  such  example  have  we : 
Besides,  upon  tlie  very  siege*  of  justice, 
Lord  Angelo  hath  to  the  public  ear 
Profess'd  the  contrary. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Duke.  This  is  his  lordship's  man. 

prov.    And  here  comes  Claudio'-s  pardon. 

Mess.  My  lord  hath  sent  you  this  note;  and  by 
me  this  further  charge,  that  you  swerve  not  from  the 
smallest  article  of  it,  neither  in  time,  matter,  or 
other  circumstance.  Good  morrow;  for,  as  I  take 
it,  it  is  almost.day. 

Prov.  I  shall  obey  him.  [Exit  Messenger. 

Duke.  This  is  his  pardon;  purchas'd  by  such  sin. 
For  which  the  pardoner  himself  is  in:  [Aside. 

Hence  hath  oflence  his  quick  celerity, 
■When  it  is  borne  in  high  authority ; 
When  vice  makes  mercy,  mercy's  so  extended, 
That  for  the  fault's  love,  is  the  ollender  friended.— 
Now,  sir,  what  news? 

Prov.  I  told  you:  Lord  Angelo,  belike,  thinking 
me  remiss  in  mine  oflice,  awakens  me  with  this  un- 
wonted putting  on :  mcthinks,  strangely ;  for  he  hath 
not  used  it  before. 

Duke.   Pray  you,  let's  hear. 

Proc.  [Reads.]  Whatsoever  you  may  hear  to  the. 
contrary.,  let  Claudio  be  executed  by  four  of  the 
clock  :  and.  in.  tlie  afternoon^  Barnardine :  for  my 
better  satvfacfionjet  me  have  Ctaudh)^s  head  ."tent 
me  by  five.  Let  tliU  be  duly  performed:  tvith  a 
thoukht,  that  more  depends  on  it  thtn  we  must  yrt 
deliver.  Thus  fail  not  to  do  your  office,  as  you  ivill 
answer  it  at  your  peril. 
What  say  you  to  this,  sirl 

Du.ke.  Wliat  is  that  Barnardine,  wlio  is  to  be  ex- 
ecuted in  the  afternoon  1 

Prov.  A  Bohemian  born,  but  here  nursed  up 
and  bred:  one  that  is  a  prisoner  nine  years  old.« 

Duke.  How  came  it.  that  tlio  absent  duke  had 
not  eiller  delivered  him  to  his  liberty,  or  executed 
liim  ?    1  have  heard,  it  was  ever  his  manner  to  do  so. 

Prov.  His  friends  still  wrought  reprieves  for  Iiim  : 
And,  indeed,  his  fact,  till  now  in  the  tcovernment  of 
lord  Angelo.  came  not  to  an  undoubtful  proof. 

Duke.  Is  it  now  apparent? 

Prov,  Most  manifest,  and  not  denied  by  himself. 

Duke.  Hath  he  borne  himself  penitently  in  prison? 
How  seems  he  to  be  touch'd  ? 

Prov.  A  man  that  apprehends  death  no  more 
dreadfully,  but  as  a  drunken  sleep:  careless,  reckless, 
and  fearless  of  what's  past,  pri'sont.  or  toeomc;  in- 
sensible of  mortality,  and  desperately  mortal. 

DulhC.   He  wants  advice. 

Prov.  He  will  hear  none  :  he  halh  evermore  had 
the  liberty  of  the  prison;  give  him  leave  to  escape 
hence,  lie  would  not;  drunk  many  times  a  day,  if 
"  Deflled,  *  Perb.-ips.  *  Seat. 

a  Nine  years  in  prison. 


not  many  days  entirely  drunk.  We  have  very  often 
awa'^ed  him,  as  it'  to  carry  him  to  execution,  and 
showed  liim  a  scorning  warcaut  fur  it;  it  hath  not 
moved  him  at  all. 

Duke.  More  of  him  anon.  There  is  written  in 
your  brow,  provost,  honesty  and  constancy :  if  I 
re.id  it  not  truly,  my  ancient  skill  beguiles  me;  but 
in  the  boldness  of  my  cunning.  I  wilf  lay  myself  in 
hazard.  Claudio,  whom  here  you  have  a  warrant 
to  execute,  is  no  greater  forfeit  to  the  law  than  An- 
gelo who  hath  sentenced  him  :  To  make  you  under- 
stand this  in  a  manifested  elTect,  I  crave  but  four 
days'  respite:  for  tlie  which  you  are  to  do  me  both 
a  present  and  a  dangerous  courtesy 

Prov.   Pray,  sir,  in  what? 

Dike.   In  the  delaying  death. 

Prov.  Alack!  how  may  I  do  it^havins  the  hour 
limited;  and  an  express  command,  under  penalty, 
to  deliver  his  head  in  the  view  of  Angelo  ?  I  may 
make  my  case  as  Claudlo's,  to  cross  this  in  the 
smallest. 

Duke,  By  the  vow  of  mine  order,  I  warrant  you, 
if  my  instructions  may  be  your  guide.  Let  this 
Barnardine  be  this  morning  executed,  and  his  head 
borne  to  Angelo. 

Prov.  Angelo  hath  seen  them  both,  and  will  dis- 
cover the  favor.T 

Duke.  0,  death's  a  great  disguiscr:  and  you  may 
add  to  it.  Shave  the  head,  and  tie  the  beard  ;  and 
say,  it  was  the  desire  of  the  penitent  to  be  so  bared 
before  his  death:  you  know,  the  course  is  common. 
If  any  thing  fall  to  you  upon  this,  more  than  thanks 
and  i;:ood  fortune,  by  the  saint  whom  I  protess,  I 
will  plead  a-^ainst  it  with  my  life. 

Prov.  Pardon  me,  good  father ;  it  is  against  my 
oath. 

Duke.  Were  you  sworn  to  the  duke,  or  to  the 
deputy  ? 

P?y>v.  To  him,  and  tohis  substitutes. 

Duke.  You  will  think  you  have  made  no  offence, 
if  the  duke  avouch  the  justir-e  of  your  dealing? 

Prov.   But  what  likelihood  is  in  that? 

Duke.  Not  a  resemblance,  but  a  certainty.  Yet 
since  I  see  you  fearful,  that  neither  my  coal,  in- 
tegrity, nor  my  persuasion,  can  with  ease  attempt 
you,  I  will  tio  further  than  I  meant,  to  pluck  all 
fears  out  of  you.  Look  you,  sir,  here  is  the  hand 
and  seal  of  the  duke.  You  know  the  character,  I 
doubt  not;  and  the  signet  is  not  strange  to  you. 

Prrnu   I  know  them  both. 

Duke,  The  contents  of  this  is  the  return  of  the 
duke ;  you  shall  anon  over-read  it  at  your  pleasure ; 
where  you  sliall  fmd,  within  these  two  days  he  will 
be  here.  This  is  a  thing  that  Angelo  knows  not; 
for  he  this  very  day  receives  letters  of  a  strange  tenor: 
perchance  of  the  duke's  death  ;  perchance,  entering 
mto  some  monastery :  but.  by  chance,  nothing  of 
what  is  writ.  Look,  the  unfolding  star  calls  up  the 
shepherd:  put  not  yourself  into  amazement,  how 
these  things  should  be;  all  difficulties  arc  but  easy 
when  they  are  known.  Call  your  executioner,  and 
off  with  Harnardine's  head:  1  v.-ill  give  him  a  pres- 
ent shrift,  and  advise  him  for  a  better  place.  Yet 
you  are  amazed;  but  this  shall  absolutely  resolve 
you.    Come  away,  it  is  almost  clear  dawn. 

[Exeunt, 
SCENE  IIL — Another  Room  in  i/te  same. 
Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  I  am  as  well  acquainted  here,  as  I  was  In 
our  house  of  profession  :  one  would  tiiink  it  were 
mistress  Overdone's  own  house,  for  here  be  many 
of  her  old  customers.  First,  liere's  young  master 
Hash:  he's  in  for  a  commodity  of  brown  paper  and 
old  einger,  nineseore  and  seventeen  pounds;  of 
which  he  made  five  marks,  ready  money  :  marry, 
tlien,  ginger  was  not  much  in  request,  lor  the  old 
women  were  all  dead.  Then  is  there  here  one 
master  Caper,  at  the  suit  of  master  Three-pile  the 
mercer,  for  some  four  suits  of  peach-color'd  satin, 
which  now  peaches  him  a  beggar.  Then  have  we 
here  young  Dizy.  and  young  master  Deep-vow,  and 
master  Copper-spur,  and  master  Starve-lackey 
the  rapier  and  dagger-man,  and  young  Drop-heir 
tliatkilld  lusty  Puddin-^,  and  master  rorthrii;nt  the 
tilter,  and  brave  master  Shoe-tic  the  great  traveller, 
and  wild  Half-cann  that  stabbd  Pots,  and,  I  think, 
forty  more;  all  great  doers  in  our  trade,  and  are 
now  for  the  lords  sake. 

1  Countenance. 


Scene  III. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


95 


E'lter  AinoKSox. 

A'l/ior.   Sirrah,  bring  Rarmrdine  hither. 

CUi.  Master  Barnarditiel'yoa  must  rise  and  be 
hans'd,  master  Barnardine ! 

A  'ihnr.  What,  ho,  Barn  irdine  ! 

Biit-nrii:   [  Wilhin.]  A  pox  o'  your  throats ! 
WIio  makes  that  noise  tliere?    What  are  yoiil 

CVo.  Vour  friends,  sir,  the  han^n)en :  you  must 
be  so  good,  sir,  to  rise  and  be  put  to  death. 

Barnar.  [lyuhin.]  Away,  you  rogue,  away  ;  I 
am  sleepy. 

Ahlior.  Tell  him,  he  must  awake,  and  that  quick- 
Ij  loo. 

C/'i.  Pray,  master  Barnardine,  awake  till  you  are 
exeeuted,  and  sleep  afterwards. 

Ah/ivr.   Go  in  to  him,  and  felcii  him  out. 

Cl(i.  He  is  coming,  sir,  he  is  coming ;  1  liear  his 
straw  rustle. 

Eater  BAnxAimixE. 

Ahhnr.  Is  the  axe  upon  the  block,  sirrali  T 

Clo.   Verji  ready,  sir. 

Jiiirnar.  How  now,  .\bhorson?  whafs  the  ncw*s 
with  you '{ 

Ahhnr.  Truly,  sir,  I  would  desire  you  to  clap 
into  your  pray'ers;  for,  look  you,  tile  warrant's 
come. 

Bnrnnr.  You  rogue,  I  liave  been  drinking  all 
night;  I  am  not  fitted  for't. 

Clo  O,  the  better,  sir;  for  he  that  drinks  all 
night,  and  is  hang'd  betimes  in  the  morning,  may 
sleep  the  sounder  all  the  next  day. 

Enter  Duke. 

AhfwT.  Look  you,  sir,  here  comes  your  ghostly 
father.    Do  we  jest  now,  think  you 7 

Duke.  Sir,  induced  by  my  charity,  and  hearing 
how  hastily  you  arc  to  depart,  I  am  come  to  advise 
you.  comfort  you,  and  pray  with  you. 

Barnar.  Kriar,  not  I ;  I  have  been  drinking  hard 
all  niirht.  atid  I  will  have  more  time  to  prepare  me. 
or  they  shall  beat  outjiiy  brains  with  bdlets:  I  will 
not  consent  to  die  this  day,  that's  certain. 

Duke.  O,  sir,  you  must:  and  therefore  I  beseech 
you, 
Look  forward  on  the  journey  you  shall  go. 

Barnar.  I  swear,  i  will  not  die  to-day  for  any 
man's  persuasion. 

Duke.   But  hear  yon 

Barnar.  Not  a  word;  if  you  have  anything  to 
say  to  me,  come  to  my  ward;  for  thence  will  not  I 
to-day.  "  [Exit. 

Enter  Provost. 

Duke.  "Unfit  to  live,  or  die  :   O,  gravel  heart  !^ 
After  him,  feUows;   bring  him  to  the  block. 

\Eceunf  .\uuonsoN  (/;?'/ Clown. 

Prov.  Now,  sir. how  do  you  find  the  prisoner? 

Duke.  A  creature  imprepared,  unmeet  for  death ; 
And.  to  transport  him  in  the  mind  he  is, 
Were  damnable. 

Prae.  Here,  in  the  prison,  father, 

Tlicre  died  this  morning  ofa  cruel  fever 
One  nagozine,  a-most  notorious  pirate, 
A  man  of  Claudio's  years;   his  beard  and  head, 
Just  of  his  color  :   What  if  we  do  omit 
This  reprobate,  till  he  were  well  inclined; 
And  satisfy  the  deputy  with  the  visage 
Of  Kagozine.  more  like  to  ClaudioV 

Duke.  O,  'tis  an  accident  that  heaven  provides ! 
Despatch  it  presently;  the  hour  draws  on 
I'reli'c'd  by  Angelo:   Sec  this  be  done. 
And  sent  according  to  command;  whiles  I 
Persuade  this  rude  wretch  willingly  to  die. 

Prii:.<.  This  shall  be  done,  good  father,  presently. 
Rut  Barnardine  must  die  this  afternoon: 
And  how  shall  we  continue  t'laudio. 
To  save  me  from  the  danger  that  might  come, 
If  he  were  known  alive  ! 

Duke.   Let  this  be  done :  put  them  in  secret  holds, 
Both  Barnardine  and  Claudio:    Ere  twice 
The  sun  hath  made  his  journal  greeting  to 
The  under  generation,'  you  shall  find 
'Vour  safety  manifested. 

Prnv.   1  am  your  free  dependant. 

Duke.  Quick,  despatch, 

And  send  the  head  to  Angelo.  [E.rU  Provost. 

Now  will  I  write  letters  to  Angelo, — 
«  The  aatipodes. 


rhe  Provost,  he  shall  bear  tnem,  whose  contents 
Shall  witness  to  him,  I  am  near  at  home; 
And  that  by  great  injunctions  I  am  bound 
To  enter  pubiicly:  lum  111  desire 
To  meet  me  at  the  consecrated  fount, 
A  league  below  the  city ;  and  from  thence. 
By  cold  gradation  and  weal-balanced  form. 
We  shah  proceed  with  Angelo. 

Re-enter  Provost. 

Pror.  Here  is  the  head  ;  I'll  carry  it  myself. 

Duke.  Convenient  is  it:    .Make  a  swift  return. 
For  I  would  commune  with  you  of  such  things, 
That  want  no  ears  but  yours. 

Prcie.  Ill  make  all  speed.        [Exit, 

huh.  [Wifliin.}    Peace,  bo.  be  here ! 

Duke.   The  tongue  of  Isabel:  —  She's  come  to 
know, 
If  yet  her  brother's  pardon  be  come  hither: 
But  I  will  keep  her  ignorant  ofher  good, 
To  make  her  heavenly  comforts  of  despair, 
When  it  is  least  expected. 

Enter  Isabella.  ■ 

hah.   Ho,  by  your  leave. 

Duke.  Good  rnorning  to  you,  fair  and  gracious 
daughter. 

hah.  The  better,  given  me  by  so  holy  a  man. 
Hatli  yet  the  deputy  sent  my  brothers  pardon'' 

Duke.  He  hath  relcas'd  him,  Isabel,  from  the 
world : 
His  head  is  off.  and  sent  to  Angelo. 

Isab.  Nay,  but  it  is  not  so. 

Duke.  It  is  no  other: 

Show  your  wisdom,  daughter,  in  your  close  patience, 

Isah.   O,  I  will  to  him,  and  pluck  out  his  eyes. 

Duke.  "V'ou  shall  not  be  admitted  to  his  siglit. 

Isab.   Unhappy  Claudio!    Wretched  Isabel! 
Injurious  world!    Most  damned  ,\ngeIo  ! 

Duke.   This  nor  hurts  him,  nor  profits  you  a  jot; 
Forbear  it  therefore;  give  your  cause  to  lieaven. 
Mark  what  1  say ;  which  you  shall  tind 
By  every  syllable,  a  faithful  verity. 
The  duke  comes  home  to-morrow ; — nay,  dry  your 

eyes ; 
One  of  our  convent,  atid  his  confesssor, 
Gives  me  this  instance  :    Already  lie  hath  carried 
Notice  to  Escalus  and  jVngelo  ; 
Who  do  prepare  to  meet  him  at  the  gates. 
There  to  give  up  their  power.    If  you  can,  pace 

your  wisdom 
In  that  good  path  that  I  would  wish  it  go ; 
And  yoii  shall  have  your  bosom'  on  this  wretch, 
Grace  of  the  duke,  revenges  to  your  heart, 
And  general  honor. 

hah.  I  am  directed  by  you. 

Duke.   This  letter  then  to  I'riar  Peter  give  ; 
"Tis  that  he  sent  me  of  the  duke'.s  return  : 
Say.  by  this  token,  I  desire  bis  company 
At  Mariana's  liouse  to-night.    Her  cause,  and  yours, 
I'll  perfect  him  withal ;   and  he  shall  bring  you 
Before  the  duke ;  and  to  the  head  of  Angelo 
Accuse  him  home,  and  liome.    For  my  poor  self, 
I  am  combined  by  a  sacred  vow, 
And  shall  be  absent.    Wend"  you  with  this'  letter: 
Command  the.se  fretting  waters  from  your  eyes 
With  a  light  heart;  trust  not  my  holy  order. 
If  I  pervert  your  course. — Who's  here? 

Enter  Lucio. 

T.tiein.  Good  even ! 

Friar,  where  is  the  provost'! 

Duke.  Not  within,  sir. 

Lucio.  0,  pretty  Isabella,  I  am  pale  at  mine  heart, 
to  see  thine  eyes  so  red :  thou  must  he  patient :  I  am 
fain  to  dine  and  sup  with  water  and  bran;  I  dare 
not  for  my  head  fill  my  belly;  one  fruitful  meal 
would  set  mc  to  't :  But  they  say  the  duke  will  be 
here  to-morrow.  By  my  troth.  Isabel.  I  lov'd  thy 
brother:  if  the  old  fantastical  duke  of  dark  corners 
had  been  at  home,  he  had  lived.     [Exit  Isabella. 

Duke.  Sir,  the  duke  is  marvellous  little  beholden 
to  your  reports ;  but  the  best  is,  he  lives  not  in  them. 

l.ucin.  Friar,  thou  knowest  not  the  duke  so  well 
as  I  do:  he's  a  better  woodman  than  thou  takest 
him  for. 

Duke.  Well,  you'll  answer  this  one  day.  Faro 
ye  well. 

8  Your  heart's  desire.  »  Go. 


5)0 


MEASUEE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  V 


Liiciii.  Nav.  tarry;  IIP  fco  along  with  tliee ;  I 
can  tell  llioo  pri'tty  laics  of  the  duke. 

D'lke.  You  have  tokl  me  too  many  of  Iiim  al- 
ready, sir,  if  tliey  he  true ;  if  not  true,  none  were 
enough. 

Lucio.  I  was  once  before  liim  for  gettmg  a  wench 
witli  child. 

Duke.  Did  you  sucli  a  thing'! 

Lucii^.  Yes,  marry,  did  I :  but  was  fain  to  for- 
swear it;  they  would  else  liave  married  me  to  the 
rotten  medlar. 

Duke.  Sir.  your  company  is  fairer  than  honest: 
Rest  you  well. 

Lucid.  By  my  troth.  I'll  go  with  thee  to  the  lane's 
end :  If  bawdy'  talk  olTend  you,  we'll  have  very  lit- 
tle of  it:  Nay,  friar,  I  am  a  kind  of  burr,  I  shall 
stick.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. — .4  Rdom  in  Angelo's  House. 
Enter  Angelo  and  Escalus. 

Escal.  Every  letter  he  hath  writ  hath  disvouch'd 
other. 

Ang.  In  most  uneven  and  distracted  manner. 
His  actions  show  much  like  to  madness:  pray 
heaven,  his  wisdom  be  not  tainted!  And  why  meel 
him  at  the  gates,  and  re-deliver  our  authorities 
tliere ! 

Escal.  I  guess  not. 

jl)!^-.  And  why  should  we  proclaim  it  in  an  hour 
Before  liis  entering,  that,  if  any  crave  redress  of 
inju-stice,  they  should  exhibit  their  petitions  in  the 
street ! 

Escal.  He  shows  his  reason  for  that :  to  have  a 
despatch  of  complaints,  and  to  deliver  us  from  de- 
vices hereafter,  which  shall  then  have  no  power  to 
stand  against  us. 

Ang.   Well,  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  proclaim  d : 
Betimes  i'  the  morn,  I'll  call  you  at  your  house : 
Give  notice  to  such  men  of  sort  and  suit' 
As  are  to  meet  him. 

Escal.  I  shall,  sir;  fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 

AniK.   Good  night. 
This  deed  uiishapes  me  quite,  makes  me  unpreg- 

nant. 
And  dull  to  all  proceedings.    A  deflower'd  maid ! 
And  by  an  eminent  body,  that  enforced 
The  law  against  it!  —  but  that  her  tender  shame 
Will  not  proclaim  against  her  maiden  loss, 
How  might  she  tongue  me'!    Yet  reason    dares 

her'!  — no: 
For  my  authority  bears  a  credent  bulk. 
That  lio  particular  scandal  once  can  touch. 
But  it  confounds  the  breather.  He  should  have  liv'd. 
Save  that  his  riotous  youth,  with  dangerous  sense, 


Might,  in  the  tiiues  to  c  ime,  have  ta  en  revenge, 

By  so  receiving  a  djshonor'd  life. 

Willi  ransom  ifS  such  shame.    'Would  yet  he  had 

lived! 
Alack,  when  once  our  grace  we  have  forgot, 
Nothing  goes  right ;   we  would,  and  we  would  not 

[ExU. 
SCENE  Y ^Fields ivUtiouttlie  town. 
Enter  Duke  in  liis  own  liabil  and  Friar  PETin. 

Duke.  These  letters  at  fit  time  deliver  me. 

IG'ving  letters. 
The  provost  knows  our  purpose,  and  our  plot. 
The  matter  being  afoot,  keep  your  instruction. 
Ami  hoM  V'Hl  ever  to  our  special  drift; 
Tlioiigh  sometimes  you  do  bleneha  from  this  to  that, 
As  cause  doth  minister.    Go, call  at  Flavius'  house, 
And  tell  him  where  I  stay  :  give  the  like  notice 
To  Valentinus,  Rowland,  and  to  Crassus, 
And  bid  them  bring  the  trumpets  to  the  gate ; 
But  send  me  Flavius  first. 
F.  Peter.  It  shall  be  speeded  well, 

[Exit  Friar. 
Enter  y\nnjvs. 

Duke.  I  thank  thee,  Varrius;  thou  hast  made 
good  haste : 
Come,  we  will  walk  :    There's  other  of  our  friends 
Will  greet  us  liere  anon,  my  gentle  Varrius. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  XI.— Street  near  tlis  city  gate. 
Enter  Isabklla  and  Mariana. 
Isab.  To  speak  so  indirectly,  I  am  loath; 
I  would  say  the  truth  ;   but  to  accuse  him  so, 
riiat  is  your  part :   yet  I'm  advis'd  to  do  it ; 
He  says,  to  veil  full<  purpose. 
Mari.  Be  rul'd  by  him. 

Isab.  Besides  he  tells  me,  that  if  pcradventure 
He  speak  against  me  on  the  adverse  side, 
1  should  not  think  it  strange ;  for  'tis  a  physic 
riiat's  bitter  to  sweet  end.     , 
Atari.  I  would,  friar  Peter  — 
Isab.  O,  peace;  the  friar  is  come. 

Enter  Friar  Peter. 
F.  Peter.   Come,  I  have   found  you  out  a  stand 
most  fit. 
Where  you  may  have  such  'vantage  on  the  duke. 
He  shall  not  pass  you ;    Twice  have  the  trumpets 

sounded  ; 
The  generous'  and  gravest  citizens 
Have  hent«  the  gates,  and  very  near  upon 
The  duke  is  ent'ring ;  therefore  hence,  away. 

[Exeunl. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— -4  public  place  7iear  tlie  City  Gate. 

Martaxa  (veil'd),  Isarella  and  Peter  at  a 
distance.  Enter  at  opposite  doors,  Duke,  Var- 
rius, Lords;  A^r.ELO,  Escalus,  Lrcio,  Pro- 
vost, Officers,  and  Citizens. 
Duke.  My  very  worthy  cousin,  fairly  met : — 
Our  old  and  faithful  friend,  we  are  glad  to  see  you. 
Ang.  anl  Escal.  Happy  return  be  to  your  royal 

grace ! 
Duke.  Many  and  hearty  thankings  to  you  both. 
We  have  made  inquiry  of  you  ;  and  we  hear 
Such  goodnes.s  of  your  justice,  that  our  soul 
Cannot  but  yield  you  forth  to  public  thanks, 
Forerunning  more  requital. 

Am;.  You  make  my  bonds  still  greater. 

Dulce.   O,  your  desert  speaks  loud;  and  I  should 
wrong  it 
To  lock  it  in  the  wards  of  covert  bosom. 
When  it  deserves  with  characters  of  brass 
A  forted  residence,  'gainst  the  tooth  of  time 
And  razure  of  oblivion:  Give  me  your  hand, 
And  let  the  subject  see,  to  make  them  know 
That  outward  courtesies  would  fiin  proclaim 
Favors  that  keep  within. — l_'ome,  Escalus: 
3  Figurj  liud  rank. 


You  must  walk-  by  us  on  our  other  hand  ; — 
And  good  supporters  are  you. 

Peter  and  Isabelia  come  foreword. 

F.  Peter.    Now  is  your  time;  speak  loud,  and 
kneel  before  him. 

Isab.  Justice,  O  royal  Duke!    Vail''  your  regard 
Upon  a  wrong'd,  I'd  fain  have  said,  a  maid  ! 
O  worthy  prince,  dishonor  not  your  eye 
By  throwing  it  on  any  other  object. 
Till  you  have  heard  me  in  my  true  complaint, 
And  give  me  justice,  justice,  justice,  justice  ! 

Duke.  Relate  your  wrongs:  In  what;  Bywhoml 
Be  brief: 
Here  is  lord  Angelo  shall  give  you  justice; 
Reveal  yourself  to  him. 

/,„(,.  0,  worthy  duke, 

\ou  bid  me  seek  redemption  of  the  devil : 
Hear  me  yourself;  for  that  which  I  must  speak 
Musteithernunish  me,  not  being  believ'd. 
Or  wring  redress  from  you:  hear  me.O.hcar  me,  here. 

Ang.  My  lord,  her  wits,  I  fear  me,  are  nothrm: 
She  hath  been  a  suitor  to  me  for  her  brotlier 
Cut  olf  by  course  of  justice. 

s  Start  oU.  «  .^vailful.  iMosluoWe. 

»  Siiztd.  ''  Lower. 


Scene  I. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


07 


Isab,  By  course  nf  justice! 

A?ig.  And  slie  will  speak  most  bitterly  and  stran^re. 

Isab.  Most  slran^e,  but  yet  most  truly  will  1  speak: 
That  AngeJos  forsworn,  is  it  not  stranu^e  ? 
That  An^elo*s  a  murde  cr,  is't  not  strange? 
That  AngL'lo  is  an  adulterous  thief, 
An  hypocrite,  a  vir:^ni-violator; 
Is  it  not  strange,  and  strange  ! 

Duke.  rsay.  ten  times  strange. 

Isab.  It  is  not  truer  he  is  An^elo, 
Than  this  is  all  as  true  as  it  is  strani^e  : 
Nay,  it  is  ten  times  true:  for  truth  is  truth 
To  the  end  of  reckoning. 

Duke.  Away  with  her:    Poor  soul, 

She  speaks  this  in  the  infirmity  of  sen.se, 

Is(tt>.     ()  prince.  1  conjure  thee,  as  thou  bellev'st 
There  is  another  comfort  than  this  \%*or!d, 
That  thou  ne^iiect  me  not  with  that  opinion 
That  1  am  touch'd  wtlh  madness:  make  not  impos- 
sible 
That  which  but  seems  unlike;  'tis  not  impossible, 
But  one.  the  wicked'st  caititf  on  the  grouna. 
May  seem  as  shy,  as  grave,  as  just,  as  absolute, 
As  Ani:eIo:  even  so  may  Angclo, 
In  all  his  dressings,*  characts,  titles,  forms, 
Be  an  arch-villam:  believe  it,  royal  prince, 
If  he  be  le-^s.  he  s  nothmi;;  but  he's  more. 
Had  i  more  name  for  badness. 

Dicke.  By  mine  honesty, 

If  she  be  mad,  fas  I  believe  no  other,) 
Her  madness  hath  the  oddest  ft-ame  of  sense, 
Such  a  dependency  of  thing  on  thing. 
As  e'er  I  lieard  in  madness. 

Isab.  O,  gracious  duke. 

Harp  not  on  that,  nor  do  not  banish  reason 
For  inequality;  but  let  your  reason  serve 
To  make  the  truth  appear,  where  it  seems  hid ; 
And  hide  tlie  false,  seems  true. 

Duke.  Many  that  are  not  mad, 

Ha^'fe  sure  more  lack  of  reason.  \V  hat  would  you  say"? 

Imb.  I  am  the  sister  of  unc  Claudio, 
Condemn'd,  upon  the  law  of  fornication, 
To  lose  his  head;  condemn'd  by  Angelo  f 
I,  in  probation  of  a  sisterliood, 
Was  sent  to  by  my  brother :  one  Lucio 
Was  then  the  messenger; — 

Luico.  That's  I,  an'tlike  your  grace : 

[  came  to  her  from  Claudio,  and  desired  her 
To  try  her  gracious  tbrtune  with  lord  Angelo, 
For  her  poor  brothers  pardon. 

Ifab.  That's  he,  indeed. 

Duke.  You  were  not  bid  to  speak. 

Lucio.  No,  my  good  lord ; 

Nor  wish'd  to  hold  my  peace. 

Duke.  1  wish  you  now  then; 

pray  you.  take  note  of  it;  and  wlien  you  have 
A  business  for  yourself,  pray  heaven,  you  tiien 
Be  perfect. 

Lu<:io.  I  warrant  your  honor. 

Duke.  The  warrant's  for  yourself;  take  heed  to  it. 

Isab.  This  gentleman  told  somewhat  of  my  tale. 

Lucia.  Right. 

Duke.  It  may  be  riglit ;  but  you  are  in  the  wrong 
To  speak  before  your  time. — Proceed. 

Isab.  I  went 

To  this  pernicious  caititT  deputy — 

Duke.  That's  somewhat  madly  spoken. 

Isab-  Pardon  it ; 

The  phrase  is  to  the  matter. 

Duke.  Mended  again:  the  matter  ? — Proceed. 

Isab.  In  briet^. — to  set  the  needless  process  by, 
How  I  persuaded  how  I  nrnyd  and  kneel'd, 
How  he  refeird^  me.  and  how  I  reply'd; 
(For  this  was  of  much  lenirth;^  the  vde  conclusion 
I  now  begin  with  irrief  and  shame  to  utter; 
He  would  not  but  by  gift  of  my  chaste  body 
To  his  concupiscible  intemperate  lust. 
Release  my  brother;  and  after  much  debatement 
My  sisterly  remorse*  confutes  mine  honor, 
And  I  did  yield  to  him:  But  the  nextmorn  betimes, 
His  purpose  surfeiting,  he  sends  a  warrant 
For  my  poor  brothers  head. 

Duke.  This  is  most  likely. 

Isab.  0,  that  it  were  as  like,  as  it  is  true ! 

Duke-   By  heaven.  fond»  wretch,  thou  kTiow'st 
not  what  thou  sneak'st; 
Or  else  thou  art  suborned  a-^ainst  his  honor. 
In  hateful  praHice:  First,  his  integrity 

«  Habits  and  rharacters  of  offici*.  •  Refuted. 

»  Pity.  «  Fooolish. 

7 


Stands  without  blemish  :*Next.  it  imports  no  reason, 
That  with  such  vchemency  he  should  pursue 
Faults  proper  to  himself:  If  he  had  so  oUeiided, 
He  would  have  weigh'd  thy  brother  by  liimself. 
And  not  have  cut  him  oil:  Someone  hath  set  you  on: 
Confess  the  truth,  and  say  hy  whose  advice 
Thou  cam'st  here  to  complain. 

I  ab.  And  is  this  all? 

Then,  oh.  you  blessed  ministers  above. 
Keep  me  in  patience;  and,  with  ripen'd  time. 
Untold  the  evil  which  is  here  wrapt  up 
In  countenance! — Heaven  shield  your  grace  from 

woe. 
As  I.  thus  wrong'd  hence  unbelieved  go. 

Duke.  I  know  you  d  fain  be  ijone: — An  ollicer! 
To  prison  with  her: — Shall  we  thus  pennit 
A  blastinsi  and  a  scandalous  breath  to  tall 
On  hira  so  near  us  !  This  needs  mu-t  be  a  practice. 
Who  knew  of  your  intent,  and  coming  hither] 

Isa't.  One  that  I  would  were  here,  friar  Lodowick. 

Duke-    \   gliostly   father,  belike. — Who  knows 
that  Lodowick  l 

L-icio.  My  lord,  I  know  h'm; 'tis  a  meddling  friar; 
I  do  not  like  the  man:  had  he  been  hiy,  my  lord, 
For  certain  words  he  spake  against  your  g'rice 
In  your  retirement.  I  had  sw  UL'ed  him  soundly. 

Duke-  Words  against  me!  'rhisagoodfriar,helibe! 
And  to  set  on  this  wretctied  woman  here 
Against  our  substitute  ! — Let  this  iriarbe  found. 

Lucio.  But  yesternight,  my  lord,  she  and  that  friar 
I  saw  them  at  the  j)rison :  a  saucy  friar, 
A  very  scurvy  fellow. 

F.  Peter.  Blessed  be  your  royal  grace! 

I  have  stood  by,  my  lord,  and  I  have  heard 
Vour  royal  ear  abus'd :  First,  hath  this  woman 
Most  wrongfully  accus'd  your  substitute: 
Who  is  as  free  from  touch  or  soil  with  her 
As  she  from  one  ungot. 

Duke.  ^  We  did  believe  no  less. 

Know  you  that  friar  Lodowick,  that  she  speaks  of  ? 

F.  Peter.  I  know  him  for  a  man  divine  and  holy: 
Not  scurvy,  nor  a  temporary  meddler. 
As  he's  reported  by  this  gentleman  ; 
And,  on  my  trust,  a  man  that  never  yet, 
Ditl.as  he  vouches,  misreport  your  grace. 

L'icio.  My  lord,  most  vil'anously  !  believe  it. 

F.  Peter.  Well,  he  in  time  may  come  to  clear 
himself; 
But  at  this  instant  he  is  sick,  mjf  lord. 
Of  a  strange  lever:  Upon  his  mere  request. 
(Being  come  to  knowledgethat  there  was  conipl.aint 
Intended  "gainst  lord  Aniielo,)  came  I  hillier. 
To  speak,  as  from  his  mouth,  what  he  dolh  know 
Is  true,  an'l  false;  and  what  he  with  his  oath. 
And  all  probation,  will  make  up  lull  clear. 
Whensoever  he's  convented.*  First,  for  this  woman, 
(To  justify  this  worthy  nobleman, 
So  vukarly*  and  personally  accus'd.) 
Her  shall  you  hear  disprove  to  her  eyes, 
Tii!  slie  herself  confess  it 

Duke.  '  Good  friar,  let's  hear  it. 

[IsAKKLLA  is  Carried  off,  'guarded ;  and 
M  \niANA  cotnrs  fohvard. 
Do  you  not  smile  at  this.  lord  Angelo? — 

0  heaven!  the  vanity  of  wretched  fools! 
Give  us  some  seats. — Come,  cousin  Angelo, 
In  this  I'll  be  impartial ;  be  your  judge' 

Of  your  own  cause. — Is  this  the  witness,  friar? 
First,  let  her  show  her  face ;  and,  after,  speak. 

Miri.  Pardon,  my  lord  ;  I  will  not  show  my  face, 
Until  my  husband  bid  me. 

D'tke.  What,  are  you  married! 

MiiKi.  No,  my  lord. 

D'lkc.  Are  you  a  maid? 

Mfiri.  No.  my  lord 

Duke.    A  widow  thcnl 

Marl.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Dftke.  Why.  you 

Are  nothin? then: — Neitliermaid, widow. Tioi- wife? 

Lucio.    My  lord,  she  may  be  a  punk;  for  many 
of  them  are  neither  maid,  widow,  nor  wife. 

Duke.    .Silence  that  fellow:    I  would,   he   had 
some  cause 
To  prattle  for  himself. 

Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 

Ma7'i.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  I  ne'er  was  married; 
\nd.  I  confess,  besides,  I  am  no  maid: 

1  have  known  my  husband;  yet  my  husband  knows 

not 
f  CoQTened.  *  Publicly. 


98 


MEASUKE  FOE  MEASURE. 


Act  V 


Tliat  ever  he  K'liew  me. 
Licit}.  He  was  drunk,  then,  my  lord;  it  can  be 

no  I  etter. 
Duke.   For  the  benefit  of  silence,   'would  thou 

.wert  so  too ! 
Lucio.  Well,  my  lord. 
Duh'e.   This  IS  no  witness  for  lord  Aiigelo. 
Marl.  Now  I  come  to't,  my  lord  : 
She  tliat  accuses  him  of  forn'ication. 
In  self-same  manner  doth  accuse  my  husband: 
And  chari^es  him,  my  lord,  with  such  a  time, 
When  I'll  depose  1  had  him  in  mine  arms. 
With  all  the  etlect  of  love. 
Ang.  Charges  she  more  than  mel 

Mari.  Not  that  I  know. 

D'tke.  No  !  you  say  your  husbandl 

Mari.  Why,  just,  my  lord,  and  that  is  Angelo, 
Wlio  thinks,  he  knows,  that  he  ne'er  knew  my  body, 
Uut  knows,  hetiiinks,  tiat  he  knows  Isabel's. 
An^.  Thisisastranire  abuse:* — Let's  see  thy  face. 
Mari.  My  husband  bids  me;  now  I  will  unmask, 

{Unveiling. 
This  is  that  face,  thou  cruel  Anjclo, 
Which  once  thou  swor'st  was  worth  thelooking  on: 
This  is  the  hand,  which,  in  a  vow'd  contract, 
Was  fast  bclock'd  in  thine:  this  is  the  body 
That  took  away  the  match  from  Isabel, 
And  did  supply  thee  at  thy  garden-house, 
In  her  imagiri'd  person. 
JJuke.  Know  you  this  woman  ? 

Lucio.  Carnally,  she  says. 
Duke.  '  Sirrah,  no  more. 

Lucio.  Enough,  my  lord. 

Ang.  My  lord,  I  must  confess  I  know  this  woman: 
And,  five  years  since,  there  was  some  speech  of 

marrtai^e 
Betwixt  myself  and  her;  which  was  broke  off, 
Partly,  for  that  her  promised  proportions 
Come  short  of  composition;  but  in  chief, 
For  that  her  reputation  was  disvalued 
In  levity  :  since  which  time,  of  five  years, 
I  never  spake  with  her.  saw  her,  norlieard  from  her, 
Upon  my  faith  and  honor. 

Mari.  Noble  prince. 

As  there  comes  light  from  heaven,  and  words  from 

breath. 
As  there  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue, 
I  am  affianced  this  man's  wife,  as  strongly 
As  words  could  make  up  vows;  and,  my  good  lord. 
But  Tuesday  night  last  gone,  in  his  garden-house, 
He  knew  me  as  a  wife :   As  this  is  true 
Let  nic  in  safety  raise  me  from  my  knees, 
Or  else  forever  be  confixed  here, 
A  marble  monument ! 

Ang.  I  did  but  smile  till  now  : 

Now.  good  my  lord,  give  me  the  scope  of  justice; 
My  jialience  hero  is  touch'd:  I  do  perceive. 
These  poor  informaje  women  are  no  more 
But  instruments  of  some  more  mightier  member, 
That  sets  tiieni  on  :    Let  me  have  way,  my  lord, 
To  find  this  practice'  out. 

Duke.  Ay,  with  my  heart; 

And  punish  them  unto  your  height  of  pleasure. — 
Tlion  foolish  friar,  and  thou  pernicious  woman. 
Compact  with  her  that's  gone  I   think'st  thou  thy 

oaths, 
Though  they  would  swear  down  each   particular 

saint. 
Were  testimonies  against  his  worth  and  credit. 
That's  seai'd  in  approbation? — Von,  lord  F.scalus, 
Sit  with  my  cousin;  lend  him  your  kintl  pains 
To  finii  out  this  abuse,  whence  'tis  derived. — 
There  is  another  friar  that  set  tliem  on; 
Let  him  be  sent  for. 
F.  Peter.   Would  he  were  here,  my  lord;   for  he, 
indeed. 
ITath  set  the  woman  on  to  this  comj^laint: 
Your  provost  l^iiows  the  place  where  he  abides, 
And  he  may  fetch  him. 

Duke.  Go  do  it  instantly.—  lE.rit  Provost. 

And  you,  my  no'ie.  and  well-warranted  cousin. 
Whom  it  concerns  to  hear  this  matter  forth, 
Po  with  your  injuries  as  seems  you  best, 
Tu  any  chastisement :  I,  for  a  while. 
Will  leave  you ;  but  stir  not  you,  till  you  have  well 
Determined  upen  tliese  slanderers. 

E.^cul.  !\Iy  lord,  we'll  do  it  thorouglily. —  [Exit 
Puke.]    Si;.;ii:or  Lucio,  did  not  you  say,  you  knew 
that  friar  Lodowick  to  be  a  dishonest  person'! 
»  Deception.  «  Crazy,  '  Couspii'aey. 


LtiC'O.  Cucullus  ""u  faeil  monachuin  :  honest 
in  nothing  but  in  his  clothes;  and  one  that  hath 
sjjoke  most  villnnnus  speeches  oft!  e  dii'  e. 

Escul.  Wesliall  entreat  you  to  abide  here  till  he 
come,  and  cntitree  them  against  him:  we  shall  find 
this  friar  a  notable  lellow. 

L'lcio.   As  any  in  Vienna,  on  my  word. 

Escal.  Call  that  same  Isabel  here  once  again; 
[Tatm  Affendtmt-]  I  would  speak  with  her:  Pray 
you.  my  lord,  give  me  leave  to  question ;  you  shall 
see  liow  I'll  handle  her. 

Luciji.   Not  better  than  he,  by  her  own  report. 

EfciU.  Say  you '! 

L'lcin.  Marry,  sir,  I  think,  if  you  liandled  her 
privately,  she  would  sooner  confess ;  perchance 
publiclj'  she'll  be  ashamed. 

Re-enter  Officers,  ivith  Isabella  ;  the  Duke,  in  the 
Friar's  habit,  and  Provost. 

Escal.   I  will  go  darkly  to  work  with  her. 

L'icin.  That's  the  way ;  for  women  are  light  at 
midnight. 

Escal.  Come  on,  mistress:  [Tn  Isabella.1  here's 
a  L'entlewoman  denies  all  that  you  have  said. 

L'lcifi.  M  y  lord,  here  comes  the  rascal  1  spoke  of; 
he:e  with  the  provost. 

Exeat.  In  very  good  time: — speak  not  you  to 
him,  till  we  call  upon  you. 

L'icio.   Mum. 

Escal.  Come,  sir;  Did  you  set  these  women  on 
to  slander  lord  Angelo  !  they  have  confessd  you 
did. 

Dake.  'Tis  false. 

Escut.  How!   know  you  where  you  are ? 

Duke.  Respect  to  your  great  place!   and  let  the 
devil 
Be  some  time  honored  for  his  burning  throne: — 
Where  is  the  dukel    tis  he  should  hear  me  speak. 

Escal.  The  duke's  in  us;  and  we  will  hear  you 
speak : 
Look,  you  speak  justly. 

Duke.  Boldly,  at  least; — But,  O.  poor  souls, 
Come  you  to  seek  the  lamb  here  of  the  Ibx '! 
Good  liight  to  your  redress.    Is  the  duke  gone  1 
Then  is  your  cause  gone  too.    The  dukes  unjust, 
Tlius  to  retort  your  manifest  appeal. 
And  put  your  trial  in  the  vihanfs  mouth, 
Whicli  here  you  come  to  accuse. 

Lucia.  This  is  the  rascal ;  this  is  he  I  spoke  of. 

Escal.  Why,  thou   unreverend  and  unhallow'd 
friar ! 
Is't  not  enou£h,that  thou  hast  suborn'd  these  women, 
To  accuse  this  worthy  man;  but  in  foul  mouth, 
And  in  the  witness  of  his  proper  ear. 
To  call  him  villain  '! 

.And  then,  glance  from  him  to  the  duke  himself; 
To  tax  him  with  injustice  ?  — Take  bun  hence; 
To  the  rack  with  him: — Well  touze  jou  joint  by 

joint. 
But  we  will  know  this  purpose :— What !    unjust ! 

Duke.   Be  not  so  hot ;  the  duke 
Dare  no  more  sh-etch  this  finger  of  mine,  than  he 
Dare  rack  his  own :   his  subject  am  I  not. 
Nor  here  provincial :    My  business  in  this  slate 
Made  me  a  looker-on  here  in  Vienna, 
Where  1  have  seen  corruption  boil  and  bubble. 
Till  it  o'er-run  the  stew:  laws  for  all  faults; 
But  faults  so  countenanced,  that  the  strong  statutes 
Stand  like  the  forfeits  in  a  barbers  shop, 
.\s  much  in  mock  as  mark. 

Escal.  Slander  to  the  state  !  .\way  with  mm  to 
prison. 

Ang.  What  can  you  vouch  against  Inm,  signior 
Lucio"! 
Is  this  the  man  that  you  did  tell  us  or"! 

Lucia.  'Tis  he,  my  lord.  Come  hither,  goodman 
balrVpate :    Do  you  'know  me  ! 

Duke.  1  remember  you,  sir,  by  the  sound  of  your 
voice.  I  met  you  at  the  prison  in  the  absence  of 
the  duke. 

Luciii.  O,  did  you  so'!  And  do  you  remember 
what  you  said  of  the  duke  I 

Duke.  Most  notedly,  sir. 

Lurin.  Do  you  so,  sir?  xVnd  was  the  duke  a 
flesli-monger,  a  fool,  and  a  coward,  as  you  then  re- 
ported him  to  be "! 

Duke.  You  must,  sir,  change  persons  with  me, 
ere  yon  make  tliat  my  report:  you.  indeed,  spoke 
so  of  him;  and  much  inore,  much  worse. 


ScEXi:  I. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


99 


Lucio.  0  tliou  damnable  follow !  Did  not  I  pluck 
thee  by  the  nose  for  thy  S])eeches  I 

Dukt.  I  protest  I  love  the  duke  as  I  love  myself. 

Ait^.  Hark!  how  tlie  villain  would  close  now, 
after  his  treasonable  abuses. 

Esail.  Such  a  IcUow  is  not  to  be  talked  withal : — 
Awaywith  him  to  j^rison.  Where  istheprovost !  — 
Away  witli  him  to  prison;  lay  bolts  enough  ui-on 
him ;  let  him  speak  no  more.  Away  with  those  gig- 
lots*  too,  and  with  the  other  confederate  companion. 
[Tlie  Provost  Inijs  hands  on  ike  Duke. 

Duke.  Stay,  .sir;  stay  awhde. 

Aug.   What!   resists  he  !     Help  him  Lucio. 

Lucio.  Come,  sir;  come,  sir;  come,  sir;  foh,  sir: 
Why,  you  bald-pated,  lying  rascal !  you  must  be 
hooded,  must  youl  Show  your  knave's  visage! 
with  a  pox  to  "you !  show  your  .^hee^-biling  face, 
and  be  hang'd  an  hour !  Will  t  not  otl .' 

IPull.'i  (ijj'the  FrUirs  hnod,  and 
di<icnrers  the  "Duke. 

Duke.  Thou  art  the  first  knave  that  e'er  made  a 

duke. • 

First,  provost,  let  me  bail  these  gentle  three: 

Sneak  not  away,  sir ;  [Tu  Lccio.]   for  the  friar  and 

you,' 
Must  have  a  word  anon  : — Lay  hold  on  him. 

Lucio.  This  may  prove  worse  than  hanging. 

Duke.  What  you  have  spoke,  I  pardon ;  sit  you 

down. [To  EscALi's. 

We'll  borrow  place  of  him : —  Sir,  by  your  leave ; 

[To  ASGELO. 

Hast  thou  or  word,  or  wit,  or  impudence. 
That  yet  can  do  thee  ollice  1    If  thou  hast, 
Rely  ujjon  it  till  my  tale  be  heard, 
And  hold  no  longer  out. 

Aug.  O  my  dread  lord, 

I  should  be  guiltier  than  my  guiltiness, 
To  think  I  can  be  undiscernible. 
When  I  perceive  your  grace,  like  power  divine. 
Hath  look'd  upon  my  passes :»  Then,  good  prince, 
No  longer  session  hold  upon  my  shame. 
But  lefmy  trial  be  mine  own  confession  ; 
Immediate  sentence  then,  and  sequent'  death, 
Is  all  the  grace  1  beg. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Mariana : — 

Say,  wast  tliou  e'er  contracted  to  this  woman  ! 

Aug.   I  was,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Go,  take  her  hence,  and  marry  her  in- 
stantly.— 
Do  you  the  oflice,  friar;   which  consummate, 
Return  liim  here  again : —  Go  with  him,  provost. 

[Exeunt  Angelo,  MiniAXA,  Peteb, 
and  Provost. 

Escal.  My  lord,  I  am  more  amazed  at  his  dis- 
honor. 
Than  at  the  strangeness  of  it. 

Duke.  Come  hither,  Isabel : 

Your  friar  is  now  your  prince:   As  I  was  then 
Advertising,'  and  holy  to  your  business. 
Not  changing  heart  with  habit,  I  am  still 
Attorney'd  at  your  service. 

Iga'j.  0  give  me  pardon. 

That  I,  your  vassal,  have  cmploy'd  and  pain'd 
Your  unknown  sovereignty. 

Duke.  .  You  are  pardon'd  Isabel : 

And  now,  dear  maid,  be  you  as  free  to  us. 
Your  brothers  death,  I  know,  sits  at  your  heart; 
And  you  may  mai'vel  why  I  obscurd  myself. 
Laboring  to  save  his  life  ;  and  v.'ould  not  rather 
Make  rash  remonstrance  of  my  hidden  power, 
Than  let  iiim  be  so  lost :    O,  most  kind  maid, 
It  was  the  swift  celerity  of  his  death. 
Which  I  did  think  with  slower  foot  came  on. 
That  braind  my  purpose  :  But  peace  be  with  liim ! 
That  life  is  better  life,  past  fearing  death. 
Than  that  which  lives  to  fear;  make  it  your  comfort. 
So  happy  is  your  brother. 

Re-enter  Asgelo,  Mahiaxa,  Peter,  and  Provost. 

Tsab.  I  do,  my  lord. 

Duke.  For  this  new-married  man,  approaching 
here. 
Whose  salt  imagination  yet  hath  wrong'd 
Your  well-defended  honor,  you  must  pardon 
For  Mariana's  sake:  but  as  he  adjudged  your  brother, 
(Being  criminal,  in  double  violation 
Of  sacred  chastity,  and  of  promise-breach. 
Thereon  dependant  for  your  brother's  life,) 
B  ^Vantous.  "  Devices 

1  FoUo^ving.  ^  Attentive. 


The  very  mercy  of  the  law  cries  out 
Most  audible,  even  from  Ins  proper  tongue, 
"An  Angelo  for  Claudio,  death  tor  deatli.' 
Haste  still  plays  haste,  and  leisure  answers  leisure ; 
Like  doth  quit  like,  and  "Measure  still  for  Mea- 
sure ! " 
Then.  Angelo,  thy  fault's  thus  manifested; 
W  Inch  though  thou  would'st  deny,  denies  thee  van- 
tage: 
We  do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block 
Where  Claudio  stoop'd  to  death,  and  with  like 

haste :  — 
Away  with  him. 

Mali.  0  my  most  gracious  lord. 

I  hope  you  will  not  mock  me  with  a  husband! 

Duke.  It  is  your  husband  mock'd  you  with  a 
husband ; 
Consenting  to  the  safeguard  of  5-our  honor, 
1  thought  your  marriage  fit ;  else  imputation. 
For  that  he  knew  you,  might  reproach  your  life. 
And  choke  your  good^to  come  :  for  his  possessions. 
Although  by  confiscation  tliey  are  ours, 
We  do  instate  and  widow  you  withal. 
To  buy  you  a  better  husband. 

Mari.  O,  my  dear  lord, 

I  crave  no  other  nor  no  better  man. 

Duke.   Never  crave  him  ;  we  are  definitive. 

!\f/irL  Gentle  my  liege,—  [Kneeling. 

Duke.  You  do  but  lose  yotir  labor; 

Awaywith  him  to  death. —  Now,  sir,  IfTu  Lvcio.] 
to  you. 

Mari.  O,  my  good  lord ! — Sweet  Isabel,  take  my 
part; 
Lend  me  your  knees,  and  all  my  life  to  come 
I'll  lend  you  all  my  life  to  do  you  service. 

Duke.  Against  all  sense  you  do  impftrtune  her- 
Should  she  kneel  down  in  mercy  of  this  fact, 
Her  brother's  'zhost  his  paved  bed  would  break, 
.\nd  take  her  hence  in  horror. 

Mart.  Isabel, 

Sweet  Isabel,  do  yet  but  kneel  by  me; 
Hold  up  your  hands;  say  nothing;   I'll  speak  all. 
They  say,  best  men  are  moulded  out  of  faults; 
And,  for  the  most,  become  much  more  the  better 
For  being  a  little  bad:   so  may  my  husband. 
0,  Isabel !  will  you  not  lend  a  knee  ! 

Duke.  He  dies  for  Claudio  s  death. 

Isab.  Most  bounteous  sir, 

[Kneeting. 
Look,  if  it  please  you,  on  this  man  condemn'd. 
As  if  my  brother  liv'd:   I  partly  think, 
A  due  sincerity  govcrn'd  his  deeds. 
Till  he  did  look  on  me  ;  since  it  is  so. 
Let  him  not  die:    My  brother  had  but  justice, 
In  that  he  did  the  thing  for  which  he  died: 
For  Angelo, 

His  act  did  not  o'ertake  his  bad  intent, 
.And  must  be  buried  but  as  an  intent 
Tliat  perished  by  the  way  :  thouglitsare  no  subjects; 
Intents  but  merely  tlioughts. 

Mari.  Merely,  my  lord. 

Duke.   Your  suit's    unprofitable;    stand    up,  I 
say. — 
I  have  bethought  me  of  another  fault: 
Provost,  how  came  it,  Claudio  was  beheaded 
At  an  unusual  hourl 

Prof-  It  was  commanded  so. 

Duke.  Had  yon  a  special  warrant  for  the  deed  ' 

Proi\   No,  my  good  lord;  it  was  by  private  mes- 
sage. 

Duke.  For  wliich  I  do  discharge  you  of  your  office: 
Give  up  your  keys. 

Pror.  Pardon  me,  noble  lord : 

I  thought  it  was  a  t^iult,  but  knew  it  not ; 
Yet  did  repent  ine  arter  more  advice :« 
For  testimony  whereof,  one  in  the  prison. 
That  should  by  private  order  else  have  died, 
I  have  reserv'd  alive. 

Duke.  What's  he  1 

Pror.  His  name  is  Barnardine. 

Duke.  I  would  thou  liadst  done  so  by  Claudio. — 
Go,  fetch  liim  hither;  let  me  look  upon  him. 

[Exit  Provost. 

Escal.   I  am  sorry,  one  so  learned  and  so  wise 
As  you,  lord  .\ngelb,  have  still  appear'd. 
Should  slip  so  grossly,  both  in  the  heat  of  blood. 
And  lack  of  temper'd  judgment  afterward. 

Aug,   I  am  sorry,  that  such  sorrow  I  procure: 
.And  so  deep  sticks  it  in  my  penitent  heart, 
3  Consideration. 


100 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


Act  V. 


Tliat  I  crave  death  more  willingly  than  mercy; 
'Tis  my  deserving,  and  1  do  entreat  it. 
Re-enter  Provost,  Baunaudine,  Claudio,  anil 

Juliet. 
Dufcf.  Which  is  that  Barnardine  ? 
Prov.  This,  my  lord. 

Duke.  There  vras  a  friar  told  me  of  this  man. 
Sirrah,  thou  art  said  to  have  a  stuhhorn  sonl, 
That  apprehends  no  further  than  this  world. 
And  squarst  thy  life  according.  Thou'rt  condemned; 
But,  for  those  earthly  faults  I  quit  them  all; 
And  pray  thee,  take  this  mercy  to  provide 
For  better  times  to  come : —  Kriar,  advise  him ; 
I  leave  him  to  your  hand. — What  muffled  fellow's 
that  i 
Prov.  This  is  another  prisoner,  that  I  sav'd, 
That  should  have  died  when  Claudio  lost  his  head  ; 
As  like  almost  to  Claudio  as  himself. 

[UiimiMes  Claudio. 
Duke.  If  he  be  like  your  brother,  [To  Isabella.] 
for  his  sake 
Is  he  pardon 'd ;  and  for  your  lovely  sake. 
Give  me  your  hand,  and  say  you  will  be  mine. 
He  is  my' brother  too :    But  fitter  time  for  that 
By  this  lord  Angelo  perceives  he's  safe ; 
Methinks  I  see  a  quick'ning  in  his  eye: 
Well,  Angelo,  your  evil  quits*  you  well; 
Look  that  you  love  your  wife ;  her  worth,  worth 

j^ours. — 
I  find  an  apt  remission  in  myself: 
And  yet  here's  one  in  place  1  cannot  pardon  : 
You,  sirrah,    [To  Lccio.^  that  knew  me  for  a  fool, 

a  coward, 
One  all  of  luxury,  an  ass,  a  madman: 
W  herein  have  I  so  deserved  of  you, 
That  you  extol  me  thus  f 
Lucio.  'Faith,  my  lord,  I  spoke  it  but  according 
*  Bequito 


to  the  trick:'  If  you  will  hang  me  for  it,  you  may 
hut  1  had  rather  it  would  please  you,  I  might  be 
whipp'd. 

Duke.  Whipp'd  first,  sir,  and  hong'd  after. — 
Proclaim  it,  provost,  round  about  tlic  city ; 
If  any  woman's  wrong'd  by  tJiis  lewd  fellow, 
(As  1  have  heard  him  swear  himself,  there's  one 
Whom  he  begot  with  child,)  let  her  appear. 
And  he  shall  marry  her:  the  nuptuai  hnish'd, 
Let  him  be  whipp'd  and  hangd. 

Lucin.  I  beseech  your  highness,  do  not  marry  me 
to  a  whore.  Your  highness  said  even  now,  I  made 
you  a  duke;  good  my  lord,  do  not  recompense  me, 
in  making  me  a  cuckold. 

Duke.   Upon  mine  honor,  thou  slialt  marry  her. 
Thy  slanders  I  forgive ;  and  wherewithal 
Remit  thy  other  I'orfeits: — Take  liim  to  prison: 
And  see  our  pleasure  herein  executed. 

Luch.  Marrying  a  punk,  my  lord,  is  pressing  to 
death,  whipping,  and  hanging. 

Duke  Sland'ring  a  prince  deserves  it. — 
Sire,  Claudio,  that  you  wrongd  look  you  restore, 
.loy  to  you,  Mariana! — love  "her,  Angelo; 
I  have  confess'd  her,  and  I  know  her  virtue. — 
Tlianks,  good  friend  Escalus,  for  thy  much  goodness: 
There's  more  behind,  that  is  more  gratulate. 
Thanks,  provost,  for  thy  care  and  secrecy; 
We  shall  employ  thee  in  a  worthier  place: — 
Forgive  him,  Angelo,  that  brought  you  home 
The  head  of  Ragozine  for  Claudio's; 
The  oftence  parcions  itself. —  Dear  Isabel, 
I  have  a  motion  much  imports  your  good ; 
Whereto  if  you'll  a  willing  ear  incline. 
What's  mine  is  yours,  and  what  is  yours  is  mine; 
So  bring  us  to  our  palace;  where  we'll  show 
What's  yet  behind,  that's  meet  you  all  should  know. 

[Exeunt. 
i  Thoughtless  practice. 


I 
I 


i 


mv 


r-r-T      SM iTii -^^'Kr.''  M.p. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


Uos  Pedro,  Pi'^'nce  of  Am-xon. 
Dox  John,  his  Buslurd  Brother, 
Claidio,  a  yo:iiif;  Lurdof  Florence,  Favorite  to 

Don  Pedro, 
Benedick,  a  younif  Inrii  of  Padua,  Favorite  like- 

u-ise  of  Don  Pedro. 
Leoxato,  G(tvenior  of  Messina. 
Antomo,  hii  Brother. 
Balthazab,  Serra;;;' /o  Don  Pedro.    ' 

CoSrIde"'  \     Followers  of  Don  John. 


Verges,'"''  }  '^'^0 foolish  officers. 
A  Sexton. 
A  Friar. 
A  Boy. 

Hero,  Daughter  to  Leonato. 
Beatrice,  Niece  to  Leonato. 
Margaret,  )     Centlewomen  atlcniling  on  litno. 

URSULA,  J 

Messengers,  Watcli,  and  Attendants. 


SCENE,  Messina. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Before  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leonato,  Hero,  Beatrice,  and  others, 
tvith  a  Messenger. 

Leonato.  I  learn  in  this  letter,  that  don  Pedro  of 
Arragon  conies  tfiis  nii'iil  to  Messina. 

Mess.  He  is  very  Mi\ir  lij-  this;  lie  was  not  three 
leagues  oft",  when  1  left  him. 

Leon.  How  many  gentlemen  have  you  lost  in 
this  action  ? 

Ale^s.  But  few  of  any  sort,  and  none  of  name. 

Leon.  A  victory  is  twice  itsell',  when  the  achiever 
brings  home  full  numbers.  I  find  here  that  don 
Pedro  hath  liestowed  much  honor  on  a  young  Flor- 
entine, called  Claudio. 

Mess.  Mucli  deserved  on  Iiis  part,  and  equally 
remembered  by  don  Pedro:  He  liuth  borne  himself 
beyond  the  promise  of  his  age;  doiiiir,  in  the  figure 
of  a  lamb,  the  feats  of  a  lion  :  he  hatli,  iiideed,"bet- 
ter  bettered  expectation,  than  you  must  expect  of 
me  to  tell  you  now. 

Leon.  He  hath  an  uncle  here  in  Messina  will  be 
very  much  glad  of  it. 

Mess.  I  have  already  delivered  him  letters,  and 
there  appears  much  joy  in  him;  even  so  much,  that 
joy  could  not  show  itself  modest  enough,  without 
a  Badge  of  bitterness, 

Leo)i.  Did  he  break  out  into  tears? 

Mess.   In  great  measure.' 

Leon.  A  kind  overllow  of  kindness:  There  are 
no  faces  truer  than  those  that  are  so  washed.  How 
much  better  is  it  to  weep  at  joy,  than  to  joy  at 
weeping ! 

Beat.  I  pray  you.  is  signior  Montanto  returned 
from  the  wars,  or  no  ] 

Mess.  I  know  none  of  that  name,  lady;  there 
was  none  such  in  the  army  of  any  sort. 

Leon.  What  is  he  that  you  ask  for,  niece? 

Hero.  My  cousin  means  signior  Benedick  of 
Padua. 

Aless.  0,  he  is  returned ;  and  as  pleasant  as  ever 
he  was. 

Beat.  He  set  up  his  bills  here  in  Messina,  and 
I  Abundance- 


challenged  Cupid  at  the  flight :  and  my  uncle's  fool, 
reading  the  challenge,  subscribed  for  cupid,  and 
challenged  him  at  the  bird-bolt. —  I  pray  you,  how 
many  hath  he  killed  and  eaten  in  these  wars  ?  But 
how  many  hath  he  killed  1  for,  indeed,  I  promised 
to  eat  all  of  his  killing. 

Leon.  Faith,  niece,  you  tax  signior  Benedick  too 
much;  but  he'll  be  meet  with  you.  1  doubt  it,not. 

Mess.  He  hath  done  good  service,  lady,  in  these 
wars. 

Beat.  You  had  musty  victual,  and  he  hath  holp 
to  cat  it :  he  is  a  very  valuable  trencher-man,  he  hath 
an  excellent  stomach. 

Mess.  And  a  good  soldier  too,  lady. 

Beat.  And  a  good  soldier  to  a  lady: — But  what 
is  he  to  a  lord  ] 

Jifcss.  A  lord  to  a  lord,  a  man  to  a  man ;  stuffed 
with  all  honorable  virtues. 

Beat.  It  is  so,  indeed  ;  he  is  no  less  than  a  stuflfed 
man  :■>  but  for  the  stufling. — Well,  we  are  all  mortal. 

Lein}.  You  must  not,  sir,  mistake  my  niece :  there 
is  a  kind  of  merry  war  betwixt  signior  Benedick 
and  her:  they  never  meet,  but  there  is  a  skirmish 
of  wit  between  them. 

Beat.  Alas,  he  gets  nothing  by  that.  In  our  last 
contlict,  four  of  his  five  wits  went  halting  off,  and 
now  is  the  whole  man  governed  wHli  one:  so  that 
if  he  have  wit  enough  to  keep  himself  warm,  let  him 
bear  it  for  a  difference  between  himself  and  his 
horse :  for  it  is  all  the  wealth  that  he  hath  left,  to 
be  known  a  reasonable  creature.- — Who  is  his  com- 

E  anion  now!.  He  liath  every  month  a  new  sworn 
rot  her. 

Mess.  !s  it  possible  1 

Bent.  Very  easily  possible:  he  w-ears  his  faith 
but  as  the  fashion  of  liis  hat,  it  ever  changes  with 
the  next  block. 

Mess.  1  sec,  lady,  the  gentleman  is  not  in  j'our 
books. 

Beat.  No :  an  he  were,  I  would  burn  my  study. 
But.  I  pray  you,  who  is  his  companion  ?  Is  there  no 
young  squarer^  now,  that  will  make  a  voyage  with 
him  to  the  devil. 

^  A  cuckold.  3  Quarrelsome  fellow. 

101 


103 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Mexs.  He  is  most  in  the  company  of  Ihe  right  no- 
ble Claudio. 

Beal.  O  lord!  he  ivilJ  han?  upon  him  like  a  dis- 
ease: he  is  sooner  causht  than  tlie  pestilence,  and 
the  taker  nins  presently  mad.  God  lielp  the  noble 
Claudio!  if  he  have  causht  the  Benedick,  it  will 
cost  him  a  thousand  pounS  ere  he  he  cured. 

^/csy.  I  will  hold  friends  with  you,  lady. 

Beat.    Po,  trood  friend, 

Lfon,  You  will  never  run  mad,  niece. 

Beat.  No,  not  till  a  hot  January. 

Utess.  Don  Pedro  is  approached. 

Enti.r  Drill  Pr.nno  at/ended   61/  Balthazati  and 
others,  Dun  Juhjj,  Claudio,  and  Btxr.DicK. 

D.  Pedrn.  Good  siirnior  Leonato,  you  are  come 
to  meet  your  trouble  :  tlie  fashion  of  the  world  is  to 
avoid  cost,  and  you  encounter  it. 

Leon.  Never  came  trouble  into  my  house  in  the 
likeness  of  your  grace:  for  trouble  being  gone, 
comfort  should  remain:  but,  when  you  depart  from 
me,  sorrow  abides,  and  happiness  takes  his  leave. 

D.  Pedro.  Vou  embrace  your  charge  too  willing- 
ly.—I  think,  this  is  your  daughter. 

Ijnn.   Her  mother  hath  many  times  told  me  so. 

Bene.  Were  you  in  doubt,  sir,  that  yon  asked  her  ? 

i»on.  Signior  Benedick,  no;  for  then  were  you  a 
child. 

V.  Pedrn.  You  have  it  full,  Benedick :  we  may 
guess  by  this  what  you  are,  being  a  man.  Truly, 
the  lady  fathers  herself:  Be  happy,  lady  !  for  you 
are  like  an  honorable  father. 

Bene.  If  signior  Leonato  be  her  father,  she  would 
not  have  his  head  on  her  shoulders,  for  all  Messina, 
as  like  him  as  she  is. 

Beat.  I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talkmg, 
signior  Benedick;  no  body  marks  you. 

Bene.   What  my  dear  lady  Disdain  !  are  you  yet 

Bmt.  Is  it  possible,  disdain  should  die,  while  she 
hath  such  meet  food  to  feed  it,  as  signior  Benedick  1 
Courtesy  itself  must  convert  to  disdain,  if  you  come 
in  her  presence.  .    . 

Bene.  Then  is  courtesy  a  turn-coat:— But  it  is 
certain,  I  am  loved  of  all  ladies,  only  you  excepted  : 
and  I  would  I  could  find  in  my  heart  that  I  had  not 
a  h.ird  heart;   for,  truly,  I  love  none. 

Beat.  A  dear  happiness  to  women  ;  they  vvould 
else  have  been  trouoled  with  a  pernicious  suitor.  I 
thank  God,  and  my  cold  blood,  I  am  of  your  humor 
for  that ;  I  had  rather  hear  my  dog  bark  at  a  crow, 
than  a- man  swear  he  loves  me. 

Bene.  (;od  keep  your  ladyship  still  m  that  mind  ! 
so  some  gentleman  or  other  shall  'scape  a  predesti- 
nate scratched  face. 

Beat.   Scratching   could  not  make   it  worse,  an 
'twere  such  a  face  as  yours  were. 
Bene.  Well,  you  are  a  rare  parrot-teacher. 
Bent.  A  bird  of  my  tongue  is  better  than  a  beast 
of  yours.  ,    , 

Bene.  I  would  my  horse  had  the  speed  of  your 
tongue ;  and  so  good  a  continuer:  But  keep  your 
way  o'  God's  name ;  I  have  done. 

BE<it.  You  always  end  with  a  jade's  trick ;  I  know 
yon  of  old.  ^        ,.  , 

D.  Pedro.  This  is  the  sum  of  all:  Don  John, 
signior  Claudio,  and  signior  Henedick. —  my  dear 
fiTend  Leonato  hath  invited  you  all.  I  tell  him,  we 
shall  slay  here  at  the  least  a  month ;  and  he  heartily 
prays,  some  occasion  may  detain  us  longer:  I  dare 
SWAT  he  is  no  liypocrite,  but  prays  from  his  heart. 
L'-on.  If  you  swear,  my  lord,  you  shall  not  be 
forsworn :  —  Let  me  bid  you  welcome,  my  lord:  be- 
ing reconciled  to  the  prince  your  brother,  I  owe  you 
allduty.  , 

J5.  Jolin.  I  thank  you :  I  am  not  of  many  words, 
but  I  tliank  you. 
L'oii.   Ple;ise  it  your  grace  lead  on? 
1).  Pedro.   Your  baud,  Leonato:   we  will  go  to- 
gether.   {Exeunt  alt  tint  BKvtmcK  and  Clavdio. 
Claud.  Benedick,  didst  thou  note  the  daughter 
of  signior  Leonato  ? 
Bine.   1  noted  her  not;  but  I  looked  on  her. 
Claud.  Is  she  not  a  modest  young  lady  'i 
Bene.  Do  you   (picstion  me,  as  an  honest  man 
should  do,  for  my  sim]ile  true  judgment ;  or  vvould 
you  have  me  speak  after  my  custom,  as  being  a 
professed  tyrant  to  their  sex  1  ,      .    , 

Claud.  No,  I  pray  thee,  speak  ni  sober  judgment. 


Bene.  Why,  i'faith,  mcthinks  she  is  too  low  for 
a  high  praise,  too  brown  for  a  fair  praise,  and  too 
little  for  a  great  praise :  only  this  connnendation  I 
can  alTord  her ;  that  were  she  other  than  she  is, 
she  w  ere  unhandsome  ;  and  being  no  other  but  as 
she  is,  I  do  not  like  her. 

Claud.  Thou  tliinkest  I  am  in  sport;  I  pray  thee, 
tell  me  truly  how  thou  likcst  her. 

Bene.  Would  you  buy  her,  that  you  inquire  af- 
ter her  1 

Claud.  Can  the  world  buy  such  a  jewel  1 

Bene.  Yea,  and  a  case  to  put  it  into.  But  speak 
you  this  with  a  sad  brow  1  or  do  you  play  the  tlout- 
ing  Jack;  to  tell  us  Cupid  is  a  good  hare-finder, 
and  Vulcan  a  rare  carpenter?  Come,  111  what  key 
shall  a  man  take  you,  to  go  in  the  song  '. 

Claud.  In  mine  eye,  she  is  the  sweetest  lady  'hat 
ever  I  lookd  on. 

Bene.  I  can  see  yet  without  spectacles,  and  I  see 
no  such  matter:  there's  her  cousin,  an  she  were  not 
possessedwith  a  fury,  exceeds  her  as  much  in  beau- 
ty, as  the  first  of  May  doth  the  last  of  December. 
But  1  hope  you  have  no  intent  to  turn  husband; 
have  you  ' 

Ctaud.  I  would  scarce  trust  myself,  tljough  I 
had  sworn  the  contrary,  if  Hero  would  be  my  wife. 

Bene.  Is  it  come  to  this,  i'faith  1  Hath  not  the 
world  one  man,  but  he  will  wear  liis  cap  with  sus- 
picion !  Shall  I  never  see  a  bachelor  of  three-score 
again?  Go  to,  i'faith ;  an  thou  wilt  needs  thrust 
thy  neck  into  a  yoke,  wear  the  print  of  it,  and  sigh 
away  Sundays.'  Look,  don  Pedro  is  returned  to 
seek  you. 

Re-enter  Don  PEnno. 

D.  Pedro.   What  secret  hath  held  you  here,  that 
you  followed  not  to  Leonato';;? 
Bene.  I  would  your  grace  would  constrain  me  to 

tell-  ,       „     . 

D.  Pedro.  I  charge  thee,  on  thy  allegiance. 

Bene.  You  hear,  count  Claudio:  I  can  be  secret 
as  a  dumb  man,  I  would  have  yon  think  so  ;  but  on 
mv  allegiance, —  mark  you  this,  on  my  allegiance: 
—'He  is  in  love.  With  who? — now  tliat  is  your 
grace's  part. —  Mark,  how  short  his  answer  is:- 
With  Hero.  Leonato's  short  daughter. 

Claud.  If  this  were  so,  so  were  it  uttered. 

Bene-  Like  the  old  tale,  mv  lord:  it  is  not  so, 
nor  'twas  not  so;  but,  indeed,  God  forbid  it  should 

Clf'md.  If  my  passion  change  not  shortly,  God 
forbid  it  should' be  otherwise.  .     ,  j     • 

XI.  Pedro.  Amen,  if  you  love  her ;  for  the  lady  13 
very  well  worthy-  . 

Claud.   Y'ou  speak  this  to  fetch  me  m,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  By  mv  troth,  I  speak  my  thought. 

Claud.  And, 'in  taith,  my  lord.  I  spoke  mine. 

Bene.  And,  by  my  two  faiths  and  troths,  my 
lord,  I  spoke  mine. 

Claud.  That  I  love  her,  I  feel. 

D.  Pedrn.  That  she  is  worthy,  I  know 

Bene  That  I  neither  feel  how  she  should  be 
loved,  nor  know  how  she  should  be  worthy,  is  the 
opinion  that  tire  cannot  melt  out  of  mc;  1  will  die 
in  it  at  the  stake.  u  .•     •    1 

I).  Pedrn.  Thou  wast  ever  an  obstinate  heretic 
in  the  despite  of  beauty.  .   .   .     ,-  ,  ,    , 

Claud.  And  never  could  maintain  his  part,  but 
in  tlie  force  of  his  will.  .  ,  .1,     1  1 

Bene.  That  a  woman  conceived  me,  I  thank  her; 
that  she  brought  me  up.  I  likewise  give  her  most 
humble  thanks:  hut  that  I  will  have  a  recheaf 
winded  in  my  forehead,  or  liang  my  bngle  in  an 
invisible  baldric,  all  women  shall  pardon  mc.  Be- 
cause I  will  not  do  them  the  wrong  to  mistrust 
any  I  will  do  myself  the  right  to  trust  none;  and 
tlie  fine  is.  (for  the  which  I  may  go  the  finer,)  I 
will  live  a  bachelor.  ,   j-      ,     ,        i„ 

D.  Pedro.  I  shall  see  thee,  ere  I  die,  look  pale 

\ene.  With  anger,  with  sickness,  or  with  hunger, 
m\-  lord  !  not  with  love :  prove,  that  ever  1  lose  more 
blood  with  love,  than  I  will  gel  agam  with  drinking, 
pick  out  mine  eyes  with  a  hallad-m.akcr  s  pen  and 
liaiig  me  up  at  t1ie  door  of  a  hi-Dtliel-house,  for  the 
siLMi  of  blind  Cui^id.  ,        ^  ,,  ^         ,i . 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  if  ever  thou  dosl  fall  from  thi3 
faith,  thou  wilt  prove  a  notable  argument. 
«  The  tunc  sounded  to  call  off  the  dogs. 


SCEKE    II. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  KOTIIIXG. 


103 


Bene.  If  I  do,  hanu  me  in  a  bottle  like  a  cat, 
and  shoot  at  me;  and  lie  that  hits  me,  let  him  be 
clapperl  on  the  sliouldor,  and  called  Adam.' 

i>.  Pedro.  Well,  as  time  shall  try  : 
III  time  Ihe  iuinige  Inill  dutli  hear  the  yoke. 

Bene.  The  savage  hull  may  ;  but  if  ever  the  sen- 
Bible  Benedick  bear  il,  pkickolfthe  bulls  horns, and 
Bet  them  in  mv  tiirehead :  and  let  me  be  vilely  paint- 
ed; and  in  sucii  sreat  letters  ns  they  write.  Here  is 
good  horse  to  lure,  let  tliem  suiiily  under  my  sisn, 
flfre  you  niay  .^ec  Bi'iiedkk,  Ihe  married  man. 

Claud.  If  this  should  ever  happen,  thou  wouldst 
be  horn-mad.  . 

D.  Pedro.  Nay,  if  Cupid  have  not  spent  all  his 
quiver  in  Venice,  thou  wilt  quake  for  this  shortly. 

Bene.   I  look  for  an  earthquake  too  then. 

D.  Pedro.  Well,  you  will  temporize  with  the 
hours.  In  the  meantime.  Rond  signior  Benedick, 
repair  to  Leonato's;  commend  me  to  him,  and  tell 
him,  1  will  not  fail  him  at  supper;  for,  indeed,  he 
hath  made  great  preparation. 

Bene.  1  have  almost  matter  enougli  in  me  for 
such  an  embassa^je ;  and  so  I  commit  vou  — 

Claud.  To  tlie~tuition  of  God:  Kroin  my  house, 
(if  I  had  it,)—  ,     .      _.     ^ 

D.  Pedro.  The  sixth  of  July :  \  our  loving  friend, 
Benedick.  „,     ,    ,      , 

Bene.  Nay,  mock  not,  mock  not :  The  body  of 
your  discourse  is  sometime  guarded  with  fragments, 
and  the  guards  are  but  slightly  basted  on  neither; 
ere  you  llout  old  ends  any  further,  examine  your 
conscience;   and  so  1  leave  you.   [A'x'i/ BENF.nicK. 

Claud.  My  liege,  your  highness  now  may  do  me 
good. 

D.  Pedro.   My  love  is  thine  R)  teach;    teach  it 
but  how. 
And  thou  shall  sec  how  apt  it  is  to  learn 
Any  hard  lesson  that  may  do  thee  good. 

Claud.   Hath  Leonato  any  son,  my  lord  ! 

D.  Pedro.  No  chdd  but  Hero,  she's  his  only  heir; 
Dost  thou  allijcl  her,  Claudiol 

Claud.  O  my  lord. 

When  you  went  onward  on  this  ended  action, 
I  look'd  upon  her  with  a  soldier's  eye, 
That  lik'd.  but  bad  a  rougher  task  in  hand 
Than  to  drive  liking  to  the  name  of  love  : 
But  now  I  am  returii'd,  and  that  war-thoughts 
Have  left  their  places  vacant,  in  tlieir  rooms 
Come  thronging  sort  ami  delicate  desires. 
All  prompting  me  bow  fur  young  Hero  is, 
Saving,  I  lik'd  her  ere  1  went  to  wars. 

jb.  Pedro.  Thou  wilt  be  like  a  lover  presently. 
And  tire  the  hearer  with  a  book  of  words: 
If  thou  dost  love  fair  Hero,  cherish  it ; 
And  I  will  break  with  her,  and  with  her  father, 
And  thou  shall  have  her :    Was't  not  to  this  end 
That  thou  began'st  to  twist  so  line  a  story  ! 

Claud.  How  sweetly  do  you  minister  to  love, 
That  know  love's  grief  by  his  complexion  ! 
But  lest  iny  liking  might  too  sudden  seem. 
I  would  have  salved  it  with  a  longer  treatise. 

D.  Pedro.   What  need  the  bridge  much  broader 
than  the  Hood? 
The  feirest  grant  is  the  necessity  : 
Look,  what  will  serve,  is  lit:  'tis  once,"  thou  lov  st 
And  I  will  fit  thee  with  the  remedy. 
1  know,  we  shall  have  revelling  to-night; 
I  will  assume  thy  part  in  some  disguise. 
And  tell  fair  Hero  1  am  Claudio  ; 
And  in  her  bosom  1  II  unclasp  my  heart. 
And  take  her  hearing  prisoner  with  the  force 
And  strong  encounter  of  my  amorous  tale: 
Then,  after,  to  her  lather  will  I  break; 
And,  the  conclusion  is.  she  shall  be  Ihiiie  : 
In  practice  let  us  put  il  presently.  \L.rcuot. 

SCENE  II. — A  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Leos.ito  and  Antoxio. 

Leon.  How  now,  brother  1  Where  is  rny  cousin, 
your  san  ?     Hath  he  provided  this  music ! 

AnI.  He  is  very  busy  about  il.  But,  brother,  I 
can  tell  you  strange  news  that  you  yet  dreamed 
not  of 

Leon.   Are  they  good; 

Ant.   As  the  event  stamps  Ihem;   but  they  have 
a  "ood  cover,  they  show  well  outward.    The  prince 
and  Count  Claudio,  walking  in  a  thiek-pleaehed- 
•  The  namo  of  a  famoas  archer.        «  Once  for  all. 
1  Thickly  interwoven. 


alley  in  mv  orchard,  were  thus  much  overheard  by 
a  man  of  iiiine:  The  prince  discovered  to  Claudio, 
that  he  loveil  my  niece  your  daugJiter,  and  meant 
to  acknosvledge  H  ihis  night  in  a  dance  ;  and,  if  he 
found  her  accordant,  he  meant  to  take  the  present 
lime  by  the  top.  and  instantly  break  with  you  of  it. 

L'-oi'i.  Hath  the  felloWany  wit,  tliat  told  you  this? 

Ant.  A  good  sharp  fellow  ;  I  will  send  for  him, 
and  question  him  yourself. 

Lion.  No.no;  we  will  hold  it  as  a  dream,  till  it 
appear  itself:— but  I  will  acquaint  my  daughter 
wilhal,  that  she  may  be  the  better  prepa'red  (or  an 
answer,  if  peradvcnture  this  be  true.  Go  you,  and 
tell  her  of  it.  |  S-verul  jicrsons  cross  the  stttKe.] 
Cousins,  yon  know  what  you  have  to  do. —  <i,  t 
cry  you  mercy,  friend;  you  go  with  me,  and  I  will 
use  your  skill :  —  Good  cousins,  have  a  care  this 
busy  lime.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. — Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House, 
Enter  Don  Jons  and  CoxnAnr.. 

Con.  What  the  goujere,"  my  lord !  why  arc  you 
thus  out  of  measure  sad  1 

D.  John-  There  is  no  measure  in  the  occasion  that 
breeds  it,  then  fore  tlie  sadness  is  without  limit. 

C(ni,   ■\'on  sliould  bear  reason. 

D.  John.  And  when  I  liave  heard  it,  what  blessing 
bringeth  ill  . 

Con.  If  not  a  present  remedy,  yet  a  patient  suf- 
ferance. 

D.  John.  I  wonder  that  thou  being  (as  thou 
say'st  thou  art)  horn  under  saturn,  goest  about  to 
apply  a  moral  medicine  to  a  mortifying  mischief. 
I  cannot  hide  what  I  am :  I  must  be  sad  when  I 
have  cause,  and  smile  at  no  man's  jests;  eat  when  I 
have  stomach,  and  wait  for  no  man's  leisure;  sleep 
when  I  am  drowsy,  and  tend  to  no  man's  business : 
laugh  when  I  am  merry,  and  claw'  no  man  in  his 

humor.  ,     ;•  ,,    , 

Con.  \ca,  but  you  must  not  make  the  full  show 
of  this,  till  you  may  do  it  without  controlment.  You 
have  of  late  stood  out  against  your  brother,  and  he 
hath  la'en  you  newly  into  his  grace;  where  it  is 
impossible  you  should  take  true  root,  but  by  the  fair 
weather  that  you  make  yourself:  it  is  needful  that 
yon  frame  the  season  for  your  own  harvest. 

D.  John.  I  had  rather  be  a  canker  in  a  hedge, 
than  a  rose  in  his  grace;  and  it  better  fits  my  blood 
to  be  disdained  of  all,  than  to  fashion  a  carriage  to 
rob  love  from  any:  in  this,  though  I  cannot  be  said 
t.)  be  a  nattering  honest  man.  il  must  not  be  denied 
that  I  am  a  plain-dealing  villain.  I  am  trusted  wiUi 
a  muzzle,  and  enfranchised  with  a  clog;  therefore  I 
have  decreed  not  to  sing  in  mv  cage:  If  I  had  my 
mouth,  1  woulil  bite;  if  1  had  my  hberty,  I  would 
do  my  liking  ;  in  the  mean  time,  let  me  be  that  I  am, 
and  seek  not  to  alter  me. 
Cmi.  Can  you  make  no  use  of  your  discontent .' 
D.  John,  r  make  all  use  of  it.  for  I  use  it  only. 
Who  comes  here'!     What  news  Borachiol 

Enter  Boiiachio. 

Bora.  I  came  yonder  from  a  great  supper;  the 
prince,  your  brother,  is  royally  entertained  by  Leo- 
nato; and  I  can  give  you  intelligence  of  an  intend- 
ed marriage. 

D.  John.  Will  il  serve  for  any  model  to  huild 
mischief  on?  What  is  he  for  a  fool,  that  betroths 
himself  to  unquietness!  .  ,    ,       . 

Bora.   .Marry,  it  is  your  brother  s  right  hand. 

D.John.    Who!    the  most  exquisite  Claudio .' 

Bora.  Even  be.  .     ,    .     ,     ,  ,     i     , 

I).  John.  A  proper  squire  I  Xni  who,  and  who  ! 
which  way  looks  he?  ,  ,    ■       . 

Bio-a.  Marry,  on  Hero,  the  daughter  and  heir  ot 
Leonato.  ,  ,,.,,,» 

D.  John.  A  very  for%vard  March-chick!  How 
came  you  to  this? 

Bora.  Being  entertained  for  a  perfumer,  as  I  was 
smokin"  a  musty  room,  comes  me  the  prince  and 
Claudio;  hand  in  hand,  in  sad  conference :  I  whipt 
me  behind  the  arras ;  and  there  heard  it  agreed  upon, 
th.it  the  prince  should  woo  Hero  for  himselt,  and 
having  obtained  her,  give  her  to  count  Claudio. 

D.  John.  Come,  come,  let  us  thither;  this  may 
prove  food  to  my  displeasure;  that  young  start-up 
hath  all  the  glory  of  my  overthrow;  if  I  can  cross 
■  The  Toncril  disease.  ■  Flatter. 


104 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  IsOTHIXG. 


Act    II 


him  any  way,  I  bless  myself  every  way:    You  are 
bo:h  sure,  and  will  assist  meT 

Con.  To  the  death,  my  lord. 

P.  John.  Let  u§  to  the  great  supper ;  their  cheer 


is  the  greater,  that  I  am  subdued;  Would  the  cook 
were  of  my  mind  ! — :?  liail  we  go  prove  what's  to  be 
done'! 
Bora-  We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.    [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  1.— .1  Hall  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  LzoskTO,  Avroy  10:  Uzno,  Beathice  and 

others. 

Lean-  Was  net  count  John  here  at  snpper? 

Jnf.  I  saw  him  not. 

Beat.  How  tartly  that  gentleman  looks!  I  never 
can  sec  him,  but  I  am  heart-burned  an  hour  after, 

i/t'/Yi.    fie  is  of  a  very  melancholy  disposition. 

Beat.  He  were  an  excellent  man,  tlint  were  made 
jnst  in  the  mid-way  between  him  and  licncdicli: 
the  one  is  too  like  an  image,  and  says nothinjr ;  and 
the  other,  too  like  my  lady's  eldest  son,  evermore 
tattling. 

Leiui.  Then  half  signior  Benedick's  tongne  m 
count  John's  mouth,  and  half  count  John's  melan- 
choly in  signior  Benedick's  face, — 

Beat.  WiXh  a  good  leg,  and  a  good  foot,  uncle, 
and  money  enough  in  his  purse,  such  a  man  would 
win  any  woman  in  the  world, —  if  he  could  get  her 
good  will. 

Lmn.  By  my  troth,  niece,  thou  wilt  never  get 
thee  a  husband,  if  thou  be  so  shrewd  of  thy  tongue. 

AnI.   In  faitli.  she  is  too  curst. 

Beat.  Too  curst  is  more  than  curst :  I  shall  les- 
son God's  sending  that  way;  for  it  is  said,  God 
sends  a  curst  cow  short  horns;  but  to  a  cow  too 
curst  he  sends  none. 

Leon.  So,  by  being  too  curst,  God  will  send  you 
no  liorns. 

Beat.  Just,  if  he  send  me  no  husband :  for  the 
wliich  blessmg,  1  am  at  him  upon  my  knees  every 
morning  and  evcnim;;  Lord!  I  could  not  endure 
a  husband  with  a  beard  on  his  face;  1  had  rather 
lie  in  the  woollen. 

Leon.  Vou  may  light  upon  a  husband  that  hath 
no  beard. 

Beat.  What  should  I  do  with  himT  dress  him 
in  my  apparel,  and  make  hitn  my  waiting  gentle- 
woman? He  that  hath  a  beard,  is  more  than  a 
youth ;  and  he  that  hath  no  beard,  is  less  than  a 
man  :  and  he  that  is  more  than  a  youth  is  not  for. 
me  ;  and  he  that  is  less  than  a  man.  1  am  not  for 
him.  Therefore,  I  will  even  take  sixpence  in  earn- 
est of  tlie  bear-herd,  and  lead  his  apes  into  hell. 

Leon.  Well  then,  go  you  mto  hell  1 

Beat.  No;  but  to  the  gate;  and  there  will  the 
devil  meet  me,  hke  an  oldf  cuckold,  with  horns  on 
liis  iiead,  and  say.  Get  you  to  heaven,  Beatrice,  get 
von  tu  heaven ;  here's  nri  place  for  you  maiili :  so 
deliver  I  up  my  apes,  and  away  to  Saint  Peter  for 
the  hravens;  he  shows  me  where  the  bachelors  sit, 
and  there  live  we  as  merry  as  the  day  is  long. 

.-lr:f.  Well,  niece.  \To  Hebo.]  I  trust  you  will 
be  ruled  by  your  father. 

Bent.  Yes.  it  is  my  cousin's  duty  to  make  courtesy, 
and  say.  Father,  as  it  please  you: — but  yet  for  all 
that,  cousin,  let  him  be  a  handsome  fellow,  or  else 
make  another,  courtesy,  and  say.  Fattier,  as  it  jileuie 
70  e. 

Leon.  Well,  niece,  I  hope  to  sec  you  one  day 
fitted  with  a  husband. 

Beat.  Not  till  God  make  men  of  some  other  metal 
than  earth.  Would  it  not  grieve  a  woman  to  be 
overmaster'd  with  a  piece  of  valiant  dust  to  make 
an  account  of  her  life  to  a  clod  of  wayward  marl ! 
No,  uncle,  I'll  none:  .A  dam's  sons  are  my  brethren; 
and  truly.  I  hold  it  a  sin  to  match  in  niy  kindred. 

X"«i?. 'Daughter,  remember  what  I  told  you:  if 
the  prince  do  solicit  you  in  that  kind,  you  know 
your  answers. 

Beat.  The  fault  will  be  in  the  music,  cousin,  if 
vou  be  not  woo'd  in  good  time:  if  the  Prince  be 
too  importanti  tell  him.  there  is  measure  in  every 
thing,  and  so  dance  out  the  answer.  For  hear  me, 
llero;  Wooing,  wedding,  and  repenting,  is  as  a 
1  Imitortunate. 


Scotch  jig,  a  measure,  and  cinqne-pace:  the  first 
suit  is  hot  and  hasty,  like  a  Scotcli  jig,  and  full  as 
fantastical ;  the  wedding,  mannerly-modest,  as  a 
measure  full  of  state  and  ancientry;  and  then 
comes  repentance,  and,  with  his  bad  legs,  falls  into 
the  cinque-pace  faster  and  faster,  till  he  sink  into 
his  grave. 
Leon.  Cousin,  you  apprehend  passing  shrewdly. 
Beat.  1  have  a  good  eye,  uncle;  I  can  see  a 
church  by  day-light. 

Leon.  The  revellers  are  entering;  brother,  make 
good  room. 
Enter    Don  Pr,nno.  CiAi'mo,    Beskpick,    Bal- 

THAZAit,    Don  Jotiv,    BunACiiio,    Margahet, 

I'usiLA,  and  others,  masked. 

D.  Pfilro.  Lady,  will  you  walk  about  with  your 
friend  ! 

Hero.  So  you  walk  softly,  and  lo<ik  sweetly,  and 
say  nothing,  I  am  yours  lor  the  walk :  and,  espe- 
cially, wlien  I  walk  away. 

D.  Pedro.  With  me  in  your  company  7 

Hero.  I  may  say  so  when  1  please. 

D.  Pedro.  And*when  please  you  to  say  so  ? 

Hero.  When  I  like  your  favor;  for  God  defend, 
the  lute  should  be  like  the  case ! 

D.  Pedro  My  visor  is  Philemon's  roof;  within 
the  house  is  Jove. 

Hern.  Why,  then  your  visor  should  he  thatch'd. 

D.  Pedro.  Speak  low,  if  you  speak  love. 

[Tuh-es  her  aside. 

Bene.  Well,  I  would  you  did  like  me. 

Marf^.  So  would  not  I,  for  your  own  sake;  for 
1  have  many  ill  qualities. 

Bene.  W^hich  is  one! 

Marg.  1  say  my  prayers  aloud. 

Bene.  I  love  you  the  better;  the  hearers  may 
cry  Amen. 

'Marg.  God  match  me  with  a  good  dancer! 

Bnlttu  Amen. 

Marg.  And  God  keep  him  out  of  my  sight,  when 
the  dance  is  done ! — .Answer,  clerk. 

Balth.  No  more  words;  the  clerk  is  answered. 

Vrs.  I  know  you  well  enough;  you  are  signior 
Antonio. 

Ant.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Vrs.  I  know  you  by  the  wangling  of  your  head, 

Ant.  To  tell  you  true,  I  counterfeit  hi'ni. 

Vrs.  You  could  never  do  him  so  ill-well,  unless 
you  were  the  very  man  :  Here's  his  dry  hand  up  and 
down  ;  you  are  he,  you  are  he, 

Aot.  At  a  word,  I  am  not. 

Vrs.  Come,  come:  do  you  think  I  do  not  know 
you  by  your  excellent  wit !  Can  virtue  hide  itself ! 
Go  to,  mum,  you  are  he:  graces  will  appear,  and 
there's  an  end. 

Beat.  Will  you  not  tell  me  who  told  you  so? 

Bene.  No,  you  shall  pardon  me. 

Brut.  Nor  will  you  not  tell  me  who  you  arel 

Bene.  Not  now. 

B'-ot.  That  1  was  disdainful. — and  that  I  had  my 
good  wit  out  of  the  Hundred  Merry  Tales ; — Well, 
this  was  signior  liencdick  that  said  so. 

Bene.  What's  he! 

Beat.  I  am  sure,  you  know  him  well  enough, 

B'-ue.  Not  I,  believe  me. 

Beat.  Did  he  never  make  you  laughl 

Bene.  I  pray  you,  what  is  he? 

Beat.  Why,  he  is  the  prince's  jester:  a  very  dull 
fool;  only  liis  gill  isin  devising  impossible  slanders: 
none  but  libertines  delight  in  him;  and  the  com- 
mendation is  not  in  his  wit,  but  in  his  villanv  ;  for 
lie  botli  pleaseth  men,  and  angers  them,  and  then 
they  laugh  at  him.  and  beat  him:  I  am  sure,  he  i3 
in  the  fleet ;  1  would  he  had  boarded^  me. 

Bine.  When  I  know  the  gentleman, I'll  tell  liim 
what  you  say. 

'Accosted. 


Scene  I. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


105 


Beat.  Do.  do;  he!!  Init  break  a  comparison  or 
two  on  me;  which,  pcra.h'cutur-?,  not  marked,  or 
not  laughed  at,  srriivcs  him  into  melancholy;  and 
then  there  s  a  partrid^^e'  wmg  saved,  for  the  fool  will 
eat  no  supper  that  night.  [MusU  luilhin.]  We 
must  fol  ow  I  lie  icaders. 

Beri^.  In  every  good  thing. 

Beat.  Nay,  if  they  lead  to  any  ill,  I  will  leave 
them  at  the  next  tvirnin^. 

[Djnce.    Then  exeunt  nil  but  Dan  John, 
HonACHUi,  and  Claudio. 

D.John  Sure, my  brother  is  amorous  on  Hero,  and 
halli  withdrawn  her  lather  to  break  with  him  about 
it;  The  ladies  follow  her, and  but  one  visor  remains. 

Bora.  And  tliat  is  Claudio;  I  know  him  by  iiis 
bearing.' 

D.  Jukfi.  Arc  not  you  signior  Benedick  T 

Claud.  You  know  me  well;  I  am  he. 

D.  John.  Sifiuior,  you  are  very  near  my  brother 
in  his  love;  Jie  is  enamored  on  Hero;  I  jiray  you 
dissuade  him  from  her,  she  js  no  equal  for  his  birth; 
J'ou  may  do  the  part  of  an  honesi  man  in  it. 

Claud.   liow  know  you  he  loves  her  ! 

D.  John.   I  heard  him  swear  his  afiTection. 

Bora.  So  did  1  too ;  and  he  swore  he  would  marry 
her  to  msht. 

D.  Juh/i.  Come.  let  us  to  the  banquet. 

[Extant  Don  Sows,  and  IJoinciiio. 

Claud.  Thus  answer  I  in  name  of  Benedick, 
But  hear  these  ill  news  with  the  ears  of  Claudio, — 
'Tis  certain  so  ; — the  prince  woos  for  himsell". 
Friendsliip  is  constant  in  all  other  things, 
Save  in  the  odice  and  atfairs  of  love: 
Therefore,  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues; 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself. 
And  trust  no  agent:    for  beauty  is  a  witch, 
Against  whose  charms  faith  nielteth  into  blood.* 
This  is  an  accident  of  hourly  proof. 
Which  1  mistrusted  not:  Farewell  therefore.  Hero  ! 
Re-enter  Besedick. 

Bene,  Count  Ciaudiol 

Claud.   Yea,  the  same. 

Bene.   Come,  will  you  go  with  me? 

Claud.   Whither? 

Bene.  Even  to  the  next  willow,  about  your  own 
business,  count.  What  lashion  will  you  wear  the 
garland  of!  About  yourneck,  likea  usurer  schain  \ 
or  under  your  arm,  like  a  lieutenants  scarf?  You 
must  wear  it  one  way,  for  the  prince  hath  got  your 
Hero. 

Claud,  I  wish  him  joy  of  her. 

Bene.  W' hy.  tliat's  spoken  like  an  honest  drover ; 
so  they  sell  bullocks.  But  did  you  think,  the  prince 
would  have  served  you  thus. 

Claud.  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Benr.  Ho  !  now  you  strike  like  the  blind  man; 
'twas  the  boy  that  stole  your  meat,  and  you'll  beat 
the  post. 

Claud.   If  it  will  not  be.  Ml  leave  you.         [Exit. 

Bene.   Alas,  poor  hurf  fowl!   Now  will  he  creep 

into  sedges. But,  tliat  my  lady  Beatrice  should 

know  me,  and  not  know  me!  The  princes  fool! — 
Ha,  it  may  be,  I  go  under  that  title,  because  I  am 
merry. —  Yea  ;  but  so;  I  am  apt  to  do  myself  wrong  : 
I  am  not  so  reputed:  it  is  tlie  base,  the  bitter  dispo- 
sition of  Beatrice,  that  puts  the  world  into  her  per- 
son, and  so  gives  me  out.  Well,  I'll  be  revenged 
as  I  may. 

Re-enter  Don  Pkdro. 

D.  Pedro.  Now,  signior,  whereas  the  count 'i  Did 
you  see  him? 

Bene.  Troth,  my  lord.  I  have  played  tlie  part  of 
lady  Fame.  I  found  him  here  as  melancholy  as  a 
lod'.;e  in  a  warren  ;  I  told  him,  and.  I  think,  I  told 
him  true,  that  your  irrace  had  got  the  good  will  of 
this  young  lady ;  and  1  olVered  him  ray  company  to 
a  willow-tree,  either  to  make  him  a  garland,  as  be- 
ing forsaken,  or  to  bind  him  up  a  rod,  as  being  wor- 
thy to  be  whipped. 

D.Pedro.  To  be  whipped!  What's  his  fault? 

Bene.  The  flat  transgression  of  a  school-boy; 
who,  being  overjoyed  with  finding  a  birds  nest, 
shows  it  to  his  companion,  and  he  steals  it. 

D.Pedro.  Wiltthou  makea  trust  a  transgression? 
The  transgression  is  in  the  stealer. 

Bene.   Yet  it  had  not  been  amiss,  the  rod  had  Ijeen 

made,  and  the  garland  too ;  for  the  garland  he  might 

«  Carriage,  denieonor.  «  Passion. 


have  worn  himself':  and  the  rod  he  might  have  be- 
stowed "n  yuu,  who,  as  1  lake  it,  have  tloin  his 
bird's  nest. 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  hut  teach  them  to  sing,  and  re- 
store them  to  the  owner. 

Bene.  If  their  singing  answer  your  saying,  by 
my  faitii,  you  say  honestly. 

D.  Pedru.  The  laily  Beatrice  hath  a  quarrel  to 
you;  the  gentleman  that  danced  with  her,  told  her, 
she  is  much  wronged  by  you. 

Ben:.  O,  she  mi-^used  me  past  the  endurance  of  a 
block  ;  an  oak,  with  but  one  green  leaf  on  it.  would 
have  answered  her;  my  very  visor  began  to  ;'ssume 
life, and  scold  with  her.  Siie  told  me.  not  thinking  I 
had  been  myself,  that  I  was  the  prince's  jester;  that 
I  was  duller  than  a  great  thaw;  huddling  jest  upon 
jcot,  with  such  impossible  conveyance,  upon  me, 
that  I  stood  like  a  man  at  a  mark,  with  a  whole 
army  shooting  at  mo:  She  speaks  poniaids,  and 
every  word  stabs:  if  her  breath  were  as  terrible  as 
her  terminations,  there  were  no  hving  near  her, 
she  would  infect  to  the  north  star.  I  would  not 
marry  her,  though  she  were  endowed  with  all  that 
Adam  had  left  him  before  he  transgressed:  slie 
would  have  made  Hercules  have  turned  spi:  ;  yea, 
and  have  cleft  his  club  to  make  the  hre  too. — 
Come,  talk  not  of  her:  you  shall  lind  her  the  infer- 
nal At^'  in  good  apparel.  I  would  to  Goti,  some 
scliolar  would  conjure  her;  for  certainly,  while  sha 
is  here,  a  man  may  live  as  quiet  in  hell,  as  in  a 
sanctuary;  and  people  sin  upon  purpose,  because 
they  would  go  thither;  so,  indeed,  all  disquiet,  hor- 
ror, and  perturbation  follow  her. 

Re-enter  Claudio,  Beatiiice,  Leoxato,  a«(i 
Hf.ho. 

D.  Pedro.  Look,  here  she  comes. 

Bene.  Will  your  grace  command  me  anr  service 
to  the  world's  end  ?  I  will  go  on  the  sli<rhlest  errand 
now  to  the  Antipodes,  that  you  can  devise  to  send 
me  on:  I  will  feteh  you  atoothpicker  now  from  the 
farthest  inch  of  Asia:  bring  you  the  lentrth  of  Pres- 
ter  John's  foot ;  fetch  you  a  hair  otT  the  great  Cham's 
beard  ;  do  you  any  embassage  to  the  Pigmies,  rather 
than  hold  three  words  conference  with  this  harpy : 
Y'ou  have  no  employment  for  me  ! 

D.  Pedro.  None, but  todesire  your  good  company. 

Bene.  O  God,  sir,  here's  a  dish^I  love  Hot;  I 
cannot  endure  my  lady  Tongue.  [Exit. 

D.  Pedro.  Come,  lady,  come;  you  Iiave  lost  the 
heart  of  signior  Benedick. 

Beat.  Indeed,  my  lord,  he  lent  it  me  a  while; 
and  I  gave  him  use^  for  it,  a  double  heart  for  his 
single  one :  marry,  once  before,  he  won  it  of  me 
witb  false  dice,  therefore  your  grace  may  well  say 
I  have  lost  it. 

D.  Pedro.  You  have  put  him  down,  lady,  3'ou 
have  put  him  down. 

Beat.  So  I  would  not  he  should  dome,  my  lord, 
lest  I  should  prove  the  mother  of  fools.  1  have 
brought  count  Claudio,  whom  you  sent  me  to  seek. 

D.Pedro.  Why,  how  now,  count,  wherefore  are 
you  sad  ? 

Claud.   Not  sad,  rav  lord. 

D.Pedro.   How  then  ?  Sick? 

Claud.   Neitlier,  iny  lord. 

Beat.  The  count  is  neither  sad,  nor  sick  nor 
merry,  nor  well :  but  civd.  count ;  civil  asan  orange, 
and  something  of  that  jealous  complexion. 

D.  Pedro,  rfailh,  lady,  I  think  your  blazon  to  be 
true;  though,  I'll  be  svi'orn,  if  he  be  so,  his  conceit 
is  false.  Here,  Claudio,  I  have  wooed  in  thy  name, 
and  fair  Hero  is  won;  I  have  broke  with  her  father, 
and  his  good  will  obtiined:  name  the  day  of  mar- 
riage, and  God  give  thee  joy! 

L^on.  Count,  take  of  me  my  daughter,  and  with 
her  my  fortunes:  his  grace  hath  made  the  match, 
and  all  grace  say  Amen  to  it ! 

Beat.  Speak,  count,  'tis  your  cue.' 

Claud.  Silence  is  the  perfectest  herald  of  ioy:  I 
were  but  little  happy,  if  I  could  say  how  niuch. — 
Lady,  as  you  are  mine,  I  am  yours;  I  give  away 
myself  for  you,  and  dote  ui>on'the  exchange. 

'Beat.  Speak,  cousin  ;  or,  if  you  cannot,  stop  his 
mouth  with  a  kiss,  and  let  him  not  speak,  neither. 

D.  Pedro.  In  faith,  lady,  you  have  a  merry  heart. 

Beat.  Yea,  my  lord ;  I  thank  it,  poor  fool,  it  keeps 
»  The  goJJess  pf  Discord.  b  Intt^rcst. 

i  Turn :  a  phrase  amoug  the  players. 


lOG 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  II. 


on  tlio  windy  s^tle  oi'  t'.ire  -• — j\ly  cousin  tells  him 
in  iiis  ear,  tuat  hj  i^  in  her  hean. 

Ctund,  Ami  so  she  doth,  cousin. 

Beat.  Good  lord,  lor  Hlllmice  ! — Thus  goes  every 
one  to  tlie  worid  [jut  1,  and  I  am  sun-burned;  1 
may  sit  in  a  corner  antl  cry  hei;^h-ho  !  lor  a  hus- 
band. 

D.  Pedro.   Lady  Beatrice,  I  will  get  you  one. 

Bea/.  1  would  rather  have  one  ol'  your  lathers 
getting  ;  Hath  your  t^race  no  er  a  brother  like  you  1 
Your  lather  got  excellent  husbands,  il'a  maid  could 
come  by  lliein. 

D.  Ft:lni.   Will  you  have  me,  lady  ? 

Beat.  No,  my  lord,  unlesi  I  might  have  another 
for  working  days;  your  grace  is  too  costly  to  wear 
every  day  ; — -But,  I  beseech  your  grace,  pardon  me  : 
I  was  born  to  speak  all  mirtli  an'i  no  matter. 

J).  Pelrv.  Your  silence  most  ollends  me,  and  to 
be  merry  best  becomes  you  ;  for  out  of  question, 
you  were  born  in  a  merry  hour. 

Beat.  No,  sure,  my  lord,  my  mother  cried ;  but 
then  there  was  a  star  danced,  and  under  that  was  1 
born. —  Cousins,  t^od  give  you  joy  ! 

Leon.  Niece,  will  you  look  to  tliosc  things  I  told 
you  of! 

Btuf.  I  cry  you  mercy,  uncle. —  By  your  grace's 
pardon.  ( t".t'i/  Bkatfiick. 

D.  Pedro.   By  my  trotb,  a  pleasant-spirited  lady. 

Leun.  There's  little  of  the  melancholy  element 
in  her,  my  lord :  she  is  never  sad,  but  when  she 
sleeps:  and  not  ever  sad  then;  for  I  have  heard 
my  daughter  say.  she  hath  often  dreamed  of  unhap- 
pmcss,  and  waked  herself  with  laughing. 

D.  Pedro.  She  cannot  endure  to  hear  tell  of  a 
husband. 

Leiiii.  0,  by  no  moans ;  she  mocks  all  her  wooers 
out  of  suit. 

D.  Pedro.  She  were  an  excellent  wife  for  Bene- 
dick. 

Leon.  O  Lord,  my  lord,  if  they  were  but  a  week 
married,  they  would  talk  themselves  mad. 

D.  Pedro.  Count  Claudio,  v.dien  mean  you  to  go 
to  church  1 

Clit'id.  To-morrow,  my  lord :  Time  goes  on 
crut.-hes,  till  love  have  all  his  rites. 

Leon.  Not  till  Monday,  my  dear  son,  which  is 
hence  a  just  seven-night ;  and  a  time  too  brief  too, 
to  have  all  things  answer  my  mind. 

D.  P^dro.  Come,  you  shake  the  head  at  so  long 
a  breathing;  but.  1  warrant  thee,  Claudio,  the  time 
shall  not  go  dully  by  us;  I  will,  in  the  interim, 
undertake 'one  of  Heri-ules'  labors;  which  is,  to 
bring  signi'ir  Renedick  and  the  lady  Beatrice  into 
amoinilam  of  ailf'otion,  the  one  with  the  other.  I 
woulil  fiin  have  it  a  match;  and  I  doubt  not  but 
to  fashion  it,  if  you  three  will  but  minister  such 
assistance  as  1  shall  give  you  direction. 

Leon.  My  lord,  I  am  for  you,  though  it  cost  me 
ten  nights'  vvatchings. 

Claud.  And  I,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedrn.   And  you  too,  gentle  Hero  7 

Hero.  I  will  do  any  modest  office,  my  lord,  to 
help  my  cousin  to  a  good  husb.md. 

]}■  Pedro.  And  Benedick  is  not  the  uiihopefullest 
husband  that  I  know :  thus  far  can  I  praise  him  ; 
he  is  of  a  noble  strain  :  of  approved  valor,  and  con- 
firmed honesty.  I  wdl  leach  you  how  to  humor 
your  cousin,  that  she  shall  fall  in  love  with  Bene- 
dick : — and  I,  wiib  your  two  helps,  will  so  practice 
on  Benedick,  that,  in  despite  of  his  quick  wit,  and 
his  queasy'  stomach,  ho  shall  fall  in  love  with  Bea- 
trice. If  we  can  do  this,  Cupid  is  no  longer  an 
archer;  his  ^lory  shall  be  ours,  for  we  are  the  only 
love-('ods.  Coin  w.th  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  my 
drift.  [Kxeunl. 

SCENE  II. — Another  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  Don  .John  and  BonAciiio. 

D.  Jnlin.  It  is  so ;  the  count  Claudio  shall  rparry 
the  daughter  of  l.eoiiato. 

Bora.   Yea,  my  lord :   but  I  can  cross  it. 

D.Jotin.  Any  bar,  any  cross,  any  impediment 
will  be  medicinal  to  me  :'  1  am  sick  in  displeasure 
to  him;  andwhalsoevcr  comes  athwart  his  alVection. 
ranges  evenly  with  mine.  How  canst  thou  cross 
this  marriau'C  t 

Bora.  Not  honestly,  my  lord;  but  so  covertly, 
tliat  no  dishoneslv  shall  a|)pear  in  me. 

D.  Ji^tiJi.   Show  me  briefly  how. 

8  Liueiigo.  *  Fastidious. 


Born.  I  think,  1  told  your  lordship,  a  year  since, 
how  iiuicli  I  am  in  the  lavor  of  Margaret,  the  wait- 
ing-gentiewomaii  to  Hero. 

i>.  Jotin.   I  remember. 

Bom.  I  can,  at  any  unseasonable  instant  of  the 
night,  appoint  her  to  look  out  at  her  lady's  chamber- 
window. 

X>.  Jdlm.  What  life  is  in  that  to  be  the  death  of 
this  marriage? 

Bora.  The  poison  of  that  lies  in  you  to  temper. 
Go  you  to  the  prince  your  brother;  spare  irot  to  tell 
him,  that  he  hath  wronged  his  honor  in  marrying 
the  renowned  Claudio  (whose  estimation  do  you 
mightily  hold  up)  to  a  contaminated  stale,  such  a 
one  as  Hero. 

L>.  Jolin.   What  proof  shall  I  make  of  that  1 

Bora.  I'roof  enough  to  misuse  the  prince,  to  vex 
Claudio,  to  undo  Hero,  and  kill  Leonato:  Look 
yon  tor  any  other  issue  I 

D.  John.  Only  to  despite  lliem,  I  will  endeavor 
any  thing. 

Bora.  Go  then,  find  me  a  meet  hour  to  draw  don 
Pedro  and  the  count  Claudio  alone:  tell  them,  that 
you  know  that  Hero  loves  me;  intendi  a  kind  of 
zeal  both  to  the  prince  and  Claudio,  as  —  in  love 
of  your  brother's  honor,  who  hath  made  this  match  ; 
and  his  friend's  reputation,  who  is  thus  like  to  he 
cozened  with  the  semblance  of  a  maid, —  that  you 
have  discovered  thus.  They  will  scarcely  believe 
this  without  trial:  olfer  them  instances;  which  shall 
bear  no  less  likelihood,  than  to  see  me  at  her  cham- 
ber-window ;  bear  me  call  Margaret,  Hero;  hear 
Mar:;aret  term  me  Borachio;  and  bring  them  to 
see  this,  the  very  night  before  the  intended  wed- 
ding: for,  in  the  meantime,  I  will  so  fashion  the 
matter,  that  Hero  shall  be  absent ;  and  there  shall 
appear  such  seeming  truth  of  Hero's  disloyalty,  that 
jealousy  shall  be  cali'd  assurance,  and  all  the  pre- 
paration overthrown. 

D.  Jotin.  Grow  this  to  what  adverse  issue  it  can, 
I  will  put  it  in  practice:  Be  cunning  in  the  work- 
ing this,  and  thy  fee  is  a  thousand  ducats. 

Bora.  Be  you  constant  in  the  accusation,  and  my 
cunning  sha'll  not  shame  me. 

Z).  Jolm.  I  will  presently  go  learn  their  day  of 
marriage.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. —  Leonato's  Gar*!!. 
Enter  Beneuick  and  a  Boy. 

Bene.  Boy, — 

Boi/.   Signior. 

Bene.  In  my  chamber-window  lies  a  book:  bring 
it  hither  to  me  in  the  orchard. 

Boi/.   I  am  here  already,  sir. 

Bene.  I  know  that;  — but  I  would  have  thee 
hence,  and  here  again.  [Exit  Boy.]  — I  do  much 
wonder,  that  one  man,  seeing  how  much  another 
man  is  a  fool  when  he  dedicates  his  hcliaviors  tb 
love,  will,  after  he  hath  laughed  at  such  shallow  lol- 
lies in  others,  become  the  aigumentof  hisown  .scorn 
by  filling  in  love :  And  such  a  man  is  Claudio.  I 
have  known,  when  there  was  no  music  with  him 
hut  the  drum  and  life;  and  now  had  he  rather  hear 
the  tabor  and  the  pipe:  I  have  known,  when  he 
would  have  walked  ten  mile  afoot,  to  see  a  good  ar- 
mor; and  now  will  he  lie  ten  nights  awake  carving 
the  fashion  of  a  new  doublet.  He  was  wont  to 
speak  plain  and  to  the  purpose,  like  an  honest  man, 
and  a  soldier;  and  now  is  he  turn  d  orthographer; 
bis  words  are  a  very  fantastical  banquet,  ,iust  so 
many  strange  dishes.  May  I  be  so  converted,  and 
see  with  these  eyes  1  I  cannot  tell;  I  think  not :  1 
will  not  he  sworn,  but  love  may  transform  me  to  an 
oyster;  but  I'll  lake  my  oath  on  it,  till  he  haxe 
made  an  oyster  of  me,  he  shall  never  make  me  snch 
a  fool.  One  woman  is  fair;  yet  I  am  well;  another 
is  wise;  yet  I  am  well :  another  virtuous;  yet  1  am 
well :  but  till  all  graces  he  in  one  woman,  one  wo- 
man shall  not  come  in  my  grace.  Bich  she  shall 
be,  thafs  certain;  wise,  or  III  none;  virtuous,  or 
I'll  never  cheapen  her  ;  fair,  or  111  never  look  on 
her;  mild,  or  come  not  near ;  noble,  or  not  1  tor  an 
angel;  of  good  discourse,  an  excellent  musician, 
and  her  hair  shall  be  of  what  color  it  please  God. 
Ha!  the  prince  and  monsieur  Love!  I  w'l  b'™ 
me  in  the  arbor.  [n  itfidrawn. 

Enter  Don  PriiHO,  LEOs.iTO,  and  Ci..\uino. 

D.  Pedro.   Come,  shall  we  hear  this  music  1 
I  Pretend. 


SCEXE   TIL 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


107 


Claud.  Yea,  mv  good  lord : —  How  still  the  even- 
ing is, 
Ashu'^hMon  purpose  to  erace  harmony! 

D.  Pedro.   See  you  where  Benedick  liath  hid  him- 
self ! 

Claul.  O,  very  well,  my  lord  :   the  music  ended, 
Well  tit  the  kid-fox  with  a  penny-worth. 
Eiiier  B  vlthazau  wiih  music- 

D.  Pedro.  Come  Balthazar,  we'll  hear  that  song 
as^ain. 

Bril/h.  O  pood  my  lord,  ta\  not  so  bad  a  voice 
To  slander  music  any  more  than  once. 

D.  Pedrn.  It  is  the'witness  still  of  excellency, 
To  put  a  stranjce  face  on  his  own  perfection  : 
I  pray  thee.  5111?.  and  let  me  woo  no  more. 

Balih.   Because  you  talk  ofwooimr.  I  will  sing: 
Since  many  a  wooer  doth  commence  his  suit 
To  her  he  thinks  not  worthy ;  yet  he  woos ; 
Vet  will  he  swear,  he  loves. 

J).  Pedro.  Nay,  pray  thee,  come  : 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  hold  loiter  ar^iimcnt. 
Do  it  in  notes. 

Balfh.  Note  this  before  my  notes, 

There's  not  a  note  (tf  mine  that's  worth  the  noting. 

D.  Pedro.  Why  those  are  very  crotcliets  that  he 
speaks ; 
Note,  notes,  forsooth,  and  notins  I  [Music- 

Bene.  Now.  Divine  air  .'  now  is  his  soul  ravishd  ! 
—  Is  it  not  stransc,  that  sheep's  suts  should  hale 
souls  out  of  men's  bodies  !  —  Well,  a  horn  for  my 
money,  when  all's  done. 

B\T.Ti[AZAii  sings, 

I. 

Balth.  Siicb  no  more,  ladieft,  sigh  no  more, 
Mm  irrrr  deceivers  tvfr  ; 
Onr  fold  iti  sea,  and  one  an  shore ; 
To  one  th>n^  constant  never  : 
Tfien  sigh  not  so, 
But  let  them  gOy 
And  he  ynu  blithe  and  hnnjiy  : 
Convertin\  all  your  sounds  of  woe 
Into,  Hey  nonny.,  nonny, 

ir. 

Si7ig  no  more  ditties,  sing  no  mo^ 
Of  dumps  sndull  and  heavy ; 

The  fraud  nf  men  was  ever  so. 
Since,  summer  first  ivas  leavy : 
'  Then  sigh  not  so,  &c. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  troth,  a  good  song. 

Balfh.  And  an  ill  singer,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Ha'?  no;  no,  faith;  thou  singcst  well 
enough  for  a  shift. 

Bene.  [Aside.'l  An  he  had  been  a  dog,  that 
should  have  howled  thus,  they  would  have  hanged 
him  ;  and.  I  pray  God.  his  bad  voice  bode  no  mis- 
chief! I  had  as  lief  iiave  heard  the  night-raven, come 
wlmt  plague  could  have  come  after  it. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  marry;  [To  Claxtdto.] — Dost 
thou  hear,  Balthazar?  I  pray  thee  get  up  some  ex- 
cellent music:  for  to-morrow  night  we  would  have 
it  at  the  lady  Hero's  chamber-window. 

Balfh.  The  best  I  can,  my  lord. 

D.Pedro.  Do  no,  fi\rewc\].[  Exeunt  BKX.ru  K7.\n 
and  music.]  Come  hither,  Leoiiato:  What  was  it 
you  told  nio  of  to-day?  that  your  neice  Beatrice 
was  in  love  with  signior  Benedick? 

Claud.  O,  ay; — Stalk  on.  stalk  on;  the  fowl 
sits.  [Aside to  PKnito.]  I  did  never  think  that  lady 
would  have  loved  any  man. 

Leon.  No,  nor  1  nether;  hut  most  wonderful, 
that  she  should  so  dote  on  signior  Benedick,  whom 
she  hath  in  all  outward  behaviors  seemed  ever  to 
abhor. 

Bene.  1st  possible?  Sils  the  wind  in  that  corner? 

\Asi'le. 

Leon.  By  my  troth,  my  lord,!  cannot  tell  what 
to  think  of  it;  but  that  she  loves  him  with  an  en- 
raged afTection. —  it  is  past  the  infinite  of  thought. 

D.  Pedro.   May  be,  she  doth  but  counterfeit. 

Claud.  'Faith,  like  enough. 

Leon.  O  God!  counterfeit!  There  never  was 
counterfeit  of  passion  came  so  near  the  life  of  pas- 
sion, as  she  discovers  it, 

D-  Pedro.  Why,  what  elTects  of  passion  shows 
Bhe? 

1  More. 


Claud.  Bait  the  hook  well;  this  fish  will  bite. 

[Aside, 

Leon.  Wh;it  efiVcts,  my  lord  !  She  will  sit  you  — 
You  heard  my  dnughler  tell  you  how. 

Claud.   She  ditl.  indeed. 

D.  Pedro.  How,  iiow,  I  pray  you?  You  amaze 
me:  I  would  have  thought  )icr  spirit  bad  been  in- 
vincible against  all  assaults  of  aflcction. 

Leon.  I  would  have  sworn  it  had,  my  lord;  es- 
pecially against  Benedick. 

Bene.  [Aside.]  I  shoidd  think  this  a  gull,  but 
tiiat  tiie  while-bearded  fellow  speaks  it:  knavery 
cannot,  sure,  hide  itself  in  such  reverence. 

Claud.  He  hath  la 'en  the  infection;  hold  it  up. 

[Aside. 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  she  made  her  aflection  known 
to  Benedick  ? 

Leon.  No ;  and  swears  she  never  will ;  that's  her 
torment 

CUiud.  -Tis  true,  indeed ;  so  your  daughter  says : 
Shall  I,  says  she,  that  huvc  so  iff  encr!unfer''d  tiini 
with  scorn,  icrite  to  hint  that  I  love  him  ? 

Leon.  This  says  she  now  when  she  is  beginning 
to  write  to  him:  for  she'll  be  up  twenty  times  a 
night;  and  there  will  she  sit  in  her 'smock,  till  she 
have  writ  a  sheet  of  paper: — my  daughter  tells  us 
all. 

Claud.  Now  you  talk  of  a  sheet  of  paper,  remem- 
ber a  pretty  jest  your  dauirhter  told  us  of. 

Leon.  0  !  — When  she  had  writ  it,  and  was  read- 
ing it  over,  she  found  Benedick  and  Beatrice  be- 
tween the  .sheet! 

Claud.  That. 

Leon.  0!  sJie  tore  the  letter  into  a  thousand 
half-pence;  railed  at  hersclt',  that  she  should  lie  so 
immodest  to  write  to  one  that  she  knew  would  tlout 
her:  I  measure  Aim.  says  she,  fr:/  my  own  spirit,- 
for  I  should  jlout  him ^  if  he  ivrit  to  me;  ijeoy 
though  I  lore  him,  I  should. 

Claud.  Then  down  upon  her  kTiees  she  falls, 
weeps,  sobs,  beats  her  heart,  tears  her  hair,  prays, 
curses:  —  0  sireet  Bene  lick !  God  g-ive  me  pa- 
tience  / 

Leon,  f^he  doth,  indeed;  my  daughter  says  so: 
and  the  ecstasy  hath  so  much  overborne  her,  that 
my  daughter  is  som<'timc  nfraid  she  will  do  a  des- 
perate outrage  to  herself:   U  is  very  true. 

D.  Pedro.  It  were  good,  that  Benedick  knew  of  it 
by  some  other,  if  she  v.-ill  not  discover  it. 

Claud.  To  what  end?  He  would  but  make  a 
sport  of  it,  and  torment  the  poor  lady  worse. 

D.  Pedro.  An  he  should,  it  were  an  alms  to  ban? 
him  :  She's  an  excellent  sweet  lady  ;  and,  out  of 
all  suspicion,  she  is  virtuous. 

Claud.   And  she  is  exceeding  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  In  every  thimr.  but  in  loving  Benedick. 

Leon.  O  my  lord,  wisdom  and  blood  combating 
in  so  tender  a  body,  we  have  ten  proofs  to  one,  that 
blood  hath  the  victory.  1  am  sorry  for  her.  as  I 
have  just  cause,  beiui:  her  uncle  and  her  guardian. 

D.Pedro.  I  wonld'shn  had  bestowed  this  dotage 
on  me;  I  would  have  datrdiall  other  respects,  and 
made  her  half  myself:  1  prny  you,  tell  Benedick  of 
it,  and  hear  what  lie  will  say. 

Le<m.   Were  it  good,  think  you  ? 

Claud.  Hero  thinks  surely,  she  will  die:  for  she 
says,  she  will  die  if  he  love  her  not;  and  she  will 
die  ere  she  inaKe  her  love  known ;  and  she  will  die 
if  he  woo  her.  rather  than  she  will  bate  one  breath 
of  her  Jftrustomed  crossness. 

D.  Pedro.  She  doth  well:  if  she  should  make  ten- 
der of  her  love,  'tis  very  possible  he'll  scorn  it;  for 
the  man,  as  you  know  all,  hath  a  contemptuous 
spirit. 

Claud.  He  is  a  very  proper  man. 

D.Pedro.  He  hath  indeed  a  good  outward  hap- 
piness. 

Claud.  'Fore  God,  and  in  my  mind,  very  wise. 

D.  Pedro.  He  doth  indeed  .show  some  sparks 
that  are  like  wit. 

Leon.   And  1  take  him  to  be  valiant. 

D.Pedro.  As  Hector,  1  assure  you:  and,  in  the 
managing  of  quarrels  you  may  say  he  is  wise;  for 
either  he  avoids  them  with  great  discretion,  or  un- 
dertakes them  with  a  m.ost  Christian-like  fear. 

X.fon.   If  he  do   fear  fiod,  he  must  necessarily 
keep  peace  ;  if  he  break  the  pence,  he  ought  to  en- 
ter into  a  quarrel  witli  fear  and  trembling, 
a  Thrown  off. 


108 


MUCH  ADO  A"BOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  in. 


D-  Peirn.  And  so  will  he  do;  for  the  man  doth  ! 
fear  (iod,  howsoever  it  seems  not  in  him,  hy  some  I 
lar?e  jests  he  will  make.  Well.  1  am  sorry  for  ' 
your  niece:  Shall  we  go  see  lienedick,  and  tell  j 
him  of  her  love  ?  I 

Clau'L  Never  tell  him.  my  lord;  lot  her  wear  it 
out  with  good  counsel.  [ 

Leon.  Nay,  that's  impossible ;  she  may  wear  her  . 
heart  nut  first.  | 

D.  Pedro.  W^ell,  we'll  hear  further  of  it  by  j'our  ; 
daughter;   let  it  cool  the  while.    I  love  Benedick  ; 
well;  and  I  could  wish  iie  would  modestly  examine 
him?elf,  to  see  how  much  he  is  unworthy  so  good 
a  lady. 

Leon.  My  lord,  will  you  walk'?    dinner  is  ready.  | 

Claud.  If  he  do  not  dote  on  her  npon  this,  I  will  ■ 
never  trust  my  expectation.  [Aside. 

D.  Ped?'0.  Let  there  be  the  same  net  spread  for 
her;  and  that  must  your  dauffliter  and  her  gentle- 
woman carry.  The  sport  will  be,  when  they  hold 
one  an  opinion  of  another's  dotage,  and  no  such 
matter;  that's  the  scene  that  I  would  see,  which 
will  be  merely  a  dumb  show.  Let  us  send  her  to 
call  him  m  to  dinner.  [Ande. 

[Exeunt  Don  Pedpo,  Claudio,  and  Leonato. 

Bo'EmcK  advances  from  the  Arbor. 

Bene.  This  can  be  no  trick :  The  conference  was 
sadly  borne.* — They  have  the  truth  of  this  from 
Hero.  They  seem  to  pity  tlie  lady;  it  seems,  her 
affections  have  their  full  bent.  Love  me!  why,  it 
must  he  requited.  I  hear  how  I  am  censured :  they 
say,  I  will  heiir  myself  proudly,  if  I  perceive  the 
love  come  from  her;  they  say  too,  that  she  will  ra- 
ther die  than  give  any  sign  of  affection. —  I  did 
never  think  to  marry; — I  must  not  seem  proud: — 
Happy  are  they  that  hear  their  detractions,  and  can 


put  them  to  mending.  They  say.  the  lady  is  fair; 
'tis  a  truth  1  can  bear  them  witness  :  and  virtuous; 
- — 'tis  so,  I  cannot  reprove  it;  and  wise  but  for  lov- 
ing me  : — Hy  my  troth,  it  is  no  addition  to  her  wit; 
—  nor  no  great  ar^^ument  of  her  folly,  for  I  will  be 
horribly  in  love  with  her. —  I  may  chance  have 
some  odd  quirks  and  remnants  of  wit  broken  on  nie, 
because  I  have  railed  so  long  against  marriage; — ■ 
But  doth  not  the  appetite  alter?  A  man  loves  the 
meat  in  his  youth,  tliat  he  cannot  endure  in  his  age; 
Shall  quiijs,  and  sentences,  and  these  paper  bullets 
of  the  brain,  awe  a  man  from  the  career  of  his  hu- 
mor] No:  The  world  must  be  peopled.  When  I 
said,  T  would  die  a  bachelor.  I  did  not  think  I 
should  live  till  I  were  married. —  Here  comes  Bea- 
trice :  By  this  day,  shes  a  fair  lady :  1  do  spy  some 
marks  of  love  in  fier. 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Bent,  Against  my  will,  I  am  sent  to  bid  you 
come  in  to  dinner. 

Bene.  Fair  Beatrice.  T  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

Heat.  I  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks,  than 
you  take  pains  to  thank  me;  if  it  had  been  painful, 
1  would  not  have  come. 

Bene.  You  take  pleasure  in  the  message  1 

Beat.  Yea.  just  so  much  as  you  may  take  upon 
a  knife's  point,  and  choke  a  daw  withal:  —  You 
have  no  stomach,  si^nior;  fare  you  well.         [Exit. 

Bene,  Ha!  Against  rnif  iri'j,  I  am  sent  to  bid 
you  come  to  dinner.  — there  s  a  double  meaning 
in  tl)at,  /  took  no  more  pains  for  those  thanks^ 
than  you  took  pains  to  tfionk  me  —  that'^as  much 
as  to  say.  Any  pains  that  I  take  for  you  is  as  easy, 
as  thanks: — If  I  do  not  take  pity  other,!  am  a 
villain;  If  I  do  not  love  her,  I  am  a  Jevi^:  I  will  go 
get  her  picture.  [Exit- 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I. — Leonato's  Garden. 
Enter  Hr.no,  Mabgarkt,  and  Uhsula. 

Hero.  Good  Mar^nret,  run  thoe  into  llie  parlor: 
There  shall  thou  find  my  cousin  Beatrice 
Proposinii*  with  the  prince  and  Claudio: 
Whisper  Iier  ear.  and  tell  her,  I  and  Ursula 
Walk  in  the  oreliard.  and  our  whole  discourse 
Is  all  other;  say,  that  thou  o\erheard"st  us; 
And  bid  her  steal  into  the  pleached  bower, 
Where  honey-suckles,  ripen'd  by  the  sun, 
Forbid  the  sun  to  enter;  —  like  favorites, 
I\Tade  proud  by  princes,  that  advance  their  pride 
Against  that  power  that  bred  it: — there  will  she 

liide  licr. 
To  listen  our  puvpose:   This  is  thy  office. 
Bear  thee  well  iii  it,  and  leave  us  alone. 

yiarg.   I'll  make  her  come,  I  warrant  you.  pre- 
sently. [Exit. 

Hero.  Now,  Ursula,  when  Beatrice  doth  come, 
As  we  do  trace  this  alley  up  and  down,  ^^ 
Our  talk  must  only  he  of  Benedick: 
When  I  do  name  him,  let  it  be  thy  part 
To  praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit: 
My  talk  to  thee  must  be.  how  Benedick 
Is  sick  in  love  with  Beatrice:   Of  this  matter 
Is  httle  Cupid's  crafty  arrow  made. 
That  only  wounds  l:y  hearsay.    Now  begin; 

Enter  Bkatrict:  befiind. 
For  look  where  Beatrice,  like  a  lapwing,  runs 
Close  hy  the  ;irouiid.  to  hear  our  conference. 

Urs.  "The  plea^ent'st  aTiiiling  is  to  see  the  fish 
Cut  witli  her  golden  oars  the  silver  stream. 
And  greedily  devour  the  treacherous  bait: 
So  angle  we"  for  Beatrice:  wlio  even  now 
Is  couched  in  tlie  woodbine  coverture: 
Fear  you  not  my  part  of  tlie  dialogu?. 
Hero.   Then   go  we  near  her,  that  her  ear  lose 
nothing 
.  Seriou.sly  carried  on.  t  Discoursing. 


Of  the  false  sweet  bait  that  we  lay  for  it. — 

[Theij  advance  to  ttit  bower. 
No,  truly,  Ursula,  she  is  too  disdainlul : 
I  know,  her  spirits  are  as  coy  and  wild 
As  haggards  of  the  rock.« 

Urs.  -But  are  you  sure, 

That  Benedick  loves  Beatrice  so  entirely  ! 

Hero.  So  says  the  prince,  and  my  new-trothed 
lord. 

Urs.   And  did  they  bid  you  tell  her  of  it,  madam  1 

Hero.  They  did  entreat  me  to  acquaint  her  of  it: 
But  1  persuaded  them,  if  they  loved  Benedick, 
To  wish  him  wrestle  with  afiection. 
And  never  to  let  Beatrice  know  of  it. 

t'rs.  Why  did  you  so  1    JJoth  not  llie  gentleman 
Deserve  as  full,  as  fortunate  a  bed, 
As  ever  Beatrice  sliall  couch  upon? 

Hero.  0  God  of  love!   I  know,  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  rnan  : 
But  nature  never  fram'd  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stull  than  that  of  Beatrice : 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on  ;  and  her  wit 
Values  its'elf  so  highly,  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak  :   she  cannot  love, 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection. 
She  is  so  self-endeared. 

Urs.  Sure.  I  think  so ; 

.\nd  therefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

//'TO.  Why.  you  speak  truth:  I  never  yet  saw  man, 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featur'd, 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward  :  if  fair-fliced. 
She'd  swear,  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister; 
If  black,  why,  nature,  drawing  of  an  antick. 
Made  a  foul  blot :   if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed ; 
If  low.  an  agate  very  vilely  cut: 
If  speakins,  why,  a  vane  blown  with  all  wind  ; 
if  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she' every  man  the  wrong  side  out; 
«  A  specits  of  hawkB. 


SCEXE  II. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


109 


And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue,  that, 
Wliich  simpleiiess  and  merit  purehascth. 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero-   No  :  not  to  be  so  odd  ami  from  all  fashions, 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  commendable : 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so  1    If  I  siiould  .speak, 
She'd  mock  me  into  air ;  0,  she  would  laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  mc  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover  d  fire, 
Consume  away  in  si^hs,  waste  inwardly: 
It  were  a  better  death  than  die  with  mocks  ; 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  ticklins. 

U'S.   Yet  tell  lii'r  of  it;   hear  wliat  she  will  say. 

Hero.   No;  rather  I  will  t;o  to  liencdick 
And  counsel  him  to  fight  against  his  passion: 
And,  truly.  Til  devise  some  honest  slanders 
To  stain  my  cousin  with :  One  doth  not  know, 
How  much  an  ill  word  may  empoison  liking. 

b'rs.   O,  do  not  do  your  cousin  such  a  wrong. 
She  cannot  be  so  much  witliout  true  judgment, 
(Having  so  swift  and  excellent  a  wit. 
As  she  is  prized  to  have,)  as  to  refuse 
So  rare  a  gentleman  as  signior  Benedick. 

Hero.   He  is  the  only  nian  of  Italy, 
Always  excepted  my  dear  Claudio. 

Urs.  I  pray  you,  be  not  angry  with  me,  madam. 
Speaking  my  fancy;  signior  Benedick, 
For  shape,  for  bearing,  argument,  and  valor. 
Goes  foremost  in  report  through  Italy. 

Hero.   Indeed  he  liath  an  excellent  good  name. 

Urs.  His  excellence  did  earn  it,  ere  lie  had  it. — 
When  are  you  married,  madam  1 

Hero.  Why,  every  day; — to-morrow:    Come: 
-go  in; 
I'll  snow  thee  some  attires ;  and  have  thy  counsel. 
Which  is  the  best  to  furnish  me  to-morrow. 

Urn.  She's  lim'd,  I  warrant  you;  we  have  caught 
her,  madam.  [Astle. 

Hero.  If  it  prove  so.  then  loving  goes  by  haps: 
Some  Cupid  kills  witli  arrows,  some  with  traps. 

[Kxtuut  Hero,  rt/if/  Uhscla, 

Beathice  advances. 

Beat.  What  fire  is  in  mine  ears?  Can  this  be  true? 

Stand  I  condemn'd  for  pride  and  scorn  so  much  ? 
Contempt,  farewell !   and  maiden  pride,  adieu  ! 

No  glory  lives  behind  the  back  of  such. 
And,  Benedick,  love  on, I  will  requite  thee; 

Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand; 
If  thou  dost  love,  my  kindness  shall  incite  thee 

To  bind  our  loves  up  in  a  holy  band: 
For  others  say,  thou  dost  deserve ;  and  I 
Believe  it  better  than  reportingly.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— .4  Room  in  Leonato's  House. 

Enter  Don  Pbdro,  Claudio,  Bkneiiick,  a;i(J 

Leoxato. 

D.  Pedro.  I  do  but  stay  till  your  marriage  be  con- 
summate, and  then  I  go  toward  .\rragon. 

Claud.  I'll  bring  you  thither,  my  lord,  if  you'll 
vouchsafe  me. 

X).  Pedro.  Nay,  that  would  be  as  great  a  soil  in 
the  new  gloss  of  your  marriage,  as  to  show  a  child 
his  new  coat,  and  forbid  him  to  wear  it.  I  will  only 
be  bold  with  Benedick  for  his  company;  for,  froiii 
the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  he  is 
all  mirth;  he  hath  twice  or  thrice  cut  Cupid's  bow- 
string, and  the  little  hangman  dare  not  slioot  at 
him:  he  hath  a  heart  as  sound  as  a  bell,  and  his 
tongue  is  the  clapper ;  for  what  his  heart  thinks,  his 
tongue  speaks. 

Bene.   Gallants,  I  am  not  as  I  have  been. 

Leon.   So  say  I ;  methinks  you  are  sadder. 

Clttud.   I  hope,  he  be  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  Hang  him,  truant;  there's  no  true 
drop  of  blood  in  him,  to  be  truly  touch'd  with  love; 
if  he  be  sad,  he  wants  money. 

Bene.  I  have  the  togth-ache. 

D.  Pedro.   Draw  it. 

Bene.  Hang  it. 

Claud.  You  must  hang  it  first,  and  draw  it  after- 
wards. 

D.  Pedro.  What!    sigh  for  the  tooth-ache] 

Leon.  Where  is  but  a  humor,  or  a  worm  ! 

Bene.  Well,  every  one  can  master  a  grief,  but  he 
that  has  it. 

Claud.  Yet  say  I,  he  is  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  There  is  uo  appearance  of  fancy  in 


him,  unless  it  be  a  fancy  that  he  hath  to  strange 
disguises:  as,  to  be  a  Dutchman  to-day;  a  French- 
man to-morrow;  or  in  the  shape  of  two  countries 
at  once,  as  a  German  fioin  the  waist  downward,  all 
slop;'  and  a  Spaniard  from  the  hip  upward,  no 
doublet :  unless  he  have  a  fancy  to  this  foolery,  as 
it  appears  he  hath,  he  is  no  fool  for  tancy,  as  "you 
would  have  it  appear  he  is. 

Claud.  If  he  be  not  in  love  with  some  woman, 
there  is  no  Ijelieving  old  signs;  he  brushes  his  hat 
o'mornings;  What  should  that  bode  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Hath  any  man  seen  him  at  the  barber's? 

Cloud.  No.  but  the  barber's  man  hath  been  seen 
with  him:  and  the  old  ornament  of  his  cheek  hath 
already  stutTed  tennis-balls. 

L''on.  Indeed,  he  looks  younger  than  he  did  by 
the  loss  of  a  heard. 

D.  Pedro.  Nay  he  rubs  himself  with  civet:  Can 
you  smell  him  out  by  that  ? 

Claul.  That's  as  much  as  to  say.  The  sweet 
youth's  in  love. 

D.  Pedro.  The  greatest  note  of  it  is  his  melan- 
choly. 

Claud.  And  when  was  he  wont  to  wash  his  face  ? 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  or  to  paint  himself!  for  the 
which,  I  hear  what  they  say  of  him. 

Cloud.  Nay,  but  his  jesting  spirit;  which  is  now 
crept  into  a  lutestring,  and  now  governed  by  stops. 

D.  Pedro.  Indeed,  that  tells  a  heavy  tale  for  him: 
Conclude,  conclude,  he  is  in  love. 

Claud.   .N'ay.  but  I  know  who  loves  him. 

D.Pedro.  That  would  I  know,  too;  I  warrant, 
one  that  knows  him  not. 

Claud.  Yes,  and  his  ill  conditions;  and,  in  despite 
of  all,  dies  for  him. 

D.  Pedro.  She  shall  be  buried  with  her  face  up- 
ward. 

Bene.  Yet  is  this  no  charm  for  the  tooth-ache. — 
Old  signior,  walk  aside  with  me:  I  have  studied 
eight  or  nine  wise  words  to  speak  to  you,  which 
these  hobby-horses  must  not  hear. 

[E.veunf  Bknkdick  and  Leonato. 

D.  Pedro.  For  my  lite,  to  break  with  him  about 
Beatrice. 

Claud.  'Tis  even  so :  Hero  and  Margaret  liave 
by  this  played  their  parts  with  Beatrice:  and  then 
the  two  Dears  will  nut  bite  one  another,  when  they 
meet. 

Enter  Don  Jony. 

D.  John.  My  lord  and  brother,  God  save  you. 

D.  Pedro.   Good  den,  brother. 

D.  John.  If  your  leisure  served,  I  would  speak 
with  you. 

D.  Pedro.  In  private? 

B.John.  If  it  please  you;  —  yet  count  Claudio 
may  hear;  for  what  1  would  speak  of,  concerns  him. 

1).  Pedro.   What's  the  matter? 

D.  John.  Means  your  lordship  to  be  married  to- 
morrow ;  LTo  Claudio. 

D.  Pedro.  You  know,  he  does. 

D.  John.  I  know  not  that,  when  ho  kTiows  what 
I  know. 

Claud.  If  there  be  any  impediment,  I  pray  you, 
discover  it. 

D.  John.  You  may  think  I  love  you  not ;  let  that 
appear  hereat'tcr,  and  aim  better  at  me  by  that  I 
now  will  manifest:  For  my  brother,  I  tliink  he 
liolds  you  well ;  and  in  dcarncss  of  heart  hath  holp 
to  efiect  your  ensuing  marriage:  surely,  suit  ill 
spent,  nnil  labor  ill-b'estowed ! 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

D.  John.  I  came  hither  to  tell  you  ;  and,  circum- 
stances shortened,  (forslie  hath  been  too  long  a  talk- 
ing of,)  the  lady  is  disloyal. 

Claud.   Who"?  Hero! 

D.Jotin.  Even  she;  Leonato's  Hero,  your  Hero, 
every  man's  Hero. 

Claud.   Dis'oynl  ? 

D.  John.  The  word  is  too  good  to  paint  out  her 
wickedness;  1  could  siy,  she  were  worse;  think  you 
of  a  worse  title,  and  I  will  fit  her  to  it,  Wondernot 
till  further  warrant:  go  but  vfith  me  to-night,  you 
shall  see  her  chamber-window  entered;  even  the 
night  before  lier  wedding-day  :  if  you  love  her  then, 
to-morrow  wed  her;  but  it  would  better  fit  your 
honor  to  change  your  mind. 

Claud.  May  this  be  so  ? 

'  Largo  loose  breeches. 


110 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  III. 


Z>.  Pedro.   I  will  not  think  it. 

D.  John.  If  you  tkire  not.  tiurit  that  you  see,  con- 
fess not  that  you  know  :  if  you  will  follow  me,  I 
will  show  you  ent)U;^h ;  and  when  you  have  seen 
more  and  heard  more,  proceed  accordinj^Iy. 

Claud.  If  I  see  anything  to-ni^ht  why  I  should 
not  marry  her  to-nionow ;  in  the  congregation, 
where  I  should  wed,  there  will  I  shame  her. 

D.  Pedro.  And  as  I  wooed  for  thee  to  obtain  her, 
I  will  join  with  thee  to  disi;race  her. 

D.  Jukn.   I  will  disparage  lier  no  farther,  till  you 
are  my  witnesses:  bear  it  coldly  but  till  midnio'iit, 
and  let  the  issue  show  itself. 

D.  Pedro.   O  day  untowardly  turned! 

Claud.  O  mischief  stran^'clj'  thwarting! 

D.  John.  O  plague  right  well  prevented! 
So  will  you  say  when  you  have  seen  the  sequel. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— ^  Street. 

Enter  DoGUF.nuv  and  Vehges,  luith,  /Ae  JVatch. 

Do^h.   Are  you  good  men  and  true  ? 

Verg.  Yea,  or  else  it  were  pity  but  they  should 
suffer  salvation,  body  and  soul. 

Do^h.  Nay,  that  were  a  punishment  too  good  for 
them,  if  they  should  have  any  allegiance  in  them, 
being  chosen  for  the  prince's  watch. 

Verg.  Well,  give  them  their  charge,  neighbor 
Dogberry. 

Dogb.  First,  who  think  you  the  most  disheartless 
man  to  be  constable  I 

1  Watch.  Hugh  Oatcake,  sir,  or  George  Seacoal ; 
for  they  can  write  and  read. 

Dogb.  Come  hither,  neighbor  Seacoal.  God  hath 
blessed  you  with  a  good  name :  to  be  a  well-favored 
man  is  the  gift  of  fortune;  but  to  write  and  read 
comes  by  nature. 

2  JValck.   Botii  which,  master  constable, 

Dogb.  You  have  ;  I  knew  it  would  be  your  an- 
swer. Well,  for  your  favor,  sir,  why,  give  God 
thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  it ;  and  for  your  writ- 
ing and  reading,  let  that  appear  wlien  there  is  no 
need  of  such  vanity.  You  are  thought  here  to  be 
the  most  senseless  and  fit  mau  for  the  constable  of 
the  watch;  therefore  bear  you  the  lantern:  This  is 
your  charge;  You  shall  comiirehend  ail  vagrom 
men ;  you  are  to  bid  any  man  stand  in  the  prince's 
name. 

2  Watch.  How,  if  he  will  not  stand  1 

Dogb.  Why  Ihen,  take  no  note  of  him,  but  let 
him  go;  and  presently  call  the  rest  of  the  watch 
together,  and  thank  tjod  you  are  rid  of  a  knave. 

Verg.  If  he  will  not  stan'd  when  he  is  bidden,  he 
is  none  of  the  prince's  subjects. 

Dogb.  True,  and  they  are  to  meddle  with  none 
but  the  prince's  subjects: — You  shall  also  make  no 
noise  in  the  streets;  for,  for  the  watch  to  babble  and 
talk  is  most  tolerable,  and  not  to  be  endured. 

2  Watch.  We  will  rather  sleep  than  talk;  we 
know  what  belongs  to  a  watch. 

Dogb.  Why,  you  speak  like  an  ancient  and  most 
quiet Watchmaii ;  for-  I  cannot  sec  how  sleeping 
sliould  olleiid  :  only  have  a  caretliat  your  bills'  bo 
not  stolen  ; —  Well,  you  are  to  call  at  all  the  ale- 
houses, and  bid  tliose  that  are  drunk  get  tliem  to 
bed. 

2  Watch.  How,  if  they  will  not. 

Dogb-  Why  then,  let  them  alone  till  they  are 
sober;  if  they  make  you  not  then  the  better  answer, 
you  may  say,  they  are  not  the  men  you  took  tliem 
lor. 

2  Watch    Well,  sir. 

Dogb.  If  you  meet  a  thief,  you  may  suspect  him, 
by  virtue  of  your  office,  to  be  no  true  man;  and  for 
such  kind  of  men,  the  less  you  meddle  or  make  with 
them,  why,  the  more  is  for  your  honesty. 

2  Walch.  If  we  know  him  to  be  a  thief,  shall  we 
not  lay  hands  on  him? 

Dogb.  Truly,  by  your  office,  you  may;  but,  I 
think,  they  tliat  touch  pitch  will  he  defiled:  the 
niost  peacciddeway  ftir\ou,  if  you  do  take  a  thief, 
is,  to  let  him  shov,-  lums'elf  what  he  is,  and  steal  out 
of  your  company. 

Verg.  You  have  been  always  called  a  merciful 
man,  partner. 

Dogb.  Truly,  I  would  not  hang  a  dog  by  my  will ; 
much  more  a  man  who  hatii  :iny  honejjty  in  him. 
s  Wuapous  of  the  wutcbmon. 


Verg.  If  you  hear  a  child  cry  in  the  night,  you 
must  call  to  the  nurse,  and  bid  her  still  it. 

2  Watch.  How,  if  the  nurse  he  asleep,  and  will 
not  hear  us  ! 

Diigb.  Why,  then  depart  in  peace,  and  let  the 
child  wake  her  with  crying;  for  the  ewe  that  will 
not  hear  her  lamb  when  it  baes,  will  never  answer 
a  calf  when  he  bleats. 

Verg.  'Tis  very  true. 

Dogb.  This  is  the  end  of  the  charge.  You,  con- 
stable, are  to  present  the  prince's  own  person :  if 
you  meet  the  prince  in  the  night,  you  may  stay  him. 

Verg.  Nay,  by'r  lady,  that,"!  think,  he  cannot. 

Dogb.  Five  shillings  to  one  on't,  with  any  man 
that  knows  the  statues,  he  may  stay  him:  marry, 
not  without  the  prince  be  willing  :  for,  indeed,  the 
watch  ought  to  offend  no  man ;  and  it  is  an  oiience 
to  stay  a  man  against  his  will. 

Verg.  By'r  lady,  I  think  it  be  so. 

Dogb.  Ha,  ha. "ha!  Well,  masters,  good  night: 
an  there  be  any  matter  of  weight  chances,  call  up 
me :  keep  your  tijUows'  counsel  ami  your  own,  and 
good  night. —  Come,  neighbor. 

2  Watch.  Well,  masters,  we  hear  our  charge:  let 
us  go  sit  here  upon  the  church-bench  till  two,  and 
then  all  to-bed. 

Dogb.  One  word  more,  honest  neighbors :  I  pray 
you,  watch  about  signior  Leonato's  door;  for  the 
wedding  being  there  to  morrow,  there  is  a  great  coil 
to-night:   Adieu,  be  vigilant,  1  beseech  you. 

[Exettnl  DocjBtniiY  and  Verges. 

Enter  BonAciiio  and  Conraue. 

Bora.  What!   Conrade,— 

Watch.  Peace,  stir  not.  [Aside. 

Bora.   Conrade,  1  say  ! 

Con.   Here,  man,  I  am  at  thy  elbow. 

Bora.  Mass,  and  my  elbow  itched  ;  I  thought 
there  would  be  a  scab  lollow. 

Con.  I  will  owe  thee  an  answer  for  that ;  and 
now  forward  with  thy  tale. 

£(»'«.■  Stand  thee  close  then  under  this  pent- 
house, for  it  drizzles  rain ;  and  1  will,  like  a  true 
drunkard,  utter  all  to  thee. 

Watch.  [Aside.]  Some  treason, masters;  yet  stand 
close. 

Bora.  Therefore  know,  I  have  earned  of  don  John 
a  thousand  ducats- 

Con.  Is  it  possible  that  any  villany  should  be  so 
dear '! 

Bora.  TJiou  sliouldst  rather  ask,  if  it  were  possi- 
ble any  villany  should  be  so  rich ;  for  when  rich 
villains  have  need  of  poor  ones,  poor  ones  may 
make  what  price  they  will. 

Con.   I  wonder  at'it. 

Bora.  Tliat  shows  thou  art  unconfirmed :'  Thou 
knowest  that  the  fashion  of  a  doublet,  or  a  hat,  or 
a  cloak,  is  nothing  to  a  man. 

Con.  Y'es,  it  is  apparel. 

Bora.  I  mean  the  fashion. 

Con.  Y'es  the  fashion  is  the  fashion. 

Bora.  Tush!  I  may  as  well  say  the  fool's  the 
fool.  But  see'st  thou  not  what  a  deformed  thief 
this  fashion  is? 

Walch.  I  know  that  Deformed;  he  has  been  a 
vile  thief  this  seven  year :  he  goes  up  and  down  like 
a  gentleman :   I  remember  his  name. 

Bora.   Didst  thou  not  bear  somebody '! 

CH(i.   No;  'twas  the  vane  on  the  house. 

Bora.  Seest  thou  not,  I  say,  what  a  deformed 
thief  this  ftshion  is  !  how  giddily  he  turns  aliout  all 
the  hot  bloods  between  fourteen  and  fivc-aiid-thir- 
ty  1  sometime,  fashioning  tliem,  like  Pharaoh's  sol- 
diers in  the  reechyi  painting;  sometime,  like  god 
Bel's  priests  in  the  old  church  window;  sometime, 
like  the  shaven  Hercules  in  the  smirched'  worm- 
eaten  tapestry,  where  Ids  cod-piece  seems  as  massy 
as  bis  club! 

Con.  ,\11  this  I  see;  and  see  that  the  fashion 
wears  out  more  apparel  than  the  man :  But  art  not 
thou  thyself  gidcfy  with  the  fashion  too,  that  thou 
bast  slii'ftcd  out  of  thy  tale  into  telling  me  of  the 
l-jshionl 

Bora.  Not  so  neither:   but  know,  that  I  li.ave  to- 
night wooed  Margaret,  the  lady  Hero's  gentle-wo- 
man, by  the  name" of  Hero;  she  leans  me  out  at  her 
mistress'  chamber-window,  bids  me  a  thousand 
»  Unprnctified  in  the  ways  of  the  TvorM. 
»  Smoked.  *  Soiled. 


Scene  IV". 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Ill 


times  f.'Oort  night.— ^  I  tell  this  tale  vilely  : —  I  should 
first  teil  Uiee,  now  the  prince,  Claudio,  and  my  mas- 
ter, planted,  and  placed,  and  possessed  l>y  my  mas- 
ter don  John,  saw  alar  oU'in  the  orchard  this' amia- 
ble encounter. 

Con.  And  thonglit  they,  Margaret  was  Hero. 

Bora,  Two  uf  lliein  did,  the  prince  and  Claudio; 
but  the  devil  my  master  knew  she  was  .Margaret; 
and  partly  by  his  oaths,  which  first  possessed  them, 
partly  by  the  dark  niiiht,  which  did  deceive  them, 
but  chietly  by  my  vdlany,  which  did  confirm  any 
slander  that  don  John  had  made,  away  went  Clau- 
dio enrag-ed ;  swore  he  would  meet  her,  as  he  was 
appointed,  next  morning  at  the  temple,  and  there, 
belore  the  whole congrc,.;ation.s!iame  her  with  what 
he  saw  over-night,  and  send  her  liome  again  with- 
out a  husband. 

1  JVufck.  We  charge  you  in  the  prince's  name, 
stand. 

2  Walch.  Call  up  the  right  ma.ster  constable: 
W'e  have  here  recovered  the  most  dangerous  piece 
of  lechery  that  ever  was  known  in  the  common- 
wealth. 

1  Watch.  And  nne  Deformed  is  one  of  them ;  I 
know  him,  he  wears  a  lock. 

Con.  Masters,  masters, — 

1  Watch.  You'll  be  made  bring  Deformed  forth, 
I  warrant  you. 

Con.   Masters, — 

1  Watch.  Never  speak ;  we  charge  you,  let  us 
obey  you  to  go  with  us. 

Bora.  We  are  like  to  prove  a  goodly  commodity, 
being  taken  up  of  these  men's  bills. 

Con.  A  commodity  in  question,  I  warr.nnt  you. 
Come,  we'll  obey  you.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  I^V.— .4  Room  in  LeonaWs  Ilousr.. 

Enter  Hero,  M.^noATiET,  and  Uiisula. 

Hero.  Good  Ursula,  wake  ray  cousin  Beatrice, 
and  desire  her  to  rise. 

Ur.i.   I  will,  lady. 

Hero.   And  bid  lier  come  hither. 

Ur.s.  Well.  [Exit.  Vnsi!i.i. 

Marg.  Troth,  I  think,  your  other  rabato'  were 
better. 

Hero.  No,  pray  thee,  good  Meg,  I'll  wear  this. 

Alarg.  By  my  troth,  it's  not  so  good;  and  I  war- 
rant your  cousin  will  say  so. 

Hero.  My  cousin's  a  tool,  and  thou  art  another ; 
I'll  wear  none  but  this. 

Wary-.  I  like  tlie  new  attire  within  excellenlly,  if 
the  hair  were  a  thought  browner :  and  your  gown's 
a  most  rare  fashion,  i  faith.  I  saw  the  duchess  of 
Milan's  gown,  that  they  praise  so. 

Hero.  O  that  exceeds,  they  say. 

Marg.  By  my  troth,  it's  but  a  night-gown  in  re- 
spect of  yours:  Cloth  of  gold,  and  cuts,  and  laced 
with  silver ;  set  with  pearls,  down  sleeves,  side- 
sleeves,  and  skirls  round,  underborne  with  a  bluish 
tinsel:  but  for  a  line,  quaint,  graceful,  and  excellent 
fashion,  yours  is  worth  ten  ont- 

H:ro.  God  give  me  joy  to  wear  it,  for  my  heart 
is  exceeding  heavy! 

Marg.  'Twin  be  heavier  soon,  by  the  weight  of 
a  man. 

Hero.   Fie  upon  thee !  art  not  ashamed  ? 

Marg.  Of  what,  lady'!  of  speaking  honorably  ?  Is 
not  marriage  honorable  in  a  beggar]  Is  not  your 
lord  honorable  without  marriage!  I  think  you 
would  have  me  say,  saving  your  reverence, —  «  hus- 
band:  an  bad  thinking  do  not  wrest  true  speaking, 
I'll  oll'end  nobody:  Is  there  any  harm  in— /Ae  heav- 
ier for  a  hnshand'^  None,  I  think,  an  if  it  be  the 
riiht  husband,  and  the  right  wife ;  otherwise,  'tis 
iiglit,  and  not  heavy :  Ask  my  lady  Beatrice  else, 
here  she  comes. 

Enter  BE.trnicE. 

Hero.  Good  morrow,  coz. 

Beat.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hero. 

Hero.  Why,  how  now !  do  you  speak  in  the  sick 
tune! 

Beat.  I  am  out  of  all  other  tune,  mcthinks. 

Marg.  Clap  us  into  —  Light  o'  tore;  that  goes 
without  a  burden  ;  do  you  sing  it,  and  I'll  dance  it. 

Beat.  Yea,  Liiilit  o'  toi'C,  with  your  heels  !  — 
then  if  your  hu.^band  have  stables  enough,  you'll 
see  lie  shall  lack  no  barns. 

>  A  kind  of  rulf. 


Marg.  O  illegitimate  construction!  I  scorn  that 
with  my  heels. 

Beat.  'Tis  almost  five  o'clock,  cousin;  'tis  time 
you  were  ready.  By  my  troth,  1  am  exceeding  lU: 
—  hey  ho ! 

Marg.   For  a  hawk,  a  horse,  or  a  husband  1 

Beat.   For  the  letter  that  begins  the;n  all,  H.' 

Marg.  Well,  an  you  be  not  turned  Turl;,  there's 
no  more  sailing  by  the  star. 

Beat.   What  means  the  fool,  trow '! 

Marg.  Nothing  I ;  but  God  send  every  one  their 
heart's  desire ! 

Hero.  These  ginves  the  count  sent  me,  they  are 
an  excellent  perfume. 

Beat.  I  am  stutled,  cousin,  I  cannot  smell. 

Marg.  A  maid,  and  slull'ed !  there's  goodly  catch- 
ing of  cold. 

Beat.  0,  God  help  me!  God  help  me!  how  long 
have  you  profess'd  apprehension ! 

Marg.  Ever  since  you  left  it:  doth  not  my  wit 
become  me  rarely  1  * 

Beat.  It  is  not  seen  enough,  you  sliould  wear  it 
in  your  cap. —  By  my  troth,  I  am  sick. 

Marg.  Get  you  some  of  this  distilled  Carduus 
Benedictus,  and  lay  it  to  your  heart;  it  is  the  only 
thing  for  a  qualm. 

Hero.  There  thou  prick'st  her  with  a  tiiistle. 

Beat.  Benedictus  I  why  Benedictus !  you  have 
some  moral  in  this  Benedictus. 

Marg.  INIoral !  no,  by  my  troth,  I  liave  no  moral 
meaning;  I  meant,  plain  holy  thistle.  You  may 
think,  perchance,  that  I  think  30U  are  in  love:  nay, 
by'r  lady,  I  am  not  such  a  fjo!  to  think  what  I  list, 
nor  I  list  not  to  think  what  I  can  ;  nor.  indeed,  I 
cannot  think,  if  I  would  think  my  heart  out  of 
thinking,  that  you  are  in  love,  or  that  you  will  be 
in  love,  or  that  you  can  be  in  love;  yet  Benedick 
was  such  another,  and  now  is  lie  become  a  man :  he 
swore  he  would  never  marry ;  and  yet  now,  in  de- 
spite of  his  heart,  he  eal.s  Ins  meat  witiiout  grudg- 
ing: and  how  you  may  be  converted,  I  know  not ; 
but,  mcthinks,  you  look  with  your  eyes  as  otlier 
women  do. 

Beat.  What  pace  is  this  that  thy  tongue  keeps'? 

Marg.  Not  a  false  gallop. 

Re-enter  Unsrr.A. 

[)<•.<■.  Madam,  withdraw ;  the  prince,  the  count, 
signior  Benedick,  don  .lolin,  and  all  the  gallants  of 
the  town  are  come  to  fetch  you  to  churcli. 

Hero.  Help  to  dress  me,  good  coz,  good  Meg, 
good  Ursula.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Another  Room  in  Lmnato's  House. 

Enter  Leo>-ato,  with  DoeiiEnnx  and  Verges. 

Leon.  What  would  you  with  me,  honest  neigh- 
bor. 

Drigh.  Marry,  sir.  I  would  ha\e  some  confidence 
with  you,  that  decerns  you  nearly. 

Leon.  Brief,  I  pr;iy  you,  for,  you  see,  'tis  a  busy 
time  with  me. 

Dogh.  Marry,  this  it  is,  sir. 

Verg.   Yes,  in  truth,  it  is,  sir. 

Leon.  \Vhat  is  it.  my  good  friends ! 

Dngh.  Goodman  Verges,  sir,  speaks  a  little  ofT 
the  matter;  an  old  man,  sir.  and  his  wits  are  not  so 
blunt,  as,  God  help,  I  would  desire  they  were;  but, 
in  faith,  honest,  as  the  skin  between  his  brows. 

Verg.  Y'es.  I  thank  God,  I  am  as  honest  an  any 
man  living,  that  is  an  old  man,  and  no  Jionester 
than  I. 

DogI}.  Comparisons  are  odorous :  jialabras,  neigh- 
bor Verges. 

7j"0)7.   Neighbors,  you  are  tedious. 

Dnxh.  It  plea.-ics  your  worship  to  say  so.  but  we 
are  the  poor  dukesol'Kcers;  but  truly,  for  mine  own 
part  if  1  were  as  tedious  as  a  kinu,  I  could  lind  in 
mv  heart  to  bestow  it  all  of  your  worship. 

Lron.   All  thy  tediousncss  on  me !  ha  f 

Dogh.  Yea.  an  'twere  a  thousand  times  more 
than  'tis:  for  I  hear  as  good  exclamation  on  your 
worship,  as  of  any  man  in  the  city  ;  and  though  I 
be  hut  a  poor  man.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  , 

Verg.  And  so  am  1. 
,Leoh.  I  would  fain  know  what  you  have  to  say. 

Verg.  Marry,  sir,  our  watch  to-night,  excepting 
your  worship's  presence,  have  ta'en  a  couple  of  aa 
arrant  kna*es  as  any  in  Messina. 

*  »'.  e.  for  an  adu  or  pain. 


112 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  IV. 


Dog').  A  gooj  o'ci  man.  sir ;  lie  will  he  talking; 
as  they  say.  when  tho  a-;e  \s  in,  the  wit  is  out: 
God  help  us!  it  is  a  world  to  see!' — Well  said, 
i'faith.  nei^libor  Vertjos: — well,  God's  a  good  man  ; 
an  two  men  ride  of  a  horse,  one  inust  rifle  behind: 
—  An  honest  soul,  i'laith,  sir;  by  my  troth  he  is,  as 
ever  broke  bread  :  but,  (iod  is  to  he  worshipped: 
all  men  are  not  alike;  alas,  good  nei:j:hhor! 

Leon.  Indeec'.neighbor,  he  comestoo  short  of  you. 

D:>^b.   Gilts,  that  God  gives. 

Leon.  I  must  leave  you. 

J}ui£b.  One  word,  sir;  our  watch,  sir.  have,  in- 
deed, comprehended  twoaspicious  persons.and  we 
would  have  tlieia  this  morning  examined  before 
your  worship. 

Leon.  Take  their  exam-nation  yourself,  and  bring 
it  me;  I  am  now  in  great  haste," as  it  may  appear 
unto  you. 


Do^b.   It  slial!  he  sulliganre. 

Leon.  Drink  some  wine  ere  you  go ;  lare  you  well. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mesf^.  My  lord,  they  stay  for  you  to  give  your 
daughter  to  Ikt  husband. 

Leon.  I  will  wait  upon  them ;  I  am  ready, 

[Exeuuf  Lr.os \ro  and  Mepsenger. 

T)ogb.  Go,  good  partner,  go,  get  you  to  Francis 
Seacoal,  bid  him  bring  his  pen  and  ink  horn  to  the 
gaol ;  we  are  now  to  examination  these  men. 

Verg.   And  we  must  do  it  wisely, 

Do^h.  We  will  snare  for  no  wii,  I  warrant  you; 
here's  (hat  [Touchwf^  /its  foreftca'f.]  shall  drive 
some  of  them  to  a  non  com  :  only  ;j('t  the  learned 
writer  to  set  down  our  excommunication,  and  meet 
me  at  the  gaol.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  i.—  Tke  Inside  of  a  Church. 
Enter  Don  Pep  no,  Dim  Johx,  Lkovato,  Friar, 

ClaUDIO,  liENKDICK.    Hku»,  BeaTKICE,  <Scf. 

Leon.  Come,  friar  Francis,  be  brief;  only  to  the 
plain  form  of  maiTiage,  and  you  shall  recount  their 
particular  duties  afterwards. 

Friar.  You  come  hither,  my  lord,  to  marry  this 
lady  ! 

Clauil.  No. 

Lion.  To  be  married  to  her,  friar ;  you  come  to 
marry  her. 

Fricir.  Lady,  you  come  hither  to  be  married  to 
this  count. 

He.o.  I  do. 

Friur.  If  Cither  of  you  know  any  inward  imped- 
iment why  you  should  not  be  conjoined,  I  charge 
you,  on  your  souls,  to  utter  it. 

Claud-   Know  you  any.  Hero  1 

Hero.  None,  my  lord. 

Friar.  Know  you   any,  counti 

Leon.    \  dare  make  his  answer,  none. 

Claud,  u,  what  men  dare  do!  what  men  may  do! 
what  men  daily  do !   not  knowing  what  they  do ! 

]3ene.  How  now!  Interjections?  Why, then  some 
be  of  laughing,  as  ha  !  ha!  he ! 

Claud.  Stand  thee  by,  friar:— Father,  by  your 
leave ! 
Will  you  with  free  and  unconstrained  soul 
Give  ine  this  maid,  your  daughter? 

Lena.   .\s  freely,  son,  as  God  did  give  her  me. 

Claud.  And  what  have  I  to  give  you  back,  whose 
worth 
May  counterpoise  this  rich  and  precious  gift? 

D.  Pc  Iro.  Nothing,  imless  you  render  her  again. 

Claud.  Sweet  prince,  you  learn  me  noble  thank- 
fulness.— 
There,  Leonato,  take  her  back  again  ; 
Give  not  this  rotten  orange  to  your  friend ; 
Slic's  but  the  sign  and  semblance  of  her  honor: — 
Behold,  how  like  a  maid  she  blushes  here  : 
0,  what  authority  and  show  of  truth 
Can  cunnmg  sin  cover  itself  withal ! 
Comes  not  that  blood,  as  modest  evidence. 
To  witness  simple  virtue?    Would  you  not  swear. 
All  you  that  see  her,  that  she  were  a  maid. 
By  these  exterior  shows?  But  she  is  none: 
She  knows  the  beat  of  a  luxurious"  bed  : 
Her  blush  is  guiltiness,  not  modesty. 

L'-nu.   Wliat  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ? 

Claud.  Not  to  be  married, 

Not  knit  my  soul  to  an  approved  wanton. 

Lfi'U.   Pear  my  lord,  if  you  in  your  own  proof 
Have  vanqvushed  the  resistance  nf  iier  youth, 
And  made  di'h  at  of  her  virginity. 

Claud.   I  liiiow  what  you  would  say;  if  I  have 
known  her. 
You'll  say.  she  did  embrace  me  a-s  a  husband,        , 
And  so  extenuate  the  "forehand  sin : 
No,  l.eonato, 
I  never  tempted  her  with  word  too  larga,' 

•  i.  e.  It  is  wonderful  to  see.  «  LnsciviouB. 


But.  as  a  brother  to  his  sister  show'd 
Bashful  sincerity,  and  comely  love. 

Hero.  And  seemed  I  ever  otherwise  to  you  ? 

Claud.  Out  on  thy  seeming  !  I  will  write  against 
it: 
You  seem  to  me  as  Pian  in  her  orb: 
As  chaste  as  is  the  bud  ere  it  be  blown  : 
Hut  you  are  more  intejj^iperate  in-your  blood 
Than  Venus,  or  those  pamper'd  animals 
That  rage  in  savage  sensuality. 

Hero.   Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  doth  speak  so 
\vide?B 

Leon.  Sweet  prince,  why  speak  not  you  ? 

D.  Pcdrn.  What  should  I  speak? 

I  stand  dishonor'd,  that  have  i^one  about 
To  link  my  dear  friend  to  a  common  stale. 

Leon.  Are  these  things^poken?  or  do  I  hut  dream? 

D.John.  Sir,  they  are  spoken,  and  these  things 
are  true. 

Bene.  This  looks  not  like  a  nuptual. 

Hern.  True?  O  God  ! 

Claud.  Leonato.  stand  I  here  ? 
Is  tliis  tile  prince?  Is  this  tlie  prince's  brother  ? 
Is  this  face  Ilero's?  Are  our  eyes  our  own  ? 

Leon.  All  this  is  so;  But  wliat  of  this,  my  lord? 

Claud.  Let  me  but  move  one  question  to  your 
daughter: 
And,  by  that  fatherly  and  kindly  power 
That  you  have  in  her,  bid  her  answer  truly. 

Leon.  I  charge  thee  do  so,  as  thou  art  my  child. 

Hero.  O  God  defend  me!  how  am  I  beset! — 
What  kind  of  catechisins  call  you  this? 

Claud.  To  make  you  answer  truly  to  your  name. 

Hern.  Is  it  not  Hero?   Who  can  blot  that  name 
With  any  just  reproacli? 

Claud.  Marry,  that  can  Hero ; 

Hero  itself  c^an  blot  out  Hero's  virtue. 
What  man  was  lie  tall-  il  with  you  yesternight 
Out  at  your  window,  betwixt  twelve  and  one  ? 
Now,  if  you  are  a  maid,  answer  to  this. 

He7-n.  1  talk'd  witli  no  man  at  that  hour,  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Why,  then  are  you  no  maiden. — Leo- 
nato, 
I  am  sorry  you  must  hear;  Upon  mine  honor, 
Myself,  niy'brother,  and  this  grieved  count 
Did   see  her,  hear  her,  at  that  hour  last  night. 
Talk  with  a  rutfian  at  her  chamber-window; 
Who  hath,  indeed,  most  like  a  liberal*  villain, 
Conless'd  the  vile  encounters  they  have  had 
A  thousand  times  in  secret. 

D.  Jidin.  Fye,  fye  !  they   are 

Not  to  be  nnme'd.  niy  lord,  not  to  be  sjioke  of; 
There  is  not  chastity  enouu'h  in  language, 
Withoul  olli'nee  to'ntter  them  :   Thus,  pretty  lady, 
I  am  sorry  lor  thy  much  mis-overnnient. 

C'r/'"/.  d  Hero!  what   a   Hero  hailst  thou  been. 
If  half  thy  outward  graces  had  been  placed 
About  thy  thoughts,  and  counsels  of  thy  heart! 
Bui,  fare  thee  well,   most  foul,  most  tiiir!  faicwell, 
Tliou  pure  impiety,  and  impious  ])urity  ! 
For  thee  I'll  lock  lip  all  the  gates  of  love, 

'  Licentious.        "  AViliily.        »  Too  free  of  tongue. 


Scene  I. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


113 


And  on  my  eyelids  shall  conjecture  han?. 
To  tnni  all  beauty  iiito  th.ju^lUs  oi"  harm, 
And  never  shall  li  more  be  gracious. 

Leon.  Hath  no  man's  dagger  here  a  point  for  me  1 
[Hkuo  swoou^. 

Beat.    Wliy,  how  now,  cousin  1  wherefore  sink 
you  down  ! 

D.  John.  Come,  let  us  go;  these  things,  come 
thus  to  liglit, 
Smotlier  her  spirits  up. 
[Eieuat  Dun  Pr.inin,  Don  JoiiTt,  and  Claodio. 

Bene.  How  doth  the  lady  ! 

Beat.  Dead,  [  think ; — help,  uncle ; — 

Hero!   why.   Hero! — Uncle! — Signior    Benedick! 
friar ! 

Leon,  o  tale,  take  not  away  thy  heavy  hand  ! 
Death  is  the  fairest  cover  for  her  shame, 
Tliat  may  be  wisli'd  for. 

Beaf.  How  now,  cousin  Hero  1 

Friar.  Have  comfort,  lady. 

Lfon.  Dost  thou  look  up ! 

Friar,  Yea;  wlierefore  should  she  not ! 

Leun.  Wherefore!   Why,  doth  not  every  eirlMy 
thing 
Cry  shame  lipon  her  1  Could  she  here  deny 
The  story  that  is  printed  in  her  blood  1 
Do  not  live.  Hero :  do  not  ope  thine  eyes : 
For  did  I  think  tliou  wouIJst  not  quickly  die. 
Thought  I  thy  spirits  were  stron^'er  than  thy  shames, 
Myself  would,  on  the  rearward  of  reproaches. 
Strike  at  thy  life;    Gricv'd  1,  1  had  but  one  ! 
Chid  [  for  that  at  fru:^at  nature's  frame  !» 
O,  one  too  much  by  thee  !  Why  had  I  one  ! 
Why  over  wast  thou  lovely  in  my  eyes! 
Why  had  I  not.  with  charitable  hand. 
Took  up  a  begirar's  issue  at  my  gates ; 
Who  smircheii-J  thus,  and  mir  d  with  infamy, 
I  might  have  said,  JVij  pwt  of  it  is  mine, 
Thi^  sliame  derives  itse!ffrum  unknown  tains? 
Hut  mine,  and  mine  I  lov'd,  mine  I  prais'd. 
And  mine  that  I  was  proud  on :  mine  so  much. 
That  I  myself  was  to  myself  not  mine. 
Valuing  of  her;  why,  she — ().  she  is  fallen 
Into  a  pit  of  mk!  that  the  wide  sea 
Hath  drops  too  few  to  wash  her  clean  again; 
And  salt  too  httle,  which  may  season  give 
To  her  foul  tainted  flesh  ! 

Bene.  Sir,  sir,  be  patient: 

For  my  part,  I  am  so  attir'd  in  wonder, 
I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Beaf.  O,  on  my  soul  my  cousin  is  belied  . 

Bene.  Lady,  were  you  her  bedfellow  last  night  1 

Beat.  No,   truly,  not ;  although  until  last  night, 
I  have  this  twelvemonth  been  her  bedfellow. 

Leon.  Coniirm'd,  conflrmd !  O,  that  is  stronger 
made. 
Which  was  before  barr'd  up  with  ribs  of  iron  ! 
Would  the  two  princes  lie  I  and  Claudio  lie — 
Who  lov'd  her  so.  that,  speaking  of  her  foulness, 
Wasli'd  it  with  tears  !  Hence  from  her;  let  her  die. 

Friar.  Hear  me  a  little : 
For  I  have  only  been  silent  so  long. 
And  given  way  unto  this  course  of  fortune, 
By  nothing  of  the  lady:  I  have  mark'd 
A  thousand  blushing  appiritions  start 
Into  her  face;  a  thousand  innocent  shames 
In  an-^el  whiteness  bear  away  those  blushes; 
And  in  her  eye  there  hath  appear'd  a  lire. 
To  burn  the  errors  that  these  princes  hold 
.\gainst  her  maiden  truth: — Call  me  a  fool, 
Trust  not  my  reading,  nor  my  observations. 
Which  with  experimental  zeal  doth  warrant 
Tlie  tenor  of  my  book;  trust  not  my  age. 
My  reverence,  calling,  nor  divinity. 
If  this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here 
,  Under  some  biting  error. 

Leon.  Friar, it  cannot  be: 

Thou  scest,  that  all  the  grace  that  she  hath  left. 
Is,  that  she  will  not  add  to  her  damnation 
A  sin  of  perjury ;  she  not  denies  it : 
Why  seek'st  thou  then  to  cover  with  excuse 
That  wliich  appears  in  proper  nakedness  ! 
Friar.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accus'd  of? 

Hero.  They  know,  tliat  do  accuse  me;  I  know 
none : 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive. 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant, 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy  ! — O  my  father. 
Prove  you  that  any  man  with  me  conversed 
I  Disposition  of  things.  s  Sullied. 


.\t.  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 

Maiut.iiii  d  the  cliange  ot  words  with  any  creature, 

Refuse  me,  hate  me.  torture  me  to  deatli. 

Friar.  There  is  some  strange  mispr.sion'  in  the 
princes. 

Bene.   Two  of  them  have  the  very  bent  of  honor; 
And  if  their  wisdoms  be  misled  in  this. 
The  practice  of  it  lives  in  John  the  bastard, 
Whose  spirits  toil  in  frame  of  villanies. 

Leon.  I  know  not ;  If  they  speak  but  truth  of  her, 
These  hands  shall  tear  lier;iftliey  wrong  Iter  honor. 
The  proudest  of  them  shall  well  hear  of  it. 
Time  hath  not  yet  so  dried  this  blood  of  mine, 
Nor  age  so  eat  up  my  invention, 
.N"or  fortune  made  such  havock  of  my  means, 
Nor  my  bad  life  reft  me  so  much  of  friends. 
But  they  shall  lind.  awakd  in  such  a  kind, 
Both  strength  of  limb,  and  policy  of  mind, 
Ability  in  means,  and  choice  of  friends, 
To  quit  me  of  tiiem  thoroughly. 

Friar.  Pause  a  while. 

Anil  let  my  counsel  sway  you  in  this  case. 
Your  daughter  here  the  princes  left  for  dead; 
Let  her  awhile  be  secretly  kept  in, 
And  publish  it,  thit  she  is  dead  indeed: 
Maintain  a  mourning  ostentation  : 
And  on  your  family's  old  monument 
Hang  mournful  epitaphs,  and  do  all  rites 
That  appeartain  unto  a  burial. 

Leon.  What  shall   become  of  this?   What  will 
this  do! 

Friar.  Marry,  this,  well  carried,  shall  on  her  behalf ' 
Change  slander  to  remorse;  that  is  some  good  : 
But  not  for  that,  dream  1  on  this  strange  course, 
But  on  this  travail  look  lor  greater  birtli. 
She  dying,  as  it  must  be  so  maintained, 
Upon  the  instant  that  she  was  accus'd. 
Snail  be  lamented,  pitied,  and  excused. 
Of  every  hearer:    Forit  so  falls  out. 
That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth. 
Whiles  we  enjoy  it;  but  being  lack'd  and  lost, 
Why,  then  we  rack*  the  value;  then  we  tind 
The  virtue,  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
Whiles  it  was  ours : — So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio 
When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words 
The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination  ; 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 
Shall  come  apparcll'd  in  more  jirecious  habit, 
.More  moving-delicate,  and  full  of  life. 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul. 
Than  when  she  liv'd  indeed : — then  shall  he  mourn 
(If  ever  love  had  interest  in  his  liver,) 
.\nd  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her; 
No,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  true. 
Let  this  be  so,  and  doubt  not  but  success 
Will  fishion  the  event  in  better  shape 
Than  I  can  lay  it  down  in  likelihood. 
But  if  all  aim  but  this  be  levell'd  false. 
The  supposition  of  the  lady's  death 
Will  quench  the  wonder  of  her  infamy: 
.4nd.  if  it  sort  not  well,  you  may  conceal  her 
(.As'  best  befits  her  wounded  reputation) 
In  some  reclusive  and  religious  life. 
Out  of  all  eyes,  tongues,  minds,  and  injuries. 

iJfy^^.  Signior  Leonato,  let  the  friar  advi.st^   you. 
.\nd  though,  you  K'now,  my  inwardness*  and  love 
Is  very  much  unto  the  prince  and  Claudio, 
Yet,  by  mine  honor,  1  will  deal  in  this 
As  secretly,  and  justly,  as  your  soul 
Should  with  your  body. 

Leon.  Being  that  I  flow  in  grief, 

The  smallest  twine  may  lead  me. 

Friar.  'Tis  well  consented;  presently  away  ; 
For  to  strange  sores  strangely  they  strain  the 
cure  : — 
Come,  lady,  die  to  live:  this  wedding  day. 

Perhaps,  is  but  prolong'd;   have  patience,  and 
endure. 

I  Exeunt  Friar,  HEno.  and  Lkonato. 

Bene.   Lady    Beatrice,  have   you   wept  all   this 
while  1 

Brat.  Yea,  and  I  will  weep  a  while  longer. 

Bene.  1  will  not  desire  that. 

lieo/.  You  have  no  reason,  I  do  it  freely. 

Bene.  Surely,  I  do  believe   you   fair  cousin  is 
wrong'd. 

Beol.  Ah,  how  much  might  the  man  deserve  of 
me,  tliat  would  right  her! 

3  .Miscouccptiou.        *  Over-rate         •  Intimncy, 


114 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  IV. 


Bene.  Is  there  any  way  to  show  such  tYiendsliip  1 

Bejf.  A  very  even  way,   but  no  sucli  friend. 

Bene,  May  a  man  do  it^ 

Bcuf.  It  is  a  man's  ollice,  but  not  yours. 

Bc^if.  I  do  love  nothing  in  t)ie  world  so  well  as 
you  :  Is  not  ttiat  strange  ? 

Beat.  As  strange  as  the  thins  I  know  not:  It 
were  as  possible  lor  me  to  say,  I  love  nothing  so 
well  as  you :  but  believe  me  not ;  and  yet  I  lie  not ; 
I  confess  nothing,  nor,  I  deny  nothing  : — 1  am  sorry 
for  my  cousin. 

Bene.  l!y  my  sword,  Beatrice,  thou  lovest  me. 

Beat,  l)o  not  swear  by  it,  and  eat  it. 

Be«e.  1  will  swear  by  it,  that  you  love  me;  and 
I  will  make  him  eat  it,  that  says  1  love  not  you. 

B'lit.  Will  you  not  eat  your  word! 

Bene.  With  no  sauce  that  can  be  devised  to  it: 
I  protest,  I  love  thee. 

Bea/.  Why  then,  God  forgive  me ! 

Bene.  What  offence,  sweet  Beatrice  1 

Beat.  You  iiave  staid  me  m  a  happy  hour ;  1  was 
about  to  protest,  I  loved  you. 

Bene.  And  do  it  with  all  thy  heart. 

Beat.  I  love  you  with  so  much  of  my  heart,  that 
none  is  left  to  protest. 

Bene.  Come,  bid  me  do  any  thing  for  thee. 

Beat.  Kill  Claudio. 

Bene   Ha !  not  for  the  wide  world. 

Beat.  You  kill  me  to  deny  it:  farewell. 

Bene.  Tarry,  sweet  Ueatrice. 

Beat.  I  am  gone,  though  I  am  here : — There  is 
no  love  in  you:— Nay,  1  pray  you,  let  me  go. 

Bene.  Beatrice, — 

Beat.  In  faith,  I  will  go. 

Bene.  We'll  be  friends  lirst. 

Beat.  You  dare  easier  be  friends  with  me,  than 
fiLjht  with  mme  enemy. 

Bene.  Is  Claudio  thine  enemy '' 

Beat.  Is  he  not  approved  in  the  height  a  villain, 
that  hath  slandered,  scorned,  dishonored  my  kins- 
woman ! — t),  that  I  were  a  man  ! — What !  bear 
her  in  hand  until  they  come  to  take  hands;  and 
then  with  public  accusation,  uncovered  slander,  un- 
mitigated rancor, — 0  God,  that  I  were  a  man!  I 
would  eat  his  heart  in  the  market-place. 

Bene.  Hear  me,  Beatrice ; — 

Beat.  Talk  with  a  man  out  at  a  window !— a 
proper  saying ! 

Bene.  Nay,  but,  Beatrice;— 

Beat.  Sweet  Hero! — she  is  wronged,  she  is 
slandered,  she  is  undone. 

Bone.  Beat — 

Beat.  Princes  and  counties !»  Surely,  a  princely 
testimony,  a  goodly  count-confect ;'  a  sweet  gal- 
lant, surely  !  O,  that  I  were  a  man  for  his  sake  !  or 
that  I  had  any  friend  would  be  a  man  for  my  sake  ! 
But  manhood  is  melted  into  courtesies,  valor  into 
compliment, and  men  are  only  turned  into  tongue, 
and  trim  ones  too:  he  is  now  as  valiant  as  Hercu- 
les, tiiat  only  tells  a  lie,  and  swears  it: — I  cannot 
be  a  man  with  wishing,  therefore  I  will  die  a  wo- 
man with  grieving. 

Bf-ne.  Tarry,  good  Beatrice;  By  this  hand,  I 
love  thee. 

Beat.  Use  it  for  my  love  some  other  way  than 
swearing  by  it. 

Bene.  Think  you  in  your  soul  the  count  Clau- 
dio hath  wronged  Hero! 

Beat.  Yea,  as  sure  as  I  have  a  thought,  or  a 
soul. 

Bene.  Enough,  I  am  engaged,  I  will  challenge 
him  ;  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  leave  you :  By 
this  hand,  Claudio  shall  render  me  a  dear  account: 
As  you  hear  of  me,  so  think  of  me.  Go,  comfort 
your  cousin;  I  must  say,  she  is  dead;  and  so,  fiire- 
well.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.—^  Priso7i. 

Enter  DiiGiiF.nnY,  VKnr.KS,a/iii  Sexton, in goicns ; 
and  tlic  Watch,   wi/A  Con  hade  and  Buuachio. 

Dop'}.  Is  our  whole  dissembly  appeared  1 
Verg.  O,  a  stool  and  a  cushion  for  the  sexton  ! 
Sexton.  Which  be  the  malefactors? 
Dogb.  Marry,  that  am  I  and  my  partner. 

6  Nobleman.         '  A  nobleman  made  out  of  sugar. 


Verg.  Nay,  thals  certain;  we  have  the  exliibi 
tion  to  examine. 

Se^'ton.  But  which  arc  the  offenders  that  are  tobe 
examined  ]   let  them  come  before  master  constable. 

Do^l}.  Yea,  marry,  let  them  come  before  me. — ■ 
What  is  your  name,  friend  ' 

B'ira.  Borachio. 

Dogh.  Pray  write  down — Borachio-^— Yours, 
sirrah? 

Con.  I  am  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  my  name  is 
Conrade. 

Dvgb.  Write  down — master  gentleman  Con 
rade. — Masters,  do  you  serve  God? 

Con.  Bora.  Yea,  sir,  we  hope. 

Dogb.  Write  down —  that  they  hope  they  serve 
God: — and  write  God  first;  for  God  defend  but 
God  should  go  before  such  villains ! — Masters,  it  is 
proved  already  that  you  are  little  better  than  false 
knaves ;  and  it  will  go  near  to  be  thought  so  short- 
ly.   How  answer  you  for  yourselves  ! 

Con.  Marry,  sir,  w'e  say  we  are  none. 

Dogb.  A  marvellous  witty  fellow,  I  assure  you ; 
but  I  will  go  about  with  him. — Come  you  hither, 
sirrah:  a  word  in  your  car,  sir;  Isay  to  you,  it  is 
thought  you  are  false  linavcs. 

Birra.  Sir,  I  say  to  you,  we  are  none. 

Dogb.  Well,  stand  aside. — 'Fore  God,  they  are 
both  in  a  tale:  Have  you  writ  down — that  they 
are  none  ? 

Sexton.  Master  constable,  you  go  not  the  way 
to  examine :  you  must  call  forth  the  watch  that 
are  their  accusers. 

Dogb.  Yea,  marry,  that's  the  eflest  way: — Let 
the  watch  come  forth.— Masters,  I  charge  you,  in 
the  prince's  name,  accuse  these  men. 

1  JValeli.  This  man  said,  sir,  that  don  John,  the 
prince's  brother,  was  a  villain. 

Dogb.  W^rite  down — prince  John  a  villain  : — 
Why  this  is  flat  perjury,  to  call  a  prince's  brother 
— villain. 

Bora.  Master  constable, — 

Dogb.  Pray  thoe,  fellow,  peace;  I  do  not  like 
thy  look,  1  promise  thee. 

'Srxton.  What  heard  you  him  say  else? 

2  IValcli.  Marry,  that  he  had  received  a  thou- 
sand ducats  of  don  John,  for  accusing  the  lady 
Hero  wrongfully. 

Dogb.  Flat  burglary,  as  ever  was  committed. 
J'erg.  Yea,  by  the  mass,  that  it  is. 
Sexton.  What  else,  fellow  ? 

1  Wateli.  And  that  count  Claudio  did  mean, 
upon  his  words,  to  disgrace  Hero  before  the  whole 
assembly,  and  not  marry  her. 

Dogb.  O  villain!   thou  wilt  be  condemned  into 
everlasting  redemption  for  this. 
Sexton.  What  else  ? 

2  Watcti.  This  is  aU. 

Sexton.  And  this  is  more,  masters,  than  you  can 
deny.  Prince  John  is  this  morning  secretly  stolen 
away ;  Hero  was  in  this  manner  accused,  in  this 
very  manner  refused,  and  upon  the  grief  of  this 
suddenly  died. — Master  constable,  let  these  men  be 
bound,  and  brought  to  Leonato's;  I  will  go  betbre, 
and  show  him  their  examination.  \Exit. 

Dogb.  Come,  let  tliem  be  opiiiioned. 

Verg.  Let  them  be  in  band. 

Con.  Oir,  coxcomb ! 

Dogb.  Gods  mvlife!  Where's  the  sexton?  let 
him  write  down — the  prince's  officer,  coxcomb. — 
Come,  bind  them: fhou  naughty  varlet! 

Cm}.  Away!  you  are  an  ass,  you  are  an  ass. 

Dt>gb.  Dost  thou  not  suspect  my  place?  Dost 
thou  not  suspect  my  years  !— 0  that  he  were  here 
to  write  me  down— an  ass !— but,  masters,  remem- 
ber, that  I  am  an  ass ;  though  it  be  not  written 
down,  yet  forget  not  that  I  am  an  ass  : — No,  thou 
villain,  thou  aft  full  of  piety,  as  shall  be  proved 
upon  thee  by  gooil  witness.  I  am  a  wise  fellow  ; 
and,  which  is  more,  an  officer;  and,  which  is  more 
a  householder :  and,  which  is  more,  as  pretty  a 
piece  of  flesh  as  any  is  in  Messina  ;  and  one  that 
knows  the  law,  go  to  ;  and  a  rich  fellow  enough, 
go  to  ;  and  a  fellow  that  hath  had  losses ;  and  one 
that  hath  two  gowns,  and  every  thing  handsome 
about  him : — 13ring  him  away.  O,  that  I  had 
been  writ  down — an  ass.  {Exeunt 


Scene  I. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTIirxa. 


115 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  \.—Bffure  Leonato's  House. 
Enter  Lkoxato  and  Axtoxio. 

AnI.  If  you  sjo  on  llius,   you  will  kill  yourself; 
And  'tis  not  wisdom,  thus  to  second  grief 
Against  yourself. 

Leon.  I  pray  thee,  cease  thy  counsel, 
Which  falls  into  mine  ears  as  profitless 
As  water  in  a  sieve :  give  not  me  counsel ; 
Nor  let  no  comforter  delight  mine  ear, 
But  such  a  one  whose  wroii„'S  do  su.t  with  mine. 
Bring  me  a  father,  that  so  lov'd  his  child. 
Whose  joy  of  her  is  overwhelmd  like  mine. 
And  bid  him  speak  of  patience  ; 
Measure  his  woe  the  length  and  breadth  of  mine, 
And  let  it  answer  every  strain  for  strain  ; 
As  thus  for  thus,  and  such  a  grief  for  such. 
In  every  lineament,  branch,  sliape,  and  form  : 
If  such  a  one  will  smile,  and  stroke  his  beard; 
Cry — sorrow,  wa'.r!  and  iiem,  when  he  should  groan; 
Patch  grief  with  proverbs,  make  mistortune  drunk 
With  candle-wasters;  bring  him  yet  to  me, 
And  I  of  him  will  gather  patience. 
But  there  is  no  such  man  ;  For,  brother,  men 
Can  counsel,  and  speak  comfort  to  that  grief 
Which  they  themselves  not  feel ;  but  tasting  it. 
Their  counsel  turns  to  passion,  which  before 
Would  give  preceptial  medicine  to  rage. 
Fetter  strong  madness  in  a  silken  thread. 
Charm  ache  with  air.  and  agony  with  words  : 
NtJ,  no:  'tis  all  men's  ofliee  to  speak  patience 
To  those  that  wring  under  the  load  of  sorrow, 
But  no  man's  virtue,  nor  sufiiciency. 
To  be  .so  moral,  when  he  shall  endure 
The  like  himself:  therefore  give  me  no  counsel : 
My  griefs  cry  louder  than  advertisement," 

Ant.  Thereindo  men  from  children  nothing  differ. 

/>o«.  I  pray  thee,  peace :  I  will  be  flesh  and  blood  ; 
For  there  was  never  yet  philosopher. 
That  could  endure  the  tooth-ache  patiently  ; 
However  they  have  writ  the  style  of  gods. 
And  made  a  pish  at  chance  and  sufferance. 

Ant.  Yet  bend  not  all  the  harm  upon  yourself; 
Make  those,  that  do  olfcnd  you,  sutfer  too. 

Leun.  There  thou  speak'st  reason :  nay,  I  will 
do  so: 
Jly  soul  doth  tell  me.  Hero  is  belied ; 
And  that  shall  Chuuiio  know,  so  shall  the  prince, 
And  all  of  them,  that  thus  dishonor  her. 

Enter  Dun  PF.nno  and  Claudio. 

Ant.  Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio,  hastily, 

D.  Pedro.  Good  den  good  den. 

Ctnud.  Good  day  to  both  of  you. 

Leon.  Here  you,  my  lords. — 

D.  Pedro.  We  have  some  haste,  Leonato. 

D:on.  Some  haste,  my  lord ! — well,  fare  you  well, 
my  lord  : — 
Are  you  so  hasty  now  1 — well,  all  is  one. 

D.  Pedro.  N.ay,  do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old 
man. 

Ant.  If  he  could  right  himself  with  quarrelling. 
Some  of  us  would  lie  low. 

Claud.  Who  wrongs  him? 

Leon.  Marry, 

Thou,  thou  dost  wroni  me:  thou  dissembler,  thou: — 
Nay,  never  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  sword, 
I  fear  thee  not. 

Claud.  Marry,  beshrew  my  hand. 

If  it  should  give  your  age  such  cause  of  fear: 
In  taith,  my  harid  meant  nothing  to  my  sword. 

Leon.  Tush,  tush,  man,  never  fleer  and  jest  at  me; 
I  speak  not  like  a  dotard,  nor  a  fool ; 
As,  under  privilege  of  age,  to  brag 
What  I  have  done  being  young,  or  what  would  do. 
Were  I  not  old  :  Know  Claudio,  to  thy  head. 
Thou  hast  so  wrong'd  mine  innocent  child  and  me. 
That  I  ant  forc'd  to  lay  my  reverence  by; 
And,  witli  grey  hairs,  and  bruise  of  many  days, 
Do  challenge  thee  to  trial  of  a  man. 
I  say,  thou  hast  belied  mine  innocent  child; 
Thy  slander  hath  gone  through  and  through  her 

heart, 
And  she  lies  buried  with  her  ancestors : 
O!  in  a  tomb  where  never  scandal  slept, 
«  Admonition. 


Save  this  of  hers  fi-am'd  by  thy  villany ! 

Claud.  BIy  villany ! 

L'on.  Thine,  Claudio;  thine,  I  say. 

D.  Pedro.  You  say  not  right,  old  man. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord. 

I'll  prove  it  on  his  body,  if  he  dare; 
Despite  his  nice  fence,  and  Ids  active  practice. 
His  May  of  youth,  and  bloom  of  lustyhood. 

Claud.  Away.  I  will  not  have   to    do  with  you. 

Leon.  Canst  thou  so  dalF  meT  Thou  hast  liiU'd 
my  child; 
If  thou  kili'st  me.  boy,  thou  shall  kill  a  man. 

Ant.  He  shall  kill  two  of  us,  and  men  indeed; 
But  that's  no  matter;  let  him  kill  one  first ; 
Win  me  and  wear  me, — let  him  answer  me, — 
Come,  follow  me,  boy  ;  come,  boy,  follow  me: 
Sir  boy.  I'll  whip  you  from  your  fbining'  fence; 
Nay.  as  I  am  a  geiAleman,  I  will. 

Lmn.  Brother. — 

Ant.  Content  yourself:  God  knows,  I   lov'd  my 
niece; 
And  she  is  dead,  slander'd  to  death  by  villains; 
That  dare  as  well  answer  a  man,  indeed, 
/Vs  I  dare  take  a  serpent  by  the  tongue  : 
Boys,  apes,  braggarts,  Jacks,  milksops  \ — ■ 

Leon.  Brother  Antony, — 

Ant  Hold  you  content:  What,  man!   I  know 
them,  yea, 
.\nd  what  they  weigh,  even  to  the  utmost  scruple  : 
Scambling,  out-facing,  fashion-mong'ring  boys. 
That  lie,  and  cog,  and  flout,  deprave,  and  slander, 
Go  anticly,  and  show  outward  hideousness, 
And  speak  off  half  a  dozen  dangerous  words, 
How  tliey  might  hurt  their  enemies,  if  they  durst. 
And  this  is  all. 

Leon.  But,  brotjier  Antony, — 

Ant.  Come, 'tis  no  matter; 

Do  not  you  meddle,  let  me  deal  in  this. 

D.  Pedro.  Genilemcn  both,  we  will   not  wake 
your  patience. 
My  heart  is  sorry  for  your  daughter's  death  ; 
But.  on  my  honor,  she  was  charg'd  with  nothing 
But  what  was  true,  and  very  full  of  proof. 

Leon.  My  lord,  my  lord, — 

D.  Pedro.  I  will  not  hear  you. 

Leon.  No  ! 

Brother,  away : — I  will  be  heard  ; — 

Ant.  And  shall, 

Or  some  of  us  will  smart  for  it. 

[Exeunt  Lkoxato  and  Axtonio. 
Enter  BESF.nicK. 

X).  Pedro.  See,  see ;  here  comes  the  man  we  went 
to  seek. 

Claud.  Now,  signior!  what  news? 

Bene.  Good  day.  my  lord. 

D.  Pedro.  Welcome,  signior:  You  are  almost 
come  to  part  almost  a  fray. 

Ctaud.  We  had  like  to  have  had  our  two  noses 
snapped  otl'with  two  old  men  without  teeth. 

i).  Pedro.  Leonato  and  his  brother:  What 
think'st  thou?  Had  we  fought,  I  doubt  we  should 
have  been  too  young  for  them. 

Bene.  In  a  ftUse  quarrel  there  is  no  true  valor. 
I  came  to  seek  you  both. 

Claud.  We  have  been  up  and,  down  to  seek  thee ; 
for  we  are  high-proof  melancholy,  and  would  faiu 
have  it  beaten  away  :  Wilt  thou  use  thy  wit?  - 

Brne.  It  is  in  my  scabbard  ;  shall  I  draw  it  ? 

L>.  Pedro.  Dost  thou  wear  thy  wit  by  thy  side  ? 

Claud.  Never  any  did  so,  though  very  many 
have  been  beside  their  wit. — I  will  bid  thee  draw, 
as  we  do  the  minstrels ;  draw,  to  pleasure  us. 

D.  Pedro.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  he  looks 
pale  : — .Art  thou  sick,  or  angry  ? 

Claud.  What!  courage,^  man!  What  though 
care  killed  a  cat,  thou  hast  mettle  enough  in  thee  to 
kill  care. 

Bene.  Sir,  I  shall  meet  your  wit  in  the  career, 
an  you  charge  it  against  me  : — I  pray  you,  choose 
another  subject. 

Claud.  Nay.  then  give  him  another  stall';  this 
last  was  broke  cross. 

D.  Pedro.  By   this  light,  he  changes  more  and 
more ;  I  think,  he  be  angry  indeed. 
B  Thrusting. 


116 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  V. 


Clait'l.  If  he  be,  he  knows  how  to  turn  his  girdle- 

Bene.  Sliall  \  speak  a  word  in  your  ear  \ 

Claial.  God  bless  me  iV-nn  a  ohillen^e  ] 

Bene.  You  are  a  viJlaui ; — I  jest  not; — I  will 
make  it  ^ood  how  you  dare,  with  what  you  dare, 
and  when  you  dare: — Do  nie  ri^ht,  or  I  wUl  pro- 
test your  cowardice.  Vmi  liave  killed  a  sweet  lady, 
and  "iier  death  shall  fall  heavy  on  you :  Let  me  hear 
iroin  you. 

Claud.  Well,  I  will  meet  you,  so  I  may  have 
good  cheer. 

D.  Pedro,  What,a  feast?  a  feast T 

Claud.  ITaith,  i  tliank  him;  he  hatli  bid  me  to 
a  calf's  head  and  a  capon;  the  which  if  I  do  not 
carve  most  curiously,  say.  my  knife's  naught. — 
Shall  I  not  find  a  wooiicock  too  I 

Bene.  Sir,  your  wit  ambles  well;   it  goes  easily. 

D.  Pedro.  Ill  tell  thee  how  Beatri<-e  praised  thy 
wit  the  other  day:  I  said  thou  hadst  a  tine  wit: 
True,  says  she,  a  fine  little  one:  No,  said  I,  a  gi'eat 
ivit ;  RUhf,  says  sJie,  a  ^rcat  gross  one :  Nai/,  said  I, 
a  good  wit;  Just,  said  she,  it  hurts  noOndy:  Nay 
Slid  I,  the  gentleman  is  wise,-  Certain,  said  she.  a 
7t'/-se  .gentleman  :  Nay  said  I.  tie  hatfi  the  tongues ; 
Tkai  I  believe,  said  she  f»r  fie  swore  a  thing  to  me 
un  Mfi/rlay  Jiig/it,  which  he  forswore  on  Tuesday 
morning;  tliere's  a  double  tongue;  there's  two 
tongues.  Thus  did  she,  an  liour  to2;ether,  trans- 
shape  thy  particular  virtues;  yet,  at  last,  she  con- 
cluded With  a  sigh,  thou  wast  the  properest  man 
in  Italy. 

Claud.  For  the  which  she  wept  he.irtily,  and 
said  she  cared  not. 

D.  Pedro.  Yea,  that  she  did;  but  yet  for  all  that, 
an  if  she  did  not  hate  him  deadly,  she  would  love 
him  dearly :  the  old  man's  daughter  told  us  all. 

ClauiL  All,  all  J  and  moreover,  God  saw  him 
ivhen  he  luas  hid  in  the  garden. 

D.  Pedro.  But  when  shall  we  set  the  savage 
bull's  horns  on  the  sensible  Benedicks  head  1 

Claud.  Yea.  and  text  underneath,  Here  dwells 
Benedick  the  married  man  ? 

Bene.  Fare  you  well,  boy;  you  know  my  mind; 
I  will  leave  you  now  to  your  gossip-like  humor: 
you  break  jests  as  braggarts  do  their  blades,  which, 
God  be  thanked,  hurt  hi)t. — My  lord,  for  your  many 
courtesies,  1  thank  you:  I  must  discontinue  your 
company:  your  brother,  the  bastard,  is  Ilcd  from 
]Messina:  you  have,  among  you,  killed  a  sweet  and 
innocent  lady:  For  my  lord  lack-beard,  there,  he 
and  I  shall  meet;  and  till  then,  peace  be  with  him. 
[Exit  Benedick. 

D.  Pedro.  He  is  in  earnest. 

C'/f/fc^.  In  most  profDUiid  earnest;  and,  I'll  war- 
rant you,  for  the  love  of  iteatnce. 

D.  Pedro.  And  halh  rhallenged  thee  f 

Claud.  Most  sincerely. 

I).  Pedro.  What  a  pretty  thin:^  man  is,  when  h» 
goes  in  his  doublet  and  hose,  and  leaves  off  his  wit  I 

Eater  Dogbkhrt,  Vehges.  an-l  the  Watch,  with 
CuNRAnE  and  Borachio. 

Claud.  He  is  then  a  giant  to  an  ape:  but  then 
ig  ;in  ape  a  doctor  to  su  -h  a  man. 

D.  Pedro.  But,  soft  you,  let  be;  pluck  up,  my 
heart,  and  be  sad !'  Did  he  not  say,  my  brother  was 
lleJ  ] 

Dogh.  Come,  you,  sir;  if  justi::e  cannot  tame  you, 
she  shall  neer  weigh  mure  re.isons  in  her  balance: 
nay,  an  you  be  a  cursing  hypocrite  once,  you  must 
be  looked  to. 

D.  Pd'lro.  How  now,  two  of  my  brother's  men 
bound"!  Borachio.  one! 

Claud.  Hen-ken  after  their  oflfence.  my  lord  ! 

D.  Pedro.  Odicers,  what  o:fence  have  these  men 
done  f 

Dogh.  Marry,  sir,  they  have  committed  f-ilse  re- 
port;  moreover,  they  have  spoken  untruths;  se- 
condarily, they  are  slanders;  sixth,  and  lastly  they 
have  belied  a  lady ;  thirdly,  they  have  verilied  un- 
just things ;  and,  to  conclude,  they  are  lying  knaves. 

D.  Pedro.  First,  1  ask  thee  what  they  have  done; 
thirdly,  I  ask  thee  whafs  tiieir  offence;  'sixth  and 
lastly,  why  they  arc  committed;  and,  to  conclude, 
what  you  lay  to  their  charge? 

Claud.  Rightly  reasoned,  and  in  his  own  division  ; 
and,  by  my  troth,  tlieres  one  meaning  well  suited. 

D.  Pedro.  Whom  have  you  olfended,  masters ; 
tliat  you  are  thus  bound  to  your  answer!  this 
I  Serious. 


learned  constable  is  too  cunning  to  be  understood. 
What's  your  oilence  \ 

Bora.  Sweet  prince,  let  me  go  no  further  to  mine 
answer;  do  you  hear  me,  and  let  this  count  kill  me. 
I  have  deceived  even  your  very  eyes;  what  your 
wisdoms  could  not  discover,  these  shallow  fools 
have  brought  to  light;  who,  in  the  night,  over- 
heard me  confcssini;  to  this  man,  how  don  John 
your  brother  inceiiseda  me  to  slander  tlie  lady 
Hero:  how  you  were  brouiiht  into  the  orchard,  and 
saw  ine  court  Margaret  in  Hero's  garments;  how 
you  disgraced  her,  when  you  should  many  her: 
my  villany  they  have  upon  record;  which  I  had 
rather  seal  vi'ith  my  death,  than  repeat  over  to  my 
sliame;  the  lady  isdead  upon  mine  and  my  master's 
falso-accusatiori ;  and,  bnelly,  I  desire  nothing  but 
the  reward  of  a  villain. 

D.  Pedrn.  Runs  not  thisspeech  like  iron  through 
your  blood? 

Claud.  I  have  drunk  poison  whiles  he  utter'd  iL 

Z>.  Pedro.  But  did  my  brother  set  thee  on  to  this? 

Bora.  Yea,  and  paid  ine  richly  for  the  practice  of  it. 

D.  Pedrn.  He  is  compos'd   and  frame  d  of  trea- 
chery : — 
And  fled  he  is  upon  tliis  villany. 

Claud.  Sweet  Hero!  now  thy  image  doth  appear 
In  the  rare  semblance  that  I  loved  it  first. 

Jjiigb.  Come,  bring  away  the  plaintiils;  by  this 
time  our  sexton  liath  reformed  signior  Leonato  of 
the  matter.  And,  masters,  do  not  forget  to  specify, 
when  time  and  place  shall  serve,   that  I  am  an  ass. 

X'^erg.  Here,  here  comes  master  signior  Leonato, 
and  the  sexton  too. 
Re-enter  Leoxato  and  AsToy\o,with  the  Sexton. 

Lcini.  Which  is  the  villain?  Let  me  see  his  eyes 
That  when  I  note  another  man  like  him, 
I  may  avoid  him  :  Whicli  of  these  is  he  ? 

Bo7-a.  If  you  would  know  your   wronger,   look 
on  me. 

Leon.  Art  thou  the   slave,  that  with  thy    breath 
hast  kiU'd 
Mine  innocent  child  ? 

Bora.  Yea,  even  I  alone. 

Leon.  No,  not  so,  villain;  thou   bely'st  thyseff; 
Here  stand  a  pair  of  honorable  men, 
A  third  is  fled,  that  had  a  hand  in  it: — 
I  thank  you,  princes,  for  my  daughter's  death; 
Record  it  with  your  hi:ih  and  worthy  deeds; 
'Twas  bravely  done,  if  you  bethink  you  of  it. 

Claud.  I   know  not  how  to  pray  your  patience. 
Yet  I  must  speak  :    Choose  your  revenge  yourself; 
Impose  me  to  what  penance  your  invention 
Can  lay  upon  my  sin:  yet  sinn'd  1  not. 
But  in. mistaking. 

D.  Pedro.  By  my  soul,  nor  I ; 

And  yet.  to  satisfy  this  good  old  man, 
I  would  bend  under  any  heavy  weight 
That  he'll  enjoin  me  to. 

Leon.  I  cannot  bid  you  bid  my  daughter  live, 
That  were  impossible:  but,  I  pray  you  both, 
Possess'  the  people  in  Messina  here 
How  innocent  she  died:  and,  if  your  love 
Can  labor  au2"ht  in  sad  invention. 
Hang  her  an  epitaph  upon  her  tomb. 
And  sing  it  to  her  oones ;  sing  it  to-night : — 
To-morrow  morning  come  you  to  my  house; 
And  since  you  could  not  be  my  son-in-law. 
Bo  yet  my  nephew:  my  brother  halh  a  daughter, 
Almost  the  copy  of  my  child  that's  dead, 
And  she  alone  is  heir  to  both  of  us; 
Give  hertlie  right  you  should  have  given  her  cousin. 
And  so  d  es  my  revenge. 

Claud.  O,  noble  sir, 

Your  over-kindness  dolh  wring  tears  from  me! 
I  do  embrace  your  offer;  and  dispose 
For  henceforth  of  poor  Claudio. 

Leon.  To-morrow  then  I  will  expect  your  coming 
To-niu'ht  I  take  my  leave. — This  naughty  man 
Shall  face  to  face  be  brought  to  Margaret, 
Who,  I  believe,  was  park'd*  in  all  this  wrong, 
Hird  to  it  by  your  brother. 

Bora.  No,  by  my  soul,  she  was  not; 

Nor  knew  not  what  she  did,  when  she  spoke  to  me; 
But  always  hath  been  just  and  virtuous, 
In  any  thiut;  that  I  do  know  hy  her. 

D"f^b.  Moreover,  sir,(whK'h.  indeed,  is  not  under 
wdiite   and  black.)  this  plaintilT  here,  the  offender 
did  call  me  ass :  I  beseech  you,  let  it  be  remembered 
a  Incited.  3  A&iuaiut.        *  Combined 


SCE>JE    II. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHIXG. 


117 


in  Ills  punishment:  And  alsn  the  watch  heard  theni 
talk  of  one  Uefonncd  :  tlie>'  say,  he  wears  a  key  in 
his  ear,  and  a  lock  hin:,'iru  hy  'it ;  and  borrows  mo- 
ney in  God's  name;  iiie  which  he  hath  used  so 
long,  and  never  paid,  that  now  men  t; row  hard- 
hearted, and  will  lend  nothing;  for  (lods  sake: 
Pray  you.  examine  him  upon  that  point. 

Lmii.  1  thank  thee  for  tny  care  and  honest  pains. 

Dogh.  Your  worship  speaks  like  a  most  thank- 
ful and  reverend  youth;  and  I  piaise  Uod  for  you. 

ion.  There's  for  thy  pauis. 

Dijgb   God  save  the  foundation ! 

Leon.  (Jo,  I  discharge  thee  of  thy  prisoner,  and 
I  thank  thee. 

Dogb.  1  leave  an  arrant  knave  with  your  worship; 
which,  1  hesiech  your  worship,  to  correct  yourself, 
for  the  example  of  others.  God  keejj  your  wor- 
ship;! wish  your  worship  well;  God  restore  you 
to  health:  1  humbly  give  you  leave  to  depart;  and 
if  a  merry  meeting  may  be  wished,  God  prohibit 
it. — Come,  neighbor. 

[Ex.   DoGBEHT,  Veuoks,  aild  Wutch. 

Leon.  Until  to-morrow  morning,  lords,  farewell. 

Ant.  Farewell,  my  lords;  we  look  for  you    to- 
morrow. 

D.  Pedro.  We  will  not  f.iil. 

Ciuud.  To-night   1 11   mourn  with   Hero. 

[Exeunt  JJoii   Ftnito  and  Cr.ArDio. 

Leon.   Bring  you  these  fellows  on ;  we'll  talk 
with  Margaret, 
How  her  acquaintance  grew  with  thislewd'  fellow. 

[Exeujit. 

SCENE  II. — Lconato's  Garden. 

Enter  BtXEnicV  and  MwimnET,  meeting. 

Bene.  Pray  thee,  sweet  mistress  Margaret,  de- 
serve well  at  my  hands,by  helping  nic  to  the  speech 
of  Beatrice. 

Marg.  Will  youthen  write  me  a  sonnet  in  praise 
of  my  beauty ! 

Bene.  In  so  high  a  style,  Margaret,  that  no  man 
living  shall  come  over  it;  for  in  iuost  comely  truth, 
thou  deserves  it. 

^furg.  To  have  no  man  come  over  mel  why, 
shall  I  always  keep  below  stairs! 

Bene.  I'hy  wit  is  as  quick  as  the  greyhound's 
mouth,  it  catches. 

Marg.  And  yours  as  blunt  as  the  fencer's  foils, 
which  nit,  but  hurt  not. 

Bene.  A  most  manly  wit,  Margaret,  it  will  not 
hurt  a  woman ;  and  so  I  pray  thee,  call  Beatrice : 
I  give  thee  the  bucklers. 

Marg.  Give  us  the  sword,  we  have  bucklers  of 
our  own. 

Bene.  If  you  use  them,  Margaret,  you  must  put 
in  the  pikes  with  a  vice;  and  they  are  dangerous 
weapons  for  maids. 

^Iarg.  well,  I  will  call  Beatrice  to  you,  who  I 
think,  hath  legs.  [Exit  M.iugj.het. 

Bene.  And  therefore  will  come. 

Tke  god  of  tave,  [Singing.l 

That  sits  a^iove, 
And  ItMows  me,  and  knows  me. 
Haw  pitiful  I  d-cserve, — 
I  mean,  in  singing:   but   in   loving, — Leander  the 
good  swimmer,  Troilus  the  first  employer  of  pan- 
dars,  and  a  whole  book  full  of  these  quondam  car- 
pet-mongers, whose  names  yet  run  smoothly  m  the 
even  road  of  a  blank  verse,  why, they  were  never  so 
truly  turned  over  and  over  as  my  poor  self,  in  love: 
Marry,  !  cannot  show  it  in  rhyme ;    1  have  tried  ;  1 
can  find  out  no  rhyme  to  tadij  but  ba'nj,  an  innocent 
rliyme;  for  .TOira, /lor;;,  a  hard  rhyme;  for  icliool. 
fool,  a  babbling  rhyme;  very  ominous  endings: 
No,  I  was  not  born  under  a  rhyming  planet,  nor  I 
cannot  woo  in  festivial  terms. 

Enter  Beatiiice. 

Sweet  Beatrice,  wouldst  thou  come  when  I  called 
thee! 

Beat.  Yea,  signior,  and  depart  when  you  bid  me. 

Brne,  O,  stay  but  till  then  ! 

Beat  Then,  is  spoken;  fare  you  well  now: — 
and  yet.  ere  I  go,  let  me  go  with  that  I  came  for. 
which  is.with  knowing  what  hath  passed  between 
you  and  CTaudio. 

Bene.  Only  foul  words;  and  thereupon  I  will 
kiss  thee. 

t  Wicked. 


Beat.  Konl  words  are  hut  tbul  breath,  and  fnul 
breath  is  noisonie;  fherelbre  I  will  depart  unkissed. 

Bene.  Thou  hast  lrii;hted  the  word  out  of  his 
right  sense,  so  forcible  is  thy  wit:  Hut  I  must  tell 
thee  plainly,  CTaudio  undergoes  my  challenge; 
and  either  !' must  shortly  hear  from  him,  or  1  will 
subscribe  him  a  coward.  And.  I  pray  thee  now, 
tell  me.  fur  which  of  my  bad  parts  didst  thou  first 
fall  in  love  with  me? 

Beat.  For  them  all  together;  which  maintained  so 
politic  a  state  of  evil,  that  they  will  not  admit  any 
aood  part  to  intermingle  with  them.  But  lor  which 
of  my  good  parts  did  you  first  sulTer  love  for  me! 

Bene.  Sujfer  tore;  a  good  epithet!  I  do  sulit'r 
love,  indeed,  lor  I  love  thee  asautst  my  will. 

Beat.  In  spite  of  your  iieart.  I  think;  alas!  poor 
heart!  If  you  spite  it  for  my  sake,  I  will  spite  it  for 
yours;  for  I  will  never  love  that  which  my  iViend 
hates. 

Benp,  Thou  and  I  are  too  wise  to  woo  peaceably. 

Beat.  It  appears  not  in  this  confession:  there s 
not  one  wise  man  among  twenty  that  will  praise 
himself. 

Bene.  An  old,  an  old  instance,  Beatrice,  that 
lived  in  the  time  of  good  neighbors:  if  a  man  do 
not  erect  in  this  age  his  own  tomb  ere  he  dies,  he 
shall  live  no  longer  in  monument  than  the  bell  rings, 
and  tile  widow  weeps. 

Beat.  And  how  long  is  that,  think  you  t 

Bene.  Question! — Why,  an  hour  in  clamor, 
and  a  quarter  in  rheum :  Therefore  it  is  most  expe- 
dient for  the  wise,  (if  don  Worm  hisconscicnsc  hnd 
no  impediment  to  the  contrary.)  to  be  the  trumpet 
of  his  own  virtues,  as  I  am  to  myself:  So  much  for 
praising  myself,  (wlio,  1  myself  will  bear  witness  is 
praise-worthy,)  anil  now  tell  me,  How  doth  your 
cousin ! 

Beat.   Very  ill. 

Bene.   And  how  do  you  ? 

Beat.   Very  ill  too. 

Bene.  Serve  God,  love  me,  and  mend:  there 
will  1  leave  you  too,  for  here  comes  one  in  haste. 

Enter  UnsuLA. 
Urs.  Madam,  you   must  come   to  your   uncle; 
yonders  old  coil«  at  home  :   it  is  proved,  my  lady 
Hero  hath  been    falsely  accused,  the  prince  and 
Claudio  mightily  abused;  and  don  John   is  the 
author  of  all,  who  is  fled  and  gone:  will  you  come 
presently  ! 
Beat.   Will  you  go  he.ar  this  news,  signior  t 
Bene.  I  will  live  in  thy  heart,  die  in  thy  lap.  Jnd 
be  buried  in  thy  eyes,   and,  moreover,  I   will   go 
with  thee  to  thy  uncles.  [Exeunt- 

SCE.NE  III. — The  Insiile of  a  Church. 

Enter  Don  Pediio,  Curmo,  and  Attendants,  icith, 

music  and  tapers. 

Claud.  Is  this  the  monument  of  Leonato  ! 
Alien.   It  is,  my  lord. 
Claud.   [Reads  from  a  scroll.] 

Bone  to  death  bij  slanderous  tongues, 

IVax  the  Hero  that  here  lies: 
Death  in  guerdon''  (flier  ivrongs. 

Gives  her  fame  which  never  dies  : 
So  the  life,  ihat  died  ivith  sluime. 
Lives  in  death  with  gluriousfanie. 

Hang  thou  tliere  upon  the  tomb,  [Affixing  it. 
Bruising  her  wh'n  I  am  dumb. — 
Now,  music,  sound,  and  sing  your  solemn  hymn. 
SONG. 

Pardon, goddess  (f  lite  night. 
Those  that  .sletv  thii  virgin  knight, 
F(n-  the  trhich.  irith  songs  if  woe. 
Round  about  her  tomb  they  go. 
Midnight,  assist  our  moan  ; 
Hell)  us  to  sigh  and  groan, 

Heavili;,  Iteurily  : 
Graves  yawn,  and  yield  your  dead, 
Till  death  be  uttered. 
Heavily,  heavily. 
Claud.   Now  unto  thy  bones  good  night! 

Yearly  will  I  do  this  rite. 
D.  Pedro.    Good    morrow,    masters;    put   your 

torches  out: 
The  wolves  have  prey'd ;  and  look,  the  gentle  day, 
6  Stir.  1  Reward. 


118 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


Act  V, 


Before  the  wlieels  of  Phcebus,  round  about 

Dapples  the  drowsy  east  witfi  Sjjots  of  grey  : 
Thanks  to  you  all.  and  leave  us;  tare  you  well. 
Claud.  Good  morrow,  masters;  each  l)is  several 

way. 
D.  Pedro.  Come,  let  us  hence,  and  put  on  other 
weeds ; 
And  then  to  Leonato's  we  will  go. 

Claud.  And,   Hymen,  now    with    Iiickier  issue 
speeds, 
Than  this,  for  whom  we  render'd  up  this  woe  ! 

1  Exeunt. 
SCENE  IV. — A  Room  in  Leonato's  House- 
Enter  Lkonato,  Anton  TO,  Ben  KDTCK,  Beathice, 
UiisPtA,  Friar,  and  Hero. 

Friar.   Did  I  not  tell  you  she  was  innocent? 

Leon.  So  are  the  prince  and  Claudio,  who  accusd 
her, 
Upon  the  error  that  you  heard  debated: 
But  Margaret  was  m  some  luult  for  this. 
Although  against  her  will,  as  it  appears 
In  the  true  course  of  all  the  question. 

Ant.   Well,  I  am  glad  that  all  things  sort  so  well. 

Bene.  And  so  am  I,  being  else  by  Iriith  enfore'd 
To  call  young  Claudio  to  a  reckoning  for  it. 

Le(ni.   Well,  daughter,  and  you, gentlewoman  all. 
Withdraw  into  a  ch.imber  by  yourselves; 
And,  when  I  send  for  you,  come  hither  mask'd  : 
The  prince  and  Claudio  promised  by  this  hour 
To  visit  me ;  —  Vou  know  your  office,  brollier ; 
You  must  be  fatlier  to  your  brother's  daughter. 
And  give  her  to  young^Claudio.      [Exeunt  Ladies. 

Ant.  Which  i  will  do  with  confrrm'd  countenance. 

Bene.   Friar,  I  must  entreat  your  pains,  I  think. 

Friar.   To  do  what,  signior  1 

Ben/:  To  bind  me,  or  undo  me,  one  of  them. — 
Signior  Leonato,  truth  it  is,  good  signior. 
Your  niece  regards  me  with  au  eye  of  favor. 

Leon.  'J'hat  eye  my  daughter  lent  her:  'Tis  most 
true. 

Bene.  And  I  do  with  an  eye  of  love  requite  her. 

Leon.  The  sight  whereof,  I  think,  you  had  from 
me. 
From  Claudio  and  the  prince;  Butwhafs  your  will] 

Bene,  Your  answer,  sir,  is  enigmatical: 
But,  for  my  will,  my  will  is,  your  good  will 
May  stand  with  tmrs,  this  day  to  be  conjoiifd 
In  the  estate  of  honorable  marriage; — 
In  which,  good  friar,  I  shall  desire  your  help. 

Leini.  My  lieart  is  with  your  liking. 

Fritir.  And  my  help. 

Here  comes  the  prince,  and  Claudio. 
Enter  Don  Pkdko, and  Claudio,  icith  Attendants. 

D.  I'edro.  Good  morrow  to  this  fair  assembly. 

L^on.  Good  morrow,  prince:  good  morrow,  Clau- 
dio ; 
We  here  attend  you;  are  you  yet  determin'd 
To-day  to  marry  with  ray  brother's  daughter  T 

Claud.   I'll  hold  my  mind,  were  she  an  Ethiope. 

Leon.   Call   her  forth,   brother,  here's  the   friar 
ready.  [Exit  Antonio. 

D.  Pedro.  Good  morrow,  Benedick:  Why,  what's 
the  matter. 
That  you  have  such  a  February  face. 
So  full  of  frost,  of  storm,  and  cloudiness  1 

C'and.  I  think,  he  thinks  upon  the  savage  bull : — 
Tush,  fear  not,  man.  we'll  tip  thy  horns  with  gold. 
And  all  Europa  shall  rejoice  at  thee; 
As  once  Europa  did  at  lusty  Jove, 
When  he  would  play  the  noble  beast  in  love. 

Bene.   Bull  Jove,  sir,  had  an  amiable  low  ; 
And  some  such  strange  bull  leapd  your  father's 

cow. 
And  got  a  calf  in  that  same  noble  feat. 
Much  lik(^  to  you,  lor  you  have  just  his  bleat 

Re-eiiler  Antonio,  with  the  Ladies  masked. 

Claud.  For  this  I  owe  you:  here  come  other 
reckonings. 
Which  is  the  lady  I  must  seize  upon? 
Ant.  This  same  is  she.  and  I  do  give  you  her. 
Claud.  Why,  then  she's  mine:  Sweet,  let  me  see 

your  face. 
Leini.  ^o,  that  you  shall  not,  till  you  take  her 
hand, 
Befirr  this  friar,  and  swear  to  marry  her. 
Claud.  Give  mc  your  hand  before  this  holy  friar; 


I  am  your  husband,  if  you  like  of  me. 

Hero.   And  when  I  lived  I  was  your  other  wife: 

[Unma.iMng. 
And  when  you  loved,  you  were  my  other  husband, 

Claud.   Another  Hero  ! 

Hero.  Nothing  certainer: 

One  Hero  died  defil'd ;  but  I  do  live. 
And,  surely  as  I  live.  1  am  a  maid. 

JJ.  Pedro.  The  former  Hero  !    Hero  that  is  dead ! 

Leon.  She  died,  my  lord,  but  whiles  her  slander 
lived. 

Friar.  All  this  amazement  can  I  qualify ; 
When,  after  that  tiie  holy  rites  are  ended, 
I'll  tell  you  largely  of  fair  Hero's  death: 
Mean  time  let  wonder  seem  I'amiliar, 
And  to  the  chapel  let  us  presently. 

Bene.  Soft  and  fair,  friar. — Which  is  Beatrice  I 

Bc<it.   I  answer  to  that  name;         [Unniastiing.) 
What  is  your  will  ! 

B^ne.  Do  not  you  love  me? 

Beat.  No,  no  more  than  reason. 

Bene.  Why,  then  your  uncle,  and   thcprince, 
and  Claudio, 
Have  been  deceivetl ;  for  they  swore  you  did. 

Beat.   Do  you  not  love  me  ? 

Bene.  No,  no  more  than  reason 

Beat.  Why,  then  my  cousin,  Margaret.and  Ursula, 
Are  much  deceiv'd;  for  they  did  swear  you  did. 

Bene.  Tliey  swore  that  you  were  almost  sick 
for  me. 

Beat.  They  swore  that  you  were  well-nigh  dead 
for  me. 

Bene.  'Tis  no  such  matter: — Then  you  do  not 
love  me  !  • 

Beat.  No,  truly,  but  in  friendly  recompense. 

Leon.  Come,   cousin,  I   am  sure   you  love  the 
gentleman. 

Claud.  And  I'll  be  sworn  upon't,  that  he  loves 
her; 
For  here's  a  paper,  written  in  his  hand, 
A  halting  sonnet  of  his  own  pure  brain, 
Fashion'd  to  Beatrice. 

Jlero.  And  here's  another. 

Writ  in  my  cousin's  hand,  stolen  from  her  pocket, 
Containing  her  aIli?ction  unto  Benedick. 

Bene.  A  miracle  !  beret's  our  own  hands  against 
our  hearts! — Come,  I  will  have  thee;  but,  by  this 
light,  I  take  thee  lor  pity. 

Beat.  I  would  not  deny  you ;  but,  by  this  good 
day,  I  yield  upon  great  persuasion;  and,  partly,  to 
save  your  life;  for  I  was  told  you  were  in  a  con- 
sumption. 

Bene.  Peace,  I  will  stop  your  mouth  — 

[Kissi?!^  her. 

D.  Pelro.  How  dost  thou.  Benedick  the  married 
man  ? 

Bene.  Ill  tell  thee  what  prince;  a  college  of 
wit-crackers  cannot  llout  me  out  of  my  humor; 
Dost  thou  think,  I  care  lor  a  satire,  or  an  epigram: 
No:  If  a  man  will  be  beaten  with  brains,  he  shall 
wear  nothing  handsome  about  him:  In  brief,  since 
I  do  propose  to  marry,  1  will  think  nothing  to  any 
purpose  that  the  world  can  say  against  it;  and 
therefore  never  llout  at  me  for  what  1  have  said 
against  it;  for  man  is  a  giddy  thing,  and  this  is  my 
conclusion. —  For  thy  part,  Claudio,  I  did  think  to 
have  beaten  thee ;  biit  in  that'  thou  art  like  to  be 
my  kinsman,  live  uiibruised,  and  love  my  cousin. 

Claud.  I  had  well  liopi  d,  thou  wouldst  have  de- 
nied Beatrice,  that  I  might  have  cudgelled  thee  out 
of  thv  single  life,  to  make  thee  a  double  dealer; 
which,  out  of  question,  thou  wilt  be,  if  my  cousin 
do  not  look  exceeding  narrowly  to  thee. 

Bene,  tome,  come,  we  are  friends. —  let's  have 
a  dance,  ere  we  are  married,  that  we  might  lighten 
our  own  hearts  and  our  wives'  heels. 

Leon.   We'll  have  dancing  afterwards. 

Bene.  Fir.st,  on  my  word  ;  therefore,  play,  music. 
—  I'rincc,  thou  art  sad  ;  get  thee  a  wife,  get  lliee  a 
wile:  there  is  no  stall" more  reverend  than  one  tip- 
ped with  horn. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess,  My  lord,  your  brother  John  is  ta'en  in 
light. 
And  brought  with  armed  men  back  to  Messina. 

Bene.  Think  not  on  him  till  to-morrow;  I'll 
devise  thee  brave  punishments  for  him. — Strike  up, 
pipers.  [Dance. — Exeunt. 

*  Because. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHFS  DREAM. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Theseus,  Duke  of  Athens. 
Egeus,  Father  to  Hermia. 

DKMETn'us,} ''»'<"-'« '"''^"«"»'^- 
PiiiLosTiiATr..  Mmter  nt  the  Revets  to  Theseus. 
Quince,  the  Carpenter, 
Snug,  the  Joiner. 
Bottom,  the.  IVetiver. 
Flutk,  th£  Bellaws-nuncler. 
Snout, /Ae  Tinker. 
Stahvelisg,  the  Tailor. 

HippoLTTA,  Queen  of  tlie  Amazons,  betrothed  to 

Theseus. 
Hermia,  J5u.7gWer/n  Egeus, in  tore  tt'i/ALysander. 
Helena,  in  love  with  Demetrius. 


Oatnos,  Kln^  of  the  Fairies. 
TiTANiA,  Queen  if  the  fairies. 
Puck,  or  RoiuN-noonFELLow,  a  Fairy, 

PE  AS-BL05S0>I,      ^ 


Cnn  wek, 

^^oTn,  ( 

MrSTATlD-SEEn,  . 

Poramus, 

Thishe, 

Wall, 

J^Ioonsliine, 

Lion, 


Fairies. 


Charatitrs  in  tlie  Interlude 
jxrfornied  by  the  Clowns. 


Other  Fairies  attending  their  King  and  Queen. 
Attendants  on  Theseus  and  Hyppolyta. 


SCEXE,  Athens;  and  a  Wood  not  far  from  it- 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Athens.    A  Room  in  the  Palace  of 
Theseus. 

£«to' Theseus,  Hippolt-ta,  PaiLOSTnATE,  and 
Attendants. 

The.  Now,  fair  Hyppolyta,  our  nuptual  houi 
Draws  on  apace  ;  four  happy  clays  bring  in 
Another  moon  :   but,  oh,  raethinks,  how  slow 
This  old  moon  wanes !   she  lingers  my  desires, 
Like  to  a  step-dame,  or  a  dowager. 
Long  withering  out  a  young  man's  revenue.^ 

Hip.  Four  days  will  qui 
nights ; 


[quickly  steep  themselves  in 


Four  nights  will  quickly  dream  away  the  time ; 
And  then  the  moon,  like  to  a  silver  how 
New  bent  in  heaven,  shall  behold  the  night 
Of  our  solemnities. 

The.  Go,  Philostrate, 

Stir  up  the  Athenian  youth  to  merriment-; 
Awake  tlie  pert  and  nimble  spirit  of  mirlli ; 
Turn  melancholy  forth  to  funerals. 
The  pale  companion  is  not  for  our  pomp. 

[Exit  PlIILOSTBATE. 

Hippolyta.  I  wooetl  thee  with  my  sword, 
And  won  thv  love,  dini  thee  injuries; 
But  I  will  wed  thee  in  another  key, 
AVith  pomp,  with  triumph,  and  with  revelling. 

Enter  Egeus,  MKn>tiA,  Ltsandeii,  and 
De.iiethius. 

Ege.  Happy  be  Theseus,  our  renowned  duke ! 

The.  Thanks,   good   Egeus:   What's   the   news 
with  thee? 

Ege..  Full  of  vexation  come  I.  with  complaint 
Against  my  child,  my  daughter  Hermia,— 
Stand  forth.  Demetrius;— My  noble  lord. 
This  man  hath  my  consent  to  marry  her : — 
Stand  firth.  Lvsander  ; — and,  my  gracious  duke, 
Til  is  hath  b?witehed  the  bosom  of  my  child: 
Thou,  thou,  Lysandcr,  thou  hast  given  her  rhymes, 


And  interchanged  love-toliens  with  my  child  : 

Thou  hast  by  moonlight  at  her  window  sung, 

With  feigning  voice,  verses  of  feigning  love ; 

And  stofn  the  impression  other  fantasy 

With  bracelets  of  thy  hair,  rings,  gauds,  conceits, 

Knacks,  trifles,  nosegays,  sweet-meats ;  messengers 

(If  strong  prevailmcht  in  unharden'd  youth: 

With  cunning  hast  thou  filch'd  mydaugliter's heart , 

Turn'd  her  oliedience,  which  is  due  to  .ne. 

To  stubborn  harshness: — And,  my  gracious  duke, 

Be  it  so  she  will  not  here  before  your  grace 

Consent  to  marry  with  Demetrius, 

I  beg  the  ancient  privilege  of  Athens; 

As  she  is  mine,  I  may  dispose  of  her  : 

Which  shall  be  cither  to  this  gentleman, 

Or  to  her  death ;  according  to  our  law, 

Dnniediately  provided  in  that  case. 

The.   What  say  you,  Hermia!    be   advised,  fair 
maid : 
To  you  your  fatlier  should  be  as  a  god  ; 
One  that  coinpoi'd  your  beauties;  yea,  and  one 
To  whom  you  are  but  as  a  form  in  wax, 
l!y  him  imprinted,  and  within  his  power 
To  leave  the  figure,  or  disfigure  it. 
Demetrius  is  a  "worthy  gentleman. 

]ler.  So  is  Lysander. 

The.  In  himself  he  is: 

Put,  in  this  kind,  wanting  your  (Ruber's  voice, 
Tlie  other  must  be  held  the  worthier. 

Her.  I  would,  my  father  look'd  but  with  my  eyes. 

The.   Rather  your  eyes  must  with  his  judgmenl 
look. 

Her.  1  do  entreat  your  grace  to  pardon  me. 
I  I<now  not  by  what  power  I  am  made  bold; 
Nor  how  it  may  concern  my  modesty. 
In  such  a  presence  here,  to  plead  my  thougl  !s : 
Hat  I  beseech  your  grace  that  I  may  know 
The  worst  that  may  befal  me  in  this  case, 
If  I  refuse  to  wed  Demetrius. 

The.  Either  to  die  the  death,  or  to  abjure 

iia 


120 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  I. 


For  ever  the  society  of  men. 

Therefore,  lair  Hennia, question  your  desires, 

Know  of  your  youth,  examine  well  your  blood. 

Whether,  if  you  yield  not  to  your  lather's  choice, 

Vou  can  endure  the  hvery  of  a  nun  ; 

Kor  aye  to  be  m  shady  cloister  mew  d, 

To  hve  a  barren  sister  all  your  hfe, 

Chantini;  funt  hymns  to  the  cold  fru  tles-s  moon. 

Thrice  blessed  they,  that  master  so  their  blood, 

To  under^^o  such  maiden  pili,q-iinaj;e: 

But  earthher  happy  is  the  rose  distilPd, 

Than  that,  which  withering  on  the  viri^tn  thorn, 

Grows,  lives,  and  dies  in  single  blessedness. 

Her.  So  wiU  I  ^row,  so  live,  so  die,  my  lord. 
Ere  I  will  yield  my  vir^iin  patent  up 
Unto  his  lordship,  whose  unwished  yoke 
Mv  soul  consents  not  to  give  soverei^^uty. 

The,  Take  time  to  pause ;   and,  by  the  next  new 
moon, 
(The  sealins-day  betwixt  my  love  and  me, 
Kor  everlasting;  bond  of  fellowship,) 
Upon  that  day  either  prepare  to  die, 
For  disobedience  to  your  father's  will; 
Or  else,  to  wed  Demetrius,  as  he  would; 
Or  on  Diana's  altar  to  protest. 
For  aye,  austerity  and  single  life. 

Dsm.   Relent,  sweet  Hermia ; — And,  Lysander, 
yield 
Thy  crazed  title  to  my  certain  right. 

Lys.  You  have  her  father's  love,  Demetrius: 
Let  me  have  Herniia's:   do  you  marry  him. 

E'^e.  Scornful  Lysander!  true,  he  hath  my  love; 
And  what  is  mine  my  love  shaij  render  liim: 
And  she  is  mine;  and  all  my  right  of  her 
1  do  estate  unto  Demetrius. 

L^fS.  1  am,  my  lord,  as  well  deriv'd  as*he. 
As  well  possess'd;  my  love  is  more  than  his; 
My  fortunes  every  way  as  fairly  rank'd, 
If  not  with  vantage,  as  Demetrms' ; 
And.  which  is  more  than  oil  these  boasts  can  be, 
I  am  belov'd  of  beauteous  Hermia: 
Why  should  not  I  then  prosecute  my  right] 
Demetrius,  I'll  avouch  it  to  his  head, 
Madn  love  to  Nedir's  dauirhtcr,  llrlena. 
And  won  her  soul ;  and  she,  swoct  lady,  dotes 
Upon  this  spnttei'  and  inconstant  man. 

Tke.  I  must  confess,  that  I  have  heard  so  much. 
And  with  Demetrius  thought  to  have  spoke  thereof; 
But,  being  over-full  of  self-affairs, 
My  mind  did  lose  it. —  I3ut,  Demetrius,  come; 
And  come.  Kgeus;  you  shall  go  with  me; 
T  have  some  private  schooling  for  you  both.^ 
For  you,  fair  Hermia,  look  you  arm  yourself 
To  fit  your  f^incies  to  your  father's  will ; 
Or  else  the  law  of  Athens  yields  you  up 
(Which  by  no  means  we  may  extenuate) 
To  death,  or  to  a  vow  of  single  life. — 
Come,  my  Hippolyta;  What  cheer,  my  love? 
Demetrius,  and  Kgeus,  go  along : 
I  must  employ  you  in  some  busiupss 
Ai^ainst  our  n'uptual;  and  confer  with  you 
Of  something  nearly  that  concerns  yourselves. 

E^e.   With  duty  and  desire,  we  follow  you. 
[Evftni  TEiKs.,  Hip.,  Egk.,  Dkm.,  o'if/  Traw. 

Lys.  How  now.  my  level    VVhy  is  your  cheek 
so  pale] 
How  chance  the  roses  ther-e  do  fade  so  fast? 

He'-.  Belike,  for  want  of  rain  ;  which  I  could  well 
Beteem*  them  from  the  tempest  of  mine  eyes. 

Lis.   Ah  mc !  for  aught  tliat  ever  I  could  read, 
Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  history, 
The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth: 
But.  either  it  was  different  in  blood  ; 

Hc}\  O  cross!  too  hiLdi  to  be  enthraird  to  low ! 

Lus.  Or  else  mis^iralTed,  in  respect  of  years; 

Her.  O  spite!  too  old  to  be  euira^^'d  to  young! 

/,v.^.  Or  else  it  stood  upon  the  choice  of  friends; 

H:r.  O  hell !  to  choose  love  by  another's  eye  ! 

Lys.  Or.  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice 
War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it; 
Making  it  momcntanya  as  a  sound. 
Swift,  as  a  shadow,  short  as  any  dream; 
Brief  as  the  lii;:htning  in  the  collied*  night. 
That,  in  a  spleen,  mifolds  both  heaven  and  earth, 
And  ere  a  mm  hath  power  to  say, —  Behold! 
The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour'it  up: 
So  quick  bright  things  come  to  confusion. 

Yer.  If  tli'Mi  true  lovers  have  been  ever  cross'd, 
I  Wickrd.  ^  OiTp.  bestow, 

s  Momentary,  *  Black. 


It  stands  as  an  edict  in  destiny  : 

Then  let  us  teach  our  inal  paUence, 

Because  it  is  a  customary  cross; 

As  due  to  love, as  thon^lits,  and  dreams,  and  sighs, 

Wishes,  and  tears,  poor  fancy's'  followers. 

Lys.   A   good   persuasion;    therefore,   hear  me, 
Hermia. 
I  have  a  widnw  aunt,  a  dowager 
Of  great  revenue,  and  she  hath  no  child: 
From  Athens  is  tier  house  remote  seven  leagues; 
And  she  respects  mc  as  her  only  son. 
There,  gentle  Hermia,  may  I  marry  thee; 
And  to  that  place  the  sharp  Athenian  law 
Cannot  pursue  us:    If  thou  lov'st  me  then. 
Steal  forth  thy  father's  house  to-morrow  night; 
And  in  the  wood,  a  league  withnut  the  town, 
Where  I  did  meet  thee  once  with  Helena, 
To  do  observance  to  a  morn  of  May, 
There  will  I  stay  for  thee. 

Her.  My  good  Lysander! 

I  swear  to  thee  by  Cupid's  strongest  bow; 
By  his  best  arrow  with  the  golden  head; 
By  the  simplicity  of  Venu.s'  doves; 
Hy  That  which  knitteth  souls,  and  prospers  loves; 
And  by  that  fne  which  burn'd  the  Carthage  queen, 
When  the  false  Trojan  under  sad  was  seen  ; 
By  all  the  vows  that  ever  men  have  broke. 
In  number  more  than  ever  woman  spoke ;  — 
In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me, 
To-morrow  truly  will  I  meet  with  thee. 

Lys.   Keep    promise,  love;    Look,  here    comes 
Helena. 

£H/er  Helexa. 

Her,   God  speed  lair  Helena  !    Whither  away] 

Hel.  Call  you  me  fair]  that  fair  again  unsay. 
Demetrius  loves  you  fair:   O  happy  fair  ! 
Your  eyes  arc  lode-stars  ;b  and  your  tongue's  sweet 

air 
More  tuneable  than  lark  to  shepherd's  ear. 
When  wheat  is  i;reen,  when  hawthorn  buds  appear. 
Sickness  is  catching;  O,  were  favor'  so! 
Yours  would  I  cutcJi,  fair  Hermia,  ere  I  go; 
My  car  should  catcli  your  voice,  my  eye  your  eye, 
i\f  y  tongue  should  catch  your  tongue's  sweet  melody. 
Were  the  world  mine,  Demetrius  being  bated, 
The  rest  III  give  to  be  to  you  translated. 
O,  teach  me  liow  you  look  ;  and  with  what  art 
You  sway  the  motion  of  Demetrius"  heart. 

H'r.  I  frown  upon  him,  yet  he  loves  me  still. 

Hel.  0,  that  your  frowns  would  teach  my  smiles 
such  skill ! 

Her.  I  give  him  curses,  yet  he  gives  me  love. 

HeL  O,  that  my   prayers  could  such   affection 
move ! 

Her.  The  more  I  hate,  the  more  he  follows  me. 

HeL  The  more  I  love,  the  more  he  hateth  me. 

Hfr.  His  folly,  Helena,  is  no  lault  of  mine. 

HcL  None,  butyour   beauty  ;'Would  that  fault 
were  mine  ! 

Her.  Take  comfort ;  he  no  more  shall  see  my  face, 
Lysander  and  myself  will  tly  this  place. — 
Before  the  time  I  did  Lysander  see, 
Seem'd  Athens  as  a  paradise  to  me: 
O  then,  what  graces  in  my  love  do  dwell, 
That  lie  hath  turn'd  a  heaven  unto  hell! 

LtjS.  Helen,  to  you  our  minds  we  will  unfold, 
To-iuorrow  night  when  Phcebe  doth  behold 
Her  silver  visage  in  the  wat'ry  irla.ss. 
Decking  with  liquid  pearl  the  bhded  grass. 
(A  time  that  lovers'  Inghts  doth  still  conceal,) 
Through  Athens'  gates  have  we  devis'd  to  steal. 

Her.  And  in  the  wood,  where  often  you  and  I 
Upon  faint  primrose-beds  were  wont  to  lie, 
KmptyiniC  our  bosoms  of  their  counsel  sweet; 
There  my  Lysander  and  myself  shall  meet: 
And  thence,  from  Athens,  turn  away  our  eyes. 
To  seek  new  friends  and  stranger  companies. 
Farewoli.  sweet  play-fellow;  pray  thou  for  us, 
And  good  luck  urant  thee  tliy  Demetrius! 
Keep  word,  Lysander:  we  ?nnst  starve  our  sight 
From  lovers'  food,  till  morrow  deep  midnii^ht, 

\Erif  Hkhm. 

Lys.  I  will,  my  Hermia — Helena,  adimi : 
As  you  on  him,  Demetrius  dote  on  you  !  \ErU  Lys. 

Hel.  How  happy  some,  o'er  other  some  can  be! 
Throuu'h  Athens  I  am  thoui;ht  as  fair  as  she. 
But  what  of  that  ]  Demetrius  thinks  not  so ; 


»  Love's. 


1  Pole  stars. 


i  Countenance. 


Scene  II. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


121 


He  will  not  know  wliat  all  but  he  do  know. 

And  as  lie  errs,  doliii,:;  on  Hermia'd  eyes, 

So  I,  admirinfi;  of  liis  quulitics. 

Things  base  and  vile,  holding  no  quantity, 

Love  can  transpose  to  form  and  dignity. 

Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind; 

And  therefore  is  win^'d  (Jupid  painted  blind. 

Nor  hath  Love's  mind  of  any  judgment  taste  ; 

Win^is,  and  no  eyes,  fiirurc  unhecdy  haste: 

And  therefore  is  Love  said  to  be  a  child, 

liecause  in  choice  he  is  so  oft  beguil'd. 

As  wag2:ish  boys  in  game'  themselves  forswear, 

So  the  boy  Love  is  periut'd  every  where : 

Kor  ere  Demetrius  look'd  on  Hermia's  eyne.^ 

He  hail'd  down  oaths,  that  he  was  only  mine  : 

And  when  this  hail  some  heat  from  Hermia  felt, 

So  he  dissolved,  and  showers  of  oaths  did  melt 

I  will  go  tell  iiim  of  fair  Hcrmia's  tlight; 

Then  to  the  wood  wdl  he,  to-morrow  night, 

pursue  her;  and  for  this  intelligence 

If  I  liave  thanks,  it  is  a  dear  expence: 

But  herein  mean  I  to  enrich  my  pain, 

To  have  his  sight  thither,  and  back  again.    [Exit. 

SCENE  n. — The  same.    A  Room  in  a  Cottage* 

Enter  Snug,  Bottom,  Flute,   Snout,  Quince, 

and  Stakveling, 

Quin.  Is  all  our  comjiany  here? 

li'it.  You  were  best  ti)  call  them  generally,  man 
by  man,  according  to  tlie  srrip. 

Qtiin.  Here  is  the  scroll  of  every  man's  name, 
which  is  thought  tit.  throujih  all  Athens,  to  play  in 
our  interlude  before  the  duke  and  duchess,  on  his 
wedding-day  at  ni^ht. 

But.  First,  good  Peter  Quince,  say  what  the 
play  treats  on  ;  tlicn  read  the  names  of  the  actors; 
and  so  grow  to  a  point. 

Quilt.  Marry,  our  ploy  is — The  most  lamentable 
comedy,  and  most  cruel  death  of  Pyranius  and 
Thisby. 

Bof.  A  very  good  piece  of  work,  I  assure  you, 
and  a  merry. — Now,  t:ood  Peter  Quince,  call  forth 
your  actors  by  the  scroll :  Masters,  spread  yourselves. 

Quin.  Answer,  as  1  call  you. — Nick  Bottom, 
tile  weaver. 

Bi>(.  Ready:  Name  what  part  I  am  for,  and 
proceed. 

Quin.  You,  Nick  Bottom,  are  set  down  for  Py- 
ranius. 

Bnt.  What  is  Py ramus  f  a  lover,  or  a  tyrant. 

Quiu.  A  lover,  that  kills  himself  most  gallantly 
for  love. 

Bof.   That  will  ask  some  tears  in  the  true  per- 
forming of  it:  If  1  do  it,  let  the  audience  look  to 
their  eyes;  I  will  move  storms,  I  will  condole  in 
seme  measure.    To  the  rest: — Yet  my   chief  hu- 
ntor  is  for  a  tyrant;  I  could  play  Ercles  rarely,  or 
a  part  to  tear  a  cat  in,  to  make  all  split. 
"The  Mging  rocks, 
"With  shivering  shocks, 
"Shall  break  the  locks 

"Of  prison  gates: 
"And  Fhibhn-i'  car 
"Shall  shine  from  far, 
"And  m  ike  ;ind  mar 
"The  tonlish  fiti's."' 
This  was  lofty — Now  name  tlie  rest  of  the  players. 
— This  is  Krcles'  vcm,  a  tyrant's  vein:  a  lover  is 
more  condoling. 

Quin,  Francis  Flute,  the  bellows-mender. 


Flu.  Here,  Peter  (Quince. 

Quill.  You  must  take  Thisby  on  you. 

Fiu.  What  is  This'jy']  a  wandering  knight'? 

Quin.  It  is  the  lady  that  Pyramus  must  love. 

Flu.  Nay.  faith,  let  me  not  play  a  woman;  I 
have  a  beard  coming. 

Quill.  That's  all  cue;  you  shall  play  it  in  a  mask, 
and  you  may  speak  as  small  as  you  will. 

Buf.  An  I  may  hide  my  face,  let  me  play  Thisby 
too :  ril  speak  in  a  monstrous  little  voice  ; — Thisue, 
Thl'ine. — Ah,  Pi/ramus,  my  lover  dear,-  thy  Thisby 
dear :  nnd  lady  dear  / 

Quin-  No,  no:  you  must  play  PjTamus,  and, 
Flute  you  Thisby. 

But.  Well,  proceed. 

Quia    Robin  Starveling,  the  tailor. 

Starv.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quin.  Robin  Starvehuir,  you  must  playThisby's 
mother. — Tom  Snout,  the  tinker. 

Suouf.  Here,  Peter  Quince. 

Quiu.  You,  Pyramuss  father;  myself  Thisby's 
father; — Snug,  the  joiner,  you.  the  lion's  part; — 
and,  I  hope,  here  is  a  play  fitted. 

SnufT,  Have  you  the  lion's  part  written  7  pray 
you,  if  it  be.  give  it  me,  for  I  am  slow  of  ^,tudy. 

Quill.  You  may  doit  extempore,  for  it  is  nothing 
but  roaring. 

Bof.  Let  me  play  the  lion  too  :  I  will  roar,  that 
I  will  do  any  tnan's  heurt  good  to  hear  me;  I  will 
roar,  that  I  will  make  the  duke  say ^  Let  hint  roar 
again.  Let  him  roar  again. 

Quin.  An  you  should  do  it  too  terribly,  you 
would  fright  the  duchess  and  the  ladies,  that  tney 
would  shriek  :  and  that  were  enough  to  liang  us  all. 

A/t.  That  would  haivz  us  every  mother'sson. 

Bnt.  I  ^r.-int  you,  friends,  if  that  you  should 
fright  the  hidicsout  of  their  wits,  they  would  have 
no  more  discretion  but  to  hangns:  but  I  will  ag- 
gravate my  voice  so,  that  I  wilt  roar  you  as  gently 
as  any  sucking  dove;  I  will  roar  you  an>  'twere 
any  nightingale. 

Quin.  You  can  play  no  part  but  Pyramus;  for 
Pyra^iius  is  a  sweet-ficed  man;  a  proper  man,  as 
one  sh;i!l  see  in  a  summer's  day:  a  most  lovely, 
gentlctnan-Uke  man;  therefore  you  must  needs 
play  Pyramus. 

Bof.  Well,  I  will  undertake  it.  What  beard 
were  I  best  to  play  it  inl 

Quin.  Why,  what  you  will. 

Bot.  I  will  discharge  it  in  either  your  straw- 
colored  beard,  your  orange-tawny  beard,  your 
nurple-in-grain  beard,  or  your  French-croWn-colcr 
beard,  your  perfect  yellow. 

Quin.  Same  of  your  French  crowns  have  no 
hair  at  all,  and  then  you  will  play  bare-faced. — 
But,  masters,  here  are  your  parts:  and  I  am  to 
entreat  you,  request  you,  and  desire  you.  to  con 
them  by  to-morrow  nijiht;  and  meet  me  in  the 
palace  wood,  a  mile  without  the  tovtm,  by  moon- 
light; there  will  we  rehearse:  for  if  we  meet  in 
the  city,  we  shall  be  dog'd  with  company,  and  our 
devices  know.  In  the  mean  lime.  I  will  draw  a 
bill  of  properties,-!  such  as  ourplay  wants.  1  pray 
you.  tad  me  not. 

Bof.  We  will  meet;  and  there  we  ma^  rehearse 
more  obscenely,  and  courageously,  i  ake  pains  ; 
be  perfect;  adieu. 

Quia.  At  the  dukes  oak  we  meet. 

B'jI.  Enough:  Hold,  or  cut  bow-string.' 

[Exetmt. 


ACT  11. 


SCEXE  I.— .4  Wmd  near  Athens. 
Enter  a  Fairy  ul  one  door,  and  Puck  at  cmolhcr. 

Puck.  How  ninv,  spirit !  whither  wander  you  1 
Fai,  Over  Iiill,  over  ilalt\ 

Thorough  bush,  tliorough  briar, 
Over  park,  over  jiale. 
Thoroir^h  llo.Hi.  -horongh  fire, 
I  do  wander  every  where, 

■  Sport.  » Eyes. 


Swifter  llian  the  moone's  sphere; 

And  I  serve  the  I'airy  queen. 

To  dew  her  orhs*  upon  tlie  green : 

The  cowslips  tall  lier  pensioners  be; 

In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see; 

Those  be  rubies,  fjiiry  favors,  • 

In  those  freckles  live  their  savors: 
I  must  go  seek  some  dew-drops  liere. 
And  hnng  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 

i  As  if.  ^Articles  required  in  performiDg  a  play. 

a  At  all  events.  *  Circles. 


122 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  II. 


Farewell,  thou  loh'  of  spirits,  I'll  be  gone; 
Our  queen  and  all  her  elves  come  here  anon. 

Puck.  The  kini  doth  keep  his  revels  hereto-night. 
Take  heel,  the  queen  come  not  within  his  sight, 
For  Oberon  is  passing  fell  and  wrath. 
Because  that  she,  as  her  atteudajit,  hath 
A  lovely  boy,  stoi'n  from  an  Indian  king; 
She  never  had  so  sweet  a  chan.^eling ; 
Andjealous  Oberon  would  have  the  child 
Knight  of  his  train,  to  trace  the  forest  wild: 
But  she,  perforce,  withlioids  the  loved  boy. 
Crowns  iiim  wi  tli  flowers,  and  makes  hi  ni  all  her  joy  : 
And  now  they  never  meet  in  groves,  or  green, 
By  fountains  clear,  or  spangled  star-light  sheen," 
But  tliey  do  square;'  that  all  tlieir  elve.?,  fur  fear, 
Creep  into  acorn  cups,  and  hide  them  there, 

Fai  Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and   making 
quite, 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite; 
Call'd  Robin  Goodfellow :  are  you  not  he, 
That  fright  the  raaideiis  of  the  villagery  ; 
Skim  milk;  and  sometimes  labor  in  the  quern,' 
And  bootless  make  the  breathless  housewife  chum ; 
And  sometimes  make  tlie  drink  to  liearno  barm;' 
Misle.id  night-wanderera,  laughing  at  their  harm? 
Those  that  Hobgoblin  call  you,  and  sweet  Puck, 
You  do  their  work,  and  they  sh;ill  have  good  luck : 
Are  not  you  hel    . 

Puck.  Thou  speak'st aright; 

I  am  that  merry  waitderer  of  the  night. 
I  jest  to  Oberon,  and  make  liim  smile. 
When  I  a  fut  and  bean-fed  horse  beguile, 
Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  silly  foal : 
And  sometime  lurk  I  in  a  gossips  bowl, 
In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab;' 
And,  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob, 
And  on  her  wither'd  dew-lap  pour  the  ale. 
The  wisest  aunt,  telling  the  saddest  tale. 
Sometime  for  three-foot  stool  mistaketh  me ; 
Then  slip  I  from  her  bum,  down  topples  she, 
And  tailor  cries,  and  firlls  into  a  cough; 
And  then  the  whole  quire  hold  their  hips,  and  loffe; 
And  waxen  in  their  mirth,  and  neeze,  and  swear 
A  merrier  hour  was  never  wasted  there. — 
But  room,  fairy,  here  comes  (Iberon. 

Fai.   And   here   my  mi.stress :— 'Would  that  he 
were  gone ! 

SCENE  II. 

Enter  OnEnox,  ut  one  door,  ivilh  his  train,  and 

TiTANiA,  ut  another,  with  hers. 

Oie.  Ill  met  by  moonlight,  proud  Titania. 

Tita.  What,  jealous  f Iberon?  Fairy,  skip  hence; 
I  have  forsworn  his  bed  and  company. 

06c  Tarry,  rash  wanton  :    Am  not  I  thy  lord  ! 

Tita.   Then  I  must  be  thy  lady:   But  1  know 
When  thou  hast  stoi'n  away  from  fairy  land. 
And  in  the  shape  of  Corin  sat  all  day. 
Playing  on  pipes  of  corn,  and  versing'  love 
To  amorous  Phillida.    Why  art  thou  here. 
Come  from  the  farthest  steep  of  India  1 
But  that,  forsooth,  the  bouncing  Amazon, 
Your  buskin'd  mistress,  and  your  warrior  love. 
To  Theseus  must  be  wedded  ;  and  you  come 
To  give  their  bed  joy  and  prosperity. 

Ohe.   How  canst  thou  thus,  for  shame,  Titania, 
Glance  at  my  credit  with  Hippolyta, 
Knowing  I  know  thy  love  to  Theseus  1 
Didst  thou  not  lead  him  through  the  glimmering 

night, 
From  Perigenia,  whom  he  ravished  ! 
And  make  him  with  fair  iEgl«  break  his  faith. 
With  Ariaine,  and  Antiopa? 

Tita.  These  are  the  forgeries  of  jealousy : 
And  never  since  the  middle  summer's  spring. 
Met  we  on  hill,  in  dale,  forest,  or  mead. 
By  p,aved  fountain,  or  by  rushy  brook. 
Or  on  the  beach'd  margent  of  the  sea. 
To  dance  our  ringlets  to  the  whistling  wind. 
But  with  thy  brawls  thou  hast  disturb'd  our  sport. 
Therefore  the  winds,  piping  to  us  in  vain. 
As  in  revenge,  have  suck'd  up  from  the  sea 
ContagWus  fogs  ;  which  falling  in  the  land, 
Have  every  pelting'  river  made  so  proud. 
That  they  have  overborne  their  continents:' 

>  A  tprrn  of  onntc-mpt,        «  Shining.        '  Quarrel. 

e  Mill.        » Yi'aat.  '  Wild  apple. 

•  Pitty.  ^  Banks  which  contain  them 


The  ox  hath  therefore  stretch'd  his  yoke  in  vain. 

The  ploughman  lost  his  sweat;  and  the  green  com 

Hath  rotted  ere  his  youth  attain'd  a  bearti: 

The  fold  stands  empty  in  the  drowned  field, 

And  crows  are  fatted  with  the  murrain  tlock; 

The  nine  men's  morris*  is  till'd  up  with  mud  ; 

And  the  quaint  mazes  in  the  wanton  green. 

For  lack  of  tread,  are  undistinguishable: 

The  human  mortals  want  their  winter  here ; 

No  night  is  now  with  hymn  or  carol  blest : — 

Therefore  the  moon,  the  governess  of  floods. 

Pale  in  her  anger,  washes  all  the  air. 

That  rheumatic  diseases  do  abound: 

And  through  this  temperature,  we  see 

The  seasons  alter  :  hoary-headed  frosts 

Fall  in  the  fresh  lap  of  the  crimson  rose; 

And  on  old  Hyems'  chin,  and  icy  crown. 

An  odorous  chaplet  of  sweet  summer  buds 

Is.  as  in  mockery,  .set:    The  spring,  the  sumiue 

The  childing'  autumn,  angry  winter,  change 

Their  wonted  liveries;  and  the  'mazed  world, 

By  their  increase,  now  knows  not  which  is  which: 

And  this  same  progeny  of  evils  comes 

From  our  debate,  from  our  dissension; 

We  are  their  parents  and  original. 

Obe.  Do  you  amend  it  then :  it  lies  in  you : 
Why  should  Titania  cross  her  (iberonl 
I  do  but  beg  a  little  changeling  boy, 
To  be  my  henclnnan.fi 

Tita.  Set  your  heart  at  rest. 

The  fairy  land  buys  not  the  child  of  me. 
His  mother  was  a  vot'ress  of  my  order: 
,A.nd,  in  the  spiced  Indian  air,  by  night 
Full  often  hath  she  gossip'd  by  my  side; 
.\nd  sat  with  me  on  Neptune's  yellow  sands. 
Marking  the  embarked  traders  on  the  flood; 
When  we  have  laugh'd  to  see  the  sails  conceive. 
And  grow  big-bellied,  with  the  wanton  wind : 
Which  she,  with  pretty  and  with  swimming  gait 
(Following   her  womb,  then  rich  with  my  young 

'squire,) 
Would  imitate;  and  sail  upon  the  land, 
To  fetch  me  trifles,  and  return  again, 
.\s  from  a  voyage,  rich  with  merchandise. 
But  she,  being  mortal,  of  that  boy  did  die ; 
And,  for  her  sake,  I  do  rear  up  her  boy; 
And,  for  her  sake,  I  will  not  part  with  him. 

O'jf.  How  long  within  this  wood  intend  you  stay  t 

Tita.  Perchance,  till  after  Theseus'  wedding-day. 
If  yon  will  patiently  dance  in  our  round, 
A  ml  see  our  moonlight  revels,  go  with  us ; 
If  not.  shun  me,  and  I  will  spare  your  haunts. 

O'le.  Give  me  that  boy,  and  I  will  go  with  thee. 

Tilu.  Not  for  thy  kingdom. —  Fairies,  away : 
We  shall  chide  downright,  if  I  longer  stay. 

[Exennt  Titasia,  and  her  train. 

Obe.  Well,  go  thy  way :  thou  shalt  not  from  this 
grove, 
Till  I  torment  thee  for  this  iniun'.— 
My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither:    Thou  remember'st 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory. 
And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back, 
nitering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song; 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music. 

Puck.  I  remember. 

O'le.  That  very  time  I  saw,  but  thou  could'st  not. 
Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth, 
Cupid  all  arm'd  :   A  certain  aim  he  took 
A  t  a  fair  vestal,  throned  by  the  vvest ; 
And  loos'd  lii.s  Iove-.shaft.  smartly  from  his  how. 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts: 
But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 
Queuch'd  in  the  chaste  beams  of  the  watry  moon; 
And  the  imperial  votress  pass'd  on, 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancv-free. 
Yel  mark'd  I  where  the  bolt  of  Cupid  fell: 
It  fell  upon  a  little  western  flower, — 
Beiore,  milk-white ;  now  purple  with  love's  wound- 
And  maidens  call  it  love-in-idleness. 
Fetch  me  that  flower;  the  herb  I  sliow'd  thee  once  ■ 
The  juice  of  it  on  sleeping  eye-lids  laid, 
Will'make  or  man  or  woman  madly  dote 
tlpon  the  next  live  creature  that  it  sees. 
Fetch  me  this  herb:   and  be  thou  here  again. 
Ere  the  Leviathan  can  swim  a  league. 

*  Holes  niado  for  a  game  played  hy  boys. 

1  Autumn  produciog  flowers  unseasonably.    «  Pago. 


SCEXE    III. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


123 


PucJ\'.  I'll  put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
In  forty  minutes.  [Exit  Puck 

Obe.  Hnvin^  once  this  juice, 

ril  watch  Titania  when  she  is  asleep, 
And  drop  the  liquor  of  it  in  her  eyes: 
The  next  tiling  then  she  waking;:  looks  upon, 
(Be  it  oii  lion,  bear,  or  wolf,  or  bull, 
On  meddlin:^  monkey,  or  on  busy  ape,) 
She  shill  pursue  it  with  the  soul  of  love. 
And  ere  I  take  this  charm  otTfrom  her  sight, 
(As  I  can  take  it  with  anotlier  herb.)  ■ 
I  il  make  her  render  up  her  pa^e  to  nic. 
But  who  comes  here  \     I  am  invisible; 
And  I  witt  overhear  their  conference.  • 

Enter  Dkmetuius,  M^'lzs a.  following  him. 

Dem.  I  love  thee  not,  therefore  pursue  rae  not. 
Where  is  Lysander,  and  lair  Hermia  ! 
The  one  I'll  slay,  the  other  slayeth  me. 
Thou  told'st  me  they  were  stolen  into  this  wood, 
And  here  am  I,  and  wood""  within  this  wood, 
Because  T  cannot  meet  witli  Hermia. 
Hence,  ijet  thee  e;one,  and  follow  me  no  more. 

Hel.  You  draw  me,  yon  hard-hearted  adamant; 
But  yet  you  draw  not  n-on,  for  my  heart 
Is  true  as  steel :    Leave  yon  your  power  to  draw, 
And  I  shall  have  no  power  to  follow  you. 

D^fu.   Do  I  entice  you  ?     Do  I  speak  you  fair  ? 
Or  ratiier,  do  I  not  in  plainest  truth 
Tell  you  —  I  do  not,  nor  I  cannot  love  you? 

Hf'!.  And  even  for  that  do  I  love  you  the  more. 
I  am  your  spaniel :  and,  Demetrius, 
The  more  you  beat  me,  I  will  fawn  on  you : 
U.^e  me  but  as  your  spaniel,  spurn  nie,  strike  me, 
Neglect  me,  lose  me ;  only  give  me  leave, 
Unworthy  as  I  am,  to  follow  you. 
What  worser  place  can  I  be^  in  your  lovej 
(And  yet  a  place  of  hii^h  respect  with  me,) 
Than  to  be  used  as  you  use  your  do^  ] 

Dem.  Tempt  not  too   much  the  hatred  oC  my 
spirit; 
For  I  am  sick,  when  I  do  look  on  thee. 

Het.  And  1  am  sick  when  I  look  not  on  you. 

Dera.  You  do  impeach'  your  modesty  too  much, 
To  leave  the  city,  and  com-nit  yourself 
Into  the  hands  of  one  that  loves  you  not ; 
To  trust  the  opportunity  of  ni^ht. 
And  the  ill  counsel  oi  a  desert  place. 
With  the  rich  worth  of  your  virginity. 

tiel.   Your  virtue  is  my  privdege  for  that. 
It  is  not  night,  when  I  do  see  your  t\ic.e^ 
Therefore  I  think  I  am  not  in  the  night : 
Nor  doth  this  wood  lack  worlds  of  company; 
For  you,  in  my  respect,  are  all  the  world: 
Then  how  can  it  be  said,  I  am  a!one, 
When  all  the  world  is  here  to  look  on  me"? 

Dem.  I'll   run  from  thee,  and   hide   mo   in  tlie 
brakes. 
And  leave  thee  to  the  mercy  of  wild  beasts. 

He!.  The  wildest  hath  not  such  a  heart  as  you. 
Run  when  you  will,  the  story  shall  be  chang'd; 
Apollo  tliesiand  Daphne  holds  the  chase; 
■The  dove  pursues  the  grilTiii;  tlie  mild  hind 
Makes  speed  to  catcli  the  tiger:    Bootless  speed  ! 
When  cowardice  pursues,  and  valor  flies. 

Dcm.   I  will  not  stay  thy  questions:    let  me  go: 
Or,  if  tliou  follow  mn, 'do  not  believe 
But  I  shall  do  thee  nvschief  in  the  wood. 

Hef.   Ay,  in  the  teniple,  in  liie  town,  the  field. 
You  do  me  mischief.     Fye,  Demetrius! 
Your  wrongs  do  set  a  snandal  on  my  sex ! 
We  cannot  fight  for  love,  as  men  may  do ; 
We  slmuld  be  woo'd,  and  were  not  made  to  woo. 
Ill  follow  thee,  and  maVe  a  heaven  of  hell, 
To  die  upon"  the  hand  I  love  so  welt. 

[Exeunt  Dv.^.andl^y.^.. 

0'>e.  Fare  t!ie  well,  nymph:    ere   he  do  leave 
this  grovp, 
Thou  shalt  fly  him,  and  he  shall  seek  thy  love. — 

Re-enter  PticK. 
Hast  thou  the  flower  there?     Welcome,  wanderer. 

Puck.  Ay,  there  it  is. 

Obe.  I  pray  thee,  give  it  me, 

I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows. 
Where  ox-lips^  and  thf>  nodding  violet  grows; 
Quite  over-canopied  with  lusii"*  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses,  and  witti  eglantine  : 
T  Ravinir  ma^l.  fl  Bring  in  queation.        »  By. 

I  The  greater  cowslip.  ^  Vigorous. 


There  sleeps  Titania,  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lulld  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delie:ht. 
And  there  the  snake  throws  her  enamelfd  skin, 
Weed  wide  enough  to  wrap  a  fiiry  in : 
And  with  the  jun-c  of  this  111  streak  her  eyes 
And  make  her  lull  of  hateful  fantasies, 
lake  Ihou  some  of  it,  and  seek  through  this  grove: 
A  s.veet  Athenian  lady  is  in  love 
With  a  disdainful  youth:  anoint  his  eyes; 
But  do  it,  when  the  next  thing  he  espies 
I\Iay  be  the  lady:    Thou  shalt  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  hath  on. 
KtTect  it  with  some  care ;  that  he  may  prove 
More  fond  on  her.  than  she  upon  tier  love : 
And  look  thou  meet  me  ere  tlie  tirst  cock  crow ; 
Fuck.   Fear  not,  my  lord,  your  servant  shall  do 
so.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  Ul.— Another  part  of  the  Wood. 

Enter  Titaxia  ivith  her  train. 

Tita.   Come,  now  a  roundel.'  and  a  fairy  song  ; 
Tlien,  for  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence; 
Some,  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds; 
Some,  war  with  rear-mice*  for  their  leathern  wings. 
To  make  my  small  elves  coats;  and,  some,  keep  back 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,  and  wonders 
At  our  quaint  sp  rits:*  Smg  me  now  asleep  ; 
Then  to  your  olRces,  and  lei  me'rest. 

SONG. 

1  Fai.  You  sp'ilteis7iakes,  luith  double  tongue, 
Thorn ff  hedge-hogs^  be  not  sen ,- 
Neiuts,^  and  blinl-worms,''  do  no  wrong  ; 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen 
Chorus.      Philoynel,  with  melody, 

Sing  in  our  sweet  Lutlaby ; 
LullUy  lullu,  lullaby ,-  lulla,  luVa,  lullaby  : 
Never  harm,  nor  spell,  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  laiy  nigh  ,* 
So  goo  I  night,  with  lullaby. 
II. 
■2  Fai.  Weaving  spiders  come  7iot  here  ; 

Hence,  you  long-legged  spinners,  hence; 
Beetles  black,  approach  noi  near ; 
Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 
Chorus.    Philomel,  with  melody,  &.c. 
1  Fai.  Hence,  away:   now  all  is  well: 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel. 

[Exeunt  Fairies.    Titania  sleeps. 

Enter  Oueuos. 

Obe.  What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 
[S(pteez€s  thejloivr  on  Titaxia's  eye-lids. 
Do  it  for  thy  true  lo\»e  take; 
Love  and  languish  for  his  sake  : 
Be  it  ounce.'  or  cat,  or  bear, 
Pard,  or  boar  with  bristled  hair, 
In  thy  eye  that  shall  appear 
When  thou  waksl,  it  is  thy  dear  ; 
Wake,  when  some  vile  thing  is  near.  [Exit, 

Enter  Lvsandf.r  and  Hermia. 

Lys.  Fair  love,  you  faint  with  wandering  in  the 
wood  ; 

And  to  speak  truth,  I  have  forgot  our  way  ; 
Well  rest  vis,  Hewnia.  if  you  thuik  it  good. 

And  tarry  fov  the  comfort  of  the  day. 

Her.   Be  it  so,  Lysander:  find  you  but  a  bed. 
For  I  upon  this  bank  will  rest  my  head. 

Li/s.  One  turf  siiall  serve  as  pillow  for  us  both ; 
One  heart,  one  bed.  two  bosoms,  and  one  Irotli. 

H>'r.  Nay,  ^ool  Lysinder  ;  for  my  sake,  my  dear, 
Lie  further  oil"  yet.  do  not  lie  so  near. 

Li/*»  O,  take  the  sense,  sweet,  of  my  innocence 
Love  takes  the  meaning,  in  love's  conference. 
I  mean,  that  my  heart  unio  yours  is  knit. 
So  that  but  one  heart  wo  can  make  of  it: 
Two  bosoms  interchained  with  an  oath  ; 
So  then,  two  bosoms,  and  a  single  troth. 
Then,  by  your  side,  no  bed-room  me  deny  ; 
For.  lying  so,  Hermia.  1  do  not  lie. 

Her.  Lysander  nddlos  very  prettily:  — 
Now  much  bcshrew  my  manners  and  my  pride, 
I  f  Hermia  meant  to  say  Lysander  lied. 
But,  gentle  friend,  for  love  and  courtesy 

J  A  kind  of  d:incG.  «  Bats.  'Sports, 

s  lifts.  1  Slow-worms.  «  The  small  tiger. 


124 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  III. 


Lie  further  off;  in  human  modesty. 
Such  separation,  as,  m.iy  well  be  said, 
Bei-oniei  a  virtuous  bachelor  and  a  maid  : 
So  far  be  distant;  and  good  niiilit,  sweet  friend  : 
Thv  love  ne'er  alter,  till  thy  sweel  life  end  ! 

Liis.   Amen,  amen,  to  that  lair  prayer,  say  I ; 
And  then  end  life,  when  1  ejid  loyalty  ! 
Here  is  my  bed;  sleep  ^ive  thee  all  his  rest! 

Htr.   \Vith   h;ilf  that  wish   the  wishers  eyes  be 
press'd!  [They  sleep. 

Enter  PrcK. 

Pucfi-.  Throuijh  the  forest  have  I  none, 
But  Athenian  found  I  none, 
On  whose  eves  1  miuht  approve 
This  Hower's  force  in  stirring  love. 
Ni^ht  and  silence!  who  is  here? 
Weeds  of  Athens  he  doth  wear: 
This  is  he  ray  master  said, 
Despised  the  Athenian  maid : 
And  here  the  maiden,  slcepii);;  sound, 
On  the  dank  and  dirty  ground. 
Pretty  soul !   she  durst  not  lie 
Near  this  lack-love,  kill-courtesy. 
Churl,  upon  thy  eyes  I  throw 
All  the  power  this  charm  doth  owe :' 
When  thou  wak'st,  let  love  forbid 
Sleep  his-seat  on  thy  eye-lid. 
So  awake,  when  I  am  jrone ; 
For  I  must  now  to  Oberon.  [Exit. 

Enter  Demetbitjs  and  Helena,  running. 

Hel.  Stay,  though  thou  kill  me,  sweet  Deh-.etj-ius. 

De?n.  I  charge  thee,  hence,  and  do  not  haunt  me 
thus. 

Hel.  0,  wilt  thou  darklingi  leave  me?  do  not  so. 

Deni.  Stay,  on  thy  peril;  I  alone  will  go. 

[Exit  Dkmetiitds. 

He!.  0, 1  am  out  of  breath  in  this  fond  chase ! 
The  more  my  prayer,  the  lesser  is  my  grace. 
Happv  is  Hermia,  wheresoe'er  she  lies; 
For  slie  hatli  blessed  and  attractive  eyes. 
How  came  her  eyes  so  bright?    Not  with  salt  tears : 
If  so,  my  eyes  are  oftencr  wash'd  than  hers. 
No.  no,  I  am  as  ugly  as  a  bear; 
For  beasts  that  meet  me,  run  away  for  fear: 
Therefore,  no  marvel,  though  Demetrius 
Do,  as  a  monster,  fiy  my  presence  thus : 
What  wicked  and  disscinbling  glass  of  mine 
Made  me  compare  with  Hermia  s  sphery  eyne?  — 
But  who  is  here  ! —  Lysander !  on  the  ground ! 
Dead  !  or  asleep  !    I  see  no  blood,  no  wound : — 
Ly.sander,  if  you  live,  good  sir,  awake. 

Lys.  And  run  through  fire  I  will,  for  thy  sweet 
sake,  ,  [IVaking. 


Transparent  Helena !   Nature  here  shows  art. 
That  through  thy  bosL>in  makes  nie  sec  thy  heart. 
Where  is  Demetrius  !    (),  how  tit  a  word 
Is  that  vile  name  to  perish  on  my  sword  ! 

HI.   Do  not  say  so,  Lysander  :  say  not  so; 
What  thou-'h  he  love  your  Hermia!    Lord,  what 

though  ? 
Yet  Hermia  still  loves  you  ;  then  be  content. 

Lis.   Content  with  Hermia  !    No;    1  do  repent 
The  tedious  minutes  I  with  her  have  spent. 
Not  Hermia,  but  Helena  I  love ; 
Who  will  not  change  a  raven  for  a  dove  1 
The  will  of  man  is  by  his  reason  sway'd ; 
And  reason  says  you  are  the  worthier  maid. 
Things  growing  are  not  ripe  until  their  season ; 
So  I,  Deing  young,  till  now  ripe  not  to  reason; 
And  touching  now  the  point  of  human  skill, 
Reason  becomes  the  marshal  to  my  will, 
And  leads  me  to  your  eyes  ;  where  I  o'erlook 
Love's  stories  written  in  love's  richest  book. 

Hel.  Wherefore  was  1  to  this  keen  mockery  born  ' 
When  at  your  hands,  did  I  deserve  this  scorn? 
Is't  not  enough,  is  t  not  enough,  young  man, 
That  I  did  never,  no,  nor  never  can. 
Deserve  a  sweet  look  from  Demetrius'  eye, 
But  you  must  flout  my  insufficiency  ! 
Good[  troth,  you  do  me  wrong,  good  sooth  you  do, 
111  such  disdainful  manner  ine  to  woo. 
But  fare  you  well;  perforce  I  must  confess, 
1  thought  you  lord  of  more  true  gentleness. 
O,  that  a  lady,  of  one  man  refus'd, 
Should  of  another,  therefore,  be  abused  !         [Exit. 

Lys.  She  sees  not  Hermia:— Hermia,  sleep  thou 
there; 
And  never  mayst  thou  come  Lysander  near! 
For,  as  a  surfeit  of  the  sweetest  things 
The  deepest  loathing  to  the  stomach  brings ; 
Or,  as  the  heresies  that  men  do  leave. 
Axe  hated  most  of  those  they  did  deceive; 
So  thou,  my  surfeit  and  my  heresy, 
Of  all  be  hated ;  but  the  most  of  me ! 
And  all  my  powers,  address  your  love  and  might. 
To  honor  Helen,  and  to  he  her  knight!  [E.vi'. 

Her.  [Starting.]  Help  me,  Lysander !   help  me  ! 
do  thy  best. 
To  pluck  this  crawling  serpent  from  my  breast! 
Ah  me,  for  pity ! — what  a  dream  was  here  ? 
Lysander,  look,  how  I  do  quake  with  fear ! 
Methouglit  a  serpent  eat  my  heart  away. 
And  you  sat  smiling  at  his  cruel  prey  ; — 
Lysander !  what,  removed  ?    Lysander !  lord  ! 
What,  out  of  hearing?  gone,?  no  sound,  no  word  ? 
Alack,  where  are  you  1  speak,  an  if  you  hear ; 
Speak,  of  all  loves;'  I  swoon  almost  with  fear. 
No  ? —  then  I  well  perceive  you  are  not  nigh : 
Either  death,  or  you,  I'll  find  numediately.    [Exit. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— The  same.    The  Queen  of  Fairies 

lying  asleep. 

Enter  Quisce,  Sxug,  BoTToiiy^LUTE,  Snout, 

and  StauvklisB. 

Bot.  Are  we  all  met? 

Quin.  Pat.  pat;  and  here's  a  marvellous  conve- 
nient place  for  our  rehearsal ;  This  green  plot  shall 
be  our  stage,  this  hawthorn  brake,  our  tyring-house ; 
and  we  will  do  it  in  action,  as  we  will  do  it  before 
the  duke. 

Bnl.   Peter  Quince,— 

Quin.  What  say'i.t  thou,  bully  Bottom? 

Bnt.  There  are  things  in  this  comedy  of  Pyramus 
and  TIdsbii,  that  will  never  please.  First,  Pyramus 
must  dravp  a  sword  to  kill  himself;  which  the  ladies 
cannot  abide.    How  answer  you  that? 

Sniiuf.   By'riakin,'"  a  parlous  fear. 

Star.  I  believe,  we  must  leave  the  killing  out, 
when  all  is  done. 

But.  Not  a  whit;  I  have  a  device  to  make  all 
well.  Write  me  a  prologue;  and  let  the  prologue 
seem  to  say,  we  will  do  no  liarin  with  our  swords; 
and  that  Pyramus  is  not  killed  indeed  ;  and  for  the 
more  better  assurance,  tell  Ihein,  that  I,  Pyjamus, 
B  Possess.  '  In  the  dark.  ^  By  our  hulykin 


am  not  Pyramus,  but  Bottom  the  weaver ;  This 
will  put  them  out  of  fear. 

Qum.  Well,  we  will  have  such  a  prologue  ;  and 
it  shnll  be  written  m  eight  and  six. 

But.  No.  make  it  two  more ;  let  it  he  written  in 
eight  and  eiirht. 

Siiiiiit.  Will  not  the  ladies  be  afeard  of  the  lion  ? 

Star.  I  fear  it,  I  promise  you. 

But.  Masters,  you  ought  to  consider  with  your- 
selves: to  bring  in,  God  shield  ns!  a  lion  among 
ladies,  IS  a  most  dreadful  thing  ;  for  there  is  not  a 
more  fearful  wild-fowl  than  your  lion,  living;  and 
we  ought  to  look  to  it. 

Sn(mt.  Therefore,  another  prologue  must  tell, 
he  is  not  a  lion.  ,  ,    i^,,  ■ 

Bot.  Nay,  you  must  name  his  name,  and  hall  bis 
face  must  be  seen  through  the  lion's  neck;  and  he 
himself  must  speak  throush,  saying  thus,  or  to  the 
same  defect.— Ladies,  or  fair  ladics.I  would  wish 
vou,  or  I  would  request  you,  or,  I  would  entreat 
vou,  not  to  fear,  not  to  tremble  :  my  life  for  your.«. 
If  vou  think  I  come  hither  as  a  lion,  it  were  pity 
of  iny  life;  No,  I  am  no  such  thing  ;  1  am  a  man 
as  other  men  are: — and  there,  indeed,  let  him 
*  By  all  that  is  dear. 


Scene  1. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


125 


name  liis  name;  and  tell  them  plainly,  he  is  Snug 
the  joiner. 

Qui/>.  Well,  it  shall  bn  so.  But  there  is  two  hard 
things;  that  !s,  to  !irm-.<  the  moon-liirtituito  a  cham- 
ber :  for  you  know,  Pyramus  and  I'liishy  meet  by 
moon-Iif^ht. 

S/iu^,  Uoth  tlie  moon  sliine,  lliat  night  we  play 
our  play  ] 

But'  A  calendar,  a  calendar !  look  in  the  alma- 
nic;  find  out  moonshine,  lind  out  moonsliine. 

Quia.  Yes,  it  doih  shme  that  riiglit.  • 

But.  Why,  tlien  you  m.iy  leave  a  casement  of  the 
irreat  chamLtcr  window,  wiierc  we  play,  open;  and 
the  moon  may  shme  in  at  the  c.isemenl. 

Qitiii.  .-Vy  ;  or  else  one  must  come  in  with  a  bush 
of  thornt  and  a  lantiiorn,  and  say.  he  comes  to  dis- 
trgure,  o  *  to  present,  tiio  person  of  moon-shine. 
Then,  there  is  another  thin^  :  we  must  have  a  wall 
in  the  great  chamber ;  for  Hyr.imus  and  Thisby,  says 
the  story,  did  talk  througli  the  chinks  of  a  wall. 

Unug'  You  never  can  bring  in  a  wall. —  What 
say  you.  Bottom  1 

But.  Some  man  or  other  must  i>resent  wall:  and 
let  him  have  some  plaster,  or  some  loam,  or  some 
rough-cast  about  hmi,  to  signify  wall;  or  let  him 
hold  his  lingers  ttius,  and  tluough  that  cranny  shall 
Pj  ramus  and  Tlhsby  whisper. 

Quia.  If  that  may  be.  tlieii  all  is  well.  Come,  sit 
down,  every  mother  s  son,  and  reiiearse  your  parts. 
Pyramus,  you  hegm  :  when  you  have  spoken  your 
speech,  enter  into  that  brake  ;*  and  so  every  one 
according  to  his  cue. 

Enter  Puck  behind. 

Puck.  What  hempen  liome-spuns  have  we  swa^-- 
gering  here,  * 

So  near  the  cradle  of  the  fairy  queen  1 
What,  a  play  toward  !   1  II  be  an  auditor; 
An  actor  too,  perhaps,  if  I  see  cause. 

Quill.   Speak,  Pyramus: — Thisby,  stand  forth. 

Pyr.  Tliuiby.  Ilit  flowers  of  odious  savors  sweet — 

Quin.  Odors,  odors. 

Pyr. odors  savnrs  siveet: 

Su  dotli  t/iij  breutti,  rni/  dearest  Thisby  dear.— 
But,  hurl;,  a  voice !  stai/  tlvm  hut  here  awhile, 

And  by  and  by  I  will  to  tliee  appear.  [Exit. 

Pucli.  A  stranger  Pyramus  than  e'er  played  here! 
[Aside. — Exit. 

Tills.  Must  I  speak  now  ? 

Quin.  Ay,  marry,  must  you :  for  you  must  un- 
derstand, he  goes  but  to  see  a  noise  that  he  heard 
and  is  to  come  again.  ' 

This.   Most  radiant  Pyramus,  most  lily-iuhlte 
of  hue. 

Of  color  likethered  rose  on  triumphant  brier. 
Must  briskly  Juvenal,''  and  eke  most  lovely  Jew, 

As  true  as  truest  horse,  that  yet  would  never  tire, 
I'll  meet  thee,  Pyramus,  at  Ninny's  tomb. 

Quin.  Nipus's  tomb,  man:  Why  you  must  not 
speak  that  5'et ;  that  you  answer  to  I'vramus:  yon 
speak  all  your  part  at  once,  cues'  anil  all. —  Pyra- 
mus, enter;  your  cue  is  past ;  it  is,  never  tire. 

Re-enter  Puck  and  Bottom  with  an  Ass's  head. 

Tills.  O.—  As  true  as  truest   horse,    that   yet 

ivoutd.  never  tire. 
PyT.  If  I  were  fair,  Thi-ihy,  I  were  only  thine  .— 
Quin.  0  monstrous  !  o  strange  !  we  are  haunted. 
Pray,  masters !  Ily,  masters !  hcip  ! 

^     ,  [Exeunt  Clowns. 

Puck.  I'll  follow  vou.III  lead  you  about  around. 
Through  bog,  through  bush,  through  brake, 
through  brier; 
Sometime  a  horse  I'll  he,  sometime  a  liound, 
A  hog,  a  headless  be.ir,  sometime  a  Hre; 
And  neigh,  and  )ark,  and  grunt,  and  roar,  and  bum. 
Like  horse,  hound,  hog,  bear,  fire,  at  every  turn. 

Bof.  Why  do  they  run  away?  this  is  a  knavery 
of  tbem.  to  make  mfc  afeard. 

Re-enter  Snout. 

Snout.  0  Bottom,  thou  art  changed!  vi'hat  do  I 
see  on  thee? 

Bot.  What  do  you  sec?  you  see  an  ass's  head 
of  your  own ;   Do  you  1 

*  Thicket.  B  Young  man. 

6  The  last  words  of  the  preceding  speech,  which  serve 
as  a  bint  to  him  who  is  to  speak  next. 


Ri-entir  Quince. 

Quin.   Bless  thee.  Bottom!   bless  thee!  thou  art 

translated.  [E.vit, 

Bot.   I  sec  their  knavery :   this  is  to  make  an  ass 

of  me;   to  fright  me,  if  they  could.    But  I  will  not 

stir  IVom  tins  place,  do  what  they  can;   I  will  walk 

up  and  down  here,  and  I  will  sing,  that  they  shall 

hear  I  am  not  afraid.  \  Sin^^s. 

The  ousel  cock,  so  black  of  hue, 

With  orange-lawny  bill, 
The  tlirosl  e  with  his  note  so  tjite, 
TIte  wren  ivilh  little  quill. 
Tita.   What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery 
bed '!  [  Waking. 

Bot  The  finch,  the  sparrow,  and  ike  lark, 
The  plain-sons  cuckoo  grey, 
Jl'hose  Jiotefutl  many  a  man  doth  mark, 
Ami  dares  nut  answer,  nay;  — 

or,  indeed,  who  would  set  his  wit  to  so  foolish  a 
bird]  who  would  give  a  bird  the  lie,  though  he  cry, 
cuckoo,  never  so '! 

Till!.  1  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again : 
.Mine  car  is  much  enamor'd  of  thy  note. 
So  is  mine  eye  enthrall  d  to  thy  shape; 
And  thy  fair  virtue's  force  perforce  doth  move  me, 
On  the  first  view,  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 

Bot.  iMethink.s,  mistress,  you  should  have  little 
reason  fur  that;  And  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  reason 
and  love  keep  little  company  together  novv-a-days: 
The  more  the  pity,  that  some  honest  neighbors 
will  not  make  them  friends.  Jiay,  I  can  gleek'  upon 
occasion. 

Tila.  Thou  art  as  wise  as  tliou  art  beautiful. 

But.  Not  so,  neither:  but  if  I  had  wit  cnouih  to 
get  out  of  this  wood,  i  have  enough  to  serve  mine 
own  turn. 

Titu.  ( lut  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go  ; 
Thou  shall  remain  here,  whether  thou  wilt  or  no. 
I  am  a  spirit  of  no  common  rate  : 
The  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state, 
And  I  do  love  thee :  therefore, go  with  me ; 
I'll  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee ; 
And  they  sliall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep. 
And  sing,  while  thou  on  pressed  flowers  dost  sleep ; 
And  I  will  jiurgc  thy  mortal  grossness  su. 
That  Ihou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go. — 
Peas-blus-som  !  Cobweb  !  Motti !  and  Mustard-seed! 

Enter  four  Fairies. 

1  Fau  Ready. 

2  Fui.  And  I. 

3  Fai.  And  I. 

4  Fai.  Where  shall  v\'e  go  7 
Tita.  Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman ; 

Hop  in  his  walks,  and  gambol  in  his  eyes; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks  and  dewberries. 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries; 
The  honey  hags  stealfrom  tlie  humble-bees. 
And,  for  night-tapers,  crop  their  waxen  thighs, 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed,  and  to  arise; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies. 
To  fan  the  moonbeams  from  Ins  sleeping  eyes: 
Nod  tn  hini,  ehes,  and  do  hiui  courtesies. 

1  Fai.   I  lad  mortal! 

2  Fai.  Hail! 

3  Fui.   Hail!  _^ 

4  Fai.  Hail!   ▼ 

Bot.  I  cry  your  worship's  mercy,  heartily. —  I 
beseech  your  worship's  name  I 

Cob.   Cobweb. 

Bid.  I  sluUi  desire  you  of  more  acquaintance, 
good  master  Cobweb:  If  I  cut  my  finger,  I  shall 
make  bold  with  you. —  Your  name,  honest  gentle- 
man ! 

Peas.  Peas-blo.ssom. 

Bot.  I  pray  you,  commend  me  to  mistress  Squash, 
your  mother,  and  to  master  Peascod,  your  lather. 
Good  master  Peius-blossom,  I  shall  desire  you  of  more 
acquaiiitanee  too. —  Your  name,  I  beseech  j'ou,  sir  i 

mus.  Mustard-seed. 

But.  Good  master  Mustnrd-seed,  I  know  your 
patience  well:  that  same  cowardly,  giant-like  ox- 
beef  hath  devoured  many  a  gentleman  of  your 
house:  I  promise  you,  your  kindred  hath  made  my 
eyes  water  ere  now.  I  desire  you  more  acquaint- 
ance, good  master  Mustard-seed. 

'Tita.  Come  wait  upon  him ;  lead  him  to  my  lower. 
1 J  ike. 


12G 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT-S  DREAM. 


Act  III. 


The  moon,  methinks,  looks  with  a  watery  eye; 
And  when  she  weeps,  weeps  every  httle  dower, 
Lamenting  some  enforced  chastity. 
Tie  up  my  love's  tongue,  bring  him  silently. 

[Exeuni. 
SCENE  11.— Another  part  if  Ike  IVool. 
Kntf-r  OBEnoy. 
O'le.  I  wonder,  if  Titania  be  awak'd ; 
Then,  what  it  was  that  next  cam,;  in  her  eye, 
Wliich  she  must  dote  on  in  extremity. 

Enter  Puck. 

Here  comes  mymassens^cr. — How  now, mad  spirit? 
What  ni-;ht-ruie  now  about  tliis  haunted  grove  ? 

Puck.  My  mistress  with  a  monster  is  iu  love. 
Near  to  her  close  and  consecrated  bower, 
Whde  she  was  in  her  iluli  and  sleeping  hour, 
A  crew  of  patches,'  rude  mechanicals, 
That  work  for  bread  upon  Athenian  stalls, 
Wei-e  met  together  to  reliearse  a  play. 
Intended  for  great  Theseus'  nuptual  day. 
Tlie  shallowest  thick-skiu  of  that  barren  sort. 
Who  Pyramus  presented,  in  their  sport 
Forsook  his  scene,  and  enter'd  in  a  brake ; 
Wlien  I  did  liim  at  this  advantage  take. 
An  asss  nowl  I  fixed  on  his  head ; 
Anon,  his  Thisbe  must  be  answered, 
Ami  forth  my  mimic  comes:    When  they  him  spy. 
As  wild  geese  that  the  creeping  fowler  eye, 
Or  russet-pated  choughs,  many  in  sort, 
Rising  and  cawing  at  tile  gun's  report 
Sever  themselves,  and  madly  sweep  the  sky  ; 
So,  at  his  sight,  away  his  fellows  fly ; 
And,  at  our  stamp,  here  o  er  and  o'er  one  falls; 
He  murder  cries,  and  iielp  from  Athens  calls. 
Their  sense  thus  weak,  lost  with  their  tears  thus 

strong, 
Made  senseless  things  begin  to  do  them  wrong: 
For  briers  and  thorns  at  their  apparel  snatch ; 
Some,  sleeves ;  some,  hats:   from  yielders  all  things 

catch. 
I  Ie<l  tlicm  on  in  this  distracted  fear, 
And  left  sweet  Pyramus  translated  there: 
When  in  that  moment,  (so  it  came  to  pass,) 
Titania  wak'd,  and  .straightway  lovd  an  ass. 

OV.  This  falls  out  better  than  I  could  devise. 
But  hast  thou  yet  latch'd'  the  Athenian's  eyes 
With  tlie  love-juice,  as  1  did  bid  thee  do? 

Puck.  I  took  him  sleeping,— that  is  finish'd  too,— 
And  the  .\thenian  woman  by  his  side; 
That,  when  he  wak'd,  of  force  she  must  be  eyd. 

Eater  DEMETnirs  and  Hermia. 

O'le.   Stand  close;  this  is  the  same  Athenian. 

Puck.  This  is  the  wonun,  but  not  this  the  man. 

Dsn.  f  1,  why  rebuke  50U  him  that  loves  you  so  ? 
J,av  breath  so  bitter  on  your  bitter  foe. 

K-r.  Now  I  but  chide,  but  I  should  use  thee  worse; 
For  thou.I  fear,  h.ast  given  me  cause  to  curse. 
If  thou  hast  slain  Lvsander  in  his  sleep, 
liehii  o'er  shoes  in  blood,  plunge  in  the  deep. 
And  kill  me  too. 

The  sun  was  not  so  true  unto  the  day. 
As  he  to  me  :   Would  lie  have  stol'n  away 
From  sleeping  Hermia?    1  II  believe  as  soon, 
This  ivhole  earth  may  he  bor'd;  iu^1  that  the  moon 
May  through  the  centre  creep,  antrso  displease 
Her  brother's  noontide  with  the  antipodes. 
It  cannit  he  but  thou  hast  murder  d  him  ; 
So  should  a  murderer  look;  so  dead,  so  grim. 

Bfni.  So  should  the  murder'd  look;  and  so  should  I. 
Pierc'd  through  the  heart  with  your  stern  cruelly : 
'i'et  you.  the  murderer,  look  as  bright,  as  clear, 
As  vonder  Venus  in  her  glimmering  sphere. 

H'r.   What's  this  to  my  Lysander?  where  is  he? 
Ah,  good  Demetrius,  wilt  thou  give  him  me  ? 

D'ui.  1  had  rather  jive  his  carcase  to  my  hounds. 

Her.  Out,  dog!    out,  cur!   thou  driv'st  mc  past 
the  bounds 
Of  maiden  patience.    Hast  thou  slain  him  then  ? 
Hencelortli  be  never  number'd  among  men  ! 
O  I  once  tell  true,  t,d!  (rue,  even  for  my  sake; 
Durst  thou  have  look'd  upon  him.  being  awake. 
And  hast  thou  kilfd  him  sleeping  ?   0  brave  touch  ! 
Could  not  a  worm,  an  adder,  do  so  much  ? 
An  adder  did  it ;  for  with  doubler  tongue 
Than  thine,  thou  serpent,  never  adder  stung. 


a  Simple  fellows. 


» Infcctea. 


Deni.    Vou  spend  your  passion  on  a  mispris'di 
mood  : 
I  am  not  guilty  of  Lysander's  blood; 
Nor  is  he  dead,  tor  aught  that  I  can  tell. 
Her.   1  pray  thee,  tell  me  then,  that  he  is  well. 
D.iii.  A  lid  "if  I  could,  what  should  1  get  therefore  ! 
Her.   A  privilege,  never  to  see  me  more. — 
.\nd  from  tiiy  hated  presence  part  1  so : 
See  me  no  more,  whether  he  be  dead  or  no.    {Exit. 
Dent.  There  is  no  following  her  in  this  fierce  vein : 
Here,  fterefore,  tor  a  while  I  will  remain, 
.^o  sorrow's  heaviness  doth  heavier  grow 
For  debt  that  bankrupt  sleep  doth  sorrow  owe ; 
Which  now,  in  some  slight  measure,  it  wdl  pay. 
If  for  his  tender  here  I  make  some  stay.  [Lks  dinrn 
Obe.  What  hast  thou  done?    thou  hast  mistaken 
quite. 
And  laid  the  love-juice  on  some  true  love's  sight: 
Of  thy  misprision  must  pert'orce  ensue 
Some  true  love  turn'd,  and  not  a  false  turn'd  true. 
Puck.  Then  fate  o'cr-rules;  that,  one  man  hold- 
ing troth, 
A  million  fail,  confounding  oath  on  oath. 

O'le.   About  the  wood  go  swifter  than  the  wind, 
.\nd  Helena  of  Athens  look  thou  find  : 
.\11  fancj'-sick'  she  is,  and  pale  of  cheer," 
With  sighs  of  love,  that  cost  the  fresh  blood  dear: 
ISv  some  illusion  see  thou  bring  lier  here ; 
I'll  charm  his  eyes,  against  she  do  appear. 

Puck.   I  go,  I  go  ;  look  how  I  go ; 
Swifter  than  arrow  from  the  Tartar's  bow.      [Exit 
Obe.  Flower  of  this  purple  die. 
Hit  with  Cupid's  archery. 
Sink  in  apple  of  his  eye! 
When  his  love  he  doth  espy. 
Let  her  shine  as  gloriously 
As  the  Venus  of  the  sky. — 
When  thou  wak'st,  if  she  be  by, 
Beg  of  her  for  remedy. 

Re-enter  Puck. 

Puck.  Captain  of  our  fairy  band, 
Helena  is  here  at  hand ; 
And  the  youth,  mistook  by  me. 
Pleading  for  a  lover's  fee ; 
Shall  we  their  fond  pageant  sec? 
O,  what  fools  these  mortals  be! 

Obe.   Stand  aside :  the  noise  they  make. 
Will  cause  Demetrius  to  awake. 

Puck,    riicn  will  two  at  once,  woo  one; 
That  must  needs  be  sport  alone  ; 
And  tliose  things  do  best  please  me. 
That  befal  preposterously. 

Eater  Ltsasdeti  and  Helena. 

Lys.  Why  should  you  think,  that  I  should  woo 
in  scorn  ? 

Scorn  and  derision  never  come  in  tears: 
Look,  when  I  vow,  I  weep ;  and  vows  sb  bom. 

In  their  nativity  all  truth  appears. 
How  can  these  things  in  me  seem  scorn  to  you, 
Bearing  the  badge  of  faith,  to  prove  them  true? 

He  I.  You  do  advance  your  cunning  more  and 
more. 

When  truth  kills  truth,  0  devilish-holy  fray  ! 
These  vows  are  Hermia's:    Will  yougive  hero'er? 

Weigh  oath  with  oath,  and  you   will  nothing 
weigh : 
Your  vows,  to  her  and  me,  put  in  two  scales. 
Will  even  weigh;  and  both  as  liglit  as  tales. 

L'/.f.   I  had  no  indgment,  when  to  her  I  swore. 

//•■/.   Nor  none,  in' my  mind,  now  you  give  her 
o'er. 

Li/.f.   Demetrius  loves  her,  and  he  loves  not  you. 

Dem.   [Aivakiiti;.]    O   Helen,  goddess,  nymph, 
perfect  divine! 
To  what,  my  love,  shall  I  compare  thine  eyne? 
Crystal  is  muddy.    O,  how  ripe  in  show 
rhy  lips,  those  kissing  cherries,  tempting  grow  I 
That  pure  congealed  white,  high  Taurus'  snow, 
Fann'd  with  the  eastern  wind,  turns  to  a  crow, 
When  thou  hold'.st  up  thy  hand  :   O  let  me  kiss 
This  princess  of  pure  wdiite.  this  seal  of  bliss! 

Hel.  O  spitB  I    O  hell !    I  sec  yon  all  are  bent 
To  set  against  me,  for  your  merriment. 
If  you  were  civil,  and  knew  courtesy, 
Vou  would  not  do  me  thus  much  injury. 
Can  you  not  hate  me,  as  I  know  you  do, 

I  Mistaken.  '  Love-sick.  » Countenancfl. 


ScE>rE  III. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


127 


But  you  must  join,  in  souls,*  to  mock  me  too] 

Ir"  you  were  men,  as  men  you  are  in  show, 

You  wauld  not  use  a  geiiiio  lady  so  ; 

To  vow,  and  swear,  and  superpraise  my  parts. 

When.  I  am  sure,  you  hate  me  with  your  hearts, 

You  both  are  rivals,  and  love  Hermia? 

And  now  both  rivals,  to  mock  Helena : 

A  trim  exploit,  a  manly  enterprise. 

To  conjure  tears  up  in  a  poor  maid"s  eyes, 

With  your  dertsioii !   none,  of  noble  sort, 

Would  so  odend  a  virgin ;  and  extort 

A  poor  soul's  patience,  all  to  make  you  sport. 

Li/s.    Vou  are  Udkmd,  Demetrius:  be  not  so; 
For  you  love  Hermia;  this,  you  know,  I  know: 
And  here,  with  all  good  will,  with  all  my  heart, 
In  Ktrmia's  love  I  yield  you  up  my  part; 
And  yours  of  Helena  to  me  bequeath. 
Whom  I  do  love,  and  will  do  to  my  death. 

HcL  Never  did  m  takers  waste  more  idle  breath. 

De/n.   Lysander,  keep  thy  Hermia;  I  will  none: 
If  e'er  I  loved  her,  all  that  love  is  gone. 
My  heart  with  her,  but  as  guest-wise,  sojournd  ; 
And  now  to  Helen  is  it  home  retufti'd, 
TJicre  to  remain. 

Li/s.  Helen,  it  is  not  so. 

Dein,  Disparage  not  the  faith  thou  dost  not  know. 
Lest,  to  thy  peril,  thou  aby  it  dear.* — 
Look,  where  Iky  love  comes;  yonder  is  thy  dear. 

Enter  Hermta. 

Her.   Dark  night,  that  from  the  eye  his  function 
takes. 
The  car  more  quick  of  apprehension  makes ; 
VV  hercm  it  doth  impair  the  seeing  sense, 
It  pays  the  hearing  double  recompense: — 
Thou  art  not  by  mine  eye,  Lysander,  found  ; 
Mine  ear,  I  thank  it.  brought  me  to  thy  sound. 
But  wliy  unkindly  d;dst  thou  leave  me  so  ? 

Lys.   Why  should  he  stay,  whom  love  doth  press 
to  go  ?  • 

Her.  What  love  could  press  Lysander  from  my 
side] 

L)/s.  Lysandefs  love,  that  would  not  let  him  bide, 
Fair  Ht'kna:   who  moreengilds  the  night 
Th  HI  all  yon  liery  oesi  and  eyes  of  lii^hl. 
VShy  scekst  thou  me  I    could  not  this  make  thee 

know, 
The  Iiate  I  bear  thee  made  me  leave  thee  so  ? 

Her.   You  speak  not  as  you  think ;  it  cannot  be. 

He!.  Lo,  she  is  one  of  this  confederacy! 
Now  I  perceive  they  have  conjoin'd,  all  tlirce, 
To  fashion  this  false  sport  in  spite  of  me. 
Injurious  Hermia:  most  ungrateful  maid  ! 
Have  you  conspired,  have  you  with  these  contriv'd 
To  bait  me  with  this  foul  derision  ] 
Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two. have  shar'd, 
Tlie  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent. 
When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting;  us, —  (),  and  is  all  forgot  1 
All  srhooI-dAys' friendship,  childhood  innocence? 
We,  Hermia.  hke  two  artiticiah  gods. 
Have  witli  our  neeldsa  created  both  one  llowcr, 
Both  on  line  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion. 
Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key ; 
As  il  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices,  and  minds, 
Had  been  incorporate.    So  we  grew  together, 
Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted: 
But  yet  a  un;pn  in  partition. 
Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem : 
*^o  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  heart ; 
Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry. 
Due  but  to  one,  and  crowned  with  one  crest: 
And  will  you  rent  our  ancient  love  asunder. 
To  join  with  men  in  scnrning   your  poor  friend  f 
It  is  not  friendly,  'tis  not  maidenly  : 
Our  sex.  as  well  as  I,  may  chide  you  for  it ; 
Though  I  alone  do  feel  the  injury. 

Hjr.  I  am  amazed  at  your  passionate  words: 
I  scorn  you  not;  it  seems  that  you  scorn  me. 

H-'L  Have  you  not  set  Lysander,  as  in  scorn. 
To  follow  me,  and  pra'se  my  eyes  and  face  1 
And  made  your  other  love,  Demetrius. 
(Who  even  but  now  did  spurn  me  with  his  foot,) 
To  call  1X12  goddess,  nymph,  divine,  and  rare, 
Precious,  celestiall  Wherefore  speaks  lie  this 
To  her  he  hates  1  and  wherefore  doth  Lysander 
Denv  your  love,  so  rich  within  his  soul, 
And  tender  me,  forsoath,  alfection  ; 

•  Heartily.  •  Pay  dearly  for  it. 

6  Ciriles.  1  Ingeniotia.  «  NccJles. 


But  by  your  setting  on,  by  your  consent] 
Wliat  though  1  be  not  so  m  ^race  as  you. 
So  hung  upon  with  love,  so  lorluiiate; 
But  miserable  most,  to  love  unlov'd  ] 
This  you  sliould  p.ty,  rather  than  despise. 

H;r.  I  understand  not  what  you  mean  by  tliis 

Hel.  Ay,  do,  persever,  counterfeit  sad  looks. 
Make  mows^  ui)on  me  wht-n  I  turn  my  back; 
Wink  at  each  other;  hold  the  sweet  jest  up: 
This  sport,  well  carried,  shall  be  chronicled. 
If  you  have  any  pity,  grace,  or  manners, 
You  would  not  make  me  such  an  argument. 
But  fare  ye  well :  'tis  partly  mine  own  fault; 
Which  death,  or  absence,  soon  shall  remedy. 

Li/s.  Slay,  gentle  Helena;  hear  my  excuse; 
My  love,  my  hfe,  my  soul,  fair  Helena! 

H^l.  O  excellent ! 

Her.  Sweet,  do  not  scorn  her  so. 

Dem.  If  she  cannot  entreat,  I  can  compel. 

L>/s.  Thou  canst  compel  no  more  than  she  en- 
treat ; 
Thy  threats  have  no  more  strength  than  her  weak 

prayers. — 
Helen,  I  love  thee;  by  my  life,  I  do; 
I  swear  by  that  which  I  will  lose  for  thee. 
To  prove  him  false,  that  says  I  love  tliee  not. 

Dem.  I  say,  I  love  theo  more  than  he  can  do. 

Li/s.  Ifthousayso,  withdraw,  and  prove  it  too. 

D:/n.  t^uick,  come, — 

Hjr.  Lysander,  whereto  tends  all  thisl 

L'/s.  Away,  you  Kthiop  ! 

D-i/i.  No,  no,   sir: — he   wdl 

Seem  to  break  loose ;  take  on,  as  you  would  follow : 
But  yet  come  not ;  you  are  a  tame  man,  go ! 

Lys.  Hang  oiT,  thou  cat,  thou  burr:    vile  thing, 
let  loose ; 
Or  I  will  shake  thee  from  me,  like  a  serpent. 

Her.  W^hy  are  you  grown  so  rude!  what  change 
is  this. 
Sweet  love ! 

L'/.f.  Thy  love?  out,  tawny  Tartar,  out! 

H  r.  Do  you  not  jest] 

Hi.  Yes,  'sooth;  and  so  do  you. 

L'/r,.  Demetrius,  I  will  keep  my  word  with  thee. 

JJet/i,  I  would,  I  had  your  bond;  for,  I  perceive, 
A  weak  bond  holds  you;  111  not  trust  your  word. 

Lt/s.  What,  should  1    liurt  her,  strike  her,  kill 
her  dead! 
Although  I  hate  her.  I'll  not  harm  her  so. 

Htr.   What,  can  you  do  me  greater  harm,  than 
hate ! 
Hate  me !  wherefore  '  ()  me  !  wliat  news,  my  love  ] 
Am  not  I  Hermia]  Are  not  you  Lysander] 
I  am  as  fair  now,  as  1  was  erewhilc. 
Since  night,  you  lov'd  me,  yet,  since  night  you  left 

me : 
Why,  then  you  left,  me — 0,  the  gods  forbid! — 
In  earnest,  shall  1  say] 

L'/s.  Ay,  by  my  life  ; 

And  never  did  desire  to  see  thee  more. 
Therefore,  be  out  of  hope,  of  question,  doubt, 
Be  certain,  nothing  truer;  "lis  no  jest, 
Tiiat  I  do  hate  thee,  and  love  Helena. 

H^r.  0  me  !  you  juggler!  you  canker  blossom !i 
You  thief  of  love!  what,  have  you  come  by  night 
And  stol'n  my  love's  heart  from  him] 

HeL  Fine,  i'faith! 

Have  you  no  modesty,  no  maiden  shame, 
No  touch  of  baslifulness]   What,  will  you  tear 
Impaitent  answers  from  my  gentle  tongue  ] 
Fie.  lie  !  you  counterfeit.  >ou  puppet  you  ! 

Htr.   Puppet!  why  so]  Ay,  that  way  goes  the 
game. 
Now  I  perceive  that  she  hath  made  compare 
Between  our  statures,  she  hath  urgM  her  height 
And  with  her  persona-e,  her  tall  personaire, 
Her  height,  forsooth,  slu-  hath  prcvail'd  with  him. — 
And  are  you  grown  so  iiigh  in  his  esteem, 
Hecause  I  am  so  dwarfish,  and  so  low  ] 
How  low  am  I.  thou  panted  maypole  ]  speak; 
How  low  am  I  M  am  not  yet  so  low. 
But  that  my  nails  can  roach  unto  thine  ej'es. 

H:!.  I  pray  you,  though  you  mock  me,  gentle- 
men. 
Let  her  not  hurt  me:  1  was  never  curst ;*» 
I  have  no  gift  at  all  in  shrewishness; 
I  om  a  right  ma'd  for  my  cowardice; 
Let  her  not  strike  me  :  you.  perhaps,  may  think, 

3  Wry  faces.      >  Aworm  that  prey*  on  buds  of  flowers 
a  Shrewish  or  miscbic-rous. 


12S 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  III. 


Because  shp  s  somrthing  lower  t'laii  inyself, 
That  I  can  match  her. 

Jier.  Lower!  hark,  ap:ain. 

Hel.  Good  Hermia,  do  not  be  so  bitter  with  me. 
I  evermore  did  love  you,  Mcrniia, 
Did  ever  keep  your  counsels,  never  wrong'd  you ; 
Save,  that,  in  love  unto  Heinetrius, 
I  told  him  of  your  stealth  unto  Ihis  wood:  . 
He  followed  you  ;  for  love,  I  followM  him  : 
But  he  hath  chid  me  hence;  and  thrcaten'd  me 
To  strike  me,  spurn  me,  nay,  to  kill  ine  too: 
And  now,  so  you  will  let  nie  quiet  ^o, 
To  Athens  will  I  hear  my  folly  back. 
And  follow  you  no  further:  Let  me  ^o: 
You  see  how  simple  and  how  fund*  I  am. 

Her.  Why.  get  you  gone:  Who  is't  that  hinders 
youl 

Hel.  A  foolish  heart  that  I  leave  here  behind. 

Her.  What,  with  Lysander? 

Hel.  With  De;iictrius. 

Lt/s.  Be  not  afraid:  she  shall  not  harm  thee, 
Helena. 

Dem.  No,   sir;  slie  shall  not,  tliough  you  take 
her  part. 

H:l.  0,  when  she's  angry,  she  is  keen  and  shrewd: 
She  was  a  vixen,  when  she  went  to  school ; 
And,  though  she  be  hut  little,  she  is  fierce. 

Her.  Little  aiainl  nothing  but  low  and  little  !— 
Why  will  you  sutfer  her  to  flout  me  thus  ! 
Let  me  come  to  her. 

Li/s.  r,et  you  gone,  you  dwarf; 

You  minimus,  of  hind'ring  knot-grass*  made; 
You  bead,  you  acorn. 

J}em.  Y'ou  are  too  officious 

In  lier  behalf  that  scorn  your  services. 
Let  her  alone ;  speak  not  of  Helena ; 
Take  not  her  part:  for  if  thou  dost  intend' 
Never  so  little  show  of  love  to  her, 
Thou  shalt  aby  it. 

Li/s.  Now,  she  holds  me  not ; 

Now  follow,  if  thou  dar'st,  to  try  whose  right. 
Or  thine  or  rame,  is  most  in  Helena. 

Dem.  Follow?  nay,  Fll  go  with  Ihee  cheek  by 
jole.  [Exeunt  Lts.  and  Dem. 

Her.  Y'ou.  mistress,  all  this  coil  is  'long  of  you  : 
Nay,  go  not  back. 

He!.  1  will  not  trust  you,  I ; 

Nor  longer  stay  in  your  curst  company. 
Y'our  hands,  than  mine,  are  quicker  for  a  fray  • 
My  legs  are  longer  though,  to  run  away.    [V,xil. 

'Her.  I  am  amaz'd,  and  know  not  what  to  say. 
[Exit,  piir.stiini;  Hklkxa. 

O'je.   This  is  thy  negligence:  still  thou  mistak'st, 
Or  else  commifst  thy  knaveries  wilfully. 

Puck.   Believe  me,  king  of  shadows,  I  mistook. 
Did  not  you  tell  me,  I  should  know  the  man 
By  the  Athenian  garments  he  had  on? 
And  so  far  blameless  proves  my  enterprize, 
That  I  have  nointed  an  .Athenian's  eyes: 
And  so  tar  am  1  i;lad  it  so  did  sort. 
As  this  their  jangling  I  esteem  a  sport. 

Obe.  Thou  seest,  these  lovers  seek  a  place  to  fight : 
Hie,  therefore,  Robin,  overcast  the  night ; 
The  starry  welkin  cover  thou  anon 
•With  drooping  fog,  as  black  as  Acheron ; 
And  lead  these  testy  rivals  so  astray. 
As  one  come  not  within  another's  way- 
Like  to  Lysauder  sometime  frame  thy  tongue, 
Then  stir  Demetrius  u|i  with  bitter  wrong  ; 
And  sometime  rail  thou  like  Demetrius; 
And  from  each  other  look  thou  lead  them  thus. 
Till  o'er  tlieir  brows  death  couiilerfeiting  sleep 
With  leaden  legs  and  baity  wings  doth  creep; 
Then  crush  this  herb  into  Lysander's  eye; 
Whose  liquor  hath  this  virtuous  property. 
To  take  from  thence  all  error,  with  his  might, 
And  make  his  eye-halls  roll  with  wonted  sight. 
When  lliey  next  wake  all  this  derision 
Shall  seem  a  dream,  and  fruitless  vision; 
And  hack  to  Athens  shall  the  lovers  wend,» 
With  leauue,  whose  date  till  death  shall  never  end. 
Whiles  I  in  this  allair  do  thee  employ, 
I'll  to  my  qui;en,  and  beg  her  Indian  boy ; 
And  then  1  will  her  charmed  eye  release 
From  monsters  view,  and  all  things  shall  he  peace. 

Puck.  My  fairy  lord,  this  must  be  done  with  haste, 
3  Foolish. 
*  Anoiontly,  knot-grass  M-.as  bclieveil  to  prevent  the 
growth  of  ehililrcn.  '  I'rctend.  "Go. 


For  night'sswiftdragons  cut  tlie  clouds  full  fast, 

And  yonder  sliincs  Auroras  liarbins'er; 

At  whose  approach,  ghosts,  wandering   here  and 

there. 
Troop  home  to  church-yards:  damned  spirits  all, 
That  in  crossways  and  iloods  have  burial. 
Already  to  their  wormy  lieris  are  none; 
For  fear  lest  day  shouM  look  their  shames  upon, 
They  wilfully  themselves  exile  from  light. 
And  must  for  aye  consort  with  hiack-hrow'd  night. 

O'le.   Hut  we  are  spirits  of  another  sort: 
I  with  the  Morning's  Love'  have  oft  made  sport; 
And.  like  a  forester,  the  groves  may  tread, 
Even  till  the  eastern  gate,  all  fiery  red, 
Opening  on  Neptune  "ith  fair  blessed  beams, 
Turns  into  yellow  gold  his  salt-green  streams. 
But,  notwithstanding,  haste;  make  no  delay  : 
We  may  etl'cct  this  business  yet  ere  day.  [ExU  On. 
Puck.  Up  and  down,  up  and  down; 

I  will  lead  tliem  up  and  down  : 

I  am  fcar'd  in  field  and  town  ; 

Goblin,  lead  them  up  and  down. 
Here  comes  one. 

Enter  LTS.iM>En. 

Li/S.  Where  art  thou,  proud  Demetrius?    Speak 

thou  now. 
Puck.  Here,  villain;  drawn  and  ready.    'Where 

art  tliou? 
Lj/s.  I  wdl  be  with  thee  straight. 
Puck.  Follow  me  then 

To  plainer  ground. 

[Exit  Ltsanbeii,  as  following  tlie  voice. 

Enter  DEMKTnius. 

Bern.  Lysander!  speak  again 

Thou  runaway,  thou  coward,  art  thou  lied  ' 
Speak.     In  some  bush  ?    Where  dost  thou  hide  thy 
head  \ 
Puck.  Thou  coward,  art  thou  hragtjing  to  the  stars, 
Telling  the  bushes  that  thou  look'st  for  wars, 
And  wilt  not  come?    come,  recreant;  come,  thou 

child  ; 
I'll  whip  thee  with  a  rod :   He  is  defil'd. 
That  draws  a  sword  on  thee. 
JDem.  Yea;  art  thou  there? 

Puck.  Follow  my  voice ;   we'll  try  no  manhood 
here.  \  Exeunt. 

Re.enter  t.Ysx'svr.n. 
Ltjs.  He  goes  before  me,  and  still  dares  me  on ; 
When  I  come  where  he  calls,  then  he  is  gone. 
The  villain  is  much  lighter  beef  d  tiian  I : 
I  follow'd  fast,  but  faster  he  did  lly ; 
That  fallen  am  I  in  dark  uneven  way. 
And  here  will  rest  me.    Come,  thou  gentle  day! 

[Lies  doivn. 
For  if  but  once  thou  show  me  thy  grey  light, 
I'll  find  Demetrius,  and  revenge  this  spite.  [Sleeps. 

Re-enter  Puck  and  Demetrius. 

Puck.  Ho,  ho !  ho,  ho !  Coward,  why  com'st  thou 

not  ? 
Dem.  Abide  me,  if  thou  dar'st;  for  well  I  wot, 
Thou  runn'st  before  me,  sliTfting  every  place ; 
And  dar'st  not  stand,  nor  look  me  in  the  face. 
W  here  art  thou  1 
Puck.  Come  hither ;  I  am  here. 

Dem.  Nay,  then,  thou  mock'st  me.    Thou  shall 
buy  this  dear. 
If  ever  I  thy  face  by  daylight  see : 
Now,  ETO  thy  way.    Faihtness  constraineth  me 
To  measure  out'my  length  on  this  cold  bed. — 
By  day's  approach  look  to  be  visited. 

[Lies  down  and  sleeps. 

Enter  IIi:LE?f.i. 

Hel.   O  weary  night,  O  long  and  tedious  night. 

Abate  thy  hours :  shine,  comforts,  from  the  east ; 
That  I  may  back  to  Athens,  by  day-light. 

From  these  that  my  poor  company  detest:  — 
And,  sleep,  that  sometime  shuts  up  sorrow's  eye. 
Steal  mc  awhile  from  mine  own  company.  [Steeps 
Puck.  Yet  but  three?   Come  one  more  ; 

Two  of  both  kinds,  make  up  four. 

Here  she  comes,  curst  and  sad  : — 

Cup:d  is  a  knavish  lad. 

Thus  to  make  poor  females  mad. 

iCephalus,  the  jjaramour  of  Aurora, 


Act  IV.     Scene  I.      MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


129 


Enter  Hermia. 

Htr.  Xcvcr  sj  weary,  never  so  in  woe, 

BcJa'jhIcdwitli  the  dew.  and  torn  with  briers: 
I  can  no  further  crawl,  no  fiirlhor  ^o ; 

My  Iciis  can  keep  no  pace  with  my  desires. 
Here  wdl  I  rest  inc  till  the  break  of  day. 
Heavens  shield  Lysaiider,  if  they  mean  a  fray! 

[Ltci-  dottm. 
Puck.  On  the  ground 
Sleep  sound : 
III  apply 
To  your  eye. 
Gentle  lover,  remedy. 


[Sq'tetzinfr  the  Juice  on  I.tsaxheh's  eye. 
When  thouwak"st, 
Th')u  tak'st 
True  delisht 
Tn  the  sifrlit 
Of  thy  tbrnii'r  iaily's  eye: 
And  ihe  country  proverb  known, 
That  every  man  should  take  Iiis  own. 
In  jour  wakin.;  shall  be  shown: 
Jack  shall  have  Jill ; 
Nou-dit  shall  jro  ill ; 
The  man  sliall  have  his  marc  a^ain.  and  all  shall  be 
well. 

[Exit  Pi'cK. —  Dem.,  Hf.l.,  &c.,  sleep. 


ACT  IV 


SCENE  I— The  same. 

Enfer  TiTAN-iA  ami  Bottom,  Fairies  ultending: 
Obebon-  behind  unseen. 

Tila.   Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed, 
While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy,» 
And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head, 
And  kiss  thy  tair  lan;e  cars,  my  gentle  joy. 

But.   Where's  I'eas-blossum? 

Peas.  Ready. 

B'if.  Scratch  mv  head.  Peas-blossom. —  Where's 
monsieur  Cobweb? 

Cob.  Ready. 

But.  Monsieur  Cobwen ;  jiood  monsieur,  set  your 
weapons  in  your  hand,  and  kill  nie  a  red-hipped 
humble-bee  on  the  top  of  a  thistle ;  and,  sood  mon- 
sieur, brint£:  me  the  honey-ba'i.  Do  not  fret  your- 
self too  much  in  the  action,  monsieur;  and,  KOod 
monsieur,  have  a  care  the  honcy-!)a:i  break  not :  I 
would  be  loath  to  have  you  overflown  with  a  honey- 
ba;:^,  si'^nior. — Where' s'monsieur  Mustard-seed  \ 

Mnst.   Ready. 

But.  Give  me  your  nicf,'  monsieur  Mustard-seed. 
Prav  you,  leave  your  cmntesy,  good  monsieur. 

Must.   What's  your  will  T 

Bot.  Nothing,  Kood  monsieur,  but  to  help  cavalero 
Cobweb  to  scratch.  I  nmst  to  the  barber's,  mon- 
sieur; for,  mcthinks,  I  am  marvellous  hairy  about 
the  face:  and  I  am  such  a  tender  ass,  if  my  hair 
do  but  tickle  me,  I  must  scratch. 

TUa.    What,   wilt  thou   liear  some  music,  my 
sweet  Iove1 

Bof.  I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music:  let 
us  have  the  tonss  and  the  bones. 

TUa.  Or,  say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desirest  to  eat. 

But.  Truly,  a  peck  of  provender;  I  could  munch 
your  dry  tiood  oats.  Mcthinks  I  liave  a  .s"reat  de- 
sire to  a  bottle  of  hay;  good  hay,  sweet  hay  hath 
no  fellow. 

Tita.   I  have  a  venturous  fairy  that  shall  seek 
The  squirrefs  board, and  fetch  thee  new  nuts. 

Bot.  I  had  rather  have  a  handful,  or  two.  of  dried 
peas.  But  I  pray  you.  let  none  of  your  people  stir 
me :   I  have  an  exposition  of  sleep  come  upon  me. 

Tila.  Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  wind  Ihee  in  my  arms. 
Fairies,  begone,  and  be  all  ways  away. 

1  Exeunt  Fairies. 
So  doth  the  woodbine,  the  sweet  honeysuckle, 
Geidly  entwist, —  the  female  ivy  so 
Entiiiss  the  barky  fimrers  of  the  elm. 
O,  how  I  love  thee  !  how  I  dote  on  thee ! 

I  Tliey  sleep. 

Obf.kox  advances.    Enter  Pick. 

Oif.  Welcome,  sood   Robin.    See'st  thou  this 

sweet  si^ht ! 
Her  dotage  now  I  do  lie^in  to  pity. 
For  meeiinf^  her  of  late,  behind  the  wood. 
Seeking  sweet  savors  for  this  hateful  fool, 
I  did  upbraid  her,  and  fall  out  with  her: 
For  she  his  hairy  temples  then  bad  rounded 
With  coronet  of  fresh  ami  fragrant  llowers; 
And  that  same  dew,  which  sometime  on  the  buds 
Was  wont  to  swell.  like  round  and  orient  pearls. 
Stood  now  within  the  pretty  tlowrets'  eyes. 
Like  tears  that  did  their  own  disgrace  bewail. 
When  I  had.  at  my  pleasure,  taunted  her. 
And  she,  m  mild  terms,  begg'd  my  patience, 
«  Stroke.  »  Fist 

9 


I  then  did  ask  of  her  her  changeling  child ; 
Which  straight  she  gave  me,  and  her  fairy  sent 
■fo  bear  him  to  my  bower  in  fiiry  land. 
And  now  I  have  the  boy,  I  will  undo 
This  hateful  imperfection  of  her  eyes. 
And,  licntic  Puck,  take  this  transtormcd  scalp 
From  oif  the  head  of  this  Athenian  swain; 
That  he  awaking  when  the  others  do, 
.Mav  nil  to  Athens  back  again  rei^air; 
And  think  no  more  of  this  night's  accidents, 
But  as  the  tierce  vexation  of  a  dream. 
But  tirst  1  Will  release  the  fairy  queen. 
Be.  as  thou  wast  wont  to  be, 

\Tinichini!;  tier  ei/es  v.-ilti  an  herb, 
See,  as  thou  wast  wont  to  see ; 
Dian's  bud  oer  Cupid's  llower 
Hath  such  force  and  blessed  power. 
\ow,  my  Titania;  wake  you,  my  sweet  queen. 

Tita.   iSIy  Oberon  !   what  visions  have  1  seen  ! 
Methougbt.  1  wasenamor'd  of  an  ass. 
O'le.   There  lies  your  love. 

TUa.  (low  came  these  things  to  passt 

O,  how  mine  eyes  do  loath  his  visage  now ! 

O'ic.   silence,  a  while. —  Robin,  latie  offlhishead. 
Titania.  music  call;   and  strike  more  dead 
Than  common  sleep,  of  all  these  live  tiic  sense. 
Tila.-  Music,  ho  !  music,  such  as  chormeth  sleep. 
Puck.  NoAT,  when  thou  wak'st,  with  thine  own 

fool's  eyes  peep. 
O'te.  Sound,  music.    [Still  music.\    Come,  my 
queen,  take  hands  with  me. 
And  rock  the  ground  wdiereon  these  sleepers  be. 
Xow^  thou  and  I  are  new  in  amity ; 
.\nd  will,  to-morrow  midnight,  solemnly. 
Dance  in  duke  Theseus'  house  triumphantly, 
And  bless  it  to  all  lair  posterity  : 
There  shall  the  |)airs  of  faithful  lovers  be 
Wedded,  with  Theseus,  all  in  jollity. 

Puck.  Fairy  king,  attend  and  mark; 
I  (.io  hear  the  morning  lark. 

O'le.  T'hen,  my  queen,  in  silence  sad. 
Trip  we  after  the  night's  sl]ade: 
V.'e  the  globe  can  compass  soon. 
Swifter  than  the  wand'ring  moon. 

Tit(f.   Come,  my  lord;  ami  in  our  night. 
Tell  me  how  it  come  this  night. 
That  1  sleeping  here  was  found, 
With  these  mortals,  on  the  ground.        [E.veunt. 
[Horns  sound  tvittiin. 

Enter  THtsEfs,  Hippoltta,  F.geus,  and  train. 

Tlie.  Go.  one  of  you.  find  out  the  forester; — 
For  now  our  observation  is  perform'd; 
And  since  we  have  the  vawardi  of  the  day. 
My  love  shall  hear  the  music  of  my  Iiouiids. — 
I'ncouple  in  the  western  valley  ;  go:  — 
Despatch.  1  say,  and  find  the  forester. — 
We  will,  fair  queen,  up  Io  the  mountain's  top. 
And  mark  the  music.il  confusion 
Of  hounds  and  echo  in  conjunction. 

Hip.  1  w.is  with  Hercules,  and  Cadmus,  once. 
When  in  a  wood  of  Crete  they  bay'd  the  bear 
With  hounds  of  Sparta  :  never  did  I  hear 
Such  gallant  chidini: ;  for,  besides  tlic  groves. 
The  skies,  the  fountains,  every  region  near 
Seem'd  all  one  mutual  cry  :  I  never  heard 
So  musical  a  discord,  such  sweet  thunder. 

Tlie.  My  hounds  are  bred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind, 
I  Forepart. 


mo 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


Act  IV. 


So  flcn'd,''  so  sandcJ  ;  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  cars  that  swpcp  away  the  inoniiii;!  dew  ; 
Crook-kncu'd,  and  dew-hijiM  like  Tlicssalian  bulls; 
Slow  in  pursuit,  but  matchVi  in  mouth  like  bells, 
Kach  under  each.     A  cry  more  tuneable 
Was  never  holla'd  to.  nor  chcer'd  with  horn, 
In  Crete,  in  Sparta,  nor  in  Tliessaly  : 
Judge  when  you  hear.— But,  soft';  what  nymphs 
are  these  1 

Ef^P:  My  lord,  this  is  my  daughter  here  asleep : 
And  this,  Lysander;  tliis  Demetrius  is; 
This  Helena,  old  Nedar's  Helena. 
I  wonder  of  their  bcin,^  here  together. 

The.  No  doubt  they  rose  up  early,  to  observe 
The  rite  of  May;  and,  hearing;  our  intent. 
Came  liere  in  grace  of  our  solcnniity. — 
But,  speak,  Kgeus ;  is  not  this  the  day 
That  Hermia  should  give  answer  of  her  choice  1 

E^e.  It  is,  my  lord. 

The.  Oo,  bid  the  huntsmen  wake  them  with  their 
horns. 
Hnrns  andshnuts  ici/ Am. De vf.t n ivs,  Lvsa>- her, 
Hermia,  a/i.i  Helena,  wake  and  nturl  up. 

The.  Good-morrow,  friends.    Saint  Valentine  is 
past ; 
Be^in  these  wood-birds  but  to  couple  now? 

Lijs.  Pardon,  my  lord. 

[He  and  the  rest  kneel  tn  Tiies-.cs. 

The.  I  pray  you  all,  stand  up.  ■ 

I  know  you  are  two  rival  enemies; 
How  comes  this  gentle  concord  in  the  world. 
That  haired  is  so  far  from  jealousy. 
To  sleep  by  hate,  and  fear  no  enniity  1 

Li/f.  -My  lord,  I  shall  reply  amazedly, 
Half  sleep,  half  waking:    liut  as  yet,  I  swear 
I  cannot  iruly  sav  how  I  came  here  : 
Hut.  as  I  think,  (for  truly  would  I  spc.ik,— 
And  now  I  do  bethink  ine.  so  it- is,) 
I  came  with  Hermia  hither:  our  intent 
Was,  to  be  gone  from  Athens,  vi'here  we  might  be 
Without  the  peril  of  the  Athenian  law. 

Ege.    Enough,   enough,    my    lord;    you    have 
enough: 
I  beg  the  law,  the  law,  upon  his  head. — 
They  wouhl  have  stofn  away,  they  would,  Deme- 
trius, 
Thereby  to  have  defeated  you  and  me: 
You.  of  your  wife;  and  me,  of  my  consent; 
Of  my  consent  that  she  should  be  your  wife. 

Dent.   My  lord,  fair  Helen  told  me  of  theirstealth. 
Of  this  their  purpose  hither  to  this  wood  ; 
And  1  in  I'ury  hither  follow'd  them  ; 
Fair  Helena  in  fancy  following  me. 
But,  my  good  lord,  I  wot  not  by  what  power, 
(Rut  by  some  power  it  is,)  my  love  to  Hermia, 
Melted  as  doth  the  snow,  seems  to  me  now 
.\s  the  remembrance  of  an  idle  ^awd. 
Which  in  my  childhood  I  did  dote  upon: 
And  all  the  fiith,  the  virtue  of  my  heart, 
The  o!ijpc-t.  and  the  pleasure  of  niine  eye, 
Is  only  Helena.    To  her,  my  lord. 
Was  1  betrothd  ere  I  saw  Hermia: 
Hut,  like  in  sickness,  did  1  loath  this  food; 
Now  do  I  wish  it.  love  it,  long  for  it. 
And  will  for  evermore  be  true  to  it. 

The.  Fair  lovers,  you  are  fortunately  met: 
Of  this  discourse  we  more  will  hear  anon. — 
F.gcu.s.  1  will  overhear  your  will; 
For  in  the  temple  by  and  by  with  us, 
These  couples  shall  eternally  be  knit. 
And,  for  the  morning  now  is  something  %vorn. 
Our  purpos'd  hunting  shall  be  set  aside.— 
A  wav,  with  us,  10  .VI  hens  :    Three  and  three, 
We'll  hold  a  fi'ast  in  great  solemnity. — 
Come,  Hippolvta. 

[Eceniit  The..  Hip.,  Eoe.,  and  Irmn. 
Dem.  The.se  things  seetn  small  and  undistiuguish- 
able, 
Lik'e  far-olTmounhiins  turned  into  clouds, 

H'T.  Methinks,  I  see  tliese  thing.s  with  parted  eye. 
When  overy  thing  seems  double. 

llrl.  "  So  methinks: 

And  I  have  found  Demetrius  like  a  jewel. 
Mine  own,  and  not  mine  own. 

a  The  flews  are  the  large  chaps  of  a  bouud.      =  Love. 


Dem.  It  peen  s  to  me, 

That  yet  we  sleep,  we  drrnni  —  lio  not  you  think, 
The  duke  was  here,  and  bid  us  follow  huii  1 
H'T.   Vea;  and  my  fatiier. 
Hel.  And  Hippolyta. 

7.1/5.   .And  he  did  Iwd  us  follow  to  the  temple. 
Dsni.   Why   tlieii,^ve    are  awake:    let's  follow 
him ; 
And,  by  the  way,  let  ns  recount  our  dreams. 

[Exeunt. 
.'Is  they  go  out,  Bottom  au'alces. 

Bol.  When  my  cue  comes,  call  me,  and  I  will 
answer: — my  next  is,  Mii.yf  fair  Pyramus. —  Hey, 
Iio  !  —  Peter  (Quince  !  Flule,  the  bellows-mender! 
Snout,  the  tinker!  Starveling!  God's  my  life! 
stolen  hence,  and  left  me  asleep!  I  have  had  a 
most  rare  vision.  I  have  had 'a  dream, —  past  the 
wit  of  man  to  say  what  dream  it  was :  Man  is  but 
an  ass,  if  he  go  about  to  expound  this  dream. 
Methought  I  was  —  there  is  no  man  can  tell  what. 
I\Ietliought  1  was,  and  methought  I  had, —  Hut 
man  is  but  a  patched  fool,  if  he  will  oiler  to  say 
what  methought  I  had.  The  eye  of  man  hath 
not  heard,  the  ear  of  man  hath  not  seen ;  man's 
hand  is  not  able  to  taste,  his  tongue  to  conceive, 
nor  his  heart  to  report,  what  my  dream  was.  I 
will  get  Peter  Quince  to  write  a  ballad  of  this 
dream:  it  shall  be  called  Bottom's  Dream,  because 
it  liatii  no  bottom  ;  and  I  will  sing  it  in  the  latter 
end  of  the  play,  before  the  du!;e  !  Peradventure,  to 
make  it  the  more  gracious,  I  shall  sing  it  at  her 
death.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  It. — .Athens.  .4  JJoom  m  Quince's  House. 

Enter  Quince.  Flute,  Snout,  and  STAnvELiNo. 

Q'lin.  Have  you  sent  to  Bottom's  hou.se  ?  is  he 
come  home  yet ! 

Star.  Ho  cannot  be  heard  of.  Out  of  doubt,  lie 
is  transported. 

Flu.  If  he  come  not,  then  the  play  is  marred ;  It 
goes  not  forward,  doth  it! 

Qnin.  It  is  not  possible :  you  have  not  a  man  in 
all  Athens,  able  to  discharge  Pyramus,  but  he. 

Flu.  No;  he  hath  simply  the  best  wit  of  any 
handicraft  man  in  Athens. 

Quiii.  "V'ea,  and  the  best  person  too:  and  he  is 
a  very  paramour,  for  a  sweet  voice. 

Flu.  'V'ou  must  say  paragon:  a  paramour  is, 
God  bless  us,  a  thing  of  nought. 

i'li/O-SNUG. 

Snug.  Ma.sters,  the  duke  is  coming  from  tlie 
temple,  an  there  is  two  or  three  lords  and  ladies 
more  married  :  if  our  sport  had  gone  forward,  we 
liad  all  been  made  men. 

Flu.  O  sweet  bully  Bottom !  Thus  hath  he  lost 
six-pence  a  day  during  his  life;  he  could  not  have 
'scaped  sixpence  a-day':  an  the  duke  had  not  given 
him  sixpence  a-day  for  playing  Pyramus,  I'll  he 
hanged;  he  would  have  deserved  it:  sixpence  a-day, 
in  Pyramus,  or  nothing. 

Enter  Bottom. 

But.  Where  are  these  lads?  where  are  these  hearts'! 

Quin.  Bottom!  — O  most  courageous  day!  0 
most  happy  hour! 

But.  Mastcr.s,  1  am  to  discourse  wonders:  hut  ask 
me  not  what;  I'cr.  if  I  tell  you.  I  am  no  true  Athe- 
nian. I  will  tell  you  every  thing,  right  as  it  fell  out. 

Quin.    Let  us  hear,  sweet  Bottom. 

Bot.  Not  a  word  of  me.  All  that  I  will  tell  you, 
is,  that  the  duke  hath  dined  :  IJet  yonr  apparel  to- 
gether; good  strings  to  your  beards,  new  ribbons 
to  your  pumps;  meet  presently  at  the  palace; 
every  man  look  o'er  his  part;  for,  the  short  and 
tlie  long  is,  our  play  is  prelcrred.  In  any  case  let 
Thisby  have  clean  linen;  and  let  not  him  that 
plays  the  lion,  pare  his  nails,  for  they  shall  hang 
out  for  the  lion's  claws.  And,  most  dear  actors, 
eat  no  onions,  nor  garlic,  for  we  are  to  utter  sweet 
breath  ;  and,  I  do  not  doubt,  but  to  hear  them  say, 
it  is  a  sweet  comedy.  No  more  words;  away ;  go. 
away  [E.ceunt 


Act   V.     Scene  I. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


131 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  \.— All  Aparimeitt  in  the  Palace  of 

Tlieseus. 

Enter  Tueseus,  Hii'POLtTA,  Philostrate, 

Lords,  and  Allendanls. 

lUp.  'Tis  slrange,  my  Tlieseus,  tliat  tncse  lovers 
spoak  of. 

The.  More  strani^e  than  true,  I  never  may  believe 
These  antique  fables,  nnr  these  tairy  toys. 
Lovers  and  madmen,  liavc  such  seething  brams, 
Suchshiipins  fantasies,  that  apprehend 
More  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 
The  lunatic,  the  lover  and  the  poet, 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact:* 
One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold; 
That  is,  the  madman  :  the  lover,  all  as  frantic, 
Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Kiypt : 
The  poet's  eye.  in  a  fine  frenzy  rollini.'. 
Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to 

heaven. 
And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  sives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 
Such  tricks  hath  stroni;  imas;ination  ; 
That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy, 
It  comprehends  some  brinL'Cr  of  that  joy ; 
Or,  in  the  night,  imasinini  some  fear. 
How  easy  is  a  bush  suppos'd  a  hear ! 

Hip.  Rut  all  tlie  story  of  the  nialit  told  over, 
And  all  their  minds  transfiiur'd  so  together. 
More  witnesseth  than  fancy's  imaaes. 
And  grows  to  something  of  srcat .constancy; 
But,  howsoever,  strange  and  admirable. 

Enter  Ltsaniier,  DEMETnirs,  Heumia,  and 
Helena. 

The.  Here  come  the  lovers,  full  of  joy  and  mirth,- 
Joy,  Rcntle  friends!  joy,  and  fresh  days  of  love, 
Accompany  your  hearts  ! 

L,/,?.  More  than  to  us 

■Wait  on  your  royal  walks,  your  board,  vonr  hed ! 

The.  Come  now ;  what  masks,  what  dances  shall 
we  have. 
To  wear  away  this  long  a»e  of  three  hours, 
Between  our  after-supper,  and  bed-time  ! 
Where  is  our  usual  manager  of  mirth ! 
What  revels  are  in  hand'!    Is  there  no  play, 
To  ease  the  anguish  of  a  torturing  hour  ! 
Call  Philostrate. 

rhiUist.  Here,  mighty  Theseus. 

The.  Say  what  abridgement'  have  you  for  this 
evening  1  ,        •, 

What  mxsk'!   what  music  ?    How  shall  we  beguile 
The  lazy  time,  if  not  with  some  deliL'ht ! 

Philosl.  'rherc  is  a  brief,"  how  many  sports  are 

Make  choice 'of  which  your  highness  will  see  first. 
{Girinf;  n  paper. 
The.  [Reads.]    Th-.    battle  xoith  thf  Centaurs 
to  be  sung, 
Bit  nn  Atheninn  eunuch  to  the  harp. 
W'e'll  none  of  that:  that  have  I  told  my  love, 
III  glory  of  my  kinsman  Hercules. 

The  riot  nf  the  tips}/  Saechanats. 

Tearing  the  Thraeian  singer  in  tlieir  rage. 
That  is  an  old  device ;  and  it  was  play'd 
When  I  from  Thebes  came  last  a  conqueror. 

Tlie  thrice  tliree  Muses  mnurningfnr  the  death 

Of  learning,  late  deceas'din  iHgirarij. 
That  Is  some  satire,  keen,  and  critical. 
Not  sorting  with  a  nuptual  ceremony- 

A  tedinus  t)rirf  scene  of  young  Pijramus, 

And  Ais  love  fhislie:  very  tragical  mirth. 
Merry  and  tragical?    Tedious  and  brief! 
That  is,  hot  ice.  and  wonderous  strange  snow. 
How  shall  we  find  the  concord  of  this  discord  ! 
Philosl.  A  play  there  is,  my  lord,  some  ten  words 
long; 
Which  is  as  brief  as  I  have  known  a  play : 
But  by  ten  words,  my  lord,  it  is  too  long  ; 

«  Compacted,  made.      •  Pastime,      «  Short  account. 


Which  makes  it  tc<lions:   for  in  all  the  play 
There  is  not  one  word  ajit,  one  player  fitted. 
And  tragical,  my  noble  lord,  it  is; 
For  Pyramus  therein  dotli  kill  himself. 
Which,  wlien  I  saw  rehears'd,  I  must  confess, 
.Made  mine  eyes  water;  but  more  merry  tears 
■fhe  passion  of  loud  laughter  never  shed. 

Tlie.   What  are  they,  that  do  play  it! 

Philosl.  Hard-handed  men,  that  work  in  Alhciig 
here. 
Which  never  labor'd  in  their  minds  till  now  ; 
And  now  have  tod'd  their  nnbreath'd  memories 
With  tliis  same  play,  against  your  nuptual. 

The.   And  we  will  hear  it.  ,    ,      . 

Philosl.  No,  my  noble  lord, 

It  is  not  for  you  :   I  have  heard  it  over. 
.\nd  it  is  nothins.  nothing  in  the  world ; 
Unless  you  can  find  sport  in  their  intents, 
E.f  tremely  stretch'd  and  connd  with  cruel  pain. 
To  do  you  service, 

The.  I  will  hear  that  play ; 

For  never  anything  can  be  amiss, 
When  simpleness  and  duty  tender  it. 
(!o,  bring  them  in;  — and  take  your  places,  ladies. 
[£j;i<  PuiLiisrnATE. 

Hip,  I  love  not  to  sec  wretchedness  o'crcharg'd, 
And  duty  in  his  service  perishing. 

The.  Why,  gentle  sweet,  you  shall  see  no  sucli 
thing.  .       , .    ,  .   J 

Hip.  He  says,  they  can  do  nothing  in  this  kina. 

Tilt.  The  kinder  we  to  give  them  thanks  ibr  noth- 
ing. 
Our  sjiort  shall  be,  to  take  what  they  mistake : 
.\nd  what  poor  duty  can  do. 
Noble  respect  takes  it  in  might,  not  merit. 
Where  I  have  come,  great  clerks  have  purposed 
To  greet  me  with  premeditated  welcomes ; 
Where  I  have  seen  them  shiver  and  look  pale, 
Make  periods  in  the  midst  of  sentences. 
Throttle  their  practised  accentln  their  fears, 
And,  in  conclusion,  dumbly  have  broke  oil, 
Not  paying  me  a  welcome  :    Trust  me,  sweet. 
Out  of  this  silence,  yet,  I  pickd  a  welcome ; 
And  in  the  modesty  of  fearful  duty 
I  read  as  much,  as  from  the  rattling  tongue 
Of  saucy  and  audacious  eloquence. 
Love,  therefore,  and  tongue-tied  simplicity, 
In  least,  speak  most,  to  my  capacity. 

Enter  Pmios-rn.iTE. 
Philosl.    So  please  your  grace,  the  prologue  is 

addrest.'  .  ,     ^ ,  , 

The.  Let  him  approach.    [Flourish  of  Iruinpcls. 

Enter  Prologue. 

Prol.  If  we  offend,  it  vs  tuith  our  gond-ivill. 

That  you  shmild  thinit,  we  come  not  to  offend. 
But  with  good-will.    To  show  our  simple  skill, 

That  is  the  true  beginning  of  our  end. 
Conxider  then,  we  come  but  in  despite. 

We  do  not  come  as  minding  to  content  ynu. 
Our  true  intent  li.    All  for  your  delight. 

We  are  not  here.    That  you,  should  here  rcpcnl 
you. 
The  actors  are  at  hand .-  and  by  Iheir  show. 
You  sluill  know  all,  that  you  are  like  to  know. 

The.  This  fellow  doth  not  stand  upon  points. 
Li/s.   He  hath  rid  bis  prologue  like  a  rough  colt; 
he  knows  not  tlie  stop.     A  good  moral,  my  lord: 
It  IS  not  enough  to  speak,  but  to  speak  true. 

Hip-  Indeed  he  hath  played  on  thisprologue,  like 
a  child  on  a  recorder;'  a  sound,  but  not  in  govern- 
ment. .,  ,  J    ,    ■ 

The.   His  speech  was  like  a  tangled  chain;  no- 
thing impaired  but  all  disordered.    Who  is  next ! 
Enter  Ptiia:«us  and  Tiiisbe,  Wall,  Moonshine, 

andhion,  as  in  dumb  ihow. 
Prol.  "Gentles,  perchance,  you  wonder  at  this 
show  ; 
1  Ready.  '  A  musical  instrument. 


132 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT^S  DREAM. 


Act  V. 


"  Hut  wonder  on.  till  truth  maUe  all  things  plain. 
"This  man  is  I^y ramus,  if  you  woukl  l<now; 

"  riiis  bcautt'ous  lady  Thisby  is,  corUiui. 
"This  man  with  luue  iwid  rouiih-casl,  doth  present 

"Wall,  that   vile   wall   \vfiich  did    these  lovers 
i^undcr; 
"And  llH-ouLi:h  wall's  chink,  poor  souls,  they  are 
content 

''  To  whisper;  at  the  which  let  no  man  wonder. 
"This  man  with  lantern,  do^,  and  hush  ol' thorn, 

"  I'reseuteth  moou-sliine:  ior,  if  you  will  know, 
''  By  intion-shine  did  these  lovers  think  no  scorn 

"  To  meet  at  Ninus'  tomb,  there,  there  to  woo. 
"This  grisly  beast,  which  by  name  lion  hif;ht,» 
"The  trusty  Thisby,  cominii:  hrst  by  nif^ht, 

*  Did  scare  away,  or  rutlier  dtd  allriiiht: 

*  And,  as  she  lied,  her  mantle  she  did  tall ; 

'*  Which  lion  vile  with  bloody  month  did  stain: 
"  Anon  comes  Pyramus.  sweet  youth,  and  tall, 

"  A  nd  finds  his  trusty  Thisby "s  mantle  slain  : 
"  Whereat  with  blade,  with  bloody  blameful  blade, 

'*  He  bravely  broach'd  his  boilin;<  bloody  breast; 
"  And,  Thisby  tarryin;^  in  mulberry  shade, 

*■  Ilis  d  i^Lcer  drew,  and  died.     For  all  the  rest, 
"  Let  lion,  moonshine,  wall,  and  lovers  twain, 
"  At  larj^e  discourse,  while  here  they  do  remain." 

[Ex.  Prol.,  Pru.,  TnisEtK,  Lion,  an >t  Moonshine. 

The.  1  wonder  it  the  lion  be  to  speak. 

Dem.  No  wonder,  my  lord:  one  lion  may,  when 
many  asses  do. 

IVali.  ■'  In  this  same  hiterlude,  it  doth  befall, 
"  That  I,  one  Snout  by  name,  present  a  wall: 
"And  such  a  wall,  as  I  would  have  you  think, 
"That  had  in  it  acrannyd  hole,  or  chink, 
"  Through  which  the  lovers,  Pyramus  and  Thisby, 
"  Did  whisper  often  very  secretly. 
"'J'his  loam,  this  roU|,'h-cast,  and  this  stone,  doth 

sliow, 
"  That  I  am  that  same  wall;  the  truth  is  so: 
"  And  this  the  cranny  is,  ris;hl  and  sinister, 
"  riirouiih  which  the  fearful  lovers  are  to  whisper." 

The.  Would  you  desire  lime  and  hair  to  speak 
better  ! 

Dtni.  It  is  the  wittiest  partition  that  ever  I  heard 
discourse,  my  lord. 

The.  Pyramus  draws  near  the  wall :   silence ! 

Enter  Pyra>ii:s. 

Pur.  "  0  grim-lookM  night !  0  ni^ht  with  hue  so 
black ! 

"  0  ni^ht,  which  ever  art,  when  day  is  not ! 
"  0  nif^ht,  0  nistht,  alack,  alack,  alack, 

"  I  fear  my  Thisby's  promise  is  forgot !  — 
"  And,  thou,  O  wall,  O  sweet,  O  lovely  wall, 

"  That  sland'st  between  her  father  s  ground  and 
mine! 
"  Thou  wall,  O  wall,  O  sweet  and  lovely  wall, 

"  Show  mc  thy  chink,  to  blink  through  with  mine 
eyne.  |  IVttU  hoUis  up  his  Ji niters. 

"  Thanks,  courteous  wall :  Jove  shield  thee  well  for 
this! 

"  But  what  see  I  ?   No  Thisby  do  I  sec. 
"  O  wicked  wall,  through  whom  1  see  no  bliss ; 

"Curst  be  thy  stones  for  thus  deceiving  me  I '' 

The.  The  wall,  methinks,  bemg  sensible,  should 
curse  again. 

Vyr.  No,  in  truth,  sir,  he  should  not.  Deceiving 
me,  is  Thisby's  cue:  she  is  to  enter  now,  and  I  am 
to  spy  her  through  the  wall.  You  shall  sec,  it  will 
fall  pat  as  I  told  you :  —  Yonder  she  comes. 

Enter  Tiiisbk. 

This."  0  w'all,  full  often  hast  thou  heard  my  moans, 
"  For  parting  my  fair  Pyramus  and  me  : 

"My  cherry  lips  have  often  kiss'd  thy  stones; 
*'  i'hy  stones  with  lime  and  hair  knit  up  in  thee." 
Pi/r.  "I  see  a  voice:  now  will  I  to  the  chink, 

"  To  spy  an  I  can  hear  my  Thisby's  face. 

"Thisby!" 

This.       "  My  love,  thou  art  my  love,  I  think."' 
Pyr."  Think  what  thou  wilt,  1  am  thy  lover's  grace; 

"And  like  Limandcr  am  1  trusty  still.'' 

This.   "  And  I  like  Helen,  till  the  fates  mc  kill." 
Piir,  "  Not  Sharaliis  lo  Procrus  was  so  true." 
This.  "  As  Shafalus  to  Procrus,  1  to  you." 
Pqr.  "().  kiss  me  through  the  hole  of  this  vile 

wall." 
This. "  I  kiss  the  walPs  hole,  not  your  lips  at  all." 
9  CalKd. 


Pijr.  '*Wi!t    thou    at    Ninny's    tomb  meet  me 
straightway  \ '' 

This.  "  Tide  life,  tide  death,  I  come  without  delay." 

(Kw/'.  "Thus  have  I,  wall,  my  part  dischar-edso; 
"And,  being  done,  thus  wall  away  doth  go.'' 

\Extuiit  Wail,  Pyramus, a«'/  Thisbe. 

The.  Now  IS  the  mural  down  between  the  two 
neighbors. 

i)fm.  No  remedy,  my  lord,  when  walls  are  so 
willul  to  hear  without  warning. 

Jlip.    This  is  the  silliest  stun  that  ever  I  heard. 

The-  The  best  in  this  kind  are  but  shadows :  and 
tiie  worst  are  no  worse,  if  iinaginalion  anienil  them. 

Jlip.  It  must  be  your  imagination  then,  and  not 
theirs. 

The.  If  we  imagine  no  worse  of  them,  than  they 
of  themselves,  they  may  pass  for  excellent  men. 
Here  come  two  noble  boasts  in,  a  moon,  and  a  lion. 

Enter  Lion  and  Moonshine. 

Lion.  "  Y'ou,  ladies,  you,  whose  gentle  hearts  do 

fear 
'The  smallest  monstrous  mouse  that  creeps  on 
tloor. 
'•  May  now,  perchance,  both  quake  and  tremble  here, 

"When  lion  rough  in  wildest  ra^edoth  roar. 
"  Tlien  know,  that  1,  one  Snug  the  joiner,  am 
"  A  lion  fell,  nor  else  no  lion  s  dam: 
"  For  ill  should  as  lion  come  in  strife 
"  Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  on  my  life.'" 

The.  A  very  gentle  beast  and  of  a  good  conscience. 
JJe/n.   The  very  best  at  a  beast,  my  lord,  that  e'er 

I  saw. 
L}fS.   This  lion  is  a  very  fox  for  his  valor. 
The.  True;  and  a  goose  for  liis  discretion. 
Deni.  Not   so,   my    lord:    for  Jus  valor  cannot 
carry  his  discretion;   and  the  fox  carries  the  goose. 
The.  His  discretion,  lam  sure,  cannot  carry  his 
valor ;  for  the  goose  carries  not  the  Ibx.    1 1  is  well : 
leave  it  to  his  discretion,  and  let  us  hsten  to  the 
moon. 
Mmm.  "This   lantern    doth   the  horned    moon 

present :  — " 
Dcni.  He  should  have  worn  the  horns  on  hishead. 
The.   He  is  no  crescent,  and  his  horns  are  invisi- 
ble within  the  circumlerence. 
Moon.  "  This    lantern   dotii    the  horned   moon 
present; 
"  MyscU  the  man  i'thc  moon  do  seem  to  be." 

The.  Tliisis  the  greatest  error  of  all  the  rest:  the 
man  should  be  put  into  the  lantern :  How  is  it  else 
the  man  ithc  moon  ! 

Dem.  He  dares  not  come  there  for  the  candle: 
for  you  see,  it  is  already  in  snutl> 

lilp.  I  am  aweary  of  this  moon:  Would,  he 
would  change! 

The.  It  appears,  by  his  small  light  of  discretion, 
that  he  is  in  the  wane;  but  yet,  in  courtesy,  In  all 
reason,  we  must  stay  the  time. 
Lu-s.   proceed,  moon. 

Muon.  All  that  I  have  lo  say,  is,  to  tell  you,  that 
the  lantern  is  the  moon:  1,  the  man  in  the  moon  ;this 
thorn-bush,  my  thorn-bush ;  and  this  dog,  my  dog. 
Veni.  WMiy  all  these  should  be  in  the  lantern; 
for  they  are  in  the  moon.  But,  silence;  here 
comes  Thisbe. 

Enter  Thisbk. 
This.  "This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb;    Where  is  my 

love  I  ' 
/.io/(."Oh. —  " 

[The  Lion  7-nars. —  Thisbk  runs  off 
VJcW  roared,  lion. 
Well  run,  Thisl)e. 

Well    shone,    moon. —  Truly,   tne    moon 
siiines  with  a  good  grace. 
Well  moused,  lion. 
^The  Lion  tears  Thisuk's  mantle  and  exit 
Deni\   And  so  conies  Pyramus. 
Lijs.  And  so  the  lion  vanish  d. 

Enter  PvuAMrs. 
Pi/r.  "  Sweet  moon,  1  thank  thee  for  thy  sunny 

beams ; 
"  I  thank  thee,  moon,  for  shining  now  so  bright; 
'  For,  by  thy  gracious,  golden,  glittering  streams 
"  I  trust  to  taste  of  truest  Thisby's  sight. 
•'Hut  stay; — o  spite! 
"  But  mark; — Poor  knight, 
I  In  auger;  t  quibble. 


Deni. 
The. 
Hip. 

The. 


Scene  I. 


MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S  DREAM. 


133 


"  What  drcadf.il  dole  is  here  ! 
'*  Kyes,  do  you  see  ! 
*'  How  can  it  bd  ? 
«0  dainty  duck!   Odear! 
*'Thy  niaiitle  ^ood, 
"VVliat,  slaind  w;tli  blood? 
"Approach,  ye  furies  li'll  ! 
'*  ( )  I'ates !   come,  come ; 
"  Cut  tliread  and  thrum  ;» 
"  i^uail,  crush,  conclude,  and  quell !  '* 
The.   This  p  ission,  and  the  death  of  a  dear  friend, 
would  go  near  to  make  a  man  look  sad. 
Hip.   Beshrew  my  heart,  hut  I  pity  the  man. 
Pyr,  *'  O,    wherefore,  nature,  didst    thou    lions 

frame  ! 
"Since  lion  vile  hath  here  dcflour'd  my  dear: 
"Which  is — no,  no  —  whicfi  wa^  the  fairest  dame. 
"That   livd,   tliat  lov'd,  that  lik'd,  that  look'd 
"  with  cheer.' 
"  Come,  tears,  confound  ; 
"  Out,  sword,  and  wound 
"  The  pap  of  Pyramus: 
"  Ay,  that  left  pap, 
"  Where  heart  doth  hop : 
"Thus  die  I,  thus,  thus,  thus. 
*'  Now  am  I  dead, 
"  Now  am  1  lied, 
"  My  soul  is  in  the  sky  : 

■'  Tongue,  lose  thy  li^ht ! 
"Moon,  take  thy  lli^ht! 
" Now  die,  die,  die,  die,  die.' 

[Uief.—  Exit  Moonshine. 
Deni.  No  die,  but  an  ace,  for  him;  for  he  is  but  one. 
Lys.  Less  than  an  ace,  man;  for  he  is  dead;  he 
is  nothing. 

Tke.  With  the  help  of  a  surgeon,  he  might  yet 
recover,  and  prove  an  ass. 

Hip.  How  chance  moonshine  is  gone,  before 
Thisbe  comes  back  and  limls  her  lover  1 

The.  She  will  find  him  by  star-lisht.— Here  she 
comes;  and  her  passion  ends  the  play. 

Enler  Tins  be. 

Hip.  Methinks,  she  should  not  use  a  long  one, 
for  such  a  Pyramus:  I  hope  she  will  be  brief. 

Lys.  She  hath  spied  liim  already  with  those  sweet 
eyes. 

Vem.  And  thus  she  moans,  videlicet. — 
Thi^.  "  Asleep,  my  love? 
"  What,  dead,  my  dove  ! 
"  0  Pyramus,  arise, 

"  Speak,  speak.    Quite  dumb  ? 
"  Dead,  dead  !     A  tomb 
"  Must  cover  thy  sweet  eyes. 
"  These  lily  brows, 
"  This  cherry  nose, 
"  These  yellow  cowslip  cheeks, 
"  Are  gone,  are  gone : 
"Lovers,  make  moan! 
"His  eyes  were  green  as  leeks. 
*'  O  sisters  three, 
"  Come,  come,  to  me, 
"With  hands  as  pale  as  milk ; 
"  Lay  them  in  gore, 
"  Since  you  have  shore 
"With  shears,  his  thread  of  silk. 
"  Tongue,  not  a  word : — 
"  Come,  trusty  sword  ; 
"  Come,  blade,  n\y  breast  imbrue : 
"And  farewell,  friends; — 
"  Thus  Thishc  ends: 
"Adieu,  adieu,  adieu."  [Dies. 

The.  Moonshine  and  lion  are  lert  to  bury  the  dead. 
Bern.   Ay,  and  wall  too. 

But.  No,'  I  assure  you;  the  wall  is  down  that 
parted  their  fathers.  Will  it  please  you  to  sec  the 
epilogue,  or  to  hear  a  Bergomask  dance,  between 
t\vo  of  our  company  ? 

The.  No  epilogue,  I  pray  you;  for  your  play 
needs  no  excuse.  Never  excuse;  for  when  the 
layers  are  all  dead,  there  need  none  to  be  blamed. 
_  larry,  if  he  that  writ  it.  had  play'd  Pyramus,  and 
hanged  himself  in  Thishes  garter,  it  would  have 
been  a  fine  tragedy :  and  so  it  is  truly  ;  and  very 
notably  discharged.  But  come,  your  Bergomask : 
let  yolu:  epilogue  alone. 

[  Here  a  dance  of  Clowns. 
•  Coarse  yarn  ■  Couutenance. 


Ei 


Thp  iron  toii;:iie  of  muliiiiihl  halh  told  twelve  : — 

Lovers,  to  t)etl;  'tus  almost  lairy  time. 

1  fear  we  shall  outsleep  the  coming  mom. 

As  much  as  we  tliis  ni^ht  have  overwatch'd. 

This  palpable  t;ross  play  hatii  well  bcjruil'd 

The  heavy  ^ait  of  nif^lit. —  .<weet  friends,  to  bed.— 

A  fortniiiht  liold  we  this  solemnity, 

In  nightly  revels,  and  new  jollity.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  II. 

Enter  Puck. 

Puck.  Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

.\iid  the  wolf  hehowls  the  moon; 
Wliilstthe  heavy  plou;;hman  snores, 

All  With  weary  task  fordone.* 
Now  the  wasted  brands  do  jjiow. 

Whilst  tlie  scritch-owl,  scritchin^  loud, 
Puts  the  wretch,  that  lies  in  woe, 

In  remernbranee  of  a  shroud. 
Now  it  is  the  tijne  of  night. 

That  tlie  graves  all  i^apins:  wide, 
Kvery  one  lets  forth  Ills  sprite, 

In  tlie  church-way  paths  to  glide: 
And  we  fairies,  lliat  do  run 

Hy  the  trmie  of  Hecate's  team, 
From  the  presence  of  the  sun. 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream. 
Now  are  frolic;   not  a  mouse 
Shall  disturb  tills  hallow'd  house: 
I  am  sent,  with  broom,  before. 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door. 

Enler  Okf.hov  ani  Titaxia,  icitkiheir  Train. 

O'ie.  Through  this  house  give  glimmering  light, 
By  the  dead  ami  drowsy  tire: 

Kvery  elf.  and  fairy  sprite. 
Hop  as  li;:ht  as  bird  from  brier; 
And  his  ditty,  after  me, 
Sing,  and  dance  it  trippingly. 

Tihi.   First,  rehearse  this  song  by  rote : 
To  each  word  a  warbling  note. 
Hand  in  hand,  with  fairy  grace. 
Will  we  sing,  and  bless  this  place. 

SONG,  Asn  DANCE. 

Ohe.  Now,  until  the  bre:ik  of  day, 
Through  this  house  each  fairy  stray. 
To  the  best  bride-bed  will  we. 
Which  by  us  shall  blessed  be; 
And  the  issue,  there  create, 
Ever  shall  be  fortunate. 
So  shall  all  the  couples  three 
Ever  true  in  loving  be; 
And  the  blots  of  nature's  hand 
Shall  not  in  their  issue  stand; 
Never  mole,  hare-lip,  nor  scar, 
Nor  mark  prodigious,'  such  as  arc 
Despised  in  nativity. 
Shall  U[ion  their  children  be. — 
With  this  field-dew  consecrate, 
Every  fairy  take  his  gait;s 
And  each  several  chamber  bless. 
Through  this  palace  with  sweet  peace : 
E'er  shall  it  in  safety  re.-^t. 
And  the  owner  of  it  blest. 

Trip  away  ; 

Make  no  stay ; 
Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

Exeunt  Ukehon,  Titaxia,  and  Tram. 

Puck,  If  we  ahft'iows  have  offended, 

1  hink  hut  thi^f  {and  uU  w  mended.) 
That  ijou  luive  hut  slumbered  here, 
VVfiilf  these  visions  did  appear, 
And  this  iveak  and  idle  tkcnie^ 
No  ttiore  i/ielding  hut  a  dream 
Gent  It's,  dii  not  repreheiid ; 
If  i/ou  pardon,  ive  tviU  mend. 
And,  as  I  am-  honest  Puck- 
Ifnie  liave  unearned  Luck 
H"w  to  'scape  the  serpent's  tongue^ 
IVewill  make  amemls,  ere  bng: 
Else  the  Puck  a  liar  call. 
So,  f^ood  night  unto  yau  all. 
Give  ntc  your  hnnd^  if  toe  hefriend.% 
And  Rohin  shall  restore  amends.        [Exi 
« Overcome.  »  Portentous.  s  TVay. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


FEnDijfisn,  Kin, 
Binox,  j 

loxgaville,    v 
Dl'maix,  \ 

BoTET, 
MERCAItE, 


?  (/  Navarre. 

Lords,  attending  on  tlie  King 


Lords,  attending  on  i/te  Princess 
(if  France. 
)Jox  AimiAXO  HE  AnMAi)0,«_/u»/a4YicaZ Spaniard. 
Sin  Nathaniel,  a  Curate. 
HoLOFEnNKS,  a  Sclioolmaster.    ' 
Dull,  a  Cimslable. 
Costard,  a  down. 


Moth,  Page  to  Armado 
A  Forester. 

PitiNcEss  or  France, 

Ladies  attending  on  the  Princess. 

jAauENETTA,  u  Country  We?ic/i. 

Officers  and  otiiers,  attendants  on  the  King  and 
Princess, 


r  111  :>  I  i.^s   oi    J.  I 

Rosaline,      ) 
Mahia,  y 

Katherise,  ) 


SCENE,  Navarre. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Navarre.  A  Park  with  a  Palace  in  it. 
Enter  the  King,  Biron-,  Loxgaville,  and 

DCTMAIN. 

Kiri^.  Let  fame,  that  all  hunt  after  in  their  lives, 
Live  re2;ister'd  upon  our  brazen  tombs, 
And  then  grace  us  in  the  disgrace  of  death 
When,  spite  of  cormorant  devourinj;  time. 
The  endeavor  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  honor,  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen  edge, 
And  make  us  heirs  of  all  eternity. 
Therefore,  brave  conquerors: — for  so  you  arc, 
That  war  against  your  own  affections. 
And  the  liui::e  army  of  the  world's  desires, — 
Our  late  edict  shall  stronj^Iy  stand  in  force: 
Navarre  shall  be  the  wonder  of  the  world; 
Our  court  shall  be  a  little  Academe, 
Still  and  contemplative  in  livim;  art. 
You  three.  IJir6n,  Dumain,  and  Lon?avilIe. 
Have  sworn  for  three  years'  term  to  hve  with  me, 
My  fellow-scholars,  and  to  keep  those  statutes, 
'I'hat  are  recorded  in  this  schedule  here: 
Your  oaths  are  past,  and  now  subscribe  your  names; 
That  bis  own  hand  may  strike  his  honor  down, 
Tliat  violates  the  smallest  branch  herein; 
If  vou  are  arm'd  to  do,  as  sworn  to  do. 
Subscribe  to  your  deep  oath  and  keep  it  too. 

Lims;.   I  am  resolva  :  'tis  but  a  three  years'  fast ; 
The  mind  shall  tianquft.  ihouLih  the  body  pine  : 
Fat  piiunehcs  have  W.\\\  pites;  and  dainty  bits 
I\Iakc  ricli  the  ribs,  hut  bunk  rimt  quite  the  wits. 

Diim.  My  lovin;;  lord,  Dumain  is  mortitied; 
The  crosser  manner  of  these  world  s  dcliy;hts 
He  throws  upon  the  iiros.s  worlds  baser  slaves: 
To  love,  to  wealth,  to  pomp,  I  pine  and  die; 
AVith  alt  these  livin:;  in  jibilosophy. 

Biron.   I  can  but  say  their  protestation  over, 
So  nnich.  dear  liese.  I  have  already  sworn. 
That  i.s  To  live  and  study  here  three  years. 
lUit  there  are  other  strict  observances : 
As.  not  to  see  a  woman  in  that  term ; 
Which,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there: 
And,  one  day  in  a  week  to  touch  no  food  ; 
And  hut  one  meal  on  every  day  beside ; 
The  which.  I  hope,  is  not  enrolled  there; 
And  tliea  to  sleep  but  three  hours  in  the  night,         | 
134 


And  not  to  be  seen  to  wink  of  all  the  day  • 
(When  I  was  wont  to  think  no  harm  all  night, 
And  make  a  dark  ni^Iit  too  of  half  the  day  ;) 
Which,  I  hope  well,  is  not  enrolled  there : 
(),  these  are  barren  tasks,  too  hard  to  keep ; 
Not  to  see  ladies,  study,  fast,  not  sleep. 

King.  Youroathispass'd  to  passaway  from  these. 

Biron.  Let  me  say  no, my  liege,  an  if  you  please? 
I  only  swore,  to  study  with  your  sracc, 
And  stay  here  in  your  court  for  three  years'  space. 

Long.  You  swore  to  that,  }Jir6n.  and  to  the  rest. 

Binni.  By  yea  aiid  nay  sir.  then  I  swore  in  Jest. — 
What  is  the  end  of  study  1   let  me  know. 

King.  Why,  that  to  know,  which  else  we  should 
not  know. 

Biron.  Thin.i^s  hid  and  barr'd,  you  mean,  from 
common  sense"!   " 

King.  Ay,  that  is  study's  ^od-Iike  recompense. 

Biron.  Come  on  then,  I  will  swear  to  study  so. 
To  know  the  thins  I  am  forbid  to  know : 
As  thus  —  To  study  where  I  well  may  dine, 

When  I  to  feast  expressly  am  forbid; 
Or  study  where  to  meet  some  mistress  fine. 

When  mistresses  from  common  sense  are  hid: 
Or,  bavins;  sworn  too  hard-a-keeping  oath, 
Study  to  break  it,  and  not  break  my  troth. 
If  study's  ^ain  be  thus,  and  this  be  so, 
Study  knows  that,  which  yet  it  doth  not  know: 
Swear  me  to  this,  and  I  will  neer  say,  no. 

King.  These  he  the  stops  that  hinder  study  quite, 
And  train  our  intellects  to  vain  deli.icht. 

Biron.   Wliy,  all  delights  are  vain;  but  that  most 
vain. 
Which  with  pain  purchas'd.  doth  inherit  pain. 
As.  painfully  to  pore  upon  a  book. 

To  seek  the  liL,d)t  of  truth;  while  truth  the  while 
Doth  falsely  blind  the  eycsiL:;ht  of  his  look: 

Lisrht,  seekinar  li,g^ht,  both  Ii?ht  ofli^ht  beguile 
So,  ere  you  find  where  li;;IU  in  darkness  lies, 
Your  lijiht  throws  dark  by  losing  of  your  eyes. 
Study  me  how  to  please  the  eye  indeed, 

By  fixing  it  upon  a  fairer  eye ; 
Wlio  dazzlim;  so,  that  eye  shall  be  his  heed, 

And  give  liim  light  thai  was  it  blinded  by. 
Study  is  like  the  heaven's  irlorious  sun. 

That  will  not  be  deep-searchM  with  saucy  looks, 


SCEXS    I. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


135 


Sm  ill  hare  c  luluiai!  p'l  1  lers  ever  WMii, 
Save  base  auth  jr^ty  iVo:ii  others"  boolcs. 
These  earth'y  Kxltatneri  of  lieaveii's  h^hts, 

That  give  a  name  to  ever  lixed  star, 
Have  11)  nure  profit  ofth  Mr  shining  iiii;hts, 

Thin  those  that  wralk,  and  wot  not  what  tliey  are. 
Too  much  to  know,  is,  to  know  nciu.;ht  but  fame; 
4nd  every  godfather  can  ^ivc  a  name. 
King.    How  well  he's  read,  to  reason  against 

reading ! 
Durn.  Proceeded  well,  to  stop  all  good  proceeding! 
Long.  He  weeds  the   com,  and  still  let's  grow 

the  weeding. 
Biron.  rhe  spring  is  near,  when  green  geese  are 

a  breeding. 
Bam.  How  follows  that ! 

Biron.  Fit  in  his  place  and  time. 

Dutn.  In  reason  nothing. 

Biron.  ^ometliing  then  in  rhyme. 

L'jng.  Biron  is  like  an  envious   sneaping'  frost, 
That  bates  the  first-bjrn  infints  of  the  spring. 
Biron.  Well,    say    I    am;    why    should    proud 
summer  boast, 
Before  the  birds  have  any  cause  to  sing  1 
Why  should  I  joy  in  an  abortive  birth  1 
At  Christmas  I  no  ni  ire  desire  a  rose 
Than  wisha  sno.v  in  Mays  new-fangled  shows; 
But  like  of  each  thing,  that  in  season  grows. 
So  you.  to  study  now  it  is  too  late, 
Climb  o'er  the  house  t'  unlock  the  little  gate. 
Kins:.  Well,  sit  yon  out :  go  home,  Bir6n ;  adieu  ! 
Biron.  No,  ray  goj.l  lord;  I  have  sworn  to  stay 
with  you: 
And,  though  I  have  for  birbarism  spoke  more. 

Thin  fir  thit  angel  knowledge   you   can  say, 
Yet  conrtdent  I'll  kCc-p  what  I  have  swore. 

And  bide  the  penance  of  each  three  years"  day. 
Give  me  the  paper,  let  me  read  the  same ; 
And  to  the  strict'st  decrees  I'll  write  my  nam". 
King.  How  well  this  yielding  rescues  thee  from 

shame ! 
Biron.  [Rea;ls]  Item,    That    no   woman    shall 
come  iviihin  a  mile  of  my  court. — 
And  hath  this  been  proclaim'd  ! 

Long.  Four  days  ago. 

Biron.  Let's  see  tlie  penalty. 
\Rr.a<U.\ — On  pain  of  losing  tier  tongue. — 

Who  devisd  this ? 
Long.  Marry,  that  did  I. 
Biron.  Sweet  lord,  and  why  T 
Lirng.  To  fright  them  hence  with  tnat  dread  pe- 
nalty. 
Biron.  A  dangerous  law  against  gentility. 
[Hen  fa.]  Item, /^"ua;/  man  be  .seen  totalkivilh 
a  woman  ivitliin'the  term,  of  tliree  years,  he  shall 
eniure  such  public,  shame  as  the  rest  of  the  court 
can  possi'jly  devise. — 
This  article,  my  liege,  yourself  must  break; 

For,  well  you  know,  here  comes  in  embassy 
The    French  kings   daughter,   with    y,ourself  to 
speak, — 
A  maid  of  grace,  and  c6mplete  majesty, — 
About  surrenler-up  of  Aquitain 

To  her  decrepit,  sick,  and  bed-rid  father; 
Therefore  this  article  is  mule  in  vain, 
Or  vainly  comes  the  aduiircd  princess  hither. 
King.  \Vhat  say  you,  lords^  why,  this  was  quite 

forgot. 
Bi'-on.  So  study  evermore  is  overshot ; 
Wliile  It  doth  study  to  have  what  it  would, 
It  dnlh  forget  to  do  the  thing  it  should : 
And  when'it  hath  the  thing  it  hunteth  most, 
'Tis  won,  us  towns  with  ti'e ;  so  won,  so  lost. 

King.  Wemustofforce.  dispense  with  this  decree; 
She  must  lie*  here  on  mere  necessity. 
Biron.  Necessity  will  make  us  all  forsworn 
Three  thousand  tim:s  within  this  throe  years' 
space : 
For  every  man  with  his  affects  is  born  ; 

Not  by  miihl  m  ister'd,  l)ut  by  special  grace :    • 
If  I  break  fiiith,  this  word  shall  speak  for  me, 
I  am  forsworn  on  mere  necessity. — 
Soto  the  laws  at  large  I  write  my  name:  [S'lbscribes. 

And  he,  that  breaks  thiMii  in  the  least  degree, 
Stands  in  attainder  of  eternal  shame: 

Suggestions^  are  to  others,  as  to  me; 
But,  Ibelieve,  although  I  seem  so  loath. 
Am  the  last  that  will  last  keep  his  oath. 
But  is  there  no  quick  recreation  granted  ! 

1  Nippiug.  »  llesiilo.  "  Temptations. 


King.  Ay,  thai  tiioie  .s:  our  court,  you  know,  is 
haunted 

Witli  a  refined  traveller  of  .'■"pain  ; 
A  mm  ill  all  the  world's  new  fishion  planted, 

Tliat  hath  a  mint  of  plirascs  in  his  brain  : 
One,  whom  the  music  of  his  own  vain  tongue 

Doth  ravish,  like  enchanting  harmony  ; 

A  man  of  compliments,  wliom  right  and  wrong 

Have  chose  as  unpire  of  their  mutiny  : 
Tins  child  of  fancy,  that  Annado  hight,< 

For  interim  to  our  .studies,  sliiU  relate. 
In   higli-born  words,  the  worth  of  many  a  knight 

Fro  n  t  iwny  Spain,  lost  in  the  world's  debate. 
How  you  delight,  my  lords,  I  know  not,  I  ; 
But,  I  protest,  I  love  to  hear  him  he. 
And  1  will  use  him  for  my  minstrelsy  . 

Biron.  Annado  is  a  most  illustrious  wight, 
A  man  of  tirc-ncw  words,  fasliions  own  knight. 

Ling.  Cost.ird  the  swain,  and  he,  shall   be  our 
sport : 
And,  so  to  study,  three  years  is  but  short. 

Enter  Di-ll,  with  a  letter,  and  CosTinu. 

Dill.  Which  is  the  duke"s  own  person  ? 
Biron.  This,  fellow;  What  would'st  1 
Dull.  I  myself  reprehen.l  his  own   person,  for  I 
am  his  grai-e's  tharborongh  :>    but  I  v\'0uld  see  his 
own  person  in  llesh  and  blood. 
Biron.  This  is  he. 

D  ill.  Signior  Arm.^—.Vrme— commends  you.— 
There"s  villany   abroad;  this   letter  will   tell  you 
more. 
Cost.  Sir,  the  contempts  thereof  are  as  touch- 
ing me. 
King.  \  lelh^r  from  the  magnificent   Annado. 
Biriin.  How  low  soever  the  matter,    1  hope   in 
Gori  for  high  wor  Is. 

Long.  \  high  hojic  for  a  low  having :  God  grant 
us  patience ! 
Biron.  To  liearl  or  forbear  hearin.'T 
Ling.  To  hear  meekly,  sir,  and   to  laugh  mod- 
erately ;  or  to  forbear  both. 

Biron.  Well,  s;r,  be  it  as  the  style  shall  give  us 
cause  to  climb  in  the  merrincss. 

Ci^t.   The   mitter   is  to   me,  sir,  as  concerning 
Jaquenetta.      The   manner  of  it  is,  I   was  taken 
with  the  manner.s 
Biron.  In  what  manner  1 

Cost.  In    manner   and   form   following,    sir;   all 
these  three:   I  was  .seen  witli   her   in    the  manor 
house,  sitting  with  her  upon  the   form,  andtiken 
following  her  into  the   jiark;  which,  put  togctlier, 
is,  in  manner  and  form  following.    Now,  sir.  fir 
the  minner, — it  is  the   manner  of  a  man  to  speak 
to  a  woman  ;  for  the  form, — in  some  form. 
Biron.  For  the  following,  sirl 
C'l^t.  .Vs  it  shall  follow  in  my  correction ;  and 
God  defend  the  right! 
Kinx-  Will  you  hear  this  letter  with  attentions 
Biron.  .\s  we  would  hear  an  oracle. 
Cost.  Such  is  the  simplicity  of  man  to  iiearkcn 
after  the  fiesh. 

King.  \Reids.]  Great  depufi/,  the  ntellcin's  vice- 
gerent, and  sole  dootinator  of  Navarre,  my  soul's 
earth's  Gil,  and  hody's  fostering  patron, — 
(_'«>/.  Not  a  word  of  Costard  yet. 
King.  S;  it  is,— 

C'c/.  It  may  be  so  :  but  if  he  s.iy   it  is  so,  he  is, 
in  telling  tine,  but  so,  so. 
King.  Peace. 

Cixt.   — be  to   me,   and  every   man   that  dares 
not  fii;ht! 
King.  No  words. 

(■(«/T  — of  other  men's  secrets,  I  beseech  you. 
King.  So  it  is,  beiicxed  with  sable-colored  inel- 
anch'ilii,!  dil  coinmrnd  the  black-oppressing  hu- 
mor to  the  most  wholesome  physic  of  Ih-i  h-.allh- 
giving  air;  and.  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  hctr.ok 
mi/sef  to  nnilk.  The  t'lme  when?  A'lout  the  sijcth 
hour  1  nt'ien  beasts  most  graze,  birds  best  peck,  and 
men  sit  donni  to  that  nourishment  which  is  called 
supper.  So  mw.hfor  the  time  when.  Now  for 
the  ground  ivh'ich ;  which,  I  mean.  1  walked  upon; 
it  is  oclrjied  llvi  park.  Tien  for  the  place  where; 
ndicre,  I  mean,  I  dii  encounter  that  o'lscene,  and 
most  p'-ep  isterous  event,  tliot  draweth  from  my 
snou'-w'iite  pen  the  ebon ■colo'-e  I  ink,  U'hic'i  here 
thou  viewed,  beholdest,  mrveoesl,  or  seest ;  hut  to 
«  Called.  *  i.  fi.  Thirl-borougb,  a  peace  officer. 
*  6  In  the  fact. 


136 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  L 


the  place,  where,— II  flan.ielh  north-north-ccift  and 
bi/  eu:<t  front  the  ice^t  carntr  if  thy  ctirwus-knot' 
ted  Kiirden:  there  did  Ii>ee  that  low-spirited  swain, 
that  base  minnow  of  thy  mirth, 

Cost.  Me. 

King.  — that  unletter'd  smalt-knowing  soul, 

Cast.  Me. 

King.  — that  shallow  vassal. 

Cost.  Slill  me. 

Kiiff.  —  which,  as  I  remember,  higld  Costard, 

Cost.  O  me ! 

King.  — sorted  and  cojisoried,  contrary  to  thy 
establistied.  proclaimed  edict  and  continent  canon, 
Willi — with, — 0  loith — but  with  tliis  I  passion  to 
say  wherewith — 

Cost.  With  a  wench. 

King. — with  a  child  of  our  grandmother  Eve. 
a  female;  or,  for  thy  more  sweet  ^inderstandm^, 
a  woman.  Him  I  {as  my  ever-esteemed  duty  prick.'^ 
7ne  on)  have  sent  to  thee,  to  riceive  the  meed  of 
punishment,  by  thy  sweet  grace's  officer,  Antony 
Dull;  a  man  of  ^ood  repute,  carnage,  bearing, 
uni  (stimation. 

Dull.  Me,  an't  shall  please  you ;  lam  Antony 
Dull. 

King.  For  Jaquenetta,  {fo  is  the  weaker  vessel 
called",  which , I  apprehended  with  the  aforesaid 
swain,)  I  keep  her  as  a  vessel  of  thy  law's  fury ; 
and  shall,  at  the  least  of  thy  sweet  notice,  bring 
her  to  trial.  Thine,  in  all  compliments  of  devoted, 
and  heart-burning  fteat  of  duty. 

.    Don  AnitiANO  De  Arajiado. 

Biron.  Tliis  is  not  so  well  as  I  looked  for,  but 
the  liost  that  ever  I  heard. 

Kim:;.  Ay,  the  best  for  the  worst.  But,  sirrah. 
wli.U  s;i}-  you  to  this  ! 

Cost.  Sir,  I  confess  the  wench. 

King.  Did  you  hear  the  proclamation 

Cost.  I  do  confess  mucli  of  the  hearing  it,  but 
little  of  the  marking  of  it. 

King.  It  was  proclaimed  a  year's  imprisonment, 
to  be  taken  with  a  wench. 

Cost.  I  was  taken  with  none;  sir,  I  was  taken 
with  a  damosel. 

King.  Well,  it  was  proclaimed  damosel. 

Cost.  This  was  no  cfamosel  neither,  sir ;  she  was 
a  virgin. 

King.  It  is  so  varied  too;  for  it  was  proclaimed, 
virgin. 

Cost.  If  it  were,  I  deny  her  virginity;  I  was 
taken  with  a  maid. 

Kiiin-    I'his  maid  will  not  serve  your  turn,  sir. 

Cost.  This  maid  will  serve  my  turn,  sir. 

King.  Sir,  I  will  pronounce  your  sentence;  You 
shall  last  a  week  with  bran  and  water. 

Cost.  I  had  rather  pray  a  month  with  mutton 
and  porridge. 

King.  And  Don  Armado  shall  be  your  keeper. 
My  lord  Bir6n,  see  him  dehver'd  o'er.— 

And  go  we,  lords,  to  put  in  practice  that 
Which  each  to  otlier  liath  so  strongly  sworn. — 
[E.veu7it   King,   LoNaAViLLE,  and  Dvm.kis. 

Biron.  I'll  lay  my  head  to  any  good  man's  hat, 
These  oaths  and  laws  will  prove  an  idle  scorn. 
— Sirrah,  come  on. 

Cost.  1  sutfer  for  the  truth,  sir:  for  true  it  is,  I 
was  taken  with  Jaquenetta,  and  Jaquenetta  is  a 
true  girl;  and  therefore.  Welcome  the  sour  cup  of 
prosperity!  Affliction  may  one  d.ay  smile  again, 
and  till  then,  Sit  thee  down  sorrow !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. — Armado's  House. 
Enter  Ahmado  and  Motii. 

Arm.  Boy,  what  sign  is  it  when  a  man  of  great 
spirit  irrows  melancholy? 

ilf'/Z/i.  A  great  sign,  sir,  that  he  will  look  sad. 

Arm.  Why,  sadness  is  one  and  the  self-Sime 
thing,  dear  imp. 

Moth.  -N'o,  no;  O  lord,  sir,  no. 

Arm.  How  canst  thou  part  sadness  and  melan- 
choly, my  tender  juvenaHi 

Molh.  By  a  fimiliar  demonstration  of  the  work- 
ing, my  tough  senior. 

Ami.  Why  tough  senior  1  why  tough  senior? 

Afotli.  Wliy  tender  Juvenal  ?  why  tender  juvenal! 

Arm.  I  spoke  it,  tender  juvenal,  ;is  a  congruent 
cpithcton,  appertaining  to  thy  young  days,  which 
we  may  nominate  tender. 

'  Youns  man. 


i\[otti.  .\nd  1,  tough  senior,  as  an  appertinent  title 
to  your  old  tunc,  which  we  may  name  tough. 

Ann.  Pretty  and  apt. 

Moth.  How  mean  you.  sir?  I  pretty,  and  my 
saying  apt !  or,  I  apt,  and  my  saying  pretty  ! 

Arm.  Thou  pretty,  because  little. 

Moth.  Little  pretty,  because  little :  Wherefore  apt  ? 

Arm.  AnJ  therefore  apt.  because  quick. 

Moth.  Speak  you  this  in  my  praise,  master? 

Arm.  In  tliy  condign  praise. 

Motli.  1  will  praise  an  eel  with  the  same  praise. 

Arm.  What?  that  an  eel  is  ingenious? 

Moth.  That  an  eel  is  quick. 

Arm.  I  do  say,  thou  art  quick  hi  answer:  TJou 
heatest  my  blood. 

Moth.  1  am  answered,  sir. 

Arm.  I  love  not  to  be  crossed. 

Moth.  He  speaks  the  mere  contrary,  crosses"  love 
not  him.  [Aside. 

Arm.  I  have  promised  to  study  three  years  with 
the  duke. 

Midli.   You  may  do  it  in  an  hour,  sir. 

Arm.   Impossilde. 

Moth.  How  many  is  one  thrice  told  '. 

Arm.  I  am  ill  at  reckoning,  it  fitteth  the  spirit  of 
a  tapster. 

M'dh.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gamester,  sir. 

Arm.  I  confess  both  ;  they  arc  both  the  varnish 
of  a  coinjilele  man. 

Motli.  Then,  I  am  sure  you  know  how  much 
the  gross  sum  of  deuce-ace  amounts  to. 

Arm     It  doth  amount  to  one  more  than  two. 

Motli.   Which  the  b.ase  vulgar-  do  call  three. 

Arm.  True. 

Moth.  W'hy.  sir,  is  this  such  a  piece  of  study  ? 
Now  here  is  three  studied,  ere  you'll  thrice  wink: 
and  how  easy  it  is  to  put  years  to  the  word  tliree, 
and  study  three  years  in  two  words,  the  dancing 
Iiorse  will  tell  you. 

Arm.  A  most  fine  figure ' 

Molh.  To  prove  you  a  cijiher.  {Ande. 

Arm.  I  will  hereupon  confess.  I  am  m  love:  and 
as  it  IS  base  for  a  soldier  to  love,  so  am  I  in  love 
with  a  base  wench.  If  drawing  my  sword  against 
the  humor  of  affection  would  deliver  me  from  the 
reprobate  thought  of  it,  I  would  take  desire  prison- 
er, and  ransom  him  to  any  French  courtier  for  a 
new  devised  courtesy.  I  think  scorn  to  sigh ;  me- 
thinks,  1  should  out-swear  Cupid.  Comfort  me, 
boj' :   W^hat  great  men  have  been  in  love  ? 

Moth.  Hercules,  master. 

Ar/n.  Most  sweet  Hercules!  —  More  authority, 
dear  hoy,  name  more  ;  and,  sweet  my  child,  let 
them  be  men  of  good  repute  and  carriage. 

Moth.  Samson,  master:  he  was  a  man  of  good 
carriage,  great  carriage;  for  he  carried  the  town- 
gates  on  I  is  back,  like  a  porter:  and  lie  was  in  love. 

Arm.  0  well-knit  Samson!  rtroU-'-joiuted  Sam- 
son !  I  do  excel  thee  in  my  rapier,  as  much  as  thou 
didst  me  In  carrying  gates.  I  am  in  love  too,— 
Who  was  Samson's  love,  my  dear  moth? 

Moth.   A  woman,  master. 

Arm.  Of  what  complexion? 

Moth.  Of  all  the  four,  or  the  three,  or  the  two ;  or 
one  of  the  four. 

Arm.   Tell  me  precisely  of  what  complexion. 

Moth.  Of  the  sea-water  green,  sir. 

Arm.  Is  that  one  of  the  four  complexions? 

Moth.  As  I  have  read,  sir ;  and  tlie  best  of  them 
too. 

Arm.  Green,  indeed,  is  the  color  of  lovers:  but 
to  have  a  love  of  that  color,  methinks,  Samson  had 
small  reason  for  it.  He,  surely,  aBccted  her  for 
her  wit. 

Moth.  It  was  so,  sir;  for  she  had  a  green  wit. 

Arm.  My  love  is  most  immaculate  white  a;id  red 

Moth.  Most  maculate  thoughts,  master,  are 
masked  under  su^'li  colors. 

Arm.   Define,  define, well-educated  infant. 
•  Molh.  My  father's  wit  and  my  mother's  tongue 
a?sist  me. 

Arm.  Sweet  invocation  of  a  child;  most  pretty 
and  pathetical! 

Moth.  If  she  be  made  of  white  and  red, 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known; 
For  blushing  cheeks  by  fiults  are  bred, 

And  fears  by  pale  white  shown  : 
Tliin,  if  she  fear,  or  he  to  blame. 
By  this  you  shall  not  know ; 

•  The  name  of  a  coin  ouco  current. 


Act  II.    Scene  I. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


137 


For  ftill  her  checlis  possess  the  same, 
Wlii  h  native  slie  doth  owe.' 
A  dangerous  rhyme,  master,  against  the  reason  of 
white  and  red. 

Ann.  Is  there  not  a  ballad,  boy,  of  the  King  and 
the  Beggar  1  .    „    . 

Moth.  The  world  was  very  guilty  of  such  a  ballad 
some  three  ages  since:  but,  I  think,  now,  'tis  not  to 
be  found;  or,  if  it  were,  it  would  neither  serve  for 
the  writing  nor  the  tune.  - 

Arm.  I  "will  h.n-e  the  subject  newly  writ  o'er, 
that  I  may  example  my  digression  by  some  mighty 
precedent.  Boy,  I  do  love  that  country  girl,  that 
I  took  in  the  park  with  the  rational  hind.  Costard  ; 
she  deserves  well. 

Mnth.  To  be  whipped ;  and  yet  a  better  love  than 
my  master.  [.inde. 

Arm.  Sin?,  boy;  my  spirit  grows  heavy  in  love. 

Molk.  And  that's  great  marvel,  loving  a  light 
wench. 

Arm.   I  say,  sing. 

Moth.  Forbear  till  this  company  be  past. 

Enter  Dull,  Cost-iiid,  and  JiauENETTA. 

Dull.  Sir,  the  duke's  plea.sure  is,  that  you  keep 
Costard  safe :  and  you  must  let  him  talie  no  delight, 
norno  penance;  but  a'  must  fast  three  days  a-week: 
For  this  damsel  I  must  keep  her  at  tlie  park  ;  she 
is  allowed  for  the  day-woman."     Fare  you  well. 

Arm.   I  do  betray  myself  with  blushing. —  Maid. 

Jaq.  Man. 

Ann.  I  will  visit  thee  at  the  lodge. 

Jciq.  That's  hereby. 

Arm.  I  know  where  it  is  situate. 

Juq.   Lord,  how  wise  you  are  ! 

Arm.   I  will  tell  thee  wonders. 

Jaq.  With  that  face? 

Arm.  I  love  thee. 

Juq.  So  I  heard  you  say. 

Arm.  And  so  farewell. 

Jaq.   Fair  weather  after  you  ! 

Dull.  Come,  Jaquenetta,  away. 

[Exeunt  Dull  and  JiauESETTA. 


Arm.  Villain,  thou  shalt  fast  for  thy  oilences,  ere 
thou  be  pardoned. 

Cust.  Well,  sir,  I  hope,  when  [  do  it,  I  shall  do  it 
on  a  full  stomach. 

Arm    Thou  shalt  be  heavily  punished. 

Cust.  I  am  more  bound  to  you  than  your  fellows, 
for  they  are  but  lightly  rewarded. 

.Arm.  Take  away  this  villain;  shut  him  up. 

Miith.  Come,  yon  transgressing  slave ;  away. 

Cos/.  Let  me  not  be  pent  up,  sir;  I  wqll  fast,  be- 
ing loose. 

Moth.  No,  sir,  that  were  fast  and  loose :  thou 
shalt  to  prison. 

Vast.  Well,  if  ever  I  do  see  the  merry  days  of 
des-^lation  that  I  have  seen,  some  shall  see  — 

Miilh.  What  shall  some  see  ! 

Cust.  Nay,  nothing,  master  Moth,  but  what  they 
look  up'on.  It  is  not  lor  prisoners  to  be  too  silent 
in  their  words ;  and,  therefore,  I  will  say  nothing  : 
I  thank  God,  I  have  as  little  patience  as  another 
man ;  and,  therefore,  I  can  be  quiet. 

[Exeunt  Moth  and  Costard. 

Arm.  I  do  affecf  the  very  ground  which  is  base 
where  her  shoe,  which  is  baser,  guided  by  her  foot, 
which  is  basest,  doth  tread,  I  shall  be  forsworn, 
(which  is  a  great  argument  of  falsehood.)  if  I  love: 
.^nd  how  can  that  be  true  love,  which  is  falsely 
attempted  ?  Love  is  a  fimiliar ;  love  is  a  devil :  there 
is  no  evil  angel  but  love,  'i'et  Samson  was  so 
tempted;  and  he  had  an  excellent  strength:  yet 
was  Solomon  so  seduced;  and  he  had  a  very  ?ood 
wit.  Cupids  bult-sliaf[3  is  too  hard  for  Hercules' 
club,  and  thereiore  too  much  odds  I'or  a  Spaniard's 
rapier.  The  first  and  second  cause  will  not  serve 
my  turn  ;  the  passado  he  respects  not,  the  duello  he 
regards  not :  his  disgrace  is  to  be  called  boy ;  hut 
his  glory  is  to  subdue  men.  Adieu,  valor!  rust, 
rapier:  be  still,  drum  !  for  your  manager  is  in  love; 
yea.  he  loveth.  Assist  me,  some  extemporal  god 
of  rhyme,  for,  I  am  sure,  I  shall  turn  sonnetteer. 
Devise,  wit;  write,  pen;  for  I  am  for  whole  vol- 
umes in  folio.  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— .4  Pavilion  and  Tents  at  a  distance. 

Enter  the  Prixcess  of  France,  Rosaline,  Ma- 
ria, Kathebine,  Botet,  Lords,  and  other  At- 
tendants. 

Boyet.  Now,  madam,  summon  up  your  dearest 
spirits : 
Consider  who  the  king  your  father  sends  ; 
To  whom  he  sends;  and  what's  his  embassy : 
Yourself,  held  precious  in  the  world's  esteem, 
To  parley  with  the  sole  inheritor 
Of  ail  perfections  that  a  man  may  owe. 
Matchless  Navarre ;  the  plea  of  no  less  weight 
Than  Aquitain;  a  dowry  for  a  queen. 
Be  now  as  prodigal  of  all  dear  grace. 
As  nature  was  in  making  graces  dear. 
When  she  did  starve  the  general  world  beside, 
And  prodigally  gave  them  all  to  you. 
Prin.   Good  lord   Boyet,  my  beauty  though  but 
mean, 
Needs  not  the  painted  flourish  of  your  praise ; 
Beauty  is  bought  by  judgment  of  "the  eye. 
Not  utter'd  by  base  sale  of  chanmens  tongues: 
I  am  less  proud  to  hear  you  tell  my  worth. 
Than  you  much  willing  to  be  counted  vyise 
In  spending  your  wit  in  the  praise  of  mine. 
But  now  to  task  the  tasker. —  Good  Boyet, 
You  are  not  ignorant,  all-telling  feme 
Doth  noise  abroad  Navarre  halh  made  a  vow. 
Till  painful  study  shall  out-wear  three  years, 
No  woman  may  approach  his  silent  court: 
Therefore  to  us  seemeth  it  a  needful  course, 
Before  we  enter  his  forbidden  gates. 
To  know  his  pleasure ;  and,  in  that  behalf, 
Bold  of  your  worthiness,  we  single  you 
As  our  best-moving  fair  solicitor: 
Tell  him,  the  daughter  of  the  king  of  France, 

•  Of  which  she  is  naturally  possessed.    »  Diury-womaii, 


On  serious  business,  craving  quick  despatch, 
Imp^irtunes  personal  conference  with  his  grace. 
Haste,  signify  so  much ;  while  we  attend. 
Like  humblc-visag'd  suitors,  his  high  will. 

Boyet.  Proud  of  employment,  wiUingly  I  go. 

JExit. 

Prin.  All  pride  is  willing  pride,  and  yours  is  so. — 
Wlio  are  the  votaries,  my  loving  lords. 
That  are  vow-fellows  with  this  virtuous  duke  ? 

1  Jjord.   Longaville  is  one. 

Prin.  Know  you  the  man  1 

Mar.  I  know  him,  madam  ;  at  a  marriage  feast. 
Between  lord  Perigort  and  the  beauteous  heir 
(If  .Taques  Falconbridge  solemnized. 
In  Normandy  saw  I  this  Longaville : 
A  man  of  sovereign  parts  he  is  esteera'd  ; 
Well  fitted  in  the  arts,  glorious  in  arms: 
Nothing  becomes  him  ill.  that  he  would  well. 
The  only  soil  of  his  fair  virtue's  gloss, 
(If  virtue's  gloss  will  stain  with  any  soil,) 
Is  a  sharp  wit  matcli'd  with  too  blunt  a  will  ; 
Whose  edge  hath  power  to  cut,  whose  will  still  wills 
It  should  none  spare  that  come  within  his  power. 

Prin.  Some  merry  mocking  lord,  belike;  is'tsol 

Mar.  They  say  so  most,  that  most  his  humors 
know. 

Prin.  Such  short-liv'd  wits  do  wither  as  they  grow. 
Who  are  the  rest? 

Kath.  The  young  Dumain,  a  well-accomplish  d 
youth. 
Of  all  that  virtue  love  for  virtue  lov'd : 
Most  power  to  do  most  harm,  least  knowing  ill* 
For  he  hath  wit  to  make  an  ill  shape  good. 
And  shape  to  win  grace  thoush  he  had  no  wit 
I  saw  him  at  the  duke  Alen5on's  once; 
And  much  too  little  of  that  good  1  saw. 
Is  my  report  to  his  great  worthiness. 

s  Love.  3  Arrows  to  shoot  at  butts  with. 


138 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  11 


Ros.   AnothPr  of  ll.esc  students  at  tliat  time 
Was  there  "  itli  him  :    if  I  have  heard  a  truth, 
Bir6n  tliey  call  hira  ;  Imt  a  merrier  man. 
Within  the  Mmit  of  bcenmni^  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  witliai; 
His  eye  hegets  occasion  for  iiis  wit; 
For  every  object  that  tlie  one  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-movinfr  jest; 
Which  his  fair  tonsue  (conceit's  expositor) 
Dehvers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words, 
Tliat  ased  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales. 
And  youn:j;er  hearings  are  quite  ravished; 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  iiis  discourse. 

Prill.  r,od  bless  my  ladies!    are  they  all  in  love, 
That  every  one  her  own  hath  garnished 
Willi  sucli  bedecking  ornaments  of  praise? 

Mar.  Here  comes  Boyet. 

Re-enter  Botet. 
Prin.  Now,  what  admittance,  lord  1 

Biiiiet.  Navarre  hath  notice  of  your  fair  approach ; 
And  he,  and  his  competitors*  in  oath. 
Were  all  address'd>  to  meet  you,  gentle  lady. 
Before  I  came.    Marry,  thus  much  I  have  learnt. 
He  rather  means  to  lodge  you  in  the  field. 
'  Like  one  that  comes  here  to  besiege  his  court,) 
Tnan  seek  a  dispensation  for  his  oath, 
To  let  you  enter  his  unpeopled  house, 
/icre  comes  Navarre.  {The  ladies  jnask. 

r.nler  King,  Loscavilt-e.  Dumain,  BinoN,  and 

Attendunls. 

King.  Fair  Princess,  welcome  \o  the  court  of 

Navarre. 
Prin.  Fair,  1  give  you  back  again;  and,  welcome 
have  not  yet:  the  roof  of  this  court  is  too  high  to 
^e  yours;  and  welcome  to  the  wide  tields  too  base 
to  be  mine. 
King.  You  shall  be  welcome,  madam,  to  my  court. 
Prill.  I   will    be  welcome,  then;     conduct    me 

thither. 
King.  Hear  me,  dear  lady ;  I  have  sworn  an  oath. 
Prin.   Our  lady  help  mv  lord!  he'll  be  forsworn. 
King.  Not  for  the  world,  fair  madam,  by  my  will. 
Prin.  Why,  will  shall  break  it;  will,  and  nothing 

else. 
King.   Your  ladyship  is  ignorant  what  it  is. 
Priii.  Were  my  lord  so,  his  ignorance  were  wise. 
Where  now  his  knowledge  must  prove  ignorance. 
I  hear,  your  grace  hath  sworn-out  house-keeping : 
'Tis  deadly  sin  to  keep  that  oath,  my  lord, 
Ana  sin  to  break  it: 
But  pardon  me,  I  am  too  sudden-bold ; 
To  teach  a  teacher  ill  beseeincth  me. 
Vouchsafe  to  read  the  purpose  of  my  coming, 
And  suddenly  resolve  me  in  my  suit. 

[Gives  a  paper. 
King.  Madam.  I  will,  if  suddenly  I  may. 
Prin.  You  will  the  sooner,  that  I  were  away ; 
For  you'll  prove  perjur'd,  if  you  make  me  stay. 
Biron.  Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 
Rris.   Did  not  I  dance  with  you  in  Brabant  once  ? 
Biron.  I  know  you  did. 

Ro.i.  How  needless  was  it  then 

To  ask  the  question ! 
Biron.  You  must  not  be  so  quick. 

Ros.   'Tis  'long  of  you  that  spur  me  with  such 

questions. 
Biron-  Your  wit'stoo  hot, it  speeds  too  fast,'twill 

tire. 
Rris.   Not  till  it  leave  the  rider  in  the  mire. 
Biron.  What  time  o'  day  ! 
Ros.  The  hour  that  fools  shall  ask. 
Biron.  Now  feir  befall  your  mask  ! 
Ros.  Fair  fall  the  face  it  covers! 
Biron.   And  send  you  nuny  lovers! 
Ros.  Amen,  so  yoii  be  none. 
Biron.  Nay.  then  will  1  be  gone. 
King.  Madam,  your  father  here  doth  intimate 
The  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns ; 
Being  but  the  one  half  of  an  entire  sum, 
Disbursed  by  my  father  in  his  wans. 
But  say,  that  he,  or  wc,  {as  neither  have.) 
lieceiv  d  that  sum ;  yet  there  remains  unpaid 
A  hundred  tliousand  more;  in  surety  of  the  which, 
One  part  of  Aquitain  is  bound  to  us, 
ilthough  not  valued  to  the  money's  worth, 
.f  then  the  king  your  father  will  restore 

«  Confederati'S.  •  Prepared. 


But  that  one  half  which  is  unsatisr-ed. 

We  will  give  up  our  rii:ht  in  Aquitain, 

And  hold  fair  friendship  with  his  majesty. 

But  that,  it  seems,  he  little  pnrposeth. 

For  here  he  doth  demand  to  have  repaid 

A  hundred  thousand  crowns;  and  not  demands, 

On  payment  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns. 

To  have  his  title  live  in  Aquitain  ; 

Which  we  much  rather  had  departs  withal, 

And  have  the  money  by  our  father  lent, 

Than  Aquitain  so  gelded  as  it  is. 

Dear  princess,  were  not  his  requests  so  far 

From  reason's  yielding,  your  lair  self  should  raako 

A  yielding,  'gainst  some  reason  in  my  breast, 

And  go  well  satisfied  to  France  a^^ain. 

Prin.  You  do  the  kin?  my  father  too  much  wrong, 
And  wrong  the  reputation  of  your  name, 
In  so  unseeming  to  confess  receipt 
Of  that  which  hath  so  f\iithfully  been  paid. 

King.  I  do  protest,  I  never  heard  of  it; 
And,  if  you  prove  it,  Fll  repay  it  back, 
Or  yield  up  Aquitain. 

Prin.  We  arrest  your  word:— 

Boyet,  you  can  produce  acquittances. 
For  such  a  sum,  from  special  officers 
Of  Charles  his  father. 

King.  Satisfy  me  so. 

Boyet.  So  please  your  grace,  the  packet  is  not 
come. 
Where  that  and  other  sjiecialties  are  bound ; 
To-morrow  you  shall  have  a  sight  of  them. 

King.  It  shall  suffice  me :  at  which  interview, 
All  liberal  reason  I  will  yield  unto. 
Mean  time,  receive  such  welcome  at  my  hand, 
As  honor,  without  breach  of  honor,  may 
Make  tender  of  thy  true  worthiness: 
You  may  not  come,  fair  princess,  in  my  gates; 
But  here"  without,  you  shall  be  so  receiv'd. 
As  you  shall  deem  yourself  lodg'd  in  my  heart, 
Though  so  denied  fair  harbor  in  my  house._ 
Your  own  good  thoughts  excuse  me,  and  farewell: 
To-morrow  shall  we  visit  you  again. 

Prin.  Sweet  health  andfair  desires  consort  your 
grace ! 

King.  Thy  own  wish  wish  I  thee  in  every  place ! 
\Exeunt  King  and  his  Train. 

Biron.  Lady,  I  will  commend  you  to  my  own 
heart. 

Ros.  'Pray  you,  do  my  commendations ;  I  would 
be  glad  to  see  it. 

Biron.  I  would  you  heard  it  groan. 

Ros.  Is  the  fool  sick ! 

Biron.  Sick  at  heart. 

Ros.   Alack,  let  it  blood. 

Biron.   Would  that  do  it  good'! 

Ros.  Mv  physic  says,  I.' 

Biron.  Will  you  prick't  with  your  eye  1 

Ros.  No po?/n^' with  my  knife. 

Biron.  Now,  God  save  thy  life  ! 

Ros.  And  yours  from  lon^i  living! 

Biron.  I  cannot  stay  thanksgiving.        [Retiring. 

Bum.  Sir,  I  pray  you,  a  word:   What  lady  is 
that  same] 

Boyet.   The  heir  of  Alen^on,  Rosaline  her  name. 

Diim.  A  gallant  lady  !    Monsieur,  fare  you  well. 

I  Exit. 

Long.  I  beseech  you  a  word;   What  is  she  in 
the  white '! 

Boyet.  A  woman  sometimes,  an  you  saw  her  in 
the  light. 

Long.  Perchance,  light  in  the  light;  I  desire  her 
name. 

Boyet.  She  hath  but  one  for  herself;    to  desire 
that  were  a  shame. 

Long.  Pray  you,  sir,  whose  daughterl 

Bn/et.   Her  mother's,  I  have  heard. 

Lnhg.  God's  blessing  on  your  beard  ! 

Boyet.   Good  sir,  be  not  nifended: 
She  is  an  heir  of  Falconbridire. 

Ling.   Nay,  my  choler  is  ended. 
She  is  a  most  sweet  lady. 

Boyet.  Not  unlike,  sir  ;  that  may  be. 

[Exit  LONO. 

Biron.   What's  her  name  in  the  cap'! 
Boyet.   Katherine.  my  good  hap. 

Biron.   Is  she  wedded  or  no  T 

Boyet.  To  her  will,  sir,  or  so. 

Biron.  You  are  welcome,  sir;  adieu! 

c  Part.      1  Ay,  yes.      »  A  French  particle  of  negatloib 


Act  III.     Scene  I. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


139 


Boyd.  Farewell  to  mo,  sir,  and  welcome  to  you. 
\Exit  Unioy.—L'idies  uni/uisk. 
Mar.  That  last  is  Hiron,  the  merry  mad-cap  lord ; 
Kot  a  word  with  him  but  a  je.-t. 
Buyet.  And  every  jest  but  a  word. 

Prin.  It  was  well  done  of  you  to  take  him  at 

his  word. 
Bayet.  I  was  willing  to  grapple,  as  he  was  to 

board. 
Mar.  Two  hot  shceps,  marry ! 
Boi/ef.  And  wherefore  not  ships  ! 

No  sheep,  sweet  lamb,  unless  we  feed  on  your  lips. 
Mar.   You  sheep,  and  I  pasture ;  Shall  that  tin- 

ish  the  jest  ? 
Hoyel.  So  you  grant  pasture  for  me. 

[^Offerinij  to  Ixiss  her. 
Mar.  Not  so,  gentle  beast; 

My  lips  are  no  common,  though  several*  they  be. 
Boyet.  Belon;;ing  to  whom  ! 
Mar.  To  my  fortunes  and  me. 

Prin.  Good  wits  will  be  jangling :  but,  gentles, 
agree; 
The  civil  war  of  wits  were  much  better  used 
On  Navarre  and  his  bookmen;  for  here  'tis  abased. 
Boyd.   If  my  observation,   (which  very  seldom 
lies.) 
By  the  heart's  still  rhetoric,  disclosed  with  eyes, 
Deceive  me  not  now.  Navarre  is  infected. 
Prill.  With  what? 

Boyet.  With  that  which  we  lovers  entitle,  affected. 
Prill.   Your  reason  ! 

Boi/et.  Why  all  his  behaviors  did  make  Iheir  retire 
To  tlie  court  of  his  eye,  peeping  thorough  desire : 


His  heart,  like  an  agate,  with  your  print  impressed, 
Proud  with  his  fj.ni.  in  his  eye  pride  expressed : 
His  tongue  all  impatient  to  speak  and  not  see. 
Did  stumble  with  haste  in  his  eyesight  to  be  ; 
.\ll  senses  to  that  sfnse  did  make  their  repair, 
To  leel  only  looking  i^n  fairest  of  fair: 
Methought,  ail  his  senses  were  locked  in  his  eye, 
.\s  jewels  in  crystal  for  some  prince  to  buy  ; 
Who,  tendering  their  own  worth,  from  where  they 

were  glass'd. 
Did  point  you  to  buy  them,  along  as  you  pass'd. 
His  face's  own  margent  did  quote  such  amazes, 
That  all  eyes  saw  his  eyes  enclianted  with  gazes : 
I'll  give  you  Aquitain,  and  all  that  is  his. 
An  you  give  him  for  my  sake  but  one  loving  kiss. 

Prill.  Come,  to  our  pavilion :  Boyet  is  dispos'd — 

Boyet.  But  to  speak  that    in  words,  wliich  his 
eye  hath  disclos'd : 
I  only  have  made  a  mouth  of  his  eye. 
By  adding  a  tongue  which  I  know  will  not  lie. 

Ros.  Thnu  art  an  old  love-monger,  and  speak'st 
skilfully. 

Mai  .  He  is  Oupid'sgrandlather,  and  learns  newa 
of  him. 

Ros.  Then  was  Venus  like  her  mother  ;  for  her  fa- 
ther is  but  grim. 

Bni/el.  Do  you  hear,  my  mad  wenches! 

Mar.  No. 

Bni/et.  What  then,  do  5'ou  seel 

Rn's.  Ay,  our  way  to  be  gone. 

Boyet.  You  are  too  hard  for  me. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I. —  The  Park,  near  the  Palace. 
Enter  Aiimabo  and  Moth. 
Arm.  Warble,  child;  make  passionate  my  sense 

of  hearing. 
Moth.  CuiicoliJiel [Singing. 

Arm.  Sweet  air!  —  (!o,  tenderness  of  years;  take 
this  key,  give  enlareement  to  the  swain,  briui  him 
festinatclyi  hither;  I  must  employ  him  in  a  letter 
to  my  love. 

Moth.  Master,  will  you  win  your  love  with  a 
French  brawl  N 

Arm.   How  mean'st  thou  T   brawling  in  French! 

Moth.  No.  my  complete  master:  but  (g  jig  off 
a  tune  at  the  tongue's  end,  canary'  to  it  with  \  our 
feet,  humor  it  with  turning  up  your  cye-liris;  sigh 
a  note  and  sing  a  note;  somitiinc  through  the 
throat,  as  if  you  swallowed  love  with  singing  love ; 
sometime  through  the  nose,  as  if  you  snutTed  up 
love  by  smelling  love;  with  your  hat  penthouse- 
like, o'er  the  shop  of  your  eyes;  with  your  arms 
crossed  on  your  thin  belly-do'uhlet,  like  a  rabbit  on 
a  spit;  or  your  hands  in  your  pocket,  like  a  man 
after  the  old  painting;  and  keep  not  too  long  in 
one  tune,  but  a  snip  and  away  :  These  are  com- 
plements, these  are  humors;  these  betray  nice 
wenches  —  that  would  be  betrayed  without  these; 
and  make  them  men  of  note  (do  you  note,  men?) 
that  are  most  affected  to  these. 

Ann.  How  bast  thou  purchased  this  experience  1 

Mnth.   By  mv  jienny  of  observation. 

Arm.  But  I),— but  I),— 

Molh- — the  hobby-horse  is  for?ot. 

Arm.  Callestthou  mv  love,  hobby-horsd 

Moth.  No  master  ;  the  hobliy-horse  is  but  a  colt; 
and  your  love,  perhaps,  a  hackney.  But  have  you 
forgot  your  love  1 

Arm.   Almost  I  had. 

Molh.   Negligent  student, !  learn  her  by  heart 

Arm.  By  heart,  and  in  heart,  boy. 

Moth.  And  out  of  heart,  master:  all  those  three 
I  will  prove. 

Ann.   What  will  that  prove  1 

Moth.   A  man,  if  I  live;    and   thi3,  by,  in,  and 
without,  upon  the  instant:    By  heart  you  love  her, 
•  A  quibble,  several  signifie'l  unenclosed  lands. 
I  H.'U'.tily.  1  A  kind  rif  dance. 

»  Canary  was  the  name  of  a  .=prightly  dance. 


because  your  heart  cannot  come  by  her:  in  heart 
you  love  her,  because  your  heart  is  in  love  with 
her:  and  out  of  heart  you  love  her,  being  out  of 
licart  that  you  cannot  enjoy  her. 

Arm.   I  am  all  these  Ibre'e. 

Moth.  And  three  times  as  much  more,  and  yet 
nothing  at  all. 

Arm.  Fetch  hither  the  swain  ;  he  must  carry  ma 
a  letter. 

Moth.  A  message  well  sympathised ;  a  horse  to 
be  ambassador  for  an  ass ! 

Ann.  Ha,  ha !   what  sayest  thou  1 

Moth.   Marry,  sir,  you  must  send  the  ass  upon 
the  horse,  for  he  is  very  slow  gaited  :   But  I  go. 

Ann.  The  way  is  biit  short;  away. 

Moth.   As  swift  as  lead,  sir. 

Arm.   Thy  meaning,  pretty  ingenious? 
Is  not  lead  a  metal  heavy,  dull,  and  slow? 

Moth.  Mi/a/" f. honest  master;  or  rather,  master,no. 

Ann.   I  say,  lead  is  slow. 

Moth.  You  are  too  swift,  sir,  to  say  so: 

Is  that  lead  slow  which  is  fired  from  a  gun  ? 

Arm.  Sweet  smoke  of  rhetoric: 
He  reputes  me  a  cannon  ;  and  the  bullet,  tliat's  he:— 
I  slioot  thee  at  the  swain. 

Moth.  Thump  then,  and  I  flee. 

'.Exit. 

Arm.  A  most  acute  juvenal ;  voluble  and  free  of 
grace ! 
By  thy  favor,  sweet  welkin.  I  must  sigh  in  thy  face: 
Most  rude  melancholy,  valor  gives  tliee  place. 
My  herald  is  return'd'. 

Re-enter  Moth  and  Costattti. 
Moth-  A  wonder,   master ;  here's  a  costard*  bro- 
ken in  a  shin. 
Arm.  Some    eniifnia,  some  riddle  :   come, — thy 

I'enroi/ ; — be^in. 

Cost.  No  egma,  no  riddle,  no  V envoy ;'  no  salve 

in  the  mail,  sir  :  (),  sir,  plantain,  a  plain  plantain  : 

no  [envoy,  no  I'envny  no  salve,  sir,  but  a  plantain! 

Ann.  By   virtue,   thou   enforcest  laugliter;  thy 

silly  thought,  my  spleen ;  the  heaving  of  my  lungs 

provokes  me  to  ridiculous  smiling :  O,  pardon  me, 

*  A  hea<l , 

s  An  old  French  term  for  concluding  ver.=ips,  which 
served  either  to  convey  the  moral,  or  to  address  the  poem 
to  some  person. 


140 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  IV. 


my  stars!  Doth   the  iiiconsideralc  take  salve  for 
I'envoi/j  and  the  word,  l^envai/^  tor  a  salve] 

Mulk.  Do  the  wise   tliiiik   them  otlierl    is  not 
Venvuij  a  salve  ' 
Ann.  No,  pase:  it  is  an  epilogue  or  discourse 
to  make  plain 
Some  obscure  precedence  that  hath  tofore  been  sain. 
I  will  example  it. 

The  lox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee, 
Were  still  at  odds,  bein;;  but  three, 
Tiiere'ii  the  moral :  Now  the  ('envoi/. 
Mulh.  1  will  add  the  I'mvoi/:  Say  the  moral  again. 
Anil.  The  fox,  the  ape,  aiid  the  humble-bee, 

Were  stdl  at  odds,  being  but  three : 
Moth.  Untd  the  goose  come  out  of  door, 

.\nd  stay'd  the  odds  by  adding  four. 
Now  will  I  begin  your  moralj  and  do  you  follow 
with  my  renvoi/. 

The  fox,  the  ape,  and  the  humble-bee. 
Were  still  at  odds,  being  but  three: 
Arm.  Until  the  goo.se  camr  out  or<loor, 
Staying  the  odds  by  aildnig  li^ur. 
Moth.  A   good    C envoi/,  endiiig    in    the    goose: 
Would  you  desire  morel 

Cu^t.  The  boy  hath  sold  him  a  bargain,  a  goose, 

that's  Mat:— 

Sir,  your  pennyworth  is  good,  an  your  goose  be  fat.-- 

Tosella  bargain  well,  is  as  cunning  as  fast  and  loose: 

Let  me  see  a  fat  renvoi/ ;   ay,  that's  a  fat  goose. 

Arm.  Come  hither,  come  hither:   How  did  this 

argument  begin  \ 
Moth.  By  saying  that  a  Costard,  was  broken  in  a 
shin. 
Then  call  d  you  for  the  I'envny. 
Cost.  True,  and  I  for  a  plantain :    Thus  came 
your  arguTuent  in ; 
Then  the  boy's  fat   i' envoy,   the   goose  tliat  you 

bouiiht; 
And  he  ended  the  market. 

Avni.   But   tell  rae ;    how  was  there  a   Costard 
>roken  in  a  shin  I 
Moth.   I  wUl  tell  you  sensibly. 
Cost.   Thou  hast  no  feeling  of  it,  Moth ;   I  will 
speak  that  I'envoy  .- 

I,  Costard,  running  out,  that  was  safely  within, 
Fell  over  the  threshold,  and  broke  my  shin. 
Arm.   We  will  talk  no  more  of  this  matter. 
ost.   Till  there  be  more  matter  in  the  shin. 
Arm.  Sirrah  Costard,  I  will  enfranchise  tliee. 
Cost.   (),  marry  me   to  one  Frances:  —  I  smell 
some  renvoi/,  some  goose,  in  this. 

Arm.  By  my  .sweet  soul,  I  mean,  setting  thee 
at  liberty,  enfreedoniing  thy  person;  thou  wert 
immured,  restrained,  captivated,  bound. 

Cost.  True,  true;  and  now  you  will  be  my  pur- 
gation, and  let  me  loose. 

Arm.  I  give  thee  tliy  liberty,  set  thee  from  dur- 
ance; and.  in  lieu  thereof,  impose  on  thee  nothing 
but  this:  Bear  this  signiticant  to  the  country  maid 
Jaquenetta  :  there  is  remuneration;  [Givim;  liim 
money.]    for  the  best  ward  of  mine   honor,  is  re- 
wardinsr  my  dependants.    Moth,  follow.         [IljcU. 
Moth.  Like  the  sequel,  I. —  Signior  Costard,  adieu. 
Cost.  My  sweet  ounce  ot  man's  flesi] !   my  in- 
cony  Jew  !  —  [Exit  Morn. 
Now  will  I  look  to  his  remuneration.    Remunera- 
tion!    O,  that's  the  latin  word  for  three  fiirthings: 
three  farthings  —  remuneration. —  What's  the  price 
(if  Mis  inkle?  apenni/ : — No.  Fit  give  you  a  re- 
tnuneralion:  why,  it  carries  it. — Remuneratio  i ! — 


Why,  it  is  a  fiirer  aauu'  than  Krench crown.     I  will 
never  buy  and  sed  out  of  uns  word. 

Knter  IWuoy. 

Biroii.  O,  my  good  knave,  Co.4tard!  csce._'dinslv 
well  met.  °  ■' 

Cost.  Pray  you,  sir,  how  much  carnation  ribbon 
may  a- man  buy  for  a  reuiuneral;on  { 

Biron.   What  is  a  remuneration  f 

Cost.  Marry,  sir,  hall-i.emiy  i;irthing. 

Biron.  (),why  then,  lliree-larlhings-worth  of  silk. 

Cost.  I  thank  your  worship  :  God  be  with  you  I 

Biron.  O,  stay,  slave ;   1  nmst  employ  thee : 
As  thou  wilt  will  my  favor,  good  my  knave, 
Do  one  thing  for  me  that  1  shall  entreat. 

Cost.  When  would  you  have  il  done,  sir  ? 

Biron.  <),  this  allernnon. 

Cost.   Well,  1  will  do  it,  sir:   Fare  you  well. 

Biron.  u,  thou  knowest  not  what  it  is. 

Cost.   I  shall  know,  sir,  when  I  have  done  it. 

Biron.  Why,  villain,  thou  nmst  know  tirst. 

Cost.  I  will  come  to  your  worship  to-morrow 
morning. 

Birun.  It  must  be  done  this  afternoon.  Hailt, 
slave,  it  is  but  this;  — 

The  princess  comes  to  hunt  here  in  the  park. 
And  111  her  train  there  is  a  gentle  lady; 
When  tongues  speak  sweetly,  then  they  name  her 

name, 
.A.nd  Rosaline  they  call  her:   ask  for  her  ; 
And  to  her  white  hand  see  thou  do  commend 
■f  his  seal'd  up  counsel.    There's  thy  guerdon ;'  go. 

^     ,    „       J  [Give's  him  money. 

tost.  Guerdon,— O  sweet  guerdon!  better  than 
remuneration:  eleven-pence  fa rtiiing  better :  Most 
sweet  guerdon  !  —  1  will  do  it,  sir,  in  print." — Guer- 
don—  remuneration.  |  £.)!/. 

Biron.  (l!  —  And   I,  forsooth,  in   love!   I,  that 
have  been  love's  whip; 
A  very  beadle  to  a  humorous  sigh  ; 
A  critic;  nay,  a  night-watch  constable; 
A  domineering  pedant  o'er  the  boy, 
rhan  whom  no  mortal  so  magnificent! 
This  whimpled,"  whining,  purblind,  wayward  boy ; 
This  senior-junior,  giant-dwarf,  Dan  Cupid: 
Regent  of  love-rhymes,  lord  of  tbldod  arms, .' 
The  anointed  sovereign  of  sighs  and  groans, 
Liege  of  all  loiterers  and  malcontents. 
Dread  prince  of  plackets,'  king  of  codpieces. 
Sole  imperator,  and  great  general 
Of  trottin''  paritors,»— 0  my  little  heart!  — 
And  I  to  be  a  corporal  of  his  held. 
And  wear  his  colors  like  a  tumbler's  hoop  I 
What  ?    I !  I  love  !  I  sue  !  I  seek  a  wile  f 
A  woman,  that  is  like  a  German  clock. 
Still  a  repairing ;  ever  out  of  frame ; 
And  never  going  aright,  being  a  watch, 
But  being  watch'd  that  it  may  still  go  right! 
Nay,  to  be  perjur'd,  which  is  worst  of  all; 
.\nd,  among  three,  to  love  the  worst  of  all; 
A  whitely  wanton  witii  a  velvet  brow. 
With  two  pitch  balls  stuck  in  her  face  for  eyes; 
.\y,  and,  by  heaven,  one  that  will  do  the  deed. 
Though  Argus  were  her  eunuch  and  her  guard 
And  I  to  sigh  for  her !  to  watch  for  her  ! 
To  pray  for  her !   Go  to ;  It  is  a  plague 
That  Cupid  will  impose  for  my  neglect 
(If  his  almighty  dreadful  little  might. 
Well,  I  will  love,  write,  sigh,  prav,  sue,  and  groan; 
Some  men  must  love  my  lady,  and  some  Joan. 

lE.vil. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.— .4  Pavilion  in  tlie  Park. 
Enter  the  Piiixces=i,  Rosai.ink,  Maria,  Katiia- 
nixF.,    BoYET,  Lords,  Attendant.s,  and  a   For- 
ester. 

Prin.  Was  that  the  king,  that  spurred  his  horse 
so  hard 
Against  the  .sleep  uprising  nf  the  111111 
Boi/il.  I  know  not;  but  1  think,  il  was  not  he. 
frin,  Wlio'er    he   was,  he  sliow'd  a  mounting 
mind. 
"  llelightfal. 


Well,  lords,  to-day  we  shall  have  our  despatch: 
(in  Saturday  we  will  return  lo  France.— 
Then,  foresler,  my  friend,  wdiere  is  the  bush. 
That  we  must  stand  and  play  the  murderer  in? 

For,  Here  by,  upon  the  edge  of  yonder  coppice; 
,\  slaiid,  where  you  may  make  the  fairi'.st  shoot. 

Prin.  I  thank  my  beauty,  I  am  fair  that  shoot 
And  thereupon  thou  spcak'st,  the  fairest  shoot. 

'  n,-w;ircl.  »  ^Vilh  tlm  utmost  .■■xnctiiL'Ss. 

"  Iloo.led,  veiled.  ■  I'ttticoats. 

'  Tlic  officers  of  the  spiritual  courts  who  scttl'  citations. 


Scene  I. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


141 


Fur.  Pardon  me,  m;idinn,  fur  I  ineuiil  not  so. 

Prin.  What,  wtiiu!   lirst  praise  me,  and  again 
say,  no  I 
0  short-Iivd  pride!  Not  f.iir?  alack  for  woe! 

Far.  Ves,  inaJaiii,  fair. 

Pri?i.  Nay,  never  paint  me  now; 

Where  fair  is  not,  praise  cannot  mend  the  brow. 
Here,  good  my  glass,  take  this  for  teliin;^  true; 

[Giving  him  money, 
Fair  payment  for  foul  words  is  more  tlian  due. 

For.  Nothing  but  fair  is  that  which  you  inherit. 

Prin.  See,  see,  my  beauty  will  be  savM  by  merit. 
0  heresy  in  fair,  fit  fnr  these  days! 
A  giving  hand,  though  foul, shall  have  f.iir  praise.— 
But  come,  the  bow: — Now  mercy  giws  to  kill, 
And  shouting  well  is  then  accounted  ill. 
Thus  will  I  save  my  credit  in  the  shoot; 
Not  woundnig,  pity  would  not  let  me  do't; 
If  wounding,  then  it  was  to  show  my  skill, 
That  more  for  i>raiso,  than  purpose,  meant  to  kill. 
And,  out  of  question,  so  it  is  sometimes; 
Glory  grows  guilty  of  detested  crimes; 
When,  for  fame  s  sake,  for  praise,  an  outward  part, 
We  bend  to  that  the  working  of  the  heart ; 
As  I,  for  praise  alone,  now  seek  to  spill 
The  poor  deers  blood,  that  my  heart  means  no  ill. 

Boyel.  Do  not  curst  wives  hold   that  self-sove- 
reii^nty 
Only  for  praise*  sake,  when  they  strive  to  be 
Lords  o'er  their  lords  ! 

Prin,  Cnly  for  praise:  and  praise  we  may  afford 
To  any  lady  that  subdues  a  lord. 

Enter  Costaud. 

Prin.  Here  comes  a  member  of  the  common- 
wealth. 

Cost.  God   dig-you-den'   all!    Pray   yoa,    which 
is  the  head  lady  ! 

Prin.  Thou  shalt  know  her,  fellow,  by  the  rest 
that  have  no  heads. 

Cost.  Which  is   tlie  greatest  lady,  tlie  Iiighest? 

Prin.  The  thickest,  and  the  tallest. 

Cost*  The  thickest,  and  the  tallest !  it  is  so;  truth 
is  truth. 
An  your  waist,  mistress,  were  as  slender  as  my  wit. 
One  of  these  maids'   girdles  for  your  waist  should 

bo  lit. 
Are  not  you  the  chief  woman?  you  are  the  thick- 
est here. 

Prin.  Wliafs-your  will,  sir  ?  what's  your  will '! 

Cost.  I  have  a  letter  from  monsieur  Biron,  to  one 
lady  Rosaline. 

Prin.  ft,  "thy  letter,  thy  letter ;  he's  a  good  friend 
of  mine : 
Stand  aside,  good  bearer. — Boyet,  you  can  carve; 
Break  up  this  capon. 

Boyet.  I  am  bound  to  serve. — 

This  letter  is  mistook,  it  importeth  none  here; 
It  is  writ  to  Jaquenetta. 

Prin.  We  will  read  it,  I  swear: 

Break  the  neck  of  the  wax,  and  every  one  give  ear. 
Boyet.  [Reads.]  By  fieaven^  that  tfiou  art  fair, 
is  most  infallible  ;  true,  ffiat  tfiou  art  htaiiteuas  ,- 
irutti  itself,  f/iat  tlu^u  art  lovely :  More f/h-cr  tfuin 
fitir,  bcaufifuf  t/tan  heauteoits,  truer  lluin  truth 
itself,  iiave'conimbieratuni  on  thy  heroicul  vassal! 
The  magnanimous  and  most  illustrate  kinf^  Co- 
jihetua  *f/  eye  upon  the  pernicious  and  indubitate 
/)CK'i:ar  Zenelophon  ;  and  he  it  ivas  that  mi^ht 
ri.^hth/  saj/y  veni,  vidi,  viri;  which,  to  anatomize 
in  the  vulgar,  {0  base  and  obscure  futgar.')  vide- 
licet, Ac  a////p,  san%  and  overcame:  tie  came,  one.- 
saw,  two;  overcame,  three.  IVho  came?  ttteliing: 
U'hij  did  he  come?  to  see:  Why  did  he  see?  to 
overcome:  To  ichom  camt  he?  to  tlie  beggar: 
IVfiat  saw  he?  the  beggar:  iVlto  overcame  he?  the 
beggar :  the  concLusiAm  is  victory.-  On  whose  side? 
the  king's:  The  captive  is  enriched;  On  tvhose 
side?  the  beggar's:  The  catastrophe  w  a  nuptial; 
On  whose  side?  the  king^s? — no,  oti  both  in  one 
or  one  in  both,  lam  the  king;  for  so  stands  the  com- 
parisn7i:  thou  the  beggar;  jur  so  witnesseth  thif 
Inirliness.  Shall  I  command  iti>(  luve  ?  I  niati: 
S'laU  [enforce  thy  Urn?  I  could:  Shull  I  entrfat 
thy  liwe?  1  will.  Wliat  shalt  tfutn  earhange  for 
rags?  robes;  For  tittles,  titles;  For  thyself,  mc. 
Thus,  expecting  thy  reply,  I  profane  my  lipv  on  tliy 
foot,  my  eyes  on  thy  picture,  and  my  fieart  on  thy 
every  part. 

'  God  give  you  good  even. 


2'hinc,  in  the  dearest  detign  (find  tstry, 

D(l\    AUIII.VNO   ItK  All>lADO. 

Thus  dost  thou  hear  the  Nemean  lien  roar 

'Gainst  tlu-e.  thmi  lamb,  that  sianUcst  as  his  prey; 
Submissive lallhisprincelyteet  before, 

And  lie  from  tbrage  will  incline  to  play  : 
Hut  if  lliou  slrivf,  poor  soul.  vv!,at  ait  ihou  then  ! 
Food  for  h  s  rage,  repuslure  for  his  den. 
P?-in.  What  plume  of  feathers  is  he,  tliat  indited 
this  letter  ! 
What  vane  '.  what  weathercock  !  did  you  ever  hear 
better  1 
Boyet.  I  am  much  deceived,  but  I  remember  the 

style. 
Prin.  Else   your   memory   is  bad,   going   o'er  it 

crowhiU'.* 
Boyet.  This  Armado  is  a  Spaniard,  that  keeps 
here  in  court ; 
A  phantasm,  aMonarcho,  and  one  that  makes  sport 
To  the  prince,  and  Ins  book-mates. 

Prin.  Thou,  fellow,  a  word  . 

Wlio  gave  thee  this  letter  ! 
Cott.  I  told  you  ;  my  lord. 

Prin.  To  whom  shouldst  tliou  ^ive  it! 
Cost.  From  my  lord  to  my  lady. 

Prin.  From  which  lord,  lo  wliich  lady  ! 
Cost.  From  my   lord   Biron,   a  good  master  of 
mine, 
To  a  lady  of  France,  that  he  call'd  Rosaline. 
Prin.  Thou   hast   mistaken   this  letter.     Come, 
lords,  away. 
Here,  sweet,  put  up  this;    'Iwill  be  thine  another 
day.  {Exit  Princess  and  Train. 

Boyet.  \\  ho  is  tlie  suitor  !  who  is  the  suitor! 
Has.  Shall  I  teach  you  to  know? 

Boyet.  Ay,  my  continent  of  beautj'. 
Ro's.  Why,  she  that  l-ears  the  bow. 

Finely  put  off! 
Boyet.  My  lady  goes  to  kill  horns;  but,  if  thou 
marry, 
Han^  me  by  tlie  neck,  if  horns  that  year  miscarry. 
Finely  i>ut  on  ! 
Ros.  Well  then,  I  am  tlie  shooter. 
Boyet.  And  wlio  is  your  deer? 

Ros.  If  we  choose  by  the   horns,  yourself :  come 
near. 
Finely  put  on,  indeed  ! 
Mar.  You  still  wrangle  with  her,  Boyet,  and  she 

strikes  at  the  brow. 
Bryet.  But  she  herself  is  hit  lower:  Have  1  hit 

her  now  ! 
Ros.  Shall  1  come  upon  thee  with  an  old  saying, 
that  was  a  man  when  king  Pepin  of  France  was  a 
little  hoy,  as  touching  the  hit  it ! 

Bouet.  So  I   may   answer  thee  with  one  as  old, 
that  was  a  woman  when  queen  Guinever  of  Britain 
was  a  little  wench,  as  touelnng  the  hit  it. 
Ros.  Tluai  canst  ntd  hit  it.  hit  it,  liit  it;  [Singing. 

Ttiou  canst  not  hit  it,  my  good  tnan* 
Boyet.  An  I  cannot,  cannot,  cannot, 
An  I  cannot,  another  can. 

[Exeunt  Uos.  and  Kath. 
Cost.  By  my  troth,  most  ple.asant!  how  both  did 

tit  it! 
I^far.  A  mark  marvellous  well  shot;  for  they  both 

did  hit  It. 
Boyet.  A  mark  !  O,  mark  but  that  mark;  A  mark, 
says  my  lady  ! 
Lei  the  mark  have  a  prick  in't,  to  mete  at,  if  it 
may  be. 
'Mar.  Wide  o'  the  bow  hand!  Tfaith,  your  hand 

is  (Hit. 

Cost.  Indeed,  a'must  shoot  nearer,  or  he'll  ne'er 

hit  the  cliHil. 
Boyet.  An  if  my  hand  be  out,  then,  belike  your 

hand  is  in. 
Cost.  TJien  will  she  get  the  upshot  by  cleaving 

the  pin. 
Mar.  Come,  come,  you  talk  greasily,  your  lips 

grow  foul. 
Cost.  She's  too  hard  for  you  at  pricks,  sir;  chal- 

lenjie  her  to  bowl. 
Boyet.  I  tear  too  much  rubbing;  Good  night,  my 

good  owl.       I  Exeunt  Botkt  and  Maria. 

Cost.  By  my  soul,  a  swain  !  a  most  simple  clown ! 

Lord,  lord!   how   the  ladies  and  I  have  put  him 

down ! 
0'  my  troth,  most  sweet  jest !  most  incony  vulgar 

wit! 

*  Just  now. 


142 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  IV. 


When  it  comes  so  smootiily  Oif,  so  obscenely,  as  it 

were,  so  lit. 
Armatho  o"  the  one  side, — 0,  a  nio^t  diiinty  man  ! 
To  see  liim  walk  belore  a  iady,  and  to  bear  her  ian  ! 
To  see  hiiii  iiiss  his  hand!   and  how  most  sweetly 

a"  will  swear  ! — 
And  his  page  o'   t'otlier  side,  tliat  handlul  of  wit! 
Ah,  heavens,  it  is  a  most  pathetical  nit ! 
Sola,  sola  !  \S,'ioutins:  within. 

[Exit  CosTAiiD,  running. 

SCENE  Ih— The  name. 
Enter  HoiorEnxEs,  Sic  Nathasiei,,  anlDvr.x.. 

Nttth.  Very  reverent  sport,  truly ;  and  done  in 
the  testimony  of  a  tiood  conscience. 

Hot.  The  deer  was,  as  you  know,  in  Sanctis, — 
blood;  ripe  as  a  pomewatcr,'  wlio  now  han^'Oth  like 
a  jewel  m  the  ear  of  calo,—the  sky,  the  welkin, 
the  heaven  ;  and  anon  falletli  like  a  crab,  on  the 
face  o{  terra, — the  soil,  the  land,  the  earth. 

Nath.  Truly,  master  Holofernes,  the  epithets  are 
sweetly  varied,  like  a  scholar  at  the  least;  liut,  sir, 
1  assure  ye.  it  was  a  buck  of  tlie  tirst  head.s 

Hot.  Sir  Nathaniel,  haud  credo. 

Didl.  ^Twas  not  a  huud  cre<ln.  'twas  a  pricket. 

Hot.  Most  barbarous  intimation !  yet  a  kind  of 
ins'iiualion  as  it  were,  in  via,  in  way,  of  explica- 
tion;  facer.  &^  it  were,  rephcatinn,  or,  ratlier  o.v/- 
entart.  to  show,  as  it  were,  his  inclination, — after 
his  undressed,  unpolislicd,  uneducated,  unpruned, 
untrained,  or  rather  unlelterd,  or,  ratherest,  un- 
confirmed fashion,— to  insert  again  my  haud  credo 
for  a  deer. 

Ditl.  I  said,  the  deer  was  not  a  haud.  credo;  'twas 
a  pricket. 

Hut.  Twice  sort  simplicity,  6w  cactus  ! — 0  thou 
monster  isnorance.  how  deformed  dost  tliou  look! 

N dh.  Sir,  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that 
are  bred  in  a  book ;  he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it 
were ;  he  hath  not  drunk  ink ;  Ids  intellect  is  not 
replenished'  he  is  only  an  animal,  only  sensible 
in  the  duller  parts; 
And  such   barren  plants  are  set  Ijefore  us,  thai  we 

thankful  should  he 
(Which  we  of  taste  and  feehni;  are)  for  those  parts 

that  do  fructily  in  us  more  than  he. 
For  as  it  would  ill  become  me  to  be  vain,  indiscreet, 

or  a  fool. 
So,  were  there  a  patch'  set  on  learning,  to  see  him 

in  a  school: 
But,  omne  ftCHe,  say  I ;  beins  of  an  old  father's  mind. 
Mum/ can  broolctlie  iceattier.t  fiul  tove  7wt  the  wind. 

Dull.  You  two  are  bookmen:  Can  you  tell  by 
your  wit, 
What  was  a  month  old  at  Cain's  birth,  that's  not 
five  weeks  old  as  yet? 

Hoi.  Dictynna,  good  man  Dull ;  Dictynna,  good 
man  Dull. 

Dull.  What  is  Dictynna'! 

Nath.  A  title  to  Phcehe,  to  Luna,  to  the  moon. 

Hoi.  The  moon  was  a  month  old,  when  Adam 
was  no  more ; 
And  raushts  not  to  five  weeks,  when  he  come  to 

fivescore. 
The  allusion  holds  in  the  excliange. 

Dull.  'Tis  true  indeed;  the  collusion  liolds  in 
the  exchange. 

Hil.  flod  comfort  thy  capacity  !  I  say,  tlie  allu- 
sion holds  in  the  exchan;;e. 

Dull.  And  1  say  the  pollution  holds  in  the  ex- 
clian:^e;  for  the  moon  is  never  but  a  month  old; 
and  1  say  beside,  that  'twas  a  pricket  that  the  prin- 
cess killd. 

Hd.  Sir  Nathaniel,  will  you  hear  an  extemporal 
epitaph  on  the  death  of  the  deer?  and,  to  humor 
thi'  ignorant,  I  have  call'd  tiie  deer  the  princess 
killira  pricket. 

N.ith.  Peri^c,  good  master  flolofernes,  perge ; 
so  it  shall  please  you  to  abroi;ate  scurrility. 

Hul.  I  will  something  affect  the  letter;  for  it 
argues  lacility. 

*  A  spcries  of  applp. 

eTorcndi-T  som«  of  the  allusions  in  this  scene  intel- 
ligible to  persons  who  arc  not  nr<iuainted  with  the  lan- 
cuag''  of  ]iarl< -keepers  and  foresti-rs,  it  may  he  necessary 
to  nn.'ntion,  that  a  fawn,  when  it  is  a  year  o'd,  is  called 
by  them  a  piicket;  when  it  is  two  years  old,  it  is  a  sorel ; 
when  it  is  three  years  old.  it  is  a  sore:  when  it  is  four 
years,  it  isabuek  of  the  fir-t  head;  at  five  years,  it  is  an 
old  luik.  '  A  low  fellow  « 'Ueaehed. 


Tlie  praisfful  princess  picrc\l  and  prick'd  a  pretty 
pttufiiiig  prictici ; 

Some  nuy  a  sure;  but  nut  a  sore,  till  now  made 
sui-e  with  shi.otii  g. 
The  dogs  dit  yell;  put  L  lo  sore,  llien  sorel  Jumps 
from  thicliet; 

Or  pricket.  .<,ore,  or  else  sorel;  the  people  fall  a 
'    hooting. 
If  sore,  he  sore,  then  L  to  sore  makes  f ft ii  sores; 

O  sore  L.' 
Of  one  sore  I  an   hundred  make,  by  adding  but 
one  /inire  L. 

Nath.  A  rare  talent ! 

Dull.  If  a  talent  be  a  claw,  look  how  he  daws 
him  with  a  talent. 

Hoi.  This  is  a  gift  that  I  have,  simple,  simple, 
a  foolish  extravagant  spirit,  full  of  forms,  figures, 
shapes,  objects,  ideas,  apprehensions^,  motions,  revo- 
lutions; these  are  begot  in  the  ventricle  of  memory, 
nourished  in  the  womb  of  pia  muter;  and  deliver  u 
upon  the  mellowing  of  occasion:  liut  the  gift  is 
gooa  in  those  in  whom  it  is  acute,  and  1  am  thank- 
ful for  it. 

Nath.  Sir,  1  praise  the  Lord  for  you  ;  and  so  may 
my  parishioners ;  for  their  sons  are  well  tutor'd  by 
you,  and  their  daughters  profit  very  greatly  under 
you  :  you  are  a  good  meinber  of  tlie  coinmonwerdth. 

Hoi.  Mehercle,  if  their  sons  be  ingenious,  they 
shall  want  no  instruction:  if  their  daughters  he  ca- 
pable, I  will  put  It  to  tliem  :  Dut,  tir  snjnt,  qui 
pauca  loquitur:  a  soul  feminine  saluteth  us. 

Enter  jAavEXKTTA  and  CosTAnr. 
Jnq.  God  give  you  good  morrow,  master  parson. 
Hut.  Master  person, — quaM  pers-on.  And  if  one 
should  be  pierced,  which  is  the  one? 

Cost.  Marry,  master  schoolmaster,  he  that  is 
likest  to  a  hogshead. 

Hoi.  Of  piercing  a  hogshead!  a  good  lustre  of 
conceit  in  a  turf  of  earth  :  fire  enough  for  a  Hint, 
pearl  enough  for  a  swine;  'tis  pretty;  it  is  well. 

Jaq.  Good  master  parson,  be  so  good  as  read  me 
this  letter:  it  was  given  me  by  Costard,  and  sent 
me  tVom  Don  Armatho;  1  beseech  you,  read  it. 
Hoi.  Fauste,  precor  gelidu  quando  pecus  omne 
sub  umbra, 
Ruminat.^and  so  forth.  Ah,  good  old  Mantuan  ; 
I  may  speak  of  thee  as  the  traveller  doth  of  Venice  ! 

Vhifgjci,  Vinegia, 

Ch  i  non  te  rede,  ei  non  fe  pregia. 
Old  Mantuan!  old  Mantuan!  Wlio  understandeth 
thee  not,  loves  thee  not.— C7,  re,  sol.  la.  mi,fa. — 
Under  pardon, sir, %vhat  are  the  contents?  or,rather, 
as  Horace   says  in  his— Wliat,  my  soul,  verses? 
Nath.  Ay,  sir,  and  very  learned. 
Hoi.  Let  me  hear  a  statT,  a  stanza,  a  verse ;  Lege, 
domine. 
Nath.  [Reads.]  7f  Mre  make  me  forsu:crm^ow 

shall  I  swear  to  love? 
Ah,  never  faith  could  hold,  if  not  to  heautt/  vowed .' 
Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  tliee  rtifaitliful 
prove; 
Those  thoughts  to  me  wer:  oaks,  to  thee  like 
osiers  boioed. 
Rtiiduhis  bias  leaves,  and  make  his  bookthineeyes; 
Where  all  those  pleasures  lice,  tlial  art  would 
comprehend: 
Ifknoicledge  be  the  mark,  to  know  thee  shall  suffice  ■ 
Well  teamed  is  that  tongue,  that  welt  can  thee 
commend: 
All  ignorant  that  soul,  that  sees  thee  without  won- 
der; 
( Which  is  to  me  some  praise,  thai  1  thy  parts 
admire;) 
Thy  eye  Jove's  lightning  bears,  thy  voice  his  dread- 
ful thunder, 
Wtiirh  not  tn  anger  bent,  is  music,  and  sweet  fire. 
Celestial,  as  thou  art,  oh  /lardon,  love,  thh  wrong. 
That  sings  heai-en's  praise  with. such  an  earth'u 
timgiie! 
Hoi.  You"  find  not  the  apostrophe,  and  so  miss 
the  accent;  let  me  supervise  the  canzonet.     Hero 
are  only  numbers  ratified;    hut  for  the  elejancy, 
facility,  and  ijolden  cadenceof  porsy.corf/.  (Ividius 
Naso  was  the  man ;  and  why,  indeed,  Naso ;  but 
f  ir  smeUinir  out  the  odoriferous  liovvcrs  of  fancy 
the  jerks  of  invention  ?  [milari.  is  nothing ;  so  dotli 
the  bound  his  master,  the  ape  his  keeper,  the  tired' 
horses  his  rider.    But  daniosella  virgin,  was  this 
directed  to  you  ?  •>  Attired,  caparisoned. 


Scene  III. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


143 


Jcq.  Ay.  s;r.  i>i>rn  one  monsieur  Biron,  one  of 
the  slianjie  queen  s  itH-ds. 

Hoi.  I  will  over^hinoc  tlie  superscript.  To  tht 
snow-while  hniiilif  Ike  must  lieuuteous  Lady 
Rosaline.  I  will  lool<  asain  on  the  intellect  of  the 
letter,  for  the  nomination  of  the  party  writing  to 
the  person  written  unto: 

Your  ladyship's  in  all  dciired  employment, 

{Jinoy. 
Sir  Nathaniel,  this  Biron  is  one  of  the  votaries  with 
the  king ;  and  here  he  hath  framed  a  letter  to  a 
sequent  of  the  stranger  queen's,  which,  accidentally, 
or  oy  the  way  of  progression,  hath  miscarried. — 
Trip  and  go,  my  sweet ;  deliver  this  paper  into  the 
royal  hand  of  the  king ;  it  may  concern  much  :  Slay 
no't  thy  complinienl :  1  forgive  tliy  duty  ;  adieu. 

Jiiq.  Good  Costard,  go  with  me. — yir,  God  save 
your  iile  ! 

Cost.  Have  with  thee,  my  girl. 

[Kxciint  Cost,  and  J»a. 

Nalh.  Sir,  you  have  done  this  in  the  fear  of  God, 
very  religiously,  and.  as  a  certain  father  saith 

Hoi.  Sir.  tell  not  me  of  Ihe  father,  I  do  fear  co- 
lorable colors.  Uul,  to  return  to  the  verses;  Did 
they  please  you,  sir  Kalliaiiiel'! 

Nalh.  Marvellous  well  for  the  pen. 

Hil.  I  do  dine  to-dav  at  the  lather's  of  a  certain 
pnpil  of  mine ;  where  if,  before  repast,  it  shall  please 
you  to  gratify  the  table  with  a  grace,  I  will,  on  my 
privilege  I  have  with  the  parents  of  the  foresaid 
child  or  pupil,  undertake  your  ben  venulo;  where 
I  will  prove  those  verses  to  be  very  unlearned, 
neither  savoring  of  poetry,  wit,  nor  invention;  I 
beseech  your  society. 

Ao/A.  And  thank  you  too:  for  society,  (saith 
the  text.)  IS  the  happiness  of  life. 

H(d.  And.  cerles,'  the  text  most  inflillibly  con- 
cludes it.— Sir,  [Tu  Dull.)  I  do  invile  you  too; 
you  shall  not  say  me,  nay  :  pauca  verba.  Away ; 
the  gentles  are  at  their  game,  and  we  will  to  our 
recreation.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \U.— Another  part  tif  the  Park. 
Enter  Bmox,  icilh  a  paper. 
Biron.  The  king  he  is  hunting  the  deer;  I  am 
coursing  myself:  they  have  pilcifil  a  toil;  I  am 
toiling  In  a  pitch;  pitch  the  defiles;  defile  I  afoul 
word.  Well,  set  thee  down,  sorrow !  for  so,  they 
say,  the  fool  said,  and  so  say  1,  and  I  the  fool. — 
Well  proved,  wit!  By  the  lord,  this  love  is  as  mad 
as  Ajax:  it  kills  sheep;  it  kills  me,  I  a  sheep:  Well 
proved  again  on  my  side  !  I  will  not  love:  if  I  do, 
nang  me;  i'faith.  1  will  not.  0,  but  her  eye,— b> 
this  light,  but  for  her  eye.  1  would  not  love  her; 
yes,  for  her  two  eyes.  Well,  I  do  nothing  in  Ihe 
world  but  lie,  and  lie  in  my  throat.  By  heaven,  I 
do  love:  and  it  hath  taught  me  to  rhyme,  and  to  be 
melancholy ;  and  here  is  part  of  my  rhyme,  and 
here  my  melancholy.  Well,  she  liath  one  o'  my  son- 
nets already  ;  the  clown  bore  it,  the  fool  sent  it,  and 
the  lady  hath  it:  sweet  clown,  sweeter  fool,  sweetest 
lady  !  By  the  world,  I  would  not  care  a  pin  if  the 
other  three  were  in  :  Here  comes  one  with  a  paper; 
God  give  him  grace  to  groan  ! 

{Gels  up  into  a  tree. 
Enter  the  King,  with  a  paj^er. 

King.  Ah  me! 

Biron.  I  Aside.]  Shot,  by  heaven! — Proceed,  sweet 
Cupid;  thou  hast  thump  d  him  with  thy  bird-bolt 
under  the  left  pap: — Ifaith  secrets. — 

King.  [Reads.]  So  swcel  a  lass  Ihe  golden  snn 
gives  not 

To  Ihusc  fresh  morninf^  drops  xipnn  Ihe  rose 
As  thy  eye-beams,  when  Ikeir  fresh  rays  have  smote 

The  night  of  dew  thai  on  my  cliecks  down  flows: 
Nor  shines  Ihe   silver  moon  one  half  so  bright 

TItrough  ihe  transparent  bosom  if  Ihe  died. 
As  doth  thy  fore  thrimgh  tears  if  mine  give  light ; 

Thou  shin'st  in  irerii  tear  that  1  do  weep: 
No  drop,  but  as  a  couch  dalh  caiTy  iliee. 

So  riilcsf  Ihou  lririii;jihing  in  my  woe,' 
Do  but  iHhold  Ihe  tears  that  stoell  in  me. 

And  theii  thy  glory  through  my  grief  will  show. 
Bui  do  not  love  thyself;  then  thou  wilt  keep 
My  tears  for  gkisses.  and  still  make  me  weep. 
0  Queen  tf  queens,  hiucfur  dost  thou  excel/ 
No  thought  eon  think,  nio- tongue  if  mortal  tell. 
I  In  truth. 


How, shall  she  know  my  griefs  !  I'll  drop  the  paper 
Sweet  leaves,  shaite  loilj.  Who  is  he  comes  here! 

[Steps  aaide. 
Enter  Longaville,  with  a  paper. 
What  Longaville!  and  reading!  listen,  ear. 

Biron,  Now,  in  thy  l.keness,  one  more  fool,  ap- 
pear! [Aside. 
Ltmg.  Ah  me!  I  am  forsworn. 
Biron.  Why,  he  comes  m  like  a  perjure,  wear- 
ing papers.                                           [Aside, 
King.  In    love,   I   hope:    sweet    fellowship    in 
shame!                                                     |,4s!V/e. 
Biron.  One  drunkard  loves  another  of  the  name. 

[.iside. 
Long.  ,\m  I  the  first  that  have  lieen  perjured  so? 
Biron.  [Asitli.]  I  could  put  thee  in  comfort;  not 
by  two,  that  1  know : 
Thou  mak'st  the  triumviry,  tlie  corner-cap  of  so- 
ciety. 
The  shaj^e  of  love's  Tjburn  that  hangs  up  siniplicit3\ 
Long.  I  fear,  these  stubborn  lines  lack  power  to 
move: 
O  sweet  Maria,  empress  of  my  love  ! 
These  numbers  will  I  tear,  and  WTite  in  prose. 
Biron.  [Aside.]  V,  rhymes  are  guards  on  wanton 
Cupid  s  hose: 
Disfigure  nut  his  slop. 
Long.  This  same  shall  go. — 

[He  reud.s  the  sonnet. 
Did  nid  th  ■  heavenly  rhetoric  if  thine  eye 

('Gainst  whom  Ihe  world  cannot  hold'argumcnt) 
Persuade  my  liearl  lo  this  false  pefury? 

Vows,  fin'  thee   brake,  deserve  nat  punishment. 
A  woman  I  forswore,-  out,  I  will  prove, 

Thou  beiiif;  u  goddess,  Jfor-rtcure  not  thee: 
My  ro?iJ  was  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love; 

Thy  grace  beiufi  gain'd.  cures  all  iti.'-graee  in  me 
Vows  are  but  breath,  ami  breath  a  vapor  is: 
Then  thou,  fair  tun,  which  on  my  earth  doth 
shine, 
ExhuTsI  this  vapf)r  vow;  in  thee  it  is: 

If  broke  h,  then,  it  is  no  fault  of  mine: 
If  by  me  broken.  u:hat  fi.ol  is  not  so  wise, 
To  lose  an  oath  to  U'in  a  paradise? 
Biron.  \A.side.]  'I'his  is  the  liver  vein,    which 
makes  llesh  a  deity  ; 
A  green  goose  a  goddess  :  pure,  pure  idolatry. 
God  amend  us,  God  amend!  we  are  much  onto' 
the  way. 
Enter  Dtmain,  tenth  apaper. 
Long.  By  whom  shall  I  send  this? — Company! 
stay.  [Stepping  aside. 

Biron.  [Aside.]  All  hid,  all  hid,  an  old  infant 
play  : 
Like  a  demi-god  here  sit  I  in  the  sky. 
And  wretched  fools'  secrets  heedfully  o'er-eye. 
IVIore  sacks  to  the   mill !  O   heavens,  I   have   my 

wish ; 
Dumain  transform'd:  four  woodcocks  in  a  dish ! 
Bum.  O  most  divine  Kale  ! 
Biron.  O  most  profane  coxcomb ! 

[Aside. 

Dum.  By  heaven,  the  wonder  of  a  mortal  eye ! 

Biron.  By  earth,  she  is  but  corporal;  there  you 

lie.  [Aside. 

Dum.    Her  amber  hairs   for  foul   have  amber 

coted.a 
Biron.  An  amber-colord  raven  was  well  noted. 

[Aside. 
Dum.  As  uprisht  as  the  cedar. 
Biron.  Stoop,  I  say ; 

Her  shoulder  is  with  child.  [Aside. 

Dum.  As  fair  as  day. 

Biron.  Ay,  as  some  days;  but  then  no  sun  must 
shine.  [Aside. 

Dum.  I)  that  1  had  my  wish  ! 
Long.  And  I  had  mine  ! 

|..l.«!V/e 

King.  .\nd  I  mine  too.  good  lord  !  \.i&ide. 

Birou.  Amen,  so  I  had  mine:  Is  not  that  a  good 

word !  [Asiiie. 

Dum.  1  would  forget  her;  hut  a  fever  she 

Reigns  in  my  blood,  and  will  remember'd  be. 

Biron.  A  fever  in  your  blood,  why  then  incision 
Would  let  her  out  in  saucers;  Swc'et  misprision 

[Aside. 
Dum.  Once-more  I'll  read  the  ode  that  1  have 
writ. 

a  Outstripped,  surpas.scd. 


144 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  IV. 


Biruti.  Once  more  I'll  mark  how  love  can   vary 
wit.  [Jiirif. 

Dum    On  a  day,  Itilack  thr  dai/f) 

Iju'C.  inhd-bC  nicntk  Isei'tr  Maijy 

Spied  ft  bltisx-'itt,  p<i.-<siiii£  fair, 

Fiayinf^  in  tlie  ivaniim  air: 

Thruui^h  the  veh'tt  leaves  the  wind, 

Alt  unseen,  ^gan  pa^sa^eftnd; 

Titat  ttie  tavet;  .'.ir/f  to  deatti, 

IVisti'd  hiitisetf  ttie  liearcii'ti  breath. 

Air,  quotti  tie,  ttiij  elwetis  may  btow 

Air,  ivuutd.  1  utitslit  triitnipk  so.' 

But,  ataeti,  my  tiand.  is  sworn. 

Ne'er  to  ptack  ttuefrom  ttty  ttiom  .- 

Voiu,  utucli,for  youtti  unmeet; 

Youth  so  apt  to  jduck  a  sweet. 

Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me. 

That  1  am  forsivorn  for  thee; 

Thou  fm-  whom  even  Jove  xvouid  swear 

Juno  but  an  Elltiop  were; 

And  deny  hintsttfj'or  Juv'\ 

'learning  mortal  for  thu  love. — 

This  will  I. send;  and  something  else  more  plain, 
That  shall  express  my  true  love's  fasting  pain. 

0  would  the  King,  Ihron,  and  Longaville, 
Were  lovers  too!  Ill  to  example  ill. 

Would  froni  my  forehead  wipe  a  periur'd  note  ; 
p'or  none  offend,  where  all  alike  do  dote. 

Long.  Dumam,    [Advancing.]   thy   love  is    far 
from  charity, 
That  in  love's  grief  desir'st  society  : 
You  may  look  pale,  but  I  should  blush,  I  know, 
To  be  o'crheard,  and  taken  napping  so. 

King.  Come,  sir,   [Advancing.]   you  blush;   as 
his  your  case  is  such  ; 
You  chide  at  him,  olfending  twice  as  much: 
You  do  not  love  Maria;  Longaville 
Did  never  sonnet  for  her  sake  compile; 
Nor  never  lay  his  wreathed  arms  athwart 
Hiiloving  bosom,  to  keep  down  his  hearf! 

1  have  been  closely  shrouded  in  this  bush. 

And  mark'd  you  both,  and  for  you  both  did  blush. 
I  heard  your  guilty  rhymes,  observ'd  your  fashion ; 
Saw  sighs  reek  from  you,  noted  well  your  passion  : 
Ah  me  !  says  one  ;  O  Jove  !  the  other  cries; 
One,  her  hairs  were  gold,  crystal  the  other's  eyes  : 
Y'ou  would  for  paradise  break  faith  and  troth ; 

[To  hoy  a. 
And  Jove,  for  your  love,  would  iiifrinse  an  oath. 

[To  DUMAIS. 

What  will  Biron  say,  when  that  he  shall  hear 
A  faitli  infring'd  which  such  a  zeal  did  swear  ! 
How  wdl  he  scorn  1   how  will  he  spend  his  wit ! 
How  will  he  triumph,  leap,  and  laugh  at  it! 
For  all  the  wealth  that  ever  I  did  see, 
1  would  not  have  him  know  so  much  by  me. 

Biron.  Now  step  I  forth  to  whip  hypocrisy.— 
Ah,  good  my  liege,  I  pray  thee  pardon  me  : 

[Descends  from  the  tree. 
Good  heart,  what  grace  hast  thou,  thus  to  reprove 
These  worms  for  loving,  that  art  most  in  love  ! 
Your  ejcs  do  make  no  coaches ;  in  your  tears 
There  is  no  certain  princess  that  appears: 
You'll  not  be  pcrjur'd,  'tis  a  hateful  thing; 
Tush,  none  but  mmstrels  like  of  sonnetting. 
But  are  you  not  asham'd  ?  nay,  are  you  not. 
All  three  of  you,  to  be  thus  much  o'ershot ! 
You  found  his  mote  ;  the  king  your  mote  did  sec  ; 
But  I  a  beam  do  find  in  e.ach  of  three. 
O  what  a  scene  of  foolery  1  have  seen, 
Of  siahs.  of  groans',  of  sorrow,  and  of  teen  !j 

0  me,  with  what  strict  patience  have  I  sat, 
To  sec  a  king  transformed  to  a  gnat! 

To  see  great  Hercules  whipping  a  gigg 
And  profound  Solomon  to  tune  a  jigg, 
And  Nestor  play  at  push-pin  with  the  boys, 
And  critic'  Timon  laugh  at  idle  toys! 
Where  lies  thy  grief  0  tell  me.  irood  Pumam  ! 
And,  Kontlc  Longaville,  where  lies  thy  pain  ! 
And  where  my  liege's  1  all  about  the  breast:— 
A  candle,  ho! 

Kitig.  Too  bitter  is  thy  jest. 

Are  wc  bctray'd  thus  to  thy  over-\iew1 

Biron.  Not  you  by   nie.  but  I  bctray'd  to  you; 
I,  that  am  honest;  I,' that  hold  it  sin 
To  break  the  vow  1  am  engaged  in ! 

1  am  bctray'd.  by  keeping  company 

With  inooii-Iike  men  of  strange  inconstancy. 


'Griff 


*  Cynic. 


When  shall  >ou  see  me  write  a  thing   in  rhyme? 
Orfiroan  for  Joan!  or  spend  a  iiniute's  time 
In  pruning"  nie  !     When  shall  you  hear  that  I 
Will  praise  a  hand,  a  foot,  a  face,  an  eye, 
A  gait,  a  state,  a  brow,  a  breast,  a  waist, 
A  leg,  a  limb  ?— 

King.  Soft ;  Whither  away  so  fast ! 

A  true  man.  or  a  thief,  that  gallops  so! 

Biron.  'I  post  from  love ;  good  lover,  let  me  go. 

Enter  jAaUKSKTTA  and  CosTinn. 
Jaq.  God  bless  the  king  ! 

King.  What  present  hast  thou  there! 

Lost.  Some  certain  treason. 
King.  W  hat  makes  treason  here  1 

Cost.  Nay,  it  makes  nothing,  sir. 
King.  If  it  mar  nothing  neither, 

The  treason,  and  you.  go  in  peace  away  together. 
Jaq.  I  beseech  your  grace,  let  this  letter  be  read. 
Our  parson  misdoubts  it; 'twas  treason,  he  said. 
King.  Biron,  read  it  over. 

[Giving  him  the  letter. 
Where  hadst  thou  it'! 
Jaij.  Of  Costard. 
Kiu!^,  Where  hadst  thou  it! 
Cint.   Of  Dun  Adramartio.  Dun  Adramadio. 
King.  How   now!   what  is  in   you!   why   dost 

thou  tear  it! 
Biron.  .4.  toy,  my  liege,  a  toy  ;  your  grace  needs 

not  fear  it. 
Long.  It  did  move  him  to  passion,  and  therefore 

let's  hear  it. 
Dum.  It  is  Biron's  writing,  and  here  is  his  name. 
[Pictis  vp  the  pieces. 
Biron.  Ah,  you  whoreson  logiierhead,[  To  Cos- 
TAnii.l  you  were  born  to  do  me   shame. — 
Cuilty,  my  lord,  guilty;  I  confess,  I  confess. 
King.  What! 

Biron.  rhat  you  three  fools  lack'd  me  fool  to 
make  up  the  mess: 
He,  he,  and  you,  my  liege,  and  I, 
.\re  pick-purses  in  love,  and  we  deserve  to  die. 
O,  dismiss  this  audience,  and  I  shall  tell  you  more. 
Dum.  Now  the  number  is  even. 
Biron.  True,  true ;  we  are  four : — 

Will  these  turtles  be  gone ! 
King.  Hence,  sirs  ;  away. 

Cost.  Walk  aside  the  true  folk,  and  let  the  trai- 
tors stay.  [Exewit  Cost,  and  jAa. 
Biron.  Sweet  lords,  sweet  lovers,  O  let  us  em- 
brace! 
As  true  we  are,  as  flesh  and  blood  can  be  : 
The  sea  will  ebb  and  How,  heaven  show  his  face; 

Young  blood  will  not  obey  an  old  decree  : 
We  cannot  cross  the  cause  why  wc  were  born  ; 
Therefore,  of  all  hands  must  we  be  forsworn. 
King.  What,  did  these  rent  lines  show  some  love 

of  thine! 
Biron.  Did  they,  quoth   you!    Who   sees    the 
heavenly  Rosaline, 
That,  like  a  rude  and  savage  man  of  Inde, 

At  the  first  opening  of  the  srorgeous  east. 
Bows  not  his  vassal  head;  and.  strucken  blind. 

Kisses  the  base  ground  with  obedient  breast ! 
What  peremptory  eagle-sighted  eye 

Dares  look  upon  the  heaven  of  her  brow, 
That  is  not  blinded  by  her  majesty  ! 
■    King.  What  zeal,  what  fury  hath  inspired  thee 

now! 
My  love,  her  mistress,  is  a  gracious  moon : 

She,  an  attending  star,  scarce  seen  a  light. 
Biron.  My  eyes  are  then  no  eyes,  nor  I  Biron  : 
O,  but  for  my  love,  day  would  turn  to  night! 
Of  all  complexions  the  cull'd  sovereignty 

Do  meet,  as  at  a  fair,  in  her  fair  cheek; 
Where  several  worthies  make  one  dignity  ; 

Where  nothing  wants,  that  want  itself  doth  seek. 
Lend  me  the  llourish  ol  all  gnitle  tongues— 

Fye,  painted  rhetoric!   O,  she  needs  it  not; 
To  thiiigs  of  sale  a  seller's  praise  belongs; 

She  passes  praise ;  then  jiraisc  loo  short  doth  blot 
A  withcr'd  hermit,  five-score  winters  worn. 

Might  shake  ofTlifly,  looking  in  her  eye: 
Beauty  doth  varnish  age,  as  if  new-born. 

And  gives  the  crutch  the  cradle's  infancy. 
0,  'tis  the  sun,  that  niakcth  all  things  shine! 
King.  By  heaven,  thy  love  is  black  as  ebony. 
Biron.  Is  ebony  like  her!  O  wood  divine ! 
A  wife  of  such  wood  were  felicity. 
*  In  trimming  myself. 


Scene  III. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


lio 


0,  who  can  give  an  oath  !  where  is  a  booli  1 

That  i  may  swear,  beauty  UoiU  beauty  lack, 
If  that  slie  learn  not  uf  her  eye  to  look: 

^»o  lace  IS  lair,  tiiat  i:^  not  full  so  black. 
Kir.^.  u  paradox  !  black  is  tlie  bad^e  of  hell. 
The  hue  ui  dun^icons,  and  tlie  scowl  of  iiiglit; 
And  beauty's  ciest  becomes  the  heavens  well. 
Biron.  Uevils  sounest  teu.pt,  resembling  spirits 
oi  light. 
O,  if  in  biacri.  my  hidy's  brows  be  dcckt, 

It  mourns,  that  painting,  and  usurping  hair, 
Should  ravish  Oo.ers  with  a  iVtlse  aspect; 

And  tiierejore  is  she  born  to  make  black  fair. 
Her  ia\or  luiiitj  llie  fashion  of  the  days; 

For  native  blood  is  counted  painting  now; 
And  therefore  red,  that  would,  avoid  dispraise,      ^ 
I'aints  itself  black,  to  imitate  her  brow. 
Diinu  Uo  look  like  her,  are  chimney-sweepers 

black. 
Long,  And,  since  her  time,  are  colliers  counted 

bright. 
Kin^.  And  Ethiops  of  their  sweet  complexion 

crack. 
Dum.  Dark  needs  no  candles  now,  for  dark  is 

Ught. 
Biron.  Vour  mistresses  dare  never  come  in  rain. 
Vox  fear  their  cidors  should  be  wasifd  away. 
King.  ' Twere  good,  yours  did :  for,  sir,  to  tell 
you  plain, 
111  hnd  a  laircr  face  notwash'd  to-day. 
Biron.  I'll  prove   her  lair,  or  talk  till  duoms-day 

lie  re. 
King.  No  devil  wili  fright  Ihee  then  so  much  as 

siie. 
Bum.  1  never  knew  man  hold  vile  stuU'  so  dear. 
Long.  Look,  here's  thy   love:  my  foot  and  her 
face  see.  [Slwwing  his  shoe. 

Biron.  u,  if  the  streets  were  paved  witli  thine 
eyes, 
Her  lieet  were  mucli  too  dainty  for  such  tread ! 
Vuni.  O  vile !  then  as  she  goes,  what  upward 
lies 
The  street  should  see  as  she  walkM  over  head. 
King,  iiut  wliat  oi  this  ?   Are  we  not  all  ni  love  ] 
Biron.  Nothing  so  sure;andtherebyalIibrswom. 
King.  Tlien  leave  this  chat;  and,  good  Biron, 
now  prove 
Our  loving  lawful,  and  our  faith  not  lorn. 
Hum.  Ay,  marry,  there, — some  flatteiy  for  tiiis 

evil. 
Long.  0,  some  authority  how  to  proceed; 
Some  tricks,  some  quihets,*  how  to  cheat  the  devil. 
Duni.  Some  salve  lor  perjury. 
Biron.  t),  'tis  more  than  need  ! — 

Have  at  you  tlien,  allcction's  men  at  arms: 
Consider,  what  you  lirst  did  swear  unto; — 
To  fast. — to  study, — and  to  see  no  woman; — 
Flat  treason  'gainst  the  knigly  state  of  youth. 
Say,  can  you  fast .'   your  stomachs  are  loo   young 
And  abstinence  engenders  maladies. 
And  where  that  jou  have  vow  d  to  study,  lords, 
III  that  each  of  you  bath  forsworn  his  book  : 
Can  you  still  dream,  and  pore,  and  thereon  look.'? 
For  w hen  would  jou,  iny  lord,  or  you,  or  you, 
Have  found  the  ground  of  study's  excellence, 
Without  the  beauty  of  a  wuman-s  lace  ! 
From  women.'s  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive: 
Tliey  are  the  ground,  the  books,  the  academes. 
From  whence  tlolh  spring  the  true  Promelliean  fire. 
Why,  universal  plodding  prisons  up 
The  nimble  spirits  m  the  arteries ; 
As  motion,  and  long-during  action,  tires 
'i'he  sinewy  vigor  oVthe  traveller, 
is'ow,  for  not  looking  on  a  woman's  face, 
You  have  in  that  forsworn  the  use  of  eyes; 
And  study  too,  the  causer  of  your  vow  : 
For  where  is  any  author  in  the  world, 

10  I 


Teaclies  sucli  beau'y  as  a  woman's  eye? 

Learning  is  bui  an  aujinici  lo  y<.>urfceh, 

And  v\iiere  we  aic.  our  learning  nkcwise  is. 

Then,  when  ourselves  we  see  m  ladies  eyei*, 

Do  we  nut  likewise  see  our  learning  Iheie  ! 

(J,  we  have  in.iue  a  vuw  to  studj',  lords; 

And  111  li.at  vuw  we  i.ave  forsworn  our  books; 

For  when  would  >  (»u,  my  hege,  or  you,  or  you, 

In  icaden  coiitcmpJation,  iiave  louiid  out 

Such  fiery  numbers,  as  the  prompting  eyes 

Of  beauteous  tutors  liave  enricii'a  you  with  1 

Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain ; 

And  therefore  hnuing  barren  practisers. 

Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil: 

But  love,  tirst  learned  in  a  iady's  eyes, 

Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain; 

But,  with  the  motion  of  all  elements, 

Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  every  power; 

And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power, 

Above  their  functions  and  their  olKcers. 

It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye ; 

A  lovers  e}es  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind, 

A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound, 

When  the  susj)icious  head  of  theft  is  stopped; 

Loves  teeling  is  more  sort,  and  sensible, 

Than  are  the  lender  horns  of  cockled  snails; 

Love's  tongue  proves  damty  Bacchus  gross  in  taste : 

For  valor,  is  not  love  a  Hercules, 

Stdl  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides? 

Subtle  as  Splimx;  as  sweet,  and  musical, 

As  bright  Apolio  s  lute,  strung  with  his  iiair  ; 

And,  when   Love  speaJis,  the  voice  oH  all  tlie  gods 

Makes  heaven  drowsy  witli  the  harmony. 

Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write, 

Until  his  ink  were  temper'd  with  Love's  sigh ; 

0,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears, 

And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 

From  women's  eyes  tins  doctrine  I  derive: 

'I  hey  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire; 

They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 

That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world;  . 

Klse  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent: 

Then  fools  you  were  lliese  women  to  forswear ; 

Or,  keeping  what  is  sworn,  you  will  prove  fools. 

For  wisdoms  sake,  a  word  that  all  men  lo\e; 

Or  for  love's  sake,  a  word  that  loves  ail  men ; 

()r  for  men's  sake,  the  authors  of  these  women; 

(>r  women's  sake,  by  whom  we  men  are  men: 

Let  us  once  lose  our  oaths,  to  find  ourselves, 

Or  else  we  lose  ourselves  to  keep  our  oaths: 

It  is  religion  to  be  thus  forsworn: 

For  charity  itself  fulfils  the  law; 

And  who  can  sever  love  tfom  charity? 

King.  Saint  Cupid,  then!  and,  soldiers,  to  the 
field ! 

Biron.  Advance  your  standards,  and  upon  them, 
lords ; 
Pell-mell,  down  with  them  !  but  be  first  advis'd, 
In  conilicl  that  you  get  the  sun  of  them. 

Long.  Now  to  plain-dealing ;  lay  these  glozes  by ; 
Shall  we  resolve  to  woo  these  girJs  of  France? 

King.  And  win  them  loo:  therefore  let  us  devise 
Some  entertainment  tor  them  in  their  tents. 

Biron.  First,  from  the  park  let  us  conduct  them 
thilher; 
Then,  homeward,  every  man  attach  the  hand 
Of  his  fair  mistress :  in  llie  atlernoon 
We  will  with  some  strange  pastime  solace  them. 
Such  as  the  shortness  of  the  time  can  shape ; 
For  revels,  dances,  masks,  and  merry  hours, 
Fore-run  fair  Love,  strewing  her  way  with  llowers. 

King.  Away,  away!   no  time  shall  be  oimtted, 
That  will  be  time,  and  may  by  us  be  fitted. 

Biron.    Allons.'    AUona.' — Sow'd    cockle    reap'd 
no  corn ; 
And  justice  always  whirls  in  equal  measure  : 
Light  wenches  may  prove  plagues  ^o  men  forsworn ; 
If  so,  our  copper  buys  no  better  treasure. 

'Kj:eu?it, 


140 


LOVE'S  LABOR'P  LOST 


Act  V. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  l.-A  Street. 
Enter  HotoFERXES,  Sir  Nathaniel,  and  Ddll. 

Hoi.  Satis  quod  sujficit. 

J^attt.  1  praise  GoU  lor  you,  sir,  your  reasons^ 
Bt  dinner  have  been  sharp  and  sententious;  plea- 
sant without  scurrility,  witty  witliout  altcction,' 
audacious  without  iinpudency,  learned  without 
opinion,  and  strange  without  heresy.  1  did  con- 
verse this  quonilani,  day  with  a  companion  of  the 
king's,  who  is  intituled,  nominated,  or  called,  Don 
Adriano  de  Arnuulo. 

Hoi.  Novi  IwTUiaem  tanqumn  tc-  His  humor  is 
lofty,  his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tongue  filed,  his 
eye  ambitious,  his  gate  niajestical,  and  his  general 
behavior  vain,  ridiculous,  and  thrasonical.*  He  is 
too  picked,'  too  spruce,  too  aliected,  too  odd,  as  it 
were,  too  peregrinate,  as  I  may  call  it. 

Natti.  A  most  singular  and  choice  epithet. 

[Tutits  uul  tits  taljte-booli. 

Hot.  He  draweth  out  the  thread  of  his  verbosity 
finer  than  the  staple  of  iiis  argument.  1  abhor  such 
fanatical  phantasms,  such  insociable  and  point-de- 
visC  companions;  such  rackers  of  orthography,  as 
to  speak,  dout,  fine,  when  he  should  say,  doubt: 
det.  when  he  should  pronounce,  debt;  d,  e,  b,  t; 
not,  d,  e,  t:  he  clepeth  a  calf,  cauf;  half,  hauf; 
neighbor,  voc/itur,  nebour,  neigh  abbreviated,  ne  : 
This  is  ablioininable,  (which  he  would  call  abomin- 
able,) it  insinuateth  me  of  insaine;  Ne  intelligis 
dentine?  to  make  frantic,  lunatic, 
r^atli.  i/«.s  deo,  bone  intet/igo. 
Uul.  Biiiie?—bone,  for  bene:  Priscian  a  little 
Ecratcii'd;  'twill  serve. 

Enter  Aumado,  Moth,  and  Costaiid. 

Nath.  Videsne  quis  venit? 

Hoi.  Video,  et  gaudeo. 

Arui.  Chirra!  [To  Moth. 

Hoi.  y«nrc  Chirra,  not  sirrah? 

A.rm.  Men  of  peace,  well  encounter'd. 

Hot.  Most  military  sir,  salutation. 

Mollt.  1  hey  have  been  at  a  great  feast  of  lan- 
guages, and  stolen  the  scraps.  [To  Costa ud  aside. 

Cost.  O,  they  have  lived  long  in  the  alms-basket 
of  words !  1  marvel,  thy  master  hath  not  eaten  tliee 
for  a  word  ;  for  Ihou  art  not  so  long  by  the  head  as 
honorijieabilitudinitutiijas:  thou  art  easier  swal- 
lowed than  a  Ilaji-dragon.J 

Alutti.  peace ;  the  peal  begins. 

Arm.  Monsieur,  [Tu  Hol.J  are  you  not  letter'd? 

Motli.  Yes,  yes;  he  teaches  boys  tlic  horn-book : 
—What  is  a,  b,  spelt  backward  with  a  horn  on  Ins 
head  ! 

Hoi.  Ba  pueritia,  with  a  horn  added. 

Motli.  lia,  most  silly  sheep,  with  a  horn:— You 
hear  his  learning. 

llol.  Quis,  7ii(>,  thou  consonanf! 

Mutli.  The  third  of  the  five  vowels,  if  you  repeal 
them;  or  the  litlh,  if  I. 

Ut)L  1  will  repeat  them,  a,  e,  i. — 

Motli.  1  ho  sheep ;  the  other  two  concludes  it ; 
o,  u. 

Ann,  Now,  by  the  salt  wave  of  the  Mediterra- 
neum,  a  sweet  touch,  a  quick  venew  of  wit:  snip, 
.'nap,  quick  and  home;  it  rejoicelh  my  intellect: 
true  wit. 

M')th,  (lller'dby  a  child  to  an  old  man;  which 
is  wit-old. 

IhiL.  What  is  the  figure?   what   is   the   figure? 

Mollt.  Horns. 

llol.  Thou  disputest  hke  an  infant:  go,  whip 
thy  gtg. 

Mntk.  Lend  me  your  horn  to  make  one,  and  1 
will  whip  about  your  mtaniy  drcuni  circa;  A  gig 
of  a  cuckold's  horn  ! 

Cost.  An  I  had  but  one  penny  in  the  world,  thou 
shouldst  have  it  to  buy  gingerbread  :  hold,  there  is 
tlievcry  remuneration  1  had  of  thy  master,  tliouhalf- 

1  Discourses.  «  AITi;ctntii)ii.  9  Boastful. 

'  Uvernlressra.  2  Fiuicul  cxactaess. 

'  .1  small  inllamm,iljli!6abstatici',  swallowca  in  a  glass 


penny  purse  of  wit,  thou  pigeon-egg  of  discretion 
U,  an  tlie  heavens  were  so  pleased,  that  thou  wert 
but  my  bastard!  what  a  joyful  father  would  st  thou 
make  me!  Goto;  thou  hast  it  mi  duniiliiJ,  ill  Ihe 
fingers'  ends,  as  they  say. 

H(d,  l»,  1  smell  raise  Latin ;  dungl  ill  for  mi- 
gtteni. 

Arm.  Arts-man,  prseuntbultt;  we  will  be  singled 
from  the  barbarous.    Ijo  you  not  educate  youth  at 
tlfc  charge-house*  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  ! 
Hot,  Or,  nioiis,  the  hill. 

Arm,  At  your  sweet  pleasure,  for  the  mountain. 
Hul.  1  do,  sans  question. 

Arm.  ^\r,  it  is  tl,e  king's  most  sweet  pleasure 
and  aUection,  to  congratulate  the  princess  at  her 
pavilion,  in  Ihe  posteriors  of  this  day  ;  which  the 
rude  multitude  call  the  aUernoou. 

Hot,  1  he  posterior  of  the  day,  most  generous 
sir,  is  liable,  congruent,  and  measurable  for  the 
afieriioon:  the  word  is  well  cuU'd,  chose;  sweet 
and  apt,  1  do  assure  you,  sir,  1  do  assure. 

Ann,  Sir,  the  king  is  a  noble  gentleman ;  and  my 
familiar,  1  do  assure  you,  very  good  friend; — For 
\\hat  is  inward  between  us,  let  it  pass.— I  do  be- 
seech thee,  remember  thy  courtesy; — I  beseech 
thee,  apparel  thy  head; — and  among  other  im- 
portunate and  most  serious  designs, —  and  of  great 
import  indeed,  too;— but  let  that  pass:— for  I 
must  tell  thee,  it  wiU  please  his  giace  (by  the  world) 
sometime  to  lean  upon  my  poor  shoulder;  and  with 
his  royal  linger,  thus,  dally  with  my  excrement,  • 
with  iny  mustachio;  but  sweet  heart,  let  that  pass. 
By  the  world,  1  recount  no  fable;  some  certain 
special  honors  it  pleaseth  his  greatness  to  impart 
to  Armado,  a  soldier,  a  man  of  travel,  that  hath 
seer,  the  worUl :  but  let  that  pass.— 1  he  very  all  of 
all  is, — but  sweet  heart,  I  do  implore  secrecy, — 
that  the  king  would  have  me  present  the  princess, 
sweet  chuck,  with  some  delightful  osteirtation,  or 
show,  or  pageant,  or  antic,  or  fire-  work.  N  ow,  un- 
derstanding that  the  curate  and  your  sweet  self, 
are  good  at  such  eruptions,  and  sudden  breaking 
out  of  mirth,  as  it  were,  I  have  acquainted  y.  u 
wiilul,  to  the  end  to  crave  your  assistance. 

Hoi,  .'■ir,  you  shall  i)re»eiit  before  her  the  nine 
worthies. — Sir  Nathaniel,  as  concerning  some  en- 
tertainment of  time,  some  show^  in  the  posterior  of 
this  day.  to  be  rendered  by  our  assistance, — the 
king's  command,  and  this  most  gallant,  illustrate, 
and  learned  gentleman,— before  the  princess;  1  say, 
none  so  fit  as  to  present  the  nine  worthies. 

Nath.  Where  imU  you  find  men  worthy  enough 
to  present  them? 

Hoi.  Joshua,  yourself;  myself,  or  this  gallant 
gentleman,  Judas  MaccabaEUs;  this  swain,  because 
of  his  great  limb  or  joint,  shall  pass  Pompey  the 
great;  the  page,  Hurcules. 

Ami.  Pardon,  sir,  error :  he  is  not  quantity  enough 
for  that  worthy's  thumb :  he  is  not  so  big  as  the 
end  ufhis  club. 

Hoi.  Shall  I  have  audience?  he  shall  present 
Hurcules  in  minority:  Ins  enter  and  txi/  siiall  be 
sIraiigliiiL:  a  snake;  and  1  will  have  an  apology  lor 
that  iiur]tose. 

Moth.  An  excellent  device!   so,  if  any  of  the 
audience  hiss,  jou  may  cry,  Well  done,  Hurcules! 
now  thou  crustiest  Ihe  snake.'  that  is  the  way  to 
make  an  olfence  gracious;  though  few  have  the 
grace  to  do  it. 
Arm.  Kor  the  rest  of  the  worthies? 
JIol.  1  will  play  three  myself. 
Molh.   rhrice-worthy  gentleman! 
Arm.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  thing? 
JIol.  We  attend. 

Arm.  We  will  have,  if  this  fadges  not,  an  antic. 
I  beseech  you,  follow. 

llol.  ri«,' goodman  Dull!  thou  hast  spoken  no 
word  all  this  while. 
Hull,  Nor  understood  none  neither,  sir. 
Hoi.  Allons.'  we  will  employ  thee. 
Bull.  Ill  make  one  in  a  dance,  oi  so;  or  I  will 


*  Free-school 
6  Suit. 


5  Beard. 

'  Courage. 


Scene  II. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


147 


play  on  the  tabor  to  the  worthies,  and  let  them 
dance  the  hay. 
Hot.  Most  liull,  honest  Dull  to  our  sport,  away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  li.—BLfvrc  (he  Princess's  Pavilion. 

Enter  the  PnixcKss,  K-vthahine,  Rosalixe.  and 
Maui  A. 

Pniu  Sweethearts,  we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  depart, 
If  fairings  come  thus  plentifully  in  : 
A  1  idy  waU'd  about  with  dnnonds  ! — 
Look  "you,  what  I  have  from  the  loving  kins;. 

Has.  Madam,  come  nothing  else  along  with  thati 

Fri/i.  .Nothing   but  thist   yes,  as  much  love  in 
rhyme. 
As  would  be  cramm'd  up  in  a  sheet  of  paper, 
Writ  on  both  sides  the  leaf,  niargent  and  all ; 
That  lie  was  fain  to  seal  on  Cupid  s  name. 

Ros.  Tliat  was  the  way  to  make  his  god-head 
wax  ;8 
For  he  hath  been  five  thousand  years  a  boj". 

Kafh.  Ay.  and  a  shrewd  unhappy   gaJiows  too. 

iioi.  You'll   ne'er  be  friends  witb  him;  he  kill'd 
your  sister. 

Kaih.  He  made  her  melancholy,  sad,  and,  heavy; 
And  so  she  died  :  had  she  been  light,  like  you, 
Of  such  a  merry,  nimble,  stirring  spirit, 
She  might  have  been  a  grandam  ere  she  died  : 
And  so  may  you:  for  a  light  lu-art  lives  long. 

Ros.  What's  your  dark  meaning,  mouse,=  of  this 
light  word] 

Kaih,  A  light  condition  in  a  be;iuty  dark. 

Ros.  We  need  more  light  to  tind  your  meaning  out. 

Kath.  You  II  mar  the  light,  by  taking  it  insnulT;* 
Therefore,  111  darkly  end  llic  argument. 

Ros,  Look  what  you  do,  you  do  it  still  i*  the 
dark. 

Kath.  So  do  not  you ;  for  you  are  a  light  wench. 

Ros.  Indeed,  I  weigh  not  you  ;  and  therefore  light, 

Kath.  You  weigh  me  not — O,  that's  you   care 
not  for  me. 

Rns.  Great  reason  ;  for,  past  cure  is  still  past  care. 

Prin.  Well  bandied  both  ;  a  stt  of  wit  well  play'd. 
But,  Rosaline,  you  have  a  favor  too; 
Who  sent  it  i  and  what  is  it  i 

Ros.  ^    I  would,  you  knew: 

An  if  my  face  were  but  as  fair  as  yours, 
My  favor  were  as  great;  be  witness  this. 
Nay,  I  have  verses  too,  I  thank  Uiron: 
The  numbers  true  ;  and,  were  the  numb" ring  too, 
I  were  the  fairest  goddess  on  the  grouud: 
I  am  compared  to  twenty  thousand  lairs. 
O,  he  halh  drawn  my  picture  m  his  letter! 

Prin.  Any  thmg  like!, 

Ros.  Much,  in  the  letters:  nothing,  in  the  praise. 

Prin.  Beauteous  as  ink;  a  good  conclusion. 

Kath.  Fair  as  a  text  li  in  a  copy  book. 

Ros,  'Ware  pencils!   How.'  let  me  not  die  your 
debtor. 
My  red  dominical,  my  eolden  letter: 
Ojthat  your  f  ice  were  iiot  so  fult  of  O's  ! 

Ko'h.  A  pox  of  that  jest!  and  beshrew  allshrows! 

1  rin.  Hut  what  was  sent  to  you  trom  fair  Dumain.' 

Kcfh.  Madam,  this  glove, 


Prin. 


Did  he  not  send  you  twr 


.  Kath.  Yes,  madam;  and  moreover. 
Some  thousand  verses  of  a  faitht'ul  lover: 
A  huge  translation  of  hypocrisy, 
Vilely  compild'  profound  simplicity. 

Mar.  This,  and  these  pearls,  to  me  sent  Lon- 
gaville ; 
The  letter  is  too  long  by  half  a  mile. 

Prin.  I  think  no  less;  Dost  thou  not  wish  in  heart. 
The  chain  were  longer,  and  the  letter  short  ! 

Mar.  Ay.  or  1  would  these  hands  might  never 
part. 

Prin.  We  are  wis?  girls  to  mock  our  lovers  so. 

Ros.  They  are  worse  fools  to  purchase  mocking  so. 
That  same  Hirou  I'll  torture  ere  I  go. 
O,  that  1  knew  he  were  but  in  by  ilie  week  ! 
How  I  would  make  iiim  fawn,  and  beg,  and  seek  ; 
And  wait  the  season,  and  observe  the  times ; 
And  spend  his  prodigal  wits  in  bootless  rhymes;' 
And  shape  his  seivice  wholly  to  my  behests; 
And  make  him  proud  to  make  me  proud  that  jests! 
So  portent-like  would  1  o'ersway  his  state, 
That  he  should  be  my  fool,  and  I  his  fate. 

B  Grow.  s  Formi-rly  a  term  of  endearment. 

»  In  angur. 


Prin.  None  are  so  surely  caught,  when  they  are 
catch'd, 
As  wit  turn'd  Ibol :  folly,  in  wisdom  hatch'd, 
Hath  wisdom's    warrant,  and  the  help  of  school ; 
And  Wit's  own  grace  to  grace  a  learned  fool. 

Ros.  Tlie  hlootl  of  youth  burns    not  with  such 
ex '.-ess. 
As  gravity's  revolt  to  wantonness. 

Mar.  l-olly  m  fools  bears  not  so  strong  a  note, 
As  Idoiery  ni  the  wise,  when  wit  doth  dote  ; 
tiince  all  the  power  thereof  it  doth  apply, 
To  prove,  by  wit,  worth  m  simphcity. 

Enter  Botkt. 

PHn.  Here  comes  Hoyet,  and  mirth  is  in  his  face. 

Boyet.  U,  1  am  slabb  d  with  laughter  !   W  here's 
lier  grace  ! 

Prin.   Thy  news,  Boyet  ? 

Boyet.  Prepare,  madam,  prepare  ! — 

Arm,  wenches,  arm  !  encounters  inuunieU  are 
Against  your  peace  :  Love  dotli  approacli  disguis'd, 
Armed  in  ar-uments:  you  11  be  surprisd: 
Muster  jour  wits;  stand  iji  your  own  defence  ; 
Or  hiile  J  our  heads  like  cowjrds,  and  liy  lience. 

Prin.  ^alllt  Denis  to  saint  Cupid  !  VV  hat  are  they, 
TJtat  charge  their  breath  aganist  us?  say,  scout,  sa>. 

Boyet.  tndcr  the  cool  hiiacie  of  a  sycamore, 
I  thought  to  close  mine  e^es  some  half  an  hour: 
W  hen,  !o  !  to  interrupt  my  purpos d  rest. 
Toward  iJiat  shatlc  1  might  behold  addiejit 
The  king  and  his  companions:  wanly 
1  stole  into  a  nuii;hbor  tlncket  by, 
And  overheard  what  yuu  shall  overhear; 
That,  by  and  by,  dis^uis'd  they  wiU  be  here. 
Tlieir  herald  is  a  pretty  knavisli  page, 
That  weil  by  liearl  hain  conn'd  his  embassajre : 
Action,  ana  accent,  did  ihey  leach  him  there; 
Tints  must  tliou  speak ^  ana  thus  thy  body  bear: 
And  ever  and  anon  Ihey  made  a  doubt. 
Presence  majestical  would  put  him  out ; 
for,  quolh  iiic  knv^,  an  an  ^f  ishait  thou  see  £ 
Yet  fear  not  thou,  out  spet.fi  audaciousty. 
The  boy  reply'd.  An  an'^et  w  not  evil  ; 
I  sliuutit  tiavefeafd  licr^  had  she  beai  a  devil. 
With  that  all  luugli'd,  and  clapp'd    him    on  the 

shouider; 
Making  the  bold  wag  by  their  praises  bolder. 
One  rubb'd  his  elbow,  thus  ;  and  tleer'd,  and  swore, 
A  better  S])eech  was  never  spoke  before: 
Another  with  his  linger  and  his  thumb, 
Crj  'd,  Via/  uc  wilt  dn't,  come  what  will  come  : 
The  third  he  caper  d,  and  cried,  All  goes  welt  : 
The  idurlh  turn'd  on  the  toe,  and  down  he  lell 
Willi  that  they  all  did  tumble  on  ihe  ground, 
With  sucha zealous laughter,so  prolound, 
That  in  lb*'  spleen  ridiculous  appears, 
To  check  their  folly,  passion  s  solemn  tears. 

Prin.  hut  what,  but  what,  come  tliey  to  visit  us  ? 

Boyet,     Ihey   do,  tliey  do,    and  are  appareld 
thus,— 
Like  Muscovites,  or  Russians:  as  I  guess. 
Their  purpose  is,  lo  paile,  to  court,  and  dance  : 
And  every  one  his  love-leat  will  advance 
I.  nto  his  several  mistress  ;  which  they  "11  know 
By  favors  several,  which  lliey  did  bestow. 

Pri/i.  And  wilt  they  so  !  itie  gallants  shall  be 
laskd  : — 
For,  ladies,  we  will  every  one  be  mask'd ; 
And  not  a  man  of  them  shall  have  the  grace. 
Despite  of  suit,  to  see  a  lady  s  liice. — 
Hold,  Rosaline,  this  lavor  tnou  shalt  wear  ! 
And  then  the  king  will  court  thee  for  his  dear  ; 
Hold,  take  thou  this,  my  sweet,  and  give  me  thine ; 
So  shall  Birun  take  me  for  Rosaline. — 
And  change  your  favors  loo;  so  shall  your  loves 
Woo  conlrar>',  deceiv  d,  by  these  removes. 

Ros.  Come  on  then;  wear  the  favors  most  in  sight. 

Kaih.  But,  ni  ihis changing,  whatisyour  intent .' 

Prin,  The  ellect  of  my  intent  is  to  cross  theirs: 
They  do  it  but  in  mocking  merrimenl: 
And  mock  for  mock  is  only  my  intent. 
Their  several  counsels  lliey  unbosom  shall 
To  loves  mistook  ;  and  so  be  mock'd  withal, 
I'pon  the  next  occasion  that  we  meet, 
\V  ith  visages  display 'd,  to  talk,  and  greet. 

Ros.  But  sliall  we  dance,  if  tliey  desire  us  to't  ? 

Prin.  No :  to  the  death,  we  wdl  not  move  a  foot, 
Nor  to  their  penn'd  speech  render  we  no  grace  ; 
But,  while    lis  spoke,  each  turn  away  her  fate. 


148 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  V. 


Boyet.  Why,  tliat  cmilcmiit  wiJl  kill  the  speaker's 

he;ill, 

And  quite,  divorce  liis  memory  from  his  jiart. 

Prill.  Therelorc  1  do  it;  mid  I  make  no  doubt 
The  rest  wdl  ne'er  come  in,  ii  he  he  out. 
There's  no  such  sport,  as  sport  by  sport  overthrown  ; 
To  make  theirs  ours,  and  ours  none  but  our  own  : 
So  shall  we  stay,  mocking  intended  game ; 
And  they,  well  mock'd  depart  ;.way  with  shame. 
L  Trumpets  suunii  irithiii. 

Buyet.  The  trumpet    sounds ;    he    niask'd,  the 

maskers  come.  {The  Ladies  inask. 

Enter  tlie  Kixo,  Bnios.  LoNr.AviLi.E,  and  Du- 

.■MAiN,   in   Russian  habits,  and  luaslied  ;  Moth, 

Musicians,  and  Attendants. 

Moth.  Alt  hail,  the  richest  beauties  on  the  earth.' 

Buyet.  Beauties  no  riclier  than  rich  tatl'eta. 

iloth.  A  holy  parcel  vfthefarist  dames, 

[The  Ladies  turn  their  backs  to  him. 
That  ever  turn'd  their— buclis  —  tii  mortal  views.' 

Biron.  Their  eyes,  villain,  their  eyes. 

Moth.    T/iat  ever  turn'd  their  eyes    to  mortal 
views!  Out  — 

Bnyet.  True  ;  out,  indeed. 

Moth.    Out    of  your   favors,  heavenly  spirils, 
vouchsafe, 
Nut  to  behold— 

Biron.  Once  to  behold,  rogue. 

Moth.  Once  to  behold  with  your sun-beamedeyes, 
with  your  sun-beamed  eyes — 

Boyet.  They  will  not  answer  to  thatepithet; 
■Vou  were  best  call  it,  daughter-beamed  eyes. 

Moth.  They  do  not  mark  me,  and  that  brings  me 
out. 

Biron.  1  s  this  your  perfectness'!  begone,  you  rogue. 

Bos.  What  would  these  strangers  I  know  tlieir 
minds,  Boyet : 
I '  they  do  speak  our  language,  'tis  our  will 
That  some  plain  man  recount  their  purposes  : 
Know  what  they  would. 

Buyet.  What  would  you  with  the  princess  ? 

Biron.  Nothing  Init  peace  and  gentle  visitation. 

Jtos.  What  would  they,  say  they  '! 

Boyet.  Nothing  but  peace,  and  gentle  visitation. 

Bos.  Why,  that  they  have;  and  hiil  thein  so  begone. 

Boyet.  Shesays,  youhaveit,  ami  vou  may  begone. 

King.  Say  to  her,  we  have  mcas'nr'd  many  miles 
To  tread  a  measure  with  her  on  this  grass. 

Boyet.  They  say  that  they  have  measur'd  many 
a  mile, 
To  tread  a  measure  with  you  on  this  grass. 

Ros.   It   is  not  so:  ask  them  how    many  inches 
Is  in  one  mile;  if  they  have  measur'd  many, 
The  measure  then  of  one  is  easily  told. 

Boyet.  If  to  come  hither  you  have  measur'd  miles, 
And  many  miles;  the  princess  bids  you  tell, 
How  many  inches  do  hll  up  one  mile. 

Biron.  Tell  her,  we  measure  them  by  weary  steps. 

Boyet.  She  hears  herself 

Bos.  .  How  many  weary  steps. 

Of  many  weary  miles  you  have  oergoiie, 
Are  numberd  in  the  travel  of  one  mile  ! 

Biron.  \Ve  number  nothing  that  we  spend  for 
you  ; 
Our  duty  is  so  rich,  so  infinite. 
That  we  may  do  it  still  without  accompt. 
■Vouchsafe  to  show  the  sunshine  of  your  face, 
That  we,  like  savages,  may  worship  it. 

Jius.  My  face  is  but  a  moon,  and  clouded  too. 

A'ing.  Blessed  are  clouds,  to  do  as  such  clouds  do! 
\  otichsal'e,  bright  moon,  and  these  thy  stars,  to  shine 
(  Those  clouds  remov'd)  upon  our  wat'ry  cyne, 

Ros.  O  vain  petitioner  !  beg  a  greater  matter; 
Thou  now  request  st  but  moonshine  m  the  water. 

King.  Then,  in  our    measure    do  but  vochsafe 
one  change; 
Thou  bid'st  me  beg  ;  this  begging  is  not  strange. 

Ros.  Play,  music,  then;  nay,  you    must   do   it 

soon.  [Musicplays. 

Not  yet ;— no  dance  : — thus  change  I  like  the  moon. 

King.  Will  you  not  dance  !  How  come  you  thus 
estrang  d  I 

Ros.  "Vou  took  the  moon  at  full ;  but  now  she's 
cliangd. 

King.  Yet  still  she  is  the  moon,  and  I  the  man. 
The  music  plays  ;  voiichsare  some  motion  to  it. 
Ros.  C>ur  ears  vouchsafe  it. 


King. 


But  your  legs  should  do  it. 


Ros.  Since  5  ou  are  strangers  and  come  here  by 
chance. 
Well  not  I  e  nice :  take  hands:— we  will  not  dance. 

King.  Why  take  we  hands  then  ! 

Bus.  Only  to  part  friends: — 

Court'sy,  sweet  hearts  ;  and  so  the  measure  ends. 

King.  More  measure  of  this  measure,  be  not  nice. 

Ros.  We  can  allurd  no  mure  at  such  a  );rice. 

King.  Prize  you  yourselves;  V\  hat    buys  your 
company  J 

Ros.  Your  absence  only. 

King.  That  can  never  be. 

Ros.  Then  cannot  we  be  bought ;  and  so  adieu  ; 
Twic ;  to  your  visor,  and  half  once  to  you  ! 

King.  If  you  deny  to  dance,  let's  hold  more  chaL 

Ros.  In  private  then. 

King.  1  am  best  pleas'd  with  that 

I  Tttey  converse  apart. 

Birun.  'While-handed  mistress,  one  sweet  word 
with  thee. 

Prin.  Honey,  and  milk,  and  sugar;  there  is  three. 

Biron.  Nay  then,  two  treys,  ;aii  il  you  grow  so 
nice.) 
Melheglin,  woil,  and  malmsey  ;— Well  run,  dice. 
Theie  s  half  a  dozen  sweets. 

Prin.  Seventh  sweet,  adieu! 

Since  you  can  cog,'  111  play  no  more  with  you. 

Biron.  (jne  word  in  secret. 

Prin.  Let  it  not  be  sweet. 

Birun.  Thou  griev'st  my  gall. 

Prin.  Gall  1  bitter. 

Birun.  Therefore  meet. 

„..„  ,       ,  [Tliey  converse  apart. 

Bum-  Will  you  vouchsafe  with  me  to  change  a 
word  .' 

Mar.  IS'ame  it. 

P)uni.  Fair  lady,— 

„.  ^i'""-  Say  you  so  ?  Fair  lord,— 

1  ake  that  tor  your  fair  lady. 

Uum.  Please  it  you, 

As  much  in  private,  and  I'll  bid  adievi. 

„  ,,    „.,  [They  converse  apart. 

Kath.  \\  hat,  was  your  visor  made  without  a 

tongue  ! 
Long.  1  know  the  reason,  lady,  why  you  ask. 
Kuth.  O,  for  your  reason!  quickly,  sir;  I  Ion". 
Long.  You  have  a  double   tongue  within  your 

mask, 
And  would  allbrd  my  speechless  visor  half. 
Kuth.  Veal,  quoth  tlie  Dutchman ;— Is  not  veal 

a  calf! 
Lung.  A  calf,  fair  lady  1 

Kulh.  No,  a  fair  lord  calf. 

Lung.  Let's  part  the  word. 

■n-'^'"*,',       .,  ■      '^°'  ^'"  ""'  '"'  your  half. 

1  ake  all,  and  wean  it ;  it  may  prove  an  ox. 
Lung.  Look,  how  you   butt  yourself  in    these 
sliar])  mocks  I 
Will  you  give  horns,  chaste  lady  ?  do  not  so. 
Kath.  Then  die  a  calf,  before  your  horns  do  grow. 
Lung.  One  word  111  private  with  you,  ere  1  die. 
Kuth.  Bleat  softly  then,  the  bu  cher  hears  you 
„      ^ "i-  I  They  converse  apart. 

Boyet.   i  he  tongues  of  mocking  wenches  are  as 
keen 
As  is  the  razor's  edge  invisible. 
Cutting  a  smaller  hair  than  may  be  seen  ; 

Above  the  sense  of  sense;  so  sensible 
Seemeth  their  conference ;  their  conceits  have  wino-s. 
Fleeter  than  arrows,  bullets,  wind,  thought,  swifter 
things. 
Ros.  Not  one  word  more,  my  maids;  break  oiT, 

break  oil; 
Biron.  By  heaven,  all  dry-beaten  with  pure  scoff! 
King.  Farewell,  mad  wenches  ;  you  have  simple 
wits.  [Ejcunt  Kind,  Lords,  Mum, 

Music,  and  Attendants. 
Prin.  Twenty  adieus,  my  frozen  Muscovites. — 
Are  these  breed  of  wits  so  wonder'd  at  ! 
Boyet.  Tapers  they  are,  with  your  sweet  breaths 

putf  d  out. 
Ros.  Well-liking  wits  they  have  :  gross,  gross  ; 

fat,  fat. 
Prin.  O  poverty  in  wit,  kingly-iioor  flout ! 
W  ill  they  not,  think  you,  hang  themselves  to-night? 

(ir  ever,  but  in  visors,  show  their  faces  ? 
This  pert  Birun  was  out  of  countenance  quite. 
Rus.  U  !  they  were  all  in  lamentable  cases  ! 
•Falsify  dice,  lie. 


Scene  II. 


LOVE'S  LABOR-S  LOST. 


\4S 


The  king  was  weepiti^-ripe  for  a  ^ood  word. 

Prin.  liirOu  did  swear  iimiself  out  of  all  suit. 

Mar,  Duniaiii  was  at  my  service,  and  his  sword ; 
No  «yi«/,' quoth  I ;  my  servant  straight  was  iiLUte. 

Aalfu  Lord  LongaviUe  said,  1  came  o'er  his  heart; 
And  trow  you,  what  lie  call'd  me  ] 

Prin.  Qualm,  perhaps. 

Kaih,  Yes,  in  good  faith. 

Prin.  tio,  sickness  as  thou  art  ! 

Rob.  Well,  better  wits  have  worn  plani  statute- 
caps.* 
B  it  will  you  hear  I  the  kin^  is  my  love  sworn. 

Prin.  Andquick  liiroii  hath  plighted  laitli  tome. 

Kath.  And    Longaville  was  lor  my  service  born. 

Mar.  Dumain  is  mine,  as  sure  as  bark  on  tree. 

Boyet.  Madam,  and  pretty  mistresses,  give  ear  : 
Immediately  they  will  again  be  here 
111  their  own  shapes  ;  for  it  can  never  be. 
They  will  digest  this  harsh  indignity. 

Prin.  Will  they  return  i 

Boyet,  ihey  wnl,  they  will,  God  knows; 

And'leapfor  joy,  tliough  they  are  lame  with  blows: 
Therefore,  change  Javors  ,*  and  wlicn  they  repair, 
Blow  like  sweet  roses  in  this  summer  air. 

Prin.  How  blow  \  how  blow  J  speak  to  be  un- 
derstood. 

Boyet.  !■  air  ladies,  mask'd»  are  roses  in  their  bud  : 
Dismask'd,  Ihesr  damask  sweet  commixture  shown, 
Are  angels  vailing  clouds,  or  rutscs  blown. 

Pri/u  Avaunt,  periilexity  !     What  sJiall  we  do, 
If  they  return  iii  their  own  shapes  to  woo? 

Ros.  Good  madam,  iJ  by  me  you'll  be  advis'd. 
Lets  mock  them  still,  as  well  known,  as  disguis'd  ; 
Let  us  complain  to  them  wnat  tools  were  here, 
Disguis'd  like  Muscovites,  in  shapeless  gear; 
And  wonder  what  tliey  were  ;  and  to  wliat  end 
Their  shallow  shows,  and  juulogue  vilely  penn'd, 
And  their  rough  cirriage  so  ridiculous, 
Should  be  presented  at  our  tt-nt  to  us. 

BOi^d.  Ladies,  withdraw  ;  tile  gallants  are  at  hand. 

Prhu  Whip  to  our  lents,  as  roes  run  over  land. 

\Exerint  Princess,  Ros.,  Kath.,  and  Mauia. 
Enter  Ike  King,  Biuon,  Loxgavili.e,  a?iii  Lu- 

MAiN,  in  ideir  proper  habits. 
King.    Fair  sir,  God  save  you !    Where    is  tlie 
princess  1 

Boyet.  Gone  to  her  tent:  Pleaseit  yourmajesty, 
Command  me  any  service  to  her  tintlier  ! 

King.  That  she  vouchsafe  me  audience  for  one 
word. 

Boyet,  I  will ;  and  so  will  she,  I  know,  my  lord. 

[Exit. 

Biron.  This  fellow  picks  up  wit,  as  pigonspeas; 
And  utters  it  again  when  (Jod  doth  please  : 
He  is  wits  pedlar  ;  and  retails  his  wares 
At  wakes  and  wassels,»  meetings,  markets,  fairs  ; 
And  we  lliut  t^ell  by  gross,  the  Lord  doth  know, 
Have  not  the  grace  to  grace  it  with  such  show. 
This  gallant  pins  the  wenches  on  his  sleeve; 
Had  he  been  Adam,  he  had  tempted  Kve  : 
He  can  carve  too,  and  lisp  :     W  hy.  this  is  he, 
That  kiss  d  away  his  hand  in  courtesy  ; 
This  is  the  ape  uf  form,  monsieur  the  nice, 
That,  when  he  plays  at  tables,  chides  the  dice 
In  honorable  terms;  nay,  he  can  sing 
A  mean'  most  meanly  ;  and,  in  ushering. 
Mend  him  who  can  :  the  ladies  call  him,  sweet; 
The  stairs,  as  he  treads  on  them,  kiss  his  feet : 
This  is  tlie  liower  that  smiles  on  every  one, 
To  show  his  teeth  as  white  as  wlialcs'  bone  :^ 
And  consciences,  that  will  nut  die  in  debt, 
Pay  him  the  due  of  iioney-tongued  lioyet. 

Kihg.  A  blister  on  his  sweet  tongue,  with  my 
heart, 
That  put  Armado's  page  out  of  his  part ! 
Enter  tfie  Phinckss,  usfiered  by  Boyet    Rosa- 

LiNe,  Mahia,  Kathauine,  and.  Attendants. 

Biroi2.  See  where   it  comes  I — Behavior,  what 
wert  thou, 
Till  this  man  showVl  thee  T  and  what  art  thou  now  ? 

King.  All  hail,  sweet  madam,  and  fair  time  of  day ! 

Prin.  Fair,  in  all  hail,  is  foul,  as  I  conceive. 

King.  Construe  inj'  speeches  better,  if  you  may. 

Prin.  Then  wish  me  belter,  I  will  give  you  leave. 

*  A  quibble  ou  the  French  adverb  of  negation. 

*  Better  wits  may  be  found  among  citizens. 

s  Features,  countenances.     *  Itustic  merry  meetings. 
1  The  tenor  in  music,    b  Xhe  tooth  of  the  horse-whale. 


King.  We  came  lo  visit  }ou;  and  purpose  now 
'1  o  lead  }0U  lu  uur  court:  voueiibjle  it  then. 
Prin.  This  field  siiaU  hold  me  :  andso'hokl  your 

vow  :   ■ 
Nor  God,  nor  I,  delight  in  pcrjurd  men. 
King  Rebuke  me  not  fur  ihut  which  you  provoke; 
The  virtue  of  your  eye  must   break   my   oath. 
Prin.  Vou  nick-iiamc  virtue:  vice  you  should 
have  spoke  ; 
For  virtue's  office  never  breaks  men's  trotJ). 
Now  by  my  maiden  honor,  >et  as  p-ure 

As  the  unsullied  lily,  1  protest, 
A  world  uf  torments  though  i  sijuuld  endure, 

I  would  not  yield  to  be  your  houses  guest: 
So  much  I  hate  a  Urea  king-cause  to  be 
(H  heavenly  oaths,  vowu  with  integrity. 
King.  O,  you  have  liv'd  in  desolation  here, 
Lnseen,  unvis.tud,  much  to  onr  shame. 
Prin.  jNotso,  my  lord;  it  is  not  so,  1  swear  ; 
\\  e  have  had  pastmiesheie,  and  pleajiant  game 
A.  mess  of  Russians  lefi  us  but  of  late. 
King.  How,  madam  !  Russians  .' 
Prui.  Ay,  in  truth,  my  lord 

Trim  gallants,  full  of  courtship,  and  ul  slate. 

Jvt'.>.  Madam,  speak  true: — It  is  not  so,  my  lord* 
i\ly  lady,  \lo  the  manner  oi   the  da>  s,"*) 
In  courtesy,  gives  undeserving  praise. 
We  lour,  indeed,  confronted  here  with  four 
In  liussian  habit :  here  they  siaj'ii  an  hour. 
And  talk  d  apace  ;  and  m  that  liuur,  my  lord, 
They  did  not  bless  us  with  one  happy  w^ra. 
I  dare  not  call  them  tools  ;  but  tins  l  ihuik. 
When  they  are  thirsty,  fools  would  lam  have  drink. 
Biron.  1  his  jest  is  ary  tome — J:  air,  gentle,  sweet, 
Your  wit  makes  wise  thmgsfoohsh  ;  when  we  greet 
Wilii  eyes  best  seeing  heaven's  tiery  eye, 
By  liglit  we  lose  light :    Your  capacity 
Is  of  tliat  natuie,  that  to  your  huge  store 
\V  ise  things  seem  Idolish,  and  ricli  things  but  poor 
Hon.  This  proves  yuu  wise  and  rich:  for  in  my 

eye,— 
Biron.  1  am  a  fool,  and  full  of  poverty. 
Ro&.  But  that  )ou  lake  what  uulli  to  you  belong, 
It  were  a  faiUl  to  snatch  words  iruin  my  longue. 
Birun.  t),  1  am  yours,  and  all  that  1  poastss. 
iio.s.  Ail  the  tool  mine  .' 

Biron,  1  cannot  give  you  less. 

Ro^.  Which  of  the  visors  was  it  that  you  wore  ,' 
Biron.  V\  here  !   when  .'  what  visor  i   why  de- 
mand jou  this  { 
Ros.  Tlieie,  then,  that  visor;  that  superfluous  case, 
That  hid  the  worse,  and  show  d  the  better  lace. 
King.   We  aie  Uebcned  :  they'll  mock  us  now 

downrigJit. 
Duni.  Let  us  confess,  and  turn  it  to  a  jest. 
Prin.  Aniazd,  my  lord  i    \\  i>y  looks  ^our  higUr 

nets  sau  '. 
Ru^.  Help,  hold  his  brows  !  he'll  swoon!  Why 
look  3  ou  paie  .' 
Sea-sick,  1  think,  coming  from  Moscovy. 
Biron.  Tlius    pour    ine  s>[ars  down  plagues  lor 
perjury. 
Can  any  lace  of  brass  hold  longer  out  f — 
Here  stand  I,  lady  ;  dart  thy  skill  at  me  ; 

Bruise  nic  with  scorn,  confound  me  with  a 
llout ; 
Thrust  thy  sharp  wit  quite  through  my  ignorance; 

Cut  me  to  jieices  with  ttiy  keen  conceit ; 
And  I  will  wl^h  thee  never  more  to  dance. 
Nor  never  inure  m  ivusbian  habit  wait. 

0  !  ne\er  will  1  trust  to  speeches  pennd. 

Nor  t(t  the  motion  of  a  school-bo^'s  tongue  ; 
Nornever  come  in  visur  to  my  frienti ; 

Nor  woo  in  rhyme,  like  a  blind  harper's  song* 

Tatleta  phrases,  sdken  terms  precise, 
Three-pd'd  hyperboles,  sjtruce  adectation. 
Figures  pedantical  ;  these  summer-tlies 

Have  blown  me  full  of  maggot  ostentation  : 

1  do  lorswear  them  :  and  1  here  protest. 

By  this  white  glove,  (how  white  the  hand, 
tiod  knows  !j 
Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  yeas,  and  Jionest  kersey  noes  : 
And,  to  begin,  wench, — so  God  help  me,  la  ! — 
My  love  to  thee  is  sound,  sans  cracK  or  llaw. 
Ro.\.  it'u^ASAAs,  i  pray  you. 
Biron.  Yet  I  have  a  trick 

Of  the  old  rage  :— bear  with  me,  I  am  sick ; 

»  After  the  fapLxon  of  the  times. 


150 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  V. 


I'll  leave  it  by  degrees.  Soft,  let  us  see  ; — 
Write,  Lord  have  m.rcy  on  uSj  on  those  three  ; 
They  are  inlected,  in  their  hearts  it  lies  ; 
They  have  theplague,andcou{j:ht  itof  youreye.s: 
Tllese  lords  are  visited  ;  you  are  not  Iree, 
For  the  Lord's  tokens  on  you  do  I  see. 

I^rin.  No,  Ihey  are  free,  that'^ave  these  tokens  to  us. 

Biroii.  Our  states  are  forfeit,  seek  not  to  undo  us. 

Ro'i,  It  is  not  so  :  For  how  can  this  be  true. 
That  you  stand  forfeit,  beinf^  those  that  sue. 

Biro/i.  Peace  ;  tor  1  will  not  have  to  do  with  you. 

Ros.  Nor  shall  not,  if  1  do  as  1  intend. 

Blron.  Speak  for  yourselves,  my  wit  is  at  an  end. 

King.    Teach  us,  sweet  madam,  for  our  rude 
transgression 
Some  fair  excuse. 

Pria.  The  fairest  is  confession. 

Were  you  not  here,  but  even  now,  disguisd  ? 

Kin^.  Mad^m,  I  was. 

Prin.  And  were  you  all  advis'd.' 

Kins.  I  was,  fair  madam. 

prin.  When  you  then  were  here, 

What  did  you  whisper  in  your  lady's  ear  T 

Kin^.  Tnat  more  than  all  the  world  1  did  respect 
her. 

Prin.  When  she  shall  challenge  this,  you  will 
reject  her. 

King.  Upon  mine  honor,  no. 

Prill.  peace,  peace,  forbear; 

Your  oath  once  broke,  you  force  '  not  to  forswear. 

King.  Despiseme  when  loreak  this  oath  of  mine. 

Priii.  I  will  ;  and  therefore  keep  it : — Kosahne, 
What  did  the  Russian  whisper  in  your  ear  '. 

Ros.  Madam,  he  swore  tliat  he  did  hold  me  dear 
As  precious  eye-sight ;  and  did  value  me 
Above  this  world  :  addhig  thereto,  moreover, 
That  he  would  wed  me  or  else  die  my  lover. 

prin.  God  give  thee  joy  of  him  !  tlie  noble  lord 
Must  honorably  doth  uphold  liis  word. 

King.  Wliat  mean  you,  madam  I  by  myHfe,my 
troth, 
I  never  swore  this  lady  such  an  oath. 

Uoi:.  By  heaven,  you  did  ;  and  tu  confirm  it  plain. 
You  gave  mc  this  :  but  take  it,  sir,  again. 

King.  My  fa:th,  and  this  the  priiicrss,  1  did  give ; 
I  knew  her  by  this  jewel  on  her  sleeve. 

Prin.  Pardon  me,  sir,  this  jewel  did  she  wear  ; 
And  lord  Bir6n,  1  thank  him,  is  my  dear  :— 
What,  will  you  have  me,  or  your  pearl  again  1 

Biron.  Neitlier  of  eitlicr  ;  I  remit  both  twain. — 
I  see  the  trick  nn't ;— Here  was  a  consent,* 
(Knowing  aforehand  of  our  merriment,} 
To  dash  it  like  a  Christmas  comedy  : 
Some  carry    lale,  some  please    man,  some   slight 

zaiiy.:" 
Some  mumljle-news,  some  trencher-Icnight,  some 

Dick,— 
Thatsmiles  his  cheek  in  years;  and  knows  the  trick 
To  make  mv  lady  Jaugh,  when  she's  disposd,— 
Told  our  intents  before:  wh:ch  once  disclosd, 
The  ladies  did  cliange  favors;  and  then  we. 
Following  the  signs,  woo'd  but  the  sign  of  she, 
Now,  to  our  perjury  to  atld  more  terror. 
We  are  again  forsworn  ;  in  will,  and  error. 
Much  upon  this  it  is :— And  might  not  you, 

\T0  BOYET. 

Forestall  oursport,  to  make  us  thus  untrue  7 
Do  not  you  know  my  lady's  foot  by  the  squire,* 

And  lau.rh  upon  the  apple  of  her  eye  ! 
And  st;ind  between  her  baek,  sir,  and  the  fire, 

Holding  a  trencher,  jesting  merrily  ? 
You  put  our  page  out :  (io,  you  are  allow'd  ; 
Die  when  you  will,  a  smock  shall  be  your  shroud. 
You  leer  upon  me,  do  you  T  there's  an  eye, 
^Vnunds  like  a  leaden  sword. 

Buyet.  Full  merrily 

Hath  this  brave  manage,  this  career,  been  run. 
Birun.  Lo.  he  is  tilting  straight !  Peace ;  I  have 
done. 

Enter  Costakd, 

Welcome,  pure  wit !  thou  partest  a  fair  fray. 

Cost.  (),  Lord,  sir,  they  would  know 
Whether  the  tliroe  worthies  shall  come  in,  or  no. 

Biron.  What,  are  tlieie  but  three  1 

(kist.  No,  sir ;  but  it  is  vara  fine. 

For  every  one  pursciits  three, 

Biron.  And  three  times  thrice  is  nine. 

>  ^Tnk*' no  liiftu'ulty.  a  Conspiracy. 

•  Uuffoou.  *  Square,  rule. 


Cost.  Not  so,  sir  ;  under  correction,  sir;  I  hope, 
it  is  not  so  ; 
You  cannot  beg  us,  sir,  I  can  assure  you,    sir  ;  we 

know  what  we  know. 
I  liopc,  sir,  three  times  thrice,  sir, — 

Biron.  Is  not  nine  ! 

Cost.  Under  correction  ;  sir,  we  know  whereuntil 
it  doth  amount. 

iii/*o/i.by  Jove,  I  alwaystook  three  threes  for  nine. 

Co6t.  (>,  Lord,  sir,  it  were  a  pity  you  should  get 
your  living  by  reckoning,  sir. 

Biron.  How  much  is  it  1 

Cost.  O^  Lord,  sir,  the  parties  themselves,  the 
actors,  sir,  will  sliow  whereuntd  it  doth  amoiint : 
for  my  own  part,  1  am,  as  they  say,  but  to  perfect 
one  man,-e'en  one  poor  man;  Pompion  the  great,  sir. 

Biron.  Art  tliou  one  of  the  wortliies  ■ 

Cost.  It  pleased  them,  to  think  mc  worthy  of 
Pompion  tlie  lireat :  for  mine  own  part,  I  know  not 
the  degree  of  the  worthy  :  but  1  am  to  stand  for  him. 

Biron.  G:>  bid  thcni  prepare. 

Cost.  We  will  turn  it  finely  off,  sir  ;  we  will  take 
some  care.  [Exit  Costaud. 

King.  Bir6i!,  they  will  shame  us,  let  them  not 
approach. 

Biron.  We  are  shame-proof,  my  lord ;  and   His 
some  policy 
To  have  one  show  worse  than  tlie  king's  and  his 
company. 

King.  I  say  tliey  shall  not  come, 

Prin.  Nay,  my  good  lord,  let  me  o'er-rule  you 
now  ; 
That  sport  best  pleases,  that  doth  least  know  how: 
Where  zeal  strives  to  content,  and  the  contents 
Die  in  the  zeal  of  them  which  it  presents, 
Their  form  confounded  makes  most  form  in  mirth; 
When  great  things  laboring  perish  in  their  birth. 

Birun-  A  right  description  of  our  sport,  my  lord. 
Enter  Armapo. 

Arm.  Anointed,  I  implore  so  much  expense  of 
thy  royal  sweet  breath,  as  will  utter  a  brace  of  words. 
LAuMADo  converses  tvitti  the  King,  and  de- 
livers fd/n  a  paper. 

Prin.  Doth  this  man  serve  God? 

Biron,  Why  ask  you? 

Prin.  He  s^)euks  not  like  a  man  of  God's  making. 

Ar/n.  Thats  aU  one,  my  fair,  sweet,  honey 
monarch:  for,  1  protest,  the  schoolmaster  is  ex- 
ctedhig  fantastical;  loo,  too  vain;  too,  too  vain: 
But  we  will  put  it,  as  they  sav,  to  fortunate  delta 
gutrra.  1  wish  you  the  peace  of  mind,  most  royal 
couplement !  [Exit  Armaho, 

King.  Here  is  like-to  be  a  good  presence  of  wor- 
thies: He  presents  Hector  of  Troy;  the  swain, 
Pomjiey  the  great;  the  parish  curate,  Alexander; 
Armadns  page,  Hurculoa;  the  pedant,  Judas  Ma- 
chaba^us: 

A  nd  if  these  four  worthies  in  their  first  show  thrive, 
I'hese   four  will  change  habits,  and  present  the 
other  five. 

Biron.  There  is  five  in  the  first  show. 

King.  You  are  deceiv'd,  tls  not  so. 

Biron.  The   pedant,  the   braggard,   the    hedge- 
priest,  tlie  fool,  and  tlie  boy  : — 
Abate  a  throw  at  novum;*  and  the  whole  world 

again, 
Cannot  piek  out  five  such,  take  each  one  in  his  vein. 

King.  The  ship  is  under  sail,  and  here  she  comes 
amain. 
[Scuts  brought  for  the  King,  Princess,  4"C. 

Pageant  of  the  Nine  Worthies. 

Enter  CosTvni)  arot^dfor  Pompey. 

Cost.  1  Pompey  ant, 

Boi/et.  You  lie,  you  are  not  he. 

Cost.  1  Pompey  am  J 

Boyet.  With  libbard's  head  on  knee. 

Biron.  Well  said,  old  mocker;  I  must  needs  b© 

friends  with  thee. 
Cost.  /  Pontpiy  am., Pompey  surnam^d  the Mg-, — 
Dum.  The  great. 

Cost.  It  isgr?•fa^  sir : — P  ompey  sum  cm'd  the  greats 
Tliut  oft  in  field,  with  targe  and  a  hit  Id,  did  make 

my  foe  to  sweat : 
And,  ti'avelling  along  this  coast,  1  here  am  come 

by  chance: 
And  iai!  my  arms  before  the  legs  of  this  siveet 

lass  (if  France. 

»  A  game  with  dice. 


Scene  II. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LObT. 


151 


If  your  latlysijip  would  say,  Thanks,  Pompei/,  I 
had  done. 

Prut,  (ireat  thanks,  great  Pompey. 

Cost,  'Tis  not  so  much  wortli ;  but,  I  hope,  I  was 
perfect;  1  made  a  hltle  fault  in  great. 

Birun.  My  iiat  to  a  halfpenny,  Pompey  proves 
the  best  worthy. 

Enter  Natuaxikl  G?-m"rf, /or  Alexander. 
Nath.  When  in  ike  world   I  liv^dj  1  was  ike 

world's  commander^ 
Py  east,  westy  norik,  and  souihj  I  spread  my  con- 
quering might.- 
Ml/ ''scutcheon  piain  declares,  thai  1  am  Alhande?'. 
Bo'jet.  Your  nose  says,  no,  you  are  not;  for  it 

stands  too  right. 
Biron.  Your  nose  smells,  no,  in  this,  most  tender 

smelling  knight. 
Prin.  The  conqueror  is  dismay 'd.    Proceed,  good 

Alexander. 
Nalh.    When   in   the  world  1  liv\l,I  was  the 

icorld's  Commander;  — 
Boyet.  Most  true, 'tis  right',  you  were  so,  Ali- 
sander. 

Biron.  Pompey  the  great, 

Cost.  V  our  servant,  and  Costard. 

Biron.  Take  away  the  conqueror,  take  away  Ali- 
sander. 

Vost.  0,  sir,  [To  Nath.]  you  have  overthrown 
Alisander  liie conqueror!  You  will  be  scraped  out 
of  the  painted  cloth  lor  this:  your  lion,  that  holds 
his  poH-ax  sitting  on  a  close-stool,  will  be  given  to 
A-jax,  he  will  be  the  ninth  worthy.  A  conqueror, 
and  afearcd  to  speak  !  run  away  for  shame.  Alisan- 
der. LNath.  re{ira>\.  There,  an't  shall  please  you; 
a  foohsh  mild  manj  an  honest  man,  look  you,  and 
soon  dash'd !  He  is  a  mar\-eIlous  good  neighbor, 
in  sooth;  and  a  very  good  bowler:  but,  for  Alisan- 
der, alas,  j'ou  see,  how  'tis;  —  a  little oerparted: — 
But  tliere  are  worthies  a  coming  will  speak  their 
mind  in  some  other  sort. 
Prin.  Stand  aside,  good  Pompey. 

Enter  HoLOFEK>ri:s  amid,  and  Moth  arnVd,  for 
Hercules. 

liol.  Great  Hercules  is  presented  hy  this  imp; 
Whose  club  kiU'd  Cerberus  that  'three  headed 
canus; 
And  tvken  he  was  a  babe,  a  child,  a  sfirimp, 

Thus  did  he  stra)igle  serpents  in  his  manus: 
Quoniam.  he  secmclh  in  minority; 
Krgo,  1  cojiie  willi  this  apolagy. — 
Keep  some  state  in  thy  exit,  and  vanish. 

[Exit  Moth. 
Jlol.  Judas  1  am,— 
Bum.   A  Judas! 
HoJ.  Not  Iscariot.  sir. — 
Judas- 1  aniy  ycltptd  Machahceus. 
JJum.   Judas  MachabfEus  clipt,  is  plain  Judas. 
Biron.   A  kissing  traitor; — how  art  lliou  i^rov'd 

Judas? 
Hoi.  Judas  lam, — 

Bum.   The  more  shame  for  you,  Judas. 
Hoi.  What  mean  you,  sir  ? 
Boyet.   To  make  Judas  Iiang  himself. 


Hoi.  Begin, sir;  you  are  my  elder. 

Biron.  Well  foUow'd:  Judas  was  hang'd  on  an 
elder. 

Hoi.  I  will  not  be  put  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.  Because  thou  hast  no  face. 

Hoi.  What  is  this] 

Boyet.  A  cittern  head. 

Bum.  The  head  uf  a  bodkin. 

Biron.  A  deatli's  face  in  a  ring. 

Long.  The  face   of  an  old  Roman  coin,  scarce 
seen. 

Boyet.  The  pummel  of  Ccesars  faulchion 

X>«7'i.  The  carvd  bone  face  on  a  flask. 

Birun.  St.  George's  half-cheek  in  a  brooch. 

Bum.  Ay,  in  a  brooch  of  lead. 

Biron.  Ay,   and  worn  in   the  cap  of  a  tooth- 
drawer  : 
And  now,  forward ;  for  w^e  have  put  thee  in  coun- 
tenance. 

HoJ.  You  have  pul  mc  out  of  countenance. 

Biron.  False  ;  we  have  given  thee  faces. 

Hnl.  But  you  have  outl'aced  them  all. 

Biron.  An  thnu  wcrt  a  hon,  we  would  do  so. 

Boyet.  Thorefore.  as  he  is  an  ass,  let  him  go. 
And  so,  adieu,  sweet  Judc!  nay,  why  dost  thou  stay? 


Bum.  For  ihe  latter  end  of  his  name. 

Biron.  For  tiie  ass  to  tJieJude;  give  it  him; — 

jL;d-as,  away. 
Hi}l.  This  IS  not  j-enerons,  not  gentle,  not  humble. 
Boyti.  A    h^rx   lor   Monsieur"  Judas:   it  grows 

dark,  he  may  stumble. 
Prin.  Alas,  poor  Alachaba^us,  how  hath  he  been 

baited ! 

{Exit  HoLorinxts. 

Enter  AnMAiio  arm'd,for  Hector. 

Biron.  Hide  thy  head,  Achilles;  here  comes 
Hector  in  arms. 

Bum.  Though  my  mocks  come  home  by  me,  I 
will  now  be  merry, 

Ki/ig.  Hector  was  but  a  Trojan  m  respect  of  this. 

Boyet.  But  is  this  Hector? 

Bum.  I  think.  Hector  was  not  so  clean  tiinherd. 

Jjuig.  His  leg  is  too  big  for  Hector. 

Bum.  More  calf,  certain. 

Boyet.  No  ;  he  is  best  indued  in  the  small. 

Bu'on.  This  cannot  be  Hector. 

Bum,  He's  a  god  or  a  painter;  for  he  makes  faces. 

Arm.  The  armipotent  JMurs,  of  lances  the  al- 
mighty, 
Gave  Hectvr  a  gift, — 

Bum,  A  gilt  nutmeg. 

Biron.  A  lemon. 

Long.  .*>tuck  with  cloves. 

Bum.  No,  cloven. 

Arm.  Peace! 
The  anitijxiteni  Mars,  of  Umces  the  almighty. 

Gave  Jicctor  a  gij't,  the  ticir  if  Lion; 
A  man  so  breath  d,  (hat  certain  he  would  fight,  yea, 

Front  morn  till  night,  out  of  his  pavilion. 
1  am  itiatjlower, — 

Bum.  That  mint. 

Long.  That  columbine. 

Arm.  Sweet  lord  Longaville,  rein  thy  tongue. 

Ltjng.  1  must  rather  give  it  the  rem;  for  il  runs 
against  Hector. 

Bum.  Ay,  and  Hector's  a  greyhound. 

Arm-  The  sweet  war-man  is  dead  and  rotten* 
sweet  chucks,  beat  not  the  bones  of  the  buried; 
when  he  breath  d,  he  was  a  man. — But  I  will  for- 
ward with  my  device:  Sweet  royalty,  [To  the  Prin- 
cess.] bestow  on  me  the  sense  of  hearmg# 

[Binox  whU^pers  Costatid. 

P7-in.  Speak,  brave  Hector;  we  are  much  de- 
lighted. 

Arm.  I  do  adore  thy  sweet  grace's  slipper. 

Boyet.  Loves  her  by  the  foot. 

Bum.  He  may  not  bj'  the  yard. 

Arm.  This  Hector  far  surnumnted  HunnibaL — 

Cost.  The  party  is  gone,  fellow  Hector,  slie  is 
gone  ;  she  is  two  months  on  her  way. 

Arm.  What  meanest  Ihou  \ 

Cost.  Faith,  unless  you  \)\ay  the  hotlcst  Troj;in 
the  poor  wench  is  cast  away:  she  s  quick;  the 
child  brags  in  her  belly  already;  'tisynurs. 

Arm.  iJost  thou  infamonize  me  among  poten- 
tates! thou  slialt  die. 

Cost.  Then  shall  Hector  be  whipp'd,  for  Jacque- 
nctta  that  is  quitk  by  him  ;  and  hanged,  for  Pom- 
pey that  is  dead  by  him. 

Bum.  Most  rare  Pompey  ! 

Boyet.  Renowned  Pomi>ey  ! 

Bi>on.  Greater  than  great,  great,  great,  great 
pompey  !  Pompey  the  huge  ! 

Bum.  Hector  trembles. 

Biron.  Pompey  is  mov'd: — More  Ates,i  more 
Ates ;  stir  them  on  !  stir  them  on  ! 

Buai.  Hector  will  challenge  him. 

Biron.  Ay.  if  he  Ivive  no  more  man's  blood  in'a 
belly  than  will  sup  a  Ilea. 

Arm.  By  the  north  pole.  I  do  challenire  thee. 

Cost.  I  will  not  flight  with  a  pole,  like  a  norlhern 
man  ;  Fit  slash;  ril  do  it  by  the  sword: — I  pray 
you,  let  ine  borrow  my  arms  again. 

Bum.  liooin  for  the  incensed  worthies. 

Co.st.  1 11  do  it  in  my  shirt. 

Bum.  Most  resolute  Pompey  ! 

Moth.  Master,  let  me  taxe  you  a  button-hole 
lower.  Do  you  not  see,  Pompey  is  uncaMug  for 
the  combat  .'What  mean  you?  you  will  lose  your 
reputation. 

Arm.  Gentlemen,  and  soldiers,  pardon  me:  I 
will  not  combat  in  my  shirt. 

«  Ate  was  the  goddess  of  discord. 


152 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


Act  V. 


Duffi.  You  may  not  deny  it:  Pompey  hath 
made  tJie  clialk-n-c. 

Arm,  Sweet  bloods,  I  both  may  and  will. 

Biron-  What  reason  Iiave  you  Tor  t ! 

Arm.  The  naked  truth  of  it  is,  I  have  no  shirt. 
I  go  woolvvard''  lor  penance. 

Boi/tt.  True,  and  it  was  enjoin'd  him  in  Rome 
for  want  of  linen:  since  when,  I'll  be  sworn,  he 
wore  none,  but  a  dish-clout  of  Jacquenettas  and 
that  'a  wears  next  his  heart  for  a  favor. 

Enter  Meucade. 

Mer.  God  save  you,  madam  ! 

Prin.  Welcome,  Mcrcade; 
But  that  thou  interrupfst  our  mciTiment. 

Mer.  I  am  sorry,  madam ;  for  tlie  news  I  bring, 
Is  heavy  in  my  ton;^uo.    The  kin^  your  lather — 

Prin.  Dead,  for  my  life. 

Mdr.  Even  so;  my  tale  is  told. 

Biron.  Worthies,  away;  the  scene  begins  to 
cloud. 

Arm-  For  mine  own  part,  I  breatiie  free  breath: 
I  have  seen  the  day  of  wrong  through  the  little 
hole  of  discretion,  and  I  will  right  myself  like  a 
soldier.  [iLxeunt  Worthies. 

King.  How  fares  your  majesty  ] 

Prin.  Boyet,  prepiire;  I  will  away  to-night. 

King.  Madam,  not  so;  I  do  beseech  you,  stay. 

Pri/i.  Prepare,   1   say,— 1   thank  you,  gracious 
lords. 
For  all  your  fair  endeavors;  and  entreat, 
Out  Ufa  new-sad  soul,  that  you  vouchsafe 
In  your  rich  wisdom,  to  excuse  or  hide, 
The  liberal^  opposition  of  our  spirits: 
If  over-boidly  we  have  borne  ourselves 
In  the  converse  of  breath,  your  gentleness 
Was  guilty  of  It. — Farewell,  worthy  lord! 
A  heavy  heart  bears  not  an  humble  tongue  : 
Excuse  me  so,  cummg  so  short  of  thanks 
For  my  great  suit  so  easily  obtained. 

King.  The  extreme  parts  of  time  extrelmey  form 
All  causes  to  the  purpose  of  his  speed; 
And  often,  at  his  very  loose,  decides 
That  which  long  process  could  not  arbitrate: 
And  though  the  mourning  Urow  of  progeny 
Forbid  the  smiling  courtesy  of  love, 
The  iioly  suit  which  fain  it  would  convince; 
Yet,  since  love's  argument  was  Iirst  on  foot, 
Let  not  the  cloud  of  sorrow  justle  it 
From  what  it  purposd  ;  since,  to  wail  friends  lost. 
Is  not  by  much  so  wholesome,  protitable, 
As  to  rejoice  at  friends  but  newly  found. 

Prin.  1  understand  you  not;  my  griefs  are  double. 

Biron.  Honest  plain  words  best  pierce  the  ear  of 
grief; — 
A  nd  by  tliese  badges  understand  the  king. 
For  your  fair  sakes  have  we  neglected  time, 
Play'd  foul  play  with  our  oaths;  your  beauty,  ladies, 
Hath  much  defonn'il  us,  fashioning  our  humors 
fclveii  to  the  opposed  end  of  our  intents  : 
And  wliat  in  us  hath  seem'd  ridiculous, — 
As  love  is  full  of  unbefitting  strains  : 
All  wanton  as  a  child,  skipping,  and  vain  : 
p'ormd  by  the  eye,  and,  therefore,  like  the  eye. 
Full  of  strange  shapes,  of  habits,  and  of  forms, 
Varying  in  su!ijects  as  the  eye  doth  roll 
To  every  varied  object  in  his  glmce  : 
Which  party-coated  presence  of  loose  love 
Put  on  by  us,  if,  in  your  heavenly  eyes, 
Have  misbecom'd  our  oaths  and  gravities, 
Tliose  heavenly  eyes,  tliat  look  into  these  faults, 
Suggested  us  to  make:    Therefore,  ladies, 
Our  love  being  ytiurs,  the  error  that  lovc  makes 
Is  likewise  yours:  we  to  ourselves  prove  false, 
iiy  being  once  false  for  ever  to  be  true 
To  those  that  make  us  both, — fair  ladies,  you  : 
And  even  tliat  falsehood,  in  itself  a  sin, 
Tlnis  purities  itself,  and  turns  to  grace. 

Prin.  We  have  recciv'd  your  letters,  full  of  love; 
Your  favors,  the  embassadors  of  love  ; 
And,  in  our  maiden  council,  rated  them 
At  courtsliip,  ]ileasant  jest,  and  courtesy. 
As  bninbasL,  and  as  liiiiiig  to  the  time  : 
But  more  devout  Ihuii  this,  in  our  respects, 
Have  we  not  been  ;  and  therefore,  met  your  loves 
In  their  own  fuishion,  like  a  merriment. 

Dmn.  Our   Utters,  madam,  show'd  much  more 
than  jest. 

Long.  So  did  our  looks. 

t  Clothed  in  wool,  without  linen.  e  Free  to  excess- 


Ros.  We  did  not  quotes  them  so- 

King.  Now,  at  the  latest  minute  of  the  hour, 
Grant  us  your  loves. 

Prin.  A  time,  methinks,  too  short 

To  nudvc  a  world-without-end  bargain  in : 
No,  no,  my  lord,  your  grace  is  peijur'd  much. 
Full  of  deargudtniess;  and  theieJbre  this,— 
If  for  my  love  las  there  is  no  such  cause) 
Vou  will  do  auLiht,  this  shall  you  do  for  me: 
Your  oath  I  will  not  trust ;  but  go  with  s^ieed 
To  some  forlorn  and  naked  hermitage, 
Kemole  from  all  the  pleasures  of  the  world  ; 
There  stay,  until  the  twelve  celestial  signs 
Have  brought  about  their  annual  reckoning  ; 
If  this  austere  insociable  lile 
Change  not  your  oiler  made  in  heat  of  blood  ; 
If  iVosts,  and  fasts,  hard  Judging,  and  thin  weeds, 
Nip  not  the  gaudy  blossoms  of  your  love, 
But  that  it  bear  tliis  trial,  and  last  love  ; 
Then,  at  the  expiration  of  the  year. 
Come  challenge,  challenge  me  by  tliese  deserts, 
And,  by  this  virgin  palm,  now  kissing  thine, 
I  will  be  thine  ;  and,  till  that  instant,  shut 
My  woeful  seU'  up  in  a  mourning  iiouse ; 
Raining  the  tear?  of  lamentation, 
For  the  remembrance  of  my  father's  death 
If  this  thou  do  deny,  let  our  hands  part ; 
Neither  mtitled  in  the  other  s  heart. 

King.  If  this,  or  more  than  this,  I  would  deny, 

To  llatter  up  these  powers  of  mine  with  rest, 
The  sudden  hand  of  death  close  up  mine  eye ! 

Hence  ever  then  my  heart  is  in  thy  breast. 

Biron.  And  what  lo  me,  my  lovc  i  and  what  to 
me  i 

Ros.  You  must  be  purged  too,  your  sins  are  rank  • 
Vou  are  attaint  with  faults  ami  perjury  ; 
Therefore,  if  you  my  favor  mean  to  get, 
A  twelvemonth  you  shall  spend,  and  never  rest, 
But  Etek  the  weary  beds  of  people  sick. 

Dunt.  But  what  tome,  my  love  f  but  whatto  me? 

Kalh.  A   wife  !— A    beard,  fair  health,  and  ho- 
nesty ; 
With  three-fold  love  I  wish  you  all  tliese  three. 

Vum.  O,  shall  1  say,  I  thank  you.  gentle  wife  I 

Kath.  Not  so,  my  lord ;— a  twelvemontli  and  a  day 
111  mark  no  words  that  smooth-faced  wooers  say  * 
Come  when  the  king  doth  to  my  lady  come. 
Then,  if  I  have  much  love,  I'll  give  you  some. 

Du'nu  III  serve  thee  true  and  faillifuUy  till  then. 

Kath.  Yet  swear  not,  lest  you  be  Ibrsworn  again. 

Long.  What  says  Maria  i 

Mar.  At  the  twelvemonth's  end, 

111  change  my  black  gown  for  a  faithful  friend. 

Lintg.  FUstay  with  patience;  but  the  time  is  long. 

Mar.  The  liker  >ou  ;  few  taller  are  so  young. 

Biron.  Studies  my  lady  I  mistress,  look  on  me 
Behold  the  window  of  my  h.eart,  mine  eye, 
What  liumble  suit  attends  thy  answer  tiiere  ; 
Impose  some  service  on  me  for  thy  love. 

Ros.  Oft  have  I  heard  of  5  ou,  my  lord  Birun, 
Before  I  saw  you  :  and  the  world  s  large  tongue 
Proclaims  you  tor  a  man  replete  with  mocks  ; 
Full  of  comparisons  and  wounding  flouts  ; 
WJiich  you  on  all  estates  will  execute, 
That  he  within  the  mercy  of  your  wit : 
To  weed  this  wormwood  from  yuur  fruitful  brain; 
And,  therewithal,  to  win  me,  if  you  please, 
I  Without  the  which  1  am  not  to  be  won.) 
Vou  shall  this  twelvemonth  term  from  day  to  day 
Visit  the  speechless  sick,  and  still  converse 
With  groaning  wretches  ;  and  your  task  shall  be, 
W  ilh  all  the  fierce  endeavor  of  your  wit 
To  entbrce  the  pamed  impotent  to  smile. 

Biron.   To  move  wild  laughter  in  the  throat  of 
death  ] 
It  cannot  be;  it  is  impossible: 
Mirth  cannot  move  a  sou!  in  agony. 

Ros.  W'hy,  that's  the  way  to  choke  a  gibing  spirit, 
Whose  influence  is  begot  of  liiat  loose  grace, 
Which  shallow  laughing  hearers  give  to  fools: 
A  jest  s  prosperity  lies  in  tlie  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it.  never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it  :  thou  if  sickly  years, 
Deaf  d  with  the  calmurs  of  their  own  dear  groans 
Will  hear  your  idle  scorns,  contuiue  then. 
And  1  will  have  you,  and  that  fault  withal ; 
Hut.  if  they  will  not,  throw  away  that  si)int, 
And  1  shall  tind  you  empty  of  that  faull, 
Kight  j'lyful  of  your  reformation. 

»  KcgarJ.  1  Clothing. 


Scene  II. 


LOVE'S  LABOR'S  LOST. 


153 


Biron.  A  twelvemonth  1   well,  befal  what  will 

beta  I, 
I'll  jest  a  twelvemonth  in  an  hospital. 
Prills  Av.sweet  my  lord:  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 
[To  the  KiNB. 
King.  No,  madam :  we  will  bring  you  on  your 

way. 
Virun.  Our  wooingdoth  not  end  like  an  old  play  ; 
Jack  liath  not  Jill ;  these  ladies'  courtesy 
Wight  well  have  made  our  sport  a  comedy. 
King.  Come,  sir,  it  wants  a  twelvemonth  and  a 
day, 
A  nd  then  'twill  end. 
Bb-un.  That's  too  long  for  a  play. 

Enter  Aiimado. 

Arm.  Sweet  majesty,  vouchsafe  me, — 

J'rin.  Was  not  that  Hector  ! 

Viim.  The  worthy  knight  of  Troy. 

Arm.  I  will  kiss  thy  royal  finger  and  take  leave : 
I  am  a  votary  ;  I  have  vowed  to  Jacquenetta  to  hold 
the  plough  for  her  sweet  love  three  years.  But, 
most  esteemed  greatness,  will  you  hear  the  dialogue 
that  the  two  learned  men  have  compiled,  in  praise 
of  the  owl  and  the  cuckoo  ]  It  should  have  followed 
in  the  end  of  our  show. 

King.  Lall  tliem  forth  quickly,  we  will  do  so. 

Ann.  Holla  !  approach. 

Enter.    HoLOFEnxES,    Nathaniel,    Motd,    Cos- 
ta rii,  and  ofkers. 
This  side  is  Hiems,  winter  ;  this  Ver,  the  spring; 
the  one  maintaiii'd  by  the  owl,  the  other  by  the 
cuckoo.    \'er,  begin. 

SONG. 
I. 

Spring.  fVlien  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue. 
And  lady  sniucks  all  silver-iv/iite, 
And  cuckiui-fi'id.i  nf  \jellow  hue. 

Do  paint  tht:  iniddows  with  deliglit, 
Tlie  cuckoo  then,  on  ecerij  tree, 


Mocks  married  men,  fur  tlius  sings  lie, 

•  Cuckoo  ; 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo, — 0  word  of  fear, 
Unpleusing  to  a  married  tar  ! 

II. 
When  sliephcrds  pipe  on  oaten  straivs. 

And  merry  larks  are  plougfimen's  clocks, 
Wfien  turtles  tread,  and  rooks  and  daws. 

And  nKii'te  us  bl  tack  their  summer  smocki 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree, 
Mucks  married  men,  fur  thus  sings  he. 

Cuckoo ; 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo,— O  word  of  fear, 
Vnpleasing  to  a  man-ied  ear .' 
III. 
Winter.  When  icicles  hatig  by  the  ivall. 

And  iJick  the  shepherd  blows  his  naiu, 
And  Tom  bears  lugs  into  the  hall. 

And  milk  comes  frozen  tiume  in  pail. 
When  blood  is  nipp'd,  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  niglilty  sings  the  staring  owl, 

Tu-wlio  ; 
Tu-whit,  tu-icho,  a  merry  nute, 
W/iile  greasy  Joan  doth  keel'^  lite  ]>ut. 

IV. 

When  all  aloud  the  wind  doth  blouf. 

And  roughing  drowns  the  parton'ssaTv, 
And  birds  sil  brfioding  in  the  snow, 
.■\nd  Marian's  nose  looks  red  and  raw. 
When  rousted  crabi,'  hiss  in  the  bowl, 
'Then  nigMly  sings  the  staring  uwl, 

To-who  ! 
Tu-tvhit,  to-who,  a  merry  note. 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  Keel  the  pot. 

Arm.  The  words  of  Mercury  are  harsh  alter  tf.e 
songs  of  Apollo.    You  that  way;  we,  lliis  way. 

[Exeunt 
1  Soum.  »  Wild  applv;s. 


i^IERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


DrKE  OF.  Venice. 

PllINCE    OF    MOHOCCO,  }§.;;;„,.;,  ,opojtia. 
PllIXCE    OF    AkkAGON,) 

Antoxio,  the  Merchant  of  Venice 
Bassasio,  his  Friend. 


Salanio,  ^ 
Salarino,  > 
GnATiA>'o,\ 


Friends  to  Antonio  and  Bassanio. 


Lorenzo,  i/z  tnve  icit/i  3es&'\ca. 

SiiYLucK,  a  Jetc. 

'I'L-RAL,  c  Jtn;  his  friend. 

Lauxcelot  Gob  bo,  a  Clown,  Seri^cmt  to  Sliylock. 


OldGoBBO,  Father  /o  Launcelot. 
Salzrio,  (I  Me-.'sen^cr front  Venice. 
Leosauuo,  Servant  to  Bassanio. 


Balthazar, 
Stepuaso, 


'S.rvants  to  Portia. 


Portia,  a  rich  Heiress. 
Nerissa,  her  IVaiting-Maid. 
Jessica,  Dausliter  to  Sliylock. 

Magnificoes  of  Venice,  Officers  of  tJie  Court  of 
Justice,  Gaoler,  Servants  and  other  Attendants. 


SCENE,  partly  at  Venice,  and  partly  at  Belmont,  the  Seat  of  Portia,  on  the  Continent. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Venice.  A  Street. 
Enter  Astosio,  Salariso,  and  Sala?(io. 

Ant.  In  sooth,  I  know  not  wliy  I  am  so  sad ; 
It  wearies  me;  you  say  it  wearies  you; 
But  how  I  caught  it,  (bund  it,  or  came  by  it, 
What  stufl''ti3  made  of,  whereof  it  is  born, 
I  am  to  lea.n ; 

And  such  a  want-wit  sadness  makes  ot  me, 
That  I  have  much  ado  to  know  myself. 

eular.  Your  mind  is  tossing  on  tlie  ocean ; 
There,  wliere  your  arijosies'  witii  portly  sail,— 
Like  signiors  and  rich  burghers  ol  the  Hood, 
(Ir,  as  it  were,  the  pageaiils  of  the  sea, — 
Do  ovcrpeer  the  petty  traflicKers, 
That  curt'sy  to  tlieiii,  do  tliem  reverence. 
As  they  Hv  by  them  with  their  woven  wings. 

Salan.  Believe  me,  sir,  had  I  such  venture  forth, 
The  better  part  of  my  allections  would 
Be  with  my  hopes  abroad.    I  should  be  stiU 
Plucking  the  grass,  to  know  where  sits  the  wind; 
Peering  in  maps,  for  ports,  and  piers,  and  roads ; 
And  every  object,  that  ini/rht  make  me  fear 
Misfortune  to  my  ventures,  out  of  doubt, 
Would  make  me  sad. 

Salur.  My  wmg,  cooling  my  broth. 

Would  blow  me  to  an  ague,  when  I  thought 
What  harm  a  wind  too  great  might  do  at  sea. 
I  should  not  see  the  sandy  hour-glass  run. 
But  I  should  think  of  shallows  and  ol  flats; 
And  see  ray  wealthy  Andrew  dock'd  in  sand. 
Vailiu"''  her  hi^h-top  lower  thiui  her  ribs. 
To  kiss  her  biirud.    Should  1  go  to  church. 
And  see  the  holv  edil'u-e  of  stones, 
And  not  bethink  me  stiaiglit  ot  dangerous  rocks! 
Which  touching  but  my  gentle  vessel's  side 
Would  scatter  all  her  spices  on  Ihe  stream  ; 
Enrobe  the  roaring  waters  with  my  silks; 
And  in  a  word,  but  even  now  worth  this, 
And  now  worlh  notbiiig  !  Shall  I  have  the  thought 
To  think  on  this ;  and  shall  1  lack  the  thought, 
Tliat  such  a  thing,  buchaiic'd,  would  make  me  sad .' 
But,  tell  not  me;  I  know,  Antonio 
Is  sad  to  think  upon  his  niercliandize. 

Ant.  Believe  me,  no :  1  thank  my  fortune  for  it. 
My  ventures  are  not  in  one  bottom  trusted, 
Nor  to  one  place;  nor  is  my  whole  estate 
Upon  the  fortune  nf  this  present  year: 
Therefore,  my  merchandize  makes  me  not  sad. 

Salan.  Wliy  then  you  arc  in  love. 

Ant.  !•  ye,  fye ! 

Salun.  Not  in  love  neither!  Then  let's  say,  you 
are  sad. 


•  Ships  of  large  burden. 
l.")4 


2  Lowering. 


Because  you  are  not  merry :  and  'twere  as  easy 
For  you,  to  laugh,  and  leap,  and  say,  you  are  merry, 
Because  you  are  not  sad.    Now,  by  two-headed 

Janus, 
Nature  hatti  framed  strange  fellows  in  her  time: 
Some  that  will  evermore  peep  through  their  eyes, 
And  laugh,  like  parrots,  at  a  bag-piper; 
And  others  of  such  vinegar  aspect. 
That  they  II  not  show  their  teeth  in  way  of  smile, 
Though  Nestor  swear  the  jest  be  laughter. 

Enter  Bassanio,  Lorenzo,  and  Gratiano. 

Salan.  Here  comes  Bassanio,  your  most  noble 
kinsman, 
Gratiano,  and  Lorenzo:  Fare  you  well  ; 
We  leave  you  now  with  better  company. 

Salar.  I  would  have  staid  till  1  had  made  you 
merry. 
If  worthier  If  lends  had  not  prevented  me. 

Ant.  Your  worth  is  very  dear  in  my  regard. 
I  take  it,  your  own  business  calls  on  you, 
And  J  ou  embrace  the  occasion  to  depart. 

Salar.  Good  morrow,  my  good  lords. 

Bass.  Good  signiors  both,  when  shall  we  laugh? 
Say,  when  ! 
You  grow  exceeding  strange:  Must  it  be  sol 

Salar.  We'll  make  our  leisures  to  attend  on  yours. 
li,'j;cii;((  Salarino  uh./  Salanio. 

Lor.  My  lord   Bassanio,  since  you   have  found 
Antonio, 
We  two  wdl  leave  you :  but,  at  dinner-time, 
I  pray  you,  have  in  mind  where  we  must  meet. 

Bass,  1  will  not  firil  you. 

Gra.  You  look  not  well,  signior  Antonio; 
You  have  too  much  respect  upon  the  world : 
They  lose  it,  that  do  buy  it  with  much  care. 
Believe  me,  you  are  marvellously  chang'd. 

Ant.  1  hold  the  world  but  as  the  world,  (iratiano; 
A  stage  where  every  man  must  play  a  part. 
And  mine  a  sad  one. 

Gra.  Let  rae  play  the  Fool : 

With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come; 
And  let  my  liver  rather  heat  with  wine. 
Than  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 
Why  should  a  man,  wdiose  blood  is  warm  withm. 
Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster'! 
Sleep  when  he  waUesI  and  creep  into  the  jaundica 
liy  being  peevish  !  1  tell  thee  what,  Antonio, — 
I  love  thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaks; 
There  are  a  sort  of  men,  whose  visages 
Do  cream  and  mantle,  like  a  standing  pond  ; 
And  do  a  wilful  stillness'  entertain, 
■\Vith  jiurpose  to  be  dressd  in  an  opinion 
Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit; 
'  Obntinate   eilence. 


iScENE  II. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


155 


As  who  should  say,  I  urn  sir  Oracle^ 

And,  when  1  upe  uiij  lips,  lei  nu  dug  bark.' 

(>,  my  Antonio,  1  do  know  of  these. 

That  therefore  only  are  reputed  wise, 

For  saying  notinn,';  who,  1  am  very  sure. 

If  IIr  y  should  spealc,  would  almost  damn  those  ears, 

Wlncii,  hearing  ihem,  would  caM  their  brothers,  fools. 

I'll  tell  thee  more  of  this  another  time: 

But  lish  not,  with  this  melancholy  bait, 

For  this  fool's  gudgeon,  this  opinion. — 

Come,  good  Lorenzo;  — Fare  ye  well,  a  while; 

I'll  end  my  exhortation  after  dinner. 

Lur.  VV  ell,  we  will  leave  you  then  till  dinner-time : 
I  must  he  one  of  these  same  dumb  wise  men, 
For  Gratiano  never  lets  me  speak. 

Gra.  W  ell,  keep  me  company,  but  two  years  more, 
Thou  shalt  not  know  the  sound  of  thine  own  tongue. 

Aiit.  Farewell:  111  grow  a  talker  for  this  geiur. 

Gni.   llianks,  i  faith ;  for  silence  is  only  com- 
mendable 
In  a  neat's  tongue  dried,  and  a  maid  not  vendible. 
yExeaitl  GuA  riANo  and  Lohenzo. 

Ant.  Is  that  any  thing  now  ! 

Bass.  Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing, 
more  than  any  man  in  all  Venice:  liis  reasons  are 
as  two  grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels  of  chaff ; 
you  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  liiid  them ;  and,  when 
you  have  them,  they  arc  not  worth  the  search. 

Ant.  Well;  tell  me  now,  what  lady  is  this  same 
To  whom  you  swore  a  secret  pilgrimage, 
That  you  to-day  proniis'd  to  tell  me  ol .' 

Bliss.  'lis  not  unknown  to  you,  Antonio, 
How  much  I  have  disabled  mine  estate, 
By  something  showing  a  more  swelling  port 
Than  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance: 
Nor  do  1  now  make  moan  to  be  abridg'd 
From  such  a  noble  rale  ;  but  my  chief  care 
Is,  to  come  fairly  off  from  the  great  debts. 
Wherein  my  time,  something  too  prodigal, 
Hath  left  me  gaged  :  To  you,  Antonio, 
I  owe  the  most,  in  money,  and  in  love  ; 
And  from  your  love  I  have  a  warranty 
To  unliurthen  all  my  plots,  and  purposes, 
How  to  get  clear  af  all  the  debts  1  owe. 

Ant.  1  pray  you,  good  Bassanio.  let  mc  know  it; 
And,  if  it  stand,  as  you  yourself  still  do, 
Within  tiie  eye  of  honor,  be  assured. 
My  purse,  my  person,  my  extremest  means, 
Lie  all  unlock'd  to  your  occasions. 

Bass.  In  my  school-days,  when  1  had  lost  one  sliafl 
I  shot  his  fellow  of  the  sell-same  (light 
The  self  same-way,  with  more  advised  watch, 
To  rind  the  other  forth ;  and  by  advent'ring  both, 
I  oft  found  b(3th :  I  urge  this  cluldhond  prool, 
Because  what  follows  is  pure  innocence. 
I  owe  you  mucii ;  and,  like  a  wilful  youth. 
That  which  I  owe  is  lost:  but  if  you  please 
To  shoot  another  arrow  that  self  way 
Which  you  did  shoot  the  hrst,  I  do  not  doubt, 
As  I  will  watch  the  aim,  or  to  hnd  both, 
Or  bring  your  latter  hazard  b;ick  again, 
And  thankfully  rest  debtor  for  the  tirst. 

Ant.  You  know  me  well;  and  herein  spend  but 
time. 
To  wind  about  my  love  with  circumstance; 
And,   out  of  doubt,  you  do  me  now  more  wrong. 
In  making  question  of  my  uttermost. 
Than  if  you  had  made  waste  of  all  1  have  : 
Tlien  do  bat  say  to  me  what  1  should  do. 
That  in  your  knowledge  may  by  me  be  done, 
And  I  am  prest'  unto  it:  therefore  speak. 

Bas-i.  In  Belmont  is  a  lady  richly  left. 
And  she  is  fair,  and,  lairer  than  that  word, 
Of  wond'rous  virtues;  sometimes*  from  her  eyes 
I  did  receive  fair  speechless  messages: 
Her  name  is  Portia :  nothing  undervalued 
To  Cato's  daugliter,  Brutus'  Portia. 
Nor  is  the  wide  world  ignorant  of  her  worth  ; 
For  the  four  winds  blow  in  from  every  coast 
Renowned  suitors:  and  her  sunny  locks 
Hang  on  her  temples  like  a  golden  llecce; 
Which  makes  her  seat  of  Belmont,  Colchos'  strand, 
And  many  Jasons  come  in  quest  of  her. 

0  my  Antonio,  had  I  but  the  means 
To  hold  a  rival  place  with  one  of  them, 

1  have  a  mind  presages  me  such  tiirift, 
That  I  siiould  questionless  l)e  fortunate. 

Ant.  Thou  know'st,  that  all  my  lortuncs  are  at  sea; 
Nor  have  I  money,  nor  commodity 

•  Ready.  *  Fonnorly. 


To  raise  a  present  sum ;  tij'reibre  go  forth, 
fry  what  my  credit  can  in  \eniee  do; 
That  shall  be  rack'd,  even  to  tne  uttermost, 
lo  furnish  thee  to  Hclmont,  to  lair  Portia. 
Go,  presently  inquire,  and  so  will  1, 
Where  money  is;  ami  1  no  question  make, 
lo  have  It  ol  my  tru»l,  or  for  ray  sake.  {Exeunt, 
SCENE  II.  —  Belmont.  A  Room  in  Portia's  Iluuse. 
Enter  Poktja  and  Nebissa. 

Por.  By  my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  k. 
a-weary  of  this  great  world. 

Ate.  You  would  be,  sweet  madam,  if  youi  mi- 
series were  in  the  same  abundance  as  your  good 
fortunes  are:  And  yet,  for  aught  I  see,  they  aie  as 
sick,  that  surfeit  with  too  mucli,  as  they  tiiat  starve 
witli  nothing:  It  is  no  mean  happiness,  therefore, 
to  be  seated  in  the  mean;  superiluity  comes  sooner 
by  wliite  hairs,  but  competency  lives  ion:;er. 

Pur.  t;ood  sentences,  and  well  pronounced. 

Ner.  They  would  be   better,  if  well  followed. 

Pur.  II  to'di  were  as  easy  as  to  know  what  were 
good  to  do,  chajjels  had  been  chuiches,  ami  poor 
mens  cottages,  princes' palaces.  It  is  a  good  di- 
vine that  tbllows  his  own  instructions  :  1  can  easier 
teach  twenty  what  were  good  to  be  done,  than  be 
one  of  the  twenty  to  follow  mine  own  teaching. 
The  brain  may  devise  laws  for  the  blood;  but  a  hot 
temper  leaps  over  a  cod  decree:  such  a  hare  is 
madness  the  youth,  to  skip  oe  r  the  meshes  of  aood 
counsel  the  cripple.  But  this  reasoning  is  not  .si 
the  fashion  to  choose  me  a  iiusband  : — 1<  mc,  the 
word  cfioose  !  I  may  neither  choose  whom  1  \\  ould, 
nor  refuse  whom  1  dislike;  so  is  the  will  ot  a  liv- 
ing daughter  curb  d  by  the  will  of  a  dead  father  : — 
Is  it  not  hard,  ISerissa,  that  I  cannot  dioose  one, 
nor  refuse  none. 

A'tv.  Voiir  father  was  ever  virtuous;  and  iioly 
men,  at  their  death,  have  good  inspirations;  there- 
fore, the  lottery  that  he  hath  devised  in  liiese  three 
chests  of  gold,  silver,  and  lead,  (whereof  who  chooses 
his  meaning,  chooses  you,)  will,  no  doubt,  never  bo 
chosen  by  any  rightly,  but  one  who  you  shall  right- 
ly love.  But  what  warmth  is  there  in  your  affection 
towarJs  any  of  these  princely  suitors  that  are 
already  come  ! 

Pur.  I  pray  thee  over-name  them ;  and  as  thou 
nainest  them,  I  will  descrite  them;  and,  according 
to  my  description,  level  at  my  allectioii. 

JV'tv.  First,  there  is  the  Jseapolitan  prince. 

Pur.  .\y,  I  hats  a  colt,  indeed,  lor  lie  doth  noth- 
ing but  talk  ol  his  horse;  and  he  makes  it  a  great 
approprialioii  to  his  own  good  parts,  that  he  can 
shoe  him  himself:  I  am  much  airaid,  my  lady,  his 
mollier,  pkned  false  with  a  smith. 

Ker.  'I  lieii.  is  there  thecoumj'  Palatine. 

Por.  He  doth  nothing  but  frown;  as  who  should 
say,  An  if  you  wilt  nut  kure  ni:,  choose;  he  hears 
merry  tales,  and  smiles  not:  I  fear  lie  will  prove 
the  weeping  philosopher  when  he  grows  old.  being 
so  full  of  unmannerly  sadness  in  his  youth.  1  had 
rather  be  married  to  a  death's  head  with  a  bone  in 
his  mouth  than  to  either  of  these.  God  defend  me 
from  these  two  ! 

A'fv.  How  say  you  by  the  French  lord,  monsieur 
Le  Bon? 

Por.  God  made  him,  and  therefore,  let  him  pass 
for  a  man.  In  truth,  1  know  it  is  a  sin  to  be  a 
mocker ;  l)ut,  he !  why.  he  liatli  a  horse  better  than 
the  Neapolitan's;  abetter  bad  habit  of  fiowiiing 
than  the  count  Palatine:  he  is  every  man  in  no 
man:  if  a  throstle  sing,  he  falls  straight  acapermg-; 
he  will  fence  with  his  own  shadow  :  If  1  should 
marry  him,  I  should  marry  twenty  husbands:  If 
he  would  despise  me,  I  would  forgive  him;  for  if 
he  love  me  to  madness,  I  shall  never  requite  him. 

Ncr.  What  say  you  tlien  to  Faulconbridge,  tno 
young  baron  of  England! 

Por.  You  know  I  say  nothing  to  him ;  for  lie  un- 
derstands not  me,  nor  I  hiin:  he  hath  neither  La- 
tin, French,  nor  Italian  ;  and  you  will  come  into 
the  court  and  swear,  that  I  have  a  pour  penny  worth 
in  the  English.  He  is  a  proper  man's  picture  ;  But, 
alas  !  who  can  converse  with  a  dumb  sliow  !  How 
oddly  he  is  suited  !  I  think  he  bought  his  doublet 
in  Italy,  his  round  hose  in  France,  his  bonnet  in 
Germany,  and  his  behavior  every  where. 

A't;-.  What  think  you  of  the  Scottish  lord,  his 
neighbor  ! 

I  Count. 


15G 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  L 


Par.  Tliat  he  lialti  a  ncUhborly  charity  in  him; 
for  he  borrowed  a  box  or  Un;  car  of  liie  iingiish- 
maii,  and  swore  lie  would  p.iy  Jiim  a;^aiii,  when  he 
was  able  ;  1  think,  the  Frenchman  became  his  surety, 
and  sculfd  under  for  another. 

Ntr.  How  like  you  Uie  younj;  German,  the  duke 
of  hinxony'd  nephew  .' 

Par.  V  ery  viieiy  in  the  mornins  when  he  is 
sober ;  and  most  vjlely  in  the  al^ernoon,  when  he  is 
dnniK:  when  ne  is  best,  he  is  a  little  worse  than  a 
man ;  and  when  he  is  worst,  he  is  little  belter  than 
a  beast:  and  the  worst  tall  that  ever  tell,  1  hope,  1 
shall  make  shift  to  go  without  him. 

iVV/-.  If  lie  should  otVer  to  choose,  and  choose  tlie 
right  casket,  you  should  refuse  to  perform  your  fa- 
ther's will,  if  you  should  refuse  to  accept  him. 

Pur.  Tlierefore,  for  fear  of  the  worst,!  pray  thee, 
set  a  deep  ^lass  of  Kliemsh  wine  on  the  contrary 
casket ;  for,  if  the  devil  be  \viihtn,  and  that  teinjita- 
tion  without,  I  know  he  will  choose  it.  [  will  do 
anythiiij;,  Nenssa,  ere  I  will  be  married  to  aspuny:e. 

Ner.  Vou  need  not  fear,  lady,  the  having  any  of 
these  lords,  they  liave  acquainted  me  with  their  de- 
terminations: which  IS  indeed,  to  return  to  their 
liome,  and  to  trouble  you  with  no  more  suit;  unless 
you  may  be  won  by  some  other  sort  than  your  la- 
lliefs  imposition,  depending'  on  llie  caskets. 

pur.  If  1  live  to  be  as  old  as  fciibyila,  1  will  die 
as  ciiuste  as  Diana,  unless  I  be  obtained  by  the 
manner  of  my  father's  w'lU :  I  am  glad  this  parcel 
of  wooers  are  so  reasonable:  for  there  is  not  one 
amonj;  them  but  I  dote  on  his  very  absence,  and  1 
pray  (iod  i;rant  them  a  fair  departure. 

iVt7*.  Do  you  not  remember,  latly,  in  your  father's 
time,  a  Venetian,  a  scholar,  and  a  soldier,  that  came 
hitlier  in  company  of  the  Marquis  of  Montferrat] 

Pur.  Ves,  yes,  it  was  Bassanio;  as  1  thmk,  so 
was  he  called. 

Ner.  i  rue,  madam  ;  he  of  all  the  men  that  ever 
my  loolish  eyes  looked  upon,  was  the  best  deserv- 
ing a  fair  lady'. 

Por.  1  remember  him  well;  and  I  remember  him 
worthy  of  thy  praise. — How  now  !  what  news  ! 
Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  The  four  strangers  seek  for  you,  madam, 
to  take  their  leave :  and  there  is  a  fore-runner  come 
from  a  fiJth,  the  prince  of  Morocco  ;  who  brings 
word,  the  prince,  his  master,  will  be  here  to-night. 
Por.  If  1  could  bid  the  fifth  welcome  with  so  good 
heart,  as  I  can  bid  the  other  four  farewell,  I  should 
be  glad  of  his  approach ;  if  he  have  the  condition,' 
of  a  saint,  and  the  complexion  of  a  devil,  I  had 
rather  he  should  shrive  nie  than  wive  me.  Come, 
Nenssa,  —  Sirrah  go  before. —  Whiles  we  shut  the 
gate  upon  one  wooer,  another  knocks  at  the  door. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— Venice.    .4  Public  place. 
Enter  Bassamo  and  Shylock. 

Shi.   Three  thousand  ducats,^  well. 

B^i^S'   Ay,  sir,  for  three  months. 

Sky.  For  three  months, — well. 

Bati-<.  For  the  which,  as  [  told  you,  Antonio  shall 
be  bound. 

Shtj.  Antonio  shall  become  bound,  —  well. 

Bd^s.  May  you  stead  me  !  Wdl  you  pleasure  me! 
Shall  1  know  your  answer] 

Sky.  Three  thousand  ducats,  for  three  months 
and  Antonio  bouml. 

Bass.  Vour  answer  to  that. 

Shti    Antonio  is  a  good  man. 

Buss.  Have  you  heard  any  imputation  to  the 
contrary  f 

Sky.  Ho,  no, no,  no.  no;  —  my  meaning, in  saying 
he  is  a  good  man,  is  to  have  you  understand  me,  that 
lie  is  sulhcient:  yet  his  means  are  in  supposition: 
lie  hatli  an  argosy  bound  to  friijolis,  another  to  the 
Indies;  1  understand  moreover  upon  the  Rialto,  he 

hatha  third  at  Mexico,  a  tourth  for  Knglaud, 

and  other  ventures  he  hath,  squander'd  abroad: 
But  ships  are  bat  b.ards,  sailors  but  men:  there  be 
iand-rats,  and  water-rats,  water-thieves,  and  land- 
thie\es;  1  mean,  pirates;  and  then,  there  is  the 
peril  of  waters,  winds,  and  rocks:  The  man  is,  not- 
withstaudmg,  buthcient;  — three  thousand  ducats; 
-I  think  I  may  take  liis  bond. 

B(uss.  Be  assured  you  may. 

Shy.  1  will  be  assured,  1  may;  and,  that  I  may 
1  Tt-mpur,  quaHtifS. 


be  assured,  I  will  beth.nk  me:  May  I  speak  witb 
Antonio  ] 

Bass.  If  it  please  you  to  dine  with  us. 

Shy.  \  es,  to  sineil  ])ork ;  to  oat  of  the  habita- 
tion which  3'our  prophet,  the  iNaiiarite  conjured 
the  devil  into:  1  will  buy  witJi  j  ou,  sell  willi  you, 
talk  With  you,  wa;k  witli  you,  and  so  following; 
but  I  will  not  eat  with  you,  drink  with  you,  nor 
pray  with  you.  What  news  on  the  Rialto'— Who 
IS  he  comes  here  l 

Enter  Axtomo. 

Buss.  This  is  signior  Antonio. 

Sky.  \Aside-\  Huw  like  a  fawning  publican  he 
looks! 
I  iiate  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian  : 
But  more,  for  that,  in  low  simplicity, 
He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  V  emce. 
If  1  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
1  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  grudge  )  bear  him. 
He  hates  our  sacred  nation  ;  and  he  rails, 
Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 
(in  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well  won  thrift, 
Winch  he  calls  interest:  Cursed  be  my  tribe, 
if  I  forgive  hnn  ! 

Buss.  t^hylock,  do  you  hear  I 

Shy.  I  am  debating  oi  my  present  store ; 
And,  by  the  near  guess  of  my  memory, 
I  cannot  instantly  raise  up  the  gross 
i)f  full  three  thousand  ducats:  Vvhatofthati 
'lubal,  a  wealthy  HebrevV  ol  my  tribe, 
Will  furnish  me;  liut  soit ;  How  many  months 
Do  you  desire  ! — iiesl  you  lair,  good  signior; 

[To  Antonio. 
Your  worship  was  the  last  man  in  our  mouths. 

Ant.  Sihyiock,  albeit  I  neither  lend  nor  borrow. 
By  taking,  nor  by  giving  of  excess, 
Yet  to  supply  the  ripe  wants^  of  my  friend, 
I  II  break  a  custom:— Is  he  yet  possessd,^ 
How  much  you  would  ! 

Sky.  Ay,  ay,  three  thousand  ducats 

Ant.  And  for  three  months. 

Shy.  I  had  ibrgot, — three  months,  you  told  me  so. 

Well  then,  your  bond  ;  and,  let  me  see, But 

hear  you  ; 
Mcthought,  you  said,  you  neither  lend  nor  borrow, 
Upon  advantage. 

Ant.  I  do  never  use  it. 

Sky.   When   Jacob    graz'd   his    uncle    Laban'a 
sheej). 
This  Jacob  irom  our  holy  Abraham  was 
(As  his  wise  mother  wrought  in  Ins  behalf) 
The  third  possessor;  ay,  he  was  the  third. 

Ant.  And  what  of  hnn  1  did  he  take  interest  ] 

Shy.  No,  not  take  interest ;  not,  as  you  would  say, 
Directly  interest:  mark  what  Jacob  did. 
When  Laban  and  himself  were  compromis'd. 
That  all  the  eanhiigs  which  were  streak  d,  and  pied, 
Should  fall  as  Jacob's  hire;  the  ewes,  being  rank. 
In  the  end  of  autumn  turned  to  the  rams: 
And  when  the  work  of  generation  was 
Between  these  woolly  breeders  m  the  act. 
The  skilful  shepherd  peef  d  me  certain  wands, 
And  in  the  doing  of  tlie  deed  of  kind,' 
He  stuck  them  up  before  the  fulsonie  ewes; 
Who,  then  conceiving,  did  in  eaning  time 
Fall  p;rfty-color'd  lambs,  and  those  were  Jacob's. 
Tins  was  the  way  to  thrive,  and  he  was  blest; 
And  thrift  is  blessing,  if  men  steal  it  not. 

Ant.   Ihis  was  a  venture,  sir,  that  Jacob  serv'd 
for; 
A  thing  not  in  his  power  to  bring  to  pass, 
But  sway'd  and  fashion'd,  by  the  hand  of  heaven. 
Was  tiiis  inserted  to  make  interest  good] 
Or  IS  your  gold  and  silver,  ewes  and  famsl 

Shtf.  1  cannot  tell:  1  make  it  breed  as  fast:  — 
But  note  me,  signior. 

Ant.  Mark  you  this,  Bassanio, 

The  devil  can  cite  scripture  for  his  purpose. 
An  evil  soul,  producing  holy  wilness, 
Is  lilie  a  villain  witli  a  smiling  check: 
A  goodly  apple  rotten  at  the  heart ; 
O,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath! 

Shy.   I'hree  thousand  ducats,  —  'tis  a  good  round 
sum. 
Tliree  months  from  twelve,  then  let  me  see  the  rate. 

Ant.  Well,  Shylock,  shall  we  be  beholden  to  you  % 
s  'U'a.uta  which  admit  no  longer  delay.  ^  luformed 

»  Nature. 


Scene  I. 


MERCHANT  01'  VKNICJ 


157 


Shy.  Si;^nior  Anlnnio,  many  a  time  and  oft. 
In  the  Kialto  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies,  and  my  usances;'* 
Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shru:r  ; 
For  sutlerancc  is  tlie  badije  of  a/l  our  tribe: 
Vou  cal]  me  —  misbeUevcr,  cut-Throat  dog, 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine, 
And  all  for  use  of  thai  which  is  mine  own. 
Well  then,  it  now  appears,  you  need  my  lielp: 
Gi.  to  then;  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 
Shiflock,  we  uould  hart  titonies ;  You  say  so; 
You,  that  did  void   your  rheum  upon  my  beard, 
And  foot  me,  as  you  sj)urn  a  stranger  cur 
Over  your  threshokl ;  monies  is  your  suit. 
What  should  1  say  to  you  !  should  1  not  say, 
Hath  a  dog  moncij?  is  it  pos^ihlt^ 
A  cur  can  ten  i  tfirtfe  thousand  ducats?  or 
S!.all  I  bend  low,  and  in  a  bondman's  key, 
With  'baled  breath,  and   whisi»ermg  humbleness, 

Say  this, 

Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  Wednesday  last; 
You  spurn'd  tut  suck  a  dmj;  anat/ier  lime 
You.  calVd  me — dog;  and  J.  -  these  cottrtesies 
III  lend  you  thus  much  nunves? 

Ant.  T  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again, 
To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too. 
If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 
As  to  thy  friends;  (for  w  en  did  friendship  take 
A  breed  for  barrt-n  melal  of  his  friend?) 
But  lend  it  rattier  to  thnio  enemy ; 
Who  if  lie  break,  thou  may  st  with  better  face 
Kxact  tliC  penally. 

Sky.  Why,  look  you,  how  you  storm  ! 

I  would  be  friends  witli  you,  and  have  your  love, 
Forget  the  shames  that  you  have  slain'd  me  with. 
Supply  your  present  wantj>,  and  take  no  doit 
Of  usmce  for  my  monies,  and  you'll  not  hear  me. 
This  is  kind  I  oiler. 

Ant.  This  were  kindness. 

Shy.  This  kindness  will  I  show : 


Go  wiih  me  lo  a  nuUiry,  seal  me  tliere 

^  our  sin^;e  bond  ;  and,  in  a  merry  sx^orl. 

If  you  repay  me  not  on  such  a  day, 

In  such  a  place,  such  ,*^um.  or  sums,  as  are 

K.\])rfssM  ni  the  condition,  let  the  forfeit 

lie  nominated  for  an  equal  pound 

()f  yuur  fair  tlesh,  lo  be  cut  oil' and  taken 

In  what  jmrt  of  your  body  pleascth  me. 

Aut.  Conlt-nlj  in  failh  ;  I'll  sea!  to  such  a  bond, 
Ami  say.  tiicre  is  much  kindness  in  the  Jew 

Buss.  You  shall  not  seal  to  such  a  bond  for  me, 
I'll  rather  dwell  in  my  necessity. 

Ant.  Why,  fear  not,  man  :  1  will  not  forfeit  it ; 
Withm  these  two  months,  that  s  a  month  before 
This  hoiid  expires,  1  do  expect  return 
Of  Ihrice  three  times  the  vame  nf  this  bond. 

Shy.U  lather  Abraham,  what  these  Cl'.ri?tians  are, 
Whose  own  hard  dealings  leaches  them  suspect 
The  thouixhts  of  others  !    Pray  you.  tell  me  this; 
If  lie  should  break  his  day.  what  should  I  gain 
By  the  exaction  oMhe  forfeiture? 
A  pound  of  mans  llesh.  taken  from  a  man, 
Is  not  so  estunable,  prolitable  neither. 
As  ilesh  of  muttons,  beefs,  or  goals.    I  say 
To  buy  his  fivor,  I  extend  this  friendsliip: 
If  he  will  take  it,  so  ;  if  not,  adieu  ; 
And,  for  my  love.  I  pray  you,  wrung  me  not. 

.-1///.  Yes,  shyloek,  I  wdl  seal  unto  this  bond, 

Shy.  Then  meet  me  forthwith  at  the  notary's; 
Give  him  direction  for  this  merry  bund, 
And  I  will  go  and  purse  the  ducats  straight; 
See  lo  my  house,  lel't  in  tlie  fearful  suard 
Of  an  unthrifty  knave;  and  presently 
I  will  be  Willi  jou.  [ExiJ 

Ant.  Hie  thee,  gentle  Jew. 

This  HebrcV*'  will  turn  (  hristian  ;  he  grows  ki.T* 

Bass.  I  like  not  fair  terms,  and  a  vilhwn's  raina 

Ant.  Come  on:  in  this  there  can  be  no  dismay 
I\Iy  ship?  'ytHM*  '■'orae  a  m'^':*ii  b<^fore  the  day. 

{Exeunt 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I. — Belmont.      A  roum  in  Portia's 

Flourish  of  Comets.      Enter  tlie  Prince  nf  JIo- 

rocco  fmrf   /lis  Train  ;   I'oiitia,  Neuissa,  a/i(i 

otiitr  of  tier  Attendants. 

Mor.  Mislike  me  not  for  my  complexion. 
The  shadow'd  livery  of  the  hurnish  d  sun, 
To  whom  I  am  a  neiirhltor,  and  near  bred. 
Bring  me  the  fairest  creature  nortliward  born, 
■\Vliere  Phcebus'  fire  scarce  thaws  the  icicles. 
And  let  us  make  incision  ^  Ibr  yovir  love. 
To  prove  whose  lilood  is  reddest,  Iiis,  or  mine. 
'  tell  thee.  lady,  this  a^p^ct  of  mine 
Hath  fear'd*  the  valiant;  by  my  love,  I  swear, 
The  best  regarded  virgins  of  our  clime 
Have  love'd  it  too  ;  1  would  not  change  this  hue, 
Kxcept  to  steal  your  thoughts,  my  gentle  queen. 

Por.  In  terms  ot  choice  1  am  not  stilely  led 
By  nice  direction  of  a  maiden's  eyes; 
Besides,  the  lottery  of  my  destiny 
Bars  me  tiie  right  of  voluntary  choosing : 
But,  if  my  father  liad  not  siianted  me, 
And  hedg'd  me  by  his  wit,  to  j  icld  myself 
His  wife,  who  wins  nie  by  the  means  I  told  you. 
Yourself,  renownd  prince,  then  stood  as  fair, 
As  any  comer  1  have  look'd  on  yet, 
For  my  affection. 

Mnr.  Even  for  that  I  thank  you ; 

Therefore,  I  pray  you,  lead  me  to  Ihe  caskets, 
To  try  ray  fortune.      I'.y  this  scimitar,— 
That  slew  the  Sophy,  and  a  Persian  prince. 
That  won  three  fields  of  sultan  .Solyman. — 
I  would  out-stare  the  sternest  eyes  that  look. 
Out-brave  the  lieart  most  daring  on  the  earth. 
Pluck  the  young  sucking  cubs  from  the  she  bear. 
Yea,  mock  the  lion  when  he  roars  for  prey. 
To  win  thee,  lady  :  But,  alas  the  while  ! 
If  Hercules,  and  Lichas,  play  at  dice 
2  Interest. 

'  Anu.iion  to  the  Ea.sterQ  custom  for  lovers  to  testify 
their  passion  by  cutting  theni.^elves  in  their  mistresses' 
light.  *  Terrified . 


Which  is  the  lx>-t€i  ;jtaii,  the  greater  throw 
May  lurn  by  fo.-'ii  a  from  the  weaker  hand: 
So  is  Alcides  bcabTi  by  his  page  ; 
And  so  may  I,  blinl  fortune  leading  me, 
Miss  that  which  one  onworthier  ma'y  attain, 
And  die  with  grieving. 

Por.  You  must  take  your  chance ; 

And  either  not  attempt  to  choose  at  all. 
Or  swear,  before  you  choose, — if  you  choose  wrong, 
Never  to  spcjik  to  lady  at^erward 
in  way  of  marriage ;  therefore  be  advis'd. 

Mor.  Nor  will  not  ;  come,  bring  me  unto  tny 
chance. 

Por.  First,  forward  to  the  temple;  afier  dinner 
Your  hazard  shall  be  made. 

Mor.  Good  fortune  then  !  [Cornets. 

To  make  me  bless't  or  curseil'st  among  men. 

\Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Venice.    A  Street. 

Enter  Launcelot  Gobeo. 

Laun.  Certainly  my  conscience  will  serve  me  to 
run  from  this  .lew,  my  master:  The  fiend  is  at 
mine  elbow  ;  and  tempts  me,  saying  to  me.  Gnb'jn, 
Luuncclot  iiobho,  noiid  Launcelot,  or  gowl  Gobbo, 
or  good  Liiunctlol  Gobbo.  rife  your  Iff^t;  iuhe  llie 
start,  run  r/"vji/ ;  My  conscience  says,— »»;  lake 
heed,  honest  Ln'unrcl'ot ;  take  lieed.  honest  Gobbn  ,• 
ar,  as  aforesaid,  honest  Launcelot  Gobbo;  do  not 
run  ;  scorn  runninii  with  thy  heels :  Well,  the  most 
courageous  fiend,  bids  me  pack;  via.'  says  the 
fiend ;  away  J  says  tlie  fiend,  fm-  the  heavens  ; 
rouse  up  a  brave  mind,  says  the  fiend,  und  run. 
Well,  my  conscience,  hanging  about  the  neck  of 
my  heart,  says  very  wisely  to  me, — nni  liunest 
friend  Lnuncrbil,  being  an  honest  man's  fon, — or 
rather  an  honest  woman's  son  ; — for,  indeed,  my 
l^rther  did  something  smack,  something  grow  to, 
he  had  a  kind  of  taste  :— -well,  my  conscience  says; 
Launcelot,  (ud/gp  not,-  bud^e,  says  the  fiend; 
budge  not,  says  my  conscience :  Conscience,  say  I, 
you  counsel  well;  fiend,  say  I,  you  counsel  well; 


153 


MERCHANT   OF  VENUIK, 


Act  II. 


to  he  ruled  by  my  cuiiscience,  1  should  stay  With 
t;ic  Jew  my  master,  who  ,God  bless  the  mark  !) 
is  a  kind  oi  devil ;  and,  lo  run  away  from  the  Jew, 
1  should  be  ruled  by  the  liend,  who,  savmg  your 
reverence,  is  the  devil  hunselt:  Certainly,  the  Jew 
is  the  very  devd  imarnatioii;  and,  in  my  conscience, 
my  conscience  is  but  a  kind  of  hard  conscience,  to 
otlice  to  counsel  me  to  stay  with  the  Jew :  The  iiend 
Hives  Ihe  more  Crjendly  counsel:  I  will  run,  fiend  ; 
luy  heels  are  at  your  commandment.  I   wdl  run. 

Enter  uUl  Goi\Jsu,v;ith  a  Basket. 
Gob.    Master,  youiiij   man,  you,   I   pray   you; 
which  is  the  way  to  master  Jew  s  ! 

Laun.  \Asiie.\  O  heavens,  this  is  my  true-he- 
B-ollen  father!  who,  being  more  than  sand-bhnd, 
fiigh-gravel  blind,  knows  menot:— 1  will  try  con- 
clusions >  with  him. 

Go').  Master,  youns  gentleman,  I  pray  you, 
which  is  the  way  to  master  Jew's  ! 

Lii-tii  Turn  up  on  your  right  hand,  at  the  next 
turniii',  but,  at  the  next  turning  of  all,  on  your 
left;  iuarry,at  the  very  next  turning,  turn  ot  no 
nand,  l)ut  turn  down  indirectly  to  the  Jew's  house. 

Gut).  By  God's  soi.ties,  twdl  be  a  hard  way  to 
hit.  Can  you  tell  lue  whether  one  Launcelot,  that 
dwells  with  him,  dwell  with  him  or  no ' 

Lduii.  Talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot  1— 
Mark  mcnow;  j.T  i</f,l  now  will  1  raise  the  waters: 
—Talk  you  of  young  master  Launcelot ! 

Guii.  No,  master,  sir,  but  a  poor  man's  son;  his 
fatlicr,  though  I  say  it,  is  an  honest  exceeding  poor 
man,  and,  God  be  thanked,  well  to  live. 

Luiin.  \S  ell,  let  his  fitlicr  be  what  he  will,  we 
talk  of  young  master  Launcelot. 

Guh.  Vour  worships  friend  and  Launcelot,  sir. 

Lmin.  But  1  pray  you  ergo,  old  man,  ergo,  I  be- 
seech you;   i'alk  you  of  young  inasler  Launcelot ! 

Gob.  Of  Launcelot,  auT  please  your  mastership. 

Laun.  Ergo,  master  Launcelot;  talk  not  ot 
master  Launcelot,  father  ;  for  the  young  gentleman 
(accordins  to  fates  and  destinies,  and  such  odd 
savings,  the  sisters  three,  and  such  branches  of 
learnmg.)  is  indeed  deceased;  or,  as  you  wouli 
say,  in  blain  terms,  gone  to  heaven. 

Gob.  Marry,  God  f  rbid!  the  boy  was  the  very 
stair  of  my  age,  my  very  prop. 

iMun.  Do  1  look  liivc  a  cudgel,  or  a  hovel-post,  a 
stalf,  or  a  prop^—  Uo  you  know  me,  lather  ! 

Gob.  Alack,  the  day.  1  know  you  not,  young 
gentleman  ;  but,  1  prav  you,  tell  me,  is  my  boy, 
'God  rest  his  soul!  alive,  or  dead] 

Luun.  Do  you  not  know  me,  lather  ! 

Go').  A.lacK,sir,  1  am  sand-blind,  I  know  you  not. 

Laun.  Kay.  indeed,  if  vou  had  your  eyes,  you 
might  fail  of  the  knowing  of  me  :  it  is  a  wise  latlier, 
that  know=  his  own  child.  Well,  old  man,  I  will 
tclUvou  news  of  your  son  :  Give  me  your  blessing: 
truth  will  come  to  light;  murder  cinnot  be  hid 
long,  a  man's  son  may  ;  but,  in  the  end,  truth  v^iU 

"go6.  Pray  you,  sir,  stand  up ;  I  am  sure  you  are 
not  Launcelot,  my  boy.  •  ^    ,•        u     . 

hiun.  Pray  you,  let  shave  no  more  fooling  about 
it,  lint  give  me  your  blessing ;  I  am  Launcelot,  your 
boy  that  was,  your  son  that  is,  your  child  that 
shall  he. 

Go'^.  I  carmnt  think  you  are  niy  son. 

Laun.  1  know  not  what  1  shall  think  of  that . 
but  1  am  Launcelot,  the  lew's  man ;  and,  1  am  sure, 
Marterv,  your  wife,  is  my  mother. 

Gob.  Her  name  is  Margery,  indeed :  I  11  he  sworn, 
if  thou  be  Launcelol,  thou  art  mine  own  llesh  and 
blood.  -Lordwoishipp'dmighthebe!  whata  beard 
hast  thou  got !  tli.iu  hast  got  more  hair  on  Ihy  chin, 
than  Dobbin,  mv  thi.l-horses  has  on  his  tail. 

Laun.  it  sho'uld  seem,  then,  that  Dobbin  s  tail 
grows  backward ;  I  am  sure  he  had  more  hair  on  his 
tail,  than  I  have  on  mj'  face,  when  1  last  saw  him. 

Gob.  Lord  how  art  Ihou  changed!  How  dost 
thou  and  tli.v  inasler  agree  !  1  have  brought  him  a 
present;  How 'gree  you  now! 

Luun.  W  ell.  well ;  but  for  mine  own  part,  as  I 
have  set  up  my  vcsl  to  run  away,  so  I  will  not  vest 
till  I  have  run  some  ground:  my  master  s  a  very 
Jew  :  Give  him  a  present!  give  bun  a  halter  :  1  am 
famish'd  in  his  service;  you  m;iy  tell  every  hnger 
I  have  with  my  ribs.  KatI.er,  1  ain  glad  you  are 
come  ;  give  me  "your  present  to  one,  master  Hassa- 
<.  Espwimeots.  «  -Shaft-horse. 


nio,  who  indeed,  gives  rare  new  livcr.es;  if  I  servo 
not  liim.  1  will  run  as  lur  as  God  has  any  ground. 
( 1  rare  fortune  !  here  comes  the  man  ;— lo  him,  fa- 
ther, for  1  am  a  Jew,  if  1  serve  the  Jew  any  longer 

Knter  Bassanio,  icitli  Lr.o>-AHDO,  and  other 
Followers. 

Sa.w.  You  may  do  so; — but  let  it  be  so  1  asted, 
that  supper  be  ready  at  the  farthest  by  live  of 
the  clock:  S-ee  these  letters  deliver  d;  put  the 
hveries  to  making;  and  desire  Gniliauo  lo  come 
anon  to  my  lodging.  [Lxit  a  bervanU 

Luun.  lo  hiin,  liither. 

Gob.  God  bless  your  worship  ! 

Bans.   Graniercy;  Wouldst  thou  aught  with  me! 

Gob.  Here's  my  son,  sir,  a  poor  boy, 

Laun.  Not  a  poor  boy,  sir,  but  the  rich  Jew  s 
man  ;  that  would,  sir,  as  my  father  shall  specily,— -- 

Gob.  Hath  he  a  great  inlcction,  sir,  as  one  would 
say,  10  serve ...         .     , 

Laun.  Indeed  the  short  and  the  long  is,  I  serve 
the  Jew,  and  1  have  a  desire,  as  my  lather  shall 
specify, .  .   , 

Gob.  His  master  and  he,  (saving  your  worship  s 
reverence.)  are  scarce  cater-cousins: 

LuuH.  To  be  brief,  the  very  truth  is,  that  the  Jew 
having  done  me  wronir,  doth  cause  me,  as  my 
father,  being  I  hope  an  old  man,  shall  Irutity  unto 

Gob.   I  have  here  a  dish  of  doves,  that  I  would 

bestow  upon  your  worship;  and  my  suit  is, 

Laun.    In  very  brief,  the  suit  is  impertinent  to 

myself,  as  your  worship  shall  know  by  this  honest 

old  niHii ;  and,  though  1  say  it,  though  an  old  man, 

yet,  poor  man,  my  father. 

Jjuis.  cue  speak  for  both  ;— Wh.at  would  you  ! 

Luun.  Serve  you,  sir. 

Gob.  This  IS  the  very  defect  of  llie  matter,  sir. 
Baas.   I  know  Hue  well,  thou  hast  obtain'd  thy 
suit: 
Shylock,  thy  master,  spoke  with  me  this  day, 
,\iul  hath  prelerr'd  thee,  if  it  be  preferment, 
'I'o  leave  a  rich  Jew's  service,  to  become 
The  follower  of  so  poor  a  gentleman. 

Laun.  The  old  proverb  is  very  well  parted  be- 
tween my  master  Shylock  and  you,  sir  ;  you  have 
the  grace  of  God,  sir,  and  he  hath  enough. 
Bass.  Thou  speak'st  it  well:   Go,  lather,  with 
thy  son  :— 
Take  leave  of  the  old  master  and  enquire 
My  lodging  out:-Give  him  a  hyery 

■'       °  |2o /ij.s- lollowers. 

More  guarded''  tlian  his  fellows  :   See  it  done. 

Luun.  Father,  in  :— I  cannot  get  a  service,  no  ; 
— 1  have  ne'er  a  tongue  m  my  head. — Well ;  \lvoK- 
ins  on  liU:  patm.\  if  any  man  in  Italy  have  a  lairer 
table  •  which  doth  oiler  to  swear  upon  a  book.  1 
sliau'have  good  fortune  ;  Go  to,  here  s  a  simple  line 
of  hie  '  here's  a  small  trille  of  w ives  :  Alas,  htleen 
wives  is  nothing  ;  eleven  widows,  and  nine  maids, 
IS  a  simple  coming  in  for  one  man  :  and  then,  to 
scape  drowning  Ihrice ;  and  to  be  in  peril  ot  my 
life  with  the  eiUe  of  a  feather-bed  ;— here  are  simple 
scapes  '  \Vell,"if  fortune  be  a  woman,  she  s  a  good 
wench  for  this  gear.— Father,  come  ;  I'll  take  my 
leave  of  the  Jew  in  the  twinkling  ot   an  eye. 

[Exeunt  Launcelot  and  old  Goiino. 
JSa'S  I  pray  thee,  good  Leonardo,  think  on  this; 
These  things  being  bought,  and  orderly  bestow'd, 
Keturn  in  haste,  for  I  do  feast  to-inght 
Mv  best-esteem'd  acquaintance;  hie  thee,  go. 
Leon.  My  best  endeavors  shall  be  done  herein. 


Enter  Gratiaso. 

Gm.  Where  is  your  master  1       ,         ,    . 

r ,,,,,  'Vonder,  sir,  ne  walks. 

^"  Exit  LebNAiiro. 

Grfl.  Signior  Bassanio, — 

Bass.  Gratiano  ! 

Gra.  I  have  a  suit  to  you.  , .  ■   ,j  ■. 

n' "  You  have  obtain'd  it. 

Gm.You  must  not  deny  me;  I  must  go  with 

'"jja«."  w"™  ihen   you   must  ;-But   hear  thee, 

Gratiano;  ,  ,    ,  ,     , 

Thou  art  ton  wild,  too  rude,  and  bold  of  voice  ;— 
Parts    that  become  thee  happily  enough. 
Ami  in  such  eyes  as  ours  appear  not  laulls  ; 
1  OrnnmentcJ.  •  The  palm  of  the  hand  wteaided. 


Scene  VI. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


159 


But  where  thou  art  not  known,  why,  there  they  show 
Something  too  liberal ;»— pray  thee,  take  pain 
To  allay  wMti  some  cold  drops  of  modesty 
Thy  skippiiifj   spirit ;  lest,  through  thy  wild  be- 
havior, 
I  be  misconstrued  in  the  place  I  go  to, 
And  lose  my  hopes. 

Gra.  Signior  Bassanio,  hear  me  : 

If  I  do  not  put  on  a  sober  habit, 
Talk  with  respect,  and  swear  but  now  and  then, 
Wear  prayer-books  in  my  pocket,  look  demurely  ; 
Nay  mofe,  while  grace  is  saying,  hood  mine  eyes 
Thus  with  my  hat,  and  sigh,  and  say,  amen  ; 
Use  all  the  observance  of  civility, 
Like  one  well  studied  in  a  sad  ostent  > 
To  please  his  grandam,  never  trust  me  more. 

Buss.  Weil,  we  sliall  see  your  bearing."* 

Gra.   Nay,  but  I  bar  to-night;  you    shall    not 
gage  me 
By  what  we  do  to-night. 

Bass.  No,  that  were  pity  ; 

I  would  entreat  you  rather  to  put  on 
Your  boldest  suit  of  mirth,  for  we  have  friends 
That  purpose  merriment :  But  Ikre  you  well, 
I  have  some  business. 

Gni,    And  I  must  to  Lorenzo,  and  the  rest ; 
But  we  will  visit  you  at  supper-time.        {Exeunt. 

SCENE  II  I.— ^  Room  in  Shylock's  Hmine. 

Enter  Jkssica  and  Lacncelot. 

Jes.  I  am  sorry,  thou  wilt  leave  my  father  so ; 
Our  house  Is  hell,  and  tliou,  a  merry  devil. 
Didst  rob  it  of  some  taste  of  tcdiousness : 
But  fare  thee  well ;  there  is  a  ducat  for  thee. 
And.  Luuncelot,  soon  at  supper  shalt  thou  see 
Lorenzo,  wlio  is  tliy  new  master  s  guest : 
tJive  him  tliis  letter;  do  it  secretly, 
And  50  farewell ;  I  would  not  have  my  father 
See  me  talk  with  thee. 

Laun.  Adieu  ! — tears  exhibit  my  tongue, — 
Most  beautiful   pa^an, — most   sweet  Jew  !    If  a 
Christian   do  not  play  the  knave,  and  get  thee,  1 
am  much  deceiv'd  :  But,  adieu  !  these  foolish  drops 
do  somewhat  drov^'U  my  manly  spirit ;  adieu  !  [Exit. 

Jes.  Farewell,  good  Launcolot. — 
Al  ick,  what  heinous  sin  it  is  in  me 
To  be  ashamed  to  be  my  fathers  child  ! 
But  though  1  am  a  daughter  to  Ins  blood, 
I  am  not  to  his  manners  :  O  Lorenzo, 
If  thou  keep  promise,  I  shall  end  this  strife  ; 
Become  a  Christian,  and  thy  loving  wife.    [Exit. 

SCKNE  IV.-.4  Strett, 

Enter  Giiatiano,  Lorknzo,  Salarino,  and 

S  ALAN  10. 

Lftr.  Nay,  we  will  slink  away  in  supper-time  ; 
Disguise  us  at  my  lodging,  and  return 
All  in  an  hour. 

Gra.  We  have  not  made  good  preparation. 

S  ilai:  We  have  not  spoke  us  yet  of  torch-bearers. 

Sa/an.  "l'\'ti  vile,  unless  it  may  be  quaintly  orJer'd; 
And  better,  in  my  mind,  not  undertook. 

Lor.  'Tis  now  but   four  o'clock  ;  we   have   two 
hours 
To  furnish  us  : — 

Enter  Launcelot,  jvifh  a  Letter. 

Friend  Launcelot,  what's  the  news? 

Lann.  And  it  shall  please  you  to  break  up  tins, 
it  shall  seem  to  signify. 

Lnr.  1  know  the  hand  :  in  faith,  "tis  a  fair  hand  ; 
And  whiter  than  the  paper  it  writ  on, 
Is  the  fair  hand  that  writ. 

Gra.  Love-news,  in  faith. 

Laun.  By  your  leave,  sir. 

Lor.  Whither  goest  thou  ; 

Laun.  Marry,  sir,  to  bid  my  old  master  th^  Jew 
to  sup  to-night  with  my  new  master  the  Christian. 

Lor.  Hold  here,  take  this  : — tell  gentle  Jessica, 
I  will  not  fail  her ;— speak  it  privately  ;  go. — 
Gentlemen,  [Exit  LAfxcEtOT. 

Will  you  prepare  >ou  for  this  masque  to-night  I 
I  am  provided  of  a  torch-bearer. 

Sa/ar.  Ay,  marry,  TU  be  gone  about  it  straight. 

Halan.  And  so  will  L 

J^or.  Meet  me,  and  Gratiano, 

Al  Graliano's  lodiring  some  hour  hence. 
'  Licentioui".  '  Show  of  staid  and  serious  demeanor. 

>  Carriagej  Uepoi 'incut. 


Salar.  'Tis  good  we  do  so, 

[Ex  tint  Salah.  and  Salax. 

Gra.  Was  not  that  letter  from  fair  Jessica  ! 

Liir.  I  must  needs  tell  thee  ail :  i>he  hath  directed, 
How  I  shall  take  her  from  her  lather's  house  ; 
What  gold,  and  jewels,  she  is  furnish'd  with  ; 
What  page's  suit  she  hath  in  leadniess. 
If  e'er  the  Jew,  her  father,  come  to  heaven, 
It  will  be  for  his  gentle  daughter's  sake  : 
And  never  dare  misfortune  cross  her  foot, 
Unless  she  do  it  under  this  excuse, — 
That  she  is  issue  to  a  faithless  Jew, 
Come,  go  with  me  ;  peruse  this,  as  thou  goest: 
Fair  Jessica  shall  be  my  toreh-bearer.        [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \.— Before  Shy  lock's  Hoiwe. 
Enter  Sar hoc K  and  Lacxcelot. 

Shy,  Well,  thou  shalt  see,  thy  eyes  shall  be  thy 
judge, 
The  dillcrence  of  old  shy  lock  and  Bassanio  :^ 
What,  Jessica  !— thou  sliait  nut  gormandize, 
As  thou  hast  done  with  me  : — W  hat,  Jessica  !^ 
And  sleep  and  snore,  and  rend  apparel  out : — 
Why,  Jessica,  1  say  ! 

L'lun.  Why,  Jessica  ! 

^k'j.  Who  bids  thee  call  .'  i  do  not  bid  thee  tall. 

Laun.  Your  worship  was  wont  to  tell  me,  I  could 
do  nothing  without  bidding. 

Enter  Jessica. 

Jes.  Call  you  ^  W'hat  is  your  will  ? 

Shy.  1  am  bid  ^  forth  to  supjicr,  Jessica  ., 
There  are  my  keys  : — But  wlieretore  shoulu  i  go  ? 
1  am  not  bid    for  love  ;  they  Ilaiter  me  : 
But  yet  ril  go  in  hate,  to  teed  upon 
The  prodigal  Christian. — Jessica,  my  girl. 
Look  to  my  house  : — I  am  right  loath  to  go  ; 
There  is  some  ill  a  brewing  towards  my  rest. 
For  I  did  dream  of  monej -bags  to-night. 

Laun.  I  beseech  you,  sir,  go ;  my  young  master 
doth  expect  your  rcproaeli. 

Sliy^  So  do  I  his. 

Laun.  And  they  have  conspired  together,— I 
will  not  say,  you  shall  see  a  masque  ;  but  if  you  do, 
then  it  was  not  tor  noihing  that  my  nose  fell  a 
bleeding  on  Black-Monday  last,  at  six  o'clock  i'the 
morning,  falling  out  that  year  on  Ash-Wednesday 
was  lour  year  in  the  anernoon, 

Sky.  W  hat !  are  there  ma^q^es  ?  Hear  you  me, 
Jessica  : 
Lock  up  my  doors ;  and  when  you  hear  the  drum. 
And  the  vile  squeakuiu'  of  the  wry-neck'd  f,le, 
Clamber  not  you  up  to  the  casements  then, 
Nor  thrust  your  head  into  tlie  public  street. 
To  gaze  on  Christian  looJs  with  va^ni:^h■d  faces  : 
But  stop  my  house's  ears,  1  mean  my  casements  ; 
Let  not  the  sound  of  sliallow  foppery  enter 
My  sober  house, — By  Jacob's  siall,  I  swear 
1  have  no  mind  of  leasling  forth  lo-liight : 
But  1  will  go. — Go  you  beroie  me,  surah  • 
Say,  I  will  come. 

Laun.  I  will  go  before,  sir. — 

Mistress,  look  out  at  window,  lor  ail  this, 
There  will  come  a  t  hristian  by. 
Will  be  worth  a  Jewess    eye.    [Exit  Laux, 

Sliy.    What  says  that  fool  of  Hagars  offsprmg, 
ha  \ 

Jes.  His  words  were.  Farewell  mistress  ;  nothing 
else. 

Shy.  The  patch  is  kind  enough;  but  a  huge  feeder, 
Snaif-slow  in  protil,  and  he  sleeps  by  day 
More  ihan  the  wild-cat ;  drones  hive  not  with  me  ; 
Therefore  I  part  with  Inm  ;  and  part  with  him 
To  one  that  1  would  ha\c  Inm  help  to  waste 
His  borrow'd  purse. —  W  ell,  Jessica,  go  in  ; 
Perhaps,  I  will  return  immediately  ; 
Do,  as  I  bid  you. 

Shut  doors  after  you:  Fast  bind,  fast  tind  ; 
A  proverb  never  stale  m  thrifty  mmd.  [Exit* 

Jes.  Farewell :  and  if  my  fortune  be  not  ciost, 
I  have  a  father,  you  a  daughter,  lost  [Exit. 

SCENE  \l.—The  same. 
Enter  Giiatiano  and  Salauino,  masked, 
Gra.  This  is  the  pent-house,  under  which  Lorenzo 
DesirM  us  to  make  stand. 
Saiar.  His  hour  is  ahnost  past. 

Gra.  And  it  is  marvel  he  out-dwells  his  hour. 
For  lovers  ever  run  before  tlie  clock, 
a  Invited. 


165 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  II. 


Scilar.  (),  ten  times  lU.ster  \  enus'  pi^'eons  fly 

To  seal  ioves  bonds  new  ninde,  than  thuy  are  wont, 

'I'o  keep  obligej  laitli  unforl'eiled  ! 

G/u.    I'liat  ever  liolds  :  Wlio  riBelli  from  a  feast, 
With  that  keen  appetite  that  he  sits  down  .' 
WJiere  i^  the  horse  that  doth  untread  again 
His  tedious  measures  with  the  uiibated  tire 
Tliat  lie  did  pace  tliem  hrst !      All  things  that  are, 
Are  with  more  spirit  chased  than  enjoy'd. 
How  like  a  younker,  or  a  prodigal, 
'the  scarfed  bark  puts  from  hcr'native  bay  ! 
Huggd  and  embraced  by  the  strumpet  wind! 
How  like  the  prodigal  doth  she  return  ; 
With  over-weather  d  ribs,  and  ragged  sails, 
Lean,  rent,  and  beggar'd  by  the  strumpet  wind  ! 

Enter  Loiieszo. 

Salar.    Here  comes   Lorenzo  ;  —  more   of    this 
hereafter. 

Lor.  Sweet  friends,  your  patience   for  my  long 
abode  ; 
Not  I,  but  my  affairs,  have  made  you  wait; 
When  you  shall  please  to  play  the  thieves  for  wives, 
I'll  watch  as  long  lor  you  then. — Approach  ; 
Here  dwells    my  father  Jew  : — Ho!  who's  within! 
.     Enter  Jessica,  al/uve,  in  Boy's  clothes. 

Jes.  Who  are  you  ?    fell  me,  for  more  certainty, 
Albeit  I'll  swear  that  I  do  know  your  tongue. 

Lor.  Lorenzo,  and  tiiy  love. 

Jes.  Lorenzo,  certain  ;  and  my  love,  indeed; 
For  who  love  1  so  much  !  And  now  wlio  ioiows, 
But  you,  Lorenzo,  whether  I  am  yours  ! 

Lor.  Heaven,  and  thy  thoughts,  are  witness  that 
thou  art. 

Jes.  Here,  catch  this  casket,  it  is  worth  the  pains. 
I  am  glad  'tis  night,  you  do  not  look  on  me, 
For  1  am  much  asham'd  of  my  exchange: 
But  love  is  blind,  ami  lovers  cannot  see 
'file  pretty  follies  that  themselves  commit: 
For  if  they  could,  Cupid  himself  would  blush 
To  see  me  thus  transformed  to  a  boy. 

Lor.  Descend,  for  you  must  be  my  torch-bearer. 

Jes.     What,  must  1  liold  a  candle  to  my  shames? 
They  in  thein-ielves,  good  sooth,  are  too  loo  light. 
Why.  'tis  an  ollice  of  discovery,  love  ; 
And  I  should  be  obscur'd. 

Lor.  So  are  you,  sweet, 

Even  in  the  love!y  garnish  of  a  boy. 
But  come  at  once  ; 

For  the  close  night  doth  play  the  run-away, 
And  we  are  staid  for  at  Bassanio's  feast, 

Jts.    I  will  make  fast  the  doors,  andgild  myself 

With  some  mare  ducats,  and  be  with  you  straight, 

YExit,  from  above. 

Gra.  Now,  by  my  hood,  aGenti;e,  and  no  Jew. 

Lor.  Beshrew  me,  but  I  love  her  heartily  : 
For  she  is  wise,  if  1  can  judge  of  her; 
And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true  ; 
And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  proved  herself; 
And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fare  and  true, 
Shall  sh3  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

Enter  Jessica,  beluw. 
What,  art  thou  come  ! — On,  gentlemen,  away ; 
Our  masquing  inatrs  by  this  time  for  us  stay, 

[Exit,  witti  Jessica  and  Salarixo. 
[Enter  As-rosio. 

Ant.  Who's  tliere? 

Gra.  Siguier  Antonio? 

Ant.  Fye,  fye,  Ciratiano  !  where  are  all  the  rest? 
'Tis  nine  o'clock  ;  our  I'riends  all  stay  for  you: — 
No  masque  to-night;  the  wmd  is  come  about, 
Bassanio  presently  will  go  aboard: 
I  have  sent  twenty  out  to  seek  for  you, 

Gra.  1  am  glad  on  t;  1  desire  no  more  delight, 
Than  to  be  under  sail,  and  gone  to-night. [i'jrtuH/, 

SCE.VE  VII, — Belmont,      A  Room  in  Portia's 
Ilou.'e. 

Flourih  of    Cornets.    Enter   Poiitia,  with  the 
Prince  if  Morocco,  and  botti  thiir  'frains, 

Piir.  Go,  draw  aside  t!ie  curtains,  and  discover 
The  several  caskets  to  this  noble  prince  :— 
Now  make  your  choice. 

Mur.  'file  first,  of  gold,  which  this  inscription 
bears; — 
IVho  clioo.-eth  nie,  shall  gain  what  mam/  men  desire. 
The  second,  s.her,  which  this  promise  carries  .' —    I 


rCAo  choostth  me,  shallget  as  much  as  he  deserves. 
This  third, dull  lead, with  warning  all  as  blunt ; — 
JVho  choostth  me,  inm-t  itiieand  hazard  alt  he  haiiu 
How  shall  I  know  if  1  do  choose  the  right? 

Por.  The  one  of  them  contains  my  picture,  prince; 
If  you  choose  that,  then  I  am  yours  withal. 

Alor.  Some  god  direct  my  judsmcnt !  Let  me  see, 

I  will  survey  the  inscriptions  back  again  : 
What  says  this  leaden  casket  ! 

I I  'Iw  clwoseth  me,  must  give  and  hazard  all  lie  hath. 
Must  give— For  what  ?  for  lead  ?  hazard  for  lead  ? 
Tins  casket  threatens  ;  Men,  tliat  hazard  all. 

Do  it  in  hope  of  fair  advantages  : 
A  golden  mind  stoops  not  to  sliows  of  dross : 
I'll  then  nor  give,  nor  hazard,  aught  for  lead. 
What  says  the  silver,  with  her  virgin  hue  '. 
Il'tio  chuoseth  me,  shall  get  tis-  much  as  he  deserves. 
As  much  as  he  deserves  ?  —  Pause  there,  Morocco, 
And  weigh  thy  value  with  an  even  hand: 
If  thou  be'st  rated  by  thy  estimation, 
Thiiu  dost  deserve  enough;  and  yet  enough 
May  not  extend  so  far  as  to  tlie  la'dy ; 
And  yet  to  be  afeard  of  my  deser\ing. 
Were  but  a  weak  disabling  of  mvself. 
As  much  as  I  deserve  ! —  Why,  that's  the  lady  ; 
1  do  m  birth  deserve  her,  and  in  fortunes. 
In  graces,  and  in  qualities  of  breeding; 
But  more  than  these,  in  love  1  do  deserve. 
What  if  I  stray'd  no  further,  but  chose  here? 
Lefs  see  once  more  this  saying  grav'd  in  gold: 
U'lio chooseth  me, stiatt  gain  ivhut  manii  men  desire. 
Why,  that's  the  lady;  all  the  world  desires  her: 
From  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  they  come. 
To  kiss  this  shrine,  this  mortal  breathing  saint. 
The  Hyrcaniaii  deserts,  and  tile  vasty  wilds 
Of  wide  Arabia,  are  as  thorough-liires  now. 
For  princes  to  come  view  fair  Portia : 
The  watery  kingdom,  whose  ambitious  head 
Spits  in  the  face  of  heaven,  is  no  bar 
To  stop  the  foreign  spirits ;  but  they  come. 
As  o'er  a  brook,  to  see  fair  Portia, 
One  of  these  three  contains  her  heavenly  picture, 
Is't  like,  that  lead  contamsher?  'Twere  damnation 
To  think  so  base  a  thought :  it  were  too  gross 
To  rib<  her  cerecloth  in  tiie  obscure  grave. 
Or  shall  I  think,  in  silver  she's  imniur'd. 
Being  ten  times  undervalued  to  try  d  gold  '' 
O  smful  thought !  Never  so  rich  a  gem 
Was  set  in  worse  than  gold.  'I'hey  have  in  England 
A  coin  that  bears  the  figure  of  an  angel 
Stamped  in  gold  ;  but  thaf  s  insculp'd'  upon  • 
But  here  an  angel  in  a  golden  bed 
Lies  all  within.—  Deliver  me  the  key  ; 
Here  do  I  choose  and  thrive  I  as  1  may  ! 
Por.  There,  take  it,  prince,  and  if  my  form  ho 
there. 
Then  I  am  yours.     [He  unloctcs  the  golden  casttet. 
Mor.  0  hell  !  what  have  we  here  I 

A  carrion  death,  within  whose  emiity  eye 
There  is  a  written  scroll  ?    I'll  readthe  writin"-. 
All  that  glisters  is  not  gold,  " 

Often  hare  you  heard  that  told: 
Many  a  man  his  life  hath  sold, 
But  my  outside  to  behold: 
Gilded  tombs  do  worms  infold, 
Had  you  been  as  wise  us  bold. 
Young  in  limbs,  in  judgment  old, 
1  Gur  answer  hud  not  been  inscroll'd: 
Fare  you  well,  your  suit  is  cold. 
Cold,  indeed  ;  and  labor  lost : 

Then  tarewell,  heat ;  and  welcome,  frost 

Portia,  adieu  !  I  have  too  griev'd  a  heart 

To  take  a  tedious  leave  :  thus  losers  part.      [Exit 

Por.  A  gentle  riddance  : Draw  the  curtains  • 

go; ' 

Let  all  of  his  complexion  choose  me  so.  [Exeun.',. 
SCENE  VIII,— Venice.    A  Strtet. 
Enter  SALAniso  and  Salaivio. 

Salar.  Why,  man,  I  stiw  Bassanio  under  sail ; 
With  him  is  Gratiano  gone  along  ; 
And  in  their  ship,  I  am  sure,  Lorenzo  is  not. 

Satan.    The  villain  Jew  with  outcries  rais'd  the 
duke  ; 
Who  went  with  him  to  search  Bassanio's  ship. 

Salar.  He  came  too  late,  the  sliiji  was  under  sail 
But  there  the  duke  was  given  to  understand. 
That  in  a  gondola  were  seen  together 

•  Enclnse.  «  Engraven. 


Scene  IX. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


161 


Lorenzo  and  liis  amttrous  Jessica  ; 
Besides,  Antonio  i-eitily'd  Uie  duke, 
They  were  uol  with  iiassanio  ni  his  ship. 

Sa/an.  I  never  lieard  a  i)assion  so  confus'd, 
So  strange,  outrageous,  and  su  variable, 
As  tlje  dog  Jew  did  utter  in  tile  streets  : 
M^  dau)fkter  !    0  mij  d'MalsI—  O  my  daughter! 
FieU  Willi  a  Vkristiaii  ? —  0  my  C/irisliaii  ducats! 
Justice!  Ike  law!  nii/  ducals^ind my  daughter! 
A  scaled  bug,  two  sealed  bags  of  duculs. 
Of  double  ducat  •<,  sltilnfnim  me  by  iiiji  daughter! 
And  jewels;  two  stones,  two  rick  and  precious 

stones, 
Slul'n  by  my  daughter!— Justice!  find  the  girl! 
She  hath  the  stones  upini  her,  and  the  ducats! 

Su'.ar.    Why,  all  the  boys  in  Venice  follow  him. 
Crying, — liis  stones,  his  daughter,  and  Ins  ducats. 

Salan.  Let  good  .\ntonio  look  he  keep  his  day. 
Or  he  shall  pay  tor  this. 

Salar.  Marry,  well  reuiember'd  : 

I  reason'd'-  with  a  Frenchman  yesterday; 
Who  told  me  in  the  narrow  seas,  that  part 
The  French  and  Knghsh,  there  miscarried 
A  vessel  of  our  country,  riclily  fraught; 
1  thought  upon  Antonio,  wlien  he  told  me; 
And  wisif  d  in  silence,  that  it  were  not  his. 

Salan.  \o\i  were  best  to  tell  Antonio  what  you 
hear  ; 
Yet  do  not  suddenly,  for  it  may  grieve  him. 

Salar.  A  kinder  gentleinau  treads  not  the  earth. 
I  saw  Bassanio  and  Vtitoino  j>art ; 
Bassaniii  told  liini,  lie  would  make  some  speed 
Of  his  return;  he  answer  il — Dit  not  so. 
Slub'jer^  not  business  for  my  sake,  Bassanio, 
But  stay  the  very  riping  of  lite  lime  ; 
And  for  the  Jew's  bund,  which  he  hath  of  me. 
Let  it  not  enter  in  your  mind  of  Un'e  : 
Be  merry;  and  employ  your  chuj'est  thoughts 
To  courtship  and  suchj'air  oste/tts'  of  love 
A'i  shall  convenientui  become  yuu  there  ■■ 
And  even  there  his  e"ye  being  bif;  with  tears. 
Turning  his  face,  he  put  his  hand  behind  Inm, 
And  with  adcetioi}  wondrous  sensible 
lie  wrung  Bassanio's  hand,  and  so  they  parted. 

Salan.  I  think  he  only  loves  the  world  for  Inm. 
I  pray  thee,  let  us  go,  and  find  him  out, 
And  quicken  Ins  embraced  heaviness* 
With  some  delight  or  other. 

Salar.  Do  we  so.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.— Eclmont.   A  room  in  Portia's  House. 
i'litoNtuissA,  with  a  Servant. 

Ner.  Quick,  quick,  1  pray  thee,  draw  the  curtain 
straight; 
The  prince  of  Arragon  Iiad  ta'en  his  oath. 
And  comes  to  his  election  jtresciitly. 
Flourish  of  Cornels.    Knier  the  I'rince  of  Am- 
gon,"PoiiTiA,  H/Ki  their  Trains. 

Por.    Behold,   there    stands  the    caskets,  noble 
prince. 
If  you  choose  that  wherein  I  am  contain'd. 
Straight  shall  our  nuptial  rites  be  solemniz'd  ; 
But  if  you  fail,  without  more  speech,  my  lord, 
You  must  be  gone  from  iience  immediately. 

Ac.  1  am  cnjoind  by  oath  to  observe  three  things: 
First,  never  to  unfold  to  any  one 
Which  casket  'twas  1  chose  ;  next  if  I  fail 
Of  the  right  casket,  never  in  my  lite 
To  woo  a  maid  in  way  of  marriage  ;  lastly, 
If  1  do  fail  in  fortune  of  iny  choice. 
Immediately  to  leave  you  and  be  gone. 

For.  To  these  injunctions  every  one  doth  swear, 
That  comes  to  hazard  for  my  worthless  self. 

Ar.  And  so  have  I  addiess'di  me:  Fortune  now 
To  my  heart's  hope!  —  (Jold,  silver,  and  base  lead, 
iVho  chooseth  me.  must  give  and  hazard  all  he  hath: 
You  shall  look  fairer,  ere  1  give,  or  hazard. 
What  says  the  golden  chest  !  ha  !  let  nie  see: — 
iVho  choosetk  me  shall  gain,  ivliat  many  men  desire. 
What  many  men  desire — That  many  may  be  meant 
0  Conversed.  '  To  slubher'is  to  do  a  thing  carelessly, 

*=  Shows,  tokens.  »  The  heuviuess  be  xa  fouJ  of. 

1  Prepared. 

11 


By  the  fool  multitude  ihat  choose  by  show. 
Not  learning  more  than  the  I'ond  eye  dolb  teach : 
Which  pries  not  to  the  interior,  but.  like  the  martlet, 
Builds  in  the  weather  on  the  outward  wall, 
Even  in  the  force  and  road  of  casuality. 
I  will  not  clioose  what  many  men  desire. 
Because  1  will  not  jump'  with  common  spirits. 
And  rank  me  witii  the  barbarous  multitudes. 
Why,  then  to  thee,  thou  silver  treasure  house; 
Tell  ine  once  more  what  title  thou  dost  bear: 
Wlto  ctuioseth  me,  shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves; 
And  well  saiil  too;  For  who  shall  go  about 
To  cozen  I'ortunc,  and  be  honorable 
Without  the  stamp  of  merit !  Let  none  presume 
To  wear  an  undeserved  dignity. 
O,  that  estates,  degrees,  and  otflccs. 
Were  not  deprivd  rorrnptly  !  and  that  clear  honor 
Were  purchased  by  the  merit  of  the  wearer ! 
How  many  then  should  cover  that  stand  bare  ! 
How  many  be  commanded  that  command  ! 
How  much  low  peasantry  would  then  be  gleair'd 
From  the  true  seed  of  honor!  and  how  much  honor, 
Pickd  I'rom  the  chad'  and  ruin  of  the  times, 
To  be  new  varnislf  d  !  Well,  but  to  my  choice  : 
li'ho  ch'.oseth  me, shall  get  as  much  as  he  deserves; 
I  will  assume  desert;  —  (.Jive  me  a  Key  for  this, 
.\nd  inslaiilly  unlock  my  fortunes  here. 
i'ur.  Too  long  a  jiause  for  that  which  you  find 

there. 
Ar.  What's  here'!  the  portrait  of  a  blinking  idiot. 
Presenting  me  a  schedule  !  I  will  read  it. 
How  much  unlike  art  thou  to  Portia  ! 
How  much  unlike  my  hopes,  and  my  deservings! 
IF/to  chooseth  me  shall  Ar/i'-.:  as  much  as  he  deserves, 
\)\A  I  deserve  no  more  than  a  I'ool's  head  ] 
Is  that  my  jirize  !  are  my  deserts  no  better? 

Por.  To  ollend,  and  judge,  are  distinct  oOices, 
.\nd  of  opposed  natures. 
A  r.  What  is  here  1 

The  fire  .seven  times  tried  this: 

Seven  times  triid  ttiaf  Judgment  is, 

Thnt  did  never  choose  amiss; 

Some  there  be  that  shadows  ttiss; 

Such  have  but  a  shad(av's  bliss; 

There  befools  alive,  I  wis,' 

Silver'd  o'er  ;  and  so  was  this. 

Take  what  ivife  y(m  will  to  bed, 

I  will  ever  be  yin'ir  head  ; 

Sit  beg(ni€,  sir,  you  are  sped. 

Still  more  fool  1  shall  appear, 

liy  the  lime  I  linger  here  ; 

With  one  fool's  heart  I  came  to  woo, 

But  1  go  away  with  two. 

Sweet,  adieu  f  I'll  keej)  my  oath, 

Patiently  to  bear  my  wroth. 

[Kxeunt  Arragon,  and  Train. 
Por.  Thus  hath  the  candle  singed  the  moth. 
O  these  deliberate  fools  !  when  they  do  choose, 
They  Jiavc  their  wisdom  by  their  wit  to  lose. 

Ner.  The  ancient  saying  is  no  heresy;^ 
Hanging  and  wiving  goes  by  destiny. 
Piir.  Come,  draw  the  curtain,  Nerissa. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  Where  is  my  lady  1 

Pur,  Here;  wliat  wovild  my  lordt 

Serv.  Madam,  there  is  alighted  at  your  gate 
A  young  Venetian,  one  that  comes  before 
To  signify  the  approaching  of  his  lord  : 
From  wliuni  he  bringelh  sensible  regrcefs  ;• 
To  wit,  besides  commends,  and  courteous  breath. 
Gifts  of  rich  value  ;  yet  1  have  not  seen 
So  likely  an  embassador  of  love  : 
A  day  in  April  never  came  so  sweet. 
To  show  how  costly  summer  was  at  hand, 
As  this  fore-sjrurrer  comes  before  his  lord. 

Por.  No  more,  I  pray  thee;  1  am  halfafeard 
Tlion  wilt  say  anon,  he  is  some  kin  to  thee, 
Thon  spcnd'st  such  high-day  wit  in  praising  him.— 
Come,  come.  Nerissa ;  for  I  long  to  see 
Quick  Cupid's  post  that  comes  so  mannerly 
Ner,  Bassanio,  lord  love,  if  thy  will  it  be  ' 

[Exeunt 
1         4  .\gree.  3  Know.  *  Salutiitiona. 


162 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  III. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— Venice.    A  Street. 
Enler  Sala>'io  and  Salaui::?o 

Satan.  Now,  what  new3  on  the  Rialto  ; 

Salar,  Why,  yet  it  hves  tlicre  unchecked,  that 
Antonio  hath  a  ship  of  rich  hitiin;^  wreck'd  on  the 
narrow  seas;  the  Goodwins.  I  think  they  call  the 
place;  a  very  dangerous  flat,  and  I'atal,  where  the 
carcases  of  many  a  tall  sliip  lie  buried,  as  they  say, 
ifni}'  g05.?iprep.n"t  be  an  honest  woman  of  her  word. 

Satan.  1  would  she  were  as  lying  a  goifi^ii)  in  that 
as  ever  knapp'd  icin^er,  or  ni'ide  her  neighbors 
believe  she  wept  for  the  death  of  a  third  husband: 
But  it  is  true, — without  any  slips  of  prolixity,  or 
crossin,^  the  plain  high-way  of  talk,— tliat  the  good 

Antonio,  the  honest  Antonio, 0   that  I  had  a 

title  good  enough  to  keep  his  name  company  ! — 

Salar.  Come,  the  full  stop. 

Sala7i.  Ha, — what  say'st  thou  ?— Why  the  end 
is,  he  lutth  lost  a  ship. 

Satar.  I  would  it  might  prove  the  end  of  liis 
losses ! 

Satan.  Let  me  say  amen  betimes,  lest  the  devil 
cross  my  prayer ;  for  here  he  coines  in  the  likeness 
of  a  Jew. — 

Enter  Shylock. 

How  now,  Shylock  ]  what  news  among  the  mer- 
chants ? 

Shy.  You  knew,  none  so  well,  none  so  well  as 
you,  of  my  daughter's  flight. 

S'tta?'.  That's  certain;  1,  for  my  part.  Knew  the 
tailor  that  made  the  win^s  she  flew  withal. 

Sedan.  And  Shylock,  for  his  own  part,  knew  the 
bird  WIS  fledgM;  and  then  it  is  the  complexion  of 
them  all  to  leave  the  dam. 

Sfii/.  She  is  damn'd  fur  it. 

Satar.  That's  certain,  if  Uie  devil  may  be  her 
judge. 

SH'.  My  own  flesh  and  blood  to  rebel ! 

Satan.  Out  upon  it,  old  carrion !  rebels  it  at 
these  years  ] 

S^u.  I  say,  my  daughter  is  my  tlesh  and  blood. 

Sitfir.  There  is  more  diflerence  between  thy  flesh 
and  hers,  than  between  jet  and  ivory;  more  between 
your  bloods,  than  there  is  between  red  wine  and 
Rhenish:  —  Hut  tell  us,  do  you  hear  whether  An- 
tonio liave  liad  any  loss  at  sea  or  no  1 

SVv-  There  I  have  another  bad  match:  a  bank- 
rupt, a  prodigal,  who  dare  scarce  show  his  head  on 
the  Rialto;^- a  beggar,  tliat  used  to  come  so  smug 
upon  the  mart;  —  let  him  look  to  his  bond:  he  was 
wont  lo  call  me  usurer;— let  him  look  to  his  bond: 
he  was  wont  to  lend  money  for  a  Christian  courtesy ; 
— Ii'^t  him  look  to  his  bond. 

Satar,  Why.  I  am  sure,  if  he  forfL'it.  thou  wilt 
not  take  his  flesh ;  What's  that  good  for  ? 

Shi/.  To  bait  tish  withal:  if  h  will  feed  nothing 
else,  it  will  feed  my  revenge.  He  hath  disgraced 
me,  and  hindered  nie  of  half  a  million  ;  laughed  at 
my  looses,  niOv'ked  at  my  gains,  scorned  my  nation, 
thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled  my  friends,  heated 
mine  enemies  ;  and  what's  his  reason  !  Tarn  a  Jew  : 
Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes]  hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs, 
dimensions,  senses,  afTections,  passions!  fed  with 
tlie  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  subject 
to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means, 
warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  sum- 
mit, as  a  Christian  is  I  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not 
bh't'd  ?  if  you  tickle  us,  do  we  not  laugh?  if  you 
poison  us,  do  we  not  die  ]  and  if  you  wrong  ys, 
shall  we  not  revenge?  Ifw^e  are  like  you  in  the 
rest,  we  will  resemlilc  you  in  tliat.  If  a  .Tew  wrong 
a  Christian,  what  is  his  humihty?  revenge;  If  a 
Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  sulTerence 
be  by  Christian  example  ]  why,  revenge.  The  vil- 
laiiy  you  teach  me,  I  will  execute;  and  It  shall  go 
hard,  but  I  will  better  the  instruction. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  Gentlemen,  my  master  Antonio  is  at  his 
house,  and  desires  to  speak  with  you  both. 
Salar.  We  have  been  up  and  down  tj  seek  him. 


Enter  Tcbal. 

Satan.  Here  comes  another  of  the  tribe;  a  thirtl 
cannot  be  matched,  unless  the  devil  InmseU"  turn 
Jew.  {Exeunt  Salan.,  Salau.,  and  Sen'ant. 

Sk]f.  How  now.  Tubal,  what  news  from  Genoa? 
hast  thou  Ibund  my  daughter  ! 

Tat).  I  often  come  where  I  did  bear  of  her,  but 
cannot  And  her. 

Sky.  Why  there,  there,  there,  there !  a  diamond 
gone,  cost  me  two  thousand  ducats  in  P'rankfort! 
The  curse  never  fell  upon  our  nation  till  now  ;  I 
never  felt  it  till  now:  — two  tfiousand  ducats  in 
that;  and  other  precious,  precious  jewels.— 1  would, 
iny  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the  jewels 
in  her  ear!  'would  she  were  hearsd  at  my  toot,  and 
the  ducats  in  her  cottin  !  No  news  of  them  \ — Why, 
so:—  and  1  know  not  what's  spent  in  the  search: 
Why,  thou  loss  upon  loss?  the  thief  gone  with  so 
much,  and  so  much  to  find  the  thief;  and  no  satis- 
faction, no  revenge:  nor  no  ill  luck  stirring,  but 
what  lights  o'  my  shoulders;  no  sighs,  but  o'  my 
breathmg ;  no  tears,  but  o'  my  shedding. 

Tat).  Vcs,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too;  Antonio, 
as  I  heard  in  Genoa, — 

Shi/.  What,  what,  what?  ill  luck,  ill  luck? 

Tab.  — hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  coming  from 
Tripolis. 

Stiff.  I  thank  God,  I  thank  God:  — Is  it  true? 
is  it  true  ? 

Tub.  I  spoke  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  es- 
caped the  wn.'ck. 

Stiy.  I  thank  thee,  good  Tubal;  —  Good  news, 
good  news :  ha  !  ha !  —  Where  ?  in  Genoa  ? 

Tub.  Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I  heard, 
one  night,  fourscore  ducats. 

S'lif*  Thou  stickst  a  dagger  in  me: 1  shall 

never  see  my  gold  again:  Fourscore  ducats  at  a 
sitting!  fourscore  ducats. 

Tab.  There  came  divers  of  Antonio's  creditors 
in  my  company  to  Venice,  that  swear  Jie  cannot 
choose  but  break.  * 

.SV(v,  1  am  very  glad  of  it:  1*11  plague  him;  111 
torture  him  ;  I  am  glad  ot  it. 

Tub.  I  nie  of  them  showed  me  a  ring,  that  he  had 
of  your  daughter  for  a  monkey. 

Shy.  Out  upon  her !  'I'hou  torturcst  me,  Tubal : 
it  was  my  torquoise ; »  I  had  it  of  Leah,  when  I  was 
a  bachelor:  I  would  not  have  given  it  for  a  wilder- 
ness of  monkeys. 

Tub.  1-iut  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

Sh'j.  Nay  tiiaCs  true,  that's  very  true:  Go, 
Tubal,  fee  me  an  oflicer,  bespeak  him  a  fortnight 
before:  I  will  have  the  heart  ofhiin,  if  he  forfeit; 
for  were  he  out  of  Venice,  I  can  m;ike  what  nwr- 
chandize  1  will;  Go,  go,  Tuba!,  and  meet  me  at 
our  synagogue;  go,  good  Tubal;  at  our  syna- 
gogue, Tubal.  \Exeunt' 

SCi^NP:    II.  — Belmont.     A    Room    in    Tortia's 

House. 
Enter  Bassaxio,  Portia,  Gratias^o,  Nerissa 
ft;?'/  Attendants.  Ttie  caskets  are  set  out. 
Par.  I  pray  you,  tarry;  i)ause  a  day  or  two, 
Belbre  you  hazard;  for  ni  choosing  wrong, 
I  lose  yuur  company  ;  therefore,  forbear  a  while: 
There's  something  tells  me,  (but  it  is  not  love,) 
1  would  not  lose  you ;  and  you  know  yoursell, 
Hate  counsels  not  in  such  a  quality  : 
But  lest  you  should  not  understand  me  well, 
{And  yet  a  maiden  hath  no  tongue *bnt  thought,) 
I  would  detain  you  here  some  inonth  or  two. 
Before  you  venture  for  me.  I  could  tcacli  you 
How  to  cho&se  right,  but  then  I  am  fjrsworn; 
So  will  I  never  be:  So  may  you  miss  me; 
But  if  you  do,  youMl  make  me  wish  a  sin 
That  1  had  been  forsworn-    lieshrew  your  ej*es, 
They  li;ive  o'er-lookd  me,  and  divided  me  ; 
One  half  of  me  is  yours;  the  other  half  yours, — 
Mine  own,  I  would  say:  but  if  mine,  then  yours, 
And  so  all  yours:  O  !  these  naughty  times 
Put  bars  between  the  owners  and  their  ritrhts; 
And  so,  though  your's,  not  yours.— prove  it  so, 
*A  precious  stone. 


SCEXE  II. 


MEROHAIsT  OF  VENICE 


103 


Let  fortune  to  to  hell  lor  it,— not  1. 
I  speak  too  lon^' :  but  'tis  to  pc;ze«  the  lime; 
To  eke  it,  and  to  draw  it  out  in  length, 
To  stay  you  I'rom  election. 

iJasy.  Let  me  choose ; 

For,  as  I  am,  I  live  upon  the  rack. 

Par.  Upon  the  rack,  liassanio  !  then  confess 
What  treason  there  is  minijlcd  willi  your  love. 

Bnss.   None,  but  that  ugly  treason  of  mistrust, 
Which  makes  me  fear  the  enj.iying  of  my  love : 
There  may  as  well  be  amity  and  life 
'Tween  siiow  and  fire,  as  treason  and  my  love. 

Por.  Ay,  but,  I  fear,  you  speak  upon  the  rack. 
Where  men  enforced  do  speak  any  thing. 

Bass.  I'romise  me  life,  and  111  confess  the  truth. 

Por.  Well  then,  confess  and  live. 

Bms.  Confess  and  love, 

Had  been  the  very  sum  of  m\-  contession : 
f)  happy  torment,  when  my  torturer 
Doth  teach  me  answer  for  deliverance ! 
But  let  me  to  my  fortune  and  the  caskets. 

Por.  .\way  then :  I  am  lock'd  in  one  of  them ; 
If  you  do  love  me.  you  will  find  me  out. — 
Nerissa,  and  the  rest,  stand  all  aloof. — 
I-ct  music  sound  while  he  doth  make  his  choice, 
Then,  if  he  lose,  he  makes  a  swan-like  end. 
Fading  in  music  :  that  the  comparison 
May  stand  more  proper,  my  eye  shall  be  the  stream, 
And  wat'ry  death-bed  for  him:  He  may  win; 
And  what  is  music  then  ?  theti  music  is 
Kven  as  the  flourish  when  true  subjects  bow 
To  a  new-crowned  monarch :  such  il  is. 
As  .are  those  dulcet  sounds  in  break  of  day. 
That  creep  into  the  dreaming  bridegroom's  ear, 
.^nd  summon  him  to  marria:;e.  Now  he  goes 
With  no  less  presence,'  but  with  much  more  love, 
Than  young  .Mcides,  when  he  did  redeem 
The  virgin  tribute  paid  by  howling  Troy 
To  the  sea-monster:  I  stand  for  sacrifice, 
The  rest  aloof  are  the  Dardanian  wives. 
With  bleared  visases.  come  fortli  to  view 
The  issue  ot' the  e.vploit.     Go,  Hercules! 
Live  thou,  1  live  : — With  much  much  more  dismay 
I  view  the  fight,  than  thou  that  raak'st  the  fray. 

Music,  ivhilst  Bassanto  comments  on  the  casket 
to  him.sctf. 

SONG. 
I.  Tell  me,  where  i.s fancy'  lirett. 
Or  in  the  heart  or  in  the  head? 
How  begot,  how  nourished  ? 
Reply.  2.  //  is  en^ender'd  in  the  et/es, 

Wiih  gazing  fed  ,•  and  fancy  dies 
In  the  cradle  where  it  Ifes  : 

Let  as  all  rinf;  fancy's  Ifnell; 
I'll  begin  if, — Ding,  dmig,  bell. 
All.       Ding,  dong.  bell.    "^ 
Bass.  ^So   may  the  outward   shows   be  least 
themselves : 
The  world  is  still  deceiv'rt  with  ornament. 
Ill  law,  what  plea  so  tainted  and  corrupt. 
But,  being  season'd  with  a  gracious  voice. 
Obscures  the  show  of  evil]     In  religion. 
What  damned  error,  but  sonxg  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it.  and  approve  it  with  a  text. 
Hiding  the  grossness  with  fair  ornament  ? 
There  is  no  vice  so  simple,  but  assumes 
Some  mark  of  virtue  on  his  outward  parts. 
How  many  cowards,  whose  hearts  are  all  as  false 
As  stairs  of  sand,  wear  \et  upon  their  chins 
The  beard  of  Hercules,  iind  frowning  Mars  ; 
Who.  inward  geareh'd,  have  livers  white  as  milk? 
And  these  assume  but  valor's  excrement. 
To  render  them  redoubted.    Look  on  beauty. 
And  you  shall  see  'tis  purchased  by  the  weight; 
Which  therein  works  a  miracle  in  nature, 
Making  them  lightest  that  wear  most  of  it : 
Po  are  those  crisped"  snaky  golden  locks. 
Which  make  such  wanton  gambols  with  the  wind, 
Upon  supposed  fairness,  often  known 
To  be  the  dowry  of.",  second  head  ; 
The  scull  that  bred  them,  in  the  sepulchre. 
Thus  ornament  is  but  the  guiledi  shore 
To  a  most  danirerous  sea  ;  the  beauteous  scarf 
Veiling  an  Indian  beauty;  in  a  word. 
The  seeming  truth  which  cunning  times  put  on 
To  entrap  the  wisest.   Therefore,  Uiou  gaudy  gold, 
•  De'ay.  ">  Dignity  of  mii^n.  '  Love. 

«  Curled,  i  Treacherous. 


Hard  food  lor  Midas,  1  will  none  of  thee: 
Nor  none  of  thee,  thou  pale  and  common  drudge 
'I'ween  man  and  man  :  but  thou,  lliou  meagre  lead. 
Which  rather  threat'nest  than  dobt  promise  aught, 
Thy  plainness  moves  me  more  lliou  eloquence, 
Anil  here  choose  I :  Joy  be  the  consequence  ! 
Par.  How  all  the  other  passions  llect  to  air. 
As  doubtful  thoughts,  and  rash-embraceddespair, 
And  shuddring  fear  and  green-eyd  jealousy. 

0  love,  be  nuKleralc.^Uay  thy  ecstacy. 

In  measure  rein  thy  joy,  scant  this  excess; 

1  feel  too  much  thy  IJlcssing,  make  it  less, 
For  fear  I  surfeit ! 

Buss,  What  find  I  here? 

I  Opening  the  leaden  casket. 
Fair  Portia's  counterfeit?  What  demi-god 
Halh  come  so  near  creation  ?  Move  these  ej'es? 
Or  whether,  riding  on  the  balls  of  mine, 
Seem  they  in  motion  ?  Here  are  sever'd  lips, 
Parted  with  sugar  breath ;  so  sweet  a  bar 
Should  sundcrsuchs%vcct  friends:  Herein  her  hairs 
The  painter  plays  the  spider;  and  hath  woven 
A  solden  itiesli  lo  eturap  the  hearts  of  men. 
Faster  tlian  gnats  in  cobwebs:  But  her  eyes, — 
How  could  he  see  to  do  them?  having  made  one, 
Metbinks,  it  should  have  power  to  steal  both  his. 
And  leave  itself  unfurnislfd:  Yet  look,  how  far 
T,lie  substance  of  my  praise  doth  w  rong  this  shadow 
In  underprising  it,  so  far  this  shadow 
Doth  limp  behind  the  substance, — Here's  the  scroll. 
The  continent  and  summary  of  my  fortune. 
Yoit  thai  choose  not  by  Ike  view. 
Chance  as  fair  and  choose  as  true.' 
Since  t  his  fortune  falls  to  you. 
Be  content  and  seek  no  new. 
If  yon  be  well  pleas' d  with  this,      _   ■ 
And-  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss, 

.  Turn  yon' where  honr  ladi)  is. 
And  claim  her  n-ilh  a  loving  kiss. 
.K  gentle  scroll ;— Fair  lady,  by  your  leave; 

{Kissing  her. 
I  come  by  note,  to  give  and  to  receive. 
Like  one  of  two  contending  in  a  prize. 
That  thinks  he  hath  done  well  in  people's  eyes, 
Hearing  applause  and  universal  snout. 
Giddy  ni  spirit,  still  gazing,  in  a  doubt 
Whether  those  peals  of  praise  be  his  or  no  : 
So,  thrice  fair  lady,  stand  I,  even  so; 
As  doubtful  whether  what  I  see  be  true, 
Until  confirmd,  sign'd,  ratified  by  you. 

Par.  You  see  nic,  lord  Bassanio,  where  I  stand, 
Such  a»i  I  am :  tliough  for  myself  alone, 
I  would  not  be  ambitious  in  my  wish, 
To  wish  myself  much  In-lter;  yet,  for  you, 
I  would  be  trebled  twenty  times  myself; 
.\  thousand  times  more  fair,  ten  thousand  times 
More  rich  : 

That  only  to  stand  high  on  your  account, 
I  might  in  virtues,  beauties,  livings,  friends, 
Kxceed  account :  but  the  full  sum  of  me 
Is  sum  of  something  ;  which,  to  term  in  gross. 
Is  an  unlesson"d  girl,  unschool'd,  unpractised: 
Happy  in  this  she  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn  ;  and  happier  than  this, 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn; 
Happiest  of  all,  is,  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed. 
As  from  lier  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 
Myself  and  what  is  mine,  to  you,  and  yours, 
Is  now  converted:  but  now  1  was  the  lord 
Of  this  fair  mansion,  master  of  my  servants. 
Queen  o'er  myself;  and  even  now,  but  now. 
This  house,  these  servants,  and  this  same  myself. 
.\re  yours,  my  lord ;  I  give  them  with  this  ring  ; 
Which  when  you  part  from,  lose,  or  give  away. 
Let  it  presage  the  ruin  of  your  love, 
.\nd  be  my  vantage  to  exclaim  on  you. 

Bass.  Madam,  you  have  bereft  me  of  all  words, 
Only  my  blood  .speaks  to  you  in  my  veins: 
.\nd  there  is  such  confusion  in  my  powers, 
.\s  after  some  oration  fairly  spoke 
By  a  beloved  prince,  there  doth  appear 
Among  the  buzzing  pleased  multitude; 
Where  every  something,  being  blent^  together, 
Turns  to  a  wild  of  nothing,  save  of  joy, 
Expressd  and  not  expressd:  But  when  this  ring 
Parts  from  this  finger,  then  parts  life  from  hence; 
O,  then  be  bold  to  say,  Bassanio's  dead. 

iV;r.  My  lord  and  lady,  it  is  now  our  time, 
a  Blen'aed. 


164 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  Hi. 


That  have  stood  by,  and  seen  our  wialics  prosper, 
To  cry,  a:ood  joy  ;  Good  joy,  my  lord  and  lady  ! 

G™.  My  lord  liassanio,  and  my  gentle  lady, 
I  wish  you  all  the  joy  that  you  can  wish ; 
For  I  am  sure,  you  can  wish  none  from  nie ; 
And,  when  your  honors  mean  to  solemnise 
The  bargain  of  your  faith,  1  do  beseech  you. 
Even  atlhat  time  I  may  be  married  too. 

£ass.    With  all  my  heart,  so  thou  canst  get  a 
wife. 

Gi-a.  1  thankyourlordship  ;  yon  have  got  me  one. 
My  eyes,  my  lord,  can  look  as  swift  as  yours  : 
You  saw  the  mistress.  1  beheld  the  maid; 
Vou  lov'd,  1  lov'd;  for  inlermission 
No  more  pertains  to  me,  my  lord,  than  you. 
Your  fortune  stood  upon  the  caslicts  there; 
And  so  did  mine  too,  as  the  matter  falls  : 
For  wooing  here.  untU  I  sweat  again ; 
And  swearing,  till  my  very  root  was  dry 
With  oaths  of  love;  at  last,— if  promise  last,— 
I  got  a  promise  of  this  fair  one  here. 
To  have  her  love,  provided  that  your  fortune 
Achiev'd  her  mistress. 

jP(/r.  Is  this  true,  Nerissa  : 

Ner.  Madam,  it  is,  so  you  stand  pleas'd  withal. 

Bass.  And  do  you,  firaliano,  mean  good  faith  ! 

Gra.  Yes,  'faith,  my  lord. 

Bass.  Our  feast  shall  be  much  honor'd  in  your 
marriage. 

Gra.  We'll  play  with  them,  the  first  boy  for  a 
thousand  ducats. 

Ner.  What,  and  stake  down? — 

Gra.  No ;    we  shall  ne'er  win  at  the  sport,  and 

stake  down. 

But  who  comes  here  !  Lorenzo,  and  his  infidel ! 
What,  my  old  Veneti:in  friend,  Salerio  '. 

Enter  LoKESZO,  Jf.ssica,  nnd  Salt.bto. 
Bass.  Lorenzo  and  Salerio,  welcome  hither; 
If  tnat  the  youth  of  my  new  interest  here 
Have  power  to  bid  you  welcome  : — By  your  leave, 
1  bid  my  very  friends  and  countrymen, 
Sweet  Portia,  welcome. 

Por.  So  do  I,  my  lord  ; 

They  are  entirely  welcome. 

lAir.  I  thank  your  honor  : — For  my  part,  my  lord, 
My  purpose  was  not  to  have  seen  you  here  ; 
But  meeting  with  Salerio  by  the  way. 
He  did  entreat  me,  past  all  saying  nay, 
To  eorae  with  him  along. 

fidle.  I  did,  my  lord. 

And  I  have  reason  for  it.    Signior  Antonio 
Commends  him  to  you.  [Gives  Bassimo  a  liiler. 
Bass.  Ere  I  ope  this  letter, 

I  pray  you,  tell  me  how  my  good  friend  doth. 

Sale.  Not  sick,  my  lord,  unless  it  be  in  mind; 
Nor  well,  unless  in  mind  :  his  letter  there 
Will  show  you  his  estate. 

Gra.  Kerissa,  clieer  yon  stranger :  bid  her  welcome. 
Y'ourhand,  Salerio  ;  What's  the  news  from  Venice  ! 
How  doth  that  royal  merchant,  good  Antonio  ! 
I  know,  he  will  be  glad  of  our  success  ; 
We  are  the  Jasons,  we  have  won  the  (leece. 
Sale.  Would  you  had   won   the   fleece  that  he 

lialli  lost  ! 
For.  There  are  some   shrewd  contents  in  yon' 
same  paper. 
That  steal  the  color  from  Bassanio's  cheek  : 
Some  dear  friend  dead ;  else  nothing  in  the  world 
Could  turn  so  much  the  constitution 
Of  any  constant  man.  What,  worse  and  worse! — 
With  leave,  Bassanio;  I  am  half  yuur.scif, 
And  1  must  freely  have  the  half  of  any  thing 
That  this  same  paper  brings  you. 

Buss.  O  sweet  Fortia, 

Here  are  a  few  of  the  unpleasant'st  words, 
That  ever  blotled  iiaper  !  Gentle  lady. 
When  I  did  first  impart  my  love  to  you, 
I  f.eely  bild  you,  all  the  wealth  I  had 
Han  in  my  veins,  I  was  a  gentleman  ; 
And  then'I  told  you  true  :  and  yet,  dear  lady. 
Hating  myself  at  nothing,  you  shall  see 
How  muc'li  I  was  a  braggart :  When  I  told  you 
My  estate  was  nothing,  1  should  then  have  told  you 
Thai  I  was  worse  than  nothing  ;  for  indeed, 
I  liave  engag'd  myself  to  a  dear  friend, 
Kngag'd  my  friend  to  his  mere  enemy. 
To  feed  my  means.    Here  is  a  letter,  lady  ; 
The  pajier  as  the  body  of  my  friend. 
And  every  word  in  it  a  gasping  wound, 


Issuing  life-blood.— Bui  is  it  true,  Salerio? 
Have  all  his  ventures  faif  d  ;  What,  not  one  l.it ! 
From  Tripolis,  from  Mexico,  and  Kngland, 
From  Lisbon,  Barliary,  and  India  ? 
And  not  one  vessel  'scape  the  dreadful  touch 
Of  merchant-marring  rocks  ? 

Sale.  Not  one,  my  lord. 

Besides,  it  should  appear,  that  if  he  h.id 
Tlie  present  money  to  discharge  the  Jew, 
He  would  not  take  it:  never  did  I  know 
A.  creature,  that  did  bear  the  shape  of  man, 
So  keen  aril  greedy  to  confound  a  man  : 
He  plies  the  duke  at  mornijiir,  and  at  night ; 
Ami  doth  impeach  the  freedom  of  tlie  state, 
II  Ihey  deny  liim  justice  :  twenty  mercliants, 
The  duke  himself,  and  the  magnificoes  a 
nf  greatest  port,  have  all  persuaded  with  him  ; 
But  none  can  drive  him  from  the  envious  plea 
Uf  forfeilure,  of  justice,  and  his  bond. 

yis.  When  I  was  with  him,  1  have  heard  him  swear. 
To  Tubal,  and  to  Chus,  his  countrymen. 
That  he  would  rather  have  Anlonib's  flesh. 
Than  twenty  times  the  value  of  the  sum 
That  he  did  owe  him  :  and  I  know,  my  lord. 
If  law,  authority,  and  power  deny  not. 
It  will  go  hard  with  poor  Antonio. 
/■(»•. 'Is  it  your  dear  friend,  tliat  is  thus  in  trouble? 
Bass.  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  tlie  kindest  man. 
The  best  condilion'd  and  unwearied  spirit 
In  doing  courtesies  ;  and  one  in  whom 
The  ancient  Roman  honor  more  appears. 
Than  any  that  draws  breath  in  Italy. 
Pur.  What  sum  ow^es  he  the  .leu  ! 
Bass.  For  me,  three  thousand  ducats. 
Piir.  What,  no  more  ? 

Pay  him  six  thousand  and  deface  the  bond; 
Double  six  thousand,  and  then  treble  that. 
Before  a  friend  of  this  description 
Shall  lose  a  hair  through  my  Bassanio's  fault. 
First,  go  with  me  to  church,  and  call  me  wife : 
And  then  away  to  Venice  to  your  friend  ; 
For  never  shall  you  lie  by  Portia's  side 
With  an  unquiet  soul.    You  shall  have  gold 
To  pay  the  petty  debt  twenty  times  over ; 
When'it  is  paid,  bring  your  true  friend  along: 
My  maid  Nerissa  and  myself,  mean  time. 
Will  live  as  maids  and  widows.      Come,  away  ; 
For  you  shall  hence  upon  your  wedding-day  : 
Bid  your  friends  welcome,  show  a  merry  cheer  ;  « 
Since  you  are  dear  bought,  I  will  love  you  dear.^ 
But  let  me  liear  the  letter  of  your  friend. 

Bass.  [Reads.]  Sweet  Bcssaniii,  mij  stiipshnwaU 
itiUcarried,  my  creditars  ^row  rruet.  my  estate  is 
very  kia<,  my  band  to  the  Jeic  v'fnrf'  it ,-  and  since, 
in  paying  it,  it  is  impossible    I   shnutd  lire,    alt 
debts  are  cleared  heiween  you  and  1,  ;/"/  migA/  liui 
see  you  at  mi/  deatli :  notwitlistanding,  use  your 
pteasure ;   if  your  love  do   not   persuade  you  to 
cume,  let  not  iny  tetter. 
Por.  0  love,  despatch  all  business,  and  be  gone. 
Bass.  Since  I  have  your  good  leave  to  go  away, 
I  will  make  haste:  but  till  I  come  again, 
No  bed  shall  e'er  be  guilty  of  my  stay. 

No  rest  be  interposer  "twixt  us  iwain. 

[Exeunt, 
SCENE  III.— Venice.    A  Street. 
Enter  Suylock,  Salamio,  A>-ton-io,  and  Gaoler. 
Shy.     Gaoler,  look  to  him  ; — Tell   not  me  of 
mercy; — 
This  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis  ; 
Gaoler,  look  to  him. 
Ant.  Hear  me  yet,  good  Sliylock. 

Shy.  I'll  have  my  bond  ;  speak  not  against  my 
bond  ; 
I  have  sworn  an  oath,  that  I  will  have  my  bond  : 
Thou  call'dstme  dog,  bef  >re  thou   hadst  a  cause; 
But  since  I  am  a  dog,  beware  my  fuigs: 
The  duke  shall  grant  me  justice.— I  do  wonder, 
Tliou  naughty  gaoler,  that  thou  art  so  fond  > 
To  come  abroad  with  him  at  his  request. 
Ant.  1  wish  thee,  hear  me  speak. 
S/i(/.  I'll  have  my  bond;  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak, 
I'll  have  my  bond  ;  and  therefore  speak  no  more. 
I'll  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dnil-ey'd  fool. 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 
To  Christian  intercessors.    Follow  not  ; 
I'll  have  no  speaking  ;  111  have  mv  bond. 

[Exit    SlITLOCK. 
3  The  chief  men.  <  Face.  '  Foolish. 


SCE.N'E  V 


MERCHAXT  OF  VENICE. 


1C.5 


Salaii.  It  is  the  iiiJst  iini)enetrable  cur 
That  ever  kept  Willi  men. 

Ant.  r.et  hira  alone; 

I'll  follow  him  no  more  with  bootless  prayers. 
He  seeks  my  life  ;  Ins  reason  well  I  know ; 
I  oft  deliver  d  from  his  fo.feitures 
Many  that  have  at  tunes  made  moan  to  me, 
Therefore  he  hates  me. 

Saktii.  I  am  sure  the  duke 

Will  never  grant  this  forfeiture  to  hold. 

Ant.  The  duke  cannot  deny  the  course  of  law  ; 
For  the  commodity  that  straiu'ers  have 
With  us  in  Venice,  if  it  he  denied, 
Will  much  iin]jcach  the  justice  of  the  state  ; 
Since  that  the  trade  and  protit  of  the  city 
Consisteth  of  all  nations.    Therefore,  go : 
These  griefs  and  los.scs  have  so  'bated  ine. 
That  1  shall  hardly  .spare  a  pound  of  llesh 

To-morrow  to  my  bloody  creditor. 

Well,  gaoler,  on;— Pray  God,  U.assanio  come 
To  see'me  pay  his  de'ot,  and  then  1  care  not ! 

SCENE  IV. — Belmont.  A  room  in  Portia's  H-jiise. 

Enter  Poktia,  N'etiissa,  Loukxzo,  Jessica,  and 
Balthazau, 
Lor.  Madam,  aUhou:;h  I  speak  it  in  your  presence, 
You  have  a  noble  and  a  true  conceit 
Of  god-like  amity  ;   which  appears  most  strongly 
In  bearing  lluis  the  absence  of  your  lord. 
But  if  you  know  to  whom  you  show  this  honor, 
How  triie  a  gentleman  you  send  relief. 
How  dear  a  lover  of  my  lord  your  husband, 
I  know,  you  would  be  prouder  of  the  work, 
Than  customary  bounty  can  enforce  you. 
For.   1  never  did  repent  for  doing  good. 
Nor  shall  now  :  for  in  companions 
That  do  converse  and  waste  the  lime  together, 
Whose  sou's  do  bare  an  equal  yoke  of  love. 
There  must  he  needs  a  like  proportion 
Of  lineaments,  of  manners,  and  of  spirit. 
Which  makes  me  think,  that  this  Antonio, 
Being  tlie  bosom  lover  of  my  lord. 
Must  needs  be  like  mv  lord:  If  it  be  so, 
How  little  is  the  cost  I  have  bestow'd. 
In  purchasing  the  semblance  of  my  soul 
From  out  the  state  of  hellish  cruelty  ! 
This  comes  too  near  the  praisin.'  of  myself  : 
Therefore,  no  m  >re  of  it :  he  ir  other  things. — 
Lorenzo,  I  commit  into  your  hands 
Tlie  husbandry  and  manage  of  my  house. 
Until  my  lord's  return;  for  mine  own  part, 
I  have  toward  heaven  breath'd  ii  secret  vow. 
To  live  in  prayer  and  contemplation. 
Only  attended  by  Norissa  here. 
Until  her  husband  and  my  lord's  return  : 
Tliere  is  a  monastery  two  miles  off. 
And  there  we  will  abide.     I  do  desire  you, 
Not  to  deny  this  imposition  ; 
The  which  my  love,  and  some  necessity, 
Now  lays  upon  you. 

Lnr.  Madam,  with  all  my  heart ; 

I  shall  obey  you  in  all  fiir  commands. 

Por.  My  people  do  already  know  my  mind, 
And  will  acknowledge  yon  and  Jessica 
In  place  of  lord  Has<anio  and  myself. 
So  fare  you  well,  till  we  shall  meet  again. 
Lor.  Fair  thoughts,  and  happy  hours,  attend  on 

you. 
Jes.  I  wish  your  ladyship  all  heart's  content. 
Por.  I  thank  you  for  your  wish,  and  am  well 
pleas'd 
To  wish  It  back  on  you:  fare  you  well,  Jessica. — 
[Exeunt  Jkssica  and  Lorexzo. 
Now,  Balthazar, 

As  I  have  ever  found  thee  honest,  true. 
So  let  me  hnd  thee  still:  Take  this  same  letter. 
And  use  thou  all  the  endeavor  of  a  man. 
In  speed  to  Padua  ;  see  thou  render  this 
Into  my  cousin  s  hand,  doctor  liellario; 
And,  look,  what  notes  and  garments  he  doth  give 

thee. 
Bring  them,  I  pray  thee,  with  imagin'd  speed 
Unto  the  tranect,  to  tlie  common  ferry 
Which  trades  to  Venice  :— waste  no  time  in  words. 
But  get  thee  gone;  I  shall  be  tliere  before  thee. 
Batifi.  Madam,  I  go  with  all  convenient  speed. 

\,i.xit. 
For.  Come  on,  Nerissa;  I  have  work  in  Iiand, 
That  you  yet  know  not  of:  we'll  sec  our  hus- 
bands. 


Before  they  think  of  us. 

Nsr.  Shall  they  see  us? 

P./r.  They  shall.  Neris-a ;  but  in  such  a  habit, 
That  the}'  sli.ill  liiiiik  we  are  accomplished 
With  what  we  lack.    I'll  hold  thee  any  wager. 
When  we  are  both  accouti'ed  like  young  men, 
I'll  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two. 
And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace  ; 
And  speak,  between  the  change  of  man  and  boy. 
With  a  reed  voice ;  and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a  manly  stride;  and  speak  of  frays. 
Like  a  tine  bragging  youth :  and  tell  quaint  lies, 
How  honorable  ladies  sought  my  love, 
Which  I  denyinsr,  they  fell  sick  and  died; 
I  could  not  do  withal, — then  111  repent 
And  wish,  for  all  that,  that  1  had  not  kiU'd  them: 
And  twenty  of  these  puny  lies  I'll  tell. 
That  man  shall  swear  1  have  discontinued  school 
.-Vbove  a  twelvemonth:--!  have  within  my  mind 
.V  thousand  raw  tricks  of  these  bragging  Jacks, 
Wliich  1  will  practise. 

Ner.  Why,  shall  we  turn  to  men  1 

Por.  Fie  !  what  a  question's  that. 
If  thou  wert  near  a  lewd  interpreter? 
But  come,  I  11  tell  thee  all  my  whole  device, 
VN'lien  1  am  in  my  coach,  which  stays  fpr  us 
At  the  park  gate;  and  therefore  haste  away, 
For  we  must  measure  twenty  miles  to-day. 

[  Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— .4  Garden. 

Enter  Lauxcelot  and  Jessica. 

L'lnn.  Yes,  truly; — for,  look  you.  the  sins  of 
the  father  are  to  lie  laid  upon  the  children:  tliere- 
lore,  I  promise  you,  1  fearjou,  I  was  always  plain 
with  you,  and  so  now  I  speak  my  agitation  of  the 
matter;  Therefore,  be  of  good  cheer;  for,  truly,  I 
think,  yon  are  damn'd.  There  is  but  one  hojie  in 
it  that  can  do  you  any  good;  and  tliat  is  but  a  kind 
of  bastard  hope  inilher. 

J>.y.  .-Vnd  what  hope  is  that,  I  pray  thee  1 

Latin.  -Marry,  you  may  partly  hope  that  your 
f.ither  got  you  not,  that  you  are  not  the  Jew's 
daughter, 

Jes.  That  were  a  kind  of  bastard  hope,  indeed; 
so  the  snis  of  my  mother  should  be  visited  upon  nie. 

L'lttn.  Truly  then  1  fear  you  are  damn'd  boui 
by  father  and  mother:  thus  when  1  shun  Scylla, 
your  lather,  1  fall  into  Cliarybdis,  your  moiier: 
well,  you  are  gone  both  ways. 

Jes-  I  shall  be  saved  by  my  husband  ;  he  hath 
made  me  a  Christian. 

Lnun.  Truly,  the  more  to  blame  he;  we  were 
Christians  enough  bel'ore;  e'en  as  many  as  could 
well  live,  one  by  another:  This  making  of  Chris- 
tians wilt  raise  the  price  of  hogs;  if  we  grow  all  to 
be  pork-eaters,  we  shall  not  shortly  have  a  rasher 
on  the  coals  for  money. 

Enter  Lorevzo. 

Jes.  I'll  tell  my  husband,  Launcelot,  what  you 
say ;  here  lie  comes. 

'Lnr.  1  shall  grow  jealous  of  you  shortly,  Launce- 
lot. if  you  tiius  get  my  wife  into  corners. 

Jes.  Nay,  you  need  not  fear  us,  Lorenzo; 
Launcelot  and  I  are  out:  he  tells  me  Hatlj-,  there 
is  no  mercy  for  me  in  heaven,  because  I  am  a  Jew's 
daui/hter;  and  he  says,  you  are  no  good  member 
of  the  cominonweallii;  for,  in  converting  Jews  to 
Christians,  you  raise  the  price- of  pork. 

L'l '.  1  shall  answer  that  better  to  the  common- 
wealth, than  you  can  the  getting  up  of  the  negro's 
belly  :  the  Moor  is  with  child  by  you,  Launcelot. 

Luun.  It  is  nui'h,  that  the  Moor  should  be  more 
tlian  reason;  but  if  she  be  less  than  an  honest 
woman,  slio  is,  indeed,  more  than  I  look  her  for. 

Lnr.  How  every  fool  can  play  upon  the  word! 
I  think,  the  best  grace  of  wit  wiii  shortly  turn  into 
silence;  and  discourse  grow  commendable  in  none 
only  but  parrots.— Go  in,  sirrah;  bid  them  prepare 
for  "dinner. 

7.  /UK.  That  is  done,  sir;  they  have  all  stomachs, 

Lir.  Goodly  lord,  what  a  wit-snapper  are  you ! 
then  bid  them  prepare  dinner, 

Luun.  That  is  done  too,  sir;  only,  cover  is  tlie 

word. 
Lor.  Will  you  cover  then,  sir! 

Luun.  Not  so,  sir,  neither;  I  know  my  duty. 

Lof.  'i'et  more  quarrelling  with  occasion!  Wilt 
thou  show  the  wliole  wealth  of  thy  wit  in  an  in- 


1G6 


MERCHANT   OF  VENICE. 


Act  IV. 


instanf]  I  pray  thee,  understand  a  plain  man  in  his 
p'aiji  meannig:  go  to  thy  fellows;  bid  them  cover 
the  table,  serve  in  the  meat,  and  we  will  come 
in  to  dinner. 

Laiin.  For  the  table,  sir,  it  shall  be  served  in; 
lor  the  meat,  sir,  it  shall  be  covered;  lor  your  coming 
ill  to  dinner,  sir,  why,  let  it  be  as  humors  and  con- 
ceits shall  govern.  [Ej.Ht  Lauxcelot. 

Lor.  O  dear  discretion,  how  his  words  are  suited  ! 
The  fool  hath  planted  in  his  memory 
An  army  of  good  words;  And  1  do  know 
A  many  fools,  tJiat  stand  in  better  place, 
Garnish'd  like  him,  that  for  a  tricksy  word 
iJefy  the  matter.    How  cheer'st  thou,  Jessica? 
And  now,  good  sweet,  say  thy  opinion, 
llow  dost  thou  like  the  lord  Bassanio's  wife? 

Jes.  Past  all  expressing  :  It  is  very  meet, 
The  lord  Uassauio  live  an  upright  life; 
For,  having  such  a  blessingin  his  lady, 


lie  finds  the  joys  of  heaven  here  on  earth; 

And,  if  on  eartli  he  do  not  mean  it,  it 

Is  reason  he  should  never  come  to  heaven. 

Wliy,  if  two  gods  should   play  some   heavenly 

match. 
And  on  the  wager  lay  two  earthly  women. 
And  Portia  one,  there  must  be  something  else 
Pawn'd  with  the  other ;  for  the  poor  rude  world 
Hath  not  her  lellow. 

Lor.  Even  such  a  husband 

Hast  thou  of  me,  as  she  is  for  a  wife. 

Jcs.  Nay,  but  ask  my  opinion  too  of  that. 

Lor.  1  will  anon;  lirst,  let  us  go  to  dinner. 

Jes.  Nay,  let  me  ijraise  you,  while  I  ha've  a 
stomach. 

Lor.  Ts'o,  pray  Uiee,  let  it  serve  for  table-talk; 
Then,  howsoc'er  thou  speak'st,  "mong  otlior  tilings 
I  shall  digest  it. 

Jes.  Well,  I'll  set  you  forth.  [Kveunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I. — Venice.     A  Court  of  Justice. 

Enta-  the  Duke,  ttte  Magnificoes;  Antonio,  Bas- 

sANio,  Gratiano,    Salariso,  Salanio,    and 

vt/iers. 

Duke.  What,  is  Antonio  liere? 

Ant.  Ready,  so  please  your  grace. 

Duke.  I   am  sorry   for  thee;  tliou  art  come  to 
answer 
A  stony  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch 
Uncapable  of  pity,  void  and  empty 
From  any  drain  of  mercy. 

Ant.  1  have  heard. 

Your  grace  hath  ta'en  great  pains  to  qualify 
}Iis  rigorous  course;  but  since  he  stands  obdurate, 
And  that  no  lawful  means  can  carry  me 
Out  of  his  envy's  reach,  I  do  oppose 
My  patience  to  his  fury;  and  am  arm'd 
To  suffer,  with  a  quietness  of  spirit, 
Tile  very  tyranny  and  rage  of  his. 

Duke.  Go  one,  and  call  the  Jew  into  the  court. 

Satan.  He's  ready  at  the  door:  he  comes,  my 
lord. 

Enter  Shylock. 

Duke.  Malie  room,  and  let  him  stand  before  our 
face. — 
Shylock,  the  world  thinks,  and  I  think  so  too. 
That  thou  but  lead'st  this  fashion  of  thy  malice 
To  the  last  hour  of  act;  and  then,  'tis  thought, 
Tliou  It  show  thy  mercy,  and  remorse,s  more  strange 
Than  is  thy  strange  apparent  cruelty  : 
And  where'  tliou  now  cxacfst  the  penalty, 
(Which  is  a  pound  of  this  poor  merchant's  flesh.) 
Tliou  wilt  not  only  lose  the  forfeiture. 
But  touch'd  with  human  gentleness  and  love, 
Forgive  a  moiety  of  the  principal ; 
Glancing  an  eye  of  pity  on  his  losses. 
That  have  of  late  so  huddled  on  his  back ; 
Enough  to  press  a  royal  mercliant  down, 
And  pluck  commiseration  of  liis  state 
From  brassy  bosoms,  and  rough  lieart-s  of  flint. 
From  stubborn  Turks,  and  Tartars,  never  train'd 
To  offices  of  tender  courtesy. 
We  all  expect  a  gentle  answer,  Jew. 

Sli)/,  I  have  possessd  your  grace  of  wlial  I  purpose; 
And' by  our  holy  Sabbath  have  I  sworn. 
To  have  the  due  and  forfeit  of  my  bond  : 
If  you  deny  it,  let  the  danger  light 
iipon  your  charter,  and  your  city's  freedom. 
■\'ou'll  ask  me,  why  I  rather  choose  to  have 
A  weight  of  carrion  llcsh.  than  to  receive 
Three  tliousand  ducats  :  1 11  not  answer  that : 
But,  s;iy  it  is  my  humor;  Is  it  answer'd  ] 
What  if  my  house  be  troubled  with  a  rat. 
And  1  be  pleas'd  to  give  ten  thousand  ducats 
To  have  it  bailed?  Wliat,  are  you  answer'd  yef! 
Some  men  there  are,  love  not  a  gaping  pig; 
Some  that  arc  mad,  if  tliey  behold  a  cat; — 
And  others,  when  the  bag-pipe  sings  i'  the  nose, 
Cannot  contain  their  urine;  For  affection" 
Mistress  of  passion,  sways  it  to  the  mood 
Of  what  it  likes,  or  loaths:  Now,  for  your  answer: 
*  Pity.  1  Wheix'os.  e  I*i-eg  uitico. 


As  there  is  no  firm  reason  to  be  render'd. 

Why  he  cannot  abide  a  gaping  pig  ; 

Wliy  he,  a  harnilc>:s  necessary  cat; 

Why  he,  a  swollen  haL^-pipe;  but  oJ  force 

Must  yield  to  such  inevitable  shame. 

As  to  offend,  himself  being  oQ'ended  ; 

So  can  I  give  no  reason,  nor  I  will  not. 

More  than  a  lodg'd  hate,  and  a  certain  loathing, 

1  bear  Antonio,  that  I  follow  thus 

A  losing  suit  against  him.    Are  you  answer'd  ? 

Ba.-iS.  This  is  no  answer,  thou  nufeeling  man, 
To  excuse  the  current  of  thy  cruelty. 

Ski/,  I   am  not  bound  to  please  thee  with  my 
answer. 

Bass.  I'o  all  men  kill  the  things  tliey  do  not  love? 

Shy.  Hates  any  man  the  thing  he  would  not  kill. 

Bass.  Every  offence  is  not  a  hate  at  iirst. 

Shtj.  What,  wouldst  thou  have  a  serpent  sting 
thee  twice? 

Ant.  Iprayyou,  think  you  question  with  the  Jew  ; 
You  may  as  well  go  stand  upon  the  UmcIi, 
And  bid  the  main  flood  bait  his  usual  height; 
You  may  as  well  use  question  with  the  wolf. 
Why  he  hath  made  the  ewe  bleat  for  the  lamb ; 
You  may  as  well  forbid  the  mountain  pines 
To  wag  their  high  tops,  and  to  make  no  noise, 
When  they  are  fretted  with  the  gusts  of  heaven; 
You  may  as  well  do  any  thing  most  hard. 
As  seek  to  soften  that  (than  which  what's  harder  ?) 
His  Jewish  heart: — Therefore,  I  do  beseech  you. 
Make  no  more  offers,  use  no  further  means. 
But,  with  all  brief  and  plain  conveniency. 
Let  me  have  judgment,  and  the  Jew  his  will. 

Bass.  For  thy  three  thousand  ducats  liere  are  si:x. 

Shij.  If  every  ducat  in  six  thousand  ducats 
Where  in  six  parts,  and  every  pnrt  a  ducat, 
I  would  not  draw  them,  I  would  have  my  bond. 

Duke.  How  shall  thou  hope  for  mercy,  reiid'ring 
none? 

Shy.  What  judgment  sliall  I  dread,  doing  no  wrong? 
Y'ljii  have  ainoiig  you  many  a  purrhas'd  slave. 
Which,  like  your  asses,  and  your  dog.s,  and  mules, 
\''ou  us-e  in  ab}ect  and  in  slavish  parts. 
Because  you  bought  them : — Shall  1  say  to  you. 
Let  them  be  free,  marry  them  to  your  heirs? 
Why  sweat  tliey  under  burdens?  Let  their  beds 
Be  made  as  soft  as  yours,  and  let  their  palates 
Be  season'd  with  such  viands.    Y'on  will  answer. 
The  slaves  are  ours: — So  do  I  answer  you  : 
The  pound  of  flesh,  which  I  demand  of  him, 
Is  dearly  lx>uglit.  is  mine,  and  I  will  have  it : 
If  you  'iLMiy  inc.  fye  upon  your  law  ! 
rtiei-c  is  nil  lorce  in  the  decrees  of  Venice: 
1  stand  for  judgment:  answer:  shall  I  have  it? 

Dakc.  llponmy  jwwer.  1  may  dismiss  this  court. 
Unless  Bellario,  a  learned  doctor, 
Wliom  I  have  sent  for  to  determine  this 
Come  here  to-day. 

Salar.  My  lord,  here  stays  without 

A  messenirer  with  letters  from  the  doctor. 
New  come  from  i^idua. 

Duke.  Bring  us  the  letters;  Call  the  messenger. 

Buss.  Good  cheer,  Antonio !  What,  man !  cou- 
rage yet ! 


(Scene  I. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


1G7 


Tlie  Jew  sliall  have  my  flesh,  blood,  bones,  and  all, 
Ere  thou  slialt  hi.se  lor  me  one  drop  of  blood. 

Ant.  I  am  a  tiinled  wether  of  the  floek, 
Meelest  for  death  ;  the  weakest  kind  of  fruit 
Drops  earliest  to  the  ^'round,  and  so  let  me : 
You  eannot  better  be  employd,  Bassanio, 
Than  to  live  still,  and  write  mine  epitaph. 
Enter  Nehissa,  dressed  like  a  Latvyer's  Clerk. 
Duke.  Came  you  from  Padua,  from  Bellario? 
Ner.  From  both,  my  lord:  Bellario  greets  your 
graee.  [Presents  a  letter. 

Bass   W'-y  dost  thou  whet  thy  knil'e  so  earnestly  1 
Sktj.  T«  cut  the  forfeiture  from  that  bankrupt 

ti  ere. 
Gra.  Not  on  thy  sole,  but  on  thy  soul,  Iiavsh  Jew, 
Thou  makst  tliy  knife  keen:    but  no   metal  can. 
No,  not  tiie  hairL-mans  ax,  bear  half  the  keenne.ss 
Of  thy  sharp  envy.    Can   no  pra>ers  pierce  thee! 
Skij.  No.  none  that  thou  hast  wit  enough  to  make. 
Gra.  O,  be  thou  damn'd,  inexorable  dog  ! 
And  for  t.hy  life  let  iusticc  be  accus'd. 
Thou  almost  mak'st  me  waver  in  my  faith, 
To  hold  opinion  with  Pythagoras, 
That  souls  of  animals  infuse  themselves 
Into  the  trunks  of  men  :  thy  currish  spirit 
Govern 'd  a  wolf,  who,  Iiang'd  for  human  slaughter, 
Even  from  the  sallows  did  his  fell  soul  fleet, 
And,  whilst  tliou  layst  in  thy  unhallow'd  dam, 
Iiifus  J  itself  in  thee  ,  for  thy  desires 
Are  woUish,  bloody,  starv'd,  and  ravenous. 

S.Vy.  Till  thou  canst  rail  the  seal  from  olfmy  bond, 
Thou  but  oftend  St  thy  lungs  to  speak  so  loud: 
Repair  thy  wit,  sood  youth,  or  it  will  fall 
To  cureless  ruin. — 1  stand  here  for  law. 

D-ike.  This  letter  from  Bellario  dolli  commend 
A  youns  and  learned  doctor  to  our  court  ;— 
W  here  is  he  1 

Ntr.  lie  attendeth  here  hard  by. 

To  know  your  answer,  whether  you'll  admit  him. 
Duke.  With  all  my  heart:— Some  three  or  four 
of  you. 
Go,  give  hiin  courteous  conduct  to  this  place. — 
Wean  time,  the  court  shall  hear  Kellario's  letter. 

[Clerk  reails.]  Yiiur  grriec  shall  understand,  that, 
at  the  receipt  if  your  letter,  I  am  very  sick:  hut  in 
the  in.'tiint  that  ynur  messenger  canie,in  laving  viii- 
tuliun  iva.i  irilli  ric  a  uming  ductur  af  Runie ;  his 
name  i-i  Btilthnsiir:  I  aojuainted  him  with  the 
cause  in  evnlrinersi/  brla-eni  the  Jeu-  and  Antaniu 
the  merchant;  ire  turned  (i'er  many  Imaks  lo!:cther: 
lie  is  farni'ih'd  ii-ilh  my  opinion;  n-hich.  hitler'd 
with  A«  oivn  learning,  (the  greatness  whereof  I 
cannot  enough  commend,)  comes  with  him,  at  my 
inipnrtunili/,  to  fill  up  your  gruce^s  request  in  my 
stead.  I  beseech  yon.  let  his  lade  of  years  be  no 
impediment  to  let' hint  lack  a  reverend  estimation; 
for  I  never  knetr  so  young  a  body  with  so  old  a 
head.  I  leave  him  to  your  gracious  acceptance, 
whose  trial  shall  belter  publish  his  commendatiim. 
Duke.  You  hear  the  learn'd  iiellario,  what  he 
writes: 
And  here  1  take  it,  is  the  doctor  come.— 

Enter  Pcktia,  dressed  like  a  Doctor  of  Tmws. 
Give  me  ;  our  hand :  Came  you  from  old  Bcllario'! 
Por.  I  did,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Vou  are  welcome :  take  your  place. 

Are  you  acquainted  with  the  dillcrence 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court  I 
Pnr.  I  am  infirnied  throughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant  here,  and  which  the  Jew  ? 
Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock,  both  stand  forth. 
Par.  Is  your  name  Shylock? 
Shi/.  Shylock  is  my  name. 

Por.  Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow; 
Yet  in  such  rule,  that  the  Venetian  law 
Cannot  impu-^-n  '  you,  as  you  do  proceed. 
You  stand  williin  his  danger,'  do  yon  not? 

[2\>  AxTOSio. 
Ant.  Ay,  so  he  siys. 

Por.  Do  you  confess  the  bond  I 

A7it.  \  do. 

Pm:  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shy.  On  what  compulsion  must  I]  tell  mo  that. 
Por.  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd ; 
Itdroppeth,  as  the  gentle  ram  from  heaven. 
Upon  the  place  benraib  :  it  is  twice  ble.ss'd ; 
It  blesselh  him  that  sives,  and  him  that  takes: 
Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest;  it  becomes 
•  Oppose.  1  Reach  or  control. 


The  throned  monarch  bcllcr  than  his  crown : 
His  sceptre  sliows  the  force  of  temporal  power. 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty. 
Wherein  dolh  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings; 
But  mercy  is  above  his  sceptred  sway. 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings, 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 
.\nd  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likcst  God's 
When  mercy  seasons  justice.    Therefore,  Jew, 
Though  iustice  be  thy"  plea,  consider  this,— 
That,  in'the  course  of  justice,  none  of  ns 
Should  see  salvation :  wc  do  pray  for  mercy ; 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy.    I  have  spoke  this  much, 
Tn  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea; 
Which,  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice 
Must  needs    give   sentence  -gainst  the   merchant 
there. 

Shy.  My  deeds  upon  my  head!  I  crave  the  law, 
The  penalty  and  Ibrfeit  of  my  bond. 

Pur.  Is  he  not  aMe  to  discharge  the  money  ? 

Bass.  Yes.  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  11. e  comt; 
Yea.  twice  the  sum;  if  that  will  not  sullice, 
1  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart : 
If  this  will  not  suflice,  it  ninst  appear 
That  malice  bears  down  truth.  And  I  beseech  you. 
Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority  : 
To  do  a  great  ri^ht,  do  a  little  wrong  : 
And  ciirh  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 

Por,  It  must  not  be :  there  is  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  establushed : 
"Twill  he  recorded  for  a  jirecedent; 
And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  example. 
Will  rush  into  the  slate  :  it  cannot  be. 

Sh  I/.  .\  Daniel  come  to  judgment !  yea  a  Daniel  !— 
0  wise  young  judge,  how  do  I  honor  thee ! 

Por.  1  pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 

Shi/.  Here  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor,  here  it  is. 

Por.  Shylock,  there's  thrice   thy  money  ofier'd 
thee. 

Shy.  .An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven: 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul ! 
No,  not  for  Venice. 

Pi,r.  Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit- 

And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim 
A  pound  of  ticsh,  to  be  by  him  cut  olT 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart: — Be  merciful; 
Take  thrice  thy  money  ;  bid  me  tear  the  bond. 

Shu.  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor — 
It  doth  appear,  you  are  a  worthy  judge; 
Vou  know  the  law,  your  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound:  I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar. 
Proceed  to  juditmcnt :  hy  my  soul  1  swear^ 
There  is  no' power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
•To  alter  me  :  1  stay  here  ou  my  hood. 

Ant.  Most  heartily  I  do  beseech  the  court 
To  Kivc  the  judgment. 

Pnr.  Why  then,  thus  it  is: 

You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 

Shy.  <)  noble   iu'(l:;e!  O  excellent   young  man! 

Pnr.  For  the  iiilent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty. 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

Shi).  'Tis  very  true:  O  wise  and  upright  judge! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks! 

Por.  Therefore,  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shy.  Ay,  his  breast: 

So  says  the  bond; — Doth  it  not  noble  judge  !— 
Nearest  his  heart:  those  are  the  very  words 

Por.  It  is  so.    Are  there  balance  here,  to  weigh 
The  flesh. 

Shi/.  I  have  them  ready. 

Por.  Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shylock,  on  jour 
charge. 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  tn  death. 

Shi/.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  tlie  bond  ! 

Por.  It  is  not  so  express'd:  But  what  of  that  ! 
'Twere  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

SHy.  I  cannot  find  it;  'tis  not  in  the  hoiid. 

Por.  Come,  merchant,  have  you  auythingtnsay  T 

Ant.  But  little;  Iain  arm'd,  and  well  prrjMir'd.— 
Give  me  your  hand  Bassanio;  fare  you  well! 
(irievc  not  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you  ; 
For  herein  fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 
Than  is  her  custom:  it  is  still  her  use. 
To  let  the  wretched  man  out-live  his  wenllh. 
To  view  with  hollow  i<\e,  anil  wrinkled  lirow. 
An  age  of  poverty  ;  fro'm  which  lingering  prnance 


168 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  IV. 


(If  such  a  misery  doth  she  cut  me  off. 
Comniciul  rue  to  your  Imuorable  wife: 
Tell  her  tiie  process  of  Antonio's  end. 
Say,  how  I  loved  you,  speak  me  lair  in  death  ; 
And  when  the  tale  is  told,  bid  her  be  judge, 
Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a  love. 
Repent  not  you  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend, 
And  he  reoents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt; 
For,  if  the'jew  do  cut  but  deep  enoush, 
I'll  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 

Bafs.  Antonio,  1  am  married  to  a  wile, 
Wliich  is  as  dear  to  me  as  hfe  itself; 
liut  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the  world, 
Are  not  with  me  esteem'd  above  thy  hfe  : 
I  would  lose  all,  ay,  sacrifice  them  all 
Here  to  this  devil,  to  deliver  you. 

Pur.  Your  wife  would  give  you  little  thanks  for 
that. 
If  she  were  by,  to  hear  you  make  the  offer. 

Grfl.  I  have  a  wife,  whom,  I  protest,  I  love  ; 
I  would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 
Kntreat  some  power  to  chanL'c  this  currish  Jew. 

Ner.  'Tis  well  you  olTer  it  behind  her  back; 
The  wish  would  make  else  an  unquiet  house. 

tihy.  These  be  the  Christian  husbands:  1  have  a 
daughter ; 
'Would,  any  of  the  stock  of  Barrabas 
Had  been  her  husband,  rather  than  a  Christian  ! 

1  Aside 
We  trifle  time ;  1  pray  theo,  pursue  sentence. 

Par.  A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  llcsh  is 
thine  ; 
The  court  awards  it,  and  the  law  doth  give  it. 

Ski/.  Most  rightful. jud>,'e  ! 

Pur.  And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his 
breast ; 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Sill/.   Most  learned  judge!— A  sentence;  come, 
prepare. 

For.  Tarry  a  little  ; — there  is  something  else, 
his  bond  doth  give  tbee  here  no  jot  of  blood ; 
The  words  expressly  are  a  pound  of  llesh: 
Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 
But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  .shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are.  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Ura.  O  upright  judge!— Mark,  Jew;— 0  learned 
judge ! 

S'l!/.  is  that  the  law! 

jiii'r.  Thyself  shall  see  the  act: 

For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assur'd. 
Thou  shalt  have  justice  more  than  thou  desir'st. 

Ora.  O  learned  judge!— Mark,  Jesv ;— a  learned 
judge ! 

Ski/.  1  take  this  offer  then ;— pay  the  bond  thrice. 
And  jet  the  Christian  go. 

Push.  Here  is  the  money. 

Pur.  Soft; 
The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice  ;— soft !— no  liaste  ;— 
He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Gra.  O  Jew  !  an  upright  judge,  a  learned  judge ! 

Pnr.  Therefore,  prepare  thee  to  cut  otflhe  flesh. 
Shed  thou  no  b'ood  ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more. 
But  ju.st  a  pound  of  flesh:  if  thou  tak'st  more. 
Or  less,  than  a  just  pound, — be  it  but  .so  much 
As  makes  it  light,  or  heavy,  in  the  substance, 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple;  nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair,— 
Thou  diest.  and  all  thy  goods  are  conll^catc. 

Gra.  A  second  Daniel!  a  Daniel,  Jew! 
Now,  infidel.  I  have  thee  on  the  hip. 

For.   Why  doth  the  Jew  pause!    take   thy  for- 
feiture. 

S'lij.  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

P  KS.  I  have  it  ready  for  thee;  here  it  is. 

Pur.  He  hath  refiis'd  it  in  tlie  open  court; 
lie  shall  have  merely  justice  and  his  bond. 

G  a.  .\  Daniel,  still  say  I ;  a  second  Daniel  — 
I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

S'li/.  Shall  1  not  have  barely  my  principal  ! 

Pur.  Thou  slialt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture. 
To  he  so  taken  at  thy  peril.  Jew. 

Shii.  Why  .then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it! 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

Par.  Tarry,  Jew; 

The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  oi' Venice, — 
If  it  be  prov'd  against  an  alien. 


That  by  direct,  or  indirect  attempts. 

He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen, 

The  party,  'gainst  the  whicii  he  doth  contnvo, 

Shall  seize  one  half  his  goods;  the  other  half 

Comes  to  the  privy  co;U-r  of  the  state  ; 

And  the  olfender's  lite  lies  in  the  mercy 

tif  t!ie  duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 

In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  stand  si : 

For  it  ajipears  by  manifest  proceeding. 

That  indirectly,  and  directly  too. 

Thou  hast  contriv'd  against  the  very  life 

f  If  the  defendant:  and  thou  hast  incurr'd 

The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehears'd. 

Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  the  duke. 

Gra.  Beg,  that  thou  mayst  have  leave  to  hang 
thyself: 
And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  fo'feit  to  the  state 
TIiou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord  ; 
riierefore  thou  must  be  hang'd  at  the  slate'.s  charge. 

D:tkc.  That  thou  shalt  see  the  dilTercnce  of  our 
spirit, 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it: 
Kor  liaifthy  wealth,  it  is  Anlonios: 
The  olhcr  halfi'. lines  to  the  general  state, 
Which  humbleness  may  drive  into  a  fine. 

Pur.  Ay,  for  the  stale;  not  for  Antonio. 

Ski/.  ISay,  lake  my  life  and  all,  pardon  not  that" 
You  lake  liiy  liouse,"whcn  you  do  take  the  prop 
That  doth  sustain  my  house  :  you  take  my  life, 
When  you  do  take  the  means  whereby  I  live. 

Pur.  "What  mercy  canyon  render  him,  Antonio  1 

Gra.  A  halter  gratis;  nothingelse.forlTod's  sake. 

Anf.  So  please  my  lord  the  duke,  and  all  the  court. 
To  quit  the  fine  for  one  half  of  his  goods  ; 
I  am  content,  so  he  will  let  me  have 
The  other  half  in  use. — to  render  it. 
Upon  his  death,  unto  the  gentleman 
That  lately  stole  his  daughter: 
Two  tliiiiL's  provided  nioie. — That,  for  this  favor. 
He  presently  become  a  Christian  ; 
The  other,  that  he  do  record  a  gift. 
Here  in  the  court,  of  all  he  dies  po-^ses.s'd, 
Unio  his  son  Lorenzo,  and  his  daughter. 

Diikr.  He  shall  do  this;  or  else  1  do  recant 
The  pardon,  that  1  late  jironouneed  here. 

Pur.    Art  thou  contented,  Jew,  what  dost  thou 
say  1 

S'li/.  I  am  content. 

Par,  Clerk,  draw  a  deed  of  gift. 

Ski/.  I  pray  you  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence : 
I  am  not  well ;  send  the  deed  after  me, 
.\nd  1  will  sign  it. 

Duke.  Get  thee  gone,  but  do  it. 

Gra.   In  christening  thou   shalt  have  two  god- 
fathers ; 
Had  I  been  judge  thou  shouldst  have  had  ten  more, 
To  bring  thee  to  the  gallows,  not  Ihe  font. 

[Exit  Shti-ock. 

Duke.  Sir,  1  entreat  you  home  viith  me  to  dinner. 

Pur.  I  humbly  do  desire  your  grace  of  pardon; 
I  must  away  this  night  toward  Padua, 
And  it  is  meet,  I  presently  set  forth. 

Duke.  1  am  sorry  that  your  leisure  serves  you  not. 
Antonio,  gratify  this  gentleman; 
For,  in  my  miiid,  you  are  much  bound  to  him. 

f Exeunt.  Duke,  Magnificoes,  and  Train. 

Bass.  Most  worthy  gentleman,  I  and  my  friend, 
Have  by  your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted 
Of  grievous  penalties;  in  lieu  whereof. 
Three  thousand  ducats,  due  unto  the  Jew, 
We  freely  cope  vour  courteous  pains  withal. 

Ant.  And  staiid  indebted,  over  and  above, 
In  love  and  service  to  you  evermore. 

/'(/)•.  He  is  v.ell  paid,  that  is  well  satisfied; 
And  I,  delivering  you,  am  satisfied, 
.\nd  therein  do  account  myself  well  paid: 
My  mind  was  never  yet  inure  mercenary. 
I  pray  you,  know  me,  when  we  met  again; 
I  wish  you  well,  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

Pass.  Dear  sir,  of  ibrce  I  must  attempt  you  fur- 
ther; 
Take  some  remembrance  of  us  as  a  tribute. 
Not  as  a  fee;  grant  im;  two  things  I  pray  you. 
Not  to  deny  nie,  and  to  pardon  me. 

Pur.  You  pres.s  me  far,  and  therefore  I  will  yield. 
Give  me  your  gloves,  Vll  we;rr  them  for  yoursake; 
And,  for  your  love,  I'll  lake  this  ring  from  you:— 
Do  not  draw  back  your  hand;  I'll  take  no  more; 
And  you  in  love  shall  not  deny  me  this. 

Bass.  This  ring,  good  sir,— ala^,  it  is  a  trifle; 


Scene  I. 


MERCHANT  OF  YENK 


169 


I  will  not  sliiime  my^i'Ii  to  give  you  this. 

Pur.  I  will  liave  notlmu  else  but  only  tliis; 
And  now,  niethinks,  1  have  a  minil  to  it. 

£ass.  There's  mure  depends  on  this,  than  on  the 
value. 
The  dearest  ring  in  Venice  will  I  give  j-ou, 
And  find  it  out  by  pruolamation; 
Only  for  this,  I  pray  you,  pardon  me. 

Pur.  ]  see,  sir,  you  are  liberal  in  oilers ; 
You  tausht  me  tirst  lo  be^' ;  and  now,  methinks. 
You  teach  me  how  a  be;igar  sliould  be  answerd. 

Bass.  Goodsir,  this  rin;;  was  given  me  by  my  wife: 
And,  when  she  put  it  on,  she  iruide  me  vow. 
That  I  should  neither  sell,  nor  give,  nor  lose  it. 

Pur.  That  'seuse  serves  many  men  lo  save  their 
gifts;  _ 
An  if  your  wite  be  not  a  mad  woman. 
And  know  how  well  I  have  deserved  this  ring, 
She  would  not  hold  out  enemy  for  ever. 
For  giving  it  to  me.     Well,  peace  be  with  you  ! 

{Exeunt  PouTi.i  anil  Neuissa. 

Ant.  My  lord  liassanio,  let  him  have  the  ring; 
Let  his  descrvings,  and  my  love  withal. 
Be  valued  'gainst  your  Willi's  commandment. 

B'lss.  Goi  Gratiano,  run  and  overtake  him. 
Give  him  the  ring  ;  and  bring  him,  if  thou  canst, 
Unto  Antonio's  house :— away,  make  haste. 

[Exit  G  RATI  AX  o. 

Come,  you  and  I  will  thither  presently ; 
And  in  the  morning  early  will  we  both 


Fly  toward  iiel.noiit:   Come,  iVntJiiio.    [Exeunt. 

SCENK  II.— .1  Street. 

E,iter  PoitTiA  and  Nerissa. 

For.  Inrjuire  the  Jew's  house  out,  give  him  this 
deed. 
And  let  him  sign  it:  we'll  away  to-night. 
And  be  a  day  before  our  husbanfis  home : 
This  deed  will  be  well  welcome  to  Lorenzo. 

Eiitcr  GitvTiAXo. 

Gra-  Fair  sir,  you  are  well  overtaken  : 
My  lord  liassanio,  upon  more  advice,* 
Hath  sent  you  here  tliis  ring;  and  doth  entreat 
Your  company  at  dinner. 

Piir.  That  cannot  be : 

This  ring  I  do  accept  most  thankfully. 
And  so,  i  pray  you.  tell  him:  Kurtliermore, 
I  pray  you  siiow  my  youth  old  Shylock's  house. 

Gra.  That  will  I  do. 

Ner.  Sir,  I  would  speak  with  you : — 

I'll  see  if  I  can  get  my  husband's  ring,  \2*o  Puutia. 
Which  1  did  make  liim  swear  to  licep  for  ever. 

Pur.  Thou  may'st,  I  warrant:  We  shall  have  old 
swearing, 
That  they  did  give  the  rings  away  to  men  ; 
But  we'll  outfice  them,  and  outswear  tiiem  too. 
Away,  make  haste  •  thou  know 'st  where  1  will  tarry. 

Ner.  Come,  good  sir,  will  you  show  me  to  this 
liouse  ?  {Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I. — Belmont.    Avenue  to  Portia's  House. 
Enter  LonEszooHrf  Jessica. 

Lor.  The  moon  shines  bright:— In  such  a  night 
as  this. 
When  the  sweet  wind  did  gently  kiss  the  trees, 
And  lliey  did  make  no  noise;  in  such  a  night, 
Troilus/inrthiiiks.  mounted  the  Trojan  walls. 
And  siglid  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents, 
Where  Cressid  lay  that  night. 

Jes.  In  such  a  night, 

Did  Thisbe  fearfully  o'ertrip  the  dew; 
And  saw  the  lion's  shadow  ere  himself, 
And  ran  dismay'd  away. 

V)r.  In  such  a  night, 

Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand 
Upon  the  wild  sea-banks,  and  wav'd  her  love 
To  come  again  to  Carthage. 

ics.  In  such  a  night, 

Medea  gathered  the  en  -hanted  herbs 
That  did  renew  old  .Tison. 

Lor.  In  such  a  night, 

Did  Jesiiica  steal  from  the  wealthy  Jew  ; 
And  with  an  unthrift  love  did  run  from  Venice, 
As  far  as  Belmont. 

Jrs.  And  in  such  a  niglit. 

Did  young  Lorenzo  swear  he  iov'd  her  well; 
btrf-aling  her  soul  with  many  vows  of  faith, 
And  no  er  a  true  one. 

Lor.  And  in  such  a  night. 

Did  prelty  Jessica,  like  a  little  shrew. 
Slander  her  lnvc,  and  he  forgive  it  her. 

Jes.  I  would  out-night  you,  did  no  body  come: 
But,  hark,  I  hear  the  fooling  of  a  man. 

Enter  STEpnAxo. 

Lor.  WIio  comes  so  fast  in  silence  of  the  night? 

Siepli.  A  friend. 

Lor.  A  friend  1  what  friend  1  your  name,  I  pray 
you,  friend'! 

Stepli.  Stcphano  is  my  name;  and  I  bring  word. 
My  mistress  will  before  the  break  of  day 
Be  here  at  Belmont :  she  doth  stray  about 
By  holy  crosses,  where  she  kneels  and  prays 
For  happy  wedlock  hours. 

Lor.  Who  comes  with  her  1 

Stepli.  None,  but  a  holy  hermit,  and  her  maid. 
I  pray  you,  is  my  master  yet  return'd  ] 

Lor.  lie  is  not,  nor  we  have  not  heard  from  him — ■ 
But  go  we  in,  I  pray  thee,  Jessica, 
And  ceremoniously  let  us  prepare 
Some  welcome  for  the  mistress  of  the  house. 


Enter  Lavxcelot 

Laun.  Sola,  sola,  wo, ha,  ho,  sola,  sola ! 

Lnr.  Who  calls  ! 

Laun.  Sola!  did  you  see  master  Lorenzo,  and 
mistress  Lorenzo  !  sola,  sola  ! 

Lor.  Leave  hollaing,  man;  here. 

Liiun.  Sola!  where!  where! 

Lor.  Here. 

Laun.  Tell  him,  there's  a  post  come  from  my 
master  with  his  horn  full  of  good  news;  my  master 
will  be  here  ere  morning.  [Exit. 

Lor.  Sweet  soul,  let's  in,  and  there  expect  their 
coming 
And  yet  no  matter ; — \Vhy  should  we  go  in ' 
My  friend  Stephilao,  signify,  I  pray  you. 
Within  the  house,  your  mistress  is  at  hand  ; 
.\nd  bring  your  music  forth  into  the  air. — 
[Exit  Stephaxo. 

How  sweet  the  moon-light  sleeps  upon  this  bank? 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears;  so.''t  stillness,  and  the  night. 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica:  Look,  how  llie  tloor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  briglit  gold; 
There's  not  the  smjiJcst  orb,  which  thou  behold'st, 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings. 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-ey'd  eherubiras: 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls; 
But,  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Dotii  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it. — 

Enter  Musicians. 
Come,  ho,  and  wake  Diana  with  a  hymn; 
With  sweetest  touches  jiierce  your  mistress'  ear, 
And  draw  her  home  with  music. 

Jes.  I  am  never  merry  w!ieii  I  hear  sweet  music. 

[yfusic. 

Lor,  The  reason  is,  your  spirits  ase  attentive: 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 
Or  race  of  youthful  and  unhandled  colts, 
Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing,  and  neighing  loud. 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  liieir  blood; 
If  tliey  but  hoar  purchance  a  trumpet  sound. 
Or  any  air  of  music  toucli  their  ears. 
You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  n:iutual  stand, 
Their  savage  eyes  turn'd  to  a  modest  gaze. 
By  the  sweet  power  of  music  :  Therefore,  the  poet 
Did  feign  that  Orpheus  drew  trees,  stones,  and  Iloods; 
Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard,  and  full  of  rage, 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature. 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
!"  Reflcfticn. 


170 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Act  V. 


Nor  is  not  mov'd  willi  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratasems,  and  spoils  : 
The  motions  of  hi.s  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 
And  his  affections  darli  as  Erebus: 
Let  no  sueli  man  be  trusted. — Mark  tlie  music. 
Enter  PoiiTiA  and  Nkuissa,  at  adintance. 

For.  That  lijiht  we  see  is  burning  in  my  liall. 
How  fair  that  little  candle  tlirows  bis  beams  ! 
So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world. 

Ner.  When  the  moon  shone,  we  did  not  see  the 
candle. 

Par.  So  doth  the  greater  glory  dim  the  less: 
A  substitute  shines  brightly  as  a  king, 
Until  a  king  be  by  ;  and  then  bis  state 
Kmpties  itself,  as  doth  an  inland  brook 
Into  the  main  of   waters.    Music!  hark! 

Ner.  It  is  your  music,  madam,  of  the  house. 

For.  Nothing  is  good,  I  see,  without  respect; 
Metbinks,  it  sounds  much  sweeter  than  by  day. 

Ncr.  Silence  bestows  tiiat  virtue  on  it,  madam. 

For.  The  crow  doth  sing  as  sweetly  as  the  lark. 
When  neither  is  attended;  and,  I  think. 
The  uigiitingale,  if  she  should  sing  by  day. 
When  'every  goose  is  cackling,  would  be  thought 
No  better  a  musician  than  the  wren. 
How  many  things  by  season  seasoned  are 
To  their  riglit  praise  and  true  perfection  ! — 
Peace,  hoa !  the  nioon  sleeps  with  Endymion, 
And  would  not  be  awak'd !  {Music  ceases. 

Iy>r.  That  is  the  voice. 

Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd,  of  Portia. 

For.  He  k^^ows  me  as  the  blind  man  knows  the 
cuckoo. 
By  the  bad  voice. 

Lor.  Dear  lady,  welcome  home. 

For.  We  have  been  praying  for  our  husbands' 
welfare, 
Which  speed  we  hope,  the  better  for  our  words : 
Are  tliey  return'd  ^ 

Lor.    Madam  they  are  not  yet; 
But  there  is  come  a  messenger  before, 
■To  signify  tlieir  coming. 

For.  Go  in,  Nerissa, 

Give  order  to  my  servants  that  they  take 
No  note  at  all  of  our  being  absent  hence; 
Nor  you  Lorenzo ;— Jessica  nor  you. 

[a  tucket'  sounds. 

Lor.  Your  husband  is  at  hand,  1  hear  his  trumpet: 
We  are  no  tell-tales,  madam,  fear  you  not. 

Poc.  This  night,  metbinks,  is  but  the  day-light  sick. 
It  looks  a  little  paler  ;  'tis  a  day. 
Such  as  the  day  is  when  tlie  sun  is  hid. 

Enter  Bassanio,  Antonio,  Gbatiano,  and  their 
Followers. 

Bass.  We  should  hold  day  with  the  Antipodes, 
If  you  would  wallt  in  absence  of  the  sun. 

For.  Let  me  give  light,  but  let  me  not  be  hght ; 
For  a  light  wife  doth  make  a  heavy  husband, 
And  never  be  liassanio  so  for  me; 
But  God  sort  all!— You  are  welcome  home,  my 
lord. 

Bass.  1  thank  you,  madam  ;  give  welcome  to  my 

friend. 

This  is  the  man,  this  is  Antonio. 
To  whom  I  am  so  infinitely  bound. 

For.  You  should  in  all  sense  be  much  bound  to 
him. 
For,  as  I  hear  he  was  much  bound  for  you. 

Ant.  No  more  than  I  am  well  acquitted  of. 

For.  Sir,  you  are  very  welcome  to  our  house  : 
It  must  appear  in  other  ways  than  words. 
Therefore,  1  scant  this  breathing  courtesy.  > 

[GiiATiANo  and  Nktiissa  seen   to  tatti  apart. 

Gra.  By  yonder  moon,  I  swear,  you  do  me  wrong: 
In  tilth,  I  gave  it  to  the  judge's  clerk. 
WtHild  he  wear  gilt  that  had  it.  for  my  part, 
Sinci'  you  do  take  it,  love,  so  much  at  heart. 

For.  A  quarrel,  ho,  already  ?  what's  the  matterl 

Gra.  About  a  hoop  of  gold,  a  piltry  ring 
Tiiat  she  did  give  me  ;  whose  posy  was 
For  all  the  world,  like  cutler's  poetry 
Upon  a  knife,  Love  me^  and  ieave  me  not. 

Ner.   What  talk  you  of  the  posy,  or  the  value? 
You  swore  to  me,  wdien  I  did  give  It  you. 
That  you  would  wear  it  til!  your  hour  of  death  ; 
And  that  it  should  lie  with  you  in  your  grave: 
Tliougli  not  I'or  me,  yet  for  your  vehement  oaths, 

•  A  flourish  on  atrunipot.    *  Vt-xbal,  comiilimontary  form. 


You  should  have  been  respective,^  and  have  keptit. 

Give  it  a  judge's  clerk  ' — but  well  1  know. 

The  clerk  will  ne'er  wear  hair  on  his  lace,  that  had  it. 

Gra.  He  will,  and  if  he  live  to  be  a  man. 

N'T.  Ay,  if  a  woman  live  to  be  a  m:ui. 

Gra.  Now,  by  this  hand,  I  gave  it  to  a  youth,— 
A  kind  of  boy  ;  a  little  scrubbed  bo)', 
No  higher  than  myself,  llie  judge's  clerk ; 
A  prating  boy,  tliat  begg'd  it  as  a  fee  ; 
I  could  not  for  my  heart  deny  it  him. 

For.  You  were  to  blame,  1  must  be  plain  with  you, 
To  part  so  slightly  with  your  wife's  first  gift ; 
A  thing  stuck  on  with  oaths  upon  your  hnger. 
And  riveted  so  with  faith  upon  your  llesh. 
I  gave  my  love  a  ring,  and  made  him  swear 
Never  to  part  with  it ;  and  here  he  stands  ; 
I  dare  be  sworn  for  him,  he  would  not  leave  it. 
Nor  pluck  it  from  Ids  finger,  for  the  wealth 
That  the  world  masters.    Now,  in  faith,  Gratiano, 
You  give  your  wife  too  unkind  a  cause  of  grief; 
And  'twere  to  me,  I  should  bemad  at  it. 

Bass.  Why,  1  were  best  to  cut  my  left  hand  off. 
And  swear  I  lost  the  ring  defeniling  it.  {Aside^ 

Gra.  My  lord  Bassanio  gave  his  ring  away 
Unto  the  judge  that  begg'd  it,  and,  indeed, 
Descrv'd  it  too  ;  and  then  the  boy  his  clerk. 
That  took  some  pains  in  writing,  he  begg'd  mine: 
And  neither  man,  nor  master,  would  take  aught 
Hut  the  two  rings. 

Fur.  What  ring  gave  you,  my  lord  1 

Not  that,  I  hope,  which  you  receiv'd  of  me. 

Bass.  If  I  could  add  a  lie  unto  a  fault, 
I  would  deny  it;  but  you  see  my  finger 
Hath  not  the  ring  upon  it,  it  is  gone. 

For.  Even  so  void  is  your  false  heart  of  truth. 
By  heaven,  I  will  ne'er  come  in  your  bed 
Until  I  see  the  ring. 

Ner.  Nor  I  in  yours. 

Till  I  again  see  mine. 

Boss.  Sweet  Portia, 

If  you  did  know  to  whom  I  gave  the  ring. 
If  you  did  know  for  wliom  I  gave  the  ring. 
And  would  conceive  for  what  I  gave  the  ring. 
And  how  unwillingly  I  left  the  ring. 
When  nought  would  be  accented  but  t!te  ring, 
You  would" abate  the  strength  of  your  displeasure. 

For.  If  you  had  known  the  virtue  of  the  ring, 
Or  half  Iter  worthiness  that  gave  the  ring. 
Or  your  own  honor  to  contain  the  ring. 
You  would  not  then  have  parted  with  the  ring. 
What  man  is  there  so  nmch  unreasonable. 
If  you  had  pleas'd,  to  have  defended  it 
With  any  terms  of  zeal  wanted  the  modesty 
To  urge  the  thing  held  as  a  ceremony  1 
Nerissa  teaches  me  what  to  believe  ; 
I'll  die  fur  t,  but  some  woman  had  the  ring. 

Buss.  No,  by  mine  honor,  madam,  by  my  soul, 
No  woman  had  it,  but  a  civil  doctor. 
Which  did  refuse  three. thousand  ducats  of  me. 
And  beig'd  the  ring :  the  which  I  did  deny  him, 
And  suller'd  him  to  go  displeas'd  away: 
Even  he  that  had  held  up  the  very  life 
Of  iny  dear  friend.   What  should  I  say,  sweet  lady? 
1  wasenforced  to  send  it  after  him  ; 
I  was  beset  with  shame  and  courtesy  ; 
My  honor  would  not  let  ingratitude 
So  much  besmear  it:  Pardon  me,  good  lady  ; 
For,  by  these  blessed  candles  of  the  night. 
Had  you  been  there,  I  tliink,  you  would  liave  begg"d 
The  ring  of  me  to  give  the  worthy  doctor. 

For.  Let  not  that  doctor  e'er  come  near  my  house: 
Since  he  hath  got  tlie  jewel  that  I  lov'd. 
And  that  which  you  did  swear  to  keep. for  me, 
I  will  become  as  liberal  as  you  : 
I'll  not  deny  him  any  thing  1  have. 
No,  not  my  body,  nor  my  husband's  bed  : 
Know  him  1  shall,  1  am  well  sure  of  it : 
Lie  not  a  night  from  home;  watch  me,  like  Argus. 
If  you  do  not,  if  1  be  left  alone. 
Now,  by  mine  honor,  which  is  yet  my  own, 
I'll  have  that  doctor  for  my  bedfellow. 

Ner.  And  I  his  cli^rk  ;  therefore  be  well  advis'd. 
How  you  do  leave  me  to  mine  own  protection. 

Gra.  Well,  drt  you  so  :  let  not  me  take  him  then  ; 
For,  if  I  do,  1*11  mar  the  young  clerk's  pen. 

Aot.  1  am  the  unhappy  subjeetof  those  quarrels. 

Fur.  Sir,  grieve  not  you ;  you  are  welcome  not- 
withslanding. 

Bass.  Portia,  forgive  me  this  enforced  wrong; 
»  Keganlful. 


Scene  I. 


MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


171 


And  in  the  hearing  of  these  many  friends, 
I  swear  to  thee,  even  by  thine  own  fan'  eyes, 
Wliereiii  I  see  myself, 

Par.  Mark  you  but  that ! 

In  both  mine  eyes  he  doubly  sees  Ijiniself : 
In  each  636  one : — swear  by  your  double  self, 
Anrt  there's  an  oath  of  credit. 

Bass.  Nay,  but  hear  me  : 

Pardon  this  fault,  and  by  my  soul  I  swear, 
I  never  more  will  break  an  oath  with  tliee. 

Ant.  1  once  did  lend  my  body  for  his  wealth  :s 
Which,  but  for  him  that  iiad  your  husbandsjing. 

To  POBTIA. 

Had  quite  miscarried  :  I  dare  be  bound  again, 
I\Iy  soul  upon  the  forfeit,  that  your  lord 
Will  never  more  break  faith  advisedly. 

Por.  Then  you  shall  be  his  surety :  Give  him  this ; 
And  bid  him  keep  it  better  than  the  other. 

Afii.  Here,  lord  Bassanio;  swear  to  keep  this  ring. 

Bass.  By  heaven,  it  is  the  same  I  gave  the  doctor ! 

For.  I  had  it  of  him  :  pardon  me,  Bassauio; 
For  by  this  ring  the  doctor  lay  with  me. 

Ncr.  And  pardon  me,  my  gentle  Gratiano  ; 
For  that  same  scrubbed  boy,  the  doctor's  clerk, 
In  lieu  of  this,  last  night  did  lie  with  mc. 

Gra.  Why,  this  is  like  the  mending  of  highways 
In  summer,  where  the  ways  are  fair  enough  : 
What !  are  we  cuckolds,  ere  we  have  deserved  it  1 

Por.  Speak  not  so  grossly. — Vou  are  all  amaz'd  : 
Here  is  a  letter,  read  it  at  your  leisure  ; 
It  comes  from  Padua,  from  liellario  : 
There  you  shall  find  that  Portia  was  the  doctor  ; 
Nerissa  there,  lier  clerk  :  Lorenzo  here 
Shall  witness,  I  set  forth  as  soon  as  you. 
Ami  but  even  now  rcturn'd  ;  I  have  not  yet 
Knter'd  my  house. — Antonio,  you  are  welcome; 
And  I  have  better  news  in  store  for  you, 
•  Advantage. 


Than  you  expect :  unseal  this  letter  soon  : 
'I'here  you  shall  find,  three  of  your  argosies 
.\re  richly  eoineto  harbor  suddenly  : 
You  shall  not  know  by  what  strange  accident 
I  chanced  on  this  letter. 

AnI.  I  am  dumb. 

Bass.  Were  you  the  doctor,  and  1  knew  you  not? 

Gra.  Were  )  ou  the  clerk,  that  is  to  make  me 
cuckold  ? 

Ner.  Ay  ;  but  the  clerk  that  never  means  to  do  it, 
Unless  he  live  until  he  be  a  man. 

Bass.  Sweet  doctor,  you  shall  be  my  bedfellow  ; 
When  I  am  absent,  then  lie  with  my  wife. 

Anl.  Sweet  lady,  you  have  given  nie  life,  and 
living; 
For  hear  I  read  for  certain  that  my  ships 
Are  safely  come  to  road. 

Por.  How  now,  Lorenzol 

JMv  clerk  hath  some  good  cr»mforts  too  for  you. 

iVtr.  Ay  and  TU  give  them  him  without  a  fee. — 
There  do  I  give  to  you  and  Jessica, 
From  the  rich  Jew  a  special  deed  of  gift. 
After  his  death,  of  all  he  dies  possess  d  of. 

Lor.  Fair  ladies,  you  drop  manna  in  the  way 
Of  starved  people. 

Por.  It  is  almost  morning. 

And  yet,  I  am  sure,  you  are  not  satisfied 
Of  these  events  at  full:  Let  us  go  in; 
And  charge  us  there  upon  inter'gatories, 
And  we  will  answer  all  things  faithfully. 

Gra.  Let  it  be  so:  The  first  inter'gatory, 
That  my  Nerissa  shall  be  sw-orn  on,  is. 
Whether  till  the  next  night  she  had  rather  stay  ; 
Or  go  to  bed  now,  being  two  hours  to-day : 
Hut  were  the  day  come,  1  should  wish  it  dark, 
Tiiat  I  were  couching  with  the  doctor's  clerk, 
Weil,  while  I  live,  I'll  fear  no  other  thing 
So  sore,  as  keeping  safe  Nerissa's  ring.     [Exeunt. 


AS  YOU  LIKE    IT. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


Duke,  living  in  exue. 

Fkederick,  hrotksr  to  the  Duke,  and  Usurper  of 

ti'is  diiiiiinunis. 
Amiens,  ^  Lnrds  attending  upon  ttie  Duke  in  his 


Jaiue 


^r 


batiUkiaeat. 


Le  Beau,  a   Conrtler,  uitendin, 
CiiAHLEs,  kis  Wrtatier. 


upon  Frederick. 


Sons  of  Sir  Rowland  de  Bois, 


Servants  to  Oliver. 


ToDciisToxE,  a  Clown. 

Sir  Oliveh  M.vu-text,  a  Vkar, 


s"ElMcs,}s^^Me, 


■/•(Is 


William,  a  country  fellow  in  love  with  Audrey 
A  ptrson  representing  H>nicn. 
UnsALi-vn,  Daughter  to  tkt  banishtd  Duke, 
Cflia,  Duuj^hter  to  Frederick. 
PiiKUK,  a  Skejierdess. 
AunuEY,  a  cuuntrij  girl. 

Lurcls  belonging  to  tlu  two  Dukes ;  Pages,  Forest- 
ers,  and  other  Attendants. 

The  SCENE  lies,  first,  near  Oliver's  House,-  aperwards,  partly  in  the  Vsurper's  Court,  and  2x:rtly 

in  the  Forest  of  Arden. 


ACT  I, 


SCENE  l.~An  Orchard,  near  Oliver's  House. 

Enter  Ohlasdo  and  Adam. 

Orl.  As  Ircmember,  Adam,  it  was  upon  this  fash- 
ion bequeatird  nie:  liy  will,  but  a  poor  thousand 
crowns;  and,  as  thou  sayst,  charf^ed  my  brother, 
on  his  blessing,  to  breed  n\e  well ;  and  there  bej^ins 
my    sadness."  My    brother   Jaques    he    keeps    at 
sciioo!,  and   report  speaks  t;oldcnly  of  his  profit: 
for  my  part,  ha  kcep:s  me  rustieaily  at  home,  or,  to 
speak  more  properly,  stays  me  here  at  home  un- 
kept:  For  call  you  thai  keeping  for  a  gentleman  of 
my  birth,  that  dillerd  not  from  t1ie  stalling  of  an  ox? 
His  hor^^es  are  bred  better;  for,  besides  that  Ibey 
are  iiiir  wiili   their  teediuir.  they  are  tauglit  their 
mana:;c,  and  to  titat  end  riders  dearly  hired:  but 
I,  his  brother,  iiain  notiiing  under  him  but  eirowtb  ; 
for  the  which  bis  animals  on  his  dunghills  are  as 
much  bound  to  him  as  I.    Besides  this  nolhin^  tliat 
he  so    plentifully  gives  me,    the   somethinji;  that  I 
nature  gave  me.  his  rountenanee  seems  to   take  ) 
from  me:  lie  lets  me  ked  with  his  hinds,  bars  me  '. 
the  place  of  a  brother,  and  as  much  as  in  him  lies  I 
mines  my  ^entiJlty  wiUi  my  ed.ucation.    This  is  it 
Adam,  th;:t  grieves  me;  and  tlie  spirit  of  my  father  , 
which   I    think    is  wiihin   me,  begins  to   mutiny  ' 
against  this  servitude:  I  will  no  longer  endurt*  it, 
though  yet  I  know  no  wise  remedy  how  to  avoid  it. 

Enter  Oliver. 

Adam.  Yonder  comes  my  master,  your  brother. 

Orl.  Go  apart,  Adam,  and  thou  shall  liear  how 
he  will  shake  me  up. 

Oli.  Now,  sir,  what  make  you  here  ?i 

Orl.  Nothing  :  I  am  not  taught  to  make  any  thing. 

OU.  What  mar  you  then,  sir  ? 

Orl.  Marry,  sir,  I  am  helping  you  to  mar  that 
which  God  niade,a  poorunworthy  brother  of  yours, 
with  idleness. 

Oli.  Marry,  sir,  be  better  employ 'd,  and  be  naught 
awhile. 

0/7.  Shall  I  keep  your  hogs,  and  eat  husks  with 
them!  \\'hat  prodigal  portion  have  1  spent,. that 
I  should  com;-  to  such  penury  ! 

Oli.  Know  you  where  you  arc  sirl 

Orl.  (>.  so  very  well:  here  in  your  orchard. 

Oli.  Know  you  before  whom,  sir  ! 

Orl.  Ay,  better  tiian  he  I  am  before  knows  me. 
I  know  you  are  my  eldest  brollicr;  and.  in  the 
gentle  condition  of  blood,  you  should  so  know  me: 


172 


1  What  do  you  here  ? 


]  The  courtesy  of  nations  allows  you  my  better,  in 
that  you  arc  the  first-born;  but  the  same  tradition 
takes  not  away  my  blood,  were  there  twenty 
brothers  betwixt  us;  I  have  as  much  of  my  father 
in  me,  as  you ;  albeit,  I  confess,  your  coining  before 
me  is  nearer  to  his  reverence. 
OIL  What,  boy! 

Orl.  Come,  come,  elder  brother,  you  are  too 
young  in  this. 

on,  Wdt  thou  lay  hands  on  me,  villain  ] 
0/7.  I  ana  no  villain  :■»  1  am  the  youngest  son 
of  Sir  Rowland  de  Kois;  he  was  my  father,  and  he 
is  thrice  a  villain,  that  says  such  a  lather  begot 
villtins:  Wert  Ihou  not  my  brother.  I  would  not 
take  this  hand  from  thy  throat,  Idl  tiiis  other  hand 
])uned  out  tliy  tongue  for  saying  so;  thou  hast 
raited  on  thyself. 

Adem.  Sweet  masters,  be  patient;  for  your  fa- 
ther's remembrance,  be  at  accord. 
Oli.  Let  me  go,  I  say. 

Orl.  I  will  not,  till  I  please :  yr-u  shall  hear  me. 
My  ftdher  charged  you  in  his  will  to  give  me  good 
etiacation:  you  have  trained  me  hke  a  peasant, 
tyb«e.uriiig  and  hiding  from  me  ;ill  gentleman-like 
quaitties  :  the  spirit  of  my  father  grows  strong  in 
me,  and  I  will  no  longer  endure  it;  therefore 
allow  me  such  exercises  as  may  become  a  t:entle- 
raau.  or  give  me  the  poor  allottery  my  father  JelT; 
kn«  by  testament;  witn  that  I  will  go  buy  my  for- 
tune*. 

OH.  And  what  wilt  thou  do]  beg,  when  that  is 
sptnt "!  Weil,  sir,  get  you  in:  I  will  not  long  be 
Lroulelrtd  witli  you  :  you  shall  have  some  part,  of 
yoar  wdj;   1  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Of/.  1  v/iU  no  further  olTcnd  you  than  becomes 
me  fur  my  good. 

0-(.  Get  you  wilh  him,  you  old  dog 
Ai4am.  Is  old  iUij:  my  reward  ]  most  true,  I  have 
lost  my  teeth  in  your  service. —  God  be  wiiii  my 
old  master!  he  would  not  Itave  spoke  such  a  word. 
[Excuttt  (JnLANOo  and  Aiiaat. 
OH.  Is  it  even  so]  begin  you  to  grow  upon  mel 
I  will  physic  your  rankness,  and  yet  give  no  thou- 
sand crowns  neither.    Ilola,  liennis! 
Enter  Di;xxis. 
Den.  Calls  your  worship? 

OU.  Was  not  Charles,  the  Duke's  wrestler,  here, 
to  siiea,k  with  me  T 

^  ^'i!!.1in  is  usint  in  a  double  fpnse;  by  Oliver,  f^r  a 
wortlili'ss  ffUow,  aud  by  Orlando^  for  a  man  of  base 
fstrtietiun. 


SCE>"E  II. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


173 


Den.  So  please  you,  he  is  Jicre  at  the  door,  and 
mipoitunes  access  to  you. 

Oil.  Call  him  in.  \EjcU  Dexxis.] — 'Twill  be  a 
good  way  ;  and  to-aiorrow  tlie  wrestling  is. 

Enter  CiiAHLES. 

Cha.  nood  morrow  to  your  worship. 

OIL  (loud  monsieur  Charles! — wliat'.s  the  new 
news  at  tlic  new  court  1 

Cha.  Tiiere's  no  news  at  the  court,  sir,  but  the 
old  news:  that  is,  llio  old  duke  is  bmislied  by  his 
younger  brother  the  new  duke;  and  three  or  lour 
iovinj5  lords  have  put  themselves  into  voluntary 
exile  with  him,  who-.e  lands  and  revenues  enncii 
liie  new  duke  ;  therelore  he  gives  them  good  leave 
to  wander. 

Oil.  Can  you  tell,  if  Rosalind,  the  duke's  daugh- 
ter, be  banished  with  her  lather? 

Cha.  0,  no;  for  tlic  dukes  daughter,  her  cousin, 
so  loves  her, — being  ever  from  their  cradles  bred 
together, — that  she  would  have  followed  her  exile, 
or  have  died  to  stay  behind  her.  She  is  at  the 
court,  and  no  less  beloved  of  her  uncle  than  his 
own  daughter ;  and  never  two  ladies  loved  as  they  do. 

Oii.  VVhcre  will  tlie  old  duke  live? 

Chru  They  say  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of 
Arden,  and  a  many  merry  men  with  him;  and 
there  they  live  lii^e  the  old  llobin  Hiiod  of  Knii- 
land:  tliey  say,  many  young  gentlemen  tlock  to 
him  every  day  ;  and  lleol  the  time  carelessly,  as  they 
did  in  the  L^ulden  world. 

OIL  What,  you  wrestle  to-morrow  b^-fore  the 
new  duke  \ 

Cha.  Marry,  do  I,  sir;  and  I  came  to  acquaint 
you  With  a  mutter.  I  am  given,  sir,  secretly  to  un- 
derstand, tliat  your  younger  brother,  Orlando,  hath 
a  disposition  to  come  in  disguis'd  against  me  to  try 
a  fall;  To-mornnv,  sir,  I  wrestle  for  my  credit; 
and  he  that  escapes  me  without  some  hrokeji  liinb. 
shall  acquit  him  well.  Your  brother  is  but  youiig. 
and  tender;  and,  for  your  love,  \  would  be  loath  to 
foil  him,  as  I  must,  lor  my  own  honor,  if  he  come 
in:  therefore,  out  of  my  love  to  vou,  I  came  hither 
to  acquaint  you  witlial ;  that  either  you  might  stay 
him  trom  his  intendment,  or  brook  such  disgrace 
well  as  he  shall  run  mto,  in  that  it  is  a  ihiiig  ot 
his  own  search,  and  altogether  against  my  will. 

Oli.  Charles,  1  th.uik  Ihee  for  thy  love  to  me, 
which  thou  shalt  find  I  will  most  kindly  requite.  1 
had  myself  notice  of  my  broliicr's  purpose  herein, 
and  have  by  underhand  means  labored  to  dissuade 
him  from  it;  but  he  is  resolute.  I'll  tell  thee. 
Cliarles, — he  is  the  stubbornest  young  fellow  of 
France ;  full  of  ambition,  an  envious  emulator  of 
every  mans  good  parts,  a  secret  and  villanous 
contriver  against  me  his  natural  brother;  therefore 
use  thy  discretion;  I  had  as  lief  tiiou  didst  break 
his  neck  as  his  linger.  And  thou  wert  best  look 
to't;  for  if  thou  dost  him  any  slight  disgrace,  or  if 
he  do  not  mightily  grace  himself  on  thee,  he  will 
practiseaj,ain'^t  thee  by  poison,  entrap  thee  by  some 
treacherniis  device,  and  never  leave  thee  till  he  hath 
ta'en  thy  life  by  some  indirect  means  or  otiier;  for, 
1  assure  thee,  and  almost  with  tears  I  speak  it.  there 
is  not  one  so  young  ana  so  villanous  tins  day  iiving. 
I  speak  but  brotherly  of  him;  but  should  I  anato- 
mize him  to  thee  as  he  is,  1  must  blusli  and  weep, 
and  thou  must  look  pale  and  wonder. 

CAa.  I  am  heartily  glad,  I  came  hither  to  you; 
If  he  come  to-morrow.  Ill  give  him  his  payment; 
If  ever  he  go  alone  again,  I'll  never  wre.stie  for 
prize  more:  And  so,  God  keep  your  worship ! 

[Exit. 

Oii.  Farewell,  good  Charles.— Now  will  I  stir 
this  gamester :3  1  htipe  I  sha'I  see  an  end  of  him: 
for  my  soul,  yet  I  know  not  why,  hates  nothiuL^ 
more  than  he.  Yet  he's  gentle;  never  schoord. 
and  yet  learned;  full  of  noble  device:  of  all  sorts* 
enchantin;ily  beloved;  and,  indt'cd,  so  much  in  the 
heart  ot"  tiie  world,  and  esnecially  of  my  own  peo- 
ple, who  best  know  him.  that  1  am  altogether  mis- 
prised: but  it  shall  not  be  so  long;  this  wrestler 
ehall  clear  all :  nothing  remains,  but  that  1  kindle 
the  boy  thither,  which  now  1*11  go  about.  [Exit. 
SCENbl  II.— -1  Lawn  before  t tie  Dukt^s  Palace,' 
Enter  Rosalind  and  Celia. 

Cel.  T  pray  thee.  Rosalind,  sweet  my  coz,  be  merry. 

Ros.  Dear  Celia,  I  siiow  more  mirth  than  I  uin 
s  FroUrk^ome  fellow.  *  Of  all  ninks. 


mistress  of:  and  would  you  yet  I  were  merrier  1 
Unle.-is  you  would  teach  me  to  forget  a  banished 
father,  you  must  not  learn  me  how  to  remember 
any  extranrdinary  pleasure. 

Ce.'.  Herein.  I  see,  thou  lovcst  me  not  with  the 
full  weight  that  I  love  tlice:  if  my  uncle,  thy  ban- 
ished father,  had  banished  thy  uncle,  ll;e  duke  my 
lather,  .so  thou  liadst  been  still  with  me.  I  could 
have  tan-ht  my  In\e  to  take  thy  talher  for  mine; 
so  wouldst  thou,  if  the  truth  of  thy  love  to  me  were 
so  righteously  teiiipcr'd  as  mine  is  to  thee. 

Riis.  Well,"  I  will  forf-'it  the  condition  of  my 
estate,  to  rejoice  in  yours. 

Cel.  You  know  my  fithc"  hath  no  child  but  I 
nor  none  is  like  to  have;  and.  truly,  when  he  dies, 
thou  sh;dt  be  his  heir;  for  whut  he  hath  taken  away 
from  thy  fither  perforce,  I  will  render  thee  again 
m  arteetion ;  by  mnie  honor,  I  will;  and  wlien  I 
break  that  oath,  let  me  turn  monster:  therefore,  my 
sweet  Rose,  my  d'^ar  Hose,  he  merry. 

Ros,  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,  and  devise 
sports;  let  me  see;  What  think  you  of  laihng  in  love? 

Cel.  Marry,  1  pr'ythee.  do.  to  make  sport  withal : 
but  love  no  mm  m  gond  earnest;  nur  no  further  in 
sport  neither,  than  with  safety  of  a  pure  blush  thou 
niayst  in  honor  come  olTai^ain. 

Ros.  What  shall  be  our  sjiorl  then  1 

Ctl.  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  housewife. 
Fortune,  from  her  wheel,  tliat  her  gifts  may  hence- 
forth be  bestowed  equally. 

Ru-s.  I  would,  we  could  do  so;  for  her  benefits 
are  mightily  misplaced:  and  the  bountiful  blind 
woman  dolh  nmst  mistake  in  her  gifts  to  women. 

Cel.  'Tis  true:  for  those,  thgit  she  makes  fair. she 
scarce  makes  honest;  and  those, ^that  she  makes 
lionest,  she  makes  very  ill-fivor  dly. 

Ro.'<.  Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  fortune's  office 
to  nature's:  f)rtuue  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world,  not 
in  the  hneamcnts  of  nature. 

Enter  Tchchstoxe. 

Cel.  Xo!  When  nature  hath  made  a  fair  creature, 
may  she  not  by  fortune  fall  into  the  fire  ? — Tliough 
nature  hath  given  us  wit  to  Iloutat  fortune, hathnot 
fortune  sent  in  Ibis  fool  to  cut  oil  the  argument  ? 

R'>,\.  Indeed,  there  is  fortune  too  hard  for  nature; 
when  f  )rlune  makes  nature  s  natural  the  cutter  oli' 
of  nature  s  wit. 

Cel.  PeradvenUire,  this  is  not  fortune's  work 
neither,  but  nature  s:  who  perceiving  our  natural 
wits  too  dull  to  reason  uf  sucb  goddcs^si's.  hath  sent 
this  natural  for  our  wlu-lstone  :  for  alwuv  s  the  dul- 
nessof  the  fool  is  the  whetstnne  of  his  wits. — How 
now,  wit  ]  whither  wander  you  ? 

Toucli.  Mistress,  you  must  come  away  to  your 
father. 

Cel.  Where  you  made  the  messenger? 

Toncfi.  No,  by  mine  lionor;  but  1  was  bid  to 
come  for  you. 

Ros.  W'here  learned  you  that  oath,  fool? 

Touch.  Of  a  certain  knight,  that  swore  by  his 
honor  they  were  good  pancakes,  and  swore  by  his 
honor  the  mustard  was  naught:  now.  Ml  stand  to 
it.  the  ])aiicakes  were  nau-lil,  and  the  mustaid  was 
good  ;  and  yet  was  not  the  knight  forsworn. 

Cel.  How  prove  you  that,  in  the  great  lieap  of 
your  knowledge  ! 

Ros.  Ay,  marry;  now  unmn-zle  your  wisdom. 

Toucli.  Stand  you  both  t'nrlh  now:  stroke  your 
dims,  an  I  swear  "by  your  beards  that  I  am  a  knave. 

Cel.  Ry  our  beards,  il' we  had  them,  thou  art. 

Touch.  Ry  my  knavery,  if  I  had  it.  then  I  were: 
but  if  you  swear  by  that  that  is  not,  you  are  not 
for-sworn  :  nomo  e  wasthis  knight.swearingby  his 
honor,  for  he  never  had  any;  or  if  lie  had,  he  liad 
sworn  it  away,  before  ever  Jie  saw  those  pancakes 
or  that  nnistard. 

Cel.  I'r  >  thee,  wlio  is't  that  thou  mean's!  ? 

Touch.  One  that  old  Frederick. your  fitlier. loves. 

Cel.  My  father's  love  is  enough  to  Iionor  him. 
F.nough  !"  speak  no  more  of  him  ;  you'll  be  whipp"d 
for  taxation.*  one  of  these  diys. 

Touch.  The  more  pity,  that  fools  may  not  speak 
wisely,  what  wise  men  do  foolishly. 

Cel.  Ry  my  troth,  thou  say'st  true  :  for  since  ihe 
little  wit,  that  fools  have,  was  silenced,  the  little 
foolery,  tliat  wise  men  have,  makes  a  great  show. 
Here  comes  Monsieur  Le  Beau. 

*  Satire. 


17i 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  I. 


£nfer  Le  Beau. 

Ros.  With  his  mjuth  full  of  news. 

Cel.  Winch  he  wiU  pul  on  us,  as  pigeons  feed 
their  j'ouug. 

Has.  Tlien  shall  we  benews-cramm'd. 

Cel-  All  tile  better;  we  shall  be  tlie  more  mar- 
ketable, io/iyo:;)-,  Monsieur  Le  Beau;  What's  the 
news  ! 

Le  Beau.  Fair  princess,  you  have  lost  much  good 
sport. 

Cei.  Sport?      Of  what  color? 

Le  Beau.  What  color,  madam  ?  How  shall  I 
answer  you  ? 

Rns.  As  wit  and  fortune  will. 

Ti/ucli.  dr  as  the  destinies  decree. 

Cel.  Well  said;  that  was  laid  on  WMth  a  trowel. 

Touch.  Nay.  if  I  keep  not  my  rank, 

Ros.  Thou  losest  thy  old  smell. 

Le  Beau.  You  amaze  me,  ladies;  I  would  have 
told  you  of  good  wrestling,  which  you  have  lost  the 
sight  of. 

Ros.  Yet  tell  us  the  manner  of  the  wrestling. 

Le  Bduu.  I  will  tell  you  the  beginning,  and  if  it 
please  your  ladyships,  you  may  see  the  end;  lor 
the  best  is  yet  to  do  ;  and  here,  wdiere  you  are, 
they  are  coming  to  perform  it. 

Cel.  Well,— the  beginning,  that  is  dead  and 
buried. 

Le  B-'au.  There  comes  an  old  man, and  his  three 
sons. 

Cel.  1  could  match  this  heiinning  with  an  old  tale. 

Le  Beau.  Three  properyoung  men,  of  excellent 
growth  and  presence; 

Ros.  With  bills  on  their  necks,— J5e  it  known 
unto  all  men  hi/  these  presents, 

Le  Beau.  Tlie  eldest  of  the  three  wrestled  with 
Charles,  the  duke's  wrestler  ;  which  Charles  in  a 
moment  tlirew  liiin,  and  broke  three  of  his  ribs, 
that  there  is  little  hope  of  life  in  him  :  so  he  served 
the  second,  and  so  the  third  :  Yonder  they  lie  ;  the 
poor  old  man,  their  father,  making  such  pitiful  dole 
over  them,  that  all  the  beholders  take  his  part  with 
weeping. 

Ros.   Alas! 

Touch  But  what  is  the  sport,  monsieur,  that  the 
ladies  have  lost  ! 

Z,?  Beau.  Why,  this  that  I  speak  of. 

Touch.  Thus  inen  may  grow  wiser  everyday  !  it 
is  the  first  time  that  I  ever  heard,  breaking  of  ribs 
was  sport  for  ladies. 

Cel.  Hr  I,  1  promise  thee. 

Ros.  But  is  there  any  else  longs  to  see  this  broken 
music  in  his  sides  !  is  there  yet  another  dotes  upon 
rib-hreaking  ?— Shall  we  see  this  wrestling,  cousin  ? 

i?  Beau.  You  ntust.  if  vou  stay  here  :  tor  here  is 
the  place  appointed  for  the  wrestling,  and  they  are 
ready  to  perforin  it. 

Ce'.  bonder,  sure,  they  are  coming:  Let  us 
now  stay  and  see  It. 

Flourish.    Enter  Duke  FnEnEnicK,  Lords,  Or- 
LAXDo,  Chaules,  and  .attendants. 

Duke  F.  Come  on ;  since  the  youth  will  not  be 
entreated,  his  own  peril  on  his  forwardness. 

Ros.  Is  yonder  the  man  '.' 

Le  Beau.  Kven  he,  madam. 

Cel.  Alas,  he  is  too  young :  yet  he  looks  suc- 
cessfully. 

Duke  F.  How  now,  daughter,  and  cousin  ?  are 
you  crept  hither  to  see  the  wrestling  '. 

Ron.  Ay,  my  liege  !  so  please  you  give  us  leave. 

Diike  F.  You  will  take  little  delight  in  it,  I  can 
tell  you,  there  is  such  odds  in  the  men  :  In  pity  of 
the  challenger's  youth,  I  would  fain  dissuade  him, 
but  he  willnot  be  entreated  :  Speak  to  him,  ladies, 
see  if  y":u  can  move  him. 

Cel.  Call  him  hither,  good  Monsieur  Lc  Beau. 

DikcF.  Do  so:  \  II  notbeby.\0\:KK  goes  apart. 

Lc  Beau.  Monsieur  the  challenger,the  princesses 
call  for  you. 

O.i.  I  attend  them,  with  all  respect  and  duty. 

/ii's.  Young  man,  have  you  challenged  Charles 
tlie  wrestler  ! 

Orl.  No,  fair  princess;  he  is  the  general  chal- 
lenger: I  come  hut  in,  as  others  do,  to  try  with  him. 
the" strength  of  my  youth. 

Cel.  Young  gentleman,  your  spirits  are  too  bold 
for  your  years;  Vou  have  seen  cruel  pro  if  of  this 
man's  strength  ;  if  you  saw  yourself  wjili  your  eyes 


or  knew  yourself  with  your  judgment,  the  fear  of 
your  adventure  would  counsel  you  to  a  more  equal 
eiittrprise.  We  pray  you.  tor  your  own  sake,  to 
embrace  your  own  s.i  fety,  and  give  over  this  atiempt. 

Ros.  Do,  young  sir;  your  reputation  shall  not 
therefore  be  misprised:  we  will  make  it  our  suit  to 
the  duke,  that  the  wrestling  might  not  go  forward. 

Orl.  1  beseech  you,  ]iunisli  me  not  with  your 
hard  thoughts;  wherein  I  conlcss  me  much  guilty, 
to  deny  .so  fair  and  e.Ncellent  ladies  any  thing.  But 
let  your  fair  eyes,  and  gentle  wishes,  go  with  me  to 
my  trial :  wherein  if  1  be  foiled,  there  is  hut  one 
shamed  that  was  never  gracious:  if  killed,  but  one 
dead  that  is  willing  to  be  so;  I  shall  do  my  friends 
no  vvrong,  for  I  have  none  to  lament  n;e ;  the  world 
no  injury,  for  in  it  I  have  nothing  ;  only  in  the 
world!  Hll  up  a  place  which  may  be  better  sup- 
plied when  1  have  made  it  empty. 

Ros.  The  little  strength  that  I  have,  I  -would  it 
were  with  you. 

Cel.  And  mine,  to  eke  out  hers. 

i?'w.  Fare  you  well.  Pray  heaven,  I  be  deceived 
in  you  ! 

Cel.  Your  heart's  desires  be  with  you. 

Cha.  Come  where  is  this  young  gallant,  that  is 
so  desirous  to  lie  with  his  mother  earth  ? 

Orl.  Ready,  sir;  but  his  will  hatn  in  it  a  m  xe 
modest  working. 

Duke  F.  You  shall  try  but  one  fall. 

Cha.  No,  1  warrant  your  grace;  you  shall  not 
entreat  him  to  a  second,  that  have  so  mightily  per- 
suaded him  from  a  lirst. 

Orl.  You  mean  to  mock  me  after;  you  should 
not  have  mocked  me  helore :  but  come  your  ways. 

Ro.s.  Now,  Hercules  be  thy  sjieed.  young  man  ! 

Cel.  1  would  I  were  invisible,  to  catch  the  strong 
fellow  by  the  leg.  [CHAnLES  and  Oulaxdo  wrestle. 

Ros.  II  excellent  young  man  ! 

Cel.  If  I  had  a  tliunderbolt  in  mine  eye,  I  can 
tel:  who  should  down.  ICharies  istlirown.  Shout. 

Duke  F.  No  more,  no  more. 

Orl.  Yes,  1  beseech  your  grace;  I  am  not  yet 
well  breathed. 

Duke  F.  How  dost  thou,  Charles? 

Le  Beau.  He  cannot  speak,  my  lord. 

Dike  F.  Bear  liim  away.  ICuakles  is  borne  out. 
What  is  thy  name,  young  man? 

Orl.  (Irlando,  my  liege;  the  youngest  son  of  Sir 
Rowland  dc  Hois. 

Duke  F.  I  would  thou  hadst  been  son  to  some 
man  else. 
The  world  esteem'd  thy  father  honorable. 
Hut  1  did  liiid  him  still  mine  enemy  : 
I'hou  should.st  have  better  pleas'd  me  with  this 

deed. 
Hadst  thou  descended  from  another  house. 
But  lure  thee  well ;  thou  art  a  gallant  youth  ; 
1  would  thou  hadst  told  me  of  another  father. 

[Exeunt  Duke  KuEn.,  rrain,  «;(f/  Lk  Beau. 

Cel.  Were  I  my  father,  coz,  would  I  do  this? 

Orl.  I  am  more  jiroud  to  be  Sir  ivowlands  son, 
His  youngest  son; — and  would  not  change  that 

calling. 
To  be  adopted  heir  to  Frederick. 

Ros.  My  father  lov'd  Sir  Howlami  as  his  soul, 
A nd  all  the  world  was  of  iny  father  s  mind  : 
Had  1  before  known  this  j  oung  man  his  son, 
I  should  have  given  him  tears  unto  entreaties, 
lire  he  should  thus  have  ventur'd. 

Cel.  Gentle  cousin, 

Let  us  go  thank  him,  and  encourage  liini; 
.My  father's  rou-.;h  and  envious  disposition 
Sticks  me  at  heart. — Sir,  you  have  well  deserv'd: 
If  you  do  keep  your  promises  in  love. 
But  justly,  as  you  have  exceeded  promise, 
Your  mistress  shall  be  happy. 

Ros.  Gentleman, 

[Giving  him  a  chain  from  her  neck. 
Wear  this  for  me;  one  out  of  suits  with  fortune; 
'i'liat  could   give   more,  but  that  her  baud  lacks 

means. — 
Shall  we  go,  coz? 

Cel.  Ay : — Fare  you  well  fair  gentleman. 

Orl.  Can  I  not  say,  I  thank  you?  My  better  parts 
.\re  all  thrown  down  ;  and  that  which  here  stands  up, 
Is  but  a  quintair,'  a  mere  lifeless  lilock. 

Ros.  He  calls  us  back:  My  pride  loll  with  my 
fortunes: 

e  Tho  object  to  dart  at  iu  martial  exorcrstis. 


Scene  III. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


175 


1  II  nsk  liini  what  lie  would  :— Did  jim  call,  sir ?-.- 
Sir,.you  have  wrestled  well,  and  overthrown 
Jlorc  than  your  enemies. 

Cel.  Wlllyouso,  cozl 

Rus.  Have  with  yon :— Fare  you  well. 

[Exeniit  Ro'sALixi)  and  Celia. 
Orl.   \\  hat  passion  lianjs  these  weights   upon 
my  tongue  ? 
I  cannot  speak  to  her,  yet  she  urged  conference. 

Re-enter  Le  Beau. 
O  poor  Orlando  !  thou  art  overthrown : 
Oi  Charles,  or  something  weaker,  masters  thee. 

LeBfaii.  Good  sir,  I  do  in  friendship  counsel  you. 
To  leave  this  place:  Alheit  you  have  (leserv'd 
High  commendation,  true  applause  and  love  ; 
Yet  sucli  is  now  the  du^ie's  condition,'' 
That  he  rnisconstrues  all  that  you  have  done. 
The  duke  is  humorous;  what  he  is,  indeed. 
More  suits  yon  to  conceive,  than  me  to  speak  of. 

0/7.  1  tii.ank-you,  sir:  and  pray  you, tell  niclliis; 
Which  of  the  two  was  daughter  of  llio  duke, 
That  here  was  at  the  wrestling  1 
Le  Beau.  Neither  his  daughter,  if  we  judge  by 
manners; 
But  yet  indeed,  the  shorter  is  his  daughter : 
The  other  is  daughter  to  the  banishd  duke, 
And  here  dctain'd  by  her  usurping  uncle. 
To  keep  his  daughter  company  ;  whose  loves 
Are  dearer  than  the  natural  bond  of  sislets: 
But  I  can  lell  you,  that  of  late  this  duke 
Hath  taen  displeasure  'gainst  his  gentle  niece; 
Grounded  upon  no  other  argument, 
But  that  thepeople  praise  her  for  her  virtues, 
And  pity  her  for  her  good  father's  sake: 
And,  on  my  life,  his  malice  'g^iinst  the  lady 
Will  suddenly  break  forth. — Sir,  fare  you  well; 
Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
I  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you. 

Oil.  I  rest  much  bounden  to  you  :  fare  you  well ! 
„,  \Exi/  Lk  Bs;au. 

Thus  must  I  from  the  smoke  into  the  smother; 
From  tyrant  duke,  unto  a  tyrant  brother: — 
But  heavenly  Rosalind!  [Exit. 

SCKNE  III.— .4  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  CT.i.i.i  and  Rosalind. 
Cel.  Why,  cousin;  why,  Rosalind  ;— Cupid  h  ivp 
mercy  !— Not  a  word  ? 
/;•).«.  Not  one  to  throw  at  a  dog. 
Cel.    No,  thy  words  are  too  precious  to  be  c:\st 
away  upon  curs,  throw  some  of  them  at  me;  come, 
lame  me  with  reasons. 

Ros.  Then  there  were  two  cousins  laid  up  ;  when 
the  one  should  be  lamed  with  reasons,  and  the  other 
mad  Without  any. 
Cel.  But  is  all  this  for  your  father ! 
Ro.^.    No,  some  of  it  for  my  father's  child  :   0. 
how  full  of  briars  is  this  working-d.iy  world  ! 

Cel.  Tliey  are  hut  burs, cousin,  thrown  upon  thee 
in  holiday  foolery;  if  we  walk  not  in  the  trodden 
paths,  our  very  pettieoals  will  catch  lliem. 

Rn.s.  I  could  shake  them  olf  my  coat ;  tlicse  burs 
are  in  my  heart. 
Cel.  Hem  them  away. 
Ros.  I  would  try 
him. 


And  get  }ou  from  our  court. 
?*'«•     '  Me,  uncle? 

„.^i'-'^^  ^-  ,  You,  cousin ; 

\\  ithin  these  ten  days  if  that  thou  best  ibund 
So  near  our  public  court  as  twenty  miles, 
Thou  diest  for  it. 

R"^.  I  do  beseech  your  grace. 

Let  me  the  knowledge  of  my  tault  bear  with  me: 
If  with  myself  I  hold  intelligence, 
<ir  have  acquaintance  with  mine  own  desires; 
If  that  I  do  not  dream,  or  be  not  frantic, 
(As  I  do  trust  1  am  not.)  then,  dear  uncle. 
Never,  so  much  as  in  a  thought  unborn, 
Did  I  ollend  your  highness. 

L>iil;eF.  Thus  do  all  traitors ; 

If  their  purgation  did  consist  in  words. 
They  are  as  innocent  as  grace  itself; — 
Let  it  suffice  thee,  that  I  trust  thee  not. 

Ros.  Yet  your  mistrust  cannot  make  me  a  traitor: 
Tell  me  whereon  the  likelihood  depends. 
Duke  F.  Thou  art  tliy  fathers  daughter,  there's 

enoui^h. 
Ros.    So  was  I,  when  your  highness  took  his 
dukedom ; 
So  was  I,  when  your  highness  banish'd  him  : 
Treason  is  not  inherited,  my  lord  ; 
Or.  if  we  derive  it  from  our  friends, 
What's  that  to  me  ?  my  father  was  no  traitor  : 
rhcn,  good  my  liege,  mistake  ine  not  so  much, 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous. 
Cel.  Dear  sovereign,  bear  me  speak. 
Duke  F.  Ay,  Cclia ;  we  stay  d  here  for  your  sake, 
Else  had  she  with  her  father  "ranged  along. 

Cel.  I  did  not  then  entreat  to  have  her  stay, 
It  was  your  pleasure  and  your  own  remoisc:' 
1  was  too  young  that  time  to  value  her. 
Hut  now  1  knovv  her:  if  she  be  a  traitor. 
Why  so  am  1  ;  we  still  have  slept  together. 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learn  d,  play'd,  eat  togethei ; 
And  wlieresoe.'r  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled,  and  inseparable. 
Duke  F.   She  is  too  su'utile  for  thee;  and  her 
smoothness. 
Her  very  silence,  and  her  patience. 
Speak  to  the  people,  and  they  pity  her. 
riiou  art  a  fool :  she  robs  thee  of  tliy  name : 
And  thou  wilt  show  more  bright  and  seem  more 

virtuous, 
When  she  isgone:  then  open  not  thy  lips; 
Firm  and  irrevocable  is  my  doom 
Which  1  have  pass'd  upon  her;  she  is  banish'd. 
Cel.  Pronounce  that  sentence  then  on  me,  my 
liege ; 
I  cannot  live  out  of  lier  company. 
Duke  F.  You  area  fool: — You,  niece,  provide 
yourself; 
If  you  out-stay  the  time,  ujion  mine  honor 
And  in  the  greatness  of  my  word,  you  die. 

{Exeunt  Di-KK  Fiikhkiiick  «)7(M,ords. 
Cel.  0,  my  poor  Rosalind  !  whither  will  thou  go? 


if  I  could  cry  hem,  and  have 

Cel.  Come,  come,  wrestle  with  thy  alTections. 

Ros.  O,  they  take  the  part  of  a  better  wrestler 
than  myself. 

Cel.  (),  a  good  wish  upon  you  !  you  will  try  in 
time.  111  dpspile  of  a  fall.— But,  turning  these  jests 
out  of  service,  let  us  talk  in  good  earnest :  Is  it  pos- 
sible on  such  a  sudden,  you  should  fall  into  so 
strong  a  liking  with  old  Sir  Rowland's  youngest  soiV 

Rns.  The  duke  my  father  lov'd  his  father  dearly 

Cel.  Doth  it  therefore  ensue,  that  you  should  lov'e' 
his  son  dearly  ?  Ky  this  kind  of  chase,  T  should  hate 
him,  for  my  father  hated  his  father  dearly  vet  I 
hale  not  Orlando.  '  j  .  j       ' 

Ros.  No;  hale  him  not,  for  my  sake. 

Cel.   Why  should  I  not?  doth  he  not  deserve 
well  ?  • 

Rns.  Let  me  love  him  for  that;  and  do  you  love 
Dim  because  I  do: — Look,  here  comes  the  duke. 

Cel.  With  his  eyes  full  of  anger. 

Enter  Dtke  FiitnEKicK,!oi/A  Lords. 

Duke  F.  Mistress,  dispatch  you  with  your  safest 
haste, 

'  Temper,  di.'iposition. 


Wilt  thou  change  fathers?   I  will  give  thee  mine. 
I  cliarged  thee,  be  not  thou  more  griev'd  than  1  am. 

Ros.  I  have  more  cause. 

Cel.  Thou  hast  not,  cousin ; 

Pr'jihee,  be  cheerful:  know'st  thou  not,  the  duke 
Hath  banish'd  me,  his  daughter? 

Hi'.i.  That  be  halli  not. 

Cel.  No?  hath  not?  Rosalind  lacks  then  the  love 
Which  teachclh  thee  that  tlmu  and  I  a:e  one  : 
Shall  we  bo  sunder'd  ?  shall  we  part,  sweet  girl  '. 
No;  let  my  father  seek  anoiher  heir. 
Therefore  devise  with  me.  how  we  may  fly. 
Whither  to  go,  and  what  to  bear  with  us: 
And  do  not  seek  to  take  your  change  U])on  you, 
To  bear  your  grief  yourself,  and  leave  me  out; 
For,  by  lliis  heaven,  now  at  our  sorrows  pale. 
Say  what  thou  canst,  I'll  l'o  along  with  thee. 

kos.  Why,  whither  shall  we  go  ? 

Cel.  To  seek  my  uncle. 

Ros.  Alas,  what  danger  will  it  be  to  us, 
Maids  as  we  are,  to  travel  forth  so  far  ? 
Beauly  provokctb  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

Cel.  rjl  put  myself  in  poor  and  mean  attire, 
And  with  a  kind  of  umbei'  smirch  my  face; 
The  like  do  you  ;  so  shall  we  pass  along, 
And  never  stir  assailants. 

-Ko.s.  Were  it  not  better. 

Because  that  I  am  more  than  common  tall. 
That  I  did  suit  me  all  points  like  a  man  ; 


8  Compa.ssion. 


s  A  dusky,  yellow  colored  earth. 


176 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  II. 


A  gallautcurtle-a:<i  up  in  my  tiiish, 
A  boar  spe.ir  in  my  lund  ;  aiKl  (iii  my  licsTt, 
Lie  there  what  hidden  woman's  fear  tliere  will) 
We'll  liave  a  svvasliing"  and  a  martial  outside  ; 
As  many  other  mannish  cowartls  have, 
That  do  outface  it  with  their  semblances. 
Cel.  What  shad  I  call  thee  when  thou  art  a  man  1 
Ros.  Ill  have  no  wjrse  a  nane  tiian  Jove's  own 
paste, 
And  therefore  look  you  call  mc,  Ganymede. 
But  whit  will  you  be  calld  ? 
Ccl.  Something  that  hath  a  reference  to  my  state ; 


No  longer  Celia.  but  Aliens. 

Am.  "BuI,  cousin,  what  if  we  cs^ay'd  to  steal 
The  clownish  fool  out  of 'your  father's  court  ? 
Would  he  not  be  a  comfjr't  to  our  travel  1 

Cei,  He'll  g:o  alontc  o  er  the  wide  world  with  me ; 
Leave  me  alone  to  woo  him  ;  Let's  away, 
And  set  our  jewels  and  our  wealth  togetliei ; 
Devise  the  fittest  time,  and  sal'est  way 
To  hide  us  from  pursuit  lliat  vvill  be  made 
After  my  flight:  now  t'o  w.>  in  content 
To  Uberly  and  not  to  banishment.  [Exeunt. 


ACT   II, 


SCENE  l— The  Forest  nf  Arden. 
Enter  Duke  Senior,  Ajiikns,  and  oilier  Lords,  In 
the  dress  of  Foresters. 
Duke  S.  Now,  my  co-mates,  and  brothers  in  exile, 
Hath  not  old  custom  made  this  life  more  sweet 
Than  tiiat  of  painted  pomp?   Are  not  these  woods 
More  free  from  peril  than  the  envious  court ; 
Here  feel  we  but  the  penalty  of  Adam, 
The  seasons'  difference;  as,  the  icy  fanf. 
And  churlish  chiding  of  the  winter's  wind  ; 
Which  when  it  bites  and  blows  upon  my  body, 
Even  till  I  shrink  with  cold,  I  smile,  and  say,— 
This  is  no  (lattery  :  these  are  counsellors 
That  feelrhgly  persuade  me  what  I  am. 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity  ; 
Which,  like  the  load,  ugly  and  venomous, 
■(vears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  ; 
And  tins  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt. 
Finds  tongucsin  trees, books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thmg. 

Ami.  I  would  not  change  it:  Happy  isyourgrace. 
That  can  translate  the  stubbornness  of  fortune 
Into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style. 

Duke  S.  Curne.  shall  we  go  and  kill  us  venison  " 
And  yet  it  irks  me,  the  poor  dappkd  fools, — 
Beins  native  burgers  of  this  desert  city,— 
Should  in  tiieir  own  confines,  with  foiked  heads' 
Have  their  round  haunches  gored. 

1  Lfinl.  Indeed,  my  lord. 

The  melancholy  Jaques  grieves  at  that ; 
And,  in  that  kind,  swears  you  do  more  usurp 
Than  doih  your  brother  that  hath  banishd  you. 
To-day.  my  lord  of  Amiens,  and  myself, 
Did  steal  behind-him,  as  he  lay  along 
Under  an  oak,  whose  antique  root  peeps  out 
Upon  the  brook  that  brawls  along  this  wood: 
To  the  which  place  a  poor  scquester'd  stag, 
Thai  from  the  hunter's  aim  had  ta'en  a  hurt, 
riid  come  to  languish ;  and.  indeed,  my  lord. 
The  wretched  animal  heav'd  forth  such  groans. 
That  their  discharge  did  stretch  his  leathern  coat 
Almost  to  bursting;  and  the  big  round  tears 
Cours  d  one  another  down  his  innocent  nose 
In  piteous  chase:  and  thus  the  hairy  fool, 
Much  marked  of  the  melancholy  Jaques, 
Stood  on  the  extremest  verge  of  the  swift  brook, 
Augmenting  it  with  tears. 

Duke  S.  Btit  what  said  Jaques  ! 

Did  he  not  moralize  this  spectacle? 

1  Lord.  (),  yes,  into  a  thousand  similes. 
First,  for  his  weeping  in  the  needless  stream ; 
Poor  dicr.  quolh  he,  t/uiti  iimk'st  a  testaiutnt 
As  wnrhHing':  dn,  fairing  thii  sum  i,f  more 
To  tlwt  whick  had  too  much:   Then,  being  alone, 
Left  and  abandon'd  of  his  velvet  friends; 
'T«  riiikt,  quoth  he;  thus  misery  dath  pnrt 
The  flux  ufcompomi:   Anon,  a  careless  herd, 
Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  hiin. 
And  never  slays  to  greet  him;  .■)//,  quoth  Jaques, 
Siceepon.  i/ou  fiit  iiwl  gmisij  citizens; 
'Tis  just  ihifiahion:     Wh'rrfore  dn  you  Inolt 
I'uon  tliiit  poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there? 
Thus  most  invectively  he  pierceth  through 
The  body  of  the  country,  city,  court. 
Yea,  and  ef  this  our  life:  sweariHL;,  that  wc 
Are  mere  usurpers,  tyrants,  and  what  s  worso 
To  fright  the  animals,  and  to  kill  Ihem  up. 
In  their  assigned  and  native  dwelling-place. 
■  Cutlass.  «  Swnggcring  =  Bnrhcd  arrows. 


Duke  S.  And  did  you  leave  him  in  this  contem- 
plation ? 
2  Lord.    We  did,  my  lord,  weeping  and  com- 
menting 
L^pon  the  sobbing  deer. 

Duke  S.  Show  me  the  place ; 

1  love  to  cope'  him  in  these  sullen  tits, 
For  then  he's  full  of  matter. 
2  Lord.  I'll  bring  v  ou  to  him  straight.    [Exeunt. 
SCENE  II.— yl  Room  in  the  Palate. 
Enter  Duke  FHEDEnicK,  Lords,  anfJ  Attendants. 

Duke  F.  Can  it  be  possible  that  no  man  saw  them? 
It  cannot  be  :  some  villains  of  my  court 
Are  of  consent  and  suiferance  in  this. 

1  Lord.  I  cannot  hear  of  any  that  did  see  her. 
The  ladies,  her  attendants  of  her  chamber. 

Saw  her  a-bcd;  and,  in  the  morning  early, 

They  found  the  bed  untreasur'd  of  their  mistress. 

2  Lord.  My  lord,  the  royiii^h>  clown,at  whom  so  oft 
Your  srace  was  wont  to  laush.  is  also  missing. 
Hesj  e'ria,  the  princess'  gentlewoman. 
Confesses,  that  she  secretly  o'erheard 

Your  daughter  and  her  cousin  much  commend 
The  parts  and  iiraces  nf  the  wrestler 
That  did  but  lately  foil  the  sinewy  Charles  ; 
And  she  believes,  wherever  they  are  gone, 
I'hat  youth  is  surely  in  their  company. 
Duke  F.   Send  to  his  brother;  fetch  that  gallant 
hither ; 
If  he  be  absent,  bring  his  brother  to  me, 
I'll  nvike  him  find  linn:  do  this  suddenly; 
And  let  not  search  and  inquisition  quail" 
To  bring  again  these  foolish  runaways.     [Exeunt. 
SCENE  111.— Before  Oliver's  House. 
Enter  Oiiiando  and  Adam,  meeting. 

Orl.  Who's  there  ? 

Adam.  What!  my  young  master?— O,  my  gen- 
tle master, 
0,  my  sweet  master.  0  you  memory 
Of  old  Sir  Rowland!  why.  what  make  you  here  ? 
Why  are  ynuvirtuous?    Why  do  people  loveyou? 
And  v\'herefore  are  you  gentle,  .strong,  and  valiant? 
Why  should  you  be  so  biiil'  to  oveieoiiie 
The  bony  prizer  of  the  humorous  duke  ? 
Your  praise  is  come  too  swiftly  home  before  you. 
Know  you  not,  master,  to  some  kind  of  men 
Their  graces  serve  them  but  as  enemies? 
No  more  do  youVs;  your  virtues,  gentle  master, 
Are  sanctified  and  holy  traitors  lo  you. 
O,  what  a  world  is  this,  when  what  is  comely 
Envenoms  liim  that  bears  it ! 

Ort.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Alam.  O  unhappy  youth. 

Come  not  within  these  doors  ;  within  this  roof 
The  enemy  of  all  your  graces  lives: 
Your  brother— (no,  no  brother;  yet  the  son- 
Yet  not  the  son ;— I  will  not  call  him  son— 
Of  him  I  was  about  to  call  his  father,)— 
Halh  heard  your  praises;  and  this  night  he  means 
To  burn  the  lodging  wdiere  you  use  to  lie, 
And  you  w  itliin  it :  if  he  fail  of  that. 
He  will  have  other  means  lo  cut  you  oti: 
1  overhea'd  him,  and  his  practices. 
This  is  no  pLice,  this  house  is  but  a  butchery ; 
A  bhor  it,  fear  it,  do  not  enter  it. 

<  Knonuntor.        >  Scurvt-y.  »  Sink  into  ili-jcction. 


1  ML-morial. 


8  Incon.^id'.Tate. 


SCE>'E  V. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


177 


Orl.  Why,  whitlier,  Adam,  wouldst  thou  have 
mo  go  1 

Adam.  No  matter  whither,  so  you  come  not  here. 

Orl.  What,  wouldst  thou  have  me  go  and  beg  my 
'food  f 
Or,  with  a  base  and  boisterous  sword,  enforce 
A  thievish  livnig  on  the  conmion  road  ? 
This  I  must  do,  or  know  not  what  to  do: 
Yet  this  I  will  not  do,  do  how  1  can  ; 
I  rather  wiU  subject  me  to  the  malice 
Ufa  diverted  blood,^  and  bloody  brother. 

Adam.  Butdonotso:!  have  hve  hundred  crowns, 
The  thrifty  hire  1  sav'd  under  your  father, 
Waicli  I  did  store,  to  be  my  foster-nurse, 
When  service  should  in  my  old  limbs  he  lame, 
And  unrej^arded  uf;e  m  corners  thrown  : 
Take  that:  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow. 
Be  coinlbrt  to  my  age  !  Here  Is  the  gold ; 
All  this  1  give  you :  Let  ine  be  your  servant ; 
Though  I  look  old,  jet  1  am  strong  and  lusty: 
For  in  my  youili  i  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood; 
Nor  did  not  with  unh.isbful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  and  debility  ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kmdly:  let  me  go  with  you; 
I'll  do  the  service  of  a  younger  man 
In  all  your  business  and  necessities. 

Orl.  ()  good  old  man  ;  how  well  in  thee  appears 
The  constant  service  of  the  antique  world, 
^Vhen  service  sweat  fur  duty,  not  for  meed! 
Thou  art  not  for  tlie  fashion  of  these  times, 
W'here  none  will  sweat,  but  for  promotion; 
And  liavinLi  that  do  choke  their  service  up 
Even  with  the  havmg:  it  is  not  so  with  tiiee. 
But,  poor  old  man,  thou  prun'st  a  rotten  tree, 
That  cannot  so  much  as  a  blossom  yield, 
In  heu  of  all  thy  painsand  husbandry: 
But  come  thy  ways,  well  go  along  together; 
And  ere  we  have  thy  youthful  wages  spent, 
We'll  light  upon  some  settled  lowcnntent. 

Adam.  Master, go  on;  and  1  will  follow  thee, 
To  the  last  gasp  with  truth  and  loyalty.— 
From  seventeen  years  til!  now  almost  fourscore 
Here  lived  I,  but  now  hve  here  no  more. 
At  seventeen  years  many  their  fortunes  seek; 
But  at  fourscore,  it  is  too  late  a  week : 
Yet  ibrtune  cannot  recompense  me  better, 
Than  to  die  well,  and  not  my  master's  debtor. 

[Exeiinf. 
SCENE  \\.— The  Forest  of  Kxden. 
Enter  RosALixii  in  Boy's  c/WA&v,  Celia  dressed 
like  a  Shtpherdtssy  and  Toucustoa'e. 

Ros.  O  Jupiter!  how  weary  arc  ray  spirits  ! 

Touch.  I  care  not  for  my  spirits,  if  my  legs  were 
not  weary. 

Ron.  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  disgrace  my 
man's  apparel,  and  to  cry  like  a  woman  :  but  I  must 
comfort  tlie  weaker  vessel,  as  doublet  and  hose  ought 
to  show  itself  courageous  to  petticoat:  therefore, 
courage,  good  Allena. 

Cel.  Ipray  you,  bear  with  me;  1  can  go  no  further. 

Touch.  For  my  part,  I  had  rather  bear  with  you 
than  bear  you:  yet  I  should  bear  no  cross,i  if  I  did 
bear  you:  for,  I  think,  you  hate  no  money  in  your 
purse. 

Ros.  Weil,  this  is  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Touch.  Ay,  now  am  I  in  Arden:  the  more  fool 
I ;  when  1  was  at  home.  I  was  in  a  better  place; 
but  travelers  nmst  be  content. 

Ros.  Ay,  be  sn,  good  Touchstone: — Look  yon, 
who  comes  here;  a  young  man  and  an  old,  in 
solemn  talk. 

Enter  Crniry  and  SrLvirs. 
Co?:  That  is  the  way  to  make  her  scorn  you  still! 
Sit.  O  Covin,  that  thou  knew'st  how  I  do  love  her. 
Cor.  I  partly  guess;  for  I  have  lov'd  ere  now. 
Sil.  No,  Corui,  being  old  thou  canst  not  guess; 
Though  in  thy  youth  tiion  wast  as  true  a  lover 
As  ever  sigh'd  upon  a  midnight  jiiUow: 
But  if  thy  love  were  ever  like  tn  mine, 
(As  sure  I  think  did  never  man  love  so,) 
How  many  actions  most- ridiculous 
Hast  thou  been  drawn  to  by  thy  fantasy? 
Cor.  Into  a  thousand  that  I  have  forgotten. 
8  Blood  turned  from  its  natural  course. 
*  A  piece  of  money  stamped  with  a  cross. 
12 


Sil.  0,  thou  didst  then  ne'er  love  so  heartily: 
l(  thou  remember'st  not  the  slif^lilest  i'oHy 
That  evfr  love  did  make  thee  run  into, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd: 
Or  if  thou  liast  not  sat  as  I  do  now. 
Wearying  thy  hearer  in  thy  mistress'  praiee, 
Thou  liast  not  lov'd  : 
Or  if  thou  hast  not  broke  from  company. 
Abruptly,  as  my  passion  now  makes  me, 
Thou  hast  not  lov'd;  O  Phebe,  rhebe.  i'hebe! 

[Exit  SiLvius, 

Rns.  Alas, poorshepherd!  searching  of  thy  wounds 
I  have  by  liard  adventure  found  my^own. 

'Touch.  And  1  mine:  I  remembi-r,  when  I  was 
in  love,  I  broke  my  sword  upon  a  stone,  and  bid 
hun  lake  that  for  coming  anight*  to  Jane  Smile: 
and  I  remember  the  kissing  of  her  batlpt,a  and  the 
cows  dugs  th;it  her  pretty  cliopd  hands  had  milk'd: 
and  I  remember  the  wooing  of  a  peaM'od  instead 
of  her;  from  whom  I  took  two  cobs,  and  giving  her 
them  again,  said  with  weeping  tears,  IVcar  these 
for  my  i^ake.  We.  tfiat  are  true  lovers,  run  into 
strange  capers;  but  as  all  is  mortal  m  nature,  so  is 
all  nature  m  love  mortal  In  folly. 

Ros.  Thou  speak'st  wiser  than  thou  art  "ware  of, 

'Touch.  Nay,  I  shall  ne'er  be  "ware  of  mine  own 
wit.  till  I  break  my  shins  against  it. 

Ros.  Jove!  Jove!  this  shejiherd's  passion 
Is  much  upon  my  lashion. 

Touch.  And  mine;  but  it  grows  something  stale 
with  me. 

Cel.  I  pray  you,  one  of  you  question  yon  man, 
If  he  for  gold  will  give  us  any  food ; 
I  famt  almost  to  death. 

Touch.  Holla;  you  clown! 

Ros.  Feace,  fool,  he's  not  thy  kinsman. 

Cor.  Who  calls? 

'Touch.  Your  better,  sir. 

Cor.  Kisc  arc  tlicy  very  wretched. 

Ros.  Peace,  I  say ; — 

Good  even  to  you,  friend. 

Cor.  And  to  yiiu,  gentle  sir,  and  to  j'ou  all. 

Ros.  I  pry'thee,  shepherd,  if  that  love,  or  gold, 
Can  in  this  desert  place  buy  entertainment, 
Briiifi  us  where  wo  may  rest  ourselves,  and  fQcd : 
Here's  a  young  maid  with  travel  much  oppressd, 
And  faints  for  succor. 

Cor.  Fair  sir,  I  pity  her. 

And  wish  for  her  sake,  more  tlian  for  nunc  own, 
My  fortunes  wtre  more  able  to  relieve  her: 
Hut  I  am  shepherd  to  another  man, 
And  do  not  shear  the  lleeces  that  I  graze  ; 
My  master  is  of  churlisii  disposition, 
And  httle  recks*  to  fmd  the  way  to  heaven 
By  doing  deeds  of  hospitality  : 
Besides,  his  cote,  his  tlocks.  and  bounds  of  feed, 
Are  now  on  sale,  and  at  our  sheepcote  now, 
By  reason  ol  his  absence,  there  is  nothing 
That  you  will  feed  on  :  but  what  is,  come  see. 
And  in  my  voice  most  welcome  shall  you  be. 

Ros.  What   is   he  that  shall  buy   his  flock   and 
pasture  1 

Cor.  1  hat  young  swain  that  you  saw  Iierc  but 
erewhile, 
That  little  cares  for  buying  any  thing. 

Rti^.  1  pray  thee,  if  it  stand  with  honesty, 
B  uy  Ihou  the  cottage,  pasture,  and  tlie  flock, 
And  tliou  shalt  have  to  pay  for  it  of  us. 

Ctl.  And  we  will  mend  thy  wages:  I  like  this  place. 
And  willingly  could  waste  my  lime  in  it. 

Cor.  Assuredly,  the  thing  is  to  be  sold ; 
Go  with  me;  if  you  like  upon  report. 
The  soil,  the  protit,  and  this  kind  of  life,     ^ 
I  will  your  very  faithful  feeder  be,  * 

And  buy  itwith  your  gold  right  suddenly.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  y.— The  same. 
Enter  Amiens,  jAauEs,  and  others. 
SONG. 
Ami.      Under  the  greenwood  tree, 

il'ho  loves  to  lie  with  me. 
And  tune  his  rntrrij  note, 
Unfu  the  sivcet  bird's  throat. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy, 
But  icinter  and  rough  weather. 
^  In  the  niyht. 

3  The  instrumeut  with  which  washers  beat  clothes. 
Cartjs, 


178 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  II. 


J:iq.  More,  more,  I  pr'ytlice,  more. 
A:ni,  It   will   make  yuu  melancholy,  monsieur 
Jaques. 

Ji.q.  I  thank  it.  More,  I  pr'ythee,  more.  I  can 
suck  melancholy  out  of  a  song,  as  a  weazel  sucks 
eggs:  More,  I  pr'ythce,  more. 

And.  My  voice  is  ragged;*  I  know,  I  cannot 
please  you. 

J'lq,  1  do  not  desire  you  to  please  me,  I  do  de- 
sire  you   to  sing  :    Come,  more  ;  auottier  stanza : 
Call  you  them  stanzas'! 
Ami.  What  you  will,  monsieur  Jaques. 
Jaq.  Nay,  1  care  not  for  their  names;  they  owe 
me  nothing  :  Will  you  sing  ! 
And.  More  at  your  request,  than  to  please  myself 
Jaq.    Well   then,  if  ever   I   thank  any  man  Til 
thank  you  ;  but  that  they  call  conijilinient,  is  like 
the  eucouater  of  two  ditg-apes ;  and  when  a  man 
thinks  me  heartily,  metiiinks,  1  have  given  him  a 
penny,  and  he  renders  me  the  beggarly  thanks. — 
Come,  suig ;    and  you  that  will   not,   hold    jour 
tongues. 

Ann.  Well,  I'll  end  the  song. — Sirs,  cover  the 
while;  the  duke  will  drink  under  this  tree: — he 
hath  been  all  this  day  to  look  you. 

Jaq.  .\nd  1  have  been  all  this  day  to  avoid  him. 
lie  is  loo  disputable'  for  my  compaiiy  :  I  think  of 
as  many  matters  as  he;  but  1  give  heaven  thanks, 
and  make  no  boast  of  them.    Come,  warbie,  come. 
SONG. 
Who  doth ctnibil ion  shun,  [.\11  together  here. 
Ami  /lives  to  live  V  tlie  sun, 
ticcklng  t/iefood  tie  eats, 
And  jjleas'd  with  w/uit  he  ^f  Av, 
Come  Idther,  come  hittier,  come  hither,- 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy. 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 
Jaq.  I'll  give  you  a  verse  to  this  note,  that  I  made 
yesterday  in  despite  of  my  inveirtion. 
And.  And  I'll  sing  it. 
Jaq.  'I'hus  It  goes; — 

If  it  ilo  come  to  pass, 
Thai  anil  man  lurn  ass. 
Leaving  Ids  nralfh  and  ease, 
A  stubborn  iviti  to  please, 
X>iicdilnie,  ducd'ime,  ducdunte, 
Here  sluill  lie  see 
Gross  foals  as  he. 
An  if  tie  will  come  to  Ami. 
Ami.  VV  hat's  that  duciUnte  '^ 
Jrq.  '  Tis  a  Greek  invocation,  to  call  fools  into  a 
circle.    I  11  go  sleep  if  I  can;  if  I  cannot,  I'll  rail 
against  all  the  nrsl-born  of  Kgypt. 

Ami.  And  111  go  seek  the  duke;  his  banquet  is 
prepared.  [Exeunt  sevcrallij. 

SCENE  \l.— The  same. 
Enter  Orlando  and  Adam. 

Adam.  Dear  master,  I  can  go  no  further:  O,  1 
die  for  food  !  Here  lie  I  down, and  measure outmy 
grave.    Farewell,  kind  master. 

Orl.  Why,  how  now,  Ad.un?  no  greater  heart  in 
theet  Live  a  little;  comfort  a  little;  cheer  thyself 
a  little:  If  this  uncouth  forest  yield  any  tiling 
savage,  I  will  either  be  I'ood  for  it,  or  bring  it  f  jr 
fotul  lo  thee.  Thy  conceit  is  nearer  death  than  thy 
powers,  p'ur  my  sake,  be  comfortable  ;  hold  death 
awhile  at  the  arm's  end:  1  will  here  be  with  thee 
presently  ,  and  if  I  bring  thee  not  something  to  eat, 
I'll  give  thee  leave  to  die  :  but  if  thou  tlicst  before 
I  ome^thou  art  a  mocker  of  my  labor.  Well 
said!  thou  lookst  checrly  :  and  I'll  be  with  thee 
quickly. — Yet  thou  liest  in  the  bleak  air:  come,  I 
will  iiear  thee  to  some  shelter;  and  thou  shalt  not 
die  for  lack  of  a  dinner,  if  there  live  aiiNlliiiig  in 
this  desert.      Clieerly,  good  Adam  !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE    VII.— rAe  same. 

A  ta'ile  set  out.    Enter   Dukk   Senior,  Ajiiens, 
Lords,  and  others. 

Duke  S.  I  think  lie  he  transform'd  hito  a  beast; 
For  1  ('tin  nowhere  fmd  liim  like  a  man. 

1  Lord.  My  lord,  lie  is  but  even  now  gone  hence  ; 
Here  was  he  merry,  hearing  of  a  song. 

JJuke  S.  If  he,  compact  of  jars, '  grow  musical, 

*  Ragged  and  ruggi'tl  hiul  formerly  tho  sanio  meaning. 
•  Disputatious.  i  Mado  up  of  discords. 


We  shall  have  shortly  discord  in  the  spheres: — 
Go,  seek  him;  tell  him,  1  would  speak  with  him. 
Enter  jAauEs. 

1  Lord.  He  saves  my  labor  by  his  own  approach, 

Duke  S.  Why,  how  now,  monsieur.'  what  a  life 
is  this. 
That  your  poor  friends  must  woo  your  company  1 
What"!  you  look  merrily. 

Jaq.  A  fool,  a  fool ! 1  met  a  fool  i'  the  forest, 

A  motley  fool; — a  miserable  world! — 

As  1  do  live  by  food,  I  met  a  fool ; 

Who  laid  him  down  and  bask'd  him  in  the  sun, 

Ami  rail  d  on  laiiy  Knrtune  in  good  terms, 

In  good  set  teniis, — and  yet  a  motley  fool 

Good  mornno.fool.  quoth  I :  No,  sir,  quoth  ne, 

Call  me  not  fool,  till  heaven  liath  sent  nie  fortune: 

And  then  he  drew  a  dial  from  his  poke  ; 

And  looking  on  it  with  lack-lustre  eye, 

Says,  very  wisely,  11  is  ten  o^clock  : 

Ttius  may  we  see,  quoth  he,  how  the  world  ivags' 

'Tis  but  an  hour  ago,  since  it  was  nine; 

And  after  an  hour  more,  'twill  be  eleven,. 

And  .yn,  from  hour  to  tuMir,  we  ripe  and  ripe. 

And  tlien  from  hour  to  tiour,  we  rot  and  rot, 

And  thereby  hangs  a  tale.    When  1  did  hear 

The  motley  fool  thus  moral  on  the  time. 

My  lungs  began  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 

That  fools  should  be  so  deep  contemplative; 

And  1  did  laugh  sans  intermission. 

An  hour  by  his  dial. — O  noble  fool ! 

A  worthy  fool !  Motley's  the  only  wear." 

Duke  S.  What  fool  is  this  1 

Jaq.    O  worthy  fool !  —  One  that  hath  been  a 
courtier; 
And  says,  if  ladies  be  but  young,  and  fair. 
They  have  the  gift  to  know  it:  and  in  his  brain, — 
Which  is  as  dry  as  the  remainder  biscuit 
After  a  voyage, — he  hath  strange  places  cramm'd 
With  observation,  the  which  he  vents 
In  mangled  forms:— O,  that  I  were  a  fool! 
1  am  ainbitious  for  a  motley  coat. 

Duke  S.  Thou  shalt  have  one. 

Jaq.  It  is  my  only  suit, 

Provided,  that  you  weed  your  better  judgments 
Of  all  opinion  that  grows  rank  in  tiieiu. 
That  I  am  wi.se.    I  must  have  liberty 
Withal  as  large  a  charter  as  the  wind, 
To  blow  on  whom  I  please ;  for  so  fools  have. 
And  they  that  are  most  galled  with  my  folly, 
■f  hey  most  must  laugh:  Andwhy,sir,must  they  so  1 
Tlie  whi/  is  plain  as  way  to  parish  church: 
He,  that  a  fool  doth  very  wisely  Jiit, 
Doth  very  foolishly,  although  lit^  smart. 
Not  to  seem  senseless  of  the  boh :  if  not, 
The  wise  man's  folly  is  anatomiz'd 
Even  by  the  squand'ring  glances  of  the  fool. 
Invest  me  in  my  motley  ;  give  me  leave 
To  speak  my  mind,  and  I  will  through  and  through 
Cleinse  the  foul  body  of  the  infected  world. 
If  they  will  patiently  receive  my  medicine. 

Duke  S.  Fye  on  thee !   I  can  tell  what   thou 
would  St  do. 

Jaq.  What,  for  a  counter,  would  I  do,  but  good 

Duke  S.  Most  misrliievous  foul  sin,  in  chiding  sin 
For  thou  thysell  hast  been  a  libertine. 
As  sensual  as  the  brutish  sting  itself; 
And  all  the  embossed  sores,  and  headed  evils 
I  hat  thou  with  license  of  free  loot  hast  caught, 
Wouldst  lliou  disgorge  into  the  general  world. 

Jaq.  Why,  who  cries  out  on  pride. 
That  can  therein  tax  any  private  party  I 
Doth  it  not  How  as  hugely  as  the  sea. 
Till  that  the  very,  very  means  do  ebb  ! 
What  woman  in  the  city  do  I  name, 
When  that  I  say.  The  city-woman  bears 
I'he  cost  of  princes  on  unworthy  shoulders  T 
W  ho  can  come  in,  and  say,  that  I  mean  her. 
When  such  a  one  as  she,  such  is  her  neighbor? 
Or  what  is  he  of  basest  function, 
That  says,  his  bravery  is  not  on  my  cost, 
(Thinking  that  I  mean  him.)  but  therein  suits 
His  folly  to  the  mettle  of  my  speech  ? 
There  then;  How,  what  then?  Let  me  see  wherein 
My  tongue  hath  wrong'd  him:  if   it  do  him  right, 
Then  he  hath  wrong'd  himself;  if  he  be  free, 
Why  then,  my  taxing  like  a  wild  goose  llie.s, 
Unelaim'd  of  any  man.— But  who  comes  here  ! 

B  The  tool  was  anciently  dressed  in  a  party-colored  coat. 
»  Finery. 


SCEKE    II. 


AS  YOU  LIIvE  IT. 


179 


Enter  OnLiNno,  with  his  sword  drawn. 

Orl.  Forbear,  and  cat  no  more. 

jitq.  \\  liy,  I  have  eat  none  yet. 

Orl.  Nor  slialt  not,  till  necessity  be  serv'd. 

Jaq.  (If  what  kind  should  this  cock  come  of! 

Duke  S.   Art  thou  thus  bolden'd  man,  by  thy 
distress; 
Or  else  a  rude  despiser  of  good  manners, 
That  in  civility  thou  seem'st  so  empty  ? 

Orl.  You  touch 'd  my  \ein  at  nrst;  the  thorny 
point 
Of  bare  distress  hath  ta'en  from  me  the  show 
Of  smooth  civility :  yet  am  I  inland  bred, 
And  know  some  nurluie:  Hut  forbear,  I  say; 
He  dies,  that  touches  any  of  this  fruit. 
Till  I  and  my  atlairs  arc  answered. 

Jaq.   An  you  will  not  be  answered  with  reason^ 
I  must  die, 

Duke  S.   What  would   you   have?    Your  gen- 
tleness shall  force 
More  than  your  force  move  us  to  jrentlcness. 

Orl.  I  almost  die  for  food,  and  let  me  have  it. 

Dnke  S.  sit  down  and  feed,  and  welcome  to  our 
table. 

Orl.  Speak  you  so  gently  1    Pardon  me,  I  pray 
you. 
I  thou;;ht  that  all  tliinKS  had  been  savage  here; 
And  Iherefcire  put  I  on  the  countenance 
Of  stern  commandment;  But  whate'er  you  are. 
That  in  this  desert  inaccessible, 
Under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs, 
Lose  and  neslect  the  creeping  hours  of  time; 
If  ever  you  have  iook'd  on  better  days; 
If  ever  been  where  bells  have  knoH'd  to  church; 
If  ever  sat  at  any  good  man's  feast ; 
If  ever  from  your  eyelids  wiped  a  tear. 
And  know  wriat  'tis  to  pity,  and  be  pitied; 
Let  gentleness  my  strong  enforcement  be: 
In  the  which  hope,  I  blush,  and  hide  my  sword. 

Duke  S.  True  is  it  that  we  have  seen  better  days. 
And  have  with  holy  bell  been  knoll'd  to  church; 
And  sat  at  good  man's  feast;  and  wiped  our  eyes 
Of  drops  that  sacred  pity  hath  engender'd: 
And  therefore  sit  you  down  in  gentleness. 
And  lake  upon  command  what  help  we  have, 
That  to  your  wanting  may  be  minister'd. 

OrL  Then,  but  forbear  your  food  a  little  while. 
Whiles,  like  a  doe,  I  go  to  find  my  fawn, 
And  give  it  food.    There  is  an  old  poor  man. 
Who  after  me  hath  many  a  weary  step 
Limp"d  in  pure  love;  till  ho  Iw  first  sufficed,— 
Oppress'd  with  two  weak  evils,  age  and  hunger, — 
I  will  not  touch  a  bit. 

Duke  S.  Go  find  him  out. 

And  we  will  nothing  waste  till  your  return. 

Orl.  I  thank  ye; "and  be  blcss'd  for  your  good 
comfort!  [Ext/. 

Duke  S.  Thou  seest,  we  are  not  all  alone  unhappy: 
This  wide  and  universal  theaire 
Presents  more  woeful  pageants  than  the  scene 
Wherein  we  play  in. 

Jaq.  All  the  world's  a  stage, 

And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players: 
They  have  their  exits,  and  their  entrances; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.    At  first,  the  infant. 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms; 
And  then,  tlie  whining  school- boy,  with  his  satchel. 


And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school:  And  then,  the  lover; 
Shining  like  furnace,  with  a  woeful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow:  Then,  a  soldier; 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth:  And  then,  the  justice; 
In  fair  r<iund  belly,  with  good  capon  lin'd. 
With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut, 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern '  instances. 
And  so  he  plays  his  part:  The  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slipper'd  pantaloon  ; 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side ; 
His  youthful  hose  well  sav'd,  a  world  too  wide 
For  bis  shrunk  shank;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound;  Last  scene  of  all 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history. 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion  ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  every  thing. 
Re-enter  OuiAxno,  witfi  Adam. 

Duke  S.  Welcome:    set  down  your  venerable 
burden. 
And  let  him  li^ed. 

Orl.  I  thank  you  most  for  him. 

Adam.  So  had  you  need  ; 
I  scarce  can  speak  to  thank  you  for  myself. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  fall  to :  I  will  not  trouble  you 
As  yet,  to  question  you  about  your  fortunes: — 
Give  us  some  music ;  and,  good  cousin,  sing. 

Ajiiexs  sings. 

SONG. 
I. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 

Ttwu  art  not  so  unkind 
An  viands  ingratitude  ; 

Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 

Becau.ie  thou  art  not  .seen, 
Attluiuf;h  Ih:/  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh,  ho.'  .sing:,  hri^h,  h>>.'  unto  the  green  holly. 
Mustfriend-fhiji  isfeigninK,  most  Itiving  mirefolly  : 

Then,  tieigh,  lu>,  the  hdlyl 

Tliis  life  IS  most  jolly. 

II. 

Freeze,  freeze,  tliou  hitter  sky, 
That  do.st  not  bite  so  nigk 

As  benfjits  forgot  : 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Tk}i  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remember^d'^  not. 
Heigh,  ho.'  si'ng,  heigh,  ho.'  t^c 

Duke  S.  If  that  you  were  the  good  Sir  Rowland's 
son, — 
As  you  have  wliisper'd  faithfully,  you  were  ; 
And  as  mine  eye  doth  his  effigies  witness 
Most  truly  Itmn'd,  and  living  in  your  face, — 
Be  truly  welcome  hither  :  I  am  the  duke, 
'Phat  lov'd  your  Hither:  The  residue  of  your  fortune. 
Go  to  my  cave  and  tell  me. — Good  old' man. 
Thou  art  right  welcome  as  thy  master  is: 
Support  him  by  the  arm. — Give  me  your  hand. 
And  let  me  all  your  fortunes  understand. 

[E.i-eunt. 


ACT   III 


SCENE  l.—A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  DcKE   FiiKiirnicK,  Oliver,  Lords,  and 
Attendants. 

Duke  F.  Not  see  him  since?  Sir,  sir,  that  cannot 
be  : 
But  were  I  not  the  better  part  made  mercy, 
I  should  not  seek  an  absent  argument 
Of  my  revenge,  thou  present:  But  look  to  it; 
Find  out  thy  brother,  wheresoe'er  he  is: 
Seek  him  with  camlle;  bring  bim  dead  or  living. 
Within  this  twelvemonth,  or  turn  thou  no  more 
To  seek  a  living  in  our  (*  rritory. 
Thy  lands,  and  all  things  that  thou  dost  call  thine. 
Worth  seizure,  do  we  seize  into  our  hands; 


Till  thou  canst  quit  tliee  by  thy  brother's  mouth, 
Of  what  we  think  against  thee. 

Oli.  0,  that  your  highness  knew  my  heart  in  this! 
I  never  lov'd  my  brother  in  my  life. 
Duke  F.  More  villain  thou. — Well,  push   hiin 
out  of  doors; 
And  let  my  otlicers  of  such  a  nature 
Make' an  extent^  upon  his  house  and  lands: 
Do  this  expediently, -1  and  turn  him  going.  [Exetinl. 
SCENE  n.—The  Forest. 
Enter  OnLAxno,  unik  a  paper. 
Orl.  Hang  there,  my  verse,  in  witness  of  my  love: 
1  Trite,  common.  '  Rememlu^ring. 

«  Seizure,  *  Expeditiously. 


180 


AS  YOU   LIKE  IT. 


Act  III. 


Ami  thou,  thrice-crowned  queen  of  night,  survey 
With  thy  chaste  eye,  from  thy  pale   spiierc  above 

Thy  Imntrcss'  name,  that  my  full  hfe  doth  sway. 
O  Rosahnd!  these  trees  shall  be  my  books, 

And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  111  character; 
That  every  eye.  which  in  this  forest  looks, 

Sliall  see  thy  virtue  witness'd  every  where. 
Run,  run,  Orlando;  carve,  on  every  tree, 
TJie  fair,  the  cliaste,  and  unexpressive'  she.  [ExU. 

Enter  Conix  and  Toucustoxe. 

Cor.  And  how  like  you  tiiis  shepherd's  life 
master  Touchstone  ! 

Touch.  Truly,  shepherd,  in  respect  of  itself,  it  is 
a  uood  life;  but  in  respect  that  it  is  a  shepherd's 
life,  it  is  naught.  In  respect  that  it  is  solitary,  I 
like  it  very  well ;  but  in  respect  tiiat  it  is  private, 
it  is  a  very  vile  life.  Now  in  respect  it  is  in  th& 
tields,  it  pleaseth  me  well ;  but  in  respect  it  is  not 
in  tlie  court,  it  is  tedious.  As  it  is  a  spare  life,  look 
you,  it  tits  my  humor  well ;  but  as  there  is  no  more 
plenty  in  it,  it  goes  much  a;z;ainst  my  stomach. 
H%st  any  philosophy  in  thee,  shepherd] 

Cor.  No  more,  but  that  I  know,  the  more  one 
sickens,  the  w^rse  at  ease  he  is;  and  that  he  that 
wants  money, 'means,  and  content,  is  w  ithout  three 
good  friends: — That  the  property  of  rain  is  to  wet, 
and  lire  to  burn  :  That  good  pasture  makes  fat 
sheep  ;  and  that  a  great  cause  of  the  night,  is  lack 
of  the  sun:  That  he,  that  hath  learned  no  wit  by 
nature  nor  art.may  complain  of  good  breeding,  or 
cuines  of  a  very  dull  kmdred. 

Touch.  Such  a  one  is  a  natural  philosopher. 
Wa^t  ever  in  court,  shepherd  1 

Cor.  No,  truly. 

Touch.  Then  thou  art  damn'd. 

Cor.  Nay,  I  hope, — 

Touch.  Truly,  thou  art  damn'd;  like  an  ill- 
roasted  egg,  all  on  one  side. 

Cor.  For  not  being  at  court"!  Your  reason. 

Tnich.  Why,  if  thou  never  wast  at  court,  thou 
never  saw'st  good  manners  ;  if  thou  never  saw'st 
good  manners,  then  thy  manners  must  be  wicked  ; 
and  wickedness  is  sin,  and  sin  is  damnation:  Thou 
art  in  a  parlous  state,  shepherd. 

Cor.  Not  a  whit.  Touchstone  :  those,  that  are 
good  manners,  at  the  court,  are  as  ridiculous  in  the 
country,  as  tlic  behavior  of  the  country  is  most 
iiiockable  at  the  court.  You  told  me,  you  salute 
not  at  the  court,  but  you  kiss  your  hands;  that 
courtesy  would  he  uncleanly,  if  courtiers  were 
sheplierds. 

Touch.  Instance,  briefly;  come,  instance. 

Cor.  Wliy,  we  are  still  handlmg  our  ewes;  and 
their  fells,  you  know,  are  greasy. 

Touch.  Why,  do  not  your  courtier's  hands 
sweat"!  and  is  not  the  grease  of  a  mutton  as  whole- 
some as  the  sweat  of  a  man!  Shallow,  shallow: 
A  better  instance,  I  say;  cume. 

Cor.  Besides,  our  hands  are  hard. 

Touch.  Your  lips  will  feel  them  the  sooner. — 
Shallow,  again:  A  more  sounder  instance,  come. 

Cor.  And  they  are  often  larr'd  over  with  the 
surgery  of  our  sheep;  And  would  you  have  us  kiss 
tar  !  The  courtier's  hands  are  perfumed  with  civet. 

Touch.  Most  shallow  man!  Thou  worms-meat, 
in  respect  of  a  good  piece  of  tlesh:  Indeed  ! — Learn 
of  the  wise,  and  prepend:  Civet  is  of  a  baser  birth 
th-ui  tar;  the  very  uncleanly  flux  of  a  cat.  Mend 
the  instance,  shepherd. 

Cor.  You  have  too  courtly  a  wit  for  me  ;  III  rest. 

Touch.  Wilt  thou  rest  damn'd  !  God  help  thee, 
shallow  man!  God  make  incision  in  thee!  thou  art 
riw.6 

Cor.  Sir,  I  am  a  true  laborer;  I  earn  that  I 
cat,  get  that  I  wear;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy  no 
ifians  happiness;  glad  of  other  mens  good,  content 
with  my  harm:  and  the  greatest  of  my  pride  is,  to 
see  my  ewes  graze,  and  my  lambs  suck. 

Touch.  That  is  another  simple  sin  in  you;  to 
bring  tlie  ewes  and  the  rams  together,  and  to  oiler 
to  get  your  living  by  tbe  copulation  of  cattle :  to 
be  bawd  to  a  bell-wether;  and  to  betray  a  she-lamb 
of  a  twelvemonth,  to  a  crooked-patcd,  old,  cuckoldly 
ram,  out  of  all  reasonable  match.  If  thou  best 
not  datnuM  for  this,  the  devil  himself  will  have  no 
shepherds;  I  cannot  see  else  how  thou  shouldst 
'scape. 

•  Inexpressible.  «  Unexperienced. 


Cor.  Here  comes  young  master  Ganymede,  my 
new  mistress's  brother. 

Enter  Rosalind,  reading  a  paper. 
Ros.  From  the  eaat  to  xvesfern  Indj 

No  Jewel  is  like  Rosalind  ,- 

Her  worth,  being  mounted  on  the  icindf 

Through  all  the  world  bears  Rosalind  ; 

All  the  pictures,  fairest  Un'd,'^ 

Are  but  black  to  R'>saliii(L 

Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind, 

But  the  fairs  of  Rosalind. 
Touch.  I'll  rhyme  you  so,  eight  years  together; 
dinners  and  suppers,  and  sleeping  hours  excepted; 
It  is  the  right  butter-woman's  rank  to  market. 
Ros.  Out,  fool! 
Touch.  For  a  taste  :- 

If  a  tmart  do  lack  a  hind. 

Let  hint  seek  out  Rosalind. 

If  the  cat  will  after  kind, 

hn,  be  sure,  ivill  Rosalind. 

Winter-garments  7uust  be  lin^dj 

So  mutit  slender  Rosalind. 

They  that  reap  must  sheaf  and  bind; 

Then  to  cart  with  Rosalind. 

Sweetest  nut  hath  sourest  rind. 

Such  a  nut  is  Rosalind. 

He  that  sweetest  rose  will  findj 

Must  find  love's  pt'ick,  and  Rosalind. 

This  is  the  very  false  gallop  of  verses ;  Why  do  you 
infect  yourself  with  them  1 

Ros.  Peace,  you  dull  fool;  I  found  them  on  a 
tree. 
Touch.  Truly,  the  tree  yields  bad  fruit. 
Ros.  I'll  gralf  it  with  you,  and  then  I  shall  grafT 
it  With  a  medlar :  then  it  will  be  the  earliest  fruit  in 
the  country:  for  you'll  be  rotten  ere  you  be  half 
ripe,  and  that's  t!ie  right  virtue  of  the  medlar. 

Touch.  You  have  said;  but  whether  wisely  or 
no,  let  the  forest  judge. 

Enter  Celia,  reading  a  paper. 
Ros.  Peace  ! 
Here  comes  my  sister,  reading;  stand  aside. 
Cel.  JVhi/  shmild  this  desert  silent  be  ? 
For  it  h  unpeopled?  No; 
Tongues  III  hang  on  every  tree^ 
Thai  shall  civih  saying  show 
Some,  hnw  brief  the  life  of  man/ 
Runs  his  erring  pit Kri mage; 
That  the  stretching  of  a  span 
Buckles  in  his  sum  of  a^e. 
So.'oe,  of  violated  vows 

TwiM  the  souls  of  friend  and  friend : 
But  upon  the  fairest  boiKghs 
Or  at  every  sentence'  tndf 
Will  1  Rosalinda  ivrite; 

Teaching  all  that  read,  to  know 
The  quintessence  of  every  sprite 

Heaven  would  in  little  show. 
Therefore  heaven  and  nature  charged 

That  one  body  should  be  fi-'l  d 
Wilh  all  grace's  ivide  enlarg'd: 

Nature  presently  dhtill'd 
Helenas  cheek,  but  not  her  heart; 

Cleopatra's  rnfijesty; 
Atiilanta's  better  part; 

Sad   Lucretius  modesty. 
Thus  Rosalind  of  many  parts 

By  heavenly  synod  was  devised; 
Of  many  faees,  eyes,  and  tiearts. 
To  have  the  touches^  dearest  prized, 
H'aven  would  that  she  these  shifts  should  have 
And  I  to  live  and  die  her  slave. 

Ros.  O  most  gentle  Jupiter !  —  what  tedious 
homily  of  love  have  you  wearied  jour  parishioners 
withal,  and  never  cryd.  Have  patience,  good  people.' 

Ccl.  How  novi' !  back  friends; — Shepherd,  go 
off  a  little: — Go  with  him,  sirrah. 

Touch.  Come,  shepherd,  let  us  make  an  honor- 
able retreat;  though  not  wilh  bag  and  baggage, yet 
with  scrip  and  scrippage. 

[Extunt  CoRTv  and  Touchstose. 

Cel.  Didst  thou  hear  these  verses? 

Ros.  O  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too;  for 
some  of  them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  the  verses 
would  bear. 


1  Delineated. 
»  Grave,  solemn. 


fl  Complexion,  beau^. 
»  IVatures. 


Scene  IT. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


ISl 


Cel.  That's  no  matlPr;  the  :eet  miglit  bear  the 
verses. 

Ros.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame,  and  eould  not 
bear  theiiisclves  without  the  verse,  und  therefore 
stood  lamely  in  the  verse. 

Cel.  Hut  didst  thou  hear,  without  veonderinir  how 
thy  name  should  be  hang'd  and  carved  upon  these 
trees  ? 

Ros.  I  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the 
wonder,  before  you  canre;  for  look  here  what  I 
found  on  a  palm-tree :  I  was  never  so  bo-rliynied 
since  Pytha-.;oras'  time,  that  1  was  an  Irish  rat, 
which  1  can  hardly  remember. 

Cel.  Trow  you.  who  hath  done  this  t 

Ros.  Is  it  a  man  ? 

Cel.  And  a  chain,  that  you  once  wore,  about  his 
necic :  Change  you  color  ! 

Rm.  1  pry  thee,  who? 

Cel.  ()  lord,  lo'ril !  it  is  a  hard  matter  for  friends 
to  meet:  but  mountains  may  be  removed  with  earth- 
quakes, and  so  encounter. 

Ros.  Nay,  but  who  is  iti 

Cel.  Is  it  possible  "i 

Ros.  Kay,  I  pray  tliee  now,  with  most  petitionary 
vehemence,  tell  me  who  it  is. 

Cel.  O  wonderful,  wondarful,  and  most  wonder- 
ful wonderful,  and  yet  a^ain  wonderful,  and  after 
that  out  of  all  vvhoopins  ! 

Ros.  Good  my  complexion!  dost  thou  think. 
thoUKh  lam  caparison'd  like  a  man,  I  have  a  doublet 
'  and  hose  in  my  disposition  ?  Une  inch  of  delay  more 
is  a  Soulh-sea-olf  discovery.  I  pr'ythee,  tell  me, 
wdio  is  it !  quickly,  and  speak  apace:  I  would  thou 
couldst  slammer,  that  thou  misntest  pour  this  con- 
cealed man  out  of  thy  mouth,  as  wine  comes  out  of 
narrow-mouth'd  bottle ;  either  too  much  at  once,  or 
none  at  all.  I  prythee  lake  the  cork  out  of  thy 
mouth,  tliat  I  may  drink  thy  tidings. 

Cel.  So  you  may  put  a  man  in  your  belly. 

Ros.  Is  he  of  God's  makini;  !  What  manner 
of  man?  Is  his  head  worth  a  hat,  or  his  chin  worth 
a  beard  1 

Cel.  Nay,  he  hath  but  a  little  beard. 

Ros.  Why,  (;od  will  send  more,  if  the  man  will 
be  thankl'ui:  let  me  stay  the  growth  of  his  beard, 
if  thou  delay  me  not  the  knowledge  of  his  chin. 

Cel.  It  is  young  Orlando;  that  trippd  up  the 
wrestler's  heels,  and  your  heart,  both  in  an  instant. 

Ros.  Nay,  but  the  devil  take  mocking ;  speak 
sad  brow,  and  true  maid.' 

Cel.  r  faith,  cnz,  lis  he. 

Rns.  Orlando! 

Cel.  Orlando. 

Bos.  Alas  the  day.  what  shall  I  do  with  my 
doublet  and  hose?— What  did  he.  when  thou  saw'st 
him?  What  said  he?  How  look'd  he?  Wherein 
went  he?»  What  makes  he  here?  Did  he  ask  for 
me  ?  Where  remains  he  ?  How  parted  he  with  thee  ? 
and  when  shall  thou  see  him  again  ?  Answer  me  in 
one  word. 

Cel,  You  must  borrow  me  Garagantua's'  mouth 
first;  'tis  a  word  too  great  for  any  mouth  of  this 
age's  size  :  To  say,  ay,  and  no,  to  these  particulars 
is  more  than  to  answer  in  a  catechism. 

Ros.  But  doth  he  know  that  I  am  in  this  forest, 
and  in  mans  apparel ?  Looks  he  as  freshly  as  he 
did  the  day  he  wrestled  ? 

Cel.  It  is  as  easy  to  count  atomies,'  as  to  resolve 
the  propositions  of  a  lover :— but  take  a  taste  of 
my  finding  him,  and  relish  it  with  a  good  observance, 
1  found  him  under  a  tree,  like  a  droppd  acorn. 

Roa.  It  may  well  be  called  Jove's  tree,  when  it 
drops  forth  s\icli  fruit. 
Cel.  Give  me  audience,  good  madam. 

Ros.  Proceed. 

Cel.  There  lay  he,  stretch 'd  along  like  a  wounded 
knight. 

Ros.  Though  it  be  pity  to  see  such  a  sight,  it 
well  becomes  the  ground. 

Cel.  Cry,  liolla!   to  thy  tongue,  I    pr'ythee:  it 
curvets  very  unseasonably.    He  was  furnishd  like 
a  hunter. 
Ros.  0  ominous?  he  comes  to  kill  my  heart. 
Cel.  I  would  sing  my  song  without  a  burden  : 
thou  bring'st  me  out  of  tune. 

Ros.  Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman?  when  I 
think,  I  must  speak.    Sweet,  say  on. 

»  Speak  seriously  and  honestly.  "  TTow  was  he  dressed  ? 
«  The  Giant  of  Kabelais.  '  Atoms. 


Enter  Uulasho  a>i<i  jAao-s. 

Cel.  You  bring  me  out: — Soft!  comes  he  not 
here  ? 

Ros.  'Tis  he ;  slink  by,  and  note  him. 

[<.r.LiA  (iiid  ItosALixn  retire. 

Jog.  I  thank  you  lor  your  companj- ;  but,  good 
failh,  I  had  as  lief  have  been  mjsolf  alone. 

Orl.  And  so  had  I ;  but  jet,  for  fashion  sake,  I 
thank  you  too  for  jour  society. 

Jiir;.  God  be  with  you;  let's  meet  as  little  as 
we  can. 

Orl.  I  do  desire  we  may  be  better  strangers. 

J(tg.  I  pray  jou.  mar  no  more  trees  with  writing 
love-songs  in  their  barks. 

Orl.  I  pray  you,  mar  no  more  of  my  verses  with 
reading  them  ill-favorcdiy. 

Jtiq.  Rosalind  is  your  love's  name  ? 

Orl.  Yes,  just 

Jug.  1  do  not  like  her  name. 

Orl.  "There  was  no  thought  of  pleasing  you,  when 
she  was  christened. 

Jag.  What  stature  is  she  of? 

(Jrl.  Just  as  high  as  my  heart. 

Jag.  You  are  full  of  pretty  answers:  Have  you 
not  been  acquainled  with  goldsmith's  wives,  and 
conn'd  them  out  of  rings? 

Orl.  Not  so;  but  I  answer  you  right  painted 
cloth,"  from  whence  you  have  studied  your  ques- 
tions. 

Jug.  You  have  a  nimlde  wit ;  I  think  it  was  made 
of  .Malanta's  heels.  Will  j'ou  sit  down  with  me? 
and  we  two  will  rail  against  our  mistress  the  world, 
and  all  our  misery. 

Orl.  I  will  chide  no  breather  in  the  world,  but 
myself;  against  whom  I  know  most  faults. 

Jug.  The  worst  fiult  you  have,  is  tct  be  in  love. 

Orl.  'Tis  a  fault  I  will  not  change  for  your  best 
virtue,    I  am  weary  of  you. 

Jag.  liy  my  troth,  I  was  seeking  for  a  fool,  when 
I  found  JOU. 

Orl.  He  is  drown'd  in  the  brook;  look  but  in, 
and  JOU  shall  see  him. 

Jag.  There  shall  I  see  mine  own  fisure. 

Orl.  Which  I  take  to  be  either  a  fool,  or  a 
cipher. 

Jog.  Ill  tarry  no  longer  with  you:  farewell,  good 
signior  love. 

Orl.  1  am  glad  of  your  departure;  adieu,  good 
monsieur  melancholy. 

[Exit  jAat'Ts.— Celta  and  Rosiiixn 
come  forward. 

Ros.  I  will  speak  to  him  like  a  saucy  lacquey, 
and  imder  that  habit  play  the  knave  with  him.— 
Do  you  hear,  forester  ? 

Orl.  Very  well ;  what  would  you? 

Ros.  I  pray  you,  what  is't  o'clock  ? 

Orl.  You  should  ask  me  what  time  o'day ;  there's 
no  clock  in  the  forest. 

Ros.  Then  there  is  no  true  lover  in  the  forest; 
else  sighing  everv  minute,  and  groaning  every  hour, 
would  detect  the  lazy  foot  of  time,  as  well  as  a 
clock. 

Orl.  And  why  not  the  swift  foot  of  time?  had 
not  that  been  as  proper  ? 

Ros.  By  no  means,  sir:  Time  travels  in  divers 
paces  with  divers  persons:  I'll  tell  you  who  time 
ambcis  withal,  who  time  trots  wilhal.  who  time 
gallops  withal,  and  who  he  stands  still  withal. 

Orl.  I  prythee,  who  doth  he  trot  withal  ? 

Ros.  Marry,  he  trots  hard  with  a  young  maid, 
lietween  the  contract  of  her  marriage,  and  the  day 
it  is  solemnized  :  if  the  interim  be  but  a.se'nnigh"t, 
tunes  pace  is  so  hard  that  it  seems  the  length  of 
seven  years. 

Orl.  Who  ambles  time  withal? 

Ros.  With  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin,  and  a  rich 
man  that  hath  not  the  gout;  for  the  one  sleeps 
easily,  because  he  cannot  study;  and  the  other  lives 
merrily,  because  he  feels  no  pain:  the  one  lacking 
the  burden  of  lean  and  wasteful  learning ;  the  other 
knowing  no  burden  of  heavy  tedious  penury :  These 
time  amtiles  withal. 

Orl.  Who  doth  he  gallop  withal? 

Jlos.  With  a  thief  to  the  gallows;  for  though  he 
go  as  softly  as  a  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too 
soon  there. 

<^  .\n  allusion  to  the  moral  sentenees  issuing  from  the 
mouths  of  figures  on  old  tapestry  hangings. 


182 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  IIL 


0)7.  Who  stays  it  still  witliaH 

Ros.  With  lawyers  in  the  vai-ation  :  forthey  sleep 
between  term  and  term,  and  then  they  perceive  not 
how  time  moves. 

OrL  Where  dwell  you,  pretty  youth  ] 

Ros.  With  this  slu'pheriless,  my  sister;  here  in 
the  skirts  of  the  torest,  iilvc  IVin^e  upon  a  petticoat 

0/7.  Are  you  a  native  ol  this^phieel 

Ro.y.  As  the  coney,  that  you  see  dwell  where 
she  is  kindled. 

Ort.  Your  accent  is  something:  finer  than  you 
could  purchase  in  so  removed  a  dwelling. 

R(ts.  I  have  been  told  so  of  many:  but,  indeed, 
an  old  religious  uncle  of  mine  taught  me  to  speak, 
wlw  was  in  his  youth  an  mland  man ;  one  that 
knew  courtship  too  well,  for  there  he  fell  in  love.  I 
liave  heard  him  read  many  lectures  against  it;  and 
1  thank  God,  1  am  not  a  woman,  to  be  touehd 
with  so  many  giddy  offences  as  he  hath  generally 
tax'd  their  whole  sex  withal. 

Orl.  Can  you  remember  any  of  the  principal  evils, 
that  fie  laid  to  the  charge  of  women  ! 

Ros.  There  were  none  principal ;  they  were  all 
like  one  another,  as  half-pence  are :  every  one  fault 
seeming  monstrous,  till  his  fellow  fault  came  to 
match  It 

Orl.  I  pr'ythee  recount  of  them. 

Ros,  ^o;  1  will  not  cast  away  my  physic,  but 
on  those  that  are  sick.  There  is  a  man  haunts  the 
forest,  that  abuses  our  young  plants  with  carving 
iiosalind  on  their  barks;  hangs  odes  upon  haw- 
thorns, and  elegies  on  brambles;  all,  forsooth,  deify- 
ing the  name  of  llosalind :  if  I  could  meet  that  tancy- 
monger,  I  would  give  him  some  ^ood  counsel,  tor 
he  seems  to  have  the  quotidian  ot  love  upon  him. 
■  Oi'!.  I  am  he  that  is  so  love-shaked ;  I  pray  you, 
tell  me  your  remedy. 

Rns.  f  here  is  none  of  my  uncle's  marks  upon  you: 
lie  taught  me  how  to  know  a  man  in  love  ;  m  winch 
cage  of  rushes,  I  am  sure,  you  are  nut  prisoner. 

Orl.  What  were  his  marks'! 

Hos.  A  lean  cheek;  which  you  have  not:  ablue 
eye,  and  sunken;  wliich  you  have  not:  an  un- 
questionable spirit;'  which  you  have  not:  a  beard 
neglected ;  which  you  have  not ;— but  I  pardon  you 
for  that;  lot,  simply,  your  having"  in  beard  is  a 
younger  brother's  revenue: — Then  your  hose  should 
be  ungarterd,  your  bonnet  unhanded,  your  sleeve 
unbuttoned,  your  shoe  untied,  and  every  thing  about 
you  demonstrating  a  careless  desolation.  But  you 
are  no  such  man  ;  you  are  rather  point-device"  in 
your  accoutrements;  as  loving  yourself,  than  seem- 
ing the  lover  of  any  other. 

Orl.  Fair  youth,  1  would  I  could  make  thee  be- 
lieve I  love. 

Rus.  Me  believe  itl  you  may  as  soon  make  lier 
that  you  love  believe  it ;  which,  I  warrant,  she  is 
apter  to  do,  than  to  confess  she  does:  that  is  one  of 
the  points  in  the  which  women  still  give  the  he  to 
tlieir  consciences.  But,  in  good  south,  are  >  ou  he 
that  hangs  the  verses  on  the  trees,  wherein  Kosa- 
lind  is  so  admired  I 

Orl.  I  swear  to  thee,  youth,  by  the  white  liand 
of  Rosalind,  1  am  that  he,  that  unfortunate  he. 

Ros.  But  are  you  so  much  in  love  as  your  rhymes 
speak  ! 

Orl.  Neither  rhyme  nor  reason  can  express  liow 
much. 

Ros.  Love  is  merely  a  madness  ;  and,  I  tell  you, 
deserves  as  well  a  dark  house  and  a  whip,  as 
inad-men  do  :  and  the  reason  why  they  arc  not  so 
punished  and  cured,  is  that  the  lunacy  is  so  ordin- 
ary, the  whippers  are  in  love  too:  Vet  I  profess 
curing  it  by  counsel. 

Orl.  Did  you  ever  cure  any  so! 

Ros.  Yes,  one  ;  and  hi  this  manner.  He  was  to 
imagine  me  his  love,  his  niislress  ;  and  1  set  him 
every  day  to  woo  me :  At  wlm  h  tune  would  I,  being 
but  a  moonish'  youth,  grieve,  be  elhininate.  change- 
able, loiii^iiiL',  and  liking  ;  proud,  fantastical,  apish, 
shallow,  iiu(>ii>tant,  full  of  tears,  full  of  smiles;  for 
every  passion  something,  and  for  no  passion  truly 
any  thinii.as  boys  and  women  are  lor  the  most  part 
cattle  of  this  color;  would  now  like  him,  now 
loath  him;  then  entertain  him,  then  forswear  hjin  ; 
now  weep  for  him,  then  laugh  at  him,  that  I  drave 
my  suitor  from  his  mad  humor  of  love,  to  a  living 
iiuraor  of  madness :  wliich  was,  to  forswear  the  full 
1  A  spirit  averse  to  conversation.  n  Estnte. 

»  Over-exact.  *  Variable. 


stream  of  the  world,  and  to  live  in  a  nook  merely 
monastic:  And  thus  I  cured  him;  and  this  way 
will  1  take  upon  me  to  wash  your  liver  as  clean  as 
a  sound  sheeps  heart,  that  there  shall  not  be  one 
spot  of  love  in't. 

Orl.  Lwould  not  be  cured,  youth. 

Rus.  I  would  cure  you,  if  you  would  but  call  me 
Rosalind,  and  come  every  day  to  my  cote,  and  woo 
me. 

Orl.  Now  by  the  faith  of  my  love,  I  will;  tell 
me  where  it  is. 

Ros.  Go  with  me  to  it,  and  I  Ml  show  it  you  ; 
and  by  the  way,  you  shall  tell  me  where  in  tlie 
forest  you  live  :  Will  you  go  ] 

Orl.  With  all  my  heart,  good  youth. 

Ros.  Nay,  you  must  call  me  Rosalind  : — Come 
sister,  will  you  gol  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  lU.—Tlusame. 

Enter  Touchstone  find  Audret  ;  jAauES  at  a 

distance,  observing  them. 

Toucli.  Come  apace,  good  Audrey :  I  will  fetch 
up  your  goals,  Audrey  :  And  how,  Audrey  I  am  I 
the  man  yet !     Doth  my  simple  feature  content  you? 

Autl.  V'our  features!  Lord  warrant  us!  what 
features !  • 

Touch.  I  am  here  with  thee  and  thy  goats,  as 
the  most  capricious  poet,  honest  Ovid,  was  among 
the  Goths. 

Jaq.  (I  knowledge  ill-inhabited  !■>  worse  than 
Jove  in  a  thatcliM  house  !  [. 451/^0. 

Touch.  When  a  mans  verses  cannot  be  under- 
stood, nor  a  man's  good  wit  seconded  with  the  for- 
ward child,  understanding,  it  strikes  a  man  more 
dead  than  a  great  reckoning  in  a  little  room  ; — 
Truly,  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee  poetical. 

Aud.  I  do  not  know  what  poetical  is:  Is  it  hottest 
in  deed,  and  word '!    Is  it  a  true  thing  ! 

Touch.  No,  truly ;  for  the  truest  poetry  is  ti.e 
most  feigning ;  and  lovers  are  given  to  poetry ;  and 
what  they  swear  in  poetry,  niiy  be  said,  as  lovers, 
they  do  leign. 

Aud.  Do  you  wish  then,  that  the  gods  had  made 
me  poetical ! 

Touch.  I  do,  truly  :  for  thou  swer.rest  to  me, 
thou  art  honest;  now,  if  thou  wert  a  poet,  1  might 
have  sonic  hope  thou  didst  feign. 

Auit.  Would  you  not  have  me  honest? 

Touch.  No, truly,  unless  thou  wert  hard-favor'd : 
for  honesty  coupled  to  beauty,  is  to  have  honey  a 
sauce  to  sugar. 

Jaq.  A  material  fool.'  [Aside. 

Aud.  Well  I  am  not  fair,  and  therefore  I  pray 
the  gods  make  me  honest ! 

Touch.  Truly,  and  to  cast  away  honesty  upon  a 
foul  slut,  were  to  put  good  meat  into  an  unclean  dish. 

Aud.  I  am  not  a  slut,  though  I  thank  the  gods 
I  am  fouI.« 

Touch.  Well  praised  be  the  gods  for  thy  foulness ! 
slutlislmess  may  come  hereafier.  But  be  as  it  may 
be,  I  will  marry  thee  :  and  to  that  end,  I  have  been 
with  Sir  Oliver  Mar-text,  the  vicar  of  llie  next  vil- 
lage ;  who  bath  promised  to  meet  me  in  this  place 
of  the  forest,  and  to  couple  us. 

Jiiq.  I  would  fain  sec  this  meeting;  [Aside. 

Aud.  Well,  the  gods  give  us  joy  ! 

Touch.  Amen.  A  man  may,  if  he  were  of  a  fear- 
ful heart,  stagger  in  this  attempt;  for  here  we  have 
no  temple  but  the  wood,  no  assembly  hut  horn- 
beasts.  But  what  though  1  Courage!  As  horns  are 
odious,  they  are  necessary.  It  is  said, — Many  a  man 
knowsnoendofhisgoods:  right;  many  a  man  has 
good  horns,  and  knows  no  end  of  them.  Well,  that 
is  the  dowry  of  his  wife  ;  'tis  none  of  his  own  getting. 

Horns!      Even  so: Poor  men    alone; No, 

no  ;  the  noblest  deer  hath  them  as  huge  as  tho 
rascal.'  Is  the  single  man  therefore  blessed  !  No: 
As  a  wall'd  town  is  more  worthier  than  a  v  illage,  so 
is  the  forehead  of  a  mariied  man  more  honorable 
than  the  bare  brow  of  a  bachelor;  and  by  how  much 
dcfencce  is  better  than  no  skill,  by  so  much  ia  a 
horn  more  precious  than  to  want. 

Enter  Sir  OiivEn  Maii-text. 

Here  comes  .«ir  Oliver:— Sir  Oliver  JIar-text,  you 
are  well  met:  Will  you  dispatch  us  here  under tliis 
tree,  or  shall  we  go  with  you  to  your  chapel ! 
^  Ill-loilged.  ^  A  fool  with  matter  in  him, 

*  Homely,  *  Lean  deer  are  called  rascal  deer. 

«  The  art  of  fencing. 


Pt^ENE    V. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


183 


Sir  Oil  Is  there  none  here  to  give  the  woman  7 
Touch.  I  will  iiut  take  lii-r  on  gift  of  any  man. 
Sir  Oli.  Truly,  s!ie  must  be  given,  or  the  mar- 
riage is  not  iawlul. 

Jag-  [Dlsmierin/i  himself.]  Proceed,  proceed; 
I'll  give  her. 

Touch.  Good  even,  good  master  What  ye  callt : 
How  do  yoQ,  sir  !  \ou  are  very  well  met;  Cod  ild 
you'  for  your  last  comijaiiy:  1  am  very  glad  to  see 
you  :— Even  a  toy  in  hand  here,  sir :— Nay ;  pray 
be  f.overM. 
Jan-  Will  you  he  married,  motley  1 
Touch.  h&  tlie  ox  hath  his  bow,"  .sir,  the  horse 
his  curt),  and  the  falcon  her  bells,  so  man  hath  his 
desires  ;  and  as  pigeons  bill,  so  wedlock  would  be 
nibbling.  ^  .       j. 

Jaq.  And  will  you.  being  a  man  of  your  breeding, 
be  married  under  a  hush.  Iilie  a  beggar !  Get  you  to 
church,  and  have  a  good  priest  that  can  tell  you 
what  marriage  is:  this  lellow  will  but  join  you  to- 
gether as  tht'y  join  wainscot ;  then  one  of  you  will 
prove  a  shrunk  paiinel,  and,  like  green  timber, 
warp,  warp. 

Touch.  1  am  not  in  the  mind  but  I  were  better 
to  be  married  of  him  than  of  another:  for  he  is  not 
like  to  marry  me  well ;  and  jiot  being  w  ell  married 
it  will  be  a  good  excuse  for  me  hereafter  to  leave 
my  wife.  '       {Anide. 

Jaq.  Go  thou  vt ith  me,  and  let  me  counsel  thee. 
Touch.  Come,  sweet  Audrey  ; 
We  must  be  married,  or  we  must  live  in  bawdry. 
Farewell,  good  master  Oliver! 
]\'ot — O  sweet  Oliver, 
O  brave  Oliver, 
Leave  me  not  behi'  thee; 
But — Wind  away, 
liegone,  1  s.iy, 
I  will  not  to  wedding  wi'  thee. 
\Exmnt  J  la.,  Touch.,  anrf  .Xudiiet. 
Sir  OH.  Tis  no  matter ;  ne'er  a  fantastical  knave 
of  them  all  shall  llout  me  out  of  my  calling.  [Exit. 
SCKXE  IV. — Before  a  coftage. 
Enter  Kosalind  uud  Cf.lia. 
Rns.  Never  talk  to  me,  1  will  weep. 
Cel.  Do,  I  pr'ythoe  ;  but  yet  have  the  grace  to 
consider,  that  tears  do  not  become  a  man. 
Ens.  But  have  1  not  cause  to  weepi 
Cel.  As  good  cause  as  one  would  desire ;  there- 
fore weep. 
Jios.  His  very  hair  is  of  the  dissembling  color. 
Cel.   Something    browner  than   Judas's:  marry, 
his  kisses  are  Judas's  own  children. 
Ros.  V  laitli  his  hair  is  of  a  good  color. 
Cel.  An  excellent  color:  your  chesnut  was  ever 
the  only  color. 

Ros.  And  his  kissing  is  as  full  of  sanctity  as  the 
touch  of  holy  bread. 

Cel.  He  hath  bought  a  pair  of  cast  lips  of  Diana: 
a  nun  of  winter's  sisterhood  kisses  not  more  reli- 
giously ;  the  very  ice  of  chastity  is  in  them. 

Ro%  But  why  did  he  swear  he  vvould  come  this 
morning,  and  comes  not ! 
Cel.  Nay  certainly,  there  is  no  truth  in  him. 
Ros.  Do  you  think  so  T 

Cel.  Ves:  I  tlimk  he  is  not  a  pick-purse,  nor  a 
horse-stealer ;  but  for  his  verity  in  love,  I  do  think 
him  as  concave   as  a  coverd  goblet,  or  a  worm- 
eaten  nut. 
Ros.  Not  true  in  love  7 

Ctl.  Yes,  when  he  is  in  ;  but,  T  think,  he  is  not  in. 
Ros.    You  have  heard  him  swear  downright  he 

was. 
Cel.   IVa.t  is  not  is:  besides  the  oath  of  a  lover 
is  no  stronger  than  the  word  of  a  tapster ;  they  are 
both  tile  conlirmers  of  false  reckonings:  He  attends 
here  in  the  forest  on  the  duke  your  father. 

Ros.  I  met  the  duke  yesterday,  and  had  much 
question'  with  him  :  He  asked  me  of  what  parent- 
age I  was :  I  told  him,  of  as  good  as  he ;  so  lie 
laugh'd,  and  let  me  go.  But  what  talk  we  of  fa- 
thers, when  tlicre  is  such  a  man  as  Orlando'.' 

Cel.  O.  that's  a  brave  man !  he  writes  brave 
verses,  speaks  brave  words,  swears  brave  oaths,  and 
breaks  them  bravely,  quite  traverse,  athwart  the 
heart  of  his  lover;  as  a  puny  filter  that  spurs  his 
horse  but  on  one  side,  breaks  his  stalT  like  a  noble 
goose ;  but  alls  brave,  that  youth  mounts,  and  folly 
guides: — Who  comes  here  I 
'  God  reward  you.         8  Yoke.         "  CoUTeraatioa. 


Enter  Conix. 

Cor.  Mistress,  and  master,  you  have  oft  enquired 
After  the  shepherd  that  comp'laind  of  love; 
Who  you  saw  sitting  by  me  on  the  turf. 
Praising  the  proud  disd'ainful  shepherdess 
That  was  his  mistress. 

Cel.  Well,  and  what  of  him  7 

Cor.  If  you  will  see  a  pageant  truly  play  d 
Between  the  pale  complexion  of  true  love 
.■\nd  the  red  glow  of  scorn  and  proud  disdain, 
Go  hence  a  little,  and  i  shall  conduct  you 
11  vou  will  mark  it. 

/(OS.  O,  come,  let  us  remove ; 

The  sight  of  lovers  feedeth  those  in  love:— 
Bring  us  unto  this  sight,  and  you  shall  say 
1  11  prove  a  busy  actor  in  their  play.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 
Enter  SiLVirs  and  Phebe. 

Sil.  Sweet  I'hebe,  do  not  scorn  me;  do  not,  Phebe, 
Say,  that  you  love  me  not ;  but  say  not  so 
In  bitierne.ss:  The  common  executioner. 
Whose  heart  the  accustomed  sight  of  deatli  makes 

hard, 
Falls  not  the  axe  upon  the  humble  neck, 
Hut  first  begs  pardon  ;  Will  you  sterner  be 
Than  he  that  dies  and  lives  by  bloody  drops7 

Enter  Rosalixb,  Celia,  mjrf  Corns,  at  a  distance' 

Phe.  I  would  not  be  thy  executioner; 
I  lly  thee,  for  I  would  not  injure  thee. 
Thou  telfst  me,  there  is  murder  in  mine  eye : 
'Tis  pretty,  sure,  and  very  probable, 
That  eyes,  —  that  are  the  frail  st  and  softest  tilings, 
Who  shut  their  coward  gates  on  at.i-nies, — 
Should  be  called  tyrants,  butclicrs,  inurderers! 
Now  I  do  frown  on  llu-e  with  all  my  heart : 
,\nd,  if  miiieej  escan  wound,  now  let  them  K-ill  thee; 
Now  counterfeit  to  swoon  ;  why  nosv  fall  down; 
Or,  if  thou  canst  not,  O,  for  shame,  for  shame, 
Lie  not,  to  say  mine  eyes  are  murderers. 
Now  show  the  wound  mine  eye  hath  made  in  thee: 
Scratch  thee  but  with  a  pin,  and  there  remains 
Some  scar  of  it;  lean  but  upon  a  rush, 
The  cicatrice  and  capable  imprcssure 
Tliy  palm  some  momeiit  keeps  :  but  now  mine  eyes 
Which  I  have  darted  at  thee,  hurt  thee  not; 
Nor,  I  am  sure,  there  is  no  force  in  eyes 
That  can  do  hurt. 

Sil.  0  dear  Phehe, 

If  ever,  (as  that  ever  may  be  near.) 
You  meet  in  some  iVesli  cheek  the  power  of  fancy 
Then  shall  yon  know  the  wounds  invisible 
That  love's  keen  arrows  make. 

plic.  But,  till  that  time. 

Come  not  thou  near  me;  and,  when  that  time  conies, 
.\fllict  me  with  thy  mocks,  pity  me  not; 
.\s.  till  that  time  1  shall  not  pity  thee. 

Ros.  .\nd  why,  I  pray  you  7  [Advancing.]  Who 
might  h,^  your  mother. 
That  you  insull,  exult,  and  all  at  once. 
Over  the  wretched?  What  though  you  have  more 

beauty, 
{.\s,  by  my  faith,  I  sec  no  more  in  you 
Than  without  candle  m  ly  go  dark  to  bed,) 
Must  you  be  therefore  proud  and  pitiless! 
Why,  what  means  this  7  Why  do  you  look  on  me 7 
I  see  no  more  in  you,  than  in  the  ordin:iry 
Of  natures  sale-work :—Od's  my  little  life! 
1  think  she  means  to  tangle  my  eyes  too  :— 
No,  faith,  proud  mistress,  hope  not  after  it ; 
'Tis  not  your  inky  brows,  your  black  silk  hair. 
Your  bugle  eye-balls,  nor  your  cheek  of  cream, 
That  eaii  entainc  my  spirits  to  your  worship.— 
You  foolish  shepherd,  wherefore  do  you  follow  her. 
Like  I'o^gy  south,  pufling  with  wind  and  rain  7 
You  are  a'  thousand  times  a  properer  man, 
■phan  she  a  woman  ;  "Pis  such  fools  as  you. 
That  make  the  world  full  of  ill-favored  children  : 
'Tis  not  her  glass,  but  you  that  Hatters  her: 
And  out  of  you  she  sees  herself  more  proper, 
Than  any  of  her  lineaments  can  show  her.— 
But.  mistress,  know  yourself;  down  on  your  knees. 
And  thank  heaven,  histing,  for  a  good  mans  love.: 
For  I  must  tell  you  friendly  in  your  ear,— 
Sell  when  you  can;  you  are  not  for  all  markets: 
Cry  the  man  mercy:  love  him;  take  his  offer; 
Foul  is  most  foul,  being  foul  to  be  a  scolper. 
So  take  her  to  thee,  shepherd ;— fare  you  weU. 
»  Lavo. 


1S4 


AS  YOU  LIIvE  IT. 


Act  IV. 


PA£.  Sweet  youth,  I  pray  you,  chide  a  year  to- 
pether ; 
1  had  ratlier  hear  you  chide  than  this  man  woo. 

Jios.  He's  fallen  in  love  with  her  foulness,  and 
she'll  fall  in  love  with  my  anger:  If  it  be  so,  as 
fast  as  s!ie  answers  thee  with  frowning  looks.  111 
saace  iier  with  bitter  words. — Why  look  you  so 
upon  nie  ! 

Phe.  For  no  ill-will  I  bear  you. 

Ros.  I  pray  you,  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me. 
For  I  am  falser  than  vows  made  in  wine: 
IJesides,  I  hke  you  not:  If  you  will  know  my  house, 
'Tis  at  the  tuft  of  olives,  hern  liard  by  :— 
Will  you  go,  sister? — Shepherd,  piy  her  hard  — 
Come,  sister  :—Sheperdess,  look  on  him  better, 
And  be  not  proud:  though  all  the  world  cuuld  see. 
None  could  be  so  abus'd  in  sight  as  he. 
Coine,to  our  dock. 

\Exeunt  Ros.iLi:sn,  Celia,  and  Cokts. 

Plie.  Dead  shepherd!   now   I  find  thy  saw  of 
might; 
Who  ever  luv'd,  that  lov'd  nut  at  first  sight. 

SU.  Sweet  Phebe,— 

Pke,  Ha !  what  say'st  thou,  Silvius  ? 

Sii.  Sweet  Phebe,  pity  me. 

Phe.  Why,  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  gentle  Silvius. 

SiL  Wlierever  sorrow  is,  relief  would  be  ; 
If  you  do  sorrow  at  my  grief  in  love, 
By  giving  love,  your  sorrow  and  my  grief 
Were  both  extermin'd. 

Phs.   rhou  hast  my  love :  Is  not  that  neighborly! 

SU.  I  would  have  you. 

Pfie.  Why,  that  were  covetousness. 

Silvius,  the  time  %vas,  that  I  hated  thee; 
And  yet  it  is  not,  that  I  bear  thee  love: 
liut,  since  that  thou  canst  talk  of  love  so  well, 
Thy  company,  which  erst  was  irksome  to  me, 
I  will  endure;  and  I'll  employ  thee  too, 
But  do  not  look  for  further  recompense. 
Than  thine  own  gladness  that  thou  art  employ'd. 

SU.'  So  holy  and  so  perfect  is  my  love, 
And  I  in  such  a  poverty  of  grace, 


That  I  shall  think  it  most  plenteous  crop 

To  glean  the  broken  ears  after  the  man 

That  the  main  harvest  reaps:  lose  now  and  then 

A  scatter'd  surUe,  and  that  I'll  live  upon. 

P/ie.  Knowst  thou  the  youth  that  spoke  to  me 
erewhile  .' 

.Si;.  Not  very  well,  but  I  have  met  him  oft; 
And  he  hath  bought  the  cottage,  and  the  bounds, 
That  the  old  carlot'  once  v\as  master  of. 

Plie.  Think  not  I  love  him.  though  1  ask  for  him ; 
'Tis  but  a  peevish'  boy  :— yet  he  talks  well;— 
liut  what  care  I  for  words  !  yet  words  do  well. 
When  he  that  speaks  them  jjlcases  those  that  hear. 
It  is  a  pretty  youth  :— not  very  pretty  :— 
But,  sure,  he's  proud ;  anil  jv'  his  pride  becomes  him: 
He'll  make  a  proper  man;  the  best  thing  m  him 
Is  his  complexion :  and  faster  than  his  tongue 
Did  mike  ortence,  his  eye  did  heal  it  up. 
He  is  not  tall;  yet  for  his  5'ears  he's  tall : 
His  leg  is  but  so  so;  and  yet  'tis  well: 
There  was  a  pretty  redness  in  his  lip  ; 
A  little  riper  and  more  lusty  red 
riian  that  mixed  in  his  cheek ;  'twas  just  tl  e  dif- 
ference 
Betwixt  the  constant  red,  and  mingled  damask. 
There  be  some  women,  Silvius,  had  ihey  mark'd  him 
In  parcels  as  I  did,  would  have  gone  near 
To  fall  in  love  with  him :  but  for  my  part, 
I  love  him  not,  nor  hate  him  not;  and  yet 
I  have  more  cause  to  hate  him  than  to  love  llim: 
For  what  had  he  to  do  to  chide  at  me  : 
He  said,  mine  eyes  were  black,  and  my  hair  black; 
And,  now  I  am  remember'd,  scorn'd  at  me: 
I  marvel,  why  I  answer'd  not  again : 
But  that's  all  one  ;  omittance  is  no  quittance. 
Ill  write  to  him  a  very  taunting  letter. 
And  thou  shalt  bear  it:  Wilt  thou,  Silvius  ! 

SU.  Phebe,  with  all  my  heart. 

piie.  I'll  write  it  straight; 

The  matter's  in  my  head,  and  in  my  heart  ! 
I  will  be  bitter  with  luui,  and  passing  short: 
Go  with  me,  Silv.us.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  l.—The  Sime. 
Enter  Rosalind,  Celia,  and  jAaUES. 

Jaq.  I  pr'ythee,  pretty  youth,  let  me  be  better 
acquainted  with  thee. 

Ros.  They  say  you  are  a  melancholy  fellow. 

Jail-  I  am  so ;  1  do  love  it  better  than  laughing. 

Ro.t.  Those  that  are  in  extremity  of  eitlier,  are 
abominable  fellows;  and  betray  themselves  to  every 
modern  censure,  worse  than  drunkards. 

Jiiq.  Why,  'tis  good  to  be  sad  and  say  nothing. 

Rti.  Why  then,  'tis  good  to  be  a  post. 

Jaq.  I  have  neither  the  scholar's  melancholy, 
which  is  emulation;  nor  the  musician's  which  is 
fantastical;  nor  the  courtier's,  which  is  proud  ;  nor 
the  soldier's,  which  is  ambitious ;  nor  the  lawyer's, 
which  is  politic;  nor  the  lady  s,  which  is  nice;' 
nor  the  lover's,  which  is  all  these:  but  it  is  a  mel- 
ancholy of  mine  ov/n,  compounded  of  many  sim- 
ples, extracted  from  many  objects:  and,  indeed, 
the  sundry  contemplation  of  my  travels,  in  which 
my  often  rumination  wraps  me,  is  a  most  humor- 
ous sadness. 

Rm.  A  traveler  !  By  my  faith,  you  have  great 
reason  to  be  sad:  I  fear,  you  have  sold  your  own 
lands,  to  see  other  men's;  then,  to  have  seen  much, 
and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  have  rich  eyes  and  poor 
hands. 

Jaq.  Yes,  I  have  gained  my  experience. 

Enter  Orlasdo. 

Riis.  .\nd  your  experience  makes  you  sad:  I 
had  rather  have  a  fool  to  make  me  merry,  than 
experience  to  make  me  sad  and  to  travel  for  it  too. 

Orl.  Good  day,  and  happiness,  dear  Rosalind! 

Jaq.  Nay  then,  God  be  wi'  you,  an  you  talk  111 
blank  verse.  |£.i'(/. 

Rns.  Farewell,  monsieur  traveller:  Look,  you 
lisp,  and  wear  strange  suits ;  disable'  all  the  benefits 
of  your  own  country;  be  out  of  love  with  your  na- 
«  Trifling.  =  Uudcrvalue. 


tivitj-,  and  ahnost  chide  God  for  making  you  that 
countenance  you  are:  or  I  will  scarce  think  you 
have  swam  in  a  g  indola.— Why,  how  now,  (irlan- 
do!  where  have  you  been  all  this  while  !  You  a 
lover?— An  you  serve  me  such  another  trick,  nev- 
er come  in  itiy  sight  more. 

Ort.  My  fair  Rosalind,  I  come  within  an  hour 
of  my  promise.  ,  tt    .1,  . 

Ron.  Break  an  hour  s  promise  m  love  !  He  that 
will  divide  a  minute  into  a  thousand  parts,  and 
break  but  a  part  of  the  thousandth  part  of  a  minute 
in  the  affairs  of  love,  it  may  be  said  of  him  that 
Cupid  hath  clapp'd  him  o'  the  shoulder,  but  I  war- 
rant him  heart-whole. 

Orl.  Pardon  me,  dear  Rosalind. 

Ros.  Nay,  an  you  be  so  tardy,  come  no  more  in 
my  sight;  I  had  as  lief  be  woo'd  of  a  snad. 

Ori.  Of  a  snail!  ,        ,.  ,,  ,      , 

Ros.  .'^y.  of  a  snail;  for  though  he  comes  slowly, 
he  carries  his  house  on  his  head  ;  a  better  jointure, 
I  think,  than  you  can  make  a  woman:  Besides,  he 
brin','s  his  destiny  with  him. 

Orl.  What's  that! 

Rm.  Why,  horns;  which  such  as  you  are  tain 
to  be  beholden  to  your  wives  for:  but  he  comes 
armed  in  his  fortune,  and  prevents  the  slander  ot 
liis  wife.  ,  J         T,       ,•    1 

Orl.  'Virtue  is  no  horn-maker ;  and  my  Rosalind 
is  virtuous. 

Ros.  And  I  am  your  Rosalind. 

Cel.  It  pleases  him  to  call  you  so;  but  he  hath 
a  Uosalmd  of  a  better  leer»  than  you. 

Riis.  Come,  woo  me,  woo  me ;  lor  now  I  am  m 
a  holiday  humor,  and  like  enough  to  consent:  — 
What  would  you  say  to  me  now,  an  I  were  your 
very  very  Rosalind ! 

Orl.  I  would  kiss  thee  before  I  spoke. 

Ro-<.  Nay,  you  wcfe  better  speak  first ;  and  when 
you  were  gravelled  for  lack  ot  matter,  you  might 
take  occasion  to  kiss.  Very  good  orators,  when 
« Peasant.  •  Silly.  '  Comploxiou. 


Scene  If. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


185 


tlicy  are  out,  Ihey  will  spit;  and  for  lovers,  lacking 
(God  warn  us!j  matter,  the  cleanliest  shift  is  to  kiss. 

QrU  How,  if  tiie  kiss  be  denied  ! 

Ros.  Tlien  she  puts  you  to  entreaty,  and  there 
begins  new  matter. 

Ori.  VV  lio  could  be  out,  being  before  his  beloved 
mistress '! 

iJus.  Marry,  that  should  you,  if  I  were  your 
mistress ;  ur  1  should  think  my  honesty  ranker 
tiian  my  wit. 

Orl.  What,  of  my  suit? 

Riis.  N(.t  out  of  your  apparel,  and  yet  out  of 
your  suit.    Am  not  1  your  Kosalind  ! 

Ori.  I  take  some  joy  to  say  you  are,  because  1 
would  be  talking  of  her. 

Rus.  Well,  in  lier  person,  I  say — I  will  not  have 
you. 

Orl.  Then,  in  mine  own  person,  1  die. 

Ros.  rso. 'faith,  die  by  attorney.  The  poor  world 
is  almost  six.  thousand  years  old,  and  m  all  this 
time  there  wasnot  any  man  died  in  his  own  person, 
viictket,  in  a  love-cause.  Troilus  had  his  brains 
dashed  out  witli  a  Grecian  club^  yet  he  did  what 
he  could  to  die  before ;  and  he  is  one  of  the  pat- 
terns of  love.  Leander,  he  would  have  lived  many 
a  fair  year,  though  Hero  had  turned  nun,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  n  hot  midsunicr  niglit ;  for,  good 
youtli,  he  went  but  forth  to  wash  hiin  in  the  Hel- 
lespont, and  being  taken  with  the  cramp,  was 
drowned  ;  and  the  foolish  chroniclers  of  that  age 
found  it  was — Hero  of  Sestos.  But  these  are  all 
lies;  men  ha\e  died  from  time  to  time,  and  worms 
have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love. 

Orl.  1  would  not  have  my  right  Rosalind  of  this 
mind;  for.  I  protest,  lier  frown  might  kill  me. 

Ros.  By  tills  hand,  it  will  not  kill  a  tly :  But 
come,  now  1  will  be  your  Rosalind  in  a  more  com- 
ing-on  disposition ;  and  ask  me  what  you  will,  I 
will  iirant  it. 

Orl.  Then  love  me,  Rosalind. 

Rus.  Vcs,  "faith  will  I,  Fridays,  and  Saturdays, 
and  all. 

Orl.  And  wilt  thou  have  me? 

Ros.  Ay,  and  twenty  such. 

Orl.  What  sayst  thou  1 

Ros.  Are  you  not  good  \ 

Orl.  1  hope  so. 

Rox.  Why  then,  can  one  desire  too  much  of  a 
good  thing  ! — Come,  sister,  you  shall  be  the  priest, 
and  marry  us. — Give  me  your  hand,  Orlando  : — 
What  do  you  say,  sister  ! 

Orl.  Pray  thee,  marry  us. 

Cel.  I  cannot  say  the  words. 

Ros.   You  must  begin, —  Will  you^   Orlando, — 

Cel.  Go  to: — Will  you,  Orlando,  have  to  wife 
this  Rosalind  ! 

on.  I  will. 

Ros.  Ay,  but  when? 

Orl.  W  liy  now  ;  as  fast  as  she  can  marry  us. 

Ros.  Tiien  you  must  say, — Ilakctkcij,  Rosalind, 
for  wift. 

Orl.  1  lake  tliee,  Rosalind,  for  wife. 

Rns.  I  might  ask  you  for  your  commission; 
but, — I  do  take  thee,  Orlando,  for  my  husband: 
There  a  girl  goes  before  the  priest;  and,  certainly, 
a  woman's  thou'.'ht  runs  before  her  actions. 

Orl.  So  do  all  thoughts;  they  are  winged. 

Ros.  Now  tell  nie  how  long  you  would  have  her, 
after  you  have  married  her. 

Orl.   For  ever  and  a  day. 

Rns.  Say  a  day,  without  tlie  ever :  No,  no,  Or- 
lando; men  are  April  when  they  woo,  December 
when  they  wed:  maids  are  May  when  Ihey  are 
maids,  but  tlie  sky  changes  when  they  are  wives.  I 
win  be  more  jealous  of  thee  than  a  Barbary  cock- 
pigeon  over  his  hen;  more  clamorous  than  a  parrot 
against  rain  ;  more  new-fangled  than  an  ape;  more 
ciddy  in  my  desuTs  than  a  monkey:  I  will  weep 
for  nothing^  like  Diana  in  the  fountain,  and  I  will 
di.i  that  when  you  are  disposed  to  be  merry ;  I  will 
iaugh  likea  hyena, and  that  when  thou  art  inclined 
to  sleep. 

Orl.  Hut  will  my  Rosalind  do  so  ? 

Ros.  By  my  life,  she  will  do  as  I  do. 

Orl.  O,  but  she  is  wise. 

Ros.  Or  else  she  could  not  have  the  wit  to  do 
this:  the  wiser,  the  waywarder ;  Make  the  doors' 
upon  a  woman's  wit,  and  it  will  out  at  the  case- 
ment; shut  that,  and    twill  out  at  the  key-hole; 
1  Bur  the  doors.  1 


stop  tliat,  'twill  fly  with  the  smoke  out  at  the  chim- 
ney . 

Orl.  .A.  man  that  had  a  wife  with  such  a  wit,  he 
might  say,— ((•'(/,  ivhilher  wUt? 

iios.  Nay,  you  iiiigiit  keep  that  check  for  it,  till 
you  met  your  wife's  wit  going  to  your  neighbor's 
lied. 

Orl.  And  what  wit  could  wit  have  to  excuse 
that ! 

Ros.  Marry,  to  say,— slie  came  to  seek  you  there. 
You  shall  never  take,  her  without  her  answer,  un- 
less you  take  I.er  without  her  tongue.  O,  that 
woman  that  cannot  make  her  fault  her  husband's 
occasion,  let  her  never  nurse  her  child  herself,  for 
she  will  breed  it  like  a  fool, 

Orl.  For  these  two  hours,  Rosalind,  I  will  leave 
thee. 

Ros.  Alas,  dear  love,  I  cannot  lock  thee  two  hours. 

Orl.  I  must  attend  the  duke  at  dinner;  by  two 
o'clock  I  will  be  with  thee  again. 

Ros.  Ay,  go  your  ways,  go  your  ways: — I  knew 
what  you  would  prove ;  my  friends  told  meas  much, 
and  I  thought  no  less: — that  Uattering  tongue  of 
yours  won  me  : — 'tis  but  one  cast  away,  and  so, — 
come,  death. — Two  o'clock  is  your  hour? 

Orl.  Ay,  sweet  Rosalind. 

Ros.  By  my  troth,  and  in  good  earnest,  and  so 
God  mend  me,  and  by  all  pretty  oaths  that  are  not 
dangerous,  if  you  break  one  jot  of  your  promise, 
or  come  one  minulc  behind  yo'ur  hour,  1  w  ill  think 
you  the  most  pathetiral  break-promise,  and  the 
most  hollow  lover,  and  the  most  unwortliy  of  her 
you  call  Rosalind,  that  may  be  chosen  out  of  the 
gross  band  of  the  unfaithful:  therefore,  beware  my 
censure,  and  keep  your  itromise. 

Orl.  With  no  less  religion,  than  if  thou  wert  in- 
deed my  Rosalind;  So  adieu. 

Ros.  Well,  time  is  the  old  justice  that  examines 
all  such  otlenders,  and  let  time  try :  Adieu. 

[Exit  Ohlaxdo. 

Cel.  You  have  simply  misus'd  our  sex  in  your 
love-prate:  we  must  have  your  doublet  and  nose 
plucked  over  your  head,  and  show  the  world  what 
the  bird  hath  done  to  her  own  nest. 

Ros.  O  coz,  coz,  coz,  my  pretty  little  coz,  that 
thou  didst  know  how  many  fathom  deep  1  am  in 
love!  But  it  cannot  be  sounded  ?  my  alfectton  hath 
an  unknown  bottom,  like  the  bay  of  Portugal. 

Ci-i.  Or  rather,  bottomless  ;  that  as  fast  as  you 
pour  alTection  in  it  runs  out. 

Ros.  No,  that  same  wicked  bastard  of  Venus, 
that  was  begot  of  thought,  conceived  of  spleen,  and 
born  of  madness ;  that  blind  rascally  boy,  that  abuses 
every  one's  eyes  because  his  own  are  out,  let  hira 
be  judge  how  deep  I  am  in  love.:— I'll  tell  thee, 
Aliena.  I  cannot  be  out  of  the  sight  of  Orlando: 
Fll  go  find  a  shadow,  and  sigh  till  he  come. 

Cel.  And  V\l  sleep.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Another  part  of  Itie  Forest. 
Enter  J\Q.vhs  and  Lords,  in  tlie  habit  i/f  Foresters. 
Jaq.  \S'hich  is  he  that  killed  the  deer? 

1  Lord.  Sir,  it  was  I. 

Jaq.  Let's  presenthim  to  the  duke. like  a  Roman 
coiKjueror;   and  it  would  du  well  io  set  the  deer's 
horns  upon  his  head,  for  a  branch  of  victory : 
Have  you  no  song,  forester,  for  this  purpose  ? 

2  Lord.    Yes,  sir. 

Jaq.  Sing  it;  'tis  no  matter  how  it  be  in  tune 
so  it  make  noise  enough. 

SONG. 

1.  What  shall  he  hare  that  kill'd  the  deer? 

2.  His  leather  skin  and  horns  to  wear. 

1.  Then,  .si??^  him  home  : 
Take  thou  no  scorn,  lo  ti-rar  the  linrn  ;    1  The   rest: 
11  was  a  crest  ere  thou  njasl  born  ;  \  in'ar  this 

)  burlen. 

1.  Thy  father's  father  wore  it  ; 

2.  And  thiifallirr  bore  it  : 

All.    The  horn,  the  horn,  the  lusty  horn. 

Is  not  a  ihin^  to  laugh  to  sct_>rn.       [Exeunt 

SCENE  lU.—The  Forest. 
Enter  Rosat.inti  a7id  Ckli.». 
Ros.    How  .say  you  now?      Is  it  not  past  two 
o'clock  ?  and  here  much  Orlando  ! 

Cel.  I  warrant  you,  with  pure  love,  and  troubled 
brain, he  hath  ta'en  his  ln.nv  and  arrows,  and  isgone 
forth — to  sleep  :  Look,  who  comes  here. 


186 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


AfT  IV. 


Enter  Silvius. 
Sil.  My  errand  is  to  you,  fair  youtli;— 
My  gentle  Phebe  bid  ma  give  you  tliis  ; 

[Gioing  a  letter . 
I  know  nut  the  contents;  but,  as  I  guess, 
By  the  stern  brow,  and  waspisli  action 
Which  she  did  use  as  she  was  writing  of  it, 
It  bears  an  angry  tenor:  pardon  me, 
I  am  but  as  a  guiltless  messenger. 

Ros.  Patience  herself  would  startle  at  this  letter. 
And  play  the  swaggerer ;  bear  this,  bear  all ; 
She  says,  1  am  not  iair;  that  I  lack  manners; 
She  calls  me  proud  ;  and,  that  she  could  not  love  me 
Were  man  as  rare  as  phoenix;  (id's  my  will ! 
Her  love  is  not  the  haie  that  I  do  hunt : 
Wliy  writes  she  so  to  me  .'—Well,  shepherd,  well, 
Tills  is  a  letter  of  your  own  device. 

Sit.  No,  I  protest,  1  know  not  the  contents ; 
Phebe  did  write  it. 

Ros.  Come,  come,  you  are  a  fool, 

And  turn'd  into  the  extremity  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand :  she  has  a  leathern  hand, 
A  freestone-color'd  hand;  1  verily  did  think 
That  her  old  gloves  were  on,  but  'twas  her  hands ; 
She  has  a  housewife's  hand  :  but  that's  no  matter: 
I  say.  she  never  did  invent  this  letter: 
This  is  a  man's  invention,  and  his  liand. 
Sil.  Sure,  it  is  hers. 

Ros.  Why,  'tis  a  boisterous  and  a  cruel  style, 
A  style  for  challengers;  why  she  defies  me. 
Like  Turk  to  Christian  :  woman's  gentle  brain 
Could  not  drop  forth  such  giant-rude  invention, 
Such  Ethiop  words,  blacker  in  their  edect 
Than  in  their  countenance :— Will  you  hear  the 
letter  I 
SU.  So  please  you,  for  I  never  heard  it  yet; 
Yet  heard  too  much  of  Phebes  cruelty. 
Ros.  She  Phebe's  me:     Mark  how  the  tyrant 
writes.  [Reads. 

Art  ihnu  god  to  shepherd  turn'd. 
Thai  a  maiden's  ticurt  halh,  burn'd? — 
Can  a  woman  rail  thus  ? 
Sil.  Call  you  this  railing  ? 
Ros.     IVIiy  tht/  godhead  laid  apart, 

Warr'st'  thou  with  a  woman's  heart  ? 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  railing  ? — 

Whiles  tlie  ei/e  nf  man  did  luoo  me. 
Thai  could  do  no  vengeance  to  me.— 
Meaning  mo  a  beast. — 

If  the  scorn  of  your  bright  eyne 
Have  power  to  raise  such  love  in  mine, 
A  lack,  in  me  tvliat  strange  effect 
Would  they  ivorji  in  mild  aspect.^ 
Whiles  you  chid  me,  I  did  love ; 
H:nv  then  might  t/our  prayers  move  ? 
He  that  brings  thli  Itive  to  thee. 
Little  knows  tfiis  tore  in  me : 
And  hy  him  seol  n/i  thi/  mind  ; 
Wh'ther  Ihrit  /Ay  i/nnth  and  kind' 
Will  the  faithful  i'Xfer  take 
ly'  me,  and  all  that  I  can  make: 
Or  else  by  hint  mi/  love  deny, 
Ant  then  I'll  study  how  to  die. 
Sil.  Call  you  this  chiding  1 
Cel.  Alas,  poor  shepherd! 

Ros.  Do  you  pity  him  1  no,  he  deserves  no  pity* 
—Wilt  thou  love  such  a  woman  ?— What,  to  make' 
thee  an  instrument,  and  play  false  strains  upon 
thee !  not  to  be  endured !— Well,  go  your  way  to 
her,  (for  I  see,  love  hath  made  thee  a  tame  snake.) 
and  say  this  to  her:— That  if  she  love  me,  I  charge 
her  to  love  thee:  if  she  will  not,  I  will  never  have 
her,  unless  thou  entreat  for  her.— If  you  be  a  true 
lover,  hence,  and  not  a  word  ;  for  here  comes  more 
company.  [Exit  Silvius. 

Enter   Oliver. 
OH.  Good-morrow,  fair  ones :  Pray  you,  if  you 
know 
Where,  in  the  purlieus  of  this  forest,  stands 
A  sheep-cote,  fenced  about  with  olive-trees T 
Cel.  West  of  this  place, "down  in  the  neighbor 
boltom 
The  rank  of  osiers,  by  the  murmuring  s'.ream. 
Left  on  >our  rigiit  band,  brings  you  to  the  place : 
lint  at  this  hour  the  house  doth  keep  itself, 
Tlicre's  none  within. 

"  Nature. 


OH.  If  that  an  eye  may  profit  by  a  tongue, 
Then  I  should  know  you  by  description: 
Such  garments,  and  such  years :     The  boy  is  fair, 
Of  female  favor,  ami  bcstoo-i  himself 
Like  a  ripe  sister:  but  the  wotnan  low, 
And  browner  than  her  brother.    Are  not  you 
The  owner  of  the  house  I  did  enquire  for^ 
Cel.  It  is  no  boast,  being  ask'd,  to  say,  we  are. 
OH.  Orlando  doth  commend  him  to  you  both  ; 
And  to  that  youth,  he  calls  his  Rosalind, 
He  sends  this  bloody  napkin  ;  Are  you  he  1 
Ros.  lam:   what  must  we  understand  by  this? 
Oli.  Some  of  my  shame ;  if  you  wdl  know  of  me 
What  man  I  am,  and  how,  and  why,  and  where 
This  handkerchief  was  stain'd. 
Cel.  I  pray  yo"  tcH  i'- 

OH.  When  last  the  young  Orlando  parted  from 
you. 
He  left  a  promise  to  return  again 
Within  an  hour  ;  and,  pacing  through  the  forest, 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy, 
Lo,  what  befell !  he  threw  his  eye  aside. 
And,  mark,  what  object  did  present  itself! 
Under  an  oak,  whose  boughs  were  moss'd  with  age, 
And  high  top  bald  with  dry  antiquity, 
A  wretched  ragged  UKin,  oei-grown  with  hair, 
Lay  sleeping  on  his  hack  ;  about  his  neck 
A  green  and  gildeii  snake  had  wreathed  itself, 
Who  with  her  head,  nimble  in  threats;  approach'd 
The  opening  of  his  mouth  ;  hi:t  suddenly 
Seeing  Orlando,  it  unlink'd  itself, 
And  with  indented  glides  did  slip  away 
Into  a  bush:  under  which  bush's  shade 
A  lioness,  with  udders  all  drawn  dry. 
Lay  couching,  head  on  ground,  with  cat-like  watch. 
When  that  the  sleeping  man  should  stir;  for 'tis 
The  royal  disposition  of   that  beast. 
To  prey  on  nothing  that  doth  seem  as  dead  ! 
This  seen,  Orlando  did  approach  the  man, 
And  found  it  was  his  brother,  his  elder  brother.  . 
Cel.  O,  I  have  heard  him  speak  of  that  same 
brother : 
And  he  did  render'  him  the  most  unnatural 
That  liv'd  'mongst  men.  . 

OH.  And  well  he  might  so  do. 

For  well  I  know  he  was  unnatural. 

Ros.  But,  to  Orlando;— Did  he  leave  him  there. 
Food  to  the  suck'd  and  hungry  lioness  ? 

0/i.  Twice didhe  turn  his  back,and  purpose  so: 
But  kindness,  nobler  ever  than  revenge. 
And  nature,  stronger  than  his  just  occasion. 
Made  him  give  battle  to  llie  lioness. 
Who  quickly  fell  before  him;  in  which  hurthng. 
From  miserable  slumber  I  awak'd. 
Cel.  Are  you  his  brother  ! 
jlos.  Was  it  you  he  rescu'd  7 

Cel.  Was't  you  that  did  so  oft  contrive  to  kill 

him! 
Oli.  'Twas  I;  but'tis  not  I;  I  do  not  shame 
To  tell  you  what  I  was,  since  my  conversion 
So  sweetly  tastes,  being  the  thing  I  am. 
Ros.  But  for  the  bloody  napkin  !—. 
OH.  By.  and  by. 

When  from  the  first  to  last,  betwixt  us  two, 
Tears  our  recountments  had  most  kindly  bath'd 

As,  how  I  came  into  tliat  desert  place; 

In  brief,  he  led  me  to  the  gentle  duke. 
Who  gave  me  fresh  array  and  entertainment. 
Committing  me  unto  my  brother's  love; 
Who  led  me  instantly  unto  his  cave. 
There  stripp'd  himself,  and  here  upon  his  arm 
The  lioness  had  torn  some  llesh  away. 
Which  all  this  while  had  bled ;  and  now  he  fainted. 
And  cry'd,  in  tainting,  upon  Rosalind. 
Brief,  I  recover'd  him  ;  bound  up  his  wound; 
And,  after  some  small  space,  being  strong  at  hear'. 
He  sent  me  hither,  stranger  as  I  am. 
To  tell  this  story,  that  you  might  excuse 
His  broken  promise,  and  to  give  this  napkin, 
Dyd  in  his  blood,  unto  the  shepherd  youth 
That  he  in  sport  doth  call  his  Uosalind. 

Cel.  Why,  how  now,  Ganymede  !  sweet  Gany- 
mede ?  [KOSALI  Nl) /oi"/s. 
OH.  Many  will  swoon  when  they  do  look  on  blood. 
Cel.  There  is  more  in  it :— Cousin— Ganymede  ! 
Oli.  Look,  he  recovers. 

]i„s,  I  would,  I  were  at  home 

Cel.  We'll  lead  you  thither:- 
I  pray  you,  will  you  take  him  by  the  arm 7 
6  Describe.  '  Scuffle. 


Act  V. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


187 


on.  Be  of  good  cheer,  youth :— You  a  man?— 
"i  ou  lack  a  man's  iicart. 

Ros.  I  do  so,  I  couicss  it.  Ah,  sir,  a  body  would 
tniuk  this  was  well  counterfcilcd  :  I  pray  you,  tell 
vour   brotlier    liow  well    I   counteileited.— Heigh 

OU.  This  was  not  counterfeit;  there  is  too  great 
testimony  in  your  complexion,  that  itwas  a  passion 
of  earnest. 

Ros.  Counterfeit,  I  assure  you. 


Oli.  Well  then,  take  a  good  heart,  and  coun- 
terfeit to  be  a  man. 

Bus.  So  I  do:  but,  iTaith  I  should  have  been  a 
woman  by  right. 

Ctl.  Come.'you  look  paler  and  paler ;  pray  you, 
draw  homewards;— Good  sir,  ko  with  us. 

Oil.  That  will  I,  (or  I  must  bear  answer  back. 
How  you  excuse  my  brother,  Hosa'ind. 

Ros.  1  shall  devise  something:  But,  I  pray  you, 
commend  my  counterfeiting  to  him : — Will  you  go? 

[Exeunt. 


ACT    V. 


SCENE  l.-T/ie  same. 
Enter  Touchstoxe  and  AnoRET. 

Touch.  We  shall  find  a  time,  Audrey;  patience, 
gentle  Audrey. 

Ami.  Failh,  the  priest  was  good  enough,  for  all 
the  old  gentleman's  saying. 

Touch.  A  most  wicked  Sir  Oliver,  Audrey,  a 
most  vile  iVIar-te.xt.  But,  Audrey,  there  is  a  youth 
here  in  the  forest  lays  claim  to  you. 

And.  Ay,  I  know  who  'tis;  he  iiath  no  interest 
in  me  in  the  world :  here  comes  the  man  you  mean. 

Enter  William. 

Touch.  It  is  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  see  a  clown: 
By  my  troth,  we  that  have  good  wits,  have  much  to 
nnswer  for;  we  shall  be  flouting;  we  cannot  hold. 

Will.  Good  even,  Audrey. 

Auii.  (iod  ye  good  even,  William. 

IViLl.  And  good  even  to  you,  sir. 

Tbuch.  Good  even,  gentle  friend:  Cover  thy 
head,  cover  thy  head ;  nay,  pr'ythee,  be  covered. 
How  old  are  you,  friend? 

U'ill.  Five  and  twenty,  sir. 

Touch.  A  ripe  age:  Is  thy  name  William  ? 

IViU.  William,  sir. 

Touch.  A  fair  name ;  Wast  born  i'the  forest  hej-e? 

Will.  Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Touch.  Thank  Gw/,— a  good  answer :  Art  rich? 

Will.  'Faith,  sir,  so  so. 

Touch.  So,  so,  is  good,  very  good,  very  excellent 
good: — and  yet  it  is  not;  it  is  but  so,  so.  Art 
thou  wise? 

Will.  Ay,  sir,  I  have  a  pretty  wit. 

Touch.  Why,  thou  say'st  well.  I  do  now  re- 
member a  saying:  The  font  doth  think  he  is  wise, 
but  the  wise  man  Icnows  himself  to  be  a  fool.  The 
lieathen  philosopher,  when  he  had  a  desire  to  eat  a 
grape,  would  open  his  lips  when  he  put  it  into  his 
mouth ;  meaning  thereby,  that  grapes  were  made 
to  eat,  and  lips  to  open.    You  do  love  this  maid  ? 

Wilt.  I  do,  sir. 

Touch.  Give  me  your  hand :  Art  thou  learned  ? 

JVill.  No,  sir. 

Touch.  Then  learn  this  of  me ;  To  have,  is  to 
have :  For  it  is  a  fi,riire  in  rhetoric,  that  drink,  being 
poured  out  of  a  cup  into  a  glass,  by  rtlling  the  one 
doth  empty  the  other:  For  all  your  writers  do  con- 
sent, that  ipse  is  he ;  now  you  are  not  ipse,  for  I  am  he. 

Will.  Which  he,  sir? 

Touch.  He,  sir,  that  must  marry  this  woman: 
Therefore,  you  clown,  abandon,— which  is,  in  the 
vulgar,  leave,— the  society,— whicli  in  the  boorish 
is,  company,— of  this  female,— which  in  the  com- 
mon is,  woman,— which  together  is,  abandon  tlie 
society  of  this  female;  or.  clown,  thou  perishest; 
or.  to  thy  better  understanding,  diest:  to  wit,  I  kill 
thee,  make  thee  away,  translate  thy  life  into  death, 
thy  liberty  into  bondage:  I  will  deal  in  poison  with 
thee,  or  in  bastinado,  or  in  .steel;  I  will  bandy  with 
thee  in  fiction;  I  will  o'er-run  thee  with  policy;  I 
will  kill  thee  a  hundred  and  fifty  ways ;  therefore 
tremble,  and  depart. 
And.  Do,  good  William. 

Will.  God  rest  you,  merry  sir.  [Exit. 

Enter  Coniw. 

Cor.  Our  master  and  mistress  seek  you ;  come, 
away,  away. 

Touch.  Trip,  Audrey,  trip,  Audrey;— I  attend 
I  attend.  [Exetmi. 


SCENE  U.— The  same. 
Enter  Orlando  and  Olivf.r. 

Orl.  Is't  possible,  that  on  so  little  acquaintance, 
you  should  like  her?  that,  but  seeing,  jou  should 
loveher?  and. loving, woo?  and, wouing,sheshould 
grant  ?  and  will  you  pers^ver  to  enjoy  Tier  ? 

Oli.  Neither  call  the  giddiness  of  it  in  question, 
the  poverty  of  her,  the  .small  acquaintance,  my 
sudden  wooing,  nor  her  sudden  consenting;  but 
say  with  me,  1  love  Aliena ;  say  with  her,  that  she 
loves  me ;  consent  with  both,  that  we  may  enjoy 
each  other :  it  shall  be  to  your  good ;  for  my  fathers 
house,  and  all  the  revenue  that  was  old  Sir  Kow- 
land's,  will  I  estate  upon  you,  and  here  live  and  die 
a  shepherd. 

Enter  Rosalixd. 

Orl.  'i"ou  have  my  consent.  Let  your  wedding 
be  to-morrow ;  thither  will  I  invite  the  duke,  and 
all  his  contented  followers:  Go  you,  and  prepare 
Aliena  ;  for,  look  you.  here  comes  my  KosahiiU. 

Ros.  God  save  you,  brother, 

Oli.  And  you,  i'air  sister. 

Ros.  O,  my  dear  Orlando,  how  it  grieves  me  to 
see  thee  wear  thy  heart  in  a  scarf. 

Orl.  It  is  my  arm. 

Ros.  1  thought,  thy  heart  had  been  wounded 
with  the  claws  of  a  lion. 

Orl.  Wounded  it  is,  but  with  the  eyes  of  a  lady. 

Ros.  Did  your  brother  tell  you  howl  counterfciled 
to  swoon,  when  he  showed  nie  your  handkerchief? 

Orl.  Ay.  and  greater  wonders  than  that. 

Ros.  O,  I  know  where  you  are: — Nay,  'tis  true: 
there  was  never  any  thing  so  sudden,  but  the  fight 
of  two  rams,  and  Cjcsar's  thrasonical  brag  of— I 
came,  saw,  and  orercame:  For  your  brother  and 
my  sister  no  sooner  met,  but  they  looked ;  no  soonei 
looked,  but  they  loved;  no  sooner  loved,  but  they 
sighed ;  no  sooner  sighed,  but  they  asked  one  an- 
other the  reason  ;  no  sooner  knew  the  reason,  but 
they  sought  the  remedy  :  and  in  these  degrees  have 
they  made  a  pair  of  stairs  to  marriage,  which  they 
will  climb  incontinent,  or  else  be  iiicoiiliiient  be- 
fore marriage:  they  are  in  the  very  wrath  of  love, 
and  they  will  together;  clubs  cannot  part  them. 

Orl.  They  shall  be  married  to-morrow,  and  I 
will  bid  the  dulic  to  the  nuptial.  But,  O,  iiow 
bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through 
another  man's  eyes!  By  so  much  the  more  shall  I 
to-morrow  be  at  the  height  of  heart-heaviness,  by 
how  much  I  shall  think  my  brother  happy,  in 
having  what  he  wishes  lor. 

Ros.  Why  then,  to-morrow  I  cannot  serve  your 
turn  for  Rosalind? 

Orl.  I  can  live  no  longer  by  thinking. 
Ros.  I  will  weary  you  no  ionger  then  with  idle 
talking.  Know  of  me  then,  (for  now  I  speak  to 
some  purpose.)  that  I  know  yon  are  a  genlleman  of 
good  conceit:  1  speak  notthis.that  you  should  bear 
a  good  opiniort  of  my  knowledge,  iiisonuich,  I  say, 
I  icnow  3"ou  are;  neither  do  I  labor  for  a  greater 
esteem  than  may  in  some  little  measure  draw 
a  belief  from  you,  to  do  yourself  good,  and  not  to 
grace  me.  Believe  then  if  you  please,  that  I  can 
do  strange  things:  I  have,  since  I  was  three  years 
old,  conversed  with  a  magician  most  prolound  in 
this  art,  and  yet  not  damnable.  If  you  do  love 
Rosalind  so  near  the  heart  as  your  gesture  cries  it 
out,  when  your  brother  marries  Aliena.  shall  you 
marry  her:  I  kiiowinto  what  straits  of  fort  line  she 
is  driven;  and  it  is  not  impossible  to  me,  if  it  ap- 
pear not  inconvenient  to  you,  to  set  her  before 


188 


AS  YOU   LIKE  IT. 


Act  Y 


your  eyes  to-morrow,  Ijuinan  as  she  is,  and  without 
any  danger.  .  .       t 

Ori.  Siieakest  thou  ui  soDer  meanings  ! 

Ros.  By  my  life,  I  do:  wliich  1  tender  dearly, 
though  I  say  I  am  a  maijieian:  Tlieret'ore,  put  you 
in  yonr  best  array,  bid  your  friends;  for  if  you  will 
be  married  to-morrow,  you  shall ;  and  to  Kosalind, 
if  you  Will. 

Enter  Silvius  and  Pkebe. 

Look,  here  comes  a  lover  of  mine,  and  a  lover  of  hers. 

Phe.  Youth,  you  have  done  me  much  ungentleness, 
To  show  the  letter  that  I  writ  to  you. 

Ros.  I  caie  not,  if  I  liave:  it  is  my  study 
To  seem  despiteful  and  uiiseutle  to  you  : 
You  are  there  foUowd  by  a  liiithful  shepherd; 
Loo'<  upon  him,  love  him  ;  he  worships  you. 

Phe.  Good  shepherd,  tell  this  youtli  what  'tis  to 
love. 

SU.  It  is  to  he  all  made  of  sighs  and  tears;— 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Pkc.  And  I  for  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  I  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  I  for  no  winnan. 

SU.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  faith  and  service  ;— 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  I  tor  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  1  for  Rosalind. 

Ros.  And  I  for  no  woman. 

SU.  It  is  to  be  all  made  of  fantasy, 
All  made  of  passion,  and  all  made  of  wishes: 
All  adoration,  duty  and  observance, 
All  humbleness,  all  patience,  and  impatience, 
All  purity,  all  trial,  all  observance;— 
And  so  am  I  for  Phebe. 

Phe.  And  so  am  1  lor  Ganymede. 

Orl.  And  so  am  I  for  Rosalind. 

Rds.  And  so  am  I  for  no  woman. 

Phe.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love 
you!  [To  RosALixn. 

SV.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love 

you?  iroPllKBK. 

Orl.  If  this  be  so,  why  blame  you  me  to  love  you ! 

R;'S.  Who  do  you  speak  to,  why  blame  you  me 
to  love  you?  ,  ..        .  , 

Orl.  To  her,  that  is  not  here,  nor  doth  not  hear. 

Rns.  Pray  you  no  more  of  this;  'tis  like  the 
houlmLT  of  Irish  wolves  against  the  moon.— I  will 
help  you,  [To  SiLTius.l  if  I  can:— I  would  love 
you.  [Tu  Phebe. 1  if  I  could.- To-morrow  meet 
me  all  together.— 1  will  marry  you,  [To  Phebe.J  il 
ever  I  marry  woman,  and  ill  be  married  to-morrow : 
—I  will  .satisfy  you.  |  To  Ont-Asno.  |  if  ever  I 
■^at  s6el  man,  and  vou  shall  be  married  to-morrow 
— I  will  content  yoii,  |  To  SiLVirs.]  if  what  pleases 
you  contents  yuu,  and  you  shall  be  married  to- 
morrow.—As  vou  [To  Oni.ANiio.l  love  Rosalind, 
meet;— as  you  [To  SiLVirs.)  love  Phebe,  meet; 
and  as  I  love  no  woman.  I'll  meet.— So,  tare  you 
well;  1  have  left  you  commands. 

.Si'.  Ill  not  fail,  if  I  live. 

Pkc.  Nor  I- 

Orl.  Nor  I. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  in.— TAe same. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  Acdret. 

Touch.  To-morrow  is  the  joyful  day,  Audrey; 
to-morrow  will  we  be  mirried. 

4ii<?.  1  do  desire  it  with  all  my  heart:  and  hope 
it  IS  no  dishonest  desire,  to  desire  to  be  a  woman  of 
the  world.»  Here  comes  two  of  the  banished  duke  s 
pages. 

Enter  two  Pages. 

1  Pa^e.  Well  met,  honest  gentleman. 

Touch.  By  my  troth,  well  met:  Come,  sit,  sit, 
and  a  song.  . 

"  />«"■(•.  We  are  for  you:  sit  i'  the  middle. 

1  P. lie.  Shall  we  clap  into't  roundly,  without 
hawking,  or  spitting,  or  saying  we  are  hoarse; 
which  are  the  only  prologues  to  a  bad  voice  1 

2  Pa^e.  Ifoitb  i  faith;  and  both  in  a  tune,  like 
two  gipsies  on  a  hor.se. 

SONG. 
I. 

/(  u:ri.i  a  lover  find  his  lass, 

WUh  a  hey,  and  a  lio,  and  a  hey  nnmno, 
^  A  married  woman. 


In  Ike  spring  time,  the  only  pretty  ranii  timet 
That  o'er  the  green  corn-fietii  dbipuss, 

Wlien  birds  dn  sing,  hiy  ding  u  ding,  dingi 
Sweet  lovers  love  the  sjjring. 

II. 
Between  the  acres  of  Ike  rye, 

IVUh  a  heij,  and  a  kn,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
These  pretty  countryfolks  would  lie, 
hi  spring  time,  die.  ■ 
III. 
Thi.t  carol  they  began  that  hour, 

IVifh  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  hey  nonino, 
How  fliat  a  life  vas  but  a  flower 
III  spring  time,  &c. 

IV. 
And  therefore  falie  the  present  lime, 

IVitk  a  hey,  and  a  ho,  and  a  key  nonino  ; 
For  lore  is  crowned  with  the  prune 
In  spring  time,  &c. 

Touch.  Truly,  young  gentlemen,  though  there 
was  no  greater  matter  in  the  ditty,  yet  the  note  was 
very  unluneahle. 

1  Page.  You  are  deceived,  sir;  we  kept  time,  we 
lost  not  our  time. 

Touch.  Ay  my  troth,  yes;  I  count  it  but  time 
lost  to  hear  such  a  foolish  song.  God  be  with  you ; 
and  God  mend  your  voices; — Come,  Audrey. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  W.— Another  part  of  Ike  Forest. 

Enter  Duke  Senio;-,  .'V^hiens,  jAacEs,  Orlando, 
ULivEU,  and  Celia. 

Duke  S.  Dost  thou  believe,  Orlando,  th.at  the  boy 
Can  do  all  this  that  he  hath  promised  ! 

Orl.  I   sometimes  do  believe,  and  sometimes  do 
not; 
As  those  that  fear  they  hope,  and  know  they  fear. 

Enlcr  RosALi.sn,  Silvius,  and  Phere. 
Ros.  Patience  once  more,  whiles  our  con!p&ct  is 
urg'd  :— 
You  .say,  it  I  bring  in  your  Rosalind, 

I  To  We  Duke. 
Yon  will  bestow  her  on  Orlando  here? 
Duke  S.  That  would  I,  had  I  kingdoms  to  give 

with  her. 

Ros.  And,  you  say,  you  will  have  her  when  I 

bring  her  1  [To  OnLASUo. 

Orl.  That  would  I,  were  I  of  all  kingdoms  king. 

Ros.  You  say,  you'U  marry  me,  if  I  he  willing  1 

[To  PlIEBE. 

Fke.  That  will  I,  should  I  die  the  hour  after. 

Ros.  Hut  if  you  do  refuse  to  marry  me. 
You'll  give  yourself  to  this  most  fiithful  shepherd  ! 

Phe.  So  is  the  bargain. 

Ros.  You  say,  that  you'll  have  Phebe.  if  she  will? 

iTo  Silvius. 

SU.  Though  to  have  her  and  death  were  both 
one  thins:, 

Ros.  1  have  promised  tomakeallthismattereven. 
Keep  you  your  word,  0  duke,  to  give  your  daugh- 
ter ;— 
You  yours,  Orlando,  to  receive  his  daughter:— 
Keep  your  word,  Phebe,  tliat  you'll  marry  me; 
Or  else,  refusing  me,  to  wed  this  shepherd : — 
Keep  your  word,  Silvius,  that  you'll  marry  her, 
If  she  refuse  me:— and  from  hence  I  go. 
To  make  these  doubts  all  even. 

[Exeunt  Rosalind  «i7rf  Celia. 

Duke  S.  I  do  remember  in  this  shepherd-boy 
Some  lively  touches  of  my  daughters  favor. 

Orl.  Wy  lord,  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  him, 
Methought  he  was  a  brother  to  your  daughter; 
lUit  my  good  lord,  this  boy  is  forest-born : 
And  halh  lieen  tutord  in  the  rudiments 
01' many  desperate  studies  by  his  uncle. 
Whom  he  reports  to  be  a  great  magician 
Obscured  in  the  circle  of  this  forest. 

Enter  Touchstone  and  AunnEV. 

Jaq.  There  is,  sure,  another  Hood  toward,  and 
these  couples  are  comins  to  the  ark  !  Here  comes  a 
pair  of  very  strange  beasts,  whicli  in  all  tongues  are 
called  fools ! 

Touch.  Salutation  and  greeting  to  you  all ! 

Jaq.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome:  This  is 
the  motley-minded  gentleman,  that  1  have  so  often 
met  in  the  forest :  he  batli  been  a  courtier,  he  swears. 


Scene  IV. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


189 


Tcuch.  If  any  man  doubt  that,  Ictliim  put  me  to 
mj-  puraition.  I  have  trod  a  measure;'  I  liave  flat- 
tered a  lady ;  I  liave  been  politic  with  my  friend, 
smooth  with  mine  enemy;  I  have  undone  three 
tailors;  I  liave  had  four  quarrels,  and  like  to  have 
fought  one. 
Jaq.  And  how  was  that  ta'en  up  ? 
Tuiicli.  'Faith,  we  met  and  Ibimd  the  quarrel 
was  upon  the  seventh  cause. 

Jug.  How  seventh  cause  !— Good  my  lord,  like 
this  fellow. 
JJuke  .S.  I  like  him  very  well. 
Touch.  God  'ild  you,  sir:  1  desire  you  of  the 
like.  I  press  in  here,  sir,  amongst  the  rest  of  the 
country  copulatives,  to  swear,  and  to  forswear ;  ac- 
cording as  marriage  binds,  and  blood  breaks : — A 
poor  virgin,  sir,  an  ill-favored  thing,  sir,  but  mine 
own;  a  poor  humor  of  mine,  sir„to  take  that  that 
no  man  else  will :  Rich  honesty  dwells  like  a  miser, 
sir,  in  a  poor  house;  as  your  pearl,  in  your  foul 
oyster. 

Duke  S.  By  my  faith,  he  is  very  swift  and  sen- 
tentious. 

Touch.  .According  to  the  fool's  bolt,  sir,  and  such 
dulcet  diseases. 

Jag.  But,  for  the  seventh  cause;  how  did  you 
find  the  quarrel  on  the  seventh  cause  ? 

Touch.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed; — Bear 
your  body  more  seeming,  Audrey: — as  thus,  sir, 
1  did  dislike  the  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard; 
he  sent  me  word,  if  I  said  his  heard  was  not  cut  well, 
lie  was  in  the  mind  it  was:  This  is  called  the  Retort 
courteous.  If  1  sent  him  word  again,  it  was  not  well 
cut,  he  would  send  me  word,  he  cut  it  to  please 
himself:  This  is  called  the  Quip  modest.  If  again, 
it  was  not  well  cut,  he  disabled  ray  judgment :  This 
is  call'd  the  Replii  churlish.  If  again,  it  was  not 
well  cut,  he  would  answer,  I  spake  not  true :  This 
is  call'd  the  7ff;»-()0/'i'a/!o;i/.  If  again,  it  was  not 
well  cut,  lie  would  say,  I  lie;  Tliis  is  called  the 
Countercheck  qumrelsnme :  and  so  to  the  Lie  cir- 
cumstantial, and  the  Lie  direct. 

Jag.  .^nd  how  oft  did  you  say,  liis  beard  was  not 
well  cut? 

Touch.  I  durst  go  no  further  than  the  Lir  cir- 
amstantiul,  nor  lie  durst  not  ftive  me  the  Lie  di- 
rect;  and  so  we  measured  swords  and  parted. 

Jaij.  Can  you  nominate  in  order  now  the  de- 
grees of  the  liel 

Touch.  O  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print,  by  the  book ; 
as  you  have  books  for  good  manners:  I  will  name 
you  the  degrees.  The  first,  the  Uetort  courteous; 
the  second,  the  Quip  modest;  the  third,  the  Reply 
churlish:  the  fourth,  the  Reproof  valiant;  the  filth, 
the  countercheck  quarrelsome;  the  sixth,  the  Lie 
with  ciicumslancc;  the  seventh  the  Lie  direct. 
All  these  you  may  avoid  but  the  lie  direct;  and 
you  may  avoid  that  too,  with  an  Jf.  I  knew  wheij 
seven  justices  could  not  take  upa  quarrel :  but  when 
the  )iarties  were  met  themselves,  one  of  them  thought 
but  of  an  If,  as  If  you  saUl  so,  tlien  I  said  so ;  alid 
they  shook  hands,  and  swore  brothers.  Your  If  is 
the  only  peace  maker;  much  virtue  in  If. 

Jaq.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord?  he's  as 
good  at  any  thing,  and  yet  a  fool. 

Itukf  &'.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse, 
and  under  the  presentation  of  that  he  shoots  bis  wit. 
Enter  Hymln,   tending  Rosalixd  in  woman's 
clothes,-  and  Celia. 
Still  Music. 
Hym.     Then  is  there  mirth  in  heaven, 
When  earttily  tilings  made  even 

Atime  together. 
Good  duke,  recieve  thy  daughter, 
Jlymen  from  heuvea  hrought  her, 

Yea,  hrought  her  hither  ,- 
TUatttinu  mights!  join  her  hand  wilh  his 
Whose  heart  within  her  bosom  is, 

Ros.  To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

[To  Duke  S. 
To  you  I  give  myself,  for  I  am  yours. 

[To  Orlando. 
Duke  S.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my 

daughter. 
Orl.  If  there  be  truth  in  sight,  you  are  my  Rosa- 
lind. 
Fhe.  If  sight  and  shape  be  true, 
Why  then, — my  love,  adieu ! 

•  A  stately  solema  danof^ 


Ros.  I'll  have  no  father,  if  you  be  not  he: — 
,.„  .  ,     ,      ,  [To  Duke  S. 

1 11  have  no  husband,  if  you  be  not  he  :— 

[Tu  Orlaxdo. 
Nor  ne'er  wed  woman,  if  you  be  not  she. 

LroPuEEE. 
Hym.  Peace,  ho  !  I  bar  confusion  : 
'Tis  I  must  make  conclusion 
Of  these  most  strange  events: 
Here's  eight  that  must  take  hands, 
To  join  in  H>  men's  bands, 

If  truth  holds  true  contents.' 
You  and  you  no  cross  shall  part: 

[To   (/ULAXUO  UHlJ  ROSALISD. 

You  and  you  are  heart  in  lieart : 

[Tu iihi\£u  and CEI.1X. 
You  [To  Phebe.]  to  his  love  must  accord, 
Or  have  a  woman  to  your  lord  : — 
You  and  you  are  sure  together, 

[To  Touchstone  and  Audrey. 
As  the  winter  to  foul  weather. 
Whiles  a  wedlock-hymn  we  sing. 
Feed  yourselves  witii  questioning  ; 
That  reason  wonder  may  diminish. 
How  thus  we  met,  and  tliese  things  finish. 

SONG. 

Wedding  is  great  Juno^s  crount : 
0  blessed  bond  oj' heard  and  bed/ 

'Tis  Hymen  peop  es  every  town  ,■ 
High  wedlock  then  be  honored  : 
Honor,  high  luinor  and  renown. 
To  Hymen,  god  if  every  town  .' 

Duke  S.  O  my  dear  niece,  welcome  thou  art  to  me; 
Even  daughter,  welcome  in  no  less  degree. 

Phe.  I  will  not  eat  my  word,  now  thou  art  mine ; 
Thy  faith  my  fancy  to  thee  doth  combine. 

[To  SiLVIUS. 

Enter }\a.ms  de  Boib. 

Jaq.  de  B.  Let  me  have  audience  for  a  word,  or 
two ; 
I  am  the  second  son  of  old  Sir  Rowland, 
That  bring  these  tidings  to  this  fair  assembly  :— 
Duke  Frederick,  hearing  how  that  every  day 
i\Ien  of  great  worth  resorted  to  this  forest. 
Address  d  a  mighty  power !  which  were  on  foot. 
In  his  own  conduct,  purposely  to  take 
His  brother  here,  and  put  him  to  the  sword  : 
.\nd  to  the  skirts  of  this  wild  wood  he  came; 
VVIierc,  meeting  with  an  old  religious  man, 
Alter  some  questions  with  him,  was  converted 
Both  from  his  enterprise,  and  from  the  world: 
His  crown  bequeaihing  to  his  banish'd  brother, 
And  all  their  lands  restord  to  them  again 
That  were  with  him  cxU'd :  This  to  be  true, 
I  do  engage  my  life. 

Duke  S.  Welcome,  young  man ; 

Thou  ofler'st  fairly  to  thy  brothers'  wedd.ng: 
To  one,  his  lands  withheld  :  and  to  the  other, 
A  land  itself  at  large,  a  potent  dukedom. 
First,  in  this  forest,  let  us  do  those  ends 
That  here  were  well  begun,  and  well  begot: 
And  aller,  every  of  this  happy  number. 
That  have  endur'd  shrewd  days  and  ninlits  with  us. 
Shall  share  the  good  of  our  returned  fortune, 
According  to  the  measure  of  their  states. 
Meantime,  forget  this  new-falln  dignity. 
And  tall  into  our  rustic  revelry  :^ 
Play,  music; — and  you  hndes  and  bridegrooms  all. 
With  measure  lieap'd  in  joy,  to  the  measures  fall. 

Jug.  Sir,  by  your  patience;  ifl  heard  you  rightlj', 
The  duke  hath  put  on  a  religious  life. 
And  thrown  into  neglect  the  pompous  court? 
Jaq.  de  B.  He  hath. 

Jag.  To  him  will  I;  out  of  these  convertiles 
There  is  much  matter  to  be  heard  and  learn'd. — 
You  to  your  former  honor  I  bequeath ; 

[To  Puke  S. 
Your  patience,  and  your  virtue,  well  deserves  it; — 
You  [To  OiiLAXiio.]'  to  a  love,  that  your  true  faith 

doth  merit : — 
You  [To  Oliver.]  to  your  land,  and  love,  and  great 

allies: — 
You  [To  SiLvics.l  to  a  long  and  well  deserved 

bed ; — 
And  you  [To  Touchstoxe.]  to  wrangling,  for  thy 
loving  voyage 

*  Unless  truth  fail  of  veracity. 


190 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


Act  Y, 


Is  but  lor  two  montiis  victual'd : — So  to  your  plea- 
sures ; 
I  am  for  otiier  than  for  dancing  measures. 
Duke  a.  Stay,  Jaqucs,  stay. 
Jan-  To  see  no  pastime,  I :— what  you  would 
have 


IJl  stay  to  know  at  your  aUaiulon  d  cave.       {Exit* 
Duke  S'.  Proceed,  proceed;  we  will  begin  these 
rites. 
And  we  do  trust  they'll  end  in  true  delights. 

[J  dance. 


EPILOGUE. 


Ros.  It  is  not  the  fashion  to  see  the  lady  the 
epilogue  :  but  it  is  no  more  unhandsome,  than  to 
see  tlie  lord  the  prologue.  If  it  be  true,  that  good, 
wine  needs  no  hush,  'tis  true,  that  a  good  play  needs 
no  epilogue:  Yet  to  good  wine  tliey  do  use  good 
bushes;  and  good  plays  prove  the  better  by  the 
help  of  good  epilogues.  What  a  case  am  I  in  then 
that  am  neither^  good  epilogue,  nor  cannot  insinuate 
with  you  ill  the  behall  of  a  good  play  ?  I  am  not 
furnished'  like  a  beggar,  therefore  to  beg  will  not 
become  me:  my  way  is,  to  conjure  you;  and  I'll 
tegin  with  the  women.    I  cnarge  you,  0  women, 


for  tlie  love  you  bear  to  men,  to  like  as  much  of 
this  play  as  pleases  them :  and  so  I  charge  you,  O 
men,  for  the  love  you  bear  to  women,  (as  I  perceive 
by  your  simpering,  none  of  you  hate  them,)  that 
between  you  and  the  woman,  the  play  may  please. 
If  I  were  a  women,  I  would  kiss  as  many  of  you 
as  had  beards  that  pleased  me,  complexions  that 
liked  me  : «  and  Sreaths  that  I  defied  not ;  and,  I 
am  sure,  as  many  as  have  good  beards,  or  good 
faces,  or  sweet  breaths,  will,  for  my  kind  oiler  when 
I  make  curtsy,  bid  me  forewell.  [Exeunt. 

■  «  That  1  liked. 


ALL'S   WELL    THAT   ENDS   WELL. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


King  of  Fuaxck. 

DrKE  OF   FLnitEN'CE. 

Beutiiam,  Cmnil  <i/RousiIIon. 
Lafev  ,  UK  old  Lard. 
Parollls,  aful/owcr  of  Bertram, 
Several  ijuunif  French  Lords,  thai  serve  with  Ber- 
tram in  the  Florentine  War. 
Steward,  \  ^■j,i.(j,;;s  jq  //,f  Countess  of  RousiUon. 
Clown,      J 


A  Page. 

CousTESs  OF  EorsiLioN-,  Mother  to  Bertram. 
Helena,  a  Gentkii-ooian]irolected by IheCouniesa, 
An  old  IViituw  of  VluniK-e. 
Diana,  Daughter  to  tlic  Widoiv. 
\  10 LENTA, ljyg,v^^(),.j(j„^  Prienih  to  the  Witloic. 
Mariana,  / 

Lords  attending  on  the  Kinjr ;   Officers,  Soldiers, 
d[c.,  French  and  Florentine 


SCENE,— partly  in  France,  and  partly  in  Tuscany. 


ACT  1. 


SCENE  I.— Rousillon.   A  room  in  tte  Countess' 

Palace. 

Enter   Bertram,  tli.e  Countess  of  Rousillon, 

Helena,  and  Lafeu,  in  mourning. 

Countess.  In  delivering  ray  son  from  me,  I  bury 
a  second  iiusband. 

Bcr.  And  I,  in  going,  madam,  weep  o'er  my 
fatlier's death  anew :  but  I  must  attend  liismajesty's 
command,  to  whom  I  am  now  in  ward,*  evermore 
in  suhjectiou, 

if;/.  You  sliall  find  of  the  king  a  husband,  ma- 
dam;— you,  sir,  a  father:  He  tliat  so  generally  is 
at  all  times  good,  must  of  necessity  hold  his  virtue 
to  you ;  whose  worthiness  would  stir  it  up  where 
it  wanted,  rather  than  lack  it  where  there  is  such 
abundance. 

Count.  What  hope  is  there  of  his  majesty's 
tmendmentl 

Laf.  He  hath  abandoned  his  physicians,  madam  ; 
under  whose  practices  he  hath  persecuted  time  with 
hope ;  and  tiiids  no  other  advantage  in  the  process 
but  only  the  losing  of  hope  by  time. 

Count.  This  young  gentlewoman  had  a  father, 
(O,  that  A«/i .'  how  sad  a  passage  'tis!)  whose  skill 
was  almost  as  great  as  his  honesty  ;  had  it  stretched 
•o  far,  would  have  made  nature  immortal,  and 
death  should  have  play  for  lack  of  work.  'Would 
for  the  king's  sake,  he  were  living  I  I  think,  it 
would  be  the  death  of  the  king's  disease. 

Laf.  How  called  you  the  man  you  speak  of, 
madam  1 

Count.  He  was  famous,  sir,  in  his  profession,  and 
it  was  his  great  right  to  be  so:  Gerard  de  Narbon. 

Laf.  He  was  excellent,  indeed,  madam  ;  the  king 
very  lately  spoke  of  him,  admiringly,  and  niourn- 
ingly  ;  he  was  skilful  enough  to  have  lived  still,  if 
knowledge  could  be  set  up  against  mortality. 

Ber.  What  is  it,  my  good  lord,  the  king  lan- 
guishes of? 

Lrf.  A  fistula,  my  lord. 

Ber.  I  heartl  not  of  it  before. 

L^f.  I  would,  it  were  not  notorious. — Was  this 
gentlewoman  the  daughter  of  Gerard  de  Narbon  ? 

Count.  His  sole  chdd,  my  lord;  and  bequeathed 
to  my  overlooking.  I  have  those  hopes  of  her 
good,  that  her  education  promises:  her  dispositions 
slie  inherits,  which  make  fair  gifts  fairer ;  tor  where 
an  unclean  mind  carries  virtuous  qualities,  tliere 
commendations  go  with  pity,  they  are  virtues  and 
traitors  tno ;  in  her  they  are  the  better  for  their 
simpleness:  she  derives  her  honesty,  and  achieves 
her  goodness. 

Laf.  Your  commendations,  madam,  get  from  her 
tears. 

Count.  'Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season 
»  Undor  his  particular  care,  as  my  guardian.  i 


her  praise  in.  Tlie  remembrance  of  her  father  never 
approaches  her  heart,  but  the  tyrarniy  of  her  sor- 
rows takes  all  livehhood  from  her  cheek.  No  more 
of  this,  Helena,  'go  to,  no  more  ;  lest  it  be  rather 
thought  you  atlect  a  sorrow,  than  to  have. 

Hel.  I  do  atlect  a  sorrow  indeed,  but  I  have  it  too. 

Laf.  Moderate  lamentation  is  the  right  of  the 
dead,  excessive  grief  the  enemy  to  the  livmg. 

Count.  If  the  hving  be  enemy  to  the  giief,  the 
excess  makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Ber.  Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 

Laf.  How  understand  we  that  1 

Count.  Be  thou  blest,  Bertram !  and  succeed  thy 
father 
In  manners,  as  in  shape !  thy  blood,  and  virtue, 
Contend  for  empire  in  thee ;  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birth-right!  Love  all,  trust  a  few, 
Do  wrong  to  none:  be  able  for  thine  enemy 
Rather  in  power,  than  use  ;  and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key  :  be  checkd  for  silence, 
Rut  never  tax'd  for  speech.  What  heaven  more  will, 
That  thee  may  furnish,  and  my  prayers  pluck  down, 
Fall  on  thy  head!  Farewell. — My  lord, 
'Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier;  good  my  lord, 
.\dvise  him. 

Lnf.  He  cannot  want  the  best 

That  shall  attend  his  love. 

Count.  Heaven  bless  him  !— Farewell,  Bertram. 
[Exit  Countess, 

Ber.  The  best  wishes  that  can  be  forged  in  your 
thoughts,  [To  Helena.]  be  servants  to  you  !  Be 
comlortalile  to  my  mother,  your  mistress,  and  make 
much  of  her. 

Laf.  Farewell,  pretty  lady :  Y'ou  must  hold  the 
credit  of  your  father. 

\Exeunt  Bertram  and  Lafeu 

Hel.  O,  were  that  all ! — I  think  not  on  my  father; 
.\nd  these  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance  more 
Than  those  I  shed  for  him.    ^Vbat  was  he  like  ? 
I  have  forgot  him:  my  imagination 
Carries  no  favor  in  it,  but  Bertram's, 
I  am  undone ;  there  is  no  living,  none, 
If  Hertram  be  away.    It  were  all  one, 
That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star. 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me: 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere. 
The  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself: 
The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion, 
Must  die  for  love.    'Twas  pretty,  though  a  plague, 
To  see  him  every  hour;  to  sit  and  draw 
His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls, 
In  our  heart's  table;  heart,  too  capable 
( )f  every  line  and  tricks  of  his  sweet  favor :» 
But  now  he's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 
'\Vho  comes  h.ere? 


Must  sanctify  his  relics. 
3  Peculiarity  of  feature. 


191 


3  Countenance. 


192 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  I. 


Enter    Pahollks. 
One  that  goes  with  him  :  I  love  him  for  iiis  sake  *, 
And  yet  I  know  him  a  notorious  har. 
Tliinli  liim  a  si'cat  way  fool,  solely  a  coward ; 
Yet  these  hx'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  hini. 
That  they  lal<e  place,  when  virtue's  steely  bones 
Look  bleatv  in  tlie  cold  wind;  witlral, rulloftvve  see 
Cold  wisdom  waitinj^  on  superfluous  lolly. 

Par.  Save  you,  fair  queen, 

Htl.  And  you,  mondrch. 

Par.  Ko. 

Hel.  And  no. 

Par.  Are  you  meditating  on  virginity? 

Hel.  Ay.  You  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in  you  ; 
let  me  ask  you  a  question :  Man  is  enemy  to  vir- 
ginity ;  how  may  we  barricado  it  against  him  f 

Par.  Keen  liim  out. 

Hel.  But  lie  assails;  and  our  virginity,  though 
valiant  in  the  defence,  yet  is  weak:  unfold  to  us 
some  warlike  resistance. 

Par.  'rii(»c  is  none;  man,  sitting  down  before 
you,  will  undermine  you,  and  blow  you  up. 

Hel.  Bless  our  poor  viiginity  from  underminers. 
and  blowers  up! — Is  there  no  military  policy,  how 
virgins  iniiilit  l>linv  up  men  1 

Par.  Vir:,'inily,  being  blown  down,  man  will 
quicklier  lie  blown  up:  marry,  in  blowing  him 
down  again,  with  the  breach  yourselves  made,  you 
lose  your  city.  It  is  not  politic  in  the  common- 
wealth of  nature,  to  preserve  virginity.  Loss  of. 
virginity  is  rational  increase  ;  and  there  was  never 
virgin  got,  till  virginity  was  first  lost.  That,  you 
were  made  of,  is  metal  to  make  virgins.  Virginity, 
by  being  once  lost,  may  be  ten  times  found:  by 
being  ever  kept,  it  is  ever  lost ;  'tis  too  cold  a  com- 
panii>n;away  with  it. 

Hel.  I  will  sland  fort  a  little, though  therefore 
I  die  a  virgin. 

Par  There's  little  can  be  said  in't;  'tis  against 
the  rule  of  nature.  To  speak  on  the  part  of  vir- 
ginity, is  to  accuse  your  mothers:  which  is  most 
infallible  disobedience.  He  that  hangs  himself  is 
a  virgin  :  virginity  'murders  itself;  and  should  be 
burieB  in  highways,  out  of  ail  sanctified  limit,  as 
a  desperate  offendress  against  nature.  Virginity 
breeds  mites,  much  like  a  cheese ;  consumes  itself 
to  the  very  paring,  and  so  dies  with  feeding  his  own 
stomach.  Besides,  virginity  is  peevish,  proud,  idle, 
made  of  self-love,  which  is  the  most  inhibited «  sin 
in  the  canon.  Keep  it  not :  you  cannot  choose  but 
lose  byt;  Out  with't:  within  ten  years  it  will  make 
itself  ten,  which  is  a  goodly  increase  :  and  the  prin- 
cipal itself  not  much  the  worse  :  Away  with't. 

Hel.  How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her 
own  liking  ? 

Far.  Let  me  see:  Marry,  ill,  to  like  him  that 
ne'er  it  likes.  '  I'is  a  commodity  will  lose  the  gloss 
with  lying;  the  longer  kept,  the  less  worth:  otf 
witii't, "while 'tis  vendible:  answer  the  time  of  re- 
quest. Virginity,  like  an  old  courtier,  wears  her 
cap  cut  ot  fashion;  richly  suited,  but  unsuitable: 
just  like  the  brooch  and  to'othpick,  which  wear  not 
now :  Your  date '  is  better  in  your  pie  and  your 
porridge,  than  in  your  cheek:  And  your  virginity, 
your  old  virginity,  is  like  one  of  our  French  with- 
ered pears;  it  looks  ill,  it  eats  dryly:  marry,  'tis  a 
withered  pear  ;  it  was  formerly  better;  marry,  yet, 
'tis  a  withered  pear;  Will  you  any  thing  with  it? 

Hel.  Not  my  virginity  yet. 
There  shall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves, 
A  mother,  and  a  mistress,  and  a  friend, 
A  phirnix, captain,  and  an  enemy, 
A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 
A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  dear ; 
His  humble  ambition,  proud  humility, 
Hislarriug  concotd,  and  Ins  discord  dulcet, 
His'liiith,  his  sweet  disaster;  with  a  world 
Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptions  Christendoms, 

That  lilinking  lupid  gossips.    Now  shall  he 

I  know  not  what  he  shall ;— God  send  him  well  !— 
The  court's  a  learning  place  ; — and  he  is  one 

Par,  What  one,  iTaitti'l 

net.  That  I  wish  well.— 'Tis  pity 

Far.  What's  pity? 

Htt.  That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in't, 
Which  might  be  felt :  that  we,  the  poorer  born, 
wiiose  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wishes. 
Might  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends, 

4  Forbidden. 

•  A  quibble  on  date,  which  mentis  ngc,  and  candied  fruit. 


And  show  what  we  alone  must  think ;  which  never 
Returns  us  thanks. 

Enter  a  Page. 

Page.  Monsieur  Parolles,  my  lord  calls  for  you, 

[Exit  Page. 

Par.  Little  Helen,  farewell;  If  I  can  remember 
thee,  I  will  think  of  thee  at  court. 

Hel.  Monsieur  Parolles,  you  were  born  under  a 
charitable  star. 

Par.  Under  Mars,  I. 

Het.  I  especially  think  under  Mars. 

Par.  Why  under  Mars  ? 

Het.  The  wars  have  so  kept  you  under,  that  you 
must  needs  be  born  under  Mars. 

Par.  When  he  was  predominant. 

Hel.  When  he  was  retrograde,  I  think,  rather. 

Par.  Why  think  you  so ^ 

Hel.  You  go  so  much  backward,  when  you  fight. 

Par.  That's  for  advantage. 

Het.  So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes  the 
sal'cty;  But  the  composition,  that  your  valor  and 
fear  makes  in  you,  is  a  virtue  of  a  good  wing,  and  I 
like  the  wear  well. 

Par.  I  am  so  full  of  business,  I  cannot  answer 
thee  acutely  ;  1  will  return  perfect  courtier;  in  the 
which,  my  instruction  shall  serve  to  naturalize  thee, 
so  thou  wilt  be  capable  of  a  courtier's  counsel,  and 
understand  what  advice  shall  thrust  upon  thee;  else 
thou  diest  in  thine  unthankfulness,  and  thine  igno- 
rance makes  thee  away;  farewell.  Wlien  thou 
hast  leisure,  say  thy  prayers ;  when  thou  hast  none, 
remember  thy  friends  ;  get  thee  a  good  husband, 
and  use  him  as  he  uses  thee:  so  farewell.    [Exit. 

Het.  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie. 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven  ;  the  fated  sky 
tiives  us  free  scope;  only,  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs,  when  we  ourselves  are  tlull. 
What  power  Is  it,  which  mounts  my  love  so  high, 
That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye] 
Tlie  mightiest  space  in  fortune  nature  brings 
To  joinlike  likes,  and  kiss  like  native  things," 
Impossible  be  strange  attempts,  to  those 
I  hat  weigh  their  pains  in  sense;  and  do  suppose, 
What  hath  been  cannot  be:  Who  ever  strove 
To  show  lier  merit,  that  did  miss  her  love  1 
The  king's  disease — my  project  may  deceive  me, 
But  my  intents  are  fix'd,  and  will  not  leave  me. 

[Exit. 
SCENE    II.— Paris.      A    Room   in   tlie    King's 

Palace. 

Ftourlsh  of  Corneln.    Enter  tlie  Kijtg  of  FniNcn 

with  letters;  Lords  and  ot  lias  attending. 

King.  The  Florentines  and  Senoys '  are  by  the 
ears; 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune,  and  continue 
A  braving  war. 

1  Lord.  So  'tis  reported,  sir. 

Kin^,  Nay,  'tis  most  credible;  we  here  receive  it 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria, 
With  caution,  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 
For  speedy  aid;  wherein  our  dearest  friend 
Prejudicates  the  business,  and  would  seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

1  Lord.  His  love  and  wisdom, 
A  pprov'd  so  to  your  majesty,  may  plead 

For  amplest  credence. 

Kinix.  He  hath  arm'd  our  answer. 

And  Florence  is  denied  before  he  comes: 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen,  that  mean  to  see 
The  Tuscan  service,  freely  have  they  leave 
"To  stand  on  either  part. 

2  Lord.  It  may  well  serve 
A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 

For  breathing  and  exploit. 

King.  What's  he  comes  here  % 

Enter  BKnTiiAM,  Lafeu,  cm!  Pabolles. 

1  Lord.  It  is  the  count  Rousillon,  my  good  lord, 
Young  Bertram. 

King.         A'outh,  thou  hear'sl  thy  fatlier's  free; 
Frank  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste. 
Hath  well  compos'd  thee.  Thy  lather's  moral  parts 
Mayst  thou  inherit  too  !  Welcome  to  Paris. 

Jiir.  My  thanks  and  duty  are  your  inajesly's. 

King.  1  would  I  had  thatcorporiil  soundness  now 
As  when  thy  father,  and  myself  in  friendship 

6  Things  formed  by  nature  for  oiicb  other. 

1  The  eitizens  of  the  smidl  republic  of  which  Sienna  19 
the  capital. 


Scene  I. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  AVELL. 


193 


First  try'd  our  soUitersliip!  He  di»1  look  far 

Into  tl(t'  service  of  the  lime,  and  wns 

Discipled  of  the  bravest;  he  lasted  lon°:; 

But  on  us  both  did  hajrgish  a^e  steal  on, 

And  wore  us  out  of  act.    It  much  repairs  me 

To  talk  of  your  ^nod  father:  In  his  youth 

He  had  the  wit,  wh;ch  I  can  well  observe 

To-day  in  ouryounii;  lords;  but  they  may  jest 

Till  their  own  scorn" return  to  them  unnoted, 

Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honor. 

So  like  a  courtier,  contemiit  nor  bitterness 

Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness;  if  they  were, 

His  equal  had  awak'd  them;  and  his  honor, 

Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when 

Exception  bid  iiiin  speak,  and,  at  this  time, 

Histoni^ue  obey'd  his  hand  :  Who  were  below  him 

He  Used  as  creatures  of  another  place  ; 

And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks, 

Mflkiug  them  proud  of  his  humility. 

In  their  poor  praise  he  humbled  :  Such  a  man 

Might  be  a  copy  to  these  younicer  times  ; 

Which, followd  well, would  demonstrate  them  now 

But  2;ocrs  backward. 

Ber.  His  good  remembrance,  sir, 

Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts,  than  on  his  tomb; 
So  in  approuf*  hves  not  his  epitaph, 
As  in  your  royal  speech. 

King.  'Would,  I    werp   with  him!    He  would 
always  say, 
(Methinks,  I  hear  him  now;  his  plausive  words 
He  scatler'd  not  in  ears,  but  grained  them. 
To  grow  there,  and  to  bear,)— I,p/  me  not  live 
Thus  his  good  melancholy  oft  began. 
On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime. 
When  it  was  out. — let  me  not  live,  quoth  he, 
Af/er  mj/jUiffic  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  snttjf 
Of  younger  spirif.t,  ivfwse  apprehensive  senses  . 
All  but  netv  t/ih/gs  disdain  ,-  whose  judgments  are 
Mere  fathers  of  their  'garments  ;  ivliose  constancies 

Expire  bffiire  ilieir  fashions ; Jhis  he  wishd: 

I,  after  him,  do  after  him  wish  too, 
Since  I  nor  wax,  nor  honey,  can  bring  home, 
I  were  dissolved  from  my  hive, 
To  give  some  laborers  room. 

2  Lord.  Yon  are  lovd,  sir; 

They,  that  least  lend  it  you,  shall  lack  you  first. 
7vi/?^.  I  hi!  a  place.  I  know't. — How  long  is"t, count, 
Since  the  physician  at  your  father's  died! 
He  was  much  fam"d. 

Ber.  Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 

King.  If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet; — 
Lend  me  an  arm  ; — the  rest  have  worn  nie  out 
With  several  applications:  nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.    Welcome,  count ; 
My  son's  no  dearer. 

Ber.  '  Thank  your  majesty. 

[Exeunt,    flourish. 
SCENE  HI.— Rousillon.    A  Room  in  (he  Coun- 
tess's Palace. 

Enter  Countkss,  Steward,  and  Clown. 

Count.  I  will  now  hear:  what  say  you  of  this 
gentlewoman  l 

Stew.  Madam,  the  care  I  Iiave  had  to  even  your 
content,^  1  wish  might  be  Ibunil  in  tlie  calendar  of 
my  past  endeavors;  for  then  we  wound  our  mo- 
desty, and  make  foul  the  clearness  of  our  deserv- 
ings,  when  of  ourselves  we  publish  them. 

Count.  What  does  this  knave  here?  Getyougone, 
sirrah  :  The  comjjiainis,  I  liave  heard  of  you,  I  do 
not  all  believe:  tis  my  slowness,  that  I  do  not: 
for,  I  know  you  lack  not  folly  to  commit  them,  and 
have  ability  enough  to  make  such  knaveries  yours. 

Clo.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  madam,  1  am  a 
poor  fellow. 

Count.  Well,  sir. 

Clo.  No.  madam,  'tis  not  so  well,  that  I  am  poor; 
though  many  of  the  rich  are  damned  :  But,  if  I  may 
have  your  ladyship's  irood  will  to  go  to  the  world,' 
Isbcl  the  woman  and  I  will  do  as  we  may. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  bccgar  f 

Clo.  I  do  beg  your  nond  will  in  this  case. 

Count.  Tn  what  easel 

Clo.  In  IsbeTs  case,  and  mine  own.  Service  is 
no  heritage:  and,  I  think,  I  shall  never  have  the 
blessing  of  God.  till  1  Jia\e  issue  of  my  body;  for, 
Ihey  say,  beams'  are  blessings. 

•  Approbation.  '•■  Tn  art  up  to  your  desires. 

I  To  he  marrkd.  ^  Children. 

13 


Count.  Tell  me  the  reason  why  thou  wdt  marry. 

Cl'i.  My  pnur  body,  madam,  reqiiires  it :  1  am 
driven  on  by  the  Uesh ;  and  he  must  needs  go,  that 
the  devil  drives. 

Count.  Is  this  alt  your  worship's  reason  1 

Clo.  Kaith,  madam,  I  have  wther  holy  reasons, 
such  as  they  are. 

Count.  May  the  (vorld  know  them  f 

Clo.  I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature; 
as  you  and  all  flesh  and  blood  are;  and,  indeed,  I 
do  marry,  that  I  may  repent. 

Count*  Thy  marriage,  sooner  than  thy  wicked- 
ness. 

Clo.  T  am  out  of  friends,  madam;  and  I  hope  to 
have  friends  fnr  my  wife  s  sake. 

Cnint.  Such  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 

Clo.  You  are  shallow,  madam  ;  e'en  great  friends; 
for  the  knaves  come  to  do  that  for  me,  which  I  am 
a-weary  of.  He,  that  ears'  my  land,  spares  my 
team,  and  gives  me  leave  to  inn  the  crop:  If  1  be 
his  cuckold,  he's  my  drudge:  He,  that  comlorts 
my  wile,  is  the  cherisher  of  my  flesh  end  blood; 
he,  that  cherishes  my  flesh  and  blood,  loves  my 
flesh  and  blood ;  he,  that  loves  my  flesh  and  blood, 
is  my  lYieiid:  ergo,*  he  that  kisses  my  wife,  is  my 
friend,  if  man  could  be  contented  to  be  what  they 
are,  there  were  no  fear  in  marriage;  for  young 
Charbon  tlie  puritan,  and  old  Poysam  the  papist, 
howso'ecr  their  hearts  are  several  in  religion,  their 
heads  are  both  one,  they  may  joU  horns  together, 
like  any  deer  i'  the  herd. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  foul-mouthed  and 
cahnnmnus  knave  ? 
Clo.  A  prophet  I,  madam ;  and  1  speak  the  truth 

the  next  way:* 

For  1  tlie  ballad  will  repeat j 

Which  men  full  true  shall  find  ; 
Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny^ 
Ymir  cuckoo  sings  by  kind. 
Count.    Get  you  gone,  sir;  I'll   talk   with  you 
more  anon. 

Stew.  May  it  please  you,  madam.  tJiat  he  bia 
Helen  come  to  you;  of  her  I  am  to  speak. 

Count.    Sirrah,  tell  my  gentlewoman,  I  would 
speak  with  her;  Helen  I  mean. 
Clo.  Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she. 

1  Singing 
ll'hu  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy  '/ 
Fond  done*  donefnnd, 

IVas  this  King  'Priam's Joy  ? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 
M'ith  thai  she  sighed  as  she  stoody 

And  gave  this  sentence  then  ; 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
Anunig  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
There^s  yet  one  good  in  ten. 

Count.  What,  one  good  in  ten  7  you  corrupt  the 
song,  sirrah. 

Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten,  Madam;  which  is 
a  purifying  o' the  song:  'Would  God  serve  the 
world  so  all  the  year]  we'd  find  no  fault  with  the 
tythe-woman,  if  I  were  the  person:  One  in  ten, 
quoth  a' !  an  we  might  have  a  good  woman  born 
but  every  blazing  star,  or  at  an  carthtiuake,  'twould 
mend  the  lottery  well;  a  man  may  draw  his  heart 
out  ere  he  pluck  one. 

Count.  You'll  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I 
command  you  1 

Clo,  That  man  should  be  at  woman  s  command, 
and  yet  no  hurt  done!— Though  honesty  be  no 
puritan.  y<'t  it  will  do  no  hurt;  it  will  wear  the 
surplice  of  Iiumillty  over  the  black  gown  of  a  big 
jieart.— I  am  ^uing,  forsooth :  the  business  is  for 
Helen  to  comehither.  [Exit  Clown. 

Count.  Well,  now. 

Sleu:  I  know,  madam,  you  love  your  gentle- 
woman entirely.  ,     ,  , 

Count.  Indeed.  I  do;  her  father  bequeathed  her 
tome;  and  she  herself,  without  other  advantage, 
may  lawfully  make  title  to  as  much  love  as  she 
finds:  there  "is  more  owing  her,  than  is  paid;  and 
more  sliall  be  paid  her,  than  she'll  demand. 

Slew.  Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  lier 
than,  1  think,  she  wished  me:  alone  she  was,  and 
did  conununicate  to  herself,  her  own  words  to  her 
own  ears;  she  thought,  1  dare  vow  for  her,  they 


3  I'Inughs. 
«  Then-fore. 


B  The  nearest  way. 


e  PooUsLly  done. 


1S4 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  I. 


touched  not  any  stranger  sense.  Her  matter  was. 
she  loved  your  son  :^  Fortune,  she  said,  was  no 
goddess,  that  had  put  such  difference  betwixt  their 
two  estates;  Love,  no  god.  that  would  not  extend 
his  might,  only  where  quahties  were  level :  Diana, 
no  queen  of  virgins,  that  would  suffer  her  poor  knight 
to  bt*  surprised,  without  rescue,  in  the  first  assault, 
or  ransom  afterwards:  Tliis  siie  delivered  in  the 
most  bitter  touch  of  sorrow. that  cer  I  heard  virgin 
exclaim  in  :  which  I  held  my  duty,  speedily  lo 
acquaint  you  withal ;  sithence."'  in  the  loss  that  may 
happen,  it  concerns  you  something  to  know  it. 

Counf.  Vou  have  discharired  this  honestly :  keep 
it  to  yourself:  many  likelihoods  informed  me  of 
this  before,  which  himg  so  tottering  in  the  balance, 
that  I  could  neither  believe,  nor  inisdoubt :  Tray 
you,  leave  me;  stall  this  in  your  bosom,  and  I 
thank  you  for  your  honest  care:  I  will  speak  with 
you  further  anon.  [Exit  Steward. 

Enter  Hklf-xa. 

Counf.  V.ven  so  it  was  with  me,  when  1  was  young; 
If  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours :  tins  thorn 
Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong; 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  is  born; 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 
Wlicre  love's  strong  passion  is  impressed  in  youth: 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone, 
Sucli  were  our  faults: — or  then  we  thought  them 

none. 
Her  ej'e  is  sick  on't ;  I  observe  her  now. 

Hit.  Wliat  is  your  pleasure,  madam  1 

Count.  You  know,  Helen, 

I  am  a  mother  to  you. 

Hel.  Mine  honorable  mistress. 

Count.  Nay  a  mother ; 

Why  not  a  mother  ?  When  I  said,  a  mother, 
Mct'hnu^ht  you  .saw  a  serpent!  What's  in  mother, 
That  you  start  at  it]  I  say,  I  am  your  mother; 
And  put  you  in  the  catalogue  of  those 
That  were  enwomhed  mine:  'Tis  often  seen, 
Adoption  strives  with  nature;  and  choice  breeds 
A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds : 
You  ne'er  oppressd  me  with  a  mother's  groan 
Yet  I  express  to  you  a  mother's  care: 
God's  mercy,  maiden  !  does  it  curd  thy  blood. 
To  say  I  am  thy  mother '!  What's  the  matter, 
Tiiat  this  distemperd  messenger  of  wet, 
Ttie  many  color'd  Ins,  rounds  thine  eye  ] 
Why  ! that  you  are  my  daughter? 

licU  That  I  am  not. 

Count.  I  say,  I  am  your  mother. 

Jlel.  Pardon,  madam; 

The  count  Rousillon  cannot  be  my  brother  : 
I  aui  from  humble,  he  from  honord  name ; 
No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble: 
My  master,  my  dear  lord  lie  is;  and  I 
His  servant  live,  and  will  his  vassal  die  : 
He  must  not  be  my  brotlicr. 

Count.  Nor  I  your  mother? 

llel.  You  are  my  mother,  madam;  'Would  you 
were 
-^So  that  my  lord,  your  son.  were  not  my  brother,} 
Indeed.my  mother!— or  were  you  both  our  motliers, 
I  care  no  more  for,^  than  I  do  for  heaven, 
Ko  1  were  not  his  sister:  Cant  no  other, 
IJut  I,  your  daughter,  he  must  be  my  brother  ? 

Count.  Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter, 
in-law  ; 
God  sliicid,  you  mean  it  not !  daughter,  and  mother 
So  strive"  upon  your  pulse:  What,  pale  again  ? 
My  fear  hath  catcb'd  your  fondness:  Now  1  see 
The  mystery  of  your  loneliness,  and  find 
Y'our  salt  tears'  head.'  Now  to  all  sense  'tis  gross, 
Y'ou  love  my  son  ;  invention  is  asham'd, 
Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion, 
To  say  thou  dost  not:  therefore  tell  me  true; 
But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so;— for,  look,  thy  cheeks 
Confess  it,  one  to  the  other;  and  thine  eyes 
Sec  it  so  grossly  sliown  m  thy  beliaviors, 
That  in  their  kind  they  speak  it;  only  sin 
And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue, 
That  truth  should  be  suspected  :  Speak,  is*tso7 
Hit  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goouly  clue  ; 
If  it  be  not,  forsweart:  howeer,  I  charge  thee, 

1  Since.  "  i.  e.  I  care  as  mucli  for:  I  wish  it  equally. 

•  Contend.  i  The  suurcc,  tUu  cause  of  your  grief. 


As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  .thine  avail, 
To  tell  me  truly. 

Hel.  Good  madam,  pardon  me ! 

Count.  Do  you  love  my  son  ? 

}Iel.  Your  pardon  noble  mistress  ! 

Count.  Love,  you  my  son  ' 

J/t/.  Do  not  you  love  him,  madam  1 

Count.  Go  not  about;  my  love  hath  in't  a  bond, 
Wliercof  the  world  takes  note :  come,  come,  disclose 
The  state  of  your  ani?ction  ;  for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  lull  approach'd. 

Hel.  '     Then  I  confess. 

Bore  on  my  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you, 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  liigh  heaven, 
I  love  your  son  : — 

My  friends  were  poor,  but  honest;  so"s  my  love. 
Be  not  oilended:  for  it  hurts  not  hira, 
That  he  is  lov'd  of  me  :  I  follow  him  not 
By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit; 
Nor  would  I  have  him,  till  I  do  deserve  him  , 
Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 
I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope; 
Yet,  in  this  captious  and  intenible  sieve, 
I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love, 
And  lack  not  to  lose  still :  thus,  Indian-like, 
Heligious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 
The  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper. 
But  knows  of  him  no  more.  My  dearest  madam, 
Let  not  your  hate  encountirr  with  my  love, 
For  loving  where  you  do  :  but.  if  yourself, 
Whose  aged  honor  cites  a  virtuous  youth, 
Did  ever,  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking, 
Wish  chastely,  and  love  dearly,  that  your  Dian 
Was  both  herself  and  love;  O  then,  give  pity 
To  her,  whose  state  is  such  it  cannot  choose 
But  lend  and  give,  where  she  is  sure  to  lose  ; 
That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies. 
But,  riddle-like,  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies. 

Count.  Had  you  not  lately  an  intent,  speak  truly, 
To  go  to  Paris'! 

Hel.  Madam,  I  had. 

C<ntnf.  Wherefore?  tell  true. 

Hel.  I  will  tell  true;  by  grace  itself,  I  swear. 
You  know,  my  father  lelt  me  some  prescriptions 
Of  rare  and  prov'd  eflects,  such  as  his  reading. 
And  manifest  experience,  hod  collected 
For  general  sovereignty  ;  and  that  he  will'd  me 
In  lieedfullcst  reservation  to  bestow  them, 
As  notes,  whose  faculties  inclusive  were 
More  than  they  were  in  note  :^  amongst  the  rest, 
There  is  a  remedy,  approv'd,  set  down, 
To  cure  the  desperate  languishes,  whereof 
The  king  is  render'd  lost. 

Counf.  This  was  your  motive 

For  Paris,  was  it?  speak. 

Hel.  M\   'ord,  your  son,  made  me -to  think  of 
'J. is; 
F>lsc  Paris,  and  the  medicine,  and  the  king, 
Had.  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts, 
Haply,  been  absent  then. 

Counf.  But  think  you,  Helen, 

If  you  should  tender  your  supposed  aid, 
He  would  receive  ill  He  and  his  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind ;  he,  that  they  cannot  lielp  him  : 
They,  that  they  cannot  help :  How  shall  they  credit 
A  poor  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools, 
Kmbowclld  of  their  doctrine,'  have  left  off 
The  danger  to  itself! 

Hel.  There's  something  hints 

More  than  my  father's  skill,  which  was  tiie  greatest 
Of  his  protession,  that  his  good  receipt 
Shall,  lor  my  legacy,  be  sanctified 
By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven :  and,  would  your 

honor 
But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I'd  venture 
The  well-lost  life  of  mine  on  his  grace's  cure, 
By  such  a  day  aiid  hour. 

Count.  Dost  thou  believe  't  ? 

Hel.  Ay.  madam,  knowingly. 

Count.  Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  have  my  leave, 
and  love, 
Means,  and  attendants,  and  my  loving  greetings 
i'o  those  of  mine  in  court;  Fll  stay  afhome, 
And  pray  God's  blessing  into  thy  attempt: 
Be  gone  to-morrow  ;  and  be  sure  of  this, 
What  1  can  help  thee  lo,  thou  shalt  not  miss. 

I  Exeunt* 
«  Appearance.  «  Exhaust':-.!  of  their  ekiU. 


Act  II. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  EXDS  WELL. 


195 


ACT  II, 


SCEME  I.— Paris,  A  room  in   ike  Kind's  Palace. 

Fii/'irUk.  EnferKisa,iri/k  young  LctAs  laki-if( 
leave  for/he  Florentine  warf  Bertham,  Paiiol- 
LKS,  and  Attendants. 

King.  Farewell,  younj  lord,  these  warlike  prin- 
ciples 

Do  not  throw  from  you : — and  you,  my  lord,  fare- 
well :— 

Share  the  ndviee  betwixt  you  ;  if  both  sain  all, 

The  iiift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  receiv'd. 

And  IS  ennu^^h  for  both. 

1  Lorit.  It  is  our  hope,  sir, 
After  well-enterd  soldiers,  to  return 

And  find  your  grace  in  health. 

King.  No,  no.  it  cannot  be ;  and  yet  my  heart 
Will  not  confers  he  owes  the  malady 
That  doth  my  life  hesieice.    Farewell,  young  lords; 
Whether  I  live  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenchmen  :  let  higher  Italy 
(Those  bated,  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy  «)  see,  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honor,  but  to  wed  it ;  when 
The  bravest  questant  >  sbrinks.  find  what  you  seek. 
That  fame  mav  cry  you  loud  :  I  say.  farewell. 

2  Lorl.    Health,  at  your   bidding,  serve  your 

majesty ! 
King.  Those  girls  of  Italy,  take  heed  of  them; 
They  say.  our  French  lack  language  to  deny, 
If  they  demand:  I)eware  of  being  captives, 
Before  you  serve.* 
Bo/k.  Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 

King.  Farewell. — Come  hither  to  me. 

I  7'Af  K I  KG  retires  In  a  con  eh. 

1  Lnril.  O  my  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay  be- 

hind us! 
Par.  'Tis  not  his  fault;  the  spark 

2  Lorih  O.  "tis  brave  wars. 
Par.  Most  admirable :  I  have  seen  those  wars. 
Ber.  i  am  commanded   here,  and  kept  a  coil ' 

with 

Too  young,  and  the  next  year,  and  'tis  loo  early. 
Par.  An  thy  mind  staiid  to  it,  boy,  steal  away 

braveU'. 
Ber.  I  shall  stay  here  the  firehorse  to  a  smock. 
Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry. 
Till  honor  be  bought  up,  and  no  sword  worn. 
But  one  to  dance  with  ;  lly  heaven.  FlI  steal  away. 

1  Lord.  There's  honor  in  the  theft. 

Par.  Commit  it,  count. 

2  Lord.  I  am  your  accessary ;  and  so  farewell. 
Ber.  I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  Is  a  tortured 

body. 

1  Lord.  Farewell,  captain, 

2  Lord.  Sweet  monsieur  Parolles! 

Par.  Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  arc  kin. 
Good  sparks  and  lustrous,  a  word,  ^ood  metals: — 
You  shall  find  in  the  regiment  of  the  Spinii,  one 
captain  Spurio.  with  his  cicatrice,  an  emblem  of  war 
here  on  his  sinister  cheek  ;  it  was  this  very  sword 
entrenchd  it :  say  to  him,  I  live  ;  and  observe  his 
reports  for  me. 

2  Lord.  We  shall,  noble  captain. 

Par.  Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices!  {Exeunt 
Lords.)    What  will  you  do? 

B:r.    Stay:   the  king [Seeing  him  rUe. 

Par.  Use  a  more  spacious  ceremony  to  the  noble 
lords;  you  have  restrained  yourself  within  the  list 
of  too  cold  an  adieu;  be  more  expressive  to  them; 
for  they  wear  themselves  in  the  cap  of  the  time  :  • 
there,  do  muster  true  gait,>  eat,  speak,  and  move, 
under  the  intluence  of  the  most  received  star;  and 
though  the  devil  led  the  measure,'  such  are  to  be 
followed:  after  them,  and  take  a  more  dilated  fare- 
well. 

Ber.  And  I  will  do  so. 

Par.  Worthy  fellows;  and  like  to  prove  most 
sinewy  sword-men. 

[Exeunt  BEttTnAM  and  Paholles. 
«  I.  e.  The  Koman  empire.  '  Seeker,  enquirer. 

9  Be  not  captives  Iwfore  you  are  soldiers.      ^  In  a  bustle. 

•  They  are  the  foremost  in  the  fii-shion. 

•  Have  the  true  and  military  step.  1  The  dance. 


Enter  Lafef. 

Laf.    Pardon,  my  lord,  [Kneeling.]  for  me  and 
for  my  tidings. 

King.  I'll  fee  thee  to  stand  up. 

Lrff.  Then  here's  a  man 

Stands,  that  has  brought  his  pardon.    I  would,  you 
Had  kneel'd.  my  lord,  to  ask  me  mercy  ;  and 
That,  at  my  bidding,  you  could  so  stand  up. 

King.  1  would  I  had;  sol  had  broke  thy  pate 
.\nd  ask'd  thee  mercy  for't. 

7,7/'.  Goodf.iith,  across :« 

But, "my  good  lord,  'tis  thus ;  Will  you  be  cur'd 
Of  your  infirmity  ? 

King.  No. 

Ldf.  n.  will  you  eat 

No  g'rapes,  my  royal  fox !  yes,  but  you  will, 
My  noble  grapes,  an  if  my  royal  fox 
Could  reach  them  :  I  have  seen  a  medicine, 
That's  able  to  breathe  life  into  a  stone: 
Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  you  dance  canary,' 
With  sprightly  fire  and  motion  :  whose  simple  touch 
Is  powerful  to  araise  king  Pepin,  nay. 
To  give  great  Charlemain  a  pen  in  his  hand, 
And  write  to  her  a  love-hne. 

King.  What  her  is  this  7 

i,(//.  Why,  doctor  she:  My  lord,  there's  one  ar- 
riv'd. 
If  you  will  see  her, — now,  by  my  faith  and  honor, 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thoughts 
In  this  my  light  deliverdnce,  I  have  spoke 
With  one,  that  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession. 
Wisdom,  and  constancy,  hath  amaz'd  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness :  W^ill  you  see  her, 
(For  that  is  her  demand.)  and  know  her  business'! 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  me. 

King.  Now,  good  Lafeu, 

Bring  in  the  admiration;  that  wo  with  thee 
May  spend  our  wonder  too,  or  take  olT  thme, 
By  wiiiidcring  how  thou  look'st  it. 

Lif.  Nay  1,11  fit  you, 

And" not  he  all  day  neither.  ["Exit  Lafeu 

King.  Thus  he  his  special  nothmg  ever  pro- 
logues. 
Re-enter  Lafec  with  Helesa. 

Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways. 

Kin-s.  This  haste  hath  wings  indeed, 

Laf.    Nav.  come  your  ways; 
This  is  his  maiesty,  say  your  mind  to  him  : 
.\  traitor  you  do  look  like  :  but  such  traitors 
His  majesty  seldom  fears  :  I  am   Cressid's  nncle,' 
That  dare  leave  two  together;  fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

King.  Now,  fair  one,  does  your  business  follow  us! 

He'.  Ay,  my  good  lord.     Gerard  de  Narbon  was 
My  father  ;  in  what  he  did  profess,  well  found. < 

King.  I  knew  him. 

Hel.  The  rather  will  I  spare  my  praises  towards 
him  ; 
Knowing  him,  is  enough.    On  his  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  irave  ine ;  chictiy  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practice. 
And  of  his  old  experience  the  only  darling, 
He  bade  me  store  up.  as  a  triple  eye,' 
Safer  than  mine  own  two.  more  dear;  I  have  so  : 
And  hearing  vour  high  majesty  is  touch'd 
With  that  malisrnant  cau.se  wherein  the  honor 
Of  my  dear  father's  gill  stands  chief  in  power, 
I  come  to  tender  it,  and  my  appliance, 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 

King.  We  thank  you,  maiden , 

But  may  not  be  so  credulous  of  cure, — 
When  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us;  and 
The  couiregaled  college  have  concluded 
That  laboring  art  can  never  ransom  nature 
From  her  inaidable  estate.— I  say  we  must  not 
So  slain  our  judgment,  or  corrupt  our  hope. 
To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 
To  empirics  ;  or  to  dissever  so 
Cur  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 

t  Unskilfully;  a  phrase  taken  from  the  exercise  at  a 
quintain. 

*  .\  kind  of  dance.  *  T  am  like  Pandarus- 

6  Well  informed.  •  A  third  eye. 


196 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  IL 


A  sonsclcss  help,  wiieii  help  past  sense  we  deem, 

liel.   My  duty  then  shall  pay  me  ibr  my  pains  : 
1  will  no  more  eiiforee  mine  oUice  on  you  ; 
Humbly  entreatinf;  from  your  royal  thoughts 
A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  a^^ain. 

Kiii^- 1  cannot  give  tlice  less,  to  be  call'd  grateful : 
Thou  thought'st^'lo  help  me  ;  and  such  thanks  1 

give, 
J^  one'near  death  to  those  thai  wish  him  live : 
But  what  at  full  1  know,  thou  knowst  no  part ; 
1  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art. 

He,'.  What  I  can  do,  can  do  no  hurl  to  try, 
Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy  ; 
He  that  of  greatest  works  is  tinislier. 
Oft  does  Ihem  by  the  we;ikest  minister: 
So  lioly  writ  in  babes  hatli  judgment  shown, 
W'iien  judges  have  been  babes.    Great  Hoods  have 

Ilown 
From  simyjle  sources;  and  great  seas  have  dried. 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. 
Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there 
Where  most  it  promises;  and  oft  it  hits, 
Where  hope  is  coldest,  and  despair  most  sits. 

King.  1  must  not  hear  thee  ;  fare  Uiee  well,  kind 
maid  ; 
Tliy  pains  not  used,  must  by  thyself  be  paid  : 
Prorters,  n'ot  look,  reap  thanks  lor  their  reward, 

Hel.  Inspired  merit  so  by  breath  is  barr'd  : 
It  is  not  so  with  him  that  all  things  knows, 
As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows  : 
But,  most  It  IS  prcsuiiiplion  in  us,  when 
The  help  of  heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men. 
Bear  sir,  to  my  endeavors  give  const-iit ; 
Of  heaven,  not  me,  make  an  experiment. 
I  am  not  an  imposter,  that  proclaim 
iMyself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim  ; 
But  know,  I  think,  and  think  1  know  most  sure, 
Myart  is  not  past  power,  nor  you  past  cure. 

King.   Art  thou  so  confident!    V\  itliin  what  space 
Hopst  thou  my  cure  1 

He'.  'ihe  greatest  grace  lending  grace, 

Kre  twice  the  horses  oi  the  sun  &hall  bring 
Their  liery  torcher  his  diurnal  ring  ; 
Kre  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
INIoist  Hesperus  hath  quenclied  his  skepy  lamp  ; 
Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilots  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass; 
What  IS  inlirm  from  the  sound  part  shall  ily, 
Health  shall  live  free,  and  sickness  freely  die. 

King.  Upon  thy  certainty  and  conhdence. 
What  dar  St  thou  venture? 

Hel.  Tax  of  impudence, — 

A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame, — 
Traduced  by  odious  ballads:  my  maiden's  name 
Seard  otherwise;  ne  worse  of  worst  extended, 
'  With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended. 

King.  iMethinks,  in  thee  some  blessed  spirit  doth 
sj^eak ; 
His  powerful  sound,  within  an  organ  weak : 
And  what  impossibility  would  slay 
In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
Thy  hfe  is  dear ;  for  all,  that  life  can  rate 
Worth  name  of  hfe,  in  thee  hath  estimate; 
Yuuth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  virtue,  all 
7'liat  liappmcss  and  prune  can  happy  call: 
Thou  this  to  hazard,  needs  must  intimate 
Skill  infinite,  or  monstrous  desperate. 
Sweet  practiser,  thy  physic  I  will  try: 
That  ministers  thine  own  death,  if  1  die. 

Hel.  If  I  break  time,  or  Ihnch  in  property 
Of  what  I  f:>poke,  unpitied  let  me  die  ; 
And  well  deservd  :  Not  Iielping,  rieatli's  my  fee ; 
But  if  1  help,  what  do  you  promise  mel 

King.  Make  thy  demand. 

Hel.  But  will  you  make  it  even  ? 

King.  Ay,by  mysceptre,and  my  hopes  of  heaven. 

Hel.  Then  shalt  thou  give  me,  with  thy  kingly 
hand. 
What  husl)and  in  thy  power  I  will  command  ; 
Kxempted  be  from  me  the  arrogance 
To  choose  from  forth  the  royal  olood  of  France ; 
My  k)w  and  humble  name  to  propagate 
With  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state  ; 
But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal, 'whom  I  Icnow 
Is  free  for  me  to  ask,  thee  to  bestow 

King.  Uvre  is  my  hand;  the  premises  obscrv'd. 
Thy  will  Ity  my  performance  shall  be  servd; 
So  make  the  choice  of  tlhne  own  time;  for  1, 
Thy  resolv'd  patient,  on  thee  still  rely, 
More  should  1  question  thee,  and  mure  I  must: 


Though,  more  to  know,  could  not  be  more  to  trust; 
From  w  hence  ihou  cam  si  liovv  tended  on, — Butrest 
Unquesliond welcome. and  undoubted  hlcst. — 
tjive  me  some  help  here,  Im  ! —  If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  tiiy  deed, 

[Flourish.  Exeunt* 

SCENE    II.— Kousillon.    A   Rucm   in  ihe   Coun- 
tess' Palace. 

£/7/er  Countess  and  Clown. 

Count.  Come  on.  sir;  T  shaU  now  put  you  to 
the  highest  of  your  breeding. 

Clii.  I  will  show  myself  highly  fed  and  lowly 
taught ;  I  know  my  business  is  but  to  the  court. 

Count.  To  the  court !  why.  what  place  make  yon 
special,  wlicn  you  put  oil  that  with  such  contempt'! 
But  to  tlie  court  I 

CUh  Truly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man 
any  manners,  he  may  easly  put  it  otTat  court;  lie 
that  cannot  make  a  leg,  put  otFs cap, kiss  his  hand, 
and  say  no'thing,  has  neither  leg.  hands,  lip,  nor 
cap;  and.  indeed,  such  a  fellow,  to  say  precisely, 
were  not  for  the  court:  but,  for  me,  I  have  an  an- 
swer will  serve  all  men. 

Count.  Marry,  that's  a  bountiful  answer,  that 
fits  all  questions. 

Clo.  It  is  like  a  barber's  chair,  that  fits  all  but- 
tocks; the  pin-buttock,  the  quatch-bultock,  the 
brawn-buttock,  or  any  buttock. 

Ciiitnf.  Will  youraiiswerservefittoallqnrstions? 

C/i).  As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an 
atti>rnoy,  as  your  French  crown  for  your  tafifata 
punk,  as  Tid's  rush  for  Tom's  fore-finger,  as  a  pan- 
cake for  Shrove-Tuesday,  a  morris  for  May-day,  as 
the  nail  to  his  hole,  the  cuckold  to  his  hnrn,  as  a 
scolding  queen  to  a  wrangling  knave,  as  tlie  nun's 
lip  to  the  friar's  moutii ;  nay,  as  the  pudding  to 
his  skin. 

Count.  Have  you.  I  say,  an  answer  of  such  fit- 
ness for  all  questions] 

do.  From  below  your  duke,  to  beneath  your  con- 
stable, it  will  fit  any  question. 

Count.  It  must  be  an  answer  of  most  monstrous 
size,  that  must  fit  all  demands. 

do.  But  a  triple  neitiier,  in  good  faith,  if  the 
learned  sliould  speak  truth  of  it;  and  here  it  is, 
all  that  belongs  to't  :  Ask  me,  if  1  am  a  courtier, 
it  shall  do  you  no  harm  to  learn. 

Count.  To  be  young  again,  if  we  could:  I  will 
he  a  fool  in  question,  hoping  to  he  the  wiser  by 
your  answer.  I  pray  yow  sir  are  you  a  couiticr  1 

Clo.  <)  Lord,  sir.—' There's  a  simple  putting 
oil; — more,  more,  a  hundred  of  them. 

Cinnii.  Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours  that 
loves  you. 

Clo.  O   Lord,  sir.  —Thick,  thick,  spare  not  me. 

Count.  I  think  sir,  >ou  can  eat  none  of  this 
homely  meat, 

CU\  O  Lord,  sir,— Nay.  put  me  to't,  I  warrant  you. 

Count.  You  were  lately  whipped,  sir,  as  1  think. 

Clo/0  Lord,  sir, — Spare  not  me. 

Coun/.  Do  you  cry.  o  Lord,  sir,  at  your  whip- 
phig,  and  spare  iiot  mc?  Indeed,  your  O  Lord,  iir, 
is  very  sequent  to  your  whipping;  )i)U  would  an- 
swer very  well  to  a  whipping,  if  you  were  but 
bound  (ot. 

CUi.  I  ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life,  in  my — 
O  Lord,  sir:  I  see,  things  may  serve  long,  but  not 
serve  ever. 

Count.  I  play  the  noble  housew^ife  with  the  time 
to  entertain  it  so  merrily  with  a  fool. 

Clo.  0  Lord,sir,—\\  by.  tliere't  serves  wtII  again. 

Count.  An  end,  sir,  to  your  business:  Give  Helen 
this, 
And  urge  her  to  a  prr.sent  answer  back: 
Commend  me  to  my  kinsmen,  and  my  son  ; 
This  is  not  much. 

Clo.  Not  much  commendation  to  them. 

Count.  Not  juuch  employment  for  you:  You 
understand  me  1 

Clo.  Most  iruitfully  ;  1  am   tlieve  before  my  logs. 

Count.  Haste  you  again.        [Exeunt  severally 

SCENE  III.— Paris,    A  Room  in  tfie  king's  Palace 

Enttr  Beutuam,  Lafku,  a?id  Pauolle3. 

L'if.  They  say,  miracles  are  past ;  and  we  havo 
our  philosophical  persons  to  make  modern'  and 
8  OrJiuary. 


Scene  III. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  END'S  WELL. 


197 


familiar  thinsjs  superiialural  and  causeless.  Hence 
is  it,  that  we  maKe  trilles  of  terrors;  ensconcing 
ourselves  into  sceniin!?  knowledge  when  we  should 
suhuiit  ourselves  to  an  unknown  fear. 

Pur.  Why, 'tis  the  rarest  arj;innent  of  wonder, 
that  hatli  shot  out  in  our  latter  tunes. 

Ber.  And  so  'tis. 

Lof.  To  be  relinquished  of  the  artists, 

Par.  So  I  say;  hoth  of  Galen  and  t'aracelsus. 

Lnf.  Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  fellows, — 

Pur.  Kii;ht,  so  I  say. 

Laf.  That  ga\  e  him  out  incurable, — 

Par.  Why.lhere  'tis;  so  say  1  too. 

Lfif.  Not  to  be  helped, — 

Pur.  Rislit :  as  'twere  a  man  assured  of  an — 

Ltif.  Uncertain  life,  anil  sure  death. 

Par.  Just,  you  say  well  :  so  would  1  have  said. 

Lf.^\  1  may  truly  say,  it  is  a  novelty  to  the  world. 

Purr  It  is,  indeed:  if  you  will  have  it  in  showing, 
you  shall  read  it  in What  do  you  call  there  ? — 

Lnf.  .\  showing  of  a  heavenly  ellect  in  an  earthly 
actor. 

Pur.  That's  it  I  would  have  said;  the  very  same. 

if//.  Why,  your  dolphin"  is  not  lustier :  'fore  me, 
I  speak  in  respect 

Par.  Nay,  'tis  stran£;e,  'tis  very  strange,  that  is 
the  brief  and  the  tedious  of  it ;  and  he  is  of  a  most 
facinorousi  spirit,  that  will  not  acknowledge  it  to  be 
tlie 

Laf.  Very  hand  of  heaven. 

Par.  Ay,  so  1  say. 

Laf.  In  a  most  weak 

Par.  And  debile  minister,  great  power,  preat 
transcendence:  which  should,'  indeed,  give  us  a 
further  use  to  be  made,  than  alone  the  recovery  of 
the  king  as  to  be — — 

Laf.  (iencrally  thankful. 

Enter  KiXG,  Hr.j,r.yx, and  Attendants. 

Par.  I  would  have  said  it;  you  say  well.  Here 
comes  the  king. 

Laf.  Lustick.'j  as  the  Dutchman  says:  I'll  like  a 
maid  the  better,  whilst  t  have  a  tooth  in  my  head: 
Why,  he's  able  to  lead  her  a  coranto. 

Piir.  Mart  ilu  Vinaigre!     Is  not  this  Helen? 

Laf.  'Fore  God,  1  think  so. 

King.  Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court. — 
[Exit  an  Attendant. 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side ; 
And  with  this  healthful  hand,  whose  banish'd  sense 
Thou  hast  repeal'd,  a  second  time  receive 
Tlic  confirmation  of  my  promis'd  gift, 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

Enter  several  Lords. 

Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye  :  this  youthful  parcel 

Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing, 

fi'er  whom  both  sovereign  power  and  fatlier's  voice 

1  have  to  use :  thy  frank  ele.-tion  make  ; 

Thou  hast  power  to  choose.and  they  none  to  forsake. 

Hd.  To  each  of  you  one  fair  and  virtuous  mistress 
Fall,  when  love  please  !— marry,  lo  each,    but  one '. 

Lnf.  I'd  give  bay  Curtal»  and  his  furniture, 
My  inoutirno  more    were  broken  than  these  boys', 
Ai'nl  writ  as  little  beard. 

King.  Peruse  them,  well : 

Not  one  of  those  but  had  a  noble  father. 

Hel.  Gentlemen, 
Heaven  hath  through  me  restor'ii  the  king  to  health. 

AU'  We  understand  it  and  thank  heaven  for  you. 

Hel.  1  am  a  simple  maid  ;  and  therein  wealthiest. 

That,  I  protest,  1  simply  am  a  maid  : 

please  it  your  majesty,  1  have  done  already  : 
The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  whisper  me, 
We  i)hihk.  I  Ixat  t  liaa  shoiildi't  ctiausr  \  but  he  refused, 
Let  tlie  vtiile  death  sit  on  tfiij  cheekfur  ever; 
IVe'll  ne^erconte  iticre  again. 

king.  Make  choice ;  and  see, 

Who  shuns  thy  love,  shuns  all  his  love  in  me. 

He'.  Now,  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  lly  : 
And  toimperial  Love,  that  god  most  high, 
Oo  my  signs  stream. — Sir,  will  you    hear  my  suit  ! 

1   Lord.  ,^nd  grant  it. 

Hel.  Thanks  sir  ;  all  the  rest  is  mute. 

Laf.  I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice,  than  throw 
ames-ace«  for  my  life. 

«  Thn  Paupliin.  i  ■Wicked. 

«  I.ustish  is  the  Batch  word  fnr  Uisty.  cheerful. 

8  A  docked  horse.  *  The  lotwebt  chance  of  the  dice. 


Hel.  The  honor  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair  eyes, 
Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  replies  : 
Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 
Her  that  so  wishes,  and  her  humble  lovel 

2  Lord.  No  better,  if  you  please. 

]{rt.  My  wish  receive, 

Which  great  love  grant !  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

L  :f  Do  all  they  deny  her  1  an  tliey  were  sons 
of  mine.  Id  have  them  whipped ;  or  I  would  send 
Ihem  to  the  Turk,  to  make  eunuchs  of. 

HjI.  Be  not  afraid  [To  a  Lord.)  that  I  your  hand 
should  take  ; 
III  never  do  you  wrong  for  your  own  sake: 
I'lessing  upoii  your  vows  !  and  in  your  bed, 
Find  fairer  fortune,  if  you  ever  we'd  ! 

Laf.  These  hoy's  arc  boys  of  ice,  they'll  none 
have' her  :  sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  Enghsh  ; 
the  French  ne'er  got  them. 

Hel.  You  are  too  young,  too  happy,  and  loo  good, 
To  make  yourself  a  son  out  of  my  blood. 

4  Lard.  Fair  one,  I  think  not  so. 

Lif.  There's  one  erape  yet. — I  am  sure,  thy 
father  drank  wine. — But  if  thou  he'st  not  an  ass.  I 
am  a  youlh  of  foutteen  ;  Ihavo  known  thee  already. 

Hel.  I  dare  not  say,  I  take  you  ;  [To  Beutham.! 
but  I  give 
Mo.  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live. 
Into  your  guiding  power, — This  is  the  man. 

King.  Why  then,  young  Bertram  take  her,  she's 
thy  wife. 

Ber.  My  wife,  my   liege?    I   shall  beseech   your 
highness. 
In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use 
The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 

A'l"^.  Know 'si  thou  not,  Bertram, 

What  she  has  done  for  me'! 

Ber.  Yes,  my  good  lord ; 

But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry  her. 

King.  Thou  know'st  she  has  raised  me  from  my 
sickly  bed. 

Ber.  But  follows  it,  my  lord,  to  bring  me   down 
Must  answer  for  your   raising?  I   know  her  well ; 
She  had  her  breeding  at  my  lather's  charge: 
A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife  ! — Disdain 
Kaiher  corrupt  me  ever ! 

King.  'Tis  only  titlei  thou  disdain' st  in  her,  the 
which 
I   can   build   up.    Strange  is    it   that  our  bloods, 
(If  color,  weight,  and    he.at,   pour'd  all  together. 
Would  quite   confound   distinction,  yet  stand  oir 
In  dilferences  so  mighty  :  If  she  be 
.\ll   that   is   virtuous,   (save   what   thou  dislik'st, 
A  poor  physician's  daughter.)  thou  dishk'st, 
t;f  virtue  foe  the  name:  but  do  not  so: 
From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed, 
The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed  : 
Where  great  additions*  swell,  and  virtue  none, 
It  is  a  driipsied  honor:  good  alone 
Is  good;  without  a  name,   vileness  is  so: 
The  property  by  wliat  it  is  should  go. 
Not  by  the  title.  She  is  young,  wise,  fair; 
In  these  to  nature  she's  immediate  heir  ; 
.And  these  breed  honor:  that  is  honor's  scom^ 
Which  cliallengcs  iLself  as  honor's  born. 
And  is  not  like  the  sire:  Honors  best  thrive. 
When  ri.ther  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 
Than  our  fore-goers:  the  mere  word's  a  slave, 
Debauch'd  on  every  tomb;  on  every  grave, 
\  lying  trophy,  and  as  oft  is  dumb. 
Where  dust,  and  damned  oblivion  is  the  tomb 
( If  honor'd  bones  indeed.  What  should  be  said  ? 
If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 
1  can  create  the  rest  :  virtue,  and  she. 
Is  her  own  dower ;  honor  and  wealth  from   me. 
Brr.  I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  lo  do't. 

King.  Thou   wrong'st  thyself,  if  thou  should'st 
strive  to  choose 

Hel.  That  you  are  well   restor'd,  my  lord,  I'm 
glad  ; 
Let  the  rest  go. 

King.  My  honor's  at  the  slake;  which  to  defeat, 
1  must  produce  my  power:  Here,  take  her  hand. 
Proud,  scornful  boy,  unworthy  this  good  gift; 
That  dost  in  vile  riiisprision  shackle  up 
My  love  and  her  desert ;  that  cans't  not  dream. 
We,  poising  us  in  her  defective   scale, 
Shall  weiiih  thee  to  the  beam  :  that  wilt  not  know 
It  IS  in  us  to  plant  thine  honor,  where 

11.  c.  The  Kaut  of  title.  «  Titles. 


198 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  II. 


We  please  to  have  it  grow :    Check  thy   contempt; 

Obey  oar  will,  wliieh  travails  in  thy  ^ood : 

Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 

Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right 

Which  both  tliy  duty  owes,  and  our  power  claims  ; 

Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever. 

Into  the  staggers,  and  the  careless  lapse 

Of  youth  and  ignorance  ;  both  my  revenge  and  bate, 

Loosing  upon  thee  in  the  name  iif  justice, 

Wdliout  all  terms  of  pity:  .Speak  ;  thine  answer. 

Ber.  I'ardon,  my  gracious  lord^  for  1  submit 
?.ly  f.uicy  to  your  eyes:  When  I  consider. 
What  great  creation,  and  what  dole  of  honor. 
Lies  where   you  bid  it,  I  find,  that  she,  which  late 
Was  iu  my  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  king  ;  who,  so  euiioblcd, 
Is,  as  'twere,  born  so. 

King.  Take  her  by  the  hand. 

And  tell  her,  she  is  thine  :  to  whom  I  promise 
A  counterpoise;  if  not  to  thy  estate, 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Bet:  I  take  her  hand. 

King.  Good   fortune,  and  the  favor  of  the  king. 
Smile   upon  this  contract ;  whose  ceremony 
Shall   seem  expedient  on  the  now-born  brief. 
And  be  performed  to-ni/^ht :  the  solemn  feast 
Shall  more  attend  ujiou  the  coining  space, 
Expecting  absent  friends.    As   thou  lov'st  her, 
Tby  love's  to  me  religious  ;  else,  does  err. 

[Exeunt  Kinc,  Beutka.m,   Helexa,  Lords, 
and  Al/enilunt.t. 

Laf.  Bo   you  hear,  monsieur  ?  a  word  with  you. 

Pur.  Your  pleasure,  sir  1 

Luf.  Your  lord  and  master  did  well  to  make  liis 
recantation. 

Pur.  Recantation  ? — my  lord  ? — my  master  1 

Luf.  Ay  ;  Is  it  not  a  language,  I  speak  ] 

Pur.  A  most  harsh  one  ;  and  not  to  be  understood 
Without  bloody  succeeding.  My  master  ' 

Jjij.  .\re  you  companion  to  the  count  Rousillon? 

Par.  Toanycount:  toall  counts;  to  what  is  man. 

Luf.  To  what  IS  count's  man;  count's  master  is 
Of  another  style. 

Par.  You  are  two  old,  sir;  let  it  satisfy  you,  you 
(Ire  too  old. 

Luf.  1  must  teil  thee,  sirrali,  I  write  man ;  to 
which  title  age  cannot  bring  thee. 

Pur.  \Vhat  I  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do. 

Luf.  I  did  think  thee  for  two  ordinaries.'^  to  be 
4  pretty  wise  fellow  ;  thou  didst  make  tolerable  vent 
ofthytravel:  it  inightp.iss:  yet  the  scans,  and  the 
bannerets,  about  thee,  did  manifoldly  dissuade  me 
from  believing  thee  a  vessel  of  too  great  a  burden. 
I  have  now  found  thee:  when  I  lose  thee  again,  1 
care  not :  yet  art  tliou  good  for  nothing  but  taking 
up;  and  that  tliou  art  scarce  worth. 

Pur.  iladst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity 
upon  thee, 

Laf.  Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger,  lest 
thou  hasten  thy  trial ;  which  it— Lord  have  mercy 
on  thee  for  a  hen !  So  my  good  window  of  lattice, 
fare  thee  well  :  tliy  casement  I  need  not  open,  for 
1  look  through  thee.    Give  me  thy  hand. 

Pur.  My  ford,  you  give  me  most  egregious  in- 
dignity. 

Liif.  Ay,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  thou  artworthj' 
ofit. 

Par.  T  have  not,  my  lord,  deserved  it. 

[jiif.  Yes,  good  faith,  every  dram  of  it;  and  I 
will  not  bate  thee  a  scruple. 

Pur.  Well,  I  shall  be  wiser. 

Luf.  E'en  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  to 
pull  at  a  smack  o'  the  contrary.  If  ever  thou  be'st 
bound  in  thy  scarf,  and  beaten,  thou  shalt  find  what 
it  is  to  be  proud  of  thy  bomlage.  1  have  a  desire  to 
hold  my  acquaintance  with  thee,  or  rather  my 
knowledge;  that  I  may  say,  in  the  default,"  'le  is  a 
man  I  know. 

Pur.  My  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable 
vexation. 

Lui'.  I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake,  and 
my  poor  doing  eternal:  fordoing  1  am  past;  as  I 
will  by  thee,  in  what  motion  age  will  give  me  leave. 

[Exit. 

Par.  Well,  thou  hast  a  son  shall   take  this  dis- 
grace  oir  me  ;  scurvy,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord  !— 
Well,  I  must  ho  patient ;  there  is  no   fettering  of 
authority.    I'll  beat  him  by  my  hie,  if  I  can  meet 
a  i.  e.  Whilo  I  sat  twice  with  thee  at  dinner, 
a  At  a  need. 


him  with  any  convenience,  and  he  were  double  and 
double  a  lord.  I'll  have  no  more  pity  of  his  age. 
than  I  would  have  of— I'll  beat  him,  an  if  I  could 
but  meet  him  again. 

Re-enter  Laff.u. 

Laf,  Sirrah,  your  lord  and  master's  married, 
there's  news  for  you ;  you  have  a  new  mistress. 

Pur.  I  most  nnfeignedly  beseech  your  lordship 
to  make  some  reservation  of  your  wrongs :  He  la 
my  good  lord  :  whom  I  serve  above  is  my  master. 

Luf.  Who?  God? 

Pur.  Ay,  sir. 

Laf.  Thedevil  it  is, that's  thy  master.- ViThy  dost 
thou  garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this' fashion  '!  dost  make 
hose  of  thy  sleeves!  tlo  other  servants  so?  Thou 
wert  best  set  thy  lower  part  where  thy  nose  stands. 
By  mine  honor,  if  I  were  but  two  liours  younger, 
I'd  beat  thee ;  methinks,  thou  art  a  general  olTence, 
and  every  man  should  beat  thee.  1  think,  thou 
wast  created  for  men  to  breathe*  themselves  upon 
thee. 

Par.  This  is  hard  and  undeserved  measure,  my 
lord. 

Laf.  Go  to,  sir;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for 
picking  a  kernel  out  of  a  pomegranate ;  you  are  a 
vagabond,  and  no  true  traveller:  you  are  more 
saucy  with  lords,  and  honorable  personages,  than 
the  heraldry  of  your  birth  and  virtue  givesyou  com- 
mission. You  are  not  worth  another  word,  else 
Id  call  you  knave.    I  leave  you.  [Exit- 

Enter  BlinTIlAM. 

Par.  Good,  very  good;  it  is  so  then. — Good, 
very  good  ;  let  it  be  concealed  a  while. 

Ber.  Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever! 

Pur.  What  is  the.  matter,  sweet-lieart? 

Btr.  Although  before  the  solemn  priest  I  have 
sworn, 
I  will  not  bed  her. 

Pur.  What?  what,  sweet-heart? 

B^r.  O,  my  Parolles,  they  have  married  me  :- 
I'll  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her. 

Par.  France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  yet  no  more  merits 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot:  to  the  wars! 

Ber.  There's  letters  from  my  mother ;  what  the 
import  is, 
I  know  not  yet. 

Par.  Ay,  that  would  be  known:  To  the  wars, 
my  boy,  to  the  wars! 
Ife  wears  his  honor  in  a  box  unseen. 
That  luigs  his  kicksy-wicksy,»  here  at  home; 
Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms, 
Which  should  sustain  the  bond  and  high  curvet 
Of  Mars's  fiery  steed  :    To  other  regions  ! 
France  is  a  stable  ;  we  that  dwell  in't  jades; 
Therefore,  to  the  war ! 

Ber.  It  shall  he  so;  I'll  send  her  to  my  house. 
Acquaint  mv  mother  with  my  hate  to  her. 
And  wherefore    I   am  ficd;  write  to  the  king 
That  which  I  durst  not  speak:  Ills  present  gift    , 
Shall  furnish  me  to  those  Italian  fields. 
Where  noble  fellows  strike  :  War  is  no  strife 
To  the  dark  house,s  and  the  detested  wife. 

Pur.  Will  this  capricio  hold  in  thee,  art  sure? 

Ber.  Go  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  advise  me. 
I'll  send  her  straight  away  :  To-morrow 
I'll  to  the  wars,  she  to  her  single  sorrow. 

Par.  Why,  these  balls  bound  ;  there's  noise  in  it. 
— 'Tis  hard; 
A  young  man,  married,  is  a  man  that's  marr'd: 
Therefore  away,  and  leave  her  bravely  ;  i:n : 
■The  king  has  done  you  wrong;  but,  hush  !  'tis  so. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.—Anntlier  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Hf.lema  und  Clown. 

Hel.  My  mother  greets  me  kindly:  Is  she  well? 

Clo.  She  is  not  well ;  but  yet  she  has  her  health: 
she's  very  merry;  but  yet  she  is  not  well:  but  thanks 
be  given,  she's  very  well,  and  wants  nothing  i'tho 
world  :  but  yet  she  is  not  well ! 

Hel.  If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail,  that 
she's  not  very  well,  ,      ,  , 

CId.  Truly,  she's  very  well,  indeed,  but  for  two 
things. 

Hel.  What  two  things? 

4  Kxiircise. 

»  A  ciiiit  tt'tm  for  a  wife. 

•  The  house  made  gloomy  by  discontent. 


SCKNE    v. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


199 


C!o.  One,  l!):it  she's  not  in  heaven,  wJiitlier  God 
send  her  quickly!  tlic   other,  that  she's  in  eartl), 
from  wlicnce  God  send  her  quickly  ! 
Enter  Pauolles. 

Par.  Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady  ! 

Hel.  I  hope,  sir,  1  have  your  good  will  to  have 
mine  own  ^^ond  fortunes. 

Pfir.  \  ou  had  uiy  prayers  to  lead  them  on  :  and 
to  keep  thein  on,  I'lave  tlicin  still.— 0,  my  knave ! 
How  does  my  old  lady  ? 

Clo.  So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles,  and  I  her 
money,  I  would  she  did  as  you  say. 

Par.  Why,  I  say  nothing. 

Cln.  Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man ;  for  many  a 
man's  tongue  shakes  out  his  master's  undoms :  To 
say  notliing.  to  do  nothing,  to  know  nothint:,and  to 
have  nothing,  is  to  be  a  great  part  of  your  title; 
whieli  is  within  a  very  littFe  of  nothing. 

Par.  Away,  thourt  a  knave. 

Clo.  You  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  knave 
thou  art  a  knave  :  that  is,  before  me  thou  art  a 
knave:  this  had  been  truth,  sir. 

Pur.  Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool,  I  have  found 
thee. 

Cln.  Did  you  find  me  in  yourself,  sir  ?  or  were 
you  taught  to  find  me  !  The  search,  sir,  was  pro- 
fitable; and  much  fool  may  you  lind  in  you,  even 
to  theworld'apleasure,  and  the  increase  of  laughter. 

Pur.  A  good  knave,  i'faith,  and  well  fed. — 
Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-riight; 
A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love, 
\Vhicli,  as  your  due,  time  claims,  he  does  acknow- 
ledge; 
But  puts  it  off  by  a  compell'd  restraint; 
Whose  want,  and  whose   delay,  is  strewed  with 

sweets. 
Which  they  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time. 
To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erllow  with  joy, 
And  pleasure  drown  the  brim.  . 

Hel.  WhatVhis  will  else! 

Put-.  That  youwill  take  your  instant  leave  othe 
king. 
And  make  this  haste  as  your  own  good  proceeding, 
StrcugtliiMid  with  what  apology  you  think 
May  make  it  probable  need.' 

liel.  What  more  commands  he  ? 

Pur.  That,  having  tliis  obtain'd,  you  presently 
Attend  his  further  jileasure. 

Hel.  In  every  thing  I  wait  upon  his  will. 

Pur.  t  shall  report  it  so. 

Htl.  I  pray  you.— Come,  sirrah. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Another  Room  in  the  sumc. 
Enter  LiFKv  and  Beiitkam. 

Lrtf.  But  1  hope,  your  lordship  thinks  not  him  a 
soldier. 

Ber.  Yes,  my  lord,  and  of  very  valiant  approof 

Laf.  You  have  it  from  his  own  deliverance. 

Ber.  And  by  other  warranted  testimony. 

Laf.  Then  ray  dial  goes  not  true;  I  took  this 
lark  for  a  bunting." 

Ber.  I  do  assure  you,  my  lord,  he  is  very  great 
in  knowledge,  and  accordingly  valiant. 

Laf.  I  have  then  sinned  against  his  experience, 
and  transgressed  against  his  valor ;  and  my  state 
that  way  is  dangerous,  since  I  cannot  yet  find  in 
my  heart  to  repent.  Here  he  comes  ;  I  pray  you 
make  us  friends,  I  will  pursue  the  amity. 

Enter  PAnoLLES. 
Par.  These  things  shall  be  done,  sir. 

[To  BEnTRAM. 

Laf.  I'rav  you,  sir,  who's  his  tailorf 

Pur.  Sir'! 

Laf.  O,  I  know  him  well:  Ay,  sir;  he,  sir,  is  a 
good  workman,  a  very  good  tailor. 

Ber.  Is  she  gone  to  the  king  ! 

[Aside  to  Pauolles. 

Far.  She  is. 

Ber.  Will  she  away  to-night? 

1  A  specious  appcirauee  of  necessity. 

?  The  bunting  nearly  resembles  the  sky  lark,  but  has 
little  or  no  song,  wtiich  gives  estimatioa  to  the  sky  lark. 


Par.  As  you'll  have  her. 

Bf-r.  I  have  wril  my  Ittlers.casketed my  treasure, 
Given  order  for  our  horses;  and  to-night, 
When  1  should  take  possession  of  the  bride, 
And,  ere  I  do  begin, 

Laf.  A  good  traveller  is  something  at  the  latter 
end  of  a  dinner;  but  one  that  lies  three  thirds,  and 
uses  a  known  truth  to  pass  a  thousand  nothings 
with,  should  be  once  heard,  and  thrice  beaten.— 
God  save  you,  captain  ! 

Ber.  Is  there  any  uukindness  between  niy  lord 
and  you,  monsieur? 

J'ar.  1  know  not  how  I  have  deserved  to  run 
into  my  lord's  displeasure. 

Laf.  Von  ha\e  made  shift  to  run  into't,  boots 
and  spurs  and  all,  like  him  that  leaped  into  tho 
custard;  and  out  of  it  you'll  run  again,  rather  than 
sutler  question  for  your  residence. 

Ber.  It  may  be,  you  have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 

Laf.  And  sliall  do  so  ever,  though  1  took  him  at 
his  prayers.  Fare  you  well,  my  lord;  and  believo 
this  of  me,  there  can  be  no  kernel  in  this  light  nut  ; 
the  soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes :  tru.st  him  not  in 
matter  of  lieavy  consequence:  I  have  kept  of  them 
tame,  and  know  their  natures. — Farewell,  mon- 
sieur! I  have  spoken  better  of  you,  than  you  have 
or  will  deserve  at  my  hand  ;  but  we  must  do  good 
against  evil.  [Exit. 

Far.  An  idle  lord,  I  swear. 

Ber.  I  think  so. 

Pur.  Why,  do  you  not  know  him? 

Ber.  Yes,  I  do  'know  him   well;  and  common 
speech 
Gives  hiui  a  worthy  pass.    Here  comes  ray  clog. 

Enter  Helena. 
Hel.  I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  commanded  from  you, 
Kpoke  with  tlie  king,  and  have   procured  Ins  leave 
For  present  parting  ;  only,  he  desires 
Some  private  speech  with  you. 

Ber.  I  shall  obey  his  will. 

You  must  not  marvel,  Helen,  at  my  course. 
Which  holds  not  color  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  oflice 
On  my  particular:  prepar'd  1  was  not 
For  such  a  business ;  therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled  :  This  drives  ine  to  entreat  you, 
That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home ; 
And  rather  muse,»  than  ask,  why  I  entreat  you: 
For  my  respects  are  better  than  they  seem ; 
And  my  appointments  have  in  theni  a  need, 
tireater  than  shows  itself,  at  the  first  view. 
To  you  that  know  them  not.    This  to  iny  mother. 

[Giving  a  Itltcr. 
'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you  again ;  so 
I  leave  you  to  your  wisdom. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say, 

But  that  I  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 
Ber.  Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 
Hel.  And  ever  shall 

With  true  observance  seek  to  eke  out  that. 
Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd 
To  equal  my  great  fortune. 

Ber.  Let  that  go : 

My  haste  is  very  great :  Farewell ;  hie  home. 
Hel.  Pray,  sir,  jour  pardon. 
Ber.  Well,  what  would  you  say  7 

Uel.  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  wealth  1  owe;' 
Xor  dare  1  say,  'tis  mine  ;  and  yet  it  is; 
But,  like  a  limerous  thief,  most  fain  would  steal 
What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 
Brr.  What  would  you  liave? 

Hel.  Something;  and  scarce  so  much:— nothing, 
indeed. — 
I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would:  my  lord— 'faith, 

yes ; — 
Strangers,  and  foes,  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 

Ber.  I  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 

Hel.  I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my  lord. 

Ber.    Where   are   my   other   men,  monsieur? — 

F'arewell.  [Ejrit  Helena. 

Go  thou  toward  home  ;  where  I  will  never  come, 

Whilst  I  call  shake  my  sword,  or  hear  the  drum; — 

Away  and  for  our  flight. 

Pur.  Bravely,  coragio!  [ExeanU 

»  Wonder.  '  Possess. 


200 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  III. 


ACT   111. 


SCENE    I.— Florence.     A  room  in    the    Duke's 
Palace. 

Flimrish.  Enter  ihe'Dvs.Y.  of  Klouknce,  altcnded,- 
two  French  Lords,  and  others. 

Duke.  So  that,  from  point  to  point,  now  have 
you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war; 
VVIiose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  fortli, 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

1  Luril.  Holy  seems  the  quarrel 
Upon  your  grace's  part:  black  and  learful 

On  the  upposer. 
Duke.  Therefore  we  marvel  much,  our  cousin 
France 
Would,  in  sn  just  a  business,  shut  his  bosom 
AS'^i^st  our  borrowing  prayers. 

2  Lo7-d.  Good  my  lord 
The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield, 

But  liUe  a  common  and  an  outward  man, 
,  Tliat  tile  irreat  figure  of  a  councd  frames 
IJ\-  scll-unahle  motion;  therefore  dare  not 
Say  wliat  1  think  of  it;  since  I  have  found 
Myself  in  ray  uncertain  grounds  to  fail 
As  often  as  I  guess'd. 

Duke.  Be  it  his  pleasure. 

2  Ltrd.  Butlamsure,  the  youngerof  ournature. 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will,  day  by  day. 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke.  Welcome  shall  they  be ; 

And  all  tlie  honors,  that  can  fly  from  us, 
Shall  on  them  settle.    You  know  your  places  well; 
When  better  tali,  for  your  avails  they  fall: 
To-morrow  to  the  field.  [Flouristi.    Exeunt. 

SCENE    11. — Rousillon.    A  room   in    tlie  Coun- 
tess's Palace. 

Filter  CotJNTESs  and  Clown. 

Oounl.  It  hath  happened  all  as  I  would  have  had 
it,  save,  that  he  comes  not  along  with  her. 

Clt).  By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a 
very  melanciioly  man. 

Ciiunt.  By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  7 

Clo.  Why.  he  will  look  upon  his  boot,  and  sing  ; 
mend  the  ruff,»  and  sing  ;  ask  questions,  and  sing; 
pick  his  teeth,  and  sing ;  I  know  a  man  that  had 
this  trick  of  melancholy,  sold  a  goodly  manor  for  a 
song. 

Cinint.  Let  mo  see  what  he  writes,  and  when 
lie  means  to  come.  I  Opening  a  letter. 

Clo.  1  have  no  mind  to  Isbel,  since  1  was  at 
court :  our  old  ling  and  our  Isbels  o'the  country  are 
nothing  like  your  old  ling  and  your  Isbels  o'the 
court;  the  brains  of  my  Cupid's  knocked  out ;  and 
I  begin  to  love,  as  an  old  man  loves  money,  with 
no  stomach. 

Count.  What  have  we  here  ? 

Cio.  E'en  that  you  have  there.  |jE,C!/. 

Count.  [Reads]/  linre  nent  you  u  dauiiliter-in- 
Inw  ■■  slie  liatkrecnvered  tlie  kinf}:. and  undone  me. 
Iluive  ifolilcil  her,  not  bedded  tier;  and  sworn  to 
make  the  not  eternal.  You  shall  hear,  I  am  run 
awai/:  know  it,  before  the  report  coaie.  If  there  be 
breadth  enough  in  the  world,  I  will  hold  a  long  dis- 
tance. 

Mij  duty  to  you.     Your  unfortunate  son, 

Bkhtham. 
This  is  not  well,  rash  and  unbridled  boy, 
To  Ily  the  favors  of  so  good  a  king; 
To  pluck  his  indignation  on  thy  head, 
liy  the  misprizing  of  a  maid  too  viituous 
For  tlie  contempt  of  empire. 

Re-enter  C1o\\ti. 

Clo.  O  madam,  yonder  is  heavy  news  within,  be- 
tween two  soldiers  and  my  young  lady. 

Count.  What  is  the  mattcrt 

Cfo,  Nay,  there  is  some  eomf\)rt  in  the  news, 
some  com  tort;  your  son  will  not  be  killed  so  soon 
lis  1  thought  he  would. 

Count.  Why  should  he  lie  killed  1. 

a  The  foMiDg  at  the  top  of  the  boot. 


Clo.  So  say  I,  madam,  if  lie  run  away,  as  I  hear 
he  does;  the  danger  is  in  standing  to't ;  that's  the 
loss  of  men,  though  it  ho  the  getting  of  children. 
Here  they  come,  will  tell  you  more  :  for  my  part, 
I  only  hear,  your  son  was  run  away,   ' 

[Exit  Clown. 
Enter  Helesa  and  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.   Save  you,  good  madam. 

Bel.  Madam,  my  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone. 

2  Gent.  Ho  not  say  so. 

Count.  Think  upon  patience. — 'Pray  you,  gen- 
tlemen,— 
I  have  felt  so  m-any  quirks  of  joy  and  grief, 
That  the  first  face  of  neither,  on  the  start. 
Can  woman  me  unto't ; — Where  is  my  son,  I  pray 
you  ? 
2  Gent.  Madam,  he's  gone  to  serve  the  duke  of 
Florence  ; 
We  met  him  thitherward ;  from  thence  we  came, 
And  after  some  dispatch  in  hand  at  court, 
Thither  we  bend  again. 
Het.    Look  on   this   letter,   madam;    here's  my 

passport. 
[Reads.]  IVhen  thou  canst  get  the  ring  upon  my 
finger,  wfiich  never  shall  come  off,  and.  show  me  a 
child  begidten  of  thy  body,  tliat  lam  father  to,  then 
call  me  husband:  but  in  suc/iathenlwriteane\eT, 
This  is  a  dreadful  sentence. 
Count.  Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen? 

1  Gent.  Ay,  madam  ; 
And,  for  the  contents'  sake,  are  sorry  for  our  pains. 

Count.  I  pr'ythee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer; 
If  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine. 
Thou  robb'st  me  of  a  moiety  :  He  was  my  son  ; 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood. 
And  thou  art  all   my  child. — Towards  Florence 
is  he  1 

2  Gent.  Ah,  madam. 

Count.  And  to  be  a  soldier  1 

2  Gent.  Such  is  his  noble  purpose:  and,  believe't, 
The  duke  will  lay  upon  him  all  the  honor, 
Tliat  good  convenience  claims. 

Count.  Return  you  thither  I 

1  Gent.  Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  wings  Df 
speed, 
//e/.  [Reads.]  Till  I  hare  nv  wife,  1  hare  nothing 

in  France. 
'Tis  bitter. 

Count.         Find  you  that  there  1 

Hel.  Ay,  madam. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  but  the  boldness  of  his  hand,  haply 
which 
His  heart  was  not  consenting  to. 

Count.  Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wife! 
There's  nothing  here  that  is  too  good  for  him, 
l!ut  only  she;  and  she  deserves  a  lord, 
That  twenty  such  rude  hoys  might  tend  upon. 
And  call  licr  hourly,  mistress.    Who  was  with  him  1 

1   Gent.  A  servant  only,  and  a  gentleman 
Which  1  have  some  time  known. 

Count.  ParoUes,  was't  not  I 

1   Gent.  Ay,  my  good  lady,  he. 

Count.  A  very  tainted  fellow,  and  full  of  wicked- 
ness. 
My  son  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature 
VVith  his  inducement. 

1  Gent.  Indeed,  good  lady, 
The  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that,  too  much. 
Which  holds  him  much  to  have. 

Count.     Vou  are  welcome,  gentlemen, 
I  will  entreat  you,  when  you  see  my  son, 
To  tell  him,  that  his  sword  can  never  win 
The  honor  that  he  loses:  more  I'll  entreat  you 
Written  to  bear  along. 

2  drnt.  We  serve  you,  madam, 
In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  alFairs. 

Count.  Not  so,  but  as  we  change  J  ourcourfesies 
Will  you  draw  nearl 

[Exeunt  Cofntkss  and  Gentlemen 
Hel.  Till  I  have  no  luife.Ihavenolliing  in  France 

Nothing  in  France,  until  he  has  no  wife! 
3  K-xcbaogo. 


Scene  V. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


20) 


Thou  slialt  have  none,  Rousillon,  none  in  France, 
Then  hast  tliou  all  ai;ain.    Poor  lord  !  ist  1 
That  chase  thco  from  thy  country,  and  expose 
Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 
Of  the  non-spanns  war  .'  and  is  it  I 
That  drive  tliee  fruni  the  sportive  court,  where  thou 
Wast  sliot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark 
Of  smoliy  muskets?  O  you  leaden  messengers, 
That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire, 
Kly  with  false  aim;  move  the  still-piercing  air, 
That  sings  with  piercing,  do  not  touch  my  lord  ! 
Whoever  shoots  at  him,  1  set  him  there  ; 
Whoever  charges  on  his  forward  breast, 
I  am  the  caitili;  that  do  hold  him  to  it ; 
And  though  1  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  cause 
His  death  was  so  eilected  :  better  'twere 
I  met  tlje  ravin*  lion  when  he  roar'd 
With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger;  better  'twere 
That  all  the  miseries,  which  nature  owes. 
Were  mine  at  once;  No,  come  thou  home,  Rou- 
sillon, 
Whence  honor  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar. 
As  oft  it  loses  all ;  1  will  be  gone : 
IWy  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence  ; 
Shall  I  stay  here  to  do't  !  no,  no,  although 
The  air  of  paradise  did  fan  tlie  house. 
And  angels  officed  all:  1  will  he  gone; 
That  pitiful  rumor  may  report  my  (light. 
To  consulate  thine  ear.    Come,  night;  end,  day  ! 
For,  with  the  dark,  poor  Uiicf,  I'll  steal  away. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III.— Florence.    Before  the  Duke's 
palace. 

F!otirii!i.    Enter  the  Dcke  of  Fiobf.sci:,  Ber- 
tram, Lords,  Otlicers,  Soldiers,  and  others. 

Duke.  The  general  ofour  horse  thou  art ;  and  we, 
Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence 
Upon  tliy  promising  fortune. 

Ber.  Sir,  it  is 

A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength ;  but  yet 
We'll  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  saJce, 
To  the  extreme  edge  of  hazard. 

Duke.  Then  go  thou  forth ; 

And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  helm. 
As  thy  auspicious  mistress  ! 

Ber.  This  very  day. 

Great  Mars,  1  put  myself  into  thy  file: 
Make  me  but  like  my  thoughts;  and  I  shall  prove 
A  lover  of  thy  dium,  hater  of  love.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE    IV.— Kousillon.    A   room  in  ilie 
Comitess's  Palace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Steward. 

Count.  Alas  I  and  would  you  take  the  letter  of  her] 
Might  you  not  Know,  she  would  do  as  she  has  done, 
By  sending  me  a  letter  ]   Read  it  again. 

Stew.  I  am  saint  Jaques'  pilgrim,  thither  gone: 

Auihilious  love  hiilhso  in  nif  n^t-nded, 
Thiit  barefoot  jdnd  I  the  cold  ground  upon. 

With  siiinlcil  rinv  mi/ faults  to  luive  amended. 
Write,  wrilr,  lluilfroni  the  bloodij  course  of  war, 

Mil  dearest  master,  your  dear  son  may  hie  / 
B/e.s's  him  at  luinie  in  'peace,  whilst  1  from  far, 

libi  name  ivilh  z'oUms fervor  sanctify  : 
Hii  taken  lohors  bid  him  me  forgive  ; 

I,  his  disijilifalJuno,''  .fenl  him  fort  li 
From  court  I II  friends,  with  camping  foes  to  live, 

lyiiere  death  ami  danger  dog  the  heels  of  worth; 
He  is*  too  good  and  fair  frr  death  and  me  : 
U^hom  1  inysetf  embrate,  to  set  him  free. 

Count.  All,  what  sharp  stings  are  in  her  mildest 

words ! 

Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice'  so  much. 
As  letting  her  pass  so  ;  had  1  spoke  with  her, 
I  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents, 
Which  thus  she  hath  prevented. 

Stev.  Pardon  me,  madam : 

If  I  had  given  you  this  at  over  night. 
She  might  have  been  o'erta'en  ;  and  yet  she  writes. 
Pursuit  would  be  in  vain. 

Count.  What  angel  shall 

Bless  this  unworthy  husband  !  he  cannot  thrive. 
Unless  her  prayers,  whom  heaven  delights  to  hear. 
And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrath 
Ofgreatest  justice,— Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 

*  Ravenous.         «  Alluding  to  the  etory  of  Uerctllea. 
e  Diflcretioa  or  thought- 


To  this  unworthy  husband  of  his  wife; 
Let  every  word  weigh  heavy  on  her  worth. 
That  ho  dues  weigh  too  light:  my  greatest  griel^ 
Though  little  he  do  feel  it,  set  down  sharply. 
Dispatch  the  most  convenient  messenger: 
When,  haply,  he  shad  hear  that  she  is  gone, 
He  will  return;  and  hope  1  may,  that  she, 
Heaniig  so  much,  will  speed  her  foot  again, 
Led  hitlier  by  pure  love:  which  of  them  both 
Is  dearest  to'ine,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 
To  make  distinction  :— Provide  this  messcngei : — 
My  heart  is  heavy,  and  mine  age  is  weak: 
Grief  VN'Ould  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  me  speak. 

I  Exeunt. 
SCENE  \.— Without  the  walls  of  Florence. 

A  Tucket  afar  off.    Enter  an  old  Widow  of  Flor- 

ence,  Dia.va,  Violestaj  Mariana,  and  other 

Citizens. 

Wid.  Nay,  come;  for  if  they  do  approacli  the 
city,  we  shall  lose  all  the  sight. 

Diii.  They  say,  the  Frencii  count  has  done  most 
honorable  service. 

11' id.  It  is  reported  that  he  has  taken  their  great- 
est commander ;  and  that  with  his  own  hand  he 
slew  the  duke's  brother.  We  have  lost  our  labor: 
they  are  gone  a  contrary  way :  hark  !  you  may 
know  by  their  trumpets. 

Mar.  Cume  let's  return  again,  and  suffice  our- 
selves with  the  report  of  it.  Well,  Diana,  take  heed 
of  this  French  earl  ;  the  honor  of  a  maid  is  her 
name  ;  and  no  legacy  is  so  rich  as  honesty. 

Wid.  1  have  told  my  neighbor,  how  you  have 
been  solicited  by  a  gentleman,  his  companion. 

I^tur.  I  know  that  knave  ;  hang  him !  one  Pa- 
rollfs;  a  filthy  otlicer  he  is  in  those  suggestions' 
lor  the  young  earl.  —  Beware  of  them,  Diima; 
their  promises,  enticements,  oaths,  tokens,  and  all 
these  engines  of  lust,  are  not  the  things  they  go 
under :«  many  a  maid  liath  been  seduced  by  them; 
and  the  misery  is,  example,  that  so  terrible  show3 
in  the  wreck  of  maidenhood,  cannot  for  all  that 
dissuade  succession,  but  that  they  are  limed  with 
the  twigs  that  threaten  them.  I  hope,  I  need  not 
to  advise  you  further ;  but,  I  hope,  your  own  grace 
will  keei>  you  where  you  are,  though  there  were  no 
further  danger  known,  but  the  modesty  which  is 
so  lost. 

Dia.  You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me. 

Enter  Helena,  in  lite  dress  of  a  Pilgrim, 

Wilt.  I  hope  so. Look,  here  conies  a  pilgrim. 

I  know  slie  will  lie  at  my  house:  thither  they  send 

one  another  :  I'll  question  her  — 

God  save  you,  pilgrim!  Whither  are  you  boimd? 

Hel.  To  ,^aint  .Taques  le  grand. 
Where  do  the  palmers"  lodge,  I  do  beseech  you! 

WUl.  At  the  Saint  Francis  here,  beside  the  port. 
,    Hel.  Is  this  the  way  .' 

Wid.  Ay,  marry,  is  it. — Hark  you? 

[.4  march  (far  off. 
They  come  this  way  ; — If  you  wdl  tarry,  holy  pil- 
grim, 
But  till  the  troops  come  by, 
I  will  conduct  you  whure  you  shall  be  lodg'd  :    . 
The  rather,  lor,  I  think,  1  know  your  hostess 
As  ample  as  myself. 

Hel.  Is  it  yourself] 

iri</.  II  >(iu  hliall  please  so,  pilgrim. 

Hel.  1  tliuuk  you,  and  will  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

M'id.  You  came,  I  think,  from  France  ! 

Hrl.  I  did  so. 

M'id.  Here  you  shall  see  a  countryman  of  yours, 
That  has  done  worthy  service. 

Hel.  His  name,  I  pray  you  ? 

Dia.  The  count  Rousil  Ion  :  Know  you  such  a  one  ] 

Hel.  Bulby  tlieear,that  heaismost  nobly  of  hmi: 
His  face  1  kiiow  not. 

Diit.  Whatsoe'er  he  is. 

He's  bravely  taken  here.  He  stole  from  France, 
As  'tis  reported,  fori  the  king  had  marriedJiim 
Against  his  liking  :  Think  you  it  is  so  ! 

Hel.  Ay, surely,  mere  the  tnitli;  1  know  hislady. 

Dia.  There  is  a  gentleman,  that  serves  the  count, 
Reports  but  coarsely  of  her. 

Hel.  What's  his  name] 

Dia.  Monsieur  ParoUes. 

1  Temptatione.    *  Not  what  their  names  express. 

B  Pilgrims  ;  po  called  from  a  staff  or  bough  of  palm  they 
were  wont  to  carry.  '  ISecause. 


202 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  EXDS  WELL. 


Act  IIL 


Jiel.  O,  I  believe  with  him. 

In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  tlie  worth 
Of  the  i^reat  count  hiiuseif,  slie  is  too  mean 
To  liavo  her  name  repeated  ;  all  her  deserving 
Is  a  reserved  lionesty,  and  that 
1  have  not  heard  exainin'd. 

Dili  •  Alas  poor  lady . 

'Tis  a  hard  bondage,  to  become  the  wife 
Of  a  detesting  lord. 

Will.  A  right  good  creature :  wheresoe'er  she  is. 
Her  heart  weighs  sadly :  this  young  maid  might  do 

her 
A  shrewd  turn,  if  she  pleas'd. 

Hel.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

May  be,  the  amorous  count  solicits  her 
In  the  unlawful  purpose. 

Wiil.  He  does,  indeed  ; 

And  broi.es''  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit 
Corrupt  the  lender  honor  of  a  maid ; 
But  she  is  arm'd  for  him,  and  keeps  her  guard 
In  honestest  defence. 

Enter,  ivilk  Drum  and  Cohrs,  a  Party  of  the 
Florentine  Arnuj,  Bertram,  and  Paholles. 

Mur.  The  gods  forbid  else  ! 

Wid.  So,  now  they  come : — 

That  is  Antonio,  the  dukes  eldest  son; 
That,  Escalus. 

Hel.  Which  is  the  Frenchman  1 

Dia.  He; 

That  with  the  plume  :  'tis  a  most  gallant  fellow  ; 
I  would,  he  lov'd  his  wife ;  if  he  were  Iionester, 
He  were  much   goodlier  ; — Is't  not  a  handsome 
gentleman  f 

He!.  I  like  him  well. 

Dia.  'Tis  pity,  he   is  not  honest:  Yond's   that 
same  knave. 
That  leads  him  to  these  places ;  were  I  his  lady, 
I'd  poison  that  vile  rascal. 

H^l.  Which  is  he? 

Di/i.  That  jack-an-apes  with  scarfs;  Why  is  he 
melancholy  ! 

Hel.  Perchance  he's  hurt  ithe  battle. 

Fur,  Lose  our  drum  !  well. 

Mar.  He's  shrewdly  vexed  at  something  :  Look, 
he  has  spied  us. 

Wid.  Marry,  hang  you  ! 

Mar.  And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring  carrier  ! 

[Exeunt  BziiriiAM,  Paholles,  Officers, 
and  Soldiers. 

Wid.   The  troop  is  past:  Come,  pilgrim,  I  will 
bring  you 
Where  you  shall  host:  of  enjoin'd  penitents 
There's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaqucs  bound, 
Already  at  my  house. 

Hel.  I  humbly  thank  you  : 

Please  it  this  matron,  and  this  gentle  maid. 
To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge,  and  thanking. 
Shall  be  for  me  ;  and,  to  require  you  further, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  on  the  virgin, 
Worthy  the  note. 

Both.  We'll  take  your  offer  kindly. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  VI.— Camp  before  Florence. 

Enter  BEnTRAM,artiZ  llie  two  French  Lords. 

1  Lord.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  put  him  to'l;  let 
him  have  his  way. 

2  Lord.  If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a  lidding,' 
hold  me  no  more  in  your  respect. 

1  Lord.  On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 

Ber.  Do  you  tiiink.  I  am  so  far  deceived  in  him? 

1  Lord.  Believe  it,  my  lord,  in  mine  own  direct 
knowledge,  without  any  malice  but  to  speak  of  liiin 
as  my  kinsman,  he's  a  most  notable  coward,  an  in- 
finite and  endless  liar,  an  hourly  promise-breaker, 
the  owner  of  no  one  good  quality  worthy  your  lord- 
ship's entertainment. 

2  Lord.  It  were  fit  you  knew  him ;  lost,  reposing 
too  far  in  his  virtue,  which  he  hath  not,  he  might 
at  some  great  and  trusty  business,  in  a  main  danger, 
fail  you. 

Bcr.  I  would,  I  knew  in  what  particular  action 
to  try  him. 

2  Lord.  None  better  than  to  let  him  fetch  off  his 
drum,  which  you  hear  him  so  confidently  undertake 
to  do. 

1  Litrd.  I,  with  a  troop  of  Florentines,  will  sud- 
denly surprise  him ;  such  I  will  have,  whom,  I  am 
a  Deals.  '  A  paltry  fellow,  a  coward. 


sure,  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy:  we  will  bind 
and  hood-wink  him  so,  that  he  shall  suppose  no 
other  but  that  he  is  carried  into  the  leaguer'  of  the 
adversaries,  when  we  brin?  him  to  our  tents:  Be 
but  your  lordship  present  at  his  examination;  if  he 
do  not,  for  the  promise  of  his  life,  and  in  the  highest 
compulsion  of  base  fear,  ofl'er  to  betray  you,  and 
deliver  all  the  intelligence  in  his  power  against  you, 
and  that  with  the  divine  forfeit  of  his  soul  upon  oath, 
never  trust  my  judgment  in  any  thing. 

2  Lord.  0,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him  fetch 
his  drum;  he  says  he  has  a  stratagem  for't:  when 
your  lordship  sees  the  bottom  of  his  success  in't. 
and  to  what  metal  this  countcrl'eit  lump  of  ore  will 
be  melted,  if  you  give  him  not  John  lirum's  enter- 
tainment, your  inclining  cannot  be  removed.  Here 
he  comes. 

Enter  Paholles. 

1  Lord.  0,  for  the  love  of  laugh'ter,  hinder  not 
the  humor  of  his  design ;  let  him  fetch  off  his 
drum  in  any  hand. 

Ber.  How  now,  monsieur?  this  drum  sticks 
sorely  in  your  disposition. 

2  Lord.  A  pox  on't,  let  it  go :  'tis  but  a  drum. 
Par.  But  a  drum]  Is't  but  a  drum?  A  drum  so 

lost ! — There  wasancxcellentcommaiid  !  tocharge 
in  with  our  horse  upon  our  own  wings,  and  to  rend 
our  own  soldiers. 

2  Lord.  That  was  not  to  be  blamed  in  the  com- 
mand of  the  service  ;  it  was  a  disaster  of  war  that 
Cffisar  himself  could  not  have  prevented,  if  he  had 
been  there  to  command. 

Ber.  Well,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our  suc- 
cess :  some  dishonor  we  had  in  the  loss  of  'that 
drum:  but  it  is  not  to  be  recovered. 

Par.  It  might  have  been  recovered. 

Ber.  It  might,  but  it  is  not  now. 

Par.  It  is  to  be  recovered  ;  but  that  the  merit  of 
service  is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and  exact 
performer,  I  would  have  that  drum  or  another,  or 
hij^  J'lcet.^ 

Ber.  Why,  if  you  have  a  stomach  to't,  monsieur, 
if  you  think  your  mystery  in  stratagem  can  bring 
this  instrument  of  honor  again  into  its  native 
quarter,  be  magnanimous  in  the  enterprize,  and  go 
on  ;  I  will  grace  the  attempt  for  a  worthy  exploit; 
if  you  speed  well  in  it,  the  duke  shall  both  speak 
of  it,  and  extend  to  you  what  further  becomes  his 
greatness,  even  to  the  utmost  syllable  of  your  wor- 
thiness. 

Par.  By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  undertake  it. 

Ber,  But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  it.. 

Par.  I'll  about  it  this  evening;  and  I  will  pre- 
sently pen  down  my  dilemmas,  encourage  myself 
in  my  certainty,  put  myself  into  my  mortal  prepa- 
ration, and  by  midnight,  look  to  hear  furtlier  from  me, 

Ber.  May  I  be  bold  to  acquaint  his  grace,  you 
are  gone  about  it  ? 

Par,  I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my 
lord;  but  the  attempt  1  vow. 

Ber.  I  know  thou  art  valiant;  and,  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  thy  soldiership,  will  subscribe  for  thee. 
Farewell. 

Par.  1  love  not  many  words.  [Exit. 

1  Lord.  No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water. — la 
not  this  a  strange  fellow,  my  lord  !  that  so  confi- 
dently seems  to  undertake  this  business,  which  he 
Knows  is  not  to  be  done  ;  damns  himself  to  do,  and 
dares  better  be  damned  than  to  dot. 

2  Lord.  ■\'ou  do  not  know  him,  my  lord,  as  we 
do:  certain  it  is.  that  he  will  steal  himself  into  a 
man's  favor,  and,  for  a  week,  escape  a  great  dealot 
discoveries :  but  when  you  find  him  out,  you  have 
him  ever  after. 

Ber,  Why,  do  you  think  he  will  make  no  deed  at 
all  of  ihis,  that  so  seriously  he  does  address  himself 
unto? 

1  Lord.  None  in  the  vforld  ;  but  return  with  an 
invention,  and  clap  upon  you  twoor  three  probable 
lies:  but  we  have  almost  embossed  him:  e  you  shall 
sec  his  fall  to-night;  for,  indeed,  he  is  not  for  your 
lordship's  respect. 

2  Lord.  We'll  make  you  some  sport  with  the  fox, 
ere  we  case  him.''  He  was  first  smoked  by  the  old 
lord  Laleu  :  when  his  disguise  and  he  is  parted,  tell 
me  what,  a  sprat  you  shall  find  him;  wliieli  you 
shall  see  this  very  night. 

*  Tho  linps  entrenchmontfi.         >  ;'  g  An  opUaph. 
B  To  omboss  a  dpcr  is  to  enclose  him  in  a  wood. 
1  Before  weitrip  him  naked. 


Scene  I. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


203 


1  Lord.  I  must  go  look  my  twigs  ;  he  shall  be 
caught. 
Btr.  Your  brother,  he  shall  so  along  with  me, 

1  Lord.  As't  please  your  lordship:  I'll  leave  you. 

[Exit. 
Ber.  Now  will  I  lead  you  to  the  house,  and  show 
>  ou 
The  lass  I  spoke  of. 

2  Lord.  But,  you  sav,  she's  honest. 

Bcr.  That's  all  the  fault:  I  spoke  with  her  but  once, 
And  found  her  wondrous  cold  ;  but  1  sent  to  her, 
iiy  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  hive  i'  the  wind. 
Tokens  and  letters  which  she  did  re-send; 
And  this  is  all  I  have  done  :  t^he's  a  fair  creature; 
Will  you  go  see  her  ? 

2  Lord.  With  all  my  heart,  my  lord. 

Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.— Florence.    A  Room  in  ike 
W  idow's  House. 
En/er  Helena  and  Widow. 

Hel.  If  you  raisiloubt  mo  that  I  am  not  she, 
I  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  further, 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  I  work  upon. 

IVid.  Tlunigh  my  estate  be  fallen,  I  was  well  born, 
Nothins;  acquainted  with  these  busniesses  ; 
And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 
In  any  staining  act. 

Hel.  Nor  would  I  wish  you. 

First,  give  me  trust,  tlie  count  he  is  my  husband  ; 
And,  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  spoken. 
Is  so,  from  word  to  word  :  and  then  you  cannot. 
By  the  good  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow, 
Err  in  bestowing  it. 

Wid.  I  should  believe  you  ; 

For  you  have  show'd  rae  that,  which  well  approves 
You  are  great  in  fortune. 


Het.  Take  tins  purse  of  gold. 

And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far. 
Which  I  will  over-pay,  and  pay  agani. 
When  I  have  found  it.    The  count  lie  woos  your 

daughter. 
Lays  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty. 
Resolves  to  carry  her  ;  let  her.  in  line,  consent, 
As  we  II  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it. 
Now,  his  important'  blood  will  nousht  deny 
That  she'll  demand  :  .\  ring  the  county^  wears. 
That  downward  hath  sucreedc?d  in  his  house. 
From  son  to  son,  sonic  four  or  live  descents 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it :  this  ring  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice;  yet  in  his  idle  fire. 
To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
liowc'er  repented  after. 

IVil.  Now  I  see 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

Hel.  You  see  it  lawful  then  ;  It  is  no  more. 
But  that  your  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  won. 
Desires  this  ring  ;  appoints  him  an  encounter  ; 
In  fine,  delivers  mc  to  fill  the  time, 
llerself  most  chastely  absent:  after  this. 
To  marry  her,  I'll  aild  three  thousand  crowns 
To  what  is  past  already. 

Wid.  I  have  yielded  : 

Instruct  ray  daughter  how  she  shall  pcrs^ver. 
That  time  and  place,  with  this  deceit  so  lawful. 
May  prove  coherent.  Every  night  he  comes 
With  musics  of  all  sorts,  and  songs  composed 
To  her  unworthiness:  It  nothing  steads  us. 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves  ;  for  he  persists, 
As  if  his  life  lay  on't. 

Hel.  Why  then  to-night 

Let  us  assay  our  plot ;  which,  if  it  speed, 
Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed. 
And  lawful  meanmg  in  a  lawful  act ; 
Where  both  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact : 
B  ut  let's  a  bout  it.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCEXE  I. —  Without  the  Florentine  Camp, 
Enter  first  Lord,  ivithfive  or  six  Soldiers  in  ambush. 

1  Lord.  He  can  come  no  other  way  bvit  by  this 
Iiedaie'' corner  :  When  you  sally  upon  him.  speak 
what  terrible  lan^jua^je  you  will  -.  thou;;h  you  under- 
stand it  not  yourselves,  no  matter:  for  we  rrmstnot 
seem  to  understand  him;  unless  some  one  among 
us,  whom  we  mast  produce  for  an  interpreter. 

1  Si)ld.  Good  captain,  let  me  be  the  interpreter. 

1  Lord.  Art  not  acquainted  with  him  }  knows 
he  not  thy  voice] 

1  Sold.  No,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 

1  Lord.  But  what  linsy-woolsy  hast  thou  to  speak 
to  us  again  7 

1  Sold.  Kven  such  as  you  speak  to  me. 

1  Lord.  He  must  think  us  some  band  ofstraui^ers: 
I' the  adversary's  entertainment.^  Now  he  hatha 
Bmack  of  all  neiLiliboring  languages  ;  therefore  we 
must  every  one  be  a  man  of  his  own  fancy,  not  to 
know  what  we  speak  one  to  another;  so  we  seem 
to  know,  is  to  know  straisrht  our  purpose:  chough*s< 
langua'j;e.  t;abb|e  enou^^h,  and  j;ood  enough.  As 
for  you,  interpreter,  you  must  seem  very  politic. 
But  couch,  ho!  here  he  comes;  to  beguile  two  hours 
in  a  sleep,  and  tlien  to  return  and  swear  the  lies  he 
forges. 

Knfer  Patiolles. 

Par.  Ten  o'clock  :  withm  tliese  throe  hours  "twill 
be  time  enough  to  ?n  home.  What  sliall  I  say  I 
have  done  ]  It  must  be  a  very  plausive  invention 
that  carries  it:  They  bei:in  to  smoke  me  ;  and  dis- 
graces liavc  of  late  knocked  too  often  at  my  door.  1 
find,  my  tons^ue  is  too  fool-hardy  but  my  heart  hatli 
the  fear  of  Mars  before  it,  and  of  his  creatures,  not 
daring  the  reports  of  my  tongue. 

1  Lord.  This  is  the  first  truth  that  e*er  thine 
own  lonsue  was  guilty  of.  {Aside. 

Par.  What  the  devil  should  move  me  to  under- 
take the  recovery  of  this  drum;  being  not  ignorant 
of  the  impossibility,  and  knowing  I  had  no  such 
purpose]  I  must  give  myself  some  hurts,  and  say, 

8  i.  t.  Foreign  troops  in  the  enemy's  pay. 
*  A  bird  like  a  jack-daw. 


I  got  Ihem  in  exploit:  Yet  slight  ones  will  not 
carry  it :  They  will  say,  Came  you  oil' with  so  little  ? 
and  great  ones  I  dare  not  ^cive.  Whert-fore,  what's 
the  instance  1»  Tongue,  I  must  put  you  into  a 
butter-woman's  mouth,  and  buy  another  o)!  Baja- 
zet's  mule,  if  you  prattle  me  into  these  perils. 

1  Lord.    Is  it  possible,  he  should  know  what  he 

IS,  and  be  that  he  is  1  [Aside. 

Par.  I  would  the  cutting  of  my  garments  would 

serve  the  turn;  or   the   breaking   of  my  Spanish 

sword. 

1  Lord.  We  cannot  afford  you  so,  [Aside. 

Par.  Or  the  baring  of  my"  beard  ;  and  to  say,  it 
was  in  stratagem. 

I  Lord.  'Twouldnot  do.  {Asid.e. 

Par.  Or   to  drown   my  clothes,  and   say,  I  was 
stripped. 

Lord.  Hardly  serve.  [Aside. 

Par.  Tiiough  I  swore  I  leaped  from  the  window 

of  the  citadel 

1  Lord,  flow  d.-ep  T  {Aside. 

Par.   Thirty  fathom. 

1  Lord.  Three  great  oaths  would  scarce  make 
that  be  believed.  [Aside, 

par.  I  would   I  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's, 
I  would  swear  I  recovered  it. 
Par.  A  drum  now  of  the  enemy's  ! 

[Alarum  luithin 
1  Lord.  Throca   movousus,  curgOy  cargo,  cargo. 
All  Cargo,  cargo,  villianda  par  carbo,  cargo. 
Par,  O!  ransome,   ransome  : — Do  not  hide  mine 
eyes.  [They  seize  him,  and  blindfold  him. 

I  Sold.  Boskos  thromuldo  boskos. 
Par,  I  know  you  are  the  i\Iusko>'  regiment. 
And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  language  : 
If  tliere  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  Dutch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me, 
I  will  discover  that  which  shall  undo 
The  Florentine. 

1  Sold.    Boskos  vauvado  : — 
I  understand  thee,  and  can  speak  thy  tongue  :  — 
Kereli/bouto  :  — Sir  : 

Hetake  thee  to  thy  faith,  for  seventeen  poulards 
Are  at  thy  bosom. 


1  Importunate.        »  Count. 


B  The  proof. 


204 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act.  17. 


Oh! 


O,  pray  pray,  pray.- 


Far. 

I  Sold. 
I^lanka  revania  dulche. 

1  Lord.  Oscorbi  dakhos  vnlivorca. 

1   Sold,  The  general  is  content  to  spare  thee  yet; 
And  hood-wink  d  as  thou  art,  will  lead  thee  on 
To  ffather  from  thee:  h.iply,  thou  raayst  inform 
Sonv.'thini;  to  save  thy  lile. 

Far.  0,  let  me  live, 

And  all  the  secrets  of  our  camp  I'll  show, 
Their  force,  their  purposes:  nay,  I'll  speak  that 
Which  you  will   wonder  at. 

1    Sold.  But  wilt  thou  faithfully  l 

Par  If  I  do  not,  damn  me. 

1  Sold.  Acordo  linfU' — 

Come  on,  Uiou  art  granted  space. 

[E-zif,  wif/i  Paiiollks  guarded. 

1  Lord.  Go,   tell  tae  count  Kousillon,  and    my 

brother. 
We  have  caught  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep  him 

n  milled. 
Till  we  do  hear  from  them. 

2  Sold.  Captain,  I  win. 

1  Lttrd.  He  will  betray   us  all  unto  ourselves; — 
Inform  "cm  that. 

2  Sold.  So  I  will,  sir. 

1  Lord.  Ti"  then,  I'll  keep  him  dark,  and  safely 
lockd.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.-Florence.    A  Room  in  the  Widow's 

Jlouse. 

Eater  Betitiiam  and  Dtaxa. 

Bt.  Tliey  told  me,  that  your  name  was  Fontibell. 

I)ui.  No,  my  good  lord,  Diana. 

Bir,  Titled  goddess; 

And  worth  it.  with  addition!    But,  fair  soul, 
In  your  line  frame  hath  love  no  quality! 
If  the  quick  fire  of  youth  light  not  your  mind, 
You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  monument: 
When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 
As  you  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stern; 
And  now  you  should  he  as  your  mother  was. 
When  your  sweet  self  was  got. 

Z)i-7."She  then  was  honest. 

Ber.  So  should  you  be. 

Bia.  No: 

My  mother  did  but  duty:  such,  my  lord, 
As  >'ou  owe  to  your  wife, 

Bcr.  No  more  of  that  ! 

I  pry  thee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows; 
I  was  compelld  to  her;  hut  1  love  thee 
By  love's  own  sweet  constraint,  and  will  for  ever 
Do  tliee  all  rights  of  service. 

Dia.  Ay,  so  you  serve  us, 

Till  we  serve  you  :  but  when  you  have  our  roses, 
You  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves. 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 

Ber.  How  have  I  sworn  ? 

Dia.  'Tis  not  thy  many  oaths  that  make  the  truth : 
But  the  plain  single  vow,  that  is  vow'd  true. 
What  is  not  holy,  that  we  swear  not  by, 
But  take  the  Highest  to  witness  :    Then,  pray  you, 

tell  me. 
If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes, 
I  lov'd  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths, 
When  i  did  love  you  ilH  this  has  no  holding, 
To  swear  by  him  whom  I  protest  to  love. 
That  1  will  work  against  him:  Therefore,  your  oaths 
Are  words  and  poor  conditions  ;  but  unseal'd  ; 
At  least,  in  my  opinion. 

Ber.  Change  it,  change  it; 

Be  not,  so  holy-cruel :  love  is  holy  ; 
And  my  integrity  ne'er  knev?  the  crafts, 
That   you  do  charge  men  with:' Stand  no  more  off", 
But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires, 
Who  then  recover:  say,  thou  art  mine,  and  ever 
My  love,  as  it  begins,  shall  so  persevere. 

Dia.  I  see,  that  men  make  hopes,  in  such  affairs, 
That  we'll  forsake  ourselves.    Give  me  that  ring. 

Ber.  I'll  lend  it  thee,  my  dear,  but  have    no 
power 
To  give  it  from  me. 

Dia.  Will  you  not,  my  lord  1 

Ber.  It  is  an  honor  'longing  to  our  house, 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors ; 
Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'the  world 
In  me  to  lose. 

Dia.  Mine  honor's  such  a  ring: 

My  chastity's  the  jewel  of  our  house. 
Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors  ; 


Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'the  wnrld 
In  me  to  lose  :  Thus  your  own  proper  wisdom 
Brings  in  the  champion  honor  on  my  part, 
Against  your  vain  assault. 

Ber.  Here,  take  my  ring  : 

My  house,  mine  honor,  yea,  my  life  be  thine. 
And  I'll  be  hid  by  thee. 

Dia.  When  midnight  comes,  knock  at  my  cham- 
ber window  ; 
ril  order  take, my  mother  shall  not  hear. 
Now  will  I  cliarge  you  in  the  bond  of  truth, 
When  you  have  conquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed 
Remain  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me  : 
My  reasons  are  most  strong  ;  and  you  shall  know 

them, 
When  back  again  this  ring  shall  be  deliver'd  : 
And  on  your  finger,  in  the  night  Til  put 
Another  ring  ;  that,  what  in  tune  proccedfi. 
May  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 
Adieu,  till  then  ;  then  fail  not:  You  have  won 
A  wife  of  me,  though  there  my  hope  be  done. 

Ber.  A  heaven  on  earth  I  have  won- by  wooing 
thee.  [Exit. 

Dia.  For  which  live  long  to  thank  both  heaven 
and  me  ! 

You  maC  so  in  the  end: 

My  mother  told  me  ju^t  how  he  would  woo. 
As  if  she  sat  in  his  heart ;  she  says,  ail  men 
Have  the  like  oaths :  he  had  sworn  to  marry  me, 
W'hcn  his  wife's  dead  ;  therefore  I'll  lie  with  him. 
When  I  am  buried.  Since  Frenchmen  are  so  braid,^ 
Marry  that  will,  I'll  live  and  die  a  maid  : 
Only,  in  this  disguise.  I  think't  no  sin 
To  cozen  him,  that  would  unjustly  win.         [Exit< 

SCENE  lU.-~The  Florentine  Camp.     ' 

Enter  the  two  French  Lords,  and  two  or    three 
Soldiers. 

Lord.  You  have  not  given  him  his  mother's 
letter  ? 

2  Lord.  I  have  delivered  it  an  hour  since  :  there 
is  something  in't  that  stings  his  nature  :  for,  on  the 
reading  it,  lie  changed  almost  into  another  man. 

1  Litrd.  He  has  much  worthy  blame  laid  upon 
him,  for  shaking  off  so  good  a  wife,  and  so  sweet 
a  lady. 

2  Lord.  Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  everlast- 
ing displeasure  of  the  king,  who  had  even  tuned  his 
bounty  to  sing  happiness  to  him.  I  will  tell  you 
a  thing,  but  you  shall  let  it  dwell  darkly  with  you. 

1  Lord.  When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead,  and 
I  am  the  grave  of  it. 

2  Lord.  He  hath  perverted  a  young  gentlewoman 
here  in  Florence,  of  a  most  chaste  renown  ;  and 
this  night  he  t3eshes  his  will  in  the  spoils  of  her 
honor  :  he  hath  given  her  his  monumental  ring,  and 
thinks  himself  made  in  the  unchaste  compo.sition. 

1  Lord.  Now,  God  delay  our  rebellion  ;  as  we 
arc  ourselves,  what  things  are  we  ! 

2  Lord.  Merely  our  own  traitors.  And  as  in  the 
common  course  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see  them 
reveal  themselves,  till  they  attain  to  their  abhorred 
ends ;  so  he,  that  in  this  action  contrives  against  his 
own  nobility,in  his  proper  stream  o'erflowshimself. 

1  Lord.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable'^  in  us,  to  be 
trumpeters  of  our  unlawful  intents  {  We  shall  not 
then  have  his  company  to-nii:ht  ? 

2  Lord.  Not  till  after  midnight ;  for  he  is  dieted 
to  his  hour. 

1  Lord.  That  approaches  apace;  I  would  gladly 
have  him  sec  his  company^  anatomized  ;  that  he 
might  take  a  measure  oi'  his  own  judgments, 
wherein  so  curiously  he  had  set  this  counterfeit. 

2  Ijtrd.  We  will  not  nn-ddle  with  him  till  he 
come ;  for  his  presence  must  be  the  whip  of  the 
other. 

1  Lord.  In  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you  of 
these  wars  '! 

2  T^ord.  I  hear,  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

1  Lord,  Nay,  I  assur*  you.  a  pe&ce  concluded. 

2  Lord.  What  will  count  Rousillon  do  then  1  will 
he  travel  higher,  or  return  again  into  France  1 

1  Lord,  I  perceive,  by  this  demand,  you  are  not 
altogether  of  his  council. 

2  Lord.  Let  it  be  forbid,  sir !  so  should  I  be  a 
great  deal  of  his  act. 

1  Lord.  Sir,  his  wife,  some  two  months  since 
1  Crafty,  deceitful. 
2  Uore,  aa  olsowhere,  used  adrcrbially.  3  For  companion. 


Sci 


III. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


205 


fled  from  his  iiousc  ;  her  pretense  is  a  pilgrinia;xe 
to  Saint. Taqucsle  srand  ;  which  holy  underlakmk, 
with  most  austere  sanctimonv,  she  accomplished: 
aiijl,  tliere  residing,  the  tenderness  of  her  nature 
became  as  a  prey  to  her  grief;  in  fine  made  a  groan 
of  her  last  breath,  and  now  she  sings  in  heaven. 
2  Lnrd.  How  js  this  justihed  1 

1  L'lrii.  The  stroni^cr  part  of  it  by  her  own  letter; 
which  makes  her  story  true,  even  to  the  point 
of  her  death;  her  dealh  itself,  wliich  could  not  be 
her  ollicc  to  say,  is  come,  was  faitlitulJy  continued 
by  the  rector  of  the  place. 

2  L:iriL  Hath  the  count  all  this  intelligence  1 

1  L/ird.  Ay,  and  the  particular  conlirmations, 
point  from  point  to  the  full  arnnng  of  the  verity. 

2  Lord.  I  am  liearlily  sorry,  that  heUl  be  glad  of 
this. 

1  Lcird.  How  mightily  sometimes  we  make  us 
comf)rts  of  our  losses  ! 

2  Lnrd.  And  bow  mightily,  some  other  times, 
we  drown  our  pain  in  tears  !  The  great  dignity, 
that  his  valor  liatli  here  acijuircd  for  him,  shall  at 
home  be  encountered  wilh  a  shame  as  ample. 

1  Lord.  The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn, 
pood  and  ill  together  :  our  virtues  would  be  proud, 
if  our  faults  whipped  them  not  ;  and  our  crimes 
would  despair,  if  they  were  not  cherished  by  our 
virtues. 

Ei)/er  a  Servant. 
How  now  7    Where's  your  master  ] 

Ssri:  He  met  the  duke  in  the  street,  sir,  of  whom 
he  halh  taken  a  solemn  leave  ;  his  lordship  will 
next  morning  for  France.  The  duke  hath  ollcred 
him  leiters  of  commemlations  to  the  king. 

2  Lrird.  They  shall  be  no  more  than  needful 
there,  if  they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 

Kilter  BKn-riiiM. 

1  Lord.  They  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the  king's 
tartness.  Here's  his  lordship  now.  How  now,  my 
lord,  is  t  not  after  midnight ! 

Ber.  I  have  to-night  despatched  sixteen  busi- 
nesses, a  month's  length  a-piece,  by  an  abstract  of 
success:  I  have  conge' d  with  tlie  duke,  done  my 
adieu  with  his  nearest;  buried  a  wife,  mourned  for 
her;  writ  to  my  lady  mother,  I  am  returning;  en- 
tertained my  convoy;  and  between  these  main 
parcels  of  despatch,  eilected  many  nicer  needs  ;  the 
last  was  the  greatest,  but  that  1  have  not  ended  yet. 

2  Lord.  If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty,  and 
this  morning  your  departure  hence,  it  requires  haste 
of  your  lordship. 

Ber.  I  mean,  the  business  is  not  ended,  as  fearing 
to  hear  of  it  hereafter.  liut  shall  we  have  this  dia- 
logue between  the  fool  and  the  soldier  ? Come, 

bring  forth  this  counterfeit  module:"  he  has  de- 
ceived me  like  a  double-meaning  prnphesier. 

2  Lord.  Bring  him  forth:  |A',rei(»/ .-Soldiers.]  He 
has  sat  in  the  stocks,  all  night,  poor  gallant  knave. 

Ber.  No  matter  ;  his  heels  have  deserved  it,  in 
usurping  his  spurs'"  so  long.  How  does  he  carry 
himself? 

1  Lord.  I  have  told  your  lordship  already;  tile 
stockscarry  him.  But.  to  answer  you  as  you  would 
be  underalood  ;  he  weeps  like  a  wench  that  had 
shed  her  milk:  he  hath  confessed  himself  to  Mor- 
gan, whom  he  supposes  to  lie  a  friar,  from  the  time 
of  Ins  remembrance,  to  this  very  instant  disaster 
of  lis  sitlmg  i'the  stocks:  And  wliat  think  you  he 
halh  confessed? 

Ber.  Nothing  of  me,  has  he  ? 

2  Lord.  His  confession  is  taken,  and  it  shall  be 
read  to  his  face  :  if  your  lordship  be  in't,  as  I  be- 
lieve you  are,  5'ou  niiist  have  the  patience  to  hear  it. 

Re-enter  Soldiers  Willi  Parollis. 

Ber.  A  plague  upon  him  !  mufllcd!  he  can  say 
nothing  of  inc  ;  hush!  hush! 

1  Lord,  lioodmancomvs'.  — Porto  tiirtnro.isa. 

1  t^otd.  He  calls  for  the  tortures:  What  will  you 
say  without  'em  ? 

Pur.  I  will  confess  what  I  know  without  con- 
straint; if  he  pinch  me  like  a  pasly,  I  can  say  no 
more. 

1  Sold.  Boslto  chimiirchn. 

2  Lord.  Boblibindo  rliienrmurcho. 

1  Sold.  You  are  a  merciful  general:— Our  general 
I  Srodel,  ptitt^rn. 

»  .\n  allusion  to  the  dogratlation  of  a  knighl  by  back- 
ing off  his  spurs. 


b.ds  you  answer  to  what  !  shall  ask  you  out  of 
a  note. 

Pur.  And  truly,  as  I  hojie  to  live. 

1  Sold.  Firfit,  dtmand  of  hint  tiuiv  many  horse 
the  duke  is  string.     V\'hai  say  you  to  that  ? 

Par.  Five  or  six  thousand*:  but  very  weak  and 
unservicea'ile:  the  troops  are  all  scattered,  and  the 
commanders  very  poor  rogues,  upon  my  reputation 
anil  credit,  and  as  1  hope  to  live. 

1  Sold.  Shall  I  set  tiown  your  answer  so  ? 

Par.  Do;  I'll  take  the  sacrament  on't,  how  and 
which  way  you  will. 

Ber.  Alls  one  to  him.  What  a  past-saving  slave 
is  this ! 

1  Lord.  Xovi  are  deceived,  my  lord ;  this  is  mon- 
sieur I'aiolles.  the  gallant  militarist,  (that  was  his 
own  phrase,)  that  had  the  whole  theorick  of  war 
in  the  knot  of  his  Scarf,  and  the  practice  in  the 
chape^  of  his  dagger. 

2  Lord.  I  will  never  trust  a  man  again, for  keep- 
ing his  sword  clean  ;  nor  believe  he  can  liave  every 
thing  in  him,  by  wearing  his  apparel  neatly.       • 

1  Sold.    Well,  thafs  set  down. 

Pur.  Five  or  six  thousand  horse,  I  .said, —  I  will 
say  true,—  or  thereabouts,  set  down,  for  I'll  speak 
truth. 

1  Dird.  He's  very  near  the  truth  in  this. 

Ber.  But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for't,  iii  the  nature 
he  delivers  it. 

Par.  Pofir  rogues.  1  pray  you,  say. 

1  Sold.  Well.that's  set  down. 

Par.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir  ;  a  truth's  a  truth, 
the  rogues  are  marvellous  poor. 

I  Sold.  Deniand^rf  him  Irliat  ilrength  they  are 
a-fotd.    What  say  j  ou  to  that  ? 

Par.  By  my  troth,  sir,  if  I  were  to  live  this 
present  hour,  I  will  tell  true.  Let  me  see:  Spurio 
a  hundred  and  fifty,  Sebastian  .so  many,  Corambug 
so  many,  Jiiqnes  .so  many;  Cuiltian, "Cosmo,  Lo- 
dnwick,  and  C.ratii.  two  hundred  and  fnty  each: 
mine  own  company,  Chitoplier,  Vanmond.  Bentii, 
two  hundred  and  hfly  each:  so  that  the  niuster- 
lilc,  rotten  and  sound,  ujion  my  life,  amounts  not 
to  fifteen  thousand  poll  ;  half  of  which  dare  not 
shake  the  snow  from  otf  their  cassocks,*  lest  they 
shake  themselves  to  pieces. 

Ber.  What  shall  be  done  to  )iim  ? 

1  Lord.  Nolhiiig  but  let  him  have  thanks.  De- 
mand of  linn  my  conditions,'  and  what  credit  I 
have  with  the  duke, 

1  Sold.  Well,  that's  set  down.  Yon  .■<haU  de- 
mand (if  him  whet  tier  one  Captain  Duiiiain  be 
i'  tlie  cuntji,  a  Frenchman;  ii-hat  hix  rcpiilatiim  is 
with  the  ilukc,  wliat  hi.i  valor,  honesty,  itiid  i  xpert- 
ne.is  in  ivar.i ;  orwhtttnr  lie  thinks  it  were  not 
possible,  with  well-writhing  suni.s  of  fzold.  In  cor- 
rupt him  torcvolt.  What  say  you  to  this?  What 
do  you  know  of  it  ? 

Pur.  I  beseech  you,  let  me  answer  to  the  par- 
ticular of  the  interrogatories  :  Demand  them  singly. 

1  Sold.  Iio  you  know  this  captain  Dumain? 

Pur.  I  know  him:  he  was  a  botcher's  prentice  in 
Paris,  from  whence  he  was  whipped  for  getting  the 
sherilFs  fool  with  child;  a  dumb  innocent,"  that 
could  not  say  him,  nay. 

I  Domain  lifts  up  hU  hand  in  anaer. 

Ber.  Nay,  by  your  leave,  hold  your  hands; 
though  I  know,  his  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next 
tile  that  falls. 

1  Sold.  Well,  is  this  captain  in  the  duke  of  Flo- 
rence's camp? 

Par.  Vpoii  my  knowledge,  he  is,  and  lousy. 

Lnrd.  Nay,  look  not  so  upon  mc  ;  we  shall  licar 
of  your  lordship  anon. 

1   Sol'l.  What   is  the   reputation  with  the  duke  1 

Par.  The  duke  knows  liim  from  no  other  but  a 
poor  oflicer  of  mine  ;  and  writ  to  me  the  other  day, 
to  turn  him  nut  o'  the  band  :  I  think  I  have  his  letter 
in  my  pocket. 

1   Sold.  Marry,  we'll  search. 

Par.  In  good  sadness,  I  do  not  know:  either  it 
is  there,  or  it  is  upon  a  tile,  with  the  duke's  olher 
letters  in  my  tent. 

1  Sold.  Here  'tis  ;  lierc's  a  paper.  ShaJl  I  read 
it  to  you  ? 

Par.  I  do  not  know  if  it  be  it  or  no. 

Ber.  Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 

3  The  point  of  the  eeabliard. 

4  Ca*sork  then  signified  a  borscmati's  loose  coat. 

'  XlLsposition  and  character.  e  A  natural  fool. 


206 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  IV. 


1  Lord.  Kxccllently. 

1   SoH,  V  iAn.  The  c'lu  fit's  a  fool,  and  full  of  golil. 

Par.  That  is  not  thi^  duke's  letter,  sir  ;  that  is  an 
advertisement  to  a  proper  maid  in  Florence,  one 
Diana,  to  t  tke  heed  ot'  the  ailuremL-nts  of  one  count 
Uousdion.  a  tbohsh  idle  boy,  but,  fur  all  that,  very 
ruttish  :  I  pray  you,  sir,  put  it  up  a^^ani. 

1    Su/'l.  Nay,  I'll  read  it  lirst,  by  your  iavor. 

Par.  My  meanni^  in't,  I  protest,  was  very  honest 
in  the  lu'half  of  the  maid;  fori  knew  the  youn^ 
count  to  be  a  dangerous  and  lascivious  boy  ;  wJio 
is  a  whale  to  vni^uuty,  and  devours  up  all  the  fry 
it  finds. 

Bcr.  Damnable,  both  sides  rogue  ! 

1  Sold-   IVh^n   he  stvear^  oaths,  bid   him  drop 

gold,  and  fake  it; 
Af'er  he  scores  he  never  pays  the  score  : 
Ha!f  won,  is  matcli  well  made;  match,  and  well 

make  it  ,•  . 
He  ne'er  pays  after  d.e'>ts,  take  it  before  ; 
And  say  a  soldier,  Dian,  told  thee  this. 
Men  are  to  melt  with,  Ooys  are  not  to  kiss  : 
For  count  of  this,  the  count's  a  fool,  Iknotc  it. 
Who  pays  before,  but  not  when  he  dues  owe  it. 

Thine,  as  lie  vow'd  to  ihee  in  thine  ear, 

PAROLLEfi. 

"Ber.  He  shall  be  wlijpped  through  tlie  army, 
with  this  rhyme  in  his  forehead. 

2  Lnrd.  This  is  your  devoted  friend,  sir,  the 
manifold  linguist,  and  the  armipotent  soldier. 

B-::r.  I  could  endure  any  thmj^  before  but  a  cat, 
and  now  he's  a  cat  to  me. 

1  Sold.  1  perceive,  sir,  by  the  general's  looks,  we 
shall  be  fain  to  hang  yoa. 

Par.  My  life,  sir,  in  any  case  :  not  that  I  am 
afraid  to  die  ;  but  that,  my  otlences  being  many,  I 
would  repent  out  the  remainder  of  nature  :  let  me 
live.  sir.  m  a  dungeon,  i'  the  stock's,  or  any  where, 
so  I  may  live. 

1  Sold,  We'll  see  what  may  be  done,  so  you  con- 
fess freely  ;  therefore,  once  more  to  this  captain 
Dumain  :  You  have  answered  to  his  reputation  witli 
the  duke,  and  to  his  v^lor  :  What  is  his  honesty? 

Par,  He  will  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  cloister, 
for  rapes  and  ravislimenls  he  parallels  Ncssus.* 
He  professes  not  keeping  of  oatiis;  in  breaking 
them,  be  is  stronger  tnan  Hercules.  He  will  lie, 
sir,  with  s\^{\  volubility,  that  you  would  think  truth 
were  a  fool:  (h'unkenneS'  is  liis  best  virtue  ;  for  he 
will  be  swme-drunk;  and  in  his  sleep  he  does  little 
harm,  save  to  his  bed-clothes  about  him  ;  but  they 
Ivnow  his  conditions,  and  lay  him  in  straw.  I  have 
but  little  more  to  say,  sir,  of  his  honesty :  he  has 
everything  that  an  hone.^t  man  should  not  have; 
what  an  honest  man  should  have,  he  has  nothing. 

1  Lord.  1  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

Ber.  For  this  description  of  thine  honesty  T  A 
pox  upon  htm  for  me,  he  is  more  and  more  a  cat. 

I   Sold.  What  say  you  to  his  expertne?;s  in  war  ? 

Pur.  Faith,  sir,  lie  has  led  the  drum  before  the 
English  tragedians — to  belie  him,  I  will  not,— and 
more  ofhis  soldiership  I  know  not;  except,  in  that 
country  he  had  the  honor  to  be  the  officer  at  a  place 
there  called  Mile-end,  to  instruct  for  the  doubling 
of  files:  1  would  do  the  man  what  honor  1  can, 
but  of  this  1  am  not  certain. 

1  On'd.  He  hath  out-villaincd  villainy  so  far,  that 
the  rarity  redeems  him. 

Bcr.  A  pox  on  him !  he's  a  cat  still. 

1  Sidd,  His  qualities  bein^  at  this  poor  price, 
I  need  not  ask  you,  if  gold  will  corrupt  him  to 
revolt. 

Par.  Sir,  for  a  quart  d^ecu^  he  will  sell  the  fee- 
pimple  of  his  salvation,  the  inheritance  of  it;  and 
cut  the  entail  from  all  remainders,  and  a  perpetual 
suoecssioii  for  it  perpetually. 

1  Sold,  Whafs  his  brother,  the  other  captain 
Dumain  I 

2  I.m-il.  Wliy  does  he  ask  him  of  me  ] 
1   Sold.  What's  he  ] 

Par.  Ken  a  crow  of  the  same  nest;  not  altogether 
so  groat  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater  a  great 
deal  in  evil.  He  excels  his  brother  for  a  coward, 
yet  his  brother  is  reputed  one  of  the  best  that  is. 
In  a  retreat  he  outruns  any  lackey;  marry,  in 
coming  i>n  he  has  the  cramp. 

1  Sfdd.  If  your  life  be  saved,  will  you  undertake 
to  botiay  the  i'lorcntme? 

4  Tin-  O-ntaur  kih-'tl  by  TlerculeP. 

'  The  fourth  j^nrt  oj  the  smalk-r  French  crown. 


Par.  Ay,  and  the  captain  of  his  horse,  count 
Rousillon. 

1  Sold.  I'll  whisper  with  the  general,  and  know 
his  pleasure.  ^ 

Par.  Ill  no  more  drumming;  a  plague  of  all 
drums  !  Only  to  seem  to  deserve  well,  and  to  beguile 
tlie  supposition*  of  that  lascivious  young  boy,  the 
count,  have  I  to  run  into  this  danger:  Vet  who 
would  have  suspected  an  ambush  where  1  wastaken? 

[Aside, 

1  Sold.  There  is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you  must  die  : 
the  general  says,  you  that  liave  so  traitorously  dis- 
covered the  secrets  of  your  army,  and  made  such 
pestiferous  reports  of  men  very  nobly  held,  can 
serve  the  world  fur  no  honest  use;  therefore  you 
must  die.    C  ome.  liead&man,  olt  with  his  liead. 

Par.  O  Lord,  sir;  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see  my 
death. 

1  Sold.  That  shall  you,  and  take  your  leave  of 
all  your  friends.  i  Unmu£ling  him* 
So,  look  about  you  ;  know  you  any  here  f 

Ber.  Good  moiTow,  noble  captain. 

2  Lord.  God  bless  you,  captain  Parolles. 

1  Lord.  God  save  you,  noble  captain. 

2  Lord.  CapUiin,  what  greeting  will  you  to  my 
lord  Lafcu]     I  am  for  France. 

1  Lord.  Good  captain,  will  you  give  me  a  copy 
of  the  sonnet  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of  the 
count  Rousillon  ?  an'  I  were  not  a  very  coward,  I'd 
compel  It  of  you  ;  but  fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  HKnTUAM,  Lords,  &c. 

1  Sold.  You  are  undone,  captain ;  all  but  your 
scarf,  that  has  a  knot  on't  yet. 

Par.  Who  cannot  be  crushed  with  a  plot  ? 

1  Sold.  If  you  could  find  out  a  country  where 
but  women  were  that  had  received  so  mucli  shame, 
you  might  begin  an  impudent  nation.  Fare  you 
well,  sir:  I  am  for  France  too;  we  shall  speak  of 
you  there-  {£x'it. 

Par.  Yet  am  I  thankful:  if  my  heart  were  great, 
'Twould  burst  at  this  :  Captain  FU  be  not  more ; 
But  I  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 
As  captain  shall:  simply  the  thing  I  am 
Shall  make  me  live.  Who  knows  himself  a  braggart. 
Let  him  fear  this  ;  for  it  will  come  to  pass, 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 
Rust,  sword!  cool,  blushes!  and,  Parolles,  live 
Safest  in  shame!  being  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive! 
There  s  place,  and  means,  for  every  man  alive. 
Ill  after  them.  [£an^ 

SCENE  IV.— Florence.  A  Room  in  the  M^idow's 

House. 

Enter  Helesa,  Widow,  and  Diana. 

Hel.  That  you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not 
wrong'd  you, 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  christian  world 
Shall  he  my  surety;  'fore  whose  throne, 'tis  needful, 
Kre  1  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel : 
Time  was  I  did  him  a  desired  oflicc, 
Dear  almost  as  his  life  ;  which  gratitude 
Through  tlinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth. 
And  answer  thanks:  I  duly  am  inform'd 
Ills  grace  is  at  Marseilles;  to  which  place 
We  nave  convenient  convoy.    You  must  know, 
I  am  supposed  dead:  the  army  breaking. 
My  husoand  hies  him  home  ;  where,  heaven  aiding, 
And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  king, 
We'll  be,  before  our  welcome. 

JVid.  Gentle  madam. 

You  never  iiad  a  servant,  to  whose  trust 
Your  business  was  more  welcome. 

Hel.  Nor  you.  mistress, 

Ever  a  friend,  whose  thoughts  more  truly  labor 
To  recompense  your  love  ;  doubt  not,  but  heaven 
Hath  brought  me  up  to  be  your  daughter's  dower, 
As  it  hath  fated  ber  to  be  my  motive 
And  helper  to  a  husband.    But,  O  stranire  men  ! 
That  can  such  sweet  use  make  ofwhat  they  hate, 
When  saucy  trusting  of  the  cozen'd  tiioui;hts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night!  so  lust  doth  play 
With  what  it  loathes,  for  tiiat  which  is  away; 

liut  more  of  this  hereafter You,  Diana, 

Under  my  poor  instructions  yet  must  sulfer 
Something  in  my  behalf. 

Dia.  Let  death  and  honesty 

Go  with  your  impositions,^  I  am  yours, 
Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

•  To  dfcpive  the  opinion. 

■>  Lascivious.  '  Commands. 


V. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


207 


Hel.  Yet,  I  pray  you, 

But  wilh  the  word,  the  time  will  hrijij;  on  summer, 
When  briers  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorjis, 
And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp.    We  must  away  ; 
Our  waggon  is  prepared,  and  time  revives  us : 
AlCs  wcllthul  enilsu'<il :  still  the  fine's'  the  crown; 
Whate'er  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown. 

{Exeuni. 

SCENE  v.—  RousiUon.    A  Room  in  the 

Countess's  Palace. 
Enter  Cod.^tess,  Lafec,  and  Clown-. 

iMf.  No,  nn,  your  son  was  misled  with  a  snipt, 
tallata  fellow  there ;  whose  villainous  satlVon  >  would 
have  made  all  the  unbaked  and  doughy  youth  of  a 
nation  in  his  color:  your  daughter-in-law  had  been 
alive  at  this  hour  :  and  your  son  here  at  home,  more 
advanced  by  the  king,  than  by  that  red-tailed  hum- 
ble-bee I  speak  of. 

Count.  1  would,  I  had  not  known  him  !  it  was 
the  death  of  (he  most  virtuous  gentlewoman  that 
ever  nature  had  iiraisc  for  creating :  if  she  had  par- 
taken of  my  llesli,  and  cost  me  the  dearest  groans 
of  a  mother,  I  could  not  have  owed  lier  a  more 
rooted  love. 

Lnf.  'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady  :  we 
may  pick  a  thousand  salads,  ere  we  light  on  such 
another  herb. 

Cto.  Indeed,  sir,  she  was  the  sweet-marjoram  of 
the  salad,  or,  rather,  the  herb  of  grace.** 

Lnf.  They  are  not  salad-herbs,  you  knave,  they 
are  nose-herbs. 

Cli).  I  am  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir,  I  have 
not  much  sidll  in  grass. 

Lnf.  Whether  dost  thou  profess  thyself;  a  knave 
or  a  fool  : 

Ck).  A  fool,  sir,  at  a  woman's  service,  and  a 
knave  at  a  man's, 

l/if.  Your  distinction'! 

Clii.  I  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife,  and  do 
his  service. 

L'if.  So  you  were  a  knave  at  his  service,  indeed. 

17".  And  I  would  give  his  wife  my  bauble,  sir, 
to  do  her  service. 

Lnf.  I  will  subscribe  for  thee  ;  thou  art  both 
knave  and  fool. 

Chi.  At  your  service. 

Lnf.  No.  no,  no. 

Cin.  Why,  sir,  if  I  cannot  serve  you,  I  can  serve 
as  great  a  iirince  as  yon  are. 

Lnf.  Who's  that  fa  Frenchman? 

Cki.  Faith,  sir,  he  has  an  English  name:  but 
his  phisnomy  is  tnore  hotter  in  France,  than  there 

Lnf.  What  prince  is  that? 

Cln.  The  black  prince,  sir ;  alias,  the  prince  of 
darkness;  alius,  the  devil. 

Lnf.  Hold  thee,  there's  my  purse;  I  give  thee 
not  this  to  suggest  a  thee  from  thy  master  thou 
talkest  of;  serve  him  still. 

Clu.    I   am  a   woodland    fellow,  sir,  that  always 


loved  a  great  lire ;  and  the  master  I  speak  of,  ever 
keeps  a  good  flre.  But,  sure,  he  is  the  prince  of 
the  world,  let  his  nolnliiy  remain  in  his  court.  I 
am  for  the  house  wilh  the  narrow  gate,  which  I 
take  to  be  too  little  for  pomp  to  enter ;  some,  that 
hunililc  themselves,  may;  but  the  many  will  be  too 
chill  and  tender;  and  they'll  be  for  the  llowery  way, 
that  leads  to  the  broad  gate,  and  the  great  fire. 

Lnf.  Go  thy  ways,  I  begin  to  be  a-wearv  of  thee, 
and  I  tell  thee  so  before,  because  1  would  not  fill 
out  with  thee.  Go  thy  ways;  let  my  horses  be 
well  looked  to,  without  any  tricks. 

CJn.  If  1  put  any  tricks  upon  em.-sir,  thev  shall 
he  jades'  tricks  ;  which  are  their  own  right  by  the 
law  of  nature.  [Exit. 

Lnf.  A  shrewd  knave,  and  an  unhappy.* 

Count.  So  he  is.  My  lord,  that's  gone,  made 
himself  much  sport  out  of  him  ;  by  hisiiuthority  he 
remains  here,  which  he  thinks  is  a  patent  lor  his 
sauciness;  and,  indeed,  he  has  no  pace,  but  runs 
where  he  will. 

Lnf.  I  like  him  well;  'tis  not  amiss;  and  I  was 
about  to  tell  you.  Since  I  heard  of  the  good  lady's 
death,  and  that  my  lord  your  son  was  upon  his  re- 
turn home,  1  moved  tlie  'king  my  master,  to  speak 
in  the  behalf  of  my  daughter:  which  in  the  minor- 
rity  of  them  both,  his  majesty,outof  a  self-gracious 
remem'irancc,  did  first  propose:  his  highness  hath 
promised  me  to  do  it:  and,  to  stop  up  the  displea- 
sure he  hath  conceived  against  your  son,  there  is  no 
htter  matter.    How  does  your  ladyship  like  it? 

Cnunt.  With  verV  much  content,  my  lord,  and 
1  wish  it  happily  etl'ectcd. 

Lnf.  His  highness  comes  post  from  Marseilles,  of 
as  able  body  as  when  he  numbered  thirty  ;  he  will 
be  here  to-morrow,  or  1  am  deceived  by  him  that 
in  such  intelligence  hath  seldom  failed. 

Cnunt.  It  rejoices  me,  that  I  hopel  shall  see  him 
ere  I  die.  I  have  letters,  that  my  son  w.ll  be  here 
to-night :  I  shall  beseech  your  lordship,  to  remain 
with  me  till  they  meet  together. 

Lnf.  iMadam,  I  was  thinking,  with  what  manners 
I  might  safely  he  admitted. 

Cnunt.  You  need  but  plead  your  honorable  priv- 
ilege. 

Lnf.  Lady,  of  that  I  have  made  a  bold  character; 
but,  I  thank  my  God,  it  holds  yet. 

Re-enter  Clown. 

Cln.  O  madam  yonder's  my  lord  your  son  with 
a  patch  of  velvet  on's  llice  :  whether  there  be  a  scar 
under  it,  or  no,  the  velvet  knows:  but  'tis  a  goodly 
patch  of  velvet:  his  left  cheek  is  a  cheek  of  two 
pile  and  a  half,  but  his  right  cheek  is  worn  bare. 

L'if.  A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good 
livery  ot  honor  !  .so,  belike,  is  that. 

Cln._  But  it  is  your  carbonadoedi  face. 

Lnf.  Let  us  go  see  your  son,  I  pray  you  ;  I  Ions 
to  talk  with  the  young  noble  soldier. 

Cln.  'Faith,  there's  a  dozen  of  em,  with  delicate 
hne  hats,  and  most  courteous  feathers,  which  bow 
the  head  and  nod  at  every  man.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— Marseilles.    A  Street. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana,  wilh  two 
Attendants. 

Hel.  But  this  exceeding  posting,  day  and  ni<'ht 
Must  wear  your  snirits  low  :  we  cannot  help  it  • 
But  since  you  have  made  the  days  and  nights  as  one 
To  wear  your  gentle  limbs  in  my  affiiirs, 
Be  bold,  you  do  so  grow  in  my  requital. 
As  nothing  can  unroot  you.    In  happy  time  ; 

Enter  a  gentle  Astringer.' 
This  man  may  help  me  to  his  majesty's  ear. 
If  he  would  spend  his  power— God  save  you' sir 

Gent.  And  you.  ' 

Hel.  Sir,  1  have  seen  you  in  the  court  of  France. 

CeJit.  I  have  been  sometimes  there. 

He!.  I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 

•  End. 

iThPTO  was  a  fttiliion  of  using  yellow  .starch  for  tjandis 
liDd  ruffles,  to  which  I.iifeu  alludes.        ij.  e.  Hue. 

'  Svdace.  i  A  gentleman  falconer. 


!■  rom  the  report  that  goes  i:pon  your  goodness ; 
And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasions, 
U  Inch  lay  nice  manners  hv,  1  put  you  to 
The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 
I  shall  continue  thankful. 

Gent.  What's  your  will  ' 

Hel.  That  it  will  please  you 
To  give  this  poor  petilion  to  the  king. 
And  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have. 
To  come  into  his  presence. 

Gent.  The  king's  not  here. 

H''-  Not  here,  sir  ? 

,,•'''"'•  Not,  indeed: 

He  hence  remov'd  last  night,  and  with  more  haste 
Than  is  his  use. 

,"''''■  I-ord,  how  we  lose  our  pains  ! 

Jlcl.  A/l'.^  melt  thai  f»//.s  n-ell,  yet ; 
Though  times  .seem  so  adverse,  aiid  means  unfit.— 
I  do  beseech  you,  whither  is  he  gone  '. 

*  ^liprhievously  unhnppy,  wafrd^h. 

«  Scored  like  a  piece  of  meat  for  the  gridiron. 


208 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  V. 


Gen/.  Marry,  as  I  take  it,  to  RousiUon ; 
VVIiilher  I  am  goln^'. 

Hel.  I  do  beseech  j'ou  sir, 

Since  you  are  like  to  s^e  tlie  l<ins  before  me, 
Comineiid  the  paper  to  his  gracious  liand  ; 
Which.  I  presume,  shall  render  you  no  blame. 
But  ratlier  make  you  thank  yimr  pains  for  it : 
I  will  come  alter  you,  with  what  good  speed 
Uur  mL'uiis  will  mike  us  means. 

Gen/.  This  I'll  do  for  you. 

Hsl.    And  you  shall  find   yourself  to   be  well 
thankd, 
Whate'er  tails  more.— We  must  to  horse  asain  ; — 
Go,  go,  provide.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— RousiUon.    T/ie  inner  Court  of  tite 

Countess's  Palace. 

Enter  Clown  and  Farolles. 

Par.  Good  monsieur  Lavatch,  give  my  lord  Lafeu 
this  letter:  I  have,  ere  now,  sir,  been  belter  known 
to  you,  when  I  have  held  familiarity  with  Ircslier 
clothes;  but  I  am  now,  sir,  muddied  in  fortune's 
moat,  and  smell  somewhat  strong  of  her  strong  dis- 
pleasure. 

Clo.  Truly,  fortune's  displeasure  is  but  sluttish, 
if  it  smell  so  strong  as  thou  speakcst  of:  1  will 
thenceforth  eat  no  fish  of  fortune  s  butteruig.— 
Prythee,  allow  the  wind. 

Par.  Nay,  you  need  not  stop  your  nose,  sir ;  I 
spake  but  by  a  metaphor. 

Vlu.  Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  I  will 
stop  my  nose;  or  against  any  mans  metaphor. — 
Pi'j  tliee,  get  thee  further. 

Par.  l-'ray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 

Clo.  Foh!  prythee,  stand  away:  A  paper  from 
fortune's  close-stool  to  give  to  a  nobleman  !  Look, 
here  he  comes  himself. 

Enter  Lafeu. 
Here  is  a  pur  of  fortune,  sir,  or  of  fortune's  cat, 
{but  not  a  musk-cat.)  that  has  fallen  into  (he  unclean 
fishpond  of  her  displeasure,  and,  as  he  says,  is  mud- 
died withah  Pray  you.  sir,  use  the  carp  as  you  may; 
for  lie  looks  like  a  poor,  decayed,  ingenious,  foolish, 
rascally  knave.  I  do  pity  his  distress  in  niy  smiles 
of  comfort,  and  leave  him  to  your  lordship. 

[Exit  Clown. 

Par.  My  lord.  I  am  a  man  whom  fortune  hath 
cruelly  scratched.  . 

Laf.  And  what  would  you  have  me  to  dol  tis  too 
late  "lo  pare  her  nails  now.  Wherein  have  you 
played  Ihe  knave  with  fortune,  that  she  should 
scratcli  J  ou,  who  of  herself  is  a  good  lady,  and 
would  not  have  knaves  tlirive  long  under  her! 
There's  .a  quart  tV  ecu  for  you:  Let  the  justices  make 
you  and  fortune  friends :  1  am  for  other  business. 

Par.  1  beseech  your  honor  to  hear  me  one  sin- 
gle word. 

L:if.  'i'oubeg  a  single  penny  more:  come,  you 
shall  hat;  save  your  word. 

Pur.  My  name,  my  good  lord,  is  ParoUes. 

Luf.  You  beg  more  than  one  word,  then.  — Cox 
my  passion!  give  me  your  hand: — How  does  your 
drum!  ,.    .   n    . 

Pur.  O  my  good  lord,  you  were  the  first  that 
found  me.  c    i   u  . 

Luf.  Was  I,  in  sooth'!  and  I  was  the  first  that 
lost  thee. 

Pur.  It  lies  in  yon,  my  lord,  to  bring  mo  in  some 
grace,  for  you  did  bring  me  out. 

Lff.  Hut  upon  llice.  knave  !  dost  thou  put  upon 
me  at  once  both  the  oilice  of  God  and  the  devil  ! 
one  brings  thee  in  grace,  and  the  other  brings  thee 
out.  l'rri///i;jf/s  ,ijund.\  The  king's  coming,  1  know 
by  his  trumpets.— Sirrah,  inquire  further  alter  me; 
I  had  talk  ol  you  last  night:  though  you  are  a  fool 
and  a  knave,  you  shall  eat :  go  to,  follow. 

Par.  I  praise  God  for  you.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— .4  Room  in  the  Countess's  Palace. 

Flourish.    Enter  Km^,   Countess,  Hfku,  Lords, 
Gentlemen,  Guards,  &c. 

King.  We  lost  a  jewel  of  her ;  and  our  esteem' 
Was  made  much  poorer  by  it :  but  your  son, 
As  mad  in  folly,  lackd  Ihe  sense  to  know 
Her  estimation  home.' 

Cnunt.  'Tis  past,  my  liege: 

And  1  beseech  your  majesty  to  make  it 

1  Ilcckonint;  op  estimate.    •  Completely,  Id  its  full  extent. 


Natural  rebellion,  done  i'  the  blaze  of  youth; 
When  oil  and  fire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 
O'erbears  it,  and  burns  on. 

King.  My  honor'd  lady, 

I  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all ; 
Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  hira. 
And  watch'd  the  time  to  shoot. 

L'f.  This  I   must  say,— 

But  first  I  beg  my  pardon, — The  young  lord 
Did  to  his  majesty,  his  mother,  and  his  lady, 
Otlcnce  of  mighty  note;  but  to  himself 
The  greatest  wrong  of  all  :  he  lost  a  wife. 
Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 
Of  richest  eyes  ;  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive ; 
Whose  dear  perfection,  hearts  that  scorned  to  serve, 
Humbly  calld  mistress. 

King.  Praising  what  is  lost, 

JIakes   the  remembrance  dear. —  Well,  call    him 

hither ; 

We  are  reconcifd,  and  the  first  view  shall  kill 
All  repetition  ;«— Let  him  not  ask  our  pardon  ; 
The  nature  of  his  great  oltenre  is  dead. 
And  deeper  than  oblivion  do  we  bury 
The  incensing  relics  of  it:  let  him  approach, 
A  stranger,  no  olTender ;   and  inform  liim. 
So 'tis  our  will  he  should. 
Gent.  I  shall,  my  liege. 

[Exit  Gentleman. 
King.  What  says  he  io  your  daughter!  have  you 

spoke  ! 
Lrtf.  All  that  he  is  hath  relerence  to  your  highness. 
King.  Then  shall  we  have  a  match.     I  have  let- 
ters sent  me. 
That  set  him  high  m  fame. 

Enter  BtiiTBAiH. 
Lr;/.  He  looks  well  on'U 

King.  I  am  not  a  day  of  season. 
For  thou  mayst  see  a  sunshine  and  a  hail 
In  me  at  once:  But  to  the  brightest  beams 
Distracted  clouds  give  way  ;  so  stand  thou  forth, 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Ber.  My  high  reputed  blames. 

Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 

King.  A 11  is  whole; 

Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time. 
Let's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top  ; 
Kor  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick'st  decrees 
The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  time 
Steals  ere  we  can  ellect  them :  You  remember 
The  daughter  of  this  lord  ! 

Ber.  A'dmiringly,  my  liege  :  at  first 
I  struck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue  : 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing. 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me. 
Which  warp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favor  ; 
Scorn'd  a  fair  color,  or  cxpress'd  it  stol'ii  ; 
Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions. 
To  a  most  hideous  object:  Thence  it  came. 
That  slie,  whom  all  men  prais'd,  and  whom  myself 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  lov'd,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  oflend  it. 

King.  Wellexcus'd: 

That  thou  didst  love  her,  strikes  some  scores  away 
From  the  greatccmpl:  But  love,  that  comes  loo  late 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried. 
To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  ollf-nce, 
Crying,  That's  good  that's  gone :  our  rash  faults 
Make  trivial  price  of  serious  tilings  we  have. 
Not  knowing  them,  until  we  know  their  grave: 
Oft  our  displeasures,  to  ourselves  unjust. 
Destroy  our  friends,  and  after  weep  their  dnst : 
Our  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  what's  done. 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  aflernoon. 
Be  this  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  forget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Maudlin, 
The  main  consents  are  had  ;  and  here  we  '11  slay 
To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day. 
Count.  Which  better  than  the  first,  O  dear  heaven 

bless ! 
Or,  ere  they  meet,  in  me, O  nature,  cease! 
Lfif.  Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  my  house's  name 
Must  be  digested,  give  a  favor  from  you. 
To  sparkle  in  the  .spirits  of  my  daughter. 
That  she  may  quickly  come.— By  my  old  beard. 
And  every  hair  that s  on't,  Helen,  that  s  dead, 
Was  a  sweet  creature  ;  such  a  ring  as  this. 
The  last  that  e'er  I  took  her  leave  at  court, 
1  saw  upon  her  finger ! 

•  Recollection,  '  i.  c.  Of  uninterrupted  rain. 


Scene  III. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  AVELL, 


2C9 


^Bf.  Hers  it  was  not. 

A'»!^.  Now,  pr.iy  you,  lot  ine  see  it ;  (or  mine  eye. 
While  I  was  spoakiiiL',  oft  was  fa^tened  tol.— 
This  ring  was  mine?;  and.  when  1  gave  it  Helen, 
I  bade  her,  if  iicr  fortunes  ever  stood 
Necessitied  to  help,  that  by  this  token 
I  would  relieve  her  :  Had  you  that  craft,  to  reave  her 
Of  what  should  stead  her  most  I 

^^^'  My  Kracious  sovereign, 

Howe'er  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so. 
The  ring  was  never  hen. 

Ccmnl.  Son,  on  my  life, 

I  have  seen  her  wear  it;  and  she  reckon 'd  it 
At  her  life's  rate. 
Lnf.  I  am  sure,  I  saw  her  wear  it. 

Ber.  You  are  deceiv'd,  my  lord,  she  never  saw  it: 
In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  thrown  me, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  iiapcr,  which   contain'd  the  name 
Of  her  that  threw  it :  noble  she  was,  and  thought 
I  stood  ensa^^'d  :■'.  but  when  I  had  subscribed 
To  mine  own  fortune,  and  informd  her  fully, 
I  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honor. 
As  she  had  made  the  overture,  she  ceas'd, 
In  heavy  satisfaction,  and  would  never 
Receive  the  ring  again. 

liing.  '  riutus  himself. 

That  knows  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine,' 
Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  more  science. 
Than  1  have  in  this  nng:  'twas  mine,  'twas  Helen's, 
Whoever  gave  it  jou:  Then,  if  you  know. 
That  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself. 
Confess  'twas  hers,  and  by  what  rough  enforcement 
You  got  it  from  her:  she  calld  the  .saints  to  surety, 
That  she  would  never  put  it  from  her  finger, 
Unless  she  gave  it  to  yourself  in  bed, 
(Where  you  have  never  come,)  or  sent  it  us 
Upon  her  great  disaster. 
■Ccr.  She  never  saw  il. 

King.    Thou  .speak'st  it  falsely,  as  I  love  mine 
honor ; 
And  mak'st  conjectural  fears  to  come  into  me 
Which  I  would  fain  shut  out:  If  it  should  prove 
That  thou  art  so  inhuman, — 'twill  not  prove  so;— 
And  yet  I  know  not : — thou  didsl  hale  her  deadly, 
And  she  is  dead ;  which  nothing,  but  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  me  to  believe, 
More  than  to  see  this  ring.— Take  him  away.— 
[Guards  seize  Bkhtiiam. 
My  fore-past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall, 
Shall  tax  my  fears  of  little  vanity. 
Having  vainly  feard  too  little.— Away  with  him;— 
We'll  sift  this  matter  further. 

Bcr.  .  If  von  shall 


I  am  afeard,  the  life  of  Helen,  lady. 
Was  foully  snatch  d. 
C'wl-  Now,  justice  on  the  doers ! 

Enler  BEnTnA>i,  t;uarJed. 
King.  I  wonder,  sir,  since  wives  are  monsters  to 
you. 
And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lordship 
\  et  you  desire  to  marry. — What  woman's  that  1 

Ri-enler  Gentleman,   loUh   Widow  and  Diajta. 

Did.  I   am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Klorentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capulet ; 
.My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know, 
.4nd  therefore  know  how  far  I  may  be  pitied 

fVii.  I  am  her  mother,  sir,  whose  ase  and  honor 
Both  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bring. 
And  both  shall  cease,s  without  vour  remedy. 
King.  Come    hither,  count :' Do  you  know  these 

women  ' 
Brr.  My  lord,  I  nether  can,  nor  will  deny 
But  that  1  know  them :  Do  they  charge  me  lurther  ! 
D'ui.  Why  do  you  look  so  strange  upon  yourwifei 
Bcr.  She's  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 
,.^'-<'-.  ...       ,  If  you  shall  marry, 

^  ou  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine ; 
You  give  away  heaven's  vows,  and  those  are  mine  • 
You  give  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine  ; 
For  1  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours. 
That  she,  which  marries  you,  must  marry  mp 
Kilher  both  or  none. 

Laf.  Your  reputation  [To  BF.nTnoi]  comes  too 
short  for  my  daui;hler;  you  are  no  husbaiicl  for  her. 
Bcr.  My  lord,  this  is  a  fond  and  desperate  crea- 
ture. 
Whom  sometime  I  have  laueh'd  with :  let  your  high- 
ness ° 
Lay  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honor. 
Than  for  to  think  lliat  1  would  sink  it  here. 
King.  Sir,  for  my  thoughts,  you  have  therii  ill  to 
friend, 
Till  your  deeds  gain   them :  Fairer  prove   your 
honor. 


_,,.     .  ,       •  ,    Tf  you  snail  prove 

This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy 
Prove  that  I  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence 
Where  yet  she  never  was.  * 

[Exit  Eebtham,  guarded. 
Enter  a  Gentleman. 

King.  I  am  wrapp'd  in  dismal  thinkings. 

(^'-nt.  Gracious  sovereign. 

Whether  1  have  been  to  blame,  or  no,  I  know  nbf 
Here  s  a  petition  from  a  Florentine,  ' 

Who  hath  for  four  or  five  removes,*  come  short 
To  tender  it  hersrif.    I  undertook  it, 
Vanquish'd  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this,  I  know, 
Is  here  attending:  her  business  looks  in  her 
With  an  important  visage  ;  and  she  told  me 
In  a  sweet  verbal  brief,  it  did  concern  ' 

Your  highness  with  herself. 

A'i;;s'- [Iteads.l  Vpmi  li'is  tnany  prntcstaiions  to 
marry  me,  when  liis  wife  wa.i  dead,  I  fitus/i  to  sa7/ 
't,  he  icon  me.  Now  ti  tlie  count  RnusiUim  a 
widower;  h,.i  vows  are  forfeited  to  me,  and  my 
honor"si>ai4  tnliim.  He  stole  froniFlorence,taliin'' 
no  tear',  and  1  follow  liim  to  fill  country  for  jus- 
tice.-  Grant  it  me,  O  liing,-  in  you  it  lest  tiei  ■ 
otherwise  a  seducer  flourishes,  and  a  poor  maid  ii 

«'"'<«'<;•  DiAX-A    CAPL-LtT. 

Laf.  I  will  buy  me  a  son-in-law  in  a  fair,  and 
toll  him  :  I  for  this,  I'll  none  of  him. 
King.  The  heavens  have  thought  well  on  thee, 
Lafeu, 
To  bring  forth  this  discovery. — Seek  these  suitors: 
Go,  speedily,  and  bring  again  the  count. 

[Exeunt  Gentleman  and  some  Attendants. 

"  In  tho  sense  of  unengaged,    a  The  rhilosopher's  stone 
•  rost-stages.  6  p^y  t(jj|  f^j.  j^;j^_ 


Than  in  my  thought  it  lies  ! 

Di/i.  Good  my  lord. 

Ask  him  upon  his  oalh.  if  lie  does  think 
He  bad  not  uiy  virginity. 

King.  What  sayest  tliou  to  her  1 

Ber.  She's  impudent,  my  lord. 

And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp.' 

I)ia.  He  docs  me  wrong,  my  lord  ;  if  I  were  so 
He  might  have  bought  me  at  a  common  price  :       ' 
Do  not  believe  him  :  O,  behold  this  ring, 
Whose  high  respect,  and  rich  validity," 
Did  lack  a  parallel ;  yet,  for  all  that. 
He  give  it  to  a  commoner  o'  the  camp. 
If  1  be  one. 

Count.  He  bluslies,  and  'tis  it : 

Of  six  [ireceding  ancestors,  that  gem 
Cnnferr'd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue. 
Hath  it  been  ow'd  and  worn.    This  is  his  wife- 
That  ring's  a  thousand  proofs.  ' 

A'l'Hg.  I^Ietbought,  you  said. 

You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it. 

Dia.  I  did,  my  lord,  but  loath  am  to  produce 
So  bad  an  instrument ;  his  name  s  l>ari>lles. 

Laf.  I  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 

King.  Find  him,  and  bring  him  hither. 
„^er.  What  of  him  7 

He's  quoted  ■  for  a  most  perfidious  slave, 
With  all  the  spots  o'  the  world  tax'd  and  (?ebosh'd  ■» 
Whose  nature  sickens,  but  to  speak  a  Irutli :  ' 

Am  1  or  that,  or  this,  for  what  he'll  utter, 
Tliiit  will  speak  any  thing  1 

King.  She  hath  that  ring  of  yours. 

Ber.  I  think  she  has  ;  certain  it  is,  I  liked  her 
And  boarded  her,  i'  the  wanton  way  of  youth  : ' 
She  knew  her  distance,  and  did  angle  for  me. 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  re'straint. 
As  all  impediments  in  faney'si    course 
Are  motives  of  more  fimcy ;  and,  in  fine. 
Her  insult  coming  with  her  modern  grace.i 
Subdued  me  to  her  rate  :  she  got  the  ring 
And  I  had  Ihat,  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market  price  have  bought. 

«  Decease,  die. 
1  Gamester,  when  applied  to  a  female,  then  meant  a 
common  woman. 

'  Noted.  »  Debauch 'd.  i  Love. 

•>  IUt  ,solicitation  concurring  with  her  aiinearancc  of 
oemg  common. 


210 


ALL'S'  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Act  V. 


Dia.  I  must  be  patient ; 

You  that  turn"d  ofTa  first  so  noble  wife, 
May  justly  diet  me.    I  pray  you  yet, 
(Since  you  lack  viitue,  1  will  lose  a  husband,) 
Send  for  your  ring,  1  will  return  it  home. 
And  give  me  mine  again. 

Ber.  I  have  it  not. 

Kinz-  What  ring  was  yours,  1  pray  you  \ 

Dia.  sir,  much  hlie 

The  same  upon  your  finger. 

Kin^.  Know  you  this  ring  \  this  rmg  was  his 
of  late. 

Dia.  And  this  was  it  I  gave  him,  being  a-bed. 

Kinf.  The  story  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it  him 
Out  of  a  casement. 

Dia.  1   have  spoke  the  truth. 

Enter   Pauolles. 
Ber.  ISIy  lord,  I  do  confess,  the  ring  was  hers. 
King.  Vou  boggle  shrewdly,  every  feather  starts 
you. 
Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of  1 

Dia.  Av,    my  lord. 

King.  Tell  me,  sirrali,  but  tell  mc  true,  1  charge 
you. 
Not  fearing  the  displeasure   of  your  master, 
(Which,  on  your  just  procediug,  1  11  keep  off,) 
By  hini,  and  hy  this  woman  here,  what  know  youl 
'Par.  So  please  your  majesty,  my  master  hath 
been  an  honorable  gentleman;   tricks  he  hath  had 
in  him.  which  gentlemen  have. 

Kins:.  Come,  come,  to  the  purpose :  Did  he  love 
this  woman  7 
Par.  'Faith,  sir,  he  did  love  her;  Rut  liow  ] 
Kins.  How.  I  pray  you  ^ 
Par.  He  did  love  her,  sir,  as  a  gentleman  loves  a 
woman. 
King.  How  is  that  ] 

Par.  He  loved  her,  sir,  and  loved  her  not. 
A'iiPff.  A.s  thou  art  a  knave,  and  no  knave  :— 
What  an  equivocal  companion  is  this  1 

Par.  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  at  your  majesty  s 
command. 

Luf.  He's  a  good  drum,  my  lord,  but  a  naughty 
orator.  .        , 

Dia.  Do  yon  know,  he  promised  me  marriage  ! 
Par.  'Faith,  I  know  more  than  111  speak. 
King.  But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  knowestl 
Par.  Yes,  so  please  your  niajtsty  ;   I  did  go  be- 
tween them,   as  I    said:   but   iiiore"  than  that,  he 
loved  her, — for  indeed  he   was  mad   for  her,  and 
talked  of  Satan,  and  of  liml)0,  and  of  furies,  and  I 
know  not  what :  yet  I  was  in  that  credit  with  them 
at   that  time,  tliat  I   knew  of  their  gonig  to  bed ; 
and  of  other  motions,  as  promising  her  marriage, 
and  things  that  would  derive  me  ill  will  to  speak  ot, 
therefore  I  will  not  speak  what  I  know. 

King.  Thou  hast  spoken  all  alre^idy,  unless  thou 

canst  say  they  are  married  :    But  thou  art  too  fine 

in  thy  evidence  ;  therefore  stand  aside  — 

.  This  ring,  you  say,  was  yours  !  ^  ,      . 

Dia.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  Where  did  you  buy  it  ?  or  wlio  gave  it  you. 

Dili.  It  was  not  given   me,  nor  I  did  not  buy  it, 

JiTi/;!'.  Who  lent  it  youl 

Dia.  It  was  not   lent  me  neither. 

King.  Where  did  you  find  it  then  ? 
Dia°  I  found  it  not. 

King.  If  it  were  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways. 
How  could  you  give  it  him '!  . 

Din.  I  never  gave  it  nim. 

Lrif.  This  woman's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord ;  she 
goes  off  and  on  at  pleasure. 
King.  This  ring  was  mine,  I  gave  it  his  first  wile. 
Dia-  It  might  be  yours  or  hers  for  aught  1  know. 
King.  Take  her  away,  I  do  not  like  her  now  : 
To  prison  with  her,  and  away  with  him.— 


Unless  thou  tcU'st  me  wliere  thou  hadst  this  ring 
Thou  diest  within  this  Iiour. 

Dia,  I'll  never  tell  you. 

King.  Take  her  away. 

Diu.  Ill  put  in  bail,  my  liege 

Kin'j;,  I  think  thee  now  some  common  customer 

Dill.  By  Jove,  if  ever  I  knew  man,  'twas  you. 

King.  Wherefore  hast  thou  accused  him  all  thii 
while  ] 

Dia.  Because  he's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guilty : 
He  knows  I  am  no  maid,  and   he'll  swear  to  t. 
I'll  swear  I   am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 
Great  king,  I  am   no  strumpet,  by  my  life ; 
I  am  cither  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife. 

{Pointing  to  L.iff.u.) 

King.  She  does  abuse  our  ears ;  to  prison  with 
her. 

Dia.  G  ood  mother,  fetch  my  bail.— Stay,  royal  sir ; 
[Exit  Widow. 
The  jeweler,  that  owes'  the  ring,  is  sent  for, 
Aiid'he  shall  surety  me.    But  for  this  lord. 
Who  hath  abusd  me,  as  he  knows  himself. 
Though  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  quit  him: 
He  knows  himself,  my  bed  he  hath  delild  ; 
And  at  tliat  time  he  got  his  wife  wilh  child; 
Dead  though  she  be,  she  feels  her  young  one  kick: 
So  there's  my  riddle,  (Ine,  that's  dead,  is  quick: 
.\nd  now  bcholithe  meaning. 

Re-enter  Widow,  wiili  HEii;jfA. 

King.  Is  there  no  exorcist 

Besuiles  the  truer  office  of  mine  eyes  ! 
Is't  real,  that  1  see  ] 

Hel.  No,  my  good   lord  ; 

'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see. 
The  name,  and  not  the  thing. 

jjfr.  Both,  both  ;  O,  pardon  I 

Hei.  O.  my  good  lord,  when  1  was  like  this  maid, 
I  found  you  wondrous  kind.    There  is  your  ring, 
And,  loiik  you,  here's  your  letter  ;  This  it  says, 
Wlien  front  mti  finger  you  can  get  fliis  ring, 
And  are   bij  me.  wil/i  ehi'.d,  &c,— This  is  done: 
Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won  'I 

Ber.  If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this 
clearly, 
I'll  love  her  dearly,  ever  dearly. 

Het.  If  it  appear  not  plain,  and  prove  untrue, 
Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you  !— 
(),  my  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  living  ! 

Lnt'.  Mine  eyes  smell  onions,  I  shall  weep  anon  : 
Good  Tom  Drum,  {To  Paholli-.s,]  lend  me  a  hand- 
kerchief: So,  I  thank  thee  :  wait  on  me  home,  I'll 
make  sport  with  thee  :  Let  thy  courtesies  alone, 
They  are  scurvy  olies. 

King.  Let  us  from  point  to  point  this  story  know, 
To  make  the  even  truth  in  pleasure  flow  :— 
If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped  flower, 

{To    DiAXA. 

Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  III  pay  thy  dower; 
For  I  can  guess,  that,  by  thy  honest  aid, 
Thou  kept'st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid.— 
nf  that,  and  all  the  progress,  more  and  less, 
Resolvedly  more  leisure  shall  express: 
All  yet  seems  well ;  and  if  it  end  .so  meet. 
The  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet. 

{Fiounsh. 
Advancing. 

The  king's  a  beggar,  now  ttie  play  is  dune  : 
All  is  well  ended,  if  ttiis  suit  he  won, 
Tliat  t/ou  express  content;  ivhicli  ive  will  pay, 
IVith' strife  to  please  you,  day  exceeding  day:     ^ 
Ours  be  your  patience,  then,  and  yours  our  parts.  • 
your  gentle  hamls  Und  us,  and  talte  our  hearts. 

{Exeunt 

3  Owns.    « ;'.  !.  Take  our  parts,  support  and  defonj  his. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


PERSONS  RErUESENTED. 


A  LOHT). 

jHnisTiipHF.il  Sit,  a  drunTiai  fitikei:  )   Per^otis 

Hostess.  Page,  Pliivers,  Huntsmen  and  J  in  Ike  Iii- 

vther  Servants  uUendins  on  the  Lord. )  ducimi. 

Baptista,  a  rich  gentleman  nf  Padua. 
ViycF,NTio,  an  nid  t^cnttenian  rif  Pisa. 
LucEXTio,  ^im  tit  A'incenli(5,  in  ioi'e  with  Biancn. 
Petkuchio,  «  Gentleman  of  Verona,  a  Suitor  to 

Katharina. 
G  HEirio, 

tioRTE 


E°S.0,}^'"' 


iturs  to  Bianca; 


CurtVs"'    \  Servants  to  Pelruchio. 
Petiast,  an  old  Fellow,  set  up  to  personate  Via- 
centio. 

K\rii\niy\,  the  Shreii;\  r,        ,,       .    „     ,.  . 
BiA>cA,  fter  sinter,         'j  OanghJers  to  BapUsla. 
IVidow, 

Tailor,  Haberdasttcr,  and  Servants,  attending  on 
Baptista  and  Pelruchio. 


INDUCTION. 


SCENE  1.— Before  an  alehouse  on  a  heath. 
Enter  Hostess  and  Slt. 

Sly.  I'll  pheesei  you.  in  faith. 

Host.  A  pair  of  stocks,  you  rosruo  ! 

Sli/.  Y'are  a  baeyaice;  the  Slies  are  no  rotruos. 
Look  in  the  rhronlcies.  we  came  in  with  Richard 
Conquerer.  Then'Core  paucas  pallabris .-'^  let  the 
world  slide  :   Sesxa  .' ' 

Host.  You  will  not  pay  for  the  glasses  you  liave 
burst  1 

SZy  No,  not  a  denier:  Go  by,  says  Jeronimo;— 
Go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee.' 

Host.  I  know  my  remedy;  I  must  go  fetch  the 
third  borouiih.s 

Sli/.  Third,  or  fourth,  or  fifth  bornujh.  Ill  an- 
swer him  by  law  :  I'll  not  budge  an  inch,  boy  ;  let 
him  come,  and  kindly. 

[Lies  down  on  the  ground,  and  falls  asleep. 

Wind  horns.    Enter  a  Lord  from  hunting,  with 
Huntsman  and  Servants. 

Lord.  Huntsman,  I  charge  thee,  tender  well  my 
hounds ; 
Brach«  Mcrriman, —  the  poor  cur  is  emboss'd,'— 
And  couple  Clowder  with  the  deep-mouthed  brach. 
Saw'st  tliou  not,  boy,  how  Silver  made  il  good 
.At  the  hed^e  corner,  in  the  coldest  fault? 
I  would  not  lose  the  dog  for  twenty  pound.  | 

1  Hunt.  Why,  Belmanisasgooifashe,  ray  lord: 
He  cried  upon  il  at  the  merest  loss. 
And  twice  to-day  pick'd  out  the  dullest  scent: 
Trust  me.  I  take'  him  for  the  better  dog. 

Lord.  Thou  art-a  fool;  if  Echo  were  as  fleet, 
I  would  esteem  him  worth  a  dozen  such. 
But  sup  Ihem  well,  and  look  unto  them  all; 
To  morrow  I  intend  to  hunt  again. 

1  Hunt.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Lord.  What's  here?  one  dead,  or  drunk?  See, 
doth  he  breathe  ? 

2  Hunt.  He  breathes,  my   lord:  Were   he  not 

warm'd  with  ale, 
This  were  a  bed  but  cold  to  sleep  so  soundly. 
Lord.  0   monstrous  beast !  how  hke  a  swine  he 

lies  ! 
G  rim  death,  how  foul  and  loathsome  is  thine  ima^e ! 

Sirs,  I  will  practise  on  this  drunken  man " 

What  think  you,  if  he  were  convey'd  to  bed, 
■Wrapp'd  in  sweet  clothes,  rings  put  upon  his  dngers, 
A  most  deliciou.s  banquet  by  his  bed, 

'  Boat  or  knnck.        «  Pew  words.  ■  Be  quiet. 

«  This  lino  and  serap  nf  Spanish  is  used  in  burlesque 
from  (m  old  piny  called  Uieronymo  or  the  Spanish  TraE- 
edy. 

'  f,"  "fflrarwhoso  authority  equals  that  of  a  constable. 

'  J^''*-  '  Strained. 

211 


.\nd  brave  attendants  near  him  when  he  wakes, 
Would  not  the  beggar  then  forget  himself? 

1  Hunt.  Believe   me,  lord, "I  Uiink  he  cannot 

choose. 

2  Hunt.  It  would  seem  strange  unto  him  when 

he  wak'd. 
Lord.  Even  as  a  flattering  dream,  or  worthless 

fancy. 
Then  take  hi:Ti  up,  and  manage  well  the  jest:— 
t'jirry  liim  gently  to  my  fairest  chamber. 
And  hang  it  rouiid  witii  all  my  wanton  pictures: 
lialm  his  Ibul  head  with  warm  distilled  waters, 
.•\nd  burn  sweet  wood  to  make  the  lodging  sweet: 
Procure  me  music  ready  when  he  wakes. 
To  make  a  dulcet  and  a  heavenly  sound; 
And  if  he  chance  to  speak,  be  ready  straight, 
And,  with  a  low  submissive  reverence 
■Say, — What  is  it  your  honor  will  command? 
Let  one  attend  him  with  a  silver  bason, 
Full  of  rose-waler,  and  bestrewd  with  flowers; 
-Another  bear  the  c\\'cr,  the  third  a  diaper. 
And  say, — Willi  please  your  lordship  cool  your 

hands  ? 
Some  one  be_ ready  with  a  costly  suit. 
And  ask  him  what  apparel  he  will  wear; 
Another  tell  liini  of  his  hounds  and  horse, 
And  that  his  lady  mourns  at  his  disease: 
Persuade  him  that  he  hath  been  lunatic  ; 
And,  when  he  says  he  is,— say  that  he  dreams, 
For  he  is  nothing  tut  a  mighty  lord. 
This  do,  and  do  it  kindly,  gentle  sirs; 
It  will  be  pastime  passing  excellent, 
If  it  be  husbanded  with  modesty.' 
1  Hunt.  My  lord,  I  warrant  you,  we'll  play  our 
part, 
.\s  he  shall  think,  by  our  true  diligence. 
He  is  no  less  than  what  we  say  he  is. 

Lrjrd.  Take  him  up  gently,  and  to  bed  with  him, 
.\nd  each  one  to  his  office  when  he  wakes. — 

[Some  bear  out  Sly.     A  trumpet  sounds. 
Sirrah,  go  see  what  trumpet  'tis  that  sounds : 

[Exit  Servant. 
Belike,  some  noble  gentleman ;  that  means, 
Traveling  some  journey,  to  repose  him  liere. — 

Re-enter  a  Servajit. 
How  now  ?  who  is  it  ? 

Sen\  An  it  please  your  honor, 

Players  that  otTer  service  to  your  lordship. 
Lord.  Bid  them  come  near :  — 
Enter  Players. 
Now,  fellows,  you  are  welcome. 

1  PUiy.  We  thank  your  honor. 

I^rd.  Do  you  intend  to  stay  with  me  to-night  ? 

2  Play.  So  please  your  lordship  to  accept  our  duty 

®  ModcratioD- 


21-2 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Ini 


Lord.  With  all  my  heart. — Tiiis  fellow  I  remem- 
ber, 
Since  once  he  play'd  a  firraer's  eldest  son  ; 
'Twas  where  you  woo  d  the  jienticwoman  so  well : 
I  have  tbrgot  your  name;  but  sure  that  part 
Was  aptly  titted,  and  naturally  perlbinid. 

1  PUiy.  I  tliink  'twas  Soto,  tiiai  your  honor  means. 

I^trd.  'Tis  very  true  ; — thou  didst  it  excellent. 
Well,  you  are  coine  to  lue  in  happy  time ; 
The  rather,  for  I  have  some  sport  ni  hand, 
Wherein  your  cunning  can  assist  me  much. 
There  is  a  lord  will  hear  you  play  to-nij^ht: 
But  [  am  doubtful  of  your  modesties; 
Lest,  over-eying  of  his  odd  behavior, 
(Kor  vet  his  honor  never  lieard  a  pliiy,) 
\ou  break  into  some  merry  passion. 
And  so  ojiend  hiin  ;  for  1  toll  you.  sirs. 
If  you  should  smile,  he  grows  nnjiatient. 

I  Play.  Fear  not,  my  lord  ;  we  can  contain  our- 
selves, 
Were  he  the  veriest  antic  in  the  world. 

Lord.  Go,  sirrah,  take  tiiem  to  the  buttery, 
And  give  ihem  friendly  welcome  every  one : 
Let  tliem  want  nothini;  that  my  house  ailbrds. — 

[Exeunt  Servant  and  Players. 
Sirrah,  go  you  to  Bartholomew,  my  page, 

IT/J  a  Servant. 
And  see  him  dress'd  in  all  suits  like  a  lady  ; 
That  done,  conduct  him  to  the  drunkard's  chamber, 
And  call  him — madam,  do  him  obeisance, 
Tell  hnn  from  me,  fas  he  will  win  my  love,) 
He  bear  himself  with  honorable  action. 
Such' as  he  hath  observed  in  noble  ladies 
Unto  their  lords,  by  them  accomplished  , 
Such  duty  to  the  drunkard  let  him  do, 
With  soft  low  ton^uei  and  lowly  courtesy  ; 
And  say — What  ist  your  honor  will  command. 
Wherein  your  lady,  and  yuur  humble  wife, 
May  show  her  duty,  and  make  known  her  love  1 
And  then—with  kindembraL-ements,temptmg  kisses. 
And  with  declining  head  into  his  bosom, — 
Bid  him  shed  tears,  as  being  overjoy  d 
■  'J'o  see  her  noble  lord  restord  lo  health. 
Who,  lor  twice  seven  years,  hath  esteemed  him 
No  better  tban  a  poor  and  loathsome  beggar  ; 
And  if  the  boy  have  not  a  womans  gift, 
To  rain  a  shower  of  commanded  tears, 
An  onion  will  do  well  for  such  a  shift ; 
Which  in  a  napkin  being  close  convcy'd, 
Shall  in  despite  enforce  a  watery  eye. 
See  this  despatch'd  with  all  the  haste  thou  canst ; 

Anon  111  give  thee  more  instructions. 

[Exit  Servant. 
I  know,  the  boy  will  well  usurp  tlie  grace, 
Voice,  gait,  and  action  of  a  gentlewoman  : 
1  lon;^  to  hear  him  call  the  drunkard,  husband; 
And  now  my  men  will  stay  themselves  from  laugh- 
ter, 
When  Ihcy  do  homage  to  this  simple  peasant, 
111  in  to  counsel  them:  haply  my  presence 
May  well  abate  the  over  merry  spleen. 
Which  otherwise  would  go  into  extremes. 

\  Exeunt, 
SCENK  n, —  A  Bedchai/iber  in  Ike  Lord's  House 

S  LY  is  discovered  in  a  i-ich  ni^hf-^oivn,7vitk  A  t  tend 
ants;  some  toitk  appatrl,  others  tvi/U  bason 
civer,  and  otfier  appurtenances.  Enter  Lord, 
dressed  like  a  Servant. 
Sly.  For  God's  sake,  a  pot  of  small  ale. 

1  Serv.  WiU't  please  your  lordship  drink  a  cup 

of  sack  I 

2  Serv.  Will't  please  your  honor  taste  of  these 

conserves'? 

3  Serv.  What  raiment  will  your  honor  wear  to-day? 
Sly.  I    am  Christopher  Siy;  call  not  me — honor, 

nor  lordship  :  I  never  drank  sack  in  my  life  ;  and  if 
you  give  me  any  conserves,  ^ive  me  conserves  of 
beef:  Ne\r  ask  me  what  raiment  III  wear,  for  I 
have  no  more  doublets  than  backs,  no  more  stock- 
ings Ihim  legs,  nor  no  more  shoes  than  feet;  nay. 
sometinK's,  more  feet  than  shoes,  or  such  shoes  as 
my  toes  look  through  the  over-leather. 

Lord.  Heaven  cease   this  idle   humor  in   your 
honor ! 
O,  that  a  mighty  man  of  such  descent. 
Of  such  possessions,  and  so  higli  esteem, 
Should  l»e  infused  with  so  foul  a  spirit ! 

.S7//.  What,  would  you  make  me  mad?  Am  not 
I  Christopher  Sly,   5ld  Sly's  bon  of  Burton-heath; 


by  birth  a  pedlar,  by  education  a  card-maker,  by 
transmutation  a  bear-herd,  and  now  by  present 
profession  a  tinker  .'  Ask  Marian  Hackit,  the  tat 
aie-wil'e  of  Wincot,  if  she  know  nie  nut :  if  she  say 
1  am  not  fourteen  pence  on  the  score  for  sheer  ale, 
score  me  up  for  the  lyingcst  knave  in  Christendom. 
What,  I  am  not  bestraught;*  Here's 

1  St?'v.  t),  this  it  is  that  makes  your  lady  mourn. 

2  Sere.  O,  this  it  is  that  makes  your  servants 

droop. 
Lo7'd.  Hence  conies  it  that  your  kindred  shun 

your  house. 
As  beaten  hence  by  your  strange  klnacy. 
O,  noble  lord,  bethink  thee  of  thy  birth  ; 
Call  home  thy  ancient  thoughts  from  b;inishmerit, 
And  banish  hence  these  abject  lowly  dreams: 
Look  how  thy  servants  do  attend  on  thee, 
ICach  in  his  ottice  rcadyat  thy  beck. 
Wilt  thou  have  music]  hark:  Apollo  plays, 

[Music* 
And  twenty  caged  nightingales  dosing  : 
Or  wilt  thou  sleep  ?  we'll  have  thee  toa  couch, 
Softer  and  sweeter  than  the  lustful  bed 
On  purpose  trimni'd  up  for  Semirami«. 
Say,  thou  wilt  walk  ;  we  will  bestrew  the  ground: 
Or  wilt  thou  ride  ?  thy  horses  shall  be  trapp'd. 
Their  harness  studded  all  with  gold  and  pearl. 
Dost  thou  love  hawking  .'  thou  hast  hawks  will  soar 
Above  the  morning  lark:  Or  wilt  thuu  hunt? 
Thy  hounds  shall  make  the  welkin  answer  them, 
And  leteh  shrill  echoes  irom  the  hollow  earth. 

1  Strv.  Say,  thou  wilt  course;  thy  grcyhounda 

are  as  swift 
As  hreithed  stags,  ay,  fleeter  than  the  roe. 

2  Serv.  Dost  llion  love  pictures?  we  will  fetch 

thee  straight        • 
Adonis,  painted  by  n  running  brook: 
And  Cytherea  all  in  sedges  hid  ; 
Which  seem  to  move  and  wanton  with  her  breath, 
Even  as  the  waving  sedges  play  with  wind. 

Lord.  We'll  show  thee  lo,  as  she  was  a  maid  ; 
And  how  she  was  beguiled  and  surprisd. 
As  lively  painled  as  the  deed  was  done. 

3  Serv.  Or  Daphne,  roaming  through  a  thorny 

wood  ; 
Scratching  her  legs  that  one  shall  swear  she  bleeds : 
And  at  that  sight  shall  sad  Apollo  weep. 
So  workmanly  the  blood  and  tears  are  drawn. 

Lord.  Thou  art  a  lord,  and  nothing  but  a  lord : 
Thou  hast  a  lady  far  more  beautiful 
Than  any  woman  m  this  waning  aije. 

1  Serv.  And,  till  the  tears  that  she  had  shed  for 

thee,  . 
Like  envious  floods,  oVr-ran  her  lovely  face. 
>-he  was  the  fairest  creature  in  tiie  world  ; 
And  yet  she  is  inferior  to  none. 

Sly.  Am  I  a  lord  ?  and  have  I  such  a  lady  1 
Or  do  I  dream?  or  have  1  dream'd  till  now  i 
!  do  not  sleep  ;  1  sec,  I  hear,  I  speak  ; 
1  smell  sweet  savors,  and  1  feel  soft  things: — ■ 
Upon  my  life,  \  am  a  lord,  indeed; 
And  not  a  tinker,  nor  Cristophero  Sly. — ■ 
Well,  bring  our  lady  hither  to  our  sight: 
And  Diice  again,  a  pot  o'  the  smallest  ale. 

2  Serv.  Will't  please  your  mightiness  to  wash 

your  hands? 

[Servants  f,reseni  an  etcer,  basin,  and  na}Jtin. 
O,  how  we  joy  to  see  your  wit  restor'd  ! 
O,  that  once  more  you  knew  but  what  you  are ! 
These  fifteen  years,  you  have  been  in  a  dream; 
Or.  when  you  wak-d,  so  wak'd  as  if  you  slept. 

Sly.  These  fifteen  years!  by  my  fay,  a  goodly  nap. 
But  did  1  never  speak  of  all  that  time? 

1   Serv.  O,  yes.  my  lord;  hut  very  idle  words:— 
For  though  you  lay  here  in  this  goodly  chamber, 
Yet  you  would  say.  ye  were  beaten  out  of  doors; 
And  rail  upon  the  hostess  of  the  house; 
And  say,  you  would  present  her  at  the  leet,' 
Becauseshe  brought  stonejugs  and  no  seal 'd  quarts. 
Sometimes  you  would  call  out  for  Cicely  llacket. 

Sly.  Ay.  the  woman's  maid  of  the  house. 

3  Serv.  ^Vhy,  sir,  you  know  no  house,  nor  no 

such  maid 
Nor  no  such  men,  as  you  have  reckon'd  up, — 
As  Stephen  Sly,  and  old  John  Naps  of  Greece, 
And  Peter  Turf,  and  Henry  Pimperneil; 
And  twenty  more  such  names  and  men  as  these, 
Which  never  were,  nor  no  man  ever  saw. 
Sly.  Now,  Lord  be  thanked  lor  my  good  amends; 
»  Distracted.  ^  Coxirt-leet. 


Scene  II. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


213 


All.  Amen. 

Sly.  I  tliank  thee  ;  tliou  slialt  not  lose  by  it. 
Enter  the  Page,  as  a  La-lu,  ivUk  Altcndants. 
Page.  How  f.ires  my  nolile  lord? 
Sly.  Marry.  I  I'are  well;  for  liere  is  cheer  enough. 
Where  is  my  wile  ! 
Page.  Here,  noble  lord  ;  what  is  thy  will  with  her! 
Sly.  Are  you   my  wile,  and  will  not  call  me  — 
husband  \ 
My  men  should  call  me— lord;  lamyour  goodman. 
Page.  -My  husband  and  my  lord,  my  lord  and 
hubbjnd; 
I  am  your  vvite  in  all  obedience. 


■•y- 


I  know  It  well :— Wliat  must  I  call  her  ? 


Lord.  Madam 

Sbi.  Al'ce  madam,  or  Joan  madam? 

Lurd.  Madam  and  nothing  else;  so  lords  call  lad-.cs. 

Sly.  Madam  wife,  they  say  that  I  have  dreain'd, 
and  slept 
Above  some  fifteen  year  and  more. 

Page.  Ay,  and  the  time  seems  tliirty  unto  me : 
Being  all  this  time  abaiidon'd  from  your  lied. 

Sly.  'Tis  much  ; Servants,  leave  me  and  her 

alone. 

Madam,  undress  you.  and  come  now  to  bed. 

Page.  Thrice  noble  lord,  let  me  entreat  of  you, 
To  pardon  me  yet  for  a  night  or  two  ; 


Or,  if  not  so,  until  the  sun  be  set : 

For  your  physicians  have  expressly  charged, 

In  peril  to  incur  your  Ibriner  malady. 

That  1  should  yet  absent  me  from  your  bed: 

I  hope,  this  reason  stands  for  my  excuse. 

Sh/.  Ay,  it  stands  so,  that  I  may  hardly  tarry  so 
long,  itut  I  would  be  loath  to  fail  into  my  dreams 
again  ;  1  will  tlierefore  tarry,  in  despite  of  the  llesh 
and  the  blood. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Sen:  Your  honor's  players,  hearing  your  amend- 
ment. 
Are  come  lo  play  a  pleasant  comedy: 
i'or  so  j'our  doctors  hold  it  very  meet; 
Seeing  too  much  sad  ness  hath  congeai'd  your  blood. 
And  melancholy  is  the  nurse  of  frenzy. 
Therefore,  thev  thought  it  good  you  hear  a  play. 
And  frame  your  mnid  to  mirth  and  merriment. 
Which  bars  a  thousand  harms  and  lengthens  life. 

Slii.  Marry,  I  will;  let  them  play  it:  Is  not  a 
cominoni  y ''  a  Christmas  gambol,  or  a  tumbling-trickl 

Page.  No,  my  good  lord :  it  is  more  pleasing  stulf. 

Sh/.  What,  household  stuff? 

Page.  It  is  a  kind  of  history. 

Shi.  Well,  we'll  sce't :  Come,  madam  wife,  sit 
by  ii'iy  side,  and  let  the  world  slip  ;  we  shall  ne'er 
be  younger.  {.Tiny  iil  down. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I. —  Padua.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Lucentio  and  Thamo. 

Luc.  Tranio,  since  —  for  the  great  desire  I  had 
To  see  fair  Padua,  nursery  of  arts, — 
I  am  arrived  for  fruitful  Lombardy, 
The  pleasant  garden  of  great  Italy: 
And,  by  my  father's  love  and  leave,  am  arm'd 
With  his  good  will,  and  thy  good  company, 
Most  trusty  servant,  well  approv'd  in  all; 
Here  let  us  breathe,  and  happily  iiistilule 
A  course  of  learning,  and  ingenious'  studies. 
Pisa,  renowned  for  grave  citizens. 
Gave  me  my  being,  and  my  father  first, 
A  merchant  of  great  traflic  through  the  world, 
■Vincentio,  come  of  the  Hentivolii. 
Vincentio,  his  son,  brought  up  in  Florence, 
It  shall  become,  to  serve  all  hopes  conceiv'd, 
To  deck  his  fortune  with  his  virtuous  deeds: 
And  therefore,  Tranio,  for  the  time  I  study, 
Virtue,  and  that  part  of  pliilosopliy 
Will  1  apply,  that  treats  of  happiness 
By  virtue  "siiecially  to  be  achievd. 
Tell  me  thy  mind :  for  I  have  Pisa  left. 
And  am  to  Padua  come :  as  he  that  leaves 
A  shallow  plash,*  to  plunge  him  in  the  deep, 
And  with  satiety  seeks  to  quench  his  thirst. 

Tra.  Mi  perdonate,'  gentle  master  mine, 
I  am  in  all  alTected  as  your.self ; 
Glad  that  you  thus  continue  your  resolve, 
To  suck  the  sweets  of  sweet  philosophy. 
Only,  good  master,  while  we  do  admire 
This  virtue,  and  this  moral  discipline. 
Lets  be  no  stoics,  nor  no  stocks,  I  pray ; 
Or  so  devote  to  Aristotle's  cliecks,^    ■ 
As  Ovid  be  an  outcast  quite  abjiir'd: 
Talk  logic  with  acquaintance  that  you  have. 
And  practise  rhetoric  in  your  common  talk  : 
Music  and  poesy  used  to  quicken  you; 
The  mathematics  and  the  metaphysics. 
Fall  to  them  as  you  tind  your  stomach  serves  you: 
No  profit  grows,  where  is  no  pleasure  ta'en  ; — ■ 
In  brief,  sir,  study  what  you  most  all'ect. 

Luc.  Gramercies,  Tranio,  well  dost  thou  advise. 
If.  Biondello,  tliou  wert  come  ashore. 
We  could  at  once  put  us  in  readiness: 
And  take  a  lodging  fit  to  entertain 
Such  friends,  as  the  time  in  Padua  shall  beget. 
But  stay  awhile:  What  company  is  tills? 

Tra.  Master,  some  show,  to  welcome  us  to  town. 
Enter  Baptista,  Kathauixa,  Bianca,  Giiemto, 

aiid    HoTiTENsio.     LucENTio    and    Tranio 

stand  aside. 

Bap.  Gentlemen,  impoitunc  me  no  further, 

sFor  Comedy.      a  Ingenuous.    *  Small  picTes  of  water. 
6  Pardon  me.  6  Uarsh  rules. 


For  how  I  firmly  am  resolved  you  know  ; 
That  is,  —  not  to  bestow  my  youngest  daughter, 
liefure  1  have  a  husband  for  tlie  elder: 
If  either  of  you  both  love  Kalharina, 
ISecause  I  know  you  well,  and  love  you  well. 
Leave  shall  you  have  to  court  her  at  your  pleasure. 

Gra.  To  cart  her  rather:  She's  too  rough  forme: — 
There,  there,  Hortcnsio,  will  you  any  wife? 

Kath.  I  pray  you,  sir,  \To  Bap.]  is  it  your  will 
To  make  a  stale  of  ine  amongst  these  mates  ? 

Hur.  Mates,  maid!  how  mean  you  that  ?  no  mates 
fur  you. 
Unless  you  were  of  gentler,  milder  mould. 

Knth.  I'faith,  sir,  you  shall  never  need  to  fear; 
I  wis,'  it  is  not  halfway  to  her  heart : 
Hut,  if  it  were,  doulit  not  her  care  should  be 
To  comb  your  noddle  with  a  three-lcgg'd  stool, 
And  paint  your  face,  and  use  you  like  a  fool. 

Bar.  From  all  such  devils,  good  Lord,  dchver  us! 

Gre.  And  me.  too,  good  Lord  I 

Tra.  Husli,  master!  here  is  some  good  pastime 
toward ; 
That  wench  is  stark  mad,  or  wonderful  froward. 

Luc.  But  in  the  other  s  silence  I  do  see 
Maid's  mild  behavior  and  sobriety. 
Peace,  Tranio. 

Tra.  Well  said,  master;  mum !  and  gaze  your  fill. 

/Sap.  Gentlemen,  that  I  may  soon  make  good 
What  I  have  said,  —  Bianca,  get  you  in  : 
And  let  it  not  displease  tliee,  good  Bianca; 
For  I  will  love  thee  ne'er  the  less,  my  girl. 

Kiitli.  A  pretty  peat  !•  'tis  best 
Put  finger  in  the  eye,— an  she  knew  why. 

Biati.  Sister,  content  you  in  my  discontent. — 
Sir.  to  your  pleasure  humbly  I  subscribe; 
My  books,  and  instruments,  shall  be  my  company  ; 
On  them  to  look,  and  practise  by  myself. 

Luc.  Hark,  Tranio!  thou  mayst  hear  Minerva 
speak.  {Aside. 

Bar.  Siguier  Boptista,  will  you  be  so  strange  ? 
Sorry  am  I,  that  our  good  will  effects 
Bianca's  grief. 

Gre.  Why  will  you  mews  her  up, 

Signior  Bapti.sta,  for  this  fiend  of  hell. 
And  make  lier  bear  the  penance  of  her  tongue? — 

Birp.  fJentlemen,  content  ye  ;  I  am  resolv'd: — 
Go  in,  Bianca.  \Exit  Biaxca. 

And  for  I  know,  she  fakcth  most  delight 
In  music,  instruments,  and  poetry. 
Schoolmasters  will  I  k'eep  within  my  house 
Fit  to  instruct  her  youth. — ^If  you,  Hortcnsio 
Or  Signior  Gremio,  you, —  know  any  such. 
Prefer  them  hither ;  for  to  cunning  men 
I  will  be  very  kind,  and  liberal 
To  mine  own  children  in  good  bringin'^  up  ; 

'Think.  •  Pet.  'Shut. 


2U 


TAMIXG  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  I. 


And  so  firewell.    Katharina,  you  may  stay  ; 

For  1  have  more  to  commune  with  Biaiica.     [Exit. 

Kath.  Why,  and  I  trust,  I  may  go  too;  May  1  not! 
What, shall  1  be  appointed  hours; "as  though,  belike, 
1  knew  not  what  to  take,  and  what  to  leave  ]  [Exit. 

Gre.  Yon  may  go  to  the  devil's  dam;  your  gihsi 
are  so  i^ood,  here  is  none  will  hold  you.  Our  love 
IS  not  so  great,  Kortensio,  but  we  may  blowournails 
to^cllier,  and  fast  it  fairly  out;  our  cake's  dough  on 
both  sides.  Farewell; — Vet,  for  the  love  1  bear 
my  sweet  Btanca,  if  I  can  by  any  means  hght  on  a 
fit  man,  to  teach  her  that  wherein,  she  delights,  I 
will  wish  him  to  her  fatlier. 

Hor.  So  will  I,  si^nior  Gremio:  Cut  a  word,  I 
pray.  Though  the  nature  of  our  quaiTel  yet  never 
brook'd  parle,  know  now, upon  advice,^  ii  toucheth 
us  both,— that  we  may  yet  again  iiave  access  to 
our  fair  mistress,  and  be  liappily  rivals  in  Bianca's 
love, —  to  labor  and  eilect  one  thm^;  'specially. 

Gre.  What  s  that,  I  pray  1 

Hor.  Marry,  sir,  to  get  a  husband  for  her  sister. 

Gre.  A  husband!  a  devil. 

}li)r.  I  say,  a  husb;ind. 

Gre.  I  say.  a  dcvU:  Think'st  tliou,  Hortensio, 
though  her  father  be  very  rich,  any  man  is  so  very 
a  foot  to  be  married  to  ht'r] 

Hijy.  Tush,  Gremio;  though  it  pass  your  patience, 
and  mine  to  endure  her  loud  alarums,  why,  man, 
there  be  good  fellows  in  the  world,  an  a  man  cuuid 
light  on  them,  would  take  with  her  all  faults,  and 
money  enough. 

Gre.  I  cannot  tell;  but  I  had  as  lief  take  her 
dowry  with  this  condition,  —  to  be  whipped  at  the 
high-cross,  every  morning. 

Hor.  'Faith  as  you  say,  there's  small  choice  in 
rotten  apples.  But,  come;  since  this  bar  in  law 
makes  us  friends,  it  shall  be  so  far  forth  friendly 
maintained,  —  till  by  helping  Baptisla's  eldest 
daughter  to  a  husband,  we  set  his  youngest  free 
for  a  husband,  and  then  have  tot  afresh.  —  Sweet 
liianca! —  Happy  man  be  his  dole  !'  How  say  you, 
signior  Gremio  T 

Gre.  I  am  agreed  :  and  would  I  had  given  him 
the  best  horse  in  Padua  to  begin  his  wooing,  that 
would  thoroughly  woo  her,  wed  her,  and  bed  her, 
and  rid  the  house  of  her.    Come  on. 

[Kxtuui  GiiKMio  and  IIoutensio. 

Tra.  \Adv(mcing.\   I  pray,  sir,   tell  me, — Is  it 
possible 
That  love  should  of  a  sudden  take  such  hold  \ 

Lnc.  0  Tranio,  till  I  found  it  to  be  true, 
I  never  thoui^ht  it  possible,  or  likely  ; 
But  see!  whfle  idly  I  stood  looking  on, 
I  found  the  effect  of  love  in  idleness : 
And  now  in  plainness  do  confess  to  thee, — 
That  art  to  me  as  secret,  and  as  dear. 
As  Anna  to  the  queen  of  Carthage  was, — 
Tranio,  I  burn,  1  pine,  1  perish,  Tranio, 
If  1  achieve  not  lliis  young  modest  girl  : 
Counsel  me.  Tranio,  for  1  know  thou  canst; 
Assist  me,  Tranio.  lor  1  know  thou  wilt. 

Tra.  Master,  it  is  no  time  to  chide  you  now  ; 
Affection  is  not  rated*  from  the  heart : 
If  love  have  touched  you,  nought  remains  but  so,— 
Rcdime  tecaptum  quuin  quca-s  niinimo. 

Luc.  Gramercies,  lad;  go  forward:  this  contents; 
The  rest  will  comfort,  for  thy  counsel's  sound. 

Tra.  Master,  you  look'd  so  longly*  on  tlie  maid. 
Perhaps  you  mark'd  not  whafs  the  pith  of  all. 

L'lc.  O  yes,  I  saw  sweet  beauty  in  her  face, 
Such  as  the  daughter  of  Agenore  had, 
That  made  great  Jove  to  humble  him  to  her  hand. 
When  with  his  knees  he  kiss'd  the  Cretan  strand. 

Tra.  Saw  you  no  more  .'  mark'd  you  not,  how  her 
sister 
Began  to  scold ;  and  raise  up  such  a  storm, 
That  mortal  ears  might  hardly  endure  the  din  ? 

L'tc.  Tranio,  I  saw  her  coral  lips  to  move, 
And  with  her  breath  she  did  perfume  the  air; 
Sacred  iind  sweet  was  all  I  saw  in  her. 

Tru,  Nay,  then 'tis  time  to  stir  him  from  his  trance. 
I  pray  awake,  sir  ;  If  you  love  the  maid, 
Bend  thoughts  and  wits  to  achieve  her.    Thus  it 

stands : — 
Her  oldest  sister  is  so  curst  and  shrewd, 
That,  till  the  father  rid  his  hands  of  her. 
Master,  your  love  must  live  a  maid  at  home ; 

1  Endowratjnts.         ^ConsidtTation.  3  Gain  or  lot. 

*  Driven  out  by  chiding.        »  Longingly.        e  iluropa.    , 


And  therefore  has  he  closely  mevv'd  her  up. 
Because  she  shall  not  be  annoy'd  with  suitors. 

Luc.  Ah,  Tranio,  what  a  cruel  fathers  he ! 
But  ait  thou  not  advised,  he  took  some  care 
To  get  her  cunning  masters  to  instruct  her  ? 

Tra.  Ay,  marry,  am  1,  sir;  and  now  tis  plotted. 

Jaic.  I  have  it,  Tranio. 

Tra.  Master,  for  my  hand. 

Both  our  inventions  meet  and  jump  in  one, 

Luc.  Tell  me  tlnne  tiist. 

Tra.  You  will  be  schoolmaster 

And  undertake  the  teaching  of  the  maid  : 
Thaf  s  your  device. 

Luc.  1 1  is :  May  it  be  done  1 

Tra.  Not  possible  ;  For  who  shall  bear  your  part, 
And  be  in  Padua  here  Vincentios  son  \ 
Keep  house,  and  ply  iiis  book;  welcome  his  friends, 
Visit  his  countrymen,  and  banquet  them 7 

Luc.  Basta  ;t  content  thee  ;  tor  I  have  it  full. 
We  have  not  yet  been  seen  in  any  house; 
Nor  can  we  be  distinguished  by  our  faces, 
For  man,  or  master;  then  it  follows  thus; — 
Thou  shalt  be  master,  Tranio,  in  my  stead, 
Keep  house  and  port,'  and  servants  as  I  should: 
I  will  some  other  be  ;  some  Florentine, 
Some  Neapolitan,  or  mean  man  of  Pisa. 
'Tis  Ijatch'd,  and  shall  be  so: — Tranio,  at  once 
Uncase  thee;  take  my  colord  hat  and  cloak  : 
When  Biondello  comes,  he  waits  on  thee; 
But  I  will  charm  him  first  to  keep  his  tongue. 

Tra.  So  had  you  need.  [They  exchange  habits. 
In  brief  tlien,  sir,  sitfis  it  your  pleasure  is, 
And  I  am  tied  to  be  obedient ; 
( For  so  your  father  charg'd  me  at  our  parting; 
Be  .serviceable  to  my  son,  quotii  he. 
Although,  I  think,  'twas  in  anotJier  sense;) 
1  am  content  to  be  Lucentio, 
Berause  so  well  1  love  Lucentio. 

L'lc.  Tranio,  be  so,  because  Lucentio  loves: 
And  let  mc  be  a  slave,  to  achieve  that  maid 
Whose  sudden  sight  hath  thralld  my  wounded  eye. 

Enter  Biondello. 
Herecomes  the  rogue.  Sirrah,  where  have  you  been? 

Bion.  Where  have  I  been?  Nay,  how  now,  where 
are  you? 
Master,  has  my  follow  Tranio  stol'n  your  clothes  1 
(n-  you  s^toFn  his  .'  or  both  1  pray,  whafs  the  news7 

Luc.  Sirrah,  come  hither;  'lis  no  time  to  Jest, 
And  therefore  frame  your  manners  to  the  time: 
Your  fellow  Tranio  here,  to  save  my  life, 
Puts  my  apparel  and  my  countenance  on, 
And  I  for  my  escape  have  put  on  his ; 
For  in  a  quarrel,  since  I  came  ashore, 
I  kilfd  a  man,  and  fear  I  wiis  descried  : 
Wait  you  on  him,  I  charge  you,  as  becomes, 
While  I  make  way  from  hence  to  save  my  lift  : 
You  understand  me. 

Biiin.  I.  sir  ?  ne'er  a  whit. 

Luc.  And  not  a  jot  of  Tranio  in  your  mouth; 
Tranio  is  changed  into  Lucentio 

Bum.  The  better  for  hnn  :  'Would  I  were  so  too ! 

Tra.  So  would  I,  faith,  boy,  to  have  the  next  wish 
after,— 
That    Lucentio    indeed    had   Baptista's  youngest 

daughter. 
But,  sirrah, —  not  for  my  sake,  but  your  master's — 

I  advise 
You  use  your  manners  discreetly  in  all  kind  of 

companies. 
When  T  am  alone,  why,  then  I  am  Tranio: 
But  in  all  places  else,  your  master  Lucentio. 

Lac.  Tranio,  let's  go:— 
One  thing  more  rests,  that  thyself  execute; — 
To  make  one  among  iliese  wooers :  If  thou  ask  me 

why, — ■ 
Sufficeth,  my  reasons  are  both  good  and  weighty 

[Extant, 

1  Serv.  My  lord,  you  nod  :  you  do  not  mind  the 
play. 

Sly.  i*f.v.  by  saint  Anne,  do  L    A  good  matter 
surely;     Conies  there  any  more  of  it? 

Page.  My  lord  'i'ls  but  began. 

Sly.  'Tis  a  very  excellent  }}iece  of  tcork,  madam 
lady :  '  H'ould  7  ivere  done/ 

SCENE  n.— 'Before  Hortensio's  House. 
Enter  PKTniciiio  atid  Grumio, 

Pet.  Verona,  for  a  while  I  take  my  leave, 
To  see  my  friends  in  Padua;  but,  of  all, 

i  Tis  enough.  s  Show,  ajiiiear^nce.  •  Since 


Scene  II. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


215 


My  best  beloved  and  approved  fiiend, 
Hortensio;  and,  I  trow,  iliis  is  his  Iiouse; — 
Here,  sirrah  Gruinio  :  Ivnocli.  I  say.    , 

Oru.  Knock,  sir!  wliom  should  1  knocl<?  is  there 
any  man  lias  rclmsed  your  worship  ! 

Pel.  Villain,  I  say,  linock  me  here  soundly. 

Grii.  Knoek  you  here,  sirl  why,  sir,  what  am  I 
Bir,  that  I  should  knock  you  here,  sir! 

Pet.  Villain,  I  say,  knock  me  at  this  ^ato. 
And  lap  me  well,  or  I'll  knock  your  knave's  pate. 

Gru.  My  master  is  grown  quarrelsome;  I  should 
knock  you  first, 
And  then  1  know  after,  who  comes  by  tlie  worst. 

Pet.  Will  it  not  be! 
'Faith,  sirrah,  an  you'll  not  knock,  I'll  wring  it; 
I'll  try  how  you  can.  sul.fd,  and  sing  it. 

[He  wrings  Gnu.Mio  tij/  tlie  ears. 

Gru.  Help,  masters,  help  !  my  master  is  mad. 

Pet.  Now,  knock  when  1  hid  you:  sirrah!  villain! 
Enter  Hiihtensio. 

Hor.  How  now!  what's  the  matter] — My  old 
fiiend  Grumio!  and  my  i;ood  friend  Petruchio! — 
How  do  you  all  at  Verona  ? 

Pel.  Signior  Hortensio,  come  you  to  part  the 
fray  ^     Con  tutio  il  cnre  bene  trovatn,  may  1  say. 

Hor.  Alta  nostra  ana  liene  venuto, 
Motto  tionorato  signur  mvi  Petrucfiio. 
Kise,  Grumio.  ri.se;  we  will  compound  this  quarrel. 

Gru.  Nay,  'tis  no  matter,  '.vhat  he  'leges'  in  Latin. 
— If  this  be  not  a  laivl'ul  cause  for  me  to  leave  his 
service,—  Look  you,  sir, —  he  bid  me  knock  him, 
and  rap  him  soundly,  sir:  Well,  was  it  tit  fiir  a  ser- 
vantto  use  hismasterso  ;  being,  perhaps,  (for  aught 
I  see,)  two-anil-thirty, —  a  pip  out  ? 
Whom  would  to  (lod,  I  had  well  knockd  at  first, 
Then  had  not  Grumio  come  by  the  worst. 

Pet.  A  seiLseless  vitlain!  —  iiood  Hortensio, 
I  bade  the  rascal  knock  upon  your  gale 
And  could  not  get  him  for  iny  heart  to  do  it. 

Gru.  Knock  at  the  gate?  —  O  heavens! 
Spake  you  not  these  words  plain  —  Sirrah,  knock 

me  licre. 
Rap  me   ivett,   knock  me  well,  and  knock  me 

soundly  P 
And  come  you  now  with  —  knocking  at  the  gate? 

Pet.  ."^irrali,  be  gone,  or  talk  not,  1  advise  you. 

Hor,  Petruchio,  patience;  I  am  Grumio's pledge  ; 
Why,  this  is  a  heavy  chance  twixt  him  and  you  ; 
Your  ancient,  trusty,  pleasant  servant  Grumio. 
And  tell  me  now,  sweet  friend, — what  happy  gale 
Blows  you  to  Padua  here,  from  old  Verona  ! 

Pet.  Such  wind  as  scatters  young  men  through 
the  world, 
T"  seek  their  fortunes  further  than  at  home. 
Where  small  experience  grows.    But,  in  a  few, 
Signior  Hortensio,  thus  it  stands  with  me: — 
Antonio,  my  fatiier,  is  deceased: 
And  I  have  thrust  myself  into  this  maze, 
Haply  to  wive,  and  thrive  as  I  best  may : 
Crowns  in  my  purse  I  have,  and  goods  at  home, 
And  so  am  come  abroad  to  see  the  world. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  shall  1  then  come  roundly  to  thee, 
And  wish  thee  to  a  shrewd  ill-favored  wife  ! 
Thou'dst  thank  me  buta  little  for  my  counsel: 
And  yet  I'll  promise  thee  she  shall  be  rich. 
And  very  rich:  —  but  thou'rt  too  much  my  friend. 
And  I'll  not  wish  thee  to  her. 

Pet.  Signior  Hortensio,  'twixt  such  friends  as  we, 
Few  words  suffice  :  and  therefore,  if  thou  know 
One  rich  enough  to  be  Petruchio's  wife 
(As  wealth  is  liurtheu  of  my  wooing  dance,) 
Be  .she  as  foul  as  was  Florentius'  love,» 
As  old  as  Sybil,  and  as  curst  and  shrewd 
As  Socrates'  Xantippe,  or  a  worse. 
She  moves  me  not,  or  not  removes  at  least, 
Affection's  edge  in  me;  were  she  as  rough 
As  are  the  swelling  Adriatic  seas: 
I  come  to  wive  it  wealthily  in  Padua  ; 
If  wealthily,  then  happily  in  Padua. 

Gru.  Nay,  look  you,  sir,  he  tells  you  flatly  what 
his  mind  is :  Why,  give  him  gold  enough  and  marry 
liim  to  a  puppet,  oV  an  aglet  baby;«  or  an  old  trot 
with  ne'er  a  tooth  in  her  head,  though  she  have  as 
many  diseases  as  two  and  fifty  horses;  why  noth- 
ing comes  amiss,  so  money  comes  withal. 

Hor.  Petruchio,  since  we  have  stepp'd  thus  far  in, 
I  will  continue  that  I  broach'd  in  jest. 

3  Alleges. 
6  See  the  story.  No.  39,  of  "A  Ttiousand  T^olabU  Tilings.^' 
*  A  small  image  on  the  tag  of  a  lace. 


I  can,  Petruchio,  help  thee  to  a  wife 

With  wealth  enough,  and  young,  and  beauteous: 

Brought  uji  as  best  tiecomes  a  gentlewoman  : 

Her  only  fault  (and  that  is  fault  enough) 

Is, —  that  she  is  intolerably  curst. 

And  shrewd,  and  froward;  so  beyond  all  measure, 

I'hat,  were  my  state  far  worscr  than  it  is, 

I  would  not  wed  her  for  a  mine  of  gold. 

Pet.  Hortensio,  peace;  thou  knowst  not  gold's 
eUect  :— 
Tell  me  her  father's  name,  and  'tis  enough  ; 
For  I  will  board  her,  though  she  chide  as  loud 
As  thunder,  when  the  clouds  in  autumn  crack. 

Hor.  Her  ftither  is  Baptista  Minola, 
An  aflable  and  courteous  gentleman  : 
II er  name  is  Katharina  Mniola, 
Rcnown'd  in  Padua  for  her  scolding  tongue. 

Pel.  I  know  her  father,  though  1  know  not  her; 
And  he  knew  my  deceas'd  father  well : — 
I  will  not  sleep.  Hortensio,  tilll  see  her; 
.And  therefore  let  me  be  thus  bold  with  you, 
To  give  you  over  at  this  first  encounter. 
Unless  you  will  accompany  me  thither. 

Gru.  I  pray  you,  sir,  let  him  go  while  the  humor 
lasts.  O'  my  word,  an  slic  knew  him  as  well  as  I 
do,  she  would  think  scolding  would  do  little  good 
upon  him:  She  may,  perhaps,  call  him  half  a  score 
knaves,  or  so:  why,  that's  nothing:  and  he  be-gin 
once,  he'll  rail  in  his  rope-tricks.'  1 II  tell  you  what, 
sir,  —  and  she  stand  him  but  a  little,  he  will  throw  a 
figure  in  her  f'.ice,  and  so  disfigure  her  with  it,  that 
she  shall  have  no  more  eyes  to  see  withal  than  a  cat: 
Vou  know  him  not,  sir. 

Hiir.  Tarry,  Petruchio,  I  must  go  with  thee; 
For  in  Baptista's  keep  my  treasure  is: 
He  hath  the  jewel  of  my  life  in  hold, 
His  youngest  daughter,  beautiful  Bianca  ; 
And  her  withholds  from  me,  and  other  more. 
Suitors  lo  her,  and  rivals  in  my  love  : 
Supposing  it  a  thing  impossible, 
(For  those  defects  I  have  before  rehears'd,) 
That  ever  Katharina  will  be  woo'd  ; 
Tlierefore  this  orders  hath  Baptista  ta'en  : — 
That  none  shall  have  access  unto  Bianca, 
Till  Katharine  the  curst  ha\e  got  a  husband. 

Gru.  K  lit  ha  rine  the  curst ! 
A  title  for  a  maid,  of  all  titles  the  worst. 

Hnr.  Now  shall  my  friend  Petruchio  do  me  grace; 
And  offer  me  disguis'd  in  sober  robes, 
'fo  old  Baptista  as  a  schoolmaster 
Well  seen''  in  music,  to  instruct  Bianca: 
That  so  I  may  by  this  device,  at  least. 
Have  leave  and  leisure  to  make  love  to  her, 
.\nd,  unsuspected,  court  her  by  herself. 

Eater  Gukmio;  ivitli  him  Lucentio,  disguised, 
with  buolis  under  his  ana. 

Gru.  Here's  no  knavery!  See;  to  beguile  the 
old  folks,  how  the  young  folks  lay  their  heads  to- 
gether! Master,  master,  look  about  you:  Who 
goes  there  !  ha  ! 

Hor.  Peace.  G.rumio ,  'tis  the  rival  of  my  love : — 
Petruchio,  stand  by  a  while. 

Gru.  A  proper  stripling,  and  an  amorous  ! 

[Theij  retire. 

Gre.  0,  very  well ;  I  have  perused  the  note. 
Hark  you,  sir ;  I'll  have  them  fairly  bound : 
All  books  of  love,  see  that  at  any  hand : 
And  see  you  read  no  ol^er  lectures  to  her; 
Vou  understand  me:  —  over  and  beside 
Signior  Baptista's  Uberality, 

111  mend  it  with  a  l.irgess  :— Take  your  papers  too. 
And  let  me  have  them  very  well  perfum'd; 
For  she  is  sweeter  than  perfume  itself. 
To  whom  they  go.    What  will  you  read  to  her"? 

L'lC.  Whate'cr  I  read  to  her,  I'll  plead  for  you, 
As  lor  my  patron,  (st.ind  you  so  a.ssurod,) 
As  firmly  as  yourself  were  still  in  place; 
Vea,  and  (perhaps)  with  more  successful  words 
■Than  you,  unless  you  were  a  scholar,  sir. 

Gre.  O  this  learning  !   what  a  thing  it  is  ! 

Gru.  O  this  woodcock  !  what  an  ass  it  is! 

Pit.  Peace,  sirrah. 

H(ir.    Grumio,  mum!  — God  save  you,  signior 
Greniio! 

Gre.  And  you're  well  met,  signior  Hortensio. 
Trow  you. 
Whither  I  am  going  1— To  Baptista  Minola. 

*  Abusive  laugaago.         e  These  measures.        "i  Versed. 


UIO 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  II 


I  protnisM  to  enquire  carefully 

Aboul  a  schoolmaster  for  titir  Bianca: 

And,  by  good  Ibrtune,  1  Iiave  lighted  well 

On  this  young  man  ;  for  learning  and  behavior. 

Kit  for  iicr  turn;  well  read  in  poetry, 

And  other  books,— good  ones  1  warrant  you. 

Hnr.  'Tis  well:  and  I  have  met  a  gentleman, 
Hath  promis'd  me  to  help  me  to  another, 
A  fine  musician,  to  instruct  our  mistress; 
So  shall  I  no  whit  be  behind  m  duty 
Tofair  Bianca,  so  belov'd  of  me. 

O'i-c.  Belov'd  of  me,— and  that  my  deeds  shall 
prove.  ,  ,  ., 

Gni.  And  that  his  bags  shall  prove.  \Aside. 

H'ir.  Gremio  'tis  now  no  time  to  vent  our  love  : 
Listen  to  ine,  and  if  you  speak  me  fair, 
I'll  toll  you  news  indill'erent  good  for  either. 
Here  is  a  gentleman,  whom  by  chance  1  met, 
Upon  agreement  from  us  to  his  liking, 
\V  ill  unilertake  to  woo  curst  Katharine  ; 
Yea,  and  to  marry  her,  if  her  dowry  please. 

Ore.  So  said,  so  done,  is  well : 
Hortciisio,  have  you  told  him  all  her  faults  ? 

Pel.  I  know  she  is  an  irksome,  brawling  scold ; 
If  that  he  all,  masters,  1  hear  no  harm. 

Gic  No,  sayst  me  so,  friend  1     What  country- 
man 1 

Pet.  Born  in  Verona,  old  Antonio's  son: 
My  father  dead,  my  fortune  lives  for  me  ; 
And  I  do  hope  good  days,  and  long,  to  see. 

Gre.  O.  sir.  such  a  life,  with  such  a  wife,  were 
strange : 
But,  if  you  have  a  stomach,  to't,  o'  God  s  name ; 
You  siiall  have  me  assisting  you  in  all. 
But  will  you  woo  this  wild-cat;  

P(,/.  Wdl  I  live  ! 

Grii.  Will  he  woo  herl   ay,  or  I'll  hang  her. 

[Aside. 

Pel.  Why  tame  I  hither,  but  to  that  intent  1 
Think  you.'  a  little  din  can  daunt  mine  ears? 
Have  I  not  in  ray  time  heard  lions  roar] 
Have  I  not  heard  the  sea,  pull''d  up  witli  winds. 
Rage  like  an  angry  boar,  chafed  with  sweat  ! 
Have  1  not  heard  great  ordnance  in  the  held, 
And  heav'ns  artillery  thunder  in  the  skies  ! 
ilave  I  not  in  a  pitched  battle  heard 
Loud  'larums,  neighing  steeds,  and  trumpets  clang] 
And  do  you  tell  me  of  a.  woman's  tongue ; 
That  gives  not  half  so  great  a  blow  to  the  ear, 
As  will  a  chestnut  in  a  farmer's  fire  "! 
Tush!  tush!  fear  boys  with  bugs.' 

g;.^.  For  he  fears  none. 

{Aside. 

Gre.  Hortensio,  hark  ! 
This  gpiillcmanis  happily  arriv'd, 
Mv  mind  presumes,  for  his  own  good,  and  ours. 

'iliir.  1  promis'd  we  would  be  contributors, 
And  bear  his  charge  of  wooing,  whatsoe'er. 

Gre.  And  so  we  will ;  provided  that  he  win  her. 

Gni.  I  would,  I  were  as  sure  of  a  good  dinner. 

[Aside. 

Enter  Taiyio,braveIi/  apparelled;  and 

BlONDTLLO. 

Ten.  Gentlemen, God  save  you  !  If  I  may  be  bold, 
Tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  which  is  the  readiest  way 
To  the  house  of  signior  Baptista  Minolal 

Gre.  He  that  has  the  two  fair  daughters :— is  t  he 
{Aside  to  Tiiasio,!  you  mean  ] 


Tra.  Even  he.    Biondello  ! 

Gre.  Hark  you,  sir;    You  mean  not  her  to 

Tra.  rcrhaps,  him  and  her,  sir;  What  have  you 
to  do  ] 

Pet.  Not  her  that  chides,  sir,  at  any  hand,  I  pray. 

Tru.   I  love  no  cliiders,  sir:—  Biondello,   let's 
away. 

Luc.  Well  begun,  Tranio.  [.isiile. 

Hur.  Sir,  a  word  ere  you  go; — 
Are  you  a  suitor  to  the  maid  you  talk  of,  yea,  or  nol 

Tra.  And  if  I  be,  sir,  is  it  any  offence  ] 

Gre.  No ;  if  without  more  words,  you  wiU  get 
you  hence. 

Tra.  Why,  sir,  I  pray, arc  not  the.  street!  as  free 
For  me,  as  for  you  ! 

Gre.  But  so  is  not  she. 

Tra.  For  what  reason.  I  beseech  you  ] 

Gre.  For  this  reason  if  you'll  know, 

That  she's  the  choice  love  of  sisnior  Gremio. 

Hiir.  That  she's  the  chosen  of  signior  Hortensio. 

Tra.  Softly,  my  master's  !  if  you  be  gentlemen, 
Do  me  this  right,— hear  me  with  patience. 
Baptista  is  a  noble  gentleman. 
To  whom  my  father  is  not  all  unknown  ; 
And,  were  his  daughter  fairer  than  she  is. 
She  may  more  suitors  have,  and  me  for  one. 
Fair  Le'da's  daughter  had  a  thousand  wooers; 
Then  well  one  more  may  lair  Bianca  have  : 
And  so  she  sliall;  Lucentio  shall  make  one, 
Thougli  Paris  came,  in  hope  to  speed  alone. 

Gre.  Wliat !  this  gentleman  will  out-talk  us  all. 

Luc.  Sir,  give  him  head  ;  I  know  he'll  prove  a 
jade.    ■ 

Pet.  Hortensio,  to  what  end  are  all  these  wordsl 

Hiir.  Sir,  let  me  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you, 
Did  you  ever  yet  see  Baptisla's  daughter  1 

Tra.  No,  sir ;  but  hear  I  do,  that  he  hath  two ; 
The  one  as  famous  for  a  scolding  tongue. 
As  is  the  other  for  beauteous  modesty. 

Pel.  Sir,  sir,  the  first's  for  me  ;  let  her  go  by. 

Gre.  Yea,  leave  that  labor  to  great  Hercules; 
And  let  it  be  more  than  Alcides'  twelve. 

Pel.  Sir,  understand  you  this  of  me,  in  sooth  ;— 
The  youngest  daugliter  whom  you  hearken  fur, 
Her  father  keeps  from  all  access  of  suitors  ; 
And  will  not  promise  her  to  any  man. 
Until  the  eldest  sister  first  be  wed  : 
The  younger  then  is  free,  and  not  before. 

Tra.  If  it  be  so,  sir,  that  you  are  the  man 
Must  stead  us  all,  and  me  among  the  rest ; 
And  if  you  break  the  ice,  and  do  this  feat,— 
Achieve  the  elder,  set  the  younger  free 
For  our  access,— whose  hap  sliall  be  to  have  her. 
Will  not  so  graceless  be,  to  bo  ingrate. 

Hor.  Sir,  you  say  well,  and  well  you  do  con- 
ceive: 
And  since  you  do  profess  to  he  a  suitor. 
You  must,  as  we  do,  gratify  this  gentleman, 
To  whom  we  all  rest  generally  beholden. 

Tra.  Sir,  I  shall  not  be  slack  :  in  sign  wliereof, 
Please  ye  we  may  contrive  this  afternoon. 
And  quaff  carouses  to  our  mistress'  health  ; 
And  do  as  adversaries  do  in  law,— 
Strive  mightily,  but  eat  and  drink  as  friends. 
Gru.  Bion.  O  excellent  motion!  Fellows,'  let's 

be  gone. 
Ht>7:  The  motion's  good  indeed,  and  be  it  so;— 
Pctruchio,  I  shall  be  your  ben  venulo.       [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— ^1  Room  in  Baptista's  House. 
Enter  Katiiaiiixa  and  Biauca. 

Bian.   Good  sister,  wrong  me   not,   nor  wrong 
you  rsel  f. 
To  make  a  bondmaid  and  a  slave  of  me  : 
That  I  disdain  ;  but  for  these  other  gawds." 
Unbind  my  hands.  111  pull  them  off  myself, 
Y'ea,  all  my  raiment,  to  ray  petticoat ; 
Or,  what  you  will  command  me,  will  I  do, 
So  well  I  "know  ray  duty  to  my  elders. 

ICulli.  Of  all  thy  suitors,  here  1  charge  thee,  tell 
Whom  thou  lov'st  best:  see  thou  dissemble  not. 


8  Fri^lit  boys  with  bugbears. 


8  Trifling  oniameuta. 


Bian.  Believe  me,  sister,  of  all  the  men  alive, 
I  never  yet  beheld  that  special  i'ace 
Whicli  1  could  fancy  more  than  any  other. 

Kiilh.  Minion,  thou  licst ;  Is't  not  Hortensio  ] 

Bian.  If  )'oa  alTect^  him,  sister,  here  I  swear, 
I'll  plead  for  you  myself,  but  you  shall  have  him. 

Katk.  O  then,  belike,  you  fancy  riches  more; 
You  will  have  Gremio  to  keep  you  fair. 

Biiin.  Is  it  for  him  you  do  envy  me  so  i 
Nay,  then  you  jest ;  and  now  I  well  perceive. 
You  have  but  jested  with  rae  all  this  while : 
I  prythce  sister  Kate,  untie  my  hands. 

Kallt.  If  that  be  jest,  then  all  the  rest  was  so. 

( Strikes  her 
1  Companions.  ^  Love. 


Scene  I. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


217 


Enter  Baptista. 
Bap*  Why,  how  now,  dame  !  whence  grows  this 

insolence  ? 

Bianca,  stand  aside  ; — poor  girl !  she  weeps; — 
Go  ply  Ihy  needle  ;  nu-ddle  not  with  her. — 
Fur  shame,  thou  hiidiiigs  ufa  devilish  spirit, 
Why  dost  thoa  wrong  her  that  did  ne'er  wrong 

thee  ] 
When  did  she  cross  thee  with  a  bitter  word  1 
Kalh.  Her  silence  tlouts  me,  and  I'll  be  reveng'd. 
\  Flies  after  Bianca, 
Bap.  What,  in  my  sight? — Bianca,  get  thee  in. 

Exit  BiAscA. 
Kuth.  Will  you  not  suffer  me?  Nay,  now  I  see, 
She  is  your  ireasure,  she  must  have  a  husband ; 
I  musi  dance  barefoot  on  her  wedding-day, 
And,  for  your  love  to  her,  lead  apes  in  hell. 
Talk  not  to  me  ;  I  wi!i  go  sit  and  weep, 
Till  I  can  find  occasion  of  revenge. 

[Exit  Katharixa. 
Bap.  Was  ever  gentleman  thus  griev'd  as  I  ? 
But  who  cttmes  here  ! 

Enter  Grf.mio,  iviik  Luckxtio  in  the  habit  of  a 

mean  man  ;  Pi/rnfcHin,  wilh  Houtknsio  as  a 
musician;  and 'Vnxsio,  with  ]iioyD£.Li.o  bear- 
ing a  iute  and  books. 

Gre.  Good-morrow,  neighbor  Baptista. 

Bap.  Good-morrow,  ncij^hbor  Gremio:  God  save 
you,  gentlemen  ! 

Pd.  And  you,  good  sir!    Pray,  have  you  not  a 
daughter 
Calld  Katba'rina,  fair,  and  virtuous  ? 

Bap.  I  have  a  daughter,  sir,  calld  Katliarina. 

Grc.  Vou  are  too  blunt,  go  to  it  orderly. 

Pet.  You  wrong  mc,  signior  Gremio;  give  me 
leave. — 
I  am  a  gentleman  of  Verona,  sir, 
That, — hearing  of  her  beauty,  and  her  wit, 
Her  airability,  and  bashful  modesty, 
Her  wondrous  qualities,  and  mild  behavior, — 
Am  bold  to  show  myself  a  forward  guest 
Within  your  house,  to  make  mine  eye  the  witness 
Of  that  report  which  I  so  oft  have  heard. 
And,  for  an  entrance  to  my  entertainment, 
1  do  present  you  with  a  man  of  mine, 

[Freicnti/i^  HonTExsio. 
Cunning  in  music,  and  tlie  mathematics, 
Tn  instruct  iier  fully  m  those  sciences, 
Wiureof.  I  know,  she  is  not  ignorant : 
Accept  of  him,  or  else  you  do  me  wrong  ; 
His  name  is  Licio,  born  in  Mantua. 

Bap.  You're  welcome,  sir ;  and  he,  for  your  good 
.  sake  : 
But  for  my  daughter  Katharine,— this  I  know, 
She  is  not  for  your  turn,  the  more  my  grief. 

Pcf.  I  see  you  do  not  mean  to  part  with  her  ; 
Or  else  you  like  not  of  my  company. 

Bap.  Mistake  me  not,  1  speak  but  as  I  find. 
Whence  are  you,  sir!  what  may  I  call  your  name? 

Pet.  Petruchio  isniy  name  ;  Antonio's  son, 
A  man  well  known  throughout  all  Italy. 

Bap.  I   know  him  well :   you  are  welcome  for 
his  sake. 

Gre.  Saving  your  tale,  Petruchio,  1  pray, 
Let  us  that  are  poor  petitioners,  speak  too ; 
Baccare!*  you  are  marvellous  forward. 

Pet.  0,  pardon  me,  signior  Gremio  ;  I  would  fain 
he  domg. 

Gre.  I  doubt  it  not,  sir;  but  you  will  curse  your 

wooing. 

Neighboi,  this  is  a  gill  very  grateful,  I  am  sure  of 
it.  To  express  the  like  kuidness  myself,  that  have 
been  more  kindly  beholden  to  you  than  any,  I  free- 
ly give  unto  you  this  young  scholar  [Presenting 
LutKNTio,]  that  hath  been  long  studying  at 
llheims:  as  cunning  in  Greek,  Latin,  and  other 
languages,  as  the  other  in  music  and  mathematics: 
iiis  name  is  Cambio  ;  pray,  accept  his  service. 

Bap.  A  thousand  thauUs,  signior  Gremio;  wel- 
come, good  Cambio.— But,  gentle  sir,' [To  Tra- 
Nio,]  methinks  you  walk  like  a  stranger;  May  I 
be  so  bold  to  know  the  cause  of  your  coming? 

Tra.  Pardon  me,  sir,  the  boldness  is  mine  own  ; 
That,  being  a  stranger  in  this  city  here. 
Do  make  myself  a  suitor  to  your  daughter, 
Unto  Bianca,  fair,  and  virtuous. 
Nor  is  your  firm  resolve  unknown  to  me, 

'A  worthless  woman. 

4  Proverbial  esclamation  then  in  use. 


In  the  preferment  of  the  eldest  sister  : 

This  liberty  is  all  that  I  request. — 

That,  upon  knowledge  of  my  parentage, 

I  may  have  welcome  'mongst  itie  rest  tiiat  woo. 

And  free  access  and  favur  as  the  rest. 

And,  toward  the  education  of  your  daughters, 

I  here  bestow  a  simple  instrument, 

And  this  small  packet  of  Greek  and  Latin  books: 

If  you  accept  them,  then  their  worth  is  great. 
£ap.  Lucentio  is  your  name?  of  whence,  I  prayl 
Tra.  Of  Pisa,  sir;  son  to  Vincentio. 
Bap,  A  mighty  man  of  Pisa  ;  by  report 

I  know  him  well  :  you  are  very  welcome,  sir. — 

Take  you  \Tti  Hnu.]  the  lute,  and  you  ITo  Rue. 
the  set  of  books, 

You  shall  go  see  your  pupils  presently. 

Holla!  within  ! 

Enter  a  Servant, 

Sirrah,  lead 

These  gentiemen  to  my  daughters;  and  tell  them 
both 

These  are.  their  tutors  ;  bid  them  use  them  well. 
[Exit  Servant,  irith  Hortessio,  Lucen^tio, 

and   BlONDF.I.LO.] 

We  will  go  walk  a  little  in  the  orchard. 

And  then  to  dmner :  You  are  passing  welcome, 

And  so  I  pray  you  all  to  ihmk  yourselves. 

Pet.  Signior  Baptista,  my  business  asketh  haste, 
And  every  day  I  cannot  come  to  woo. 
You  knew  my  father  well ;  and  in  him,  me, 
Left  solely  heir  to  all  his  lands  and  goods. 
Which  I  havebeltord  rather  tlian  decreas'd  : 
I'lien  tell  me. — if  I  get  yourdaughter  s  love, 
What  dowry  shall  1  have  with  her  to  wife? 

Bap.  After  my  death,  the  one-half  of  my  lands; 
And,  in  possession,  twenty  thousand  crowns. 

Ptt.  And,  for  that  dowry,  I'll  assure  her  of 
Her  widowhood. — be  it  that  she  survive  me, — 
In  all  my  lands  and  leases  whatsoever : 
Let  specialities  be  therefore  diawn  between  us. 
That  covenaivts  may  be  kept  on  eitJier  h<and. 

Bap.  Ay,  wlien  the  special  thing  is  well  obtain'd, 
This  is. —  her  love;  for  that  is  all  in  all. 

Pet.  Why.  that  is  nothing  ;  for  I  tell  you,  father, 
I  am  as  peremptory  as  she  proud-minded  ; 
And  where  two  raging  (ires  meet  together, 
They  do  consume  the  thing  that  feeds  their  fury  : 
Though  little  fire  grows  great  with  little  wind. 
Yet  extreme  gusts  will  blow  out  fire  and  all* 
So  I  to  her,  and  so  she  yields  to  me  ; 
For  I  am  rougli,  and  woo  not  like  a  babe. 

Bajj.  Well  ma  yst  thou  woo,  and  happy  be  thy 
spectl ! 
But  be  tiiou  arm'd  for  some  unhappy  words- 

Pet.   Ay,  to  the  proof;   as  mountains  are  for 
winds, 
That  shake  not,  though  tiiey  blow  perpetually. 

Re-enter  IIoutensio,  with  his  ttead  l)rok£n, 

Baj)'  How  now, my  friend?  why  dost  tliou  look 
so  pale  ? 

Hor.  For  fear,  I  promise  you,  if  I  look  pale. 

Bap.  VVliat,  will  my  daughter  prove  a  good  mu- 
sician? 

Hor.  I  tliink  she'll  sooner  prove  a  soldier; 
Iron  may  hold  with  her,  but  never  lutes. 

Bap.  Why,  then  thou  canst  not  break  her  to  the 
lute? 

Hor.  Why,  no;  for  she  hath   broke  tlie  lute  to 
me. 
I  did  but  tell  her.  she  mistook  her  frets," 
And  bow'd  her  hand  to  teach  her  fingering ; 
When,  with  a  most  impatient  devilish  spirit. 
Frets  call  you  thes-e?  quoth  she :  Pll  fume  wUk 

them: 
And.  with  that  word,  she  struck  me  on  the  head, 
And  tiirough  the  instrument  my  pate  made  way; 
And  there  I  stood  amazed  tor  a  while. 
As  on  a  pillory,  looking  through  the  lute 
While  she  did  call  me — rascal  tiddler. 
And — twangling  Jack ;  with  twenty  such  vile  terms, 
As  she  had  studied  to  misuse  me  so. 

Pet.  Now,  by  the  world,  it  is  a  lusty  wench  ; 
I  Ipve  her  ten  times  more  tlian  e'er  1  did : 
O,  how  I  long  to  have  some  chat  with  her  ! 

Bap.  Well,  go  with  me,  and  be  not  so  discomfited : 
Proceed  in  practice  with  my  younger  daughter  ; 
She's  apt  to  learn,  and  thankl'ul  for  good  turns. — 

B  A  fret  in  music  is  the  stop  which  causes  or  regulates 
the  vibration  of  the  string. 


218 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  II. 


Signior  retrucliio,  will  you  ^'O  with  us  ; 
Or  slwll  1  senJ  aiy  danghler  Kale  to  you  1 
Vd.  1  pray  you  do;  I  will  attend  her  here, — 

lEjjeiiiil  Baptista,  Gkemio,  Tuanio, 

(.TjrfHonTKNSlO. 

And  woo  her  with  ^ome  spirit  when  she  comes. 

Say,  that  she  rail:  Why,  tncn  I'll  tell  her  plain, 

She  sings  as  sweetly  as  a  ni^htinj^ale; 

Say,  that  she  frown  :  I'll  say,  she  looks  as  clear 

As  morning  roses  newly  washed  with  dew; 

Say,  she  will  he  mute,  and  will  not  speak  a  word  ; 

Then  I'll  commend  her  volubility. 

And  say— she  uttereth  piercing  eloquence: 

It'  sfte  do  hid  me  pack,  I II  give  her  thanks. 

As  though  she  bid  me  stay  by  her  a  week; 

If  she  deny  to  wed,  I'll  crave  the  day 

When  I  sh'all  ask  the  banns,  and  when  be  married. — 

But  here  she  comes  ;  and  now,  Fetruchio,  speak. 

Enter  KATHitiixA. 
Good-niorrnw,  Kate  ;  for  that's  Jour  name,  I  hear. 

Kuih.  Well  have  you  heard,  but  something  hard 
of  hearing  ; 
They  tall  me — Katharine,  that  do  talk  of  me. 

PtI.  Vou  lie,  in  faith;  for  you  are  call'd  plain 
Kate, 
And  bonny  Kate,  and  sometimes  Kate  the  curst ; 
Hut  Kale,  the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom, 
Kate  of  Kate-liall,  my  super-dainty  Kate, 
For  dainties  are  all  cates;  and  therefore,  Kate, 
Take  this  of  me,  Kate  of  my  consolation  ; — 
Hearing  thy  mildness  prais  d  in  every  town. 
Thy  virtues  spoke  iif,  and  thy  beauty  sounded, 
(Yet  not  so  deeply  as  to  thee  belongs,) 
Myself  ain  mov  d  to  woo  thee  for  my  wife. 

Kath.  Mov  d  !  in  good  time  :  let  him  that  mov'd 
you  hither. 
Remove  you  hence :  I  knew  you  at  the  first, 
You  were  a  moveable. 

Pel.  Why,  what's  a  moveable  ! 

Kath.  A  joint-stool. 

Pet.  Thou  hast  hit  it:  come,  sit  on  me. 

Kath.  Asses  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you. 

I'd.  Women  are  made  to  bear,  and  so  are  you, 

Kuth.  No  such  jade,  sir,  as  you,  if  me  you  mean. 

Pel.  Alas,  good  Kate  !  I  will  not  burden  thee  : 
For,  knowing  thee  to  be  hut  young  and  hght,— 

Kalh.  Too  light  for  such  a  swam  as  you  to  catch ; 
And  yet  as  heavy  as  my  weight  should  be. 

Prf.  Should  be  !  should  buz. 

Katli.  WeU  ta'en,  and  like  a  buzzard. 

Pd.  O,  slow-winged  turtle  !  shall  a  buzzard  take 
thee  ? 

Kfitli.  Ay,  for  a  turtle ;  as  he  takes  a  buzzard. 

Pet.  Con'ie,  come,  you  wasp ;  f  liiitli,  you  are  too 
angry. 

Kath.  If  I  be  waspish,  best  beware  of  my  sting. 

Pet.  My  remedy  is  then  to  pluck  it  out. 

Kuth.  Ay,  if  the  fool  could  find  it  where  it  lies. 

I'd.  Who  knows  not  where  a  wasp  doth  wear 
his  sting '! 
In  his  tail. 

JCu/.'f-  In  his  tongue. 

Pet.  Whose  tongue  7 

Kalh.  Y'ours,  if  you  talk  of  tails;  and  so  farewell. 

Pet.  What,  with  my  tongue  in  your  tail.'   nay 
come  again. 
Good  Kate  ;  I  am  a  gentleman. 

Kath.  That  I'll  try. 

[Strilcing  him. 

Pet.  I  swear  I'll  cuff  you,  if  you  strike  again. 

Kath.  So  may  you  lose  your  arms: 
If  you  strike  me,  you  are  no  gentleman  ; 
And  if  no  gentleman,  why,  then  no  arms. 

Pel.  A  herald,  Kate'  (i,  put  me  in  thy  books. 

Kalh.  What  is  your  crest  I   a  coxcomb  1 

P'  I.  A  combless  cock,  so  Kate  will  be  my  hen. 

Kath.  No  cock  of  mine,  you  crow  loo  hke  a 
craven.6 

Pet.  Nay,  come,  Kate,  come;  you  must  not  look 
so  sour. 

Kath.  It  is  my  fashion,  when  I  see  a  crab. 

Pet.  Why  here's  no  crab:    and  therefore  look 
not  sour. 

Kate.  There  is,  there  is. 

Pet.  Then  show  it  me. 

Kath.  Had  I  a  glass,  I  would. 

Pel.  What,  you  mean  my  face? 

Kath.  Well  aim'd  of  such  a  young  one. 

6  A  degenerate  cock. 


Pet.  Now,  by  Saint  George,  I  am  too  young  for 
you. 

Kath.  Vet  you  are  wither'd. 

Pet.  'Tis  with  cares. 

Kath.  I  care  not. 

Pet.  Nay,  hear  you,  Kate  ;  in  sooth,  you  'scapo 
not  so. 

Kath.  I  chafe  you,  if  I  tarry  ;  let  me  go. 

Pet.  No,  not  a  whit;  I  find  you  passing  gentle. 
'Twas  told  me,  you  were  rough,  and  coy,  and  sullen, 
And  now  I  find  report  a  very  liar  ; 
For   thou  art  pleasant,  gameso;ue,  passing  cour 

teous ; 
But  slow  in  speech,  yet  sweet  as  spring-time  flow 

ers. 
Thou  canst  not  frown,  thou  canst  not  look  askance, 
Nor  bite  the  lip,  as  angry  wenches  will ; 
Nor  hast  thou  pleasure  to  be  cross  in  talk  ; 
But  thou  with  mildness  entertain'st  thy  wooers  ; 
With  gentle  conference,  soft  and  atfable. 
Why  does  the  world  report,  that  Kate  doth  limp? 

0  slanderous  world  !  Kate,  liiie  the  hazel-twig. 
Is  straight  and  slender;  and  as  brown  in  hue 
.\s  hazel-nuts,  and  sweeter  than  the  kernels. 
O,  let  me  see  thee  walk  :  thou  dost  not  halt. 

Kuth.  Go,  fool,  and  whom  thou  keepst  command. 

Pet.  Did  ever  Dian  so  become  a  grove, 
As  Kate  this  chamber  with  her  princely  gait  1 
O,  be  thou  I>ian,  and  let  hei  be  Kate  ; 
.\nd  then  let  Kate  he  chaste,  and  Dian  sportful ! 

Kath.  Where    did    you    study  all    this    goodly 
speech  ? 

Pel.  It  is  extempore,  from  my  mother-wit. 

Kalh.  A  witty  mother!  witless  else  her  son. 

Pet.  Am  I  not  wise? 

Kath.  Yes;  keep  you  warm 

Pet.  Marry,  so  I  mean,  sweet  Katharine,  in  thy 
bed: 
And  therefore,  setting  all  this  chat  aside, 
Thus  in  plain  terms:— Your  father  hath  consented 
That  you  shall  be  my  wife;  your  dow'ry  'greed  on; 
.■Vnd,  will  you,  nill  you,  I  will  marry  you. 
Now,  Kate,  I  am  a  husband  for  your  turn; 
For,  by  this  light,  whereby  I  see  thy  beauty. 
(Thy  beauty,  that  doth  make  me  lite  thee  well,) 
Thou  must  be  married  to  no  man  but  me  : 
For  I  am  he,  am  born  to  tame  you,  Kate  ; 
And  bring  you  from  a  wild-cat  to  a  Kate 
Conformable,  as  other  household  Kates. 
Here  comes  your  father  ;  never  make  denial ; 

1  must  and  will  have  Katharine  to  my  wife. 

Re-enter  Baptista,  Giiemio,  and  Thasio. 

Bap.  Now, 
Signior  Petruchio:  How  speed  you  with 
My  daughter  ? 

Pet.  How  but  well,  sir  1  liow  but  well  ? 

It  were  impossible  I  should  speed  amiss. 

Bap.  W'hy,  hovv  now,  daughter  Katharine  ?  in 
your  dumps? 

Kath.  Call  you  me,  daughter?  now  I  promise  you, 
You  have  showd  a  tender  fatherly  regard, 
'Fo  wish  me  .wed  to  one-half  lunatic ; 
A  mad-cap  ruffian,  and  a  swearing  Jack, 
That  thinks  with  oaths  to  face  the  matter  out. 

Pet.  p'ather,  'tis  thus, — yourself  and  all  the  world. 
That  talk'd  of  her,  have  talk'd  amiss  of  her  ; 
If  she  be  curst,  it  is  for  policy: 
For  she's  not  froward,  but  modest  as  the  dove; 
She  is  not  hot,  but  temperate  as  the  morn; 
For  patience  she  will  prove  a  second  Grissel; 
And  Roman  Lucrece  tor  her  chastity : 
And  to  conclude,— we  have  'greed  so  well  together, 
■That  upon  Sunday  is  the  wedding-day. 

Kath.  I'll  see  thee  hang'd  on  Sunday  first. 

Gre.  Hark,  Petruchio  !  she  says,  she'll  see  thee 
hang'd  first. 

Tra.  Is  this  your  speeding?   nay,  then,  good 
night  our  part  f 

Pel.  Be   patient,  gentlemen  !  I   choose  her  tot 
myself; 
If  she  and  I  be  pleas'd,  what's  that  to  you? 
'Tis  bargain'd  'twixt  us  twain,  being  alone. 
That  she  shall  still  be  curst  in  company. 
I  tell  you  'tis  incredible  to  believe 
How  much  she  loves  mo  :  (),  the  kindest  Kale! 
She  hung  about  my  neck  ;  and  kiss  on  kiss 
Slie  vied'  so  fast,  protesting  oath  on  oath, 

iTo  Tye  and  revyo  were  terms  at  cards,  now  superseded 
by  the  Avord  brag. 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


219 


That  in  a  twink  she  won  me  to  hi^r  love. 
(I,  you  are  novices  !  'tis  a  world  lo  see,» 
How  tame,  when  men  and  women  are  alone, 
A  meacock"  wretch  can  make  the  eurstest  slirew. 
(iive  rae  thy  hand,  Kate:  I  will  unto  Venice, 
To  buy  apparel  'gainst  the  wedding-day  ;— 
rrovjje  the  feast,  father,  and  bid  tiie  guests; 
1  wdl  be  sure,  my  Katherine  shall  be  fine. 
Bup.   I   know  not  what  to  say;   give  me  your 
hands ; 
God  send  you  joy,  Petruchio!   *tis  a  match. 
Grc.  Tiu.  Amen,  say  we;  we  will  be  witnesses. 
Pet.  Father,  and  wife,  and  gentlemen,  adieu  ; 
I  will  to  Venice.  Sunday  comes  apace  : 
We  will  have  rings,  and  things,  and  tine  array  ; 
And  kiss  me,  Kate,  we  will  bi;  married  oSunday. 
{Exeuiil  Pktkucuio  and  Katharina,  severally. 
Gre.  Was  ever  match  clappd  up  so  suddenly  ? 
Bap.  'Faith,  gentleman,  now  I  play  a  merchant's 
part, 
And  venture  madly  on  a  desperate  mart. 

Tra.  'Twas  a  commodity  lay  fretting  by  you  : 
'Twill  bring  you  gain,  or  perish  on  the  seas. 
Bup.  The  gain  I  seek  is — quiet  in  the  match. 
Gre.  .N'o  doubt  but  he  hath  got  a  quiet  catch. 
But  now,  Haptista,  to  your  younger  daughter  ; — 
Now  is  the  day  we  long  have  looked  for; 
I  am  your  neighbor,  and  was  suitor  first. 

Tra.  And  I  am  one,  that  love  liianca  more 
Than  words  can  witness,  or  your  thoughts  can  guess. 
Gre.  Youngling  !  thou  canst  not  love  so  dear  as  I. 
Tra.  Grey-beard  !  thy  love  doth  freeze. 
Gre.  But  thine  doth  fry. 

Skipper,  stand  back  ;  'lis  age  that  nourisheth. 
Tra.  But  youth  in  ladies'  eyes  that  llourisheth. 
Bup.   Content  you,  gentlemen ;    111  compound 
this  strife ; 
'Tis  deeds  must  win  the  prize  ;  and  he,  of  both, 
That  can  assure  my  daughter  greatest  dower 
Shall  have  Biancas  love.^ 
Say,  signior  Gremio,  what  can  you  assure  her  ? 

Gre.  First,  as  you  know,  mj'  house  within  the  city 
Is  richly  furnished  with  plate  and  gold  ; 
Basons,  and  ewers,  to  lave  her  dainty  hands  ; 
I\Iy  hangings  all  of  Tyrian  tapestry  : 
In  ivory  eoller.s  I  have  stutTd  my  crowns; 
]u  cypress  chests  my  arras,  counterpoints,' 
Costly  apparel,  tents,  and  canopies. 
Fine  linen,  Turkey  cushions,  boss'd  with  pearl, 
Valance  of  Venice  gold  in  needle-work, 
Pewter  .and  brass,  and  all  things  that  belong 
To  house,  or  housekeeping  :  then,  at  my  farm, 
I  have  a  hundred  milch-kine  to  the  pail, 
Six  score  fat  oxen  standing  in  my  stalls. 
And  all  things  answe^ible  to  this  portion. 


Myself  am  struck  in  years,  I  must  confess; 
And,  if  I  die  to-morrow,  this  is  hers, 
If  whilst  I  live,  she  will  be  only  mine. 

Tra.  That  only  came  well  in^^ Sir,  list  to  me; 

I  am  my  father's  heir,  and  only  son; 

If  I  may  have  your  daughter  to  my  wile, 

FU  leave  her  houses  three  or  four  as  good. 

Within  rich  Pisa  walls,  as  any  one 

Old  signior  Gremio  has  in  Padua  ; 

Besides  two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year. 

Of  fruitful  land,  all  which  shall  be  her  jointure. — ■ 

What,  have  I  pinch'd  you,  signior  (ircmio  ! 

Gre.  Two  thousand  ducats  by  the  year,  of  land 
My  land  amounts  not  to  so  much  in  all : 
That  she  shall  have  ;  besides  an  argosy,' 

That  now  is  lying  in  Marseilks'  road  ; 

What,  have  I  chok'd  you  with  an  argosy  1 

Tra.  Gremio,  'tis  known,  my  father  hath  no  Jess 
Than  three  great  argosies;  besides  two  galliasies, 
And  twelve  tight  gallics:  these  I  will  assure  her. 
And  twice  as  much,  whale'r  thou  oilier  st  next. 

Gre.  Nay,  I  have  ofler'd  all,  1  have  no  mure ; 
And  she  can  have  no  more  than  all  1  have  ; 
If  you  like  me,  she  shall  have  me  and  mine. 

Tra.  Why,  then  the  maid  is  mine  from  ail  the 
world. 
By  your  firm  promise;  Gremio  is  out-vied. 

Blip.  I  must  confess,  your  otfer  is  the  best: 
And,  let  ynnr  father  malie  her  the  assurance, 
She  is  your  own  ;  else,  you  must  pardon  me: 
It  you  should  die  before  him,  Where's  Iier  dower  7 

Tra.  That's  but  a  cavil ;  he  is  old,  I  young. 

Gre.  .\nd  may  not  young  men  die  as  well  lis  old  !  ■ 
Bap.  Well,  gentlemen, 
I  am  thus  resolv'd : — On  Sunday  next  you  know. 
My  daughter  Katharine  is  to  be  married ; 
Now,  on  the  Sunday  following,  shall  Bianca 
Be  bride  to  you,  if  you  make  this  assurance; 
If  not,  to  signior  Gremio  : 
.\nd  so  I  take  my  leave,  and  thank  you  both. 

I  Exit. 

Gre.  .\dieu,  good  neighbor. — Now  I  fear  thee  not; 
Sirrah,  young  gamester,  your  lather  were  a  fool 
To  give  thee  all,  and  in  his  waning  age, 
Set  foot  under  thy  table  :  Tut !  a  toy! 
An  old  Italian  fox  is  not  so  kind,  my  boy.      [Exit. 

Tra.  A  vengeance  on  your  crafty,  wilhej'd  hide  ! 
Yet  I  have  faced  it  with  a  card  of  ten.' 
■Tis  in  my  head  to  do  my  master  good : 
I  see  no  reason,  but  suppos'd  Lutentio 
Must  get  a  father,  call'd — sujipos'd  Vicentio  ; 
.\nd  that's  a  wonder  :  fathers,  commonly, 
Do  get  their  children  ;  but  in  Ihis  case  of  wooing, 
A  child  shall  get  a  sire,  if  I  fail  not  of  my  cunning. 

VExit. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— .-1  Room  in  Baptista's  House. 
Enter  Luckntio,  Hobtexsio,  and  Biaxci. 

Luc.  Fiddler,  forbear;  you  grow  too  forward,  sir: 
Have  you  so  soon  forgot  the  entertainment 
Her  sister  Katharine  welcom'd  you  withal  1 

Hot.  But,  wrangling  pedant,  this  is 
The  patroness  of  heavenly  harmony  ; 
Then  give  me  leave  to  have  prerogative ; 
And  when  in  music  we  have  spent  an  hour. 
Your  lecture  shall  have  leisure  for  as  much. 

Luc.  Preposterous  ass  !  that  never  read  so  far 
To  know  the  cause  why  music  was  ordain'd  ! 
Was  it  not,  to  refresh  the  mind  of  man. 
After  his  studies,  or  his  usual  pain  ] 
Then  give  nie  leave  to  road  philosophy. 
And  while  I  pause,  serve  in  your  harmony. 

Hor.  Sirrah,  I  will  not  bear  these  braves  of  thine. 

Bian.  Why,  gentlemen,  you  do  me  double  wrong, 
To  strive  for  that  which  rcsteth  in  my  choice  : 
I  am  no  breeching  scholar'  in  the  schools  ; 
I'll  not  be  tied  to  hours,  nor  "pointed  times. 
But  learn  my  lessons  as  I  please  myself. 
And  to  cut  oil  all  strife,  here  sit  we  down:— 

•  It  is  well  worth  seeing.        b  A  dastardly  creature. 

1  CoveriDgs  for  ln^ds;  now  called  counterpanes. 

2  No  schoolboy,  liable  to  be  whipped. 


Take  you  your  instrument,  play  you  tlic  whiles; 
His  lecture  will  be  done,  ere  you  have  tun'd. 

Jlor.  You'U  leave  his  lecture  when  1  am  in  tunet 
[To  Bianca. — lloiiTExsio  retires. 

Luc.  That  will  be  never;  tune  your  instrument. 

Bian.  Where  left  we  last '! 

Luc.  Here,  madam  : 
Hue  ibat  Siniois;  Idc  est  Sigiia  tcllus: 
Hie  steterat  Priami  regia  cetsa  senis. 

Bian.  Construe  them. 

Lac.  Hue  ibat,  as  I  told  you  before, — Simois,  I 
am  Lucentio. — hicest,  son  unto  Viiuentio  of  Pisa, — 
Higeia  teltus,  disguised  thus  to  get  your  love  ; — 
Hie  stdmit,  and  that  Lucentio  that  comes  a  woo- 
ing,— Priami,  is  my  man  Tranio, — regia.  bearing 
my  port,— c(/sa  stnis,  that  we  might  beguile  the  old 
pantaloon.* 

Hor.  Madam,  my  instrument's  in  tune. 

[lieturning. 

Bian.  Let's  he.ir  ;  [Hokte.nsiu  plays. 

O  fye  !  the  treble  jars. 

Luc.  Spit  in  the  hole,  man,  and  tune  again. 

Biem.  Now  let  me  see  if  I  can  construe  it :  Hac 
ibat  Siynois,  I  know  you  not;  hie  est  Sigeia  teltus, 

3  A  largo  merchant-ship. 

*  A  vessel  of  l)urthen  worked  both  with  sails  and  oars. 

s  The  highest  cflrd. 

*!  The  old  cully  in  Italian  farces. 


220 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  ni. 


I  trust  you  not;  —  Hie  stcterat  Priami,  take  heed 
he  hear  us  not; — regia,  presume  not; — ce/sa  setiis, 
despair  not. 
Hui-.  Madam,  'tis  now  in  tune. 
Luc.  All  but  the  base. 

Hur.  The  base  is  right ;  'tis  the  base  linave  that 
jars. 
How  fiery  and  forward  our  pedant  is! 
Now,  for  my  life,  the  knave  doth  court  my  love: 
Feitciscide,i  I'll  watch  you  better  yet. 
Bill!!.  In  time  I  may  believe,  yet  I  mistrust. 
Liic.  Mistrust  it  not;  for  sure,  iKaridcs 
Was  Ajax, — call'd  so  from  his  grandfather. 
Bian.  I  must  believe  my  master  ;  else  I  promise 
you, 
I  shouhl  be  arguing:  still  upon  that  doubt: 
But  let  it  rest. — Now,  Licio.  to  you  : — 
Good  masters,  take  it  not  unkindly,  pray. 
That  I  have  been  thus  pleasant  vv'itb  yo'u  hitb. 
Hur.   Vou  may  go  walk,  \Ta  Lucentio.I  and 
give  me  leave  awhile: 
My  lessons  make  no  music  in  three  parts. 

Luc.  Are  you  so  formal,  sir?  well,  I  must  wait, 
And  watch  \vithal ;  for.  but  I  be  dcceiv'd, 
Our  fine  musician  groweth  amorous.  [Aside. 

Hoy,  Madam,  before  you  touch  the  instrument, 
To  learn  the  order  of  niy  tinkering, 
I  nmst  begin  the  rudiments  of  art ; 
To  tcarh  you  gamut  in  a  briefer  sort, 
More  Pleasant,  pithy,  and  ertectual. 
Than  halli  been  taught  by  any  of  my  trade  : 
And  there  it  is  in  writing,  fairly  drawn. 
Bian.  Why,  I  am  past  my  gamut  long  ago. 
Hiir.  Yet  read  the  gamut  of  Hortensio. 
Bian.  [Reads.]  Gamut  /  am,  the  ground  of  all 
accord, 
A  re.  to  plead  Hortensio^s  prissi/m.- 
B  mi.  Bianca.  Inke  liini  fnr  t/iii  lord, 

C  taut.  Iliot  lores  loilli  alt  uij''elion; 
n  sol  re,  oiieclitf.  '«'"  "otes  have  I; 
K  la  mi,  sfioiv  pitti.  or  I  die. 
Call  you  this— gamut  ?  tut !  I  like  it  not : 
Old  fashions  please  me  best ;  I  am  not  so  nice, 
To  change  true  rules  for  odd  inventions. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  Mistress,  your  father  prays  you  leave  your 
books. 
And  help  to  dress  your  sister's  chamber  up; 
You  know,  to-morrow  is  the  wedding  day. 
Bian.    Farewell,  sweet  masters,  both  ;  'I  must  be 
gone.  [Exeunt  Bianca  and  Servant. 

Luc.  'Faith,  mistress,  then  I  have  no  cause  to 
„        stay.  [Exit. 

Hor.  But  I  have  cause  to  pry  into  this  pedant ; 
Methinks.  he  looks  as  IJiougn  he  were  in  love  : 
Yet  if  thy  thoughts,  Bianca,  be  so  humble. 
To  cast  Ihy  wand'ring  eyes  on  every  stale." 
Seize  thee,  that  list :  If  once  I  find  thee  ranging, 
Hortensio  will  be  quit  with  thee  by  changing. 

[Exit. 
SCENE  n.—Brfure  Baptista's  House. 

Enter  Bapttsta,  Ghemio,  Tratxio. Kathaiiixa. 
Bianca,  Luce.ntio,  and  Attendants. 

Bap.  Signior  Lucentio,  [To  Tbanio.1  this  Is  the 
■pointed  day 
That  ICatbarine  and  Telruchio  should  be  married, 
And  yet  we  hear  not  of  our  son-in-law: 
What  will  be  said  1  what  mockery  will  it  be. 
To  want  the  bridegroom,  when  the  priest  attends 
To  speak  the  ceremonial  rites  of  marriage? 
What  says  Lucentio  to  this  shame  of  ours  ! 
Katti.  No  shame  but  mine:  1  must,  forsooth,  be 
forced 
To  give  my  hand,  oppos'd  as-ainst  my  heart, 
Unto  a  mnd-brain  rudesby,  full  of  spleen:' 
Who  wood  in  haste,  and  means  to  wed  at  lei- 
sure. 
I  told  you,  J,  he  was  a  frantic  fool, 
Hiding  his  bitter  jests  in  blunt  behavior: 
And,  to  be  noted  for  a  merry  man. 
Hell  woo  a  thousand,  'point  the  day  of  marriage. 
Make  friends,  invite,  yes,  and  proclaim  the  banns; 
Yet  never  means  to  wed  where  he  hath  woo'd. 
Now  must  the  world  point  at  poor  Katharine, 
And  say,— Lo,  there  t'.i  mod  Pctrnchiii's  wife, 
If  it  would  please  him  come  and  marry  tier. 
•>  Pedant.         ■  Bait,  decoy.  a  Caprice,  inconstancy. 


Tra.  Patience,  good  Katharine,  and  Faptista,  too, 
Upon  my  life,  Petruchio  means  but  well. 
Whatever  f.>rtune  stays  him  from  his  word  : 
Though  he  be  blunt,  I  Know  him  passing  wise; 
Though  he  be  merry,  yet  withal  he's  honest. 

Kath.  'Would  Katharine   had  never  seen  him 
though  ! 

[Exit,  iveeidng.folhored  by  Bianca,  and  others. 

Bap.  Go,  girl;  I  cannot  blame  thee  now  to  weep; 
For  such  an  injury  would  tcx  a  saint. 
Much  more  a  shrew  of  thy  impatient  humor. 

Enter  BroxoKLLO. 

Bion.  JTaster,  master!  news,  old  news,  and  such 
news  as  you  never  heard  of! 

B  ip.  Is  it  new  and  old  too  ?  how  may  that  be  1 

Bion.  Why,  is  it  not  news,  to  hear  of  Petruchio's 
coming  I 

Bop.  Is  he  come? 

Bixm.  Why,  no,  sir. 

B'fp.  What  then  ? 

Binn,  He  is  coming. 

Bop.  When  will  he  be  here  ? 

BituK  When  he  stands  where  I  am,  and  sees  you 
there. 

Tro.  But,  say,  what :— To  thine  old  news. 

Bion.  Why,  Petruchio  is  coming,  in  a  new  hat 
and  an  old  jerkin  ;  a  pair  of  old  breeches,  thrice 
turned,  a  pair  of  boots  that  have  been  candle-cases, 
one  buckled,  another  laced  ;  an  old  rusty  sword 
ta'en  out  of  the  town  armory,  with  a  broken  hilt, 
and  chapeless;  with  two  broken  points:  His  horse 
hipped  with  an  old  molhy  saddle,  the  stirrups  of  no 
kindred  :  besides,  possessed  with  the  glanders,  and 
like  to  mose  in  the  chine;  troubled  with  the  lampass, 
infected  with  the  fashinns.i  full  of  wind-galls,  sped 
with  .spavins,  raied  with  the  yellows,  past  cure  of 
the  fives,'  stark  spoiled  with  the  staugcrs,  begiiawn 
with  the  hots  ;  swayed  in  Ihe  back,  and  shoulder- 
sboiton;  ne'er-legg'd  before,  and  with  a  lialf-check'd 
hil,  and  a  head-stall  of  sheep's  leather;  which,  being 
restrained  to  keep  him  from  stumbling,  hath  been 
oflen  burst,  and  now  repaired  with  knots:  one  girt 
six  times  pieced,  and  a  woman's  crupper  of  velure,' 
which  hath  two  letters  for  her  name,  fairly  set 
down  in  studs,  and  here  and  there  pieced  with 
packthread. 

Bap.  Who  comes  with  him  .' 

Bion.  0,  sir.  his  lackev.  for  all  the  world  capar- 
isoned like  the  hor.se;  with  a  linen  .stock*  on  one 
leg,  and  a  kersey  boot-hose  on  the  other,  gartered 
with  a  red  and  blue  list ;  an  old  hat,  and  The  humor 
of  fort  p  fan  cits  prick'd  in't  fir  a  feather:  a  monster, 
a  very  monster  in  apparel ;  and  not  like  a  Christian 
footboy,  or  a  genllemans  lackey. 

Tra.  'Tis  some  odd  humot  pricks  him  to  this 
fashion ; 
Yet  oftentimes  he  goes  but  mean  apparell'd. 
Bop.  I  am  glad  he  is  come,  howsoe'er  he  comes, 
Bion.  Why,  sir,  he  conies  not. 
Bop.  Didst  thou  not  say,  he  comes  ? 

Bion.  Who!  that  Petruchio  came? 
Bop.  Ay,  that  Petruchio  came. 
Bion.  No,  sir;  I  say,  his  horse  comes  with  him 
on  his  back. 
Bop.  Why,  that's  all  one. 

Bi(ni.  Nay,  by  saint  Jamy,  I  hold  you  a  penny, 
A  horse  and  a  man  is  more  than  one,  and  yet  not 
many. 

Enter  PETnrcnin  and  GnrMio. 

Pit.  Come,  where  be  these  gallants  ?   who  is  at 
home? 

Bop.  You  are  welcome,  sir. 

Pri.  And  }-ct  I  come  not  well. 

Bap.  And  yet  you  halt  not. 

'Pr<i.  Not  so  well  apparell'd 

As  I  wish  you  were. 

Pet.  Were  it  better  I  should  rush  in  thus. 
But  where  is  Kate?  where  is  my  lovely  bride?— 
How  does  my  father?— Gentles,  methinks  you  frown: 
.\nd  wherefore  gaze  this  goodly  company; 
As  if  Ihey  saw  some  wondrous  monume'nt, 
Some  comet,  or  unu.sual  prodigy  ? 

Berp.  Why,  sir,  you  know  this  is  your  wedding- 
day: 
First  were  we  sad,  fearing  you  would  not  come; 
Now  sadder,  that  you  come  so  unprovided. 

■  Farcy.  «  Vivcp ;  n  distemper  in  horses. 

'  Velvet.  «  Stocking. 


Scene  II. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


221 


Fyc !  dofF  this  habit,  shame  to  your  estate, 
An  eye-sori?  to  our  suieniii  festival. 

Tea.  And  teU  us,  wliat  occasion  of  import 
Hath  all  so  long  detamed  you  from  your  wui?, 
And  sent  you  hiUter  so  uiiliKe  yourself! 

Pe/.  Tedious  it  were  to  tell,  and  harsh  to  hear; 
Sufliceth,  I  am  come  to  keep  my  word, 
Though  in  some  part  enlbrced  to  digress; 
Which,  at  more  leisure,  L  will  so  excuse 
As  you  shall  well  be  satisfied  withal. 
But,  wiiere  is  Kate  \  I  stay  loo  long  from  her; 
The  morning  wears,  'tis  time  we  were  at  church. 

Tra.  See   not  your   bride   in    these    unreverent 
robes ; 
Go  to  my  chamber,  put  on  clothes  of  mine. 

Vtl.  Not  1,  beheve  mc;  thus  111  visit  her. 

Brtjy.  But  thus,  I  trust,  you  will  not  marry  her. 

i'ct.  Good  sooth,  even  thus  ;  therefore  have  done 
witii  words ; 
To  me  she's  married,  not  unto  my  clothes : 
Could  I  repair  what  she  will  wear  in  me. 
As  I  can  cnani;e  these  poor  accoutrements, 
'Twerp  well  for  Kate,  and  better  for  myself. 
But  what  a  fool  am  I,  lo  chat  with  you. 
When  1  should  bul  t^ood-morrow  to  my  bride. 
And  seal  the  title  with  a  lovely  kiss! 

[Exeunt  Pkthucuxo.  iiav>iio,aTid  BioxnELLO. 

Tj-u.  He  hath  some  meaninj;  in  his  mad  attire: 
AVe  will  persuade  him,  bo  it  possible, 
To  put  on  better  ere  he  go  to  church. 

Blip.  I'll  after  him,  and  see  the  event  of  this. 

Tra.  But,  sir,  to  lier  love  concernetli  us  to  add 
Her  fathers  likinjj  :  Which  to  bring  to  pass. 
As  I  before  imparted  to  your  worship, 
1  am  to  get  a  man, — whate  er  he  be. 
It  skills*  not  much;  we'd  I'lt  him  to  our  turn, — 
And  he  shall  be  Vinccnlio  of  I'isa  ; 
And  make  assurance,  here  in  Padua, 
Of  greater  sums  than  I  have  promised. 
So  shall  you  quietly  enjoy  your  hope, 
And  marry  sweet  IJianca  with  consent. 

Luc.  Were  it  not  thai  my  fellow-schoolmaster 
Doth  watch  Bianca's  stejis  so  narrowly, 
'Twere  good,  metbinlis.  to  steal  our  marriage; 
Which  once  perform'd.  let  all  the  world  say. — no, 
I'll  keep  mine  own,  despite  of  all  the  world. 

Tra.  That  by  decrees  we  mean  to  look  into. 
And  watch  our  vantUfre  in  this  business : 
We'll  over-reach  the  grey-beard,  Greniio; 
The  narrow-prying  father,  Miiiola; 
Theqiiainf^  musician,  amorous  Licio; 
All  for  my  master's  sake,  Lucentio. — 

Rc-cnl2r  Ghejiio. 

Signior  Gremio,  came  you  from  the  church  ! 

Gre.  As  willingly  as  e'er  1  came  from  school. 

Tra.  And  is  the  bride  and  bridegroom  coming 
home  ! 

Grc.  A  bridegroom  say  you!  'tis  a  groom,  indeed. 
A  grumbling  groom,  and  that  the  girl  shall  find. 

Tra.  Curster  than  she  1  why,  'tis  impossible, 

Gre.  Why,  he's  a  devil,  a  devil,  a  very  fiend. 

Tra.  Why,  she's  a  devil,  a  devil,  the  devil's  dam. 

Gre.  Tut !  she's  a  lamb,  a  dove,  a  fool  to  him. 
I'll  tell  you,  sir  I.ucentio:  When  the  priest 
Should  ask — if  Katharine  .should  be  his  wile. 
All,  by  gogs-U'oan.i,  quoth  he ;  and  swore  so  loud. 
That,  all  amazed,  the  ])riest  let  fall  the  book : 
And,  as  he  stooped  again  to  take  it  up. 
The  mad-brain'd  bridegroom  took  him  such  a  cuff, 
Thatdown  fell  priest  and  book,  and  book  and  priest ; 
Nijto  take  /hem  up,  quoth  he,  ifanij  lii/. 

Tra.  What  said  the  wench,  when  he  arose  a^ain  7 

G;-f.  Trembled  and  shook;  for  why,  he  stainp'd, 
and  swoie. 
As  i£  the  vicar  meant  to  cozen  him. 
But  after  many  ceremonies  done. 
He  calls  for  wine  : — A  health,  quoth  he ;  as  if 
He  had  been  aboard  carousing,  to  his  mates 
After  a  storm  :— Qualf'd  olf  the  muscadel,' 
And  threw  the  sops  all  in  the  sexton's  face  ; 
Having  no  other  reason, — 
But  that  his  beard  grew  thin  and  hungerly. 
And  secra'd  to  ask  him  sops  as  he  was  drinking. 
This  done,  he  took  the  bride  about  the  neck ; 

t  Jlatters.  s  Strange. 

'  It  was  the  custom  for  the  company  presi-nt  to  drink 
tvinc  immediately  after  the  marriage  ceremony. 


And  kiss'd  her  lips  with  such  a  clamorous  smack, 
That,  at  the  part.ng,  all  tne  church  did  echo. 
J,  seeing  tliis,  came  thence  tor  very  shame; 
.\nd,  alter  me,  1  know  the  route  is  coming  ; 
Such  a  mad  marriage  never  was  before; 
Hark,  hark  !  1  hear  the  minstrels  play.         {Music. 

Enter   Petiiicuio,   KATH.ir.iXA,  Biaxca,  Bap. 
TisiA,  Huartxsio,  Cttu.'vtio,  and  Train. 

Fet.   Gentlemen  and  friends,  1   thank  you  for 
y  our  pains ; 
I  kn.iw,  you  tnink  to  dine  with  me  to-day, 
And  have  [irepar'd  great  store  of  wedding  cheer; 
But  so  It  is,  my  haste  doth  cull  me  hence, 
.\iid  therelore  Here  I  mean  to  take  my  leave. 

Bap.  Is't  possible,  you  will  away  to-night  ? 

I'et.  I  must  away  lo-day,  belore  night 'come: — 
iMake  it  no  wonder;  if  you  knew  my"  business. 
You  would  entreat  me  ratlier  go  than  stay; 
And,  honest  company,  1  tliank  you  all, 
'I'hat  have  uetieiu  ine  give  away  myself 
To  this  most  patient,  sweet,  and  virtuous  wife; 
IJiiie  witn  my  lather,  drink  a  health  lo  me ; 
for  1  must  Hence :  and  larew ell  to  you  all. 

Tra.  Let  us  entreat  you  slay  till  after  dinner. 

i'et.  It  may  not  be. 

Gre.  Let  me  entreat  you. 

I'el.  It  cannot  be. 

Kulli.  Let  me  entreat  vou. 

ftl.  1  am  content. 

Katti.  Are  you  content  to  stay  ! 

Fel.  I  am  content  you  snail  entreat  me  stay  : 
But  yet  not  slay,  entreat  me  how  y  ou  can. 

Kalh.  i\ow,  if  you  love  me,  slay. 

i'et.  Grumio,  my  horses. 

Gru.  Ay,  sir,  they  be  ready ;  tne  outs  have  calen 
the  horses. 

Katli.  Nay,  then. 
Do  wliat  Ihuu  cjiut,  I  will  not  go  to-day  ; 
No,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  till  I  please  myself. 
Tlic  door  IS  open,  sir,  there  lies  your  way. 
You  may  be  jogging,  wiiilst  your  lioots  are  green  ; 
For  me,  I'll  noi  ue  gone,  till  I  please  myself;  — 
Tislike,  you  II  proveajohy  surly  grooiii, 
That  take  it  on  you  at  the  ursl  so  roundiy. 

l^it.  I),  Kate,  content  thee;  pryihec  be  not  angry. 

Kalh.  1  will  be  angry :  \v  nat  ha>t  thou  to  do ! 
Father,  be  quiet;  he  shall  stay  my  leisuie. 

Gre.  Ay,  marry,  sir;  now  it  begins  to  work. 

Au//i.  Gentlemen,  Ibrward  to  tiie  brutal  dinner; — 
I  see,  a  woman  may  be  maue  a  fool. 
If  she  had  nut  a  spirit  to  resist. 

Fet.  They  shall  go  forward,  Kate,  at  t!iy  com- 
mand : — 
Obey  the  bride,  you  that  attend  on  her ; 
Go'  to  the  feast,  re\ei  and  domineer, 
Carouse  lull  measures  to  her  maidenhead, 
Be  mad  and  merry,— njr  go  hang  yourselves ; 
But  lor  my  bonny  Kate,  she  must  with  me. 
Nay,  look  not  big,  nor  stamp,  nor  stare,  nor  fret; 
I  will  be  master  ot  what  is  mine  ow'n  ; 
She  IS  my  goods,  my  ch.itlels  ;  she  is  my  house, 
My  hou.seiiold  stutl.  my  field,  my  barn, 
iMy  hixse.  my  ox,  my  ass,  iny  any  thing; 
And  here  siie  slands,  touch  her  whoever  dare ; 
I'll  bring  my  action  on  tne  proudest  he 
That  slops  my  way  in  Padua. — Grumio, 
Draw  fortn  tny  weapon  ;  we  re  beset  wiih  thieves  ; 
Rescue  thy  mistress,  if  thou  be  a  man  ; — 
!■  ear  not,  sweet  'wench,  they  shall  not  touch  thee, 

Kate ; 
I'll  buckler  thee  against  a  million. 
{Extunt  Petruchio.  Ka  niAitixA,  a/jj  Guumio, 

Bap.  Nay,  let  ihein  go,  a  couple  of  quiet  ones. 

Gre.  Went  they  not  quickly,!  slioulu  die  with 
laughing. 

Tra.  Of  all  mad  matches,  never  was  the  like  ! 

Luc.  Mistress,  what'syour  opinionof  your  sister? 

Bian.  That  being  mad  herself,  she  s  madly  mated. 

Gre.  I  warrant  hiin,  petruchio  is  Kaled. 

Bap.  Neighbors   and  friends,  though   bride  and 
bridegroom  wants 
For  to  supply  the  places  at  the  table. 
You  know,  there  wants  no  junkets'  at  the  feast;— 
Lucentio,  you  shall  supply  the  bridegrooms  place; 
And  let  Bianca  take  her  siller  s  room. 

Tra.  Shall  sweet  Bianca  practise  how  to  bride  it? 

Bap.    She  shall,  Lucenlio. —  Come,  gentlemen, 
lets  go. 

8  Delicacies. 


223 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  1-7. 


ACT  IV. 


fiCENE  I— -4  Hall  in  Pctruchio's  Counlnj  House. 

Enter  Ghcmio. 

Gru.  Fye,  fye,  on  all  tired  jades,  on  all  mad 
masters,  and  all  foul  ways!  Was  ever  man  so 
beaten  J  was  ever  man  so  rayed  1^  was  ever  man  so 
weary  1  1  am  sent  before  to  make  a  Hre,  and  they 
are  coming  after  to  warm  them.  Now,  were  I  not 
a  little  poL,  ami  soon  hot,  my  very  lips  niid;ht  freeze 
to  my  tet'lh,  my  tongue  to  the  rooC  of  my  nioulh, 
my  heart  in  ray  lieily,  ere  I  should  come  by  a  lire 
to  thaw  me;— liut.  I,  with  blowing  the  fire,  shall 
warm  myself:  for.  considering  the  weather,  a  taller 
man  than  1  will  take  cold.    Holla,  hoa !  Curtis! 

Enter  CrnTis. 

Curt.  Who  is  that,  calls  so  coldly  1 

Gru.  A  piece  of  ice:  J  f  thou  doubt  it,  thou  mayst 
slide  from  my  shoulder  to  my  Iieei,  with  no  greater 
a  run  but  my  head  and  my  neck.  A  fire,  good 
Curtis. 

Curt.  Is  my  master  and  his  wife  cominj,  Grumio? 

Gru.  O,  ay,  Curtis,  ay  :  and  Iherclbre'  fire,  lire  ; 
cast  on  no  water. 

Curt.  Is  she  so  hot  a  shrew  as  she's  reported? 

Gru.  She  was,  i:ood  Curtis,  before  this  frost;  but 
thou  know'st,  wmier  tames  man,  woman,  and  beast; 
for  it  halfi  tamed  my  old  master,  and  my  new 
mistress,  and  myself,  fellow  Curtis. 

Curt.  Away,  you  three-inch  tool !  I  am  no  beast. 

Gru.  A  m  1  but  three  indies  \  why,  thy  horn  is  a 
foot;  and  so  long  am  I,  at  the  least.  Hut  wilt  thou 
make  a  fire,  or  shall  I  complain  on  thee  to  our  mis- 
tress, whose  hand  'she  bemg  now  at  hand)  tliou 
shalt  soon  feel,  to  tliy  cold  comibrt,  for  bemg  stow 
in  thy  hot  oliice  ! 

Curt.  1  prythee,  good  Grumio,  tell  me.  How 
goes  the  world  i 

Gru.  A  cold  world,  Curtis,  in  every  office  but 
thine;  and.  therefore,  fire  :  Do  thy  duty,  and  have 
thy  duty ;  for  my  master  and  mistress  are  almost 
frozen  to  deatli. 

Curt.  Tiiere's  fire  ready:  And  therefore,  good 
Grumio,  tiie  news  ! 

Gru.  Why,  Jack  boy!  ho  boy!  and  as  much  news 
as  thou  wilt. 

Curt.  Come,  you  are  so  full  of  conycatching  : — 

Gru.  Why,  therefore,  fire  ;  for  1  have  caught  ex- 
treme cold.  Where's  the  cook?  is  supper  ready, 
the  house  trimmed,  rushes  strewed,  cobwebs  swept", 
th*e  scrvmg  men  in  their  new  fuslain,  their  white 
stockings,  and  every  olticer  his  wedding-garment 
on  ?  Be  t!ie  jacks  lair  within,  the  jills  fair  without, 
the  carpets  laid,  and  every  thing  in  order? 

Cuit.  All  ready;  and  therefore,  I  pray  thee,  news? 

Gru.  First,  know  my  horse  is  tired ;  my  master 
and  mistress  fallen  out. 

Curt.  How? 

Gru.  Out  of  their  saddles  into  the  dirt;  And 
therefij'  hau^s  a  tale. 

Curt.  Lets  ha  t,  good  Grumio. 

Gra.  Lend  thine  ear. 

Curt.  Here. 

Gru.  There.  [Striking  him. 

Curt.  This  is  to  feel  a  tale,  not  to  hear  a  tale. 

Gru.  And  therefore  tis  called  a  sensible  tale: 
and  this  cuff  was  but  to  knock  at  your  ear,  and 
beseech  listening.  Now  I  begin:  Lnpriiuis,  we 
came  down  a  foul  hill,  my  master  riding  behind  my 
mistiess  • — 

Curt.  Both  on  one  horse? 

Gru.  What's  that  to  thee? 

Curt,  Why,  a  horse. 

Gru.  TelTthou  the  tale: But  hadst  thou  not 

crossed  me,  thou  shouldst  have  heard  how  her  horse 
fell,  and  she  under  her  horse;  thou  shouldst  have 
heard  in  how  miry  a  place:  how  she  was  bemoiled;' 
how  he  left  her  with  the  horse  upon  her;  how  he 
beat  me  because  her  horse  stumbled;  how  she  waded 
through  the  dirt  to  pluck  him  olf  me ;  how  he  swore; 
how  site  prayed  —  that  never  prayed  before  ;  how 
I  cried  ;  how  the  horses  ran  away  ;  how  her  bridle 

f  Striped.  1  Bcmired. 


was  burst;  how  I  lost  my  crupper  ; — with  many 
things  of  worthy  memory  ;  which  now  shall  die  in 
oblivion,  and  thou  return  unexperienced  to  thy  grave. 

Cu7i.  By  this  reckoning,  he  is  more  shrew  than 
she. 

Gru.  Ay;  and  that,  tiiou  and  the  proudest  of 
you  all  sliall  find,  when  he  conies  home.  But  what 
talk  1  of  tlhs?— call  forth  Nathaniel,  Joseph,  Nich- 
olas, Philip. Walter,  Sugarsop,  and  the  rest:  let  tiieir 
heads  be  sleekly  combed,  their  blue  coats  brushed, 
and  their  garters  of  an  indiflerenl- knit:  let  them 
curtsey  with  their  left  legs;  and  not  presume  to 
toucii  a  hair  of  my  masters  horse-tail,  till  they  kiss 
tiieir  hands.    Are  they  all  ready  I 

Curt.  Tliey  are. 

Gru,  Call  them  forth. 

Curt.  Do  you  hear,  Iiof  you  must  meet  my 
master,  to  countenance  my  mistress. 

Gru.  Wily,  she  hath  a  lace  of  her  own. 

Curt.  WIjo  knows  not  that  ? 

Grn.  Thou,  it  seems ;  that  callest  for  company  to 
countenance  her. 

Curt.  I  call  them  forth  to  credit  her. 

Gru.  Why,  she  comes  to  borrow  nothing  of  them. 

Enter  several  Servants. 

Natk.  Welcome  home,  Grumio. 

P/iil.  How  now,  Grumio  ? 

Jos.  What,  Grumio! 

Nicfi.  Fellow  Grumio! 

Nuth.  How  now,  old  lad? 

Gru.  Welcome,  you ;  —  how  now,  you  ;  —  what, 
you;  —  lellow,  you  —  and  thus  much  for  greeting. 
Now,  my  spruce  companions,  is  all  ready  and  all 
things  neat  ? 

Nfif/i.  All  things  are  ready:  How  near  is  our 
ma.stcr  ? 

Gru.  EVn  at  hand,  alighted  by  this  ;  and  there- 
fore be  not Cock's  passion,  silence  ! 1  hear 

my  mastcT. 

Enter  Petruciiio  and  Kathahina. 

Pet.  Where  be  these  knaves?  What,  no  man  at 
door. 
To  hold  my  stirrup,  nor  to  take  my  horse  ! 
Where  is  Nathaniel,  Gregory,  Philip  ] 

All  Strv.  Here,  here,  sir  ;  here,  sir. 

Pet.  Here,  sir  !  here,  sir  !  here,  sir!  here,  sir  ! — 
You  logger-lieaded  and  unpolish'd  grooms  ! 
What,  no  attendance  ?  no  regard  ?  no  duty  ?  — 
Where  is  the  foolish  knave  I  sent  before  ? 

Gru.  Here,  sir  ;  as  foolish  as  1  was  before. 

Pet.  You  peasant  swain  !  you  whoreson  malt- 
horse  drud|j;e! 
Did  I  not  bid  thee  meet  me  in  the  park, 
And  bring  along  these  rascal  knaves  with  thee  ? 

Gru.  Nalhaniers  coat,  sir,  was  not  l^dly  made, 
And  Gabriels  pumps  were  all  unpink'd  i  the  heei 
'I'here  was  no  Imk'  to  color  Peter  s  hat, 
And  Waller's  dagger  was  not  come  from  sheathing 
There  were  none  fine,  but  Adam,  Ralph,  and  Gre- 
gory ; 
Tile  rest  were  ragged,  old,  and  beggarly  ; 
Yet.  as  they  are.  here  are  they  come  to  meet  you. 

Pet.  Go,  rascals,  go,  and  fetch  my  supper  in. — 

[Exeunt  same  of  t/ie  Servants 

Where  is  the  Hfe  that  late  I  led —  I  Sings 

Wliere  are  those Sit  down,  Kate,  and  welcome 

Soud,  soud,  soud  !* 

Re-enter  Servants  witk  Supper. 
Why,  when,  I  say?  —  Nay,  good  sweet  Kate,  be 

merry, 
off  with  my  boots,  you  rogues,  you  villains; 
When? 

Jt  H'fis  the  friar  of  orders  gray,  [Sings 

As  he  forth  xvalkcd  on  his  way: —  . 
Out.  out,  you  rogue  !  you  pluck  my  foot  awry  : 
Take  that,  and  mend  the  plucking  ofl'the  other. — 

[Strikes  hun. 

Be  merry,  Kate  :— Some  water,  here  ;  what,  ho !  — 

1  Not  difffrent  one  from  nnothcr.       '  A  torch  of  pidh. 

*  A  wonJ  foincd   by  Sbakspcart-  to  exprt-ss  tho  uoise 

mnde  by  a  person  heated  and  fatigued. 


Scene  II. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


223 


Where'a  my  spaniel  Troilusi  —  Sirrah,  get  you 

hence, 
And  bid  my  cousin  Ferdinand  come  hither  :^ 

[Exit  Servant. 
One,  Kate,  that  you  must  kiss,  and  be  acquainted 

with. — 
Where  are  my  slippers? — Shall  I  have  some  water? 
[A  bason  is  pre^eiiteil  to  huti. 
Come,  Kate,  and  wash,  and  welcome  heartily; — 

[Servant  lets  lite  eicerfall. 
You  whoreson  villain  !  will  you  let  it  tall  1 

[Strikes  him. 

Kath.  Patience,  I  pray  you ;  'twas  a  fault  un- 
willin?. 

Pet.  A  whoreson  beetle-headed,  flap-ear'd  knave! 
Come,  Kate;  sit  down ;  I  know  you  have  a  stomach. 
Will  you  ;?ive  thanks,  sweet  Kate;  or  else  shall  1! — 
What  IS  tills  I  mutton  I 

1  >ii:ri:  Ay. 

Pti.  Whobrou-ht  it! 

1  Sen:  I. 

Pel.  'Tis  burnt;  and  so  is  all  the  meat; 
What  doiis  are  these  I — Where  is  tlie  rascal  cook? 
How  durst  you,  villains,  bring;  it  from  the  dresser. 
And  serve  it  thus  to  me  that  love  it  not  ? 
There,  take  it  to  you,  trenchers,  cups  and  all : 

I  Throws  the  meat,  Sfc.  abmil  the  singe. 
You  heedless  joltheads.  and  unmanner'd  slaves  ! 
What,  do  you  grumble?  Ill  be  with  you  straight. 

Kath.  1  pray,  you  husband,  be  not  so  disquiet; 
The  meat  was  well.  If  you  were  so  contented. 

Pet.  I  tell  thee,  Kale,"'twas  burnt  and  dried  away; 
And  I  expressly  am  forbid  to  touch  it. 
For  it  engenders  choler,  planteth  an^er ; 
And  better  'twere,  that  both  of  us  did  fast, — 
Since  of  ourselves,  oursehes  are  choleric, — 
Than  l<;ed  it  with  such  over-roasted  flesh. 
Be  patient;   to-morrow  it  shall  be  mended. 
And,  for  this  night,  we'll  fist  for  company  : 
Come,  I  will  bring  thee  to  thy  bridal  chamber. 

[Exeunt  I'r.Tniirmo,  KiTHinixi,  tiiid  CiitTis. 

Nath.  [Adeaiicjn^.]  Peter,  didst  ever  see  the  like? 

Peter.  He  kills  her  in  her  own  humor 

Re-enter  Curtis. 

Grtt.  Where  is  he  ? 

Curt.  In  her  c[iainber. 
Making  a  sermon  of  continency  to  her: 
And  rails,  and  swears,  and  rates;  that  she,  poor  soul. 
Knows  not  which  way  to  stand,  to  look,  to  speak  ; 
And  sits  as  one  new-risen  from  a  dream. 
Away,  away  !  for  he  is  coming  hither.       [Exeunt. 

Re-enter  PETnucmo. 
Pet.  Thus  have  I  politicly  begun  my  reign, 
And  'lis  my  hope  to  end  successfully  : 
My  falcon  now  is  sharp,  and  passing  empty  ; 
And  till  she  stoop,  she  must  not  be  full-gorged, 
For  then  she  never  looks  upon  her  lure.' 
Another  wjy  have  I  to  man  my  haggard,' 
To  make  her  come,  and  know  her  keeper's  call. 
That  is, — to  watch  her,  as  we  watch  these  kites, 
That  bate,'  and  beat,  and  will  not  be  obedient. 
She  eat  no  meat  to-day,  nor  none  shall  eat ; 
Last  night  she  slejit  not,  nor  to-night  she  shall  not ; 
As  with  the  meat,  some  undeserved  fault 
I'll  tind  about  the  making  of  the  bed ; 
And  here  I'll  fling  the  pillow,  there  the  bolster. 
This  way  the  coverlet,  another  way  the  sheets: — 
Ay,  and  amid  this  hurly,  I  intend' 
That  all  is  done  in  reverend  care  of  her; 
And,  in  conclusion,  she  shall  watch  all  night : 
And,  if  she  chance  to  nod,  I'll  rail  and  brawl, 
And  with  the  clamor  keep  her  stifl  awake. 
This  is  the  way  to  kill  a  wife  with  kindness  ; 
And  thus  I'll  curb  her  mad  and  headstrong  humor  : 
He  that  knows  better  how  to  tame  a  shrew, 
Now  let  him  speak ;  'tis  charily  to  shew.        [Exit. 

SCENE  II. — Padua.    Before  Baptista's  House. 

Enter  Trakio  and  Hortf.nsio. 
Tra.  Is't  possible,  friend  Licio,  that  Bianca 
Doth  fancy  any  other  but  Lueentio? 
I  tell  you,  sir,  she  bears  me  fair  in  hand. 

Hor,  Sir,  to  satisfy  you  in  what  I  have  said. 
Stand  by,  and  mark  the  manner  of  his  teiiching. 

[Theij  statid  aside. 

•  A  thing  stufTed  to  look  like  the  game  which  the  hawk 
was  to  pursue. 

•  To  tamo  mv  wild  hawk.        '  Flutter.        '  Pretend. 


Enter  Biasca  and  Lucextio. 

Lur.  Now,  mistress,  profit  you  in  what  you  read? 

Stan.  What,  master,  read  you?  first  resolve  me 
that. 

Luc.  I  read  that  I  profess,  the  art  of  love. 

Bian.  And  may  you  prove,  sir,  master  of  your 
art! 

Luc.  While  you,  sweet  dear,  prove  mistress  of 
my  heart.  [Theij  retire. 

Hor.  Quick  proceeders,  marry  !  Now,  tell  me,  I 
pray, 
\ou  that  durst  swear  that  your  mistress  Bianea 
Lov'd  none  in  the  world  so  well  as  Lueentio. 

Tra.  O  despiteful  love  !  unconstaut  woman-kind; 
I  tell  thee,  Licio,  this  is  wonderful. 

Hor.  Mistake  no  more  ;  I  am  not  Licio, 
Nor  a  musician  as  I  seem  to  be  ; 
But  one  that  scorn  to  live  in  this  disguise, 
For  such  a  one  as  leaves  a  gentleman. 
And  makes  a  god  of  such  a  culhoii  :» 
Know,  sir,  that  I  am  call'd — Horlensio. 

Tra.  Signior  Hortensio,  1  have  oflen  heard 
Of  your  entire  atrection  to  Bianca*^ 
And  since  my  eyes  are  witness  of  her  lightness, 
I  will  with  you,— if  you  be  so  contented, — 
Forswear  Bianea  and  her  love  for  ever. 

Hor.  See,  how  they   kiss  and  court !  —  Sigmor 
Lueentio, 
Here  is  my  hand,  and  here  I  firmly  vow — 
.Vever  to  woo  her  more  ;  but  to  forswear  her, 
As  one  unworthy  all  the  former  favors 
'fhat  I  have  fondly  flattered  her  withal. 

Tra.  And  here  I  take  the  like  unfeigned  oath, — 
Ne'er  to  marry  with  her  tlioug^j  she  would  entreat : 
Fie  on  her !  see,  how  beastly  she  doth  court  him. 

Hor.  'Would  all  the  world,  but  he,  had  quite  for- 
sworn ! 
For  me,  that  I  may  surely  keep  mine  oath, 
I  will  be  married  to  a  wealthy  widow. 
Ere  three  days  pass;  which  hath  as  long  lov'd  me, 
.\s  I  have  lov'd  tiiis  proud  disdainful  haggard: 
And  so  farewell,  signior  Lueentio. — 
Kindness  in  women,  not  their  beauteous  looks, 
Shall  win  my  love — and  so  1  talve  my  leave, 
In  resolution  as  I  swore  before. 

[Exit  HonTKNSio — LrcEXTio  and  Bianca 
advance. 

Tra.  Mistress  Bianca,  bless  you  with  such  grace 
.\s  longeth  to  a  lover's  blessed  case ! 
Nay,  I  have  ta'en  you  napping,  gentle  love; 
Anil  have  forsworn  you  with  Horlensio. 

Bian.  Tranio,  you  jesl :  Bui  have  you  both  for- 
sworn me  ? 

Tra.  Mistress,  we  have. 

Luc.  Then  we  arc  nd  of  Licio. 

Tra.  I'faith,  he'll. have  a  lusly  widow  now, 
That  shall  be  woo'd  and  wedded  in  a  day. 

Bian.  God  give  him  joy  ! 

Tra.  Ay,  and  he'll  lame  her. 

Bian.  He  says  so,  Trauio. 

Tra.  'Faith  he  is  gone  unto  the  laming-school. 

Bian.  The  laming-school !  what,  is  there  such  a 
place  ! 

Tra.  Ay,  mistress,  and  Pelruchio  is  the  master; 
That  leacheth  tricks  eleven  and  twenty  long, — 
To  tame  a  shrew,  and  charm  her  chattering  tongue. 

Enter  Biosdello,  running. 

Bion.  0  master,  master.  I  have  walch'd  so  long 
That  I'm  dog-weary  ;  but  at  last  I  spied 
An  ancient  angel'  coming  down  the  hill, 
Will  serve  the  turn. 

Tra.  What  is  he,  Biondello  ? 

Bian.  Master,  a  mercatante,  or  a  pedant,' 
I  know  not  what ;  but  formal  in  apparel. 
In  gait  and  countenance  surely  like  a  father. 

Luc.  .\nd  what  of  him,  Tranio  ! 

Tra.  If  he  be  credulous,  and  trust  my  tale, 
I'll  make  him  glad  to  seem  Vincentio  ; 
And  give  assurance  to  Baptista  Minola, 
As  if  he  were  the  right  \  incentio. 
Take  in  your  love,  and  then  let  me  alone. 

[Exeunt  Lucentio  aail  Bianca. 
Enter  a  Pedant. 

Fed.  God  save  you,  sir  ! 

Tra.  And  you,  sir!  you  are  welcome 

Travel  you  far  on,  or  are  you  at  the  furthest  ? 

9  Despicable  fellow.  i  Messenger, 

«  A  merchant  or  a  schoolmaster. 


224 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  IV. 


Fed.  Sir,  at  the  Curlhest  lor  a  week  or  two: 
But  then  up  rurllu-r  ;  and  a>i  far  as  Roiue  ; 
And  so  to  I'ripoly,  if  God  lend  me  life. 

Tra.  What  countryman,  1  pray  ? 

P^<i-     ,  Of  Mantua. 

Ira.  Of  Mantua,  sir! — marrv.  God  forbid! 
And  come  to  I'adua,  careless  of  your  life  1 

I'el.  My  life,  sir !  how,  I  prayl  for  that  goes  hard. 

Tra.  -Tis  death  for  any  one  in  Mantua 
To  come  to  Padua  ;  Know  you  not  the  cause  1 
Your  ships  are  staid  at  Venice;  and  the  duke 
(For  private  quarrel  'twixt  j  our  duke  and  him) 
Hath  pu!ilish  d  and  proclaiiifd  it  openly  : 
'Tis  marvel ;  but  that  you're  but  newly  come. 
You  might  have  heard  it  else  proclaim  d  about. 

I'eil.  Alas,  sir,  it  is  worse  for  me  than  so  ; 
For  I  have  bills  for  money  by  exchange 
From  l-'lorence,  and  must  here  deliver"  them. 

Tra.  W'ell,  s;r,  to  do  you  courtesy, 
Ths  will  i  tlo,  and  this  will  I  advise  you; — 
First,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  been  at  Pisa  \ 

Ped.  Ay,  sir,  in  Pisa  have  I  often  been ; 
Pisa,  renowned  lur  grave  citizens. 

Tra.  Among  them,  know  you  one  Vinccntio  ? 

Pel.  I  know  him  not,  but  1  have  heard  of  him; 
A  merchant  of  incomparable  wealth. 

Tra.  He  is  my  father,  sir;  and,  sooth  to  say, 
In  countenance  s-imewhat  doth  resemble  you. 

Blun.  As  muchas  an  apple  doth  an  oyster,  and 
all  one.  [Aside. 

Tra.  To  save  your  life  in  this  extremity, 
This  favor  will  1  do  for  his  sake  ; 
And  think  it  not  the  worst  of  all  your  fortunes, 
That  you  are  like  to  sir  Vincentio. 
His  name  and  credit  shall  you  undertake. 
And  in  iny  house  you  shall  be  friendly  lodg'd ; — 
Look  that  you  take  upon  you  as  you  should ; 
You  understand  me,  sir;— so  shall  you  stay 
Till  you  have  done  your  business  in  the  city  : 
If  this  be  courtesy,  sir,  accept  of  it. 

Ved.  O,  sir,  I  do;  and  will  repute  you  ever 
The  patron  of  my  life  and  liberty. 

Tra.  Then  go  with  me,  to  make  the  matter  good. 
This,  by  the  way,  I  let  you  understand; 
My  fatlier  is  here  look  d  for  every  day. 
To  pass  assurance  of  a  dower  in  marriage 
'Tvvixt  me  and  one  liaptista's  (laughter  here: 
In  all  these  circumstances  I'll  instruct  you  : 
Go  with  me,  sir,  to  clothe  you  as  becomes  you. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— .4  Room  in  Pelruchio's  House. 

Eater  Katharixa  and  GiiuMio. 

Gru.  No,  no,  f  irsoolli :  I  dare  not  for  my  life. 

A'uWi.  'J'lic  more- iny  wrong,  the  more  his  spite 
appears; 
What,  did  he  marry  me  to  famish  me  ? 
Beggars,  th.at  come  unto  my  father's  door 
Upon  entreaty,  have  a  present  alms; 
If  not,  elsewhere  they  meet  with  charity: 
But  I. — who  never  knew  how  to  entreat. 
Nor  never  needed  that  I  should  entreat, — 
Am  starvd  for  meat,  giddy  for  lack  of  sleep  ; 
With  oaths  kept  waking,  and  witli  brawling  fjd : 
And  that  which  spites  me  more  than  all  these  wants, 
He  does  it  imtler  name  of  perfect  love  ; 
As  who  should  say, — If  I  should  sleep,  or  cat, 
'  fwere  deadly  sickness,  or  else  present  dcath.^ 
I  prylhee  go,  and  get  me  some  repast ; 
I  care  not  what,  so  it  be  wholesome  food. 

Gru.  What  say  you  to  a  neat's  foot  f 

Kalh.  'Tis  passing  good ;  I  prythee  let  me  have  it. 

Gru.  I  fear  it  is  too  choleric  a  meat : — 
How  say  you  to  a  fat  tripe,  finely  broil'd  ] 

Kalh.  I  like  it  well ;  good  Grumio,  fetch  it  me. 

Gru.  I  cannot  tell ;  I  fear  'tis  choleric. 
What  say  you  to  a  piece  of  beef,  and  mustard  ? 

Kath.  A  dish  that  I  do  love  to  feed  upon. 

Gru.  Ay,  but  the  mustard  is  too  hot  a  little. 

Kath.  Why,  then  the  beef,  and  let  the  mustard 
rest.' 

Gru.  Nay,  then  I  will  not;  you  shall  have  the 
mustard. 
Or  else  you  get  no  beef  of  flrumio. 

Katli.  Then  both  or  one,  or  any  thing  thou  wilt. 

Gru.  Why  then  the  mustard  without  the  beef. 

Kath.  Go,  get  thee   gone,  thou  false   deluding 
slave,  [  Beats  liim. 

That  fecd'st  me  with  the  very  name  of  meat : 


Sorrow  on  thee,  and  all  the  pack  of  vou, 
That  triumph  thus  upon  my  misery  I 
Go,  get  thee  gone,  I  say. 

Enter  PETitt'CHio  wi/h  a  dish  uf  meat;  and 

HoHThXSlO. 

Pet.  How  Aires  my  Kate?    What,  sweeting,  all 
amort  ]3 

Jhir.  Mistress,  what  cheer  ! 

Kalh.  'Faith,  as  cold  as  can  be 

Pel.  Pluck  up  thy  .spirits,  look  cheerfully  upon  me. 
Here,  love  ;  thou  seest  how  diligent  I  am, 
I'o  dress  thy  meat  myself,  and  bring  it  thee  ; 

[Sf/.s  the  dish  vn  a  table. 
I  am  sure,  sweet  Kate,  this  kindness  merits  thanks. 
What,  not  a  word  ]  Nay  then,  thou  lov'st  it  not ; 
And  all  my  pains  is  sorted  to  no  prooT: — 
Here,  take  away  this  dish. 

Kath.  'Pray  you,  let  it  stand. 

Pet.  The  poorest  service  is  repaid  with  thanks  ; 
And  so  shall  mine  before  you  touch  the  meat. 

Kath.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Hnr.  Signior  Petruchio,  fye  !   you  are  to  blame  . 
Come,  mistress  Kate.  Ill  bear  you  company. 

Pet.  Eat  it  up  all,  Hortensio,  if  thou  lov  st  me. — 

[Aside. 
Much  good  do  it  unto  thy  gentle  heart ! 
Kate,  eat  apace-: — And  now,  my  honey  love, 
Will  we  return  unto  thy  father  s  house  ; 
And  revel  it  as  bravely  as  the  best, 
With  silken  coats,  and  caps,  and  golden  rings. 
With  rulfs,  and  culls,  and' farthingales,  and  things; 
With    scarfs,  and    fans,  and    double    change    of 

bravery,* 
With  amber  bracelets,  beads,  and  all  this  knavery. 
What,  hast  thou  dined  ?  The  tailor  stajs  thy  leisure, 
To  deck  thy  body  with  his  rufiiing  treasure. 

Enter  Tailor. 
Come,  tailor,  let  us  see  these  ornaments  ; 

Enter  Haberdasher. 
Lay  forth  the  gown. — What  news  with  you,  sir  ? 

Hub.  Here  is  the  cap  your  worship  did  bespeak. 

Pef.  Why,  this  was  moulded  on  a  porringer  i 
A  velvet  dish  ;  lie,  fie!  'tis  lewd  and  hlthy  ! 
Why,  tis  a  cockle,  or  a  walnut  shell, 
A  knack,  a  toy,  a  trick,  a  baby's  cap  ; 
Away  with  it,  come,  let  me  have  a  bigger. 

Kalh.   Ill  have  no  bigger;  this  doth  tit  the  time. 
And  gentlewomen  wear  such  caps  as  these. 

Pet.  When  you  are  gentle,  you  shall  have  one  too, 
And  not  till  then. 

Unr.  That  will  not  be  in  haste.  [Aside. 

Kath.  Why,  sir,  I  tru.st,  1  may  have  leave  to  speak; 
And  speak  I  will ;  I  am  no  chikl,  no  babe  ; 
Your  betters  have  endured  me  say  my  mind  ; 
And,  if  you  cannot,  best  you  stop  your  ears. 
My  tongue  will  tell  the  anger  of  my  heart; 
Or  else  my  heart,  concealing  it,  will  break  ; 
.\nd  rather  than  it  shall,  I  will  be  free 
Ev'-'n  to  the  uttermost,  as  I  please,  in  words. 

.Pel.  Why,  thou  say'.st  true;  it  is  a  paltry  cap, 
A  custard-cotlin,>  a  bauble,  a  silken  pie: 
1  love  thee  well,  in  that  thou  lik'st  it  not. 

Kath.   Love  me,  or  luve  me  not,  I  iile  the  cap  ; 
Ami  it  I  will  have,  or  I  will  have  mjne. 

fe/.  Thy  gown  ?  why  ay:  Come,  tailor,  let  us  see't. 

0  mercy,  God  !  what  masking  stu.'f  is  here  ? 
What's  this  '.  a  sleeve  ]  'tis  like  a  dcini-cannon ; 
What !  up  and  down,  carv'd  like  an  apple-tart  X 
Here's  snip,  and  nip,  and  cut,  and  slish, and  slash. 
Like  to  a  censcru  in  a  barber's  shop: — 

Why,  what,  o'devil's  name,  tailor,  callst  thou  this  ? 

Hur.  I  see,  she's  like  to  have  neither  cap  nor 
gown.  [Aside. 

Tai.  You  bid  me  make  it  orderly  and  well, 
According  to  the  fashion,  and  the  time. 

Pet,  RIarry  and  did  ;  but  if  you  be  remember'd, 

1  did  not  bid  you  mar  it  to  the  time. 
Go,  hop  me  over  every  kennel  home. 

For  you  shall  hop  without  my  custom,  sir: 
111  none  of  it;  hence  make  your  best  of  it. 

Kath.  I  never  saw  a  bctter-fashion'd  gown, 
More  quaint,!  more  pleasing,  nor  more  commend- 
able; 
Belike,  you  mean  to  make  a  puppet  of  me. 

3  I>ip[iirited ;  a  Gullu'ism.  *  Finery. 

e  A  coffin  was  the  culirniry-tenn  for  raised  crust. 

6  These  censers  resembled  our  braziers  iu  shape. 

1  Curious. 


Scene  IY. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


225 


Pet.  Why,  true  ;  he  means  to  make  a  puppet  of 
thee, 

Tai.  She  says  your  worship  means  to  make  a 
puppet  ot  her. 

Pei,  0  monstrous  arrogance !    Thou  liest,  thou 
thread," 
Thou  thimble, 

Thou  yard,  three-quarters,  half-yard,  quarter,  nail, 
Thou  Ilea,  tliou  nit.  thou  winter  cricket  thou  : — 
Braved  in  mine  own  house  with  a  skein  of  thread! 
Away  thou  raj,  thou  quantity,  thou  remnant: 
Or  I  shall  so  be-mele*  thee  wiih  thy  yard, 
As  thou  shalt  think  on  prating  whilst  thou  liv'st! 
1  tell  thee,  I,  that  thon  hast  marrM  her  gown. 

T(ti.  Your  worship  is  deceiv'd  ;  the  gown  is  made 
Just  as  my  master  had  direction  : 
Grumio  gave  order  how  it  should  be  done. 

Gni*  I  gave  him  no  order,  I  gave  him  the  stuff. 

Tai,  But  how  did  you  desire  it  should  be  made? 

Grii.  Marry,  sir.  with  needle  and  thread. 

T(ti.  But  did  you  not  reqtiest  to  h;ive  it  cut  ? 

Grxi,  Thou  hast  faced  many  things. 

Tai.  I  have. 

Grii.  Face  nnt  me:  thou  hast  brav'd  many  men; 
brave  not  me:  I  will  neither  be  faced  nor  oraved. 
I  say  unto  thee, —  I  hid  thy  master  cut  out  the 
gown;  but  did  I  not  bid  him  cut  to  pieces:  ergo, 
tiiou  host. 

Tai,  Why.  here  is  the  note  of  the  fashion  to  testify. 

Pet.  Reatt  it. 

Gr^.The  note  lies  in  histhroat,  if  hcsa5's  I  said  so. 

Tai.  Imprimis,  a  toose-bndied  goirn: 

Grit.  Master,  if  ever  I  said  loose-bodied  gown, 
sew  me  in  the  skirts  of  it,  and  beat  me  to  death 
with  a  lujttom  of  brown  thread:  I  said,  a  gown. 

Pet.  Proceed. 

Tai.  fVitn  a  small  compassed  cape; 

Gru.  I  confess  the  cape. 

Tai.  JVifha  trunk  slf  ere,- 

Gru.  I  confess  two  sleeves. 

Tai.  The  sleeves  curuntsh/  cut. 

Pet.  Ay,  there's  the  villaiiy. 

Gru.  Krror  ithe  hill,  sir  ;  error  i'the  bill.  I  com- 
manded the  sleeves  sliould  be  cut  out,  and  sewed 
up  aiiain;  and  that  111  prove  ujion  thee,  though 
thy  little  finger  be  armed  in  a  thimble. 

Tai.  This  is  true,  that  I  say;  nn  I  had  thee  in 
place  where,  thou  shouldst  know  it. 

Gru.  1  am  for  tliee  strai;;ht;  take  thou  the  bill, 
give  me  the  mete-yard.s  and  spare  not  me. 

Hor.  God-a-mercy,  Grumio !  then  he  shall  have 
no  odds. 

Pet.  Well,  sir,  in  brief,  the  gown  is  not  for  me. 

Gru.  You  are  i  the  riijbt,  sir:  "lis  for  my  mistress. 

Pet.  Go  take  it  up  unto  thy  master's  use. 

Gru.  Villain,  not  for  thy  life  :  Take  up  my  mis- 
tress' gown  for  thy  master's  use! 

Pet.  Why,  sir,  what's  your  conceit  in  that? 

Gru.  O,  sir,  the  conceit  is  deeper  than  you  think 
lor  ; 
Take  up  my  mistress'  gown  to  his  master's  use  ! 
O,  fie,  tie.  fie! 

Pet.    Hortensio,  say   thou    wilt    see    the    tailor 
paid :—  [Aside. 

Go.  take  it  hence ;  be  gone,  and  say  no  more. 

Hor.  Tailor,  I'll  pay  thee  fortliy  gown  to-morrow. 
Take  no  unkindness  of  his  hasty  words  : 
Away,  I  say ;   commend  me  to  thy  master. 

{Ej:it  Tailor. 

Pei.  Well,  come,  my  Kate ;  we  will  unto  your 
lather's. 
Even  in  these  honest  mean  habiliments; 
Our  purses  shall  he  proud,  our  garments  poor  ; 
For  tis  the  mind  that  makes  the  body  rich  ; 
And  as  the  sun  breaks  through  the  darkest  clouds, 
So  honor  peereth  In  the  meanest  habit. 
What,  is  tnejay  more  precious  than  the  lark, 
Because  his  feathers  are  more  beautiful'? 
Or  is  the  adder  better  than  the  eel. 
Because  his  painted  skin  contents  the  eye  ? 
O,  no,  good-  Kate;  neither  art  thou  the  worse 
For  this  poor  furniture,  and  mean  array. 
If  thou  account'st  it  shame,  lay  it  on  me  : 
And  therefore  frolic;  we  will  hence  ftirthwith, 
To  feast  and  sport  us  at  thy  father  s  hoitse. 
Go,  call  my  men,  and  let  us  straight  to  him ; 
And  bring;  our  horses  unto  Long-lane  end. 
There  will  we  mount,  and  thither  walk  on  foot. — 


s  Bomcasure. 


•  Measuring  yard. 


Let's  see;  I  think  'lis  now  some  seven  o'clock, 
And  well  we  may  come  there  by  dinner-time. 

Kf.'fh.  I  dare  assure  you,  sir,  lis  almost  two; 
And  'twill  be  supper  tune,  ere  you  come  thert. 

Pet.  It  shall  be  seven,  ere  1  go  to  horse: 
Look,  what  I  speak,  or  do,  or  think  to  do, 
You  are  still  crossing  it. — Sirs,  let't  alone: 
I  will  not  go  to-day  ;  and  ere  I  do, 
It  shall  be  what  o'clock  I  say  it  is. 

Hor.  Why,  so!   this  gallant  will  command  the 
sun.  [Extunf. 

SCKNE  IV.— Padua.    B ff ore  Bapihtas  House. 
Enter  Tranio.  and  tlie  Pedant  dressed  like 

ViSCEXTIO. 

Tra.  Sir.  this  is  the  house  :  Please  it  you,  that  I 
call? 

Ped.  Ay,  wliat  else?  and, but  I  be  deceived, 
Signior  Baptista  may  remember  me. 
Near  twenty  years  aso,  in  Genoa,  where 
We  were  lodgers  at  the  Pegasus. 

Tra.  "Tis  well; 

And  hold  your  own,  in  any  case,  with  such 
Austerity  as  'longelh  to  a  father. 

Enter  BioyDELLo. 
Ped.  I  warrant  you :  But,  sir,  here  comes  your 
boy; 
'Twerc  good,  he  were  school'd. 

Tra.  Fear  you  not  him.    Sirrah,  Biondcllo 
Now  do  your  duty  thoroughly.  I  advise  you  ; 
Imaiiine  'twere  the  right  Vincentio. 
Bian.  Tut !  fear  not  me. 

Tra.  Hilt  h:ist  thou  done  thy  errand  to  Baptista] 

Binn.  I  told  him,  that  your  father  was  at  Venice  ; 

And  that  you  look'd  for  him  this  day  in  Padua. 

Tra.  'i'hou'rt  a  tall'  fellow;    hold  thee  that  to 

drink. 

Here  comes  Baptista: — set  your  countenance,  sir. — 

Enter  Baptista  and  LrctNTio. 
Signior  Baptista,  you  are  happily  met : — 
Sir,  1  To //((■  Pedant.] 
This  IS  the  gentleman  I  told  you  of; 
i  jTay  you.  stand  good  father  to  me  now, 
Give  me  Hianca  for  my  patrimony. 

Ped.  Soft,  son  I— 
Sir,  by  your  leave  ;  having  come  to  Padua 
To  "lather  in  some  debts,  my  son  Lucentio 
Made  me  acquamted  with  a  weighty  cause 
Of  love  between  your  daui£:hter  and  himself: 
And, — for  the  good  report  I  hear  of  you  ; 
And  for  the  love  he  beareth  to  your  daughter, 
And  she  to  him — to  stay  him  not  too  long, 
I  am  content,  in  a  ^ood  fathers  care, 
To  have  him  matehd  ;  and, — if  you  please  to  like 
No  worse  than  I.  sir, — upon  some  agreement. 
Me  shall  you  find  most  ready  and  most  willing 
Willi  one  consent  to  have  her  so  bestowed  ; 
For  curious*  I  cannot  be  with  you, 
Sij^iior  Baptista,  of  whom  1  hear  so  well. 

Bap.  Sir,  par<lon  me  in  what  I  have  to  say  ; — 
Your  plainness,  and  your  shortness,  please  me  well. 
Right  true  it  is.  your  son,  Lucentio  here, 
Doth  love  my  daughter,  and  she  loveth  him, 
Or  both  dissemble  deeply  their  aflections  : 
And  therefore,  if  you  say  no  more  than  this, 
That  like  a  father  you  will  deal  with  him, 
And  pass'  my  daughter  a  sufJicient  dower, 
The  match  is  fully  made,  and  all  is  done  : 
Your  son  shall  have  my  daufihter  with  consent. 

Tra.  I  thank  you,  sir.  Where  then  do  you  kuor/ 
best, 
We  be  aflied  ;<  and  such  assurance  taen, 
As  sliall  with  either  part's  ag:reement  stand  ? 

Blip.  Not  in  my  house,  Lucentio  ;  for  you  knew. 
Pitchers  have  rars,  and  I  have  many  scr\'ants: 
Besides,  old  tiremio  is  harkning  still  ; 
And,  happily,*  we  might  be  interrupted. 

Tra.    Then  at  my  lodging,  an  it  like  you,  sir: 
There  doth  my  father  lie  ;  and  there,  this  night, 
We'll  pass  the  business  privately  and  well : 
Send  for  your  daughter  by  your  servant  here, 
My  boy  shall  fetch  the  scrivener  presently. 
The  worst  is  this> — that,  at  so  slender  warning. 
You're  like  to  have  a  thin  and  slender  pittance. 

Ba]).  It  likes  me  well ; — Cambio,  hie  you  home, 
And  bid  Bianca  make  her  ready  straight; 

I  Ura,vo.  a  Scrupulous.  s  Assure  or  convey. 

» lietrolheJ.  t  Haply,  perhaps. 


22G 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  V. 


And,  if  you  will,  tell  wliat  hitli  happened: — 
Luccntio's  f.ither  is  arrived  in  Padua, 
And  how  she's  like  to  be  LucenUo  s  wife. 

Luc.  1  pray  the  ,i^t>ds  she  may.  with  all  my  heart! 

TVfl.  Dally  not  with  the  sods,  but  t:et  thee  gone. 
Siijnior  Bap'tista,  shall  I  lead  the  way  } 
Welcome!  one  mess  is  like  to  be  your  cheer  : 
Come,  sir;  we'll  better  it  in  Pis.i. 

Bap.  1  follow  you. 

[Exeunt  TniNio,  Pedant,  anii  Baptista. 

Bioii.  Cambio, — 

Luc.  What  say'st  thou,  Biondello  ? 

Bion,  You  saw  my  master  wink  and  laugh  upon 
you  ? 

Luc.  Biondello,  what  of  that  1 

Bion.  'Faith  nothin?  ;  but  he  has  left  me  here 
behind,  to  expound  the  meaning  or  moral  of  his 
signs  and  tokens. 

Luc.  I  pray  thee,  moralize  them. 

Einn.  Theii  thus.  Baptista  is  safe,  talking  with 
the  deceiving  father  of  a  deceitful  son. 

Xvc.  And  what  of  him  ! 

Binn.  His  daughter  is  to  be  brought  by  you  to 
the  supper. 

Luc.  And  then? 

Bion.  The  old  priest  at  Saint  Luke's  church  is  at 
your  command  at  all  hours. 

Luc.  .\nd  wliat  of  all  this? 

Bum.  I  cannot  tell ;  excs'pt  they  are  busied  about 
a  counterfeit  assurance:  Take  you  assurance  of  her, 
cum  privUegio  ad  iinpriinendum  .solum  :  to  the 
church  ;— take  the  priest,  clerk,  and  some  sufficient 
honest  witnesses  : 
If  this  be  not  what  you  look  for,  I  have  no  more  to 

say. 
But,  bid  Bianca  farewell  for  ever  and  a  day. 

[Going. 

Luc.  Hear'st  thou,  Biondello  ] 

Bion.  I  cannot  tarry:  1  knew  a  wench  married 
in  an  afternoon  as  she  went  to  the  garden  for  pars- 
ley to  stulT  a  rabbit;  and  so  may  you,  sir;  and  so 
adieu,  sir.  My  master  hath  appointed  me  to  go  to 
Saint  Luke's,  to  bid  the  priest  be  ready  to  come 
against  you  come  with  your  appendix.  [Exii. 

Luc.  I  ni;iy,  and  will,  if  she  be  so  contented  : 
She  will  be  pleas'd,  then  wherefore  should  I  doubt! 
Hap  what  hap  may,  I II  roundly  go  aliout  her. 
It  shall  go  hard,  if  Cambio  go  williout  her.     [Exit. 

SCENE  v.— ^  public  Roal. 
Enter  Petruchio,  Kathakisa,  and  HonTEXsio. 

Pel.  Come  on,  o'God's  name  ;  once  more  toward 
our  father's. 
Good  Lord,  how  bright  and  goodly  shines  the  moon  ! 

Kalh.  The  moon  !   the  sun  ;  it  is  not  moonlight 
now. 

Pet.  I  say,  it  is  the  moon  that  shines  so  bright. 

KotI).  I  know,  it  is  the  sun  that  shines  so  bright. 

Pet.  Now,  by  my  mother's  son,  and  that's  myself, 
It  shall  be  moon,  or  star,  or  what  I  list, 
(^r  ere  I  jouiney  to  your  father's  house: 
(io  on,  and  fetch  our  horses  back  again, — 
Kverniore  cross'd.  and  crossM ;  nothing  but  cross'd! 

Jlor.  Say  as  he  says,  or  we  .shall  never  go. 

Katfi.  Forward,  I  pray,  since  we  have  come  so 
ftr. 
And  be  it  moon,  or  sun.  or  what  you  please; 
.\nd  if  you  please  to  call  it  a  rush  candle, 
Henceforth  1  vow  it  shall  be  so  for  me. 

Pet.  1  sav,  it  is  the  moon. 

Katti.      '  I  l-now  it  is. 

Pel.  Nay,  then  you  lie  ;  it  is  the  blessed  sun. 


Kat/i.  Then,  God  be  blessed,  it  isthe  blessed  sun:— 
But  sun  it  is  not,  when  you  say  it  is  not ; 
\nd  the  moon  changes,  even  as  your  mind. 
What  you  will  have  it  named,  even  that  it  is ; 
.\n(l  so  it  shall  be  so,  for  Katharine. 

Nor.  i'etruchio,  go  thy  ways;  the  field  is  won. 

Pet.    Well,  forward,   forward :    thus    the    bowl 
should  run. 
And  not  unluckily  againj.t  the  bias — 
But  soft  ;  what  company  is  coming  here  ? 

Enter  'Vi^jce'jtio,  in  a  tranlliiig  dress. 
Good  morrow,  gentle  mistress;  Where  away  ? — 

[To  VlXCtSTIO. 

Toll  me,  sweet  Kate,  and  tell  me  truly  too, 
Hast  thou  beheld  a  fresher  gentlewoman  ? 
Such  war  of  white  and  red  within  her  cheeks ! 
What  stars  do  spangle  heaven  with  such  beauty. 
As  those  two  eyes  beconie  that  heavenly  face  !— 
Fair  lovely  maid,  once  more  good  day  to  thee  :— 
Sweet  Kate,  embrace  her  for  her  beauty's  sake. 

Hoc.  W   will  make    the  man   mad,  to  make  a 
woman  of  him, 

Katfi.  "i'oung  budding  virgin,  fair,  and  fresh,  and 
sweet. 
Whither  away  ;  or  where  is  thy  abode  1 
Happy  tl.e  parents  of  so  fair  a  child  ; 
Happier  the  man.  whom  favoraljle  stars 
.\llot  thee  for  his  lovely  bed-fellow ! 

Pit.  Why,  how  now,  Kate  !  I  hope  thou  art  not 
mad  ; 
This  is  a  man,  old,  wrinkled,  faded,  wither'd  ; 
And  not  a  maiden,  as  thou  say'st  he  is. 

Kalti.  Pardon,  old  father,  my  mistakingjCyes, 
That  have  been  so  bedazzled  with  the  sun, 
"That  every  thing  I  look  on  seemeth  green  : 
Now  I  perceive,  thou  art  a  reverend  fat'ner  ; 
Pardon,  1  pray  thee,  for  my  mad  mistakins'. 
J'et.  Do,  good  old  grandsire ;  and,  withal,  make 
known 
Which  way  thou  travellest :  if  along  with  us, 
We  shall  be  joyful  of  thy  company. 

I'in.  Fair  sir.— and  you.  my  merry  mistress,— 
That  with  yourstrange  encounter  much  amaz  d  me, 
My  name  is  call'd— Vinccntio;  my  dwelling — Pisa; 
.And  bound  I  am  to  Padua  ;  there  to  visit 
A  son  of  mine,  which  long  I  have  not  seen. 

Pft.  What  is  his  name! 

Tiij,  Lucentio,  gentle  sir 

Pel.  Happily  met ;  the  happier  for  thy  son. 
And  now  by  law,  as  well  as  reverend  age, 
I  may  entitle  thee — my  loving  father  ; 
The  sister  to  my  wife,  this  gentlewoman, 
Thy  son  by  this  h  ith  married  :  Wonder  not, 
Nor  be  not  griev'd  ;  she  is  of  good  esteem. 
Her  dowry  wealthy,  and  of  worthy  birth  ; 
Besides,  so  qualified  as  may  beseem 
The  spouse  of  any  noble  gentleman. 
Let  me  embrace  with  old  Vincentio  : 
And  wander  we  to  see  thv  honest  son. 
Who  will  of  thy  arrival  be  full  joyous. 

Vin.  But  is  this  true  ?  or  is  it  else  your  pleasure, 
Like  pleasant  travellers,  to  break  a  jest 
I'pon  the  company  you  overtake  ? 

ILir.  1  do  assure  thee,  father,  so  it  is. 

Pel.  Come,  go  along,  and  see  the  truth  hereof; 
For  our  first  merriment  hath  made  me  jealous. 

[Exeunt  PKTiircHio.  Katuabi.na,  nnd 

VlN-rv.NTIU. 

Ilor.  Well,  Petruchio.  this  hath  j^ut  me  in  heart. 
Have  to  my  widow  ;  and  if  she  be  froward. 
Then  hast  thou  taught  Ilortensio  to  be  untoward. 

[Exit. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  L— Padua.    Before  Lucentio's  Hmsc. 

Enter  on  one  i.ide   Bioxukllo,  LrcENTio.  nnd 
Biaxca  ;  GiiEjiio  walking  on  the  oilier  side. 

Sinn.  Softly  and  swiftly,  sir;  for  the  priest  is  ready. 

Luc.  I  tly.  Biondello:  but  they  may  chance  to 
reed  thee  at  home,  therefore  leave  us. 

iluin.  Nay,  faith,  I  II  see  the  church  o'your  back ; 

and  then  come  back  to  my  master  as  soon  as  I  can. 

[Exeunt  H'cK>Tio,  Bianca,  and  Biospkllo. 

Gre.  1  marvel  Cambio  comes  not  all  this  while. 


Enter  Petiiuchio,  Kath»bixa,  Vijce:!:tio,  and 
I  Attendants. 

Pet.  Sir.  here's  the  door,  this  is  Lucentio's  house, 
My  father's  bears  more  toward  the  market  place ; 
Thither  must  I,  and  here  I  leave  you,  sir. 

Tin.  Vou  shall  not  choose  but  drink  before  you  go; 
I  think.  I  shall  command  your  welcome  here. 
And  by  all  likelihood,  sonie  cheer  is  toward. 

[Knocks. 

Gre.  They're  busy  within,  you  were  best  knock 
louder 


Scene  I. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW, 


no7 


Enlir  rpd;i]U  u'love,  at  a  wiiiii/jw. 

Feil.  What's  he,  tij-it  knocks  as  lie  would  beat 
down  the  ^ate } 

Vin.  Is  sijrnior  Liiccntio  within,  sir  ! 

Pe'[.  He's  within,  sir,  hut  not  to  be  spoken  withal. 

Vin.  What  if  a  man  bring  him  a  hundred  pound 
or  two,  to  make  merry  withal. 

Pel.  Keep  your  hundred  pounds  to  yourself;  he 
shall  need  none,  so  lon^  as  1  live. 

Pet.  Na}',  I  told  you,  your  son  was  beloved  in 
Padua. — Do  you  hear,  sir  ! — to  leave  frivolous  cir- 
cumstances,— I  pray  you,  tell  signior  Lucentio.  that 
his  tatlier  is  come  from  Pisa,  and  is  here  at  the  door 
to  speak  with  him. 

Ped.  Thou  liest ;  his  father  is  come  from  Pisa, 
and  here  lo(jkinjr  out  at  the  window. 

Vin.  Art  thou  his  father  ? 

Peti.  Ay,  sir ;  so  his  mother  says,  if  I  may  bi?- 
lieve  her. 

Pef.  Why,  how  now,  gentleman  !  [To  V'lxcKS.] 
why.  this  is  flat  knavery,  to  take  upon  you  another 
man's  name. 

Ped.  Lay  hanrls  on  the  villain;  I  believe  'a  means 
to  cozen  somebody  in  this  city  under  my  counte- 
nance. 

Re-enter  Biondello. 

Bion.  1  have  seen  them  in  the  church  together  : 
But  who  is  here'  mine  old  master,  Vincentio?  now 
we  are  undont\  and  brought  to  nothing. 

Vin.  Come  hitlier,  crack-hemp. 

\}ieeing  Bioxdello. 

Bion.  I  hope,  I  may  choose,  sir. 

Vin.  Come  hither,  you  rogue:  What,  have  you 
forgot  nic? 

Bion.  I'orgot  you  ?  no,  sir :  I  could  not  forget 
you.  for  I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life. 

Vin.  What,  you  notorious  villain,  didst  thou 
never  see  thy  nia^^ter's  father,  Vincentio? 

Bion.  What,  my  old,  worshipful  old  master?  yes. 
marry,  sir;  see  where  he  looks  cuit  of  the  w-indow. 

I'm.  Is't  so,  indeed?  |Bw//s  BioNriELio. 

Binn.  Help,  help,  help  !  here's  a  madman  will 
murder  nie.  YExit. 

Ped.  Help,  son!  help,  signior  Baptista  ! 

[Exit  from  the  u-indow.- 

Pet.  Prythee,  Kale,  let's  stand  aside,  and  see  the 

end  of  this  controversy.  [Tlutj  retire. 

Re-enter  Pedant  below,-  Baptista,  Tmyio,  and 
Servants. 

Tra.   Sir.  what  are  you,  that  offer  to  bejt  my 
servant  ? 

Vin.  What  am  I,  sir?  nay  what  are  you.  sir? — 
O  immortal  gods  !  0  tine  villain  !  A  silken  doublet ! 
a  velvet  hose!  a  scarlet  cloak  !  and  a  copatain  hat!c 
^O,  1  am  undone!  I  am  undone!  while  I  plaj' 
the  good  husband  at  home,  my  son  and  my  servant 
spend  all  at  the  university. 

Tra.  How  ni)w  !  what's  the  matter? 

Bap.  What,  is  the  man  lunatic? 

Tra.  Sir,  you  seem  a  sober  ancient  gentleman 
by  your  habit,  but  your  words  show  you  a  madman  : 
\Vhy.  sir,  what  concerns  it  to  you.  if  I  wear  pearl 
and  gold  !  I  thank  my  good  father,  I  am  able  to 
maintain  it, 

Vin.  Thy  father?  0,  villain !  he  is  a  sail-maker 
in  Bergamo. 

B«;i.  You  mistake,  sir;  you  mistake,  sir:  Pray, 
what  do  you  think  is  his  name  ? 

Vin.  His  name?  as  if  I  knew  not  his  name:  I 
have  brought  him  up  ever  since  he  was  three  years 
old,  and  his  name  is — Tranio. 

Ped.  Away,  away,  mad  ass  !  his  name  is  Lucen- 
tio ;  and  he  is  mine  only  son,  and  heir  to  the  lands 
of  me.  signior  Vincentio. 

Vin.  Lncentio!  ().  he  hath  murdered  his  master ! 
— Lay  hold  on  him,  I  charge  you.  in  the  duke's 
name:— 0,  my  son,  my  son!— tell  me,  thou  villain, 
where  is  my  son  Lucentio  ? 

Tra.  Call  forth  an  otiirer:— [&i/fr  («?c  v-illi  an 
Oflicer.]  Carry  this  mad  knave  to  the  gaol : — Father 
Baptista,  1  charge  you.  see  that  he  be  forthcoming. 

Via.  Carry  me  to  the  gaol ! 

Gre.  Stay,  ofticer:  he  shall  not  go  to  prison. 

Bip.  Talk  not,  signior  Gremio ;  I'say  he  shall  go 
to  prison. 

Gre.  Take  heed,  signior  Baptista,  lest  you  be 
cheated  in  this  business;  I  dare  swear,  this  is  the 
right  \'incentio, 

6  A  hat  with  a  conical  crown. 


Ped.  Swear,  if  thou  darest. 
Ore.  Nay,  I  dare  iu,t  swear  it. 
Tra.   Then  tliou  wert  best  say,  that  I   am  not 
Lucentio. 
Ure.  Yes,  I   know  thee  to  be  signior  Lucentio. 
Bap.  .Away  with  tile  dotard;  to  tlie  gaol  with  him. 
Vin.  Thus  strangers  may  be  haled  and  abused: — 

0  monstrous  villain  ! 

Re-enter  Bios jiT.i.ho,u-itliLvcT.^Tio  and  Biancji. 

Bion.  O.  we  are  spoiled,  and  —  "^'oniJer  he  is; 
deny  him,  forswear  him.  or  else  we  are  all  undone. 

Liu:  Pardon,  sweet  father.  [ICneelins. 

Vtn.  Lives  my  sweetest  soiT? 

[BioNriKT.LO,  Trasio,  and  Pedant  rmi  out. 

Bixtn.  Pardon,  dear  till  her.  [Kneeling. 

B(ij).  How  hast  thou  oHended  ? — 

Where's  Lucentio  ? 

L'.ic.  Here's  Lucentio, 

Right  son  unto  the  right  Vincentio  ; 
That  have  by  marriage  made  thy  daughter  mine, 
While  counterfeit  supposes  blear'd  thine  eync 

<Jre.  Here's  packing,'  with  a  witness,  to  deceive 
us  all ! 

Vin.  Where  is  that  damned  villain  Tranio, 
Tiiat  faced  and  braved  me  in  this  matter  so  ? 

Bap.  Why,  tell  me,  is  not  this  my  Cambio? 

Bi-an.  Cambio  is  changed  into  Lucentio. 

Luc.  Love  wrought  these  miracles.  Bianca's  love 
.Made  me  exchaii::e  my  stale  with  Tranio. 
While  he  did  bear  my  countenance  in  the  town; 
-And  hapjiiiy  I  have  arrived  at  last 
Into  the  wished  haven  of  my  bliss: — 
What  Tranio  did.  myself  enlbrced  him  to; 
Then  jiaidon  him,  sweet  fiither,  for  my  sake. 

Vin.  I'll  slit  the  villains  nose,  thai  would  have 
sent  me  to  the  gaol. 

Bap.  But  do  you  hear,  sir?  [To  Li'CENTro.] 
Have  you  married  my  daughter  without  asking  my 
good-will  ? 

Viii.  Kear  not,  Baptista;  we  will  content  you,  go 
to  :  But  I  will  in,  to  be  revenged  for  this  villany. 

[i:xit. 

Bap.  And  I,  to  sound  the  depth  of  this  knavery. 

[Exit. 

Luc.  Look  not  pale,  Bianca;  thy  father  will  not 
frown.  I  Exeunt  Luc,  and  Bia>. 

Gre.  My  cake  is  dough  :»  But  I'll  in  among  the 
rest: 
Out  of  hope  of  all,— but  my  share  of  the  feast. 

[ExU. 
PETniTiito  and  Kathaiuxa  a^Jvaiice, 

Katti.  Husband,  let's  follow,  to  see  the  end  of 

this  ado. 
Pet.  First  kiss  me.  Kate,  and  we  will. 
Katti.  What,  in  the  midst  of  the  street  1 
Pet.  What,  arl  thou  ashamed  of  me  ? 
Kalli.  No,  sir :  Cod  forbid  :— but  ashamed  to  kiss. 
Pet.  Why,  then  let's  home  again: — Come,  sirrah, 

let's  away. 
Katli.  Nay,  I   will  give  thee  a  kiss:  now  pray 

thee,  love,  stay. 
Pet.  Is  not   this  well? — Come,  my  sweet  Kate; 
Better  once  llian  never,  for  never  too  late.      [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— .4  Room  in  Lucentio's  House. 

A  Banquet  set  out.  £H/fr  Baptista,  Viscestio, 
fiRKMio.  ttic  Pedant,  Lvcentio,  Bianca,  Pe- 
rnucHio,  Kathaui.na,  Hortexsio,  and  Wid- 
ow; Tranio,  Biondello,  Gnujiio,  and  others, 

attending. 

Luc.  At  last,  tliough  long,  our  jarring  notes  agree  ; 
And  time  it  is.  when  raging  war  is  done, 
Tfi  smile  at  'scapes  and  penis  overblown. — 
My  lair  Bianca,  hid  my  father  v\'e!coine. 
While  I  with  self-same  kindness  welcome  thine :^ 
Brother  Petruchio, — sister  Katharina. — 
.And  thon,  Hortensio,  with  thy  loving  widow. 
Feast  with  the  best,  and  welcome  to  my  house; 
My  banquet  is  to  close  our  stomachs  up. 
.A  Her  our  great  good  cheer.    Pray  you,  sit  down. 
For  now  we  sit  to  chat  as  well  as  eat, 

[Ttieiisital  table. 

Pet.  Nothing  but  sit  and  sit,  and  eat  and  eat  ? 

Bap.  Padua  all'ords  this  kindness,  son  Petruchio. 

1  P.'C'-ive,l  tliinceyps. 

"  Trii-king,  underhand  contrivancei. 
c  I'rovtrbial  e.xpri'ssion,  repeated  after  a   disappoint- 
ment. 


228 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Act  V. 


Pel.  Padua  affords  nothing  but  what  is  kind. 

Hur,  For  both  our  sakes,  i  would  that  word  were 
true. 

Pet.  Now,  for  my  life,  Hortensio  fears  his  widow. 

Wid.  Then  never  trust  me  if  1  be  afeard. 

Pet.   You   are  sensible,  and   yet  you  miss  my 
sense;  I  mean  Hortensio  is  afeard  of  you. 

Wid.  He  that  is  giddy,  thinks  the  world  turns 
round. 

Pel.  Roundly  replied. 

Kalli.  Mistress,  how  mean  you  that  1 

Will.  Thus  I  conceive  by  him. 

Pet.  Conceives  by  me!— How  likes  Hortensio  thaf! 

Hnr.  My  widow  says,  thus  she  conceives  her  tale. 

Pet.  Very  wall  mended :  Kiss  him  for  that,  good 
widow. 

Kalh,  He  that  is  giddy,  thinks  the  world  turns 

round  : 

1  pray  you,  tell  me  what  you  meant  by  that. 

Wid.  Your  husband,  being  troubled  with  a  shrew, 
Measures  my  husbands  sorrows  by  his  ivoe : 
And  now  you  know  my  meaning. 

Kalh.  A  very  mean  meaninj;. 

Wid.  Hight,  I  mean  you. 

Kntlt.  And  I  am  mean,  indeed,  respecting  you. 

Pet.  To  her,  Kate  ! 

Hor.  To  her,  widow! 

Pet.  A  hundred  marks,  my  Kate  does  put  her 
down. 

Hor.  That's  my  office. 

Pet.  Spoke  like  an  officer: — Ha,  to  tliee,  lad. 

[Drinks  tu  Hohtensio. 

Bap.  How  likes  Gremio  these  quick-witted  folks  ! 

Ore.  Believe  me^  sir,  they  butt  together  well. 

Bian.  Head,  and  butt !  a  hasty-witted  body 
Would  say,  your  head  and  butt  were  head  and  horn. 

Via.  Ay,  mistress  bride,  hatli  that  awakend  you  ] 

Bian.   Ay,  but  not  frighted  me;  therefore  I'll 
sleep  again. 

P.  t.  Nay,  tnat  you  shall  not ;  since  you  have 
be^un. 
Have  at  you  for  a  bitter  j?st  or  two. 

Bian.  .\ni  I  your  bird  !  I  mean  to  shift  my  bush. 
And  then  pursue  me  as  you  draw  your  bow  : — 
You  are  welcome  all. 

\E.ceunt  Bia.nca,  Katharina,  and  Widow. 

Pet.    She    hath  prevented    me. —  Here   signior 
Tranio, 
This  bird  you  aim'd  at,  though  you  hit  her  not; 
Therefore,  a  health  to  all  that  shot  and  niiss'd. 

Tra.  O  sir,  Lucentio  slippd  me  like  his  grey- 
hound. 
Which  runs  himself,  and  catches  for  his  master. 

Pet.  A  good  swift  simile,  but  something  currish. 

Tra.  'Tis  well,  sir,  that  you  hunted  for  yourself; 
*Tis  thought,  your  deer  does  hold  you  at  a  bay. 

Bap.  O  ho,  Petruchio,  Tranio  hits  you  now. 

Luc.  I  thank  thee  for  that  girl,'  good  Tranio. 

Hijr.  Confess,  confess,  hath  he  not  hit  you  here? 

Pet.  'A  has  a  little  gait'd  me,  I  confess; 
And  as  the  jest  did  glance  away  from  me, 
'Tis  ten  to  one  it  maiin'd  you  two  outright. 

Bap.  Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petruchio, 
I  think  thou  hast  the  veriest  shrew  of  all. 

Pet.  Well,  I   say — no:  and  therefore,  for  assu- 
rance. 
Let's  each  one  send  unto  his  wife  ; 
And  he,  whose  wife  is  most  obedient 
To  come  at  first  when  he  doth  send  for  her, 
Shall  win  the  wager  which  we  will  propose. 

Hor.  Content — What  is  the  wager  ! 

Luc.  Twenty  crowns. 

Pit.  Twenty  crowns! 
I'll  venture  so  much  on  my  hawk,  or  hound. 
But  twenty  times  so  much  upon  my  wife. 

Luc.  A  hundred  then. 

Heir.  Content. 

Pel.  A  match ;  'tis  done. 

Hor.  Who  shall  begin  ! 

Luc.  "  That  will  I.    Go, 

Biondello,  bid  your  mistress  come  to  me. 

Biun.  1  go.  [Exit. 

Bap.  Son,  I  will  be  your  half,  Bianca  comes. 

Luc.  Til  have  no  halves:  Til, bear  it  all  myself. 
Re-enter  Bioxdf.llo. 
How  now  !  what  news'! 

Uinn.  Sir,  my  mistress  sends  you  word 

That  she  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come  ! 
^  Sarcasm. 


Pet.  How !  sjie  is  busy,  and  she  cannot  come'! 
Is  that  an  answer  1 

Gre.  Ay,  and  a  kind  one  too  : 

Pray  God,  sir,  your  wife  send  you  not  a  worse. 

Pet.  I  hope,  better. 

Hur.  Sirrah,  Biondello,  go,  and  entreat  my  wife 
To  come  to  me  I'orthwith.  [Exit  Bioniiello. 

Pel.  0  ho !  entreat  her  ! 

Nay,  then  she  must  needs  come. 

Hor.  I  am  afraid,  sir 

Do  what  you  can,  yours  will  not  be  entreated. 
Re-enter  Bio>"iiello. 

Now,  Where's  my  wife  1 

Bion.  She  says,  you  have  some  goodly  jest  in 
hand ; 
She  will  not  come;  she  bids  you  come  to  her. 

Pet.  Worse,  and  worse;  she  will  not  come  !  0  vile, 
Intolerable,  not  to  be  endured  ! 
Sirrah,  Grumio,  go  to  your  mistress ; 
Say.  1  command  her  come  to  me.    [Exit  Grcmio. 

Hor.  I  know  her  answer. 

Pet.  What '! 

Hor.  She  will  not  come. 

Pel.  The  fouler  fortune  mine,  and  there  an  end. 
Enter  Katuarixa. 

Bap.  Now,  by  my  holidame,  here  comes  Katli- 
arina  ! 

A'ft/A.  What  is  your  will,  sir,  that  you  send  forme? 

Pel.  Where  is  your  sister,  and  Horteiisio's  wife  ] 

Kutk.  They  sit  coiilerring  by  the  parlor  Hrc. 

Pet.  Go  fetch  them  hither  ;  it'  they  deny  to  come, 
Swinge  me  them  soundly  forth  unto  their  husbands ; 
Away,  1  say,  and  bring  them  hither  straight. 

\Kxit  Kathahina. 

Luc.  Here  is  a  wonder,  if  you  talk  of  a  wonder. 

Hor.  And  so  it  is  ;  1  wonder  what  it  bodes. 

Pet.  Marry,  peace  it  bodes,  and  love,  and  quiet 
life, 
An  awful  rule,  and  right  supremacy  ; 
And,  to  be  short,  what  not,  that's  sweet  and  happy 

Bup.  Now,  fair  bel'al  thee,  good  Petruchio  ! 
The  wager  thou  hast  won  ;  and  1  will  add 
Unto  their  losses  twenty  thousand  crowns  ; 
Another  dowry  to  another  daugliter. 
For  she  is  changed,  as  she  had  never  been. 

Pel.  Nay,  I  will  win  my  wager  better  yet ; 
And  show  more  sign  of  her  obedience. 
Her  new-built  viriue  and  obedience. 
Re-enter  Kathari.va,  with  Biaxca  and  Widow 
See,  where  she  comes;  and  brings  your  froward 

wives 
As  prisoners  to  her  womanly  persuasion. — 
Katharine,  that  cap  of  yours  become  you  not ; 
on  with  that  bauble,  thVow  it  under  foot. 

[Katuakixa  puUn  ojf  her  cap,  and  throws 
it  duwn. 

Wid.  Lord,  let  me  never  have  a  cause  to  sigh, 
Till  I  be  brought  to  such  a  silly  pass ! 

Bian.  Fye !  what  a  foolish  duly  call  you  this  ? 

Luc.  I  would  your  duty  were  as  foolish  too: 
The  wisdom  of  j  our  duty,  fair  Bianca, 
Hath  cost  mean  hundred  crowns  since  supper-time. 

Biun.  The  more  tool  you,  for  laying  on  my  duly. 

Pet.  Katharine,  I   cliarge  thee,  tell  these  head- 
strong women 
What  duty  they  do  owe  their  lords  and  husbands. 

Wid.  Come,  come, you're  mocking;  we  will  have 
no  telling. 

Pet.  Come  on,  i  say ;  and  first  begin  with  her. 

Wid.  She  shall  not. 

Pet.  I  say,  she  shall ;— and  first  begin  with  her. 

Kuth.  Fye,  fye  !  unknit  that  threat'iiing  unkind 
brow  ; 
And  dart  not  scornful  glances  from  those  eyes, 
To  wound  thy  lord,  thy  king,  thy  governor ; 
It  blots  thy  beauty,  as  frosts  bite  the  meads  j 
Confounds  thy  fame,  as  whirlwinds  shake  fair  buds, 
And  in  no  sense  is  meet,  or  amiable. 
A  woman  mov'd,  is  like  a  fountaintroubled, 
Muddy,  ill-seeming,  thick,  bereft  of  beauty  ; 
And,  while  it  is  so,  none  so  dry  or  thirsty 
Will  deign  to  sip,  or  touch  one  drop  of  it 
Thy  husband  is  thy  lord,  thy  life,  thy  keeper. 
Thy  head,  thy  sovereign  ;  one  that  cares  tor  thee, 
.\nd  for  thy  maintenance:  commits  his  body 
To  painful  labor,  both  by  sea  and  land; 
To  watch  the  night  in  storms,  the  day  in  cold, 
While  thou  liest  warm  at  home,  secure  and  safe , 


Scene  II. 


TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


229 


And  craves  no  other  tribute  at  thy  hands, 
But  love,  tair  looks,  and  true  obedience  ; — 
Too  little  payment  for  so  great  a  debt. 
Such  duty  as  the  subject  owes  the  prince. 
Even  such,  a  woman  oweth  to  her  husband  : 
And  when  she's  froward.  peevish,  sullen,  sour. 
And  not  obedient  to  his  honest  will. 
What  is  she,  but  a  foul  contending  rebel, 
And  graceless  traitor  to  her  lovin.g  lordl 
I  am  asliamed,  that  women  are  so  simple 
To  Oder  war,  where  they  should  kneel  for  peace : 
Or  seek  for  rule,  supremacy,  and  sway. 
When  they  are  bound  to  serve,  love,  and  obey. 
Why  are  our  bodies  soft,  and  weak,  and  smooth, 
Unapt  to  toil  and  trouble  in  the  world  ; 
But  that  our  soft  conditions'  and  our  hearts. 
Should  well  agree  with  our  external  parts  ] 
Come,  come,  >ou  froward  and  unable  worms  ! 
My  mind  hath  been  as  bii^  as  one  of  yours, 
My  heart  as  great ;  nty  reason,  haply  more 
To  bandy  word  for  word,  and  frown  for  frown: 
But  now,  I  see  our  lances  are  but  straws  ; 
Our  strength  as  weak,  our  weakness  past  compare,— 
oQeutle  tempers. 


That  seeming  to  be  most,  which  we  least  are. 
Then  vail  your  stomachs,'  for  it  is  no  boot ; 
And  place  your  hands  below  your  husband's  foot : 
In  token  of  which  duty,  if  he  please. 
My  hand  is  ready,  may  it  do  him  ease. 
Pet.  Why,  there's  a  wench  ! — Come  on,  and  kiss 

me,  Kate. 
TjUC.  Well,  go   thy  ways,  old  lad  ;  for  thou  slialt 

ha't. 
Vin.  'Tis  a  good  hearing,  when  children  are  to- 
ward. 
Lac.  But  a  harsh  hearing,  when  women  arc  fro- 
ward. 

Pel.  Come,  Kate,  we'll  to  bed  : 

We  three  are  married,  but  you  two  are  sped. 

' Twas  I  won  the  wager,  though  yen  hit  liie  white: 

{To  LUCKNTIO. 

And,  being  a  winner,  God  give  you  good  night! 

[Exeunt  I'tTutrciiio  andKKTii. 
Ilor.  Now  go  thy  ways,  thou  hast  tamed  a  curst 

sh  rew. 
Luc.  'Tis  a  wonder,  by  your  leave,  she  will  be 
tamed  so.  [Exeunt. 

3  Abjite  your  epirits. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Leontes,  Kin^  of  Sicilia. 
Mamillius,  his  So7i, 
Camillo,       I  * 

Digs,  J 

Anulher  Sicilian  Lord. 

RoGBtio,  a  Sicilian  Gentleman. 

An  Allenilrinl  on  the  young  Prince  MamiUius. 

Officers  of  a  Cnurl  of  Judicature. 

PoLixENES,  Kint^  (f  Boliemia. 

Flouizel,  ftis  Suit. 

AncHinATMus,  a  Bohemian  Lord. 

A  Mariner. 

Gaoler. 


An  old  Shepherd,  reputed  Father  of  Pexdita. 

Cloion,  his  Sun. 

ServunI  to  the  old  Shepherd. 

AOTOLrcrs,  a  Rogue. 

Time,  as  Chorus.^ 

Hkiimione,  Queen  to  Lcoiitps. 

Peudita,  Daughter  to  Leontes  and  Herniione. 

Pavlixa,  (F{/(; /o  Antigonus. 

I.ords,   Ladies,  and    Attendants;    Sntyrs  for   a 
Dance ;  Shepherds,  SItephcrdcsscs,  Guards,  i^-c. 


SCENE,  sometimes  in  Sicilia,  sometimes  in  Bohemia. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Sicilia.    An  Antecfiambcr  in  Leonlcs' 
Palace. 

Enter  Camiilo  and  Ahchiiia:>ics. 

Arch.  If  you  shall  chance,  Camillo,  to  visit  Bo- 
hemia, on  the  like  occasion  whereon  my  services 
arc  now  on  foot,  you  shall  see,  as  I  have  said,?rcat 
diUcrerice  betwixt  our  Bohemia  and  your  Sicilia. 

Cam.  1  think,  this  coming  summer,  the  king  of 
Sicilia  means  to  pay  Bohemia  the  visitation  which 
he  justly  owes  him. 

Arch.  Wherein  our  entertainment  shall  shame  us, 
we  will  be  justified  in  our  loves :  for,  indeed,^ 

Cum.  'Beseech  you, 

Arch.  Verily,  I  speak  it  in  the  freedom  of  my 
knowledge  :  we  cannot  with  such  magnificence — 
in  so  rare — I  Know  not  what  to  say. — We  will  give 
you  sleepy  drinks:  that  your  senses,  unintelligenf 
of  our  insuflicicnce,  may,  though  they  cannot  praise 
us,  as  little  accuse  us. 

Ca/n.  You  pay  a  great  deal  too  dear,  for  what's 
given  freely. 

Arch.  Believe  me, I. speak  asmy  understanding  in- 
structs me,  and  as  mine  honesty  puts  it  to  utterance. 

Cam.  Sicilia  cannot  show  himself  over-kind  to 
Bohemia.  They  were  trained  together  in  their 
childhoods;  and  there  rooted  betwixt  them  then 
such  an  allijction,  which  cannot  choose  but  branch 
now.  Since  their  more  mature  dignities,  and  royal 
necessities,  made  separation  of  their  society,  their 
encounters,  though  not  personal,  have  been  royally 
attornied,'  with  interchange  of  gifts,  letters,  loving 
embassies  ;  that  they  have  seemed  to  be  together, 
though  absent ;  shook  hands,  as  over  a  vast;'  end 
embraced  as  it  were,  from  the  ends  of  opposed 
winds.    The  heavens  continue  their  loves  ! 

Arctt.  1  think,  there  is  not  in  the  world  either 
malice,  or  matter,  to  alter  it.  You  have  an  un- 
speakable comfort  of  your  young  prince  Mamillius ; 
it  is  a  gentleman  of  the  greatest  promise,  tJiat  ever 
came  into  my  note. 

Cum.  I  very  well  agree  with  you  in  the  hopes  of 
him  :  it  is  a  gallant  child  ;  one  tliat,  indeed,  physics 
the  subject,"  makes  old  hearts  fiesh :  they,  that  went 
on  crutches  ere  he  was  born,  desire  yet  their  life,  to 
Bee  him  a  man. 

Arch.  Would  they  else  be  content  to  die"? 

'Supplird  by  substitution  of  embassies. 

s  Wide  wasti!  of  country. 

■  Affords  a  cordial  to  the  state. 


Cam.  Y'es:  if  there  were  no  other  excuse  why 
they  should  desire  to  live. 

Arch.  If  the  king  had  no  son,  they  would  desire 
to  live  on  crutches  till  he  had  one.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. — A  Room  of  State  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Leomtes,  Polixenes,  Hehmione,  Mamil- 
Lirs,  Ca:iiillo,  and  Attendants. 

Pol.  Nine  changes  of  the  wafry  star  have  been 
The  shepherd's  note,  since  we  have  left  our  throne 
Without  a  burden  :  time  us  long  again 
Would  be  tiird  up,  my  brother,  with  our  Uianks; 
And  yet  we  should,  for  perpetuity. 
Go  hence  in  debt:  And  theicliire,  like  a  cipher, 
Yet  standing  in  rich  place,  I  multiply. 
With  one  we-thank-you,  many  thousands  more 
Tliat  go  before  it. 

Leon.  Stay  your  thanks  awhile ; 

And  pay  them  when  you  part. 

Pol.  Sir,  that's  to-morrow, 

I  am  question'd  by  my  fears,  of  what  may  cliancc, 
Or  breed  upon  our  absence:  That  may  blow 
No  sneaping*  winds  at  home,  to  make  us  say. 
This  if  put  forth  too  truly!  llesides,  1  have  stay'd 
To  tire  your  royalty. 

I^on.  Wc  are  tougher,  brother, 

Than  you  can  put  us  tot. 

Pol.  No  longer  stay. 

Leon.  One  seven-night  longer. 

Pol.  Very  sooth,  to-morrow. 

Leon.  We'll  part  the  time  betvveeii's  then  :  and 
hi  that 
ril  no  gain-saj'ing. 

Put.  Press  me  not,  'beseech  you  so: 

There  is  no  tongue  that  moves,  none,  none  i'the 

world. 
So  soon  as  yours,  could  win  me:  so  it  should  now, 
Were  there  necessity  in  your  request,  although 
'Twere  needful  I  denied  it.    My  atfairs 
Do  even  drag  me  homeward :  which  to  hinder, 
Were,  in  yoiir  love,  a  whip  to  me  ;  my  stay, 
To  you  a  charge, and  trouble:  to  save  both. 
Farewell,  our  brother. 

Leon.  Tongue-tied,  our  queen'!  speak  you. 

Iler.  I  had  thought,  sir,  to  have  held  my  peace, 
until 
You  had  drawn  oaths  from  him,  not  to  stay.    Yot. 

sir. 
Charge  him  too  coldly:  Tell  him,  you  are  sure, 
•  Nipping. 


SCEXE  II. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


2:il 


All  in  Bohemia's  well :  tliis  satisfaction 

The  by-gone  day  proclaim  d:  say  this  to  liim, 

He's  beat  from  his  best  ward, 

Leon.  Well  said,  Hcrmione. 

Her.  To  tell,  he  longs  to  see  his  son,  were  strong  ; 
But  let  hnn  say  so  then,  and  let  him  go  ; 
But  let  him  swear  so,  and  he  shall  not  stay, 
We  11  thwack  him  hence  with  distaffs. — 
Yet  of  your  rtjyal  presence  [Tu  Polixeses-]   I'll 

adventure 
The  borrow  of  a  week.    When  at  Bohemia 
You  take  my  lord,  I'll  give  him  my  commission. 
To  let  him  there  a  month,  behnid  the  gests 
Prefixed  for  his  i>arting  :  yet,  good  (Iped,'^  Leontes, 
1  love  thee  not  a  jar  o'the  clock  behind 
What  lady  she  her  lord. — You  U  stay  1 

Pol.  No,  madam. 

Her.  Nay,  but  you  will. 

Pot.  I  may  not,  verily. 

Ha:  Verily  ! 
You  put  me  oil'  with  limber  vows:  But  I, 
Though  you  would  seek  to  unsphere  the  stars  with 

oaths. 
Should  yet  say,  Sir,  no  going.    Verily, 
You  shall  not  go  ;  a  lady's  verily  is 
As  potent  as  a  lord  s.     Will  you  go  yet  1 
Force  me  to  keep  you  as  a  prisoner. 
Not  like  a  guest ;  so  you  shall  pay  your  fees. 
When  you  depart,  and  save  your  thanks.    How 

say  you  ? 
My  prisoner '.   or  my  guest  1  by  your  dread  verily, 
One  of  them  you  shall  be. 

Pol.  Your  guest  then,  madam  : 

To  be  your  prisoner,  sliould  import  otlending  ; 
Which  is  for  me  less  easy  to  commit. 
Than  you  to  punish. 

Her.  Not  your  gaoler  then. 

But  your  kind  hostess.  Come.  I'll  question  you 
Of  my  lord  s  tricks,  and  yours,  when  you  were  boys: 
You  were  pretty  lordlings""  then. 

Pol.  ■      We  were,  fair  queen, 

Twolals,  that  thought  there  was  no  more  bei.ind, 
But  such  a  day  ti>-morrow  as  to  day, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal. 

Her.  Was  not  my  lord  the  verier  wag  o'the  two  '.' 

Pol.  We  were  as  twinn'd  iambs,  that  did  frisk 
I'the  sun, 
And  bleat  the  one  at  the  other:  what  we  changed, 
Was  innocence  lor  innocence  ;  we  knew  not 
The  doctrine  of  ill-doing,  no.  nor  dream'd 
That  any  did  :  Had  we  jiursued  that  liIV, 
And  our  weak  spirits  neer  been  higher  reared 
With   stronger   blood,  we   should   have   anawcr'd 

heaven 
Boldly,  Nut  guilty  :  the  imposition  clear'd, 
Hereditary  ours. 

Her.  By  this  we  gather, 

You  have  tripp'd  since. 

Pol.  O  my  most  sacred  lady, 

Temptations  have  since  then  been  borne  to  us;  for 
In  those  unfledg'd  da>s  was  my  wife  a  girl  ; 
Your  precious  self  had  then  not  crossd  the  eyes 
Of  my  young  play-fellow. 

Her.  Grace  to  boot! 

Of  this  make  no  conclusion;  lest  you  say, 
Your  queen  and  I  are  devils:  Yet  go  on; 
The  otfences  we  have  made  you  do,  we'll  answer  ; 
If  you  tir.st  sinnd  with  us.  and  that  wjth  us 
Vou  did  contmue  fault,  and  that  you  slipp'd  not 
With  any  but  with  us. 

Leon.  Is  he  won  yet  I 

Her.  He'll  stay,  my  lord. 

Leon.  At  my  request,  he  would  not. 

Hermionc,  my  dearest,  thou  never  spok'st, 
To  belter  purpose. 

H'^r.  Never  1 

Leon.  Never,  but  once. 

Hei'.  What"!  have  I  twice  said  well !  whenwas't 
before  1 
I  prythee,  tell  me:  Cram  us  with  praise. and  maKe  us 
As   fat  as   tame  tilings:    One  good   deed,  dying 

tongueless. 
Slaughters  a  thousand,  waiting  upon  that. 
Our  praises  are  our  wages:  Von  may  ride  us, 
With  one  soft  kiss,  a  thousand  furlongs,  ere 
Witlt  spur  we  heat  an  acre.     But  to  the  goal; — 
My  last  good  deed  was,  to  entreat  his  stay  ; 

6  Gests  were  the  nnnies  of  the  stamps  where  the  king 
Bp  o>ntc(l  to   lie,  during  a  royal  progress. 

"j  iLidued.  ■>  A  dijuunitiye  of  lords. 


What  was  my  first !  it  has  an  elder  si^ter, 
Or  I  mistake  you:  <t,  would  licr  name  were  Grace  I 
Hut  once  before  1  spoke  to  the  purpose  :    When? 
Nay,  let  me  have't,  I  long. 

Lton.  Why,  that  was  when 

Three  erabb'd  monllis  had  sour  d  themst-lves  to  death 
Kre  I  cuuld  make  thee  open  thy  white  hand, 
And  clap  thyself  my  lo\e\  then  did?t  thou  utter, 
I  a /It  yours  for  ever. 

Her.  It  is  Grace,  indeed. — 

VVhy,loyou  now,  I  havespoke  to  tliepurpose twice: 
The  one  torever  earned  a  royal  husband  ; 
Tlie  oilier,  for  sunie  wliile  a  iriend. 

yGiving  ker  hand  to  Polixenes. 

Leon.  Too  hot.  too  hot :  [Aaide. 

To  nnngle  friendship  Cur,  is  mingh.ng  bloods. 
1  have  tremor  cordtA*  on  me  : — my  heart  dances; 
liut  not  for  joy, — not  joy. — This  entertainment 
May  a  free  iA^^e  put  on  :  derive  a  liberty 
From  heartiness,  from  bounty,  fertile  bosom, 
And  we  1  become  the  agent:  it  may,  1  gran^: 
But  to  be  paddling  palms,  and  pinching  fingers. 
As  now  they  are  ;  and  making  praclis  d  smiles, 
As  in  a  loouing-glass; — and  then  to  sigh,  as  'twere 
The  mort  o'  ttie  deer;»  O,  that  is  entertainment 
My  bosom  likes  not,  nor  my  brows. — Manulhus, 
Art  tiiou  my  boy  \ 

Mam.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Leon.  Ifecks  ? 

Why  that's  my  bavvcock.'  What,  hast  smutch'd  thy 

nose  !  — 
They  say  it's  a  copy  out  of  mine.    Come,  captain, 
We  must  be  neat ;  not  neat,  but  cleanly,  eapiaia  . 
And  yet  the  steer,  the  heifer,  and  the  eaU, 
Are  all  call'd  neat.— Still  virginalling^ 

[Observing  Holixenes  and  Heumione. 
Upon  his  pahn  !— lluw  now,  you  wanton  calf: 
Art  thou  my  calf  ! 

Mum.  Yes,  if  you  will,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Thou  wantst  a  rough  pash.  and  the  shoots 
that  [  have,* 
To  be  full  like  me:— yet,  they  say  we  are 
Alniosl  as  like  as  eggs;  women  say  so, 
rtiat  will  say  any  tiling  :  but  were  they  false 
As  o  er-died  blacks,  as  wind,  as  waters;  false 
As  dice  are  to  he  wish'd,  by  one  that  fixes 
No  bourn  'twixt  his  and  mine;  yet  were  it  true 
To  say  this  boy  were  like  me. — Come,  sir  page, 
Lov\i  on  me  with  your  welkin*  eye  :  Sweet  villain  \ 
Most  dearest!  my  eollop!— Can  thy  dam.' — may'tbci 
Alleclion!  ti.y  nitentmn  slabs  the  centre  : 
Thuu  dost  inaKe  |H»s-^ihle,  things  not  so  held, 
Conitnuiiiealfl  with  dreams; — (How  can  tJus  be  ?) 
With  what  s  unreal  thou  ro-aclive  art, 
And  fellow'st  nothing:  Then,  'tis  .very  credent,* 
Thou  nuiy'st  co-join  with  something;  and  thou  dost: 
(And  thai  beynnd  commission  ;  and  i  find  it :) 
And  that  to  the  infection  of  my  brains, 
And  liardening  of  my  brows. 

po  .  What  means  SiciUa  ? 

Her.  He  something  seems  unsettled. 

Pol.  How,  my  lord? 

What  cheer  1  how  is'l  with  you,  best  brother  i 

Htr.  Vou  look, 

As  if  you  held  a  brow  of  much  distraction  ; 
Are  you  moved,  my  lord  } 

L'.un.  No,  in  good  earnest. — 

How  sometimes  natu  e  will  betray  it-s  folly. 
Its  tenderness,  and  make  itself  a  pastime 
To  harder  l)osoms  !     Looking  on  tlie  lines 
Of  my  boy  s  lace,  methoughts,  I  did  recoil 
Twenty-lhree  jears:  and  saw  myself  unbreech'd, 
In  my  green  velvet  coal ;  my  dagger  muzzled, 
Lest  It  sliould  bite  its  master,  ana  so  prove. 
As  ornaments  olt  do,  too  dangerous. 
How  hUe,  methonght ;  I  then  wa^  to  this  kernel 
This  squash.6  this  gentleman: — Mine  honest  frieiuj, 
\\  ill  you  take  eggs  for  money  1' 

Mam.  No.  my  lord.  Ml  fight. 

Lt^on.  Vou  will  \  why,  happy  man  be  his  do.e  \» 
— My  brother, 

9  Trruililiiig  of  the  benrt. 
a  Tht-  tunc  I  layed  lit  the  death  of  the  deer. 
1  llenrty  fellow. 

a  i.  c.  rhiying  with  her  lingers  as  if  on  a  spinet. 
3  Thuu  w.'iiitest  a  rough  head,  and  the  Luddiug  homs 
tb::t  I  have. 

«  iilue,  like  the  sky.  b  Credible. 

e  Fe;i-cod.  T  Will  you  be  cajoled? 

s  May  hie  lot  in  life  be  a  happy  oaeJ 


232 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  I. 


Are  you  so  fond  of  your  young  prince,  as  wo 
Do  seem  to  be  of  ours  7 

Pol.  If  at  home,  sir, 

He's  all  my  exercise,  my  mirth,  my  matter  : 
Now  my  sworn  friend,  and  then  mine  enemy  ; 
]VIy  parasite,  my  soldier,  statesman,  all : 
He  makes  a  July's  day  short  as  December  ; 
And,  with  his  varyini;  cliildness,  cures  in  me 
ThouRlits  that  would  thick  my  blood. 

Leon.  So  stands  this  squire 

Officed  with  me:  we  two  will  walk,  my  lord. 
And  leave  you  to  your  graver  steps.— Hcrmione, 
How  thou  lov'st  us,  show  in  our  brother's  welcome; 
Let  what  is  dear  in  Sicily  be  cheap: 
Next  to  thyself,  and  my  young  rover,  he's 
Apparent-  to  my  heart. 

Her.  If  you  would  seek  us. 

We  are  your'si'the  garden:  Shalls  attend  you  there! 
Leuii.  To  your  own  bents  dispose  you :  you  11 
be  found. 
Be  yoti  beneath  the  sky:— I  am  angling  now. 
Though  you  perceive  me  not  how  I  give  line. 
Go  to,  go  to  \ 

{Aside.  Observing:  Polixksf.s  and  Hf.h>iione. 
How  she  holds  up  the  neb,'  the  bill  to  him ! 
And  arms  her  with  the  boldness  of  a  wife 
To  her  allowing^  husband!  Gone  already; 
Inch-thick,  knee-deep ;  o'er  head  and  ears  a  fork'd 
one.3 

[Exeunt  Polixenes,  Heiimiosk,  and 
Attendants. 
Go,  play,  boy,  play ;— thy  mother  plays,  and  I 
Play  too;  but  so  disgraced  a  part,  whose  issue 
Will  hiss  me  to  my  grave ;  contempt  and  clamor 
Will  be  my   knell,— Go,  play,  boy,  play;— There 

liave  been. 
Or  I  am  much  deceiv'd,  cuckolds  ere  now; 
And  many  a  man  there  is,  even  at  this  present. 
Now,  while  I  speak  this,  holds  his  wife  by  the  arm. 
That  hltle  thinks  she  has  been  sluiced  in  his  absence. 
And  his  pond  lish'd  by  his  next  neighbor,  by 
Sir  Smile,  his  neighbor:  nay,  there's  comfort  in't, 
Whiles  other  men   have  gates;    and  those  gates 

open'd. 
As  mine,  against  their  will :  Should  all  despair. 
That  have  revolted  wives,  the  tenth  of  mankind 
Would  hang  themselves.  Physic  for't  there  is  none  ; 
It  is  a  bawdy  planet,  that  will  strike 
Where  'tis  predominant;  and  'tis  powerful,  think  it. 
From  east,  west,  north,  and  south  ;  13e  it  concluded, 
No  barricado  for  a  belly ;  know  it; 
It  will  let  in  and  out  the  enemy. 
With  bag  and  baggase  :  many  a  thousand  of  us 
Have  the  disease,  and  feel  t  not.— How  now,  boy  1 
Mam.  I  am  like  you,  they  say. 
Leon.  Why,  that's  some  comfort,— 

What!  CamiUo  there? 
Cam.  Ay,  my  good  lord: 

Leon.  Go   play,  MainiUius;    thou'rt   an   honest 
man. —  [£a,'t/M.»MiLLius, 

Camillo,  this  great  sir  will  yet  stay  longer. 

Cam.  You  had  much  ado  tu  make  his  anchor  hold: 
When  you  cast  out,  it  still  came  home. 
Leon.  Didst  note  itl 

Cam.  He  would  not  stay  at  your  petitions;  made 
His  business  more  material. 

Leon.  Didst  perceive  if! — 

They're  here  with  me  already ;  whispering,  round- 
ing.' 
Skilia  is  a  so-forlh:  'Tis  far  gone. 
When   I  shall  gust'  it  last.— How  cam't,  Camillo, 
That  he  did  stay? 

Cam.  At  the  good  queen's  entreaty. 

Leon.  At  the  queen's  bet;  good  should  be  per- 
tinent; 
But  so  it  is,  it  is  not.    Was  this  taken 
lly  any  understanding  pate  liut  thine  ? 
For  thy  conceit  is  soaking,  will  draw  in 
More  than  the  common  blocks:— Not  noted,  is't. 
But  of  the  finer  natures  ?  by  some  severals, 
Of  head-piece  extraordinary  !  lower  messes," 
Perchance,  ari^  to  this  business  purblind  :  say. 
Cam.  liusiness,  my  lord?  1  think,  most  under- 
stand 
liohemia  stays  here  longer. 
y  Heir  jijipftrent,  next  claimant. 
J  .Mouth.  *  Approving. 

3  A  homed  onp,  a  cuokoUl, 

*  To  round  in  the  ear  was  to  toll  secretly         'Taste. 

•  Jufuriors  iu  rank. 


Leon.  Ha  ? 

Cum.  Stays  here  longer. 

Leon.  Ay,  but  why? 

Cam.  To  satisfy  your  highness,  and  the  entreaties 
Of  our  most  gracious  mistress. 

Leon.  Satisfy 

The  entreaties  of  your  mistress? satisfy  ? 

Let  that  siillice.    I  have  trusted  thee,  Camillo, 
With  all  the  nearest  things  to  my  heart,  as  well 
My  chamber-councils:  wherein,  priest-like,  thou 
Hast  cicansd  my  bosom;  1  from  thee  departed 
Thy  penitent  refonn'd  :  but  we  have  been 
Deceiv'd  in  thy  integrity,  deceiv'd 
In  that  which  seems  so. 

Cam.  Be  it  forbid,  my  lord  ! 

Lf:on.  To  hide  upon'l;— I'hou  art  not  lumesl:  or, 
If  tiiou  iiiclin'st  that  way,  thou  art  a  coward  ; 
Which  boxes'  honesty  behind,  restraining 
From  course  required:  Or  else  thou  must  be  counted 
A.  servant,  grafted  m  my  serious  trust, 
.\nd  thereiir  negligent ;  or  else  a  fool. 
That  seest  a  game  play'd  home,   the  rich  stake 

drawn. 
And  tak  St  it  all  for  jest. 

Cam.  My  gracious  lord, 

I  may  be  negligent,  foolish,  and  fearful; 
In  every  one  of  these  no  man  is  free, 
But  that  his  negligence,  his  folly,  fear, 
.\inoiigst  the  infinite  doings  of  the  world. 
Sometime  puts  forth  :  In  your  all'airs,  my  lord, 
If  ever  I  were  wilful-negligeni. 
It  was  my  folly;  if  industriously 
I  play'd  the  fool,  it  was  my  negligence, 
Not  weighing  well  the  end  ;  if  ever  fearful 
To  do  a  thing,  where  1  the  issue  doubted. 
Whereof  the  execution  did  cry  out 
Against  the  non-performance,  'twas  a  fear 
Which  oft  aO'ects  the  wisest:  these,  my  lord, 
,\re  such  allow'd  infirmities,  that  honesty 
Is  never  free  of.    But,  beseech  your  grace. 
Be  plainer  with  me;  let  me  know  my  trespass 
By  Its  own  visage:  if  I  then  deny  it, 
'Tis  none  of  mine. 

Leon.  Have  not  you  seen,  Camillo, 

(But  that's  past  doubt :  you  have  ;  or  your  eye-glass 
Is  thicker  than  a  cuckold's  horn,)  or  heard, 
(For,  to  a  vision  so  apparent,  rumor 
Cannot  be  inute,)  or  thought,  (for  cogitation 
Resides  not  in  that  man,  that  does  not  think  it.) 
My  wife  is  slippery  ?  If  thou  wilt  conless, 
(Or  else  bo  impudently  negative, 
I'o  have  nor  eyes,  nor  ears,  nor  thought,)  then  say 
My  wife's  a  hobby-horse:  deserves  a  name 
As  rank  as  any  Uax  wench,  that  puts  to 
Before  her  troth-plight :  say  it,  and  justify  it. 
Cum.  I  would  not  be  a  slander-by,  to  hear 
My  sovereign  mistress  clouded  so,  without 
Jly  present  vengeance  taken  ;  'Shrew  iny  heart, 
You  never  spoke  what  did  become  you  less 
Than  this  :  which  to  reiterate,  were  sin 
As  deep  as  that,  though  true. 

Leon.  Is  whispering  nothing? 

Is  leaning  cheek  to  cheek?  is  meeting  noses  ! 
Kissing  with  inside  lip  !  stopping  the  career 
Of  laughter  with  a  sigh  ?  (a  note  infallible 
Of  breaking  honesty :)  horsing  foot  on  foot  ? 
Skulking  in  forners  ?  wishing  clocks  more  swift  ? 
Hours,  minutes!  tioon,  midnight!  and  all  eyes  blind 
With  the  pin  and  web,*  but  theirs,  theirs  only, 
'i'hat  would  unseen  be  wicked  !   is  this  nothing  ? 
Why,  then  the  world,  and  all  tha.l's  in't,  is  nothing; 
The  covering  sky  is  nothing  ;  Bohemia  nolhing  ; 
My  wile  is  nothing;  nor  nothing  have  these  nothings, 
if  this  be  nothing. 

Cam.  Good  my  lord,  be  cured 

Of  this  diseas'd  opinion,  and  betimes; 
For  'tis  most  dangerous. 

Leon.  Say,  it  be  ;  'tis  true. 

Cam.  No,  no,  my  lord. 

Leon.  It  is;  you  lie,  you  lie: 

I  say,  thou  liest,  Camillo,  and  1  hate  thee  ; 
Pronounce  thee  a  gross  lout,  a  mindless  slave  : 
Or  else  a  hovering  temporizer,  that 
Canst  with  thine  eyes  at  once  see  good  and  evil, 
Inclining  to  them  bolh.    Were  my  wife  s  liver 
Infected  as  her  life,  she  would  not  hve 
The  running  of  one  glass. 
Cam.  Who  docs  infect  her  ! 


•  To  box  is  to  hamsiriug. 


e  Disorders  of  the  eye. 


Scene  II. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


1233 


Leun.  Why.  he  tliat  wears  her  like  her  medal, 
hanging 
About  his  neck,  BoJiemia:  Who — if  I 
Had  servants  true  about  me,  that  bare  eyes 
To  see  alike  mine  lionor  as  their  profits, 
Their  own  particular  thrifts, — they  would  do  that 
Which  should  undo  more  doing  :  Ay,  and  thou, 
His  cupbearer, — whom  I  from  meaner  form 
Have  bench'd,  and  rear'd  to  worship  ;  who  may'st 

see 
Plainly,  as  heaven  sees  earth,  and  earth  sees  heaven, 
How  I  am  galled,— thou  mightst  bespice  a  cup. 
To  give  mine  enemy  a  lasting  wink  ; 
Which  drauglit  to  me  were  cordial. 

Cam.  Sir,  my  lord, 

I  could  do  this:  and  that  with  no  rash'  potion. 
But  with  a  ling'ring  dram,  that  should  not  work 
Maliciously  like  poison:  But  I  cannot 
Believe  this  crack  to  be  in  my  dread  mistress. 
So  sovereignly  being  honorable. 
I  have  lov'd  thee, 

Leon.  Make't  thy  question,  and  go  rot ! 

Dost  think,  I  am  so  muddy,  so  unsettled. 
To  appoint  myself  in  this  vexation  1  sully 
The  purity  and  whiteness  of  my  sheets, 
Which  to  preserve,  is  sleep  ;  which  being  spotted. 
Is  goads,  thorns,  nettles,  tails  of  wasps  { 
Give  scandal  to  the  blood  o'  the  prince  my  son 
Who,  I  do  think,  is  mine,  and  love  as  mine ; 
Without  ripe  moving  to'tl  Would  I  do  this  ? 
Could  man  so  blench  T 

Cam.  I  must  believe  you,  sir 

I  do:  and  will  fetch  off  Bohemia  for't: 
Provided,  that  when  he's  remov'd,  your  highness 
Will  take  again  your  queen,  as  yours  at  first ; 
Even  for  your  son's  sake  :  and,  thereby,  for  sealing 
The  injury  of  tongues,  in  courts  and  kingdoms 
Known  and  allied  to  yours. 

Leon.  .    Thou  dost  advise  me, 

Even  so  as  I  mine  own  course  have  set  down : 
I'll  give  no  blemish  to  her  honor,  none. 

Cam.  My  lord. 
Go  then  ;  and  with  a  countenance  as  clear 
As  friendship  wears  at  feasts,  keep  with  Bohemia, 
And  with  your  queen  :  I  anr  his  cupbearer  ; 
If  from  me  he  have  xvholesome  beverage, 
Account  me  not  your  servant. 

Leon.  This  is  all; 

Do't,  and  thou  hast  the  one  half  of  my  heart; 
DoH  not,  thou  splifst  thme  own. 

Cam.  I'll  do't,  my  lord. 

Lean.  I  will  seem  friendly,  as  thou  hast  advis'd 
me.  [Exit. 

Cam.  ()  miserable  lady  ! — Rut,  for  me. 
What  case  stand  I  in  ^  I  must  be  the  poisoner 
Of  good  Polixenes:  and  my  ground  to  do't 
Is  the  obedience  to  a  master ;  one. 
Who,  in  rebellion  with  himself,  will  have 
All  that  are  his,  so  too. — To  do  this  deed. 
Promotion  follows;  If  1  could  find  example 
Of  thousands,  that  had  struck  annointed  Kings, 
And  flourish'd  after.  Id  not  do't :  but  since 
Nor  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  parchment,  bears  not  one. 
Let  villany  itself  forswear't.    I  must 
Forsake  the  court:  to  do't,  or  no,  is  certain 
To  me  a  break-neck.    Happy  star,  reign  now ! 
Here  comes  Bohemia. 

Eiiler  PonxEXEs. 

Pol.  This  is  strange,  methinks. 

My  favor  here  begins  to  warp.    Not  speak  1 

Good-day,  Camillo. 

Cam.  Hail,  most  royal  sir! 

Pnl.  What  is  the  news  i'  the  court? 

Cam.  None  rare,  my  lord. 

Pol.  The  king  hath  on  him  such  a  countenance. 
As  he  had  lost  some  province,  and  a  region, 
Lov'd  as  he  loves  himself:  even  now  I 'met  him 
With  customary  com])iiinenl;  when  he. 
Wafting  his  eyes  to  the  contrary,  and  falling 
A  lip  of  much  contempt,  speeds  from  me:  and 
So  leaves  me,  to  consider  what  is  breeding. 
That  changes  thus  his  manners. 

Cam.  I  dare  not  know,  my  lord, 

Pol.  How!  dare  not?  do  not.  Do  you  know,  and 
dare  not 
Be  intelligent  to  me  ?    Tis  thereabouts; 
For,  to  yourself,  what  you  do  know,  you  must ; 
And  cannot  say,  you  dare  not.    Good  Camillo, 

B  Uasty.  1  i.  e.  So  start  off  from  propriety. 


Your  changed  complexions  are  to  me  a  mirror. 
Which  shows  me  mine  changed  too    for  I  must  be 
A  party  in  this  alteration,  fiiiding 
Myself  thus  alter'd  with  it. 

Cam.  There  is  a  sickness 

Which  puts  some  of  us  in  distemper;  but 
I  carmot  name  the  di^ease  ;  and  it  is  caught 
Of  you  that  yet  are  well. 

Pot.  How  ?  caught  of  me ! 

Make  me  not  sighted  like  the  basilisk  ! 
I  have  lookd  on'thousands,  who  liave  sped  the  better 

By  my  regard,  but  kill'd  none  so.    Camillo, 

As  you  are  certainly  a  gentleman  ;  thereto 
Clerk-like,  experienced,  which  no  less  adorns 
Our  gentry,  than  our  parents'  noble  names. 
In  whose  success^  we  are  gentle,' — I  beseech  you. 
If  you  know  aught  which  does  behove  my  Inowl- 

edi;e 
Thereof  to  be  inforn'd,  imprison  it  not 
In  ignorant  concealment. 

Cam.  I  may  not  answer. 

Pol.  A  sickness  caught  of  me.  and  yet  1  well ! 
I  must  be  answered.— Dost  thou  hear,  Camillo, 
I  conjure  thee,  by  all  the  parts  of  man, 
Which  honor  doe's  acknowledge, — whereof  the  least 
Is  not  this  suit  of  mine,— that  thou  declare 
What  incidcncy  thou  do.st  guess  of  harm 
Is  creeping  toward  me;  how  far  off,  how  near; 
Wliich  way  to  be  prevented,  if  to  be; 
If  not,  how  best  to  bear  it. 

Cam.  Sir,  I'll  tell  you; 

Since  I  am  charged  in  honor,  and  by  him 
That  I  think  honorable :  Therefore,  mark  my  coun- 
sel; 
Which  must  be  even  as  swiftly  follow'd,  as 
I  mean  to  utter  it :  or  both  yourself  and  me 
Cry,  lost,  and  so  good  night. 

Pol.  On,  good  Camillo. 

Cam.  I  am  appointed  him«  to  murder  you. 

Pol.  By  whom,  Camillo ! 

Cam.  By  the  king. 

Pol.  For  what  T 

Cam.  He  thinks,  nay,  with  all  confidence  he 
swears. 
.\s  he  had  secnt,  or  been  an  instrument 
To  vicei  you  to't, — that  you  have  touch'd  his  queen 
Forbiddenly. 

Pol.  O,  then  my  best  blood  turn 

To  an  infected  jelly  ;  and  my  name 
Be  yokd  with  his,  that  did  betray  the  best ! 
Turn  then  my  freshest  reputation  to 
A  savor  that  may  strike  the  dullest  nostril 
Where  I  arrive;  and  mv  approach  be  shunn'd. 
Nay,  hated  too,  worse  than  the  great's!  infection 
That  e'er  was  heard,  or  read  ! 

Cam.  Swear  his  thought  ovtr 

By  each  particular  star  in  heaven,  and 
By  all  their  iiitluences.  you  may  as  well 
Forbid  the  sea  for  to  obey  the  liioon, 
.\s  or  by  oath,  remove,  or  counsel,  shake 
The  fabric  of  his  folly;  whose  fnindation 
Is  piled  upon  his  faith,  and  will  continue 
Tlie  stanoing  of  his  body. 

p,il.  How  should  this  grow  . 

Cam.  I  know  not :  but,  I  am  sure,  'tis  safer  to 
Avoid  what's  grown,  than  question  how  'tis  bori. 
If  therefore  you  dare  tni.it  my  honesty, — 
That  lies  enclosed  in  this  trunk,  which  you 
Shall  bear  along  impawn'd,— away  tonight, 
■i'our  followers  I  will  whisper  to  the  business ; 
And  will,  by  twos,  and  threes,  at  several  posterns, 
Clear  them  'o'  the  citv:    For  myself,  I'll  put 
.My  fortunes  to  your  service,  which  are  here 
By  this  discovery  lost.    Be  not  uncertain  ; 
For,  by  the  honor  of  my  parents,  I 
Have  uller'd  truth ;  which  if  you  seek  to  prove, 
I  dare  not  stand  by  ;  nor  shall  vou  be  safer 
Than  one  condenni'd  by  the  king's  own  mouth, 

thereon 
His  execution  sworn. 

Pol.  I  do  believe  thee : 

1  saw  his  heart  in  his  face.    Give  me  thy  hand  ; 
Be  pilot  to  me,  and  thy  places  shall 
Still  neighbor  mine;  My  ships  are  ready,  and 
My  people  did  expect  my  hence  departure 

Two  days  ago. This  jealousy 

Is  for  a  precious  creature:  as  she's  rare, 

^  For  succession. 

a  Gentle  was  opposed  to  simple ;  well  born. 

*  i.  e.  The  person.  '  Draw, 


234 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  II. 


Must  it  be  threat ;  and,  as  his  person's  mighty, 

Must  it  be  violent ;  and  as  he  does  conceive 

He  is  dishonored  by  a  man  which  ever 

Profess  d  to  him,  why,  liis  revenges  must 

In  that  be  made  more  bitter.    Fear  o'ershades  me. 

Good  expedition  be  my  friend,  and  comfort 

The  gracious  queen,  part  of  his  theme,  but  nothing 


Of  his  ill-ta'en  suspicion  !  Come,  Camillo; 

I  will  respect  thee  as  father,  if 

Thou  bearst  my  life  olf  hence:  Lotus  avoid. 

Cam.  It  is  in  mine  iiulhority  to  command 
The  keys  of  all  the  posterns :  Please  your  highness. 
To  take  the  urgent  hour :  come,  sir,  awaj'. 

\,Excunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— The  same. 
Ettler  HEKMioyE,  Mamillics,  and  Ladies. 

Her.  Take  the  boy  to  you :  he  so  troubles  me, 
'Tis  past  enduring. 

1  L'id'j.  Come,  my  gracious  lord. 

Shall  I  be  your  play-fellow ! 

Mtitu.  No,  I'll  none  of  you. 

1  Lady.  Why,  my  sweet  lord  ! 

Main.  Voull  kiss  me  hard ;  and  speak  to  me  as  if 
I  were  a  baby  still. — I  love  you  belter. 

2  Ladij.  And  why  so,  my  good  lord  .' 

M'jjit.  Not  for  because 

Your   brows  are  blacker;   yet   black  brows,  they 

say, 
Become  some  women  best ;  so  that  there  be  not 
Ti'O  much  hair  there,  but  in  a  semi-circle, 
Or  half-moon  made  with  a  pen. 

2  Ladii.  Who  taught  you  this  ? 

Mjiu.  I  learn'd  it  out  of  women's  faces.— Pray 
now, 
What  color  are  your  eye-brows? 

1  Liidij.  Blue,  my  lord. 
Main.  Nay,  that's  a  mock;  I  have  seen  a  lady's 

nose 
That  has  been  blue,  but  not  her  eye-brows. 

2  Lady.  Hark  ye; 
The  queen,  your  mother,  rounds  apace  :  we  shall 
Present  our  services  to  a  fine  new  prince. 

One  of  these  days  ;  and  then  you"d  wanton  with  us 
If  we  would  have  you. 

I   Lady.  She  is  spread  of  late 

Into  a  goodly  bulk  :  Good  time  encounter  her ! 

Hei:  What  wisdom  stirs  amongst  you  ]    Come, 
sir,  now 
I  am  fi_tr  you  again:  Pra}'  you,  sit  by  us, 
And  tells  a  tale. 

Main.  Merry,  or  sad,  shall  t  be'.' 

Ha:  As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mam.  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter  : 

I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Htr.  Let's  have  that,  sir. 

Come  on,  sit  down : — Come  on,  and  do  your  best 
To  fright  me  with  your  sprites:  you're  powerful 
at  it. 

Main.  There  was  a  man, 

Her.  Nay,  come,  sit  down  ;  then  on. 

Mum.  Dwelt  by  a  church-yard ;— I  will  tell  it 
softly ; 
Yon  crickets  shall  not  hear  it. 

Her.  Come  on,  then. 

And  give't  me  in  mine  ear. 

Enter  Leostes,  AsTioosrs,  Lords,  and  others. 

Leon.  Was  he  met  there?  his    train?   Camillo 

with  him? 
1  Lord.  Behind  the  tuft  of  pines  I  met  them ; 

never 
Saw  1  men  scour  so  on  their  way  ;  I  cy'd  them 
Kvcn  to  tlieir  ships. 

Lean.  How  bless'd  am  I, 

In  my  just  censure?'  in  my  true  opinion? — 
Alack,  lor  lesser  knowledge!  How  accursd. 
In  bcinj  so  blest!— There  may  be  in  the  cup 
A  spider  steep'd,  and  one  may  drink,  depart. 
And  yet  partake  no  venom  ;  for  his  knowledge 
Is  not  infected:  but  if  one  present 
The  abhorr'd  ingredient  to  his  eye,  make  known 
How  he  hath  drank,  he  cracks  his  gorge,  his  sides. 
■With  violent  hefts :'— I  have  drank,  and  seen  the 

spider, 
ramillo  was  his  help  in  this,  his  pander : — 
There  is  a  plot  atrainst  my  life,  my  crown  ; 
.MI'S  true  that  is  mistrusted  :— that  false  villain 
■VVIiom  I  employed,  was  pre-employ'd  by  him: 
Judgment.  i  Hcavings. 


He  has  discover'd  my  design,  andj 

Kemain  a  pinch'd  thing ;8  yea,  a  very  trick 

For  them  to  play  at  will: — How  came  the  posterns 

So  ea.sily  open  ? 

1  Lfjrd.  By  his  great  authority ; 

Which  ol^en  hath  no  less  prevailed  than  so. 
On  yiiur  command. 

Leon.  I  know't  too  well. 

Give  me  the  boy;  I  am  glad,  you  did  not  nurse  him: 
Though  he  does  bear  some  signs  of  ine,  yet  you 
Have  too  much  blood  in  him. 

Her.  What  is  this  ?  sport ! 

Leon.  Bear  the  boy  hence,  he  shall  not  come 
about  her; 
.\way  with  him : — and  let  her  sport  herself 
With  that  she's  big  with  ;  for  'tis  PoILxenes 
Has  made  thee  swell  thus. 

Her.  But  I'd  say  he  had  not, 

And,  I'll  be  sworn,  you  would  believe  my  saying, 
Howeer  you  lean  to  the  nayward. 

Leon.  You,  my  lords, 

Look  on  her,  mark  her  well ;  be  but  about 
To  say,  she  is  a  goodly  ladii,  and 
The  justice  of  your  hearts  will  thereto  add, 
'Tis  pity  she's  not  honest,  honorable; 
Praise  her  but  for  this  her  without-door  form, 
(Which,  on  my  faith,  deserves  high  speech,)  and 

straight 
The  shrug,  the  hum,  or  ha  ;  these  petty  brands, 
That  calumny  doth  use : — (),  I  am  out, 
■That  mercy  does  ;  for  calunmy  will  sear' 
Virtue  itself: — These  shrugs,  these  hums,  and  ha's. 
When  you  have  said,  she's  goodly,  come  between, 
K.re  you  can  say  she's  honest :  But  be  it  known. 
From  him  that  has  most  cause  to  grieve  it  should  be, 
She's  an  adultress. 

Her.  Should  a  villain  say  so. 

The  most  replenish'd  villain  in  the  world. 
He  were  as  much  more  villain :  you,  my  lord. 
Do  but  mistake. 

Leon.  You  have  mistook,  my  lady, 

Polixenes  for  Leontes:  ()  thou  thing, 
Which  III  not  call  a  creature  of  thy  place. 
Lest  barbarism,  making  me  the  precedent. 
Should  a  like  language  use  to  all  degrees. 
And  mannerly  distinguishment  leave  out 
Betwixt  the  prince  aiid  beggar  !— I  have  said, 
She's  an  adultress;  I  have  said  with  whom: 
More,  she's  a  traitor ;  and  Camillo  is 
A  fedary'  with  her;  and  one  that  knows 
What  .she  should  shame  lo  know  herself, 
Buf  with  her  most  vile  principal,  that  she's 
A  bed-swerver,  even  as  bad  as  those 
That  yulgars  give  bold  titles ;  ay,  and  privy 
To  this  their  late  escape. 

Her.  No,  by  my  life, 

Privy  to  none  of  this:  IIow  will  tnis  grieve  you. 
When  you  shall  come  to  clearer  knowledge,  that 
You  thus  have  publish'd  iiie  !     Genlle  my  lord. 
You  scarce  can  right  me  thoroughly  then,  to  say 
Vou  did  mistake. 

t^eon.  No,  no ;  if  I  mistake 

In  those  foundations  which  1  build  upon, 
The  centre  is  not  big  enough  to  bear 
A  school-boy's  top.— Away  with  her  to  prison  : 
Hi',  who  shall  speak  for  her,  is  afar  off  giiilty,a 
But  that  he  speaks.« 

Her.  There's  some  ill  planet  reigns: 

1  must  be  patient,  till  the  heavens  look 
With  an  aspect  more  liivorable.    Good  my  lords, 
I  am  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 
Commonly  are;  the  want  of  which  vain  dew. 
Perchance,  shall  dry  our  pities:  but  I  have 
That  honorable  grief  lodg'd  here,  which  burns 

a  A  thing  pinrbej  out  of  clouts,  a  puppet. 

9  Hniiul  as  iDfamous.        i  Confttler.'.lTii.  ^  Only. 

3  Itc'uiotcly  guilty.  «  In  merely  speaking. 


Scene  II. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


235 


Worse  than  tears  drown:  Beseech  50U  all,  my  lords, 
With  Ihouglits  so  qmlifiod  as  your  charities 
Shall  best  instruct  you,  measure  me; — and  so 
The  king's  will  be  perform'd! 

Leon.  Shall  I  be  heard  ? 

[To  the  Guards. 

Her     Wl»-,   is't   that  goes   witli    me!— 'Beseech 
your  highness, 
My  women  may  be  with  nic;  fur,  you  see. 
My  plight  requires  it.     Do  not  weep,  good  fools; 
There   is  no  cause:   wlien  you  shall  know  your 

mistress 
Has  deserv'd  prison,  then  abound  in  tears, 
As  I  come  out:  this  action,  I  now  go  on. 
Is  for  my  better  grace. — Adieu,  my  lord  : 
I  never  wishM  to  see  you  sorry  ;  now, 
I  trust,  I  shall.— My  women,  come  ;  you  have  leave. 

Leon.  Go  do  our  bidding;  hence. 

[Exeunt  Quken  and  Ladies. 

1  Lord.  'Beseech  your  highness,  call  the  queen 
again. 

Ant.  Be  certain  what  you  do,  sir;  lest  your  justice 
Prove  violence;  in  the  which  three  great  ones  sutler, 
yoursell",  your  queen,  your  son. 

1  L'jrd.  For  her,  my  lord, 

I  dare  my  life  lay  down,  and  will  do't,  sir. 
Please  you  to  accept  it,  that  the  queen  is  spotless 
I'the  eyes  of  heaven,  and  to  you  ;  1  mean. 
In  this  which  you  accuse  her. 

.4/1/.  If  it  prove 

She's  otherwise,  I'll  keep  my  stables  where 
I  lodge  my  wife  ;  I'll  go  in  couples  with  her  ; 
Than  wlien  I  feel,  and  see  her,  no  further  trust  her ; 
For  every  inch  of  woman  in  the  world. 
Ay,  every  drain  of  woman's  flesh,  is  false, 
If  she  be. 

Leon.       Hold  your  peaces. 

1  Liird.  Good  my  lord, — 

Ant.  It  is  for  you  we  speak,  not  for  ourselves: 
You  are  abused,  and  by  some  putter  on, 
Thatv\'ill  be  damn'dfor't;  would  1  knew  the  villain, 
I  would  land-damn  him  :  Be  she  lionor-rlaw'd, — 
I  have  three  daughters;  the  eldest  is  eleven  ; 
The  second,  and  the  third,  nine,  and  some  five; 
If  this  prove  true,  they  11  pay  for't :  by  mine  honor, 
I'll  geld  them  all;  fourteen  they  shall  not  see. 
To  bring  false  generations:  they  are  co-heus; 
And  I  had  rather  glib  myself,  than  they 
•Should  not  produce  fair  issue. 

Leon.  Cease  ;  no  more. 

You  smell  this  business  with  a  sense  as  cold 
As  is  a  dead  man's  nose:  I  sect  and  feelt. 
As  you  feel  doing  thus;  and  see  withal 
The  instruments  that  feel. 

Ant.  If  it  be  so, 

We  need  no  grave  to  bury  honesty  ; 
■There's  not  a  grain  of  it,  the  face  to  sweeten 
Of  the  whole  dungy  earth. 

Leon.  What !  lack  I  credit? 

1  Lord.  I  had  rather  you  did  lack,  than  I,  my  lord, 
Upon  this  ground:  and  more  it  would  content  me 
To  have  her  honor  true,  than  your  suspicion  ; 
Be  blam'd  for't  how  you  might. 

Leon.  Why,  what  need  we 

Commune  with  you   of  this?  but  rather  follow 
Our  forceful  instigation?  Our  prerogative 
Calls  not  your  councils;  but  our  natural  goodness 
Imparts  this:  which — if  you  (or  stupitied. 
Or  seeming  so  in  skill)  cannot,  or  will  not, 
Relish  as  truth,  like  us;  inform  yourselves, 
We  need  no  more  of  your  advice;  the  matter, 
The  loss,  the  gain,  the  ordering  on't,  is  all 
Properly  ours. 

Ant.  And  I  wish,  my  liege. 

You  had  only  in  your  silent  judgment  tried  it, 
Without  more  overture. 

Leon.  How  could  that  be? 

Either  thou  art  most  ignorant  by  age. 
Or  thou  wert  born  a  fool.    Camillo's  flight. 
Added  to  their  familiarity, 

(Which  was  as  gross  as  ever  touched- conjecture. 
That  lack'd  sight  only,  nought  for  ajiprobation,* 
But  only  seeing,  all  oiher  circumstances 
Mad- up  to  the  deed.)  doth  push  on  this  proceeding: 
Yet,  for  a  greater  confirmation, 
(For,  in  act  of  this  importance,  'twere 
Most  piteous  to  be  wild.)  1  have  despatch'd  in  post. 
To  sacred  Uelphos,  to  Apollo's  temple, 
Cleomenes  and  Dion,  whom  you  know 
s  Proof 


of  stuff  d  sufiiciency  :'i  Now,  from  the  oracle 
They  will  bring  all  ;  whose  spiritual  counsel  had. 
Shall  stop  or  spur  me.    Have  1  done  well? 

1   Lord.  Weil  done,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Though  1  am  satisfied,  and  need  no  more 
Than  what  1  know,  yet  shall  the  oracle 
Give  rest  to  the  minds  of  others;  such  as  he, 
Whose  ignorant  credulity  will  not 
Come  up  to  the  truth  :  bo  we  have  thought  it  good, 
From  our  free  person  she  should  be  coutmed  ; 
Lest  the  treachery  of  the  two,  lied  hence, 
He  left  her  to  perform.    Come,  follow  us; 
We  are  to  speak  in  public  :  for  this  business 
Will  raise  us  all. 

Ant.  lAxiie.]  To  laughter,  as  I  take  it. 
If  the  good  truth  were  known.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— r^e  outer  Room  of  a  Prison. 

Enter  Pauiixa  end  Attendants. 

Paul.  The  keeper  of  the  prison, — call  to  him  : — 
[Exit  an  Attendant. 
Let  him  have  Knowledge  who  1  am — Good  lady  !, 
No  court  111  Europe  is  too  good  for  thee, 
What  dost  thou  tiien  in  prison  \ — Now,  good  sir, 

Re-enter  Attendant,  rcitk  Ike  Keeper. 
You  know  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Kecji.  For  a  worthy  lady, 

And  one  whom  much  I  lionor. 

Paul.  Pray  you,  then, 

Conduct  me  to  the  queen. 

Keep.  1  may  not,  madam  ;  to  the  contrary 
I  have  express  commandment. 

Paul.  Here's  ado, 

To  lock  up  honesty  and  honor  from 
The  access  of  gentle  visitors  I — Is  it  lawful, 
Pray  you,  to  sec  her  women  ?  any  of  them  ? 
Emilia  I 

Keep.  So  please  you,  madam,  to  put 
Apart  these  your  attendants,  I  shall  bring 
Emilia  tbrtli. 

Paul.  I  pray  now,  call  her. 

Withdraw  yourselves.  [Exeunt  Attend. 

Keep.  And,  madam, 

I  must  be  present  at  your  conference. 

Paul.  \\  ell,  be  it  so,  prythee.         [Exit  Keeper 
Here's  such  ado  to  make  no  stain  a  stain, 
As  passes  coloring. 

Re-enter  Keeper,  with  E-wilia. 
Dear  gentlewoman,  how  fares  our  gracious  lady  ? 

Emit.  .\!-  well  as  one  so  great,  and  so  forlorn, 
May  hold  together:  On  her  frights  and  griefs, 
(Which  never  tender  lady  hath  borne  greater,) 
She  IS,  something  before  her  time,  dehver'd. 

Paul.  X  boy  ? 

Emit.  A  daughter,  and  a  goodly  babe, 

Lusty,  and  like  to  live:  the  queen  receives 
Much  comfort  in'l :  says.  My  poor  prisoner, 
I  am  innocent  us  you. 

Paul.  I  dare  be  sworn : 

These  dangerous  unsafe  tunes''  o'  the  kmg!  beshrew 

them  ! 
He  must  be  told  on't,  and  he  shall :  the  office 
Becomes  a  woman  best;  I'll  tak't  upon  me  : 
If  1  prove  honey-mouth'd,  let  my  tongue  blister; 
And  m^ver  to  my  red-lookd  anger  be 
The  trumpet  any  more:  Pray  you,  Emilia, 
Commena  my  best  obedience  to  the  queen  ; 
If  she  dare  trust  me  with  her  little  babe, 
I'll  show't  the  king,  and  undertake  to  be 
Her  advocate  to  th'  loudest:  We  do  not  know 
How  he  may  soften  at  the  sight  0'  the  child ; 
The  silence  often  of  pure  innocence 
Persuades,  when  speaking  fails. 

Emit.  Most  worthy  madam, 

Your  honor,  and  your  goodness,  is  so  evident, 
That  your  free  undertaking  cannot  miss 
A  thriving  issue;  there  is  no  lady  living 
So  meet  for  this  great  errand:  Please' your  ladyship 
To  visit  the  next  room,  I'll  presently 
Acquaint  the  queen  of  your  most  noble  ofl"er; 
Who,  but  to-day,  hammer  d  of  this  design ; 
But  durst  not  tempt  a  minister  of  honor. 
Lest  she  should  be  denied. 

Paul-  Tell  her,  Emilia, 

I'll  use  that  tongue  I  have:  if  wit  flow  from  it, 

6  of  abilities  more  than  euflicitlit. 

1  Limac-ies,  tits  of  madDess. 


23G 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  IL 


As  boldness  frofn  my  bosom,  let  it  not  be  doubted 
1  shall  do  good. 

Eitiil.  Now,  be  you  blest  for  it ! 

I'll  to  the  queen:    Please  you,  come   something 
nearer. 

Keep.  Miidara,  if 't  please  the  queen  to  send  the 
babe, 
I  know  not  what  I  shall  incur,  to  pass  it, 
Havinj^  no  warrant. 

FauL  You  need  not  fear  it,  sir: 

Tlie  child  was  prisoner  to  the  womb;  and  is, 
Ry  law  and  process  of  great  nature,  thence 
Freed  and  enfranchised:  not  a  parly  to 
The  an;j;er  of  the  king  ;  nor  guilty  of, 
If  any  be,  the  trespass  of  the  queen. 

Keep.  1  do  believe  it, 

Paul.  Do  not  you  fear:  upon 

Mine  honor,  I  will  stand  'twixt  you  and  danger. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. — A  Room  in  the  Pakice. 

Enter  Leontks,  Anttroxus,  Lords,  and  other 
Attendants. 

Leon.  Nor  night,  nor  day,  no  rest:    It  is  but 
weakness 
To  bear  the  matter  thus  ;  mere  weakness,  if 
The  cause  were  not  in  being  ; — part  o'the  cause. 
She,  the  adultrcss;— for  the  harlot  king 
Is  quite  beyond  mine  arm,  out  of  tlie  blank 
And  level  of  my  brain,  plot-proof:  but  she 
I  can  hook  to  me :  Say,  that  she  were  gone, 
Given  to  the  fire,  a  moiety  of  my  rest 
Jlight  come  to  me  again. Who's  there  T 

\  Alt  en.  My  lord? 

[Advancing. 

Leon.  How  does  the  boy  1 

1  At  fen.  He  took  good  rest  to-night: 

*Tis  hopd,  his  sickness  is  discharged. 

Leon.  To  see 

His  nobleness! 

Conceiving  the  dishonor  of  his  mother, 
Pie  straight  dechned,  droop'd,  took  it  deeply; 
Fastend  and  fix'd  the  shame  on't  in  himself; 
Threw  off  his  spirit,  his  appetite,  his  sleep, 
And  downright  languish'd.— Leave  me  solely :« — go 
See  how  he^  fares.  [Exit  Attend.] — Fye,  fye!    no 

thought  of  him; 
The  very  thought  of  my  revenges  that  way 
Recoil  upon  me  ;  in  himself  too  migiUy ; 
And  in  his  parties,  his  alliance, — Let  iiim  be, 
Until  a  time  may  serve  :  for  nresent  vengeance, 
Take  it  on  her.    Caniillo  and  Polixenes 
Laugh  at  me  ;  make  their  pastime  at  my  sorrow: 
They  should  not  laugh  if  I  could  reach  them;  nor 
Shall  she,  within  my  power. 

Enter  Paulina,  loith  a  Child. 

I  Lord.  You  must  not  enter, 

Faul.  Nay,  rather,  good  my  lords,  be  second  to 
me: 
Fear  you  liis  tyrannous  passion  more,  alas. 
Than  the  queen's  life  ?  a  gracious  innocent  soul ; 
More  free,  than  he  is  jealous. 

Ant.  That's  enough. 

1  Atten.  Madam,  he   hath   not  slept  to-night ; 
commanded 
None  should  come  at  him. 

Pant.  Not  so  hot,  good  sir; 

I  come  to  bring  him  sleep.    'Tis  such  as  you, — 
That  creep  like  shadows  by  him,  and  do  sigh 
At  each  his  needless  heaving, — such  as  you 
Nourish  the  cause  of  his  awalviiig  :  I 
Do  come  with  words  as  med'cinal  as  true  ; 
Honest,  as  either;  to  purge  him  of  that  humor, 
That  presses  him  from  sleep. 

Leon.  What  noise  there,  ho? 

Paul.  No  noise,  my  lord  ;  but  needful  conference. 
About  some  gossips  for  your  highness. 

Leon.  How? 

Away  with  that  audacious  lady:  Antitronus, 

1  charged  thee,  that  she  should  not  come  about  me; 

I  knew,  she  would. 

Ant.  I  told  her  so,  my  lord, 

On  your  displeasure's  peril,  and  on  mine, 
She  should  not  visit  you. 

Leon.  What,  canst  not  rule  her? 

Paul.  From  all  dishonesty,  he  can  ;  in  this 
(Unless  he  take  the  course  that  you  have  done, 

8  AJoue. 


Commit  me,  for  committing  honor,)  trust  it, 
He  shall  not  rule  me. 

Auf.  Lo  you  now  ;  you  hear  ! 

When  she  will  take  the  rein,  1  let  her  run  ; 
liut  shell  not  stumble. 

Paul.  Good  my  liege,  I  come, — 

And,  I  beseech  you,  hear  me,  who  profess 
Myself  your  loyal  servant,  your  physician. 
Your  most  obedient  counsellor  ;  yet  that  dare 
Less  appear  so,  in  comforting  your  evils,' 
Thau  such  as  most  seem  yours: — I  say,  I  come 
From  your  good  queen. 

Leon.  Good  queen! 

Paul.  Good  queen,  my  lord,  good  queen:  I  say 
good  queen  ; 
And  would  by  coinl)at  make  her  good,  so  were  I 
A  man,  the  worst'  about  you. 

Leon.  Force  her  hence. 

Paul.  Let  him,  that  makes  but  trifles  of  his  eyo6, 
First  hand  me:  on  mine  own  accord,  I'll  off; 
Hut  first,  ril  do  my  errand. — The  good  queen. 
For  she  is  good,  hath  brought  you  forth  a  daughter; 
Here  "tis;  commends  it  to  your  blessing. 

[La>/ing  duivn  the  Child. 

Leo7i.  Out ! 

A  very  mankind'*  witch!  Hence  with  her,  outo'door: 
A  most  intelhgencing  bawd! 

Paul.  Not  so: 

I  am  as  i°:norant  in  that,  as  you 
In  so  entitling  me  :  and  no  less  honest 
Than  you  are  mad  :  which  is  enough,  I'll  warrant, 
As  this  world  goes,  to  pass  for  honest. 

Leon.  Traitors ! 

Will  you  not  push  her  out?  Give  her  the  bastard:— 
Thou,  dotard,   [To  Antigoxus.]  thou  art  woman- 
tired, ^  unroosted 
By  tliy  dame  Parllet  here. — take  up  the  bastard ; 
TakeU  up,  I  say;  give't  to  thy  crone.* 

Paul.  For  ever 

Unvenerable  be  thy  hands,  if  thou 
Tak'st  up  the  princess,  by  that  forced'  baseness 
Which  he  has  put  upon't! 

Leon.  tie  dreads  his  wife. 

Paul.  So,  I  would,  you  did:  then,  'twere  past  all 
doubt. 
You'd  call  your  children  yours. 

Leon.  A  nest  of  traitors! 

Ant.  I  am  none,  by  this  good  light. 

Paul.  Nor  I  ;  nor  any, 

But  one,  that's  here  ;  and  that's  himself:  for  he 
The  sacred  honor  of  himself,  his  queen's. 
His  hopeful  son's,  his  babe's,  betrays  to  slander, 
Whose  sting  is  sharper  than  the  sword's;  ajid  will 

not 
(For  as  the  case  now  stands,  it  is  a  curse 
He  cannot  be  compell'd  to't)  once  remove 
The  root  of  his  opinion,  which  is  rotten. 
As  ever  oak,  or  stone,  was  sound. 

Leon.  A  cullat,« 

Of  boundless  tongue;  who  late  hath  beat  her  hus- 
band, 
And  now  baits  me  !— This  brat  is  none  of  mine ; 
It  is  the  issue  of  Polixenes: 
Hence  with  it;  and,  together  with  the  dam. 
Commit  them  to  the  fire. 

Paul.  It  is  yours; 

And,  might  we  lay  the  old  provfh  to  your  charge, 
So  like  you,  'lis  the  worse. — Behold,  my  lords, 
Although  the  print  be  little,  the  whole  matter 
And  copy  of  the  fither:  eye,  nose,  lip. 
The  trick  of  his  frown,  his  foreiiead;  nay,  the  valley, 
Tlie  pretty  dimples  of  his  chin,  and  cheek;  his 

smiles ; 
The  very  mould  and  frame  of  hand,  nail,  finger  : — 
And  thou,  good  goddess  nature,  which  hast  made  it 
So  like  to  him  that  got  it,  if  thou  hast 
The  ordering  of  the  mind  too,  'moiigst  all  colors 
No  yellow  'in't;  lest  she  suspect  as  he  does, 
Her  children  not  her  husband's  ! 

Leon.  A  gross  hag ! — 

And,  lozel,'  thou  art  worthy  to  be  hang'd. 
That  wilt  not  stay  her  tongue. 

Ant.  Hang  all  the  husbands 

That  cannot  do  that  feat,  you'll  leave  yourself 
Hardly  one  subject. 

"  Abetting  your  ill  courses.  •  Lowest, 

a  Masculine  '  Pecked  by  a  woman;  hen-pecked. 

*  Worn  out  old  womnn. 

i  Forced  is  falso  ;  uttered  with  Tiolonci'  to  truth. 

«  Trull,      ••  The  color  of  jealousy,      e  Worthless  fellow. 


Act.  III.  Scene  II. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


•237 


Lr:on.  Once  move,  lake  her  hence. 

Paul.  A  most  unwortliy  and  unnatural  lord 
Can  i!o  no  mi)re. 

Leon.  I'll  have  thee  burn'd. 

Puul.  I  care  not : 

It  is  an  heretic,  that  makes  the  lire, 
Not  she,  whicli  biu'ns  in't.    I'll  not  call  you  tyrant; 
But  this  inost  cruel  usa;^e  of  your  queen 
(Not  able  to  produce  more  accusation 
Than  your  own  weak-hinged   I'ancy)   somethijig 

savors 
Of  tyranny,  and  will  ignoble  make  you, 
Yea,  scandalous  to  tlie  world. 

Lenn.  On  your  allegiance. 

Out  of  the  chamber  with  her.  Were  I  a  tyrant, 
'VVhere  were  her  hfe  T  she  durst  not  call  me  so. 
If  she  did  know  nie  one.    Away  with  her. 

Puul.  I  pray  you,  do  not  push  me;  I'll  be  gone. 
Look  to  your  babe,  my  lord  ;  'tis  yours  :  Jove  send 

her 
A  better  guiding  spirit! — What  need  these  hands!  — 
You,  that  arc  thus  so  tender  o'er  his  follies, 
Will  never  do  him  good,  not  one  of  you. 
So,  so: — Farewell;  we  are  gone.  \_ExU. 

Leon.  Thou,  traitor,  hast  set  on  thy  wife  to  this. — 
My  child?  away  wilh't!  even  thou,  that  hast 
A  heart  so  tender  o'er  it,  take  it  hence, 
And  see  it  insUrntly  consumed  with  Hre  ; 
Kven  thou,  and  none  but  thou.   Take  it  up  straight: 
Within  this  hour  bring  me  word  'lis  done, 
(And  by  good  testimony,)  or  III  seize  thy  life. 
With  wbat  tiiou  else  call'st  thine:  If  thou  refuse, 
And  will  encounter  with  my  wrath,  say  so  ; 
The  bastard  brains  with  these  my  proper  hands 
Shall  1  dash  out.    Co,  take  it  to  the  fire; 
For  thou  sett'st  on  thy  wife. 

Aut.  1  did  not,  sir: 

These  lords,  mynoble  fellows,  if  they  please, 
Can  clear  me  int. 

1  Liird.  We  can  ;  my  royal  liege, 

He  is  not  guilty  of  her  coinmg  hither. 

L^^nn.  Vou  are  liars  all. 

1  Lor:h  'Beseech  your  highness,  give  us  better 
credit; 
We  have  always  truly  serv'd  you;  and  beseech 
So  to  esteem  of  us  :  And  on  our  knees  we  beg, 
(As  recompense  of  our  dear  sen'ices. 
Past,  and  to  come,)  that  you  do  change  this  purpose; 
Which  being  so  horrible,  so  bloody,  must 
Lead  on  to  some  foul  issue :  We  all  kneel. 

Leon., I  am  a  feather  for  each  wind  that  blows: — 
Shall  I  live  on,  lo  see  this  bastard  kneel 
And  call  me  father'!     Better  bum  it  now, 
Than  curse  it  then.    But,  be  it ;  let  it  live  : 
It  shall  not  neitlier. — You,  sii,  come  you  hither; 

\To  .\ntigo:«us. 
You,  that  have  been  so  tenderly  officious 


With  lady  Marjory,  your  midwile,  there. 
To  save  liiis  bastard's  life: — I'or  'tis  a  ba-^tard. 
So  sure  as  this  beard's  grey, — what  will  you  adven- 
ture 
To  save  this  brat's  life  ? 

.iuf.  Any  thing,  my  lord. 

That  mv  ability  may  undergo, 
\nd  nobleness  impose:  at  least  thus  much  ; 
I'll  pawn  the  httle  blood  which  I  have  left. 
To  save  tiie  innocent :  any  thing  poss.lile. 

Len?i.  It  shall  be  possible  :  swear  by  this  sword,' 
Thou  wilt  perform  my  bidding. 

A  lit.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Leon.  Mark,  and  perform  it;   (sces't  thou?)  for 
the  fail 
Of  any  point  in't  shall  not  only  be 
Death  to  thyself,  but  to  thy  lewd-'tongued  wife; 
Whom,  for  this  time,  we  pardon.     We  enjoin  thee, 
As  thou  art  liege-man  to  us,  that  thou  carrv' 
This  female  bastard  hence  ;  and  that  thou  'bear  it 
To  some  remote  and  desert  place,  quite  out 
Of  our  dominions;  and  that  there  thou  leave  it. 
Without  more  mercy,  to  its  own  protection. 
And  favor  of  the  eli'mate.    As  by  strange  fortune 
It  came  to  us,  I  do  in  justice  charge  thee, — 
On  thy  soul's  peril,  aiid  thy  body's  torture. — 
That  thou  commend  it  strangely  to  soine  place,' 
Where  chance  may  nurse  or  end  it :  Take  it  up. 

Anf.  I  swear  to  do  this,  though  a   present  death 
Had  been  more  merciful. — Come  on,  poor  babe  : 
Some  powerful  spirit  instruct  the  kites  and  ravens, 
To  be  thy  nurses !    Wolves  and  bears,  they  say, 
Casting  their  savageness  aside,  ijave  done 
Like  offices  of  pity,, — Sir,  be  prosperous 
In  more  than  this 'deed  doth  require!  and  blessing, 
Against  this  cruelty,  fight  on  thy  side. 
Poor  thing,  condemn'd  to  loss ! 

[Erit  tfith  the  Child. 

Lenn.  No,  I'll  not  rear 

Another's  issue. 

1  Atlen.  Please  your  highness,  posts, 

From  those  you  sent  to  the  oracle,  arc  come 
An  hour  since:  CIcomenes  and  Dion, 
Being  well  arriv'd  from  Delphos,  are  both  landed. 
Hasting  to  the  court. 

1  jMrd.  So  please  you,  sir,  their  speed 

Hath  been  beyond  account. 

Le.on.  Twenty-three  days 

They  have  been  absent:  'Tis  good  speed  ;  foretells, 
The  great  Apollo  suddenly  will  have 
The  truth  of  this  appear.    Prepare  you,  lords; 
Summon  a  session,  that  we  may  arraign 
Our  most  disloyal  latly  :  for  as  she  hath 
Been  publicly  accus'd,  so  shall  she  have 
.\  just  and  open  tri,al.    While  she  lives. 
My  heart  will  be  a  burden  to  mc.    Leave  me  ; 
And  think  upon  my  bidding.  [Kxeunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCF-NF.  I.— ,4  Street  m  some  Town. 
£)!/er  Cleomeses  and  Diov. 

Cleo.  The  climate's  delicate;  the  air  most  sweet ; 
Fertile  the  isle  ;  the  temple  much  surpassing 
The  common  praise  it  bears. 

Dujn.  I  shall  report. 

For  most  it  caught  me,  the  celestial  habits, 
(Methinks,l  should  so  term  them,)  and  the  reve- 
rence 
Of  tlic  grave  wearers.    O,  the  sacrifice  ! 
How  ceremonious,  solemn,  and  unearthly 
It  was  i'  the  offering  ! 

Cleo.  But,  of  all,  the  burst 

And  the  ear-deafening  voice  o'  the  oracle. 
Kin  to  Jove's  thunder,  so  surprised  my  sense. 
That  I  vva5  nothing. 

Dion.  If  the  event  o'  the  journey 

Prove  as  successful  to  the  queen, — 0,  he'l  so  1^ 
As  it  hath  been  to  us,  rare,  pleasant,  speedy, 
The  time  is  worth  tlie  use  on't. 

Cleo.  Great  Apollo, 

Turn  all  to  the  best !    These  proclamations, 
So  forcing  faults  upon  Hermione, 
I  little  like. 

Dion.  The  violent  carriage  of  it 

'WUl  clear,  or  ond,  the  business:  When  the  oracle. 


(Thus  by  Apollo's  great  divine  seal'd  up.) 
Shall  the  contents  discover,  sometbimr  rare, 

Kven  then,  will  rush  to  knowledge. Go, —  fresh 

horses ; — 
And  gracious  be  the  issue  !  [Exeunt- 

SCENE  II.— ,4  Court  of  Justice. 
Leovtrs,   Lords,  and  Oflicers,  appear  i}roperli/ 
seuteil. 
Leon.  This  sessions  (to  our  great  grief,  we  pro- 
nounce) 
Even  pushes  gainst  our  heart:  The  party  tried, 
'rhe  daughter  of  a  kin^;  our  wife;  and  one 
Of  us  too  much  belov'd. — Let  us  be  clear'd 
of  being  tyrannous,  since  we  so  openly 
Proceed  in  justice  ;  whicii  shall  have  due  course, 

K.ven^  to  the  guih,  or  the  purgation. 

Produce  the  prisoner. 

Offi.  It  is  his  highness'  pleasure,  that  the  queen 
Appear  in  person  here  in  court. — Silence  ! 

Heioiion'e  15  brought  in,  ^uai-ded;  Patlixa  and 
Ladies  attending. 

L(un.  Read  the  indictment. 

9  It  was  anciently  a  practice  to  swear  by  the  cross  at 
the  hilt  of  the  sword. 

'i.  £.  Commit  it  to  some  place  as  a  stranger.        ^EqulJ. 


238 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  III. 


Offi..  Heriiiione,  qiiei;i)  io  the  icorlhy  Leontes. 
liiiiii,  rj/"Sicilia,  ihuu  art  here  accused  and  arraif^ncd 
of  higk  treason,  in  cuiiiinittin^  adultery  witti  Po- 
lixeiies,  Jzing  /{/"  lioticniia ;  and  cont^pirln^  xtitti 
Ciimtllo  tu  tulie  away  tfte  life  (f  our  soctrei^a  lord 
tfie  king,  tky  royal  liunbaiid;  iti^  pretence^  whereof 
being  bi/  circumstances  partly  laid  open,  tkou, 
Hcriiiioiie.  contrary  to  tlie  faitli  and  alle/;iunce  of 
a  true  subject,  didst  counsel  and  aid  litem,  for 
ilieir  littler  safety,  tnjly  away  by  nig/it. 

Her.  Since  what  1  ain  to  say,  must  bu  but  thai 
"Which  contradicts  my  accusation;  and 
The  testimony  on  my  part,  no  otiier 
But  what  comes  from  myself;  it  shall  scarce  boot  me 
To  say,  Nut  guilty  :  mine  integriiy, 
Beini  coniited  falsehood,  shall,  as  1  express  it. 
Be  so  rcceiv'd.     but  thus,— If  powers  divme 
Behold  our  human  actions,  (as  they  do.) 
I  doubt  not  tliea,  but  inaocence  shall  make 
False  accusation  blush,  and  tyranny 
Tremble  at  patience.— Vou,  my  lord,  best  know, 
(Who  least  will  seem  to  do  so,)  iny  past  life 
ilath  been  as  contment,  as  chaste,  as  true, 
As  I  am  now  unhappy  ;  which  is  more 
Than  history  can  pattern,  though  devisM, 
And  play  d  to  take  spectators:  For  behold  me, — 
A  fellow  of  the  royal  bed,  which  owe< 
A  moiety  of  the  throne,  a  great  king's  daughter, 
The  niotlier  to  a  hopeful  prince, — here  standing 
To  prate  and  talk  for  life,  and  honor,  'fore 
Wlio  please  to  come  and  hear,     tor  life,  1  prize  it, 
As  I  weigh  grief,  which  1  would  spare:  for  honor, 
Tis  a  derivative  from  me  to  mine. 
And  only  that  1  stand  for.    1  appeal 
To  your  conscience,  sir,  before"Pohxenes 
Came  to  your  court,  how  1  was  in  your  grace, 
How  merited  to  be  so;  since  he  came, 
With  what  encounter  so  uncurreiit  I 
Have  strain  d  to  apjiear  thus:  if  one  jot  beyond 
The  bound  of  honor;  or,  in  act,  or  will. 
That  way  inclining;  haiden'd  be  the  hearts 
Of  all  tliat  hear  me,  and  my  near'st  of  kin 
Cry,  Fye  upon  my  grave  ! 

Leon.  1  ne'er  heard  yet. 

That  any  of  these  bolder  vices  wanted 
Less  impudence  to  gainsay  what  they  did, 
Than  to  ijerform  it  first. 

Her.  That's  true  enough  ; 

Though  'tis  a  saying,  sir,  not  due  to  mc. 

Leon.  You  will  not  own  it. 

Her.      ■  More  than  mistress  of, 

Which  comes  to  me  in  iionie  of  fault,  I  must  not 
At  all  aeknowkdge.    For  Pohxenes, 
(VVitli  whom  1  am  accused,)  1  do  confess, 
I  lov  d  him,  as  m  honor  he  required; 
With  such  a  kind  of  love,  as  might  become 
A  lady  like  me  ;  with  a  love,  even  such. 
So,  and  no  other,  as  yourself  commanded  : 
Which  not  to  have  done,  1  lliink,  had  been  in  me 
Both  disobedience  and  ingratitude, 
To  you,  and  toward  your  friend  ;  whose  love  had 

sjroke. 
Even  since  it  could  speak,  from  an  infant,  freely, 
That  It  was  yours.    Now,  for  conspiracy, 
I  know  not  how  it  tastes ;  thoug!-.  it  be  dislfd 
For  me  to  try  how :  all  1  know  of  it 
Is,  that  fainillo  was  an  honest  man  ; 
And,  why  he  left  >our  court,  the  gods  themselves. 
Wotting  no  more  than  1,  are  ignorant.    ' 

Leun.  You  knew  of  his  departure,  as  you  know 
■What  you  have  undorta'eii  to  do  in  his  absence. 

Her.  Sir, 
Y'ou  speak  a  language  that  I  understand  not : 
My  hie  stands  in  the  level,'  of  your  dream.s, 
Which  I'll  lay  down. 

Leon.  Your  actions  are  my  dreams ; 

Y'ou  had  a  bastard  by  I'ohxenes, 
And  1  butdream'd  it:— As  you  were  past  all  shame, 
(  Thoie  of  your  fact'  are  so,)  so  past  all  truth: 
Which  to  deny,  concerns  more  than  avails: 
For  as 

Thy  brat  Iiath  been  cast  out,  like  to  ilself, 
No  father  owning  it,  (which  is.  indeed,  f 

More  criminal  m  thee,  than  it,)  so  thou 
Shalt  feel  our  justice  ;  m  whose  easiest  passage, 
Look  for  no  less  than  death. 

Her.  Sir,  spare  your  threats; 

The  hug,  which  you  would  fright  me  with,  1  seek. 

3  SolliMiie  lai.l.  *  Own.  pn.'Jsess. 

»  Ts  H  ithiu  the  roach.    '^  Thoy  who  have  done  lil:c  you. 


To  me  can  life  be  no  coinmodity  : 

The  crown  and  comfort  of  my  life,  your  favor, 

I  do  give  lost;  for  1  do  feel  it  gone, 

But  know  not  how  it  went:  My  second  joy. 

And  first  fruits  of  my  body,  from  his  presence, 

I  am  barrd  Uke  one  infectious:  My  tiiird  comfort; 

Starr'd  most  unluckily,  is  from  my  breast. 

The  innocent  milk  in  its  most  innocent  mouth, 

Haled  out  to  murder :  Myself  on  every  post 

I'roclaim'd  a  strumpcl;   "iVith  immodest  hatred, 

The  child-bed  privilege  denied,  which  'longs 

I'o  women  of  all  fashion  :— Lastly,  hurried 

Here  to  this  place,  i  the  open  air,  before 

I  have  got  strength  of  limit.'    Now,  my  liege, 

Tell  me  what  blessings  I  have  here  alive. 

That  1  should  fear  to  die  !     Therefore,  proceed. 

lint  yet,  hear  this;  mistake  me  not ; No  !  life, 

1  prize  It  not  a  straw  :— but  for  mine  honor, 
(Which  I  would  free,)  if  1  sliaU  be  condcmn'd 
Upon  surmises  ;  all  proofs  sleeping  else. 
But  what  your  jealousies  awake;   1  tell  you, 
'  ri*  rigor,  and  not  law. — Y'our  lionors  all, 
I  do  refer  me  to  the  oracle ; 
Apollo  be  my  judge. 

1  Lord.  This  your  request 

Is  altogether  just :  therefore,  bring  lorlh, 
And  m  .Apollo's  name,  his  oracle. 

\Kxeant  certain  Officers 

Her.  The  emperor  of  Russia  was  my  father  : 
O,  that  he  were  alive,  and  here  beholding 
His  daughter's  trial !  that  he  did  but  see 
The  flatness  of  my  misery  ;  yet  with  eyes 
Of  pity,  not  revenge ! 

Re-enter  Officers  with  Clkomf.nes  and  Diojr. 

Offi.  Y'ou  liere  shall  swear  upon  tliis  sword  of 
justice, 
.That  you,  Cleomencs  and  Dion,  have 
lieen  both  at  Delphos;  and  from  thence  have  brought 
'fhis  seal'd  up  oracle,  by  the  hand  deliver  d 
Of  great  Apollo's  priest:  and  that,  since  then, 
You  have  not  dared  to  break  the  lioly  seal. 
Nor  read  the  secrets  int. 

Cleo.  Din.  All  this  we  swear. 

Leon.    Break  up  the  seals  and  read. 

Ofli.  iReads.]  Hermione  U  cliuste,  Polixenes 
blameless.  Camiilo  a  true  suli/ecl,  Leontes  a  Jeal- 
ous torunt,  Aia  innocent  babe  truly  begotten i  and 
the  king  thall  live  without  an  heir,  if  that,  which 
is  lost,  he  not  found. 

Lords.  K  ovv  blessed  be  the  great  Apollo  ! 

Her,  Praised. 

Leon.  Hast  thou  read  truth  ! 

Offi.  Ay,  my  lord ;  even  so 

,\s  It  is  here  set  down. 

Leon.  There  is  no  truth  at  .ill  i'the  oracle: 
The  sessions  shall  proceed  ;  this  is  mere  falsehood. 

Enter  a  Servant,  hastily. 

Serv.  My  lord  the  king,  the  king ! 

X,f„)j.  What  is  the  business ! 

Serv.  0  sir,  I  shall  be  hated  to  report  it: 
The  prince  your  son,  with  mere  conceit  and  fear 
Of  the  queen's  speed,'  is  goiie. 

Leon.  How!  gone? 

Serv.  ^^  dead, 

Leon.  Apollo's  angry:  and  the  heavens  them- 
selves ,  .   J   ,  „ 
Dostrike  at  my  injustice.  [HEUMioNE/ui»fc.]  How 
now  there  ! 

Paul.  This  news  is  mortal  to  the  queen :— Look 
down, 
\nd  see  what  death  is  doing. 

Lf„n.  Take  her  hence: 

Her  heart  is  but  o'ercharged  ;  she  will  recover — 
I  have  too  much  believ'd  mine  own  suspicion  : — 
Beseech  you,  tenderly  apply  to  her 
Some  remedies  for  life.— Apollo,  pardon 

[Exeunt  P.tuLiN.t  and  Ladies,  with  Herm. 
My  great  profaneness  'gainst  thine  oracle  !— 
I'll  reconcile  me  to  Polixenes  ;         ^  „      .„ 
New  woo  my  queen;  recall  the  good  Camillo, 
Whom  I  proclaim  a  man  of  truth,  ol  mercy  : 
For,  being  transported  by  my  jealousies 
To  bloody  thoughts  and  to  revenge,  I  chose 
Camillo  for  the  minister,  to  poison 

1  I  c  The  degree  of  strength  which  it  ia  customary  to 
aciiuire  l«.-fore  women  arc  BUlTcrcd  to  go  abroaj  aOt* 
chiia-bcaring.  . 

«  Of  the  event  of  the  queen's  trial. 


Scene  111. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


239 


My  friend  Poiixriies:  wltirli  had  bren  done, 
But  that  the  pood  tiiiiid  of  Caiiiillr)  tardied 
I\lj-  swift  command,  though  I  with  death,  and  with 
Jieward,  did  threaten  and  eiicoura{:e  him. 
Not  doinii;  it,  and  beitiji  done :  he,  most  humane, 
And  fiird  witli  Iionor,  to  my  kinf^ly  puest 
Unc]a<p"d  my  practice;  quit  his  fortunes  here, 
Wliich  you  knew  great ;  and  to  the  certain  hazard 
cf  all  incertainties  himself  commended. 
No  richer  than  his  honor: — How  he  glisters 
Through  my  rust!  and  how  his  piety 
Does  my  deeds  make  the  blacker  ! 
Re-enter  PArLixA. 

Pant.  Woe  the  while  ! 

n,  cut  my  lace  ;  lest  my  heart,  cracking  it, 
Break  too  ! 

1  Loril.  What  fit  is  this,  good  ladvl 

Paul.  What  studied  torments,  tyrant,  hast  for  me? 
What  wheels?  racks!  fires!   What  flaying!  boiling, 
In  leads,  or  oils  !  what  old,  or  newer  torture 
Must  I  receive;  wliose  every  word  deserves      - 
To  taste  of  thy  most  worst !  Thy  tyranny 
Together  working  with  tliy  jealousies, — 
Fancies  too  weak  for  boys."  too  green  and  Idle 
For  girls  of  nine  !— O,  think,  what  they  have  done. 
And  then  run  mad,  indeed  ;  stark  mad  !  for  all 
Thy  by-gone  fooleries  were  but  spices  of  it. 
That  thou  betray'dst  Polixencs,  'twas  nothing; 
That  did  but  show  thee,  of  a  fool,  inconstant. 
And  danniable  ungrateful:  nor  wast  much. 
Thou  wouldst  have  poison'd  good  Camillo's  honor, 
To  have  Iiini  kill  a  "king  ;  poor  trespasses, 
More  monstrou.s  standing  oy  :  whereof  I  reckon 
The  casting  forth  to  crows  thy  baby  daughter. 
To  be  or  none,  or  little  ;  though  a  devil 
Would  have  shed  water  out  of  fire,»  ere  done't; 
Nor  ist  directly  laid  to  thee,  the  death 
Of  tlie  young  prince,  who.^e  honorable  thoughts 
(Thoughts  hlirh  for  one  so  tender)  cleft  the  heart 
That  could  conceive,  a  gross  and  foolish  sire 
Blemish  d  his  gracious  dam:  this  is  not,  no. 
Laid  to  thy  answer  :  But  the  last.— (),  lord.s. 
When  I  have  said,  cry,  woe  !— the  queen,  the  queen, 
The  sweetest,  dearest,  creature's  dead  ;    and  ven- 
geance for't 
Not  droppd  down  jet.  • 

1  X/Orrf.  The  higher  powers  forbid  .' 

Paul.  I   say.  she's  dead;  I'U  swear't:  if  word, 
nor  oath, 
Prevail  not,  go  and  see:  if  you  can  bring 
Tincture  or  lustre,  in  her  lip.  her  eye. 
Heat  outwardly,  or  breath  within.  I'll  serve  you 
As  I  would  do  the  gods.— But.  O  thou  tyrant ! 
Do  not  repent  the.se  things  ;  for  they  are  heavier 
Than  all  thy  woes  can  stir :  therefore  betake  thee 
To  nothing  hut  despair.    A  thousand  knees 
Ten  thousand  years  together,  naked,  fasting, 
Vpon  a  barren  mountain,  and  still  winter 
In  storm  perpetual,  could  not  move  the  gods 
To  look  that  way  thou  wert. 

Leon.  Go  on,  go  on  : 

Thou  canst  not  speak  too  much  :  I  have  deserVd 
Ail  tongues  to  talk  their  bitterest. 

1  I-nr(t.  <!ay  no  more ; 

Howe'cr  the  business  goes,  you  have  made  fault 
rtlie  boldness  of  your  speech. 

Paul.  I  am  sorry  for't ; 

All  faults  I  make,  when  I  shall  come  to  know  them, 
1  do  repent:  Alas,  I  have  show'd  too  much 
The  rashness  of  a  woman  :  he  is  louch'd 
To  the  noble  heart.— What's  gone,  and  what's  past 

help. 
Should  be  past  grief:  Do  not  receive  alTliction 
At  my  petition,  I  beseech  you  ;  ratlier 
Let  me  be  punish'd.  that  have  minded  yon 
Of  what  you  should  fori.'et.    Now,  good  my  lice. 
Sir,  royal  sir,  forgive  a  foolish  woman  :  ° 

The  love  I  bore  your  queen,— lo,  fool  again  !— 
Ml  speak  of  her  no  more,  nor  of  your  children ; 
1  11  not  remember  you  of  my  own  lord. 
Who  is  lost  too  :  Take  your  patience  to  you. 
And  I'll  say  nothing. 

„.^^o"-  Thou  didst  speak  but  well. 

\\  hen  most  the  truth;  which  I  receive  much  better 
Than  to  be  pitied  of  thee.    Prythee.  bring  me 
To  the  dead  bodies  of  my  queen  and  son  : 
One  grave  shall  be  for  both;  upon  them  shall 

•  1  f.  A  devil  wniiM    hnre  shed    ti-nrs  of  ritv,  erp  he 
woTllJ  Lave  periietnitud  fuch  ;tu  a  tion. 


The  causes  of  their  death  appear,  unto 

Our  shame  perpetual :    once  a  day  111  visit 

The  chajiel  where  they  lie  ;  and  tears  shed  there, 

.^liall  be  my  recreation  :   So  Ions  as 

Nature  will  bear  up  with  this  exercise. 

So  long  1  daily  vow  to  use  it.    Come, 

.\nd  lead  me  to  these  sorrows.  [_E.retini, 

SCENE  III.— Bohemia.    A   de.seri  Cuunlry  near 
ilie  Sea. 

Enter  AxTioosrs,  with  the  Child ;  and  a  M.ariner. 

Ant.   Thou  art  'perfect"    then,  our    ship    hath 
touch'd  ujion 
The  deserts  of  Buhcmia  T 

Miir.  .\y,  my  lord,  and  fear 

We  have  landed  in  ill  tiine  :  the  skies  look  grimly, 
.\nd  threaten  present  blusters.  In  my  conscience, 
The  heavens  with  that  we  have  in  hand  are  angry, 
.\nd  frown  upon  us. 

Ant.  Their  sacred  wills  he  done! — Go. sret  aboard; 
Look  to  thy  bark;  111  not  be  long,  before 
I  call  upon  thee. 

Mitr.  Make  your  best  haste;  and  go  not 
Toi)  lar  i'the  land  :  'tis  like  to  be  loud  weither  ; 
Besides,  this  place  is  t'amous  for  the  creatu.es 
Of  prey,  that  keep  upon't. 

An/.  Go  thou  away: 

I'll  fiillow  instantly. 

M'ir.  •  I  am  glad  at  lieart 

To  he  so  rid  o'the  business.  {Exit. 

A  nt.  Come,  poor  babe  : 

I  have  heard,  (but  not  believ'd,)  the  spirits  of  the 

dead 
May  walk  again  :  if  .such  thing  be.  thy  mother 
Appear'd  to  me  last  night;  for'ne'crwas  dream 
So  like  a  waking.    To  me  comes  a  creature, 
Sonietimes  her  iiead  tin  one  side,  some  another  ; 
I  never  saw  a  vessel  of  like  sorrow. 
So  fill'd,  and  so  becoming  ;  in  pure  white  robes, 
Like  very  sanctity,  she  did  approach 
My  cabin  where  1  lay :  thrice  bow'd  before  mc; 
And  gasping  to  begin  some  speech,  her  eyes 
Became  two  spouts;  the  fury  spent,  anon 
Did  this  break  from  her;  Good  Antigonus, 
Sinrefate,  anainst  tli\i  belter  rilsposiliim, 
Hitti  made  tliy  perfoii  far  I  fie  throuer-imt 
Of  my  poor  bade,  accordinx  tii  l/Une  (latlt. — 
Places  remote  enough  are  in  BoI;emia, 
There  weep,  and  leave  it  cnjing,-   and,  fur  iht  babe 
Is  counted  lost  fur  evtr,  Perdita, 
Iprifthee,  calt't;  fur  thi.t  uns:en/te  business. 
Put  0)1  thee  hu  my  lord.  Ihou  ne'er  shall  see 
Thy  wife  Paulina  more: — and  so,  with  shrieks, 
Shi'  melted  into  air.    .^lii-ightcd  much. 
1  did  in  time  collect  myself;  and  thought 
This  was  so,  and  no  slumber.     Preanis  are  toys; 
\e\,  for  this  once.  yea.  snperstiliously, 
I  will  be  squared  by  this.    I  do  believe, 
llermione  hath  sulicr'd  death;  and  that 
.■\pollo  would,  this  being  indeed  the  issue 
Of  king  Polixenes.  it  should  here  he  laid. 
Either  for  life,  or  death,  ujion  the  earth 
Of  its  right  father.— Blossom,  speed  thee  well ! 

[Laying  down  the  Child. 
There  lie  ;  and  there  thy  cbaracter:^  there  these  ; 

[Laying  down  a  bundle. 
Which  may,  if  fortune  please,  both   breed  thee, 
pretty. 

And  still  rest  thine. The  storm  begins; — Poor 

wretch. 
That,  for  thy  mother's  fault,  art  thus  expos'd 
To  loss,  and  what  may  follow  !— Weep  I  cannot. 
But  my  heart  bleeds    and  most  accurs'd  am  I, 
To  he  by  oath  enjoin'd  to  this.- Farewell! 
The  day  frowns  more  and  more;  thou  art  like  to  have 
\  lullaby  toorouirh:  I  never  saw 
The  heavens  so  dim  by  day.    ;\  savage  clamor  ! — 
Well  may  1  gel  aboard  !— This  is  the  chase; 
I  am  gone  forever.  [Exit,  pursued  bij  a  B:ar. 

Enter  an  old  Shepherd. 

Shep.  I  would  there  were  no  age  between  ten 
and  three  and  twenty  ;  or  that  youth  would  sleep 
out  the  rest:  for  there  is  nothing  in  the  between 
but    getting  wenches    with    child,  wronging    the 

'  Wei]  assured. 

'Tlie  writing  afterward  discovered  with  Perdita. 

'l-'l"l<'.  •Female  infiint 


240 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  IV. 


ancientry,  stealing:,  fisli'ifio- Hark  you  now! — 

Would  any  but  these  boiled  brains  of  nineteen,  and 
two  and  twenty,  hunt  this  weather  .'  They  have 
scared  away  two  of  my  be;:"t  siieep ;  which,  I  fear, 
the  wolf  wdl  sooner  find,  than  tlie  master :  if  any 
wliere  I  have  them,  'tis  by  ihe  sea-side,  browzing 
on  ivy.  Ciood  luck,  an  t  be  thy  will!  what  have  we 
here  !  [Tnkiiig  up  Ihe  Child.]  Mercy  on's.  a  barne  ;' 
a  very  pretty  barne  !  A  boy,  or  a  child,'  1  wonder? 
A  pretty  one;  a  very  pretty  one  :  Sure,  some  scape  : 
though  I  am  not  bookish,  yet  I  can  read  waiting- 
gentlewoman  in  tlie  scape.  This  has  been  some 
stair-work,  some  trunk-work,  some  behind-door- 
work  :  they  were  warmer  that  got  this,  than  the 
poor  thins'is  here.  I  11  take  it  up  for  pity  :  Yet  I'll 
tarry  till  niy  son  come ;  he  halloed  but  even  now. 
Whoa,  ho  hoa! 

Enter  piown. 

Clo.  Hilloa,  loa! 

Sliep.  What,  art  so  near  1  if  thou' It  see  a  thing 
to  talk  on  when  thou  art  dead  and  rotten,  come 
hither.    What  ailest  thou,  man  ! 

Clo.  I  lia\e  seen  two  such  sights,  by  sea  and  by 
land;— but  I  am  not  to  say,  it  is  a  sea.  for  it  is 
now  the  sky;  betwixt  the  hrmament  and  it,  you 
cannot  thrust  a  b<idkin's  point. 

Sliep.  Why,  boy,  how  is  it ! 

Clo.  I  would  you  did  but  see  how  it  chafes,  how 
it  rases,  how  it  lakes  up  the  shore!  but  that's  not 
to  the  point:  0,  the  most  piteous  cry  of  the  poor 
souls  !  sometimes  to  sec  'em,  and*not  to  sec  cm: 
now  the  ship  boring  the  moon  with  her  mainmast; 
and  anon  swallowed  with  yest  and  froth,  as  you'd 
thrust  a  cork  into  a  hogshead.  And  then  for  the 
land  service. — To  see  how  the  bear  tore  out  his 
shoulder-bone;  how  he  cried  to  me  for  help,  and 
said  his  name  was  Antigoous,  a  nobleman:— But  to 
make  an  end  of  the  ship  :  to  see  how  the  sea  rtap- 
dragoncd'  it: — but,  first,  how  tlie  poor  souls  roared, 
and  the  sea  mocked  them; — and  liow  the  poor  gen- 


tleman roared,  and  the  bear  mocked  him,  both  roar 
ing  louder  than  sea  or  weather. 

Shep.  'Name  of  mercy,  when  was  this,  boy  : 

Clo.  Now,  now;  I  have  not  wduked  since  I  saw 
these  sights :  the  men  are  not  yet  cold  under  water, 
nor  the  bear  half  dined  on  the  gentleman  :  he's  at 
It  now. 

Sh^p.  Would  I  liad  been  by,  to  have  helped  the 
old  man  ! 

Clo.  I  would  you  had  been  by  the  ship  side,  to 
have  helped  her;  there  your  chanty  would  have 
lacked  fooling.  [.l4!(ie. 

Shep.  Heavy  matters!  heavy  matters!  but  look 
thee  here,  boy.  Now  bless  thyself;  thou  met'st 
with  things  dying,  T  with  things  new-born.  Here's 
a  sight  for  tliee;  look  thee,  a  bearing-clotli'^  for  a 
squire's  child!  Look  thee  here  :  take  up,  take  up, 
boy  ;  open't.  So,  let's  see :  It  was  told  me,  I  should 
be  rich  by  the  fairies ;  this  is  some  changeling; — 
open  t  :    What's  within,  boy  1 

Clo.  You're  a  made  old  man :  if  the  sins  of  your 
youth  are  forgiven  you,  you're  well  to  live.  Gold! 
all  gold  ! 

S/iep.  This  is  fairy  gold,  boy.  and  'twill  prove  so : 
up  with  It,  keep  it  close;  home,  home,  the  next 
way.  We  are  lucky,  boy  ;  and  to  be  so  still,  re- 
quires nothing  but  secrecy. — Let  my  sheep  go: — 
Come,  good  boy.  the  next  way  home. 

Cifi.  Go  you  the  next  way  with  your  findings; 
I'll  go  see  it  the  bear  be  gone  from  the  gentleman 
and  how  much  he  hath  eaten  :  they  are  never  curst 
but  when  they  are  hungry  :  if  there  be  any  of  him 
left,  I'll  bury  it. 

tflifp.  That's  a  good  deed:  If  thou  mayst  dis 
cern  by  that  which  is  left  of  him,  what  he  is,  fetch 
me  to  the  sight  of  him. 

Clii.  IMarry,  will  I ;  and  you  shall  help  to  put 
him  i'the  ground. 

Shep.  ''t'ls  a  lucky  day,  boy  ;  and  we'll  do  good 
deeds  on't.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 


Ei:ler  Time,  ns  Chorus 
Time.  I,— that  please  some,  try  all ;  both  joy  and 

terror. 
Of  sood  and  bad  ;  that  make,  and  unfold  error,— 
Now  take  upon  me,  in  the  name  of  Time, 
To  use  my  wingti.    Impute  it  not  a  crime, 
To  me,  or  my  swift  passage,  that  I  slide 
Cl'er  sixteen  years,  and  leave  the  growth  untried 
Of  that  wide  gap:  since  it  is  in  my  power 
To  o'erthrow  law,  and  in  one  self-born  hour 
To  plant  and  o'erwhclm  custom  :  Let  me  pass 
The  same  I  am,  ere  ancient'st  order  was. 
Or  what  is  now  received :  I  witness  to 
The  times  that  brought  them  in;  so  shall  I  do 
To  the  freshest  things  now  reigning;  and  make  stale 
Tlie  glistering  of  this  present,  as  my  tale 
Nowseems  to  it.    Your  patience  this  allowing, 
I  turn  my  glass ;  and  give  my  scene  such  growing. 
As  you  hail  slept  between.    Leontes  leaving 
The  etlects  of  his  tbnd  jealousies  ;  so  grieving, 
That  he  siiuts  up  himself;  imagine  me, 
Gentle  spectators,  that  1  now  may  be 
In  fiir  liohemia  ;  and  remember  well, 
1  mentioned  a  son  o'the  king's,  which  Florizel 
I  now  name  to  you  ;  and  with  speed  so  pace 
To  speak  of  Pe'rdita,  now  grown  in  grace 
Equal  with  wond'ring  :  What  of  her  ensues, 
I  list  not  prophecy  ;  but  let  Time's  news 
Be  known,  when  'tis  brouglit  forth  :— a  shepherd's 

daughter. 
And  what  to  her  adheres  which  follows  after. 
Is  the  arguiiienf  of  time:  Of  this  allow. 
If  ever  you  have  spent  time  worse  ere  now  ; 
If  never  yet.  that  Time  himself  doth  say, 
He  wishes  earnestly,  you  never  may.  [Exit. 

SCENE  I. — Bohemia.     .4  Room  in  the  Palace  of 
Pohxenes. 

Enter  Poiixkxks  and  Ca:«illo. 

Vol.  I  pray  thee,  good  Camillo,  be  no  more  imi»or- 
tunatc :  'tis  a  sickness,  denying  thee  anything;  a 
death,  to  grant  this. 
•  A  child.     «  Female  infiiut.       '  Swallowed.      '  Subject. 


Cam.  II  is  fifteen  years,  since  I  saw  my  country, 
though  I  have,  for  the  most  part,  been  aired  abroad 
I  desire  to  lay  my  bones  there.  Besides,  the  peni 
tent  king,  my  master,  hath  sent  for  me  :  to  whose 
feeling  sorrows  I  might  be  some  allay,  or  I  o'er 
ween«  to  think  so;  which  is  another  spur  to  my 
departure. 

Pol.  As  thou  lovest  me,  Camillo,  wipe  not  ou' 
the  rest  of  tliv  services,  by  leaving  me  now:  the 
need  I  have  ot'thee,  thine  own  eoodness  hath  made- 
better  not  to  have  had  thee,  than  thus  to  want  thee ; 
thou,  having  made  the  businesses,  which  none,  with 
out  thee,  can  sufliciently  manage,  must  either  stay 
to  execute  them  thyself,  or  take  away  with  thee  the 
very  services  thou  hast  done  :  which  if  I  have  not 
enough  considered,  (as  too  much  1  cannot,)  to  be 
more  thankful  to  thee,  sliall  be  my  study  ;  and  my 
profit  therein,  the  heajiing  friendships.  Of  that 
fatal  country,  Sicilia,  prythee  speak  no  more; 
whose  very  naming  punishes  me  with  the  remem 
brance  of  that  penitent,  as  thou  call'st  him,  and 
reconciled  king,  my  brother;  whose  loss  of  his  most 
precious  queen,  and  children,  are  even  now  to  be 
afresh  lamented.  Say  to  me,  when  saw'st  thou  the 
prince  Florizel,  my  son?  Kings  are  no  less  unhappy, 
their  issue  not  being  gracious,  than  they  are  in  losing 
them,  when  they  have  approved  their  virtues. 

Cam.  Sir,  it  is  three  days,  since  I  saw  the  prince: 
What  his  happier  affairs  may  be,  are  to  me  un- 
known :  but  I  have,  ntissingly,  noted.®  he  is  of  late 
much  retired  from  court ;  and  is  less  frequent  to  his 
princely  exercises,  than  formerly  he  hath  appeared. 

Pol.  I  liave  considered  so  much,  Camillo;  and, 
with  some  care  ;  so  far,  that  I  have  eyes  under  my 
.service,  which  look  upon  his  reinovedness  ;  from 
whom  1  have  this  intelligence:  That  he  is  seldom 
from  tlie'house  of  a  most  homely  shepherd  :  a  man 
they  say,  that  from  very  nothing,  and  beyond  the 
imagination  of  his  neighbors,  is  grown  into  an  un- 
speakable estate. 

Cam.  1  have  heard,  sir,  of  such  a  man,  who  hath 
a  daughter  of  most  rare  note  :  the  report  of  her  is 

6  Tlic  mantle  in  which  n  t-hilil  wns  earned  to  be  liapUzed. 
B  Thiuk  too  bii^bly  of  ntj-Jelf.      »ObserYcil  at  intervals 


Scene  II. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


241 


extended  mure,  tlian  can  be  tlioiight  to  begin  from 
such  a  cottage. 

Pol.  That's  iikewise  part  of  my  intelligence.  But. 
I  fear  the  anj;le  that  plucks  our  son  thitlmr.  Thou 
shalt  accompany  ns  to  the  phicc:  where  we  will, 
not  appearm^;  what  wo  are,  have  some  question 
with  tlie  shepherd  ;  from  wliosc  simplicity.  I  think 
it  not  uneasy  to  gel  the  cause  of  my  son's  resort 
thither.  Pry  thee,  he  my  present  partner  in  this 
business,  and  lay  aside  the  thoui;hts  of  Siciha. 

Cam.  I  willin^rly  oht-y  your  command. 

Pol.  My  best  CamiUo!— We  must  disg;uise  our- 
selves. [Exeunt. 

SCEiVE  11.—^  Road  near  the  Shepherd's  Cultage, 

Enter  Autoltcvs,  sinsing. 

When  daffodils  begin  to  peer,— 
With  tidgh!  the  dnxij  over  the  dalfy— 

Why  then  comes  in  llie  sweet  o'ihe  year; 
Fur  the  red  blovi  reigns  in  the  ivinter^s  pale. 

The  white  sheet  hkiichin°  on  the  hedge. — 

WUh,  hey.'  ttie  sweel  birds,  0  how  they  sing! 

Doth  set  my  pugging  tooth  on  edge; 
For  a  quart  of  ale  is  a  dish  for  a  Icing. 

Ttic  lark,  that  firra-lirra  rhunfs, — 

Wilh,  key.'  unth  hfy!  the  thrush  and  f  tie  Jay: 
Are  sunu/ters'  snugs  fir  tue  au.d  my  attntSy 

While  we  lie  tu/nbling  in  tlie  hay 

I  have  served  prince  Florizol,  and,  in  my  time,  wore 
three-pile;'  but  now  1  am  out  of  service: 

But  shall  T  go  jnourn  for  that,  my  dear?      [Sings. 

The  pale  moon  shines  by  niKht: 
And  when  I  wander  liere  and  tfiere-, 

I  t/ien  do  most  go  right. 

If  tinker'^  may  have  leave  to  livCy 

And  hear  Ifie  sow-skin  budget* 
Then  my  account  I  well  may  give, 

And  in  the  stocks  avouch  it. 

My  traffic  is  sheets  ;  when  the  kite  builds,  look  to 
lesser  liuiea.  My  f.ither  named  mc,  Autolycus; 
who.  being,  as  I  am,  littered  under  Mercury,  was 
likewise  a  snapper-up  of  unconsidered  trilles:  With 
dip-  and  drab,  I  purchased  this  caparison  ;  and  my 
revenue  is  the  silly  cheat  :■*  Gallows,  and  knock,  are 
too  powerful  nn  the  highway  ;  heating  and  hanging, 
are  terrors  to  me;  for  the  htc  to  come,  I  sleep  out 
the  thought  of  it. — A  prize  !  a  prize! 
Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  Let  me  see  : — Every  'leven  weather — -tods  : 
every  tod  yields — pound  and  odd  shilling:  lifleeii 
hundred  shorn, — What  comes  the  wool  to  ? 

iut.  If  the  springe  hold,  tlic  cocks  mine. 

[Asi-le. 

Clo*  I  cannot  do't  without  counters. — Let  me  see  : 
what  am  I  to  buy  for  our  sheep-shearing  feast? 
Three  pound  of  sugar,-  five  pound  (f  currants.-  rice, 

What  will  this  sister  of  mine  do  with  rice?  But 

my  father  hatii  made  lier  mistress  of  the  feast,  and 
she  lays  it  on.  Slie  hath  made  me  four-and-twenty 
nosegays  for  the  ::hearers:  three-man  song-men^ 
all,  and  very  good  ones;  hut  they  are  most  of  them 
means*  and  bases:  hut  one  Puritan  amongst  them, 
and  he  sings  psalms  to  hornpipes.  I  must  have 
saffron,  to  color  the  warden  pies  ;»  mace, — iates,— 
none;  that's  out  of  my  note:  nutmegs,  seven  ,-  a 
race,  or  two,  of  ginger,-  but  that  1  may  beg;— /uwr 
pound  of  prunes,  and /is  many  of  raisins  o^the  sun. 

Aut.  O,  that  ever  I  was  liorn  ! 

[Grovelling  on  the  ground. 

Clo.  rthe  name  of  me. 

Aut.  O  help  me,  lielp  me!  pluck  but  ofT  these 
rags;  and  then,  death,  death  ! 

Clo.  Alack,  poor  soul !  ihou  hast  need  of  more 
rags  to  lay  on  thee,  ralher  than  have  those  off. 

Aut.  (),  sir,  the  loathsomeness  of  them  olFends 
me  more  than  the  suipcs  1  have  received ;  which 
are  mighty  ones  and  millinn.'. 

Clo.  Alas,  poor  man!  a  million  of  beating  may 
come  to  .1  great  mattt-r. 

Aut.  I  am  robbed,  sir.  and  beaten  ;  mv  money 
and  apparel  ta'en  from  me,  and  these  detestable 
things  put  upon  me. 


:  Rich  velvot. 

9  Singers  of  oatcbcs  in  tlirpp  pirts. 
» I'ies  mitde  of  a  ppocics  of  pears, 
li 


*  Picking  ito'-kcts. 
■1  Ten  11-s. 


Clo.  What,  by  a  horse-man,  or  a  foot-man  J 

Aut.  A  fjot-man,  sweet  sir,  a  foot-man. 

Clo.  Indeed,  be  should  be  a  foot-man,  by  the  gar- 
ments he  hath   Iffl  with  thee;  if  this  be  a  horse- 
mans  coat,  it  h;ith  seen  very  hot  service.    Lend  me 
thy  hand,  111  help  thee  :  come,  lend  me  thy  lund. 
[Hflping  Idni  up. 

Aut.  o!  good  sir,  tenderly,  oh ! 

Clo.  Alas,  poor  soul. 

Aut.  (),  good  sir,  soltly,  good  sir:  I  fear,  sir,  my 
shoulder-blade  is  out. 

Co.  How  now  !  canst  stand! 

Ant.  Softly,  dear  sir  ;  [Picks  his  pockff.]  good  sir, 
softly  :  you  ha"  done  me  a  charitable  otHce. 

C'.'".  Dost  lack  any  money  !  I  have  a  little  money 
for  thee. 

Aut.  No,  good  sweet  sir;  no.  I  beseech  you,  sir. 
I  have  a  kinsman  not  past  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
hence,  unto  whom  I  was  going  ;  I  shall  there  have 
money,  or  anything  I  want;  Offer  me  no  money,  I 
pray  you  :  that  kills  my  heart. 

C!o.  What  manner  of  fellow  was  he  that  robbed 
yon  1 

Aut.  A  fellow,  sir,  that  I  have  known  to  go  about 
with  trol-my-d.imes  :»  I  knew  him  once  a  servant 
of  tlie  prinoo ;  I  cannot  tell,  good  sir,  for  which  of 
his  virtues  it  was,  but  he  was  certainly  whipped  out 
of  the  court. 

Clo.  His  vices,  you  would  say;  there's  no  virtue 
whipped  out  of  the  court :  they  cherish  it,  to  make 
it  stay  there  ;  and  yet  it  will  no  more  but  abide. 

Aut.  Vices  I  would  say,  sir.  I  know  this  man 
well:  he  hath  been  since  an  ape-hearer;  then  a 
process-server,  a  bailiff;  then  he  compassed  a  mo- 
tion"' of  tlie  prodigal  son,  and  married  a  tinker's 
wile  witliin  a  mUe  where  my  land  aiid  living  lies; 
and,  having  llown  over  many  knavish  professions, 
he  settled  only  in  rogue:  some  call  him  Autoly- 
cus. 

Clo,  Out  upon  him  !  Prig,  for  my  life,  prig:  he 
haunts  wakes,  tairs,  and  bear-baitings. 

Aut.  Very  true,  sir ;  he,  sir,  he  ;  that's  the  rogue, 
th;it  put  me  into  this  apparel. 

Clo.  Not  a  more  cowardly  rogue  in  all  Bohemia  : 
if  you  had  but  looked  big,  and  spit  at  him,  he'd 
have  run. 

Aut.  1  mu"^!  confess  to  you,  sir,  I  am  nn  fighter  : 
I  am  false  of  heart  that  way  ;  and  that  he  knew,  I 
warrant  him. 

Clo.  How  do  you  now? 

Aut.  Sweet  sir.  much  better  than  I  was;  T  can 
stand,  and  walk:  I  will  even  take  my  leave  of  you, 
anii  pace  sortly  towards  my  kinsman's. 

C'/i.  Shall  i  bring  thee  on  the  way  ! 

Aut.  No.  good-ficed  sir;  no.  sweet  sir. 

Clo.  'I'hen  fare  thee  well ;  I  must  go  buy  spices 
for  our  sheep-shearing. 

A'if.  Prosper  you.  sweet  sir!  —  [Exit  Clown.] 
Your  purse  is  not  hot  enough  to  purchase  your 
spice.  I'll  be  with  you  at  your  sheei)-shearihg  ton  : 
If  I  make  not  this  cheat  bring  out  another,  and  the 
shearers  prove  sheep,  let  me  be  unrolled,  and  my 
name  put  in  the  book  of  virtue! 

Jog  on, jog  on,  the  foot-path  way, 
And  merrily  lient^  the  stile-a: 

A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day^ 
Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a.  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.— .4  Shepherd's  Cottage. 
Enter  Floiiizel  and  PEUDirA. 

Flo,  These  yourunusual  weeds  to  each  part  of  you 
Do  give  a  life:  no  shepherdess  ;  but  Flora, 
Peering  in  April's  front.    This  your  sheep-shearing 
Is  as  a  meeting  of  the  petty  gods, 
And  you  the  queen  on  t. 

Pt-r.  Sir,  my  gracious  lord. 

To  chide  at  your  extremes,'  it  not  becomes  me  ; 
(),  pardon,  that  I  name  them:  your  liiicli  self, 
The  gracious  mark'  o"  the  land,  you  iiave  obscuivd 
With  a  swain's  wearing;  and  me.  poor  lowly  maid. 
Most  ii;oddess-like  prankd'^  up:  But  th:a  our  feasts 
In  every  mess  have  folly,  and  the  feeders 
Digest  it  with  a  custom,  I  should  biusli 
To  see  you  so  attired  ;  sworn,  I  think, 
To  show  myself  a  glass. 

6  The  macliine  used  in  the  game  of  pigeon  holed. 
1  Pmipr-t-show.  »Take  holLl  of.  "»  Escessus. 

1  0' ject  of  all  men's  notice,  a  Dressed  with  ostentation- 


212 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  17. 


Flo.  I  bless  tlie  time, 

When  my  good  falcon  made  her  llight  across 
Thy  fathers  ground. 

Per.  Now  Jove  afford  you  cause! 

To  me  the  difference*  forges  dread;  your  greatness 
Hath  not  bfen  used  to  fear.    Even  now  I  tremble 
To  think,  your  fiitlier,  by  some  accident, 
Should  pass  this  way,  as  you  did  :  (),  the  fates  ! 
How  would  he  look,  to  see  his  work,  so  noble, 
Vilely  bound  up  1    What  would  he  say  ]  Or  how 
Should  I,  in  these  my  borrow  d  llaunla,  behoid 
The  sternness  of  his  presence  1 

Flo.  Apprehend 

Nolhimr  but  jollity.    The  gods  iht-mselxcs. 
Humbling  their  deities  to  love,  have  taken 
The  shapes  of  beasts  upon  them  :  Jupiter 
Became  a  bull,  and  bellowd  ;  the  green  Keptune 
A  ram,  and  bleated  ;  and  the  fire-rob'd  god, 
Golden  Apnllo.  a  poor  humble  swain, 
As  I  seem  now:  Their  transformations 
Were  never  for  a  piece  of  beauty  rarer  ; 
Kor  in  a  way  so  chaste :  since  my  desires 
lUni  not  betbre  mine  honor;  nor  my  lusls 
Burn  hotter  than  my  faith. 

Per.  O  but,  dear  sir, 

Your  resolution  cannot  hold,  when  tis 
Opposd,  as  it  must  be,  by  the  power  o'the  king  : 
One  uf  these  t^vo  must  be  necessities, 
Which  then  will  speak  ;  that  you  must  change  this 

purpose, 
Or  I  my  life. 

Flo.  Thnu  dearest  Pcrdita, 

With  these  forced  thoui:hts,  I  prythee,  darken  not 
The  mirth  o'the  feast:  Or  Til  be  "thine,  my  fair, 
Or  not  my  father's  :  for  I  cannot  be 
Mine  own.  nor  any  thing  to  any,  if 
1  be  not  thine:  to  this  1  am  most  constant, 
Though  destiny  say,  no.    Jic  merry,  gentle; 
Strangle  such  thoughts  as  these,  with  any  tiling 
That  you  behold  the  while.  \our  guests  are  coming: 
JJft  up  your  countenance  :  as  it  were  the  day 
Of  celebration  of  that  nuptial,  whicli 
We  two  have  sworn  shall  come. 

Per.  0  lady  fortune. 

Stand  you  auspicious! 

Enter  Shepherd  tvifh  Poltxenes  a^id  Cahitt.lo, 

disf^uiseti ;  Clown,  Mopsi,  Voncxa,  and  others, 

Flo.  See  your  gue.sts approach  : 

Address  yourself  to  entertain  ihcm  sprightly. 
And  let's  be  red  with  mirth. 

Stiep.  Fye,  daughter!  when  my  old  wife  liv"d, 
upon 
This  day  she  was  both  pantler,  butler,  cook  ; 
Both  dame  and  servant  :  welcomd  all ;  serv'd  all : 
Would  sing  her  song,  and  dance  her  turn:  now  here, 
At  upper  end  o'the  table,  now.  i'the  middle; 
On  his  shoulder,  and  his  :  her  facQ  o'f.re 
With  labor;  and  the  tiling-  she  took  to  quench  it. 
She  would  to  each  one  sip  ;  You  are  retired, 
As  if  you  were  a  feasted  one,  and  not 
The  hostess  of  the  meeting:     Pray  you,  bid 
These  unknown  friends  to  us  welcome,  for  it  is 
A  way  to  make  us  better  friends,  more  known. 
Come,  quench  your  blushes';  and  present  yourself 
That  winch  you  are.  mistress  o'the  feast:  Come  on, 
And  bid  us  welcome  to  your  sheep-shearing, 
As  your  good  Hock  shall  prosper. 

Pe?;  Welcome,  sir!  [To  Pol. 

It  is  my  father's  will,  T  should  take  on  me 
The  hostess-ship  o'the  day  : — You're  welcome,  sir ! 

[Tu  Camillo. 
Give  me  those   flowers  there,  Dorcas. — Reverend 

sirs, 
Tor  you  there's  rosemary,  and  rue;  these  keep 
Seeming  and  savor.*  all  the  winter  long: 
Grace,  and  remembrance,  be  to  you  both. 
And  welcome  to  our  sliearing  ! 

Put'  Shepherdess, 

(A  fiir  one  are  you.)  well  you  fit  our  ages 
With  flowers  of  winter. 

Ptr,  Sir.  the  year  growing  ancient, — 

Not  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling   winter,  —  the   fairest   flowers    o'the 

season 
Are  our  carnations,  and  streak'd  gillyflowers. 
Which  some  call  nature's  bastards:  of  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden's  barren;  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them. 

sj.  e.  Of  station.  *  Likeness  and  smoll. 


Pol.  Wherefoie,  gentle  maiden, 

Do  you  neglect  them  1 

Per.  Fors  I  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art,  which,  in  their  picdnei-s,  shares 
Witli  great  creating  nature. 

]'oL  Say,  there  be  ; 

Yet  nature  is  made  better  by  no  mean. 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so,  o'er  that  art. 
Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.  You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 
A  gentle  scion  to  the  wildest  slock  ;    ' 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race;  Tiiis  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature,— chan-e  it  rather:  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature. 

Per.  '      So  it  is. 

Pol.  Then  make  your  garden  rich  in  gillyflowers, 
And  do  not  call  them  ta.>3tards. 

Per.  Ill  not  put 

The  dibble  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them  : 
No  more  than,  were  I  painted,  1  would  wish 
This  youth  should  say,  'twere  well ;  and  only  there- 
fore 
Desire  to  breed  by  me. — Here's  flowers  for  you  ; 
Hot  lavender,  minis,  savory,  marjoram  ; 
The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  with  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping;  tliese  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and,  I  think,  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age  :  You  are  very  welcome. 

Cam.  I  should  leave  grazing,  were  1  of  your  flock, 
And  only  live  by  gazing. 

Per.  Out,  alas! 

You'd  be  so  lean,  that  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow  you  tlirough  and  through. — Now,  my 

fairest  friend, 
I  would,  1  had  some  flowers  o'the  spring,  that  might 
Become  your  time  of  day ;  and  yours,  and  yours  . 
That  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  maidenheads  growing  :— O  Proserpina, 
For  the  flowers  now,  that  I'nghted,  thou  let'st  fall 
From  Dis's^  waggon!  daflbdils, 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty  ;  violets  cUm, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
t)r  Cytherea's  breath  ;  pale  primroses, 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Briglit  Pha^bus  in  his  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids;  bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown  imperial ;  lilies  of  all  kinds. 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one  !  O,  tliese,  I  lack. 
To  make  vou  garlands  of;  and  my  sweet  friend. 
To  strew  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

Flo.  What?  like  a  corse? 

Per.  No,  like  a  bank,  for  love  to  lie  and  play  on ; 
Not  like  a  corse  :  or  if, — not  to  be  buried, 
But  quick,'  and  in  mine  arms.    Come,  take  your 

flowers  : 
Methinks,  I  play  as  I  have  seen  them  do 
In  Whitsun'  pastorals  :  sure,  tliis  robe  of  mine 
Does  change  my  disposition. 

Flo.  What  you  do. 

Still  betters  what  is  done.  When  you  speak,  sweet, 
Id  have  you  do  it  ever :  wlien  you  sing. 
I'd  have  you  buy  and  sell  so ;  so  give  alms ; 
Pray  so ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  aflUirs. 
To  sing  them  too:  When  you  do  dance.  I  wish  you 
A  wave  othe  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that;  move  still,  still  so,  and  own 
No  other  function  :    Kach  your  doing, 
So  singular  in  each  particular. 
Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deeds, 
That  all  your  acts  are  queens. 

Per.  O  Doriclcs, 

Your  praises  are  too  large:  but  that  your  youth, 
And  the  true  blood,  which  fairly  peeps  through  it, 
Do  plainly  give  you  out  an  unslain  d  shepherd; 
With  wisclom  1  might  fear,  my  Doricles, 
You  woo'd  me  the  false  way. 

Flo.  I  Ihiiik,  you  have 

As  little  skill  to  fear,  as  I  have  purpo.se. 
To  put  you  tot.— But,  come;  our  dance,  I  pray: 
Your  hand,  my  Perdita:  so  turtles  pair, 
Tliat  never  mean  to  part. 

Per.  I'll  swear  for  'em. 

Pol.  This  is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass,  that  ever 
r.an  on  the   green-sward:   nothing   she   does,  or 

seems. 
But  smacks  of  something  greater  then  herself; 
Too  noble  for  this  place. 

»  Because  that.  6  Pluto.  ^  Living. 


Scene  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


243 


Cam.  He  tells  her  something, 
That  inaki's  her  blood  look  out:  Good  soolh,  she  is 
The  queeii  of  curds  and  cream. 

Clu.  Come  on.  strike  up. 

Difr.  Mopsa  must  be  your  mistress  :  marry,  garlic, 
To  mend  lier  kissing  with. — 

Mop.  Now,  in  good  time! 

Clo.  Not  a  word,  a  word;  wc  yland   upvn  our 
niuiiners. — 
Come,  slriKe  up.  [Musk: 

Here  a  dance  of  Shepherds  ciwl  Shepherdesses. 

PoL  Fray,  good  shepherd,  wliat 
Fair  swam  istliis,  wiiich  dances  with  your  daughter? 

S/u'p.  They  call   him  Doncles  ;    and    he   boasts 
himself 
To  have  a  worthy  feedin?^  :«  but  I  have  it 
Upon  Ins  own  report,  and  I  beUeve  it; 
He  looks  like  sooth:'   He  says,  he  loves  my  daugh- 
ter ; 
I  think  so  too  ;  for  never  gazed  the  moon 
Upon  the  water,  as  he'll  t^tand,  and  read, 
As  'twere,  my  dau,u;liter's  eyes:  and,  to  be  plain, 
1  think,  there  is  not  half  a  kiss  to  choose, 
Who  loves  another  best. 

Pul.  Slie  dances  feat!y.i 

Shep.  So  she  does  anythin^' ;  thoujjli  I  report  it 
That  should  be  silent ;  if  young  Donelcs 
Do  light  upon  her,  she  shall  bring  him  that 
Which  he  not  dreams  of. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  0  mister,  if  you  did  but  hear  the  pedler  at 
the  door,  you  would  never  dance  aui.xm  after  a  tabur 
and  pipe  ;  no,  the  baiipipe  could  not  movt  you  :  he 
sings  several  tunes,  faster  than  youll  t''ll  money; 
he  utters  them  as  he  had  eaten  ballads,  and  all 
men's  cars  grew  to  his  tunes. 

CVo.  He  could  never  come  better:  he  shall  come 
in  :  I  love  a  ballad  but  even  too  well :  if  it  be 
doleful  matter,  merrily  set  down  ;  or  a  very  pleaiiant 
tliin;^  indeed,  and  sung  lamentably. 

Scrv.  He  hath  songs,  for  man.  or  woman,  of  all 
sizes;  no  milliner  can  so  fit  his  customers  with 
gloves  :  he  has  the  prettiest  love  songs  for  maids  ; 
so  without  bawdry,  which  is  strange;  with  sueh 
delicate  burdens  of  dltdos  and  fadin-^s;  jiunp  her 
and  thump  her;  and  where  some  stretcli-mouliril 
rascal  would,  as  it  were,  mean  mischief,  and  break 
a  foul  gap  into  the  matter,  he  makes  the  maid  to 
answer,  Wkoop-,  do  me  no  harm,  i^nod  man.,-  puts 
him  otf,  slights  him,  with  Whoop,  do  me  no  harm, 
good  man. 

Pot,  This  is  a  brave  fellow. 

Clo.  Believe  me  thou  talkest  of  an  admirable 
conceited  fellow.    Has  he  any  unbraided  wares  !•» 

Serv.  He  hath  ribuids  of  all  the  colors  illio  rain- 
bow; points  more  than  all  the  lawyers  in  Itohemiu 
can  learnedly  handle,  though  they  come  to  hiin  by 
the  gross;  inkles,  caddisses,*  cambrics,  lawns :  why, 
he  SUIT'S  tlH'in  over,  as  they  were  gods  or  gorldcsscs ; 
you  would  tinnk  a  smock  were  a  she  angel;  he  so 
chants  to  the  sleevc-hand,*  and  the  work  about  the 
square  out.* 

Clo.  I'rythce,  bring  him  in;  and  let  him  ap- 
proach singiui;. 

Per.  Forewarn  Iiim,  that  he  use  no  scurrilous 
words  in  his  tunes. 

Clo.  You  have  of  these  pedlers,  that  have  more 
in  'em  tlian  yon'd  think,  sister. 

Per.  Ay,  good  brother,  or  go  about  to  think. 

Enter  Autot.ycus,  sirtg-t/jiT' 
Lf/ton,  as  ivhite  a?  driven  snow; 
Ct/priis,  hliick  as  e'*er  was  crow; 
G/iivfs,  (IS  su>eet  as  damask  roses  ; 
Ma'^-ks  for  faces,  and  for  noses; 
Bugle  bracelet,  necklace  amber, 
Perfume  for  a  ladi/'s  chamber: 
Golden  qnoifs,  and  stomachers. 
For  mil  lads  to  give  their  dears  ; 
Pins  and  poking-siicks  of  steel. 
What  maids  lack  from  head  to  heel: 
Coiae,  buy  of  me,  come  ;  come  buy,  come  buy; 
Buy,  lads,  or  else  your  lasses  cry ; 
Come,  buy,  ^-c. 

•  A  valuable  tract  of  pasturage.  o  Truth. 

1  Nt-atly.  2  Plain  Goods.  ^A  kind  of  tafc. 

«  The  culTs.  »  The  work  about  the  bosom. 


Clo.  If  I  were  not  in  love  with  Mopsa.  thou 
shouldst  take  no  money  of  me  ;  but  being  cntiiralled 
as  I  am,  ♦twill  also  betlie  bondage  of  certain  ribands 
and  tcloves.  ■ 

Mi.p.  I  was  promised  them  against  the  feast;  but 
they  come  not  too  late  now. 

fhjr.  He  hath  promised  you  more  than  tliat,  or 
there  be  liars. 

Mop.  He  hath  paid  you  all  he  promised  you: 
may  be  he  hath  paid  you  more;  which  will  shame 
you  to  give  him  again. 

Clo.  Is  there  i^  manners  left  among  maids  1  will 
they  wear  their  plackets,  where  they  should  bear 
their  faces?  Is  there  not  milking-timc,  when  you 
are  going  to-bcd,  or  kiln-hole,«  to  whistle  oil  these 
secrets;  but  you  must  be  tittle-tattling  liofore  all 
our  guests'?  'Tis  well  they  are  whispering:  Cla- 
mor your  tongues,'  and  not  a  word  more. 

Mop.  I  have  done.  Come,  you  promised  me  a 
tawdry  lace,«  and  a  pair  of  sweet  gloves. 

Clo.  Have  I  not  told  thee,  how  I  was  cozened  by 
the  way,  and  lost  all  my  money] 

Aut.  And.  indeed,  sir,  there  are  cozeners  abroad  ; 
therefore  it  behoves  men  to  be  wary. 

Clo.  Fear  not  thou,  man,  tbou  shalt  lose  nothing 
here. 

.1'//.  I  hope  so,  sir:  fori  have  about  mc  mnny 
parcels  of  charge. 
Clo.  What  hast  hero?  ballads? 
M'p,  Pray  now.  buy  some :  I   love  a   oallad  in 
print,  a'-lifc  ;  for  then  we  are  sure  they  are  true. 

Aut.  Here's  one  to  a  very  doleful  tune,  How  a 
usurer's  wife  was  brought  to-bed  of  twenty-money- 
bags at  a  burden  ;  and  how  she  longed  to  eat  ad- 
ders' hea<ls,  and  toads  carbonadoed. 
Mop.  Is  It  true,  thitik  you  ? 
Aur.  Very  true  ;  and  but  a  month  old. 
Dor.   Bless  me  from  marrying  a  usurer  ! 
Aut.  Here's  the  midwife's  name  to't.  one  mis- 
tress Talrpnrter  ;  and  live  or  six  honest  wives,  that 
were  present :    Why  should  I  carry  lies  abroad  ? 
Mop.  Pray  you  now,  buy  it. 
CVo.  Come  on,  lay  it  by:  And  lefs  first  sec  more 
ballads;  we'll  buy  the  other  things  anon. 

Aut.  Here's  another  ballad,  of  a  fish,  that  ap- 
peared upon  the  coast,  on  Wednesday  the  fourscore 
of  April,  I'orty  thousand  fathom  above  water,  and 
sung  this  ballad  against  the  hard  hearts  of  maids: 
it  was  tbnuiiht,  she  was  a  woman,  and  was  turned 
into  a  cold  fish,  for  she  would  not  exchange  tiesli 
with  one  that  loved  her:  The  ballad  is  very  pitiful, 
and  as  true. 
Dor.  Is  it  true,  think  you? 

A'tf.  Five  justices'  hands  at  it;  and  witnesses, 
more  than  my  pack  will  hold. 
Cln.  Lay  it  by  :  Another. 

A  'if.  This  is  a'  merry  ballad;  but  a  very  pretty  one. 

Mfip.  Let's  have  some  merry  one, 

Aut.  Why  this  is  a  passing  merry  one;  and  goes 

to  the  tune  of.  Two  maids  ivooiag  a  man:  there's 

scarce  a  maid  westward,  but  she  sings  it;  'tis  in 

request,  I  can  tell  you. 

Mop.  We  can  both  sing  it;  if  thou 'It  bear  a  part, 
thou  shalt  hear;  'tis  in  three  parts. 
Dor.  We  had  the  tune  out  a  month  ago. 
Aut.  I  can  bear  my  part ;  you  must  know,  'tis  my 
occupation  :  have  at  it  with  you. 

SONG. 

A.  Get  vou  hence,  for  I  must  go  ; 
Where,  il  fif.s  not  i/ou  to  knojc. 

D.   Whilher?  M.  0.  whithrr?  D.  Whither? 
M.  It  becomr^  th'i  oathfull  well, 
Thou  to  nte  thif  sccfets  tell : 

D.  Mc  too,  let  me  go  thither. 

M.  Or  thou  go'st  to  the  grange,  or  mill: 
D.  If  to  either,  thou  dost  ill. 

A.  Neither.   D.  What,  neither?  A.  Neither. 
D.  Thi/u  hast  sworn  my  love  to  be; 
M.  Thou  h/ist  sworn  it  more  to  me : 

Then,  ivhither  go'st?  say,  whither? 

Clo.  We'll  have  this  song  out  anon  by  ourselves; 
My  fatjier  and  the  ccntleman  are  in  sad^  talk,  and 
we'll  not  trouble  them:  come,  bring  away  thy  pack 

G  Fire-place  for  drying  malt;  still  a  noted  gossiping  plar*. 

1  Ring  a  dumb  pi-al. 

e  A  laco  to  wear  about  the  head  or  waist.         '  Serious 


244 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  IV. 


after  me.    Wenches,  Til  buy  for  you  both; — Pedler, 
let's  have  the  first  choice — Koilow  iiic,  gi#ls. 
Aiit.  And  you  shall  pay  well  for  'em.         [Aside. 

IVill  ynn  buy  any  icptj 

Or  iacefnr  your  Cftpe, 
My  diiintii  duct:,  my  dear-a? 

Any  sitk,  any  thread, 

Any  luysfnr  your  head. 
Of  the  new  st,  and  Jin'st,  fin'st  iceur-a? 

Ciiriie  to  the  j;edler; 

]\Ionei/'s  a  utedter. 
Thai  doth  utter'  alt  men's  irear-a. 

[Exeunt  Clown,  Autoltcus,  Dohcas, 
and  MnpsA. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Sen'.  Master,  there  is  three  carters,  three  shep- 
herds, three  neal/-hercls,  three  swine-herds,  that  have 
made  themselves  all  men  of  hair;-  they  call  them- 
selves saltiers:'-'  and  they  have  a  dance  which  the 
wenclies  say  is  a  gallimaufry*  of  gambols,  because 
they  are  not  in't;  but  tliey  themselves  are  o  the  mind, 
(if  It  be  not  too  roui;h  for  some,  that  know  little  but 
bowlint;,)  it  will  please  plentifully. 

Shep.  Away!  we'll  none  on't;  here  has  been  too 
much  humble  foolery  already:—!  know,  sir,  wc 
weary  you. 

Pol.  Vou  weary  those  that  refresh  us:  Pray,  let's 
see  these  four  threes  of  herdsmen. 

Serr.  One  three  of  them,  by  their  own  report, 
sir,  hath  danced  before  the  king;  and  not  the  worst 
of  the  three,  but  jumjis  twelve  foot  and  a  half  by 
the  squire.* 

Shep.  Leave  your  pratini;;  since  these  good  men 
are  pleased,  let  them  come  in  ;    but  quickly  now. 

Serv.  Why,  they  stay  at  door,  sir.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Servant,  wittt  ttrelve  Ruftics  hahitei  like 
Satyrs.    Tliey  dance,  and  then  exeunt. 

Pol.  O,  Father,  you'll  know  more  of  that  here- 
atier. — 
Is  it  not  too  far  gone? — 'tis  time  to  part  them. — 
He's  simple,  and  tells  much.  [j4s i<ie.]— How  now, 

fair  shepherd] 
Your  heart  is  full  of  something,  that  does  take 
'\'our  mind  from  feasting.  'Sooth,  when  1  was  young. 
And  handed  love,  as  you  do,  I  was  wont 
To  load  my  she  with  knacks :  1  would  have  ran- 

s.ick'd 
The  pedler's  silken  treasury,  and  have  pour'd  it 
To  her  acceptance  ;  you  have  let  him  i;o, 
And  nothing  marted«  with  him  :  if  your  lass 
Interpretation  should  abuse;  and  call  Ibis 
■^'our  lack  of  love,  or  bounty:  you  were  slraited 
For  a  reply,  at  least,  if  you  make  a  care 
Of  happy  holding  her. 

Flo.  Old  sir,  I  know 

She  prizes  not  such  trifles  as  these  are  : 
The  gifts,  she  looks  from  me,  are  pack'd  and  lock'd 
\Jp  in  my  heart;  which  I  have  given  already. 
But  not  deliver'd. — O,  hear  me  breathe  my  life 
liefore  this  ancient  sir,  who,  it  should  seem. 
Hath  sometime  lov'd  :  1  take  thy  hand;  this  hand. 
As  soft  as  dove's  down,  and  as  white  as  it; 
Or  Kthiopian's  tooth,  or  the  fann'd  snow. 
That's  bolted'  by  the  northern  blasts  twice  o'er. 

Pol.  What  follows  this  1— 
How  prettily  the  young  swain  seems  to  wash 
The  hand,  was  fair  before  ! — I  have  put  you  out : — 
But  to  your  protestation;  let  me  hear 
What  you  profess. 

Flo.  Do,  and  be  witness  to't. 

Pol.  And  this  my  neighbor  tbol 

Fin.  And  he.  and  more 

Than  he,  and  men  ;  the  earth,  the  heavens,  and  all: 
That, — were  I  crown'd  the  most  imperial  monarcli, 
Thereof  most  worthy  ;  were  I  the  fairest  youth 
That  ever  made  eye  swerve ;  had  force,  and  knowl- 
edge. 
More  than  was  ever  man's, — I  would  not  prize  them. 
Without  her  love;  for  her,  employ  them  all; 
Commend  them,  and  condemn  them,  to  her  service. 
Or  to  their  own  perdition. 

Pol.  Fairly  offer'd. 

1  Si'll.       ^Dressed  themselves  in  habits  imitating  hnir. 
"Satyrs.  «  Mrdley.  e  Square,  foot-rule. 

•  Bought.  trafRi'ked. 

1  The  sii've  used  to  separate  flour  from  bran  is  called  a 
bolting  cloth. 


Cam.  This  sbows  a  sound  alfection. 

Shep.  But,  my  daughter 

Say  you  the  like  to  him  ? 

Per.  I  cannot  speak 

So  well,  nothing  so  well ;  no.  nor  mean  better  : 
By  the  pattern  of  mine  own  thoughts  1  cut  out 
The  purity  of  his. 

S/u]}.  Take  hands,  a  bargain  r 

And,  friends  unknown,  you  shall  bearwitness  to't: 
1  give  my  daughter  to  him,  and  will  make 
Her  portion  equal  his. 

Flo.  O,  that  must  be 

rthe  virtue  of  your  dauihler:  one  being  dead, 
I  shall  have  more  than  you  can  dream  of  yet ; 
Knough  then  for  your  wonder:  But,  come  on, 
Contract  us  'fore  "these  witnesses. 

Shep.  Come,  your  hand  ; 

And,  daughter,  yours. 

Pn '.  Soft,  swain,  awhile,  'beseech  you : 

Have  you  a  father? 

Flo.  Iliave:  But  what  of  him? 

Pol.  Knows  he  of  this? 

Flo.  He  neither  docs,  nor  shall, 

Pol.  Melhinks,  a  father 
Is,  at  the  nuptial  of  his  son,  a  guest 
That  best  becomes  the  table.   I'ray  you, once  more; 
Is  not  your  fither  grown  incapable 
Of  reasonable  alTaiis?  is  he  not  stupid 
With  age  and  altering  rheums!  Can  he  speak?  hear? 
Know  man  from  man?  dispute  his  own  estate  ?■ 
Lies  he  not  bed-rid  ?  and  again  does  notiiing, 
But  what  he  did  being  childish  ? 

Flo.  No,  good  sir  ; 

He  has  his  health,  and  ampler  strength,  indeed, 
Than  most  have  of  his  age. 

Pid.  By  my  white  beard, 

You  olTer  him.  if  this  be  so,  a  wroiig 
Something  unfilial :  Beason.  my  son 
Should  choose  himself  a  wife  ;  but  as  good  reason, 
The  father  (all  whose  joy  is  nothing  else 
But  fair  posterity)  should  hold  some  counsel 
In  such  a  business. 

Flo.  1  yield  all  this  ; 

But,  for  some  other  reasons,  my  grave  sir. 
Which  'tis  not  fit  you  know,  I  not  acquaint 
My  father  of  this  business. 

Pril.  Let  him  know't. 

Flo.  He  shall  not. 

Pnl.  Prythee,  let  him. 

Flo.  No,  he  must  not 

.S'^ifTi.  Let  him,  my  son;  lie  shall  not  need  to  grieve 
At  knowing  of  thy  choice. 

Flo.  Come,  come,  he  must  not : — 

Mark  our  contrdct. 

Pol.                         Mark  your  divorce,  young  sir, 
IDiseovering  himself. 
Whom  son  I  dare  not  call ;  thou  art  too  base 
To  be  acknowledi'd  :  Thou  a  sceptre's  heir. 
That  thus  affect'st  a  sheep-hook  ! — Thou  old  traitor, 
I  am  sorry,  that,  by  hanging  thee.  I  can  but 
Shorten  thy  life  one  week. — And  thou,  fresh  piece 
Of  excelleiit  witchcraft;. who.  of  force  must  know 
The  royal  fool  thou  cop'st  with  ; 

S'lip.  O.  my  heart! 

Pol.  Ill  have  thy  beauty  scratch'd  willi  briars, 
and  made 
More  homely  than  thy  state.— For  thee,  fond  boy, — 
If  I  may  ever  know,  Ihou  dost  but  sigh. 
That  thou  no  more  shalt  see  this  knack,  (as  never 
I  mean  thou  shalt, ^  we'll  bar  thee  from  succession  j 
Not  hold  thee  of  our  blood,  no.  not  our  kin ; 
Fars  than  Deucalion  o!l':— Mark  thou  my  words; 
Follow  us  to  the  court.— Thou  churl,  for  this  time, 
Though  full  of  our  displeasures,  yet  we  free  thee 
From  the  dread  blow  of  it.— And  you,  enchant- 
ment.— 
Worthy  eiioujh  a  herdsman  ;  yea,  him  too. 
That  makes  himself,  but  for  oiir  honor  therein, 
Unworthy  thee, — if  ever,  henccfirth,  thou 
These  rural  latches  to  his  entrance  open. 
Or  hoop  his  body  more  with  thy  embraces, 
I  will  devise  a  death  as  cruel  for  thee. 
As  thou  art  tender  to't.  [Exit. 

Per.  F.ven  here  imdone ! 

I  was  not  much  afcard  :  for  once  or  twice. 
1  was  aliout  to  speak  ;  and  tell  him  plainly, 
■Tiie  self-same  sun,  that  shines  upon  his  court, 
Hides  not  his  visaic  from  our  cottage,  but 


•  Talk  over  his  atTairfl. 


s  Farther, 


Scene  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


245 


Looks  on  alike. — Wilt  please  you,  sir,  Ijegone  T 

[To  KLonizEL. 
I  tjld  5"0U,  wliat  would  come  of  this  ;  Beseech  you, 
fif  your  own  state  take  care:  this  dream  of  mine, — 
Being  now  awake,  I'lJ  queen  it  no  inch  furth.cr, 
But  milk  my  ewes,  and  weep. 

Cam.  Why,  how  now,  fatherl 

Speak,  ere  tliou  diest. 

S/if/j.  I  cannot  speak,  nor  think, 

Nor  dare  to  know  that  wjiicfi  I  know. — (),  sir. 
You  Iiave  undone  a  man  of  fourscore  three.  [  'J'u  Flo. 
That  thnu^lu  to  111]  his  grave  in  quiet ;  yea, 
To  die  upon  the  bed  iny  father  died. 
To  lie  close  by  his  honest  bones:  but  now 
Some  hangman  must  put  on  my  shroud,  and  lay  me 
W'here  no  priest  shovels-in  dust. — o  cursed  wretch! 

[To  Pehdita. 
That  knew'st  this  was  the  prince,  and  wouldst  ad- 
venture 
To  mingle  lacth  with  him. — Undone!  undone! 
If  I  might  die  within  this  hour,  1  have  livd 
To  die  when  I  desire.  [Exil. 

F.u.  Why  look  you  so  upon  me  ! 

I  am  but  sorry,  not  afeard  ;  delay'd. 
But  nothing  alter'd  :  W  hat  I  was,  I  am ; 
More  straining  on,  for  plucking  back;  not  following 
My  leash'  unwilhngly. 

Cam.  Gracious  my  lord. 

You  know  your  father's  temper:  at  this  time 
He  will  allow  no  speech, — which,  I  do  guess. 
You  do  not  purpose  to  liim ; — and  as  hardly 
Will  he  endure  ynur  sight  as  yet,  I  fear: 
Then,  till  the  fury  of  his  highness  settle. 
Come  not  before  him. 

FUu  I  not  purpose  it. 

I  think,  Cainillo. 

Cam.  Even  he,  my  lord. 

Per.  How  often  have  I  told  you,  twouid  be  thus? 
How  ottcn  said  my  dignity  would  last 
But  till  'twere  known? 

Flu.  It  cannot  fail,  but  by 

The  violation  of  my  fiiith ;  and  then 
Let  nature  crush  the  sides  o'the  earth  together. 
And  mar  the  seeds  within! — Lift  up  thy  looks: — 
From  my  succession  wipe  me,  father !  1 
Am  heir  to  my  affection. 

Cum.  Be  advised. 

Ftij.  I  am ;  and  by  ray  fancy  :'■  if  my  reason 
Will  tliereto  be  obedient,  I  have  reason  ; 
If  not,  my  senses,  better  pleas'd  with  madness, 
Do  bid  it  welcome. 

Cam.  This  is  desperate,  sir. 

Flu.  So  call  it :  but  it  does  fulfil  my  vow ; 
I  needs  must  think  it  honesty.    Canullo, 
Not  for  Bohemia,  nor  the  pomp  that  may 
Be  thereat  glean'd  ;  fir  all  the  sun  sees,  or 
The  close  earth  wombs,  or  the  profound  seas  hide 
In  unknown  fathoms,  will  I  break  my  oath 
To  this  my  fair  belov'd:  Therefore,  I  pray  you, 
As  you  have  ever  been  my  fathers  friend. 
When  he  shall  miss  me,  (as,  in  faith,  I  mean  not 
To  see  hira  any  more.)  cast  your  good  counsels 
Upon  his  passion  :  Let  myself  and  fortune. 
Tug  fir  the  time  to  come.    This  you  may  know, 
And  so  deliver, — 1  am  put  to  sea 
With  her,  whom  here  1  cannot  hold  on  shore; 
And,  most  op]j6i  tune  to  our  need,  I  have 
A  vessel  rides  fast  by,  but  not  prepared 
For  this  design.    What  course  I  mean  to  hold. 
Shall  nothing  benefit  your  knowledge,  nor 
Concerns  me  the  reporting. 

Cam.  0,  my  lord, 

I  would  your  spirit  were  easier  for  advice, 
Or  stronger  for  your  need. 

Flo.  Hark,  Perdita. [Takes  her  aside. 

I'll  hear  you  by  and  by.  [To  Camillo. 

Cam.  He's  irremovable. 

Resolved  for  flight :  Now  were  I  happy,  if 
His  going  I  could  frame  to  serve  my  turn  ; 
Save  him  from  danger,  do  him  love  and  honor; 
Purchase  the  sight  again  of  dear  .^icilia. 
And  that  unhappy  king,  my  master,  whom 
I  so  much  thirst  to  see. 

Flo.  Now,  good  Camilln, 

I  am  so  fraught  with  curious  business,  that 
I  leave  out  ceremony.  [Gains 

Cam.  Sir,  I  think, 

Y'ou  have  heard  of  my  poor  services,  i'the  love 
That  1  have  borne  your  father? 

1  A  leadins-.string.  a  Love. 


Flo.  Very  nobly 

Have  you  deserv'd  :  it  is  my  father's  music. 
To  speak  your  deeds:  not  little  of  his  care 
To  have  them  recompens'd  as  thought  on. 

Cam.  Well,  my  lord. 

If  you  may  please  to  think  I  love  the  king; 
And  through  him,  what  is  nearest  to  him,  which  is 
Your  gracious  self;  embrace  but  my  direction, 
(If  your  more  ponderous  and  settled  project 
May  suffer  alter. ition.)  on  mine  honor 
ril  point  you  where  you  shall  have  such  receiving 
As  shall  become  your  highness;  where  you  may 
Enjoy  your  mistress;  (from  the  whom,  1  see. 
There's  no  disjunction  to  be  made,  but  by. 
As  heavens  forefend  !  your  ruin;)  marry  her; 
And  (with  my  best  endeavors,  in  your  absence) 
Your  disconlentingi  father  strive  to  qualify. 
And  bring  him  up  to  liking. 

Flo.  How,  Camillo, 

.May  this,  almost  a  miracle,  be  done? 
That  1  may  call  thee  something  more  than  man, 
And,  after  that,  trust  to  thee. 

Cam.  Have  you  thought  on 

.\  place,  whereto  you'll  go? 

Flo.  Not  any  yet: 

But  as  the  unlhought-on  accident'  is  guilty 
To  what  we  wildly  do;  so  we  profess 
Ourselves  to  be  the  slaves  of  chance,  and  flies 
Of  every  wind  that  blows. 

Cam.  Then  list  to  me : 

This  follows,— if  you  will  not  change  your  purpose. 
But  undergo  this  flight: — Make  for  Sicilia; 
And  there  present  yourself,  and  your  fair  princess, 
I  For  so,  I  see.  she  must  lie.)  'fore  Leontes; 
She  shall  be  habited,  as  it  becomes 
The  partner  of  your  bed.    Alethinks,  I  see 
Leonles,  opening  his  free  arms,  and  weeping 
His  welcomes  forth  :  asks  thee,  the  .son,  forgiveness. 
As  'twere  i'the  father  s  person :  kisses  the  hands 
Of  your  fresh  princess:  o  er  and  o'er  divides  him 
'  fwixt  his  unkiiiiliiess  and  his  kindness;  the  one 
He  chides  to  hell,  and  bids  the  other  grow. 
Faster  than  thought,  or  time. 

FiO.  Worthy  Camillo, 

What  color  for  my  visitation  shall  1 
Hold  up  before  him  ? 

Cam.  Sent  by  the  king  your  fatlier 

To  greet  him,  and  to  give  him  comforts.    Sir, 
The  manner  ol'  j'our  bearing  towards  him.  with 
What  you.  as  from  your  father,  shall  deliver. 
Things  known  betwixt  us  three,  I'll  write  you  down: 
I'hc  which  sliall  point  jou  forth  at  every  sitting, 
What  you  must  say;  that  he  shall  not  perceive". 
But  that  you  have  your  father's  bosom  there, 
.\nd  speak  his  very  heart. 

Flo.  I  am  bound  to  you ; 

There  is  some  sap  in  this. 

Cam.  .K  course  more  promising 

Than  a  wild  dedication  of  yourselves 
To  unjiath'd  waters,  undre'am'd  shores;  most  cer- 
tain. 
To  miseries  enough  :  no  hope  to  help  you ; 
Hut,  as  you  shake  olf  one,  to  take  another : 
Nothing  so  certain  as  your  anchors:  who 
Do  their  best  office,  if  they  can  but  stay  you 
Where  you  II  be  loath  to  be:  Besides,  you  know 
Prosperity's  the  very  bond  of  love; 
Whose  fresh  complexion  and  whose  heart  together 
.Affliction  alters. 

■    Per.  One  of  these  is  true : 

I  tliink,  affliction  may  subdue  the  cheek, 
But  not  take  in'  the  mind. 

Cum.  Y'ea,  say  you  so  ? 

There  shall  not,  at  your  fither's  house,  these  seven 

years. 
Be  born  another  such. 

Flo.  My  good  Camillo, 

She  is  as  forward  of  her  breeding,  as 
I'the  rear  of  birth. 

Cam.  I  cannot  say,  'tis  pity 

She  lacks  instructions;  for  she  seems  a  mistress 
To  most  that  teach. 

Per.  Your  pardon,  sir,  for  this; 

I'll  blush  you  thanks. 

Flo.    My  prettiest  Perdita. 

But,  O,  the  thorns  we  stand  upon !— Camillo,— 
Preserver  of  my  father,  now  of  me: 

3  For  discontented. 

*  The  unexpected  discovery  made  by  Polixenes. 

»  Conquer. 


246 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  IV. 


Ihe  medicine  of  our  liouse ! — how  shall  we  do] 
We  aiL'  not  I'nniisli  d  like  Bohemias  son  ; 

Nor  sliall  appear  in  Sicily 

Ca/ii.  My  lord. 

Fear  none  of  this;  I  think,  you  know,  my  fortunes 
Do  all  lie  there:  it  shall  be  so  my  care 
To  have  you  royally  appointed,  as  if 
Tile  scene  you  play,  were  mine.     For  instance,  sir. 
That  you  may  know  you  shall  not  want, — one  word. 
[They  talk  aside. 

Enter  Actolycus. 

Ant.  Ha,  ha !  what  a  fool  honesty  is !  and  trust, 
his  sworn  brother,  a  very  simple  gentleman  !  I  have 
sold  all  my  trumpery  ;  not  a  couiiterleit  stone,  not 
a  riband,  sl^ss,  potnander,''  brooch,  table-book, 
ballad,  knife,  tape,  glove,  shoe-tie,  bracelet,  horn- 
nns,  to  keep  my  pack  from  fasting;  they  throng 
who  should  buy  first;  as  if  my  trinkets  liad  been 
hallowed,  and  brought  a  benediction  to  the  buyer: 
by  which  means  I  saw  whose  purse  was  best  in 
picture  ;  and,  what  I  saw,  to  my  good  use,  1  remem- 
bered. My  clown  (who  wants  but  something  to  be 
a  reasonable  man)  grew  so  in  love  with  the  wenches' 
song,  that  he  would  not  stir  his  pettitoes,  till  he 
had  both  tune  and  words;  which  so  drew  the  rest 
of  the  herd  to  me,  that  all  their  other  senses  stuck 
in  ears:  you  might  have  pinched  a  placket,  il'was 
senseless;  'twas  nothing,  to  geld  a  cod-piece  of  a 
purse;  I  would  have  filed  keys  olf,  that  hung  in 
chains:  no  hearing,  no  feeling,  but  my  sir's  song, 
and  admiring  the  nothing  of  it.  So  that,  in  this 
time  of  lethargy,  I  picked  and  cut  most  of  their  fes- 
tival purses:  and  had  not  the  old  man  come  in 
with  a  whoolbub  again^ft  his  daughter  and  the  king's 
son,  and  scared  my  cbou;ihs8  from  the  chalT,  I  iiad 
not  left  a  purse  alive  m  the  whole  army. 

[Camillo,  Flouizkl,  u7iil  pKuniTA,  come 
forward. 

Cam.    Nay,  but  my  letters  by  this  means  being 
there 
So  soon  as  you  arrive,  shall  clear  that  doubt. 

Flo.    And  those  that  youil  procure  from  king 
Leontes, 

Cam.    Shall  satisfy  your  father. 

Pei:  Happy  be  you! 

All,  that  you  speak,  sliows  fair. 

Cum.  Who  have  we  here 7 

[Stein^  AvTOLYCL's. 
We'll  make  an  instrument  of  this;  omit 
Nothing,  may  give  us  aid. 

Aut.    If  they  have  overheard  me  now, why, 

hanging.  [Aaide. 

Cam.  How  now.  good  fellowl  Why  shakest  thou 
so?  Fear  not,  man;  here's  no  harm  intended  to 
thee. 

Aut.    I  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir. 

Cam.  Why,  be  so  still ;  here's  nobody  will  steal 
that  from  thee :  Yet,  for  tiie  outside  of  thy  poverty, 
we  must  make  art  exchange;  thereibie,  disease  thee 
instantly,  Uhou  must  tlimk,  there's  necessity  in't,) 
and  change  garments  with  this  gentleman  ;  Though 
the  pennyworth,  on  his  side,  be  the  worst,  yet  hold 
Ihee,  there's  some  boot.* 

Aut.  1  am  a  poor  fellow,  sir  : — I  know  ye  well 
enough.  [Asule. 

Cam.  Nay,  prythee,  despatch:  the  gentleman  is 
half  flayed  already. 

Aut.  Are  you  in  earnest,  sir?— I  smell  the  thick 
of  it—  [Aside. 

Flo.    Despatch,  1  prythee. 

Aut.  Indeed  I  have  had  earnest;  bull  cannot 
with  conscience  take  it. 

Cam,    Unbuckle,  unbuckle.— 

[Flo.  and  Arroi..  exchange  garments. 
Fortunate  mistress, — let  my  prophesy 
Come  home  to  you— you  must  retire  yourself 
Into  some  covert:  take  your  sweetheart's  hat. 
And  pluck  it  o'er  your  brows;  mutHe  your  face; 
Dismantle  you:  and  as  you  can,  disliken 
Tlie  truth  of  your  own  .seeming;  that  you  may 
(For  I  do  fear  eyes  over  you)  to  shipboard 
Get  undcscried. 

Per.    I  see,  the  play  so  lies. 
That  1  must  bear  a  part. 

«  I'hysician. 

I  A  littlu  liiiH  maiit'  of  perfumes,  and  worn  to  prevent 
infection  in  tinic-,s  of  jiImi^uc. 

8  A  bird  resembling  »  jackdaw. 

9  Somcibiog  over  aud  abuve. 


Cam.  No  remedy.— 

Have  you  done  there? 

Flo.  Should  I  now  meet  my  father, 

He  would  not  call  me  son. 

Cam.  Nay,  you  shall  have 

No  hat: — Come,  lady,  come. — Farewell,  my  friend. 

Aut.    Adieu,  sir, 

Flo.    O  Perdita,  what  have  we  twain  forgot? 
Pray  you,  a  word.  [They  converse  apart. 

Cam.    What  I  do  next,  shall  be,  to  tell  the  king 

[Aside* 
Of  this  escape,  and  whither  they  are  bound  ; 
Wlierein,  my  hope  is,  I  shall  so  pievad. 
To  force  him  afler:  in  whose  company 
I  shall  review  Sicilia;  for  whose  sight 
1  have  a  woman's  longing. 

Flo.  "  Fortune  speed  us!— 

Thus  we  set  on,  Camillo,  to  the  sea-side. 

Corn.     The  swifier  speed,  the  better. 

[Exeunt  Flohizll,  Pkhhita,  and  Cajiillo. 

Aut.  I  understand  the  business,  1  hear  it:  To 
have  an  open  ear.  a  quick  eye,  and  a  nimble  hand,  is 
necessary  for  a  cut-purse:  a  good  nose  is  requisite 
also,  to  smell  out  work  for  the  other  senses.  I  see, 
Ihis  is  the  time  that  the  unjust  man  doth  thrive. 
W^hat  an  exchange  had  this  been,  without  boot? 
what  a  boot  is  here,  with  this  exchange  ?  Sure,  the 
gods  do  this  year  connive  at  us,  and  we  may  do  any 
thing  exfentpore.  Tiie  prince  himself  is  about  a 
piece  of  iniquity;  stealing  away  from  his  father, 
with  his  clog  at  his  heels :  If  I  thought  it  were  not 
a  piece  of  honesty  to  acquaint  the  knig  withal,  I 
would  dot:  I  hold  it  the  more  knavery  to  conceal 
it;  and  therein  am  I  constant  to  my  profession. 

Enter  Clown  and  Shepherd. 

Aside,  aside  ; — here  is  more  matter  for  a  hot  brain  : 
Kvery  lane's  end,  every  shop,  church,  session,  hang- 
ing, yields  a  careful  man  work. 

Cto.  See,  sec  ;  what  a  man  you  are  now  !  there 
Is  no  other  way,  but  lo  tell  the  king  she's  a  change- 
ling, and  none  of  your  llesh  and  blood. 

fihep.    Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Cln.    Nay,  but  hear  me. 

Shep.    Go  to,  then. 

C/o.  She  being  none  of  your  flesh  and  blood, 
your  flesh  and  blood  has  not  offended  the  king : 
and.  so.  your  flesh  and  blood  is  not  to  be  punished 
by  him.  Show  those  things  you  found  about  her; 
those  secret  things,  all  but  what  she  has  with  her: 
This  being  done,  let  the  law  go  whistle;  I  warrant 
yon. 

Shcp.  I  will  tell  the  king  all,  ^very  word,  yen, 
and  his  son's. pranks  too;  who.  I  may  say.  is  no 
honest  man  neither  to  his  father,  nor  to  me,  to  go 
about  to  make  me  the  kind's  bro'her-in-law. 

Clo.  Indeed,  brother-in-law  was  the  furthest  off 
you  could  Iiave  been  to  him ;  and  then  your  blood 
had  been  the  dearer,  by  I  know  how  much  an 
ounce. 

Aut.  Very  wisely  ;  puppies!  [.4szf/?. 

Shep.  Well;  let  us  to  the  king:  there  is  that  in 
this  fardel.i  will  make  him  scratch  his  beard. 

Aut.  I  know  not  what  impediment  this  complaint 
may  be  to  liie  flight  of  my  master. 

C/o.    Pray  heartily  he  be  at  palace. 

Aut.  Though  I  am  not  naturally  hone=t,  1  am  so 
sometimes  by  chance:— Lei  me  pocket  up  my  ped- 
lers  excrement. — [Takes  off  fits  false  heard.]  How 
now,  rustics?  where  are  you  bound  ? 

Stiep.  To  the  palace,  an  it  like  your  worship. 

Anf.  Your  aflairs  there?  what?  with  whom?  the 
condition  of  that  fardil.  the  place  of  your  dwelling, 
your  names,  your  ages,  of  what  having,^  breeding, 
and  any  thing  thai  is  fitting  to  be  known,  discover. 

Clo.  We  are  but  plain  fellows,  sir. 

Aaf.  A  lie  ;  you  are  rough  and  hairy:  Let  me 
have  no  lying;  it  becomes  none  but  tradesmen, 
and  they  often  give  us  soldiers  the  he:  but  we  pay 
them  for  it  with  stamped  coin,  not  stabbing  steel ; 
tliercfore  they  do  not  give  us  tlte  lie. 

Clo.  Your  worship  had  like  to  have  given  us  one, 
if  you  had  not  taken  yourself  with  the  manner.* 

Shfp.  Are  you  a  courtier,  an't  like  you.  sir? 

Aut.  Whether  it  like  me  or  no,  I  am  a  courtier, 
Set'st  thou  not  the  air  of  the  court  in  (hose  enfold- 
ings?  hath  not  my  gait  in  it.  the  measure  of  the 
court  ?  receives  not  thy  nose  court-odor  from  me? 

1  Bundle,  parcel.        aEstate,  property.        » In  the  fact. 


Scene  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


247 


reflect  I  not  on  thy  baseness,  court-contempt  ? — 
Tliinlt'st  thou,  f.ir  that  1  insinuate,  or  toze«  from 
tliee  thy  busirie.ss.  I  am  therefore  no  courtier?  I  am 
courtier  cap-d-p6;  amJ  one  tliat  will  eitlier  push  on, 
or  pluck  hack  thy  business  there  :  whereupon  I 
command  thee  lo  open  thy  alfair. 

Skep.  My  business,  sir.'is  to  the  king. 

Aul.  What  advocate  hast  thou  to  him? 

S'lep,  1  Know  not,  an't  like  you. 

Clo,  Advocates  the  court-word  for  a  pheasant; 
say,  you  have  none. 

Hhip.  None,  sir;  I  have  no  pheasant,  cock,  nor 
hen. 

A  ut.  How  blessd  are  vvc,  that  are  not  simple  men! 
Yet  nature  mi^ht  have  made  me  as  these  are, 
Theref.ire  111  hot  disdain. 

Ctij.  This  cannot  be  but  a  great  courtier. 

fJ.'ie/).  His  garments  are  rich,  but  he  wears  them 
not  handsomely. 

Clu.  He  seems  to  be  the  more  noble  in  being  fan- 
tastical ;  a  great  man,  I'll  warrant ;  I  know,  by  the 
picking  oil's  teeth. 

Aut.  The  fjrdel  there  ?  what's  i'  the  fardel  ! 
Wherefore  that  box! 

Sktp.  Sir,  there  hes  such  secrets  in  this  firdel, 
and  box,  which  none  must  know  but  the  king; 
and  which  he  shall  know  within  this  hour,  if  1  may 
come  to  the  speech  of  him. 

Aut.  A^'e,  thou  hast  lost  thy  labor. 

Rhep.  Why, sir! 

Aut.  The  knig  is  not  at  the  palace;  he  is  gone 
aboard  a  new  ship  to  purge  melancholy,  and  air 
himself:  For  if  thou  best  capable  of  things  serious, 
thou  must  know,  the  king  is  full  of  grief. 

Sliep.  So  'tis  said,  sir ;  about  his  son,  that  should 
have  married  a  shepherd's  daughter. 

Aut.  If  that  shepherd  be  not  in  hand-fast,  let 
him  lly  ;  the  curses  he  shall  have,  tiie  tortures  he 
sliall  leel,  will  break  the  back  of  man,  the  heart  of 
monster. 

Clo.  Think  you  so,  sir  ? 

Aut.  Not  he  alone  shall  snlTer  what  wit  can  make 
heavj',  and  vengeance  biller;  but  those  that  are 
germanes  to  him  Ihougli  removed  fifty  times,  shall 
all  come  under  the  hangman :  which  though  it  be 
great  pity, yet  it  is  necessary.  An  old  sheep-whis- 
tling rogue,  a  ram-tender,  toolTerto  have  his  daugh- 
ter come  into  grace  !  Some  say,  he  shall  be  stoned ; 
but  that  death  is  too  soft  for  him,  say  I :  Draw  our 
throne  into  a  sheep-cote!  all  deaths  are  too  few, 
the  sharpest  too  easy. 

Clo.  Has  the  old  man  e'er  a  son,  sir,  do  you  hear, 
an't  like  you,  sir ! 

Aut.  He  has  a  son,  who  shall  be  flayed  alive; 
then,  "nointed  over  with  honej-,  set  on  tlie  head  of 
a  wasp's  nest;  then  stand  till  he  be  three-quarters 
and  a  dram  dead  :  then  recovered  again  with  aqua- 
vits, or  some  other  hot  infusion  ;  then,  raw  as  he 


is,  and  in  the  hottest  day  prognostication  proclaims,"! 
shall  he  be  set  against  a  brick  wall,  the  sun  looking 
with  a  southward  eye  upon  him  ;  where  he  is  to  be- 
hold him,  wilh  Hies  blown  to  death.  Hut  what  talk 
we  of  these  traitorly  rascals,  whose  miseries  are  to 
be  smiled  at,  their  offences  being  so  capital  !  Tell 
me,  (for  you  seem  to  be  honest  plain  men.)  what 
you  have  lo  the  king  :  being  something  gently  con- 
sidered.^  I'll  bring  you  where  he  is  aboard,  lender 
your  persons  to  his  presence,  whisper  him  in  your 
behalls;  and.  if  it  he  in  man,  besides  the  king,  to 
ett'ect  >'nur  suits,  here  is  the  man  shall  do  it. 

Cto.  He  seems  to  be  of  great  authority  :  close 
with  him,  give  him  gold;  and  though  authority  be 
a  stubborn  hear,  yet  he  is  oft  led  by  the  nose  wilh 
gold:  show  the  inside  of  your  purse  to  the  outside 
of  his  hand,  and  no  more  ado:  llemember,  stoned 
and  flayed  alive. 

Shep.  An't  please  you,  sir,  to  undertake  the  bus- 
iness for  lis,  here  is  that  gold  I  have :  I'll  make  it 
as  much  more;  and  leave'this young  man  in  pawn, 
till  1  bring  it  to  you. 

Aut.  .Vfter  1  have  done  what  I  promised  ! 

^fiep.  Ay,  sir. 

Aut.  W'ell,  give  me  the  moiety:— Ar6  you  a 
party  in  this  business! 

Clu.  In  some  sort,  sir;  but  though  my  case  be  a 
pitiful  one,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  flayed  out  of  it. 

Aul.  O,  that's  the  case  of  the  shepherd's  son  : — 
Hang  him,  he'll  be  made  an  example. 

Cln.  C'omfoit,  good  comfort ;  we  must  to  tiie 
king,  and  show  our  strange  sights;  he  must  know, 
'tis  none  of  your  daughter  nor  my  si.ster ;  we  are 
gone  else.  .Sir.  I  will  give  you  as  much  as  this  old 
man  does,  wir>-i  the  bus.ness  is  performed ;  and 
remain,  as  he  s.  ''s,  your  pawn,  till  it  be  brought 
you. 

Aut.  I  wii.  •r'_.st\ou.  Walk  before  toward  the 
sea-side;  go  on  the  right  hand;  1  will  but  look 
upon  the  hedge,  and  follow  yon. 

i7«.  We  MIC  blessed  in  tliis  man, as  I  may  say; 
even  blessed. 

Him'.  Let's  before,  as  he  bids  us .  he  was  pro- 
vided to  do  us  good. 

[Exeunt  Shepherd  and  Clown. 

Aut.  If  I  had  a  mind  to  be  hone.si,  1  see,  fortune 
would  not  sull'er  me;  she  drops  booties  in  my  mouth. 
I  am  courted  now  with  a  double  occasion  ;  gold, 
and  a  means  to  do  the  prince  my  master  good  ; 
which,  who  knows  how  that  may  turn  back  to  my 
advancement !  I  will  bring  these  two  moles,  these 
blind  ones,  aboard  him:  if  he  think  it  lit  lo  shore 
them  again,  and  that  the  complaint  they  have  to 
the  king  concerns  him  nothing,  let  him  call  me, 
rogue,  for  being  so  fir  oflicious;  for  1  am  proof 
against  that  title,  and  what  shame  else  belongs  to't: 
To  him  will  I  present  them,  there  may  be  matter 
in  it.  lExit. 


ACT  V. 


.SCENE  I.— Sicilia.    A  Room  in  tlie  Palace  of 
Leonles. 

Enter  Leontes,  Cleomexes,  Diox,  Paulina, 

and  others. 

Cleo.  Sir,  you  have  done  enough,  and  have  per- 
form'd 
A  saint-like  sorrow  :  no  fault  could  you  make. 
Which  you  have  not  redeem'd  ;  indeed,  paid  down 
More  penitence  than  done  trespass  :   At  the  last, 
Do  as  the  heavens  have  done ;  Ibrget  your  evil ; 
With  them,  forgive  yourself. 

Leon.  Whilst  I  remember 

Her  and  her  virtues,  I  cannot  forget 
My  blemishes  in  them;  and  so  still  think  of 
The  wrong  I  did  myself:  which  was  so  much, 
Tliat  heirless  it  hath  made  my  kingdom  ;  and 
Pestroy'd  the  sweet'st  companion,  that  e'er  man 
Bred  liis  hopes  out  of. 

J'aul.  True,  too  true,  my  lord : 

If,  one  by  one,  you  wedded  all  the  world, 
Or,  from  the  all  that  are,  took  something  good, 
■To  make  a  perfect  woman ;  she  you  kill'd, 
■IVould  be  unparallefd. 


*I  cajole  or  force. 


'  Kclated. 


Leon.  I  think  so.    Kill'd  ! 

She  I  kill'd  1  1  did  so:  but  thou  strik'st  me 
Sorely  to  say  1  did  ;  it  is  as  bitter 
Upon  thy  tongue,  as  in  my  thought:    Now,  good 

now. 
Say  so  but  seldom. 

Cleo.  Not  at  all,  good  lady  : 

You  might  have  spoken  a  thousand  things  that 

would 
Have  done  the  time  more  benefit,  and  graced 
Your  kindness  better. 

Paul.  You  are  one  of  those. 

Would  have  him  wed  again. 

Dion.  If  you  would  not  S3, 

You  pity  not  the  state,  nor  the  remembrance 
(if  his  ii'iost  sovereign  dame;  consider  litlle, 
What  dangers,  by  his  highness'  fail  of  issue, 
May  drop  upon  his  kingdom,  and  devour 
Incertain  lookers-on.    What  were  more  holy, 
Than  to  rejoice,  the  former  queen  is  well!        / 
What  holier,  than, — for  royalty's  repair. 
For  present  comfort,  and  for  future  good, — 
To  bless  the  bed  of  majesty  again 
With  a  sweet  fellow  to't  1 

6  The  hottest  day  foretold  ia  the  almanac. 

1  Being  handsomely  bribed. 


248 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  V. 


Paul.  There  is  iimie  worthy, 

Re-^jiectiiiE:  her  tl'.at's  gone.     Besides,  the  gods 
WUl  tiave  f'u Hilled  llicir  secret  purposes: 
]''or  has  not  the  divine  A  polio  said, 
Is't  not  tlie  tenor  of  liis  oracle, 
That  liin^  Leonlcs  sbnll  not  have  an  heir. 
Till  his  lost  chdd  he  fuund  !  which,  that  it  shall. 
Is  all  as  monstrous  to  our  human  reason. 
As  my  Antijonus  to  break  his  grave. 
And  t'.ome  a<rain  to  me ;  who.  on  my  life, 
Did  perish  with  the  infant.  'Tis  your  counsel, 
My  lord  should  to  the  heavens  be  contrary, 
Oppose  a;;a!nst  tiieir  wills. — Care  not  for  issue ; 

\To  Lkontes. 
The  crown  will  find  an  Iieir:  Great  Alexander 
Left  his  to  the  worthiest ;  so  Ins  successor 
Was  like  to  be  the  best. 

L^oit.                                              Good  Paulina, — 
Who  hast  the  memory  of  Hermione, 
I  know  in  honor, — ■(),  that  ever  I 
Had  .'squared  me  to  tiiy  counsel ! — then,  even  now, 
I  mi^ht  have  look'd  upon  my  queen's  full  eyes; 
Have  taken  treasure  from  her  lips, 

Paul.  ,  And  left  them 

More  rich,  from  wliat  they  yielded. 

Ltun.  Thou  speak'st  truth. 

No  more  such  wives;  therefore,  no  wife:  oneworse. 
And  better  used,  would  make  her  sainted  spirit 
Asaiu  possess  her  corpse;  and,  on  this  stage, 
(Where  we  olfeuders  now  appear,)  soul-vex'd. 
Begin,  And  wluj  to  me? 

Paul.  Had  she  such  power. 

She  had  just  cause. 

Lion.  .she  had :  and  would  incense  me 

To  murder  her  I  married. 

Paul.  I  should  so  : 

Were  I  tlie  ghost  that  vvalk'd,  I'd  bid  you  mark 
Her  eye;  and  tell  me,  for  what  dull  part  in't 
You  cliose  her:  tlien  I'd  shriek  that  even  your  ears 
Should  rift'  to  hear  me;  and  the  words  that  foUow'd 
Sliould  be,  Renitnibtr  mine. 

Leon.  Stars,  very  stars. 

And  all  eyes  else  dead  coals! — fear  thou  no  wife, 
I'll  have  no  wil'e,  Paulina. 

Paul.  Will  you  swear 

Never  to  marry,  but  my  free  leave  ] 

L'on.  Never,  Paulina;  so  be  bless'd  my  spirit ! 

Paul.  Then,  good  my  lords,  bear  witness  lo  his 
oath. 

Clco.  You  tempt  hijn  over-much. 

Paul.  .        Unless  another. 

As  like  Hermione  as  is  her  picture, 
Alfront'  his  eye. 

Clco.  Good  Madam, 

Paul.  I  have  done. 

Yet,  if  my  lord  will  marry, — if  you  will,  sir, 
No  remedy  but  you  will  ;'give  rne  the  office 
To  choose  5'ou  a  queen:  she  shall  not  be  so  young 
As  was  your  former;  but  she  shall  be  such, 
As,  walk'd  your  first  queen's  ghost,  it  should  take 

jny. 
To  see  her  in  your  arms. 

Lain.  My  true  Paulina, 

We  shaU  not  marry,  till  thou  bid'st  us. 

Paul.  That 

Shall  be.  when  your  first  queen's  again  in  breath  ; 
Never  till  then. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

Gent.  One  that  gives  out  himself  prince  Florizel, 
Son  of  Polixenes,  willi  his  princess,  (she 
The  fairest  I  have  yet  beheld,)  desires  access 
To  your  higli  presence. 

Lean.  What  with  him  ■!  he  comes  not 

Like  to  his  fallier's  greatness:  his  approach, 
So  out  of  circumstance,  and  sudden,  tells  us, 
'Tis  not  a  visitation  fiamnd,  but  forced 
Uy  need,  and  accident.    What  train  ! 
.  <•>"/•  But  few, 

And  those  but  mean. 

Leon.  His  piincess,  say  you,  with  liim? 

Gent,  Ay ;  the  most  peerless  piece  of  earth,  1 
think. 
That  e'ei  tlie  sun  shone  bright  on. 

faiit.  0  Hermione, 

As  every  present  time  doth  boast  itself 
Above  a  better,  gone;  so  must  thy  grave 
Give  way  to  what's  seen  now.    Sir,  you  yourself 

■Split.  »Moct. 


Have  said,  and  writ  so,  (but  your  writing  now 
is  colder  than  the  ttieiue,)  She  had  not  Oeen 
Nor  wa^  not  to  be  equalt'd; — thus  your  verse 
Flow'd  with  her  beauty  once  ;  'tis  shrewdly  ebb'd. 
To  say,  you  have  seen  a  better. 

Gent.  Pardon,  madam: 

The  one  I  have  almost  forgot;  (your  pardon  ;) 
Tlie  other  when  she  has  obtain'd  youi  eye, 
Will  liave  your  tongue  too.    This  is  such  a  crea- 
ture. 
Would  she  begin  a  sect,  miglit  quench  the  zeal 
of  all  professors  else;  make  proselytes 
Of  wlio  she  but  bid  ibilow. 

Paul.  How  ]  not  women  '. 

Gent.  Women  will  love  l.er,  that  she  is  a  woman 
More  worth  than  any  man;  men,  that  she  is 
The  rarest  of  all  women. 

Le(ni.  Go,  Cleomenes; 

Yourself,  assisted  with  your  honor'd  friends, 
firing  them  to  our  embracement. — -^till,  'tis  strange, 
[Kxeunt  Cj.y.oi>ii.st.s,  Lvrd^,  and   Gentleman. 
He  thus  should  steal  upon  us. 

Paul.  Had  our  prince, 

(Jewel  of  children,)  seen  this  hour,  he  had  pair'd 
Well  with  this  lord  ;  tliere  was  not  full  a  month 
i3etween  tlteir  births. 

Leon.  Pry  thee,  no  more;  thou  know'st, 

He  dies  to  me  again,  when  talk'd  of;  sure. 
When  1  shall  see  this  gentleman,  thy  speeches 
Will  bring  n.e  to  consider  that,  which  may 
Unfurnish  me  of  reason. — Tiiey  are  come. 

Re-enter  Cleomesks.  leit/i  Flokizel,  Perdita, 

and  Attendants. 
Your  mother  was  most  true  to  wedlock,  prince  ; 
i*'or  she  did  jirint  your  royal  father  olti 
Conceiving  you:  Were  I  but  twenty-one, 
Your  father's  image  is  so  lot  in  you. 
His  very  air,  that  i  should  call  you  brother. 
As  1  did  him;  and  speak  of  something,  wildly 
By  us  perform'd  before.    Most  dearly  welcome  ! 
And  your  fair  princess,  goddess! — O,  alas  ! 
i  lost  a  couple,  that  'Iwixt  heaven  and  earth 
Might  thus  liave  stood,  begetting  wonder,  as 
You,  gracious  couple,  do  !  and  tlien  I  lost 
(All  mine  own  folly)  the  society. 
Amity  too,  of  your  brave  father;  whom, 
Tliouglr  bearing  misery,  I  desire  my  liiti 
Once  more  to  look  upon. 

Flo.  By  his  command 

Have  I  here  touch'd  Sicilia:  and  from  him 
Give  you  all  greetings,  iliat  a  king,  at  friend. 
Can  send  his  brother:  and,  but  iiihrmity 
(Which  waits  upon  worn  times)  hatii  someUiiiig 

seiz'd 
His  wish'd  ability,  he  had  himself 
The  lands  and  waters  'twixt  your  throne  and  his 
Measur'd,  to  look  upon  you  ;  whom  he  loves 
(He  hade  me  say  so)  more  than  all  the  sceptres, 
And  those  that  bear  them,  living. 

Lecni.  O,  my  brother, 

(Good  gentleman,)  the  wrongs  I  have  done  thee,  stir 
Afresh  within  me;  and  these  Ihy  oUices, 
So  rarely  kind,  are  as  interpreters 
Of  my  behind-hand  slackness ! — Welcome  hither, 
As  is  the  spring  to  the  earth     And  hath  he  too 
F.xpos'd  this  paragon  to  tl;e  fearful  usage 
(At  least,  ungentle)  of  the  dreadlul  Neptune, 
To  greet  a  man,  not  worth  her  pains  ;  much  less 
The  adventure  of  her  person  ? 

Plo.  Good  my  lord, 

She  came  from  Libya. 

Leon.  Where  the  warlilce  Smalus, 

That  noble  honor'd  lord,  is  fear'd,  and  lov'd  ! 

Flo.  INIost  royal  sir,  from  thence :  from  him,  wdiose 
daughter 
His  tears  proclaim'd  his,  parting  with  her:  thence, 
(A  prosperoussouth-wind friendly,)  wehavecross'd, 
To  execute  the  chargi'  my  father  uave  me. 
For  visiting  your  highness  :  My  best  train 
I  have  from  your  Sicilian  shores  dismiss'd  ; 
Who  for  Bohemia  bend,  to  signify 
Not  only  my  success  in  Libya,  sir, 
But  my  arrival,  and  my  wife's,  in  safely 
Here,  where  we  are. 

Leo7i.  Tlie  blessed  gods 

Purge  all  infection  from  our  air,  whilst  you 
Do  climate  here  !    You  have  a  holy  father. 
A  graceful  genlleman;  against  whose  pcrsi  n, 
So  sacred  as  it  is,  I  have  done  sin : 


Scene  II. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


249 


For  which  the  heavens,  takin;;  an»ry  note. 
Have  left  me  issueless;  antl  your  lather's  bless'd 
(.\s  he  from  lieaven  merits  il)  with  you, 
Wortliy  his  goodness.     What  nii^ht  I  iiave  been, 
Might  1  a  son  and  daugliter  now  have  look'd  on, 
Such  goodly  things  as  you] 

Enlcr  a  Lord. 

Lord.  Most  noble  sir, 

That  which  I  shall  report,  will  bear  no  credit. 
Were  not  the  proof  so  nigh.    Please  you,  great  sir, 
Boliemia  greets  you  from  himself,  by  nie  ; 
Desires  you  to  attach*  his  son,  who  has 
{His  dignity  and  duly  both  cast  oil') 
Fled  from  his  father,  from  his  hopes,  and  with 
A  shepherds  daugliter. 

Leo".  Where's  Bohemia  ?  speak. 

Lord.  Here  in  tlie  city  :  I  now  came  from  him; 
I  speak  amazedly ;  and  it  becomes 
My  marvel,  and  my  message.    To  your  court 
Whiles  he  was  hast'ning,  (in  the  chase,  it  seems, 
Of  this  fair  couple,)  meets  he  on  the  way 
The  father  of  ifiis  seeming  lady,  and 
Her  brother,  having  both  their  country  quitted 
With  this  young  p  iiice. 

Flo.  Camillo  has  betray'd  me  ; 

Whose  honor,  and  whose  hone^ty,  till  now, 
Kndured  all  weathers. 

Lord.  Lay"t  so,  to  his  charge ; 

He's  with  the  king  your  father. 

Leon.  Who?  Camillo? 

Lijrd.  Camillo,  sir;  I  spake  with  him;  who  now 
Has  these  poor  men  in  question.'^    Never  saw  I 
Wretches  so  quake  :  they  kneel,  they  kiss  the  earth; 
Forswear  themselves  as  often  as  they  speak  ; 
Bohemia  stops  his  ears,  and  threatens  them 
With  divers  deaths  in  death. 

Per.  O,  my  poor  father ! — 

The  heaven  sels  spies  upon  us,  will  not  have 
Our  contract  celebrated. 

Leon .  You  are  married  1 

Flo.  We  are  not,  sir,  nor  are  we  like  to  be; 
The  stars,  I  see,  will  tiss  the  valleys  first  : 
The  odds  for  high  and  low's  alike.i 

Lean.  My  lord, 

Is  this  the  daughter  of  a  king  ? 

Flo.  She  is, 

Wlieii  once  she  is  my  wife. 

Leon.  That  once,  1  see,  by  your  good  father's  speed. 
Will  come  on  very  slowly.    1  ani-sorry. 
Most  sorry,  you  have  broken  from  his  liking, 
Where  you  were  tied  in  duty  :  and  as  sorry. 
Your  choice  is  not  so  rich  in  worth  as  beauty, 
That  you  might  well  enjoy  her. 

Flo.  Dear,  look  up : 

Thouixh  fortune,  visible  an  enemy. 
Should  chase  us,  with  my  father  ;  power  no  jot 
Hath  she,  to  change  our  loves. — 'Beseech  you,  sir 
Remember  since  you  ow'd  no  more  to  time 
Than  I  do  now  :  with  thought  of  such  affections, 
Step  fi>rth  mine  advocate;  at  your  request. 
My  father  will  grant  precious  things,  as  trifles. 

Leon.  Would  ho  do  so,  I'd  beg  your  precious 
mistress. 
Which  he  counts  but  a  trille. 

Paul.  Sir,  my  liege, 

Your  eye  hath  too  much  youth  in't :  not  a  month 
'Fore  your  queen  died,  she  was  more  worth  such 

gazes. 
Than  what  you  look  on  now. 

Leon.  I  thought  of  her. 

Even  in  these  looks  I  made. — But  your  petition 

[To  Flokizel. 
Is  yet  unanswer'd :  I  will  to  your  father ; 
Y'our  honor  not  o'erthrown  by  your  desires, 
I  am  a  friend  to  them, and  you:  upon  which  errand 
1  now  go  toward  him;  therefore,  follow  me. 
And  mark  what  way  I  make  :  Come,  good  my  lord. 

{Exeunt. 
SCENF,  n.— Before  the  Palace. 
Enter  AuTOLYcus  and  a  Gentleman. 

Aut.  'Beseech  you,  sir,  were  you  present  at  this 
relation  1 

1  Gent.  I  was  by  at  the  opening  of  the  fardel, 
heard  the  old  shejiherd  deliver  the  manner,  how  he 
found  it:  whereupon,  after  a  little  amazedness,  we 

1  Seize,  arrest.  2  Conversation, 

■  A  quibble  on  the  false  (Uce  so  called. 


were  all  commanded  out  of  the  chamber;  only  this 
nu'thought  I  heard  the  shepherd  say,  he  found  the 
child. 
Aut.  I  would  most  gladly  know  the  issue  of  it. 

1  Gent.  I  make  a  broken  delivery  of  the  business: 
— But  the  changes  I  perceived  in  the  king,  and 
Camillo,  were  very  notes  of  admiration:  they  seemed 
almost,  with  staring  on  one  auotlier,  to  tear  the 
cases  of  their  eyes;  there  was  speech  in  their  dumb- 
ness, language  in  tlieir  very  gesture;  they  looked, 
as  they  had  heard  of  a  world  ransomed,  or  one  de- 
stroyed :  A  noiable  passion  of  wonder  appeared  in 
them:  but  the  wisest  beholder,  that  knew  no  more 
but  seeing,  could  not  say,  if  the  importance*  were 
joy,  or  sorrow :  but  in  the  extremity  of  the  one,  it 
must  needs  be. 

Enter  another  Gentleman. 
Here  comes  a  gentleman,  that  happily,  knows  more: 
The  news,  Rogero  1 

2  Gent.  Notiiing  but  bonfires:  The  oracle  is  ful- 
filled ;  the  king's  daughter  is  found  ;  such  a  deal  of 
wonder  is  broken  out  within  this  hour,  that  ballad- 
makers  cannot  be  able  to  express  it. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 

Here  comes  the  lady  Paulina's  steward  ;  he  can  de- 
liver you  more. — How  goes  it  now,  sir  ]  this  news, 
which  is  called  true,  is  so  like  an  old  tale,  that  the 
verity  of  it  is  in  strong  suspicion  :  Has  the  king 
found  his  heir  \ 

3  Gent.  Most  true  ;  if  ever  truth  were  pregnant 
by  circumstance;  that '"which  you  hear,  you  II  swear 
you  see,  there  is  such  unity  in  the  proofs.  The 
mantle  of  queen  llermione: — her  jewel  about  the 
neck  of  it : — the  letters  of  Antigonus,  found  with  it, 
which  they  know  to  be  his  character:— the  majesty 
of  the  creature,  in  resemblance  of  the  mother; — 
the  alfection*  of  nobleness,  which  nature  shows 
above  her  breeding, — and  many  other  evidences, 
proclaim  her,  with  all  cerlainty,  to  be  the  king's 
daughter.  Did  you  sec  the  meeting  of  the  two 
kings'! 

2  Gent.  No. 

3  Gent.  Then  have  you  lost  a  sight,  which  was 
to  be  seen,  cannot  be  spoken  of  There  might  you 
have  beheld  one  joy  crown  another;  so,  and  in  such 
manner,  that  it  seemed,  sorrow  wept  to  take  leave 
of  them  ;  for  their  joy  waded  in  tears.  There  was 
casting  up  of  eyes,  holding  up  of  hands  ;  with 
countenance  of  such  distraction,  that  they  were  to 
be  known  by  garment,  not  by  favor.«  Our  kin^, 
being  ready  to  leap  out  of  himself  for  joy  of  his 
found  daughter;  as  if  that  joy  were  now  become  a 
loss,  cries.  0,  thy  mother,  thii  mother.'  then  asks 
Bohemia  forgiveness ;  then  em'braces  liisson-in-la;v; 
then  again  worries  he  his  daughter,  with  clipping' 
her;  now  he  thanks  the  old  shepherd, which  stands 
by,  like  a  ■weather-beaten  conduit  of  many  kings' 
reigns.  I  never  heard  of  such  another  encounter, 
which  lames  report  to  follow  it,  and  undoes  descrip- 
tion to  do  it. 

2  Gent.  What,  pray  you.  became  of  Antigonus, 
that  carried  hence  the  child  1 

3  Gent.  Like  an  old  tale  still;  which  will  have 
matter  to  rehearse,  though  credit  be  asleep,  and  not 
an  ear  open  :  He  was  torn  to  pieces  wi<h  a  bear, 
this  avouches  the  shepherd's  son  ;  who  has  not  only 
his  innocence  (which  seems  much)  to  justify  him, 
but  a  handkerchief,  and  rings,  of  his,  that  Paulina 
knows. 

1  Gent.  What  became  of  his  bark,  and  his  fol- 
lowers ! 

3  Gent.  Wreck'd,  the  same  instant  of  their  mas- 
ter's death ;  and  in  the  view  of  the  shepherd :  so 
that  all  the  instruments,  which  aided  to  expose  the 
child,  were  even  then  lost,  when  it  was  found.  But, 
O,  the  noble  combat,  thai,  'twixt  joy  and  sorrow, 
was  fought  in  Paulina!  She  had  one  eye  declined 
for  the  loss  of  her  husband  ;  another  elevated  that 
the  oracle  was  fulfilled:  She  lifted  the  princess 
from  the  earth  :  and  so  locks  her  in  embracing,  as 
if  she  would  pin  her  to  her  heart,  thai  she  might 
no  more  be  in  danger  of  losing. 

1  Gent.  The  dignity  of  this  act  was  worth  the 
audience  of  kings  and  princes ;  for  by  such  was  it 
acted. 


«  The  thing  imported. 
6  Countenance,  features. 


»  Disposition  or  quality. 
1  Embracing. 


250 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


Act  V, 


3  Gcnf.  One  of  the  prettiest  touches  of  all,  and 
that  whicli  uncled  for  mine  eyes,  (eau^ht  the  water, 
though  not  the  fish,)  vva^^,  wlien  at  the  relation  of 
the  queen*s  death,  with  the  manner  how  she  came 
to  it,  (bravely  confessed,  and  lamented  by  the  kins;,) 
how  attcntivenoss  wound^^d  his  dauzhter:  till,  from 
one  sien  of  dolor  to  another,  she  did  with  an  alas! 
I  would  fain  say,  bleed  tears;  for,  I  am  sure,  my 
heart  wepl  blood.  Who  was  most  marble  there. 
chani;5ed  color  ;  some  swooned,  all  sorrowed  :  if 
all  the  world  could  have  seen  it,  the  woe  had  been 
universal. 

1  Gent.  Are  they  returned  to  the  court  1 

3  Gent,  No  :  the  princess  heaiinsr  of  her  mother's 
statue,  which  is  in  the  keeping  of  Paulina. — a  piece 
many  years  in  dointr,  and  now  nearly  performed  by 
tliatrarc  Itilian  master,  .luiio  Romano;  who.  had 
he  himself  eternity,  and  could  put  breath  into  his 
work,  would  bes:uile  nature  of  her  custom,  so  per- 
fectly is  he  her  ape  :  he  so  near  to  Ilermione  halh 
done  Hermii>ne,  that,  they  say,  one  would  speak  to 
her,  and  stand  in  hope  of  answer  :  thither  with  all 
greediness  of  affection,  are  they  gone;  and  there 
they  intend  to  sup. 

2  Gent.  I  thouich.t,  she  had  some  creat  matter 
there  in  hand  ;  for.  she  hath  privately,  twice  or 
thrice  a  day,  ever  since  the  death  of  Hermione, 
visited  that  removed  house.  5'hall  we  thither,  and 
vpith  our  company  piece  the  rejoicin:?^ 

1  Gent.  Who  would  be  thence,  that  has  the  bene- 
fit of  access  1  every  wink  of  an  eye,  some  new 
grace  will  be  born  :  "our  absence  makes  us  unthrifty 
to  our  knowledge.    Let's  alons. 

\Exeunf  Gentlemen. 

Auf.  Xow,  had  I  not  the  dash  of  my  former  life 
in  me.  would  preferment  drop  on  my  head.  I 
brou;jht  the  old  man  and  his  son  aboard  tlie  prince  ; 
told  him  I  heard  him  talk  of  a  fardel,  and  I  know 
not  what:  but  he  at  that  time,  over-fnnd  of  the 
shepherd's  daughter,  (so  he  then  took  her  to  he.) 
who  bei^an  to  be  much  sea-sick,  and  Iiimself  little 
better,  extremity  of  weather  continuinsr,  this  mys- 
tery remained  undiscovered.  But  'tis  all  one  to  mr: 
for  had  I  been  tlie  linder-out  of  this  secret,  it  would 
not  have  relished  among  my  other  discredits. 

Enter  Shepherd  a?id  Clown. 
Here  come  those  I  have  done  ffood  to  against  my 
will,  and  already  appearing  in  the  blossoms  of  their 
fortune. 

Shep.  Come,  boy;  T  am  past  more  children;  but 
thy  sons  and  daughters  will  be  all  gentlemen 
born. 

do.  You  are  well  met.  sir;  You  denied  to  fight 
with  me  this  other  day, because  I  was  no  gentleman 
boru :  See  you  these  clothes  1  say.  you  see  them 
not,  and  thmk  me  still  no  gentleman  born:  you 
were  best  say,  these  robes  are  not  srenllemen  born. 
Give  me  the  lie ;  do ;  and  try  whether  I  am  not  now 
a  gentleman  born. 

Aitt.  I  know  you  are  now,  sir,  a  gentleman  born. 

Clo.  Ay,  and  have  been  so  any  time  these  four 
hours. 

Shep.  And  so  have  I,  boy. 

Cln.  So  ynu  have: — but  I  was  a  gentleman  boru 
before  my  father  :  for  the  king's  son  took  me  by  the 
hand,  and  called  me,  bi'other:  and  then  the  two 
kings  called  my  father,  brother;  and  then  the 
prince,  my  brother,  and  the  princess,  my  sister, 
called  my  father,  father;  and  so  we  wept:  and 
there  was  the  first  genlleman-Hke  tears  that  ever 
we  shed. 

Shep.  We  may  live,  son,  to  shed  many  more. 

C/o.  Ay;  or  else 'twere  hard  luck,  being  in  so 
preposterous  estate  as  we  are. 

Auf.  I  humbly  beseech  you,  sir,  to  pardon  me 
all  the  faults  I  have  committed  to  your  worship,  and 
to  give  me  your  good  report  to  the  prince  my 
master. 

Shep.  Prythee,  son,  do ;  for  we  must  be  gentle, 
now  we  are  gentlemen. 

Clo.  Thou  wilt  amend  thy  life'? 

Ant.  Ay,  an  it  like  your-  good  worship, 

Clo.  Give  me  tiiy  hand:  I  will  swear  to  tlie 
prince  thou  art  as  honest  a  true  fellow  as  any  is  in 
Bohemia. 

Shep.  You  may  say  it,  but  not  swear  it. 

Clo.  Not  swear  it,  now  I  am  a  gentleman?   Let 
boors  and  franldins"  say  it,  I'll  swear  it. 
•  Yeomen. 


Shep.  How  if  it  be  false,  son  ? 

do.  If  it  be  ne'er  so  false,  a  true  gentleman  may 
swe.u-  it  in  the  behalf  of  his  friend: — And  I'll 
swear  to  the  prince,  thou  art  a  tall'  fellow  of  thy 
hands,  and  that  tliou  wilt  not  be  drunk;  but  I 
know,  thou  art  no  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands,  and 
that  thou  wilt  be  drunk;  but  111  swear  it:  audi 
would,  thou  wouldst  be  a  tall  fellow  of  thy  hands. 

Aut.  I  will  prove  so,  sir,  to  my  power. 

Clo.  Ay,  by  any  means  prove  a  tall  fellow:  if  I 
do  not  wonder,  how  thou  darcst  venture  to  be 
drunk,  not  being  a  tall  fellow,  trust  me  not. — Hark! 
tiie  kings  and  the  princes,  our  kindred,  are  goin^ 
to  see  the  queens  picture.  Come,  follow  us  :  \ve'll 
be  thy  good  masters.  [Exeimt* 

SCENE  III.— ^  Room  in  Paulina's  House. 

Enter  Lkoxtks.  Polixkxes,  Florizel,  Perdita, 
Camillo,  Paulina,  Lords  ami  Attendants. 

Leon.  O  grave  and  good  Paulina,  tlie  great  com- 
fort 
That  I  have  had  of  thee  ! 

Paul.  What,  sovereign  sir, 

I  did  not  well,  I  meant  well:  All  my  services, 
You  have  paid  home :  but  that  you  have  vouchsafed 
With  your  crown'd  brother,  and   these  your  con- 
tracted 
Fleirs  of  your  kingdoms,  my  poor  house  to  visit, 
It  is  a  surplus  of  your  grace  which  never 
My  life  may  last  to  answer. 

Leon.  O  Paulina, 

We  honor  you  with  trouble:  But  we  came 
To  see  the  statue  of  our  queen :  your  gallery 
Have  we  passed  through,  not  without  much  content 
In  many  singularities;  but  we  saw  not 
That  which  my  daughter  came  to  look  upon. 
The  statue  of  lier  mother. 

Paul.  As  she  liv'd  peerless, 

So  her  dead  likeness,  I  do  well  believe, 
Excels  whatever  yet  you  look'd  upon. 
Or  hand  of  man  hath  done  ;  therefore  [  keep  it 
Lonely,  apart:  But  here  it  is:  prepare 
To  see  the  life  as  lively  mock'cf.  as  ever 
Still  sleep  niock*d  death:  behold  ;  and  say,  *tis  well, 
[Paulina  undraws  a  Curtain,  and  discovers  a 
Stalue. 
I  like  your  silence,  it  the  more  shows  ofF 
Your  vv-onder:  but  yet  speak; — first,  you  ray  liege, 
Comes  it  not  somefhing  near? 

Leon.  Her  natural  posture  !— 

Chide  me,  dear  stone;  that  I  may  say,  indeed. 
Thou  art  Hermione  :  or,  rather,  thou  art  she, 
In  thy  not  chiding;  for  she  was  as  tender, 
As  infancy  and  grace.— lUit  yet,  Paulina, 
Hermione  was  not  so  much  wrinkled;  nothing 
So  aged,  as  this  seems. 

Pol.  O,  not  by  much. 

Piiul.  So  much  the  more  our  carver's  excellence; 
Which  lets  go  by  some  sixteen  yeary,  and  makes  her 
As  she  liv'd  now, 

Leon,  As  now  slie  might  have  done, 

So  much  to  my  good  comfort,  as  it  is 
Now  jiiercing  to  my  soul.    O.  thus  she  stood. 
Even  with  such  life  of  majesty,  (warm  life. 
As  now  it  coldly  stands.)  when  first  I  woo'd  her! 
I  am  ashamed:  Does  not  the  stone  rebuke  me. 
For  being  more  stone  than  it  ?— (),  royal  piece. 
There's  ma'j:ic  in  thy  majesty  ;  which  has 
My  evils  conjur'd  to  remembrance  ;  and 
From  thy  admiring  daughter  look  the  spirits, 
Standing  like  stone  with  thee  ! 

Per.  And  give  me  leave; 

And  do  not  say  'tis  superstition,  that 
I  kneel,  and  then  implore  her  blessing. — Lady, 
Dear  queen,  tliat  ended  when  I  but  begaji. 
Give  me  that  hand  of  yours,  to  kiss. 

Paul.  O,  patience; 

The  statue  is  but  newly  fix'd,  the  colors 
Not  dry. 

Cam.  My  lord,  your  sorrow  was  too  sore  laid  en : 
Which  sixteen  winters  cannot  blow  away, 
So  many  summers,  dry:  scarce  any  joy 
Did  ever  so  long  Live;  no  sorrow, 
But  kilfd  itself  much  sooner. 

Pitl.  Dear  my  brother, 

Let  him,  that  was  the  cause  of  this,  have  power 
To  take  olf  so  much  grief  from  you,  as  he 
Will  piece  up  in  himself. 

» Stout. 


Scene  III. 


WINTER'S  TALE. 


251 


Paul.  Indeed,  my  lord. 

If  I  had  thought  t}ic  si^ht  of  my  poor  image 
Woald  thus  liave  wrought  you,  Uor  the  stone  is 

mine.) 
I'd  not  liave  show'd  it. 

Leon,  Do  not  draw  the  curtain. 

Paul.  No  longer  shall  you  gaze  on't;  lest  your 
fancy 
May  think  anon,  it  moves. 

Leon.  Let  be,  let  be. 

■\Vould  I  were  dead,  but  that,  melhinks  already — 
What  was  he,  that  did  malie  it '. — See,  my  lord. 
Would  you  not  deem,  it  bieatli'd!  and  that  those 

veins 
Did  verily  bear  blood? 

Pol.  Masterly  done : 

The  very  life  seems  warm  upon  her  lip. 

Leon.  Tlie  fixuro  of  her  eye  has  motion  in't 
As'  we  are  mock'd  wiili  art. 

Paul.  I'll  draw  the  curtain ; 

My  lord's  almost  so  far  transported,  that 
He'll  think  anon,  it  Uvea. 

Lenn.  O,  sweet  Paulina, 

Make  me  to  think  so  twenty  years  toscthcr; 
No  settled  senses  of  th.e  world  can  match 
The  pleasure  of  that  mauiiess.    Left  alone. 

Paul.  I  am  sorry,  sir,  1  have  thus  far  stirr'd  yoi: 
but 
I  could  afflict  you  further. 

Leon.  Do,  Paulina ; 

For  this  affliction  has  a  taste  as  sweet 
As  any  cordial  comfort. — ^till,  methinks, 
Tiiere  is  an  air  comes  from  her:  What  fine  cliisel 
Could  ever  yet  cut  breath !    Let  no  man  mock  me, 
For  I  will  kiss  her. 

Paul.  Good  my  lord,  forbear : 

The  ruddiness  upon  her  lip  is  wet; 
You'll  mar  it,  if  you  kiss  it;  stain  your  own 
With  oily  painting:  Shall  I  draw  the  curtain? 

Ixon.  No,  not  tliese  twenty  years. 

Per.  So  long  could  I 

Stand  by,  a  looker-on. 

Paul.  Either  forbear, 

Qu it  presently  the  chapel ;  or  resolve  you 
For  more  amazement:  If  you  can  beliold  it, 
111  make  the  statue  move;  indeed,  descend. 
And  take  you  by  tlic  liand:  but  then  you  U  think, 
(Which  I  protest  against,)  1  am  assisted 
Uy  wicked  powers. 

Levn.  What  you  can  make  her  do, 

I  am  content  to  look  on :  what  to  speak 
I  am  content  to  hear:  for  'tis  as  easy 
To  mal»e  her  sijeak,  as  move. 

Paul.  It  is  required 

'Vou  do  awake  your  faith  :  Then,  all  stand  still ; 
Or  those,  that  tliink  it  is  unlawful  business 
1  am  about,  let  them  depart. 

LeoJi.  Proceed ; 

No  font  shall  stir. 

Paul.       Music  ;  awake  her  :  strike. —    \M'isic. 
'Tistiiiie;  descend;  be  stone  no  more :  approach, 
Strike  all  that  loolc  ujion  wilh  marvel.    Come  : 
I'll  fill  your  grave  up ;  stir  ;  nay,  come  away  ; 
Bequeath  to  death  your  numbness,  for  from  him 
Dear  life  redeems  you. — You  perceive  she  stirs: 

IHermiosi;  comes  down  from  llie  Pedestal. 
»  ABif. 


Start  not:  her  actions  shall  be  holy,  as. 

You  hear,  my  spell  is  lawiul :  do  not  shun  her, 

Until  you  see  lier  die  again;  for  then 

You  kdl  her  double:  Nay,  present  your  hand: 

When  she  was  young,  you  woo'd  her;  now,  in 

age. 
Is  she  become  the  suitor. 

Leon.  0,  she's  warm  !  [Embracing  her. 

If  tliis  be  magic,  let  it  be  an  art 
Lawful  as  eating. 

Pol.  She  embraces  him. 

Cam.  She  hangs  about  his  neck ; 
If  she  pertain  to  lite,  let  her  speak  too. 

Pol.  Ay,  and  make't  manifest  where  she  has  liv'd, 
Or,  how  stolen  from  the  dead. 

Paul.  That  she  is  living, 

Were  it  but  told  you,  should  be  hooted  at 
Like  an  old  tale;  but  it  appears,  she  lives 
Though  yet  she  speak  not.    Mark  a  little  while. — 
Please  you  to  interpose,  fair  madam ;   kneel. 
And   pray   your    mother's  blessing. — Turn,  good 

lady  ; 
Our  Pcrdita  is  found. 

[Presentinf;  PEiiBiTi,  ivho  kneels  to 
Heumione. 

Her.  You  gods,  look  down, 

.\iid  from  your  sacred  vials  pour  your  graces 
Upon  my  daughter's  head! — Tell  me,  iliine  own, 
Where  hast  thou  been  preserv'd?  where  liv'd!  how 

found 
Thy  father's  court  1  for  thou  shall  hear  that  I, — 
Knowing  by  Paulina,  that  the  oracle 
Gave  hope  thou  wast  in  being, — have  preserv'd 
Myself  to  see  the  issue. 

Paul.  There's  time  enough  for  that; 

Lest  they  desire,  upon  this  pusli,  to  trouble 
Your  joys  wilh  like  relation. — Go  together. 
You  precious  winners  all:  your  exultation 
Partake  to  every  one.     1,  an  old  tu.tle. 
Will  wing  me  to  some  witlier'd  bough;  and  there 
My  mate,  that's  never  to  be  found  again, 
Lament  till  I  am  lost. 

l^'Mn.  0  peace,  Paulina; 

Thou  shouldst  a  husband  take  by  my  consent, 
As  I  by  thine,  a  wife:  this  is  a  match. 
And  made  betweeirs  by  vows.    Thou  hast  found 

mine; 
But  how,  IS  it  to  be  qucstion'd  ;  for  I  saw  her, 
.\s  I  thought,  dead ;  and  have,  in  vain,  said  many 
.\  prayer  upon  her  grave:  I'll  not  seek  far 
(For  him,  1  partly  know  his  mind)  to  find  thee 
An  honorable  husband  :— Come,  Camillo. 
And  take  her  by  the   hand :   whose  worth,  and 

honesty, 
Is  richly  noted ;  and  here  justified 
By  us,  a  pair  of  kings. — Let's  from  this  place. — 
What  '. — Look    upon    my    brolher : — both    your 

pardons. 
That  e'er  I  put  between  your  holy  looks 
My  ill  suspicion. — This  your  son-in-law. 
And  son  unto  the  king,  (whom  heavens  directing,) 
I.-5  troth-plight  to  your  daughter. — Good  Paulina, 
Lead  us  from  hence  ;  where  we  may  leisurely 
Facli  one  demand,  and  answer  to  ins  part 
Perform'd  in  this  wide  gap  of  time,  since  first 
We  were  dissever'd:  Hastily  lead  away. 

[E.veunf 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Sotixus,  Luke  cf  Epliesus. 
^GEox,  a  Merchant  of  Syracuse. 

r  Tutin  Brothers,  and 
Antipiioics  of  Ephesus,  J  Hons  tii  JEneon  and 
ASTiriioLus  of  Syracuse,  j  JEmiWa.hnt  hnlenown 

[  to  each  otiier. 

Dno>no„/  Ephesus,  (  S»/f  ™,f  S  too  /nl 
Dbomu,,/ Syracuse,  I  ~^s,s. 
Balthazar,  a  Merchant. 


ANfiKLo,  a  Gotdsmith. 

A  Merchant,  Friend  to  Antipliolus  of  Syracuse. 

Pinch,  a  Schoolmaster,  and  a  Crjnjurer. 

iEMiLiA,  Wife  to  Aiitipliolus  of  Ephesus. 
Adiuana,  Wife  to  Aullpliolus  (/Ephesus. 
LuciANA,  her  Sister, 
Luce,  her  Servant. 
A  Courtezan, 

Gaoler,  Officers,  and  oilier  Attendants. 


SCENE,  Ephesus. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— A  Hall  in  the  Duke's  Palace. 

Enter  Duke,  iEoEON,  Gaoler,  Officers,  an tZ  otiier 
Altondants. 

j^ge.  Proceed,  Solinus,  to  procure  my  fall, 
And  by  the  doom  of  death,  end  woes  and  all. 

Duke.  Merchant  of  Syracusa,  plead  no  more  ; 
I  am  not  partial  to  infringe  our  laws: 
The  enmity  and  discord,  which  of  late 
Sprung  from  the  rancorous  outrage  of  your  duke 
To  merchants,  our  well-dealing  countrymen, — 
Who,  wanting  gilders'  to  redeem  their  lives. 
Have  seald  his  rig'rous  statutes  with  their  liloods, — 
Excludes  all  pity  from  our  threafning  looks, 
For,  since  the  mortal  and  intestine  jars 
'Twixt  thy  seditious  cninitrj-men  and  us, 
It  hath  in  solemn  synods  been  decreed, 
Both  by  the  Syracusans  and  ourselves. 
To  admit  no  traffic  to  our  adverse  towns: 
Nay,  more. 

If  any  born  at  Ephesus,  be  seen 
At  any  Syracusan  marls  and  fairs ; 
Again,  It  any  Syracusan  born. 
Come  to  the  bay  of  Ephesus,  he  dies, 
His  goods  confiscate  to  the  duke's  dispose  ; 
Unless  a  thousand  marks  be  levied. 
To  quit  the  penalty,  and  to  ransome  him. 
Thy  substance  valued  at  the  highest  rate, 
Cannot  amount  unto  a  hmidred  marks; 
Therefore,  by  law  thou  art  condemnd  to  die. 

JEne.  Yet  this  my  comfort ;  when  your  words 
are  done. 
My  woes  end  likewise  with  the  evening  sun. 

Duke.  Well,  Syracusan,  say,  in  brief,  the  cause 
Why  thou  departcdst  from  thy  native  home; 
Ami  for  what  cause  thou  cani'st  to  Ephesus. 

jSge.  A  heavier  task  could  not  have  been  impos'd 
Than  I  to  speak  my  griefs  unspeakable: 
Yet,  that  the  world  may  witness,  that  my  end 
W^as  wrought  by  nature,  not  by  vile  offence, 
I'll  utter  what  my  sorrow  gives  me  leave. 
In  Syracusa  was  I  born  ;  and  wed 
Unto  a  woman,  happy  but  for  me. 
And  by  me  too,  had  not  our  hap  been  bad. 
Willi  her  I  liv'd  in  )oy  ;  our  wealth  increased, 
By  prosperous  voyages  I  ofien  made 
To  Kpidamnum,  till  my  factors  death  ; 
And  he  (great  care  of  goods  at  random  left) 
Drew  me  from  kind  embraoements  of  my  spouse: 
From  whom  my  absence  was  not  six  months  old, 
Before  herself  (lilmost  at  lainting  under 
The  pleasiri-r  purpshment  th:it  women  bear) 
Had  made  provision  tor  her  following  me, 

1  Name  of  a  com. 
252 


And  soon,  and  safe,  arrived  where  I  was. 

There  she  had  not  been  long,  but  she  became 

A  joyful  mother  of  two  goodly  sons  ; 

And  which  was  strange,  the  one  so  like  the  otiier, 

As  could  not  be  distingnish'd  but  by  names. 

That  very  hour,  and  in  the  self-same  imi, 

A  poor  mean  woman  was  delivered 

(If  such  a  burden,  male  twins,  boUi  alike: 

Those,  for  their  parents  w^eie  exceeding  poor, 

I  bought,  and  brought  up  to  attend  my  sous. 

My  wife,  not  meanly  proud  of  two  such  boys, 

Made  daily  motions  for  our  home  return: 

Unwilling  I  agreed;  alas,  too  soon. 

We  came  aboard  : 

A  league  from  F'.pidamnum  had  we  sailed, 

Before  the  always-wind-obeying  deep 

Gave  any  tragic  instance  of  our  harm  : 

But  longer  did  we  not  retain  much  hope ; 

For  what  obscured  light  the  heavens  did  grant 

Did  but  convey  unto  our  fearful  minds 

A  doubtful  warrant  of  immediate  death  ; 

Which,  though  mysellvvould  g.'adly  have  embracei^ 

Yet  the  incessant  weepings  ot  my  wife, 

Weeping  before  for  what  she  saw  must  come, 

And  piteous  plainings  of  the  pretty  babes, 

That  rnourn'd  for  fashion,  ignorant  what  to  fear, 

Forced  me  to  seek  delays  for  them  and  me. 

And  this  it  was, — for  other  means  was  none. — 

The  sailors  sought  for  safety  by  our  boat. 

And  left  the  ship,  then  sinking-ripe,  to  us: 

My  wife,  more  careful  for  the  elder  bom, 

Had  fastcn'd  him  unto  a  small  spare  mast, 

Such  as  sea-faring  men  provide  for  storms; 

To  him  one  of  tlie  other  twins  was  bound. 

Whilst  I  had  been  like  heedful  of  the  other. 

The  children  thus  dispos'd,  my  wife  and  I, 

Fixing  our  eyes  on  whom  our  care  was  tix'd, 

Fastcn'd  ourselves  at  either  end  the  mast ; 

And  floating  straight,  obedient  to  the  stream, 

Were  carried  towards  Corinlh,  as  we  thought. 

At  length  the  sun,  gazing  upon  the  earth, 

Dispersd  those  vapors  tiiat  oiTendod  us; 

And,  by  the  benefit  of  his  wish'd  hght. 

The  seas  wax'd  calm,  and  we  discovered 

Two  ships  from  far  making  amain  to  us, 

Of  Corinth  that,  of  Epidaurus  this  : 

Rut  ere  they  came, — t),  let  me  say  no  more  ! 

Gather  the  sequel  by  tliat  went  before. 

Duke.  Nay,  forward,  old  man,  do  not  break  off  so; 
For  we  may  pity,  though  not  pardon  thee. 

jEfiC.  0,'had  the  gods  done  so,  I  had  not  now 
Worthily  term'd  them  meiriless  to  us! 
For,  ere  tlie  ships  could  meet  by  twice  five  leagues, 
We  were  encounter'd  by  a  mighty  rock  ; 
Which  being  violently  borne  upon,- 


SCEKE    II. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


253 


Our  helpful  sliip  was  splitted  in  the  midst, 

So  that.  111  tins  unjust  divorce  of  us, 

Fortune  had  left  to  botli  of  us  aUke 

What  to  deiiglit  in,  what  to  sorrow  for. 

Her  part,  pour  soul  !  seeniint;  as  burdened 

With  Icsyer  weight,  but  not  with  lesser  woe, 

Was  carried  wltli  more  speed  before  the  wind  ; 

And  in  our  si'^lit  they  three  were  taken  up 

By  tishernien  of  Cornith,  as  we  tliought. 

At  length,  another  ship  iiad  seiz'd  on  us ; 

And,  knowing  whom  it  was  tbeir  h.ip  to  save, 

Gave  helpful  weleoine  to  then-  shipwrcck'd  quests; 

And  would  have  reftj  the  Jishers  of  Ihcir  prey, 

Had  not  their  bark  been  very  slow  of  sail. 

And    therefore    homeward    did    they   bend   their 

course. — 
Thus  have  you  heard  me  sever* d  from  my  bliss  ; 
That  by  misfortunes  was  my  life  prolonged, 
To  tell  sad  stones  of  my  own  misiiaps. 

Duke.   \nd,  for  the  sake  of  them  thou  sorrowesl 
for. 
Do  me  the  favor  to  dilate  at  full 
What  hath  bcfall'n  of  tbem,  and  thee,  till  now. 

^ge.  My  youngest  boy,  and  yet  my  eldest  care, 
At  eigbteen  years  became  inquisitive 
After  his  brother;  and  impuriund  me. 
That  his  attendant  (for  his  case  was  like, 
Reft  of  his  brother,  but  retain'd  his  name) 
Might  bear  him  company  in  the  quest  of  him: 
Whom  whilst  I  lai)or'd  of  a  love  to  see 
I  hazarded  the  loss  of  whom  I  lovd. 
Five  summers  have  I  spent  in  furthest  Greece, 
Roaming'  cfean^  through  the  bounds  of  Asia, 
And,  coasting:  homew.ird.  came  to  Kphesus; 
Hopeless  to  find,  yet  loath  to  leave  unsought, 
Or  that,  or  any  place  that  harbors  men. 
But  here  must  end  tlie  story  of  my  life; 
And  happy  were  I  in  my  lunely  death. 
Could  alTmy  travels  warrant  me  they  live. 

Duke.    Hapless  JEgeon,  whom   the  fates  have 
mark'd 
To  bear  the  extremity  of  dire  mishap ! 
Now,  trust  me,  were  it  not  again---t  our  laws, 
Against  my  crown,  my  oath,  my  dignity. 
Which  princes,  would  they,  may  not  disannul, 
My  soul  should  sue  as  advocate  for  thee. 
But,  though  thou  art  adjudged  to  the  death. 
And  passed  sentence  may  not  be  recall'd, 
But,  to  our  honor's  great  disparagement, 
Yet  will  1  favor  thee  in  what  I  can  : 
Therefore,  merchant.  111  limit  Ihee  this  day 
To  seek  thy  help  by  benefuial  help: 
Try  all  the  friends  thou  Jiast  in  Ephesus; 
Beg  thou,  or  borrow,  to  make  up  the  sum,    * 
And  live  ;  if  not,  then  lliou  art  doom'd  to  die: — 
Gaoler,  take  him  to  thy  custody. 

Gaol.  I  will,  my  lord. 

ACge.  Hopeless,  and  helpless,  doth  /Egeon  wend,-* 
But  to  procrastinate  his  lifeless  end.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  U.— A  public  place. 

Enter  AyTTPHOLUs  and  Dtiomto  f/ Syracuse,  and 
a  Merchant. 

Mer.  Therefore,  give  out.  you  areof  Epidamnum, 
Lest  that  your  goods  too  soon  be  confiscate. 
This  very  day,  a  Syrac-nsaii  merchant 
Is  appreiiended  for  arrival  here; 
And,  not  being  able  to  buy  out  his  life, 
According  to  the  statute  of  the  town. 
Dies  ere  the  weary  sun  set  in  the  west: 
There  is  your  money  that  I  had  to  keep. 

Ant.  S.  Go  bear  it  to  the  Centaur,  where  we  host, 
And  stay  there,  Dromio,  till  I  come  to  thee. 
Within  this  hour  it  will  be  dinner-time: 
Till  that  Ml  view  the  manners  of  the  town, 
Peruse  the  traders,  gaze  upon  the  buildings, 
And  tlien  return,  and  sleep  within  mine  inn ; 
For  with  long  travel  I  am  stilfand  weary. 
Get  thee  away. 

Dro.  S.  Many  a  man  would  take  you  at  your  word, 
And  go  indeed,  having  so  good  a  mean. 

[Exit  Dno.  S. 

Ant.  S.  A  trusty  villain,*  sir;  that  very  oft. 
When  I  am  dull  with  care  and  melancholy, 
Lightens  my  humor  with  his  merry  jests. 


'i  Bereft,  deprived. 
«Go. 


3  Cleop,  completely. 
»i.  e.  Servant, 


Wliat,  will  you  walk  with  nic  about  the  town, 
And  then  go  to  my  inn,  and  dine  with  me? 

Mcr.  1  am  invited,  sir,  to  certain  merchants, 
Of  whom  I  hupe  to  make  much  beneht ; 
I  crave  your  purdoii.     Soon,  at  five  o'clock, 
Please  you,  I'll  meet  with  you  upon  the  mart, 
And  afterwards  consort  >ou  till  bed-lime; 
My  present  busuiess  calls  me  from  you  now. 

Ant.  S.  Farewell  till  then:  1  will  go  lose  myself, 
And  wander  up  and  down,  to  view  tlie  city- 

Mer.  Sir,  1  commend  you  to  your  own  content. 
[Exit  Merchant. 

Ant.  S.  He  that  commends  me  to  mine  own  con- 
tent, 
Commends  me  to  the  thing  I  cannot  get. 
1  to  the  world  am  like  a  drop  of  water. 
That  in  the  ocean  seeks  another  drop ; 
Who,  fading  there  to  find  his  fellow'  forth, 
Unseen,  inquisitive,  confounds  himself: 
So  1,  to  find  a  mother,  and  a  brother, 
In  quest  of  them,  unhappy,  lose  myself. 

Eatei-  Dromio  of  Ephesus. 
Here  comes  the  almanac  of  my  true  date, — 
What  now!  Mow  chance,  thou  art  return  d  so  soon! 
Dro.  E.  Jleiurn  d  so  soon  !  rather  approach'd  too 
late  : 
The  capon  burns,  the  pig  falls  from  the  spit; 
The  clock  has  strucken  twelve  upon  the  hell, 
My  mistress  made  it  one  upon  my  cheek: 
she  is  so  hot,  because  the  meat  is  cold  ; 
The  meat  is  cold,  because  you  come  not  home; 
You  come  not  home,  because  you  have  no  stomach; 
Vou  have  no  stomach,  having  broke  your  last; 
But  we,  that  know  what  'tis  to  fast  and  pray, 
Are  penitent  for  your  .iefault  to-day. 
Ant.  i^.     Stoi>  m  your  wind,  sir  ;  tell  me  this,  I 
pray  ; 
Where  have  you  left  the  money  that  T  gave  you  : 
Dro.  E.    O,— sixpence",  that  1  had  o'VVednesday 
last. 
To  pay  the  saddier  for  my  mistress'  crupper; — 
The  saddler  had  it,  sir,  I  kept  it  not. 

Ant.  a.    I  am  not  in  a  sportive  humor  now  : 
Tell  me,  and  dally  not,  where  is  the  money  1 
We  being  strangei*3  here,  how  dar'st  thou  trust 
So  great  a  charge  from  thine  own  custody  ? 

Dro.  E.    1  pray  you,  jest,  sir,  as  you  sit  at  dinner; 
I  from  my  mistress  come  to  you  in  post; 
If  1  return,  1  sliall  be  post  indeed; 
For  she  will  scure  your  lault  upon  my  pate. 
Methinks,  your  maw,  like  nujte,  should   be  your 

clock. 
And  strike  you  home  without  a  messenger. 
Ant.  S.    Come,  Dromio,  come,  these  jests  are  out 
of  season; 
Reserve  them  till  a  merrier  hour  than  this: 
Where  is  the  gold  I  gave  in  charge  to  thee  1 
Dro.  E.  To  me,  sir  \  why  you  gave  no  gold  to  me. 
Ant.  S.  Come  on,  sir  knave,  have  done  your  fool- 
ishness. 
And  tell  me,  how  thou  hast  dispos'd  thy  charge. 
Dro.E.  My  charge  was  but  to  fetch  you  from  the 
mart 
Home  to  your  house,  the  Phosnix,  sir,  to  dinner; 
My  mistress,  and  her  sister,  stay  for  you. 

A/it.  S.    Now.  as  I  am  a  christian,  answer  me,  _ 
In  vv'hat  safe  place  you  have  bestow'd  my  money; 
Or  1  shall  break  that  Oicrry  sconce  of  yours. 
That  stands  on  tricks  when  I  am  undispos'd  : 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  thou  hadst  of  me  7 
Dro.  E.     I  have  some  marks  of  yours  upon  my 
pate, 
Some  of  my  mistress'  marks  upon  my  shoulders, 
But  not  a  thousand  marks  between  you  both. — 
If  I  should  pay  your  worship  those  again, 
Percliance,  you  wdl  not  beir  them  patiently. 
Ant.  S.  Thy  mistress'  marks!  what  mistress,  slave, 

liast  thou  I 
Dro.  E.  Your  worship's  wife,  niy  mistress  at  the 
Phoenix : 
She  that  doth  fa.4,  till  you  come  home  to  dinner, 
And  prays,  that  you  will  hie  you  home  to  dnnier. 
Ant^  S*     What,  wilt  thou  llout  me  thus  unto  my 
face. 
Being  forbid  ]     There,  take  you  that,  sir  knave. 
Dro.  E.  What  mean  you,  sir?  for  heaven's  sake, 
hold  your  hands; 
Nay,  an  you  will  not,  sir,  111  take  my  heels. 

[Exit  Dro.  R. 


254 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  II. 


A/tf.  S.  I'po]i  mj"  lire,  by  some  device  or  otiicr, 
The  vilhiin  is  o  er-raug^hl""  of  all  my  money. 
They  say.  this  town  is  fuU  of  eozenaf^e; 
As.  nimble  ju^^lers,  that  deceive  the  eye, 
D;irk-\vorlciii^  sorcerers,  that  change  the  mind, 
Soul-kiUin^  witches,  that  deform  the  body  ; 


Disfjuised   cheaters,  pratiiiL;  mountebanks, 

Ana  many  such  hke  iibertit-s  vt'  sin; 

If  it  prt)ve  so,  I  will  be  icune  the  sooner. 

Ill  tu  the  Centaur,  to  go  seek  this  sla^'e; 

I  greatly  fear  my  money  is  not  safe.  [Exit* 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— -i  pubUc  jilare. 
Enter  Adhiasa  and  Luciaxa. 

Air.  Neither  my  husband,  nor  the  slave  return'd. 
That  in  such  liaste  I  sent  to  seek  his  "master! 
Sure,  Luciana,  it  is  two  o'clock. 

Lhc.    perhaps,  some  mercliant  hath  invited  him, 
And  from  the  mart  he's  somewliere  gone  to  dinner. 
Good  sister,  let  us  dine,  and  never  fret: 
A  man  is  master  of  liis  liberty: 
Time  is  their  m.ister;  and.  when  they  see  time. 
They  U  ;:;o,  or  come:  if  so.  he  patient,  sister. 

A<ii\  Why  should  their  liberty  than  ours  be  more? 

L\ic.  Because  their  business  still  lies  out  o'door. 

Air.  Look,  when  I  serve  him  so.  he  takes  it  ill. 

Lhc.  (),  know,  he  is  the  bridle  of  your  will. 

A  Ir.  There's  none  but  asses  will  be  bridled  so. 

Luc.  Why  headstron;;  liberty  is  lashM  with  woe. 
There^  nothing  situate  under  heaven's  eye, 
But  hath  his  bound,  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  sky : 
The  bea-ts,  the  fishes,  and  the  winged  fowls. 
Are  their  males'  subjects,  and  at  their  controls: 
Men.  more  divine  the  masters  of  all  these. 
Lords  of  the  wide  world,  and  wild  waf  ry  seas. 
Indued  with  intellectual  sense  and  souls, 
Of  more  pre-eminence  than  tish  and  fowls, 
Are  masters  to  their  fean.ijes,  and  their  lords: 
Then  let  your  will  attend  on  their  accords. 

.4'//'.  This  servitude  makes  you  to  keep  unwed. 

Lite.  Xot  this,  but  troubles  of  the  marriage  bed. 

A  Ir.  But  were  you  wedded,  you  would  bear  some 
sway. 

Luc.  Ere  1  learn  love,  I'll  practise  to  obey. 

Adr.    How  if  your  husband  start  some   other 
where  1 

Luc.  Till  he  come  Iiome  again,  I  would  forbear. 

Adr.  Patience,  unmov'd,  no  marvel  though  she 
pause; 
They  can  be  meek,  that  h-ave  no  other  cause. 
A  wretched  soul,  bruis'd  with  adversity, 
We  bid  be  quiet,  when  we  hear  it  cry; 
But  were  we  burdcn'd  with  like  weight  of  pain. 
As  much,  or  more,  we  should  ourselves  complain  : 
So  than,  that  hast  no  unkind  mate  to  grieve  thee, 
With  urging  helpless  patience  wouldst  relieve  me: 
But  if  thou  live  to  see  like  right  bereft, 
This  fool  begg'd  patience  in  thee  will  be  lef^. 

Luc.  Well,  1  will  niJirry  one  day,  but  to  try; — 

Here  comes  your  m^ui.  now  is  your  husband  nigh. 

Enter  Duomio  of  Ephesus. 

Adr.  Say,  is  your  tardy  master  mtw  at  hand? 

Dm.  E.  Nay,  he  is  at  two  hands  with  me,  and 
that  my  two  ears  can  witness. 

Air.  Say,  didst  thou  speak  with  him  7  know'st 
thou  his  mind  ? 

Dro.  E.  Ay,  ay,  he  told  his  mind  upon  mine  ear: 
Beshrew  liis  hand,  I  scarce  could  understand  it. 

Lie.  Spake  he  so  doubtfully,  thou  couldst  not  feel 
his  meaninii  ] 

Dm.  E.  Nay.  he  .struck  so  plainly,  1  could  too 
well  feci  his  blows;  and  withal  so  doubtfully,  that 
1  could  scarce  understand  them.^ 

A  Ir.  But  say,  I  prythee,  is  he  coming  home  ? 
It  seems,  he  hath  great  cire  to  please  his  wife. 

Dro.  E.  Why,  mistress,  sure  my  master  is  horn- 
mad. 

Adr.  Horn-mad,  thou  villan  7 

Dru.  E.  I  mean  not  cuckold-mad  ;  but,  sure,  he's 
stark  mad : 
When  I  desired  him  to  come  home  to  dinner, 
He  ask  d  me  for  a  thousand  marks  in  gold : 
Tw  diuucr-tiinc.  quoth  1 ;  Mi/  sold,  quoth  he  : 
Your  meat  djdkhurn,q\\oUi\';  Mii  ^oM.  quoth  he: 
Witt  you  rufiie  }ifn,tf: ;.'  quoth  I;  Mt/  ^old,  qnath  he: 
Where  is  the  thousand  marks  I  gave  thee,  villain:^ 

f  Ovor-reached.  s  {,  c.  Scarce  stand  under  them 


The  pi^,  quoth  I,  is  burn'd,-  Mij  gold,  quoth  he  : 
l^L/  mistress,  sir.  quotli  I ;  Huhi^ up  ihij  mistreas; 
I  kntnc  not  ihy  mistress;  out  on  thy  tnistress.' 

Luc.  Quoth  who? 

Dro.  E.  Quoth  my  master: 
[know,  quoth  he,  mi  house,  no  ivife,  no  mistressg   - 
So.  that  my  errand,  due  unto  my  tongue, 
I  thank  him,  I  bear  home  upon  my  shoulders; 
For,  in  conclusion,  he  did  beat  me  there. 

Adr.  Go  back  again,  thou  slave,  and  fetch  him 
home. 

Dro.  E.  Go  back  again,  and  be  new  beaten  home'? 
For  God's  sake,  sencf  some  otlier  messenger. 

Adr.  Back,  slave,  or  I  will  break  thy  pate  across. 

Dro.  E.  And  he  will  bless  that  cross  with  other 
beating': 
Between  you  {  shall  have  a  holy  head. 

Adr.  Hence,  prating  peasant;  fetch  thy  master 
home. 

Dro.  E.  Am  I  so  niund  with  you,  as  you  with  me, 
That  like  a  football  you  do  .spurn  me  thus? 
You  spurn  me  hence,  and  he  will  spurn  me  hither: 
If  I  last  in  this  service,  you  must  case  me  in  leather. 

[Exit. 

Luc.  Fye.  how  impatience  low'reth  in  your  face. 

Adr.  His  company  must  do  his  minions  grace, 
Whilst  I  at  home  starve  for  a  merry  look. 
Hath  homely  age  the  alluring  beauty  took 
From  my  poor  "cheek?  then  he  hath  wasted  it: 
Are  my  discourses  dull?  barren  my  wit? 
If  voluble  and  sharp  di.scourse  be  marr'd, 
Unkindness  blunts  it,  more  than  marble  hard. 
Do  their  gay  vestments  his  attections  bait? 
That's  not  my  fiiult,  he's  master  of  my  state: 
What  ruins  are  in  me.  that  can  be  found 
By  him  not  ruin'd?  then  is  he  the  ground 
f)f  my  defeatures  :^  My  decayed  iair> 
A  sunny  look  of  his  would  soon  repair; 
But.  too  unruly  deer,  he  breaks  the  pale. 
And  feeds  from  home;  poor  I  am  but  iiis  stale.' 

Luc.  Self-arming  jealousy  !— fye.  beat  it  hence. 

Adr.  Unfeeling  fools  can  with  such  wrongs  dis- 
pense, 
I  know  his  eye  doth  homage  otherwhere, 
Or  else,  what  lets^  It  but  he  would  be  here  7 
Sister,  you  know,  he  promis'd  me  a  chain  ; — 
Would  that  alone. alone  he  would  detain. 
So  he  would  keen  fair  quarter  with  his  bed! 
I  see.  the  jewel,  best  enamelled, 
Will  lose  his  beauty;  and  though  gold  'bides  still, 
Tliat  others  touch,  yet  often  touching  will 
Wear  gold  :  and  so  no  man,  that  hath  a  name. 
But  falsehood  and  corruption  doth  it  shame. 
Since  that  my  beauty  cannot  please  his  eye, 
Fil  weep  what's  lett  away,  and  weeping  die. 

Luc.  How  many  fond  fools  serve  mad  jealousy! 

[Exeunt* 

SCENE  U.— The  same. 
Enter  ANTiPiioLrs  of  Syracuse. 

Ant.  S.  The  gold,  I  gave  to  Dromio,  is  laid  up 
Safe  at  the  Centaur;  and  the  heediul  slave 
Is  wander'd  forth,  in  care  to  seek  me  out. 
By  computation,  and  mine  host's  report, 
I  couLd  not  speak  with  Dromio,  since  at  first 
I  sent  Inm  from  the  mart :  See,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  DiioMio  of  Syracuse. 
How  now,  sir?  is  your  merry  humor  alter'd? 
As  you  love  strokes,  so  jest  with  me  again. 
You  know  no  Centaur?  you  rcceivd  no  gold  ? 
Your  mistress  sent  to  have  me  home  to  dinner? 
My  bouse  was  at  the  Phcenix  ?  Wast  thou  mad, 
That  thus  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me? 

9  Altrrjition  of  features.  i  Fhir,  for  ftiiruose. 

3  St-a-IkiUij-horse.  •  Iliadf  rs. 


Scene  II. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


255 


Dro.  ?    What  aiiswor,  sir  ^  wiieii  spake  I  such  a 

word  I 
Ant.  S.  Kven  now,  even  here,  not  half  an  hour 

since. 
Vro    S.   I   did  not  see  you  since  you  sent  me 
hence. 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  ynu  gave  me. 

Ant.  .S.  Villain, thou  didst  deny  the  gold  s  receipt; 
And  told'.^t  nie  of  a  mistress,  and  a  dirmer; 
For  which.  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeas'd. 

Urn.  H.  I  am,  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein  : 
What    means  this  jest!    1  pray  you,  master,  tell 
me. 

Ant.  S".  Vca,  dost  thou  jeer,  and  Ilout  me  in  the 
teeth  ! 
Think'st  thou,  I  jesti     Hold,  take  thou  that,  and 
that.  \Beuting  linn. 

Dro.  S.  Hold,  sir,  for  God's  sake;  now  your  jest 
is  earnest: 
Upon  what  bargain  do  you  give  it  me  ? 

Ant.  S.  IJecause  that  I  faniiliarly  sometimes 
Do  use  you  fur  my  fool,  and  chat  with  y  ou. 
Your  sauciness  will  jest  upon  my  love. 
And  make  a  connnon  of  my  serious  liours. 
When  the  sun  shines,  let  foolish  gnats  make  sport, 
But  creeji  in  crannies,  when  he  hiiles  his  beams. 
If  you  will  jest  with  me,  know  my  asp<5ct,* 
And  lashion  your  demeanor  to  my  looks, 
Or  I  will  beat  this  method  in  your  sconce. 

Bro.  &'.  Sconce,  call  you  it!  so  you  would  leave 
battering,  I  had  rather  have  it  a  head  :  an  you  use 
these  blows  long,  I  must  get  a  sconce  for  my  head, 
and  insconce'  it  too ;  or  else  I  shall  seek  my  wit  in 
my  shoulders.     liut,  I  ])ray,  sir,  why  am  1  beaten  ! 

Ant.  S.  Liost  thou  not  know  ! 

Vro.  ^.  Nothing,  sir;  but  that  I  am  beaten. 

Ant.  S.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ! 

Dro.  S.  Ay,  sir,  and  wherefore  ;  for,  they  say, 
every  why  li'ath  a  wherefore. 

Ant.  iS.  Why.  first; — for  llouting  me;  and  then, 
wherelbre,^ 
For  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 

Dro.  S.  Was  there  ever  any  man  tlius  beaten  out 
of  season  ] 
When,  in  the  why,  and  the  wherefore,  is  neither 

rhyme  nor  reason  ! — 
Well,  sir,  1  Ihank  ynu. 

Ant.  S.   fliank  me,  sir!  for  what? 

Dru.  S.  Marry,  sir,  for  this  something  that  you 
gave  me  for  nothing. 

Ant.  S.  I'll  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  ynu 
nothing  for  something.  But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner- 
time 1 

Vro.  S.  No,  sir;  I  think,  the  meat  wants  that  I 
have. 

Ant.  S.  In  good  time,  sir,  what's  that? 

Dro.  S.  Basling. 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry. 

Dro.  S.  If  it  be,  sir,  1  pray  you  eat  none  of  it. 

Ant.  S.  "i'our  reason  ] 

Dro.  S.  Lest  it  make  you  choleric,  and  purchase 
me  another  dry  basting. 

Ant.  S.  Weil,  sir,  learn  to  jest  in  good  time  ; 
There's  a  time  for  all  thing's. 

Dro.  S.  I  durst  have  denied  tliat,  before  you  were 
so  choleric. 

Ant.  S.  By  what  rule,  sir  1 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  by  a  rule  as  plain  as  the 
plain  bald  pate  of  father  Time  himselt. 

Ant.  S.  Lets  hear  it. 

Dro.  S.  Tlieres  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his 
Iiair,  that  grows  bald  by  nature. 

Ant.  S.  May  he  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery? 

Dro.  S.  Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  peruke,  and 
recover  the  lost  hair  of  another  man. 

Ant.  S.  Why  is  time  such  a  niggard  of  hair,  be- 
ing, as  it  is,  so  plentiful  an  excreinenl ! 

Dro.  S.  Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  bestows 
on  beasts:  and  what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair, 
he  hath  given  them  in  wiL 

Ant.  S.  Why,  but  there's  many  a  man  hath  more 
hair  than  wit. 

Dro.  &'.  Not  a  man  of  those,  but  he  hath  the  wit 
to  lose  his  hair. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  thou  didst  conclude  hairy  men 
plain  dealers  without  wit. 

Bro.  S.  The  plainer  dealer,  the  sooner  lost;  Yet 
he  loseth  it  in  a  kind  of  jollity. 

A?it.  S.  For  what  reason  ? 

•  Study  my  countenance,     t  A  sconce  was  a  fortification. 


Dro.  S.  For  two  ;  and  sound  ones  too. 

Ant.  S.  Nay,  nut  sound,  I  pray  you. 

Dro.  S.  Sure  ones  then. 

Ant.  S.  Nay,  not  sure,  in  a  thing  falsing. 

Dro.  i>.  Certain  ones  then. 

Ant.  S.  Name  them. 

Dro.  S.  The  one,  to  save  the  money  that  he 
spends  in  tiring  ;  the  other,  that  at  dinner  they 
siiould  not  drop  in  his  porridge. 

Ant.  .S.  Vou  would  all  this  time  have  proved, 
there  is  no  time  for  all  things. 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  and  did,  sir;  namely,  no  time  to 
recover  hair  ios't  by  nature. 

Ant.  .S'.  But  your  reason  was  not  substantial, 
why  there  is  no  time  to  recover. 

Dro.  S.  Thus  I  mend  it:  Time  himself  is  bald, 
and  therefore,  to  the  world's  end,  will  have  bald 
t'ollowers. 

Ant.  a.  I  knew  it  would  be  a  bald  conclusfon  : 
But  soft!  who  wafts*!  ^g  yonder! 

Enter  AoniASi  and  Luciaxa. 

Adr.  Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange  and  frown; 
Some  other  mistress  liath  thy  sweet  aspects; 
I  :iin  not  Adriana,  nor  thy  wile. 
The  time  was  once,  when  thou  unused  wouldst 

vow 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear, 
That  never  objects  pleasing  in  thine  eye. 
That  never  touch  well-welcome  to  thy  hand, 
Tliat  never  meat  sweet-savor'd  in  thy  taste. 
Unless  I  spake,  look'd,  touch'd,  or  carv'd  to  thee, 
[low  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  oh,  liow  comes  it 
That  thou  art  then  estranged  from  thyself! 
Thyself  1  call  it,  being  strange  to  me, 
Tliat,  undivldahli',  incorporate, 
Am  better  than  thy  dear  self  s  better  part. 
Ah,  do  not  tear  away  thyself  from  me; 
For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  inayst  thou  fall 
A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulf. 
And  take  nniningled  thence  that  drop  again, 
Without  addition,  or  diminishing. 
As  lake  from  me  thyself,  and  not  me  too. 
How  dearly  would  it  touch  thee  to  the  quick, 
Sliouhlst  thou  but  hear  I  were  licentious  ! 
And  that  this  body,  con.secrate  to  thee, 
By  rullian  lust  should  be  contaminate! 
Wouldst  thou  not  spit  at  me,  and  spurn  at  me, 
.\nd  hurl  the  name  of  husband  in  my  face, 
And  tear  the  stain'd  skin  off  my  harlot  brow^ 
.Viid  from  my  false  hand  cut  the  wedding  ring, 
And  break  it  with  a  deep-divorcing  vow  ? 
I  know  thou  canst;  and  therefore,  see,  thou  do  it. 
I  am  possess'd  with  an  adulterate  blot ; 
My  blood  is  mingled  with  the  crime  of  lust : 
For,  if  we  two  be  one,  and  thou  play  false, 
I  do  digest  the  poison  of  thy  Hesh, 
Being  strumfieted  by  thy  contagion. 
Keep  tiien  fair  league  and  truce  with  thy  true  bed, 
1  live  dis-stain'd,  thou  undishonored. 

An!.  S.  I'lead  you  to  me,  fair  dame  ?     I  know 
you  not: 
In  Epliesus  1  am  but  two  hours  old. 
As  strange  unto  your  town,  as  to  your  talk  ; 
Who,  every  worc{  by  all  my  wit  being  scann'd, 
Want  wit  in  all  one  word  to  understand. 

f.uc.    Fye,  brother!  how  the  world  is  changed 
with  you : 
When  were  you  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus  ? 
She  sent  for  you  by  Dromio  home  to  dinner. 

Ant.  S.  By  Dromio? 

Bro.  S.  By  me  ? 

Adr.  By  thee  :  and  this  thou  didst  leturn  from 
him, — 
That  he  did  bullet  thee,  and  in  his  blows 
Denied  my  house  for  his,  me  for  his  wife. 

-int.  S.  Did  you  converse,  sir,  with  this  gentle- 
woman? 
What  is  the  force  and  drift  of  your  eompSct? 

Dro.  S.  I,  sir  ?  I  never  saw  her  till  this  time. 

Ant.  S.    Villain,  thou  liest;  for  even  her  very 
words 
Didst  thou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 

Bro.  S.  I  never  spake  with  her  in  all  iny  life. 

Ant.  S.  How  can  she  thus  then  call  us  by  our 
names, 
Unless  it  be  by  inspiration? 

Adr.  How  ill  agrees  it  with  your  gravity, ' 
To  counterfeit  thus  grossly  with  your  slave, 
6  Beckons. 


256 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  III. 


Abetting  him  to  thwart  me  in  my  mood  ! 

Be  it  my  vvrons.  you  are  tVoni  me  exempt, 

But  wioiiK  nolthut  wrong  with  a  more  contempt. 

Come,  1  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine: 

Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband,  I  a  vine; 

Whose  weakness,  married  to  thy  stronger  state, 

Makes  me  with  thy  strength  lo  communicate: 

If  aught  possess  thee  from  me,  it  is  dross, 

Usurping'  ivy.  briar,  or  idle'  moss; 

Who,  all  for  want  of  pruning,  with  intru.von 

Infect  thy  sap.  and  live  on  thy  confusion. 

Ant.  S.  To  me  slie  speaks ;  she  moves  me  for  her 
theme ; 
What,  was  1  married  to  her  in  my  dream  1 
Or  sleep  1  now,  and  think  I  hear  ail  this  1 
What  error  drives  our  eyes  and  ears  amiss? 
Until  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty, 
I'll  entertain  the  offer'd  fallacy. 

Luc.    Dromio,  go   bid   the   servants   spread   for 
dinner. 

Dm.  S.  O,  for  my  beads  !  I  cross  me  for  a  sinner. 
This  is  the  fairy  land;— i),  spite  of  spites!— 
We  talk  with  goblins,  owls,  and  elvish  sprites; 
If  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue. 
They'll  suck  our  breath,  or  pinch  us  black  and  blue. 

iiic.  Why  prat'st  thou  to  thyself,  and  answerst 
not! 
Dromio,  thou  drone,  thou  snail,  thou  slug,  thou  sot! 

Dro.  S.  I  am  transformed,  master,  am  not  1 1 


Anf.  S.  I  think,  thou  art,  in  inind,  and  so  am  I. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  master,  both  in  mind,  and  in  my 
shape. 

Ant.  S.  Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 

Dro.  S.  No,  I  am  an  ape. 

Luc.  If  thou  art  changed  to  aught,  'tis  to  an  a.ss. 

Dro.  S.  'Tis  true;  she  rides  me,  and  I  long  tor 
grass. 
'Tis  so,  I  am  an  ass;  else  it  could  never  be. 
But  I  should  know  her  as  well  as  she  knows  me. 

Adr.  Come,  come,  no  longer  wil^I  be  a  fool. 
To  put  the  finger  in  the  eye  and  weep. 
Whilst    man,    and    master,    laugh    my    woes   to 

scorn. — 
Come,  sir,  to  dinner;  Dromio,  keep  the  gate: — 
Husband,  I'll  dine  above  with  you  to-day. 
And  shrive'  you  of  a  thousand  idle  pranks: 
Sirrah,  if  any  ask  you  for  your  master, 
Say,  he  dines  forth,  and  let  no  creature  enter. — 
Co'ine,  sister; — Dromio,  play  the  porter  well. 

Ant.  S.  Am  1  in  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell? 
Sleeping  or  waking  !  mad  or  well-advised  I 
known  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguised? 
I'll  say  as  they  say,  and  pers(5ver  so, 
And  in  this  niist  at  all  advcniures  go. 

Dro.  S.  Master,  shall  I  be  porter  at  the  gate  1 

Adr.  Ay;  and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  break  your 
pate. 

Luc.  Come,  come,  Antipholus,  we  dine  too  late. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— The  same. 

Enter  Astipholus  nf  Ephcsus,  DnoMio  of 
Ephesus,  AsGKi,o,  and  Ualthv/.aii. 

Ant.  E.  Good  signior  Angelo,  you  must  excuse 
us  all; 
My  wife  is  shrewish,  when  I  keep  not  hours: 
Say,  that  I  linger'd  with  you  at  your  shop. 
To  .see  the  making  nf  her  carkanet,' 
And  that  to-morrow  you  will  bring  it  home. 
But  here's  a  villain,  that  would  face  me  down 
He  met  me  on  the  mart;  and  that  I  beat  him. 
And  charged  him  with  a  thousand  marks  in  gold. 
And  that  1  did  deny  my  wife  and  house: — 
Thou  drunkard,  Ihiiu,  what  didst  thou  mean  by  this? 
Dro.  E.  Say  what  you  will,  sir,  but  1  know  what 
I  know. 
That  you  beat  me  at  the  mart,  I  have  your  hand  to 

show; 
If  the  skin  were  parchment,  and  the  blows  you  gave 

were  ink. 
Your  own  handwritinsr  would  tell  you  what  I  think. 
Ant.  E.  I  think,  thou  art  an  ass. 
Dm.  E.  Marry,  so  it  doth  appear 

By  the  wrongs  I  suffer,  and  the  blows  1  bear. 
1    should   kick,  being   kick'd ;  and,  being  at  that 

pass. 
You  would  keep  from  my  heels,  and  beware  of  an 
ass. 
Ant.  E.  You  are  sad,  signior  Balthazar :  'Pray 
God,  our  cheer 
May  answer  my  good  will,  and  your  good  welcome 
here. 
Bal.  1   hold  your  dainties  cheap,  sir,  and  your 

welcome  dear. 
Ant.  E.  O,  signior  lialthazar,  either  at  Hesh  or  fish, 
A  table  full  of  welcomes  makes  scarce  one  dainty 
dish. 
Bal.  Good  meat,  sir,  is  common ;  that  every  churl 

affonls. 
Ant.  E.  .\nd  welcome  more  common;  for  that's 

nothing  but  words. 
JSal.   Small  cheer  and  great  vvelcom.e,  makes  a 

merry  feast. 
Ant.  E.  Ay,  to  a  niggardly  host,  and  more  spar- 
ing guest; 
But  though  my  catess  be  mean,  take  them  in  good 

part; 
Better  cheer  may  you  have,  but  not  with  better 

lieart. 
Gut.  soft;  my  door  is  lock'd ;  Go  bid  them  let  us  in. 
'  Unfruitful,  barron. 
e  A  necklace  strung  with  pearls-  "Dishes  of  meat. 


Dro.  E.    Maud,  Bridget,  Marian,  Cicely,  Gillian, 

Jen'  ! 
Dro.  S.   [iVilfiin.]    Mome,'  malt-horse,   capon, 

coxcomb,  idiot,  patch  1" 
Either  get  lliee  from  the  door,  or  sit  down  at  the 

hatch. 
Dost  thou  conjure  for  wenches,  that  thou  call'st  for 

such  store, 
Whenone  is  one  too  many  ?    Go,  get  Ihce  from  the 

door. 
Dro.  E.  What' patch  is  made  our  porter?    My 

master  stays  in  the  street. 
Dro.  S.   Let  him  walk  from  whence  he  came, 

lest  he  catch  cold  on's  feet. 
Ant.  E.  Who  talks  within  there?     ho,  open  the 

door. 
Dro.  S.   Right,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  when,  an  you'll 

tell  me  wherefore  ? 
Ant.  E.  Where,f6re,  for  iny  dinner;  I  have  not 

dined  to-day. 
Dro.  S.  Nor  to-day  here  you  must  not;  come 

again  when  you  may. 
Ant.  E.  What  art  thou,  that  keep'st  me  out  from 

the  house  1  owe  !* 
Dro.  S.  The  porter  for  tliis  time,  sir,  and  my 

name  is  Dromio. 
Dro.  E.  O  villain,  thou  hast  stolen  botli  mine 

office  and  my  name  ; 
The  one  ne'er  got  nie  cri.  dit,  the  other  mickle  blame. 
If  Ihou  hadst  been  Dromio  to-day  in  my  place. 
Thou  wouldst  have  changed  thy  face  for  a  name,  or 

thy  name  for  an  ass. 
Luce.  yWitliin.]  What  a  coils  is  there?     Dromio, 

who  are  those  at  the  gate? 
Dro.  E.  Let  thy  master  in.  Luce. 
Luce.  Faith,  no;  he  comes  too  late; 

And  so  tell  your  master. 

Dro.  E.  ()  Lord,  I  must  laugh  ; — 

Have  at  you  with  a  proverb: — Shall  I  set  in  my 

staB'  ? 
Luce.  Have  at  you  with  another;  that's, — Wheni 

ran  you  tell  ? 
Dro.  S.  If  thy  name  be  call'd  Luce,  Luce,  tlioti 

hast  answer'd  him  well. 
Ant.  E.  Do  you  hear,  you  minion?  you'll  let  U3 

in, I  hope  ? 
Luce.  I  thought  to  have  ask'd  you. 
Dro.  S.  .Vnd  you  said,  no. 

Dro.  E.  So,  come,  help;  well  struck;  there  was 

blow  for  blow. 
Ant.  E.  Thou  baggage,  let  me  in. 
I  Ilenr  your  confession.  iiBlockbead. 

3  Fool.  *  I  own,  am  owner  of. 

^Bustle,  tumult. 


Scene  II. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


257 


Ltice,  Can  you  tell  for  whose  sake  1 

Dro.  E.  Master,  knock  the  door  hard. 
Luce.  Let  hini  knock  till  it  ache. 

Aut.  E.  You'll  cry  for  this",  minion,  if  I  beat  the 

door  down. 
Luce.  What  needs  all  that,  and  a  pair  of  stocks 

in  the  town  I 
Adr.  [IVithin.]   Who  is  that  at  the  door,  that 

keeps  all  this  noise  ? 
Dro.  S.  Hy  my  troth,  your  town  is  troubled  witJi 

unruly  boys. 
Ani.  E.  Are  you  there,  wife?  you  might  have 

come  before. 
Adr,  Your  wile,  sir  knave !  go,  get  you  from 

the  door. 
Dro-  E.  it"  \  ou  went  in  pain,  master,  this  knave 

would  go  sore. 
Ang,  Here  is  neither  cheer,  sir,  nor  welcome; 

we  would  lam  have  either. 
Bal.  In  debating  which  was  beat,  we  shall  part* 

witii  neither. 
Dro.  E.    They  stand  at  the  door,  master;  bid 

them  welcome  hither. 
Aut.  E.  There  is  something  in  the  wind,  that  we 

cannot  get  in. 
Dro.  E.  You  would  say  so,  master,  if  your  gar- 
ments were  thin. 
Your  cake  here  is  warm  within;  you  stand  here  in 

tlie  (Old: 
It  would  make  a  man  mad  as  a  buck,  to  be  so  bought 
and  si»ld. 
Attt.  E.  i}oy  fctcli  me  something,  I'll  break  ope 

the  gate. 
Dro.  S.  Break  any  breaking  here,  and  I'll  break 

your  knave's  pate. 
Dro.  E.  A  man  may  break  a  word  with  you,  sir : 
and  words  a're  but  wind ; 
Ay,  and  break  it  in  your  face,  so  he  break  it  not 
behind. 
Dro.  S.   It  seems,  thou  wantest  breaking:  Out 

upon  thee,  hind ! 
Dro.  E.  Here's  too  much,  out  upon  thee!  I  pray 

thee,  let  me  in. 
Dro.  S.  Ay,  when  (owls  have  no  feathers,  and 

tish  have  no  fin. 
Ant.  E.   Well,  I'll    break  in;  Go,  borrow  me  a 

crow. 
Dro.  E.  A  crow  without  a  feather;  master,  mean 
you  so  \ 
For  a  fish  without  a  fin,  there's  a  fowl  without  a 

feather : 
If  a  crow  help  us  in,  sirrah,  we'll  pluck  a  crow 
together. 
Ant.  E.  Go,  get  thee  gone,  fetch  me  an  iron  crow. 
Bal.  Have  patience,  sir;  O,  let  it  not  be  so; 
Herein  you  war  against  your  reputation. 
And  draw  withni  tlie  compass  ol"  suspect 
The  unviolatcd  honor  of  your  wife. 
Once,  this, — Your  long  experience  of  Iier  wisdom. 
H**r  sober  virtue,  years,  and  modesty, 
Plead  on  her  part  some  cause  to  you  unknown ; 
And  doubt  not,  sir,  but  she  will  well  excuse 
Why  at  this  time  the  doors  are  made  against  you. 
He  ruled  by  me;  depart  m  patience. 
And  let  us  to  the  Tiger  all  lo  dinner: 
And,  about  evening,  come  yourself  alone, 
To  know  the  reason  of  this  strange  restraint. 
If  by  strong  hand  you  otfer  to  break  in, 
Now  in  the  stirring  passage  of  the  day, 
A  vulgar  comment  will  be  made  on  it; 
And  that  supposed  by  the  common  rout 
Against  your  yet  ungalled  estimation, 
That  may  with  foul  intrusion  enter  in, 
And  dwfll  upon  your  grave  when  you  are  dead: 
FoT  slander  lives  upon  succession;" 
For  ever  hous'd,  wliere  it  once  gets  possession. 

Ant.  E.  You  haveprevaild;  1  will  depart  in  quiet, 
And,  in  despite  of  mirth,  mean  to  be  merry. 
I  know  a  wench  of  excellent  discourse, — 
Pretty  and  witty  ;  wild,  and,  yet  too,  gentle;— 
There  will  we  dine:  this  woman  tliat  I  mean, 
My  wife  (but.  1  protest,  without  desert) 
Hath  oftentimes  upbraided  me  withal; 
To  her  will  we  to  dinner. — Get  you  home, 
And  fetch  the  chain  ;  by  ihis,^  I  know,  'lis  made: 
Bring  it,  I  pray  you,  to  the  Porcupine; 
For  there's  the  house:  that  chain  will  I  bestow 
(Be  it  for  nothing  but  to  spite  my  wife) 


6  Take  part. 


^  t.  €.  Made  faft. 
17 


e  By  this  time. 


Upon  mine  hostess  there:  good  sir,  make  haste: 
Since  mine  own  doors  refuse  to  entertain  me, 
I'il  knock  elsewhere,  to  see  if  they'll  disdain  me. 

Aug.  Ill  meet  you  at  that  place,  some  hour  hence. 

Ant.  E.    Do  so ;  This  jest  shall  cost  me  some 
expense.  lExeujit, 

SCENE  U.-Thesame. 
Enter  Luciana,  and  Antipholus  of  Syracuse. 

Luc  And  may  it  be  that  you  have  quile  forgot 

A  husband  s  oltice  \  Shall,  Antipliolus,  hate. 
Even  in  the  spring  of  love,  thy  love-.-^prnigs*  rot? 

Sliall  love,  HI  building,  grow  so  ruin.ite  ? 
If  you  did  wed  my  sister  for  her  weaUh, 

'1  hen,  for  her  wealths  sake,  use  her  with  more 
kmdness: 
Or  if  you  like  elsewhere,  do  it  by  stealth  ; 

Mufileyuur  false  lovt- with  some  show  of  blindness: 
Let  not  my  s;ster  read  it  in  jour  eye; 

Be  not  thy  tongue  thy  own  shame  s  orator; 
Look  swet't,  speak  fair,  become  di-sloyalty  ; 

Apparel  vice  like  virtue  s  harbinprer  : 
Bear  a  fair  presence,  though  your  heart  be  tainted; 

Teach  sin  the  carriage  of  a  holy  saint ; 
Be  secret-lalse  :   Whut  need  she  he  actiuainted  ? 

What  simple  thief  brags  of  his  own  attaint? 
'Tis  double  wrong,  to  truant  with  your  bed. 

And  let  her  read  it  with  thy  looks  at  lioard: 
Shame  hath  a  bastard  fame,  well  miinagcd  : 

Hi  deeds  are  doubled  with  an  evil  word. 
Alas,  poor  women!  make  us  but  believe, 

Being  compact  of  credit,  that  you  love  us; 
Thougii  others  have  the  arm,  show  us  the  sleeve. 

We  m  your  motion  turn,  and  you  may  move  us; 
Then,  gentle  brother,  get  you  in  again  ; 

Comtort  my  sister,  clieer  her,  call  her  wife : 
'Tis  holy  sport  to  be  a  little  vain,' 

When  the  sweet  breath  o'(  liattery  conquers  strife. 

Ant.  S.  Sweet  mistress,  (what  your  name  is  else, 
1  know  not, 

Nor  by  wlial  wonder  you  do  hit  on  mine,) 
Less,   in    your   knowledge,  and   jour  grace,  you 
show  not. 

Than  ourearth'swonder;  more  than  earth  divine. 
Teach  me,  dear  creature,  how  to  tJiink  and  speak  ; 

Lay  open  to  my  earthly  gross  conceit, 
Smother'd  in  errors,  feebie,  shallow,  weak. 

The  folded  meaning  of  your  words"  deceit. 
Against  my  souls  pure  truth  why  labor  yuu, 

To  make  it  wander  m  an  unknown  lield  \ 
Are  you  a  god  \  would  you  create  me  new? 

Transform  me,  then,  and  to  your  power  Til  yield, 
But  if  that  I  am  I,  then  well  1  know, 

Your  weeping  sister  is  no  wife  of  mine, 
Nor  to  her  bed  no  homage  du  I  owe 

Far  more,  far  more,  to  you  do  1  decline. 
(),  train  me  not,  sweet  mermaid,  with  thy  note, 

To  drown  me  in  thy  sister's  llood  of  leiirs; 
Sing,  siren,  for  thyself,  and  I  will  dote  : 

Spread  o'er  the  silver  waves  thy  golden  hairs, 
And  as  a  bed  1  il  take  thee,  and  there  he; 

And,  in  tliat  glorious  supposition,  think 
He  gains  by  death,  that  haih  sucli  means  to  die: — 

Let  love,  being  Iir;bt,  be  drowned  if  she  sink  ! 

Luc.  What,  are  you  mad,  that  you  do  reason  so? 

Ant.  S.  Not  mad,  but  mated  ;'*how,  1  do  not  know. 

Luc.  It  is  a  fault  that  springeth  from  your  eye. 

Aht.  S.  For   gazing  on   your   beams,  fair  sun, 
being  by. 

L'ic.  Gaze  where  you  should;  and  that  will  clear 
your  sight. 

Ant.  a.  As  good  to  wink,  svyeet  love,  as  look  on 
night. 

Luc.  Why  call  you  me  love?  call  my  sister  so. 

Ant.  S.  Thy  sisters's  sister. 

Luc.  That's  my  sister. 

Ani.  S.  No: 

It  IS  thyself,  mine  own  self's  better  part; 
Mine  eyes  clear  eye.  my  dear  heart's  dearer  heart; 
My  food,  my  fortune,  and  my  sweet  hopes  aim, 
My  sole  earth's  heaven,  and  my  heaven's  claim. 

Luc  All  this  my  sister  is,  or  else  should  lie. 

Ant.  S.  Call  thyself  sister,  sweet,  for  1  aim  thee: 
Tliee  will  1  love,  and  with  thee  lead  my  hie  ; 
Thou  hast  no  husband  yet,  nor  1  no  wife; 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

e  Love-springs  arc  young  plants  or  shoots  of  love. 
J  Vain,  is  light  of  tongue. 
at.  e.  Confounded. 


ao3 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  IV. 


Luc.  O,  soft,  sir,  hold  you  still: 

1*11  fetch  my  sister,  to  get  her  good-will. 

[Exit  Lvc. 

Enter, from  ike.  Iiouse  n/ AN'TiPHdLUs  n/'Ephesu^, 
DiioMio  of  Syracuse. 

Anf.S.  Why,  how  now,  Dromio?  where  run'st 
thou  so  f;isl  I 

Dm.  .S.  Do  you  know  me.  sir?  am  I  Dromio? 
am  [  your  m^n  1  nni  I  myself? 

Ant,  8*.  Tlicu  art  Dromio,  thou  art  my  man, 
thou  art  thyself. 

Dro.  S,  I  am  an  ass,  I  am  a  woman's  man,  and 
besides  myself. 

Ant.  S.  What  woman's  man?  and  how  besides 
thyself? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir.  besides  myself,  I  am  due  to 
a  wom;in ;  one  that  claims  me,  one  that  haunts  lue, 
one  lliat  will  have  me. 

Anf.  S.  ^Vhat  claim  lay  she  to  thee? 

Dm.  S.  Marry,  sir,  such  claim  as  you  would  lay 
to  your  horse;  and  she  would  have  me  as  a  beast: 
not  that,  I  being  a  beast,  she  would  have  me ;  but 
tliat  she,  being  a  very  beastly  creature,  lays  claim 
to  me.* 

Ant.  S.  What  is  she? 

Dm.  S.  A  very  reverend  body ;  ay,  such  a  one 
as  a  man  may  not  speak  of,  without  he  say,  sir 
reverence :  1  have  but  lean  luck  in  the  match,  and 
yet  is  she  a  wondrous  fit  marriage. 

Anf.  S.  How  dost  thou  mean,  a  fat  marriage? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  she's  tiie  kitchen  wench,  and 
all  grease;  and  I  know  not  what  use  to  put  her  to 
but  to  make  a  lamp  of  her,  and  run  from  her  by 
hor  own  light.  I  warrant,  her  rags,  and  the  tallow 
in  them,  will  burn  a  Poland  winter:  if  she  hves 
till  doomsday,  she  II  burn  a  week  longer  than  the 
whole  world 

Anf.  S.  What  complexion  is  she  of? 

Dro.  S.  Swart,3  like  my  shoe,  but  her  face  no- 
thing like  so  clean  kept;  For  why  ?  she  sweats,  a 
man  may  go  over  shoes  in  the  grime  of  it. 

Ant.  S.  That's  a  fault  that  water  will  mend. 

Dro.  S.  No,  sir,  'tis  in  grain  ;  Noahs  flood  could 
not  do  it. 

Anf.  S.  What's  her  name? 

Dm.  S.  Nell,  sir:— but  her  name  and  three 
quarters,  that  is,  an  ell  and  three  quarters,  will  not 
measure  her  Irom  hip  to  hip. 

Ant.  S.  Then  sl)e  bears  some  breadth  ? 

Dnt.  S.  No  longer  from  head  to  foot,  than  from 
hip  to  liip:  she  is  splierical,  like  a  globe;  1  could 
luid  out  countries  In  her. 

Anf.  S.  Ill  what  part  of  her  body  stands  Ireland? 

Dm.  S.  Marry,  sir,  in  her  buttocks;  1  found  it 
out  by  the  bogs. 

Anf.  S.  Where  Scotland? 

Dro.  S.  I  found  it  by  the  barrenness  ;  hard,  in 
the  palm  of  the  Iiand. 

Anf.  S.  Wiiere  France? 

Drt/.  S.  In  her  forehead;  arm'd  and  reverted, 
making  war  against  her  hair. 

Ant.  S.  Wiicre  Fn-land  ! 

Dm.  S.  1  lookd  for  t  lie  chalky  clifls,  but  I  could 
find  no  wliitcness  in  them:  but  I  guess  it  stood  in 
her  chin,  by  the  salt  rheum  that  ran  between  France 
and  it. 


Ant.  S.  Where  Spain  ? 

Dro.  S.  Faith,  I  saw  it  not;  but  I  felt  it,  hot  in 
her  breath. 

Anf.  S.  Where  America,  the  Indies? 

Dro.  S.  O,  sir,  upon  her  nose,  all  o'er  embellish'd 
with  rubies,  carbuncles,  sapphires,  declining  their 
rich  aspect  to  the  hot  breatli  of  Spain  ;  who  sent 
whole  armadas  of  carracks*  to  be  ballasl  at  her  nose. 

Ant.  S.  Where  stood  liclgta,  the  Netherlands? 

Dro.  S.  O,  sir,  I  did  not  look  so  low.  To  con- 
clude, this  drudge,  or  diviner,  laid  claim  to  me; 
caird  me  Dromio ;  swore,  1  was  assured*  lo  her ; 
told  me  what  privy  marks  I  had  about  me,  as  the 
mark  of  my  shoulder,  the  mo'e  in  my  neck,  the 
great  wart  on  my  left  arm,  that  1,  amazed,  ran  fiorn 
her  as  a  witch  :  and,  I  think,  if  my  breast  had  not 
been  made  of  faith,  and  my  heart  of  steel,  slie  had 
transfnrm'd  me  to  a  curtail-dog,  and  made  me  turn 
ithe  wheel. 8  * 

Anf.  S.  Go,  hie  thee  presently,  post  to  the  road  ; 
And  if  the  wind  blow  any  way  from  the  shore, 
I  will  not  harbor  in  this  town  to-night. 
If  any  bark  put  lorth,  come  to  the  mart. 
Where  I  will  walk,  till  thou  return  to  me. 
If  every  one  know  ua.  and  we  know  none, 
'Tis  time,  I  think,  to  trudge,  pack,  and  be  gone. 

Dm.  S.  As  from  a  bear  a  man  would  run  for  life. 
So  fly  I  from  her  that  would  be  my  wife.        [Exit. 

Ant.  S.  There's  none  but  witches  do  inhabit  here; 
And  therefore  'tis  high  lime  that  I  were  hence. 
She,  that  doth  call  me  husband,  even  my  soul 
Doth  lor  a  wife  abhor:  but  her  fair  sister, 
Possess'd  with  such  a  gentle  sovereign  grace, 
of  such  enchanting  presence  and  discourse, 
Hath  almost  madenie  traitor  to  myself: 
Hut,  lest  myself  be  guilty  to  self-wrong, 
ril  stop  mme  ears  against  the  mermai  I's  song. 

Enter  Ay GELo. 

An.s;.  Master  Antipholus. 

Anf.  S.  Ay,  that's  my  name. 

Ang.  I  know  it  well,  sir :  Lo,  here  is  the  chain ; 
I  thought  to  have  ta'en  you  at  the  Porcupine: 
The  chain  unfmish'd  made  me  stay  thus  long. 

Ant.  S.  What  is  your  will  that  1  shall  do  with 
this? 

An^.  What  please  yourself,  sir ;  I  have  made  it 
for  you. 

Ani.  S.  Made  it  for  me,  sir!  I  bespoke  it  not. 

Ang.  Not  once,  nor  twice,  but  twenty  times  you 
have  : 
Go  home  with  it,  and  please  your  wife  withal ; 
And  soon  at  supper-time,  I'll  visit  you. 
And  then  receive  my  money  for  the  chain. 

Ant.  S.  I  pray  you,  sir,  receive  the  money,  now, 
For  fear  you  ne'er  see  chain,  nor  money,  more. 

Ang.  You  are  a  merry  man,  sir;  fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 

Ant.  S.  What  I  should  think  of  this,  I  cannot 
tell; 
Hut  this  I  think,  there's  no  man  is  so  vain, 
That  would  refuse  so  fair  an  otTer'd  chain. 
I  see,  a  man  here  needs  not  live  by  shifts. 
When  in  the  streets  he  meets  such  golden  gifts. 
I'll  to  the  mart,  and  there  for  Dromio  stay  ; 
If  any  ship  put  out,  ilien  straight  away.       [Exit* 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  :.— The  same. 
Enter  a  Wercliant,  A.ngf.io,  and  cm  Officer. 

Mi:r.  You  know,  since  rentccnst  the  sum  is  due, 
And  since  1  Iiave  not  much  imp6rtune(J  you; 
Nor  now  i  had  not,  but  that  1  am  bound 
To  Persia,  and  want  silvers  for  my  voyage  : 
Thercrnre  make  present  satisfaction, 
Or  I'll  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Aiif^.  K\cn  just  the  sum,  tliat  I  do  owe  to  you, 
Is  srowinsc'  to  me  by  Antipholus; 
And,  in  tiie  instant  tliat  I  met  with  you, 
He  litiil  ot'  me  a  chain  ;  at  five  o'clock, 
I  shall  receive  the  money  for  the  same: 
Pleasctli  you  walk  with  me  down  to  his  house, 
I  will  discharge  my  bond,  and  thank  you  too. 

•Swarthy.  'Accruing. 


Enter  Astipholcs  «/"  Ephesus,  o!id  Dnoxion/ 
Kphesus. 

Off.  That  labor  may  you  save ;  see  where  ho 

comes. 
Ant  E.  While  I  go  to  the  goldsmith's  liouse,  go 
thou 
And  buy  a  rope's  end  ;  that  will  I  bestow 
Amons  my  wife  and  her  confederates. 
For  lockiuK  me  out  of  mv  doors  by  day. — 
But  soft,  I  see  the  goldsm"ith  :  fiel  thee  gone  ; 
liuy  thou  a  rope,  and  bring  it  home  to  me. 
t)ri).  E.  I  buy  a  thousand  pounds  a-vear  !  I  buy 
a  rope!  [Exit  Dno.  E. 

Ant.  E.  A  man  is  well  holp  up,  that  trusts  to  you; 
1  promised  your  presence,  and  the  chain  ; 
<  Large  ahips.  "  A  turn-ppit.  *  Affianced 


Scene  II. 


COMEDY  OF  ERROftS. 


259 


But  neither  chain,  nor  iioldsmitii,  came  to  me  : 
Behke,  you  thuu^jht  our  love  would  last  too  Ions:, 
If  it  were  chaiird  together;  and  therefore  came  not. 

Ang.  Savmg  your  merry  humor,  here's  the  note. 
How  much  your  chain  weighs  to  the  utmost  carat ; 
The  tinenoss  of  the  eold,  and  chargeful  fashion; 
Which  dolh  amount  to  tliree  odd  ducats  more 
Than  I  stand  debted  to  this  gentleman  ; 
I  pray  you,  see  him  presently  discharged. 
For  he  is  bound  to  sea,  and  stays  but  for  it. 

Ant.  E.  I   am   not    furnish'd   with   the    present 
money  ; 
Besides,  I  have  some  business  in  the  town  : 
Good  siicnior,  take  tlie  stranger  to  my  house. 
And  with  you  take  the  cliam,  and  bid  my  wife 
Disburse  the  sum  on  the  receipt  thereof; 
Perchance  I  will  be  there  as  soon  as  j'ou. 

Ans:,  Then  will  thou  bring  the  chain  to  her  your- 
self! 

Ant.  E.  No;  bear  it  with  you,  lest  I  come  not 
time  enough. 

Ang.  Well,  sir,  I  will:  Have  you  the  chain  about 
you  ! 

-4/?/.  E.  An  if  I  have  not.  sir,  T  liope  you  have  ; 
Or  else  you  may  return  without  your  money. 

Ang,  Nay,  come,  I    pray  you,  sir,  give  me  the 
chain  ; 
Both  wind  and  tide  stays  for  this  gentleman. 
And  I,  to  blame,  have  held  him  here  too  long. 

AnI.  E.    Good  lord,  you  use  this  dalliance,  to 
excuse 
Your  breach  of  promise  to  the  Porcupine  : 
I  should  have  chid  you  for  not  bringing  it. 
But,  like  a  shrew,  you  first  begin  to  brawl. 

Mer.  The  hour  steals  on;  I  pray  you,  sir,  despatch. 

Ang.  You  hear,  how  he  importunes  mc;  the 
chain — 

Ant.  E.  Why,  give  it  to  my  wife,  and  fetch  your 
money. 

Ang.  Come,  come,  y»u  know,  I  gave  it  you  even 
now; 
Either  send  the  chain,  or  send  by  me  some  token. 

Ant.  E.  Fye!  how  you  run  this  humor  out  of 
breath : 
Come,  Where's  the  chain  ?    I  pray  you  let  me  sec  it. 

Mar.  My  business  cannot  brook  this  dalliance; 
Good  sir,  say,  wher  you'll  answer  me  or  no; 
If  not.  III  leave  him  to  the  ol^cer. 

Ant.  E.  I  answer  you  !    What  should  I  answer 
you  1 

Ang.   The  money  that  you  owe    me    for   the 
chain. 

Ant.  E.  I  owe  you  none,  till  I  receive  the  chain. 

Aug.   You   know,  1    gave  it   you  half  an  hour 
since. 

Ant.  E.  You  gave   me   none ;  you   wrong   me 
much  to  say  so. 

Ang.  You  wrong  me  more,  sir,  in  denying  it: 
Consider,  how  it  stands  upon  my  credit. 

Mer.  Well,  ofTicer,  arrest  him  at  my  suit. 

Off.  I  do;  and  charge  you  in  the  duke's  name, 
to  obey  me. 

Ang.  This  touches  me  in  reputation: — 
Either  consent  to  pay  this  sum  for  me. 
Or  I  attach  you  by  this  officer. 

Ant.  E.    Consent  to  pay  thee  that  I  never  had  ! 
Arrest  me,  foolish  fellow,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Ang.  Here  is  thy  fee;  arrest  him,-otficer; 
I  would  not  spare  my  brother  in  this  case. 
If  he  should  scorn  mo  so  apparently. 

Off.  I  do  arrest  you,  sir;  you  hear  the  suit. 

Ant.  E.    I  do  obey  thee,  'till  I  give  thee  bail  :— 
But,  sirrah,  you  shall  buy  this  sptirt  as  dear 
As  all  the  metal  in  your  shop  will  answer. 

Ang.  Sir,  sir,  I  shall  have  law  in  Ephesus, 
To  your  notorious  shame,  I  doubt  it  not. 

Enter  Dbomio  nf  Syracuse. 

Dro.  S.    Master,  there  is  a  bark  of  Epidamnum, 
That  stays  but  till  her  owner  comes  aboard. 
And  then,  sir,  bears  away;  our  fraughtage,'  sir, 
I  have  convey'd  aboard ;  and  1  have  bought 
The  oil,  the  balsamum,  and  aqua-vitae. 
The  ship  is  in  her  trim;  the  merry  wind 
Blows  fair  from  land  :  they  stay  for  nought  at  all, 
But  for  their  owner,  master,  and  yourself. 

Ant.  E.     How   now!    a   madman!    Why,   thou 
peevish"  sheep, 
What  ship  of  Epidamnum  stays  for  me  ? 

B  Freight,  cargo.  »  Silly. 


Dru.  S.  .\  ship  j-ou  sent  me  to.  to  hire  waftage.' 

Ant.  E.  Thou  drunken  slave,  I  sent  thee  for  a 
rone ; 
And  told  tliee  to  what  purpose  and  what  end. 

Dm.  .S.  You  sent  me,  sir,  for  a  ropes  end  as  soon: 
You  sent  me  to  the  bay,  sir,  for  a  bark. 

Ant.  E.  I  will  debate  this  matter  at  more  leisure. 
And  teach  your  ears  to  listen  with  more  heed. 
To  .\driana,  villain,  hie  thee  straight: 
Give  her  this  key,  and  tell  her,  in  the  desk 
That's  coverd  oer  with  Turkish  tapestry. 
There  is  a  purse  of  ducats;  let  her  send  it ; 
Tell  her,  1  am  arrested  in  the  street, 
.\nd  that  shall  bail  me  :  hie  thee,  slave  ;  be  gone. 
On,  ollicer,  to  prison  till  it  come. 

[Exeunt  Mer..  .\ng..  Officer,  and  Ast.  E. 

Dro.  S.  ToAdriana;  that  is  where  we  dined. 
Where  Dowsabel  did  claim  me  for  her  husband: 
She  is  too  big,  I  hope,  for  me  to  compass. 
Thither  I  must,  although  against  my  will, 
For  servants  must  their  master's  minds  fulfil. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  U.— The  same. 
Enter  Auriana  and  Luciana. 

Adr.  Ah,  Luciana,  did  he  tempt  thee  so? 
Mightst  thou  perceive  austerely  in  his  eye 
That  he  did  plead  in  earnest,  yea  or  no  ! 

Look'd  he  or  red,  or  pale;  or  sad  or  merrily  ? 
What  observations  mad'st  thou  in  this  case. 
Of  his  heart's  meteors  tilting  in  his  face  !« 
Luc.  First,  he  denied  you  had  in  him  no  right. 
Adr.  He  meant,  he  did  me  none ;  the  more  my 

spite. 
Lnc.  Then  swore  lie,  that  he  was  a  stranger  here. 
Adr.  And  true  he  swore,  though  yet  forsworn  he 

were. 
Luc.  Then  pleaded  I  for  you. 
Adr.  .\nd  what  said  he? 

Luc.  That  love  I  begg'd  for  you,  he  begg'd  of  me. 
Adr.  Withwhat  nersuasion  did  he  tempt  thy  love? 
Luc.  With  woius  that  in  an  honest  suit  might 
move. 
First  he  did  praise  my  beauty;  then,  my  speech. 
Adr.  Didst  speak  him  fair  ! 
Luc.  Have  patience,  I  beseech. 

Adr.  I  cannot,  nor  I  will  not.  hold  me  still ; 
My  tongue,  though  not  my  heart,  shall  have  his  will. 
He  is  deformed,  crooked,  old,  and  sere,» 
Ill-faced,  worse-bodied,  shapeless  everj'  where  : 
Vicious,  ungentle,  foolish,  blunt,  unkind  ; 
Stigmatical  in  making,*  worse  in  mind. 

Luc.  Who  would  be  jealous  then  of  such  a  one ; 
No  evil  lost  is  waifd  when  it  is  gone. 
Adr.  Ah!  but  I  think  him  better  than  I  say. 
And  yet  would  herein  others'  eyes  were  worse : 
Far  from  her  nest  the  lapwing  cries  away  ;* 

My  heart  prays  for  him,  though  my  tongue  do 
curse. 

Enter  DnoMio  of  Syracuse 

Dro.  S.  Here,  go ;  the  desk,   the  purse ;  sweet 

now,  make  haste. 
Luc.  How  hast  thou  lost  thy  breath  ? 
Dro.  S.  By  running  fast. 

Adr.  Where  is  thy  master,  Dromio  !  is  he  well  ? 
Dro.  S.  No,  he's  in  Tartar  limbo,  worse  than  hell : 
A  devil  in  an  everlasting  garment'  hath  him. 
One,  whose  hard  heart  is  button'd  up  with  steel; 
A  tiend,  a  fairy,  pitiless  and  rough; 
A  wolf,  nay  worse,  a  fellow  all  in  buff; 
A  back-friend,  a  shoulder-clapper,  one  that  coun- 
termands 
The  passages  of  alleys,  creeks,  and  narrow  lands ; 
.\  hound  that  runs  counter,  and  yet  draws  dry-foot 

well ; 
One  that,  before  the  judgment,  carries  poor  souls 
to  hell.' 
Adr.  Why,  man,  what  is  the  matter  ? 
Dro.  S.  I  tlo  not  know  tlie  matter :  he  is  'rested 
on  the  case. 

1  Ciirriage. 

^An  nllusloa  to  the  redness  of  the  northern  lights 
likened  to  the  appearance  of  armies.  a  Dry,  withered. 

«  Mnrked  I'y  niiture  %vith  deformity. 

6  Who  crieth  most  where  her  nest  is  cot. 

e'Xhe  officers  in  those  days  were  clad  in  buff,  which  19 
also  a  cant  expression  for  a  man's  skin. 

1  Hell  was  the  cant  term  for  prison. 


200 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  IV. 


Adr,  What,  is  he  arrested  1  tell  me,  at  whose  suit. 
BrO'  S.  I  liuow  not  at  wliose  suit  tic  is  arrested, 
well; 
But  he's  ill  a  suit  of  buDT,  which  'rested  him,  that 

can  ]  tell ; 
Will  you  send  him,  mistress,  redemption,  the  mo 
ney  in  the  desk  ! 
Ailr   Go  I'elch  it,  sister. — This  I  wonder  at, 

{Exit  LuciASA. 
That  he,  unknown  to  me,  should  be  in  delit : 
Tell  me,  was  he  arrested  on  a  band7« 

Dro.  S.  Not  on  a  band,  but  on  a  stronger  thing; 
i  chain,  a  chain  ;  do  you  nut  hear  it  ring  ? 
Adr.  What,  the  ciiain  ! 

Dro.  S.  So,  no,  the  bell;  'tis  time  tliat  I  were  gone. 

It  was  two  ere  1  left  him,  and  now  tlie  clock  strikes 

one. 

Adr.  The  hours  come  back  !  that  did  I  never  hear. 

J)ro.  S.    0    yes,  if  any    hour  meet  a   sergeant, 

a'turns  back  for  very  fear. 
Adr.  As  if  time  were  in  debt!  how  fondly  dosl 

thou  reason  i 
Dro.  S.   i'ime  is  a  very  bankrupt,  and  owes  more 
tiian  he's  worth  to  season. 
Nay,  he's  a  thief  too:  Have  j  ou  not  heard  men  say. 
That  time  comes  stealing  on  by  night  and  day  ! 
If  he  be  in  debt,  and  tlieft,  and  a  sergeant  in  the  way, 
Hath  he  not  reason  to  turn  back  an  hour  in  a  d.iy  1 

Knter  Luciana. 

Adr.    Go,   Dromio;  there's  tlie  money,  bear  it 
straight ; 
And  bring  thy  master  home  immediately. — 
Come,  sister:  I  am  press'd  down  with  conceit ;» 
Conceit  my  comfort,  and  my  injury.    [Kjceuiil. 

SCENE  in.— Tfie  same. 

Killer  Antipiiolus  of  Syracuse. 

Ant.  S.  There's  not  a  man  I  meet,  but  doth  sa- 
lute me 
A3  if  I  were  their  well-acquainted  friend  ; 
And  every  one  doth  call  me  by  my  name. 
Some  tender  money  to  me,  some  invite  me  ; 
Some  other  give  me  thanks  for  kindnesses; 
Some  olfer  me  commodities  to  buy  : 
Even  now  a  tailor  call'd  me  in  his  shop. 
And  show'd  me  silks  that  he  had  bought  for  me. 
And,  therewithal,  took  measure  of  my  body. 
Sure,  these  are  but  imaginary  wiles, 
And  Lapland  sorcerers  inhabit  here. 

Enter  DnoMio  of  Syracuse. 

Dro,  S.  Master,  here's  the  gold  you  sent  me  for : 
What,  have  you  got  the  picture  of  old  Adam  new 
apparel'd  ! 

Ant.  S.  What  gold  is  this!  what  Adam  dost  thou 

mean  ! 
Dro.  S.  Not  that  Adam,  that  kept  the  paradise, 
but  that  Adam,  tliat  keeps  the  prison :  he  that  goes 
in  the  c:\lf  s-skin  that  was  killd  for  the  prodigal; 
lie  that  came  behind  you.  sir,  like  an  evil  angel, 
and  bid  you  forsake  your  liberty. 
Ant.  S.  I  understand  thee  not. 
Dro,  S.  No!  why,  'tis  a  plain  case:  he  that  went 
like  a  base-viol,  in  a  case  of  leather ;  the  man,  sir. 
that,  when  gentlemen  are  tired,  gives  tliein  a  fob, 
and  'rests  them  ;  he,  sir,  that  takes  pity  on  decayed 
men,  and  gives  them  suits  of  durance  ;  he  that  sets 
up  his  rest  to  do  more  exploits  with  his  mace,  than 
morris-pike. 

Ant.  .S.  What !  thou  mean'st  an  officer  : 
Drn.  S.  Ay,  sir,  the  sergeant   of  tlie   band;  he, 
that  brings  any  man  to  answer  it,  tliat  breaks  his 
band  ;  one  that  thinks  a  man  always  going  to  bed, 
and  says.  Gn.l  gire  you  good  rent.' 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,' there  rest  in  your  foolery.  Is 
there  any  ship  puts  forth  to-night]  may  we  be 
gonel 

Dro.  S.  Why,  sir,  I  brought  you  word  an  hour 
since,  tluit  the" bark  Expedition  put  forth  to-night, 
and  tlieii  were  you  biiulered  by  the  sergeant,  to 
tarry  for  tlie  hoy.  Delay  :  Here  are  the  angels,  that 
you  sent  for,  to  deliver  you. 

Ant.  S.  The  fellow  isdistract,  and  so  am  I  ; 
And  iierc  we  wander  in  illusions  ; 
Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  hence ! 
s  i  ^  Bond.  '^  Fanciful  conception. 


Enter  a  Courtezan. 

Cour.  Well  met,  well  met,  master  Antipholus. 
I  see,  sir,  you  have  found  the  goldsmith  now; 
Id  that  the  chain,  you  promised  me  to-day  ! 

^•1/^/.  S.    Satan,  avoid  I   I  charge  tliee,  tempt  me 
not! 

Dro.  S.  Master,  is  this  mistress  Satan  1 

Ant.  S.  It  is  the  devil. 

Dro.  S.  Nay,  she  is  worse,  she  is  the  devil's  dam; 
and  here  she  comes  in  the  habit  of  a  light  wencli ; 
and  thereof  comes,  that  the  wenches  say,  Ood 
damn  nie,  that's  as  much  as  to  say,  God  ntnlie  me 
a  ligM  wencli.  It  is  written,  they  appear  to  men 
like  angels  of  light:  liglit  is  an  elfect  of  fie,  and 
lire  will  burn  ;  ergu,  light  wenches  will  burn  ;  Come 
not  near  her. 

Ccur.  Your  man  and  you  are  marvellous  merry, 
sir. 
Will  you  go  with  me  *!  We'll  mend  our  dinner  here. 

Dro.  S. 'Master,  if  you  do  expect  spoon-meat, 
bespeak  a  long  spoon. 

Ant.  S.  Why,  Lironiio  ? 

Dro.  fi.  Marry,  he  must  have  a  long  spoon,  that 
must  eat  with  the  devil. 

Ant.  S.  Avoid  then,  fiend!  what  tell'st  thou  me 
of  supping ! 
Thou  art,  as  you  are  all,  a  sorceress: 
I  c6njure  thee  to  leave  me.  and  be  gone. 

Cour.  Give  me  the  ring  of  mine  you  had  at  dinner, 
Or,  for  my  diamond,  the  chain  you  promisd; 
-Vnd  I'll  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Dro.  S.  Some  ilevils  ask  but  the  paring  of  one's 
nail, 
A  rush,  a  hair,  a  drop  of  blood,  a  pin. 
A  nut,  a  cherry-stone  :  but  she,  more  covetous. 
Would  have  a  chain. 
Master,  he  wise;  and  if  you  give  it  her. 
The  devil  will  shake  her  chain,  and  iright  us  with  it> 

Cour.  I  pray  you,  sir,  my  ring,  or  else  the  chain ; 
I  hope,  you  do  not  mean  to  cheat  me  so. 

Ant.  S.  Avaunt,  thou  witch  !  Come,  Dromio,  let 
us  go. 

Dro.  S.    Fly  pride,  says  the  peacock:  Mistress, 
tliat  you  know. 

[Exeunt  Ayr.  S.  und  Duo.  S. 

Cour.  Now,  out  of  doubt.  Antipholus  is  mad, 
Else  would  he  never  so  demean  liiinself : 
A  rinir  he  hath  of  mine  wortii  forty  ducats. 
And  for  the  same  he  promis  d  me  a  chain  ! 
Both  one,  and  other,  he  denies  nie  now. 
The  reason  that  I  gather  he  is  mad, 
(Besides  this  present  instance  of  his  rage,) 
Is  a  mad  tale,  he  told  to-day  at  dinner. 
Of  his  own  doors  being  shut  against  his  entrance. 
Belike,  his  wife,  acquainted  with  his  fits, 
On  purpose  shut  the  doors  against  his  way. 
IMy  way  is  now,  to  hie  home  to  his  house, 
And  tell  his  wife,  that,  being  a  lunatic. 
He  rush'd  into  my  honse,  and  took  perforce 
My  ring  away  :  'fhis  course  1  fittest  choose; 
Kor  forty  ducats  is  loo  mucli  to  lose.  [Exit 

SCENE  IV.— TAf  .iflwip. 

Enter  Antipholus  of  Ephesus,  and  an  Officer. 

Ant.  E.  Fear  me  not,  roan,  I  will  not  break  away; 
I'll  give  thee,  e're  I  leave  tlice,  so  much  money 
To  warrant  thee,  as  I  am  "rested  for. 
My  wife  is  in  a  wayward  mood  to-day  : 
And  will  not  lightly  trust  the  messenger, 
That  I  should  be  attacli'd  in  Ephesns: 
1  tell  you,  'tvvUl  sound  harshly  m  her  ears. — 

Enter  DnoMio  of  Ephesus,  witti  a  rope's  end. 

Here  comes  my  man  ;  I  thinlc,  he  brings  the  money 
How  now,  sir  !  have  you  tliat  I  sent  you  for ! 
Dro.   E.    Here's  that,    I   warrant  you,  will  pay 

them  all.' 
Ant.  E.  But  Where's  the  money  1 
Dro.  E.  Why,  sir,  I  gave  the  money  for  the  rope. 
Ant.  E.  Five  hundred  ducats,  villain,  for  a  rope? 
Dro.  E.  Ill  serve  you,  sir.  five  liundred  at  the  rate. 
Ant.  E.  To  what  end  did  I  bid  thee  hie  thee  home! 
Dro.  E.  To  a  ropes  end,  sir ;  and  to  that  end  am 
I  return'd. 
.inf.  E.  .\nd  to  that  end,  sir,  I  will  welcome  you 

\Beatins  Inm, 
1  Correct  them  aJl. 


SCEXE  IV. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


201 


O^.  Good  sir,  be  patient. 

Dro.  E.  Nay,  'tis  lor  me  to  be  patient;  I  am  in 
adversity. 

Off-  Good  now,  hold  thy  tonsue. 

tjro.  E.  iS'ay,  rather  persuade  him  to  hold  his 
hands. 

AnI.  E.  Thou  whoreson,  senseless  villain  ! 

Dro.  E.  I  wouM  1  were  senseless,  sir,  that  1 
might  not  feel  your  blows. 

Ant.  E.  Thou  art  sensible  in  nothing  but  blows, 
and  so  is  an  ass. 

Dro.  E.  I  am  an  ass  indeed;  you  may  prove  it 
by  my  lon<  oars.  I  have  served  him  I'roiii  the  hour 
ot'  my  nativity  to  this  instant,  and  have  notlmi;::  at 
his  hands  for  my  service,  but  bli>w's :  wlien  I  am 
cold,  he  heats  me  with  heating;  when  I  am  warm, 
he  cools  me  with  beatiui;:  I  am  waked  with  it 
when  1  sleep;  raised  witli  it,  when  I  sit;  driven  out 
of  doors  Willi  it,  wlien  I  l;o  from  home;  welcomed 
home  with  it,  when  1  return  :  nay,  1  bear  it  on  my 
shoulders,  as  a  beggar  wont  her  brat;  and,  I  think, 
when  he  hath  lamed  me,  I  shall  beg  with  it  from 
door  to  door. 

Enter  Adhiasa,  Lcciaxa,  and  ike  Courtezan, 
with,  PiscK,  and  otkers. 

Ant.  E.  Come,  go  along;  my  wife   is  coming 

yonder. 

Dro.  E.  Mistress,  respicfinem,  respect  your  end ; 

or  rather  tli«  prophecy,  like  the  parrot.  Beware  the 

rope's  end. 

AnI.  E.  Wilt  thou  still  talk  ?  [Beats  him. 

Coitr.    How  say  you  now  ?   is  not  your  husband 

mad  ! 
Adr.  His  incivility  confirms  no  less. — 
Good  doctor  Pnich,  you  are  a  conjurer  ; 
Establish  him  in  his  true  sense  a^ain, 
And  I  will  please  you  what  you  will  demand. 
Luc.  Alas,  howtiery  and  how  sharp  he  looks  ! 
Cour.  Mark,  how  ho  trembles  in  his  ec-stasy  ! 
Pinch.  Give  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  feel  your 

pulse. 
Ant.  E.  There  is  my  hand,  and  let  it  feel  j'our  ear. 
Pinch.  I  charge  thee,  Satan,  hous'd  within  this 
man, 
To  yield  possession  to  ray  holy  prayers, 
And  to  tliy  state  of  darkness  hie  thee  straight; 
I  conjure  thee  by  all  the  saints  in  heaven. 
Ant.  E.   Peace,  doting  wizard,  peace;   I  am  not 

mad. 
Adr,  O,  that  thou  wort  not,  poor  distressed  soul ! 
Ant.  E.  You  mmion,  you,  are  these  your  cus- 
tomers ] 
Did  this  companion  with  a  saffron  face 
Revel  and  feast  it  at  my  house  to-day. 
Whilst  upon  me  the  guilty  doors  were  shut, 
And  I  denied  to  enter  in  my  liouse  ? 
Adr.  O,  husband,  God  doth  know,  you  dined  at 
home. 
Where  'would  you  had  remain'd  until  this  time. 
Free  from  these  slanders,  and  this  open  shame! 
Ant.  E.  I  dined  at  home !    Thou,  villain,  what 

say'st  thou  ! 
Dro.  E.  Sir,  sooth  to  say,  you  did  not  dine  at 

home. 
Ant.  E.  \Vere  not  my  doors  lockd  up,  and  I 

shut  out? 
Dro.  E.  Perdy,^  your  doors  were  lock'd,  and  you 

shut  out. 
Ant.  E.  And  did  not  she  herself  revile  me  there  1 
Dro.  E.  Sans  fable,"  she  herself  reviled  you  there. 
Ant.  E.  Did  not  her  kitchen-maid  rail,  taunt,  and 

scorn  me  ? 
Dro.  E.   Certc3.«    she  did ;    the    kitchen-vestal 

scorn'd  you. 
Ant.  E.  And  did  nut  I  in  rage  depart  from  thence? 
Dro.   E.    In  verity    you   did;  —  iijy  bones  hear 
witness. 
That  since  have  felt  the  vigor  of  his  rage. 

Adr.  Is't  good  to  sooth  him  in  these  contraries  ? 
Pinch.  It  is  no  slmme;  the  fellow  finds  his  vein, 
And,  yielding  to  him,  humors  well  his  frenzy. 
Ant.  E.   Thou   hast  suborn'd  the  goldsmith  to 

arrest  me. 
Adr.  Alas,  I  sent  you  money  to  redeem  you, 
By  Dromio  here,  who  came  in  haste  for  it. 

9  A  corruption  of  the  French  oath — ^ardif-u, 

*  Without  a  f:i|jle.  *  Certainly, 


Dro.  E.  Money  by  me  ?  heart  and  good-will  you 
mi:;ht. 

But,  surely,  master  not  a  rag  of  money.  j 

Ant.  E.  Weiit'st  not  thou  to  her  for  a  purse  of         I 

ducats? 
Adr.  He  came  to  mo,  and  I  deliver'd  it. 
Luc.  And  [  am  witness  with  her.  that  she  did. 
Dro.  E.  God  and  the  rope-maker,  bear  me  wit- 
ness. 
That  I  was  sent  for  nothing  but  a  rope  ! 
Pinch.  Mistress,  both  man  and  master  is  pos- 
sess'd ; 
[  know  it  by  their  pale  and  deadij'  looks : 
They  must  be  bound  and  laid  in  some  dark  room. 
Ant.  E.  Say,  wherefore  didst  thou  lock  me  forth 
to-day. 
And  why  dost  thou  deny  the  bag  of  gold  ? 
Adr.  I  did  not,  gentle* husband,  lock  thee  forth. 
Dro.  E.  And,  gentle  master,  I  receiv'd  no  gold; 
But  I  confess,  sir,  that  we  were  lock'd  out. 
Adr.  Dissembling  villain,  thou  speak'st  false  in 

both. 
.int.  E.  Dissembling  harlot,  thou  art  false  in  all* 
And  art  confederate  with  a  damned  pack. 
To  make  a  loathsome  abject  scorn  ot  me  : 
Hut  with  these  nails  I'll  pluck  out  these  J'ulse  eyes, 
Ihat  would  behold  in  me  this  shamclul  sport. 

tPixcH  and  Ais'  Assistants  bind  AsT.  E 
and  Dro.  K. 
Adr.  O,  bind  hnn,  bind  him,  let  him  not  come 

near  me. 
Pinch.    More  company! — the  fiend    is    strong 

within  him. 
Luc.  .\h  me,  poor  man,  how  pale  aiul  wan  he 

looks! 
AnI.  E.  What,  will  you  murder  me  ?  Thou  gaoler, 
thou, 
I  am  thy  prisoner;  wilt  tliou  suffer  them 
To  make  a  rescue  I 

Off.  Masters,  let  him  go  ; 

He  IS  my  prisoner,  and  you  shall  not  have  him. 
Pinch-  Go,  bind  this  man.  for  he  is  Irantic  too 
Adr.  What  wilt  thou  do.  thou  peevish*  otficer? 
Hast  thou  delight  to  see  a  wretched  man     . 
Do  outrage  and  displeasure  to  himself? 

Off.  He  is  my  prisoner;  if  I  let  him  go. 
The  debt  he  owes,  will  be  required  of  me, 

Adr.  I  will  discharge  thee,  ere  I  go  from  thee  : 
Rear  me  forthwith  unto  his  creditor. 
And  knowing  how  the  debt  grows,  I  will  pay  it. 
(iood  master  doctor,  see  him  sale  convey 'u 
Home  to  my  house. — O  most  unhappy  day  ! 
Ant.  E.  o  most  unhappy  strumpet! 
Dro.  E.  Master,  1  am  here  entered  in  bond  for 

you. 
Ant.  E.  Out  on  thee,  villain !  wherefore  dost  thou 

mad  me ! 
Dro.  E.  Will  you  be  iKiund  for  nothing  ?  be  mad, 
Good  master;  cry,  the  devil. — 
Luc.  God  help,  poor  souls,  how  idly  do  they 

talk! 
Adr.  Go,  bear  him  hence. — Sister,  go  you  with 
me. — 
[Exeunt  Pinch  and  Assistants,  luith  AxT.  E. 
and  Duo.  E. 
Say  now,  whose  suit  is  he  arrested  at  ? 

Off.  One   Angelo,   a  goldsmith ;  Do  you   know 

him  ? 
Adr.  I  know  the  man :  What  is  the  sum  he  owes? 
Off.  'Two  hundred  ducats. 

A'Ir.  Say,  how  grows  it  due  ? 

Off.  Due  for  a  chain  your  husband  had  of  him. 
Adr.  He  did  bespeak  a  chain  tor  me,  but  had  it 

not. 
Cour.  When  as  your  husband,  all  in  a  rage,  to-day 
Came  to  my  house,  and  took  away  my  ring, 
(I'he  ring  1  saw  uiion  his  finger  now,) 
Straight  at"ter,  did  1  meet  him  with  a  chain. 

Adr.  It  may  be  so,  but  1  did  never  see  it : — 
Come,  gaoler,  bring  me  where  the  goldsmith  is, 
I  long  to  know  the  truth  hereof  at  large. 

Enter  AriTiPHOi-us  of  Syracuse,  ivilh  his  rapier 
drawn,  and  DnoMio  of  Syracuse. 

Luc.  God.  for  thy  mercy  !  they  are  loose  again. 
Adr.   And  come  with  naked   swords ;  let's  call 
more  help. 
To  have  them  bound  again. 
I  Foolish. 


262 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


Act  V. 


Off.  Away,  they'll  kill  u-5. 

[Kxfiint  Officer,  At)U.,  and  Luc. 

Ant.  S.  1  sec,  these  witches  arc  afraid  of  swonls. 

J)ro.  S.  She,  that  would  be  your  wife,  now  ran 

from  yi)u. 
Ant.  S.  Come  to  the  Centaur;  fetch  our  stulT' 
from  thence; 
I  long,  that  we  were  safe  and  sound  aboard. 


Dru.  S.  Faith,  stay  here  this  night,  they  will 
surely  do  us  no  harm ;  you  saw,  they  speak  us  fair 
fiive  us  jjold :  methiuks,  they  are  such  a  gentle 
nation,  that  but  for  the  mounlain  of  mad  llesh  that 
claims  niair;ai;c  of  me,  I  could  fmd  in  my  heart 
to  stay  here  still,  and  turn  witch. 

Ant.  E.  I  will  not  stay  to-uisht  for  all  the  town  ; 
Therelorc  away,  to  get  our  stulf  aboard.    ^Exeunt* 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  1.— The  same. 
Enter  Merchant  and  Angf.lo. 

Ang.  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  I  have  hinder'd  you  ; 
But,  1  protest,  he  had  the  chain  of  me. 
Though  most  dishonestly  he  doth  deny  it. 

Mer.  How  is  the  man  estcem'd  here  in  the  city  ! 

Ang.  Of  very  reverend  reputation,  sir, 
Of  credit  infinite,  highly  helov'd, 
Second  to  none  that  lives  here  in  the  city  ; 
His  word  mi^ht  bear  my  wealth  at  any  time. 

Mer.  Spcali  softly:  yonder,  as  I  thiiik,  he  walks. 

Enter  Axtipholus,  and  Dno:Mio  of  Syracuse. 

Ang.  'Tis  so;  and  that  .self  chain  about  his  neck, 
Whicli  he  forswore,  most  monstrously,  to  have. 
Good  sir,  draw  near  to  me,  I'll  speak  to  him. 
Sisnior  Antipholus,  I  wonder  much 
That  you  would  put  me  to  this  shame  and  trouble ; 
And  not  without  some  scandal  to  yourself. 
With  circumstance,  and  oaths,  so  to  deny 
This  chain,  which  now  you  wear  so  openly: 
Besides  the  charjie.  the  shame,  imprisonment, 
You  have  done  wrons  to  this  my  honest  friend. 
Who.  but  for  staying  on  our  controversy, 
Had  hoisted  sail,  and  put  to  sea  to-day  : 
Tliis  chain  you  had  of  me,  can  you  deny  it? 

Ant.  S.  I  think,  I  had;  I  never  did  deny  it. 

Aler.  Yes,  that  you  did,  sir;  and  forswore  it  too. 

Ant.  S.  Who  heard  me  to  deny  it,  or  forswear  it? 

Mer.  Tliese  ears  of  mine,  thou  knowest,  did  hear 
tliee  : 
Fye  on  thee,  wretch !  'tis  pity,  that  thou  liv'st 
To  walk  where  any  honest  men  resort. 

Ant.  S.  Thou  art  a  villain,  to  impeach  me  thus: 
I'll  )irove  mine  honor,  and  mine  honesty 
Ajrainst  thee  presently,  if  thou  dar'st  stand, 

Mer.  I  dare,  and  do  defy  thee  for  a  villain. 

\T/iey  draw. 

Enter  Adriasa,  Luciana,  Courtezan,  and  otiiers. 

Adr.  Hold,  hurt  him  not,  for  God's  sake;  he  is 
mad ; — 
Some  Ret  within  hini,«  take  his  sword  away: 
Bind  Dromio  too,  and  bear  them  to  my  house. 

Dro.  S.  Run,  master,  run ;  for  God's  sake,  take  a 
house. 
This  is  some  priory  ;— In,  or  we  are  spoil'd. 

[Exeunt  .Ast.  S.  and  Duo.  S.  to  tlie  Priory. 
Enter  ttie  Abbess. 

Ab'].  Re  quiet,  people;    Wherefore  throng  you 
hither? 

Adr.  To  fetch  my  poor  distracted  husband  hence: 
Let  us  come  in,  that  we  may  bind  him  fast. 
And  bear  liirn  home  for  liis  recovery. 

Ang.  I  knew,  he  was  not  in  his  perfect  wits. 

Mer.  I  am  sorry  now,  that  1  did  draw  on  him. 

Ahb.  How loui  hath  this  possession  held  the  man? 

A  Ir.  Tliis  week  he  hath  been  heavy,  sour,  sad. 
And  mui'li,  much  dilTercnt  from  the  man  he  was  ; 
iuit,  till  this  afternoon,  his  passion 
Ne'er  brake  into  extremity  of  rai^e. 

Abb.  Hath  he  not  lost  rnuch  wealth  by  wreck  at 
sea  ? 
Buried  some  dear  friend  ?     Hath  not  else  his  eye 
Stray'd  bis  atTection  in  unlawful  love? 
A  sin,  prevailinf:  tnuch  in  youthful  men. 
Who  Rive  their  eyes  the  liberty  of  gazing. 
Wliich  of  these  sorrows  is  he  suhiect  to? 

Adr.  To  none  of  these,  except  it  be  the  last ; 
Namely,  some  love,  that  drew  him  oI1  from  home. 

A'ib.  You  should  for  that  liave  reprehended  him. 

Adr    Why,  so  I  did. 

Al>h.  Ay,  but  not  rough  enough. 

«» I.  r-.  CIOBGi  grapple  with  him.  '  Buggago, 


Adr.  As  roughly,  as  my  modesty  would  le  me. 

Abb.  ilaply,  m  private. 

Adr.  And  in  assemblies  too. 

Abb.  Ay,  but  not  enough. 

Adr.  It  was  the  copy"  of  our  conference  : 
In  bed,  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it; 
.■\t  board,  he  led  not  for  my  urging  it; 
,\lone.  It  was  the  snliject  of  my  theme; 
In  company,  I  often  glanced  it; 
Still  did  1  tell  him  it  was  vjle  and  bad. 

Abb.  And  thereof  came  it,  that  the  man  was  mad  : 
The  venom  clamors  of  a  jealous  woman 
Poison  mi>re  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth. 
It  seems  his  sleeps  were  hinder'd  by  thy  railing  : 
And  thereof  comes  it  that  his  head  is  light. 
Thou  sayst  his   meat  was  sauced  with  thy  up- 

braidings : 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions, 
'I'hereof  the  raging  lire  of  fever  bred  ; 
And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  inadncss? 
Thou  sayst  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  brawls. 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue, 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy; 
(Kins.nan  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair;) 
And,  at  her  heels,  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  dibtemperatures.  and  foes  to  life  ? 
In  food,  in  sport,  and  life-preserving  rest 
To  be  disturbed,  would  mad  or  man,  or  beast; 
The  consequence  is  then,  thy  jealous  fits 
Have  scared  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 

Lite.  She  never  reprehended  him  but  mildly, 
When    he    demean'd   himself   rough,   rude,   and 

wildly. — 
Why  bear  you  these  rebukes,  and  answer  not  ? 

Adr.  She  did  betray  me  to  my  own  reproof. — 
Good  people,  enter,  and  lay  hold  on  him. 

Abb.  No,  not  a  creature  enters  in  my  house. 

Adr.  Then,  let  your  servants  bring  my  husband 
forth. 

Abb.  Neither ;  he  took  this  place  for  sanctuary, 
And  it  shall  privilege  him  from  your  hands, 
Till  I  have  brought  him  to  his  wits  again, 
Or  lose  my  labor  in  essaying  it. 

Adr.  I  will  attend  my  husband,  be  his  nurse, 
Diet  his  sickness,  for  it  is  my  oHice, 
And  will  have  no  attorney  hut  myself; 
And  therefore  let  me  have  him  home  with  me. 

Abb.  Be  patient;  for  I  will  not  let  him  stir. 
Till  I  have  used  the  approved  means  I  have. 
With  wholesome  syrups,  drugs  and  holy  prayers. 
To  make  of  him  a  formal  man  again  :» 
It  is  a  branch  and  parcel  of  mine  oath, 
A  charitable  duty  of  my  order; 
Therefore  depart,  and  leave  him  here  with  me. 

Adr.  1  will   not  hence,  and   leave  my  husband 
here ; 
.\nd  ill  it  doth  beseem  your  holiness, 
To  separate  the  husband  and  the  wife. 

Abb.  Be  quiet,  and  depart,  thou  shalt  not  have 
iiim.  [Exit  .\bbess 

Luc.  Complain  unto  the  duke  of  this  indignity. 

Adr.  Come,  go  ;  1  will  fall  prostrate  at  his  feet, 
And  never  rise  until  my  tears  and  prayers 
Have  won  his  grace  to  come  in  person  hither. 
And  take  perforce  my  husband  from  the  abbess. 

Mer.  By  this.  1  think,  the  dial  points  at  five  : 
.\non,  1  am  sure,  the  duke  liimself  in  person 
Comes  this  way  to  the  melancholy  vale; 
The  place  of  death  and  sorry'  execution, 
Behind  the  ditches  of  the  abbey  here. 

Ang.  Upon  what  cause  ! 

Mer.  To  see  a  reverend  Syracusan  mercnant, 
Who  put  unluckily  into  this'  bay 


»  Thu  theme. 

»  i.  c.  To  briijg  him  back  to  his  senses. 


iSail. 


Scene  I. 


COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


263 


Against  the  laws  and  statutes  of  this  town, 
Bt^headed  pubhcly  for  his  offence. 

A'iS-  See,  where  they  come ;  we  will  behold  his 
death. 

Luc.  Kneel  to  the  dake,  before  he  pass  the  abbey. 

Enter  Dukk  aiUmUd;  ]E.r.^os  bare-headed ,-  with 
ike  Headsman  and  otker  OlHcers. 

Duke.  Yet  once  aj^aia  proclaim  it  publicly, 
If  any  friend  will  pay  the  sum  for  hini, 
He  shall  not  die,  so  much  we  tender  him. 

.4ci/\  Justice,  most  saiTcd  duki%  against  the  abbess! 

Duke.  She  is  a  virtuous  and  a  reverend  lady  ; 
It  cannot  be,  that  she  hath  done  thee  wrong. 

Adr.    May  it  please  your  grace,  Antipholus,  my 
husbind, — 
Whom  I  made  lord  of  me  and  all  I  had, 
At  your  important**  letters,— this  ill  day 
A  most  outra;;eous  fit  of  madness  took  Mm  ; 
That  desperately  he  hurried  Ihroui^h  the  street, 
(With  hnn  his  bondman,  all  as  mad  as  he,j 
Doing  displeasure  to  the  citizens 
By  rushing  in  their  houses,  bearing  thenco 
Rings,  jewels,  any  tljnig  his  rage  did  like. 
Once  did  I  get  hun  bound,  and  sent  iiim  home, 
Whilst  to  take  ordei^  for  the  wrongs  I  went. 
That  here  and  there  his  fury  had  committed. 
Anon,  1  wot*  not  by  what  .-^trmig  escape, 
He  broke  from  those  that  had  Ihe  guard  of  liim; 
And,  with  his  mad  attendant  and  Imnself, 
Kach  one  with  ireful  passion,  with  drawn  swords, 
Met  us  again,  and,  madly  bent  on  us, 
Cliased  us  away  ;  till  raising  of  more  aid. 
We  came  agaui  to  bind  them:  then  they  tied 
Into  this  abbey,  whither  we  pursued  them; 
And  here  the  abbess  shuts  tiie  gates  on  us. 
And  will  not  surfer  us  to  fetcli  liini  out, 
Nor  send  him  forth,  that  we  may  bear  him  hence; 
Therefore,  most  gracious  duke,  with  th}'  co;nm;ind, 
Let  him  be  brought  forth,  and  borne  hence  for  help. 

Duke.  Long  since,  thy  husband  serv'd  me  in  my 
wars ; 
And  I  to  thee  engaged  a  prince's  word. 
When  thou  didst  make  him  master  of  thy  bed, 
To  do  him  all  the  grace  and  good  I  could. — 
Go  some  of  you,  knock  ai  the  abbey-gate, 
And  bid  tlie  lady  ab'.)ess  come  to  me; 
1  will  dclermme  this  before  1  stir. 
Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  0  mistress,  mistress,  shift,  and  save  yourself! 
My  master  and  his  man  are  both  broke  loose. 
Beaten  the  maids  a-row,^  and  bound  the  doctor, 
Whose  beard  they  have  singed  off  with  brands  of 

fire; 
And  ever  as  it  blazed,  they  threw  on  him 
Great  pads  of  puddled  mire  to  quench  the  hair: 
My  master  preaches  patience  to  him,  while 
His  man  with  scissors  nicks  him  like  a  fool: 
And,  sure,  unless  you  send  some  present  help, 
Between  them  they  will  kill  the  conjurer. 

Adr.  Peace,  fool,  thy  master  and  his  man  are  here; 
And  that  is  false  thou  dost  report  to  us. 

herv.  Mistress,  upon  my  life,  I  tell  you  true  ; 
1  have  not  breathM  almost  smce  I  did  see  it. 
He  cries  for  you,  and  vows,  if  he  can  take  you, 
To  scorch  your  face,  and  to  dlstigure  you. 

[Cry  witfiin. 
Hark,  hark,  I  hear  him.  mistress;  fly,  begone. 

Duke.  Come,  stand  by  me,  fear  nothing:  Guard 
with  halberts. 

Adr.  Ah  me,  it  is  my  husband  !     Witness  you. 
That  he  is  borne  about  invisible: 
Kven  now  we  hous'd  hnn  in  llic  abbey  here  ; 
And  now  he's  there,  past  thought  of  human  reason. 

£/i/6T  Antipholus  and  DiioMio  ci/"  Kphesus. 

Anf.  E.  Justice,  most  gracious  duke,  oh,  grant 
me  justice  ! 
Even  for  the  service  that  long  since  I  did  thee, 
When  1  bestrid  thee,  in  the  wars,  and  look 
Deep  scars  to  save  thy  life;  even  for  the  blood 
That  then  I  lost  for  thee,  now  grant  me  justice. 

JEge.  Unless  .he  fear  of  death  dotli  make  me  dote, 
I  see  my  son  Antipholus,  and  Dromio. 

Ant.E.   Justice,  sweet  prince,  against  that  wo- 
man there. 
She  whom  thou  gav'st  to  me  to  be  my  wife; 
That  hath  abused  and  dishonor'd  me 

3  Importunate.        ai.  e.  To  take  measures.        «Know. 
f>i.  e.  Successively,  one  after  auother. 


Rven  in  the  strength  and  lieight  of  injury  ! 

Beyond  imagination  is  the  wrong, 

That  she  this  day  hath  shameless  thrown  on  me. 

Duke.  Discover  how,  and  tbou  shalt  tind  me  just 

A7it.  E.  This  day,  great  duke,  she  sliut  the  doors 
upon  me. 
While  she  witli  harlots^  feasted  in  my  house. 

Duke.  A  grievous  fault:  Saj',  woman,  didst  thou 
so? 

Adr.  No,  ray  good   lord: — myself,  he,  and  my 
sister. 
To-day  did  dine  together:  so  befall  my  stul, 
As  this  is  false,  he  burdens  me  withal ! 

Luc.  NeV-r  may  I  look  on  day,  nor  sleep  on  night. 
But  she  tells  to  your  highness  simple  truth ! 

Ang.  O  perjured  woman!  They  are  both  forsworn. 
In  tins  the  madman  justly  chargcth  them. 

Ant.  K.  My  liege,  i  am  advised  what  I  say; 
Neither  disturb'd  with  the  effect  of  wine. 
Nor  iieady-rash,  provok'd  with  raging  ire, 
Albeit,  my  wrongs  might  make  one  wiser  mad. 
This  woman  lock'd  me  out  this  day  from  dinner : 
That  goldsmith  there,  were  he  not  packd  with  her, 
Could  witness  it;  for  he  was  with  me  then  ; 
WIio  parted  with  me  to  go  fetch  a  chain, 
Promisuig  to  bring  it  to  the  Porcupine, 
Wlieie  Balthazar  and  I  did  dine  together. 
Our  dinner  done,  and  he  not  coming  thither, 
I  wont  to  seek  him  :  in  the  slreet  I  met  him  ;• 
And  in  his  company,  that  gentleman  ; 
There  did  this  perjur'd  goldsmith  swear  me  down, 
Tliat  I  this  day  of  him  receiv'd  the  ciiain. 
Which,  God  he  knows,  I  saw  not:  for  tt;e  which, 
He  did  arrest  me  with  an  otlicer. 
1  did  obey ;  and  sent  my  peasant  home 
For  certain  ducats  :  he  with  none  returned. 
Then  fairly  1  bespoke  the  otficcr. 
To  ii;o  in  person  with  me  to  my  house. 
IJy  the  way  we  met 
My  wife,  her  sister,  and  a  rabble  more 
of  vile  conIe<lerates:  along  with  ttiein 
They    brought   one   Pmch ;  a  hungry,   lean-faced 

villain, 
A  mere  anatomy,  a  mountebank,  _ 
A  threadbare  juggler,  and  a  fortune-teller  ; 
A  needy,  hollow-ey'd,  sharp-looking  wretch, 
A  living  dead  man:  this  pernicious  slave. 
Forsooth,  took  on  him  as  a  conjurer; 
And  gazing  in  my  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse. 
And  with  no  face,  as  'twere,  out-facing  me. 
Cries  out,  I  was  possess'd  :  then  altogether 
They  fell  upon  me,  bound  me,  bore  me  thence; 
And  in  a  dark  and  dankish  vault  at  home 
There  lefi  me  and  my  man,  both  bound  together; 
Till  gnawing  with  my  teeth  my  bonds  in  sunder, 
I  gam'd  my  freedom,  and  immediately 
Ran  hither  to  your  grace;  whom  1  beseecli 
To  give  me  ample  satisfaction 
For  these  deep  sliames  and  great  indignities. 

An'^.  My  lord,  in  truth,  thus  far,  1  witness  with 
hnn; 
That  he  dined  not  at  home,  but  was  lock'd  out. 

Duke.  But  had  he  such  a  chain  of  thee,  or,  no? 

Aug.  He  had,  my  lord:  and  when  he  ran  in  here, 
These  people  saw  the  chain  about  his  neck. 

M':r.  Besides  I  will  t>e  sworn,  these  ears  of  mine 
"Heard  you  confess  you  had  the  chain  of  him, 
Alter  you  hrst  forswore  it  on  the  mart. 
And,  thereupon,  I  drew  my  sword  on  you ; 
And  then  you  tied  into  this  abbey  here, 
From  whence,  1  think,  you  are  come  by  miracle. 

Ant.  K.  1  never  came  within  these  abbey  wails, 
Nor  ever  didst  thou  draw  thy  sword  on  me : 
I  never  saw  the  chain,  so  help  me  heaven ! 
And  this  IS  false  you  burden  me  withal. 

Duke.  Why,  what  an  intricate  impeach  is  tins'? 
I  think,  you  all  have  drank  of  Circe's  cup. 
If  here  you  hous'd  iiim.  here  he  would  have  been; 
If  he  were  mad,  he  would  not  plead  so  coldly: — 
Vou  say  he  dined  at  home;  the  goldsmith  here 
Denies  that  saying  : — Sirrah,  what  say  you  \ 

Dro.  E.  Sir,  he  dined  with  her  there,  at  the  Por- 
cupine, 

Cour.  He  did ;  and  from  my  finger  snatch'd  that 
rin?. 

Ant.  E.  Tis  true,  my  hege,  this  ring  I  had  of  her. 

Duke.  Saw'st  thou  him  enter  at  the  abbey  here  ! 

Cour.  As  sure,  my  liege,  as  1  do  see,your  grace. 

6  Harlot  was  a  term  of  reproach  applied  to  cheats  among 
men,  as  well  as  to  wantons  among  women. 


'264 


COMEDY  OF  ERROKS. 


Act  V 


Duke.  Why,  this  is  strange :— Go  call  the  abbess 
hither; 
I  think  you  are  all  mated,  or  stark  mad. 

\Exit  an  Attendant. 

-•Ege.  Most  mighty  duke,  vouclisale  me  speak  a 
word ; 
Haply  I  sec  a  friend  will  save  my  life, 
And  pay  tlie  sum  that  may  deliver  me. 

Duke.  Speak  freely,  Syracusan,  what  thou  wilt. 

^ge.  Is  not  your  name,  sir,  called  Antipholus! 
And  is  not  that  your  bondman  Dromio  1 

]>ro.  E.  Wilhin  tliis  hour  I  was  his  bondman,  sir. 
But  he,  1  tliauk  him,  gnaw'd  in  two  my  cords; 
Now  am  I  Dromio,  and  his  man,  unbound. 

jEge.  I  am  sure,  you  both  of  you  remember  me. 

Dm.  E.  (lurselves  we  do  remcmlier,  sir,  by  you  ; 
For  lately  we  were  bound,  as  you  are  now. 
You  are  not  Pinch's  patient,  are  you,  sir  7 

jEge.  Why  look  you  strange  on  nie  1  you  know 
me  well. 

Ant.  E.  1  never  saw  you  in  my  life,  till  now. 

yEge.  Oh  !  grief  hath  changed  me  since  you  saw 
me  last ; 
And  careful  hours,  with  Time's  deformed  hand 
Have  written  strange  defeatures'  in  my  face  : 
But  tell  me  yet,  dost  thou  not  know  my  voice  ! 

Ant.  E.  Neither. 

JEgc.  Dromio,  nor  thou  : 

Dr».  E.  No,  trust  me,  sir,  nor  1. 

^••c.  I  am  sure  thou  dost. 

Dm.  E-  Ay,  sir?  but  I  am  sure  1  do  not;  and 
whatsoever  a  man  denies,  you  are  now  bound  to 
believe  him. 

^^gc.  Not  know  ray  voice!   O,  time's  extremity  ! 
Hast  thou  so  crack'd  and  splitted  my  poor  tongue, 
In  seven  short  years,  that  here  my  only  son 
Knows  not  my  feeble  key  of  untuned  cares'! 
Though  now  this  grained*  face  of  mine  be  hid 
In  sap-consumina;  winters  drizzled  snow. 
And  all  the  conduits  of  my  blood  froze  up; 
Vet  hath  my  night  of  life  some  memory. 
My  wastimr  lamp  some  fading  glimmer  left, 
My  dull  deaf  ears  a  little  use  to  hear: 
All  these  old  witnesses  (I  cannot  err) 
Tell  me,  thou  artmy  sou  Antipholus. 

Ant.  E.  I  never  saw  my  father  in  my  life. 

jEije.  But  seven  years  since,  m  Syracusa,  boy, 
Tliou  know' St  we  parted :  but,  perhaps,  my  son, 
Thou  sham' St  to  acknowledge  me  in  my  misery. 

Aat.  E.  The  duke,  and  all  that  know  me  in  the 
city, 
Can  witness  with  me  that  it  is  not  so ; 
I  ne'er  saw  Syracusa  in  my  life. 

Duke.  I  tell  thee,  Syracusan,  twenty  years 
Have  I  been  patron  to  Antipholus, 
During  which  time  he  ne'er  saw  Syracusa: 
I  see  thy  age  and  dangers  make  thee  dole. 

Enter  ttie  Abbess,  xvltii  ANTiriion-s  Syracusan, 
and  Dromio  Syracusan. 

Abh.   Most  mighty  duke,  behold  a  man  much 
wrong'd.  [Ail  gather  to  see  him. 

Adr.  I  see  two  husbands,  or  mine  eyes  deceive 
me. 

Duke.  One  of  these  men  is  Genius  to  the  other  ; 
And  so  of  these:  Which  is  the  natural  man. 
And  which  the  spirit?  Who  deciphers  them  ! 

Dru.  S.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio;  command  him  away. 

Dro.  E.  I,  sir,  am  Dromio;  pray  let  me  stay. 

Ant.  S.  jEgeon,  art  thou  not  1  or  else  his  ghost  ^ 

Dro.  t<.  O,  my  old  master,  who  hath  bound  him 
here  ? 

Ahb.  Whoever  bound  him,  I  will  loose  his  bonds. 
And  gain  a  husband  by  his  liberty: — 
Speak,  old  .T.'^eon,  if  thou  be'st  the  man 
That  hadst  a  wife  once  called  A^milia, 
That  bore  thee  at  a  burden  two  fair  sons: 

0.  if  thou  best  the  same  .Tigeon,  speak. 
And  speak  unto  the  same  ifimilia  ! 

.'Ege.  If  I  dream  not,  thou  art  .Emiha; 
If  thou  art  slie,  tell  me  where  is  that  son 
That  tloatcd  with  thee  on  the  fatal  raft  1 

Abb.  By  men  oi'  Kpidamnum,  he  and  I, 
And  the  twin  Dromio,  all  were  taken  up; 
But,  by  and  hy.  rude  fishermen  of  Corinth 
By  force  took  Dromio  and  my  son  from  them, 
And  me  they  left  with  those  of  Kpidamnum  : 
What  then  became  of  them  I  cannot  tell; 

1,  to  tins  fortune  that  you  see  me  in. 

'  Alteration  of  features.  •  Furrowed,  lined. 


Duke.  Why,  here  begins  his  morning  story  right;' 
These  two  Antipholus's,  these  two  so  like, 
And  these  two  Dromios.  one  in  semblance, — 
Besides  her  urging  of  her  wreck  at  sea, — 
These  are  the  parents  to  these  children, 
Which  accidentally  are  met  together. 
Antipholus,  thou  cam'st  from  Corinth  first. 

Aiit.  S.  No,  sir,  not  I ;  I  came  from  Syracuse. 

Duke.    Stay,  stand  apart ;  1  know  not  which  is 
which. 

Ant.  E.  I  came  from  Corinth,  mj'  most  gracious 
lord. 

Dro.  E.  .\nd  1  with  him. 

Ant  E.   Brought  to  this  town  vvilh   that  most 
famous  warrior 
Duke  Menaphon,  your  most  renowned  uncle. 

Adr.    Which  of  you  two  did  dme  with  me  to- 
day? 

Ant.  S.  1,  gentle  mistress. 

Adr.  And  are  not  you  my  husband  1 

Ant.  E.  No,  I  say  nay  to  that. 

Ant.  S    And  so  do  I,  yit  did  she  call  me  so; 
And  tliis  fair  gentlewoman,  lier  sister  here. 
Did  call  me  brother :— What  I  told  you  then, 
I  hope.  I  shall  liave  leisure  to  make  good; 
If  this  be  not  a  dream,  I  see,  and  hear. 

Ang.  That  is  the  chain,  sir,  which  you  had  of  me. 

Ant.  S.  1  think  it  be,  sir;  1  deny  it  not. 

Ant.  E.  And  you,  sir,  for  this  chain,  arrested  me. 

Ang.  I  think'I  did,  sir;  I  deny  it  not. 

Adr.  I  sent  you  money,  sir,  to  be  your  bail, 
By  Dromio ;  but  I  think'he  brought  it  not. 

Dro.  E.  No,  none  by  me. 

Ant.  a.  This  purse  of  ducats  I  received  from  you, 
And  Dromio  my  man  did  bring  them  me: 
I  see,  we  still  did  meet  each  other's  man, 
And  I  was  ta'en  for  him,  and  he  for  me, 
And  thereupon  these  Errors  are  arose. 

Ant.  E.  These  ducats  pawn  I  for  my  father  here. 

Duke.  It  shall  not  need,  thy  father  hath  his  life. 

Cour.  Sir.  I  must  have  that  diamond  from  you. 

Ant.  E.  There,  take  it ;  and  much  thanks  for  my 
good  cileer. 

Abb.  Renowned  duke,  vouchsafe  to  take  the  pains 
To  go  with  us  into  the  abbey  here. 
And  hear  at  large  discoursed  all  our  fortunes: 
And  all  that  are' assembled  in  this  place. 
That  by  this  sympathized  one  day  s  error 
Have  suffer  d  wrong,  go,  keep  us  company. 
And  we  shall  make  full  satisfaction.— 
Twenty-five  years  have  1  but  gone  in  travail 
Of  you,  my  sons;  nor,  till  this  present  hour, 
My  heavy  burdens  are  delivered: — 
The  duke,  my  husband,  and  my  children  both, 
And  you  the  calendars  of  their  nativity, 
(io  to" a  gossip's  feast,  and  go  with  me; 
After  so  long  grie^  such  nativity. 

Duke.  With  all  my  heart.  Til  sossip  at  this  feast. 

[Exeunt  Duke,  Abbess,  iEGi-,o>-,  Courtezan, 

Merchant,  Asbk^o,  and  Attendants. 

Dro.  S.   Master,  shall   I   fetch   your  stuff  from 
ship-hoard? 

Ant.  E.  Dromio.  what  stuff  of  mine  hast  thou 
embark 'd? 

Dro.  S.  Your  goods  that  lay  at  host,  sir,  m  the 
Centaur. 

AnI.S.  He  speaks  to  me;  I   am  your  master, 
Dromio: 
Come,  go  with  us  :  we'll  look  to  that  anon : 
Embrace  thy  brother  there,  rejoice  with  him. 

[Exeunt  Antipholus  S.  and  E.,  Ann. 
and  Li'c. 

Dro.  S.    There  is  a  fat  friend  at  your  master's 
house. 
That  kitchen'd  me  for  you  to-day  at  dinner; 
She  now  shall  he  my  sister,  not  my  wife. 

Dro.  E.  Methinks  you  are  my  glass,  and  not  my 
brother : 
I  see  by  you,  1  am  a  sweet-fiiced  youth. 
Will  you  walk  in  to  see  their  gossiping  ? 

Dro.  S.  Not  I,  sir;  you  are  my  elder. 

Dro.  K.  That's  a  question :  how  shall  we  try  it ! 

Dro.  S.    We  will  draw  cuts  for  the  senior:  tdl 
then,  lead  thou  flrsl. 

i)m.  A'.  Nay,  then  thus  : 
We  came  into  the  world,  like  brother  and  brother. 
And  now  lets  go  hand  in  hand,  not  one  before 
another.  [Exeunt. 

»  The  morning  story  is  what  ^geon  U'Us  tlie  Duke  In 
the  first  scene  of  this  play. 


MACBETH. 


PERSONS  REPRKSENTED. 


Dlxcas,  King  of  Scotland. 
Malcolm,       1    .  ■    <; 

Macbeth, 
BAxaL'o, 
Macucff, 
Lkxox, 

/loSSE, 

Mevtktu, 
Angus, 
Cathnf.ss,  J 
1''leance,  Sva  to  BASaro, 

SiwAHu,  Earl  of  Northamber!and,  General  of  the 
English  Forces. 


\   Generals  of  the  King's  Army. 


Noblemen  of  Scotland. 


Young  SiWAiin,  his  Sim. 

SF.rruN',  an  Officer  attending  on  Macbeth. 

.So;;  la  .MacdiilK 

An  Kiiiilisli  Doctor.        A  Scotch  Doctor. 

A  Soldier.       A  Purler.       An  old  Man. 

Ladt  Macuf.th 

Lady  Maciicff. 

Gentlewoman  nttcndiog  oti  Lady  Macbeth. 

Hecate,  and  l/tree  IVitches. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Officers,  Snldier.i,  Murderers, 
Attendants,  and  Messengers. 

The  Ghost  of  ISaiiquo,  and  sevei-al  other  Appari- 
tions. 


SCENE,  in  the  End  of  Ihe  fourth  Act,  lies  in  England ;  through  the  rest  of  tlte  Play,  in  Scotland ; 
and,  chiffiy,  at  Macbeth's  Castle. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— An  open  Place. 
Thunder  and  lightning.    Enter  three  Witches. 

1  Witch.  When  shall  wc  three  meet  again, 
In  thunder,  li^htnin;;.  or  in  ralnl 

2  Witch.  When  the  hurlyburly's' done, 
When  the  battle's  lost  and  won. 

3  Witch.  That  will  be  ere  set  of  sun. 

1  Witch.  Where  the  place. 

2  Witch.  Upon  the  heath : 
•     3  Witch.  There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 

1    Witch.  1  come.  Graynialkin  ! 

All.  Paddock  calls; — Anon. — 
Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair : 
Hover  through  the  fog  and  ftlthy  air. 

[Witches  vanish. 

SCENE  II. — A  Camp  near  Forres. 

Alarum  within.  Enter  King  Doncas,  Malcolm, 

Donalbain,  Lenox,  with  Attendants,  meeting 

a  bleeding  Soldier. 

Dun.  What  bloody  man  is  thaf!    He  can  report, 
As  seemeth  by  his  plight,  of  the  revolt 
The  newest  state. 

Mai.  This  is  the  sergeant. 

Who,  like  a  good  and  hardy  soldier,  fought 
'Gainst  my  captivity : — Hail,  brave  friend  ! 
Say  to  tlie  king  the  knowledge  of  the  broil, 
As  thou  didst  leave  it. 

Sold.  Doubtfully  it  stood  ; 

As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together. 
And  choke  their  art.    The  merciless  Macdonwald 
(Worthy  to  be  a  rebel;  for,  to  that,  . 

The  multiplying  viUanies  of  nature 
Do  swarm  upon  him)  from  the  western  isles 
Of  Kernes  and  Oallowglasses  was  supplied  j^ 
And  f.irtune  on  his  damned  quarrel  smiling, 
Show'd  hke  a  rebefs  whore:  But  all's  too  weak: 
For  brave  Macbeth,  (well  he  deserves  that  name,) 
Disdaining  fortune,  with  his  brandisifd  steel, 
Which  smok'd  with  bloody  execution. 
Like  valor's  minion, 

Carv'd  out  bis  passage,  till  he  forced  the  slave ; 
And  ne'er  shook  hands,  nor  bade  farewell  to  him, 
Till  be  unseam'd  him  from  the  nave  to  the  chaps. 
And  tix'd  his  head  upon  our  battlements. 

1  Tumult. 

<*  i.  e.  Supplied  with  light  and  heavy  armed  troops. 

203 


Dun.  0  valiant  cousin  !  worthy  gentleman  ! 

Sold.  As  whence  the  sun  'gins  his  rellection, 
Shipwrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break ; 
So  from  that  spring,  whence  comfort  seem'd  to 

come. 
Discomfort  swells.    Mark,  king  of  Scotland,  mark: 
No  sooner  justice  had,  with  valor  arm'd, 
Corapell'd  these  skipping  Kernes  to  trust  their  heels; 
But  the  Norweyan  lord,  surveying  vantage. 
With  furbish'd  arms,  and  new  supplies  of  men. 
Began  a  fresh  assault. 

Dun.  Dismay'd  not  this 

Our  captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquo?  . 

SoW.  Yes; 

As  sparrows,  eagles  ;  or  the  hare,  the  lion. 
If  I  say  sooth,>  I  must  report  they  were 
As  cannons  overcharged  with  double  cracks  ; 
So  they 

Doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe : 
Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  wounds. 
Or  memorize  anotlier  Golgotha, 

I  cannot  tell: 

But  I  am  faint,  my  gashes  cry  for  helj). 

l)u?i.    So  well  thy  words  become  thee,  as  thy 
wounds ; 
They  smack  of  honor  both : — Go,  gel  him  surgeons. 
[Exit  Soldier,  attended. 

Enter  Rosse. 
Who  comes  here  1 

Mai.  The  worthy  thane  of  Rosse. 

Len.  What  a  haste  looks  through  his  eyes !    So 
should  he  look. 
That  seems  to  speak  things  strange. 

Posse.  God  save  the  king ; 

Dun.  WhcuLe  cam'st  thou,  worthy  thane? 

Rosse.  From  Fife,  great  king. 

Where  the  Norweyan  banners  llout  the  sky, 
And  fan  our  people  cold. 
Norway  himself,  with  terrible  numbers. 
Assisted  by  tiiat  most  disloyal  traitor 
The  thane  of  Cawdor,  'gan  a  dismal  conflict: 
Till  that  Bellona's  bridegroom,'  lapp'd  in  proof. 
Confronted  him  with  self-comparisons. 
Point  against  point  rebellious,  arm  'gainst  arm, 
Curbing  his  lavish  spirit :  And,  to  conclude. 
The  victory  fell  on  us ; 

»  Truth.  *  Shakspeare  means  Mkra. 

f  Defended  by  armor  of  proof. 


266 


MACBETH. 


Act  I. 


Dun.  Great  happiness ! 

Rosse.  That  now 
Sweno,  the  Norways'  king,  craves  composition; 
Nor  would  we  deif;n  him  burial  of  his  men, 
Till  he  disbursed,  at  St.  Colmes'  inch, 
Ten  thousand  dollars  to  our  general  use. 

Dun.  No  more  that  thane  ot'Cawdor  shall  deceive 
Our  bosom  interest: — Go,  pronounce  his  death, 
And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth, 

Ros::ie.  VU  see  it  done. 

Dun.   What  he  hath  lost,  noble  Macbeth  hath 
won.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— ^  Heath. 

ThuH'ier.    Enter  the  three  Witches. 

1  Wilch.  Where  hast  thou  been,  sister  1 

2  IVltch.  Killing  swine. 

3  U'ifch.  Sister,  where  thou  T 

1  Witch.  A  sailor's  wile  had  chesnuts  in  her  lap, 
And  mounch'd,  and  mounch'd,  and  mounch'd: — 

Give  me.  quoth  I; 
Aroint  thee,^  witck.'  the  rump-fed  ronyon^  cries. 
Her  husband's  to  Aleppo  gone,  master  oHhe  Tiger: 
But  in  a  sieve  I'll  tliitlier  sail, 
And,  like  a  rat  without  a  tail, 
I'll  do.  I'll  do,  and  I'll  do. 

£  Witch.  I'll  give  thee  a  wind. 

1  Witch.  Thou  art  kind. 

3  Witch.  And  I  another. 

1  Witch.  I  myself  have  all  the  other; 
And  the  very  porfs  they  blow. 

All  the  quarters  that  they  know 

1'  the  shipman's  card.' 

I  will  drain  him  dry  as  hay: 

Sleep  shall,  neither  night  nor  day  • 

Haug  upon  his  pent-house  lid: 

Ho  shall  live  a  man  forbid:* 

Wears"  seven-nights,  nine  times  nine, 

Sliall  he  dwindle,  peak,  and  pine; 

Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost. 

Yet  it  shall  be  tcmpcst-toss'd. 

Look  what  I  have. 

2  Witch.  Show  me,  show  me. 

1  Witch.  Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 
Wreck'd,  as  homeward  he  did  come. 

[Drum  withi?i. 

3  Witch.  A  drum,  a  drum; 
Macbeth  doth  come. 

All.  The  weird  sisters,'  hand  in  hand. 
Posters  of  the  sea  and  land. 
Thus  do  go  about,  about; 
Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine, 
And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine: 
Peace ! — the  charm's  wound  up. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo. 
Much.  So  foul  and  liiir  a  day  I  have  not  seen. 
Ban.  How  far  is't  call'd  to  Forres? — What  are 
these. 
So  wither'd,  and  so  wild  in  their  attire; 
That  looks  not  like  the  inhabitants  o'the  earth, 
And  yet  are  on't?  Live  you?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question !  You  seem  to  understand 

me. 
By  each  at  once  her  choppy  fingers  laying 
Upon  her  skinny  lips: — You  should  be  women. 
And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 
That  you  are  so. 
Ma'cb.         Speak,  if  you  can: — What  are  you7 

1  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth!  hail  to  thee,  thane 

of  Glarais! 

2  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth!  hail  to  thee,  thane 

of  Cawdor! 

3  Witch.  All  hail,  Macbeth!  that  shalt  be  Icing 

hereafter. 
Bfln.  Good  sir,  w"hy  do  you  start  and  seem  to  fear 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair? — I'thename  of  truth, 
Arc  ye  fantastical, 2  or  that  indeed 
Which  outwardly  ye  show?  My  noble  partner 
You  greet  with  present  grace,  and  great  prediction 
Of  noble  having,  3  and  of  royal  hope, 
That  he  seems  rapt*  withal;  to  me  you  speak  not: 
If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time. 
And  say,  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will  not; 


"Avaunt,  begone. 

•  Compass. 

>  Prophetic  Bisters. 

•  Estate. 


'  A  scurvy  woman  fed  on  offals. 

*  Accurserl. 
3  Supernatural,  spiritual. 

*  Abstracted. 


Speakthen  to  me,  who  neither  beg  nor  fear, 
Youfllivors,  nor  your  hate. 

1  Witch.  Hail! 

2  Witch.  Hail! 

3  Witch.  Hail! 

1  Witch.  Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater. 

2  Witch.  Not  so  happy,  yet  much  hajipier. 

3  Witch.  Tliou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be 

none : 
So,  all  hail,  Macbeth,  and  Banquo! 
1  Witch.  Banquo,  and  Macbeth, all  hail! 
Much.  Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  me  more  ■ 
By  Sinel's  death.  I  know,  I  am  thane  of  Glamis, 
But  how  of  Cawdor?  the  thane  of  Cawdor  lives, 
A  prosperous  gentleman;  and,  to  be  king. 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief. 
No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.    Say,  from  whence 
You  owe  this  strange  intelligence  ?  or  why 
LTpon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 
With  such  prophetic  greeting  f— Speak,  I  charge 
you.  [Witches  i'o;!i.sA. 

Dan.  The  earth  hath  bubbles,  as  the  water  has. 
And  these  are  of  them : — Whither  are  they  vanisli'd? 

Macb.  Into  the  air;  and  what  seem'd  corporal, 
melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind. — 'Would  they  have  staid! 

Ban.  Were  such  things  here,  as  we  do  speak 
about? 
Or  have  we  eaten  of  the  insane  root. 
That  takes  the  reason  prisoner? 

Macb.  Your  children  sliall  be  kings. 

Ban.  You  shall  be  king. 

Much.  And  thane  of  Cawdor  too;  went  it  not  so! 

Ban.  To  the  self-same  tune  and  words.    Who's 
here? 

Enter  Rosse  and  Angcs. 

Eussc.  The  Icing  hath  happily  receiv'd,  Macbeth, 
The  news  of  thy  success;  and  when  he  reads 
Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebels'  fight. 
His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend. 
Which  should  be  thine,  or  his:  Silenced  with  that. 
In  viewing  o'er  the  rest  o'lhe  self-same  day. 
He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyan  ranks. 
Nothing  afeard  of  what  thy  self  didst  make. 
Strange  images  of  death.   "As  thick  as  tale,' 
Caine  post  with  post;  and  every  one  did  bear 
Thy  praises  in  his  kingdom's  great  defence. 
And  pour'd  them  down  before  him. 

Ang.  We  are  sent, 

To  give  thee,  from  our  royal  master,  thanks; 
To  herald  thee  into  his  sight,  not  pay  thee. 

Rosse.  And,  for  an  earnest  of  a  greater  honor. 
He  bade  me,  from  him,  call  thee  thane  of  Cawdor: 
In  which  addition,  hail,  most  worthy  thane! 
For  it  is  thine. 

Bun.  What,  can  the  devil  speak  true? 

Macb.  The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives:  Why  do  you 
dress  me 
In  borrow'd  robes? 

Ang.  Who  was  the  thane,  lives  yet; 

But  under  heavy  judgment  bears  that  life 
Which  he  deserves  to  lose.    Wlicther  he  was 
Combined  w'ith  Norway;  or  did  hue  the  rebel 
With  hidden  help  and  vantage;  or  that  with  both 
He  labor'd  in  his  country's  wreck,  I  know  not; 
But  treasons  capital,  confess'd  and  prov'd. 
Have  overthrown  him. 

Much.  Glamis,  and  thane  of  Cawdor: 

The  greatest  is  behind. — Thanks  for  your  pains, — 
Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings, 
When  those  that  'gave  the  thane  of  Cawdor  to  me, 
Promis'd  no  less  to  them? 

Ba7i.  That,  trusted  home, 

Might  yet  enkindle  you  unto  the  crown. 
Besides  the  thane  ol  Cawdor.    But  'tis  strange: 
And  oftentimes  to  win  us  to  our  harm. 
The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths: 
Will  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray  us 
In  deepest  consequence. — 
Cousins,  a  word  I  pray  you. 

Macb.  Two  truths  are  told, 

As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme. — I  thank  you  gentlemen.— 
This  supernatural  soliciting^ 
Cannot  be  ill;  cjinnot  be  good: — If  ill. 
Why  hath  it  given  me  earnest  of  success, 
Cominencing  in  a  truth!  I  am  thane  of  Cawdor: 
If  good,  why  do  I  yield  to  that  suggestion 

*  As  f?,st  as  they  could  be  counted,        "Incitement. 


Scene  V. 


MACBETH. 


267 


Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair,      ^ 
And  make  my  seated  licart  Imock  at  my  ribs 
Against  tiie  use  of  nature!     Present  fears 
Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings: 
Wy  thought,  wliose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 
Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man,  that  function 
Is  smother'd" in  surmise;  and  nottiing  is, 
But  what  is  not. 

J^an.  Look,  how  our  partner^s  rapt. 

Macb.  If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance 
may  crown  me. 
Without  my  stir. 

Bati.  New  honors  come  upon  him 

Like  our  strange  garments,  cleave'  not  to  their 

mould. 
But  with  the  aid  of  use. 

Macb.  Come  w^hat  come  may ; 

Time  and  the  hours  runs  through  the  roughest  day. 

Ban.  Worthy  Macbeth,  we  stay  upon  jour  leisure. 

Macb*  Give  me  your  lavor;^ — my  dull  brain  was 
wrought 
With  things  forgotten.  Kind  gentlemen,  your  pains 
Are  registerM  where  every  day  I  turn 
The  leaf  to  read  them. — Let  us  toward  the  king. — 
Tliink  upon  wiiat  iiath  chanced :  and.  at  more  time. 
The  interim  having  w'cigh'd  it,  let  us  speak 
Our  free  hearts  each  to  other. 

Ban.  Very  gladly. 

Macb.  Till  then,  enough. — Come,  friends. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Forres.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Flourish.    Enter  Duncax,  Malcolm,  Doxalbain, 
Lexox,  and  Attendants. 

Dun.  Is  execution  done  on  Cawdorl    Are  not 
Those  in  comroission  yet  retum'd! 

Mai.  My  liege. 

They  arc  not  yet  come  back.    But  I  have  spoke 
Witli  one  that  saw  hini  die:  who  did  report, 
That  very  frankly  lie  conlessM  his  treasons; 
ImplorM  your  highness' pardon;  and  set  forth 
A  deep  repentance :  nothmg  in  his  life 
Became  hun,  like  the  leaving  it;  he  died 
As  one  tiiat  had  been  studied  in  his  death. 
To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  ow'd,' 
As  'twere  a  careless  trille. 

Dun.  There's  no  art. 

To  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face: 
He  was  a  gentleman  on  whom  I  built 
An  absolute  trust. — O  worthiest  cousin! 

Enter  Macbeth,  Ban'QCO,  Rosse,  ani  AxGCS. 

Tlie  sin  of  my  ingratitude  even  now 

Was  heavy  on  me;  Thou  art  so  liir  before, 

That  swiftest  wing  of  recompense  is  slow 

To  overtake  thee.  '  Would  thou  hadst  less  deserv'd. 

That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 

Might  have  been  mine !  only  I  have  left  to  say, 

More  is  thy  due  than  more  than  all  can  paj'. 

Macb,  The  service  and  the  loj'alty  I  owe. 
In  doing  it,  pays  itself.    Your  highness'  part 
Is  to  receive  our  duties:  and  oiir'duties 
Arc  to  your  throne  and  state,  cliildren,  and  servants ; 
Which  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  every 

thing. 
Safe  toward  your  love  and  lienor. 

Dun.  Welcome  hither: 

I  have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labor 
To  make  thee  full  of  growing. — Noble  Banquo, 
That  hast  no  less  deserv'd.  nor  must  be  known 
No  less  to  have  done  so.  let  me  infold  thee, 
And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

Ban.  There  if  I  grow, 

Tlie  harvest  is  your  own. 

Dun.  Mv  plenteous  joys, 

Wanton  in  fullness,  seek  toliide  themselves 
In  drops  of  sorrow. — Sons,  kinsmen,  thanes. 
And  you  wliose  places  are  the  nearest,  know, 
We  w'ill  establish  our  estate  upon 
Our  eldest,  I\I-ilcom;  whom  we  name  hereafter. 
The  prince  of  Cumberland:  which  honor  must 
Not,  unaccompanied,  invest  liim  only. 
But  signs  of  nobleness,  lilce  stars,  shall  shine 
On  all  deservers. — From  hence  to  Inverness, 
And  bind  us  furtlier  to  you. 

Macb.  The  rest  is  labor,  which  is  not  used  for  you : 
I'll  be  myself  the  harbinger,  and  make  joyful 

'  i.  e.  Which  cleave  not.       ^  Time  and  opportunity. 
*  Pardon.  *  Owned,  possessed. 


The  hearing  of  my  wife  with  your  approach; 
So.  humbly  take  my  leave. 

Dun.  My  worthy  Cawdor! 

Macb.  The  prince  of  Cumberland! — That  is  a 
step,  [Aiide. 

On  which  I  must  fall  dowii,  or  else  o'er-leap. 
For  in  my  waj'  it  Lies.    Stars,  hide  your  lires! 
Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires: 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand!  yet  let  that  be, 
Wliich  the  eye  tears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see.    [Exit. 

Dun.  True,  worthy  Banquo;  he  is  full  so  valiant;* 
And  in  his  commendations  I  am  fed  ; 
It  is  a  banquet  to  nie.    Let  us  after  him. 
Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome: 
It  is  a  peerless  kinsman.  [Fluuriafi.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Inverness.    A  Room  in  Macbeth's 

Castle. 

Enter  Lady  JIacbeth,  reading  a  letter. 

Lady  M.  They  met  me  in  the  dui/of  success,-  and 
I  hare  learned  hy  !he  jitrfectest  report,  theit  luive 
more  in  them  ttian  mortal  knowledge,  ll'^hcn  I 
burned  in  desire  to  questitm  them  further,  they 
made  thent-selves — air,  into  which  they  vanistied. 
Whiles  I  stood  rapt  in  the  vonder  of  it,  came  mis- 
sires'  from  the  king,  who  all  hailed  me.  Thane  of 
Cawdor;  by  which  title,  before,  thf.se  weird  sisters 
saluted  me,  and  referred  me  to  the  coming  on  of 
liiiu:,with,Ha.il,kmg  that  shall  be!  This  have  I 
thought  good  to  df  liver  thee,  my  dearest  partner  of 
greatness;  that  thou  mightest  not  lose  the  dues  of 
rejoicing,  bu  being  ignorant  of  what  greatness  is 
promised  thee.  Lay  it  to  thy  heart,  and  farewell. 
Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor;  and  shalt  be 
What  Uiou  art  proinis'd: — Yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature; 
It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness. 
To  catch  the  nearest  way:  Thou  wouldst  be  great; 
Art  not  without  ambition;  but  without 
The  illness  should  attend  it.    What  thou  wouldst 

highly, 
Tliat  wouldst  thou  holily;  wouldst  not  play  false, 
And  yetwouldstwTongly  win;  thou'dst have, great 

Glamis, 
That  which  cries.  Thus  thou  must  do,ifthou  tuiceit; 
.ind  that  which  rattier  thmi  dost  fear  to  do. 
Than  wiilicst  should  be  undone.    Hie  thee  hither, 
That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear; 
And  chastise  with  the  valor  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round,' 
Which  fate  and  metaphysical  ^  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  theecrown'd  withal. — Wliat  is  your  tidings? 

Enter  cm  Attendant. 

Attend.  The  king  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Thou'rt  mad  to  say  it: 

Is  not  thy  master  with  him?  who,  were't  so. 
Would  have  inform'd  for  preparation. 

Attend,  So  please  j'ou,  it  is  true;  our  thane  is 
coming: 
One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him; 
Who,  almost  dead  tor  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Tlian  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M.  Give  liim  tending, 

He  brings  great  news.   The  raven  himself  is  hoarse, 

[Exit  Attendant. 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
I'nder  my  battlements.    Come,  come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal"  thoughts,  unsex  me  here; 
And  till  me,  from  tlie  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty!  make  thick  my  blood. 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse;' 
That  no  compunctious  visi tings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between 
The  elli^ct,  and  it!  Come  to  my  woman's  breasts. 
And  take  my  ihilk  for  gall. your  murd'ring  ministers, 
Wherever  in  your  sigiitless  substances 
You  wait  on  nature's  mischief:  Come,  thick  night, 
And  pall'  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell! 
Tliat  my  keen  Iciiife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes: 
Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark, 

To  cry,  Hold,  hold.' Great  Glamis!   worthy 

Cawdor ! 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Greater  tlian  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter! 
Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 

a  Full  as  valiant  as  described.            3  Messengers. 
^  Diadem.      ^  Supernatural.      '^  Deadly,  murderous. 
'Pity.  


8  \Vrap  asinamantle 


268 


MACBETH. 


Act  I. 


This  ignorant  present,  and  I  feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Macb.  M}-  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 

Lcihj  M.  And  when  goes  hence  1 

Macli.  To-morrow, — as  he  jjurposes. 

Laily  M.  0,  never 

Shall  .sun  that  morrow  see! 
Your  lace,  my  thane,  is  a  book,  v/liere  men 
May  read  strange  matters:— To  beguile  the  time, 
Look  like  the  time;  bear  welcome  ni  your  eye. 
Your  hand,  your  tongue:  look  like  tlic  imiocent 

flower. 
But  be  llie  serpent  under  it.    He  tliat's  coming 
Must  be  provided  for:  and  you  shall  put 
This  night's  great  business  "into  my  despatch; 
Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 
Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 

Mricb.  VV'e  will  speak  further. 

ior/;/  HI.  Only  look  up  clear; 

To  alter  favor^  ever  is  to  fear: 
Leave  ail  the  rest  to  me.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  \1.— Before  the  Castle. 

Hautboys.    Servants  of  Ma^cheth  attending. 

Enter  Dcxcajj,  Malcolm,  Doxalbaix,  Baxqito, 

Lexux,  Macduff,  Eosse,  Axgcs,  and  Attendants. 

Dim.  This  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat;  the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

£an.  This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  docs  approve, 
By  his  lov'd  mansionry,  that  the  heaven's  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here:  no  jutty,  frieze,  buttress. 
Nor  coigne  of  vantage,"  but  this  bird  hath  made 
His  pendent  bed,  and  procreant  cradle :  Where  they 
Most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observ'd  the  air 
Is  delicate. 

E7iter  Lady  Macleth. 

Dun.  See,  see !  our  honor'd  hostess ! 

The  love  that  follows  us,  sometime  is  our  trouble. 
Which  still  we  tliank  as  love.    Herein  1  teacli  you. 
How  you  shall  bid  God  yield"  us  lor  your  pains 
And  thank  us  for  your  trouble. 

Ladi/  H/.  All  our  seri'ice 

In  every  point  twice  done,  and  tlien  done  double, 
W^ere  poor  and  single  business  to  contend 
Against  those  honors  deep  and  broad,  wherewith 
Your  majesty  loads  our  house:  Kor  those  of  old, 
And  the  late  dignities  heap'd  up  to  tliem. 
We  rest  your  hermits. 

Dun.  Where's  tlie  thane  of  Cawdor! 

We  cours'd  him  at  the  heels,  and  had  a  purpose 
To  be  his  purveyor:  but  he  rides  well; 
And  his  great  love,  sharp  as  Ins  spur,  hath  holp  him 
To  his  liome  before  us:  Fair  and  noble  hostess. 
We  are  your  guest  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Your  servants  ever 

Have  theirs,  themselves,  and  what  is  theirs,   in 

compt,s 
To  make  their  audit  at  your  highness'  pleasure. 
Still  to  return  your  owii. 

Dun.  Give  me  your  hand. 

Conduct  me  to  mine  host;  we  love  liim  highly, 
And  shall  continue  our  grace  towards  him. 
By  your  leave,  hostess.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.— ^  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Hautboys  and  torclies.  Enter,  anrl  pass  over  tlie 
stage,  a  Sewer,'  and  divers  Scri-ants  with  disties 
and  service.    Then  enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  If  it  were  done,  wlien  'tis   done,  then 
'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly:  If  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch. 
With  his  surcease,  success;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here. 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time,— 
We'd  jump  the  life  to  come.— But,  in  these  cases. 
We  still  have  judgment  here;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  being  taught,  return 
To  plague  the  inventor:  This  even-handed  justice 
Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 

''Look,  countenance.  "  Convenient  corner. 

'Reward.  "  Suliject  toaccompt. 

<  An  officer  so  called  from  bis  placing  the  diahes  on 
the  talile. 


To  our  own  lips.    He's  here  in  double  trust : 
First,  a.s  1  am  liis  kinsman  and  his  subject. 
Strong  both  against  tlie  deed;  then,  as  his  host. 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door. 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.    Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpct-tongued,  against 
The  deep  dniiiiiatiiin  of  his  taldng  otf: 
And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe. 
Striding  (111-  blast,  or  heaven's  cherubim,  hors'd 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers'  of  the  air, 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind.— I  have  no  spur 
To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 
Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'er-Ieaps  itself. 
And  falls  on  the  other.— How  now,  what  news'! 

Enter  Lady  Maceeth. 

Lady  flf.  He  has  almost  supp'd:  Why  have  you 

left  the  chamber! 
Macb.  Hath  he  ask'd  for  me! 
Lady  M.  Know  vou  not,  he  has! 

Mach.  We  will  proceed  no  furtherin  thi.s business: 
He  hath  honor'd  me  of  late;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  M.  Was  the  hope  drunk, 

Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself?  hath  it  slept  since? 
And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely?    From  this  time, 
Such  I  account  thy  love.    Art  thou  afeard 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valor. 
As  thou  art  in  desire!     Wouldst  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  tlic  oniament  of  life. 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  ov™  esteem; 
Letting  /  dare  not  wait  upon  /  would 
Lilie  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage? 

l^Iacb.  Pr'ythee,  peace 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man; 
Who  dares  do  more,  is  none. 

Lady  M.  What  beast  was  it  then 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me! 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man; 
And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  tile  man.    Nor  time,  nor  place, 
Did  then  adhere,"  and  yet  you  would  make  both: 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness 

now 
Does  unm.ake  you.    I  have  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  'tis,  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me: 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face. 
Have  pluck'd  my  nipple  from  its  boneless  gums. 
And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn,  as  you 
Have  done  to  tliis. 

Macb.  If  we  sliould  fail, 

Lady  M.  We  fail! 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking  place. 
And  we'll  not  fail.    ^Vhen  Duncan  is  asleep, 
(Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day's  hard  journey 
Soundly  invite  him,)  his  two  chamberlains 
Will  I  with  wine  and  wasseD  f-o  convince,^ 
That  memory,  the  warder'  of  the  brain. 
Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A  limbeck  onl)':  When  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie.  as  in  a  death, 
What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 
The  unguarded  Duncan!  what  not  put  upon 
His  spongy  otlicers;  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 
Of  our  great  quell!' 

Macb.  Bring  forth  men-children  only! 

For  thy  undaunted  mettle  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males.     Will  it  not  be  received,' 
When  we  have  inark'd  with  blood  those  sleepy  two 
Ol'his  own  chamber,  and  used  their  very  daggers. 
That  they  have  don't! 

Lady  M.  Who  dares  receive  it  other, 

As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamor  roar 
Upon  his  death? 

Macb.  I  am  settled,  and  bend  up 

Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  li?at. 
Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest  show: 
F'aisc  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know. 

[Exeunt. 

s  Winds  ;  sightless  is  invisible. 

"  In  the  same  sense  as  cohere.  '  Intemperance. 

8  Overpower.  9  Sentinel. 

'  Murder.  '  Supposed.  '  Thrift. 


Act  II.     So£KE  I. 


MACBETH. 


2G9 


ACT  11. 


SCENE  l— Court  within  Macbeth's  Castle. 

Enter  Banqco  ani  Fleance,  and  a  Servant  u-itli  a 
torch  before,  ttiem. 

Ban.  How  goes  the  night,  boys'! 

Fie.  Tile  moon  is  down;  1  have  not  heard  tiie 
clock. 

Ban.  And  she  goes  downi  at  twelve. 

Fte.  I  taJ<e't,  'tis  later,  sir. 

Ban.  Hold,  take  my  sword: — There's  husbandry 
in  heaven. 
Their  candles  are  all  out. — Take  thee  that  too. 
A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  u^on  me, 
And  yet  I  would  not  sleep:  Mcrcil'ul  powers  ! 
Restrain  in  nic  the  cursed  thoughts,  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose I^Give  me  my  sword; — 

Enter  Macbeth,  and  a  Servant  witli  a  tarcli. 

Who's  there? 

Mad).  A  friend. 

Bmi.  What,  sir,  not  yet  at  rest?  The  Icing's  a-bed: 
He  hath  been  in  usual  jileasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  large-;s*  to  your  ollices:* 
This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal, 
liy  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess;  and  shut  up° 
III  measureless  content. 

Mac'i.  Being  unprepared. 

Our  will  became  the  servant  to  delect; 
Wliich  else  should  free  have  wrought. 

Ban.  All's  well. 

I  dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters: 
To  vou  they  have  show'd  some  truth. 

Mich.  I  think  not  of  them: 

Vet  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve, 
Would  spend  it  in  some  words  upon  that  business. 
If  you  would  grant  the  time. 

Ban.  At  your  kind'st  leisure. 

Macb.  If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent, — when 
'tis, 
It  shall  make  honor  for  you. 

Ban.  So  I  lose  none, 

In  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still  keep 
I\Iv  bosom  franchis'd,  and  allegiance  clear, 
I  shall  be  couu.seli'd. 

Macb.  Good  repose,  the  wliilc. 

Ban.  Thanks,  sir;  The  like  to  you. 

[Exit  Ban(ji:o  and  Fi.eance. 

Macb.  Go.  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is 
ready. 
She  strike  upon  the  bell.    Get  thee  to  hed. 

[Exit  Servant. 
Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me, 
The  handle  toward  my  hand?  Come,  let  me  clutch 

thee: — 
I  havetliee  not, and  \'et  I  see  thee  still. 
Art  thou  not.  tatal  vision,  sensilde 
To  feeling  as  to  si|,'lil  ?  or  art  tliou  but 
A  dagger  of  the  mind;  a  false  creation. 
Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain? 
I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable 
As  this  which  now  I  draw. 
Tliou  marshai'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going; 
And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 
Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses, 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest:  I  see  thee  still; 
And  on  tliy  blade,  and  dudgeon.'  gouts *^  of  blood, 
Which  was  not  so  iiejbre. — There's  no  such  thing: 
It  is  the  bloody  business,  wliicli  informs 
Tims  to  mine  eyes. — Now  o'er  the  one  Iialf  world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 
The  curtain'd  sleep;  now  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Ilecatp's  olleruigs;  and  witherM  murder, 
Alarurn'd  by  his  sentinel,  tlie  wolf. 
Whose  howl's  liiswalch, thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
With  Tarquin'sravisliing  strides,  towards  his  design 

Moves  like   a  ghost. Thou  sure  and  firm-set 

earth. 
Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  where-about. 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time. 
Which  now  suits  with  it. — Whiles  I  threat,  he  lives; 

*  Bounty.        ^  The  rooms  appropri,ited  to  servants. 

•  Conclude.  '  Haft,  handle.  8  Drops. 


Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  give.s. 

[A  bill  rings. 
I  go,  and  it  is  done;  the  bell  invites  me. 
Hear  it  not,  Duncan;  (or  it  is  a  knell 
That  summons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  hell.     [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— TAe  same. 
Enter  Lady  Macbetu. 

Lady  M.  Tliat  which  liath  made  them  drunk, 
hath  made  ine  bold: 
What  hath  queiich'd  them,  hath  given  me  fire; — 

Hark!— Peace! 
It  was  the  owl  that  sliriek'd  the  fatal  bellman. 
Which  gives  the  sto.ru'st  good-night.  He  isabout  it : 
The  doors  are  open;  and  tlie  surfeited  grooms 
Do  mock  their  charge  witli  snores:  1  have  drugg'd 

their  possets, 
That  death  and  nature  docontendabout  them, 
W'lietiier  tlu'y  live  or  die. 

Much.  [IVi'fhin.]  Who's  there?— what,  ho! 

Lady  M.  Alack!  1  am  afraid  they  have  awaked, 
And  'tis  not  done: — the  attempt  and  not  the  deed, 
Confounds  us:— Hark!— 1  laid  their  daggers  re.ady. 
He  could  not  miss  tliem.— Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slejit,  1  had  done"t.— .My  lius:  and! 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  I  have  done   the  deed:— Didst  tliou  not 
hear  a  noise ' 

Lady  M.  I  heard  th  •  owl  scream,  and  the  crick- 
ets cry. 
Did  not  you  speak? 

Macb.  When? 

Lady  M.  Now. 

Macb.  ■  As  I  descended? 

Ladi/  M.  Ay. 

Macb.  Hark!— 
Who  lies  i'thc  second  chamber? 

Lady  M.  Donalbain. 

Macb.  This  is  a  sorry  sight. 

[Lnnking  on  liis  hands. 

iMdy  M.  A  foolish  Ihonglit;  to  say  a  sorry  siglit. 

Macb.  There's  one  did  laugh  in  his  sleep,  and 
one  cried,  murder.' 
That  thev  did  wake  each  other;  I  stood  and  heard 

them; 
But  they  did  say  tlieir  prayers,  and  address'd  them 
Again  to  sleep. 

Latly  M.        Tlicrc  are  two  lodg'd  together. 

Macb.  One  cried,  Ood  bless  iii!  and  Amen,  the 
other; 
As  they  had  seen  me,  with  Ihese  hangman's  hands 
Listening  their  fear.    I  could  not  say,  amen, 
When  they  did  say,  God  bless  us. 

Ijidy  M.  Consider  it  not  so  deeply, 

Mac!}.    But  wherefore  could  not  I  pronounce, 
amen  ? 
I  had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  amen 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  M.  Tiicse  deeds  must  not  be  thought 

Afler  these  ways;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Macb.  Methought,  1  heard  a  voice  cry,  Sleep  no 
more  ! 
Macbeth  doth  murder  sleep,  the  innocent  sleep; 
Sleep,  tlint  knit.s  up  the  rneelPd  sleave"  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  deiy's  life,  sore  lahnr^s  bath. 
Balm,  of  hurt  miinis,  great  nature's  second  course. 
Chief  nnitrh-fitr  in  lif-.s feast ; — 

Lady  M.  ^VImt  do  you  mean? 

Aladi.  Still  It  crii-d.  SIcip  numnre!  to  all  the  house: 
Gluinis  hath  murder^t  sleep,-  and  therefore  Cawdiir 
Shall  sleep  no  more,  Mac'itth  sheill  sleep  no  more.' 

Lady  JI.   Who  was  it   that  thus  cried!     Why, 
worthy  tliane. 
You  do  unhen'd  jour  noble  strength,  to  think 
So  brainsickly  of  things:— Go,  get  some  water, 
And  wash  this  liltliy  witness  from  your  hand. — 
Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  plact  ' 
They  must  lie  there;  Go,  carry  them;  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Macb.  I'll  go  no  more; 

8  Sleave  is  unwrought  silk. 


270 


MACBETH. 


Act  II. 


I  am  alrnid  to  thinJi  what  I  have  done; 
Look  on't  agaiii,  I  dare  not. 

Lad II  M.  Infirm  of  purpose! 

Give  liic  tile  daggers;  The  sleeping  and  tlie  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures:  'tis  the  eye  of  childhood, 
That  (cars  a  painted  devil.    It  he  do  bleed, 
I'll  gild  the  taces  of  the  grooms  withal. 
For  it  must  seem  their  guilt. 

{Exit^   Knnckint^  tvithin. 
Much.  Whence  is  lliat  Ivnockiiigi 

How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  aitpals  nie  \ 
What  hands  are  here?     Ha!  they  pluck  out  mine 

eyes ! 
Will   all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand"!    No:  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudiiious  seas  incarnadine,' 
Waking  the  green — one  red. 

Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
La  fill  J/  My  hands  are  of  your  color;  but  I  shame 
To  wear  a  heart  so  white.  "  [Knocking.]     I  hear  a 

knocking 
At  the  south  entry: — retire  we  to  our  chamber: 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed: 
How  easy  is  it,  then!  Your  constancy 
Hath  lett  you  unattended. —  [Knocking.]    Hark! 

more  loiocking: 
Get  on  your  night-gown,  lest  occasion  call  us, 
And  show  us  to  be  watchers: — Be  not  lost 
So  poor!>"  in  your  thoughts. 
Miicb.' To  know  my  deed, — 'twere  best  not  know 

myself.  [Knocking. 

Wake  Duncan  with  thyknoclcing!    I  would  thou 

couldst !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— TAe  same. 
Enter  a  Porter.  [Knocking  irittiin. 

Porter.  Here's  a  knocking,  indeed!  If  a  man 
were  porter  of  hell-gate,  he  should  have  old"  turn- 
ing the  key.  [Knocking.]  Knock,  knock,  knock: 
Who's  there?  i'the  name  of  Belzebub!  Here's  a 
farmer,  thai  hanged  himself  on  the  expectation  of 
plenty;  Conieinlime;  have  napkinssciiough  about 
you;  here  you'll  sweat  for't.  [Knocking.]  Knock, 
knock:  Who's  there,  i' the  other  devil's  name] — 
'Faith,  here's  an  equivoeator,  that  could  swear  in 
both  the  .scales  againsf  either  scale;  who  committed 
treason  enough  lor  God's  sake,  yet  could  not  equi- 
vocate to  Heaven:  O,  come  in,  equivoeator.  [Knock- 
ing.] Knock,  knock,  knock:  Who's  there?  'Faith, 
here's  an  Knglish  tailor  come  hither,  for  stealing 
out  of  a  French  hose:  Conic  in,  tailor;  here  you 
may  roast  your  goose.  [Knocking.]  Knock, kniock: 
Never  at  quiet!  What  are  you?  But  this  place  is 
too  cold  lor  hell.  I'll  devil-porter  it  no  further:  I 
had  thought  to  have  let  in  some  of  all  protcssions, 
that  i:o  liie  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting  bontire. 
[Knnfkiiig.]  Anon,  anon;  I  pray  you,  remember 
the  poller.  [Opens  tlic  gate. 

Enter  Macditf  and  Le.nox. 

Macd.  Was  it  so  late,  friend,  ere  you  went  to  bed, 
That  you  do  lie  so  late? 

Port.  Faith,  sir,  we  were  carousing  till  the  sec- 
ond cock :  and  drink,  sir,  is  a  great  provoker  of 
three  tilings. 

Miicl.  Wliat  three  things  does  drink  especially 
provoke. 

Port.  Marry,  sir,  nose-painting,  sleep,  and  urine. 
Leeher\'.  sir,  it  provokes,  anti  unprovokes;  it  pro- 
vokes the  desire,  but  it  takes  away  the  perlbrniancc. 
Therefore,  much  drink  may  be  said  to  be  an  equivo- 
catorwith  lechery:  itmakcs  him, and  it  mars  him; 
it  sets  him  on,  and  it  takes  him  olF;  it  persuades 
him,  and  disheartens  him ;  makes  him  stand  to, and 
not  stand  to:  in  conclusion,  equivocates  him  in  a 
sleep,  and.  giving  him  the  lie,  leaves  him. 

Mucd.  I  believe,  drink  gave  thee  the  lie  last  night. 

Port.  That  it  did,  sir.  i'the  very  threat  o'me: 
But  I  re()iiiled  him  for  his  lie;  and.  I  think,  being 
too  slronii  for  him,  though  he  took  up  my  legs 
somcliiiie,  yet  I  made  a  shitt-to  cast  him. 

Mttrd.  Is'tliy  master  stirring? — 
Our  knocking  hath  awaked  hiin ;  here  he  comes. 
Enter  Macbeth. 

Len.  Good-morrow,  noble  sir! 

Much.  Good-morrow,  both ! 

'  To  incarnailiue,  is  to  8t:iin  of  a  flesh  color. 
Frequeut.  ^  Handkerchiefs. 


Macd.  Is  the  king  stirring,  worthy  thane? 

Mach.  Not  yet. 

Macd.  He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  him ; 
I  have  almost  slipp'd  the  hour. 

Much.  I'll  bring  you  to  him. 

Macd.  I  know  this  is  a  joyful  trouble  to  you; 
But  yet  'tis  one. 

Much.  The  labor  we  delight  in  physics*  pain. 
This  is  the  door. 

Macd.  I'll  make  so  bold  to  call. 

For  'tis  my  limited  service.*  [Exit  Macdth^f. 

Lcn.  Goes  the  king 

From  hence  to-day? 

Mach.  He  does: — he  did  appoint  it  so. 

Len.  The  night  has  been  unruly :  Where  wc  lay. 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down;  and,  as  they  say, 
Lamentings  heard  i'the  air;   strange  screams  of 

death; 
And  prophesying,  with  accents  terrible. 
Of  dire  combustion,  and  confused  events, 
New  hatch'd  to  the  woeful  time.    The  obscure  bird 
Clamor'd  the  livelong  night :  some  say,  the  earth 
Was  tcverous  and  did  shake. 

Macb.  'Twas  a  rough  night. 

Len.  My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A  fellow  to  It. 

Re-enter  Macdvff. 

Macd.  O  horror!  horror!   horror!   Tongue,  nor 
heart, 
Cannot  conceive  or  name  thee! 

Macb.  Len.  What's  the  matter? 

Macd.  Confusion  now  hath  made  his  masterpiece ! 
Jlost  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  annointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  lile  o'  the  building. 

Macb.  What  is"t  you  say?  the  life! 

Len.  Mean  you  his  majesty  ? 

Macd.  Approach  the  chamber,  and  destroy  youi 
sight 
With  a  new  Gorgon:— Do  not  bid  me  speak; 
Sec,  and  then  speak  yourselves. — Awake!  Awake! 
(^Exeunt  Macbeth  and  Lesox. 
Ring  the  alarum-bell:— Jlnrder.  and -treason! 
Banquo,  and  Donalbain !  Malcolm  !  awake ! 
Shake  otlthis  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit, 
And  look  on  death  itself!    Up,  up,  and  see 
The  great  doom's  image! — Malcom!  Banquo! 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites, 
To  countenance  this  horror.  [Bell  rings. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

iMdy  M.  What's  the  business, 

That  such  a  hideous  trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  of  the  house?  speak,  speak.— 

Macd.  O,  gentle  lady, 

'Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I  can  speak: 
The  repetition,  in  a  woman's  ear, 
Would  murder  as  it  fell.— 0  Banquo!  Banquo! 

Enter  Baxijuo. 
Our  roy.al  master's  murder'd! 

Ladi/  M. 
What.'in  our  house? 

Ban.  Too  cruel,  any  where. 

Dear  Duff,  I  pr'ythee  contradict  thyself, 
And  say,  it  is  not  so. 

Re-enter  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 

Mach.  Had  I  but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 
I  had  liv'd  a  blessed  time;  for,  from  this  instant, 
There's  nothing  serious  in  mortality: 
,^11  is  but  toys:  renown,  and  grace  is  dead: 
The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Doxalbain. 

Don.  What  is  amiss? 

Much.  You  are,  and  do  not  Iniow  it: 

The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood 
Is  stopp'd;  the  very  source  of  it  is  stopp'd. 

Macd.  Your  royal  father's  murder'd. 

Mai.  0 !  by  whom  ? 

Len.  Those  of  his  chamber,  as  it  seem'd,  had 
done't:  .  .    ,^, 

Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  badg'd  with  blood. 
So  were  their  daggers,  which,  unwiped,  we  found 
Upon  their  pillows: 

They  starecf,  and  were  distracted;  no  man's  life 
Was  to  be  trusted  with  them. 

«  i.  e.  Affords  a  cordial  to  it.      ^Ajipointed  service. 


Woe,  alas ! 


Act  III.     Scene  I. 


MACBETH. 


271 


Macb.  0,  yet  I  do  repent  me  of  my  fury, 
That  I  did  lall  them. 

Macd.  Wherefore  did  you  sol 

Much.  Who  can  be  wise,  amaz'd,  temperate,  and 
furious, 
Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment?  No  man: 
The  expedition  of  my  violent  love 
Out-ran  the  pauscr  reason.— Here  lay  Duncan, 
His  silver  skui  laced  with  his  golden  blood; 
And  his  sash'd  stabs  look'd  lilie  a  breach  in  nature, 
I'or  ruin's  w.astcful  eiUrance:  there,  the  murderers, 
Steep'd  in  the  colors  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 
Unmannerly  breech'd  with  gore: «  who  could  refrain. 
That  had  a  heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 
Courage  to  make  his  love  known  ? 

Lahi  M.  Help  me  hence,  ho! 

Macd.  Look  to  the  lady. 

Mai.  Why  do  wc  hold  our  tongues, 

That  most  may  claim  this  argument  lor  ours? 

Don.  Wliat  sliould  be  spoken  here. 
Where  our  fate,  hid  within  an  auger-hole. 
May  rush  and  seize  us?     Let's  away;  our  fears 
Are  not  yet  brew'd. 

Mai.  Nor  our  strong  sorrow  on 

Tlie  loot  of  motion. 

Ban.  Look  to  the  lady: — 

[Lady  Macbeth  is  carried  out. 
And  when  we  have  our  naiced  frailties  hid, 
That  sull'er  in  exposure,  let  us  meet. 
And  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work. 
To  know  it  further.    Fears  and  scruples  shake  us: 
In  the  great  hand  of  God  I  stjinij;  and,  thence, 
Against  the  undivulg'd  pretence  I  light 
Of  treasonous  malice. 

Macb.  And  so  do  I. 

All.  So  all. 

Macb.  Let's  briefly  put  on  manly  readiness, 
And  meet  i'  the  hall  together. 

All.  Well  contented. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Mal.  and  Don. 

Mai.  What  will  you  do?    Let's  not  consort  with 
them : 
To  show  an  unfelt  soiTOW,  is  an  office 
Which  the  tiilse  man  docs  easy:  I'll  to  England. 

Dun.  To  Ireland,  I;  our  separated  fortune 
Sliall  keep  us  both  the  safer:  where  we  are. 
There's  daggers  in  men's  smiles:  the  near  in  blood. 
The  nearer  iiloody. 

Mal.  This  murderous  shaft  that's  shot, 

Hath  not  yet  lighted ;  and  our  safest  way 
Is,  to  avoid  the  aim.    Therefore,  to  horse; 
And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave  taking. 
But  shift  away:  there's  warrant  in  that  theft. 
Which  steals  Itself,  when  there's  no  mercy  left. 

[Exeu7it. 

SCENE  W.— Without  the  Castle. 
Enter  RiissE  and  an  Old  Jlan. 
Old  M.  Tlireescore  and  ten  I  can  remember  well: 
Within  the  volume  of  which  time,  I  have  seen 


Hours  dreadl'ul,  and  things  strange;  but  this  soro 

night 
Hath  trilled  former  knowings. 

liosse.  Ah  good  father, 

Thou  scest  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man's  act, 
Tiircaten  his  bloody  stage:  by  the  clock,  'tis  day. 
And  yet  dark  niglit  strangles  the  travelling  lamp: 
Is  it  night's  predominance,  o-r  the  day's  shame, 
That  darkness  does  the  lace  of  earth  intomb. 
When  living  hght  should  kiss  it? 

Old  M.  'Tis  unnatural, 

Even  hke  the  deed  that  s  done.    On  Tuesday  last 
A  falcon,  towering  in  her  pride  of  place. 
Was  by  a  mousing  owl  hawk'd  at,  and  kiU'd. 

Rosse.  And  Duncan's  horses,  (a  thing  most  strange 
and  certain,) 
Beauteous  and  swift,  the  minions  of  their  race, 
Turn'd  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung  out, 
Contending  'gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  mak» 
War  with  mankind. 

Old  M.  'Tis  said,  they  eat  each  other. 

Ru.'isc.  They  did  so;  to  the  amazement  of  mine 
eyes, 
That  look'd  upon  't.    Here  comes  the  good  Mac- 
dull:- 

Enter  Macduff. 

How  goes  the  world,  sir,  now  ? 

Maid.     '  Why,  see  you  not ! 

Rosse.  Is't  known  who  did  this  more  than  bloody 
deed  ! 

Macd.  Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain.         ' 

Riisse.  '     Alas,  the  day ! 

Wliat  good  could  they  pretend?' 

Mad.  They  were  suborn'd: 

Malcolm,  and  Donalbain,  the  king's  two  sons. 
Are  stol'n  away  and  tied;  which  puts  upon  them 
Suspicion  of  the  deed. 

Rosse.  'Gainst  nature  still ; 

Thriftless  ambition,  that  wilt  raven  up 
Thine  own  lil'e's  means!— Then  'tis  most  like. 
The  sovereignty  will  fall   upon  Macbeth. 

Macd..  He  is  already  named;  and  gone  to  Scone, 
To  be  invested. 

Rosse.  Where  is  Duncan's  body? 

Macd.  Carried  to  Colmes-kill; 
The  sacred  storehouse  of  his  predecessors. 
And  guardian  of  their  bones. 

Rosse.  Will  you  to  Scone ! 

Macd.  No,  cousin,  I'll  to  File. 

Rosse.  Well,  I  will  thither. 

Macd.    Well,   may  you  see  things  well   done 
there ; — adieu ! — 
Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new! 

Rosse.  Father,  farewell. 

Old  M.  God's  benison  go  with  you:  and  with 
those 
That  would  make  good  of  bad,  and  friends  of  foes! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— Forres,  .-t  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Banquo. 
Ban.  Thou  hast  it  now.  King,  Cawdor,  Glamis, 
all. 
As  the  w^eird  woman  promis'd;  and,  I  fear 
Thou  play'dst  most  I'oiilly  for't:  yet  it  was  said. 
It  should  "not  stand  in  thy  posterity; 
But  that  myself  should  be  the  root,  and  father 
Of  many  kings.    If  there  come  truth  from  them, 
(As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine,) 
Why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good. 
May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well, 
And  set  me  up  in  h'niic !  But,  hush;  no  more. 

Senet  sounded.  Enter  Macbeth,  as  Kinm  Lady 
MACiiETii,  as  Queen.-  Lenox,  Rosse,  Lords, 
Ladies,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  Here's  our  chief  guest. 

LadyM.  If  he  had  been  forgotten. 
It  had  been  as  a  gap  in  our  great  feast, 
And  all  things  unbecoming. 

^  Covered  with  blood  to  their  hilta 


Mach.  To-night  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,  sir, 
And  I'll  request  your  presence. 

Ban.  Let  your  highness 

Command  upon  me;  to  the  which,  my  duties 
Are  with  a  most  indissoluble  tie 
For  ever  knit. 

Macb.  Ride  you  this  afternoon? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  We  should  have  else  desired  your  good 
advice 
(Which  still  had  been  both  grave  and  prosperous) 
In  this  day's  council;  but  we'll  take  to-morrow. 
Is't  far  you  ride? 

Ban.  As  far  my  lord,  as  will  fill  up  the  time 
'Twixt  this  and  supper:  go  not  my  horse  the  better, 
I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the  night. 
For  a  dark  hour  or  twain. 

Ufacb.  Fail  not  our  feast. 

Ban.  Mv  lord,  I  will  not. 

Macb.  Vfe  hear,  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestow'd 
In  England,  and  in  Ireland;  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
'  Intend  to  themselves. 


272 


MACBETH. 


Act  III. 


With  strange  invention:  But  of  thiit  to-morrow; 
Wlien  therewitiial,  v/e  shall  liave  cause  of  state, 
Craving  us  jointly.    Hie  you  to  horse:  Adieu, 
Till  you  return  at  night.    Goes  Fleance  with  you? 

Ban.  Ay,  my  good  lord:  our  time  does  call  upon 
us. 

Mach.  I  wish  your  horses  swift  and  sure  of  foot; 
And  so  I  do  commend  you  to  their  backs. 

Farewell. [Exit  Banqco. 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  time 
TfU  seven  at  night;  to  make  society 
Tlie  sweeter  welcome,  we  will  keep  ourself 
Till  supper-time  alone;  while  then,  God  be  with  you. 
{Exeunt  Lady  Macbeth,  Lords,  Ladies,  tVc. 
Sirrah,  a  word:  Attend  those  men  our  pleasure! 

Aften.  They  are.  my  lord,  without  the  palace  gate. 

ilacb.  Bring  them  belbre  us. —  \_Exit  Atten. 

To  be  thus,  is  nothing; 
But  to  be  safely  thus : — Our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep;  and  in  his  royalty^  of  nature 
Keigns  that,  which  would  be  fear'd :  'Tis  much  he 

dares ; 
And  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valor 
To  act  in  safety.    There  is  none,  but  he 
Whose  being  I  do  fear:  and  under  him, 
RIy  genius  is  rebuked;  as,  it  is  said. 
Murk  Antonyms  was  by  Cffisar.    He  chid  the  sisters. 
When  lirst  they  pnt  the  name  of  King  upon  me, 
Autl  bade  them  speak  to  him ;  then,  prophet-liJie, 
They  hailM  him  lather  to  a  line  of  kings: 
Upon  my  head  they  placed  a  fruitless  crown, 
And  put  a  barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe, 
Tlience  to  be  wreneird  with  an  unlineal  hand, 
Ko  son  of  mine  succeeding.    If  it  be  so, 
For  Banquo's  issue  have  I  filed''  my  mind; 
For  them  the  gracious  Duncan  have  I  murder'd; 
Put  rancors  in  the  vessel  of  my  peace 
Oidy  for  them;  and  mine  eternal  jewel 
Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man. 
To  make  them  kings,  the  seed  of  Banquo  kings! 
Rather  than  so,  come,  <atc,  in  the  list. 

And  champion  me  to  the  utterance!' Who's 

there  \ — 

Re-enter  Attendant,  wiili  l\vo  Murderers. 

Now  to  the  door,  and  stay  there  till  we  call. 

[Exit  Attendant. 
Was  it  not  yesterday  we  spoke  together! 

1  Mm:  It  was,  so  please  your  highness. 

Macb.  Well  then,  now 

Have  you  considered  of  my  speeches'!  Know, 
That  It  was  he,  in  the  time  past,  which  held  you 
So  under  fortune;  which,  you  thought,  had  been 
Oux  innocent  self:  this  I  made  good  to  you 
In  our  last  conference;  pass'd  in  probation- with  you, 
How  you  were  borne  in  hand;  how  cross'd;  the 

instruments; 
Who  wrought  with  tlxm;  and  all  things  else,  that 

might. 
To  half  a  soul,  and  a  notion  cr,azM, 
Say.  Thus  did  Banquo. 

f  Mirr.  You  made  it  laiown  to  us. 

Macb.  I  did  so;  and  went  further,  which  is  now 
Our  point  of  second  meeting.    Do  you  find 
Vnur  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature. 
That  you  can  let  this  go!     Are  you  so  gosijell'd, 
To  pray  tor  that  good  man,  and  for  his  issue, 
Whose'heavy  hand  hath  bow'd  you  to  the  grave, 
And  beggar'd  yours  for  ever! 

1  I\Iiu:         '  We  are  men,  my  liege. 

Macb.  Ay,  in  the  catalogue  ye  go  for  men; 
As  hounds',  and  greyhounds,  mongrels,  spaniels, 

curs, 
Shoughs,"  water-rugs,  and  demi-wolves, are  cleped'' 
All  by  the  name  of  dogs:  the  valued  file 
Distinguishes  the  swill,  the  slow,  the  subtle. 
The  honse-kei'per,  the  hunter,  every  one 
According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  nature 
Hath  in  himclos'd;  whereby  he  docs  receive 
Particular  addition,-''  li'om  the  bill 
That  writes  Ihem  all  alike:  And  so  of  men. 
Now,  if  you  have  a  station  in  the  tile. 
And  notin  the  worst  rank  of  manhood,  say  it; 
And  I  will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms, 
W^liosc  execution  takes  your  enemy  off; 

6  Nobleness.  "  For  defiled. 

1  ChuUenge  me  to  extremities.  ^  Proved. 

•Wolf-dogs.  <  Called. 

'Title,  description. 


Grapples  you  to  tlie  heart  and  love  of  us. 
Who  wear  our  health  but  sickly  in  his  life, 
Which  in  his  death  were  perfect. 

•2  Mur.  I  am  one,  my  liege, 

Whom  the  vile  blows  and  butfets  of  the  world 
Have  so  inccns'd  that  I  am  reckless"  what 
I  do,  to  spite  the  world. 

1  Mur.  And  I  another. 

So  weary  with  disasters,  tugg'd  with  fortune, 
That  I  would  set  iny  life  on  any  chance. 
To  mend  it,  or  be  rid  on't. 

Macb.  Both  of  you 

Know,  Banquo  was  j'our  enemy. 

2  Mur.  True,  my  lord. 
Macb.  So  is  he  mine:  and  in  such  bloody  distance, 

That  every  minute  of  his  being  thrusts 
Against  my  near'st  of  life:  And  though  I  could 
\Vith  bare-faced  power  sweep  him  from  my  sight, 
And  bid  my  will  avouch  it;  yet  I  must  not. 
For'  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine, 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  drop,  but  wail  his  fall 
Whom  I  myself  struck  down:  and  thence  it  is, 
That  I  to  your  assistance  do  make  love; 
Masking  the  business  from  the  common  ej'e, 
For  sundry  weighty  reasons. 

a  Mur.  We  shall,  my  lord, 

Perform  what  you  command  ns. 

1  Mur.  Though  our  lives 

Macb.  Your  spirits  shine  through  you.    Within 
'this  hour,  at  most, 
I  will  advise  you  where  to  plant  yourselves, 
Acquaint  you  with  the  perlect  spy  o'the  time. 
Tile  moment  on't;  for't  must  be  done  to-night. 
And  something  from  the  palace;  always  thought, 
That  I  require  a  clearness:  And  with  him, 
(To  leave  no  rubs,  nor  botches,  in  the  work,) 
Fleance  his  son,  that  keeps  his  company. 
Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  is  his  father's,  must  embrace  the  fate 
Of  that  dark  hour.    Resolve  yourselves  apart; 
I'll  come  to  you  anon. 

■2  Mur.  Wc  are  rcsolv'd,  my  lord. 

Macb.  I'll  call  upon  you  straight;  abide  within. 

It  is  concluded: Banquo.  thy  soul's  flight. 

If  it  find  heaven,  must  find  it  out  to-night.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.—Anutlier  Room. 
Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  and  a  Servant. 

L^ady  M.  Is  Banquo  gone  from  court ! 

Kerr.  Ay,  madam,  hut  returns  again  to-night. 

Lady  M.  Say  to   the  king,  I  wo'uld  attend  his 
leisure 
For  a  few  words. 

Sen:  Madam  I  will.  [Exit. 

Lady  M.  Nought's  had,  all's  spent. 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content : 
'Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy. 
Than,  by  destruction,  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. 

Enter  Macbeth. 
How  now,  my  lord!  why  do  you  keep  alone. 
Of  sorriest*  fancies  your'conip.anions  making! 
Using  those  thoughts,  which  should  indeed  have  died 
With  them  tiiey  think  on!  Thingswithout  remedy. 
Should  be  without  regard:  what's  done,  is  done. 

Macb.  We  have  scotch'd  the  snake,  not  kill'd  it; 
She'll  close,  and  be  herself;  whilst  .our  poor  malice 
Remains  in  danger  of  her  ibrmer  tooth. 
But  let 

The  frame  of  things  disjoint,  hoth  theworldssuffer, 
Ere  we  will  eat  our  meals  in  fear,  and  sleep 
In  the  aflliclion  of  these  terrible  dreams. 
That  shake  us  nightly:  Belter  be  with  the  dead. 
Whom  we,  to  gain  our  place,  have  sent  to  peace, 
Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  lo  lie 
In  restless  cstacy."    Duncan  is  in  his  grave; 
After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well; 
Treason  has  done  his  worst:  nor  sleel,  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing. 
Can  touch  him  further! 

Lady  M.  Come  on; 
Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o'er  your  rugged  looks; 
Be  bright  and  jovial  'mong  your  guests  to-night. 

Macb.  So  sliall  I,  love;  and  so,  I  pray,  be  you: 
Let  your  remembrance  apply  to  Banquo; 
Present  him  eminence,'  botlmith  eye  and  tongue. 
Unsafe  the  while,  that  we 

"Careless.         '  Because  of.         *  Most  melancholy. 
*  Agony.  '  Do  liim  the  highest  honors. 


SCEXE  IV. 


MACBETH. 


273 


Must  lave  our  honors  in  these  nattering  streams; 
And  make  our  laces  vizards  to  our  hearts, 
Disguising  what  they  are. 
Larly  M.  You  must  leave  this. 

Macb.  U,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dearwife! 
Thou  know'st,  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  lives. 
Lu-ly  M.  But  in  them  nature's  copy's  not  eternc.^ 
Mac').  There's  comfort  yet;  they  arc  assailable; 
Then  be  thou  jocund:  Ere  the  bat  hath  flown 
His  cloister'd  flight ;  ere,  to  black  Hecate'ssummons, 
The  shard-borne  beetle,^  with  his  drowsy  hums. 
Hath  run^  nijjhl's  yawning  peai,  there  shall  be  done 
A  deed  of  dreadful  note. 
Lad)/  AT.  ,  What's  to  be  donel 

Macb.  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest 
chuck. 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed.    Come,  seeling*  night, 
Skarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day; 
And,  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand, 
Cancel,  and  tear  to  pieces,  that  great  bond 
Which  keeps  me  pale! — LiKhtthickens;and  the  crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rocky  wood: 
Good  things  of  day  begm  to  drop  and  drowse; 
Whiles  night's  Ijiack  agents  to  their  prey  do  rouse. 
Thou  marvell'st  at  my  words;  but  hold  thee  still; 
Things,  bad  begun,  make  strong  themselves  by  ill: 
So,  pr'ythee,  go  with  mc.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \U.—A  Park  or  Lawn,  with  a  Gale 

leading  lo  Ihe  Palace. 

Enter  Tlirec  Alurdcrers. 

1  Mur.  But  who  did  bid  thee  join  with  us? 

3  Mur.  Macbeth. 

2  Mur.  He  needs  not  our  mistrust :  since  he  de- 

livers 
Our  offices,  and  what  we  have  to  do, 
To  the  direction  just. 

1  Mur.  Then  stand  with  us. 

The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day: 
Now  spurs  the  latcd  travellers  apace. 
To  gain  the  timely  inn;  and  near  approaches 
The  subject  of  our  watch. 

3  Mur.  Hark !  I  hear  horses. 
Ban.  \  Within.]  Give  us  a  light  there,  liol 

a  Mur.  Then  it  is  he;  the  rest 

That  are  within  the  note  of  expectation, 

Already  i'thc  court. 
1  Mur.  His  horses  go  about, 

3  ^lur.  .\lmost  a  mile:  but  he  does  usually. 

So  all  men  do,  from  hence  to  the  palace  gate 

Make  it  their  walk. 

Enter  Banquo  and  Fleance,  a  Servant  icith  a  torch 
preceding  them, 

S  Mur.  A  light!  alight! 

3  Mur.  'Tis  he. 

1  Mur.  Stand  (o't. 
Ban.  It  will  be  rain  to-night. 
1  Mur.  Let  it  come  down. 

[Assaults  BAxgfo. 
Bon.  0,  treachery!  Fly,  good  Fieance,  fly,  fly,  fly; 
Thou  mayst  revenge.    O  sJuye! 

[Die.'n.    Fi.EANCE   and   Servant   escape. 
3  Mur.  Who  did  strike  out  the  light ! 
1  Mur.  Was't  not  the  way? 

3  Mur.  There's  but  one  down;  the  son  has  fled, 
a  Mur.  We  have  lost  best  half  of  our  allair. 
1  Mur.  Well,  let's  away,  and  say  how  much  is 
done.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— .1  Room  of  State  in  ihe  Palace. 

A  Banquet  prepared.  Enter  MACiiETn,  Lady  Mac- 
beth, RossE,  Lenox,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  You  know  your  own  degrees,  sit  down: 
at  first 
And  last,  the  hearty  welcome. 

Lords.  Thanks  to  your  majesty. 

Macb.  Our.self  will  mingle  with  society. 
And  play  the  humble  host. 
Our  hostess  keeps  her  sfato;'  but,  in  best  time. 
We  will  require  her  welcome. 

'  i.  e.  The  copy,  the  lease,  by  which  they  hold  their 
lives,  is  not  eternal. 

3  The  beetle  borne  in  the  air  by  its  shards  or  scaly 
wings. 

•Blinding.  ^ji^^  chair  of  state. 

IS 


Lady  nL   Pronounce  it  for  me,  sir,  to  all  our 
friends; 
For  my  heart  speaks,  they  are  welcome. 

Enter  First  Murderer,  to  the  door. 

Macb.    See,    they   encounter   thee   with    their 

hearts'  thanks: 

Both  sides  are  even:  Here  I'll  sit  i'the  midst: 
Be  large  in  mirth;  anon,  we'll  drink  a  measure 
The  table  round. — There's  blood  upon  thy  tiice. 

Mur.  'Tis  Banquo's  then. 

Macb.  'Tis  better  thee  without,  than  he  within. 
Is  he  despatch'd? 

Mur.  My  lord.  Ills  throat  is  cut;  t.hat  Idid  forliim. 

Macb.  Thou  art  the  best  o'the  cut-throats:  Yet 
he's  good, 
That  did  the  like  for  Fleance:  if  thou  didst  it, 
Thou  art  the  nonpareil. 

Mur.  Most  royal  sir, 

Fleance  is  'scaped. 

Macb.  Then  comes  my  fit  again :  I  had  else  been 
perlcct; 
Whole  as  tJie  marble,  founded  as  the  rock; 
As  broad,  and  general,  as  the  ciLsing  air: 
But  now,  1  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined,  bound  in 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears.    But  Banquo's  safe  ! 

Mur.  Ay,  my  good  lord,  safe  in  a  ditch  he  bides, 
With  twenty  trenched  ga.shes  on  his  head; 
The  least  a  death  to  nature. 

Macb.  Thanks  for  that: 

There  the  grown  serpent  lies;  the  worm,  that's  fled, 
Hath  nature  that  in  time  v\-ilJ  venom  breed. 
No  teeth  for  the  present. — Get  thee  gone;  to-mor- 
row 
We'll  hear  ourselves  again.  [Exit  Murderer. 

Laiiy  M.  My  royal  lord. 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer:  the  feast  is  sold. 
That  is  not  ol\en  vouch'd,  while  'tis  a  making, 
'Tis  given  with  welcome:  To  feed,  were  best  at 

home; 
From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony; 
Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

Macb.  Sweet  remembrancer!— 

Now  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 
And  health  on  both! 

Len.  May  it  please  your  highness  sit? 

[The  Ghost  <f  Banquo  rises,  and  iits  in 
Machetii's  place. 

Macb.  Here  had  we  now  our  country's  honor 
roofd. 
Were  the  graced  person  of  our  Banquo  present ; 
Who  may  I  rather  challenge  for  uiikindness, 
Than  pity  tor  mischance! 

/^(/*.vf.  His  absence,  sir, 

Lays  blame   upon  his  promise.    Please  it  your 

highness 
To  grace  us  v\ith  your  royal  company] 

Macb.  The  table's  full. 

J,en.  Here's  a  place  reserv'd,  sir. 

Macb.  Where? 

Len.  Here,  my  lord.    What  is't  that 

moves  your  highness? 

Macb.  Which  of  you  have  done  this? 

Lords.  What,  my  good  lord? 

Macb.  Thou  canst  not  say,  I  did  it:  never  shako 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Hosse.  Gentlemen,  rise;  his  highness  is  not  well. 

Lady  M.  Sit,  worthy  friends; — my  lord  is  often 
thus, 
.\nd  hath  been  from  his  youth:  'pray  you,  keep  seat; 
The  lit  is  momentary;  upon  a  thought 
He  will  again  be  well:  If  much  you  note  him. 
You  shall  olli^nd  him,  and  extend  his  passion; 
Feed,  and  regard  him  not. — Are  you  a  man  ] 

Macb.  Ay,  and  a  bifld  one,  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 

Laily  M.  O  proper  stuff! 

This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear: 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger,  which,  you  said. 
Led  you  to  Duncan.    O,  these  flaws,*  and  starts, 
(Imjiostors  to  true  fear,)  would  well  become 
A  woman's  story,  at  a  winter's  fire, 
Authoriz'd  by  her  grandam.    Shame  itself! 
Why  do  you  make  such  faces?     When  all's  done, 
You  look  but  on  a  stool, 

Macb.  Pr'ythee,  see    there!    behold!   look!   lo! 

how  say  you  ? 

Why,  what  care  I?  If  thou  canst  nod, speak  Ioo,t- 

*  Sudden  gusts. 


274 


MACBETH. 


Act  III. 


If  charnel-houses,  and  our  ^craves,  must  send 

Those  that  we  bury,  hack,  our  monuments 

Sliall  he  the  maws  of  kites.  [Ghof^t  disappears. 

Jji'fy  M.  What!  quite  unmannM  in  folly? 

Mac').  If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him. 

La'li/  M.  Fye,  for  shame ! 

Macb.  Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i^the  olden 
time, 
Ere  human  statute  purged  the  gentle  weal; 
Ay,  and  since  too,  murders  have  been  perlormM 
Too  terrible  for  the  ear:  the  times  have  been. 
That,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die, 
And  there  an  end:  but  now,  they  rise  again, 
With  twenty  moral  murders  on  their  crowns. 
And  push  us  from  our  stools :  This  is  more  strange 
Than  such  a  murder  is. 

Laiij  M.  My  worthy  lord, 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

Mach.  '  I  do   forget: — 

Do  not  muse'  at  me,  my  most  worthy  friends; 
I  have  a  strange  intirmity,  which  is  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.    Come,  love  and  health 
to  all; 

Then  I'll  sit    down: Give  me  some   wine,  fill 

full : 

I  drink  to  the  general  joy  of  the  whole  table, 

Ghost  rises. 

And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss: 
Would  he  were  here!  to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst, 
And  all  to  all.* 

Lards.  Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

Macb.  A  vaunt!  andquit  my  sight!  Let  the  earth 
hide  thee! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless^  thy  blood  is  cold; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  ni  those  eyea 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with! 

Lady  M.  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 

But  as  a  thing  of  custom :  'tis  no  other; 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time, 

Macb.  What  man  dare,  I  dare: 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 
The  arm VI  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger, 
Take  any  sliapo  but  that,  and  my  trrm  nerves 
Shall  never  tremble:  Or,  be  alive  again, 
And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword; 
If  trembling  I  inhibit^  thee,  protest  me 
The  baby  of  a  girl.    Hence,  horrible  shadow! 

[Ghost  disappears. 
Unreal  mockery,  hence!— Why  so; — being  gone, 
I  am  a  man  again. — Pray  you,  sit  still. 

La  ly  M.  You  have  displaced  the  mirth,  broke  the 
good  meeting, 
With  most  admired  disorder. 

Macb.  Can  such  things  be. 

And  overcome^  us  like  a  summer's  cloud. 
Without  our  special  wonder]  You  make  me  strange 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I  owe,^ 
When  now  I  thnikyou  can  behold  such  sights. 
And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks, 
When  mine  are  blanch'd  with  fear. 

Rijsse.  What  sights,  my  lordl 

Lady  M.  I  pray  you,  speak  not;  lie  grows  worse 
and  worse: 
Question  enrages  him:  at  once,  good  night; — 
Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going. 
But  go  at  once. 

Len.  Good  night,  and  better  health 

Attend  his  majesty ! 

Lady  M,  A  kind  good  night  to  all! 

[Exeunt  Lords  and-  Attendants. 

Macb.   It  will  have  blood;  they  say,  blood  will 
have  blood: 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move, and  trees  to  speak; 
Augurs,  and  understood  relations,  have 
By  magot-pies,5and  choughs,  and  rooks,  brought 

forth 
The  secret'st  man  of  blood. — What  is  the  night? 

Lady  M.  Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which 
is  which. 

Macb.  How  say''st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his 
person, 
At  our  great  bidding? 

Lady  M.  Did  j'ou  send  to  him,  sir? 

Macb.  I  hear  it  by  the  way;  but  I  will  send: 
There's  not  a  one  of  them,  but  in  his  liouse 


'Wonder. 
8  Forbid. 
^Posscsa. 


*i.  e.  All  Rooi  wishes  to  all. 
^  Pass  over. 


I  keep  a  servant  fee'd.    I  will  to-morrow 

(Betimes  I  will,)  unto  the  weird  sisters: 

More  shall  they  speak;  for  now  1  am  bent  to  know 

By  the  worst  means,  the  worst :  for  mine  own  good 

All  causes  shall  give  way;  I  am  in  blood 

Stept  in  so  far,  that,  should  1  wade  no  more. 

Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er; 

Strange  things  I  have  in  head,  that  will  to  hand; 

Which  must  be  acted,  ere  they  may  be  scann'd.* 

Lady  M.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 

Macb.   Come,  we'll  to  sleep;  JMy  strange  and 
self-abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear,  that  wants  hard  use:— 
W^e  are  yet  hut  young  in  deed.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  Y.~The  Heath. 

Thunder.   Enter  Hecate,  jneetmg  the  Three 
Witches. 

1  Witch.  Why,  how  now,  Hecate]  you  look  an- 
gerly. 

Hec.  Have  I  not  reason,  beldams,  as  you  are, 
Saucy,  and  overbold?  How  did  you  dare 
To  trade  and  tratlic  witlT  Macbeth, 
In  riddles  and  atlairs  of  death; 
And  I,  the  mistress  of  your  charms, 
The  close  contriver  of  all  harms, 
Was  never  call'd  to  bear  my  part, 
Or  show  the  glory  of  our  art  \ 
And,  which  is  worse,  all  you  have  done 
Hath  been  but  for  a  wayward  son. 
Spiteful, and  wrathful;  who,  as  others  do, 
Loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you. 
But  make  amends  now:  Get  you  gone. 
And  at  the  pit  of  Acheron, 
^leet  me  i'the  moniing ;  thither  he 
Wilt  come  to  know  his  destiny. 
Your  vessels,  and  your  spells,  provide, 
Your  charms,  and  every  thing  beside: 
I  am  for  the  air:  this  night  Til  spend 
Unto  a  dismal-fatal  end. 
Great  business  must  be  wrought  ere  noon  ; 
Upon  the  corner  of  the  moon 
There  hangs  a  vaporous  drop  profound;* 
ril  catch  it  ere  it  come  to  ground: 
And  that  distill'd  by  magic  slights, 
Shall  raise  such  artificial  sprites, 
As,  by  the  strength  of  their  illusion. 
Shall  draw  him  on  to  his  confusion: 
He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear 
His  hopes  'hove  wisdom,  grace,  and  fear: 
And,  you  all  know,  security 
Is  niortaPs  chiefest  enemy. 

Song.  [IVithin.]   Co/nr  afvay,  come  awaij^  *^c. 
Hark,  I  am  call'd:  my  littli-  spirit,  sec, 
Sits  in  a  foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me.  [Exit. 

1  Witch.  Come,  let's  make  haste;  she'll  soon  be 
back  again.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI,— Forres.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Lexox  and  another  Lord. 

Len.   My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your 

thoughts, 
Which  can  interpret  further:  only,  I  say, 
Things  have  been  strangely  borne:  The  gracious 

Duncan 
Was  pitied  of  Macbeth  : — marry,  he  was  dead: — 
And  the  riiiht-valiant  Banquo  walk'd  too  late; 
Whom,  you  may  say,  if  it  please  you,  Kleance  kill'd, 
For  Fleance  tied.    Men  must  not  walk  too  late. 
Who  cannot  want  the  thought,  how  monstrous 
It  was  for  Malcolm,  and  for  Donalbain, 
To  kill  their  gracious  father?  damned  fact! 
How  it  did  grieve  Macbeth  !  did  he  not  straight 
In  pious  rage,  the  two  delinquents  tear, 
That  were  the  slaves  of  drink,  and  thralls  of  sl(*ep! 
Was  not  that  nobly  done?  Ay.  and  wisely  too; 
For  'twould  have  anger'd  any  heart  alive. 
To  hear  the  men  deny  it.    So  that,  I  say, 
He  has  borne  all  things  well:  and  I  do  think. 
That,  hath  he  Duncan's  sons  under  his  key, 
( As,  an't  please  heaven,  he  shall  not. )they  should  find 
What  'twere  to  kill  a  father;  so  should  Fleance. 
But,  peace!— for  from  broad  words,  and 'cause  ho 

fa  i  I'd 
His  presence  at  the  tyrant's  feast,  I  hear, 

*  Examined  nicely. 

^  I.  e.  A  drop  that  has  deep  or  hiJtlen  qualities. 


Act  IV.     ScEXE  I. 


MACBETH. 


'  Macduff  lives  in  disgrace:  Sir,  can  you  tell 
Where  he  bestows  himselfl 

L/jrd.  The  son  of  Duncan, 

From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth, 
Lives  in  the  English  court;  and  is  receivM 
Of  the  most  pious  Edward  with  such  g;racc, 
That  the  malevolence  of  fortune  iiothiiis: 
Takes  from  his  high  respect:  Thither  Macduff 
Is  gone  to  pray  the  holy  king,  on  liis  aid 
To  wake  Northumberland,  and  warhke  Siw-ard: 
That,  by  the  help  of  these,  (with  Him  above 
To  ratily  the  work.)  we  may  again 
Give  to  "our  table  meat,  sleep  to  our  nights; 
Free  from  our  feasts  and  banquets  bloody  knives; 
Do  taitliful  homage  and  receive  tree  honors,^ 
All  which"  we  pine  lor  now:  And  this  report 


Hath  so  exasperate  the  king,  thik 
Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  waV, 

Len.  Sen\ 

Lord.  He  did:  and  with  an  absolo 
The  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his^ 
And  hums;  as  who  should  say,  Yoii'lh 
That  clogs  me  with  this  answer. 

Len.  And  that^ 

Advise  him  to  a  caution,  to  hold  what  dis\ 
His  wisdom  can  provide.    Some  holy  ang 
Fly  to  the  court  of  England,  and  unfold 
His  message  ere  he  comes:  That  a  swift  blessing 
May  soon  return  to  this  our  sullering  country 
Under  a  hand  accursM! 

Jjjrd,  My  prayers  with  him! 

[Ea:euni. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  l.—A  licrk  Cave.    In  the  mUdle,  a  Caul- 
dron boiling. 
Thunder.    Enter  the  Three  Witches. 

1  Witch.  Thrice  the  hrindert  cat  hath  mew"d. 

2  Witch.  Ttirice;  and  once  the  hedfce-pi^whincd, 

3  M'itch.  Hari)er  cries: — 'Tis  time,  'tis  time. 

1  Witch.  Round  about  the  cauldron  go; 

In  the  poisonM  entrails  throw, 

Toad,  that  under  coldest  stone, 

Days  and  niglits  hast  thirty-one 
Swelter'd  venom  sleeping  got. 
Boil  thou  first  i'the  charmed  ])0t  ! 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble; 
Fire,  burn  ;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 

2  Witch.  Fillet  ol'a  fenny  snake, 
In  the  cauldron  bod  and  bake: 
Kye  of  newt,  and  toe  of  frog. 
Wool  of  bat,  and  tongue  of  dog, 
Adder\s  fork,  and  blind-worm's  sting, 
Lizard's  leg,  and  owlet's  wing. 

For  a  charm  ol  powerl'ul  trouble, 
Like  a  hell-brolh  boil  and  bubble. 

All.  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble; 
Fire,  bm'n;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 

3  Witch.  Scale  of  dragon,  toolh  of  wolf; 
Witches'  mummy;  maw.  and  gulf,' 

Of  the  ravin'd"  salt-sea  shark; 
Root  of  hemlock,  digg'd  i'the  dark; 
Liver  of  blaspheming  Jew; 
Gall  of  goat,  and  slips  of  yew, 
Sliver'd  in  the  moon's  eclipse; 
Nose  ot  Turk,  and  Tartar's  lips ; 
Finger  of  birth-strangled  babe, 
Ditch-delivcr'd  by  a  drab. 
Make  the  gruel  thick  and  slab: 
Add  thereto  a  tiger's  chaudron. 
For  the  ingredients  of  our  cauldron. 

A/l.  Doul)Ie,  double  toil  and  trouble; 
Fire,  burn;  and,  cauldron,  bubble. 

a  Witcli.  Cool  It  with  a  baboon's  blood, 
Then  the  charm  is  tirm  and  good 

Enter  Hecate. 
Hec.  0,  well  done!  I  commend  your  pains; 
And  every  one  shall  share  i'the  gaijis. 
And  now  about  the  cauldron  sing. 
Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a  ring, 
Enchanting  all  that  ycu  put  in. 

SONG. 
Black  spirits  and  white. 

Blue  spirits  and  grey; 
Mitigte,  mingle,  mingle. 

You  that  mingle  maij. 

a.  Witch.  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 
Something  wicked  this  way  comes: 
Open  locks,  whoever  luiocks. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  midjiight 
hags]  • 

What  is't  you  do1 
All. 


"Honors  freely  bestowed 
f  Ravenous 


A  deed  without  a  name. 

'  The  thro.1t. 


Macb.  I  conjure  you,  by  that  which  you  profess, 
(Howe'er  you  come  to  know  it,)  answer  me: 
Though  you  initie  the  winds,  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches;  though  the  ycsty  waves 
Conlbund  and  swallow  navigation  up; 
Though  bladed  corn  be  lodg'd"  and  trees  blown 

down ; 
Though  castle-s  topple'  on  their  warders'  heads; 
Though  palaces,  and  pyramids,  do  slope 
Theirlieads  to  their  foundations;  though  the  treasure 
f>f  nature's  germins'  tumble  all  together, 
Even  till  destruction  sicken,  answer  me 
To  what  I  ask  you. 

1  Witch.  Speak. 

a  Witch.  Demand. 

:i  Witch.  We'll  answer. 

1  Witch.  Say,  if  thou'dst  rather  hear  it  from  our 
mouths. 
Or  from  our  masters'! 

Macb.  Call  them,  let  me  see  them. 

1  Witch.  Pour  in  sow's  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Her  nine  farrow;  grease,  that's  sweaten 
From  the  murderer's  gibbet,  throw 
Into  the  flame. 

All.  Come,  high  or  low; 

Thyself,  and  olhcc,  deftly  =  show. 

Thunder.  An  Apparition  o/o/i  armed  Head  m«. 

Macb.  Tell  me,  thou  unknown  pow»r, 

1  Witch.  He  knows  thy  thought; 

Hear  his  speech,  but  say  thou  nought. 
Ajip.     Macbeth!    Macbeth!    Macbeth!    beware 
Macdutf; 
Beware  the  thane  of  Fife. — Dismiss  me: — Enough. 

[Descendt: 
Macb.  Whate'er  thou  art,  for  thy  good  caution 
thanks; 
Thou  has  harp'd*  my  fear  aright:— But  one  word 
more. — 
t  Witch.    He  will  not   be  commanded:    Here's 
another. 
More  potent  than  the  first. 

Thunder.    An  Apparition  of  a  bloody  Cliild  riies. 

App.  M.acboth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth! — 

Macb.  Had  I  three  ears,  I'd  hear  thee. 

App.  Be  bloody,  bold. 

And   resolute:  laugh  to  scorn  the  power  of  man. 
For  none  of  woman  born  shall  harm  Macbeth. 

[Descends. 

Macb.  Then  live,  MacdufT:  What  need  I  fear  cf 
thee? 
But  yet  I'll  make  assurance  douBly  sure, 
Auil'take  a  bond  of  fiitc:  thou  shalt  not  live; 
That  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear,  it  lies. 
And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder. —  VVhat  is  this. 

Thunder.    An  Apparition  rf  a    Child   crowned, 
irith  a  tree  in  his  hand,  rises. 

That  rises  like  the  issue  of  a  king; 

And  wears  upon  his  baby  brow  the  round 

And  top  of  sovereigntyl 

All.  Listen,  but  speak  not. 

s  Laid  flat  by  wind  or  rain.  '  Tumble. 

2. Seeds  which  have  Itegun  to  sprout.  ^Adroitly. 

*  Touched  on  a  iiassion  as  a  harper  touches  a  string. 


274 


MACBETH. 


Act  IV. 


App.  Be  lion-mettled,   proud;  and  take  no  cave 
Who  chates,  who  frets,  or  where  consjiirers  are: 
]\Iacbeth  shall  never  vanquisird  be,  until 
Great  liirnam  wood  to  higli  Dunsinane  hill 
Shall  come  against  him.  [Deseenils. 

Much.  That  will  never  be: 

Who  can  impress  the  forest;  bid  the  tree 
Uiitix  his  earth-bound  root?  sweet  bodemcnts!  good! 
licliellious  he;id,  rise  never,  till  the  wood 
Or"Birn;iTn  ris;%  and  our  high-placed  Macbeth 
Shall  live  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breath 
To  time  and  mortal  custom. — Yet  my  lieart 
Throbs  to  know  one  thing:  Tell  me,  (if  your  art 
Can  tell  so  much.)  shall  Banquo's  issue  ever 
lieiguin  this  kingdom! 

All.  Seek  to  know  no  more. 

Macb.  I  will  be  satisfied :  deny  me  this, 
And  an  eternal  curse  fall  on  you!  Let  me  know: — 
Why  sinks  that  cauldron?  and  what  noise  is  this? 

[Haut'jnys. 

1  IFj/rt.  Show!  2  Witch.  Shm\\n  Jfilc/t.  Show! 

AU.  Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart; 
Come  like  shadow's,  so  depart. 
Ki^ht  Kinf^s  appear,  ami  pa-is  over  the  stage  in 

onler;  the  last  with  a  g/m«  in  his  hand;  Bax- 

qvofolluwing. 

Macb.  Thou  art  too  like  the  spirit  of  Banquo; 
down ! 
Thy  crown  does  sear  mine  eye-balls: — And  thy  hair. 
Thou  other  gold-bound  brow,  is  like  the  lirst: — 
A  third  is  like  the  former:— Filthy  ha;s! 
■\V'hy  do  you  show  me  this !— A  fourth  !— Start,  eyes! 
What!  will  the  line  stretchout  to  the  crack  of  doom? 
Another  yet? — A  seventh? — V\\  see  no  more; — 
And  yet  the  eightli  appears,  who  bears  a  glass, 
AVhich  shows  me  many  more:  and  some  1  see, 
That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry: 
Horrible  sight! — Ay,  now,  I  see,  'tis  true; 
For  the  blood-boIter\l^  Banquo  smiles  upon  me, 
And  points  at  them  for  his. — What,  is  this  so? 

1  I  fitch.  Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so:— But  why 
Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedlyT — 
Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprites, 
And  show  the  best  of  our  delights; 
I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound, 
AVhile  vou  perform  your  antique  round: 
That  this  great  king  may  kindly  say, 
Our  duties  did  his  welcome  pay. 

[Music.     The  Witches  dance,  and  vaniih. 

Macb.  Where  are   tliey?     Gone?— Let  this  per- 
nicious hour 
Stand  aye  accursed  in  the  calendar!— 
Come  in,  without  there! 

Enter  Lenox. 

Len.  What's  your  grace's  will? 

Macb.  Saw  you  the  weird  sisters? 

Len.  No,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Came  they  not  by  yon? 

J^en.  No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Macb.  Infected  he  the  air  whereon  they  ride; 
And  damn'd.all  those  that  trust  them  ! — 1  did  hear 
The  galloping  of  horses:  Who  was't  came  by? 

Len.  'Tis  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you 
word, 
MacdulTis  fled  to  England. 

Macb.  Fled  to  England  ? 

Len.  Av,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  Time,  thou  anticipat'st«  my  dread  exploits: 
The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook, 
Unless  the  deed  go  with  it:  From  this  moment, 
Tlie  very  firstlings  of  my  heart  shall  be 
The  firstlings  of  my  hand.    And  even  now 
To  crown  niy  thoughts  with  acts,  be  it  thought  and 

done : 
The  castle  of  Macdufl'I  will  surprise; 
Seize  upon  Fif§;  (^ve  to  the  edge  o'the  sword 
His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 
That  trace  his  line.    No  boasting  like  a  fool: 
This  deed  FU  do.  before  this  purpose  cool: 
But  no  more  sights! — Where  are  these  gentlemen? 
Come,  bring  me  where  they  are.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE   11.— Fife.  A  Room  in  MacdulTs   Castte. 
Enter  Ladij  Macduff,  her  Son,  and  Rosse. 
L.  Macd.  What  had  he  done,  to  make  him  fly  the 

land  ! 
*  Besmeared  with  Mood. 
•^ PreTenie^t,  by  taking  away  the  oitportanity. 


Rosse.  You  must  have  patience,  madam. 

L.  Macd.  He  had  none: 

His  flight  was  madness:  When  our  actions  do  not, 
Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors. 

Rosse.  You  know  not, 

WJietber  it  was  his  wisdom  or  his  fear. 

L.  Macd.  Wisdom!  to  leave  his  wife,  to  leave  his 
babes, 
His  mansion,  and  his  titles,  in  a  place 
From  whence  himself  does  fly?  He  loves  us  not; 
He  wants  the  natural  touch:  for  tlie  poor  wren. 
The  most  diminutive  of  birds,  will  fight. 
Her  young  ones  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl. 
All  is  the  fear,  and  nothing  is  the  love, 
As  little  is  the  wisdom,  where  the  flight 
So  runs  against  all  reason. 

Rosse.  ■       My  dearest  coz, 

1  pray  you,  scliool  yourself:  But,  for  your  husband. 
He  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows 
Tlie  fits  o'the  season.  I  dare  not  speak  much  further 
But  cruel  are  the  times,  when  we  are  traitors, 
And  do  not  know  ourselves;  when  we  hold  rumor 
From  what  we  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear; 
But  float  upon  a  wild  and  violent  sea. 
Each  way,  and  move. — I  take  my  leave  of  you: 
Shall  not  be  long  but  I'll  be  here  again; 
Things  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  upward 
To  what  tliey  were  before. — My  pretty  cousin. 
Blessing  upon  you ! 

L.  Mad.  Father'd  he  is.  and  yet  he's  fatherless. 

Rosse.  I  am  so  much  a  Ibol,  should  1  stay  longer. 
It  would  be  my  disgrace,  and  your  discomtbrt: 
I  lake  my  leave  at  once.  [Exit  RosSE. 

L.  Macd.  Sirrah,  your  father's  dead; 

And  what  will  you  do  now?     How  will  you  live? 

Son.  As  birds  do,  mother. 

/,.  ^nc'l.  What,  with  worms  and  flics? 

Nun.  With  what  I  get,  I  mean;  and  so  do  they, 

L.  Macd.  Poor  bird!  Ihou'dst  never  fear  the  net, 
nor  lime. 
The  pit-fall,  nor  the  gin. 

Hun.  Why  should  I,  mother?     Poor  birds  they 
are  not  set  tor. 
My  father  is  not  dead,  for  all  your  saying. 

L.  Macd.  Y"cs,  he  is  dead;  iiow  wilt  thou  do  for 
a  father? 

Son.  Nay,  how  will  you  do  for  a  husband? 

L.  Mucd.    Why,   I  can  buy  me  twenty  at  any 
market. 

Son.  Tiien  you'll  buy  'em  to  sell  again. 

L.   Macb.  Thou  speak'st  with  all  thy  wit;  and 
yet,  i'liiith. 
With  wit  enough  for  thee. 

Son.  Was  my  father  a  traitor,  mother? 

L.  Macd.  Ay,'tliat  he  was. 

Son.  What  is  a  traitor? 

L.  Macd.  Why,  one  that  swears  and  lies. 

Son.  And  he  all  traitors,  tliat  do  so? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one  that  docs  so  is  a  traitor,  and 
must  be  hanged. 

Son.  And  must  they  all  be  hanged,  that  swear 
and  lie? 

L.  Macd.  Every  one. 

Son.  Who  must  hang  them? 

L.  Mac'l.  Why,  the  honest  men. 

Son.  Then  the  liars  and  swearers  are  fools:  for 
there  are  liars  and  swearers  enough  to  beat  tho 
honest  men,  and  hang  up  them. 

L.  Macd.  Now,  God  help  thee,  poor  monkey! 
But  how  wilt  thftu  do  for  a  father? 

So?i.  Ifhe  weredead,  you'd  weep  for  him:  if  you 
would  not,  it  were  a  good  sign  that  I  should  quickly 
iiave  a  new  liither. 

L.  Macd.  Poor  prattler!  how  thou  talk'st. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Bless  you,  fair  daine!  I  am  not  to  you  known. 
Though  in  vour  state  of  honor  I  am  perfect.' 
1  doubt,  some  danger  does  approach  you  nearly: 
if  you  will  take  a  homely  man's  advice. 
Be" not  found  here;  hence,  with  your  little  ones. 
To  fright  you  thus,  inethinks,  I  am  too  savage; 
To  do  worse  to  you,  were  fell  cruelty. 
Which  is  to  nigh  your  i)crson.    Heaven  preserve 

■,  you! 
I  dare  abide  no  longer.  [E.vit  Messenger 

;,.  Marl.  Whither  should  I  fly? 

1  have  done  no  harm.    But  I  remember  now 

'  I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  your  rank. 


Scene  III. 


MACBETH. 


1277 


I  am  in  this  earthly  world;  where,  to  do  harm, 
Is  often  laudable:  to  do  ijood,  sometimes, 
■  Accounted  dani^erous  folly:  Why,  then,  alas! 
Co  I  put  up  that  womanly  defence, 

To  say,  I  have  done  no  harm? What  are  these 

iaces ! 

Enter  Murderers. 
Mur.  Where  is  your  husband  ? 
L.  Macd.  I  hope,  in  no  place  so  imsanctified, 
Where  such  as  thou  mayst  find  him. 
Mur,  He's  a  traitor. 

Son.   Thou  ly'st,  thou  shag-oarM  villain, 
J/ur  What, you  egg?     {Stabbing  him. 

Young  fry  of  treachery ! 

Sou.  .  He  has  killed  me,  mother; 

Run  away,  I  pray  you.        '  [Dies. 

[Exit  Lwiy  Macduff,  crying  Murder, 
and  pursued  by  the  Alurderers, 

SCENE    III.— England.     A   Room  in  the  King's 

Palace. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Macduff. 

Mat.  Let  us  seek  out  some  desolate  shade,  and 
there 
Weep  our  sad  bosoms  empty. 

Macd.  Let  us  rather 

Hold  fast  the  moral  sword;  and,  like  good  men. 
Bestride  our  downfall'n  birthdom:  Each  new  mom. 
New  widows  iiowl ;  new  orphans  cry ;  new  sorrows 
Strike  heaven  on  tlie  face,  that  it  resounds 
As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland,  and  yeilM  out 
Like  syllable  of  dolor. 

Mat.  What  I  believe.  Til  wail; 

What  know,  believe;  and,  what  I  can  redress, 
As  I  shall  find  Uie  time  to  friend,^  I  will. 
What  you  have  spoke,  it  may  be  ?o,  perchance. 
This  tyrant,  whose  sole  name  blisters  our  tongues. 
Was  once  thought  honest:  you  have  love'd  him  well ; 
He  hath  not  touch'd  you  yet.    I  am  young;  but 

something 
You  may  deserve  of  iiim  tlirough  me;  and  wisdom 
To  ofier  up  a  weak,  poor,  iiuiocent  Iamb, 
To  appease  an  angry  god. 

Mad.  I  am  not  treaclierous. 

Mat.  But  Macbeth  is. 

A  good  and  virtues  nature  may  recoil. 
In  an  imperial  charge.'*    But  crave  your  pardon; 
That  which  you  are,  my  t ho ui,'lits  cannot  transpose: 
Angels  are  bright  still,  tliou;;'b  the  brightest  tell: 
Thoughallthingsfoul  would  bear  the  browsof  grace. 
Yet  grace  must  stiii  look  so. 

Macd.  I  have  lost  my  hopes. 

Mai.  Perchance,  even  there,  wliere  1  cUd  hnd 
my  doubts. 
Why  in  tliat  rawness  left  your  wife,  and  child, 
(Tliose  precious  motives,  those  strong  notes  of  love,) 
Without  ieave-taking  ? — I  pray  you, 
Let  not  my  jealousies  be  your  dishonors, 
But  mine  own  safeties:— You  may  be  rightly  just. 
Whatever  I  shall  think. 

Macd.  Bleed,  bleed,  poor  country. 

Great  tyranny,  lay  thou  thy  basis  sure, 
For  goodness  dares  not  check  thee  !  wear  thou  thy 

wroni^s. 
Thy  title  is  atti?erM!i— Fare  thee  well,  lord: 
I  would  not  be  the  villain  that  thou  think'st 
For  the  whole  space  that's  in  the  tyrant''s  grasp, 
And  the  rich  East  to  boot. 

Mat.  Be  not  offended : 

I  speak  not  as  in  an  absolute  fear  of  you. 
I  think  our  country  sinks  beneath  the  yoke. 
It  weeps,  it  bleeds;  and  each  new  day  a  gash 
Is  added  to  her  wounds:  I  think,  withal,^ 
There  would  be  hands  uplifted  in  mv  riL:ht; 
And  here  from  gracious  England,  have  1  otVer 
Of  goodly  thousands:  But.  for  all  this, 
Wl  en  I  shall  tread  upon  the  tjrant^s  head. 
Or  wear  it  on  my  sword,  yet  my  poor  country 
Shall  have  more  vices  than  it  had  before; 
More  suller,  and  more  sundry  ways  than  ever, 
By  him  that  siiall  succeed. 

Macd.  Wliat  should  he  be? 

Mat.  It  is  myself  I  mean:  in  whom  I  know 

8  Befriend. 

^i.  e.  A  good  mind  may  recede  from  goodness  in  the 
execution  of  a  royal  commission. 

'Legally  settled  by  those  who  had  the  final  adjudica- 
tion. 


All  the  particulars  of  vice  so  grafted, 
Tliat,  when  they  shall  be  openM,  black  Macbeth 
Will  seem  as  pure  as  snow;  and  the  poor  state 
Esteem  him  as  a  lamb,  being  compared 
With  my  conlineless  harms. 

Macd.  Not  in  the  legions 

Of  horrid  hell,  can  come  a  devil  more  danin'd 
In  evils,  to  top  Macbeth. 

Mai,  I  grant  him  bloody. 

Luxurious,  avaricious,  false,  deceitful, 
Sudden,*  malicious,  smacking  of  every  sin 
That  has  a  name.    But  there's  no  bottom,  none, 
In  my  voluptuousness;  your  wives,  yoiirdaughters, 
Your  matrons,  and  your  maids,  could  not  fill  up 
The  cistern  of  my  lust;  and  my  desire 
All  continent  impediments  would  o'er-bear, 
That  did  oppose  my  will:  Better  Macbeth, 
Than  such  a  one  to  reign. 

Macd,  Boundless  intemperance 

In  nature  is  a  tyranny;  it  hath  been 
The  untimely  emptying  of  the  happj-  throne, 
And  fait  of  many  kings.    But  fear  not  yet 
To  take  upon  you  what  is  yours:  you  may 
Convey  your  pleasures  in  a  spacious  plenty. 
And  yet  seem  cold,  the  time  you  may  so  hood-wink. 
We  have  willing  dames  enough;  there  cannot  be 
That  vulture  in  you,  to  devour  so  many 
As  will  to  greatness  dedic4ite  tiicmselves, 
Finding  it  so  inchnM. 

Ma!.  With  tliis,  there  grows, 

In  my  most  ill-compos'd  afTection,  such 
A  stanchless  avarice,  that,  were  I  king, 
I  should  cut  oll'the  nobles  for  their  lands; 
Desire  his  jewels,  and  this  other's  house: 
And  my  niore-liaving  would  be  as  a  sauce 
To  make  me  hunger  more;  that  I  should  forge 
Quarrels  unjust  against  the  good,  and  loyal,"' 
Destroying  ihem  for  wealth. 

Macd.  This  avarice 

Stitvloi  deeper;  grows  with  more  pernicious  root 
Than  summer-seeding  lust:  and  it  hath  been 
The  sword  of  our  slain  kings:  Yet  do  not  fear; 
Scotland  hath  foysons^  to  fill  up  your  will, 
Of  your  mere  own:  All  these  are  portable,'* 
With  other  graces  weigh'd. 

Mat.  But  I  have  none:  The  king-becoming  giaces, 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 
Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 
Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 
1  have  no  relisli  of  them;  but  abound 
In  the  division  of  each  several  crime, 
Actin:;  in  many  ways.    Nay,  had  I  power,  I  should 
Pour  tiic  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell, 
I  proar  the  universal  peace,  confound 
All  unity  on  earth. 

Macd.  O  Scotland !  Scotland ! 

Mat.  If  such  a  one  be  tit  to  govern,  speak: 
I  am  as  I  have  spoken. 

Macd..  Fit  to  govern! 

No,  not  to  live. — O  nation  miserable. 
With  an  untitled  tyrant  bloody-sceptred. 
When  shall  tliou  see  thy  wholesome  days  again'? 
Siuce  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne 
By  his  own  iiilenlietifin  stands  accursM, 
And  does  blasptinne  his  breed  ! — Thy  royal  father 
Wasamost  sainted  king;  the  queen,  that  bore  thee, 
Oftner  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet, 
Died  every  day  she  lived.    Fare  thee  well! 
These  evils,  tfiou  repeat'st  upon  thyself, 
Have  banishM  me  from  Scotland. — 0,  my  breast, 
Thy  hope  ends  here! 

Ma/.  Macdull',  this  noble  passion, 
Child  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  soul 
Wiped  the  black-scruples,  reconciled  mv  thoughts 
To  the  good  truth  and  honor.    Devlish  Macbeth 
By  many  of  these  trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 
Into  his  power;  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  nic 
From  over-credulous  haste  :^  But  God  above 
Deal  between  thee  and  me!  for  even  now 
I  i)ut  my  self  to  thy  direction,  and* 
L'nspeak  mine  own  detraction:  here  abjure 
TJie  taints  and  blames  I  laid  upon  myself, 
For  strangers  to  my  nature.    1  am  yet 
Unknown  to  woman;  never  was  forsworn; 
Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine  own; 
At  no  time  broke  my  faith;  would  not  betray 
Tlie  devil  to  his  fellow;  and  delight 


8  Pnssiniiatp. 

*  May  be  endured. 


s Plenty. 

8 Over-hasty  credulity. 


278 


MACBETH. 


Act  V. 


No  less  in  truth  than  life:  my  first  false  speaking 
Was  this  upon  myself:  What  I  am  truly, 
Is  thine,  and  ray  poor  country's,  to  command: 
Whither,  indeed,  before  thy  here  approach. 
Old  Siward,  with  ten  thousand  warlike  men, 
All  ready  at  a  point,  was  setting  forth : 
Now  well  together;  and  the  chance  of  goodness. 
Be  like  our  warranted  quarrel!  Why  are  you  silent'! 
Mad.  Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  things  at 
once, 
'Tis  liard  to  reconcile. 

EnliT  a  Doctor. 
Mai.  Well;  more  anon.— Comes  the  king  fortli, 
I  pray  you! 

Duel.  Ay,  eir:  there  area  crew  of  wretched  souls 
That  stay  liis  cure:  their  malady  convinces" 
Tiic  L;ieat  :issay  of  art :  but,  at  liis  touch, 
Sucirs:ii](lilv  hath  heaven  given  his  hand, 
Thev  iHcseutly  amend. 

])^aL  I  thank  you,  doctor. 

[Exit  Doctor. 

Macd.  What's  the  disease  he  means] 

Mai.  'Tis  call'd  the  evil: 

A  most  miraculous  work  in  this  good  king; 
Wliich  often,  since  my  here-remain  in  England, 
I  have  seen  hira  do.    How  he  solicits  licavcn. 
Himself  best  knows;  but  strangely  visited  people. 
All  swoln  and  ulcerous,  pitii'ul  Co  the  eye, 
The  mere  despair  of  surgery,  he  cures; 
Hanging  the  golden  stamp'  about  their  necks 
Put  on  with  holy  prayer:  and  'tis  spoken, 
To  the  succeeding  royalty  he  leaves 
Tlie  healing  benediction.  With  this  strange  virtue, 
He  had  a  heavenly  gift  of  prophecy; 
And  siniiliy  blessing's  hang  about  his  throne, 
That  s|K".ik  liiin  full  ol' grace. 

Enler  Rosse. 

MaCfK  See,  who  comes  here? 

Mul.  My  countryman;  but  yet  1  know  him  -not. 

Mac  I.  .'My  ever.geiUle  cousin,  welcome  hither. 

Mai.  1  know  him  now:  Good  God,  betimes  remove 
The  means  that  make  us  strangers! 

Rmse.  Sir,  Amen. 

Macd.  Stands  Scotland  where  it  did] 

Rosse.  Alas,  poor  country: 

Almost  afraid  to  know  itself!  It  cannot 
Be  call'd  our  mother,  but  our  grave :  where  nothing. 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile; 
Where  sighs  and  groans,  and  shrieks  that  rent  the  air. 
Are  made,  not  mark'd ;  where  violent  sorrow  seems 
A  modern  ecstacy;'  the  dead  man's  knell 
Is  there  scarce  ask'd,  for  who ;  and  good  men's  lives 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps, 
Dying,  or  ere  they  sicken. 

Macd.  0,  relation, 

Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true! 

Mai.  What  is  the  newest  grief! 

Rosse.  That  of  an  hour's  age  doth  hiss  tile  speaker. 
Each  minute  teems  a  new  one. 

Macd.  How  does  my  wife  i 

Rnssc.  Why,  well. 

Macd.  And  all  my  children  7 

Rosse.  Well  too. 

Macd.  The  tyrant  has  not  batter'd  at  their  peace ! 

Rosse.  No;  they  were  well  at  peace,  when  I  did 
leave  them. 

Macd.  Be  not  a  niggard  of  your  speech ;    How 
goes  itl 

Rosse.  When  I  camehither  to  transport  the  tidings. 
Which  I  have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a  rumor 
Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out- 


Which  was  to  my  belief  witness'd  the  rather, 
For  that  I  saw  tlie  Ivrant's  power  a-foot: 
Now  is  the  time  of  help;  your  eye  in  Scotland 
Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  fight, 
To  doll's  their  dire  distresses. 

Mai.  Be  it  their  comfort, 

We  are  coming  hither:  gracious  England  hath 
Lent  us  good  Siward,  and  ten  thousand  men; 
An  older,  and  a  better  soldier  none 
That  Christendom  gives  out. 

Rosse.  Would  I  could  answer 

This  comfort  with  the  like!  But  I  have  worda 
That  would  be  howi'd  out  in  the  desert  air. 
Where  hearing  should  not  latch'  them. 

Macd.  What  concerns  they! 

Tliat  general  cause]  or  is  it  a  fee-grief,= 
Due  to  some  single  breast] 

Rosse.  No  mind  that's  honest, 

But  in  it  shares  some  woe:  though  the  main  part 
Pertains  to  you  alone. 

Macd.  Ifitbemine, 

Keep  it  not  from  me.  quickly  let  me  have  it. 

Rosse.  Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  forever, 
Wliicli  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound, 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 
Macd.  Humph !  I  guess  at  it. 

ijossc.  Your  cas tie  issurpris'd;  your  wile  and  babes. 
Savagely  slaughter'd!  to  relate  the  manner. 
Were,  on  the  quarry'  of  these  murder'd  deer, 
To  add  the  death  of  you. 

Mai.  Merciful  heaven  !— 

What,  man !  ne'er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows ; 
Give  sorrow  words;  the  grief  that  docs  not  speak. 
Whispers  the  o'er-frauglit  heart,  and  bids  it  break. 
Macd.  My  cliildren  too  ] 

Rosse.  Wife,  children,  servants,  all 

That  could  be  found. 

Mat.d.  And  I  must  be  from  thence! 

My  wife  kiU'd  too  ] 
Rosse.  I  have  said. 

Mai.  Be  comforted: 

Let's  make  us.mcd'cines  of  our  great  revenge. 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief. 

Macd.  He  has  no  children.— All  my  pretty  ones! 
Did  you  say,  all]— 0,  hell-kite!— All ! 
What,  all  my  pretty  chickens,  and  their  dam, 
At  one  fell  swoop  ] 
Mai.  Dispute  it  like  a  man. 
Macd.  I  shall  do  so; 

But  I  must  also  feel  it  as  a  man: 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were. 
That  were  most  precious  to  me.  Did  heaven  look  on, 
And  would  not  take  their  pant  Sinful  Macdutf, 
They  were  all  struck  lor  thee!  naught  that  I  am, 
Not  for  their  own  demerits,  but  for  mine. 
Fell  slaughter  ou  their  souls:  Heaven  rest  them  now! 
Mai.  Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword:  let  grief 
Convert  to  anger;  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 
Macd.  O,  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine  eyes. 

And    braggard   with    my  tongue! But,  gentle 

heaven, 
Cut  short  all  intermission;  front  to  front. 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland,  and  myself; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him;  if  he  'scape. 
Heaven  forgive  him  too! 

Mai.  This  tune  goes  manly. 

Come,  go  we  to  the  king;  our  power  is  ready; 
Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave:  Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  shaking^  and  tlie  powers  aliove 
Put  on  their  instruments.    Receive  what  cheer  you 

may; 
The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day.  [E.veunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— Dunsinane.    A  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  a  Doctor  of  Physic,  and  a  waiting  Gentle- 
woman. 

Bod.  I  have  two  nights  watched  with  you,  but 
can  perceive  no  truth  in  your  report.  When  was 
it  she  last  walked] 

Gent.  Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  field,  I  have 

"  Overpowers,  subdues.       '  The  coin  called  an  angel. 
9  Common  distress  of  mind. 


seen  her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw  her  night-gown 
upon  her,  unlock  her  closet,  take  forth  pajier,  fold 
it,  write  upon  it,  read  it.  afterwards  seal  it.  and  again 
return  to  bod:  yet  all  this  while  in  a  most  liist  sleep. 
Doct.  A  great  perturbation  in  nature!  to  receive 
at  once  the  benefit  of  sleep,  and  do  the  efiects  ot 
watching.— In  this  slumbry  agitation,  besides  her 

oputofr  'Catch. 

2  A  grief  that  has  a  single  owner. 
'The  game  after  it  is  kiUsd. 


Scene  III. 


MACBETH. 


279 


walking,  and  otlicr  actual  penr'mance.  what,  at 
any  time,  have  you  heard  her  say  ' 
Gent.  That,  sir,  which  I  will  not  report  after  her. 
Doct.  You  may,  to  me;  and  'tis  most  meet  jou 
should. 

Genf.  Neither  to  you,  nor  any  one;  havmg  no 
witness  to  confirm  my  speech. 

Enter  Lathj  Macbeth,  ivUh  a  Taper. 
Lo  you,  here  she  comes!   This  is  her  very  guise : 
and,  upon  my  life,  fast  asleep.    Observe  her;  stand 
close. 
Doct.  How  came  she  by  that  lighti 
Gent.  Why,  it  stood  by  her:  she  has  light  by 
her  continually;  'tis  lier  command. 
Doct.  You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 
Gent.  Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut. 
Duct.  What  is  it  she  does  now  7  Look,  how  slie 
rubs  her  hands. 

Cent.  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to 
seem  thus  washing  her  hands;  I  have  known  her 
continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Lady  M.  Yet  here's  a  spot. 

Doct.  Hark,  she  speaks:  I  will  set  down  what 
comes  frozii  her,  to  satisfy  my  remembrance  the 
more  strongly. 
Lady  M.  Out,  damned  spot!  out,  I  say!  One; 

Two:  Why,  then  'tis   time  to  do't: Hell   is 

murky!*— Fye,  my  lord,  fyc!  a  soldier,  and  afear'd? 
What  need  we  tear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can 
call  our  powers  to  account !— Yet  who  would  have 
thougiit  the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in 
himi 
Doct.  Do  you  mark  that? 
Lad:/  M.  The  thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife;  Where 

is  she' now! What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be 

clean  ! — No  more  o'that,  my  lord,  no  more  o'that: 
you    mar  all  willi  tliis  starting. 

Doct,  Go  to,  go  to;  you  have  known  what  you 
should  not. 

Genfr  She  has  spoke  what  she  should  not,  I  am 

BUreofthat:  Heaven  knows  what  she  has  known. 

Ladi/  M.  Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still :  all 

the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little 

hand.    Oh  !  oh !  oh ! 

Doct.  What  a  sigh  is  there!  The  heart  is  sorely 
charged. 

Gent.  I  wouldnot  liavesucha  heart  in  my  bosom, 
for  the  dii^nity  of  the  whole  bod}'. 
Doct.  Well,  well,  well,— 
Genf.  "Prav  (."d.  il  be,  sir. 

Doel.  Tills  disease  is  beyond  my  practice:  Yet  1 
have  known  those  which  have  walked  in  their  sleep, 
who  have  died  holily  in  their  beds. 

Lady  M.  Wash  your  hands,  put  on  your  night- 
gown;' look  not  so  pale:  I  tell  you  yet  again,  Ban- 
quo's  buried;  he  cannot  come  out  of  his  grave. 
Doct.  Even  so? 

Ladij  M.   To  bed,  to  bed;  there's  knocking  at 

the  gate.    Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your 

hand:  What's  done,  cannot  be  undone:  To  bed,  to 

bed,  to  bed.  [Ej^it  Lady  Macbeth. 

Doct.  Will  she  go  now  to  bed? 

Gent.  Directly. 

Doct.  Foul  whisperings  are  abroad ;  Unnatural 
deeds 
Do  breed  unnatur.nl  troubles:  Infected  minds 
To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets. 
More  needs  she  the  divine,  than  the  physician.— 
God,  God.  forgive  us  all !  Look  after  her; 
Ilomove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance. 
And  still  kci'p  eyes  upon  her:— So,  good-night: 
My  mind  she  has  mated,' and  amaz'd  my  sight: 
I  think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

Oint.  Good-night,  good  doctor. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  n.—TAe  Country  near  Dunsinane. 

Enter,  wUk  drum  and  Cotrjrs,  Men'teth,  Cathsess, 
Lesox,  Angcs,  and  Soldiers. 

Ment.  The  English  power  is  near,  led  on  by 
Malcolm, 
His  uncle  Siwarcl,  and  the  good  Macduff. 
Revenges  burn  in  them:  for  their  dear  causes 
Would,  to  the  bleeding,  and  the  grim  alarm, 
Excite  the  mortified  man." 

Ang.  Near  Birnam  wood 

Shall  we  well  meet  them;  that  way  are  they  coming. 

•Dark       'Confounded       "A  religious;  an  ascetic. 


TaM.  Who  knowsilDonalbainbe  with  his  brother? 

Lin.  For  certain,  sir,  he  is  not;  I  have  a  file 
Of  all  the  gentry;  there  is  Siward's  son. 
And  many  unrough'  youths  that  even  now 
Protest  their  first  of  manhood. 

Blent.  What  does  the  tyrant? 

Cath.  Great  Dunsinane  he  strongly  fortifies: 
Some  say,  he's  mad;  others,  that  lesser  hate  him, 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury:  but,  for  certain. 
He  camiot  buckle  his  distemper'd  cause 
Within  the  belt  of  rule. 

Ang.  Now  does  he  feel 

His  secret  murders  sticking  on  his  hands ; 
Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  taith-breaeh; 
Those  he  conimands,  move  only  in  command. 
Nothing  in  love:  now  does  he  leel  his  title 
Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a  giant's  robe 
Upon  a  dwarfish  thief. 

Ment.  Who  then  shall  blame 

His  ])ester'd  senses  to  recoil  and  start. 
When  all  that  is  within  him  does  condemn 
Itself,  for  being  there? 

Cat/i.  WeU,  march  we  on, 

To  give  obedience  where  'tis  truly  ow'd: 
Meet  we  the  medecin*  of  the  sickly  weal ; 
And  with  him  pour  we,  in  our  country's  purge, 
Each  drop  of  us. 

Len.  Or  so  much  as  it  needs, 

To  dew  the  sovereign  flower,  and  drown  the  weeds. 
Make  we  our  march  towards  Birnam. 

[Exeunt,  marching- 

SCENE  III.— Dunsinane.    A  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Doctor,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  Bring  me  no  more  reports;  let  them  flj'  all; 
Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane, 
I  canno't  taint  with  fear.    What's  the  boy  Malcolm? 
Was  he  not  born  of  woman?  The  spirits  that  know 
All  mortal  consequents,  pronounced  me  thus: 
Fear  not,  Macbeth;  no  man,  thaVs  born  of  woman, 

Shalt  c'fr  have  power  on  thee. Then  Hy,  talse 

thanes. 
And  mingle  with  the  English  epicures: 
The  mind  I  sway  by,  and  the  heart  I  bear. 
Shall  never  sagg'"  w'lth  doubt,  nor  shake  with  fear. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

The  devil  damn  thee  black,  thou  cream-faced  loon!' 
Where  gott'st  thou  that  goose  look! 

Serve.  There  is  ten  thousand 

Macb.  Geese,  villain! 

Serv.  Soldiers,  sir. 

Macb.  Go  prick  thy  face,  and  over-red  thy  fear, 
Thou  lily-liver'd  boy.    What  soldiers,  paten?'' 
Death  of  Ihy  soul!  those  linen  checks  of  thine 
Are  counsellors  to  fear.  What  soldiers,  whej-face? 

Serv.  The  English  force,  so  please  you. 

Macb.  Take  thy  face  hence.— Seyton!— I  am  sick 
at  heart, 
When  I  behold— Seyton,  I  say!— This  push 
Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  disseat  me  now. 
I  have  liv'd  long  enough:  my  May  of  life 
Is  laH'n  into  the  sear,"  the  yellow  leaf: 
And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have;  but,  in  their  stead. 
Curses  not  loud,  but  deep,  mouth-honor,  breath, 
Which  the  poor  heart  would  lain  deny,  but  dare  not. 
Seyton! 

Enter  Seyton. 

Sey.  Wliat  is  your  gracious  pleasure? 
Macb.  What  news  more? 

Sey.  All  is  confirm'd,  my  lord,  which  was  re- 
ported. 
Macb.  I'll  fight,  till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  bo 
liack'd. 
Give  me  my  armor. 
Sei/.  'Tis  not  needed  yet. 

Miicb.  I'll  put  it  on. 
Seud  out  more  horses,  skirr*  the  country  round; 
Hang  those   that  talk  of  tear.- Give  me  mine  ar- 
mor.— 
How  does  your  iiatient,  doctor? 
Doct.  Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 

'Unbeardeil.  exbe  physician.  'Sink. 

»  Base  fellow.  '  An  aprellation  of  contemiit. 

3  Dry.  'Scour. 


280 


MACBETH. 


Act  V. 


As  she  is  troubled  with  thicl<-coming  fancies, 
That  keep  lier  from  licr  rest. 

Mach,  Cure  her  of  that; 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseas'd ; 
PIucIv  from  tile  memory  a  rooted  sorrow ; 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain, 
And  with  some  sweet,  oblivious  antidote, 
Cleanse  tlie  stuft'd  bosoin  of  that  perilous  stutl, 
Which  weiglis  upon  the  heart? 

Dud.  Therein  the  patient 

Must  miiiister  to  himself. 

Macb.  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,  I'll  none  of  it. — 
Come,  put  mine  armor  on;  give  me  my  staff. — 
Scyton,  send  out. — Doctor,  the  thanes  Hy  from  me: — 
Come,  sir,  despatch: — If  thou  couldst,  doctor,  cast 
The  water  of  my  land,  find  her  disease. 
And  purge  it  to  a  sound  and  pristine  health, 
I  would  applaud  thee  to  the  very  echo. 
That  should  applaud  again. — PuUH  otf,  I  sny.^ 
What  'hubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug. 
Would  scour  those  English  hence! — Hearestthou 
of  them  1 

Boot.  Ay.  my  good  lord;  your  royal  preparation 
Maixes  us  hear  something. 

iM'ir'i.  Bring  it  after  me. 

I  will  not  lie  afraid  of  death  and  bane. 

Till  liirnam  forest  come  to  Dunsinane.  [Exit. 

Dnrl.  Were  I  from  Dunsinane  away  and  clear, 
Protit  again  siiould  iiardly  draw  me  here.       [Exit. 

SCENE  YV .—Counirij  near  Dunsinane.  A  Wood 
in  view. 

Enter,  untti  Drum  and  Colors,  Malcolm,  old  Si- 
ward  an  I  Ai.s  Son,  .Macdl'ff,  Mexteth,  Cath.n'ess, 
Angus,  Lenox,  Rosse,  and  Soldiers,  marctii/ig. 

Mai.  Cousins,  I  hope,  the  days  are  near  at  hand 
Tliat  ciiambers  will  be  sale. 

Ment.  We  doubt  it  nothing. 

Silo.  What  wood  is  tliis  before  us? 

Ment.  The  wood  of  Birnam. 

Hal.  Let  every  soldier  hew  liim  down  a  bough. 
And  bear't  before  him  ;  thereby  shall  we  shadow 
The  numbers  of  our  host,  and  make  discovery 
Err  in  report  of  us. 

Sold.  It  sliall  be  done. 

Siiv.  We  learn  no  other,  but  the  confident  tyrant 
Keeps  still  in  Dunsinane,  and  will  endure 
Our  setting  down  bcfore't. 

Mai.  'Tis  his  main  hope: 

For  where  there  is  advantage  to  be  given. 
Both  more  and  less'  have  given  him  the  revolt; 
And  none  serve  with  him  but  constrained  things. 
Whose  hearts  are  absent  too. 

Maed.  Let  our  just  censures 

Attend  the  true  event,  and  put  we  on 
Industrious  soldiership. 

Siw.  The  time  approaclies, 

That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  we  sliall  say  we  have,  and  what  we  owe. 
Thoughts  speculative  their  unsure  hopes  relate; 
But  certain  issue  strokes  must  arbitrate: 
Towards  which,  advance  the  war. 

[E.teiinf,  marching. 

SCENE  v.— Dunsinane.    Wii/dn  t/ie  Castle. 

Enter,  with  Drums  and  Colors,  Macbeth,  Seyto.n, 
and  Soldiers. 

Macb.  Hang  out  our  banners  on  the  outward 
walls; 
The  cry  is  still.  They  come:  Our  castle's  strength 
Will  laugh  a  siege  to  scorn:  here  let  them  he, 
Till  famine,  and  ague,  cat  them  up: 
Were  Ihey  not  forced  with  those  that  sliould  be  ours, 
We  might  have  met  them  dareful.  beard  to  beard. 
And  beat  them  backward  home.  What  is  that  noise! 
[A  cry  within  of  women. 

Sei/.  It  is  the  cry  of  woman,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  I  have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  fears: 
The  time  has  been,  niy  senses  would  have  cool'd 
To  hear  a  night-shriek;  and  my  fell"  of  hair 
Would  at  a  dismal  freatise  rouse,  and  stir 
As  life  were  in't:  I  have  supp'd  full  with  horrors; 
Direness,  (iimiliar  to  my  slaught'rous  thoughts, 
Cannot  once  start  me.— Wherefore  was  that  cry? 

Sei/.  The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 

Macb.  Slie  sliould  have  died  hereafter; 

*).  c.  Greater  ami  lesg.  "Skin. 


There  would  have  been  a  time  for  such  a  word. — 

To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 

Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 

To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time; 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 

The  way  to  dusty  death.    Out,  out,  brief  candle! 

Lile's  but  a  walking  sluulow;  a  poor  player. 

That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 

And  then  is  heard  no  more;  it  is  a  taie 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 

Signifying  nothing. 

Enter  a  Messenger 
■Thou  corn'st  to  use  thy  tongue;  thy  story  quicKjy 

Mess.  Gracious  my  lord, 
I  shall  report  that  which  1  say  I  saw, 
But  know  not  liow  to  do  it. 

Macb,  Well,  say,  sir. 

Mess.  As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 
I  look'd  toward  Birnam.  and  anon,  methought, 
The  wood  began  to  move. 

Macb.  Liar,  and  slave ! 

[Sti-iking  hint. 

Mess.  Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  if't  be  not  so; 
Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming; 
I  say,  a  moving  grove. 

Macb.  If  thou  speak'st  folse, 

Upon  the  next  tree  shall  thou  hang  alive. 
Till  famine  cling'  thee;  if  tliy  speech  be  sooth, 
I  care  not  if  tliou  dost  lor  me  as  mucli.— 
I  pull  in  resolution;  and  begin 
To  doubt  the  equivocation  of  the  fiend, 
Tliat  lies  like  truth :  Fear  not  till  Birnam  wood 
Du  come  to  Dunsinane  ,■ — and  now  a  wood 
Comes  toward  Dunsinane. — Arm,  arm,  and  out. — ■ 
If  this  which  he  avouciies,  does  appear. 
There  is  nor  flying  hence,  nor  tarrying  here. 
I  'gin  to  be  a-weary  of  the  sun, 
Ai  id  wish  the  estate  of  the  world  were  now  undone.— 
Ring  tlie  alarum  bell: — Blow  wind!  come,  wrack! 
At  least  we'll  die  witii  harness  on  our  back. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  VI.— .4  Plain  before  the  Castle. 

Enter,  with  Drums  and  Colors,  Malcolsi,  old  Si- 
ward,  Macduff,  i^-c,  and  their  Army,  with 
Boughs. 

Mai.  Now  near  enough;  your  leavy  screens  throw 
down. 
And  show  like  those  you  are: — You,  worthy  uncle, 
Shall,  with  my  cousin,  your  right-noble  son, 
Lead  our  first  battle;  worthy  i.Iacduft",  and  we, 
Shall  take  upon  us  what  else  remains  to  do, 
According  to  our  order. 

Siw.  Fare  you  well. — 

Do  we  but  find  the  tyrant's  power  to-night. 
Let  us  be  beaten,  if  we  cannot  fight. 
Mttcd.  Make  all  our  trumpets  speak;  give  them 
all  breath. 
Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  deatli. 
[Exeunt.    Alarums  continued. 

SCENE  VII.— Another  Part  of  ttie  Plain. 
Enter  Macbeth. 
Macb.  They  have  f  led  me  to  a  stake:  I  cannot  fly, 
But,  bear-like,  I  must  light  tlic  course.— Whafs he, 
That  was  not  born  of  woman?     Such  a  one 
Am  I  to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  young  Siward. 
Yn.  Siw.  What  is  thy  name? 
Macb.  Tliou'lt  be  afraid  to  hear  it. 

Yo.  Siw.  No;  thougli  thou  call'st  thyself  a  hotter 
name 
Than  any  is  in  hell. 
Macb.  My  name's  Macbeth. 

Yo.  Siw.  The  devil  himself  could  not  pronounce 
a  title 
More  hateful  to  mine  ear. 
Macb.  No,  nor  more  fearful. 

Yo.  Siw.  Thou  liest,  abhorred  tyrant;  with  my 
sword 
I'll  prove  the  lie  thou  speak'st. 

[They  fight ,  and  young  Siward  is  slain. 
Macb,  Thou  wast  oorn  of  v.oman. — 

But  swords  I  smile  at,  weapons  laugh  to  scorn. 
Braudish'd  bj-  man  that's  of  a  woman  born.  [Exit^ 
'  Shrivel. 


Scene  VII. 


MACBETH. 


281 


AlarutiLS.    Enter  Macduff. 

Mad.  That  way  the  noise  is: — TjTant,  show  thy 
face : 
If  thou  be'st  slain,  and  with  no  stroke  of  mine. 
My  wile  and  chiidren's  i^hosts  will  haunt  nic  still. 
1  cannot  strike  at  wretched  kernes,^  whose  arms 
Are  hired  to  bear  their  staves;  either  tliou,  Macbeth, 
Or  else  my  sword,  with  an  unbatterM  edge, 
I  sheath  again  undeeded.    There  thou  shouldst  be; 
By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greatest  note 
•Seems  bruited:"  Let  me  find  him,  fortune! 
And  more  I  beg  not.  [Exit.    Alarum. 

Eiiter  Malcolm  and  old  Siward. 

Siw.  This  way,  my  lord; — the  castle's  gently 
render'd: 
The  tyrant's  people  on  both  sides  do  fight; 
The  noble  thanes  do  bravely  in  the  war; 
The  daj-  almost  itself  protesses  yours, 
And  little  is  to  do. 

Mul.  We  have  met  with  foes 

That  strike  beside  us. 

Siw  Enter,  sir,  the  castle. 

[Exeunt.    Alarum. 
Re-enter  Macbeth. 

Much.  Why  should  1  play  the  Roman  fool,  and  die 
On  mine  own  swurd  !  whiles  I  sec  lives,  the  gashes 
Do  better  upon  tlieuj. 

Re-enter  JIacdcff. 

Macd.  Turn,  hell-hound,  turn. 

Macb.  Of  all  men  else  I  have  avoided  thee: 
But  get  thee  back,  my  soul  is  too  much  charged 
With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  I  have  no  words, 

My  voice  is  in  my  sword;  thou  bloodier  villain 
Than  terms  can  give  thee  out!  [Tfiei/ fight. 

Macb.  Thou  loscst  labor: 

As  easy  maj'st  thou  the  intrenchant  air' 
With  thy  keen  sword  impress,  as  make  me  bleed: 
Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests; 
I  bear  a  charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 
To  one  of  woman  born. 

Macd.  Despair  thy  charm ; 

And  let  tlie  angel,  whom  thou  still  hast  serv'd, 
Tell  thee,  Blacdutl'was  from  his  mother's  womb 
Untimely  ripp'd. 

Mach.  Accursed  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so, 
For  It  hath  cow'd  my  better  part  of  man! 
And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believ'd, 
That  palter^  with' us  in  a  double  sense; 
That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 
And  break  it  to  our  hope. — I'll  not  fight  with  thee. 

ISIacd.  Then  yield  thee,  cow'ard, 
And  live  to  bo  the  show  and  gaze  o'the  time. 
We'll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are, 
Painted  upon  a  pole;  and  under  writ. 
Here  may  you  see  tlie  tyrant. 

Macb.  I'll  not  yield. 

To  kiss  the  ground  before  young  Malcolm's  feet, 
And  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble's  curse. 
Tliough  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane, 

*  Foot-soldiers.  ^  Reporteft  with  clamor. 

'  The  air  which  cannot  be  cut.  *Sbutlle. 


And  thou  oppos'd,  being  of  no  woman  born, 
Yet  I  will  try  the  last;  Before  my  body 
1  throw  my  warlike  shield:  lay  on,  Macdufl; 
And  damn'd  be  him  that  first  cries,  Hold,  enough. 
[Exeunt, Jighting. 

Retreat.  FUrurish.  Re-enter  with  Drum  and  Co- 
ttjrs,  Malcolm,  old  Siward,  Rosse,  Lexox,  Angcs, 
Catu.s'ess,  Me.ntetii,  and  Soldiers. 

Mai.  I  would,  the  friends  we  miss  were  safe  ar- 
rived. 

Siw.  Some  must  go  off:  and  yet,  by  these  I  see, 
So  great  a  day  as  this  is  cheaply  bougnt. 

Mat.  Macduff  is  missing,  and  j'our  noble  sou. 

Rosse.  Your  son,  my  lord,  has  paid  a  soldier's  debt. 
He  only  liv'd  but  till  he  w-as  a  man; 
The  which  no  sooner  had  his  prow^ess  confirm'd 
In  the  unshrinking  station  where  he  fought, 
But  like  a  man  he  died. 

Siw.  Then  he  is  dead  1 

Rosse.  Ay,  and  brought  off  the  field:  your  cause 
of  sorrow 
JIust  not  be  measur'd  by  his  worth,  for  then 
It  hath  no  end. 

Siw.  Had  he  his  hurts  before  1 

Rosse.  Ay,  on  the  front. 

Siw.  Why  then,  God's  soldier  be  he! 

Had  I  as  many  sons  as  I  have  hairs, 
I  would  not  wish  them  to  a  fairer  death: 
And  so  his  knell  is  knoU'd. 

Mai.  He's  worth  more  sorrow, 

And  that  I'll  spend  for  him. 

Siw.  He's  worth  no  more ; 

They  say  he  parted  well,  and  paid  his  score: 
So  God  be  with  him. — Here  comes  newer  comfort. 

Re-enter  Macduff,  with  Macbetd's  Head  on  a 
Pole. 

Maed.  Hail,  king !  for  so  thou  art :  Behold,  where 
stands 
The  usurper's  cursed  head:  the  time  is  free: 
1  see  thee  compass'd  with  thy  kingdom's  pearl, 
That  speak  my  salutation  in  their  minds; 
Whose  voices  I  desire  aloud  with  mine, — 
Hail,  king  of  Scotland  ! 

All.  King  of  Scotland,  hail!  [Flourish. 

Mai.  We  shall  not  spend  a  large  expense  of  time, 
Belbre  we  reckon  with  your  several  loves, 
And  make  us  even  with   you.    My  thanes  and 

kinsmen. 
Henceforth  be  earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honor  named.     What's  more  to  do. 
Which  would  be  planted  newly  with  the  time,— 
As  calling  home  our  exiled  friends  abroad, 
That  fled  the  snares  of  watchful  tyranny; 
Producing  forth  the  cruel  ministers 
Of  this  dead  butcher,  and  his  fiend-like  queen; 
Who,  as  'tis  thought,  by  self  and  violent  hands 
Took  oir  her  life: — This,  and  what  needful  else 
That  calls  upon  us,  by  tlie  grace  of  Grace, 
We  will  perform  in  measure,  time,  and  place: 
So  tliaiiks  to  all  at  once,  and  to  each  one. 
Whom  we  invite  to  see  us  crown'd  at  Scone. 

[Fkntri^h.    Exeunt 


KING  JOHN. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


KiXG  John. 

PiUNCE  Henry,  fii"  Son,-  afterwards  K.  Henry  III. 

AinHUR,   Duke  of  Bretagne,   Snn  of  Geffrey,  late 

Duke  of  liict-.i'xne,  ttie  elder  Brother  of  K.  John. 
William'Mare.shali.,  Earl  of  Pembroke. 
liEFFP.EY  Fitz-Peter,  Earl  of  Essex,   Clikf  Jus- 

tkiarii  of  Enxlanci. 
William  Longsword.  Earl  of  Siilisbury. 
RouERT  Bigot,  Earl  of  Norfolk. 
Hubert  pe  Burgh,  Chamhertaiii  to  the  King. 
Robert  Faulconbridge,  Son  of  Sir  Robert  Faul- 

conbridge. 
Philip  Faulconbridge,  his  Half-Brother,  Bastard 

Son  to  King  Richard  the  First. 
James  Gurxey,   Servant  to  Ladij  Faulconbridge. 
Peter  of  Pomfret,  a  Prophet. 
PuiLip,  Kins  Q/' France. 


Lewis,  the  Dauphin. 

Archduke  of  Austria. 

Cardinal  Pandulph,  the  Pope''s  Legate. 

Melun,  a  French  Lord. 

Chatillon,  Ambassador  from  France /o  K.  John. 

F.L1V0R,  the  IVidow  of  King  Henry  II.  and  Mother 

of  King  John. 
Constance,  Mother  to  Artlnir. 
Blanch,  Daughter  to  Alphonso,  King  of  Castile, 

and  Niece  to  King  John. 
Lady  Faulconbridge,  Mother  to  the  Bastard,  and 

Robert  Faulconbridge. 

Lords,  Ladies,  Citizens  of  Angiers.  Sheriff,  Heralds, 
Officers,  Soldiers,  Messengers,  and  other  Attend 
ants. 


SCENE— Sometimes  in  England,  and  sometimes  in  France. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Northampton.    A  Room  of  State  in 
the  Palace. 

Enter  King  John,  Queen  Elinor,  Pembroke,  Essex, 
Salisbury,  and  otiiers,  with  Chatillon. 
K.  John.  Now,  say,  Chatillon,  what  would  France 

wi  th  us  ? 
Chat.    Thus,  after  greeting,  speaks  the  Idng  of 
France, 
In  my  behaviour,'  to  the  majesty. 
The  borrovv'd  majesty  of  England  here. 
Ell.  A  strange  beginning;— Iiorrow'd  majesty! 
K  John.    Silence,  good  mother;  hear  the  em- 
bassy. 
Chat.  Philip  of  France,  in  right  and  true  behalf 
Of  thy  deceased  brother  Geffrey's  son, 
Arthur  Plantagenet,  lays  most'lawful  claim 
To  this  fair  island,  and  the  territories; 
To  Ireland,  Poictiers,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Maine: 
Desiring  tliee  to  lay  aside  the  sword. 
Which  sways  usurpingly  these  several  titles; 
And  put  the  same  into  young  Arthur's  hand. 
Thy  nephew,  and  right  royal  sovereign. 
K.  Jnhn.  Wlint  iollows.'if  we  disallow  of  this? 
Chut,  'rile  im  111(1  ri.ntrol  of  fierce  and  bloody  war. 
To  enforce  these  rights  so  forcibly  withheld. 
K.  John.  Here  have  we  war  for  war,  and  blood 
J  lor  blood, 

Controlnient  for  controlmcnt:  so  answer  France. 
Chat.  Then   take  my  king's  defiance  from  my 
mouth. 
The  furthest  limit  of  my  embassy. 
K.  John.  Bear  mine  to  him,  and  so  depart  in 
peace : 
Be  thou  as  liglitniug  in  the  eyes  of  France; 
For  ere  tlum  canst  report  I  will  be  there, 
'  In  the  manner  I  now  do. 
2S2 


The  thunder  of  my  cannon  shall  be  heard: 
So,  hence!  Be  thou  the  trumpet  of  our  wrath, 
And  sullen  presage  of  j'our  own  decay. — 
An  hooorable  conductlet  him  have:— 
Pembroke,  look  to't:  Farewell,  Cliatillon. 

[Exeunt  Chatillon  and  Pembroke 

Eli.  What  now,  my  son  ?  have  I  not  ever  said. 
How  that  ambitious  Constance  would  not  cease, 
Till  she  had  kindled  France,  and  all  the  world, 
Upon  the  right  and  party  of  her  son? 
This  might  have  been  prevented,  and  made  whole, 
With  very  easy  arguments  of  love; 
Which  now  the  manage'*  of  two  kingdoms  must 
With  fearful  bloody  issue  arbitrate. 

K.  John.  Our  strong  possession,  and  our  right, 
for  us. 

Eli.  Your  strong  possession,  much  more  than 
your  right; 
Or  else  it  must  "go  wrong  with  you,  and  me: 
So  inucli  my  conscience  whispers  in  your  ear; 
Which  none  but  heaven,  and  you,  and  I,  shall  hear 
Enter  /Ac  sAe7'(^  of  Northamptonshire,  U'/iO  Wilis' 
pers  Essex. 

Esscr.  Jly  liege,  here  is  the  strangest  controversj', 
Come  from  the  country  to  be  judg'd  by  you. 
That  e'er  I  heard :  Shall  I  produce  the  men  1 

K.  John.  Let  them  approach,—        [Exit  Sheriff. 
Our  abbies,  and  our  priories,  shall  pay 

Re-enter  Sheriff,  with  Robert  Faulconbridge,  and 
Philip,  his  bastard  Brother. 

Tins  expedition's  charge. — What  men  are  yout 

Bast.  Your  faithful  subject  I,  a  gentleman, 
Born  in  Northamptonshire;  and  eldest  son. 
As  I  suppose,  to  Robert  Faulconbridge; 

3  Conduct,  administration. 


SCESK  I. 


KING  JOHN. 


283 


A  soldier,  by  the  honor-^ivin?  hand 
OfCoeur-de-Iion  knighted  in  the  field. 

K.  John,  What  are  thou? 

Rob.  The  son  and  heir  to  that  same  Faulcon- 
b  ridge. 

A".  John.  Is  that  the  elder,  and  art  thou  the  heir? 
Vou  came  not  of  one  mother  then,  it  seems. 

Bast.  Most  certain  of  one  mother,  mighty  king, 
That  is  well  known;  and,  as  I  think,  one  father: 
But.  for  the  certain  knowledge  of  tliat  truth, 
I  put  you  o'er  to  heaven,  and  to  my  mother; 
Of  that  I  doubt,  as  all  men's  children  may. 

Eli.    Out  on  thee,  rude  man!  thou  dost  shame 
thy  motlier, 
And  wound  her  honor  with  this  diffidence. 

Bast.  I.  madam  !  no,  I  have  no  reason  for  it; 
That  is  my  brother"'s  plea,  and  none  of  mine; 
The  whicli  if  he  can  prove,  ""a  pops  me  out 
At  least  from  fair  five  hundred  pounds  a  year: 
Heaven  guard  my  molher's  honor,  and  my  land  ! 

A^   John.    A  good  blunt  fellow: — Why,  being 
3'ounger  born, 
Dotli  he  lay  claim  to  thine  inheritance? 

Bast.  I  know  not  why  except  to  get  the  land. 
But  once  he  sla?iderM  me  with  bastardy: 
But  wheV  I  be  as  truc-begot,  or  no, 
That  still  I  lay  upon  my  mother's  head; 
But.  that  I  am  as  well  begot,  my  liege, 
(Fair  fall  the  bones  that  took  tlie  panis  for  me!) 
Compare  our  faces,  and  be  jud:2;e  yourself. 
If  old  sir  Robert  did  beget  us  both. 
And  were  our  father,  and  this  son  like  him; — 

0  old  sir  Robert,  father,  on  my  knee, 

1  give  licaven  thanks,  I  was  not  like  to  thee. 

K.  John.  Why,  what  a  madcap  hath  heaven  lent 
us  here! 

Eli.  He  hath  a  trick^  of  Cceur-de-lion's  face, 
Tlie  accent  of  his  tongue  affected  him: 
Do  you  not  read  some  tokens  of  my  son 
In  tne  large  composition  of  this  man? 

A*.  John.  Mine  eye  hath  well  examined  his  parts, 

And  finds  them  perfect  Richard. Sirrah,  speak. 

What  doth  move  you  to  claim  your  brother^'s  land? 

Bast.  Because  lie  hath  a  hall-face,  like  my  father: 
With  tiiat  half-face  would  he  have  all  my  land: 
A  halt-faced  groat  live  hundred  pound  a  year! 

Rob.  My  gracious  liege,  when  that  my  father 
liv'd, 
Your  brother  did  employ  my  father  much ; 

Bast.  Well,  sir.  by  this  you  cannot  get  my  land; 
Your  tale  must  be,  how  lie  empIoyM  my  mother. 

R(}b*  And  once  despatch^  him  in  an  embassy 
To  Germany,  there,  with  the  emperor. 
To  treat  of  nigh  alfliirs  touching  that  time: 
The  advantage  of  his  absence  took  the  king. 
And  in  the  mean  time  sojourn'd  at  my  father's; 
Where  how  he  did  prevail.  I  shame  to  speak; 
But  truth  is  truth  ;  larsre  lengths  of  seas  and  shores 
Between  my  fatlier  and  my  mother  lay, 
(As  I  have  heard  my  father  speak  himself,) 
When  this  same  lusty  gentleman  was  got. 
TTpon  his  death-bed  he  by  will  bequeath'd 
His  lands  to  me;  and  took  it,  on  his  death, 
That  this  my  mother's  son,  was  none  of  his; 
And,  if  lie  were,  he  came  into  the  world 
Full  fourteen  weeks  before  the  course  of  time. 
Then,  good  my  liege,  let  me  have  what  is  mine, 
My  fatlier's  land,  as  was  my  father's  will. 

AT.  John.  Sirrah,  your  brother  is  legitimate; 
Your  lather's  wife  did  after  wedlock  bear  him; 
And.  if  she  did  play  false,  the  fault  was  hers; 
Wliich  lault  lies  on  the  hazards  of  all  husbands 
That  marry  wives.    Tell  me,  how  if  my  brother, 
Who.  as  you  say,  took  pains  to  get  this  son, 
Had  of  your  father  claimM  this  son  for  his? 
In  sooth,  good  friend,  your  father  might  have  kept 
This  calf,  bred  from  his  cow,  from  all  the  world; 
In  sooth  he  miglit:  then,  if  he  were  my  brother's. 
My  brother  might  not  claim  him;  nor  your  father, 
Be"ing  none  of  his.  refuse  him:  This  concludes, — 
My  mother"'s  son  did  get  your  father's  heir; 
Your  father's  heir  must  have  your  father's  land. 

Rob,  Shall  then  my  father's  will  be  of  no  force. 
To  dispossess  that  child  which  is  not  his? 

Basf,  Of  no  more  force  to  dispossess  me,  sir. 
Than  was  his  will  to  get  me,  as  I  think. 

illi   Whether  hadst  thou  rather, — be  a  Faulcon- 
bridge, 

3  Trace,  outline. 


And  like  thy  brother,  to  enjoy  thy  land; 
Or  the  reputed  son  of  Cceur-de-lion, 
Lord  of  thy  presence,  and  no  land  beside? 

BcL^t.  Madam,  an  if  my  brother  had  my  shape, 
And  I  had  his,  sir  Robert  his,  like  him: 
And  if  my  legs  were  two  such  riding-rods. 
My  arms  such  eel-skins  stutrd  ;  my  face  so  thin, 
That  in  mine  ear  I  durst  not  stick  a  rose. 
Lest  men  sliould  saj'",  Look,  where  three-farthinsrs 

goes ! 
And,  to  his  shape,  were  heir  to  all  this  land, 
'Would  I  might  never  stir  from  oQthis  place, 
I'd  give  it  every  foot  to  have  this  face; 
I  would  not  be  sir  Nob  in  any  case. 

Eli.    I   like  thee  well:    Wilt  thou  forsake  thy 
fortune, 
Bequeath  thy  land  to  him,  and  follow  me? 
I  am  a  soldier,  and  now  bound  to  France. 

Bast.  Brother,  take  you  my  land,  Til  take  my 
chance: 
Your  face  hath  got  five  hundred  pounds  a  year; 
Yet  sell  your  face  for  five  pence,  and,  'tis"  dear. — 
Madam,  Til  follow  you  unto  the  death. 

Ed.  Nay,  1  would  have  j^ou  go  before  me  thither. 

Bast.  Our  country  manners  give  our  betters  way. 

A'.  John,  What  is  thy  name? 

Bast.  Philip,  my  liege;  so  is  my  name  begun; 
Philip,  good  old  sir  Robert's  wife's  eldest  son. 

A'.  Johr.  From  henceforth  bear  liis  name  wiiose 
Ibrm  thou  bear'st : 
Kneel  thou  down  Philip,  but  arise  more  great: 
Arise  sir  Richard,  and  Plantagenet. 

Basf.  Brother,  by  my  mother's  side,  give  me  your 
hand ; 
My  father  gave  me  honor,  yours  gave  land : — 
Now  blessed  be  the  hour,  by  night  or  day, 
When  I  was  got,  sir  Rol)en  was  away. 

Eli.  The  very  spirit  of  Plantagenet! — 
I  am  thy  grandame,  Richard;  call  me  so. 

Bast.  Madani.by  chance,  but  not  by  truth:  What 
though? 
Something  about,  a  Uttle  from  the  rijiiit. 

In  at  the  window,  or  else  o'er  the  hatch : 
Who  dares  not  stir  by  day,  must  walk  by  night; 

And  have  is  have,  however  men  do  catch: 
Near  or  far  off.  well  won  is  still  well  shot ; 
And  I  am  I.  iioweVr  I  was  beirot. 

K.  John,  do,  Faulconbridge;  now  hast  thou  thy 
desire, 
A  landless  knight  makes  thee  a  landed  'squire. — 
Come,  madam,  and  come,  Richard;  we  must  speed 
For  France,  for  France;  for  it  is  more  than  need. 

Bast.  Brother,  adieu;  good  fortune  come  to  thee! 
For  thou  wast  got  i'the  way  of  honesty. 

[Exeuni  all  but  the  Bastard. 
A  foot  of  honor  better  than  I  was; 
But  many  a  loot  of  land  the  worse. 

Well,  now  can  I  malie  any  Joan  a  lady: 

Good  deny*  Sir  Richard,— God~a-mercif.  fellow ; 
And  if  his  name  be  George.  I'll  call  him  Peter: 
For  new-made  honor  doth  forget  men's  names; 
'Tis  too  respective,  and  too  sociable. 
For  your  conversion.    Now  your  traveller, — 
He  and  his  tooth-pick  at  my  worslijp's  mess; 
And  when  my  knightly  stomach  is  sufficed, 
Why  then  I  suck  my  teeth  and  catechise 

My  picket  man  of  countries:* Mij  dear  sir, 

(Thus,  leaning  on  mine  elbow,  I  begin.) 

I  shall  beseech  yoii. — That  is  questiiin  now; 

And  then  comes  answer  like  an  ABC-book: — 

0  sir,  says  answer,  at  your  best  command,- 

At  your  employiftenf;  at  your  service,  sir: 

Xo,  sir,  says  qiipslu'n,  I,  sueet  sir.  at  ymirs: 

And  so,  ere  answer  knows  what  question  would, 

(Saving  in  dialogue  of  compliment; 

And  talking  of  the  Alps,  and  Apennines, 

The  Pyrenean,  and  the  river  Po,) 

It  draws  toward  supper  in  conclusion  so. 

But  tliis  is  worshipful  society, 

And  fits  the  mounting  spirit,  like  myself: 

For  he  is  but  a  bastard  to  the  time. 

That  doth  not  smack  of  observation* 

(And  so  am  I,  whether  I  smack,  or  no;) 

And  not  alone  in  habit  and  device. 

Exterior  form,  outward  accoutrement; 

But  from  the  inward  motion  to  deliver 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  poison  for  the  age's  tooth; 

Which,  though  I  will  not  practise  to  deceive, 


*Good  evening. 


8  My  travelled  fop 


284 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  II 


Yet.  to  avoid  deceit,  I  mean  to  learn; 
For  it  shall  strew  the  lootstepy  of  my  rising.— 
But  who  coiires  in  such  haste,  in  riding  robes'? 
Wiiat  woman-post  is  thisl  hath  she  no  husband, 
That  will  talve  pains  to  blow  a  horn  belore  her? 
Enter  Lady  Faulconbridoe  ajid  James  Gurney. 
O  me!  it  is  my  mother: — How  now,  f;ood  lady? 
What  brings  you  here  to  court  so  hastily] 

Ladi/    F.     Where    is    that  slave,    tiiy  brother? 
where  is  he? 
That  holds  in  chase  mine  honor  up  and  down? 

Bi/f^t.  I\ry  brother  Robert?  old  sir  Uoberfs  son? 
Colbrand  t'he  ^iant,  that  same  mighty  man? 
Is  it  sir  Robert's  son,  that  you  seek  so? 

Ladr/    F.    Sir  Robert's  son!    Ay,  tliou  unreve- 
rent  boy, 
Sir  Robert's  son:  Why  scorn'st  thou  at  sir  Robert? 
He  is  sir  Robert's  son;  and  so  art  thou. 

Bast.  James  Gnrney,  wilt  thou  give  us  leave  a 
while? 
Gur.  Good  leave,  good  Pliilip. 

Bast.  Philip? — sparrow! — James, 

There's  103-56  abroad;  anon  I'll  tell  thrc  more. 

[Exit  Gurney. 
Madam,  I  was  not  old  sir  Robert's  son; 
Sir  Robert  might  have  e.it  his  part  in  me 
Upon  Good-Friday,  and  ne'er  broke  his  fast: 
Sir  Robert  could  Ao  well;  Marry  (to  confess!) 
Could  he  get  me?  Sir  Robert  could  not  do  it; 
We    know    his    handy-work:  —  Therefore,    good 

mother. 
To  whom  am  I  beholden  for  these  limbs? 
Sir  Robert  never  hoip  to  make  this  leg. 

Ld'Uj  F.  Hast  thou  conspired  with  Ihy  brother  too, 
Tiiat  for  thine  own  gain  shouldst  defend  mine 

honor? 
What  means  this  scorn,  thou  most  untoward  knave! 


Bast.    Knight,  knight,  good  mother, — Basilisco- 
like:8 
What!  I  am  dubb'd;  I  have  it  on  my  shoulder. 
But,  mother,  I  am  not  sir  Robert's  son; 
I  have  disclaimed  sir  Robert,  and  my  land; 
Legitimation,  name,  and  all  is  gone: 
Then,  good  my  mother,  let  me  know  my  father, 
Some  proper  man,  I  hope;  Who  was  it,  mother? 

Lady   F.    Hast  thou  denied  thyself  a  Faulcon- 
bridge  ? 

Bast.  As  faithfully  as  I  deny  the  devil. 

Lady   F.   King  Ricliard  Cosur-dc-lion  wap  thy 
father; 
By  long  and  vehemont  suit  I  was  seduced 
To  make  room  for  him  in  my  husband's  bed  — 
Heaven  lay  not  my  transgression  to  my  charge! 
Thou  art  the  issue  of  my  dear  olfence, 
Whicii  was  so  strongly  urged,  past  my  defence. 

Bast.  Now,  by  this  light,  were  I  to  get  again, 
Madam,  I  woulJ  not  wish  a  better  father. 
Some  sins  do  bear  their  privilege  on  earth. 
And  so  doth  yours;  your  fault  was  not  your  folly: 
Needs  must  you  lay  your  heart  at  his  dispose,^ 
Subjected  tribute  to  commanding  love, — 
Against  whose  fury  and  unmatched  force 
The  awless  lion  could  not  wage  the  fight, 
Nor  keep  his  princely  lieart  from  Ricliard's  hand. 
He,  that  perforce  rpbs  lions  of  their  hearts, 
iMay  easily  win  a  woman's.    Ay,  my  mother. 
With  all  my  heart  I  thank  thee  for  my  father! 
Who  lives  and  dares  but  say,  thou  didsf  not  well 
When  I  was  got,  I'll  send  his  soul  to  hell. 
Come,  lady,  I  will  show  thee  to  my  kin; 

And  they'  shall  say,  w^hen  Richard  me  begot, 
If  thou  had'st  said  him  nay,  it  had  been  sin"; 

Who  says  it  was,  lie  lies;  I  say,  'twas  not. 

[Exeimt. 


ACT  II 


SCENE  I.— France.    Before  the  Walls  nfAngieis. 

Enter,  on  one  side,  ihc  Archduke  of  Austria.onrf 
Forces;  on  the  other,  Philip,  King  of  France, 
and  Forces,-  Lewis,  Constance,  ARTnuR,  and 
Attendants. 

Leic.  Before  Angiers  well  met,  brave  Austria. — 
Arthur,  thesreat  I'ore-rnnner  of  thy  blood, 
Kichard,  that  robb'd  the  lion  ofhis'hcart. 
And  Ibught  the  holy  wars  in  Palestine, 
By  this  brave  duke  came  early  to  liis  grave; 
And,  for  amends  to  his  posterity, 
At  our  importance,'  hither  is  he  come, 
To  spread  his  colors,  hoy,  in  thy  behalf; 
And  to  rebuke  the  usurpation 
Of  the  unnatural  uncle.  English  .Tohn: 
Embrace  him,  love  him,  give  him  welcome  hither. 

Arth.  God  shall  forgive  you  Creur-de-lion's  deatli. 
The  rather,  that  you  give  his  ottspring  life. 
Shadowing  their  right  under  your  wings  of  war: 
I  give  you  welcome  with  a  povperless  hand, 
Hut  with  a  heart  full  of  unstained  love: 
Welcome  before  the  gates  of  Anglers,  duke. 

Lew.  A  noble  boy!  'Who  would  not  do  thee  nghtl 

Aust.  Upon  thy  cheek  lav  I  this  zealous  kiss, 
As  seal  to  this  indenture  of  my  love; 
That  to  my  home  I  will  no  mor^  return. 
Till  Anglers  and  the  right  thou  hast  in  France, 
Together  with  that  pale,  that  white-faced  shore. 
Whose  foot  spurns  back  the  ocean's  roaring  tides. 
Anil  coops  from  other  lands  her  islanders. 
Even  fLiI  that  England,  hedg'd  in  with  the  main, 
The  water-walled  bulwark,  still  secure 
And  confident  from  foreign  purposes, 
Even  till  that  utmost  corner  of  the  west 
Salute  thee  for  her  king;  till  then,  fair  hoy, 
Will  [  not  think  of  home,  but  follow  arms. 

Const.    O.  take  ids  mother's  thanks,  a  widow's 
thanks. 
Till  your  strong  hand  shall  help  to  give  him  strength. 
To  make  a  more  requital  to  yonr  love. 

Aust.   The  peace  of  heaven  is  theirs,  that  lift 
their  swords 
In  such  a  just  and  charitable  war. 

'Idle  reports,  'Importunity. 


A'.  P/ii.    Well  then,  to  work;  our  carmon  shall 
be  bent 
Against  the  brows  of  this  resisting  town. 
Call  for  our  chiefest  men  of  discipline. 
To  cull  the  plots  of  best  advantages;' — 
We'll  lay  belore  this  town  our  royal  hones. 
Wade  to  the  market-phice  in  Frenchmen's  blood, 
But  we  will  make  it  subject  to  this  boy. 

Const.  Stay  for  an  answer  to  your  embassy, 
Lest  unadvis'd  you  stain  your  sword  with  blood: 
My  lord  Chatillon  may  from  England  bring 
That  right  in  peace,  which  here  we  urge  in  war; 
Aiul  then  we  shall  repent  each  drop  of  blood, 
That  hot  rash  haste  so  indirectly  shed. 
Enter  Ch.itillon. 

K.  Plii.  A  wonder,  lady! — lo,  upon  thy  wish. 
Our  messenger  Chatillon  is  arriv'd. — 
What  England  says,  say  briefly,  gentle  lord, 
We  coldly  pause  for  thee;  Chatillon,  speak. 

Clutt.  Then  turn  your  forces  from  this  paltry  siege, 
And  stir  them  up  against  a  mightier  task. 
England,  impatient  of  your  just  demands. 
Hath  put  himself  in  arms;  the  adverse  winds. 
Whose  leisure  I  liave  staid,  have  given  him  time 
To  land  his  legions  all  as  soon  as  I : 
His  marches  are  expedient'  to  this  town. 
His  forces  strong,  his  soldiers  confident. 
With  him  along  is  come  the  mother-queen. 
An  Ate, ^  stirring  him  to  blood  and  strife; 
Willi  her  her  niece,  the  lady  Blanch  of  Spain,- 
With  them  a  bastard  of  the  king  deeeas'd: 
.\nd  all  the  unsettled  humors  oi" the  land, — 
Bash,  inconsiderate,  fiery  voluntaries. 
With  ladies'  faces  and  fierce  dragons'  spleens, — 
Have  sold  their  fortunes  at  their  native  homes. 
Bearing  their  birthrights  proudly  on  their  backs, 
To  make  a  hazard  of  new  fortunes  here. 
In  brief,  a  braver  choice  of  dauntless  .spirits. 
Than  now  tlic  English  bottoms  have  waft  o'er 
Did  never  float  upon  the  swelling  tide, 

®  A  charaacter  in  an  old  drama  called  Sotiman  and 
Pcrseila, 
'  Beat  stations  to  over-awe  the  town. 
2  Immediate,  expeditious.     '  The  Goddess  of  Revenge, 


Scene  I. 


laNG  JOHN. 


285 


To  do  otlbncc  and  scath*  in  Christendom. 
Tlie  interruption  of  tlieir  churlisli  drums 

[Drums  beat. 
Cuts  oti'more  circumstance :  tliey  are  at  liand, 
To  parley  or  to  tl^'it;  tiicrelbre,  prepare. 

A".  Phi.  How  inucli  unlooii'd  lor  is  this  expedition! 

Aust.  By  how  much  unex]'cclcd,  by  so  mucli 
We  must  awake  endeavor  lor  delence; 
For  courai^e  mounted  witii  occasion: 
Let  them  ue  welcome  then,  we  arc  prepar'd. 

Eii/er  KiSG  JonN,  Ei.ixor,  ISlaxch,  the  Bastard, 
PEMEUoKt:,  and  Purees. 

K.  John.  Peace  be  to  France ;  if  France  in  peace 
permit 
Our  just  and  lineal  entrance  to  our  own! 
If  not.  bleed  France,  and  peace  ascend  to  lieaven. 
\Vhiles  we,  God's  wrathful  ai^ent,  do  correct 
Their  proud  contempt  that  beat  his  peace  to  heaven. 

A".  Phi.  Peace  be  to  Enjiland:  if  that  war  return 
From  France  to  England,  there  to  live  in  peace! 
England  we  love:  and,  lor  that  England's  sake, 
With  burden  of  our  armor  liere  we  sweat: 
This  toil  of  ours  sliould  be  a  work  of  thine; 
But  thou  from  loving  England  art  so  tar. 
That  thou  hast  under-wrought  his  lawful  king, 
Cut  otf  the  sequence  of  posterity. 
Outfaced  infant  state,  and  done  a  rape 
Upon  the  maiden  virtue  of  the  crown. 
Look  here  upon  thy  brother  Geffrey's  face; — 
These  eyes,  these  brows,  were  moulded  out  of  his: 
This  httle  abstract  doth  contain  that  large. 
Which  died  in  GelTrey;  and  the  hand  of  time 
Shall  draw  this  brief*  into  as  huge  a  volume. 
That  Geltrey  was  thy  elder  liiolher  born. 
And  this  his  son;  England  Has  Getlrey's  right, 
And  this  is  Gcirrey's:  In  llie  name  of  God, 
How  comes  it  then,  that  Ihoii  art  eall'd  a  king. 
When  living  blood  doth  in  these  temples  beat. 
Which  owe"  the  crown  that  thou  o'ermasterest  ? 

K.  John.  From  whom  hast  thou  this  great  com- 
mission, France, 
To  draw  my  answer  from  thy  articles? 

K.  Phi.    From   that  supernal  judge,  that  stirs 
good  thoughts 
In  any  breast  of  strong  authority, 
To  look  into  the  blots  and  stains  of  right. 
That  judge  hath  made  me  guardian  to  this  boy: 
Under  whose  warrant,  1  imiieach  thy  wrong; 
And,  by  whose  help,  I  mean  to  chastise  it. 

A'.  John.  Alack,  thou  dost  usurp  authority. 

K.  Phi.  Excuse;  it  is  to  lieat  usurping  dovni. 

Eli.  Who  is  it,  thou  dost  call  usurper,  France? 

Conf<t.  Let  me  make  answer; — thy  usurping  son. 

Eli.  Out,  insolent!  thy  bastard  shall  be  Idng; 
That  thou  mayst  be  a  queen,  and  check  the  world! 

Const.  My  bed  was  ever  to  thy  son  as  true. 
As  thine  was  to  thy  huslianl:  and  this  boy 
Liker  in  feature  to  his  father  Geffi-ey, 
Than  thou  and  John  in  manners;  being  as  like, 
As  rain  to  water,  or  devil  to  his  dam. 
My  boy  a  bastard!  By  my  soul,  I  think, 
His  father  never  was  so  true  begot; 
It  cannot  be.  an  if  thou  wert  his  mother. 

Eli.  There's  a  good  mother,  boy,  that  blots   thy 
father. 

Const.  There's  a  good  grandam,  boy,  that  would 
blot  thee. 

Aust.  Peace ! 

Bast.  Hear  the  crier. 

Aust.  What  the  devil  art  thou? 

Bast.  One  that  will  plav  the  devil,  sir,  with  you. 
An  'a  may  catch  your  Iiide  and  you  alone. 
You  are  the  hare  of  whom  the  proverb  goes, 
Whose  valor  plucks  dead  lio;is  by  the  beard; 
I'll  smoke  your  skin-coat,  an  I  catch  you  right: 
Sirrah,  look  to't;    i'faith,  I  will,  i'faith. 

Blanch.  0,  well  did  he  become  that  lion's  robe. 
That  did  disrobe  tlie  lion  of  that  robe! 

Bast.  It  lies  as  sightly  on  the  back  of  him. 
As  great  Alcides'  shoes  u]iou  an  ass: — 
But.  ass,  I'll  take  that  burilen  from  your  back; 
Or  lay  on  that,  shall  make  your  shoulders  crack. 

j4u«/.  What  cracker  is  lb  issiinie,  that  deafs  our  cars 
With  this  abundance  ol  sui«MiIuoiis  breath? 

A'. f/ij.  Lewis, determine  wliat  we  shall  dostraight. 

Lew.  Women  and  fools,  bri'ak  oil'  your  confer- 
ence.— 


*  Mischief. 


*A  short-writing. 


•^Own. 


King  John,  this  is  the  very  sum  of  all, — 
England,  and  Ireland,  Anjou,  Touraine,  Maine, 
In  right  of  Arthur  do  I  claim  of  thee: 
Wilt  thou  resign  them  and  lav  dowm  thy  arms? 

A'.    John.    My   lile    as  soon:— I  do  "defy  thee, 
France. 
Arthur  of  Bretagne,  yield  thee  to  my  hand; 
And,  out  of  my  dear  love,  I'll  give  thee  more 
Than  e'er  the  coward  hand  of  France  can  win: 
Submit  thee,  boy. 

Eti.  Come  to  thy  grandam.  child. 

Const.  Do,  child,  go  to  it'  grandam.  child : 
Give  prandam  kingdom,  and  it'  grandam  will 
Give  It  a  plum,  a  cherry,  and  a  tig: 
There's  a  good  grandarii. 

Arth.  Good  my  mother,  peace! 

I  would,  that  I  were  low  laid  in  my  grave; 
I  am  not  worth  this  coil'  that's  made  for  me. 

Eli.    His  mother  shames  him  so,  poor  boy,  he 
weeps. 

Con.st.  Now  shame  upon  you,  whe'r  she  does  orno! 
His  grandain's  wrongs,  and  not  his  mother's  shames, 
Draw  those  lieaven-moving  pearls  from  his  poor 

eyes. 
Which  heaven  shall  take  in  nature  of  a  fee; 
Ay.  with  these  crystal  beads  heaven  shall  be  bribed 
To  i\o  him  justice,  and  revenge  on  you. 

Eli.  Thou  monstrous  slandererof  heaven  and 
earth ! 

Const.  Thou  monstrous  injurer  of  heaven  and 
earth! 
Call  not  me  slanderer;  thou,  and  thine,  usurp 
The  dominions,  royalties,  and  rights. 
Of  this  oppressed  boy:  This  is  thy  eldest  son's  son, 
Inlbrtunate  in  nothing  but  in  thee; 
Thy  sins  are  visited  in  this  poor  child; 
The  canon  of  the  law  is  laid  on  him, 
Being  but  the  second  generation 
Removed  from  th)'  sin-conceiving  womb. 

A'.  John.  Beldam,  have  done. 

Con.yt.  I  have  but  this  to  say, — • 

That  he's  not  only  plagued  for  her  sin. 
But  God  hath  made  her  sin  and  her  the  plague 
On  this  rrinoved  issue,  plagued  for  her, 
And  with  her  plague,  her  sin;  Iiis  injury 
Her  injury, — the  beadle  to  her  sin ; 
All  punish'd  in  the  jicrson  of  this  child. 
And  all  lor  her;  A  plague  upon  her! 

Eli.  Thou  unadvised  scold.  I  can  produce 
A  will  that  bars  the  title  nf  thy  son. 

Const.  .\y,  n  ho  doubts  that?  a  n  ill!  a  wicked  will; 
A  woman's  will;  a  canker'd  grandam's  will.' 

A".  Phi.  Peace. lady;pause,orbe  more  temperate: 
It  ill  beseems  this  presence,  to  cry  aim^ 
To  these  ili-tuned  repetitions. — 
Some  trumpet  summons  hither  to  the  walls 
These  men  of  Anglers;  let  us  hear  them  speak. 
Whose  title  they  admit,  Arthur's  or  John's. 

Trumpets  .sound.    Enter  Citizens  upon  the  IValls. 

1  CiJ.  Who  is  it  that  hath  wam'd  us  to  the  walls! 

A'.  Phi.  'Tis  France,  for  England." 

A'.  J<}hn.  England,  for  itself: 

You  men  of  .\ngiers,  and  my  loving  subjects, — 

A'.  Phi.  You   loving  men  of  Angiers,  Arthur's 
subjects. 
Our  trumpet  eall'd  you  to  this  gentle  parle." 

K.  John.    For  our  advantage; — Therefore  hear 

us  lirst. 

These  flags  of  France,  that  are  advanced  here 
Before  the  e>e  and  prospect  of  your  town, 
Have  hither  marcli'd  to  vour  endamagement: 
The  cannons  have  their  "bowels  full  of  wrath; 
And  ready  mounted  are  they  to  spit  forth 
Their  iron  indignation  'gainst  your  walls: 
All  preparation  for  a  bloody  siege, 
Ancl  merciless  proceeding  hy  these  French; 
Confront  your  city's  eyes,  your  winking  gates; 
And,  but  "for  our  approach,  those  sleeping  stones. 
That  as  a  waist  do  girdle  yon  about. 
By  the  compulsion  of  their  ordinance 
By  this  time  from  their  hxed  beds  of  lime 
Had  been  dishabited,  and  wide  havoc  made 
For  bloody  power  to  rush  upon  your  peace. 
But,  on  the  sight  of  us,  your  lawful  king. — 
Who  painfully  with  much  expedient  march, 
Have  brought  a  countercheck  before  your  gates. 
To  save  unscratch'd  your  city's  threatcn'd  cheeks,— 


'Bustle. 


''To  encourage. 


^Conference. 


23G 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  II. 


Behold,  the  French,  amazM,  vouchsafe  a  parle: 

And  now,  instead  of  bullets  wrppp'd  in  tire, 

To  malce  a  shakins  fever  in  your  walls, 

They  shoot  but  c.ilm  words,  folded  up  in  smoke, 

To  make  a  faithless  error  in  your  ears: 

Which  trust  accordingly,  kind  citizens. 

And  let  us  in,  your  kins;  whose  labor'd  spirits, 

Forwearied'  in  this  action  of  swift  speed. 

Crave  harborage  within  your  city  walls. 

K.Fhi.  When  I  have  said,  make  answer  to  us  both. 
Lo,  in  this  right  hand,  whose  protection 
Is  most  divinely  vow'd  upon  the  right 
Of  him  it  holds,  stands  young  Plantagenct; 
Son  to  the  elder  brother  of  this  man, 
And  king  o'er  him.  and  all  that  he  enjoys: 
For  this  down-trodden  equity,  we  tread 
In  warlike  march  these  greens  before  your  towTi; 
Being  no  further  enemy  to  you. 
Than  the  constraint  of  hospitable  7.eal, 
In  the  reUef  of  this  oppressed  child. 
Religiously  provokes.    Be  pleased  then 
To  pay  that  duty,  which  you  truly  owe. 
To  him  that  owes"  it:  namely,  this  young  prince: 
And  then  our  arms,  like  to  a  muzzled  hear, 
Save  in  aspect,  have  all  otfence  seal'd  up; 
Our  canno:i's  malice  vainly  shall  be  spent 
Against  the  invulnerable  clouds  of  heaven; 
And,  with  a  blessed  and  unvexM  retire, 
With  uahack'd  swords,  and  helmets  all  unbruis'd. 
We  will  bear  home  that  lusty  blood  again. 
Which  here  we  came  to  spout  against  your  town, 
And  leave  your  children,  wives,  and  you  in  peace. 
But  if  you  fondly  pLiss  our  profferd  offer, 
'Tis  not  the  roundure'  of  your  old-fticed  walls 
Can  hide  you  from  our  messengers  of  war: 
Though  a'U  these  English,  and  their  discipline, 
Wereharbor'd  in  their  rude  circumference. 
Then,  tell  us,  shall  your  city  call  us  lord. 
In  that  behalf  whicn  we  have  challenged  it^ 
Or  shall  we  give  the  signal  to  our  rage, 
And  stalk  in  blood  to  our  possession] 
1  at.   In   brief,  we  are   the  king  of  England's 
subjects; 
For  him.  and  in  his  right,  we  hold  this  town. 
K.Jiikn.  Acknowledge  then  the  kini.andletmein. 
1  C/7.  That  can  we  not:  buthelhutpnivesthe  king 
To  him  will  we  prove  loyal;  till  that  time. 
Have  we  rammM  up  our  gates  against  the  world. 
K.  John.  Doth  not  the  crown  of  England  prove 
the  king! 
And,  if  not  that,  I  bring  you  witnesses. 
Twice  lifteen  thousand  hearts  of  England's  breed,— 
Basl.  Bastards,  and  else. 
K.  Julia.  To  verify  our  title  with  their  lives. 
A'.  Phi.   As  many,  and  as  well-born  bloods  as 

those, • 

Bast.  Some  bastards  too. 

K.  Plii.  Stand  in  his  face  to  contradict  his  claim. 
1  til.  Till  yon  compound  whose  right  is  worthiest. 
We.  for  the  worthiest,  hold  the  right  from  both. 

K.John.  Then  Ood  forgive  the  sin  ofall  those  souls, 
That  to  their  e\^rlasting  residence. 
Before  the  dew  of  evening  fall,  shall  fleet. 
In  dreadl'ul  trial  of  our  kingdom's  king! 
A',    Phi.  Amen!  Amen!— Mount,  chevaliers,  to 

arms!  " 
Bast.    St.    George,— that  swinged    the  dragon, 
and  e'er  since. 
Sits  on  his  horseback  at  mine  hostess'  door, 
Teach  us  some  fence!  Sirrah,  were  I  at  home. 
At  your  den, sirrah,  [TnAusTRiA.]  with  yourlioness, 
I'd  set  an  ox-head  to  your  lion's  hide, 
And  make  a  monster  of  you. 
jliisf.  Peace;  no  more. 

Bust.  0,  tremble;  for  you  hear  the  lion  roar, 
A'.  Juhii.  Up  higher  to  the  plain;  where  we'll  set 
Ibrth, 
In  best  appointment,  all  our  regiments. 
Bn-il.  Sp,^ed  then,  to  take  advantage  of  the  field, 
A'.  Phi.  It  shall  beso;— [To  Lewis.]  and  at  the 
other  hill 
Command  the  rest  to  stand.— God  and  our  right ! 

[Exeunt. 
SCEXE  II.— rAe  snme. 

Alarums  and  Exnirsiim.i:  then  a  Retreat.    Enter 
a  French  Herald,  ivitli  Trumpets,  to  the  Gates. 
/'. //e;-.  You  men  of  Anglers,  open  wide  your  gates, 
■  Worn  out  ^^Owna.  *  Circle. 


And  let  young  Arthur,  duke  of  Bretagne,  in; 

Who,  by  the  hand  of  France,  this  day  hath  made 

Much  work  for  tears  in  many  an  English  mother. 

Whose  sons  lie  sc.atter'd  on  the  bleeding  ground; 

Many  a  ^vidow's  husband  grovelling  lies. 

Coldly  embracing  the  discolor'd  earth; 

And  victory,  with  little  loss,  doth  play 

Upon  the  dancing  banners  of  the  French; 

Who  are  at  hand,  triumphantly  display'd, 

To  enter  conquerors,  and  to  proclaim 

Arthur  of  Bretagne,  England's  king,  and  yours. 

Enter  an  English  Herald,  with  Trumpets. 

E.  Her.  Rejoice,  you  men  of  Anglers,  ring  your 
bells. 
King  John,  your  king  and  England's,  dothapproach, 
Commander  of  this  hot  malicious  day! 
Their  armors,  that  march'd  hence  so  silver-bright, 
Hither  return  all  gilt  with  Frenchmen's  blood; 
Tliere  stuck  no  plume  in  any  English  crest, 
That  is  removed  by  a  stafT of  France; 
Our  colors  do  return  in  those  same  hands 
That  did  display  them  when  we  first  march'd  forth; 
And,  like  a  jollv  troop  of  huntsmen,  come 
Our  lusty  English,  all  with  purpled  hands. 
Died  in  the  dying  slaughter  of  their  toes: 
Open  your  gates,  and  give  the  victors  way. 

at.  Heralds,  from  oft  our  towers  we  might  behold. 
From  first  to  last,  the  onset  and  retire 
Of  both  your  armies;  whose  equality 
By  our  best  eyes  cannot  be  censured:* 
Blood  hath  bought  blood,  and  blows  have  answer'd 

blows ; 
Strength  match'd  with  strength,  and  power  con- 
fronted power: 
Both  are  like;  and  both  alike  we  like. 
One  must  prove  greatest:  while  they  weigh  so  even. 
We  hold  our  town  for  neither;  yet  for  both. 

Enter,  at  one  site,  King  John',  with  his  Power; 
Elinor,  Blanch,  and  the  Bastard;  at  the  other, 
Kisc.  Phillip,  Lewis,  Austria,  and  Forces. 

K.  John.    France,  hast  thou  yet  more  blood  to 
cast  away] 
Say,  shall  the  current  of  our  right  run  on? 
Wliose  passage,  vex'd  with  thy  impediment. 
Shall  leave  his  native  channel,  and  o'erswell 
With  course  disturb'd  even  thy  confining  shores, 
Unless  thou  let  his  silver  water  keep 
A  peaceful  progress  to  the  ocean. 

K.  Phi.  England,  thou  hast  not  sav'd  one  drop  of 
blood,"^ 
In  this  hot  trial,  more  than  we  of  France; 
Rather,  lost  more:  .\nd  by  this  hand  I  swear. 
That  sways  the  earth  this  climate  overlooks,— 
Before  we  will  lay  down  our  just-borne  arms. 
We'll  put  thee  down,  'gainst  whom  these  arms  wo 

bear. 
Or  add  a  royal  number  to  the  dead; 
Gracing  the  scroll,  that  tells  of  this  war's  loss, 
With  slaughter  coupled  to  the  name  of  kings. 

Ba.it.  Ha.  majesty!  how  high  thy  glory  towers, 
When  the  rich  blood  of  kings  is  set  on  fire! 
O,  now  doth  Death  line  his  dead  chaps  with  steel; 
The  swords  of  soldiers  are  his  teeth,  his  fangs; 
And  now  he  feasts,  mouthing  the  fiesli  of  men, 
In  undeterinin'd  ditrerence  of  king.— 
VVhy  stand  these  royal  fronts  amazed  thus  ! 
Cry," havoc,  kings!  back  to  the  stained  Heln, 
You  equal  potents,'  fiery  kindled  spirits! 
Then  let  confusion  of  one  part  confirm 
The  other's  peace ;  till  then,  blows,  blood,  and  death! 

A'. /'i/i';.  Whose  party  do  the  townsmen  yet  admit! 

A'.  Phi.  Speak,  citizens,  for  England;  who's  your 
kini;! 

1  at.  The  king  of  England,  when  wc  Icnow  the 
king. 

K.  Phi.  Know  him  in  us,  that  here  hold  up  his 

K.  John.  In  us,  that  are  our  own  great  deputy, 
And  bear  possession  of  our  person  here: 
Lord  of  our  presence.  Anglers,  and  of  you. 

1  at.  A  greater,  power  than  we,  denies  all  tins; 
And.  till  It  be  undoubted,  we  do  lock 
Our  former  scruple  in  our  strong-barr'd  gates;  • 
King'd  of  our  fears;  until  our  fears  rosolv'd. 
Be  by  some  certain  king  purg'd  and  depos'd. 


'Judged,  determined. 


Totentatea. 


Scene  II. 


KING  JOHN. 


287 


Sast.  By  heaven,  these  scroyles"  of  Anglers  flout 
you,  kings; 
And  stand  securely  on  tlieir  battlements, 
As  in  a  theatre,  whence  they  gape  and  point 
At  your  industrious  scenes  and  acts  of  death. 
Vour  royal  presences  be  rul'd  by  me; 
Do  like  the  mutines'  of  Jerusalem; 
Be  friends  a  while,  and  both  conjointly  bend 
Your  sharpest  deeds  of  malice  on  this  town: 
By  cast  and  west  let  France  and  England  mount 
Their  battering  cannon,  charged  to  the  mouths; 
Till  their  soul-learing  clamors  have  brawl'd  down 
The  llinty  ribs  of  this  eojitcmptuous  city: 
Vd  play  incessantly  upon  these  jades, 
Even  till  unfenced  desolation 
Leave  them  as  naked  as  the  vulgar  air. 
That  done,  dissever  your  united  strengths, 
And  part  your  mingled  colors  once  again; 
Turn  face  to  face,  and  bloody  point  to  point: 
Then,  in  a  moment,  fortune  shall  cull  lorth 
Out  of  one  side  her  happy  minion; 
To  whom  in  lavor  she  shall  give  the  day, 
And  kiss  him  with  a  glorious  victory. 
How  like  you  this  wild  counsel,  mighty  states'.' 
.■^mncks  it  not  something  of  the  policy  ] 

K.  JnfiJi.  Now,  by  the  sky  that  hangs  above  oui 
head*:, 
I  like  it  well; — France,  shall  we  Icnit  our  powers. 
And  lay  this  .A.ngiers  even  with  the  ground; 
Then,  after,  fight  who  shall  be  king  of  it? 

Bast.  .\n  if  thou  hast  the  mettle  of  a  king, — 
Being  wrong'd,  as  we  are.  by  this  peevish  town,— 
Turn  thou  the  mouth  of  thy  artillery, 
As  we  will  ours,  against  these  saucy  walls. 
And  when  that  we  have  dashM  them  to  the  ground 
Why,  then  defy  each  other;  and  pell-mell. 
Make  work  upon  yourselves,  for  heaven,  or  hell. 

K.  Phi.  Let  it  be  so: — Say.  where  will  j  ou  assault? 

A''.  John.  We  from  the  west  will  send  destruction 
Into  the  city's  bosom. 

Aust.  I  from  the  north. 

K.  Phi.  Our  thunder  from  the  south. 

Shall  rain  their  drift  of  bullets  on  this  town. 

Bast.  O  prudent  discipline!  From  north  to  south; 
Austria  and  France  shoot  in  each  others  mouth  : 

[Aside. 
ril  stir  them  to  it : — Come,  away,  away ! 

1  Cit.  Hear  us,  great  kntgs:  vouchsafe  a  while 
to  stay. 
And  I  shall  show  you  peace,  and  fair-faced  league; 
Win  you  this  city  without  stroke,  or  wound; 
Rescue  those  breathing  lives  to  die  in  beds, 
That  here  come  sacrifices  for  the  field; 
Persever  not.  but  hear  me,  mighty  idngs. 

K.  John.  Speak  on,  with  favor;  we  are  bent  to 
hear. 

1  Cit.  That  daughter  there  of  Spain,  the  lady 
Blanch, 
Is  near  to  England:  Look  upon  the  years 
Of  Lewis  the  Dauphin,  and  that  lovely  maid: 
If  lusty  love  should  go  in  quest  of  beauty. 
Where  should  he  find  it  fairer  than  in  Blanch'! 
If  zealous"  love  should  go  in  search  of  virtue. 
Where  should  he  find  it  purer  than  in  Blanch? 
If  love  ambitious  sought  a  match  of  birth. 
Whose  \eins  bound  richer  blood  than  lady  Blanch? 
Such  as  she  is,  in  beauty,  virtue,  birth. 
Is  the  young  Dauphin  every  way  complete: 
If  not  complete,  0  say,  he  is  not  she; 
And  she  again  wants  nothing,  to  name  want, 
If  want  it  be  not.  that  she  is  not  he: 
He  is  the  half  part  of  a  blessed  man, 
Left  to  be  finished  by  such  as  she; 
And  she  a  fair  divided  excellence. 
Whose  fulness  of  perfection  lies  in  him. 
O,  two  such  silver  currents,  when  they  Join, 
Do  glorify  the  banks  that  bound  them  in : 
And  two  such  shores  to  two  such  streams  made  one, 
Two  such  controlling  bounds,  shall  you  be,  kings. 
To  these  two  princes,  if  you  marry  them. 
This  Anion  siiall  do  more  than  battery  can. 
To  our  fast-closed  gates;  for,  at  this  match. 
With  swifter  spleen"  than  powder  can  enlbrce. 
The  mouth  of  passage  shall  we  Hing  wide  ope, 
And  give  jou  entrance;  but  without  this  match, 
Tht  sea  enraged  is  not  lialf  so  deaf. 
Lions  more  confident,  mountains  and  rocks 


"Scabby  fellows. 
8  Pious. 


'  Mutineers. 
'Speed. 


More  free  from  motion;  no,  not  Death  himself 
In  mortal  fury  half  so  pereuiptory, 
As  we  to  keep  this  city. 

Bast.  Here's  a  stay. 

That  shakes  the  rotten  carcase  of  old  Death 
Out  of  his  rags!  Here's  a  large  mouth,  indeed. 
That  spits  lorth  death,  and  mountains,  rocks,  and 

seas; 
Talks  as  lamiliarly  of  roaring  lions, 
.\s  maids  ot' thirteen  do  ot  puppy-dogs? 
What  cannoneer  begot  this  lusty  blood? 
He  speaks  jilain  cannon,  fire,  and  smoke,  and  bounce; 
He  gives  the  bastinado  ^vith  his  tongue; 
Our  ears  arc  cudgel'd;  not  a  word  of  his, 
But  buflets  better  than  a  fist  of  France: 
Why  !  I  was  never  so  bethunip''d  with  words, 
Since  1  first  call'd  my  brother's  father,  dad. 

Eti.  Son,  list  to  thisconjunction,  make  this  matclr 
Give  with  our  niece  a  dowry  large  enough: 
Foi-  by,  this  knot  thou  Shalt  so  surely  tie 
Thy  liow  unsured  assurance  to  the  crown. 
That  yon  green  boy  shall  have  no  sun  to  ripe 
The  bloom  tliat  promiseth  a  mighty  I'ruit. 
I  see  a  yielding  iji  the  looks  of  France; 
Mark,  how  they  whisper:  urge  them,  while  their 

souls 
Are  capable  of  this  ambition : 
Lest  zeal,  now  melted  by  the  windy  breath 
Of  soft  petitions,  pity  aiid  remorse. 
Cool  and  congeal  again  to  what  it  wa.s. 

I  Cit.  Why  answer  not  the  double  majesties 
This  friendly  treaty  of  our  threaten'd  town? 

A'.  Phi.  Speak  England  tirst,  that  hath  been  for- 
ward first 
To  speak  upon  this  city:  What  .say  j-ou? 

A".  John.  II  that  the  Dauphin  there,  thy  princely 
son. 
Can  in  this  book  of  beauty  read,  I  love, 
Her  dowry  shall  weigh  equal  with  a  queen  : 
For  Anjou,  and  fair  'Touraine,  Maine,  Poictiers, 
And  all  that  we  upon  this  side  the  sea 
{E.xcept  tliis  city  now  by  us  besieged) 
Find  liable  to  our  crown  and  dignity. 
Shall  gild  her  bridal  bed;  and  make  her  rich 
In  titles,  honors,  and  promotions. 
As  she  in  beauty,  education,  blood. 
Holds  hand  with  any  princess  of  the  world. 

K.  Phi.  What  say'st  thou,  boy?  look  into  the 
lady's  face. 

Lew.  I  do,  my  lord,  and  in  her  eye  I  find 
A  wonder,  or  a  wonderous  miracle. 
The  shadow  of  myself  form'd  in  her  eye; 
Which,  being  but  the  shadow  of  your  son. 
Becomes  a  sun,  and  makes  your  son  a  shadow: 
1  do  protest.  I  never  lov'd  myself. 
Till  now  infixed  1  beheld  myself. 
Drawn  in  the  fiattering  table  of  her  eye. 

( Whlipers  with  BLANCH. 

Ba.^t.  Drawn  in  the  flattering  table  other  eye! — 
Hang'd  in  the  frowning  wrinlde  of  her  brow!— 
And  quarter'd  in  her  heart!— he  doth  espy 

Himself  love's  traitor;  This  is  pity  now, 
That   hang'd.  and    drawn,   and   quarter'd,   there 

.should  be. 
In  such  a  love,  so  vile  a  lout  as  he. 

Blanch.  My  uncle's  will,  in  this  respect,  is  mine: 
If  he  see  aught  in  you,  that  makes  him  like. 
That  any  thing  he  sees,  which  moves  his  hking, 
I  can  with  case  translate  it  to  my  will; 
Or,  if  you  will,  (to  speak  more  properly,) 
1  will  entorce  it  easily  to  my  love. 
Further  I  will  not  flatter  you,  my  lord, 
That  all  1  see  in  you  is  worthy  love. 
Than  Ibis— that  nothing  do  I  see  in  you, 
(Though  churlish  thoughts  themselves  should  be 

your  judge,) 
That  1  can  find  should  merit  any  hate. 

K.  John.  What  say  these   young. ones?    What 
say  you,  my  niece? 

Blanch.  That  she  is  bound  in  honor  still  to  do 
What  you  in  wisdom  shall  vouchsafe  to  say. 

A".  Jvhn.  Speak  then,  prince  Dauphin;  can  you 
love  this  lady  ? 

Leu:  Nay,  .ask  me  if  I  can  refrain  from  love; 
For  I  do  love  her  most  unleignedly. 

A'.  John.  Then  I  do  give  Volqucssen,  Touraine, 
Maine, 
Poictiers,  and  Anjou,  these  five  provinces, 
With  her  to  thee;  and  this  addition  more. 
Full  thirty  thousand  marks  of  English  coin. — 


288 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  III. 


Philip  of  Fmnce,  if  thou  be  pleas'd  withal, 
Command  tliy  son  and  daughter  to  join  liands. 

K.  Fhi.  It  likes  us  well ;— Young  princes,  close 
your  hands. 

Amt.  And  your  lips  too;  for,  I  am  well  assured. 
That  I  did  so,  when  I  was  first  assured.' 

A'.  Phi.  Now.  citizens  of  Anglers,  ope  your  gates. 
Let  in  that  amity  which  you  have  made; 
For  at  Saint  ;\Iary's  chapel,  presently. 
The  rites  of  marriage  shall  be  solemuiz'd.^ 
Is  not  the  lady  Constance  in  this  troop!— 
I  know,  she  is  not;  for  this  match,  made  up. 
Her  presence  would  have  interrupted  much:— 
Where  is  she  and  her  son  ?  tell  me,  who  knows. 

Lew.  She  is  sad  and  passionate^at  your  highness' 
lent. 

K.  Phi.  And,  by  my  faith,  this  league,  that  we 
have  made. 
Will  give  her  sadness  very  little  cure. — 
Brother  of  England,  how  "may  we  content 
This  widow  lady  !  In  her  right  we  came: 
Which  we,  God'knows,  have  turn'd  another  way, 
To  our  own  vantage. 

A'.  Jiihn.  We  will  heal  up  all; 

For  well  create  youus  Arthur  duke  of  Bretagne, 
And  carl  of  Richmond;  and  this  rich  lair  town 
We  make  him  lord  of.— Call  the  lady  Constance; 
Some  speedy  messenger  bid  her  repair 
To  our  solemnity:- 1  trust  we  shall. 
If  not  fill  up  the  measure  of  her  will. 
Yet  in  some  measure  satisfy  her  so. 
That  we  shall  stop  her  exclamation. 
Go  we.  as  well  as  haste  will  suller  us. 
To  this  unlook'd  (or  unprepared  pomp. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  the  Bastard.— TAc  Citizens 
retire  from  the  Walls. 

Basi.  Mad  world!  mad  kings!  mad  composition! 


John,  to  stop  Arthur's  title  in  the  whole. 

Hath  willingly  departed  with  a  part: 

And  France,  (whose  armor  conscience  buckled  on; 

Whom  zeal  and  charity  brought  to  the  field, 

As  God's  ovm  soldier,)  rounded'  in  the  ear 

With  that  same  purpose-changer,  that  sly  devil; 

That  broker,  that  still  breaks  the  pate  of  iaith; 

That  daily  break-vow;  he  that  wins  of  all, 

Of  kings,  of  beggars,  old  men,  young  men,  maids;— 

Who  having  no  external  thing  to  loose 

But  the  word  maid, — cheats  the  poor  maid  of  that 

That  smooth-faced  gentleman,  tickhng  commodity, 

Commodity,  the  bias  of  the  world, 

Tlie  world^  who  of  itself  is  pciscd'  well, 

Made  to  run  even,  upon  even  ground ; 

Till  this  advantage,  this  vile  drawing  bias, 

This  sway  of  motion,  this  commodity, 

Makes  it  take  head  from  all  indirtijrency. 

From  all  direction,  purpose,  course,  intent: 

And  this  same  bias,  this  commodity. 

This  bawd,  this  broker,  this  all-changing  word, 

Clapp'd  on  the  outward  eye  of  fickle  France, 

Hath  drawn  him  from  his  own  dctermin'd  aid, 

From  a  resolv'd  and  honorable  war. 

To  a  most  base  and  viie-concluded  peace. — 

And  why  rail  I  on  this  commodityl 

But  for  because  he  hath  not  woo'd  me  yet: 

Not  that  I  have  the  power  to  clutch'  my  hand. 

When  his  fair  angels"  would  salute  my  palm  : 

But  for  my  hand,  as  unattempted  yet. 

Like  a  poor  beggar,  raileth  on  the  rich. 

Well,  whiles  I  am  a  beggar,  I  will  rail. 

And  say, —  there  is  no  sin,  but  to  be  rich; 

And  being  rich,  my  virtue  tl;en  shall  be, 

To  say, — there  is  no  vice  but  beggary; 

Since  kings  break  faith  upon  commodity, 

Gain,  be  my  lord!  tor  I  will  worship  thee!     \_Exit. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— The  French  King's  Teat. 
Enter  Coxstasce,  Arthcr,  and  Salisbury. 

Const.  Gone  to   be  married!  gone  to  swear  a 
peace ! 
False  blood  to  false  blood,  join'd!  Gone  to  be  friends! 
Shall  Lewis  have  Blanch?  and  Blanch  those  pro- 
vinces 1 
It  is  not  so;  thou  hast  mis-spoke,  misheard; 
Be  well  advis'd,  tell  o'er  thy  tale  again: 
It  cannot  be;  thou  dost  but  say,  'tis  so: 
I  trust,  I  may  not  trust  thee;  tor  thy  word 
Is  but  the  vain  breath  of  a  common  man: 
Believe  me,  I  do  not  believe  thee,  man; 
I  liave  a  king's  oath  to  the  contrary. 
Thou  Shalt  be  punish'd  tor  thus  frighting  me, 
For  lam  sick,  and  capable  ^  of  fears ; 
Oppressed  with  wrongs,  and  therefore  full  of  fears; 
A  widow,  husbandless,  subject  to  fears; 
A  woman,  naturally  bom  to  fears; 
And  though  thou  now  confess,  thou  didst  hut  jest 
With  myvex'd  spirits,  I  cannot  take  a  truce. 
But  they  will  quake  and  tremble  all  this  day. 
What  Anal  thou  mean  by  shaking  of  thy  head? 
Why  dost  thou  look  so  sadly  on  my  son? 
What  means  that  hand  upon  that  breast  of  thine? 
Why  holds  thine  eye  that  lamentable  rheum. 
Like  a  proud  river  "peering*  o'er  his  bounds] 
Be  these  sad  signs  confinuers  of  thy  words? 
Then  speak  again;  not  all  thy  former  tale. 
But  this  one  word;  whether  thy  tale  be  true. 

Sal.  As  true,  as,  I  believe,  you  think  tliem  false 
That  give  you  cause  to  prove  my  saying  true. 

Const.  O,  if  thou  teach  me  to  believe  this  sorrow, 
Teach  thou  this  sorrow  how  to  make  me  die; 
And  let  belief  and  life  encoimter  so. 
As  doth  the  fury  of  two  desperate  men. 
Which,  in  the  very  meeting,  fall,  and  die. — 
Lewis  marry  Blanch !  O,  boy.  then  where  art  thou? 
France  friend  with  England!  what  becomes  of  me? — 
Fellow,  be  gone;  I  cannot  brook  thy  slight; 
This  nexvs  hath  made  thee  a  most  ugly  man. 

Sal.  What  other  harm  have  I.  good  lady,  done. 
But  spoke  the  harm  that  is  by  others  done! 

'AfEancetl  2  Mom-nful. 

^Susceptible.  *  Appearing. 


Cimst.  Which  harm  within  itself  so  henious  is, 
As  it  makes  harmful  all  that  speak  of  it. 

Arth.  I  do  beseech  you,  madam,  be  content. 

Ct))isMf  thou,  that  bid'st  me  be  content,  v^'ert  grim, 
Ugly,  and  sland'rous  to  thy  mother's  womb. 
Full  of  unplcasing  blots,  and  sightless'  stains, 
Lame,  foolish,  crooked,  swarth,  prodigiou.s,'' 
Patch'd  with  foul  nwles,  and  e\e-oItiMidi*ng  raarka, 
I  would  not  care,  I  then  would  be  content; 
For  then  I  should  not  love  thee;  no,  nor  thou 
Become  thy  great  birth,  nor  deserve  a  crown. 
But  thou  art  tjiir;  and  at  thy  birth,  dear  boy! 
Nature  and  fortune  join'd  to  make  thee  great: 
Of  nature's  gifts  thou  mayst  with  lilies  boast. 
And  with  the  half-blown  rose:  but  fortune,  O! 
She  is  corrupted,  changed,  and  won  trom  thee; 
She  adulterates  hourly  with  thine  uncle  John; 
And  with  het  golden  hand  hath  pluck'd  on  France 
To  tread  down  fair  respect  of  sovereignty. 
And  made  his  majesty  the  bawd  to  theirs. 
France  is  a  bawd  to  fortune,  and  king  John; 
That  strumpet  fortune,  that  usurping  John:— 
Tell  me,  thou  fellow,  is  not  France  tbrswom? 
Envenom  him  with  words;  or  get  thee  gone, 
And  leave  those  woes  alone,  which  I  alone 
Am  bound  to  under-bear. 

Sal.  Pardon  me.  madam, 

I  may  not  go  without  you  to  the  kings. 

Const.  Thou  mayst,  thou  shalt,  1  will  not  go  with 
thee: 
I  will  instruct  my  sorrows  to  be  proud; 
For  grief  is  prouci,  and  makes  his  owner  stout. 
To  me,  and  to  the  state'  of  my  great  grief. 
Let  kings  assemble;  for  my  grief's  so  great. 
That  no  supporter  but  the  huge  firm  earth 
Can  hold  it  up:  here  I  and  sorrow  sit; 
Here  is  my  throne,  bid  kings  come  bow  to  it.  • 

[She  throws  herself  on  the  ground. 

Enter  Kino  John,  Kixg  Piiilii>,  Lewis,  Blanch, 
Elinob,  Bastard,  Austria,  and  Attendants. 
K.  Phi.  'Tis  true,  fair  daughter;  and  this  blessed 

day 
*  Conspired.  ^  Interest.  '  Poised,  balanced. 

'Clasp.  "Coin.  '  I'nsiglitlv. 

^Monstrous.  ^Biyuity. 


Scene  I. 


KING  JOHN. 


289 


Everin  France  shall  be  kept  festival: 
To  solemnize  this  d:iy,  the  glorious  sun 
Stays  in  his  course,  and  plays  the  alchemist; 
Turning  with  splendor  of  his  precious  eye, 
The  meagre  cloddy  earth  to  glittering  gold: 
The  yearlj-  course,  that  brings  this  day  about, 
Shall  never  sec  it  but  a  iiolyday. 

Const.  A  wicked  day,  and  not  a  holyday ! 

[Rising. 
What  hath  this  day  deservM;  what  hath  it  done; 
That  it  in  golden  letters  should  be  set, 
Among  the  liigh  tides,  in  the  calendar] 
Nay,  rather,  turn  this  day  out  of  the  week; 
This  day  of  shame,  oppression,  perjury: 
Or,  if  it  must  stand  still,  let  wives  with  child 
Pray,  that  their  burdens  may  not  fall  this  day, 
Lest  that  their  hope:  prodigiously  be  cross'd: 
But  on  this  day,  let  seamen  fear  no  wreck. 
No  bargains  break,  that  are  not  this  day  made; 
This  day,  all  things  begun  come  to  ill  end; 
Yea,  faith  itself  to  hollow  falseliood  change! 

K.  Phi.  By  heaven,  lady,  you  shall  have  no  cause 
To  curse  the  fair  proceedings  of  this  day: 
Have  I  not  pawn'd  to  you  my  majesty  1 

Canst.  You  have  bcgniPd  me  with  a  counterfeit. 
Resembling  majesty;  which, being  touch'd and  tried, 
Proves  valueless:  You  are  forsworn,  forsworn; 
You  came  in  arms  to  spill  my  enemies*  blood. 
But  now  in  arms  you  strengthen  it  with  yours: 
The  grappling  vigor  and  rougJi  frown  of  war, 
Is  cold  in  amity  and  painted  peace. 
And  our  oppression  hath  made  up  this  league:— 
Arm.  arm,  you  heavens. agaiiist  these  perjur\ildngs! 
A  widow  cries:  be  husband  to  me.  heavens! 
Let  not  the  hours  of  this  ungodly  day 
Wear  out  the  day  in  peace;  but,  ere  sunset, 
Set  armed  discord  'twixt  these  perjut'd  kings! 
Hear  me,  O,  hear  me! 

Aust.  Lady  Constance,  peace. 

Const.  War!  war!  no  peace!  peace  is  to  me  a  war. 
0  Lymoges!  O  Austria!  thou  dost  siiame 
That  bloody  spoil:  Thou  slave,  thou  wretch,  thou 

coward; 
Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villany ! 
Thou  ever  strong  ui)on  the  stronger  side ! 
Thou  fortune's  chamjiion.  that  dost  never  fight 
But  W'hen  her  humorous  latiyship  is  by 
To  teach  thee  safety!  thou  art  perjur'd  too. 
And  sooth'st  up  greatness.    What  a  fool  art  thou, 
A  ramping  fool;  to  brag,  and  stamp,  and  swear, 
Upon  my  party!  Thou  cold-blooded  slave. 
Hast  thou  not  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  side] 
Been  sworn  my  soldier?  bidding  me  depend 
Upon  thy  stars,  thy  fortune,  and  thy  strength? 
And  dost  thou  now^  tall  over  to  mv  toes? 
Thou  wear  a  lion's  hide!  doflfit'  for  shame. 
And  hang  a  calf's  skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 

Aust.  O,  that  a  man  should  speak  those  words  to 
me! 

Bast.  And  Iiang  a  cali"'s  skin  on  those  recreant 
limbs. 

Aust.  Thou  dar'st  not  say  so  villain,  for  thy  life. 

Bast.  And  hang  a  calf's  skin  on  those  recreant 
limbs. 

K.  John.  We  like  not  this:  thou  dost  forget  thyself. 
Enter  Pandi-lph. 

K.  Phi.  Here'comcs  the  holy  legate  of  the  pope. 

Pund.  Hail,  you  anointed  deputies  of  heaven! — 
To  thee,  king  John,  my  holy  errand  is. 
T  Pandulph,  of  fair  Milan  cardinal. 
And  from  pope  Innocent  the  legate  here, 
Do,  in  his  name,  religiously  demand, 
why  thou  against  the  church,  our  holy  mother. 
So  wilfuly  dost  spurn;  and,  force  pertbrce. 
Keep  Stephen  Langton.  chosen  archbishop 
Of  Canterbury,  from  that  holy  see? 
This  in  our  'Ibresaid  holy  lather's  name, 
Pope  Innocent,  I  do  demand  of  thee. 

K,  John.  V.'hat  earthly  name  to  interrogatories 
Can  task  the  free  breath  of  a  sacred  king? 
Thou  canst  not,  cardinal,  devise  a  name 
So  slight,  unworthy,  and  ridiculous. 
To  charge  me  to  an  answer,  as  the  pope. 
Tell  him  this  tale;  and  from  the  mouth  of  England, 
Add  thus  much  more, — That  no  Itahan  priest 
5hall  tith  or  toll  in  our  dominions; 
But  as  we  under  heaven  are  supreme  head. 


*Val  it  off. 


19 


.So.  under  him,  that  great  supremacy". 
Where  we  do  reign,  we  will  alone  uphold. 
Without  the  assistance  of  a  mortal  hand: 
So  tell  tlie  pope;  all  reverence  set  apart. 
To  him,  and  his  usnrp'd  authority. 

K.  Phi.  Brother  of  England,  you  blaspheme  iij 
this. 

K.  John.  Though  you,  and  all  the  kings  of  Chris- 
tendom, 
.Ire  led  so  grossly  by  this  meddling  priest. 
Dreading  the  curse  that  money  may  buy  out; 
And.  by  the  merit  of  vile  gold,  dross,  dust. 
Purchase  corrupted  pardon  ofa  man. 
Who,  in  that  sale,  sells  pardon  from  himself: 
TJiough  >"ou,  and  all  the  rest,  so  grossly  led. 
This  juggling  witchcraft  with  revenue  cherish ; 
Yet  I.  alone,  alone  do  me  oppose 
Against  the  pope,  and  count  his  fi-iends  my  foes, 

Puml.  Then,  by  the  lawful  power  that  I'have, 
Thou  shalt  stand  curs'd  and  excommunicate; 
.\nd  blessed  shall  he  be,  that  doth  revolt 
From  his  allegiance  to  a  heretic; 
And  meritorious  shall  that  hand  be  calPd, 
Canonized,  and  worship'd  as  a  saint, 
That  take  away  by  any  secret  course 
Thy  hateful  liie. 

Const.  O,  lawful  let  it  be. 

That  I  have  room  with  Rome  to  curse  a  while! 
fiood  lather  cardinal,  cry  thou,  amen. 
To  my  keen  curse;  for,  without  my  WTong, 
There  is  no  tongue  hath  power  to  curse  him  right. 

Paint.  There's  la  wand  warrant,  lady,  ibr  my  curse. 

Const.  .\nd  for  mine  too;  when  law  can  do  no  right, 
Let  it  be  lawful  that  law  bar  no  wrong: 
Law  cannot  give  my  ciiild  his  kingdom  here; 
For  he.  that  holds  his  Idngdom,  holds  the  law: 
Therelbre,  since  law  itself  is  perfect  wrong. 
How  can  the  law  forbid  my  tongue  to  curse? 

Paiid.  Philip  of  France,  on  peril  ofa  curse. 
Let  go  tlie  hand  of  that  arch-heretic; 
And  raise  tlie  power  of  France  upon  his  head. 
Unless  he  do  submit  himself  to  Rome. 

Eli.   Look'st  thou  pale,  France?  do  not  let  go 
thy  hand. 

Const.  Look  to  that,  devil!  lest  tliat  France  re- 
pent. 
And,  by  disjoining  hands,  hell  lose  a  soul. 

Aust.  King  Philip,  listen  to  the  cardinal. 

Bast.  And  hang  a  calf's  skin  on  his  recreant  limbs. 

Aust.   Well,  ruflian,  I    must   pocket  up   these 
wrongs. 
Because 

Ba.st.  Your  breeches  best  may  carry  them. 

K.  John.  Philip,  what  say'st  thou  to  the  cardinal? 

Const.  What  should  he  say,  but  as  the  cardinal? 

Letv.  Bethink  yon,  father:  for  the  ditTerence 
Is.  purchase  ofa  heavy  curse  from  Rome, 
Or  the  ligiu  loss  of  England  for  a  friend: 
Forego  the  easier. 

Blanch.  That's  the  curse  of  Rome. 

Const.  0  Lewis,  stand  last;  the  devil  tempts  Ihce 
here. 
In  likeness  ofa  new  untrimmed  bride. 

Blanch,  the  lady  Constance  speaks  not  from  her 
faith. 
But  from  her  need. 

C(nist.  ,  0,  if  thou  grant  my  need, 

which  only  lives  but  by  the  death  of  faitli. 

That  need  must  needs  infer  this  principle, 

That  faith  would  live  again  by  death  of  need; 

O.  then,  tread  down  my  need,  and  laith  mounts  up; 

Keep  mv  need  up,  and  faith  is  trodden  downi. 

A'.  Jolin.  The  king  is  mov'd.  and  answers  not  to 
this. 

Const.  O,  be  remov'd  from  him,  and  answer  well. 

Aust.  Do  so,  king  Philip;  Jiang  no  more  in  doubt. 

Bast.  Hang  nothing  but  a  calf's  skin,  most  sweet 
lout. 

K.  Phi.  I  am  perplex'd, andlcnownotwhattosaj'. 

Pand.  What  canst  thou  say,  but  will  pcrple,';  thee 
more, 
If  thou  stand  excommunicate,  and  curs'd? 

K.  Phi.  Good  reverend  father,  make  my  person 
yours. 
And  tell"  me,  how  you  would  bestow  yourself. 
This  royal  hand  and  mine  are  newly  knit; 
,\nd  the  conjunction  of  our  inward  souls 
Married  in  league,  coupled  and  link'd  together 
\Vith  all  religious  strength  of  sacred  vows; 
The  latest  breath  that  gave  the  sound  of  words, 


2'.)0 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  III. 


Was  docp-svvom  faith,  peace,  amity,  true  love, 
Between  our  liingdoins,  and  our  royal  selves;     • 
And  even  before  this  trnco,  but  new  before,^ 
No  Junker  than  we  well  could  wasli  our  Iiands, 

To  clap  this  royal  barj^ain  up  of  peace, 

Heaven  Iv'iiows,  they  vi'erc  besmear'd  and  overstainM 

With  slau:<hter^s  pencil;  where  revenge  did  paint 

The  foarl'ul  difference  of  incensed  kings; 

And  shall  these  hands  so  lately  purged  of  blood, 

So  newly  join'd  in  love,  so  strong  in  both, 

Unyoke 'this  seizure,  and  this  kind  regreet !» 

Play  fast  and  loose  witli  faith]  so  jest  with  heaven, 

Make  such  unconstant  children  of  yourselves. 

As  now  again  to  snatch  our  palm  from  palm; 

Unswear  taith  sworn;  and  on  the  marriage  bed 

Of  smiling  peace  to  march  a  bloody  host. 

And  make  a  riot  on  the  gentle  brow 

Of  true  sincerity?  0  holy  sir, 

jMy  reverend  father,  let  it  not  he  so : 

Out  of  your  grace,  clo\isc,  ordain,  impose 

Some  gentle  order;  and  iImii  wc  shall  be  bless'd 

To  do  our  pleasure,  and  contiiuie  friends. 

Pan-t.  All  form  is  lormless,  order  orderless, 
Save  what  is  opposite  to  England's  love. 
Therefore,  to  arms!  be  champion  of  our  church! 
Or  let  the  church,  our  mother,  breathe  her  curse, 
A  mother's  curse,  on  her  revolting  son. 
France,  thou  inayst  hold  a  serpent  by  the  tongue, 
A  cased  lion  by  the  mortal  paw, 
A  fasting  tiger  safer  by  the  tooth, 
Than  keep  in  peace   that  hand  which  thou  dost 
hold. 

K.  Phi.  I  may  disjoin  my  hand,  but  not  my  faith. 

Pan  L  So  mak'st  thou  faith  an  enemy  to  tiiith; 
And,  l)ke  a  civil  war,  sett'st  oath  to  oath, 
Tiiy  loiiguo  against  thy  tongue.    O,  let  thy  vow 
First  m;ule  tu^iieaven,  hrst  be  to  heaven  performM; 
That  is,  to  be  the  champion  of  our  church! 
Wliat  since  thou  swnr'st,  is  sworn  against  thyself. 
And  may  not  be  performed  by  thyself; 
For  that,  which  thou  hast  sworn  to  do  amiss. 
Is  not  atniss  when  it  is  truly  done ; 
And  being  not  done,  where  doing  tends  to  ill. 
The  truth  is  then  most  done  not  doing  it: 
The  better  act  of  purposes  mistook 
Is,  to  mistake  again;  though  indirect, 
Yet  indirection  thereby  grows  direct, 
And  fahsehood,  falsehood  cures;  as  fire  cools  fire. 
Within  the  scorched  veins  of  one  new  burn'd. 
It  is  religion,  that  doth  make  vows  kept; 
But  thou  hast  sworn  against  religion; 
By  what  thou  swear'st,  against  the  thing  thou 

swear'st ; 
And  mak'st  an  oath  the  surety  for  thy  truth 
Against  an  oath :  Tlie  truth  thou  art  unsure 
To  swear,  swear  only  not  to  be  forsworn  : 
Else,  what  a  mockery  should  it  be  to  swear? 
But  tliou  dost  swear  only  to  be  forsworn; 
And  most  Ibrsworn,  to  keep  what  thou  dost  swear. 
Therefore,  thy  latter  vows,  against  thy  first. 
Is  in  thyself  rebellion  to  thyself: 
And  better  conquest  never  canst  thou  make, 
Than  arm  thy  constant  and  thy  nobler  parts 
Against  those  giddy  loose  suggestions: 
Upon  which  better  part  our  prayers  cotne  in. 
If  thou  vouchsale  tiiem;  lint,  if  not,  then  know. 
The  peril  of  our  curses  light  on  thee  ; 
So  heavy,  as  thou  shalt  not  shake  them  olT, 
But,  in  despair,  die  under  their  lilack  weight. 

Aiisl.  Rebellion,  flat  rebellion! 

B«.•^^  Will't  not  be  ? 

Will  not  a  calf's  skin  stop  that  inouth  of  thine  ! 

Lew  Father,  to  arms! 

Blanch.  Upon  thy  wedding  day! 

Against  the  blood  that  thou  hast  married? 
What,  shall  our  feast  be  kept  with  slaughter'd 

men? 
Shall  braying  trumpets,  and  loud  churlish  drums, — 
Clami/rs  of  hell, — be  measures"  to  our  pomp? 
O,  husband,  hear  me! — ah,  alack,  how  now 
Is  hnsliiind  in  my  mouth! — even  for  that  name, 
Whicli  till  this  time  my  tongue  did  ne'er  jn'onounce, 
Upon  my  knee  I  beg,  go  not  to  arms 
Against  mine  uncle. 

CVj«.s7.  0,  upon  my  knee, 

Madi\  hard  with  kneeling,  I  do  pray  to  thee. 
Thou  virtuous  Dauphin,  alter  not  the  doom 
Fore-thought  by  heaven. 


*  Exchange  of  salutation. 


^  Music  for  tlancing. 


Blanch.  Now  shall  I  see  thy  love;  what  motive 
may 
Be  stronger  with  thee  than  the  name  of  wife? 
Co?ist.  That  which  uplioldeth  him  tliat  thee  up- 
holds. 
His  honor;  O,  thine  hoifor,  Lewas,  thine  honor! 

Lca\  I  muse,'  your  majesty  doth  seem  so  cold. 
When  such  profound  respects  do  pull  you  on. 
Paiid.  I  will  denounce  a  curse  upon  his  head. 
K.  Phi.  Thou  Shalt  not  need:— England,  I'll  fall 

from  thee. 
Const.  0  fair  return  of  banish 'd  majesty! 
Ell.  O  foul  revolt  of  French  inconstancy! 
A".  John.  France,  thou  shalt  rue  this  hour  within 

this  hour. 
Bast.  Old  Time,  the  clock-setter,  that  bald  sexton 
Time, 
Is  it  as  he  will?  well  then,  France  shall  rue. 
Blanch.  The  sun's o'ercast  with  blood;  Fair  dfiy, 
adieu! 
Which  IS  the  side  that  I  must  go  withal? 
I  am  with  both:  each  army  hath  a  hand;     " 
And,  in  their  rage,  I  having  hold  of  both. 
They  whirl  asunder,  and  dismember  me. 
Husband,  I  cannot  pray  that  thou  mayst  win; 
Uncle,  1  needs  must  pray  that  thou  mayst  lose; 
Father,  I  may  not  wish  ihc  fortune  thine; 
Oraudam,  I  will  not  wish  thy  wishes  thrive: 
Whoever  wins,  on  that  side  shall  I  lose; 
Assured  loss  belijre  the  match  be  play'd. 
Lew.  Lady,  with  me;  with  me  thy  Ibrtune  lies. 
Blanch.  There  where  my  fortiuie  lives,  there  my 

life  dies. 
K.  John.  Cousin,  go  draw  our  puissance®  to- 
gether.—  [Exit  Bastard. 
France,  I  am  burn'd  up  with  inflaming  wrath; 
A  rage,  whose  heat  hath  this  condition, 
Thaf  nothing  can  allay,  nothing  but  blood, 
The  blood,  and  dearest-valued  blood  of  France. 
K.  Phi.  Thy  rage  shall  bum  thee  up,  and  thou 
shalt  turn 
To  ashes,  ere  our  blood  shall  quench  that  fire: 
Look  to  thyself,  thou  art  in  jeopardy. 
K.  John.  No  more   tlian    he  that  threats. — To 
arms  let's  hie!  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.~Plains  near  Anglers. 

Alarums;  E.vcursions.    Enter  the  Bastard,  iixith 
ArSTKiA's  hear!. 

Bast.  Now,  by  my  life,  this  day  grows  wondrous 
hot; 
Some  airy  devil  hovers  in  the  sky, 
And  pours  down  mischief.  Austria's  head  lie  there, 
While  Piiilip  breathes. 

Enter  Kmr,  John,  Arthur,  and  Hobert. 

A'.  JoA;;.  Hubert,  keep  this  boy: — Philip,  make  up 
My  mother  is  assailed  in  our  tent. 
And  ta'en,  I  fear. 

Btts/.  My  lord,  I  rescued  her; 

Her  highness  is  in  safety,  fear  you  not: 
But  on,  my  liege:  for  very  little  pains 
Will  bring  this  labor  to  a  happy  end.         [Exeunt 

SCENE  in.— The  same. 

Alnrums;  Excursinns;  Retreat.  £n/er  KtNG  John, 
Elinor.  Arthur,  the  Bastard,  HuCekt,  and  Lords. 

A'.  John.  So  shall  it  be;  your  grace  shall  stay 
behind,  [To  Elinor. 

So  strongly  guarded. — Cousin,  look  not  sad: 

[To  Arthur. 
Thy  grandam  loves  thee;  and  thy  uncle  will 
As  dear  be  to  thee  as  thy  father  was.' 

Arth.  O,  this  will  make  my  mother  die  with  grief. 

A'.  John.  Cousin,    [To,  the  Bastard,]   away  for 
England;  haste  before: 
And  ere  our  coming,  see  thou  shake  the  bags 
Of  hoarding  abbots;  angels^  imprison'd 
Set  thou  at  liberty:  the  Hit  ribs  of  pence 
Must  by  the  hungry  now  be  fed  upon: 
Use  our  commission  in  its  utmost  force. 

Bast.  Bell,  book,  and  candle  shall  not  drive  me 
back, 
When  gold  and  silver  becks  me  to  come  on. 
I  leave  your  highness: — Grandam,  I  will  pray 
(If  ever  I  remember  to  be  holy) 
For  your  fair  safety;  so  I  Idss  your  hand. 


'  Wonder. 


^Forces. 


"Gold  COIQ. 


Scene  IV. 


KIXG  JOHN. 


291 


Eli.  Farewell,  my  gentle  cousin. 

K.  John.  Coz,  faiewell. 

[Lxii  Bastard. 

Hi.  Come  hither,  little  kinsman;  hark,  a  word. 
[t>/ie  lakes  Authck  asitit 

K.  Jckn.  Come   hither,  Hubert.    O   my  gentle 
i'lubert, 
Wc  owe  thee  much;  within  this  wall  of  flesh 
There  .s  a  sii.!,  comits  tliee  licr  ercditor, 
And  with  advantage  means  to  pay  thy  love: 
And,  my  aooo  friend,  thy  volnntairy  oath 
Lives  in  this  bosom,  dearly  cherished. 
Give  me  thy  liand.    I  had  a  thing  to  say,— 
But  I  will  lit  it  with  some  better  lime. 
By  heaven,  Hu!)crt,  1  am  almost  ashamed 
To  say  what  good  respect  I  have  of  thee. 

Hull.  1  am  much  boundcn  to  your  majesty. 

A'.  JuKn.  Good  friend,  tliou  hast  no  cause  to  say 
so  yet: 
But  thou  shall  have;  and  creep  time  ne'er  so  slow. 
Yet  it  sliall  come,  for  nic  to  do  thee  good. 
I  had^  thing  to  say, — but  let  it  go: 
The  sun  is  in  the  heaven,  and  the  proud  day, 
Attended  witli  the  pleasures  of  the  world, 
Is  all  too  wanton,  and  too  full  of  gawds,' 
To  give  me  audience: — If  the  midnight  bell 
Did,  with  his  iron  tongue  and  brazen  mouth, 
Sound  one  unto  the  drowsy  race  of  night ; 
If  this  same  were  a  church-yard  where  we  stand. 
And  thou  possessed  with  a  thousand  wiongs; 
Or  if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy. 
Had  bak'd  thy  blood,  and  made  it  heavy,  thick; 
(Which,  else,  runs  tickling  up  and  down  th-.  veins, 
Making  that  idiot,  laughter,  keep  men's  eyes. 
And  strain  their  cheeks  to  idle  merriment, 
A  passion  liateful  to  my  purposes;) 
Or  if  that  thou  couldst  see  me  without  eyes. 
Hear  mc  without  thine  ears,  and  make  reply 
Without  a  tongue,  using  conceit'  alone. 
Without  eyes,  ears,  and  harmful  sound  ofwoiJs 
Then,  in  despite  of  brooded  watchful  day, 
I  would  into  thy  bosom  pour  my  thoughts: 
But,  ah,  I  will  not:— Yet  I  love  thee  well; 
And,  by  my  troth,  I  tliink  tliou  lov'st  me  well. 

Hubl  So  well,  that  what  you  bid  me  undertake. 
Though  that  my  death  were  adjunct'  to  my  act. 
By  heaven,  I'd  do't. 

A'.  Jvhn.  Do  not  I  know,  thou  wouldsf! 

Good  Hubert,  Hubert,  Hubert,  throw  thine  eye 
On  yon  young  boy:  I'll  tell  thee  what,  my  friend, 
He  IS  a  very  serpent  in  my  way; 
And,  whercsoe'er  this  foot  of  mine  doth  tread. 
He  Ues  before  me;  Dost  thou  understand  mel 
Thou  art  his  keeper. 

Huh.  .\nd  I  will  keep  him  so, 

That  he  shall  not  offend  your  majesty. 

K.  John.  Death. 

Hub.  Jly  >"«i ! 

K.  John.  A  grave. 

Huh.  He  shall  not  live. 

A".  Joh7i.  Enough. 

I  could  be  merry  now:  Hubert,  I  love  thee; 
Well,  I'll  not  say  what  1  intend  for  thee; 

Remember. Madam,  fare  you  well; 

I'll  send  those  powers  o'er  to  your  majesty. 

Eli.  My  blessing  go  with  thee! 

K.  John.  For  England,  cousin : 

Hubert  shall  be  your  man,  attend  on  you 
With  aU  true  duty.— On  toward  Calais,  ho! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— TAe  same.  The  French  King's  Tent. 

Enter  Kixa  Philip,  Lsms,  Pandcxph,  and 
Attendants. 

K.  Phi.  So,  hy  a  roaring  tempest  on  the  flood, 
A  whole  armado^  of  convicted*  sail 
Is  scatter'd  and  disjoin'd  from  fellowship. 

Pand.  Courage  and  comfort!  all  shall  yetgowell. 

K.  PhL  What  can  go  well,  when  we  have  run 
so  ill? 
Are  we  not  beaten  1  Is  not  Anglers  lost? 
Arthur  ta'en  prisoner  !  divers  dear  friends  slain? 
And  bloody  England  into  England  gone, 
O'erbearing  interruption,  spite  of  France? 

Lew    What  he  hath  won,  that  hath  he  fortified; 
So  hoi  a  speed  with  such  advice  dispos'd. 


1  Showy  ornaments.         2  Conception. 
'  Fleet  of  war.  '  Overcome. 


3  Joined. 


Such  temperate  order  in  so  fierce  a  cause. 
Doth  want  example  :  Who  hath  read,  or  heard. 
Of  any  kindred  action  like  to  this? 
AT.  Phi.  Well  could  I  bear  that  England  had  this 
praise, 
So  wo  could  fmd  some  pattern  of  our  shame. 

Enter  Constance. 
Look,  who  comes  here!  a  grave  unto  a  soul; 
Holding  the  eternal  spirit,  against  her  will, 
In  the  vile  prison  of  afflicted  breath: — 
I  pr'ythee,  lady,  go  away  with  me. 

f'a:iM.  Lo,  now'!  now  see  the  issue  of  your  peace! 

K.   Phi.    Patience,  good  lady !   comfort,  gentle 
Constance! 

Const.  No,  I  defy*  all  counsel,  all  redress. 
But  that  which  ends  all  counsel,  true  redress, 
Death,  death: — 0  amiable  lovely  Death! 
Thou  odoriferous  stench!  sound  rottenness! 
Arise  forth  from  the  couch  of  lasting  night, 
Thou  hate  and  terror  to  prosperity. 
And  I  will  kiss  thy  detestable  bones; 
And  put  my  eye- balls  in  thy  vaulty  brows; 
And  ring  these  fingers  with  thy  household  worms; 
And  stop  this  gap  of  breath  with  fulsome  dust, 
And  be  a  carrion  monster  like  thyself: 
Come,  grin  on  me,  and  I  will  think  thou  smil'st. 
And  buss  thee  as  thy  wile!  Misery's  love, 
O,  come  to  me. 

A'.  Phi.  O  fair  affliction,  peace. 

Const.  No,  no,  I  will  not,  having  breath  to  cry:— 

0  tliat  my  tongue  were  in  the  thunder's  mouth! 
Then  with  a  passion  would  I  shako  the  world; 
And  rouse  from  sleep  that  fell  anatomy, 
Which  cannot  hear  a  lady's  feeble  voice, 
Which  scorns  a  modern'  invocation. 

Pand.  Lady,  you  utter  madness,  and  not  sorrow 
Const.  Thou  art  not  holy  lo  belie  me  so; 

1  am  not  mad:  this  hair  I  tear,  is  mine; 

My  name  is  Constance;  I  was  Geftrey's  wife; 
Young  Arthur  is  my  son,  and  he  is  lost: 
1  am  fiot  mad;  I  would  to  heaven,  I  were! 
For  then,  'tis  like  I  slmuld  forget  myself: 
O,  if  I  could,  wluit  grief  should  I  forget! — 
Preach  some  philosopliy  to  make  me  mad, 
A.id  thou  shall  be  canohiz'd,  cardinal; 
For,  being  not  mad,  but  sensible  of  grief. 
My  reasonable  part  produces  reason 
How  I  .iiay  be  deliver'd  of  these  woes. 
And  teaches  me  to  kill  or  hang  myself: 
If  I  were  mad.  I  .should  forget  my  son: 
Or  madly  think,  a  babe  of  clouts  were  he: 
I  am  not  mad;  too  well,  too  well  I  feel 
The  different  plague  of  each  calamity. 

K.  Phi.  Bind  up  th.^se  tresses:  0,  what  love  I  note 
In  the  fair  multitude  of  those  her  hairs! 
Where  but  by  chance  a  silver  drop  hath  fallen. 
Even  to  that  'drop  ten  thousand  wiry  friends 
Do  glue  themselves  in  sociable  grief; 
Like  true,  inseparable,  faithful  loves. 
Sticking  together  in  calamity. 

Comf.  To  England,  if  you  will. 

A'.  Phi.  Bind  up  your  hairs. 

Const.  Yes,   that   I   will;  and  wherefore  will  I 
do  it? 
I  tore  them  from  their  bonds:  and  cried  aloud, 

0  tliat  the.ie  hands  could  so  redeem  my  son. 
As  they  have  ^ivcn  these  hairs  their  liberty! 
But  now  I  envy  at  their  liberty. 

And  will  again  commit  them  to  their  bonds, 

Because  my  poor  child  is  a  prisoner. 

And,  lather  cardinal.  I  have  heard  you  say. 

That  we  shall  see  and  kTiow  our  friends  in  heaven; 

If  that  be  true,  I  shall  see  mv  boy  again : 

For  since  the  birth  of  Cain,  the  first  male  child. 

To  him  that  did  but  yesterday  suspire,* 

There  was  not  such  a  gracious"  creature  born. 

But  now  will  canker  sorrow  eat  my  bud. 

And  chase  the  native  beauty  from  his  check. 

And  he  will  look  as  liollow  as  a  ghost; 

As  dim  and  meagre  as  an  ague's  fit; 

And  so  he'll  die;  and,  rising  so  again. 

When  1  shall  meet  him  in  tlie  court  of  heaven 

1  shall  not  Iniow  him:  therefore  never,  never 
Must  1  behold  my  pretty  Arthur  more. 

Pand.  You  hold  too  henious  a  respect  of  grief. 

Const.  He  talks  to  me  that  never  had  a  son. 

A'.  Phi.  You  are  as  fond  of  grief,  as  of  your  child. 

« Refuse.       'Common         sjjreathe.       o  Graceful. 


292 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  IV. 


Const.  Grief  Alls  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me; 
Puts  on  Ins  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words, 
Remembers  me  of  all  his  gracious  parts. 
Studs  out  his  vacant  garments  with  his  fonn; 
Tf  Ml  have  I  reason  to  be  fond  of  grief. 
I'are  you  well:  had  you  such  a  loss  as  I, 
I  could  give  better  comfort  than  you  do.— 
I  will  not  keep  this  form  upon  my  head, 

[Tearing  off  her  head-dress. 
When  there  is  such  disorder  in  my  wit. 
O  lord,  my  boy,  my  Arthur,  my  fair  son ! 
My  life,  my  joy,  my  food,  my  all  the  world  ! 
Mv  widovv-corhfort,  and  my  sorrow's  cure.     [Ei-U. 
K.  Phi.  I  fear  some  outrage,  and  I'll  follow  her. 

[Exit. 
Lew.  There's  nothing  in  tliis  world  can  make 
me  joy: 
Life  IS  as  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale. 
Vexing  the  dull  ear  of  a  drowsy  man; 
And  bitter  shame  hath  spoil'd  the  sweet  world's 

taste. 
That  it  yields  nought  but  shame  and  bitterness. 

Pand.  Before  the  curing  of  a  strong  disease, 
Even  in  the  instant  of  repair  and  healt'i. 
The  fit  is  strongest;  evils  that  take  leave, 
On  their  departure  most  of  all  show  evil: 
What  have  you  lost,  by  losing  of  this  day? 
Lew.  All  clays  of  glory,  joy,  and  happiness. 
Pand.  If  you  had  vcon  it,  certainly  you  had. 
No,  no:  when  fortune  means  to  men  most  good, 
She  looks  upon  them  with  a  threatening  eye. 
'lis  strange,  to  think  how  much  King  John  hath 

lost 
In  this  which  he  accounts  so  clearly  won: 
Are  not  you  griev'd  that  Arthur  is  his  prisoner? 
Lew.  As  heartily  as  he  is  glad  he  hath  him. 
Pand.  Your  mind  is  all  as  youthful  as  your  blood. 
Now  hear  me  speak  with  a  prophetic  spirit ; 
For  even  the  breath  of  what  I  mean  to  speak 
Sh.Ul  blow  each  dust,  each  straw,  each  little  rub. 
Out  of  the  path  which  shall  directly  lead 
Thy  foot  to  England's  throne;  and,  therefore,  mark: 
John  hath  seiz'd  Arthur;  and  it  cannot  be, 
That,  whiles  warm  lite  plays  in  that  infant's  veins, 
The  misplaced  John  should  entertain  an  hour. 
One  minute,  nay,  one  quiet  breath  of  rest: 
A  sceptre  snatch'd  with  an  unruly  hand, 
Must  be  as  boisterously  maintain'd  as  gain'd: 
And  he  that  stands  upon  a  slippery  place, 


Makes  nice  of  no  vde  hold  to  stay  him  uji: 
Tliat  John  may  stand,  tlien  Arthur  needs  must  fall' 
So  be  it,  ibr  it  cannot  be  but  so. 
Lew.  But  what  shall  I  gain  by  young  Arthur's 

fall! 
Pand.  You,  in  the  right  of  lady  Blanch,  your  wife, 
May  then  malie  all  the  claim  that  Arthur  did. 
Lew.  .\nd  lose  it,  life  and  all,  as  Arthur  did. 
Pand.  How  green  are  you,  and  fresh  in  this  old 
world! 
John  lays  you  plots;  the  times  conspire  will  jou: 
For  he  that  steeps  his  safety  in  true  blood, 
Shall  find  but  bloody  safety,  and  untrue. 
This  act,  so  erilly  born,  shall  cool  the  hearts 
Of  all  his  people,  and  freeze  up  their  zeal; 
That  none  so  small  advantage  shall  step  forth, 
To  check  his  reign,  but  they  will  cherish  it: 
\o  natural  exhalation  in  the  sky. 
No  scape  of  nature,  no  distemper'd  day, 
No  common  wind,  no  customed  event. 
But  they  will  pluck  away  his  natural  cause, 
And  call  them  meteors,  prodigies,  and  signs, 
Abortives,  presages,  and  tongues  of  heaven, 
Plainly  denouncing  vengeance  upon  John. 
Lew.  May  be,  he  will  not  touch  young  Arthur's 
life, 
But  holds  himself  fcoie.in  his  prisonment. 

Pa«^i.  O,  sir,  when  he  shall  hear  of  our  approach, 
If  that  young  Arthur  be  not  gonemlready. 
Even  at  that  news  he  dies:  and  then  the  heart 
Of  all  his  people  shall  revolt  fi-om  him, 
.\nd  kiss  the  lips  of  unacquainted  change: 
And  pick  strong  matter  of  revolt  and  wrath, 
but  of  the  bloody  fingers'  ends  of  John. 
Methinks,  I  see  this  burly  all  on  foot; 
And,  0,  what  better  matter  breeds  for  you. 
Than  I  have  named!— The  bastard  Fuuleonbridge 
Is  now  in  England,  ransacking  the  church, 
Otiending  charity :  If  but  a  dozen  French 
Were  there  in  arms,  they  would  be  as  a  call 
To  tram  ten  thousand  English  to  their  side; 
Or,  as  a  little  snow,  tumbled  about. 
Anon  becomes  a  mountain.    O  noble  Dauphin, 
Go  with  me  to  the  king :  ' Tis  wonderful. 
What  may  be  wrought  out  of  their  discontent: 
Now  that  their  souls  are  topful  of  otlence. 
For  England  go ;  I  will  whet  on  the  king. 
Lew.  Strong  reasons  make  strong  actions;  Let 
us  go; 
If  you  say,  "ay,  the  king  will  not  say,  no.    [Exeunt. 


ACT  W. 


SCENE  I.— Nortliampton.  A  Room  m  the  Castle. 

Enter  Hubert  and  two  Attendants. 
Hub.  Heat  me  these  irons  hot:  and  look  thou 
stand 
Within  the  arras:'  when  I  strike  ray  foot 
Upon  the  bosom  of  the  ground,  rush  forth  : 
And  bind  the  boy,  which  you  shall  find  with  me. 
Fast  to  the  chair:  be  heedful:  hence,  and  watch. 
]  Attend.  I  hope  your  warrant  will  bear  out  the 

deed. 
Hub.  Uncleanly  scruples!  Fear  not  you:  look 
to't. —      '  [Exeunt  Attendants. 

Young  lad,  come  forth;  I  Iiave  to  say  with  you. 
Eiiter  Arthcr. 

Arth.  Good-morrow,  Hubert. 

Huh.  Good-morroiv,  little  prince. 

Arth.  As  little  prince  (having  so  great  a  title 
To  be  more  prince)  as  may  be.— You  are  sad. 

Huh.  Indeed,  I  have  been  merrier. 

Arth,.  Mercy  on  me! 

Methinks,  no  body  should  be  sad  but  I : 
Yet  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  France, 
Y'oung  gentlemen  would  be  as  sad  as  night, 
Only  for  wantonness.    By  my  Christendom, 
So  I  were  out  of  prison  and  kept  sheep, 
I  should  be  merry  as  the  day  is  long; 
And  so  I  would  be  here,  but  that  I  doubt 
My  uncle  practises  more  harm  to  me  : 
He  is  afraid  of  me,  and  I  of  him: 

1  Tapestry. 


Is  it  my  fault  that  I  was  Geffrey's  son? 

No,  indeed,  is't  not;  And  I  would  to  heaven, 

I  were  your  son,  so  you  would  love  me,  Hubert. 

Hub.  If  I  talk  to  him,  with  his  innocent  prate 
He  will  awake  my  mercy  which  lies  dead: 
Therefore,  I  will  be  sudden  and  despatch.     [Aside. 

Arth.  Are  you  sick,  Hubert!   you  look  pale  to 
day : 
In  sooth,  I  would  you  were  a  little  sick. 
That  I  miglit  sit  all  night,  and  watch  with  you: 
I  warrant  I  love  you  more  than  you  do  me. 

Hub.  His  words  do  take  jiossession  of  my  bosom. 
Read  here,  young  Arthur.  [Hhowins  a  paper.]  How 
now,  foolish  rheum !  [^ride. 

Turning  dispiteous  torture  out  of  door! 
I  must  be  brief;  lest  resolution  drop 
Out  at  mine  eyes,  in  tender  womanish  tears. — 
Can  you  not  read  it?  is  it  not  fair  writ? 

Arth.  Too  fairly,  Hubert,  for  so  foul  eflijct: 
Must  you  witli  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes? 

Huh.  Young  boy,  I  must. 

Arth.  And  will  you  ? 

Hub.  And  I  will. 

Arth.  Have  you  the  heart?  When  your  head  did 
but  ache, 
I  kmit  my  handkerchief  about  your  brows, 
(The  best  I  had,  a  princess  wrought  it  me,) 
And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  aaain: 
,\nd  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  hef.d, 
And,  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour. 
Still  and  anon  cheer'd  up  the  heavy  time; 
Saying,  What  lack  you?  and.  Where  lies  your  grief? 


Scene  II. 


KING  JOHN. 


293 


Or,  What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  5-ou  ? 
Many  a  jioor  man's  son  would  have  lain  still 
And  ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you; 
But  you  at  your  sick  service  liad  a  prince. 
Nay,  you  may  think  my  love  was  crafty  love, 
And  calling  it  cunning;  Do,  an  il'you  will: 
If  heaven  be  pleas'd  that  you  must  use  me  ill, 
Why,  then  you  must. — Will  you  put  out  mine  eyes'! 
These  eyes,  that  never  did,  nor  never  shall, 
So  much  as  frown  on  you? 

Hub.  I  have  sworn  to  do  it; 

And  with  hot  irons  must  I  burn  them  out. 

Arfh.  Ah,  none,  but  in  this  iron  age.  would  do  it! 
The  iron  ofitself,  though  heat  red-hot. 
Approaching  near  these  eyes,  would  drink  my  tears, 
And  quench  his  fiery  indignation, 
Even  in  the  matter  of  mine  innocence: 
Nay,  after  that,  consume  away  in  rust, 
But  for  containing  fire  to  harm  mine  eye. 
Are  you  more  stubljorn-hard  than  hanimer'd  iron? 
An  if  an  angel  should  have  come  to  me. 
And  told  me,  Hubert  should  put  out  mine  eyes, 
I  would  not  have  believ'd  no  tongue,  but  Hubert's. 

Hub.  Come  forth.  [H/amps. 

Re-enter  Attendants,  zvith  Cord,  Irons,  <Sc. 

Do  as  I  bid  you  do. 

Artk.  0,  .save  me,  Hubert,  save  me!  my  eyes 
are  out. 
Even  with  the  tierce  looks  of  these  bloody  men. 

Hub.  Give  me  the  iron,  I  say,  and  bind  iiim  here. 

Arth.  Alas!  what  need  you  be  so  boist'rous  rough? 
I  will  not  struggle,  I  will  stand  stone-still. 
For  heaven's  sake,  Hubert,  let  me  not  be  bound! 
jVay,  hear  me,  Hubert !  drive  these  men  aw  ay, 
And  I  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb; 
I  will  not  stir,  nor  wince,  nor  speak  a  word, 
Nor  look  upon  the  iron  angerly; 
Thrust  but  these  men  away,  and  I'll  forgive  you. 
Whatever  torment  you  do  put  me  to. 

Hub.  Go,  stand  within;  let  me  alone  with  him. 

1  Attend.  I  am  best  pleas'd  to  be  from  such  a 
deed.  [Exeunt  Attendants. 

Artli.  Alas!  I  then  have  chid  away  my  friend; 
He  hath  a  stem  look,  but  a  gentle  heart: — 
Let  him  come  back,  that  his  compassion  may 
Give  life  to  yours. 

Huh.  Come,  boy,  prepare  yourself. 

Art/i.  Is  there  no  remedy? 

Hub.  None,  but  to  lose  your  eyes. 

Artft.  0  heaven! — that  there  w-ere  but  a  mote  in 
yours, 
A  grain,  a  dust,  a  gnat,  a  wand'ring  hair. 
Any  annoyance  in  that  precious  sense! 
Then,  feeling  what  small  thingsarc  boist'rous  there. 
Your  vile  intent  must  needs  seem  horrible. 

Hub.  Is  this  your  promise?  go  to,  hold  your 
tongue. 

Artli.  Hubert,  the  ntteranceofa  brace  of  tongues 
Must  needs  want  pleading  for  a  pair  of  eyes: 
Let  me  not  hold  my  tongue;  let  me  not,  Hubert! 
Or,  Hubert,  if  you  will,  cut  out  my  tongue. 
So  I  may  keep  mine  eyes;  0,  spare  mine  eyes; 
Though  to  no  use,  but  still  to  look  on  you! 
Lo,  by  my  troth,  the  instrument  is  cold, 
And  would  not  harm  me. 

Hub.  I  can  heat  it,  boy. 

Artli.  No.  in  good  sooth :  the  fire  is  dead  with  grief, 
Being  create  lor  comibrt,  to  be  used 
In  uhdeserv'd  extremes :»  See  else,  yourself; 
There  is  no  malice  in  this  burning  coal; 
The  breath  of  heaven  hath  blown  his  spirit  out, 
And  strew'd  repentant  ashes  on  his  head. 

Hub.  But  with  my  breath  I  can  revive  it,  boy. 

Artli.  And  if  you  do,  you  will  but  make  if  blush. 
And  glow  with  shame  of  your  proceedings,  Hubert: 
Nay,  It,  perchance,  will  sparkle  in  your  eyes; 
.\nd,  like  a  dog  that  is  compell'd  to  light. 
Snatch  at  his  master  that  doth  tarre'  him  on. 
All  things,  that  you  should  use  to  do  me  wrong, 
iJeny  their  office:  only  you  do  lack 
That  mercy,  which  tierce  fire,  and  iron,  extends, 
Creatures  of  note,  for  mercy-lacking  uses. 

Hub.  Well,  see  to  live;  I  will  not  touch  thine  eyes 
Fcr  all  the  treasure  that  thine  uncle  owes:* 
Yet  am  I  sworn,  and  I  did  purpose,  boy, 
With  this  same  very  iron  to  burn  them  out. 


'Tn  cruelty  I  have  not  deserved. 
"Set  him  on. 


•Owns. 


Arth.  O,  now  you  look  like  Hubert !  all  this  while 
You  were  disguised. 

Hub.  Peace:  no  more.    Adieu; 

Your  uncle  must  not  know  but  you  are  dead: 
I'll  fill  these  dogged  spies  with  lalse  reports. 
And,  pretty  child,  sleep  doubtless,  and  secure. 
That  Hubert,  for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world, 
Will  not  ollend  thee. 

Arth.  O  heaven! — I  thank  you,  Hubert. 

Hub.  Silence;  no  more:  Go  closely^  in  with  rae; 
Much  danger  do  I  undergo  for  thee.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— .4  Rootn  if  State  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Joh.v,  crowned,-  Pembroke,  SALisnruY, 
and  other  Lords.    The  King  takes  his  Utalc. 

K.  John.  Here  once  again  we  sit,  once  again 

•  crown'd. 

And  look'd  upon,  I  hope,  with  cheerful  eyes. 

Pent.  This  once  again,  but  that  your  highness 
pleas'd. 
Was  once  superlluous:  you  were  crown'd  before. 
And  that  high  royalty  was  ne'er  pluck'd  oil'; 
The  faiths  oi'men  ne^er  stained  with  revolt; 
Fresh  expectation  troubled  not  the  land. 
With  any  long'd-for  change,  or  better  state. 

Sal.  Therefore,  to  be  posscss'd  with  double  pomp. 
To  guard "^  a  title  that  was  rich  before, 
To  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  Ldy, 
To  throw  a  perfume  on  the  violet. 
To  smooth  the  ice,  or  add  another  hue 
ITnto  the  rainbow,  or  with  taper-light 
To  seek  the  beauteous  eye  ol  heaven  to  garnish,' 
Is  wasteful,  and  ridiculous  excess. 

Pent.    Hut  that   your  royal  pleasure   must  be 
done, 
This  act  is  as  an  ancient  tale  new  told ; 
And,  in  the  last  repeating,  troublesome, 
Being  urged  at  a  tune  unseasonable. 

SV//.  In  this  the  antique  and  well-noted  face 
Of  plain  old  form  is  ranch  disfigured: 
And,  like  a  shifted  wind  unto  a  sail. 
It  makes  the  course  of  thoughts  to  fetch  about: 
Startles  and  frights  consideration; 
Makes  sound  opinion  sick,  and  truth  suspected, 
For  putting  on  so  new  a  fashion'd  robe. 

Pent.  When  workmen  strive  to  do  better  than  well, 
They  do  confound  their  skill  in  covetousness:** 
And",  oftentimes,  excusing  of  a  lault. 
Doth  make  the  liiult  the  worse  by  the  excuse; 
As  patches  set  upon  a  little  breach. 
Discredit  more  in  hiding  of  the  lault. 
Than  did  the  fault  before  it  was  so  patch'd. 

Sal.  To  Ibis  etfect  belbre  you  were  new  crown'd. 
We    brealh'd    our  counsel:   but  it  plcas"d    your 

highness 
To  overbear  it;  and  we  are  all  well  pleas'd; 
Since  al!  and  every  part  of  what  we  would. 
Doth  make  a  stand  at  what  your  highness  will. 

A'.  John.  Some  reasons  of  this  double  coronation 
I  have  posscs'd  you  with,  and  think  them  strong; 
And  more,  more  strong,  (when  lesser  is  my  fear,) 
I  shall  indue  you  with:  Jlean  time,  but  a.sk 
What  you  would  have  relbrm'd  that  is  not  well; 
And  well  shall  you  perceive,  how  willingly 
I  will  both  hear  and  grant  you  your  requests. 

Pern.  Then  I,  (as  one  that  am  the  tongue  of  tiiese 
To  sound^  the  purjioses  of  all  their  hearts,) 
Both  for  myself  and  them,  (but  chief  of  all. 
Your  safety,  for  the  which  myself  and  them 
Bend  their  best  studies,)  heartily  request 
The  enfranchisement  of  Arthur;  whose  restraint 
Doth  move  the  murmuring  lips  of  discontent 
To  break  into  this  dangerous  argument, — 
If,  what  in  rest  you  have,  in  right  you  hold. 
Why  then  your  fears,  (which,  as  they  say,  attend 
The  steps  of  wrong.)  should  move  you  to  mew  up 
Your  tender  kinsman,  and  to  choke  his  days 
With  barbarous  ignorance,  and  deny  his  youtll 
The  rich  advantage  of  good  exercise? 
That  the  time's  enemies  may  not  have  this 
To  grace  occasions,  let  it  be  our  suit. 
That  you  have  bid  us  ask  his  liberty; 
Which  for  our  goods  we  do  no  further  ask. 
Than  whereupon  our  weal,  on  you  depending. 
Counts  it  your  weal,  lie  have  his  liberty. 

A'.  John.  Let  it  be  so;  I  do  commit  his  youth 


^Secretly.  ^Lace. 

*  Desire  of  excelling. 


'Decorate 
'Publish. 


294 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  IV. 


E/ltCr  HCEERT. 

To  your  tiirection.— Hubert,  what  news  with  you? 
Fern.  This  is  the  man  should  do  the  bloody  deed; 
He  show'd  his  warrant  to  a  friend  of  mine: 
The  imaM  of  a  wicked  henious  fault 
Lives  in  his  eye;  that  close  aspect  of  his 
Does  show  the  mood  of  a  much-troubled  breast; 
And  I  do  fearfully  believe,  'tis  done, 
What  we  so  lear'd  he  had  a  charge  to  do. 

Sal.  The  color  of  the  king  doth  come  and  go, 
Between  his  purpose  and  his  conscience. 
Like  heralds  twixt  two  dreadful  battles  set: 
His  passion  is  so  ripe,  it  needs  must  break. 

Pern.  And, when  it  breaks,! fear,  will  issue  thence 
The  foul  corruption  of  a  sweet  child's  death. 
K.   Jvhn.   We  cannot  hold   mortality's  strong 
hand:^  .   .  • 

Good  lorils,  althoush  my  will  to  give  is  hving, 
The  suit  which  you  demand  is  gone  and  dead: 
He  tells  us,  Arthur  is  deceas'd  to-night. 

Sal.  Indeed,  we  tear'd,  his  sickness  was  past  cure. 
Pern.  Indeed  we  heard  how  near  his  death  he  was, 
Before  the  child  himself  felt  lie  was  sick: 
This  must  be  answer'd,  either  here,  or  hence. 
K.  John.  Why  do  you  bend  such  solemn  brows 
on  mc^ 
Think  you,  I  bear  the  shears  of  destiny  7 
Have  rcommandment  on  the  pulse  ol  life  ! 

Sal.  It  is  apparent  Ibul  play;  and  'tis  shame, 
That  greatness  should  so  grossly  ofter  it: 
So  thrive  it  in  your  game!  and  so  larewell. 

Pern.  Stay  yet,  lord  Salisbury;  I'll  go  with  thee. 
And  lind  the  inheritance  of  this  poor  child, 
This  little  kingdom  of  a  forced  grave. 
That  blood,  which  ow'd'  the  breadth  of  all  this  isle, 
Three  foot  of  it  dotii  hold:  Bad  world  the  while! 
This  must  not  be  thus  borne:  this  will  break  out 
To  all  our  sorrows,  and  ere  long,  I  doubt. 

[Exeunt  Lords. 
K.  John.  They  burn  in  indignation;  I  repent; 
There  is  no  sure  foimdation  set  on  blood; 
No  certain  life  achiev'd  by  others'  death. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

A  fearful  eye  thou  hast:  Where  is  that  blood, 
That  I  have  seen  inhabit  in  those  cheeks! 
So  foul  a  sky  clears  not  without  a  storm : 
Pour  down  the  weather:— How  goes  aU  in  France! 
Mess.  From  France  to  England.— Never  such  a 
power 
For  any  foreign  preparation. 
Was  li'Vicd  ill  the  body  of  a  land! 
Tiie  copy  of  your  speed  is  learn'd  by  them; 
For,  when  you  should  be  told  they  do  prepare, 
The  tidings  come,  that  they  are  all  arrived. 
K.  John.  O,  where  hath  our  intelligence  been 
drunk? 
Where  hath  it  slept !    Where  is  my  mother's  care. 
That  such  an  army  could  be  drawn  in  France, 
And  she  not  hear  ot  it  ? 

Mess.  My  liege,  her  ear 

Is  stopp'd  with  dust;  the  first  of  April,  died 
Your  noble  mother:  And,  as  I  hear,  my  lord, 
The  lady  Constance  in  a  frenzy  died 
Three  days  before:  but  this  from  rumor's  tongue 
I  idly  heard;  if  true,  or  false,  I  know  not. 

K.  John.  Withhold  thy  speed,  dreadful  occasion; 
O,  make  a  league  with  me,  till  I  have  pleas'd 
My  discontented  peers!— What!  mother  dead? 
How  wildly  then  walks  my  estate  in  France!— 
Under  whosi'  conduct  came  those  powders  of  France, 
That  thou  liir  truth  iiiv'st  out,  are  landed  here! 
Mess.  Under  the  Dauphin. 

Enter  tlie  Bastard  and  Peter  fif  Pomfret. 
K.  John.  Thou  hast  made  me  giddy 

With  these  ill  tidings.— Now,  what  says  the  world 
To  your  proceedings?  do  not  seek  tostutf 
My  head  with  more  ill  news,  for  it  is  full. 

Bu.it.  But,  if  you  be  afeard  to  hear  the  worst. 
Then  let  the  worst,  unheard,  fall  on  your  head. 

K.  John.  Bear  with  me,  cousin ;  for  I  was  amaz'd 
Under  the  tide;  but  now  I  breathe  again 
Aloft  the  Hood;  and  can  give  audience 
To  any  tongue  speak  it  of  what  it  will. 

Baxl.  How  I  have  sjicd  among  the  clergymen, 
The  sums  I  have  collected  shallcxpress. 
But,  as  1  travelled  hither  through  the  land, 

1  Owned. 


I  tind  the  people  strangely  fantasied; 
Possess'd  with  rumors,  full  of  idle  dreams ; 
Not  Icnowing  what  they  fear,  but  full  of  fear: 
And  here's  a  prophet,  that  I  brought  with  me 
From  forth  the  streets  of  Pomfret,  whom  I  found 
With  many  hundreds  treading  on  his  heels: 
To  wiiom  he  sung,  in  rood  harsh-sounding  rhj-mes, 
That,  ere  the  next  Ascension-day  at  noon. 
Your  highness  should  deliver  up  your  crown. 
JC  John.  Thou  idle  dreamer,  wherelbre  didst 

thou  so? 
Peter.  Foreknowing  that  the  truth  will  fall  out  so. 
A".  John.  Hubert,  away  with  him;  imprison  him; 
And  on  that  day  at  noon,  whereon,  he  says, 
I  shall  yield  up  my  crown,  let  him  be  hang'd: 
Deliver  him  to  safety,"  and  return. 
For  I  must  use  thee.— O  my  gentle  cousin. 

[Exit  HcBERT,  with  Peter. 
Hear'st  thou  the  news  abroad,  who  are  arriv'd? 
Bast.  The  French,  my  lord;  men's  mouths  are 
full  of  it: 
Besides,  1  met  lord  Bigot,  and  lord  Salisbury, 
(With  eyes  as  red  as  new-enkindled  fire.) 
And  others  more,  going  to  seek  the  grave 
Of  Arthur,  who,  they  say,  is  kill'd  to-night 
On  your  suggestion. 

A.  John.  ■      Gentle  kinsman,  go. 

And  thrust  thyself  into  tlieir  companies: 
I  have  a  vfay  to  win  their  loves  again; 
Bring  them  belbre  me. 
Bust.  I  will  seek  them  out. 

K.  John.  Nay,  but  make  haste;  the  better  foot 
before. — — 
0,  let  me  have  no  subject  enemies. 
When  adverse  foreigners  atfright  my  towns 
With  dreadful  pomp  of  stout  invasion!— 
Be  Mercury,  set  feathers  to  thy  heels; 
And  lly,  like  thought,  from  them  to  me  again. 
Bast.  The  spirit  of  the  time  shall  teach  me  speed. 

[Ex-it. 
A".  John.  Spoke  like  a  sprightful  noble  gentle- 
man.— 
Go  after  him;  for  he,  perhaps,  shall  need 
Somi:  messenger  betwixt  me  and  the  peers; 
And  be  thou  he.  ,.  • 

Mess.  With  all  my  heart,  my  hege. 

[Ex'it. 
K.  John.  My  mother  dead! 

Re-enter  Hubert. 


Hub.  My  lord,  tliey  say,  five  moons  were  seen 
to-night: 
Four  fixed;  and  the  fifth  did  whirl  about 
The  other  lour,  in  wond'rous  motion. 

K.  John.  Five  moons? 

Hub.  Old  men,  and  beldams,  m  the  streets 

Do  prophecy  upon  it  dangerously; 
Youm;  Arthur's  death  is  common  in  their  mouths: 
And  wlieii  they  talk  of  him,  they  shake  their  heads, 
\nd  wliisper  one  and  other  in  the  ear; 
And  he,  that  speaks,  doth  gripe  the  hearer's  wrist 
Wliilst  he,  that  hears,  makes  fearful  action. 
With  wrinkled  lirows,  with  nods,  with  rolling  eyes. 
I  saw  a  smith  stand  with  his  hammer,  thus, 
Tlie  whilst  his  iron  did  on  the  anvil  cool, 
\Vith  open  mouth  swallowing  a  tailor's  news; 
Who,  with  his  shears  and  measure  in  his  hand. 
Standing  on  slippers,  (which  his  nimble  haste 
H«d  falsely  thrust  upon  contrary  feet.) 
Told  of  a  many  thousand  warlike  French, 
That  were  embattled  and  rank'd  in  Kent: 
Another  lean  unwash'd  artificer 
Cuts  off  his  tale,  and  talks  of  Arthur's  death. 

A".  John.  Why  seck'st  thou  to  possess  me  with 
these  fears? 
Why  urgesi  thou  so  oft  young  Arthur's  death? 
Thy  hand  hath  murder'd  him:  I  had  mightycause 
To  wish  him  dead,  but  thcni  hadst  none  to  loll  him. 

Hub.  Had  none,  my  lord !  why,  did  you  not  pro- 
voke me  ? 

A'.  John.  It  is  the  curse  of  kings,  to  he  attended 
By  slaves,  that  take  their  humors  for  a  warrant 
To  break  within  the  bloody  house  of  life: 
And,  on  the  winking  of  authority. 
To  understand  a  law;  to  know'the  meaning 
Of  dangerous  m.ajestv,  when,  perchance,  it  frowns 
More  upon  humor  th'aii  advis'd  respect. = 
Hub.  Here  is  your  hand  and  seal  tor  what  I  did. 

s  Safe  custody.  '  Deliberate  consideration 


Scene  III. 


KING  JOHN. 


295 


K.  Jufin.  0,  ^vhen  the  last  account  'twixt  heaven 
and  earth 
Is  to  be  made,  tlien  shall  this  hand  and  sea] 
Witness  against  us  to  damnation! 
How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds, 
Makes  deeds  ill  done !  Hadest  not  thou  been  by, 
A  fellow  by  the  hand  of  nature  raark'd. 
Quoted,'  and  sign'd,  to  do  a  deed  of  shame, 
This  murder  had  not  came  into  my  mind: 
But,  taking  note  of  thy  abborr'd  aspect, 
Finding  thee  fit  for  bloody  viUany, 
Apt,  liable,  to  be  employ 'd  in  danger, 
I  laintly  broke  with  thee  of  Arthur's  death; 
And  tliou,  to  be  endeared  to  a  king. 
Made  it  no  conscience  to  destroy  a  prince. 

Hub.  My  lord, 

K.  Juhn.  Hadst  thou  but  shook  thy  head,  or 
made  a  pause, 
Wlien  I  spake  darkly  what  I  purposed; 
Or  turn'd  an  eye  of  doubt  upon  my  face. 
As  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  words; 
Deep  shame  had  struck  me  dumb,  made  me  break 

off, 
And  those  thy  fears  might  have  WTOUglit  fears  in  me: 
But  thou  didst  understand  me  by  my  signs, 
And  didst  in  signs  again  parley  with  sin: 
Yea,  without  stop,  didst  let  thy  heart  consent, 
And.  consequently,  thy  rude  hand  to  act 
The  deed,  which   both  our  tongues  held  vile  to 

name, — 
Out  of  my  sight,  and  never  see  me  more! 
My  nobles  leave  me;  and  my  state  is  braved. 
Even  at  my  gates,  with  ranks  of  foreign  powers: 
Nay  in  the  body  of  this  fleshly  land. 
Tills  kingdom,  this  confine  of  blood  and  breath, 
Hostility  and  civil  tumult  reigns 
Between  my  conscience,  and  my  cousin's  death. 

Hvb.  Arm  you  against  your  other  enemies, 
rU  make  a  peace  between  your  soul  and  you. 
Young  Arthur  is  alive:  This  hand  of  mine 
Is  yet  a  maiden  and  an  innocent  hand. 
Not  painted  with  the  crimson  spots  of  blood. 
Within  mis  bosom  never  enter'd  yet 
The  dreadful  motion  of  a  murd'rous  thought. 
And  you  have slander'd  nature  in  my  form; 
Which,  howsoever  rude  exteriorly, 
Is  yet  the  cover  of  a  fairer  mind 
Than  to  be  butcher  of  an  innocent  child. 
K.  John.  Doth  Arthur  live?  O,  haste  thee  to  the 
peers. 
Throw  this  report  on  their  incensed  rage, 
And  make  them  tame  to  their  obedience! 
Forgive  the  comment  that  my  passion  made 
Upon  tliy  feature;  for  my  rage  was  blind, 
And  foul  imaginary  eyes  of  blood 
Presented  thee  more  hideous  than  thou  art. 
O,  answer  not;  but  to  my  closet  bring 
The  angry  lords,  with  all  expedient  haste: 
I  conjure  thee  but  slowly;  run  more  fast.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  lU.— Before  the  Castle. 

Enter  ABTHCn,  on  the  Walls. 

Arlh.  The  wall  is  high;  and  yet  will  I  leap  down: 
Good  ground,  be  pitiful,  and  hurt  me  not ! — 
There's  few,  or  none,  do  know  me;  if  they  did, 
This  ship-boy's  semblance  hath  disguis'd  me  quite. 
I  am  airraid;  and  yet  I'll  venture  it. 
If  I  get  down,  and  do  not  break»my  limbs, 
I'll  find  a  thousand  sliifls  to  get  away; 
As  good  to  die,  and  go,  as  die,  and  stay. 

[Leaps  down. 
O  me!  my  uncle's  spirit  is  in  these  stones: — 
Heaven  take  my  soul,  and  England  keep  my  bones! 

[Dies. 
Enter  Pemehoke,  Salisbury,  and  Bigot. 

Sal.  Lords,  I  will  meet  him  at  Saint  Edmund's 
Bury; 
It  is  our  safety,  and  we  must  embrace 
This  gentle  offer  of  the  perilous  time. 

Feni.  VV^ho  brougiit  that  letter  from  the  cardinal? 

Hal.  The  count  Melum,  a  noble  lord  of  France; 
Whose  private  with  me,*  of  the  Dauphin's  love. 
Is  much  more  general  than  these  lines  import. 

Big.  To-morrow  morning  let  us  meet  him  then. 

Sal.  Or,  rather  then  set  Ibrward:  for  'twill  be 
Two  long  days'  journey,  lords,  or  e'er  we  meet. 

•Noted,  observed.  'Private  account. 


Enter  the  Bastard. 
Bast.  Once  more  to-day  well  met,  distempered" 
lords!  ■.  ^ 

The  king,  by  me,  requests  your  presence  straight. 

Sal.  The  king  hath  dispossessed  himself  of  us; 
We  will  not  line  his  thin  bcstained  cloak 
With  OUT  pure  honors,  nor  attend  the  foot 
That  leaves  the  print  of  blood  where"er  it  walks: 
Return,  and  tell  him  so  ;  we  know  the  worst. 
Bust.  WhateVr  you  think,  good  words,  1  think, 

were  best. 
Sal.  Our  griefs,  and  not  ourmanners,  reason  now 
Bast.  Buf  there  is  little  reason  in  your  grief;  , 
Therefore,  'twere  reason  you  had  manners  now.  \ 
Pern.  Sir.  sir,  impatience  hath  his  privilege. 
Bast.  'Tis  true;  to  hurt  his  master,  no  man  else. 
Sal.  This  is  the  prison:  What  is  he  lies  here? 

[Seeing  Aktucr. 
Pern.  O  death,  madeproud  with  pure  and  princely 
beauty ! 
The  earth  had  not  a  hole  to  hide  this  deed- 

Sal.  Murder,  as  hating  what  himself  hath  done. 
Doth  lav  it  open,  to  urge  on  revenge. 

.Big.  Or  when  he  dooni'd  this  beauty  to  a  grave. 
Found  it  too  precious-princely  for  a  grave. 
Sal.  Sir  Richard,  what  tliink  you?    Have  you 
beheld. 
Or  have  you  read,  or  heard?  or  could  jou  thnikl 
Or  do  you  almost  think,  although  you  see. 
That  you  do  see?  could  thought,  without  this  object. 
Form  such  another?  This  is  the  very  top. 
The  height,  the  crest,  or  crest  unto  the  crest. 
Of  murder's  arms:  this  is  the  bloodiest  shame, 
The  wildest  savagery,  the  vilest  stroke. 
That  ever  wall-ey'd  wrath,  or  staring  rage, 
Presented  to  the  tears  of  soft  remorse.' 

Pern.  All  murders  past  do  stand  excused  in  this: 
And  this,  so  sole,  and  so  unmatchable, 
Shall  give  a  holi,ness,  a  purity. 
To  the  yet-unbegotten  sin  of  time; 
And  prove  a  deadly  bloodshed  but  a  jest, 
Exampled  by  this  henious  spectacle. 

Bast.  It  is  a  damned  and  a  bloody  work; 
The  graceless  action  of  a  heavy  hand, 
If  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand. 

Sal.  If  that  it  be  the  work  of  any  hand?— 
We  had  a  kind  of  light,  what  would  ensue: 
It  is  the  shameful  work  of  Hubert's  hand; 
The  practice,  and  the  purpose,  of  the  king:— 
From  whose  obedience  I  Ibrbid  my  soul, 
Kneeling  before  this  ruin  of  sweet  life. 
And  breathing  to  his  breathless  excellence 
The  incense  of  a  vow;  a  holy  vow; 
Never  to  taste  the  pleasure*  of  the  world, 
Never  to  be  infected  with  delight. 
Nor  convei-sant  with  ease  and  idleness. 
Till  I  have  set  a  glory  to  this  hand. 
By  giving  it  the  worship  of  revenge. 
Pern.   Big.   Our  souls  religiously  confirm  thy 
words. 

Enter  Hubekt. 

Hub.  Lords,  I  am  hot  with  haste  in  seeking  you: 
Arthur  doth  live;  the  king  hath  sent  lor  you. 
Sal.  0,  he  is  bold,  and  blushes  not  at  death:— 
Lvaunt,  thou  hateful  villain,  get  thee  gone! 


Avaunt,  . 
Hub.  I  am  no  a  villain. 
Sal. 


Jlust  I  rob  the  law? 
[Drawitfg  his  swcrd. 
Bast.  Your  sword  is  bright,  sir:  put  it  up  again. 
Sal.  Not  till  I  sheaihe  it  in  a  murderer's  skin. 
Hub.  Stand  back,  lord  Salisbury,  stand  back,  I 

By  heaven,  I  think  my  sword's  as  sharp  as  yours: 
I  would  not  have  vou,  lord,  forget  yourself. 
Nor  tempt  the  dangerof  my  trucS  defence; 
Lest  I,  by  marking  of  your  rage,  forget 
Your  worth,  your  greatness,  and  nohihty. 

Big.  Out,  dunghill!  dar'st  thou  brave  a  noble 
man?  .  „     . 

Hub.  Not  for  my  life:  but  yet  I  dare  defend 
My  innocent  life  against  an  emperor. 

Sal.  Thou  art  a  murderer. 

}{n  5.  Do  not  prove  me  so ;" 

Yet,  I  am  none:  Whose  tongue  soe'er  speaks  false, 
Not' truly  speaks;  who  speaks  not  truly,  lies. 

Pern.  Cut  him  to  pieces. 


6  Out  of  bumor. 
^Honest. 


'Pity. 

BBy  compelling  me  to  kill  yoa. 


296 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  V. 


Bast.  Keep  the  peace,  I  say. 

Sal.  Stand  by,  or  I  shall  gall  you,  Faulconbnclge. 

Bast.  Thou  wert  better  gall  the  devil,  Salisbury: 
If  tliou  but  frown  on  me,  or  stir  thy  foot. 
Or  teach  thy  hasty  spleen  to  do  me  shame, 
I'll  strike  thee  dead.    Put  up  thy  sword  betime; 
Or  I'll  so  maul  you  and  your  toasting-iron, 
That  you  shall  think  the  devil  is  come  from  hell. 

Big.    What  wilt  thou  do,  renowned  Faulcon- 
bridge? 
Second  a  villain,  and  a  murderer? 

Huh.  Lord  Bigot,  I  am  none. 

Big.  Who  kill'd  this  prince? 

Huh.  'Tis  not  an  hour  since  I  left  him  well: 
I  honor'd  him,  I  lov'd  him;  and  will  weep 
My  date  of  lite  out,  for  his  sweet  life's  loss. 

Sal.  Trust  not  those  cunning  waters  of  his  eyes, 
For  viUany  is  not  without  such  rheum;* 
And  tie,  long  traded  in  it,  makes  it  seem 
Like  rivers  of  remorse''  and  innocency. 
Away,  witli  me,  all  you  whose  souls  abhor 
The  uncleanly  savors  of  a  slaughter-house, 
For  I  am  stilled  with  the  smell  of  sin. 

Big.  Away,  toward  liury,  to  the  Dauphin  there. 

Pent.  There,  tell  tile  king,  he  may  inquire  us  out. 
[Exeunt  Lords. 

Bast.  Here's  a  good  world ! — Knew  you  of  this 
fair  work! 
Beyond  the  infinite  and  boundless  reach 
Of  mercy,  if  thou  did.^t  tliis  deed  of  death, 
Art  lliou  damn'd,  Hubert. 

Hub.  Do  but  hear  me,  sir. 

Bast.  Ha !  I'll  tell  tliee  what; 
Thou  art  damn'd  as  black — nay,  nothing  is  so  black; 
Thou  art  more  deep  damn'd  tlian  prince  Lucifer: 
There  is  not  yet  so  ugly  a  fiend  of  hell 
As  tliou  shall  be,  if  thou  didst  IdU  this  child. 

Hub.  Upon  my  soul, 


Bast.  If  thou  didst  but  consent 

To  this  most  cruel  act,  do  but  despair. 
And,  if  thou  vvant'st  a  cord,  tlie  smallest  thread 
That  ever  spider  twisted  from  her  womb 
Will  serve  to  strangle  thee:  a  rush  will  be 
Abeam  to  hang  thee  on;  or  wouldst  thou  drown 

thyself, 
Put  but  a  little  water  in  a  spoon. 
And  it  shall  be  as  all  the  ocean, 

Enougli  to  stifle  such  a  villain  up. 

I  do  suspect  thee  very  grievously. 

Huh.  If  I  in  act,  consent,  or  sin  of  thought, 
Be  guilty  of  the  stealing  that  sweet  breath 
Which  was  cmbounded  in  this  beauteous  clay, 
Let  hell  want  pains  enough  to  torture  me! 
I  left  him  well. 

Bast.  Go,  bear  him  in  thine  arms. — 

I  am  aniaz'd,  methinks;  and  lose  my  way 
Among  the  thorns  and  dangers  of  this  world. — 
How  easy  dost  thou  take  all  England  up  ! 
From  forth  this  morsel  of  dead  royalty, 
The  lil'e,  the  right,  and  trutli  of  all  this  realm 
Is  lied  to  heaven ;  and  England  now  is  left 
To  tug  and  scramble,  and  to  part  by  the  teeth 
The  uhowed<  interest  of  proud  swelling  state. 
Now,  for  the  bare-pick'd  bone  of  majesty, 
Dotli  dogged  war  bristle  liis  angry  clest,  * 

And  snarleth  in  the  gentle  eyes  of  peace: 
Now  powers  from  home,  and  discontents  at  home 
Meet  in  one  line;  and  vast  confusion  waits 
(As  doth  a  raven  on  a  sick-liillen  beast) 
The  imminent  decay  of  wrested  pomp. 
Now  happy  lie,  whose  cloak  and  cincture*  can 
Hold  out  this  tempest.    Bear  away  that  child, 
And  follow  me  with  speed;  I'll  to  the  king: 
A  thousand  businesses  are  brief  in  hand. 
And  heaven  itself  doth  frown  upon  the  land. 

[Exeunt 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  l.~A  Room  in  the  Falace. 

Enter  KiSG  JoHN,PANDULpn  iviih  Ike  Crown,  and 
Attendants. 

K,  John.  Thus  have  I  yielded  up  into  your  hand 
The  circle  of  ray  glory. 

Pand.  Take  again 

[Giving  John  ihe  Crown. 
From  this  my  hand,  as^olding  of  the  pope, 
Your  sovereign  greatness  and  authority. 

K.  John.  Now  keep  your  holy  word:  go  meet 
the  French ; 
And  from  his  holintss  use  all  your  power 
To  stop  their  marches,  'fore  we  are  inflamed. 
Our  discontented  counties  do  revolt; 
Our  people  quarrel  with  obedience; 
Swearing  iillegiance,  and  the  love  of  soul. 
To  stranger  blood,  to  foreign  loyalty. 
This  inundation  of  distempcrM  humor 
Rests  by  5'ou  only  to  be  qualified. 
Then  pause  not;  for  the  present  time''s  so  sick, 
That  present  medicine  must  be  ministerM, 
Or  overthrow  incurable  ensues. 

Pand.  It  was  my  breath  that  blew  this  tempest  up, 
Upon  your  stubborn  usage  of  the  pope: 
But  since  you  are  a  gentle  convertite,^ 
My  tongvie  shall  husli  a^ain  this  storm  of  war, 
And  make  fair  weather  in  your  blustering  land. 
On  this  Ascension-day,  remember  well, 
Upon  your  oath  of  service  to  the  pope, 
Go  I  to  make  the  Frcnchlay  down  theirarms.  [Exit 

K.  John,  Is  this  Ascension-day  1     Did  not  the 
prophet 
Say.  that,  before  Ascension-day  at  noon. 
My  crown  I  should  give  ofl?  Even  so  I  nave: 
I  did  suppose  it  sliould  bo  on  constraint; 
But  heaven  be  thankM,  it  is  but  voluntary. 

Enter  the  Bastard. 
Sast.  All  Kent  hath  yielded;  nothing  there  holds 
out. 
But  Dover  castle:  London  hath  receivM, 
Like  a  kind  host,  the  Daui>hin  and  his  powers: 


1  Moisture* 


a  Pity. 


^Convert. 


Your  nobles  will  not  hear  you,  but  are  gone 
To  ofter  service  to  your  enemy; 
And  wild  amazement  hurries  up  and  down 
The  little  number  of  your  doui)tful  friends. 

A".  J'}hn.  Wouldnot  my  lords  return  to  me  again, 
After  they  heard  youn^  Arthur  was  alive! 

Bast.  They  found  him  dead,  and  cast  into  the 
streets; 
An  empty  casket,  where  the  jewel  of  life 
By  some  curst  hand  was  robb'd  and  ta'en  away. 

K.  John.  That  villain  Hubert  told  me  he  did  live 

Ba.'it.  So.  on  my  soul,  he  did,  for  aught  he  knew 
But  wherefore  do  you  droop  \  wliy  look  you  sad  ] 
Be  great  in  act,  as  you  liave  been  in  thought; 
Let  not  the  world  see  fear,  and  sad  distrust, 
Govern  the  motion  of  a  kingly  eye: 
Be  stirring  as  the  time;  be  tire  with  fire; 
Threaten  the  threat'ner,  and  outface  the  brow 
Of  braii^iing  honor:  so  shall  inferior  eyes. 
That  borrow  their  behaviors  Irom  the  great, 
Grow  great  by  your  example,  and  put  on 
The  dauntless  spirit  of  resolution. 
Away;  and  glister  like  the  god  of  war. 
When  he  intcndetij  to  become  the  lield: 
Show  boldness,  and  aspiring  confidence. 
What,  shall  they  seek  llie  lion  in  his  den. 
And  fright  him  there?  and  make  him  tremble  there? 
O.  let  it  not  be  said! — Forai;e,  and  run 
To  meet  displeasure  further  from  the  doors; 
And  grapple  with  him,  ere  he  comes  so  nigh. 

K.  John.,  The  legate  of  the  pope  hath  been  with 
me. 
And  I  have  made  a  happy  peace  with  him ; 
And  he  hath  promis'd  to  dismiss  the  powers 
Led  by  the  Dauphin, 

Bast.  O  inglorious  league! 

Shall  we,  upon  the  footing  of  our  land. 
Send  fair-play  orders,  and  make  compromise, 
Insinimtion,  parley,  and  base  truce. 
To  arms  invasive]  Shall  a  beardless  boy. 
A  cocker'd^  silken  wanton,  brave  our  fields 
And  liesh  his  spirit  in  a  warlike  soil. 
Mocking  the  air  with  colors  idly  spread. 


*  Unowned. 


^  Girdle. 


"  Fondled 


Scene  II. 


KING  JOHN. 


297 


And  find  no  checks     Let  us,  my  iiege,  to  arms: 
Perchance,  the  cardinal  cannot  make  your  peace; 
Or  if  he  do,  let  it  at  least  be  said, 
rhey  saw  we  had  a  purpose  of  defence. 

K.  John.  Have  thou  the  ordering  of  this  present 
time. 

Bast.  Away  then,  with  good  courage;  yet,  I  know, 
Our  party  may  weli  meet  a  prouder  foe.    {Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.— yl  Plain  7iear  St.  Edmund's  Bury. 

Enter,  in  arms,  Lewis,  Salisbury,  Melcn, 
Pembroke,  Bigot,  and  Soldiers. 

Lew.  My  lord  Melun,  let  this  be  copied  out, 
And  keep  it  safe  for  our  remembrance: 
Return  the  precedent  to  these  lords  again; 
That,  having  our  fair  order  written  down, 
-  Both  they,  and  we,  perusing  o'er  these  notes. 
May  know  wherefore  we  took  the  sacrament, 
And  keep  our  liiiths  firm  and  inviolable. 

Snl.  Upon  our  sides  it  never  shall  be  broken. 
And.  noble  Dauphin,  albeit  we  swear 
A  voluntary  zeal,  and  unurged  faith. 
To  your  ])r'oceedings;  yet,  believe  me,  prince, 
I  am  not  glad  tliat  such  a  sore  of  time 
Should  hcek  a  plaster  by  coutemn'd  revolt. 
And  Ileal  tlie  inveterate  canker  of  one  wound, 
By  makijig  many:  O,  it  grieves  my  soul, 
Tliat  I  must  draw  this  metal  from  my  side 
To  be  a  widow-maker;  O,  and  there, 
Wiiere  honorable  rescue,  and  defence. 
Cries  out  upon  the  name  of  Salisbury: 
But  such  is  the  infection  of  the  time. 
That,  lor  the  health  and  physic  of  our  right, 
We  cannot  deal  but  with  the  very  hand 
Of  stern  injustice  and  confused  wrong. — 
And  is'tnot  pity,  O  my  grieved  friends! 
That  we,  the  sons  and  children  of  this  isle, 
Were  born  to  sec  so  sad  an  hour  as  this; 
Wherein  we  stc]i  after  a  stranger  march 
Upon  lier  giiulc  bosom,  and  fill  up 
Her  ciiemiis'  ranks,  (I  must  withdraw  and  weep 
Upon  the  spot  of  this  cnlbiced  cause,) 
To  grace  llic  gentry  of  a  land  remote. 
And  fbll.iw  unacquainted  colors  here? 
What  here!— 0  nation,  thift  thou  couldst  remove! 
That  Neptune's  arms,  wlio  clipped'  thee  about. 
Would  bear  thee  from  the  knowledge  of  thyself, 
And  grapple  thee  unto  a  pagan  shore; 
Where  these  two  Christian  armies  might  combine 
The  blood  of  malice  in  a  vein  of  league, 
And  not  to  spend  it  so  unneighborly ! 

if  w.  A  noble  temper  dost  thou  sliow  in  this; 
And  great  all'cctions  wrcslling  in  thy  bosom. 
Do  make  an  earthquake  of  uoliility. 
O,  wljat  a  noble  combat  hast  thou" fought. 
Between  ccpjiiinilsion  and  a  brave  respect!' 
Let  nie  wiie  oil  iliis  honm-able  dew. 
Thai  silviTly  doth  progress  on  thy  cheeks: 
My  heart  hath  melted  at  a  lady's  tears, 
Being  an  ordinary  inundation; 
But  this  cftusioii«f  such  manly  drops. 
This  shower,  blown  up  by  tempest  of  the  soul. 
Startles  mine  eyes,  and  makes  me  more  amaz'd 
Than  had  I  seen  the  vanity  top  of  heaven 
Figur'd  i|uite  o'er  with  burning  meteors. 
Lift  up  thy  brow,  renowned  Salisbury, 
And  with  a  great  lieartTicave  away  this  storm : 
Commend  these  waters  to  those  baby  eyes, 
That  never  saw  the  giant  world  enraged; 
Nor  met  with  fortune  other  than  at  feasts. 
Full  warm  of  blood,  of  mirth,  of  gossiping. 
Come,  come ;  lor  thou  shalt  thrust  thy  hand  as  deep 
Into  the  purse  of  rich  prosperity. 
As  Lewis  himself:— so,  noble,  shall  you  all. 
That  Imit  your  sinews  to  the  strength  of  mine. 

Enter  Pandulph,  attended. 
And  even  there,  metliinks,  an  angel  spake: 
Look,  where  the  holy  legate  comes  apace. 
To  give  us  warrant  from  the  hand  of  heaven; 
And  oil  our  actions  set  the  name  of  right, 
With  holy  breath. 

Fund.  Hail,  noble  prince  of  France! 

The  next  is  this, — king  .lohn  hath  reconciled 
}liul^elf  to  Rome;  his  spirit  is  come  in. 
Thai  so  stood  out  against  the  holy  church, 
The  great  metropolis  and  see  of  Rome: 


'Embraceth. 


^  Love  of  country. 


Therefore  thy  tlireat'ning  colors  now  wind  up, 
And  tame  the  savage  spirit  of  wild  war; 
That,  hke  a  lion  fosterd  up  at  hand. 
It  may  lie  gently  at  the  foot  of  peace. 
And  be  no  further  harmful  than  in  show. 

Lew.  Your  grace  shall  pardon  me,  I  will  not 
back; 
I  am  too  high-bom  to  be  propertied,' 
To  be  a  secondary  at  control. 
Or  useful  .serviug-man,  an  instrument. 
To  any  sovereign  state  throughout  the  world. 
Vour  brealli  first  kindled  the  dead  coal  of  wars, 
Between  this  chastis'd  kingdom  and  myself. 
And  brought  in  matter  that  should  feed  tins  fire; 
And  now  'tis  lar  too  liuge  to  be  blown  out 
With  that  same  weak  wind  which  enkindled  it. 
You  taught  me  how  to  know  the  lace  of  right, 
Aciuainted  me  with  interest  to  this  land. 
Yea,  thrust  this  enterprise  into  my  heart; 
Antl  come  you  now  to  tell  me,  John  hath  made 
His  peace  with  Romel  What  is  that  peace  to  mc! 
I,  by  the  honor  of  my  marriage-bed. 
After  young  Arthur,  claim  this  land  for  mine; 
And,  now  it  is  half-conquered,  must  I  back. 
Because  that  John  hath  made  his  peace  with  Rome? 
Ami  Rome's  slave!  What  penny  hath  Rome  borne, 
What  men  provided,  what  munition  sent, 
To  underprop  this  action^  is't  not  I, 
That  undergo  this  charge?  who  else  but  I, 
And  such  as  to  my  claim  are  liable, 
Sweat  in  this  business,  and  maintain  this  war? 
Have  I  not  heard  these  islanders  shout  out, 
Vive  le  ruy!  as  I  have  bank'd  their  towns? 
Have  I  not  here  the  best  cards  lor  the  game. 
To  win  this  easy  match  play'd  for  a  crown  \ 
And  shall  I  now  give  o'er  the  yielded  set? 
No,  on  my  soul,  it  never  shall  be  said. 

Pand.  You  look  but  on  the  outside  of  this  work. 

Lew.  Outside  or  inside,  1  will  not  return 
Till  my  attempt  so''much  be  glorified 
As  to  my  ample  hope  was  promised 
Before  I  drew  this  g  lUant  head  of  war, 
And  cull'd  these  fiery  spirits  tfom  the  world. 
To  outlook '  conquest,  and  to  win  renown 
Even  in  the  jaws  of  danger  and  of  death. — 

[Trumpet  sounds, 
What  lusty  trumpet  thus  doth  summon  us  ? 

Enter  the  Bastard,  attended. 

Ba.'^t.  According  to  the  fair  play  of  the  world, 
Let  me  have  audience;  I  am  sent  to  speak: — 
My  holy  lord  of  Milan,  from  the  king 
I  come,  to  learn  how  you  have  dealt  for  him; 
And,  as  you  answer,  1  do  know. the  scope 
And  warrant  limited  unto  my  tongue. 

Pand.  The  Dauphin  is  too  williil-opposite, 
And  will  not  temporize  with  my  entreaties; 
He  fiatly  says,  he  11  not  lay  down  his  arms. 

Bast.  By  all  the  blood  that  ever  fury  Iireath'd, 
The  youth  says  well: — Now  hear  our  English  king; 
For  thus  his  royalty  doth  spenk  in  me. 
He  is  prejiared';  and  reason  too,  he  should: 
This  apish  and  unmannerly  approach, 
This  liarncss'd  masque,  and  unadvised  revel, 
This  unhair'd  saucincss,  and  boyish  troops. 
The  Iving  doth  smile  at;  and  is  well  prepar'd 
To  whip  the  dwarfish  war,  these  pigmy  arms, 
From  out  the  circle  of  his  territories. 
That  hand  which  liad  the  strength,  even  at  your 

door. 
To  cudgel  you,  and  make  you  take  the  hatch;' 
To  dive  like  buckets,  in  concealed  wells; 
To  crouch  in  litter  of  your  stable  planks; 
To  lie,  like  pawns,  lock'd  up  in  chests  and  triinks; 
To  hug  with  swine;  to  seek  sweet  safety  out 
In  vaults  and  prisons;  and  to  thrill  and  shake, 
Even  at  the  crying  of  your  nation's  crow.^ 
Thinking  his  voice  an  armed  Englishman; 
Shall  that  victorious  hand  be  fecbled  here. 
That  in  your  chambers  gave  you  chastisement? 
No:  Know  the  gallant  monarch  is  in  arms; 
And  like  an  eagle  o'er  his  aiery*  towers. 
To  souse  annoyance  that  comes  near  his  nest.— 
And  you  degenerate,  you  ingrate  revolts. 
You  bloody  Neroes,  ripping  up  the  womb 
Of  your  dear  mother  England,  blush  for  shame: 
For  your  own  ladies,  and  pale-visaged  maids, 
Like  Amazons,  come  tripping  after  drums; 

8  Appropriated.    ^  Face  down.    ^  Leap  over  the  hatch. 
3  The  crowing  of  a  cock.  *Nest. 


298 


KING  JOHN. 


Act  V. 


Their  tliimWcs  into  armed  gauntlets  change. 
Their  neeldi^'*  to  lances,  and  their  gentle  hearts 
To  tierce  and  bloody  inclination. 

Lew.  Tliere  end  thy  brave,"  and  turn  thy  face  in 
peace; 
We  grant,  thou  canst  outscold  us:  fare  thee  well; 
We  hold  our  time  too  precious  to  be  spent 
With  such  a  brabbler. 

Pand.  Give  me  leave  to  speak. 

Bast.  No,  I  will  speak. 

Lew.  We  will  attend  to  neither: — 

Strike  up  the  drums;  and  let  the  tongue  of  war 
Plead  for  our  interest,  and  our  being  here. 

Bait.  Indeed,  your  drums  being  beaten,  will  cry 
out; 
A.nd  so  sliall  you,  being  beaten:  Do  but  start 
An  echo  with  the  clamor  of  thy  drum. 
And  even  at  hand  a  drum  is  ready  braced. 
That  shall  reverberate  all  as  loud  as  thine; 
Sound  but  another,  and  anotlier  shall. 
As  loud  as  thine,  rattle  the  welkin's'  ear. 
And  mock  the  dcep-moutli"d  thunder;  for  at  hand 
(Not  trusting  to  this  halting  legate  here. 
Whom  he  hath  used  rather  for  sport  than  need) 
Is  warlike  John;  and  in  his  Ibrehead  sits 
A  bare-ribb'd  death,  whose  office  is  this  day 
To  feast  upon  whole  thousands  of  the  French, 

Leiv.  Strike  up  our  drums  to  find  this  danger  out. 

Bast.  And  thou  shall  find  it,  Dauphin,  do  no  t  doubt . 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— ^  Field  of  Battle. 
Alarums.    Enter  King  John,  and  Hijbert. 
K.  John.  How  goes  the  day  with  us  ?  0,  tell  me, 

Hubert. 
IJub.  Badly,  1  fear:  How  fares  your  majesty? 
K.  John.  This  fever,  t hat  hath  troubled  me  so  long, 
Lies  heavy  on  me:  0,  my  heart  is  sick! 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  lord,  your  valiant  kinsman,  Faulcon- 
bri'dge. 
Desires  your  majesty  to  leave  the  field; 
And  send  Iiim  word'by  me,  which  way  you  go. 
K.  John.    Tell  him  toward  Swinstead,   to  the 

alibey  there. 
Mess.  Be  of  good  comfort;  for  the  great  supply 
That  was  expected  by  the  Dauphin  here. 
Are  wreck'd  three  niglits  ago  on  Goodwin  sands. 
This  news  was  brouglit  to  Richard  but  even  now: 
The  French  fight  coldly,  and  retire  themselves. 
A'.  Jolin.  Ah  me!  this  tyrant  fever  burns  me  up. 

And  will  not  let  me  welcome  this  good  news. 

Set  on  toward  Swinstead:  to  my  litter  straight: 
Weakness  possesscth  me,  and  I  am  faint.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Another  Part  of  the  same. 

Enter  Salisbobt,  Pembroke,  Bigot,  and  others. 

Sal.  I  did  not  think  the  king  so  stor'd  with  friends. 

Pern.  Up  once  again;  put  spirit  in  the  French; 
If  they  miscarry,  we  miscarry  too. 

Sal.  That  misbegotten  devil,  Faulconbridge, 
In  spite  of  spite,  alone  upholds  the  day. 

Pern.  They  say,  king  John,  sore  sick,  hath  left 

the  tield. 
Enter  Melcs  wounded,  and  led  by  Soldiers. 

Mel.  Lead  me  to  the  revolts  of  England  here. 

Sal.  When  we  were  happy,  we  had  other  names. 

Pern.  It  is  tlie  count  Melun. 

Sal.  Wounded  to  death. 

Mel.  Fly,  noble  English,  you  are  boughtand  sold ;" 
Unthread  the  rude  eye  of  rebellion. 
And  welcome  home  airain  discarded  faith. 
Seek  out  king  John,  and  fall  before  his  feet; 
For,  if  Ilic  French  be  lords  of  this  loud  day, 
He'  means  to  recompense  the  pains  you  take. 
By  cutting  otFjour  heads:  Thus  hatn  he  sworn, 
Aiid  I  with  liim,  and  many  more  with  me, 
Upon  the  altar  at  St.  Edmund's  Bury; 
Even  on  that  altar,  where  we  swore  to  you 
Dear  amity  and  everlasting  love. 

Sul.  May  this  be  f)ossible?  may  this  be  true? 

Mel.  Have  I  not  hideous  death  within  my  view, 
Retaining  but  a  quantity  of  life; 
Which  bleeds  away,  even  as  a  form  of  wax 
Resolved  from  his  figure  'gainst  the  fire!' 

'NeeiUea.  » Boast.  'Sky. 

A  proverb  intimating  treachery.  ^  Lewis. 

In  allusion  to  tLe  images  maile  by  witches. 


What  in  the  world  should  make  nie  now  deceive, 

Since  I  must  lose  the  use  of  all  deceit ! 

Why  sliould  I  then  be  lalse;  since  it  is  true 

That  I  must  die  here,  and  live  hence  by  truth'! 

I  .'iay  again,  if  Lewis  do  win  the  day. 

He  IS  forsworn,  if  e'er  those  eyes  of  yours 

Behold  another  day  break  in  the  east: 

But  even  this  night, — whose  black  contagious  breath 

Already  smokes  about  the  burning  crest 

Of  the  old,  feeble,  and  day-wearied  sun, — 

Even  this  ill  night  your  breathing  shall  expire; 

Paying  the  fine  of  rated  treachery, 

Even  with  a  treacherous  fine  of  all  your  lives, 

If  Lewis  by  your  assistance  win  the  day. 

Commend  me  to  one  Hubert,  with  your  king; 

The  love  of  him, — and  this  respect  besides. 

For  that  my  grandsire  was  an  Englishman, — 

Awakes  my  conscience  to  confess  all  this. 

In  lieu  whereof,  I  pray  you  bear  me  hence 

From  forth  the  noise  and  rumor  of  the  field; 

Where  I  may  tiiink  the  remnant  of  my  thoughts 

In  peace,  and  part  this  body  and  my  soul 

With  contemplation  and  devout  desires. 

Sal.  Wc  do  believe  thee. — And  beshrew  my  soul 
But  I  do  love  the  favor  and  the  form 
Of  this  most  fair  occasion,  by  the  which 
We  will  untread  the  steps  of  damned  flight; 
And,  like  a  bated  and  retired  flood. 
Leaving  our  rankness  and  irregular  course. 
Stoop  low  within  those  bounds  we  have  o'erlook'd, 
And  calmly  run  on  in  obedience. 

Even  to  our  ocean,  to  our  great  king  John. 

My  arm  shall  give  thee  help  to  bear  thee  hence; 
Fo'r  I  do  see  the  cruel  pangs  of  death 
Right  in  tliine  eye. — A  way, my  friends !   Newflight: 
And  happy  newness,*  that  intends  old  right. 

[Exeunt,  leading  njf  Melun. 

SCEiVE  \.—The  French  Camp. 
Enter  Lewis  and  his  Train. 
Lew.  The  sun  of  heaven,  methought,  was  loth  to 
set; 
But  stay'd  and  made  the  western  welkin  blush. 
When  the  English  measur'd  backward  their  own 

grounci,  . 

In  faint  retire:  0,  bravely  came  we  ofii 
When  with  a  volley  of  our  needless  shot, 
.\fter  such  bloody  toil  we  bid  good  night; 
And  wound  our  tatter'd  colors  clearly  up, 
Last  in  the  field,  and  almost  lords  of  it! 
Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  Where  is  my  prince,  the  Dauphin  7 
Lew.  Here: — What  news? 

Mess.  The  count  Melun  is  slain;  the  English  lords, 
By  his  persuasion,  are  again  fall'n  otT: 
And  your  supply,  which  you  have  wisli'd  so  long. 
Are  cast  avray,  and  sunk,  on  Goodwin  sands. 
Leiv.  Ah,  fi^ul  shrewd  news! — Beshrew  thy  very 
neart! 
I  did  not  think  to  be  so  sad  to-night, 
As  this  hath  made  me. —  Who  was  he,  that  said, 
King  John  did  fly,  an  hour  or  two  before 
The  stumbling  night  did  part  our  weary  powers? 
Mess.  Whoever  spoke  it,  it  is  true,  my  lord. 
Lew.  Well;  keep  good  quarter,  and  good  care 
to-night; 
The  dav  shall  not  be  up  so"oon  as  I, 
To  try  the  fair  adventure  of  to-morrow.    [Exeunt, 

SCENE  VI. — An  open  Place  in  the  A'eighiorhood 
of  Swinstcad-Abbey. 

Enter  tlie  Bastard  and  Hubeut  meeting. 

Hub.  Who's  there?  speak,  ho!  speak  quickly, oi 
I  shoot. 

Bast.  A  friend:— What  art  thou? 

Huh.  Of  the  part  of  England. 

Bast.  AVhilhcr  dost  thou  go? 

Huh.  What's  that  to  thee?  Why  may  not  I  demand 
Of  thine  affairs,  as  well  as  thou  of  mine? 

Bast.  Hubert,  I  think. 

Hub.  Thou  hast  a  perfect  thought: 

I  will,  upon  all  hazards,  well  believe 
Thou  art  my  friend,  that  bion'st  my  tongue  so  well: 
Who  art  thou? 

Bast.  Who  thou  wilt:  on  if  tliou  please. 

Thou  mayst  befriend  me  so  much  as  to  think 
I  come  one  way  of  the  Plantagencts. 

*  Innovation. 


Scene  VII. 


KING  JOHN. 


299 


Hub.  Unkind  remembrance!  tliou,  and  eyeless 
night, 
Hnve  done  me  shame: — Brave  soldier,  pardon  me, 
That  any  accent,  breaking  from  thy  tongue, 
Should  'scape  the  true  acquaintance  of  mine  ear. 

Bast.  Come,  come;  sans ^  compliment,  what  news 
abroad  1 

Hub.  Why,  here  walk  I,in  the  black  brow  of  night, 
To  find  you  out. 

Bust.  Brief,  then;  and  what's  the  news? 

Hub.  0,  my  sweet  sir,  news  fitting  to  the  night, 
Black,  fearful,  comfortless,  and  hornble. 

Bust.  Show  me  the  very  wound  of  this  ill  news; 
I  am  no  woman,  I'll  not  swoon  at  it. 

Hub.  The  king,  I  fear,  is  poison'd  by  a  monk: 
I  left  liira  almost  speechless,  and  broke  out 
.To  acquaint  you  with  this  evil;  that  you  might 
The  better  arm  you  to  the  sudden  time. 
Than  if  youhad'at  leisure  known  of  this. 

Ba.it.  How  did  he  take  if.  who  did  taste  to  himl 

Hub.  A  monk,  I  tell  you:  a  resolved  villain. 
Whose  bowels  suddenly  burst  out:  the  king 
Yet  speaks,  and.  peradventure,  may  recover. 

Bast.  Who  didst  thou  leave  to  tend  his  majesty? 

Hub.  Why,  know  you  not!   the  lords  are  all 
come  back. 
And  brought  prince  Henry  in  their  company; 
At  whose  request  the  king  has  pardon'd  tliem, 
And  they  are  all  about  liis  majesty. 

Bast.  Withold  thine  indignation,  mighty  heaven! 

And  tempt  us  not  to  bear  above  our  power! 

I'll  tell  thee,  Hubert,  half  my  power  this  night, 
Passing  these  flats,  are  taken  by  the  tide. 
These  Lincoln  washes  have  devoured  them ; 
Myself,  well  mounted,  hardly  have  escaped. 
Away,  before  !  conduct  me  to  the  king; 
I  doubt,  he  will  be  dead,  or  e'er  I  come.     [Exeu7}t. 

SCEXE  \n.—Tlie  OrcAard  o/Swinstead-Abbej'. 

Enter  Prince  Hexry,  Salisbury,  and  Bigot. 

P.  Hen.  It  is  too  late;  the  life  of  all  his  blood 
Is  touch'd  corruptibly;  and  his  pure  brain 
(Which  some  suppose  the  soul's  frail  dwelling- 
house) 
Doth  by  the  idle  comments  tliat  it  makes. 
Foretell  the  ending  of  mortality. 
Enter  Pembroke. 

Pern.  His  highness  yet  doth  speak;  and  holds 
belief, 
That,  being  brought  into  the  open  air. 
It  would  allay  the  burning  quality 
Of  that  fell  poison  which  assailcth  hira. 

P.  Hen.  Let  hira  be  brought  into  the  orchard 
here. — 
Doth  he  still  rage?  [Exit  Bigot. 

Pern.  He  is  more  patient 

Than  when  you  left  him ;  even  now  he  sung. 

P.  Hen.  O  vanity  of  sickness!  fierce  extremes, 
In  their  continuance,  will  not  feel  themselves. 
Death,  having  prey'd  upon  the  outward  parts. 
Leaves  them  insensible;  and  his  siege  is  now 
Against  the  mind,  the  which  he  pricks  and  wounds 
With  many  legions  of  strange  fantasies; 
Which,  in  their  throng  and  press  to  that  last  hold. 
Confound    themselves.    'Tis   strange,  that  death 

should  sing. 

I  am  the  cygnet  to  this  pale  faint  swan, 
Who  chants  a  doleful  hymn  to  his  own  death; 
And,  from  the  organ-pipe  of  frailty,  sings 
His  soul  and  body  to  their  lasting  rest. 

Sal.  Be  of  good  comfort,  prince;  for  you  are  born 
To  set  a  tbrra  upon  that  indigest 
Wliich  lie  hath  left  so  shapeless  and  so  rude. 
Re-enter  Bigot  and  Attendants,  u-fio  bring  in  King 
John  in  a  Cliair. 

K.  Jultn.  Ay,  marry,  now  my  soul  hath  elbow- 
room  ; 
It  would  not  out  at  windows,  nor  at  doors. 
There  is  so  hot  a  summer  in  my  bosom. 
That  all  my  bowels  crumble  up  to  dust: 
I  am  a  scribbled  form,  drawn  with  a  pen 
Upon  a  parchment;  and  against  this  fire 
Do  1  shrink  uj). 

P.  Hen.  How  fares  your  majesty? 

K.  John.  Poison'd, — ill  fare; — dead,  forsook,  cast 
off; 
And  none  of  you  will  bid  the  winter  coma 

STTithout 


To  thrust  his  icy  fingersinmy  maw; 

Nor  let  my  kingdom's  rivers  take  their  course 

Through  my  burn'd  bosom;  nor  entreat  the  north 

To  maJie  his  bleak  winds  liiss  my  parched  lips. 

And  comfort  me  with  cold : — 1  do  not  ask  you  much, 

I  beg  cold  comfort;  and  you  are  so  strait' 

And  so  ingrateful.  you  deny  me  that. 

P.  /Je/i.  O,  that  there  weresome  virtue  inmy  tears, 
That  might  relieve  you! 

A'.  John.  The  salt  in  them  is  hot. — 
Within  me  is  a  hell;  and  there  tlie  poison 
Is,  as  a  fiend,  confined  to  tyrannize 
On  unreprievable  condemned  blood. 
Enter  ttie  Bastard. 

Bast.  0, 1  am  scalded  with  my  violent  motion. 
And  spleen  of  speed  to  sec  your  majesty. 

A'.  Julm.  Ocousin,thoua"rtcome  toset  mineeye: 
The  tackle  of  my  heart  is  crack'd  and  burn'd; 
And  all  the  shrouds^  wherewith  my  life  should  sail, 
Are  turned  to  one  tnread,  one  little  hair; 
My  heart  hath  one  poor  string  to  stay  it  by. 
Which  holds  but  till  thy  news  be  uttered; 
And  then  all  this  thou  see'st,  is  but  a  clod. 
And  module^  of  confounded  royalty. 

Bast.  The  Dauphin  is  preparing  liitherward; 
Where,  heaven  he  knows,  hov^'  we  shall  answer  him: 
For,  in  a  night,  the  best  part  of  my  power. 
As  I  upon  advantage  diet  remove. 
Were  in  the  washes,  all  unwarily. 
Devoured  by  the  unexpected  flood.  YThe  King  dies. 

Sal.  You  breathe  these  dead  news  in  as  dead  an 
car. — 
My  liege !  my  lord ! — But  now  a  king, — now  thus. 

P.  Hen.  Even  so  must  I  run  on.  and  even  so  stop, 
What  surety  of  the  world,  what  hope,  what  stay, 
W'lien  this  was  not  a  king,  and  now  is  clay  ! 

Bast.  Art  thou  gone  so?  I  do  but  stay  behind, 
To  do  the  office  for  thee  of  revenge; 
And  then  my  soul  shall  wait  on  thee  to  heaven. 

As  it  on  earth  hath  been  thy  servant  still. 

Now,  now,  you  stars,  that  move  in  your  right  spheres, 
Where  be  your  powers?  Show  liow  your  mended 

faitns; 
And  instantly  return  with  me  again. 
To  push  destruction,  and  perpetual  shame. 
Out  of  the  weak  door  of  our  lUinling  land: 
Straight  let  us  seek,  or  straight  we  .shall  be  sought; 
The  Dauphin  rages  at  our  very  heels. 

Sal.  It  seems  you  know  not  then  so  mucli  as  wc: 
The  cardinal  Pandulph  is  within  at  rest. 
Who  half  an  hour  since  came  from  the  Dauphin; 
And  brings  from  him  such  ofiers  of  our  peace 
As  we  with  honor  and  respect  may  take. 
With  purpose  presently  to  leave  this  war. 

Bast.  He  will  the  rather  do  it,  when  he  sees 
Ourselves  well  sinewed  to  our  defence. 

Sal.  Nay,  it  is  in  a  manner  done  already; 
For  many  carriages  he  hath  despatch"d 
To  the  se"a-side,  and  put  his  cause  and  quarrel 
To  the  disposing  of  the  cardinal: 
With  whom  yourself,  myself,  and  other  lords, ^^ 
If  you  think  meet,  this  afternoon  will  post 
To  consummate  this  business  happily. 

Bust.  Let  it  be  so:— And  you.  mv  noble  prince, 
With  oilier  princes  that  may  best  be  spared. 
Shall  wait  upon  your  fatlier's  funeral. 

P.  Hen.  At  Worcester  must  liis  body  be  intcrr'd; 
For  .so  he  will'd  it. 

Bast.  Thither  shall  it  then. 

And  happily  may  your  sweet  self  put  on 
The  lineal  state  and  glory  of  the  land! 
To  whom,  with  all  submission,  on  my  knee, 
I  do  bequeath  my  faithful  services 
And  true  subjection  everlastingly. 

Sal.  And  the  like  tender  of  our  love  we  make, 
To  rest  without  a  spot  for  evermore. 

P.  Hen.  I  have  a  kind  soul,  that  would  give  you 
thanks. 
And  k-nows  not  how  to  do  it,  but  with  tears. 

Bast.  0,  let  us  pay  the  time  but  needful  woe. 
Since  it  hath  been  beftrehand  with  our  griefs. — 
Thi 'England  never  did  (nor  never  shall) 
Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror. 
But  when  it  first  did  help  tn  wound  itself. 
Now  these  her  princes  are  come  home  again. 
Come  the  three  comers  of  the  world  in  arms. 
And  we  shall  shock  them:  Nought  shall  make  usrue, 
If  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true.  [Exewzt. 

*  Narrow  avaricious.  ^  Model. 


THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF 


KING  EICHAED  11. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


KiXG  Richard  the  Secoxd. 

Edmund  of  Langley,  Dufre  of  Yoik;)  Uncles  to 
John  op  Gaunt,  Duke  nf  Lancaster;  j /Ae  A'tng. 
Henry,  fniriiamed  Bolingbroke,  Duke  f^' Hereford, 
Son  to  John  of  Gaunt;  uflerwarJs  K.  Plenry  IV. 
Duke  of  Aumeule.  Snn  lo  the  Duke  rfYoik. 
IVIowBRAY,  Duke  o/Norlblk. 
Duke  of  Surrey. 

Earl  of  Salisbury.    Earl  Berkeley. 
Bushy,  ) 

Bagot.  >  Creatures  to  King  Richard. 
Gkhen,  ) 

Earl  op  Northumberland. 
Henry  Percy,  his  Son. 


Lord  Ross.    Lord  Willoughby. 

Lord  Fitzwater. 

Bishop  of  Carlisle.    Abbot  op  Westhinsteb. 

Lord  Marshal;  andanulhtr  Lord. 

Siu  Pierce  of  Exton.    Sir  Stephen  Scroop. 

Captain  of  a  Band  of  Welshmen. 

Queen  to  King  Richard. 
Duchess  op  Gloster. 
Duchess  of  York. 
Lady,  attending  on  the  Queen. 

Lords,  Heralds,  Officers,  Soldiers,  two  Gardctiers, 
Keeper,  Messenger,  Groom,  and  other  Attendants. 


SCENE,  dispersedly  in  England  and  Wales. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  L— London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Richard,  attended:  John  of  Gaust, 

and  otiier  Nobles,  with  him. 
K.  Rich.  Old  John  of  Gaunt,  time-honor'd  Lan- 

Hast  thou,  accordins  to  thy  oath  and  band,' 
Brought  hither  Henry  Hereford,  thy  bold  son; 
Here  to  make  good  thp  boisterous  late  appeal. 
Which  tiien  our  leisure  would  not  let  us  near, 
Against  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray? 
Gaunt.  I  have,  mv  liese. 

K.  Rich.  Tell  me,  moreover,  hast  thou  sounded 
him. 
If  he  appeal  the  duke  on  ancient  malice; 
Or  worthily  as  a  good  subject  should. 
On  some  known  ground  of  treachery  in  him" 
Gaunt.  As  near  as  I  could  sift  hira  on  that  argu- 
ment,— 
On  some  apparent  danger  seen  in  him, 
Aim'd  at  your  highness;  no  inveternte  malice. 
K.  Rich.  Tlien  call  them  to  our  presence;  face 
to  face, 
And  frowning  brow  to  brow,  ourselves  will  hear 
The  accuser,  and  the  accused,  freely  speak: 

[Exeunt  some  Attendants. 
High-stomach'd  are  they  both,  and  full  of  ire. 
In  rage  deaf  as  the  sea,  hasty  as  lire. 

Re-enter  Attendants,  with  Bolinobeoee  and 

Norfolk. 
Bollng.  May  many  years  of  happy  days  befall 
My  gracious  sovereign,  my  most  loving  liege! 

Nor.  Each  day  still  better  other's  happiness; 
Until  tlio  heavens,  envying  earth's  good  hap, 
Add  an  immortal  title  to  your  crown! 
K.  Rich.  We  thank  you  both:  yet  one  but  flat- 
ters us, 
As  well  appeareth  by  the  cause  you  come; 
Namely,  to  appeal  each  other  of  high  treason. 


SOO 


'Bona. 


Cousin  of  Hereford,  what  dost  thou  object 
Against  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  iSlowbray'! 

Baling.  First,  (heaven  be  tlie  record  to  my  speech!) 
In  the  devotion  of  a  subject's  love. 
Tendering  the  precious  safety  of  my  prince, 
And  free  ftom  other  misbegotten  hate. 
Come  I  appellant  to  this  princely  presence. — 
Now,  Thomas  Mowbray,  do  I  turn  to  tliee, 
And  mark  ray  greeting  well;  for  what  I  speak, 
My  body  shall  make  good  upon  this  earth. 
Or  mj'  divine  soul  answer  it  in  heaven. 
Thou  art  a  traitor,  and  a  miscreant; 
Too  good  to  be  so,  and  too  bad  to  live: 
Since,  the  more  fair  and  crystal  is  the  sky. 
The  uglier  seem  the  clouds  that  in  it  fly. 
Once  more,  the  more  to  aggravate  the  note, 
With  a  foul  traitor's  name  stutt'I  thy  throat; 
And  wish,  (so  please  my  sovereign.)  ere  I  move. 
What  my  tongue  speaks,  my  right-drawn  sword  may 
prove. 

Nor.  Let  not  my  cold  words  here  accuse  my  zeal' 
'Tis  not  the  trial  of  a  woman's  war, 
Tile  bitter  clamor  of  two  eager  tongues. 
Can  nrliitrate  this  cause  betwixt  us  (wain: 
Tlio  binod  is  hot,  that  must  be  cool'd  for  this, 
Yet  can  I  not  of  such  tame  patience  boast, 
As  to  be  hush'd,  and  nought  at  all  to  say: 
First,  the  tair  reverence  of  your  highness  curbs  me 
From  giving  reins  and  .spurs  to  my  free  speech: 
Which  else  would  post,  until  it  had  return'd 
These  terms  of  treason  doubled  down  his  tliroat. 
Setting  aside  his  high  blood's  roj'alty, 
And  let  him  be  no  kinsman  to  my  liege, 
I  do  defy  him,  and  I  spit  at  him ; 
Call  him— a  slanderous  coward,  and  a  villain: 
Which  to  maintain,  I  would  allow  him  odds. 
And  meet  him,  were  I  tied  to  run  a-(bot 
Even  to  tlie  frozen  ridges  of  the  Alps, 
Or  any  otlier  ground  inhabitable," 
Wherever  Englishman  durst  set  his  foot. 

'Uninhabitable. 


Scene  I. 


KIKG  RICHARD  II. 


301 


Mean  time,  let  this  ilrliMid  my  loyalty, — 
By  all  my  hopes,  must  liilsely  doth  he  lie. 
Bating'.  Pale   tiembliiif  coward,  there  I  throw 
my  gage, 
Disclaiming  here  the  kindred  of  a  king; 
And  lay  aside  my  high  blood's  royalty, — 
Which  tear,  not  reverence,  makes  thee  to  except: 
If  guilty  dread  hath  Ictl  thee  so  much  strength, 
As  to  lake  up  mine  honor's  pawn,  then  stoop; 
By  that,  and  all  the  rights  of  Icnighthood  else, 
Will  I  make  good  aganist  thee,  arm  to  arm, 
What  1  have  spoke,  or  thou  canst  worse  devise. 

Nfjr.  I  take  it  up;  and,  by  that  sword  I  swear. 
Which  gently  laid  my  knighthood  on  my  shoulder, 
I'll  answer  thee  in  any  lair  degree, 
Or  chivalrous  design  of  knightly  trial: 
And,  when  I  mount,  alive  may  I  not  light, 
If  I  be  traitor,  or  unjustly  tight! 

K.  Rich.  Whatdothourcousinlay  to  Mowbray's 
charge  ^ 
It  must  be  great,  that  can  inherit  us 
So  much  as  ofa  thought  of  ill  in  him. 

Boiing.  Look,  what  I  speak  my  life  shall  prove 
it  true; — 
That  Mowbray  hath  receivM  eight  thousand  nobles, 
In  name  of  lendings  for  your  highness'  soldiers; 
The  whicli  he  hath  delaiiTd  for  lewd  employments, 
Like  a  lalse  traitor,  and  injurious  villain. 
Besides  1  say,  and  will  in  battle  prove, — 
Or  here,  or  elswhere,  to  tlie  furthest  verge 
That  ever  was  survcy'd  by  English  eye,— 
Tliat  all  the  treasons,  for  these  eighteen  j-ears 
ConipJutted  and  contrived  in  this  land. 
Fetch  from  false  Mowbraj' their  first  head  andspring. 
Further  I  say, — and  further  will  maintain 
Upon  his  bad  lile,  to  make  all  this  good, — 
Tliat  he  did  plot  the  duke  of  Gloster's  death; 
Suggest  his  soon-believing  adversaries; 
And,  consequently,  like  a  traitor  coward. 
Sluiced  out  his  innocent  soul  tlirough  streams  of 

blood: 
Which  blood,  like  sacrificingAbel's,  cries. 
Even  from  the  tongueless  caverns  of  the  earth. 
To  me,  for  justice,  and  rough  chastisement; 
And,  by  the  glorious  worth  of  iny  descent, 
This  arm  shall  do  it,  or  this  life  be  spent, 

K.  Rich.  How  high  a  pitch  his  resolution  soars! — 
Thomas  of  Norfolk^  what  say'st  thou  to  this? 

Nor.  O,  let  my  sovereign  turn  away  Iiis  face, 
And  bid  his  ears  a  little  while  be  deaf, 
Till  I  have  told  this  slander  of  his  blood, 
How  God,  and  good  men,  hate  so  foul  a  liar. 

A^  Rich.  Mowbray,  impartial  are  our  eyes,  and 
ears: 
Were  he  my  brother,  nay,  my  kingdom's  heir, 
(As  he  is  but  my  father's  brother's  son,) 
Now  by  my  sceptre's  awe  I  make  a  vow. 
Such  neighbor  nearness  to  our  sacred  blood 
Should  nuthing  privilege  him,  nor  partialize 
The  unstooping  firmness  of  my  uprigiit  soul; 
He  is  our  subject,  Mowbray,  so  art  thou ; 
Free  sjieecii,  and  fearless,  1  do  thee  allow. 

Nor.  Then,  Bolingbroke,  as  low  as  to  thy  heart, 
Througli  the  false  passage  of  thy  throat,  thou  licst. 
Three  parts  of  that  receipt  I  hail  tor  Calais, 
DisbursM  I  duly  to  his  Inghness'  soldiers: 
The  other  part  reserved  I  by  consent; 
For  that  my  sovereign  liege  was  in  my  debt, 
Upon  remainder  ofa  dear  account. 
Since  last  I  went  to  France  to  fetch  hjs  queen: 

Now    swallow    down    that    lie. For    Gloster's 

death,— 
I  slew  him  not;  but  to  my  own  disgrace. 
Neglected  my  sworn  duty  in  tliat  case. — 
For  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Lancaster, 
The  honorable  lather  to  my  toey 
Once  did  I  lay  in  ambush  lor  your  life, 
A  trespass  that  doth  vex  my  grieved  soul: 
But.  ere  I  last  receiv'd  the  sacrament, 
I  did  confess  it;  and  exactly  begg'd 
Your  grace's  pardon,  and,  I  hope,  I  had  it. 
This  is  my  fault:  As  for  the  rest  appeal'd, 
It  issues  from  the  rancor  ofa  villain^ 
A  recreant  and  most  degenerate  traitor: 
Wliicli  in  myself  I  boldly  will  defend; 
And  interchangeably  hurl  down  my  gage 
Upon  tiiis  overweening  traitor's  foot. 
To  prove  myself  a  loyal  gentleman 
Even  in  the  best  blood  chamberd  in  his  bosom: 


In  haste  whereof,  most  heartily  I  pray 
Your  hijrhness  to  assign  our  trial  day. 
K.  Rich.  Wrath-kindled  gentlemen,  be  rui'd  by 
me; 
Let's  purge  this  cnolcr  without  letting  blood: 
This  we  prescribe,  though  no  physician; 
Deep  malice  makes  too  deep  incision  : 
Forget,  ibrgive;  conclude,  and  be  agreed; 
Our  doctors  say,  this  is  no  time  to  bleed. — 
Good  uncle,  let  this  end  where  it  begun; 
We'll  calm  the  duke  of  Norlblk.  30U  your  son. 

Gaunt,  To  be  a  make-peace  shall  become  my  age: 
Throw  down,  my  son,  the  duke  of  Norlblk's  gage. 
A^  Rich.  And,  Norlblk,  tlirow  down  his. 
(Jaunt.  When,  Harry]  wheni 

Obedience  bids,  I  should  not  bid  again. 
A'.  Rich.  Norlblk,  throw  down;  we  bid;  there  is 

no  boot. 3 
Nor.  Myself  I  throw,  dread  sovereign,  at  thy  foot: 
My  lite  thou  shalt  command,  but  not  my  shame: 
Tlie  one  my  duty  owes;  but  my  fair  name, 
{Despite  of  death,  that  lives  upon  my  grave,) 
To  dark  dishonor's  use  thou  shalt  not  have. 
I  am  disgraced,  impeach'd,  and  baffled  heYe\ 
Pierced  to  the  soul  with  slander's  venom'd  spear; 
The  which  no  balm  can  cure,  but  his  heart-blood 
Which  brealh'd  this  poison. 

K.  Rich.  Rage  must  be  withstood; 

Give  me  his  gage: — Lions  make  leopards  tame. 
Nor.  Yea  but  not  change  their  spots:  take  but 
my  shame, 
And  I  resign  my  gage.    My  dear  dear  lord, 
The  purest  treasure  mortal  limes  alJbrd, 
Is — spotless  reputation;  that  away. 
Men  are  but  gilded  loam,  or  painted  clay, 
A  jewel  in  a  ten-t.imes-barr'd-up  chest 
Is — a  bold  spirit  in  a  loyal  breast; 
Mine  honor  is  my  life  ;  both  grow  in  one; 
Take  honor  from  me,  and  my  hie  is  done: 
Then,  dear  my  Iiege, mine  honor  let  me  try; 
In  that  1  live,  and  Ibr  that  will  i  die. 
K.  Rich.  Cousin,  throw  down  your  gage;  do  you 

begin. 
Boling.  0,  God  defend  my  soul  from  such  foul  sin! 
Sliall  I  seem  crest-lallen  in  mv  iatiier's  sight] 
Or  with  pale  bcirgar-tear  impeach  my  height 
Before  this  out-dared  dastard!   Ere  my  tongue 
Shall  wound  mine  honor  with  such  feeble  wrong, 
Or  sound  so  base  a  parle.  my  teeth  shall  tear 
The  slavish  motive  of  recanting  lear; 
And  spit  it  bleeding  in  his  high  disgrace, 
W^here  shame  doth  harbor,  even  in   Mowbray's 
face.  \Kxit  Gaunt, 

K.  Rich.  W^e  were  not  bom  to  sue,  but  to  com- 
mand : 
Which  since  we  cannot  do  to  make  you  friends, 
Be  ready  as  your  lives  shall  answer  it. 
At  Coventry",  upon  saint  Lambert's  day; 
There  shall  your  swords  and  lances  arbitrate 
The  swelling  diiference  of  your  settled  hate; 
Since  we  cannot  atone''  you,  we  shall  see 
Justice  desiL-^n^  tiie  victor's  chivalry. — 
Marshal, Tomniand  our  ollicers  at  arms 
Be  ready  to  direct  these  home-alarms.       [Exeunt, 

SCENE  l\.~The  same.    A  Roomirithe  Duke  of 
Lancaster's  Palace. 

Enter  Gaunt  and  Duchess  of  Glostku. 

Gaunt.  Alas!  the  part  I  had  in  Gloster's  blood 
Doth  more  solicit  me.  than  your  exclaims. 
To  stir  against  the  butchers  of  his  lile. 
But  since  correction  lieth  in  those  hands. 
Which  made  the  fault  that  we  cannot  correct, 
Put  we  our  quarrel  to  the  will  of  heaven; 
Who,  when  he  sees  the  hours  ripe  on  earth, 
VVill  rain  hot  vcriL^oance  on  otfenders' heads. 

Duck.  FiiK!--i'iiit)ierhoodin tlieenosharperspur? 
Hath  love  in  ihy  old  blood  no  living  firel 
Edward's  seven  sons,  whereof  thyself  art  one, 
Were  as  seven  phials  of  his  sacred  blood, 
Or  seven  fair  branches  springing  from  one  root: 
Some  of  those  seven  are  dried  by  nature's  course, 
Some  of  those  branches  by  the  destinies  cut: 
But,  Thomas,  my  dear  lord,  my  lite,  my  Gloster,— 
One  phial  full  ol  Edward's  sacred  blood. 
One  nourishing  branch  of  his  most  royal  root, — 
Is  crack'd,  and  all  the  precious  liquor  spilt; 

3  No  advantage  in  delay.        *  Reconcile.        *Show 


302 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  1, 


Is  hack'd  down,  and  his  summer  loaves  all  faded, 

By  envy's  liand,  and  murder's  bloody  axe. 

Ah,  Gaunt!  his  blood  was   thine;  that   bed,  that 

womb, 
That  metal,  that  self-mould,  that  fashion'd  thee, 
Jlada  him  a  man;  and  though  thou  liv'st,  and 

breath'st. 
Yet  art  tliou  slain  in  him;  thou  dost  consent 
In  sojne  large  measure  to  thy  father's  deatli. 
In  tiiat  thoij  seest  thy  wretched  brother  die, 
Who  was  the  model  of  thy  father's  life. 
Call  it  not  patience,  Gaunt,  it  is  despair: 
In  suliering  thus  thy  brother  to  be  slaughter'd, 
Thou  show'st  the  naked  pathway  to  thy  life, 
Teaching  stern  murder  how  to  butcher  thee: 
Tlial  whicii  in  mean  men  we  entitle — patience, 
Is  pale  cold  cowardice  in  noble  breasts. 
What  shall  I  say  !  to  safeguard  thine  own  life. 
The  best  way  is — to  'venge  my  Gloster's  death. 

Gaunt.  Heaven's  is  the  quarrel;    for  heaven's 
substitute. 
His  deputy  anointed  in  his  sight. 
Hath  caus''d  his  death:  the  which,  if  wrongfully, 
Let  heaven  revenge;  for  I  may  never  lift 
An  angry  arm  against  his  minister. 

Duck.  Where  then,  alasl  may  I  complain  myself? 

Gaunt.  To  heaven,  the  wicfow's  champion  and 
defence. 

Bncli.  Why  then,  I  will.    Farewell,  old  Gaunt. 
Thou  go'st  to  Coventry,  tiiere  to  behold 
Our  cousin  Hd'eford  and  lell  Mowbray  fight: 
O,  sit  my  husband's  wrongs  on  Hereford's  spear, 
That  it  may  enter  butcher  Mowbray's  breast!' 
Or,  if  misforttuie  miss  the  first  career. 
Be  .'\Iowbray's  sins  so  heavy  in  his  bosom, 
TJiat  tliey  may  break  his  loaming  courser's  back, 
And  throw  the  rider  lieadlong  in  tlie  lists, 
A  caitilf  recreant  to  my  cousin  Hereford! 
Farewell,  old  Gaunt;  thy  sometime  brother's  wife, 
Witli  her  companion  grief  must  end  her  life. 

Gaunt.  Sister,  farewell:  I  must  to  Coventry: 
As  much  good  stay  with  thee,  as  go  with  me! 

Duck.   Yet   one    word   more; — Grief  boundeth 
where  it  falls. 
Not  with  the  empty  hollowncss,  but  weight: 
I  take  my  leave  belbre  I  have  begun; 
For  sorrow  ends  not  when  it  seemeth  done. 
Commend  me  to  my  brother,  Edmund  York. 
Lo,  this  is  all:— Nay,  yet  depart  not  so: 
Though  this  be  all,  do  not  so  quickly  go; 
I  shall  remember  more.    Bid  him — 0,  what? — 
With  all  good  speed  at  Flashy"  visit  me. 
Alaclc.  and  what  sliall  good  old  York  there  see. 
But  empty  lodgings  and  unfurnish'd  walls. 
Unpeopled  oOices,  untrodden  stones? 
And  wliat  cheer  there  for  welcome,  but  my  groans? 
Therefore  commend  me;  let  him  not  come  there. 
To  seek  out  sorrow  that  dwells  every  where: 
Desolate,  desolate,  will  I  hence,  and  die; 
The  last  leave  of  thee  takes  my  weeping  eye. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Gosford  Green,  near  Country. 
Lists  set  out,unda  Throne.  Heralds,  kc,  altending. 
Enter  tlis  Lord  Marshal  and  Aumerle. 
TJar,  My  lord  Aumerle,  is  Harry  Hereford  arm'd? 
Aum.  Yea.  at  all  points:  and  longs  to  enter  in. 
Mar.  The  duke  of  Norfolk,  sprightfully  and  bold. 
Stays  but  the  summons  of  the  appellant's  trumpet. 
Aum.  W^liy,  then  the  champions  are  prepared 
and  stay 
For  nothing  but  his  majesty's  approach. 
Flmtrisfi  of  Trumptts.    Enter  King  Richard,  ivlio 
takci  fiii  seat  on  his  throne;  Gaunt,  and  several 
Nolilemen,  who  take  their  places.     A  trumpet  «■ 
sounded,   and   answered   by   another    trumpet 
within.  Then,  enter  Norfolk,  in  armor,  preceded 
bf/  a  Herald. 

A'.  Rich.  Marshal,  demand  of  yonder  champion 
The  cause  of  his  arrival  here  in  arms: 
As!c  him  his  name;  and  orderly  proceed 
To  su-ear  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 
Mar.  In  God's  name,  and  the  king's,  say  who 
thou  art. 
And  why  thou  com'st,  thus  knightly  clad  in  arms: 
i.,-;ainst  what   man  thou    com'st,  and  what  thy 
quarrel : 

"Iler  house  in  EsacK. 


Speak  truly,  on  thy  knighthood,  and  thy  oath; 
And  so  delend  thee  heaven,  and  thy  valor! 
Aor.  My  name  is  Th«mas  Mowbray,  duke  of 
Norfolk; 
Who  hither  come  engaged  by  my  oath, 
(Which,  heaven  defend,  a  knight  should  violate!) 
Both  to  delend  my  loyalty  and  truth. 
To  God,  my  king,  and  my  succeeding  issue. 
Against  the  duke  of  Hereford  that  ap'peals  me : 
And,  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  this  mine  arm, 
To  prove  him.  in  defending  of  myself, 
A  traitor  to  my  God,  my  king,  and  me: 
And,  as  I  truly  fight,  defend  me  heaven! 

[He  talces  his  seat. 

Trumpet  sounds.    Enter  Boungbroke,  in  armor, 
preceded  by  a  Herald. 

IC.  Rich.  Marshal,  ask  yonder  knight  in  arms. 
Both  who  he  is,  and  why  he  conieth  hither 
Thus  plated  in  habiliments  of  war; 
And  formally  according  to  our  law 
Depose  him  in  the  justice  of  his  cause. 

Mar.  What  is  thy  name?  and  wherefore  com'st 
thou  hither, 
Before  king  Richard,  in  his  royal  lists? 
Against  wiiom  comest  thou?  and  what's  thy  quar- 
rel ? 
Speak  like  a  true  knight,  so  defend  thee  heaven! 

Soling.  Harry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Am  I;  who  ready  here  do  stand  in  arms. 
To  prove,  by  heaven's  grace,  and  my  body's  valor. 
In  lists,  on  'Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  of  Norfolk, 
That  he's  a  traitor,  foul  and  dangerous. 
To  God  of  heaven,  king  Richard,  and  to  me: 
And,  as  I  truly  fight,  delend  me  heaven! 

Mar.  (in  pain  of  death,  no  person  be  so  bold 
Or  daring-hardy,  as  to  touch  the  lists; 
Except  the  marshal,  and  such  ollicers 
Appointed  to  direct  these  fair  designs. 

Holing.  Lord  Marshal,  let  me  kiss  my  sovereign's 
hand, 
And  bow  my  taiee  before  his  majesty : 
For  Mowbray,  and  myself,  are  like  two  men 
That  vow  a  long  and  weary  pilgrimage; 
Then  let  us  take  a  ceremonious  leave. 
And  loving  forcwell  of  our  several  friends. 

Mar.  The  appellant  in  all  duty  greets  j'our  high- 
ness. 
And  craves  to  kiss  your  hand,  and  take  his  leave- 

K.  Rich.  We  will  descend,  and  Ibid  him  in  our 
arms. 
Cousin  of  Hereford,  as  thy  cause  is  right. 
So  bo  thy  fortune  in  this  royal  fight! 
Farewell,  my  blood;  which  if  to-day  thou  shed. 
Lament  we  may,  but  not  revenge  thee  dead. 

Billing.  O,  let  no  noble  eye  profane  a  tear 
For  me,  if  I  be  gored  with  Mowbray's  spear; 
As  confident,  as  is  tiie  liilcon's  (light 

Against  a  bird,  do  I  with  Mowbray  fight. 

Jly  loving  lord,  [To  Lord  Marshal,]  I   lake  my 

leave  of  you; — 
Of  you,  my  noble  cousin,  lord  Aumerle; — 
Not  sick,  although  I  have  to  tlo  with  death; 

But  lusty,  young,  and  cheerly  drawing  breath. 

Lo,  as  at  English  feasts,  so  I  regreet 

The  daintiest  last,  to  make  the  end  most  sweet: 

O  thou,  the  earthly  author  of  my  blood, — 

[To  Gau.vt. 
Whose  youthful  spirit,  in  me  regenerate. 
Doth  with  a  two-fold  vigor  lilt  me  up 
To  reach  at  victory  above  my  head, — ■ 
Add  proof  unto  mine  armor With  thy  prayers; 
And  with  thy  blessing  stool  my  lance's  point. 
That  it  may  enter  Mowbray's  "waxen  coat. 
And  furbish  now  the  name'of  John  of  Gaunt, 
Even  in  the  lustj^  'havior  of  his  son. 

Gaunt.  Heaven  in  thy  good  cause  make  thee 
prosperous! 
Be  swift  like  lightning  in  the  execution: 
And  let  thy  blows,  doubly  redoubled, 
Fall  like  amazing  thunder  on  the  casque 
Of  thy  adverse,  pernicious  enemy: 
Rouse  up  thy  youthful  blood,  be  valiant,  and  live. 

Baling.   Aline  innocency,  and  saint  George  to 
thrive !  [He  talies  his  seat. 

Nor.  [RLfing.]  However  heaven,  or  Ibrtune,  cast 
my  lot, 
There  lives  or  dies,  true  to  kiug  Richard's  throne, 
A  loyal,  just,  and  upright  gentleman: 
Never  did  captive  with  a  freer  heart 


Scene  III. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


303 


Cast  otThis  chains  of  bondage,  and  embrace 
Hi«  golden  uncontroUM  enlranciiisement, 
I\!ore  than  my  dancing  soul  doth  celebrate 
This  tbast  ot  battle  with  mine  adversary. — 
Most  mighty  liege, — and  my  companion  peers, — 
Take  from  my  mouth  the  wish  of  happy  years: 
As  gentle  and  as  jocund,  as  to  jest. 
Go  I  to  fight;  Truth  hath  a  quiet  breast. 

A'.  Rich.  Farewell,  my  lord:  securely  I  espy 

Virtue  witli  valor  couched  in  thine  eye. 

Order  the  trial,  marshal,  and  begin. 

[The  King  an'l  the  Lords  re/urn  to  iheir  scats. 

Mar.  Harry  of  Hereford,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
Keceive  thy  lance;  and  God  defend  the  riglit ! 

Bolitig.  [Ri^'ing.]  Strong  as  a  tower  in  hope,  I 
cry — amen. 

Mar.  Go   bear  this  lance,   [To  an  Officer.]    to 
Thomas  duke  of  Norfolk. 

1  Her.  Harry  of  Herelbrd,  Lancaster  and  Derby, 
Standi  here  for  God,  his  sovereign,  and  himself, 
On  pain  to  be  found  lalse  and  recreant. 
To  prove  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  Mowbray, 
A  traitor  to  his  God,  liis  king,  and  him, 
And  dares  him  to  set  Ibrward  to  the  fight. 

'J  Her.  Here  standeth  Thomas  Mowbray,  duke  ot 
Norfolk, 
On  pain  to  be  Ibund  false  and  recreant. 
Both  to  defend  himself,  and  to  approve 
Henry  of  Herelbrd,  Lancaster,  and  Derby, 
To  God,  his  sovereign,  and  to  him,  disloyal ; 
Courageously,  and  with  a  free  desire, 
Attending  but  the  signal  to  begin. 

Mar.  Sound   trumpets;  and  set  forward,  com- 
batants. [A  charge  sounded. 
Stay,  the  king  hath  thrown  his  warder'  down. 

K.  Rich.  Let  them  lay  by  tiieir  helmets  and  their 
spears. 
And  both  return  back  to  tiieir  chairs  again:— 
Withdraw  with  us: — and  let  the  trumpets  sound, 
Wliile  we  return  these  dukes  what  we  decree. — 

[^4  long  flourish. 
Draw  near,  [To  the  combatants. 

And  list,  what  with  our  council  we  have  done. 
For  that  our  kingdom's  earlh  should  not  be  soilM 
With  that  dear  blood  which  it  halh  fostered; 
And  tor  our  eyes  do  hate  tlie  dire  aspect 
Of  civil  wounds  plough'd  up  wit]ineignbors''swords; 
[And  for  we  think  tlie  eagle-winged  pride 
Of  sky-aspiring  and  ambitious  thoughts 
With  rival-hating  envy,  set  you  on 
To  wake  our  peace,  which  in  our  country ^s  cradle 
Draws  the  sweet  infant  breath  of  gentle  sleep;] 
Which  so  rousM  up,  with  boisterous  untuned  drums, 
Witii  harsh  resoundiug  trumpets'  dreadful  bray, 
And  grating  shock  of  wrathful  iron  arms, 
Might  from  our  quiet  confmes  fright  lair  peace, 
And  make  us  wade  even  in  our  kindred's  blood; — 
Therefore  we  banish  you  our  territories; — 
You,  cousin  Hereford,  nj>on  pain  of  death. 
Till  twice  live  summers  have  enrich'd  our  tields, 
Shall  not  regreet  our  fair  dominions, 
But  tread  the  stranger  paths  of  banishment. 

Boling.  Your  will  be  done:  This  must  my  com- 
fort be, 

That  sun  that  warms-  you  here,  shall  shine  on  mc; 
And  those  his  golden  lieams,  to  you  here  lent. 
Shall  point  on  me.  and  gild  my  banishment. 

A'.  Rich.  Norfolk, fortlieereni;iinsaheavjerdoom, 
Wliich  I  with  some  unwilhngni-ss  jironounce: 
Tiic  tly-slow  hours  shall  nut  determinate 
Tlie  dateless  limit  of  thy  dear  exile;— 
The  hopeless  word  of — ^never  to  return, 
Breathe  I  against  thee,  upon  pain  of  life. 

Nnr.  A  heavy  sentence,  my  most  sovereign  liege, 
And  all  unlookM  for  from  your  highness'  mouth": 
A  dearer  merit,  not  so  deep  a  maim 
As  to  be  cast  forth  in  the  common  air. 
Have  I  deserved  at  your  highness'  hand. 
The  language  I  have  learn'd  these  forty  years, 
My  native  English,  now  must  T  forego, 
And  now  my  tongue's  use  is  to  me  no  more, 
Than  an  unstringed  viol  or  a  harp; 
Or,  like  a  cunning  instrument  cased  up, 
Or,  being  open,  put  into  his  bands 
That  knows  no  touch  to  tune  the  harmony. 
Within  my  mouth  you  have  engaol'd  my  tongue, 
Doubly  portcullis'd,  with  my  teeth,  and  lips; 
And  dull,  unfeeling,  barren  ignorance 

'Truncheon 


Is  made  my  gaoler  to  attend  on  me. 

I  am  too  old  to  tawn  upon  a  nurse, 

Too  far  in  years  to  be  a  pupil  now; 

What  is  thy  sentence,  then,  but  speechless  deatli, 

Which  robs  my  tongue  from  breathingnativebreathi 

K.  Rich.  It  boots  thee  not  to  be  compassionate; 
After  our  sentence,  plaining  comes  too  late. 

Nor.  Then  tiius  I  turn  me  from  my  country 'slight. 
To  dwell  in  solemn  shades  of  endless  night. 

[Rctimng, 

K.  Rich.  Return  again, andtake an  oath  with  thee. 
Lay  on  our  royal  sword  your  banish'd  hands; 
Swear  by  the  duty  that  you  owe  to  heaven, 
(Our  part  therein  we  banish  with  yourselves,) 
To  keep  the  oath  tliat  we  administer; — 
You  never  shall,  (so  help  you  truth  and  heaven!) 
Embrace  each  other's  love  in  banishment; 
Nor  never  look  upon  each  other's  face; 
Nor  never  wl-ite,  regreet,  nor  reconcile 
This  lowering  tempest  of  your  home-bred  hate; 
Nor  never  by  advised  purpose  meet. 
To  plot,  contrive,  or  complot  any  ill, 
'Gainst  us,  our  state,  our  subjects,  or  our  land. 

Boling.  I  swear. 

Nor.  And  I,  to  keep  all  this. 

Boling.  Norfolk,  so  far  as  to  mine  enemy; — 
By  this  time,  had  the  king  permitted  us. 
One  of  our  souls  had  wander'd  in  the  air, 
Banish'd  this  trail  sepulchre  of  our  Ilesh, 
As  now  our  Hcsh  is  banish'd  iVom  this  land: 
Conless  thy  treasons,  ere  thou  Ily  the  realm: 
Since  thou  hast  far  to  go,  be:ir  not  along 
The  clogging  burden  of  a  guilty  soul. 

Nor.  No,  Holingljrokc;  it  ever  I  were  traitor, 
My  name  be  blotted  from  tlie  book  of  liJe, 
And  I  from  heaven  banish'd  as  from  hence! 
But  what  thou  art,  heaven,  thou,  and  I  do  know; 
And  all  too  soon,  I  fear  the  king  shall  rue. — 
Farewell,  my  liege: — Now  no  way  can  I  stray; 
Save  back  toEngland,  all  the  world's  my  way.  [Kxit. 

K.  Ri^h.  l:ncle.  even  in  the  glasses  of  thine  eyes 
I  see  thy  grieved  heart;  thy  sad  aspect 
Hath  from  the  number  of  iii.s  banish'd  years 
Plucked  fou-  away: — Six  frozen  winters  spent, 
Return    [Tj  Boling.]  with   welcome  home  from 
banishment. 

Boling.  How  long  a  time  lies  in  one  little  word! 
Four  lagging  winters,  and  four  wanton  springs, 
End  in  a  word;  such  is  the  breath  of  kings. 

Gaunt.  I  thank  my  liege,  that  in  rejxard  of  me, 
He  shortens  four  years  ol  iny  son's  exile: 
But  little  vantage" shall  I  reap  thereby; 
For,  ere  the  six  years  that  he  hath  to  spend. 
Can  change  their  moons,  ;ind  bring  their  tunes  about, 
My  oil-dried  lamp,  and  time-bewasted  liglit. 
Shall  be  extinct  with  age  and  endless  night; 
My  inch  of  taper  will  be  burnt  and  done, 
And  blindlbld  death  not  let  me  see  my  sou. 

A'.  Rich.  Why, uncle  lliou  hast  many  yearstolive. 

Gaunt.  But  not  a  minute,  king,  that  thou  canst 
give : 
Shorten  my  days  thou  canst  with  sullen  sorrow, 
And  pluck  nights  from  me,  biU  not  lend  a  morrow. 
Thou  canst  help  time  to  furrow  me  with  age, 
But  stop  no  wrinkle  in  his  pilgrimage; 
Thy  word  is  current  with  him  lor  my  death; 
But,  dead,  thy  kingdom  cannot  buy  my  breath. 

K.  Rich.  Thy  son  is  banish'd  upon  good  advice; 
Whereto  thy  tongue  a  party  verdict  gave;"^ 
Why  at  our  justice  seem'st  thou  then  to  lower? 

Gaunt.  Things  sweet  to  taste,  prove  in  digestion 
sour. 
You  urged  me  as  a  judge;  but  I  had  i-ather, 
You  would  have  bid  me  argue  like  a  father: — 
0,  had  it  been  a  stranger,  not  my  child. 
To  smooth  his  fault  I  should  have  been  more  mild: 
A  partial  slander''  sought  I  to  avoid, 
And  in  the  sentence  my  own  life  destroy'd. 
Alas,  1  look'd,  when  some  of  you  should  say, 
I  was  too  strict  to  make  mine  own  away; 
But  you  gave  leave  to  my  unwilling  tongue, 
Against  my  will  to  do  myself  this  wrong. 

K.  iJ/c//.  Cousin,  farewell: — and. uncle  bid  him  so. 
Six  years,  we  i'anisb  him,  and  he  sliall  go. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt  K.  Richakd  «rt*^  Train. 

Aum.  Cousiu,  farewell:  what  presence  must  not 
kunw. 
From  where  you  do  rem  liu  let  paper  show. 


^Hail  a  part  or  share. 


^Reproacli  of  ijartiality. 


304 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  II. 


Mar.  My  lord,  no  leave  take  I;  for  I  will  ride, 
As  far  as  land  will  let  me,  by  your  side. 

Gaunt.  O,  to  what  purpose  dost  thou  hoard  thy 
words, 
That  thou  return'st  no  greeting  to  thy  friends? 

Baling.  I  have  too  tew  to  take  my  leave  of  you. 
When  the  tongue's  office  should  be  prodigal 
To  breathe  the  abundant  dolor  of  the  heart. 

Gaunt.  Thy  grief  is  but  thy  absence  for  a  time. 

Buliitfi.  Joy  absent,  grief  is  present  for  that  time. 

Gaunt.  VVhatissix winters'!  theyarequicklygone. 

Bating.  To  men  in  joy:  hut  grief  mai;es  one  hour 
ten. 

Gaunt.  Call  ita  travel  that  thou  tak'st  for  pleasure. 

Bnlins:.  My  heart  will  sigh  when  I  miscall  it  so, 
Which  hnds  it  an  enforced  pilgrimage. 

dim  III.  The  sullen  passage  of  Ihy  weary  steps 
Eslocm  a  foil,  wherein  thou  art  to  set 
The  precious  jewel  of  thy  home-return. 

Billing.  Nay,  rather,  every  tedious  stride  I  make 
Will  but  remember  me  what  a  deal  of  world 
I  wander  from  ihe  jewels  that  I  love. 
Must  I  not  serve  a  long  apprenticehood 
To  foreign  passages,  and  in  the  end. 
Having  my  freedom,  boast  of  nothing  else, 
But  that  1  was  a  journeyman  to  grief] 

Gaunt.  All  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visits, 
Arc  to  a  wise  man  ports  and  happy  havens: 
Teach  thy  necessity  to  reason  thus; 
There  is  no  virtue  like  necessity. 
Think  not,  the  king  did  banish  thee; 
But  thou,  the  king:  Woe  doth  the  heavier  sit, 
■  Where  it  perceives  it  is  but  faintly  borne. 
Go,  say — I  sent  thee  forth  to  purchase  honor. 
And  not— the  king  exiled  thee:  or  suppose, 
Devouring  pestilence  hangs  in  our  air. 
And  thoifart  flying  to  a  fresher  clime, 
Look,  what  thy  soul  holds  dear,  imagine  it 
To  lie  that  way  thou  go'st,  not  whence  thou  com'st: 
Suppose  the  singing  birds,  musicians; 
The  grass  whereon  thou  tread'st,  the  presence' 

strew'd; 
The  flowers,  fair  ladies;  and  thy  steps  no  more 
Than  a  delightful  measure  or  a  dance: 
For  gnarlings  sorrow  hath  less  power  to  bite 
The  man  tliat  mocks  at  it,  and  sets  it  light. 

Billing.  O,  who  can  hold  a  lire  in  his  hand, 
By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus] 
Or  cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite. 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast] 
Or  wallow  naked  in  December  snow. 
By  thinking  on  fantastic  summer's  heat] 
0,  no,  the  apprehension  of  the  good,  ' 
Gives  but  the  greater  feeling  to  the  worse: 
Fell  sorrow's  tooth  doth  never  rankle  more. 
Than  when  it  bites,  but  lanceth  not  the  sore. 

Gaunt.  Come,  come,  my  son,  I'll  bring  thee  on 
thy  way : 
Had  I  thy  youth  and  cause,  I  would  not  stay. 

Baling.  Then,  England's  ground,  farewell;  sweet 
soil,  adieu! 
My  mother,  and  my  nurse,  that  bears  me  yet! 

Where'er  1  wander,  boast  of  this  I  can, 

Though  banish'd,  yet  a  true-born  Knglishman. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.—Tfic  same.    A  Room  in  the  A'ing's 
Castle. 

Enter  King  Richakd.  B.\r,oT,  and  Greek;  Aumerle 
foltoiving. 
K.  Rii-fi.  We  did  observe.— Cousin  Aumerle, 
How  liir  brought  you  high  Hereford  on  his  way] 


Aum.  I  brought  high  Hereford,  if  you  call  him 
so. 
But  to  the  next  high  way,  and  there  I  left  him. 

K.  Ricli.  And,  .say,  what  store  of  parting  tears 
were  shed  ] 

Awn.  'Faith,  none  by  me:  except  the  north-east 
wind. 
Which  then  blew  bitterly  against  our  faces. 
Awaked  the  sleeping  rheum;  and  so,  by  chance, 
Did  grace  our  hollow  parting  with  a  tear. 

K.  Ricli.  What  said  our  cousin,  when  you  parted 
with  him] 

Aum.  Farewell: 
And,  for  my  heart  disdained  that  my  tongue 
Should  so  profane  the  word,  that  taught  me  cratt 
To  counterfeit  oppression  of  sueh  grief, 
That  words  seem'd  buried  in  my  sorrow's  grave. 
Marry,  would  the  word  farewell  have  lengthen'd 

hours. 
And  added  years  to  his  short  banishment, 
He  should  have  had  a  volume  of  farewells; 
But  since  it  would  not,  he  had  none  of  me. 

K.  Ricti.  He  is  our  cousin,  cousin;  but 'lis  doubt, 
When  time  shall  call  him  home  from  banishment, 
Whether  our  kinsman  come  to  see  his  friends. 
Ourself,  and  Bushy,  Bagot  here,  and  Green, 
Observ'd  his  courtship  to  the  common  people: — ■ 
How  he  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  hearts. 
With  humble  and  familiar  courtesy; 
What  reverence  he  did  throw  away  on  slaves; 
Wooing  poor  craftsmen,  with  the  craft  of  smiles, 
And  patient  underbearing  of  his  fortune. 
As  'twere  to  banish  their  affects  with  him. 
Olf  goes  his  bonnet  to  an  oyster-wench; 
A  brace  of  draymen  bid — (iod  speed  him  well. 
And  had  the  tribute  of  his  supple  knee. 
With — Ttianks, mij cnu ntrt/men,  mi/  lovingfriends; 
As  were  our  England  in  reversion  his, 
And  he  our  subjects'  next  degree  in  hope. 

Green.  Well,  he  is  gone;  and  with  liiui  go  these 
thoughts. 
Now  for  the  rebels,  which  stand  out  in  Ireland,— 
Expedient  manage  must  be  made,  my  liege; 
Ere  further  leisure  yield  them  further  means, 
For  their  advantage,  and  your  highness'  loss. 

A'.  Rick.  We  will  ourself  in  person  to  this  war. 
And,  for^  our  coflers — with  too  great  a  court. 
And  liberal  largess — are  grown  somewhat  light, 
We  arc  enforced  to  firm  our  royal  realm; 
The  revenue  whereof  shall  furnish  us 
For  our  alFairs  in  hand:  If  that  come  short. 
Our  substitutes  at  home  shall  have  blank  charters; 
Whereto,  when  they  shall  know  what  men  are  rich. 
They  shall  subscribe  them  ibr  large  sums  of  gold, 
And  send  them  after  to  supply  our  wants; 
For  we  will  make  for  Ireland  presently. 

Enter  BrsiiY. 

Bushy,  what  news] 
Buitiii.  Old  John  of  Gaunt  is  grievous  sick,  my 
lord; 
Suddenly  taken;  and  hath  sent  post  haste 
To  entreat  your  majesty  to  visit  him. 
K.  Ricli.  Where  lies  he  ] 
Buslii/.  At  Ely-house. 

K.  Rieti.  Now  put  it,  heaven,  in  his  physician's 
mind. 
To  help  him  to  his  grave  immediately! 
The  lining  of  his  coffers  shall  make  coats 
To  deck  olir  soldiers  Ibr  these  Irish  wars.— 
Come,  gentlemen,  let's  all  go  visit  him: 
Pray  lieaven,  we  may  make  haste,  and  come  too 
late!  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— London.    A  Room  in  Elij-liouse. 

Gaunt  on  a  Couc/i  ,•  tlie  Duke  of  York,  and  otliers, 
standing  by  tiim. 

Gaunt.  Will  the  king  come]  that  I  may  breathe 
my  last 
In  wholesome  counsel  to  his  unstay'd  youth. 


PreBcnce  chamber  at  court. 


'Growling. 


York.  Vex  not  yourself,  nor  strive  not  with  your 
breath ; 
For  all  in  vain  comes  counsel  to. his  ear. 
Gaunt.  O,  but  they  say,  the  tongues  of  dying 
men 
Enforce  attention,  like  deep  harmony : 
Where  words  are  scarce,  they  are  seldom  spent  in 
vain : 

s  Because. 


Scene  I. 


KING  EICHARD  II. 


305 


For  they  breathe  truth,  that  breathe  their  words  in 

pain. 
He.  that  no  more  must  say,  is  listen'd  more 

Than  they  whom  youth  and  ease  have  taught  to 
^lose;* 
More  arc  men's  endsmark'd  than  their  lives  before: 

The  setting  sun,  and  music  at  tiie  close, 
As  the  last  taste  of  sweets,  is  sweetest  last; 
Writ  in  remembrance,  more  than  things  long  past; 
Thougli  Richard  my  life's  counsel  would  not  hear, 
My  death's  sad  tale  may  yet  undeaf  his  ear. 

York.   No;   it  is  stopp'd  with  otlier  iJattcring 
sounds. 
As,  praises  of  his  state:  then,  there  are  found 
Lascivious  metres,  to  whose  venom  sound 
The  open  air  of  youth  doth  always  listen: 
Report  of  fashions  in  proud  Italy; 
Whose  mamiers  still  our  tardy  apish  nation 
Limps  after,  in  base  imitation. 
Where  doth  the  world  thrust  forth  a  vanity, 
(So  it  be  new,  there's  no  respect  how  vile,) 
That  is  not  quickly  buzz'd  into  his  ears] 
Then  all  too  late  comes  counsel  to  be  heard 
Where  will  doth  mutiny  with  wit's  regard. 
Direct  not  him,  whose  way  himself  will  choose; 
'Tis  breath  thou  lack'st,  and  that  breath  wilt  thou 
lose. 

Gaunt.  Blothinks,  I  am  a  prophet  new  inspir'd; 
And  thus,  expiring,  do  foretell  of  him : 
His  rash  lierce  blaze  of  riot  cannot  last: 
For  violent  tires  soon  burn  out  themselves: 
Small  showers  last  long,  but  sudden  storms  are 

short; 
He  tires  betimes,  that  spurs  too  fast  betimes; 
With  eager  feeding,  fiiod  doth  choke  the  feeder: 
Light  vanity,  insatiate  cormorant. 
Consuming  means,  soon  preys  upon  itself. 
This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  seeiitred  isle, 
This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Ma^, 
This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise; 
This  fortress,  built  by  nature  for  herself, 
Against  infection,  and  the  hand  of  war; 
This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world; 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea, 
Wliicn  serves  it  in  the  othce  of  a  wall, 
Or,  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house. 
Against  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands: 
Tliisblcssed  plot,  thisearth,  this  realm,  this  England, 
This  nurse,  this  teeming  womb  of  royal  kings, 
Fear'd  by  their  breed,  and  famous  by  their  birth. 
Renowned  (iir  their  deeds  as  far  from  home, 
(For  Christian  service,  and  true  chivalry,) 
As  is  the  sepulchre  in  stubborn  Jewry, 
Of  the  world's  ransom,  blessed  Mary's  son  : 
This  land  of  such  dear  souls,  this  dear  dear  land. 
Dear  for  her  reputation  through  the  world, 
Is  now  leas'd  out  (I  die  pronouncing  it) 
Like  to  a  tenement  or  pelting'  farm : 
England,  bound  in  with  the  triumphant  sea. 
Whose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 
•Of  watery  Neptune,  is  now  bound  in  with  sha'me. 
With  iid;y  blots,  and  rotten  parchment  bonds; 
That  England,  that  was  wont  to  coiiquer  others, 
Hath  made  a  shameful  conquest  of  itself: 
O,  would  the  scandal  vanish  with  my  life. 
How  happy  then  were  my  ensuing  death! 

Eriter  Kinx, Richard,  and  QrEEX ;  Aimerle, BrsnY, 
Grec.n-,  Bagot,  Ross,  and  WiLLOcciUBY. 

York.  The  king  is  come:  deal  mildly  with  his 
youth ; 
For  young  hot  colts,  being  raged,  do  rage  the  more. 

Queen.  How  lares  our  noble  uncle.  Lancaster? 

K.  Rich.  What  comfort,  mani    How  is't  with 
aged  Gaunt  1 

Gaunt.  0,  how  that  name  befits  my  composition! 
Old  Gaunt,  indeed;  and  gaunt"  in  being  old: 
Within  me  grief  hath  kept  a  tedious  liist; 
And  who  abstains  from  meat  that  is  not  gaunt'! 
For  sleeping  England  long  time  have  I  watch'd; 
Watching  breeds  leanness,  leanness  is  all  gaunt: 
The  pleasure  that  some  fathers  feed  upon. 
Is  my  strict  fast.  I  mean— my  children's  looks; 
And  therein  fasting,  hast  thou  made  me  gaunt: 
Gaunt  am  I  for  the  grave,  gaunt  as  a  grave. 
Whose  hollow  womb  inherits  nought  but  bones. 

K.  Rkti.  Can  sick  men  play  so  nicely  with  their 
names  ? 


•Flatter. 


'Paltry. 
20 


'  Lean,  thin. 


Gaunt.  No.  misery  makes  sport  to  mock  itself: 
Since  thou  dost  seek  to  kill  ray  name  in  me, 
I  mock  my  name,  great  king,  to  Hatter  thee. 

K.  Ricli.  Should  dying  mcJi  flatter  with  those 
that  live'! 

Gaunt.  No,  no;  men  living  flatter  those  that  die. 

K.  Rich.  Thou,  now  a  dymg,  say'st— thou  flat- 
ter'st  me. 

Gaunt.  Oh !  no ;  thou  diest.  though  I  the  sicker  be. 

K.  Rich.  I  am  in  health,  I  breathe,  and  see  thee 
ill. 

Gaunt.  Now.  He  that  made  me,  knows  I  see 
thee  ill; 
Til  in  myself  to  see,  and  in  the  seeing  ill. 
Thy  death-bed  is  no  lesser  than  the  land, 
Wlierein  thou  licst  in  reputation  sick: 
And  thou,  too  careless  patient  as  thou  art, 
Commit'st  thy  anointed  body  to  the  cure 
Of  thy  physicians  that  first  wounded  thee: 
A  thousand  flatterers  sit,  within  thy  crown. 
Whose  compass  is  no  bigger  than  thy  head; 
And  yet,  incaged  in  so  small  a  verge, 
The  waste  is  iio  whit  lesser  than  thy  land. 
O,  had  thy  grandsire,  with  a  prophet's  eye. 
Seen  how  IDs  son's  son  should  destroy  liis  sons. 
From  forth  thy  reach  he  would  have  laid  thy  shame; 
Deposing  thee  before  thou  wert  possess'd. 
Which  art  possess'd  now  to  depose  thyself. 
Why,  cousin,  wert  thou  regent  of  the  world. 
It  were  a  shame  to  let  this  land  by  lease: 
But,  for  the  world,  enjoying  liut  this  land. 
Is  it  not  more  than  sbaine,  to  shame  it  so? 
Landlord  of  England  art  thou  now,  not  king: 
Thy  state  of  law  is  bondslave  to  the  law; 
And  thou 

K.  Rich. a  lunatic  lean-witted  fool. 

Presuming  on  an  ague's  jtrivilege, 

Dar'st  with  thy  frozen  admonition 

Make  pale  our  cheek;  chasing  the  royal  blood, 

With  fury,  from  his  native  residence. 

Now  by  my  seat's  right  royal  majesty, 

Wert  tliou  not  brother  to  great  Edward's  son. 

This  tongue  that  runs  so  roundly  in  thy  head. 

Should  run  thy  head  from  thy  unreverend  shoulders. 

Gaunt.  0,  spare  me  not,  my  brother  Edward's  son, 
For  that  I  was  his  father  Edward's  son; 
That  blood  already,  like  the  pelican. 
Hast  thou  tapp'd  out,  and  drunkenly  carous'd: 
My  brother  Gloster,  plain  well-meaning  soul, 
(Whom  fair  befall  in  heaven  'mongst  happy  souls!) 
May  be  precedent  and  witness  good. 
That  thou  respecfsl  not  sjiilliug  Edward's  blood: 
Join  with  the  present  sickness  that  I  have; 
And  thy  unkinduess  be  like  crooked  age. 
To  crop  at  once  a  too-long  wither'd  Ilovver. 
Live  in  thy  shame,  but  die  not  shame  with  tlice!— 
These  words  hereafter  thy  tormentors  be, — 
Convey  me  to  my  bed,  then  to  my  grave: 
Love  they  to  live,  that  love  and  honor  have. 

[Exit,  borne  out  by  his  Attendants. 

K.  Rich.  And  let  them  die  that  age  and  suUena 
have ; 
For  both  hast  thou,  and  both  become  the  grave. 

Yirrk.  'Beseech  your  majesty,  impute  his  words 
To  wayward  sickbness  and  age  in  him  : 
He  loves  you.  on  my  lift.',  and  holds  jou  dear 
As  Harry  duke  of  Hereford,  were  he  here. 

K.  Rich.  Right;  you  say  true:  as  Hereford's  love, 
so  his: 
As  theirs,  so  mine ;  and  all  be  as  it  is. 

Enter  Nobtekmberland. 

North.  My  licgc,  old  Gaunt  commends  him  to 
your  majesty. 

K.  Rich.  What  says  lie  now? 

North.  Nay,  nothing;  all  is  said: 
His  tongue  is  now-  a  stringless  instrument ; 
Words,  life,  and  all,  old  Lancaster  hath  spent. 

York.  Be  York  tlie  next  that  must  be  bankruptso! 
Thougli  death  be  poor,  it  ends  a  mortal  woe. 

K.  Rich.  Theri])estfruil  hrstfaUs.andsodothhej 
His  time  is  spent,  our  pilgrimage  must  be: 

So  much  lor  that. Now  for  our  Irish  wars: 

We  must  supplant  those  rough  rug-headed  kernes; ' 
Which  live  like  venom,  where  no  venom  else. 
But  only  they,  hath  privilege  to  live. 
And  for  these  great  atlairs  do  ask  some  charge. 
Towards  our  assistance,  we  do  seize  to  us 

^  Irish  aoldicrs. 


306 


KING  EICHARD  II. 


Act  II. 


The  plate,  coin,  revenues,  and  moveables, 
Whereof  our  iincic  Oaunt  did  stand  possessM. 

YfU'h,  How  lon;^  shall  I  be  patient !  Ah,  how  long 
Shall  tender  duty  make  me  suiter  wrong! 
Not  Gloster's  death,  nor  Hereford's  banishment, 
Not  Gaunt's  rehulccs,  nor  Em;land's  private  wrongs. 
Nor  the  prevention  of  poor  liolingbroke 
About  his  marriap:e,  nor  my  own  disgrace. 
Have  ever  made  me  sour  my  patient  check. 
Or  bend  one  wrinkle  on  my  sovereign's  face. — 
I  am  the  last  of  noble  Edward's  sons. 
Of  whom  thy  father,  prince  of  Wales,  was  first: 
In  war,  w-as  never  lion  raged  more  fierce. 
In  peace  was  never  gei)tie  lamb  more  mild. 
Than  was  that  young  and  princely  gentleman: 
His  face  thou  hast,  for  even  so  look'd  he, 
Accomplish'd  with  the  number  of  thy  hours; 
But,  when  he  frown'd,  it  was  against  the  French, 
And  not  against  his  friends:  his  noble  hand 
Did  win  what  he  did  spend,  and  spent  not  that 
Which  his  triumphant  father's  hand  had  won: 
His  hands  were  guilty  of  no  kindred's  blood, 
But  bloody  with  the  enemies  of  liis  kin. 
O,  Richard!  York  is  too  far  gone  with  grief. 
Or  else  he  never  would  compare  Ijetween. 

K.  Rick.  Why,  uncle,  what's  the  matter? 

York.  0,  my  liege, 

Pardon  mo  if  you  please;  if  not,  I,  pleas'd 
Not  to  be  pardon'd,  am  content  withal. 
Seek  you  to  seize,  and  gripe  into  your  hands. 
The  royalties  and  rights  of  banish'd  Hereford  ? 
Is  not  Gaunt  dead]  and  doth  not  Hereford  live? 
W.as  not  Gaunt  just !  and  is  not  Harry  true? 
Did  not  the  one  deserve  to  have  an  heir? 
Is  not  his  heir  a  well-deserving  son  ? 
Take  Hereford's  rights  away,  and  take  from  time 
His  charters  and  his  customary  rights; 
Let  not  to-morrow  then  ensue  to-day; 
Be  not  thyself  for  how  art  thou  a  king. 
But  by  lair  sequence  and  succession? 
Now,  afore  God  {God  forbid.  I  say  true!) 
If  you  do  wrongfully  seize  Hereford's  rights. 
Call  in  the  letters  patent  that  he  hath 
By  hisattoriiies-L;eneral  to  sue 
His  livery,-  and  deny  his  otTer'd  homage. 
You  pluck  a  thousand  dangers  on  your  head. 
You  lose  a  thousand  well-disposed  hearts, 
And  prick  my  tender  patience  to  those  thoughts 
Which  honor  and  allegiance  cannot  think. 

K.  Rirfi.  Think  what  you  will;  we  seize  into  our 
hands 
His  plate,  his  goods,  his  money,  and  his  lands. 

York.  I'll  not  be  by  the  while:  My  liege,  fare 
wcU : 
What  will  ensue  hereof,  there's  none  can  tell; 
But  by  bad  courses  may  be  understood. 
That  their  events  can  never  fall  out  good.       [Exit. 

K.  Bic/i.   Go,  Bushy,  to   the  earl  of  Wilt-shire 
straight; 
Bid  him  repair  to  us  to  Ely-house, 
To  see  tins  business:  To-morrow  next 
We  will  for  Ireland;  and  'tis  time,  I  trow; 
And  we  create,  in  absence  of  ourself. 
Our  uncle  York  lord  governor  of  England, 
For  lie  is  just  and  always  lov'd  us  well. — 
Come  on.'our  queen:  to-morrow  must  we  part; 
Be  merry,  for  our  time  of  stay  is  short.     [Flourish. 
[Exeunt  KiNO,  Qceen,  Bushy,  Aumeble, 
Green,  and  Bagot. 

Norffi.  Well, lords, thedukeofLancasteris  dead. 

Jifnif.  And  living  too;  for  now  his  son  is  duke. 

IVUlo.  Barely  in  title,  not  in  revenue. 

Aorl/i..  Richly  in  both,  if  justice  had  her  right. 

liiiss.  My  iieart  is  great;  but  it  must  break  with 
silence, 
Ere't  be  disburden'd,  with  a  liberal  tongue. 

North.  Nay,  speak  thy  mind;  and  let  him  ne'er 
speak  more, 
That  speaks  thy  words  again,  to  do  thee  harm ! 

Willi).  Tends  that  thou'dst  speak,  to  the  duke  of 
Herelbrd? 
If  it  be  so,  out  with  it  boldly,  man; 
Quick  is  mine  ear  to  hear  of  good  towards  him. 

Ross.  No  good  at  all,  that  I  can  do  for  him  ; 
Unless  you  call  it  good  to  pity  him, 
Berell  and  gelded"  of  his  patrimony. 

A'ori/i.    Now,   afore   heaven,  'tis   shame,   such 
wrongs  are  borne. 


8  Cl&im  possession  ;  a  law  term. 


8  Deprived. 


In  him  a  royal  prince,  and  many  more 

Of  noble  blood  in  this  declining  land. 

The  king  is  not  himself,  but  basely  led 

By  llatterers;  and  what  they  will  inform, 

Merely  in  hate,  'gainst  any  of  us  all, 

That  will  the  king  severely  prosecute 

'Gainst  us,  our  lives,  our  children,  and  our  neirs. 

Ross.  The  commons  hath  he  pill'd'  with  grievoua 
taxes. 
And  lost  their  hearts;  the  nobles  hath  he  fined 
For  ancient  quarrels,  and  quite  lost  their  hearts. 

Willn.  And  daily  new  exactions  are  de^is'tl; 
As  blanks,  benevolences,  and  I  wot  not  what: 
But  what,  o'God's  name,  doth  become  of  this? 

North.  Wars  have  not  wasted  it,  for  warr'd  he 
hath  not. 
But  basely  yielded  upon  compromise 
That  which  his  ancestors  achiev'd  with  blows: 
More  hath  he  spent  in  peace,  than  they  in  wars. 

Ross.  The  earl  of  Wiltshire  hath  the  realm  in 
farm. 

Willv.  The  king's  grown  bankrupt,  like  a  broken 
man. 

North.  Reproach,  and  dissolution,  hangeth  over 
him. 

Ro.9s.  He  hath  not  money  for  these  Irish  wars, 
His  burdenous  taxations  notwithstanding. 
But  by  the  robbing  of  the  banish'd  duke. 

North.  His  nolile  Kinsman;  most  degenerate  king! 
But,  lords,  we  hear  this  l.arful  tempest  sing. 
Yet  seek  no  shelter  to  avoid  the  storm: 
We  see  the  wind  sit  sore  upon  our  sails. 
And  yet  we  strike  not,  but  securely  perish.^ 

Ross.  We  see  the  very  \vreck  that  we  must  sulTer; 
And  unavoided  is  the  danger  now. 
For  sulfering  so  the  causes  of  our  wreck. 

North.  Not  so ;  even  through  the  hollow  eyes  ot 
death, 
I  spy  life  peering ;  but  I  dare  not  say 
How  near  the  tidings  of  our  comfort  is. 

IVUto.  Nay,  let  us  share  thy  thoughts,  as  thou 
dost  ours. 

Ross.  Be  confident  to  speak,  Northumberland: 
We  three  are  but  thyself;  and,  speaking  so. 
Thy  words  are  but  as  thouglUs;  therefore  be  bold. 

North.  Then  thus : — I  have  from  Port  le  Blanc,  a 
bay 
In  Brittany*,  recciv'd  intelligence, 
Tliat  Harry  Hereford,  Reignold  lord  Cobham, 
[The  son  of  Riciiard  earl  of  Arundel,] 
That  late  broke  from  the  duke  of  Exeter, 
His  brother,  archbishop  late  of  Canterbury, 
Sir  Thomas  Erj^inghani,  sir  John  Ramston, 
Sir  John  Norbery,  sir  Robert  Waterton,  and  Francis 

Quoint, 

All  these  well  furnish'd  by  the  duke  of  Brctajne, 
With  eight  talP  ships,  three  thousand  men  of  war, 
Are  mailing  hither  with  all  due  expedience,* 
And  shortly  mean  to  touch  our  northern  shore: 
Perhaps,  they  had  ere  this;  but  that  they  stay 
The  first  departing  of  the  king  for  Ireland.  • 

If  then,  we  shall  shake  oti'our  slavish  yoke. 
Imps  out  our  drooiiini;  country's  broken  wing. 
Redeem  from  broKiiii,'  pawn  tlie  blemish'd  crown, 
Wipe  oil  the  dust  that  ludes  our  sceptre's  gUt,° 
And  make  high  majesty  look  like  itself. 
Away,  with  me,  in  post  to  Ravenspurg: 
But  if  you  faint,  as  fearing  to  do  so. 
Stay,  and  be  secret,  .and  myself  will  go. 

Russ.  To  horse,  to  horse!  urge  doubts  to  them 
that  fear. 

WUlo.  Hold  out  my  horse,  and  I  will  first  be  there 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  II.— 7"/iC  same.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Qceen,  Bushy,  and  Bagot. 

Bushi/.  Madam,  your  majesty  is  too  much  sad: 
You  promis'd  when  you  parted  with  the  king. 
To  lay  aside  lill-lianniiig  heaviness. 
And  entertain  a  clieerliil  disposition. 

Queen.  To  please  the  king,  I  did;  to  please  my- 
self, 
I  cannot  do  it;  vet  I  know  no  cause 
Why  I  should  welcome  such  a  guest  as  grief, 
Save  bidding  farewell  to  so  sweet  a  guest 

1  Pillaged.      ^perish  by  confidence  in  our  security, 
3  Stout.  *  Expedition 

'  Supply  with  new  feathers.  "Gilding. 


Scene  III. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


307 


As  my  sweet  Richard:  Yet.  asain,  methinks, 
Some  unborn  sorrow,  ripe  in  lortunc's  womb, 
Is  coming  towards  me;  and  my  I'nward  soul 
VVitli  notliins  tremliics:  at  .soiiielliiiiij  it  grieves, 
More  than  witli  partius  Irnm  my  lord  the  king. 

Bushy.  Each  substance  of  a  grief  liath  twenty 
shadows, 
Which  show  like  grief  itself,  but  arc  not  so: 
For  sorrow's  eye,  glazed  witli  blinding  tears, 
Divides  one  thing  entire  to  many  objects; 
Like  perspectives,'  whicl),  riglitly  giiz'd  upon, 
Show  nothing  but  confusion;  eyM  awry. 
Distinguish  tbrm:  so  your  sweet  majesty, 
Looking  awry  upon  your  lord's  departure, 
Finds  shapes  of  griet;  more  than  himself  to  wail; 
Which,  look'd  on  as  it  is,  is  nought  but  shadows 
Of  what  it  is  not.    Then,  tlirice-gracious  queen, 
More  than  your  lord's  departure  weep  not ;  more's 

not  seen : 
Or  if  it  be,  'tis  with  false  sorrow's  eye. 
Which,  for  things  true,  weeps  things  imaginary. 
•    Queen.  It  may  be  so;  but  yet  my  inward  soul 
Persuades  me,  it  is  otherwise;  Howe'er  it  be, 
I  cannot  but  be  sad;  so  heavy  sad. 
As,— though,  in  thniking,  on  no  thought  I  think,— 
Makes  me  witli  heavy  nothing  faint  and  shrink. 

Bushy.  'Tis  nothing  but  conceit,'  my  gracious 
lady. 

Queen.  'Tis  nothing  less:  conceit  is  still  derived 
From  some  fore-lather  grief;  mine  is  not  so; 
For  nothing  lialh  begot  mv  something  grief; 
Or  something  hath  the  nothing  that  I  grieve: 
'Tis  in  reversion  that  I  do  possess ; 
But  what  it  is,  that  is  not  yet  laiown;  what 
I  cannot  name;  'tis  nameless  woe,  I  wot.** 

Enter  Greek. 

Green.  Heaven   save  your  majesty!- and  well 
met,  gentlemen: — 
I  hope,  the  king  is  not  yet  shipp'd  for  Ireland. 

Queen.  Why  liop'st  "thou  so !  'tis  better  hope, 
iie  is. 
For  his  designs  crave  haste,  his  haste  good  hope; 
Then  vvheretbre  dost  thou  hope,  he  is  not  shipp'd? 

Green.  That  he,  our  'hope,  might  have  retired 
his  power. 
And  driven  into  despair  an  enemy's  hope. 
Who  strongly  hath  set  footing  in  this  land: 
The  banish'd  Bolingbroke  repeals  himself. 
And  witli  uplifted  arms  is  safe  arriv'd 
At  Ravcnspurg. 

Queen.  Now  God  in  heaven  forbid ! 

Green.   O,  madam,  'tis  too  true:   and  that  is 
worse, — 
The  lord  Northumberland,  his  young  son  Henry 

Percy, 
The  lords  of'Uoss,  Beaumont,  and  Willoughby, 
With  all  their  powerful  friends,  arc  lied  to  hiui. 

Bushy.  Why  have  you  not  proclaim'd  North- 
umberland, 
And  all  the  rest  of  the  revolting  faction 
Traitors! 

Green.  We  have:  whereon  the  earl  of  Worcester 
Hath  broke  his  statf,  resign'd  his  stewardsliip. 
And  all  the  household  servants  tied  with  him 
To  Bolingbroke. 

Queen.  So,  Green,  thou  art  the  midwife  to  my  woe. 
And  Bolingbroke  my  sorrow's  dismal  heir: 
Now  hath  my  soul  brought  forth  her  prodigy; 
And  I,  a  gasping  new-deliver'd  mother. 
Have  woe  to  woe,  sorrow  to  sorrow  join'd. 

Bushy.  Despair  not,  madam. 

Queen.  Who  shall  hinder  me? 

I  will  despair,  and  be  at  enmity 
With  cozening  hope;  he  is  a  flatterer, 
A  parasite,  a  keeper-back  of  death. 
Who  gently  would  dissolve  the  bands  of  life. 
Which  false  hope  lingers  in  extremity. 
Enter  York. 

Green.  Here  comes  the  duke  of  York. 

Queen.  Wilh  signs  of  war  about  his  aged  neck; 
0,  full  of  careful  business  are  his  looks! — 
Uncle, 
For  heaven's  sake,  speak  comfortable  words. 

York.  Should  I  do  so,  I  should  belie  my  thoughts: 
Comfort's  in  heaven;  and  we  are  on  the  earth. 
Where  nothing  lives  but  crosses,  care  and  grief. 
Your  husband  he  is  gone  to  save  farott', 

'Pictures.  « Fanciful  conception.  'Know. 


Whilst  others  come  to  make  him  lose  at  home: 
Here  am  I  lelt  to  underprop  his  land, 
Who,  weak  with  age.  cannot  support  myself; 
Now  comes  the  sick  hour  that  his  surl'eit  made; 
Now  shall  he  try  his  friends  that  flatter"d  him. 
Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  My  lord,  your  son  was  gone  before  I  came, 
York.  He  was?— Why,  so  I— go  all  which  way  it 
will! — 
The  nobles  they  are  fled,  the  commons  cold. 
And  will,  I  It'ar,  revolt  on  Hereford's  side. — 
Sirrah, 

Get  thee  to  Plashy,  to  my  sister  Gloster; 
Bid  her  send  me  presently  a  thousand  pound: — 
Hold,  take  my  ring. 

Sen:  My  lord,  I' had  forgot  to  tell  your  lordsliip: 
To-day,  as  I  came  by,  I  called  there; 
But  I  shall  grieve  you  to  report  the  rest. 
York.  What  is  it,  knave  ? 

Se>-v.  An  hour  before  I  came,  the  duchess  died. 
York.  God  for  his  mercy!  wnat  a  tide  of  woes 
Comes  rushing  on  this  woeful  land  at  once! 
I  know  not  wliat  to  do; — I  would  to  God, 
(So  my  untruth'  had  not  provoked  him  to  it,) 
The  king  hath  cut  otfmy  head  with  my  brother's. 
Wliat,  are  there  posts  despatch'd  lor  Ireland! — 
How  shall  we  do  lor  money  for  these  wars? 
Come,  sister, — cousin,  I  would  say,  pray,  pardon 

me. — 
Go,  fellow,  [To  the  Servant.]  get  thee  home,  pro- 
vide some  carts. 
And  bring  away  the  armor  that  is  tliere. 

[E.vH  Servant. 
Gentleman,  will  you  go  muster  men?  if  I  know 
How,  or  which  way.  to  order  these  atlairs. 
Thus  thrust  disorderly  into  my  hands. 
Never  believe  me.    Both  are  my  kinsmen; 
The  one's  my  sovereign,  whom' both  my  oath 
And  duty  bids  defend;  the  other  again. 
Is  my  kiiisnian,  whom  the  king  hath  wrong'd; 
Whom  conscience  and  my  kindred  bids  to  right. 
Well,  somewhat  we  must" do.    Come,  cousin,  I'll 
Dispose  of  you: — Go,  muster  up  your  men. 
And  meet  nie  ]iresenlly  at  iierkley-castle. 
I  should  to  Plashy  too,— 
But  time  will  not  permit : — All  is  uneven. 
And  every  thing  is  left  at  six  and  seven. 

[Exeunt  York  and  Qrr.F.x. 
Bushy.  The  wind  sits  fair  for  news  to  go  to  Ire- 
land, 
But  none  returns.    For  ns  to  levy  power, 
Proportionable  to  the  enemy. 
Is  all  impossible. 

Gi-een.  Besides,  our  nearness  to  the  king  in  love. 
Is  near  the  hate  of  those  love  not  the  king. 
Bagot.  And  that's  the  wavering  commons:  for 
their  love 
Lies  in  their  purses;  and  whoso  empties  them. 
By  so  much  (ills  their  heart  with  deadly  hate. 
Bushy.  Wherein  the  king  stands  generally  con- 

"dcmn'd. 
Bagot.  If  judgment  lie  in  them,  then  so  do  we, 
Because  we  ever  have  been  near  the  king. 
Green.  Well,  I'll   liir  refuge  straight  to  Bristol 
castle; 
The  earl  of  Wiltshire  is  already  there. 

Bushy.  Thither  will  I  with  you:  for  little  office 
The  hateful  commons  will  perform  for  us; 
Except  like  curs  to  tear  us  all  to  pieces. — 
Will  you  go  along  with  us! 

Bagot.  No:  I'll  to  Ireland  to  his  majesty. 
Farewell;:  if  heart's  presages  be  not  vain. 
We  three  here  part,  that  ne'er  shall  meet  again. 
Bushy.  That's  as  York  thrives  to  beat  back  Bo- 

"lingbroke. 
Green.  Alas,  poor  duke!  the  task  he  undertakes 
Is — numbering  sands,  and  drinking  oceans  dry; 
Where  one  on  his  side  lights,  thousands  will  tly. 
Bushy.  Farewell  at  once;  foronee.forall, and  ever. 
Great.  Well,  we  may  meet  again. 
Bagot.  I  fear  me,  never 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— The  Wilds  in  Gloucestersliire. 

Enter  Bolingbroke  and  NoRTHtWEERLASii  icit/i 

Forces. 
Bating.  How  far  is  it.  my  lord,  to  Berkley  now' 
^'orth.  Believe  me,  noble  lord. 


'  Disloyalty. 


308 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  n. 


I  am  a  stranger  here  in  Glostcrshire. 

These  high  wild  hiUs,  and  rough  uneven  ways, 

Draw  out  our  miles  and  make  tliera  wearisome: 

And  j'et  your  fair  discourse  liath  been  as  sugar, 

Maliing  the  hard  way  sweet  and  delectable. 

But,  1  bethink  me,  what  a  weary  way 

From  Ravenspurg  to  Cotswold  will  be  found 

In  Ross  and  Willuugh by,  wanting  your  company; 

Which,  I  protest,  hath  very  much  beguil'd 

The  tediousness  and  process  of  my  travel: 

But  theirs  is  sweeten'd  with  the  hope  to  have 

The  present  benefit  which  I  possess: 

And  hope  to  joy,  is  little  less  in  joy. 

Than  hope  enjoy 'd:  by  this  the  weary  lords 

Shall  make  their  way  seem  short;  as  mine  hath 

done 
By  sight  of  what  I  have,  your  noble  company. 
BuUng.  Of  mueli  less  value  is  my  company, 
Tlian  your  good  words.    But  who  comes  here? 
Enter  Hakry  Percv. 
North.  It  is  my  son,  5'oung  Harry  Percy, 
Sent  from  my  brother  Worcester,  whencesoever. 
Harry,  how  tares  your  uncle? 
Percy.  I  had  thought,  my  lord,  to  have  learn'd 

his  health  of  you. 
Nortfi..  Why,  is  he  not  with  the  queen? 
Percy.  No,  my  good  lord;  he  hatli  forsook  the 
court. 
Broken  his  stafTof  office,  and  dispers'd 
The  household  of  the  king. 

Nurt/i.  What  was  his  reason  ? 

He  was  not  so  resolv'd  when  last  we  spake  together. 
Percy.  Because  your  lordship  was  proclaimed 
traitor. 
But  he,  my  lord,  is  gone  to  Ravenspurg, 
To  olfer  service  to  the  duke  of  Hereford; 
And  sent  me  o'er  by  Berkley,  to  discover 
What  power  the  duke  of  York  had  levied  there; 
Then  with  direction  to  repair  to  Ravenspurg. 
Nurt/i.  Have  you  forgot  the  duke  of  Hereford, 

boy? 
Percy.  No,  my  good  lord;  for  that  is  not  forgot, 
■  Which  ne'er  I  did  remember:  to  my  knowledge, 
I  never  in  my  life  did  look  on  him. 
Nurtfi.  Tlien  learn  to  know  him  now;  this  is  the 

duke. 
Percy.  My  gracious  lord,  I  tender  you  my  service, 
Such  as  it  is,  being  tender,  raw,  and  j'oung; 
Which  elder  days  shall  ripen  and  confirm 
To  more  approved  service  and  desert. 

Baling.  I  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy;  and  be  sure, 
I  count  myself  in  nothing  else  so  happy. 
As  in  a  soiil  remcmb'ring  my  good  frieiids; 
And,  as  my  fortune  ripens  with  thy  love. 
It  sliall  be  still  thy  true  love's  recompense: 
My  heart  this  covenant  makes,  my  hand  thus  seals 
it. 
Nortru  How  far  is  it  to  Berkley?  And  what  stir 
Keeps  good  old  York  there,  with  his  men  of  war? 
Percy.  There  stands  the  castle,  by  yon  tuft  of 
trees, 
Mann'd  with  three  hundred  men,  as  I  have  heard: 
And  in  it  are  the  lords  of  York,  Berkley,  and  Sey- 
mour: 
None  else  of  name,  and  noble  estimate. 
Enter  Ross  and  Willougiiby. 
Nort/i.  Here  comes  the  lords  of  Ross  and  Wil- 
loughby. 
Bloody  with  spurring,  fiery-red  with  haste. 
Buhng.  Welcome,  my  lords:  I  wot,^  your  love 
pursues 
A  b.inish'd  traitor;  all  my  treasury 
Is  yet  but  unfelt  thanks,  which,  more  enrich'd, 
Shall  be  your  love  and  labor's  recompense. 
Muss.  Y'our  presence  makes  us  rich,  most  noble 

.     lord. 
IVil.to.  And  far  surmounts  our  labor  to  attain  it. 
Bvling.  Evermore  thanks,  the  exchequer  of  the 
poor; 
Which  till  my  infant  fortune  comes  to  years. 
Stands  for  my  bounty.    But  who  comes  here? 
Enter  Bericley. 
Nurt/i.  It  is  my  lord  of  Berkley,  as  I  guess. 
Bi  rl;.  My  lord  of  Hereford,  my  message  is  to  you. 
U'j/ing.  My  lord,  my  answer  is— to  Lancaster; 
And  I  am  come  to  seek  that  name  in  England: 


'Know. 


And  I  must  find  that  title  in  your  tongue. 
Before  I  make  reply  to  aught  you  say. 
Berli.  Mistake  me  not,  my  lord;  'tis  not  my 
meaning. 
To  raze  one  title  of  your  honor  out: 
To  you,  my  lord,  I  come  (what  lord  you  wUl) 
From  the  most  glorious  regent  of  this  land. 
The  duke  of  York;  to  know,  what  pricks  you  on 
To  take  advantage  of  the  absent  tiine,^ 
And  fright  our  native  peace  with  seLf-born  arms. 

Enter  Y'ork,  attended. 

Baling.  I  shall  not  needs  transport  my  words  by 
you. 

Here  comes  his  grace  in  person.— My  noble  uncle! 

'Kneels, 
iork.  Show  me  thy  humble  heart  and  not  thy 
knee. 

Whose  duty  is  deccivable  and  false. 
Baling.  Sly  gracious  uncle! 
York.  Tut,  tut! 
Grace  me  no  grace,  nor  uncle  me  no  uncle:  * 

I  am  no  traitor's  uncle;  and  the  word— grace, 
In  an  ungracious  moutii,  is  but  profane. 

Why  have  those  banish'd  and  forbidden  legs 

Dared  once  to  touch  a  dust  of  England's  ground? 
But  then   more  why;— Why  have  they  dared  to 

march 
So  many  miles  upon  her  peaceful  bosom; 
Frighting  her  pale-faced  villages  with  war, 
And  ostentation  of  despised  arms? 
Com'st  thou  because  the  anointed  king  is  hence? 
Why,  foolish  boy,  the  king  is  letl  behind, 
And  in  my  loyal  bosom  lies  his  power. 
Were  I  but  now  the  lord  of  such  hot  youth. 
As  when  brave  Gaunt,  thy  father,  andf  myself. 
Rescued  the  black  prince,  that  young  Mars  of  men, 
From  forth  the  ranks  of  many  thousand  French; 
0,  then,  how  quickly  should  this  arm  of  mine, 
Now  prisoner  to  the  palsy,  chastise  thee. 
And  minister  correction  to  thy  fault ! 

Baling.  My  gracious  uncle,  let  me  know  *y  fault; 
On  what  condition  stands  it,  and  wherein? 

York.  Even  in  condition,  of  the  worst  degree, — 
In  gross  rebellion,  and  detested  treason: 
Thou  art  a  banish'd  man,  and  here  art  come, 
Before  the  expiration  of  thy  time. 
In  braving  arms  against  thy  sovereign. 

Bating.  As  I  was  banish'd,  I  was  banish'd  Here 
ford; 
But  as  I  come,  I  come  for  Lancaster. 
And,  noble  uncle,  I  beseech  your  grace, 
Look  on  my  wrongs  with  an  indifferent'  eye: 
You  are  my  father,  for,  methinks,  in  you 
I  see  old  Gaunt  alive;  O,  then,  my  father! 
Will  you  permit  that  I  shall  stand  condemn'd 
A  wandering  vagabond;  my  rights  and  royaltiea 
Pluck'd  from  my  arms  perforce,  and  given  away 
To  upstart  unthritls  !     Wherefore  was  I  bom? 
If  that  my  cousin  king  be  king  of  England, 
It  must  be  granted,  I  am  duke  of  Lancaster. 
You  have  a  son^  Aumeric,  my  noble  kinsman; 
Had  you  first  died,  and  he  been  thus  trod  down, 
He  should  have  found  his  uncle  Gaunt  a  father. 
To  rouse  his  wrongs,saiid  chase  them  to  the  bay. 
I  am  denied  to  sue  my  livery^  here. 
And  yet  my  letters-patent  give  me  leave: 
My  father's  goods  are  all  distrain'd  and  sold; 
And  these,  and  all,  are  all  amiss  employ'd. 
What  would  you  have  me  do?  I  am  a  subject, 
And  challenge  law:  Attornies  are  denied  me; 
And  therefore  pcrsonallv  I  lay  my  claim 
To  my  inheritance  of  free  descent. 

Nur't/i.  The  noble   duke  hath  been   too   much 
abused. 

Ross.  It  stands  your  grace  upon,'  to  do  him  right. 

Willo.  Base  men  by  his  endowments  are  made 
great. 

York.  My  lords  of  England,  let  me  tell  you  this,— 
I  have  had  feeling  of  my  cousin's  wrongs. 
And  labor'd  all  I  could  to  do  him  right: 
But  in  this  kind  to  come,  in  braving  arms, 
Be  his  own  carver,  and  cut  out  his  way. 
To  find  out  right  with  wrong, — it  may  not  be; 
And  you,  that  do  abet  him  in  this  kind, 
Cherish  rebellion,  and  are  rebels  all. 

^  Time  of  the  king's  al>sence.  *  Impartial. 

^Tfie  persons  i>-ho  wronj;  liim. 
I     *  Possession  of  my  land,  &c.      '  It  is  your  interest. 


Act  III.  ScEXE  II. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


309 


North.  The  noble  duke  hath  sworn,  his  com- 
ing is 
But  for  liis  own :  and,  for  the  right  of  that, 
We  all  have  strongly  sworn  to  give  him  aid ; 
And  let  him  ne'er  see  joy,  that  breaks  that  oath. 
Yvrk.  Well,    well,   I   see    the   issue    of   these 
arras; 
I  cannot  mend  it,  I  must  needs  confess, 
Because  my  power  is  weak,  and  all  ill  left; 
But,  if  I  coiild,  by  him  that  gave  me  life, 
I  would  attach  you  all,  and  make  you  stoop 
Unto  the  sovereign  mercy  of  the  King; 
But,  since  I  cannot,  be  it  knowni  to  you, 
I  do  remain  as  neuter.    So  fare  you  well; — 
Urdess  you  please  to  enter  in  the  castle. 
And  there  repose  you  for  this  night. 

Baling.  An  offer,  uncle,  that  we  will  accept. 
But  we  must  win  your  grace,  to  go  with  us 
To  Bristol  castle;  which,  they  say,  is  held 
By  Bushy,  Bagot,  and  their  complices. 
The  caterpillars  of  the  commonwealth. 
Which  I  have  sworn  to  weed,  and  pluck  away. 
York.  It  may  be,  I  will  go  with  you :— but  yet  I'll 
pause; 
For  I  am  loth  to  break  our  country's  laws. 
Nor  friends,  nor  foes,  to  me  welcome  you  are: 
Things  past  redress,  are  now  with  me'  past  care. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.— .1  Camp  in  Wales. 
Enter  Salisbury,  and  a  Captain. 

Capt.  My  lord  of  Salisbury ,  we  have  staid  ten  days, 
And  liardly  kept  our  countrymen  together. 
And  yet  we  hear  no  tidings  from  the  king: 
Therefore  we  will  disperse  ourselves:  farewell. 

Sal.  Stay  yet  another  day,  thou  trusty  Welshman; 
The  liing  reposeth  all  his  confidence 
In  thee. 

Capt.  'Tis  thought  the  king  is  dead:  we  will  not  stay. 
The  bay-trees  in'our  country  arc  all  wither'd. 
And  meteors  fright  the  fixed  stars  of  heaven; 
The  pale-faced  moon  looks  bloody  on  the  earth, 
And  leau-look'd  prophets  whisper  fearful  change; 
Rich  men  look  sad,  and  rullians  dance  and  leap, — 
The  one,  in  fear  to  lose  what  they  enjoy, 
The  other,  to  enjoy  by  rage  and  war: 
These  signs  forerun  the  death  or  fall  of  kings,— 
Farewelf:  our  countrymen  are  gone  and  fled, 
As  well  assured,  Richard  their  king  is  dead.  [Exit. 

Sal.  Ah,  Richard !  with  the  eyes  of  heavy  mind, 
I  see  thy  glory,  like  a  shooting  star. 
Fall  to  the  base  earth  from  the  firmament! 
Thy  sun  sets  weeping  in  the  lowly  west. 
Witnessing  storms  to  come,  woe,  and  unrest: 
Thy  Iricnds  are  fled,  to  wait  upon  thy  foes; 
And  crossly  to  thy  good  all  fortime  goes.        [Exit. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— Bolingbroke's  Camp  at  Bristol. 

Enter  Boi>isgbroke,  York,  Nortiu'mberlasd,  Per- 
cy, WiLLOfGHBY,  Ross:  Ofliccrs  beliind  Willi 
BtsHY  anil  Grf-es, prisoners. 

Billing.  Bring  forth  these  men. — 
Bushy,  and  Green,  I  will  not  vex  your  souls 
(Since  presently  your  souls  must  part  your  bodies) 
With  too  much  urging  your  pernicious  lives. 
For  'twere  no  charity:  yet,  to  wash  your  blood 
I^om  off  my  hands,  here  in  the  view  of  men, 
I  will  unfold  some  causes  of  your  death. 
You  have  misled  a  iirincc,  a  royal  king, 
A  happy  gentleman  in  blood  and  lineaments, 
By  you  unhappiod  and  disfigur'd  clean.' 
You  have,  in  manner,  with  your  sinful  hours, 
Made  a  divorce  betwixt  his  queen  and  him; 
Broke  the  possession  of  a  royal  bed. 
And  stain'd  the  beauty  of  a  fair  queen's  cheeks 
With  tears  drawn  Irom  her  eyes  by  yourtbul  wrongs. 
IMysclf^a  prince,  bj'  fortune  of  my  birth; 
Near  to  the  king  in  blood;  and  near  in  love. 
Till  you  did  make  him  misinterpret  me,^ 
Have  stoop'd  my  neck  under  your  injuries. 
And  sigh'd  my  English  breath  iji  foreign  clouds, 
Eating  tlie  bitter  bread  of  banishment; 
Whilst  you  have  fed  upon  my  seignories, 
Dispark'd  my  parks,  and  leli'd  my  forest  woods; 
From  my  own  windows  torn  my  household  coat, 
Raz'd  out  my  impress,  leaving  nie  no  sign,^ 
Save  men's  opinions,  and  my  living  blood,^ 
To  ahow  the  world  I  am  a  gentleman. 
This,  and  much  more,  much  more  than  twice  all 

this. 
Condemns  you  to  the  death: — see  them  deliver'd 

over 
To  execution  and  the  hand  of  death. 
Bushy.  More  welcome  is  the  stroke  of  death  to 
me. 
Than  Bolingbroke  to  England, — Lords,  farewell. 
Green.  My  comfort  is,— that  heaven  will  take  our 
souls, 
And  plague  injustice  with  the  pains  of  hell. 
Bating.  My  lord  Northumberland,  see  them  de- 
spa  tch'd, 

[Exeunt  NoRTnpMBERLASD  and  others 
wilk  Pri.'iiiners. 
Uncle,  you  say,  the  queen  is  at  your  house; 
For  heaven's  sake,  fairly  let  her  be  entreated: 
Tell  her,  I  send  to  her  my  kind  commends; 
Take  special  care  my  greetings  be  deliver'd, 

York.  A  gentleman  of  mine  I  have  despatch'd 
With  letters  of  your  love  to  her  at  large, 

8  Completely, 


Boling.  Thanks,"entle uncle,— Come,lords away; 
To  fight  with  Glendower  and  his  complices; 
Awhile  to  work,  and,  after,  hoUday.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— TAc  Coa.^t  of  Wales,  A  Castle  in  view. 
Flouruth:    Drums   and    Trumpets.     Enter  Kixs 

RifHARD,  Bisnop  OF  Carlisle,  Acmerle,  and 

Soldiers, 

K.  Rich.  Barkloughly  castle  call  you  this  at  hand  ■? 

Aum.  Yea,  my  lord:  how  brooks  your  grace  the 

air. 
After  late  tossing  on  the  breaking  seast 

K.Rich.  Needs  must  I  like  it  well;  I  weep  for  joy. 

To  stand  upon  my  kingdom  once  again, 

Dear  earth,  1  do  salute  thee  with  my  hand, 
Though  rebels  wound  thee  with  their  horses' hoofs. 
As  a  long  parted  mother  with  her  child 
Plays  fondly  with  her  tears,  and  smiles  in  meeting, 
So,'weci)ing,  smiling,  greet  I  thee,  my  earth, 
And  do  thee  lavor  with  my  royal  hands. 
Feed  not  thy  sovereign's  Ibe,  my  gentle  earth. 
Nor  with  thy  sweets  comfort  his  rav'nous  sense. 
But  let  thy  spiders,  that  suck  up  thy  venom, 
And  heavy  gaited  toads,  lie  in  tlieir  way; 
Doing  annoyance  to  their  treacherous  feet, 
Which  with  usurping  steps  do  trample  thee. 
Yield  stinging  nettles  to  mine  enemies: 
And  when  they  from  thy  bosom  pluck  a  flower. 
Guard  it,  I  pray  thee,  with  a  lurking  adder; 
Whose  double  tongue  may  with  a  mortal  touch 

Throw  death  upon  thy  sovereign's  enemies. 

Mock  not  my  senseless  conjuration,  lords; 
This  earth  shall  have  a  feeUng,  and  these  stones 
Prove  armed  soldiers,  ere  her  native  king, 
Shall  ftilter  under  foul  rebellious  arms. 

Car.  Fear  not,  my  lord;  that  Power,  that  made 
you  king. 
Hath  power  to  keep  you  Idng,  in  spite  of  all. 
The  means  that  heaven  yields  must  be  embraced. 
And  not  neglected;  else,  if  heaven  would. 
And  we  will  not,  heaven's  oiler  we  refuse; 
The  profter'd  means  of  succor  and  redress, 

Aum.  He  means,  my  lord,  that  we  are  too  remiss. 
Whilst  Bolingbroke,  through  our  security, 
Grows  strong  and  great,  in  substance,  and  m  friends. 

K.  Rich.  Discomfortable  cousin!   know'st  thou 
not, 
That  when  the  searching  eye  of  heaven  is  hid 
Behind  the  globe,  and  lights  the  lower  world. 
Then  thieves  and  robbers  range  abroad  unseen, 
111  murders,  and  in  outrage,  bloody  here; 
But  when,  from  under  this  terrestrial  ball. 
He  fires  the  proud  tops  of  tlie  eastern  pines. 
And  darts  his  light  through  every  guilty  hole, 


310 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  IIL 


Then  murders,  treasons,  and  detested  sins, 

The  clouk  of  night  being  pluck'd  from  off  their 

backs. 
Stand    bare  and  naked,  trembling  at  themsclvesi 
So  when  this  thief,  this  traitor,  lioiingbroke, — 
Who  all  this  while  luilh  revclitl  in  the  night, 
Wliilst  we  were  wandering  with  the  antipodes, — 
Shall  see  us  rising  in  our  tln"one  the  east, 
His  treasons  will  sit  blushing  in  his  face,        , 
Not  able  to  ejidure  the  sight  of  day. 
But,  sell-aflfrighted,  tremble  at  his  sin. 
Not  all  the  water  in. the  rough  rude  sea 
Can  wash  the  balm  from  an  anointed  Idng: 
The  breath  of  wordly  men  cannot  depose 
The  deputy  elected  Ijy  the  Lord: 
For  every  man  that  Bolnigbroke  hath  press'd, 
To  lift  shrewd  steel  against  our  golden  crown, 
God  for  his  Richard  hath  in  lieavenly  pay 
A  glorious  angel:  then,  if  angels  fight. 
Weak  men  must  fall;  (or  heaven  still  guards  the 
right. 

Enter  Salisbury. 

Welcome,  my  lord;  How  (iir  off  lies  jour  power? 

SiiL  Nor  near,  nor  furlher  off,  my  gracious  lord. 
Than  this  weak  arm :  Discomfort  guides  my  tongue, 
And  bids  me  speak  of  notliing  but  despair. 
One  day  too  late,  I  li^ar,  my  noble  lord. 
Hath  clouded  all  thy  happy  days  on  earth: 
O,  call  back  yesteday,  bid  time  return. 
And  thou  shalt  have  twelve  thousand  fighting  men! 
To-day,  to-day,  unhappy  dajvloo  late, 
O'erthrows  thy  joys,  friends,  lortune,and  thy  state; 
For  all  the  Welshmen,  hearing  thou  wert  dead, 
Arc  gone  to  Bolingbroke,  dispersed,  and  Hed. 

Aum.  Comfort,  my  liege:  why  looks  your  grace 
so  pale? 

A'.  Rich.  But  now  the  blood  of  twenty  thousand 
men 

Did  triumph  in  my  face,  and  they  arc  fled; 
And  till  so  much  blood  thither  come  again. 

Have  I  not  reason  to  look  pale  and  dead  ? 
All  souls  that  will  be  sale  lly  from  my  side; 
For  time  hath  set  a  blot  upon  my  pride. 

Aum.  Comfort,  my  liege;  remember  who  you 
are. 

K.  Rich.  I  had  forgot  myself:  am  I  not  king? 
Awake,  thou  sluggard  majesty !  thou  sleep'st. 
Is  not  the  king^s  name  forty  tiiousand  names? 
Arm,  arm,  my  name,  a  puny  subject  strikes 
At  thy  great  glory.— Look  not  to  the  ground, 
Ye  favorites  of  a  king;  Are  we  not  high? 
High  be  our  thoughts;  I  know  my  uiicle  York 
Hath  power  enough  to  serve  our  turn.    But  who 
Comes  here  ? 

Enter  Scroop. 

Scroop.  IMore  liealth  and  liappiness  betide  my 
liege. 
Than  can  my  care-tuned  tongue  deliver  him. 

A'.  Ricfi.  Mine  ear  is  open  and  my  heart  pre- 
pa  red ; 
The  worst  is  worldly  loss,  thou  canst  unfold. 
Say,  is  my  kingdom  lost?  why,  'twas  my  care; 
And  what  loss  is  it,  to  be  rid  of  care? 
Strives  Bolingbroke  to  be  as  great  as  we? 
Greater  he  shall  not  be;  if  he  serve  God, 
We'll  serve  him  too,  and  be  his  fellow  so  : 
Revolt  our  subjects?  that  we  cannot  mend; 
They  break  their  faith  to  God,  as  well  as  us: 
Cry,  woe,  destruction,  ruin,  loss,  decay; 
The  worst  is— death,  and  death  will  have  his  day. 

Scroop.  Glad  am  I,  that  your  highness  is  so  ann'd 
To  bear  the  tidings  of  calamity. 
Like  an  unseasonable  stormy  day, 
W^hich  makes  the  silver  rivers  drown  their  shores, 
As  if  the  world  were  all  dissolv'd  to  tears; 
So  high  above  his  limits  swells  the  rage 
Of  liolingbroke,  covering  your  fearful  land 
With  hard  briglit  steel,  and  hearts  harder  than  steel. 
White  beards  have  anu'd  their  thin  and  hairless 

scalps 
Against  thy  majesty;  boys,  with  women's  voices, 
Strive  to  speak  big,  and  clap  their  fi^male  joints 
in  stiir  unwieldy  arms  against  thy  crown: 
Thy  very  beadsmen  learn  to  bend  their  bows 
Of  double-fatal  yew  against  thy  state; 
Yea,  distall-women  manage  rusty  bills 
Against  thy  seat;  both  young  and  old  rebel, 
And  all  goes  worse  tliaii  1  Inve  p  wer  to  tell. 


A".  Rich.  Too  well,  too  well,  thou  tell'st  a  tale 
so  ill. 
Where  is  the  earl  of  Wiltshire?  Where  is  Bagot? 
What  is  become  of  Bushy  ?  where  is  Green  ? 
That  they  liave  let  tlie  dauKerous  enemy 
Pleasure  our  contines  w  ith  such  peaceful  steps? 
If  we  prevail,  their  heads  shall  pay  for  it. 
I  w^arrant,they  have  made  peace  with  Bolingbroke 
Scroop.  Peace  have  they  made  with  him,  indeed, 

my  lord. 
A'.  Rich.  O  villains,  vipers,  damn'd  without  re- 
demption! 
Dogs,  easily  won  to  fawn  on  any  man ! 
Snakes,  in  my  heart-blood  warm'd,  that  sting  my 

heart! 
Three  Judascs,  each  one  thrice  worse  than  Judas ! 
Would  they  make  peace?  terrible  hell  make  war 
Upon  their  spotted  souls  for  this  otlence! 

ficroop.  Sweet  love.T  see,  changing  his  property, 
Turns  to  the  .sourest  and  most  deadly  hate: — 
Again  uncurse  their  souls;  their  pe.ace  is  made 
With  heads,  and  not  with  hands:  those  whom  you 

curse 
Have  felt  the  worst  of  death's  destroying  wound, 
And  lie  full  low,  grav'd  in  the  hollow  ground. 
Aum.  Is  Bushy.  Green,  and  the  earl  of  Wiltshire 

dead ! 
Sa-oop.  Yea,  all  of  them  at  Bristol  lost  their 

heads. 
Aum.  Where  is   the  duke  my  father  with  hi9 

power? 
K.Rich.  No  matter  where;  of  comfort  no  man 
speak : 
Let's  talk  of  graves,  of  wonns,  and  epitaphs; 
I\Iake  dust  our  paper,  and  with  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
Let's  choose  executors,  and  talk  of  wills: 
And  yet  not  so,  for  w^hat  can  we  bequeath, 
Save  our  deposed  bodies  to  the  ground? 
Our  lands,  our  lives,  and  all  are  Bolingbrokc's, 
And  nothing  can  we  call  our  own,  but  death; 
And  that  small  model  of  the  barren  earth, 
Which  serves  as  paste  and  cover  to  our  bones. 
For  heaven's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground, 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings: — 
How  some  have  been  depos'd.  some  slain  in  war; 
Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  depos'd; 
Some  poison'd  by  their  wives,  some  sleeping  kill'd; 
All  murder'd: — For  within  the  hollow  crown, 
That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 
Keeps  death  his  court;  and  there  the  antic  sits, 
Scotiing  his  state,  and  grinning  at  his  pomp ; 
Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene 
To  monarchize,  be  fear'd.  and  kill  with  looks; 
Infusing  hint  with  self  and  vain  conceit, — 
As  if  this  flesh,  which  walls  about  our  life, 
Were  brass  impregnable;  and  humor'd  thus, 
Comes  at  the  last,  and  with  a  little  pin 
Bores  through  his  castle  wall,  and — farewell  king! 
Cover  your  heads,  and  mock  not  flesh  and  blood 
With  solemn  reverence;  throw  away  respect, 
Tradition,  tbrm,  and  ceremonious  duty. 
For  you  have  but  mistook  me  all  this  while: 
I  live  with  bread  like  you,  lecl  want,  taste  grief, 
Need  friends: — Subjected  thus. 
How  can  you  say  to  me — I  am  a  Idng? 
Cur.  My  lord,  wise  men  ne'er  wail  their  presen' 
woes, 
But  presently  prevent  the  ways  to  wail. 
To  fear  the  foe,  since  fear  oppresseth  strength. 
Gives,  in  your  weakness,  stient'lh  unto  your  Ibe, 
And  so  your  lollies  li;;|jt  aijainst  yourself. 
Fear,  and  be  slain;  no  worse  can  come,  to  fight: 
And  tight  and  die,  is  death  destroying  deatfi; 
Where  hearing  d\inu%  pa\s  death  "servile  breath. 
Aum.  Mj*  lather  had  a  power,  enquire  of  liim; 
And  learn  to  make  a  body  of  a  limb. 
A'.  Rich.  Thou  eliid'st  mc  well: — Proud  Boling- 
broke, I  come 
To  cJiangc  blows  with  thee  for  our  day  of  doom. 
This  ague-tit  of  fear  is  overblown ; 

An  easy  task  it  is  to  win  our  own. 

Say,  Scroop,  where  lies  our  uncle  with  his  power? 
Speak  sweetly,  man,  although  thy  looks  be  sour. 
Scroop.  Men  judge  by  the  complexion  of  the  sky 
The  state  and  inclination  of  the-day: 
So  may  you  by  my  dull  and  heavy  eye, 

My  tongue  hath  but  a  heavier  taleto  saj'. 
I  play  the  torture,  by  small  and  small, 


SCBKK  III. 


KING  RICHARD  II- 


3U 


To  lengthen  out  the  worst  tliat  must  he  spoken: — 
Your  uncle  York  hath  join'd  with  lioliiighroke; 
And  all  your  northern  castles  yielded  up, 
And  all  your  southern  gentlemen  in  arras 
Upon  his  party. 

K.  Rich.  Thou  hast  said  enough. 

Beshrew  thee,  cousin,  which  did  lead  me  forth 

[To  AUMERLE. 

Of  that  sweet  way  1  was  in  to  despair ! 

VVhat  say  j'ou  now  !  wliat  comlort  have  we  now  ! 

By  heaven".  I'll  hate  him  everlastingly, 

That  bids  me  be  of  comfort  any  more. 

Go,  to  P'lint  castle;  there  I'll  pnie  away; 

A  king,  woe's  slave,  sliall  kingly  woe  obey. 

That  power  I  have,  di-scharge;  and  let  them  go 

To  ear"  the  land  that  liatli  some  hope  to  grow, 

For  I  have  none: — Let  no  man  speak  again 

To  alter  this,  for  counsel  is  but  vain. 

Aum.  My  liege,  one  word. 

K.  Ric/i.  He  does  rac  double  wrong 

That  wounds  me  with  the  flatteries  of  his  tongue. 
Discharge  my  followers,  let  them  heuce ;— Away, 
Kroni  Richard's  niglit,  to  Bolingbroke's  fair  day. 

[Ej:eunl. 

SCENE  III.— Wales.    Befare  Flint  CasUe. 

Enter,  with.  Drums  and  Colm-s,  BoLixcEnoKE  and 

Furces;  York,  Northumberlaxd,  and  others. 

Baling.  So  that  by  this  intelligence  we  Icam, 
The  Welshmen  arc "dispers'd;  and  Salisbury 
Is  gone  to  meet  the  king,  who  lately  landed. 
With  some  few  private  friends,  upon  this  coast. 

North.  The  news  is  very  fair  and  good,  my  lord: 
Richard,  not  far  from  hence,  liath  hitl  his  head. 

York.  It  would  beseem  the  lord  Northumberland, 
To  sa}— king  Richard:— Alack  the  heavy  day. 
When  such  a  sacred  king  should  hide  his  head  ! 

Nwth.  Your  grace  mistakes  me;  only  to  he  hrief. 
Left  I  l;is  title  out. 

York.  The  time  hatli  been,    v 

Would  you  have  been  so  brief  with  iiim,  he  would 
Have  been  so  brief  with  you,  to  shorten  you. 
For  taking  so  the  head,  your  whole  head's  length. 

Baling.   Mistake  not,  uncle,  farther  than  you 
should. 

York.  Take  not,  good  cousin,  further  than  you 
should. 
Lest  you  mistake :  The  heavens  arc  o'er  your  head. 

Baling.  I  Imow  it,  uncle;  and  oppose  not 
Myself  against  their  will.— But  who  comes  here? 

Enter  Percy. 
Well.  Harry;  what,  will  not  this  castle  yield? 

Percy.  The  castle  royally  is  mann'd,  ray  lord. 
Against  the  entrance. 

Baling.  Royally! 

Why,  it  contains  no  king? 

Percy.  Yes,  my  good  lord. 

It  doth  contain  a  king:  king  Richard  lies 
Within  the  limits  of  yon  lime  and  stone; 
And  with  him  are  the  lord  Aumerle,  lord  Salisbury, 
Sir  Stephen  Scroop;  besides  a  clergyman 
Of  holy  reverence,  wlio,  I  cannot  learn. 

Norlh.  Belike  it  is  the  Bishop  of  Carlisle. 

Baling.  Noble  lord,  [Tii'Soina. 

Go  to  tlie  rude  ribs  of  that  ancient  castle; 
Through  brazen  trumpet  send  the  breath  of  parle 
Into  his  ruin'd  cars,  and  thus  deliver: 
Harry  Bolingbroke 

On  both  his  knees  doth  kiss  king  Richard's  hand; 
And  sends  allegiance,  and  true  faith  of  heart, 
To  his  most  royal  person:  hither  come 
Even  at  his  feet  to  lay  my  arms  and  power; 
P^o^  ided  that,  my  banishment  rei^eal'd. 
And  lands" restor'd  again,  be  freely  granted: 
If  not,  I'll  use  the  advantage  of  my  power. 
And  lay  the  summer's  dust  with  showers  of  blood, 
Rain'd'lTom  the  wounds  of  slaughter'd  Englishmen: 
The  which,  how  far  off  from  the  mind  of  Bohng- 

broke 
It  is,  such  crimson  tempest  should  bedrench 
The  fresh  green  lap  of  tiiir  king  Richard's  land. 
My  stooping  duty  tenderly  shall  show. 
Go,  signify  as  much;  while  here  w;e  march 

Upon  the  grassy  carpet  of  this  plain. ■ 

[NoRTHiMBEKi.Asn  advanccs  to  the 
Caatle  with  a  Trumpet. 
Let's  march  without  the  noise  of  threat'ning  drum, 

0  Plough. 


That  I'rom  the  castle's  totter'd  battlements 
Our  lair  appoiiiIiiicnt.s  may  be  well  perused. 
Jletliinks,  kin;;  Uichard  arid  my  self  should  meet 
Wilh  no  less  terror  tlian  the  elements 
Of  tire  and  water,  when  their  thund'ring  shock 
At  meeting  tears  the  cloudy  cheeks  of  heaven. 
Be  he  the  lire,  I'll  be  the  yielding  water: 
The  rage  be  his,  while  on  the  earth  I  rain 
My  waters;  on  the  earth,  and  not  on  him. 
March  on,  and  mark  king  Ricliard  how  he  looks. 
A  Parte  ■•Kmnded,  and  ansu-ered  by  another  Trum- 
pet within.    Flourish.    Enleron  toe  iValls  Kisa 
Richard,  /he    Bishop   of   Caeli^e,   Aumerle, 
Scroop,  and  Salisdi"ry. 

York.  See.  seeking  Richard  doth  himsclfappear, 
As  doth  the  blushing  discontented  sun 
From  out  the  liery  portal  of  the  east; 
When  he  perceives  the  envious  clouds  are  bent 
To  dim  his  glory,  and  to  stain  the  track 
Of  his  bright  passage  to  the  Occident. 
Yet  looks  he  like  a  king;  behold,  his  eye, 
As  bright  as  is  the  eagle's,  lightens  forth. 
Controlling  inaicsty;  Alack,  alack,  for  woe. 
That  any  harm'  should  stain  so  lair  a  show ! 
K.  Itich.  We  are  amaz'd;  and  thus  long  have  we 
stood 
To  watch  the  fearful  bending  of  thy  k-nee, 

[TV)  NORTHfMnERLAXD. 

Because  we  thought  ourself  thy  lawful  king: 

And  if  we  be,  how  dare  thy  joints  forget 

To  pay  their  awful  duty  to  our  presence ! 

If  %ve  be  not,  show  us  the  hand  of  God 

That  hath  disraiss'd  us  from  our  stewardship; 

For  well  we  know,  no  hand  of  blood  and  bone 

Can  gripe  the  sacred  handle  of  our  sceptre, 

Unless  he  do  profane,  steal,  or  usurp. 

And  though  you  think,  that  all,  as  you  have  done, 

Have  torn  their  souls,  by  turning  them  from  us. 

And  we  are  barren,  and  bereft  of  friends; — 

Yet  know,— ray  master,  God  omnipoloiit, 

Is  must'ring  in  his  clouds,-  on  our  brhalf. 

Armies  of  pestilence;  and  they  shall  strike 

Your  children  yet  unborn,  and  unbegot. 

That  lilt  your  vassal  hands  against  my  head. 

And  threat  the  glory  of  my  precious  crown. 

Tell  Bolingbroke,  (lor  yond',  methinks,  he  is,) 

That  every  stride  he  makes  upon  my  Innd, 

Is  dangerous  treason  :  He  is  come  to  ope 

The  purple  testament  of  bleeding  war: 

But  ere  the  crown  he  looks  for  live  in  peace. 

Ten  thousand  bloody  crowns  of  mothers'  sons 

Shall  ill  become  the  flower  of  England's  face;       ' 

Change  the  coiniilexion  other  maid-pale  peace 

To  scarlet  indignation,a!id  bedew 

Her  pasluri'"s  grass  with  faithful  English  blood. 

North.  The  Idiig  of  heaven  Ibrbid,  our  lord  the 
king 
Should  so  with  civil  and  uncivil  arms 
Be  rush'd  upon;  Thy  thrice-noble  cousin,       , 
Harry  Bolingbroke,  doth  humbly  kiss  thy  hand; 
And  by  the  lionorable  torab  he  swears. 
That  stands  upon  thy  royal  grandsire's  bones; 
And  by  the  royalties  of  both  your  bloods. 
Currents  that  spring  from  one  most  aracious  head; 
And  liy  the  buried  hand  of  warlike  Gaunt; 
And  by  the  worth  and  honor  of  himself. 
Comprising  all  that  may  be  sworn  or  said,— 
His  coming  hilher  hath" no  further  scop.-. 
Than  for  his  lineal  royalties,  and  to  beg 
Enfranchisement  imriieriiatc  on  his  knees: 
Which  on  tliv  royal  party  granted  once. 
His  glittering  arms  he  will  commend  to  rust. 
His  barbed  steeds  to  stables,  and  his  heart 
To  faithful  service  of  your  majesty. 
This  swears  he,  as  he  is  a  prince,  is  just; 
And,  as  I  am  a  gentleman,  I  credit  him. 

A".  Rich.  Northumberland,  say,— thus  the  king 

returns- 

His  noble  cousin  is  right,  welcome  hither; 
And  all  the  number  of  his  fair  demands 
Shall  be  accomplish'd  without  contradiction: 
With  all  the  gr.acioiis  ullerance  thou  iiast. 
Speak  to  his  gentle  hearing  kind  coriiinends.— 
We  do  debase  ourscil'.  cousin,  do  we  not. 
To  look  so  poorly,  and  to  speak  so  lair  ?     [To  Acii; 
Shall  we  call  back  Northumberland,  and  send 
Defiance  to  the  traitor,  and  so  die? 

Aum.  No.  my  good  lord;  let's  fight  with  gentle 
words, 


312 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  III. 


Till   time  lend  friends,  and  friends  their  helpful 

swords. 
K.  Rick.  O  God!  0  God!  that  e'er  this  tongue  of 

mine, 
That  laid  the  sentence  of  dread  banishment 
On  yon  proud  man  should  take  it  oft' again 
With  words  of  sooth  !'  0,  that  1  were  as  great 
As  is  my  grief,  or  lesser  than  my  name ! 
Or  that  I  could  forget  what  1  have  been! 
Or  not  remember  wliat  I  must  be  now! 
Swell'st  thou,  proud  heart  1  I'll  give  thee  scope  to 

beat,        . 
Since  foes  have  scope  to  beat  both  thee  and  me. 
Aunt.  Northumberland  comes  back  from  Boling- 

broke. 
K.  Rich.  What  must  the  king  do  nowt    Must 

he  submit! 
The  king  shall  do  it.    Must  he  be  depos'd? 
The  king  shall  be  contented:  must  he  lose 
The  name  of  king?  o'God's  name,  let  it  go: 
I'll  give  my  jewels  for  a  set  of  beads; 
My  gorgeous  palace,  tor  a  hermitage; 
My  gay  apparel,  for  an  alms-man's  gown; 
My  ligur'd  goblets,  for  a  dish  of  wood; 
My  sceptre,  for  a  palmer's  walking  statT; 
My  subjects,  for  a  pair  of  carved  saints; 
And  my  large  kingdom,  for  a  little  grave, 
A  little,  little  grave,  an  obscure  grave: — 
Or  I'll  be  buried  in  the  king's  highway. 
Some  way  of  common  trade  where  subjects'  feet 
May  hourly  trample  on  their  sovereign's  head : 
For  on  my  heart  they  tread,  now  whilst  I  live; 

And,  buried  once,  why  not  upon  my  head? 

Aujnerle,  thou  weep'st;  My  tender-hearted  cousin! 
We'll  make  foul  weather  with  despised  tears; 
Our  sighs  and  they,  shall  lodge  the  summer  corn. 
And  make  a  dearth  in  this  revolting  land. 
Or  shall  we  play  the  wantons  with  our  woes, 
An.d  make  some  pretty  match  with  shedding  tears; 
As  thus: — To  drop  them  still  upon  one  place, 
Till  they  hflve  fretted  us  a  pair  of  graves 
Within  the  earth;  and  therein  laid, — The7-e  lies 
Two  kin.smen,  digged  Ifieir  graves  Willi  weeping 

eyes  ? 
Would  not  this  ill  do  well? — Well,  well,  I  see 
I  talk  but  idly,  and  you  mock  at  me.^ 
Most  mighty  prince,  my  lord  Northumberland, 
What  s.iys  king  Bolingbroke?  will  his  majesty 
(rive  Richard  leave  to  live  till  Richard  die? 
You  make  a  leg,"  and  Bolingbroke  says— ay. 

North..  My  lord,  in  the  base  ^  court  he  doth  attend. 
To  speak  with   you;  may't  please  you  to  come 
-    down? 
K.  Rixk.  Down,  down,  I  come;  like  glistering 

Phaeton, 
Wanting  the  manage  of  unruly  jades. 

[North,  relires  to  Doling. 
In  the  b.ase  court?    Base  court,  where  kings  grow 

base, 
To  cqme  at  traitors'  call,  and  do  them  grace. 
In  the   base  court?  Come  dosvn?   Down,  court! 

down,  king! 
For  night-owls  shriek,  where  mounting  larks  should 

sing.  [Exeunt,  from  above. 

Holing.  What  says  his  majesty  i 

North.  .Sorrow  and  grief  of  heart 

Makes  him  speak  fondly,  like  a  frantic  man: 
Yet  he  is  come. 

Enter  Kixc;  Richahd,  and  his  Attendants,  below. 
Soling.  Stand  all  apart. 

And  stiow  lair  duty  to  his  majesty. 

My  gracious  lord,—  [Kneeling. 

K.  Rich.  Fair  cousin,  you  debase  your  princely 
knee. 
To  make  the  base  earth  proud  with  kissing  it: 
Me  rather  had,  my  heart  might  feel  your  love. 
Than  my  unpleas'd  eye  see  your  courtesy. 
Up,  cousin,  up:  yourheart  is  up,  I  kniow. 
Thus  high  at  least,  [Touching  his  own  hfad.]  al- 
though your  knee  be  low. 
Holing.  My  gracious  lord,  I  come  but  for  mineown. 
K.  Rich.  Your  own  is  yours,  and  I  am  yours,  and 

all. 
Holing.  So  far  be  mine,  my  most  redoubted  lord, 
As  my  true  service  shall  deserve  your  love. 
K.Rich.  Well  you  deserve:— They  well  deserve 
to  have, 

'Softness.  »Aliow.  SLower. 


That  know  the  strong'st  and  surest  way  to  get. — 
Uncle,  give  me  your  hand:  nay  dry  your  eyes; 
Tears  show  their  love,  but  want  tlicir  remedies.— 
Cousin,  I  am  too  young  to  be  your  lather, 
Thougn  you  are  old  enough  to  be  my  heir. 
What  you  will  have,  I'll  give,  and  willing  too; 
For  do  we  must,  what  force  will  have  us  do. — 
Set  on  towards  London:  Cousin,  is  it  so? 

Boling.  Yea,  my  good  lord. 

K.  Rich,  Then  I  must  not  say,  no. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Langley.  Tlie  duke  of  York's  Gardcru 

Enter  the  Qcee.n,  and  two  Lai  lies. 

Queen.  What  sport  shall  we  devise  here  in  this 
garden, 
To  drive  away  the  heavy  thought  of  care? 

1  Lady.  Madam,  we'll  play  at  bowls. 

Queen.  'Twill  make  me  think, 

The  world  is  full  of  rubs,  and  that  my  Ibrtune 
Runs  'gainst  the  bias. 

1  Lady.  Madam,  we  will  dance. 

Queen.  My  legs  can  keep  no  measure  in  delight, 
When  my  poor  heart  no  measure  keeps  in  grief: 
Therefore,  no  dancing,  girl;  some  other  sport. 

1  Ladi/.  Madam,  we'll  tell  talcs. 

Queen.  Of  sorrow,  or  of  joy  ? 

1  Lady.  Of  either,  madam. 

Queen.  Of  neither,  girl; 

For  if  of  joy,  being  altogether  wanting. 
It  dotli  remember  me  the  more  of  sorrow; 
Or  if  of  grief,  being  altogether  had, 
It  adds  more  sorrow  to  my  want  of  joy: 
For  what  I  have  I  need  not  to  repeat; 
And  what  I  want,  it  boots  not  to  complain. 

1  Lady.  Madam,  I'll  sing. 

Queen.  'Tis  well  that  thou  hast  cause; 

But  thou  shouldst  please  me  better,  wouldst  thou 
weep. 

1  Lady,  I  could  weep,  madam,  would  it  do  you 
good. 

Queen.  And  I  could  weep,  would  weeping  do  me 
good. 
And  never  borrow  any  tear  of  thee. 
But  stay,  here  come  the  gardeners :     . 
Let's  step  into  the  shadow  of  these  trees. — 
Enter  a  Gardener,  and  two  Servants. 
My  wretchedness  unto  a  row  of  pins. 
They'll  talk  of  state;  for  every  one  doth  so 
Against  a  change:  Woe  is  forerun  with  woe. 

[Queen  and  Ladies  retire. 

Gard.  Go,  bind  thou  up  yon'  dangling  apricocks, 
Which,  like  unruly  children,  make  their  sire 
Stoop  with  oppression  of  their  prodigal  weight: 
Give  some  supportance  to  the  bending  twig*. — 
Go  thoii,  and  like  an  executioner. 
Cut  olf  the  heads  of  too-fast-growing  sprays, 
Tliat  look  too  lofty  in  our  commonwealth: 

All  must  be  even  in  our  government. • 

You  thus  emplny'd,  I  will  go  root  away 
The  nciisciiiie  weeds,  that  vvithout  proht  suck 
The  soil's  lertility  from  wholesome  flowers. 

1  .s'fni.  Why  should  we, in  the  compass  of  a  pale, 
Keep  law,  and  form,  and  due  proportion. 
Showing,  as  in  a  model,  our  firm  estate? 
When  our  sea-walled  garden,  the  wliole  land. 
Is  full  of  weeds;  her  fairest  flowers  cliok'd  up. 
Her  fruit-trees  all  unprun'd,  her  hedges  ruiu'd. 
Her  knots*  disorder'd,  and  her  wholesome  herbs 
Swarming  with  caterpillars? 

Gard.  Hold  thy  peace:— 

He  that  hath  sufTer'd  this  disorder'd  spring. 
Hath  now  himself  met  with  the  fall  of  leaf: 
The  weeds,  that  his  broad-spreading   leaves  did 

shelter. 
That  seem'd  in  eating  him  to  hold  him  up. 
Are  pluck'd  up,  root  and  all,  by  Bolingbroke; 
I  mean  the  earl  of  Wiltshire,  Bushy,  Green. 

1  Serv.  What,  are  they  dead? 

Gard.  They  are;  and  Bolingbroke 

Hath  seiz'd  the  wasteful  king. — Oh!  what  pity  is  it 
That  he  had  not  so  trimm'd  and  dress'd  his  land. 
As  we  this  garden!  We  at  time  of  year 
Do  wound  the  bark,  the  skin  of  our  fruit-trees; 
Lest,  being  over-proud  with  sap  and  blood. 
With  too  much  riches  it  contbund  itself: 
Had  he  done  so  to  great  and  growing  men, 
*  Figures  planted  in  a  bos. 


Act  IV.  Scene  I. 


KING   RICHARD  II. 


313 


They  might  have  liv'd  to  hear,  and  he  to  taste 
Their  fruits  ofduty.    All  superlUious  branches 
We  lop  away,  that  bearing  boughs  may  live: 
Had  he  done  so,  himself  had  borne  the  crowTi, 
Which  waste  of  idle  hours  hath  quite  thrown  down. 

1  fiei-v.  What,  think  you  then,  the  king  shall  be 
depos'd  ? 

Gard.  Depressed  he  is  already;  and  depos'd, 
'Tis  doubt  he  will  be:  Letters  came  last  night 
To  a  dear  friend  of  the  duke  of  York's 
That  tell  black  tidings. 

Queen.  0, 1  am  press'd  to  death. 

Through   want  of  speaking! — Thou,  old  Adam's 
likeness,     [Coming from  her  concealment. 
Set  to  dress  the  garden,  how  dares 
Thy  iiiirsh-rude  tongue  sound  this  unplcasing  news] 
What  Kve,  what  serpent  hath  suggested  thee 
To  make  a  second  fall  of  cursed  man'? 
Why  dost  thou  say,  king  Richard  is  depos'd? 
Dar'st  thou,  thou  little  better  thing  than  earth. 
Divine  his  downfain  Say  where,  when,  and  how, 
Cam'st  tliou    by  these  ill  tidings?     Speak,  thou 
wretch. 

Gard.  Pardon  me,  madam ;  little  joy  have  I, 
To  breathe  this  news;  yet,  what  I  say,  is  true. 
King  Richard,  he  is  in  the  mighty  hold 
Of  BolLngbroke;  their  fortunes  botli  arc  weigh'd: 


In  your  lord's  scale  is  nothing  but  himself, 

And  some  few  vanities  that  make  him  light; 

But  in  the  balance  of  great  Bolingbroke, 

Besides  himself  are  all  the  English  peers. 

And  with  that  odds  he  weighs  king  Richard  down 

Post  you  to  London,  and  you'll  find  il  so; 

I  speak  no  more  than  every  man  doth  know. 

Queen.  Nimble  mischance,  thou  art  so  light  of 
foot, 
Doth  not  thy  embassage  belong  to  me. 
And  am  I  last  that  knows  it?  O,  thou  tliink'st 
To  serve  me  last,  that  I  may  longest  keep 
Thy  sorrow  in  my  breast.— Come.  ladies,  go, 
To  meet  at  London  London's  king  in  woe. — 
Wliat,  was  I  born  to  this!  that  my  sad  look 
Should  grace  the  triumph  of  great  Bohngbroke? 
Gardener,  for  telling  me  this  news  of  woe, 
I  would,  the  plants  thou  graft'st  may  never  grow, 
[Exeunt  Qiteen  and  Ladies. 

Gard.  Poor  queen!  so  that  thy  state  niiglit  be  no 
worse, 
I  would,  my  skill  were  subject  to  Ihy  curse.— 
Here,  did  she  drop  a  tear;  here,  in  this  place, 
I'll  set  a  bank  of  rue,  sour  herb  of  grace: 
Rue,  even  for  ruth,  here  shortly  sh3l  be  seen, 
In  the  remembrance  of  a  weeping  queen. 

[Exeunt 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.— London.    Westminster-Hall. 

The  Lords  Spiritual  on  the  right  xide  of  the  Throne  ,• 
the  Lords  Temporal  on  the  left;  the  Commons 
below.  Enter  Bolixobroke,  Almerle,  Surrey, 
NoRTUiTMUEULAND,  PERCY,  KiTZWATER,  another 
Lord,  Bishop  of  Carlisle,  Abbot  of  Westmin- 
ster, and  Attendants.  Ollicers  behind,  with 
Bacot. 

Baling.  Call  forth  Bagot: 

Now,  Bagot  freely  speak  thy  mind, 
What  thou  dost  IvTiow  of  noble  Gloster's  death; 
Who  wrought  it  with  the  king,  and  who  perform'd 
The  bloody  oflicc  of  his  timeless  end  ? 

Hagnt.  Tiieu  set  before  my  face  the  lord  Au- 
merle. 

Boting.  Cousin,  stand  forth,  and  look  upon  that 
man. 

Bagot.  My  lord  Aumerle,  I  know  your  daring 
tongue 
Scorns  to  unsay  what  once  it  hath  deliver'd. 
In  that  dead  tiiiie  when  Gloster's  death  was  plotted, 
I  hoard  you  say, — h  not  mu  arm  tf  length, 
That  reachcthfrom  the  restful  English  court 
As  fur  us  Calais,  to  mi/  uncle''s  head? 
AnioML'st  much  other  talk,  that  very  time, 
I  heard  you  say  that  you  had  rather  refuse 
The  Oder  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns. 
Than  Bolingbrokc's  return  to  England; 
Adtliiig  withal,  how  blest  this  land  would  be, 
In  Ibis  your  cousin's  death. 

Auni.  Princes  and  noble  lords. 

What  answer  shall  I  make  to  this  base  man? 
Shall  1  so  much  dishonor  my  fair  stars. 
On  equal  terms  to  give  him  chastisement  ? 
Either  I  must,  or  have  mine  honor  soil'd 

With  the  attainder  of  his  sland'rous  lips. 

There  is  my  gage,  the  manual  seal  of  death, 
That  marks  thee  out  for  hell:  I  say,  thou  liest. 
And  will  maintain,  what  thou  hast  said,  is  lalse. 
In  thy  heart-blood,  though  being  all  too  base 
To  stain  the  temper  of  my  knightly  sword. 

Bating.  Bagot,  forbear,  thou  shalt  not  take  it  up. 

Aura.  Excepting  one,  I  would  he  were  the  best 
In  all  this  presence  that  hath  mov'd  me  .so. 

FitT    If  that  Ihy  valor  stand  on  sympathies, 
There  is  my  gage,  Aumerle.  m  gage  to  thine: 
By  that  fair  sun  that  sliows  me  where  tiiou  stand'st, 
I  heard  thee  say,  and  vauntiiiLly  lliou  spak'st  it. 
That  thou  wert  cause  of  noMe  (:ioster's  death. 
If  thou  deuy'st  it.  twenty  times  thou  liest; 
And  I  will  turn  thy  lalsehood  to  Ihy  heart. 
Where  it  was  forged,  with  my  rapier's  point. 

Aum.  Thou'  dar'st  not,  coward,  live  to  see  that 
day. 


Fitz.  Now,  by  my  soul,  I   would  it  were  this 
hour. 

Aum.  Fit?.water,  thou  art  dainn"d  to  hell  for  this. 

Percy.  Aumerle,  Ihou  liest;  his  honor  is  as  true. 
In  this  appeal,  as  thou  art  all  unjust: 
And,  that  thou  art  so,  there  I  thro\v  my  gage, 
To  prove  it  on  thee  to  the  cxtrcmest  point 
Of  mortal  breathing;  seize  it,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Aum.  And  if  I  do  not,  may  my  hands  rot  off, 
And  never  brandish  more  revengeful  steel 
Over  the  glittering  helmet  of  my  foe! 

Lord.  I  take  the  earth  to  the  like,  forsworn  Au- 
merle; 
And  spur  thee  on  with  full  as  many  lies 
As  may  be  lioUa'd  in  thy  treacherous  ear 
From  sun  to  sun:  there  is  my  honor's  jiawn; 
Eng.agc  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Aum.  Who  sets  me  else  ?  by  heaven.  Til  throw 
at  all: 
I  ha^'c  a  thousand  spirits  in  one  breast, 
To  answer  twenty  tliousand  such  as  you. 

Surrey.  My  lord  Fitzwater,  I  do  remember  Well 
The  very  time  .Aumerle  and  you  did  talk. 

Fitz.  My  lord, 'tis  true:  you  were  in  presence 
then; 
And  you  can  witness  with  me,  this  is  true. 

Surrey.  As  lalsc,  by  heaven,  as  heaven  itself  is 
true. 

Fi/z.  Surrey,  thou  liest. 

Surrey.  Dishonorable  boy ! 

That  lie  shall  lie  so  heavy  on  my  sword, 
That  it  shall  render  vengeance  and  revenge. 
Till  thou  the  lie-giver,  and  that  he,  do  lie 
In  earth  as  quiet  as  thy  father's  skull. 
In  proof  whereof,  there  is»my  honor's  pawn ; 
Engage  it  to  the  trial,  if  thou  dar'st. 

Fitz.  How  fondly  dost  thou  sjjur  a  Ibrward  liorse ! 
If  I  dare  eat,  or  drink,  or  breathe,  or  live, 
1  dare  meet  Surrey  in  a  wilderness. 
And  spit  upon  him,  whilst  I  say,  he  lies. 
And  lies,  and  lies;  there  is  my  bond  of  faith. 
To  tie  thee  to  my  strong  correction. — 
As  I  intend  to  thrive  in  this  new  world, 
Aumerle  is  guilty  of  my  true  appeal: 
Besides,  I  heard  the  banish'd  Norfolk  say. 
That  thou,  Aumerle,  didst  send  two  of  thy  men 
To  execute  the  noble  duke  at  Calais. 

Aum.  Some  honest  Christian  trust  me  with  a 
gage 
That  Norfolk  lies:  here  do  I  throw  domi  this. 
If  he  may  bo  repeal'd  to  try  his  honor. 

Boling.   These  ditference  shall   all  rest  under 
g'age. 
Till  Norfolk  be  repeal'd:  repeal'd  he  shall  be, 
And,  though  mine  enemy,  rcstor'd  again 


314 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  IV. 


To  all  his  land  and  seignories;  when  he's  return'd, 
Against  Aiinieric  we  will  enlbrce  his  trial. 

Car.  That  honorable  day  shall  ne'er  he  seen. — 
Many  a  time  hath  banish'd  Norliilk  fought 
For  Jesu  Christ;  in  glorious  Christian  lield 
Streaming  the  ensign  of  the  Christian  cross, 
Against  black  Pagans,  Turks,  and  Saracens: 
And,  toil'd  with  works  of  war,  retired  himself 
To  Italy;  and  there  at  Venice,  gave 
His  body  to  that  pleasent  country's  earth, 
And  his  pure  soul  unto  his  cajitain  Ciirist, 
Under  wliose  colors  he  had  lought  so  lopg. 

Buliiig.  Why,  bishop,  is  Nortblkdead! 

Cur.  As  sure  as  I  live,  my  lord. 

Buling.  Sweet  peace  conduct  his  sweet  soul  to 
the  bosom 
Of  good  old  .\braham! — Lords  appellants, 
Your  diflijrence  shall  all  rest  under  gage. 
Till  we  assign  you  to  your  days  of  trial. 

Enter  York,  attended. 

York.  Great  duke  of  Lancaster,  I  come  to  thee 
From   plume-pluck'd  Richard;  who  with  willing 

soul 
Adopts  thee  heir,  and  his  high  sceptre  yields 
To  the  possession  of  thy  royal  hand: 
Ascend  his  throtie,  descending  now  from  him. — 
And  long  live  Henry,  of  that  name  the  iburth! 

Baltit^.    In  Ciod's  name,  I'll  ascend  the  regal 
throne. 

Car.  Marry,  God  forbid!— 
Worst  in  this  royal  presence  may  I  speak, 
Yet  best  beseeming  me  to  speak  the  truth. 
Would  God,  that  any  in  this  noble  presence 
Were  enough  noble  to  be  upright  judge 
Of  noble  Richard;  then  true  nobless  would    . 
Learn  him  forbearance  from  so  foul  a  wrong. 
What  subject  can  give  sentence  on  his  kingT 
And  who  sits  here,  that  is  not  Richard's  subject? 
Thieves  are  not  jjjdg'd.  but  they  are  by  to  hear, 
Although  apparent  guilt  be  seen  in  them  ; 
And  shall  the  Iigure  of  God's  majesty, 
His  captain,  steward,  dt'puf>-  elect, 
Anointed,  crowned,  planlcd  many  years, 
Be  judg'd  by  subject  and  iuil  ruir'breath, 
And  he  himself  not  present]  O,  forbid  it,  God, 
That,  in  a  Christian  climate,  souls  rctined 
Should  show  so  henious,  black,  obscene  a  deed! 
1  speak  to  subjects,  and  a  subject  speaks, 
Slirr'd  up  by  heaven  thus  boldly  lor  his  king. 
My  lord  of  Hereford  here,  whom  you  call  idhg. 
Is  a  fold  traitor  to  proud  Hereford's  king: 
And  if  j'ou  crown  him,  let  me  prophesy,— 
The  blood  of  Euglish  shall  manure  the  ground, 
And  future  ages  groan  lor  this  fold  act; 
Peace  shall  go  sleep  with  Turks  and  Inlidcis, 
And,  in  this  seat  ol' peace,  tumultuous  wars 
Shall  kin  with  kin,  .and  kind  with  kind  confound; 
Disorder,  horror,  fear,  and_  mutiny. 
Shall  here  inhabit,  and  tlii's  land  be  call'd 
The  field  of  Golgotha,  and  dead  men's  skulls. 
O,  if  thou  rear  this  house  against  this  house, 
It  will  the  woefuUest  division  prove. 
That  ever  fell  upon  this  cursed  earth: 
Prevent,  resist  it,  let  it  not  be  so. 
Lest  child,  child's  children,  cry,  against  you— woe! 

Nurth.  Well  have  you  argued,  sir;  and,  for  jour 
pains. 
Of  capital  treason  we  arrest  you  here: 
My  lord  of  Westminster,  be  it  your  charge 
To  keep  him  safely  till  his  day  of  trial. — 
May't  please  you,  lords,  to  grant  the  commons' suit. 

Buliitg.  Fetch  hither  Richard,  that  in  common 
view 
He  may  surrender;  so  we  shall  proceed 
Without  suspicion. 

York.  I  will  he  his  conduct.        [Eu'i/. 

Buling.  Lords, you  that  are  here  under  ourarrest, 
Procure  your  sureties  lor  your  days  of  answer: — 
Little  are  wo  beholden  to  your  love,  [Tu  CARLISLE. 
And  little  look'd  for  at  your  helping  hands. 

Re-enter  Yonic,  ivitli  Kixa  RioriAim,  and  Officers 
bearing  tlie  Crown,  i^-c. 

K.  RirM.  Alack,  why  am  I  sent  for  to  a  king, 
Before  I  have  shook  oil' the  regal  thoughts 
Wherewith  I  reign'd  ?  I  hardly  yet  have  leam'd 
To  insinuate,  flatter,  bow,  and  bend  my  knee:— 
Give  sorrow  leave  a  while  to  tutor  uie 


To  this  submission.    Yet  I  well  rciuember 
The  favors'^  of  these  men:  Were  they  not  mine] 
Did  they  not  sometime  cry,  all  hail!  to  me? — 
So  Judas  did  to  Christ:  but  he,  in  twelve. 
Found  truth  in  all  but  one;  I,  in  twelve  thousand, 

none. 
God  save  the  king! — Will  no  man  say,  amen? 
Am  I  both  priest  and  clerk  !  well  then,  amen. 
God  save  the  king!  although  I  be  not  he; 
And  yet,  amen,  if  heaven  do  think  him  me. — 
To  do  what  service  am  I  sent  for  hither? 

Yurk.  To  do  that  office  of  thine  own  good  will, 

Which  tired  majesty  did  make  thee  otler, 

The  resignation  of  thy  state  and  crown 
To  Henry  Bolingbroke. 
K.  Ricti.   Give  me  the  crown:— Here,   cousin, 
seize  the  crown ; 
Here,  on  this  side,  my  hand;  on  that  side,  thine. 
Xow  is  this  golden  crown  like  a  deep  well. 
That  owes''  two  buckets  lilling  one  another; 
The  emptier  ever  dancing  in  the  air. 
The  other  down,  unseen,  and  lull  of  water: 
That  bucket  down,  and  full  of  tears,  am  I, 
Drinking  my  griefs,  whilst  you  mount  up  on  high 
Baling.  I  thought  you  had  been  willing  to  resign 
K.  Ricli.  My  crown,  I  am;  but  still  my  griefs  are 
mine: 
You  may  my  glories  and  my  state  depose. 
But  not  my  grief;  still  am  I  king  of  those. 
Boling.  Partof  your  cares  you  give  me  with  your 

crown. 
K.  Rich.  Your  cares  set  up  do  not  pluck  my 
cares  down. 
My  care  is — loss  of  care,  by  old  care  done; 
Your  care  is — gain  of  care^  by  new  care  won: 
The  cares  I  give,  I  have,  though  given  away; 
They  tend  tlie  crown,  yet  still  with  me  they  stay. 
Boling.  Are  you  contented  to  resign  the  crown? 
K.  Rich.  Ay,  no;— no,  ay;— For  I  must  nothing 
be; 
Therefore  no  no,  for  I  resign  to  thee. 
Now  mark  me  how  I  will  undo  myself: — 
1  give  this  heavy  weight  from  off  my  head. 
And  this  unwieldly  sceptre  from  my  hand, 
.Tlie  pride  of  kingly  sway  from  out  my  lieart; 
With  mine  own  tears  I  wash  away  my  balm,' 
With  mine  own  hands  I  give  away  my  crown. 
With  mine  own  tongue  deny  my  sacred  state. 
With  mine  own  breath  release  all  duteous  oaths: 
All  pomp  and  majesty  I  do  forswear; 
My  manors,  rents,  revenues,  I  forego; 
My  acts,  decrees,  and  statutes,  I  deny: 
God  pardon  all  oaths,  that  are  broke  to  me ! 
God  keep  all  vows  unbroke.  are  made  to  thee! 
Make  me,  that  nothing  have,  with  nothing  griev'd; 
And  thou  with  all  pleas'd,  that  hast  all  achiev'd! 
Long  mayst  thou  live  in  Richard's  seat  to  sit, 
And  soon  lie  Richard  in  an  earthly  pit! — 
God  save  king  Henry,  unking'd  Richard  says, 
And  send  liiin  many  years  of  sunshine  days! — 
What  more  remains? 
North.  No  more,  but  that  you  read 

[Offering  a  Paper. 
These  accusations  and  these  grievous  crimes. 
Committed  by  your  person,  and  your  followers, 
Against  the  state  ami  profit  of  this  land; 
That,  by  coiili'ssing  Ihem.  the  souls  of  men 
May  deem  that  you  are  worthily  depos'd. 

A'.  Uirh.  Must  I  do  so!  and  must  I  ravel  out 
Jly  weav'd  up  follies!  Gentle  Northumberland, 
If  thy  olleuces  were  upon  record. 
Would  it  not  shame  thee  in  so  lair  a  troop. 
To  read  a  lecture  of  them?  II' thou  wouldst, 
There  shouldst  thou  find  one  henious  article,— 
Containing  the  deposing  of  a  king. 
And  cracking  the  strong  warrant  of  an  oath, — 
Mark'd  with  a  blot,  damn'd  in  the  book  of  hea- 
ven:— 
Nay.  all  of  you,  that  stand  .and  look  upon  me. 
Whilst  that  my  wretchedness  doth  bait  myself— 
Though  some  of  you,  with  Pilate,  wash  your  hands, 
Showing  an  outward  pity;  yet  you  Pilates 
Have  here  deliver'd  me  to  my  sour  cross. 
And  water  cannot  wash  away  your  sin. 
North.  My  lord,  despatch:  read  o'er  these  ar- 
ticles. 
A'.  Rich.  Mine  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  I  cannot 
see: 

"Countenances.       ^Owas.     ■> Oil  of  consecration. 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


315 


And  yet  salt  water  blinds  them  not  so  mucli, 
But  they  c;in  see  a  sort^  of  traitors  here. 
Nay,  if  I  turn  mine  eyes  upon  myself, 
I  rtnd  iiiy.self  a  traitor  with  the  rest: 
For  I  ]r.ive  i;iven  her  my  soul's  consent, 
To  undeck  the  pompous  body  of  a  Idng; 
i\Ial\e  {^lory  base;  and  sovereignty,  a  slave; 
Proud  inajesty,  a  subject;  state,  a  peasant. 

Kurlh.  My  lord, 

K.  Rich.  So  lord  of  thine,  thou  haught,  insult- 
ing man, 
Kor  no  man\s  lord;  I  Jiave  no  name,  no  title, — 
No,  not  that  name  was  ^iven  me  at  the  font, 
But  'tis  usurp'd: — Alack  the  heavy  day, 
That  1  have  worn  so  many  winters  out, 
And  know  not  now  what  name  to  call  myself! 
O,  that  I  wore  a  mockery  kin^  of  snow, 
Standin;;  belbre  the  sun  of  Bolingbroke, 
To  melt  myself  away  in  water-drops! — 
Good  king, — great   king, — (and    yet  not  greatly 

good,) 
An  if  my  word  be  sterling  yet  in  England 
Let  it  command  a  mirror  hither  straight; 
That  it  may  show  me  what  a  lace  I  have, 
.Since  it  IS  bankrupt  of  his  majesty. 

Holing.  Go  some  of  you,  and   fetch  a  looking- 
glass.  [Sxi/  an  Attendant. 
North.  Read  o'er  this  paper,  while  the  glass  doth 

come. 
A'.  Rich.  Fiend!  thou  torment'st  mc  ere  I  come 

to  hell. 
Baling.  Urge  it  no  more,  my  lord  Northumber- 
land. 
Aur/h.  The  commons  will  not  then  be  satisfied. 
K.  Rich.  They  shall  be  satisfied:  I'll  read  enough, 
When  I  do  see  the  very  book  indeed 
Where  all  uiy  sins  are  writ,  and  that's  myself. — 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  a  Glass. 
Give  mc  that  slass,  and  therein  will  I  read. — 
Nodcep.r  wruikles  yet!  Hath  sorrow  struck 
So  many  blows  upon  this  face  of  mine, 
iind  made  no  deeper  wounds'! — O,  Ilattering  glass. 
Like  to  my  followers  in  prosperity. 
Thou  dost  beguile  me  !— Was  this  liice  the  face. 
That  every  day  under  his  household  roof 
Lid  keep  ten  thousand  men  !   Was  this  the  fiice, 
That,  like  the  sun.  did  make  beholders  wink! 
\Vas  this  the  liice,  that  laced  so  many  follies, 
And  was  at  last  out-tiiccd  by  Bolingbroke! 
A  brittle  glory  shinelh  in  this  liice: 
As  brittle  as  the  glory  is  the  face; 

[Dashen  the  Gta.'is  against  the  ground. 
For  there  it  is,  crack'd  in  a  hundred  shivers. — 


JIark.  silent  king,  the  moral  of  this  sport, — 
How  soon  my  sorrow  hath  destroy'd  my  liice. 

Baling.  The  shadow  of  yoursorrow  hal'h  destroy'd 
The  shadow  of  your  face. 

A'.  Rich.  Say  that  again. 

The  shadow  of  my  sorrow!  Ha!  let's  see:— 
'Tis  very  true,  my  grief  lies  ail  wilhin; 
And  these  external  manners  of  lament 
Are  merely  shadows  to  the  unseen  grief. 
That  swells  with  silence  in  the  tortur'd  soul; 
There  lies  the  substance:  and  I  thank  thee,  king, 
For  thy  great  bounty,  that  not  only  giv'st 
j\le  cause  to  wail,  but  teacbest  me  the  way 
How  to  lament  the  cause.    I'll  beg  one  boon, 
And  then  be  gone,  and  trouble  you  no  more. 
Shall  I  obtain  it! 
Bating.  Name  it.  fair  cousin. 

A'.  Rich.  Fair  cousin!   Why,  I  am  greater  than 
a  king: 
For,  when  1  was  a  king,  my  flatterers 
Were  then  but  subjects;  being  nowa  subject, 
I  luive  a  king  here  to  my  flatterer. 
Being  so  great,  I  have  no  need  to  beg. 
Holing.  Yet  ask. 
A'.  Rich.  And  shall  I  have  ! 
Baling.  You  shall. 
K.  Rich.  Then  give  mc  leave  to  go. 
Baling.  Whitljer. 
A'.  Rich.  Whillier  you  will,  so  I  were  from  your 

sights. 
Baling.    Go,  some  of  you,  convey  him  to  the 

Tower. 
A'.   Rich.   O,  good!    Convey? — Conveyers'  are 
you  all, 
That  rise  thus  nimbly  by  a  true  king's  fall. 

[Kx.  K.  Rici^AUD,  Ao///e  Lords,  anil  a  Guards 
Baling.  On  Wednesday  next,  we  solemnly  set 
down 
Our  coronation:  lords,- prepare  yourselves. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Abbot,  Bishop  of 
Caiii.isi.i;,  and  Aujikiile. 
Ahhol.  A  woeful  pageant  have  we  here  beheld. 
far.  The  woe's  to  come;  the  children  yet  unborn 
Shall  l(>el  ihis  day  as  sharp  to  tliem  as  thorn. 
Aurn.  You  holy  clergymen,  is  there  no  plot 
To  rid  the  realm  of  this  i)ernicious  blot ! 

Ahbat.  Belore  I  freely  speak  my  mind  herein, 
I'ou  shall  not  only  take  the  sacrament 
To  bury  mine  intents,  but  to  el!i>ct 
Whatever  i  shall  hajipen  to  devise: — 
I  see  your  brows  are  lull  of  discontent, 
Your  hearts  of  sorrow,  and  your  eyes  of  tears;' 
Come  home  with  me  to  supper;  I  will  lay 
.■V  plot,  shall  show  us  all  a  uierrj'  day.       [Exeunt, 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— London.  A  Street  leading  lo  the  Tower. 
Enter  Queen,  and  Ladies. 

Queen.  This  way  the  king  will  come;  this  is  the 

way 
To  Julius  Cesar's  ill-erected  tower,' 
To  whose  flint  bosom  my  condemned  lord 
Is  doom'd  a  prisoner,  by  proud  Bolingbroke: 
Here  let  us  rest,  if  this  rebellious  earth 
Have  any  resting  for  her  true  king's  queen. 

Ent.r  King  Richard,  and  Guards. 
But  soft,  but  see,  or  rather  do  not  see. 
My  liiir  rose  wither:  Y'et  look  up;  behold; 
That  you  in  pity  may  dissolve  to  dew, 
And  wash  him  Iresh  again  with  true  love-tears. — 
Ah,  thou,  the  model  where  old  Troy  did  stand; 
Thou  map  of  honor;  thou  king  Richard's  tomb. 
And  not  king  Richard;  thou  most  beauteous  iim. 
Why  should  fiard-favor'd  grief  be  lodg'd  in  thee. 
When  triumph  is  become  an  ale-house  guest! 
AT.  Rich.  Join  not  with  grief,  fair  woman,  do  not 

so. 
To  make  my  end  too  sudden:  learn,  good  soul. 
To  think  our  fornier  state  a  happy  dream; 
From  which  awaked,  the  truth  of  what  we  are 

'Pack.  "Tower  of  London. 


Shows  us  but  this:  I  am  sworn  brother,  sweet, 
To  grim  necessity:  and  he  and  I 
Will  keep  a  league  till  death.    Hie  thee  to  France, 
And  cloister  thee  in  some  religious  house: 
Our  holy  lives  must  win  a  new  world's  crown, — 
Which  our  prolane  hours  here  have  stricken  down. 
Queen.  What,  is  my  Richard  both  in  shape  and 

mind 
Translorm'd.  and  weakened !  Hath  Bolingbroke 
Depos'd  thine  intellect!  hath  lie  been  in  tliy  heart? 
The  lion,  dying,  thrustetb  liirth  his  paw. 
And  wounds  the  earth,  if  nothing  else,  with  rage, 
To  be  o'erpowcr'd;  and  wilt  thou,  pupil-like, 
Take  thy  correction  mildly  !  kiss  the  rod, 
And  linvii  on  rage  with  b:ise  humility. 
Which  art  a  lion,  and  a  king  df  beasts? 
A'.  Rich.  A  king  of  beasts  indeed!  if  aught  but 

beasts, 
I  had  been  still  a  happy  king  of  men. 
Good  sometime  queen,  prepare    thcc   hence  for 

France: 
Think,  I  am  dead;  and  that  even  here  thou  tak'st, 
As  from  my  death-bed,  my  last  living  leave. 
In  winter's  tedious  nights,  sit  by  the  tire. 
With  good  old  folks;  and  let  them  tell  thee  tale  J 

'  Jugglers,  also  robbers. 


316 


KING  RICHAED  II. 


Act  V 


or  woeful  ages.  Ions  a;;o  betid: 

Ani1,  ere  tliou  bid  iun.l  iiinlit,  to  quit'  their  grief, 

Tell  thou  the  lamentable  fall  of  me, 

And  send  the  hearers  weeping  to  their  beds. 

For  why,  the  senseless  brands  will  sympatliize 

The  heavy  accent  of  thy  moving  tongue. 

And,  in  compassion,  weep  the  fire  out: 

And  some  will  mourn  in  ashes,  some  coal-black, 

Kor  the  deposing  of  a  rightful  king. 

Enter  Northumbehland,  aitended. 

Nurth.  My  lord,  the   mind   of  Bolinghroke   is 
changed ; 
You  must  to  Pomfret,  not,  unto  the  Tower.— 
And,  madam,  there  is  order  ta'en  for  you; 
With  all  swift  sijeed  you  must  away  to  France. 

K.  Rich.  Nortiiumberland,  thou  ladder  where- 
withal 
The  mounting  Bolinghroke  ascends  my  throne, — 
Tlic  time  shall  not  be  many  hours  of  age 
More  than  it  is.  ere  Ibul  sin,  gathering  head, 
Shall  break  into  corruption:  thou  shall  think, 
Though  he  divide  the  realm,  and  give  thee  half, 
It  is  too  little,  lielping  him  to  all; 
And  he  sliall  think,  that  thou,  which  knovv'st  the 

way 
To  plant  unrightful  kings,  wilt  know  again. 
Being  ne'er  so  little  urged,  another  way 
To  phirk  him  headlong  from  the  usurped  throne. 
The  li>ve  of  wicked  friends  converts  to  fear; 
That  lear,  to  hate;  and  hate  turns  one,  or  both. 
To  worthy  danger,  and  deserved  death. 

Nar/k.  My  guilt  be  on  my  head,  and  there  an  end. 
Take  leave,  and  part ;  for  you  must  part  forthwith. 

JC.  Rich.  Doubly  divorced !— Bad  men,  ye  violate 
A  two-lbid  marriage:  'twixt  my  crown  and  me; 
And  then,  betwixt  me  and  my  married  wife.— 
Let  me  unkiss  the  oath  'twixt  thee  and  me; 
And  yet  not  so,  tor  with  a  kiss  'twas  made. — 
Part  us  Northumberland;  I  towards  the  north. 
Where  shivering  cold  and  sickness  pines  the  clime; 
My  wife   to   France;  from  whence,  set  forth   in 

pomp. 
She  came  adorned  hither  like  sweet  May, 
Sent  back  like  Hollowmas,'  or  short'st  of  day. 

Queen.  And  must  we  be  divided?  must  we  part? 

AT.  Rich.  Ay.  hand  irom  hand,  my  love,  and  heart 
from  heart. 

Queen.  ISanish  us  both,and  send  the  king  with  me. 

Nnrfh.  That  were  some  love,  but  little  policy. 

Queen.  Then  whither  he  goes,  thither  let  me  go. 

K.  Rich.  .'Jo  two,  together  weeping,  make  one  woe. 
Weep  tliou  for  me  in  France,  I  for  thee  here; 
Better  far  oft",  than— near,  be  ne'er  the  near'. 
Go,  count  thy  way  with  sighs;  I,  mine  with  groans. 

Queen.  So  longest  way  shall  have  the  longest 
moans. 

K.  Rich.  Twice  for  one  step  FU  groan,  the  way 
■being  short. 
And  piece -the  way  out  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Come,  come,  in  wooing  sorrow,  let's  he  brief. 
Since,  wedding  it,  there  is  such  length  in  grief. 
One  kiss  shall  stop  ouv  mouths,  and  dumbly  part; 
Thus  give  1  mine,  and  thus  I  take  thy  heart. 

[The;/  kiss. 

Queen.  Give  me  raineown  again;  'twere  no  good 
part. 
To  take  on  rae  to  keep  and  kill  thy  heart. 

[Kiss  again. 
So,  now  I  have  mine  own  again,  begone. 
That  I  may  strive  to  kill  it  with  a  groan. 

A'.  Rich.  We  make  woe  wanton  with  this  fond 
delay: 
Once  more  adieu ;  the  rest  let  sorrow  say.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  n.—The  satne.    A  Room  in  the  Duke  of 

York's  Palace. 

Enter  YoRit,  and  his  Duchess. 

Duch.  My  lord,  you  told  me,  you  would  tell  the 
rest. 
When  weeping  made  you  break  the  story  olT, 
Of  our  two  cousins  coming  into  London. 
York.  Where  did  I  leave ! 

Oucli.  At  that  sad  stop,  my  lord, 

Where  rude  misgovern'd  hands,  from  windows' 

tops, 
Tiirew  dust  and  rubbish  on  Icing  Richard's  head. 

•Eequite,  repay.         ^  AUhallows.  i.  e.  AlI-8.aints.Nov.  1. 


York.  Then,  as  I  said,  the  duke,  great  Boliiis- 
broke, — 
Mounted  upon  a  hot  and  fiery  steed, 
Which  his  aspiring  rider  seem'd  to  know, — 
With  slow,  but  stately  pace,  kept  on  his  course. 
While  all  tongues  cried — God    save  thee,  Boling- 
hroke ! 
You  would  have  thought  the  very  windows  spake, 
So  many  greedy  looks  of  young  and  old 
Through  casements  darted  their  desiring  eyes 
Upon  his  visage;  and  that  all  the  walls, 
With  painted  imagery,  had  said  at  once, — 
Jesu  preserve  thee!  welcome,  Bolinghroke; 
Whilst  lie,  from  one  side  to  the  other  turning, 
Barclicaded,  lower  than  his  proud  steed's  neck, 
Bespake  them  thus, — I  thank  you,  countrymen: 
And  thus  still  doing,  thus  he  pass'd  along. 

Duch.  Alas,  poor  Uichard!  where  rides  ho  the 
while] 

York.  As,  in  a  theatre,  the  eyes  of  men, 
After  a  well-graced  actor  leaves  the  stage, 
Are  idly  hent  on  him  tiiat  enters  next, 
Thinking  his  prattle  to  be  tedious: 
Even  so,  or  with  much  more  contempt,  men's  eyes 
Did  scowl  on  Richard;  no  man  cried,  God  save  him! 
No  joyful  tongue  gave  him  his  welcome  home: 
But  dust  was  thrown  upon  his  sacred  head; 
Which  with  such  gentle  sorrow  he  shook  oil, — 
His  face  still  combating  with  tears  and  smiles, 
The  badges  of  his  grief  and  patience, — 
That,  had  not  God,  for  some  strong  purpose,  steel'd 
The  heartsof  men,  they  must  perforce  have  melted, 
And  barbarism  itself  have  pitied  him. 
But  heaven  hath  a  hand  in  these  events; 
To  whose  high  will  we  bound  our  calm  contents. 
To  Bolingbroke  are  we  sworn  subjects  now, 
Whose  state  and  honor  I  for  aye  allow. 

Enter  Ahmerle. 

Duch.  Here  comes  my  son  Aumerle. 

York.  Aumorle  that  was; 

But  that  is  lost  for  being  Richard's  friend. 
And,  madam,  you  must  call  him  Rutland  now: 
1  am  in  parliament  pledge  for  his  truth. 
And  lasting  fealty  to  the  new-made  king. 

Duch.  Welcome,  my  son:  Who  are  the  \'iolets 
now, 
That  strew  the  green  lap  of  the  new-come  spring! 

Atim.  Madam,  I  know  not,  nor  I  greatly  care  not: 
God  knows,  1  had  as  lief  be  none,  as  one. 

York.  Well,  bear  you  well  in  this  new  spring  of 
time. 
Lest  you  be  cropp'd  before  you  come  to  prime. 
What  news  from  Oxlbrd!  hold  those  justs*  and 
triumphs ! 

A  urn.  For  aught  I  know,  my  lord,  they  do. 

York.  You  will  be  there,  I  know. 

Aum.  If  God  prevent  it  not;  1  purpose  r-o. 

York.  What  seal  is  that,  that  hangs  without  thy 
bosom  ? 
Yea.  look'st  thou  pale?  let  me  see  the  writing. 

Aum.  My  lord,  'iis  nothing. 

York.  No  matter  then  who  sees  it: 

I  will  be  satisfied,  let  me  see  the  writing. 

Aum.  I  do  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me; 
It  is  a  matter  of  small  consequence. 
Which  for  some  reasons  I  would  not  have  seen. 

York.  Which  for  some  reason,  sir,  I  mean  to  see. 
I  fear.  I  fear, 

Ducti.  What  should  you  fear? 

'Tis  nothing  but  some  bond  that  he  is  enter'd  into 
For  gay  apparel,  'gainst  the  triumph  day. 

York.  Bound  to  himself?  what  doth  he  with  a 
bond 
That  he  is  bound  to?   Wife,  thou  art  a  fool. — 
Boy,  let  me  see  the  writing. 

Aum.  1  do  beseech  you,  pardon  me;  I  may  not 
show  it. 

York.  I  will  be  satisfied;  let  rae  see  it,  I  say. 

[Snatches  it,  and  reads. 
Treason!  foul  treason!  villain!  traitor!  slave! 

Duch.  What  is  the  matter,  my  lord  ! 

York.  Ho!  who  is  within  there?  [Enter  a  Servant 
Saddle  my  horse. 
God  for  his  mercy!  what  treachery  is  here! 

Duch.  Why,  what  is  it,  my  lord? 

York.   Give    me  my  boots,  I  say;  saddle  ray 
horse : 

*  Tilts  and  tournamentfl. 


Scene  III. 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


317 


Now  by  mine  honor,  by  my  life,  my  troth, 

I  will  appeach  the  viilaiii.  [Exit  Servant. 

Duch.  What's  the  matter  1 

Yark.  Peace,  foolish  woman. 

Duck.  I  will  not  peace :— What  is  the  matter,  sent 

Aiurt.  Good  mother,  be  content;  it  is  no  more 
Than  my  poor  lile  must  answer. 

Buch.  Thy  life  answer! 

Re-enter  Servant,  with.  Boots. 

Yorlc.  Bring  me  my  boots,  I  will  unto  the  king. 

Ducli.  Strike  him,  Aumerle. — Poor  boy,  thou  art 
amaz'd: 
Hence,  villain;  never  more  come  in  my  sight. — 

[Tv  ttie  Servant. 

York.  Give  me  my  boots,  I  say. 

Duck.  Why,  York,  what  wilt  tliou  do  1 
Wilt  thou  not  hide  the  trespass  of  thine  ownl 
Have  we  more  sons!  or  are  we  like  to  have? 
Is  not  my  teeming*  date  drunk  up  with  time? 
And  wilt  thou  pluck  my  fair  son  from  mitie  age, 
And  rob  me  of  a  happy  mother's  name? 
Is  he  not  like  thee?  is  he  not  thine  own? 

Ywk.  Thou  fond  mad  woman. 
Wilt  thou  conceal  this  dark  conspiracy? 
A  dozen  of  them  here  have  ta'en  the  sacrament, 
And  interchangeably  set  down  their  hands, 
To  kill  tlie  king  at  Oxford. 

Duch.  He  shall  be  none; 

We'll  keep  him  here :  Then  what  is  that  to  him  ? 

York.  Away, 
Fond  woman!  were  he  twenty  times  my  son, 
1  would  appeach  him. 

Duch.  Hadst  thou  groan'd  for  him, 

As  I  have  done,  thou'dst  be  more  pitiful. 
But  now  I  know  tliy  mind ;  thou  dost  suspect, 
That  I  have  been  disloyal  to  thy  bed. 
And  tliat  he  is  a  bastard,  not  tjiy  son: 
Sweet  York,  sweet  husband,  be  not  of  that  mind: 
He  is  as  like  thee  as  a  man  may  be. 
Not  like  to  me,  or  any  of  my  km, 
And  yet  1  love  Iiim. 

York.  Make  way,  unruly  woman.  [Exit. 

Duch.  Al\er,  Aumerle;  mount  thee  upon  his  horse; 
Spur,  post:  and  get  before  liim  to  the  king. 
And  beg  thy  pardon  ere  he  do  accuse  thee. 
I'll  not  be  long  behind ;  though  I  be  old, 
I  doubt  not  but  to  ride  as  fast  as  York! 
And  never  will  I  rise  up  from  the  ground. 
Till  B"lingbrokehave  pardon"d  thee:  Away: 
Begone.  ['Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Windsor.    A  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  Bolixgeroke,  as  King;  Percy,  and  other 
Lords. 

Bating.  Can  no  man  tell  of  my  unthrifty  son? 
'Tis  full  three  months  since  I  did  see  him  last: — 
If  any  plague  hang  o'er  us,  'tis  he. 
I  would  to  God.  my  lords,  he  might  be  found: 
Inquire  at  London,  'inongst  the  taverns  there, 
For  there,  they  say,  he  daily  doth  frequent. 
With  unrestrained  loose  companions; 
Even  such,  they  say,  as  stand  in  narrow  lanes. 
And  beat  our  watch,  and  rob  our  passengers; 
While  he.  young,  wanton,  and  eSeminate  boy, 
Takes  on  the  point  of  honor,  to  support 
So  dissolute  a  crew. 

Percy.  My  lord,  some  two  days  since  I  saw  the 
prince; 
And  told  him  of  these  triumph  held  at  Oxford. 

Bating.  And  what  said  the  gallant? 

Percy.  His  answer   was,— he  would   unto   the 
stews ; 
And  from  the  common'st  creature  pluck  a  glove, 
And  wear  it  as  a  I'avor;  and  with  that 
He  would  unhorse  the  lustiest  challenger. 

Buling.  As  dissolute,  as  desperate!  yet  through 
both 
I  see  some  sparkles  of  a  better  hope. 
Which  elder  days  may  happily  bring  forth. 
But  who  comes  here? 


Enter  Aumerle  hastily. 

Aum.  Where  is  the  king  ? 

Baling.  What  means 

Oui  cousin,  that  he  stares  and  looks  so  wildly? 

'Breeding 


Aum.  God  save  your  grace.    I  do  beseech  j'our 
majesty. 
To  have  some  conference  with  your  grace  alone. 
Baling.  Withdraw  yourselves,  and  leave  us  here 
alone.—  [Exeunt  Percy  and  Lords. 

What  is  the  matter  with  our  cousin  now? 
Aum.  For  ever  may  my  knees  grow  to  the  earth, 

[Kneels, 
My  tongue  cleave  to  my  roof  within  my  mouth, 
Unless  a  pardon,  ere  I  rise,  or  speak. 

Baling.  Intended,  or  committed,  was  this  fault? 
If  but  the  first,  how  heinous  e'er  it  be. 
To  win  thy  after-love,  I  pardon  thee. 
Aum.  Then  give  me  leave  that  I  may  turn  tlie 
key. 
That  no  man  enter  tiU  my  tale  be  done. 
Baling.  Have  thy  desire. 

[Aumerle  tocA'.t  the  door. 
York.  [Wiihin.]  My  liege,  beware;  look  to  thy- 
self; 
Thou  hast  a  traitor  in  thy  presence  there. 
Baling.  Villain,  I'll  ma'ke  thee  safe.      [Draming, 
Aum.  Stay  thy  revengeful  hand; 
Tiinu  hast  no  cause  to  Ii?ar. 
York.  [IVUhin.]  Oponthedoor, secure, fool-hardy 
king: 
Shall  I,  for  love,  speak  treason  to  thy  face? 
Open  the  door,  or  I  will  break  it  open. 

[BoLixGBROKE  opens  the  door. 

Enter  Y'ore. 
Baling.  What  is  the  matter,  tmcle?  speak; 
Recover  breath ;  tell  us  how  near  is  danger, 
That  we  may  arm  us  to  encounter  it. 

York.  Peruse  this  writing  here,  and  thou  shall 
know 
The  trca4)n  tliat  my  haste  forbids  me  show. 
Aum.  Remember,  as  thou  read's!,  thy  promise 
past: 
I  do  repent  me;  read  not  my  name  tliere, 
My  heart  is  not  confederate  with  my  hand. 
York.  'Twas,  villain,  ere  thy  hand  did   set  it 
down. — 
I  tore  it  from  the  traitor's  bosom,  king: 
Fear,  and  not  love,  begets  his  penitence: 
Forget  to  pity  him,  lest  thy  pity  prove 
A  serpent  that  will  sting  thee  to  the  heart. 
Baling.  0  heinous,  strong,  and  bold  conspiracy  !— 

0  loyal  lather  of  a  treacherous  son ! 

Thou  sheer,'  immaculate,  and  silver  fountain, 
From  whence  this  stream  through  muddy  passages, 
Hath  held  his  current,  and  defiled  himsell ! 
Tliy  overilow  of  good  convert:^  to  bad; 
And  thy  abundant  goodness  shall  excuse 
This  deadly  plot  in  thy  disgressing  son. 

Ytn-k.  So  shall  my  virtue  be  his  vice's  baw'd; 
And  he  shall  spend  mine  honor  with  his  shame. 
As  thrilUcss  sons  their  scraping  fathers'  gold. 
Mine  honor  lives  when  his  dislionor  dies. 
Or  my  shamed  life  in  his  dishonor  lies ; 
Thou  kiU'st  me  in  his  life;  giving  him  breath, 
The  traitor  lives,  the  true  man's  put  to  death. 

Duch.  [IVithin.]  What  ho,  my  liege!  for  God's 
sake  let  me  in. 

Baling.  What  shrill-voiced  suppliant  makes  this 
eager  cry  ? 

Duch.  A  woman,  and  thine  aimt,  great  king; 
'lis  I. 
Speak  with  me,  pity  me,  open  the  door; 
A  beggar  begs,  that  never  begg'd  before. 

Baling.   Our  scene  is  alter'd,— from  a  serious 
thing. 
And  now  changed  to  The  Beggar  and  the  King.''— 
My  dangerous  cousin,  let  your  mother  in; 

1  know  she's  come  to  pray  for  your  foul  sin. 

York.  If  thou  do  pardon,  whosoever  pray, 
More  sins,  for  this  Ibrgiveness,  prosper  may. 
This  fester'd  joint  cut  oil",  tile  rest  rests  sound ; 
This,  let  alone,  will  all  the  rest  confound. 

Enter  Duchess. 
Duch.  0  king,  beUeve  not  this  hard-hearted  man; 
Love,  loving  not  itself,  none  other  can. 
York.    Thou    frantic  woman,  what  dost   thou 
make  here? 
Shall  thy  old  dugs  once  more  a  traitor  rear? 
Duch.  Sweet  York,  be  patient:  Hear  me,  gentle 
lifSe.  [Kneels, 


'  Transparent. 


'An  old  ballad. 


318 


KING  RICHARD  II. 


Act  V. 


Bnlin^.  Rise  up,  good  aunt. 

Duck.  Not  yet,  I  thee  beseech: 

For  ever  will  I  kneel  upon  my  knees. 
And  never  see  day  that  the  happy  sees. 
Till  tliou  give  joy;  until  thou  bid  me  joy, 
By  pardoning  Rutland,  my  transgressing  boy. 

Aiim.  Unto  my  mother's  prayers,  I   bend  my 
knee.  [Kneels. 

York.  Against  them  both,  my  true  joints  bended 
be.  [Kneels. 

Ill  mayst  tliou  thrive,  if  thou  grant  any  grace ! 

Ditch.  Pleads  he  in  earnest !  look  upon  his  face; 
His  eyes  do  drop  no  tears,  his  prayers  are  in  jest; 
His  words  coine  liom  his  moutli,  ours  from  our 

breast: 
He  prays  but  faintly,  and  would  be  denied; 
We  pray  with  heart,  and  soul,  and  all  besidei 
His  weary  joints  would  gladly  rise,  1  know; 
Our  knees  shall  kneel  tiU  to  the  ground  they  grow; 
His  prayers  are  full  of  lalse  hypocrisy; 
Ours  of  true  zeal  and  deep  integrity. 
Our  prayers  do  out-pray  his;  then  let  them  have 
That  mercy  which  true  prayers  ought  to  have. 

Billing.  Good  aunt,  stand  up. 

Duck.  Nay,  do  not  say — stand  up; 

But.  pardon,  first;  and  afterwards,  stand  up. 
An  il  1  were  thy  nurse,  thy  tongue  to  teach. 
Pardon— should  be  the  first  word  of  thy  speech. 
1  never  iong'd  to  hear  a  word  till  now; 
Say— pardon,  king;  let  pity  teach  thee  how: 
Tile  word  is  short,  but  not  so  short  as  sweet; 
No  word  like,  pardon,  for  kings'  mouths  so  meet. 

Yijiic.  Speak  it  in  French,  king;  say,  panlimnez 
moij.  ^ 

Duck.  Dost  thou  teach  pardon  pardon  to  destroy] 
Ah,  my  sour  husband,  my  liard-hearled  lord. 
That  set'st  the  word  itself  against  the  word! — 
Speak,  pardon,  as  'tis  current  in  our  land; 
Tlie  chopping  French  we  do  nut  understand. 
Thine  eye  begins  to  speak,  set  thy  tongue  there : 
Or,  in  thy  piteous  heart  plant  thou  thine  ear; 
That,  hearing  how  our  plaints  and  prayers  do  pierce. 
Pity  may  move  thee,  pardon  to  renearse. 

Botiiig.  Good  aunt,  stand  up. 

Duck.  1  do  not  sue  to  stand, 

Parduu  is  all  the  suit  I  have  in  hand. 

Buling.  I  pardon  him,  as  God  sliall  pardon  me. 

Duck.  0  happy  vantage  of  a  kneeling  liiiee  ! 
Yet  am  I  sick  lor  tear:  speak  it  again ; 
Twice  saying  pardon,  doth  not  pardon  twain, 
But  makes  oiie  pardon  strong. 

Baling.  With  all  my  heart, 

I  pardoii  him. 

Hack.         A  god  on  earth  thou  art. 

Buling.  But  lor  our  trusty  brother-in-law, — and 
tlie  abbot. 
With  all  the  rest  of  that  consorted  crew, — 
Destruction  straight  shall'  dog  tliem  at  the  heels. — 
Good  uncle,  help  to  order  several  powers 
To  Oxford,  or  where'er  these  traitors  are: 
They  shall  not  live  within  this  world,  I  swear. 
But!  will  have  them,  if  I  once  knew  where. 
Uncle,  farewell, — and  cousin,  too,  adieu: 
Your  mother  well  hath  pray'd,  and  prove  you  true. 

Duck.  Come,  my  old  son; — 1  pray   God   make 
thee  new.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Exton  awl  a  Servant. 
Exton.  Didst  thou  not  mark  the  king  what  words 
he  spake  1 
Have  I  no  friend  will  rid  me  oflhis  living  fear? 
Was  it  not  so  i. 
Serv.  Those  were  his  very  words. 

Exton.  Have  Inofriendl'  quoth  he:  ho  spake  it 
twice. 
And  urged  it  twice  together;  did  he  notl 
Serv.  He  did. 

Exiiiii.  And  spcakingit, lie  wistfully  look'd  on  me; 
As  who  should  say, — I  would,  thou  wcrt  the  man 
That  would  divorce  this  terror  from  my  heart; 
Meaning,  the  king  at  Pomfret.    Come,  let's  go; 
I  am  the  king's  friend,  and  will  rid  his  foe.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  v.— Pomfret.    Tke  Castle. 

Enter  King  Richard. 

K.  Rich.  I  have  been  studying  how  I  may  compare 
This  jirison,  where  I  live,  unto  the  world: 

^Excuse  me. 


And,  for  because  the  world  is  populous, 
And  here  is  not  a  creature  but  myself, 
I  cannot  do  it; — Yet  I'll  hammer  it  out. 
My  brain  I'll  prove  the  female  to  my  soul; 
JMy  soul,  the  lather:  and  these  two  beget 
A  generation  of  still-breeding  thoughts, 
And  these  same  tiioughts  people  this  little  world; 
In  humors,  like  the  people  of  tliis  world; 
p^or  no  thought  is  contented.    The  better  sort, — 
As  thoughts  of  things  divine. — are  intermix'd 
With  scruples,  and  do  set  the  word  itself 
Against  the  word: 

As  thus. — Come,  little  nnes;  and  then  again,— 
It  is  as  hard  to  come,  as  for  a  camel 
To  thrriiil  tke  pnslern"  of  a  needless  eije. 
Tiioughts  tennuig  to  ambition,  they  do  plot 
Unlikel)"  wonders:  how  tliese  vain  weak  nails 
May  tear  a  passage  through  the  flinty  ribs 
Of  this  hard  world,  my  ragged  prison  walls; 
And,  Ibr  they  cannot,  die  in  their  own  pride. 
Thoughts  tending  to  content,  flatter  themselves,— 
That  they  are  not  the  flrst  of  ibrtunc's  slaves, 
Nor  shall  not  be  the  last;  like  silly  beggars. 
Who,  sitting  in  the  stocks,  refuge  their  shame, 
That  many  have,  and  others  must  sit  there; 
And  in  this  thought  they  find  a  kind  of  ease, 
Bearing  their  own  misfortune  on  the  back 
Of  such  as  have  before  endured  the  like. 
Thus  play  I,  in  one  person,  many  people. 
And  none  contented:  Sometimes  am  I  king. 
Then  treason  makes  me  wish  myself  a  beggar; 
And  so  I  am:  Then  crushing  penury 
Persuades  me  I  was  l)etter  when  a  king; 
Then  am  I  king'd  again:  and,  by-aud-by, 
Think  that  I  am  unking'd  by  Boiingbroke, 
And  straight  am  nothing; — but  what'er  I  am, 
Nor  I,  any  man,  that  but  man  is. 
With  nothing  shall  be  pleas'd  till  he  be  eas'd 
With  being  nothing. — Music  do  I  hear]       [Music. 
Ha,  iia!  keep  time: — How  sour  sweet  music  is, 
When  time  is  broke,  and  no  proportion  kept! 
So  is  it  in  the  music  of  men's  lives. 
And  here  have  I  the  daintiness  of  ear. 
To  check  time  broke  in  adisordcr'd  string; 
But,  for  the  concord  of  my  state  and  time. 
Had  not  an  ear  to  hear  my  true  time  broke. 
I  wasted  time,  and  now  doth  time  waste  me. 
For  now  Iiath  time  made  me  his  nnmb'ring  clock. 
My  thoughts  are  minutes;  and,  with  sighs,  they  jar 
Their  watches  on  to  mine  eves,  the  outward  watch 
Whereto  my  finger,  like  a  dial's  point, 
Is  pointing  still,  in  cleansing  tiiem  from  tears. 
Now,  sir,  the  sounds  that  tell  wiiat  hour  it  is. 
Are  clamorous  groans,  that  strike  upon  my  heart. 
Which  is  the  bell;  So  sighs,  and  tears,  and  groans, 
Show  minutes,  times,  and  hours: — but  my  time 
Runs  posting  on  in  Bolingbroke's  proud  joy, 
While  I  stand  fooling  here,  his  Jack  o'the  clock.' 
This  music  mads  me,  let  it  sound  no  more; 
For  though  it  have  holp  madmen  to  their  wits, 
In  me,  it  ^eems  it  will  make  wise  men  mad. 
Yet  blessing  on  his  heart  that  gives  it  me! 
For  'tis  a  sign  of  love;  and  love  to  Richard 
Is  a  strange  brooch  in  this  all-hating  world. 
Enter  Groom. 

Groom.  Hail,  royal  prince ! 

K.  Kick.  Thanlis,  noble  peer; 

The  cheapest  of  us  is  ten  groats  too  dear. 
What  art  thou!  and  how  comest  thou  hither. 
Where  no  man  never  comes,  but  that  sad  dog 
That  brings  me  food,  to  make  misfortune  live? 

Groom,  I  was  a  poor  groom  of  thy  stable,  liing, 
When   thou  wert  king;  who,  travelling  towards 

York, 
With  much  ado,  at  length  have  gotten  leave 
To  look  upon  my  sometime  master's  lace. 
O,  how  it  yearn'd  my  heart,  when  I  beheld. 
In  London  streets,  that  coronation  day. 
When  Boiingbroke  rode  on  roan.  Barbaryl 
That  horse,  that  thou  so  olten  hast  bestrid. 
That  horse,  that  I  so  carefully  have  dress'd  ! 

K.  Rick.  Rode  he  on  Barbary !   Tell  me,  gentle 
friend. 
How  went  he  under  him? 

Groom.  So  proudly  as  if  he  disdain'd  the  ground. 

K.  Rich.  So  proud  that  Boiingbroke  was  on  his 
back! 

'Little  gate. 

'  Strike  for  him,  like  the  figure  of  »  man  on  a  bell. 


SCEKE  VI. 


KING  EICHARD  II. 


319 


That  jade  hath  eat  bread  from  my  royal  hand; 
This  hand  liath  made  liim  proud  with  clapping 

him. 
Would  he  not  stumble?  Would  he  not  fall  down. 
(Since  pride  must  have  a  (all,)  and  break  the  neck 
Of  that  proud  man  that  did  usurp  his  back 7 
Korjiiveitess,  horse!  wliy  do  I  rail  on  thee, 
Since  thou,  created  to  lie  aw'd  by  man, 
Wast  born  to  bearl  I  was  not  made  a  horse; 
And  yet  I  bear  a  burden  like  an  ass, 
Spur-gall'd,  and  tired,  by  jauncing  Bolingbroke. 

Enter  Keeper,  with  a  Dis/t. 

Keep.  Fellow,  give  place;  here  is  no  longer  stay. 

[To  the  Groom. 

K.  Rich.  If  thou  love  me,  'tis  time  thou  wort 

away. 
Groom.  What  my  tongue  dares  not,  that' my  heart 
shall  say.  [£jHt. 

Keep.  My  lord,  wiirt  please  you  to  fall  to? 
K.  Rich.  Taste  ot  it  tirst,  as  thou  art  wont  to  do. 
Keep.  My  lord,  1  dare  not;  sir  Pierce  of  Exton, 
wlio 
J      Lately  came  from  the  king,  commands  the  con- 
trary. 
K.  Rich.  The  devil  take  Henry  of  Lancaster  and 
thee! 
Patience  is  stale,  and  I  am  weary  of  it. 

[Beats  the  Keeper. 
Keep.  Help,  help,  help ! 

Enter  Exton,  and  Servants  armeil. 
K.  Rich.  How  now!  what  means  death  in  this 
rude  assault! 
Villain,  thy  own  hand  yields  thy  death's  instru- 
ment. 

[Snatching  a  weajmn,  and  killing  one. 
Go  thou,  and  fill  anotlier  room  in  hell. 

[He  kills  another,  then  Exton  strikes  him  down. 
That  hand  shall  burn  in  never-quenching  fire. 
That  staggers  thus  my  person. — Exton,  thy  fierce 

hand 
Hath  with  the  king's  blood  stain'd  the  king's  own 

land. 
Mount,  mount,  my  soul !  thy  seat  is  up  on  high ; 
Whilst  my  gross  llesh  sinks  downward  here  to  die. 

[Dies. 
Exton.  As  full  of  valor,  as  of  royal  blood: 
Both  have  1  spilt;  O,  would  the  deed  w'ere  good ! 
For  now  the  devil,  that  told  me — I  did  well. 
Says  that  this  deed  is  chronicled  in  heJI. 
This  de;ul  king  to  the  liviiit:  king  I'll  bear; — 
Take  hence  the  rest,  and  give  them  burial  here. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VL— Windsor.   A  Room  in  the  Castle. 

Fbntr'ish.     Enter  BoLiNC.nnoKE,  and  York,  vrith 
Lords,  and  Attendants. 

Baling.  Kind  uncle  York,  the  latest  news  we 
11  ear. 
Is — that  the  rebels  have  consumed  with  fire 
Uur  town  of  Cicester  in  Glostershire; 
iut  whether  they  be  ta'en,  or  slain,  we  hear  not. 


Enter  Noktuumbekland. 
Welcome,  my  lord :  What  is  the  news ! 
J^orth.  First,  to  thy  sacred  state  wish  I  all  hap- 
piness. 
The  next  news  is,— I  have  to  London  sent 
The  heads  of  Salisbury,  Spencer,  Blunt,  and  Kent: 
The  manner  of  their  taking  may  appear 
At  large  discoursed  in  (his  paper  here. 

[Presenting  a  paper. 
Baling.  We  thank  thee,  gentle  Percy,  lor  thy 
pains; 
And  to  thy  worth  will  add  right  worthy  gains. 
Enter  Fitzwater. 

Fitz.  My  lord,  I  have  from  Oxford  sent  to  Lon- 
don 
The  heads  of  Brocas,  and  Sir  Bennet  Seely; 
Two  of  tile  dangerous  consorted  traitors, 
That  sought  at  Oxford  thy  dire  overthrow. 

Biding.  Thy  pains,  Fitzwater,  shall  not  be  forgot; 
Right  noble  is  thy  merit,  well  1  wot. 

Enter  Percy,  with  the  Bisuo?  of  Carlisle. 

Percy.  The  grand  conspirator,  abbot  of  West- 
minster, 
With  clog  of  conscience,  and  sour  melancholy, 
Hath  yielded  up  his  body  to  the  grave; 
But  here  is  Carlisle  living  to  abide 
Thy  kingly  doom,  and  sentence  of  his  pride. 

Baling.  Carlisle,  this  is  your  doom; — 
Choose  out  some  secret  place,  some  re^  erend  room, 
More  than  thou  hast,  and  with  it  'joy  thy  life; 
So,  as  thou  liv'st  in  peace,  die  f.ee  from  strile: 
For  though  mine  enemy  thou  hast  ever  been. 
High  sparks  of  honor  in  (hee  have  I  seen. 

Enter  Exton,  loith  Attendants  bearing  a  Coffin. 

Exton.  Great  king,  within  this  codin  I  present 
Thy  buried  fear;  herein  all  breathless  lies 
The  mightest  of  thy  greatest  enemies, 
Rich.ard  of  Bourdeaux,  by  me  hither  brought. 

Baling.  Exton,  I  thank  thee  not;  for  tliou  hast 
wrought 
A  deed  of  slander,  with  thy  fatal  hand. 
Upon  my  head,  and  all  this  famous  land. 

Exton.  From  your  own  mouth,  my  lord,  did  I 
this  deed. 

Baling.  The>love  not  poison  that  do  poison  need. 
Nor  do  1  thee;  though  1  did  wish  him  dead, 
I  hate  the  murderer,  love  him  murdered. 
The  guilt  of  conscience  take  thou  lor  thy  labor. 
But  neither  my  good  word,  nor  princely  favor; 
With  Cain  go  wander  through  tlie  shade  of  night, 

And  never  show  thy  head  by  day  nor  light. 

Lords,  I  protest,  my  soul  is  full  of  woe, 

That  blood  should  sprinkle  me,  to  make  me  grow^ 

Come,  mourn  with  me  (or  what  I  do  lament, 

And  put  on  sullen  black  incoutiiicnt;^ 

I'll  make  a  voyage  to  the  Holy  Land, 

To  wash  this  lilood  off  from  my  guilty  hand; — 

March  sadly  after:  grace  my  mourniiigs  here. 

In  weeping  alter  this  untimely  bier.  [Exeunt, 

2  Immediately 


FIRST  PART  OF 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


King  Henry  the  Fourth. 
Henry,  Prince  of  Wales,     )  £.««,  *„  *i«  i-;,,™. 
Prince  John  ^/f  tancastcr,  \  ^""^  '"  "^  ^'"S- 
Eaki,  of  Westmoreland,  j  p„,v„  j,  /„  fu.   t.-: 
Sir  Walter  Blunt,  \trie7i(U  loine   Ki 

Thomas  Percy,  Earl  nf  Worcester. 
Henry  Percy,  Earl  (if  Northumberland. 
Henry  Percy,  suriiained  Hotspur,  his  Son< 
Edward  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March. 
Scroop,  Archbisltop  of  York. 
Archibald,  Earl  of  Douglas. 
Owen  Glendower. 
Sir  Richard  Vernon. 


Sir  John  Falstaff. 

POINS. 

Gadshill. 

Peto.    Bardolph. 

Lady  Percy,  W^e  to  Hotspur,  and  'Sister  to  Mor- 
timer. 

Lady  Mortimer,  Daughter  to  Glendower,  and 
Wife  to  Mortimer. 

Mrs.  Quickly,  Hostess  of  u  Tavern  in  Eastcheap. 

Lords,    Officers,   Sheriff,    Vintner,    Chamberlain, 
Drawers,  two  Carriers,  Travellers  and  Attendants 


SCENE,  England. 


ACT! 


SCENE  I.— London.    A  Room  m  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Westmoreland,  Sir  Walter 
Blunt,  and  others. 

K.  Hen.  So  shaken  as  we  are,  so  wan  with  care, 
Find  we  a  time  for  frighted  peace  to  pant, 
And  breathe  -shorl-wintled  accents  of  new  broils 
To  be  commeiii'cd  in  strnudsi  afar  remote. 
No  more  the  tlursty  Kruiiiys"  of  this  soil 
Sliall  daub  her  lips' witli  her  ovra  children's  blood; 
No  more  shall  trenching  war  channel  her  fields. 
Nor  bruise  her  flowrets  %vitli  the  armed  lioofs 
Of  hostile  paces:  those  opposed  eyes. 
Which, — like  the  meteors  of  a  troubled  heaven, 

AU  of  one  nature,  of  one  substance  bred, 

Did  lately  meet  in  the  intestine  shock 

And  furious  close  of  civil  butchery, 

Shall  now,  in  mutual,  well-beseeming  ranks, 

March  all  one  way;  and  be  no  more  oppos'd 

Against  acquaintance,  kindred,  and  allies: 

The  edge  of  war,  like  an  ill-sheatlied  knife. 

No  more  shall  cut  his  master.    Therefore,  friends. 

As  far  as  to  the  sepulchre  of  Christ, 

(Wliose  soldier  now,  inider  whose  blessed  cross 

We  are  impressed  and  engaged  to  fight,) 

Fortlnvith  a  power  of  English  shall  we  levy; 

Whose  arms  were  mouhleil  in  tlif  irnmlliei's  womb 

To  chase  these  pagniis,  in  Ibnsi'  Imly  tii-lils. 

Over  whose  acres  vvalk'd  Ihuse  blessed  leet, 

Whicli,  /burteen  hundred  years  ago,  were  nail'd 

For  our  advantage,  on  the  bitter  cross. 

But  this  our  purpose  is  a  twelvemonth  old, 

And  bootless  'tis  to  tell  you — we  will  go; 

Tlierelbre  we  meet  not  now:— Then  let  me  hear 

Of  yon,  my  gentle  cousin  Westmoreland, 

What  yi  -it'^rnight  our  council  did  decree 

In  (orwaiilmg  this  dear  expedience.' 

West.  My  liege,  this  haste  was  hot  in  question, 
And  many  limits*  of  the  charge  set  down 


*  Stranrts,  banks  of  the  sea. 

*  Expedition 

S20 


2  The  Fury  of  discord. 
*  Estimates. 


But  yesternight:  when,  all  athwart,  there  came 
A  post  from  Wales,  loaded  with  heavy  news; 
Whose  worst  was, — that  the  noble  Mortimer 
Leading  the  men  of  Herefordshire  to  right 
Against  the  irregular  and  wild  Glendower, 
W^as  by  the  rude  hands  of  that  Welshman  taken, 
And  a  thousand  of  his  people  butchered. 
Upon  whosrcle;idrorpsf'tbi'rr  w:ls  sui'h  misuse. 
Such  beasti\,  slmnieless  transIOrnjiilion, 
By  those  \Velsb\vnnieM  done,  as  may  not  be. 
Without  mucli  siianie,  re-told  or  spoken  of. 
K.  Hen.  It  seems,  then,  that  the  tidings  of  this 

broil 
Brake  off  our  business  for  the  Holy  Land. 
West.  This  match'd  with  other,  did,  my  gracious 

lord; 
For  more  uneven  and  unwelcome  news 
Came  from  the  north,  and  thus  it  did  import. 
On  Holy-rood  day,'  the  gallant  Hotspur  there, 
Young  Harry  Percy,  and  brave  Archibald, 
That  ever  valiant  and  approved  Scot, 
At  Holmedon  met. 

Where  tiic\'  did  spend  a  sad  and  bloody  hour; 
As  by  diseiiargo  of  their  artillery. 
And  shape  of  likelihood,  the  news  was  told; 
For  he  that  brongbi  them,  in  the  very  heat 
And  pride  of  their  ouiitention,  did  take  horse, 
Uncertain  of  the  issue  any  way. 
K.  Hen.  Here  is  a  dear  and  true  industrious 

friend. 
Sir  Walter  Blunt,  new  lighted  from  his  horse, 
Stiiiu'd  with  the  variation  of  each  soil 
Betwixt  that  Holmcdon  and  this  seat  of  ours; 
And  he  hath  broughtus  smooth  and  welcome  news. 
The  earl  of  Douglas  is  discomfited  ; 
Ten  thousand  bold  Scots,  two-and-twenty  Icnights, 
Balk'd^  in  their  own  blood,  did  sir  Walter  see 
On  Holmedon's  plains:  Of  prisoners.  Hotspur  took 
Mordake,  the  earl  of  Fife,  and  eldest  son 
To  beaten  Douglas;  and  the  earls  of  Athol, 
Of  Murray,  Angus,  and  Menteith. 


'  September  14. 


Tiled  up  in  a  heap 


Scene  II. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


321 


And  is  not  this  an  honorable  spoil  ? 
A  pillwit  prixo?  )ia,  cousin,  is  it  not? 

fVe^t.  In  faith. 
It  is  a  coiKiuost  lor  b  prince  to  boast  of. 

K.  Hen.  Yea,  there  thou  niali'st  mc  sad,  and 
mak'st  me  sin 
In  envy  that  my  lord  Northumberland 
Should  be  the  lethcr  of  so  blost  a  son: 
A  son,  who  is  the  theme  of  honor's  tongue; 
Amoi^st  a  grove,  the  very  straijhtest  plant; 
Who  -S  sweet  fortune's  minion,  Mid  her  pride: 
Whilst  I,  by  looking  on  the  praise  of  him, 
See  riot  and  dishonor  stain  the  brow 
Of  my  young  Harry.    O,  that  it  could  be  prov'd, 
That  some  liight-tripping  fairy  had  exchansed 
In  cradle-clotfies  our  children  where  they  lay, 
And  call'd  mine — Percy,  his — Plantagenct! 
Then  would  I  have  his  Harry,  and  he  mine. 
But  let  him  from  my  thoughts:— What  thint  you, 

coz, 
Of  this  young  Percy's  pride?  the  prisoners, 
Which  he  in  this  adventure  hath  surpriz'd, 
To  his  own  use  he  keeps:  and  sends  me  word, 
I  shall  have  none  but  Mordake,  earl  of  File. 

Well.  This  is  liis  uncle's  teacliing,  this  is  Wor- 
cester, 
Malevolent  to  you  in  all  aspects; 
Which  makes  him  prune"  himself,  and  bristle  up 
The  crest  of  youth  against  your  dignity. 

K.  Hen.  But  I  have  sent  ibr  him  to  answer  this; 
And,  for  this  cause,  a  while  we  must  neglect 
Our  holy  purpose  to  Jerusalem. 
Cousni,  on  Wednesday  next  our  council  wc 
Will  hold  at  Windsor,  so  inform  the  lords: 
But  come  yourself  with  speed  to  us  again; 
For  more  is  to  be  said,  and  to  he  done, 
TJian  out  of  anger  can  be  uttered. 

West.  I  will,  my  liege.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  ll.—A?iol/ier  Rcmn  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Hexry  Prince  rf  Wales,  and  Falsmff. 

Fat.  Now,  Hal,  what  lime  of  day  is  it,  lad? 

P.  Hen.  Thou  art  so  (at-witted,  with  drinking  of 
old  sack,  and  unbuttoning  tliee  after  supper,  and 
Bleeping  upon  benches  after  noon,  that  thou  h.asl 
forgotten  to  demand  that  truly  which  thou  vjouldsl 
truly  know.  What  a  devil  hast  thou  to  do  with 
the  time  of  the  day?  unless  hours  were  cups  of 
Back,  and  minutes  capons,  and  clocks  the  tongues 
of  bawds,  and  dials  the  signs  of  leaping-houses,  and 
the  blessed  sun  himself  a  lair  hot  wench  in  (lame- 
color'd  talJeta;  I  see  no  reason,  why  thou  shouldst 
be  so  superlluous  to  demand  the  time  of  the  day. 

Fal.  Indeed,  you  come  near  me,  now,  H.il:  for 
wc  that  take  purses,  go  by  the  moon  and  seven 
etars;  and  not  by  Phoebus.— he,  t/uit  wnndering 
knight  SI)  fair.  And,  I  pray  thee,  sweet  wag.  when 
thou  art  knig,— as.  God  save  thy  grace,  (niaiesty,  1 
should  say;  for  grace  thou  wilt  have  none,)^ 

P.  Hen.  What, none? 

Fal.  No,  by  my  troth;  not  so  much  as  %vill  serve 
to  be  prologue  to  an  egg  and  butter. 

P.  Hen.  Wen,howthcn!comc,roundly,roundly. 

Fal.  Marry,  then,  sweet  wag,  when  thou  art 
king,  let  not  us,  that  are  squires  of  the  night's  body, 
be  called  thieves  of  the  day's  beautv;let  us  be— 
Diana's  Ibresters,  gentlemen  of  the  shade,  minions 
of  the  moon :  And  let  men  say,  we  be  men  of  good 
government:  being  governed,  as  the  sea  is,  by  our 
noble  and  chaste  mistress  the  moon,  under  whose 
countenance  wc— steal. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  say'st  well;  and  it  holds  well  too: 
for  the  fortune  of  us,  that  are  the  moon's  men,  doth 
ebb  and  (low  like  the  sea;  being  governed, as  the 
sea  IS,  by  the  moon.  As.  for  proof  now:  A  purse 
of  gold  most  resolutely  snatched  on  Monday  night, 
and  most  dissolutely  spent  on  Tuesday  morning; 
got  with  swearing— lay  by;'  and  spent  with  cry- 
ing—bring  in:'  now,  in  as  low  an  ebb  as  the  foot  of 
the  ladder;  and,  by  and  by,  in  as  high  a  flow  as  the 
ridge  of  the  gallows. 

Fal.  By  tife  Lord,  thou  say'st  true,  lad.  And  is 
not  my  hostess  of  the  tavern  a  most  sweet  wench' 

P.  Hen.  As  the  honey  of  Hvbl.a,  my  old  lad  of 
the  castle.  And  is  not  a  bulf  jerldn  a  most  sweet 
robe  of  durance?' 

'Trim,  as  birds  clean  their  feathers.     « Stand  still. 

•More  wine.  i  The  -Iress  ofT  sherira  officers. 

21 


Fol.  How  now,  how  now,  mad  wag  ?  what,  in 
thy  quips,  and  thy  quiddities?  what  a  plague  have 
1  to  do  with  a  bulf  jerkin  ! 

P.  Hen.  Why.  what  a  pox  have  I  to  do  with  my 
hostess  of  the  tavern? 

Fat.  Well,  thou  hast  called  her  to  a  reckoning, 
many  a  time  and  olt. 
P.  Hen.  Did  I  ever  call  for  thee  to  pay  thy  part? 
Fat.  No;  I'll  give  thee  thy  due,  thou  hast  paid 
all  there. 

P.  Hen.  Yea,  and  elsewhere,  so  far  as  my  coin 
would  stretch;  and,  where  it  wouldnot,  I  have  used 
my  credit. 

Fat.  Yea,  and  so  used  it,  that  were  it  not  hero 
apparent  that  thou  art  heir  apparent, — But,  I  pr"y- 
thee,  sweet  wag.  shall  there  be  gallows  standing  in 
England  when  thou  art  king!  and  resolution  thus 
Jobbed  as  it  is,  with  the  rusty  curb  of  old  lather 
antic  the  law?  Do  not  thou,  when  thou  art  king, 
hang  a  thief. 
P.  Hen.  No:  thou  shall. 

Fat.  ShaU  it  0  rare !  By  the  lord  I'll  be  a  brave 
judge. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  judgcst  false  already;  I  mean, 
thou  shall  have  the  hanging  of  the  thieves,  and  so 
become  a  rare  hangman. 

Fat.  Well,  Hal,  well;  and  in  some  sort  it  jumps 
with  my  humor,  as  well  as  waiting  in  the  court,  I 
can  tell  you. 
P.  Hen.  For  obtaining  of  suits? 
Fal.  Yea,  for  obtaining  of  suits:  whereof  the 
hangman  hath  no  lean  wardrobe.    '.Sblood,  1  am  as 
melancholy  as  a  gib=  cat,  or  a  lugged  bear. 
P.  Pen.  Or  and  old  lion;  or  a  lover's  lute. 
Fat.  Yea,  or  the  drone  of  a  Liiicolnsliire  bag- 
pipe.3 

P.  Hen.  What  say'st  thou  to  a  hare,  or  the  mel- 
ancholy of  Moor-ditch? 

Fat.  Thou  hast  the  most  unsavory  similes;  and 
art,  indeed,  the  most  comiiarative,  rascalliest, — 
sweet  young  prince,— But,  Hal,  I  pr'ylhee,  trouble 
me  no  more  with  vanity.  I  would  to  God,  thou 
and  1  knew  where  a  commodity  of  good  names 
were  to  be  bought:  An  old  lord  of  Ihe  council  ra- 
ted me  the  other  day  in  the  street  about  jou,  sir; 
but  1  marked  him  not:  and  yet  he  talked  very 
wisely;  but  I  regarded  him  not:  and  yet  he  talked 
wisely,  and  in  the  street  too. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  didst  well;  for  wisdom  cries  out 
in  the  streets,  and  no  man  regards  it. 

Fat.  O  thou  hast  damnable  interation:«and  art, 
indeed,  able  to  corruiU  a  saint.  Thou  hast  done 
much  harm  upon  me,  Hal,— God  ibrgive  thee  Ibr 
it!  Before  I  Icnew  thee,  Hal,  I  knew  nothing;  and 
now  am  I,  if  a  man  should  speak  truly,  little  better 
that  one  of  the  wicked.  I  must  give  over  this  lilc, 
and  1  will  give  it  over;  by  the  Lord,  an  I  do  not,  I 
am  a  villain;  I'll  be  damned  Ibrncver  a  king's  sou 
in  Christendom. 

P.  Hen.  Where  shall  wc  take  a  purse  to-morrow. 
Jack?  ' 

Fat.  Where  thou  wilt,  lad,  I'll  make  one;  an  I 
do  not,  call  mc  villain,  and  batlic"  me. 

P.  Hen.  I  see  a  good  amendment  of  lilc  in  thee; 
from  praying,  to  purse-taking. 

Fnter  Poins,  al  a  distance. 

Fat.  Why,  Hal,  'tis  my  vocation,  Hal ;  'tis  no  sin 
for  a  man  to  labor  in  his  vocation.  Poins  ! — Now 
shall  we  know  if  Gadsliill  have  set  a  match. ^  O,  if 
men  were  to  be  saved  by  merit,  what  hole  in  hell 
were  hot  enough  Ibr  him?  This  is  the  most  om- 
nipotent villain,  that  ever  cried.  Stand,  to  a  true 
man. 

P.  Hen.  Good  morrow,  Ned. 

Poins.  Good  morrow,  sweet  Hal. — What  says 
monsieur  Remorse?  What  says  sir  John  Sack-aud 
Sugar?  Jack,  how  agrees  the  devil  and  thee  about 
thy  soul,  that  thou  soldest  him  on  Good-friday  last, 
Ibr  a  cup  of  Maderia,  and  a  cold  capon's  leg? 

P.  Hen.  Sir  John  stands  to  his  word,  the  devil 
shall  have  his  bargain ;  for  he  was  never  yet  a 
breaker  of  proverbs,  he  will  give  the  de\il  his  due. 

Pains.  Then  art  thou  damned  tor  keeping  thy 
word  with  the  devil. 

'  Oit)  cat,  s\ioii\d  be  Uti  cat, — a  Scotch  term  at  this  day, 
for  a  gelded  cat.  !>  Croak  of  a  frog. 

*  Citation  of  holy  tests.    ''Treiu  me  with  ignominy. 
"  Made  an  appointment. 


322 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  I. 


p.  Hen.  Else  he  liad  been  damned  for  cozenius 
the  devil. 

Pubis.  But,  my  lads,  my  lads,  to-morrow  morn- 
ing;, hy  four  o'clock,  early  at  Gadshill :  There  are 
pilsrims  goiii^  to  Canterbury  with  rich  offerings, 
and  traders  riding  to  London  with  fat  purses:  I 
haver  visors  for  you  all,  you  have  horses  for  your- 
selves: Gadshill  lies  to-night  in  Rochester:  I  have 
bespoke  supper  to-morrow  night  in  Eastcheap;  we 
may  do  it  as  secure  as  sleep:  If  you  will  go,  I  will 
stuff  your  purses  full  of  crowns:  if  you  will  not, 
tarry  at  home,  and  be  hanged. 

Ful.  Hear  me,  Yedwaid;  if  I  tarry  at  home,  and 
go  not,  I'll  hang  you  for  going. 

Poiihs.  You  will,  chops] 

Fnl.  Hal,  wilt  thou  make  one? 

P.  Hen.  Who,  1  rob?  I  a  thief  1  not  I,  by  my 
faith. 

Fal.  There's  neither  honesty,  manhood,  nor 
good-lellowship  in  thee,  nor  thou  earnest  not  of  the 
blood  royal,  if  thou  darest  not  stand  for  ten  shil- 
lings.' 

P.  Hen,  Well,  then,  once  in  my  days  I'll  be  a 
madcap. 

Fat.  Why,  that's  well  said. 

P.  Hen.  'Well.couiewhatwill,  I'll  tarry  at  home. 

Flit.  By  the  Lord,  I'll  be  a  traitor  .tlien,  when 
thou  art  king. 

P.  Hen.  I  care  not. 

Pubis.  Sir  Jolin,  I  pr'ythee,  leave  the  prince  and 
me  alone;  I  will  lay  him  down  such  reasons  for 
this  adventure,  that  he  shall  go. 

Fal.  Well,  mayst  thou  have  the  spirit  of  persua- 
,  sion,  and  he  the  ears  of  profiting,  that  what  thou 
'speakest  may  move,  and  what  he  hears  maybe  be- 
'lievcd,  that  the  true  prince  may  (for  recreation' 
sake)  prove  a  false  thief;  for  the  poor  abuses  of  the 
time  want  countenance.  Farewell:  You  shall  find 
me  in  Eastcheap. 

P.  Hen.  Farewell,  thou  latter  spring!  Farewell 
All-hallowu  summer!*  [Exit  Falstaff. 

Pubis.  Now,  my  good  sweet  honey  lord,  ride  with 
us  to-morrow;  I  have  a  jest  to  execute,  that  I  can- 
not manage  alone.  Falstaff,  Bardolph,  Peto,  and 
Gadshill,  shall  rob  those  men  that  we  have  already 
waylaid;  yourself,  and  I,  will  not  be  there:  and 
when  they  have  the  booty,  if  you  and  I  do  not  rob 
them,  cut  this  head  from  my  shoulders. 

jP.  Hen.  Bnt  how  shall  we  part  with  them  in 
setting  forth! 

Pubis.  Why,  we  will  set  forth  before  or  after 
them,  and  appoint  them  a  place  of  meeting,  where- 
in it  is  at  our  pleasure  to  fail;  and  then  will  they 
adventure  upon  the  exploit  themselves;  which  they 
shall  have  no  sooner  achieved,  but  we'll  set  upon 
them. 

P.  Hen.  Ay,  but  'tis  like,  that  they  will  Iciiow  us, 
by  our  horses,  by  our  habits,  and  by  every  other 
appointment,  to  be  ourselves. 

Pobis.  Tut!  our  horses  they  shall  not  see,  I'll  tie 
them  in  tlie  wood;  our  visors  we  will  change, after 
we  leave  them;  and,  sirrah,  I  have  cases  of  buck- 
ram for  the  nonce,'  to  inmask  our  noted  outward 
garments. 

P.  Hen.  But,  I  doubt,  they  will  be  too  hard  for 
us. 

Pains.  Well,  for  two  of  them,  I  know  them  to  be 
as  true-bred  cowards  as  ever  turned  back;  and  for 
the  third,  if  he  fight  longer  than  he  sees  reason,  I'll 
forswear  arms.  The  virtue  of  this  jest  will  be,  the 
incomprelieusible  lies  that  this  same  liit  rogue  will 
tell  us,  when  wo  meet  at  supper:  how  thirty,  at 
least,  he  fought  with ;  what  wards,  what  blows, 
what  extremities  he  endured;  and,  in  the  reproof 
of  this,  lies  the  jest. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  I'll  go  with  thee ;  provide  us  all 
things  necessary,  and  meet  me  to-morrow  night  in 
Eastcheap:  there  I'll  sup.    Farewell. 

Pobis.  Farewell,  my  lord.  [Ei'i/ Poixs. 

P.  Hen.  I  know  you  all,  and  will  a  while  uphold 
The  unyok'd  humor  of  your  idleness: 
Yet  heroin  will  I  imitate  the  sun; 
Who  doth 'permit  the  base  contagious  clouds 
To  smother  up  his  beauty  from  the  world, 
That,  when  he  please  again  to  be  himself. 
Being  wanted,  he  may  be  more  wonder'd  at, 

'  The  value  of  a.  coin  cilleil  real  or  rmjal. 
*Flne  weiither  !it  AUIiiilio\\-ntKle,   (i.e.  All-Saints, 
Nov.  l3t,)  13  called  an  Allliallown  aunimer.    ^  Occasion. 


By  breaking  tlirough  the  foul  and  ugly  mists 

Of  vapors,  that  did  seem  to  strangle  him. 

If  all  the  year  were  playing  holidays. 

To  sport  would  be  as  tedious  as  to  work; 

But  when  they  seldom  come,  they  wish'd-forcome, 

And  nothing  pleaseth  hut  rare  accidents: 

So,  when  this  lonse  Ijeliaviour  I  throw  off. 

And  pay  the  debt  1  never  promised. 

By  how  much  better  than  my  word  I  am, 

By  so  much  shall  I  falsify  men's  hopes; 

And,  like  bright  metal  on  a  sullen  ground. 

My  relbrination,  glittering  o'er  my  fault. 

Shall  show  more  goodly,  and  attract  more  eyes, 

Than  that  which  hath  no  foil  to  set  it  off. 

I'll  so  oliend,  to  make  otlt'iiee  a  skill; 

Redeeming  time,  when  men  think  least  I  will. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  \l\.— Another  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Hexky,  NoRTntnicERLAND,  Worcester, 
Hotspur,  Sir  Walter  Blu.st,  and  others. 

K.  Hen.  My  blood  hath  been  too  cold  and  tem- 
perate. 
Unapt  to  stir  at  these  indignities. 
And  you  have  found  me;  tor,  accordingly. 
You  tread  upon  my  patience;  but,  be  sure, 
I  will  from  hencelbrth  rather  be  myself, 
IMighty,  and  to  be  lear'd,  than  my  condition;^ 
Which  hath  been  smooth  asoil,softas  young  down. 
And  therefore  lost  that  title  of  respect, 
Which  the  proud  soul  ne'er  pays  but  to  the  proud. 
War.  Our  house,  my  sovereign  liege,  little  de- 
serves 
The  scourge  of  greatness  to  be  used  on  it; 
And  that  same  greatness  too  which  our  own  hands 
Have  holp  to  make  so  poitly. 

•  M>rth.  My  lord, 

K.  Hen.  Worcester,  get  thee  gone,  for  I  see  danger 
And  disobedience  in  thine  eye;  O,  sir. 
Your  presence  is  too  bold  and  peremptory: 
And  majesty  might  never  yet  endure 
The  moody  frontier  of  a  servant  brow. 
You  have  good  leave  to  leave  us;  when  we  need 
Your  use  and  counsel,  we  shall  send  for  you.— 

[ExU  Worcester. 
You  were  about  to  speak.  [To  North. 

North.  Yea,  my  good  lord. 

Those  prisoners  in  your  highness'  name  demanded. 
Which  Harry  Percy  here  at  Holmedon  took. 
Were,  as  he  says,  not  with  such  strength  deiried 
As  is  deliver'd  to  your  majesty: 
Either  envy,  therefore,  or  misprision. 
Is  guilty  of  this  fault,  and  not  my  son. 

ilut.  My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners. 
But,  I  remember,  when  the  fight  was  done, 
Wlien  1  was  tiry  with  rage,  and  extreme  toil. 
Breathless  and  I'aint,  leaning  upon  my  sword. 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dress'd. 
Fresh  as  a  bridegroom;  and  his  chin  new  reap'd, 
Show'd  like  a  stubbie-lield  at  harvest-home; 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner; 
.\nd  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 
A  pouncct-boXj^*  which  ever  ami  anfln 
He  gave  his  nose,  and  took't  away  .again;— 
Who,  therewith  angry,  when  it  next  came  there, 
Took  it  in  snulf: — and  still  he  smiled  and  talk'd ; 
.\nd,  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 
He  cali'd  them— untaught  knaves,  unmannerly. 
To  bring  a  slovenly  nnhandsome  corse 
Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 
With  many  a  holiday  and  lady  terms 
He  question'd  me;  among  the  rest  demanded 
.My  prisoners,  in  your  majesly's  behalf. 
1  tlien,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold. 
To  be  so  pester'd  with  a  popiuiay. 
Out  of  my  grief  and  my  imiiatience, 
.\nswer'd  negleetingiy,  1  know  not  what; 
He  should,  or  he  should  not; — (or  he  made  me  mad, 
To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 
.\nd  talk  so  like  a  waiting-gentlewoman. 
Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds,  (God  save  the 

mark ! ) 
.\nd  telling  me,  the  sovereign'st  thing  on  earth 
Was  parmaceti,  for  an  inward  bruise; 
And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 
That  villainous  saltpetre  should  be  digg'd 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 

•  Disposition .    3  A  small  box  for  musi;  or  other  perfumei. 


Scene  III. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


323 


Which  many  a  good  lall^  fellow  had  destroyed 
So  cowardly;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  soldier. 
This  bald  unjoiiited  chat  of  his,  my  lord, 
I  answer'd  indirectly,  as  I  said; 
And,  I  beseech  you,  let  not  this  report 
Come  current  for  an  accusation. 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty. 

Blunt.  Ttie  "circumstance  considerM  good,  my 
lord. 
Whatever  Harry  Percy  then  Iiad  said. 
To  such  a  person,  and  in  such  a  place. 
At  such  a  time,  with  all  the  rest  re-told, 
May  reasonably  die,  and  never  rise 
To  do  hini  wrong,  or  any  way  impeach 
What  then  he  sa«,  so  he  unsay  it  now. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  yet  ho  doth  deny  his  prisoners; 
But  witJi  proviso,  and  exception, — 
That  we,  at  our  owm  charge,  shall  random  straight 
His  brother-in-law,  the  foolish  Mortimer; 
Who,  on  my  soul,  hatli  willfully  betray'd 
The  lives  of  those  that  he  did  lead  to  tight 
Against  the  great  magician,  damn'd  Glendower; 
Wliose  daughter,  as  we  hoar,  the  earl  of  March 
Hath  lately  married.    Shall  our  colliers  then 
Be  emptied,  to  redeem  a  traitor  home? 
Shall  we  buy  treason?  and  iudcnt*  with  fears. 
When  they  have  lost  and  I'orlc'ited  themselves? 
No,  on  the  barren  mountains  let  him  starve; 
For  1  shall  never  hold  that  man  my  friend. 
Whose  tongue  shall  ask  me  lor  one  penny  cost 
To  ransom  liomc  revolted  IMortimer. 

Hot.  Revolted  JMortimer! 
He  never  did  fall  olf,  mj"  sovereign  liege. 
But  by  the  chance  of  war; — To  prove  that  true. 
Needs   no   more   but  one  tongue   for   all   those 

wounds, 
Those  mouthed  wounds,  wliich  valiantly  he  took, 
When  on  the  gentle  Severn's  sedgy  bank. 
In  single  opposition,  hand  to  hand. 
He  did  coniound  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
In  changing  hardiment  with  great  Glendower: 
Three  times  they  breath'd,  and  three  times  did  they 

drink, 
I'pon  agreement,  of  swift  Severn's  flood; 
Wiio  then,  atliiglited  with  their  bloody  looks, 
Kau  fearlully  among  the  trembling  reeds. 
And  hid  his  cvisji'  head  in  the  hollow  bank 
Blood-stained  wilh  these  valiant  combatants. 
Never  did  bare  and  rotten  policy 
Color  her  working  with  such  deadly  wounds; 
Nor  never  could  the  noble  Mortimer 
Receive  so  many,  and  all  willingly: 
Then  let  him  not  be  slander'd  with  revolt. 

A'.  Hen.  Thou  dost  belie  him,  Percy,  thou  dost 
belie  him; 
He  never  did  encounter  with  Glendower; 
1  tell  thee. 

He  durst  as  well  have  met  the  devil  alone, 
As  Owen  (tlendower  for  an  enemy. 
Art  not  ashamed?     But,  sirrah,  henceforth 
Let  me  not  hear  you  speak  of  Mortimer: 
Send  me  your  prisoners  with  the  speediest  means, 
Or  you  sliall  hear  in  such  a  kind  from  me 
As  will  displease  you.— My  lord  Northumberland, 
We  license  your  departure  with,.j-our  son  :— 
Send  us  jou    prisoners,  or  you'll  hear  of  it. 

f-nunt  King  Hexky,  Blcxt,  and  Train. 

Hot,  Ana  .r  liie  devil  come  and  roar  tor  them, 
I  will  not  send  them :— I  will  after  straight, 
And  tell  him  so:  for  I  will  ease  my  heart, 
Althougii  it  be  with  hazard  of  my  head. 

Aw'M.  What,  drunk  with  cholor?  sta}-,  and  pause 
awile; 
Here  comes  your  uncle. 

Re-enter  Worcester. 

Hot.  Speak  of  Mortimer? 

Zounds,  I  will  speak  of  him ;  and  let  my  soul 
Want  mercy,  if  I  do  not  join  with  him: 
Vea,  on  his  part,  I'll  empty  all  these  veins, 
And  shed  my  dear  blood  drop  liy  drop  i'  the  dust. 
But  I  will  lift  the  down-trod  Mortimer 
As  high  i'  the  air  as  this  unthankful  king, 
As  this  ingrate  and  canker'd  Itolingbroke. 

North..  Brother,  the  king  hath  made  your  nephew 

_      mad.  [To  Worcester. 

Wor.  Who  struck  this  heat  up,  after  I  was  gone  ? 


•Brave. 


*Sign  an  indenture. 


'Curled. 


Hot.  He  will,  forsooth,  have  all  my  prisoners; 
And  when  I  urged  the  ransom  once  again 
Of  my  wite's  brother,  then  his  cheek  iook'd  pale; 
And  on  x\\y  face  he  tnrn'd  an  eye  of  death. 
Trembling  ever  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

iVur.  1  cannot  blame  him:   Was  he  not  pro- 
claim'd. 
By  Richard  that  dead  is,  the  next  of  blood? 

North..  He  was;  I  heard  the  proclamation: 
And  then  it  was,  when  the  unhappy*  king 
(Wliose  wrongs  in  us  God  pardon!)  did  set  forth 
Upon  his  Irish  expedition; 
From  whence  he,  intercepted,  did  return 
To  be  depos'd,  and  shortly,  murder'd. 

Wor.  And  lor  whose  death,  we  in  the  world's 
W'ide  mouth 
Live  scandaliz'd,  and  foully  spoken  of. 

Hot.  But,  soft,  I  pray  you;  Did  king  Richard  then 
Proclaim  my  brother  Kdinund  Mortimer 
Heir  to  the  crown? 

North.  He  did;  myself  did  hear  it. 

Hot.  Nay,  then  I  cannot  blame  his  cousin  king. 
That  wished  him  on  the  barren  mountains  starv'd. 
But  shall  it  be,  that  you, — that  set  the  crown 
Upon  the  head  of  this  Ibrgetful  man; 
And,  for  his  sake,  wear  the  detested  blot 
Of  murd'rous  subornation, — shall  it  be. 
That  you  a  world  of  curses  undergo; 
Being  the  agents,  or  base  second  means. 
The  cords,  the  ladder,  or  the  hangman  rather? — 
O,  pardon  me,  that  I  descend  so  low. 
To  show  the  line,  and  the  predicament. 
Wherein  joii  range  under  this  subtle  king. — 
Shall  it,  lor  shame,  be  spoken  in  these  days. 
Or  till  up  ciironicles  in  time  to  come. 
That  men  of  your  nobility  and  power. 
Did  gage  them  both  in  an  unjust  behalf, — 
As  both  of  you,  God  pardon  it!  have  done, — 
To  put  down  Richard,  that  sweet  lovely  rose. 
And  plant  this  thorn,  this  canker,  Bolingbroke  ? 
And  shall  it  in  more  shame,  be  further  spoken, 
That  you  are  fool'd,  discarded,  and  shook  oil' 
By  him,  for  whom  these  shames  ye  underwent? 
No;  yet  time  serves,  wherein  you  may  redeem 
Your  banish'd  lionor.s,  and  restore  yourselves 
Into  the  good  thoughts  of  tJie  world  again: 
Revenge  the  jeering  and  disdain'd  contempt, 
Of  this  proud  king;  wlio  studies  day  and  night, 
To  answer  all  thedebts  he  owes  to  you. 
Even  with  the  bloody  payment  of  your  deaths. 
Theretbre,  I  .say, 

IVor.  Peace,  cousin,  say  no  more : 

And  now  I  will  unclasp  a  secret  book. 
And  to  your  quick-conceiving  discontents 
I'll  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous; 
As  full  of  peril,  and  advent'rous  spirit. 
As  to  o'er-walk  a  current,  roaring  loud. 
On  the  unsteadlast  tooting  of  a  spear. 

Hot.  If  he  fall  in,  good  night: — or  sink,  or  swim: 
Send  danger  Irom  the  east  unto  the  west. 
So  honor  cross  it  trom  the  north  to  south. 
And  let  tliem  grapple  ;— O  !  the  blood  more  stirs. 
To  rouse  a  lion,  than  to  start  a  hare. 

North.  Imagination  of  some  great  exploit 
Drives  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  patience. 

Hot.  By  heaven,  methinks,  it  were  an  easy  leap. 
To  pluck  bright  honor  Irom  the  pale-faced  moon ; 
Or  dive  into  the  bottom  of  the  deep. 
Where  fathom-line  could  never  touch,  the  ground, 
.\nd  pluck  up  drowned  honor  by  the  locks; 
So  he,  that  doth  redeem  her  thence,  might  wear, 
Without  corrival,  all  her  dignities: 
But  out  upon  this  half-faced  fellowship! 

U'or.  He  apprehends  a  world  of  figures  here. 
But  not  tlie  lonn  of  what  he  .should  attend.— 
Good  cousin,  give  me  audience  for  a  while. 

Hot.  I  cry  you  hiercy. 

[For.                                Those  same  noble  Scots, 
That  are  your  prisoners, 

Hot.  I'll  keep  them  all ; 

By  heaven,  he  shall  not  have  a  Scot  of  them  : 
No,  if  a  Scot  would  save  his  soul,  he  shall  not: 
I'll  keep  them,  by  this  hand. 

I  For.  You  start  away, 

And  lend  no  ear  unto  my  purposes. — 
These  prisoners  you  shall  keep. 

Hot.  Nay,  I  will;  that's  flat:— 

He  said,  he  would  not  ransom  Mortimer; 
Forbade  my  tongue  to  speak  of  Mortimer; 
But  I  will  lind  him  when  he  lies  asleep. 


32^1 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  n. 


And  in  liis  ear  I'll  holla— ilortimer ! 

Nay, 

I'll  have  a  starling  shall  be  taught  to  speak 

Nothing  but  Mortimer,  and  give  it  him, 

To  keep  his  anger  still  ill  motion. 

IVw.  Hear  you. 

Cousin;  a  word. 

Hot.  All  studies  here  I  (solemnly  defy. 
Save  how  to  g»ll  and  pineh  this  liolingbrolce : 
And  that  same  sword-and-hucklerprinccof  Wales,— 
Kut  that  I  think  his  father  loves  liim  not, 
And  would  be  glad  ho  met  with  some  mischance, 
I'd  liave  him  poison'd  with  a  pot  of  ale. 

IVor.  Farewell,  kinsman!  I  will  talli  to  you, 
When  vou  are  better  temper'd  to  attend. 

Nurth.  Why,  what  a  wasp-stung  and  impatient 
fool 
Art  thou  to  break  into  this  woman's  mood; 
Tying  thine  ear  to  no  tongue  but  thine  own! 

'Bui.  VVIiy,  look  you,  I  am  whipp'd  and  scourged 
with  rods. 
Nettled,  and  stung  with  pismires,  when  I  hear 
Of  this  vile  politician.  Bohngbroke. 
In  Richard's  time,- What  do  you  call  the  place?— 
A  plague  upon't !— it  is  in  Glostershire;— 
'Twas  where  the  mad-cap  duke  his  uncle  kept; 
His  uncle  York; — where  I  first  bow'd  my  knee 
Unto  this  king  of  smiles,  this  Bolingbroke, 
When  you  and  he  came  back  from  Ravenspurg. 

Nnrlh.  At  Berkley  castle. 

Hoi.  You  say  true : 

Why,  what  a  candy  deal  of  courtesy 
This  lawning  greyiiound  then  did  proffer  me! 
LooV,— when  his  infuni  fortune  came  to  age. 
And,— gentle  HaiTij  Perai.—anA,  kind  cmtsin,— 

O,  the  devil  take  such  cozeners! God  forgive 

me! 

Good  uncle,  tell  your  tale,  for  I  haA'e  done. 

IVor.  Nay,  if  you  have  not,  to't  again; 
We'll  stay  your'leisure. 

Hut.  I  have  done,  i'faith. 

Jl^or.  Then  once  more  to  your  Scottish  prisoners. 
Deliver  them  up  without  their  ransom  straight. 
And  make  the  Douglas'  son  your  only  mean 
For  powers  in  Scotland ;  which,— for  divers  reasons, 


Which  I  shall  send  you  WTitten, — be  assur'd, 
Will  easily  be  granted.— You  my  lord,— 

[To  NOKTIII-MBEIILASD 

Your  son  in  Scotland  being  thus  cmploy'd, — 
Shall  secretly  into  Ihe  bosom  creep 
Of  that  same  noble  prelate,  well  belov'd, 
The  archbishop. 

Hot.  Of  York,  is'tnot? 

Wur.  True ;  who  bears  liard 
His  brother's  death  at  Bristol,  the  lord  Scroop. 
I  speak  not  this  in  estimation. 
As  what  I  think  might  be,  but  what  I  know 
Is  ruminated,  plotted,  and  set  down; 
And  only  stays  but  to  behold  the  face 
Of  that  occasion  that  shall  bring  it  on. 

Hot.  I  smell  it;  upon  my  life,  U  will  do  well. 

North.  Before  the  game's  afoot,  thou  still  let'st 
slip. 

Hut.  Why,  it  cannot  clioose  but  be  a  noble  plot:— 
And  then  the  power  of  Scotland,  and  of  York— 
To  join  with  Mortimer,  hal 

^Vor.  And  so  they  shall. 

Hot.  In  faith,  it  is  exceedingly  well  aim'd. 

fVor.  And  'tis  no  little  reason  bids  us  speed, 
To  save  our  heads  by  raising  of  a  head:' 
For,  bear  ourselves  as  even  as  we  can. 
The  king  will  always  think  him  in  our  debt; 
And  think  we  thin£  ourselves  unsatisfied. 
Till  he  had  found  a  time  to  pay  us  home. 
And  see  already,  how  he  doth  begin 
To  make  us  strangers  to  his  looks  of  love. 

Hut.  He  does,  he  does:  we'll  be  revenged  on  hiin. 

IFor.  Cousin,  farewell :— No  further  go  in  this, 
Than  I  by  letters  shall  direct  your  course. 
When  time  is  ripe,  (which  will  be  suddenly,) 
I'll  steal  to  Glcndowcrand  lord  Mortimer; 
Where  you  and  Douglas,  and  our  powers  at  once, 
(As  I  will  fiishion  it,)  shall  hnppily  meet, 
To  bear  our  ibrtunes  in  our  own  strong  arms, 
Which  now  we  hold  at  much  uncertainty. 

Nurth.  Farewell,  good  brother  :  we  shall  thrive, 
I  trust. 

Hot.  Uncle,  adieu :— O.  let  the  hours  be  short, 
Till  fields,  and  blows,  and  groans  applaud  our 
sport !  [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— Rochester.    An  Inn  Yard. 
Enter  a  Carrier,  vjith  a  Lantern  in  his  hand. 

1  Car.  Heigh  ho!  An't  be  not  four  by  the  day, 
I'll,  be  hanged;  Charles'  wain  is  over  the  new  chim- 
ney, and  yet  our  horse  not  packed.    What,  ostler! 

Ust.  [PTOAm.l  Anon.  anon. 

1  Car.  I  pr'yttiee,  Tom,  beat  Cut's'  saddle,  put 
a  few  flocks  in  the  point;  the  poor  jade  is  wrung 
in  the  withers  out  of  all  cess.' 

Enter  anollier  Carrier. 

2  Car.  Pease  and  beans  are  as  danl;  here  as  a  dog, 
and  that  is  the  next  way  to  give  poor  jades  the 
bots:  tJiis  house  is  turned  upside  down,  since  Robin 
ostler  died. 

t  Car.  Poor  fellow!  never  joyed  since  the  price 
of  oats  rose;  it  was  the  death  of  him. 

2  Car.  I  think  this  be  the  most  villanous  house 
in  all  London  road  for  fleas :  I  am  stung  like  a  tench.* 

1  Car  Like  a  tench?  by  the  mass,  there  is  ne'er 
a  king  m  Christendom  could  be  better  bit  than  I 
have  been  since  the  first  cock.    - 

2  Cait  Why,  they  will  allow  us  ne'er  a  jorden, 
and  then  we  leak  in  your  chimney ;  and  your  cham- 
ber-lie breeds  fleas  like  a  loach.' 

1  Car.  What,  ostler!  come  away  and  be  hanged, 
come  away. 

2  Car.  1  li.ave  a  gammon  of  bacon,  and  two  razes 
of  ginger,  to  be  delivered  as  far  as  Charingeross. 

1  Car.  'Odsbody!  the  turkeys  in  my  pannier  are 
quite  starved. — What,  ostler! — A  plague  on  thee! 
hast  thou  never  an  eye  in  thy  head  ;  canst  not  hear? 


•  Name  of  his  horse. 

^  Spotted  like  a  tench. 

8  A  small  flah  supposed  to  Itreeii  fleas. 


'  Measure. 


.\n  'twere  not  as  good  a  deed  as  drink,  to  break  the 
pate  of  thee,  I  am  a  very  villain.— Come,  and  be 
lianged:— Hast  no  faith  in  thee? 
Enter  G.VDsnai.. 

Gads.  Good-morrow,  carriers.     What's  o'clock  ? 

1  Car.  1  think  it  be  two  o'clock. 

Gads.  I  pr'ythee,  lend  me  thy  lantern,  to  see  my 
gelding  in  the  stable. 

1  Car.  Nay,  soil,  I  pray  ye ;  I  know  a  trick  worth 
two  of  that. 

Gads.  I  pr'ythee  lend  me  thine. 

3.  Car.  Ay,  when?  canst  tell?— Lend  me  thy 
lantern  quoth  a?^-inarry,  I'll  see  thee  hanged  first. 

Gads.  Sirrah  carrier,  wliat  time  do  you  inean  to 
come  to  London  ? 

2  Car.  Time  enough  to  go  to  bed  witli  a  candle, 
I  warrant  thee. — Come,  neighbor  Mugs,  we'll  call 
up  the  gentlemen;  they  will  along  with  Ihe  com- 
pany, for  they  have  great  cliarge.  [Exeunt  Carriers. 

Gads.  What,  ho!  chamberlain! 

Cham.  [IVilhin.]  At  hand,  quoth  pick  purse.* 

Gads.  That's  even  as  feir  as — at  hand,  quoth  the 
cliamberlain  :  for  thou  variesl  no  more  from  pick- 
ing of  purses,  than  giving  direction  doth  from  la- 
boring; thou  lay'st  the  plot  how. 
Enter  Chamberlain. 

Cham.  Good-morrow,  master  Gadshill.  It  holds 
current  that  I  told  yon  yesternight:  There's  a 
franklin  =  in  the  wild  of  Kent,  hath  brought  three 
hundred  marks  with  him  in  gold:  1  heard  him  tell 
it  to  one  of  his  company,  last  night  at  supper;  a 
kind  of  auditor;  one  that  hath  abundance  of  charge 

1  A  Itody  of  forces. 

3  A  pi'ovorl>,  from  the  pick-purse  being  alwayi  ready 
3  Freeholder. 


Scene  II. 


KK G  HENEY  IV. 


325 


too,  God  knows  what.  They  are  up  already,  and 
call  for  egssand  butter:  They  will  away  presently. 

Gads.  Sirrah,  if  they  meet  not  with  saint  Nicho- 
las' clerks,'  I'll  give  thee  this  neck. 

Cham.  No,  I'll  none  of  it:  I  pr'ythee,  keep  that 
for  the  hangman;  for  I  know  thou  worsliip'st  saint 
Nicholas  as" truly  as  a  man  of  falsehood  may. 

Gads.  Why  talkcst  thou  to  me  of  the  hangman? 
if  I  hanp,  I'll  make  a  fit  pair  of  gallows:  for,  if  I 
han2:,olasir  JolinhaniTswithme;  antl  thouknowest 
he's'no  starveling.  Tut:  there  are  other  Trojans 
that  thou  dreamest  not  of,  the  which,  for  sport 
'sake  are  content  to  do  the  profession  some  grace; 
that  would,  if  matters  should  be  looked  into,  for 
their  own  credit 'sake,  make  all  whole.  lam  joined 
with  no  foot  land-rakers,^  no  long-staff,  sixpeimy 
strikers;  none  of  these  mad,  mustachio,  purple- 
hued  malt  worms;  but  with  nobility,  and  tran- 
quility; burgo-masters,  and  great  oneyers;«suchas 
can  hold  in;  such  as  will  strike  sooner  than  speak, 
and  speak  sooner  than  drink,  and  drink  sooner  tlian 
pray:  And  yet  I  lie;  for  they  pray  continually  to 
their  saint,  the  commonwealth;  or,  rather,  not  ]iray 
to  her,  but  prey  on  her;  for  they  ride  up  and  down 
on  her,  and  make  her  their  boots.' 

Cham.  What,  the  commonwealth  their  boots? 
will  she  hold  out  water  in  foul  way ! 

Gads.  She  will,  she  will;  justice  hath  liquored 
lier.^  We  steal  as  in  a  castle,  cock-sure;  we  have 
the  receipt  of  fern-seed,  we  walk  invisible. 

Cham.  Nay,  by  my  faitii !  I  think  you  are  more 
beholden  to  the  night  than  to  leni-s'ecd,  for  your 
walking  invisible. 

Gads.  Give  me  Ihy  hand:  thou  shalt  havea  sliare 
in  our  purchase,  as  I  am  a  true  man. 

Cham.  Nay,  rather  let  mc  have  it,  as  you  arc  a 
false  thief. 

Gads.  Go  to;  Homo  is  a  common  name  to  all 
men.  Bid  the  ostler  bring  my  gelding  out  of  the 
stable.    Farewell,  you  muddy  knave.        [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— TAe  Road  by  Gadshill. 

Enter  Phince  Hexry,  and  Poins;  Babdolph  and 
Peto,  at  some  distance. 

Poins.  Come,  shelter,  shelter:  I  have  removed 
FalstaQ's  horse,  and  he  frets  like  a  gummed  velvet. 
P.  Hen.  Stand  close. 

Enter  Falstaff. 

Fa!.  Poins!  Poins!  and  he  hanged!  Poins! 

P.  Hen.  Peace,  ye  fat-kidney'd  rascal ;  what  a 
brawling  dost  thou  kcej)! 

Fat.  Where's  Poiiis,  Hal  ? 

P.  Hen.  He  is  walked  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill ; 
I'll  go  seek  hira.  [Pre/ends  to  seek  Poiss. 

Fat.  I  am  accursed  to  rob  in  that  thief's  com- 

Eany:  the  rascal  hath  removed  my  horse,  and  tied 
im  I  loiow  not  where.  If  I  travel  but  four  foot  by 
the  squire"  further  afoot,  I  shall  break  my  wind. 
Well,  I  doubt  not  but  to  die  a  lair  death  for  all 
this,  if  I  'scape  hanging  for  killing  that  rogue.  1 
have  forsworn  his  company  hourly  any  time  these 
two-and-twenty  years,  and' yet  I  am  bewitch'd  wnth 
the  rogue's  company.  If  the  rascal  have  notgivenme 
medicines  to  make  me  love  hun,  I'll  he  hanged;  it 
could  not  be  else ;  I  have  drunk  medicines.— Poins! 
—Hal!— a  plague  upon  you  both!— liardolph!— 
Peto !— I'll  starve  ere  I'll  rob  a  foot  further.  An 
'twere  not  as  good  a  deed  as  drink  to  turn  true  man, 
and  leave  these  rogues,  I  am  the  veriest  varlet  that 
ever  chewed  with  a  tooth.  Eight  yards  of  uneven 
ground  is  threescore  and  temniles  afoot  with  me; 
and  the  stony-hearted  villains  know  it  well  enough: 
A  plague  upon't,  when  thieves  cannot  be  true  to 
one  another!  [They  whistle.]  Whew!— A  plague 
upon  you  all!  Give  me  my  horse, you  rogues;  give 
me  my  horse,  and  be  hanged. 

P.  Hen.  Peace,  ye  lat-guts!  lie  dowTi;  lay  thine 
ear  close  to  the  ground,  and  list  if  thou  canst  hear 
the  tread  of  travellers. 

Fat.  Have  you  any  levers  to  lift  me  up  again, 
being  down  !  'Sblood.  Til  not  bear  mine  own  flesh 
so  far  afoot  again,  Ibr  all  the  coin  in  thy  father's  ex- 
chequer.   What  a  plague  mean  ye  tocolt'nie  thus! 


*Cant  term  for  highwaymen. 
*Puti!ic  accountants, 
foiled,  smoothed  her  over. 
*  ilake  a  youngster  of  me. 


fi  Footpads. 

'  Booty. 

^  Square,  rule. 


P.  Hen.  Thou  liest,  thou  art  not  colted,  thou  art 
uncoiled. 

Fat.  I  pr'ythee,  good  prince  Hal,  help  me  to  my 
horse;  good  king's  son. 

P.  Hen.  Out,  you  rogue!  shall  I  be  your  ostler! 
•  Fat.  Go,  hang' thyself  in  thy  own  heir-apparent 
garters!  If  1  be  ta'ei'i,  I'll  peach  for  this.  An  I  hav^ 
not  ballads  made  on  you  all,  and  sung  to  filthy 
tunes,  let  a  cup  of  sack  be  my  poison:  When  a 
jest  is  so  forward,  and  afoot  loo — I  hate  it. 
Enter  Gadshill. 

Gads.  Stand. 

Fat.  So  I  do,  against  my  will. 

Poins.  0,  'tis  our  setter:  I  know  Iiis  voice. 
Enter  Bakdolfh. 

Bard.  What  news  1 

Gads.  Case  ye,  case  ye:  on  with  your  visors: 
there's  money  of  the  king's  coming  down  the  hill; 
'tis  going  to  the  king's  exchequer. 

Fat.  You  lie,  you  rogue;  'tis  going  to  the  king's 
tavern. 

Gads.  There's  enough  to  make  us  all — 

Fat.  To  be  hanged. 

P.  Hen.  .Sirs,  you  four  sh.all  front  them  in  the 
narrow  lane;  Ned  Poins  and  I  will  walk  lower;  if 
they  'scape  from  your  encounter,  then  they  light 
on  us. 

Peto,  How  many  bo  there  of  them? 

Gads.  Some  eight,  »r  ten. 

Fat.  Zounds !  will  Ihey  not  rob  us? 

P.  Hen.  What,  a  coward,  sir  John  Paunch? 

Fat.  Indeed,  I  am  not  John  of  Gaunt,  your  grand- 
father: but  yet  no  coward,  Hal. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  we  leave  that  to  the  proof. 

Poins.  Sirrah  Jack,  thy  horse  stands  behind  the 
hedge;  when  thou  nced'st  him,  there  thou  shalt 
find  him.    Farewell,  and  stand  fast. 

Fat.  Now  cannot  I  strike  him,  if  I  should  be 
hanged. 

P.  Hen.  Ned,  where  are  our  disguises? 

Pvins.  Here,  hard  by;  stand  close. 

[Exeunt  P.  Hexry  and  PoiNS. 

Fat.  Now,  my  masters,  liappy  man  be  his  dole, 
say  I;  every  man  to  his  business. 
Enter  Travellers. 

1  Trav.  Come  neighbor;  the  boy  shall  lead  our- 
horses  dovm  the  hill:  we'll  walk  afoot  awhile,  and 
ease  our  legs. 

Tliieves.  Stand. 

Trav.  Jesu  bless  us ! 

Fat.  Strike;  down  with  them;  cut  the  villains' 
throats:  Ah!  whoreson  caterpillars!  bacon-fed 
knaves!  they  hate  us  youth:  down  with  them: 
lleece  them. 

1  Trav.  O,  we  are  undone,  both  we  and  ours,  for 
ever. 

Fat.  Hang  ye,  gorbellied-  knaves;  Arc  ye  un- 
done? No,  ye  fat  chulis;^  I  would,  your  store  were 
here!  On,  bacons,  on!  What,  ye  Knaves!  young 
menmust  live;  You  are  grand  jurors,  are  ye?  We'll 
jure  ye,  i'faith. 

[Exeunt  Fal.  <!^c.  drii<ing  the  Travellers  out. 

Re-enter  Pkinte  Henry  atid  Poiss. 
P.  Hen.  The  thieves  liave  bound  the  true  men: 
Now,  could   thou  and  I  rob  the  thieves,  and  go 
merrily  to  London,  it  would  be  argument  for  a  week, 
laught'er  for  a  month,  and  a  good  jest  for  ever. 
Poins.  Stand  close,  I  hear  them  coming. 

Re-enter  Thieves. 
Fal.  Come  my  masters,  let  us  share,  and  then  to 
horse  before  day.    An  the  prince  and  Poins  be  not 
two  arrant  cowards,  there's  no  equity  stirring: 
there's  no  more  valor  in  that  Poins  than  ill  a  wild 
duck. 
P.  Hen.  Your  money!  [Rushing  out  upon  them. 
Poins.  Villains. 

[-■Is  thei/  are  sharing,  the  Prince  and  Poms 
set  upon  thfjn.   Falstaff,  after  a  blmu  or 
two.  and  thi:  rest,  run  away,  leaving  their 
lioidy  tifhiiid  them. 
P.  Hen.  Got  with  much  ease.    Now  merrily  to 
horse : 
The  thieves  are  scattered,  and  possess'd  with  fear 
So  strongly  that  they  dare  not  meet  each  other; 
Each  takes  his  fellow  for  an  officer. 


2  Fat,  corpulent. 


•Clowns. 


326 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  II. 


Away,  good  Ned.    Falstaft'  sweats  to  death, 
And  lards  tlie  lean  eaith  as  he  walks  along: 
VVeve't  not  lor  laughinL,',  I  should  pity  him. 
Poiiis.  How  the  rogue  roarM!  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Warkworth.    A  Room  in  ike  Castle. 
Enter  Hotspur,  reading  a  Letter. 

But  fur  mine  own  part,  my  lord,  I  could  be 

imlt  contented  to  be  there,  in  resi>ect  of  t/ie  Inoe  I 
bear  your  house.— He  could  be' contented,— Why  is 
lie  not  then]  In  respect  of  tlie  love  he  hears  our 
house — he  shows  in  this,  lie  loves  his  own  barn 
hetter  than  he  loves  our  house.  Let  me  see  some 
more.  The  purpose  you  umkrtalce  is  dangerous  ,~ 
Why,  that's  certain;  'tis  dangerous  to  take  a  cold, 
to  sleep,  to  drink:  but  I  tell  you,  my  lord  fool,  out 
of  this  nettle,  danger,  we  pluck  this  flower,  safety. 
The  jxirjMse  you  ttndertui.e  is  dangerous;  the 
fric?ids  you  have  nan/cd,  uncertain ,-  the  time  it- 
self unsorted;  and  your  whole  jdot  too  liKht.forthe 
counterpoise  ofsogreut  an  opjiosition.—iiay  you  so, 
say  you  so  !  I  say  unto  you  again  you  are  a  shal- 
low, cowardly  hind,  and  you  lie.  What  a  lack-brain 
is  this  T  By  the  Lord,  our  plot  is  a  good  plot  as  ever 
was  laid ;  our  friends  true  and  constant :  a  good  plot, 
good  friends,  and  full  of  expectation:  an  excellent 
plot,  very  good  friends.  What  a  frosty-spirited 
rogue  is  this"!  Why,  my  lord  of  York  commends 
the  plot,  and  the  general  course  of  the  action. 
Zounds,  an  I  were  now  by  this  rascal,  I  could  brain 
him  with  his  lady's  Ian.  Is  there  not  my  father, 
my  uncle,  and  myself!  lord  Edmund  Mortimer, 
my  lord  of  York,  and  Owen  Glendovver?  Is  there 
not,  besides,  the  Douglas  1  Have  I  not  all  their  let- 
ters, to  meet  me  in  arms  hy  the  ninth  of  the  next 
months  and  are  tliey  not,  some  of  them,  set  for- 
ward already  !  What  a  pagan  rascal  is  this?  an 
infidel  1  Ha!  you  shall  see  now,  in  very  sincerity 
of  fear  and  cold  heart,  wiU  he  to  the  king,  and  lay 
open  all  our  proceedings.  O,  I  could  divide  my- 
self, and  go  to  bulfets,  for  moving  such  a  dish  of 
skimmed  milk  with  so  honorable  an  action!  Hang 
him!  let  him  tell  the  king:  We  are  prepared:  I 
will  set  forward  to-night. 

Enter  Lady  Pekcy. 
Hownow,  Katel  I  must  leave  you  within  these  two 
hours. 

Lady.  O  my  good  lord,  wliy  arc  you  thus  alonel 
For  wliat  otlence  have  I,  this  Ibrtnight,  been 
A  banish'd  woman  from  my  Harry's  bcdl 
Tell  me,  sweet  lord,  what  Is't  that  takes  from  thee 
Thy  stomach,  pleasure,  and  thy  golden  sleep! 
Why  dost  thou  bend  thine  eyes  upon  the  earth ; 
And  start  so  oilen  when  thou  sitt'st  alone! 
Why  hast  thou  lost  tlie  fresli  blood  in  thy  cheeks; 
And  given  my  treasures,  and  my  rights  oi'  thee, 
To  thick-ey'd  musing,  and  curs'd  melancholy ! 
In  thy  faint  slumbers,  I  by  thee  have  watch'd. 
And  lieard  thee  murmur  tales  of  iron  wars: 
Speak  terms  of  manage  to  thy  bounding  steed; 
Cry,  Courage.'— to  the  field.'    And  thou  hast  talk'd 
Of  sallies,  and  retires;  of  trenches,  tents, 
Of  palisadoes,  frontiers,  parapets; 
Of  basilisks,  of  cannon,  culverin; 
Of  prisoners'  ransom,  and  of  soldiers  slain, 
And  all  the  'currents  of  a  heady  light. 
Thy  spirit  within  thee  hath  been  so  at  war. 
And  thus  hath  so  bestirr'd  thee  in  thy  sleep. 
That  beads  of  sweat  have  stood  upon  thy  brow, 
Like  bubbles  in  a  late  disturbed  .stream: 
And  in  thy  face  strange  motions  have  appear'd, 
Sucli  as  we  see  when  men  restrain  their  breath 
On  some  great  sudden  haste.    O,  what  portents  are 

there  ! 
Some  heavy  business  liath  my  lord  in  hand, 
And  I  must  know  it,  else  he  loves  me  not. 

Hot.  What,  ho !  is  (iilliams  with  tlio  packet  gone ! 
Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  He  is,  my  lord,  an  hour  ago. 

Hot.  Hath  Butler  brought  tliose  horses  from  the 
sheriff? 

Serv.  One  horse,  my  lord,  he  brought  even  now. 

Hut.  What  horse !  a  roan,  a  crop-ear,  is  it  not ! 

Serv.  It  is,  my  lord. 

Hot.  That  roan  shall  be  mj'  throne. 

Well,  I  will  back  him  straight:  O  esperance ." — 
'Jid  Butler  lead  him  Ibrth  into  the  park.  [Ex.  Serv. 
*  Jlotto  of  the  Percy  family. 


Lady.  But  hear  you,  my  lord. 

}{ut.  What  say 'st,  my  lady  1 

Lady.  What  is  it  carries  you  away  ? 

Hot.  My  horse. 

My  love,  my  horse. 

Lady.                      Out,  you  mad-headed  ape! 
A  weasel  hath  not  sucli  a  deal  of  spleen, 
As  you  are  toss'd  with.    In  iiiith, 
I'll  know  your  business,  Vlarry,  that  I  will. 
I  iear,  my  brother  Mortimer  doth  stir 
About  his  title;  and  hath  sent  tor  you, 
To  line''  his  enlerprize:  But  if  you  go 

Hut.  So  far  afoot,  I  sliall  be  weary,  love. 

Lady.  Come,  come,  you  paraquito,  answer  me 
Directly  to  this  ijuestion  that  I  ask. 
In  faith,  I'll  break  thy  little  hnger,  Harrj', 
An  if  tliou  wilt  not  tell  me  all  tilings  true. 

Hot.  Away, 
Away,  you  triller!— Love!— I  love  thee  not, 
I  care  not  for  tliee,  Kate:  this  is  no  world 
To  play  with  mammets,«  and  to  tilt  with  lips: 


We  must  have  bloody  noses,  and  craek'd  crowns, 
1  pass  them  current  too. — tiods  me,  my  horse ! — 


And  I 


What  say'st  thou,  Kate!  what  wouldst  thou  have 
with  me! 

Lady.  Do  you  not  love  me!  do  you  not,  indeed! 
Well,  do  not  then;  for,  since  you  love  me  not, 
I  will  not  love  myself.    Do  you  not  love  me! 
Nay,  tell  me,  if  you  speak  in  jest  or  no. 

Hot.  Come,  wilt  thou  see  me  ride! 
And  when  I  am  o'horsebaek,  I  will  swear 
1  love  thee  infinitely.    But  hark  you,  Kate; 
I  must  not  have  you  hencetorth  question  me 
Whither  I  go,  nor  reason  whereabout: 
Whither  I  must,  I  must;  and,  to  conclude. 
This  evening  must  I  leave  you,  gentle  Kate. 
I  know  you  wise ;  but  yet  no  further  wise, 
Than  Harry  Percy's  wife:  constant  you  are; 
But  yet  a  w-oinan":  and  for  secrecy, 
No  lady  closer;  for  I  well  believe. 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know; 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate! 

Ladii.  How !  so  far ! 

H«/.'Notan  inch  further.    But  hark  you,  Kate! 
Whither  I  go,  thilher  shall  you  go  too; 
To-day  will  I  set  IbrtJi,  to-morrow  you.— 
Will  this  content  you,  Kate! 

Lady.  It  must,  of  force.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Eastclieap.     A  Room  in  the  Boar's 

Head  Tavern. 

Enter  Prince  Henkt  and  PoiNS. 

P.  Hen.  Ned.pr'ythee, come outof  that  fat  room, 
and  lend  me  thy  hand  to  laugh  a  little. 

Poins.  Where  hast  been,  Hal! 

P.  Hen.  With  three  or  four  loggerheads, amongst 
three  or  four  score  iiogsheads.  I  have  sounded  the 
very  base  string  of  humility.  Sirrah,  I  am  sworn 
bro'thertoa  leash  of  drawers;  and  can  call  them 
all  by  their  Christian  names,  as— Tom,  Dick,  and 
Francis.  They  take  it  already  upon  their  salva- 
tion, that,  though  I  be  but  prince  of  Wales,  yet  I 
am  the  king  of  courtesy,  and  tell  me  flatly  I  am  no 
jn-oud  Jack,  like  KalstaO';  but  a  Corinthian,'  a  lad 
of  mettle,  a  good  boy,— by  the  Lord,  so  they  call 
me;  and  wlien  I  am  king  of  England,  I  shall  com- 
mand all  the  good  lads  in  Eastclieap.  They  call- 
drinking  dee|>,  dying  scarlet:  andwhen  you  breathe 
in  your  wakiiiig,  lliev  cry— hem!  and  bid  you  play 
it  oir.— To  conclude,  1  aih  so  good  a  proticient  in 
one  quarter  of  an  hour,  that  I  can  drink  with  any 
tinker  in  his  own  language  during  my  life.  I  tell 
thee,  Ned,  thou  hast  lost  much  honor,  that  thou 
wert  notwitJi  me  in  this  action.  But,  sweet  Ned,— 
to  sweeten  which  name  of  Ned,  I  give  thee  this  pen- 
nyworth of  sugar,  clapped  even  now  in  my  hand  by 
an  under-skinker;»  one  that  never  spake  other  Eng- 
lish in  his  life,  than—Eigld  sUUlings  and  sixpence, 
and— You  are  welcome;  with  this  shrill  addition,— 
-4)10/1.,  anoji,  sir.'  Score  a  pint  of  l/astard  in  the 
Half-moon,  or  so.  But,  Ned,  to  drive  away  the  time 
till  "Falstaircome,  Ipr'ythee,do  thou  stand  in  some 
by-room,  while  I  question  my  puny  drawer,  to  what 
end  he  gave  mo  the  sugar;  and  do  thou  never  leave 
calling— Francis,  that  Ills  tale  to  me  may  bo  nothing 
but— anon.— Step  aside,  and  I'll  show  thoe  a  pre- 
cedent. 

Poins.  Francis! 

'  Strengthen.    "  Puppets.     '  A  weocher.     "  Tapster. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  HEKKY  IV. 


3S7 


p.  Hen.  Thou  art  pcrrect. 

Poins.  Francis !  iExit  PoiNS. 

Enter  FitAXCis. 

Fran.  Anon,  anon^  sir. — Look  down  into  the 
Pomegranate,  Ralpli. 

P.  lien.  Come  hillicr,  Francis. 

Fran.  My  lord. 

P.  Hen.  How  long  hast  tliou  to  serve,  Francis? 

Fran.  Forsooth,  live  year,  and  as  much  as  to — 

Poins.  [Within.]  Francis! 

Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  Five  years!  by"r  lady,  a  long  lease  for 
the  clinking  of  pewter.  But,  Francis,  darest  thou 
be  so  valiaiit,  as  to  play  the  coward  with  thy  in- 
denture, and  to  show  it  a  fair  pair  of  heels,  and  ruii 
from  it ! 

Fran.  01ord,sir!  I'll  he  sworn  upon  all  the  books 
in  England,  I  coiild  find  it  in  my  heart — 

Pains.  [IVit/tin.]   Francis! 

Fran.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  How  old  art  thou,  Francis? 

Fran.  Let  mc  see,— About  Michaelmas  next  I 
shall  be — 

Puins.  [Wit/iin.]  Francis! 

Fran.  Anon,  sir. — Pray  you,  stay  a  little,  my 
lord. 

P.  Hen.  Nay,  but  hark  you,  Francis:  For  the 
sugar  thou  gavest  me,— 'twas  a  pcmiyworth,  wasH 
not? 

Fran.  0  lord,  sir?  I  would  it  had  been  two. 

P.  Hen.  I  will  give  thee  lor  it  a  thousand  pound: 
ask  me  wlien  thou  wilt,  and  thou  shalt  have  it. 

Poins.  [Within.]  Francis! 

Fran.  Anon,  anon. 

P.  Hen.  Anon,  Francis?  No,  Francis:  but  to- 
morrow, Francis;  or  Francis,  on  Thursday;  or,  in- 
deed, Francis,  wlicn  thou  wilt.    But,  Francis, — 

Fran.  My  lord! 

P.  Hen.  Wilt  thou  rob  this  Icathcrn-jerkin,  crys- 
tal-button, nott-paled,  agitt*.'-ring,  puke-stocking, 
caddis-garter,  smootli-longue,  Sjianisii-pouch, — 

Fran.  0  lord,  sir,  who  do  you  mean? 

P.  Hen.  Why  then,  your  brown  bastard"  is  your 
oidy  drink:  for,  look  you.  Francis,  your  white  can- 
vas doublet  will  sully:  in  Barbary,  sir,  it  camiot 
come  to  so  much. 

Fran.  What  sir? 

Poins.  [Within.]   Francis! 

P.  Hen.  Awaj',  you  rogue;  Dost  thou  not  hear 
them  call? 

[Here  they  bnlh  call  him ;  the  Drawer  stands 
uiuazeil,  nut  knowing  which  way  to  go. 

Enter  Vintner. 

Vint.  What!  stand'st  thou  still,  and  hear'st  such 
a  calline: !  Look  to  the  guests  within.  [Exit  Fran.] 
Jly  lord,  old  Sir  John,  with  half  a  dozen  more,  are 
at'the  door;  Shall  1  let  them  in! 

P.  Hen.  Let  them  alone  awhile,  and  then  open 
the  door.     [£.i'i/ Vintner.]     Poins! 

Re-enter  Poixs. 

Poins.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  Sirah,  Falstatf  and  the  rest  of  the  thieves 
are  at  the  door:  Shall  we  be  merry ! 

Poins.  As  merry  as  crickets,  my  lad.  But  hark 
ye;  What  cunning  match  have  you  made  with  this 
lest  of  the  drawer  !  come,  what's  the  issue? 

P.  Hen.  I  am  now  of  all  humors,  that  have 
show'd  themselves  humors,  since  the  old  days  ol 
goodman  Adam,  to  Ihe  pui>il  age  ol'  this  present 
twelve  o'clock  at  midnight.  [He-enter  Francis, 
U'it\  ivine.]     What's  o'clock,  Francis? 

F-an.  Anon,  anon,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  That  ever  this  fellow  should  have  fewer 
words  than  aparrot,  and  yet  tlie  son  of  a  woman! — 
His  industry  is — up  stairs,  and  down  stairs;  his  elo- 
quence, the  parcel  of  a  reckoning.  I  am  not  yet 
of  Percy's  mmd,the  Hotspur  of  the  north;  he  that 
kills  me  some  six  or  seven  dozen  of  Scots  at  a 
breakfast,  washes  his  hands,  and  says  to  his  wife, — 
Fye  ujmn  this  quiet  life.'  I  want  ivurk. — O  my 
siueet  Harry.,  says  she,  hinc  many  tmst  thou  killed 
to-day:^  Glee  my  man  liorse  a  drench,  says  he; 
and  answers,  sunie  fourteen,  an  hour  after;  a  trifle, 
a  trifle.  I  pr'ythee,  call  in  Falstafi';  I'll  play  Percy, 
and  that  damned  brawn  shall  play  dame  Mortimer 

•A  sweet  wine. 


his  wife.    Riru,  says  the  drunkard.  Call  iii  ribs,  call 
in  tallow. 

Enter  Falstafp,  Gadshill,  Baedolph,  and  Peto. 

.Poins.  Welcome  Jack.    Where  hast  thou  been? 

Fal.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  1  say,  and  a  ven- 
geance loo!  marry,  and  amen! — Give  mc  a  cup  of 
sack,  boy. — Ere  I  lead  this  lite  long,  I'll  sew  nether- 
stocks,'  and  mend  them,  and  loot  them  too.  A 
plague  of  all  cowards!— Give  me  a  cup  of  sack, 
rogue. — Is  there  no  virtue  extant?  [He  drinks. 

P.  Hen.  Didst  thou  never  see  Titan  kiss  a  dish 
of  butter !  pitilul-hearted  Titan,  that  melted  at  the 
sweet  tale  of  the  sun!  if  thou  didst,  then  behold 
that  compound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  here's  lime  in  the  sack  too :  There 
is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  in  villanous  man: 
Yet  a  coward  is  worse  than  a  cup  of  sack  with  lime 
in  it;  a  villanous  coward. — Go  thy  ways,  old  Jack; 
die  when  thou  wilt:  if  manhood,  good  manhood, 
be  not  forgotten  upon  the  lace  of  the  earth,  then  am 
I  a  shotten  herring.  There  live  not  three  good  men 
unhanged  in  England;  and  one  of  them  is  liit,  and 
grows  old:  God  help  the  while!  a  bad  world,  I  say! 
1  would,  I  were  a  weaver;  I  could  sing  psalms  or 
any  thing:  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say  slill. 

P.  Hen.  How  now,  wool-sack?  what  mutter  you? 

Fal.  A  king's  son!  If  I  do  not  beat  thee  out  of 
thy  kingdom  with  a  dagger  of  lath,  and  drive  all 
tiiy  subjects  albre  tliee  ifke  a  Hock  of  wild  geese, 
I'll  never  wear  hair  on  my  ibice  more.  You  prince 
of  Wales! 

P.  Hen.  Why,  you  whoreson  round  man !  what's 
the  matter! 

Fal.  Are  you  not  a  coward  ?  answer  me  to  that ; 
and  Poins  there? 

Poins.  Zounds,  ye  fat  paunch,  an  ye  call  mc 
coward,  I'll  stab  thee. 

Fal.  1  call  thee  coward!  I'll  see  thee  damn'd  ere 
I  call  thee  coward:  but  I  will  give  a  thousand 
pound  1  could  run  as  liist  as  thou  canst.  You  are 
straight  enough  in  the  shoulders,  you  care  not  who 
sees  your  back:  Call  you  that  backing  of  your 
friends?  A  plague  upon  such  backing!  give  mc 
them  that  will  face  me.— Give  me  a  cup  of  sack:— 
I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  drunk  to-day.- 

P.  Hen.  ()  villain!  thy  hps  are  scarce  wiped  since 
thou  drunk'st  last. 

Fal.  All's  one  for  that.  A  plague  of  all  cowards, 
still  say  I.  [He  brinks. 

P.  Hen.  What's  the  matter? 

Fal.  What's  the  matter !  there  be  four  of  us  here 
have  ta'cii  a  thousand  pound  this  morning. 

P.  Hen.  Where  is  it  Jack !  where  is  it  ? 

Fal.  Where  is  it?  taken  from  us  it  is:  a  hundred 
upon  ])Oor  four  of  us. 

P.  Hen.  What,  a  hundred,  man? 

Fal.  I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  were  not  at  half-sword 
with  a  dozen  of  them  two  hours  together.  I  have 
'scaped  by  miracle.  1  ani  eight  times  thrust  through 
the  doublet;  four  through  the  hose;  my  buckler 
cut  through  and  through ;  my  sword  hack'd  like  a 
hand-saw,  ecce  signum.  I  never  dealt  better  since  I 
was  a  man;  all  would  not  do.  A  plague  of  all  cow- 
ards!— Let  them  speak:  if  they  speak  more  or  less 
than  truth,  they  arc  villains,  and  the  sons  of  dark- 
ness. 

P.  Hen.  Speak,  sir;  how  was  it? 

Garf.?.  We  four  set  upon  some  dozen, 

Fal.  Sixteen,  at  least,  my  lord. 

Gails.  And  bound  them. 

Peto.  No,  no,  they  were  not  bound. 

Fal.  Y'ou  rogue,  they  were  bound,  every  man  of 
them ;  or  I  am  a  Jew  else,  an  Ebrew  Jew. 

Gads.  As  we  were  sharing,  some  six  or  seven 
fresh  men  set  upon  us. 

Fal.  And  unbound  the  rest,  and  then  come  in  ths 
other. 

P.  Hen.  What,  fought  ye  with  them  all? 

Fal.  All?  I  know  not  what  ye  call  all;  hut  if  1 
fought  not  wilh  fifty  of  them,  I  am  a  bunch  of  ra- 
dish: ilthere  were  not  two  or  three  and  fift}'  U])on 
poor  old  Jack,  then  I  am  no  two-legged  creature. 

Poins.  Pray  God,  jou  have  not  murdered  some 
of  them. 

Fal.  Nay,  that's  past  praying  for:  for  I  liavo 
peppered  two  of  them :  two,  1  am  sure,  I  have  ]>aid; 
two  rogues  in  buckram  suits.    I  tell  thee  what 

•SlOC'iiDSi. 


328 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  IL 


Hal, — if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in  my  face,  call  me 
horse.  Thou  kiiowest  my  old  ward ; — fiere  I  lay, 
and  thus  1  bore  my  point.  Four  rogues  in  buckram 
let  drive  at  me, 

P.  Hen.  What,  lour!  thou  saidst  but  two,  even 
now. 

Fal.  Four,  Hal;  I  told  thee  four. 

Poins.  Ay,  ay,  he  said  four. 

Fal.  These  liiur  came  all  a-front,  and  mainly 
thrust  at  me.  I  made  me  no  more  ado,  but  took 
all  their  seven  points  in  my  target,  thus. 

P.  Hen.  Seven !  why,  there  were  but  four,  even 
now. 

Fal.  In  buckram. 

Poiiift.  Ay,  four,  in  buclvrani  suits. 

Fed.  Seven  by  these  hilts,  or  1  am  a  villain  else. 

P.  Hen.  Pr'ylhee,  let  him  alone;  we  shall  have 
more  anon. 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear  me,  Hal! 

P.  Hen.  Ay.  and  mark  thee  too.  Jack. 

Fal.  Do  so,  lor  it  is  worth  the  listening  to.  These 
nine  in  buckram,  tiiat  I  told  tliee  of, 

P.  Hen.  So,  two  more  already. 

Fal.  Their  points  being  broken, 

Poins.  Down  fell  their  hose. 

FtU.  Began  to  {live  me  ground-:  Cut  I  followed 
me  close,  came  m  foot  and  liand;  and  with  a 
thought,  seven  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 

P.  Hen.  O  motistrous!  eleven  buckram  men 
grown  out  of  two! 

Fal.  B61  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  three  mis- 
begotten knaves,  in  KondaP  green,  came  at  my 
back,  and  let  drive  at  me; — for  it  was  so  dark,  Hal, 
that  thou  couldst  not  see  thy  hand. 

P.  Hen.  These  lies  are  like  the  father  that  begets 
them;  gross  as  a  motmtain,  open,  palpable.  Why, 
thou  clay-brained  guts;  thou  knotty-pated  fool; 
thou  whoreson,  obscene,  greasy,  tallow-keech.^ 

Fal.  What,  art  thou  mad!  art  thou  mad!  is  not 
the  truth,  the  trutli! 

P.  Hen.  Why,  how  couldst  thou  know  these  men 
in  ICendal  green,  when  it  was  so  dark  thou  couldst 
not  see  thy  hand!  come  tell  us  your  reason;  What 
sayest  thou  to  this! 

Pains.  Come,  your  reason,  Jaclc,  your  reason. 

Fal.  What,  iipon  compulsion!  No;  were  I  at 
the  strappado,  or  all  the  racks  in  the  world,  I  would 
not  tell  you  on  compulsion.  Give  you  a  reason  on 
compulsion!  if  reasons  were  as  plenty  as  black- 
berriffi,  I  would  give  no  man  a  reason  upon  com- 
pulsion, I, 

P.  Hen.  I'll  be  no  longer  guilty  of  tliis  sin;  this 
sanguifie  cov/ard,  this  bed-presser,  this  horse-back- 
breaker,  this  hugh  hill  of  flesh; 

Fa'.  Away,  you  starveling,  you  elf-skin,  yon 
dried  neat's  tongue,  bull's  pizzle,  you  stock-lish,— 
0,  for  breath  to  utter  what  is  like  thee!— you  tai- 
lor's yard,  you  sheath,  you  bow-case,  you  vile 
Btandmg  tuc_k; 

P.  Hen.  Well,  breathe  awhile,  and  then  to  it 
again:  and  when  thou  hast  tired  thj-self  in  base 
comparisons,  hear  me  speak  but  this. 

Pnins.  Mark,  Jack. 

P.  Hen.  We  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four;  you 

bound  them,  and  were  masters  of  their  wealth. 

Mark  now,  how  a  plain  tale  shall  put  you  down. — 
Then  did  we  two  set  on  you  four:  and,  with  a 
word,  out-faced  you  from  your  prize,  and  have  it; 
yea, and  can  show  it  you  here  in  the  house: — and 
Falstalf,  you  carried  your  guts  away  as  nimbly, 
with  as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for  mercy,  and 
still  ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard  a  bull-calf. — 
Wiiat  a  slave  art  thou,  to  hack  thy  sword  as  thou 
hast  done;  and  then  say,  it  w,as  in  nght !  What 
trick,  what  device,  w-ha't  starting-hole,  canst  thou 
now  find  out,  to  hide  thee  from  this  open  and  ap- 
parent shame! 

Pnins.  Come,  let's  hear,  Jack;  What  trick  hast 
thou  now ! 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  I  knew  ye,  as  well  as  he  that 
made  ye.  Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters:  Was  it  lor 
me  to  kill  the  heir-appiircnt!  Should  I  turn  upon 
the  true  prince !  Why,  thou  knowest,  I  am  as  val- 
iant as  Hercules:  but  beware  instinct;  the  lion 
will  not  touch  the  true  prince.  Instinct  is  a  great 
matter;  I  was  a  coward  on  instinct.  I  shall  think 
the  better  of  myself  and  thee,  during  my  life.    I 

5  A  town  in  Westmoreland  famous  for  making  cloth. 
'  A  round  lump  of  fat. 


for  a  valiant  lion,  and  thou  for  a  true  prince.  But, 
by  the  Lord,  lads,  I  am  glad  you  have  the  money. 

Hostess,  clap  to   the  doors;  watch  to-night, 

pray  to-morrow. — CJallants,  lads,  boys,  hearts  ol 
gold,  all  the  titles  of  good  fellowship  come  to  you ! 
What,  shall  we  be  merry!  shall  we  have  a  play 
extempore! 

P.  Hen.  Content;— and  the  argument  shall  bo 
thy  running  away. 

Fal.  Ah !  no  more  of  that,  Hal,  an  thou  lovcst 
me. 

Enter  Hostess. 

Host.  My  lord  the  prince, 

P.  Hen.  How  now,  my  lady  the  hostess?  wha 
sayst  thou  to  me! 

Host.  Marry,  uiy  lord,  there  is  a  nobleman  of  (he 
court  at  door,  would  speak  with  you:  he  says,  he 
comes  iVom  your  father. 

P.  Hen.  Give  liim  as  much  as  will  make  him  a 
royal  man,  and  send  him  back  again  to  my  mother. 

Fal.  What  manner  of  man  is  he! 

Host.  An  old  man. 

Fal.  What  dolh  gravity  out  of  his  bed  at  mid- 
night!— Siiall  1  give  him  his  answer! 

P.  Hen.  I'r'ytlice,  do.  Jack. 

Fal.  Faith,  and  I'll  send  him  packing.        [Exit. 

P.  Hen.  Now,  .sirs;  by'r  lady,  you  fought  fair; — 
so  did  you,  Peto;  so  did  you  Bardolph:  you  are 
lions  too,  you  ran  away  upon  instinct,  j'ou  will  not 
touch  the  true  prince;  no, — fye! 

Bard.  'Faith,  I  ran  when  I  saw  others  run. 

P.  Hen.  Tell  me  now  in  earnest,  how  came  Fal- 
slaft's  sword  so  hacked ! 

Peto.  Why,  he  hacked  it  with  his  dagger;  and 
said,  he  would  swear  truth  out  of  England,  but  he 
would  make  you  believe  it  was  done  in  fight;  and 
persuaded  us  to  do  the  like. 

Baril.  Yea,  and  to  tickle  our  noses  with  spear- 
grass  to  make  them  bleed:  and  then  to  beslubber 
our  garments  with  it,  and  to  swear  it  was  the  blood 
of  true  men.  I  did  that  I  did  not  'this  seven  years 
before,  I  blushed  to  hear  his  monstrous  devices. 

P.  Hen.  O,  villain,  thou  stolest  a  cup  of  sack 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  wert  taken  with  the  man- 
ner,* and  ever  since  thou  hast  blushed  extempore: 
Thou  hadst  fire  and  sword  on  thy  side,  and  yet  thou 
ran'st  away;  What  instinct  hadst  thou  for  it! 

Bard.  My  lord,  do  you  see  these  meteors!  do  you 
behold  these  exhalations! 

P.  Hen.  I  do. 

Bard.  What  think  you  they  portend! 

P.  Hen.  Hot  livers  "and  cold  purses.' 

Bard.  CJiolcr,  my  lord,  if  rightly  taken. 

P.  Hen.  No,  if  rightly  taken,  halter. 

Re-enter  FALaxAFP. 

Here  comes  lean  Jack,  here  comes  bare-bone.  How 
now,  my  sweet  creature  of  bombast!'  How  long 
is't  ago,  Jack,  since  thou  sawest  thine  own  knee! 

Fal.  My  own  taiee!  when  I  was  about  thy  years, 
Hal, I  was  notan  eagle's  talon  in  the  waist;  "I  could 
have  crept  into  any  alderman's  thumb-ring:  A 
plague  of  sighing  and  grief!  it  blows  a  man  up  like 
a  bladder.  There's  villainous  news  abroad:  here 
was  sir  Jolm  Bracy  from  your  fiither;  you  must  to 
the  court  in  the  morning.  That  same  mad  fellow 
of  the  north,  Percy;  and  he  of  Wales,  that  gave 
Amaimon'  the  bastinado,  and  made  Lucifer  cuck- 
old, and  swore  the  devil  his  true  liegeman  upon 
the  cross  of  a  Welsh  hook, — What,  a  plague,  cali 
you  him! 

Poins.  0,  Glendower. 

Fal.  Owen,  Owen ;  the  same ; — and  his  son-in-law, 
Mortimer;  and  old  Northumberland;  and  that 
sprightly  Scot  of  Scots,  Douglas,  that  runs  o'horse- 
back  up  a  hill  perpendicular. 

P.  Hen.  He  that  rides  at  high  speed,  and  with 
his  pistol  kills  a  sparrow  flying. 

Fat.  You  have  hit  it. 

P.  Hen.  So  did  he  never  fJie  sparrow. 

Fal.  Well,  tliat  rascal  hath  good  mettle  in  liim; 
he  will  not  run. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  what  a  rascal  art  thou  then,  to 
praise  him  so  for  running! 

*Tn  the  fact.  ^Drunkenness  and  poverty 

"Uomliast  is  the  stuffing  of  clothes. 
'  A  (lemon  ;  who  is  iloscrihed  as  one  of  the  four  kingf, 
who  rule  over  all  the  demons  in  the  world. 


Scene  IV. 


KING   HENRY  IV. 


329 


Fat.  O'horseback,  ye  cuckoo!  but  afoot,  he  will 
not  bud^e  a  foot. 

P.  Hen.  Yes,  Jack,  upon  instinct. 

Fal.  I  grant  ye,  upon  instinct.  Well,  he  is  there 
too,  and  on  Mordake,  and  a  thousand  blue-caps' 
more:  Worcester  is  stolen  away  to-night;  tiiy  la- 
ther's beard  is  turned  white  with  the  news;  you 
may  buy  land  now  as  cheap  as  stinldng  mackerel. 

J.  lien.  Why  then,  'tis  like,  if  there  come  a  hot 
June,  and  this  civil  bufteting  hold,  we  shall  buy 
maidenlicads  as  they  buy  hob-nails,  by  the  hundred. 

Fat.  By  the  mass  lad,  thou  sayest  true;  it  is  like, 
we  shall  "have  good  trading  that  way. — But  tell  me, 
Hal,  art  thou  not  horribly  afeard?  thou  being  heir- 
apparent,  could  the  world  pick  thee  out  three  such 
enemies  again,  as  that  ticnd  Douglas,  that  spirit 
Percy,  and  that  devil  Glendowerf  Art  thou  not 
horribly  afraid^  doth  not  thy  blood  thrill  at  it! 

P.  Hen.  Not  a  whit,  i'faith;  I  lack  some  of  thy 
instinct. 

Fat.  Well,  thou  wilt  be  horribly  chid  to-moiTow, 
when  tiiou  comest  to  thy  father:  if  thou  love  me, 
practise  an  answer. 

P.  Hen.  Do  thou  stand  for  my  flither,  and  ex- 
amine nic  upon  the  particulars  of  my  life. 

Ffil.  Shall  n  content: — This  chair  shall  be  my 
state,  tiiis  dagger  my  sceptre,  and  this  cushion  my 
crown. 

P.  Hen.  Thy  state  is  taken  for  a  joint-stool,  thy 
golden  sceptre  for  a  leaden  dagger,  and  thy  precious 
rich  crown,  for  a  pitiful  bald  crown. 

Fed.  Well,  an  the  fire  of  grace  be  not  quite  out 
of  thee,  now  shalt  thou  be  moved. — Give  me  a  cup 
01' sack,  to  make  mine  eyes  look  red,  that  it  may  be 
tliought  1  have  wept ;  lor  I  must  speak  in  passion, 
and  I  will  do  it  in  king  Cambyses'"  vein. 

P.  Hen.  Well,  here  is  my  leg.' 

Fal.  And  here  is  my  speech :— Stand  aside,  no- 
bility. 

Host.  This  is  excellent  sport,  i'faith. 

Fal.  ^\'eep  not,  sweet  queen,  for  trickling  tears 
are  vain. 

Host.  O,  the  father,  how  he  holds  his  counte- 
nance ! 

Fal.  For  God's  sake,  lords,  convey  my  tristful 
queen. 
For  tears  do  stop  the  flood-gates  of  her  eyes. 

Host.  ((  rare!  he  doth  it  as  like  one  of  these  har- 
lotry players,  as  I  ever  sec. 

Fal.  P.-ace,  good  pint-pot;  peace,  good  tickle- 
brain.'' — liarry,  I  do  not  only  mar\'el  where  thou 
spendest  thy  time,  but  also  now  thou  art  accom- 
panied:  for  though  the  camomile,  the  more  it  is 
trodden  on,  the  faster  it  grows,  yet  youth,  the  more 
it  is  wasted, the  sooner  it  wears.  That  thou  art  my 
son,  I  have  partly  thy  mother's  word,  partly  my  own 
opinion;  but  chiefly, a  villainous  trick  of  thine  eye, 
and  a  foolish  hanging  of  thy  nether  lip,  that  doth 
warrant  me.  If  then  thou  be  son  to  me,  here  lies 
the  point; — Why,  being  son  to  me,  art  thou  so 
pointed  atl  Shall  the  blessed  sun  of  heaven  prove 
a  mieher,s  ,and  cat  blackberries!  a  question  not  to 
be  asked.  Shall  the  son  of  England  prove  a  thief 
and  take  purses'!  a  question  to  be  asked.  There 
Ls  a  thine.  Harry,  which  thou  hast  orten  heard  of, 
and  it  is  known  to  many  in  our  land  by  the  name 
of  pitch:  this  pitch,  as  ancient  writers  do  report, 
doth  defile;  so  doth  the  comp.any  thou  keep'st: 
for,  Harry,  now,  I  do  not  speak  to  thee  in  drink, 
but  in  tears;  not  in  pleasure,  but  in  passion;  not 
in  words  only,  but  in  woes  also: — And  yet  there  is 
a  virtuous  man,  whom  I  have  often  no"ted  in  thy 
company,  but  I  know  not  his  name. 

P.  Hen.  What  manner  of  man,  an  it  like  your 
majesty ! 

Fat.  A  good  portly  man.  i'faith,  and  a  corpulent ; 
of  a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye,  and  a  most  noble 
can-iage;  and, as  I  think,  his  age  some  fifty. or  by'r- 
lady,  inclining  to  three-score;  and  now  I  remember 
me,  his  name  is  Falstatl':  if  tliat  man  should  be 
lewdly  given,  he  deceiveth  me;  for,  Harry,  I  see 
virtue  in  his  looks.  It  then  the  tree  may  be  knowTi 
by  the  fruit,  as  the  fruit  by  the  tree,  then,  peremp- 
torily I  speak  it,  there  is  virtue  in  that  Falstafl':  him 
keep  with,  the  rest  banish.    And  tell  me  now,  thou 

6  Scotamen  in  blue  bonnets. 

•.\.  character  in  a  tragedy  hy  T.  Preston,  I5T0. 

'  Olieisaiice.  "Name  of  a  strong  liquor. 

^  A  truant  boy. 


naughty  varlet,  tell  me,  where  hast  thou  been  thia 
mouth  ; 

P.  Hen.  Dost  thou  speak  like  a  king'!  Do  thou 
stand  for  me,  and  Til  play  Diy  father. 

Fal.  Depose  me!  if  thou  dost  it  half  so  gravely, 
so  m.ajcstically,  both  in  word  and  matter,  hang  me  up 
by  the  heels  for  a  rabbit-sucker,  or  a  poulter'share 

P.  Hen.  Well,  here  I  am  set. 

Fal.  And  here  I  stand: — ^judge,  my  masters. 

P.  Hen.  Now,  Harry?  whence  came  you? 

Fal.  My  noble  lord,  from  Eastclieap. 

P.  Hen.  The  com  plaints  I  hear  of  thee  are  grievous, 

Fal.  'Sblood,  my  lord,  they  are  liilse  :-^nay ,  I' 
tickle  ve  for  a  j'oung  prince,  i'faith. 

P.  lien.  Swearest  thou,  ungracious  boy?  hence- 
forth ne'er  look  on  me.  Thou  art  violently  carried 
away  from  grace:  there  is  a  devil  haunts  thee,  in 
the  likeness  of  a  fat  old  man :  a  tun  of  man  is  thy 
companion.  Why  dost  thou  converse  with  that 
trunk  of  humors,  that  bolting-hutch'  of  beastliness, 
that  swoln  parcel  of  dropsies,  that  huge  bombard* 
of  sack,  that  stufi'ed  cloak  bag  of  guts,  that  roasted 
Manningtree'  ox  with  the  puddmg  in  his  belly, 
that  reverend  vice,  that  grey  iniquity,  that  lather 
ruflian,  that  vanity  in  years?  Wiicrein  is  he  good, 
but  to  taste  sack  and  drink  it?  wherein  neat  and 
cleanlj',  but  to  carve  a  capon  and  eat  it?  wherein 
cunning,  but  in  craft?  wherein  craft}',  but  in  vil- 
lainy? wherein villainous,butin all thiiigs!  wherein 
worthy,  but  in  nothing? 

Fal.  I  would  your  grace  would  take  me  with 
you;  whom  means  your  grace? 

P.  Hen.  That  villainous  abominable  misleader 
of  youth,  Falstaff.  that  old  white-bearded  Satan, 

t'al.  My  lord,  the  man  I  know. 

P.  Hen.  I  know  thou  dost. 

Fal.  But  to  say,  I  kTiow  more  harm  in  him  than 
in  myself,  were  to  say  more  than  I  know.  That  lie 
is  old  (the  more  the  pity)  his  white  hairs  do  witness 
it:  but  that  he  is  (saving  your  reverence)  a  whore- 
master,  that  I  utterly  deny.  If  sack  and  sugar  be  a 
fault  God  help  thew'icked!  If  to  be  old  and  merry 
be  a  sin,  then  many  an  old  host  that  I  know,  is 
damned:  if  to  be  fat  be  to  be  hated,  then  Pharaoh's 
lean  kine  are  to  be  loved.  No,  my  good  lord;  ban- 
ish Peto,  banish  Bardolph,  b.inish  Poins:  but  for 
sweet  Jack  Falstatf,  kind  Jack  Fahtalf,  true  Jack 
Falstafl',  valiant  Jack  Falstatf.  and  therclore  more 
valiant,  being  as  he  is,  old  Jack  Falstatf,  banish  not 
him  thy  Harry's  company;  banish  plump  Jack, 
and  banish  all  the  world. 

P.  Hen.  I  do,  I  will.  [A  knocking  heard. 

[Exeunt  Hostess,  Francis,  and  Bardolph. 
Re-enter  Bakdolph,  running. 

Bard.  O,  my  lord,  my  lord;  the  sherilT  with  a 
most  monstrous  watch,  is  at  the  door. 

Fal.  Out,  you  rogue!  play  out  the  play:  I  have 
much  to  say  in  the  behalf  of  that  Falstall'. 
Re-enter  Hostess,  hastily. 

Hmt.  0  Jesu,  my  lord,  my  lord ! — 

Fat.  Heigh !  heigh !  the  devil  rides  upon  a  fiddle- 
stick: Wliat's  the  matter? 

Host.  The  sherifl'  and  all  the  watch  are  at  the 
door:  they  are  come  to  search  the  house.  Shall  I 
let  them  in? 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal?  never  call  a  true  piece 
of  gold,  a  counterfeit:  thou  art  essentially  mad, 
without  stjeming  so. 

P.  Hen.  And  thou  a  natural  coward,  without 
instinct. 

Fal.  I  deny  your  major;  if  you  will  deny  the 
sheriff,  so;  if  not,  let  him  enter:  if  I  become  not  a 


cart  as  well  as  another  man, a  plague  on  my  brin: 
ing  up!  I  hope.  I    "    '" 
halter,  as  another. 


ing  up!  I  hope.  I  shall  as  soon  be  stran 


1  my  br: 
gled  wi 


itha 


P.  Hen.  Go,  hide  thee  behind  the  arras; — the  rest 
walk  up  above.  Now,  my  masters,  for  a  true  face, 
and  good  conscience. 

Fal.  Both  which  I  have  had:  but  their  date  U 
out,  and  therefore  I'll  hide  me. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  Prisce  and  Poiss. 

P.  Hen.  Call  in  the  sheiifl'.— 

Enter  Sheriff  and  Carrier. 
Now,  master  sheriflT:  What's  your  will  with  me! 

*  The  machine  which  separates  flour  from  bran. 

"^  A  leather  black-jack  to  llold  beer. 

« In  Essex,  where  a  large  ox  was  roasted  whole. 


330 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  III. 


Shcr.  First,  pardon  rae.  my  lord.    A  hue  and  cry 
Hath  tbllow'd  certain  men  into  tliis  house. 

P.  Hen.  Wliat  men  ! 

Sficr.  One  otthem  is  well  knovvn,my  gracious  lord, 
A  gross  fat  man. 

Car.  As  fat  as  butter. 

P.  Hen.  The  man,  I  do  assure  you,  is  not  here; 
For  I  myself  at  this  time  have  employ'd  him. 
And,  sherit!',  I  will  engage  my  word  to  thee, 
That  I  will,  by  to-morrow  dinner-time, 
Send  him  to  answer  thee,  or  any  man. 
For  any  thing  he  shall  be  charged  withal: 
And  so  let  me  entreat  you  leave  the  house. 

Sher.  I  will,  my  lordr  There  are  two  gentlemen 
Have  in  this  robbery  lost  three  hundred  marks. 

P.  Hen.  It  may  be  so:  ithehaverobb'd  these  men, 
He  shall  be  answerable ;  and  so,  farewell. 

Sher.  Good  night,  my  noble  lord. 

P.  Hen.  I  think  it  is  "good-morrow;  Is  it  not? 

Sher.  Indeed,  my  lord,  I  think  it  be  two  o'clock. 
[Exeunt  SheriQ.' and  Carrier. 

P.  Hen.  This  oily  rascal  is  known  as  well  as 
Paul's.    Go  call  him  forth. 


Poins.  Falstaff! — fast  asleep  behind  the  arras, 
and  snorting  like  a  horse. 

P.  Hen.  Hark,  how  hard  he  fetches  breath: 
Search  his  pockets.  [Poixs  searches.]  What  hast 
thou  found? 

Poins.  Nothing  but  papers,  ray  lord. 

P.  Hen.  Let's  see  what  they  be:  read  them. 

Pains.  Item,  A  capon,  is.  id. 
Item,  Sauce,  id. 
Item,  Sack,  two  gallons,  5s.  Sd. 
Item,  Anchovies,  and  sack  after  supper,  2s.  Gd. 
Item,  Bread,  a  half-penny. 

P.  Hen.  0  monstrous!  but  one  half-pennyworth 
of  bread  to  this  intolerable  deal  of  sack!— What 
there  is  else,  keep  close ;  we'll  read  it  at  more  ad- 
vantage; there  let  him  sleep  till  day.  I'll  to  the 
court  "in  the  morning:  we  must  all  to  the  wars,  and 
thy  place  sliall  be  honorable.  I'll  procure  this  fat 
rogue  a  charge  of  foot;  and,  I  know,  his  death  will 
be  a  march  of  twelve-score.  Tlie  money  shall  be 
paid  back  again  with  advantage.  Be  with  me  be- 
times in  the  morning;  and  so  good-morrow,  Poins, 

Poins.  Good-morrow,  good  my  lord.      [Exeunt, 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I. — Bangor.    A  Room  in  the  Archdeacon's 
House. 

Enter  Hotspce,  Worcesteh,  Mortimer,  and  Glex- 

DOWER. 

Mart.  These  promises  are  fair,  the  parties  sure, 
And  our  induction  full  of  prosperous  hope. 

Hot.  Lord  Mortimer — and  cousin  Glendower — 
Will  you  sit  down? — 
And,  uncle  Worcester:— A  plague  upon  it! 
I  have  forgot  the  map. 

Glend.  No,  here  it  is. 

Sit,  cousin  Percy;  sit,  good  cousin  Hotspur: 
For  by  that  name  as  oft  as  Lancaster 
Doth  speak  of  you,  his  cheek  looks  pale:  and,  with 
A  rising  sigh,  he  wisheth  you  in  heaven. 

Hot.  And  you  in  hell,  as  often  as  he  hears 
Owen  Glendower  spoke  off. 

Glend.  I  cannot  blame  him ;  at  my  nativity 
The  front  of  heaven  was  full  of  tiery  shapes, 
Of  burning  cressets:'  and  at  my  birth. 
The  frame  and  huge  foundation  of  the  earth 
Shak'd  like  a  coward. 

Hot.  Why,  so  it  would  have  done 

At  the  same  season,  if  your  mother's  cat  had 
But  kitten'd,  though  yourself  had  ne'er  been  born. 

Glend.  I  say.  the  earth  did  shake  when  I  was  born. 

Hot.  And  I  say,  the  earth  was  not  of  my  mind. 
If  you  suppose,  as  fearing  you  it  sliook. 

Glend.  The  heavens  were  all  on  Are,  the  earth 
did  tremble. 

Hot.  O,  then  the  earth  shook  to  see  the  heavens 
on  fire. 
And  not  in  fear  of  your  nativity. 
Diseased  nature  oftentimes  breaks  forth 
In  strange  eruptions:  oft  the  teeming  earth 
Is  with  a  kind  of  colic  pinch'd  and  vex'd 
By  the  imprisoning  of  unruly  wind 
Within  her  womb;  which,  for  enlargement  striving. 
Shakes  the  old  beldame  earth,  and  topples*  down 
Steeples,  and  moss-grown  towers.    .A.t  your  birth. 
Our  grandam  earth,  having  this  distemperature, 
In  passion  shook. 

Glend.  Cousin,  of  many  men 

I  do  not  bear  these  crossings.    Give  me  leave 
To  tell  5'ou  once  again, — that  at  my  birth, 
The  iront  of  heaven  was  full  of  fiery  shapes; 
The  goats  ran  from  the  moimtains,  and  the  herds 
Were  strangely  clamorous  to  the  frighted  fields. 
These  signs  have  mark'd  me  extraordinarj'; 
And  all  the  courses  of  my  life  do  show, 
I  am  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men. 
Where  is  he  living, — clipp'd  in  with  the  sea 
That  chides   the   banks   of  England,   Scotland, 

Wales,— 
Which  calls  me  pupil,  or  hath  read  to  me? 
And  bring  him  out,  tliat  is  but  woman's  son, 

'Lights  set  cross-ways  upon  beaeong.  and  also  upon 
poles,  which  were  used  in  processions,  <&c.     ^  Tumbles, 


Can  trace  me  in  the  tedious  ways  of  art, 
And  hold  me  pace  in  deep  experiments. 

Hot.  I  think   there   is   no   man   speaks   better 
Welsh:— 
I  will  to  dinner. 

Mort.  Peace,  cousin  Percy;  you  will  make  him 
mad. 

Glend.  I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep. 

Hot.  Why,  so  can  I;  or  so  can  any  man: 
But  will  they  come,  when  you  do  call  for  them? 

Glend.  Why,  I  can  teach  you,  cousin,  to  command 
The  devil. 

Hot.  And  I  can  teach  thee,  coz,  to  shame  the 

devil, 

By  telling  truth ;  Tell  truth,  and  shame  the  devil.— 

If  thou  have  power  to  raise  him,  bring  him  hither, 

And  I'll  be  sworn,  I  have  power  to  shame  him 

hence. 
O,  while  you  live,  tell  truth,  and  shame  the  devil. 

Mort.  Come,  come. 
No  nrore  of  this  unprofitable  chat. 

Glend.  Three  times  hath  Harry  Bolingbroke  made 
head 
Against  my  power:  thrice  from  the  banks  of  Wye, 
And  sandy-bottom'd  Severn,  have  I  sent  him, 
Bootless  home,  and  weather-beaten  back. 

Hot.  Home  without  boots,  and  in  foul  weather  too! 
How  'scapes  he  agues,  in  the  devil's  name? 

Glend,  Come,  here's  the  map;  Shall  we  divide 
our  right, 
According  to  our  three-fold  order  ta'en? 

■  M(n-t.  The  archdeacon  hath  divided  it 
Into  three  limits,  very  equally: 
England,  from  Trent  and  Severn  hitherto. 
By  south  and  east,  is  to  my  part  assign'd: 
All  westward,  Wales  beyond  the  Severn  shore, 
And  all  the  fertile  land  within  that  bound. 
To  Owen  Glendower:— and  dear  coz,  to  you 
Till*  remnant  northward,  lying  off  from  Trent: 
And  our  indentures  tripartite  are  drawn: 
W'liicli  being  scaled  interchangeably, 
(A  business  that  this  night  may  execute,) 
To-morrow,  cousin  Percy,  you,  and  I, 
And  my  good  lord  of  Worcester,  will  set  forth. 
To  meet  your  father,  and  the  Scottish  power, 
As  is  appointed  us,  at  Shrewsbury. 
My  father  Glendower  is  not  ready  yet, 
Nor  sliall  we  need  his  help  these  fourteen  days: 
Within  that  space,   [7d  Gle.n'd.]   you  may  hare 

drawn  together 
Your  tenants,  friends,  and  neighboring  gentlemen. 

Glend.  A  shorter  time  shall  send  mo  to  you, 
lords. 
And  in  my  conduct  shall  your  ladies  come: 
From  whom  you  now  must  steal,  and  take  no  leave; 
For  there  will  be  a  world  of  water  shed, 
Ujion  the  parting  of  your  wives  and  you. 

Hut,  Methinks,  my  moiety,  north  from  Burton 
here. 
In  quantity  equals  not  one  of  yours: 


Scene  I. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


331 


See,  how  this  river  comes  rae  cranking  in, 
And  cuts  me,  from  the  best  of  all  my  land, 
A  hus;o  half  moon,  a  monstrous  cantlc*  out. 
rU  have  the  current  in  this  place  daran'd  up; 
And  here  the  smug  and  silver  Trent  shall  run, 
In  a  new  channel,  iiiir  and  evenly: 
It  shall  not  wind  witli  such  a  deep  indent, 
To  rob  me  of  so  rich  a  bottom  here. 

Glencl.  Not  wind]  it  shall,  it  must;  you  see,  it 
doth. 

Muii.  Yea, 
But  mark,  how  he  bears  his  course, and  runs  me  up 
With  like  advantage  on  tlie  other  side; 
Gelding'  the  opposed  continent  as  much, 
As  on  the  other  side  it  takes  from  you. 

IVoi:  Yea,  but  a  little  charge  will  trench  him 
here, 
And  on  this  north  side  win  this  cape  of  land; 
And  then  he  runs  straight  and  even. 

}Iof.  rU  have  it  so;  a  little  charge  will  do  it. 

Glend.  I  will  not  have  it  alter'd. 

Hnf.  Will  not  you  ! 

Oknd.  No,  nor  you  shall  not. 

hut.  Who  shall  say  me  nay ; 

lileml.  Why  that  will  I. 

not.  Let  me  not  understand  you  then, 

S])eak  it  in  Welsh. 

Glend.  I  can  speak  English,  lord,  as  weU  as  you; 
For  1  was  train'd  up  in  the  English  court: 
Where,  being  but  young,  I  framed  to  the  harp 
Many  ;in  English  ditty,  lovely  well. 
And  tcavc  tlie  tongue  a  helpful  ornament; 
A  virtue  tliat  was  never  seen  in  you. 

Hot.  Marry,  and  I'm  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart: 
I  had  rather  be  a  kitten,  and  cry— mew, 
Tlian  one  of  these  same  metre  ballad-mongers: 
I  had  rather  hear  a  brazen  canstick'  turn'u, 
Or  a  dry  wheel  grate  on  an  axle-tree; 
And  lliat  would  set  my  teeth  nothing  on  edge, 
Nothing  so  much  as  nimcing  poetry; 
'Tis  like  the  forced  gait  of  a  shuffling  nag. 

Gltnd.  Come,  you  shall  have  Trent  turn'd. 

Hot.  I  do  not  care :  I'll  give  thrice  so  much  land 
To  any  well-deserving  friend; 
But,  in  the  way  of  bargain,  mark  ye  me, 
I'll  cavil  on  the  nintli  part  of  a  hau-. 
Are  tlie  indentures  drawn  1  shall  we  he  gone? 

Glenil.  The  moon  sliines  fair,  you  may  away  by 
niglil: 
I'll  haste  the  wTiter,  and.  withal, 
Break=  with  your  wives  of  your  departure  hence: 
I  am  afraid,  my  daughter  will  run  mad, 
So  much  she  dotetli  on  her  Mortimer.  [Ex^il. 

Mart.  Fye,  cousin  Percy!  how  you  cross  my 
father! 

Hot.  I  cannot  choose :  sometimes  he  angers  mc. 
With  telling  me  of  llie  moldwarp'  and  tlie  ant, 
Of  tlie  dreamer  Merlin  and  his  prophecies; 
And  of  a  dragon  and  a  tinlcss  fish, 
A  clip-wing"d  griffin,  and  a  moulten  raven, 
A  cuucliing  lion,  and  a  ramping  cat, 
And  sucli  a  deal  of  skimble-skamble  stuff 
As  puis  me  from  my  laitli.    I  tell  jou  what, — 
He  held  inc.  but  last  night,  at  least  nine  hours, 
In  reckoning  up  tlie  several  devils'  names, 
Tlicre  were  his  lacqueys:  I  cried,  humph,— and 

well.— go  to, — 
But  mark'd  him  not  a  word.    0,  lie's  as  tedious 
As  is  a  tired  iiorse,  a  railing  wite; 
Worse  than  a  smoky  house: — I  had  rather  live 
With  cheese  and  garlick,  in  a  windmill,  tar, 
Than  feed  on  cates,  ai)d  have  him  talk  to  mc, 
In  any  summer-house  in  Christendom. 

Moi-t.  In  faith,  he  is  a  worthy  gentleman; 
Exceedingly  well  read,  and  profited 
In  strange  concealments;  valiant  as  a  lion, 
And  wonJious  atlable:  and  as  bountiful 
As  mines  of  India.    Shall  I  tell  you,  cousin? 
llo  liLilils  your  temper  in  a  high  respect. 
Anil  curbs  himself  even  of  his  natural  scope. 
When  you  do  cross  his  humor;  faith,  he  dues: 
I  \\  lurant  you,  that  man  is  not  alive, 
IMIi^ht  so  have  tempted  him  as  you  have  done, 
Without  the  taste  of  danger  and  reproof; 
But  do  not  use  it  oft,  let  me  entreat  you. 

IVoi:  In  faith,  my  lord,  you  are  too  wilful-blame; 
And  since  your  coming  hither  have  done  enough 


•Corner.  'Cutting. 

*Ureak  the  matter. 


s  Candlestick. 

•Mole. 


To  put  him  quite  beside  his  patience; 

You  must  needs  learn,  lord,  to  amend  this  fault: 

Though    sometimes  it  show  greatness,  courage 

blood, 
(And  that's  the  dearest  grace  it  renders  you,) 
Y'et  oftentimes  it  doth  present  harsh  rage, 
Defect  of  manners,  want  of  government. 
Pride,  haughtiness,  opinion,  and  disdain: 
The  least  of  which,  hamiting  a  nobleman, 
Loseth  men's  hearts;  and  leaves  behind  a  stain 
Upon  the  beauty  of  all  parts  besides, 
Beguiling  them  of  commendation. 
jlut.  Well,  I  am  school'd;  good  maimers  be  youi 
speed ! 
Here  comes  our  wives,  and  let  us  take  our  leave. 

Re-enter  Glesdoweh,  luil/t  the  Ladies. 

Mm-t.  This  is  the  deadly  spite  that  angers  me,— 
My  wile  can  speak  no  English,  I  no  Welsh. 
Gtend.  My  daughter  weeps;  she  will  not  part 
with  you, 
Slie'U  be  a  soldier  too,  she'll  to  the  wars. 
Murt.  Good  father,  tell  her,— that  she,  and  my 
aunt  Percy, 
Shall  follow  in  your  conduct  speedily. 

[Glesdowek  spealxs  to  Uis  iluugnter  in  Welsh, 
and  she  an.nvers  him  in  the  same. 
Glend.  She's  desperate  here;  a  peevish  self-wiil'd 
harlotry. 
One  no  persuasion  can  do  good  upon. 

[Lady  M.  tpcalis  to  Mortimer  in  Welsh. 

Mart.  I  understand  thy  looks;  that  jiretty  Welsh 

Which  thou  pourest  down  from  those  swelling 

heavens, 
I  am  too  perlect  in;  and,  but  for  shame, 
In  such  a  parley  would  I  answer  thee. 

(Lady  Mortisier  speaks, 
I  understand  thy  kisses,  and  thou  mine, 
And  that's  a  feeling  disputation : 
But  I  will  never  be  a  truant,  love. 
Till  I  have  learned  thy  language;  for  thy  tongue 
Makes  Welsh  as  sweet  as  ditties  highly  penn'd, 
Sung  by  a  lair  queen  in  a  summer's  bower. 
With  ravishing  division,  to  her  lute.' 
Glend.  Nay,  if  you  melt,  then  will  she  run  mad. 
[Lady  Mortimer  spealcs  again. 
Mvrt.  0. 1  am  ignorance  itself  in  this. 
Glend.  She  bids  you 
Upon  the  wanton  rushes  lay  you  down. 
And  rest  your  gentle  bead  upon  her  lap, 
And  she  will  sing  the  song  that  pleaseth  you, 
And  on  your  eye-lids  crown  the  god  of  sleep, 
Charniiiig  your  blood  Willi  pleasing  heaviness; 
Jlakiiig  sui-li  difl'erence  'Iwixt  wake  and  sleep. 
As  is  the  dilicrenco  betwixt  day  and  night, 
'rhe  hour  belore  the  heavenly  narness'd  team 
Begins  ills  golden  progress  in  the  east. 
Murt.  With  all  my  heart  Til  sit,  and  hear  her 
sing: 
By  that  time  will  our  book,  I  think,  be  drawn. 

Glend.  Do  so ; 
And  those  musicians  that  shall  play  to  you. 
Hang  in  the  air  a  thousand  leagues  from  hence; 
Y'et  straight  they  shall  be  here:  sit,  and  attend. 

Hot.  Come,  Kate,  thou  art  perfect  in  lying  down: 
Come,  quick,  quick;  that  I  may  lay  my  head  in  thy 
lap. 
Lady.  P.  Go,  j-e  giddy  goose. 

Glendowes  speaks  some  Welsh  le-ords,  and  then 
the  Music  plays. 

Hot.  Now  I  perceive  t  he  devil  understands  Welsh; 
And  'tis  no  marvel,  he's  so  humorous. 
By'r  lady,  he's  a  good  musician. 

Larii/.  P.  Then  should  you  be  nothing  but  mu- 
sical ;  for  you  are  altogether  governed  by  humors. 
Lie  still,  ye  thief,  and  hear  the  lady  sing  m  Welsh. 

Hot.  1  had  rather  hear  Lady,  my  bracii,"  liowl  in 
Irish. 

Lady.  P.  Wouldst  thou  have  thy  head  broken! 

//,-/.  No. 

Ladi/.  P.  Then  be  still. 

HutI  Neither;  'tis  a  woman's  fault. 

Lady.  P.  Now  God  help  thee! 

Hot.  To  the  Welsh  lady's  bed. 

Lfidy.  P.  What's  that! 

Hot.  Peace !  she  sings. 


'A  compliment  to  queen  Elizabeth. 


CHounil 


332 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  m. 


A  Welsh  SOXG,  su7ig  by  Lady  Mortuier. 

Hof.  Come  Kate,  I'll  have  your  so!ig  too. 

Lady.  P.  Not  mine,  in  good  sooth. 

Hot.  Not  yours,  in  good  sooth!  'Heart,  you  swear 
like  a  comfit-maker's  wife!  Not  you,  iji  good  sooth; 
and,  As  true  as  I  live;  and,  As  God  shall  mend  me; 
and.  As  sure  as  day : 

And  giv'st  such  sarcenet  surety  for  thy  oaths, 
As  if  thou  never  walk'dst  further  than  Finsbury.' 
Swear  me,  Kate,  like  a  lady,  as  thou  art, 
A  good  mouth-filling  oath ;  and  leave  in  sooth, 
And  such  protest  of  pepper-gingerbread, 
To  velvet  guards,8  and  Sunday  citizens. 
Come,  sing. 

Laiy.  P.  I  will  not  sing. 

Hot.  'Tis  the  next  way  to  turn  tailor,  or  be  red- 
breast teacher.  An  the  indentures  be  drawn,  I'll 
away  within  these  two  hours ;  and  so  come  in  when 
ye  will.  ^  [Exit. 

Glend.  Come,  come,  lord  Mortimer;  you  are  as 
slow, 
As  hot  lord  Percy  is  on  fire  to  go: 
By  this  our  book's  drawn;  we'll  but  seal,  and  then 
To  horse  immediately. 

Mori.  With  all  my  heart.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.— London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  KixH  Hekrt,  Peijtcb  of  Wales,  and  Lords. 

K.  Hen.  Lords,  give  us  leave;  the  prince  of  Wales, 
and  1, 
Must  have  some  conference:  But  be  near  at  hand, 
For  we  shall  presently  have  need  of  you. — 

[Exeitnt  Lords. 
I  know  not  whether  God  will  have  it  so. 
For  some  displeasing  service  I  have  done, 
That  in  his  secret  doom  out  of  my  blood 
He'll  breed  revengement  and  a  scourge  for  me; 
But  thou  dost,  in  thy  pass.ages  of  life, 
Make  me  believe,— that  thou  art  only  mark'd 
For  the  hot  vengeance  and  the  rod  of  heaven, 
To  punish  my  mis-treadings.    Tell  me  else, 
Could  such  inordinate,  and  low  desires, 
Such  poor,  such  bare,  such  lewd,  such  mean  at- 
tempts. 
Such  barren  pleasures,  rude  society, 
As  thou  art  match'd  withal,  and  grafted  to, 
Accompany  the  greatness  of  thy  blood. 
And  hold  their  level  with  thy  princely  heart  1 

P.  Hen  So  please  your  majesty,  I  would,  I  could 
Quit  all  ofl'ences  with  such  clear  excuse. 
As  well  Rs,  I  am  doubtless,  I  can  purge 
Myself  of  many  I  am  charged  withal: 
Yet  such  extenuation  let  me  beg. 
As,  in  reproof  of  many  tales  devis'd. — 
Which  oft  the  ear  of  greatness  needs  must  hear, 
By  smiling  pick-thanks»  and  base  newsmongers, 
I  may,  for  some  things  true,  wherein  my  youth 
Hath  laulty  wander'd  and  irregular, 
Find  pardon  on  my  true  submission. 

K.  Hen.  God  pardon  thee! — yet  let  me  wonder, 
Harry, 
At  thy  affections,  which  do  hold  a  wing 
Quite  from  the  flight  of  all  thy  ancestors. 
Thy  place  in  council  thou  hast  rudely  lost, 
W/iich  by  the  younger  brother  is  sup'plied; 
And  art  almost  an  alien  to  the  hearts 
Of  all  the  court  and  princes  of  my  blood : 
The  hope  and  expectation  of  thy  time 
Is  ruinM;  and  the  soul  of  every  man 
I'rophelically  does  fore-think  thy  fall. 
Had  1  so  lavish  of  my  presence  been, 
So  common  hackneyM  in  the  eves  of  men, 
So  stale  and  cheap  in  vulgar  company; 
Opinion,  that  did  help  me  to  the  crown, 
Had  still  kept  loyal  to  possession  ; 
And  left  me  in  reputeless  banishment, 
A  li'llow  of  no  mark,  nor  likelihood. 
By  being  seldom  seen,  I  could  not  stir, 
But,  like  a  comet,  I  was  wondered  at; 
That  man  would  tell  their  children.  This  is  he: 
Others  would  sd.y. —  Where'J  U'hichvi Bolingbrike? 
And  llien  I  stole  all  courtesy  from  heaven, 
Anil  dress'd  myself  in  such  humility. 
That  I  did  pluck  allegiance  from  men's  hearts. 
Loud  shouts  and  salutations  from  their  mouths, 
Even  in  the  presence  of  the  crowned  king. 

'  In  MoorfielJs.    ^  Laced  velvet,  the  finery  of  cockneys. 
0  Officious  parasites. 


Thus  did  I  keep  my  person  fresh  and  new; 

My  presence,  like  a  robe  pontifical. 

Ne'er  seen,  but  wonder'd  at :  and  so  my  state, 

Seldom,  but  sumptuous,  showed  like  a  feast; 

And  won,  by  rareness,  such  solemnity. 

The  skipping  king,  he  ambled  up  and  down 

With  shallow  jesters,  and  rash  bavin'  wits. 

Soon  kindled,  and  soon  burn'd:  carded  his  state; 

Mingled  his  royalty  with  caperin»  tools; 

Had  his  great  name  profaned  with  their  scorns; 

And  gave  his  countenance,  against  his  name, 

To  laugh  at  gibing  boys,  and  stand  the  push 

Of  every  beardless  and  vain  comparative: 

Grew  a  companion  to  the  common  streets; 

F-nfeolPd  himself  to  popularity: 

That  being  daily  svvallow'd  tiy  men's  eyes. 

They  surfeited  with  honey;  and  began 

To  loathe  the  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  a  little 

More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much. 

So,  when  he  had  occasion  to  be  seen. 

He  was  out  as  the  cuckoo  is  in  June, 

Heard,  not  regarded ;  seen,  but  with  such  eyes, 

As,  sick  and  blunted  with  community, 

Afford  no  extraordinary  gaze. 

Such  as  is  bent  on  sun  like  majesty 

When  it  shines  seldom  in  admiring  eyes: 

But  rather  drowz'd.  and  hung  their  eyelids  down. 

Slept  in  his  face,  and  rendered  such  aspect 

As  cloudy  men  use  to  their  adversaries; 

Being  with  his  presence  glutted,  gorged,  and  full. 

And  in  that  very  line,  Harry,  stand'st  thou: 

For  thou  hast  lost  thy  princely  privilege. 

With  vile  participation;  not  an  eye 

But  is  a-weary  ot^  the  common  sight. 

Save  mine,  which  hath  desir'd  to  see  thee  more; 

Which  now  doth  that  1  would  not  have  it  do. 

Make  blind  itself  with  foolish  tenderness. 

P.  Hen.  I  shall  hereafl-er,  my  thrice-gracious  lord 
Be  more  myself. 

K.  Hen.  For  all  the  world, 

As  thou  art  to  this  hour,  was  Richard  then 
When  I  from  France  set  foot  at  Ravenspurg; 
And  even  as  I  was  then,  is  Percy  now. 
Now  by  my  sceptre,  and  my  soul  to  boot. 
He  liatn  more  worthy  interest  to  the  state. 
Than  thou,  the  shadow  of  succession: 
For,  of  no  right,  nor  color  like  to  right. 
He  doth  fill  fields  with  harness^  in  the  realm; 
Turns  head  against  the  lion's  armed  jaws; 
And,  being  no  more  in  debt  to  years  than  thou. 
Leads  ancient  lords  and  reverend  bishops  on. 
To  bloody  battles,  and  to  bruising  arms. 
What  never-dying  honor  hath  he  got 
Against  renowned  Douglas;  whose  high  deeds, 
Whose  hot  incursions,  and  great  name  in  arms, 
Holds,  from  all  soldiers  chief  majority, 
And  military  title  capital, 

Through  all  the  kingdoms  that  acknowledge  Christ? 
Thrice  hath  this  Hotspur  Mars  in  swathing  clothes, 
This  infant  warrior,  in  his  enterprizes 
Discomfited  great  Douglas:  ta'en  him  once. 
Enlarged  him,  and  made  a  friend  of  him, 
To  fill  the  mouth  of  deep  defiance  up. 
And  shake  the  peace  and  safety  of  our  throne. 
And  what  say  you  to  this  ?  Percy.  Northumberland, 
The  archbishop's  grace  of  York,  Douglas,  Mortimer, 
Capitulate  3  against  us.  and  are  up. 
But  wherefore  do  1  tell  these  news  to  thee? 
Why.  Harry,  do  I  tell  thee  of  my  foes. 
Which  art  my  near'st  and  dearest'  enemy  ? 
Thou  that  art  like  enough, — through  vassal  fear, 
Base  inclination,  and  the  start  of  spleen, — 
To  fight  against  me  under  Percy's  pay. 
To  dog  his  heels,  and  court'sy  at  his  frowns. 
To  show  how  much  thou  art  degenerate. 

P.  Hen.  Do  not  think  so;  you  shall  not  find  it  so; 
And  God  forgive  them,  that  have  so  much  sway'd 
Your  majesty's  good  thoughts  away  from  me! 
I  will  redeem  all  this  on  Percy's  head. 
And  in  the  closing  of  some  glorious  day. 
Be  bold  to  tell  you  that  I  am  your  son ; 
When  I  will  wear  a  garment  all  of  blood, 
And  stain  my  favors  in  a  bloody  mask. 
Which  wash'd  away,  shall  scour  my  shame  with  it. 
And  that  shall  be  tlie  day,  whene'er  it  lights. 
That  this  same  child  of  honor  and  renown. 
This  gallant  Hotspur,  this  all-praised  toiight. 
And  your  unthought-of  Harry  chance  to  meet: 

'Brushwood.     ^  Armor.     ^Combine.     *Most  fatal. 


Scene  III. 


KING  HENEY  IV. 


333 


For  every  lionor  sittin»  on  his  helm, 

'Would  they  were  muuitades;  and  on  my  head 

Jly  shame  redoubled !  lor  the  time  will  come, 

Tliat  I  shall  make  this  northern  youth  exchange 

His  glorious  deeds  for  my  indignities. 

Percy  is  but  my  factor,  good  my  lord, 

To  engross  up  glorious  deeds  on  my  behalf; 

And  1  will  call  him  to  so  strict  account. 

That  he  shall  render  every  glory  up. 

Yea,  even  tlie  slightest  worsnip  of  his  time. 

Or  I  will  tear  the  reckoning  from  his  heart. 

This,  in  the  name  of  God,  I  promise  here: 

The  which  if  he  be  pleasM  1  shall  perform, 

1  do  beseech,  your  majesty  may  salve 

The  long-grown  wourids  of  my  intemperance; 

If  not,  the  end  of  life  cancels  all  bands ; 

And  I  will  die  a  hundred  thousand  deaths, 

Ere  break  the  smallest  parcel  of  this  vow. 

A".  Hen.  A  hundred  thousand  rebels  die  in  this: 
Thou  slialt  have  charge,  and  sovereign  trust,  herein. 

Enter  Blunt. 
How  now.  good  Blunt]  thy  looks  are  full  of  speed. 
Blunt.   So  hath  the  business  that  I  come  to 
speak  of. 
Lord  Mortimer  of  Scotland  hath  sent  word, — 
That  Douglas  and  the  English  rebels,  met 
The  eleventh  of  this  month  at  Shrewsbury; 
A  mighty  and  a  fearful  head  they  are, 
If  promises  be  kept  on  every  hand. 
As  ever  oHer"d  foul  play  in  a  state. 
K.  Ikn.  The  earl  of  Westmoreland  set  forth  to- 
day: 
With  him  iny  son,  lord  John  of  Lancaster; 
For  this  advertisement  is  five  days  old: — ■ 
On  Wednesday  next,  Harry,  you  shall  set 
Forward  ;  On  Thursday,  we  ourselves  will  march : 
Our  meeting  is  Bridgnorth:  and,  Harry,  you. 
Shall  march  througli  Glostcrshire ;  by  which  ac- 

coimt, 
Our  business  valued,  some  twelve  days  hence 
Our  general  forces  at  Bridgnorth  sh.all  meet. 
Our  hands  are  full  of  busifiess:  let's  away; 
Advantage  lijeds  him  fat,  while  men  delay. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE  IIL— Eastcheap.    A  Room  in  l/ie  Boar's 

Head  Tavern. 

Enter  Falstaff  and  BAflDOLPti. 

Fat.  Bardolph,  am  I  not  fallen  away  vUely  since 
this  last  action]  do  I  not  bate]  do  1  not  dwindle  ] 
Why,  my  skin  hangs  about  me  like  an  old  lady's 
loose  grown;  I  am  wither'd  hke  an  old  apple-John. 
Well,  I'll  repent,  and  that  suddenly,  while  I  am  in 
some  liki  ng ; '  I  shall  be  out  of  heart,  shortly,  and  then 
I  sliall  have  no  strength  to  repent.  An  I  have  not 
forgotten  what  the  inside  of  a  church  is  made  of,  I 
am  a  pepper-corn,  a  brewer's  horse:  the  inside  of  a 
church !  Company,  villainous  company,  hath  been 
the  spoil  of  me. 

Bard.  Sir  John,  you  are  so  fretful,  you  cannot  live 
long. 

Fal.  Why,  there  is  it: — come,  sing  me  a  bawdy 
song;  make  me  merry.  I  was  as  virtuously  given, 
as  a  gentleman  need  to  be ;  virtuous  enough ;  swore 
little;  diced,  not  above  seven  times  a  week;  went 
to  a  bawdy-house,  not  above  once  in  a  quarter — of 
an  hour;  paid  money  that  I  borrowed,  three  or  four 
times;  lived  well,  and  in  good  compass;  and  now 
I  live  out  of  all  order,  out  of  all  compass. 

Bard.  Why,  you  are  so  fat,  sir  John,  that  you 
must  needs  be  out  of  all  compass;  out  of  all  rea- 
sonable compass,  sir  John. 

Fal.  Do  thou  amend  thy  face,  and  I'll  amend  my 
life;  Thou  art  our  admiral,®  thou  bearest  the  lan- 
tern in  the  poop,— but 'tis  inthe  nose  of  thee;  thou 
art  the  knight  of  the  burning  lamp. 

Bard.  Why,  sir  John,  my  face  does  you  no  harm. 

Fal.  No,  I'll  be  sworn;  I  make  as  good  use  of  it 
as  many  a  man  doth  of  a  death^'s  head,  or  a  ine- 
mentn  rnnri:  1  never  see  thy  face,  but  I  think  upon 
hell-fire,  and  Dives  that  lived  in  purple;  for  there 
he  is  in  his  robes  burning,  burning.  If  thou  wertany 
way  given  to  virtue,  I  would  swear  by  thy  face; 
my  oath  should  be.  By  this  lire :  but  thou  art  alto- 
gether given  over;  and  wert  indeed,  but  for  the 
light  in  thy  face,  the  son  of  utter  darkness. — VVhen 
thou  ran'st  up  Gadshill  in  the  night  to  catch  my 


•nave  some  flesh. 


^Admiral's  ship. 


horse,  if  I  did  not  think  thou  hadst  been  an  ignis 
fatuus,  or  a  ball  of  wildtire,  there's  no  purchase  in 
money.  0,  thou  art  a  perpetual  triumph,  an  ever- 
lasting bonlire-light!  Thou  hast  saved  me  a  thou- 
sand marks  in  links  and  torches,  walking  with  thee 
in  the  night  betwixt  tavern  and  tavern:  but  the 
sack  that  thou  hast  drunk  me,  would  have  bought 
me  lights  as  good  cheap,  at  the  dearest  chandler's 
in  Etirope.  I  have  maintained  that  salamander  of 
yours  with  fire,  any  time  these  tw'o-and-thirty  years; 
Heaven  reward  me  for  it ! 

Bard.  'Sblood,  1  would  my  face  were  in  your 
belly ! 

Fal.  God-a-mercy !  so  should  I  be  sure  to  be 
heart-burned. 

»  Enter  Hostess. 

How  now,  dame  Partlet  the  hen]'  have  you  in- 
quired yet  who  picked  my  pocket] 

//o«/."Why.  sir  John!  what  do  you  think,  sir 
,Tohn]  do  you  think  I  keep  thieves  in  my  house]  I 
have  searched,  I  have  enquired,  so  has  my  hus- 
band, man  by  man,  boy  by  boy,  servant  by  servant; 
the  tithe  of  a  hair  was  never  lost  in  my  house 
before. 

Fal.  You  lie.  hostess;  Bardolph  was  shaved  and 
lost  many  a  hair:  and  I'll  be  sworn,  my  pocket  was 
picked;  (io  to,  you  are  a  woman,  go. 

Hijit.  Who,  1]  I  defy  thee;  I  was  never  called 
so  in  mine  own  house  before. 

Fal.  Go  to,  I  know  jou  well  enough. 

Huf>t.  No,  sir  John;  you  do  not  know  me,  sir 
John;  I  know  you,  sir  John;  you  owe  me  money, 
sir  John,  and  now  you  pick  a  quarrel  to  beguile  me 
of  it ;  1  bought  you  a  dozen  of  shirts  to  your  back. 

Fal.  Dowlas,  hllhy  dowla-s:  I  have  given  them 
away  to  bakcra'  wives,  and  they  have  made  bolters 
of  them. 

Hoat.  Now,  as  I  am  a  true  woman,  holland  of 
eight  shillings  an  cU.  You  owe  money  here  besides, 
sir  John,  lor  your  diet,  and  by-drinkings,  and 
money  lent  you,  four-and-twenty  pound. 

Fal.  He  had  his  part  of  it;  let  him  pay. 

HiM.  He]  also,  he  is  poor;  he  hath  nothing. 

Fal.  How!  poor]  look  upon  his  face;  What  call 
you  rich]  let  them  coin  his  nose,  let  them  coin  his 
checks;  I'll  not  pay  a  denier.  What,  will  you 
make  a  younker  ot  me]  shall  I  not  take  mine  ea.se 
in  mine  inn,  but  I  shall  have  my  pocket  picked]  I 
have  lost  a  seal-ring  of  my  grandfather's  worth 
forty  mark. 

Host.  O  Jcsu!  I  have  heard  the  prince  tell  him, 
I  know  not  how  olt,  that  that  ring  was  copper. 

Fal.  How!  the  prince  is  a  Jack,"  a  sneak-cup; 
and.  if  he  were  here,  I  would  cudgel  him  like  a  dog 
if  he  would  say  so. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  PoiNS,  marctiin^.  Vk\>- 
STAFF  meets  Ike  Piasi:E,pkii/ins  on  4«  truncheon 
tike  a  fife. 

Fal.  How  now,  lad]  is  the  wind  in  that  door, 
i'faith]  must  we  all  march] 

Bard.  Yea,  two  and  two,  Newgate-fashion. 

Host.  My  lord,  I  pray  you,  hear  me. 

P.  i/f«.'What  sayest'thou,  mistress  Quickly] 
How  does  thy  husband]  I  love  him  well,  he  is  an 
honest  man. 

Host.  Good  my  lord,  hear  me. 

Fal.  Pr'vthee,  let  her  alone,  and  list  to  me. 

P.  Hen.  What  say'st  thou.  Jack? 

Fai.  The  other  night  I  fell  asleep  here  behind  the 
arras,  and  had  my  pocket  picked;  th«  house,  ia 
turned  bawdy-house,  they  pick  pockets 

P.  Hen.  What  didst  thou  lose.  Jack] 

Fal.  Wilt  thou  belivve  me,  Hal]  threi  or  four 
bonds  of  forty  pound  a-piece,  and  a  seal-ring  of  my 
grandfather's,  • 

P.  Hen.  A  trifle,  someeight-penny  matter. 

Host.  So  I  told  him,  my  lord;  andl  said,  I  heard 
your  grace  say  so;  And  my  lord,  he  speaks  moat 
vilely  of  you,  like  a  foul-mouthed  man  as  he  is; 
and  said,  he  would  cudgel  you. 

P.  Hen.  What!  ho  did  not] 

Host.  There's  neither  faith,  truth,  nor  woman- 
hood in  me  else. 

Fat.  There's  no  more  faith  in  thee  than  in  astewed 
prune;  nor  no  more  truth  in  thee,  than  in  a  drawn 

'  In  the  story-book  of  Ri^ynard  the  Fox. 

^  A  term  of  contempt  freuueutly  used  by  Shakspeare. 


334 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  IV. 


fox;  and  for  womanhood,  maid  Marian"  may  be 
the  deputy's  wife  of  the  ward  to  thee.  Go,  you 
thing,  go. 

Host.  Say,  what  thing?  what  thing? 

Fal.  What  thing!  why,  a  thing  tothankGod  on. 

}lost.  I  am  no  thing  to  tliani;  God  on,  I  would 
thou  should'stknow  it;  I  am  an  honest  man's  wife, 
an({,  setting  tiiy  knightiiood  aside,  thou  art  aliiiave 
to  call  me  so. 

I'ul.  Setting  thy  Vi'omanhood  aside,  thou  art  a 
beast  to  eay  otherwise. 

Hust.  Say,  what  Ijeast,  thou  knave,  thou? 

Fal.  What  beast?  why,  an  otter. 

P.  Hen.  An  otter,  sir  John!  why  an  otter? 

Ful.  Why,  she's  neither  fish,  nor  liesh;'a  man 
icnows  not  where  to  have  her.  \  , 

Hust.  Thou  art  an  unjust  man  in  .saying  so;  tkou 
or  any  man  knows  where  to  have  me,  tliou  knave 
thou.' 

P.  Hen.  Thou  sayost  true,  hostess ;  and  he  slan- 
ders tliee  most  grossly. 

Hud.  .So  he  cloth  you,  my  lord;  and  said  this 
other  day,  you  ought  him  a  thousand  pound. 

P.  Hen.  Sirrali,  do  I  owe  3'ou  a  thousand  pound? 

Fat.  A  thousand  pound,  Hal!  a  million:  thy 
love  is  worth  a  million;  thou  owest  me  thy  love. 

Host.  Nay,  my  lord,  he  called  you  Jack,  and  said, 
he  would  cudgel  you. 

Fal.  DidI,  iSardolph? 

Sard.  Indeed,  sir  John,  you  said  so. 

Fat.  Yea;  if  he  said,  my  ring  was  copper. 

P.  Hen.  I  say,  'tis  copper:  Barest  thou  be  as 
good  as  thy  word  now? 

Fal.  Why,  Hal,  Ihou  knowest,  as  thou  art  but 
man,  I  djre:  but,  as  thou  art  prince,  I  fear  thee, 
as  I  I'ear  the  roaring  of  the  lion's  whelp. 

P.  Hen.  And  why  not,  as  the  lion? 

Fal.  The  king  himself  is  to  be  feared  as  the  lion: 
Dost  thou  think,  I'll  fear  as  I  fear  thy  father?  nay, 
an  1  do,  1  pnu'  i-oi\.  my  girdle  break? 

P.  Hen.  0,  if  it  should,  how  would  thy  guts  fall 
about  tliy  knees!  But,  sirrah,  there's  no  room  for 
faith,  truth,  nor  honesty,  in  this  bosom  of  thine:  it 
is  tilled  up  with  guts,  and  inidritr.  Charge  an  hon- 
est woman  with  i^icking  thy  pocket!  Why,  thou 
whoreson,  impudent,  embossed^  rascal,  if  there 
were  any  thing  in  tliy  pocket  but  tavern-reckon- 
ings, memorandums  ot  bawdy-houses,  and  one  poor 
penny-worth  of  sugar  candy  to  make  thee  long 
winded:  if  thy  pocket  were  enriched  with  any 
other  injuries  but  tiiese,  1  am  a  villain.    And  yet 


you  will  stand  to  it;  you  will  not  pocket  up  wrong: 
Art  thou  not  ashatned? 

Fal.  Dust  thou  hear,  Hal?  thou  k-nowest,  in  the 
state  of  innocency,  Adam  fell;  and  what  should 
poor  Jack  FalstalTdo,  in  the  days  of  villainy  ?  Thou 
secst,  I  have  more  flesh  than  anolher  man;  and 

therefore  more  frailty. You  confess  then,  you 

picked  my  pocket? 

P.  Hen.  It  appears  so  by  the  story. 

Fat.  Hostess,  I  forgive  thee:  Go,  make  ready 
breakfast;  love  thy  husband,  look  to  thy  servants, 
cherish  thy  guests:  thou  shalt  lind  me  tractable  to 
any  honest  reason;  thou  seest,  I  am  pacified. — 
Still? — Nay,  pr'y thee,  begone.  [-ExS  Hostess.]  Now, 
Hal,  to  the  news  at  court:  for  the  robbery,  lad. — 
How  is  that  answered? 

P.  Hen.  O,  my  sweet  beef,  I  must  still  be  good 
angel  to  tliee: — The  money  is  paid  back  again. 

Fal.  O,  I  do  not  like  that  paying  back,  'Us  a  dou- 
ble labor. 

P.  Hen.  I  am  good  friends  with  my  fatlier,  and 
may  do  any  thing. 

Pal.  Rob  me  the  exchequer  the  first  thing  thou 
doest.  and  do  it  with  unwashed  hands  too 

Bant.  Do,  my  lord. 

P.  Hen.  I  have  procured  thee,  Jack,  a  charge  of  foot. 

Fal.  I  would,  it  had  been  of  horse.  Wliere  shall 
I  find  one  that  can  steal  well?  0  for  a  fme  thief, 
of  the  age  of  two-and-twenty,  or  thereabouts!  I 
am  heinously  unprovided.  Well,  God  be  thanked 
for  these  rebels,  they  offend  none  but  the  virtuous; 
I  laud  them,  I  praise  them. 

P.  Hen.  Bardolph ■ 

Bard.  My  lord. 

P.  Hen.  Go  bear  this  letter  to  lord  John  of  Lan- 
caster, 
My  brother  John;  this  to  my  lord  of  Westmore- 
land,— 
Go,  Poins.  to  horse,  to  horse;  for  thou,  and  I, 

Have  thirty  miles  to  ride  yet  ere  dinner  time. 

Jack, 

Meet  me  to-morrow  i'the  Temple-hall 

At  two  o'clock  i'the  afternoon : 

There  shalt  thou  know  thy  charge;  and  there  receive 

Money,  and  order  lor  their  furniture. 

The  land  is  burning;  Percy  stands  on  high; 

And  either  they,  or  we,  must  lower  lie. 

[Exeunt  Prince,  Poiss,  and  Bakdolph. 

Fal.  Rare  words!    brave  world! Hostess,  my 

breakfast;  come: — 
0, 1  could  wish,  this  tavern  were  my  drum.    [Exit 


ACT  IV. 


SCEM;  I.— The  Rebel  Camp  near  Shrewsbury. 
Enter  Hotspcr,  Worcester,  and  Dooglas. 

Hat.  Well  said,  my  noble  Scot:  If  speaking  truth. 
In  this  fine  age,  were  not  thought  flattery. 
Such  attribution  should  the  Douglas"  have, 
As  not  a  soldier  of  this  season's  stamp 
Should  go  so  general  current  throngli  the  world. 
By  heaven,  I  cannot  Hatter;  I  defy 
Tlie  tongues  of  soothers;  but  a  braver  place 
In  my  lu';irt's  love,  hath  no  man  than  yourself: 
Nav,  task  me  to  the  word;  approve  me,  lord. 

t):ni!^.  Thou  art  the  king  of  honor: 
No  man  so  potent  breathes  upon  the  ground, 
But  1  will  beard  him. 

Hut.  Do  so,  and  'tis  well : — 

Enter  a  Messenger,  ivilh  Letters, 
* 
What  letters  hast  thou  there? — I  can  but  thank  j'ou. 
Mess.  These  letters  come  from  your  father,— 
Hut.  Letters  from  him!  why  comes  he  not  him- 
self! 
Me.is.  He  cannot  come,  my  lord;  he's  grievous 

sick. 
Hut.  Zounds!  how  has  he  the  leisure  to  be  sick. 
In  such  a  justling  time?  Who  leads  his  power! 
Under  whose  government  come  they  along? 

«  A  female  character,  who  attends  morris-dancers;  gen- 
erally a  man  dresaed  lilie  a  woman.  ^  Swoln,  puffy. 

^This  expression  is  applied  by  way  of  pre  eminence 
{q  the  bead  of  the  Douglas  family. 


Mess.  His  letters  bear  his  mind,  not  I,  my  lord. 

War.  I  pr'vthee,  tell  me,  doth  he  keep  his  bed? 

Mess.  He  did,  my  lord,  four  days  ere  I  set  forth; 
And  at  the  time  of  my  departure  thence. 
He  was  much  fear'd  by  his  physicians. 

Wur.  I  would,  the  state  of  time  had  first  been 
whole. 
Ere  he  by  sickness  had  been  visited; 
His  health  was  never  better  worth  than  now. 

Hot.  Sick  now!  drooj)  now!  this  sickness  doth 
infect 
The  very  life-blood  of  our  enterprize; 
'Tis  catching  hither,  even  to  our  camp.— 
He  Writes  me  here, — that  inward  sickness — 
And  that  his  friends  by  deputation  could  not 
So  soon  be  drawn ;  nor  did  he  think  it  meet, 
To  lay  so  dangerous  and  dear  a  trust 
On  any  soul  remov'd,  but  on  his  own. 
Yet  doth  he  give  us  bold  advertisement, — 
That  with  onr  small  conjunction,  we  should  on. 
To  see  how  fortune  is  dispos'd  to  us: 
For,  as  he  writes,  there  is  no  quailing^  now; 
Because  the  king  is  certainly  possess'd 
Of  all  our  purposes.     What  say  you  to  it? 

Wur.  Your  father's  sickness  is  a  maim  to  us. 

Hut.  A  perilous  g.ash,  a  very  limb  lopp'd  off:— 
And  yet.  in  faith,  'tis  not:  his  present  want 
Seems  more  than  we  shall  find  it: — Were  it  good, 
To  set  the  exact  wealth  of  all  our  stales 
All  at  one  cast  ?  to  set  so  rich  a  main 
^Languishing. 


SOENE  II. 


KING   HENRY  IV. 


335 


On  thr  nice  hazard  of  one  doubtful  hour? 
It  were  not  good:  for  tlicrcin  should  we  read 
The  very  I)ottom  and  the  soul  of  ho2ie; 
The  very  list,-"  the  very  utmost  bound 
Ot'all  our  fortunes. 

Dijug.  Faith,  and  so  we  should; 

Where  now  remains  a  sweet  reversion: 
\Vc  may  boldly  spend  upon  the  hope  of  what 
Is  to  coine  in: 
A  comfort  of  retirement  lives  in  this. 

Hot.  A  rendezvous,  a  home  to  fly  unto, 
If  that  the  devil  and  mischance  look  big 
Upttn  the  maidenhead  of  our  alfairs. 

IVor.  But  yet.  I  would  your  father  had  been  here. 
The  quality  and  hair^  of  our  attempt 
liriHiIvs  no  division:  It  will  be  thought 
Hy  some,  that  know  not  why  he  is  aw-ay. 
That  wi.idom,  loyalty,  and  mere  dislike 
Of  our  proceedings,  kept  the  earl  from  hence; 
And  tliiak,  how  such  an  apprchenbion 
May  turn  the  tide  of  fearful  taction, 
And  breed  a  kind  of  question  iii  our  cause: 
For  well  you  know,  wo  of  the  offering  side 
Must  keep  aloof  from  strict  arbitroment; 
And  stop  all  siglit-holcs,  every  loop,  from  whence 
The  eye  of  reason  may  pry  in  upon  us: 
This  absence  of  your  lather's  draws  a  curtain, 
That  shows  the  ignorant  a  kind  of  fear 
Before  not  dreamt  of. 

llii/.  You  strain  too  far. 

T,  rather,  of  his  absence  make  this  use; — 
It  lends  a  lustre,  and  more  great  opinion, 
A  Inriicr  dare  to  our  great  enterprize, 
TlKia  if  the  earl  were  here:  tcir  men  must  think, 
If  we,  v.'itiiout  his  help,  can  make  a  head 
To  push  against  the  kingdom;  with  his  help. 
We  shall  overturn  it,  topsy-turvy  down. — 
Yet  all  goes  well,  yet  all  our  joints  are  whole. 

Diiug.  As  heart  can  think:  there  is  not  such  a 
word 
Spoke  of  in  Scotland,  as  this  term  of  fear. 

Enter  Sir  Uiciiakd  Vekxon. 

Hot.  My  cousin  Vernon!  welcome,  by  my  soul. 

Ver.  Pray  God,  my  news  be  worth  a  welcome, 
lord. 
The  earl  of  Westmoreland,  seven  thousand  strong. 
Is  marching  hitherward;  with  him,  prince  John. 

Nnt.  No  harm:  what  more  ! 

i'ir.  And  further,  I  have  IcarnM — 

The  king  himself  in  person  is  set  forth, 
Or  hitherwards  intended  speedily, 
Willi  strong  and  mighty  preparation. 

Hot.  He  shall  be  welcome,  too.  Where  is  his  son. 
The  nimble-footed  madcap  prince  of  Wales, 
And  his  comrtids  that  dallM"  the  world  aside. 
And  bid  it  pass! 

Ver.  All  furnish'd,  all  in  arms. 

All  plum'd  like  estridges'  that  wing  the  wind; 
Haled'  like  eagles  liaving  lately  bath'd; 
(ilittering  in  golden  coals,  like  images; 
As  lulljjf  spirit  as  the  month  of  May, 
And  gorgeous  as  the  sun  at  midsummer; 
Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls. 
I  saw  young  Harry, — with  his  beaver  on. 
His  cnisses"  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  arin'd, — 
Hise  fioni  tlie ground  like  feather'd  Mercury, 
And  vaulted  with  such  ease  into  his  seat. 
As  if  an  angel  dropp'd  down  from  the  clouds, 
To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pagasus, 
And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 

Hot.  No  more,  no  more;  worse  than  the  sun  in 
March, 
This  praise  doth  nourish  agues.    Let  them  come; 
They  come  like  sacrifices  in  their  trim. 
And  to  the  fire-eyed  maid  of  smoky  war. 
All  hot.  and  bleeding,  will  we  offer  them  : 
The  mailed  Mars  shall  on  his  altar  sit, 
Up  to  the  ears  in  blood.    I  am  on  fire. 
To  hear  this  rich  reprisal  is  so  nigh. 
And  yet  not  ours:— Come,  let  me  take  my  horse. 
Who  is  to  ()ear  me  like  a  thunderbolt. 
Against  the  bosom  of  the  prince  of  Wales: 
Harry  lo  Harry  shall,  hot  horse  to  horse. 
Meet,  and  ne'er  part,  till  one  drop  down  a  corse.— 
O,  tliat  Glendovver  were  come! 

*  Limit,  boundary.        '  The  complexion,  the  character. 

"Threw  contemptuously.  'Ostriches. 

'Fresh  »Armor  for  the  thighs. 


Ver.  There  is  more  news 

I  learn'd  in  Worcester  as  I  rode  along, 
He  cannot  draw  his  power  this  fourteen  days. 

Doug.  That's  the  worst  tidings  that  I  hea'rof  yet. 

Wor.  Ay,  by  my  faith,  that  bears  a  frosty  sound. 

Hot.  What  may  the  king's  whole  battle  reach 
unto  ? 

Ver.  To  thirty  thousand . 

Hot.  Forty  let  it  be; 

My  lather  and  Glendower  being  both  away, 
The  powers  of  us  may  serve  so  great  a  day. 
Come,  let  us  make  a  muster  speedily: 
Doomsday  is  near;  die  all,  die  merrily. 

Drnig.  Talk  not  of  dying;  I  am  out  of  fear 
Of  death,  or  death's  haiid,  for  this  one  half  year. 

[JEj-eunl, 
SCENE  II.— .I  public  Road  near  Coventry. 
Enter  Falstaff  a?id  Bardolpii. 

Fat.  Bardolph,  get  thee  before  to  Coventry,  fill 
me  a  bottle  of  sack:  our  soldiers  shall  march 
through;  we'll  to  Sutton-Colfield  to-night. 

Bard.  Will  you  give  me  money,  captaini 

Fat.  Lay  out,  lay  out. 

Bard.  This  bottle  makes  an  angel. 

Fal.  An  if  it  do,  take  it  for  tlfy  labor;  and  if  it 
make  twenty,  take  them  all,  I'll  answer  the  coinage. 
Bid  my  lieutenafit  Peto  meet  me  at  the  town's  end. 

Bard.  1  will,  captain:  farewell.  [Ejcit. 

Fat.  If  I  be  not  ashamed  of  my  soldiers,  I  am  a 
soused  gurnet.  I  have  misu.sed  the  king's  press 
damnably.  I  have  got  in  exchange  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  soldiers,  three  hundred  and  odd  pounds. 
I  press  me  none  but  good  householders,  yeomen's 
sons,  inquire  me  out  contracted  bachelors,  such  as 
had  been  asked  twice  on  the  bans ;  such  a  com- 
modity of  warm  slaves,  as  had  as  lief  hear  the  devil 
as  a  drum;  such  as  fear  tlic  report  of  a  caliver* 
worse  than  a  struck  fowl,  or  a  hurt  wild-duck.  I 
pressed  me  none  but  such  toasts  and  butter,  with 
hearts  in  their  bellies  no  bigger  than  pins'  heads, 
and  they  have  bought  out  their  services;  and  now 
my  whole  charge  consists  of  ancients,  corjiorals, 
lieutenants,  gentlemen  of  companies,  slaves  as  rag- 
ged as  Lazarus  in  the  painted  cloth,  where  the 
glutton's  dogs  licked  his  sores:  and  such  as,  in- 
deed, were  never  soldiers,  but  discarded,  unjust 
serving-men,  younger  sons  to  younger  brothers,  re- 
volted tapsters,  and  ostlers  trade-fallen ;  the  cankers 
of  a  calm  world,  and  a  long  peace;  ten  times  more 
dishonorably  ragged  than  an  old-faced  ancient:* 
and  such  have  I  to  fill  up  the  rooms  of  thein  that 
have  bought  out  their  services,  that  >ou  would 
think,  that  I  had  a  hundred  and  fifty  tattered  prodi- 
gals, lately  come  from  swine-keeping,  from  eating 
draffand  husks.  A  mad  fellow  met  me  on  the  way. 
and  told  me  I  had  unloaded  all  the  gibbets,  ana 
pressed  the  dead  bodies.  No  eye  hatli  seefi  such 
scare-crows.  I'll  not  march  through  Coventry  with 
them,  that's  flat:— Nay,  and  the  villains  march 
wide  betwixt  the  legs,  as  if'  they  had  gyves^  on; 
for,  indeed.  I  had  the  tnost  of  them  out  of  prison. 
Tiiere's  but  a  shirt  and  a  half  in  all  my  com]iaiiy: 
and  the  half  shirt  is  two  napkins  tacked  together, 
and  thrown  over  the  shoulders  like  a  herald's  coat 
without  sleeves;  and  the  shirt,  to  say  the  truth, 
stfilen  from  my  host  at  Saint  Alban's.  or  the  red- 
nose  inn-keeper  of  Daititry.*  But  that's  all  one; 
they'll  find  linen  enough  on  every  hedge. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  Westmoreland. 

P.  Hen.  Hownow,  blown  Jack!  hownow.  quilt? 

Fal.  Wliat,  Hal!  How  now,  mad  wag"!  what  a 
devil  dost  thou  in  Warwickshire? — M>'  good  lord 
of  Westmoreland,  1  cry  you  mercy;  I  thought  your 
honor  had  already  been  at  Shrewsbury. 

West.  'Faith,  sir  John,  'tis  more  than  time  that 
1  were  there,  and  you  too;  but  my  powers  are 
there  already:  The  king.  I  can  tell  you,  looks  lor 
us  all:  we  must  away  all  night. 

Fal.  Tut,  never  fear  me;  I  am  as  vigilant  as  a 
cat  to  steal  cream. 

P.  Hen.  I  think  to  steal  cream,  indeed;  for  thy 
theft  hath  alteady  made  thee  butter.  But,  tell  me. 
Jack;  Whose  fellows  are  these  that  come  after? 

Fal.  Mine,  Hal,  mine. 


'Musket.  'staniianf. 

'  Daveutry,  pronounced  Daintry. 


=  Fetters. 


336 


FIKST  PART  OF 


Act  IV. 


p.  Hen.  I  did  never  see  such  pitiful  rascals. 

Fal.  Tul,  tut;  good  enou)^h  to  toss;  food  for 
powder,  food  for  rowder;  they'll  All  a  pit,  as  well 
as  better:  tush,  man,  mortal  riicn,  mortal  men. 

JVesf.  Ay,  but  sir  John,  methinks  they  are  ex- 
ceeding poor  and  bare;  too  beggarly. 

Fal.  'Faith,  for  their  poverty, — I  know  not  where 
they  had  that;  and  for  their  bareness, — I  am  sure 
they  never  learned  that  of  me. 

P.  Heti.  No,  I'll  be  sworn;  unless  j-ou  call  three 
fingers  on  the  ribs  bare.  But,  sirrah,  make  haste; 
Percy  is  already  in  the  field. 

Fnl.  What,  is  the  Idng  encamped? 

West.  He  is,  sir  John;  1  fear  we  shall  stay  too 
loni. 

Fal.  Well, 
To  the  latter  end  of  a  fray,  and  the  beginning  of  a 

feast. 
Fits  a  dull  fighter,  and  a  keen  guest.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— TAe  Rebel  Camp  near  Shrewsbury. 

Enter  Hotspdr,  'Worcestkr,  Doublas,  and 
Verkos. 

Hoi.  We'll  fight  with  him  to-night. 

IVor.  It  may  not  be. 

Diiug.  You  give  him  then  advantage. 

I'tr.  Not  a  whit. 

Hit.  Why  say  you  so '!  looks  he  not  tor  supply  1 

Ver.  So  do  we. 

Hot.  His  is  certain,  ours  is  doubtful. 

IVitr.  Good  cousin,  be  advis'd;  stir  not  to-night. 

J'er.  Do  not,  my  lord. 

Duug.  Vou  do  not  counsel  well; 

Vou  speak  it  out  of  fear  and  cold  heart. 

Ver.  Do  me  no  slander,  Douglas:  by  my  life, 
(And  I  dare  well  maintain  it  with  my  lite.) 
If  well  respected  honor  bid  me  on, 
I  hold  as  little  counsel  with  weak  fear. 
As  you,  my  lord,  or  any  Scot  that  lives: — • 
Let  it  be  seen  to-morrow  iu  the  battle, 
Which  of  us  fears. 

DiKig.  Yea,  or  to-night, 

Ver.  Content. 

Hut.  To-night,  say  I. 

Ter.  Come,  come,  it  may  not  be. 

I  wonder  much,  being  men  ol  such  great  Icadiug,'' 
That  \'ou  Ibrsee  not  what  impediments 
Drag  back  our  expedition:  Certain  horse 
Of  my  cousin  Vernon's  are  not  yet  come  up: 
Your  uncle  Worcester's  horse  came  but  to-day; 
And  now  their  pride  and  mettle  is  asleep. 
Their  courage  with  hard  labor  tame  anci  dull. 
That  not  a  horse  is  half  the  half  himself. 

Hut.  So  are  the  horses  of  tin;  enemy, 
In  general  journey-bated  and  brought  low; 
The  better  part  of  ours  is  full  of  rest. 

iVur.  The  number  of  the  king  exceedeth  ours: 
For  God's  sake,  cousin,  stay  till  all  come  mi. 

[TAe  Trumpet  suunil^  a  parley. 
Enter  Sir  Walter  Blcnt. 

Biiint.  I  come  with  gracious  offers  from  the  Idng, 
If  vou  vouchsafe  me  hearing,  and  respect. 

Hut.   Welcome,  sir  Walter  Blunt ;  And  'would  to 
<;od. 
You  were  of  our  determination ! 
Some  of  us  love  you  well :  and  even  those  some 
Envy  yourgreat'deserving,  and  good  name; 
Because  you  are  fiof  of  our  quality,' 
But  sfaufl  against  us  like  an  eneiiiy. 

Blunt.  And  God  defend  but  still  I  should  stand  so. 
So  long  as,  out  of  limit,  and  true  rule, 
Vou  stand  against  anointed  majesty ! 
But  to  my  charge.— The  king  hath  sent  to  know 
The  nature  of  your  griefs;'  atid  whereupon 
Vou  cnnjurc  from  the  breast  of  civil  peace 
Such  bold  hostility,  teaching  this  duteous  land 
Audacious  cruelty  :  If  that  the  king 
Have  any  way  your  good  deserts  forgot, — 
Wliicli  lie  confesseth  to  be  manifold,— 
He  bid-i  you  name  your  griefs;  and,  with  all  speed. 
Yon  shall  have  your  desues,  with  interest; 
And  pardon  absolute  for  yourself,  and  these, 
Herein  nnsled  by  your  suggestion. 

Hut.  The  king  is  kind;  and,  well  we  know,  the 
king 
iCnows  at  what  time  to  promise,  when  to  pay. 
My  lather,  and  my  uncle,  and  myself, 

'Conduct,  experience.      ^Felloivship.      'Grievances. 


Did  give  him  that  same  royalty  he  wears: 

And, — when  he  was  not  six-and-twenty  strong, 

Sick  in  the  world's  regard,  wretched  and  low, 

A  poor  unminded  outlaw  snealdng  home, — 

My  father  gave  him  welcome  to  the  shore : 

And, — when  he  heard  him  swTar,  and  vow  to  God, 

He  came  but  to  be  duke  of  Lancaster, 

To  sue  his  livery,'  and  beg  his  peace; 

With  tears  of  innocency,  and  terms  of  zeal, — 

My  father,  in  kind  heart  and  pity  mov'd. 

Swore  him  assistance,  and  perfo'rm'd  it  too. 

Now,  when  the  lords  and  barons  of  the  realm 

Perceiv'd  Northumberland  did  lean  to  him. 

The  more  and  less"  came  in  with  cap  and  laiec; 

Met  him  in  boroughs,  cities,  villages; 

Attended  him  on  bridges,  stood  in  lanes. 

Laid  girts  before  liim,  proffered  him  their  oaths, 

tJave  hiin  their  heirs;  as  pages  followed  him, 

Even  at  the  heels,  in  golden  multitudes. 

He  presently, — as  greatness  knows  itself, — 

Steps  me  a  little  higher  than  his  vow 

Made  to  my  father,"whUe  his  blood  was  poor. 

Upon  the  naked  shore  at  Ravenspurg; 

And  now,  forsooth,  takes  on  him  to  reform 

Some  certain  edicts,  and  some  strait  decrees. 

That  lie  too  heavy  on  the  commonwealth: 

Cries  out  upon  abuses,  seems  to  weep 

Over  his  country's  wrongs;  and,  by  his  face. 

This  seeming  brow  of  justice,  did  he  win 

The  hearts  of  all  that  he  did  angle  for. 

Proceedetl  l^urther;  cut  me  off  the  heads 

Of  all  the  favorites,  that  the  absent  king 

In  deputation  left  behind  him  here. 

When  he  was  persona!  in  the  Irish  war. 

Blunt.  Tut,  I  came  not  to  hear  this. 

Hot.  Then,  to  the  point. 

In  short  time  after,  he  depos'd  the  king; 

Soon  af^er  that,  depriv'd  him  of  his  lite; 

And,  in  the  neck  of  that,  task'd  the  whole  state: 

To  make  that  worse,  sufler'd  his  kinsman,  March, 

(Who  is,  if  every  owner  were  well  placed. 

Indeed  his  king,")  to  be  ineaged  in  Wales, 

There  without  ransom  to  lie  forfeited: 

Disgraced  me  in  my  happy  victories; 

Sought  to  entrap  me  by  m'telligence ; 

Rated  my  uncle  from  the  council-board; 

In  rage  disniiss'd  my  father  from  the  court; 

Broke  oath  on  oath,  committed  wrong  on  wrong: 

And,  in  conclusion,  drove  us  to  seek  out 

Tliis  head  of  safety;  and,  withal,  to  pry 

Into  his  title,  the  which  we  find 

Toil  indirect  for  long  continuance. 

Blunt.  Shall  I  return  this  answer  to  the  king? 

]lol.  Not  so,  sir  Walter;  we'll  withdraw  awhile. 
Go  to  the  king;  and  let  there  be  iuipawn'd 
Some  surety  tor  a  sate  return  again. 
And  in  the  morning  early  shall  mine  uncle 
Bring  him  our  purposes;  and  so  farewell. 

Bliint.  I  would,  you  would  accept  of  grace  and 
love. 

Hot.  And,  may  be,  so  we  shall. 

Blunt.  'Pray  heaven  you  do ! 

l£.veunt. 

SCENE  IV.— York.    A  Room  in  the  Archbisliop's 
Huuie, 

Enter  the  Arehbishop  uf  York,  and  a  Gentleman. 

Areh.  Hie,  good  sir  Michael!  bear  this  sealed 
brief,' 
With  winged  haste  to  the  lord  mareshal ; 
This  to  my  cousin  Scroop;  and  all  the  rest 
To  whom  they  are  directed:  if  you  knew 
How  much  they  do  import,  you  would  make  haste. 

Gent.  My  good  lord, 
1  guess  their  tenor. 

Arch.  Like  enough  you  do. 

To-morrow,  good  sir  Micliael,  is  a  day, 
Wherein  the  fortune  oi  ten  thousand"  men 
Must  'bide  the  touch:  For,  sir,  at  Shrewsbury, 
.\s  I  am  truly  given  to  understand. 
The  king,  with  mighty  and  quick-raised  power. 
Meets  w-ith  lord  Harry:  and  1  fear,  sir  Micliael, — 
What  with  the  sickness  of  Northumberland, 
(Whose  power  was  in  the  first  proportion.) 
And  what  with  Owen  ("llendower's  absence  tiience, 
(Who  witli  tlicm  was  a  rated  sinew  too," 

^Tlie  tielivcry  of  his  lands.    ^The  greater  and  the  less. 
'  Letter.  '''A  strength  on  which  they  reckoned. 


Act  V.   Scene  I. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


337 


And  comes  not  in,  o'er-iiil'il  l<y  liroi>liecies,) 
I  fear  the  power  of  Percy  is  loo  weak 
To  wage  an  instant  irial  witli  the  king. 

Gent.  Why,  pood  my  lord,  you  need  not  fear; 
tliere's  Douglas, 
And  Mortimer. 

Arch.  No,  Mortimer's  not  there. 

Gent.  But  there  is  Mordake,  Vernon,  lord  Harry 
Percy, 
And  there's  my  lord  of  Worcester;  and  a  head 
Of  salli.nt  warriors,  noble  g'fcntlemcn. 

Arck  And  so  there  is:  but  yet  the  king  liath 
drawn 
The  special  head  of  all  the  land  toRcther: — 
The  pr.Dce  of  Wales,  lord  John  of  Lancaster, 


The  noble  Westmoreland,  and  warlike  Blunt ; 
And  niany  more  corrivals,  and  dear  men 
Of  estimation  and  command  in  arms. 
Gait.  Doulit  not,  mj'  lord,  they  shall  he  well  op- 

])os'd. 
Arch.  I  hope  no  less,  yet  needful  'tis  to  fear; 
And,  to  prevent  the  worst,  sir  Michael,  speed : 
For,  if  lord  Percy  thrive  not,  ere  (lie  kin^ 
Dismiss  his  power,  he  means  to  visit  us,— 

For  he  hatli  heard  of  our  confederacy, 

And   'tis    but  wisdom  to    mai;e   strong   ajrainst 

him; 
Therefore,  make  haste:  I  must  so  write  again 
To  other  friciids;  and  so  liirewell,  sir  Michael. 

[Exeunt  severally,. 


ACT  V 


Si.'ENE  I.— TAc  King's  Camp  near  Shrewsbury. 

Enter  Kino  Hexkt,  Piu\te  Henry,  Prince  John  (f 
Laxcastek,  air  Walteu  Blunt,  and  Sir  Jodm 

f  AISTAFF. 

K.  Hen.  How  bloodily  the  sun  besins  to  peer 
Above  yon  bosky  *  hill !  the  day  looks  pale 
At  his  distemperature. 

P.  Hen.  The  southern  wind 

Doth  play  the  trumpet  to  his  purposes; 
And,  by  nis  hollow  whistling  in  the  leaves, 
Foretells  a  tempest,  and  a  blustering  day. 

if.  Hen.  Then  with  the  losers  let  it  sympathize; 
For  nothing  can  seem  foul  to  those  that  w-in.— 

Trumpet.    Enter  Worcester  and  Vernon. 

How  now,  my  lord  of  \Vorcester1  'tis  not  well, 
That  you  and  I  should  meet  upon  such  terms 
As  now  we  meet:  You  have  deceiv'd  our  trust; 
And  make  us  dofl*  our  easy  robes  of  peace, 
To  crush  our  old  hmbs  in  ungentle  steel : 
This  is  not  well,  my  lord,  this  is  not  well. 
What  say  you  to'f!  will  you  again  unkuit 
This  churlish  knot  of  all-abhorred  war— 
And  move  in  that  obedient  orb  again. 
Where  you  did  give  a  fair  and  natural  light; 
And  be  no  more  an  exhaled  meteor, 
A  prodigy  of  fear,  and  a  portent 
Of  broached  mischief  to  the  unborn  times? 

Wor.  Hear  me,  mv  liege: 
For  mine  own  part,'!  could  be  well  content 
To  entertain  the  lag-end  of  my  lii'e 
With  quiet  iiours;  for,  1  do  i)rntcst, 
I  have  not  sought  the  day  of  this  dislike. 

K.  Hen.  You  have  not  sought  for  it!  how  comes 
it  til  en! 

Fat.  Rebellion  lay  in  his  way,  and  he  found  it. 

P.  Hen.  Peace,  chewet,'  peace. 

ffur.  It  pleas'dVour  majesty,  to  turn  your  looks 
Of  favor  from  myself,  and  all  our  house ; 
And  yet  [  must  remember  you,  my  lord. 
We  were  the  first  and  dearest  of  jbur  Iri  -nds. 
l''or  you,  my  staflof  office  did  I  break 
In  Richard's  time;  and  posted  day  and  iiiL'ht 
To  meet  jou  on  the  way,  and  kiss  your  hand. 
When  yet  you  were  in  place  and  in  account 
Nothing  so  strong  and  fortunate  as  I. 
It  was  myself,  my  brotlier,  and  his  son, 
'I'liat  brought  you  home,  and  boldly  did  outdare 
The  dangers  of  the  time:  You  swore  (o  us,— 
And  you  did  sware  that  oath  at  Doncaster, — 
That  you  did  nothing  purpose  'gainst  tlie  state; 
Nor  claim  no  further  than  your  new-liill'n  right, 
The  seat  of  Gaunt,  dukedoin  of  Lancaster: 
To  this  we  swore  our  aid.    But,  in  short  .space. 
It  lain'd  down  fortune  showering  on  your  head; 
And  suc.i  a  Hood  of  greatness  fell  on  you, — 
What  with  our  help;  what  with  the  absent  king; 
\Vhat  with  the  injuries  of  a  wanton  time; 
The  seeming  suflerances  that  you  had  home; 
And  the  contrarious  winds,  that  held  the  king 
So  long  in  his  unlucky  Irish  wars. 
That  all  in  Kngland  did  repute  him  dead, — 
And,  from  this  swarm  of  liiir  advantages, 
You  took  occcasion  to  be  quickly  woo'd 
To  gripe  the  general  sway  into  your  hand; 


»  Woody 


*  Put  otf. 
22 


*  A  chattering  bird,  a  pie. 


Forgot  your  oath  to  us  at  Doncaster; 

And.  being  led  by  us,  you  useil  us  so 

As  that  ungentle  gull,  the  cuckoo's  bird. 

Used  the  sparrow;  did  oppress  our  nest; 

Crew  by  our  feeding  to  so  great  a  bulk, 

That  even  our  love  durst  liot  come  near   your 

sight. 
For  fear  of  swallowing;  but  with  nimble  wing 
We  were  enlbrced,  lor  safety  sake,  to  fly 
Out  of  your  sight,  and  raise  this  present  head: 
Wherel;y  we  stand  opposed  by  such  means 
.\s  you  yourself  have  forged  against  yourself; 
liy  unkind  usage,  dangeroiis  countenance, 
.\nd  violation  of  all  liiitii  and  troth 
Sworn  to  us  in  your  younger  entcrprize. 

K.  Hen.  These  things,  indeed,  you  have  articu- 
lated,' 
Proclaim'd  at  markct-cros.<!e?,  read  in  churches; 
To  face  the  garment  of  rebellion 
With  some  line  color,  that  may  please  the  eye 
(If  fickle  changelings,  and  poor  discontents, 
Wliicii  gape,  and  rub  the  elbow,  al  the  news 
Of  burlyburly  innovation: 
And  never  yet  did  insnrreeliiin  want 
Such  water-colors,  to  impaint  liis  cause; 
Nor  moody  beggars,  starving  lor  a  time 
Of  pellmell  havock  and  coni'usion. 

P.  Hen.  In  l.'otli  our  armies,  there  is  many  a  soul, 
Shall  i)ay  full  dearly  for  this  encounter. 
If  onee  they  join  in  trial.    Tell  your  nephew. 
The  prince  of  Vv'ales  doth  join  with  all  the  world 
In  praise  of  Henry  Percy;  lij  my  hopes, — 
This  present  entcrprize  "set  oif  his  head, — 
I  do  not  think,  a  braver  gentleman, 
More  active-valiant,  or  more  valiant-young, 
INIore  daring,  or  more  bold,  is  now  alive. 
To  grace  tliis  latter  age  wiUi  noble  deeds. 
For  my  part,  I  may  speak  it  to  my  shame, 
I  have  a  truant  been  to  chivalry; 
And  so,  I  hear,  he  doth  account  me  too: 
Yet  this  belbrc  my  llithcr's  majesty, — 
I  am  content,  that  he  shall  t;;Ke  the  odds 
Of  his  great  name  and  estiin;ition; 
And  will,' to  save  the  blood  on  either  side, 
Try  fortune  with  him  in  a  single  light. 

K.  Hen.  And,  prince  of  Wales,  to  dare  we  ven- 
ture thee. 
Albeit,  considerations  infinite 
Do  make  against  it: — No,  good  Worcester,  no, 
We  love  our  people  well;  even  those  we  love. 
That  are  mislead  upon  your  cousin's  part: 
And,  will  they  take  the  oiler  of  our  grace. 
Both  he,  and  they,  and  you,  yea,  every  man 
Shall  be  my  frieiid  again,  aiitl  I'll  be  his: 
So  tell  your  cousin,  and  bring  me  word 
What  lie  will  do: — But  if  he  will  not  yield. 
Rebuke  and  dread  correction  wait  on  us, 
.And  they  shall  do  their  othee.    So,  be  gone; 
We  will  not  now  be  troubled  with  reply: 
We  oiler  fair,  take  it  advisedly. 

{Ex-eunt  Worcester  and  Veknou. 

P.  Hen.  It  will  not  be  accepted,  on  my  life: 
The  Douglas  and  the  Hotspur  both  together 
Are  confident  against  the  world  in  arms. 

A'.  Hen.  Hence,  tlierelbre,  every  leader  lo  his 
charge; 

°  Exhibited  in  articles. 


338 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Aci  T. 


For,  on  their  answer,  will  we  set  on  them : 
And  God  befriend  ns,  as  our  cause  is  just! 

[Exeunt  King,  Bluxt,  and  I'ri.nce  John. 

Ful.  Hal,  if  thou  see  me  down  in  the  battle,  and 
bestride  me,  so; 'tis  a  point  of  friendship. 

P.  Hen.  Nothing  but  a  colossus  can  do  thee,  that 
friendship.    Say  thy  prayers,  and  farewell. 

Ful.  I  would  it  were  bed-time,  Hal,  and  all  well. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  thou  owest  God  a  death.       [Exil. 

Ful.  'Tis  not  due  yet;  1  would  be  loath  to  pay 
him  before  his  day.  What  need  1  be  so  forward 
with  him  that  calls  not  on  me  !  Well,  'tis  no  mat- 
ter; Honor  pricks  me  on.  i'ca,  but  bow  if  honor 
prick  me  oil"  when  I  come  on  i  how  then  ]  Can 
honor  set  to  a  leg"!  No.  Or  an  arm!  No.  Or 
take  away  the  grief  of  a  wound  !  No.  Honor 
iiath  no  skill  in  surgery  then'!  No.  Whatishonor! 
A  word.  Wliat  isin  that  word, honor!  Whatisthat 
honor!  Air.  A  trim  reckoning!  Wlio  hath  it! 
He  that  died  o'  Wednesday.  Doth  he  feel  it?  No. 
Doth  he  hear  it?  No.  Is  it  insensible  then  !  Yea, 
to  the  dead.  But  will  it  not  live  with  the  livingl 
No.  Why?  Detraction  will  not  sutler  it:— there- 
fore I'll  none  of  it :  Honor  is  a  mere  scutcheon, 
and  so  ends  my  catechism.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— The  Rebel  Camp. 

Enter  Woucestek  and  Verxon. 

War.  0,  no,  my  nephew  must  not  know,  sir 
Kicliard, 
The  liberal  kind  oiler  of  the  king. 

Ver.  'Twere  best  he  did. 

>i'ur.  Then  are  we  all  undone. 

It  is  not  possible,  it  cannot  be. 
The  king  should  keep  his  word  in  loving  us  ; 
He  will  suspect  us  still,  and  find  a  time 
To  punish  this  otlence  in  other  faults: 
Suspicion  shall  be  all  stuck  full  of  eves: 
For  treason  is  but  trusted  like  the  fox; 
Who.  ne'er  so  tame,  so  cherish'd,  and  lock'd  up, 
Will  have  a  wild  trick  of  his  ancestors. 
Look  how  we  can,  or  sad,  or  merrily. 
Interpretation  will  misquote  our  looks; 
And  we  shall  feed  like  oxen  at  a  stall. 
The  better  cherish'd,  still  the  nearer  death. 
My  nephew's  trespass  may  be  well  forgot. 
It  hath  the  excuse  of  youth,  and  heat  of  blood; 
And  an  adopted  name  of  privilege, — 
A  hare-brain'd  Hotspur,  govern'd  by  a  spleen: 
All  his  olTences  live  upon  my  liead. 
And  on  his  father's  ; — we  did  train  him  on ; 
And,  his  corruption  being  ta'cn  from  us. 
We,  as  the  spring  of  all,  shall  pay  for  all. 
Therefore,  good  cousin,  let  not  Harry  know, 
In  any  case,  the  offer  of'  the  king. 

Ver.  Deliver  v/hat  you  will,  I'll  say.  His  so. 
Here  comes  your  cousin. 

£nler  Hotspur  and  Douglas;  and  Officers  and 
Soldiers,  behind. 

Hot.  My  uncle  is  return'd:— Deliver  up 
My  lord  of  Westmoreland.— Uncle,  what  news] 

IVur.  The  king  will  bid  you  battle  presently. 

Doug.  Defy  him  by  tile  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Hot.  Lord  Douglas,  go  you  and  tell  him  so. 

JJowj.  Marry,  and  shall,"and  very  willingly.  [i:.ci/. 

IViir.  There  is  no  seeming  mercy  in  the  king. 

Jliit.  Did  you  beg  any!  God  forbid! 

IVur.  1  told  him  gently  of  our  grievances. 
Of  his  oath-breaking;  which  he  mended  thus,— 
By  now  forswearing  that  he  is  forsworn: 
He  calls  us  rebels,  traitors;  and  will  scourge 
With  haughty  arms  this  hateful  name  in  us. 
Re-enter  Douglas. 

Doug.   Arm,  gentlemen;   to  arms!   for  I  have 
thrown 
A  bravo  defiance  in  king  Henry's  teeth. 
And  Westmoreland,  that  was  engaged,  did  bear  it; 
Which  cannot  choose  but  bring  him  quickly  on. 

IVm:  Tile  prince  of  Wales  stepped  tbrtli  before 
the  king, 
And,  nephew,  challenged  you  to  single  fight. 

Hat.  O,  'would  the  quarrel  lay  upon  our  heads; 
And  that  no  man  might  draw  short  breath  to-day, 
But  I,  and  Harry  Monminith!  Tell  me,  fell  me. 
How  show'd  his  tasking  !  seem'd  it  in  contempt! 

Ver.  No,  by  my  soul ;  I  never  in  my  life 
Did  hear  a  challenge  urged  more  modestly, 


Unless  a  brother  should  a  brother  dare 

To  gentle  exercise  and  proof  of  arms. 

He  gave  you  all  the  duties  of  a  man; 

Triinm'd  up  your  praises  with  a  princely  tongue; 

Spoke  your  deservings  like  a  chronicle; 

Making  you  ever  better  than  his  praise, 

lij-  still  dispraising  praise,  valued  with  you: 

And,  which  became  him  like  a  prince  indeed, 

He  made  a  blushing  citaU  of  himself; 

And  chid  his  truant  youth  with  such  a  grace, 

As  if  he  master'd  there  a  double  spirit, 

Of  teaching,  and  of  learning,  instanlly. 

There  did  he  pause:  But  let  me  tell  the  world,— 

If  he  outlive  the  envy  of  this  day, 

England  did  never  owe'  so  sweet  a  hope, 

So  much  misconstrued  in  his  wantoness. 

Hat.  Cousin,  I  think,  thou  art  enamored 
Upon  his  follies;  never  did  I  hear 
Of  any  prince,  so  wild,  at  liberty: — 
But,  be  he  as  he  will,  yet  once  ere  night 
I  will  embrace  him  with  a  soldier's  arm. 

That  he  shall  shrink  under  my  courtesy. 

Arm,  arm,  with  speed: And,  fellows,  soldiers, 

friends. 
Better  consider  what  you  have  to  do, 
Than  I,  that  have  not  well  the  gift  of  tongue. 
Can  lift  your  blood  up  with  persuasion. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  here  are  letters  for  you. 

Hut.  I  cannot  read  them  now. — 
0  gentlemen,  the  time  of  life  is  short; 
To  spend  that  sliortness  basely,  were  too  long, 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point. 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour. 
An  if  we  live,  we  live  to  tread  on  kings: 
If  die,  brave  death,  when  princes  die  with  us! 
Now  for  our  conscience, — the  arms  are  fair. 
When  the  intent  of  bearing  them  is  just 
Enter  anottier  iVIessenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  prepare;  thekingcomesonapace. 

Hut.  I  thank  him.  that  he  cuts  me  from  my  tale, 
For  I  profess  not  talking;  Only  this — 
Let  each  man  do  his  best;  and  here  draw  I 
.\  sword,  whose  temper  1  intend  to  stain 
With  the  best  blood  that  I  can  meet  withal 
In  the  adventure  of  this  perilous  day. 
Now,— Esperance ." — Percy ! — and  set  on. — 
Sound  all  fhe  lolly  instruments  of  war. 
And  by  that  music  let  us  all  embrace: 
For,  liea\en  to  earth,  some  of  us  never  shall 
A  second  time  do  such  a  courtesy. 

[The  Trumpets  suimd.    They  embrace,  and 
exeunt. 

SCENE  in.— Plain  near  Shrewsbury. 

Excursions,  and  Parlies  fighting.    Alarum  to  the 
Battle.    Then  enter  Douglas  and  Blunt,  mecti/ig. 

Blunt.  What  is  thy  name,  that  in  the  battle  thus 
Thou  crossest  me?  what  honor  dost  thou  seek 
Upon  my  head  ? 

Duug.  Know  then,  my  name  is  Douglas; 

And  I  do  haunt  thee  in  the  battle  thus. 
Because  some  tell  me  that  thou  art  a  king. 

Blunt.  They  fell  thee  true. 

Duug.  The  lord  of  Stafford  dear  to-day  hath 
bought 
Thy  likeness;  for,  instead  of  thee,  king  Harry, 
This  sword  hafh  ended  him:-  so  shall  it  thee. 
Unless  thou  yield  thee  as  my  prisoner. 

Blunt.  I  was  not  born  a  yielder,  thou  proud  Scot: 
And  thou  shall  find  a  king  that  will  revenge 
Lord  Stafford's  death. 

[They  fight,  and  Blunt  is  slam 
Enter  Hotspur. 

Hut.  O  Douglas,  hadst  thou  fought  at  Holraedon 
thus, 
I  never  had  triiiinph'd  upon  a  Scot. 
Doug.  All's  done,  all's  won;  here  breathless  lies 

the  king. 
Hut.  Where! 
Duug.  Here. 

i/i;/.  This,   Douglas?   no,  I  know  this  face  full 
well: 
A  gallant  knight  he  was,  his  name  was  Blunt: 
Seinblably  furnish'd  like  the  king  himself. 
'  Recital.    6  Own.    '  The  motto  of  the  Percy  family. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  IIENRY  IV. 


339 


Doug-  A  fool  go  with  thy  soul,  whither  it  goes, 
A  borrow'd  title  hast  thou  bought  too  dear. 
Why  didst  thou  tell  me  that  tliou  \vert  a  Jdng? 

Hot.  The  king  liatii  many  niarcliing  in  his  coats. 

Doug.  Now,  by  my  sword,  I  will  kill  all  his  coats; 
ril  murder  all  his  wardrobe,  piece  by  piece, 
Until  I  meet  the  king. 

Hut.  Up,  and  away ; 

Our  soldiers  stand  full  fairly  for  the  day.  {Exeunt. 

Oilier  Alarums.    Enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  Though  I  could  'scape  shot-free  at  London, 
I  fear  the  shot  here;  here's  no  scoring,  but  upon 
the  pate.— Soil!  who  art  thou?  Sir  Walter  Blunt; 
—there's  honor  for  you:  Here's  no  vanity! — I  am 
as  hot  as  molten  lead,  and  as  heavy  too:  tiod  keep 
lead  out  of  me !  I  need  no  more  weight  than  mine 
own  bowels. — I  have  led  my  raggamuftius  where 
they  are  pepper'd :  there's  but  three  of  mj'  hundred 
and  titty  left  alive;  and  they  are  for  the  town'send, 
to  beg  during  lili;.    But  who  comes  here! 

Enter  Prince  Henry. 

P.  Hen.  What,  stand'st  thou  idle  here?  lend  me 
thy  sword: 
Many  a  nobleman  lies  stark  and  stiff 
I'ntler  the  hoots  of  vaunting  enemies. 
Whose  deaths  are  unrevenged:  Pr'ytliee,  lend  thy 
sword. 

Fal.  0  Hal,  I  pr'ythee,  give  me  leave  to  breathe 
awhde. — Turk  Gregory  never  did  such  deeds  in 
arms,  as  I  have  done  this  day.  I  have  paid  Percy, 
I  have  uuide  him  sure. 

P.  Hen.  He  is,  indeed;  and  living  to  kill  thee. 
Lend  me  thy  sword,  I  i>r'ythce. 

Fal.  Nay,  belbre  Rod,  Hal,  if  Percy  be  alive,  thou 
gel'st  not  my  sword;  but  take  my  pistol,  if  thou 
milt. 

P.  Hen.  Give  it  me:  What,  is  it  in  the  case  I 

Fal.  Ay,  Hal;  'tis  hot, 'lis  hot!  there's  that  will 
sack  a  city.  [Tke  Prince  draws  init  a  buttle  rf.mck. 

P.  Hen.  What,  is't  a  time  to  jest,  and  dally  now! 
[Throws  it  at  liim,  and  exit. 

Fat.  Well,  if  Percy  be  alive,  I'll  pierce  him.  If 
he  do  come  in  my  way,  so:  if  he  do  not,  if  I  come 
in  his,  wiUinglj*,  let  him  make  a  carbonado^  of  me. 
I  like  not  such  grinning  honor,  as  sir  Walter  hath: 
Give  me  lite:  wliich  if  I  can  save,  so;  if  not,  honor 
comes  unlook'd  for,  and  there's  an  end.         {Exit. 

RCEJ^EIY.—Anot Iter  Part  of  the  Field. 

Alarums.    Ej-eursions.    Enter  the   KiNi";,  Prince 
Henuv,  Prince  John,  and  Westmoreland. 

A".  Hen.  I  pr'ytliee, 
Harry,  withdraw  thyself;  thoublced'st  too  much: — 
Lord  John  of  Lancaster,  go  you  with  him. 

P.  Jultn.  Not  I,  my  lord,  unless  I  did  bleed  too. 

P.  Hen.  I  do  beseech  your  majesty,  make  up, 
Lest  yovir  retirement  do  amaze  your  friends. 

K.  Hen.  I  will  do  so: — 
Mv  lord  of  Westmoreland,  lead  him  to  his  tent. 

West.  Come,  my  lord,  I  will  lead  you  to  your  tent. 

P.  Hen.  Lead  me,  my  lord!  I  do  not  need  your 
help: 
And  heaven  forbid,  a  shallow  scratch  sliould  drive 
The  prince  of  Wales  from  such  a  held  as  this;  % 
Where  stain'd  nobility  lies  trodden  on, 
And  rebels'  arms  triumph  in  massacres! 

P.Juhn.Vfe   breathe  too  long: — Come,  cousin 
Westmoreland, 
Our  duty  this  way  lies:  for  God's  sake,  come. 

[Exeunt  Prince  John  and  Westmoreland. 

P.  Hen.  By  heaven,  thou  hast  deceiv'd  me,  Lan- 
caster, 
I  did  not  think  thee  lord  of  such  a  spirit: 
Belbre,  I  lov'd  thee  as  a  brother,  John; 
But  now,  I  do  respect  thee  as  my  soul. 

K.  Hen.  I  saw  him  hold  lord  Percy  at  the  point, 
With  lustier  maintenance  than  I  did  look  for 
Of  such  an  ungrown  warrior. 

P.  Hen.  0,  this  boy 

Lends  mettle  to  us  all!  [Exit. 

Alarums.    Enter  DonGLAS. 
Doug-.  Anotherldng!  they  growlikeHydra'sheads; 
I  am  the  Douglas,  latal  to  all  those 
That  wear  those  colors  on  them. —  What  art  thou. 
That  counterfeit'st  the  person  of  a  king ! 

*  A  piece  of  meat  cut  crosswise  for  the  gridiroD. 


K.  Hen.  The  king  himself;  who,  Douglas,  grieves 
at  heart. 
So  many  of  his  shadows  thou  hast  met. 
And  not  the  very  king.    I  have  two  boys 
Seek  Percy  and  thyself,  about  the  held: 
But,  seeing  thou  lall'st  on  me  so  luckily, 
I  will  assay  thee;  so  defend  thjsell". 

Doug.  1  fear,  thou  art  another  counterfeit; 
And  yet,  in  faith,  thou  bear'st  thee  like  a  king: 
But  mine,  1  am  sure,  thou  art,  whoe'er  thou  be. 
And  thus  1  win  thee. 

[Then  fight;  the  King  being  in  danger, 
enter  Prince  Henry. 

P.  Hen.  Hold  up  thy  head,  vile  Scot,  or  thou  art 
like 
Never  to  hold  it  up  again !  the  spirits 
Of  Shirley,  Stafford,  Blunt,  are  in  my  arms: 
It  is  the  prince  of  Wales,  that  threatens  thee; 
Who  never  promiscth,  but  he  means  to  pay. — 

[They fight;  DuvcLAsfiies. 
Cheerly,  my  lord;  how  lares  your  grace  ! — 
Sir  Nicholas  (iaw.sey  lialh  tor'succor  sent. 
And  so  hath  Clitlon  ;  I'll  to  Clifton  straight. 

K.  Hen.  Stay,  and  breathe  awhile: — 
Thou  hast  redcem'd  tliy  lost  opinion; 
And  show'd  thou  mak'st  some  tender  of  my  life, 
111  this  fair  rescue  thou  hast  brought  to  me. 

P.   Hen.  O,  heaven !    they  did  me  too   much 
injury, 
That  ever  said,  I  he.arken'd  for  your  death. 
If  it  were  so,  I  might  have  let  alone 
The  insulting  Iiand  of  Douglas  over  you  ; 
Which  would  iiave  been  as  speedy  in  your  end, 
As  all  the  poisonous  potions  in  the  world. 
And  sav'd  the  treacherous  labor  of  }oar  son. 

K.  Hen.  Make  up  to  Clifton,  I'll  to  sir  Nicholas 
Gawsey.  [Exit  King  Henry. 

Enter  HoTSPtnt. 

Hot.  If  I  mistake  not,  thou  .art  Harry  Monmouth. 

P.  Hen.  Thou  speak'st  as  if  I  would  deny  my 
name. 

Hot.  My  name  is  Harry  Percy. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  then  I  see 

A  very  valiant  rebel  of  the  name. 
I  am  the  prince  of  Wales;  and  think  not,  Percy, 
To  share  with  me  in  glory  any  more : 
Two  stars  keep  not  their  motion  in  one  sphere; 
Nor  can  one  England  brook  a  double  reign. 
Of  Harry  Percy,  and  the  prince  of  Wales. 

Hot.  Nor  sliall  it,  Harry,  for  the  hour  is  come 
To  end  the  one  of  us;  And  'would  to  God, 
Thy  name  in  arms  were  now  as  great  as  mine ! 

P.  Hen.  I'll  make  it  greater,  ere  I  part  from  thee; 
And  all  the  budding  honors  on  thy  crest 
I'll  crop  to  make  a  garland  for  my  head. 

Hot.  I  can  no  longer  brook  tiiy  vanities. 

[T/ieyfiglit. 
Enter  Falstaff. 

Fal.  Well  said,  Hal !  to  it,  Hal !— Nay,  you  sliall 
find  no  boy's  play  here,  I  can  tell  you. 
Enter  Doiglas  ;  he  fights  with  Falstaff,  u-hofall.^ 

duwn  as  if  he  ivere  dead,  and  exit  DocoLAs. 

HOTSPl'R  M  lowtnded,  and  falls. 

Hot,  O.Harry,  thou  hast  robb'd  me  of  my  jouth, 
I  better  brook  the  loss  of  brittle  life, 
Tlian  those  proud  tiUes  thou  hast  won  of  me; 
They  wound  my  thoughts,  worse  than  thy  sword 

mv  llesh; 

But  thought's  the  slave  of  life,  and  life  time's  fool; 
And  time,  that  takes  survey  of  all  the  world. 
Must  have  a  stop.    O,  I  could  prophesy. 
But  that  the  earthy  and  cold  hand  of  death 
Lies  on  my  tongue: — No,  Percy,  thou  art  dust. 
And  food  for ■  [Dies. 

P.  Hen,  For  worms,  brave  Percy ;  Fare  thee  well, 
great  heart! — 
Ill-weav'd  amiiition,  how  much  art  thou  shrunk! 
When  that  this  body  did  contain  a  spirit, 
A  kingdom  for  it  was  too  small  a  bound; 
But  now,  two  paces  of  the  vilest  earth 
Is  room  enough.— This  earth  that  bears  thee  dead, 
Bears  not  alive  so  stout  a  gentleman. 
If  thou  wert  sensible  of  courtesy, 
I  should  not  make  so  dear  a  show  of  zeal: — 
But  let  my  favors^  hide  thy  mangled  face; 
And,  even  in  thy  behalf,  I'll  thank  myself 

2  Scarf,  wiih  which  he  covers  Percy's  face* 


340 


FIRST   PART   OF   KING  HENRY   IV. 


Act  V". 


For  doing  tliese  fair  rites  of  tenderness. 
Adieu,  and  take  thy  praise  with  tlice  to  heaven! 
Thy  ignominy  sleep  with  thee  in  tlie  grave, 
But  not  remember'd  in  thy  epitaph! 

[He  sees  Falstaff  on  the  ground. 
What!  old  acquaintance!  could  not  all  this  (Icsh 
Keep  in  a  little  life?  Poor  Jack,  larewell ! 
I  could  have  better  spared  a  better  rnan. 
Q,  I  should  have  a  heavy  miss  of  thee, 
If  I  were  much  in  love  with  vanity. 
Doath  hath  not  struck  so  fat  a  deer  to-day, 
Thoutch  many  dearer,  in  this  bloody  fray: — 
I'Zmhoweird  will  I  see  thee  by  and  by; 
Till  then,  in  blood  by  noble  Percy  lie.  [Exit. 

Fttl.  [Rising  slowli/.]  Enibowellcd!  if  thou  em- 
l>owcl  me  to-day,  I'll  give  you  leave  to  powder^me, 
and  eat  me  too,  to-morrow.  'Sbloort,  'twas  time  to 
counterfeit,  or  that  hot  termagant  Scot  had  paid 
me  scot  and.  lot  too.  Counterfeit?  I  lie,  I  am  no 
counterfeit:  To  die,  is  to  be  a  counterfeit;  for  he 
is  but  the  counterfeit  of  a  man,  wlio  liath  not  the  life 
of  a  man:  but  to  counterfeit  dying,  when  a  man 
thereby  liveth,  is  to  be  no  counterfeit,  but  the  true 
and  perfect  image  of  lile  indeed.  Tlie  better  part 
of  valor  is— discretion;  in  the  which  better  part,  I 
Jiavc  saved  my  life.  Zounds,  I  am  afraid  of  this 
gunpowder  Percy,  though  he  be  dead:  l!ow,  if  he 
should  counterfeit  too,  and  rise?  I  am  afraid,  he 
would  prove  the  better  counterfeit.  Therefore  PU 
make  him  sure:  yea,  and  I'll  swear  I  killed  him. 
Why  may  not  he  rise,  as  well  as  1 1  Nothing  con- 
futes me  but  eyes,  and  noi)ody  sees  me.  Therefore, 
sirrah,  [StaMing  him.}  with  a  new  wound  in  your 
thigh,  come  you  along  with  me. 

[Takes  Hotspur  nn  his  fmck. 
Re-enter  Pkince  Hexry  and  PRiNrE  Jonx. 

P.  Hen.  Come,  brotlier  John,  full   bravely  hast 
thou  liesh'd 
Thy  maiden  sword. 

P.  Ju/iii.  But,  soft!  whom  have  we  here? 

Did  you  not  tell  me,  this  lat  man  was  dead  ! 

F.  Hen.  I  did;  I  saw  him  dead,  breathless  and 
bleeding 

T'pon  the  ground. ■ 

.^rt  thou  alive?  or  is  it  phantasy 
Tliat  plays  upon  our  eyesight?  I  pr'ythee,  speak; 
We  will  not  trust  our  eyes,  without  our  ears: — 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  secm'st. 

Fat.  No,  that's  certain;  I  am  not  a  double  man: 
but  if  I  be  not  J.ack  Falstaff,  then  am  I  a  Jack. 
Tlierc  is  Percy:  [Throwing  the  bodii  down.]  if 
vour  father  will  do  me  any  honor,  so;  it  not,  let  him 
kill  the  next  Percy  himself.  I  look  to  be  either 
c.u'l.  or  duke.  I  can  assure  you. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  Percy  I  killed  myself,  and  saw 
tliee  dead. 

Fal.  Didst  thou? — Lord,  lord,  how  this  world  is 
given  to  lying!— I  grant  you,  I  was  down,  and  out 
of  breath;  and  so  was  he:  but  we  rose  both  at  an 
instant,  and  tought  a  long  hour  by  Shrewsbury 
clock.  If  I  may  be  believed,  so;  if  not,  let  them, 
that  should  reward  valor,  bear  the  sin  upon  their 
own  heads.  I'll  take  it  upon  my  death,  I  gave  him 
this  wound  in  the  thigh:  if  the  man  were  alive, 
and  would  deny  it,  I  would  make  him  eat  a  piece 
of  my  sword. 

-P.John.  Thisisthestrangest  tale  that  e'er  I  heard. 
"Salt 


P.  Hen.  This  is  the  strangest  fellow,  brother 

John. • 

Come,  bring  your  luggage  nobly  on  your  back: 
I'or  my  part,  if  a  lie  may  do  thee  grace, 
I'll  gild  It  with  the  happiest  terms  [  have. 

[A  Retreat  is  sounded. 
The  trumpet  sounds  retreat,  the  day  is  ours. 
Come,  brother,  let's  to  the  highest  of  the  field, 
To  see  what  ft-iends  are  living,  who  are  dead. 

[Exeunt  Prince  Henry  and  Prince  Jonx. 

Fal.  I'll  follow,  as  they  say,  for  reward.    He  that 

rewards  me  God  reward  him!  If  I  do  grow  great, 

I'll  grow  less;  for  I'll  purge,  and  leave  sack,  and 

live  cleanly,  as  a  nobleman  should  do. 

[Exit,  bearing  off  ttie  body. 

SCENE  'V. —Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

The  Trumpets  sound.    Enter  King  Henry,  Prince 

Henry,  Prince  John,  Westiiorei,and,  andothers; 

u'ilh  Worcester  an  I  Vernon,  Prisoners. 

K.  Hrn.  Thus  ever  did  rebellion  find  rebuke. — 
I'U-spirilcd  Worcester!  did  we  not  send  grace. 
Pardon,  and  terms  of  love  to  nil  of  you? 
And  wouldst  thou  turn  our  oilers  contrary? 
Misuse  the  tenor  of  thy  kinsman's  trust? 
Tlni'e  knights  upon  our  party  slain  to-day, 
A  noble  earl,  and  many  a  creature  else, 
UiitA  been  alive  this  hour. 
If,  like  a  Christian,  thou  hadst  truly  borne 
Betwixt  our  armies  true  intelligence. 

JVor.  What  I  have  done,  my  safety  urged  me  to; 
And  I  embrace  this  lortune  patiently. 
Since  not  to  be  avoided  it  falls  en  me. 

K.  Hen.  Bear  Worcester  to  the  death,  and  Ver- 
non too: 
Other  offenders  we  will  pause  upon. — 

[Exeunt  Worcester  crad  Vernon',  guarded. 
How  goes  the  field  ? 

P.  Hen.  The  noble  Scot,  lotd  Douglas,  when  he 
saw 
The  fortune  of  the  day  quite  turn'd  ft-om  him, 
The  noble  Percy  slain,  and  all  his  men 
Upon  the  foot  of  fear, — (led  with  the  rest; 
And,  liilling  from  a  hill,  he  was  so  bruis'd. 
That  the  pursuers  took  him.    At  my  tent 
The  Douglas  is;  and  I  beseech  your  grace, 
I  may  dispose  of  him. 

K.'Hen.  Vvfith  all  my  heart. 

P.  Hen.  Then,  brother  John  of  Lancaster,  to  you, 
This  honorable  bounty  shall  belong: 
Go  to  the  Douglas,  and  deliver  him 
Up  to  his  jileasurc,  ransomless and  free: 
His  valor  shoum  upon  our  crests  to-day. 
Hath  taught  us  how  to  cherish  such  high  deeds 
Even  in  the  bosom  of  our  adversaries. 

K.  Hen.  Then  this  remains,  that  we  divide  our 
power. — 
You,  son  John,  and  my  cousin  Westmoreland, 
Towards  York  shall  bend  you,  with  your  dearest 

speed. 
To  meet  Northumberland,  and  the  prelate  Scroop, 
Who,  as  we  hear,  are  busily  in  arms: 
Myself, — and  you,  son  Harry, — will  towards  Wales, 
To  light  with  Glendower.  and  the  earl  of  March. 
Rebellion  in  this  land  shall  lose  his  sway. 
Meeting  the  check  of  such  another  day:' 
And  since  this  business  so  fair  is  done. 
Let  us  not  leave  till  all  our  own  be  won,  [Exeunt. 


SECOND  PART  OF 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Suns. 


KiNr.  Hexry  the  ForRTii. 

Henry,  Prince  of  Wulos,  oflcrwarcis 
Kinj;  Homy  V.; 

Thomas,  Duke  i-j^'Ciaronce; 

PitixcE  John,  fi/'Lanciistor,  afterwards  !    ,  •„ 
(■-'  Henry  V.)  Duke  i//' Bcdlbrd;  f  "" 

Prince  IIlmpurey  of  Gloster,  after- 
wards (-2  Henry  V.)  Duke  of 
Gloster. 

Earl  OF  VVaiiwick;  ■) 

Earl  OP  Westmurelank;  (     .-  ,.„   .- ,   -„  n„„/, 

(iowER;  f  "J  ''^^  Ai«s*  Partij. 

Harcoprt;  J 

Lord  Cliief  Justice  ofllie  A^?)g■V  Bench. 

A  Gentleman,  attemling  on  tlie  Chief  Justice. 

Earl  op  Northpmberlami;" 

Scroop,  Arcli'jistiup  nf  York; 

LORO  Mowbray; 

Lord  Hastincs; 

LORO  Bardolpu; 

.Sir  John  Colevile; 


Enem  iis  to  tlic  King. 


Travers  and  Morto.v,  Domestics  of  Northumber- 
land. 

Falstapf,  Bardolpii,  Pistol,  and  Page. 

PuiNS  and  Pe](i,  A/trntlanfs  on  Prince  Hcni-y. 

.'^!lALLo\v  and  Sii.KNCE,  Countri/  JusHces. 

Daw,  Serrant  to  .Sliallow. 

MoLLDY,  Shadow,  Wart,  Feeble,  and  Bullcalf, 
Jiecruits. 

Fang  and  S.nare,  Slienff''s  Officers. 

Rumor. 

A  Porter. 

A  Dancer,  Sjieaker  of  the  Epilogue. 

Lady  Northumeeklaxd.  • 

Lady  Percy. 
Hostess  QncKLV. 
Doll  Tear-SuEET. 

Lords  and  other  Attendants.-  Officers,  Soldiers,  Mes- 
sengers, Drawers,  (jroonis,  di-c. 


SCENE,  England. 


INDUCTION. 


Warkworlh.    Bf/oreNortluimUoriar.d's  Castle. 
Enter  Rdmor,  painted  full  tf  Tongues. 

Rum.  Open  your  ears;  For  which  of  you  will 
stop 
The  vent  of  hearing,  when  loud  Rumor  spealis? 
L  from  the  orient  to  the  drooping  west. 
Making  the  wind  my  post-horse,  still  unfold 
The  acts  commenced  on  this  hall  of  earth: 
Upon  my  tongues  continual  slanders  ride; 
The  which  in  every  language  I  pronounce, 
StutHng  tlie  ears  of  men  vvitli  I'alse  reports. 
1  speak  of  peace,  while  covert  enmity. 
Under  the  smile  of  salety,  wounds  the  world: 
And  vvlio  hut  Rumor,  who  hut  only  1, 
Malce  fc'arl'ul  musters,  and  prepar'd  defence; 
Wliilst  tlie  big  year,  swoU'ii  witli  some  other  grief, 
Is  tliought  with  child  by  the  stem  tyrant  war, 
And  no  such  matter  ■  Rumor  is  a  pipe 
Blown  by  surmises,  jealousies,  conjectures; 
And  of  so  easy  and  so  plain  a  stop. 
That  the  blunt  monster  witli  uncounted  lieads, 
The  still-discordant  wavering  multitude. 


Can  play  upon  it.    But  what  need  I  thus 

M>'  well  known  body  to  anatomize 

Among  my  household  !   Why  is  Rumor  here] 

1  run  before  King  Harry's  victory. 

Who,  in  a  bloody  field  by  Shrewsbury, 

Hath  beaten  down  young  Hotspur,  and  his  troops, 

Quenching  the  flame  of  bold  rebellion 

Even  with  the  reljePs  blood.    But  wliat  mean  I 

To  speak  so  true  at  first?  my  office  is 

To  noise  abroad, — that  Harry  Monmouth  fell 

Under  the  wralli  of  noble  Hotspur's  sword: 

And  that  the  king  before  the  Douglas'  rage 

Stoop'd  his  anointed  head  as  low  as  death. 

This  I  have  rumor'd  through  the  peasant  towns 

Between  that  royal  field  at  Shrewsbury 

And  this  worm-eaten  liold  of  ragged  stone, 

Wliere  Hotspur's  father,  old  Northumberland, 

Lies  craft5-sick:  the  posts  come  tiring  on. 

And  not  a  man  of  them  brings  other  news 

Than  they  have  learn'd  of  me;  From  Rumor's 

tongues 
They  bring  smootli  comforts  false,  worse  than  true 

wrongs.  [Exit. 


ACT! 


SCENE  L— Warkworth.    Bc/o-re  Northumberland's 
Castle. 

The  Porter  before  the  Gate;  Enter  Lord  Bardolph. 

L.  Bard.  Who  keeps  the  gate  liere,  lio"!— Where 

is  the  earl  ? 
Port.  What  shall  I  say  you  are? 


L.  Bard.  Tell  thou  the  carl, 

That  the  Lord  Bardolph  doth  attend  him  here. 

Port.  His  lordship  is  walk'd  forth  into  the  orchard; 
Please  it  your  j^onor,  kniock  but  at  the  gate, 
And  he  hinrselt  will  answer. 

Enter  Nokthumberlaxd. 
L.  Bard.  Here  come  tlie  carl 


342 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  I. 


^urth.  What  news,  Lord  Bardolphl  every  mm- 
ute  now 
Should  l)e  the  father  of  some  stratagem:^ 
The  times  are  wild;  contention,  like  a  horse 
Full  of  high  feedin,!?.  madly  hath  broke  loose, 
And  bears  down  all  before  him. 

L.  Bard,  Noble  earl ; 

1  bring  you  certain  news  from  Shrewsbury. 

North.  Good,  an  heaven  will! 

L.  Bard.  As  good  as  heart  can  wish: — 

The  jvtng  is  almost  wounded  to  the  death; 
And,  in  the  fortune  of  my  lord  your  son, 
Prince  Harry  slain  outri^iht;  and  both  the  Blunts 
Kill'd  by  the  hand  of  Douglas:  young  prince  John, 
And  Westmoreland,  and  Stalford,  tied  the  field; 
And  Harry  Monmouth''s  brawm,  the  hulk  sir  John, 
Is  prisoner  to  your  son:  0,  such  a  day. 
So  fought,  so  foilow'd,  and  so  fairly  won, 
Came  not  till  now  to  dignify  the  times, 
Siiice  Ciesar^s  fortunes ! 

North.  How  is  this  deriv'd? 

Savv  you  the  field  ?  came  you  from  Shrewsbury? 

L.  Bard.  I  spake  with  one,  my  lord,  that  came 
from  thence; 
A  gentleman  well  bred,  and  of  good  narac, 
That  freely  renderM  me  these  news  for  true. 

North.  Here  comes  my  servant,  T ravers,  whom 
I  sent 
On  Tuesday  last  to  listen  after  news. 

L.  Bard.  My  lord,  I  over-rode  him  on  the  way; 
And  he  is  furnish'd  with  no  certainties, 
More  tlian  lie  haply  may  retail  from  me. 

Enter  Travers. 

North.  Now,  Travers,  what  good  tidings  come 
with  you  \ 

Tra.  My  lord,  sir  John  Umfrevile  tum'd  me  back 
With  joylul  tidings;  and,  being  better  horsM, 
Out-rode  me.    After  him,  came,  spurring  hard, 
A  gentleman,  almost  torspeut  witn  speed. 
That  stopjiM  by  mc  to  breathe  his  bloodied  horse: 
He  askM  the  way  to  Chester;  and  of  him 
I  did  demand,  wJiat  news  from  Shrewsbury. 
He  told  me  that  rebellion  had  bad  luck, 
And  that  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold: 
Witli  tliat  he  gave  his  able  horse  the  head, 
And.  bending  forward,  struck  his  armed  heels 
Against  the  panting  sides  of  his  poor  jade 
Up  to  the  rowel  head;  and,  starting  so. 
He  seemM  in  running  to  devour  the  way, 
Staying  no  longer  question. 

North.  Ha ! Again. 

Said  he,  young  Harry  Percy's  spur  was  cold? 
Of  Hotspur,  coldspurl  that  rebellion 
Had  met  ill  luck? 

L.  Bard.  My  lord,  I'll  tell  you  what; — 

If  my  3'oung  lord  your  son  have  not  the  day, 
Upon  my  honor,  tor  a  silken  point '^ 
I'll  give  my  barony:  never  talk  of  it. 

North.  \Vhy  should  the  gentleman,  that  rode  by 
Travers, 
Give  then  such  instances  of  loss? 

L.Bard.  Who,  he? 

Ke  was  some  hilding^  fellow,  that  had  stol'n 
The  horse  he  rode  on;  and,  upon  my  life. 
Spoke  at  a  venture.    Look,  here  comes  more  news. 
Enter  Mortox. 

North.  Yea.  this  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title-leaf, 
/oretells  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume: 
So  looks  the  strond,  whereon  the  imperious  flood 

Halli  If^ft  a  witncss'd  usurpation. 

Say.  Morton,  didst  thou  come  from  Shrewsbury? 

Mor.  I  ran  from  Shrewsbury,  my  noble  lord; 
Where  hateful  death  put.on  liis  ugliest  mask, 
To  fright  our  party. 

North.  How  doth  my  son  and  brother? 

Thou  tremblest;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 
Is  apler  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand. 
Kven  such  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless, 
So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  wnc-begone, 
Prew  Priam's  curtain  in  the  dead  of  night, 
And  wouldhave  told  him.  half  his  Troy  was  burn'd: 
But  Priam  found  the  tire,  ore  he  his  tongue, 
And  I  my  Percy's  death,  ere  thou  report'st  it. 
Thisthnuwouldstsay.—Yourson did  thus, and  thus; 
Your  brother,  thus;  so  fought  the'iioble  Douglas: 


'  Important  or  dreadful  event. 
'IliUlerling,  base,  cowardly. 


^  Lace  taggetl. 


Stopping  my  greedy  car  with  their  bold  deeds: 
But  HI  the  end,  to  stop  mine  ear  indeed, 
Thuu  hast  a  sigh  to  blow  away  this  praise, 
Ending  with — brother,  son,  and  all  are  dead. 

Mor.  Douglas  is  living,  and  your  brother,  yet: 
But,  for  my  lord,  your  son,^ — - 

North.  Why,  he  is  dead. 

See,  what  a  ready  tongue  suspicion  hath  ! 
He,  that  but  fears  the  thing  he  would  not  laiow, 
Hath,  by  instinct,  knowledge  from  others'  eyes, 
That  wiiat  he  fear'd  is  chanced.  Yet  speakj  Morton: 
Tell  thou  thy  earl,  his  divination  lies; 
And  I  will  take  it  as  a  sweet  disgrace. 
And  make  thee  rich  tor  doin°:  me  such  wrone^ 

Mor.  You  are  too  great  to  he  by  mc  gainsaid: 
Your  spirit  is  too  true,  your  fears  too  certain. 

North.  Yet,  for  all  this,  say  not  that  Percy's  dead 
I  see  a  strange  confession  in  thine  eye; 
Thou  shak'st  thy  head,  and  hold'st  it  fear,  or  sin. 
To  speak  a  truth.    If  he  he  -slain,  say  so: 
The  tongue  offends  not  that  reports  his  death: 
And  he  doth  siu,  that  dotb  belie  the  dead: 
Not  he.  which  says  the  de.ad  is  not  alive. 
Yet  tlie  llrst  bringer  of  unwelcome  news 
Hath  but  a  losing  olTice;  and  his  tongue 
Sounds  ever  after  as  a  sullen  beil, 
llemember'd  knolling  a  departed  friend. 

L.  Bard.  I  cannot  think,  my  lord,  your  son  is  dead 

Mor.  I  am  sorry,  I  should  tbrce  you  to  believe 
That  which  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  not  seen: 
But  these  mine  eyes  saw  him  in  bloody  state, 
Rend'rimr  faint  quittance,' wearied  and  outbreath'dj 
To  Harry  I\Ionmouth:  whose  swift  wTathbeatdown 
The  never  daunted  Percy  to  the  earlh. 
From  whence  with  life  he  never  more  sprung  up. 
In  few,  his  death,  (whose  spirit  lent  a  fire 
Kven  to  the  dullest  peasant  in  his  camp,) 
Being  bruited^  once,  took  fire  and  heat  away 
From  the  best  tempcr'd  courage  in  his  troops: 
For  from  his  metal  was  his  party  steelM; 
Which  once  in  him  abated,  all  the  rest 
Turn'd  on  themselves,  like  dull  and  heavy  lead. 
And  as  the  thing  that's  heavy  in  itself, 
Upon  enlbrcement,  flies  with  greater  speed; 
So  did  our  men,  heavy  in  Hotspur's  loss, 
Lend  to  this  weight  such  lightness  with  their  fear, 
That  arrows  fled  not  swifter  toward  their  aim, 
Than  did  our  soldiers,  aiming  at  their  safety. 
Fly  irom  the  field:  Then  was  that  noble  Worcester 
Too  soon  ta'en  prisoner:  and  that  furious  Scot, 
The  bloody  Douglas,  whose  well-laboring  sword 
Had  three  times  slain  tiie  appearance  of  the  king, 
'Gan  vail^  his  stomach,  and  did  grace  the  shame, 
Of  tiiose  that  tuniM  tlieir  backs;  and  in  his  flight, 
Stumbling  in  fear,  was  took.    The  sum  of  all 
Is, — that  the  king  hath  won;  and  hath  sent  out 
A  speedy  power,  to  encounter  you,  my  lord, 
Under  the  conduct  of  young  Lancaster, 
And  Westmoreland:  this  is  the  news  at  full. 

North.  For  this  I  shall  have  ti  me  enough  to  mourn 
In  poison  there  is  physic;  and  these  news, 
Having  been  well,  that  would  have  made  mc  sick, 
Being  sick,  have  in  some  measure  made  me  well: 
And  as  the  wretch,  whose  fever-wcaken'd  joints, 
Like  strengthless  hinges,  buckle  under  life, 
Impatient  of  his  fit,  breaks  like  a  fire 
Out  of  bis  keepers'  arms;  even  so  my  limbs, 
Woakon'd  with  grief, being  nowenraged  with  grief, 
Are  thrice  themselves:  hence  therefore, thou  nice' 

crutch; 
A  scaly  gauntlet  now,  with  joints  of  steel. 
Must  glove  this  hand :  and  hence,  thou  sickly  quoif, 
Thou  art  a  guard  too  wanton  for  the  head, 
Which  princes,  flesli'd  with  conquest,  aim  to  hit. 
Now  bind  my  brows  with  iron;  and  approach 
The  raiTgcd'st  hour  that  time  and  spite  dare  brings 
To  frown  upon  the  enraged  Northumberland  ! 
Let  heaven  kiss  earth!  Now  let  not  nature's  hand 
Keep  the  wild  flood  confined!  let  order  die! 
And  let  this  world  no  longer  be  a  stage. 
To  ff'cd  contention  in  a  lingering  act; 
But  let  one  spirit  of  the  first-borji  Cain 
Reign  in  all  bosoms,  that  each  heart  being  set 
On  bloody  courses,  the  rude  scene  may  end, 
Ami  darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead! 

Tra.  This  strained  passion  doth  you  ^^Ton^,  my 
lord. 

*  Ueturn  of  bloivg.  ^  Keported 

"Let  fall.  'Trifling.  f*  Cap. 


Scene  II. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


343 


L.  Bard.  Sweet  carl,  divorce  not  wisdom  from 
your  honor. 

Mor.  The  lives  of  all  your  loving  complices 
Lean  on  your  health;  the  which  if  ycm  give  o'er 
To  stormy  ])aspion,  must  perforce  decay. 
You  cast  the  oveut  of  war,  my  noble  lord, 
And  summM   the  account  of  chance,  before  you 

said, — 
Let  us  make  head.    It  was  your  presurmise. 
That  in  the  dole**  of  blows  your  son  mijiht  drop: 
You  knew,  he  walkM  o'er  perils,  on  an  edge, 
More  likely  to  tiiU  in  than  to  get  o'er: 
You  were  advis'd,  his  tiesh  was  capable 
Of  wounds,  and  scars;  and  that  his  forward  spirits 
Would  lift  him  where  most  trade  of  danger  ranged; 
Yet  did  you  say, — Go  forth;  and  none  of  tins, 
Though  strongly  apprehended,  could  restrain 
The  stilT-borne  action:  Whathatli  then  befallen, 
Or  what  hath  this  bold  enterprise  brought  forth, 
More  than  that  Ijeing  which  was  like  to  be] 

L.  Bard.  We  all,  that  are  engaged  to  this  loss. 
Knew  tJiat  we  ventured  on  such  dangerous  seas, 
That,  if  we  wrought  out  life,  'twas  ten  to  one; 
And  yet  we  ventur'd,  for  the  gain  proposM 
Chok'd  the  reypect  of  Hkely  peril  lear'd; 
And  since  we  are  o'crset,  venture  again. 
Come,  we  will  all  put  forth;  body,  and  goods.         , 

Mor.  'Tis  more  than  time:  And,  my  most  noble 
lord, 

T  hear  for  certain  and  do  speak  the  truth, • 

The  gentle  archbishop  of  York  is  up, 
With  well-appointed  powers;  he  is  a  man, 
Wlio  with  a  double  surety  binds  his  followers. 
My  lord  your  son  hath  only  but  the  corps, 
But  shadows,  and  the  shows  of  men.  to  tight* 
For  that  same  word,  rebellion,  did  divide  ' 
The  action  of  their  bodies  from  their  souls: 
And  they  did  tight  with  queasiness,'  constrain'^d, 
As  men  drink  potions;  that  their  weapons  only 
Seem'd  on  our  side,  but  for  their  spirits  and  souls, 
This  word,  rebellion,  it  hath  froze  them  up, 
As  fish  are  in  a  pond;  But  now  the  bishop 
Turns  insurrection  to  religion: 
Supposed  sincere  and  holy  in  his  thoughts. 
He's  foUow'd  both  with  body  and  with  mind; 
And  doth  enlarge  his  rising  with  the  blood 
Of  fair  king  Richard,  scraped  from  Pomfret  stones; 
Derives  from  heaven  his  quarrel,  and  his  cause; 
Tells  them  he  doth  bestride  a  bleeding  land. 
Gasping  tor  life  under  great  Bolinjibroke; 
And  more,'*  and  less,  do  Hock  to  follow  him. 

Aorfh.  I  knew  otthis  belbre;  but,  to  speak  truth, 
This  present  grief  hath  wiped  it  from  my  mind. 
Go  in  with  nrc;  iind  counsel  every  man 
The  aptest  way  for  safety,  and  revenge : 
Get  posts,  and  letters,  and  make  friends  with  speed; 
Never  so  lew,  and  never  yet  more  need.    {Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— London.    A  Street. 

Enter  Sir  John  Falstaff,  uuYA  Ats  Page  hearing 
his  Swai'd  and  Buckler. 

Fat.  Sirrah,  you  giant,  what  says  the  doctor  to 
my  Vi'ater ! 

Paf^e.  He  said,  sir,  the  water  itself  was  a  good 
healthy  water:  but,  for  the  party  that  owed  it,  he 
might  have  more  diseases  than  he  knew  for. 

Fal.  Men  of  all  sorts  take  a  pride  to  gird^  at  me; 
The  brain  of  this  foolish-compounded  clay,  man, 
is  not  able  to  invent  any  thin|r  that  tends  to  laugh- 
ter, more  than  I  invent,  or  is  invented  on  me;  I  am 
not  only  witty  in  myself,  but  the  cause  that  wit  is 
in  other  men.  I  do"  here  walk  liel'ore  thee,  like  a 
sow.  that  had  overwhelmed  all  her  litter  but  one. 
If  the  prince  put  thee  into  my  service  for  any  other 
reason  than  to  set  mc  olf,  why  then  I  have  no  judg- 
ment. Thou  whoreson  mandrake,*  thou  art  fitter 
to  be  worn  in  my  cap,  than  to  wait  at  my  heels.  I 
was  never  manned  with  an  agate^  till  now:  but  I 
will  set  you  neither  in  gold  nor  silver,  but  in  vile 
apparel,  and  send  you  back  again  to  your  master 
for  a  jewel;  the  Juvenal,  the  prince  your  master, 
whose  chin  is  not  yet  Hedged.  I  will  sooner  have 
a  beard  ^rowin  the  palm  of  my  hand,  than  he  shall 
get  on  his  cheek;  and  yet  he  will  not  stick  to  say 
his  face  is  a  tiicc-royal:  God  n^ay  finish  it  when  he 

■Distribution.        ^Against  their  stomachs.        ''Greater. 
•Gibe,  *  A  root  supposed  to  have  the  shape  of  a  man. 

•Alluding  to  little  figures  cut  in  agate. 


will,  it  is  not  a  hair  amiss  yet:  he  may  keep  it  still  as 
a  face-royal,  for  a  barber  shall  never  earn  sixpence 
out  of  it;  and  yet  he  will  be  crowing  as  if  he  had 
writ  man  ever  since  his  father  was  a  bachelor.  He 
may  keep  his  own  grace,  but  he  is  almost  out  of 

mine.  I  can  assure  Iiim. What  said  master  Dum- 

bleton  about  the  satin  for  my  short  cloak,  and  slops? 

Page.  He  said, sir,  you  should  procure  him  better 
assurance  than  Bardolph:  he  would  not  take  his 
bond  and  yours;  he  liked  not  the  security. 

Fal.  Lei  him  he  damned  like  a  glutton!  may  his 
tongue  be  hotter! — A  wh<ireson  Achitophel!  a  ras- 
cally 5'ea-forsooth  knave !  to  bear  a  gentleman  in 
hand,  and  then  stand  upon  security  I — The  whore- 
son smooth-pates  do  not  wear  nothing  but  high 
shoes,  and  bunches  of  keys  at  their  girdles;  and  if 
a  man  is  thorough*  with  them  in  honest  taking  up, 
then  they  must  stand  upon — security.  I  had  a^s  lief 
they  wolild  put  ratsbane  in  my  mouth,  as  oiler  to 
stop  it  with  security.  I  looked  he  should  have  sent 
me  two-and-twenty  yards  of  satin,  as  I  am  a  true 
knight,  and  he  sends  me  security.  Well,  he  may 
sleep  in  security;  (or  hft  hath  the  horn  of  abun- 
dance, and  the  lightness  ui  liis  wile  shines  through 
it:  and  yet  cannot  he  see,  though  he  have  his  own 
lantern  "to  light  him. Where's  Bardolph"? 

Page.  He's  gone  into  Smilhfield,  to  buy  your 
worship  a  hoi*se. 

Fal.  I  bought  him  in  Paul's,  and  he'll  buy  me  a 
horse  in  Smithtield:  an  1  could  got  me  but  a  wife 
in  the  stews,  I  were  manned,  horsed,  and  wived.' 
Enter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and  an  Attendant. 

Page.  Sir,  here  comes  the  nobleman  that  cotn- 
mitted  the  prince  Ibr  striking  him  about  Bardolph. 

Fal.  Wait  close,  I  will  not  see  him. 

Ch.  Just.  What's  he  that  goes  there! 

Alttn.  Falstalf,  an't  please  your  lordship. 

Cli.Just.  He  tliat  was  in  question  for  the  rob- 
bery ,' 

Atten.  He,  my  lord:  but  he  hath  since  done  good 
service  at  Shrewsbury;  and,  as  I  hear,  is  now  going 
with  some  charge  to  the  lord  John  of  Lancaster. 

Ch.  Just.  Whai,  to  York?  Call  him  back  again. 

Allen.  Sir  John  Falstall! 

Fat.  Boy,  tell  him,  1  am  deaf. 

Page.  You  must  speak  louder,  my  master  is  deaf. 

Ch.  Just.  I  am  sure,  he  is,  to  the  hearing  of  any 
thing  good. — Go,  pluck  him  by  the  elbow;  I  must 
speak  with  him. 

Atten.  Sir  John, — 

>fl/.  What!  a  young  knave,  and  beg!  Is  there 
not  wars?  is  there  not  employment?  Doth  not  the 
king  lack  subjects?  do  not  the  rebels  need  soldiers? 
Though  it  be  a  shame  to  he  on  any  side  but  one,  it 
is  worse  shame  to  beg  than  to  be  on  the  worse  side, 
were  it  worse  than  the  name  of  rebellion  can  tell 
how  to  make  it. 

Aftcn.  Y'ou  mistake  me,  sir. 

Fal.  Why, sir.  did  I  say  jou  were  an  honest  man? 
setting  my  knigluhood  and  my  soldiership  aside,  I 
had  lied  in  my  throat  if  I  had  said  so. 

Alien.  I  pray  you,  sir,  then  set  your  knighthood 
and  your  soldiership  aside;  and  give  me  leave  to 
tell  you,  you  lie  in  yonrthroat,  if  you  say  I  am  any 
other  than  an  honest  man. 

Fal.  I  give  tiiee  leave  to  tell  mc  so !  I  lay  aside 
tliat  which  grows  to  me!  If  thou  get'st  any  leave 
of  me,  hang  me;  if  thou  takest  leave,  thou  wert 
better  be  lianged :  Y'ou  hunt-counter,"  hence! 
avaunt! 

Atlen.  Sir,  my  lord  would  speak  with  you. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John  Falstalf,  a  word  with  you. 

Fal.  My  good  lord!— God  give  your  lordshipgood 
time  of  day.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  lordship  abroad: 
I  heard  say,  your  lordship  was  sick:  I  hope,  your 
lordship  goes  abroad  by  advice.  Your  lordship, 
though  not  clean  past  your  youth,  hath  yet  some 
smack  of  age  in  you,  some  relish  of  the  saltness  of 
time;  and  I  most  humbly  beseech  your  lordship,  to 
have  a  reverend  care  of  your  health. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  .John,  I  sent  for  you  before  your 
expedition  to  Shrewsbury. 

Fal.  An't  please  \  our  lordship,  I  hear  his  majesty 
is  returned  witli  some  discomlbrt  from  Wales, 

6  In  their  debt. 

■J  Alluding  to  an  old  proverb  :  "^ho  goes  to  Westmin- 
ster for  a  wife,  to  St.  Paul's  for  a  man,  and  to  Smithfield 
for  a  horse,  may  meet  with  a  whore,  a  knave,  and  a  jade 

^A  catch-pole  or  bailiff. 


344 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  I. 


Ch.  Just.  I  talk  not  of  liis  jTiajesty ; — You  would 
not  come  when  1  sent  for  you. 

Fat.  And  I  hear  moreover,  his  highness  is  fallen 
into  this  same  whoreson  apoplexy. 

Ck.  Just.  Well,  heaven  mend  him !  I  pray,  let 
me  speak  with  you. 

Fal.  This  apoplexy  is,  as  I  take  it,  a  kind  of  le- 
thargy, an't  please  your  lordship;  a  kind  of  sleep- 
ing in  the  blood,  a  whoreson  tingling. 

Ch.  Just.  What  tell  you  me  of  it?  be  it  as  it  is. 

FoL  It  hath  its  original  I'rom  much  gricl";  from 
study,  and  perturbation  of  the  brain:  I  have  read 
the  cause  of  his  ctlbcts  in  Galen ;  it  is  a  kind  of 
deafness. 

C/i.  Just.  I  think,  you  are  fallen  into  the  disease ; 
lor  you  fiear  not  what  I  say  to  you. 

Fat.  Very  well,  my  lord,  very  well :  rather,  an't 
please  you,  it  is  tiie  disease  of  not  listening,  the 
malady  of  not  marlring,  that  I  am  troubled  withal. 

Cfi.  Just.  To  punish  you  by  the  heels,  would 
amend  the  attention  of  your  ears;  and  I  care  not, 
if  I  do  become  your  pbysician. 

Fal.  I  am  as  poor  as*Job,  my  lord;  but  not  so 
patient:  your  lordship  may  minister  the  potion  of 
imprisonment  to  me,  in  respect  of  poverty;  but 
how  1  should  be  your  patient  to  follow  your  pre- 
.scriptions,  the  wise  may  make  some  dram  of  a  scru- 
ple, or  indeed  a  scruple  itself. 

Cfi.  Just.  X  sent  for  you,  when  there  were  mat- 
ters against  you  Ibr  your  life,  to  come  speak  with 
me. 

Fal.  As  I  was  then  advised  by  my  learned  coun- 
sel in  the  laws  of  this  land-serviee,  I  did  not  come. 

C/i.  Just.  Well,  the  truth  is,  sir  John,  you  live  in 
great  inliimy. 

Fal.  Ho  that  buckles  him  in  iny  belt,  cannot  live 
in  less. 

Cfi.  Just  Your  means  are  very  slender,  and  your 
.waste  is  great. 

Fat.  I  would  it  were  otherwise;  I  would  my 
means  were  greater,  and  my  waist  slenderer. 

Ch.  Just.  You  have  misled  the  youthful  prince. 

Fat.  The  young  prince  hath  misled  me :  1  am  the 
fellow  with  the  great  belly,  and  he  my  dog. 

C'A.  Just.  Well,  I  am  loath  to  gall  a  new  healed 
wound :  your  day's  service  at  Shrewsbury  hath  a 
little  gilded  over  your  niglit's  exploit  on  Gadshill: 
you  may  thank  the  unquiet  time  for  your  quiet 
o'er-posting  that  action. 

Fat.  My  lord  ? 

Cti.Jui't.  But  since  all  is  well,  keep  it  so:  wake 
not  a  sleeping  wolf. 

Fal.  To  wake  a  wolf  is  as  had  as  to  smell  a  fox. 

Oil.  Just.  What!  you  are  as  a  candle,  tile  better 
part  burn  out. 

Fal.  A  wassel  candle,' my  lord:  all  tallow:  if  I 
did  sayof  wax,  my  growth  would  approve  the  trutli. 

CA.  Just.  There  is  not  a  white  hair  on  jour  face, 
but  sliould  have  his  ellect  of  gravity. 

Fal.  His  elfect  of  gravy,  gravy,  gravy. 

Cti.  Just.  You  follow  the  young  prince  up  and 
down,  like  his  ill  angel. 

Fat.  Not  so,  my  lord;  your  ill  angel'  is  light; 
but,  I  hope,  he  that  looks  upon  me,  will  take  me 
without  weighing:  and  yet,  in  some  respects,  I 
grant,  I  cannot  go,  I  cannot  teil:^  Virtue  is  of  so 
little  regard  in  these  coster-mo;igcr  times,  tliat  true 
valor  is  turned  bear-head:  Pregnacy^is  made  a 
tapster,  and  hath  iiis  quick  wit  wasted  in  giving 
reckonings:  all  the  other  gifts  appertiucut  to  man, 
as  the  malice  of  tliis  age  shapes  them,  are  not  wortli 
a  gooseberry.  You,  that  are  old,  consider  not  the 
capacities  of  us  that  are  young:  you  measure  the 
heat  of  our  liver  in  the  bitterness  of  your  galls ; 
and  we  that  are  in  tlic  vaward*  of  our  youth,  I 
must  confess,  are  wags  too. 

Cfi.  Just.  Do  you  set  down  your  name  in  the 
scroll  of  youth,  that  are  written  down  old  with  all 
the  characters  of  age]  Have  you  not  a  moist  eye? 
a  dry  hand!  a  yellow  cheek  !  a  white  beard  !  a  de- 
creasing legl  an  increasing  belly!  Is  not  your 
voice  broken?  your  wind  siiort?  your  chin  double! 
your  wit  single  !  and  every  part  about  you  blasted 
"'"""         '     '""        '      ■"  ■       "      Durscif 


clock 


with  antiquity?  and  will  you  yet  call  yo 
young?  Fye,  lye,  fye,  sir  John ! 

Fal.  My  lord,  I  vvas  born  about  three  of  the 
in  tlie  alternoon,  with  a  white  head,  and  something 

^  A  larf^e  canillc  for  a  feast.      'Tite  coin  calleJ  on  angel. 
•  I'asa  current.  ^licaJincss.  "'I'oreiiart 


around  bellj^.  For  my  voice, — I  have  lost  it  with 
hollaing,  and  singing  of  anthems.  To  approve  my 
youth  further,  I  will  not:  the  truth  is,  1  am  only 
old  in  judgment  and  uiiderstandiug;  and  he  that 
will  caper  with  me  for  a  thousantl  marks,  let  him 
lend  me  the  money,  and  have  at  him.  Tor  the  box 
o'the  ear  that  the  prince  gave  you, — he  gave  it  like 
a  rude  prince,  and  you  took  it  like  a  sensible  lord. 
I  have  checked  him  for  it;  and  the  young  lion  re- 
pents: marry,  not  in  asiics,  and  sack-cloth;  but  in 
new  silk,  and  old  sack. 

CIt.  Just.  Well,  heaven  send  t!ie  prince  a  better 
companion! 

Fal.  Heaven  send  the  companion  a  belter  prince! 
I  cannot  rid  my  hands  of  liim. 

Cti.Just.  Well,  the  king  hath  severed  you  and 
prince  Harry:  I  hear  you  arc  going  with  lord  John 
of  Lancaster  against  the  archbishop,  and  the  earl 
of  Northumberland. 

Fal.  Yea;  I  thank  your  pretty  sweet  wit  fof  it. 
But  look  you  pray,  all  you  that  kiss  my  lady  peace 
at  home,  that  our  armies  join  not  in  a  hot  day  !  tor, 
by  tlie  Lord,  I  take  but  two  shirts  out  with  me,  and 
1  mean  not  to  sweat  extraordinarily  :  if  it  be  a  hot 
day,  and  I  brandish  any  thing  but  my  bottle,  I 
would  I  might  never  spit  white  ."gain.  There  is 
not  a  dangerous  action  can  peep  out  his  head,  but 
I  am  thrust  upon  it:  Well,  I  cannot  last  ever;  But 
it  was  always  yet  the  trick  of  our  English  nation, 
if  they  have  a  good  thing,  to  make  it  too  common. 
If  you  will  need  say,  I  am  an  old  man,  you  should 
gi^e  me  rest.  I  would  to  God,  my  name  were  not 
so  terrible  to  the  enemy  as  it  is.  I  were  better  to 
be  eaten  to  death  with  rust,  than  to  be  scoured  to 
nothing  with  perpetual  motion. 

Ch.Just.  Well,  be  honest,  be  honest;  And  God 
bless  your  expedition! 

Fal.  Will  your  lordship  lend  me  a  thousand 
pound,  to  furnish  me  forth  ? 

Ck.  Just.  Not  a  penny,  not  a  penny;  you  are  too 
impatient  to  bear  crosses.  Fare  you  well:  Com- 
mend me  to  my  cousin  Westmoreland. 

[Ereuiit  Chief  Justice  ami  Attendant. 

Fal.  If  I  do,  fillip  me  with  a  tlirce-inan-beetle.° — 
A  man  can  no  more  separate  ago  and  covetousness, 
than  he  can  part  young  limbs  and  lechery:  but  the 
gout  galls  the  one,  and  the  pox  pinches  the  other; 
and  so  both  the  degrees  prevent"  my  curses. — 
Boy ! ■ 

Fage.  Sir? 

Fal.  What  money  is  in  my  purse  ? 

Page.  Seven  groats  and  two-pence. 

Fal.  I  can  get  no  remedy  against  this  consump- 
tion of  the  purse:  borrowing  only  lingers  and  lin.g- 
ers  it  out,  but  the  disease  is  incurable. — Go  bear 
this  letter  to  my  lordof  Lancaster;  this  to  the  prince: 
this  to  the  earl  of  Westmoreland;  and  this  to  old 
mistress  Ursula,  whom  I  have  weekly  sworn  lo 
marry  since  1  perceived  the  tirst  wliite  hair  on  my 
chin:  About  it;  you  know  where  to  find  me.  [Exit 
Page.]  A  pox  of"  this  gout!  or,  a  gout  of  this  pox! 
for  the  one,  or  the  other,  plays  the  rogue  with  my 
great  toe.  It  is  no  matter  if  I  do  halt;  I  have  the 
wars  for  my  color,  and  my  pension  shall  seem  the 
more  reasonable:  A  good  wit  will  make  use  ol'any 
thing;  1  will  turn  diseases  to  commodity.'     [Exit. 

SCENE  III.— York.    A  Room  in  tlie  Archbishop's 
Palace. 

Enter  tlie  .■Ireli'mluip  r/ York,  t!ie  Lords  H.istixgs, 
MowiiRAY,  and  Bardolph. 

Arcli.  Thus  have  you  heard  our  cause,  and  known 
our  means; 
And,  ruy  most  noble  friends,  I  pray  you  all, 
SpeaJi  plainly  your  opinions  of  our  hopes; — 
And  first,  lord  marshal,  what  say  you  to  it? 

Mow!'.  I  well  allow.  I  he  occasion  of  our  arms; 
But  gladly-would  be  better  sallslled. 
How,  in  our  means,  we  should  advance  ourselves 
To  look  with  forehead  bold  and  big  enough 
Upon  the  power  and  puissance  of  the  king. 

Hast.  Our  jiresent  musters  grow  upon  the  file 
To  live-and-twcnty  thousand  men  of  choice; 
And  our  supplies  live  largely  in  the  hope 
(if  great  Northumberland,  whose  bosom  burns 
With  an  incensed  fiVe  of  injuries. 

^A  large  n'ooilen  hammer,  so  heavy  as  to  require  three 
men  to  wielil  it.  "Anticiiiate.  '  I'roflt. 


Act  II.  ScE^l:  I. 


a>;G   HENKY  IV. 


345 


i.    Bard.   The    question    then,    lord    Hastings, 
standcth  tlius: — 
Whether  our  present  five-and-twcnty  tlioupand 
May  iiold  up  liead  without  Northumberland, 

Hasl.  With  him,  we  may. 

L  Bard.  Ay,  marry,  there\s  the  point: 

Bui  if  without  him  we  be  thought  too  teeble, 
My  judi^mcnt  is  we  should  not  step  too  far 
Till  we  had  his  assistance  by  the  hand  : 
For,  in  a  theme  so  bloody-fa'ced  as  this, 
Conjecture,  expectation,  and  surmise 
Of  aids  uncertain,  should  not  be  admitted. 

Arch.  'Tis  very  true,  lord  Bardolph;  ibr,  indeed, 
It  was  young  Hotspur's  case  at  Slirewsburj". 

L   Bard.  It  was,  my  lord;  who  lined  himself 
with  hope, 
Ealin;?  the  air  on  promise  of  supply, 
Flattering;  himst-lf  with  project  of  a  power 
Mufh  siuiiller  than  the  smallest  of  his  thoughts: 
And  so  with  ;rrcat  imagination, 
Proper  to  madmen,  led  his  powers  to  death, 
And,  winking,  lo:ip'd  into  destruction. 

lla.sf.  But,  by  your  leave,  it  never  yet  did  hurt 
To  lay  down  likelihoods,  and  forms  of  hope. 

L.  Bard,  Yes,  in  this  present  quality  of  war; — 
Indeed  the  instant  action  (a  cause  on  foot) 
Lives  so  in  hope,  as  in  an  early  spring 
We  see  the  appearing  buds;  which,  to  prove  fruit, 
Hope  gives  not  so  much  warrant,  as  despair. 
That  frosts  will  bite  them.  Wlien  we  mean  to  build, 
We  lirst  survey  the  plot,  then  draw  the  model, 
And  when  we  sec  tlie  figure  of  the  house, 
Then  must  we  rate  the  cost  of  the  erection; 
Which  if  we  find  outweighs  ahiUty. 
WJiat  do  we  then,  but  draw  anew  the  model 
In  fewer  ollices ;  or,  at  least,  desist 
To  build  at  all  \  Much  more,  in  this  great  work, 
(Which  is,  almost  to  pluck  a  kingdom  down, 
And  set  another  up,)  should  we  survey 
The  plot  of  situation,  and  the  model; 
Consent^  upon  a  sure  foundation; 
Question  surveyors;  Imow  our  own  estate 
How  able  such  a  work  to  undergo, 
To  weigh  against  his  opposite;  or  else, 
We  fortify  in  paper,  and  in  figures, 
Using  the  names  of  men,  instead  of  men: 
Like  one,  that  draws  the  model  of  a  house 
Beyond  his  power  to  build  it;  who,  half  through, 
Givus  oVr,  and  leaves  his  part-created  cost 
A  naked  subject  to  the  weepiug  clouds. 
And  waste  for  churlish  winter's  tyranny. 

Hafit.  (iranf,  tliat  our  hopes   Cyet  likely  of  fair 
hirth) 
Should  be  still-born,  and  that  we  now  possess'd 


The  utmost  man  of  expectation; 

I  tliink,  we  arc  a  body  strong  enough. 

Even  as  we  are,  to  equal  with  the  king. 

L.  Bard.  What !  is  the  king  but  livc-and-twenty 
thousai.d! 

Ha&i.  To  us,  no  more;  nay,  not  so  much,  lord 
Bardolpl). 
For  his  divisions,  as  the  times  do  brawl. 
Are  in  three  heads:  one  power  against  the  French, 
And  one  against  Glendower;  perlbrce  a  lliird 
JIust  take  up  us:  So  is  the  unlirm  king 
In  three  divided;  and  his  colliers  sound 
With  hollow  poverty  and  emptiness. 

Arch.  That  he  should  draw  his  several  strength 
together, 
AJid  come  against  us  in  full  puissance, 
Need  not  be  dreaded. 

Ha.st.  If  he  should  do  so, 

He  leaves  his  back  unarmM,  the  French  and  Welsh 
Baying  Jiim  at  ihe  heels:  never  fear  that. 

L.  Bard.  Wlio,  is  it  like,  should  lead  his  forces 
hither! 

IJasf,  Tiie  duke  of  Lancaster  and  Westmoreland: 
Against  the  Welsh,  himself. and  llany  Monmouth: 
But  who  is  substitute  'gainst  the  French,    * 
I  have  no  certain  notice. 

Arch.  Let  us  on; 

And  publish  the  occasion  of  our  arms. 
The  commonwealth  is  sick  of  their  own  choice, 
Their  over-greedy  love  hath  surleited: — 
An  habitation  giddy  and  unsure 
Hath  he,  that  buildeth  on  the  vulgar  heart. 
0  thou  Ibnd  many  J^  with  what  It)ud  applause 
Didst  tliou  beat  heaven  witli  blessing  Jiolingbroke, 
Beibre  he  was  what  thou  wouldst  have  him  be! 
And  being  now  trijnmM*  in  thine  own  desires. 
Thou,  beastly  feeder,  art  so  full  of  him. 
That  thou  provok'st  thyself  to  cast  him  up. 
So,  so,  thou  common  dog,  didst  thou  disgorge 
Thy  glutton  bosom  of  the  royal  Richard; 
And  now  thou  would'st  eat  thy  dead  vomit  up, 
And  howl'st,  to  find  it.-  What  trust  is  in  these 

times'! 
They  that,  when  Richard  livM,  would  have  him  die, 
Are  now  become  enamor'd  on  his  grave; 
Thou,  that  threw'st  dust  upon  his  goodly  head. 
When  through  proud  London  he  came  sighing  on 
After  the  admired  iieels  of  Bolingbroke, 
Cry'st  now,  O  earth,  yield  us  that  king  ugainy 
And  take  thou  this/  O  thoughts  of  men  accurst! 
Past,  and  to  come,  seem  best ;  things  present,  worst. 

Mowb.  Shall  we  go  drawournunibers,  and  set  on! 

Hast.  We  are  time's  subjects,  and  time  bids  be- 
gone. [Ejctunl* 


ACT  11. 


SCENE  I.— London.    A  Street. 

Enter  Kostcss;  Fant.,  and  his  Boy,  with  her;  and 
Snare  fuUutuing. 

Host.  Master  Fang,  have  you  entered  tlieactioni 

Fan^.  It  is  entered. 

Host.  Wlierc  is  your  yeomen?  ^  jg  it  a  lusty  yeo- 
man? will  a' stand  to't? 

Fang.  Sirrah,  whereas  Snare] 

Host.  O  lord,  ay ;  good  master  Snare. 

Snare.  Here,  here. 

Fang.  Snare,  we  must  arrest  sir  John  FalstafT. 

Host.  Yea,  good  master  Snare;  I  have  entered 
him  and  all. 

Snare.  It  may  chance  cost  some  of  us  our  lives, 
for  he  will  stab. 

Host.  Alas  the  day!  take  heed  of  him;  he  stab- 
bed me  in  mine  own  house,  and  that  most  beastly; 
in  good  faith,  a'  cares  not  what  mischief  he  doth, 
if  his  weapon  be  out:  he  will  foin'  like  any  devil; 
he  will  spare  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child. 

Fang.  If  I  can  close  with  him,  I  care  not  for  his 
thrust. 

Host.  No,  nor  I  neither:  I'll  be  at  yonr  elbow. 

Fang.  An  I  but  fist  him  once;  an  a'  come  but 
within  my  vice.^ 


^  Agree. 


"Follower. 


1  Thruit. 


'Grasp. 


Host.  I  am  undone  by  his  going;  I  warrant  you, 
he's  an  infinite  thing  upon  my  score: — Good  mas- 
ter Fang,  hold  him  sure; — good  master  Snare,  let 
him  not  escape.  He  comes  continually  to  Pie- 
corner,  (saving  your  manhoods,)  to  buy  a  saddle; 
and  he's  indited  to  dinner  to  the  Lnbbar's  Head  in 
Lumbert-street,  to  master  Smooth's  the  silkman: 
I  pray  ye,  since  my  cxion  is  entered,  and  my  case 
so  openly  known  to  the  world,  let  him  be  brought 
in  to  his  answer.  A  hundred  mark  is  a  long  loan 
for  a  poor  lone  woman  to  bea  r :  and  I  have  bornCj 
and  borne,  and  borne ;  and  liave  been  fubbcd  oUy 
and  fubbed  olf,  and  fubbed  oli;  from  this  day  to 
that  day,  that  it  is  a  shame  to  lie  tiiought  on.  There 
is  no  honesty  in  such  dealing;  unless  a  woman 
should  be  made  an  ass,  and  a  beast,,  to  bear  every 

kTiave's  wrong. 

Enter  Sir  John  Falstaff,  Page,  a7id  BAnDOLPii. 

Yonder  lie  comes;  and  that  arrant  malmsey-nose 
knave,  Bardolph,  witli  him.  Do  your  oflices,  do 
■your  olfices,  master  Fang,  and  master  Snare;  do 
nie.  do  me,  do  me,  your  ollices. 

Fat.  How  now  1  whose  mare's  dead?  what's  the 
ma  tter  ? 

Fa;?g.  Sir  John,  I  arrest  yo>'  at  the  smt  of  mis- 
tress Quickly. 


•■<  Foolish  multitude. 


*  Dressed 


34G 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  li. 


Fed.  Away,  Viirlets!— Draw,  Bardolph;  cut  me 
ofT  the  villain^s  head ;  throw  the  quean  in  the 
clianncl. 

Host.  Throw  me  in  the  channel?  I'll  throw  thee 
in  lite  channel.  Wilt  thou?  wilttliou'?  tliou  bas- 
tardly rogue! — Murder,  murder!  i)  thou  honey- 
Buckle*  villain!  wilt  thou  kill  God's  ofliccrs,  arid 
the  king''s]  0  thou  honey^-^eed^  ro^^ue!  thou  art  a 
honey-seed;  a  man-queller. and  a  woman-queller. 

Fat.  Keep  them  oil"  Bardolph. 

Funif.  A  rescue!  a  rescue! 

Host.  Good  people,  brinj;  a  rescue  or  two. — Thou 
"wo't,  woH  thou!  thou  wo't,  wo't  thou?  do,  do, 
thou  rogue!  do,  thou  hemp-seed! 

Fat.  Away,  you  scullion!  you  rampallion!  you 
fust  larian!  I'll  tickle  your  catastrophe. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  atteiided, 

Vk.  Just.  Whafs  the  matter?  keep  the  peace 
here,  ho  ! 

Hffst.  Good  my  lord,  be  good  to  me!  I  beseech  you! 

C/i.  Just.  Hovv  now,  sir  JoJm?    what,  are  you 
brawling  here? 
Doth  this  become  your  place,  your  time,  and  busi- 

'  ness  ? 
You  should  have  been  well  on  your  way  to  York. — 
Stand  from  him,  fellow;  Vvherefore  liang'st  thou 
on  him? 

Host.  0  my  most  worshipful  lord,  an't  please  your 
grace,  I  am  a  poor  widow  of  Eastcheap,  and  he  is 
arrested  at  my  suit. 

Ch.  Just.  For  what  sum? 

Host.  It  is  more  than  for  some,  my  lord ;  it  is  for 
all,  all  I  have:  he  hath  eaten  me  out  of  house  and 
home:  he  hath  put  all  my  substance  into  that  fat 
belly  of  his: — but  I  will  have  some  of  it  out  again, 
or  ril  ride  Uiee  6'nights.  like  the  marc. 

Fill.  I  think,  I  am  as  like  to  ride  the  mare,  if  I 
have  any  vantage  of  ground  to  get  up. 

C/(.  Just.  How  comes  this,  sir  John?  Fye!  what 
man  of  good  temper  would  endure  this  tempest  of 
exclamation?  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  eiitorce  a 
poor  widow  to  so  rough  a  course  to  come  by  her 
own? 

Fal.  What  is  the  gross  sum  that  I  owe  thee? 

Host.  Marry,  if  thou  wert  an  honest  man,  thyself, 
and  the  money  too.  Thou  didst  swear  to  me  upon 
a  parcel-gilf  goblet,  sitting  in  my  Dolphin-cham- 
ber, at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  fire,  upon 
Wednesday  in  Whilsun-w'eek,  when  the  prince 
broke  thy  head  for  liking  his  father  to  a  singing- 
man  of  Windsor:  thou  didst  swear  to  me  then,  as 
I  was  washing  thy  wound,  to  marry  me,  and  make 
me  my  lady  thy  wife.  Canst  thou  deny  it?  Did 
not  goodwife  Kccch,  the  butcher's  wife,  come  in 
tlien,  and  call  me  gossip  Quickly?  coming  in  to 
borrow  a  mess  of  vinegar;  telling  us,  she  had  a  good 
dish  of  prawns;  whereby  thou  didst  desire  to  eat 
some;  whereby  I  told  thee,  they  were  ill  for  a  green 
wound?  And  didst  thou  not,  when  she  was  gone 
down  stairs,  desire  me  to  be  no  more  so  familiarity 
with  such  poor  people;  saying,  that  ere  long  they 
should  call  mc  madam?  And  didst  tlmu  not  kiss 
me,  and  bid  me  fetch  tlicc  thirty  sliillings?  I  put 
thee  now  to  thy  hook-oath;  deny  it,  if  thou  canst. 

Fal.  My  lord,  this  is  a  poor  mad  soul;  and  she 
says,  up  and  down  the  town,  that  her  eldest  son  is  like 
you  :  she  hath  been  in  good  case,  and,  the  truth  is, 
poverty  hath  distracted  her.  But  for  these  foolish 
ofliccrs,  1  beseech  you,  1  may  have  redress  against 
them. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John,  sir  John.  I  am  well  acquainted 
with  your  manner  of  wrenching  the  true  cause  the 
false  way.  It  is  not  a  confident  brow,  nor  the  tin-ong 
of  words  that  come  with  such  more  than  imputlent 
sauciness  from  you,  can  thrust  me  from  a  level  con- 
sideration; you  have,  as  it  appears  to  mc,  practised 
upon  the  oas'y-yi elding  spirit  of  this  woman,  and 
njadc  her  serve  your  uses  both  in  purse  and  person. 

Host.  Yea,  in  troth,  my  lord. 

Ch.  Just.  Pr"*y tliee,  peace : — Puy  her  the  debt  you 
owe  her,  and  unjiay  the  viUany  you  have  done 
wirh  her;  the  one  yt>u  may  do  with  sterling  money, 
and  the  other  witli  current  repentance. 

Fal.  My  lord,  I  will  not  undergo  this  sneap^ 
without  reply.  You  call  Iionorable  boldness,  im- 
^ndentsauciness:  ifa  man  will  make  court'sy,  and 


*Homici  '."^l. 
U';irty  gilt. 


f'  Homicide. 
•  Suub,  check. 


say  nothing,  he  is  virtuous:  No,  my  lord,  my  hum- 
ble duty  remembered,  1  will  not  be  your  suitor;  I 
say  to  you,  1  do  desire  deliverance  from  these  offi- 
cers, being  upon  hasty  employment  in  the  king's 
allairs. 

Ch.  Just.  You  speak  as  having  power  to  do 
wrong:  but  answer  in  theetfect  of  your  reputation, 
and  satisfy  the  poor  woman. 

J'al.  ComehttJier,  hostess.        [Taking  her  aside* 

Enter  Go^yer. 

Ch.Just.  Now.  master  Go wer;  What  news? 

Gow.  The  king,  my  lord,  and  Hurry  prince  of 
Wales 
Are  near  at  hand :  the  rest  the  paper  tells. 

Fal.  As  I  am  a  gentleman; 

Hast.  Nay,  you  said  so  belbre. 

Fal.  As  I  am  a  gentleman; Come,  no  more 

words  of  it. 

Host.  By  this  heavenly  ground  I  tread  on,  I  must 
be  fain  to  pawn  both  my  plate,  aiid  the  tapestry  of 
my  dining-chambers. 

Fal.  Glasses,  glasses,  is  the  only  drinking:  and 
for  thy  walls, — a  pretty  slight  drollery,  or  the  story 
of  the  prodigal,  or  the  German  .hunting  in  water- 
work,  IS  worth  a  thousand  of  these  bed-hangings, 
and  these  fiy-bitleu  tapestries.  Let  it  be  ten  pound, 
if  thou  canst.  Come,  an  it  v^ere  not  for  thy  Jm- 
mors,  there  is  not  a  better  wench  in  England.— Go, 
wash  thy  face,  and  draw'  thy  action:  Come,  thou 
must  not  be  in  this  humor  with  mc  ;  dost  not  know 
me?  Come,  come,  I  know  thou  wast  set  on  to  this. 

Host._  Pray  tliee,  sir  John,  let  it  be  but  twenty  no- 
bles; i'iaith  I  am  loath  to  pawn  my  plate,  in  good 
earnest,  la. 

Fal.  Let  it  alone;  Til  make  other  shift;  you'll  be 
a  fool  still. 

Host.  Well,  3'ou  shall  have  it,  thougli  I  pawn  my 
gown.  I  hope  you'll  come  to  supper:  you'll  pay 
me  all  together? 

Fal.  Will  I  live?— Go,  with  lier,  with  her;  [To 
BAitnoLrn.j  hook  on,  hook  on. 

Host.  WUl  you  have  Doll  Tear-sheet  meet  you  at 
supper? 

Fal.  No  more  words;  lefs  have  her. 

[Exeunt  Hostess,  Bardolph,  Officers, 
and  Page. 

Ch.  Just.  I  have  heard  better  news. 

Fal.  What's  the  news,  my  good  lord  : 

Ck.  Just.  Where  lay  the  king  last  night  ? 

Gow.  At  Basingstoke,  my  lord. 

Fal.  I  hope,  my  lord,  alPs  well:  Wiat's  the  news, 
my  lord? 

Ch.  Just.  Come  all  his  forces  back  ? 

Gow.  No;    fifteen  hundred  foot,    live  hundred 
horse, 
Are  marchM  up  to  my  lord  of  Lancaster, 
Against  Northumberland,  and  the  archbishop. 

Fal.  Comes  the  king  back  from  W^ales,  my  noble 
lord? 

Ch.  Just.  You  shall  have  letters  of  me  presently: 
Come,  go  along  with  me,  good  master  Gower. 

Fal.  My  lord ! 

Ch.  Just.  What's  the  matter? 

Fal.  Master  Gower,  sliail  I  entreat  you  with  me 
to  dinner? 

Gow.  I  must  wait  upon  my  good  lord  here:  I 
thank  you,  good  sir  John. 

Ch.  Just.  Sir  John,  you  loiter  here  too  long,  being 
you  are  to  take  soldiers  up  in  counties  as  you  go. 

Fal.  Will  you  sup  witli  me,  master  Gower? 

Ch-Just.  What  foolish  master  taught  you  these 
manners,  sir  John? 

Fal.  Master  Gower,  if  they  become  mc  not,  he 
was  a  fool  that  taught  them  mc. — This  is  the  right 
fencing  grace,  my  lord ;  tap  for  tap,  and  so  part  lair. 

CVi.  Just.  Now  the  Lord  lighten  tliee  !  thou  art  a 
great  fool.  [Exeunt. 

SCP:NE  U.— Another  street. 

Enter  Prince  Henry  and  PoiNS. 

P.  Hen.  Trust  me,  I  am  exceeding  weary. 

Poins.  Is  it  come  to  that  ?  I  had  thought  weari- 
ness durst  not  have  attached  one  of  so  high  blood. 

P.  Hen.  'Faith,  it  does  me;  though  it  discolors 
the  complexion  of  my  greatness  to  acknowledge  it 
Doth  it  not  show  vilely  in  me,  to  desire  small  beer! 


0  Suitably  to  your  char^^cter. 


1  "Withdraw 


Scene  II. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


347 


K 


Poins.  Wl;y.  a  prince  should  not  be  so  loosely 
studied,  as  to  renieniher  so  weak  a  composition, 

P.  hen.  Belike  then,  my  ai)petite  was  not 
princely  sot;  for,  by  my  troth,  I  do  nowremember 
the  poor  "creature,  small  beer.  But,  indeed,  these 
humble  considerations  make  me  out  of  love  with 
my  greatness.  What  a  disgrace  is  it  to  me,  to  re- 
men^  bcr  thy  name?  or  to  know  thy  face  to-morrow? 
or  to  take  note  how  many  pair  of  silk  stockini^s 
thou  hast;  viz.  these,  and  thosethat  were  the  peach- 
colored  ones?  or  to  bear  the  inventory  of  thy  shirts; 
as,  one  for  superlUiity,  and  the  other  Ibr  use? — but 
that,  the  tennis-court  keeper  knows  better  than  I; 
tor  it  is  a  low  ebb  of  linen  with  thee,  when  thou 
keepest  not  racket  there;  as  thou  hast  not  done  a 

reat  while,  because  the  rest  of  thy  low-countries 

ave  made  a  shift  to  eat  up  thy  iioUand  :  and  God 
knows,  whether  those  that  bawl  out  the  ruins  ol 
thy  linen,=  shall  inherit  his  kingdom;  but  the  mid- 
wives  say,  the  children  are  not  in  the  fault:  where- 
upon the  world  increases,  and  kindreds  ave  mightily 
strengthened. 

Foins.  flow  ill  it  follows,  after  you  have  labored 
so  hard,  you  should  talk  so  idly?  Tell  me,  how 
many  good  young  princes  would  do  so,  their  lathers 
being  so  sick  as  yours  at  this  time  is  ? 

P.  Hen.  Shall  I  tell  thee  one  thing,  Poins' 

Pains.  Yes;  and  let  it  be  an  excellent  good  thing. 

P.  Hen.  It  shall  serve  among  wits  of  no  iiigher 
breeding  than  thine. 

Poins.  Go  to ;  I  stand  the  push  of  your  one  thing 
that  you  will  tell. 

P.  flen.  Why,  I  tell  thee,— it  is  not  meet  that  I 
shoidd  be  sad,  now  my  fatiierissick:  albeit  I  could 
tell  to  thee,  (as  to  one  it  pleases  me,  for  limit  of  a 
better,  to  call  niy  friend,)  1  could  be  sad,  and  ^ad 
uideed  too. 

Poins.  Very  hardly,  upon  such  a  subject. 

P.  Hen.  Hy  this  hand,  Ihou  think^st  me  as  far  in 
the  dcviTs  book,  as  thovi  and  Falstall^  for  obduracy 
and  persistency:  Let  the  end  try  the  man.  But  I 
tell  thee, — my  heart  bleeds  inwardly,  that  my  lather 
is  so  sick:  and  keeping  such  vile  company  as 
thou  art,  hath  in  reason  taken  from  me  all  ostenta- 
tion of  sorrow, 

Poins.  The  reason? 

P.  Hen.  What  wouldst  thou  think  of  me,  if  I 
should  weep? 

Poins.  1  would  think  thee  a  most  princely  hypo- 
crite. 

P.  Hen.  It  would  be  every  man's  thought:  and 
thou  art  a  blessed  Icllow,  to  think  as  every  man 
tliinks;  never  a  man's  thought  in  the  world  keeps 
the  road-way  better  than  thine:  e\ery  man  would 
think  me  a  hypocrite  indeed.  And  what  accites 
your  most  worshij)ful  thought,  to  think  so? 

Poins.  Why,  because  you  have  been  so  lewd,  and 
so  much  engralfed  to  Falstalf. 

P.  Hen.  And  to  thee. 

Poins.  Hy  this  light,  I  am  well  spoken  of.  I  can 
hear  it  with  my  own  cars:  the  worst  that  they  can 
say  of  me  is,  that  I  am  a  second  brother,  and  that 
I  am  a  proper  fellow  of  my  hantis;  and  Ihijse  two 
things,  I  confess,  I  cannot  help.  By  the  mass,  here 
comes  Bardoiph. 

P.  Hen.  And  the  boy  that  I  gave  Falstall":  he  had 
him  from  me  Christian;  and  look,  if  the  lilt  villaix 
have  not  transformed  him  ape. 

Enter  BAnDOLPH  and  Page. 

Bard.  'Save  your  grace. 

P.  Hen.  And  yours,  most  noble  Bardoiph. 

Tiurd.  Come,  you  virtuous  ass,  [To  the  Page.] 
you  bashful  fool,  must  you  be  blushing?  whereibre 
hlush  you  now  ?  What  a  maidenly  man  at  arms 
are  you  become!  Is  it  such  a  matter,  to  get  a  pot- 
tle-pot's maidenhead? 

Page.  He  called  me  even  now,  my  lord,  through 
a  red  lattice,  and  I  could  discern  no  part  of  his  face 
from  the  window:  at  last,  I  spied  his  eyes;  and,  me- 
thought.  he  had  niiide  two  holes  in  the  ale-wife's 
new  petticoat,  and  peeped  through. 

P.  Hen.  Hath  not  the  boy  prolited? 

Bard.  Away,  you  whoreson  upright  rabbit, 
away! 

Pase.  Away, you  rascally  Althea's  dream,  away! 

P.  Hen.  Instruct  us,  boy:  What  dream,  boy? 

Page.  Marry,  my  lord,  Althca  dreamed  she  was 

^  Children  wrapt  up  in  his  old  shirtg. 


delivered  of  a  fire-brand;  and  therefore  I  call  him 
her  dream. 

P.  Hen.  A  crown's  worth  of  good  interpretation. 
— There  it  is,  boy.  [Gives  him  money, 

Poins.  0,  that  this  good  blossom  could  be  kept 
from  cankers! — Well,  there  is  sixpence  to  preserve 
thee. 

Bard.  An  you  do  notjjiakc  him  be  hanged  among 
you,  the  gallows  shall  have  wrong. 

P.  Hen.  And  how  doth  thy  master,  Bardoiph  ? 

Bard.  Well,  my  lord.  He  heard  of  your  grace's 
coming  to  town ;  there's  a  letter  lor  you. 

Poins.  Deliver  with  good  respect. — And  how  doth 
the  niartlenias.3  your  master? 

Bard.  In  bodily  health,  sir. 

Pain.'':  Marry,  the  immortal  part  needs  a  physi- 
cian; but  thatinoves  not  him;  though  that  be  sick, 
it  dies  not. 

P.  Hen.  I  do  allow  this  wen  to  be  as  familiar 
with  me  as  my  dog:  and  he  holds  his  place;  for, 
look  you,  how  lie  writes. 

Pinns.  [Reads.]  John  FalstafT,  knight. Every 

man  must  know  that,  as  oft  as  he  has  occasion  to 
name  himself  Even  like  those  that  are  kin  to  the 
king;  for  they  never  prick  their  linger,  but  they 
say,  There  is  some  of  the  king^s  bU:od  .*<jntt :  How 
eomes  that'^  says  he,  that  takes  upon  him  not  to 
conceive:  the  answer  is  as  ready  as  a  borrower's 
cap;  I  am  the  king''s  poor  cousin,  sir. 

P.  Hen.  Nay,  they  will  be  kin  to  us,  or  they  will 
fetch  it  from  .laphet.    But  the  letter:— 

Poins.  Sir  .Tolin  Falstalf,  knight,  to  the  son  of /he 
king  nearest  his  father,  Harri/  prince  of  Wales, 
greeting. — Why,  this  is  a  certificate. 

P.  Hen.  Peace! 

Pt>ins.  /  icitt  imitate  the  hemorahle  Roman  in 
lirevit}/: — he  sure  means  brevity  in  bre;ith;  short- 
wuidcd. — I  commend  me  to  thee,  T commend  thee, 
and  f  trove  thee.  Be  not  too  familiar  loilh  Poins; 
for  he  mi.viscs  thy  favors  so  mucti,  tliat  tie  swears, 
thou  art  to  marry  hi-i  sister  Nell.  Repent  at  idle 
times  as  tliou  mayest,  avid  sofareivelt. 

Tliinc,  by  yea  and  no,  {which  is  as  much 
as  to  say,  as  tlaiu  usest  him,)  .lack  Fal- 
stiili;  with  my  familiars;  John,  tuHh 
my  lirot tiers  and  sisters  ;  and  Sir  John 
icith  alt  JCaropc. 
My  lord,  I  will  steep  this  letter  in  sack,  and  make 
him  eat  it. 

P.  Hen.  That's  to  make  him  eat  twenty  of  his 
words.  But  do  you  use  me  thus,  Ned!  must  I 
marry  your  sister? 

Poms.  Jlay  the  wench  have  no  worse  fortune! 
but  I  never  said  so. 

P.  Hen  Well,  thus  we  play  the  fools  with  the 
time;  and  the  spirits  of  the  wise  sit  in  the  clouds 
and  mock  us. —  Is  your  master  here  in  London? 

Bard.  Yef-.  my  lord. 

P.  Hen.  Where  sups  he?  doth  the  old  boar  feed 
in  the  old  frank?* 

Bard.  At  the  old  place,  my  lord;  in  East- 
cheap. 

P.  Hen.  What  company? 

Page.  Ephesians,  my  lord;  of  the  old  church. 

P.  Hen.  .Sup  any  women  with  him? 

Page.  None,  my  lord,  but  old  mistress  Quickly, 
and  mistress  Doll  Tear-sheet. 

P.  Hen.  Whal  pagan  may  that  be? 

Page.  A  jiroper  gentlewoman,  sir,  and  a  kins- 
woman of  my  master's. 

P.  Hen.  Even  sueli  kin,  as  the  parish  heifers  are 
to  the  town  bull. — Shall  we  steal  upon  him,  Ned, 
at  supper? 

Poins.  I  am  your  shadow,  my  lord ;  I'll  follow 
you. 

P.  Hen,  Sirrah,  you  boy,— and  Bardoiph;— no 
word  to  your  master  that  I  am  yet  come  to  town: 
There's  Ibr  your  silence. 

Bard.  I  have  no  tongue,  sir. 

Page.  And  for  mine,  sir; — I  will  govern  it. 

P.  Hen.  Fare  ye  wfU;  go.  [Exeunt  BARDOLrn 
ff7i((  Pagc.]—This  Doll  Tear-sheet  should  be  some 
road. 

Poins.  I  warrant  you,  as  common  as  the  way 
between  Saint  Alban's  and  London. 

P.  Hen.  How  might  we  see  FalstafT  bestow  him 
self  to-night  in  his  true  colors,  and  not  ourselvea 
be  seen? 


8  Martinmas  ;  St.  Martin's  day  is  Nov.  11. 


•Sty. 


348 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  II. 


Poin.':.  Put  on  two  leather  jerkins,  anj  aprons, 
and  wait  upon  him  at  liis  table  as  drawers. 

P.  Hen.  From  a  god  to  a  luiU!  a  heavy  descen- 
sion !  it  was  Jove's  case.  From  a  prince  to  a  pren- 
tice'! a  low  transformation!  that  shall  he  mine:  Cor, 
in  every  thing,  the  purpose  must  weigli  with  the 
folly.    Follow  me,  Ned.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Warkworth.    Befure  the  Castle. 

Enter  Northomeerlasd,  Lady  Noktiiumbeklaxd, 
and  Lady  Percy. 

North.   I    pray  thee,   loving  wile,   and   gentle 
daughter. 
Give  even  way  unto  my  rough  alTairs: 
Put  not  you  on  tlic  visage  of  the  times. 
And  he,  like  them,  to  Percy  troublesome. 

Ladij  N.  I  have  given  over,  1  will  speak  no  more : 
Do  what  you  will;  your  wisdom  be  your  guide. 

North.  "Alas,  sweet  wife,  my  honor  is  at  pawn; 
And,  but  my  going,  nothing  can  redeem  it. 

Lady  P.  O,  yet,  for  God's  sake,  go  not  to  tliese 
wars ! 
The  time  was,  fiither,  that  you  broke  your  word, 
Wiier  you  were  more  endcar'd  to  it  than  now; 
When   your  own  Percy,  when  my  heart's  dear 

Harry, 
Threw  many  a  northward  look  to  see  his  father 
Bring  up  his  powers;  but  he  did  long  in  vain. 
Who  then  persuaded  you  to  stay  at  homel 
There  were  two  honors  lost ;  yours,  and  your  son's. 
For  yours, — may  heavenly  glory  brighten  it! 
For  his— it  stuck  upon  him.  as  the  sun 
In  the  grey  vault  of  heaven:  and  by  his  light. 
Did  allthe  chivalry  of  England  move 
To  do  brajve  acts;  he  was,  indeed,  the  glass 
Wherein  the  noble  youth  did  dress  themselves. 
He  had  no  legs,  that  practised  not  Ills  gait: 
And  speaking  thick,  wliich  nature  made  his  blemish. 
Became  the  accents  of  the  valiant; 
For  those  that  could  speak  low,  and  tardily, 
Would  turn  their  own  perfection  to  abuse. 
To  seem  like  him:  So  that,  in  sxieech,  in  gait, 
In  diet,  In  atlections  of  delight. 
In  military  rules,  humors  of  blood, 
He  was  the  mark  and  glass,  copy  and  book, 
Tliat  tiishion'd    others.    And  him, — 0    wondrous 
him ! 

0  miracle  of  men! — him  did  you  leave, 
(Second  to  none,  unseconded  by  you.) 
To  look  upon  the  hideous  god  of  war 
In  disadvantage;  to  abide  a  field. 

Where  nothing  but  tlie  sound  of  PTotspur's  name 
Did  seem  defensible: — so  you  left  him: 
Never,  0  never,  do  his  ghost  the  wrong. 
To  hold  your  honor  more  precise  and  nice 
With  otiiers,  tJiau  with  him;  let  them  alone; 
The  marshal,  and  the  archbishop,  arc  strong: 
Had  my  sweet  Harry  had  but  half  their  numbers, 
To-day  might  I,  hanging  on  Hotspur's  neck, 
Have  talk'd  of  Moiunouth's  grave. 

North.  Beshrew  your  heart. 

Fair  daughter!  you  do  draw  my  spirits  from  me, 
With  new  lamenting  ancient  oversights. 
But  I  must  go,  and  moot  with  danger  there; 
Or  it  will  seek  me  in  another  place, 
And  fmd  me  worse  provided. 

iMiij  N.  0,  fly  to  Scotland, 

Till  dial  the  nobles,  and  the  armed  commons. 
Have  of  their  puissance  made  a  little  taste. 

Ladii  P.  If  they  get  ground  and  vantage  of  the 
king. 
Then  join  you  with  them,  like  a  rib  of  steel. 
To  make  strenglh  stronger;  but  forall  our  loves. 
First  let  them  try  themselves;  so  did  your  sou; 
He  was  so  sulTer'd;  so  came  I  a  widow; 
And  never  shall  have  length  of  life  enough. 
To  rain  upon  remembrance  with  mine  eyes, 
Tliat  it  may  grow  and  sprout  as  high  as  heaven, 
For  recordation  to  my  noble  husband. 

North,  Come,  come,  go  in  with  me;  'tis  with  my 
mind. 
As  with  the  tide  swell'd  up  unto  its  height. 
That  makes  a  still-stand,  running  neither  way. 
Fain  would  I  go  to  meet  the  archbishop, 
But  many  thousand  reasons  liold  me  back: 

1  will  resolve  for  Scotland;  there  am  I, 
Till  time  and  vantage  crave  my  company. 

[Exeunt. 


SC  ENE  I  v.— London.   A  Room  in  llie  Boards  Head 

Tavern,  in  Eastchsap. 

Enter  two  Drawers. 

1  Draw.  What  the  devil  hast  thou  brought  there! 
opplc-.Johns?  thou  know'st, sir  John  cannot  endure 
an  apple-John.' 

2  Draw.  Mass,  thou  sayest  true:  The  prmce 
once  sot  a  dish  of  apple-Johns  before  him,  and  told 
him,  there  were  live  more  sir  Johns:  and,  pulling 
oll'his  hat,  said,  I  wUt  now  tatie  my  team  of  these 
sLc  dni,  round,  old,  luilhcr^d  l;.ni.Kfits.  It  angered 
him  to'  the  heart;  but  he  hath  forgot  tliat. 

1  Draw.  Why  then,  cover,  and  set  them  down: 
And  see  if  thou  canst  lind  out  Sneak's  noise;"  mis- 
tress Tear-sheet  would  lain  hear  some  music.  De- 
spatch:—The  room  where  they  supped  is  too  hot, 
they'll  come  in  straight. 

•>  Draw.  Sirrah,  lierc  will  be  the  prince,  and_ 
master  1-oins  anon:  and  they  will  put  on  two  of 
our  jerkins,  and  aprons;  and  sir  John  must  not 
know  of  it:  Bardolph  hath  brought  word. 

1  Draw.  By  the  mass,  here  will  be  old  utis:'  It 
will  be  an  excellent  stratagem. 

i  Draw.  I'll  see,  if  I  can  find  out  Sneak.    [Exit. 
Enter  Hostess  and  Doll  Tear-sheet. 

Host.  I'faith,  sweet  heart,  methinks  now  you  are 
in  an  excellent  good  tcinperality:  your  pulsidge 
beats  as  extraordinarily  as  heart  would  desire:  and 
your  color,  I  warrant  you,  is  as  red  as  any' rose: 
But,  i'laith,  you  have  drunk  too  much  canaries; 
and  that's  a  marvellous  searching  wine,  .and  i\  per- 
fumes the  blood  ere  one  can  say,— What's  tins'! 
How  do  you  now ! 

Dolt.  Better  than  I  was.    Hem. 

Host.  Why,  that's  well  said;  a  good  heart's  v.'ortli 
gold.    Look,  here  comes  sir  John. 

Enter  Falstaff,  singing. 

Fal.  When  Arthur  first  in  cour/.— Empty  the 
iovdnn.— And  was  a  ivorthij  tiing ■■  [Exit  Drawer.] 
How  now,  mistress  Doll! 

Host.  Sick  of  a  calm:  yea,  good  sooth. 

Fal.  So  is  all  her  sect;  an  they  be  once  in  a 
calm,  they  are  sick. 

"Doll.  You  muddy  rascal,  is  tliat  all  the  comfort 
you  give  me? 

Fu'.  You  make  iat  rascals,  mistress  Doll. 

Doll.  I  make  them!  gluttony  and  diseases  make 
them ;  I  make  them  not. 

Fal.  If  the  cook  help  to  make  the  gluttony,  you 
help  to  make  the  diseases,  Doll:  we  catch  of  you, 
Doll,  we  catch  of  you;  grant  that,  my  poor  virtue, 
grant  that. 

D(dl.  Ay,  marry;  our  chains,  and  our  jewels. 

Fal.  Your  brooches,  prarls.  and  owchcs; — for  to 
.serve  bravely,  is  to  come  halting  .off,  you  know: 
To  come  olf'tiie  breach  with  his  pike  bent  bravely, 
and  to  surgery  bravely  ;  to  venture  upon  thecharged 
chambers"  bravely: 

Dolt.  Hang  yourself,  you  muddy  conger,  hang 
yourself! 

Host.  By  my  troth,  this  is  the  old  ftshion;  j'ou 
two  never  meet,  but  you  fall  to  some  discord:  j'ou 
are  both,  in  good  troth,  as  rheumatic  as  two  dry 
toasts  ;  you  cannot  one  bear  with  another's  confir- 
mities.  "What  the  good-year !»  one  must  bear,  and 
that  must  be  you  :  [To  Dull.]  you  arc  the  weaker 
vessel,  as  they  say,  the  emptier. vessel, 

Doll.  Can  a  wclik  empty  vessel  bear  such  a  huge 
full  hogsheadl  there's  a  s'vhole  merchant's  venture 
of  Bourdeaux  stuff  in  him;  you  have  not  seen  a 
hulk  better  stulled  in  the  hold.— Come,  I'll  be  friends 
with  thee.  Jack:  tbou  .art  going  to  the  wars;  and 
whether  I  shall  ever  see  thee  again,  or  no,  there  is 
nobody  cares. 

Re-enter  Drawer. 

Draw.  Sir,  ancient'  Pistol's  below,  and  would 
sjirak  with  you. 

Dull.  Hang  him.  swaggering  rascal!  let  him  not 
come  hither:  it  is  the  foul-mouth'dst  vogue  in 
England. 

'  An  apple  that  will  keep  two  years. 
"Siicak  was  a  street  minstrel:  a  noise  of  musicmnl 
anciently  signifieil  a  concert. 
'  Merry  doings.  **  Small  pieces  of  ordnance. 

"Mrs.'Quickly's  bhmAcr  lov gaiijcrc,  i.  e.  po.v. 
1  linsigu. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


349 


Host.  If  he  swagger,  let  Iiiiu  not  come  here:  no, 
by  my  laitii;  I  must  Jive  amongst  my  neighbors; 
rii  no  swaggerers :  I  am  in  good  name  and  fame 
with  the  very  best: — Shut  tlie  door; — tlicre  comes 
no  swaggerers  iicrc :  I  Iiave  not  lived  ail  this  while, 
to  have  swaggering  now: — Shut  the  door,  I  pray 
you. 

Fai.  Dost  tliou  hear,  hostess  1 — 

Host.  Pray  you,  pacify  yourself,  sir  John ;  there 
comes  no  swaggerers  iierc. 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hcarl  it  is  mine  ancient. 

Host.  Tilly-Ially,  sir  John,  never  tell  me;  your 
ancient  swaggerer  comes  nut  m  my  doors.  1  was 
belbre  master  Tisick,  tJie  deputy,  the  other  daj'; 
and,  as  he  said  to  me, — it  was  no  longer  ago  than 
Wednesday  last, — Nelgh'ior  Quickli/,  says  he  ; — 
master  Dumb,  our  mimster.  was  by  then; — Neigh- 
bor Quickly,  says  he,  receive  thiAe  tliat  are  Civil; 
for,  saith  he,  you  are  in  an  ill  name; — now  lie  said 
so,  I  can  tell  whereupon  ;  for,  says  he,  you  are  an 
honest  rconian,  and  well  tkimght  on;  t hircfore0ile 
fieed  what  guests  you  receire;  Receive,  says  he,  no 

swaggering    companions. There   comes   none 

Jiere; — you  would  bless  you  to  hear  what  he  said: 
— no,  I'll  no  swaggerers. 

Fal.  He's  no  swaggerer,  hostess ;  a  tame  cheater,*^ 
he;  you  may  stroke  him  as  gently  as  a  puppy  grey- 
hound: he  will  not  swagger  with  a  Barbary  hen,  if 
her  feathers  turn  back  in  any  show  of  resistance — 
Call  him  up,  drawer. 

Host,  Cheater,  call  you  him?  I  will  bar  no 
honest  man  my  liouse,  nor  no  cheater:  But  I  do 
not  love  swaggering;  by  my  troth.  I  am  the  worse, 
when  ont'  says — swagger:  feel,  master,  howlsh^.ive; 
look  you.  I  warrant }  ou. 

Bull.  Sc  you  do,  hostess. 

Host.  U"  Jl?  yea,  in  very  truth,  do  I,  an  't\.ere 
an  aspen  leal:  I  cannot  abide  swaggerers. 

Enter  Pistol,  Bardolpu,  and  Page. 

Pl^t.  'Save  yon,  sir  John! 

Fal.  Welcome,  ancient  Pistol.  Here,  Pistol,  I 
,  charge  you  with  a  cup  of  sack:  do  you  .discharge 
upon  mine  liostess. 

Flit.  I  will  discharge  upon  her,  sir  John,  with 
two  bullets. 

Fal.  She  is  pistol-proof,  sir;  you  shall  hardly 
oDend  her. 

Host.  Come,  I'll  drink  no  proofs,  nor  no  bullets : 
I'll  drink  no  more  than  will  do  me  good,  for  no 
man's  pleasure,  I. 

Fist.  Then  to  you,  mistress  Dorotliy;  I  will 
charge  you. 

Doll.  Ciiarge  me]  I  scorn  yon,  scurvy  compan- 
inu.  What!  you  poor,  base,  rascally,  cJieating, 
lark-linen  mate!  Avvay,  you  mouldy  rogue,  away! 
1  am  meat  for  your  master. 

Fift.  I  know  you,  mistress  Dorothy. 

I)oll.  Away,  you  ciit-jnirse  rascal!  you  filthy 
bung,  away!  by  this  wine,  I'll  thrust  my  knife  in 
your  mouldy  cliaps,  an  you  play  the  saucy  cuttle 
with  me.  Away, you  bottle-ale  rascal!  you  basket- 
hilt  stale  juggler,  you! — Since  when,  I  pray  you, 
sir !— What,  with  two  points'  on  your  shoulder'! 
much!* 

P'lst.  I  will  murder  your  rulT  for  this. 

F'al.  No  more,  Pistol;  I  would  not  have  you  go 
oQ'hcre:  dischargeyour-self  of  our  company.  Pistol. 

Host.  No,  good  captain  Pistol;  not  her",  sweet 
captain. 

Doll.  Captain!  thou  abominable  damned  cheater, 
art  thou  not  ashamed  to  be  called — captain"!  If 
captains  were  of  ray  mind,  they  would  truncheon 
you  out,  lor  taking  their  names  upon  you  before 
you  have  earned  tliem.  You  a  captain,  you  slave! 
Ibr  what]  lor  tearing  a  poor  whore's  ruff  in  a 
bawdy-house! — He  a  captain!  Hang  him,  rogue! 
He  lives  upon  mouldy  stewed  prunes,  and  dried 
cakes.  A  captain!  these  villains  will  make  the 
word  captain  as  odious  as  the  word  occupy ;  which 
was  an  excellent  good  word  before  it  was  ill-sorted: 
therefore,  captains  iiad  need  look  to  it. 

Bard.  Pray  thee,  go  down,  good  ancient, 

Fal.  Hark  thee  hither,  mistress  Doll. 

Fist.  Not  I:  tell  thee  what,  corporal  Bardolph;— 
I  could  tear  her: — I'll  be  revenged  on  her. 

Page.  Pray  thee,  go  down. 

3 Gamester  spaces,  marks  of  bis  commission. 

*An  expression  of  disdain. 


Fist.  I'll  see  herdanined  first; — to  Pluto's  damned 
lake,  to  the  infernal  deep,  with  Erebus  and  tortures 
vile  also.  Hold  hook  and  line,  say  I.  Down !  down, 
dogs!  down,  laitorsis  Have  we  not  Hiren  here!^ 

Host,  Good  captain  Pecsel,  be  quiet;  it  is  very 
late,  i'faith:  I  bescek  you  now,  aggravate  your 
choler. 

Fist.  Thescbcgood  humors,indeed!  Shall  pack- 
horses. 
And  hollov/  pamper'd  jades  of  Asia, 
Which  cannot  go  but  thirty  miles  a  day. 
Compare  with  Cassars,  and  with  Cannibals,' 
And  Trojan  Greeks'!  nay,  rather  damn  them  with 
King  Cerberus;  and  let  the  welkin  roar. 
Shall  we  fall  Ibul  ibr  toysi 

Host.  By  my  troth,  captain,  these  are  very  bitter 
words. 

Bard.  Be  gone,  good  ancient:  this  will  grow  to  a 
brawl  anon. 

Fist.  Die  men,  like  dogs;  give  eromis  like  pins; 
Have  we  not  Iltren  here  ! 

Host.  0'  my  word,  captain,  there's  none  such 
here.  What  the  good-year!  do  you  think  I  would 
deny  her"!  for  God's  salie,  be  quiet. 

Fist.  Then  feed,  and  be  lilt,  my  fair  Calipolis:^ 
Come,  give's  some  sack. 

Siforluna  me  lormenta,  sperato  me  cun- 
tenta.— 
Fear  we  broadsides?  no,  let  tlie  fiend  give  fire: 
Give  me  some  sack;— and,  sweetheart,  lie  thou 
there.  {Laying  down  his  sword. 

Come  wc  to  full  points  here;  and  are  et  ceteraa 
nothing? 

Fat.  Pistol,  1  would  be  quiet. 

Pkt.  Sweet  knight,  I  kiss  tiiy  neif:»  What!  we 
have  seen  the  seven  stars. 

Doll.  Thrust  him  down  stairs;  I  caniii)t  endure 
such  a  fustian  rascal. 

Fill.  Thrust  him  domi  stairs!  know  wc  not 
Gallow.ay  nags?* 

Fal.  Quoit^  him  down,  Bardolph,  like  a  shove- 
groat  shilling:  naj',  if  he  do  nothing  but  speak 
nothing,  he  shall  be  nothing  here. 

Bard.  Come,  get  you  dow7i  stairs. 

Fist.  VVhat!   shall  wc  have  incision?  sliall  we 

imbrue  ? {Snatching  up  his  sword. 

Then  death  rock  me  asleep,  abridge  my  doleful 

days!' 
Why  then,  let  grievous,  ghastly,  gaping  wounds 
Untwine  the  sisters  three!  Come,  Atropos,  1  say! 

Host.  Here's  goodly  stutf  toward! 

Fnl.  Give  me  my  rapier,  boy. 

Doll.  I  pray  thee,  Jaelc,  I  pray  Ihee,  do  not  draw 

Fal.  Get  you  down  stairs. 

{Drawing,  and  driving  Pistoi.  mit. 

Host.  Here's  a  goodly  tumult!  Til  forswear  keep- 
ing house,  afore  I'll  be  in  tiiese  tirrits  and  frights. 

So;  murder,  I  warrant  now. Alas,  alas!  put  up 

your  naked  weapons,  put  up  your  naked  weapons. 
{Exeutil  I'i.sTOL  and  Baudolph. 

Doll.  I  pray  thee.  Jack,  be  quiet;  the  rascal  ia 
gone.    Ah,  you  whoreson  little  valiant  villain,  you. 

Host.  Are  you  not  hurt  i' the  groin?  methought, 
he  made  a  shrcvvd  thrust  at  your  belly. 

Re-enter  Baiidolph. 

Fal.  Have  you  turned  him  ont  of  doors? 

Bard.  Yes,  sir.  The  rascal's  drunk:  you  have 
hurt  him,  sir,  in  the  shoulder. 

Fat'.  A  rascal!  to  brave  me! 

Doll.  Ah,  you  sweet  little  rogue,  you!  Alas, 
poor  ape,  how  thou  sweat'st!  Come,  let  me  wipe 
thy  liice; — come  on,  you  whoreson  chops: — Ah, 
rogue  !  i'faith,  I  love  tlice.  Thou  art  as  valorous  as 
Hcctc-  of  Troy,  worth  five  of  Agamemnon,  and  ten 
times  better  tlian  the  nine  worthies.    Ah,  villain ! 

Fal.  A  rascally  slave!  I  will  toss  the  rogue  in  a 
blanket. 

Doll.  Do,  if  thou  darest  for  thy  heart:  if  thou 
dost,  I'll  canvass  thee  between  a  pair  of  sheets. 

Enter  Music. 
Page.  The  music  is  come,  sir. 

s  Traitors,  rascals. 

P  A  quotation  from  a  play  of  G.  Peele's 

"  Blunder  for  Ilanuilial. 

s  Parody  of  a  line  in  the  Battle  of  Alcasar,  an  old  play. 

6  Fist.  *  Common  hacknies. 

^Throw  'Part  of  an  ancient  song. 


350 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  II. 


Fal.  Let  them  plav :— Play,  sirs.— Sit  on  ray  knee, 
Doll.  A  rascal  bragging  slave!  the  rogue  fled  trom 
me  like  quicksilver. 

Dull.  I'faith,  and  thou  followedst  him  like  a 
church.  Thou  whoreson  little  tidy  Bartholomev» 
loar-pig,when  wilt  thou  leave  fighting  o'days,  and 
foiiuiig  o'liights,  and  begin  to  patch  up  thme  old 
body  lor  heaven! 

Enter  behind  Prince  Hexry  and  Poiss,  disguised 
like  Drawers. 
Fal.  Peace,  good  Doll!     Do  not  speak  like   a 
death's  head:  do  not  bid  me  remember  mine  end. 
Dull.  Sirrah,  what  humor  is  the  prince  of! 
Fal.  A  good  shallow  young  fellow:  he  would 
have  made  a  good  pantler,  he  would  have  chipped 
bread  well. 
Dull.  They  say,  Poins  has  a  good  wit. 
Fal.  He  a  good   wit!    hang  him,  baboon!  his 
wit  is  as  thick  as  Tewksbury  mustard:  there  is  no 
more  conceit  in  him,  than  is  in  a  mallet. 
Doll.  Why  docs  the  prince  love  him  so  then! 
Fal.   Because  their  legs  are  both  of  a  bigness; 
and  he  plays  at  quoits  well;  and  eats  conger  and 
fennel;  and  drinks  off  candles' ends  for  flap-dra- 
gons; and  rides  the  wild  mare  with  the  boys  ;  and 
jumps  upon  joint-stools:  and  swears  with  a  good 
grace ;  and  wears  his  boot  very  smooth,  like  unto 
the  sign  of  the  leg;  and  breeds  no  bate  with  telling 
ofdiscieet  stories,  and  such  other  gambol  faculties 
he  hath,  that  show  a  weak  mind  and  an  able  body, 
for  the  which  the  prince  admits  him :  for  the  prince 
himself  is  such  another;  the  weight  of  a  hair  will 
turn  the  scales  between  their  avoirdupois. 

P.  Hen.  Would  not  this  nave  of  a  wheel  have 
his  cars  cut  otf! 
Poins.  l.Q-Vs  beat  him  before  his  whore. 
P.  Hen.  Look,  if  the  withered  elder  hath  not  his 
poll  clawed  like  a  parrot. 

Puins.  Is  it  not  strange,  that  desire  shotild  so 
many  years  outlive  performancel 
i-V/.Kiss  mc.  Doll, 

P.  Hen.  Saturn  and  Venus  this  year  in  conjunc- 
tion! what  says  the  almanac  to  that! 

Puins.  And,  look,  whether  the  fiery  Trigon*  his 
man,  be  not  lisping  to  his  master's  old  tables;  his 
note-book,  his  counsel-keeper. 
Fal.  Thou  dost  give  me  flattering  busses. 
Dull.  Nay,  truly ;  I  kiss  thee  with  a  most  con- 
stant heart. 
Fal.  I  am  old,  I  am  old. 

Dull.  I  love  thee  better  than  I  love  e'er  a  scurvy 
young  boy  of  them  all. 

Fal.  What  stutT  wilt  have  a  kirtle^of!  I  shall 
receive  money  on  Thursday;  thou  shalt  have  a  cap 
to-morrow.  A  merry  song,  come:  it  grows  late, 
we'll  to  bed.  Thou'lt  forget  me,  when  I  am  gone. 
Dull.  By  my  troth,  thou'lt  set  me  a  weeping,  an 
thou  sayest  so:  prove  that  ever  I  dress  myself 

handsome  till  thy  return. Well,  hearken  the 

end. 
Fal.  Some  sack,  Francis. 

P.  Hen.  Puins.  Anon,  anon.  sir.        {Advancing. 
Fal.  Ha!  a  bastard  son  of  the  king's!— And  art 
not  thou  Poins  his  brother! 

P.  Hen.  Why,  thou  globe  of  sinful  continents, 
what  a  life  dost  thou  load! 

Fal.  X  better  than  thou;  I  am  a  gentleman,  thou 
art  a  drawer. 

P.  Hen.  Very  true,  sir;  and  I  come  to  draw  you 
out  by  the  ears. 

Host.  O,  the  Lord  preserve  thy  good  grace!  by 
my  troth,  welcome  to  London.— Now  the  Lord 
less  that  sweet  liice  of  thine!  O  Jesu,  are  you 
ome  from  Wales ! 

Fal.  Thou  whoreson  mad  compound  of  majes- 
ty ^_l,y  this  light  flesh  and  corrupt  blood,  thou  art 
welcome.  [Leaning  liis  hand  upon  Doll. 

Dull.  How!  you  fat  Ibol,  I  scorn  you. 
Poins.  My  lord,  he  will  drive  you  out  of  your 
revenge,  and  turn  all  to  a  merriment,  if  you  take 
not  the  heat. 

P.  Hen.  You  whoreson  candle-mine,  you;  how 
vilely  did  you  spe.ak  of  me  even  now,  before  this 
honest,  virtuous,  civil  gentlewoman! 

tlust.  'Blessing  o'your  good  heart!  and  so  she  is, 
by  my  troth. 
Fal.  Didst  thou  hear  mel 


P.  Hen.  Yes;  and  you  Imcw  me,  as  you  did 
when  you  ran  away  bv  Gads-hill:  you  knew,  I  was 
at  your  back;  and  spoke  it  on  purpose  to  fry  my 
patience. 

Fal.  No,  no,  no;  not  so;  I  did  not  thmli  thou 
wast  withm  hearing. 

P.  Hen.  I  shall  drive  you  then  to  confess  the  wil- 
ful abuse;  and  then  I  know  how  to  handle  you. 

Fat.  No  abuse,  Hal,  on  mine  honor;  no  abuse. 

P.  Hen.  Not!  to  dispraise  me;  and  call  me-- 
pantlcr,  and  bread-chipper,  and  I  know  not  what ! 

Fal.  No  abuse,  Hal. 

Poins.  No  abuse! 

Ful.  No  abuse,  Ned,  in  the  world;  honest  Ned, 
none.  I  dispraise  him  before  the  wicked,  that  the 
wicked  might  not  fall  in  love  with  him:— in  which 
doing  1  have  done  the  part  of  a  careful  friend,  and 
a  true  subject,  and  thy  father  is  to  give  me  thanks 
Ibi  it.  No  abuse,  Hal;— none,  Ned,  none;— no, 
boys,  none. 

Pfkien.  See,  now,  whether  pure  fear,  and  entire 
cowardice,  doth  not  make  thee  wrong  this  virtuous 
gentlewoman  to  close  with  us!  Is  she  of  the  wicked! 
Is  thine  hostess  here  of  the  wicked!  Or  is  the  boy 
of  the  wicked!  Or  honest  Uardolph,  whose  zeal 
burns  in  his  nose,  of  the  wicked? 

Pifins.  Answer,  thou  dead  elm,  answer. 

Fal.  The  fiend  hath  pricked  down  Bardolph  ir- 
recoverable: and  his  lace  is  Lucifer's  privy  kitchen, 
wliere  he  doth  nothing  but  roast  mall-w^orms.  For 
the  boy,— there  is  a  good  angel  about  him;  but  the 
devil  outbids  him  too. 

P.  Hen.  For  the  women, 

Fal.  For  one  of  them,— she  is  in  hell  already, 
and  burns,  poor  soul !  For  the  other,— I  owe  her 
money ;  and  whether  she  be  damned  for  that,  I 
know  not. 

Host.  No,  I  warrant  you. 

Fal.  No,  I  think  thou  art  not;  I  think,  thou  art 
quit  for  that:  Marry,  there  is  another  indictment 
upon  thee,  for  sufit-ring  flesh  to  be  eaten  in  thy 
house,  contrary  to  the  law;  for  the  which,  I  think, 
thou  wilt  howl. 

Host.  All  victuallers  do  so:  What's  a  joint  of 
mutton  or  two  in  a  whole  Lent! 

P.  Hen.  You,  gentlewoman, 

DoH.  What  says  your  grace! 
Ful.  His  grace  says  that  which  his  flesh  rebels 
against. 
Hust.  Who  knocks  so  loud  at  door!  look  to  the 


*  An  astronomical  term. 


*A  short  cloak. 


door  there,  Francis, 

Enter  Peto. 

P.  Hen.  Peto,  how  now!  what  news  ! 

Pelu.  The  king,  your  father,  is  at  Westminster, 
And  there  are  twenty  weak  and  wearied  posts, 
Come  from  the  north:  and,  as  I  came  along, 
I  met.  and  overtook,  a  dozen  captains. 
Bare-headed,  sweating.  Imocking  at  the  taverns, 
\nd  asking  every  one  lor  sir  John  Falstalf. 

P.  Hen.  By  heaven,  Poins,  I  feel  me  much  to 
blame. 
So  idly  to  profane  the  precious  time: 
When  tempest  of  commotion,  like  the  south, 
Borne  with  black  vapor,  doth  begin  to  melt, 
.\nd  drop  upon  our  bare  unarmed  heads. 
Give    me    my  sword    and  cloak: — Falstalf,    good 

[Ex.  P.  Hesry,  Poixs,  Peto,  and  Bard. 
Fal.  Now  comes  in  the  sweetest  morsel  of  the 
night,  and  .ve  must  hence,  and  leave  it  unpicked. 
[Knocking  heard.]    More  knocking  at  the  door ! 

Re-enter  Bardolph. 

How  now!  what's  the  matter! 

Bard.  You  must  away  to  court,  sir,  pve?ently; 
A  dozen  captains  stay  at  door  for  you. 

Fal.  Pay  the  musicians,  sirrah.  [To  the  Page.] 
Farewell,  hostess  ;—Farewen,  Doll.— You  see,  my 
good  wenches,  how  men  of  merit  are  sought  after: 
the  undeserver  may  sleep,  when  the  man  of  action 
is  called  on.  Farewell,  good  wenclies:  It  I  be  not 
sent  away  post,  I  will  see  you  again  ere  1  go. 

Doll.  I  cannot  speak;— If  my  heart  be  not  ready 
to  burst:— Well,  sweet  Jack,  have  a  care  of  thysell. 

Fal.  Farewell,  larewcll. 

[Exeunt  Falstaep,  and  Bardolph. 

Hust.  Well,  fare  thee  well:  I  h;ivo  kniown  thea 
these  twenty-nine  years,  come  peascod-time;  but 


Act  III.  Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY  IV. 


351 


an  honester,  and  trucr-hearted  man, — Well,  fare 
thee  well. 

£arii.  [JVithin.]  Mistress  Tear-sheet,— 

Host.  What's  the  matter? 


Baril.  [H''ithin.]    Eid  mistress  Tear-sheet  come 
to  my  master. 
Uu.^t.  0  run,  Doll,  run;  run,  good  Doll. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  l.—A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  King  Henry  in  liis  Night-gown  with  a  Page. 

K.  Hen.   Go,  call  the  earls  of  Surrey  and  of 
Warwick; 
But,  ere  they  come,  bid  them  o'er-read  these  letters. 
And  well  consider  of  them:  Make  good  speed. —  • 

{Exit  Page. 
How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep!— Sleep,  gentle  sleep. 
Nature's  soft  nur.se,  how  have  1  frighted  tliee, 
Tiiat  tliou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down, 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetfuluessi 
"Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  tliou  in  smoky  cribs, 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee, 
Andhush'd  with  buzzing  niglit-flies  to  thy  slumber; 
Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  tlie  great, 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state, 
And  luird  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  1 
O  thou  dull  god,  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile, 
In  loathsome  beds;  and  leav'st  the  kingly  couch, 
A  watch-case,  or  a  common  'larum  belli 
Wilt  tliou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 
Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 
In  cradle  of  the  ruJc  imperious  surge; 
And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds 
Wlio  fake  the  rutjian  billows  by  the  top. 
Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them 
\\\\h  deal''jiing  clamors  in  the  slippery  clouds. 
That,  with  the  hurly,"  death  itself  awakes? 
Ciiiis!  thou,  O  partial  sleep!  give  thy  repose 
To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude; 
And,  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night, 
AVilh  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot, 
'Deny  it  to  a  king!  Then,  happy  low,^  lie  down! 
Uneasy  lies  the  iiead  that  wears  a  crown. 
Enter  Warwick  and  Surrey. 

War.  Many  good  morrows  to  your  majesty  ! 

K.  Hen.  Is  it  good  morrow,  lords? 

War.  'Tis  one  o'clock,  and  past. 

K.  Hen.  Why  then,  good  morrow  to  you  all,  my 
lords. 
Have  you  read  o'er  the  letters  that  I  sent  you? 

War.  We  have,  my  liege. 

A".  Hen.  Then  you  perceive  the  body  of  our 
kingdom. 
How  foul  it  is;  \\'hat  rank  diseases  grow. 
And  vvilh  wliat  danger,  near  the  heart  of  it. 

War.  It  is  but  as  a  body,  yet,  distcmper'd; 
Which  to  his  former  strength  may  be  restor'd, 

With  good  advice,  and  little  medicine: 

M\'  lord  Northumberland  will  soon  be  cool'd. 

K.  Hen.  0  heaven !  that  one  might  read  the  book 
of  fate; 
And  see  the  revolution  of  tlie  times 
Make  mountains  level,  and  the  continent 
(Weary  of  solid  firmness)  melt  itself 
Into  the  sea !  and,  other  times,  to  see 
The  beachy  girdle  of  the  ocean 
Too  wide  tiir  Neptune's  hips;  how  chances  mock. 
And  changes  lill  the  cup  of  alteration 
With  divefs  liijuors!  O.  if  this  were  seen. 
The  happiest  youth, — viewing  his  progress  through. 
What  perils  past,  what  crosses  to  ensue, — 
Would  sliut  the  book,  and  sit  him  down  and  die. 
'Tis  net  ten  years  gone. 

Since  I'.K-hard,  and  Northumberland,  great  friends. 
Dill  li^ast  together,  and,  in  two  years  after. 
Were  they  at  wars:  It  is  but  eight  years,  since 
This  Percy  was  tlic  man  nearest  my  soul; 
Who  like  a  brother  toil'd  in  my  alTairs, 
And  laid  his  love  and  lii'e  under  my  foot: 
Yea,  for  my  sake,  even  to  the  eyes  of  Richard, 
Gave  him  defiMiice.    But  whicli  of  you  was  by, 
(You,  cousin  Nevil,  as  I  may  remember,) 

[To  Warwick. 
When  Richard, — with  his  eye  brimful!  of  tears. 

Noise  '  Those  in  lowly  situationa. 


Then  check'd  and  rated  by  Northumberland, — 
Did  speak  these  words,  now  prov'd  a  projjhecy? 
Nurthumbertand,  ttion  ladder,  by  t tie  which 
My  antsin  Butingbroke  ascends  my  throne; — 
Though  tlien,  heaven  knows,  I  had  no  such  in- 
tent ; 
But  that  necessity  so  bow'd  the  state. 

That  I  and  greatness  were  compell'd  to  kiss: 

Ttie  time  shall  come,  tluis  did  he  Ibllow  it. 

The  time  wilt  conte,  that  foul- sin,  gathering  head, 

Shalt  break  into  corruption: — so  went  on, 

Foretelling  this  same  time's  condition, 

And  the  division  of  our  amity. 

War.  There  is  a  history  in  all  men's  lives, 
Figuring  the  nature  of  the  times  deceas'd: 
The  which  observ'd,  a  man  may  propliesy. 
With  a  near  aim,  of  the  main  chance  of  things 
As  yet  not  come  to  life;  which  in  their  seeds, 
And  weak  beginnings,  lie  intreasured. 
Such  things  become  the  hatch  and  brood  of  time; 
And,  by  the  necessary  form  of  this. 
King  Richard  might  create  a  perfect  guess. 
That  great  Northumberland,  tlien  false  to  him. 
Would  of  that  seed  grow  to  a  greater  falseness;    ' 
Which  should  not  find  a  ground  to  root  upon, 
Unless  on  you. 

K.  Hen.  Are  these  things  then  necessities? 

Then  let  us  meet  them  like  necessities: 
And  that  same  word  even  now  cries  out  on  us; 
Tiiey  siiy,  the  bishop  and  Northumberland 
Ale  lilty  tliousand  strong. 

ll'ar.  It  cannot  be,  tny  lord; 

Rumor  doth  double,  like  the  voice  and  echo. 
The  numbers  of  the  fear'd: — Please  it  your  grace, 
I'o  go  to  bed;  upon  my  life,  my  lord. 
The  powers  that  you  already  have  sent  forth, 
Shall  bring  this  prize  in  very  easily. 
To  comlbrt  you  the  more,  I  have  received 
A  certain  instance,  that  Glendower  is  dead. 
Your  majesty  hath  been  tiiis  fortnight  ill; 
And  tfie^e  uiiseason'd  hours,  perforce,  must  add 
I  iito  >oiir  sickness. 

K.  jl(n.  I  will  take  your  counsel : 

And,  were  these  inward  wars  once  out  of  hand. 
We  would,  dear  lords,  unto  the  Holy  Land. 

[Ei-eunt. 

SCENE  U.— Court  before  Justice  Shallow's  House 

in  Gloucestershire. 
Enter  Shallow  and  Silence,  meeting;  MorinY, 

Shadow,  Wakt,  Feeble,  Bl-ll-calf,  and  Servants 

behind. 

Shat.  Cotne  on,  come  on,  come  on ;  give  me  your 
hand,  sir,  give  me  your  hand,  sir;  an  ea-rly  stirrer, 
by  the  rood."  And  how  doth  my  good  cousin 
Silence? 

Sit.  Good  morrow,  good  cousin  Shallow. 

Stial.  And  how  doth  my  cousin,  your  bedfellow? 
and  your  fairest  daughter,  and  mine,  my  god- 
daughter Ellen? 

Sil.  Alas,  a  black  ouzel,  cousin  Shallow. 

Shat.  By  yea  and  nay,  sir,  I  dare  say,  my  cousin 
William  is  become  a  good  sciiolar :  He  is  at  Oiford, 
still,  is  he  not? 

Sil.  Indeed,  sir;  to  my  cost. 

Shal.  He  must  then  to  the  inns  of  court,  shortly: 
I  w;is  once  of  Clement's  Inn;  where,  I  think,  they 
will  talk  of  mad  Shallow  yet. 

Sil.  You  were  called — lusty  Shallow,  then,  cousin. 

Shal.  By  the  mass,  I  was  called  any  thing;  and 
I  would  have  done  any  thing  indeed,  and  roundly 
too.  There  was  I,  and  little  John  Doit  of  Statftrd- 
sliire,  and  black  George  Bare,  and  Francis  Pick- 
bone,  and  Will  Squele,  a  Cotswold  man, — you  had 
not  four  such  swinge-bucklers  in  all  the  inns  of 
court  again  :  and  I  may  say  to  you,  we  knew  where 
the  bona-robas  were.  Tlien  was  Jack  Falstafl, 
®  Cross. 


352 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  III. 


now  sir  John,  a  boy;  and  page  to  Thomas  Mow- 
bray, duke  of  Norlbli;. 

aU.  This  sir  John,  cousin,  tliat  comes  liither 
anon,  about  soldiers'! 

Hhal.  The  same  sir  John,  the  very  same ;  I  saw 
him  brealc  Skosan's  licad  at  tiie  court  gate,  when 
he  was  a  crack,"  not  tlius  high :  and  the  very  same 
day  did  I  fight  witli  one  Sampson  Stockfish,  a  fruit- 
erer, beliind  Gray's  Inn.  O,  the  mad  days  tliat  I 
have  spent !  and  to  see  liow  many  of  mine  old  ac- 
quaintance are  dead! 

Sil.  We  shall  all  follow,  cousin. 

Slial.  Certain,  'tis  certain;  very  sure,  very  sure; 
death,  as  the  P.salinist  saith,  i.s  certain  to  all;  all 
shall  die. — How  a  good  yoke  of  bullocks  at  Stam- 
ford fairl 

nil.  Truly,  cousin,  I  was  not  there. 

S/uU.  Death  is  certarn.— Is  old  Double  of  your 
town  living  yet? 

Sil.  Dead,  sir. 

Shal.  Dead!— See,  see!— he  drew  a  Kood  bow;— 
And  dead!- He  shot  a  line  shoot:— John  of  Gaunt 
loved  him  well,  and  betled  much  money  on  his 
head.  Dead!— he  would  hove  clapped  'i  the  clout 
at  twelve  score;'  and  cariicd  you  a  forehand  shaft 
at  fourteen  and  fourteen  and  a  half,  that  it  would 

have  done  a  man's  heart  good  to  see. How  a 

score  of  ewes  nowl 

nil.  Thereafter  as  tliey  be ;  a  score  of  good  ewes 
may  be  wort'i  ten  pounds. 

bhal.  And  is  old  Double  dead  ! 

Enter  Baedolpii,  and  one  with  1dm. 

Sil.  Here  comes  two  of  sir  John  Falstafl"'s  men, 
asl  think. 

Bard.  Good  morrow,  honest  gentlemen:  I  be- 
seeob  you,  which  is  justice  Shallow] 

SImI.  I  am  llobcrt  Shallow,  sir;  a  poor  esquire 
of  this  county,  and  one  of  the  king'sjusticesof  the 
peace:  What  is  your  good  pleasure  with  mc'! 

Bard.  My  captain,  sir,  commends  him  to  you: 
my  captain,  sir  John  Falstalf:  a  tall-  gentleman, 
by  heaven,  and  a  most  gallant  leader. 

Stial.  He  greets  me  well,  sir;  I  knew  him  a  good 
backsword  man:  How  doth  the  good  laiight!  may 
I  ask,  how  my  lady  his  wife  doth'! 

Bard.  Sir,  pardon;  a  soldier  is  better  accommo- 
dated than  with  a  wife. 

Slial.  It  is  well  said,  in  faith,  sir;  and  it  is  well 
said  indeed  too.  Better  accommodated! — it  is  good; 
yea,  indeed,  it  is:  good  phrases  are  surely,  and  ever 
were,  very  commendable.  Accommodated! — it 
comes  {wmaccummo-lii;  very  good;  a  good  phrase. 

Bard.  Pardon  me,  sir:  1  have  heard  the  word 
Phrase,  call  you  it!  By  this  good  day,  I  know  not 
the  phrase:  but  I  will  maintain  the  word  with  my 
sword,  to  be  a  soldier-lilce  word,  and  a  word  of  ex- 
ceeding good  command.  Accommodated;  that  is, 
when  a  man  is,  as  they  say,  accommodated:  or 
when  a  man  is,— being, — whereby, — he  may  be 
thought  to  be  accommodated,  wliich  is  an  excellent 
tiling. 

Enter  FaIjSTAff. 

Slizl.  It  is  very  just :— Look,  here  comes  good  sir 
John.— Give  me  your  good  hand,  give  me  your 
worship's  good  hand :  IJy  my  troth,  you  look  well, 
and  bear  your  years  very  well:  welcome,  good  sir 
John. 

Fat.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  well,  good  master 
Robert  Shallow :— Master  Sure-card,  as  I  think. 

Shal.  No,  sir  John;  it  is  my  cousin  Silence,  in 
commission  with  me. 

Fut.  Good  master  Silence,  it  well  befits  you 
should  be  of  the  peace. 

Sil.  Your  good  worship  is  welcome. 

Fal.  Kye!  this  is  hot  weather.— Gentlemen,  have 
yon  provided  me  here  half  a  dozen  sullicient  men! 

Skill.  Marry,  have  we,  sir.     Will  you  siti 

Fal.  Let  me  see  them,  I  beseech  you. 
.Shal.  Where's  the  roll!  whore's  theroin  where's 
the  rolll— let  mc  sec.  let  me  see.    So,  so,  so,  so: 
Yea,  marry,  sir— Ralph  Mouldy :— let  them  appear 

as  I  call ;  let  them  do  so,  let  them  do  so. Let  me 

sec;  where  is  Mouldy! 

Moul.  Here,  an't  please  you. 

Slial.  What  think  you,  sir  John:  a  good  limbed 
fellow:  young,  strong,  and  of  good  friends. 

*  Boy.      '  Hit  the  white  mark  at  twelve  score  yarda. 

2  Brave. 


Fal.  Is  thy  name  Mouldy  1 
Nih^l.  Ye.^,  an't  please  you. 
Fal.  '1h~.  tiie  more  time  thou  w'crt  used. 
Shal.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  most  excellent,  i'liiith!  Ihinga 
that  are  inoildy,  lack  use:  Very  singular  good!— 
in  faith,  well  snia,  sir  John;  very  well  said, 
/■fli.  Prick  hii;i.  [Tu  Suallott. 

RIiiul.  I  was  prcked  well  enough  before,  an  you 
could  have  let  me  rlone:  m>  old  dame  will  be  un- 
done now,  for  or.e  It  do  her  husbandry,  and  her 
drudgery:  you  need  mt  iohivt  pricked  me;  there 
are  other  men  litter  to  t'O  C'lt  than  I. 

Fal.  Go  to ;  peace,  Moui-ly,  vo.i  shal"  gc    Mouldy, 
it  is  time  you  were  spent. 
Miiat.  Spent! 

Shnl.  Peace,  fellow,  peace,  su'^nd  a'^ide;  Know 
you  where  you  are'!— For  the  ^  thcr,  ^ir  Tobn:— let 
ine  see; — Simon  Shadow! 

/'(//.  Ay,  marry,  let  me  have  h-m  to  sit  under: 
he's  like  to  be  a  cold  soldier. 
Shal.  Where's  Shadow  ? 
Shad.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  Shadow,  whose  son  art  thou ! 
Shad.  Jly  mother's  son,  sir. 
Fal.  Thy  mother's  son!   like  enough,  rnd  tliv 
father's  shadow:  so  the  son  of  the  femiJe  's  'he 
shadow  of  the  male:  It  is  often  so,  indeed;  bu;  noi 
much  of  the  father's  substance. 
Shal.  Do  you  like  him,  sir  John! 
Fal.  Shadow  will  serve  for  summer,— prick  him 

for  we  have  a  number  of  shadows  to  fill  up  thr> 

muster-book. 
Shal.  Thomas  Wart! 
Fal.  Where's  he '! 
Wart.  Here,  sir. 
Fal.  Is  thy  name  Wart' 
Wart.  Yea,  sir. 

Fal.  Thou  art  a  very  ragged  wart. 
Shal.  Shall  1  prick  him,  sir  John! 
Fal.  It  were  superlluous:  for  his  apparel  is  built 
upon  his  back,  and  the  whole  frame  stands  upon 
pins:  prick  him  no  more. 

Slial.  lla.ha,  ha!— you  can  do  it,  sir;  you  can  do 
it:  I  commend  you  well.— Francis  Feeble! 
Fee.  Here,  sir. 

Fal.  What  trade  art  thou.  Feeble  ! 
Fee.  A  woman's  tailor,  sir. 
Shal.  Shall  I  prick  him,  sir'! 
Fal.  Y'ou  may  :  but  i  f  he  had  been  a  man's  tailoi 
he  would  have  pricked  you.— Wilt  thou  make  as 
many  holes  in  an  enemy's  battle,  as  thou  hast  done 
in  a  woman's  petticoat '! 

Fee.  I  will  do  my  good  will,  sir;  you  can  have 
no  more.  ,  .  , 

Fal.  Well,  said,  good  woman's  tailor!  well  said, 
courageous  Feeble !    Thou  will  be  as  valiant  as  tho 
wrathful  dove,  or  most  magnanimous    mouse.— 
Prick  the  woman's  tailor  well,  master  Shallow, 
deep,  master  Shallow. 
Fee.  I  would.  Wart  might  have  gone,  sir. 
Fal.  I  would  thou  wert  a  man's  tailor;  that  thou 
raight'st  mend  him,  and  make  him  lit  to  go.    I  can- 
not put  him  to  a  private  soldier,  that  is  the  leader 
of  so  many  thousand:  Let  that  sullice,  most  forcible 
Feeble. 
Fee.  It  shall  suffice,  sir. 

Fal.  I  am   bound   to  thee,  reverend   Feeole.— 
Who  is  next! 
Shut.  Peter  Bull-calf  of  the  green! 
Fal.  Y'ea.  marry,  let  us  see  Bull-calf. 
Bull.  Here,  sir.  . 

Fal.  'Fore  God,  a  likely  fellow!— Come,  prick  me 
Bull-calf  till  he  roar  again. 
Ball.  0  lord!  good  my  lord  captain,— 
Fat.    What,    dost    thou    roar    before    thou    art 
pricked] 
B\ill.  O  lord  sir!  I  am  a  diseased  man. 
jPoi.  What  disease  hast  thou] 
Bull.  A  whoreson  cold,  sir;  a  cough,  sir;  which 
I  caught  with  ringing  in  the  king's  alliiirs,  upon  his 
coronation-day,  sir. 

Fal.  Come,  thou  shalt  go  to  the  wars  in  a  gown  ; 
we  will  have  away  thy  cold;  and  I  will  take  such 
order,  tliat  thy  friends"shall  ring  for  thee.— Is  here 
all] 


Shal.  Here  is  two  more  called  than  your  num- 
ber] you  must  have  but  lour  here,  sir;— and  so,  I 
pray  you,  go  in  with  me  to  dinner. 

Fat.  Come,  I  will  go  drink  with  you,  but  I  cannot 


Scene  II. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


353 


tarry  dinner.    I  am  glad  to  see  you,  in  good  troth, 
master  Shallow. 

Skai.  O,  sir  John,  do  you  remember  since  we  lay 
all  nij^ht  in  the  windmill  in  Saint  George's  held  ? 

Fat.  No  more  of  tliat,  good  master  Shallow,  no 
more  of  that. 

Slial.  Ha,  it  was  a  merry  night.  And  is  Jane 
Night-work  ahve  '\ 

Fal.  She  lives,  master  Shallow. 

Skal.  She  never  could  away  with  me. 

FaL  Never,  never:  she  would  always  say,  she 
could  not  abide  master  Shallow. 

Shxil.  By  the  mass,  1  could  anger  her  to  the  heart. 
She  was  then  a  bona-roha.  Doth  she  hold  her  own 
wein 

Fal.  Old,  old,  master  Shallow. 

Shat.  Nay,  she  must  be  old;  she  cannot  choose 
but  be  old;  certain  she's  old;  and  Iiad  Robin  Night- 
work  by  old  Night-work,  belorc  I  came  to  Clement's 
Inn. 

Sil.  That's  fifty-five  year  ago. 

Shal.  Ha,  cousin  Silence,  lljat  thou  hadst  seen 
that  that  this  knight  and  I  have  seen! — Ha,  sir 
John,  said  I  well? 

Fal.  We  have  heard  the  cliimes  at  midnight, 
mastef  Shallow. 

Shut.  Tliat  we  have,  that  we  have,  that  we  have: 
in  liiith,  sir  John,  we  have;  our  watch-word  was, 
Hejii,  boys.' — Come,  let's  to  dinner;  come,  let's  to 
dinner: — U,  the  days  that  we  have  seen! — Come, 
come.  [Ex.  Kai.stakf,  Shallow,  and  Silence. 

Btdl.  Good  master  corporate  Bardolph,  stand  my 
friend;  and  here  is  liiur  Harry  ten  shillings  in 
French  crowns  lor  you.  In  very  trutli,  sir,  1  had 
as  lief  be  iiaaged.  sir,  as  go:  and  yet,  for  mine  own 
part,  sir,  1  do  not  care;  but,  ratlier  Ijecause  I  am 
unwillmg,  and,  for  mine  ovvji  part,  have  a  desire  to 
stay  witli  my  friends;  else,  sir,  1  did  not  care,  for 
mine  own  part,  so  much. 

Bard.  Go  to;  stand  aside. 

Maul.  And  good  master  corporal  captain,  for  my 
old  dame's  sake,  stand  my  friend  ;  she  has  nobody 
to  do  any  thing  about  her,  when  1  am  gone:  and 
she  is  old,  and  cannot  help  herself:  you  shall  have 
forty,  sir. 

Bard.  Go  to;  stand  aside. 

Fee.  By  my  trotli,  1  care  not; — a  man  can  die  but 
once ; — we  owe  God  a  death ;— I'll  ne'er  bear  a  base 
mind; — an't  be  my  destiny,  so;  an't  be  not,  so:  no 
man's  too  good  to  serve  his  prince ;  and,  let  it  go 
which  way  it  will,  he  that.dies  this  year,  is  quit  lor 
the  next. 

Bard.  Well  said;  thou'rt  a  good  fellow. 

Fee.  'Faith,  I'll  bear  no  base  mind. 

Re-enter  Falstafp  and  Justices. 

Fal.  Come,  sir,  which  men  shall  I  have? 

Slial.  Four,  of  which  you  please. 

Bard.  Sir,  a  word  with  yon: — I  have  three  pound 
to  free  Mouldy  and  Bull-calf. 

Fal.  Go  to;  well. 

Shal.  Come,  sir  John,  which  four  will  you  have? 

Fal.  Do  you  choose  lor  me. 

Sfial.  Marry  then,— Mouldy,  Bull-calf,  Feeble, 
and  Shadow. 

Fal.  Mouldy,  and  Bull-calf:  For  you.  Mouldy, 
stay  at  home,  still;  you  are  past  .service: — and  lor 
your  part,  Bull-calf, — grow  till  you  come  unto  it;  1 
will  none  of  you. 

Stud.  Sir  Joiin,  sir  John,  do  not  yourself  wrong; 
they  are  your  likeliest  men,  and  1  would  have  yon 
served  with  the  best. 

Fat.  Will  you  tell  me,  master  Shallow,  how  to 
choose  a  man  !  Care  I  lor  the  limb,  the  thewes,  the 
stature,  bulk,  and  big  assemblance  of  a  man  !  Give 
me  the  spirit,  master  Shallow. — Here's  \V'art; — you 
.  see  what  a  ragged  appearance  it  is:  he  shall  ciiarge 
you,  and  discharge  you,  with  the  motion  of  a  pcw- 


terer's  hammer;  come  off,  and  on,  swifter  than  ho 
that  gibbets-on  the  brewer's  bucket.  And  this 
same  balf-liiced  fellow, Shadow, — give  me  this  man; 
he  presents  no  mark  to  tlie  enemy;  the  foemaa 
may  with  as  great  aim  level  at  tlie  edge  of  a  pen- 
kuile:  And,  lor  a  retreat,  how  swiftly  will  this 
Feeble,  the  woman's  tailor,  run  oft'!  O,  give  me  the 
spare  man,  and  spare  me  the  great  ones.  Put  mc  a 
calivcr^  into  Wart's  hand,  Bardolph. 

Baril.  Hold,  Wart,  traverse;*  thus,  thus,  thus. 

Fal.  C'ome,  manage  me  your  calivcr.  So: — very 
well:  go  to:— very  good: — exceeding  good.— O,  give 
me  always  a  little,  lean,  old,  chapped,  bald  shot. 
— Well  said,  i'l'aith,  Wart;  thou  art  a  good  scab: 
hold,  there's  a  tester  for  thee. 

Shal.  He  is  not  his  crafts  master,  he  doth  not  do 
it  right.  1  remember  at  Mile-end  green,  (when  I 
lay  at  Clement's  Inn, — 1  was  then  sir  Dagonet  in 
Artluir's  show,')  there  was  a  little  quiver  fellow, 
and  'a  would  manage  you  his  piece  thus:  and  'a 
would  about  and  about,  and  come  you  in,  and  come 
you  in;  ra/t,  tali,  lah,  would  'a  say  ;  bounce  would 
'a  say;  and  away  again  would  'a  go,  and  a'^ain 
would  'a  come: — I  shall  never  see  such  a  fellow. 

Fat.  These  fellows  will  do  well,  master  Shallow. 
— God  keep  you,  master  Silence;  I  will  not  use 
many  words  with  you :— Fare  you  well,  gentlemen 
both:  I  thank  you:  I  must  a  dozen  mile  to-night. 
.—Bardolph,  give  the  soldiers  coats. 

Shal.  Sir  John,  lieaven  bless  you  and  prosper 
your  alTairs,  and  send  us  peace!  As  you  return,  visit 
iny  house;  let  our  old  acquaintance  be  renewed: 
peradventnre,  1  uiU  with  you  to  the  court. 

Fal.  I  would  you  would,  master  Shallow. 

ahal.  Go  to;  1  have  spok"e  at  a  word.  Faro  you 
well.  [Exeunt  Shallow  a7id  Silence. 

Fal.  Fare  you  well,  gentle  gentleman.  On,  Bar- 
dolph; lead  "the  men  away.  [Exeunt  BahdolI'U, 
Recruits,  <!rr.]  As  I  return,  I  will  letch  otf  these 
justices:  1  do  see  the  bottom  of  justice  Shallow. 
Lord,  lord,  how  subject  we  old  men  arc  to  this  vice 
oflying!  Thissamc  starved  justice  hath  done  noth- 
ing but  prate  to  me  of  the  wildness  of  his  youth, 
and  the  Icats  lie  hath  done  about  TurnbuU-street;' 
and  every  tliird  word  a  lie,  duer  paid  to  the  licarcr 
than  the  Turk's  tribute.  I  do  remember  him  at 
Clement's  Inn,  like  a  man  made  after  supper  of  a 
cheese-paring:  when  he  was  naked,  he  was,  lor  all 
the  world,  like  a  Ibrked  radish,  with  a  head  fantas- 
ticaly  carved  upon  it  with  a  knife:  he  was  so  for- 
lorn, that  his  dimensions  to  any  thick  sight  were  in- 
visible: he  was  the  very  Genius  of  famine;  yet 
leclieruus  as  a  monkey,  and  the  whores  called  him 
— mandrake :  he  came  ever  in  the  rearward  of  the 
Hrshion;  and  sung  those  tunes  to  the  over-scutched 
liuswives  that  he  heard  the  carmen  whistle,  and 
sware— they  were  his  fancies,  or  his  good-nights.' 
And  now  is  this  Vice's  dagger'  become  a  squire, 
and  talks  so  familiarly  of  .John  of  Gaunt,  as  if  he 
had  been  sworn  brother  to  him:  and  I'll  be  sworn 
lie  never  saw  him  but  once  in  the  Tilt-yard;  and 
then  he  burst  his  head,  for  crowding  among  the 
marshal's  men.  1  saw  it;  and  told  John  of  Gaunt, 
he  beat  his  own  iiaiiie:"  for  you  might  have  truss'd 
liini,  and  all  his  apparel,  into  an  eel-skin:  the  case 
of  a  treble  haut-boy  was  a  mansion  for  him,acourt; 
and  now  has  he  land  and  beeves.  "W^cll;  I  will  be 
acquainted  with  him,  if  I  return:  and  it  shall  go 
iiard,  but  1  will  make  him  a  philosopher's  two 
stones  to  me:  If  the  young  dace  be  a  bait  for  the 
old  pike,  I  see  no  reason,  in  the  law  of  nature,  but 
I  may  snap  at  him.  Let  time  shape,  and  there  an 
end.  [Exit. 

^Musket.        *M;irch.         *.Vn  exhibition  of  archery. 
«In  Clerkenwell.  'Titles  of  little  poems. 

'A  wooUeu  dagger  like  that  used  I^y  the  niotU-rii  harle- 
quin. •Giiunt  is  thill,  slender 


354 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  IV. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  l.—A  Forest  in  Yorkshire. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  YonK,'MosvnnA.Y,UASTi'SGs, 
afid  others. 

Arch.  What  is  this  forest  callM? 

Uast.  'Tis  Gualtree  forest,  aii't  shall  please  your 
grace. 

Arch.  Here  stand,  my  lord,  and  send  discoverers 
tbrth, 
To  know  the  numbers  of  our  enemies. 

Hasf.  We  have  sent  forth  already. 

Arch.  'Tis  well  done. 

My  friends  and  brcthern  in  these  great  afliiirs, 
I  must  acquaint  you  that  I  have  receivM 
Ncv/-dateci  letters  from  Northumherland; 
Tiicir  cold  intent,  tenor,  and  substance  thus: 
Here  doth  he  wish  Iiis  person,  with  such  powers 
As  might  hold  sortance'  with  his  quality, 
The  which  he  could  not  levy;  whereupon 
lie  is  retirM,  to  ripe  his  growing  fortunes, 
To  Scotland:  and  concludes  in  hearty  prayers. 
That  your  attempts  may  overlive  the  hazard, 
And  fearful  meeting  of  their  opposite. 

Mowb.  Thus  do  the  hopes  we  have  in  him  touch 
ground. 
And  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

llast.  Now,  what  news? 

Mess.  West  of  this  forest,  scarcely  oil'  a  mile, 
In  goodly  Ibrm  comes  on  the  enemy: 
And,  by  the  ground  tliey  hide,  I  judge  fheirnumber 
Upon,  or  near,  the  rate  of  thirty  thoijsand. 
Mowb.  The  just  proportion  that  we  gave  them 
out- 
Lct  us  sway  on,  and  face  them  in  the  field. 
Enter  Westmoreland. 

Arch.  What  well-appointed  leader  fronts  us  here? 

M(noh.  I  think,  it  is  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

IVest.  Health  and  lair  greeting  from  our  general. 
The  prince,  lord  John,  and  duke  of  Lancaster. 

Arch.   Say  on,  my  lord    of   Westmoreland,  in 
peace : 
What  doth  concern  your  coming? 

ll^csf.  Tlien,  my  lord, 

Unto  your  grace  do  I  in  chief  address 
The  substance  of  my  speech.    If  tiiat  rebellion 
Came  like  itself,  in  base  and  abject  routs. 
Led  on  by  bloody  youth,  guarded  with  rage. 
And  countenanced  by  boys  and  beggary; 
1  say,  if  damnM  commotion  so  appeared,   " 
In  his  true,  native,  and  most  proper  sliape, 
Vou,  reverend  father,  and  these  noble  lords, 
Had  not  been  here,  to  dress  the  ugly  ibrm 
Of  base  and  bloody  insurrection 
Witli  your  fair  honors.    You,  lord  archbishop, — 
Wliosc  see  is  by  a  civil  peace  maintaiuM  ; 
Whose  beard  the  silver  hand  of  peace  lialli  touch'd; 
Whose  learning  and  gnod  letters  iH'aci-  hath  tutorM; 
Wliose  white  investments  figure  iiinorriice, 
The  dove  and  very  blessed  spirit  ol'  jieace,^ 
Wherefore  do  you  so  ill  translate  yourself, 
Out  of  the  speech  of  peace,  that  bears  such  grace, 
Into  the  harsh  and  boist'rous  tongue  of  war? 
Turning  your  books  to  graves,  your  ink  to  blood, 
Your  pens  to  lances;  and  your  tongue  divine 
To  a  loud  trumpet,  and  a  point  of  war? 

A7rh.  Wherelbredol  this?  sotliequestionstands. 
Brietly  to  this  end: — Wc  are  all  diseased; 
And,  with  our  surfeiting,  and  wanton  hours, 
Have  brougiit  ourselves  nito  a  burning  fever, 
And  we  must  bleed  (or  it:  of  which  disease 
Our  late  king,  Richard,  being  inlected,  died. 
Hut.  my  most  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland, 
1  t;ike  not  on  mo  here  a!?a  physician; 
Ni)r  do  1,  as  an  enemy  to  peace. 
Troop  in  the  throngs  of  military  mcti; 
liut,  ratlier,  show  a  while  like  learful  war, 
To  diet  rank  nnnds,  sick  ol  happiness; 
And  i)urge  the  ol)struclious,  which  begin  to  stop 
Our  very  veins  of  hfe.    Hear  mc  more  plainly. 

^Ue  suitable. 


I  have  in  equal  balance  justly  weighM 

Wliat  wrongs  our  arms  may  do,  what  wrongs  we 

sutler, 
And  find  our  griefs*  heavier  than  our  offences. 
We  see  which  way  the  stream  of  time  doth  run, 
And  are  enforced  fi'om  our  most  quiet  sphere 
Hy  the  rough  torrent  of  occasion: 
And  have  the  summary  of  all  our  griefs. 
When  time  shall  serve,  to  show  in  articles: 
Which,  long  ere  this,  we  otfer'd  to  the  king, 
And  might  by  no  suit  gain  our  audience: 
When  we  are  wrongM,  and  would  unfold  our  griefs, 
We  are  denied  access  unto  his  person 
Even  by  those  men  that  most  have  done  us  wrong. 
The  dangers  of  the  days  but  newly  gone, 
(Whose  memory  is  written  on  the  earth 
With  yet-appearing  lilood.)  and  the  examples 
Of  every  minute's  instance,  (present  now,) 
Have  put  us  in  these  ilt-beseeming  arms: 
Not  to  break  peace,  or  any  branch  of  it; 
But  to  establish  here  a  peace  indeed. 
Concurring  both  in  name  and  quality. 

West.  When  ever  yet  was  your  appeal  denied? 
Wherein  have  you  been  galled  by  the  king? 
What  peer  hath  been  subornM  to  grate  on  you? 
That  you  should  seal  this  lawless  hloody  book 
Of  forged  rebellion  with  a  seal  divine. 
And  consecrate  commotion^'s  bitter  edge? 

Arch.  My  brother  general,  the  commonwealth, 
To  brother  born  a  household  cruelty, 
I  make  my  quarrel  in  particular. 

West.  There  is  no  need  of  any  such  redress; 
Or.  if  there  were,  it  not  belongs  to  you. 

Miiwh.  Why  not  to  him,  in  part;  and  to  us  all, 
That  feci  the  bruises  of  the  days  belbre; 
And  sutler  the  condition  of  these  times, 
To  lay  a  heavy  and  unequal  hand 
Upon" our  honors? 

West.  0  my  good  lord  Mowbray, 

Construe  tlie  times  to  their  necessities, 
And  you  shall  say  indeed, — it  is'the  time. 
And  not  the  king,  that  doth  you  injuries. 
Yet,  for  your  part,  it  not  appears  to  me. 
Either  from  the  king,  or  in  the  present  time, 
That  you  should  have  an  inch  of  any  ground 
To  build  a  grief  on;  Were  you  not  restor'd 
To  all  the  duke  of  Norfolk's  signiories, 
Your  noble  and  ri^ht-well  remembered  father's? 

Miaob.  What  thing,  in  hmKu-.  bad  my  lather  lost, 
That  need  to  be  reviv'd,  and  Inoalird  in  me? 
The  king,  that  lovM  him,  as  the  state  stood  then, 
Was.  Ibrce  perlbrce,  compeil'd  to  banish  him: 
And  then,  when  Harry  Bolingbroke  and  Jie, — 
IJeing  mounted,  and  both  roused  in  their  seats, 
Their  neighing  coursers  daring  of  the  spur. 
Their  armed  staves  in  charge,  their  beavers  down, 
Tiicir  eyes  of  fire  sparkling  through  sights  of  steel, 
And  the  loud  trumpet  blowing  them  togethc; 
Then,  then,  when  there  was  nothing  could  have 

staid 
My  father  from  the  breast  of  Bolinsrbrokc, 
O,  when  the  king  did  throw  his  warder*  down. 
His  own  life  hung  upon  the  stall'  he  threw: 
Then  threw  he  down  himself;  and  all  their  lives, 
That  by  indictment,  and  by  dint  of  sword, 
Have  since  miscarried  under  Itolingbroke. 

West.  You  speak,  lord  Mowbray,  now  you  kno^T 
not  what: 
The  earl  of  Hereford  was  reputed  then 
In  England  the  most  valiant  gentleman; 
Wlio  knows,  on  whom  fortune  would  tlien  havrf 

smiled? 
But  if  your  father  had  been  victor  there, 
He  neYr  had  borne  it  out  of  Coventry: 
For  all  the  country,  in  a  genea'al  voice, 
Cried  hate  upon  Iiim;  and  all  their  prayers,  and 

love, 
Were  set  on  Hereford,  whom  they  doted  on. 
And  bless'dand  graced  indeed,  more  than  the  king. 
But  tins  is  mere  di;;ression  from  my  purpose. — 
Here  come  I  from  our  princely  general, 


2  Grievances. 


5  Truncheon 


Scene  II. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


355 


To  know  your  griefs;  to  tell  you  from  his  ^race, 
TJmt  he  will  {iive  you  audience:  and  vvliorrin 
It  shall  appear  that  your  demands  arc  just. 
You  shall  enjoy  them;  every  tiling  set  olT, 
TJiat  might  so  much  as  think  you  enemies. 

Moxvb'.  But  he  hath  forced  us  to  compel   this 
ofler; 
And  it  proceeds  from  policy,  not  love. 

West-  Mowbray,  you  overwcen,^  to  take  it  so; 
This  otler  conies  liom  mercy,  not  irom  fear: 
For,  lo!  within  a  ken,*  our  army  lies: 
Upon  my  honor,  all  too  confident 
To  give  admittance  to  a  thought  of  fear. 
Our  battle  is  more  full  of  names  than  yours, 
Our  men  more  perfect  in  the  use  of  arms. 
Our  armor  all  as  strong,  our  cause  the  best; 
Then  reason  wills  our  hearts  should  be  as  good: — 
Say  you  not  then,  our  otler  is  compellM. 

Mowb.  Well,   by   my  will,  we  shall  admit  no 
parley. 

Wesi.  That  argues  but  the  shame  of  your  offence: 
A  rotten  case  abides  no  handling. 

HuJit.  Hath  the  prince  John  a  full  commission, 
In  very  ample  virtue  of  Jiis  father, 
To  hear,  and  absolutely  to  determine 
Of  what  conditions  we  shall  st^-md  upon? 

West.  That  is  intended"  in  the  general's  name: 
I  muse,'  you  make  so  sliglit  a  question. 

Arch.  Then  take,  myJord  of  Westmoreland,  this 
schedule; 
For  this  contains  our  general  grievances: — 
Each  several  article  herein  rcdressM; 
All  members  of  our  cause  both  here  and  iience, 
Tliat  are  insinew'd  to  this  action. 
Acquitted  by  a  true  substantial  Jbrm; 
And  present  execution  of  our  wills 
To  us,  and  to  our  purposes  consignM  ; 
We  come  within  our  awful  banks  again. 
And  knit  our  powers  to  the  arms  of  peace. 

IVtsi.  Tills  will  I  sliow  the  general.    Please  you, 
lords. 
In  sight  of  both  our  battles  we  may  meet: 
And  either  cud  in  peace,  which  heaven  so  frame! 
Or  to  the  place  of  dillinence  call  the  swords 
Which  must  decide  it. 

Ai'cfi.  My  lord,  we  will  do  so.  [Exit  West. 

Mowb.  There  is  a  tiling  within  my  bosom,  tells 
me 
That  no  conditions  of  our  peace  can  stand. 

Hast.   Fear  you  not  that:  if  we  can  make  our 
peace 
Upon  such  large  terms,  and  so  absolute, 
As  our  conditions  shall  consist  upon, 
Our  peace  shall  stand  as  hrm  as  rocky  mountains. 

Mowb.  Ay,  but  our  valuation  shall  be  such, 
That  every  slight  and  lalse-derived  cause. 
Yea,  every  idle,  nice,*  and  wanton  reason, 
Shall,  to  the  king,  taste  of  this  action: 
That,  were  our  royal  faiths  martyrs  in  love, 
We  shall  be  winnowM  wiih  so  rough  a  wind. 
That  even  our  corn  shall  seem  as  light  as  cliaff, 
And  good  from  bad  lind  no  partition. 

Aix/i.  No,  no,  my  lord;  Note  this, — the  king  is 
weary 
Of  dainty  and  such  picking^  grievances: 
For  he  iiath  Ibund, — to  end  one  doubt  by  death, 
Revives  two  greater  in  the  heirs  of  life. 
And  therefore  will  he  wipe  his  tables'  clean; 
And  keep  no  tell-tale  to  his  memory. 
That  may  repeat  and  history  his  loss 
To  new  rcmombrance:  For  full  well  he  knows, 
He  caniinl  so  precisely  weed  this  laud, 
As  his  misdoubts  present  occasion: 
His  Ibes  arc  so  enrooted  with  liis  iriends, 
That,  plucking  to  unfix  an  enemy. 
He  doth  unfasten  sn,  and  shake  a' friend. 
So  tiiat  this  land,  like  an  olU-nsive  wile, 
That  hath  enraged  him  on  lo  oiler  strokes; 
As  he  is  striking,  holds  his  infant  up. 
And  hangs  rcsolvM  correction  in  tlic  arm 
That  was  uprearM  to  execution. 

Ilafii.  Besides,  the  king  hath  wasted  all  his  rods 
On  late  ollcnriers,  that  he  now  doth  lack 
The  very  instruments  of  chastisement: 
So  that  his  power,  like  to  a  fanglcss  lion, 
JMay  uller,  but  not  hold. 


*  Think  too  highly. 
'Wuiiiler. 

•  Iiisigiiiiicaiit. 


s  Sight.  «  Understood. 

6  Trivial. 
I  liook  for  memorandums. 


Arci'i.  'Tis  very  true; — 

And  Ihercforc  be  assured,  my  good  lord  marshal, 
If  we  do  now  make  our  atonement  well, 
{>ur  peace  will,  like  a  broken  limb  united. 
Grow  stronger  for  the  breaking. 

Mowb.  Be  it  so. 

Here  is  returnM  my  lord  of  Westmoreland. 

Re-enter  Westmoreland. 
JVesf.  The  prince  is  here  at  hand:  Pleaseth  your 
lordship. 
To  meet  his  grace  just  distance 'tween  ourarmies! 
Mowb.  Yoiir  grace  of,  York,  in  God's  name  then 

set  lorward. 
Arck.  Before,  and  greet  his  grace: — my  lord,  wc 
come.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \l.~~ Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

Enter,  from  one  .^rifte.  Mowbray,  the  ARCnBisnoP, 
II  ASTiscs,  and  ot  ftcrs. •  fro7?i  the  other  sffleyPKi^cn 
John  ^^"  Lancaster,  Wki3TMoreland,  Otticers,  a/id 
Attendants. 

P.  John.  You  are  v.'ell  encounter'd  liere,  my  cou- 
sin Mowbray: — 
Good  day  to  you,  gentle  lord  archbishop:^ 
And  so  to  you,  lord  Hastings, — and  to  all.— 
My  lord  of  Vork.  it  better  siiowM  witJi  you. 
When  Ihat  y()ur  Hock,  assembled  by  the  bell,    • 
Encircled  you  to  iiear  witli  reverence 
Your  exposition  on  the  holy  text; 
Than  now  to  see  you  here  an  iron  man, 
(Cheering  a, rout  of  rebels  with  your  drum. 
Turning  the  word  to  sword,  and  lite  to  death. 
That  man  that  sits  witJiin  a  monarch's  heart, 
And  ripens  in  the  sunshine  ol  his  favor. 
Would  lie  abuse  the  countenance  of  tiie  king, 
Alack,  what  mischicls  might  he  set  abroach, 
In  shadow  of  such  greatness!  With  you,  lord  bishop. 
It  is  even  so: — Who  hath  not  heard  it  spoken, 
How  deep  you  were,  within  the  books  of  God? 
To  us,  the  s]H'aker  in  his  parliament; 
To  us,  the  iuiaginM  voice  of  God  Jiimself; 
The  very  opener  and  inlt^lligencer, 
Between  the  grace,  tfte  sanctities  of  heaven, 
And  our  dull  workings:  O,  who  shall  believe. 
But  you  misuse  tfie  reverence  of  your  place; 
Employ  tiie  countenance  and  grace  of  iieaven, 
As  a  (iilse  lixvorilo  dolh  his  prince's  name. 
In  deeds  dishonorable  I     You  liave  taJicn  up, 
Under  the  countericited  zeal  of  God, 
The  sulijects  of  his  substitute,  my  liithcr; 
And,  both  against  the  peace  of  iieaven  and  him, 
Have  here  up-swarm'd  tlieni. 

Arch.  Good  my  lord  of  Lancaster, 

I  am  not  here  against  your  father's  peace: 
But,  as  I  told  my  hnd  of  Westmoreland, 
The  time  misordcrM  doth,  in  common  sense, 
Crowd  us,  and  crusli  us,  to  this  monstrou.s  Ibrni, 
To  hold  our  sali'ty  uj).    I  sent  your  grace 
The  parcels  and  particulars  of  our  grief: 
Tlie  which  liath  been  with  scorn  shovM  from  the 

court, 
Whereon  this  Hydra  son  of  war  is  born : 
Whose  dangerous  eyes  may  well  be  charni'd  asleep, 
With  grant  of  our  most  just  and  right  desires; 
And  true  obedience  of  this  madness  cured. 
Stoop  tamely  to  Ilic  loot  of  majesty. 

Mow'',  ll  not,  we  ready  are  to  try  our  fortunes 
To  Ilie  last  man. 

JIai,f.  And  though  wc  here  fall  down, 

We  have  suppUcs  to  second  our  attempt ; 
If  th.ey  miscarry,  theirs sliall  second  them: 
And  so,  succcsss  of  misohief  shall  be  born; 
And  heir  from  heir  shall  hold  this  quarrel  up. 
Whiles  England  sliall  have  generation. 

P.John.  You  are  too  shallow,  Hastings,  much 
too  siiallow, 
To  sound  the  bottom  of  the  after-times. 

JVesf.  Pleaseth  your  grace,  to  answer  them  di- 
rectly. 
JIow  far-forlh  you  do  like  their  articlesi 

P.  John-  I  lilie  them  aJl,  and  do  allow3  them  well* 
And  swear  here  by  the  honor  of  my  hh)od, 
My  father's  purposes  have  been  mistook; 
Aud  some  about  him  have  too  lavishly 
Wrested  his  meaning  and  authority. —    . 
My  lord,  these  griefs  shall  be  with  speed  redrcssM, 


Succession 


•Approve 


356 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  IV. 


Upon  ray  soul,  they  shall.    If  this  may  please  you, 
Discharge  your  powers  unto  their  several  counties, 
As  we  will  ours:  and  here,  between  the  armies 
Let's  drink  together  friendly,  and  embrace; 
That  all  their  eyes  may  bear  those  tokens  home, 
Of  our  restored  love,  and  amity. 
Arch.   1  take  your  princely  word  for  these  re- 
dresses. 
F.  John.  I  give  it  you,  and  will  maintain  my 
word ; 
And  thereupon  I  drink  unto  your  grace. 
Hast.  Go,  captain,    [To  an  Offlcer.]   and  deliver 
to  the  army 
This  news  of  peace;  let  them  have  pay,  and  part: 
1  know  it  will  well  please  them;  Hie  thee, captain. 

[Exit  Otfica: 
Arch.  To  you,  my  noble  lord  of  Westmoreland. 
West.   I  pledge  your  grace:  And,  if  you  knew 
what  pams 
I  have  bestow'd,  to  breed  this  present  peace, 
You  would  drink  freely;  hut  my  love  to  you 
Shall  sliow  itself  more  openly  hereafter. 
Arch.  I  do  not  doubt  you. 
West.  I  am  glad  of  it: — 

Health  to  my  lord,  and  gentle  cousin,  Mowbray. 
Mowb.  You  wish  me  health  in  very  happy  sea- 
son; 
For  I  am,  on  the  sudden,  something  ill. 

Arch.  Against  ill  chances,  uie;i  are  ever  merry; 
But  heaviness  foreruns  the  good  event. 

West.   Therefore  be  merry,  coz;  since  sudden 
sorrow 
Serves  to  say  thus, — some  good  thing  comes  to- 
morrow. 
Arch.  Believe  me,  I  am  passing  light  in  spirit. 
Muwb.  So  much  the  worse,  if  your  own  rule  be 
true.  [Shnuts  within. 

P.John.  The  word  of  peace  is  render'd;   Hark, 

how  tliey  shout! 
Mnwb.  This  had  been  cheerful  after  victory. 
Arch.  A  peace  is  of  the  nature  of  a  conquest ; 
For  then  both  parties  nobly  arc  subdued, 
And  neither  party  loser. 

P.  John.  Go,  my  lord, 

And  let  our  army  be  dischargbd  too. — 

[Exit  Wkstmoreland. 
And,  good  my  lord,  so  please  you,  let  our  trains 
March  by  us;  tliat  we  may  peruse  the  men 
We  should  have  cop'd  withal 

Arch.  Go,  good  lord  Hastings, 

And,  ere  they  be  dismissed,  let  them  marcli  by. 

{Exit  Hastings. 
P.  John.  I  trust,  my  lord,  we  shall  lie  to-night 
together. — 

Re-enter  Westmouelakd. 

Now,  cousin,  wherefore  stands  our  army  still  ] 

West.  The  leaders,  having  charge  from  you  to 
stand, 
Will  not  go  off  until  they  hear  you  speak. 

P.  John.  They  know  their  duties. 
Re-enter  Hastings. 

llcmt.  IMy  lord,  our  army  is  dispers'd  already: 
Like    youthful    steers    unyok'd,    they   take    their 

courses 
East,  west, north,  south;  or, like  a  school  brokeup. 
Each  hurries  towards  his  home,  and  sporting-place. 

West.  Good  tidings,  iny  lord  Hastings;  lor  the 
which 
I  do  arrest  thee,  traitor,  of  high  treason:— 
And  you,  lord  archbishop, — and  you,  lord  Mowbray, 
(Jf  c.ipita!  treason  I  attacii  you  both. 

Mnwb.  Is  this  proceeding  just  and  lionorablcl 

West,  Is  your  assembly  so! 

Arch.  Will  you  thus  break  your  faith 7 

P.  Juhn.  I  pawn'd  thee  none: 

I  prouiis'd  you  rediess  of  these  same  grievances, 
Wlioretif  you  didcomplain;  which,  by  mine  honor. 
I  will  ]ienorm  with  a  most  Christian  care. 
But.  for  you,  rebels, — look  to  taste  the  due 
Meet  for  rebellion,  and  such  acts  as  yours. 
Most  shallowly  did  you  these  arms  commence. 
Fondly'  brought  here,  and  foolishly  sent  hence. — 
Strike  up  our  drums,  pursue  the  scatterM  stray; 
Heaven,  and  not  we,  have  safely  fouglit  to-day. — 
Some  guard  these  traitors  to  the  block  of  death, 
Trcasoirs  true  bed,  and  yieldcr  up  of  breath. 

[Exeunt. 
'Foolishly. 


SCENE  in.— Another  Part  of  the  Forest. 

Alarums:  Excursions:  Enter  Falstaff  and  Cole- 
vile,  meeting. 

Fat.  What's  your  name,  sir !  of  what  condition 
are  you;  and  of  what  place,  I  prayl 

Cole.  I  am  a  knight,  sir;  and  my  name  is — Colo- 
vile  of  the  dale. 

Fat.  Well  then,  Colevile  is  your  name;  a  knight 
is  your  degree;  and  your  place,  the  dale:  Colevile 
shall  still  be  your  name,— a  traitor  your  degree; 
and  the  dungeon  your  place, — a  place  deep  enough; 
so  shall  you  still  be  Colevile  of  the  dale. 

Cole.  Are  not  you  sir  John  Falstalf! 

Fat.  As  good  a  man  as  he,  sir,  whoeVr  I  am. 
Do  ye  yield,  sir!  or  shall  I  sweat  Ibr  you?  If  I  do 
sweat, "they  are  drops  of  the  lovers,  aiul  they  weep 
for  thy  death;  therelbre  rouse  up  tear  and  trembling, 
and  do  observance  to  my  mercy. 

Cole.  I  think  you  are  sir  John  Falstaff:  and,  in 
that  thought,  yield  me. 

Fal.  1  have  a  whole  school  of  tongues  in  this 
belly  of  mine;  and  not  a  tongue  of  them  all  speaks 
any  other  word  but  my  name.  An  I  had  but  a  belly 
of  any  indifferency,  I  were  simply  the  most  active 
fellow  in  Europe:  My  womb,  my  womb,  my  womb, 
undoes  me. — Here  comes  our  general. 

Enter  Prince  John  of  Lancaster,  Westmoreland, 
a7i(l  others. 

P.  John.  Theheat  is  past,  follow  no  furthernow; — 
Call  in  the  powers,  good  cousin  Westmoreland. — 
[Exit  Westmoreland. 
Now,  Falstaff,  where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ! 
When  every  thing  is  ended,  then  you  come: 
These  tardy  tricks  of  yours  will,  on  my  life. 
One  time  or  other  break  some  gallows'  back. 

Fal.  I  would  be  sorry,  my  lord,  but  it  should  be 
thus;  I  never  knew  yet,  but  rebuke  and  check  was 
the  reward  of  valor.  Do  you  think  me  a  swallow, 
an  arrow,  or  a  bullet!  have  I,  in  my  poor  and  old 
motion,  the  expedition  of  thought!  I  havcspeeded 
hither  with  the  very  extremest  inch  of  possibility: 
I  have  foundered  nine-score  and  odd  posts;  and 
here,  travel-tainted  as  I  am,  have,  in  my  pure  and 
immaculate  valor,  taken  sir  John  Colevile  of  the 
dale,  a  most  furious  knight  and  valorous  enemy: 
But  what  of  thatl  he  savv  me,  and  yielded;  that  I 
mayjustlysay  with  tire  hook-nosedfellow  of  Rome,' 
— I  came,  saw,  and  overcame. 

P.  John.  It  was  more  of  his  courtesy  than  your 
deserving. 

Fal.  I  know  not;  here  he  is,  and  here  I  yield  him: 
and  I  beseech  your  grace  let  it  be  booked  with  the 
rest  of  this  day's  deeds;  ov  by  the  Lord,  I  will  have 
it  in  a  particular  ballad  else,  with  mine  own  picture 
on  the  top  of  it,  Colevile  kissing  my  foot:  To  the 
which  course,  if  I  be  enforced,  if  you  do  not  all 
show  like  gilt  two-pences  to  me;  and  I,  in  the  clear 
sicy  of  fame,  o'ershining  you  as  much  as  the  full 
moon  doth  the  cinders  of  the  element,  which  shew 
like  pins'  heads  to  her;  believe  not  the  word  of  the 
noble:  Therefore  let  me  have  right,  and  let  desert 
mount. 

P.  John.  Thine's  too  heavy  to  mount. 

Fal.  Let  it  shine  then. 

P.  John.  Thine's  too  thick  to  shine. 

Ful.  Let  it  do  something,  my  good  lord,  that  may 
do  me  good,  and  call  it  what  you  will. 

/'.  John.  Is  thy  name  Colevile  ! 

Cole.  It  is,  my  lord. 

P.  John.  A  famous  rebel  art  thou,  Colevile. 

Fat.  And  a  liimous  true  subject  took  him. 

Cole.  1  am,  my  lord,  but  as  my  betters  are. 
That  led  mc  hither :  had  they  been  ruled  by  me. 
You  should  have  won  them  dearer  than  you  have. 

Fal.  I  know  not  how  they  sold  themselves:  but 
thou,  like  a  kind  fellow,  gavest  thyself  uw;iy  ;  and  I 
tliank  thee  for  thee. 

Re-enter  Westmoreland. 

P.  Jottn.  Now,  have  you  left  pursuit? 

West.  Retreat  is  made,  and  execution  stay'd. 

P.  John.  Send  Colevile,  with  his  confederates, 
To  York,  to  present  execution: 
Blunt,  lead  him  hence ;  and  see  you  guard  him  sure. 
[Exeunt  some  with  Colevilh. 
.\nd  now  despatch  we  toward  the  court,  my  lords 
I  hear,  the  king  my  father  is  sore  sick: 
^Julius  Cai3ftr. 


SCEKI.  IV. 


KING   HENRY  IV. 


357 


Our  news  shall  go  before  vis  to  his  majesty, — 
Which,  cousin,  you  shall  bear. — to  comlbrt  him; 
And  we  with  sober  speed  will  follow  you. 

Fat.  My  lord,  I  beseech  you,  give  me  leave  to  go 
through  Glostershire;  and,  when  you  come  to  court, 
stand  my  good  lord,  'pray,  in  your  good  report. 

P.Johu.  Fare  you  well,  Falstaff:  I,  in  my  con- 
dition,^ 
Shall  better  speak  of  3'ou  than  you  deserve.  [Exit. 

Fal.  I  would,  you  had  but  the  wit:  'twere  better 
than  your  dukedom. — Good  Uiith,  this  same  young 
sober-blooded  boy  doth  not  love  mc;  nor  a  man 
cannot  make  him  laugh; — but  that's  no  marvel,  he 
drinks  no  wine.  There's  never  any  of  these  de- 
mure boys  come  to  any  proof:  for  thin  drink  doth 
so  over-cool  their  blood,  and  making  many  tish- 
meals,  that  they  fall  into  a  kind  of  male  green-sick- 
ness; and  then,  when  they  marry,  they  get  wenches: 
they  are  generally  fools  and  cowards; — which  some 
of  us  should  be  too,  but  for  intlammation.  A  good 
sherris-sack  hath  a  two-fold  operation  in  it.  It  as- 
cends me  into  the  brain;  dries  me  there  all  the 
foolish,  and  dulKandcrudy  vapors  which  environ  it; 
makes  it  apprehensive,  quick,  tbrgetive,-  full  of 
nimble,  tiery,  and  delectable  shapes;  which  deliv- 
ered o'er  to  the  voice,  (the  tongue.)  which  is  the 
birth,  becomes  excellent  wit.  The  second  property 
of  your  excellent  shcrris  is, — the  warming  of  the 
blood  ;  wliich,  before  cold  and  settled,  lett  the  liver 
white  and  pale,  which  is  the  badge  of  pusillanimity 
and  cowardice:  but  the  sherris  warms  it,  and  makes 
it  course  from  the  inward  to  the  parts  extreme.  It 
illumineth  the  face;  which, asa  beacon,  gives  warn- 
ing to  all  the  rest  of  this  little  kingdom,  man.  to 
arm;  and  then  the  vital  commoners,  and  inland 
petty  spirits,  muster  me  all  to  their  captain,  the 
Iieart ;  who,  great,  and  pulled  up  with  this  retinue, 
doth  any  deed  of  coura;ie :  and  this  valor  comes  of 
sherris:  So  that  skill  in  the  weapon  is  nothing, 
without  sack;  for  that  sets  it  a-work:  and  learning. 
a  mere  hoard  of  gold,  kept  by  a  devij;  till  sack 
commences  it,^  and  sets  it  in  act  and  use.  Hereof 
comes  it,  that  prince  Harry  is  valiant:  for  the  cold 
blood  hedid  naturally  inherit  of  his  father,  he  hath, 
like  lean,  steril,  and  bare  land,  manured.  husl)anded, 
and  tilled,  with  excellent  endeavor  of  drinking 
good,  and  good  store  of  Icrtile  sherris;  that  he  is 
become  very  hot  and  valiant.  If  I  had  a  thousand 
sons,  the  tirst  human  principle  I  would  teach  them 
should  be, — to  forswear  thin  potations,  and  addict 
themselves  to  sack. 

Enter  BAHDOLPii. 
How  now,  Bardolph  ? 

Bard.  The  army  is  discharged  all,  and  gone. 

FaL  Let  them  go.  I'll  through  Giostersliire;  and 
there  will  I  visit  master  Robert  Shallow,  esquire; 
1  have  liim  already  tempering  between  my  finger 
and  my  thumb,  and  sliortly  will  I  seal  with  liim.^ 
Come  away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Westminster.    A  Room  in  thePalacc. 

Enter  KiHG  Hen'kv,  Clarence,  Prince  Hdmphrey, 
Wauwick,  and  others. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  lords,  if  heaven  doth  give  success- 
ful end 
To  this  debate  that  bleedeth  at  our  doors. 
We  will  our  youth  lead  on  to  higher  fields, 
And  draw  no  swords  but  what  are  sanctified. 
Our  navy  is  address'd.^  our  power  collected. 
Our  substitutes  in  absence  well  invested, 
And  every  thing  lies  level  to  our  wish: 
Only,  we  want  a  little  personal  strength  ; 
And  pause  us,  till  these  rebels  now  afoot, 
Come  underneath  the  yoke  of  government. 

War.  Both  which  we  doubt  not  but  your  majesty 
Shall  soon  enjoy. 

A'.  Hen.  Humphrey,  my  son  of  Gloster 

Where  is  the  prince  your  brotlierl 

p.  Humph.  I  think  he's  gone  to  hunt,  my  lord  at 
Windsor. 

K.  Hen.  And  how  accompanied? 

p.  Humph.  1  do  not  know,  my  lord. 

K.  Hen.  Is  not  his  brother,  Thomas  of  Clarence, 
with  him  1 

"  In  my  present  temper.  ^  Inventive. 

"  Brings  it  into  action. 

•,\n  allusion  to  the  oUl  use  of  sealing  with  soft  wax. 
*  Ready,  prepared. 


P.  Humph.  No,  my  good  lord,  he  is  in  presence 
here. 

Cla.  What  would  my  lord  and  ftxtherl 

K.  Hen.  Nothing  but  well  to  thee,  Thomas  of 
Clarence. 
How  chance,   thou  art  not  with  the  prince,  thy 

brother? 
Ho  loves  thee, and  thou  dost  neglect  him,  Thomas; 
Thou  hast  a  l)etter  place  in  his  alTection, 
Than  ail  thy  brothers;  cherish  it,  my  boy; 
'And  noble  olliccs  thou  mayst  eflcct  ^ 
Of  mediation,  alter  I  am  dead. 
Between  his  greatness  and  thy  other  brethren  : — 
Therefore  omit  him  not;  blunt  not  his  love: 
Nor  lose  the  good  advantage  of  his  grace, 
By  seeming  cold,  or  careless  of  his  will, 
For  he  is  gracious,  if  he  be  observM;* 
He  hath  a  tear  for  pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  for  melting  charity: 
Yet  notwithstanding,  being  incens'd,  he's  flint; 
As  humorous  as  winter,  and  as  sudden 
As  liaws  congealed  in  the  spring  of  day. 
His  temper,  therelbre,  must  be  well  ot)serv'd: 
Chide  him  tor  (aults.  and  do  it  reverently. 
When  you  perceive  his  blood  inclined  to  mirth: 
But,  being  moody,  give  him  line  and  scope; 
Till  that  liis  passions,  like  a  whale  on  ground, 
Conlbund  themselves  with  working.    Learn  this, 

Thomas, 
And  thou  shalt  prove  a  shelter  to  thy  friends; 
A  hoop  of  gold,  to  bind  thy  brothers  in; 
That  the  united  vessel  of  their  blood, 
Mingled  with  venom  of  suggestion, 
(As.  force  perforce,  the  age  will  pour  it  in,) 
Shall  never  leak,  though  it  do  work  as  strong 
As  aconitum.3  or  rash  gunpowder. 

Cla.  I  shall  observe  liim  with  all  care  and  love, 

K.  Hen.  Why  art  thou  not  at  Windsor  with  him, 
Thomas  I 

Cla.  He  IS  not  there  to-day ;  he  dines  in  London, 

A'.  Hen.  And  how  accompanied?  canst  thou  tell 
that? 

Cla.  With   Poins,  and  other  his  continual  fol- 
lowers. 

A".  Hen.  Most  subject  is  the  fattest  soil  to  weeds; 
And  he,  the  noble  image  of  my  youth. 
Is  overspread  with  tliem:  Therefore  my  grief 
Stretches  it-self  beyond  the  hour  of  death; 
The  blood  weeps  from  my  heart,  when  1  do  shape. 
In  tbrnis  imai;inary,  the  unguided  days, 
And  rotten  times,  "that  you  shall  look  upon 
When  I  am  sleeping  with  my  ancestors. 
For  when  his  licadsiron;;  not  hath  no  curb. 
When  rage  and  hot  blood  are  his  counsellors. 
When  means  and  lavish  manners  meet  together, 
O.  with  what  wings  shall  his  alVections  fly 
Towards  fronting  jiorii  and  oppos'd  decay! 

iVar.  My  gracious  lord,  you  look  beyond  him 
quite: 
The  prince  but  studies  his  companions, 
Like  a  strangetongue:  wherein,  to  gain  the  language, 
'Tis  ncedlul  that  the  most  immodest  word 
Be  look'd  upon,  and  learned:  which  once  attain'd, 
Your  highness  knows,  comes  to  no  further  use, 
But  to  be  known  and  hated.    So,  like  gross  terms. 
The  prince  will,  in  the  perlectncss  of  time. 
Cast  ofl'  ins  tbllnwers:  and  their  memory 
Siiall  as  a  jiattern  or  a  measure  live. 
By  which  his  grace  must  mete  the  lives  of  others; 
Turning  jiast  evils  to  advantages. 

K.  Hen.  'Tis  seldom,  when  the  bee  doth  leave 
her  comb 
In  the  dead  carrion. — W^ho's  here?  Westmoreland? 

Enter  Westmoreland. 
West.  Health  to  my  sovereign  I  and  new  Iiappi- 
ncss 
Added  to  that  that  I  am  to  deliver! 
Prince  John,  your  son,  doth  kiss  your  grace's  hand: 
Mowbray,  the  bishop  Scroop,  Hastings,  and  all, 
Are  brought  to  the  correction  of  your  law; 
Tlicre  is  not  now  a  rebel's  sword  unsheathed, 
But  peace  puts  forth  her  olive  every  where. 
The  manner  how  this  action  hath  been  borne, 
Here  at  more  leisure  may  your  highness  read; 
Witii  every  course,  in  this  particular.* 

2  Has  attention  shown  him. 

3 Wolfs  l>ane,  a  poisonous  herb. 

*The  lie-tail  contained  in  prince  John's  letter. 


358 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  IV. 


K.  Hen.  O  Westmoreland,  thou  art  a  summer- 
bird, 
Whit-h  ever  in  tlie  haunch  of  winter  sings 
The  lilting  up  of  day.    Looif!  here's  more  news. 

Enter  Harcourt. 

liar.  From  enemies  heaven  keep  your  majesty; 
And  when  they  stand  against  you,  may  tliey  tall 
As  those  that  I  am  come  to  tell  you  of! 
The  earl  Northumberland,  and  the  lord  Bardolph, 
VVith  a  great-power  of  English,  and  of  Scots, 
Are  by  the  sherilf  of  Yorkshire  overthrown: 
The  manner  and  true  order  of  the  fight. 
Tins  packet,  please  it  you,  contains  at  large. 

K.  Ben.  And  wherelbre  should  these  good  news 
make  me  sick! 
Will  fortune  never  come  with  both  hands  full, 
]3ut  write  her  fair  words  still  in  foulest  letters? 
Slie  either  gives  a  stomach,  and  no  food,^ 
Such  are  the  poor,  in  health;  or  else  a  least. 
And  takes  away  the  stomach, — such  are  the  rich, 
That  have  abundance,  and  enjoy  it  not. 
I  should  rejoice  now  at  this  happy  news; 
And  now  my  sight  fails,  and  my  brain  is  giddy: — 
U  nie!  comenear  me.nowl  am  much  ill.  [Swuon.^. 

P.  Humph.  Comfort,  your  majesty ! 

Cla.  ">  n>y  royal  (iither! 

West.  My  sovereign  lord,  cheer  up  yourself,  look 
up! 

War.  Bo  patient,  princes;  you  do  know,  these  fits 
Are  with  his  highness  very  ordinary. 
Stand  from  him^  give  him  air;  he'll  straight  be  well. 

Cla.  No,  no;  he  cannot  long  hold  out  these  pangs; 
The  incessant  care  and  labor  of  his  mind 
llalli  wrought  the  mure,"  that  siiould  confine  it  in, 
So  thin,  that  life  looks  through,  and  will  break  out. 

1>.  Humph.  The.  people  fear  me;'  for  they  do  ob- 
serve 
Unfather'd  heirs,  and  loathly  birds  of  nature; 
The  seasons  cliange  their  manners,  as  the  year 
Had  found  some  iaonths  asleep,  and  Icap'd  them 
over. 

Cla.  The  river  hath  thrice  flow'd,  no  ebb  be- 
tween:' 
And  the  old  folk,  time's  doting  chronicle.?, 
Say,  it  did  so,  a  litth*  time  before 
That  ourgreat  grauilsire,  Kdward,siek'd and  died. 

War.  Speak  lower,  princi's,  forthe  king  recovers. 

1'.  Humph.  Thisapoplex  will,  certain,  be  Ins  end. 

A'.  Hen.  I  pray  you,  take  me  up,  and  bear  me 
hence 
Into  some  other  chamber:  softly,  'pray. 

[They  conreij  the  King  Into  an  inner  part 
of  the  riitnn.  and  place  him  on.  a  bed. 
Let  there  be  no  noise  made,  my  gentle  friends; 
Unless  some  dull*  and  favorable  hand 
Will  whisper  music  to  my  weary  spirit. 

War.  Call  for  the  music  in  the  other  room. 

K.  Hen.  Set  me  the  crown  upon  my  pillow  here. 

Cla.  His  eye  is  hollow,  and  he  changes  much. 

IVar.  Less  noise,  less  noise. 

Enter  Prince  Henry. 

P.  Hen.  Who  saw  the  duke  of  Clarence? 

Cla.  I  am  here,  brollier,  full  of  heaviness. 

P.  Hen.  How  now !  rain  within  doors,  and  none 
abroad! 
How  doth  the  king? 

P.  Humph.  Kxceeding  ill. 

p.  Hen.  Heard  he  the  good  news  yetl 

Tell  it  him. 

P.  Humph.  He  altcr'd  much  upon  the  hearing  it. 

p.  Hen  U  he  be  sick 
With  joy,  he  will  recover  without  physic. 

War.    Not    so  much  noise,  my   lords:  —  sweet 
prince,  speak  low; 
The  king  your  lallier  is  dispos'd  to  sleep. 

Via.  Let  us  withdraw  inio  the  other  room. 

War.  Wiirt  please  your  grace  to  go  along  with  us? 

J'.  Hen.  No;  I  will  sit  and  watch  hereby  the  king. 
[Exeunt  all  hut  P.  Hknry. 
Why  doth  the  crown  lie  there  upon  his  pillow, 
Piciiig  so  troublesome  a  bedfellow? 
(I  polish'd  perturbation!  golden  care! 
That  keep'st  the  ports'  of  slumber  open  wide 
To  many  a  watchful  night! — sleep  with  it  now! 

*Wnll.  'Make  nie  afraid. 

'  An  historical  fact,  on  Oct   12,  1411. 
sjlelauclioly,  soolliiag.  "GUe3. 


Yet  not  so  sound,  and  half  so  deeply  sweet. 
As  he,  whose  brow,  with  homely  biggin*  bound, 
Snores  out  the  watch  of  night.    0  majesty ! 
When  thou  dost  pinch  thy  bearer,  thou  dost  sit 
Like  a  rich  armor  worn  in  heat  of  day. 
That  scalds  with  safety.    By  his  gates  of  breath 
There  lies  a  downy  leather,  which  stirs  not: 
Did  he  suspire,  that  light  and  weightless  down 
Perforce    must   move. — My   gracious   lord!    my 

father!— 
This  sleep  is  sound  indeed;  this  is  a  sleep 
That  from  this  golden  rigol'  hath  divorced 
So  many  English  kings.    Thy  due,  from  me. 
Is  tears,  and  heavy  sorrows  of  the  blood; 
Which  nature,  love,  and  filial  tenderness. 
Shall,  O  dear  father,  pay  thee  plentoously; 
My  due,  from  thee,  is  this  imperial  crown; 
Which,  as  immediate  liom  thy  placeand  blood, 
Derives  itself  to  me.    Lo,  here  it  sits, — 

[Putting  it  on  his  head. 
Which  heaven  .shall  guard:  And  put  the  world's 

whole  strength 
Into  one  giant  arm,  it  shall  not  force 
This  lineal  honor  from  me:  This  from  thee 
Will  I  to  mine  leave,  as  'lis  left  to  me.  [Exit. 

K.Hen.  Warwick!  Gloster!  Clarence! 
Re-enter  Warwick,  and  the  rest. 
Cla.  Doth  the  king  call? 

War.  What  would  your  majesty?   How  fares 

your  grace? 
A'.  Hen.  Why  did  you  leave  me  here  alone,  my 

lords? 
Cla.  We  left  the  prince  my  brother here.my  liege, 
Who  undertook  to  sit  and  watch  by  you. 
A'. //c;i.  The  prince  of  Wales?   Where  is  he?  let 
me  see  him : 
He  is  not  here. 

Il'iir.  This  door  is  open;  he  is  gone  this  way. 
P.  Humph.  He  came  not  through  the  chamber 

where  we  stay'd. 
A'.  Hen.  Where  is  the  crown?  who  took  it  from 

my  pillow? 
Wur.  When  wc  withdrew,  my  liege,  we  left  i  t  here. 
K.Hen.  The  prince  hath  ta'enit  hence: — go,scek 
him  out; 
Is  he  so  hasty,  that  he  doth  suppose 

My  sleep  my  death? ■ 

Find  him,  my  lord  of  Warwick;  chide  him  hither. 

[Exit  Warwick. 
This  part  of  his  conjoins  with  my  disease, 
And  helps  to  end  me.— See,  sons,  what  things  you 

are ! 
How  quickly  nature  falls  into  revolt, 
When  gold  becomes  her  object ! 
Por  lliis  the  Ibolish  over-careful  fathers 
Have  broke  their  sleep  with  thoughts,  their  brains 

with  care. 
Their  bones  with  industn,-; 
For  this  they  have  engrossed  and  piled  up 
The  canker'd  heaps  of  strange-achieved  gold; 
For  this  they  have  been  thoughtful  to  invest 
Their  sons  with  arts,  and  martial  exercises: 
When,  like  the  bee,  tolling  =  from  every  flower 
The  virtuous  sweets; 
Our  thighs  packed  with  wax,  our  mouths  with 

honey. 
We  bring  it  to  the  hive;  and, like  the  bees. 
Are  niurder'd  lor  our  pains.    This  bitter  taste 
Yield  his  engrossments*  to  the  ending  father. — 

Re-enter  Warwick. 
Now,  where  is  he  that  will  not  stay  so  long 
Till  his  friend  sickness  hath  determin'd'  me? 

War.  My  lord,  I  found  the  prince  in  theiii-xl  room, 
Washing  with  kindly  tears  his  geiille  clierivs; 
With  such  a  deep  demeanor  in  great  sorrow. 
That  tyranny,  which  never  quaH''d  but  blood. 
Would,  by  beholding  him,  have  wash'd  his  knife 
With  gentle  eye-drops.    He  is  coming  hither. 
K.  Hen.  But  wlierelbre  did  he  take  away  the 
crown? 

Re-enter  Prince  Henry. 
Lo, where  he  comes.— Come  hitherto  me, Harry:— 
Depart  the  chamber,  leave  us  here  alone. 

[Exeunt  Clarence,  Phinck  Humpiiret, 
Lords,  cVf, 


I  Cap.  '-'Circle. 

4  Accuuiulations. 


STukiii?  toll. 
'Ended. 


Scene  IV. 


KIXG  HENRY  IV. 


359 


p.  Hen.  I  never  thought  to  hear  you  speak  again. 

A".  Hen.  Tliy  wish  was  father,  Harry,  to   that 
tiiouglit: 
I  stay  too  long  by  thee,  I  weary  thee. 
Dost  thou  so  iiunger  lor  my  empty  chair, 
That  thou  wilt  needs  invest  thee  with  mine  honors 
Belbre  thy  hour  be  ripeT  O  foolish  youth ! 
Thou  seek'st  the  greatness  that  wijl  overwhelm  thee. 
Stay  but  a  little;  lor  my  cloud  ofdignity 
Is  held  I'rom  falling  witli  so  weak  a  wind. 
That  it  will  quickly  drop:  my  day  is  dim. 
Thou  hast  stolen  that,  which,  afler  some  few  hours, 
Were  thine  without  ollence;  and,  at  my  death, 
Thou  hast  seal'd  up  my  exjiectation:'* 
Tliy  lite  did  manifest,  thou  lov'dst  me  not, 
And  thou  wilt  have  me  die  assured  of  it. 
Thou  hid'st  a  thousand  daggers  in  thy  thoughts; 
Which  thou  hast  whetted  oji  thy  stony  heart. 
To  stab  at  half  an  liour  of  myiife. 
What!  canst  thou  not  forbear  me  half  an  hour? 
Then  get  thee  gone;  and  dig  my  grave  thyself; 
And  bid  the  merry  bells  ring  to  tliine  ear, 
That  thou  art  crowned,  not  that  I  am  dead. 
Let  all  the  tears  that  should  bedew  my  hearse, 
Be  drops  of  balm,  to  sanctify  thy  head: 
Only  compound  me  with  begotten  dust ; 
Give  that,  whicii  gave  tlice  lile,  unto  tlie  worms. 
Pluck  down  my  ofiiccrs,  break  my  decrees; 
For  now  a  time  is  come  to  mock  at  form, 
Harry  the  Fifth  is  crownM: — Up,  vanity! 
Down, royal  state!  all  you  sage  counsellors, hence! 
And  to  the  English  court  assemble  now. 
From  every  region,  apes  of  idleness! 
Now,  neighbor  confines,  purge  you  of  your  scum: 
Have  you  a  rufiian,  that  will  swear,  drink,  dance. 
Revel  "the  night;  rob,  murder,  and  commit 
Theholdest  sins  the  newest  kind  of  ways! 
Be  happy,  he  will  trouble  you  no  more: 
England'shall  double  gild  his  treble  guilt; 
England  shall  give  him  ofrioe.  honor,  might: 
For  the  fifth  Harry  from  curb'd  license  plucks 
The  muzzle  of  restraint,  and  the  wild  dog 
Shall  Ili'sh  his  tooth  in  every  innocent. 

0  my  1)1  Hir  kingdom,  sick  with  civil  blows! 
When  that  my  care  could  not  withhold  thy  riots. 
What  wilt  thou  do,  when  riot  is  thy  care? 

(),  thou  wilt  he  a  wilderness  again. 
Peopled  with  wolves,  thy  old  inhabitants! 
P.  Hen.  O  pardon  me,  my  liege!   but  for  my 
tears,  [Kneeling. 

The  moist  impediments  unto  my  speech, 

1  had  forestallM  this  dear  and  deep  rebuke. 
Ere  you  with  grief  had  spoke,  and  I  had  heard 
The  course  of  it  so  far.    There  is  your  erowiv 
And  He  that  wears  the  crown  immortally, 
Long  guard  it  yours!  If  I  affect  it  more. 
Than  as  your  lionor,  and  as  your  renown. 
Let  me  no  more  from  this  olu'dience  rise. 
{Which  my  most  true  and  inward  duteous  spirit 
Teaciieth,)  this  prostrate  and  exterior  bending! 
Heaven  witness  with  me,  when  I  here  came  in. 
And  found  no  course  of  breath  witliin  your  itiajesty. 
How  cold  it  struck  my  heart !  if  I  do  feign, 

O,  let  me  in  my  present  wildness  die; 

And  never  live  to  show  the  incredulous  world 

The  noble  change  that  I  have  purposed! 

Coming  to  look  on  you.  thinking  you  dead, 

(And  dead  almost,  my  liege,  to  think  you  were,) 

I  spake  unto  the  crown,  as  having  sense. 

And  thus  upbraided  it.  Tlie  care  on  thee  depending, 

liathfc'i  itp(ni  the  hottii  of  my  father,- 

Thirefure.  thou,  bed  if  ,v'i!<f,  art  wnr.it  nf  gold, 

Other^  lefisftne  in  carat,''  hi  more  precious. 

Preserving  life  in  nied?cine  potable: 

But  thou,  most  fine,  most  honored,  most  renoum^d, 

Hust  eut  thy  bearer  up.    Thus,  my  most  royal 

liege. 
Accusing  it,  I  put  it  on  my  head; 
To  try  with  it, — as  with  an  enemy. 
That  had  before  my  fiicc  murder'd  my  father, — 
The  quarrel  of  a  true  inheritor. 
But  if  it  did  infect  my  blood  with  joy, 

t-Coi  firmel  my  o](iDion. 

~  A  term  used  iu  iltscribing  the  fineness  of  cold 


Or  swell  my  thotights  to  any  strain  of  pride; 
If  any  rebel  or  \ain  spirit  of  mine 
Did,  with  the  least  aflection  of  a  welcome, 
Give  entertainment  lo  the  might  of  it. 
Let  God  lor  ever  keep  it  from  my  head! 
And  make  me  as  the  poorest  vassal  is. 
That  doth  with  awe  and  terror  kneel  to  it! 

K.  Hen.  O  my  son! 
Heaven  put  it  in  thy  mind  to  take  it  hence. 
That  thou  might^st  win  the  more  thy  father^s  love, 
Pleading  so  wisely  in  excuse  of  it. 
Come  hither,  Harry;  sit  thou  by  my  bed. 
And  hear,  I  think,  the  very  latest  counsel 
That  ever  I  shall  breathe.    Heaven  knows,  my  son, 
By  what  by-paths,  and  indirect  crook'd  ways, 
I  met  this  crown ;  and  I  myself  know  well, 
How  troublesome  it  .sat  upon  my  head: 
To  thee  it  shall  descend  with  better  quiet, 
Better  opinion,  better  confirmation: 
For  all  the  soil  of  the  achievement  goes 
With  me  into  the  earth.    It  seem'd  in  me. 
But  us  an  honor  .snatch'd  with  boisterous  hand; 
And  I  had  many  living,  to  upbraid 
My  gain  of  it  by  their  assistance; 
Which  daily  grew  to  quarrel  and  to  bloodshed. 
Wounding  supposed  peace:  all  these  bold  fears, 
Thou  seest,  with  peril  I  have  answer'd: 
For  all  my  reign  hath  been  but  as  a  scene 
Acting  that  argument;  and  now  my  death 
Changes  the  mode:  for  what  in  me  was  purchas'd,' 
Falls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fiiirer  sort; 
So  thou  the  garla;id  wear'st  sueces-sively. 
Yet,  though  thou  stand'st  more  sure  tlian  I  could 

do. 
Thou  art  not  firm  enough,  since  griefs  are  green ; 
And  all  tliy  friends,  which   thou  must  make  thy 

lYie'nds, 
Have  but  their  stings  and  teeth  newly  ta'cn  out; 
By  whoso  fell  workiiis  1  was  first  advanced, 
.\nd  by  whose  jiower  I  well  might  lodge  a  fear 
To  be  again  disjilaced:  which  to  avoid 
I  cut  them  oil';  and  had  a  purpose  now 
To  lead  out  many  to  the  Holy  Land; 
Lest  rest,  and  lying  still,  might  make  them  look 
Too  near  unto  'my  state.    Therefore,  my  Harry, 
Be  it  thy  course,  to  busy  giddy  minds 
With  foreign  quarrels;  that  action,  hence  born  out. 
May  wasle  the  memory  of  tlie  former  days.  ' 
More  would  I,  but  my  lungs  are  wasted  so. 
That  strength  of  speech  is  utterly  denied  me. 
How  I  came  by  the  crown,  O  God,  forgive! 
And  grant  it  may  with  thee  in  true  peace  live! 

P.  Hen.  My  gracious  liege. 
You  won  it,  wore  it,  kept  it,  gave  it  me; 
Then  plain,  and  right,  must  my  po.sscssion  be: 
Which  I,  with  more  than  with  a  common  pain, 
'Gainst  all  the  world  will  rightfully  maintain. 

Enter  Phince  Jonx  nf  Lancaster,  WARWfCE,  Lords, 
and  others. 

K.  Hen.   Look,  look,  here  comes  my   John  of 
Lancaster. 

P.  John.   Health,   peace,  and  happiness  lo  my 
royal  lather! 

A'.  Hen.' Thau  liring'st  me  happiness,  and  peace, 
son  .Inhn; 
But  health,  alack,  with  youthful  wings  is  flown 
From  this  hare,  wither'd  trunk;  upon  thy  sight. 

My  worldly  business  makes  a  period. 

Where  is  my  lord  of  Warwick ! 

P.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Warwick ! 

K.  Hen.  Doth  any  name  particular  belong 
Unto  the  lodging  where  I  first  did  swoon  ! 

War.  'Tiscaird  Jerusalem,  my  noble  lord. 

K.  Hen.  Laud    be   to  God!— even  there  my  life 
must  end. 
It  had  been  prophesied  to  me  many  years, 
I  should  not  die  but  in  Jerusalem; 
Which  vainly  I  supposed  the  Holy  Land:— 
But,  bear  me  to  that  chamber;  there  I'll  lie; 
In  that  Jerusalem  shall  Harry  die.  [Eirunt. 

8  Purchase,  in  Shakspeare,  frequently  means  stolen 
gooiln 


3G0 


SECOND  PART  OF 


Act  V", 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I. — Gloucestershire.    A  Hall  in  Shallow's 
House, 

Enter  Shallow,  Falstaff^  BARDOLni,  and  Page. 

Shal.  By  cock  and  pye,  sir,  you  shall  not  away 
to-niglit. What,  D-wy-,  I  say! 

FaL  You  must  excuse  me,  master  Robert  Shallow. 

SluU.  I  wilt  not  excuse  you  ;  you  sliall  not  be  ex- 
cused; excuses  shall  not  be  admitted;  there  is  no 
excuse  shall  serve;  you  shall  not  be  excused. — 
WJiy,  Davy  ! 

Enter  Davy. 

Davy.  Here,  sir. 

iihaL  Davy,  Davy,  Davy, — let  me  sec,  Davy;  let 
me  sec: — yea,  marry,  William  cook,  bid  hnn  dome 
hither. — Sir  JoiiUj  you  shall  not  be  excused, 

Davy.  Marry,  SI1-,  thus; — those  precepts**  cannot 
be  served:  and,  again,  sir, — Shall  we  sow  the  head- 
land with  wiieat  { 

Shal.  With  red  wheat,  Davy.  But  for  William 
conk; 'Are  tliere  no  young  pigeons! 

Davy.  Yes,  sir. Here  is  now  tlie  smith's  note, 

for  slioeing  and  plougli-irons. 

Shal.  Let  it  be  cast,i  and  paid:^ir  John,  you 
sliall  not  be  excused. 

Davy.  Now,  sir,  a  new  link  to  the  bucket  must 
needs  be  had. — And,  sir,  do  you  mean  to  stop  any 
of  Wdliam 'swages,  about  the  sack  he  lost  the  other 
day  at  Hinckley  lair] 

tihal.  He  shall  answer  it : Some  pigeons,  Dfevy; 

a  couple  of  short-legged  hens;  a  jomt  of  mutton; 
and  any  pretty  httle  tiny  kickshaws,  tell  WtUiam 
conk. 

Davy.  Doth  the  man  of  war  stay  all  night,  sir"! 

ShaL  Yes,  Davy,  1  will  use  hnn  well;  A  friend 
i'llif  court  is  better  than  a  penny  in  purse.  Use 
his  men  well,  Davy;  lor  they  are  arrant  knaves, 
and  wdl  backbite. 

Davy.  No  worse  than  they  are  back-bitten,  sir; 
for  lUoy  have  marvellous  foul  linen. 

Sfial.  Well  conceited,  Davy.  About  thy  busi- 
ness, Davy. 

Davy.  1  beseech  you,  sir,  to  countenance  William 
Visor  of  Wincot,  against  Clement  Perkes  of  the  hill. 

Shal.  There  are  many  complaints,  Davy,  against 
that  Visor;  that  Visor  is  an  arrant  knave,  on  my 
knowledge. 

Davy.  I  grant  your  worship,  that  he  is  a  knave, 
sir:  biit  yet,  God  ibrbid,  sir,  but  a  knave  should 
have  some  countenance  at  his  friend's  request.  An 
holiest  man,  sir,  is  able  to  speak  lor  himself,  when 
a  knave  is  not.  I  have  served  your  worship  truly, 
sir,  thrs  eight  years;  and  if  I  cannot  once  or  twice 
in  a  quarter  bear  out  a  knave  against  an  honest 
man,  1  have  but  a  very  little  credit  with  your  wor- 
siiip.  The  knave  is  my  honest  friend,  sir;  there- 
fore, I  beseech  your  worship,  let  him  be  counte- 
nanced. 

Shal.  Go  to ;  I  say,  lie  shall  have  no  wrong.  Look 
about,  Davy.  [Exit.  Davy.]  Where  are  you,  sir 
John]  Come,  olf  with  your  boots. — Give  me  your 
liand,  master  Bardolph. 

Bitrd.  I  am  glad  to  sec  your  worship. 

Skal,  I  thank  thee  with  all  my  heart,  kind  mas- 
ter Bardolph: — and  welcome,  my  tall  fellow.  [To 
ike  Page.]   Come,  sir  John.  [Exit  Shallow. 

Ftil.  I'll  follow  you,  good  master  UoIhmI  Shidlovv. 
Bardolph,  look  to"  our  horses.  [Excuitl  ltAi;itoi,pu 
ami  Page.]  U'l  were  sawed  into  quantihcs,  i  should 
make  four  dozen  of  such  bearded  hermit's  staves  as 
master  Shallow.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  see  the 
semblable  coherence  of  his  men's  spirits  and  iiis: 
They,  by  observing  him,  do  bear  themselves  like 
foolish  justices;  ho,  by  conversing  with  them,  is 
turned  Into  a  justice-like  serving  man;  theirspirits 
aresomarried  in  conjunction  with  the  participation 
of  society,  that  they  llock  together  in  consent,  like 
so  many  wild-geese.  If  I  had  a  suit  to  master 
Shallow,  I  would  humnr  his  men  with  the  impu- 
tation of  being  near  tlieir  master:  if  to  his  men,  I 


''Warrants. 


1  Cast  up. 


would  curry  with  master  Shallow,  that  no  man 
could  better  command  his  servants.  It  is  certain, 
that  cither  wise  bearing,  or  ignorant  carriage,  is 
caught  as  men  take  diseases,  one  of  another:  ihero- 
lure,  let  men  take  heed  of  their  couipany.  I  will 
devise  matter  enough  out  of  this  Shallow,  to  keep 
prince  Harry  in  continual  laughter,  the  wearing- 
out  of  six  lashions.  (which  is  lour  terms,  or  two 
actions,)  and  he  shall  laugh  without  iiitervailunis. 
(),  it  is  much,  that  a  lie,  with  a  sHght  oath,  and  a 
jest,  with  a  sad  brow,^  will  do  with  a  lelluw  that 
never  had  the  ache  in  his  shoulders!  O,  you  shall 
see  him  laugh  till  his  liice  be  like  a  wet  cloak  ill 
laid  up. 

Shal.   [Within.]  Sir  John! 

FaL  I  come,  master  Shallow;  I  come,  master 
Shallow.  [Exit  Falstaff, 

SCENE  II.— Westminster.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Warwick,  and  the  Lord  Cfiiep  Justice. 

War.  How  now,  my  lord  chief  Justice?  whither 

away  1 
Ch.  Just.  How  doth  the  king? 
War.    Exceeding  well;    his  cares    are  now  all 

ended. 
Ch.  Just.  I  hope,  not  dead. 

War.  He's  walk'd  the  way  of  nature; 

And,  to  our  purposes,  he  lives  no  more. 
Ch.  Just.  I  would  his  majesty  had  called  me  with 
iiim: 
The  service  that  I  truly  did  his  life, 
Hath  left  me  open  to  all  injuries. 

War.  Indeed,  I  think  the  young  king  loves  you 

not. 
Ch.  Just.  I  know  he  doth  not;  and  do  arm  myself, 
To  welcome  the  condition  of  the  time; 
Which  cannot  look  more  hideously  upon  me 
Than  I  have  drawn  it  in  my  fantasy. 

-E/i/er  Prince  John,  Prince  Hcmphrey,  Clarence, 
Westmoreland,  and  others. 
War.  Here  comes  the  heavy  issue  of  dead  Harry: 
O.  that  the  living  Harry  had  the  temper 
Of  him,  the  worst  of  these  three  gentlemen! 
How  many  nobles  then  should  hold  their  places, 
That  must  strike  sail  to  spirits  of  vile  sort ! 
Ch.  Just.  Alas  !  I  fear,  all  will  be  ovenurn'd. 
P.  John.  Good-morrow,  cousin  Warwick. 
p.  Humph.  Cia.  Good-morrow,  cousin. 
p.  John.  We  meet  like  men  that  had  forgot  to 

speak. 
War.  We  do  remember;  but  our  argument 
Is  all  too  heavy  to  admit  such  talk. 
P.  John.   Well,   peace   be  with  him   that  liath 

made  us  heavy! 
Ch.  Just.  Peace  be  with  us,  least  we  be  heavier! 
P.  Humph.  0,  good  my  lord,  you  have  lost  a 
friend  indeed: 
And  I  dare  swear,  you  borrow  not  that  face 
Of  seeming  sorrow;  it  is,  sure,  your  own. 
P.  John.  Though  no  man  be  assur'd  what  grace 
to  find, 
You  stxind  in  coldest  expectation: 
I  am  the  sorrier;  'would  'twere  otherwise. 
Cla.  Well,  you  must  now  speak  sir  John  Fr.lstatt 
fair; 
Which  swims  against  your  stream  of  quality. 
Cfi.  Just.   Sweet  princes,  what  I  did,  I  did  in 
honor, 
Led  by  the  impartial  conduct  of  my  soul; 
And  never  shall  j'ou  see,  that  I  will  beg 
A  ragged  and  forestallM  remission. — 
If  Irulh  and  upright  innocency  fail  me, 
ril  to  tiie  king  my  master  tliat  is  dead. 
And  tell  him  who  hath  sent  me  after  him. 
JFar.  Here  comes  the  prince. 

Enter  King  Henry  V. 
Ch  Just.  Good-morrow;  and  heaven  save  your 
majesty! 

''A  serious  face. 


Scene  III. 


KING  HENRY  IV. 


361 


King.  This  new  and  gorgeous  garment,  majesty, 
Sits  not  so  easy  on  mc  as  you  tliink. — 
Brottiers,  you  mix  your  sadness  with  some  fear; 
This  is  the  English,  not  the  Turl{ish  court; 
Not  Amurath  an  Amuralh^  succeeds. 
But  Harry,  Harry:  Yet  be  sad,  good  brothers, 
yt  r,  to  speak  truth,  it  very  well  becomes  you; 
Soirow  so  royally  in  you  appears. 
That  I  will  deeply  put  the  liishion  on. 
And  wear  it  in  my  heart.    Why  then,  be  sad: 
But  entertain  no  more  of  it,  good  brothers, 
Than  a  joint  burden  laid  upon  us  all. 
For  me,  by  Heaven,  I  bid  you  be  assurM, 
ru  be  your  father  and  your  brother  too; 
Let  me  but  bear  your  love,  I'll  bear  your  cares. 
Yet  weep,  that  Harry's  dead ;  and  so  will  1 : 
But  Harry  lives,  that  shall  convert  those  tear.s, 
By  number,  into  hours  of  happiness. 

P.  Jukn,  tVc.  We  hope  no  other  from  your  majesty. 

King.  You  all  look  strangely  on  nie: — and  you 
most;  (To  ^te  Chief  Justice. 

You  are,  I  think,  assur'd,  I  love  you  not. 

Ch.  Just.  I  am  assur'd,  if  I  be  measured  rightly. 
Your  majesty  hath  no  just  cause  to  hate  me. 

King.  No ! 
How  might  a  prince  of  my  great  hopes  forget 
So  great  indignities  you  laid  upon  me  ? 
What!  rate,  rebuke,  and  roughly  sent  to  prison 
The  immediate  heir  of  England  !  Was  this  easy  ? 
May  this  be  wash'd  in  Lethe  and  forgotten  '. 

Ch.  Just.  I  then  did  use  the  person  of  your  father; 
The  image  of  his  power  lay  then  in  me: 
And,  in  the  administration  of  his  law, 
Wliiles  I  was  busy  for  the  commonwealth, 
Y'our  highness  pleased  to  forget  my  place. 
The  majesty  and  power  of  law  and  justice, 
The  image  of  the  king  whom  I  presented, 
Atid  struck  me  in  my  very  seat  of  judgment; 
Whereon,  as  an  offender  to  your  father, 
I  gave  bold  way  to  my  authority. 
And  did  commit  you.    If  the  deed  were  ill, 
Be  you  contented,  wearing  now  the  garland, 
To  have  a  son  set  your  decrees  at  nought ; 
To  pluck  down  justice  from  your  awful  bench ; 
To  trip  the  course  of  law,  and  blunt  the  sword 
That  guards  the  peace  and  safety  of  your  person: 
Nay,  more:  to  spurn  at  your  most  royal  image. 
And  mock  your  workings  in  a  second  body. 
Question  your  royal  thoughts,  make  the  case  yours; 
Be  now  the  father,  and  propose  a  son: 
Hear  your  own  dignity  so  much  profaned. 
See  your  most  dreadful  laws  so  loosely  slighted, 
Behold  yourself  so  by  a  son  disdain'd: 
And  then  imagine  me  taking  your  part. 
And,  in  your  power,  soft  silencing  your  son: 
Alter  this  cold  consideration,  sentence  me; 
And,  as  you  are  a  king,  speak  in  your  state,* 
What  I  have  done  that  misbecame  my  place. 
My  person,  or  my  liege's  sovereignty. 

King.    You  are  right.   Justice,  and  you  weigh 
this  well; 
Therefore  still  bear  the  balance  and  the  sword: 
And  I  do  wish  your  honors  may  increase, 
Till  you  do  live  to  see  a  son  ot'  mine 
Odend  you.  and  obey  you,  as  I  did. 
So  shall  I  live  to  speak  my  father's  words:^ 
Happy  am  I,  ttuit  have  u  man  so  hold, 
T/iat  dares  do  justice  on  7ni/  proper  son; 
And  not  less  tuippij,  liaving  sucft  a  son, 
That  would  deliver  up  h-S  greatness  so 
Into  tfie  hands  of  Just  i/:e.— You  did  commit  me: 
For  which  I  do  commit  into  your  hand 
The  unstain'd  sword  that  you  have  used  to  bear; 
With  this  remembrance, — That  you  use  the  same 
With  the  like  bold,  just,  and  impartial  spirit. 
As  you  have  done  'gainst  me.    There  is  my  hand ; 
You  shall  be  as  a  liither  to  my  youth: 
My  voice  shall  sound  as  you  do  prompt  mine  ear; 
And  I  will  stoop  and  huiiible  my  intents 

To  your  wcll-practis'd,  wise  directions. 

And,  princes  all,  believe  me,  I  beseecli  you; — 
My  father  is  gone  wild  into  his  grave, 
For  in  his  tomb  lie  my  alli^ctions; 
And  with  his  spirit  sadly  I  survive. 
To  mock  the  expectation  of  the  world; 
To  frustrate  prophecies;  and  to  raze  out 

"Emperor  of  the  Turk  s,  ilieii   in  1590  ;  his  son,  who 
Bucceeiled  him,  had  all  liis  iMothers  slraiigleil. 
*  In  your  regal  character  and  office. 


Rotten  opinion,  who  hath  writ  me  down 
Aller  my  seeming.    The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
Hath  proudly  fiow'd  in  vanity  till  now: 
Now  doth  it  turn,  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea: 
Where  it  shall  mingle  with  the  state  of  floods. 
And  flow  hencefbrtn  in  formal  majesty. 
Now  call  we  our  high  court  of  parliament: 
And  let  us  choose  such  limbs  of  noble  counciJ, 
That  the  great  body  of  our  state  may  go 
In  equal  rank  with  the  best  govern'd  nation; 
That  war,  or  peace,  or  both  at  once,  may  be 

As  things  acquainted  and  familiar  to  us; 

In  which  you,  lather,  shall  have  foremost  hand. 

[Tu  the  Lord  Chief  Justicb 
Our  coronation  done,  we  will  accile,* 
As  I  before  remember'd,  all  our  state: 
.\nd  (God  consigning  to  ray  good  intents) 
No    prince,  nor  peer,  shall    have  just  cause   to 

say, — 
Heaven  shorten  Harry's  happy  life  one  day. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  in.— Gloucestershire.    The  Garden  of 
Shallow's  House. 

Enter  Falstafp,  SfiALLow,  Silence,  Bardolpd,  the 
Page,  and  Davy. 

Shal.  Nay,  5'ou  shall  see  mine  orchard:  where,  in 
an  arbor,  we  will  eat  a  last  year's  pippin  of  my  own 
gralling,  with  a  dish  of  carraways,  and  so  forth; — 
come,  cousin  Silence; — and  then  to  bed. 

Fat.  'Fore  God,  you  have  here  a  goodly  dwelling, 
and  a  rich. 

^hal.  Barren,  barren,  barren;  beggars  all,  beg- 
gars all,  sir  John :— marry,  good  sir.— Spread,  Davy; 
spread,  Davy;  well  said,  Davy. 

Fal.  This  Davy  serves  you  for  good  uses;  he  is 
youl-  serving-man,  and  your  husbandman. 

StuU.  A  good  varlet,  a  good  varlet,  a  very  good 
varlet,  sir  John.— By  the  mass,  I  have  drunk  too 
much  sack  at  sujiper:— A  good  varlet.    Now  sit 
down,  now  sit  down  : — come,  cousin. 
Sit.  Ah.  sirrah!  quoth-a, — we  shall 
Do  nothing  but  eat,  and  make  good  cheer, 

[Singing. 
And prtii.-^e  hravrnfor  the  memj  year; 
When  Jlesh  i.s^  cheap  audftmalts'dear. 
And  htsti/  lads  roam  here  and  there. 
So  mc-rriltj, 
And  ever  among  so  merrily. 
Fal.  There's  a   merry  heart! — Good  master  Si- 
lence. I'll  give  you  a  health  for  that  anon. 
Shfit.  (iive  master  Bardolph  some  wine.  Davy. 
Davi/.  Sweet  sir.  sit;  [Nen/mg- Bardolph  o?;(?/A< 
Page  at  another  taljle.]    I'll  be  with   you  anon  ;— 

most  sweet  sir,  sit. Master  pase,  good   master 

page,  sit:  prnface."  What  you  want  in  meat,  we'll 
have  in  drink.    But  you  must  bear;  the  heart's  all. 

\_ExU. 
Shal.  Be  merry,  maslcr  Bardolph:— and  my  little 
soldier  there,  be  merry. 
Sil.  Be  merry,  be  merry,  my  wive^s  as  all; 

[Singing. 
F(n-  woman  are  shrcms,  both  short  and  lull,- 
'Tis  merry  in  hall,  ivtitn  beards  wag  all. 

And  welcome  merry  skrove-tide. 
Be  merry,  be  merry,  ?Sr. 
Fal.  I  did  not  think  master  Silence  had  been  a 
man  of  this  mettle. 

Sil.  Who,  I !  I  have  been  merry  twice  and  once, 
ere  now. 

Re-enter  Datv. 
Davy.  There  is  a  dish  of  leather-coats'  for  you. 

[Setting  them  before  Bardolph. 
Shal.  Davy,— 

Davy.  Your  worship?— I'll  be  with  you  straight 
[To  Bard.] — A  cup  of  wine,  sir! 
Sil.  A  cup  of  wine,  that's  brisk  andfine, 

[Singing 
And  drink  unto  tfie  lady  mine; 
And  a  merry  heart  lives  lung-a. 
Fal.  Well  said,  master  Silence, 
Sil.  And  we  shall  be  merry; — now  comes  in  tlie 
sweet  of  the  night. 
Fat.  Health  and  long  lil'e  to  you,  master  Silence. 
Sil.  Fill  the  cup,  and  let  it  come; 

Tit  pledge  you  a  m  He  to  the  bottom, 
^  Summon.  «  Italian,  much  fjood  may  it  do  you. 

"Apides  commonly  called  russelines 


362 


SECOND  PAllT  OF 


Act  V. 


SAffi.  Honest  Bardolph,  welcome:  If  thou  vvaiitcst 
any  thing,  and  wilt  not  call,  hcshrew  thy  iit-art. — 
Welcome,  my  little  tiny  thief;  {To  (he  Paj;e.]  and 
welcome,  indeed,  too, — 1*1!  drink  to  master  Bar- 
Jolph,  and  to  all  the  cavalerocs  ahout  London. 

Davy.  I  hope  to  see  London  once  ere  I  die. 

Bar'd.  An  I  might  see  you  there,  Davy. — 

Skal.  By  Uie  mass,  you'll  crack  a  quart  together. 
Ha !  will  you  not,  master  Bardolph ! 

Bard.  Yes,  sir,  in  a  pottle  pot. 

Skat.  I  thank  thee:-^The  knave  will  stick  by 
thee,  I  can  assure  thee  tliat:  he  will  not  out:  he  is 
true  hred. 

Bard.  And  I'll  stick  by  him.  sir. 

HkaL  Why,  there  spoke  a  king.  Lack  nothing: 
be  merrj'.  {Knocking  heard.  ]  Look  wiio's  at  door 
there:  Ho!  who  knocks ]  [ExitDAyY. 

Fal.  Wliy,  now  you  have  done  me  rii^ht. 

[To  Silence,  wfu)  drinks  a  bumper. 

Sil.  Do  me  right,  [Singing. 

And  dab  me  knight:^ 
SamingoJ* 
Is't  not  sol 

Fa/.  'Tis  so. 

Sil.  Is't  sol  Why,  then  say,  an  old  man  can  do 
somewhat. 

Re-enter  Davy. 

Davy.  An  itpleaseyourworship, there's  one  Pistol 
come  trom  the  court  with  news. 

Fal.  From  the  court!  let  him  come  in. — 
Enter  Pistol. 
How  now,  Pistoll 

Fist.  God  save  j'ou,  sir  John ! 

Fal.  What  wind  blew  you  hither,  Pistol? 

Fist.  Not  the  iU  wind  which  blows  no  man  to 
good. — Sweet  knight,  thou  art  now  one  ol"  the 
greatest  men  in  the  realm. 

Sil.  By'r  Jady,  I  think  'a be;  but  goodman  Puff 
of  Barson. 

Fist.  Puff? 
Puff  HI  thy  teeth,  most  recreant  coward  base! — 
Sir  John,  I  am  thy  Pistol,  and  thy  friend, 
And  iieltci-skelter  have  I  rode  to  thee; 
And  Ifldings  do  I  bring,  and  lucky  joys, 
And  golden  times,  and  happy  news  of  price. 

Fal.  I  pr'ythee  now,  deliver  them  like  a  man  of 
this  world. 

Pkt.  A  tbutrafor  the  world,  and  worldlings  base! 
I  speak  of  Africa,  and  golden  joys. 

Fal.  0  base  Assyrian  knight,  wiiat  is  thy  news] 
Let  king  Cophetua  know  the  truth  tlicreof. 

Sii.  And  Robin  Hood,  Scarlet,  and  John.   [Sings. 

Fist.  Shall  dunghill  curs  confront  the  Helicons? 
And  sJiall  good  news  be  ballled  ? 
Then,  Pistol,  lay  thy  head  in  Furies'  lap. 

Shal.  Honest  gentleman,  I  know  not  your  breed- 
ing. 

Pisf.  Why  then,  lament  therefore. 

Shfil.  Give  me  pardon,  sir; — If,  sir,,  you  come 
with  news  from  the  court,  I  lake  il,  tiiore  is  but 
two  ways;  either  to  utter  tliem,  or  conceal  them. 
I  am.  sir,  under  the  king,  in  some  authority. 

FUit.  Under  which  king,  Bezomani  speak,  or  die. 

Shal.  Under  king  Harry. 

Pist.  Harry  the  fourtiiTor  fifth  ? 

Shal.  Harry  the  fourth. 

Pi.'^t.  A  foutra  for  thine  olTice! — 

Sir  John,  thy  tender  lambkin  now  is  king; 
Harry  the  filth's  the  man.    I  speak  tlic  trutli: 
When  Pistol  lies,  do  this;  and  hg  me,  like 
Tlie  hragging  Spaniard. 

Fal.  What!  is  the  old  king  dead? 

Pisf.  As  nail  in  door:  the  things  I. 'ipcak,  are  just. 

Fal.  Away.  Bardolph;  saddle  my  iiorsc.— Master 
Robert  Shallow,  choose  wiiatotlice  tiion  wilt  in  the 
land,  'tis  thiiic— Pistol,  I  will  double-charge  tJiee 
with  dignities. 

Bard.  O  joyful  day!— I  would  not  take  a  kniglit- 
hood  tor  my  fortune. 

Puit.  What?  1  do  bring  good  news? 

Fal.  Carry  master  Silence  to  bed.— Master  Shallow, 
my  lord  Shallow,  be  what  thou  wilt.  I  am  fortune's 
steward.  Get  on  thy  boots;  we'll  ride  all  nii^ht:— 
O,  sweet  Pistol:— Away,  Bardolpii.— [£,'.17/  Bard.] 

^  lie  who  ilr.'ink  a  bumper  on  his  knees,  to  the  health 
of  his  mistress,  was  dulil.cil  a  knijrht  for  tlie  cvi-ning. 

B  It  shoulil  be  Domingo  :  it  is  part  of  a  song  in  one  of 
Nasht's  I'lays. 


Come.  Pistol,  utter  more  to  me;  and,  withal,  dcviso 
somoLhing  to  do  thyself  good. — Boot,  boot,  master 
Shallow;  I  know  the  young  king  is  sick  for  me. 
Let  us  take  any  man's  liorses;  the  laws  of  Eiili  land 
are  at  my  commandment.  Happy  are  they  winch 
have  been  my  friends;  and  woe  to  my  lord  chief 
Justice! 

Pist.  Let  vultures  vile  seize  on  his  lungs  also! 
Where  is  the  life  that  late  I ledi^  say  they: 
Why,  here  it  is;  welcome  these  pleasant  days. 

[£ixeunt 

SCENE  IV.    London.    A  Street, 

Enter  Beadles,  draggi?ig  in  Hostess  Quickly,  aiii 
Doll  Tear-sheet. 

Host.  No,  thou  arrant  knave;  I  would,  I  might 
die,  that  I  might  have  thee  hanged:  thou  hast 
drawn  my  shoulder  out  of  joint. 

1  Bead.  The  constables  have  deliveredher  over  to 
me;  and  she  shall  have  whipping-cheer  enough,  I 
warrant  her:  there  had  been  a  man  or  two  lately 
killed  about  her. 

Doll.  Nut-hook,  nut-hook, 1  you  lie.  Come,  on  ! 
I'll  tell  thee  what,  thou  damned  tripe-visaged  rascal; 
an  the  cliild  I  now  go  with,  do  miscarry,  thou 
had"st  better  thou  had'st  struck  thy  mother,  tliou 
paper  faced  villain! 

Host,  0  the  Lord,  that  sir  John  were  come!  he 
would  make  this  a  bloody  day  to  somebody.  But 
I  pray  God,  the  fruit  of  her  womb  miscarry  ! 

1  Bead.  If  I  do,  you  shall  liave  a  dozen  of  cush- 
ions*  again;  you  have  but  eleven  now.  Come,  I 
charge  you  both  go  with  me;  for  the  man  is  dead, 
that  you  and  Pistol  beat  among  you. 

Didl.  I'll  tell  thee  wliat.  thou  thin  man  in  a  cen- 
ser! I  will  ha\'e  you  as  soundly  swinged  tor  this, 
you  blue-bottle  rogue !3  you  lilthy  famished  correc- 
tioner!  if  you  be  not  swinged,  I'll  forswear  half- 
kirtles.** 

1  Bead.  Come,  come,  you  she  knight-errant, 
come. 

Host.  0,  that  right  should  thus  overcome  might! 
Well;  of  sullerance  comes  case, 

Doll.  Come,  you  rogue,  come;  bring  me  to  a 
justice. 

Host.  Ay;  come,  you  starved  blood-hound. 

Dull.  Goodman  death!  soodman  bones! 

Jliint.  Thou  atomy,  tliou! 

Dull.  Come,  you  thin  tiling;  come,  you  rascal! 

1  Bead.  Very  well.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  V.  —  A  public  Place  near  Westminster 

Abbey. 

E?ifer  two  Grooms,  strewing  Rushes. 

1  Grooju.  More  rushes,  more  rushes. 

2  Groom.  The  trumpets  have  sounded  twice. 

1  Groom.  It  will  be  two  o'clock  ere  they  come 
from  the  coronation:  Despatch,  despatcJi. 

[Exeunt  Grooms. 

Enter  Falstaff,  Shallow,  Pistol,  Bardolph,  and 
the  Page. 

Fal.  Stand  here  by  me,  master  Robert  Shallow; 
I  will  make  the  king  do  you  grace:  I  will  leer  upon 
him,  as  'a  comes  by;  and  do  but  mark  the  counte- 
nance that  he  will  give  me. 

Fist.  God  bless  thy  lungs,  good  knight. 

Fal.  Come  here.  Pistol;  stand  behind  me. — 0,  if 
1  had  had  time  to  have  made  new  liveries,  1  would 
have  bestowed  the  thousand  pound  I  borrowed  of 
you.  [To  Shallow.]  But 'tis  no  matter;  this  poo'r 
show  doth  better:  tnis  doth  infer  the  zeal  I  liad  to 
see  him. 

Shal.  It  doth  so. 

Fal.  It  shows  my  earnestness  of  affection. 

Shal.  It  doth  so. 

Fal.  My  devotion. 

Shal.  It  doth,  it  doth,  it  doth. 

Fal.  As  it  were,  to  ride  day  and  night;  and  not 
to  deliberate,  not  to  remember,  not  to  have  patience 
to  shift  me. 

Shal.  It  is  most  certain. 

Fal.  But  to  stand  stained  with  travel,  and  sweat- 
ing with  desire  to  see  him:  thinking  of  nothing^else; 
putting  all  affiirs  else  in  oblivion;  as  if  there  were 
notlnng  else  to  be  done,  but  to  sec  him. 

'  A  term  of  reproach  for  a  catchpoll. 
*To  stuff  her  out  to  countcifeit  pregnacy. 

3  Ueadles  usually  wore  a  blue  livery      ^  Short  cloaks. 


Scene  V, 


KING   HENRY  IV. 


363 


Fist.  'Tis  semper  idem, iov  absque  hoc  nihil  esi:^ 
'Tis  all  in  every  part. 

Shut.  'Tis  so  indeed. 

Pist.  My  laiight,  I  will  inflame  tiiy  noble  liver, 
And  make  tiiee  rage. 

Thy  Doll,  and  Helen  of  thy  noble  thoughts, 
Is  in  base  durance,  and  coutagious  prison; 
Haul'd  thither 

By  most  mechanical  and  dirty  hand: — 
Rouse  up  revenge  irom  ebon  den  with  fell  Alecto's 

snake. 
For  Doll  is  in;  Pistol  speaks  nought  hut  truth. 

Fat.  I  will  deliver  her. 

[Shouts  tvithin,  and  the  Trumpets  sound. 

Fist.  There  roar'd  the  sea,  the  trumpet-clangor 
sounds. 

Enter  the  King  and  his  Train,  the  Chief  Justice 
among  them. 

Fal.  God  save  thy  grace,  king  Hal!  my  royal 

Hal! 
Fist.  Tlie  heavens  thee  guard  and  keep,  most 

royal  imp  of  fame! 
Fal.  God  save  thee,  my  sweet  boy! 
King;.  ]\Iy  lord  chief  Justice,  speak  to  that  vain 

man. 
Ch.  Just.  Have  you  your  wits?  laiow  you  what 

His  you  speak; 
Fal.  ]My  king!   my  Jove!   I  speak  to  thee,  my 

heart! 
KinS'   I  know  thee  not,  old  man:  Fall  to  thy 

prayers ; 
How  ill  white  hairs  become  a  fool,  and  jester! 
I  have  long  dream'd  of  such  a  kind  of  man, 
So  surfeil-swell'd,  so  old.  and  so  profane; 
But,  being  awake,  I  do  de^ipise  my  dream. 
Alake  less  thy  body,  hence.^  and  more  thy  grace; 
Leave  gormandizing;  know,  the  grave  doth  gape 
For  tiiee  thrice  wider  than  lor  other  men: 
Reply  not  to  me  with  a  Ibol-born  jest; 
Presume  not.  that  I  am  the  thing  I  was: 
For  heaven  doth  know,  so  shall  the  world  perceive. 
That  I  have  turn'd  away  my  former  self; 
So  will  1  those  tJiat  kept  my  company. 
Wlien  thou  dost  hear  1  am  as  I  have  been, 
Approach  me;  and  thou  shalt  be  as  thou  wast, 
The  tutor  and  the  feeder  of  my  riots; 
Till  tlien,  1  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death, — 
As  I  have  done  the  rest  of  my  misleaders, — 
Iv'ot  to  come  near  our  person  by  ten  miles. 
For  competence  of  life,  I  will  allow  you, 
That  lack  of  means  enforce  you  not  to  evil: 


And,  as  we  hear  you  do  reform  yourselves. 
We  will,— according  to  your  strength,  and  quali- 
ties,— 
Give  you  advancement.— Be  it  your  charge,  ray 

lord, 
To  see  perlbrm'd  the  tenor  of  our  word. — 
Set  on.  [Kxeunt  King,  and  his  Train. 

Fat.  Master  Siiallow,  I  owe  you  a  thousand 
pound. 

Shal.  Ay,  marry,  sir  John;  which  I  beseech  you 
to  let  me  have  home  with  me. 

Fat.  That  can  hardly  be,  master  Shallow.  Do 
not  you  grieve  at  this;  I  sJiall  be  sent  lor  in  private 
to  liim :  look  you,  he  must  seem  thus  to  the  world. 
Fear  not  your  advancement;  I  will  be  the  man  j-et 
that  shall  make  you  great. 

Shal.  I  cannot  perceive  how;  unless  you  give 
me  your  doublet,  and  stuff  me  out  with  straw.  1 
beseech  you,  good  sir  John,  let  me  have  hve  hun 
dred  of  my  thousand, 

Fal.  Sir,  I  will  be  as  good  as  my  word :  this  that 
you  heard,  was  but  a  color. 

Shal  A  color,  I  fear,  that  you  will  die  in,  sir  John. 

Fal.  Fearnocolors;  go  with  me  lodinner.  Tome, 
lieutenant  Pistol ; — come,  Bardolph : — 1  sJiall  be  sent 
lor  soon  at  night.  [Exeunt 

Re-enter  Prince  Jonx,  the  Chief  Justice,011icers,  &c. 

Ch.Just.  Go,  carry  sir  John  Falstallto  the  Fleet; 
Take  all  his  company  along  with  him. 

Fal.  My  lord,  my  lord, 

Ch.Just.  I  cannot  now  speak:  I  will  hear  you 
soon. 
Take  them  away. 

Pisl.  SiJ}/rfuna  me  icn'menta,  spero  me  contenia. 
[Exeunt  Fal.,  Shal.,  Pist.,  Bard.,  Page, 
and  Oflicers. 

P.  Johi.  I  like  this  fair  proceeding  of  the  king's; 
He  hath  intent,  his  wonted  followers 
Shall  all  be  very  well  provided  Ibr; 
But  all  are  banish'd,  till  their  conversations 
Appear  more  wise  and  modest  to  the  world. 

Vh.  Ju.st.  And  so  tlipy  arc. 

P.  John.  The  king  hath  calPd  his  parliament,  my 
lord. 

Ch.Ju^f.  He  hath. 

P.  John.    I  will  lay   odds, — that  ere  this  year 
expire. 
We  bear  our  civil  swords  and  native  fire. 
As  far  as  P'rance;  I  heard  a  bird  so  sing. 
Whose  music,  to  my  thinking,  pleas'd  iJie  king. 
Come,  will  you  hence]  [Exeunt. 


EPILOGUE.— 5j;&to^  hy  a  Dancer. 


YiVi9.T,  my  fear.-  then,  7ny  courVsy ;  last,  my 
Ffpeech.  My  fear  w,  your  displeasure;  my  cnurfsy. 
my  duty;  and  jny  speech,  to />cg  your  pardons.  If' 
you  1(11)1;  for'a  good  speech  noio^you  undo  me  .-for 
U'hal  I  have  to  say  is  of  mine  own  nia-king;  and 
luhut,  indeed,  I  should  say,  ivill,  I  doubt,  prove 
mine  own  marring.  But  to  the  purpose,  and  so  to 
the  venture: — Be  it  known  to  you,  (as  it  is  very 
well,}  I  was  lately  here  in  the  end  of  a  diy)leafiing 
play,  to  pray  yinir  patience  for  it,  and  to  promise 
you  a  better.  I  did  mean,  indeed,  to  pay  you  with 
t/tis;  which,  if  like  an  ill  venture,  it  come  unlucki- 
ly home.  I  break,  and.  i,ou.  my  gentle  creditors,  lose, 
here,  I  promised  you,  I  would  he,  and  here  I  com- 
7nit  my  body  to  your -mercirs:  bate  me  some,  and 
I  will  pay  you  some,  and  as  most  debtors  do, 
promise  i^ou  infinitely. 

If  my  tongue  cannot  entreat  you  to  acquit  me, 
Witt  you  command  me  to  use  my  legs  y  and  yet 

^'Tis  all  in  all,  and  all  in  every  part. 
*  Henceforward. 


that  were  but  light  payment,~to  dance  out  (f  your 
dtbl.  But  a  good  conscience  wiU  make  ant/  poss-i" 
ble  satifactiim,  and  so  will  I.  All  the  gentlewo- 
men hej'e  have  forgiven  me,-  if  the  gentlenun  will 
md,  then  the  gentlemen  do  7wt  agree  with  the  geU' 
ilewomen,  which  was  never  seen  before  in  such  an 
asstmbly. 

One  word  more,  I  beseech  you.  If  you  be  7iot  too 
much  cloi;ed  xcith  fal  meat,  our  humble  author 
will  cioitinuc  the  story,  with  sir  John  in  'it,  and 
make  you  merry  wUh  fair  Katharine  of  F}' a  nee : 
I  know.  Fa '.staff  shall  die  of 
less  already  he  be  killed-  with  your  hard 
opinions;  J'or  Oldcastle  died,  a  martyr,  and  this  is 
not  the  man.  My  tongue  Is  xvcory;  when  my  legs 
are  too,  I  will  bid  you  good  7ii^ht :  and  so  kneel 
dtnvn  before  you; — but,  indeed,  to  pray  for  the 
queen. "> 

'  Most  of  the  ancient  interludes  conclude  with  n  prayer 
for  the  kinj?  or  queen.  Hence,  perhaps,  the  Vivaut.  Rcz 
S^  Rcgina,  at  the  bottom  of  cur  moJera  play-billa. 


where,  for  anything 
a  sweat,  unless  a  I  ret 


KING  HENRY  V. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


Kix'G  Hexry  the  Fifth. 

Duke  of  Exlter,  Uncle  to  the  King. 
Duke  of  Yoke,  Cuunin  to  the  King. 
Earls  op  Saoisbuky,  Westmoreland,  ami  War- 
wick. 
ARCiimsHOP  OF  Canterbury. 
Bishop  op  Ely. 

i'oKD  '^LSot'"'"'''  \  Conspirators  asalast  the 
Sir  Thomas  Grey,      S  ^' 

Sir  Thomas  Ehpinimiam,  Gower,  Fluellen,  Mac- 
morris,   Jamy,  Officers    in  King  Henry's 
ar/ni/. 
Bates,  Court,  Williams,  Soldiers  in  tfie  same. 
NvM,  Bardolph,  Pistol. /wnifrii/  Servants  to  Fal- 

staff,  now  Soldiers  in  the  same. 
Boy,  Servant  to  tkem. 


A  Herald. 
Chorus. 

Charles  the  Sixth,  King  of  France. 

Lewis,  ttte  Dauphin. 

DuKKS  OP  BcRUUNoy,  Orleans,  and  Bourbon. 

The  Constable  of  France. 

Kamihres,  and  Granupre,  Frencli  Lords. 

Ginvrnur  of  Harfleur. 

Mostjoy,  a  Frencli  Herald. 

Ambassadors  to  tlie  King  of  England. 

TsABEL,  Queen  of  France. 
Katharine,  Daugliler  of  Charles  and  Isabel. 
Alice,  a  Lady  attending  on  the  Princess  Katliaiine. 
Quickly,  Fistofs  Wife,  an  Hostess. 

Lorils,  Ladies,  Officers,  French  and  English  Solr 
diers,  Messengers,  and  Attendants. 


The  SCENE,  at  the  beginning  of  the  play,  lies  in  England;  hut  aftenvards  ichollij  in  France. 


Enter  Chorcs. 

0,  for  a  muse  of  fire  that  would  ascend 
The  hrightest  heaven  of  invention  ! 
A  kingdom  for  a  sfage.  princes  to  act. 
And  inoiiarchs  to  belitild  the  swelling  scene! 
Then  should  the  warlike  Harry,  like  himself. 
Assume  the  port  of  Mars;  and  at  his  heels, 
LeashM  in  like  hounds,  should  famine,  sword,  and 

fire. 
Crouch  for  employment.    But  pardon,  gentles  all, 
The  Hat  unraised  spirit,  that  hath  dared, 
On  this  unworthy  scallbid,  to  bring  forth 
.So  gri^at  an  ohjcct:  Can  this  cockpit  hold 
The  \asty  fields  of  France,  or  may  we  cram 
Within  the  woo''"~  0,'  the  very  casques," 
That  did  alfrighi,  ii.e  air  at  Agincourt ! 
O,  pardon!  since  a  crooked  figure  may 
Attest,  in  little  place,  a  million; 


And  let  us,  ciphers  to  this  great  accompt, 

On  your  imaginary  forces'  work: 

Suppose,  within  the  girdle  of  these  walls, 

.\re  now  confined  two  mighty  monarchies, 

Whose  high  upreared  and  abutting  fronts 

The  perilous  narrow  ocean  parts  asunder. 

Piece  out  our  imperfections  with  your  thoughts, 

Into  a  thousand  parts  divide  one  man, 

And  make  imaginary  puissance: 

Think,  when  we  talk  of  horses,  that  you  see  them 

Printing  their  proud  hoofs  i'  the  receiving  earth: 

For  'tis  your  thoughts  that  now  must  deck  our 

kings. 
Carry  them  here  and  there;  jumping  o'er  times; 
Turning  the  accomplishment  of  many  years 
Into  an  hour-glass;  For  the  which  supply, 
Admit  me  Chorus  to  this  history; 
Who,  prologue-like,  your  humble  patience  pray, 
Gently  to  hear,  kindly  to  judge,  our  play. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE   I. — London.     An   Ante-chamber   in  the 
King's  Palace. 

Enter  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  o'irf  Bishop 
OF  Ely. 
Cant.  My  lord,  1*11   tell   you,— that  self    hill  is 
urged, 
Which,  in  the  eleventh  year  o' the  last  king's  reign, 
^Vas  like,  and  had  indeed  against  us  pass'd, 

1  ,-\n  allusion  lo  the  circular  form  of  the  theatre, 
suchncts. 

804 


But  that  the  scambling  and  unquiet  time 
Did  push  it  out  of  further  question. 

AVi/.  But  how,  my  lord,  shall  we  resist  it  now? 

Clint.  It  must  bethought  on.    If  it  pass  against 
us. 
We  lose  the  better  half  of  our  possession: 
For  all  the  temporal  lands,  which  men  devout 
By  testament  have  given  to  the  chiiroli. 
Would  they  strip  from  us;  being  valued  thus, — 
As  much  as  would  maintain  to  the  king's  honor, 

3  Powers  of  fancy. 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY  V. 


365 


Full  fifteen  earls,  and  fifteen  hundred  knights; 
Six  thousand  and  two  hundred  good  esquires; 
And,  to  relief  of  lazars,  and  weak  age, 
Of  indigent  laint  souls,  past  corporal  toil, 
A  hundred  ahn-houscs,  right  well  supplied; 
And  to  the  colters  of  the  king  beside, 
A  thousand  pounds  by  the  year:  Thus  runs  the 
bill. 

Ely.  Tiiis  would  drink  deep. 

Cimt.  'Twould  drink  the  cup  and  all. 

Ely.  But  what  prevention? 

Cant.  The  king  is  full  of  grace  and  fair  regard. 

Ely.  And  a  true  lover  of  tiie  holy  church. 

Cant.  The  courses  of  his  youth  promised  it  not. 
The  breath  no  sooner  left  his  father's  body, 
But  that  his  wildness,  mortified  in  him, 
Seem'd  to  die  too:  yea,  that  very  moment, 
Consideration  like  an  angel  came. 
And  whipp'd  the  oH'ending  Adam  out  of  him; 
Leaving  his  body  as  a  paradise. 
To  envelop  and  contain  celestial  spirits. 
Never  was  such  a  sudden  scholar  made: 
Never  came  reformation  in  a  (lood, 
Witli  such  a  heady  current,  scouring  faults; 
Nor  never  hydra-headed  willfulness 
So  soon  did  lose  his  seat,  and  all  at  once, 
As  in  this  king. 

Ely.  We  are  blessed  in  the  change. 

Cant.  Hear  him  but  reason  in  divinity, 
And,  all-admiring,  with  an  inward  wish 
You  would  desire,  the  king  were  made  a  prelate: 
Hear  him  debate  of  commonwealth  atlairs. 
You  would  say, — it  hath  been  all-in-all  his  study: 
List^  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 
A  tearful  battle  rendcrM  you  in  music: 
Turn  him  to  any  cause  of  policy, 
The  Gordian  knot  of  it  he  will  unloose, 
familiar  as  his  garter;  that,  when  he  speaks, 
The  air,  a  charter'd  libertine,  is  still. 
And  the  mute  wonder  lurketh  in  men's  ears, 
Tu  steal  his  sweet  and  honeyed  sentences; 
So  that  the  art  and  practic  part  of  lite 
Must  be  the  mistress  to  this  theoric: 
Which  is  a  wonder,  how  his  grace  should  glean  it, 
Since  his  addiction  was  to  courses  vain: 
His  companies  unletter'd,  rude,  and  shallow; 
His  hours  fiU'd  up  with  riots,  banquets,  sports; 
And  never  noted  in  him  any  study, 
Any  retirement,  any  sequestration 
From  open  haunts  and  i)opularity. 

Ely.  The  strawberry  grows  underneath  the  nettle; 
And  wholesome  berries  thrive  and  ripen  best, 
Noighbor'd  by  fruit  of  baser  quality: 
And  so  the  prince  obscur'd  his  contemplation 
Under  the  veil  of  wildness;  which,  no  doubt, 
Grew  like  the  summer  grass,  fastest  by  night, 
Unseen,  yet  crescivc'  in  his  faculty. 

Cant.  U  must  be  so:  for  miracles  are  ceas'd; 
And  therefore  we  must  needs  admit  tlie  means 
How  things  are  perfected. 

-f-X'/-  But,  my  good  lord. 

How  now  for  mitigation  of  this  bill 
Urged  by  the  commons?  Doth  his  majesty 
Incline  to  it,  or  no! 

Cant.  He  seems  indilTerent, 

Or.  rather,  swaying  more  upon  our  part. 
Than  cherishing  the  exhibiters  against  us: 
For  I  have  made  an  oiler  to  his  majesty,— 
Ujion  our  spiritual  convocation; 
And  in  regard  of  causes  now  in  hand. 
Which  I  have  open'd  to  his  grace  at  large. 
i^S^  touching  France,— to  give  a  greater  sum 
Than  ever  at  one  time  the  clergy  yet 
Did  to  his  predecessors  part  withal. 

Ely.  How  did  this  offer  seem  receiv'd,  my  lord  ? 

Cant.  With  good  acceptance  of  his  majesty; 
Save,  that  there  was  not  time  enough  to  hear 
(As,  I  perceiv'd,  his  grace  would  liiiu  have  done) 
The  severals,  and  unhidden  passages. 
Of  his  true  titles  to  some  certain  dukedoms; 
And,  generally,  the  crown  and  seat  of  France, 
Deriv'd  from  Edward,  liis  great  grandfather. 

Elt;.  What  was  the  impediment  that  broke  this 
oil? 

Cant.  The  French  ambassador,  upon  that  instant, 
Ciav'd  audience:  and  the  hour,  1  think,  is  come. 
To  give  him  hearing:  Is  it  four  o'clock  ? 

Ely.  It  is. 

*  Listen  to.  6  I 


ncreasing 


Cant.  Then  go  we  in,  to  know  his  embassy; 
Which  I  could,  with  a  ready  guess,  declare, 
Before  the  Frenchman  si)oke  a  word  of  it. 

Ely.  I'll  «-ait  upon  you;  and  I  long  to  hear  it. 

[Exeunt,  ■ 

SCENE  11.—^  Room  of  State  in  ttte  same. 

Enter  Kiso  Henry,  Gloster,  BERFonD,  Exeter, 
Warwick,  Westmoreland,  and  Attendants. 

K.  Hen.  Where  is  my  gracious  lord  of  Canter- 
bury ? 
Exe.  Not  here  in  presence. 
K.  Hen.  Send  lor  him,  good  uncle. 
IVest.  Shall  we  call  in  tne  ambassador,  my  liege? 
K.  Hen.  Not  yet,  my  cousin;  we  would  be  re- 
solv'd. 
Before  we  hear  him,  of  some  things  of  weight. 
That  task  our  thoughts  concerning  us  and  France. 

Enter  tfie  Archbishop  or  Canterbury  a«d  Bishop 
OF  Ely. 

Cant.  God,  and  his  angels,  guard  your  sacred 

throne. 
And  make  you  long  become  it! 

K.  Hen.  Sure,  we  thank  you. 

My  learned  lord,  we  pray  you  to  proceed ; 
And  justly  and  religiously  unfold. 
Why  the  law  Saliqaie,  that  they  have  in  France, 
Or  should,  or  should  not.  bar  us  in  our  claim. 
And  God  forbid,  my  dear  and  faithful  lord. 
That  you  should  liishion,  wrest  or  bow  your  reading. 
Or  nicely  charge  your  understanding  soul 
With  opening  titles  miscrcate,  whose  right 
Suits  not  in  native  colors  with  the  truth; 
For  God  doth  know,  how  many,  now  in  licalth, 
Shall  droj)  their  blood  in  approbation 
Of  what  your  reverence  shall  incite  us  to: 
Therelore  take  heed  how  you  impawn  our  person, 
How  you  awake  the  sleeping  sword  of  war; 
We  charge  you'in  the  name  of  God,  take  heed  : 
For  never  two  such  kingdoms  did  contend. 
Without  much  fall  of  blood;  whose  guiltless  drops 
Are  every  one  a  woe,  a  sore  complaiiit, 
'Gainst  him,  whose  wrongs  give  edge  unto  the 

swords 
That  make  such  waste  in  brief  mortality. 
Under  this  conjuration,  sjieak.  my  lord: 
And  we  will  hear,  note,  and  believe  in  lieart. 
That  what  you  speak  is  in  your  conscience  wash'd 
As  pure  as  sin  with  baptism. 
Cant.  Then  hear  me,  gracious  sovereign,— and 

you  peers, 
That  owe  your  lives,  your  faith,  and  services. 
To  this  imperial  throne:— There  is  no  bar 
To  make  against  your  highness'  claims  to  France, 
But  this  which  they  produce  from  Pharamond, — 
In  terrani  Salicani  niitlieres  ?i€  succedantj 
No  woman  sluilt  succeed  i?i  Salique  land; 
Which  Salique  land  the  French  unjustly  gloze," 
To  be  the  realm  of  P'rance,  and  Pharamond 
The  founder  of  this  law  and  female  bar. 
Yet  their  own  authors  faithfully  affirm. 
That  the  land  Salique  lies  in  Germany. 
Between  the  ffonds  of  Sala  and  of  Elbe: 
Where  Charles  the  great,  having  subdued  the  Sax 

ons. 
There  left  behind  and  settled  certain  French; 
Who,  holding  in  disdain  the  German  women. 
For  some  dishonest  manners  of  their  lile, 
Kstablish'd  there  this  law, — to  wit,  no  Icmale 
Should  be  inheretrix  in  Salique  land; 
Which  Salique,  as  1  said,  'Iwixt  Elbe  and  Sala, 
Is  at  this  day  in  Germany  call'd — Mesien. 
Thus  doth  it  well  appear,  the  Salique  law 
Was  not  devised  tor  the  realm  of  France: 
Nor  did  the  French  possess  the  Salique  land 
Until  lour  hundred  one-and-twenty  years 
After  defunction  of  king  Pharamond, 
Idly  suppos'd  the  liiunder  of  this  law: 
Who  died  within  the  year  of  our  redemption — 
Four  hundred  twenty-six;  and  Charles  the  great 
Subdued  the  Saxons,  and  did  seat  the  French 
Beyond  the  river  Sala,  in  the  year 
Eight  hundred  live.    Besides,  their  writers  say, 
King  Pepin,  which  deposed  Childerick, 
Did.  as  heir-general,  being  descended 
CU  BUthild,  which  was  daughter  to  king  Clothair, 

"Explain. 


366 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  1. 


Make  claim  and  title  to  the  crown  of  France. 
IIiu^li  Capet  also, — that  usurpM  the  crown 
Of  diaries  the  dulie  of  Lorain,  sole  Iicir  male 
Of  the  true  hne  and  stocli  of  Charies  the  great, — 
To  liiie^  his  title  witii  some  show  of  truth, 
(Though,  in  pure  truth,  it  was  corrupt  and  naught,) 
*  Convey'd  himself^  as  iieir  to  the  lady  Lingare, 
Daugtiter  to  Charlemain,  who  was  the  son 
To  Lewis  the  emperor,  and  Lewis  the  son 
Of  Charles  the  great.    Also  king  Lewis  tlie  tenth. 
Who  was  sole  heir  to  the  usurper  Capet, 
Could  not  keep  quiet  in  his  conscience, 
Wearing  the  crown  of  France,  till  satisfied 
That  fair  queen  Isabel,  his  grandmother, 
Was  lineal  of  the  lady  Ermengare, 
Daughter  to  Charles  the  foresaid  duke  of  Lorain: 
By  the  which  marriage,  the  line  of  Charles  the  great 
Was  re-united  to  the  crown  of  France. 
So  tliat,  as  clear  as  is  the  summer's  sun. 
King  Pepin's  title,  and  Hugh  Capet's  claim, 
King  Lewis  his  satisfaction,  all  appear 
To  hold  in  right  and  title  of  the  lemale: 
So  do  the  kings  of  France  unto  this  day; 
Howbeit  they  would  hold  up  this  Saliquc  law. 
To  bar  your  highness  claiming  from  the  temale; 
And  rather  choose  to  hide  them  in  a  net. 
Than  amply  to  imbare"  their  crooked  titles 
Usurp'd  from  you  and  your  progenitors. 
K.  Hen.  May  I,  with  right  and  conscience,  make 

this  claim  ] 
Cant.  Tlie  sin  upon  my  head,  dread  sovereign! 
For  in  the  book  of  Numbers  it  is  writ, — 
Whe*i  the  son  dies,  let  the  inheritance 
Descend  unto  the  daughter.    Gracious  lord. 
Stand  lor  your  own;  unwind  your  bloody  (lag; 
Look  back  unto  your  mighty  ancestors: 
Go,  ray  dread  lord,  to  your  great  graudsire's  tomb. 
From  whom  you  claim!  invoke  his  warlike  spirit. 
And  yourgreat  uncle's,  Edward  the  black  prince; 
Who  on  the  French  ground  play'd  a  tragedy, 
Making  defeat  on  the  full  power  orFrance; 
Whiles  his  most  mighty  father  on  A  hill 
Stood  smiling,  to  behold  his  lion's  whelp 
Forage  in  blood  of  French  nobility .1 
O  noble  English,  that  could  entertain 
With  half  their  forces  the  full  pride  of  France; 
And  let  another  half  stand  laughing  by. 
All  out  of  work,  and  cold  for  action  ! 

Elij.  Awake  remembrance  of  these  valiant  dead. 
And  with  your  puissant  arm  renew  their  feats; 
You  are  their  heir,  you  sit  upon  their  throne; 
The  blood  and  courage,  that  renowned  them. 
Runs  in  your  veins;  and  my  thrice-puissant  liege 
Is  in  the  very  May-morn  of  his  youth. 
Ripe  for  exploits  and  mighty  enterprises. 
Exe.  Your  brother  kings  and  monarchs  of  the 
earth 
Do  all  expect  that  you  should  rouse  yourself, 
As  did  the  former  lions  of  your  blood. 

West.  They  know  your  grace  hath  cause,  and 
means,  and  might; 
So  hath  your  highness;  never  king  of  England 
Hath  nobles  richer,  and  more  loyal  subjects; 
Whose  hearts  have  left  their  bodies  here  111  England, 
And  lie  pavilion'd  in  the  fields  of  France. 

Cant.  O,  let  their  bodies  follow,  my  dear  liege, 
With  blood,  and  sword,  and  tire  to  win  your  rights 
In  aid  whereof,  we  of  tlie  spirituality 
Win  raise  your  highness  such  a  miglity  sum. 
As  never  did  the  clergy  at  one  time 
Bring  in  to  any  of  your  ancestors. 
K.  Hen.  We  must  not  only  arm  to  invade  the 
French ; 
But  lay  down  our  proportions  to  defend 
Against  the  Scot,  who  will  make  road  upon  us 
With  all  advantages. 

Cant.  They  of  those  marches.^  gracious  sovereign. 
Shall  be  a  wall  sutticient  to  deli?nd 
Our  inland  from  the  pilfering  borderers. 
K.  Hen.  We  do  not  mean  the  coursing  snatchcrs 
only. 
Rut  fear  the  main  intendment'  of  (he  Scot, 
Who  hath  been  still  a  giddy  neighbor  to  ns; 
For  you  shall  read  that  my  great  grandliithcr 
Never  went  with  his  forces  into  Fra:ice, 

'Make  showy  or  sjiecious  » Derived  tiis  title. 

9  Liiy  open.  1  At  tlio  l>:iUle  ot  Crcssy. 

»The  liortlers  of  Englaud  and  Scolhiuil. 
•General  dispositiou. 


Rut  that  the  Scot  on  his  unfurnish'd  kingdom 
Came  pouring,  like  the  tide  into  a  breach. 
With  ample  and  brim  fullness  of  his  Ibrce; 
Galling  the  gleaned  land  with  hot  essays; 
Girding  with  grievous  siege,  castles  and  towns; 
That  England,  being  empty  of  defence. 
Hath  shook,  and  trenibled  at  the  ill  neighborhood. 

Cant.   She  hath   been   then   more  lear'd'   tli*n 
harm'd,  my  liege: 
For  hear  her  but  exampled  by  herself, — 
When  all  her  chivalry  hath  been  in  France, 
And  she  a  mourning  widow  of  her  nobles. 
She  hath  herself  not  only  well  delended, 
But  taken,  and  impounded  as  a  stray. 
The  king  of  Scots,  whom  she  did  seiid  to  France, — 
To  till  king  Edward's  fame  with  prisoner  kings; 
And  make  your  chronicle  as  rich  with  praise. 
As  is  the  ooze  and  bottom  of  the  sea 
With  sunken  wreck  and  sumless  treasuries. 

IVest.  But  there's  a  saying,  very  old  and  true, — 
If  ttiat  ynu  will  France  win, 
Ttten  witti  Scoilandjirst  begin.- 
For  once  the  eagle  England  being  in  prey, 
To  her  unguarded  nest  the  weasel  Scot 
Conies  sneaking,  and  so  sucks  her  princely  eggs; 
Playing  the  mouse,  in  absence  of  the  cat. 
To  spoil  and  havoc  more  than  she  can  eat. 

Exe.  It  follows  then,  the  cat  must  stay  at  home: 
Yet  that  is  but  a  curs'd  necessity; 
Since  we  have  locks  to  salljguard  neces.'jaries, 
And  pretty  traps  to  catch  the  petty  thieves. 
While  that  the  armed  hand  doth  light  abroad. 
The  advised  head  detends  itself  at  home: 
For  government,  though  high,  and  low,  and  lower, 
Put  into  parts,  doth  keep  in  one  concent; 
Congruing''  in  a  full  and  natural  close, 
Like  music. 

Cant.  True:  therefore  doth  heaven  divide 

The  state  of  man  in  divers  functions. 
Setting  endeavor  in  continual  motion; 
To  which  is  lixed,  as  an  aim  or  butt. 
Obedience:  for  so  work  the  honey  bees; 
Creatures,  that,  by  a  rule  in  nature,  teach 
The  act  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom. 
They  have  a  king,  and  oHicers  of  sorts:^ 
Where  some,  like  magistrates,  correct  at  home; 
Others,  like  merchants,  venture  trade  abroad; 
Others,  like  soldiers,  armed  in  their  stings. 
Make  boot  upon  the  summer's  velvet  bifds; 
Which  pillage  they  with  merry  inarch  bring  home 
To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor: 
Who,  busied  in  his  majesty,  surveys 
The  singing  masons  building  roofs  of  gold; 
The  civil  citizens  kneading  up  the  honey; 
The  poor  mechanic  porters  crowding  in 
Their  heavy  burdens  at  his  n.arrow  gate; 
The  sad-ey'd  justice,  with  his  surly  hum, 
Delivering  oVr  to  executors'  pale 
The  iazy  yawning  drone.    I  this  infer,— 
That  many  tilings,  having  tu!l  reference 
To  one  concent,  may  work  contrariously ; 
As  many  arrows,  loosed  several  ways. 
Fly  to  one  mark; 

As  many  several  ways  meet  in  one  town; 
As  many  fresh  streams  run  in  one  self  sea ; 
As  many  lines  close  in  the  dial's  centre; 
So  many  a  thousand  actions,  once  albot. 
End  in  one  purpose,  and  be  all  well  borne 
Without  defeat.    Therefore  to  France,  ray  liege. 
Divide  your  happy  England  into  lour; 
Whereof  take  you  one  quarter  into  France, 
And  you  withal  shall  make  all  Gallia  shake. 
If  we.  with  thrice  that  power  left  at  home. 
Cannot  deli^nd  our  own  door  from  the  dog, 
Let  us  be  worried;  and  our  nation  lose 
The  name  of  hardiness,  and  policy. 

A'.  Hen.  Call  in  the  messengers,  sent  from  tlie 
dauphin. 
[Exit  an  Attendant.  The  King  asce mis  Ill's  Throne, 
Now  are  we  well  resolv'd:  and. — by  God's  help. 
And  yours,  the  noble  sinews  of  our  power, — 
France  being  ours,  we'll  bend  it  to  tnir  awe, 
Or  break  it  all  to  pieces:  Or  there  we'll  sit. 
Ruling  in  large  and  ample  einpery,* 
O'er  France,  and  all  her  almost  kingly  dukedoms; 
Or  lay  these  bones  in  an  unworthy  urn. 


\ 


•*  Frightenefl.         *  Agreeing 
'  Executioners. 


"  DifTe.  ent  depreeft. 
**Domii\  on. 


Act  11     Scene  I. 


KING  HENRY  Y. 


307 


Tombless,  with  no  romembrance  over  them: 
Either  our  history  shall,  witli  lull  mouth, 
Speak  (reely  ol'our  acts;  or  else  our  grave. 
Like  Turkish  mute,  shall  have  a  tongucless  mouth, 
Not  uorsliipp'd  with  a  waxen  epitaph. 

Enter  Ambassadors  r^f  France. 
Now  are  we  well  prcpar'd  to  loiow  fne  pleasure 
Of  our  lair  cousin  dauphin;  for  we  hear, 
Your  ;;reetin^  is  iroin  him,  not  from  the  king. 

Afii'i.  May  it  please  your  majesty,  to  give  us  leave 
Freely  to  render  what  we  have  in  charge; 
Or  ■^liull  we  sparingly  show  you  far  oil" 
TIio  dauphin's  meaning  and  our  emhassy ! 

A'.  Jkn.  We  are  no  tyrant,  but  a  Christian  king; 
Under  whose  grace  our  passion  is  a  subject, 
As  are  our  wretches  fettor'd  in  our  prisons: 
Tlierelbre,  with  frank  and  with  uncurbed  plain- 
ness, 
Tell  us  the  dauphin's  mind. 

Atn'/.  Tlius  then,  in  few. 

Your  lii^hness,  lately  sending  into  France, 
Did  claim  some  certain  dukedoms,  in  the  right 
Of  your  great  predecessor,  king  Kdward  tJie  third. 
In  answer  of  which  claim,  the  prince  our  master 
Says, — tliat  3'ou  savor  loo  much  of  your  youth; 
And  bids  you  be  advls'd,  there's  nought  in  France, 
That  can  be  with  a  nimble  galliard"  won; 
You  cannot  revel  into  dukedonis  tlicre: 
Ho  therelbre  sends  you,  mceter  for  jour  spirit, 
Tills  tun  of  treasure;  and,  in  lieu  of  this, 
Desires  you,  let  the  dukedoms,  tluit  you  claim. 
Hear  no  more  of  you.    This  the  daupliin  speaks, 

A',  hctu  What  treasure,  uncle? 

Exe.  Tennis-balls,  my  liege. 

A'.  Hen.  We  arc  glad.,  the  dauphin  is  so  pleasant 
with  us. 
His  present,  and  our  pains,  we  thank  you  for: 
When  we  have  matchM  our  rackets  to  tiiese  balls, 
We  will,  in  France,  by  (loci's  grace,  play  a  set. 
Shall  strike  his  liitber's  crown  into  the  hazard:^ 
Teii  him,  he   bath   made  a  match   with  such  a 

wrangler. 
That  all  the  courts  of  France  will  be  disturb'd 
Willi  chaces.^    And  we  uuderstond  him  well, 
How  he  comei5  o'er  us  with  our  wilder  days, 
Not  measuring  what  use  we  made  of  them. 


We  never  valued  this  poor  seal  *  of  England  ; 
And  tberc/ore,  living  hence.*  did  give  oursclf 
To  bari)arous  license;  As  'tis  ever  common. 
That  men  arc  merriest  when  they  are  from  home 
But  tell  the  dauphin, — I  will  keep  my  state;    ■ 
Be  like  a  king,  and  show  my  sail  of  greatness, 
When  1  do  rouse  me  in  my  throne  oi"  France: 
For  that  1  li;r\-e  laid  by  my  majesty, 
And  plodded  like  a  man  lor  working-days; 
But  1  will  rise  there  with  so  full  a  glory. 
That  I  will  daz/Je  aU  the  eyes  of  Fmnce, 
Vea.  strike  the  dauphin  blind  to  look  on  us. 
And  tell  the  pleasant  prince, — this  mock  01  his 
Plath  turned  his  balls  to  gun-stones;  and  ins  soul 
Shall  stand  sore  charged  lor  the  wasteful  vengeance 
That  sliall  tiy  with  them:  for  many  a  thousand 

widows 
Shall  this  ins  mock  mock  out  of  their  dear  hus- 
bands; 
Mock  mothers  from  thcirsons.  mock  castJcsdown; 
And  some  are  yet  ungotten,  and  unborn. 
Tliat  sliall  have  cause  to  curse  the  dauphin''s  scorn. 
But  this  lies  all  within  the  will  of  God, 
To  whom  I  do  ajipeaJ;  and  in  wliose  name, 
Tell  you  the  dauphin,!  am  coming  on. 
To  vcnge  uie  as  1  may,  and  to  put  lorth 
My  rightful  hand  in  a  v/ell-haUow'd  cause. 
So.  get  you  hence  in  peace;  and  tell  liie  dauphin, 
His  jest  will  savor  but  of  shallow  wit,       ^ 
Wlieu  thousands  weep,  more  than  did  laugh  at  it. — 
Convey  them  with  sale  conduct. — Faro  you  well. 
[Exeunt  Ambassadors. 

Exe.  This  was  a  merry  message. 

K.  lien.  We  hope  to  make  the  sender  blush  at  it. 
[Descends  frwn  his  Throne, 
Therefore,  my  lords,  omit  no  happy  liour. 
That  may  give  furliierance  to  our  expedition: 
For  we  liave  now  no  thought  in  us  but  France; 
Save  those  to  Ood,  ihat  run  belbrc  our  busi.ucss. 
Therelbre,  let  our  proportions  ibr  these  wars 
Be  soon  collected;  and  ail  things  thought  upon, 
That  may,  wilh  reasonable  swillness,  add 
More  feathers  to  our  wings;  for,  (iod  beli>re, 
We""!!  chide  this  dauphin  at  his  lather's  door. 
Thorelbio.  let  every  man  now  task  his  thought, 
Tliat  tJiis  fair  action  may  on  loot  be  brought. 

{Exeunt 


ACT  11. 


Enter  Chorus. 

Ch'T.  Now  all  the  youth  of  EugUmd  are  on  fire. 
And  silken  dalliance  m  the  wardrobe  Hcs; 
Now  thrive  tlie  armorers,  and  lionor\s  thought 
Reigns  s<»loly  in  the  breast  of  every  man: 
They  sell  the  pasture  now.  to  buy  "tlie  horse; 
Following  the  mirror  of  ail  Christian  kings. 
With  vvuigcd  heels,  as  Koglish  Mercuries. 
For  now  sils  Expectatiiui  in  the  air; 
And  hides  a  sword,  from  'iilts  unto  tlie  point, 
Willi  crowns  imperial,  crowns,  and  coronets, 
Proinis'd  to  Harry,  and  his  followers. 
The  French,  advis'd  by  good  intelligence 
Of  this  mosi,  dreadful  prei)aration. 
Sh;.Uc  in  their  fear;  and  with  pale  policy 
Seek  to  divert  tlie  English  purposes. 
O  Kiiglaiid  ! — model  to  thy  nivvind  greatness, 
Like  little  body  wjiii  n  mighty  heart, — 
What  might'st  th'.>u  do,  that  honor  would  thee  do, 
Wi;re  ;itl  thy  children  kind  and  natural! 
But  see  thy  fault!  Fiance  hath  in  thee  found  out 
A  nest  o'C  liollow  bosoms,  which  ho  tills 
With  treacherous  crowns:   and  three  corrupted 

men,— 
One.  Richard  earl  of  Cambridge;  and  the  second, 
Heui'y  ]ord  Scroop  of  I^hishain;  and  the  third, 
Sir  Thomas  (Irey.  knight  of  NorthumberUind,— 
Hav.\  tor  tbi'  giU=^  of  France,  (O  guilt,  indeed!) 
ConlirmM  conspiracy  with  fearful  Fiance; 
Ajid  l.y  lh<^;r  hands  this  grace  of  kings  must  die, 
(It  tiell  and  treason  hold  tiieir  proinises,) 

■  .\n  .'incient  danco. 

'A  jiUce  in  the  tennis-court,  into  which  the  ball  is 
lOtnuiimtiS  struck  ^A  term  at  tenuis.  ^Golii. 


Ere  he  take  ship  for  Franco,  and  in  Southampton. 
Linger  your  patience  on;  and  well  digest 
The  abuse  of  distance,  while  we  ibrce  a  play. 
The  sum  is  paid;  the  traitors  are  agreed; 
The  king  is  set  from  London;  and  the  scene 
Is  now  transported,  gentles,  to  Southampton: 
There  is  the  playhouse  now,  there  must  you  sit: 
And  thence  to  France  shall  we  convey  you  safe, 
And  bring  you  back,  charming'  liic  narrow  seas 
To  give  you  gentle  pass;  for,  if  we  may, 
We'll  not  otlcnd  one  stomach  with  our  play. 
But,  till  the  king  comes  forth,  and  not  till  then, 
L'nto  Southampton  do  we  shift  our  scene.      [Exit 

SCENE  L— London.    Beffrt-c  Quickly^s  House   in 
Eastcheap. 

Enter  Nym  and  Baudolph. 

Bard.  Well  met,  corporal  Nym. 

i\'!jm.  Good  morrow,  lieutenant  Bardolph. 

Bai'd.  What,  are  ancient  Pistol  and  you  I'riends 
yet? 

Nym-.  For  my  part,  I  care  not;  I  say  little:  but 
when  time  shall  serve,  there  sliall  he  smiles; — but 
that  shall  be  as  it  may.  1  dare  not  fight;  but  I  vdll 
wink,  and  holdout  mine  iron:  It  is  a  simple  one; 
but  wliat  tlioiigli?  it  will  toast  cheese;  and  it  will 
endure  cold  as  another  man's  sword  will:  and 
there's  the  humor  of  it. 

Bard.  I  will  bestow  a  breakfast,  to  make  you 
friends;  and  we'll  be  all  three  sworn  brothers  to 
France;  lot  it  bo  so.  good  corporal  Nym. 

Nym.  'Faith,  I  will  live  so  long  as"l  may,  that's 
the  certain  of  it;  and  when  Icannot  liveany  longer 


*  The  throne. 


^M'ithdrawing  from  the  court 


•sm 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  II. 


I  will  do  as  I  may :  tliat  is  my  rcst,=  tliat  is  the  ren- 
dezvous of  it. 

Bard.  It  is  certain,  corporal,  that  he  is  married 
to  NellQuickly:  and,  certainly,  she  did  you  wrong; 
for  you  were  troth-plight  to  her. 

Mi/m.  I  cannot  tell;  things  must  be  as  they  may: 
mcii  may  sleep,  and  they  may  have  their  throats 
^bout  them  at  that  time;  and  some  say,  knives 
have  edges.  It  must  be  as  it  may:  though  patience 
be  a  tired  mare,  yet  she  will  plod.  There  must  be 
conclusions.    Well,  I  cannot  tell. 

Enter  Pistol  and  Mrs.  Quickly. 

Bard.  Here  comes  ancient  Pistol, and  his  wife: — 
good  coporal,  be  patient  here.^How  now,  mine 
host  Piston 

Pi.'it.  Base  tike,'  call'st  thou  me — host ! 
Now,  by  this  hand,  I  swear,  I  scorn  the  term; 
Nor  sliall  my  Nell  keep  lodgers. 

Quick.  No,  hy  ray  troth,  not  long:  for  we  cannot 
lodge  and  board  a  dozen  or  fourteen  gentlewomen, 
that  live  honestly  by  the  prick  of  their  needles^  but 
it  will  be  thought  we  keep  a  bawdy-house  straight. 
[NvM  draws  his  sword.]  O  well-a-day.  Lady,  if  he 
be  not  drawn  now !  0  Lord  !  here's  corporal  Nym's 
— now  shall  we  have  willful  adultery  and  murder 
committed.  Good  lieutenant  Bardolph, — good  cor- 
poral, offer  nothing  here. 

Nt/m.  Pish! 

Phf.  Pish  for  thee,  Iceland  dog!  thou  prick-ear'd 
cur  of  Iceland! 

Quick.  Good  corporal  Nym,  show  the  valor  of  a 
jnan,  and  put  up  thy  sword. 

Ai/m.  Will  you  shog  oil'!  I  would  have  you 
solus.  [Skeathing  his  swurd. 

Pist.  SoZks,  egregious  dog?  0  viper  vile! 
The  solus  in  thy  most  marvellous  face; 
The  solus  in  thy  teeth,  and  in  thy  throat, 
And  in  thy  hateful  lungs,  yea,  in  thy  maw,  perdy  ;• 
And,  which  is  worse,  within  thy  nasty  mouth! 
I  do  retort  the  solus  in  thy  bowels: 
For  I  can  take,  and  PistoPs  cock  is  up, 
And  (lashing  fire  will  Ibllow. 

JV(/m.  I  am  not  Barbason;'  you  cannot  conjure 
me.  I  have  a  humor  to  knock  you  iiidilTerently 
well:  If  you  grow  foul  with  me,  Pistol,  I  will  scour 
you  with  my  rapier,  as  I  may,  in  fair  terms:  If 
you  would  walk  olT,  I  would  prick  your  guts  a 
little,  in  good  terms,  as  I  may;  and  that's  the  hu- 
mor of  it. 

Pist.  O  braggard  vile,  and  damned  furious  wight! 
The  grave  dotli  gape,  and  doting  death  is  near; 
Therefore  exhale.'  [Pistol  and  Ny.m  draw. 

Bard.  Hear  me,  hear  me,  what  I  say: — he  that 
strikes  the  first  stroke,  I'll  run  him  up  "to  the  hilts, 
as  I  am  a  soldier.  [Draws. 

Piil.  An  oath  of  mickle  might:  and  fury  shall 
abate. 
Give  me  thy  fist,  thy  fore-foot  to  me  give; 
Thy  spirits  are  most  tall. 

I^t/m.  I  will  cut  thy  throat,  one  time  or  other,  in 
fair  terms;  that  is  the  humor  of  it. 

Pist.  Coii]i  le  gorge,  that's  the  word? — I  thee  defy 
again. 

0  hound  of  Crete,'  think'st  thou  my  spouse  to 

get? 
No ;  to  the  spital'  go,  ^ 

And  from  the  powdering  tub  of  infamy, 
Fetch  forth  the  lazar  kite  of  Cressid's  kind,* 
Doll  Tear-sheet  she  by  name,  and  her  espouse: 

1  have,  and  I  will  hold,  the  quondam^  Quickly 
For  the  only  she;  and — Pauca,  there's  enough. 

Enter  the  Boy. 

Boy.  Mine  host.  Pistol,  you  must  come  to  my 
master, — and  you,  hostess; — he  is  very  sick,  and 
would  to  bed. — Good  Bardolph,  jiut  thy  nose  be- 
tween his  sheets,  and  do  the  ollicc  of  a  warming- 
pan  :  'faith,  he's  very  ill. 

Bard.  Away,  you  rogue. 

Quiclt..  By  my  troth,  lie'II  yield  the  crow  a  pud- 
ding one  of  these  days:  tiic  king  has  killed  his 
heart.    Good  husband,  come  home  presently. 

[Exeunt  Mrs.  Quickly  and  Boy. 

*  Determination.  '  DoS-  ^pai-pieul 

(•Name  of  a  demon.  >  IJreathe  your  last, 
»Iilooil  hounil.  ^Hospital. 

*0f  Cressida's  nature,  see  the  pl;iy  of  Troilus  ami 
Cressiila.  ^Formerly. 


Bard.  Come,  shall  I  make  you  two  friends?  We 
must  to  France  together;  Why,  the  devil,  should 
we  keep  knives  to  cut  one  another's  throats? 

Pist.  Let  floods  o'erswell,  and  fiends  for  food 
howl  on ! 

Nym.  You'll  pay  me  the  eight  shillings  I  won  of 
you  at  betting? 

Puit.  Base  is  the  slave  that  pays. 

Ni/m.  That  now  I  will  have;  that's  the  humor 
of  it. 

Pist.  As  manhood  shall  compound;  Push  home. 

Bard.  Hy  this  sword,  he  that  makes  the  first 
thrust,  I'll  kill  him;  by  this  sword,  I  will. 

Pist.  Sword  is  an  oath,  and  oaths  must  have 
their  course. 

Ban?.  Corporal  Nym,  an  thou  wilt  be  friends,  bo 
friends:  an  thou  wilt  not,  why  then  be  enemies 
with  me  too.    Pr'ythee,  put  up. 

Nym.  I  shall  have  my  eight  shillings,  I  won  of 
you  at  betting? 

Pist.  A  noble'  shalt  thou  have,  and  present  pay 
And  liquor  likewise  will  I  give  to  thee. 
And  friendship  shall  combine,  and  brotherhood: 
I'll  live  by  Nym,  and  Nym  shall  live  by  me;— 
Is  not  this  just? — for  I  shall  sutler  be 
Unto  the  camp,  and  profits  will  accrue. 
Give  me  thy  hand. 

Nym.  I  shall  have  my  noble? 

pist.  In  cash  most  justly  paid. 

Nym.  Well,  then,  that's  the  humor  of  it. 
Re-enter  Mrs.  Quickly. 

Quick.  As  you  ever  came  of  women,  come  in 
quickly  to  sir  John:  Ah,  poor  heart!  heissoshaked 
of  a  burning  quotidian  tertian,  that  it  is  most  la- 
mentable 10  behold.    Sweet  men,  come  to  hiin. 

Nym.  The  king  hath  run  bad  humors  on  the 
knight,  that's  the  even  of  it. 

Pist.  Nym,  thou  hast  spoke  the  right ; 
His  heart  is  fracted  and  corroborate. 

Nym.  The  king  is  a  good  king:  but  it  must  be  aa 
it  may;  he  passes  some  humors,  and  careers. 

Pist.  Let  us  condole  the  laiight;  for,  lambkins, 
we  will  live.  [Excu7it. 

SCENE  II. — Southampton.     A  Council-Chamber. 

Enter  Exeter,  Bedeord,  and  Westmoreland. 

Bed.  'Fore  God,  his  grace  is  bold,  to  trust  these 
traitors. 

Exe.  They  shall  be  apprehended  by-and-by. 

West.  How  smooth  and  even  they  do  bear  them- 
selves ! 
As  if  allegiance  in  their  bosoms  sat. 
Crowned  with  laith,  and  constant  loy.alty. 

Bed.  The  king  hath  note  of  all  that  they  intend, 
By  interception  which  they  dreain  not  of. 

Exe.  Nay,  but  the  man  that  was  his  bedfellow, 
Whom  he  hath  cloy'd  and  graced  with  princely 

favors, — • 
That  he  should,  for  a  foreign  purse,  so  sell 
His  sovereign's  life  to  death  and  treachery! 
Trumpet  sound.s.    Enter   KiXG   Hexry,    Scroop, 
Cambridge,  Grey,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

A'.  Hen.  Now  sits  the  wind  fair,  and  we  will 
aboard. 
My  lord  of  Cambridge, — and  my  kind  lord  of  Ma- 
sham, — 

And  you,  my  gentle   knight, give   me   your 

thoughts: 
Think  you  not,  that  the  powers  we  bear  with  us, 
Will  cut  their  passage  through  the  force  of  France; 
Doing  the  execution,  and  the  act. 
For  which  we  have  in  head'  assembled  them? 

Scroop.  Nodnubt.my  liege, ifeach  mando  his  best. 

A'.  Hen.  I  doubt  not  that:  since  we  are  well  per- 
suaded. 
We  carry  not  a  heart  with  us  from  hence. 
That  grows  not  in  a  fair  consent  with  ours ; 
Nor  leave  not  one  behind,  that  doth  not  wish 
Success  and  conquest  to  alieiid  on  us. 

Cam.  Never  was  monarch  [n'tter  fear'd.and  lov'u 
Than  is  your  majesty;  there's  not.  I  think,  a  subject, 
Tliat  sits  in  heart-grief  and  uneasiness 
Under  the  sweet  shade  of  your  government. 

Grey.  Even  those,  thatwerc your  father'senemies, 
Have  steep'd  their  galls  in  honey;  and  do  serve  you 
With  hearts  create  of  duty  and  of  zeal. 

'  A  coin,  value  six  shillings  and  eight-pence.     '  Force. 


Scene  II. 


KIXG  HENRY  V. 


309 


K.  Hen.  We  llierelbre  have  great  cause  oTthank- 
rulness; 
And  shall  Ibrgct  the  oflice  of  our  hand. 
Sooner  than  quittance'^  cl'desert  and  merit, 
According  to  tlio  woi^^ht  and  worthiness. 

Scnto/).  So  service  shall  with  steeled  sinews  toil; 
And  labor  shall  rclresh  itself  with  hope; 
To  do  your  grace  incessant  sen'ices. 

A'.  Heji.  We  judge  no  less. — Uncle  of  Exeter, 
Enlarge  the  uiau  committed  yesterday. 
That  raird  against  our  person ;  we  consider. 
It  was  excess  of  wine  that  set  liim  on ; 
And,  on  his  more  advice,  we  pardon  him. 

Scroop.  Tliat's  mercy,  but  too  much  secm'ity: 
Let  him  be  punisii'd,  sovereign;  lest  example 
Breed,  by  his  sulferancc,  more  of  such  a  kind. 
K.  Hen.  0,  let  us  yet  be  merciful. 
Cant.  So  Duiy  your  highness,  and  yet  punish  too. 
Greij.  You  siiow  great  mercy,  if  you  give  hiui 
lilc. 
After  the  taste  of  much  correction. 

K.  Hen.  Alas,  your  too  mucli  lu\'e  and  care  of  me 
Are  heavj-  orisons"  'gainst  this  poor  wretch. 
If  little  laults.  proceeding  on  distemper. 
Shall  not  be  vvink'd  at,  how  shall  we  stretch  oureyc. 
When  capital  crimes,  chew'd,  swallow'd,  and  di- 
gested, 
Appear  before  us? — We'll  yet  enlarge  that  man. 
Though  Cambridge,  Scroop,  aiid  Grey, — in  their 

dear  care, 
And  tender  preservation  of  our  person, — 
Would  have  him  punish'd.   And  now  to  our  French 

causes; 
Who  are  the  late*  commissioners  1 

Cam.  I  one,  my  lord; 
Your  highness  liade  me  ask  for  it  to-day. 
Scrofip.  So  did  you  me,  my  liege. 
Orcy.  And  me,  my  royal  sovereign. 
K.  Hen.  Then,  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge,  there 
is  jours; — 
There  yours,  lord   Scroop  of  Masham ;— .and,  sir 

knight, 
Grey  of  Northumberland,  this  same  is  j-ours: — 
Head  them;  and  know,  I  know  your  worthiness. — 
M}'  lord  of  Westmoreland, — and  uncle  Kxeter, — 
We  will  aboard  to-night. — Why,  how  now,  gentle- 
men f 
What  see  you  in  those  papers,  that  y6u  lose 
So  much  complexion? — look  ye,  liow  they  change? 
Their  cheeks  arc   paper. — Why,   what  read  you 

there. 
That  hath  so  cowardcd  and  chasM  j'our  blood 
Out  of  appearance? 

Coin.  I  do  confess  my  firult: 

And  do  submit  me  to  your. highness'  mercy. 
Greif.  Scrofip.  To  which  we  all  apjieal. 
K.  lien.  The  mercy,  that  was  quick''  in  us  but 
late. 
By  your  own  counsel  is  suppressed  and  killM: 
You  must  not  dare,  for  shame,  to  talk  of  mercy; 
For  your  own  reasons  turn  into  your  bosoms. 
As  dogs  upon  their  masters,  worrying  them. — 
See  you,  my  princes,  and  my  noble  peers. 
These  English  monsters!    Aly  lord  of  Cambridge 

here, — 
You  know,  how  apt  our  love  was,  to  accord 
To  furnish  him  with  all  apperlinents 
Belonging  to  his  honor;  and  this  man 
Halli,  for  a  few  light  crowns,  lightly  conspir'd 
And  sworn  unto  the  practices  of  France, 
To  kill  us  here  in  Hampton:  to  the  which. 
This  knight,  no  less  for  bounty  bound  to  us 
Than  Cambridge  is,— hath  likewise  sworn :— But  O! 
What  shall  1  say  to  thee,  lord  Scroop;  thou  cruel, 
Ingrateful,  savage,  and  inhuman  creature! 
Thou,  that  didst  bear  the  key  of  all  ray  counsels. 
That  knew'st  the  very  bottom  of  my  soul. 
That  almost  mightst  have  coin'd  me  into  gold, 
Wouldst  thou  have  practis'd  on  me  for  thy  use? 
May  it  be  possible,  that  foreign  hire 
Could  out  of  thee  extract  one  spark  of  evil. 
That  might  annoy  my  linger?  'tis  so  strange. 
That  though  the  truth  of  it  stands  otf  as  gross 
As  black  from  white,  my  eye  will  scarcely  see  it. 
Treason,  and  murder,  ever  kept  together. 
As  two  yoke-devils  sworn  to  cither's  purpose. 
Working  so  grossly  in  a  natural  cause. 


^RecomiiensG. 
'Lately  ai'iJoiuteil. 


24 


^  Pravers 
'Living. 


That  admiration  did  jiot  whoop  at  them: 
But  thou,  'gainst  all  proportion,  didst  bring  in 
Wonder,  to  wait  on  treason,  and  on  murder: 
And  whatsoever  cuiuiing  fiend  it  was. 
That  wrought  ujion  thee  so  preposterously, 
ll'ath  got  the  voice  in  hell  ibr  excellence: 
.■\nd  other  devils,  that  suggest  by  treasons, 
Do  botch  and  bungle  up  damnation 
With  patches,  colors,  and  with  forms  being  fetch'd 
From  glistering  semblances  of  piety; 
But  he,  that  tempcr'd"  thee,  bade  thee  stand  up. 
Gave  thee  no  instance  why  thou  shouldst  do  trea- 
son. 
Unless  to  dub  thee  with  the  name  of  traitor. 
If  that  same  demon,  that  hath  guU'd  thee  thus, 
Slioiild  Willi  his  lion  gail,'  walk  the  wliole  world, 
He  might  return  to  vasty  Tarlar'  back, 
And  tell  the  legions — I  can  never  win 
A  soul  so  easy  as  that  Knglishman's. 
0,  how  hast  thou  with  jealousy  inlccted 
The  sweetness  of  alliance!  Show  men  diiilifull 
Why,  so  didst  thou :  Seem  they  grave  and  learned  ? 
Why,  so  didst  thou:  Come  they  of  noble  lamily? 
Why,  so  didst  thou:  Seem  they  religious? 
Why,  so  didst  thou:  Or  are  they  spare  in  diet; 
Free  from  gross  j)assion,  or  of  mirth,  or  anger; 
Constant  in  spirit,  not  swerving  with  the  blood; 
Garnish 'd  and  deck'd  in  modest  complement; 
Not  working  with  the  eye,  wilhout  the  ear. 
And,  but  in  purged  judgiuent,  trusting  neither? 
Such,  and  so  finely  liolled,'  didst  thou  seem: 
And  thus  Ihy  lall  hath  left  a  kind  of  blot. 
To  mark  the  full-fraught  man,  and  best  indued, 
With  some  suspicion.    1  will  weep  for  thee; 
For  this  revolt  of  Ihine,  methinks,  is  like 
.Another  liiU  of  man. — Their  laults  are  open, 
Arrest  them  to  the  answer  of  the  law; — 
.\nd  God  acquit  them  of  their  practices! 

i'xf.  I  arrest  Ihee  of  high  treason,  by  the  name 
of  Richard  earl  of  Cambridge. 

I   arrest   (hee  of  high   treason,  by  the  name  of 
Henry  lord  Scroop  of  Masham. 

I  arrest  thee  of  high    treason,  by  the  name  of 
Thomas  Grey,  knight  of  Northumberland. 

Scroop.  Our  purposes  God  justly  hath  discover'd; 
.\nd  1  repent  my  luult,  more  than  my  death; 
Which  i  beseech  >our  highness  to  forgive, 
.\lthough  my  body  pay  the  price  of  it. 

Cayn.  Forme— lliagold  of  France  did  not  seduce; 
Although  1  did  admit  it  as  a  motive. 
The  sooner  to  ellect  what  I  intended: 
But  heaven  be  thanked  for  prevention: 
Which  I  in  suflerance  heartily  will  rejoice, 
Beseeching  God,  and  you,  to  pardon  me. 

Grey.  Never  did  (iiithfnl  subject  more  rejoice 
At  the  discovery  of  most  dangerous  treason, 
Than  I  do  at  this  hour  joy  o'er  myself. 
Prevented  l>om  a  damned  enterprise: 
My  fault,  but  not  my  body,  pardon,  sovereign. 

K.  Hen.  God  quit  jou  in  his  mercy!     Hear  3'ou 
sentence. 
You  have  conspired  against  our  royal  person, 
Join'd  with  an  enemy  proclaim'd,  and  from  his 

cotTers 
Receiv'd  the  golden  earnest  of  our  death; 
Wherein    you    would    have   sold   your   king    to 

slaughter. 
His  princes  and  his  jieers  to  servitude. 
His  subjects  lo  oppression  and  contempt. 
And  his  whole  kingdom  unto  desolation. 
Touching  our  person,  seek  we  no  revenge: 
But  we  our  kingdom's  saii^ly  must  so  tender. 
Whose  ruin  }ou  three  sought,  that  to  her  laws 
We  do  deliver  you.    (iet  you  therefore  hence, 
Poor  miserable  wretches,  to  your  dealli: 
The  taste  whereof,  God,  of  his  mercy,  give  you 
Patience  to  endure,  and  true  repentance 
Of  all  your  dear  olfenccs!— Bear  them  hence. 

[Exeunt  Cmuspiratur.^,  guardt<U 
Now.  lords,  for  France;  the  enterprise  whereof 
Shall  be  to  you,  as  us,  like  glorious. 
We  doubt  not  of  a  fair  and  lucky  war; 
Since  God  so  graciously  hath  brought  to  light 
This  dangerous  treason,  lurking  in  our  way. 
To  hinder  our  hegiimings.  we  doubt  not  now, 
Hut  every  rub  is  smoothed  on  our  way. 
Then  forth,  dear  countrjinen;  let  us  deliver 

-Rendered  thee ])lial)le.      *  Pace, step.      ^ Tartarus 
^  Accomi'lisbment.  'Sifted. 


370 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  II. 


Our  puissance  into  the  hand  of  God, 
Putting  it  straight  in  expedition. 
Chcerly  to  sea;  the  signs  of  war  advance: 
No  king  of  England,  if  not  king  of  France. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Mrs.  QncKLY'a  House  in  Eastchcap. 

Enter  Pistol,  Mrs.  Quickly,  Nvm,  Bardolpii,  aitd 
Boy. 

Quick.  Pr'ytliee,  honey-sweet  husband,  let  me 
bring  thee  to  Staines. 

Fist.  No;  for  my  manly  heart  doth  yearn.' — 
Bardolph,  be    blithe;— Nym,  rouse  thy  vaunting 

veins; 
Boy,  bristle  thy  cour.-igc  up;  for  Falstaffheis  dead. 
And  we  must  yearn  therefore. 

Bard.  'Would,  I  were  with  him,  wheresome'er 
he  is,  either  in  heaven,  or  in  hell ! 

Qttici!.  Nay,  sure,  he's  not  in  hell;  he's  in  Ar- 
thur's bosom,  if  ever  man  went  to  Arthur's  bosom. 
'A  made  a  hner  end,  and  went  away,  an  it  had  been 
anychristom^  child;  "a  parted  even  just  between 
twelve  and  one,  eVn  at  turning  oHhe  tide:  for  after 
I  saw  liim  fumble  with  the  sheets,  and  play  with 
flowers,  and  smile  upon  his  Hnger's  ends,  I  knew 
there  was  but  one  way;  for  his  nose  was  as  sharp 
as  a  pen,  and  'a  babbled  of  green  fields.  How  now, 
sir  John?  quoth  I:  what,  man !  be  of  good  cheer. 
So  'a  cried  out-flod,  God,  God !  three  or  four  times: 
now  I,  to  comlbrt  him,  bid  him,  'a  should  not  think 
of  God;  I  hoped,  there  was  no  need  to  trouble  him- 
eelf  with  any  such  thoughts  yet:  So,  'a  bade  me  lay 
more  clothes  on  his  feet:  I  put  my  hand  into  the 
bed.  and  felt  them,  and  they  were  as  cold  as  any 
stone;  then  I  felt  to  his  knees,  and  so  upward,  and 
upward,  and  all  was  cold  as  any  stone. 

Nijm.  They  say,  he  cried  out  of  sack. 

Quick.  Ay,  that  'a  did. 

Bard.  And  of  woman. 

Quick.  Nay,  that  'a  did  not. 

Bill/.  Yes,  that  'a  did  ;  and  said,  they  were  devils 
incarnate. 

Qakk.  'A  could  never  abide  carnation:  'twas  a 
color  he  never  liked. 

Bi>!/.  'A  said  once,  the  devil  would  have  him 
ahout  women. 

Quick.  '.\  did  in  some  sort,  indeed,  handle  wo- 
men: but  tlien  he  was  rheumatic 'and  talked  of  the 
whore  of  Babylon. 

Bin/.  Do  you  not  remember,  'a  saw  a  tlea  stick 
upoii  Bardolph's  no.se;  and  'a  said,  it  was  a  black 
soul  burning  in  hell-tire? 

Bard.  Well,  tlie  fuel  is  gone,  that  maintained 
that  lire:  that's  all  the  riches  1  got  in  his  service. 

Nym.  Shall  we  shog  off?  the  king  will  be  gone 
froiii  Southampton. 

Pi:it.  Come,  let's  away.— My  love,  give  me  thy 
lips. 
Look  to  my. chattels,  and  my  moveables: 
Let  senses  rule;  the  word  is,  Pitc/t  and  pay; 
Trust  none; 

For  oaths  are  straws,  men's  faiths  arc  wafer  cakes, 
And  hold-last  is  the  only  dog.  my  duck; 
Therefore,  cavetn  be  thy  counsellor. 
Go,  deer  thy  crystals. — Yoke-fellows  in  arms, 
Let  us  to  France!  like  horse-leeches,  my  bojs; 
To  suck,  to  suck,  the  very  blood  to  suck! 

Boi/.  .4.nd  that  is  but  unwholesome  Ibod,  they  say. 

I'usl.  Touch  her  soft  mouth  and  march. 

Bard.  Farewell,  hostess.  [Kissing  her. 

Nijm.  I  cannot  kiss,  tiiat  is  the  humor  of  it;  but, 
adie.u. 

Piit.    Let    housewifery    appear;    keep  close,    I 
thee  command. 

Quick.  Farewell;  adieu.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— France.    ,4  Riianiinthe  French  King's 
Palace. 

Enter  tlie  French  king  attended,-  tlit  Dacpiiis,  tlie 
Duke  of  Buiigu.sdv,  //le  Constable,  and  otiiers. 
Fr.    King.    Thus  come   tlie  Englisli  with  full 
power  upon  us; 

And  more  than  carefully  it  us  concerns, 

To  answer  royally  in  our  delcnces. 

Therelbre  the  duke  of  Berry,  and  of  Brciagne, 

*Oriove.  "  A  chilil  not  more  than  arucrath  old. 

'  Mrs.  Quickly  meanb  lunatic. 


Of  Brabant,  and  of  Orleans,  shall  make  forth, — 

And  you.  prince  dauphin, — with  all  swift  despatch 

To  line,  and  new  repair,  our  towns  of  war. 

With  men  of  courage,  and  with  means  defendant: 

For  England  his  approaches  makes  as  tierce, 

As  waters  to  the  sucking  of  a  gulf. 

It  fits  us  then,  to  be  as  provident 

As  fear  may  teach  us,  out  of  late  examples 

Left  by  the  fatal  and  neglected  English 

Upon  our  lields. 

Dau.  My  most  redoubted  father, 

It  is  most  meet  we  arm  us  'gainst  the  foe: 
For  peace  itself  should  not  so  duIP  a  kingdom, 
(Though    war,  nor  no    known    quarrel,  were   in 

question,) 
But  that  defences,  musters,  preparations. 
Should  be  maintained,  assembled,  and  collected, 
As  were  a  war  in  expectation. 
Therefore,  I  say,  'tis  meet  we  all  go  forth. 
To  view  the  sick  and  feeble  parts  of  France: 
And  let  us  do  it  with  no  show  of  fear; 
No,  with  no  more,  than  if  we  heard  that  England 
Were  busied  with  a  Whitsun  morrice-dance : 
For,  my  good  liege,  she  is  so  idly  Iving'd, 
Her  sceptre  so  fantastically  borne 
By  a  vain,  giddy,  shallow,  humorous  youth. 
That  lear  attends  her  not. 

Con.  0  peace,  prince  dauphin! 

You  are  too  much  mistaken  in  this  king: 
Question  your  grace  the  late  ambassadors,— 
With  what  great  state  he  heard  their  embassy, 
How  well  supplied  with  noble  counsellors, 
How  modest  in  exception, ^  and,  withal. 
How  terrible  in  constant  resolution. — 
And  you  shall  find  his  vanities  fore-spent 
Were  but  the  outside  of  the  Roman  IJrutus, 
Covering  discretion  with  a  coat  of  tolly; 
As  gardeners  do  with  ordure  hide  those  roots 
That  shall  first  spring,  and  he  most  delicate. 

Dau.  Well,  'tis  not  so,  my  lord  high  constable. 
But  though  we  think  it  so,  it  is  no  matter: 
In  cases  of  defence,  'tis  best  to  weigh 
The  enemy  more  mighty  than  he  seems. 
So  the  proportions  of  defence  are  fiil'd ; 
Which,  of  a  weak  and  niggardly  projection, 
Doth,  like  a  miser,  spoil  his  coat,  with  scanting 
A  little  cloth. 

Fr.  King.  Think  we  king  Harry  strong; 

And,  princes,  look  you  strongly  arm  to  lueet  him. 
The  kindred  of  him  hath  been  llesh'd  upon  us; 
And  he  is  bred  out  of  that  bloody  strain,' 
That  haunted  us  in  our  familiar  paths: 
Witness  our  too  much  memorable  shame, 
When  Cressy  battle  fatally  was  struck. 
And  all  our  princes  captiv'd,  by  the  hand 
Of  that  black  name,  Edward  black  pri  nee  of  Wales ; 
Whiles    that    his  mountain    sire, — on    mountain 

standing, 
Up  in  the  air,  crown'd  with  the  golden  sun, — 
Saw  his  heroical  seed,  and  smiled  to  sec  him 
Mangle  the  work  of  nature,  and  deliice 
The  patterns  that  by  God  and  by  French  fathers 
Had  twenty  years  been  made.    This  is  a  stem 
Of  that  victorious  stock;  and  let  us  tear 
The  native  mightiness  and  fate  of  him. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  .Embassadors  from  Henry  king  of  England 
Do  crave  admittance  to  your  majesty. 
Fr.  Kins.  We'll  give  them  present  audience.  Go, 
and  bring  them. 

[Exeunt  Mess,  and  certain  Lords. 
You  see  this  chase  is  hotly  foUow'd,  Ifiends. 
Dau.  Turn  head,  and  stop  pursuit:  tor  coward 
dogs 
Most  spend  their  mouths,  when  what  they  seem  to 

threaten, 
Runs  far  belbre  them.    Good  my  sovereign. 
Take  up  the  English  short;  and  let  them  know 
Of  what  a  monarchy  you  are  the  head: 
Self-love,  my  liege,  is  not  so  vile  a  sin 
As  self-neglecting. 

Re-enter  Lords,  with  Exeter  and  Tram. 
Fr.  King.  From  our  brother  England? 

Exc.  From  him:  and  thus  he  greets  your  ma 
jesty. 

2  Render  it  callous,  insensiljle. 

3Iu  making  objections.  *Lineago 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


KING   HENRY  V. 


371 


lie  wills  you,  in  the  name  of  God  Almii^hty, 

Tiiat  you  divest  yourseli;  and  lay  ajiart 

The  borrowed  glories,  that,  by  giTt  of  iieaven, 

By  law  of  nature,  and  of  nation^;,  'long 

To  him,  and  to  his  heirs;  namely,  the  crown, 

And  alt  wide-stretched  honors  that  pertain, 

By  custom  and  the  ordinance  of  times, 

Unto  the  crown  of  France.    That  you  may  know, 

'Tis  no  sinister,  nor  no  awkward  claim, 

PickM  from  the  worm-holes  of  long-vanishM  days, 

Nor  from  the  dust  of  old  oblivion  raked, 

He  sends  you  this  most  memorable  line, 

[Gives  a  paper. 
In  every  branch  truly  demonstrative; 
Wilhng  you  overlook  this  pedigree: 
And,  when  you  find  him  evenly  derivM 
From  his  most  tamM  of  famous  ancestors, 
Edward  the  third,  he  bids  you  then  resign 
Your  crown  and  kingdom,  indirectly  held 
From  him,  the  native  and  true  cliallcnger. 

/>.  King.  Or  else,  wliat  lollows] 

Ej:e.  Bloody  constraint;  forif  you  hide  the  crown 
Even  in  your  hearts,  there  will  he  rake  for  it: 
And  therefore  in  fierce  tempest  is  he  coming, 
In  thunder,  and  in  earthquake,  like  a  Jove; 
(That,  if  requiring  fail,  he  will  compel;) 
And  bids  you,  in  the  bowels  of  the  Lord, 
Deliver  up  the  crown;  and  to  take  mercy 
On  the  ijoor  souls,  for  whom  this  hungrj-  war 
Opens  his  vasty' jaws:  and  on  your  head 
Turns  lie  tJie  widows'  tears,  the  orphans'  cries. 
The  dead  men's  blood,  the  pining  maidens'  groans, 
For  husbands,  lathers,  and  betrothed  lovers, 
That  shall  be  swallow'd  in  this  controversy. 
This  is  his  claim,  his  threat'iiinu'.  and  my  message; 
Unless  the  dauphin  be  in  presence  here. 
To  wiiom  expressly  I  bring  greeting  too. 


Fr.  King.  For  us,  we  will  consider  of  thisfurtlier: 
To-morrow  shall  you  bear  our  full  intent 
Back  to  our  brother  England. 

Dau.  For  the  dauphin, 

I  stand  here  for  him;  What  to  him  from  England! 

K,ce.  Scorn  and  defiance;  slight  regard,  contempt. 
And  any  thing  that  may  not  misbecome 
The  mighty  sender,  doth  he  prize  you  at. 
Thus  says  my  king:  and,  if  your  father's  highness 
Do  not,  in  grant  of  all  demands  at  large. 
Sweeten  tlie  bitter  mock  you  sent  his  majesty, 
He'll  call  you  to  so  hot  an  answer  for  it. 
That  e^ves  and  wombj'  vaultages  of  France 
Shall  chide  your  trespass,  and  return  your  mock 
In  second  accent  of  his  ordnance. 

Dan.  Say,  if  my  father  render  fair  reply, 
It  i.s  against  my  will:  for  I  desire 
Xolhiuii  but  odds  with  England:  to  that  end, 
As  matching  to  his  youth  apd  vanity, 
I  did  present  liim  with  those  Paris  balls. 

Exe.  He'll  make  your  Paris  Louvre  shake  for  it, 
Were  it  the  mistress  court  of  mighty  Europe : 
And,  be  assur'd,  you'll  find  a  diflercnce, 
(As  we,  his  subjects,  liave  in  wonder  found,) 
Between  the  promise  of  his  greener  days. 
And  these  he  masters  now:  now  he  weighs  time. 
Even  to  the  utmost  grain;  which  you  shall  read 
In  your  own  losses,  if  he  stay  in  France. 

/■r.  King.  To-morrow  shall  you  know  our  mind 
at  full. 

Exc.  Despatch  us  with  all  speed,  lest  that  ourking 
Come  here  liimself  to  question  our  delay; 
For  he  is  tooted  in  this  land  already. 

Fr.  King.  You  shall  be  soon  despatch'd  with  fair 
conditions: 
A  night  is  but  small  breath,  and  little  pause, 
To  answer  matters  of  this  consequence.    [Exeunt. 


ACT  III: 


Enter  Chorus. 
Chur.  Thus  with  imagin'd  wing  our  swift  scene 

flies, 
In  motion  of  no  less  celerity 
Than   tliat  of  thought.    Suppose,  that  you  have 

seen 
The  well-appointed  king  at  Hampton  pier 
Embark  his  royally;  and  his  brave  fleet 
With  silken  streamers  the  young  Pha;bus  fanning. 
Play  witli  your  lancies;  and  in  them  behold. 
Upon  the  hempen  tackle,  ship-hoys  climbing: 
Hear  the  shrill  whistle,  which  doth  order  give 
To  sounds  confusM:  behold  the  tlireadcn  sails, 
Borne  with  the  invisible  and  erec|)ing  wind, 
Draw  the  huge  bottoms  through  the  furrow'd  sea, 
Breasting  the  lofty  surge:  O,  do  but  think. 
You  stand  upon  the  rivage,'  and  behold 
A  city  on  the  inconstant  billows  dancing; 
For  so  appears  this  fleet  uuijestical. 
Holding  due  course  to  Harlieur.    Follow,  follow! 
Grapple  your  minds  to  sternage'  of  this  navy  ; 
And  leave  your  England,  as  dead  midnight,  still. 
Guarded  with  grandsires,  babies,  and  old  women, 
Or  past,  or  not  arriv'd  to,  pith  and  puissance : 
For  who  is  he,  whose  chin  is  but  enriclrd 
With  one  appearing  hair,  that  will  not  follow 
These  culPd  and  choice-drawn  cavaliers  to  France? 
Work,  work    your  thoughts,  and    therein    see    a 

siege: 
BehoUl  the  ordnance  on  their  carriages. 
With  fatal  mouths  gasping  on  girded  llarfleur. 
Suppose,  the  ambassador  from  the  French  coincs 

back; 
Tells  Harry— that  the  king  doth  offer  him 
Katharine  his  daughter;  and  with  her,  to  dowry, 
Some  petty  and  unprofitable  dukedoms. 
The  otfer  likes  not:  and  the  nimble  gunner. 
With  linstock'  now  the  devilish  cannon  touches, 

[Alarum;  tiiiil  Cliambers"  go  off. 
And  down  goes  all  before  them.    Still  be  kind, 
And  oke  out  our  performance  with  your  mind. 

[Exit. 

*Rank  or  shore.  ^Sterns  of  the  ships. 

'<  Tile  staff  IV liich  holds  the  match  used  in  firing  cannon. 
^  Small  pieces  of  ordnance 


SCENE  I.— Before  Harfleur. 

Alarums.    Enter  Kixr.  Hkxrv,  E.xeter,  Bedfoud, 
GuiSTER,  and  Soldiers,  wUli  Scaling  LttiUers. 

K.  Hc».  Once  mSre  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends, 

once  more; 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead! 
In  peace,  there^s  nothing  so  becomes  a  man, 
As  UKulest  stillness  and  humility: 
But  when  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger; 
Stillen  the  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood. 
Disguise  fair  nature  with  hard-favor'd  rage; 
Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect; 
Lei  it  pry  through  the  portage  of  the  head. 
Like  the'brass  cannon;  let  the  brow  overwhelm  it, 
As  t("arfully,  as  doth  a  galled  rock 
OVrhang  iind  jutty^  his  confounded  '  base, 
SwilPd  with  the  wild  and  wasteful  ocean. 
Now  set  the  teeth,  and  strelch  the  nostril  wide; 
Hold  hard  the  breath,  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height ! — On,  on,  you  noblest  English, 
Whose  blood  is  let'  from  fathers  of  war-prool! 
leathers,  that,  like  so  many  Alexanders, 
Have,  in  these  parts,  from  morn  till  even  fought. 
And  sheatliM  thi'ir  swords  for  lack  of  argument.' 
Dishonor  not  your  mothers;  now  attest. 
That  those,  whom  you   cali'd   fathers,  did  beget 

you ! 
Be  copy  now  to  men  of  grosser  blood. 
And    teach   them   how   to  war! — And  you,  good 

yeomen. 
Whose  fimbs  were  made  in  England,  show  us  here 
The  mettle  of  your  pasture;  let  us  swear 
That  you  are  worth  your  breeding;  which  I  doubt 

not; 
For  there  is  none  of  you  so  mean  and  base, 
I'hat  hath  not  noble  lustre  in  your  ejes. 
I  see  you  stand  like  greyhounds  in  the  slips. 
Straining  upon  the  start.    The  game's  albot; 
Follow  your  spirit;  and.  upon  this  charge, 
Cry — God  for  Harry!  England!  and  saint  George! 
[Exeunt.    Alarum,  and  Cliamhers  gu  off 

9  A  mole  to  withstand  Ihe  encroachment  of  the  tiile. 
I  Worn,  wasted.  ^Fetched.  ^  jjatter,  suliject. 


372 


KING  IIEXRY  V. 


Act  III. 


SCENE  11.— The  same. 

Furces  pass  over;  then  enter  N\'ii,  BAnooLpn,  Pis- 
tol, an'l  Hoy. 
Banl.  On,  on,  on,  on,  on !  to  the  breach,  to  the 
breach ! 

Nijm.  'Pray  thee,  corporal,  stay;  the  knocks  are 
too  hot ;  and,  for  mine  own  part,  I  have  not  a  case 
of  lives:  tile  humor  of  it  is  too  hot,  that  is  the  very 
plain-song  of  it. 
Pist.  The  plain-song  is  most  just;  for  humors  do 
abound; 
Knocks  go  and  come;  God's  vassals  drop  and  die; 
And  sword  and  shield. 
In  bloody  field, 
Doth  win  immortal  fame. 
Bm/.  'Would  I  were  in  an  alehouse  in  London !  I 
would  give  all  my  fame  for  a  pot  of  ale  and  saluty. 
Pist.  And  I : 

11'  wi^lllrs  would  prevail  with  me. 
My  pui  posi-  r.liould  not  lail  with  me. 
But  tiulhcr  would  1  hie. 
Boy.  As  duly,  but  not  as  truly,  as  bird  doth  sing 
on  bough. 

Enter  Fluellen. 
Flu.  Got's  plood !— Up  to  the  preaches,  you  ras- 
cals! will  you  not  up  to  the  ])reachesi 

[Driving  theniforwanl. 
Pist.  Be  merciful,  Rrcat  duke,  to  men  ol  mould! 
Abate  thy  rage,  abate  thy  manly  rage  ! 
Abate  thy  rage,  great  duke! 

Good  bawcock,  bate  thy  rage!    use  lenity,  sweet 
chuck! 
Ni/m.  Tliese  be  good  humors!— your  honor  wins 
bad  liumors. 

[Exeunt  Ntm,  Pistol,  mid  BAnooLPH, 
fdUuwed  by  Fi.ukllen. 
Bot/.  As  young  as  I  am,  I  have  observed  these 
throe  swashers.  I  am  boy  to  them  all  tlircc:  but 
all  they  three,  though  they  would  serve  me,  could 
not  be  man  to  me:  tor,  indeed,  three  such  antics  do 
not  amount  to  a  man.  For  Bardolph, — he  is  white- 
livered,  and  red-faced;  by  tlie  means  whereof,  'a 
laces  it  out,  but  fights  not.  For  Pistol,— he  hath  a 
killing  tongue,  and  a  quiet  sword:  by  the  means 
whereof  'a  breaks  words,  and  keeps  whole  weap- 
ons. For  Nym, — he  liath  heard  that  men  of  few 
words  are  the  best*  men;  and  therelore  he  scorns 
to  say  his  prayers,  lest  'a  should  be  thought 
a  coward;  but  his  few  bad  words  are  match'd  with 
a  few  good  deeds ;  for  'a  never  broke  any  man's 
head  but  his  own;  and  that  was  against  a  post, 
when  he  was  drunk.  They  will  steal  any  thing  and 
call  it— purchase.  Bardolph  stole  a  lute-case;  bore 
it  twelve  leagues, and  sold  it  for  three  half-pence. — 
Nym. and  Bardolph, are  sworn  brothers  in  filching, 
and  in  Calais  they  stole  a  fire  shovel:  I  knew,  by 
that  piece  of  service,  the  men  would  carry  coals.' 
They  would  have  mc  as  familiar  vviih  men's  pockets 
as  their  ijloves  or  their  handkerchiefs:  which  makes 
much  against  my  manhood,  if  1  should  take  from 
another's  pocket,  to  put  into  mine;  for  it  is  plain 
pocketing  up  of  wrongs.  I  must  leave  them,  and 
seek  some  better  service:  their  villainy  goes  against 
my  weak  stomach.  [Exit  Boy. 

Re-enter  Flcellen',  Gokeu  fvltowing. 
Goiv.  Captain  Fluellen.  you  must  come  presently 
to  the  mines;  the  duke  of  Glostcr  would  speak  with 
you. 

Fin.  To  the  mines!  toll  you  the  duke,  it  is  not 
so  good  to  come  to  the  mines:  For,  look  ynu,  the 
mines  is  not  according  to  the  disciplinesof  the  war; 
the  concavities  of  it  is  not  sullleicnt;  for,  look  you, 
III'  adversary  (you  may  discuss  unto  the  duke, 
look  you)  IS  diglit'  himself  four  yards  under  tlic 
counUTinines:  by  Choshu,  I  think,  a'  will  plow  up 
all.  if  there  is  not  better  directions. 

(liiiv.  The  duke  of  Gloster,  to  whom  the  order  of 
the  scJOT  is  given, is altogetherdirccted  byan  Irish- 
man; a  very  valiant  gentleman,  i'fiitli. 
Flu.  It  is  captain  Macmorris,  is  it  not? 
(iiiw.  1  think  it  he. 

Flu.  liv  Chcshu.  he  is  an  ass,  as  in  the  'oiid:  I 
will  verity  US  much  in  his  pearil:  he  has  no  more 
direotioiiK  in  the  true  disciiilines  of  the  wars,  look 
you,  of  tho  Roman  disciplines,  llian  is  a  puppy-dog. 


*  llravost. 


^Pocket  arrroiits. 


ODiggel. 


Enter  Macmokhis  and  Jasiy,  at  a  distance. 

Gijw.  Here  'a  comes;  and  the  Scots  captain,  cap- 
tain Janiy,  with  him. 

Flu.  Captain  Jamy  is  a  marvellous  falorous  gen- 
tleman, that  is  certain;  and  of  great  expedition, 
and  knowledge,  in  the  ancient  wars,  upon  my  par- 
ticular knowledge  *'his  directions:  by  Cheshu,  he 
will  maintain  his  argument  as  well  as  any  military 
man  in  the  'orld,  in  the  disciplines  of  the  pristine 
wars  of  the  Romans. 

Jamij.  I  say,  gud-day,  captain  Fluellen. 

Ftu.  God-den  to  your  worship,  goot  captain 
Jamy. 

Uow.  How  now,  captain  Macmorrisl  have  you 
quit  the  mines  !  have  the  pioneers  given  o'erl 

Mac.  By  Chrish  la,  tish  ill  done:  the  work  ish 
give  over,  the  trumpet  sound  the  retreat.  By  my 
hand,  1  swear,  and  by  my  father's  soul,  the  work 
ish  ill  done;  it  ish  give  over:  I  would  have  blowed 
up  the  town,  so  Chrish  save  me,  la,  in  an  hour. 
0,  tish  ill  done,  tish  ill  done;  by  my  hand,  tish  ill 
done! 

Flu.  Captain  Mai-morris,  I  peseech  you  now, will 
you  voufsalc  lui-.  look  you,  a  liiw  diputations  with 
you,  as  partly  louehiiig  or  concerning  the  disci- 
plines of  the  war,  the  Roman  wars,  in  the  way  of 
argument,  look  you.  and  friendly  communication; 
partly,  to  satisfy  my  opinion,  and  partly,  for  the 
satislaction,  look  you,  of  my  mind,  as  touching  the 
direction  of  the  military  discipline;  that  is  the 
point. 

Janty.  It  sail  be  very  gud,gud  feith.gud  captains 
bath:  and  I  sail  quit'  you  with  gud  levo,  as  I  may 
pick  occasion;  that  sail  I,  marry. 

Mac.  It  is  no  lime  to  discourse,  so  Chrish  save 
me,  the  day  is  hot,  and  the  weather,  and  the  wars, 
and  the  king,  and  the  dukes;  it  is  no  time  to  dis- 
course. The  town  is  beseecbcd,  and  the  trumpet 
calls  us  to  the  breach;  and  we  talk, and.  by  Chrish, 
do  nothing;  'tis  shame  for  us  all:  so  God  sa'  me, 
'tis  shame  to  stand  still:  it  is  shame,  by  my  hand: 
and  there  is  throats  to  be  cut, and  works  to  be  done; 
and  there  ish  nothing  done,  .so  Chrish  sa'  me,  la. 

Janiii.  By  the  mess,  ere  theise  eyes  of  mine  take 
themselves  to  slumber,  ailedu  gude  service,  or  ailc 
ligge  i'  the  grund  for  it;  ay,  or  go  to  death;  and 
aile  pay  it  as  valorously  as  I  may,  that  sail  I  surely 
do,  that  is  the  brefl'and  the  long :  Marry,  I  wad  full 
liiin  heard  some  question  'tween  you  tway. 

Flu.  Captain  Macmorris,  I  think,  look  you,  under 
yourcorrection, there  is  notmanyof yournation ■ 

Mac.  Of  my  nation]  What  ish  my  nation?  ish  a 
villain,  and  a  bastard,  and  a  knave,  and  a  rascal? 
What  ish  my  nation?  Who  talks  of  my  nation  ? 

Flu.  Look  you,  if  you  take  the  matter  otherwise 
than  is  meant,  captain  Macmorris,  peradventure,  1 
shall  think  you  do  not  use  me  with  that  affability  as 
in  discretion  you  ought  to  use  me,  look  you;  being 
as  goot  a  man  as  yourself,  both  in  the  disciplinesof 
wars,  and  in  the  derivation  of  my  birth,  and  in 
other  particularities. 

Mac.  1  do  not  know  you  so  good  a  man  as  mj'- 
self:  so  Chrish  save  ine,  I  will  cut  off  your  head. 

Udw.  Gentlemen  both,  you  will  mistake  each 
other. 

Janty.  Au!  that's  a  foul  fault. 

[A  Parley  sounded. 
Gnu:  The  town  sounds  a  parley. 

Flu.  Captain  Macmorris,  when  there  is  more 
better  opportunity  to  be  required,  look  you,  I  will' 
be  so  bold  as  to  tell  you,  I  know  the  disciplines  of 
war;  and  there  is  an  end.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \\\.— Before  the  Gales  of  Harlleur. 

Th"  Governor  and  same  Citizens  on  the  Walls;  the 
iOnglish  Forces  behw.  Enter  King  Hesky  ant 
ills  Train. 

K.  lien.  How  yet  resolves  the  governor  of  the 
town  ? 
This  is  the  latest  parte  we  will  admit: 
Therefore,  to  our  best  mercy  give  yourselves: 
fir,  like  to  men  proud  of  destruction. 
Defy  us  to  our  worst:  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 
(  \  name.  that,  in  my  thouKhts,  becomes  me  best,) 
If  1  begin  the  Iwllciv  once  a;;ain, 
I  will  not  leave  the  hall-achieved  Harlleur, 

'  Kc<iuito,  answer. 


Scene  V. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


3T3 


Till  in  her  ashes  she  lie  buried. 
Tlie  gates  of  mercy  shall  be  all  shut  up; 
4nd  tlie  flesh'd  soldier — rough  and  hard  of  heart, — 
In  liberty  of  bloody  hand,  siiall  range 
With  conscience  wide  as  hell ;  mowing  lii\e  grass 
Your  fresh-air  virgins,  and  your  flowering  inlants. 
Wiiat  is  it  then  to  me,  if  impious  war, — 
Array'd  in  llames.  like  to  the  prince  of  fiends, — 
•    Do,  with  his  smirch'd*  complexion,  all  {ell"  feats 
EnlinkM  to  waste  and  desolation? 
What  is't  to  me,  when  you  jourseh'es  are  cause, 
If  your  pure  maidens  lall  into  the  hand 
Of  hot  and  forcing  violation  ! 
What  rein  can  liold  licentious  wickedness, 
Wlien  down  the  hili  he  holds  his  tierce  career? 
We  maj'  as  bootless'  spend  our  vain  command 
Upon  the  enraged  soldiers  in  their  spoil, 
As  send  precepts  to  the  Leviathan 
To  come  ashore.    Therefore,  you  men  of  Harfleur 
Take  pity  of  your  town,  and  of  your  people. 
Whiles  yet  my  soldiers  are  in  my  command; 
Whiles  yet  the  cool  and  temperate  wind  of  grace 
O'erblows  the  filthy  and  contagious  clouds 
Of  deadly  murder,  spoil,  and  villany. 
If  not,  why,  in  a  moment,  look  to  see 
Tlie  blind  and  bloody  soldier  with  Jbu!  hand 
Defile  the  locks  of  your  shrill-shrieking  daughters; 
Your  fathers  taken  b)'  the  silver  beards, 
And  their  most  reverend  heads,  dashed  to  the  walls; 
Your  naked  inlants  spitted  upon  pikes; 
Whiles  the  mad  mothers  with  their  howls  confusM 
Do  break  the  clouds,  as  did  the  wives  of  Jewry 
At  Herod's  bloody-hunting  slaughtermen. 
What  say  you  7  will  you  yield,  and  this  avoid? 
(Jr,  guilty  in  dclence,  be  thus  destroy'd? 

Guv,  Our  expectation  hath  this  day  an  end; 
The  dauphin,  whom  of  succor  we  entreated. 
Returns  us — that  his  powers  are  not  yet  ready 
To  raise  so  great  a  siege.    Therefore,  dread  king, 
We  yield  our  town,  and  lives,  to  thy  soft  mercy; 
Enter  our  gates;  dispose  of  us,  and  ours; 
For  we  no  longer  are  defensible. 

A'.  Hen.  Open  your  gates. — Come,  uncle  Exeter, 
Go  you  and  enter  Harlleur;  there  remain. 
And  fortify  it  strongly  'gainst  tlie  French: 
Use  mercy  to  them  all.    For  us,  dear  uncle, — 
The  winter  coming  on,  and  sickness  growing 
Upon  our  soldiers, — we'll  retire  to  Calais. 
To-night  in  Harlleur  will  we  be  your  guest; 
To-morrow  for  the  march  are  we  addresl.* 

[Ftfjurish.    The  King,  c^c.,  enter  the  Town. 

SCENE  IV.— Rouen.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Katiiaiii.n'k  and  Alice. 

K.alh.  Alice,  tu  as  esti  en  Anglcterrc,  et  tw  par- 
ies hien  le  language. 

Alice.  Vn  jieu.  inailame. 

Kath.  Je  te  prie,  nrenseignez;  II  fnut  que  j"'ap- 
2)rcnne  d  parttr.  Comment  appetle:  t'ous  la  main, 
en  Angloisl^ 

Alice.  La  main?  elle  est  appeW'e,  do  hand. 

Kath.  De  hand.    Et  les  rtrngts ? 

Alice.  Lesrlfiigfs?  ma  foy.  Je  mihlie  les  doigts; 
ntais  je  me  snuvienfiray.  Les  doigts?  je  pense, 
qiPils  sout  apj>ell-'.s  de  lingres ;  out/,  de  fingres. 

Kath.  La  main,  do.  hand;  les  (loigt s,  ilc  fingres. 
Je  pen.*;e,  que  je  stiis  le  lion  escotier,  Tay  gagn<' 
deux  mots  d^inglois  vistement.  Comment  apijel.- 
le~  volts  lez  angles  ? 

Alice.  Les  angles?  les  apprllons.  (\e  nails. 

Kath.  Dc  nails.  Esroutez;  dites  mt/y,  si  je  parte 
hien ;  de  hand,  de  lingres,  de  nails. 

Alice.  C'cst  bien  (lit,  madamc;  it  e.st  fort  bon 
Anglais. 

Kath.  Dites  may  en  Ajfglois,  le  bras, 

Aliee.  De  arm,  madante. 

Kath.  Et  le  cou'le. 
'  Alice.  De  elbow. 

Kath.  De  elbow.  Je  m'cn  faitz  ta  repetition  de 
tons  les  mots,  que  vous  w'r/tr ^  apjyris  des  a  present. 

Alice.  11  cil  trap  difficile,  madame,  comme  je 
pense. 

Kath.  Excu-iez  may,  Alice;  escoutez:  De  hand, 
de  fingres,  de  nails,  de  arms,  de  bilbow. 

Alice.  De  elbow,  madame. 

Kath.  0  Seigneur  Dieu  !  je  m^en  oublie;  De  el- 
bow.   Comment  appcllez  vous  le  cot? 

^Soiled      ^Cruol.     •  Without  success.     *  Prepared. 


Alice.  De  neck,  madame. 

Kath.  De  neck:  Et  le  menton? 

Alice.  Dc  chin 

Kath.  De  sin.    Le  col,  de  neck:  le  menton,  de  sin. 

Alice.  Ouy.  SuuJ'  vo.ttre  himneur;  en  veriti 
vous  pnmonhecs  les  mots  aussi  droiet  que  les  natifs 
d^A  ngleterrc. 

Kath.  Je  71  e  doute  point  d^apprendre  par  la  grace 
de  Dieu;  et  en  peu  de  temps. 

.•VI ice.  i\"  avezvous pas  dija  oublie  ce  queje  vr'is 
ay  en-'-eignle? 

"Kath.  N(m.  je  reciteray  u'  vous  promptement  De 
hand,  de  fingre,  de  mails, 

Alice.  De  nails,  madame. 

Kath.  De  nails,  dc  arine,  de  ilbow. 

Alice.  Sauf  vostre  honneur,  de  elbow. 

Kath.  Ain.n  dis  je;  de  elbow,  de  neck,  et  de  sin: 
Comment  appcllez  vous  le  pieds  et  la  robe? 

Aliee.  De  foot,  vuidame;  e/ de  con. 

Kath.  De  foot,  et  de  con?  O  Seigneur  Dieu.'  ces 
.^nnt  mtds  de  son  mauvabi,  corruptible,  gi'osse,  el 
impudiqoe,  et  mm  pour  les  dames  d^ honneur  denser: 
Je  ne  voudrois  prunoticer  ces  joots  devant  les  .seig^ 
news  de  France,  pour  tout  le  nwnde.  II  J'aut  He 
foot,  et  de  con,  neant-moins.  Je  recUerai  une 
autre  fois  ma  lecon  ensemble;  De  hand,  de  fingre, 
de  nails,  dc  arm.'de  elbow,  de  neck,  de  sin,  de  Ibot, 
de  con, 

Alice.  Excellent,  madame.' 

Kath.  C\st  assez  pour  unejois;  allons  nous  a 
disner.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  V. — Rouen.    A  Room  in  tite  Palace. 

Enter  the  French   King,  the  DAfpnix,  DtKE   of 

Boriiiiox,  the  Coxstarle  if  France,  and  others. 

Fr.  King.  'Tis  certain,  he  hath  pass'd  the  river 
Some. 

Con.  .\iid  if  he  he  not  fought  withal,  my  lord, 
Let  us  not  live  in  France:  let  us  quit  all. 
And  give  our  vineyards  to  a  barbarous  people. 

Dau.  V  Dieu  vivont!  shall  a  lew  sprays  of  us, 
The  emptying  of  our  liilliers'  luxury ,« 
Our  scions  put  in  v.-ild  mid  savage  stock, 
Spirt  up  so  suddenly  into  the  clouds, 
And  overlook  their  gnifters? 

Bour.  Normans,  hut  bastards  Normans,  Norman 
bastards! 
Mirrt  de  ma  vie.'  if  they  march  along 
Unfought  withal,  but  I  will  sell  my  dukedom, 
To  buy  a  slobbery  and  a  dirty  fiirm 
In  that  iiook-shoUen'  isle  of  Albion. 

Con.  Dieu  de  battaillcs .'   where  have  they  this 
mettle  ? 
Is  not  their  climate  fogg}',  raw,  and  dull? 
On  whom,  as  in  despite,  the  sun  looks  pale, 
Killing  their  fruit  wilh  frowns?  Can  sodden  water, 
A  drench  for  sur-rein'd"  jades,  their  barley  broth, 
Decoct  their  cold  blood  to  such  valiant  heat? 
And  shall  our  cjuick  blood,  .spirited  with  wine, 
Seem  frosty  ?     O,  lor  honor  of  our  land. 
Let  us  not  "hang  like  roping  icicles 
Upon  our  houses'  tiiatcli,  whiles  a  more  frosty 

people 
Sweat  drops  of  gallant  youth  in  our  rich  fields; 
Poor — we  may  call  them,  in  their  native  lords. 

Dau.  liy  liiilh  and  honor. 
Our  madams  meek  at  us;  and  plainly  say, 
Our  mcllle  is  bred  out ;  and  they  will  give 
Their  bodies  to  the  lust  of  English  youth. 
To  new-store  France  with  bastard  vvarriors. 

Bour.    Thev  bid   us  — to   the    English    dancing 
schools. 
And  teach  tarollas  high,  and  swift  corantos;' 
Saying  our  grace  is  only  in  our  heels, 
And  that  we  are  most  lofty  runaways. 

Fr.  King.  Where  is  Jlontjoy,  the  herald  ?  speed 
him  hence: 
Let  him  greet  England  with  our  sharp  defiance,^ 
L'p,  princes;  and  wilh  spirit  of  honor  cdg'd. 
More  sharper  than  your  swords,  hie  to  the  field  ■ 
Charles  De-la-bret,  high  constable  of  France; 
You  dukes  of  Orleans,  Dourbon.  and  of  Berry, 
Alen^on,  Brabant,  Bar,  and  Burgundy; 
Jacques  Cbalillion,  Rambures,  Vaud'emont, 
Beaumont,  Oiandpre,  Roussi,  and  Fauconber, 
Foix,  Lestrale,  Bouciqualt,  and  Charolois; 

«Lust.  'Shooting  into  promontorie*. 

sOver-riilden.  ^Dances. 


374 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  hi. 


High    dukes,    great    princes,    barons,    lords,    and 

knights, 
Foryourgreat  seats,  now  quit  you  of  great  shames, 
Bar  Harry  England,  that  sweeps  through  our  land 
With  pennons'  painted  in  the  blood  oT  Harllcur: 
Rush  on  his  host  as  doth  the  melted  snow 
Upon  the  vallies;  whose  low  vassal  seat 
The  Alps  doth  spit  and  void  his  rheum  upon: 
Go  down  upon  him, — you  have  power  enough, — 
And  in  a  captive  cliariot,  into  Roiien 
Bring  him  our  prisoner. 

Con.  This  becomes  the  great. 

Sorry  am  I,  his  numbers  are  so  lew, 
His  soldiers  sick,  and  liimishM  in  their  march; 
For,  I  am  sure,  when  he  shall  see  our  army, 
Jie'll  drop  his  heart  into  the  sink  of"  tear. 
And,  Ibr  achievement,  oUcr  us  his  ransom. 

i'V.  King.   Therefore,   lord  constable,  haste  on 
Montjoy  : 
And  let  him  say  to  Engliind,  that  we  send 
Tu  know  what  willing  ransom  he  will  give. — 
Prince  dauphin,  you  shall  stay  witli  us  in  Roiien. 

J)(iu.  Not  so,  I  do  beseech  your  majesty. 

Fr.  King.  Be  patient,  for  you  shall  remain  with 
us. — 
Now  forth,  lord  constable,  and  princes  all; 
And  quickly  bring  us  word  of  England's  liill. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.— TAc  English  Camp  in  Picardy. 
Etite?'  GowER  and  Fluellen. 

Goic.  How  now,  captain  Flucllen?  come  you 
from  the  bridge] 

Flu.  I  assure  you.  there  is  very  excellent  service 
committed  at  the  pridge. 

Gitw.  is  the  duke  of  Exeter  safe? 

Flu.  The  duke  of  Exeter  is  as  magnanimous  as 
Agamemnon;  and  a  man  that  I  love  and  honor 
with  my  soul,  and  my  heart,  and  my  duty,  and  my 
life,  and  my  livings,  and  my  uttermnst  powers;  he 
is  not,  (Got  be  praised,  and  plessed!)  any  hurt  in 
the^n•ld;  I)ut  keeps  the  pridge  most  valiantly,  with 
excellent  discipline.  There  is  an  ensign  there  at 
.the  pridge, — I  think  in  my  very  conscience,  he  is  as 
valiant  as  Mark  Antony;  and  he  is  a  man  of  no  es- 
timation in  the  'orld:  but  I  did  see  him  do  gallant 
service. 

Goto.  What  do  you  call  him? 

Flu.  He  is  called — ancient  Pistol. 

Goiu.  1  know  him  not. 

Enter  Pistol. 

Flu.  Do  you  not  know  him  1  Here  comes  the 
man. 

Pist,  Captain,  I  thee  beseech  to  do  me  favors: 
The  duke  of  Exeter  doth  love  thee  well. 

Flu.  Ay,  I  praise  Got;  and  I  have  merited  some 
love  at  his  hands. 

Fist.  Bardolph.asoldier.firm  and  aoundof  heart, 
Oi"  buxom  valor,  hath, — by  cruel  fate, 
And  giddy  fortune's  furious  hckle  wheel, 
Tliat  goddess  blind, 
That  stands  upon  tlie  rolling  restless  stone, — 

Flu.  By  your  patience,  ancient  Pistol.  Fortune 
is  painted  plind.  with  a  mntfler^  beli)re  her  eyes,  to 
signify  to  you  that  fortune  is  plind:  And  she  is 
painted  also  with  a  wheel;  tosiguily  to  you,  which 
is  the  moral  of  it,  that  she  is  turning,  and  incon- 
stant, and  variations,  and  niutabilitie.-;;  and  her 
foot,  look  you,  is  lixed  upon  a  sjiherical  stone, 
which  rolls,  and  rolls,  and  rolls;— In  good  truth, 
the  iTOCt  is  make  a  most  excellent  description  of 
Jurliiiie:  fortune,  look  ynu,  is  an  excellent  moral. 

Fist    Fortune  is  Bardolph's  foe,  and  frowns  on 
him : 
For  li«  hath  KtoPn  a  yju*,^  and  hanged  must  'a  be, 
A  damned  death ! 

Let  gallows  gape  for  dog,  let  man  go  free, 
And  let  not  hemp  his  windpipe  suifocate: 
But  lOxeter  hath  given  the  doom  of  death. 
For  pLe  of  little  price. 

Therefore,  go  speak,  the  duke  will  hear  thy  voice; 
And  let  not  BardoiphV  vital  threnti  be  cut 
With  ed.iie  of  penuv  cord,  and  vile  icprouch  ; 
Sjieak,  Ciiptain,  for  "his  liic,  and  I  will  thee  requite. 

1 1'cndants,  smiill  \\-a^9. 

2.\  fol.i  of  linL-ri  \\\\\c\\  partially  covered  the  face. 
^A  auiiiH  box  in  wliichwere  ki^pi  Llic  coiisecratea  w;i- 
terj 


Flu.  Ancient  Pistol,  I  do  partly  understand  your 
meaning, 

FUyt.  Why  then,  rejoice  therefore. 

Flu.  Certainly,  ancient,  it  is  not  a  thing  to  re- 
joice at:  for  if,  look  you,  he  were  my  brother,  I 
would  desire  the  duke  to  use  his  goot  pleasure, and 
put  him  to  executions;  for  disciplines  ought  to  be 
used. 

Fist.  Die  and  be  damned;  andjT^o  for  thy  friend- 
ship. 

Flu.  It  is  well. 

PisL  The  fig  of  Spain!*  [Exit  Pistol. 

Flu.  Very  good. 

Gow.  Why  this  is  an  arrant  counterfeit  rascal; 
I  remember  him  now;  a  bawd,  a  cutpurse. 

Flu.  I'll,  assure  you, 'a  utter'd  as  prave 'ords  at 
the  pridge,  as  you  shall  see  in  a  summer's  day: 
But  it  is  very  well;  what  he  has  spoke  to  me,  that 
is  well,  I  warrant  you,  when  time  is  serve. 

Gmv,  Why,  'tis  a  gull,  a  fool,  a  rogue;  that  now 
and  then  goes  to  the  wars,  to  grace  himself  at  iiia 
return  into  London,  under  the  form  of  a  soldier. 
And  such  fellows  are  perfect  in  gr^at  commanders' 
names:  and  they  will  learn  you  by  rote,  where  ser- 
vices were  done ; — at  such  and  such  a  sconce,^  at 
such  a  breach,  at  such  a  convoy;  who  came  otf 
bravely,  who  was  shot,  who  disgraced,  what  terms 
the  enemy  stood  on ;  and  this  they  con  perfectly  in 
the  phrase  of  war,  which  they  trick  up  with  new- 
tuned  oaths:  And  what  a  beard  of  the  general's 
cut,  and  a  horrid  suit  of  the  camp,  will  do  among 
foaming  bottles  and  ale-wash'd  wits,  is  wonderful 
to  be  thought  on!  but  you  must  learn  to  know  such 
slanders  of  the  age,  or  else  you  may  be  marvellous 
misiook. 

Flu..  I  tell  you  what,  captain  Gower; — I  do  per- 
ceive he  is  not  the  man  that  he  would  gladly  make 
show  to  the  'orld  he  is;  if  I  lind  a  hole  in  his  coat, 
1  will  tell  him  my  mind.  [Drum  heard.]  Hark 
you-  the  king  is  coming;  and  I  must  speak  with 
him  from  the  pridge. 

Enter  King  Henry,  Gloster,  and  Soldiers. 

Flu.  Got  pless  your  majesty  ! 

K.  lien.  How  now,  Fluellen]  camcst  thou  from 
the  bridge] 

Flu.  Ay,  so  please  your  majesty.  The  duke  of 
P^xeter  has  very  gallantly  maintained  the  pridge: 
The  French  is  gone  off,  look  you;  and  there  is  gal- 
lantand  most  prave  passa^csi'AIarry,  th'alhversary 
was  have  possession  of  lYie  pridge;  but  he  is  en- 
forced to  retire,  and  the  duke  of  Exeter  is  master 
of  the  pridge:  I  can  tell  your  majesty,  the  duke  is 
a  prave  man. 

K.  lien.  What  men  have  yon  lost,  Fluellen? 

Flu.  The  perdition  of  th'athvcrsary  hath  been 
very  great,  very  reasonable  great:  marry,  for  my 
part.  I  think  the  duke  hath  lost  never  a  man,  but 
one  that  is  like  to  he  executed  lor  robbing  a  church, 
one  Bardolph,  if  your  majesty  know  the  man:  his 
face  is  all  bubukles,  and  whelks,  and  knobs,  and 
liamesof  hre;  and  his  lips  plows  at  his  nose,  and  it 
is  like  a  coal  of  hre,  sometimes  plue,  and  some- 
times red;  but  his  nose  is  executed,  and  his  tire's 
out. 

A".  Hen  We  would  have  all  such  oHlmdcrs  so  cut 
olf:  and  we  give  express  charge,  that  in  our  marches 
through  the  country,  there  be  nothing  compelled 
Jiom  the  villages,  nothing  taken  but  paid  for;  none 
ot  the  French  upbraided,  or  abused  in  disdainful 
language;  for  when  lenity  and  cruelty  play  tor  a 
kingdomithegcntler  gamester  is  thcsoonest  winner. 
Tucket  sounds*    Enter  Montjoy. 

RIoul.  You  know  me  by  my  habit. 

K.  Ih-n.  Well  then,  I  know  thee:  What  shall  I 
know  of  thee! 

Mi>nU  My  master's  mind. 

K.  Uin.  Unfold  it. 

lilonf.  Thus  says  my  king: — Say  thou  to  Harry 
of  Knghind.  Tiiough  we  seemed  dead,  we  did  but 
slei'p;  Advantage  is  a  better  soldier,  than  rashness. 
Tell  him  we  rould  have  rebuked  him  at  Hardour; 
but  that  we  thought  uot  good  toltruisean  injury, 
Idl  il  were  full  ripe: — now  we  speak  upon  ourcuc.* 
;nid  our  voicr  is  imperial:  England  shall  repent  his 
folly,  see  his  weakness,  and  admire  our  sullcranco 

■'  All  allusion  to  the  custom  in  Spain  ami  Italy  of  giv 
in^'  poisoned  li|^3.    ^  An  eali-enchmciit  haaiily  tlirowu  up 
*-  In  jn-oper  time. 


Scene  VU. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


375 


Bid  him,  therefore,  consider  of  his  ransom;  which 
must  proportion  the  Josses  we  have  borne,  the  sub- 
jects we  liave  lost,  the  disgrace  we  have  di^^ested; 
which,  in  weii^ht  to  re-answer,  Jiis  pettiness  would 
bow  under.  For  our  losses,  liis  exchequer  is  too 
poor;  tor  the  ellusion  of  our  blood,  the  muster  of 
liis  kingdom  too  faint  a  number;  and  for  our  dis- 
grace, his  own  person,  kneeling  at  our  feet,  but  a 
weak  and  wortliless  satislaclion.  To  this  add — de- 
fiance: and  tell  liim,  lor  conclusion,  he  hath  be- 
trayed his  followers,  whose  condemnation  is  pro- 
nounced. So  far  my  king  and  master;  so  much  my 
ollice. 

K.  He?}.  What  is  thy  name  1  I  know  thy  quality. 

Mont.  Montjoy. 

A'.  Hen.  Thou  dost  thy  oflice  fairly.    Turn  thee 
back. 
And  tell  thy  king, — I  do  not  seek  Iiim  now; 
But  could  be  willing  to  march  on  to  Calais 
Without  impeaciiment:'  lor,  to  say  the  sooth, 
(Though  His  no  wisdom  to  confess  so  much 
Unto  an  enemy  of  craft  and  vantage,) 
My  people  arc  with  sickness  much  enfeebled; 
Aly  numbers  lessenM  ;  and  those  few  1  have 
Almost  no  better  than  so  many  French; 
Who,  when  they  were  in  health,  I  tell  thee, herald, 
I  thought  upon  one  pair  of  English  legs 
Did  march  three  l''renchmen.—Yet,Ibrgivc  me, God, 
That  I  do  brag  thus! — this  your  air  of  France 
Hath  blown  tliat  vice  in  me;  I  must  repent. 
Go,  theretbre,  tell  thy  master  here  I  am  ; 
My  ransom,  is  this  frail  and  worthless  trunk; 
My  army,  but  a  weak  and  sickly  guard; 
Yet  God  belbre,^  tell  iiiin  we  will  come  on, 
Though  France  himself,and  suchanother  neighbor. 
Stand  in  our  way.   There's  for  thy  labor,  Montjoy; 
Go,  bid  thy  master  well  advise  Iiimself: 
If  we  may  pass,  we  will;  if  we  be  hinder'd. 
We  shall  your  tawny  ground  with  your  red  blood 
Discolor:  and  so,  Montjoy,  lare  you  well. 
The  sum  of  alt  our  answer  is  hut  this: 
We  would  not  seek  a  battle,  as  we  arc; 
Nor.  as*  we  are,  we  say,  we  will  not  siiun  it; 
So  tell  your  master. 

Mont.  1  shall  deliver  so.    Thanks  to  your  high- 
ness. [Ex'd  Montjoy. 

Glo.  I  hope  they  will  not  come  upon  us  now. 

K.  Hen.  We  are  in  God's  hand,  brother,  not  in 
theirs. 
March  to  the  bridge;  it  now  draws  toward  night; — 
Beyond  the  river  we'll  encamp  ourselves; 
And  on  to-morrow  bid  them  march  away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII. — The  French  Camp  7?car  Agincourt. 
Enter  the  Constable  of  France,  the   Lord   Ram- 

BURKS,  the  DviiE  OF  Orleans,  Dauphin  a/tU  ot Iters. 

Con.  Tut!  I  have  the  best  armor  of  the  world. — 
'Would  it  were  day. 

Orl.  You  have  an  excellent  armor;  but  let  my 
horse  have  his  due. 

Con.  It  is  the  best  horse  of  Europe. 

Ort.  Will  it  never  be  morning] 

Bau.  My  lord  of  Orleans,  aucl  my  lord  high  con- 
stable, you  talk  of  horse  and  armor, — 

Orl.  Vou  are  as  well  provided  of  both,  as  any 
prince  in  the  world, 

Dau.  What  a  long  night  is  this! 1  will  not 

change  my  horse  with  any  that  treads  but  on  four 
pasterns.  Ca,  ha.'  He  bounds  from  the  earth,  as  if 
Lis  entrails  were  haii-s!3/e  cheval  votant,  the  l*e- 
gasus,qui  a  Ics  narines  de  ftu/  When  I  bestride 
him.  1  soar,  I  am  a  hawk:  he  trots  the  air;  the 
earth  sings  when  he  louebes  il ;  tlic  basest  horn  ol 
his  hoof  is  more  musical  than  the  pipe  of  Hermes. 

Orl.  He's  of  the  color  of  the  nutmeg. 

D(fu.  And  of  the  heat  ot  the  ginger.  It  is  a  beast 
for  Perseus:  he  is  pure  air  and  lire;  and  llie  dull 
elements  of  earth  and  water  never  api)ear  in  him, 
hut  only  in  patient  stillness,  while  his  rider  mounts 
him:  he  is,  indeed,a  Iiorse;  and  all  other  jades  you 
may  call — beasts. 

Con.  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  is  a  most  absolute  and 
excellent  horse. 

JJoH.  It.  is  the  prince  of  palfreys;  his  neigh  is 
like  the  bidding  of  a  monarch,  and  "his  countenance 
enforces  homage. 

'  Ilinderaiice.     ^Then  used  for  Ood  beinfj  my  guide. 
'•Alluding  to  the  bounding  of  tenuis-balls,  which  were 
ptulled  ^Yith  hair. 


Orl.  No  more,  cousin. 

Dau.  Nay,  the  man  hath  no  wit,  that  caionot, from 
the  rising  of  the  lark  to  the  lodging  of  the  lamb, 
vary  deserved  praise  on  my  palfrey:  it  is  a  theme 
as  liuent  as  the  sea;  turn  the  sands  into  eloquent 
tongues,  and  my  horse  is  argument  for  them  all: 
'tis  a  subject  lor  a  sovereign  to  reason  on,  and  for  a 
sovereign's  sovereign  to  ride  on;  and  for  the  world 
(familiar  to  us,  and  unknown)  to  lay  apart  their 
particular  functions,  and  wonder  at  him.  I  once 
writ  a  sonnet  in  his  praise,  and  began  thus:  Won- 
tier  of  tiafnre, — 

Orl.  I  iiavc  lieard  a  sonnet  begin  so  to  one's 
mistress. 

Dau.  Then  did  they  imitate  that  which  I  com- 
posed to  my  courser;  for  my  horse  is  my  mistress, 

Orl.  Your  mistress  bears  well. 

I)uu.  Me  well;  which  is  the  prescript  praise  and 
perfection  of  a  good  and  particular  mistress. 

Con.  Ma  foyf  the  other  day,  mctJiought,  your 
mistress  shrewdly  shook  your  back. 

Dau.  So,  perhaps,  did  yours. 

Ctni.  Mine  was  not  bridled. 

Dau.  0!  then,  belike,  she  was  old  and  gentle; 
and  you  rode^like  a  kerne'  of  Ireland,  your  French 
Jiose  oil',  and  in  your  strait  trossers.^ 

Con.  You  have  good  judgment  in  horsemanship. 

Dau.  Be  warned  by  me  then:  they  that  ride  so, 
and  ride  not  warily,  fall  into  foul  bogs;  Iliad  rather 
have  my  horse  to  my  mistress. 

Con.  I  had  as  lief  have  my  mistress  a  jade. 

Dau.  I  tell  thee,  constable,  my  mistress  wears 
her  own  hair. 

Con.  1  ccnild  make  as  true  a  boast  as  that,  if  I 
had  a  sow  to  my  mistress. 

Dm\.  he  chien  est  rrtourne  a  son  propre  vomls.^e- 
ment.et  la  truie  lav'ee  au  hour  bier:  fchou  makest 
use  of  any  thing. 

Con.  Yet  do  1  not  use  my  horse  for  my  mistress; 
or  any  such  proverb,  so  little  kin  to  the  purpose. 

Ram.  My  lord  constable,  the  armor,  that  1  saw  in 
your  tent  lo-night,are  those  stars,  orsuns,  upon  it] 

Con.  Stars,  my  lord. 

Dau.  Some  of  them  will  Axil  to-morrow,  I  hope. 

Cjm.  And  yet  my  sky  shall  not  want. 

Dau.  That  may  be,  for  you  bear  a  many  super- 
fluously; and 'twere  more'honor,  some  were  away. 

C(rn.  Even  as  your  liorse  hears  your  praises;  who 
would  trot  as  well,  were  some  of  your  bra^s  dis- 
mounted. 

Dau.  'Would  I  were  able  to  load  him  with  his 
desert!  Will  it  never  be  day  !  I  will tvot  to-morrow 
a  miic,  and  my  way  shall  be  paved  with  English 
faces. 

Con.  I  will  not  say  so,  for  fear  I  should  be  faced 
out  of  my  way:  But  I  would  it  were  morning,  for 
I  would  fain  be  about  the  ears  of  the  English. 

Ham.  Who  will  go  to  hazard  with  mc  tor  tweaty 
Enjilish  prisoners? 

Con.  You  must  first  go  yourself  to  hazard,  ere 
you  have  them. 

Dau.  'Tis  midnight;  I'll  go  arm  myself.    [Exit. 

Orl.  The  daujihin  lungs  for  morning. 

Ram.  He  longs  to  eat  the  English. 

Con.  I  think,  he  will  eat  all  he  kills. 

Orl.  By  the  white  hand  of  my  lady,  he's  a  gallant 
prince. 

C(m.  Swear  by  her  foot,  that  she  may  tread  out 
the  oath. 

Orl.  He  is,  simply,  the  most  active  gentleman  of 
France. 

Con,  Doing  is  activity:  and  he  will  still  he  doing. 

CM.  He  never  did  Iiarm,  that  I  Iieard  of. 

Con.  Nor  will  do  none  to-morrow;  he  will  keep 
that  good  name  still. 

Orl.  I  know  him  to  be  valiant. 

Cini.  I  was  told  that  by  one  who  knows  liim  bet- 
ter than  you. 

Orl.  What's  he! 

Con.  Marry,  lie  told  mc  so  himself;  and  he  said, 
he  cared  not  who  knew  it. 

Orl.  He  needs  luU,  it  is  no  hidden  virtue  in  him. 

Con.  By  my  taith.  sir,  but  it  is;  nevei"  any  body 
saw  it  but  iiis  lackey:  'tis  a  hooded  valor;  and, 
when  it  appears,  it  will  bate.^ 

1  Soldier.  ^Xiowsers. 

3 An  equivoque  in  terms  in  falconry:  he  means  his 
valor  is  hid  from  every  Itody  but  his  lackey,  and  when 
,  it  appears  it  will  fall  off. 


376 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  I\, 


Orl.  Ill-will  never  said  well. 

Con.  I  will  cap  that  proverb  with — There  is  flat- 
tery ill  friendship. 

Orl.  And  I  will  take  up  that  with — Give  the  devil 
his  due. 

Con.  Well  placed;  there  stands  your  friend  for 
the  devil:  have  at  the  very  eye  of  that  proverb, 
with — ;V  pox  of  the  devil. 

Orl.  You  are  the  better  at  proverbs,  by  how 
much — A  fool's  bo!t  is  soon  shot. 

Con.  You  have  shot  over. 

Orl.  'Tis  not  the  iirst  time  you  were  overshot. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord  high  constable,  the  English  lie 
within  fifteen  hundred  paces  of  your  lent. 

Con.  Who  hath  measured  the  ground! 

Mess.  'The  lord  Grandpre. 

Con.  A  valiant  and  most  expert  gentleman. — 
Would  it  were  day! — Alas,  poor  Harry  of  Eng- 
land !— he  longs  not  for  the  damiing,  as  we  do. 

Orl.  What  a  wretched  and  peevish*  fellow  is  this 
king  of  Eugland,  to  mope  with  his  lat-brained  fol- 
lowers so  far  out  of  his  knowledge! 

Con.  If  the  English  had  any  apprehension,  they 
would  run  away. 


Orl.  That  they  lack;  for  if  their  heads  had  any 
intellectual  armor,  they  could  never  wear  such 
heavy  head-pieees. 

Ram.  That  island  of  England  breeds  very  val- 
iant creatures;  their  mastilTs  are  of  uinuatchable 
courage. 

Orl.  Foolish  curs!  that  run  winking  into  the 
mouth  of  a  Russian  bear,  and  have  their  heads 
crushed  like  rotten  apples:  You  may  as  well  say, — 
that's  a  vahant  tlea,  that  dare  eat  his  breaklast  on 
the  lip  of  a  lion. 

Con.  Just,  just;  and  the  men  do  sympathize  with 
the  mastilTs,  in  robustious  and  rough  coming  on, 
leaving  their  wits  with  their  wives:  and  then  give 
them  great  meals  of  beef,  and  iron  and  steel,  they 
will  eat  like  wolves,  and  tight  like  devils. 

Orl.  Ay,  but  these  English  are  slirewdly  out  of 
beef. 

Con.  Then  we  shall  fmd  to-morrow — they  have 
only  stomachs  to  eat,  and  none  to  light.  Now  is  it 
time  to  arm:  Come,  shall  we  about  itl 

Orl.  It  is  now  two  o'clock;  but  let  mc  see, — by 
ten, 
We  shall  have  each  a  hundred  Englishmen. 

[Exqunt. 


ACT  IV. 


Enter  Chorcs. 
Ckor.  Now  entertain  conjecture  of  a  time, 
When  creepuig  murmur,  and  the  poring  dark, 
Fills  the  wide  vessel  of  the  universe. 
From  camp  to  camp,  through  the  foul  womb  of 

night 
The  hum  of  either  army  still}'*  sounds, 
That  the  lix'd  seutiiiels  almost  receive 
The  secret  whispers  of  each  other's  watch: 
Fire  answers  fire;  and  through  their  paly  flames 
Each  battle  sees  the  other's  umber'd^  face: 
Steed  threatens  steed,  in  high  and  boastful  neighs 
Piercing  tlie  night's  dull  ear;  and  from  the  tents, 
The  armorers,  accomplishing  the  knights, 
With  busy  hammers  closing  rivets  up, 
Give  dreadful  note  of  preparation. 
The  country  cocks'do  crow,  the  clocks  do  toll, 
And  the  third  hour  of  drowsy  morning  name. 
Proud  of  their  numbers,  and  secure  iii  soul, 
The  confideat  and  over-lusty'  French 
Do  the  low-rated  English  play  at  dice; 
And  chide  the  cripple  tardy-gaited  night. 
Who,  like  a  foul  aud  ugly  witch,  doth  limp 
So  tediously  away.    The  poor  condemned  English, 
Like  sacrifices,  by  their  watchful  fires 
Sit  patiently,  and  inly  ruminate 
The  morning's  danger;  and  their  gesture  sad. 
Investing  lank-lean  cheeks,  and  war-worn  coats, 
Prcsentetli  them  unto  the  gazing  moon 
So  many  horrid  ghosts.    O,  now,  who  will  behold 
The  royal  captain  of  this  ruin'd  band, 
Walking  from  watch  to  walch,  from  tent  to  tent, 
Let  him  cry — Praise  and  trlory  on  his  head! 
For  forth  he  goes  and  visits  all  his  host; 
Bids  them  good-morrow,  with  a  modest  smile; 
And  calls  them — !)rothers.  friends. and  countrymen. 
Upon  his  royal  face  there  is  no  note. 
IIow  dread  an  army  hath  enroundod  him; 
Nor  doth  he  dedicate  one  jot  of  color 
Unto  the  weary  and  all-watched  night: 
Hut  freshly  looks,  and  over-bears  attaint^ 
With  cheerful  semblance  and  sweet  majesty; 
Tliat  every  wretch,  piniug  and  pale  before, 
licliolding  him,  plucks  comfort  from  his  looks; 
A  largess  universal  like  the  sun, 
His  liberal  eye  doth  give  to  every  one, 
Thawing  cold  fear.    Then,  mean  and  gentle  all, 
Behold,  ;is  may  unworthiness  define, 
A  little  touch  of  Karry  in  the  night: 
And  so  our  scene  must  to  the  battle  fly: 
Where  (O  for  pity!)  we  shall  much  disgrace, — 
With  four  or  five  most  vile  and  rai^ged  foils, 
Uight  ill-dispos'd,  in  brawl  ridiculous, — 

^  Foolish.  CQently,  lowly. 

*  Discolored  by  the  gleam  of  the  fires.    'Over-saucy. 


The  name  of  Agincourt:  Yet.  sit  and  see; 
Minding  s  true  things,  by  what  their  mockeries  be. 

[Exit: 

SCENE  I.— The  English  Camp  at  Agincourt. 
Enter  King  Hexky,  Bedford,  and  Gloster. 

A'.  Hen.  Gloster,  tis  true,  that  we  are  in  great 
danger; 
The  greater  therefore  should  our  courage  be. — 
Good-morrow,  brother  Bedford. — God  Almighty! 
There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  obscrvingly  distil  it  out; 
For  our  bad  neighlior  makes  us  early  stirrers. 
Which  is  both  healthful  and  good  Ii'usbandry: 
Besides,  they  are  our  outward  consciences, 
And  preachers  to  us  all;  admonishing, 
That  we  should  dress  us  f.iirly  tor  our  end. 
Thus  may  we  gatlier  honey  from  the  weed, 
And  make  a  moral  of  the  devil  himself. 

Enter  Erpingham. 
Good-morrow,  old  sir  Thomas  Erpingham: 
A  good  soft  pillow  for  that  good  wiiite  head 
Were  better  than  a  churlish  turf  of  Frani  e. 

Erp.  Not  so,  ray  liege;  this  lodging   likes   me 
better, 
Since  I  may  say — now  lie  I  like  a  king. 

K.  lien.  "'Tis  good  for  men  to  love  their  pr'^-.'-pt 
pains. 
Upon  example;  so  the  spirit  is  eased  : 
And,  when  the  mind  is  quicken'd.  out  of  doubt. 
The  organs,  though  defunct  and  dead  before. 
Break  up  their  drowsy  grave,  and  newly  move 
With  castcd  slouirh'*  and  fresh  legerity.* 
lA'ud  me  thy  cloak,  sir  Thomas.— Brothers  both, 
Commend  me  to  the  princes  in  our  camp; 
Do  my  good-morrow  to  them;  and  anon, 
Desire  them  all  to  my  pavilion. 

Glo.  We  shall,  my  liege. 

[Exeunt  Gloster  aiid  Bedford. 

Erp.  Shall  I  attend  your  grace  ^ 

K.  Hen.  No,  my  good  knight; 

Go  with  my  brothers  to  my  lords  of  England; 
I  and  my  bosom  must  debate  a  while, 
And  then  I  would  no  other  company. 

Erp.  The  Lord  in  heaven  bless  thee,  noble  Harry. 

[E.mt  Eltl'INGIIAM. 

K.  Hen.  God-a-mercy,  old  heart!  tliou  speakest 
clieerfutly. 

Enter  Pistol. 
Pist,  Qui  va  la^ 
K.  Ilea.  A  friend. 

^  Calliiif;  to  rememlimnce. 

"Sl'tnijh  is  the  skid  which  serpents  aiiuually  tlirow  otT. 

'  Liyhtiiess,  nimlileness. 


Scene  I. 


KING   HENRY  V. 


377 


Pist.  Discuss  unto  me;  Art  thou  oflioer; 
Or  art  thou  base,  common,  and  popular  ! 

A'.  Hen.  I  am  a  gentleman  of  a  company. 

Pis/.  Trailest  thou  the  puissant  pike! 

K.  Hen.  Even  so:  What  are  you  ! 

PisL  As  ^ood  a  gentleman  as  the  emperor, 

K.  Hen.  Then  you  are  a  better  than  t!ie  king. 

Pi\t.  The  king's  a  bawcock,  and  a  heart  of  gold, 
A  lad  of  life,  an  imp  of  fame; 
Of  parents  good,  ol  hst  most  valiant: 
1  kiss  his  dirty  shoe,  and  from  my  licart-strings 
1  love  the  lovely  bully.     What's  thy  name  I 

K.  Hen.  Harry  le  Hoy. 

Tist,  Le  Roy!  a  Cornish  name:  art  thou  of  Cor- 
nish crew? 

K.  Hen.  No,  I  am  a  Welshman. 

Pl^t.  Knowest  thou  Fluellcn? 

A".  Hen.  Yes. 

Pisi.  Tell  him,  Til  knock  his  leek  about  his  pate. 
Upon  saint  David's  day. 

A'.  Hen.  Do  not  you  wear  your  dagger  in  your 
cap  that  day,  lost  lie  knock  that  about  yours. 

Pis/.  Art  thou  his  friendl 

K.  Hen.  And  his  kinsman  too. 

Pist.  The  figo  for  thee  then! 

K.  Hen.  I  thank  you:  God  be  with  you. 

Pisf.  My  name  is  Pistol  called.  [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  It  sorts  well  with  your  fierceness. 

Enter  Fluellen  and  Gower,  severally. 

Gow.  Captain  Fluellen! 

Flu.  So!  in  the  name  of  Cheshu  Christ,  speak 
lower.  It  is  the  greatest  admiration,  in  the  univer- 
sal 'orld,  when  the  true  and  auncient  prerogatifes 
and  laws  of  the  wars  is  not  kept:  if  you  would 
take  the  pains  but  to  examine  the  wars  of  Pompey 
the  Great,  you  shall  tind,  I  warrant  you,  that  there 
is  no  tiddle  taddle,  or  pibble  palible.  in  Pompey's 
camp;  I  warrant  you,  you  shall  lind  the  ceremonies 
ot  tlie  wars,  and  the  cares  of  it,  and  the  forms  of  it. 
and  the  sobriety  of  it,  and  the  modesty  of  it,  to  be 
otherwise. 

GtJW.  Why,  the  enemy  is  loud;  you  heard  him 
all  night. 

Flu.  If  the  enemy  is  an  ass  and  a  fool,  and  a 
prating  coxcomi),  is  it  meet,  think  you.  that  we 
should  also,  look  you,  be  an  ass,  and  a  fool,  and  a 
prating  coxcomb;  in  your  own  conscience  nowT 

GdW.  I  will  speak  lower. 

Flu.  I  pray  you,  and  beseech  you,  that  you  will. 
[Exeunt  Gowkr  and  Fi,uei-len. 

A".  Hen.  Though  it  appear  a  little  out  of  fashion. 
There  is  much  care  and  valor  in  this  Welshman. 

Enter  Bates,  Court,  and  Williams. 

Court.  Brother  John  Bates,  is  not  that  the  morn- 
ing which  breaks  yonder] 

Bates.  I  tliink  it  be:  but  we  have  no  great  cause 
to  desire  the  approach  of  day. 

IVi/L  We  see  yonder  the 'beginning  of  tlie  day. 
but,  I  tlunk,  wc  sliall  never  see  tlic  end  of  it. — 
Who  trnes  there? 

K.  Hen.  A  friend. 

Will.  Under  what  captain  serve  you? 

K.  Hen.  Under  sir  Thomas  Eipingham. 

Will.  A  good  old  commander,  and  a  most  kind 
gentleman:  I  pray  you,  wliat  thinks  he  of  ourestate? 

K.  Hen.  Even  as  men  wrecked  upon  a  sand,  that 
look  to  be  washed  olf  the  next  tide. 

Bales.  He  hath  not  told  his  thought  to  the  king"? 

K.  Hen.  No:  nor  it  is  not  meet  he  sliould.  For, 
tliough  I  speak  it  to  you,  I  tliink,  the  king  is  but  a 
man,  as  I  am:  the  violet  smells  to  him,  as  it  doth 
to  nie;  the  element  shows  to  him, as  it  doth  tome; 
all  his  senses  have  but  human  conditions:^  liis  ce- 
remonies laid  by.  in  his  nnJ^edness  lie  appears  but 
a  man;  and  (hough  hisalTections  aa-e  higher  mount- 
ed than  ours,  yet,  when  they  stoop,  tliey  stoop  with 
the  like  wing;  therefore,  when  he  sees  reason  oi' 
fears,  as  we  do,  his  tears,  out  of  doul)t,  be  of  the 
same  relish  as  ours  are:  Yet,  in  reason,  no  man 
should  possess  him  with  any  appearance  of  fear, 
lest  he,  l»y  showing  it,  sliould  dishearten  his  army. 

Bates.  He  may  show  what  outward  courage  lie 
will ;  but,  I  believe,  as  cold  a  night  as  'tis,  he  could 
wish  himself  in  the  Thames  up  to  the  neck:  and 
so  I  would  he  were,  and  I  by  him,  at  all  adventures, 
GO  we  were  quit  here. 

2  Qualities 


A'.  Hen.  By  my  troth,  I  will  speak  my  conscience 
of  the  king;  I  think,  he  would  not  wish  himself 
any  where  but  where  he  is. 

Bates.  Then,  'would  he  were  here  alone;  so 
should  he  be  sure  to  be  ransomed, and  a  many  poor 
men's  lives  saved. 

K.  Hen.  I  dare  say,  you  love  him  not  so  ill,  to 
wish  him  here  alone:  howsoever  you  speak  this,  to 
feel  other  men's  minds:  Methinks,  I  could  not  die 
any  where  so  contented  as  in  the  king's  company; 
his  cause  being  just,  and  his  quarrel  honorable. 

Will.  That's  more  than  we  know. 

Bates.  Ay,  or  more  than  we  should  seek  after; 
for  we  know  enough,  if  we  know  we  are  the  king's 
subjects;  if  his  cause  be  wrong,  our  obedience  to 
the  king  wipes  the  crime  of  it  out  of  us. 

Will.  But,  if  the  cause  be  not  good,  the  king 
himself  iiath  a  heavy  reckoning  to  niake ;  when  all 
those  legs,  and  arms,  and  heads,  chopped  of!"  in  a 
battle,  shall  join  togetlier  at  the  latter  day,  and  cry 
all — We  died  at  such  a  place;  some  swearing; 
some,  crying  for  a  surgeon;  some,  upon  their  wives 
left  poor  behind  them*;  some,  upon  the  debts  they 
owe;  some,  upon  their  children  rawly ^  lelt.  I  am 
afeard  there  are  lew  die  well,  that  die  in  battle;  tor 
how  can  they  charitably  dispose  of  any  thing,  when 
blood  is  tbeir  argument?  Now,  if  these  men  do 
not  die  well,  it  will  be  a  black  matter  for  the  Idng 
that  led  them  to  it;  whom  to  disobey,  were  against 
all  proportion  of  subjection. 

K.  Hen.  vSo,  if  a  son  that  is  by  his  father  sent 
about  merchandize,  do  sinfully  miscarry  upon  the 
sea,  the  imputation  of  his  wickedness,  by  your  rule, 
should  be  imposed  upon  his  father  that  sent  him: 
or  if  a  servant,  under  his  master's  command,  trans- 
porting a  sum  of  money,  be  assailed  by  robbers,  and 
die  in  many  irreconciled  iniquities,  you  may  call 
the  business  of  the  master  the  author  ol  the  servant's 
damnation:— But  tliis  is  not  so:  the  Iving  is  not 
bound  to  answer  the  particular  endings  of  his  sol- 
diers, the  father  of  Iiis  son,  nor  the  master  of  his 
servant:  for  they  purpose  not  their  death,  when 
they  purpose  their  services.  Besides,  tliere  is  no 
king,  be  liis  cause  never  so  spotless,  if  it  come  to 
the  arbitrement  of  swords,  can  try  it  out  with  all 
unspotted  soldiers.  Some,  peradventure,  have  on 
thein  the  guilt  of  premeditated  and  contrived  mur- 
der; some  of  beguiling  virgins  with  the  broken 
seals  of  perjury ;  some,  making  the  wars  their  bul- 
wark, that  have  belbre  gored  the  gentle  bosom  of 
peace  with  pillage  and  robbery.  Now,  if  these  men 
have  defeated  the  law,  and  outrun  native  punish- 
ment,* though  they  can  outstrip  men,  they  have  no 
wings  to  lly  from  God:  war  is  his  beadle,  war  is 
his  vengeance;  so  that  here  men  are  punished,  for 
before-hreach  of  the  king's  laws,  in  now  the  king's 
quarrel:  where  they  teared  the  death,  they  have 
borne  life  away;  and  wliere  they  would  be  safe, 
tliev  perish:  Then  if  they  die  unprovided, no  more 
is  the  king  guilty  of  their  damnation,  tlian  lie  was 
i)efore  guilty  of  those  iinj:)ieties  ibr  the  which  they 
are  now  visi'ted.  Every  subject'sduty  is  the  king's; 
but  every  subject's  soul  is  his  own.  Thereloro 
should  every  soldier  in  the  wars  do  as  every  sick 
man  in  his  bed.  wash  every  mote  out  of  his  con- 
science: and  d>  iuig  so,  death  is  to  him  advantage; 
or  not  dying,  the  time  was  blessedly  lost,  wherein 
such  preparation  was  gained:  and,  in  him  that  es- 
capes, it  were  nofsin  to  think,  that  making  God 
so  free  an  oflcr,  he  let  him  outlive  that  day  to  see 
his  greatness,  and  to  teach  others  how  they  should 
prepare. 

Ji7//.  'Tis  certain,  every  man  that  dies  ill,  the  ill 
is  upon  his  own  head,  the  king  is  not  to  answer 
for  it. 

Bates.  I  do  not  desire  he  should  answer  forme; 
and  yet  I  determine  to  light  lustily  for  him. 

K.  Hen.  I  myself  heard  the  king  say,  he  would 
not  be  ransomed. 

Will.  Ay,  he  said  so,  to  make  us  fight  cheerfully; 
but  when  our  throats  are  cut,  he  may  be  ransomed, 
and  wc  ne'er  the  wiser. 

A^  Hen.  If  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  never  trust  his 
word  alter. 

Will.  ';Mass,  you'll  pay  ^  him  then !  That's  a  peri- 
lous shot  out  of  an  elder  gun,  that  a  poor  and  pri- 

aSud.lenly. 

*i.  e.  Punishment  in  their  native  country. 

*To  pay  here  signifies  to  bring  to  account,  to  punish. 


378 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  ly. 


vatc  displeasure  can  do  against  a  monarch!  you 
maj''  as  well  go  about  to  turn  the  sun  to  ice,  with 
fiinuing  in  his  face  with  a  peacoclt^s  feather.  You'll 
never  trust  his  word  after!  come,  'tis  a  foolish 
sayiuj;. 

K.  lien.  Your  reproof  is  something  too  round;  I 
should  be  angry  with  you  if  the  time  were  conve- 
nient. 

IVUl.  Let  it  be  a  quarrel  between  us,  if  you  live. 

K.  Hen.  I  embrace  it. 

WUL  How  shall  I  know  thee  again  1 

K.  Hen.  Give  me  any  gage  of  thine,  and  I  will 
wear  it  in  my  bonnet:  then,  if  ever  thou  darest  ac- 
knowledge it,  I  will  make  it  my  quarrel. 

IViU.  Here's  my  glove;  give  me  another  of  thine. 

K.  Hen.  There. 

IVill.  This  will  I  also  wear  in  my  cap:  if  ever 
thou  come  to  me  and  say,  after  to-morrow.  This  is- 
my  glove,  by  this  hand,  I  will  take  thee  a  box  on 
the  ear. 

K.  Hen.  If  ever  I  live  to  see  it,  I  will  cliallenge  it. 

Will.  Thou  darest  as  vv'cU  be  hanged. 

K.  Hen.  Well.  I  will  do  it,-though  I  talve  thee  in 
the  king's  company. 

IVill.  Keep  thy  word:  fare  thee  well. 

Bates.  Be  friends,  you  English  fools,  be  friends; 
we  have  French  quarrels  enough,  if  you  could  tell 
how  to  reckon. 

K.  Hen.  Indeed,  the  French  may  lay  twenty 
French  crowns  to  one,  they  will  beat  us;  for  they 
bear  them  on  their  shoulders:  But  it  is  no  English 
treason  to  cut  Frcncli  crowns;  and.  to-morrow,  the 
kiiij;  himself  will  be  a  clipper.      [Exeunt  Soldiers. 
Upon  the  king!  let  us  our  lives,  our  souls, 
Our  debts,  our  careful  wives,  our  children,  and 
Our  sins,  lay  on  the  king; — we  must  bear  all, 
O  hard  condition !  twin  born  with  greatness, 
Subjected  to  the  breath  of  every  tool, 
WJiose  sense  no  more  can  feel  but  his  own  wring- 
ing! 
What  infinite  heart's  ease  must  kings  neglect, 
Tliat  private  men  enjoy? 

And  what  have  kings,  that  private  have  not  too. 
Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony  1 
And  what  art  thou,  thou  idle  ceremony? 
What  kind  of  god  art  tiiou,  that  sutfcr'st  more 
Of  mortal  griefs,  than  do  thy  worshippers? 
What  are  thy  rents?  what  are  thy  comings-in? 

0  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth! 
What  is  the  soul  of  adoration"? 

Art  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree,  and  form, 

Creating  awe  and  fear  in  other  men  ? 

Wherein  thou  art  less  happy  being  fear'd 

Than  they  in  fearing. 

Wliat  drink'st  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet, 

But  poison'd  flattery?     O,  be  sick,  groat  greatness. 

And  bid  thy  ceremony  give  thee  cure! 

Think'st  thou,  the  fiery  tever  will  go  out 

Witli  titles  blown  from  adulation? 

Will  it  give  place  to  tiexure  and  low  bending? 

Canst  tnou,  wJien  thou  comraand'st  the  beggar's 

knee, 
Command  the  health  of  it  ?  No,  thou  proud  dream, 
That  phiy'st  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose; 

1  aui  a  king,  that  find  thee;  and  1  know, 
'Tis  not  the  balm,  the  sceptre,  and  the  ball, 
The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial. 
The  inter-tissued  rof)e  of  gold  and  i)earl, 
The  larced"*  title  running  'fore  the  king. 
The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 
That  boats  upon  the  liigh  shore  of  this  world. 
No,  not  ail  tliese,  thrice-gorgeous  ceremony, 
Not  all  these,  laid  in  bed  majestical. 

Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave; 

Who,  with  a  body  filPd,  and  vacant  mind, 

Gets  him  to  rest,  cranim'd  with  distressful  bread; 

Never  sees  horrid  night,  the  child  of  hell ; 

But,  like  a  lackey,  from  the  rise  to  set, 

Sweats  in  the  eyes  of  Phoebus,  and  all  night, 

Sloops  in  Elysium;  next  day, after  dawn. 

Doth  rise,  and  hell)  Hyperion'  to  his  Iiorse; 

And  follows  so  the  ever-running  year 

With  protitable  labor,  to  his  grave: 

And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch, 

Winding  up  days  with  toil,  and  nights  with  sleep, 

Had  th  \  fore-hand  and  vantage  of  a  king. 

The  slave,  a  member  of  the  country's  peace, 

"Farced  is  stulTed.  The  tumid  puffy  titles  with  which 
a  king's  uaiue  is  iutroduced.  'The  sun. 


Enjoys  it;  but  in  gross  brain  little  wots. 
What  watclj  the  king  keeps  to  maintain  the  peac^ 
WJiosc  hours  the  peasant  best  advantages. 
Enter  Eupingham. 

Erp.  My  lord,  your  nobles,  jealous  of  youv  ab* 
sence. 
Seek  through  your  camp  to  find  you. 

A'.  Hen.  Good  old  Icnight, 

Collect  them  all  together  at  my  tent : 
I'll  be  before  thee. 

Erp.  I  shall  do't,  my  lord.  [Eodt. 

K.  Hen.  0  God  of  battles!   steel   my  soldiers' 
hearts! 
Possess  them  not  with  fear;  take  from  them  now 
The  sense  of  reckoning,  if  the  opposed  numbers 
Pluck  their  hearts  from  them!— Not  to-day,  0  Lord, 

0  not  to-day,  think  not  upon  the  lUult 

My  father  made  ni  compassing  tlic  crown! 

1  Richard's  body  liave  interred  new: 

And  on  it  have  bestow'd  more  contrite  tears, 
Tlian  from  it  issued  forced  drops  of  tdood. 
Five  hundred  poor  I  have  in  yearly  pay. 
Who  twice  a  day  their  wither'd  hands  liold  up 
Toward  heaven,  to  pardon  blood;  and  I  have  built 
Two  chantries,  where  the  sad  and  solemn  priests 
Sing  still  for  Richard's  soul.    More  will  I  do: 
Though  all  that  I  can  do,  is  nothing  worth: 
Since  tJiat  my  penitence  comes  after  all, 
Imploring  pardon. 

Enter  Glosteu. 
Glo.  My  liege! 

K,  Hen.  My  brother  Gloster's  voice  ? — Ay; 

I  know  thy  errand.  I  will  go  with  thee: — 
The  day,  my  friends,  and  all  things  stay  for  me. 

[Exeunt* 

SCENE  II— The  French  Camp. 
Enter  Dauphin,  Orleans,  Rambures,  ami  others, 
Orl.  The  sun  doth  gild  our  armor;  up,  my  lords. 
Dau.  Muntez  a  chevat: — My  horse !  valet.'  lac- 
quay. ' — ha! 
Orl.  O  brave  spirit! 

Dau.  Via!^ — les  eaux  et  la  terre 

Orl.  Rien  puisy — /'  air  et  lefeu 

Dau.  Ctell  cousin  Orleans.-^^ — 

Enter  Constable. 
Now,  my  lord  constable ! 
Con.  Hark,  how  our  steeds  for  present  service 

neigh. 
Dau.  Mount  them,  and  make  incision  in  theii 
iiides; 
That  their  hot  blood  may  spin  in  English  eyes, 
And  dout^  them  with  superfiuous  courage:'  Ha! 
Ram.  What,  will  you  have  them  weep  our  horses' 
blood? 
How  shall  we  then  behold  their  natural  tears? 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess,  The  English  are  embattled,  you   French 
peers. 

Con.  To  horse,  you  gallant  princes!  straight  to 
horse ! 
Do  but  behold  yon  poor  and  starved  band. 
And  your  fair  show  shall  suck  away  their  souls, 
Leavmg  them  but  tlie  shales  and  husks  of  men. 
There  is  not  work  enough  for  all  our  hands; 
Scarce  blood  enough  in  all  their  sickly  veins, 
To  give  each  naked  curtle-axe  a  stain, 
That  our  Frencli  gallants  shall  to-day  draw  out. 
And  sheath  for  lack  of  sport:  let  us  but  blow  on 

them. 
The  vapor  of  our  valor  will  o'ertnrn  them. 
'Tis  positive  'gainst  all  exceptions,  lords. 
That  our  superlluous  lackeys,  and  our  peasants,— 
Who,  in  unnecessary  action,  swarm 
About  our  squares  of  battle, — were  enough 
To  purge  this  field  of  such  a  hilding^  foe; 
Though  we,  upon  this  mountain's  basis  by, 
Took  stand  for  idle  speculation: 
But  that  our  honors  must  not.    What's  to  say? 
A  very  little  little  let  us  do. 
And  all  is  done.     Then  let  the  trumpet  sound 
The  tucket-sonuancc,^  and  the  note  to  mount; 

**  An  old  encouraKing  exclamation. 

"  Do  tliem  out,  extinj^uish  ihem.     '  Mean,  despicable. 

2  The  name  of  an  introductory  flourish  on  the  trumpet. 


ScEN^  in. 


KING  HEXRY  V. 


379 


For  our  approach  shall  so  much  dare  the  field, 
That  England  sJiall  couch  down  in  Ibar,  and  j'ield. 

Enler  Grandpre. 
Crawl.  Wliy  do  you  stay  so  long,  my  lords  of 

France ] 
Von  island  carrions,  desperate  of  their  bones, 
lil-I'avor'dly  become  the  morning  field : 
Their  ragged  curtains  =  poorly  are  let  loose. 
And  our  air  shakes  them  passing  scornfully. 
Big  Mars  seems  bankrupt  in  their  beggar'd  host, 
And  liiintiy  tli rough  a  rusty  beaver  peeps. 
Their  horsemen  sit  like  lixed  candlesticks. 
With  torch-staves  in  their  hand:  and   their  poor 

jades 
Lob  dowii  tlieir  heads,  dropping  tlie  hides  and  hips ; 
The  gum  down-roping  from  their  pale-dead  eyes; 
And  in  their  pale  dull  mouths,  the  gimmal*  bit 
Lies  Joul  with  chew'd  grass,  still  and  motionless; 
And  their  executors,  the  knavish  crows. 
Fly  o'er  them  all,  impatient  for  their  hour. 
Description  cannot  suit  itself  in  words. 
To  demonstrate  the  life  of  such  a  battle 
111  lile  so  lileless  as  it  shows  itself. 
Cun.  They  liave  said  tlieir  prayers,  and  they  stay 

for  death. 
Dan.  Shall  we  go  send  them  dinners,  and  fresh 

suits. 
And  give  their  fasting  horses  provender, 
And  after  light  with  them? 

C<in.  I  stay  but  lor  my  guard;  On,  to  the  field: 
I  will  the  banner  from  a  trumpet  take. 
And  use  it  lor  my  haste.    Come,  come  away ! 
The  sun  is  high,  and  we  outwear  the  day. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE  m.—The  EngUsh  Camp. 

Enler  the  English  Host;  Gloster,  Bedford,  Exe- 
ter, Salisbury,  and  VVestmohelaxd. 
Gin.  Where  is  the  king? 

Beil.  The  king  himself  is  rode  to  view  their  battle. 
West.  Of  Hgluing  men  they  have  full  three-score 

thousand. 
£,«.  There's  five  to  one;   besides,  they  all  are 

fresh. 
Sal.  God's  arm  strike  with  us!  'tis  a  fearful  odds, 
flod  be  wi'  you,  princes  all;  I'll  to  my  charge: 
If  we  no  more  meet,  till  we  meet  in  heaven, 
Then  joyfully,— my  noble  lord  of  Bedlord, — 
My  dear  lord  Gloster,— and  my  good  lord  Exeter,— 
And  my  kind  kinsman. — wUrriors  all,  adieu  ! 
Bed.  Farewell,  good  Salisbury:  and  good  luck  go 

with  thee ! 
E.xe.  Farewell,  kind  lord;  fight  valiantly  to-day; 
And  yet  1  do  Ihee  wrong,  to  mind  thee  of  it, 
For  thou  art  framed  of  the  firm  truth  of  valor. 

[l-U'it  Salisbcky. 
Bed.  He  is  as  full  of  valor  as  of  kindness: 
Princely  in  botii. 

West.  O  tliat  we  now  had  here 

Enter  KiXG  Hexrv. 

But  one  ten  thousand  of  those  men  in  England, 
That  do  no  work  to-day ! 

K.  lien.  What's  he  that  wishes  so? 

My  cousin  Westmoreland?— No,  my  lair  cousin: 
It  we  are  mark'd  to  die,  we  are  enough 
To  do  our  country  loss;  and  if  to  live. 
The  li-wer  iiieji,  the  greater  share  of  honor, 
(iod  will!  I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  more. 
By  Jove,  1  am  not  covetous  for  gold; 
Nor  care  I,  wlio  doth  leed  upon  my  cost; 
It  yearns'  me  not,  if  men  my  garincnls  wear; 
Such  outer  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires: 
But.  it  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honor, 
I  am  the  most  ofieiidiiig  soul  alive. 
No,  'laith,  my  coz,  wisii  not  a  man  from  England: 
God's  peace!  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honor. 
As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from  me. 
For  the  best  hope  I  have.    O,  do  not  wish  one  more : 
Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  ray 

host, 
That  he,  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight, 
Let  him  depart;  his  passport  shall  be  made. 
And  crowns  lor  convoy  put  into  his  purse: 
We  would  not  die  in  t'jiat  man's  company. 
That  li?ars  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 


*  Colors. 


<Iling. 


This  day  is  called — the  feast  of  Crispian: 
He,  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 
Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  named, 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian: 
He,  that  shall  live  this  day,  and  see  old  age, 
Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  least  his  friends, 
And  say — to-morrow  is  saint  Crispian: 
Tlien  will  he  strip  his  sleeves,  and  show  his  scars. 
And  say,  these  wounds  I  iiad  on  Crispian's  day. 
Old  men  forget;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot, 
But  he'll  remember,  with  advantages. 
What  feats  he  did  that  day :  Then  shall  our  names, 
Familiar  in  their  mouths  as  houseliold  words, — 
]larr>'  the  king.  Bedlord,  and  Exeter, 
Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster, — 
Be  in  their  llowing  cups  freshly  remember'd: 
This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son ; 
And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by. 
From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered: 
We  lew,  we  happy  lew,  we  band  of  brothers; 
For  he,  to-day,  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me, 
Shall  be  my  brother;  be  he  ne'er  so  vile, 
Tills  day  shall  gentle  his  condition:" 
And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a-bed. 
Shall  think  themselves  accnrs'd  they  were  not  here; 
And  hold  tlieir  manhoods  cheap,  while  any  speaks 
That  fought  with  us  upon  saint  Crispin's  day. 
Enter  Saliseurt. 
Sal.  My  sovereign  lord,  bestow  yourself  with 
speed : 
The  French  are  bravely  in  their  battle  set. 
And  will  with  all  expedience  charge  on  us, 
K.  Hen.  All  things  are  ready,  if  our  minds  be  so. 
JVest.  Perish  the  man,  whose  mind  is  backward 

now! 
A'.  Hen.  Thou  dost  not  wish  more  help  from 

England,  cousin? 
West.  God's  will,  my  liege,  'would  you  and  I 
alone, 
Without  more  help,  might  fight  this  battle  out! 
A'.  Heii.  Why,  now  thou  hast  uiiwish'd  five  thou- 
sand men; 
Which  likes  me  better,  than  to  wish  us  one. — 
Vou  know  }Our  places:  God  be  with  you  all! 
Tucket.    Enler  Mostjoy. 
Munt.  Once  more  I  come  to  know  of  thee,  king 
Harry, 
If  for  thy  ransom  thou  wilt  now  compound, 
Belbre  thy  most  assured  overthrow: 
For,  certainly,  thou  art  so  near  the  gulf. 
Thou  needs  must  beenglutted.    Besides, in  mercy. 
The  constable  desires  thee — thou  wilt  mind' 
Thy  fi)llowers  of  repentance;  tliat  their  souls 
May  make  a  peaceful  and  a  sweet  retire 
From  oil'  these  fields,  where  (wretches)  their  poor 

bodies 
Must  lie  and  fester. 
K.  Hen.  Who  hath  sent  thee  now? 

Miint.  The  constable  of  France. 
A.  Hen.  I  pray   thee,  bear  my  former  answer 
back ; 
Bid  them  achieve  me,  and  then  sell  my  bones. 
Good  God !  why  should  they  mock  poor  fellows 

thus? 
The  man,  that  once  did  sell  the  lion's  skin 
While  the  beast  liv'd,  was  kiU'd  with  hunting  him. 
A  many  of  our  bodies  shall,  no  doubt. 
Find  native  graves;  upon  the  which,  I  trust. 
Shall  witness  live  in  brass  of  H)is  day's  work; 
And  those  that  leave  their  valiant  bones  in  France, 
Dying  like  men,  though  buried  in  your  dunghills. 
They  shall  be  famed;  lor  there  the  sun  shall  greet 

them. 
And  draw  their  Iionors  reeking  up  to  heaven; 
Leaving  their  earthly  parts  to  choke  your  clime. 
The  smell  whereof  shall  breed  a  plague  in  France. 
Mark  then  a  bouiftling  valor  in  our  English; 
That,  being  dead,  like  to  the  bullet's  grazing, 
Break  out  into  a  second  course  of  mischief. 
Killing  in  relapse  of  mortality. 
Let  me  speak  proudly : — Tell  the  constable. 
We  are  but  warriors  for  the  working-day: 
Our  gayness,  and  our  gilt,'  are  all  besmirch'd* 
With  rainy  marching  in  the  paiiilul  field: 

*>  i.  e.  This  day  shall  advance  him  to  the  rank  of  a 
gentleman.  'Kemind.  *"  Gilding.  "Soiled. 


380 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  IV. 


There's  not  a  piece  of  feather  in  our  host, 
(Good  argument,  I  liope,  we  shall  not  lly,) 
And  time  hath  worji  us  into  slovenry: 
liut,  by  the  mass,  our  hearts  are  in  the  trim : 
And  my  poor  soldiers  tell  me — yet  ere  night 
They'll  Lie  in  fresher  robes;  or  tliey  will  pluck 
The  gay  new  coats  o'er  the  French  soldiers'  heads, 
And  turn  them  out  of  service.    If  they  do  this, 
(As,  if  God  please,  they  sliall,)  my  ransom  then 
Will  soon  be  levied.    Herald,  save  thou  thy  labor; 
Come  tliou  no  more  lor  ransom,  gentle  herald; 
They  shall  have  none,  I  swear,  but  these  my  joints: 
Winch  if  they  have  as  I  will  leave  'em  to  them, 
Shall  yield  tlicm  little,  tell  the  constable. 

Munt.  1  shall,  king  Harry.  And  so  hue  thee  well: 
Thou  never  shalt  hear  herald  any  luoic.  [Exit. 

K.  Hen.  I  lear,  thou'lt  once  more  come  again  lor 
ransom. 

Enter  the  Duke  of  York. 

Yor]z.  My  lord,  most  humbly  on  my  knee  I  beg 
The  leading  of  the  vaward.^ 
K.  Hen.    Talic  it,   brave   York. — Now,  soldiers, 
march  away : — 
And  how  thou  pleasest,  God,  dispose  the  day  ! 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  IV.— The  Field  of  Battle. 

Alarums:    Excur.iions.     Enter    French    Soldier, 
PisroL,  and  Boy. 

Pist.  Yield,  cur. 

Fr.  Sol.  Je  pense,  que  vous  estes  le  gcntil/iomme 
de  bo7ine  quallli. 

Piil.  Quality,  call  you  me!— Construe  me,  art 
thou  a  gentleman  .'     What  is  thy  name  !  discuss. 

Fr.  Sol.  U  Seigneur  Dieu.' 

Plst.  O,  signieur  Dew  should  be  a  gentleman:— 
Perpend  my  words,  O  signieur  Dew,  and  mark;— 
0  signieur  Dew,  thou  diest  on  point  of  fox,- 
Except,  0  signieur,  thou  do  give  to  me 
Egregious  ransom. 

Fr.Sol.  0,prennezmisericorde,'  ai/e: piticdemoy. 

Plst.  Moy  shall  not  serve,  I  will  have  Ibrty  moys; 
For  I  will  letch  thy  rim  s  out  of  thy  throat. 
In  drops  of  crimson  blood. 

Fr.  Sol.  Est  il  impossible  d''eschap2}er  le  force  de 
ton  brae? 

Pi^t.  Brass,  cur! 
Thou  damned  and  luxurious'  mountain  goat, 
Oller'st  me  brassi 

Fr.Sol.  Oyjmrdonnez  moy.' 

Pist.  Say'stthoumeso?  is  that  a  ton  of  moys?— 
Come  hither,  boy;  Ask  me  this  slave  in  French, 
What  is  his  name. 

Boy.  Escoulez:  Comment  esles  vous  appellc? 

Fr.  Sol.  Monsieur  le  Per. 

Boy.  He  says  his  name  is — master  per. 

Plst.  Master  Fer,  I'll  fer  him,  and  firk'  him,  and 
ferret  him:— discuss  the  same  in  French  unto  him. 

Boy.  I  do  not  know  the  French  lor  fer,  and  ferret, 
and  lirk. 

Piiit.  Bid  him  prepare,  for  I  will  cut  his  throat. 

Fr.  Sol.  Que  dll-il.  Monsieur? 

Boy.  /;  me  conmiande  de  vous  dire  que  vous 
failes  vous  prest;  cur  ce  soldat  icy  est  dUposi  toute 
a  celtc  lieure  de  couper  vostre  gorge. 

Puit.  Ouy,  couper  gorge,  par  ma  foy,  pesant, 
Unless  thou  give  me  crowns,  brave  crowns; 
Or  mangled  shalt  thou  be  by  this  my  sword. 

Fr.  Sol.  0,je  vous  supplie  pour  Pamour  de  Dieu, 
me  pardonntr!  Je  -mis  gentilhomnie  de  bonne  mui- 
son:  gardez  ma  vie,  etje  vous  donneray  deux  cents 
escus. 
■    Pist.  What  are  his  words? 

Boy.  He  prays  you  to  save  his  life:  he  is  a  gentle- 
man of  a  good  house;  and  for  his  ransom,  he  will 
give  you  two  hundred  crowns. 

PKt.  Tell  hiiii,— my  fury  shalLabate,  and  I 
The  crowns  will  take. 

Fr.  Sol.  Petit  monsieur,  que  dit-il? 

Boy.  Encore  i/irH  c.v/  contre  .iini  jurement,  de 
pnrdnnner  uiu-un  pri.voinifr,.  neani moins. ixiur les 
escus  iiue  ecus  rare:  protnis,  il  e.s-t  content  de  vous 
donncr  la  liberli,  le  franckisenient. 

'Vanguard. 

"Ad  old  cant  word  for  a  swovd,  so  called  from  a  fa- 
mous swortl  cutler  of  the  name  of  Fox. 
"The  diaphragm.  'Lascivious.  'Chastise. 


Fr.  Sol.  Surmes  genoux,jevuus  donnemillere- 
mcrciemens:  et  je  nPestlme  heureux  que  je  suis 
tonihi  enlre  les  mains  d^un  chevalier,  je  pense,  le 
plus  brave,  valiant,  et  ires  distingue  seigneur 
d^Angteterre. 

Fist.  Expound  unto  me.  Boy. 

Boy.  He  gives  you,  upon  his  knees,  a  thousand 
thanks:  and  he  esteems  himself  happy  that  he  hath 
lallen  into  the  hands  of  (as  he  thinks)  the  most 
brave,  valorous,  and  thrice-worthy  signieur  of  Eng- 
land. 

Pist.  As  I  suck  blood,  I  will  some  mercy  show. — 
Follow  nie,  cur.  [Exit  Pistol. 

Boy.  Suivez  vous  le  grand  cnpitaine. 

[Exit  French  Soldier. 
I  did  never  know  so  full  a  voice  issue  from  so  empty 
a  heart :  but  the  saying  is  true, — The  empty  vessel 
makes  the  greatest  sound.  Bardolph,  and  Nym, 
had  ten  times  more  valor  than  this  roaring  devil 
i'lhe  old  play,  that  every  one  may  pare  his  nails 
with  a  wooden  dagger;  and  they  are  both  hanged; 
and  so  would  this  be,  if  he  durst  steal  any  thing 
adventurously.  I  must  stay  with  the  lackeys,  with 
the  luggage  of  our  camp:  the  French  might  have 
a  good  prey  of  us,  if  he  knew  of  it;  for  there  is 
none  to  guard  it  but  boys.  [ExU, 

SCENE  \.— Another  Part  of  the  Field  of  Battle. 

Alarums.     Enter   Dauphin,    Orleans,   Bourbon, 
Constable,  Rambures,  atid  others. 

Con.  O  diable! 

Orl.  O  Seigneur! — le  jour  est  perdu,  tout  est 
perdu.' 

Dau.  Alort  de  ma  vie.'  all  is  confounded,  all! 
Reproach  and  everlasting  shame 
Sits  mocking  in  our  plumes.— 0 mcsehanfe  fortune.' 
Do  not  run  away.  [.-1  thnrt  Alarum. 

Cfm.  Why  all  our  ranks  are  broke. 

Dau.  O  perdurable"  shame! — let's  stab  ourselves. 
Be  these  the  wretches  that  we  play'd  at  dice  for? 

0/7.  Is  this  the  king  we  sent  to  (or  his  ransom? 

Bour,    Shame,  and  eternal  shame,  nothing  but 
shame! 
Let  us  die  instant:  Once  more  back  again  ; 
And  he  that  will  not  iiillow  liourbon  now, 
Let  him  go  hence,  and,  with  his  cap  in  hand, 
Like  a  base  pander,  hold  the  chamber-door. 
Whilst  by  a  slave,  no  gentler  than  my  dog,' 
His  fairest  daughter  is  contaminate. 

Con.  Disorder,  that  hath  spoil'd  us,  friend  us  ribw! 
Let  us.  in  heaps,  go  oflt^r  up  our  lives 
Unto  these  English,  or  else  die  with  fame. 

Orl.  We  are  enough,  yet  living  in  the  field, 
To  smother  up  the  English  in  our  throngs. 
If  any  order  might  be  thought  upon. 

Bour.  The  devil  take  order  now;  I'll  to  the  throng; 
Let  life  be  short;  else,  shame  will  be  too  long. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

Alarums.  Enter  Ki'xa  liE};RY,  and  Forces;  Exeter, 
and  others. 
K.  Hen.   Well    have    we    done,    thrice    valiant 
countrymen: 
But  all's  not  done,  yet  keep  the  French  the  field. 
Exe.  The  duke  of  York  commends  him  to  your 

majesty. 
K.Hen.  Lives  he,  good  uncle?  thrice,  within  this 
hour, 

I  saw  him  down;  thrice  up  again,  and  fighting; 
From  helmet  to  the  spur,  all  blood  he  was. 

Exe.  In  which  array,  (brave  soldier.)  doth  he  lie. 
Larding  the  plain  :  and  by  his  bloody  side, 
(Yoke-lellow  to  his  honor-owing  wounds,) 
The  noble  e;irl  of  SulTolk  also  lies. 
Siilliilk  first  died:  and  York,  ail  haggled  over, 
Coiiu's  to  him,  where  in  gore  he  lay  insteep'd. 
And  lakes  him  by  the  beard;  kisses  the  gashes, 
Tli;it  bloodily  did  yawn  upon  his  liice; 
.■VikI  cries  aloud. — Tarry,  dear  cousin  Suffolk.' 
My  soul  shrill  thine  keep  company  to  heaven: 
Tarry,  sweet  S(nil,  for  mine,  thenflq  a-hreast; 
As,  in  this  glorvnts  and  well-J'oughten  field, 

I I  'e  keep  together  in  our  chivalry.' 

rpon  these  words  I  came,  and  cheer'd  him  up: 
He  siiiil'd  me  in  the  face,  raught^  me  his  hand, 

"Lasting,    'i.e.  Who  has  no  more  gentility.    ^Reached 


Scene  VII. 


KING    HENRY  V. 


381 


Ami,  with  a  feeble  gripe,  says,— Dear  mij  lurU, 

Commend  my  service  to  my  sovereigti. 

So  did  lie  turn,  and  over  SuUolk's  neck 

He  threw  his  ivoiiiided  arm,  and  kiss'd  his  lips; 

And  so,  espous'd  to  death,  with  blood  he  seal'd 

A  testament  of  noble-ending  love. 

The  pretty  and  sweet  manner  of  it  forced 

Those  waters  from  me,  which  1  would  have  stopp'd; 

But  1  had  not  so  much  of  man  in  me, 

But  all  my  mother  came  into  mine  eyes, 

And  f^ave  me  up  to  tears. 

K.  Hen.  I  blame  j'ou  not; 

For,  hearing  this,  I  must  perforce  compound 
With  mistful  eyes,  or  they  will  issue  too. — 

[Alarum. 
But,  hark !  what  new  alarum  is  tliis  same  ! 
The  French  have  reinforced  their  scattered  men:— 
Then  every  soldier  kill  his  prisoner; 
Give  the  word  through.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \U.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 

Alarums.    Enter  Fluellex  and  Gov,-ek. 

Flu.  Kill  thepoys  and  the  luggage!  'tis  expressly 
against  the  laws  of  arms:  'tis  as  arrant  a  piece  of 
knavery,  mark  you  now,  as  can  be  otfer'd  in  the 
'orld :  In  your  conscience  now,  is  it  not ! 

Gnu:  'Tis  certain,  there's  not  a  boy  left  alive; 
and  the  cowardly  rascals,  that  ran  from  the  battle, 
have  done  this  slaughter:  besides,  they  liavc  burned 
and  carried  away  all  that  was  in  the  king's  tent ; 
wherclbre  the  king,  most  worthy,  hath  caused 
every  soldier  to  cut  his  prisoner's  throat.  O,  'tis  a 
gallant  king! 

Flu.  Ay,  he   was  porn   at  Monmouth,  captain 
Cower.    What  call  you  the   town's  name,  where 
Alcxaiuler  the  pig  was  porn] 
Uiiw.  Alexander  the  great. 

Flu.  Why,  I  pray  you,  is  not  pig,  great?  The 
pig,  or  the  great,  or  the  mighty,  or  the  huge,  or  the 
magnanimous,  are  all  one  reckonings,  save  the 
phrase  is  a  little  variations. 

Giiw.  I  think,  Alexander  the  great  was  born  in 
Macedon;  his  lather  was  called— Philip  of  Mace- 
don;  as  1  take  if. 

Flu.  1  think  it  is  in  Macedon,  where  Alexander 
is  jiurn.  1  tell  you,  captain,— If  you  look  in  the 
m:i|.s  of  the  'orld.  1  warrant,  you  shall  find,  in  the 
coni].ansons  between  Macedon  and  Monmouth, 
tliut  the  situations,  look  you,  is  both  alike.  There 
is  a  river  in  Macedon;  and  there  is  also  moreover 
a  river  at  Monmouth:  it  is  called  Wye,  at  Mon- 
mouth; but  it  is  out  of  my  prains,  what  is  the 
name  of  the  other  river;  but  'tis  all  one, 'tis  so  like 
as  my  lingers  is  to  my  fingers,  and  there  is  salmons 
in  both.  If  you  mark  Alexander's  life  well,  Harry 
ol  Monmouth's  lite  iscomeaftcr  it  indillercnt  well; 
for  there  is  figures  in  all  things.  Alexander,  (God 
knows,  and  you  know.)  in  his  rages,  and  his  furies, 
and  his  wraths, and  hischolers,  and  his  moods,  and 
his  displeasures,  and  his  indignations,  and  also  be- 
ing a  little  intoxicates  in  his  prains,  did,  in  his  ales 
and  his  angers,  look  you,  kill  his  pest  friend,  Clytus. 

G(iw.  Our  king  is  not  like  him  in  that;  he  never 
killed  any  of  his  friends. 

Flu.  It  is  not  well  done,  mark  you  now,  to  take 
tales  out  of  my  mouth,  ere  it  is  made  an  end  and 
hnished.  I  speak  hut  in  the  figures  and  compari- 
sons ol  It:  As  Alexander  is  kill  his  friend  Clytus, 
being  m  his  ales  and  his  cups;  so  also  Harry  Mon- 
nioulh,  being  m  his  right  wits  and  his  goot  judg- 
ments is  turn  away  the  fat  knight  with' the  great 
Iielly-doublet:  he  was  iiill  of  jests,  and  gipes,  and 
knaveries,  and  mocks-  1  am  forget  his  name. 

G'lu:  Sir  John  Falstaff 

Flu.  That  is  he  :  I  can  tell  you  there  is  goot  men 
born  at  Monmouth. 

Giiw.  Here  comes  his  majesty. 

Alarum.  Enter  Kixn  Hkxhy,  with  a  part  of  the 
English  Forces;  Warwick,  Glosteu,  Exeteh, 
and  others. 


gry    since    I    came    to 


K.  Hen.   I    was    not 
France 

Until  this  instant— Take  a  trumped,  herald; 
Rule  thou  unto  the  horsemen  on  yon  hill; 
II  they  will  fight  with  us,  bid  them  come  down. 
Or  Void  the  field  ;  they  do  otfend  our  sight: 
It  they'll  do  neither,  "we  will  come  to  them ; 


And  make  lliem  skirr»  away  as  swift  as  stones 
Fiiiorced  lioiii  the  old  Assyrian  slings: 
Besides,  we'll  cut  the  throats  of  those  we  have; 
And  not  a  man  oi  them,  that  we  shall  take. 
Shall  taste  our  mercy  :— Go,  and  tell  them  so. 

Enter  MoxTjoy. 

Exe.  Here  comes  the  herald  of  the  French,  my 

liege. 
Glo.  His  eyes  are  humbler  than  they  used  to  be. 
A".  Hen.  How  now,  what  means   this,  herald? 
know'st  thou  not. 
That  I  have  lined  these  bones  of  mine  for  ran- 
som! 
Com'st  thou  again  for  ransom? 

Mont.  No,  great  king: 

I  come  to  thee  for  charitable  licence. 
That  we  may  wander  o'er  this  bloody  field, 
To  book  our  dead,  and  then  to  bury  them; 
To  sort  our  nobles  from  our  common  men; 
For  many  of  our  princes  (woe  the  while  !) 
Lie  drowii'd  and  soak'd  in  mercenary  blood; 
(So  do  our  vulgar  drench  their  peasant  limbs 
In  blood  of  princes  ;)  and  their  wounded  steeds 
Fret  fetlock  deep  in  gore,  and,  with  wild  rage, 
Ycrk  out  their  armed  heels  at  their  dead  masters, 
Killing  them  twice.    0,  give  us  leave,  great  king, 
To  view  the  field  in  safety,  and  dispose 
Of  their  dead  bodies. 

K.  Hen.  I  tell  thee  truly,  herald, 

I  know  not,  if  the  day  be  ours  or  no; 
For  yet  a  many  of  )our  horsemen  peer, 
And  gallop  o'er  the  field. 
Mont.  The  day  is  yours. 

K.  Hen.  Praised  be  God,  and  not  our  strength 
for  it !—  * 

What  is  this  castle  call'd,  that  stands  hard  by? 
Mont.  They  call  it— Agiiicourt. 
K.  Hen.  Then  call  we  this— the  field  of  Agincourt, 
Fought  on  the  day  of  Crispin  Crispianus. 

Flu.  Your  gr.indfather  of  famous  memory,  an't 
please  your  majesty,  and  your  great  uncle  Edward, 
the  plack  prince  of  Wales,  as  I  have  read  in  the 
chronicles,  Ibught  a  most  prave  pattlehere  in  France. 
K.  Hen.  They  did,  Fluellen. 
Flu.  Your  majesty  says  very  true:  If  your  ma- 
jesty is  remembered  of  it,  the  Welshmen  did  goot 
service  in  a  garden  where  leeks  did  grow,  wearing 
leeks  in  their  Monmouth  caps;  wliich  your  ma- 
jesty knows  to  this  hour,  is  an  honoralile'padge  of 
the  service;  and,  I  do  believe,  your  niajesly  takes 
no  scorn  to  wear  the  leek  upon  saint  Ta'vy's  day. 

K.  Hen.  I  wear  it  for  a  memorable  honor: 
For  I  am  Welsh,  you  know,  good  countryman. 

Flu.  All  the  water  in  Wye  cannot  wash   your 
majesty's  Welsh  plood  out  of  your  pody,  I  can  tell 
you  that:  Got  pless  it  and  iireserve  it.  as  long  as 
It  pleases  liis  grace,  and  his  majesty  too  ! 
A'.  Hen.  Thanks,  good  my  countryman. 
Flu.  By  Cheshu,  I  am  your  majesty's  country- 
man, I  care  not  who  know  it;  I  will  conlcss  it  to 
all  the  'orld :   I  need  not  to  be  ashamed  of  your 
majesty,  praised  be  Got,  so  long  as  your  majesty  is 
an  honest  man. 
K.  Hen.  God  keep  me  so— our  heralds  go  with 
him. 
Bring  me  just  notice  of  the  numbers  dead 
On  both  our  parts.— Call  ponder  follow  hither. 

[Points  to  Williams.    Exeunt  Moxtjot, 
and  others. 
Exe.  Soldier,  you  must  come  to  the  king. 
A'.  Hen.  Soldier,  why  wear'sfthou  that  glove  in 
thy  cap? 

'Will.  An't  please  your  majesty,  'tis  the  gage  of 
one  that  I  should  fight  withaj,  if  he  be  alive. 
K.  Hen.  An  Englishman  ! 

IVill.  An't  please  your  majesty,  a  rascal,  that 
swagger'd  with  me  last  night :  who,  if  'a  live,  and 
ever  dare  to  challenge  this  glove,  I  have  sworn  to 
take  him  a  box  o'  the  ear:  or,  if  I  can  see  my  glove 
in  his  cap,  (which  he  swore,  as  he  was  a  soldier,  he 
would  wear,  if  alive.)  I  will  strike  it  out  soundly. 

K.  Hen.  What  think  you,  captain  Fluellen?  tsit 
fit  this  soldier  keep  his  oath? 

Flu.  He  is  a  craven '  and  a  villain  else,  an't  please 
your  majesty,  in  my  conscience. 

A'.  Hen.  It  may  be,  his  enemy  is  a  gentleman  of 
great  sort,"  quite  from  the  answer  of  his  degree. 


'Scour. 


^  Coward. 


2  High  rank. 


382 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  IV. 


Fill.  Though  lie  be  as  j5oot  a  gentleman  as  the 
tevil  is,  as  Luciter  and  lieelzcbiib  (liniself,  it  is  ne- 
cessary, look  yoLir  grace,  that  he  keep  his  vow  and 
his  oath:  if  he  be  perjured,  see  you  now,  iiis  repu- 
tation is  as  arrant  a  villain,  ana  a  Jack-sauce,*  as 
ever  his  plack  shoe  trod  upon  Got's  ground  and  his 
earth,  in  my  conscience,  la. 

A".  Hen.  "rhen  keep  thy  vow,  sirrah,  when  thou 
nicet'st  thel'ellow. 

IVitl.  So  I  will,  my  hege,  as  I  live. 

it.  Hen.  Who  scrvest  thou  under'! 

yViU.  Under  captain  Gower,  my  liege. 

Flu.  Gower  is  a  goot  captain:  and  is  good  know- 
ledge and  literature  in  the  wars. 

A.  Hen.  Call  him  hither  to  ine,  soldier. 

Will.  I  will,  my  liege.  [Exil. 

K.  Hen.  Here,  FlucUen;  wear  thou  this  tavor 
for  me,  and  stick  it  in  thy  cap:  When  Alen^on  and 
myself  were  down  together,  I  plucked  this  glove 
from  his  helm:  if  any  man  challenge  this,  he  is  a 
friend  to  AleiK^on,  and  an  enemy  to  our  person;  if 
thou  encounter  any  such,  apprehend  him,  an  thou 
dost  love  me. 

Flu.  Your  grace  does  me  as  great  honors  as  can 
be  desired  in  the  hearts  of  his  subjects:  I  would 
fain  see  the  man,  that  has  but  two  legs,  that  shall 
lind  himself  aggrieil'd  at  this  glove,  that  is  all;  Out 
I  would  fain  see  it  once;  an  please  Got  of  his  grace, 
that  1  might  see  it. 

K.  Hen.  Knowest  thou  Gower] 

Flu.  He  IS  my  dear  friend,  an  please  you. 

A'.  Hen.  Pray  thee,  go  seek  him,  and  bring  him 
to  my  tent. 

Flu.  1  will  fetch  him.  [E.xif. 

K.  Hen.  iVIy  lord  of  Warwick,— and  my  brother 
Gloster, 
Follow  Fluellen  closely  at  the  heels : 
The  glove,  which  I  have  given  him  tor  a  favor, 
May,  haply,  purchase  him  a  box  o^  the  ear; 
It  is  the  soldier's;  I,  by  bargain,  should 
Wear  it  myself.    Follow,  good  cousin  Warwick; 
If  that  the  soldier  strike  him,  (as,  I  Judge 
By  his  blunt  bearing,  he  will  keep  his  word,) 
Some  sudden  mischief  may  arise  of  it; 
For  I  do  know  Fluellen  valiant. 
And,  toncliM  with  clioler,  hot  as  gunpowder. 
And  quickly  will  return  an  injury: 
Follow,  and  see  there  be  no  harm  between  them. — 
Go  you  with  me,  uncle  of  Kxeter.  [Kveunt. 

SCENE  vni.~Befo)-e  King  Henry's  Pavilion. 
Enter  Gower  and  Wii.lia.ms. 

Will.  I  warrant,  it  is  to  knight  you,  captain. 
Enter  Fluellen. 

Flu.  Got's  will  and  liis  pleasure,  captain.  I  pe- 
seech  you  now.  come  apace  to  the  king:  there  is 
more  goot  toward  you,  peradveiiture,  than  is  m 
your  knowledge  to  dream  of. 

Will.  Sir,  know  you  this  glove! 

Flu.  Know  the  glove  ?  I  know  the  glove  is  a  glove. 

M''ill.  I  know  this;  and  thus  I  challenge  it. 

[Strikes  /lim. 

Hu.  'Sblud,  an  arrant  traitor,  as  auy's  in  the 
universal  'orld,  or  in  France,  or  in  England. 

Ginu.  How  now,  sir!  you  villain! 

IVill.  Do  you  Ihiuk  I'll  be  liirsworn? 

Flu.  Stand  away,  captain  Gower;  I  will  give 
treason  his  payment  into  plows,  1  warrant  you. 

Will.  I  am  no  traitm-. 

Flu.  That's  a  lie  iii  tliy  throat.— I  charge  5'ou,  in 
his  majesty's  name,  apprehend  him;  he's  a  friend 
of  the  duke  Alem^oirs. 

Enter  Wahwicic  and  Gloster. 

War.  How  now!  how  now!  what's  the  matter? 

Flu.  My  lord  of  Warwick,  here  is  {praised  be 
Got  lor  it!)  a  most  contagious  treason  come  to 
light,  look  you,  as  you  shall  desire  in  a  summer's 
day.    Here  is  his  majesty. 

Enter  Kinii  Henry  and  E.'Ceter. 
K.  Hen.  llriw  now,  whal's  the  matter! 
Hu.  My  liege,  here  is  a  villain  and  a  traitor,  that, 
look  your  grace,  has  struck  liie  glove  which  your 
majesty  is  take  out  oltlie  helmet  of  Alenron. 

Will.  My  hege,  this  was  my  glove:  he're  is  the 
fellow  of  It:  and  he,  that  I  gave  it  to  in  change, 
^For  saucy  Jack. 


promised  to  wear  it  in  his  cap;  I  promised  to  f  trike 
him,  if  he  did:  I  met  this  m.an  with  ray  glove  in 
his  cap,  and  I  have  been  as  good  as  my  word. 

Flu.  Your  majesty,  hear  now,  (saving  your  ma- 
jesty's manhood.)  what  an  arrant,  rascally,  beggarly, 
lousy  knave  it  is:  I  hope  your  majesty  is  pear  me 
testimony, and  witness, and  avouchments,  that  this 
is  the  glove  of  .\le1190n,  that  your  majesty  is  give 
me,  in  your  conscience  now. 

K.  Hen.  Give  me  thy  glove,  soldier;  Look,  here 
isthefellowof  it.  'Twas  I,  indeed,  thou  proniised'st 
to  strike;  and  thou  hast  given  me  most  bitter  terms. 

Flu.  An  please  your  majesty,  let  his  neck  answer 
for  it,  if  there  is  any  martial  law  in  the  'orld. 

A'.  Hen.  How  canst  thou  make  me  satisfaction? 

Will.  All  ollences,  my  liege,  come  Irom  the  heart: 
never  came  any  from  inine,  that  might  ofiend  your 
majesty. 

A'.  Hen.  It  was  ourself  thou  didst  abuse. 

Will.  Your  majesty  came  not  like  yourself:  you 
appeared  to  me  but  as  a  common  man;  witness 
the  night,  your  garments,  your  lowliness;  and  what 
your  highness  suffered  under  that  shape,  I  beseech 
you,  take  it  tor  your  own  fault,  and  not  mine:  for 
had  you  been  as  1  took  you  for,  I  made  no  otfence; 
therellire,  I  beseech  your  highness,  pardon  me. 

A'.  Hen.  Here,  uncle  Exeter,  till  this  glove  with 
crowns, 
And  give  it  to  this  fellow.— Keep  it,  fellow; 
And  wear  it  for  an  honor  in  thy  cap. 
Till  1  do  challenge  it.— Give  him  the  crowns:— 
And,  captain,  you  must  needs  be  friends  with  him. 

Flu.  By  this  day  and  this  light,  the  fellow  has 
mettle  enough  in  his  pelly:— Hold,  there  is  twelve 
pence  for  you.  and  I  pray  you  to  serve  Got,  and 
keep  you  out  of  prawls.and  piabbles,  and  quarrels, 
and  dissensions,  and,  I  warrant  you, it  is  the  petter 
liir  you. 

Will.  I  will  none  of  your  money. 

Flu.  It  is  with  a  goot  will;  I  can  tell  you,  it  will 
serve  you  to  mend  your  shoes:  Come,  wherelbre 
shoukfyou  be  so  pash'ful?  your  shoes  is  not  so  goot: 
'tis  a  goot  silling,  I  warrant  you,  or  I  will  change  it. 

Enter  an  English  Herald. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  herald;  are  the  dead  number'd? 

Her.    Here   is   the    number  of   the  slaughter'd 

French.  [Delivers  a})ajjer. 

K.  Hen.  What  prisoners  of  good  sort  are  taken, 

uncle? 
Exe.  Charles  duke  of  Orleans,  nephew  to   the 
king; 
John  duke  of  Bourbon,  and  lord  Bouciqualt; 
Of  other  lords,  and  barons,  knights,  and  squires, 
Full  tilleen  hundred,  besides  conimon  men. 
K.  Hen.  This  note  doth  tell  me  oi'  ten  thousand 
French, 
That  in  the  held  lie  slain:  of  princes  in  this  number, 
And  noliles  bearing  banners,  there  lie  dead, 
One  liundred  twenty-six:  added  to  these. 
Of  knights,  esquires,  and  gallant  gentlemen. 
Eight  lliousaiid  and  four  hundred;  of  the  which, 
Five  liundred  were  but  yesterday  dubb'd  knights: 
So  that,  ill  those  ten  thousand  they  have  lost, 
There  are  but  sixteen  hundred  mercenaries; 
The    rest    are  — princes,    barons,    lords,    knights, 

'squires. 
And  gentlemen  of  blood  and  qualily. 
The  names  of  those  their  nobles  that  lie  dead,— 
Charles  De-la-bret,  high  constahle.of  France; 
Jacques  of  Chatillon,  admiral  of  France; 
The  master  of  the  cross-bows,  lord  Rambures; 
Great-master  of  France,  the  brave  sir  Guischaid 

Dauphin ; 
.Tohn  duke  of  Alencon;  Antony  duke  of  Brabant, 
The  brother  to  the  duke  of  Burgundy  ; 
And  Edward  duke  of  Bar;  of  lusty  earls, 
Graiulpre,  and  Roussi,  Fauconberg,  and  Foix, 
Beaumont,  and  Marie,  Vaudemont,  and  Lestrale: 

Here  was  a  royal  fellowship  of  death  ! 

Where  is  the  number  of  our  English  dead  ? 

[Herald  presents  aimttier  paper. 
Edward  the  duke  of  York,  the  earl  01  Siulbllc, 
Sir  Richard  Ketley,  Davy  Gam,  esipiire: 
Nolle  else  of  name  :  and,  of  all  other  men, 
Uul  live-and-lwenly.    O  God,  thy  arm  was  hero, 
.\iid  not  to  us.  but  lo  thy  arm  alone. 
Ascribe  we  all.— When,  without  stratagem. 
But  in  plain  shock  and  even  play  of  battle, 


Act  V.    Scene  I. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


383 


Was  ever  kiiown  so  great  and  little  loss, 

On  one  part  and  on  the  other  1 — Take  it,  God, 

For  it  is  only  thuie! 

jLd'e.  'Tis  wonderful ! 

A'.  Hen.  Come,  go  we  in  procession  to  the  village: 
And  be  it  death  proclaimed  through  our  host, 
To  boast  of  this,  or  tuke  that  praise  from  God, 
Which  is  his  only. 

Ilu.  It  is  not  lawful,  an  please  your  majesty,  to 
tell  how  many  is  killed? 


A'.  Hen.  Yes,  captain,  but  with  this  acknowledge- 
ment, 
That  God  Ibught  for  us. 

F/u.  Yes.  my  conscience,  he  did  us  great  goot. 

A'.  Hen,  Do  wc  all  iioly  rites; 
Let  there  be  sung  Nun  }tuliis,  and  Te  Deum^ 
The  dead  with  charily  enclos'd  in  clay. 
We'll  then  to  Calais;  and  to  England  then; 
When  ne'er  from  France  arriv'd  more  happy  men, 

{Exeunt . 


ACT  V. 


Enter  Choucs. 
Cht)r.  Vouchsafe  to  tliose  that  have  not  read  the 

story, 
That  I  may  prompt  them :  and  of  such  as  have, 
1  humhly  pray  them  to  admit  the  excuse 
Of  time,  of  nuniljers,  and  due  course  of  things, 
Wliicli  cannot  in  their  hufce  and  proper  life 
He  here  presented.    Now  we  Itear  tlie  king 
Tiiward  Caiias;  grant  him  tJicre;  there  seen, 
II('a\'e  him  away  upon  your  %vtnged  thoughts, 
Atluvart  the  sea:  Behold,  the  English  hcach 
Pales  in  the  Hood  with  men,  with  wives,  and  boys. 
Whose  shouts  and  claps  out- voice  the  decp-nioutii'd 

sea. 
Which,  like  a  mighty  whifHer'  'fore  the  king, 
Seems  to  prepare  his  way:  so  let  him  land; 
And,  solemnly,  see  him  set  on  to  Londttu. 
So  .swift  a  pace  hath  thought,  that  e\en  now 
You  may  imagine  him  upon  BlacMieath: 
Where  that  his  lords  desne  him,  to  have^  borne 
His  bruised  helmet,  and  his  bended  sword, 
liefnre  him,  through  the  city:  he  forbids  it, 
Being  free  from  vainness  and  self-glorious  pride; 
Gi\ing  full  trojihy,  signal,  and  ostent, 
Quilc  from  himself,  to  Cud.    But  now  behold, 
In  the  ijuicl;  l^ri^e  and  working-house  of  thought, 
}|ow  London  doth  pour  our  her  citizens! 
The  major,  and  all  his  brethren,  in  best  sort, — 
Like  to  the  senators  of  the  antique  Rome, 
With  the  plebians  swarming  at  their  heels, — 
Go  Idrth.  and  letch  (heir  conquering  Cipsar  in; 
As,  by  a  lower  but  by  loving  likelihood,'' 
Were  now  the  general  of  our  gracious  empress' 
(As,  in  good  time,  he  may)  from  Ireland  coming. 
Bringing  rebellion  broached'^  on  his  sword, 
How  many  would  the  peaceful  city  quit. 
To  welcome  himl    much  more,  and  much  more 

cause. 
Did  they  this  Harry.    Now  in  London  place  him; 
(.\s  yet  the  lamentatimi  of  the  French 
invites  the  king  of  England's  stay  at  home: 
The  emperor's  coming  in  behalf  ol  France, 
To  order  ])eace  between  lliem;)  and  omit 
AH  the  occurrences,  whatever  chanced. 
Till  Harry's  back-return  again  to  France: 
There  must  we  bring  him;  and  myself  have  play'd 
The  interim,  by  remembering  you — 'tis  past. 
Then  brook  abridgement ;  and  your  eyes  advance 
After  your  thoughts,  straight  back  again  to  France. 

\.Ex-il. 

SCENE  L— Fiance.  An  Englisli  Court  vf  Guard. 
Enter  Fluei^len  and  Goweh. 

Gow.  Nay,  that's  right;  but  why  wear  you  your 
leek  to-day!  Saint  David's  day  is  past. 

Flu.  There  is  occasions  and  causes  whj'  and 
wherefore  in  all  things;  I  will  tell  you,  as  my 
friend,  captain  Gower.  The  rascally,  scald,  beg- 
garl\,  lousy.  ]iraggiug  knave,  Pistol. — which  you 
and  yourself,  and  all  the  'orld,  know  to  be  no  bet- 
ter than  a  Ibllow,  look  you  now,  of  no  merits. — 
he  is  come  to  me,  and  prings  me  pread  and  salt 
yesterdaj',  look  you,  and  pid  mc  eat  my  leek:  it 
was  in  a  jiiace  where  I  could  not  breed  no  conten- 
tions with  him;  but  I  will  be  so  pold  as  to  wear  it 
in  my  cap  till  I  see  him  once  again,  and  then  1 
will  tell  him  a  little  piece  of  my  desires, 

*  An  olticcr  who  wallo  lirst  in  processions. 

*J.  e.  To  oriler  it  to  lie  Iiorne.  ^  Siniilitude. 

'  Tlie  earl  of  fcsscx  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 

*  Spitted,  traiisfi.\ed. 


Enter  Pistol. 

Gow.  Why,  here  he  comes  swelling  like  a  turkey- 
cock. 

Flu.  'Tis  no  matter  for  his  swellings,  nor  his 
turkey-cocks. — Got  pless  you,  ancient  Pistol!  you 
scurvy,  lousy  knave.  Got  jiless  you ! 

Pist.  Ha!   art  thou  Bedlam!   dost  thou  thirst, 
base  Trojan, 
To  have  me  fold  up  Parca's  fatal  webl 
Hence!  I  am  qualmish  at  the  smell  of  leek. 

Flu.  I  pescech  you  heartily,  scurvy,  lousy  knave, 
at  my  desires,  and  my  requests,  and  my  petitions, 
to  eat,  look  you,  this  leek;  because,  look  you,  you 
do  not  love  it,  nor  your  allections,  and  your  appe- 
tites, and  your  digestions,  docs  not  agree  with  it,  I 
would  desire  you  to  eat  it. 

Pbit.  Not  lor  Cadvvalladcr  and  all  his  goats. 

Flu.  There  is  one  goat  lor  you.  [Strikes  /dm.] 
Will  be  so  goot,  scald  Knave,  as  eat  it ! 

Fv?t.  Base  Trojan,  thou  shall  die. 

Flu.  You  say  very  true,  scald  knave,  when  Got's 
will  is:  I  will  desire  you  lo  live  in  the  mean  lime, 
and  eat  your  vituals;  come,  there  is  sauce  for  it. 
ISIriking  liim  aKain.]  You  called  inc  yesterday, 
mountain-squire;  but  1  will  make  you  to-day  a 
squire  of  low  degree.  I  pray  yon,  tall  to;  if  you 
can  mock  a  leek,  you  can  eat  a  leek. 

G(iw.  Enough. captain:  you  have  astonished  him. 

Flu.  I  say,  1  will  make  him  eat  some  part  of  my 
Ieck,or  I  will  peat  his  jialc  lour  days: — Pite,  1  pray 
\ou;  it  is  goot  for  your  green  wound,  and  jour 
bloody  coxcomb. 

Fist.  Must  I  bite? 

Flu.  Yes,  certainly;  and  out  of  doubt,  and  out 
of  questions  too,  and  ambiguities. 

Fist.  By  this  leek,  I  will  most  horribly  revenge; 
I  eat,  and  eke  I  swear — 

Flu.  Eat,  I  pray  j  ou :  Will  you  have  some  more 
sauce  to  your  leekl  there  is  not  enough  leek  to 
swear  by. 

Pu,t.  Quiet  thy  cudgel;  thou  dost  sec,  I  eat. 

Flu.  Much  goot  do  you,  .scald  knave,  heartily. 
Nay,  'pray  you,  throw  none  away ;  the  skin  is  goot 
for  your  proken  coxcomb.  When  you  take  occa- 
sions to  see  leeks  hereafter,  I  pray  you  mock  at 
them;  that  is  all. 

Pist.  Good. 

Flu.  .\y,  leeks  is  goot:— Hold  you,  there  is  a 
groat  to  heal  your  pate. 

Pill.  Me  a  groat ! 

Flu.  Yes.verily.and  in  truth  you  sliall  hake  it;  or  I 
have  another  leek  in  my  pocket,  w  liich  you  shall  eat. 

Pist.  I  lake  thy  groat,  in  earnest  of  revenge. 

Flu.  If  1  owe  you  any  thing,  I  will  P^y  you  'n 
cudgels;  you  shall  he  a  woodmonger.  and  buy 
nothing  of  me  but  cudgels.  God  be  wi' you.  and 
keep  yon,  and  heal  your  pate.  [Exit. 

Pist.  All  hell  shall  stir  lor  this. 

G<iW.  Go,  go;  you  are  a  counterfeit  cowardly 
knave.  Will  >ou  mock  at  an  ancient  tradition, — 
begun  upon  an  honorable  respect,  and  worn  as  a 
memorable  trophy  of  predeceased  valor,— and  dare, 
not  avouch  in  your  deeds  any  of  your  words  !  I  have 
seen  you  gleeldng"  and  galling  at  this  gentleman 
twice  or  thrice.  You  thought,  because  he  could 
not  speak  English  in  the  native  garb,  he  could  not 
therelore  handle  an  English  cudsel:  you  hnd  it 
otherwise;  and  heneelorth,  let  a  Welsh  correction 
teach  you  a  good  English  condition.'  Fare  j  e  well. 

[Exit. 


e  ScofEng,  sneering. 


'Temper. 


384 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  V. 


Puii.  Dolh  fortune  play  the  luiswile"  with  mc 
now^ 
News  have  I,  that  my  Nell  is  (load  i'  tlie  spital," 
Of  malady  of  France; 
And  there  my  rendezvous  is  quite  cut  off. 
Old  1  do  wax;  and  from  my  weary  limbs 
Honor  is  cudgcU'd.    Well,  bawd  will  I  turn, 
And  something  lean  to  cntpurse  of  quick  hand. 
To  England  will  I  steal,  and  there  I'll  steal: 
And  patches  will  I  get  unto  these  scars, 
And  swear,  I  gut  them  in  the  Gallia  wars.       [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— Troyes  in  Champagne.    An  Apart- 
ment in  the  French  King's  Palace. 
Enteral  one  door.  King  Hexry,  Bedford,  Gloster, 
ExKTER,   Wahwick,   Westmoiiei.and.  and  otiier 
Lords;  at  anotlier,  tke  French  King,  Queen  Isa- 
bel, llie  Pri.sckss  Katuakine,  Lords,  Ladies,  (^-C; 
tke  Duke  or  Buhgusdy,  and  Aii'  Train. 
K.  Hen.  Peace  to  tliis  meeting,  wherefore  we  are 
met ! 
Unto  our  brother  France,— and  to  our  sister, 
Health  and  lair  time  of  day:— joy  and  good  wishes 
To  our  most  fair  and  princely  cousin  Katharine; 
And  (as  a  branch  and  member  of  this  royalty, 
By  whom  this  great  assembly  is  contrived) 
We  do  salute  you,  duke  of  Burgundy ; — 
And,  princes  French,  and  peers,  health  to  you  all! 
Fr.  King.  Right  joyous  are  we  to  behold  your 
face. 
Most  worthy  brother  England;  fairly  met: — 
So  are  you,  princes  English,  every  one. 

Q.  Ixa.  So  happy  bo  the  issue,  brother  England, 
Of  this  good  day,  and  of  this  gracious  meeting, 
As  we  are  now  glad  to  behold  your  eyes; 
Your  eyes,  which  hitherto  have  borne  in  them 
Against  the  French,  that  met  theni  in  tlieir  bent, 
The  liital  balls  of  murdering  l)asilisks; 
The  venom  of  such  looks,  we  liiirly  hope. 
Have  lost  their  quality;  and  that  this  day 
Shall  cliange  all  griefs,  and  quarrels,  into  love. 
A',  lien.  To  cry  amen  to  that,  tlius  we  appear. 
Q.  ha.  You  English  princes  all,  I  do  salute  you. 
Bur.  My  duty  to  you  both,  on  equal  love. 
Great  kings  of  France  and  England!  That  I  have 

labor'd 
With  all  iny  wits,  my  pains,  and  strong  endeavors. 
To  bring  your  most  imperial  majesties 
Unto  this  bar'  and  royal  interview, 
Your  mightiness  on  both  parts  best  can  witness. 
Since  then  my  oliice  hath  so  tar  prevail'd, 
That  liice  to  liice,  and  royal  eye  to  eye, 
You  have  congreetod:  let  it  not  disgrace  mc, 
If  I  tlemand,  before  this  royal  view. 
What  rub,  or  what  impediment,  there  is. 
Why,  that  the  naked,  poor,  and  mangled  peace, 
Dear  nurse  of  arts,  plenties,  and  joyful  births. 
Should  not,  in  this  best  garden  of  the  world. 
Our  fertile  Fiance,  put  lip  her  lovely  visagel 
Alas!  she  hath  from  France  too  long  been  chas'd; 
And  all  her  husbandry  doth  lie  on  heaps, 
Corrupting  in  its  own  fertility. 
Her  vine,  the  merry  eheerer  of  the  heart, 
Unpruned  dies:  her  hedges  even-pleach'd, — 
Like  prisoners  wildly  over-grown  with  hair, — 
Put  firth  disorder'd  twigs:  her  fallow  leas. 
The  darnel,  hemlock,  and  rank  fumitory, 
Dolh  root  upon;  while  that  the  coulter  rusts. 
Thai  should  deracinate' such  savagery: 
The  even  mead,  that  erst  brought  sweetly  forth 
The  fretrkled  cowslip,  burnet.  and  ^reen  clover. 
Wanting  the  scythe,  all  unoorrected,  rank, 
CoiK'i'ivcs  by  idleness;  and  nothing  teeius. 
But  halcful'docks,  rough  thistles,  kecksies,  burs. 
Losing  both  beauty  and  utility. 
And  as  our  vineyards,  fallows,  meads,  and  hedges, 
Defective  in  their  natures,  grow  to  wildncss; 
Even  so  our  liouses,  and  ourselves,  and  children, 
Have  lost,  or  do  not  learn,  for  want  of  time, 
*  The  sciences  that  should  become  our  country; 
But  grow,  like  savages, — as  soldiers  will, 
That  nothing  do  but  meditate  on  blood, — 
To  swearing,  and  stern  looks,  difuis'd"  attire. 
And  every  thing  that  seems  unnatural: 
Which  to  reduce  into  our  former  favor,' 


-Tov  jilt.  3 Hospital. 

'  Force  up  hy  the  roots. 
'  Appearance. 


'  l?.rrricr. 
•^Extravagant. 


You  are  assembled:  and  my  speech  entreats, 
That  I  may  know  the  let,'  why  gentle  peace 
Should  not  expel  these  inconveniences, 
And  bless  us  with  her  former  qualities. 
A'.  Hen.  If,  duke  of  Burgundy,  you  would  the 
peace, 
Whose  want  gives  growth  to  the  imperfections 
Which  you  have  cited,  you  must  buy  that  peace 
With  full  accord  to  all  our  just  demands; 
Wliose  tenors  and  particular  etiects 
You  have,  enschedul'd  briellv,  in  your  hands. 
Bur.  The  king  hath  heard  them;  to  the  which, 
as  yet. 
There  is  no  answer  made. 

K.  Hen.  Well  then,  the  peace. 

Which  you  before  so  urged,  lies  in  his  answer 

Fr.  King.  I  have  hut  with  a  cursorary  eye 
O'er-glanced  the  articles:  pleaseth  your  grace 
To  appoint  some  of  your  council  presently 
To  sit  with  us  once  more,  with  better  heed 
To  re-survey  them,  we  will,  suddenly. 
Pass  our  accept,  and  peremptory  answer. 

K.  Hen.  Brother,  wo  shall.— Go,  uncle  Exeter,— 
And  brother  Clarence,— and  you,  brother  Gloster, — 
Warwick,— and  Huntingdon,— go  with  the  king: 
And  take  with  you  free  power  to  ratify, 
Augment,  or  alter,  as  your  wisdoms  best 
Shall  see  advantageabie  for  our  dignity. 
Any  thing  in,  or  out  of,  our  demands; 
.\nd  we'll  consign  thereto.— Will  you,  fair  sister, 
Go  with  the  princes,  or  stay  here  with  us! 

Q.  ha.  Ourgr.acious  brother,  I  will  go  with  them; 
Haply,  a  woman's  voice  may  do  some  good. 
When  articles,  too  nicely  urged,  be  stood  on. 
K.  Hen.   Yet  leave  our  cousin  Katharine  here 
with  us; 
She  is  our  capital  demand,  comprised 
Within  the  lore-rank  of  our  articles. 
Q.  ha.  She  hath  good  leave. 

[E.ieunt  all  hut  Heney,  Katuakine, 
and  tier  Gentlewoman. 
A*.  Hen.  Fair  Katharine,  and  most  fair! 

Will  you  vouchsafe  to  teach  a  soldier  terms. 
Such  as  will  enter  at  a  lady's  ear. 
And  plead  his  love-suit  to  her  gentle  heart? 

Katlt.  Your  majesty  shall  mock  at  me;  I  cannot 
speak  your  England. 

K.  Hen.  0  fair  Katharine,  if  you  will  love  me 
soundly  with  your  French  heart,  I  will  be  glad  to 
hear  you  confess  it  brokenly  with  your  English 
tongue.  Do  you  like  me.  Kate? 
Kath.Pa>vtonHc:mo;/.IcannotteIIvatis— likeme. 
A'.  Hen.  An  angel  is  like  you,  Kate;  and  you  are 
like  an  angel. 

Kath.    Que  dll-il?  que  je  suis  semblablc  a  les 
ange«:' 

Alice.  Ouij,  vrayment,  (sanf  vusti-e  grace,)  ainsi 
dit-il. 

K.  Hen.  I  said  so,  dear  Katharine;  and  I  must 
not  blush  to  allirm  it. 

Kath.  0  bon  Dieu/  les  tongues  des  hommes  sont 
pleines  des  trumperies. 

K.  Hen.   What    says    she,  fair    one!    that  the 
tongues  of  men  are  full  of  deceits! 

Alice.  Ouii;  dat  de  tongues  of  de  mans  is  be  full 
of  deceits:  dat  is  de  princess. 

K.  Hen.  The  princess  is  the  better  Euglish- 
woinan.  I'faith,  Kate,  my  wooing  is  lit  for  thy 
uiiik'islandiiig:  1  am  glail,  thou  canst  speak  no 
heller  KiiL'lish;  lor,  if  tiioii  conldst,  thou  vvouldst 
find  me  such  a  plain  king,  that  thonwouldst  think, 
I  had  sold  my  farm  to  buy  my  crovv^n.  I  know  no 
ways  to  mince  it  in  love,  but  directly  to  say — I  love 
you:  then,  if  you  urge  me  further  than  to  say — Do 
yon,  in  faith!!  wear  out  my  suit.  Give  me  your 
answer;  i'failh,  do;  and  so  clap  hands  and  a  bai- 
gatn;  How  say  yon,  lady  ! 
Kalli.  Satifvhstre  iMiineur.me  understand  well. 
K.  Hen.  Marry,  if  you  would  jnit  me  to  verses, 
or  to  dance  for  your  sake,  Kate,  why  you  undid  me: 
for  the  one,  I  have  neither  words  nor  measure;  and 
for  the  other,  I  liave  no  strengtii  in  measure,"  yet  a 
reasonable  measure  in  strength.  If  I  could  win  a 
lady  at  leap-frog,  or  by  vaulting  into  my  saddle  with 
my  armor  on  my  back,  uiuier  the  correction  of 
bragging  be  it  spoken.  I  should  quickly  leap  for  a 
wife.  Or,  if  I  might  bnlli'l  llir  my  love,  or  bound 
my  horse  for  her  favors,  I  could  lay  on  like  a 
•^Ilintlerance.  "In  ilancing. 


Scene  II. 


KING  HENRY  V. 


385 


butcher,  and  sit  like  a  jack-an-apes,  never  otf:  but, 
before  God,  I  cannot  look  greenly,'  nor  gasp  out 
my  eloquence,  nor  I  have  no  cunning  in  ijrotcsta- 
tioii;  only  downright  oaths,  which  I  never  use  till 
urged,  nor  never  break  for  urging.  If  thou  canst 
love  a  fellow  of  tJiis  temper.  Kate,  whose  face  is  not 
worth  sun-burJiing,  that  never  looks  in  his  glass  tor 
love  of  any  thing  he  sees  there, let  thine  eye  be  thy 
cook.  I  speak  to  Ihe  plain  soldier:  If  thou  canst 
love  me  for  this,  take  me:  if  not,  to  say  to  thee — 
that  I  shall  die,  is  true;  but— for  thy  love.  Iiy  the 
Lord,  no;  yet  I  love  thee  too.  And  while  thou 
livest,  dear  Kate,  take  a  fellow  of  plain  and  uncoin- 
ed^  constanc}';  lor  he  pcrJbrce  must  do  thee  right, 
because  he  hath  not  the  gift  to  woo  in  other  places: 
for  these  fellows  of  infinite  tongue,  that  can  rhyme 
themselves  into  ladies'  favors — Ihey  do  always  rea- 
son themselves  out  again.  What !  a  speaker  is  but 
a  prater;  a  rhyme  is  but  a  ballad.  A  good  leg  will 
lall;^  a  straight  back  will  stoop;  a  black  beard  will 
turn  white;  acurled  pate  will  grow  bald;  a  lair  liice 
will  wither;  a  full  eye  will  wax  hollow:  but  a  good 
heart,  Kate,  is  the  si4n  and  moon;  or  rather  the 
sun,  and  not  the  moon;  for  it  shines  bright,  and 
never  changes,  but  keeps  his  course  truly.  If  thou 
would  have  such  a  one,  take  me:  And  take  me, 
take  a  soldier;  take  a  soldier,  take  a  king:  And 
what  sayest  thou  then  to  my  love?  speak,  my  liiir, 
and  fairly,  I  pray  thee. 

Katfi.  Is  it  possible  dat  I  should  love  dc  enemy 
of  France  1 

K.  Hen.  No;  it  is  not  possible,  you  should  love 
the  enemy  of  France.  Kate;  but  in  loving  lue,  you 
should  love  the  friend- of  France;  for  I  love  Fiance 
so  well,  that  1  will  not  part  with  a  village  of  it ;  1 
will  have  it  all  mine:  and,  Kate,  when  France  is 
mine,  and  I  am  yours,  then  yours  is  Franco,  and 
you  arc  mine. 

Kath.  1  cannot  tell  vat  is  dat. 

K.  Hen.  No,  Kate?  I  will  tell  thee  in  French; 
which,  I  am  sure,  will  hang  upon  my  tongue  like  a 
new-rnarrled  wile  about  her  husband's  neck,  hardly 
to  be  shook  oil'.  Qnand  fay  la  pn^xesxwn  ile  France, 
et  qiiumi  raux  are:  la  pimiesswn  ile  intii.  (lot  me  see, 
what  then!  Saint  Denis  be  my  speed !i—f/«;(c 
vostre  est  France,  et  iwis  es/es  mienne.  It  is  as  easy 
Ibr  me,  Kate,  to  conquer  the  kingdom,  as  to  speak 
so  much  more  French:  I  shall  never  move  thee  in 
French,  unless  it  be  to  laugh  at  me. 

Kath.  Sauf  vuslre  lumneiir.  le  Francais  que  rous 
parlez,  est  ineUletir  que  PAngtoLs  Icqueljc  jmrle. 

K.  Hen.  No,  faith,  is't  not,  Kate:  but  thy  s)>eak- 
ing  of  iny  tongue,  and  I  thine,  most  truly  lalsely, 
must  needs  be  granted  to  be  much  at  one.  But, 
Kate,  dost  thou  understand  tlius  much  English f 
Canst  tjiou  love  me  ? 

Kath.  [  cannot  tell, 

K.  Hen.  Can  any  of  your  neighbors  tell,  Kate? 
I'll  ask  them.  Come,  I  know  thou  lovest  me:  and 
at  night  when  you  come  into  your  closet,  you'll 
question  this  gentlewoman  about  me;  and  I  know, 
Kate,  you  will,  to  her,  dispraise  those  parts  in  me, 
that  you  love  with  your  heart:  but,  good  Kate, 
mock  me  mercifully;  the  rather,  gentle  princess, 
because  I  love  thee  cruelly.  If  ever  thou  be'st  mine, 
Kate,  (as  I  have  a  saving  iiiith  williin  me,  tells  me, 
—thou  Shalt.)  I  get  thee  witli  scambling.  and  thou 
must  therelbre  needs  prove  a  good  soldier-breeder: 
Shall  not  thou  and  I,  between  Saint  Denis  and 
Saint  George,  compound  a  boy,  half  F'rcnch,  halt 
KiiL'Iish.  that  shall  go  to  Constantinople,  and  take 
the  I'urk  liy  tlie  beard?  shall  we  not?  what  sayest 
thou.  !iower-de-iuce? 

Kath.  I  do  not  know  dat. 

K.  Hen.  No;  'tis  hereafter  to  know,  but  now  to 
promise:  do  but  now  promise,  Kate,  you  will  en- 
deavor for  your  French  part  of  such  a  boy;  and,  Ibr 
my  English  moiety,  take  the  word  of  a  king,  and 
a  bachelor.  How  answer  you,  la  plus  belle  Catti- 
arine  ilu  monite.  man  tris  chere  et  divine  diesse'/ 

Katti.  Your  mujesti  ^wjausse  French  enough  to 
deceive  de  most  sage  demululle  dat  is  en  France. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  fye  upon  my  false  French!  Hy 
mine  honor,  in  true  English,  I  love  thee,  Kate:  by 
which  honor  I  dare  not  swear,  thou  lovest  me; 
yet  my  blood  begins  la  Hatter  me  that  thou  dost, 

•  '>  e.  Like  a  young  lover,  awkwardly. 
^  He  meana,  resemtiting  a  plain  piece  of  metal,  which 
has  not  yet  received  any  impression.         ^pall  away. 
25 


notwithstanding  the  poor  and  untenipering  clfect 
of  my  visage.  Now  bcshrew  my  father's  ambition! 
he  was  thinking  of  civil  wars  when  he  got  me ;  there- 
fore was  1  created  with  a  stubborn  outside,  witli  an 
aspect  of  iron,  that,  when  I  come  to  woo  ladies,  I 
fright  them.  But.'in  faith,  Kate,  the  older  I  wax,  the 
better  I  shall  appear:  my  comlbvt  is.  the  old  age, 
that  ill-layer  up  of  beauty,  can  do  no  more  spoil 
upon  my  face:  thou  bast  me,  if  thou  bast  me,  at 
tlie  worst;  and  thou  shalt  wear  me,  if  thou  wear 
me,  better  and  better;  and  therefore  tell  me,  most 
fair  Katharine,  will  you  have  me?  Put  off  your 
maiden  blushes;  avouch  the  thoughts  of  your  heart 
with  the  looks  of  an  empress:  take  me  by  the  hand, 
and  say— Harry  of  England,  I  am  thine:  which 
words  thou  shalt  no  sooner  bless  mine  ear  withal, 
but  I  will  tell  thee  aloud— England  is  thine,  Ire- 
land is  thine,  France  is  thine,  and  Henry  I'lanla- 
genet  is  thine;  who.  though  I  speak  it  belbre  his 
fiice,  if  he  be  not  fellow  with  the  best  king,  thou 
.shalt  find  the  best  king  of  good  fellows.  Come, 
your  answer  in  broken  music;  for  thy  voice  is 
music,  and  lliy  English  broken:  therelbre,  queen 
of  all,  Katharine,  break  thy  mind  to  me  in  broken 
English,  Wilt  thou  have  me? 

Kath.  Dat  is,  as  it  shall  please  de  ray  man  pere. 

K.  Hen.  Nay,  it  will  please  him  well,  Kate;  it 
shall  please  ium,  Kate. 

Kalh.  Den  it  shall  also  content  me. 

A'.  Hen.  Upon  that  I  will  kiss  your  hand,  and  I 
call  you — my  queen. 

Kath.  Laisse:,  nwn  seigneur,  laisscz,  laissez; 
majhy.je  ne  veux  point  que  vans  abbaisscz  viistre 
grandeur,  en  baisant  la  main  d^une  vaslre  indigne 
serviieur;  excuscz  may,  jt  vans  supplie,  inun  Iris 
puissant  seigneur, 

K.  Hen.  Then  I  will  kiss  your  lips.  Kate. 

Kath.  Lcs  dames,  el  dtmnisellis. pi lu rest rr  hnislcs 
devant  tear  jwpces,  it  «'  est  pas  la  coHume  de 
France. 

K.  Hen.  Madam  my  interpreter,  what  says 
she? 

Alice.  Dat  it  is  not  be  de  fashion  p(nir  les  ladies 
of  France,- Icannot  toll  what  is  baiser,  en  F-n^lish. 

K.  Hen.  To  kiss. 

Alice.  Your  majesty  entendre  better  que  mot/. 

K.  Hen.  It  is  not  the  fashion  for  the  maid's  in 
France  to  kiss  before  they  arc  married,  would  she 
say? 

Alice.  Ouy,  vrayment. 

K.  Hen.  O,  Kate,  nice  customs,  curt'sy  to  great 
kings.  Dear  Kate,  you  and  I  cannot  be  confined 
within  tlie  weak  list*  of  a  country's  faslriou;  we  are 
the  makers  of  manners,  Kate;  and  the  iilierty  that 
follows  our  places,  stops  the  mouths  of  all  find- 
faults;  as  1  will  do  yours,  for  upholding  the  nice 
fashion  of  your  country,  in  denying  me  a  kiss: 
therefore,  patiently,  and  yielding.  [Kissing  tier.] 
You  have  witchcraft  in  your  lips,  Kate;  tlierc  is 
more  eloquence  in  a  sugar  touch  of  them,  than  in 
the  tongue  of  a  French  council;  and  they  should 
sooner  persuade  Harry  of  England,  tlian  a  general 
jietition  ol'  nionarchs.    Here  comes  your  lather. 

Enter  the  French  Kixr.  and  QfEE.v,  BrRGU.NDY, 
liKiiFoim,  Gi.osTEit.  ExETKii.  Westmoreland, (Jjiii 
other  French  and  English  Lords. 

Bur.  God  save  your  majesty!  my  royal  cousin, 
teach  you  our  princess  English! 

A'.  Hen.  1  would  have  her  learn,  my  fair  cousin, 
how  perlectly  1  love  her;  and  that  is  good  English, 

Bur.  Is  she  not  apt? 

K.  Hen.  Our  tongue'is  rough,  coz;  and  my  con- 
dition f*  is  not  snioolh:  so  that,  having  neither  Ihe 
voice  nor  the  heart  of  flattery  about  me,  1  cannot 
s(t  conjure  up  the  spirit  of  love  in  her,  that  he  will 
appear  in  his  true  likeness. 

Bur.  Pardon  the  frankness  of  my  mirth,  if  I  an- 
swer you  lor  that.  If  you  would  conjure  in  b.er, 
you  must  make  a  circle:  if  conjure  up  love  in  her,  , 
m  his  true  likeness,  he  must  appear  naked,  and 
blind:  Can  you  blame  her  then,  being  a  maid  yet 
rosed  over  vvith  the  virgin  crimson  of  modesty,  it 
she  deny  the  appearance  of  a  naked  blind  boy  in 
her  naked  seeing  self?  It  were,  my  lord,  a  hard 
condition  for  a  maid  to  consign  to. 

A'.  Hen.  Yet  they  do  wink,  and  yield;  as  love  ia 
blind,  and  enlbrces. 

*  Slight  barrier.  ^Temper. 


386 


KING  HENRY  V. 


Act  V. 


Bur.  They  are  then  excused,  my  lord,  when  they 
Bee  not  what  tlicy  do. 

K.  Hen.  Then,  good  my  lord,  teach  your  cousin 
to  consent  to  winkins- 

Bur.  I  will  wink  on  her  to  consent,  my  lord,  if 
you  will  teach  her  to  know  my  meaning:  for  maids, 
well  summered  and  warm  kept,  are  like  flies  at 
Bartholomew-tide,  blind,  though  they  have  their 
eyes;  and  then  they  will  endure  handling,  which 
before  would  not  abide  looking  on. 

K.  Hen.  This  moral"  ties  me  over  to  time,  and 
a  hot  summer;  and  so  I  will  catch  the  fly,  your 
cousin,  in  the  latter  end,  and  she  must  be  blind  too. 

Bur.  As  love  is,  my  lord,  before  it  loves. 

K.  Hen.  It  is  so:  and  you  may,  some  of  you, 
thank  love  for  my  blindness;  who  cannot  see  many 
a  fair  French  city,  lor  one  fair  p'rench  maid  that 
stands  in  my  way. 

Fr.  KLnf;.  Yes,  my  lord,  you  see  them  perspec- 
tivcly,  the  cities  turned  into  a  maid;  for  they  are 
all  girdled  with  maiden  walls,  that  war  hath  never 
entered. 

K.  Hen.  Shall  Kate  be  my  wife! 

Fr.  King.  So  please  you. 

K.  Hen.  I  am  content;  so  the  maiden  cities  you 
talk  of,  may  wait  on  her:  so  the  maid,  that  stood 
in  the  way  of  my  wish,  shall  show  me  the  way  to 
my  will. 

Fi:  King.  We  have  consented  to  all  terms  of 
reason. 

K.  Hen.  Is't  so,  my  lords  of  England  1 

West.  The  king  hath  granted  every  article: 
His  daughter,  first;  and  then,  in  sequel,  all, 
According  to  their  firm  proposed  natures. 

Exe.  Only,  he  hath  not  yet  subscribed  this:— 
Where  your  majesty  demands, — That  the  king  of 
France  having  any  occasion  to  write  for  matter  of 
grant,  shall  name  your  highness  in  this  form,  and 
with  this  addition,  in  French.— AVre  /res  cherfilz 
Henri/,  roij  iPAngleterre  heri/icr  de  France;  and 
thus  in  L^tin.—Prwclari'isimusfilius  noster  Hen- 
ricus,  rex  Anglise,  cV  hxres  Francis. 

Fr.  King.  Nor  this  I  have  not,  brother,  so  denied, 
But  your  request  shall  make  me  let  it  pass. 

A'.'  Hen.  I  pray  you,  then,  in  love  and  dear  alli- 
ance. 
Let  that  one  article  rank  with  the  rest: 
And,  thereupon,  give  me  your  daugllter. 

Fr.  King.  Take  her,  fai  r  son ;  and  from  her  blood 
raise  up 

<  Application. 


Issue  to  me:  that  the  contending  kingdoms 

Of  France  and  England,  whose  very  shores  look 

pale 
With  envy  of  each  other's  happiness. 
May  cease  their  hatred;  and  Ihis  dear  conjunction 
Plant  neighborhood  and  Christian-like  accord 
In  their  sweet  bosoms,  that  never  war  advance 
His  bleeding  sword  'twixt  England  and  fair  France. 

All.  Ameii! 

K.  Hen.  Now  welcome,  Kate:— and  bear  me  wit- 
ness all. 
That  here  I  kiss  her  as  my  sovereign  queen. 

[Flourish. 

Q.  Isa.  God,  the  best  maker  of  all  marriages. 
Combine  your  hearts  in  one,  your  realms  in  one! 
As  man  and  wife,  being  two,  arc  one  in  love. 
So  be  there  'twixt  your  kingdoms  such  a  spousal, 
That  never  may  ill  office,  or  fell  jealousy. 
Which  troubles  oft  the  bed  of  blessed  mamage. 
Thrust  in  between  the  paction  of  these  kingdoms, 
To  make  divorce  of  their  incorporate  league; 
That  English  may  as  French,  French  Englishmen, 
Receive  each  other!— God  speak  this  .\raen! 

All   Anipn ! 

K.  Hen.  Prepare  we  for  our  marriage :— on  which 
day. 
My  lord  of  Burgundy,  we'll  take  your  oath. 
And  all  the  peers',  for  surety  of  our  leagues.— 
Then  shall  I  swear  to  Kate,  and  you  to  me! 
And  may  our  oaths  well  kept  and  prosp'rous  be! 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Chorcs. 

Thus  far,  with  rough,  and  all  unable  pen. 

Our  bending'  author  halh  pursu'd  the  story; 
In  little  room  confining  mighty  men. 

Mangling  by  starts  the  full  course  of  their  glory. 
Small  time,  but,  in  that  small,  most  greatly  liv'd 

This  star  of  England:  fortune  made  his  sword; 
By  which  the  world's  best  garden"  he  achiev'd. 

And  of  it  left  his  son  imperial  lord. 
Henry  the  sixth,  in  infant  hands  crown'd  king 

Of  France  and  England,  did  this  crown  succeed; 
Whose  state  so  many  had  the  managing. 

That  they  lost  France,  and  made  liis  England 
bleed : 
Which  oft  our  stage  hath  shown;  and  for  their 

sake. 
In  your  fair  minds  let  this  acceptance  take.     [Exit. 

'i.e.  Unequal  to  the  weight  of  the  subject.    »  Franco 


FIRST  PART  OF 


KING  HENEY  VI. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


Kino  Henry  the  Sixth. 

Duke  of  Gi.oster,  Uncle  to  the  King,  and  Pro- 
tector. 

Duke  of  Bedford,  Uncle  to  the  King,  and  Regent 
of  France. 

Thomas  liEAUFOKT,  Duke  of  Exeter,  great  Uncle  to 
the  King. 

Henry  Bkaufort.  great  Uncle  to  tlie  King,  Bi- 
s/iiip  of  Wincliester,  and  afterwards  Car- 
dinal. 

John  Bkalfort,  Earl  of  Somerset:  afterwards 
Duke. 

Richard  Plantagenet,  eldest  Son  of  Ricliard,  late 
Earl  of  Cambridge;  afterwards  Duke  of 
York. 

Earl  of  Warwick. 

Earl  ok  Salisbury. 

Earl  of  Suffolk. 

Lord  Talbot,  afterwards  Earl  if  Shrewsbury. 

John  Talbot,  liis  Son. 

Edward  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March. 

Mortimer's  Keeper,  and  a  Lawyer. 

Sm  John  Kastolfe. 

Sir  William  Lucy. 


Sm  William  Glandsdale. 

Sir  Thomas  GARfiRAVE. 

Mayor  rf  London. 

WooDviLLK,  Lieutena7it  of  tfie  Tower. 

Vkbson,  if  the  IVhite  Iio.se.  or  York  Faction. 

Hasset.  ff  the  Red  Rose,  or  Lancaster  Faction. 

Charles,  Dauphin,  and  afterwards  King  of  France. 

Reigmer.  Duke  of  Anjou,  and  tUular  King  (if 

Naples. 
Duke  of  Burgundy. 
Duke  of  .\lexuon. 
G(wernor  of  Paris. 
Bastard  oj  Orleans. 

Master-Gunner  of  Orleans,  and  his  Son. 
General  of  the  Frencli  Forces  in  Bourdcaux. 
A  Freneli  Sergeant. 
A  Pf/rter. 

Margaret,  Daughter  to  Reignier;  afterwards  mar- 
ried to  King  Henry. 
Countess  of  Auvergxe. 

Joan  la  Pucelle,  conitnonty  called  Joan  of  Arc. 
Jjirds,  IVurders  of  the   Tourer,  Heralds.  Officers, 

Siddiers,   Messengers,    ami  several  Attendants 

both  on  the  Englisii  and  French. 


SCENE,  partly  in  England,  and  partly  in  Frandfe. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Westminster  Abbey. 

Dead  March.  Corpse  of  King  Henry  the  Fifth 
discovered,  lying  in  state,-  attended  on  by  I  he 
Dukes  of  Bedford,  Gloster,  and  Exeter;  the 
Eari,  of  Warwick,  the  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
Heralds,  <^c. 

Bed.  Hung  lie  the  heavens  with  black,  yield  day 
to  night! 
Comets,  importing  change  of  times  and  states. 
Brandish  your  crystal  tresses  in  the  sky; 
And  with  them  scourge  the  bad  revolting  stars, 
Tliat  have  consented  unto  Henry's  death! 
Henry  the  Filth,  too  famous  to  live  long! 
England  ne'er  lost  a  king  of  so  much  W'orth. 

Gin.  England  ne'er  bad  a  king  until  his  time. 
Virtue  he  had.  deserving  to  command : 
His  brandish'd  sword  did  blind  men  with  his  beams; 
His  arms  spread  wider  than  a  dragon's  wings; 
His  spaikling  eyes,  replete  with  wrathful  tire. 
More  (l;r/zled  and  drove  l)ack  his  enemies, 
Than  inid-day  sun.  tierce  bent  against  their  faces. 
What  should  I  say  ]  his  deeds  exceed  all  speech,  . 
He  ne'er  lift  up  his  hand,  but  conquered. 

Exe.  We  mourn  in  black;  Why  mourn  we  not 
in  blood  T 
Henry  is  dead,  and  never  shall  revive 
3S7 


Upon  a  wooden  cotfm  we  attend; 
And  death's  dishonorable  victory 
We  will  our  stately  presence  glorify. 
Like  captives  bound  to  a  triumphant  car. 
What?  shall  we  curse  the  planets  of  mishap. 
That  plotted  thus  our  glory's  overthrow  ! 
Or  shall  we  think  the  subtle-witted  French 
Conjurers  and  sorcerers,  that,  afraid  of  him. 
By  magic  verses'  have  contrived  his  end] 

Win.   He   was  a  king   blcss'd  of  the    King  of 
kings. 
Unto  the  French  the  dreadful  judgment-day 
So  dreadful  will  lud  be,  as  was  his  sight. 
The  battles  of  the  Lord  of  hosts  he  fought: 
The  church's  prayers  made  him  so  prosperous. 

Glo.  The  church!  where  is  it?  Had  not  church- 
men pray'd. 
His  thread  of  life  had  not  so  soon  decay'd : 
None  do  you  like  but  an  erteminate  prince. 
Whom,  like  a  school-hoy,  you  may  over-awe. 

jnu.  Gloster,  what'er  we   like,   thou   art   pro- 
tector ; 
And  lookest  to  command  the  prince,  and  realm. 
The  wile  is  ])roud;  she  holdelh  thee  in  awe. 
More  than  God,  or  religious  churchmen  may. 

'  There  was  a  notion  Ions?  prevalent,  that  life  might 
be  taken  away  Ly  metrical  ch.'irms 


383 


FIKST  PART  OF 


Act  1. 


Glo.  Name  not  religion,  for  thou  lov^st  the  Hcsh. 
And  ncVr  throughout  the  year  to  church  thou  go''st;. 
Kxcept  it  be  to  pray  af^ainst  thy  Iocs. 

Be:i.  Cease,  cease  these  jars,  and  rest  yourminds 
iu  peace!, 
Let's  to  the  altar:— Heralds,  wait  on  us:— 
Instead  ot  gold,  we"*]!  oiler  up  our  arms ; 
Since  arms  avail  not,  now  that  Henry's  dead. — 
Posterity,  await  lor  wretched  years, 
Wtiea  at  their  mothers'  moisteyes  babes  shall  suck; 
Our  isle  be  made  a  nourish^  of  salt  tears, 
And  none  but  women  left  to  wail  the  dead. — 
Henry  the  Fifth!  thy  ^host  I  invocate; 
Prosper  this  realm,  keep  it  from  civil  broils! 
Combat  with  adxerse  planets  in  the  heavens! 
A  far  more  glorious  star  thy  soul  will  make, 
Tluui  Julius  Caisar,  or  bright. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

MeRS.  My  honorable  lords,  health  to  you  all! 
Sad  tidings  bring  I  to  you  out  of  France, 
Oi  loss,  of  slaughter,  and  discomfiture: 
Guienne,  Champaigne.  Rheims,  Orleans, 
Pans,  Ouysors,  Poictiers,  are  all  quite  lost. 

Bed.  What  say'st  thou,  man,  before  dead  Henry's 
corse } 
Speak  softly;  or  the  loss  of  those  great  towns 
Will  make  him  burst  his  lead,  and  rise  from  death. 

Glo.  Is  Paris  lost!  is  RoUen  yielded  upl 
If  Henry  were  recalled  to  lile  again, 
These  news  would  cause  him  once  more  yield  the 
ghost. 

Exe.  How  were  they  lost]  what  treachery  was 
us'd] 

Mess,  No  treachery;  but  want  of  men  and  money. 
Aniung  the  soldiers  this  is  muttered, — 
That  here  you  maintain  several  factions; 
And,  whilst  a  field  should  be  despatcli'd  and  fought, 
You  are  disputing  of  your  generals. 
One  would  have  lingering  wars  with  little  cost; 
Another  would  liy  swilt.  but  wanteth  wings; 
A  third  man  thinks,  without  expense  at  all. 
By  guileful  tair  words  peace  may  be  obtained. 
Awake,  awake,  English  nobility! 
Let  not  sloth  dim  your  honors,  new-hegot: 
Cropped  are  the  ilower-de-luces  in  your  arms; 
Of  England's  coat  one  half  is  cut  away. 

Exe.  Were  our  tears  wanting  to  this  funeral. 
These  tidings  would  call  tbi^h  her  tlowing  dides, 

lied.  Me  they  concern;  regent  I  am  of  France: — 
Give  me  my  steeled  coat,  I'll  fight  for  France. — 
Away  with  these  disgraceful  wailing  robes! 
Wounds  I  will  lend  tlie  P'rench,  instead  of  eyes, 
To  weep  their  intermissive  miseries.^ 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

G  Mess.  Lords,  view   these  letters,  full  of  bad 
mischance, 
France  is  revolted  from  the  English  quite; 
Exi'i'pt  Slime  petty  towns  of  no  inipr)rt : 
Tbr  dauphin  Charles  is  crowned  king  in  Rheims; 
The  bastard  of  Orleans  with  him  is  joiii'd; 
Keignier,  duke  of  Anjou,  doth  take  Ins  part; 
The  duke  of  Alen^on  (lieth  to  his  side. 

Exe.  The  dauphin  crowned  king!  all  fly  to  him! 
0.  whither  shall  we  fly  from  this  reproach  1 

Glo.  We  will  not  Ily,  but  to  our  enemies'  throats: 
Bedford,  if  thou  be  slack,  I'll  fight  it  out. 

Bed,  Gloster,  why  doubt'st  thou  of  my  forward- 
ness 1 
Ati  army  have  I  muster'd  in  my  thoughts, 
Wherewith  already  France  is  over-run. 

Enter  a  f/iird  Messenger. 

'3  Mess,  My  gracious  lords,— to  add  to  your  la- 
ments, 
Wiiorewith  you  now  betlew  king  Henry's  liearse, — 
I  must  inlbrm  you  uf  a  dismal  light, 
lietwixt  the  stout  lord  Talbot  and  the  French. 

tVhi,  What!  wherein  Talbot  over(;ome  ]  is't  so? 

;j  Mess.  O,   no;  wherein  lord   Talbot  was  o'er- 
thrown; 
The  circumstance  I'll  tell  you  more  at  large. 
Tiie  tenth  of  August  last,  this  dreadful  lord. 
Retiring  from  the  siege  of  Orleans, 
Having  full  scarce  six  thousand  m  his  troop, 

^Nur3C  was  anciently  so  spelt. 

3/.  c.  Their  miseries  which  have  had  only  a  short 
Intermission. 


By  three-and-twenty  thousand  of  the  French 

VVas  round  encompassed  and  set  upon; 

No  leisure  hnd  he  to  enrank  his  men; 

He  wanted  pikes  to  set  beli>re  his  archers; 

Instead  w  he  rcol,sl)ari)slakes,i)luck'd  out  of  hedges, 

They  pitclied  in  ttu'  ground  confusedly. 

To  keep  the  horsemen  oil"  from  breaking  in. 

More  than  three  hours  the  light  continued; 

Where  valiant  Talbot,  above  human  thought. 

Enacted  wonders  with  his  sword  and  lance. 

Hundreds  he  sent  to  hell,  and  none  durst  stand  him, 

Here,  there,  and  every  where,  enraged  he  slew : 

The  French  exclaini'd  the  devil  was  in  arms; 

All  the  whole  army  stood  agaz'd  on  him: 

His  soldiers,  spying  his  inidaunted  spirit, 

A  Talbot!  a  Talbot!  cried  out  amain, 

And  rush'd  into  the  bowels  of  the  battle. 

Here  had  the  conquest  fully  been  sealed  up. 

If  sir  John  Fastolfe  had  not  ])la>M  lli*^  coward; 

He  being  in  the  vaward  (placed  belnnd 

With  purpose  to  relieve  and  follow  them,) 

Cowardly  tied,  not  having  struck  one  stroke. 

Hence  grew  the  general  wreck  and  massacre; 

Enclosed  were  they  with  their  enemies: 

A  base  Walloon,  to  win  the  dauphin's  grace, 

Thrust  Talbot  with  a  spear  into  the  back; 

Whom   all    France,  with    their    chief  assembled 

strength. 
Durst  not  presume  to  look  once  in  the  face. 

Bed.  Is  Talbot  slain  T  then  I  will  slay  myself, 
For  living  idly  here,  in  pomp  and  ease, 
Whilst  such  a  worthy  leader,  wanting  aid, 
Unto  his  dastard  foe-man  is  hetray'd. 

;J  Mess.  0  no,  he  lives;  but  is  took  prisoner, 
And  lord  Scales  witb  him.  and  Inrd  llimgerford; 
Most  of  the  rest  sbiugbterM,  or  Inuk  likewise. 

Bed.  His  ransimi  there  is  none  but  1  shall  pay: 
I'll  hale  the  dauphin  headlong  from  his  throne, 
His  crown  shall  be  the  ransom  of  my  friend; 
Four  of  their  lords  I'll  change  for  one  of  ours. — 
Farewell,  my  masters;  to  my  task  will  I; 
liontires  in  France  forthwith  I  am  to  make, 
To  keep  our  great  saint  George's  feast  withal: 
Ten  thousand  soldiers  with  me  I  will  take. 
Whose  bloody  deeds  shall  make  all  Europe  quake, 

3  Mess.  So  you  had  need;  for  Orleans  is  besieg'd; 
The  English  army  is  grown  weak  and  faint: 
The  earl  of  Salistjury  craveth  supply, 
And  hardly  keeps  his  men  from  mutiny. 
Since  they,  so  lew,  watch  such  a  multitude. 

Exe.    Remember,  lords,  your  oatlis    to    Harry 
sworn ; 
Either  to  quell  the  dauphin  utterly. 
Or  bring  him  in  obedience  to  your  yoke. 

Bed.  I  do  remember  it;  and  here  take  leave. 
To  go  about  my  preparation.  [Exit, 

Glo.  I'll  to  the  Tower,  with  all  the  haste  I  can, 
To  view  the  artillery  and  munition  ; 
And  then  I  will  proclaim  young  Henry  king. 

[Exit. 

Exe.  To  Eltham  will  I,  where  the  young  king  is, 
Being  ordain'd  his  special  governor; 
And  for  his  safety  there  I'll  best  devise.  [Exit. 

iVin.  Each  hath  his  place  and  function  to  attend: 
I  am  left  out;  for  me  nothing  reniains. 
But  long  I  will  not  be  Jack-out-of-ollice; 
Tiie  king  from  Eltham  I  intend  to  send, 
And  sit  at  chielest  stern  of  public  weal.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— France.    B^/we  Orleans. 

Enter  Charles,  with  'his  Furces;  Alen(;on,  Reig- 
NiEU,  and  others. 

Char.  Mars  his  true  moving,  even  as  in  the  hea- 
vens, 
So  in  the  earth,  to  this  day  is  not  known: 
Late  did  he  shine  upon  the  English  side; 
Now  we  are  victors,  upon  us  he  smiles. 
What  towns  of  any  moment,  but  we  have? 
At  iileasure  here  we  lie.  near  Orleans: 
( )lher  whiles,  the  famish 'd  English,  like  pale  ghosts, 
Faintly  beseige  us  one  hour  in  a  month. 

Alen.   They  want  their  porridge,  and  their  fat 
bull-beeves: 
Either  they  must  be  dieted  like  mules, 
And  have  tlieir  prt>vender  tied  to  their  months, 
Or  piteous  they  will  look,  like  drowned  mice. 

Reig.  Let's  raise  theseige:  Why  live  we  idly  herd 
Talbot  is  taken  whom  we  wont  to  tear; 
Rcmaineth  none  but  inad-brain'd  Salisbury; 


Scene  III. 


KING   HENRY  VL 


389 


And  he  may  well  in  frettin{i  spend  his  gall, 
Nor  men,  nor  money,  hatii  Jie  to  make  war. 

Char.  Sound,  sound  alarum;    we  will  rush  on 
them. 
xVow/or  the  honor  of  the  forlorn  French: 
Hiin  I  forgive  my  death,  that  killcth  me, 
Wlien  he  sees  me  go  back  one  foot,  or  fly. 

[Exeunt. 

Alarums;  Excursirms;  afterwards  a  Retreat. 
Re-enter  Charlks,  Alex);on',  Reignier,  and  others. 

Char.  Who  eversaw  the  like?  what  men  have  I  ? — 
Do^^sl  cowards!  dastards! — I  would ncVr have  lied, 
But.  that  they  left  me  'midst  my  enemies. 

Reig^.  Salishury  is  a  desperate  homicide; 
He  tighteth  as  one  weary  of  his  life. 
Tlic  other  lords,  like  lions  wanting  tood, 
Do  rush  upon  us  as  their  hungry  prey.* 

A/en.  Froissard,  a  countryman  of  ours,  records, 
England  ail  Olivers  and  Rowlands  bred, 
During  the  time  Kdward  the  Third  did  reign. 
More  truly  now  may  this  be  verified; 
For  none  but  Samsons,  and  Goliasses, 
It  sendeth  forth  to  skirmish.    One  to  ten! 
Lean  raw-boird  rascals!  who  would  e'er  suppose 
Tiicy  liad  such  courage  and  audacity? 

Char.  Let''s  leave  this  town;  lor  they  are  hair- 
brain'd  slaves. 
And  hunger  will  enforce  ihcm  to  be  more  eager; 
Of  old  I  know  them  ;  rather  with  their  teeth 
The  walls  they'll  tear  down,  then  tbrsake  the  seige. 

Reig.  1  thiiik  by  sonic  odd  gimmals'  or  device. 
Their  arms  are  set,  like  clocks,  still  to  strike  on ; 
Klse  ne'er  could  they  hold  out  so,  as  they  do. 
By  my  consent,  we'll  e'en  let  them  alone. 

Alen.  Be  it  so. 

Enter  the  Bastard  fi/"  Orleans. 

Bast.  Where's  the  prince  dauphin  1  I  have  news 
for  him. 

Char.  Bastard"  of  Orleans,  thrice  welcome  to  us. 

Bast.  Methinks,  your  looks  are  sad,  your  cheer' 
appall'd; 
Hath  the  late  overthrow  wrought  this  ofTence? 
Be  not  dismay'd,  for  succor  is  at  hand: 
A  holy  maid  hither  with  uie  I  bring. 
Which,  by  a  vision  sent  to  her  from  heaven, 
Ordained  is  to  raise  this  tedious  siege, 
And  drive  the  English  forth  the  bounds  of  France. 
The  spirit  of  deep  prophecy  she  halh. 
Exceeding  the  nine  sibyls  of  old  Rome; 
What's  past,  and  whal\s  to  come,  she  can  descry. 
Speak,  shall  I  call  her  in?  Believe  my  words, 
For  they  are  certain  and  unfallible. 

CAar.  Go,  call  her  in:   [£'xi/ Bastard.]  But,  first, 
to  try  her  skill, 
Reignier,  stand  thou  as  dauphin  in  my  place: 
Question  her  proudly,  let  thy  looks  be  stern: — 
By  this  means  shall  we  sound  what  skill  she  hath. 

[Retires. 
Enter  La  Pucelle,  Bastard  n/"  Orleans,  and  others. 

Reig.  Fair  maid,  is't  thou  wilt  do  these  won- 
d'rous  teats? 

Piic.  Reignier,  is't  thou  that  thinkcst  to  beguile 
mc  ? — 
Where  is  the  dauphin  ?— come,  come  from  behind; 
I  know  thee  well,  though  never  seen  before. 
Be  not  amaz'd,  there'^s  imrhing  hid  from  me: 
In  private  will  I  talk  witli  thee  apart: — 
Stand  back,  you  lords,  and  give  us  leave  a  while. 

Rcig.  She  takes  upon  her  bravely  at  first  dash. 

Pue.   Dauphin,    1    am    by   birth    a    shepherd's 
daughter. 
My  wit  untrain'd  in  any  kind  of  art. 
Heaven,  and  our  lady  gracious,  hath  it  pleas'd 
To  shine  on  my  contemptible  estate: 
Lo,  whilst  I  waited  on  my  tender  lambs, 
And  to  sun's  parching  heat  displayM  my  cheeks, 
God's  mother  deigned  to  appear  to  me; 
And.  in  a  vision  full  of  majesty, 
WilI'd  me  to  leave  my  base  vocation, 
And  free  my  country  from  calamity: 
Her  aid  she  promisM  and  assnr'd  success: 
In  complete  glory  she  revraPd  herself; 

*  /'.  e.  The  prey  for  which  they  ftre  hungry. 

^  A  srimmal  is  a  piece  of  joined  work,  where  one  piece 
moves  within  another  ;  here  it  is  taken  at  large  for  an  en- 
gine.   *^Thi3  was  not  in  former  times  a  term  of  reproach. 

'  Countenance. 


And,  whereas  I  was  black  and  swart  before, 
With  thote  clear  rays  which  she  infus'd  on  mo, 
That  beauty  am  I  hiess'd  with,  which  you  sec. 
Ask  me  what  question  thou  canst  possible, 
And  1  will  answer  unpremeditated: 
My  courage  try  by  combat,  if  thou  dar'st. 
And  thou  shall  find  that  I  exceed  my  sex. 
Resolve  on  this:**  Thou  shalt  be  Ibrtunale, 
If  thou  receive  mc  lor  tliy  warlike  mate. 

Char.  TIiou  hast  astonish'd   me  with  thy  high 
terms; 
Only  this  proof  I'll  of  thy  valor  make, — 
In  single  combat  thou  shalt  buckle  with  me: 
And.  il  thou  vanquishes!,  thy  words  are  true; 
Otherwise.  I  renounce  all  confidence. 

Pur.  I  am  prepared:  hereismy  keen-edg'd  sword, 
Deck'd  with  live  llower-de-luces  on  each  side; 
Tiie  which  at  Touraine,  in  saint  Katliarine's church- 
yard, 
Out  of  a  deal  of  old  iron  I  chose  forth. 

Char.  Then  come  o'God's  name,  I  fear  no  woman. 

Puc.  And,  while  I  live,  I'll  ne'er  lly  from  a  man. 

[They  fight. 

Char.  Stay.stay  thy  hands;  thou  art  an  Amazon, 
And  fightesi  with  the  sword  of  Deborah, 

Puc.  Christ's  mother  helps  me,  else  I  were  too 
wea  k. 

Char.  Whoe'er  helps  thee,  'tis  thou  that  m\ist 
help  me: 
Impatiently  I  burn  with  th}^  desire; 
My  heart  and  hands  thou  hast  at  once  suhdu'd. 
Excellent  Puerile,  if  thy  name  be  so, 
Let  me  thy  servant,  and  not  sovereign,  he; 
'Tis  the  French  dauphin  sueth  to  thee  thus. 

Puc.  I  must  not  yield  to  any  rites  of  love. 
For  my  prolession's  sacred  from  above: 
When  I  have  chased  all  thy  foes  from  hence, 
Then  will  I  think  upon  a  recompense. 

Char.  Meanliuie,  look  gracious  on  thy  prostrate 
thrall. 

Reig.  My  lord,  methinks,  is  very  long  in  talk. 

Alen.  Doubtless  he  shrives  this  woman  to  her 
smock; 
Else  ne'er  could  he  so  long  protract  his  speech. 

Reig.  Shall  we  disturb  him,  since  he  keeps  no 
mean? 

Alen.  He  may  mean  more  than  we  poor  men  do 
know. 
These   women    are    shrewd  tempters  with   their 
tongues. 

^f?g.  My  lord,  where  are  you?  what  devise  you  on? 
Shall  we  give  over  Orleans,  or  no? 

Puc.  Why,  no,  I  say,  distrusttui  recreants! 
Fight  till  the  last  gasp;  I  will  be  your  guard. 

Char.  What  shesaysji'll confirm;  we'Ilfightit  out, 

Puc.  Assi-nM  am  I  to  be  the  English  scourge. 
This  night  the  siege  assuredly  I'll  raise: 
Expect  saint  Martin's  summer^  halcyon  days. 
Since  I  have  entered  into  these  wars. 
Glory  is  like  a  circle  in  the  water. 
Which  never  ceasi'th  lo  enlariie  itself, 
Till,  by  broad  spreading,  it  disperse  to  nought. 
With  Henry's  death,  the  English  circle  ends; 
Dispersed  arc  the  glories  it  included. 
Now  am  I  like  tliat  proud  insulting  ship. 
Which  Caesar  and    his  liirtune  bare  at  once. 

Char.  Was  Mahomet  inspired  with  a  dove? 
Thou  with  an  eagle  art  inspired  then. 
Helen,  the  mother  of  great  Constantine, 
Nor  yet  saint  Philip's  daughters,'  were  like  thee. 
Bright  star  of  Venus.  liiU'n  down  on  the  earth. 
How  may  I  reverently  worship  thee  enough? 

Alen.  Leave  oll'delays,  and  let  us  raise  tlie  siege, 

Rcig.  Woman,  do  what  thou  canst  to  save  our 
honors; 
Drive  them  from  Orleans,  and  be  immortalizM. 

Char.    Presently  we'll   try: — Come,  let's  away 
about  it : 
No  prophet  will  I  trust  "if  she  prove  false.   [Exeunt. 

SCENE  111.— London.    Hill  before  the  Tower. 

Enter,  at  the  Gates,  the  Duke  of  Gloster,  ivith  hii 
Serving-men,  in  blue  Coats. 
Glo.  I  am  come  to  survey  the  Tower  this  day; 
Since  Henry"'s  death,  I  fear,  there  is  conveyance.^ 

^  Be  firmly  persuaded  of  it. 
^  Expect  prosperity  after  misfortune. 
>  Meaning  the  four  daughters  of  Thilip  mentioned   in 
Act3,iX'.  .)  3  Theft. 


390 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  I. 


Where  be  these  warders,  that  they  wait  not  here] 
;pen  the  gates;  Gloster  it  is  that  calls. 

[Servants  knock. 
1  IVaril.  [Wilhin.]   Who  is  there  that  knocks  so 

imperiously? 
1  Serv.  It  is  the  noble  duke  of  Gloster. 
3  IVard.  [miim.]  Whoe'er  he  be,  you  may  not 

be  let  in. 
Serv.  Answer  you  so  the  lord  protector,  villains? 
1  jyard.  [IVil/Uii.]   The  Lord  protect  him!   so 
we  answer  liim  : 
We  do  no  otherwise  than  we  are  wiUM. 
Glu.  Who  willed  you?  or  whose  will  stands,  but 
minel 
There's  none  protector  of  the  realm  but  I.— 
Break  up  the  gates.  I'll  be  your  warrantizc: 
Shall  1  be  Houted  thus  by  dunghill  grooms? 
Servants  »-it.sA  at  the  Tower  Gates.    Enter,  to  the 
Gates,  WooDViLLE,  tlie  Lieutenant. 
Wuoil.  [IKi/Am.]   What  noise  is  this?  what  trai- 
tors have  we  here? 
Gto.  Lieutenant,  is  it  you,  whose  voice  I  hear? 
Open  the  gates;  here's  Gloster,  that  would  enter. 
iVuud.  [IVitMn.]   Have  patience,  noble  duke;  I 
may  not  open ; 
The  cardinal  of  Winchester  forbids: 
l-'rom  iuin  1  have  express  commandment. 
That  thou,  nor  none  of  thine,  shall  be  let  in. 

Glo.  Faint-hearted  WoodviUe,  prizest  him  'fore 
me  ] 
Arrogant  Winchester?  that  haughty  prelate. 
Whom  Henry  our  late  sovereign,  ne'er  could  brook? 
Thou  art  no  friend  to  God,  or  to  the  king  : 
Open  the  gates,  or  I'll  shut  thee  out  shortly. 

1  Serv.  Open  the  gates  unto  the  lord  protector; 
Or  we'll  burst  them  open,  if  that  i'ou  come  not 

quickly. 
Enter  Winchester,  attended  by  a  Train  of  .Ser- 
vants, i/i  taivny  Coats. 
IVin.  How  now,  ambitious  Humphrey?   what 

means  this? 
Glo.  Piel'd  priest,^  dost  thou  command  me  to  be 

shut  out? 
Win.  I  do,  thou  most  usurping  proditor,* 
And  not  protector  of  the  king  or  realm. 

Glo.  Stand  back:  thou  manifest  conspirator; 
Thou  that  contriv'dst  to  murder  our  dead  lord: 
Thou,  tliat  giv'st  whores  indulgences  to  sin: 
I'll  canvass'  thee  in  thy  broad  cardinal's  hat, 
If  thou  proceed  in  this  thy  insolence. 

H'in.  Nay,  stand  thou  back,  I  will  iiotbudge  a  foot. 
This  be  Damascus,  be  thou  cursed  Cain, 
To  slay  thy  brother  Abel,  if  thou  wilt. 

Glo.  I  will  not  slay  thee,  but  I'll  drive  thee  back: 
Thy  scarlet  robes,  as  a  child's  beariiig-clotli, 
I'll  use,  to  carry  thee  out  of  this  place. 

Win.  Do  what  thou  dar'st;  1  beard  thee  to  thy 

face. 
Glo.  What !  am  I  dar'd,  and  bearded  to  my  face?— 
Draw,  men,  lor  all  this  privileged  place; 
Blue-coats   to   tawny-coats,     i'riest,   beware  your 
beard ; 
[Gloster  an'!  Iiis  men  attack  the  Bishop. 
I  mean  to  tug  it,  and  to  cutf  you  soundly : 
Under  mv  l(:et  1  stamp  thy  cardinal's  hat; 
In  spite  of  pope  or  dignities  of  church. 
Hero  liy  the  cheeks  I'll  drag  thee  up  and  down. 
iViii.  ( ;ioster,  tliou'lt  answer  this  belbre  the  pope. 
Glo.  Winchester  goose,'  I  cry— a  rojie!  a  rope!— 
Now   beat    them  hence:    Why  do  you  let   them 

stay  ? — 
Thee  I'll  chase  hence,  thou  wolf  in  sheep's  array.— 
Out,  tawny  coats!— out,  scarlet'  hypocrite! 
Here  a  great  Tumult.    In  the  /uidst  of  it,  enter  the 
Mayor  of  London,  and  Officers. 
l\Iaij.  I'ye,  lords!  that  you,  being  supreme  ma- 
gistrates. 
Thus  coutumeliously  should  break  the  peace! 
Glo.  Peace,  mayor;  thou  know'st  little  of  my 
wrongs: 
Here's  lieautbrd,  tliat  regards  nor  God  nor  king, 
Halh  here  (listrain'd  the  Tower  to  his  use. 

Win.  Hero's  Glosler  Ion.  a  foe  to  citizens; 
One  that  slill  motions  war,  and  never  peace, 
O'ercharging  your  tree  purses  with  large  hues; 

"  Alluding  to  his  shaven  crown.      ^Traitor.      ''Sift. 
"A  slrumpct.         '  An  ulluaiou  to  tho  iJishop's  habir. 


That  seeks  to  overthrow  religion, 

liecause  he  is  protector  of  the  realm: 

And  would  have  armor  here  out  of  the  Tower, 

To  crown  himself  king,  and  suppress  the  prince. 

Glu.  I  will  notanswer  thee  with  words,  but  blows, 
[Here  they  skirmish  agaiiu 

May.  Nought  rests  for  me,  in  this  tumultuoua 
strile,  ^ 

But  to  make  open  proclamation : — 
Come,  otlicer;  as  loud  as  e'er  thou  canst. 
Off.  Alt  manner  of  men,  assembled  here  in  arms 

this  day,  against  God^s  peace  and  the  king^s,  ?(ie 

charge  and  command  you,  in  hiji  highness'  name, 

to  repair  to  your  several  dwelling-places ;  and 

not  to  wear,  handle,  or  tise,  any  sicord,  weapo'i 

i_tr  dagger,  ftencefonvard,  upon  pain  of  death. 

Gin.  Cardinal,  I'll  be  no  breaker  of  the  law: 
But  we  shall  nreet  and  break  our  minds  at  large. 

li^'in.  Gloster,  we'll  meet;  to  thy  dear  cost,  be  sure; 
Thy  heart-blood  I  will  have,  for  this  day's  work. 

May.  I'll  call  for  clubs,'  if  you  will  not  away: — 
This  cardinal  is  more  haughty  than  the  devil. 

Glo.  JMayor,  farewell ;  thou  dost  but  what  thou 
mayst. 

irin.  Abominable  Gloster!  guard  thy  head; 
For  I  intend  to  have  it  ere  long.  [Exeunt. 

May.  See  the  coast  clear'd,  and  then  we   will 
depart. 
Good  God!  that  nobles  should  such  stomachs 9  bear! 
I  myself  right  not  once  in  forty  year.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— France.    Before  Orleans. 
Enter  on  thi  Walls,  the  JIaster-(5  unner,  and  his  Son. 

M.  Gun.  Sirrah,  thou  know'st  how   Orleans  is 
besieged; 
.A.nd  how  the  English  have  the  suburbs  won. 

Hon.  Father,  I  know;  and  oft  liave  shot  at  them, 
Howe'er.  untbrtunate,  I  iniss'd  my  aim. 

M.  Gun.  But  now  thou  shall  not.    Be  thou  rui'd 
by  me: 
Chief  master-gunner  am  I  of  this  town; 
Something  I  must  do,  to  procure  me  grace: 
The  prince's  espials^  have  informed  me. 
How  the  English,  in  the  suburbs  close  intrench'd, 
Wont,  through  a  secret  grate  of  iron  bars 
In  yonder  tower,  to  overpeer  the  city; 
And  thence  discover,  how,  with  most  advantage, 
They  may  vex  us,  witli  shot,  or  with  assault. 
To  intercept  this  inconvenience, 
A  piece  of  ordnance  'gainst  it  I  have  placed  ; 
And  fully  even  these  three  days  have  I  watcii'd, 
if  1  could  see  them.  Now  boy,  do  thou  watch. 
For  I  can  stay  no  longer. 
If  thou  spy'st  any,  run  and  bring  me  word; 
And  thou  slialt  lind  me  at  the  governor's.       [E.xit. 

S(m.  Father,  1  warrant  you;  take  you  no  care; 
I'll  never  trouble  you.  if  1  may  spy  them. 
Enter,  in  an  upper  Chamber  of  a  Tower,  the  Lords 

SALisBfRY, and Tai.bot,  Sir  William Glansdalk, 

Sir  Thomas  Garurave,  and  others. 

Sal.  Talbot,  my  life,  my  joy,  again  return'd! 
How  wert  thou  handled,  being  prisoner? 
Or  by  what  means  got'st  thou  to  be  releas'd? 
Discourse,  1  pr'vthee.  on  this  turret's  top. 

Tat.  The  duke  of  Bedford  had  a  prisoner. 
Called— the  brave  lord  Ponton  de  Saiitrailles; 
For  him  I  was  exchanged  and  ransomed. 
But  with  a  baser  man  of  arms  by  far. 
Once,  in  contemiit,  they  would  have  barter'd  me: 
Which  I,  disdaining,  scorn'd;  and  craved  death 
Rather  than  I  would  be  so  piled  csteem'd." 
Ill  line,  ledeeiu'd  I  was  as  I  desir'd. 
But,  ()!  the  treacherous Fastolfe  woundsmy  hiart! 
Wtioin  with  my  bare  lists  I  would  execute, 
U  I  now  had  hi'm  brought  into  my  power. 

Sal.  Yet  tell'st  thou  not,  how  thou  wert  enter- 
tain'd. 

Tal.  With  scoffs,  and  scorns,  and  contumelious 
taunts. 
In  open  market-place  produced  they  me. 
To  be  a  public  spectacle  to  all; 
Here,  said  they,  is  the  terror  of  the  French, 
The  scare-crow  that  atlrights  our  children  so. 
Tlieii  broke  1  from  the  officers  that  led  me; 
,\nd  with  my  nails  digg'd  stones  out  of  the  ground, 

^  T}i;it  13,  for  peace-officers  armed  with  cluba  or  staves. 
•I'riJe.  'Spies.  "So  stripped  of  honors. 


Scene  VI. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


391 


To  hurl  at  the  beholders  of  my  shame. 

My  grisly  countenance  made  others  liy; 

None  durst  come  near  for  tear  of  sudden  death. 

In  iron  walls  they  deem'd  me  not  secure; 

So  great  fear  of  my  name  'mongst  them  was  spread, 

That  they  supposM,  I  could  rend  bars  of  steel, 

And  spurn  in  pieces  posts  of  adamant ; 

Wherefore  a  guard  of  chosen  shot  I  liad, 

That  walk-d  about  me  every  minute-while; 

And  if  I  did  but  stir  out  of  my  bed, 

Ready  tliey  were  to  shoot  me  to  the  heart. 

Sai.  I  grieve  to  hear  what  torments  you  ciidurM; 
But  we  will  be  revenged  sulhciently. 
Kow  is  it  supper-time  ]n  Orleans: 
Here  through  this  gate,  1  can  count  every  one, 
And  view  the  Frenchmen  how  they  fortily; 
Let  us  look  in,  the  sight  will  much  delight  thee. — 
Sir  Thomas  Gargrave,  and  sir  William  Glansdale, 
Let  me  liave  your  express  opinions. 
Where  is  best  place  to  make  our  battery  next. 

Gar.  I  think,  at  the  north  gate;  for  there  stand 
lords. 

Glan.  And  I,  here,  at  the  bulwark  of  the  bridge. 

Tal.  For  aught  I  see,  this  city  must  be  famish'd. 
Or  with  light  skirmishes  enfeebled. 

[i>/u)t  from  the  Town.    Salisbury  and 
Sir  Thomas  Gargrave  fait. 

Sal.  0  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us,  wretciied  sinners! 

Gar.  O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me,  woeful  man! 

Tal.  Wliat  chance  is  this,  that  suddenly  hath 
cross'd  us  ? 
Speak  Salisbury;  at  least,  if  thou  canst  speak; 
How  far'st  thou,  mirror  o(  all  martial  men  ! 
One  of  thy  eyes,  and  thy  cheek's  side  struck  off! 
Accursed  tower!  accursed  latal  hand, 
That  hath  contrived  this  woeful  tragedy! 
In  thirteen  battles  Salisbury  overcame: 
Henry  the  Fifth  he  first  traiiiM  to  the  wars; 
Whilst  any  trump  did  sound,  or  drum  struck  up. 
His  sworddid  ne'er  leave  striking  in  the  held. 
Yet  liv'st  thou,  Salisbury  ?  though  thy  speech  doth 

fail, 
One  eye  thou  hast,  to  look  to  heaven  for  grace: 
The  sun  with  one  eye  vieweth  all  the  world.^ 
Heaven,  be  thou  gracious  to  none  alive. 
If  Salisbury  wants  mercy  at  thy  hands! — 
Bear  hence  his  body,  I  will  help  to  bury  it. — 
Sir  Thomas  Gargrave,  hast  thou  any  lile  ? 
Speak  unto  Talbot;  nay,  look  up  to  him. 
Salisbury,  clieer  thy  spirit  with  this  comfort; 

Thou  shall  not  die,  whiles 

He  beckons  with  his  hand,  and  smiles  on  me; 
As  who  should  say,  IVheti  I  am  dead  ami  gone, 
Ilentember  to  avenge  me  on  the  French. — 
Plantageuet.  I  will;  and  Nero-like, 
Play  on  the  lute,  beholding  the  towns  burn: 
Wretched  shall  p'raiice  be  only  in  my  name. 

[Thunder  hianl;  afterwards  an  Alarum. 
What  stir  is  this!  What  tumult's  in  the  heavens  ! 
Whence  cometh  this  alarum,  and  the  noise! 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  my  lord,   the  French   have  ga- 
tlier'd  head : 
The  dauphin,  with  one  Joan  la  Pucclle  joinM,— 
A  holy  i)rophetess,  new  risen  up, — 
Is  come  with  a  great  power  to  raise  the  siege. 

[Salisbitry  groans. 

Tal.  Hear,  hear,  how  dying  Salisbury  doth  groan! 
It  irks  his  Iieart,  he  cannot  be  revenged. 
Frenchnier,  Fll  be  a  Salisbury  to  you; — 
Pucelle  or  puzzle,^  doliiiiin  or  dogHsh. 
Your  hearts  Til  stamp  out  with  my  horse's  heels. 
And  make  a  quagmire  of  your  mingled  brains. 
Convey  me  Salisbury  into  his  tent. 
And  then  we'll  try  what  dastard  Frenchmen  dare. 
[Exeunt,  bearing  out  the  Bodies. 

SCENE  \.— Before  one  of  the  Gates  of  Orleans. 

Alarum.  Skirmishings.  Talbot  pursueth  the 
Dauphin,  and  drireth  him  in:  then  enter  Joan 
LA  Plcellr,  driving  Englishmen  before  her. 
Then  enter  Talbot. 

Tal.  Where  is  my  strength,  my  valor,  and  my 
forces'! 
Our  English  troops  retire,  I  cannot  stay  them; 
A  woman,  clad  in  armor,  chaseth  them. 

5  Dirty  T,-ench. 


Enter  La  Pucelle. 

Here,  here  she  comes: I'll  have  a  bout  with 

thee; 
Devil,  or  devil's  dam,  I'll  conjure  thee: 
Blood  will  I  draw  on  thee,«  thou  art  a  witch. 
And  straightway  give  thy  soul  to  him  thou  serv'st. 

Puc.  Come,  come,  'tis  only  I  tliat  must  disgrace 
thee.  [Thei/Jight. 

Tal.  Heavens,  can  you  suffer  hell  so  to  prevaill 
My  breast  I'll  burst  with  straining  of  my  courage, 
And  from  my  shoulders  crack  my  arms  asunder. 
But  1  will  chastise  this  high-minded  strumpet. 

Puc.  Talbot,  larewell;  thy  hour  is  not  yet  come: 
I  must  go  victual  Orleans  forthwith. 
O'ertake  me,  if  Ihou  canst;  J  scorn  thy  strength. 
Go,  go,  cheer  up  thy  hunger-starved  men; 
Help  Salisbury  to  make  his  testament: 
This  day  is  oiirs,  as  many  more  shall  be. 

[Pucelle  enters  the  Town,  with  Soldiers. 

Tal.  My   thoughts  are  whirled  like  a  poller's 
wheel ; 
I  know  not  where  I  am,  nor  what  I  do ; 
A  witch,  by  fear,  not  Ibrce,  like  Hannibal, 
Drives  back  our  troops,  and  conquers  as  she  lists: 
So  bees  will  smoke.aud  doves  with  noisome  stench, 
Are  from  their  hives,  and  houses,  driven  away." 
They  call  us,  for  our  fierceness,  English  dogs; 
Now,  like  to  whelps,  we  crying  run  away. 

[A  short  Alarum. 
Hark,  countrymen!  cilher  renew  the  fight. 
Or  tear  the  lions  out  of  England's  coat; 
Renounce  your  soil,  give  sheep  in  lions'  stead: 
Sheep  run  not  half  so  timorous  from  the  wolf, 
Or  horse,  or  oxen,  from  the  leopard. 
As  you  lly  from  your  oft-subdued  slaves. 

[.Alarum.    Another  Skirmish. 
It  will  not  be:— Retire  into  your  trenches: 
You  all  consented  unto  Salisbury's  death. 
For  none  would  strilie  a  stroke  in  his  revenge.— 
Pucelle  is  entered  into  Orleans, 
In  spile  of  us,  or  aught  that  we  could  do. 
O,  would  I  were  to  die  with  Salisbury  ! 
The  shame  hereof  will  make  me  hide  my  head. 

[Alarum.    Retreat.     Exeunt  Talko'V  and  his 
Forces,  '■\c. 

SCENE  \\.— The  same. 

Enter  on  the  yValls,  Pucelle,  Charles,  Reigxier, 

Alencon,  and  Soldiers. 

Puc.  Advance  our  waving  colors  on  the  walls; 
Rescu'd  is  Orleans  from  the  English  wolves:— 
Thus  Joan  la  Pucelle  hath  perlorm'd  her  word. 

Ctiur.  Divinest  creature,  bright  Astrffia's  daugh- 
ter, , 
How  shall  I  honor  thee  for  this  success? 
Tliy  promises  are  like  Adonis'  gardens. 
That  one  day  bloom'd,  and  fruitful  were  the  next. 
France,  triumph  in  thy  glorious  prophetess!— 
Recover'd  is  the  town  of  Orleans: 
More  blessed  hap  did  ne'er  befall  our  state. 

Reig.  Why  ring  not  out  the  bells  throughout  the 
town ! 
Dauphin,  command  the  citizens  make  bonhrcs, 
\nd  least  and  banquet  in  the  open  streets. 
To  celebrate  the  |oy  that  God  hath  given  us. 

Alen.  All  France  will  be  replete  with  mirth  and 
joy. 
When   they  shall  liear  how  we  have  play'd  the 
men. 

Char.  'Tis  Joan,  not  we,  by  whom  the  day  is 
won;  . 

For  which,  I  will  divide  my  crown  with  her: 
And  all  the  priests  and  friars  in  my  realm 
Sliall.  in  procession,  sing  her  endless  praise. 
A  statelier  pyraniis  to  her  I'll  rear. 
Than  Rhodope's,  or  Jlemphis',  ever  wasi 
In  memory  of  her,  when  she  is  dead. 
Her  ashes,  in  an  urn  more  precious 
Than  the  rich  jewel'd  coffer  of  Darius, 
Transported  shall  be  at  high  festivals 
Before  the  kings  and  queens  of  France- 
No  longer  on  saint  Denis  will  we  cry, 
liut  Joan  la  Pucelle  shall  be  France's  saint 
Come  in;  and  let  us  banquet  royally. 
After  this  golden  day  of  victory.  .  .      „ 

[Flourish.    Exeunt^ 

•The  surerstition  of  those  times  taught,  that  he  who 
could  draw  a  witch's  blood  Taa  free  from  her  (.oner. 


392 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  II, 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  l.—The  same. 

Enttr  to  the  Gales,  a  French   Sergeant,  a?id  two 
Sentinels. 

Serg.  Sirs,  take  your  places,  and  be  vigilant : 
If  any  noise,  or  soldier,  you  perceive, 
Near  to  the  walls,  by  some  apparent  sign, 
Let  us  Jiave  knowledge  at  the  court  of  guard.* 

1  Sent.  Sergeant,  you  shall.  [Exit  Sergeant. 

Thus  are  poor  servitors 
(When  others  sleep  upon  (heir  quiet  beds) 
Constrain'd  to  vvalch  in  darkness,  rain,  and  cold. 
Enter  Talbot,  Uedforh,  Buiuiundy,  ami  Farces, 

witfi  sculiDg  Ladders;   tfieir  Drums  beating  a 

dead  Marc/i. 

Tal.  Lord  regent, — and  redoubted  Burgundy, — 
By  whose  approach,  the  regions  of  .\trois, 
W;illoon,  and  Picardy,  are  friends  to  us, — • 
Tills  happy  night  the  Frenchmen  arc  secure, 
Having  all  day  carousM  and  banqueted: 
Embrace  we  then  this  opportunity  ; 
As  titling  best  to  quittance  their  deceit, 
Contrived  by  art  and  baleful  sorcery. 

Bed.  Coward  of  France! — how  much  he  wrongs 
his  tiime, 
Despairing  of  his  own  arm's  fortitude, 
To  join  with  witches,  and  the  help  of  hell. 

Bur.  Traitors  have  never  other  company. — 
But  what's  that  Pucellc,  whom  they  term  so  pure? 

Tat.  A  maid,  they  say. 

Bed.  A  maid!  and  be  so  martial ! 

liar.  Pray  God, she  proves  not  masculine  ere  long; 
If  underneath  the  standard  of  the  French, 
She  carry  armor,  as  she  hath  begun. 

Tal.  Well,  let  them  practise  and  converse  with 
spirits: 
God  is  our  fortress;  in  whose  conquering  name. 
Let  us  resolve  to  scale  their  llinty  bulwarks. 

Bed.  Ascend,  brave  Talbot;  we  will  liiUow  thee. 

Tat.  Not  all  together;  better  far,  I  guess. 
That  we  do  make  our  entrance  several  ways; 
That,  if  it  chance  the  one  of  us  do  liiil. 
The  other  yet  may  rise  against  their  (brce. 

Bed.  Agreed;  I'll  to  yon  corner. 

Bar.  And  I  to  this. 

Tal.  And  here  will  Talbot  mount,  or  make  his 
grave. — 
Now,  Salisbury  !  for  thee,  and  for  the  right 
Of  English  Henry,  shall  this  night  appear 
How  much  in  duty  I  am  bound  to  both. 

[Tlie  English  scate //if  walls,  crying  S\..C,eoxse\ 
A  Talbot!  and  all  enter  by  tlic  Tnwn. 

Sent.  [IVilhin.]  Arm,  arm  !  the  enemy  doth  make 
assault! 

Tlie  French  leai>  over  tlie  Walla  in  tlieir  Sliirts. 
Enter,  several  ways,  Bastako,  Alenton,  Heig- 
NIER,  half  ready,  awl  tuilf  unready. 

Alen.  How  now,  my  lords]  what,  all  unready  so! 

BoAt.  Unready  ?  ay,  and  glad  we  'scaped  so  well. 

Reig.  'Twas  tune,  I  trow,  to  wake  and  leave  our 
beds. 
Hearing  alarums  at  our  chamber  doors. 

Aten.  Of  all  exploits,  since  tirst  I  followed  arms, 
Ne'er  heard  I  of  a  warlike  enterprize 
More  venturous,  or  desperate  than  this. 

Bust.  I  think,  this  Talbot  be  a  liend  of  hell. 

ivc/g.  If  not  of  hell,  the  heavens,  sure,  liivor  him. 

Alen.  HerecomethCharles;  [marvel  howhesped. 
Enter  Ciiarle8  and  La  Pucklle. 

Bast.  Tut!  holy-  .loan  was  his  defensive  guard. 

Ctiar.  Is  this  thy  cunning,  thou  deceitful  daiue? 
Didst  thou  at  tirst,  to  (latter  us  withal. 
Make  us  partakers  of  a  lidle  gain, 
That  now  our  loss  miiiht  bo  ten  times  so  much? 

Puc.   Wherefore  is  Charles  impatient  with  his 
trieud! 
At  all  times  will  you  have  my  power  alike! 
Sleeping,  or  waking,  must  I  still  prevail. 
Or  will  you  blame  and  lay  the  fault  on  me! — 

*The  same  as  guanl  room. 


Improvident  soldiers!  had  your  watch  been  good, 
This  sudden  mischief  never  could  have  liill'n. 

Ctiar.  Uuke  of  AIcn<;on,  this  was  your  delimit; 
That,  being  captain  of  the  watch  to-night. 
Did  look  no  better  to  that  weighty  charge. 

Alen.  Had  all  your  quarters  been  as  safely  tept, 
As  that  whereof  I  had  the  government. 
We  had  not  been  thus  shamefully  surpriz'd. 

Ba^-t.  Mine  was  secure. 

Rfig.  And  so  was  mine,  my  lord. 

t'luir.  And,  for  myself,  most  jiart  of  all  this  nigtit, 
Within  her  quarter,  and  mine  own  precinct, 
I  was  employ'd  in  passing  to  and  fro. 
About  relieving  of  the  sentinels: 
Then  how,  or  which  way,  should  they  first  break  int 

Puc.  Question,  my  lords,  no  further  of  (he  case, 
How,  or  which  way;  'tis  sure,  they  Ibuud  some 

place 
But  weakly  guarded,  where  the  breach  was  made. 
And  now  there  rests  no  other  shift  but  this, — 
To  gather  our  soldiers,  scatter'd  and  dispers'd, 
And  lay  new  platlbrmso  to  endamage  them. 
Alarum.    Enter  an  English  Soldier,  cri/ing  A  Tal- 
bot!  A  Talbot!     Tliey  fiy,  leaving  t'lieir  Clothes 

behind. 

Sold.  I'll  be  so  bold  to  take  what  they  have  left 
The  cry  of  Talbot  serves  me  lor  a  sword; 
For  1  have  loaden  me  with  many  spoils, 
Using  no  other  weapon  but  his  name.  [Exit 

SCENE  II.— Orleans.     Within  the  Town. 

Enter  Talbot,  Bedford,  Borcuxdy,  a  Captain, 

and  others. 

Bed.  The  day  begins  to  break,  and  night  is  fled, 
Whose  pitchy  mantle  over-veil'd  the  earth. 
Here  sound  retreat,  and  cease  our  hot  pursuit. 

[Retreat  sounded. 

Tal.  Bring  forth  the  body  of  old  Salisbury; 
And  here  advance  it  in  the  market-place. 
The  middle  centre  of  this  cursed  town. — 
Now  I  have  paid  my  vow  unto  his  soul ; 
For  every  drop  of  blood  was  drawn  from  him. 
There  hath  at  least  five  Frenchmen  died  to"night. 
And,  that  hereafter  ages  may  behold 
What  ruin  happen'd  in  revenge  of  him, 
Within  their  chiefest  temple  I'll  erect 
A  tomb,  wherein  his  corpse  shall  be  intcrr'd: 
Upon  the  which,  that  every  one  may  read, 
Shall  be  engrav'd  the  sack  of  Orleans; 
The  treacherous  manner  of  his  mournful  death, 
And  what  a  terror  he  had  been  to  France. 
But,  lords,  in  all  our  bloody  massacre, 
I  muse'  we  met  not  witli  the  daiiiiliin's  grace; 
His  new-come  champion,  virtuous  Joan  of  .\rc; 
Nor  any  of  his  liilse  confederates. 

Bed.  'Tis  thought,  lord  Talbot,  when  the  fight 
began, 
Rous'd  on  the  sudden  from  their  drowsy  beds, 
They  did,  amongst  the  troops  of  armed  men. 
Leap  o'er  the  walls  lor  refuge  in  the  field. 

Bur.  Myself  (as  far  as  I  could  well  discern. 
For  smoke,  and  dusky  vapors  of  the  night) 
Am  sure  I  scar'd  the  dauphin  and  his  trull; 
When  arm  in  arm  they  both  came  swiftly  running, 
Like  to  a  jiair  of  loving  turtle-doves, 
Tliat  could  not  live  asunder  day  or  night. 
After  that  Ihings  are  set  in  order  here. 
We'll  follow  them  with  all  the  power  we  have. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  All  hail,  my  lords!  which  of  this  princely 
train 
Call  ye  the  warlike  Talbot,  for  his  acts 
So  much  ajiplauded  through  the  realm  of  France? 

Tut.  Here  is  the  Talbot;  who  would  speak  with 
him  ! 

Mcis.  The  virtuous  lady,  countess  of  Auvergne, 
With  modesty  admiring  thy  reno\\-n. 
By  me  entreats,  good  lord,  thou  wouldst  vouchsafe 
To  visit  her  poor  castle  where  she  lios;^ 


*  Plans,  schemes 


'Dwells. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


393 


That  she  may  boast  she  hath  behckl  the  man 
Whose  glory  fills  the  uoiid  with  loud  report. 

Bur.  is  it  even  sol     Nay,  tlieii,  1  see,  our  wars 
Will  turn  into  a  peaceful  comic  sport, 
When  ladies  crave  to  be  encountcr'd  with. — 
You  may  not,  my  lord,  despise  her  scntle  suit. 

Tal.  Ne'er  trust  me  then;  for,  v\"iien  a  world  of 
men 
Could  not  prevail  with  all  their  oratory, 
Yet  iKiih  a  woman^s  kindness  over-rui'd: — 
And  therefore  tell  her,  I  return  great  thanks; 
And  in  submission  will  attend  on  her. — 
Will  not  your  lionors  bear  me  company] 

Bed.  No,  truly,  it  is  more  than  nninners  will: 
And  I  Jia  ■:;  heard  it  said, — Unbidden  guests 
ArL  olten  vielcomest  when  they  are  gone. 

TaL  Well  tJien,  alone,  since  there's  no  remedy, 
I  mean  to  prove  this  lady's  courtesy. 
Come  hither,  captain.    [IVhispers.] — You  perceive 
my  mind. 

Capt.  I  do,  my  lord,  and  mean  accordingly. 

[Kxeuni. 

SCENE  III.— Auvcrgne.     Courf  of  the  Castle. 

Eitfer  the  Countess  and  her  Porter. 

Count.  Porter,  remember  what  I  gave  in  charge; 
And.  when  you  liave  done  so,  bring  the  keys  to  me. 

Fort.  Madam.  1  will.  [Exit. 

Count.  The  plot  is  laid:  if  all  things  full  out  right, 
I  shall  as  Janious  be  by  this  exph)it, 
As  Scythian  Thomyris  by  Cyrus'  drath. 
Great  is  the  rumor  of  this  dreadful  knight, 
And  his  achievements  of  no  less  account: 
Fain  would  mine  eyes  be  witness  with  mine  ears, 
To  give  tiieir  censure"  of  these  rare  reports. 

Enter  Messenger  and  TAtnoT. 

Mess.  Madam, 
According  as  your  ladyship  desired. 
By  nnssage  crav'd,  so  is  lord  Talbot  come. 

Count.  And  he  is  welcome.     WJiat!  is  this  the 
manl 

Mc!sS.  Madam,  it  is. 

Counl  Is  this  the  scourge  of  France! 

Is  this  the  Talbot,  so  much  fear'd  abroad, 
That  with  his  name  the  mothers  still  their  babes? 
1  see  report  is  fabulous  and  false: 
1  thttuuiil.  I  sliuiild  have  seen  some  Hercules, 
A  st'CDiKJ  Ileclor,  lor  his  grim  aspect, 
And  large  proportion  of  Ins  strong-knit  limbs, 
Alas!  tliis  is  a  child,  a  silly  dwarl": 
It  cannot  be,  this  weak  and  writhled'  shrimp 
Should  strike  such  terror  to  his  enemies. 

Tal.  Madam,  I  have  been  bold  to  trouble  you: 
But,  since  )  our  ladyship  is  not  at  leisure, 
I'll  sort  some  other  lime  to  visit  you. 

Count.    What    means    he  nowl — Go,  ask    liim 
whilhcr  lie  goes. 

Mess.  Stay,  my  lord  Talbot;  for  my  lady  craves 
To  know  the  cause  of  your  abru])t  departure, 

Tal.  Marry,  for  that  she's  in  a  wrong  belieti 
I  go  to  certify  h^^r,  Talbot's  Jiere. 

Re-enter  Porter,  tvith  Kei/s. 

Count.  If  thou  he  he,  then  art  thou  prisoner. 

Tal.  Prisoner!  to  wimm? 

Count.  To  me,  Mood-Ihirsly  lord; 

And  (or  that  cause  I  train'd  thee  lo  my  liou^e. 
Long  time  thy  shadow  hath  been  thral'l  to  nie. 
For  in  my  gallery  the  picture  liangs: 
But  now  t^  e  substance  shall  endure  the  like; 
And  I  will  chain  these  legs  and  arms  of  thine, 
That  h;ist  by  tyranny,  these  many  years, 
Wasted  our  country,  slain  our  citizens. 
And  sent  our  sons  and  husbands  captivate. 

Tal.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Cuui'J.  Laughest  thou,  wretch?  thy  nurth  shall 
turn  to  moan. 

Tal.  I  laugh  to  see,  j-our  ladyship  so  fond,^ 
To  think  that  you  have  aught  but  Talbot's  shadow, 
Whereon  to  praeti.se  your  severity. 

Count.  Why,  art  not  thou  the  man  ? 

Tal.  I  am  indeed. 

Count.  Then  have  I  substance  too. 

Tal.  No,  no,  I  am  but  shadow  of  myself: 
You  are  deceiv'd.  my  sul)stance  is  not  here; 
For  what  you  see,  is  but  the  smallest  part 


^OpinioQ. 


nVrinkled. 


SFoolish. 


And  least  proportion  of  humanity: 

I  tell  you,  madam,  were  tJie  whole  frame  here, 

It  IS  of  such  a  spacious  lofty  pitch, 

Your  roof  were  not  sutlicient  to  contain  it. 

Count.  This  is  a  riddling  merchant  lor  the  nonce; 
He  will  be  here,  and  yet  lie  is  not  here: 
Hitw  can  these  contrarieties  agree? 

Tul.  That  will  1  show  you  presently. 

He  winds  a  Horn.    Drums  heard-  then  a  Peal  qf 
Crdnunce.    'The  Gates  being  forced,  enter  Soldiers, 
How  say  you.  madam?  are  you  now  persuaded, 
That  Talbot  is  but  shadow  of  himsell? 
These  are  his  substance,  sinews,  arms,  and  strength, 
With  which  lie  yoketh  your  rebellious  necks, 
Razeth  your  cities,  and  subverts  your  towns, 
And  in  a  moment  makes  them  desolate. 

Count.  Victorious  Talbot!  pardon  my  abuse: 
I  find  thou  art  no  less  than  lame  hath  bruited,* 
And  more  than  may  he  gather'd  by  thy  shape. 
Let  my  presumption  not  provoke  ihy  wrath; 
For  I  am  sorry,  that  willi  reverence 
1  did  not  entertain  thee  as  thou  art. 

Tal.  Be  not  dismay'd,  tiiir  lady ;  nor  misconstrue 
The  mind  of  Talbot,  as  you  did  mistake 
The  outward  composition  of  his  body. 
Wliat  you^iave  done  liath  not  otFended  me: 
No  other  satisl'action  do  I  crave. 
Hut  only  (with  your  patience)  that  we  may 
Taste  of  your  wine,  and  see  what  cates  you  have; 
For  soldiers'  stonuichs  always  serve  them  well. 

Count.  With  all  my  heart:  and  lliink  me  honored 
To  least  so  great  a  warrior  in  my  house.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— London.    The  Temple  Garden. 
Enter  thi'  Earls  of  Somicii.^et,  SffFOLK,  and  War- 
wick; Rk'haud  PLANTAiiENET,  Veilnon,  and  ano~ 
thcr  Lawyer. 

Plan.  Great  lords,  and  gentlemen,  what  means 
this  silence  ? 
Dare  no  nian  answer  in  a  case  of  truth  ? 

Suf.  within  the  Temple  hall  we  were  too  loud; 
The  garden  here  is  more  convenient. 

Plun.  Thensay  atonce,if  I  maintain'd  the  truth; 
Or,  else,  was  wrangling  Somerset  in  tiie  error? 

Suf.  'Faith,  1  have  In-en  a  truant  in  the  law; 
And  never  yet  could  frame  my  will  to  it; 
And,  theretbre,  frame  the  law  unto  my  will. 

Som.  Judge  you,  my  lord  of  Warwick,  then  be- 
tween us. 

War.  Between  two  hawks,  which  tiies  the  higher 
pitch. 
Between  two  dogs,  which  hath  the  deeper  mouth. 
Between  two  blades,  which  bears  the  heller  temper, 
Between  two  horses,  which  doth  bear  inm  best. 
Between  two  girls,  which  hath  the  merriest  eye, 
I  have,  perhaps,  some  shallow  spirit  of  judgment: 
But  in  these  nice  sliarp  quillets  of  the  law. 
Good  taith,  I  am  no  wiser  than  a  daw. 

Plan.  Tut,  tut,  here  is  a  mannerly  Ibrbearance: 
The  truth  appears  so  naked  on  my  side. 
That  anj'  purblind  eye  may  lind  it  out. 

iS'o/7/.  And  on  my  side  it  is  so  well  apparelPd, 
So  clear,  so  shining,  and  so  evident. 
That  it  will  glimmer  through  a  blind  man's  eye. 

Plan.  Smee  you  are  (onguc-ty'd  and  so  loath 
to  speak. 
In  dinnb  signiticants  proclaim  your  llioughts: 
Let  him,  that  is  a  true-born  gentleman, 
.\nd  stands  upon  the  honor  of  his  birtli, 
If  he  suppose  tiiat  I  have  pleaded  truth. 
From  oil'  this  briar  i)luck  a  wliiTe  rose  with  me. 

.SV;//(.  Let  him  that  is  no  coward,  nor  no  llatterer. 
But  dare  maintain  the  party  of  the  truth. 
Pluck  a  red  rose  from  ulf  this  thorn  with  me. 

War.  I  love  no  colors;^  and,  without  all  color 
Ol'  base  insinuating  llallery, 
I  jiluck  this  white  rose  with  Plantagenet. 

Suf.  I  iduck  this  red  rose,  with  young  Somerset; 
And'say  withal,  I  think  he  lield  the  right. 

Ver.  Stay,  lords  and  gentlemen:  and  pluck  no 
more. 
Till  you  conclude — that  he,  upon  whose  side 
The  fewest  roses  are  cropp'd  Irom  the  tree, 
Shall  yield  the  other  in  the  right  opinion. 

Sum.     (iood  master  Vernon,  it  is  well  objected;* 
If  I  have  lowest,  i  subscribe  in  silence, 

3  For  a  purpose.  ^  Noised,  reported. 

^Deceits;  a  play  on  the  word.       "Proposed. 


394 


FIRST  PART   OF 


Act  II. 


Plan.  And  I. 

Ver^  Then,  for  the  truth  and   plainness  of  the 
case, 
I  pluck  this  pale  and  maiden  bhtssnm  here, 
Giving  my  verdict  on  the  white  rose  tide. 

Sum.  Prick  not  your  fniser  as  you  pluck  it  oQT; 
Lest  bleeding  you  do  paint  the  wliite  rose  red, 
And  fall  on  my  side  so  against  your  will. 

Vtr.  If  I,  rny  lord,  for  my  opinion  bleed, 
Opinion  shall  be  surgeon  to  my  hurt. 
Antl  keep  me  on  the  side  wliere  still  I  am, 

Horn.  Well,  well,  come  on:  Who  else  ! 

Law.  Unless  my  study  and  my  hooks  be  false, 
The  argument  you  held,  was  wrong  in  you; 

[To  Somerset. 
In  sign  whereof,  I  pluck  a  white  rose  too. 

Pkin.  Now,  Somerset,  where  is  your  argument? 

Sam.  Here  in  my  scabbard,  medilating  that, 
Shall  die  your  white  rose  in  a  bloody  red. 

Plan.  Mean  time,  your  clieeks  do  counterfeit  our 
roses ; 
For  pale  they  look  with  fear,  as  witnessing 
The  truth  on  our  side. 

Som.  No,  Plantagenet, 

'Tis  not  for  fear;  but  anger,— that  thy  cheeks 
Blush  for  pure  shame,  to  counterfeit  our^oses; 
And  yet  thy  tongue  will  not  conless  thy  error. 

Plan.  Hath  not  thy  rose  a  canker,  Somerset ! 

Som.  Hath  not  thy  rose  a  thorn,  Plantagcnetl 

Plan.  Av,  sharp  and  piercing  to   maintain  his 
truth; 
Whiles  thy  consuming  canker  eats  his  falsehood. 

Som.  Well,  I'll  lind  friends  to  wear  my  bleeding 
roses, 
That  shall  maintain  what  I  have  said  is  true, 
Where  false  Plantagenet  dare  not  be  seen. 

Plan.  Now,  by  this  maiden  blossom  in  my  hand, 
I  scorn  thee  and  thy  fashion,  peevish  boj'. 

Suf.  Turn  not  thy  scorns  this  way,  Plantagenet. 

Plan.  Proud  Poole,  1  will;  and  scorn  both  him 
and  thee. 

Suf.  ril  turn  my  part  thereof  into  thy  throat. 

Som.  Away,  away,  good  William  De-la-Poole! 
We  grace  the  yeoman,  by  conversing  with  him. 

IVar.  Now,  by  God's  will,  thou  wrongest  him, 
Somerset; 
His  grandfather  was  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence, 
Third  son  to  the  third  Edward  kin^  of  England; 
Spring  crestless  yoemen'  from  so  deep  a  root] 

Plan.  He  bears  him  on  the  place's  privilege,^ 
Or  durst  not,  for  his  craven  heart,  say  thus. 

Som.  By  him  tliat  made  me,  I'll  maintain  my 
words 
On  any  plot  of  ground  in  Christendom: 
Was  not  thy  father,  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge, 
For  treason  executed  in  our  late  kingls  days? 
And,  by  ids  treason,  stand'st  not  thou  attainted. 
Corrupted-,  and  exempt^  from  ancient  gentry? 
His  trespass  j'et  lives  guilty  in  thy  blood: 
And.  till  thou  be  restored,  thou  art  a  yeoman. 

Plan.  My  father  was  attached,  not  attainted; 
CondemnM  to  die  for  treason,  but  no  traitor; 
And  that  I'll  prove  on  better  nu^n  than*  Somerset, 
Were  growing  time  once  ripen'd  to  my  will. 
For  your  partaker  Poole,  and  j'ou  yourself, 
I'll  note  you  in  my  book  of  memory. 
To  scourge  you  tor  this  apprehension:' 
Look  to  it  well;  and  say  you  are  well  waruVI. 

Som.  Ay,  thou  shalt  find  us  ready  for  thee  still: 
And  know  us,  by  these  colors,  for  tliy  foes; 
For  these  my  friends,  in  spite  of  thee,  sliall  wear. 

Plan.  And,  by  my  soul,  this  pale  and  angry  rose, 
As  ci»:;nizance  of  my  blood-drinking  hate. 
Will  1  for  ever,  and  my  faction  wear; 
Until  it  wither  with  me  to  my  grave, 
Or  flourish  to  the  height  of  niy  degree. 

Suf.  Go  forward,  and  be  chok'd  with   thy  am- 
bition! 
And  so  farewell,  until  I  meet  thee  next.         [Exit. 

Som.  Have  with   thee,  Poole.— Farewell,  ambi- 
tious Richard.  [Exit. 

Plan.  How  I  am  braved,  and  must  perforce  en- 
dure it! 

War.  Tliis  blot,  that  they  object  against  your 
house. 
Shall  be  wip'd  out  in  the  next  parliaineut, 

't.  e.  Those  who  have  no  right  to  arms. 

^^  The  Temple,  btinga  religious  house,  was  a  sanctuary. 

■E.vcluded.  iOi>iuion. 


CalI'd  for  the  truce  of  Winchester  and  Cluster: 
And,  if  thou  be  not  then  created  York, 
I  will  not  live  to  be  accounted  Warwick. 
Mean  time,  in  signal  of  my  love  to  thee, 
Against  proud  Somerset,  and  William  Poole, 
Will  I  upon  thy  party  wear  this  rose: 
And  here  I  prophesy, — Tins  brawl  to-day. 
Grown  to  this  taction,  in  the  Temple  garden, 
Sliall  send  between  the  red  rose  and  the  white, 
A  thousand  souls  to  deatli  and  deadly  night. 

Plan.  Good  master  Vernon.  I  am  bound  to  you 
That  you  on  my  behalf  would  pluck  a  tlower. 

Ver.  In  your  behalf  still  will  I  wear  the  same. 

Laiv.  And  so  will  I. 

Plan.  Thanks,  gentle  sir. 
Come,  let  us  four  to  diinier:  I  dare  say. 
This  quarrel  will  drmk  blood  another  day. 

[Exeu?ii, 

SCENE  v.— ^  Room,  in  the  Tower. 

Enter  Mortimer,  brnimht  in  a  Chair  by  two 
Keepers. 

Mor.  Kind  keepers  of  my  weak  decaymg  age, 
Let  dying  Mortimer  here  rest  himself. — 
Even  like  a  man  new  haled  from  the  rack. 
So  fare  my  limbs  with  long  imprisonment: 
And  these  grey  locks,  the  pursuivants-  of  death, 
Nestor-like  aged,  in  an  age  of  care, 
Argue  the  end  of  Edmund  Mortimer. 
These  eyes,  like  lamps  whose  wasting  oil  is  spent, 
Wax  dim,  as  drawing  to  their  exigent:^ 
Weak  shoulders,  overborne  willi  burd'ning  grief, 
And  pithless  arms,  like  to  a  wither'd  vine 
That  droops  his  sapless  branches  to  the  ground: — 
Yet  are   these  feet, — whose  strcngthless  stay  is 

numb, 
Unable  to  supjjort  this  lump  of  clay, — 
Swilt-winged  with  desire  to  get  a  grave, 
As  witting  I  no  other  comlbil  have.^ 
But  tell  me,  keeper,  will  my  nephew  come? 

1  Keep.  Richard  Plantagenet.  my  lord,  will  come. 
We  sent  unto  the  Temple,  to  his  chamber; 
And  answer  was  return'd,  that  he  will  come. 

Mur.  Enough;  my  soul  shall  then  be  satisfied.— 
Poor  gentleman!  his  wrong  doth  equal  mine. 
Since  Henry  Monmouth  first  began  to  reign, 
(Before  whose  glory  I  was  tcreat  in  arms.) 
This  loathsome  sequestratiim  have  I  had; 
And  even  since  then  h:i(li  Richard  been  obscur'd, 
Deprived  of  honor  and  inheritance: 
But  now,  the  arbitrator  of  despairs. 
Just  death,  kind  umpire  of  uumi's  miseries, 
With  sweet  enlargement  dnih  dismiss  nie  hence; 
I  would,  his  troubles  likewise  were  expir'd. 
That  so  he  might  recover  what  was  lost. 

Enter  Richard  Pi-antagenet. 

1  Keep.  I\Iy  lord,  your  loving  nephew  now  is 

come. 

Mor.    Richard  Plantagenet,  my  friend!    Is  he 
come? 

Plan.  Ay,  noble  uncle,  thus  ignobly  used, 
Your  nephew,  late-desj^ised  Ricliard  comes. 

Mor.  Direct  mine  arms.  I  may  embrace  his  neck, 
And  in  his  bosom  spend  my  latter  gasp: 
O,  tell  me,  when  my  lips  do  touch  his  cheeks, 
That  I  may  kindly  give  one  lainting  kiss. — 
And  now  declare,  sweet  stem  from  York's  great 

stock. 
Why  didst  thou  say — of  late  thou  wert  despis'd? 

Plan.  First,  lean  thine  aged  back  againtt  mine 
arm? 
And,  in  that  ease,  I'll  tell  thee  my  disease.* 
This  day,  in  argument  upon  a  case. 
Some  words  there  grew  'twixt  Somerset  and  me. 
Among  which  terms  he  used  Ins  lavish  tongue, 
And  did  upbraid  me  with  my  father's  death; 
Which  obloquy  sets  bars  betiire  my  tongue, 
Else  with  ttielike  I  had  requited  him: 
Therefore,  good  uncle, — Ibr  my  father's  sake. 
In  honor  of  a  true  Plantaiienet, 
And  for  alliance'  sake. — declare  tbe  cause 
I\Iy  father,  earl  of  Cam!)rid-^e.  lost  his  head. 

Mor.  That  cause,  fair  iu'i)hcvv,  that  imprison'd 
me, 
.\nd  hath  detained  me.  all  my  llow'ring  youth, 

2  Pursuivants  are  officers  whtt  attenti  upon  heralds. 

3  KnJ.  ■*  ITiK-aaiiieas,  discontent 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


395 


Within  a  loathsome  dungeon,  there  to  pine, 
Was  cursed  instrument  or'  his  decease. 

Plan.  Discover  more  at  iarjicwliat  cause  that  was: 
For  1  am  ignorant,  and  cannot  guess. 

Mar.  1  will;  if  that  m^'  lading  breath  permit, 
And  death  approach  iutt  vi\-  my  tale  be  done. 
Henry  the  Kourlh,  ^randiii.ther  to  this  king, 
Depus'd  his  cousin  Kit-hard.  Edward''s  son, 
The  lirst-begotten,  and  the  lawlul  heir 
01  Kdwaid  king,  the  third  of  that  descent: 
During  whose  reign,  the  Percies  of  the  north. 
Finding  his  usurpiition  most  unjust, 
EndcavorM  my  advancement  to  the  throne: 
The  reason  movM  tliese  warlike  lords  to  this, 
Was — lor  that  (young  king  Richard  thus  removM, 
Leaving  no  lieir  begotten  of  his  body) 
I  was  the  next  by  birth  and  parentage; 
For  by  my  mother  I  derived  am 
From  Lionel  duke  of  ('lnrence,  the  third  son 
To  kinx  Edward  tlie  Third,  wliereas  he, 
From  John  of  Gaunt  doth  bung  his  pedigree. 
Being  but  lourtli  of  that  heroic  line. 
But  mark;  as,  in  this  haughty  great  attempt, 
They  labored  to  plant  the  rightlul  heir, 
I  lost  my  liberty,  and  they  their  lives. 
Long  after  this,  when  Henry  the  FiOh, — 
Suti-eednig  his  lather  IJolingbroke. — did  reign. 
Thy  lather,  earl  of  Cambridge, — then  derived. 
From  famous  Edmund  Langley,  duke  of  York, — 
Marrying  my  sister,  that  thy  mother  was. 
Again,  in  pity  of  my  hard  distress. 
Levied  an  army  ;  weening^  to  redeem, 
And  half  instaird  me  in  the  diadem  : 
But,  as  ihe  rest,  so  tell  that  noble  earl, 
And  was  beheaded.    Thus  the  Mortimers, 
In  whom  the  title  rested,  were  suppressM. 
Plan.  Of  wJiich,  my  lord,  your  honor  is  the  last. 
Mvr.    True;    and   thou  seest,  that  I    no    issue 
have; 
And  that  my  fainting  words  do  warrant  death : 


Thou  art  my  heir;  the  rest,  I  wish  thee  gather: 
But  yet  be  wary  in  the  studious  care. 

Plan.  Tliy  grave  admonishments  prevail  with 
me: 
But  yet,  nicthinks,  my  father's  execution 
Was  nothing  less  than  bloody  tyranny. 

Mar.  With  silence,  nephew,  be  thou  politic; 
Strong-tixed  is  the  house  of  Lancaster, 
And,  like  a  mountain,  not  to  be  removM. 
But  now  thy  uncle  is  removing  hence; 
As  princes  do  their  courts,  when  they  are  cloy'd 
With  long  continuance  in  a  settled  place. 

Plan.  (),  uncle,  'would  some  part  of  my  young 
years 
Might  but  redeem  the  passage  of  your  age  ! 

Mur.  TIiou  dost  then  wrong  me;  as  the  slaugh- 
terer doth. 
Which  giveth  many  wounds,  when  one  will  kill. 
Mourn  iiot,  except  thou  sorrow  for  my  good; 
Only,  give  order  lor  my  funeral; 
And  so  (arewell;  and  lair  be  all  thy  hopes! 
And  prosperous  be  thy  life,  in  peace,  and  war ! 

[Dies. 

Plan.    And    peace,  no  war,   belal    thy  partmg 
soul! 
In  prison  iiast  thou  spent  a  pilgrimage. 
And.  like  a  hermit,  overpassM  thy  days. — 
Well,  I  will  luck  his  counsel  in  my  breast ; 
And  what  1  do  imagine,  let  that  rest. — 
Keepers,  convey  him  hence;  and  1  myself 
Will  see  his  burial  better  than  his  lile. — 

[Exeunt  Keepers,  bearing  (mi  MonTlllEB. 
Here  dies  the  dusky  torch  of  Mortimer, 
ChokM  with  ambition  of  the  meaner  sort: — 
And,  for  those  wrongs,  those  bitter  injuries. 
Which  Somerset  hath  ollercd  to  my  house, — 
I  doubt  not,  but  with  honor  to  redress; 
And  tficrelbrc  haste  1  to  the  parliament; 
Killicr  to  be  restored  to  my  blood, 
Ur  iiKike  my  ill  the  advantage  of  my  good.     [Exit. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— The  Parliament  House. 
Flourish.    Enter  King  Hknuy,  Exkter.  Gi.oster, 
Warwick,  Someuskt,  ami  Sl'kfulk;  tlie  Bishoi' 

OF      \Vl.NCaE.STEU,      RkIIAKU     I'LANTAGF.NF.T,    flltd 

(il/icr.s.    Glosteii  nffers  to  jmt  up  a  Bill;"  Win- 
chester snatches  it.  and  fears  it. 
Win.  Cnm'st  tlioii  willi  di-i'p  premeditated  lines, 
Witli  written  pamplilels  studiously  devis'd, 
Humphrey  of  Gloster?  if  tluiu  canst  accuse, 
Or  aught  intend'st  to  lay  unlo  my  cliarge. 
Do  it  without  invention  suddenly;  , 

As  I  with  sudden  and  extrniporal  speech 
Purpose  to  answer  what  thou  canst  object. 
Glu.  Prcsuniptnous  priest !  this  place  commands 
my  i^atience, 
Or  tliou  sliouldst  find  thou  hast  dishonor'd  me. 
Think  not,  although  in  writing  I  prclcrr'd 
The  manner  of  th>'  vile  outrageous  crimes, 
That  thereldre  I  have  forged,  or  am  not  able 
Verbatim  to  rehearse  the  method  of  my  pen: 
No,  prelate;  such  is  thy  audacious  wickedness. 
Thy  lewd,  pestiferous,  and  dissentioiis  pranks, 
That  very  intants  prattle  of  thy  pride. 
Thou  art  a  most  pernicious  usurer: 
Froward  by  nature,  enemy  to  peace; 
Lascivious,  wanton,  more'than  well  beseems 
A  man  of  thy  prolcssion.  and  degree; 
.4nd  lor  thy  treachery,  what's  more  manifest; 
In  that  thou  laid'st  a  trap  to  take  my  life. 
As  well  at  London  bridge,  as  at  the  Tower? 
Besides,  I  fear  me,  if  thy  thoughts  were  silted. 
The  king,  thi  sovereign,  is  not  (|uitc  exempt 
From  envious  malice  of  thy  swelling  heart. 

IVin.  Gloster,  I  do  defy  lliee.— Lords,  vouchsafe 
T"  give  me  hearing  what  1  shall  reply. 
11  I  were  covetous,  ambitious,  or  preverse, 
As  he  will  have  me,  how  am  I  so  poor? 
Or  how  haps  it,  I  seek  not  to  advance 
Or  raise  myself,  but  keep  my  wonted  calling  ? 
And  for  dissension,  who  preferreth  peace 

'Thinking,  » i.  f.  Articles  of  Accusation. 


More  than  I  do,— except  I  he  provok'd? 
No.  good  my  lords,  it  is  not  that  otU-nds; 
It  is  not  that,  that  hath  incens'd  the  duke: 
It  is,  because  no  one  should  sway  but  he; 
No  one,  but  he,  should  be  about  the  king; 
And  that  engenders  thunder  in  his  breast, 
And  makes  iiim  roar  these  accusations  Ibrtli. 
But  he  shall  know,  I  am  as  good 

Glu.  As  good! 

Thou  bastard  of  my  grandfather!— 

(I'(/(.  Ay,  lordly  sir;  For  what  are  you,  I  pray, 
But  one  im]*erious  in  another's  throne? 

Glu.  Am  1  not   Ihe  protector,  saucy  priest? 

Win.  And  am  1  not  a  prelate  of  the  church? 

G/o.  Yes,  as  an  outlaw  in  a  castle  keeps, 
Ami  usclh  it  to  patronage  his  theft. 

IVin.  Unrcvcicnt  Gloster! 

Glo.  Thou  art  reverent 

Touching  thy  spiritual  function,  not  thy  lile. 

Win.  This  Rome  shall  remedy. 

War.  Roam  thither,  then. 

Sum.  My  lord,  it  were  your  duty  to  Uirbear. 

War.  Ay,  sec  the  bishop  be  not  overborne. 

Sum.  Mclhiiiks.  my  lord  should  be  religious, 
And  know  the  ollice'lhat  belongs  to  such. 

IVar.  Mcthiiiks,  his  lordship  should  be  humbler; 
It  fitted  not  a  prelate  so  to  plead. 

Sum.  Yes,  u  hen  Ids  holy  state  is  touchM  so  near. 

IlV/r.Slate  holy,  or  unhallow'd,  what  of  that? 
Is  not  his  grace  protector  to  the  king? 

Flati.  Planlagcnet,  I  see,  must  hold  his  tongue; 
Lest  it  be  said.  Spealt',  sirrah,  when  yun  .'.hi  iild; 
Must  yimr  liulii  venlict  enter  talk  with  tur<ls? 
Else  would  I  have  a  fiing  at  Winchester.       [Aside* 

K.  Hen.  Uncles  of  Gloster,  and  of  Winchester, 
The  special  watchmen  of  our  English  weal; 
I  would  prevail,  if  prayers  might  prevail, 
To  join  your  hearts  in  love  and  amity, 
(>.  \vhat  a  scandal  is  it  to  our  crown. 
That  two  such  noble  peers  as  ye  should  jar! 
Believe  me,  lords,  my  tender  jears  can  tell, 
Civil  dissension  is  a  viperous  worm, 


396 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  III. 


Tliat  gnaws  the  bowels  of  the  commonwealth. — 

[A  noise  within;  Down  with  the  tawny  coats!] 
What,  tumult's  this? 

War.  An  uproar,  I  dare  warrant, 

Begun  through  malice  of  the  bishopV  men. 

[A  }ioise  again,-  Stones!  Stones!] 

Enter  the  Mayor  qf  London,  attended* 
May.  O,  my  good  lords, — and  virtuous  Henry, 
Pity  the  city  of  London,  pity  us! 
The  bishop's  and  the  duke  of  Gloster's  men, 
Forbidden  late  to  carry  any  weapon, 
Have  liird  their  packets  full  of  pebble-stones; 
And,  banding  themselves  in  contrary  parts, 
Do  i^elt  so  fast  at  one  another's  pate, 
That  many  have  their  giddy  brains  knockM  out. 
Our  windows  are  broke  down  in  every  street. 
And  we,  for  fear,  compellM  to  shut  our  shops. 

Enter,  skirmishin/i;,  the  Retainers  of  Gloster  and 
VViNCHKaTEH,  with  bl-oody  pates. 
K.  lien.  We  charge  you,  on  allegiance  toourself. 
To  hold  your  slaughVring  hands,  and  keep  the 

peace. 
Pray,  uncle  Gloster,  mitigate  this  strife. 

1  Serv.  Nay,  if  we  he 

Forbidden  stones,  we'll  fall  to  it  with  our  teeth. 

2  Serv.  Do  what  ye  dare,  we  are  as  resolute. 

[Skirmish  again, 
do.  You   of  my  houseliold,  Icivc  this  peevish 
broil, 
And  set  this  unaccustomM  fight  aside. 

3  Serv.  My  lord,  we  know  your  grace  to  be  a  man 
lust  and  upright;  and,  for  your  royal  birth, 
Inferior  to  none  but  to  his  majesty: 

And  ere  that  we  will  sulfer  such  a  prince, 

So  kind  a  father  of  the  commonweal. 

To  be  disgraced  by  an  inkhorn  mate, 

We.  and  our  wives,  and  children,  all  will  fight, 

And  have  our  bodies  slaughtered  by  our  foes. 

1  Serv.  Ay,  and  the  very  parings  of  our  nails 
Shall  pitch  a  field,  when  we  are  dead. 

[Skirmish  again. 

Glo.  Stay,  stay,  I  say ! 

And,  if  you  love  me,  as  you  say  you  do, 
Let  me  persuade  you  to  forbear  a  while. 

K.   lien.    0,  how  this  discord  dotii  afflict  my 
soul! 
Can  you,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  behold 
My  sighs  and  tears,  and  will  not  once  relent? 
Who  should  be  pitiful,  if  you  be  not? 
Or  who  should  study  to  jn-efer  a  peace 
If  hoiy  churchmen  take  dclit^ht  in  broils? 

IVu'r.  I\Iy  lord  protector,  yield;— yield,  Winches- 
ter;— 
Except  you  mean,  with  obstinate  repulse. 
To  slay  your  sovereign,  and  destroy  the  realm. 
You  sec  what  mischief,  and  what  liuirder  too, 
Hatli  been  enacted  through  your  enmity; 
Then  be  at  peace,  except  ye  thirst  for  blood. 

JVin.  He  shall  submit,  or  I  will  never  yield. 

Glo.    Compassion   on  the  king  commands    me 
stoop! 
Or,  T  would  see  his  heart  out,  ere  tlie  priest 
Should  ever  get  the  privilege  of  me. 

War.  Behold,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  the  duke 
Hath  banishM  moody,  discontented  lury. 
As  by  his  smoothed  brows  it  doth  appear: 
Why  look  you  still  so  stern,  and  tragical? 

Gilt.  Here.  Winchester,  I  olfer  thee  my  hand. 

A'.  Sien.  Fye,  uncle  Beaufort!  I  have  heard  you 
preach, 
That  malice  was  a  great  and  grievous  sin: 
And  will  not  you  maintain  the  thing  you  teach. 
But  prove  a  chief  otlender  in  the  same? 

IVar.  Sweet  king!— the  lilshop  hath  a  kindly  gird.' 
F»»r  shame,  my  lord  of  Winchester!  relent; 
What,  shall  a  child  instruct  you  what  lo  do? 

Win.  Well,  duke  of  Gloster,  1  will  yield  to  thee; 
Love  for  thy  love,  and  hand  for  hand  I  give. 

G/n.  Ay;  Itut,  I  fejir  me.  with  a  hollow  heart. — 
S(!e  here,  my  friends,  and  loving  countrymen; 
Tliis  token  serveth  lor  a  ilag  of  truce, 
Betwixt  ourselves,  and  all  our  followers; 
So  help  me  God,  as  I  dissemble  not! 

Win-  SiJ  helj)  rue  God.  as  I  intend  it  not.  [Aside. 

K.  Urn.  O  Iovi)ig  uncle,  kind  duke  of  (Jloster, 
How  joyful  am  1  made  by  this  contract! — 

'  FcelB  au  cmotioD  of  kinJnesa 


Away,  my  masters!  trouble  us  no  more; 

But  join  in  friendship,  as  your  lords  have  done. 

1  Serv.  Content!  Til  to  the  surgeon's. 

2  Serv.  And  so  will  I. 
:J  Serv.  And   I  will  see  what  physic  the  tavern 

affords.  [Exeunt  Servants,  Mayor,  ^c. 

War.  Accept  this  scroll,  most  gracious  sovereign, 
Which,  in  the  right  of  Richard  Plantagenet, 
We  do  exhibit  to  your  majesty. 

Glo.    Well   urged,  my  lord  of   Warwick; — for, 
sweet  prince, 
An  if  your  grace  mark  every  circumstance, 
You  have  great  reason  to  do  Richard  right; 
Kspecially,  for  those  occasions 
At  Kltham-place  I  told  j-our  majesty. 

A'.  Hen.  And  those  occasions,  uncle,  were  of  force: 
Therefore,  my  loving  lords,  our  pleasure  is, 
That  Richard  be  restored  to  his  blood. 

ll^iir.  Let  Richard  be  restored  to  his  blood; 
So  shall  his  father's  wrongs  be  recompens'd. 

Win.  As  will  the  rest,  so  willeth  Wuichestt^r. 

A',  lien.  If  Richard  will  be  true,  not  that  alone, 
Rut  all  the  whole  inheritance  I  give, 
That  doth  belong  unto  the  house  of  York, 
From  whence  you  spring  by  lineal  descent. 

Plan.  Thy  humble  servant  vows  obedience, 
And  humble  service,  till  the  point  of  death. 

A.  Hen.  Stoop  then,  and  set  your  luiec  against 
my  foot; 
And,  in  reguerdon^  of  tJiat  duty  done, 
I  girt  thee  with  the  vahant  sword  of  York. 
Rise,  Richard,  like  a  true  Plantagenet; 
And  rise  created  princely  duke  of  York. 

Plan.  And  so  thrive  Richard,  as  thy  foes  may 
rail! 
And  as  my  duty  springs,  so  perish  they 
Tliat  grudge  one  thought  against  your  majesty! 

All.  Welcome,  higii  prince,  the  mighty  duke  of 
York ! 

Som.  Perish,  base  prince,  ignoble  duke  of  York! 

[Asid^, 

Gin.  Now  will  it  best  avail  your  majesty, 
To  cross  the  seas,  and  to  be  crown'd  in  France: 
The  presence  of  a  king  engenders  love 
Amongst  his  subjects,  and  his  loyal  friends; 
As  it  disanimates  his  enemies, 

A".  Hen.  When  Gloster  says  the  word,  king  Henry 
goes; 
For  friendly  counsel  cuts  off  many  foes. 

Glo.  Your  ships  already  are  in  readiness. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  P^xeter. 

E.re.  Ay,  we  may  march  in  England,  or  in  France, 
Not  seeing  what  is  hkely  to  ensue: 
This  hite  dissension,  grown  betwixt  the  peers, 
Hums  under  feigned  ashes  of  forged  love, 
And  will  at  last  break  out  into  a  liame: 
As  fester'd  members  rot  but  by  degrees. 
Till  bnnes,  and  flesh,  and  sinews,  iall  away, 
So  will  this  base  and  envious  discord  breed. 
And  i*w  I  fear  that  fatal  prophecy. 
Which,  in  the  time  of  Henry,  named  the  fifth, 
Was  in  the  mouth  of  every  sucking  babe. 
That  Henry,  born  at  Monmouth,  should  v/in  all; 
Anil  Henry,  born  at  Windsor,  should  lose  ail: 
Whicii  is  so  plain,  that  Exeter  doth  wish 
His  days  may  finish  ere  that  hapless  time.      [ExU 

SCENE  II.— France.    Before  Roiien. 

Enter  La  Pucelle  disguised,  and  Soldiers  dressed 
like  Countrymen,  ivith  Sack^  upon  their  hacks. 
Pur.  Tliese  are  the  city  gates,  the  gates  of  Roiien, 
Tlfniugh  which  our  policy  must  make  a  breach: 
Take  lioed,  be  wary  how  you  ])lace  your  words; 
Talk  like  the  vulgar  sort  of  market-men, 
That  come  to  gather  money  for  their  corn. 
If  we  have  entrance,  (as,  I  hope,  we  shall,) 
And"  that  we  find  the  slothful  watch  but  weak, 
I'll  iiy  a  sign  give  notice  to  our  friends, 
That  Charles  the  dauphin  may  encounter  them. 

I  Sold.  Oursacks  shall  be  a  mean  to  nack  the  city, 
And  we  be  lords  and  rulers  over  Rouen; 
Therellire  we'll  knock.  [Knocks. 

Guard.  [Within.]  Quiestl^y 
I'uc.  Pnisans,  pauvres  gens  de  France: 
Poor  market-folks,  that  come  to  sell  their  corn. 
Guard.  Enter,  go  in:  the  market-hell  is  rung. 

[Opens  the  Galea, 

6  Recompense. 


Scene  III. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 


397 


Puc.  Now  Rouen,  I'll  shake  thy  bulwarks  to  the 
ground.  [Pccelle,  4-c.  enter  the  City- 

Enter  Charles,  Bastard  of  Orleans,  Alesco.s,  and 
Forces. 

Char.  Saint  Denis  bless  this  happy  stratagem ! 
And  once  again  we'll  sleep  secure  in  Kouen. 

Bast.  Here  enter'd  Pucelle,  and  iier  practisants :' 
Now  slie  is  there,  how  will  she  specil'y 
Where  is  the  best  and  safest  passage  inl 

A  ten.  By  thrusting  out  a  torch  from  yonder  tower; 
Wliich  once  discern'd  shows  that  her  meaning  is. — 
No  way  to  that,'  lor  weakness,  which  she  enter'd. 

Enter  Li.  Pucelle  on  a  Battlement;  holding  out  a 
Torch  burning. 
Pile.  Behold,  this  is  the  happy  wedding  torch, 
That  joineth  RoUen  unto  her  countrymen; 
But  burning  fatal  to  the  Talbotites. 
Bast.  See,  noble   Charles !    the    beacon    of  our 
friend. 
The  burning  torch  in  yonder  turret  stands. 

Chetr.  Now  shine  it  like  a  comet  of  revenge, 
A  prophet  to  tlie  liill  of  all  our  foes! 

Alen.  Deli?riio  lime.  Delays  have  dangerousends; 
Enter,  and  cry— The  Dauphin  .'—presehtly, 
And  then  to  execution  on  the  watch.    [They  enter. 
Alarums.    Enter  Taldot,  and  certain  English. 

Tal.  France,  tlioii  Shalt  rue  this  treason  with  thy 
tears, 
If  Talbot  but  survive  thy  treachery. — 
Pucelle,  that  witcli,  that  damned  sorceress. 
Hath  wrought  tins  hellish  mischief  unawares, 
Tliat  hardly  we  escaped  the  pride  of  Franci), 

[Exeunt  to  the  Town. 
Alarum;  Excursions.  Enter  from  the  Town  Bed- 
ford, hrnught  in  sick,  in  a  Chair,  with  Talbot, 
BuiiGUNDV,  and  the  English  Forces.  Then  enter, 
on  the  Walls,  l.\  Pucelle,  Charles,  Bastard, 
Ale.n'co.v,  and  others. 

Puc.  Good  morrow,  gallants!  want  ye  com  for 
bread  ? 
I  think,  the  duke  of  Burgundy  will  fast, 
Bel'ore  he'll  buy  again  at  such  a  rate: 
'Twas  full  of  darnel;  Do  you  like  the  tiiste? 
Bur.  ScotI'  on,  vile  fiend,  and  shameless  couv 
tezan  1 
I  trust,  ere  long,  to  choke  thee  with  thine  own, 
And  make  thee  curse  the  harvest  of  that  corn. 
Char.  Your  grace   may  starve,  perhaps,  before 

that  time. 
Bed.  0.  let  no  words,  but  deeds,  revenge  this 

treason ! 
Puc.  What  will  you  do,  good  grey-beard?  break 
a  lance, 
And  run  a  till  at  death  within  a  chair? 

Tal.  Foul  fiend  of  Franco,  and  hag  of  all  despite, 
Encompass'd  with  thy  lustful  paramours! 
Becomes  it  thee  to  taunt  his  valiant  age, 
And  twit  with  cowardice  a  man  half  dead? 
Damsel,  I'll  have  a  bout  with  you  again, 
Or  else  let  Talbot  perish  with  this  shame. 
Puc.  Are  you  so  hot,  sir?— Yet,  Pucelle,  hold  thy 
peace; 
If  Talbot  do  but  thunder,  rain  will  follow.— 

[Talhot,  and.  the  rest,  consult  together. 

God  speed  the  parliament!  who  shall  be  thesiieaker? 

Tal.  Dare  ye  come  Itirth  and  meet  us  in  the  field? 

Puc.  Belike,  your  lordsliij)  takes  us  then  Ibrlbols, 

To  try  if  that  our  own  be  ours,  or  no. 

Tut.  1  speak  not  to  that  railing  Hecate, 
But  uiilo  thee,  Aleu(;on,  and  the  rest; 
Will  ye,  like  soldiers,  come  and  light  it  out? 
Alt  n.  Siirnior,  no. 

Tal.  Signior,  hang! — base  muleteers  of  France! 
Like  peasant  loot-buys  do  they  keep  the  walls; 
And  dare  not  take  up  arms  like  gentlemen. 
Puc.   Captains,  away:   let's   get   us   from    the 
walls; — 
For  Talbot  means  no  goodness,  by  his  looks. — 
God  be  wi'  you  my  lord!  we  came,  sir,  but  to  tell 

you 
That  we  are  here, 

[E.eeunt  La  Pi  celle,  ^c.from  the  Walls. 
Tal.  And  there  wUl  we  be  too,  ere  it  be  long. 
Or  else  reproacli  be  Talbot's  greatest  fame!— 

"  Confeileriites  in  stratagems. 
^  i.  e.  No  way  equal  to  that. 


\'ow,  Burgund)',  by  honor  of  thy  house, 

(Prick'd  on  by  public  wj-ongs,  sustain'd  in  France,) 

Either  to  get  the  town  again,  or  die; 

And  I, — as  sure  as  English  Henry  lives, 

And  as  his  father  here  was  conqueror; 

.\s  sure  as  in  this  late  betrayed  town 

Great  Cffiur-de-lion's  heart  was  buried; 

So  sure  I  swear  to  get  the  town,  or  die. 

Bur.  My  vows  are  equal  partners  with  thy  vowa. 

Tal.  But,  ere  we  go,  regard  this  dying  prnice, 
The  valiant  duke  ol  Bedlbrd : — Come,  my  lord. 
We  will  bestow  you  in  some  better  place. 
Fitter  for  sickness,  and  for  crazy  age. 

Bed.  Lord  Talbot,  do  not  dishonor  me: 
Here  will  I  sit  before  the  walls  of  Rouen, 
And  will  be  partner  of  your  weal,  or  woe. 

Bur.  Courageous  Bedlbrd,  let  us  now  persuade 
you. 

Bed.  Not  to  be  gone  from  henije ;  for  once  I  read, 
That  stout  Pendragon,  in  his  litter,  sick. 
Came  to  the  field,  and  vanquished  his  foes: 
Methinks,  I  should  revive  the  soldiers'  hearts, 
Because  I  ever  found  them  as  myself, 

Tal.  Undaunted  spirit  in  a  dying  breast! — 
Then  be  it  so: — Heavens  keep  old  Bedford  safe! — 
And  now  no  more  ado,  brave  Burgundy, 
But  gather  we  our  Ibrccs  out  of  hand, 
.■\nd  set  upon  our  boasting  enemy. 

[Exeunt  Buhuundy,  Talbot,  and  Forces, 
leaving  Bedford,  and  others. 

Alarums:  Excursions.    A'/i/er  Sir  John  Fastolfe, 
and  a  Captain. 

Cap.  Whither  away,  sir  John  Fastol/fe,  in  such 
haste? 

Fast.  Whither  away?  to  save  myself  by  flight ; 
We  are  like  to  have  the  overthrow  again. 

Cap.  What!  will  you  fly,  and  leav'e  lord  Talbot? 

Fu.\t.  Ay, 

All  the  Talbots  in  the  world  to  stive  my  life.  [E.vit. 

Cap.  Cowardly  knight !  ill  fortune'  follow^  thee ! 

[Exit. 
Retreat:  Excursions.    Enter  from  the  Town,  La 

Pucelle,  Alencon,  Charles,  4'c.,  and  exeunt, 

fining. 

Bed.  Now,  quiet  soul,  depart  when  heaven  please; 
For  I  have  seen  our  enemies'  overthrow. 
What  is  the  trust  or  strength  of  foolish  men? 
They,  that  of  late  were  daring  with  their  scotfs, 
.Are  glad  and  fain  by  flight  to  save  themselves. 

[Dies,  and  is  carried  ojf  in  his  Chair, 
Alarum:  £n/er  Talbot,  Burgundy,  rmii  others. 

Tal.  Lost,  and  recover'd  in  a  day  again! 
This  is  a  double  honor.  Burgundy: 
Yet,  heavens  have  glory  for  this  victory! 

Bur.  Warlike  and  martial  Talbot,  Burgundy 
JEnshrines  thee  in  his  heart;  and  there  erects 
Thy  noble  deeds,  as  valor's  monument. 

Tal.  Thanks,  gentle  duke.    But  where  is  Pucello 
now  ? 
I  think,  her  old  familiar  is  asleep: 
Now  Where's  the  Bastard's  braves,  and  Charles  his 

glecks?2 
What,  all  a-mort?' Rouen  hangs  her  head  for  grief, 
That  such  a  valiant  company  are  fled. 
Now  will  we  take  some  order*  in  the  town. 
Placing  therein  some  expert  ofliceis; 
,\nd  Iheii  depart  to  Paris,  to  the  king: 
For  there  young  Harry,  with  his  nobles,  lies. 

Bur.  What  wills  lord  Talbot,  pleaseth  Burgundy 

Tal.  But  vet,  before  we  go,  let's  not  forget 
The  noble  duke  of  Bedford,  late  deceas'd. 
Hut  sec  his  exequies'  fulfill'd  in  Rouen; 
.V  braver  soldier  never  couched  lance, 
A  gentler  heart  did  never  sway  in  court: 
But  kings,  and  mightiest  potentates,  must  die; 
For  that's  the  end  of  human  misery.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  Ul.—The  Plains  near  the  City. 

Enter  Charles,  the  Bastard,  Alesijos,  La  Pucelle, 
and  Forces. 
Puc.  Dismay  not.  princes,  at  this  accident, 
Nor  grieve  that  Rouen  is  so  recovered: 
Care  is  no  cure,  but  rather  corrosive. 
For  things  that  are  hot  to  be  remedied. 

sScoffs.  'Quite  ilispiritej 

*  Make  some  necessary  dispositions.     '  Funeral  rites. 


398 


FIRST  PART  OF 


^CT  III. 


Let  frantic  Talbot  triiimph  for  a  while, 
And  like  a  peacock  sweep  along  his  tail; 
We'll. pull  his  plumes,  and  take  away  his  train, 
If  dauphin,  and  the  rest,  will  be  but  rul'd. 

Char.  We  have  been  guided  by  thee  hitherto, 
And  of  thy  cunning  had  no  ditlidencc  ; 
One  sudden  foil  shall  never  breed  distrust. 

Bast.  Search  out  thy  wit  for  secret  policies, 
And  we  will  make  thee  lamous  through  the  world. 

Alen.  We'll  set  thy  statue  in  some  holy  place. 
And  have  thee  reverenced  like  a  blessed  saint; 
Employ  thee  then,  sweet  virgin,  for  our  good. 

Puc.  Then  thus  it  must  be;  this  doth  Joan  devise: 
By  fair  persuasions,  mix'd  with  sugar'd  words, 
We  will  entice  the  duke  of  Burgundy 
To  leave  the  Talbot,  and  to  follow  us. 

Cliur.  Ay,  marry,  sweeting,  if  we  could  do  that, 
France  were  no  place  lor  Henry's  warriors; 
Nor  should  that  nation  boast  it  so  with  us, 
But  be  extirped  from  our  provinces. 
ALen.  For  ever  should   they  be  expuls'd"  from 
France, 
And  not  have  title  to  an  earldom  here. 

Puc.  Your  honors  shall  perceive  how  I  will  work. 
To  bring  this  matter  to  the  wished  end. 

[Drums  heard. 
Hark!  by  the  sound  of  drum,  you  may  perceive 
Tlieir  powers  arc  inarching  unto  Paris-ward. 
An  English  March.    Eiiler,  and  pass  over  at  a  dis- 
tance, TALiiuT  and  his  Forces. 
There  goes  the  Talbot,  with  his  colors  spread; 
And  all  the  troops  of  English  alter  him. 
A  YTCnch  March.    Enter  the  DOKE  OF  BCTIGUSDY, 

and  Forces. 
Now  in  the  rearward  comes  the  duke,  and  his; 
Fortune,  in  favor,  makes  him  lag  behind. 
Summon  a  parley,  we  will  talk  with  him. 

[A  parley  sounded. 
Char.  A  parley  with  the  duke  of  Burgundy. 
Bur.  Who  craves  a  parley  with  the  Burgundy? 
Puc.  The  princely  Charles  of  France,  thy  coun- 
tryman. 
Bur.  What  say'st  thou,  Charles'!  for  I  am  march- 
ing hence. 
Cliar.  Speak,  Fucelle;  and  enchant  him  with  thy 

words. 
Puc.  Brave  Burgundy.undoubted  hope  of  France! 
Stay,  let  thy  humble  handmaid  speak  to  thee. 
Bur.  Speak  on;  but  be  not  over-tedious. 
Puc.  Look  on  thy  country,  look  on  It'rlile  France, 
And  see  tlie  cities  and  the  town  defaced 
By  wasting  ruin  of  the  cryel  foe! 
As  looks  the  mother  on  her  lowly  babe, 
Wlien  death  doth  close  his  tender  dying  eyes. 
See,  see,  the  pining  malady  of  France; 
Behold  the  wounds,  the  most  unnatural  wounds. 
Which  thou  thyself  hast  given  her  woeful  breast! 
O,  turn  thy  edged  sword  another  way; 
Strike  those  that  hurt,  and  hurt  not  those  that  help! 
One  drop  of  blood,  drawn  from  thy  country's  bosom. 
Should  grieve  thee  more  than  streams  of  foreign 

gore ; 
Return  thee,  therefore,  with  a  flood  of  tears. 
And  wash  away  thy  country's  stained  spots! 
Bur.  Either  she  hath  bewitch'd   me   with  her 
words. 
Or  nature  makes  me  suddenly  relent. 
Pu(    Besides,  all  French  and  France  exclaims  on 
thee, 
Poubt.ng  thy  birth  and  lawful  progeny. 
Who  join'st  thou  with,  but  with  a  lordly  nation. 
That  will  not  trust  thee,  but  tor  profit's  sake  ! 
When  Talbot  hath  set  looting  once  iu  France, 
And  lashion'd  Ibee  tliat  instrument  of  ill. 
Who  then,  but  English  Henry,  will  l)e  lord, 
And  thou  be  thrust  out,  like  "a  fugilive; 
Call  we  lo  mind,— and  mark  but  this,  for  proof; — 
Was  not  the  duke  of  Orleans  thy  liie  ! 
And  waH  lie  not  in  England  prisoner'! 

1  Expelled. 


But,  when  they  heard  he  was  thine  enemy. 
They  set  him  I'ree,  without  his  ransom  paid. 
In  spite  of  Burgundy,  and  all  his  friends. 
See  then!  thou  fight'st  against  thy  countrymen. 
And  join'st  with  them  will  be  thy  slaughter-men. 
Come,  come,  return;  return,  tliou  wand'ring  lord; 
Charles,  and  the  rest,  will  t.ake  thee  in  their  arni.s. 

Bur.  I  am  vanquished ;  these  haughty  words  of 
hers 
Have  batter'd  me  like  roaring  cannon-shot. 
And  made  me  almost  yield  upon  my  knees. — 
Forgive  me,  country,  and  sweet  countrymen! 
And,  lords,  accept  this  hearty  kind  embrace : 
My  Ibrces  and  my  power  of  men  are  yours;— 
So,  farewell,  Talbot;  I'll  no  longer  trust  thee. 

Puc.  Done  like  a  Frenchman,  turn,  and  turn  again! 

Char.    Welcome,    brave    duke!    thy  friendship 
makes  us  fresh. 

Bast.  And  doth  beget  new  courage  in  our  breasts. 

Alen.  Pucelle  hath  bravely  play'd  her  part  in  this, 
And  doth  deserve  a  coronet  of  gold. 

Char.  Now  let  us  on,  my  lords,  and  join  our 
powers; 
And  seek  how  we  may  prejudice  the  foe.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Paris.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  KixG  Henry,  Gloster,  and  other  Lords,  Vek- 

NO.N,  Basset,  -^c.    Tu  them  Talbot,  and  some  uf 

his  Officers. 

Tat.  My  gracious  prince,— and  honorable  peers, — 
Hearing  of  your  arrival  in  this  realm, 
I  have  a  while  given  truce  unto  my  wars, 
To  do  my  duty  to  my  sovereign: 
In  sign  whereof,  this  arm, — that  hath  reclaim'd 
To  your  obedience  Hfty  fortresses. 
Twelve  cities,  and  seven  walled  towns  of  strength, 
Beside  five  hundred  prisoners  of  esteem, — 
Lets  fall  his  sword  before  your  highness'  feet; 
And,  with  submissive  loyalty  of  heart, 
Ascribes  the  glory  of  his  conquest  got. 
First  to  my  God,  and  next  unto  your  grace. 

A'.  Hen.   Is  this   the  famed  lord  Talbot,  uncle 
Gloster. 
That  hath  so  long  been  resident  in  France] 

67«.  Yes,  if  it  please  your  majesty,  my  liege. 

A'.  Uen.  Welcome,  brave  captain,  and  victorious 
•  lord! 

When  I  was  young,  (as  yet  I  am  not  old,) 
I  do  remember  how  my  liither  said, 
A  stouter  champion  never  handled  sword. 
Long  since  we  were  resolved^  of  your  truth, 
Your  liiilhful  service,  and  your  toil  in  war; 
Yet  never  have  you  tasted  our  reward. 
Or  been  rcguerdon'd'  with  so  much  as  thanks, 
Because  till  now  we  never  saw  your  face: 
Therefore,  stand  up;  and,  for  these  good  deserts. 
We  here  create  you  earl  of  Shrewsbury; 
.\nd  in  our  coronation  take  your  place. 

[Exeunt  Kixg  Henry,  Gloster,  Taldot, 
and  Nobles. 

Ver.  Now,  sir,  to  you,  that  were  so  hot  at  sea. 
Disgracing  of  these  colors  that  I  wear 
In  honor  of  my  noble  lord  of  York. — 
Dar'st  thou  maintain  the  former  words  thou  spak'sti 

Bas.  Yes,  sir;  as  well  as  you  dare  patronage 
The  envious  barking  of  your  saucy  tongue 
Against  my  lord  the  duke  of  Somerset. 

Ver.  Rirrah.  thy  lord  1  honor  as  he  is. 

Ba.t.  Why,  what  is  he !  as  good  a  man  as  York. 

Ver.  Hark  ye;  not  so:  in  witness,  take  ye  that. 

[Strikes  him. 

Bus.  'Villain,  thou  know'st  the  law  of  arms  is  such. 
That,  whoso  draws  a  swurd,  'tis  present  death; 
Or  else  this  blow  should  broach  thy  dearest  blood. 
Hut  I'll  unto  his  majesty,  and  crave 
1  may  have  liberty  to  venge  this  wrong: 
When  thou  shalt  sec.  I'll  meet  thee  to  Ihy  cost. 

]'er.  Well,  miscreant,  I'll  be  there  as  soon  as  you; 
Ami,  after,  meet  you  sooner  than  you  would. 

t^E.i:cu7it, 

'  Confirmed  in  opinion.  '  Rewarded. 


Act  IV.  Scene  I. 


lil^SG  HENRY  VI. 


399 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.— Paris.    A  Room  nf  Slate. 

Enter  KixG  Henry.  Gloster,  Exeter,  York,  Suf- 
folk, Somerset.  Wixcuesteb,  Warwick,  Talbot, 
the  Governor  of  Pans,  and  others. 

Gto.  Lord  bishop,  set  the  crown  upon  his  head. 
IVln.  God  save  king  Henry,  of  tiiat  name   tlie 
sixtli ! 

Glo.  Now,  governor  of  Paris,  take  your  oath, — 
[Governor  kneels. 
That  you  elect  no  other  king  but  iiim  : 
Ksteeiu  none  friends,  but  such  as  are  his  friends; 
And  none  your  foes,  but  such  as  shall  pretend* 
Malicious  practices  against  his  state: 
This  shall  ye  do,  so  help  you  righteous  God! 

[Exeunt  Gov.  and  his  Train. 
Enter  Sir  John  Fastolfe. 

Fast.  My  gracious  sovereign, as  I  rode  from  Calais, 
To  liasten  unto  j-our  coronation, 
A  letter  was  dehver'd  to  my  hands, 
Writ  to  your  grace  from  the  duke  of  Burgundy. 

Tat.  Shame  to  tlie  duke  of  Burgundy,  and  thee! 
I  vow'd,  base  knight,  when  I  did  meet  tliee  next, 
To  tear  tlie  garter  from  tliy  era  vents'  leg, 

[Plucking  it  off. 
(Which  I  have  done,)  because  unworthily 
Thou  wast  installed  in  that  high  degree.— 
Pardon  me,  princely  Henry,  and  Ihe  rest: 
This  dastard  at  the  battle  of  Patay, 
When  but  in  all  I  was  six  thousand  strong. 
And  that  the  Krench  were  almost  ten  to  one, — 
Belbre  we  met,  or  that  a  stroke  was  given, 
Like  to  a  trusty  squire,  did  run  away; 
In  which  assault  we  lost  twelve  hundred  men ; 
Myself  and  divers  gentlemen  beside. 
Were  there  surpris'd,  and  taken  prisoners. 
Then  judge,  great  lords,  if  I  have  done  amiss; 
Or  whether  that  suoh  cowards  ought  to  wear 
This  ornament  of  knighthood,  yea,  or  no. 

Glo.  To  say  the  truth,  this  fact  was  intamous,  "" 
And  ill  beseeming  any  common  man; 
Much  more  a  iinighl,  a  captain,  and  a  leader. 

Tat.  When  first  Ihisorder  was  ordain'd.  my  lords. 
Knights  of  the  garler  were  of  noble  birth  ; 
Valiant  and  virtuous,  full  of  haughty' courage 
Such  as  were  grown  to  credit  by  the  wars;        ' 
Not  It-aring  death,  nor  shrinking  for  distress, 
But  always  resolute  in  most  extremes. 
He  then,  that  is  jiot  furnish'd  in  this  sort. 
Doth  but  usurp  the  sacred  name  of  knight. 
Profaning  this  most  honorable  order; 
And  should  (if  I  were  worthy  to  be  judire) 
Be  quite  degraded,  like  a  hedge-born  swain 
That  doth  presume  to  boast  of  gentle  blood. 

K.Hen.  Slain  to  thy  countrymen!  thou  hear'st 
thy  doom : 
Be  packing,  theielbre,  thou  that  wast  a  knight; 
Hencelorlh  we  banislj  thee,  on  pain  of  death.— 
,    ,  [Exit  Fastolfe. 

And  now,  my  lord  protector,  view  the  letter 
Sent  from  our  uncle  duke  of  Burgundy. 

Glo.  What  means  his  grace,  that  he  hath  changed 
his  style  !         [  Viewing  the  superscription. 
No  more  hut,  plain  and  bluntly,— To  tht  king? 
Hath  he  forgot,  he  is  his  sovereign? 
Or  doth  this  churlish  superscription 
Pretend  some  alleration  in  good  will? 
What's  here !— /  Aace,  ujjon  especial  cause,— 
.,    , ,     .,  [Reads. 

Jtfoi'V/  unth  compassion  of  my  cnuntrtfs  wreck, 
Together  with  the  pitiful  complaints 
Of  such  as  ijotir  oppression  feeds  upon, — 
Forsaken  //our  pernicious  /(iction. 
And  Join'd  with   Charles,  the  rightful   king   nf 

Frajice. 
O  monstrous  treachery!  Can  this  be  so; 
That  in  alliance,  amity,  and  oaths. 
There  should  be  found  such  false  dissembling  guile? 
K.Hen.  What!  dolh  my  uncle  Burgundy  revoll? 

Glo.  He  doth,  my  lord;  and  is  become  your  foe. 


'Design 


'Mean,  dastardly. 


»High. 


K.  Hen.  Is  that  the  worst,  this  letter  doth  contain? 

Glo.  It  is  the  worst,  and  all,  my  lord,  he  writes. 

K.  Hen.  Why  then,  lord  Talbot  there  shall  talk 
with  him. 
And  give  him  chastisement  for  this  abuse: — 
My  lord,  how  say  you?  are  you  not  content ! 

Tat.  Content,  my  liege?  Yes;  but  that  I  am  pre- 
vented,3 
I  should  have  begg'd  I  might  have  been  employed. 

K.  Hen.  Then  gather  strength,  and  march  unto 
him  straight: 
Let  him  perceive,  iiow  ill  we  brook  his  treason; 
And  what  oB'ence  it  is,  to  flout  his  friends. 

Tal.  I  go,  my  lord ;  in  heart  desiring  still. 
You  may  behold  confusion  of  your  Iocs.        [Exit. 

Enter  Vernon  and  Basset. 
T'cr.  Grant  me  the  combat,  gracious  sovereign  ! 
Bas.  And  me,  my  lord,  grant  me  the  combat  too! 
York.  This  is  my  servant;  Hear  him.noble  prince! 
Som.  And  this  is  mine;  Sweet  Henry,  lavor  him! 
K.Hen.  Be  patient,  lords;  and  give  them  leave 
to  speak. — 
Say,  gentlemen.  What  makes  you  thus  exclaim? 
And  wherefowe  crave  you  combat?  or  with  whom? 
J'er.  With  him,  my  lord;  for  he  hath  done  me 

wrong.  . 

Bas.  And  I  with  him;  for  he  hath  done  me  wrong. 
K.  Hen.  What  is  that  wrong  whereof  you  both 
complain? 
First  let  me  know,  and  then  FlI  answer  you. 

Bas.  Crossing  the  sea  from  England  into  France, 
This  fellow  here,  with  envious  carping  tongue, 
Ui)liraided  me  about  the  rose  I  wear; 
Saying— the  sanguine  color  of  the  leaves 
Did  represent  my  master's  blushing  cheeks, 
When  stubbornly  he  did  repugn*  the  truth. 
About  a  certain  (piestion  m  the  law, 
Ariiued  betwixt  the  duke  of  York  and  him; 
Witii  other  vile  and  ignominious  terms: 
In  conlutation  of  which  rude  reproach. 
And  in  deience  of  my  lord's  worthiness, 
1  crave  the  benefit  of  law  of  arms. 

Per.  And  that  is  my  petition,  noble  lord; 
For  though  he  seem,  with  forged  quaint  conceit. 
To  set  a  gloss  upon  his  bold  intent. 
Yet  know,  my  lord,  I  was  provok'd  by  him: 
And  he  llrst  took  exceptions  at  this  badge, 
Pronouncing— that  the  paleness  of  this  Hower 
Bewray'd  the  laintness  of  my  master's  heart. 
York.  Will  not  this  malice,  Somerset,  be  left? 
Som.  Your  private  grudge,  my  lord  of  York,  will 
out. 
Though  ne'er  so  cunningly  you  smother  it. 
K.  Hen.  Good  lord !  what  madness  rules  in  brain- 
sick men! 
When,  lor  so  slight  and  frivolous  a  cause, 
Such  factious  emulations  shall  arise! 
Good  cousins  both,  of  York  and  Somerset, 
Quiet  yourselves,  I  pray,  and  be  at  peace. 

Ym-k.  Let  this  dissension  first  be  tried  by  fight; 
And  then  your  highness  shall  command  a  peace. 
Sfnn.  The  quarrel  toucheth  none  but  us  alone; 
Betwixt  ourselves  let  us  decide  it  then. 

York.  There  is  my  pledge;  accept  it,  Somerset. 
Ver.  Nay.  let  it  rest  where  it  began  at  first. 
Bas.  Confirm  it  so,  mine  honorable  lord. 
Gto.  Confirm  it  so?  confounded  be  your  strife, 
And  perish  ye,  with  your  audacious  prate! 
Presumptuous  vassals!  are  you  not  ashamed. 
With  this  immodest  clamorous  outrage 
To  trouble  and  disturb  the  king  and  us? 
And  you,  my  lords, — methinks,  you  do  not  well. 
To  boar  with  their  perverse  objections; 
Much  less,  to  take  occasion  from  their  mouths 
To  raise  a  mutiny  betwixt  yourselves; 
Let  me  persuade" you  take  a  better  course. 
Exe.  It  grieves  his  highness;— Good  my  lords,  be 

friends. 
K.  Hen.  Come  hither,  you  that  would  be  com- 
batants ; 

3  Anticipated.  *  Resist. 


400 


FIRST  PART   OF 


Act  IV 


Henceforth,  I  charge  you,  as  you  love  our  favor, 

Quite  to  forjiel  tins  quarrel,  and  the  cause. — 

And  you,  my  lords,  remember  where  we  are; 

In  France,  amonj^st  a  fickle  wavering  nation  : 

If  they  perceive  dissension  in  our  looks, 

And  that  within  ourselves  we  disagree, 

How  will  their  grudging  stomachs  he  provokM 

To  willful  disobedience,  and  rebel? 

Beside,  what  inlamy  will  there  arise. 

When  foreign  princes  shall  be  certified, 

Tliat,  for  a  toy,  a  thing  of  no  regard, 

King  Henry's  peers,  and  chief  nobility, 

DesfroyM  themselves,  and  lost  the  realm  of  France? 

O,  tliink  upon  the  conquest  of  my  father, 

My  tender  years;  and  let  us  not  tbrego 

That  for  a  triHe,  that  was  bought  with  blood! 

Let  me  be  umpire  in  tliis  doubtful  strife. 

I  see  no  reason,  if  I  wear  this  rose, 

[Puitins  on  a  red  Rose. 
That  any  one  should  therefore  be  suspicious 
I  more  incline  to  Somerset,  than  York: 
Both  are  my  Idnsmen,  and  I  love  them  both: 
As  well  they  may  upbraid  me  with  my  crown, 
llecause,  tbrsooth,  the  king  of  Scots  is  crownM. 
But  your  discretions  better  can  persuade. 
Than  I  am  able  to  instruct  or  teach: 
And  therefore,  as  we  hither  came  in  peace. 
So  let  us  still  continue  peace  and  love. — 
Cousin  6f  York,  we  institute  your  grace 
To  be  our  regent  in  these  parts  of  France: — 
And  good  my  lord  of  Somerset,  unite 
Your  troops  of  horsemen  with  his  bands  of  foot; 
And,  like  true  subjects,  sons  of  your  progenitors, 
Go  cheerftUy  together,  and  digest 
Your  angry  choler  on  your  enemies. 
Ourself,  my  lord  protector,  and  the  rest. 
After  some  respite,  will  return  to  Calais; 
From  thence  to  England;  where  I  hope  efe  long 
To  be  presented,  by  your  victories, 
With  Charles,  Alenc^on,  and  that  traitorous  rout. 
[Flourish.    Exeunt  King  Henry,  Glo.,  Som., 
Win.,  Suf.,  and  Basset. 

War.  My  lord  of  York,  I  promise  you,  tiie  king 
Prettily,  methought,  did  play  the  orator. 

York.  And  so  he  did;  but  3'^et  I  like  it  not. 
In  that  lie  wears  the  badge  of  Somerset. 

War.  Tush!  that  was  but  his  faiicy,  blame  him 
not; 
I  dare  presume,  sweet  prince,  he  thought  no  harm. 

York.  And,  if  I  wist  iie  did, — But  let  it  rest; 
Other  afldirs  must  now  be  managed. 

[Exeunt  York,  Warwicic,  and  Vernon. 

Exe.  Well  didsL  thou,  Richard,  to  suppress  thy 
voice; 
For,  hath  the  passions  of  thy  heart  burst  out, 
I  fear  we  should  have  seen  decipherM  there 
More  rancorous  spite,  more  furious  roging  broils. 
Than  yet  can  be  imagined  or  supposM. 
But  liowsoe'er,  no  simple  man  that  sees 
This  jarring  discord  of  nobility. 
This  should'ring  of  each  other  in  the  court, 
This  factious  bandying  of  their  favorites, 
But  that  it  doth  presage  some  ill  event. 
'Tis  much,  when  sceptres  are  in  children's  hands; 
But  more,  when  envy  breeds  unkind  division; 
There  comes  the  ruin,  there  begins  conlusion.  [Exit. 

SCENE  11.— France.    Before  Bourdeaux. 

Enter  Talbot,  with,  his  Forces. 

Tal.  Go  to  tlie  gates  of  Bourdcaux,  trumpeter, 
Summon  their  general  unto  the  wall. 

Trumpet  sounds  a  Parley.    Enter^  on  the  Walls^ 

the  General  of  the  French  Forces,  and  others. 
English  John  Talbot,  captains,  calls  you  forth, 
Servant  in  arms  to  Harry,  king  of  England; 
And  thus  he  would,— Open  your  city  gates, 
Be  humble  to  us;  call  my  sovereign  yours. 
And  do  him  homage  as  obedient  sulijects, 
And  ni  withdraw  me  and  my  bloody  power: 
But,  if  you  iVown  upon  this  protfer'd  peace, 
You  tempt  the  fury  of  my  three  attendants, 
Lean  famuie,  quartering  steel,  and  climbing  tire; 
Wlio,  in  a  moini'iit,  cvt-n  with  the  earth 
Shall  lay  yt>ur  stalely  and  air-bravnig  towers, 
If  you  Ji)rsake  the  oiler  of  their  love. 

Gen.  Thou  ominous  and  Ibarful  owl  of  death, 
Our  nation^s  terror,  and  their  bloody  scourge! 


The  period  of  tliy  tyranny  approaciieth. 

On  us  thou  canst  not  enter  but  by  death: 

Kor,  I  protest,  we  are  well  fortified, 

And  strong  enough  to  issue  out  and  fight: 

If  thou  retire,  the  dauphin,  welt  appointed, 

Stands  with  the  snares  of  war  to  tangle  thbf ; 

On  either  hand  thee  there  are  squadrons  piich'd. 

To  wall  thee  Irom  the  liberty  of  flight; 

And  no  way  canst  thou  turn  thee  for  redress, 

But  death  doth  front  thee  with  apparent  spoil, 

And  pale  destruction  meets  thee  ia  the  face. 

Ten  thousand  French  have  taVn  the  sacrament, 

To  rive  their  dangerous  artillery 

Upon  no  Christian  soul  but  English  Talbot. 

Lo!  there  thou  stand'st,  a  breathing  valiant  man, 

Of  an  invincible  unconquerM  spirit; 

This  is  the  latest  glory  of  thy  praise. 

That  I,  thy  enemy,  due^  thee  withal ; 

For  ere  the  glass,  that  now  begins  to  run, 

Finish  the  process  of  tlii^  sandy  hour. 

These  eyes,  that  see  thee  now  well  colored, 

Shall  see  thee  withcrM,  bloody,  pale,  and  dead. 

[Drum  afar  o^ 
Hark!  hark!  the  dauphin's  drum,  a  warning  bell, 
Sings  heavy  music  to  thy  timorous  soul; 
And  mine  shall  ring  thy  dire  departure  out. 

[Exeunt  General,  ^■c.,froni  the  Walls. 
Tal.  He  fables  not,  1  hear  the  enemy; — 
Out,  somelight  horsemen,  and  peruse  their  wings. — 
O,  negligent  and  heedless  discipline! 
How  are  we  park'd,  and  bounded  in  a  pale; 
A  little  herd  of  England's  timorous  deer, 
MazM  with  a  yelping  kennel  of  French  curs! 
If  we  be  English  deer,  be  then  in  blood:^ 
Not  rascal-like,'  to  tall  down  with  a  pinch; 
But  rather  moody-mad,  and  desperate  stays, 
Turn  on  the  bloody  iiounds  with  heads  ot  steel, 
And  make  the  cowards  stand  aloof  at  bay : 
Sell  every  man  his  life  as  dear  as  mine. 
And  they  shall  lind  dear  deer  of  us,  my  friends. — 
God,  and  saint   George!    Talbot,  and  England's 

right! 
Prosper  our  colors  in  this  dangerous  fight! 

[Excuiit. 

SCENE  III.— P/(^in5  in  Gascony. 

Enter  York,  with  Forces;  to  /dm  a  Messenger, 

York.  Arc  not  the  speedy  scouts  return'd  again, 
That  dogg'd  the  mighty  army  of  the  dauphin? 

Mess.  They  are  returned,  my  lord;  and  give  it  out^ 
That  he  is  march'd  to  Bourdeaux  with  his  power, 
To  fight  with  Talbot:  As  he  marcliM  along, 
By  your  espials^  were  discovered 
Two  mightier  troitps  tlian  that  the  dauphin  led: 
Which  join'd  with  him,  and  made  their  march  lor 
Bourdeaux. 

Y(/rk.  A  plague  upon  that  villain  Somerset; 
That  thus  delays  my  promised  supply 
Of  horsemen,  that  were  levied  for  this  siege! 
Renowned  Talbot  doth  expect  my  aid; 
And  I  am  lowted"  by  a  traitor  villain, 
And  cannot  help  the  noble  chevalier: 
God  comfort  him  in  his  necessity! 
If  he  miscarry,  lixrewell  wars  in  France. 
Enter  Sir  William  Lucy. 

Luci/.    Thou    princely    leader    of  our    English 
strength, 
Never  so  needful  on  the  earth  of  France, 
Spur  to  the  rescue  of  the  noble  Talbot; 
VVho  now  is  girdled  with  a  waist  of  iron, 
And  hemm'd  about  with  grim  destruction: 
To  Bourdeaux,  warlike  duke !  to  Bourdeaux.  York! 
Else,  farewell  Talbot,  France,  and  England's  honor. 

York.  0  God  !  that  Somerset — who  in  proud  heart 
Doth  stop  my  cornets — were  in  Talbot's  place! 
So  slmiild  we  save  a  valiant  gentleman. 
By  lot  tntnig  a  traitor  and  a  coward. 
Mad  ire,  and  wrathful  fury,  makes  me  weep, 
That  thus  we  die,  wliile  remiss  traitors  sleep. 

Luciu  O,  send  some  succor  lo  the  distressed  lord! 

York,  He  dies,  v\-e  lose;  I  break  my  warlike  word: 
We  mourn,  France  smiles;  we  lose,  they  daily  get; 
All  'long  of  this  vile  traitor  Somerset. 

Lucy.  Then,  God  take  mercy  on  brave  Talbot's 
soul ! 

^Knduo,  honor.  '"'In  lii{^h  snirits. 

'  A  rascal  deer  is  the  term  of  chace  for  lean  jioor  deer 
8  Spies.  "  Vaiiiiuislied.  balllel 


Scene  VI. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


401 


And  on  his  son,  youn^  John;  whom,  tv,o  hours 

since, 
I  met  in  travel  toward  his  warlike  father. 
These  seven  years  did  not  Talbot  see  his  son ; 
And  now  the}'  meet  where  both  their  Jives  are  done. 

York.  Alas!  wliat  joy  shall  noble  Taibot  have, 
To  bid  his  young  son  welcome  to  his  grave! 
Away!  vexation  almost  stops  my  breath, 
That  sunder'd  iViciids  greet  in  the  hour  of  death. — 
Lucy,  farewell:  no  more  my  fortune  can. 
But  curse  the  cause  1  cannot  aid  the  man. — 
Maine,  Blois,  Poicliers,  and  Toui-s,  are  won  away, 
'Long  all  of  Somerset,  and  his  delay.  [i'j,i/. 

Luc'j.  Thus,  while  the  vulture  of  sedition 
Feeds  in  the  bosom  of  such  great  commanders, 
Sleeping  neglcction  dolli  betray  to  lo.ss 
The  conquest  of  our  scarce-cold  conqueror, 
That  ever-living  man  of  memory, 
Henry  the  Filth: — Whiles  they  each  other  cross, 
Lives,  lienors,  lands,  and  all,  hurry  to  loss.     [Exit. 

SCENE  lY.— Other  Plains  of  Gascony. 

Enter  Someuset,  wil/i  his  Forces;  an  Officer  of 
Talbot's  with  liirn. 

Som.  It  is  too  late;  I  cannot  send  them  now; 
This  expedition  was  by  York,  and  Talbot, 
Too  rashly  plotted;  all  our  general  Ibrce 
Might  with  a  sally  of  the  very  town 
Be  buckled  with:  the  over-daring  Talbot  , 
Hath  sullied  all  his  gloss  of  former  honor, 
By  this  unhecdful,  desperate,  wild  adventure; 
York  set  him  on  to  tight,  and  die  in  shame, 
That,  Talbot  dead,  great  York  miglit  bear  the  name. 

Ojf'.  Here  is  sir  William  Lucy,  who  with  me 
Set  from  our  o'er-inatch'd  Ibrces  Ibrtli  lor  aid. 

Enter  Siit  William  Lucy. 

Som.  How  now,  sir  William  1  whither  were  you 

sent ! 
Lucy.  Whither,  my  lordl  from  bought  and  sold 
lord  Talbot; 
Who,  ring'd  about'  with  bold  adversity, 
Cries  out  lor  noble  York  and  Somerset, 
To  beat  assailing  death  from  his  weak  legions. 
And  whiles  the  honorable  captain  there  ^ 
Drops  bloody  sweat  from  his  war-wearied  limbs, 
And,  in  advantage  ling'ring,  looks  lor  rescue, 
You,  Ins  lalse  hopes,  the  trust  of  England's  lienor. 
Keep  olf  aloof  with  worthless  emulation. 
Let  not-your  private  discord  keep  away 
The  levied  succors  that  should  lend  hiiii  aid, 
While  he,  renowned  noble  genlleman. 
Yields  up  his  life  unto  a  world  of  odds: 
Orleans  the  Bastard,  Charles,  and  Burgundy, 
Alen<;oii,  Reignier,  compass  him  about. 
And  Talbot  perishelli  by  your  default. 
Sum.  York  set  iiini  on,  Y'ork  should  have  sent 

him  aid. 
Luc'j.  And  York  as  fast  upon  your  grace  ex- 
claims; 
Swearing  that  you  withhold  his  levied  liorse, 
Collected  lor  this  expedition. 
Som.  York  lies;  Im  might  have  sent  and  liad  the 
horse: 
I  owe  him  little  duty,  and  less  love; 
And  take  foul  scorn,  to  lawn  on  him  by  sending. 
Lucy.  The  fraud  of  England,  not  the  lorce  of 
France, 
Hath  now  cntrapp'd  the  noble-minded  Talbot: 
Never  to  England  shall  he  bear  his  lile; 
But  dies,  betray'd  to  fortune  hy  your  strife. 
Som.  Come,  go;  I  will  despatch  the  horsemen 
straight: 
VVitiiin  six  hours  they  will  be  at  his  aid. 

Lucy.  Too  late  comes  rescue:  he  is  ta'en  orslain: 
For  lly  he  could  not,  if  he  would  have  tied; 
Aiitl  Uy  would  Talbot  never,  though  he  might. 
Som.  It  he  be  dead,  biave  Talbot  then  adieu! 
Lucy.  His  fame  lives  in  the  world,  Jiis  shame  in 
you.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. — TAe  English  Camp  near  Boatdeaax. 

Enter  Talbot,  and  John  his  Son. 

Tal.  0  young  John  Talbot!  I  did  send  for  thee. 
To  tutor  thee  fn  stratagems  of  war; 

'Encircled. 


That  Talbot's  name  might  be  in  thee  reviv'd, 
VV^heii  sajjless  age,  and  weak  unable  limbs, 
Should  bring  th}  lather  to  his  drooping  chair. 
But. — 0  iiuiligiiiiiit  and  ill-boding  stars! — 
Now  thou  art  come  unto  a  least  of  death, 
A  terrible  and  niiavoided"  danger: 
Therelbre,  dear  hoy,  mount  on  my  swiftest  horse; 
And  I'll  direct  thee  how  thou  shalt  escape 
By  sudden  flight:  come,  dally  not;  begone. 

John,  is  my  name  Talbot?  and  am  1  your  son? 
And  shall  1  lly  !  O,  if  you  love  my  mother, 
Dishono;-  not  her  honorable  name. 
To  make  a  bastard,  and  a  slave  of  me: 
The  world  will  say— He  is  not  Talbot's  blood. 
That  basely  dcd  when  noble  Talbot  stood. 

Tal.  Fly,  to  revenge  my  death,  it'  1  be  slain. 

Juhti.  He,  that  Hies  so,  will  ne'er  return  again. 

Tal.  H"  we  both  slay,  we  both  are  sure  to  die. 

John.  Then  let  ine  stay;  and,  latiier,  do  you  lly: 
Your  loss  is  great,  so  jour  regard^  should  be; 
My  worth  uiiknow  ii,  no  less  is  known  in  me. 
Ljion  my  death  the  French  can  little  boast; 
In  yours  they  will,  in  you  all  hopes  are  lost. 
Flight  cannot  stain  the  honor  you  have  won; 
But  mine  it  will,  that  no  exploit  have  done; 
You  lied  lor  vantage,  every  one  will  swear; 
But,  if  I  bow,  they'll  say — it  was  Ibr  fear. 
There  is  no  hope  that  ever  I  will  stay. 
If,  the  first  hour,  I  shrink,  and  run  away. 
Here  on  my  knee,  I  beg  mortality. 
Rather  than  life  pieserv'd  with  inliimy. 

Tal.  Shall  all  thy  inother'shopes  liein  one  tombi 

John.  A  J',  rather  than  I'll  shame   my  mother's 
womb. 

Tal.  Upon  my  blessing,  I  command  thee  go. 

John.  To  light  1  will,  but  not  to  liy  the  loe. 

'Tal.  Part  of  th}'  liither  may  be  sav'd  in  thee. 

John.  No  part  Ct(  him,  but  will  be  shame  in  me. 

Tal.  Thou  never  liadst  renown,  nor  canst  not 
lose  it. 

John.  Yes,  your  renowned  name;  Shall  flight 
abuse  it  ] 

Tal.  Thy  father's  charge  shall  clear  thee  from 
that  stain. 

John.  You  cannot  witness  for  me,  being  slain. 
If  death  be  so  apparent,  then  both  lly. 

Tal.  And  lea\e  my  ibllowers  here,  to  fight  and 
die! 
My  age  was  never  tainted  with  such  shame. 

John.  Andshall  my  youth  beguiltyof  such  blame? 
No  more  can  I  be  severed  from  your  side. 
That  can  yourself  j  ourself  in  twain  divide  : 
Stay,  go,  do  what  you  will,  the  like  do  I; 
For  live  1  will  not,  if  my  lather  die. 

Tal.  Then  here  1  take  my  leave  of  thee,  fair  son, 
Born  to  eclipse  thy  lile  this  afternoon. 
Come,  side  by  side  together  live  and  die; 
And  soul  with  soul  from  France  to  heaven  rly. 

[  Exeunt. 

SCENE  \l.— A  Field  of  Battle. 

Alarum:    Excur.'iion,  wherein    Talbot's    Son  is 
lienimcd  about,  and  Talbot  rescues  him. 

Tal.  Saint  George  and  victory!  fight,  soldiers, 
fight: 
The  regent  hath  with  Talbot  broke  his  word, 
And  lell  us  to  the  rage  of  France's  sword. 
Where  is  John  Talbot  '—pause,  and  take  thy  breath; 
I  gave  thee  life,  and  rescued  thee  from  death. 

John.  0  twice  my  lather!  twice  am  I  thy  son: 
The  lite  thou  gav'st  me  first,  was  lost  and  done; 
Till  with  thy  warlike  sword,  despite  of  late, 
To  my  dfteiniiird'  time  thou  gav'st  new  date. 

Tal.  When  from  the  dauphin's  crest  thy  s»ord 
struck  fire. 
It  warin'd  thy  lather's  heart  with  proud  desire 
Of  bold-laced  victory.    Then  leaden  age, 
Quicken'd  with  }Oulliful  .-spleen,  and  warlike  rage, 
Beat  down  Aleui,cin,  Orleans,  Burgundy. 
And  from  the  piide  of  Gallia  rescued  tliee. 
The  ireful  bastard  Orleans — that  drew  blood 
From  thee,  my  boy ;  aiid  had  the  maidenhood 
Of  thy  first  fight— 1  soon  encountered; 
And.  interchaiiging  blows,  I  quickly  shed 
Some  of  his  bastard  blood;  and,  in  disgrace, 
Bespoke  him  thus:  Contaminated,  base, 


3For  unavoidalile 
3  Your  care  o^  >  ov.r  own  satety. 
20 


*  Ended. 


402 


FIRST  PART   OF 


Act  IV. 


And  mishegoitcn  blood  I  spilt  of  thine. 

Mean,  and  right  jioor,-  for  Ih/il  pure  blood  of  mine. 

Which  thou,  didst  force  from   Talbot,  my   brave 

boy:— 
Here,  purposing  the  Bastard  to  destroy. 
Came  m  strong  rescue.    Speak,  thy  lather's  care; 
Art  not  thou  weary,  John]     How  dost  thou  fare T 
Wi!t  thou  yet  leave  the  battle,  boy,  and  lly. 
Now  tliou  art  seaPd  the  son  of  chivalry? 
Fly,  to  reven;j;e  my  death,  when  I  am  dead; 
Tlic  help  of  one  stands  me  in  little  stead. 
O,  too  much  foliy  is  it,  well  I  wot, 
To  iiazard  all  our  lives  in  one  small  boat. 
If  I  to-day  die  not  with  l''rcncl)men''s  rage, 
To-morrow  I  shall  die  with  mickie  age; 
By  me  they  nothing  gain,  an  if  I  stay, 
'Tis  but  tlie  short'ning  of  my  life  one  day: 
In  tiiee  thy  mother  dies,  our  houschokrs  name. 
My  death's   revenge,  tliy  youth,   and   England's 

fame. 
All  these,  and  more,  we  hazard  by  thy  stay; 
All  (hose  are  sav'd,  if  thou  wilt  fly  away. 
John.  Tlie  sword  of  Orleans  hath  not  made  me 

smalt, 
These  words  of  yours   draw  life-blood  from  my 

heart  : 
On  tiiat  advantage,  bought  with  such  a  shame, 
(To  save  a  paltry  life,  and  slay  bright  fame,) 
Before  young  Talbot  from  old  Talbot  tly, 
The  coward  horse,  that  bears  me,  fall  and  die: 
And  like"  me  to  the  peasant  boys  of  France; 
To  be  shame's  scorn,  and  subject  of  mischance! 
Surely,  by  all  the  glory  you  have  won. 
An  if  I  lly,  I  am  not  Talbot's  son: 
Tiien  talk  no  more  of  tlight,  it  is  no  boot; 
If  son  to  Talbot,  die  at  Talbofs  foot. 

Tat.  Then  follow  thou  thy  desperate  sire  of  Crete, 
Tiiou  Icarus;  thy  lile  to  me  is  sweet: 
If  thovi  wilt  fight,  light  by  thy  father's  side; 
And,  commendable  prov'd,  let's  die  in  pride, 

[Exeimt. 

SCENE  Vll.— Another  Part  of  the  same. 

Alarum:    Excursions.    Enter   Talbot  tvounded, 
supported  by  a  Servant. 
Tal.    Where  is    my  other   life*!    mine  own    is 
gone;— 
O,  Where's  young  Talbot?  where  is  valiant  John? — 
Triumphant  death,  smear'd  with  captivity ! 
Young  Talbot's  valor  makes  me  sinile  at  thee:^ 
Wiion  he  perceiv'd  me  shrink,  and  on  my  knee, 
Hi.s  bloody  sword  iie  brandisliM  over  mo, 
And,  hkc  a  hungry  lion,  did  commence 
Rough  deeds  of  rage,  and  stern  impatience; 
But  when  my  angry  guardant  stood  alone, 
Tend'ring  my  ruin,«  and  assail'd  of  none, 
Dizzy-ey'ii  fury,  and  great  rage  of  heart, 
Suddenly  made  him  from  my  side  to  start 
Into  tlie  clust'ring  battle  of  the  French: 
And  in  that  sea  of  blood  my  boy  did  drench 
His  overmounting  spirit;  and  there  died 
]Vly  Icarus,  my  blossom,  in  his  pride. 

Enter  Soldiers,  bearing  the  Body  of  John  Talbot. 

Serv.  0,  my  dear  lord!  lo,  where  your  son  is 

borne ! 
Tal.  Thou  antic  death,  which  laugh'st  us  here  to 
scorn, 
Anon,  from  thy  insulting  tyranny, 
Coujilcd  in  bonds  of  perpetuity, 
Two  Talbots,  winged  through  the  lither"'  sky, 
In  thy  despite,  shall  'scape  mortality. — 
O  thou  whose  wounds  become  hard-tavor'd  death, 
Sjjcak  to  thy  father,  ere  thou  yield  thy  breath: 
Bravo  death  by  speaking,  whether  he  will,  or  no; 
Imagine  him  a  Frenchman,  and  thy  foe.^ 
Poor   boy!   he  smiles,   melhinks;  as  who  should 

say — 
Had  death  been  French,  then  death  had  died  to- 
day. 
Come,  come,  and  lay  him  in  his  father's  arms; 
My  spirit  can  no  iDugor  bear  these  harms. 
Soldiers,  adieu!  I  have  what  I  would  have, 
Now  my  old  arms  iue  young  Jdhn  Talbot's  grave. 

[Dies, 

*M.ike  rac  like. 

"Watching  nie  with  tenilerness  in  my  fall. 

'  Flo.ible,  yielding. 


Alarums.  Exeunt  Soldiers  and  Servant,  leaving  the 
two  Bodies.  A'///erCHAULEs,ALENLON,  Burgundy, 
Bastard,  LA  Pucellb,  and  Forces.' 

Char.  Had  York  and   Somerset  brought  rescue 
in, 
We  should  have  found  a  bloody  day  of  this. 
Bust.  How  the  young  whelp  of  Talbot's,  raging 
wood," 
Did  flesh  his  puny  sword  in  Frenchmen's  blood! 
Puc.  Once  I  encounter'd  him,  and  thus  I  said, 
Thou  maiden  youth,  be  vanquish'^d  by  a  maid: 
But — with  a  proud,  majestical,  high  "scorn — 
He  answer'd  thus :     Young  Talbot  was  not  born 
To  be  the  pillage  of  a  giglot^  tvench: 
So,  rusliing  in  the  bowels  of  the  French, 
He  left  me  proudly,  as  unworthy  fight. 
Bur.  Doubtless,  he  would  havemade  a  noble 
knight : 
See.  where  he  lies  inherscd  in  the  arms 
Of  the  most  bloody  nurser  of  his  haruis. 
Bast.    Hew   them   to  pieces,  hack  their  bones 
asunder; 
Whose  Ufa  was  England's  glory,  Gallia's  wonder. 
Char.    0,  no;  tbrbear:  for  that  which  we  have 
fled 
During  the  life,  let  us  not  wrong  it  dead. 

Enter  Sm   William  Luct,  attended;   a   Frenci 
Herald  preceding. 

Lucy.  Herald. 
Conduct  me  to  the  dauphin's  tent;  to  know 
Who  hath  obtani'd  the  glory  of  the  day. 

Char.    On   what  submissive  message   art   thoU 
sent? 

Lucy.  Submission,  dauphin?  'tis  a  mere  French 
word ; 
We  English  warriors  wot  not  what  it  means. 
I  come  to  know  what  prisoners  thou  hast  ta'en. 
And  to  survey  the  bodies  of  the  dead. 

Char.  For  prisoners  ask'st  thou?  iiell  our  prison 
is. 
But  tell  me  wOiom  thou  seek'st. 

lAicy.  Where  is  the  great'Alcides  of  the  field, 
Valiant  lord  Talbot,  earl  of  Shrewsbury — 
Created,  for  his  rare  success  in  arms, 
Great  earl  of  Washford,  Waterford,  and  Valence; 
Lord  Talbot  of  Goodrig  and  Urchinfield, 
Lord  Strange  of  Blackmere,  lord  Verdun  of  Alton, 
Lord  Cromwell  of   Wingheld,  lord    Furnival    of 

Sheffield, 
The  tlirice  victorious  lord  of  Falconbridge; 
Knight  of  the  noble  order  of  saint  George, 
Worthy  saint  Michael,  and  the  golden  tlcece; 
Great  mareshal  to  Henry  the  Sixth, 
Of  all  his  wars  within  the  realm  of  France? 

Puc.  Here  is  a  silly  stately  style  indeed  ! 
The  Turk,  that  two-and-lifty  kingdoms  hath, 
Writes  not  so  tedious  a  style  as  this. — 
Him,  that  thou  magnifiest  with  all  these  titles, 
Stinking  and  tlv-blown,  lies  here  at  our  feet. 

Lucy.  Is  Talbot  slain;    the  Frenchmen's  only 
scourge, 
Your  kingdom's  terror  and  black  Nemesis? 
O,  were  mine  eyc-bnils  into  bullets  turn'd, 
That  I,  in  rage,  might  shoot  them  at  your  faces! 
O,  that  I  could  but  call  these  dead  to  life ! 
H.  were  enough  to  fright  the  realm  of  France: 
Were  but  his  picture  left  among  you  here, 
It  would  amaze  the  proudest  of  you  all. 
Give    me    th.'ir    bodies    that    I    may   bear    them 

hence. 
And  give  tliein  burial  as  beseems  their  worth. 

Puc.  I  think,  this  upstart  is  old  Talbot's  ghost, 
He  speaks  with  such  a  proud  commanding  spirit. 
For  God's  sake,  let  him  have  'em ;  to  keep  them 

here, 
They  would  but  stink,  and  putrefy  the  air. 

Char.  Go,  take  their  bodies  hence. 

Lucy.  I'll  bear  them  henco 

But  fiom  their  ashes  shall  be  rear'd 
A  pliirnix  that  shall  make  all  France  afeard. 

Char.  So  we  be  rid  of  them,  do  with  'em  wliat 
(lion  wilt. 
And  now  to  Fiiris.  in  this  conquering  vein; 
All  will  be  curs^  now  bloody  Talbot's  slain. 

[Exeunt. 


^Raving  mad. 


0  Wanton. 


Act  V.  Scene  III. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 


403 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  KiKG  He.vry,  Gloster,  and  Exeter. 

K.  Hen.  Have  you  perus'd  the  letters  from  the 
pope, 
The  emperor,  and  the  earl  of  Armagnac? 

Glo.  I  have,  my  lord;  and  their  intent  is  this,— 
They  humbly  sue  nnto  your  excellence. 
To  have  a  godly  peace  concluded  of. 
Between  the  realms  of  Ensland  and  of  France. 

A'.  He"..  How  doth  your  grace  all'ect  Ihcir  motion? 

Glo.  Well,  my  good  lord;  and  as  the  only  means 
To  stop  effusion  of  our  Christian  blood. 
And  'stahlish  quietness  on  every  side. 

K.  Hen.  Ay,  marry,  uncie ;  for  I  always  thought, 
It  was  both  mipious  and  unnatural. 
That  such  immauity  >  and  bloody  strife 
Should  reign  among  prolessors  of  one  faitli. 

Glo.  Beside,  my  lord. — the  sooner  to  ellect, 
And  surer  bind,  this  knot  of  amity, — 
The  carl  of  Armagnac — near  knit  to  Charles, 
A  man  of  great  authority  in  France. — 
Prolfers  his  only  daughter  to  your  grace 
In  marriage,  with  a  large  and  sumptuous  dowrj'. 

A'.  Hen.    jlarriage,  uncle!  alas!   my  years  are 
young; 
And  filler  is  my  study  and  my  books. 
Than  wanton  dalliance  with  a  paramour. 
Vet,  call  Ihe  ambassadors;  and,  as  you  please, 
So  let  Ihein  have  their  answers  every  one: 
I  shall  bo  well  content  with  any  choice. 
Tends  to  God^s  glory,  and  my  country's  weal. 
Enter  a  Legate,  and  two  Ambassadors,  willi  WiN- 
CUESTER,  in  a  CunlinaPs  Habit. 

Exe.  What!  is  my  lord  of  Winchester  install'd, 
And  call'd  unto  a  cardinaPs  degree! 
Then,  I  perceive,  that  will  be  verified, 
Henry  the  Fifth  did  sometime  prophesy, — 
If  once  lie  come  to  he  a  cardinal, 
he^ll  inatiC  ttl'i  cap  co-equal  with,  the  crown. 

K.  Hen.    My   lords  ambassadors,  your  several 
suits 
Have  been  consider'd  and  debated  on. 
Vour  purpose  is  both  good  and  reasonable: 
And,  therefore,  are  we  certainty  resolv'd 
To  draw  conditions  of  a  friendly  peace; 
Which,  by  my  lord  of  Winchester,  we  mean 
Shall  be  transported  presently  to  France. 

Glo.  Andfortheprolicrof  mylord  yourmaster, — 
I  have  inform'd  his  highness  so  at  large, 
As — liking  of  the  lady's  virtuous  gil'ts. 
Her  beauty,  and  the  value  o(  her  dower, — 
He  doth  intend  she  shall  be  England's  queen. 

K.llen.  luargumentand  proof  of  which  contract. 
Bear  her  this  jewel,  [To  tlie  Amb.]  pledge  of  my 

allection. 
And  so.  my  lord  protector,  see  them  guarded. 
And  safely  brought  to  Dover;  where,  inshipp'd, 
Commit  them  to  the  fortune  of  the  sea. 

[Exeunt  King  Henry  and  Train;  Gloster, 
Exeter,  and  Ambassadors. 

TVin.  Stay,  my  lord  legate;  you  shall  first  receive 
The  sunr  of  money,  which  I  promised 
Sboultl  be  deliver'd  to  his  holiness 
For  clothing  me  in  these  grave  ornaments. 

Ee.^.  I  will  attend  upon  your  lordship's  leistire. 

IVin.  ^fow,  Winchester  will  not  submit,  I  trow. 
Or  be  inferior  to  the  proudest  peer. 
Humphrey  of  Gloster,  tliou  shalt  well  perceive, 
That  neitlier  in  birth,  or  for  authority. 
The  bishoii  will  be  overborne  by  thee: 
ril  either  make  thee  stooji.  and  bend  thy  knee. 
Or  sack  this  country  with  a  mutiny.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— France.    Plain.<!  in  Anjou. 

'Enter  Charles,  Burgdxdy,  Alestox,  L.4.  Pucelle, 
and  Forces,  marching. 

Char.  These  news,  my  lords,  may  cheer  our 
drooping  spirits: 

^  iDhum.^nlty. 


'Tis  said,  the  stout  Parisians  do  revolt, 
And  turn  again  unto  llie  warlike  French. 

Alen.    Then   march   to  Paris,  royal  Charles  of 
France, 
And  keep  not  back  your  powers  in  dalliance. 

Pnc.  Peace  be  amongst  them,  if  they  turn  to  us 
Else,  ruin  combat  with  their  palaces! 
Enter  a  Messenger.    . 

Mesa.  Success  unto  our  valiant  general, 
And  happiness  to  his  accomplices! 

Chur.  What  tidings  send  our  scouts?  I  pr'ythce, 
speak. 

Mess.  The  English  army,  that  divided  was 
Into  two  parts,  is  now  conjoin'd  in  one; 
And  means  to  give  you  battle  preseiuly. 

Char.  Somewhat  too  sudden,  sirs,  the  warning  is; 
But  we  will  presently  jjrovidc  for  lliem. 

Bar.  I  trust,  the  ghost  of  Talbot  is  not  there ; 
Now  he  is  gone,  my  lord,  you  need  not  fear. 

Puc.  Of  all  base  passions,  tear  is  most  accurs'd  :^ 
Command  the  conrjuest,  Charles,  it  shall  be  tliine; 
Let  lieury  fret,  and  all  the  world  rejiine. 

Char.  Then   on,  my  lords;  And  France  be  for- 
tunate !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Before  Anglers. 
Alarums;  Excursions.    Enter  L.i  Pccelle. 
Puc.  The  regent  conquers,  and  the  Frenchmen 
tly.- 
Now  help,  ye  charming  spells,  and  periapts;' 
And  ye  choice  s]>irits  that  admonish  nie. 
And  give  me  signs  of  future  accidents !   [Tliuiider 
Vou  speedy  helpers,  that  are  substitutes 
L'nder  the  lordU'  monarch  of  the  north,^ 
Appear,  and  aid  me  in  this  enterprizc! — 

Enter  Fiends. 

This  speedy  quick  appearance  argues  proof 

Of  your  accustom'd  dilligcnce  to  me. 

Now,  ye  familiar  spirits,  that  are  cuH'd 

Out  of  the  powerful  regions  under  earth. 

Help  me  this  once,  that  France  may  get  the  field. 

[They  walk  about,  and  speal;  not. 
O,  hold  me  not  with  silence  over-long! 
Where  I  was  wont  to  feed  you  with  my  blood, 
I'll  lop  a  member  off,  and  give  it  you, 
In  earnest  of  a  further  benefit; 
So  you  do  condescend  to  help  ine  now. — 

[Theii  hung  their  heads. 
No  hope  to  have  redress? — My  body  shall 
Pay  recompense,  it  you  will  jjrant  my  suit. 

[  Ttiey  shake  their  heads. 
Cannot  my  body,  nor  blood-sacrilice, 
Entreat  you  to  your  wonted  furtherance? 
Then  take  my  soul;  my  body,  soul,  and  all, 
Belbre  that  England  give  the'  French  the  foil. 

[They  depart. 
Sec!  they  for.sake  me.    Now  the  time  is  come. 
That  F'rance  must  vail*  her  lofty-plumed  crest, 
And  let' her  head  fall  into  England's  lap. 
My  ancient  inc^antations  are  too  weak. 
And  hell  too  strong  for  me  to  buckle  with  : 
Now,  France,  thy  glory  droopeth  to  the  dust. 

[Exit. 
Alarums.  Enter  French  and  Enjilish  fighting.   La. 

Pitcei.i.e   anil  York  fight   hand   to  liand.    La 

PiCELLE  is  taken.    The  French/!;/. 

York.  Damsel  of  France,  I  think  I  have  3'on  fas^ 
Unchain  your  spirits  now  with  .spelling  charms, 
.\nd  try  if  they  can  gain  your  liberty. — ■ 
A  goodly  prize,  fit  for  the  devil's  grace! 
See  how  the  ugly  witch  doth  bend  her  brows. 
As  if,  with  Circe,  she  would  change  my  shape. 

Puc.  Changed  to  a  worser  shape  thou  canst  not 
be. 

York.  O,  Charles  the  dauphin  is  a  proper  man: 
No  shape  but  his  can  please  your  dainty  eye. 

2 Charms  worn  aliout  the  person. 

3  The  north  wag  supposed  to  be  the  particular  Iial>ita- 
tion  of  bad  spirits.  ^ Lower. 


404 


FIRST  PART  OF 


Act  V. 


Puc.  A  plaguing  mischief  light  on  Charles,  and 
thee! 
And  may  ye  both  be  suddenly  surprisM 
By  bloody  hands,  in  sleeping  on  your  beds! 

Yurk.  Fell,  banning' iiug!  enchantress,  hold  thy 

tonsue. 
Puc.  I  pr'ythee,  give  me  leave  to  curse  a  while. 
Yurk.  Curse,  miscreant,  when   thou  comest  to 
tlie  slake.  [Exeunt. 

Alarums.    Enter  Suffolk,  leading  in  Lady  Mar- 
garet. 

Suf.  Be  what  ihou  wilt,  thou  art  my  prisoner. 

[Gazes  on  her. 

0  fairest  beauty,  do  not  fear,  nor  fly ; 

For  I  will  toucli  thee  but  with  reverent  hands, 
And  lay  them  gently  on  thy  tender  side. 

1  Jiiss  these  fingers  [Kissing  her  hand.]  for  eter- 

nal peace: 
"Who  art  thoul  say,  that  I  may  honor  thee. 

Mar.  Margaret  my  name;  and  daughter  to  a  king, 
The  king  of  Naples,  whosoVr  thou  art. 

Suf  An  earl  1  am,  and  Sullblk  am  1  call'd. 
Be  not  ollbnded,  nature's  miracle. 
Thou  art  alotted  to  be  ta'en  by  mc: 
So  doth  the  swan  her  downy  cyicnets  save, 
Kcephig  them  prisoners  underiR-atli  her  wings. 
Yet,  if  this  servile  usage  <mce  ulU'nd, 
Go,  and  be  free  again  as  SuHolk's  friend. 

[She  turns  awai/  os  going. 
O,  stay !— I  have  no  power  to  let  her  pass  ; 
My  hand  would  free  her,  but  my  heart  says— no. 
As  plays  the  sun  upon  the  glassy  streams, 
Twnikling  another  countcrleited  beam, 
So  seems  "this  gorgeous  beauty  to  mine  eyes. 
Fain  would  1  woo  her,  yet  I  dare  not  speak; 
I'll  call  for  pen  and  ink,  and  write  my  mind: 
Fye,  De  la  Poole!  disable  not  thyself;" 
Hast  not  a  tongue 7  Is  she  not  here  thy  prisoner? 
Wilt  thou  be  daunted  at  a  woman's  sight] 
Ay;  beauty''s  princt'ty  nnijesty  is  such. 
Confounds  the  tont;ue,  :ind  makes  the  senses  rough. 

Mar,  Say,  earl  of  Sullblk, — if  thy  name  be  so, — 
"What  ransom  must  I  pay  before  1  pass? 
For  I  perceive,  I  am  thy  prisoner. 

Suf.  How  canst  thou  tell  slie  will  deny  thy  suit. 
Before  thou  make  a  trial  of  iier  love  f  [Asite. 

Mar.    Why  speak'st    thou  not!    what  ransom 
must  I  pay  7 

Suf.  Slic's  beautiful;  and  therefore  to  be  woo'd: 
She  IS  a  woman;  thcrelbrc  to  be  won.  [Aside. 

Mar.  WiJt  thou  accept  of  ransom,  yea,  or  no] 

Suf.  Fond  man !  remember  that  thou  hast  a  wire; 
Tlien  how  can  Margaret  be  thy  paramour]  [Aside. 

Mar.  I  were  best  leave  liiin,  for  he  will  not  hear. 

Suf.  There  all  is  inarr'd ;  there  lies  a  coolmg  card. 

Mar,  He  talks  at  random;  sure  tlie  man  is  mad. 

Suf.  And  yet  a  dispensation  may  be  had. 

Mar.  And  yet  I  would  that  you  would  answer 
me. 

Suf.  ril  win  this  lady  Margaret.    For  whom  ] 
Why.  for  my  king:  Tush!  that's  a  wooden  thingJ 

Mar.  He  talks  of  wood:  It  is  some  carpenter. 

Suf  Yet  so  my  fancy"  may  be  satisfied, 
■  And  peace  established  between  these  realms. 
But  there  remains  a  scruple  in  that  too: 
For  though  her  father  be  the  king  of  Naples, 
Duke  of  Anjou  and  Maine,  yet  is  lie  poor, 
And  our  nobility  wilt  scorn  the  match.  [Aside. 

Mar.  Ileiir  ye,  captain]  Are  you  not  at  leisure] 

Suf  It  siiall  be  so,  disdain  they  ne'er  so  much; 
Henry  is  youthful,  and  will  quickly  yield. — 

[Aside. 
Madam  I  have  a  secret  !o  reveal. 

Mar.  What  though  1  be  entliraird]  he  seems  a 
knigiit, 
And  will  nut  any  way  dislionor  me.  [Aside. 

Suf.  Lady,  vouchsafe  to  listen  what  I  say. 

Mar.  Perhaps,  1  shall  be  rescued  by  the  French; 
And  then  I  need  not  crave  his  courtesy.        [A-nde. 

Sitf  Sweet  madam,  give  me  hearing  in  a  cause — 

Mar.  Tush !  women  have  been  captivate  ere  now. 

[Aside. 

Suf.  Lady,  wherefore  talk  you  so] 

Mar.  I  cry  you  mercy,  'tis  but  <jui  I  for  guo. 

^To  ban  ia  to  curse. 
'^  Do  not  represent  thyself  go  weak. 
1  An  awkward  busniesa,  an  undertaking  not  likely  to 
succeeil.  «Love. 


Suf.  Suy,  gentle  princess,  would  you  not  sup- 
pose 
Your  bondage  happy,  to  be  made  a  queen  ? 

Mar.  To  be  a  queen  in  liondage,  is  more  vile. 
Than  is  a  slave  in  base  servility; 
For  princes  should  be  free. 

Suf.  And  so  shall  you 

If  liappy  England's  royal  king  be  free. 

Mar.  Why,  what  concerns  his  freedom  unto  me] 

Suf  I'll  undertake  to  make  thee  Henry's  queen; 
To  put  a  golden  sceptre  in  thy  hand, 
And  set  a  precious  crown  upon  thy  head, 
If  thou  wilt  condescend  to  be  my — 

Mar.  What  ] 

Suf.  His  love. 

Mar.  1  am  unworthy  to  be  Henry's  wife. 

Suf  No,  gentle  madam;  I  unworthy  am 
To  woo  so  lair  a  dame  to  be  his  wife. 
And  have  no  portion  in  the  choice  myself. 
How  say  you,  madam  ;  are  you  so  content] 

Mar.  An  if  iny  lather  please,  1  am  content. 

Suf.  Then  call  our  caj)lains,  and  our  colors  forth 
And,  madam,  at  your  father's  castle  walls 
We'll  crave  a  parley,  to  confer  with  him. 

[Troops  come  forward, 

A  Parley  sounded.    Enter  Reic.nier,  on  the  Walls 

Suf  See,  Reignier,  see,  thy  daughter  prisoner. 

Jieig.  To  whom] 

Suf.  To  me. 

Reig.  SutToIk,  what  remedy  ] 

I  am  a  soldier;  and  unapt  to  weep. 
Or  to  exclaim  on  tbrtiuie's  fickleness. 

Suf.  Yes,  there  is  remedy  enough,  my  lord: 
Consent,  (and  for  thy  honor,  give  consent,) 
Thy  daughter  shall  be  wedded  to  my  king; 
Whom  I  with  pain  have  wooM  and  won  tlicrcto, 
And  tliis  her  easy-held  imprisonment 
Hath  gain'd  thy  daughter  princely  liberty, 

Reig.  Speaks  Sullblk  as  he  thinks] 

Suf.  Fair  Margaret  knows, 

That  SulTolk  doth  not  flatter,  face,^  or  teign. 

Reig.  Upon  the  princely  warrant,  I  descend. 
To  give  thee  answer  of  thy  just  demand. 

[Exit  from  the  JVall^* 

Suf  And  here  I  will  expect  thy  coming. 

Trumpets  sounded.    Enter  Reignier,  below, 

Reig.  Welcome,  brave  earl,  into  our  territories; 
Command  in  Anjou  what  your  honor  pleases. 

Suf,  Tlianks,  Keignier,  happy  for  so  sweet  a 
child. 
Fit  to  be  made  companion  with  a  king: 
What  answer  makes  your  grace  unto  my  suit] 

Reig.   Since  thou  dost  deign  to  woo  her  little 
worth, 
To  he  the  princely  pride  of  such  a  lord; 
Upon  condition  1  may  quietly 
Enjoy  mine  own,  tlie  county  Maine,  and  Anjou, 
Free  from  oppression,  or  the  stroke  of  war, 
My  daughter  shall  be  Henry's  if  lie  please. 

Suf.  That  is  her  ransom,  I  deliver  her; 
And  those  two  counties  I  will  undertake, 
Your  grace  shall  well  and  quietly  enjoy. 

Reig.  And  I  again — in  Henry's  royal  name, 
As  deputy  unto  that  gracious  king. 
Give  thee  her  hand,  for  sign  of  plighted  fiiith. 

Suf.  Reignier  of  France.  I  give  thee  kingly  thanks, 
Because  this  is  in  trafiic  of  a  king: 
And  yet,  methinks,  I  could  be  well  content 
To  be  mine  own  attorney  in  this  case.  [Aside, 

I'll  over  then  to  England  with  this  news. 
And  make  this  marriage  to  be  solemniz'd; 
So,  farewell,  Reignier!  Set  this  diamond  safe 
In  golden  palaces,  as  it  becomes. 

Reig.  1  do  embrace  thee,  as  I  would  embrace 
The  Cliristian  prince,  king  Henry,  were  lie  here. 

Mar.   Farewell,  my  lord!   Good  wishes,  praise, 
and  prayers. 
Shall  Sullblk  ever  have  of  Margaret.  [Going 

Suf  Farewell,  sweet  madam!    But  hark  you, 
Margaret; 
No  princely  commendations  to  my  king? 

Mar.  Such  eommend.itions  as  become  a  maid, 
A  virgin,  and  his  servant,  say  to  him. 

Suf  Wuidssweetly  placed, and  modestlydirectett 
Hut, "madam.  I  must  trouble  you  again, — 
.No  loving  token  to  his  majesty. 

^XMay  the  hypocrite. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


405 


Mar.  Yes,  my  good  lord;  a  pure,  unspotted  heart, 
Never  yet  taint  with  love,  I  send  the  kin^* 

Suf.  And  this  withal.  [Kisses  her. 

Mar.  That  tor  thyself; — I  will  not  so  presume. 
To  send  such  peevish  '  tokens  to  a  knv^. 

[Exeimt  Reignikr  and  Margahet. 

Suf.  0,  wert  tiiou  tor  myselt !— But,  Sullblk,  stay ; 
Thou  niayst  not  wander  in  that  ladyrinth ; 
There  Minotaurs.  and  ugly  treasons,  lurJc. 
Sohcit  Henry  with  lier  wond'rous  praise: 
Bethink  thee  on  her  virtues  that  surmount; 
MaJ,'*  natural  graces  that  extinguish  art; 
Ilepcat  thei"-  semblance  often  on  the  seas, 
That,  when  thou  com'st  to  kneel  at  Henry's  feet, 
Thou  mayst  bereave  him  of  his  wits  with  wonder. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IX  .-Camp  of  the  Duke  of  York  in  Anjou. 

Enter  York,  Warwick,  and  others. 

York.  Bring  forth  that  sorceress,  condcmnM   to 
burn. 

Enter  La  Pucelle,  guarded^  and  a  Shepherd. 

Shcp.  All,  Joan!  this  kills  thy  father's  heart  out- 
right! 
Have  I  sought  every  country  far  and  near, 
And.  now  it  is  my  chance  to  find  thee  out, 
Must  I  behold  thy  timeless^  cruel  death? 
Ah.  Joan,  sweet  daughter  Joan,  I'll  die  with  thee! 

Puc.  Decrepid  miser!*  base  ignoble  wretch! 
I  am  descended  of  a  gentler  blood; 
Thou  art  no  lather,  nor  no  friend,  of  mine. 

Shej).  Out,  out!— My  lords,  an  please  you,  His 
not  so ; 
I  did  beget  her,  all  the  parish  knows: 
Her  mother  livcth  yet,  can  testify, 
She  w-as  the  tirst  fruit  of  my  bachelorship. 

IVur.  Graceless!  wilt  thou  deny  thy  parentagel 

York.  This  argues  what  her  kind  of  li'fe  hath  been; 
Wicked  and  vile;  and  so  her  death  concludes. 

Shfp.  Fie,  Joan!  that  tiiou  wilt  be  so  obstacle!* 
God  knows  thou  art  a  collop  of  my  flesh; 
And  (or  thy  sake  have  I  shed  many  a  tear: 
Deny  me  not,  I  pr'ythee.  gentle  Joan. 

Fuc.  Peasant,  avaunt! — You  have  suborn'd  this 
man, 
On  purpose  to  obscure  my  noble  birth. 

Stiep.  'Tis  true,  1  gave  a  noble  to  tlie  priest. 
The  morn  that  I  was  wedded  to  her  motiier.— 
Kneel  down  and  take  my  blessing,  good  my  girl. 
Wilt  thou  not  sLoop  !  Now  cursed  be  the  tune 
Of  thy  nativity!  I  would,  the  milk 
Thy  mother  gave  thee,  when  thou  suck'dst  her 

breast. 
Had  been  a  little  ratsbane  for  thy  sake ! 
Or  else,  when  thou  didst  keep  my  lambs  a-field, 
I  wish  some  ravenous  wolf  had  eaten  thee! 
Dost  thou  deny  thy  father,  cursed  drab? 
0,  burn  her,  burn  her;  Jianging  is  too  good.   [Exit. 

York.  Takeheraway;  forshe  hath  liv'd  too  fong, 
To  lill  the  world  with  vicious  qualities. 

Puc.  First,  let  me  tell  you  whom  you  have  con- 
demn'd : 
Not  me  begotten  of  a  sheiilierd  swain, 
But  issu'd  iVom  the  pro^oTiy  of  kings; 
Virtuous,  and  holy;  chosen  from  above, 
By  inspiration  of  celestial  grace. 
To  work  exceeding  miracles  on  earth. 
I  never  had  to  do  with  wicked  spirits: 
But  yon. — that  are  polluted  with  your  lusts, 
StainM  with  the  guiltless  blood  of  innocents, 
Corrupt  and  tainted  with  a  thousand  vices, — 
Because  you  want  the  grace  that  others  have. 
You  judge  it  straight  a  thing  impossilile 
To  rompass  wonders,  but  by  help  of  devils. 
No,  misconceived!"  Joan  of  Arc  hath  been 
A  virgin  from  her  tender  inlancy. 
Chaste  and  immaculate  in  very  thought; 
Whose  maiden  blood,  thus  rigorously  elfus'd, 
Will  cry  fur  vengeance  at  the  gates  of  heaven. 

York.  Ay.  ay; — away  witli  her  to  execution. 

IVar.  And  hark  ye,  sirs;  because  she  is  a  maid, 
Spare  lor  no  faggots,  let  there  be  cnougii: 

^Chil-lisli.  2  Wild.  STntimely. 

*  Miser  here  simply  means  a  miserable  creature. 
^A  corruption  of  oltstinate. 

"'*  No,  ye  misconceivers.  ye  who  mistake  me  and  mj 
qualities." 


place  barrels  of  pitch  upon  the  flital  stake. 
That  so  her  torture  may  be  shortened. 

Puc.  Willnothingturnyourunrclentinghearts? — 
Then,  Joan,  discover  thine  infirmity; 
That  warranteth  by  law  to  be  thy  privilege. — 
I  am  with  child,  ye  bloody  homicides: 
Murder  not  then  the  fruit  witJiin  my  womb, 
Although  ye  hale  me  to  a  violent  death. 

York.  Now  heaven  lorelend  !  the  holy  maid  with 
child? 

War.  The  greatest  miracle  that  e'er  ye  wrought: 
Is  all  your  strict  preciseness  com*  to  this? 

Yo7'k.  She  and  the  dauphin  have  been  juggling; 
I  did  imagine  what  would  be  her  refuge. 

War.  Well,  go  to;  we  will  have  no  bastards  live; 
Especially  since  Charles  must  father  it. 

Puc.  Vou  are  deceiv'd;  my  child  is  none  of  his; 
It  was  Alen^on  that  enjoy'd  my  love. 

York.  Alcn^on!  that  notorious  Machiavel! 
It  dies,  an  if  it  had  a  thousand  lives. 

Puc.  O,  give  me  leave,  I  have  deluded  you; 
'Twas  neither  Charles,  nor  yet  the  duke  I  nam'd, 
But  Reignier,  king  of  Naples,  that  prevaiPd. 

JVar.  A  married  man!  that's  most  intolerable. 

York.  Why,  here's  a  girl!  I  tiiink,  she  knows  not 
well, 
There  was  so  many,  whom  she  may  accuse. 

War.  It's  sign,  she  hath  been  liberal  and  free. 

Yij?'k.  And,  yet,  forsooth,  she  is  a  virgin  pure! — 
Strunipet,  thy  words  condemn  thy  brat,  and  thee: 
Use  no  entreaty,  for  it  is  in  vain. 

Puc.  Then  lead  me  hence;— with  wiiom  I  leave 
my  curse: 
May  never  glorious  sun  reflex  his  beams 
Ipon  the  country  where  you  make  abode! 
But  darkness  and  the  gI()oniy  shade  of  death 
Environ  you;  till  mischief,  and  despair. 
Drive  you  to  break  your  necks,  or  hang  yourselves! 

[Exit,  guarded. 

York.  Break  thou  in  pieces. and  consume  to  ashes, 
Tiiou  foul  accursed  minister  of  hell! 

Enter  Cardinal  Beaufoht,  attended. 

Char.  Lord  regent,  I  do  greet  your  excellence 
Willi  letters  of  commission  froni  the  king. 
For  know,  my  lords,  the  states  of  Christendom, 
IMov'd  with  remorse'  of  these  outrageous  broils, 
Have  earnestly  implor'd  a  general  peace 
Hetwixt  our  nation  and  the  aspiring  French; 
And  here  at  hand  the  dauphin,  and  his  train, 
Aiii»roachelb,  to  coiiler  about  some  matter. 

York.  Is  all  our  travail  turnM  to  this  ellect? 
After  the  slaughter  ot  so  many  peers. 
So  many  captains,  gentlemen,  and  soldiers, 
That  in  this  quarrel  have  been  overthrown, 
And  sold  their  bodies  for  their  country's  benefit, 
Shall  we  at  last  conchide  clU'ininale  peace? 
Have  we  not  losfmost  ]>art  of  all  the  towns, 
By  treason,  falsehood,  and  by  treachery. 
Our  great  progenitors  had  con{]uered? — 
().  Warwick,  U'arwick!  I  Ibresce  with  grief 
The  utter  loss  of  all  the  realm  of  France. 

IVar.  Be  patient,  York;  if  we  conclude  a  peace, 
It  shall  be  with  such  strict  and  severe  covenants. 
As  little  shall  the  Frenchmen  gain  thereby. 

Enter  CsARh^s,  at  tended  ,•  Alkncox,  Bastard,  Reig- 
MKR,  a/td  utticrs. 

Char.  Since,  lords  of  England,  it  is  thus  agreed, 
That  peaceful  truce  should  beproclaim'din  France, 
We  come  to  be  inlbrmed  by  yourselves 
What  the  conditions  of  tha't  league  must  be. 

York.    Speak,    Winclicster;    for    boiling    choler 
chokes 
The  hollow  passage  of  my  poisonM  voice, 
ily  si-iiit  of  these  our  baleful  enemies. 

Win.  Charles,  and  the  rest,  it  is  enacted  thus: 
That— in  regard  king  Henry  gives  consent, 
of  mere  compassion,  and  of  lenity, 
To  ease  your  country  of  distressful  war, 
And  sufler  you  to  breathe  in  fruitful  peace — 
You  shall  bk^comc  true  liegemen  to  his  crown: 
And,  Charles,  upon  condition  tiiou  wilt  swear 
To  pay  him  tribute, and  submit  thyself. 
Thou  "shalt  he  placed  as  viceroy  under  liim. 
And  still  enjoy  thy  regal  dignity- 

Atcn.  Must  he  be  then  a  sluufow  of  himself? 
Adorn  his  temple  with  a  coronet;^ 

'  Compassion.         ^  Coronet  is  here  used  for  crown. 


406 


FIRST  PART  OF  KING  HENRY  VI. 


Act  v. 


And  yet,  in  substance  and  authority, 
Retain  but  privilege  of  a  private  man? 
Tliis  prolfer  is  absurb  and  reasonless. 

Vhar.  'Tis  known,  already,  that  I  am  possess'd 
With  more  than  half  the  Gallian  territories. 
And  therein  reverenced  tor  their  lawful  king: 
Shall  I,  lor  lucre  of  the  rest  unvanquish'd, 
Detract  so  much  from  that  prerogative. 
As  to  be  called  but  viceroy  of  the  whole? 
No.  lord  ambassador;  I'll  rather  keep 
That  which  I  have,  than,  coveting  lor  more, 
lie  cast  from  possibility  of  all. 

Yiirk.  InsultingCharles!  hast  thou  bysccretmeans 
Used  intercession  to  obtain  a  league; 
And,  now  the  matter  grows  to  compromise, 
Stand'st  thou  aloof  upon  comparison! 
Either  accept  the  title  thou  usurp'st. 
Of  beneht"  proceeding  from  our  king, 
And  not  of  any  challenge  of  desert, 
Or  we  will  plague  thee  with  incessant  wars. 

Ticiff.  My  lord,  you  ilo  not  well  in  obstinacy 
To  cavil  in  the  course  of  this  contract: 
If  once  it  be  neglected,  ten  to  one. 
We  shall  not  find  like  opportunity. 

Alen.  To  say  the  truth,  it  is  your  policy, 
To  save  your  subjects  from  such  massacre, 
And  ruthless  slaughters,  as  are  daily  seen 
By  our  proceeding  in  hostility: 
And  theietbre  take  this  compact  of  a  truce, 
Although  you  break  it  when  your  pleasure  serves. 
[Aside  tn  Charles. 

War.  How  say'st  thou,  Charles!  shall  our  con- 
dition stand  ? 

Char.  It  shall; 
Only  reserv'd,  you  claim  no  interest 
In  any  of  our  towns  of  garrison. 

Yurk.  Then  swear  allegiance  to  his  majesty; 
As  thou  art  knight,  never  to  disobey. 
Nor  be  rebellious  to  the  crown  of  Jingland, 
Thou  nor  thy  nobles,  to  the  crown  of  England.— 

[Chaules,  awl  the.  rest,  giee  takeiis  of  f tally. 
So.  now  dismiss  your  army  when  you  please; 
Hang  up  your  ensigns,  let  your  drums  be  still, 
1  or  here  we  entertain  a  solemn  peace.       [Exeunt. 

SO  ENE  v.— London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  King  Hen'ry  in  conference  with  Suffolk; 
Glosteh.  and  ExETErt,  fulLowing. 

K.  Urn.  Your  wond'rous  rare  description,  noble 
earl. 
Of  beauteous  Margaret  hath  astonish'd  me: 
Her  virtues,  graced  with  external  gifts. 
Do  breed  love's  settled  passions  in  my  heart: 
And  like  as  rigor  in  tempestuous  gusts 
Provokes  the  mightiest  hulk  against  the  tide; 
So  am  I  driven,  by  breath  of  her  renown, 
Either  to  suHer  shipwreck,  or  arrive 
Where  I  may  have  fruition  of  her  love. 

Saf.  Tush!  my  good  lord!  this  superficial  tale 
Is  but  a  preface  of  her  worthy  praise: 
The  chief  perfections  of  that  lovely  dame, 
(Had  1  sufficient  skill  to  utter  them.) 
Would  make  a  volume  of  enticing  lines, 
Able  to  ravish  any  dull  conceit. 
And,  which  is  more,  she  is  not  so  divine. 
So  full  replete  with  choice  of  all  delights. 
Hut,  with  as  humble  lowliness  of  mind. 
She  is  content  to  be  at  your  command  ; 
Command.  I  mean,  of  virtuous,  ciia^te  intents. 
To  Jove  and  honor  Henry  .as  her  lord. 

IC.  Ufa.  And  odierwise  will  Henry  ne'er  presume. 
Tlirreliire,  my  loril  protector,  give  consent, 
Tbiit  .Mnrgaiet  may  be  England's  royal  ipicen. 

Clin.  So  should  I  give  consent  to  Hatter  sin. 
You  know,  my  lord,  your  highness  is  betroth'd 
Unto  another  lady  of  esteem; 
How  shall  we  then  dispense  with  that  contract, 
And  not  deface  your  honor  with  reproach  ! 

Suf.  As  doth  a  ruler  with  unlawful  oaths; 
Or  one,  that,  at  a  triumph'  having  vow'd 

•  "  Be  content  to  live  as  the  beneflciav.v  of  our  kjn?." 
■  .\  Innmi.li  limn  si^-uifiel  a  l<ublic  e.\hil)ilion  ;  such 
AS  a  mask,  or  revel. 


To  try  his  strength,  forsaketh  yet  the  lists 
By  reason  of  his  adversary's  odds: 
A  poor  earl's  daughter  is  unequal  odds: 
And  therefore  may  be  broke  without  oirence. 
Glo.  Why.  what,  I  pray,  is  Margaret  more  than 
that] 
Her  father  is  no  better  than  an  earl, 
Allbough  in  glorious  titles  he  excel. 

.Si//.  Yes,  my  good  lord,  her  father  is  a  king, 
The  king  of  Naples,  and  Jerusalem  ; 
And  of  such  great  authority  in  France, 
As  his  alliance  will  confirm  our  peace. 
And  keep  the  Frenchmen  in  allegiance. 

Glo.  And  so  the  earl  of  Armagnac  may  do, 
Because  he  is  near  kinsman  unto  Charles. 

Exe.   Beside,  his  wealth   doth  warrant  liberal 
dower; 
While  Reignier  sooner  will  receive,  than  give. 

Suf.  A  dower,  my  lords!  disgrace  not  so  your 
king. 
That  he  should  be  so  abject,  base,  and  poor. 
To  choose  for  wealth,  and  not  for  perfect  love. 
Henry  is  able  to  enrich  his  queen. 
And  not  to  seek  a  queen  to  make  him  rich: 
So  worthless  peasants  bargain  for  tlieir  wives, 
.A.S  market-men  for  oxen,  sheep,  or  horse. 
Marriage  is  a  matter  of  more  worth. 
Than  to  be  dealt  in  by  attorneyship; 
Not  whom  we  will,  but  whom  his  grace  alTects, 
Must  be  companion  of  his  nuptial  "bed; 
And  therefore,  lords,  since  he  alfects  her  most. 
It  most  of  all  these  reasons  bindeth  us, 
111  our  opinions  she  should  be  preferr'd. 
For  what  is  wedlock  forced,  but  a  hell. 
An  age  of  discord  and  (■(iiitiiiiial  strife? 
Whereas  the  contrary  bniiiri-lli  forth  bliss. 
And  is  a  pattern  of  celestial  peace. 
Wlioiii  should  wc  match  with  Henry,  being  a  king. 
But  Margaret,  that  is  daughter  to  a 'king  ! 
Her  peerie-ss  feature,  joined  with  her  birth, 
Approves  her  fit  for  none,  but  lor  a  king; 
Her  valiant  courage,  and  undaunted  spirit, 
(.More  than  in  women  commonly  is  seen,) 
Will  answer  our  hope  in  issue  of  a  king; 
For  Henry,  son  unto  a  conqueror. 
Is  likely  to  beget  more  conquerors. 
If  with  a  lady  of  so  high  resolve. 
As  is  lirir  Margaret,  he  be  link'd  in  love. 
Then  yield,  my  lords;  and  here  conclude  with  me. 
That  Margaret  shall  be  queen,  and  none  but  she. 

K.  lien.  Whether  it  be  through  force  of  your 
report. 
My  noble  lord  of  SulTolk;  or  for  that 
My  tender  youth  was  never  yet  attaint 
VVith  any  passion  of  inllaining  love, 
I  cannot  tell;  but  Ibis  I  am  assured, 
I  led  such  sharp  dissension  in  my  breast. 
Such  fierce  alarums  both  of  hope"  and  fear. 
As  I  am  sick  with  working  of  my  thoughts. 
Take,  therefore,  shipping;  post,  my  lord,  to  France; 
Agree  to  any  covenants;  and  procure 
That  lady  Margaret  do  voucbsafi>  to  come 
To  cro.ss  the  seas  to  England,  and  be  crown'd 
King  Henry's  liiithful  and  annointcd  queen; 
For  ""your  expenses  and  sullicient  charge, 
.\mong  the  people  gather  up  a  tenth. 
Begone,  I  say;  tor,  till  you  do  return, 
1  rest  perplexed  with  a  thousand  cares. — 
And  you.  good  uncle,  banish  all  oIUmicc; 
If  you  do  censure^  luc  by  what  you  were, 
Not  what  you  are,  1  know  it  will  excuse 
This  sudden  execution  of  my  will. 
And  so  conduct  me,  where  from  company, 
I  may  resolve  and  ruminate  my  grief.  [Exit. 

Glo.  Ay,  grief,  I  fear  me.  both  at  first  and  last. 
[Exeunt  Glosteu,  and  Exetes. 

Suf  Thus  Suffolk  hath  prevail'd:  and  thus  he 
-  goes. 
As  did  the  youthful  Paris  once  to  Greece, 
With  hope  to  find  the  like  event  in  love. 
But  prosper  better  than  the  Trojan  did. 
Margaret  shall  now  be  (iiiceii,  and  rule  the  king; 
But  1  will  rule  both  her,  the  king,  and  realm. 

"Judge. 


SECOND  PART  OF 

KING  IIEXKY  YI. 


PERSONS   nEPRESENTED. 


KiNfi  IIkxey  the  Sixth. 

HujiPHREY,  Duke  of  Glostcr,  Ai.5  Uncle. 

Cardinal  BEAUFoiiT,  Bishup  af  Winchester,  great 

bncLe  to  the  King. 
Richard  Plastahexet,  Dulte  of  York. 
Edwakd  and  Riciiaud,  hii  Sons^ 
Dike  of  Somerset,  I 

DtKE  OF  Slffolk,  I 

Dike  of  lUrKiNi;nAii,       \of  the  King'^  Party. 
Lord  Clifford, 
Young  Clifford,  liis  Son, 
Earl  of  Salisrl'rv,  ) ,  ,■  j,  ^  i.„,i,  77„,(;,„ 
Earl  of  Warwick,  \flf"^^  »*  Fadim. 
Lord  Scales,  Governor  of  the  Tower. 
Lord  Say. 

Sir  Hiiii'nRET  Staffokd,  and  Ms  Brother. 
Sir  John  Stanley. 
A  Sea-Captain,  Master,  and  Master's  Male,  and 

Walter  Wiiitmore. 
Two  Gentlemen,  Prisoners  with  SuBblk. 
A  Herald. 
Vaox. 


UratE  a7id  Southwell,  two  Priests. 
BoLiNORROKE,  u  Conjurer. 
A  Spirit  raised  by  him. 
Thomas  IIornek,  an  Armorer. 
Peter,  Ais  Man. 
Clerk  of  Chatham. 
Mayor  rf  Saint  Alban's. 
SiMi'Cux,  an  Impostor, 
Two  Murderers. 
Jack  Cade,  a  Rebel. 

(;eor(;e,   John'.  Dick,  Smith  the    Weaver,  Mi- 
chael, i^c,  Ai-s  Foltower.s. 
ALE.VANDE11  loEX,  a  Kentish  Gentleinatu 

Maroaret.  Queen  to  King  Henrj'. 
Eleanor,  Diiehess  (j^"  Glosier. 
Maroery  Jocrdaix,  a  Witch. 
Wife  to  Siinpcox. 

Lords,  Ladies, a7id  Attendants ;  Fetifiimcrs,  Alder- 
men,  a  Beadle,  Sheriff,  and  Ojficers;  Citi^en.i, 
Prentices,  Falconers,  Guards,  Holdiers,  Messen- 
gers, 4c. 


SCENE,  dispersedly  in  various  Parts  of  England. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE    I.— London.     .4  Room  of  State  in  the 
Palace, 

FlourUih  of  Trumpets ;  then  Hauthm/s.  Enffir,on^ 
one  side.  King  Henry,  Duke  of  Gi-oster,  Salks- 
EiTRV,  Warwick,  and  Cardinal  Bkaufort;  07i 
the  other,  Queen  Margaret,  led  in  hy  Suffolk; 
York.  Somerset,  Buckingham,  and  otha's,  fol- 
lowing. 

Suf.  As  by  your  high  imperial  majesty 
I  had  in  chaVf^e,  at  my  depart  for  France, 
As  i)rocurator  to  your  excellence. 
To  marry  princess  Mar;;aret  for  your  grace; 
So  in  the  famous  ancient  city.  Tours, — 
In  presence  nf  the  kind's  of  France  and  Sicil, 
The  dukes  ot  Orleans,  Calaber,  Bretaijinc,  Alcngon, 
Seven  earls,  twelve  barons,  twenty  reverend  bi- 
shops.— 
I  have  pcrforni'd  my  task,  and  was  espous'd: 
And  humbly  now  upon  my  bended  knee, 
In  si^ht  of  England^  and  her  lordly  peers, 
Deliver  up  my  title  in  tlic  queen 
To  your  most  gracious  hands,  that  are  the  sub- 
stance 
Of  that  great  shadow  I  did  represent; 
The  happiest  gift  tliat  ever  marquess  gave. 
The  fairest  queen  that  ever  king  recelv'd. 
A'.  lien.  Suflbllf,  arise. — Welcome,  queen  Mar- 
garet : 


I  can  express  no  kinder  sign  of  love, 

Than  this  kind  kiss.— 0  Lord,  that  lends  mc  life, 

Lend  me  a  heart  replete  with  thankfulness! 

For  thou  hast  given  me,  in  this  beauteous  Jiice, 

A  world  of  earthly  blessings  to  my  soul, 

If  sympatliy  of  love  unite  our  thoughts. 

Q.  Mar.  Great  king  of  England,  and  my  gra- 
cious lord; 
The  mutual  conference  that  my  mind  hath  had — 
Hy  day.  by  ni2;ht,  waking,  and  in  my  dreams; 
In  courtly  company,  or  at  my  beads — 
With  you,  mine  aldcr-liefost'  sovereign, 
Makes  me  the  bolder  to  salute  my  king 
With  ruder  terms;  such  as  my  wit  atlbrds, 
And  over-joy  of  heart  doth  mniister. 

A'.  Hen.  Her  sight  did  ravish:  but. her  grace  in 
speech. 
Her  words  y-clad  with  wisdom's  majesty. 
Makes  me,  from  wondering,  fall  to  weeping  joys; 
Such  is  the  fulness  of  my  heart's  content. — 
Lords,  with  one  cheerful  voice  welcome  my  love. 

All.  Long  live  queen  Margaret,  England's  hap- 
]>iness! 

Q.  Mar.  We  thank  you  alL  [Flowuih. 

Suf.  My  lord  protector,  so  it  please  your  grace, 
Here  are  the  articles  of  contracted  peace. 
Between  our  sovereign  and  the  French  king  Charles, 
For  eighteen  months,  concluded  by  consent. 

*  Beloved  above  all  thiugs. 

407 


408 


SECOND  PART   OF 


[Act.  I. 


GIo.  [Recid^.'l  Imprimis,  It  Ucv^recd^hetween  the 
French  kinf^,  Char/es,  and  WiUiam  de  la  Poi)!e, 
mftrqitess  nf  Suffolk,  ambassa  ii>r  jor  Henri/,  king 
of  En^knitiy — iliat  the  sai'i  He urtj  shall  esjjiiu.-^e  the 
Lady  Margaret,  daughter  unto  Reignier,  king  of 
Naples,  Sicilia,  and  Jerusalem ;  and  cnnoi  her 
queen  (f  England,  ere  the  thirtieth  of  May  next 

ensuing. Item, — That  the  duchy  <>J  Anjtni,  and 

the  county  of  Maine,  shall  be  released  and  diilivcred 
io  the  king,  her  fattier 

A'.  Hen.    Unclej  how  nowl 

Glo.  Pardon  me,  gracious  lord; 

Some  suddrn  qualm  hath  struck  me  at  the  heart, 
And  dimm'd  mine  eyes,  that  I  can  read  no  further. 

A"".  Hen.  Uncle  of  Winchester,  I  pray  read  on. 

Car.  Item, — //  Is  furt tier  agreed  between  them, — 
iliat  ttic  duchies  of  Anjou  and  Maine  shall  be  re- 
leased and  delivered,  over  to  the  king,  her  father ; 
and  she  sent  over  of  the  king  nf  England's  own 
proper  cost  and  charges,  without  having  dowry. 

K.  Hen.  They  please  us  well. — Lord  marquess, 
kneel  down ; 
We  here  create  thee  the  first  duke  of  Suffolk, 
And  y;irt  thee  with  the  sword. — 
Cousin  of  York,  we  here  discharge  your  grace 
From  being  regent  in  the  parts  of  France, 
Till  term  of  eighteen  months  be  full  expir'd, — 
Thanks,  uncle    Winchester,    Gloster,   York,  and 

Buckingham, 
Somerset,  Salisbury,  and  Warwick; 
We  thank  j'ou  all  lor  this  great  tiwor  done, 
In  entertainment  to  my  princely  queen. 
Come,  let  us  in,  and  witli  all  speed  provide 
To  see  her  coronation  be  perform'd. 

Exeunt  King,  Queen,  and  Suffolk. 

Glo.  Brave  peers  of  England,  pillars  of  the  state, 
To  you  duke  Humphrey  must  unload  his  grief, 
Your  grief,  (he  common  grief  of  all  the  land. 
What!  did  my  brother  Henry  spend  his  youth 
Ui-i^  valor,  coin,  and  people  in  Ihe  wars  ] 
Did  he  so  oiten  lodge  in  open  held. 
In  winter's  cold,  and  summer's  parching  heat, 
To  conquer  France,  his  true  inheritance] 
And  did  my  brother  Bedford  toil  his  wits, 
To  keep  by  policy  what  Henry  goti 
Have  you  yourselves,  Somerset,  Buckingham, 
Bi'avc  York,  Salisbury,  and  victorious  Warwick, 
Receiv'd  deep  scars  in  France  and  Normandy  I 
Or  kath  my  uncle  Beaufort,  and  myself. 
With  all  the  learned  council  of  the  realm, 
Studied  so  long,  sat  in  the  council-house. 
Early  and  late,  debating  to  and  fro 
How  France  and   Frenchmen  might  be  kept  in 

awe  ] 
And  hath  1ms  highness  in  his  infancy 
Been  crown'd  in  Paris,  in  despite  of  foes? 
And  shall  these  labors,  and  these  honors,  die  ? 
Shall  Henry's  conquest,  Bcdlbrd's  vigilance, 
Y'our  deeds  of  war.  and  all  our  counsel,  die  ? 
O  peers  of  England,  sliameful  is  this  league! 
Fatal  this  marriage,  cancelling  your  fame: 
Blotting  your  names  from  books  of  memory: 
Razing  the  characters  of  your  renown; 
Deliicing  monuments  of  conquer'd  France; 
Undoing  all,  as  all  had  never  been! 

Car.  Nephew,  what  means  this  passionate  dis- 
course ] 
This  peroration  with  such  circumstance  T* 
For  France, 'tis  ours;  and  we  will  keep  it  still, 

Glo.  Ay%  uncle,  we  will  keep  it,  if  we  can; 
But  now  it  is  impossible  we  should  : 
Suilblk.  the  new-made  duke  that  rules  the  roast, 
Hat!i  given  the  duchies  of  Anjou  and  Maine. 
Unto  the  poor  king  Reignier,  whose  large  style 
Agrees  not  with  the  leanness  of  his  purse. 

Sal.  Now,  by  the  death  of  him  that  died  for  all. 
These  counties  were  tlie  keys  of  Normandj': — 
But  vvherelbre  weeps  Warwick,  my  vahant  son  1 

ll'ar.  For  grief,  (hat  they  are  past  recovery: 
For,  were  there  hope  to  conquer  them  again^ 
My  sword  should  shed  hot  blood,  mine  eyes  no 

tears. 
Anjou  and  Maine,  myself  did  win  them  both; 
Tliose  provinces  these  arms  of  mine  did  conquer: 
And  are  the  cities  that  I  got  with  wounds, 
Deliver'd  up  again  with  peaceful  words] 
JVIort  Dieu  ! 

York.  For  Suffiilk's  duke— may  he  he  sufTocate 

^'J'hi-f  ppfocb,  crowded  ivjih  so  many  circumstances  of 
aggravaliun. 


That  dims  the  honor  of  this  warlike  isle  .' 
France  should  have  torn  and  rent  my  very  heart, 
Before  I  would  have  yielded  to  this  league. 
I  never  read  but  England's  kings  have  had 
Large  sums  of  gold,  and  dowTies,  with  tJieir  wives: 
And  our  king  Henry  gives  away  his  own, 
To  match  with  her  that  brings  no  vantages. 

Gfo.  A  proper  jest,'and  never  heard  before. 
That  Suffolk  should  demand  a  whole  lilleenlh, 
For  cost  and  cliarges  in  transporting  her! 
She  should  have  staid  in  France,  and  starv'd  in 

France, 
Before 

Car.  My  lord  of  Gloster,  now  you  grow  too  hot: 
It  was  the  pleasure  of  my  lord  the  king. 

Glo.  My  lord  of  Winchester,  I  know  your  mind; 
'Tis  not  my  speeches  that  you  do  mislilie. 
But  'tis  my  presence  that  doth  trouble  you. 
Rancor  will  out:  Proud  prelate,  in  thy' lace 
I  see  thy  fury  :  if  I  lonjrer  stay. 
We  shall  begin  our  ancient  bickerings.'^ 
Lordings.  farewell;  and  say,  when  I  am  gone, 
I  prophesied — France  will  be  lost  ere  long.    [Exit* 

Car.  So,  there  goes  our  protector  in  a  rage. 
'Tis  known  to  you,  he  is  mine  enemy: 
Nay,  more,  an  enemy  unto  you  all : 
And  no  great  friend,  I  fear  me,  to  the  king. 
Consider,  lords,  he  is  the  next  of  blood. 
And  heir  apparent  to  the  EngHsh  crown; 
Had  Henry  got  an  empire  by  his  marriage, 
And  all  the  wealthy  kingdoms  of  the  west. 
There's  reason  he  should  be  displeas'd  at  it. 
Look  to  it,  lords  !  let  not  his  smoothing  words 
Bewitch  your  hearts;  be  wise  and  circumspect. 
What  though  the  common  people  favor  iiim. 
Calling  him — Humphrey,  the  ^ood  di/ke  of  Gloster; 
Clapping  their  hands,  aiid  crying  with  loud  voice— 
Je.tu  maintain  your  i-oi.-al  tfccUence! 
With — God  preserve  the  gi'od  duke  Humphrey.' 
I  fear  me,  lords,  for  all  tljis  llattoring  gloss. 
He  will  be  found  a  dangerous  protector. 

Buck.  Why  should  he  then  protect  our  sovereign, 
He  being  of  age  to  govern  of  himself] 
Cousin  of  Somerset,  join  you  with  me. 
And  all  together— with  the  duke  of  Sutfolk,— 
We'll  quickly  hoise  duke  Humphrey  from  his  seat. 

Car.  This  weighty  business  will  not  brook  delay; 
I'll  to  the  duke  of  SutTolk  presently.  [Ex'if. 

Som.Cousinof  Buckingham, though  Humphrey's 
pride. 
And  greatness  of  his  place,  be  grief  to  us. 
Yet  let  us  watcu  the  haughty  cardinal; 
His  insolence  is  more  intolerable 
Than  all  the  princes  in  the  land  beside; 
If  Gloster  be  displaced,  he'll  be  protector. 

Buck.  Or  thou,  or  I,  Somerset,  will  be  protector, 
Despite  duke  Humphrey,  or  the  cardinal. 

Exeunt  BiCKiNnnAM  and  So^^EnsET. 

Sal.  Pride  went  before,  ambition  follows  him. 
While  these  do  labor  for  their  own  prelermcnt, 
Behoves  it  us  to  labor  for  the  realm. 
I  never  saw  but  Humphrey  duke  of  Gloster 
Did  bear  him  like  a  noble  gentleman. 
Oft  have  I  seen  the  haughty  cardinal — 
More  like  a  soldier,  than  a  man  o'  the  church. 
As  stout,  and  proud,  as  he  were  lord  of  all,— 
Swear  like  a  ruffian,  and  demean  himself 
Unlike  the  ruler  of  a  commonweal. — ■ 
Warwick,  my  son.  the  comfort  of  my  age ! 
Thy  deeds,  thy  plainness,  and  thy  house-keeping, 
Hath  won  the  greatest  favor  of  the  commons, 
Excepting  none  but  good  duke  Huniphre}'. — 
And,  brother  York,  thy  act-s  in  Ireland, 
In  bringing  them  to  civil  discipline; 
Thy  late  exploits,  done  in  the  heart  of  France, 
When  thou  wert  regent  for  our  sovereign. 
Have  made  thee  fear'd.and  honor'd,of  the  people: — 
Join  we  together,  for  the  public  good; 
In  what  we  can  to  bridle  and  suppress 
The  pride  of  Suflblk,  and  the  cardinal. 
With  Somerset's  and  Buckingham's  ambition; 
And,  as  we  may,  cherish  duke  Humphrey's  deeds, 
While  they  do  tend  the  profit  of  the  laml. 

War.  So  God  help  Warwick,  as  he  loves  the  land, 
And  common  proht  of  his  country  ! 

York.  And  so  says  York. for  he  hath  greatest  cause. 

Sal.  Tlien  let's'makc  haste  away,  and  look  unto 
the  main. 

JVar.  Unto  the  main!  O  father,  Maine  is  lost; 
'Sku'iuisbings. 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY   VI. 


409 


That  Maine,  wliich  by  main  force  Warwick  did 

win. 
And  would  hare  kept,  so  Ions  as  breath  did  last: 
Main  chance,  father,  you  meant;  but  I  meant  Maine; 
Which  I  will  win  from  France,  or  else  be  slain. 

[Exeunt  WAiiivici;  and  SALiSBfnT. 
Ycrrk.  Anjou  and  Maine  arc  sriveii  to  the  French; 
Paris  is  lost;  the  state  of  Normahdy 
Stands  on  a  tickle'  point,  now  thcy'are  gone: 
SulTljIk  concluded  on  the  articles; 
The  peers  agreed  ;  and  Henry  was  well  pleas'd. 
To  change  two  dukedoms  ibra  duke's  fair  daughter. 
I  cannot  blame  them  all ;  What  is't  to  them  1 
'Tis  tliine  they  give  away,  and  not  tlieir  own. 
Pirates  may  make  cheap  pennyworths  of  their 

pillage. 
And  purchase  friends,  and  give  to  courtezans, 
.'iliil  revelling,  like  lords,  till  all  be  gone 
Wlule  as  the  silly  owner  of  the  goods 
Weeps  over  therii,  and  wrings  bis  hapless  hands. 
.«.nd  shakes  his  head,  and  trembling  stands  aloof, 
While  all  is  shar'd,  and  all  is  borne  away; 
Ready  to  starve,  and  dare  not  touch  his  own. 
So  Vork  must  sit,  and  fret,  and  bite  his  tongue. 
While  his  ovm  lands  are  bargain'd  for,  and  sold. 
Mcfhinks,  the  realms  of  England,  France,  and 

Ireland, 
Bear  that  proportion  to  my  flesh  and  blood. 
As  did  the  fatal  brand  Althea  burn'd. 
Unto  the  prince's  heart  of  Calydon.s 
An>iou  and  Maine,  both  given  unto  the  French  ! 
Cold  news  for  me ;  for  [  had  hope  of  France, 
Even  as  I  have  of  fertile  England's  soil. 
A  day  will  come,  when  York  shall  claim  his  own; 
And  therefore  I  will  take  the  Xevil's  part. 
And  make  a  show  of  love  to  proud  duke  Humphrey, 
And.  when  I  spy  advantage,  claim  the  crown, 
For  that  s  the  golden  mark  I  seek  to  hit : 
Nor  shall  proud  Lancaster  usurp  mv  right. 
Nor  bold  his  sceptre  in  his  childish  "fist. 
Nor  wear  the  diadem  upon  his  head. 
Whose  church-like  humors  fit  not  for  a  crown. 
Then.  York,  be  still  awhile,  till  time  do  serve: 
W'atch  thou,  and  wake,  when  others  be  a.sleep. 
To  pry  into  the  secrets  of  the  stale; 
Till  Henry,  surfeiting  in  ioys  of^  love. 
With  his  new  bride,  and  England's  dear-bought 

queen. 
And  Humphrey  with  the  peers  be  fall'n  at  jars: 
Then  will  I  raise  aloft  the  milk-white  ro.sc, 
AVith  whose  sweet  smell  the  air  shall  he  perfumed; 
.^nd  in  my  standard  bear  the  arms  of  York, 
To  grapple  with  the  bouse  of  Lancaster; 
And.  force  perlorce,  I'll  make  him  yield  the  crown 
Whose  bookish  rule  hath  pull'd  fair  England  down. 

[Ei-U. 

SCENE  II.— vl  Koom  in  /he  Bulie  of  Gloster's 
Ilvuse. 

Enter  Gloster  and  the  Dccnrss. 

Di^cA.  Why  droops  mylord,  like  over-ripen'd  corn, 
Hanging  the  head  at  Ceres'  plenteous  load  1 
Wh^■  doth  the  great  duke  Hnmphrev  knit  his  brows 
As  Irowning  at  the  favors  of  the  wbrld  ? 
Whv  are  thine  eves  fix'd  to  the  sullen  earth, 
Gazing  on  that  w-hich  seems  to  dim  thy  sight  t 
What  seest  thou  there?  king  Henry's  diadem' 
Enchas  d  with  all  the  honors  of  the  world  ? 
If  so.  gaze  on.  and  grovel  on  thv  face. 
Until  thy  head  be  circled  with  the  same. 
Put  (orlh  tby  hand,  reach  at  the  glorious  gold  :— 
v\  hat.  IS  f  too  short?  I'll  lengthen  it  with  mine: 
And,  having  both  together  beav'd  it  up 
We  II  lioth  together  lift  our  heads  to  heaven; 
And  never  more  abase  our  sight  so  low. 
As  to  vouchsafe  one  glance  unto  the  ground. 

Gin   O  Nell,  sweet  Nell,  if  thou  dost  love  thy  lord 
llanish  the  canker  of  ambitious  thoughts : 
And  may  that  thought,  when  I  imagine  ill 
Against  my  king  and  nephew,  virtuous  Henry, 
He  my  last  breathing  in  this  mortal  world' 
My  troublous  dream  this  night  doth  make  me  sad. 

•  For  tic-Wish. 

»  y\iA(.^'zor:  who.ce  lifp  w.is  tn  mnf  inne  only  so  long  as  a 
'•'■rt.ini  firobranrt  should  l.i,«f.  His  mother  ,\l;liea  havin" 
thrown  it  into  (he  fiie,  he  expired  in  torment. 


Duck.  What  dream'd  my  lord?  tell  me,  and  I'll 
requite  it 
With  sweet  rehearsal  of  my  morning's  dream. 

Gto.  Methought,  this  stall;  mine  office-badge  in 
court. 
Was  broke  in  twain,  by  whom,  I  have  forgot. 
But,  as  1  think,  it  was  by  the  cardinal ; 
And  on  the  pieces  of  the  broken  wand 
Were  placed  the  heads  of  Edniond  duke  of  Somcfset, 
And  William  de  la  Poole  lirst  duke  of  Siitlolk. 
This  was  my  dream ;  what  it  doth  bode,  God  knows. 

Duch.  Tilt,  this  was  nothing  but  an  argument 
That  he  that  breaks  a  stick  of  Gloster's  grove, 
Shall  lose  his  head  lor  his  presumption. 
But  list  to  me,  my  Humphrey,  my  sweet  duke, 
Alethought,  I  sat  in  seat  of  majesty, 
In  the  cathedral  church  of  Westniinster, 
.\nd  in  that  chair  where  kings  and  queens  are 

crown 'd ; 
Where  Henry.-and  dame  Margaret,  kncel'd  to  me, 
And  on  my  head  did  .set  the  diadem. 

Gki.  Nay,  Eleanor,  then  must  I  chide  outright: 
Presumptuous  dame,  ill-nurtur'd  Eleanor! 
Art  thou  not  second  woman  in  the  realm  ; 
.And  tlie  protector's  %vife,  belov'd  of  him  ? 
Hast  thou  not  worldly  pleasure  at  command. 
Above  the  reach  or  compass  of  thy  thought '! 
.And  wilt  thou  still  be  hammering'treacherj'. 
To  tumble  down  thy  husband,  and  thyself. 
From  top  of  honor  to  disgrace's  feet? 
Away  from  me,  and  let  me  hear  no  more. 

Duch.  What,  what,  my  lord  !  are  you  so  choleric 
With  Eleanor  (or  telling  but  her  dream  ? 
Next  time,  I'll  keep  my  dreams  unto  myself. 
And  not  be  cliecka. 

Gto.  Nay,  be  not  angry,  I  am  pleas'd  again. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord  protector,  'tis  his  highness'  plea- 
sure. 
You  do  prepare  to  ride  unto  Saint  ,A.I  ban's. 
Whereas";  the  king  and  queen  do  mean  to  hawk. 

Gin.  I  go.— Come,  Nell,  thou  wilt  ride  with  us  ? 

Duch.  Yes,  good  my  lord.  I'll  follow  presently. 
Exeunt  (Jloster  a«rf  Messenger. 
Follow  I  must,  I  cannot  go  before. 
While  Glo.sler  bears  this  base  and  humble  mind. 
Were  I  a  man,  a  duke,  and  ne.vt  of  blood, 
1  would  remove  these  tedious  stumhiing-blocks. 
And  smooth  my  way  upon  their  headless  necks: 
And,  being  a  woman,  I  would  not  be  slack 
To  play  my  jvirt  in  tiirtune's  pageant. 
Where  are  you  there  ?  sir  John !'  Iiav,  fear  not,  man, 
We  are  alone ;  here's  none  but  thee,  and  I. 

Enter  IIl'jie. 

Hume.  .lesu  preserve  your  royal  majesty! 

Ducli.  What  sav'st  thoii.  majesty !  I  am  but  "race. 

Hume.  But,  by  the  grace  of  tied,  and  Hume's 
advice. 
Your  grace's  title  shall  be  multiplied. 

Such.  What  .say'st  thou,  man  ?  hast  thou  as  yet 
conlerr  d 
With  Margery  .Tourdain,  the  cunning  witch ; 
And  Roger  Bolingbroke.  the  conjurer! 
And  will  they  undertake  to  do  lue  good? 

Hume.  This  they  have  promised,— to  show  your 
highness 
A  spirit  rais'd  from  depth  of  under  ground. 
That  shall  make  an.swer  to  such  questions. 
As  by  your  grace  shall  be  propounded  him. 

Duch.  It  isenou.gh;  I'll  think  upon  the  questions: 
When  irom  Saint  Alban's  %ve  do  make  return. 
We  11  .see  these  things  etli-cted  to  the  full. 
Here,  Huiue,  take  Ihis  reward;  make  merry,  man, 
With  thy  conledcrates  in  this  weighty  cause. 

,,         ,  [Exit  DrcHESB. 

Hu7ne.  Hume  must  make  merry  with  theduchess' 
gold ; 
Marry,aiid  shall.    But  how  now,  sir  John  Hume  I 
Seal  up  your  lips,  and  give  no  words  but— mum ! 
The  business  askelh  silent  secrecy. 
Dame  Eleanor  gives  gold,  to  bring  the  witch : 
Gold  cannot  come  amiss,  were  .she  a  devil. 
Yet  have  I  gold.  Hies  from  another  coast : 
I  dare  not  say  from  the  rich  cardinal, 
And  from  the  great  and  new-made  duke  of  Suffolk; 
1  et  I  do  find  it  so :  lor,  to  be  plain. 
They,  kmowing  dame  Eleanor's  aspiring  humor, 
«  Where.        '  A  title  frerjuently  bestowed  on  the  clergy. 


410 


SECOND   PAKT   OF 


Act  L 


Have  hired  me  to  undermine  the  duchess, 
And  buz  these  conjurations  in  ]ier  brain. 
They  say,  a  crafty  knave  does  need  no  broker; 
Yet  am  j  Sullblkand  the  cardinal's  broker; 
Hume,  if  you  take  not  heed,  you  shall  go  near 
To  call  them  both  a  pair  of  crafty  knaves. 
Well,  so  it  stands ;  And  thus,  I  fear,  at  last, 
Hume's  knavery  will  he  the  duchess'  wreck; 
And  her  atfainture  will  be  Humphrey's  fall: 
Sorts  iiow  it  will,  1  sliail  have  gold  for  all.      [Exit. 

SCENE  HI.— ^  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Peter,  and  others,  with  Petitions. 

1  pet.  My  masters,  let's  stand  close ;  my  lord 
protector  will  come  this  way  by-and-by,  and  then 
we  may  deliver  our  supplications  in  the  quill.9 

2  Pet.  Marry,  tiie  lord  protect  him,  for  he's  a 
good  man  !  Jesu  bless  Iiim  ! 

Enter  Suffolk,  and  Queen  Margaret, 

1  Pet.  Here  'a  comes,  methinks,  and  the  queen 
wilh  him  :  I'll  be  the  first,  sure. 

2  Pet.  Come  back,  fool ;  this  is  the  duke  of 
Sulfolk,  and  not  my  lord  protector. 

Huf,  How  now,  fellow  f  wouldst  any  thing  with 
me1 

1  Pet.  I  pray  my  lord,  pardon  me  !  I  took  yc  for 
my  lord  protector. 

Q.  Mar.  [Reading  the  superscription.]  To  -nw 
lord  protector .'  are  your  supplications  to  his  lord- 
sliip  ]  Let  me  see  tliem  :  What  is  thine  ? 

1  Pet.  Mine  is,  an't  please  your  grace,  against 
John  Goodman,  my  lord  cardinal's  man,  for  keeping 
my  house,  and  lands,  and  wile,  and  all,  from  me, 

'^iif.  Thy  wife  too?  that  is  some  wrong,  indeed. — 
What's  yours'? — What's  here!  [Reads.]  Against 
the  Duke  of  SuJJhtk^fur  enclosing  the  conirfions  of 
Me/ford. — How  now,  sir  knave  1 

2  Pet.  Alas,  sir,  1  am  but  a  poor  petitioner  of  our 
wJiole  township. 

Peter.  [Presenting  his  Petition.]  Against  my 
master,  Thomas  Horner,  lor  saynig,  That  the  duke 
of  York  was  riglitful  heir  to  the  crown. 

Q.  Mar.  What  say'st  thou?  Did  the  duke  of 
York  say.  he  was  rightful  heir  to  tiie  crown  ! 

Peter.  That  my  master  was?  No,  forsooth:  my 
master  said,  That  he  was;  and  that  the  king  was 
an  usurper. 

SaJ.  Who  is  there?  [Enter  Servants.!— Take 
this  tellow  in,  and  send  tor  his  master  with  a  pur- 
suivant presently: — we'll  hear  more  of  your  matter 
before  the  king.         [Exeunt  Servants  with  Peteu. 

Q.  Mar.  And  as  for  you,  that  love  to  be  protected 
Under  the  wings  of  our  protector's  ^race, 
Begin  your  suits  anew,  and  sue  to  hun. 

[Tears  the  Petition. 
Away,  base  cullions  !'  SulTolk.  let  them  go. 

All.  Come,  Id's  ho  gone.       [Exeunt  Petitioners. 

Q.  Mar.  My  lord  ol'SulIblk.  say,  is  this  the  guise, 
Is  this  the  fashion  in  the  court  of  England? 
Is  this  the  government  of  Britian's  isk^, 
And  this  the  royalty  of  Albion's  king  \ 
What,  shall  king  Henry  bo  a  pupil  still, 
Under  the  surly  Gloster's  governance  \ 
Am  I  a  queen  in  title  and  in  style. 
And  must  be  made  a  subject  to  a  duke? 
T  tell  thee.  Poole,  when  in  the  city  Tours 
Tliou  ran'st  a  tilt  in  honor  of  my  love. 
And  stol'st  away  the  ladies'  hearts  of  France ; 
I  thought  king  Henry  had  resembled  thee, 
In  courage,  courtship,  and  proportion: 
But  all  his  mind  is  bent  to  holiness. 
To  number  Ave-Maries  on  his  beads; 
His  champions  are — the  prophets  and  apostles: 
His  weapons,  holy  .saw.s-  of  sacred  writ; 
His  study  is  his  tilt-yard,  and  his  loves 
Are  brazen  images  of  canonized  saints, 
I  woukl.  the  college  of  cardinals 
Would  choose  him  pope,  and  carry  him  to  Home, 
And  set  the  triple  crown  upon  his  head; 
Tiiat  were  a  state  tit  for  his  holiness. 

Suf.  Madam,  he  patient:  as  I  was  cause 
Your  highness  came  to  England,  so  will  I 
111  England  work  your  grace's  full  content. 

Q.  Maj:  Beside  the  haught  protector,  have  we 
Beaufort, 

■  Happen. 

•  With  Kre.it  exactness  anj  observanco  of  form. 

*  Scoumirels.  a  Sayimja. 


The  imperious  churchman  ;Somerset,Buckingliam, 
And  grumbling  York:  and  not  the  least  of  these, 
But  can  do  more  in  England  tlian  the  king. 

Suf.  And  he  of  these  that  can  do  most  of  all, 
Cannot  do  more  in  England  tlian  the  Ncvils: 
Salisbury,  and  Warwick,  are  no  simple  peers. 

Q.  Mar.  Not  all  these  lords  do  vex  me  half  jo 
much. 
As  that  proud  dame,  the  lord  protector's  "Wife. 
She  sweeps  it  through  the  court  with  troops  of  ladies, 
More  like  an  empress  than  duke  Humphrey's  wife; 
Strangers  in  court  do  take  her  lor  the  queen: 
She  bears  a  duke's  revenues  on  iier  back, 
And  in  her  heart  she  scorns  her  poverty: 
Shall  1  not  live  to  be  avenged  on  her? 
Contemptuous  base-boni  callat^  as  she  i.g, 
She  vaunted  'mongst  her  minions  t'other  day, 
The  very  train  of  her  worst  wearing-gown 
Was  better  worth  than  all  my  lather's  lands, 
Till  Sutfoik  gave  two  dukedoms  lor  his  daughter. 

Suf.  Madam,  myself  have  limed  a  bush  for  her; 
And  placed  a  quire  of  such  enticing  birds, 
That  she  will  light  to  listen  to  the  lays, 
And  never  mount  to  trouble  you  again. 
So,  let  her  rest :  and,  madam,  list  to  me ; 
For  1  am  bold  to  counsel  you  in  this. 
Although  we  fancy  not  the  cardinal. 
Yet  must  we  join  with  him,  and  with  the  lords, 
Till  we  have  brought  duke  Humphrey  in  disgrace. 
As  lor  the  duke  of  York, — tliis  late  complaint-* 
Will  make  but  little  for  his  henelit: 
So,  one  by  one,  we'll  weed  them  all  at  last. 
And  you  yourself  shall  steer  the  happy  helm 
Enter  KixG    Henry,  York   and   Somerset  con~ 

versing  with    him ;    Duke   and    Duchess   op 

Gloster,    Cardinal    Beaufort,    Buckingham, 

Salisbury,  and  Warwick. 

A'.  lien.  For  my  part,  noble  lords,  I  care  not 
which  ;  Or  Somerset,  or  York,  ail's  one  to  me. 

Yf/rA'.  If  York  have  ill  dcmean'diiimsef  fin  France, 
Then  let  him  be  denay'd^  the  regentshlp. 

Horn.  If  Somerset  be  unwortliy  ot  tiie  place, 
Let  York  be  regent,  I  will  yield  to  him. 

War.  Whether  your  grace  be  worthy,  yea,  or  no, 
Dispute  nut  that;  York  is  the  worthier. 

Car.  Ambitious  Warwick,  let  tliy  betters  speak. 

War.  Tlie  cardinal's  not  my  better  in  the  held. 

Buck.  All  in  this  presence, arc  tliy  betters,  War- 
wick. 

War.  Warwick  may  live  to  be  the  best  of  all. 

Sal.    Peace,    son ; and    show    some    reason, 

Buckingham, 
Why  Somerset  should  be  preferred  in  this. 

Q.  Mar.  Because  the  king,  forsooth,  will  have  it  so. 

(Jlo.  Madam,  the  king  is  old  enough  himself 
To  give  his  censure  ;<•  these  arc  no  women's  matters. 

Q.  Mar.  If  he  be  old  enough,  what  needs  your 
grace 
To  be  protector  of  his  excellence? 

Gin.  I\Iadam,  I  am  protector  of  the  realm  ; 
And,  at  his  plea-sure,  will  resign  my  place. 

Suf.  Resign  it  then,  and  leave  thine  insolence. 
Since  thou  wert  king,  (as  who  is  king  but  thou  ?) 
The  commonwealth  hath  daily  run  to  wreck: 
The  dauphin  hath  prevail'd  beyond  the  seas  ; 
And  all  the  peers  and  nobles  ol  the  realm 
Have  been  as  bondmen  to  thy  sovereignty. 

Car.    The    commons    hast    tliou    lack'a,    the 
clergy's  bags 
Arc  lank  and  lean  with  thy  extortions. 

Sofu.  Thy  sumptuous  buildings,  and  thy  w'lie's 
attire. 
Have  cost  a  mass  of  public  treasury. 

Buck.  Thy  cruelty  in  execution, 
Upon  otli'uders,  hath  exceeded  law. 
And  lelt  thee  to  the  mercy  of  the  law. 

Q.Mflr.  Thy  sale  ofotliccs.;:nd  towns  in  France, — 
If  they  were  known,  as  the  .suspect  is  great. — 
Would  make  thee  quickly  hop  without  thy  head. 

[Exit  Gloster.    The  Queen  drops' her  fan. 
Give  me  my  fan:  what,  minion  !  can  you  not? 

[Gives  the  DticnEss  a  box  on  the  ear, 
I  cry  you  mercy,  madam  ;  Was  it  you? 

Uuch.  Was't  I ?   >ea,  I  it  was,  proud  f rench* 
woman ! 

3  Drab,  trull. 

«  /.  c.     The   complaint  of   Peter,   the  aniiorer's    man, 
against  bis  master.  »  Deoied. 

6  Censure  hei-e  means  simple  judgment  or  opinioni 


Scene  IV. '} 


KING   HENRY  YI. 


411 


Could  I  come  near  your  beauty  with  niv  nails, 
I'd  set  my  ten  commandments  in  your  i'ace.' 
K.Ilcn.  Sweet  aunt,  be  quiet:  'twas  against  her 

will. 
Duck.  Against  her  will!  Good  king,  look  to't 
in  time ; 
She'll  hamper  thee,  and  dandle  thee  like  a  baby : 
Though  in  this  place  most  master  wear  no  breeches, 
She  shall  not  strike  dame  Eleanor  unreveiiged. 

Bucl!.  Lord  Cardinal,  I  will  follow  Eleanor, 
Knf\  listen  after  Humphrey,  how  he  proceeds: 
SheV  tickled  now;  her  fume  can  need  no  spurs, 
Slie'll  gallop  last  enough  to  her  destruction. 

[Exit  BlCKINGHAM. 
Re-enter  Gloster. 

Glo.  Now,  lords,  my  choler  being  over-blown, 
With  walking  once  about  the  quadrangle, 
I  come  to  talk  of  commonwealth  alliiirs. 
As  for  your  spiteful  (iilsc  objections. 
Prove  them,  and  I  lie  open  to  the  law : 
But  God  in  mercy  so  deal  with  my  soul. 
As  I  in  duty  love  my  king  and  country ! 
But,  to  the  matter  that  wc  have  in  hand  : — 
I  say,  my  sovereign,  York  is  meetest  man 
To  be  your  regent  in  the  realm  of  France. 

Suf.  Bctbre  we  make  election,  give  me  leave 
To  show  some  reason,  of  no  little  force, 
That  York  is  most  unmeet  of  any  man. 

York.  I'll  tell  thee,  Sullblk,  why  I  am  unmeet 
First,  for  I  cannot  Hatter  thee  in  pride : 
Next,  if  I  be  appointed  lor  the  place. 
My  lord  of  Somerset  will  keep  inc  here. 
Without  discharge,  money,  or  furniture. 
Till  France  be  won  into  the  dauphin's  hands. 
Last  tune,  I  danced  attendance  on  his  will. 
Till  Paris  was  besieg'd,  famisli'd,  and  lost. 

iVar.  That  I  can  witness,  and  a  fouler  fact 
Did  never  traitor  in  the  land  commit. 

HuJ'.  Peace,  head-strong  Warwick  ! 

nar.  Image  of  pride,  why  should  I  hold  my 
peace  1 

Enter  Servants  of  Suffolk,  bringii'S  in  Horner 
and  Peter. 

Suf.  Because  here  is  a  man  accus'd  of  treason: 
Pray  God  the  duke  of  York  excuse  himself! 

1  wA\  Doth  any  one  accuse  York  lor  a  traitor? 

A'.  Jicn.  What  mean'st  thou,  Sullblk  !  tell  me: 
What  are  these  1 

Si'/.  Please  it  your  luajestv.  this  is  the  man 
That  doth  accuse  his  muster  of  liii;h  treason; 
His  words  were  these;— lliat  Ricliai  d,  duke  of  York, 
Was  rightful  heir  unto  the  English  crown  ; 
And  that  your  majesty  was  aii'usurper. 

A".  Hen.  Say,  man,  were  these  thy  words? 

]{or.  An'tsliall  jilease  your  majesty,  I  never  said 
nor  thought  any  such  matter:  God  is  my  witness, 
I  am  falsely  accused  by  the  villain. 

Pet.  By  these  ten  bones,  my  lords,  [Holding  up 
hi.'<  hamh,]  he  did  .speak  them  to  ine  in  the  garret 
one  night,  as  we  were  scouring  my  lord  of  Y'ork's 
armor. 
^  Yurix:  Base  dunghill  villain,  and  mechanical, 
I  II  have  thy  head  tor  this  thy  traitor's  speech:— 
I  ili)  beseech  your  royal  majesty. 
Let  him  have  all  the  rigor  of  the  law. 

Jl'ir.  Alas,  my  lord,  hang  me,  if  ever  I  spake  the 
words.  My  accuser  is  my  prentice:  and  when  I 
did  correct  him  tinr  his  fault  the  other  day,  he  did 
vow  upon  his  knees  he  would  be  even  with  me  :  I 
have  goal  witness  of  this;  therefore,!  beseech  your 
majesty,  do  not  cast  away  an  honest  man  for  a 
villain  s  accusation. 

A'.  Hen.  Uncle,  what  shall  we  say  to  this  in  law? 

Olo.  This  doom,  my  lord,  if  I  may  judge;— 
Let  Somerset  be  regent  o'er  the  French, 
Because  in  York  this  breeds  suspicion  : 
And  let  these  have  a  day  appointed  lliera 
For  sinrfe  combat  in  convenient  place ; 
For  he  Jiath  witness  of  his  servant's  malice: 
This  is  the  law,  and  this  duke  Humphrey's  doom. 

A.  ]Jen.  Then  be  it  so.    My  lord  of  Somerset, 
We  make  your  grace  lord  regent  o'er  the  French. 

So/ii.  1  huiiibiv  lliank  your  royal  majesty. 

Hin:  And  I  accept  the  combat  willingly. 

Pel.  Alas,  my  lord.  I  cannot  tight;  ibr  God's 
STiic,  pity  my  case  !  the  spite  of  man  prevaileth 
'  The  marks  of  her  fingers  and  thumbs. 


against  me.    0  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me  !  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  tight  a  blow  :  O  Lord,  my  heart ! 

Glo.  Sirrah,  or  you  must  tight,  or  else  be  haug'd. 

K.  Hen.  Away  with  them  to  prison,  and  the  day 
Of  combat  shall  be  the  last  of  the  next  month.— 
Come,  Somerset,  we'll  see  thee  sent  away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  lY.—The  Duke  of  Gloster's  Garden. 
Enter  Makgery  Joprdain,  HroiE,  Southwell,  and 

BOLINGBROKE. 

Hume.  Come,  my  masters;  the  duchess,  I  tell 
you.  expects  perlbrmance  of  your  promises. 

Boling.  Master  Hume,  we  are  therelbre  pro- 
vided :  Will  her  ladyship  behold  and  hear  our 
exorcisms?'* 

Hume.  Ay;  What  else?  fear  j-ou  not  her  courage. 

Bating.  I  have  heard  her  reported  to  be  a  woman 
of  an  invincible  spirit:  But  it  shall  be  convenient, 
master  Hume,  that  you  be  by  her  aloft,  while  we  be 
busy  below ;  and  so.  1  pray  you,  go,  in  God's  name, 
and  leave  us.  [Exit  Hume.]  Mother  Jourdain,  be 
you  prostrate,  and  grovel  on  the  earth :— John 
Southwell,  read  you  ;  and  let  us  to  our  work. 

Enter  DuuHESS,  above. 
Buck.  Well  said,  my  masters ;  and  welcome  all. 
To  this  gear;'  the  sooner  the  better. 
Buiing.  Patience,  good  lady ;  wizards  know  their 
times : 
Deep  night,  dark  night,  the  silent  of  the  night. 
The  time  of  night  when  Troy  was  set  on  tiVe; 
The  time  when  screech-owls  cry,  and  ban-dogs' 

howl. 
And  spirits  walk,  and  ghosts  break  up  their  graves. 
That  time  best  lit-s  the  work  Vie  have  in  hand. 
Madam,  sit  you,  and  fear  not ;  whom  we  raise, 
We  will  make  fast  within  a  hallow 'd  verge. 

[Here  thry  perform  the  ceremonies  appertaining, 
anil  Nuilxc  lite  circle;   BoLixgbkokk,  nr  Souxii- 
WEi.i,,  rcaih  Conjuro  te,  &c.     It  thnnilers  and 
lighten.':,  terribly;  then  ttie  Spirit  ;-ist7/».] 
tSynr.  Adsum. 
M.  Jourd.  Asmath, 
By  the  eternal  God,  whose  name  and  power 
Tliou  tremblest  at,  answer  that  I  shall  ask; 
For,  till  thou  speak,  thou  shall  not  pass  from  hence. 
Spir.  Ask  what  thou  wilt :— That  I  had  said  and 

done  ! 
Boling.  First,  of  the  King.     What  .ihnll  of  him 
become.!  [Headline  out  ol  a  pa|)er. 

S/jir.  The  duke  yet  lives  that  Ileiirv  shall  depose  ; 
But  him  outlive,  and  die  a  violent  death. 

[.■U  the  Spirit  speaks,  Soutuwell  toritcs  the 
answer. 
Boling.  ll'hatfnte  awaits  the  duke  of  Rufolk  ? 
Spir.  By  water  shall  he  die,  and  take  his'eiid. 
Boling.  What  .shall  befall  the  duke  of  Somerset  ? 
Spir.  Let  him  shun  castles ; 
Saler  shall  he  be  upon  the  sandy  plains, 
Than  where  castles  mounted  stand. 
Have  done  !  for  more  I  hardly  can  endure. 
Boling.  Descend  to  darkness,  and  the  burning 
lake : 
False  fiend,  avoid  ! 

[Thunder  and  lightning.    Spirit  descends. 

Enter  York  and  BiTKixunAM,  liastily,  with  their 
Guards,  ami  others. 

York.  Lay  hands  upon  these  traitors,  and  their 
trash. 
Beldame,  I  think,  we  watch'd  you  at  an  inch. — 
What,  madam,  are  you  there  ?  the  king  and  com- 
monweal 
Are  deeply  indebted  for  this  piece  of  pains: 
My  lord  protector  will,  I  doubt  it  not. 
See  you  well  guerdon'd-  lor  these  good  deserts. 

Duch.  Not  half  so  bad  as  thine  to  England's  king, 
Injurious  duke  ,  that  threat'st  where  is  no  cause. 
Buck.  True,  madam,  none  at  aU.     What  call 
you  this  ?  [  Showing  her  ilie  papers. 

Away  with  them  ;  let  them  he  clapp'd  up  close. 
And  keptasunih^r:— You,  madam,  shall  with  us:— 
Stalibrd,  take  her  to  thee. — 

Exit  DucHESs/wni  above, 

•  I!y   exr.rciso,  fhiikspeare  invariabU  means  to  iniso 
spirits,  anil  mjt  to  l.iy  them.  »  Matter  or  business. 

'  Wiitcli-dogs.  »  Rewarded. 


412 


SECOND   PART   OP 


[Act.  n. 


We'll  see  1  our  trinkets  here  all  forth-coming : 
All— Away! 

[Exeunt  Guards,  with  Southwell,  Bolixg- 
BROKE,  4-c- 
York.  Lord  Buckingham,  mcthniks,  you  watch'd 
her  well : 
A  pretty  plot,  well  chosen  to  build  upon  ! 
Now  pray,  my  lord,  let's  sec  the  devil's  writ. 
What  have  we  liere  !  [Reads. 

T/ie  duke  yet  lives,  tliat  Henry  stintl  depose: 
But  tiiiii  outlive,  and  die  a  violent  diuth. 
Why,  this  is  just, 

Aio  te,  jEacida,  Romanos  viticerc posse. 
Weil,  to  the  rest: 

Tell  me,  what  fate  cnvaits  Ihr  duke  of  Suffolk.' 
By  tvuftr  .\liull  hi:  die,  iiml  lake  hi.s  end. — 
H'luft  shall  Oeli:le  the  duke  of  Somerset  ? 
Let  tilut  shun  castles ; 
Safer  shall  he  be  upon  the  sandy  plains, 


Thayi  where  castles  mounted  stand. 

Come,  come,  my  lords ; 

These  oracles  are  liardily  attain'd, 

And  hardly  understood. 

The  king  is  now  in  pro.^ress  towards  Saint  Alban's, 

Witli  him,  the  husband  of  this  lovely  lady: 

Thither  so  these  news,  as  fast  as  horse  can  carrj 

them ; 
A  sorry  brcakiast  for  my  lord  protector. 
Buck.  Your  grace  shall  give  me  leave,  my  U.rt. 

of  York, 
To  be  the  post,  in  hope  of  his  reward, 

York.  At  your  pleasure,  my  good  lord. — Who'a 
within  there,  ho ! 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Invite  my  lords  of  Salisbury,  and  Warwick, 
To  sup  with  me  to-morrow  night. — Away. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   11. 


SCENE  I.— Saint  Alban's. 

Kilter  King  Henry.  Qlten  Harcarkt.  Gi.ns- 
TKR,  Cauoinal,  and  Suffolk,  with  Falconers, 
hollaing. 

Q.  Mar.  Believe  me, lords,forflyinf;:at  the  brook,^ 
I  saw  not  better  sport  tliese  seven  years'  day  : 
Yet,  by  5'our  leave,  the  wind  was  very  high  ; 
Ana,  ten  to  one,  old  Joan  had  not  ^one  out. 

A',  lien'  But  what  a  point,  my  lord,  your  falcon 
made, 
And  what  a  pitch  she  flew  above  the  rest!^ 
To  see  how  (Jod  ni  all  Ins  creatures  works! 
Yea,  man  and  birds,  are  fanr'  ol'chm[)in^  higli« 

iiuf.  No  marvel,  an  it  like  your  majesty, 
My  lord  protector's  hawks  do  tower  so  well ; 
They  know  their  master  loves  to  be  aloft, 
And  bears  his  thoughts  above  his  falcon's  pitch. 

Gto.  My  lord,  'tis  but  a  base  ignoble  mind 
That  mounts  no  higher  than  a  bird  can  soar. 

Car.  I   thought  as  much;  he'd   be  above  the 
clouds. 

Glo,  Ay,  my  lord  cardinal;  how  thinlt  you  by 
that'? 
Were  It  not  good,  your  grace  could  fly  to  heaven  1 

A"",  lien.  The  treasury  oi'  everlasting  joy  ! 

Car.  Thy  heaven  is  on  earth ;  thine  eyes  and 
thoughts 
Beat  on  a  crown,  the  treasure  of  thy  heart; 
pernicious  protector,  dangerous  peer, 
Tiiat  smnoth'st  tt  so  with  king  and  commonweal  \ 

Glo.  What,  cardinal,  is  your  priesthood  grown 
peremptory] 
Tantsene  animvi  ccelesfibus  irx? 
Churchmen  so  hot?  good  uncle,  hide  such  malice; 
Witli  sucli  holiness  can  you  do  iti 

S»y.  No  malice,  sir;  no  more  than  well  becomes 
So  good  a  quarrel,  and  so  bad  a  peer. 

Glo.  As  who,  my  lord  ! 

^i(f-  Why.  as  you,  my  lord ; 

An't  like  your  lordly  lord-protectorship. 

Glo.  Why,  Sutlblk,  England  knows  thine  inso- 
lence. 

Q.  Mar.  And  thy  ambition,  Glostcr. 

A'.  Hen.  I  pr'yfhee.  peace, 

Oood  queen ;  and  whet  not  on  these  furious  peers, 
Eor  blessed  are  the  peacemakers  on  earth. 

Car.  Let  me  be  blessed  Ibr  the  peace  I  make, 
Against  thisproud  protector  witli  my  sword  ! 

Glo.  'Faith,  holy  uncle,  'would  'twere  come  to 
that !  [Asi(k  io  the  Cardinal. 

Car.  I\larry,  when  thou  dar'st.  [Aside. 

Glo.  Make  up  no  factious  numbers  for  the  matter, 
In  thine  own  person  answer  thy  abuse.        [Asi'le. 

Car.  Ay,  where  thou  dar'st  not  peep:  an  if  thou 
dar'st, 
This  evening  on  the  east  side  of  the  grove.  [Aside. 

K.  Heji^How  now,  my  lords  I 

Car.  Believe  me,  cousin  Gloslcr, 

Had  not  your  man  put  up  the  fowl  so  suddenly, 
We  had  had  more  sport — Coine  with   thy  two- 
hand  sword.  [Aside  to  Glusteu. 
»  The  falconer's  term  for  hnwkiiig  at  watur-lowl. 
«  foud. 


Glo.  True,  uncle. 

Car.  Areyouadvis'd? — the  castside  of  the  grovel 

Glo.  Cardinal,  I  am  with  you.  [Asvlc. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  how  now,  uncle  Glosterl 

Glo.  Talking  of  hawking;  nothingelse.my  lord. — 
Now,   by   God's   mother,  priest,  I'll  shave   your 

crown  for  this. 
Or  all  my  fenced  phall  fail.  [Aside. 

Car,  Medice,teipsum; 
Protector,  see  to't  well,  protect  yourself.       [Aside. 

K.  Hen.  The  winds  grow  hign ;  so  do  your  sto- 
machs, lords. 
How  irksome  is  this  music  to  my  heart ! 
When  such  strings  jar,  wJiat  hope  of  hamiony'? 
I  pray,  my  lords,^let  me  compound  tins  strife. 
Enter  an   Inhabitant   of  Saint  Alban's,  c/'i/ing, 
A  Miracle ! 

Gh,  What  means  this  noise  1 
Fellow,  what  miracle  dost  thou  proclaim? 

Inhab.  A  miracle  !  a  miracie  ! 

Nf//.  Come  to  tlie  king,  and  \c\i  him  what  miracle. 

Inhab.  Forsooth,  a  bUnd  man  at  Saint  Alban's 
shrine. 
Within  this  half  hour,  hath  rcceiv'd  his  sight; 
A  man,  that  ne'er  saw  in  his  iife  belbre. 

K.  Hen.  Now,  God  be  prais'd !  that  to  believing 
souls 
Gives  light  in  darkness,  comfort  in  despair 
Enter  the  Mayor  of  Saint  Alban's,  and  his  Breth' 

ren  ;  and  ^\yi.\^Qo\,b(rrne  between  twoPei-sansin  a 

Chair ;  his  Wile,  and  a  great  multitude  following. 

Car.  Here  come  the  touTismen  on  procession, 
To  present  your  highness  with  the  man. 

A'.  Hen.  Great  is  his  comlbrt  m  this  earthly  vale, 
Although  by  liis  sight  his  sin  be  multiplied. 

Glo.  Stand  by,  my  masters,  bring  him  near  the 
king. 
His  highness'  pleasure  is  to  talk  with  him. 

A',  /ie/?.  Good  ti?llow.  tell  us  here  tlie  circumstance, 
That  we  for  thee  may  glorify  the  Lord. 
What,  hast  thou  been  long  blind,  and  now  restor'd  ? 

Simp.  Born  bhnd,  an't  please  your  grace. 

IViJe.  Ay,  indeed  was  he. 

Svf.  What  woman  is  thisi 

H^ife.  His  wife,  an't  like  your  worship. 

Glo.  Hadsl  thou  been  ins  mother,  thou  couldst 
have  better  told. 

K.  Hen.  Where  wert  thou  born  ? 

Ni/«;».  At  Berwick  in  the  n()rtii,airt  like  your  grace. 

K.  hen.  Poor  soul !   God's  goodness  hath  been 
great  to  thee: 
Let  never  day  nor  night  unhallow'd  pass. 
But  still  remember  what  the  Lord  halli  done, 

Q.  Mar.  Tell  me,  good  fellow,  cam'st  tliou  here 
by  cliance. 
Or  of  devotion,  to  this  holy  shrine? 

Simp.  God  knows,  of  puic  devution;  being  call'd 
A  liundred  times,  and  olt'ner.  in  my  sleep 
i!y  guod  Saint  Alban;  who  said,— .S'/////u7;j',  eome ; 
C'anif,  <-lJ't'r  at  mi/  shrine,  and  I  will  help  thee. 

IVifi'.  Most  true,  Ibrsooth;  and  many  time  and  oft 
Blystlf  have  heard  a  voice  to  call  him  so. 
•  Fence  is  the  art  of  diffuce. 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 


413 


Car.  Wiiat,  art  thou  lame  1 

Sin/p.  Ay,  God  Almighty  help  mc  ! 

Suf.  How  cam'st  thou  so  ? 

Simp.  A  fall  off  a  tree. 

IViJe.  A  plum-tree,  master. 

Gio.  How  long  hast  thou  been  blind  1 

Sir/ip.  0,  born  so.  master. 

Gin.  What,  and  wouldst  climb  a  tree  ? 

Simp.  But  Ihat  in  all  my  life,  when  I  was  a  youth. 

IViJe.  Too  true;  and  bought  his  climbing  very 
dear. 

Glo.  'Ma.^s,  thon  lovMst  plums  well,  that  wouldst 
venture  so. 

Simp.  Alas,  good  master,  my  wife  desir'd  some 
damsons. 
And  made  me  climb,  with  danger  of  my  life. 

Glo.  A  subtle  knave  !  but  yet  it  shall  not  serve. — 
Let  me  sec  thine  eyes : — wink  now  ; — now  open 

them ; 
111  my  opinion  yet  thou  seest  not  well. 

Simp.  Yes,  master,  clear  as  day;  1  thank  God, 
and  Saint  Alban. 

Glo.  Say'stthoumeso  1  Whatcoloristhiscloakof] 

Simp.  Red,  master;  red  as  blood. 

Glo.  WJiy,  tliat's  well  said :  What  color  is  my 
gown  of ! 

Simp.  Bhick,  forsooth;  coal-black,  as  jet. 

K  lleji.  Why  then,  tiiou  know'st  what  color  jet 
is  of? 

S}if.  And  yet.  I  think,  jet  did  he  never  see. 

G///.  But  cloaks  and  gowns,  before  thisday.a  many. 

Wife.  Never,  before  this  day.  in  all  his  life. 

Gbi,  Tell  me,  sirrah,  what's  my  name? 

Simp.  Alas,  master,  I  know  not. 

Glo.  Wliat's  his  name  \ 

Simp.  I  know  not. 

Glo.  Nor  his  l 

Simp.  No,  indeed,  master. 

Glo.  What's  thine  own  name? 

Simp.  Saunder  Simpcox,  an  if  it  please  you, 
master. 

Glo.  Then,  Saunder,  sit  thou  there,  the  lyingest 
knave 
In  Christendom.    If  thou  hadst  been  born  blind. 
Thou  mightstasweilliaveknown  our  names,  as  thus 
To  name  th^  several  colors  we  do  wear. 
Sigh*,  may  distinginsh  of  colors;  but  suddenly 

To  noniinate  thcin  all's  impossible. 

My  lords,  saint  Alban  here  hath  done  a  miracle; 
And  would  ye  not  think  that  cunning  to  be  great 
That  could  restore  this  cripple  to  his  legs  1 

Simp.  O,  master,  that  you  could  ! 

Glo.  My  masters  of  saint  Alban's.  have  you  not 
beadles  in  your  town,  and  things  called  whips  1 

Maij.  Yes,  my  lord,  it'  it  please  your  grace. 

Glo.  Then  send  for  one  presently. 

May.  Sirrah,  go  fetch  the  beadlehither  straight. 
l^Ea'U  an  Attendant. 

Glo.  Now  fetch  me  a  stool  hither  by-and-by.  [A 
stool  brought  out.']  Now,  sirrah,  if  you  mean  to 
eave  yourself  from  whipping,  leap  me  over  this 
stool  and  run  away. 

Simp.  Alas,  master,  I  am  notable  to  stand  alone: 
You  go  about  to  torture  me  in  vain. 

Re-enter  Attendant,  ivifh  the  Beadle. 

Glo.  Well,  sir,  we  must  have  you  find  your  legs. 
Sirrah  Beadle,  whip  him  till  he  leap  over  that 
same  stool. 

Bead.  I  will,  my  lord. — Come  on,  sirrah ;  otf  with 
your  doublet  quickly. 

Simp.  Alas,  master,  what  shall  I  do?  I  am  not 
abl;  to  stand. 

[Jfltr  the  Beadle  hath  hit  him  once,  he  leaps 
over  the  stool,  and  runs  awa>/ ;  and  the  Peo- 


K. 


'}/e  follmr.  and  «■?/,  A  Miracle  ! 
'  //.  0  C    ' 
long? 


pie 
Hen 


0  Cud,  seest  tliou  this,  and  bear'st  so 


Q.  Mar.   It  made  me  laugh' to  see  the  villain 
run. 

Glo.  Follow  the  knave ;  and  take  this  drab  away. 

l-Vife.  Alas,  sir.  we  did  it  tor  pure  need. 

Glo.  Let  them  be  whipped  through  every  market 

(own,  till  they  come  to  Berwick,whence  they  came. 

[E.veunt  Mayor,  Beadle,  Wife,  ^-c. 

Car.  Duke  Humphrey  has  done  a  miracle  to-day. 

Svf.  True ;  made  the  lame  to  leap,  and  fly  away. 

Glv.  But  you  have  done  more  miracles  than  I ; 
T'ou  made,  in  a  day,  my  lord,  whole  towns  to  tlj'. 


Enter  Buckisuiiam. 

A'.  Hen.  What  tidings  with  our  cousin  Bucking- 
ham ? 

Buck.  Such  as  my  heart  doth  tremble  to  unfold. 
A  sort*>  of  naughty  persons  lewdly"  bent, — 
Under  the  countenance  and  conii?deracy 
Of  lady  Eleanor,  the  protector's  wife, 
The  ring-leader  and  head  of  all  this  rout, — 
Have  practis'd  dangerously  against  your  state. 
Dealing  with  witeiies;  and  w'ith  conjurers  : 
Whom  we  have  apprehended  in  the  fact; 
Raising  up  wicked  spirits  from  under  ground, 
Demanding  of  king  Hi-nry's  life  and  death, 
And  other  of  your  highness'  privy  council. 
As  more  at  large  your  grace  shall  understand. 

Car.  And  so,  my  lord  protector,  by  this  means 
Your  lady  is  forthcoming  yet  at  London. 
This  news,  I  tlnnk,  hath  turn'd  your  weapon's  edge ; 
'Tis  like,  my  lord,  you  will  not  keep  your  hour. 

[AyiUe  to  (Jluster. 

Glo.  Ambitious  churchman,  leave  to  afflict  my 
heart ! 
Sorrow  and  grief  have  vanquish'd  all  my  powers: 
And,  vanquisJi'd  as  I  am,  I  yield  to  thee, 
Or  to  the  meanest  groom. 

K.  Hen.  O  God,  what  mischiefs  work  the  wicked 
ones ; 
Heaping  confusion  on  their  own  heads  thereby ! 

Q.  Mar.  Gloster,seehere  the  taintureof  thy  nest; 
And,  look,  thyself  be  faultless,  tliou  wert  best. 

Glo.  Madam,  lor  myself.  To  heaven  1  do  appeal, 
How  I  have  lov'd  my  king,  and  commonweal, 
And,  for  my  wife,  I  know  not  how  it  stands; 
Sorry  I  am  to  hear  what  I  have  heard: 
Noble  she  is  ;  but  if  she  have  forgot 
Honor,  and  virtue,  and  convers'd  with  such 
As,  like  to  pitch,  detile  nobility, 
I  banish  her  my  bed  and  company 
And  give  her.  as  a  prey,  to  law,  and  shame, 
Tliat  liath  dishonored  Glostor's  honest  name. 

A'. //tn.  Wei  I.  lor  this  night,  we  will  rei>ose  us  here; 
To-morrow,  toward  London,  back  again, 
To  look  into  this  business  thoroughly, 
And  call  tiiese  tbul  olli'uders  to  tiieir  answers; 
And  poise'  the  cause  in  justice'  equal  scales, 
W'husc  beam  stands  sure,  whose   rightful  cause 
prevails.  [Flourish.    Exeunt. 


SCENE  IL 


-London.    The  Duke  of  York's 
Garden. 


Enter  York,  Salishury,  and  Warwick. 

York.  Now,  my  good  lords  of   Salisbury  and 
Warwick, 
Our  simple  supper  ended,  give  me  leave, 
In  this  close  walk,  to  satisly  myself, 
In  craving  your  opmion  of  my  title. 
Which  is  infallible  to  England's  crown. 

Sal.  My  lord,  I  long  to  Jicar  it  at  full. 

War.  Sweet  York,  begin  :  and  if  thy  claim  be  good, 
The  Nevils  are  thy  subjects  to  command 

York.  Then  thus:— 
Edward  the  Third,  my  lords,  had  seven  sons: 
The  first,  Edward  the  Black  l*ri  nee,  prince  ol  Wales; 
Tlie  second.  William  of  llatiield  ;  and  the  third, 
Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence;  next  to  whom. 
Was  .Tu!m  of  Gaunt,  the  duke  of  Lancaster: 
The  filth  was  Edmund  Langley,  duke  of  York; 
The  sixth  was  Thomas  of  Woodstock,  duke  of 

Gloster; 
William  of  Windsor  was  the  seventh  and  last. 
Edward,  the  Black  Prince,  died  before  his  father; 
And  left  behind  him  Richard,  liis  only  son, 
Who,alter  Edward  the  Third's  death,reign'd  as  king; 
Till  Henry  liolinghroke,  duke  oiLancaster, 
The  eldest  son  and  heir  of  John  of  Gaunt, 
Ci'owu'd  by  the  name  of  Henry  the  Fourth, 
Seiz'd  on  the  realm;  dejios'd  the  rightful  king; 
Sent  his  poor  queen  to  France,  Irom  whence  she 

came, 
And  him  to  Pomfret ;  where,  as  all  you  know, 
Harmless  Richard  was  murdeiM  traitorously. 

War.  Father,  the  duke  hath  told  the  truth; 
Thus  got  the  house  of  Lancaster  the  crc*n. 

York.  Which  now  they  hold  by  Ibrce,  and  not 
by  right ; 
For  Richard,  the  first  son  s  heir,  being  dead, 
The  issue  of  the  next  son  should  have  reign'd. 

Sal.  But  WiUiam  of  Hatfield  died  without  an  heir, 

8  A  company.  i  \Vickedly.  s  ■Wt-i^h. 


414 


SECOND  PART   OF 


Act  IL 


York.  The  third  son,  duke  of  Clarence,  (from 
whose  line 
I  claim  the  crown.)  had  issue — Philippe, a dnughter, 
Who  married  Kdmujid  Mortimer,  carl  oJ March: 
KUmund  iiad  issue — Ro^cr,  earl  of  March  : 
Roi;er  Jiad  issue — Edmund,  Anne,  and  Eleanor. 

Sal.  This  Edmund,  in  the  rei^n  of  Boliugbroke, 
As  I  have  read,  laid  claim  unto  the  crown  ; 
And,  but  for  Owen  Glendowcr,  had  been  king, 
Who  kept  him  in  captivity  till  he  died. 
But,  to  the  rest. 

York.  His  eldest  sister,  Anne, 

My  mother,  Ijeing  heir  unto  the  crown. 
Married  Richard,  earl  of  Cambridge;  who  was  son 
To  Edmund  Langley,  Edward  the  Third's  lUth  son. 
By  her  I  claim  the  kint^dom;  she  was  heir 
To  Roger,  carl  of  March  ;  who  was  the  son 
Of  Edmund  Mortimer;  who  married  Piiilippc, 
Sole  daughter  unto  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence: 
So,  if  tlie  issue  of  the  elder  son 
Succeed  before  the  younger,  1  am  king. 

War.  What  plain  proceedings  arc  more  plain 
than  this  ] 
Henry  doth  claim  the  crown  from  John  of  Gaunt, 
The  Jburth  son ;  York  claims  it  I'rom  the  tJurd. 
Till  Lionel's  issue  liiiis,  his  should  not  reign: 
It  liiils  n-.t  yet ;  but  flourishes  in  thee, 
And  ni  thy  suns,  tair  sHps  of  such  a  slock. 
Then,  fatlier  Salisbury,  kneel  we  both  tuf^ether; 
And  in  this  private  plot,^  be  we  llic  first, 
That  shall  salute  our  rightful  sovereign 
With  honor  of  his  birtliright  to  the  crt)wn. 

Both.  Long  live  our  sovereign   Richard,  Eng- 
land's king  ! 

York.  We  thank  you,  lords.    But  I  am  not  your 
king 
Till  I  be  crow^n'd ;  and  that  my  sword  be  stain'd 
With  heart-blood  of  the  house  of  Lancaster. 
And  lliat's  not  suddenly  to  be  perlorm'd  ; 
But  with  advice  and  siient  tipcrccy. 
Do  ;ou,  as  I  do,  in  these  datig^'rous  days, 
Wink  at  the  duke  of  Sull(tlk's  insolence, 
At  Heautbrl's  pride,  at  Somerset's  ambition, 
At  Buckingham,  and  all  the  crew  of  them, 
Till  they  have  snar'd  the  shepherd  of  the  flock. 
That  virtuous  prince,  the  good  duke  Humphrey  : 
'Tis  that  they  seek:  and  they,  in  seeking  tJiat, 
Shall  find  their  deaths,  if  York  can  prophesy. 

Hal.  My  lord,  break  we  oil';  we  laiow  your  mind 
at  full. 

War.  My  heart  assures  me,  that  the  earl  of 
Warwick 
Shall  one  day  make  the  duke  of  York  a  king. 

Y'n'k.  And  Nevil,  this  I  do  ass'ire  niyseli, — 
Richard  shall  live  to  make  tfie  earl  of  Warwick 
The  greatest  man  in  England,  but  the  king. 

[Ji^xeitnt. 

SCENE  Ul.—A  Hall  rf  Justice, 

Trjimpcts  sounded.    Enter  King  Henrv,  Queex 

I\Iar(;aret,  Gloster,  York.  Suffolk,  ayid  Salis- 
Li.  uy;  the  Duchess  of  Glosthr,  Maiicery  Juvk- 
DA!N,  SuUTHWELL,  HuAiE,  auU  BonxuBuoKE,  under 
guard. 

K.  Hen.  Stand    forth,  dame    Eleanor    Cobliam, 
Gloster's  wife: 
In  sight  of  God  and  u.i,  your  guilt  is  great; 
Receive  the  sentence  of  the  law  for  sins 
Such  as  by  God's  book  are  adjudg'd  to  death.— 
Y'ou  lour,  from  licnce  to  prison  back  again  ; 

[To  JuUUUAiN,  Sic. 
From  thence  unto  the  place  of  execution  : 
The  witch  in  Smithfield  shall  be  burn'd  to  aslies, 
And  you  three  shall  be  strangled  on  the  gallows. — 
You,  madam,  for  you  are  more  nobly  born, 
Despoiled  of  your  honor  in  your  life. 
Shall,  afler  tlirec  days'  open  penance  done, 
Live  in  jour  country  here,  in  banishment. 
With  Sir  John  Stanley,  in  the  Isle  of  Man. 
Duck.  Welcome  is  banishment,  welcome   were 

my  death. 
G/fJ.EIcanor,thelaw,thouscest,  hath  judged  thee; 
I  cannot  justify  whom  the  law  condeinus. — 

[Exeunt  the  Dicuess,  and  t/ie  other  Prison- 
er.s,  guarded. 
I\Iine  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  my  heart  of  grief ; 
Ah,  Humphrey,  this  dishonor  in  thine  age 
">  Sc'iai'sterfd  spot. 


Will  bring  thy  head  with  sorrow  to  the  ground!— 
1  beseech  your  majesty,  give  me  leave  to  go  ; 
Sorrow  would'  solaee,"and  mine  age  would  ease. 

A'.  Hen.  Staj-,  Humphrey  duke  of  Glostci :  ere 
thou  go, 
Give  up  thy  staff;  Henry  will  to  himself 
Protector  be  ;  and  God  shall  be  my  hope, 
My  stay,  my  guide,  and  lantern  to  my  feet ; 
And  go  in  peace,  Humphrey  ;  no  less  belov'd, 
Than  when  thou  wcrt  protector  to  thy  king. 

Q.  Alar.  I  see  no  reason  why  a  king  of  years 
Should  be  to  be  protected  like  a  child. — 
God  and  king  Henry  govern  Enghmd's  helm: 
Give  up  your  stafK  sir,  and  the  king  his  realm. 

Gto.  My  stafl  ? — here,  noble  Henry,  is  my  staff 
As  willingly  do  I  the^ame  resign, 
As  e'er  thy  father  Henry  made  it  mine ; 
AncUeven  as  willingly  at  thy  feet  I  leave  it, 
As  others  would  ambitiously  receive  it. 
Farewell,  good  king:  When  I  am  dead  and  gone. 
May  honorable  peace  attend  thy  throne!       [Exit 

Q.  Mar.  Why,  now  is  Henry  lung,  and  Marga- 
ret queen; 
And  Humphrey,  duke  of  Glostcr,  scarce  himself. 
That  bears  so  shrewd  a  main  ;  two  pullsat  once,— 
His  lady  banish'd,  and  a  limb  lopp'd  ciV; 
Tfiis  stalfof  honor  raught;-^ — There  lei  it  stand, 
Where  it  best  fits  to  be^,  in  Henry's  Jiaud. 

Suf.  Thus  droops  this  lolly  pine,  and  hangs  his 
sprays ; 
Thus  Eleanor's  pride  dies  in  her  j-oungest  days. 

York.  Lords,  let  him  go. — Please  it  your  majesty 
TJiis  is  the  day  appointed  for  the  conihat; 
And  ready  are  the  appellant  and  defendant, 
The  armorer  and  his  man,  to  enter  the  li>:ts, 
So  please  your  Inghncss  to  behold  the  fight. 

Q.  Mfl;\  Ay,good  my  lord ;  for  purposely  therefore 
Led,  I  the  court,  to  see  this  quarrel  tried. 

A'.  Hen.  O'  God's  name,  see  the  lists  and  all 
things  fit; 
Here  let  them  end  it,  and  God  defend  the  right! 

York.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  worse  bested,^ 
Or  more  afraid  to  fight,  than  is  the  appellant, 
The  servant  of  this  armorer,  my  lords. 

Enter,  on  one  side,  Horner,  ojid  tii.s  Neighbors, 
drinking  to  him  so  much  that  hr  is  druak ;  and 
he  enters  l>earing  Ai.5  staff  with  a  sand-hag  faS' 
tened  to  if;  a  drum  before  tiiai  .■  at  the  of  tier  side^ 
Peter,  with  a  drum  awl  a  sinular  staj]';  aceoni~ 
2>anied  by  Prentices  drinking  to  him. ' 

1  Neigh.  Here,  neiglibor  Horner,  I  drink  to  you 
in  a  cup  of  sack;  And  fearnot,  neighbor,  you  shall 
do  well  enough. 

2  Neish.  And  here,  neighbor,  licre's  a  cup  of 
charneco.*' 

3  Neigh.  And  here's  a  pot  of  good  double  beer, 
nwiglibor:  drink,  and  fear  not  your  man. 

iio?:  Let  it  come,  i'Jaith,  and  I'll  pledge  yon  all; 
And  a  fig  for  Peter ! 

1  Fren.  Here,  Peter,  I  drink  to  thee ;  and  be 
not  afraid. 

"2  Pren.  Be  merry,  Peter,  and  fear  not  thy  mas- 
ter; fight  tor  credit"  of  the  prentices. 

Pete?'.  I  thank  you  all:  drink  and  pray  for  mc, 
I  pray  you;  for,  I  think,  I  ha^e  taken'  uiy  last 
draught  in  this  world. — Here.  Robin,  an  if  I  die,  I 
give  thee  my  apron  ;  and,  \Vill,  Ihou  shalt  have  my 
liammcr: — and  here,  Tom,  take  all  the  money 
tliat  I  have.  0  Lord,  bless  me;  I  pray  God!  for 
I  am  never  able  to  deal  wilh  my  master,  Jie  ha'h 
learnt  so  much  fence  already. 

Sal.  Come,  leave  your  drinking,  and  fall  to 
blows. — Sirrah,  what's  thy  name  \ 

Peter.  Peter,  tbrsooth. 

Sat.  Peter!  what  more t 

Peter.  Thump. 

.Sf//.Thuinp!  I  hen  see  thou  thump  thy  master  weL 

Hor.  Masters.  I  aTn  come  hither,  as  it  were,  upon 
my  man's  instigation,  lo  prove  him  a  knavo.  and 
myself  an  honest  man:  and  touching  the  duke  of 
York, — will  take  my  death.  I  never  meant  liijn  any 
ill.  nor  the  king,  nor  the  queen:  And,  Iherefoit?, 
peter,  Iiave  at  thee  with  a  downright  blow,  as  Jlevis 
of"  Southampton  fell  upon  Ascajxirt. 

Yoi'k.  Despatch: — this  knave  s  tongue  begins  to 
double. 

>  WisTies  for.  «  tJeacliod. 

»  lu  a  worse  plight.  *  A  sort  of  sweet  wine. 


Act  III.     Scene  I. 


KING   HENRY   VI. 


415 


Sound  trumpets,  alarum  to  thi^  combatants. 

[Atarinii.     They  ji'j:hl,  and  Peter  strikes 
dmnn  his  Master. 

Hnr.  Hold,  Peter,  liold!  I  confess,  I  confess 
treason.  [Dies. 

York.  Take  away  his  weapon: — Fellow,  tliank 
God,  and  the  f^ood  wine  in  thy  master's  way. 

Peter.  O  (iod !  iiave  I  overcome  mine  enemies 
in  this  presence  1  O  Peter,  thou  hast  prevailed  in 
right! 

K.  Hen.  Go,  take  hence  that  traitor  from  our  sight ; 
For,  by  his  death,  we  do  perceive  his  guilt : 
And  God,  in  justice,  hath  reveal'd  to  us 
The  truth  and  innocence  of  tiiis  poor  tbllow 
Which  he  had  thought  to  have  murder'd  wrong- 
fully,— 
Come,  fellov.',  follow  us  for  thy  reward.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— .4  Street. 
Enter  Gloster  and  Servants,  in  mourning  eliiaks. 

Glo.  Thus,  sometimes,  halh  the  brightest  day  a 
cloud; 
And,  after  summer,  ever  more  succeeds 
Darren  winter,  with  his  wrathful  nijjping  cold: 
So  cares  and  .joys  abound  as  seasons  rteet. — 
Sirs,  v/hat's  o'clock  1 

Herv.  Ten,  my  lord. 

(Jto.  Ten  is  the  hour  that  was  ajipointed  me, 
To  watch  the  coming  of  my  punish'd  ducliess: 
lincath'  may  she  endure  the  lliiity  streets. 
To  tread  them  with  her  tender-feeling  feet. 
Sweet  Nell,  ill  can  thy  noble  mind  abroolc 
The  abject  people,  gazing  on  thy  face, 
Willi  envious  looks,  still  laughing  at  thy  shame; 
That  erst  did  follow  thy  proud  chariot  wheels. 
When  thou  didst  ride  in  triumph  through  thestreets. 
Hut,  soil!  I  think,  she  comes;  and  I'll  prepare 
My  tear-stain'd  eyes  to  see  her  miseries. 

Enter  the  DrciiEss  of  Gloster,  in  a  tvtiife  sheet, 
with  papers  pinn'd  upon  her  liack.  ker  feet  linre, 
and  a  taper  burning  in  her  hand;  Sir  John 
Stanley,  a  Sherili;  and  Olhcers. 

Sirv'.  So  please  your  grace,  we'll  take  her  from 
the  shcritf. 

Glo.  No.  stir  not,  for  j-our  lives;  let  her  pass  by. 

D'jch.  Come  you,  my  lord,  to  see  my  open  shame  ? 
Now  thou  dost  penjince  too.    Look,  how  they  gaze ! 
See,  how  tlie  giddy  multitude  do  point, 
And  nod  their  heads,  and  throw  tlieir  eyes  on  thee  ! 
All,  Gloster,  hide  thee  from  their  hatetul  looks; 
And,  ill  thy  closet  pent  up,  rue  my  sliame, 
And  ban's  t'liinc  enemies,  both  mine  and  thine. 

6'to.  Be  patient,  gentle  Nell;  Hirget  this  grief. 

Bucti.  All,  Gloster,  teach  me  to  lorget  myself: 
For,  whilst  I  think  1  am  thy  married  wife. 
And  thou  a  prince,  protector  of  this  land, 
Melhinks,  I  should  not  thus  be  led  along, 
Mail'd  up  in  shame,  with  papers  on  my  back; 
And  follow'd  with  a  rabble,  that  rejoice 
To  see  my  tears,  and  hear  my  deep-let'  groans. 
The  ruthless  Hint  doth  cut  my  tender  feet: 
And,  when  I  stiirt,  the  envious  people  laugh, 
And  bid  nie  be  advised  how  I  tread. 
Ah.  lluiiiplirey,  can  I  bear  this  shameful  yokel 
Trow'st  thou  that  e'er  I'll  look  upon  the  world; 
'ir  count  them  liappy,  that  enjoy  the  suni 
No;  dark  shall  be  my  light,  and  night  my  day; 
To  think  upon  my  pomp,  shall  be  my  lic'll. 
Soiiietime  I'll  say,  1  am  duke  Humphrey's  wife; 
And  he  a  pnnce,  and  ruler  of  the  land: 
Yet  so  he  rul'd,  and  sneh  a  prince  he  was. 
As  he  stood  by,  whilst  I,  his  forlorn  duchess, 
Was  imido  a  wonder,  and  a  pointing-stock, 


To  every  idle  rascal  follower. 

But  be  thou  mild,  and  blush  not  at  my  shame; 

Nor  stir  at  nothing,  till  the  axe  of  dealh 

Hang  over  thee,  as,  sure,  it  shortly  will. 

For  Sudblk, — he  that  can  do  all  in  all 

With  her,  that  hateth  thee,  and  hates  us  all, — 

And  York,  and  impious  Beaufort,  that  false  priest, 

Have  all  limed  bushes  to  betray  thy  wings. 

And,  lly  thou  how  thou  canst,  they'll  taiigle  thee: 

But  fear  not  thou,  until  thy  foot  be  snar'd. 

Nor  ever  seek  prevention  of  thy  foes. 

Gin.  Ah,  Nell,  forbear;  thou  aimest  all  awry; 
I  must  olt(?nd,  before  I  be  attainted: 
And  had  I  twenty  times  so  many  foes. 
And  each  of  them  had  twenty  times  their  power, 
All  tliese  could  not  procure  me  any  scathe,^ 
So  long  as  I  am  loyal,  true,  and  crimeless. 
Wouldst  have  me  rescue  thee  from  this  reiiroacn? 
Why,  yet  thy  scandal  were  not  wiped  away, 
But  I  in  danger  for  the  breach  of  law. 
Thy  greatest  help  is  quiet,  gentle  Nell: 
I  pray  thee,  sort  thy  heart  to  patience! 
These  few  days'  wonder  will  be  quickly  worn. 

Enter  a  Herald. 

ITer.  I  summon  your  grace  to  his  majesty's 
parliament,  holden  at  Bury  the  first  of  this  next 
month. 

Glo.  And  my  consent  ne'er  ask'd  herein  before ! 
This  is  close  dealing. — Well,  I  will  be  I  here. 

[Exit  Herald. 
My  Nell,  I  take  my  leave:— and,  master  sheritt; 
Let  not  her  penance  exceed  the  king's  commission. 

Sher.  An't   please    your  grace,  here  my  com- 
mission stays: 
And  sir  John  Stanley  is  appointed  now. 
To  take  her  with  him  to  the  Isle  of  Man. 

Glo.  Must  you,  sir  John,  protect  inv  lady  here? 

Stctn.  So  am  I  given  in  charge,  may't  please  your 
grace. 

Gin.  ICntreat  her  not  tlie  worse,  in  that  I  pray 
You  use  her  well:  the  v.'orld  may  laugli  again; 
And  T  may  live  to  do  you  kindue'ss,  if 
You  do  It  her.    And  so,  sir  John,  llirewell. 

Vuch.  What,  gone,  my  lord;  and  bid  me  not 
farewell? 

Glo.  AVitncss  my  tears,  I  cannot  stay  to  speak". 
[E.reunt  Gloster  anil  Servants. 

Dueh.  Art  thou  gone  too?     All  comfort  go  with 
thee  ! 
For  none  abides  with  me:  my  joy  is  death  ; 
Death,  at  whose  name  1  oft  have  been  afear'd, 
Because  I  wish'd  this  world's  eternity.— 
Stanley,  I  pr'yfhee,  go,  and  take  me  hence; 
I  care  not  whither,  far  I  beg  no  favor. 
Only  convey  me  where  thou  art  commanded. 

Stan.  Why,  m.adam,  that  is  to  the  Isle  of  JIan; 
There  to  be  used  according  to  your  slale. 

Duch.  That's  bad  enmigh.  for  lam  hut  reproach: 
And  shall  I  then  be  used  reproachfully'? 

Stan.  Like  to  a  duchess,  and  duke  Humphrey's 
lady. 
According  to  that  state  von  shall  be  nsed. 

Duch.  Slierilf,  farewell,  and  bettor  than  I  fare; 
Although  Ihou  hast  been  conducti  of  my  sliame! 

Sher.  It  is  ni}^  ottice,  madam,  pardon  inc. 

Duch.  Ay,  ay,  farewell,  thy  office  is  discharged. — 
Come,  Stanley,  shall  we  go  ? 

Stan.  Madam,  your  penance  done,  throw  off  this 
sheet. 
And  go  we  to  attire  yon  for  our  journey 

Duch.  I\Iy  shame  will  not  be  shifted  with  my 
sheet : 
No,  it  will  hang  upon  my  richest  robes. 
And  show  itself,  attire  me  how  I  can. 
Go,  lead  the  way ;  I  long  to  sec  my  prison.  [Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  \.—The  Abbey  at  Bury. 
Enter  to  the    Parliament,  Kikr  Hesrv,   Queen 
Margaret,  CAiiniXAL  Beaufort,  Suffolk,  York, 
BocKIXGHAM,  and  others. 
K.  Hen.  I  musc,s  my  lord  of  Gloster  is  not  come: 
»  Not  e.<»sily.      •  Curse,      i  Deep-fftched.     ■  Wonder. 


"Tis  not  his  wont  to  be  the  hindmost  man, 
Whate'er  occasion  keeps  him  from  us  now. 

Q.  Mar.  Can  you  not  see :  or  will  you  not  ol>- 
serve 
The  strangeness  of  his  altered  countenance? 
With  what  a  majesty  he  bears  himself; 

»  Harm,  niiscliiet;  I  Conductor. 


410 


SECOND   PART  OF 


Hdvv  iiiiolent  oCiate  ho  is  become, 
How  proud,  poiemptory.  and  unlike  himself? 
We  know  tile  time  since  he  was  mild  and  affable; 
And,  if  we  did  but  glance  a  far-oil' look, 
linmediafely  he  was  upon  his  knee. 
That  all  the  court  admir'd  him  for  submission: 
But  meet  hnn  now,  and,  be  it  in  the  morn, 
When  every  one  will  Kive  the  time  of  day. 
He  knits  his  brow,  and  shows  an  ansry  eye. 
And  passet,'-.  by  with  stiff  unbowed  knee, 
Disdaining  duty  that  to  us  belongs. 
S:nall  curs  are  not  regarded,  when  they  grin; 
But  great  men  tremble  when  the  lion  roars; 
And  Jlumphrey  is  no  little  man  in  Kngland. 
First,  note,  that  he  is  near  you  in  descent; 
And  should  you  fall,  he  is  the  next  will  mount. 
Me  seemeth,  then,  it  is  no  policy,— 
Respecting  what  a  rancorous  mind  he  bears, 
And  his  advantage  following  your  decease,^ 
That  he  should  come  about'your  royal  person. 
Or  be  admitted  to  your  highness'  council. 
By  flattery  halh  he  won  the  commons'  heart; 
And,  when  he  please  to  make  commotion, 
Tis  to  be  fear'd,  they  all  will  follow  him. 
Now  tis  the  spring,  and  weeds  are  shallow-rooted; 
Sutler  them  now,  and  they'll  o'ergrow  the  garden. 
And  choke  the  herbs  for  want  of  husbandry. 
The  reverent  care,  I  bear  unto  my  lord. 
Made  me  collect-  these  dangers  in  the  duke. 
If  it  be  fond,3  call  it  a  woman's  I'ear; 
Which  fear,  if  better  reasons  can  supplant, 
I  will  subscribe  and  say,— I  wrong'd  the  duke. 
]\Iy  lord  of  Suliblk,— Buckingham';— and  York,— 
Reprove  my  allegation,  if  you  can; 
Or  else  conclude  my  words  elfectual. 

Suf.  Well  hath  your  highness  seen  into  this  duke. 
And,  had  I  tirst  been  put  to  speak  my  mind, 
1  think,  I  should  have  told  your  grace's  tale. 
The  duchess,  by  his  subornation, 
Upon  my  life,  began  her  devilish  practices: 
Or  if  he  were  not  privy  to  those  laults, 
Yet  by  reputing  of  his  high  descent,^ 
(.\s  next  the  king  he  was  successive  heir,) 
And  such  high  vaunts  of  his  nobility 
Did  instigate  the  bedlam  brain-sick'tluchess. 
By  wicked  means  to  frame  our  sovereign's  fall. 
Smooth  runs  the  water  where  the  brook  is  deep; 
And  in  his  simple  show  he  harbors  treason. 
The  Ibx  barks  not,  when  he  would  steal  the  lamb. 
No,  no,  my  sovereign;  (Hosier  is  a  man 
Unsounded  yet,  and  lull  of  deep  deceit. 

Car.  Did  lie  not,  contrary  to  form  of  law, 
Devise  strange  deaths  lor  s'mall  ottences  done! 

ywk.  And  did  he  not,  in  his  protectorship, 
Levy  great  sums  of  money  through  the  realm, 
>'or  soldiers'  pay  in  France,  and  never  sent  it' 
By  means  whereof,  the  towns  each  day  revolted. 
£acl;.  Tut !  these  are  petty  liiults  to  laults  un- 
known. 
Which  time  will  bring  to  light  in  smooth  duke 
Humphrey. 
A".  Hen.  I\ly  lords,  at  once:  The  care  you  have 
of  us, 
To  mow  down  thonis  that  would  annoy  our  foot 
Is  worthy  praise:  But  shall  1  speak  my  conscience  ? 
Our  kinsman  Gloster  is  as  innocent 
From  ineaniiig  treason  to  our  r.jval  per.-on, 
As  is  the  sucking  lamb,  or  harmiess  dove: 
The  duke  is  virtuous,  mild;  and  too  well  given, 
To  dream  on  evil,  or  to  work  my  downlall. 
Q.  Mar.  Ah,  what's  more  dangerous  than  this 
Ibnd  alliance! 
Seems  he  a  dove?  his  fealhers  arc  but  borrow'd. 
For  he's  disposed  as  the  hateful  raven. 
Is  he  a  lamb  .'  his  skin  is  surely  lent  liim. 
For  he's  inclin'd  as  are  the  ravenous  wolves. 
Who  cannot  steal  a  shape,  that  means  deceit? 
Take  heed,  my  lord;  the  wellare  of  us  all 
Hangs  on  the  cutting  short  that  fraudful  man. 

Eiifer  Somerset. 
Sniii.  All  health  unto  my  gracious  sovereign  ! 
Ji.  lieu.  Welcome,  lord  Somerset.    What  news 

from  France  ? 
Sum.  That  all  your  interest  in  those  territories 
Is  utterly  bereit  you;  all  is  lost. 
K.  Urn.  Cold   news,  lord  Somerset:  But  God's 
will  be  done! 
■>  i.  e.  ObwrvB.  ,  Foolish. 

«  i.  e.  Valuing  himself  on  bis  high  dcsceut. 


Act  III. 


Yurk.  Cold   news  for  me;    for  I  had   hope  of 
France, 
As  firmly  as  I  hope  for  fertile  England. 
Thus  are  my  blossoms  blasted  in  the  bud, 
And  caterpillars  eiit  my  leaves  away; 
But  I  will  remedy  this  gear^  ere  long 
Or  sell  my  title  for  a  glorious  grave.  [AsLle. 

Enter  Gloster. 
Gin.  All  happiness  unto  my  lord  the  king'    . 
Pardon,  my  liege,  that  I  have  staid  so  long. 
Suf.  Nay,  Gloster,  know,  that  thou  art  come  toe 
soon. 
Unless  thou  wert  more  loyal  than  thou  art: 
I  do  arrest  thee  of  high  treason  here. 
Glo.  Well,  Suffolk,  yet  thou  slialt  not  see  me 
blush. 
Nor  change  my  countenance  for  this  arrest; 
A  heart  unspotted  is  not  easily  daunted. 
The  purest  spring  is  not  so  free  from  mud. 
As  1  am  clear  from  treason  to  my  sovereign: 
Who  can  accuse  me?  wherein  am  I  guilty? 
York.  Tis  thought,  my  lord,  that  you  took  bribes 
of  France, 
And,  being  protector,  staved  the  soldiers'  pay: 
By  means  whereof,  his  highness  halh  lost  France. 
Glo.  Is  It  but  thought  so?    What  are  they  that 
think  it!  ■' 

I  never  robb'd  the  soldiers  of  their  pay. 
Nor  ever  had  one  pciinv  bribe  from  France. 
So  help  me  God,  as  I  have  watch'd  the  night,— 
Ay,  night  by  night,— in  studying  good  forEnglaid, 
That  doit  that  e'er  I  wrested  from  tlie  king. 
Or  any  groat  I  hoarded  to  my  use. 
Be  brought  against  me  at  my  trial  day! 
No!  many  a  pound  of  mine  own  proper  store, 
Because  I  would  not  tax  the  needy  commons. 
Have  I  disbursed  to  the  garrisons, 
And  never  ask'd  for  restitution. 
Car.  It  serves  you  well,  my  lord,  to  say  so  much. 
Olo.  I  say  no  more  than  truth,  so  help  me  God! 
York.  In  your  protectorehip,  \  ou  did  devise 
Strange  tortures  for  oltt'iiders,  never  heard  of, 
That  England  was  deliimed  by  tyranny. 
Glo.  Why,  'tis  well  known,  that  wiiiles  I  was 
protector. 
Pity  was  all  the  lault  that  was  in  me; 
For  I  should  melt  at  an  oflender's  tears. 
And  lowly  words  were  ransom  for  their  fault. 
Unless  it  were  a  bloody  murderer. 
Or  Ibul  felonious  thief  that  lieecffl  poor  passengers, 
I  never  gave  them  condign  punishment: 
Murder,  indeed,  that  bloody  sin,  I  tortur'd 
Above  the  lelon,  or  what  trespass  else. 
Suf.  My  lord,  these  liiults  are  easy ,6  quickly  an- 
swer d : 
But  mightier  crimes  are  laid  unto  your  charge, 
Whereof  you  cannot  easily  purge  yourself. 
I  do  arrest  you  in  his  highness'namc; 
And  here  commit  you  to  my  lord  cardinal 
To  keep,  until  your  further  time  of  trial. 

K.  Hen.  My  lord  ol  Gloster,  'tis  my  special  hope 
That  you  will  clear  yourself  from  all  suspects; 
My  conscience  tells  me.  you  are  innocent. 

Glo.  Ah,  gracious  lord,  these  days  are  dangerous ! 
Virtue  is  chok'd  with  Ibul  ambition, 
And  charity  chased  hence  by  rancor's  hand; 
Foul  subornation  is  predominant. 
And  equity  exiled  your  highness'  land. 
I  kiiow,  their  comjilot  is  to  have  my  lil'e; 
.\nd,  if  my  death  might  make  this  island  happy, 
And  prove  the  period  of  their  tyranny 
I  would  expend  it  with  all  wiUmgncss 
But  mine  is  made  the  prologue  to  their  play: 
For  thousands  more,  that  yet  susi)ect  no  peril. 
Will  not  conclude  their  plotted  tragedy. 
Beaufort's  red  sparkling  eyes  blab  his  heart's  malice, 
And  Sullblk's  cloudy  brow  his  stormy  hate; 
Sharp  Buckingham  unburdens  with  his  tongue 
The  envious  load  iliat  lies  upon  his  heart; 
And  dogged  York,  that  reaches  at  the  moon, 
Whose  overweening  arm  I  have  pluck'd  back. 
By  false  accuse  doth  level  at  my  life: — 
And  you,  my  sovereign  lady,  with  the  rest. 
Causeless  have  laid  disgraces  on  my  head; 
And,  with  your  best  endeavor,  have  stirr'd  up 
My  liefest'  liege  to  be  mine  enemy;- 
Ay,  all  of  you  have  laid  your  head's  together, 
»  Gear  was  a  gt-ueral  word  for  thiogs  or  matters. 
"  Easily.  Dtsirost 


Scene  I. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


417 


Myself  had  notice  of  your  conventicles, 
And  all  to  make  away  my  guiltless  life: 
I  shall  not  want  false  witness  to  condemn  mc, 
Nor  store  of  treasons  to  augment  my  guilt; 
The  ancient  proverb  will  be  well  allected, — 
A  staff  is  quickly  found  to  beat  a  dog. 

Ciir.  My  liege,  his  railing  is  intolerable: 
If  tho^e  that  care  to  keep  your  royal  person 
From  treason's  secret  kni)e,  and  traitors'  rage, 
Be  thus  upbraided,  chid,  and  rated  at, 
And  the  otiender  granted  scope  of  speech, 
'Twill  make  them  cool  in  zeal  unto  your  grace. 

Siif.  Hath  he  not  twit  our  sovereign  lady  here. 
With  ignominious  words,  though  clerkly  couch*d, 
As  if  she  had  suborned  some  to  swear 
False  allegations  to  o'erthrow  his  state? 

Q.  Mar.  But  I  can  give  the  loser  leave  to  chide. 

Gf".  KaTtruerspoke,than  meant:  1  lose,indeed; — 
Bcsluew  the  winners,  for  tiiey  played  me  talse ! 
And  well  such  losers  may  have  leave  to  speak. 

Buck.  He'll  wrest  the  sense,  and  hold  us  here 
all  day : — 
Lord  cardinal,  he  is  your  prisoner. 

tV/r.  Sirs,  take  away  the  tluke, and  guard  him  sure. 

Glo.  Ah, thus  king  Henry  throws  away  his  crutch, 
Before  his  legs  be  lirm  to  "bear  his  body: 
Thus  is  the  shepherd  beaten  from  thy  side, 
And  wolves  are  gnarling  who  shall  gnaw  thee  first. 
Ah,  that  my  fear  were  ialse  !  ah,  that  it  were  ! 
For,  good  Jcing  Henry,  thy  decay  I  fear. 

{Exeunt  Attendants,  lolth  Gloster. 

K.Hen.  My  lords,  what  to  your  wisdoms  seemcth 
best, 
Do.  or  undo,  as  if  ourself  were  here. 

Q.  Mar.  What,  will  your  highness  leave  the  par- 
liament ? 

K.  Jlcn.  Ay,  Margaret;  my  heart  is  drown 'd 
with  grief, 
Whose  flood  begins  to  tlow  within  mine  eyes; 
My  body  round  engirt  with  misery  ; 
For  what's  more  miserable  than  discontent? 
Ah,  uncle  Humphrey!  in  thy  face  I  see 
The  map  of  honor,  truth,  and  loyalty; 
And  yet,  good  Humphrey,  is  thc'liour  to  come. 
That  e'er  I  prov'd  tlicc  false,  or  fear'd  thy  faith. 
What  low'ring  star  now  envies  thy  estate. 
That  these  great  lords,  and  Margaret  our  queen. 
Do  seek  subversion  of  thy  harmless  life? 
Thou  never  didst  tliem  wrong,  nor  no  man  wrong ; 
And  as  the  butcher  takes  away  the  calf. 
And  binds  the  wretch,  and  beats  it  when  it  strays, 
Bearing  it  to  the  bloody  slaughter-house; 
Even  so,  remorseless,  have  they  borne  him  hence. 
And  as  the  dam  runs  lowing  up  and  down, 
Looking  the  way  her  Iiarmless  young  one  went. 
And  can  do  nought  but  wail  her  darling's  loss; 
Even  so  myself  bewails  good  Gloster's  case. 
With  sad  unhelpful  tears;  and  with  dimni'd  eyes 
Look  after  him,  and  cannot  do  him  good  ; 
So  mighty  are  his  vowed  enemies. 
His  fortunes  I  will  weep;  and,  'twixt  each  groan. 
Say, —  Who's  a  irniior,  Gloster  he  is  none.      [Exit. 

Q.  Mar.  Free  lords,  cold  snow  mclta  witn  the 
sun's  hot  beams. 
Henry  my  lord  is  cold  in  great  afTairs, 
Too  lull  of  foolish  pity  ;  and  Gloster's  show 
Beguiles  him,  as  the  mournfu'  crocodile 
With  sorrow  snares  relentiiu'  p.issmL'ers; 
Or  as  the  snake,  roll'd  in  a  llowcriiig  bank. 
With  shining  checker'd  slough,^  dotli  sting  a  child. 
That,  for  the  beauty,  tiiinks  it  excellent. 
Believe  me.  lords,  were  none  more  wise  than  T, 
'  A,nd  yet,  herein,  I  judge  mine  own  wit  goo(i,) 
This  Gloster  should  be^quickly  rid  the  world, 
To  rid  us  from  the  fear  we  have  of  him. 

Car,  That  he  t-hould  die,  is  worthv  policy: 
But  yet  we  want  a  color  for  his  death : 
'Tis  meet  he  be  condemn'd  by  course  of  law. 

Siff.  But,  in  my  mind,  that  were  no  policy  : 
The  king  will  labor  still  to  save  his  life,  " 
The  commons  Jiaply  rise  to  save  his  life; 
And  yet  we  have  but  trivia!  argument. 
More  than  mistrust,  that  sliows  him  worthy  death. 

York.  So  that,  by  this, you  would  not  have  nim  die. 

SiiJ.  Ah,  York,  no  man  alive  so  tain  as  I. 

York.  'Tis  York  that  hath  moio  reason  for  his 
death.— 
But,  my  lord  cardinal,  and  you,  my  lord  of  Suflblk,— 


Say  as  jou  think,  and  speak  it  from  your  souls, — 
Were't  not  all  one,  an  empty  eagle  were  set 
To  guard  the  cliickcn  from  a  hungry  kite. 
As  place  duke  Humphrey  for  the  king's  protector? 

Q.  Mar.  So  tlie  poor  ohicken  should  be  sure  of 
death. 

Huf.  Madam,  'tis  true  :  And  were't  not  madness 
then. 
To  make  the  fox  surveyor  of  the  fold  ? 
Who  being  accus'd  a  crafty  murderer. 
His  guilt  should  be  but  idly  posted  over, 
Because  his  purpose  is  not  executed. 
No ;  let  him  die,  in  that  he  is  a  fox. 
By  nature  prov'd  an  enemy  to  the  tlock, 
Before  his  cJiaps  be  stain'd  with  crimson  blood; 
As  Humphrey,  prov'd  by  reasons,  to  my  liege. 
And  do  not  stand  on  quillets  how  to  slay  him  : 
Be  it  by  gins,  by  snares,  by  subtilty. 
Sleeping  or  waking,  'tis  no  matter  how. 
So  lie  be  dead ;  lor  that  is  good  deceit 
Which  mates''  him  first,  that  lirst  intends  deceit. 

Q.    Mar.   Thrice-noble   Sullblk,   'tis    resolutely 
spoke. 

Suf.  Not  resolute,  except  so  much  were  done; 
For  things  are  often  spoke,  and  seldom  meant: 
But,  that  my  heart  accordeth  with  my  tongue,— 
Seeing  the  deed  is  meritorious. 
And  to  preserve  my  sovereign  from  his  foe,' 
Say  but  the  word,  and  I  will  be  his  priest. 

Car.  But  I  would  liave  him  dead,  my  lord  of 
Suflblk- 
Ere  you  can  take  due  orders  for  a  priest : 
Say,  you  consent,  and  censure  well  the  deed, 
And  I'll  provide  ins  executioner, 
I  tender  so  Ihc  safety  of  my  liege. 

Suf,  Here  is  my  hand,  the  deed  is  worthy  doing. 

Q.  Mar.  And  so  say  I. 

Yiirk.  And  I :  and  now  wc  three  have  spoke  it. 
It  skills  not  greatly'  who  imimgns  our  doom. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Great  lords,  from  Ireland  am  I  come  amain, 
To  signify — that  rebels  there  arc  up. 
And  put  the  Englishmen  unto  the  sword : 
Send  succors,  lords,  and  stop  the  rage  betinie, 
Betbre  the  wound  do  grow  incurable; 
For,  being  green,  there  is  great  hope  of  help. 

Car,  A  breach,  tliat  craves  a  quick  expedient^ 
stop! 
What  counsel  give  you  in  this  weighty  cause? 

York.  That  Somerset  be  sent  as  regent  thither; 
'Tis  meet,  that  lucky  ruler  be  employ 'il; 
Witness  the  fortune  he  hath  had  m  France. 

Som.  If  York,  with  all  his  far-fet-*  poUc)', 
Had  been  the  regent  there  instead  of  me. 
He  never  would  have  staid  in  France  so  long. 

York.  No,  not  to  lose  it  all,  as  thou  hast  done  : 
I  rather  would  have  lost  my  life  betimes, 
Than  bring  a  burden  of  dishonor  home, 
By  staying  there  so  long,  till  all  were  lost. 
Show  me  one  scar  character'd  on  thy  skin: 
Men's  flesh  preserv'd  so  whole,  do  seldom  win. 

Q.  Mar.  Nay  then,  this  spark  will  prove  a  raging 
fire. 
If  wind  and  fuel  be  brought  to  feed  it  with  : — 
No  more,  good  York; — sweet  Somerset,  be  still; — 
Thy  fortune,  York,  hadst  thou  been  regent  there, 
Mi:j:ht  happily  have  ])rov'd  far  worse  tiian  his. 

York.  What,  worse  than  naught?   nay,  then  a 
sliaine  take  all ! 

So///.  And,  in   the  number,  tJiee,  that  wishest 
shame  I 

Car.  My  lord  of  York,  try  what  your  fortune  is. 
The  uncivil  kernes^  of  Ireland  are  m  arms. 
And  temper  clay  with  blood  of  Englishmen: 
Tt>  Ireland  will  you  lead  a  band  of  men, 
Collected  choicely,  from  each  county  some, 
And  try  your  hap  against  the  Irishmen  ? 

York.  \  will,  my  lord,  so  please  his  majestj-. 

Suf.  Why.  our  authority  is  his  consent; 
And,  what  "we  do  establish,  he  confirms : 
Then,  noble  York,  take  thou  this  task  in  hand. 

York.  I  am  content;  Provide  me  soldiers,  lords, 
Whiles  I  take  order  for  mine  own  alliiirs. 

Suf.  Acharge,Iord  York.that  1  willsee  pcrfbrm'd. 
But  iiow  return  we  to  the  false  duke  Humphrey. 

Car.  No  more  of  him;  for  I  will  deal  with  him, 

9  Matirhen.  i  Tt  is  of  no  impnrUiuca. 

a  Kxpt'ditlous.  a  Far-fetcht-d. 

*  Irish  foot-BolditTB,  light-armed. 


418 


SECOND   PART   OF 


Act  III. 


That,  henceforth,  he  shall  trouble  us  no  more. 
And  so  break  otl';  the  day  is  almost  spent: 
Lord  SulFolk,  you  and  I  must  talk  of  that  event. 

Yt/rh.  My  lord  of  Sullblk,  within  fourteen  days, 
At  Bristol  I  expect  my  •)ldicrs; 
For  there  I'll  ship  them  all  tor  Ireland. 

Siif.  I'll  see  it  truly  done,  my  lord  of  York. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Yore. 

York.  Now,  York,  or  never,  steel  thy  fearful 
thoughts. 
And  change  misdoubt  to  resolution: 
Be  that  tliou  hop'st  to  be;  or  what  thou  art 
Jicsign  to  death,  it  is  not  worlh  the  enjoying : 
Let  pale-faced  li?ar  keep  with  the  moan-born  man, 
And  hnd  no  harbor  in  ii  royal  heart. 
Faster  than  spring-time  showers,  conies  thought 

on  thocglit ; 
And  not  a  tlioui^ht,  but  thinks  on  dignity, 
ily  brain,  more  busy  than  the  laboring  spider, 
Weaves  tedious  snares  to  trap  mine  enemies. 
Well,  nobles,  v/ell,  'tis  politicly  done. 
To  send  me  packing  with  an  host  of  men : 
I  fear  me,  you  but  warm  the  starved  snake. 
Who,  cherish'd  in  your  breasts,  will  sting  your 

hearts, 
'Xwas  men  I  lack'd,  and  you  will  give  them  me: 
I  take  it  kindly;  yet,  be  well  assur'd 
You  ■f)ut  sharp  weapons  in  a  madman's  hands. 
Whiles  I  in  Ireland  nourish  a  mighty  band, 
I  will  stir  up  in  England  some  black  storm. 
Shall  blow  ten  thousand  souls  to  heaven,  or  hell: 
And  this  fell  tempest  shall  not  cease  to  rage 
Until  the  golden  circuit  on  my  head. 
Like  to  the  glorious  sun's  transparent  beams, 
Co  cairn  the  fury  of  this  mad-bred  Ilaw.^ 
And  for  a  minister  of  my  intent, 
I  liave  seduced  a  head-strong  Kentishman, 
John  Cade  of  Ashlbrd, 
To  make  commotion,  as  full  well  he  can, 
Under  the  title  of  John  Mortimer. 
In  Ireland  have  I  seen  this  stubborn  Cade 
Oppose  himself  against  a  troop  of  kernes  ; 
And  fought  so  long,  till  that  his  thighs  with  darts 
Were  almost  like  a  sharp-quill'd  porcuiiine; 
And,  in  the  end  being  rescu'd,  1  have  seen  him 
Caper  upright  like  a  wild  Mnrisco.^ 
Shaking  the  bloody  darts,  as  he  his  bells. 
Full  often,  like  a  shag-hair'd  crally  kerne. 
Hath  he  conversed  with  the  enemy: 
And  undiscover'd  come  to  me  again, 
And  given  me  notice  of  their  villanies. 
Tliis  devil  here  shall  be  my  substitute; 
For  that  John  Mortimer,  which  now  is  dead. 
In  face,  in  gait,  in  speech,  he  doth  resemble : 
By  this  I  shall  perceive  liie  commons'  mind. 
How  they  allect  the  house  and  claim  of  York. 
Say,  lie  be  taken,  rack'd,  and  tortured  : 
I  know,  no  pain,  they  can  inliict  upon  him. 
Will  make  him  say — I  mov'd  him  to  those  arms. 
Siiy,  that  lie  thrive,  (as  'tis  great  like  he  will,) 
Why  then  from  Ireland  come  I  with  my  strength, 
And  re;i.p  the  harvest  which  that  rascal  sow'd: 
For  Humphrey  being  dead,  as  he  siiall  be. 
And  Henry  put  apart,  the  next  for  me.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— Bury.    A  Rcmn  in  ike  Palace. 
Enter  certain  Murderers,  hastibj. 

1  Mur.  Run  to  iny  lord  of  Suflblk;  let  him  know, 
We  have  despatch'd  the  duke  as  he  commanded. 

2  Mur,  O,  tliat  it  were  to  do ! — What  have  we 

done  1 
Didst  ever  hear  a  man  so  penitent  ? 

Enter  Suffolk. 

1  Mur*  Here  comes  my  lord. 

-S'///.      ^  Now,  sn*s,  have  you 

Despatch'd  this  thing  1 

1  Mur.  ^       Ay,  my  good  lord,  he's  dead. 

iJi//.  Why,  that's  well  said.    Go,  got  you  to  my 
house; 
I  will  reward  you  for  this  venturous  deed. 
The  king  and  all  the  peers  are  here  at  hand  :— 
Have  you  laid  fair  the  bed  ]  are  all  tilings  well, 
According  as  I  gave  dirfictionsl 

1  Mu}'.  'Tis,  my  g<»'id  lord. 

Suf.  Away,  begone  !  [Exeunt  Murderers. 

•  A  violent  gust  cf  wintl.       e  A  Jluor  in  a  morris  d.iuco. 


Enter  Kino  Henry,  Queen  Margaret,  Cardinal 
Beaufort,  Somerset,  Lords,  and  others. 
K.   Hen.  Go  call  our  uncle    to  our   presence 
straight: 
Say,  we  intend  to  try  his  groce  to-day, 
If  he  be  guilty,  as  'lis  [lublished. 
Suf.  I'll  call  him  presenlly,  my  noble  lord.  [Exit. 
K.  Hen.  Lords,  take  your  places; — And,  1  pray 
you  all. 
Proceed  no  straiter  'gainst  our  uncle  Glosler, 
7'han  from  true  evidence,  of  good  esteem. 
He  be  approv'd  in  practice  culpable. 

Q.  Mar,  God  forbid  any  malice  should  prevail, 
Tliat  faultless  may  condemn  a  nobleman  ! 
Pniy  God,  he  may  acquit  him  of  suspicion! 
K.  Hen.  I  thank  thee,  Margaret ;  these  words 
content  me  much. — 

Re-enter  Suffolk. 
Hovp  now  T  why  look'st  thou  pale  1  why  tremblest 

thoul 
Where  is  our  uncle?  what  is  the  matter,  SulTolkl 

tiuf.  Dead  in  his  bed,  my  lord  :  Gloster  is  dead. 

Q.  Mar.  Marry,  God  forefend! 

Car.  God's  secret  judgment: — I  did  dream  to- 
night, 
The  duke  was  dumb,  and  could  not  speak  a  word. 
[The  Ki}i<i  swoons. 

Q.  Mar.  How  fares  my  lord  1— Help,  lords !  the 
king  is  dead. 

So7n.  Rear  up  his  body ;  wring  him  by  the  nose. 

Q.  Mar.   Run,  go,  help,  help! — 0,  Henry,  ope 
thine  eyes ! 

Suf.  He  doth  revive  again ; — Madam,  be  patient. 

A'.  Jkn.  O  heavenly  God  ! 

Q.  Mar.  How  fares  my  gracious  lord  1 

Suf.  Comfort,  my  sovereign!  gracious  Henry, 
comlbrt! 

K.  Hen.  What,  doth  my  lord  of  Suffolk  comfort 
me  ! 
Came  he  right  now  to  sing  a  raven's  note. 
Whose  dismal  tune  bereft  my  vital  powers; 
And  thinks  he,  that  the  chirping  of  a  wren, 
By  crying  comfort  from  a  hollow  breast. 
Can  chase  away  the  hrst-coneeived  sound'? 
Hide  not  thy  poison  with  such  sugar'd  words, 
Lay  not  thy  hands  on  me;  forbear,  I  saj'; 
Their  touch  alfrights  me,  as  a  serpent's  sting. 
Thou  baleiul  messenger,  out  of  my  sight! 
Upon  t!iy  eye-balls  murderous  tyranny 
Sits  in  grim  maiesly.  to  Iright  the  world. 
Look  nut  upon  ine,  for  thine  eyes  are  wounding: — 
Yet  do  not  go  away; — Come,  basilisk, 
And  kill  the  innocent  gazer  with  thy  siglit: 
For  in  the  shade  of  death  1  shall  find  joy! 
In  lile,  but  double  death,  now  Gioster's  dead. 

Q.  Mar.  Why  do  you  rate  my  lord  of  Suffolk 
thusl 
Although  the  duke  was  enemy  to  him. 
Yet  he,  most  christian-hke  laments  his  death: 
And  lor  myself, — foe  as  he  was  to  me, 
Might  liquid  tears,  or  heart-oili?nding  groans. 
Or  blood-consumine;  sighs  recall  his  lite, 
I  would  be  blind  wilth  weeping,  sick  with  groans, 
Look  pale  as  primrose,  witii  blood-drinlving  sighs. 
And  all  to  have  tiie  noble  duke  alive. 
What  know  I  how  the  world  may  deem  of  mel 
For  it  is  known,  we  were  but  hollow  friends; 
It  may  be  Judg'd,  I  made  the  duke  away; 
So  siiall  my  name  with  slander's  tongue  be  wounded, 
And  princes'  courts  be  till'd  with  my  reproach. 
This  get  1  by  liis  death:  Ah  me,  unhapjiy! 
To  be  a  queen,  and  crown'd  with  infamy! 

K.  Hen.  Ah,  woe  is  me  for  Gloster,  wTCtched 
man ! 

Q.  Mar.  Be  woe  for  me,  more  wretched  than 
he  is. 
What,  dost  thou  turn  away,  and  hide  thy  face? 
I  am  no  loathsome  leper,  look  on  me. 
What,  art  thou,  like  the  adder,  waxen  deaf? 
Be  poisonous  too,  and  kill  thy  forlorn  queen. 
Is  all  thy  comlbrt  shut  in  Gioster's  tomb  ? 
Why,  then  dame  Margaret  was  ne'er  thy  joy; 
Erect  his  statue  then,  and  worship  it, 
And  make  my  image  but  an  alehouse  sign. 
Was  1,  for  this,  nigh  wreck'd  upon  the  sea; 
And  twice  by  a\vkward  wind  Irom  England's  bank 
Drove  back  aiiain  unto  my  native  clime? 
What  boded  this,  but  well-lbrewarmng  wind 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 


419 


Did  seem  to  say, — Seek  not  a  scorpion's  nest,  ■ 

Nor  set  no  ibotinj?  on  this  unkind  sliore] 

Wliat  did  I  tlicn.  hut  ciirsM  Ihi-  senile  gusis, 

And  lie  tluil  lo.»'d  them  I'loin  their  brazen  eavos; 

And  hid  IJiemljl')"  towards  Eii;^land'6blcsscdsliore, 

f)r  turn  our  stern  uixin  a  drcadliil  rock! 

Yet  .-I'^olus  would  not  be  a  murderer, 

)iut  left  that  hateful  otiice  unto  thee: 

The  prcttv  vaulting  sea  reius'd  lo  drown  me:_ 

Knowing.'that  thou  wouldst  have  me  drown "d  on 

shore, 
With  tears  as  salt  as  sea  through  thy  unkindness: 
The  splitting  rocks  cower'd  in  the  sinking  sands, 
And  would  not  dash  me  with  their  ragged  sides; 
Because  thy  llinty  heart,  more  hard  than  they, 
Jlight  in  tliy  palace  perish  Margaret. 
As  lar  as  I  could  ken  thy  clialk\-  dills, 
When  I'rom  the  shore  the  tempest  hent  us  back, 
I  stood  upon  the  batches  in  the  storm: 
And  when  the  dusky  sky  began  to  rob 
My  earnest-gaping  sight  of  thy  kind's  view, 
I  took  a  costly  jewel  Irom  my  neck, — 
A  heart  it  was,  bound  in  with  diamonds. 
And  threw  it  towards  thy  land; — the  sea  recciv'dit; 
And  so,  I  wish'd,  thy  body  might  my  heart; 
And  even  witli  this,  I  lost  lair  England's  view. 
And  bid  mine  eyes  be  packing  with  my  heart; 
And  call'd  them  blind  and  dusty  spectacles, 
For  losing  ken  ot  Albion's  wished  coast. 
How  oAeh  have  I  tempted  .Suflolk's  tongue 
(The  agent  ol'thy  I'oul  ijiconstancyl 
To  sit  and  witch  me,  as  Ascanius  aid. 
When  he  to  madding  Dido  would  uiilbid 
His  liither's  acts,  commenced  in  burning  TroyT 
Am  I  not  witeh'd  like  her!  or  thou  not  liilse  like 

him? 
Ah  me,  I  can  no  more !     Die,  Margaret ! 
For  Henry  weeps,  that  thou  dost  live  so  long. 

Kui.sc  within.    Enter  Wap.wick  anil  Salisbcey. 
J,  7'Ae  Commons  j/n.^s  tu  tlu-  ihiur. 

War.  11  is  reported,  iniglit.\  sovereign, 
That  good  duke  Humphrey  traitorously  is  murdcr'd 
By  Sutfolk  aii<l  the  cardinal  lieaiifbrt's  means. 
The  commons,  like  an  aiigrj"  hive  ol*  bees, 
That  want  tlieir  leader,  scatter  up  and  down, 
And  care  not  who  they  sting  in  his  revenge. 
Mysell'have  calm'd  their  spleenlul  mutiny, 
Until  they  hear  the  order  of  his  death. 

A".  Ikn.  That  he  is  dead,  good  Warwick,  'tis  too 
true; 
But  how  he  died,  God  knows,  not  Henry : 
Knter  his  chamber,  view  his  breathless  corpse. 
And  comment  then  upon  his  sudden  death. 

HVn-.  That  I  shall  do,  my  liege : — Stay,  Salisbury", 
With  the  rude  multitude,  till  1  return. 

[Wahwick  gdcs  into  an  inner  Room,  and 
Salisbluv  retires. 

K.  Hen.  0  tliou  that  judgest  all  things,  stay  my 
thoughts: 
My  thoughts^  that  labor  to  persuade  my  soul, 
Some  violent  hands  were  laid  on  Humphrey's  life! 
H'ray  suspect  be  false,  forgive  me,  God; 
For  judgment  only  doth  belong  to  thee  ! 
Fain  would  I  go  to  chafe  his  paly  lijis 
With  twenty  thousand  kisses,  and  to  drain 
Upon  his  lace  an  ocean  ol'salt  tears; 
To  tell  my  love  unto  his  dumb  deaf  trunk, 
And  with" my  lingers  feel  his  hand  unfeeling: 
But  all  in  vain  are  these  mean  obsequies  ; 
And,  to  survey  his  dead  and  earthy  image. 
What  were  it'but  to  make  my  sorrow  greater? 

The  fiildiufi  iliiors  nf  an  inner  cham'ier  are  tkrencn 
o/Hii.  nnd  (iLosTEit  i.s  flh-cm-rreU  dead  in  his  bed: 
W  AituicK  and  others  standing  by  it. 
War.  Come  hither,  gracious  sovereign,  view  this 

bodv- 
K.  Ilcn.  Tliat  is  to  see  how  deep  my  grave  is 
made : 
For,  with  his  soul  fled  all  my  worldly  solace ; 
For  seeing  him.  I  see  my  lite  in  death.' 

War.  As  surely  as  my  -soul  intends  to  live 
With  that  dread  King  that  took  our  stale  upon  him 
To  tree  us  Iroin  his  Father's  wrathful  curse, 
I  do  believe  that  violent  hands  were  laid 
Upon  Ihe  life  of  this  thrice-famed  duke. 

Suf.A  dreadful  oath,  sworn  with  a  solemn  tongue! 
What  instance  gives  lord  Warwick  lor  his  vow  ! 
'  i.  K.  I  seo  my  life  endangered  by  his  deatll. 


War.  See  how  the  blood  is  settled  in  his  face 
Oil  have  I  seen  a  timely-parted  ghost,* 
Of  ashy  semblance,  meagre,  pale,  and  bloodless. 
Being  "all  descended  to  the  lahoriiig  lieart ; 
Who",  in  the  conlliet  thafit  holds  with  death. 
Attracts  the  same  tor  aidance  'gainst  the  enemy, 
Which  with  the  heart  there  coolsand  ne'er  returneth 
To  blush  and  beautify  the  cheek"  again. 
But,  see,  his  lace  is  biack,  and  full  of  blood; 
His  eye-halls  further  out  than  when  he  liv'd, 
Staring  full  ghastly  like  a  strangled  man  : 
Hisliair  uprear'd,his  nostrils  stretch'd  with  strug- 
gling; 
His  hands  abroad  disjilay  d,  as  one  that  grasp  d 
And  tugg'd  for  lilc,  and  was  by  strength  subdued. 
Look  on  the  sheets,  his  hair,  you  see,  is  sticking ; 
H iswell-proporl ion'd  heard  made  rougli and  rugged, 
Like  to  the  summer's  corn  by  tempest  lodg'd. 
It  cannot  be,  but  he  was  murdcr'd  here; 
The  least  of  all  these  signs  were  probable. 
Suf.  Why.  Warwick,  who  should  do  the  duke 
lo  death  ? 
Myself,  and  Beaufort,  had  him  in  protection ; 
Aiid  we,  1  hope,  sir,  are  no  murderers. 

War.  But  both  of  jou  were  vow'd  duke  Hum- 
phrey's foes; 
And  you,  forsooth,  had  the  good  duke  to  keep : 
'Tis  like,  you  would  not  feast  him  like  a  friend; 
And  'tis  well  seen  he  found  an  enemy. 
Q.  Mar.  Then  jou,  belike,  suspect  these  noble- 
men 
As  guilty  of  duke  Humi^hrey's  timeless  deatii. 
War.  Who  finds  the  heilcr  dead,  and  bleeding 
fresh. 
And  sees  fast  by  a  butcher  with  an  axe. 
But  will  suspect,  'twas  he  that  made  theslaughlcr  ! 
Who  finds  the  partridge  in  the  puttoek's  nest. 
But  may  imagine  how  the  bird  was  de.id. 
Although  the  kite  soar  with  uubloodied  beak  ! 
Even  se>  suspicious  is  this  tragedy. 
y.  Mar.  Are  you  the  butcher, "Suffolk I  Where's 
your  knili?  1 
Is  Beaulbrt  term'ri  a  kite  ?  where  are  his  talons  ? 

Suf.  1  wear  no  knili', to  slaughter  sleeping  men; 
But  here's  a  vengeful  sword,  rusted  with  ease. 
That  shall  be  scoured  in  his  rancorous  heart. 
That  slanders  nic  with  murder's  crimson  badge : — 
Say,  if  thou  dar'st.  proud  lord  of  Warwickshire, 
Tliat  I  am  faulty  in  duke  Humphrey's  death. 

[Kj-eunI  CAimiNAL.  Som.,  and nihcr.t. 
War.  What  dares  not  Warwick,  if  liilse  Sullblk 

dare  him  ! 
Q.  Mar.  He  dares  not  calm   his  contumelious 
spirit. 
Nor  cease  to  be  an  arrogant  controller. 
Though  Suffolk  dare  liiin  twenty  thousand  limes. 
War.  Madam,  be  still ;  with  reverence  may  1  say ; 
For  every  word,  you  speak  in  his  behalf, 
Is  slande'r  lo  your  royal  dignity. 

Siif.  Bhint-wiltcd  lord,  ignoble  in  demeanor! 
n'ever  lady  wrong'd  her  lord  so  much. 
Thy  mother  look  into  her  blameful  bed 
Soiiie  stern  unlutor'd  churl,  and  noble  stock 
Was  graft  with  crab-tree  slip;  whose  fruit  thou  art. 
And  never  of  the  Ncvil's  noble  race. 

War.  But  that  the  guilt  of  murder  bucklers  thee, 
And  I  should  rob  the  deathsman  of  his  fee, 
Quitting  thee  thereby  often  thousand  shames. 
And  that  my  sovereign's  presence  makes  me  mild, 
I  would,  false  murderous  coward,on  thy  knee 
Make  thee  beg  pardon  for  thy  passed  speech.^ 
And  say — it  was  thy  mother  that  thou  meant'st, 
That  thou  thyself  wast  born  in  bastardy; 
And,  after  all"  this  fearful  homage  done. 
Give  thee  thy  hire,  and  send  thy  soul  lo  hell. 
Pernicious  b'loodsucker  of  sleeping  men  ! 

Snf.  Thou  shall  be  waking,  while  I  shed  Ihy  blood, 
Hfrom  this  presence  thou  dar'st  go  with  nie. 

War.  ,\way  even  now,  or  I  will  drag  thee  hence: 
Unworthy  though  thou  art,  I'll  cope  with  thee. 
And  do  some  service  to  duke  Humphrey's  ghost. 
[Exeunt  Suffolk  and  Wai,\vice. 
A'.  lien.  What-stronger  breast-plate  than  a  heart 
untainted  ! 
Thrice  is  he  arm'd,  that  hath  his  quarrel  just ; 
And  he  but  naked,  thoujjh  lock'd  up  in  steel. 
Whose  con-science  with  injustice  is  corrupted. 

[A  jwisc  within, 

B  Tbe  bcdy  of  one  who  had  died  a  natural  death. 


420 


SECOND  PART   OF 


[Act.  III. 


Q.  Mar.  Wliat  noise  is  this  1 

Re-enter  Suffolk  and  Wauwick,  with  their 
weapons  drawn. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  how  now,  lords'!  your  wrathful 
weapons  drawn 
Here  in  our  presence!  dare  you  be  so  bold? — 
Why,  what  tumultuous  clamor  have  we  here] 
ij'i//'.  The  traitorous  Warwick,  witli  the  men  of 
Bury, 
Set  all  upon  me,  mighty  sovereign. 

Noise  of  a  Crowd  within.    Re-enter  SvVlisburt. 

iSV/Z.  Sirs,  stand  apart;  the  king  sliall  k-now  your 
mind. —  [Speaking  to  those  within. 

Dread  lord,  the  commons  send  you  word  by  me, 
Unless  ialse  Sutiblk  strai)£;ht  be  done  to  death, 
Or  banished  lair  England's  territories, 
They  will  by  violence  tear  hnn  from  your  palace, 
And  torture  him  with  grievous  ling'ring  death. 
Tlicy  say,  by  him  the  good  duke  Humphrey  died; 
Tliey  say,  in  him  they  tear  your  highness'  death  ; 
And  mere  instinct  ol  love,  and  loyalty, — 
Free  from  a  stubborn  opposite  intent, 
As  being  thought  to  contradict  your  liking, — 
Makes  tliem  tiius  lorward  in  his  banishntcnt. 
They  say,  in  care  of  your  most  royal  person, 
That,  if  your  iiighncss  shuuhl  intend  to  sleep, 
And  charge — that  no  man  slundd  disturb  your  rest. 
In  pain  of  your  dislike,  or  pain  of  death; 
Yet  notwithstanding  sucJi  a  strait  edict. 
Were  there  a  serpent  seen,  with  forked  tongue. 
That  silly  glided  towards  your  majesty, 
It  were  but  necessary,  you  were  waked; 
Lest,  being  sulibr'd.  ni  that  harmful  slumber, 
Tlie  mortal  worm  might  make  the  sleep  eternal: 
And  thercl()re  do  they  cry,  though  you  forbid, 
Tliat  they  will  guard  you,  whc'r  you  will,  or  no, 
Fnim  such  fell  serpents  as  false  Sutlblk  is; 
With  whose  envenomed  and  latal  sting, 
^  our  loving  uncle,  twenty  times  liis  worth, 
They  say,  is  shamefully  borell  of  iile. 

L'umtui/)is.  [  IVifhin.]  An  answer  from  the  king, 
my  lord  otSafisbury. 

&'»/.'Tis  like  I  lie  cintunons,rude  unpolished  hinds. 
Could  send  such  nu'ssage  to  their  sovereign: 
lUit  you,  my  lord,  were  glad  to  be  employ'd. 
To  stiow  how  quaint'*  an  orator  you  are: 
But  all  the  honor  Salisbury  hath  won. 
Is — that  lie  was  the  lord  ambassador, 
Sent  from  a  sort'  of  tinkers  to  the  king. 

Cumtuon^.  \  WUhin.]  An  answer  Irom  the  king, 
or  we'll  break  m. 

K.  Hen.  Go.  Salisbury,  and  tell  them  all  from  me, 
I  thank  them  for  their  tender  loving  care: 
And  had  I  not  been  'cited  so  by  them, 
Vet  did  i  purpose  as  they  do  entreat; 
For  sure,  my  thoughts  do  hourly  prophesy 
Mischance  unto  niy  state  by  Sudblk's  means. 
And  therelbre, — by  His  Majesty  I  swear, 
Wliose  lar  unworthy  deputy  I  am, — 
He  shall  not  breathe  inlection  in  this  air 
But  three  days  longer,  on  the  pain  of  death. 

{K.rU  SALisitrRY. 

Q.  Mar.  O  Henry,  let  me  plead  lorgcnlli'  Sullolk. 

A',  lieu.  Ungentle  queen,  to  call  him  gentle  Sul- 
lolk. 
No  more,  I  say;  if  thou  dost  plead  for  him, 
Tliou  wilt  but  add  increase  unto  my  wrath. 
Had  I  but  said.  I  would  have  kept  my  word ; 
But,  when  I  swear,  it  is  irrevocable:^ 
If,  allor  three  days'  space,  thou  here  bc'st  found 
On  any  ground  that  1  am  ruler  of, 
The  world  shall  not  be  ransom  tor  thy  lite.— 
Come,  Warwick,  come  good  Warwick,  go  with 

me; 
I  Iiave  great  matters  to  impart  to  thee. 

[Kxetint  K.  Henuy,  Warwick,  Lords,  ^-c. 

Q.  Mar.  Mischance,  and  sorrow,  go  along  with 
you  ! 
Heart's  discontent  and  sour  affliction. 
Be  i)layIl'llows  to  Ueep  you  company  ! 
Tiu'ic's  two  of  you  ;  ilic  devil  make  a  third  ! 
Ami  Ihreelbld  vcngi^uu-c  lend  upon  your  steps! 

Sttf.  Cease,  geniie  quicu.  these  execrations, 
Ami  let  tliy  Sullolk  take  his  heavy  leave. 


»  Dexterous. 


*  Company. 


Q.  Mar.  Fye,  coward  woman,  and  soft-hearted 
wretch! 
Hast  thou  not  spirit  to  curse  thine  enemies  1 

&'(//.  A  plague  upon  them!  wherefore  should  I 
curse  them '! 
Would  curses  kill,  as  doth  the  mandrake's  groan, 
I  would  invent  as  bitter-searching  terms, 
As  crust,  as  liarsh,  and  horrible  to  hear, 
Dehver'd  strongly  through  my  fixed  teeth. 
With  full  as  many  signs  of  deadly  hate, 
As  lean-faced  Knvy  in  her  loathsome  cave  : 
My  tongue  should  stumble  in  mine  earnest  word* 
Mme  eyes  should  sparkle  like  the  beaten  flint; 
My  hair  be  lix'd  on  end,  as  one  distract; 
Ay,  every  joint  should  seem  to  curse  and  ban: 
And  even  now  my  burden'd  heart  would  break, 
Should  1  not  curse  them.    Poison  be  their  drink ! 
Gall,  woi>e  tiian  gall,  the  dantiest  that  they  taste! 
Their  sweetest  sliatle,  a  grove  of  cypirss  trees! 
Their  chieiest  inosj^ect,  murdering  basilisks  ! 
Their  softest  touch,  as  sharp  as  lizards'  stings  ! 
Their  music,  frightful  as  the  serpent's  hiss! 
And  boding  screech-owls  make  tne  concert  full 
AH  the  foul  terrors  in  dark-seated  hell — 

Q.  Mar.  Enough,  sweet  Suflblk  ;  thou  torment'st 
thyself; 
And  these  dread  curses — like  the  sun  'gainst  glass, 
Or  like  an  overcharged  gun — recoil. 
And  turn  the  force  of  them  upon  thyself. 

i<itf.  You  bade  me  ban,'^and  will  you  bidmeleavel 
Now,  by  the  ground  tliat  I  am  banish'd  from, 
Well  could  1  curse  away  a  winter's  night. 
Though  standing  naked  on  a  mountain  top. 
Where  biting  cold  would  never  let  grass  grow. 
And  think  it  but  a  minute  spent  in  sport. 

Q.  Mar.  U  let  me  entreat  lliee,  cease !  Give  me 
thy  hand. 
That  I  may  dew  it  with  my  mournful  tears; 
Nor  let  the  rain  of  heaven  wet  this  place, 
To  wash  away  my  woeful  monuments. 
O,  could  this  kiss  be  printed  in  thy  hand ; 

[Kiises  his  hnnd. 
That  thou  mightst  think  upon  these  by  the  seal, 
Tlirough  whoin  a  thousand  sighs  are  hreath'd  for 

thee ! 
So,  get  thee  gone,  that  I  may  know  my  grief; 
'Tis  but  surmis'd  whilst  thou  art  standing  by, 
Ag  one  that  surfeits  thinking  on  a  want. 
I  will  repeal  thee,  or,  be  well  assur'd, 
Adventure  to  be  banished  myself: 
And  banished  I  am,  if  but  from  thee. 
Go,  speak  not  to  me ;  even  now  be  gone. — 
O,  go  not  yet ! — Even  thus  two  friends  condemnM 
Embrace,  and  kiss,  and  take  ten  thousand  leaves, 
Loather  a  hundred  times  to  part  than  die. 
Yet  now  farewell ;  and  farewell  life  with  thee  ! 

S(//.  Thus  is  poor  Sullolk  ten  times  banished. 
Once  by  the  king,  and  three  times  thrice  by  thee. 
'Tis  not  the  land  I  care  for,  wert  thou  hence  ; 
A  wilderness  is  populous  enough, 
So  Sutlblk  had  thy  heavenly  company; 
For  were  thou  art,  there  is  the  world  itself. 
With  every  several  pleasure  in  the  world; 
And  where  thou  art  not,  desolation. 
I  can  no  more: — live  thou  to  joy  thy  life; 
IMyself  no  joy  in  nought,  but  that  thou  liv'st. 

Enter  Vaux. 

Q.  Mar.  AViiither  goes  Vaux  so  fast?  what  news 
I  pr'ythee  ? 

J'aitx.  To  signify  unto  his  majesty, 
That  cardinal  Beaufort  is  at  point  of  death  : 
For  suddenly  a  grievous  sickness  took  him. 
That  makes  him  gasp,  and  stare,  and  catch  tlie  air. 
Blaspheming  God,  and  cursing  men  on  earth. 
Sometime,  he  talks  as  if  duke  Htmiphrey's  ghost 
Were  by  his  side;  sometime,  he  calls  the  king. 
And  whispers  to  ins  pillow,  as  to  him, 
The  secret  of  his  overcharged  soul: 
And  I  am  sent  to  tell  his  majesty, 
That  even  now  he  cries  aloud  for  him. 

Q.  Mar.  Go,  tell  this  heavj'  message  to  the  king. 

[Kcit  Vaux, 
Ah  me  .  what  is  this  world  ]  what  news  are  these] 
But  wherefore  grieve  I  at  an  hour's  poor  loss, 
OiniHin::  Sullblk's  exile,  my  soul's  treasure  ] 
Why  only,  Sullolk,  mourn  1  not  for  thee, 
And  with  the  souUiern  clouds  contend  in  tears; 

»  Curse. 


Scene  III. 


KING   HENRY   Yl. 


421 


Thoirs  for  the  earth's  increase,  mine  for  my  sorrows? 
Now,  get  thee  hence :  The  king,  thou  know"st,  is 

cominjj: 
If  thon  he  found  by  me,  thou  art  but  dead. 

Siif.  If  I  depart  from  thee.  I  cannot  hvc : 
And"in  thy  sight  to  die,  what  were  it  else, 
liut  like  a  pleasant  slumber  in  thy  lap  } 
Here  could  I  breathe  my  soul  into  the  air, 
As  mild  and  gentle  as  the  cradle-babe. 
Dying  with  mother's  dug  between  its  lips: 
Where.^  from  thy  sight,  I  shguld  he  raging  mad 
And  cry  out  for  thee  to  close  up  mine  eyes, 
To  have  thee  with  thy  lips  to  stop  my  riiouth; 
So  shouldst  thou  either  turn  my  tlyiiig  soul, 
Or  I  should  breathe  it  so  into  thj'  hody. 
And  then  it  liv'd  in  sweet  Elysium. 
To  die  by  thee,  were  but  to  die  in  jest ; 
From  thee  to  die,  were  torture  more  than  death : 
0.  let  me  stay,  befall  what  may  befall. 

Q.  Mar.  Away  !  though  parting  be  a  fretful  cor- 
rosive. 
It  is  applied  to  a  deathfnl  wound. 
To  France,  sweet  Sutfolk :  let  me  hear  from  thee ; 
Vox  wheresoe'er  thou  art  in  this  world's  globe, 
I'll  have  an  Iris  that  shall  tind  thee  out. 

S"/.  I  go. 

Q.  Mar.  And  take  my  heart  with  thee. 

Siif.  A  jewel,  loek'd  into  the  woefuTst  cask 
Tiiat  ever  did  contain  a  thing  of  worth. 
Even  as  a  splitterl  bark,  so  sunder  we. 
This  way  lall  I  to  death. 

Q.  Mar.  '       This  way  for  me. 

[Kxeunt  severally. 

SCENE  III.— London.    Cardinal  Beaufort's 

Bed-chamher. 

Enter  Kint.   Henry,   SALisnrRV,  Warwicii,  awl 

iifhf-rs.    The  Cardinal  m  bed;  Attendants  with 

him. 

K.  Ihn.  How  fares  my  lord  ?  speak,  Beaufort,  to 
thy  sovereign. 


Car.  If  thou  be'st  death,  I'll  give  thee  England's 
treasure. 
F.nough  to  purchase  such  another  island. 
So  thou  wilt  let  me  live,  and  leel  no  pain. 

K.  Hen.  Ah,  wliat  a  sign.it  is  of  evil  life, 
Wficn  death's  approach  is  seen  so  terrible  ! 

War.  Beaufort,  it  is  thy  sovereign  speaks  to 
thee. 

Car.  Bring  me  unto  my  trial  when  you  will. 
Died  he  not  in  his  bed  !  where  shoidd  he  die  ? 
Can  I  make  men  live,  whe'r  they  will  or  nol  — 
0  !  torture  me  no  more.  I  will  ebnless. — 
Alive  again  ?  then  sliow  me  wliere  he  is ; 
I'll  give  a  thousand  pound  to  look  upon  him. — 
He  hath  no  eyes,  the  dust  hath  blinded  them.— 
Comb  down  his  hair !    look  !   look  !   it  stands  up- 
right. 
Like  lime-twigs  set  to  catch  my  winged  soul ! — 
(Jive  me  some  drink;  an<l  bid  the  apothecary 
Bring  the  strong  poison  that  I  bought  of  liini. 

K.  Hen.  O  thou  eternal  Mover  of  the  heavens, 
Look  with  a  gentle  eye  upon  this  wretch  ! 
O.  beat  away  the  busy  meddling  iiend, 
That  lays  strong  siege  imto  this  wretch's  soul. 
And  from  his  bosom  purge  this  black  despair! 

War.  See  how  the  pangs  of  death  do  make  him 
grin. 

Sal.  Disturb  him  not.  let  him  pass  peaceably. 

A'.  Hen.  Peace  to  his  soul,  if  God's  good  plea- 
sure be ! 
Lord  cardinal,  if  thou  think'st  on  heaven's  bliss, 
Hold  up  thy  hand,  make  signal  of  thy  hope.— 
He  dies,  and  makes  no  sign;  0  God, "forgive  him. 

War.  So  bad  a  death  argues  a  monstrous  life. 

K.  lien.  Forbear  to  judge,  for  we  are  sinners 
all. — 
Close  up  his  eyes,  and  draw  tjie  curtain  close ; 
And  let  us  all  to  meditation. 

{Exeunt. 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I.— Kent.    The  Seashore  near  Dover. 

Firing  heard  at  Sea.  Then  enter  from  a  boat  a 
Captain,  a  Master,  a  Master's  Mate,  Walter 
\\'uin\iiii]:.  (nkI  (i/hei-s ;  with  tKem  Suffolk  and 
other  (lentlemeu,  Piisoners. 

Cap.  The  gaudy,  blabbing,  and  remorscfuH  day 
Is  crept  into  the  bosom  of  the  sea  ; 
And  now  loud-howling  wolves  arouse  the  jades 
That  drag  the  tragic  melaucholv  night; 
\Vho  with  tlicir  drowsy,  slow,  and  flagging  wings 
Clip  (lead  men's  L'rnvcs.  nuij  liom  their  misty  jaws, 
Breatiie  foul  eonlai:ious  darkness  in  tlie  air. 
Theretiire.  bring  forlli  the  stildiers  of  our  prize; 
For,  whilst  our  pinnace''  anchors  in  the  Do\vns, 
Here  shall  they  make  their  ransom  on  the  sand. 
Or  with  their  blood  stain  this  discolor'd  shore. — 
Master,  this  prisoner  freely  give  I  thee ; — 
And  thou  that  are  his  mate,  make  boot  of  this ; — 
The  other,  [Pointing  to  Suffolk.]  Walter  Whit- 
more,  is  thy  share. 

1  Cent.  What  is  niy  ransom, master'!  let  me  know. 

Mast.  A  thousand  crowns,  or  else  lay  down  your 
head. 

Mote.  And  so  much  shall  you  give,  or  off  goes 
yours. 

Co;j.  ■\Vhat,  think  you  much  to  pay  two  thou- 
sand crowns. 
And  bear  tlic  name  and  port  of  gentlemen?— 
Cut  both  the  vdlains'  throats; — for  die  you  shall: 
The  lives  of  those  which  we  have  lost  in  tight. 
Cannot  be  eonnterpois'd  with  such  a  petty  sum. 

1  Gent.  I'll  give  it, sir ;  and  therefore  spare  my  life. 

2  Gent.  And  so  will  I,  and  write  home  'for  it 

straight. 
Whit.  I  lost  mine  eye  in  laying  the  prize  aboard. 
And  therelbre  to  revenge  it,  shalt  thou  (lie  ; 

{To  Suffolk. 
And  so  should  these,  if  I  might  have  my  will. 
Cap.  Be  not  so  rash  ;  take  ransom,  let'him  live. 

•  Whereas.        *  Pitiful.         s  A  ship  of  small  burden.. 


Suf.  Look  on  my  George.  I  am  a  gentleman ; 
Rate  me  at  what  thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  be  paid. 
Whit.    And    so    am    I ; — my   name    is — Walter 
Whitmorc. 
How  now!  why  start's!  thou?  what,  doth  death 
affright  ? 
Siif.  Thy  name  affrights  me,  in  whose  sound  is 
death. 
A  cunning  man  did  calculate  my  birth. 
And  told  me — that  by  Water  I  s'hould  die: 
■^et  let  not  this  make  thee  be  bloody  minded; 
•Thy  name  is — Una/tier,  being  rightly  sounded. 
Whit.  Gualtier,  or   Walter,  which  it  is,  I  care 
not; 
Ne'er  yet  did  base  dishonor  blur  our  name, 
But  with  our  sword  we  wiped  away  the  blot; 
Therefore,  when  merchant-like  I  sell  revenge. 
Broke  be  my  sword,  my  arms  torn  an(l  deliiced. 
And  I  proclaim'd  a  coward  through  the  world  ! 

{Lay.s  hold  on  Suffolk. 
Siif.    Stay,   Whitmorc;    tor    thy  prisoner   is   a 
pniice. 
The  duke  of  Suffolk,  William  de  la  Poole. 

Whit.  The  duke  of  Suffolk,  muffled  up  in  rags! 
Saf.  Ay,  but  these  rags  are  no  part  of  the  duke; 
Jove  sometime  went  disguis'd,  and  why  not  1  ? 
Cap.  But  Jove  was  never  slain,  as  thiiu  shalt  be. 
Siif.  Obscure   and  lowly  swain,  king  Henry's 
blood. 
The  honorable  blood  of  Lancaster, 
Must  not  be  shed  by  such  a  jaded  groom.6 
Hast  thou  not  kiss'd  thy  hand. and  held  my  stirrup? 
Bare-headed  plodded  by  my  foot-cloth  mule. 
And  thought  thee  happy  w'hen  I  shook  my  head? 
How  ollen  hast  thou  waited  at  my  cup, 
Fed  from  my  trencher,  kncel'd  down  at  the  board, 
W'hen  I  have  feasted  with  queen  Margaret  ? 
Remember  it,  and  let  it  make  thee  crest-tallen ; 
Ay,  and  allay  this  thy  abortive  pride: 
How  in  our  voiding  lobby  hast  thou  stood, 
And  duly  waited  for  my  coining  forth  ! 

« .\  low  fellow. 


422 


SECOND   PART  OF 


Act  IV. 


This  hand  of  mine  hath  writ  in  thy  behalf, 
And  therefore  shall  it  charm  thy  riotous  longtio. 
Whit.  Speak,  captain,  shall  1  stab  the   Ibrlorn 

swain  ] 
Cap.  First  let  my  words  stab  him,  as  lie  hath  me. 
Huf.  Base  slave  !  thy  words  arc  blunt,  and  so  art 

thou. 
Cap.  Convey  him  hence,  and  on  our  long-boat's 
side 
Strike  oti  his  head. 
^tif.  Thou  dar'st  not  for  thy  own. 

Cap.  yes,  Poole. 
S^af.  Poole  1 

Cap.  Poole  ?  sir  Poole  ?  lord  7 

Ay,  kennel,  puddle,  sink;  whose  tilth  and  dirt 
Troubles  the  silver  spring  where  England  drinks. 
Now  will  I  dam  up  tliis  thy  yawning  mouth, 
For  swallowinfiT  tlic  treasureof  the  realm; 
Thy  lips,  tliat  kiss'ri   the  queen,  shall  sweep  the 

ground; 
And  thou,  that  smil'dst  at  good  duke  Humphrey's 

death. 
Against  the  senseless  winds  shalt  grin  in  vain. 
Who,  in  contempt,  shall  hiss  at  thee  again  : 
And  wedded  be  thou  to  the  hags  ol  heli. 
For  daring  to  aHy"  a  mighty  lord 
Unto  the  daughter  of  a  worthless  king. 
Having  neither  subject,  wealth,  nor  diadem. 
By  devilish  policy  art  thou  grown  great. 
And,  like  ambitious  Sylla,  ovcrgorsed 
"With  gobbets  of  thy  mother's  bleeding  heart. 
By  thee  Anjou  an(i  I^Iaine  were  sold  io  France : 
The  lalse  revolting  Normans,  thorough  thee. 
Disdain  to  call  us  lord;  and  Picardy 
Hath  slain  their  governors,  surpriz'd  our  forts, 
And  sent  the  ragged  soldiers  wounded  home. 
The  princely  Warwick,  and  the  Ncvils  all,— 
Whose  dreadful  swords  were  never  drawn  in  vain, — 
As  hating  thee,  are  rising  up  in  arms : 
And  now  the  houseof  York — thrust  from  the  crown. 
By  shameful  murder  of  a  guiltless  king. 
And  lolly  proud  encroaching  lyniiiiiy — 
Burns  with  revenging  tiro  ;  « liiise  liiipeful  colors 
Advance  our  halt-faced  sun,  striving  to  shine. 
Under  tlic  which  is  v.r\t—Invilis  nuhibux. 
The  commons  here  in  Kent  are  up  in  arms: 
And,  to  conclude,  reproach  and  beggary 
Is  crept  into  the  palace  of  our  king. 
And  all  by  thee : — Away  ;  convey  him  hence. 

.S'h/.  O  that  1  were  a  god,  to  shoot  forth  thunder 
Upon  these  paltry,  servile,  adject  drudges  ! 
Small  things  make  base  men  proud:  this  villain  here, 
Being  captain  of  a  pinnace,  threatens  more 
Than  Bargulus  the  strong  Illyrian  pirate. 
Drones  suck  not  eagles'  blood,  but  rob  bce-l 
It  is  impossible,  that  I  should  die 
By.such  a  lowly  vassal  as  thyself. 
Thy  words  move  rage,  and  not  remorse,  in  me : 
1  go  of  message  from  the  queen  to  France ; 
I  charge  thee,  waft  me  safely  cross  the  channel. 

Cap.  Walter, 

(KAiY.  Come,  Suffolk,  I  must  waft  thee  to  thy  death. 
Sul^  (nlidus  tintur  occapat  arfus :  'tis  thee  1  tear. 
jy/UI.  Thou  Shalt  have  cause  to  iear,  belbre  I 
leave  thee. 
What,  are  ye  daunted  now  ?  now  will  ye  stoop  ? 
1   Cent.  My  gracious  lord,  entreat  him,  speak 

him  liiir. 
Saf.  Suffolk's  imperial  tongue  is  stern  and  rough, 
Used  to  command,  untaught  to  plead  for  lavor. 
Far  be  it,  we  should  honor  such  as  these 
With  humble  suit:  no,  rather  let  my  head 
Stoop  to  the  block,  than  these  knees  bow  to  any 
Save  to  the  God  of  heaven,  and  to  my  king  ; 
And  sooner  dance  upon  a  bloody  pole, 
Than  stand  uncover'd  to  the  vulgar  groom. 
True  nobility  is  exemjit  from  fear  : — 
I\Iore  can  1  bear,  than  you  dare  execute. 

Ca)).  Hale  him  away. and  let  hiin  talk  no  more. 
Suf.  Come,  soldiers,  show  what  cruelty  ye  can, 
That  this  my  death  may  never  be  forgot! — 
Great  men  oft  die  by  vile  bezonians  :^ 
A  Roman  sworder  and  banditto  slave, 
Murder'd  sweet  Tully;  Brutus'  bastard  hand 
Stabh'd  Julius  Caesar;  savage  .islanders, 
Pompcy  the  great:  and  Sullblk  dies  by  pirates. 

[Exit  SuF.  V!Uh  Whit,  ami  ut/ier.i. 
Cap.  And  as  for  these  whose  ransom  we  have  set, 
It  is  our  pleasure  one  of  them  depart: — 
T  To  beti-oth  in  marriage.  ■  Low  men. 


'  bee-hives. 


Therefore  come  you  with  us,  and  let  him  go. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Itiejint  Gentleman. 

Re-enter  Whitjiore,  tvitli  Suffolic's  Bodi/. 

ll'liit.  There  let  his  head  and  lifeless  body  lie. 

Until  the  queen  his  mistress  bury  it.  [i  ciL 

1   Gejit.  O  barbarous  and  bloody  spectacle  ! 
His  body  will  1  bear  unto  the  king: 
If  he  revenge  it  not,  yet  will  his  ii-iends; 
So  will  the  queen,  that  living  held  him  dear. 

[Exit,  witit  tfic  Body, 

SCENE  II.— Blackhoath. 
Enter  George  Bevis  and  .Toiin  IIolla5d. 

Geo.  Come,  and  get  thee  a  sword,  though  made 
of  a  lath  ;  they  have  been  up  these  two  days. 

Jotin.  They  have  the  more  need  to  sleep  now  fht  n. 

iieo.  I  tell  thee.  Jack  Cade  the  clothier  means  to 
dress  the  commonwealth,  and  turn  it,  and  set  a  new 
nap  upon  it. 

Jotin.  So  he  had  need,  for  'tis  threadbare.  Well, 
I  say,  it  was  never  merry  world  in  England,  since 
gentlemen  came  up. 

Ceo.  O  miserable  age  I  Virtue  is  not  regarded  in 
handy  crafts-men. 

Julm.  The  nobility  think  scorn  to  go  in  leather 
aprons. 

Geo.  Nay  more,  the  king's  council  arc  no  good 
workmen. 

.luhn.  True;  And  yet  it  is  said, — Labor  in  thy 
vocation:  which  is  as  much  to  say,  as, — let  the 
magistrates  be  laboring  men;  and  therelbre  should 
we  be  magistrates, 

Geo.  Thou  hast  hit  it;  for  there's  no  better  sign 
of  a  brave  mind,  than  a  hard  hand. 

Joltn  I  see  them !  I  see  tlieiii !  There's  Best's 
son,  the  tanner  of  Wingham; 

Geo.  He  shall  have  the  skins  of  our  enemies,  to 
make  dog's  leather  of. 

Julin.  And  Dick  the  butcher, — • 

Geo.  Then  is  sin  struck  down  like  an  ox,  and 
initjuify's  throat  cut  like  a  calf 

Jiiiin.  And  Smith  the  weaver. 

Geo.  Argo,  their  thread  of  life  is  spun. 

Jolin.  Come,  come,  let's  fall  in  with  them. 

Drum.    Enter  Cade,  DfCK  ttie  Butcher,  Smith  the 
Weaver,  and  utliers  in  great  number. 

Cade.  We,  John  Cade,  so  termed  of  our  supposed 
father, 

Dick.  Or  rather,  of  stealing  a  cade  of  herrings.' 

[Abide. 

Cade. — for  our  enemies  shall  fall  before  us,  in- 
spired with  the  spirit  of  putting  down  kings  and 
princes, — Command  silence. 

Dicti.  Silence! 

Cade.  Wy  father  was  a  Mortimer,— 

Dieli.  He  was  an  honest  man,  and  a  good  brick- 
layer, [.ihide. 

Cade.  My  mother  a  Plantagenet, — 

Die};.  I  kiiew  her  well ;  she  was  a  midwife. 

{Asidt. 

Cade.  My  wife  descended  of  fhe^Lacies, — 

Diclx.  She  was,  indeed,  a  pedlar's  daughter,  and 
sold  many  laces.  [Aside. 

i^mith.  But,  now  of  late,  not  able  to  travel  with 
her  furred  pack,  she  washes  bucks  here  at  home. 

[Aside. 

Cade.  Therefore  am  I  of  an  honorable  house. 

Diek.  Ay,  by  my  faith,  the  field  is  honorable; 
And  tfiere  was  he  born,  under  a  hedge;  fi>r  his 
father  liad  never  a  house,  but  the  cage.        [Aside. 

Cade.  Valiant  I  am. 

Sniitti.  'A  must  needs  ;  for  beggary  is  valiant. 

[Aside. 

Cade.  I  am  able  to  endure  much. 

Dkk.  No  tjucstion  of  that;  for  I  have  seen  him 
whipped  tliree  market  days  together.  [Asiile, 

Cade.  I  ft^ar  neifher  sword  nor  fire. 

Smith.  He  need  not  fear  the  sword,  for  his  coat 
is  of  jiroof.  [.-l.s^/e. 

Diek.  But,  methinks  he  should  stand  in  tear  of 
fire,  being  burnt  i'  the  hand  for  stealing  of  sheep. 

[A.iide. 

Cade.  Be  brave,  then;  for  your  captain  is  brave, 

and  vows  reformation.    There  shall  oe,  in  England, 

seven  halfpenny  loaves  sold  for  a  penny :  the  thiee- 

hooped  pot  shall  have  ten  hoops;  and  I  will  make 

»  A  barrel  of  herrings. 


Scene  IV. 


KING   HENRY   VI. 


423 


it  felonjf,  to  drink  small  beer;  all  the  realm  shall  be 
ill  common,  and  in  Cheapside  shall  my  palfry  ^o 
to  grass.  And,  when  1  am  king,  (as  king  1  wjU 
he  J 

AIL  God  save  your  majesty! 

Cari^.  I  thank  you,  ^uod  people: — there  shall 
be  no  money ;  all  shall  eut  and  drink  on  my  score ; 
and  1  will  apparel  Ihem  all  in  one  livery,  tiiat  they 
may  agree  like  brothers,  and  worsljip  me  their  lord. 

IJicli.  The  first  thing  we  do,  let's  kill  all  tlie 
iovvjers. 

Chile.  Nay,  that  I  mean  to  do.  Is  not  this  a 
lamentable  thing,  that  ol'  the  skin  ol"  an  innocent 
lamb  should  be  made  parcluncnt  ?  tiiat  parchment 
being  scribbled  o'er,  should  undo  a  man  ?  Some 
say,  the  bee  stings:  but  I  say,  'tirf  the  bee's  wax  ; 
lor  I  did  but  seal"  once  to  a  thing,  and  I  was  never 
luine  own  man  since.    How  now  !  who's  there  ] 

Enter  some^  brwging  in  ike  Clerk  r^' Chatham. 

Snii/h.  The  clerk  otChatJiam:  he  can  write  and 
read,  and  ca^'t  accompt. 

Catif,  ()  monstrous! 

Uniilh.  VVe  took  him  setting  of  boys'  copies. 

Cade.  Here's  a  villain  ! 

S/iiith.  H'asa  book  in  his  pocket,  with  red  letters 
Ln't. 

Cftfle.  Nay,  tlicn  he  is  a  conjurer. 

Dick.  Nay,  he  can  make  obligations,  and  write 
courl-liand. 

Ctn/e.  1  am  sorry  for't :  the  man  is  a  proper  man, 
on  mine  honor;  unle.-^s  I  lind  him  guilty,  Jie  shall 
not  die, — Come  hither,  sirrah;  1  must  examine 
thee  :  What  is  thy  name  ! 

Clerk.  Emmanuel. 

Dick.  They  use  to  write  it  on  the  top  of  letters ; 
'Twill  go  hard  with  you. 

Ca'fe.  Let  me  alonr :— Dost  thou  use  to  write 
thy  name  I  or  hast  lliou  a  mark  to  thyself,  like  an 
honest  plain-dealing  man  ! 

Cl'-rk.  Sir,  I  thank  (kid,  I  have  been  so  well 
brought  up.  that  I  can  write  my  name. 

All.  He  hath  conJessed:  away  with  him;  he's  a 
villain,  and  a  traitor. 

Cu'ie.  Away  with  him,  I  say :  hang  him  with  his 
pen  and  inkliorn  about  his  neck. 

[Exeunt  mmt  with  the  Clerk. 
Enter  Michael. 

Mich.  Where's  our  general  1 

Cade.  Here  I  am.  thou  particular  fellow, 

Mich.  Fly,  fly,  fly!  sir  Humphrey  Stalibrd  and 
his  brother  arc  hard  by,  with  the  kinji's  lorces. 

Cade.  Stand,  villain,  stand,  or  1*1!  ic'd  thee  down  ; 
He  shall  be  encountered  with  a  man  as  good  as 
ium^elf:  he  is  but  a  knight,  is  'a  ! 

Mich.  No. 

Ca'Ic.  To  equal  him,  I  will  make  myself  a  knight 
presently; — Rise  up,  sir  John  Mortimer.  Now 
hii\o  at  liim. 

Enter  Sir  Humphrey  Stafford  and  William 
his  Brother,  with  Dru/n  and  Forces, 

Sfaf.  Rebellious  hinds,  the  (illli  and  scum  of  Kent, 
Mark'd  lor  the  gallows, — lay  your  weapons  down. 
Home  to  your  cottages,  forsake  this  groom  ;^ 
Tlie  king  is  merciful,  if  you  revolt. 

(^.^7r//■.  But  angry,  wrathful, and  inelin'd  to  blood, 
H'you  go  forward  :  tlieretbrc  yield,  or  die. 

CV/(/f.  As  for  these  silken-coaled  slaves,  I  passnot;' 
U  is  lo  you,  good  people.  Ihat  I  speak, 
O'ei  whom,  in  time  to  come,  1  hope  to  reign; 
For  I  am  rightful  heir  unto  the  crown. 

^7f//.  Villain,  thy  lather  was  a  plasterer; 
And  thou  thyself  a  shearman,  Art  thou  not? 

Cade.  And  Adam  was  a  gardener. 

»'.  Staf.  And  what  of  that ! 

Cade.  Marry,  this: — Edmund  Mortimer,  carl  of 
Mareii, 
Married  the  duke  ofClarcnce'  daughter;  Did  he  not? 

iS/^{/'.  Ay.  sir. 

Cude.  By  her,  he  had  two  children  at  one  birth. 

W.  Staf.  That's  false. 

C«f/^'.  Ay,  there's  the  question,  but,  I  say, 'tis  true; 
The  elder  of  them,  being  put  to  nurse. 
Was  by  a  beggar-woman  stol'n  away  ; 
And  ignorant  of  his  birth  and  parentage,    * 
Became  a  bricklayer,  when  he  came  to  age; 
His  son  am  I ;  deny  it.  if  you  can. 
"*  I  pay  llit-ui  no  regard. 


Dick.  Nay,  'tis  too  true;  therefore  he  shall  be 

king. 

iSmith.  Sir.  he  made  a  chimney  in  my  fathers 
house,  and  the  bricks  are  alive  at  this  day  to  testify 
it ;  therefore  ticny  it  not. 

Sif{f.  And   will   you  credit  this  base  drudge's 
words. 
That  speaKs  he  knows  not  what  1 

AIL  Ay.  marry,  will  we  ;  therefore  get  ye  gone. 

IV.  Staf.. luck  Cade,  tJie  duke  ot  York  hath  taught 
you  this. 

Cade.  He  lies;  for  I  invented  it  myself.  [Aside. 
— Go  to,  sirrah.  Tell  the  king  from  me,  that — 
for  his  lather's  sake,  Henry  the  FilUi.  in  whose  time 
boys  went  to  spa^n-countcr  for  French  crowns — I 
am  content  he  shall  reign ;  but  I'll  be  protector  over 
him. 

Dick,  And,  furthermore,  we'll  have  the  lord  Say's 
head  for  selling  the  dukedom  of  Mame. 

Cade.  And  tjood  reason  ;  Ibr  thereby  is  En£;land 
maimed,  and  lain  to  go  with  a  stall'  but  that  my 
puissance  holds  it  up.  Fellow  kiui^^s,  I  tell  you, 
lliat  that  lord  Say  halli  gelded  the  cuiniiu)u\vcalth, 
and  made  it  an  eunuch  :  and  more  than  that,  he 
can  sjieak  French,  and  therefore  he  is  a  traitor. 

Stf{/'.  ()  gross  and  miserable  ignorance  ! 

Caife.  Nay,  answer  if  you  can:  The  Frenchmen 
are  our  enemies:  go  to,  then,  1  ask  but  this;  Can 
he,  that  siH-aks  with  the  tongue  of  an  enemy,  be  a 
good  counsellor,  or  no  ] 

All.  No,  no;  and  therefore  we'll  have  his  head. 

JK.&7^//'.WeIl,  seeing  gentle  words  will  not  prevail, 
Assail  tliem  with  the  army  of  the  king. 

^7«^.  Herald,  away;  and,  tliroughuut  every  town^ 
Procluiui  them  traitors  that  are  up  with  Cade; 
That  those,  which  fly  belbre  the  battle  ends, 
Mav,  even  in  their  wives'  and  cliildrcn's  sight, 
lie  iiang'd  u])  tor  example  at  their  doors: 
And  you,  timt  be  the  king's  friends,  follow  me. 

[Exeunt  the  two  Stafford^,  and  Forces. 

Cade.  And  you,  Ih'at  love  the  commons,  ibllow 
me. — 
Now  show  yourselves  men,  'tis  for  liberty. 
We  will  not  leave  one  lord,  one  gentleman: 
Spare  none,  but  such  as  go  in  clouted  shoon;^ 
For  they  are  thrifty  honest  men, and  such 
As  would  (but  that  they  dare  not)  take  our  parts. 

Dick.  They  are  all  in  order,  and  uuircJi  tovvurd  us. 

Cade.  But  tiien  are  we  in  order,  wlien  we  are  most 
out  of  order.    Come,  march  forward.         [F^xeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Another  2)art  of  \^\^^.'^i\\eiiih. 

Alarums.    The  two  Parties  enter  and  fight,  and 

both  the  Staffouds  are  slain. 

Cade.  Where's  Dick,  the  butcher  of  Ashford? 

Dick.  Here,  sir. 

Cade.  They  fell  before  thee  like  sheep  and  oxen, 
and  thou  beliavedst  thyself  as  if  thou  liadst  been  in 
thine  own  slaughter-house:  therelbre  thus  will  I 
reward  thee, — The  Lent  shall  be  as  long  again  as 
it  is;  and  thou  shalt  have  a  license  to  kill  for  a 
hundred  lacking  one. 

Dick.  I  desire  no  more. 

Cade.  And,  to  speak  truth,  thou  deservcst  no  less. 
This  monument  of  the  victory  will  I  bear;  and  the 
bodies  shall  be  dragged  at  my  horse'  heels,  till  I  do 
come  to  Lon(h)n,  wliere  we  will  have  the  mayor's 
sword  borne  before  us. 

Dick.  If  we  mean  to  thrive  and  do  good,  break 
open  the  saols,  and  let  out  the  prisoners. 

Cade.  Fear  not  that,  I  warrant  thee.  Come,  let's 
march  towards  London.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Kiso  Hkmiv,  reading  a  Supplicatuni ;  the 

Di  KK  of  BfcKiNCHAM  and  Lord  Say  ivith  him: 

at  a  distance,  {^VEKS  Margaret,  mourning  aver 

Slffolk's  Head. 

Q.  Ma?:  Oft  have  I  heard— that  grief  softens  the 
mind, 
And  makes  it  fejyful  and  degenerate; 
Think  therelbre  on  revenge,  and  cease  to  weep. 
But  who  can  cease  to  weep,  and  look  en  this  ] 
Here  may  his  head  lie  on  my  throbbing  breast: 
But  Where's  the  body  that  I  should  cmbiace  ? 

Buck.  What  answer  makes  your  grace  to  the 
rebels'  supplication  ? 

>  Shoes. 


424 


SECOND   PART   OF 


Act  IV. 


K.  Heyi.  I'll  send  some  holy  bishop  to  entreat : 
Fnr  God  Ibrbid,  so  many  simple  souls 
Sliould  perish  by  the  sword  !  And  I  myself, 
Bather  than  bloody  war  .should  eut  them  short, 
AVill  parley  willi  Jack  Cade  their  general. — 
But  stay.  Til  read  it  over  onec  agam. 

Q.  Mar.  Ah,  barbarous  villains!  hath  this  lovely 
face 
Rul'd.  like  a  wanderin°;  planet,  over  me ; 
And  could  it  not  enlbrce  them  to  relent, 
Th:it  were  unwortliy  to  behold  the  same  1 

A'.  Hen.  Lord  Say,  Jack  Cade  hath  sworn  to  have 
thy  head. 

Say.  Ay.  but  I  hope,  your  highness  shall  have  his. 

K.  Jiff}.  How  now,  madam!  Still 
Lamenting,  and  mournmg  fot  Sullolk's  death  1 
I  lear,  my  love,  it  that  1  had  been  dead, 
Thou  wouldest  not  have  mourn 'd  so  much  for  me. 

Q.  Mar.   My  love,  I  should  not  mourn,  but  die 
lor  thee. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

K.  Ilcfi.   How  now  I    what  news  1    why  com*st 
thou  in  sueh  hasle  1 

Mess.  Therebelsarein  Southwark;  Fly,  my  lord! 
Jack  Cade  proclaims  himself  lord  Mortimer, 
Descended  from  the  duke  of  Clarence'  house: 
And  calls  your  grace  usurper,  openly, 
And  vows  lo  crown  himself  in  Westminster. 
His  army  is  a  ragged  multitude 
(If  liimls  and  pcitMints,  rude  and  merciless; 
Sir  Humphrey  Slaliurd  and  his  brc'ihei's  death 
Hatli  giv<'n  iliem  heart  and  courage  to  proceed: 
All  scholars,  lawyers,  courtiers,  gentlemen, 
TJiey   call — liilse   caterpillars,   and    intend    their 
death. 

A'.  Jlen.    O  graceless  men  !  they  know  not  what 
they  do. 

Buck.  My  gracious  lord,  retire  to  Kenelworth, 
Uiitil  a  power  be  rais'd  to  put  them  down. 

Q,  Mar.  Ah  !  were  thedukeof  Sullolk  now  alive. 
These  Kentish  rebels  would  be  soon  appeas'd. 

A'.  Hen.  Lord  Say,  the  traitors  hate  thee, 
Tlicrelbre  away  with  us  to  Kenelworth. 

Sfit/.  So  might  your  grace's  person  be  in  danger; 
The  sight  of  me  is  odious  in  their  eyes: 
And  thereibre  in  this  city  will  I  stay, 
And  live  alone  as  secret  as  I  may. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

2  Mess.  Jack  Cade  hath  gotten  London-bridge ; 
the  citizens 
Fly  and  tbrsake  their  houses  : 
TJie  rascal  people,  thirsting  afler  prej', 
Join  with  the  traitor;  and  they  jointly  swear, 
To  spoil  the  city,  and  your  royal  court. 

Buck.  Then  linger  not,  my  lord ;  away,  take  horse. 

K.  Hen.   Come,  Margaret;  God,  our  hope,  will 
succor  us. 

Q.  Mar.  J\Iy  liopeisgone.now  SutTolkisdcceas'd. 

A.  Hen.  Farewell,  my  lord;  [7bLouD  Sav.]  trust 
not  the  Kentish  rebels. 

Biiek.  Trust  nobody,  tor  fear  you  I>e  betray'd. 

Sut/.  The  trust  I  have  is  in  mine  innocence, 
And  thereibre  am  I  bold  and  resolute.  [Exeunt.] 

SCENE  y.~The  Tower. 

Efiter  LoitD  Scall:s,  and  others,  on   the    Walls. 

Then  enter  certain  Citizens,  below. 

Scales.  How  now!  is  Jack  Cade  slain  ! 

1  at.  No,  my  lord,  nor  likely  to  be  slain ;  for 
they  have  won  tlie  bridge,  killmg  ail  those  tliat 
wittistand  them:  The  lord  mayor  craves  aid  of 
your  honor  tfom  the  Tower,  todeiend  the  city  from 
tne  rebel  5. 

Scales.   Such  aid  as  I  can  spare,  you  shall  com- 
mand ; 
But  I  am  troubled  here  with  them  myself. 
The  iL'bels  have  assay'd  to  win  Ihc  Tower. 
But  get  you  to  SnntlitieUI,  and  gather  head, 
And  tliliher  1  will  send  you  Matthew  Gough : 
Fight  lor  your  king,  your  country,  and  your  lives; 
And  so  iaiewell,  lor  1  must  hence  again.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.— Cannon  Street. 

Enter  Jack  Cauk,  arid  hUi  Followers.   He  strikes 

his  StijJ]'  on  Linidon-stone. 

Cade.  Now  is  Mortimer  lord  of  this  city.  And 
here,  .sitting  upon  London-stone,  I  charge  and 
command,  that  of  the  city's  cost,  the  pissing-con- 
duit  run  nolhnig  but  claret  wine  this  first  year  of 
our  reign.    And  now,  hencclbrward,  it  shall  be 


treason  for  any  that  calls    me    other  than — lord 
Mortimer. 

Enter  a  Soldier,  running. 

Sntfl    Jack  Cade  !  Jack  Cade  ! 

Cade.    Knock  him  down  there.  [They  kill  him, 

S/nilh.  It'  this  lidlow  be  wise,  he'll  never  esdl 
you  Jack  Cade  more;  I  think  he  hath  a  very  fail 
warning. 

Hiek.  My  lord,  there's  an  army  gathered  together 
in  Smithtield. 

Cacfe.  Come  then,  let's  go  fight  with  them  :  Ud*,, 
first,  go  and  set  London-bridge  on  tire ;  and  it  >ou 
can,  burn  down  the  Tower  too.   Come,  let's  away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VIL— Smithfield. 
Alarum.    Enter,  on  one  side.  Cade  and  his  Com' 

painj;   i/n   the  other^  Citizens,  and  {he  King's 

Forces,  headed  by  Matthew  Gough.  Theyjight; 

the  Citizens  are  routed,  and  Matthew  Gough  is 

stain. 

Cade.  So,  sirs:— Now  go  some  and  pull  down 
the  Savoy  ;  others  to  the  inns  of  court ;  down  with 
them  all. 

Hick.  I  have  a  suit  unto  your  lordship. 

Cade.  Be  it  a  lordship,  thou  shalt  have  it  for  that 
word. 

Hick.  Only  that  the  laws  of  England  may  come 
out  of  your  mouth. 

Jo/in.  Mass,  'twill  be  sore  law,  then;  for  he  was 
thrust  in  the  mouth  with  a  spear,  and  'tis  not 
whole  yet.  [Asifie. 

Smifh.  Nay,  John,  it  will  be  stinking  law;  lor 
his  breath  slinks  with  eating  toasted  cheese. 

[Aside. 

Cade.  I  have  thought  upon  it;  it  shall  be  so. 
Away,  burn  all  tlierecordsof  the  realm;  my  mouth 
shall  be  the  parliament  of  England. 

John.  Then  we  are  like  to  iiave  biting  statutes, 
unless  his  tentti  be  jiulled  out.  [A,\ide. 

Cade.  And  hencelbrward  all  things  shall  be  in 
common. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  My  lord,  a  prize,  a  prize !  here's  tfio  lord 
Say,  which  sold  the  towns  in  France  ;  he  that  made 
us  pay  one  and  twenty  lifteens,^  and  one  shilling 
to  the  pound,  the  last  subsidy. 

Enter  Geouoe  Bevis,  tvith  the  Lord  Sat. 

Cade.  Well,  he  shall  be  beheaded  for  it  ten  times, 
— Ah,  thou  say,-*  thou  serge,  nay,  thou  buckram 
lord!  now  art  thou  within  point-blank  of  our  juris- 
diction regal.  What  canst  thou  answer  to  my  ma- 
jesty, for  giving  up  of  Normandy  unto  monsicr 
Basimecu,  the  dauphin  of  France]  Be  it  known 
unto  tiiee  by  these  presence,  even  the  presence  of 
lord  Mortimer,  that  I  am  the  besom  that  must 
sweej]  the  court  clean  of  such  filth  as  thou  art. — 
TIiou  haiit  most  traitorously  corrupted  tlie  youth 
of  the  realm,  in  erecting  a  grammar-scliooi :  and 
whereas,  belbre,our  fore-iathershad  no  other  books 
but  the  score  and  the  tally,  thou  hast  caused  print- 
ing to  be  used  ;  and,  contrary  to  the  king.  Ins  crow  n 
and  dignity,  thou  hast  built  a  paper-mill.  It  will 
be  proved  to  thy  face,  that  thou  hast  men  about 
thee,  that  usually  talk  of  a  noun,  and  a  verb ;  and 
such  abominable  words,  as  no  Christian  ear  can 
endure  to  hfur.  Thou  hast  appointed  justices  of 
peace,  to  call  poor  men  belbre  them  about  matters 
tliey  wt're  not  able  to  answer.  Moreover,  thou  liast 
put  them  in  prison,  and  because  they  could  not 
read,''  tliou  hast  hanged  them  ;  when,  indeed,  only 
for  that  cause  they  have  been  most  worthy  to 
live.  Thou  dost  ride  on  a  lbot-cloth,t'  dost  thou 
not] 

Say.  What  of  that] 

Cade.  I\larry,  thou  oughtest  not  to  let  tliy  horse 
wear  a  cloak,  when  honester  men  tJian  thou  go  in 
their  hose  and  doublets. 

Hick.  And  work  in  their  shirt,  too;  as  myself, 
for  example,  that  am  a  butcher. 

Say.  You  men  of  Kent, — 

Hiik.  What  say  you  of  Kent  ] 

3  A  tjfteen  was  the  fift(?entb  p.irt  of  all  the  movables  or 
personal  property  of  each  sul:juct. 

*  Say  was  a  kiu-l  of  sergR. 

B  i.e.  Because  th-yc^uid  iiotclaim  the  benefit  of  cltrpy. 

«  A  kind  of  houtiu;;  which  covertid  the  body  of  tho 
horse. 


Scene  VIII. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 


425 


gCII 


L 


Sail.  Notliing    but  this:    Tis  Oonu  terra,  mala 
ei>f\. 

Cdile.  Awaywiili  him,  away  with  him!  lie  speaks 
Latin. 
Sai/.  Hear  me  but  speak,  and  bear  me  where 
you  will. 
Kent,  in  tlie  commentaries  Ca}sar  writ, 
Is  term'd  the  civil'st  place  in  all  this  isle : 
Sweet  is  the  country,  because  full  of  riches; 
The  peoplcliberal,  valiant,  active,  wealthy ; 
Which  liiakcs  mc  hope  you  are  not  void  of  pity. 
I  sold  not  Maine,  I  lost  not  Normandy; 
Yet  to  recover  them,  would  lose  my  lile. 
Justice  witli  lavor  have  I  always  done; 
Pra)i'rsauU  tears  have  mov'd  mc,  gitls  could  never. 
Wlien  have  I  aught  exacted  at  your  hands, 
Kent  to  maintain,  the  king,  the  realm,  and  you 7 
Large  gifts  have  I  bestow'd  on  learned  clerks, 
liecause  my  book  prcferr'd  me  to  the  king : 
And— seeing  ignorance  is  the  curse  of  God, 
Kncjwiedge  the  wing  wherewith  we  lly  to  heaven. 
Unless  \  ou  be  possess'd  with  devihsh  spirits, 
You  canniit  but  Ibrbcar  to  murder  me. 
This  tongue  hath  parley'd  unto  foreign  kings 
i'or  your  behoof, — 

Cuile.  Tut  I  when  struck'st  thou  one  blow  in  the 
field  ! 

&'«//.  Great  men  have  reaching  hands:  oft  have 
I  struck 
Those  that  I  never  saw,  and  struck  them  dead. 
6'ra.  O  monstrous  coward!  what,  to  come  behind 

folks  ? 
Say.  These  cheelisare  pale  for  watching  for  your 

good. 
Cade.  Give  him  a  box  o'  the  ear,  and  that  will 
make  em  red  again. 

Say.  Long  sitting  to  determine  poor  men's  causes 
Ilatii  made  me  full  of  sickness  and  diseases. 

Caik.  Ye  shall  have  a  liempen  caudle  then,  and 
the  pa]i  Ola  hatchet. 
Hick.  Why  dost  thou  quiver,  man  ? 
Sui/.  The  palsy,  and  not  fear,  provoketh  me. 
^  Ca.le.  Nay,  he  nods  at  us  ;  as  who  should  say,— 
I II  be  even  with  you.  I'll  see  if  his  head  will  stand 
steadier  on  a  pole,  or  no :   Take  him  away,  and 
behead  him. 

Sai/.  Tell  me,  wherein  I  have  olTended  most  ? 
Have  I  all;  cted  wealth,  or  honor ;  speak  ! 
Are  my  chests  lill'd  up  with  extorted  gold! 
Is  my  apparel  sumptuous  to  behold  ! 
Whom  have  I  injur'd,  that  ye  seek  my  death? 
These  hands  arc   liee   from  guiltless   blood-shed- 
ding," 
This  breast  from  harboring  foul  deceitful  thoughts. 
O,  let  me  live! 

CV'/f.  I  feel  remorse  in  mj-self  with  his  words: 
but  1  II  bridle  it;  he  shall  die,  an  it  be  but  lor 
pleading  so  well  for  his  lile.  Away  with  him!  he 
has  a  lamiliar-i  under  his  tongue ;  he  speaks  not 
o  (Jod  s  name.  Go,  take  him  away,  I  say,  and 
strike  olf  his  head  presently;  and  then  break  into 
his  sim-in-Iaw's  house,  sir  James  Cromer,  andstrike 
oil  Ins  head,  and  bring  them  both  upon  two  poles 
hither. 
All.  It  shall  be  done. 

Saij.  Ah,  countrymen  !  if,  when  you  make  your 
prayers, 
Ood  should  be  so  obdurate  as  yourselves. 
How  would  it  fiire  with  your  (departed  souls? 
And  thcrelbre  yet  relent,  and  save  my  lile. 

Cade.  Away  with  him,  and  do  as  I  command  ye. 
_,  J  [Exeunt  some  Willi  Lord  Skw 

■Ihe  proudest  peer  in  the  realm  shall  not  wear  a 
liead  on  his  shoulders,  unless  he  pay  me  tribute; 
Ihcrc  shall  not  a  maid  be  married,  but  she  shall 
l>ay  to  me  her  maidenhead  ere  they  have  it :  Men 
shall  hold  of  me  in  cajiite ;  and  we  charge  and 
command,  that  their  wives  be  as  ftee  as  heart  can 
wish,  or  loiigue  can  tell. 

IJiek.  My  lord,  when  shall  we  go  to  Cheapside, 
and  lake  up  commodities  upon  our  bills  ! 
Carle.  Marry,  presently. 
AU.  0  brave ! 

Jlc-enlcr  Rebels,  with  the  Hearts  of  Lord  Say  a/id 
hi-t  Srm-in-taw. 
Carle.  But  is  not  this   braver?— Let  them  kiss 
■»  !.  c.  SheUduig  guiltle.^s  blood. 
«  A  djmou  wb'o  was  supposed  to  atlind  .it  rail. 


one  another,  for  they  loved  well,  when  they  were 
ahve.  Now  part  tliem  again,  lest  they  consult 
about  the  giving  upof  some  more  towns  in  France. 
Soldiers,  defer  the  spoil  of  the  city  until  night :  for 
with  these  borne  before  us,  instead  of  maces,  will 
"  ".."i'i"_'J"',''"Sh  ";c  streets ;  and,  at  every  corner, 

[Exeunt. 


have  them  kiss. — Away  I 

SCENE  VIII.— South wark. 

Alarum.  Enter  Cade,  and  all  Ms  Rabhlement. 

Carle.  Up  Fish-street!  down  Saint  Magnus' 
corner!  kill  and  knockdown!  throw  them  into 
Thames !— [^  Parley  .tuunded,  thtn.  a  Rrtreat.^ 
What  noise  is  this  1  hear  '.  Dare  any  be  so  bold  to 
sound  retreat  or  parley,when  I  command  them  kill  ? 

Enter  Buckingham  and  old  Clifford,  wilh  Frrrccs. 

Buck.  Ay,  here  they  be  that  dare  and  will  dis- 
turb thee: 
Know,  Cade,  we  come  ambassadors  from  the  king 
Unto  the  commons,  whom  thou  hast  misled  ; 
And  here  pronounce  free  pardon  to  them  all, 
That  will  forsake  thee,  and  go  home  in  peace. 

Ctif.  What  say  ye,  countrymen  ?  will  ye  relent, 
And  yield  to  mercy,  whilst  'lis  oller'd  you; 
Or  let  a  rabble  lead  jou  to  your  deaths  .' 
Wlio  loves  the  king,  and  w"ill  embrace  his  pardon. 
Fling  up  his  cap,  and  say— (Jod  sa\e  his  majesty  ! 
Who  hateth  him,  and  honors  not  his  lather, 
Henry  the  Fifth,  that  made  all  France  to  quake. 
Shake  he  his  weapon  at  us,  and  pass  by. 
All.  God  save  the  king  !  (iod  save  the  king  ! 
Caitc.  What,  Buckingbain.  and  Clillbrd,  are  ye 
so  brave?- ,\nd  you,  Ira.-e  peasants,  do  ye  believe 
him  ?  will  you  needs  be  li.inged  with  yoiir  pardons 
about  your  necks  !  Hath  uiy  sword  therefore  broke 
through  London  gates,  that  you  should  leave  me 
at  the  White  Hart  in  Southwark  .'    I  thought,  ye 
would  never  have  given  out  these  arms,  till  you 
had  recovered  your  ancient  freedom  ;   but  you  are 
all  recreants,  and  dastards;  and  delight  to  live  in 
slavery  to  the  nobility.  Let  them  break  your  backs 
with  burdens,  take  your  houses  over  your  heads, 
ravish  your  wives  and  daughters  before  your  tiices : 
For  mc. — I  will  make  shill  lor  one  ;  and  so — God's 
curse  'light  upon  you  all ! 
All.  We'll  toUow  Cade,  we'll  follow  Cade. 
Clif.  Is  Cade  the  son  of  Henry  the  Fifth, 
That  thus  you  do  exclaim— you'll  go  with  him? 
Will  he  conduct  you  through  the  heart  of  France, 
And  make  the  meanest  of  you  earls  and  dukes! 
Alas,  he  halh  no  home,  no  place  to  lly  to; 
Nor  knows  he  how  to  live,  but  by  the  spoil. 
Unless  by  robbing  of  your  friends,  and  us. 
Were't  not  a  shame,  that  whilst  you  live  at  jar, 
Tlie  fearful  French,  whom  you  late  vaiupiisbed. 
Should  make  a  start  o'er  seas,  and  vanquish  you  ? 
Methinks,  already,  in  this  civil  broil, 
I  see  them  lording  it  in  London  streets. 
Crying— riZ/a^'f (lis.'  unto  all  they  meet. 
Better,  ten  thousand  base-born  Cades  miscarry. 
Than  you  should  stoop  unto  a  Frenchman's  mercy. 
To  France,  to  France,  and  get  w  hat  you  have  lost ; 
Spare  England,  lor  it  is  your  native  coast  ; 
Henry  hath  money,  you  are  strong  and  manly  : 
God  on  our  side,  doubt  not  ot' victory. 

All.  A  Clillbrd!  a  Chllord  !  we'll  ibllow  the  kinsr 
and  Clillbrd.  ° 

Carle.  Was  ever  (ealhei  so  lightly  blown  to  and 
fro,  as  this  multitude  !  the  name  of  Henry  the 
Filth  hales  them  to  an  hundred  mischiels,  and 
makes  them  leave  me  desolale.  I  see  thein  lay 
their  heads  together,  to  surprize  me:  my  sword 
make  way  lor  me,  for  here  is  no  staying. — In  de- 
spite of  the  devils  and  hell,  have  through  the  very 
mid.st  of  you  !  and  heavens  and  honor  be  witness, 
that  no  want  of  resolution  in  me,  but  only  my 
Ibllowers'  base  and  igiiomiiuous  treasons,  niakes 
nie  betake  me  to  my  heels.  '  [lu-tt. 

Buck.  What,  is  lie  tied !    go,  some,  and  lollovv 
him. 
And  he,  that  brings  his  head  unlo  the  king. 
Shall  have  a  thousand  crowns  for  his  reward. — 

[Exeunt  some  rf  ikem. 
Follow  me,  soldiers  ;  we  II  devise  a  mean 
To  reconcile  you  all  unto  the  king. 

[E.veunt. 


426 


SECOND  PAET  OF 


Act.  IV.  Scene  X 


SCENE  IX.— Kenel worth  Castle. 
Enter  King  Henuy,  Queen  Margaiiet,  and 
SoMEHSET,  (m  the  Terrace  of  the  Castle. 
K.  Hen.  Was  ever  Icing  that  joy'd  an  earthly 
throne, 
And  could  command  no  more  content  than  11 
No  sooner  was  I  crept  out  of  my  cradle, 
But  I  was  made  a  king  at  nine  months  old : 
Was  never  subject  long'd  to  he  a  kini^, 
As  I  do  long  and  wisli  to  iie  a  subject. 

Enter  BrCKiNGHAM  07?rf  Clifford. 
Buclx.  Health,  and  glad  tidings,  to  your  mnjesty! 
K.  Hen.  Wliy.  iUickingham,  is  tlie  traitor,  Cade, 

surpris'd  ? 
Or -is  he  but  retir'd  to  make  him  strong  1 

Enter,  hehw,  a  great  vumher  of  Cadic^s  Fullow- 
erfi,  with  Halters  about  their  JS'tcks. 
Clif.  He's  tied,  my  lord,  and  all  his  powers  do 
yield; 
And  humbly  thus,  with  halters  on  their  necks, 
Expect  your  highness'  doom  of  life,  or  death. 
K.  Hen.  Tlien,  heaven,  set  opo  tliy  everlasting 
gates 
To  entertain  my  vovps  of  thanks  and  praise  ! 
Soldiers,  this  day  have  you  redecm'd  your  lives. 
And  sliow'd  liow  well  you  love  your  prijice   and 

country  : 
Continue  still  in  this  so  good  a  mind. 
And  Henry,  though  he  be  inlortunate, 
Assflii-  yoiirselves,  will  never  be  unkind  : 
Anil  Ml, 'with  thanks  and  pardon  to  you  all, 
1  do  ilisiiiiss  you  to  your  several  countries. 
Alt.  God  save  the  idng  !  God  save  tlic  king ! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mef^s.  Please  it  your  grace  to  be  advt^-rtised, 
The  duke  of  York  is  newly  come  from  Ireland: 
And  with  a  puissant,  and  a  iniglily  power, 
Of  gallowglasses,  and  stout  kernes,^ 
Is  marching  hltherward  in  proud  array  ; 
And  still  proclaimeth,  as  he  comes  along, 
His  arms  are  only  to  remove  from  thee 
The  duke  of  Somerset,  whom  he  terms  a  traitor. 

K.  Hen.  Thus  stands  my  state,  'twixt  Cade  and 
York  distress'd : 
Like  to  a  siiip,  that,  having  'scaped  a  tempest, 
Is  straiglitway  calm'd  and  boarded  with  a  pirate  : 
But  now'  is  Cade  driven  back,  his  men  dispers'd; 
And  now  is  York  in  arms  to  secoiul  him. — 
I  prny  thee.  Buckiui^haiu.  go  Ibrtli  and  meet  him; 
And  ask  him.  uliat's  tlie  reason  of  these  arms. 
Tell  liim,  I'll  send  duke  Edmund  to  the  Tower; — 
And.  Somerset,  we  will  commit  thee  thither, 
Until  his  army  be  dismiss'd  iiom  him. 

.So?/;.  My  loVd, 
I'll  yield  myself  to  prison  willingly. 
Or  unto  death,  to  do  my  country  good. 

A*.  Hen.  In  any  case,  be  not  too  roniih  in  tornK; 
For  he  is  fierce,  and  cannot  hrook  hard  language. 

Bucfc.  I  will,  my  lord ;  and  doubt  not  so  to  deal, 
As  ali  things  should  redound  unto  your  good. 

K.  Hen.  Come,  wife,  let's  in,  and  learn  to  govern 
better; 
For  y€t  may  England  curse  my  wretched  reign. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  X.— Kent.   Iden's  Garden, 
Etifer  Cade, 

Carle.  Fye  on  ambition!  fye  on  myself;  that 
have  a  sword,  and  yet  am  ready  to  famish!  These 
hve  days  have  I  hid  me  in  these  woods;  and  durst 
not  pt'cp  out.  for  all  the  country  is  lay'd  tor  me; 
hut  now  am  I  so  hungry,  that  if  I  might  have  a 
lease  of  my  lite  lur  a  thousand  years.  I  could  stay 
no  longer.  Wherefare,  on  a  "brick-wall  have  I 
climbed  nito  this  garden ;  to  see  if  I  can  eat  grass, 
or  I'lek  a  sallet  another  while,  which  is  not  amiss 
to  cool  a  man's  stomach  this  hot  weather.  And,  I 
thnik.  this  word  sallet  was  born  to  do  me  good: 
Ibr,  many  a  time,  but  for  a  sallet,*  my  brain-pan 

»  TwD  ordorsof  foot  soliliers  among  the  Iri^h, 

'  Only  just  uow.  a  A  kiud  ol  helmet. 


had  been  cleft  with  a  brown  bill;  and,  many  a 
time,  when  I  had  been  dry,  and  bravely  march- 
ing, it  hath  served  me  instead  of  a  quart-jKit  to 
drink  in;  and  now  the  word  sallet  must  serve  me 
to  feed  on. 

Enter  Iden,  ivifh  Sei-vants. 

Iden.  Lord,  who  would  live   turmoiled  in   the 
court, 
And  may  rnjoy  such  quiet  walks  as  these? 
This  small  inheritance,  my  liither  left  me, 
Contenteth  me.  and  is  worth  a  monarchy. 
I  seek  not  to  wax  great  by  others'  waning ; 
Or  gather  wealth,  \  care  not  with  what  envy; 
Sutiieeth,  that  I  have  maintains  my  state. 
And  sends  the  poor  well  pleased  from  my  gate. 

Cade.  Here's  the  lord  of  the  soil  come  to  seize 
me  for  a  stray,  (or  entering  his  fee-simple  without 
leave.  Ah.  vtilam.  thou  wilt  betray  me,  and  get 
a  thousand  crowns  of  the  king  for  carryin;;  my 
head  to  him;  but  I'll  make  thee  eat  iionlikean 
ostrich,  and  swallow  my  sword  like  a  great  pin 
ere  thou  and  I  part, 

Iden.  Why,  rude  companion. whatsoe'erthou  be. 
I  know'  thee  not;  why  then  should  I  betray  theel 
Is't  not  enougli,  to  break  into  my  garden, 
And.  like  a  thief,  to  come  to  rob  my  grounds, 
Climbing  my  walls  in  spite  of  me,  the  owner. 
But  thou  wilt  brave  mc  with  these  saucy  terms'? 

Cade.  Brave   thee?  ay,  by  the   best  blood   that 
ever  was  broached,  and  beard  thee  too.  Look  on 
me  well:  1  have  eat  no  meat  these  five  days;  yet, 
come  thou  and  thy  five  men,  and  if  I  do  not  leave 
you  all  as  dead  as  a  door-nail,  I  pray  God,  I  may 
never  eat  grass  more. 
Iden.  Nay.  let  it  ne'er  be  said  while  England 
stands. 
That  Alexander  Iden,  an  esquire  of  Kent, 
Took  odds  to  combat  a  poor  famish'd  man. 
Oppose  thy  steadfast-gazing  eyes  to  mine. 
See  if  Ihou  canst  outlace  me  with  thy  looks. 
Set  limb  to  limb,  and  thou  art  far  the  lesser  ; 
Thy  hand  is  but  a  tingcr  to  my  tist ; 
Thy  leg  a  stick  compared  with  this  truncheon  ; 
My  foot  shall  fight  with  all  the  strength  thou  hast; 
And  if  mine  arm  be  heaved  in  the  air, 
Thy  grave  is  digged  alrcad}-  in  the  earth. 
As    for    more    words,  whose    greatness  answer:* 

words, 
Let  this  my  sword  report  what  speech  forbears. 

Cade.  By  my  valor,  the  most  comjjlete  champion 
that  ever  \  Jicard, — Steel,  if  thou  turn  the  edge,  ot 
cut  not  out  the  burly-boned  clown  in  chines  of 
beef  ere  thou  sleep  in  thy  sheatli.  I  beseech  God 
on  my  knees,  thou  may'st  be  turnetl  to  hobnails. 
[The  1/  fight.   Cade  falls.]    0,  I  am  slain!  famine, 
and   no  other,  hath  slain  me;  let  ten   thousand 
devils  come  against  me.  and  give  me  but  the  ten 
meals  I  have  lost,  and  I'd  defy  them  all.  Wither, 
garden  :    and  he  henceforth  a  burying-place  to  all 
that  do  dwell  in  this  house,  because  the  unconquer- 
ed  soul  of  Cade  is  lied. 
Iilen.  Is't  Cade  that  I  have  slain,  that  monstrous 
traitor] 
Sword,  I  will  Iiallow  thee  for  this  thy  deed. 
And  hang  thee  oVr  my  tomb  when  I  am  dead : 
Ne'er  shall  this  idood  be  wiped  from  thy  point; 
But  thou  shtflt  wear  it  as  a  herald's  coat. 
To  emblaze  the  honor  tiiat  thy  master  got. 

Cade.  Iden,  liirewell ;  and  be  proud  of  thy  vic- 
tory :  Tell  Kent  from  me.  she  hath  lost  her  best 
man,  and  exhort  all  the  world  to  be  cowards;  for 
I.  that  never  teared  any,  am  vanquished  by  famine, 
not  by  valor.  [Dies* 

Iden.  How  much  thou  wrong'st  me,  heaven  be 
my  judge. 
Die,  damned  wretch,  the  curse  of  hei  that  bare 

thee! 
And  as  I  thrust  thy  hody  in  with  my  sword, 
So  wish  I.  1  might  thrust  thy  soul  to  hell. 
Hence  will  I  drat;  tliee  headlong  by  the  heels 
Unto  a  dunghill,  which  shall  he  thy  grave. 
And  there  cut  oft  thy  most  ungracious  head; 
Which  I  will  bear  in  triumph  to  the  king, 
Leaving  thy  trunk  for  crows  to  feed  upon. 

[Exit,  dragsi^'^S  ^^'^  '^^  Bodi/ 


Act  V.     Scene  I. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


427 


ACT    V. 


SCENE  I.— Near  Saint  Alban's. 
T/ie  Xing's  Camp  on  one  side.   On  the  fifker,  enter 
YoKK  u/lenile'l,  wi/h  Drum  imd  Colors :  his  For- 
ces at  some  distance. 

York.  Kroni  Irclaiul  thus  comes  York,  to  claim 
liis  ritjlit, 
And  filucli  the  crown  from  feeble  Henry's  liead 
King,  bells,  aloml ;  burn,  bouHres,  clearund  bright, 
To  enlertain  Kreat  Englajid's  lawlul  king. 
All.  iaiu'ta  majista.s.'  who  wouJd  not  buy  thee  dear? 
Lcl  ilioiii  ohej ,  [hat  know  not  how  to  rule  ! 
This  band  was  made  to  handle  nought  but  gold: 
I  eaiuiot  give  due  action  to  my  words, 
Except  a  sword,  or  sceptre,  balance  it. 
A  sceptre  shall  it  have,  have  I  a  soul ; 
On  which  I'll  toss  the  tlowcr-de-luce  of  France. 

Enter  nrCKiNciiAM. 
Whom  have  wchcre?  liiickingham,  to  disturb  me. 
The  king  hath  sent  him,  sure  ;  1  Tuust  dissemble. 
Back.  York,  if  thou  meanest  well,  I  greet  thee 

well. 
York.  Humphrey  of  Buckingham,  I  accept  thy 
greeting. 
Art  thou  a  messenger,  or  come  of  pleasure  1 

Back.  A  messenger  from  Henry,  our  dread  liege. 
To  know  the  reason  of  these  arms  in  peace;  ' 
Or  why,  thou — being  a  subject  as  I  am — 
Against  thy  oath  and  true  allegiance  sworn, 
.Shouldst  raise  so  great  a  power  without  his  leave, 
Or  dare  to  brnig  thy  force  so  near  the  court. 
York.  Source  can  I  speak,  my  choler  is  ^ 
so  great, 
0, 1  could  how  up  rocks,  and  tight  with 

tlint, 
I  am  so  angry  at  these  abject  terms ; 
And  now,  liko  Ajax  Telaliionius, 
On  sheep  or  oxen  could  I  spend  my  fury  !    'f  Aside. 
1  am  tar  better  born  than  is  the  king; 
More    like    a   king,  more   kingly  in    my 

lhought.s: 
But  I  must  make  fair  weatheryct  awhile. 
Till  Henry  be   more   weak,  and  I  more 
strong. — 

0  Buckinghahi,  I  pr'ythee,  pardon  me. 
That  I  have  given  no  answer  all  this  while  ; 
My  mmd  was  troubled  with  deep  melancholy. 
The  cause  why  1  have  brought  this  army  hitlier, 
Is— to  remove  proud  Somerset  from  llie  kuig. 
Seditious  to  his  grace,  and  to  the  state. 

Buck.    That  is   too  much  presumption  on  thy 
part : 
But  if  thy  arms  be  to  no  other  end, 
The  king  halh  yielded  unto  thy  demand  ; 
The  duke  of  Somerset  is  in  the  Tower. 

Y")A-.  Upon  tliine  honor,  is  he  prisoner? 

Back.  Upon  mine  honor,  he  is  prisoner. 

Ywk.    Then    Buckingham,  I    do    dismiss   my 
powers. — 
Soldiers,  I  thank  you  all ;  disperse  yourselves; 
Meet  me  to-morrow  in  Saint  (Jeorge's  field 
You  shall  have  pay,  and  every  thing  you  wish. 
And  let  my  sovereign,  virtuous  Henry, 
t'ommand  my  eldest  son,— nay,  all  my  sons 
As  pledges  of  my  fealty  and  love, 

1  II  send  them  alias  willing  as  I  live; 
Lands,  goods,  horse,  armor,  any  thing  I  have 
Is  his  to  use,  so  Somerset  may  die. 

hack.  York,  I  commend  this  kind  submission: 
V\  e  twain  wdl  go  into  his  highness'  tent. 
En/er  Kisii  HEXuy,  attended. 
A   llc7i.  Buckingham,  doth  York  intend  no  harm 
to  us. 
That  thus  he  maichelh  with  thee  arm  in  arm  ! 

York,  luallsnl ssion  and  humility,  • 

Y'ork  dolh  inesiiii  himself  unto  your  highness 
A.Ihii.  Then  what  intend  these  Ibices  thou  dost 

bring! 
I'lrk.  To  heave  the  traitor  Somerset  from  hence- 
And  hght  against  that  monstrous  rebel.  Cade 
Who  since  1  heard  to  be  discomfited. 

Enter  Iden,  ivit/i  Cade's  Head. 
Men.  If  one  so  rude,  and  of  so  mean  condition, 


May  pass  into  the  presence  of  a  king, 
Lo,  1  prcseiyt  your  grace  a  traitor's  head, 
The  head  ot  Cade,  whom  I  in  combat  slew. 

K.  Hen.   The  head  of  Cade  !— Great  God,  how 
just  art  thou  ! — 
O,  let  me  view  his  visage  being  dead. 
That  living  wrought  me  such  exceeding  trouble. 
Tell  me,  my  iricnd,  art  thou  the  man  that  slew 
him  ! 

Iden.  I  was,  an't  like  your  m.^jesty. 

K.  Hen.  How  art  thou  call'd  !  and  what  is  thy 
degree? 

Iden.  Alexander  Iden,  that's  my  name; 
A  poor  esquire  of  Kent,  that  loves  his  king. 

Buck.  So   please  it  you,  my  lord,  'twere  not 
amiss 
He  were  created  knight  for  his  good  service. 

A'.  Hen.  Iden,  kneel  down:    [He  kneels.]    Rise 
up  a  knight. 
We  give  thee  lor  reward  a  thousand  marks; 
And  will,  that  thou  bencelorth  attend  on  us. 

Iden.  May  Iden  live  lo  merit  such  a  bounty, 
And  never  live  but  true  unto  his  Uege ! 

K.  Hen.  See,  Buckingham!  Somerset  comes  with 
the  queen  ; 
Go,  bid  her  hide  him  quicldy  from  the  duke. 
Enter  Qi-een  IMahcaret  and  Somekset. 

Q.  Mar.  For  thousand  Yorlcs  he  shall  not  hide 
his  head, 
But  boldly  stand,  and  front  him  to  his  face. 

York.  How  now!  Is  Somerset  at  liberty! 
Then,  York,  unloose  thylong-imprison'd  thoughts. 
And  lei  thy  longue  be  equal  with  thy  heart. 
Shall  1  endure  the  sight  of  Somerset  ?— 
Kalseking!  why  hast  thou  broken  fiiith  willi  me. 
Knowing  how  hardly  I  can  brook  abuse  ! 
King  did  I  call  thee  !  no,  thou  art  not  king ; 
Not  lit  to  govern  and  rule  multitudes, 
Which  dar'st  not,  no,  nor  canst  not  rule  a  traitor. 
That  head  of  thine  doth  not  become  a  crown; 
Thy  hand  is  made  to  grasji  a  palmer's  stall. 
And  not  to  grace  an  awful  princely  sceptre. 
That  gold  must  round  engirt  these  brows  of  mine; 
Whose  smile  and  frown,  like  to  Achilles'  spear, 
Is  able  with  the  change  to  kill  and  cure. 
Here  is  a  hand  to  hold  a  sceptre  up. 
And  with  the  same  to  act  controlling  laws. 
Give  place;  by  heaven,  thou  shalt  rule  no  more 

0  er  bim,  whom  heaven  created  tor  thy  ruler. 
Sinn.  O  monstrous  traitor!— I  arrest  thee,  York, 

Of  cajiital  treason  'gainst  the.  king  and  crown  : 
Obey,  audacious  traitor;  kneel  for  grace. 
York.  Wouldst  have  me  kneel  ?  tirst  let  me  ask 
ofthe.se. 
If  they  can  brook  I  bow  a  knee  to  man.— 
Sirrah,  call  in  my  sons  to  be  my  bail. 

['E.eit  an  Attendant. 

1  know,  ere  they  will  have  me  go  to  ward,» 
They'll  pawn   their  swords  for  my  onfranchisc- 

meiit. 

Q.   Mar.    Call   hither  Clillbrd ;     bid  him  come 
amain. 
To  say.  if  that  the  bastard  boys  of  York 
Shall  be  the  surety  tiir  their  traitor  father. 

York.  O  blood-besjiotted  Neapolitan, 
Outcast  of  Naples,  England's  bloody  scourge  ! 
The  sons  of  York,  thy  lietlers  in  their  birth. 
Shall  be  their  father's  bail ;  and  bane  to  those 
That  for  my  surety  will  refuse  the  boys. 

Enter  Edward  and  RiciiAnn  Plantagexet,  untti 

I'(n-ces.  nn  one  side  ;   at  tite  vtlter,  wUli  Forces 

aim,  old  Clifford,  and  liis  Hon. 

See,  where  they  come;  I'll  warrant  they'll  make 

it  good. 

Q.  ii;«r.  And  here  comes  CliQbrd,  to  deny  their 

bail. 
Ctif.    Health  and  all  happiness  to  my  lord  the 
Ji'iiK-'  [Kneels, 

iork.    I  thank  thee,  Clillbrd:   Say,  what  news 
with  thee? 
Nay,  do  not  fright  us  with  an  angry  look: 

'  Custoiiy,  confiuemeut. 


428 


SECOND   PART   OF 


Act  V. 


We  are  thy  sovereign,  Clinbrd,  kneel  again  ; 
For  thy  mistaliing  so,  we  pardon  thee. 

Clif.  Tliis  is  my  king.  York,  I  do  not  mistake; 
But  thou  mistaU'st  me  mueh,  to  tliink  I  do  ; — 
To  Bedlam  with  liim  !  is  the  man  grown  mad  1 

A'.  Hen.  Ay,  Clitibrd;  a  bedlam  and  ambitious 
humor 
Makes  him  oppose  himself  against  his  King. 

Clif,  He  is  a  traitor;  let  him  to  the  Tower, 
And'chop  away  that  tactions  pate  of  his. 

Q.  Mar.  lie  is  arrested,  but  will  not  obey ; 
His  sons,  he  says,  shall  give  their  words  for  him. 

York.  Will  you  not,  sons  1 

Eiiw.  Ay,  noble  liither,  if  our  words  will  serve. 

Ukh.  And  if  words  will  not,  then  our  weapons 
shall. 

Clif.  Why,  what  a  brood  of  traitors  have  we 
here .' 

Yitrk.  Look  in  a  glass,  and  call  thy  image  so; 
I  am  thy  king,  and  thou  a  lalse-heart  traitor. — 
Call  hither  to  the  stake  my  two  brave  bears,-" 
Tiiat,  with  the  very  shaking  of  their  chains, 
They  may  astonish  tliese  icW  lurking  curs; 
Bid  Salisbu/y,  and  Warwick,  come  to  me. 

Drums.   Enter  Warwick  and  Salisbukv,  with 
Forces. 

Clif.  Are  these  thy  bears'!  we'll  bait  thy  bears 
to  death. 
And  manacle  the  bcar-ward>  in  their  chains, 
if  tlioudar'st  bring  them  to  the  baiting-place. 

Itic/i.  Oft  have  I  seen  a  hot  o'erweening  cur 
Run  back  and  bite,  because  he  was  withheld  ; 
Wlio,  being  sufler'd  with  the  bear's  fell  paw,      ^ 
Halh  clapp'd  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  cry  d  : 
And  such  a  piece  of  service  will  you  do. 
If  jou  oppose  yourselves  to  matcli  lord  Warwick. 

Clif.  Hence,  heap  of  wrath,  tool  indigested  lump, 
As  crooked  in  thy  manners  as  thy  shape  ! 

Yurlt.  Nay,  we  shall  heat  you  thoroughly  anon. 

Clif.  Take  heed,  lest  by  your  heat  you   burn 
yourselves. 

K.  Ile'n.  Why.  Warwick,  hath  thy  knee  forgot 
to  l)OW  I — 
Old  Salisbury.— shame  to  thy  silver  hair. 
Thou  mad  niisleader  of  thy  brain-sick  son  !— 
What,  wilt  thou  on  thy  death-bed  play  the  ruffian. 
And  seek  lor  sorrow  with  thy  spectacles  ! 
O,  where  is  faith  ?    O,  where  is  loyalty? 
If  it  be  banish'd  from  the  frosty  head. 
Where  shall  it  Hnd  a  harbor  in  the  earth  ! 
Wdt  thou  go  dig  a  grave  to  find  out  war, 
And  shame  thine  honorable  age  wilh  blood  l 
Why  art  thou  old,  and  want'st  experience  ! 
Or  wherelbre  dost  abuse  it,  if  thou  hast  it  1 
For  shame  !  in  duty  bend  thy  knee  to  me. 
That  bows  unto  the  gra.ve  wi'th  micklc  age. 

Sal.  My  lord,  I  have  consider'd  with  myself 
The  title  of  this  most  renowned  duke  ; 
And  ill  my  conscience  do  repute  his  grace 
The  rightful  heir  to  England's  royal  seat. 

K.  Hen.  Hast  thou  not  sworn  allegiance  unto 
me  1 

Sal.  I  have. 

A'.  Hen.  Canst  thou  dispense  witli  heaven  for 
such  an  oath] 

Sal.  It  is  great  sin,  to  swear  unto  a  sin; 
But  greater  sin,  to  keep  a  sinful  oath. 
Who  can  be  bound  by  any  solemn  vow 
To  do  a  murderous  deed,  to  rob  a  man. 
To  Ibrce  a  spotless  virgin's  chastity. 
To  reave  the  orijhan  of  his  patrimony. 
To  wring  the  widow  from  her  custom'd  right ; 
.\nd  have  no  other  reason  tor  this  wrong, 
Jiut  tliat  he  was  bound  by  a  solemn  oath  1 

Q.  Mar.  A  subtle  traitor  needs  no  soi)hister. 

K.  Hen.   Call  Buckingham,  and  bid  him  arm 
himself. 

York.  Call  Buckingham, and  all  the  friends  thou 
hast, 
I  am  resolv'd  for  death  or  dignity. 

Clif.  The  first  I  warrant  thee,  if  dreams  prove 
true. 

War.  You  were  best  to  go  to  bed,  and  dream 
again. 
To  keep  thee  from  the  tempest  of  llie  field. 

Clif.  I  am  resolv'd  to  bear  a  greater  s  torm, 

«  Tb«  NVvils.  t-arls  of  W:uwi.  k.  had  a  bear  and  ragged 
Blatr  fjr  thdr  crest.  •  Bear-kecpBr. 


Tlian  any  thou  canst  conjure  up  to-day; 

Aufi  that  I'll  write  upon  thy  burgonet,« 

Might  I  but  know  thee  by  thy  household  badge. 

rt'ur.  Now,  by  my  father's  badge,  old  NevU's 
crest. 
The  rampant  bear  chain'd  to  the  ragged  staff, 
This  day  I'll  wear  alolt  my  burgonet, 
(As  on  a  mountain-top  the  cedar  shows. 
That  keeps  his  leaves  in  spite  of  any  storm,) 
Even  to  alTright  thee  with  the  view  'thereof 

Clif.  And  from  thy  burgonet  I'll  rend  thy  bear, 
And'tread  it  under  loot  with  all  contempt. 
Despite  the  bear-ward  that  protects  tlie  Itear. 

Y.  Clif.  And  so  to  arms,  victorious  father. 
To  quell  the  rebels,  and  their  'complices. 

Rich.  Fie!  charity,  for  shame!  speak  not  inspite, 
For  you  shall  sup  witli  Jesu  Christ  to-night. 

Y.  Clif.  Foul  stigniatic,'  that's  more  than  thou 
canst  tell. 

Rlc/i.  If  not  ill  heaven,  you'll  surely  sup  in  hell. 
[Exeunt  seveially. 

SCENE  II.— Saint  Alban's. 
Akirums:    Excursions.  Enter  Warwick. 
War.  Clifibrd  ofCuniberland,  'tis  Warwick  calls! 
And  if  thou  dost  not  hide  thee  from  the  bear. 
Now*, — when  the  angry  trumpet  sounds  alarm, 
And  dead  men's  cries'do  till  ttie  empty  air. — 
Clillbrd,  I  say,  come  Ibrth  and  fight  with  me  ! 
Proud  nortfiern  lord,  Clilford  of  Cumberland, 
Warwick  is  hoarse  wilh  calling  thee  to  arms. 

Enter  York. 
How  now.  my  noble  lord  ?  what,  all  a-foot  1 

York.  Thcdeadly-handed  Clillbrd  slewmysteed; 
But  match  to  match  1  have  encountcr'd  liim. 
And  made  a  prey  lor  carrion  kites  and  c/ows, 
Even  of  the  bonny  beast  he  lov'd  so  well. 

Enter  Clifford. 
War.  Of  one  or  both  of  us  the  time  is  come. 
York.  Hold,  Warwick,  seek  thee  out  some  other 
chase. 
For  I  my.self  must  hunt  this  deer  to  death. 

War.  Then,  nobly,  York;  'tis  for  a  crown  tiiou 
fight'st.— 
As  I  intend,  Clitibrd,  to  thrive  to-day. 
It  grieves  my  soul  to  leave  thee  unassail'd. 

\_ExU  Warwick. 
Clif.  What  scest  thou  in  me,  York !  why  dost 

thou  pause  ? 
York.  With  thy  brave  bearing  should  I  be  in  love, 
But  that  thou  art  so  fast  mine  enemy. 
Clif.  Nor  should  thy  prowess  want  praise  and 
esteem. 
But  that  'tis  shown  ignobly  and  in  treason. 

York.  So  let  it  hel])  me  now  against  thy  sword. 
As  I  injustice  and  true  right  exjiress  it! 
Clif.  RIy  soul  and  body  on  the  action  both  !— 
York.  A  dreadful  lay  !' — address  tiiee  instantly. 
[They  fight,  and  ChiFFORV  falls. 
Clif.  La  fin  couronne  'les  auvres.  [Hies. 

York.  Tlius  war  liath  given  thee  peace,  for  thou 
art  still. 
Peace  with  his  soul.  Heaven,  if  it  be  thy  will ! 

[Exit. 

Enter  Young  Clifford. 
Y.  Clif.  Shame  and  confusion !  all  is  on  the  rout ! 
Fear  fiames  disorder,  and  disorder  wounds 
W^liere  it  should  guard.    O  war,  thou  son  of  hell 
AVhom  angry  heavens  do  make  their  minister, 
Throw  in  tlie  trozeii  bosoms  of  our  part 
Hot  coals  of  vengeance; — Let  no  soldier  fly: 
He  that  is  truly  dedicate  to  war, 
Hath  no  sclf-ldvc;  nor  he  that  loves  himself. 
Hath  not  essentially,  but  by  circumstanee, 
The  name  of  valor. — 0,  let  tlie  vile  world  end, 

[Seein.s:  his  dead  Father. 
And  the  premised'^  (lames  of  the  last  day 
Knit  ?arth  and  heaven  together! 
Now  let  the  general  trumpet  blow  his  blast, 
Particularities  and  petty  sounds 
To  cease ! — Wast  thou  ordain'd,  dear  father, 

•  Helmet. 

1  One  on  whom  nature  has  set  a  mark  of  deformity,  a 
stigma, 
e  A  flreadful  wager,  a  tremendous  stake. 

•  Sent  before  their  time. 


Scene  III. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


429 


To  lose  thy  j  outli  in  peace,  and  to  achieve 

The  silver  liverj-  oi  advised  age; 

And  in  thy  reference,  and  thy  chair-days,  thus 

To  die  in  ruffian  battle?— Even  at  this  sight. 

My  heart  is  tiirn'd  to  stone;  and,  while  'tis  mine, 

It  shall  be  stony.    YorJi  not  our  old  men  spares ; 

No  more  will  I  their  babes :  tears  virginal 

Shall  be  to  me  even  as  the  dew  to  lire ; 

And  beauty,  that  the  tyrant  olt  reclaims. 

Shall  to  my  flaming  wrath  be  oil  and  flax. 

Hencetorth,  I  will  not  have  to  do  with  pity  : 

Meet  I  an  inl'ant  ol'the  Jiouse  of  York, 

Into  as  many  gobbets  will  I  cut  it. 

As  wild  Medea  young  Absyrtus  did: 

In  cruelty  will  I  seek  out  my  fame. 

Come,  thou  new  ruin  of  old  Clilibrd's  house  ; 

[  Taking  up  the  Body. 
As  did  Jilneas  old  Anchises  bear. 
So  bear  I  thee  upon  my  manly  shoulders; 
But  then  .•'Eneas  bare  a  living  load. 
Nothing  so  heavy  as  these  woes  of  mine.       [Exit. 

Enter  Richard  Plaxtagexet  and  i>mw.u%w:, fight- 
ing, and  Somerset  is  kilted. 
Rich.  So,  lie  thou  there; — 
For,  underneath  an  alehouse'  paltry  sign, 
Tlic  Castle  in  Saint  Alban's,  Somerset 
Hath  mode  the  wizard  lamous  in  his  death. — 
Sword,  hold  thy  temper:  heart,  be  wrathful  still: 
Priests  pray  for  enemies,  but  princes  kill.      [Exit. 

Alarums:  Excursions.  in/crKixGllESRY, Qlten 
MAncAKET,  and  others,  retreating. 
Q.   Mar.  Away,  my  lord!  you  are  slow;  for 

shatiio,  away  ! 
K.Hen.  Can  we  outrun  the  heavens?  good  Mar- 
garet, stay. 
Q.  Mur.-\\ha.l  are  you  made  of?  you'll  not  fight, 
nor  lly : 
Now  is  it  manliood,  wisdom,  and  defence. 
To  give  the  enemy  way :  and  to  secure  us 
By  w^iiat  we  can,  which  can  no  more  but  fly. 

{Atarunt  afar  off. 
If  you  be  ta'en.  we  then  should  see  the  bottom 
01' all  our  fortunes:  but  if  we  ha])ly  'scape, 
(As  well  we  may,  if  not  through  your  neglect,) 
\Ve  shall  to  London  get ;  where  you  are  lov'd ; 
And  where  this  breach,  now  in  our  fortunes  made. 
May  readily  be  stopp'd. 

Enter  Young  Clifford. 
y.  Clif.  But  that  my  heart's  on  future  mischief  set, 
1  would  speak  blasphemy  eie  hid  you  fly  ; 
But  fly  you  must;  uncurable  discomlit 


Reigns  in  the  hearts  of  all  our  present  parts.i 
Away,  for  your  relief!  and  we  will  live 
To  see  their  day,  and  them  our  fortune  give: 
Away,  my  lord,  away  !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  111.— Fields  near  Saint  Alban's. 
Alarum:    Retreat.    Elnurlth ;    tlieii  enter  York, 

Richard  Plantaoexet,  Warwick,  and  Soldiers, 

trith  Drum  and  Colors. 

York.  Of  Salisbury,  who  can  report  of  liim; 
That  winter  lion,  who,  in  rage,  forgets 
Aged  contusions  and  all  brush  of  time  ;- 
And,  like  a  gallant  in  tlie  brow  of  youth,^ 
Repairs  him  with  occasion  !  this  happy  day 
Is  not  itself,  nor  have  we  won  one  loot, 
If  Salisbury  be  lost. 

Rich.  My  nob/t;  father. 

Three  times  to-day  I  holp  him  to  his  horse. 
Three  times  beslrid  him,  thrice  I  led  him  off, 
Persuaded  him  from  any  lurther  act ; 
But  still,  where  danger  was,  still  there  I  met  him- 
And  like  rich  hangings  in  a  homely  house, 
So  was  his  will  in  his  old  feeble  body. 
But,  noble  as  he  is,  look,  where  he  comes. 
Enter  Salisbcky. 

Sal.  Now,  by  my  sword,  well  hast  thou  fought 
to-day ; 
By  the  mass,  so  did  we  all.  -I  thank  you,  Richard, 
God  knows,  how  long  it  is  1  ha\e  to  live; 
And  it  hath  picas'd  him,  that  three  times  to-day 
You  have  defended  me  Irom  imminent  death. — 
Well,  lords,  we  have  not  got  that  which  we  have:* 
'Tis  not  enough  our  foes  are  this  time  tied. 
Being  opposites  of  such  reiiairing  nature.' 

York.  I  know,  our  salety  is  to  follow  them ; 
For,  as  I  hear,  the  king  is  fled  to  London, 
To  call  a  present  court  of  parliament. 
Let  us  pursue  iiim,  ere  the  writs  go  Itjrth  : — 
What  says  lord  Warwick  ?  shall  we  after  them  ? 

Il'ur.  After  them !  nay,  before  them,  if  we  ciin. 
Now  by  my  faith,  lords,  'twas  a  glorious  day  : 
Saint  Alban's  battle,  won  by  famous  York, 
Stiall  be  eterniz'd  in  all  age' to  come. — 
Sound,   drums   and    trumpets: — and  to   London 

all: 
And  more  such  days  as  these  to  us  befall ! 

[Exeunt. 

I  For  parties.  «  i.  f.  The  pr.idual  detrilitin  of  time. 

>  i.  c.  The  height  of  youth;  the  brow  of  ahiU  is  its  sum- 
mit. 

•  I.  e.  We  hare  not  seriired  thnt  which  we  hare  acquired. 

•  i.  f.  Being  eneniies  that  are  likely  so  soon  to  rally  and 
recover  themselves  from  this  defeat. 


THIRD  PART  OF 

KING  HENRY  YI. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


Lords  Oil  King 
Henry's  side. 


KiN'G  Hexrt  the  Sixth. 

Edward,  Prince  o/' Wales,  his  Sun. 

Lewis  the  Eleventh,  King  of  France. 

Duke  of  Somerset, 

Duke  of  Exeter, 

Eari,  of  Oxford, 

Earl  of  Northumrerlaxd, 

Earl  of  Wesimorelaxd, 

Lord  Clifford, 

Richard  Plaxtaoenet,  Duke  of  York. 

Edward.  Ear{  /(^March,  afltrwavth 

King  Edward' //if  Foiirt/i, 
Ed.muxd,  Eart  o/' Rutland, 
George,  afterwards  Duke  of  Clarence, 
Richard,  afterwards  Luke  (i/'Glostcr, 
Dcke  of  Norfolk, 
Marvuis  op  JMoxtagce, 
Earl  of  Warwick, 
Earl  op  Peji  broke, 
Lord  Hastixcs, 
Lord  Stafford, 
Henry,  Earl  of  Riclimon'd,  a  Youth. 


>  his  Sons. 


of  the  Duke  rfYovk': 
f  I'arlu. 


Sir  John  Mortimer,  )       Uncles  to  the  Duke  oj 

Sir  High  Mortimer,  )  York. 

Lord  Rivers,  Brother  to  Lady  Grey 

Sir  William  Stanley. 

Sir  John  Montgomery. 

Sir  John  Somerville. 

Tulm-  to  Rutland. 

Mayor  of  York. 

Lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 

A  Kotilcnian. 

Two  Keepers. 

A  Huntsman. 

A  Son  that  has  killed  his  Fattier. 

A  Father  that  has  killed  hi^  Son. 

Queen  Margaret. 

Lady  Guey,  ajlerwards  Queen   to   Edward   the 

Fourth. 
Bona,  sister  to  the  French  Queen. 

Soldiers,  and  other  Attendants  on  King  Henry  and 
A'i^g-  Edward,  Messengers,  Watchmen,  ^c. 


SCENE,  during  part  of  the  third  act,  in  France ;  during  all  the  rest  of  the  play,  in  England. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I— London.    The  Parliament  House. 

Drums.    Some  Soldwrs  of  York's  parf  if  break  in. 
Then  enter  the  Duke  uf  York,  Kuward,  Rich- 
aud,  Norfolk,  Montague,  WAR;Ya'K,flrtt/o/Aer5, 
witk  white  Ruses  in  their  Hats. 
War.  I  wonder  how  the  kinj;  escaped  our  hands. 
York.  Whilo  we  pursued  the  horsemen  of  tiie 
north, 
He  sliiy  stole  away,  and  left  his  men  : 
Whereat  the  ^T»^at  lord  ot' Northumberland, 
Whose  warlike  ears  could  never  brook  retreat, 
Cheer'd  up  the  droojjnif?  army:  and  liimselt', 
Lord  Clillbrd.  and  lord  StaHord,  all  a-breast, 
Chartered  our  main  battle's  front,  and,  breaking  in, 
Were  by  the  swords  of  common  soldiers  slain. 
£<lw.  Lord  Stallbrd's  lather,  duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, 
Is  either  slain,  or  wounded  dangerous : 
I  dell  his  beaver  with  a  downright  blow; 
That  this  is  true,  father,  behold  nis  blood. 

[Sh^nving  his  bloody  Sword. 
Mont.  And,   brother,  here's   the   earl    of  Wilt- 
shire's blood,  [7*0  YoRKy  showing  his. 
Whom  I  encounter'd  as  the  battles  join'd. 
y^;W/.Si)eak  thou  lor  me,  and  tell  them  what  I  did. 
[Thnncing  iluwu  the  Dlkk  ok  Somerset's  Head, 
lurk.  Kichard  hath  Ijest  deserv'd  ol'all  my  sons. — 
What,  is  your  grace  dead,  my  lord  ol  tlomcrset  ? 
430 


Noff.  Such  hope  have  all  the  line  of  John  of 

Gaunt! 
Rieh.  Thus  do  I  hope  to  shake  king  IIenr}''s 

head. 
War.  And  so  do  I. — Victorious  prince  of  York, 
Before  I  see  thee  seated  in  that  throne 
Which  now  the  house  of  Lancaster  usurps, 
I  vow  by  iiea\'en,  these  eyes  shall  never  close. 
This  is  the  palace  of  the  iearful  king,   - 
And  tliis  the  regal  seat:  possess  it,  York: 
For  this  is  thine,  and  not  king  Henry's  heirs'. 
Yurk.  Assist  me  then,  sweet  Warwick,  and  1 
will ; 
For  hither  we  have  broken  in  by  force. 
No?-/.  We'll  all  assist  you;  he  that  Hies,  shall  die. 
York.  Thanks,  gentle  Norfolk, — Stay  by  me,  my 
lords ; — 
And,  soldiers,  stay,  and  lodge  by  me  this  night. 
War.  And,  when  the  king  comes,  oiler  him  no 
violence. 
Unless  he  seek  to  thrust  5"ou  out  by  force. 

[Then  retire. 
York.  The  queen,  this  day,  here  holds  her  par- 
liament, 
Rut  little  thinks  we  shall  be  of  her  council : 
liy  words,  or  blows,  Jiere  let  us  win  our  right. 
Rich.  Arm'dasweare.let'sstay  within  this  house. 
Jl'a?:  The  bloody  parliament  shall  this  be  call'd, 
Unless  Plantagenct,  duke  of  York,  be  lang : 


Scene  I. 


KING   HENRY   VI. 


431 


And  bashful  Henry  depos'd,  whose  cowardice 
Hath  made  us  by-words  to  our  enemies. 

York'  Then  leave  nie  not,  my  lords;  be  resolute; 
I  mean  to  take  possession  ol'my  riglit. 

IVai:  Neitlier  the  king,  nor  he  tliat  loves  him 
best, 
The  proudest  he  that  holds  up  Lancaster, 
Dares  stir  a  wing,  if  Warwick  shake  his  bells.' 
I'll  plant  Plantagenet,  root  him  up  who  dares: — 
llcsolve  thee,  Richard;  claim  the  English  crown. 
[VVakhick  leads  York  iu  the  Tkrune,  who 
seats  himself. 

Flourish.  Enter  King  Henky,  Clifford,  North- 
i:.Mi>KKLANi),  Westmoreland,  Exetek,  and  otAcrs, 
ivith  red  Koses  in  llieir  Hats. 

K.  lien.  My  lords,  look  where  the  sturdy  rebel 
sits, 
Even  in  lire  chair  of  state  !  belike,  he  means, 
(Back'd  by  tlie  power  of  Warwick,  that  (alse  peer,) 
To  aspire  unto  the  crown,  and  reign  as  king. — 
Earl  01  Northumberland,  he  slew  thy  lather; 
And  thine,  lord  Clillord;  and  you  both  have  vow'd 

revenge 
On  him,  his  sons,  his  favorites,  and  his  friends. 
Ntirlh.  If  I  be  not,  heaven  be  revenged  on  me! 
CliJ.  The  hope  thereof  makes  Clillord  mourn  in 

steel. 
JVesl.  What,  shall  we  suffer  this  ?  let's  pluck  him 
down  : 
My  heart  lor  anger  burns,  I  cannot  brook  it. 
A'.  Hen.  Be  patient,  gentle  earl  of  Westmoreland. 
Clif.  Tatience  is  for  poltroons,  and  siicli  as  he ; 
He  durst  not  sit  there  had  your  liither  liv'd. 
My  gracious  lord,  liere  m  the  parliament 
Let  us  assail  the  lamily  of  Vork. 
Narth.  Well  hast  thou  spoken,  cousin;  be  it  so. 
A'.  Hen.  Ah.  know  you  not,  the  city  lavors  them, 
And  they  have  troops  of  soldiers  at  their  beck  '. 
Exe.  But  when  the  duke  is  slain,  they'll  quickly 

Ily. 
A.  //(•;;.  Far  be  the  thought  of  this  from  Henry's 
heart 
To  make  a  shambles  of  the  parliament-house ! 
Cousin  of  Exeter,  frowns,  words,  and  thrimfs. 
Shall  be  the  war  that  Henry  means  to  use. — 

[  Tliey  advance  to  the  Di'ke. 
Thou  factious  duke  of  York,  descend  my  throne, 
And  kneel  for  grace  and  mercy  at  my  liset; 
1  am  thy  sovereign. 

York.  Thou  art  deceiv'd,  I  am  thine. 

Exe.  Eor  shame,  come  down ;  he  made  thee  duke 

of  York. 
York.  'Twiis  my  inheritance,  as  the  earldom  was. 
Exe.  Thy  lather  was  a  traitor  to  the  crown. 
M'lir.  Exeler,  thou  art  a  traitor  to  the  crown, 
In  lollowiiig  this  usurping  Henry. 
Cllf.  Whom  should  he  follow,  but  his  natural 

king ! 
War.  True,  Clillord;  and  that's  Richard,  duke 

of  York. 
A'.  Hen.  And  shall  I  stand,  and  thou  sit  in  mv 
throne  ]  •' 

Yrtrk.  It  must  and  shall  be  so.    Content  thyself. 
War.  Be  duke  of  Lancaster,  let  him  be  king. 
It"(w/.  He  is  bolh  king  and  duke  ol  Lancaster ; 
Aiid_  that  the  lord  of  Westmoreland  shall  maintain. 
IVur.  And  Warwick  shall  dis])rove  it.  You  Ibrget, 
That  wo  arc  those,  which  chas'd  you  from  the  held, 
And  slew  your  lathers,  and  with  colors  spread 
March'd  through  the  cily  to  the  palace  gates. 

Aiirth.  Vcs,  Warw  ick,  I  remember  it  to  my  grief; 
And,  by  his  soul,  thou  and  thy  house  shall  rue  it. 
II  est.  Flantagcuot,  of  thee,  and  these  thy  sons. 
Thy  kinsmen  and  thy  friends,  I'll  have  more  lives 
Than  drops  of  blood  were  in  my  father's  veins. 

Clif.  Urge  it  no  more ;  lest  that,  instead  of  words, 
I  send  thee,  Warwick,  such  a  messenger, 
As  shall  reviuige  his  death,  before  I  stir. 

H-'ur.  Poor  Clillord!  how  I  scorn  his  worthless 

threats! 
Yurk  Will  you,  we  show  our  title  to  the  crown' 
If  not.  our  pv^'ords  shall  plead  it  in  the  held. 
A'.  Hen.  What  title  hast    thou,    traitor,  to  the 
crown  ] 
Thy  father  was.  as  thou  art,  duke  of  York; 
Thy  grandfather,  Roger  Mortimer,  earl  of  March; 

1  Ibiwka  bad  sometiuKis  little  bells  hung  on  tbein,  per- 
haps to  dare  the  birds ;  that  is,  to  fright  them  from  rising. 


I  am  the  son  of  Henry  the  Fifth, 

Who  made  the  dauphin  and  the  French  to  stoop, 

And  seiz'd  upon  their  towns  and  provinces. 

War.  Talk  not  of  France,  si  th  thou  h;ist  lost  it  all. 
A'.  Hen.  The  lord  protector  lost  it,  and  not  I ; 
When  1  was  crown'd,  I  was  but  nine  months  old. 
Rich.  Y'ou  arc  old  enough  now,  and  yet  methinks 
you  lose : — 
Father,  tear  the  crown  from  the  usurper's  head. 
Edw.  Sweet  father,  do  so  ;  set  it  on  your  head. 
Mont.  Cood  brother,  [To  York.]  as  thou  lov'st 
and  honor'st  arms. 
Let's  light  it  out,  and  not  stand  cavilling  thus. 
Rich.  Sound  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  king 

will  llj-. 
York.  Sons,  peace  ! 
A'.  Hen.  Peace  thou!  and  give  king  Henry  leave 

to  speak. 
War.  Plantagenet  shall  speak  first : — hear  him, 
lords ; 
And  be  you  silent  and  attentive  too. 
For  he,  that  interrupts  him,  shall  not  live. 
A'.  Hen.  Think'st  thou,  thai  I  will  leave  my 
kingly  tiirone. 
Wherein  my  grandsire,  and  my  father,  sat? 
No :  first  shall  wiw  un))eople  this  my  realm ; 
Ay,  and  their  colors,— olten  borne  in  France; 
And  now  in  England,  to  our  heart's  great  sorrow, — 
Shall  be  my  winding  sheet. — Why  faint  you,  lordis  ] 
My  title's  good,  and  better  far  than  his. 

(('«i-.  But  prove  it,  Henry,  and  thou  shalt  be  king. 
K.  Hen.  Henry  the  F'ourlh  by  conquest  got  the 

crown. 
York.  "Twas  by  rebellion  against  his  king. 
A'.  Hen.  1  know  not  w  hat  to  say ;  my  title's  weak. 
Tell  me,  may  not  a  king  adopt  an  hc'ir ! 
York.  What  then"! 

A'.  Hen.  An  if  he  may,  then  am  I  lawful  king: 
For  Richard,  in  the  view  of  many  lords, 
Rcsign'd  the  crown  to  Henry  the  Fourth  ; 
Whose  heir  my  father  was,  and  I  am  his. 

Yurk.  He  rose  against  him,  being  his  sovereign, 
And  made  him  to  resign  his  crown  perlbrce. 

War.  Suppose,  my  lords,  he  did  it  unconstrain'd, 
Think  you,  'twere  prejudicial  to  his  crown  '! 

E.re.  No ;  lor  he  could  not  so  resign  his  crown, 
But  that  the  next  heir  should  succeed  and  reign. 
A'.  Hen.  Art  thou  against  us,  duke  of  Exeter  1 
Exe.  His  is  the  right,  and  therefore  pardon  nic. 
York.  Why  whisper  you,  my  lords,  and  answer 

not ! 
E.ce.  My  conscience  tells  me,  he  is  lawful  king. 
K.  lien.  All  will  revolt  from  me,  and  turn  to 

him. 
Nmih.  Plantagenet,  for  all  the  claim  thou  lay'st, 
Think  not,  that  Henry  shall  be  so  depos'd. 
War.  Depos'd  he  shall  be,  in  despite  of  all. 
A'orth.  Thou  art  deceiv'd:  'tis  not  thy  southern 
power. 
Of  Essex,  Norfolk,  Sutlolk,  nor  of  Kent,-^ 
Which  makes  thee  thus  jTesumptuons  and  proud, — 
Can  set  Ihe  duke  up  lU  ilespite  of  me. 

Clif'.  King  Henry,  be  thy  title  right  or  wrong, 
Lord  Clifibrd  vows  to  fight  in  thy  deli?nce  : 
May  that  ground  gape,  and  swallow  me  alive. 
Where  I  shall  kneel  to  him  that  slew  my  lather  ! 
A'.  Hen.   O  Cliilbrd,  how  thy  words  revive  my 

heart! 
York.  Henry  of  L.ancastcr,  resign  thy  crown: — 
What  mutter  you,  or  \\hat  conspire  you,  lords  1 

War.  Do  right  unto  this  princely  duke  of  York: 
Or  I  will  fill  the  house  with  armed  men. 
And  o'er  the  chair  of  state  where  now  he  sit-s, 
Write  iii>  his  title  with  usurimig  blood. 

[He  stamps,  and  the  Sokliers  sluiw  fhem.selves. 
K.  Hen.  My  lord  of  Warwick,  hear  me  but  one 
word ; 
Let  me,  for  this  my  life-time,  reign  as  king. 
Yurk.  Confirm  the  crown  to  me,  and  to  mine 
heirs. 
And  thou  shalt  reign  in  quiet  while  thou  liv'st. 
K.  Hen.  1  am  content :  Richard  Plantagenet, 
Enjoy  the  kingdom  aller  my  decease. 
Clif.  What  wrong  is  this"  unto  the  prince  your 

son  * 
H'«r.What  good  is  this  to  England  and  himself? 
West.  Base,  fearful,  and  despairing  Henry  ! 
Clif.  How  hast  thou  injur'd  bolh  thyself  and  us? 
West.  I  cannot  stay  to  hear  these  articles. 
Kortli.  Nor  I. 


432 


THIRD    PART   OP 


Act  1, 


Clif.  Come,  cousin,  let  us  tell  the  queen  these 

news. 
West.   Farewell,  faint-hearted  and  degenerate 
king. 
In  ^Yhose  cold  blood  no  spark  of  honor  bides ! 

jSiortk.  Be  thou  a  prey  unto  the  house  of  York, 
And  die  in  bands  for  tliis  unnumJy  deed  ! 

Cllf.  In  dreadful  war  niayst  thou  be  overcome  ! 
Or  li\e  in  peace,  abandori'd  and  despis'd  ! 

{Exeunt  Northujibeuland,  CLirFonD,  and 
Westmorelasd. 
War.  Turn  this  way,  Henry,  and  regard  them 

not. 
£xe.  They  seek  revenge,  and  therefore  will  not 

yield. 
K.  Hen.  Ah.  Exeter ! 
W^ar.  Why  should  you  siffh,  my  lord  ? 
K.  Hen.  Not  for  nijseH,  lord  Warwick,  but  my 
son, 
VV'hom  I  unnaturally  shall  disinherit. 
But,  be  it  as  it  may : — I  licre  entail 
The  crown  to  thee,  and  to  thine  heirs  for  ever; 
Conditionally,  that  here  thou  take  an  oath 
To  cease  this  civil  war,  and,  whilst  I  live, 
To  lionor  me  as  thy  king  and  sovereign; 
And  neither  by  treason,  nor  hostility. 
To  seek  to  put  mc  down,  and  reign  thyself. 

Y(/rk.  This  oath  I  willingly  take,  and  will  per- 
form. [Coming  fruni.  /he  Throne. 
War.  Long  live  king  Henry  !—riantagenet,  em- 
brace hiin. 
A".  Hen.  And  long  live  thou,  and  these  thy  for- 
ward sons ! 
York.  Now  York  and  Lancaster  are  reconcil'd. 
£xe.  Accurs'd  be  he,  that  seeks  to  make  them 
foes '  [  The  Lords  come  forward. 
York.  Farewell,  my  gracious  lord;    I'll  to  my 

castle. 
War.  And  I'll  keep  London,  with  my  soldiers. 
M)rf.  And  I  to  Norfolk,  with  my  followers. 
Mont.  And  1  unto  the  sea,  from  whence  I  came. 
[Exeunt  Y'ork,  and  his  Sons,  Warwick, 
Norfolk,  Mo.-crAGfE,  Soldiers,  and 
Attendants. 
K.  Hen..  And  I,  with  grief  and  sorrow,  to  the 
court. 

Enter  Queen  Marraret,  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales. 

Exe.  Here  comes  the  queen,  whose  looks  bewray 
her  anger; 
I'll  steal  away. 

K.  Hen.  Exeter,  so  will  I.  [Going. 

Q.  Mar.  Nay,  go  not  from  me,  I  will  follow  thee. 

K.  Hen.  Be  patient,  gentle  queen,  and  I  will  stay. 

Q.  Mar.  Who  can  be  patient  in  such  extremes  ! 
Ah,  wretched  man  !  'would  I  had  died  a  maid. 
And  never  seen  thee,  never  borne  thee  son, 
Seeing  thou  hast  prov'd  so  unnatural  a  father ! 
Hath  he  deserv'd  to  lose  his  birthright  thus  ] 
Hadst  thou  but  lov'd  him  half  so  well  as  I ; 
Or  felt  that  pain,  which  I  did  for  him  once; 
Or  nourish'd  him,  as  I  did  with  my  blood ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  left  thy  dearest  heart-blood 

there, 
Rather  than  mad"  that  savage  duke  thine  heir, 
And  disinherited  thine  only  son. 

Prince.  Father,  you  cannot  disinherit  me: 
If  you  be  king,  why  should  1  not  succeed  ? 

A'.    Jleu.    Pardon  me,  Margaret ;— pardon  me, 
sweet  son ; — 
The  earl  of  Warwick  and  the  duke  enforced  me. 

Q.  Mar.  Enforced  thee  !  art  thou  lung,  and  wilt 
be  tbrcetl  I 
I  shame  to  hear  thee  speak.  Ah,  timorous  wretch ! 
Thou  h.ast  undone  thyself,  thy  son,  and  me; 
And  given  unto  the  house  of'York  such  head, 
As  thou  Shalt  reign  but  by  their  sutlerance. 
To  entail  him  and  his  hei'rs  unto  the  crown, 
Wliat  is  it,  but  to  make  thy  sepulchre, 
And  creep  into  it  far  before  thy  time? 
Warwick  is  chancellor,  and  the  hu'd  of  Calais; 
Stern  Kalconliridge  eoinniands  Ihe  narrow  seag; 
The  duke  is  ina>le  i)roteel(ir  of  the  realm; 
And  yet  Shalt  Ihun  be  sali-?  such  sul'ety  finds 
The  trembling  lamb,  environed  with  wolves. 


Had  I  been  there,  which  am  a  silly  woman. 
The  soldiers  should  have  toss'd  mo  on  their 


Before  I  would  have  granted  to  that  act. 


their  pikes. 


But  thou  preferr'st  thy  life  before  thine  honor: 
And  seeing  thou  dost,  I  here  divorce  niyselt; 
Both  from  thy  table,  Henry,  and  thy  bed, 
Until  that  act  of  parliament  be  repeal'd. 
Whereby  my  son  is  di'sinherited. 
The  northern  lords,  that  have  forsworn  thy  colors. 
Will  (iillow  mine,  if  once  they  see  them  spread: 
And  spread  they  shall  be;  to  thy  foul  disgrace. 
And  utter  ruin  of  the  house  of  York. 
Thus  do  I  leave  thee  :— Come,  son,  let's  away  ; 
Our  army's  ready;  come,  we'll  after  them. 
A'.  Hrn.    Stay,  gentle  JMargaret,  and  hear  me 

speak. 
Q.  Mar.  Thou  hast  spoke  too  much  already;  get 

thcc  gone. 
A".  Hen.  Rentle  son  Edward,  thou  wilt  stay  with 

me  1 
<?.  Mar.  .A.y,  to  be  murder'd  by  his  enemies. 
Prince.  When  I  return  with  victory  from  the 
tield, 
I'll  see  your  grace  :  till  then,  I'll  follow  her. 
Q.  Mar.  Come,  sou,  away ;   we  may  not  linger 
thus. 
[Exexint  Qiteen  Margaret  and  the  Prince. 
A".  Hen.  Poor  queen  !    how  love  to  me,  and  to 
her  son. 
Hath  made  her  break  out  into  terms  of  rage  ! 
Revenged  may  she  be  on  that  hateful  duke; 
Whose  haughty  spirit,  winged  witli  desire. 
Will  cost  my  crown,  and,  like  an  empty  eagle. 
Tire'  on  the  llesh  of  me,  and  of  my  son  ! 
The  loss  of  those  three  lords  torments  my  heart: 
1  11  write  unto  them,  and  entreat  them  fair;— 
Come,  cousin,  you  shall  be  the  messenger. 
Exe.  And  I,  I  hope,  shall  reconcile  them  all. 


[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. — A  Room  in.  Sandal  Castle,  near 
Wakefield,  in  Y'orkshire. 

Enter  Edward,  Richard,  and  Montagce. 
Rich.  Brother,  though  I  be  youngest,  give  mo 

leave. 
Edw.  No,  I  can  better  play  the  orator. 
Mont.  But  I  liave  reasons  strong  and  forcible. 

*  Enter  York. 

Ytn-k.  Why,  how  now,  sons  and  brother,  at  a 
strife  1 
What  is  your  quarrel  1  how  began  it  first  1 
Edw.  No  quarrel  but  a  slight  contention. 
York.  About  what  ? 

Rich.  About  that  which  concerns  your  grace, 
and  us; 
The  crown  of  England,  fiuher,  which  is  yours. 
Yin-k.  Mine,  boy?  not  till  king  Henry  be  dead. 
Rich.  Your  right  depends  not  on  his  life,  or  death. 
Edw.  Now  you  are  heir,  thereibre  enjoy  it  now: 
By  giving  the  house  of  Lancaster  leave  to  breatlie, 
It  will  outrun  you,  father,  in  the  end. 
York.    I  took  an  oath  that  he  sliould  quietly 

reign. 
Edw.   But,  for    a  kingdom,  any  oath  may   be 
broken : 
I'd  break  a  thousand  oaths,  to  reign  one  year. 
Ricli.  No ;  God  forbid,  your  grace  should  be  tor- 
sworn. 
York.  I  shall  be,  if  I  claim  by  open  war. 
Rich.  I'll  prove  the  contrary,  if  you'll  hear  ma 

speak. 
York.  Thou  canst  not,  son;  it  is  impossible. 
Rich.  An  oath  is  of  no  moment,  being  not  took 
Belbre  a  true  and  lawful  magistrate. 
That  hath  authority  over  him  that  swears  : 
Henry  had  none,  but  did  usurp  the  place  ; 
Then,  seeing  'twas  ho  that  made  you  to  depose, 
Your  oath,  my  lord,  is  vain  and  frivolous. 
Therefore,  to  arms.  And,  father,  do  but  think. 
How  sweet  a  thing  it  is  to  wear  a  crown  ; 
Within  whose  circuit  is  Elysium, 
And  all  tliat  poct-s  feign  of  bliss  and  Joy. 
Why  do  we  linger  thus  ?  I  cannot  rest. 
Until  the  white  rose,  that  I  wear,  be  dyed 
Even  in  the  lukewarm  blood  of  Henry's  heart. 

York.  Richard,  enough  ;  I  will  be  king,  or  die.— 
Brotlier,  thou  shall  to  London  presently. 
And  whet  on  Warwick  to  this  enterprise. — 
Thou,  Richard,  shall  unto  the  duke  of  Norfolk, 
And  tell  him  privily  of  our  intent. — 

•  Peok. 


Scene  IV. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 


400 
0.3 


You.  Edward,  shall  unto  my  lord  Cobham, 
With  whom  the  Kentishmeii  will  willingly  rise: 
In  them  I  trust ;  for  they  are  soldiers, 
Witty^  and  courteous,  liberal,  full  of  spirit.^ 
While  you  are  thus  employ'd,  what  resteth  more, 
But  that  I  seek  occasion  how  to  rise; 
And  yet  the  kina;  not  privy  to  my  drift, 
Nor  any  of  the  house  of  Lancaster? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
ButjUtay;  What  news  !  Why  com'st  thou  m  such 
post ! 
Mess.  Tlie  queen,  witii  all  the  northern  earls  and 
lords, 
Intend  here  to  besiege  you  in  your  castle : 
She  IS  hard  hy  with  twenty  thousand  men; 
And  therefore  Ibrtify  your  hold,  my  lord. 

York.  Ay,  vvilh  my  sword.    What,  think'st  thou, 
triat  we  lear  tliem  ! — 
Edw'ard  and  Richard,  you  shall  stay  witli  me; — 
My  brother  Montague  shall  post  toLondon: 
Let  noble  Warwick,  Cobham,  and  the  rest. 
Whom  we  have  left  protectors  of  the  king. 
With  powerful  policy  strengthen  themselves, 
And  trust  not  simple  Henry,  nor  his  Oi^ths. 

Miint.  Brother,  1  go;   I'll  win  them,  fear  it  not : 
And  thus  most  humbly  do  I  take  my  leave.  [Exit. 
Enter  Sir  .Toun  and  Sir  Hugh  jroiiriMER. 
Yurk.  Sir  John,  and  Sir  Hugh  Mortimer,  mine 
uncles .'  • 

You  are  come  to  Sandal  in  a  happy  hour; 
The  army  of  the  queen  mean  to  besiege  us. 
Sir  Juliii.  She  shall  not  need,  we'll  meet  her  in 

the  hold. 
York.  What,  With  five  thousand  men? 
llkh.  Ay,  with  five  hundred,  father,  for  a  need. 
A  woman's  general;  What  should  we  tear! 

[-1  March  afar  off. 
Etlw.  I  hear  their  drums;  let's  set  our  men  in 
order; 
And  issue  forth,  and  bid  them  battle  straight. 
York.  Five  men  to  twenty! — though  the  odds  be 
great, 
I  doubt  not,  uncle,  of  our  victory. 
Many  a  battle  have  I  won  in  France, 
When  as  the  enemy  hath  been  ten  to  one; 
Why  should  I  not  now  have  the  like  success  ? 

[Alarum.  Exeunt. 
SCEiN'E  III.— Plains  7iear  Sandal  Castle. 
Alarums:  Excursions.   Enter  Rutl.vxd,  and  his 
Tutor. 

Rut.  Ah.  whither  shall  I  fly  to 'scape  their  hands! 
Ah,  tutor !  look,  whore  bloody  Cliflord  comes ! 
Enter  Clifford,  and  Soldiers, 

Clif.  Chaplain,  away!  thy  priesthood  saves  thy 
lilc. 
As  for  the  brat  of  this  accursed  duke. 
Whose  tiither  slew  my  father, — lie  shall  die. 

Tut.  And  I,  my  lord,  will  bear  him  company. 

Clif.  Soldiers,  away  with  him. 

Tiit.  Ah.Clilibrd!  murdcrnot thisinnocentchild. 
Lest  thou  be  hated  bolh  of  God  and  man. 

[Exit,  forced  off'  hi/  Soldiers. 

Cli_f.  How  now!  is  he  dead  already  .'  Or  is  it  fear, 
That  makes  him  close  his  eyes  7  I'll  open  them. 

Rut.  So  looks  the  pent-up  lion  o'er  the  wretch 
That  trembles  under  his  devouring  paws: 
And  so  he  walks,  insulting  o'er  his  prey; 
And  so  he  comes,  to  rend  nis  limbs  asunder. — 
Ah,  gentle  Clillbrd,  kill  me  with  thy  sword, 
And  not  wii.h  such  a  cruel  threat'ning  look. 
Sw  eet  Clilllird,  hear  me  speak  before  I  die ; — 
lam  too  mean  a  subject  for  thy  wrath. 
Be  thou  revenged  on  men.  and  let  me  live. 

Clij:  In  vain  thou  speak'st,  poor  boy;  my  father's 
blond 
Hath  stopp'd  the  passage  where  thy  words  should 
enler. 

Rut.  Then  let  my  father's  blood  open  it  again : 
He  is  a  man,  and,  Clillbrd,  cope  with  him. 

C/i/.  Had  I  thy  brethren  here,  their  lives,  and  thine 
Were  not  revenge  sulticient  for  me; 
No,  if  I  digg'd  up  thy  tbrefathers'  graves. 
And  hung  their  rotten  cottins  up  Cn  chains. 
It  cojid  not  slake  mine  ire,  nor  ease  my  heart. 
The  sight  of  any  of  the  house  of  York 
'  Of  sound  judgmeut. 

28 


Is  as  a  fury  to  torment  my  soul ; 
And  till  I  root  out  their  accursed  line. 
And  leave  not  one  alive,  I  live  in  hell. 

Theretbrc [Lifting  hi.t  Hand. 

Rut.  (),  let  me  pray  before  I  take  my  deatli: — 
To  thee  1  pray;  Sweet  Clillbrd,  pity  me! 
Clif.  Such  pity  as  my  rapier's  po'int  allbrds. 
Rut.  I  never  did  thee  harm;  Why  wilt  lliou  slay 

me? 
Ctif.  Thy  father  hath. 

Rut.  But  'fwas  ere  I  was  born. 

Thou  hast  one  son,  for  his  sake  pity  me; 
Lest  in  revenge  thereof.— sith  God  is  just,— 
He  be  as  miserably  slain  as  I. 
Ah,  let  me  live  in  prison  all  mv  days; 
And  when  I  give  occasion  of  o'ltiincc. 
Then  let  me  die,  for  now  thou  hast  no  cause. 

Clif.  No  cause? 
Thy  lather  slew  my  father;  therefore,  die. 

[Clifford  .itnbs  him. 
Rut.  Diifaciant,  laudis  suntma  sit  ista  tux  .'^ 

[Dies. 
Clif.  Plantagcnct!  I  come,  Plantagenet! 
And  this  thy  son's  blood  cleaving  to  my  blade, 
Sliall  rust  upon  my  weapon,  till  thy  blood. 
Congeal'd  with  this,  do  make  me  wipe  oil  both. 

[Exit 
SCENE  IV.— The  same. 
Alarum.    Enter  York. 
York.  The  army  of  the  queen  hath  got  the  field: 
My  uncles  both  are  slain  in  rescuing  me; 
And  all  my  followers  to  the  eager  foe 
Turn  back,  and  lly,  like  ships  before  the  wind, 
Or  lambs  pursued  by  hunger-starved  wolves. 
My  sons— God  knows  what  has  bechanced  them  : 
But  this  I  know— they  have  demeaii'd  themselves 
Like  men  born  to  renown,  by  lite  or  death. 
Three  times  did  Richard  make  a  lane  to  me; 
And  thrice  cried,— Courage,  father.'  fight  it  uui! 
And  lull  as  oft  came  Edward  to  my  side. 
With  iiurple  falchion,  painted  to  the  hilt. 
In  blood  of  those  that  had  encounter'd  him: 
And  when  the  hardiest  warriors  did  retire, 
Richard   cnci,— Charge !    and    give   no  foot    of 

ground.' 
And  cried,—.!  crown,  or  eke  a  glorious  tomb! 
A  setjitre,  or  an  earthly  sepulchre.' 
With  this,  we  charged  again:  but,  out,  alas! 
We  bodned'  ai;ain;  as  I  have  seen  a  swan 
With  liii.iiless  labor  swim  against  the  tide. 
And  si)eiul  her  strength  with  overmatching  waves. 
...,,.„  [-•!  sh/irt  Alarum  within. 

Ah,  hark!  the  fatal  followers  do  pursue: 
And  1  am  laint,  and  cannot  tly  their  fury; 
And,  were  1  strong,  I  would  not  shun  their  fury: 
The  sands  are  nuiiiber'd  that  make  up  my  life  ; 
Here  must  I  stay,  and  here  my  life  must  end. 
Enter  Qcee.n  Marg.iret,  Clifford,  NonTiii-aDER- 

LASD,  and  Soldiers. 
Come,  bloody  Clilfbrd,— rough  Northumberland,— 
I  dare  your  quenchless  fury  to  more  rage 
I  am  your  butt,  and  I  abide  your  shot. 
North.  Yield  to  our  mercy,  proud  Plantagenet. 
Clif.  Ay,  to  such  mercy,  as  his  ruthless  arm, 
With  downright  payment,  show'd  unto  my  lather. 
Now  Phaeton  hath  tumbled  from  his  car. 
And  made  an  evening  at  the  noontide  prick.6 

York.  My  ashes,  as  the  PhuMiix,  may  bring  forth 
A  bird  that  will  revenge  upon  you  all: 
And,  in  that  hope.  I  throw  mine  eyes  to  heaven, 
Scorning  whate'er  you  can  aftlict  me  with. 
Why  come  you  not  !  what!  multitudes,  and  fear? 
C/i/'.So  cowards  tight,when  they  can  lly  no  further; 
So  doves  do  peck  the  lalcon's  piercing  talons; 
So  desperate  thieves,  all  hopeless  of  their  lives. 
Breathe  out  invectives  'gainst  the  ollicers. 

York.  O  Clillbrd,  but  bethink  thee  once  again, 
And  in  thy  thought  o'er-run  my  former  time; 
And,  if  thou  canst  for  blushing,  view  this  laee; 
And  bite  thy  tongue,  that  slanders  him  with  cow- 
ardice. 
Whose  frown  hath  made  thee  faint  and  fly  ere  this. 
Clf.  1  will  not  bandy  with  thee  word  for  word; 
But  buckle  with  thee  blows  twice  two  for  one. 

[Draws 
«  Ilraven  grant  that  this  may  be  your  greatest  Iioast  1 

Ovid.  £)ust. 
'  I.  e.  n  e  boggled,  failed,    e  Xoontide  point  on  the  dial. 


434 


THIRD  PART  OF 


Act  II. 


Q*  Mar.  Hold,  valiant  Cliflbrd!   for  a  thousand 
causes, 
I  would  prolong  awhile  the  traitor's  life: — 
Wrath  makes  him  deaf:  speak  thou,  Northumber- 
land. 

North.  Hold.  Clifford ;  do  not  honor  him  so  much, 
To  prick  thy  llni^cr,  though  to  wound  his  lieart: 
What  valor  were  it.  when  a  cur  doth  grin, 
For  one  to  thrust  his  hand  between  his  teeth, 
When  he  mi^ht  spurn  him  with  his  foot  away? 
It  ii^  war's  prize  to  take  all  vantages; 
And  ten  to  one  is  no  impeach  ol  valoi. 

[They  lay  hands  on  York,  ivho  sfruggles. 

Clif.  Ay. ay,  so  strives  the  woodcock  with  the  gin. 

North.  So  doth  the  conev  strug^Me  in  llic  net. 

[Yokk  is  taken  /irU^nnpr. 

York.  So  triumph  thieves  upon  their  conquer'd 
booty; 
So  true  men  yield,  with  robbers  so  o'er-matched. 

North.  What  would  your  grace  have  done  unto 
hiiu  nowl 

Q.  Mar.  Brave  warriors,  Clifford  and  Northum- 
berland, 
Come  make  him  stand  upon  this  molehill  here, 
That  rnughf'  at  mountains  with  outstretclicd  arms, 
Yet  parted  but  the  shadow  with  his  hand. — 
Whnt !  wos  it  you  that  would  be  England's  king"? 
Was't  you  that  revell'd  in  our  parliament. 
And  made  a  preachment  of  your  high  descent? 
Where  are  your  mess  of  sons  to  back  you  now? 
Thi"  wanton  Edward,  and  the  lusty  George? 
And  Where's  that  valiant  crook-back  prodigy, 
Dickey,  jour  boy,  that  with  his  grumbling  voice, 
Whs  wont  to  cheer  his  dad  in  mutinies? 
Or,  with  the  rest,  where  is  your  darling  Rutland? 
Look,  York;  I  stain'd  tliis  napkin  witli  the  blood 
Tliat  valiant  Clillord,  with  his  rapier's  point, 
Made  issue  from  the  bosom  of  the  boy: 
And,  if  thine  eyes  can  water  for  his  death, 
I  give  thee  this  to  dry  thy  cheeks  withal. 
Alas,  poor  York!  but  that  I  hate  thee  deacfly, 
I  should  lament  thy  miserable  state. 
I  pr'ythee,  grieve,  to  make  me  meny,  York; 
Stamp,  rave,  and  fret,  that  1  may  slug  and  dance. 
What,  hath  thy  fiery  heart  so  parchVlthiue  entrails, 
Tliat  not  a  tear  can  fall  for  Uutlaud's  death? 
Why  artlhou  patient,  man?  thou  should'stbemad; 
And  1,  to  make  thee  mad,  do  mock  Ihee  thus. 
Thou  would'st  be  fee'd,  I  see,  to  make  me  sport; 
York  cannot  speak,  unless  he  wear  a  crown. — 
-A  cro%vn  for  York; — and,  lords,  bow  low  to  him. — 
Hold  you  his  hands,  whilst  1  do  set  it  on. — 

[Putting  a  paper  Crown  on  his  Head. 
Ay,  marry,  sir,  now  looks  he  like  a  king! 
Ay,  this  is  he  that  took  king  Henry's  chair; 
And  this  is  he  was  his  adopted  Jieir. — 
But  how  is  it  that  great  Plantagenet 
Is  crown'd  so  soon,  and  broke  his  solemn  oath? 
As  1  bethink  me,  you  should  not  be  king, 
Till  our  king  Henry  had  shook  hands  with  death. 
And  will  you  pale^  your  head  in  Henry's  glorj', 
Xud  rob  his  temples  of  the  diadem. 
Now  in  his  lile,  against  your  holy  oath? 
0,  'tis  a  tiuiit  too,  too  unpardonable! 
OtTwith  the  crown;  and  with  the  crown,  his  head; 
And.  whilst  we  breathe,  take  time  to  do  him  dead. 

Clif.  That  is  my  otfice,  for  my  father's  sake. 

Q.  Mar.  Nay,  stay  ;  let's   hear  the  orisons  he 

makes. 
York.  She-wolf  of  France,  but  worse  than  wolves 
of  France, 
Whose  tongue  more  poisons  than  the  adder's  tooth ! 
How  ill-beseeming  is  it  in  thy  sex, 
To  triumph  like  an  Amazonian  trull. 
Upon  their  woes,  whom  fortune  captivates? 


But  that  thy  face  is,  visor-like,  unchanging, 
Made  impudent  with  use  of  evil  deeds, 
i  would  assay,  proud  queen,  to  make  the  blush: 
To  tell  thee  whence  thou  cam'st.of  whom  deriv'd, 
Were  shame  enough  to  shame  thee,  wert  thou  not 

shameless. 
Thy  father  hears  the  typc^  of  king  of  Naples, 
Of  both  the  Siciis,  and"  Jerusalem; 
Yet  not  so  wealthy  as  an  English  yeoman. 
Hath  that  poor  monarch  taught  thee  to  insult? 
It  needs  not,  nor  it  boots  thee  not,  proud  queen* 
Unless  the  adage  inust  be  vcrihed, — 
That  beggars,  mounted,  run  their  horse  to  death. 
'Tis  beauty  that  doth  ott  make  womeu  proud; 
But,  God  lie  knows,  thy  sliare  thereof  is  small: 
'Tis  virtue,  that  doth  make  them  most  admu'd; 
The  contrary  doth  mifke  thee  wonder'd  at: 
'Tis  government, •  that  makes  them  seem  divine; 
The  want  thereof  makes  thee  abominable; 
Thou  art  as  opposite  to  every  good, 
As  the  Antipodes  are  unto  us, 
Or  as  the  south  to  the  septentrion.^ 
O,  tiger's  heart,  wrapp'd  in  a  woman's  hide! 
How  could'at  lliou  drain  the  Hle-blood  of  the  child, 
To  bid  the  mther  wipe  his  eyes  withal, 
And  yet  be  seen  to  bear  a  xvomau's  face? 
Women  are  sort,  mild,  pitiful,  and  flexible; 
Thnu  stern,  obdurate,  flinly,  rough,  remorseless. 
Bid'st  thoume 


rage  ?  whv,  now  thou  hast  thy  wish : 
;  me  weep*  why,  now  thou  hast  thy 


Would'st  have  i 

will: 
For  raging  wind  blows  up  incessant  showers, 
And,  when  the  rage  allays,  the  rain  begins. 
Tliese  tears  are  my  sweet  Rutland's  obsequies; 
And  every  drop  cries  vengeance  for  his  death, — 
'Gainst  thee,  tell  Clillord, — and  tliee,  false  French- 
woman. 

North.  Beshrewme,but  hispassions^movemeso, 
That  hardly  can  I  check  my  eyes  from  tears. 

York.  That  face  of  his  the  hungry  cannibals 
Would  not  have  touch'd,  would  not  have  stain'd 

with  blood: 
But  you  are  more  inhuman,  more  inexorable, — 
O,  ten  times  more, — than  tigers  of  Hyrcauia. 
See,  ruthless  queen,  a  hapless  father's  tears: 
This  cloth  thou  dipp'dstin  blood  of  my  sweet  boy, 
Aud  I  with  tears  do  wash  the  blood  away. 
Keep  thou  the  napkin,  and  go  boast  of  this: 

{He  gives  back  tlie  Handkerchief. 
And  if  thou  tell'st  the  heavy  story  right. 
Upon  my  soul,  tlie  hearers  will  shed  tears; 
Yea,  even  my  foes  will  shed  fast-lalling  tears, 
And  say, — Alas,  it  was  a  piteous  deed ! 
There,  "take  the  crown,  and  with  the  crown,  my 

curse ; 
And,  in  thy  need,  such  comfort  come  to  thee. 
As  now  I  reap  at  thy  too  cruel  hand ! — 
Hard-hearted  Clitlbrd,  take  me  from  tlie  world; 
My  soul  to  heaven,  my  blood  upon  your  heads! 

North.  Had  he  been  slaughter-man  to  all  my  kin, 
I  should  not  for  my  life  but  weep  with  liim, 
To  see  how  inly  sorrow  gripes  Ins  soul. 

Q.  Mar.  What,  weeping  ripe,  my  lord  Northum- 
berland ? 
Think  but  upon  the  wrong  he  did  us  all. 
And  that  will  quickly  dry  thy  melting  tears, 

Clif.  Here's  for  my  oath,  here's  for  my  father's 
death.  {StalMng  him. 

Q.  Mar.  And  here's  to  right  our  gentle-hearted 
king.  [Stabbing  him. 

York.  Open  thy  gate  of  mercy,  gracious  God! 
My  soul  Hies  through  these  wouiids  to  seek  out  thee. 

[Dies. 

Q.  Afor.  Offwith  his  head,  and  set  it  on  Yorkgates ; 
So  York  may  overlook  the  town  of  Yoik.  [Exeunt* 


ACT    II. 


SCENE   I. — A   Plain   near    Mortimer's   Cross  in 
Herefordshire. 

Drums.    Enter  Edward  and  RicnARO,  tvith  tlicir 
Forces,  tnarc/iing. 
Edw.  I  wonder,how  our  princely  father  'scap 
Or  whether  he  be  'scaped  away  or  no, 

1  Keacheil.  *  Impale,  encircle. 


From  Clifford's  and  Northumberland's  pursuit; 
Ilad  he  been  ta'en,  we  should  have  heard  the  news ;. 
liad  he  been  slain,  we  should  have  heard  the  news; 
Or,  had  he  'scaped,  methinks,  we  should  have  heard 
The  happy  tidings  of  his  good  escape. — 
How  fares' my  brother?  why  is  he  so  sad? 

9  The  disthiguisbiug  mark.    >  Ke^uhirity  rf  J-cha^iour. 

a  Tbo  north.  '  SufTLiings. 


Scene  I. 


KIXG   HENRY   VI. 


435 


Rich.  I  cannot  joy.  until  I  be  resolv'd 
Where  our  rig:ht  valiant  father  is  become. 
(  yaw  him  in  the  hatUe  range  about; 
And  watch'd  him  how  he  singled  Cliirord  forth. 
Methoug:hl,  he  bore  him  in  the  thickest  troop, 
As  doth  a  lion  in  a  herd  of  neat  :* 
Or  as  a  bear.  cncompas.s'd  round  with  do2:s;       * 
Who  having  pinch'd  a  few,  and  made  thf-m  cr5% 
The  rest  stand  all  aloof,  and  bark  at  him. 
So  fared  our  father  with  his  enemies; 
So  lied  his  enemies  my  warlike  father; 
Melhinks,  'tis  prize  onough  to  be  his  son. 
See  how  the  mornmG,  opes  her  golden  gates, 
And  takes  her  farewell  of  the  glorious  sun! 
}lnw  well  resembles  it  the  prime  of  youth. 
Trimm'd  like  a  younker,  prancing  to  his  love  ! 

Ji^dw.  Dazzle  mine  eyes,  or  do  I  see  three  suns? 

Rich.  Three  glorious  suns,  each  one  a  pericct 
sun; 
Not  separated  with  the  racking  clouds,^ 
'But  sever'd  in  a  pale-cleac  *hihmg  sky. 
See,  see!  they  jom,  embrac»3,  and  seem  to  kiss, 
As  if  they  vow'd  some  league  inviolable  : 
Now  are  they  but  07ie  lamp,  one  lighjt,  one  sun. 
In  this  the  heaven  figures  some  event. 

Edw.  'Tis  wondrous  strant;e,  the  like  yet  never 
heard  of. 
I  think,  it  cites  us,  brother,  to  the  field ; 
That  we,  the  sons  of  brave  Piantagenet, 
Each  one  already  blazing  by  aur  meeds,^ 
Sliould,  notwithstandins,  join  our  iiichts  together. 
And  overshiue  the  earth",  as  Ihis  the  world. 
Whate'er  it  bodes,  henceforward  will  I  bear 
Upon  my  target  three  fair  shining  suns. 

Rkh.  Nay,  bear  three  daughters;  by  your  leave 
I  speak  it, 
You  love  the  breeder  better  than  the  male. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
But  what  art  thou,  whose  heavy  looks  foretell 
Some  dic£.dfiil  story  hanging  on  thy  tongue  1 

Mess.  Ah,  one  that  was  a  woful  looker  on. 
When  as  the  noble  diiko  of  York  was  slain, 
Vour  princely  tatlier,  and  my  loving  lord. 

Edw.  O,  sj-'cak  no  more !  for  I  have  heard  too 
much 

Rich.  Say  how  he  died,  for  I  will  hear  it  all, 

]\l€ss.  Envircnod  he  was  with  many  foes; 
And  stood  against  them  as  the  hope  of  Troy 
Against  the  (ireeks  that  would  have  entered  Troj'. 
But  Hercules  himself  must  yield  to  odds; 
And  many  strokes,  though  with  a  liltle  axe. 
Hew  down  and  fell  the  hardest-timber'd  oak. 
liy  many  hands  ycur  father  was  subdued  ; 
But  only  shiugiirerM  by  tlie  ireful  arm 
(irnnrelontiiig  Cliltbrd',  and  the  queen: 
W'iio  cnuvn'd  tlu'  gracious  duke  m  high  despite; 
Laugh'd  in  his  face  ;  and,  when  with  grief  he  wept, 
Tlie  ruthless  queen  gave  him,  to  dry  his  cheeks, 
A  napkin  steeped  in  the  harmless  blood 
Of  sweet  young  Kutland,  by  rough  CliUord  slain  : 
And,  after  many  scorns,  many  foul  tiiunts. 
They  took  his  head,  and  on  the  gates  of  York 
They  set  the  same ;  and  there  it  doth  remain. 
The  saddest  spectacle  that  e'er  1  vicw'd. 

Edw.   Swe£t  duke  of  York,  our  prop  to  lean 
upon  ; 
Now  thou  ait  gone,  we  have  no  staft^  no  stay! — 
O  Clifibrd,  boist'rous  Cliflbrd,  thou  liast  slain 
The  flower  of  Europe  for  his  chivalry  ; 
And  treacherously  hast  thou  vanquisliM  him. 
i'or,  hand   to  hand,  he  would    have  vanquish'd 

thee  I — 
Now  my  souTs  palace  is  become  a  prison : 
Ah,  would  she   break  from  hence!    that  this  my 

body 
Might  in  tlie  ground  be  closed  up  in  rest: 
For  never  hencclbrth  shall  I  joy  again, 
Never,  O  never,  shall  1  see  more  joy. 

Rich.  I  cannot  weep:  for  all  my  body's  moisture 
Scarce  serves  to  quench  my  furnace-burning  heart: 
Nor  can  my  tongue  unload  my  heart's  great  burden. 
For  self-same  wind,  that  I  should  speak  withal. 
Is  kindling  coals,  that  tire  all  my  breast, 
And  burn  me  up  with  flames,  that  tears  would 
quench. 

«  Neat  cattle,  cows.  oxen.  &c. 

«  I.  e.  Tho  clouds  in  rapid  tumultwary  motion. 

c  Merit  1  Hector. 


To  weep,  is  to  make  less  the  depth  of  grief: 
Tears,  then,  for  babes;  blowsand  revenge  for  me! — 
Richard,  I  bear  thy  name.  Til  venge  thy  death, 
Or  die  renowned  by  attempting  it. 

Edw.  His  name  that  valiant  duke  hath  lefl  with 
thee; 
His  dukedom  and  his  chair  with  me  is  left.. 

Rich.  Nay,  if  thou  be  that  princely  eagle's  bird, 
Show  thy  descent  by  gazing  'gainst  the  sun : 
For  chair  and  dukedom,  throne  and  kingdom  say; 
Or  that  is  thine,  or  else  thou  wert  not  his. 

March.   Enter  Warwick  ajid  MoNTAcrE.  with 
Forces. 

War.  How  now,  fair  lords?    What  fare'!    what 

news  abroad  1 
Rich.    Great    lord    of  Warwick,  if  we  should 
recount 
Our  baleful  news,  and,  at  each  word's  deliverance, 
Stab  poniards  in  our  Ilcsh  till  all  were  told. 
The   words  would  add  more  anguish    than  the 
wounds. 

0  valiant  lord,  the  duke  of  York  is  slain. 

Edw.  O  Warwick!  Warwick!  that  Piantagenet 
Which  held  thee  dearly,  as  liis  soul's  redemption, 
Is  by  the  stern  lord  Cliltbrd  done  to  death. 

War.  Ten  days  ago  1  drown'd  these  news  in 
tears : 
And  now,  to  add  more  measure  to  your  woes, 

1  come  to  tell  you  things  snice  then  befalTn. 
Arter  the  bloody  fray  at  Wakefield  ti>ught. 
Where  your  brave  lather  breath'd  his  latest  gasp, 
Tidings,  as  switUy  as  the  posts  could  run. 
Were  brought  me  of  your  loss,  and  his  depart. 

I  then  in  London,  keeper  of  the  king, 
Muster'd  my  soldiers,  gather'd  flocks  of  friends. 
And  very  well  appointed,  as  I  thought, 
March'd  towards  Saint  Alban's  to  intercept  the 

queen. 
Bearing  the  king  in  my  behalf  along : 
For  by  my  scouts  I  was  advortised. 
That  she  was  coming  with  a  full  intent 
To  dash  our  late  decree  in  parliament. 
Touching  king  Henry's  oath  and  your  succession. 
Short  tale  to  make, — we  at  Saint  Alban's  met, 
Our  battles  joiu'd,  and  Iioth  sides  fiercely  fought: 
But,  whether  'twas  the  coldness  of  the  king, 
Wlio  look'd  full  genlly  onliis  warlike  queen. 
That  robb'd  my  soldi«''rs  o\'  their  hated  spleen ; 
Or  whether  'twas  report  of  her  success; 
Or  more  than  common  fear  of  Clillord's  rigor. 
Who  thunders  to  his  captives — blood  and  death, 
I  cannot  judge  :  but,  to  conclude  with  truth. 
Their  weapons  like  to  lightning  came  and  went; 
Our  soldiers' — like  the  night-owl's  lazy  flight, 
Or  like  a  lazy  thrasher  with  a  flail — 
Fell  gently  down,  as  if  they  struck  their  friends. 
I  checr'd  them  up  with  justice  of  our  cause, 
With  promise  of  higii  pay,  and  great  rewards: 
But  all  in  vain ;  they  had  no  heart  to  fight, 
And  we,  in  them,  no  hope  to  win  the  day. 
So  Ihat  we  fled;  the  king  unto  the  queeir; 
Lord  George  your  brother,  Norfolk,  and  myself. 
In  haste,  post-haste,  are  come  to  join  with  you; 
For  in  the  marches  here,  we  heard  you  were, 
Making  another  head  to  fight  again. 
Edw.    Where   is  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  gentle 

Warwick] 
And  when  came  George  from  Burgundj'  to  Eng- 
land \ 
War.  Some  six  miles  off  the  duke  is  with  the 

soldiers; 
And  for  your  brother, — he  was  lately  sent 
From  your  kind  aunt,  duchess  of  Burgundy, 
With  aid  of  soldiers  to  Ihis  needful  war. 
Rich.  'Twas  odds,  belike,  when  valiant  Warwick 

fled: 
Oil  have  I  heard  his  praises  in  pursuit, 
But  ne'er,  till  now,  his  scandal  of  retire. 

War.  Nor  now  my  scandal,  Richard,  dost  thou 

hear : 
For   thou  shalt  know  this  strong  right  hand  of 

mine 
Can  pluck  the  diadem  from  faint  Henr],''s  head, 
And  wring  the  awful  sceptre  from  his  fist; 
Were  he  as  tamous  and  as  bold  m  war. 
As  he  is  famed  for  mildness,  peace,  and  prayer. 
Rich.  1  know  it  well,  lord  Warwick:  blame  me 

not ; 


436 


THIRD  PART   OF 


Act  II. 


'Tis  love,  I  bear  thy  (jlorics,  makes  me  spoali. 
But,  in  this  troublous  tiaie,  what's  to  be  done^ 
Shall  we  go  throw  away  our  coats  of  steel, 
And  wrap  our  bodies  in  black  mourning-sowns, 
Nunib'ring  our  Ave-Maries  with  our  beads  1 
Or  shall  we  on  the  helmets  of  our  foes 
Tell  our  devotion  with  revengeful  arms  1 
If  for  the  last,  say— Ay,  and  to  it,  lords. 

War.  Why,  therefore  Warwick  came  to  seek  you 

out; 
And  therefore  comes  my  brother  Montague. 
Attend  me,  lords.   The  proud  insulting  queen, 
Witli  Clitlbrd,  and  the  liaugbt  Nortliumbcrland, 
And  of  their  feather  juajiy  more  i)rou<l  birds. 
Have  wrought  the  easy  melting  king  like  wax. 
He  swore  consent  to  your  succession, 
]lis  oath  enrolled  in  the  parliament ; 
And  now  to  London  all  the  crew  are  gone. 
To  frustrate  both  his  oath,  and  what  beside 
May  make  against  the  house  of  Lancaster. 
Their  power,  I  think,  is  thirty  thousanil  strong: 
Now,  if  the  help  of  Norfolk,  and  myself. 
With  all  the  friends  that  thou,  brave  earl  of  March, 
Amongst  the  loving  Welshmen  canst  procure. 
Will  but  amount  to  Hve-and-twenty  thousand, 
Why,  Via.'  to  London  will  we  march  amain; 
And  once  again  bestride  our  tbaming  steeds. 
And  once  again  cry— Charge  upon  our  foes  ! 
But  never  once  again  turn  back  and  liy. 
Ric/l.  Ay,  now,  methinks,  I  hear  great  Warwick 

speak: 
Ne'er  may  he  live  to  see  a  sunshine  day, 
Tliat  cries — Retire,  if  Warwick  bid  him  stay. 
A'i/«'.    Lord  Warwick,  on  thy  shoulder  will  I 

lean ; 
And  when  thon  fall'st,(as  God  forbid  the  hour!) 
Must  Edward  tiill,  which  peril  heaven  forefend: 

IFur.  No  longerearl  of  March,  but  duke  o<' York; 
The  next  degree  is,  England's  royal  throne  : 
For  king  of  England  shall  thou  be  proclaim'd 
In  every  borough  as  we  pass  along: 
And  he  that  throws  not  up  his  cap  for  joy. 
Shall  for  the  fault  make  forfeit  of  his  head. 
King  Edward,— v.aliant  Richard,— Montague,— 
Stay  we  no  longer  dreaming  of  renown. 
But  sound  the  trumpets,  and  about  our  task. 
lik/t.  Then,  Clillord,  were  thy  heart  as  hard  as 

steel, 
(As  thou  hast  shown  it  flinty  by  thy  deeds,) 
1  come  to  pierce  it.  or  to  give  thee  mine. 
Ediv.  Then  strike  up,  drums; — Uod,  and  saint 

George,  for  us ! 

Enter  a  Messenger 
War.  How  now  1  what  news  ? 
3Icss.    The   duke  of   Norfolk  sends  you  word 
by  me. 
The  queen  is  coming  with  a  puissant  host; 
And  craves  your  company  for  speedy  counsel. 
War.  Why  then  it  sorb,»  brave  warriors :  Let's 
away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Before  York. 

Enter  KiNr.  Heshy,  Queen-  MARf.ARET,  the  Peinte 
OF  Wales,  Cliefouli,  and  NunTni-jiiiEiiLAXD,  with 
E'jrees. 

Q.  Mar.  Welcome,  my  lord,  to  this  brave  town 
of  York. 
Yonder's  the  head  of  that  arch-enemy, 
Tliat  sought  to  be  encompass 'd  with  your  crown: 
Dolh  not  the  object  cheer  your  heart,  my  lord  ! 

A".  Hen.  Ay,  as  the  rocks  cheer  them  that  fear 
their  wreck  ; 
To  see  this  sight,  it  irks  my  very  soul. — 
Withhold  revenge,  dear  God  !  'tis  not  my  fault, 
Not  wittingly  liavc  I  infringed  my  vow. 

Clif.  My  gracious  liege,  this  too  much  lenity 
And  harmful  pity,  must  be  laid  asiile. 
To  whom  do  lions  cast  their  gentle  looks  ? 
Nol  to  the  beast  that  would  usurp  their  den. 
\yiiose  hand  is  that  the  forest  bear  dolh  lick  ? 
Not  his,  that  spoils  her  young  before  her  iiice. 
Who  scapes  the  lurking  serpent's  mortal  sting? 
Not  he,  that  sets  his  foot  upon  her  back. 
The  smallest  worm  will  turn,  being  trodden  on  • 
And  doves  will  peck,  in  safeguard  of  their  brood. 
Ambitious  York  did  level  at  thy  crown, 
Thou  smiling,  while  he  knit  his  angry  brows  : 
•  Why  thou  thiugs  are  as  tboy  should  bo. 


He  but  a  duke,  would  have  his  son  a  king. 

And  raise  his  issue,  like  a  loving  sire  ; 

Tliou,  being  a  king,  bless'd  with  a  goodly  son, 

Didst  yield  consent  to  disinherit  him, 

Which  argued  thee  a  most  unloving  father. 

Unreasonable  creatures  feed  their  young  : 

Apd  though  man's  face  be  feartiil  to  their  eyes, 

Yet,  in  protection  of  their  tender  ones. 

Who  hath  not  seen  them  (even  with  those  wings 

Whichsometime  they  have  used  with  fearful  flighl) 

Make  war  with  him  that  climb'd  unto  their  nest, 

Oltering  their  own  lives  in  their  young's  defence"! 

For  shame,  my  liege,  make  them  your  precedent : 

Were  it  not  pity  that  this  goodly  boy 

Should  lose  his  birthright  by  his  father's  fault; 

.\nd  long  hercal'ter,  say  unto  his  child,— 

IVhut  mil  great-Rraniffiithcr  and  grundsire  got, 

Mij  careless  father  fnndli/'  gave  awnij  ? 

Ah,  what  a  shame  were  this !  Look  on  the  boy ; 

Ami  let  his  manly  face,  which  promiseth 

Successful  fortune,  steel  thy  melting  heart. 

To  hold  thine  own,  and  leave  thine  own  with  him. 

A".  Hen.  Full  well  hath  Clillord  play'd  the  orator, 
Inferring  arguments  of  mighty  Ibrce. 
Birt,  Clilibrd,  tell  me,  didst  thou  never  hear,— 
That  things  ill  got  had  ever  bad  success  ! 
And  happy  always  was  it  for  that  son. 
Whose  lather  for  his  hoarding  went  to  hell  ? 
I'll  leave  my  son  my  virtuous  deeds  behind  ; 
And  would,  my_  father  had  left  me  no  more  ! 
For  all  the  rest  is  held  at  such  a  rate. 
As  brings  a  thousand-fold  more  care  to  keep. 
Than  in  possession  any  jot  of  pleasure. 
Ah, cousin  York !  'would  thy  best  fiiends  did  know, 
How  it  dolh  srrieve  me  that  thy  head  is  here! 

Q.  Mar.  My  lord,  cheer  up  your  spirits ;  our  foes 
are  nigli. 
And  this  soft  courage  makes  your  followers  faint. 
You  promis'd  knighthood  to  our  forward  son  ; 
Unsheath  your  sword,  and  dub  him  presently.— 
Edward,  kneel  down. 

K.  Hen.  Edward  Plantagenet,  arise  a  knight ; 
And  learn  thjs  lesson,— Draw  thy  sword  in  right. 
_  Prince.  My  gracious  father,  by  your  kingly  leave, 
I  11  draw  it  as  apparent  to  the  crown. 
And  in  that  quarrel  use  it  to  the  death. 

Clif.  Why,  that  is  spoken  like  a  toward  prince. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mes.9.  Royal  commanders,  be  in  readiness: 
For,  with  a  band  of  thirty  thousand  men. 
Comes  Warwick,  backing  of  the  duke  of  York  ; 
And,  in  the  towns  as  they  do  march  along. 
Proclaims  him  king,  and  many  fly  to  him: 
Darraign  your  battle,'  for  they  are  at  hand. 

C7{/'.1  would  yourhighness  would  depart  the  field; 
The  queen  hath  best  success  when  you  are  absent. 

Q.  Mar.  Ay,  good  my  lord,  and  leave  us  to  our 
fortune. 

K.IIen.  Why,  that's  my  fortune  too;  therefore 
I  11  stay. 

North.  Be  it  with  resolution,  then,  to  fight. 

Prince.  My  royal  father,  cheer  these  noble  lords, 
And  hearten  those  that  light  in  your  defence: 
Unsheath  your  sword,  good    father;    cry,   Saint 
George .' 

March.    Enter  Edward,  George,  Rk^hard,  War- 
wick, Norfolk,  Moxtagl'e,  and  Soldiers. 

Edit:  Now,  perjur'd  Henry !  wilt  tliou  kneel  for 
grace. 
And  set  thy  diadem  upon  my  head ; 
Or  bide  the  mortal  fortune  of  the  field! 

Q.  il7«r.  Go,  rate  thy  minions,  proud  insulting  boy! 
liecomes  it  thee  to  be  thus  bold  in  terms, 
Belore  thy  sovereign,  and  thy  lawful  king  ! 

Eda<.  1  am  his  king,  and  he  should  bow  his  knee; 
I  was  adopted  heir  by  his  consent: 
Since  when,  his  oath' is  broke:  for,  as  I  hear. 
You— that  are  king,  though  lie  do  wear  the  crown — 
Have  caus'd  him,  by  new  acts  of  parliament. 
To  blot  out  me,  and  put  his  own  son  in. 

Clif.  And  reason  too  ; 
Who  should  succeed  the  father,  but  the  .son? 

Rich.  Are  you  there,  butcher?— O.I  cannot  speak ! 

Clif.  Ay,  crook-back ;  here  I  stand  to  answer  thee, 
Or  any  lie  the  proudest  of  thy  sort. 

Rich.  'Twas  you  tliat  kill'd  young  Rutland,  was 
it  not? 

>  ruolishly.  '  i.  e.  Arr.ingo  your  order  of  battla. 


Scene  IV. 


KING   HENRY   VI. 


4.37 


Clif.  Ay,  and  old  York,  and  yet  not  satisfied. 
Riclu  For  God's  snkc,  lords,  give  signal   to  the 

tight. 
War.  What  say'st  thou,  Henry,  wilt  thou  yield 

tlie  crown  1 
Q.Mar.  Why,  how  now,  long-tongu'd  Warwick] 
dare  you  speak] 
When  you  and  I  met  at  Saint  Alban's  last, 
Your  legs  did  better  service  than  your  hands. 
War.  Then  'twas  my  turn  to  rly,  and  now'  tis  thine. 
Clif.  Y^ou  said  so  much  belbre,  and  yet  you  tied. 
War.  'Twas  not  your  valor,  Clitford,  drove  me 

thence. 
Korlh..  No,  nor  your  manhood,  tiiat  durst  make 

you  stiiy. 
Ricli.  Norlhumborland,  I  hold  thee  reverently ; — 
Break  otflhe  parle  :  lor  scarce  I  can  reiraiu 
The  execution  of  my  hig  swoln  heart 
Upon  that  Clillbrd,  that  cruel  child-killer. 

Clif.  1  slew  thy  (iither :  Call'st  thou  him  a  child  ! 
Rick.  Ay,likeadastard,antla  treacherous  coward, 
As  thou  didst  kill  our  tender  brother  Rutland; 
But,  ere  sun-set,  I'll  make  thee  curse  the  deed. 
K.  Hen.  Have  done  with  words,  my  lords,  and 

liear  me  speak. 
Q.  Mar.  Defy  them  then,  or  else  hold  close  thy  lips. 
A'.  Hen.  1  pr'ytiiee,  give  no  limits  to  my  tongue; 
I  am  a  king,  and  privileged  to  speak. 
Clif.  My  liege,  llie  wound,  that  bred  this  meeting 
here. 
Cannot  be  cured  by  words;  therefore  be  still. 

Ricli.  Then,  executioner,  unsheath  thy  sword: 
By  Him  that  made  us  all,  I  am  resolv'd,- 
Tliat  Clidbrd's  manhood  lies  upon  his  tongue. 

Edw.  Say.  Henry,  sliall  1  have  my  right,  or  no] 
A  thousand  meii  have  broke  their  liists  ta-day. 
That  ne'er  sliall  dine,  unless  thou  yield  the  crown. 

War.  Il'lhou  deiiy,  their  blood  upon  thy  head; 
For  Y'ork  injustice  puts  his  armor  on. 
Prince.  11  that  be  right,  which  Warwick  says  is 
right, 
There  is  no  wrong,  but  every  thing  is  right. 

Rich.  Whoever  got  thee,  there  thy  mother  stands; 
For,  well  I  wot,  thou  hasl  thy  mother's  tongue. 

Q.il/oc.  but  thou  art  neither  like  Ihy  sire, nor  dam; 
But  like  a  Ibul  niis-shaiicii  stigmatick, 
Mark'd  by  the  deslinus  Ui  be  avoided. 
As  venom  toads,  or  Ir/.ards'  dicMdIhl  stings. 

Rich.  Iron  oINaples,  liid  with  Knglish  gilt,^ 
Whose  lather  bears  the  title  ol  a  king, 
(As  il'a  channel  should  be  call'd  the  sea,) 
Sham'st  thou  not,  knowing  whence  thou  art  cx- 

traught. 
To  let  thy  tongue  detect  thy  base-born  heart] 
Edw.  A  wisp  of  straw  were  worth  a  thousand 
crowns. 
To  make  this  shameless  callet'  know  herself.^ 
Helen  of  Greece  was  fairer  (iir  than  thou. 
Although  thy  husband  may  be  Menelaus; 
And  ne'er  was  Agamemnon's  brother  wrong'd 
By  that  fiilse  woman,  as  this  king  by  thee. 
His  lather  revell'd  in  the  heart  of  France, 
And  tamed  the  king,  ami  made  the  dauphin  stoop; 
And  had  he  match'd  accmdin^'  lo  his  state. 
He  might  have  kept  that  glory  to  this  day: 
But,  when  he  took  a  beggar  to  his  bed. 
And  graced  thy  poor  sire  with  his  bridal  day; 
Kven  then  that  sunshine  brew'd  a  shower  tor  him, 
That  wash'd  his  father's  fortunes  forth  of  France, 
And  heap'd  sedition  on  his  crown  at  home. 
For  what  hath  broach 'd  this  tumult,  but  thy  pride  ] 
Hadst  thou  been  meek,  our  title  still  had  slept; 
And  we,  in  pily  of  the  gentle  king. 
Had  slipp'd  our  claim  until  anollier  age. 

Geo.  But.  when  we  saw^ur  sunshine  made  thy 
spring, 
And  that  thy  summer  bred  us  no  increase, 
We  set  the  axe  to  thy  usurimig  root; 
And  fbongh  Ihe  edge  hath  something  hitourselves, 
A'i'i.  know  thou,  since  we  have  begun  to  strike, 
AV'r'll  never  leave,  till  we  have  hewn  thee  down, 
Or  liaih'd  thy  growing  with  our  heated  bloods. 

Ediu.  And,  in  this  resolution,  I  defy  thee; 
Not  willing  any  longer  conrorence, 
Since  thou  dcny'st  the  gentle  king  to  speak. — 
Sound  trumpets! — let  our  bloody  colors  wave! — 
And  either  victory,  or  else  a  grave. 
Q.  Mar.  Stay,  Edward. 
'^  It  is  my  firm  perBiLision.  a  Gilding.  «  Drab. 


-E«'«i.  No,  wrangling  woman ;  we'll  no  longer  stay ; 
Tiiese  words  will  cost  ten  thousand  lives  to-day. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— .4  Field  nf  Battle  between  Towfon 
and  Saxton  in  Y'orkshire. 
Alarums:   Excursinns.    Enter  Vf ATiwicis.. 
War.  Forspent  with  toil,  as  runners  with  a  race, 
I  lay  me  down  a  little  while  to  breathe: 
For  strokes  receiv'd,  and  many  blows  repaid. 
Have  robb'd  mystrong-knitsinewsoftheirstrength. 
And,  spite  of  spite,  needs  must  I  rest  awhile. 
Enter  Edward,  running. 
Edw.  Smile,  gentle  heaven!  or  strike,  ungentle 
death: 
Forthis  world  frowns, and  Edward'ssun  is  clouded. 
War.  How  now,  my  lord  !  what  hap !  what  hope 
olgood  ] 

Enter  George. 
Geo.  Our  hap  is  loss,  our  hope  but  sad  despair; 
Our  ranks  are  broke,  and  ruin  follows  us: 
What  counsel  give  you,  whither  shall  we  fly  ] 

Edu>.  Bootless  is  flight,  they  follow  us  with  wings ; 
And  weak  we  are,  and  cannot  shun  pursuit. 

Enter  Richard. 

Rick.  Ah,  Warwick,  why  hast  thou  withdrawn 
thyself] 
Thy  brother's  blood  the  thirsty  earth  hath  drunk, 
liroach'd  with  the  steely  point  of  ClilTord's  lance: 
.-Vnd  in  the  very  pangs  "ol  death,  he  ericd,— 
Like  to  a  dismal  clangor  heard  from  far,— 
H'urwirk.  revenge :  brother,  revenf;e  mi/  death! 
So  uiHlernrath  tlie  belly  of  their  steeds.' 
Thai  slain'd  (heir  l(_nloeks  in  his  smoking  blood, 
The  noble  gentleman  gave  up  the  ghost. 

War.  Then  let  the  earth  be  druidven  with  our 
blood : 
I'll  kill  my  horse,  because  I  will  not  fly. 
Why  stand  we  like  soft-liearted  women  here. 
Wailing  our  losses,  whiles  the  foe  dotlr  rage  I 
And  look  upon,  as  if  the  tragedy 
Were  play'd  in  jest  by  counterfeiting  actors] 
Here  on  my  knee  I  vow  to  God  above, 
I'll  never  pause  again,  never  stand  still, 
Till  either  death  hath  clos'd  these  eyes  of  mine, 
Or  fortune  given  me  measure  of  revenge. 

Edw.  O  Warwick,  I  do  bend  my  knee  with  thine ; 
And,  in  this  vow,  do  chain  my  soul  to  thine; 
And,  ere  my  knee  rise  from  the  earth's  cold  face, 
1  ihrow  my  bands,  mine  eyes,  my  heart  to  thee, 
Thou  setter  up  and  pluekcr  down  of  kings  ! 
Beseeching  thee,— if  with  thy  will  it  stands, 
That  to  my  foes  this  body  must  be  prey, — 
Yet  that  thy  brazen  gates  of  heaven  may  ope, 
And  give  sweet  passage  to  my  sinful  soul ! — 
Now,  lords,  take  leave  until  we  meet  again, 
Where'er  it  be,  in  heaven  or  on  earth. 

Rich.  IJrother,  give  me  thy  hand;— and,  gentle 
Warwick, 
Let  me  embrace  (bee  in  my  weary  arms: — 
1.  that  did  never  weep,  now  melt  with  woe. 
That  winter  should  cut  oil' our  spring-time  so. 

Il'ar.  Away,  away  !  Once  more,  sweet  lords,  fare- 
well. 

Geo.  Yet  let  us  all  together  to  our  troops. 
And  give  them  leave  to  lly  that  will  not  stay ; 
And  call  them  pillars,  tha't  will  stand  to  us; 
And  if  we  thrive,  promise  them  such  rewards 
As  victors  wear  at  the  Olympian  games : 
This  may  plant  courage  in  their  quailing  breasts; 
For  yet  is  hope  of  life,  and  victory. — 
Fore-slow^  no  longer,  make  we  hence  amain. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  IV.—T/ie  same.     Another   Part   of  the 
Field. 
E.>-cursions.    Enter  Richard  and  Cliffoiid. 
Rich.  Now,  Cliflbrd,  I  have  singled  thee  alone: 
Suppose,  this  arm  is  lor  the  duke  of  Y'oik, 
And  this  lor  Rutland;  bolh  bound  to  revenge, 
Wert  thou  environ'd  with  a  brazen  wall. 

Clif.  Now,  Richard,  I  am  with  thee  here  alone: 
This  is  the  hand  that  stabb'd  thy  lather  York; 
And  this  the  hand  that  slew  thy"  brother  Rutland  ; 
And  here's  the  heart  that  triumphs  in  their  deaih, 
*  lie  dilatory. 


438 


THIRD   PART  OF 


Act  n. 


And  cheers  tiiese  hands,  that  slew  thy  sire  and 

brother, 
To  execute  the  like  upon  thyself; 
And  so  have  at  tlice. 

[Theij fight.    Warwick  enters ;  CLiFFORD^f'e.?. 

Ricli.  IS  ay, Warwick,  single  out  some  other  chase  ; 

For  1  myself  will  hunt  this  wolf  to  death.  [Exeiud. 

SCENE  W.—Amiiker  Part  of  ike  Field, 
Alarum.    Enter  Kino  Hexry. 
if. /few.  This  battle  lares  like  to  the  moniing*s  war, 
When  dying  clouds  contend  with  growing  light; 
WJiat  time  the  shepherd,  blowing  ol  his  nails, 
Can  neither  call  it  perfect  day,  nor  night. 
Now  sways  it  this  way,  like  a  mighty  sea, 
Forced  by  the  tide  to  combat  witii  the  wind  : 
Now  sways  it  that  way,  like  the  sell-same  sea 
■Forced  to  retire  by  fury  of  the  wind  : 
Sometime,  the  liood  prevails;  and  then,  the  wind  ; 
Now,  one  the  better  ;  then,  another  best; 
Both  tugging  to  be  victors,  breast  to  breast, 
Yet  neither  conqueror,  nor  conquered: 
So  is  the  equal  poise  ofthis  fell  war.# 
Here  on  this  molehill  will  I  sit  me  down. 
To  whom  God  will,  there  be  the  victory  ! 
For  Margaret,  my  queen,  and  Ciitlbrd  too, 
Have  chid  me  from  the  battle;  swearing  both, 
Tliey  prosper  best  of  all  when  I  am  thence. 
Would  I  were  dead!  if  Cod's  good  will  were  so: 
For  what  is  in  this  world,  but  griel"and  woe? 
i)  God  !  methinks,  it  were  a  happy  lile, 
To  be  no  belter  than  a  liomely  swain ; 
To  sit  upon  a  hill,  as  I  do  now. 
To  carve  out  dials  quaintly,  point  by  point, 
Thereby  to  see  llic  minutes  bow  they  run  : 
How  many  make  the  hour  full  complete, 
How  many  hours  bring  about  the  day, 
How  many  days  will  finish  uj)  the  year, 
How  many  years  a  mortal  man  may  Jive. 
When  this  is  known,  tlien  to  divide  the  times: 
So  many  hours  must  1  tend  my  ilock; 
So  many  hours  must  I  take  my  rest; 
So  many  hours  must  I  Cijntemplate ; 
So  many  hours  must  1  sport  myself; 
So  many  days  my  ewes  have  been  with  young; 
So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  yean; 
So  many  years  ere  I  shall  shear  the  lleece: 
So  minutes,  hours,  days,  weeks,  months,  and  years, 
Pass'd  over  to  the  end  they  were  created, 
Would  bring  white  hairs  unto  a  quiet  grave. 
Ah,  what  a  life  were  this!  how  sweet!  how  lovely  I 
Gives  not  the  hawthorn  bush  a  sweeter  shade 
To  shepherds,  looking  on  their  silly  sheep. 
Than  doth  a  rich  embroider'd  canopy 
To  kings,  that  fear  tlieir  subjects'  treachery'! 
O,  yes  it  doth  :  a  thousand  fold  it  doth. 
And  to  conclude. — the  shepherd's  homely  curds. 
His  cold  thin  drink  out  of  his  leather  bottle. 
His  wonted  sleep  under  a  fresh  tree's  sliade, 
All  which  secure  and  sweetly  he  enjoys, 
Is  far  beyond  a  prince's  delicates. 
His  viands  sparkling  in  a  golden  cup, 
His  body  couched  in  a  cnnous  bed, 
When  care,  mistrust,  and  treason,  wait  on  him. 

Alarum.    Enter  a  Son,  th/d  has  killed  his  Father, 
dragging  in  the  dead  Body. 

Son.  Ill  blows  the  wind,  that  prolits  nobody. — 
This  man,  whom  band  to  hand  I  slew  in  tight, 
IVIay  be  possessed  with  some  store  of  crowns: 
And  I,  tliat  haply  take  them  from  him  now, 
May  yet  ere  night  yield  both  my  life  and  them 
Til  some  man  else,  as  this  dead  man  doth  me. — 
Who's  tins?— O  God  !  it  is  my  father's  face.^ 
Whom  in  this  conllict  I  unawares  have  kilFd. 
()  heavy  times,  begetting  such  events  ! 
From  London  by  the  king  was  I  press'd  forth; 
I\iy  lather,  being  the  earl  of  Warwick's  man. 
Came  on  the  pait  of  York,  press'd  by  his  master; 
And  I,  who  at  his  hands  receiv'd  my  Iili', 
Have  by  my  hands  of  life  bereaved  bim.^ 
Pardon  me,  God.  I  knew  not  what  1  did  ! — 
And  jiardon.  liilher,  liir  I  knew  not  thee ! — 
^ly  leais  siiall  wijM-  a\\ay  these  bloody  marks; 
And  no  more  words,  till  they  have  lluw'(.l  their  till. 

I\.  lliu.  0  piteous  spectacle!     O  biooily  times! 
Wlnlst  lions  war,  and  haltle  lor  their  dens, 
poor  harmless  lamlis  abide  their  enmity. — 
Weep,  wretched  man,  I'll  aid  tliee  tear  lor  tear; 


And  let  our  hearts  and  eyes,  like  civil  war^ 
Be  blind  with  tears,  and  break  overcharged  with  grief. 
Enter  a  Father,  who  has  killed  his  Son,  with  the 
Body  in  his  arms. 

Fath.  Thou  that  so  stoutly  hast  resisted  me, 
Give  me  thy  gold,  if  thou  hast  any  gold; 
For  I  have  bought  it  with  an  hundred  blows. — 
But  let  me  see : — is  this  our  foeman's  face  ^ 
Ah,  no,  no,  no,  it  is  mine  only  son  ! — 
Ah,  boy,  if  any  lite  be  lell  in  thee, 
Throw  up  thine  eye :  see,  see,  what  showers  arise, 
Blown  With  the  wmay  tempest  of  my  heart, 
Upon  tliy  wounds,  that  kill  mine  eye  and  heart  I— 
O,  pit}',  God,  this  miserable  age! — 
What  stratagems,**  how  lell,  how  butcherly, 
Krroneous,  mutinous,  and  unnatural, 
This  deadly  ijuarrel  daily  doth  beget! — 
O  boy,  th\  lalher  gave  tliec  lile  too  soon. 
And  hath  bercK  tliee  of  thy  life  too  late  ! 

K.  Hen.  Woe  above  woe!  grief  more  than  com- 
mon grief! 
O,  that  my  death  would  stay  these  ruthful  deeds! 
O,  pity,  pity,  gentle  heaven,  pity  ! — 
The  red  rose  and  the  white  are  on  his  face, 
The  fatal  colors  of  our  striving  houses: 
The  one,  his  purple  blood  right  well  resembles ; 
The  other,  his  pale  cheeks,  methinks,  present : 
Wither  one  rose,  and  let  the  other  tlourish  ! 
If  you  contend,  a  thousand  lives  must  witiier. 

Son.  How  will  my  mother,  lor  a  liitlier's  death, 
Take  on  with  me,  and  ne'er  be  satislied  I 

Fath.  How  will  my  wife,  lor  slaughter  of  my  son, 
Shed  seas  of  tears,  and  ne'er  be  satislied  1 

A'.  Jlen.  How  will  the  country,  Ibr  these  woful 
chances, 
Mistliink  the  king,  and  not  be  satisfied? 

Si>n.  Was  ever  son,  so  rued  a  liither's  death? 

Fa/h.  Was  ever  lather,  so  bemoan'd  a  son? 

yi.iie/7.Was  ever  king,sogriev'd  lor  subjects' woe? 
Much  IS  your  sorrow;  mine,  ten  times  so  much. 

Son.  I'll  bear  thee  hence,  where  1  may  weep  my 
hll.  {Exit,  with  the  Body. 

Fath.  These  arras  of  mine  shall  be  thy  winding- 
sheet; 
My  heart,  sweet  boy,  shall  be  thy  sepulchre; 
For  li'om  my  heart  thine  image  ne'er  shall  go. 
My  sighing  breast  shall  be  thy  funeral  bell; 
And  so  obsequious"  will  thy  lather  be, 
Sad  for  the  loss  of  thee,  having  no  more. 
As  Priam  was  for  all  Jiis  valiant  sons. 
I'll  bear  thee  hence;  and  let  them  fight  that  will, 
For  1  have  murder'd  where  I  siiould  not  kill. 

[Exit,  vnih  the  Body. 

K.  Hen.  Sad-hearted  men,  much  overgone  with 
care. 
Here  sits  a  king  more  woful  than  you  are. 
Alarums:  Excursitms.    Enter  Qiee^  Margaret, 
Prince  of  Wales,  afil  Kxeter. 

P/wce.  Fly,  father,  Hy!  lor  all  yourlriends  are  fled, 
And  Warwick  rages  like  a  chaled  bull : 
Away  !  for  death  dotJi  hold  us  in  pursuit. 
Q.  Ma?:  Mount  yon,  my  lord,  towards  Berwick 
post  amain: 
Edward  and  Richard,  like  a  brace  of  greyhounds. 
Having  the  learful  flying  hare  in  sight, 
With  flery  eyes,  sparkling  lor  very  wrath, 
And  bloody  steel  grasp'd  in  their  ireful  hands, 
Are  at  our  backs;  and  therefore  hence  amain. 

Exe.Awayl  lor  vengeance  comes  along  with  them: 
Nay,  stay  not  to  expostulate,  make  speed; 
Or  else  come  after,  I'll  away  before. 
K.  Hen.  Nay,  take  me   with  thee,  go"d  sweet 
Kxeter ; 
Not  that  I  fear  to  stay,  but  love  to  go 
Whither  the  queen  intends.    Forward;  Away  ! 

[Exeunt. 
SCE1SF.\1.— The  same. 
A  loud  Alarum.    Enter  Clifford,  wounded. 
('lif.  Here  burns  my  candle  out,  ay,  here  it  dies, 
Whicl),  while  it  lasted,  gave  iiing  Henry  light. 
O.  Lancaster!  I  fear  thy  overtiirow. 
Mure  llian  my  body's  ]>arting  with  my  soul. 
M\  l(»ve,  and  lear,  ghicd  many  friends  to  thee  ; 
And  iii)W  1  tall,  tliy  toiii^h  coiuniixtines  melt. 
Impairing  Henry,  stren,L;lii"mug  nus-i»roud  York, 
*  I.  e.  Dreadful  events. 
'  Caifful  ot obsequies,  ov  funeral  lites. 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


KING   HENRY   YI. 


439 


Tlie  common  people  swarm  like  summer  flies : 
And  whither  Ily  the  gnats,  but  to  the  sun"! 
And  who  sliines  now  but  Henry's  enemies'! 

0  Phcebus !  iiadst  thou  never  given  consent 
That  Phaeton  should  check  thy  fiery  steeds, 
Thy  burning  car  never  had  scoreh'd  the  earth  : 
And  Elcnry,  hadst  tJiou  sway'd  as  kings  should  do, 
Or  as  tliy  fiitiier,  Dud  his  father  did, 

Giving  no  ground  unto  the  house  of  York, 
They  never  then  had  sprung  like  summer  flies ; 
I,  and  ten  thousand  m  this  luckless  realm. 
Had  letl  no  mourning  widows  for  our  death, 
And  thou  this  day  hadst  ke])t  thy  chair  in  peace. 
>'or  what  doth  cherish  weeds  but  gentle  airl 
And  what  makes  robbers  bold,  but  too  much  lenity? 
Bootless  are  plaints,  and  cureless  arc  my  wounds  ; 
No  way  to  fly,  nor  strength  to  hold  out  flight: 
The  toe  is  merciless,  and  will  not  pity ; 
For,  at  their  hands,  I  have  dcserv'd  no  pity. 
The  air  hath  got  into  my  deadly  wounds. 
And  much  elluse  of  blood  doth  make  me  faint : — 
Come.  York,  and  Richard,  Warwick, and  the  rest; 

1  stabb'd  your  liithers'  bosoms,  split  my  breast. 

[Hefainls. 

Alarum  and  Retreat.    Enter  EnwAiin,  Gkorge, 

RlCUARD,  JVIONTAGUE,  WARWICK,  Uttll  SoldiCrS. 

Kdiu.  Now  breathe  we,  lords;  good  fortune  bids 
us  pause. 
And  smooth  the  frowns  of  war  with  peaceful  looks. 
Some  troops  pursue  the  liloody-minded  (^ueen; — 
That  led  calm  Henry,  lliough'he  were  a  King, 
As  doth  a  sail,  tilTd  with  a  fretting  gust, 
Command  an  argosy  to  stem  the  waves. 
But  think  you,  lords,  that  Clitlbrd  fled  with  them  ? 

War.  No,  'tis  impossible  he  should  escape ; 
For,  though  before  his  face  1  speak  tlie  words. 
Your  brotlier  Richard  mark'd  him  for  the  grave : 
And,  wheresoe'er  he  is,  he's  surely  dead. 

[Ci.iKFOiin  groans  and  dies. 

Edw.  Whose  soul  is  that  which  takes  her  heavy 
leave  I 

Ricti.  A  deadly  groan,  like  life  and  death's  de- 
parting. 

Edw.  See  who  it  is:  and,  now  the  battle's  ended, 
If  friend,  or  foe,  let  him  be  gently  used. 

Kicli.  Revoke  that  doom  of  mercy,  for  'tis  Clifford ; 
Who  not  contented  lluit  he  lopp'd  the  branch 
In  hewing  Rutland  when  his  leaves  put  forth. 
But  set  his  miudering  knife  unto  the  root 
From  whence  that  tender  spray  did  sweetly  spring, 
I  mean  your  princely  lather,  duke  of  York. 

War.  From  olf  the  gates  of  York  fetch  down 
the  head. 
Your  fatlier's  head,  wliich  CHITord  placed  there: 
Instead  wliereof,  let  tliis  sujiply  the  room; 
Measure  Ibr  measure  must  be  answered. 

Edw.  Bring  forth  that  liital  screech-owl  to  our 
house. 
That  nothing  sung  but  death  to  ua  and  ours : 


Now  death  shall  stop  his  dismal  threatening  sound. 
And  his  ill-boding  tongue  no  more  shall  speak. 

[Attendants  Oring  tlie  Budy  forward. 

War.  I  think  his  understanduig  is  bcr'elt: — 
Speak,  Cliirord,  dost  thou  know  wiio  speaks  to  thee] 
Dark  cloudy  death  o'crshadcs  his  beams  of  lil'e, 
And  he  nor  sees,  nor  liears  us  what  w'c  say. 

Rich.  (),  'w'oukl  he  did!  and  so,  perhaps,  he  doth  ; 
'Tis  hut  his  policy  to  counterfeit, 
Because  lie  would  avoid  such  bitter  taunts. 
Which  in  the  time  of  death  he  gave  our  father. 

(Jco.  If  so  thou  think'st,  vex  him  with  eager 
words.^ 

Rich.  Clifford,  ask  mercy,  and  obtain  no  grace 

Edw.  Clillord,  repent  in  bootless  penitence. 

War.  Cliflbrd,  devise  excuses  for  thy  faults. 

Geo.  While  we  devise  fell  tortures  for  thy  faults. 

Rich.  Thou  didst  love  York,  and  I  am  jon  to  York. 

Edw.  Thou  pitied'st  Rutland,  I  will  pity  thee. 

f.Vo.  Where's  captain  Margaret  to  fence  you  now] 

War.  They  mock  thee,  Clilford!  swear  as  thoa 
wast  wont. 

Rich.  What,  not  an  oath?  nay  then  the  world 
goes  hard. 
When  Cliflbrd  cannot  spare  his  friends  an  oath  : — 
I  know  tjy  tiiat  he's  dead;  And,  by  my  soul, 
If  this  right  hand  would  buy  two  hours'  lile, 
That  I  in  all  despite  might  rail  at  him. 
This  hand  should  chop  it  ofl';  and  with  the  issuing 

blood 
Stifle  the  villiiin,  whose  unstaunched  thirst 
York  and  young  Rutland  could  not  satisfy. 

War.  .\y,  but  he's  dead :  Otf  with  the  traitor's 
head. 
And  rear  it  in  the  place  your  father's  stands. — 
And  now  to  Loudon  with  triumphant  march, 
'f  iiere  to  he  crowned  England's  royal  king ; 
From  whence  shall  Warwick  cut  the  sea  to  France, 
And  ask  the  lady  Bona  lor  thy  queen : 
So  shall  thou  sinew  both  these  lands  together; 
And,  having  France  thy  friend,  thou  shall  not  dread 
The  scattcr'd  foe,  that  hopes  to  rise  again ; 
For  though  they  cannot  greatly  sting  to  hurt. 
Yet  look  to  have  them  buz,  to  offend  thine  cars. 
l'"irst,  will  I  see  the  coronation  ; 
And  then  to  Biilany  I'll  cross  tlie  sea. 
To  eflect  this  niarriagc,  so  it  jilease  my  lord. 

Edw.  F.vcn  as  thou  wilt,  sweet  Warwick,  let  it  be : 
For  on  thy  slxniider  do  I  build  my  seat; 
And  never  will  1  undertake  the  thing. 
Wherein  thy  counsel  iitid  consent  is  wanting. — 
Richard,  I  will  create  thee  duke  of  Gloster; — 
And  George,  of  Clarence — Warwick,  as  ourscif. 
Shall  do,  and  undo,  as  him  pleaseth  best. 

Rich.  Let  ine  be  duke  of  Clarence;  George,  of 
Gloster; 
For  Gloster's  dukedom  is  too  ominous. 

IVar.  Tut,  that's  a  foolish  observation  ; 
Richard,  be  duke  of  Gloster:  Now  to  London, 
To  see  tiiesc  honors  in  possession.  [Ej:eu7it. 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I.— A  Chase  in  the  North  o/ England. 
Enter  tiuo  Keepers,  loith  Cross-bows  in  their  hands. 

1  Keep.  Under   this    thick-grown   brake   we'll 

shroud  ourselves ; 
For  through  this  laund^  anon  the  deer  will  come; 
.And  in  this  covert  will  we  make  our  stand. 
Culling  the  principal  of  all  the  deer. 

2  Keep.  I'll  stay  above  the  hill,  so  both  may  shoot. 

1  Keep.  That  cannot  be;  the  noise  of  thy  cross- 

bow 
Will  scare  the  herd,  and  so  my  shoot  is  lost. 
Here  stand  we  both,  and  aim  we  at  the  best: 
And,  for  the  time  shall  not  seem  tedious, 
I'll  ti'll  thee  what  befell  me  on  a  day. 
In  this  self-place  where  now  we  mean  to  stand. 

2  Keep.  Here  comes  a  man,  let's  stay  till  he  be 

past. 
Enter  Ring  Henry, 'rfiigtmcrf,  with  a  Prayer-boot;. 
K.  Hen.  From  Scotland  am  I  stol'n,  even  of  pure 
love. 
To  greet  mine  own  land  with  my  wishful  sight. 
»  A  idain  extended  between  woods. 


No,  Harry,  Harry,  'tis  no  land  of  thine ; 

Thy  place  is  fdj'd,  thy  sceptre  wrung  fioni  thee, 

Thj'  balm  wash'd  otf.wherewith  thou  wastanointed: 

No  bending  knee  will  call  thee  Caesar  now, 

No  humble  suitors  press  to  speak  for  right, 

No,  not  a  man  comes  for  redress  of  thee. 

For  how  can  I  help  them,  and  not  myself] 

1  Keep.  Ay,  here's  a  deer  whose  skin's  a  keeper's 

fee : 
This  is  (he  tjuondam  king ;  let's  seize  upon  him. 

K.  Hen.  Let  me  embrace  these  sour  adversities: 
For  wise  men  say,  it  is  the  wisest  course. 

2  Keej).  Why  linger  we  ]  let  us  lay  hands  upon 

him. 
1  A'ff;).  Forbear  awhile  :  we'll  hear  a  little  more. 
A'.  Hen.  My  queen  and  son,  are  gone  to  France 
l()r  aid ; 
And,  as  I  hear,  the  great  commanding  Warwick 
Is  thither  gone,  to  crave  the  French  king's  sister 
To  wile  for  Edward  :  If  this  news  be  true. 
Poor  queen  and  son,  your  labor  is  but  lost ; 
For  Warwick  is  a  subtle  orator, 

»  Sour  words:  words  of  aspei-ity. 


440 


THIRD    PART   OP 


Act   III. 


And  Lewis  a  prince  soon  won  witli  moving  words. 
By  llii.s  account,  then,  Margaret  may  win  him  ; 
For  slie's  a  woman  to  bo  pitied  much  : 
Her  sighs  will  rnalce  a  battery  in  his  breast; 
Her  tears  wiil  pierce  into  a  marble  lieart; 
Tile  tiiicr  will  be  mild,  winle  she  tloth  mourn; 
And  Nero  will  be  tainted  willi  remorse. 
To  hear,  and  see,  her  piands.  Iier  brinish  tears. 
Ay,  but  she's  cotne  to  beg ;  Warwick,  to  give  ; 
Slie,  on  lijs  leil  side,  craving  aid  tor  Henry ; 
He,  on  his  right,  asking  a  wile  for  Edward. 
She  weeps,  and  says — her  Henry  is  depos'd ; 
He  smiles,  and  says — his  Edward  is  install'd  ; 
That  she,  poor  wretcli,  for  grief  can  speak  no  more : 
Whiles  Warwick  tells  his  titles,  smooths  the  wrong, 
Inferreth  arguments  of  mighty  strength; 
And,  in  conclusion,  wins  the  king  from  tier, 
With  prouijse  of  his  sister,  and  what  else, 
To  strengthen  and  support  king  Etlward's  place. 
i)  Margaret,  thus  't«itl  be  ;  and  thou,  poor  soul, 
Art  then  tbrsaken  as  thou  went'st  Ibrlorn. 

2  Keep.  Say,  wiial  art  thou,  that  talk'st  of  kings 
and  queens  ] 

K.  Hell.  More  than  I  seem,  and  less  tlian  1  was 
born  to : 
A  man  at  least,  for  less  I  should  not  be; 
Aiid  jnen  may  talk  of  kings,  and  why  not  I  ) 

2  Kiip.  Ay.  but  thou  talk'st  as  if  thou  wert  a  king. 

K   Hen.  Why,  so  I   am,  in  mmd;  and  that's 
enough. 

2  Keej).  But  if  thou  be  a  king,  where  is  thy 
crown  1 

K.Hen.  My  crown  is  in  my  iieart,  not  on  my  head: 
Not  decked  with  diamonds,  and  Indian  stones, 
Nor  to  lie  seen  :  my  crown  is  call'd,  content; 
A  cro\\ii  it  IS,  that  seldom  kings  enjoy. 

2  Keep.  Well,  if  you    be  a  king  crown 'd  with 
content, 
Your  crown  content,  and  you,  must  be  contented 
To  go  along  witli  us:  lor,  as  we  think. 
You  are  llie  king,  Idng  Edward  hath  depos'd ; 
And  we  his  subjects,  sworn  in  all  allegiance, 
Will  aj'prehend  you  as  his  enemy. 

K.  Htii.  But  did  you  never  swear,  and  break  an 
oath  ! 

2  Keep.  No,  never  such  an  oath,  nor  will  not  now. 

K.  Hen.  Where  did  you  dwell,  when  1  was  king 
of  England '.' 

2  Keep.  Here  in  this  country,  where  we  now 
remain. 

K.  Hen.  I  was  anointed  Icing  at  nine  months  old; 
My  fa'.lier  and  my  grandlather,  were  kings ; 
And  you  were  sworn  true  subjects  unto  me: 
And.  tell  me  then,  have  you  not  broke  your  oaths! 

1  Keep.  No ; 
For  we  were  subjects  but  while  you  were  king. 

K.  Hen.  Why,  ain  I  dead !  do  I  not  breathe  a 
man  ] 
Ah.  siraiile  men,  you  know  not  what  you  swear. 
Look,  as  I  blow  this  ti-alher  from  my  face, 
And  as  the  air  blows  it  to  me  again, 
Obeyuig  with  my  wind  when  Ido  blow. 
And  yielding  to  another  when  it  blows, 
Commanded  always  by  the  greater  gust; 
Such  is  Ihe  lightness  of  you  common  men. 
But  do  not  break  your  oaths;  lor,  of  that  sin 
Jly  mild  entreaty  shall  not  make  you  guilty. 
Go  where  you  will,  the  king  shall  be  commanded; 
And  be  you  kings:  comiuand,  and  I'll  obey. 

1  Keep.  We  arc  true  subjects  to  the  king,  king 
Edward. 

K.  Hi  n.  So  would  you  be  again  to  Henry, 
If  he  were  seated  as  king  Edward  is. 

1  Keep.  Wc  charge  you  in  God's  name,  and  in 
the  king's. 
To  go  with  us  unto  the  officers. 

K.  Hen.  In  God's  name  lead;  your  king's  name 
be  obey'd : 
And  what  God  will,  then  let  your  king  perform  ; 
And  what  he  will,  1  humbly  yield  unto.   [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— London.    A  Room  in  ihe  Palace. 

Enter  Ki.\<i  Edward,   Gloster,   Clarence,   and 
Lady  Grey. 
JT.  Eilw.  Brother  of  Gloster,  at  Saint  Albans'  field 
Tills  lady  s  husband,  sir  John  Grey,  was  slain, 
His  lands  then  seiz'd  on  by  the  conqueror  : 
Her  suit  is  now,  to  repossess  those  lands; 
Which  we  injustice  cannot  well  deny, 


Because  in  quarrel  of  the  house  of  York 
The  worthy  gendeman  did  lose  his  life. 

Glo.  You  r  highness  shall  do  well  to  grant  her  siiit ; 
It  w-ere  dishonor,  to  deny  it  her. 
K.  Edit'.  It  were  no  less ;  but  yet  I'll  make  a  pause. 
Ota.  Yea  !  is  it  so] 
I  see,  the  lady  hath  a  thing  to  grant, 
Belbre  the  king  will  grant  her  humble  suit. 
CLa.  He  knows  the  game;  How  true  he  keeps 

the  wind ?  {.Aside. 

Glo.  Silence !  [Asiiie. 

K.  Edw.  Widow,  we  will  consider  of  your  suit; 
And  come  some  other  time,  to  know  our  mind. 
L.  Grey.  Right  gracious  lord,  1  cannot   brook 

delay: 
May  it  please  your  highness  to  resolve  me  now; 
And  what  your  pleasure  is,  shall  satisfy  me. 
Glo.  {Aside.}  Ay,  widow  !  then  I'll  warrant  you 

all  your  lands. 
An  if  what  pleases  him,  shall  pleasure  you. 
Fight  closer,  or,  good  liiith,  you'll  catch  a  blow, 
t'tar.  I  fear  her  not,  unless  she  chance  to  lall. 

[Aside 
Glo.  God  forbid  that !  for  he'll  take  vantages. 

[Asiile. 
K.  Edw.  How  many  children  hast  thou,  widow  1 

tell  me. 
Clar.  I  think,  he  means  to  beg  a  child  of  her. 

[Aside, 
Glo.  Nay,  whip  me  then;  he'll  rather  give  her 

two.  [AsUle. 

L.  Grey.  Three,  my  most  gracious  lord. 
Glo.  You  shall  have  lour,  if  you'll  be  rul'd  by 

him.  [Aside. 

K.  Edw.  'Twere  pity  they  should   lose   their 

lather's  land. 
L.  Grey.  Be  pitiful,  dread  lord,  and  grant  it  then. 
K.  Edw.  Lords,  give    us    leave;    I'U    try    this 

W'idow's  wit. 
Glo.  Ay.  good  leave  have  you;  for  you  will  have 

h'a\'e. 
Tin  youth  take  leave,  and  leave  you  to  the  crutch. 
[Cluster  and  Clakenxe  retire  to  the 
other  side. 
K.  Edw.  Now  tell  me,  madam,  do  you  love  your 

children  1 
L.  Grey.  Ay,  full  as  dearly  as  I  love  myself. 
A". i'rfw.  Andwould  younotdomuch  to  do  them 

good  ! 
L.  Grty.  To  do  them  good,  I  would  sustain  some 

harm. 
A'.  Edw.  Then  get  your  husbimd's  lands,  to  do 

them  good. 
L.  Grey.  Therefore  I  came  unto  j'our  majesty. 
K.Edw.  I'll  tell  you  how  these  lands  are  to  be  got. 
L.  Grey.  So  shall  you  bind  me  to  your  highness' 

service. 
K.  Edw.  What  service  wilt  thou  do  me,  if  I  give 

them  '! 
L.  Grey.  What  you  command,  that  rests  in  me 

to  do. 
K.  Edw.  But  you  will  take  exceptions  to  my  boon. 
L.  Grey.  No,  gracious  lord.  e.\cept  1  cannot  do  it. 
A".  Edw.  Ay,  but  thou  canst  do  what  1  mean  to 

ask. 
L.  Grey.  Why,  then  I  will  do  what  your  grace 

commands. 
Glo.  He  plies  her  hard;  and  much  rain  wears 

the  marble.  [Aside. 

Clar.  As  red  as  hre !  nay,  then  her  wax  must 

melt.  [Aside. 

L.  Grey.  Why  stops  my  lord  ?  shall  I  not  hear 

my  task  1 
K.  Edw.  An  easy  task :  'tis  but  to  love  a  king. 
L.  Grey.  That's  soon  perlbrm'd,  because  1  am  a 

subject. 
K.  Edw.  \Vhy  then,  thy  husband's  lands  I  freely 

give  thee. 
L.  Grei/.  I  take  my  leave  with  many  thousand 

thanks. 
G/o.  The  match  is  made ;  shesealsit  with  a  curt'sy. 
K.Edw.  But  stay  thee,  'tis  the  fruits  of  love  I 

mean. 
L.  Grey.  The  fi-uits  of  love  I  mean,  my  loving 

liefie. 
A'.  Edw.  Ay,  but,  I  fear  me,  in  another  sense. 
What  love,  think'st  thou,  I  sue  so  much  to  get] 
L.  Grey.  My  love  till  death,  my  humble  Ihaiiks, 

my  prayers ; 
That  love  whicii  virtue  begs,  and  virtue  grants. 


Scene  III. 


KING  HENRY   VI. 


441 


A".  Edu:  No,  by  my  tvolh,  I  did  not  mean  sucii 

love. 
L.  Grey.  Wliy  then  you  mean  not  as  I  thouglit 

jou  did. 
A'.  £dw.  But  now  you  partly  may  perceive  my 
mind.  " 

L.  Grey. My  mind  will  never  grrant  what  I  perceive 
Your  highness  aims  at,  ifl  aim  aright. 
A.  Edw.  To  tell  thee  plain,  I  aim  to  lie  with  thee. 
L.  Grey.  To  tell  you  plain,  I  had  rather  lie  in 

prison. 
A.  Eihv.  Why,  then   thou  shalt  not  have  thy 

husband's  land.s. 
L.  Grey.  Wliy,  then  mine  honesty  shall  he  my 
dower; 
For  by  tliat  loss  I  will  not  piircliase  them. 
A'.  Edw.  Tlierein  thou  wrong'st  thy  cliildren 

mightily. 
L.  Grey.   Herein    your    highness    wrongs   both 
them  and  me. 
But,  mighty  lord,  this  merry  inclination 
Accords  not  with  tlie  sadness  of  my  suit; 
Please  you,  dismiss  me,  eiliier  with  ay,  or  no. 

K.  Edw.  Ay ;  il"  thou  wilt  say  ay,  to  my  request : 
No ;  if  thou  dost  say  no,  to  my  demand. 
L.  G«'y.  Then,  no,  my  lord.    My  suit  is  at  an  end. 
Glo.  The  widow  likes  him  not;  she  knits  her 
brows.  [Aside. 

Clar.  He  is  the  bluntest  wooer  in  Christendom. 

[Asi/le. 
K.  Edw.  [AHde.]  Her  looks  do  argue  her  replete 
witll  modesty  ; 
Her  words  do  show  her  wit  incomparable; 
All  her  perlcctions  cliallenge  sovereignty: 
One  way,  or  oilier,  slic  is  fur  a  king ; 
And  slie  sliall  be  my  love,  or  else  my  queen. — 
Say,  tliat  king  Edward  take  thee  for  his  queen'? 
L.  Grey.  'Tis  better  said  than  done,  my  gracious 
lord: 
I  am  a  suliject  fit  to  jest  withal, 
But  tar  unht  to  be  a  sovereign. 
K.  Edw.  Sweet  widow,  by  my  state  I  swear  to 
thee, 
I  speak  no  more  than  what  my  soul  intends ; 
And  that  is  to  enjoy  tliee  tor  my  love. 

L.  Grey.  And  tliat  is  more  than  I  vi'ill  yield  unto: 
I  know,  1  am  too  mean  to  he  your  queen ; 
And  yet  too  good  to  be  your  concubine. 
.A.  Edw.  Vou  cavil,  widow ;  1  did  mean  my  queen. 
L.  Grey.   Twill    grieve    your    grace,    my  sons 

should  call  you— liiihcr. 
A'.  Edw.  No  more,  than  when  thy  daughters  call 
thee  mother. 
Thou  art  a  widow,  and  thou  hast  some  children ; 
And,  by  God's  mother,  I,  being  but  a  bachelor, 
Have  other  some:  why,  'tis  a  happy  thing 
To  be  the  father  unto  many  sons. 
Answer  no  more,  for  Ihou  shalt  be  my  queen. 
Glo.  The  ghostly  liillier  now  hath  done  his  shrift. 

Clar.  When  he  was  made  a  shriver,  'twas  for 

shitt.  [Aside. 

K.Edw.  Brothers,  you  muse  what  chat  we  two' 

have  bad. 
GUi.  The  widow  likes  it  not,  for  she  looks  sad. 
h.Edw.Yoa  d  think  it  strange  il  I  should  marry 
her.  ' 

Clar.  To  whom,  my  lord  I 

■^;  '''if:'  , , .  ^^''J'.  Clarence,  to  myself. 

G  to.  That  would  be  ten  days'  wonder,  at  the  least. 
Uar.  That  s  a  day  longer  than  a  wonder  lasts. 
Glo.  By  so  much  is  the  wonder  in  extremes. 
h.  Edw.  Well,  jest  on,  brothers,  I  can  tc"  vou 
both,  ■  ■' 

Her  suit  is  granted  for  her  husband's  lands. 
Enter  a  Nobleman. 
Null   My  gracious  lord,  Henry  your  foe  is  taken 
And  brought  your  prisoner  to  your  palace  gate. 
K.  Edw.  See   that    he    be    convey'd    unto    the 
Tower.— 
And  go  we.  brothers,  to  tile  man  that  took  him. 
To  question  of  his  apprehension.— 
Widow,  go  you  along;  lords,  use  her  honorable. 
[Exeun-t  Kinu  Edward,  Lady  Gbet, 
Clahence,  and  Lord. 
»..?    ,  ,J'  Edward  will  use  women  honorably. 
Would  he  were  wasted,  marrow,  bones,  and  all 
That  from  his  loins  no  hopeful  branch  may  spring 
To  cross  me  from  the  golden  time  I  look  lor ' 


And  yet,  between  mv  soul's  desire  and  me, 

(The  lusttul  Edward's  title  buried,) 

Is  Clarence,  Henry,  and  his  son  young  Edward, 

And  all  the  unlook'd-for  issue  of  their  bodies, 

To  take  their  rooms,  ere  I  can  place  myself: 

A  cold  premeditation  lor  my  purpose ! 

Why,  then  1  do  but  dream  on  sovereignty; 

Like  one  that  stands  upon  a  promontory. 

And  spies  a  far-off  shore  where  he  would  tread, 

Wishing  his  foot  were  equal  with  his  eye ; 

And  chides  the  sea  that  sunders  him  from  thence, 

Saying — he'll  lade  it  dry  to  have  his  way; 

So  do  I  wish  the  crown,  being  so  far  oft'; 

And  .so  1  cliide  the  means  that  keep  me  from  it; 

And  so  I  say — I'll  cut  the  causes  oil. 

Flattering  me  with  impossibilities. — 

My  eye's  too  quick,  my  heart  o'erwecns  too  much, 

Unless  my  hand  and  strength  could  equal  tiicm. 

Well,  sav  there  is  no  kingdom  then  for  Richard; 

What  other  pleasure  can  the  world  aflbrd ] 

ril  make  my  heaven  in  a  lady's  lap, 

I'll  deck  my  body  in  gay  ornaments. 

And  witch  sweet  ladies  with  my  words  and  looks. 

0  miserable  thought!  and  more  unlikely. 
Than  to  accomplish  twenty  golden  crowns! 
Why,  love  forswore  me  in  my  mother's  womb : 
And,  lor  I  should  not  deal  in  her  soft  laws. 
She  did  corrupt  frail  nature  with  some  bribe 
To  shrink  mine  arm  up  like  a  wither'd  shrub; 
To  make  an  envious  mountain  on  my  back, 
Where  sits  delbrnuty  to  mock  my  body; 

To  shape  my  legs  of  an  unequal  size ; 

To  disproportion  me  in  every  part. 

Like  to  a  chaos,  or  an  unlick'd  bear-whelp, 

That  carries  no  impression  hke  the  dam. 

And  am  1  then  a  man  lo  be  belov'd  ? 

O,  monstrous  fault,  to  harbor  such  a  thought ! 

Then,  since  this  earth  allbrds  no  joy  to  me. 

But  to  command,  to  check,  to  o'erbear  such 

.\s  are  of  belter  person  than  myself, 

I'll  make  my  heaven — to  dream  upon  the  crown; 

And,  whiles  I  live,  to  account  this  world  but  hell, 

Until  my  niis-shan'd  trunk,  that  bears  this  head, 

Be  round  imiialed'  with  a  glorious  crown. 

And  yet  I  know  not  how  to  get  the  crown. 

For  many  lives  stand  between  me  and  home  : 

And  I. — like  one  lost  in  a  thorny  wood. 

That  rents  the  thorns,  and  is  rent  with  the  thorns; 

Seeking  a  way,  and  straying  from  the  way; 

Not  knowing  how  to  lind  the  open  air. 

But  toiling  desperately  to  lind  it  out  — 

Torment  myself  to  catch  the  English  crown: 

And  from  that  torment  I  will  free  myself, 

Or  hew  my  way  out  with  a  bloody  axe. 

Why,  I  can  smile,  and  murder  while  I  smile; 

And  cry,  content,  to  that  which  grieves  my  heart. 

And  wet  my  checks  with  artilicial  tears, 

And  frame  my  liice  to  all  occasions. 

I'll  drown  more  sailors  than  the  mermaid  shall; 

I'll  slay  more  gazers  than  the  basilisk; 

I'll  play  tile  orator  as  well  as  Nestor, 

Deceive  more  silly  than  Ulysses  could, 

And,  like  a  Sinon,  take  another  Troy. 

1  can  add  colors  to  the  caineleon ; 

Change  shapes,  with  Proteus,  for  advantages, 
And  set  the  murd'rous  Machiavel  to  school. 
Can  I  do  this,  and  cannot  get  a  crown  ! 
Tut !  were  it  further  off,  I'd  pluck  it  down.    [Exit. 

SCENE  III.— France.  A  Room  in  tlit  Palace, 
Flourish.  Enter  Lewis  the  French  King.onrf  Lady 

V,t)S.\.  attended ;   tlie  King  takes  tiis  state.   Then 

enter  Qlken Margaket,  Pki.nce  Euwaub her  Hon, 

and  tlie  Earl  of  Oxford. 

K.  Lew.  Fair  queen  of  England,  worthy  Mar- 
garet, [Risine. 
Sit  down  with  ns;  it  ill  befits  thy  state. 
And  birlli.  that  thou  should'st  stand,  while  Lewis 
doth  sit. 

Q.  Mar.  No,  mighty  king  of  France ;  now  Mar- 
garet 
Must  strike  her  sail,  and  learn  a  while  to  serve, 
Where  kings  command.    I  was,  I  must  confess, 
dreat  Albion's  queen  in  former  golden  dajs: 
But  now  mischance  hath  trod  my  title  down, 
And  with  dishonor  laid  me  on  the  ground. 
Where  1  must  take  like  seat  unto  my  fortune, 
And  to  my  humble  seat  conform  myself. 
»  Encircled. 


442 


THIRD   PAET   OF 


Act.  m. 


A'.  Lew.  Why,  say,  fair  queen,  whence  springs 

Ihis  deep  despair  ? 
Q.  Mar.  From  such  a  cause  as  fills  mine  eyes 
with  tears, 
And  stops  my  tongue,  while  heart  is  drown'd  in 
cares. 
K.  Lew.  Whatc'er  it  be,  be  thou  still  like  thyself, 
And  sit  thee  by  our  side  :  yield  not  tliy  neck 

[Seats  her  by  him. 
To  fortune's  yoke,  but  let  thy  dauntless  mind 
Still  ride  in  triumph  over  all  mischance. 
Be  plain,  queen  Margaret,  and  tell  thy  grief; 
It  shall  be  eas'd,  if  France  can  yield  relief. 
Q.  Mar,  Those  gracious  words  revive  my  droop- 
ing thoughts. 
And  give  my  tongue-tied  sorrows  leave  to  speak. 
Now,  therelbre,  be  it  known  to  noble  Lewis, — 
Th;it  Henry,  sole  possessor  of  my  love, 
Is,  of  a  king,  become  a  banish'd  man, 
And  forced  to  live  in  Scotland  a  forlorn ; 
'While  proud  ambitious  Edward  duke  of  York, 
Usurps  the  regal  title,  and  the  seat 
Of  England's  true-anointed  lawful  king. 
This  is  the  cause,  that  I,  poor  Margaret, — 
With  this  my  son,  prince  Edward,  Henry's  heir, — 
Am  come  to  crave  thy  just  and  lawful  aid  ; 
And,  if  thou  fail  us,  all  our  hope  is  done: 
Scotland  hath  will  to  help,  but  cannot  help  ; 
Our  people  and  our  peers  are  both  misled, 
Our  treasure  sciz'd,  our  soldiers  put  to  flight, 
And,  as  thou  seest,  ourselves  in  heavy  plight. 
K.  Lew.  Renowned  queen,  with  jjatience  calm 
the  storm. 
While  we  bethink  a  means  to  break  it  off. 

Q.  Mar.  The  more  we  stay,  the  stronger  grows 

our  foe. 
K.  Lew.  The  more  I  stay,  the  more  I'll  succor 

thee. 
Q.  Mar,  O,  but  impatience. waiteth  on  true  sor- 
row : 
And  see,  where  comes  the  breeder  of  my  sorrow. 

Enter  Warwick,  attended, 

A'.  Lew.  WJiat's  he,  approacheth  boldly  to  our 
presence  \ 

Q.  Mar.  Our  earl  of  Warwick,  Edward's  greatest 
friend. 

A'.  Lew.  Welcome,  brave  Warwick!  What  brings 
thee  to  France  ] 

[Descending  from  his  state.    Queen  Margaret 
7'ises. 

Q.  Mar.  Ay,  now  begins  a  second  storm  to  rise ; 
For  this  is  he,  that  moves  both  wind  and  tide. 

War.  From  worthy  Edward,  king  of  Albion, 
My  lord  and  sovereign,  and  thy  vowed  friend, 
I  come, — in  kindness,  and  unfeigned  love, — 
First,  to  do  greetings  to  thy  royal  person ; 
And,  then,  to  crave  a  league  of  amity; 
And,  lastly,  to  confirm  that  amity 
With  nuptial  knot,  if  thou  vouchsafe  to  grant 
That  virtuous  lady  Bona,  thy  fair  sister, 
To  England's  king  in  lawful  marriage. 

Q,   Mar.    If  that  go  forward,  Henry's  hope  is 
done. 

War.  And.  gracious  madam,  [To  BoxA,]!  in  our 
king's  behalf.  ^ 

I  am  commanded,  with  your  leave  and  favor. 
Humbly  tu  kiss  your  hand,  and  with  my  tongue 
To  tell  the  passion  of  my  sovereign's  heart  : 
Where  lame,  late  entering  at  his  iieedful  ears, 
Haih  ])laced  thy  beauty's  image,  and  thy  virtue. 

Q.   Mar.  King  Lewis, — ana  Lady  Bona,— hear 
me  speak, 
Befi.ire  you  answer  AVarwick.    His  demand 
Springs  not  from  Edward's  well-meant  honest  love, 
But  liom  deceit,  bred  by  necessity; 
For  liow  can  tyrants  salely  govern  home, 
Unless  abroad  they  purchase  jjreat  alhanceT 
To  i)rove  hnn  tyrant,  this  reason  may  suffice, — 
That  Henry  liveth  still :  but  were  he  dead. 
Yet  here  prince  Edward  stands,  king  Henry's  son. 
Look  therefore,  Lewis,  that  by  this  league  and  mar- 
riage 
Thou  draw  not  on  thy  danger  and  dishonor: 
For  though  usurpers  "sway  the  rule  awhile, 
Yet  heavens  are  just,  and  time  suppresseth  wrong. 

War.  Injurious  Margaret. 

prince.  And  why  not  queen? 

War.  Because  thy  father  Henry  did  usurp; 
And  thou  no  more  art  prince,  than  she  is  queen. 


0.if.  Then  Warwick  disannuls  great  Jonn  of 
Gaunt, 
Which  did  subdue  the  greatest  part  of  Spain* 
And  after  John  of  Gaunt,  Henry  the  Fourth, 
Whose  wisdom  was  a  mirror  to  the  wisest; 
And,  afler  that  wise  prince.  Henry  the  I-'illh, 
Wlio  by  his  prowess  conquered  all  France: 
From  these  our  PJenry  lineally  descends. 

Wa?:  Oxford,  how  haps  it,  in  this  smooth  dis- 
course, t 
You  told  not,  how  Henry  the  Sixth  hath  lost 
All  that  which  Henry  the  Filth  liad  gotten  ] 
Methinks,  these  peers  of  France  should  smile  at 

that. 
But  for  the  rest, — You  tell  a  pedigree 
Of  three-score  ar\d  two  years;  a  silly  tiine 
To  make  prescription  for  a  kingdom's  worth. 

Ouf.  Why,  Warwick,  canst  thou  speak  against 
thy  liege, 
Whom  thou  obeyedst  thirty-and-six  years. 
And  not  bewray  thy  treason  with  a  blush  1 

War.  Can  Oxford,  that  did  ever  fence  the  right, 
Now  buckler  falsehood  with  a  pedigree? 
For  shame,  leave  Henrj',  and  call  Edward  king. 

Oxf'.  Call  him  my  king,  by  whose  injurious  doom 
My  elder  brother,  the  lord  Aubrey  Vere, 
Was  done  to  death?  and  more  than  so  my  father, 
Even  in  the  downlall  of  his  mellow'd  years, 
When  nature  brought  liiin  to  the  door  of  death! 
No,  Warwick,  no;  while  lite  upholds  this  arm, 
This  arm  upholds  the  house  of  Lancaster, 

War,  And  I  the  house  of  York. 

A".  Lew.  Queen  Margaret,  prince  Edward,  and 
Oxford, 
Vouchsafe,  at  our  request,  to  stand  aside. 
While  I  use  further  conference  with  Warwick. 

Q.  Mar.   Heaven  grant  that  Warwick's  words 
bewitch  him  not ! 

[Retiring  with  the  Pm^CE  and  Oxford. 

A'.  Lew.  Now,  Warwick,  tell  me,  even  upon  thy 
conscience. 
Is  Edward  your  true  king  ?  for  I  were  loath. 
To  link  with  him  that  were  not  lawful  chosen. 

IVar.  Thereon  I  pawn  my  credit  and  mine  honor. 

A'.  Lew.  But  is  he  gracious  in  the  people's  eye? 

JVar.  The  more,  that  Henry  was  unfortunate. 

K.Leiv.  Then  further,— all  dissembling  set  aside. 
Tell  me  for  truth  tlie  measure  of  his  love 
Unto  our  sister  Bona. 

War.  Such  it  seems,  * 

As  may  beseem  a  monarch  like  himself. 
Myself  have  olten  heard  him  say,  and  swear, — 
That  this  his  love  was  an  eternal  plant; 
Whereof  the  root  was  fix'd  in  virtue's  ground, 
The  leaves  and  fruit  maintain'd  with  beauty's  sun; 
Exempt  from  envy,  but  not  from  disdain, 
Unless  the  lady  Bona  quit  his  pain. 

A'.  Lew.  Now,  sister,  let  us  iiear  your  firm  resolve. 

Bona.  Yourgrant,  or  your  denial,  shall  be  mine. 
Yet  I  confess,  [To  War.]  tJiat  olten  ere  tijis  day. 
When  I  have  heard  your  king's  desert  recounted, 
Mine  ear  hath  tempted  judgment  to  desire. 

A'.  Lew.  Then,  Warwick,  thus,— Our  sister  shall 
be  Edward's  ; 
And  now  forthwith  shall  articles  be  drawn 
Touching  the  jointure  that  your  king  must  make, 
Which  with  her  dowry  shall  be  counterpois'd:^ 
Draw  near,  queen  Margaret;  and  be  a  witness, 
That  Bona  sJiall  be  wife  to  the  English  kins. 

Prince.  To  Edward,  but  not  to  the  English  king. 

Q.  Mar,  Deceitful  Warwick!  it  was  thy  device 
By  this  alliance  to  make  void  my  suit; 
Before  thy  cominfi,  Lewis  was  Henry's  friend. 

K.  I^ew.  And  still  is  friend  to  him  and  Margaret; 
But  if  your  title  to  the  crown  be  weak,— 
As  may  appear  by  Edward's  good  success, — 
Then  'tis  but  reason  that  I  be  reieas'd 
From  giving  aid,  which  late  I  promised. 
Yet  -shall  you  have  all  kindness  at  my  hand. 
That  your  estate  requires,  and  mine  can  yield. 

IVar.  Henry  now  lives  in  Scotland,  at  his  ease; 
Wliere  having  nothing,  nothing  he  can  lose. 
And  as  for  you  yourself,  our  quondam  queen, — 
You  have  a  father  able  to  nianititin  you  ; 
And  better  'twere  you  troubled  him* than  France. 

Q.  Mar.  Peace,  impudent  and  shameless  War- 
wick, peace ; 
Proud  setter-up  and  puller-down  of  kings! 
I  will  not  hence,  till  with  my  talk  and  tears, 
Botli  full  of  truth,  1  lUiiKe  king  Lewis  behold 


Act  IV.     Scene  I. 


KING   HENRY  VI. 


443 


Thy  sly  conveyance,*  and  thy  lord*s  false  love ; 
For  both  of  you  are  birds  of  self-same  feather. 

[A  Horn  suuwled  wUhin. 
K'  Lew.  Warwick,  this  is  some  post  to  us,  or  thee. 

Enfer  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  lord,  ambassador,  these  letters  are  for 
you ; 
Sent  from  your  brother,  marquis  Montague. 
These  from  our^ii'ig  unto  your  majesty.— 
And,  madam,  these  for  you;  from  whom  I  know 
not. 
[To  Margaret.  They  all  read  their  Letters. 

Oxf.  Hike  it  well,  that  our  fair  c^ueen and  mistress 
Smiles  at  her  news,  while  Warwick  frowns  at  his. 

Prince.   Nay,  mark,  how  Lewis  stamps  as  he 
were  nettled ; 
I  hope  all's  for  the  best. 

A'.  Lew.   Warwick,  what  are   thy  news?    and 
yours,  lair  queen  \ 

Q.  Mar.  Mine,  such  as  till  my  heart  with  unhop'd 
joys. 

JVar.  Mine.tuU  of  sorrow,and  heart  s  discontent. 

K.  Lew.  What!  has  your  king  married  the  lady 
Grey? 
And  now,  to  soothe  your  forgery  and  his, 
Sends  me  a  paper  to  persuade  jue  patience  ? 
Is  this  tlie  alliance  that  he  seeks  with  France? 
Dare  he  presume  to  scorn  us  in  this  manner? 

Q,  Mar.  I  told  your  majesty  as  much  betbre  : 
This  provcth  Edward's  love,  and  Warwick's  ho- 
nesty. 

IVar.  King  Lewis,  I  here  protest, — in  sight  of 
heaven. 
And  by  tJie  hope  I  have  of  heavenly  bliss, — 
That  1  am  clear  from  this  misdeed  of  Kd ward's; 
No  more  my  king,  tor  he  dishonors  me; 
But  most  himself,  if  he  could  see  his  shame. — 
Did  I  forget,  lliat  by  the  house  of  York 
My  fatiier  came  untimely  to  his  death  ? 
Did  I  lot  pass  tile  abuse  done  to  my  niece  ? 
Did  1  impale  him  wilii  tlie  regal  crown  ! 
Did  I  put  Henry  from  his  native  rigJit; 
And  am  I  gucrdon'ds  at  the  last  w-itii  shame? 
Shame  on  himself!  lor  my  desert  is  honor. 
And  to  repair  my  honor  lost  for  him, 
1  here  renounce  iiim,  and  return  to  ilenry  : 
My  noble  queen,  let  Ibrmer  grudges  pass, 
And  henceforth  I  am  tiiy  true  servitor; 
I  will  revenge  his  wrong  to  lady  Bona, 
And  replant  Henry  in  lus  Ibrmer  state. 

Q,  Mar.  Warwick,  these  words  have  turn'd  my 
hate  to  love ; 
And  I  forgive  and  quite  forget  old  faults, 
Au'l  joy  tiiat  thou  becom'st  king  Henry's  friend. 

il'ur.  So  much  his  friend,  ay,  his  unteigned friend. 
That,  if  king  Lewis  vouchsaie  to  furnish  us 
Witli  some  lew  bands  of  chosen  soldiers, 
I'll  undertake  to  land  tliem  on  our  coast. 
And  tbrce  the  tyrant  Irom  lii.s  seat  by  war. 
'Tis  not  his  new-made  bride  shall  succor  him: 
And  as  for  Clarence, — as  my  letters  tell  me, 
He's  very  likely  now  to  fall  from  him  ; 
For  matching  more  for  wanton  lust  than  honor, 
Or  than  for  strength  and  salety  of  our  country. 

Bona.    Dear   brother,  how    shall    Bona   be  re 
veuged, 
But  by  tliy  help  to  this  distressed  queen? 


Q.  Mar.  Renowned  prince,  how  shall  poor  Hen- 
ry live. 
Unless  thou  rescue  him  fi-om  foul  despair? 
Bona.  My  quarrel,  and  this  English  queen's,  are 

one. 
War.    And   mine,  fair    lady   Bona,  joins  with 

yours. 
A'.  Lew.  And  mine,  with  hers,  and  thine,  and 
Margaret's. 
Therefore  at  last,  I  firmly  am  resolv'd, 
You  shall  have  aid. 
Q.  Mar.  Let  me  give  humble  thanks  for  all  at 

once. 
A^  Lew.  Then  England*s  messenger,  return  in 
post ; 
And  tell  false  Edward,  thy  supposed  king. — 
That  Lewis  of  France  is  sending  over  maskers, 
To  revel  it  with  him  and  his  new  bride: 
TJiou  set'St  what's  past,  go  fear»  thy  king  withal. 
Bona.  Tell  him.  In  hope  he'll  prove  a  widower 
shortly, 
I'll  wear  the  willow  garland  for  his  sake. 
Q.  Mar.  Tell  liim.  My  mourning  weeds  are  laid 
aside, 
And  I  am  ready  to  put  armor  on. 

War.  Tell  Inm  from  me,  That  he  hath  done  me 
wrong ; 
And  therefore  I'll  uncrown  him  erc't  be  long. 
Tiiorc's  thy  reward:  begone.  [Exit  Mess. 

A'.  Lew  But,  Warwick,  thou, 

And  Oxford,  with  five  thousand  men, 
Shall  cross  the  seas,  and  bid  ial?e  Edward  battle: 
And.  as  occasion  serves,  this  noble  queen 
And  prince  shall  IbUow  with  a  fresh  supply. 
Yet,  ere  thou  go.  but  answer  me  one  doubt; — 
What  pledge  liave  we  of  thy  firm  loyalty  1 

War.  Tliis  sJiall  assure  my  constant  loyally; — 
That  if  our  queen  and  this  young  prince  agree, 
I'll  join  mine  eldest  daughter,  and  my  joy, 
To  him  forthwilli  in  holy  wedlock  bands. 
Q.  Mar.  Yes,  i  agree,  and  tliank  ^ou  for  your 
motion: — 
Son  Edward,  she  is  fair  and  virtuous, 
Therefore  delay  not,  give  thy  hand  to  Warwick: 
And,  with  thy  hand,  thy  laith  irrevocable. 
That  only  WarwickVdaughter  shall  be  thine. 
Prince.  Yes,  I  accept  her,  lor  she  well  deserves 
it: 
And  here  to  pledge  my  vow,  I  give  my  hand. 

[Jle  f^ircs  his  hand  to  Wauwick. 
AT.  Lew.  Why  stay  we  now  !  These  soldiers  shall 
be  levied. 
And  thou,  lord  Bourbon,  our  high  admiral, 
Shalt  watt  them  over  with  our  royal  fleet. — 
I  long,  till  Edward  tail  by  war's  mischance. 
For  mocking  marriage  witli  a  dame  of  France. 

[Exeujit  all  bat  Warwick. 
War,  I  came  from  E(fward  as  ambassador. 
But  I  return  his  sworn  and  mortal  foe: 
IMallor  of  marriage  was  the  charge  he  gave  me, 
But  dreadful  war  shall  answer  his  demand. 
Had  he  none  else  to  make  a  stale,^  but  me  ? 
Then  none  but  1  sliall  turn  his  jest  to  sorrow. 
1  was  the  chief  that  rais'd  him  to  the  crown. 
And  I'll  be  chief  to  bring  him  down  again: 
Not  tliaAI  pity  Henry's  misery, 
But  seek  revenge  on  Edward's  mockery. 

[EjcU. 


ACT    IV. 


SCENE  I.— London.  A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

knter  Gloster,  Clarence,  Somerset,  Montague, 
and  others. 
Glo.  Now  tell  me,  brother  Clarence,  what  think 
you 
Of  this  new  marriage  with  the  lady  Grey? 
Hath  not  our  brother  made  a  worthy  choice  ? 
Ciar.  Alas,  you  know,  'tis  far  horn  hence  to 
France ; 
How  could  he  stay  till  Warwick  made  return? 
Sum.  My  lords,  forbear  this  talk;    here  comes 
tlie  king. 


^  JuiTsUn ' 


3  Rewarded. 


Flimrish.  Enter  King  Edward,  fl'/Ze/iffc^?;  Lady 
Gu^\, as  Queen i  PEiiBuoKE,  Stafford,  Hastings, 
and  otkera. 

Glo.  And  his  well-chosen  bride. 
Ctar.  I  mind  lo  tell  him  plainly  what  I  think. 
K.  Edw.    Now,  brother  of  Clarence,  how  like 
you  our  choice, 
That  you  stand  pensive,  as  half  malcontent  ? 
Clar.  As  well  as  Lewis  of  France,  or  the  earl  of 
Warwick  ; 
Which  are  so  weak  of  courage,  and  in  judgment, 
That  they'll  take  no  offence  at  our  abuse. 


*  Fiightun. 


»  A  stalkiug-Iiorse,  a  pretence. 


444 


THIRD   PART   OF 


Act   IV. 


K.  Edicu    Suppose  they  take  oflence  without  a 
cause, 
Tliey  are  but  Lewis  and  Warwick;  I  am  Edward, 
Vour  Jiing  and  Warwick's,  and  must  have  my 
will. 
Glo.  And  you  shall  iiave  your  will,  because  our 
king : 
Yet  hasty  marriage  seldom  proveth  well. 
K.  Edw.  Yea,  brother  llichard,  arc  3  ou  oflended 

tool 
Glo.  Not  I : 
No;  God  forbid,  that  I  should  wish  them  sever'd 
Whom  God  hath  joiu'd  together:   ay.  and 'twere 

pity, 
To  sunder  them  that  yoke  so  well  together. 
K.  Edw.   Setting  your  scorns,  and  your  mislike, 
aside, 
Teil  me  some  reason,  why  the  lady  Grey 
Should    not    become    my    wife,    and    England's 

queen : — 
And  you  too,  Somerset,  and  Montague, 
Speak  IVcoIy  wliat  you  think. 

CUir.  Then  this  is  my  opinion, — that  Idng  Lewis 
Becomes  your  enemy,  ibr  mocking  him 
About  the  marriage  of  the  lady  liona. 

Glo.   And   Warwick,  doing  what  you  gave  in 
charge, 
Is  now  dishonored  by  this  new  marriage, 
K.  Edw.  What,  if  both  Lewis  and  Warwick  be 
appeas'd, 
By  such  invention  as  I  can  devise? 
Mont.  Yet  to  have  joiii'd  with  France  m  such 
alliance, 
Would  more  have  strengthened  this  our  common- 
wealth 
'Gainst  foreign  storms,  tlian  any  home-bred  mar- 
riage. 
Hast.  Why,  knows  not  Montague,  that  of  itself 
England  is  safi;,  if  true  within  itscU"? 
Mont.  Yes;  but  the  saler,  when  'tis  back'd  with 

France. 
}lai<i.  'Tis   better  using  France,  than  trusting 
France : 
Lpt  us  be  back'd  with  God,  and  with  the  seas, 
Wliich  he  hath  given  lor  fence  impregnable, 
And  with  their  helps  only  defend  ourselves; 
In  them,  and  in  ourselves,  our  safety  lies, 

Ctar.  For  this  one  speech,  lord  Hastings  well 
deserves 
To  have  the  heir  of  the  lord  Hungerford. 
K.  Edw.  All,  what  of  that  1  it  was  my  will,  and 
grant; 
And.  for  this  once,  my  will  shall  stand  for  law. 
Glo.  And   yet,  meLhinks,  your  grace  hath  not 
(.lone  well, 
To  give  the  heir  and  daughter  of  lord  Scales 
Unto  Ihe  brother  of  your  loving  bride; 
She  better  would  bave  titted  me,  or  Clarence  : 
But  in  your  bride  you  bury  brotherhood. 
CUir.  Or  else  you  would  not  have  bestow'd  the 
heir 
Of  the  lord  Bonville  on  your  new  wife's  son, 
And  leave  your  brothers  to  go  speed  elsewhere. 
A'.  Kdw.  Alas,  poor  Clarence  !  is  it  for  a  wite, 
That  thou  art  malcontent?  I  will  provide  thee. 
Clar.   In  choosing  for  yourself,  you  show'd  your 
judgment; 
Which  being  shallow,  j'ou  shall  give  me  leave 
To  play  the  broker  in  mine  own  behalf; 
And,  to  that  end,  I  shortly  mind  to  leave  you. 
K.  Edw.   Leave   me,  or  tarry,  Edward  will  be 
king. 
And  not  be  tied  unto  his  brother  s  will. 

Q.  Eliz.  My  lords,  before  it  pleas'd  his  majesty 
To  raise  my  state  to  title  of  a  queen, 
Do  me  but  right,  and  you  must  all  confess 
That  I  was  not  ignoble  of  descent, 
And  tneimer  than  myself  have  had  like  fortune. 
But  as  this  title  honors  me  and  mine, 
So  your  dislikes,  to  whom  I  would  be  pleasing. 
Do  cloud  my  joys  with  danger  and  with  sorrow. 
K.  Edw.   My  love,  forbear  to  fawn  upon  their 
frowns: 
What  danger,  or  what  sorrow  can  befall  thee. 
So  long  as  Edward  i-^  thy  constant  friend, 
And  Iheir  trne  sovereigii,  whom  they  must  obcj'? 
Nay,  whom  they  shall  obey,  and  love  thee  too, 
Unless  tiiey  seek  for  haired  at  my  hands: 
Whicii  il  tlioy  do^  yet  will  1  keep  thee  safe. 
And  itiey  siiall  ieel  the  vengeance  of  my  wratli. 


Glo.  I  hear,  yet  say  not  much,  but  think  the 
more.  [Aside, 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
K.  Edw.  Now,  messenger,  what  letters,  or  what 
news, 
From  France  1 
Mess.  My  sovereign  liege,  no  letters;  and  few 
words, 
But  such  as  I  without  your  speciabpardon. 
Dare  not  i-elate. 
K.  Edw.  Go  to,  we  pardon  thee :   therefore,  in 
brief. 
Tell  mc  their  words  as  near  aa  thou  canst  guess 

them. 
What  answer  makes  king  Lewis  unto  our  letters'? 
Mess.  At  my  depart  these  were  liis  very  words: 
Go  tellfal.^e  Edward,  thy  supposed  kinf^,— 
That  I^etvis  of  France  is-  sending  over  maskers. 
To  revel  it  iv'ith  him  and  his  nev-  bride. 
K.  Edw.  Is  Lewis  so  brave  1   belike,  he  thinks 
me  Henry. 
But  what  said  lady  Bona  to  my  niarriage 
Mess.  These  were  her  words,  utter'd  with  mild 
disdain  : 
Tell  hi7n,  in  hope  he'll  prove  a  ividoioer  shortly j 
I'll  wear  the  ivitl^nv  garland  for  his  sake. 
K.  Edw.  I  blame  not  her,  she  could  say  little 
less; 
She  had  the  wrong.    But  whatsaid  Henry's  queenl 
For  I  have  heard  that  she  was  there  in  place. 
Mess.  Tell  him,  quolh  shCy  7ny  jnouming  weeds 
are  done, 
And  lam  ready  to  put  armor  on. 

K.  Edw.  Belike,  she  minds  to  play  the  Amazon. 
But  what  said  Warwick  to  these  injuries  1 

Mess.  He,  more  incens'd  against  your  majesty 
Than  all  the  rest,  discharged  nie  with  these  words: 
Ttit  him  from  me,  that  he  hath  done  fne  wrong; 
And  therefore.  Til  unarnvn  him,  ere'/  be  long. 
K.  Edw.   Ha!   durst  the  traitor  breathe  out  so 
proud  words  ? 
Well,  I  will  arm  me,  being  thus  forewarn'd  ; 
They  shall  havewars,and  pay  for  their  presumption. 
But  stay,  is  Warwick  friends  with  Margaret! 
Mess.  Ay, gracious  sovereign;  they  aresolink'd 
in  friendship. 
That  young  prince  Edward  marries  Warwick's 
daughter. 
Clar.  Belike,  the  elder ;    Clarence  will  have  the 
younger. 
Now,  brother  king,  farewell,  and  sit  you  fast, 
P^or  I  will  hence  to  Warwick's  other  daughter; 
Ttiat,  though  I  want  a  kingdom,  yet  in  marriage 
I  may  not  prove  inferior  to  yourself. — 
You,  that  love  me  and  Warwick,  follow  me. 

[Exit  Clarence,  and  Somerskt  follows. 
Glo.  Not  I: 
My  thoughts  aim  at  a  further  matter;  I 
Stay  not  Ibr  love  of  Edward,  but  the  crown.   \_Aside. 
K.    Edw.   Clarence  and  Somerset  both  gone  to 
Warwick ! 
Y''et  am  I  arm'd  against  the  worst  can  happen ; 
And  haste  is  needful  in  this  desperate  ease. — 
Pembroke,  and  Stattbrd,  you  in  our  behalf 
Go  levy  men,  and  make  prepare  lor  war; 
They  are  already,  or  qi^jckly  will  be  landed: 
Myself  m  person  will  straight  ibllow  you. 

[Exeunt  rEMiiRoia-:  and  Stafford 
But,  ere  I  go,  Hastings, — and  Montague, — 
Resolve  my  doubt.    You  twain,  of  all  the  rest, 
Arc  near  to  Warwick,  by  blood,  and  by  alliance  : 
Tell  mc,  if  you  love  Warwick  more  than  me  ] 
If  it  be  so,  then  both  depart  to  him ; 
I  rather  wish  you  loes  tlian  hollow  friends; 
Hut  if  you  mind  to  hold  your  true  obedience, 
(iive  nie  assurance  witli  some  friendly  vow, 
That  I  may  never  have  you  in  suspect. 
Mont.    So  God  help  Montague,  as  he  proves 

true! 
Hast.   And    Hastings,  as   he    favors  Edward's 

cause ! 
A'.  Edw.  Now,  brother  Richard,  will  you  stand 

by  us  ] 
Gto.  Ay,  in  despite  of  all  that  shall  withstand 

you. 
A'.  Edw.  Why  so;  then  am  I  sure  of  victory. 
Now  therefore  let  us  hence  ;  and  lose  no  hour, 
Till  we  meet  Warwick  with  his  foreign  power. 

[ExcwU 


Scene  V. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


445 


SCENE  U.—A  Plain  in  Warwickshire. 

Enter  Warwick  and  OXFonn,  u'il/t  French  and 

of  her  Fui'ce-'>: 

War.  Trust  mp,  my  lord,  nil  hitherto  goes  well; 
Tlie  coninion  peojile  by  numbers  swarm  to  us. 

£n/erCLAnExcE  an<L  Someiiset. 
But,  see,  wliere  Somerset  and  Clarence  come; — 
Speak  suddeiiiy,  my  lords,  arc  we  all  Iriends  ! 

C!ar.  Fear  not  that,  my  lord. 

IKo?-.  Then,  gentle  Clarence,  welcome  unto  War- 
wick ; 
And  welcome,  Somerset: — I  hold  it  cowardice, 
To  rest  mistrustful  where  a  noble  heart 
llalli  pawn'd  an  opeji  hand  in  sign  ol'love; 
Else  mife'ht  I  think,  Uiat  Clarence,  Edward's  brother, 
Were  but  a  ieigned  (riend  to  our  proceedings; 
But  welcome,  Clarence;  my  daughter  shall  be  thine. 
And  now  what  rests,  but,  ni  night's  coverture, 
Thy  brother  being  carelessly  encamp'd, 
Ills  soldiers  lurking  in  the  lowns  about. 
And  but  allended  liy  a  simjile  guard. 
We  may  .surprise  and  take  liim  at  our  pleasure? 
Our  scouts  have  found  the  adventure  very  easy  : 
That  as  Ulysses,  and  stout  Diomede, 
With  sleight  and  manhood  stole  to  Khesus'  tents. 
And  brought  Irom  thence  the  Thracian  fatal  steeds; 
So  we,  well  cover'd  with  the  night's  black  mantle, 
At  unawares  may  beat  down  Edward's  guard. 
And  seize  himself:  I  say  not— slaughter  him, 
For  I  intend  but  only  to  surprise  him.— 
You,  that  will  follow  me  to  this  adempt. 
Applaud  the  name  of  Henry,  wilh  your  leader. 

[They'ull  cry  li^SRX\ 
Why,  then,  let  s  on  our  way  in  silent  sort : 
For  Warwick  and  his  Iriends,  God  and  saint  George ! 

[Kxeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Edward's  Camp  near  Warwick. 
Enier  certain  Watchmen,  to  guard  the  King's  Tent. 

I  IVatcti.  Come  on,  my  masters,  each  man  take 
his  stand ; 
The  king,  by  this,  is  .set  him  down  to  sleep. 

■2  Ifiilrh.  What,  will  he  not  to  bed  ? 

1  1 1  'a/ch.  Why,  no :  for  he  hath  made  a  solemn  vow 
Never  to  lie  and  take  his  natural  rest. 

Till  Warwick,  or  himself,  be  quite  suppress'd. 

2  IVatck.  To-morrow  then,  belike,shall  be  the  day. 
If  Warwick  lie  so  near  as  men  report. 

3  IVulch.  Hut  say,  1  pra^',  what  nobleman  is  that. 
That  ujih  the  king  here  festeth  in  his  tent] 

1  IVuicli.  'Tis  the  lord  Hastings,  the  king's  cliief- 

est  friend. 
3  nVz/cA.  O.isitso?  liutwliv  commands  the  king. 
That  his  chief  followers  lodge  in  towns  about  him. 
While  he  him.self  keepcth  in  the  cold  field  ] 

2  H'atch.  'Tis  the  more  honor,  because  more 

dangerous. 

3  l(7;/c/(.Ay;  but  give  me  worship  and  quietness, 

I  like  it  better  than  a  dangerous  honor. 

II  Warwick  knew  in  what  estate  he  stands, 
Tis  In  be  (bnilitcd,  he  would  waken  him. 

1  IVutc/i.  Unless  our  halberds  did  shut  up  his 

passage. 

2  If  a/cA.  Ay;  wherefore  else  guardwe  his  royal  tent. 
But  to  defend  his  person  from  night-lbes] 

Enter  Warimck,  Ci-arexc-^,    O.xford,  Somerset, 
and  Farces, 
ll'ar.  This  is  his  tent;  and  see,  where  stand  his 
guard. 
Courage,  my  masters;  honor  now,  or  never! 
But  follow  me,  and  Edward  shall  be  ours. 

1  (r«/cA.  Who  goes  there  ! 

2  U'atc/i.  Stay,  or  thou  diest. 

[Warwick,  and  t/ie  rest,  cry  oH— Warwick! 
Warwick!  and  set  upon  t lie  guard;  w/uifli/, 
crying— Arm  !    Arm  !     Warwick,  and  the 
rest,  J'olluwing  them. 
The  Brum  beating,  and  Trumpets  sounding,  re- 
enter  Warwick,    and   the    rest,    bringing   tlie 
Kixii  out  in  a  Gown,  silting  in  a  Chair;  Glus- 
TER  and  Hastixus  //;/. 

Sam.  What  are  they  that  fly  there  ' 

War.  Richard,  and  Hastings:  let  them  go,  here's 

the  duke. 
K.Edw.  The  duke!  why,  Warwick,  when  we 
parted  last. 
Thou  call'dst  me  king. 


War.  Ay,  but  the  case  is  altcr'd : 

When  you  disgraced  me  in  my  embassade, 
Then  1  degraded  you  from  being  king. 
And  come  now  to  create  you  duke  of  York. 
Alas  !  how  should  you  govern  any  kingdom, 
That  know  not  how  to  use  ambassadors; 
Nor  how  to  be  contented  with  one  wife; 
Nor  how  to  use  your  brothers  brotherly  ; 
Nor  how  to  study  lor  the  people's  wellare; 
Kor  how  to  shroud  yourself  lioni  enemies^ 
K.  Edw.  Yea,  brother  of  Clarence,  art  thou  here 
too  ! 
Nay,  then  I  see,  that  Edward  needs  must  down. — 
Yet,  Warwick,  in  despite  of  all  mischance. 
Of  tliee  thyself,  and  all  thy  complices, 
Edward  will  always  bear  himself  as  king: 
Though  fortune's  malice  overthrow  my  state, 
My  mind  exceeds  tile  compass  of  he{  wheel. 
War.  Then,  for  his  mind,"  be  Edward  England's 
king:  [TatxesvD' his  crown. 

But  Henry  iiow  shall  wear  the  English  crown. 
And  be  true  king  indeed;  thou  but  the  shadow. — 
My  lord  ol  Somerset,  at  my  request. 
Sec  that  forthwith  duke  Edward  be  convey'd 
Unto  my  brother,  archbishop  of  York. 
VVhen  I  have  louglit  wilh  Pembroke  and  his  fellows, 
I  II  Ibllow  you,  and  tell  what  answer 
Lewis,  and  the  lady  Bona,  send  to  him  : 
Now,  for  a  while,  farewell,  good  duke  of  York. 
K.  Edw.  What  fates  impose,  that  men  must  needs 
abide; 
It  boots  not  to  resist  both  wind  and  tide. 

[A'j'tY  King  Edw aud,  ted  out;  Somerset 
tuiJh  him. 
Ojf.  What  now  remains,  my  lords,  for  us  to  do, 
But  march  to  London  with  our  soldiers  ! 

It-'ar.  Ay,  that's  the  first  thing  that  we  have  to  do; 
To  tree  king  Henry  from  imprisonment. 
And  see  him  seated  in  the  regal  throne.    [Exeunt. 
SCENE  IV.— London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Qceex  Elizabetu  and  Ri\  ers. 
Riv.  Madam,  what  makes  you  in  this  sudden 

change? 
Q.  Eliz.  Why,  brother  Rivers,  are  you  yet  to  learn, 
What  late  misfortune  is  befall'ii  king  Edward? 
Riv.  What,  loss  of  some  pitch'd "battle  against 

Warwick  ? 
Q.  Eliz.  No,  but  tile  loss  of  his  own'  royal  person. 
Riv.  Then,  is  my  sovereign  slain? 
y.  El'v:.  Ay.  almost  slain,  lor  he  is  taken  prisoner, 
Either  betray'd  by  falsehood  of  his  guard, 
Or  by  his  foe  surprised  at  unawares  : 
And,  as  I  further  have  to  understand. 
Is  new  committed  to  the  bishop  of  York, 
Fell  Warwick's  brother,  and  by  that.our  foe. 

Riv.  These  news, I  must  conless,  are  lull  of  grief: 
Yet,  gracious  madam,  bear  it  as  you  may  ; 
Warwick  may  lose,  that  now  hath  won  the  day. 
Q.  Eliz.  Till  then,  liiir  hope  must  hinder  life's 
de^'ay. 
And  I  the  rather  wean  me  from  despair, 
For  love  of  Edward's  otlspring  in  my  womb  : 
This  is  it  that  makes  me  bridle  ]tassion. 
And  bear  with  mildness  my  misibrtuiie's  cross; 
Ay,  ay,  for  this  1  draw  in  niany  a  tear. 
And  stop  the  rising  of  blood-sticking  sighs. 
Lest  with  my  sighs  or  tears  I  blast  or  drown 
King  Edward'struit,truc  heir  to  the  English  crown, 
/iic.  But,  madam,  where  Is  Warwick  tliiu  become? 
Q.  Eliz.  1  am  informed,  that  he  conies  towards 
London, 
To  set  the  crown  once  more  on  Henry's  head  : 
Guess  thou  the  rest;  king  Edward's  friends  must 

down. 
But  to  prevent  the  tyrant's  violence, 
(For  trust  not  him  that  hath  once  broken  faith,) 
I'll  hence  Ibrthwith  unto  the  sanctuary. 
To  save  at  least  the  heir  of  Edward's  right ; 
There  shall  1  rest  secure  from  force,  and  fraud. 
Come  therefore,  let  us  tly,  while  we  may  lly  ; 
If  Warwick  take  us,  we  are  sure  to  die.'  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— ,1  Pari!  near  Middleham  Castle  in 

Yorkshire. 

Enter  Gloster,  Hasting.s,  Sir  William  Stanley, 

and.  others. 

Gto.  Now,  my  lord  Hastings,  and  sir  William 

Stanley, 

8  i.  e.  In  his  miud ;  as  fjir  as  his  own  minJ  goes. 


440 


THIRD   PART  OP 


Act  IV. 


Leave  oft  to  wonder  why  I  drew  you  hither, 

Into  this  chiefest  thicket  of  the  park. 

Thus  stands  the  caae:  You  know,  our  king,  my 

brother. 
Is  prIsoner»to  the  bishop  here,  at  whose  hands 
He  hath  good  usa^e  and  great  liberty  ; 
And  olteii,  but  attended  with  weak  guard, 
Comes  hunting  this  way  to  disport  himself. 
I  have  adverlis'd  him  by  secret  means, 
That  if  about  this  hour,  he  make  this  way, 
Under  the  color  of  his  usual  game, 
He  shall  here  find  his  friends,  with  horse  and  men, 
To  set  him  tree  fiom  his  captivity. 

Enter  King  Edward,  and  a  Huntsman. 
Hunt.  This  way,  my  lord;  for  this  way  lies  the 

game. 
K.  Edw.  Nay,  this  way,  man;  see,  where  the 
huntsmen  stand. — 
Now,  brother  of  Gloster,  lord  Hastings,  and  the  rest. 
Stand  you  thus  close,  to  steal  the  bishop's  deer'] 

GLo.  Brother,  the  time  and  case  requireth  haste; 
Your  hor^e  stands  ready  at  the  park  corner. 
A.  Edw,  But  wiuther  shall  we  then  ] 
Ha^t.  To  Lynn,  my  lord,  and  ship  from  tlience 

to  Flandern:. 
Gto.  Well  guess'd,  believe  me;  for  that  was  my 

meaning. 
K.  Edw.  Stanley,  I  will  requite  thy  forwardness. 
G/o.  13u*  whorotbre  stay  we  !  'tis  no  time  to  talk. 
K.Edw.  Huntsman,  wJiat  say'st  thou  !  wilt  thou 

go  along'] 
Bant,  Better  do  so,  than  tarry  and  be  hang'd. 
Glo.  Come  then,  away;  let's  have  no  more  ado. 
K.  Edw.  Bishop,    farewell ;   shield    thee    from 
Warwick's  frown ; 
And  pray  that  I  may  repossess  the  crown.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  VL— .'1  Room  in  Hie  Tower. 
Enter  King  Henry,  Clarence,  Warwick,  Somer- 
set, Young  Richmond,  Oxford.  Montague,  Lieu- 
tenant of  t fie  Tower,  and  Attendants. 
K.  Hen.  :Mapter  lieutenant,  now  that  God  and 
li-ionds 
Have  shaken  Edward  from  the  regal  seat; 
And  turn'd  my  captive  state  to  liberty, 
My  tear  to  hope,  my  sorrows  unto  joys; 
At  our  enlargement  what  are  thy  due  fees? 
Lieut.  Subjects  may  challenge  nothing  of  their 
sovereigns; 
But,  if  an  humble  prayer  may  prevail, 
1  tiien  crave  pardon  of  your  majesty. 
K.  Ben.  For  what,  lieutenant'!   for  well  using 
me'] 
Nay,  be  thou  sure,  I'll  well  requite  thy  kindness, 
For  that  it  made  my  imprisonment  a  pleasure: 
Ay,  such  a  pleasure  as  ineaged  birds 
Conceive,  when,  aller  many  moody  thoughts, 
At  last,  by  notes  of  household  harmony, 
They  quite  Ibrget  their  loss  of  liberty. — 
But,  Warwick,  alter  God.  thou  sct'st  me  free, 
And  chielly  therefore  I  thank  God  and  thee; 
He  was  the  author,  thou  the  iiistrunicnt. 
Therefore,  that  I  may  conquer  ibrtune's  spite. 
By  living  low  where  fortune  cannot  hurt  me  ; 
And  that  the  people  of  this  blessed  land 
May  not  be  punished  with  my  thwarting  stars; 
Warwick,  although  iny  head  still  wear  the  crown, 
I  here  resign  my  government  to  thee, 
For  thou  art  fortunate  in  ail  thy  deeds. 

War.  Your  grace  hath  still  been  famed  for  vir- 
tuous; 
And  now  may  seem  as  wise  as  virtuous, 
By  spying  and  avoiding  fortune's  malice. 
For  lew  mea  rightly  temper  with  the  stars;? 
Yet  in  this  one  thing  let  me  blame  your  grace, 
F'or  choosing  me,  when  Clarence  is  in  place.^ 

Cl(tr.  No,  Warwick,  tJiou  art  worthy  of  the  sway, 
To  whom  the  heavens,  in  thy  nativity, 
Adjudg'd  an  olive  branch,  and  laurclcrowni. 
As'likelj'  to  be  blest  in  peace,  and  war; 
And  therefore  I  yield  thee  my  free  consent. 

IVar.  And  I  clioose  Clarence  only  for  protector, 
A'.  Ben.  Warwick,  and  Clarence,  give  me  both 
your  Iiands; 
Now  join  your  hands,  and  with  your  Iiands,  your 

hearts, 
That  no  dissension  hinder  government ; 

^  Fl-\v  men  coufoim  tbuir  temper  to  their  destiuy. 
•  Present. 


I  make  you  both  protectors  of  this  land; 
Whde  1  myself  will  lead  a  private  life. 
And  in  devotion  spend  my  latter  days, 
To  sin's  rebuke,  and  my  Creator's  praise. 

War.  W^hat  answers  Clarence  to  his  sovereign's 

will  ] 
Clar.  That  he  consents,  if  Warwick  yield  con- 
sent ; 
For  on  thy  ibrtnne  I  repose  myself. 

War.  Why  then,  though  luath,  yet  must  I  be 
content; 
We'll  yoke  together,  like  a  double  shadow 
To  Henry's  body,  and  supply  his  place; 
I  mean  in  bearing  weight  of  government. 
While  he  enjoys  the  honor  and  his  ease. 
And,  Clarence,  now  then  it  is  more  than  needful, 
Fortliwith  that  Edward  be  pronounced  a  traitor, 
And  all  his  lands  and  goods  be  confiscate. 
Clar.  What  else]  and  that  succession  be  deter 

rnin'd. 
War.  Ay,  therein  Clarence  shall  not  want  his 

part. 
K.  Hen.  But,  with  the  first  of  all   your  chief 
a  Hairs, 
Let  me  entreat,  (for  I  command  no  more,) 
That  Margaret  your  queen,  and  my  son  Edward, 
Be  sent  tbr  to  return  (i-om  Fiance  with  sjieed: 
For,  till  I  see  them  here,  by  doubtful  tear 
My  joy  of  liberty  is  half  cclips'd. 

Clar.  It  shall  be  done,  my  sovereign,  with  all 

speed. 
A'.  Hen.  iVIy  lord  of  Somerset,  what  youth  is 
that, 
Of  whom  you  seem  to  have  so  tender  care? 
Hum.  My  liege,  it  is  young  Henry,  earl  of  Rich- 
mond. 
K.  Ben.  Come  hither,  England's  hope:  If  secret 
powers,  [Eays  tiifi  liand  on  /its  tiead.. 

Suggest  but  truth  to  my  divining  thoughts. 
This  pretty  lad^  will  prove  our  country's  bliss. 
His  looks  are  full  of  peaceful  majesty; 
His  head  by  nature  framed  to  wear  a  crown, 
His  hand  to  wield  a  sceptre  ;  and  himself 
Likely,  in  time,  to  bless  a  regal  throne. 
Make  much  ofhim,  my  lords;  for  this  is  he, 
Must  lielp  you  more  than  you  are  hurt  by  me. 
Enter  a  Messenger 
War.  What  news,  my  friend  ? 
Mess.  TJiat  Edward  is  escaped  from  your  brother, 
And  lied,  as  he  hears  since,  to  Burgundy. 

War  Unsavory  news:  but  hownlade  he  escapd 
Mess.  He  was  convey'd    by   Richard  duke  of 
Gloster, 
And  the  lord  Hastings,  who  attended  him 
In  secret  ambush  on  the  forest  side, 
And  from  the  bishop's  huntsmen  rescued  him  ; 
For  hunting  was  his  daily  exercise. 

War.    My    brother    was    too    careless    of    his 
charge.— 
But  let  us  hence,  my  sovereign,  to  provide 
A  salve  for  any  sore  that  may  betide. 

[Exeunt  King  Henry,  War.,  Clar.,  Lieut., 
and  Attendants. 
Soni.  My  lord,  1  like  not  of  this  flight  of  Ed- 
ward's : 
For,  doubtless,  Burgundy  will  yield  him  help; 
And  we  shall  have  more  wars,  belbre't  be  long. 
As  Henry's  late  presaging  prophecy 
Did  glad  my  heart,  with  hope  of  tins  young  Rich- 
mond; 
So  doth  my  heart  misgive  me,  in  tiiese  confiicts 
What  may  befall  him,  to  iiis  harm,  and  ours; 
Tlierelbre,  lord  Oxford,  to  prevent  tlio  worst, 
Forthwith  we'll  send  him  hence  to  Brilany, 
Till  storms  be  past  of  civil  enmity. 

Oxf.  Ay;  for,  if  Edward  repossess  the  crown, 
'Tis  like  that  Richmond  with  the  rest  shall  down. 

iioin.  It  shall  be  so;  he  shall  to  IJritany. 
Come  tlierelbre,  let's  about  it  speedily.      [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VU,—Bef<jre  York. 
Enter  King  Edward,   Gloster,   Hastings,   and 
Forces. 
K.Edw.  Now,  brother  Richard,  lord  Hastings, 
and  the  rest; 
Yet  thus  lar  fortune  maketh  us  amends, 
And  says — that  once  more  I  shall  interchange 
jMy  waned  state  lor  Henry's  regal  crown. 
»  AfterwHrds  Henry  VII. 


Scene  VIIL 


KING   HENRY   VI. 


447 


Well  have  we  pass'd,  and  now  repass'd  the  seas, 
And  brought  desired  help  from  Burgundy  ; 
What  then  remains,  we  being  thus  arriv'd 
From  Ravenspurg  haven  belbre  the  gates  of  York, 
But  that  we  enter,  as  into  our  dui^edom  } 

G/c.  The  gates  made  tiist ! — Brother,  I  li  ke  not  this ; 
For  many  nien.  tilat  stumble  at  the  threshold, 
Are  ueirforctolil — that  danger  lurks  within. 
K.  E'lin.  Tush,  man !  abodements  must  not  now 
altright  us; 
By  fair  or  Ibijl  means  we  must  enter  in, 
For  hither  will  our  friends  repair  to  us. 
Hast.  My  liege,  I'll  knock  once  more  to  summon 
them. 
Enter  on  tlie  IValls,  the  Mayor  of  York,  a7id  Ms 
Bretliren. 
May.  My  lords,  we  W'ere   forewarned  of  your 
coming. 
And  shut  the  gates  for  safety  of  ourselves; 
For  now  we  owe  allegiance  unto  Henry. 

K.  Kiiw.  But,  master  inayor,  if  Henry  be  your  king. 
Yet  Kdward,  at  the  least,  is  duke  of  York. 
Mail.  True,  my  good  lord ;  1  know  you  for  no  less. 
A".  Edw.  Why,  and  I  challenge  nothing  but  my 
dukedom; 
As  being  well  content  with  that  alone. 

Old.  But  when  the  fox  hath  once  got  in  his  nose. 
He'll  soon  tjnd  means  to  make  the  body  follow. 

[  Aside. 
Ilust.  Why,  master  mayor,  why  stand  you  in  a 
doubt? 
Open  the  gates,  we  are  king  Henry's  friends. 
May.  Ay,  say  you  so!   the  gates  sliall  then  he 
open'd.  [Kxeunt  from  abofc. 

Glo.  A  wise  stout  captain,  and  persuaded  soon ! 
Jlast.  Tiic  good  old  man  would  lain  that  all  were 
well,  _ 
So  'tn-ere  not  'long  of  him  :  but,  being  enter'd, 
1  doubt  not,  I,  but  we  shall  soon  persuade 
Both  him  and  all  his  brothers  unto  reason. 
Re-enter  llie  Mayor  and  two  ,\iderinen,  belmv. 
K.  Kdw.  So,  master  major :   these  gates  must 
not  be  shut. 
But  in  the  night,  or  in  the  time  of  war. 
What!  fear  not,  man,  but  yield  nie  up  the  keys; 

{Tal'es  tiis  Iteys. 
For  Edward  will  defend  the  town  and  tliee. 
And  all  those  Iriends  that  deign  to  follow  me.    . 
Drum.    Enter  Moxigomeky  and  Forces,  marctiing^ 

Glo.  Brother,  this  is  sir  John  Montgomery, 
Our  trusty  friend,  unless  1  be  deceiv'd. 
K.  Edw.  Welcome,  sir  Joint !    But  why  come 

you  in  arms! 
Minil.  To  help  king  Edward  in  his  time  of  storm. 
As  every  lojal  subject  ought  to  do. 
A'.  Edw.  Thanks,  good   Montgomery.    But  we 
now  forget 
Our  title  to  the  rrown ;  and  only  claim 
Our  dukedom,  till  God  please  to'  send  the  rest. 

Muiit.  Then  Hire  you  well,  lor  I  will  hence  again : 
I  came  to  serve  a  king,  and  not  a  duke, — 
Drummer,  strike  up,  and  let  us  march  away. 

[.■)  March' begun. 
K.  Edw.  Nay,  stay,  sir  John,  a  while;  and  we'll 
debate, 
By  what  safe  means  the  crown  may  be  recover'd. 
Mont.  What,  talk  you  of  debating'!  In  few  words. 
If  you'll  not  here  proclaim  yourseifour  king, 
rii  leave  you  to  your  Ibrtune;  and  be  gone, 
To  keep  them  back  that  come  to  succor  you  : 
Why  should  we  light,  if  you  pretend  no  title! 
Glo.  Why,  brother,  wherelbre  stand  you  on  nice 

points! 
K.  Edw.  When  we  grow  stronger,  then  %ve'll 
make  our  claim; 
Till  then,  'lis  wisdom  to  conceal  our  meaning. 
Hast.  Away  with  scrupulous   wit!  now  arms 

must  rule. 
Glo.  And  fearless  minds   climb   soonest  unto 
crowns. 
Brother,  we  will  proclaim  you  out  of  hand  ; 
The  bruit'  thereof  will  bring  you  many  Iriends. 

K.  Edw.  Then  be  it  as  you  will ;  for  'tis  my  right, 
And  Henry  but  usurps  llie  diadem. 
Mont.  Aj-,  now  my  sovereign  speakelh  like  him- 
self; 
And  now  will  I  be  Edward's  champion. 
*  Noise,  report. 


Hast.  Sound,  trumpet;  Edward  shall   be  liere 
prociaim'd; — 
Come,  fellow-soldier,  make  thou  proclamation. 

[Gars  him  a  paper.    Ftvurish. 

Sold.  [Reads.]  Edward  the  Fourth,  by  tlie  grace 
of  God,  king  of  England  and  France,  and  lord  of 
Ireland,  ^-c. 

Mont.  And  whosoe'er  gainsays  king  Edward's 
right. 
By  this  I  challenge  him  to  single  light. 

[Throws  dnwn  liis  Cannllet. 

All.  Long  live  king  Edward  the  Fourth  ! 

K.   Edio.    Thanks,    brave    Montgomery; — and 
thanks  unto  you  all. 
If  fortune  .serve  me,  I'll  requite  this  kindness. 
Now,  for  this  night,  let's  harbor  here  in  York : 
And,  when  the  morning  sun  shall  raise  his  car 
Above  the  border  of  this  horizon. 
We'll  forward  towards  Warwick,  and  his  mates; 
For,  well  I  wot,2  that  Henry  is  no  soldier. — 
Ah,  froward  Clarence  I — how  evil  it  beseems  thee. 
To  Hatter  Henry,  and  forsake  thy  brother! 
Yet, as  we  may,  we'll  meet  both  thee  and  VV'arwIck. — 
Come  on,  brave  soldiers;  doubt  not  of  the  day; 
And  that,  once  gotten,  doubt  not  of  large  pay. 

[Exeunt, 
SCENE  VIII,— London.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Kixg   Hen-rv,  Warwick,  Clarexce,  Mon- 
TAGCE,  Exeter,  and  Oxford, 

War.  What  counsel,  lords !    Edward  from  Belgia, 
With  hasty  Germans,  and  blunt  Hollanders, 
Halh  pass  d  in  safely  through  the  narrow  seas. 
And  with  his  troops'doth  march  amain  to  London; 
And  many  giddy  people  liock  to  him, 

Oxf'.  Let's  levy  men,  and  beat  him  back  again. 

Clar.  A  little  lire  is  quickly  trodden  out; 
Which,  being  sufTer'd,  rivers  cannot  quench. 

IP'or.  In  Warwickshire  I  have  true-hearted  friends; 
Not  mutinous  in  peace,  yet  bold  in  war; 
Those  will  I  muster  up— and  thou,  son  Clarence, 
Shalt  stir,  in  Sullolk,  Norfolk,  and  in  Kent, 
The  knights  and  gentlemen  to  come  with  thee:— 
Thou,  brother  Montague,  in  Buckingham, 
Northampton,  and  in  Leicestershire^^ shall  find 
Men  well  inclin'd  to  hear  what  thou  command'st: 
And  thou,  brave  Oxlbr<l,  wondrous  well  belov'd, 
In  Oxfordshire  shall  muster  up  thy  friends.— 
My  sovereign,  with  the  loving  citizen.s, — 
Like  to  this  island,  girt  in  with  the  ocean. 
Or  modest  Dina,  circled  with  her  nymphs,— 
Shall  rest  in  London,  till  we  come  to  him.— 
Fair  lords,  take  leave,  and  stand  not  to  reply.— 
Farewell,  my  sovereign. 

K.  Hen.  Farewell,  my  Hector,  and  my  Troy's 
true  hope. 

Clar.  In  sign  of  truth,  I  kiss  your  highness' hand. 

A'. //«!.  Well-minded  Clarence,  be  thou  Ibrtunate! 

Mont.  Com  fort,  in  v  lord ; — and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

iUf.  And  thus  [kissing  Hexrv's  hand.]  I  seal 
my  truth,  and  bid  adieu, 

A'.  He?!.  Sweet  Oxtbrd,  and  my  loving  Montague, 
And  all  at  once,  once  more  a  hajipy  larewell. 

ICur.  Farewell, sweet  lords  ;lct's  meet  at  Coventry. 
[E.reunt  War.,  Clar.,  Oxf.,  and  Mont. 

A.  Hen.  liere  at  the  palace  will  I  rest  a  while. 
Cousin  of  Exeter,  what  thinks  your  lordship  i 
Melhinlis,  the  power  that  Edward  hath  in  lield. 
Should  not  be  able  to  encounter  mine, 

Exe.  The  doubt  is,  that  he  will  seduce  the  rest. 

A.  Hen.  That's  not  my  fear,  my  niecd^  hath  go' 
me  liiine. 
I  have  not  slopp'd  mine  ears  to  their  dem.ands. 
Nor  posted  olltheir  suits  with  slow  delays ; 
My  iiity  hath  been  balm  to  heal  their  wounds. 
My  mildness  hath  allay'd  their  swelling  griefs. 
My  mercy  dry'd  their  water-flowing  tears: 
I  have  not  been  desirous  of  their  wealth. 
Nor  much  oppress'd  thein  with  great  subsidies. 
Nor  forward  of  revenge,  though  they  much  err'd  • 
Then  why  should  they  loye  Edward  more  than  me ' 
No,  Exeter,  these  graces  challenge  grace: 
And,  when  the  lioii  fawns  upon  the  lamb. 
The  lamb  will  never  cease  to  follow  him. 

[Shout  within.    A  Lancaster!     A  Lancaster' 

Exe.  Hark,  hark,  mj-  lord  !  what  shouts  are  these  ? 

Enter  Kixg  Edwarii,  Gloster,  and  Soldiers. 
'  A.  Edw.  Seize  on  the  shame-faced  Henry,  bear 
him  hence, 
»Kuow.  •  Merit. 


448 


THIRD   PART   OF 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


And  once  again  proclaim  us  kinj^  of  England. — 
You  are  the  fount,  that  makes  small  brooks  to  flow ; 
Now  stops  thy  spring;  my  sea  shall  suck  them  dry, 
And  swell  so  much  the  higher  by  their  ebb. — 
Ileiice  with  him  to  the  Tower;  let  him  not  speak. 
[Exeunt  some  tvilh  KiNO  HEXiir. 
And,  lords,  towards  Coventry  bend  we  our  course. 


Where  peremptory  Warwick  now  remains: 
The  sun  shines  hot,  and,  if  we  use  delay, 
Cold-biting  winter  mars  our  hop'd-for  liay. 

Glo.  Away  betimes,  belbre  his  forces  join. 
And  take  the  great-grown  traitor  unawares; 
I3ravc  warriors,  march  amain  towards  Coventry. 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— Coventry. 
Ejiter  upon  the  Walls,  Warwick,  the  Mayor  of 
Coventry,  two  Messengers,  and  others. 
War.  Where  is  the  post  that  came  from  valiant 
Oxford  ] 
How  far  hence  is  thy  lord,  mine  honest  fellow? 

1  Mtss.  By  this  at  Dunsmore,  marching  hither- 

ward. 
War.  How  far  otl'  is  our  brother  Montague  1 
Where  is  the  post  that  came  from  Montague! 

2  Mess.  By  this  at  Daintry,  witli    a  puissant 

troop. 

Enter  Sir  John  Somerville. 
War.  Say,  SomerviUe,  what  says  my  loving  son? 
And.  by  the  guess,  how  nigh  is  Clarence  now? 

Houi.  A.t  Southam  i  did  leave  him  with  his  forces, 
And  do  expect  him  here  some  two  hours  hence. 

[Drum  heard. 
War,  ThenCIarence  is  at  hand,Thear  his  drum. 
Som.  It  is  not  his,  my  lord;  here  Southam  lies; 
The  drum  your  honor  hears,  marcheth  from  War- 
wick. 
War.  Who  should  that  be?  belike,  unlook'd-for 

friends. 
Som.  They  are  at  hand,  and  you  shall  quickly 
know. 

Drujns.    Enter  Kin'G  Edward,  Gloster,  wnd 

Forces,  marchmg. 
K.  Edw.  Go,  trumpet,  to  the  walls,  and  sound 

a  parle. 
Gh.  See,  how  the  surly  Warwick  mans  the  wall. 
War.  O,  unhid  spite!  is  sportful  Edward  come? 
Where  slept  our  scouts,  or  how  are  ttiey  seduced, 
That  we  could  hear  no  news  of  his  repair? 
A".  Edw.  Now,  Warwick,  wilt  thou  ope  the  city 
gates, 
Speak  gentle  words,  and  humbly  bend  Ihylaiee? — 
Call  Edward — king,  and  at  his  hands  beg  mercy. 
And  he  shall  pardon  thee  these  outrages. 

War.   Nay,  ratlier  wilt  thou  draw   thy  forces 
hence, 
Confess  who  set  thee  upand  pluck'd  thee  down? — 
Call  Warwick — patron,  and  be  penitent. 
And  thou  shalt  still  remain  the  duke  of  York. 
Gio.  1  thought,  at  least,  he  would  have  said — 
the  king ; 
Or  did  he  make  the  jest  against  his  will  ? 
War.  Is  not  a  dukedom,  sir,  a  goodly  gift  ? 
67f>.  Ay,  by  my  faith,  for  a  poor  earl  to  give; 
I'll  do  thee  service  for  so  good  a  gitl. 

War.  'Twas  I,  that  gave  the  kingdom  to  thy 

brother. 
A".  Edw.  Why,  then,  'tis  mine,  if  but  by  War- 
wick's gilt. 
JVar.  Thou  art  no  Atlas  for  so  great  a  weight: 
And,  wcakHng,  Warwick  takes  his  gill  again  ; 
And  Henry  is  my  king,  Warwick  his  subject. 
A".  Eilw.  But  Warwick's  king  is  Edward's  pri- 
soner: 
And  gallant  Warwick,  do  but  answer  this, — 
What  IS  the  body  when  the  head  is  off? 

GUi.  Ahis,  that  Warwick  had  no  more  forecast, 
But.  whiles  he  thought  to  steal  the  single  ten, 
The  king  was  slily  hnger'd  from  the  deck!' 
Von  letl  poor  Henry  at  tlie  bishop's  palace. 
And,  ten  to  one,  you'll  meet  him  in  the  Tower. 
K.  Elw,  'Tis  oven  so;    yet  you  are  Warwick 

slill. 
Glu.  Come.  Warwick,  take  the  time,kneel  down, 
kiicel  down : 
Nay,  when  ?  strike  now,  or  else  the  iron  cooL^. 
War.  1  iiad  rather  chop  this  hand  otl"  at  a  blow', 

•  A  pack  of  cards  was  formerly  termed  a  tltu'k  of  carjs. 


And  with  the  other  fling  it  at  thy  face, 
Than  bear  so  low  a  sail,  to  strike  to  thee. 
K.  Edw,  Sail  how  thou  canst,  have  wind  an:?, 
tide  thy  friend; 
This  hand,  fast  wound  about  thy  coal-black  hair. 
Shall,  whiles  the  head  is  warm,  and  new  cut  otf. 
Write  in  the  dust  tiiis  sentence  with  thy  blood, — 
Wind-changing  W arw'ick  now  can  change  no  more. 

£«/er  Oxford,  with  Drum  and  Colors. 
War.   0   cheerful   colors !     see   where    Oxford 

comes! 
Oxf.  Oxford,  Oxford,  for  Lancaster  . 

[Oxford  ayid  his  Forces  enter  the  City, 
Glo.  The  gates  are  open,  let  us  enter  too. 
K.  Edw.  So  other  foes  may  set  upon  our  backs: 
Stand  we  in  good  array;  for  they,  no  doubt. 
Will  issue  out  again,  and  bid  us  battle: 
If  not,  the  city,  being  but  of  small  defence. 
We'll  qUIcIUy  rouse  the  traitors  in  the  same. 
War.  O,  welcome,  Oxford!  for  we  want  thy  help. 

Enter  Montague,  ivith  Drum  and  Colors. 
Mont.  Montague.  Montague,  for  Lancaster  ! 

[JJe  imd  hvi  Forces  enter  the  City. 
Glo.  Thou  ana  thy  brother  both  shall  buy  this 
treason 
Even  with  the  dearest  blood  j'our  bodies  bear. 
K.  Edw.     The    harder    match'd,    the    greater 
victory ; 
My  mind  presageth  happy  gain,  and  conquest. 

Enter  Somerset,  with  Drum  and  Colors. 
Som.  Somerset.  Somerset,  for  Lancaster! 

[He  and  his  Forces  enter  the  Citi/. 
Glo.  Two  of  thy  name,  both  dukes  of  Somerset, 
Have  sold  their  lives  unto  the  house  of  York ; 
And  thou  shalt  be  the  third,  if  this  sword  hold. 

Enter  Clarente,  with  Drum  and  Colors. 
War.  And  lo,  where  George  of  Clarence  sweeps 
along, 
Of  force  enough  to  Iiid  his  brother  battle ; 
With  whom  an  upright  zeal  to  right  i>revails. 
More  than  the  nature  of  a  brother's  love: — 
Come, Clarence, come;  thou  wilt. if  Warwick  calls, 
Clar.  Father  of  Warwick,  know  you  what  this 
means  } 

[Taking  the  red' rose  out  of  his  Cap* 
Look  here,  I  throw  my  infamy  at  thee : 
I  will  not  ruinate  my  Vather's  house. 
Who  gave  his  blood  to  lime  the  stones  together. 
And  set  up  Lancaster.    Why,  trow'st  thou,  War- 
wick, 
That  Clarence  is  so  harsh,  so  blunt,^  unnatural, 
To  bend  the  tatal  instruments  of  war 
Against  his  brother,  and  liis  lawful  king  ? 
Perhaps,  thou  wilt  ot)iect  my  holj'  orith  : 
To  keep  that  oath,  were  more  impiety 
Than  Jephtha's,  wlien  he  sacrificed  his  daughter 
I  am  so  sorry  for  my  trespass  made, 
That  to  deserve  well  at  my  brother's  hands, 
I  here  proclaim  myself  thy  mortal  foe; 
With  resolution,  whcresoe'er  I  meet  thee, 
(As  I  will  meet  thee,  if  thou  stir  abroad.) 
To  plague  thee  for  thy  foul  misleading  me, 
And  so.  proud-hearted  Warwick.  I  dely  thee, 
And  to  my  brother  turn  my  blushing  cheeks. 
Pardon  me,  Edward,  I  will  make  amends; 
And.  Richard,  do  not  trown  upon  my  limits, 
For  I  will  henceforth  be  no  more  unconstant. 
K.   Edw.    Now  welcome  more,  and  ten  titnea 
mdre  belov'd. 
Than  if  thou  never  hadst  deserv'd  our  bate. 
Glo.  Welcome,  good  Clarence;  this  is  brother-like. 

i  Insensible. 


i 


Scene  IV. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


UO 


IVar.  0  paFisin;;''  traitor,  periur'd.  and  unjust ! 
K.  Edw.  What,  Warwick,  wilt  tliou  leaje  the 
town,  and  ti^lit  ? 
Or  shall  wc  beat  tlie  stones  about  thine  ears  ] 

IVar.  Alas,  I  am  not  coop'd  iiere  lor  defence  : 
I  will  away  towards  Barnet  presciitlj'. 
And  bid  tliee  batilc,  Edward,  if  thou  dar'st. 
K.  Edw.  Yes,  Warwick,  Edward  dares,  and  leads 
the  way: — 
Lords,  to  tile  Held;  saint  George,  and  victory. 

\_March.    Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— X  Field  of  Bailie  near  Barnet. 
A  'urwus  and  Excursions.    Enter  King  Edwakd, 
bringing  in  Warwick  wounded. 
K.  Edw.  So,  lie  thou  there :  die  tiiou,  and  die 

our  fear ; 
>"or  Warwiciv  was  a  bug"  that  fear'd?  us  all. — 
Now,  Jlonlague,  sit  fast ;  I  seek  for  llice,- 
Tliat  Warwick's  bones  may  keep  thine  company. 

[Exit. 
War.  Ah,  who  is  nigh]  come  to  me,  friend,  or 

foe, 
And  tell  ine,  who  is  victor,  York,  or  Warwick? 
Why  ask  I  that?  my  mangled  body  siiows, 
My  blood,  my  want  of  strength,  my  sick  heart 

shows, 
Tliat  I  must  yield  my  body  to  the  earth, 
And,  by  my  liill,  the  conquest  to  my  foe. 
Thus  yields  the  cedar  to  tlie  axe's  edge, 
Whose  arms  gave  slielter  to  the  princely  eagle. 
Under  whose  shade  the  ramping  lion  slept ; 
Wlicise  top-branch  overpeer'd  Jove's  spreading  tree. 
And  kept  low  shrubs  from  winter's  powerful  wind. 
These  eyes  that  now  are  dimm'd  with  death's  black 

veil. 
Have  been  as  piercing  a-s  the  mid-day  sun. 
To  search  the  secret  treasons  of  the  world : 
The  wrinkles  in  my  brows,  now  fiU'd  %viih  blood, 
Were  liken'd  oil  to  kingly  sepulchres; 
Kor  who  liv'd  king,  but  1  could  dig  his  grave  1 
And  wiio  dur-it  smile,  wlieii    Warwick  bent  his 

brow  ] 
Lo,  now  my  glory  smear'd  in  dust  and  blood! 
My  parks,  my  walks,  my  manors  that  I  had, 
Even  now  liirsakc  me:  and,  of  all  my  lands, 
Is  nothing  left  me,  but  my  body's  length  ! 
Why,  what   is  pomp,  rule,  reign,  but  earth  and 

dusti 
And  live  we  how  we  can,  yet  die  we  must. 

Enter  Oxfokd  and  Somerset. 
Som.  Ah,  Warwick,  Warwick  !  wert  thou  as  wo 
are. 
We  might  recover  all  our  loss  again  ! 
The  queen  from  France  hath  brought  a  puissant 

power; 
Even  now  we  heard  the  news :  Ah,  couldst  thou 
fly! 
rr«r.Why,  then  I  would  not  lly. — Ah,  Montague, 
If  tlum  111'  ihere,  sweet  brolher.'take  my  liand," 
And  Willi  thy  lips  keep  in  my  soul  a  wiiile! 
Thou  lov'st  me  not;  lor.  brotfier.  if  thou  didst. 
Thy  tears  would  wash  this  cold  congealed  blood, 
That  glues  my  lips,  and  will  not  let  me  speak. 
Come  quickly,  Montague,  or  I  am  dead. 
Horn.  Ah,  Warwick,  Montague  hath  breath'd  his 
last; 
And  to  the  latest  gasp,  cried  out  for  Warwick, 
And  said— Commend  me  to  my  valiant  brother. 
And  more  he  would  havesaid  ;  and  more  he  spoke, 
Which  sounded  like  a  cannon  in  a  vault, 
That  might  not  be  distiuKuish'd  ;  but  at  last, 
[  well  might  hear  deliver'd  with  a  groan, — 
O,  farewell,  Warwick ! 

JVar.  Sweet  rest  to  his  soul  !— 

Fly,  lords,  and  save  yourselves :  for  Warwick  bids 
You  all  farewell,  to  meet  again  in  heaven.    [Dies. 
Uxf.   Away,' away,  to  meet  the  queen's  great 
power. 

[Exeunt,  bearing  off  Warwick's  Bodi/. 
SCENE  III.— .4/io//ier  Part  of  tlie  Field. 
Flourish.    Enter  King  Edward  ()i  triumpli;  with 
Clare.vci:,  Cluster,  and  the  rest. 
K.  Edw.  Thus  far  our  fortune  keeps  an  upward 
course. 
And  we  are  graced  with  wreaths  of  victory. 
.8  Eminent,  egre^iojs.        ■>  Bu^boar.        «  Terrified. 

20 


But  in  the  midst  of  this  bright-shining  day, 
1  spy  a  black,  suspicious,  threatening  cloud. 
That  will  encounter  with  our  glorious  sun, 
Ere  he  attain  his  easeful  western  bed : 
I  mean,  my  lords,— those  powers  that  the  queen 
Hath  rais  d  in  Gallia,  have  arriv'd  our  coast. 
And,  as  we  hear,  march  on  to  fisht  with  us. 

Cur.  A  little  gale  will  soon  disperse  that  cloud, 
And  blow  it  to  the  source  from  whence  it  came  : 
Thy  very  beams  will  dry  those  vapors  up; 
For  every  cloud  engenders  not  a  storm. 

Glo.  The  queen  is  valued  thirty  thousand  strong. 
And  Somerset,  with  Oxford,  lied' to  her; 
If  she  have  time  to  breathe,  be  well  assur'd. 
Her  faction  will  be  full  as  strong  as  ours. 

A'.  Edw.  We  are  advertis'd  by 'bur  loving  friends, 
That  they  do  hold  their  course  towardsTewksbury ; 
We,  haying  now  the  best  at  Barnet  field. 
Will  thither  straight,  for  willingness  rids  way; 
And,  as  we  march,  our  slren^th  will  be  augmented 
In  every  county  as  we  go  along. — 
Strike  up  the  drum  ;  cry— Courage!  and  away. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. — Plains  near  Tewksbury. 

March.  Enter  Quees  Margaret,  Prixce  Edward, 
Somerset,  Oxford,  and  Soldiers. 
Q.  Mar.  fircat  lords,  wise  men  ne'er  sit  and  wail 
their  loss. 

But  cheerly  seek  how  to  redress  their  harms. 

What  though  the  mast  be  now  blown  over-board, 

The  cable  broke,  the  holding  anchor  lost, 

And  half  our  sailors  swallow'd  in  the  Hood  1 

Yet  lives  our  pilot  still :  Is't  meet  that  he 

Should  leave  the  helm,  and,  like  a  fearful  lad. 

With  tearful  eyes  add  water  to  the  sea, 

.\nd  give  more  strength  to  that  which  hath  loo 
much ; 

Whiles,  in  his  moan,  the  ship  splits  on  the  rock. 

Which  industry  and  courage  might  have  sav'd  ! 

Ah,  what  a  shame !  ah,  what  a  fault  were  this  ! 

Say,  Warwick  vi-as  our  anchor;  What  of  that  ? 

And  Montague  our  top-mast ;  What  of  him  ? 

Our  slaughler'd  friends  the  tackles;  What  of  these? 

Why,  is  not  Oxford  here  another  anchor? 

And  Somerset  another  goodly  mast  1 

The  friends  of  France  our  shrouds  and  tacklings  ' 

And.  though  unskilful,  why  not  Ned  and  1 

For  once  allow'd  the  skilful  pilot's  charge  ? 

We  will  not  from  the  helm,  to  sit  and  weep; 

But  keep  our  course,  though  the  rough  wind  say 
—no, 

From  shelves  and  rocks  that  threaten  us  with 
wreck. 

As  good  to  chide  the  waves  as  speak  them  fair. 

And  what  is  Edward,  but  a  ruthless  sea  ? 

What  Clarence,  but  a  quicksand  of  deceit? 

And  Richard,  but  a  ragged  fatal  rock  ? 

All  these  the  enemies  to  our  poor  bark. 

Say,  you  can  swim  ;  alas,  'tis  but  a  while ; 

Tread  on  the  sand;  why  there  you  quickly  sink: 

Bestride  the  rock;  the  tide  will  wash  you  olf. 
Or  else  you  famish,  that's  a  threefold  death. 
This  speak  I,  lords,  to  let  you  understand. 
In  case  some  one  of  you  would  lly  from  us. 
That  there's  no  hoped-for  mercy  w'ith  the  brotlier?. 
More  than  with  ruthless  waves,  with  sands,  and 

rocks. 
Why,  courage,  then !  what  cam.ot  be  avoided, 
'Twere  childish  weakness  to  lament  or  fear, 

Prince.  Methinks,  a  woman  of  this  valiant  spirit 
Should,  if  a  coward  heard  her  sjjeak  these  words, 
Infuse  his  breast  with  magnanimity. 
And  make  him,  naked,  liiil  a  man  at  arms. 
I  speak  not  this  as  doubling  any  here  : 
For,  did  I  but  suspect  a  fearfulnian. 
He  sliould  have  leave  to  go  away  betimes  ; 
Lest,  in  our  need,  he  might  infect  another, 
And  make  him  of  like  spirit  to  himself. 
If  any  such  be  here,  as  God  forbid! 
Let  liim  depart,  before  we  need  his  help. 

0.rt.  Women  and  children  of  so  high  a  courage! 
And  warriors  liiint!  why,  'twere  perpetual  shame. — 
O,  brave  young  printe!  thy  lamous  grandliither 
Doth  live  again  in  thee;  Long  mayst  thou  live. 
To  bear  his  image,  and  renew  his'glories! 

Som.  And  he,  that  will  not  light  for  such  a  hooe, 
Go  home  to  bed,  and,  like  the  owl  by  day, 
If  he  arise,  be  mock'd  and  wonder'd  at. 


450 


THIRD    PART   OF 


Act  \, 


Q.  Mar.  Thanks,  gentle   Somerset; — sweet  Ox- 
ford, thanks. 
Prince.  And  take  his  thanks,  that  yet  hath  nothing 
else. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mrss.  Prepare  you,  lords,  for  Edward  is  at  hand, 
lieady  to  fight;  therefore  be  resolute. 

Ou'f'.  I  thought  no  less:  it  is  his  policy, 
To  luiste  thus  fast,  to  find  us  unprovided. 
Som.  But  he's  deceiv'd,  we  are  in  readiness. 
Q.  Mar.  This  cheers  my  heart  to  see  your  for- 
wardness. 
0.rf.  Here  pitch  our   battle,  hence  we  will  not 
budge. 

March.      Enter  at   a   dlsfance,   King    Edward, 
Clarence,  Glostek,  and  Forces. 
K.  Edw.  Brave   followers,    yonder    stands  the 
thorny  wood, 
Which,    by    the    heaven's    assistance,  and    your 

strength, 
Must  by  the  roots  be  hewn  up  yet  ere  night, 
I  need  not  add  more  fuel  to  your  lire, 
Kor,  well  1  wot,9  ye  blaze  to  burn  them  out: 
Give  signal  to  the  hght,  and  to  it,  lords. 
Q.  Mar.  Lords,  Imights,  and  gentlemen,  what  I 
should  say, 
My  tears  gainsay:  for  every  word  I  speak, 
Ye  see,  I  drink  the  water  of  mine  eyes, 
Thcrelbre,  no  more  but  this: — Henry,  your  sove- 
reign, 
Is  prisoner  to  the  foe;  his  state  usurped. 
His  realaa  a  slaughter-house,  liis  subjects  slain, 
His  statutes  cancelled,  and  his  treasure  spent; 
And  yonder  is  tlic  wolf  tJiat  makes  this  spoil. 
Vou  hghl  in  justice:  then,  in  God's  name,  lords, 
Be  vahant,  and  give  signal  to  the  tight. 

[Exeunt  both  Armies. 

SCENE  v.— Another  Part  of  the  same. 
Alarums:  ExcursUnu ;  and  afterwards  a  Retreat. 
Then  enter  Kinu  Edward,  Clarence,  Gluster, 
and  Forces;  with  Queen  Maugajiet,  Oxford, 
and  Somerset,  Prisoners, 

K.Edw.  Now,  here  a  period  of  tumultuous  broils. 
Away  with  OxJbrd  to  Hammes'  castle'  straight: 
Kor  Somerset,  olfwith  his  guilty  head. 
Go,  bear  them  Iience;  I  will  not  hear  thom  speak. 
Oxf.  Fornly  part,  I'll  not  trouble  thee  with  words. 
Soni.  Nor  I ;  but  stoop  with  patience  to  my  fortune. 
[Exeunt  Oxford  and  Somerset,  guarded. 
Q.  Mar.  Sopart  we::'attly  in  this  troublous  world, 
To  meet  with  joy  in  s\vt_..'t  Jerusalem. 
A'.  Edw.  Is  proclamation  made, — that,  who  finds 
Edward, 
SJiail  have  a  high  reward,  and  he  his  life? 

Glo.  It  is:  and,lo,  wliere  youtliful  Edward  comes. 

Enter  Soldiers,  ivith  Prince  Edward. 
A'.  Edw.  Bring  forth  the  gallant,  let  us  hear  him 
speak : 
Wliat !  can  so  young  a  thorn  begin  to  prick  ? 
Edwatd,  what  satislaclion  canst  thou  make. 
For  bearing  arms,  lor  stirring  up  my  subjects, 
And  all  the  trouble  thou  hast  turn'd  me  to  ] 

P7'mce.Speak  like  a  subject, proud  ambitious  York! 
Suppose  that  I  am  now  my  lather's  moutli ; 
Jlesign  thy  cJiair,  and,  where  I  stand,  kneel  thou, 
Whilst  1  propose  the  self-same  words  to  tliec, 
Which,  traitor,  thou  wouldst  have  me  answer  to. 
Mar.  Ah,  that  thy  father  had  been  so  resolv'd ! 
Glo.  That  you  njight  still  have  worn  the  petti- 
coat. 
And  ne'er  have  stolen  the  breech  from  Lancaster. 

prince.  Let  TI-^sop-  fable  in  a  winter's  night; 
His  currish  riddles  sort  not  with  this  place. 
iJl^K  By  heaven,  brat.  I'll  plague  you  tor  that  word. 
Q.  Mar.  Ay,  thou  wast  born  to  be  a  i)lague  to 

men. 
(Jlo.  For  God's  sake    take    away   this   captive 

scold. 
Prince.  Nay,  take  away  this  scolding  crook-back 

rather. 
K.  Edw.  Peace,  wilful  boy,  or  I  will  charm  your 

tonguo. 
Clar.  Untutor'd  lad,  Ihou  art  too  malapert. 
Prince.  1  know  my  duty;  you  are  all  unduliful ; 
Lascivious  Edward, — and  thou  porjur'd  George, — 
8  Know.  »  A  castk'  iu  Picaniy. 

^  Tbe  prince  calls  Uichard,  fur  bis  crookednttss,  iEsop, 


And  thou  mis-shapen  Dick, — I  tell  ye  ail, 
I  am  your  better,  traitors  as  ye  are; — 
And  tliou  usurp'st  my  father's  right  and  mine. 
A'.  Edw.  Take  that,  the  likeness  of  this  railer  here 

[Stabs  him, 

Glo.  Sprawl'st  thou  1  take  that,  to  end  thy  agony. 

[Glo,  stabs  him, 

Clar.  And  there's  for  twitting  me  with  perjury. 

[Clar.  stabs  him. 

Q.  Mar.  O,  kill  me  too  ! 

Glo.  Marry,  and  shalL  \ Offers  to  kill  her. 

K.EIw.  Hold.  Ricliard,  hoId,ibrwe  have  done 

too  much. 
Glo.  Why  should  she  live,  to  fill  the  world  with 

words '{ 
K.Edw.  What!  doth  she  swoon?  use  means  for 

her  recovery. 
Glo  Clarence,  excuse  me  to  the  king  my  brother; 
I'll  hence  to  London  on  a  serious  matter: 
Ere  ye  come  there,  be  sure  to  hear  some  news. 
Clar.  What?  what? 

Glo.  The  Tower,  the  Tower !  [Exit, 

Q.  Mar.  O,  Ned,  sweet  Ned  I  speak  to  thy  mother, 
boy ! 
Canst  thou  not  speak] — 0  traitors!  murderers! — 
They  that  stabb'd  Casar,  shed  no  blood  at  all, 
Did  not  oflend.  nor  were  not  worthy  blame, 
If  this  foul  deed  were  by,  to  equal  it. 
He  was  a  man:  this,  in  respect,  a  child  ; 
And  men  ne'er  spend  their  fury  on  a  child. 
What's  worse  than  murderer,  that  I  may  name  iti 
No,  no;  my  heart  will  burst,  an  if  I  speak: — 
And  I  will  speak,  that  so  my  hi^art  may  burst. — 
Butchers  and  villains,  bloocly  cannibals! 
How  sweet  a  plant  have  you  untimely  cropp'dl 
You  have  no  children,  butchers!  if  you  had, 
Tliethoughtofthein  would  have stirf'dupremorse: 
But,  if  you  ever  chance  to  liave  a  child. 
Look  in  his  youth  to  have  him  so  cut  olT, 
As,  deathsmen,  you  have  rid   this  sweet  young 
prince ! 
K.  Edw.  Away  with  her;  go  bear  her  hence  per- 
force. 
Q.  Mar.  Nay,  never  bear  me  hence,  despatch  me 
here ; 
If  ere  sheath  thy  sword,  I'll  pardon  thee  m^  death: 
Wliat!  wilt  thou  not?— then,  Clarence,  do  it  thou. 
Clar.  By  heaven,  I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  ease. 
Q.  Mar.  Good  Clarence,  do;  sweet  Clarence,  do 

thou  do  it. 
Clar.  Didst  thou  not  hear  me  swear,  I  would  not 

do  it? 
Q.  Mar.  Ay,  but  tliou  nsest  to  forswear  thyself; 
'Twas  sin  before,^  but  now  'tis  charity. 
What!  wiltthou  not?  where  is  that  devil's  butcher, 
Hard-favor'd  Richard]  Ricliard,  where  art  thou  ? 
Thou  art  not  here:  Murder  is  ihy  alms-deed; 
petitioners  for  blood  thou  ne'er  put'st  back. 
K.Edw.  Away,  I  say;  I  charge  ye  bear  her  hence. 
Q.  Mar.  So  come  to  you,  and  yours,  as  to  this 
prince !  [Exit,  led  out  forcibly. 

K.  Edw.  Where's  Richard  gone  ? 
Clar.  To  London  all  in  post ;  and,  as  I  guess. 
To  make  a  bloody  supper  in  the  Tower. 

K.Edw.  He's  sudden,  ifa  thing  comes  in  his  head. 
Now  march  we  hence:  discharge  tlie  common  sort 
With  pay  and  thanks,  and  let's  "away  to  London, 
And  sec  our  gentle  queen  how  well  she  fares; 
By  this,  I  hope,  she  hath  a  son  for  me.      [Exeunt. 

SCENE  YI.— London.    .-1  Roo7n  in  the  Tower. 
King  Henry  is  discovered  sit  ting  wit  ha  Book  in  his 
Jiand,theLieuicimni  attending.   E7iter Gloster, 
Glo.  Good  day,  my  lord  I     What,  at  your  book  so 

hard] 
K.Uen.  Ay.  my  good  lord:  My  lord,  I  should 
say  ratlier ; 
'Tis  sin  to  flatter,  good  was  little  better; 
Good  Gloster.  and  good  devil,  were  alike. 
And  both  preposterous;  therefore,  not  goo<l  lord. 
Glo.  Sirrah,  leave  us  to  ourselves:  we  mu.-t  con* 
fer.  [Exit  Lieutenant. 

A'.  Hen.  So  flies  the  reckless  shepherd  from  the 
wolf: 
So  first  the  harmless  sheep  doth  yield  his  fleece, 
And  next  his  throat  unto  the  butcher's  knife. — 
Wliat  scene  of  death  hath  Roscius  now  to  act  ] 

Glo.  Suspicion  always  haunts  the  guiity  mind; 
TJie  thief  doth  fear  each  bush  an  otticer. 

■  !ihe  alludes  to  the  desertioa  of  Clarenca 


Scene  Vll. 


KING  HENRY  VI. 


451 


K.  Hen.  The  bird,  that  hath  been  limed  in  a  bush, 
With  trcmbUng  wings  misdoubteth  every  bush: 
And  I,  the  hapless  male  to  one  sweet  bird, 
Have  now  the  latal  object  in  my  eye. 
Where  my  poor  young  was  limed,  was  caught,  and 
kiird. 

GUj.  WJiy,  what  a  peevish^  fool  was  that  of  Crete, 
■•  That  tiiugl'it  his  son  the  otiice  of  a  Ibwl ! 
And  j'et,  lor  all  his  wings,  the  fool  was  drown'd. 

K.  Ue}u  I,  Dsedalus;  my  poor  boy,  Icarus  ; 
Thy  lather,  Minos,  that  denied  our  course  ; 
The  sun,  that  sear'd  tiie  wings  of  my  sweet  boy. 
Thy  brother  Edward;  and  thyself,  the  sea. 
Whose  envious  gulf  did  swallow  up  his  life. 
Ah,  kill  nie  with  thy  wea]ion,  not  with  words! 
My  breast  can  better  brook  thy  dagger's  point. 
Than  can  my  cars  that  tragic  history. — 
But  wherefore  dost  thou  come  1  is't  for  my  life  1 

Gto.  Think'st  thou,  I  am  an  executioner ! 

A',  lltii.  A  persecutor,  I  am  sure,  thou  art ; 
If  murdering  innocents  be  executing, 
Why,  then  thou  art  au  executioner. 

ijlu.  Thy  soir  I  kiU'd,  for  his  presumption. 

A".  Hen.  Had'st  thou  been  kill'd,  when  lirst  thou 
didst  presume. 
Thou  hadst  not  liv'd  to  kill  a  son  of  mine. 
And  thus  I  prophesy, — that  many  a  thousand, 
Which  now  mistrust  no  parcel  of  my  fear; 
And  many  an  old  man's  sigh,  and  many  a  widow's. 
And  maii\'  an  orphan's  water-standing  eye — 
Men  ll)r  their  sons',  wives  for  tlieir  husbands'  fate. 
And  orphans  for  Iheir  parents'  timeless  death, — 
Shall  rue  the  hour  that  ever  thou  wast  born. 
The  owl  shriek'd  at  thy  birth,  an  evil  sign; 
The  night-crow  cried,  aboding  luckless  time  ; 
Dogs  howl'd,  and  hideous  tempests  shook  down 

trees ; 
The  raven  rook'd'  her  on  the  chimney's  top. 
And  chattering  pies  in  dismal  discorus  sung. 
Thy  mother  felt  more  than  a  mother's  pain. 
And  yet  brought  forth  less  than  a  mother's  hope  ; 
To  wit,— an  indigest  deformed  lumji. 
Not  like  the  fruit  of  such  a  goodly  tree. 
Teeili  hatist  thou  in  th >■  head,  when  tjiou  wast  born. 
To  si;;nily, — thou  cam'st  to  bite  the  world: 
And,  il  the  rest  be  true  which  1  have  heard, 
Thou  cam'st — 

GVo.  I'll  hear  no   more; — Die,  prophet,  in   thy 
speech;  [Slabs  him. 

For  this,  amongst  the  rest,  was  I  ordain'd. 

AT.Wc;!.  Ay, and  for  much  more  slaughterafter  this. 
OGod!  forgive  my  sills,  and  pardon  thee  !     [Dif.s. 

G/o.  What,  will  the  aspiring  blood  of  Lancaster 
Sink  in  the  ground  ?     1  thought  it  would  have 

mounted. 
See,  how  my  sword  weeps  for  the  poor  king's  death ! 

0,  may  such  purple  tears  be  always  shed 

From  those  that  wish  the  downfall  of  our  house! — 
If  any  spark  of  lUe  be  yet  remaining, 
Down, down  to  hell;— and  say— I  sent  thee  thither, 
[Stabs  hint  again. 

1.  that  have  neither  pity,  love,  nor  fear. — 
Indeed,  'tis  true,  that  Henry  told  me  of; 
As  I  have  often  heard  my  mother  say, 

I  came  into  the  world  with  my  legs  forward: 
Had  I  n(»t  reason,  think  je,  to  make  haste. 
And  seek  their  ruin  that  usurp'd  our  right  1 
The  midwiie  wonder'd ;  and  the  women  cried, 
O,  Jesus  bless  us,  he  is  born  with  teeth! 
And  so  I  was;  which  plainly  signified — 
That  I  should  snarl,  and  bite,  and  play  the  dog. 
Then  since  the  heavens  have  sliap'd  my  body  so. 
Let  hell  make  crook'd  my  mind  to  answer  it. 
I  have  no  brother,  I  am  like  no  brother: 
*  Childish.        t  To  i-ook  si^^uifit;d  to  lodge  on  any  thing. 


And  this  word — love,  which  graybeards  call  divine, 

Be  resident  in  men  like  one  another. 

And  not  in  me;  I  am  m>sclf  alone. — 

Clarence,  beware;  thou  keep'st  me  from  the  light; 

Butl  will  sorto  a  pitchy  day  for  thee : 

For  I  will  buz  abroad  such  prophecies. 

That  Kdward  shall  be  tearful  of  his  life  : 

And  then,  to  purge  his  fear,  I'll  be  thy  death. 

King  Henry,  and  the  prince  his  son, are  gone: 

Clarence,  thy  turn  is  next,  and  then  the  rest; 

Counting  myself  but  bad,  till  I  be  best. — 

I'll  throw  thy  body  in  another  room. 

And  triumph,  Henry,  in  thy  day  of  doom.     [Exit, 

SCENE  VII.— .1  Hocim  in  the  Palace. 
King  Edward  i.5  discarered  sitting  on  hh  Throne; 

QfEEN  Elizabeth  with  the  infant  Prince.  Cla- 

KE.NCE,  GluSter,  Ha.stings,  and  others,  near  him. 

K.  Edw.  Once  more  we  sit  in  England's  royal 
throne, 
Re-purchas'd  with  the  blood  of  enemies. 
What  valiant  foe-men,  like  to  autumn's  corn. 
Have  we  mow'd  down,  in  tops  of  all  their  pride? 
Three  dukes  of  Somerset,  threefold  renown'd 
For  hardy  and  undoubted  champions: 
Two  Clillbrds,  as  the  father  and  the  son. 
And  two  Northumberlands;  two  braver  men 
Ne'er  spurr'd  theircouisersat  the  trumpet's  sound: 
With  them,  the  two   brave  bears,  Warwick  and 

Montague, 
That  in  their  chains  fetter'd  the  kingly  lion. 
And  made  the  forest  tremble  when  they  roar'd. 
Thus  have  we  swept  suspicion  from  our  seat, 
And  made  our  fl)Otstool  of  security. — 
Come  hither,  Bess,  and  let  me  kiss  my  boy: 
Younjj  Ned,  for  thee,  thine  uncles,  and  myself, 
Have  in  our  armors  watch'd  the  winter's  night; 
Went  all  a-foot  in  summer's  scalding  heat. 
That  thou  might'st  repossess  the  crown  in  peace  : 
And  of  our  labors  thou  shalt  reap  the  gain. 

Gto.  I'll  blast  his  harvest,  if  your  head  were  laid  ; 
For  jet  I  am  not  look'd  on  in  the  world. 
This  shoulder  was  ordain'd  so  thick,  to  heave  ; 
A  lid  heave  it  shall  some  weight,  or  break  my  back: — 
Work  thou  the  way, — and  thou  shalt  execute. 

[Aside. 

K.  Eilw.  Clarence  and  Glostcr,  love  my  lovely 
queen ; 
And  kiss  your  princely  nephew,  brothers  both. 

Clar.  Tlic  duty,  that  I  owe  unto  your  majesty, 
I  seal  upon  the  lips  of  this  sweet  babe. 

K.  Edw.  Thanks,  noble  Clarence ;  worthy  bro- 
ther, thanks. 

Glo.  And,  that  1  love  the  tree  from  whence  thou 
sprang'st. 
Witness  the  loving  kiss  I  give  the  fruit: — 
To  say  the   truth,  so  Judas  kiss'd  his] 

master;  (   , ,. . 

And  cried— all  hail!— when  as  he  meant  f'^^^de. 
— all  harm  ;  J 

K.  Edw.  NiJw  am  I  seated  as  my  soul  delights. 
Having  my  country's  peace,  and  brothers'  lo\es. 

Clar.  What  will  your  grace  have  done  with  Mar- 
garet! 
Reignier,  her  father,  to  the  king  of  France 
Hath  pawn'd  the  Sieils  and  Jerusalem, 
And  hither  have  they  sent  it  lor  her  ransom. 

K.  Edw.  Away  with  her,  and  waft  her  hence  to 
France. 
And  now  what  rests,  but  that  we  sjicnd  the  time 
With  stately  triumjihs,  mirthful  comic  shows. 
Such  as  beht  the  iileasures  of  the  court? — 
Sound,  drums  and  trumpets! — farewell,  sour  annoy! 
For  here,  I  hope,  begins  our  lasting  joy.   [E.ceunt, 
•  St'lucfc 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF 

KING  RICHARD  III. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


r.  nj- } 
llli.,) 


Brothers  to  the 
King. 


KiXG  Edward  the  ForRTn. 
Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  of-  5 

tcrwards  KingVAssariW,  \  Sons  to  the  King. 
Richard. /Jiifre  6/ York, 
Oeorge,  Duke  0}  Clarence. 
Richard,  Duke  o/'Gloster, 

tcrwurds  King  Ricliard 
A  young  Son  (>^  Clarence. 
Henry,    Earl    of    Richmond,    afterwards    King 

Henry  VII. 
Cardinal  Boukchier,  Archbishop  of  Canteibuiy. 
Thomas  Rotherhaji,  Archbuhup  0/ York. 
John  Morton,  Bin/wp  of  Kly. 
Duke  of  Buckingham. 
Duke  of  Norfolk. 
Earl  of  Surrey,  his  Smi. 

Eai'.l  of  Rivers,  Brother  to  K.  Edward's  Queen. 
BlAKQUis  of  Dorset,  and  Lord  Grey,  her  Sons. 
Earl  of  Oxford. 
Lord  Hastings. 
Lord  Stanley'. 
Lord  Lovel. 
Sir  Thumas  Vaughan. 


Sir  Richard  Ratcliff. 

Sir  William  Catesby. 

Sir  James  Tyhrel. 

Sir  James  Blount. 

Sir  Walter  HeRdert. 

Sir  RorehtBrakenrury,  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower. 

Christopher  Urswick,  a  Priest. 

Another  Priest. 

Lord  Mui/or  f/London. 

Sheriff  if  Wiltshire. 

Elizabeth,  Queen  of  King  Edward  IV. 
Margaret,  Widow  of  King  Henry  VI. 
Duchess  of  York,  Mother  to  King  Edward  IV., 

Clarence,  and  Glosler. 
Lady  Anne,  Widow  of  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales, 

Sim  to  King  Henry  \'l.;  afterwards  married  to 

the  Duke  of  Glostei: 
A  young  Daughter  e/ Clarence. 

Lords,  and  other  Attendants;  two  Gentlemen,  a 
Pursuivant, Scrivener,  Citizens,  Murderers, Mes- 
sengers, Ghosts,  Soldiers,  ^c. 


SC£A'£.— England. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— London.    A  Street. 
Enter  Gloster. 
Glo.  Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 
Made  slorious  siinnner  by  this  sun  of  York; 
And  all  the  clouds,  that  Ibw'r'd  upon  our  house, 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried. 
Now  are  our  brows  bound  with  victorious  wreaths ; 
Our  bruised  arms  hung  up  lor  monuments  ; 
Our  stern  alarums  changed  to  merry  meetings, 
Our  dreadl'ul  marches  to  delightful  measures.i 
Gnm-visaged  war    iiath    smooth'd    his  wrinkled 

Ironf ; 
And  now.— instead  of  mounting  barbed^  steeds. 
To  Iright  the  .souls  of  learful  adversaries,— 
He  capers  nimbly  in  a  lady's  chamber, 
To  the  lascivious  pleasing  of  a  lute. 
lUit  I,— that  am  not  shaped  for  sportive  tricks. 
Nor  made  to  court  an  amorous  looking-glass ; 
I,  that  am  rudely  staiup'd,  and  want  love's  ma- 
„         jpsiy, 

To  strut  helore  a  wanton  ambling  nymph  ; 
1.  that  am  curtail'd  of  this  lair  proportion, 
(  Iciaknl  ol  li:iture  by  dissemliliug  nature 
pi'torui  d,  unlinish'd,  sent  before  my  lime 
lul.>  t bis  brcjiihing  wo.-kl,  scarce  half  made  up, 
And  that  so  lamely  and  uuliisiiiouable 


Tliat  dogs  bark  at  me  as  I  halt  by  them  ;— 
Why  I,  in  this  weak  piping  time  of  peace, 
Have  no  delight  to  pass  away  the  time  ; 
Unless  to  spy  my  shadow  in  the  sun. 
And  descant  on  mine  own  deformity; 
And  therefore,  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover, 
To  entertain  these  fair  well-spoken  days,— 
I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain, 
And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days,— 
Plots  have  I  laid,  inductions^  dangerous. 
By  drunken  prophecies,  libels,  and  dreams, 
To  set  my  brother  Clarence,  and  the  king, 
In  deadly  hate  the  one  against  the  other; 
And,  if  king  Edward  be  as  true  and  just 
As  I  am  subtle,  false,  and  treacherous, 
Tliis  day  should  Clarence  closely  he  mew'd  up ; 
About  a  prophecy,  which  says— that  G 
Of  Edward's  heirs  the  murderer  shall  be. 
Dive,  thoughts,  down  to  my  soul!  here  Clarenca 
comes. 

Enter  Clarence,  guarded,  and  Brakexeurt. 
Brother,  good  day:  What  means  this  armed  guard 
That  waits  upon  your  grace  ] 

Ctar.  His  majesty. 

Tendering  my  person's  safety,  lialh  appointed 
This  conduct  to  convey  me  to  the  Tower. 
3  Prep.irjitions  for  mischief. 


Scene  IL 


KING   RICIIAED   III. 


453 


Gki.  Upon  what  cause  ! 

'^lar.  Because  my  name  is— George. 

(ilo.  Alack,  my  lord,  tliat  tault  is  none  of  yours ; 

He  sliould,  for  tliat,  commit  your  godiathers: 

(),  belike  his  majesty  hath  some  intent, 

That  you  shall  be  new  christen'd  in  the  Tower. 

But  what's  the  matter,  Clarence!  may  1  knowl 

Clar.  Yea,  Richard,  when  I  know:  for  1  protest, 
As  yet  I  do  not:  But,  as  I  can  learn. 
He  hearkens  after  prophecies  and  dreams; 
And  from  the  cross-row  jilucks  the  letter  G, 
And  says— a  wizard  told  him,  that  by  G 
His  issue  disinlicritcd  should  be; 
And,  for  my  name  ol  George  begins  with  G, 
II  follows  in  his  thought  that  I  am  he: 
These,  as  1  learn,  and  sucli  like  toys  as  these, 
Have  mov'd  his  highness  to  commit  me  now. 
GUi.  Why,  this  it  is,  when  men  are  rul'd  by 
women : — 
'Tis  not  the  king  that  sends  jou  to  the  Tower; 
Wy  lady  (irey,  his  wile,  Clarence,  'tis  she, 
That  tempers  him  to  this  extremity. 
Was  it  not  she,  and  that  good  man  of  worship, 
Antony  WoodeviUe,  her  brother  there. 
That  made  him  send  lord  Hastings  to  the  Tower ; 
From  whence  this  present  day  he  is  deliver'd ! 
We  are  not  safe,  Clarence,  we  are  not  safe. 

Clur.  Byheaven.  I  tinnk,  there  is  no  man  secure, 
But  the  queen's  kindred,  and  night-walknig  heralds 
That  trudge  betwixt  the  king  and  mistress  Shore. 
Heard  you  not  what  an  humble  su]ipliant 
Lord  Hastings  was  to  her  tor  his  delivery  ! 
GU}.  Humbly  coiiijilaining  to  her  deity, 
Clot  my  lord  chainberl^iiii  his  liberty. 
1  11  tell  you  what,— 1  think  it  is  our  way, 
H'we  will  keep  in  favor  with  the  king. 
To  be  her  men,  and  wear  her  livery  : 
The  jealous  o'er-worn  widow,  and  herself,^ 
Since  that  our  brother  dubb'd  them  gentlewomen, 
Are  mighty  gossips  in  this  monarchy. 

Brak.  I  beseech  your  graces  both  to  pardon  mc; 
His  majesty  hath  straitly  given  in  charge. 
That  no  man  shall  lia\e  jirivate  conference, 
Of  what  degree  soever,  with  his  brother. 
Glo.  E\  en  so  .'  an  please  your  worship,  Braken- 
bury. 
You  may  partake  of  any  thing  we  say: 
We  speak  no  treason,  n'lan  ;— We  say.  the  king 
Is  wise,  and  virtuous;  and  his  noble  queen 
Well  struck  in  years  ;  fair,  and  not  jealous : 
We  say,  that  Shore's  wile  hath  a  pretty  foot, 
A  cherry  lip, 

A  bonny  eye.  a  passing  pleasing  tongue ; 
And  the  queen's  kindred  are  made  gentlefolks: 
How  say  you,  sir  !  can  you  deny  all  this  1 
Brak.  With  this,  my  lord,  myself  have  naught 

to  do. 
do.  Naught  to  do  with  mistress   Shore?  I  teU 
thee,  f(;llow. 
He  that  doth  naught  with  her,  excepting  one, 
Were  best  to  do  it  secretly,  alone. 
Brak.  What  one,  my  lord  ! 

Ghi.  Her  hushand,  knave  .-—Wouldst  thou  be- 
tray me! 
Brak.  I  beseech  your  grace  to  pardon  me;  and, 
withal. 
Forbear  your  conference  with  the  noble  duke. 
i'lur.  We  know  thy  charge,  Brakenbury,  and 

will  obey. 
Glo.  We  are  tlic  queen's  abjects,  and  must  obey. 
Brother,  farewell :  I  will  unto  the  king; 
.\nd  whatsoever  you  will  employ  me  in, — 
VVere'it  to  call  king  Edward's  widow — sister, — 
1  will  perlbrm  it  to  enlVanchise  you. 
Mean  time,  this  deep  disgrace  in  brotherhood, 
ToucI  !s  me  deeper  than  50U  can  imagine. 
VUn    I  know  it  pleaseth  neither  of  us  well. 
Glo.  Well,   your   imprisonment   shall   not   be 
long; 
I  will  deliver  you,  or  else  lie  for  you  : 
Mean  time,  have  patience. 
Clar.  I  must  perforce  ;  farewell. 

[Exnurtt  Clarence,  Beaicem!ury,  and  Guard. 
Clu.  Go,  tread  the  path   that  thou  shall  ne'er 
return, 
Simple,  plain  Clarence !— I  do  love  thee  so. 
That  1  will  shortly  send  thy  soul  to  heaven, 
if  heaven  will  take  the  present  at  our  haiids. 
But  who  comes  here  !  the  nevv-deliver'd  Hastings ' 
*  The  quoLU  and  Shore 


Enter  Hasti.n'gs. 
JIast.  Good  time  of  day  unto  my  gracious  lord  ! 
Glo.  As  much  unto  my  good  lord  chamberlain  ! 
Well  are  you  welcome  to  this  open  air. 
How  hath  your  lordship  brook'd  imprisonment? 
Host.  With  patience,  noble  lord,  as  prisoners 
must: 
But  I  shall  live,  my  lord,  to  give  them  thanks. 
That  were  the  cause  of  my  imprisonment. 
Glo.  No  doubt,  no  doubt;  and  so  shall  Clarence 
too; 
For  they,  that  were  your  enemies,  are  his. 
And  have  prcvail'd  as  much  on  him  as  you. 

„r^'!''';  ^^"^'^  P''>'  "'="  "'<=  eagle  should  be  mcw'd, 
While  kites  and  buzzards  prey  at  liberty. 

Ghi.  What  news  abroad  ? 

Ha.it.  No  news  so  bad  abroad,  as  this  al  home  ;— 
The  king  is  sickly,  weak,  and  melancholy 
And  his  physicians  fear  him  mightily. 

Glo.  Now,  by  saint  Paul,  this  iicws  is  bad  indeed. 
O,  he  hath  kept  an  evil  diet  long. 
And  over-much  consumed  his  royal  person; 
Tis  very  grievous  to  be  thought  upon. 
What,  is  he  in  his  bed  ? 

Jlaat.  He  is. 

Glo.  Go  you  before,  and  I  will  follow  you. 

[£.«'/ HASTtNGS. 

He  cannot  live,  I  hope ;  and  must  not  die, 

Till  George  be  pack'd  with  post-horse  up  to  heaven. 

I  II  in,  to  urge  his  hatred  more  to  Clarence, 

Willi  lies  well  steel'd  with  weighty  arguments; 

And,  if  I  fail  not  in  my  deep  intent, 

Clarence  hath  not  another  day  to  live: 

Which  done,  God  take  king  Edward  to  his  mercy, 

.\nd  leave  the  world  lor  me  to  bustle  in! 

For  then  I'll  marry  Warwick's  youngest  daughter: 

What  though  I  kill'd  her  husband,  and  her  father? 

The  readiest  way  to  make  the  wench  amends. 

Is— to  become  her  husband,  and  her  liither : 

The  which  will  I ;  not  all  so  much  1l-  love, 

As  for  anolher  secret  close  intent. 

By  marrying  her,  which  1  must  reach  unto. 

But  yet  I  run  before  my  horse  to  market- 

Clarence  still   breathes;   Edward  still  lives,  and 

reigns ; 
When  they  are  gone,  then  must  I  count  my  gains. 

[Exit. 
SCENE  \\.— Another  Street. 
Enter  t/ie  Corpse  af  King  Henry  Me  Sixth,  borne 

in  an  open  Coffin;  (icntlemen  bearing  Ilalberdi; 

to  guard  it ;  and  Lady  Anne  as  Mourner. 

Anne.  Set  down,  set  down  your  honorable  load,- 
It  honor  may  be  shrouded  in  a  hearse, — 
Whilst  I  a  while  obsequiously'  lament 
The  untimely  tail  of  virtuous  Lancaster.— 
Poor  key-cold  figure  of  a  holy  Iving! 
Pale  ashes  of  the  house  of  La'ncasfcr  ! 
Thou  bloodless  remnant  of  that  royal   Jood  \ 
Be  it  lawful  that  I  invocate  thy  ghost, 
To  hear  the  lamentations  of  poor  Anne, 
Wife  to  thy  Edward,  to  thy  slaughter'd  son, 
Stabb  d  by  the  selt-same  hand  that  made  these 

wounds ! 
Lo,  in  these  windows,  that  let  forth  thy  life, 
I  pour  the  helpless  balm  of  my  poor  eyes: — 
O,  cursed  be  the  hand  that  iiia'de  these  holes! 
Cursed  the  heart,  that  had  the  heart  to  do  it ! 
Cursed  the  blood,  that  Id  this  blood  from  hence! 
More  direful  hap  betide  that  hated  wretch. 
That  makes  us  wretched  by  the  death  of  thee. 
Than  I  can  wish  to  adders."  spiders,  toads, 
Or  any  creeping  venom'd  thing  that  lives' 
If  ever  he  have  child,  ahortive'be  it. 
Prodigious,  and  untimely  brought  to  light, 
Whose  ugly  and  unnatural  aspect 
May  fright  the  hopeful  mother  at  the  view ; 
.\nd  that  be  heir  to  his  unhappiness  ! 
If  ever  he  have  wife,  let  her  be  made 
More  miserable  by  the  death  of  him. 
Than  I  am  made  by  my  young  lord,  and  thee  !— 
Come,  now,  toward  Chertsey  with  your  holy  loadj 
Taken  from  Paul's  to  be  interred  there; 
And  still,  as  you  are  vveary  of  Ihe  weight. 
Rest  \  on,  wliiles  I  lament  king  Henry's  corse. 
[The  Bearers  take  up  tlie  Corpse,  and  advance. 
Enter  Gloster. 

Glo.  Stay  you  that  bear  the  corse,  and  set  it  down 
•  ^^"ith  becoming  reve.-ence  for  the  dead. 


454 


LIFE   AND  DEATH   OF 


Act.  I. 


yl/?/?c.What  black  magician  conjures  up  thisfiend. 
To  stop  devoted  charitable  deeds! 

Glo.\'  illains,  set  down  the  corse ;  or,  by  saint  Paul, 
I'll  make  a  corse  olJiiiu  that  disobeys. 

1  (Jent.  My  lord,  stand  back, and  let  the  cotlin  pass. 
Glo.  Unmanner'd  dog:  stand  thou  when  I  com- 
mand : 
Adv:inco  thy  halberd  higher  than  my  breast, 
Or,  by  saint  Paul,  I'll  strike  thee  to  my  foot, 
And  spurn  upon  tiiee,  beggar,  lor  thy  boldness. 

[The  Bearers  set  down  the  Coffin. 
Amie.  What,  do  you  tremblcl  are  you  all  alVuttl! 
Alas,  I  blame  you  not;  for  you  are  mortal, 
And  moital  eyes  cannot  endure  tlic  devil.— 
Avnunt.  thou  dreadful  minister  of  hell ! 
Thou  hadst  but  power  over  his  mortal  body, 
}lis  soul  thou  caust  not  have;  therefore,  begone. 
GU>.  Sweet  saint,  fur  charity,  be  not  so  curst. 
Anne.  Foul  devil,   for  God's  sake,  hence,  and 
(rouble  us  not; 
For  thou  hast  made  the  happy  earth  thy  hell, 
Fill'd  it  with  cursing  cries,  aud  deep  exclaims. 
If  thou  delight  to  view  Ihy  heinous  deeds, 
Behold  this  pattern  ollhy  butcheries: — 
0,  gentlemen,  sec,  sec  !  dead  Henry's  wounds 
Open  their  congeal'd  mouths,  and  bleed  afresh!— 
Blusli,  blush,  tliou  lump  of  foul  deformity; 
For  'tis  thy  presence  that  exhales  this  blood 
From  cold  and  empty  veins,  wJiere  no  blood  dwells ; 
Tliy  deed,  inhuman  and  unnatural, 

provokes  this  deluge  most  unnatural. 

O  God,  which  tliis  blood  mad'st,  revenge  his  death  ! 
O  earth,  which  this  blood  drink'st,  revengf  his  death! 
Kither,  Heaven,  with  lightning  strike  the  murderer 

dead. 
Or,  earth,  gape  open  wide,  and  eat  him  quick; 
As  thou  dost  swallow  up  this  good  king's  blood, 
Wliioh  his  hell-govern'd  arm  liath  butchered! 

Gh.  Lady,  you  know  no  rules  of  ciiarity. 
Which  renders  good  for  bad.  blessings  for  curses. 
Anfte.  Villain,  thou  know'st  no  law  of  God  nor 
man ; 
No  beast  so  fierce,  but  kTiows  some  touch  of  pity. 
Glit.  lint  I  know  none,  and  therefore  am  no  beast. 
Anne.  0  wonderful,  when  devils  tell  the  truth! 
Glo.  More  wonderful,  when  angels  are  so  angry. — 
Vouchsafe,  divine  perfection  of  a  woman, 
Of  these  supposed  evils,  to  give  me  leave, 
By  circumstance,  but  to  acquit  myself. 

Anne.  Vouchsate,  dilFus'd  infection  of  a  man. 
For  these  known  evils,  but  to  give  me  leave, 
By  circumstance,  to  curse  thy  cursed  self. 
Glv.  Fairer  than  tongue  can  name  tlice,  let  me 
have 
Some  patient  leisure  to  excuse  myself 
Anne.  Fouler  than  heart  can  think  thee,  thou 
canst  make 
No  excuse  current  but  to  hang  thyself. 

G/o.  By  such  despair,  I  should  accuse  myself. 
Anne.  And,  by  despairing,  shall  thou  stand  ex- 
cus'd; 
For  doing  worthy  vengeance  on  thyself. 
That  didst  unworthy  slaughter  upon  others. 
Gin.  Say,  that  I  slew  tlirm  not] 
Anne,  Why,  then,  they  are  not  dead  : 

But  dead  they  are.  and,  devilisli  slave,  by  thee. 
Gltf.  I  did  not  kill  your  husband. 
Anne.  Why,  then,  he  is  alive. 

Glo.  Nay,  he  is  dead;  and  slain  by  Edward's  hand. 
Anne.  In   thy  soul's  throat  thou  liest:  queen 
Margaret  saw 
Tliy  murd'rous  liilchion  smoking  in  his  blood  ; 
The  which  thou  once  didst  bend  against  her  breast, 
But  that  thy  brothers  beat  aside  the  point. 

(I'll.  1  was  provoked  by  her  sland'rous  ton.2;ue, 
That  lai  J  their  guilt  upon  my  guiltless  shouldcr.s. 
Anne.  Thou  wast  provoked  by  thy  bloody  mind, 
That  never  dreamt  on  aught  but  butcheries  : 
I)idst  thou  not  kill  this  king! 
OU).  I  grant  ye. 

Anne.  Dost  grant   me,  hedge-hog  1    then  God 
<  grant  me  too, 

Thou  may'st  be  damned  for  that  wicked  deed  ! 
n,  lie  was  gentle,  nnld.  and  virtuous. 

Glit.Thc  titter  Ibr  the  K  ingof  lieaven  that  hath  him. 
Anne.  He  is  in  heaven,  where  thou  shalt  never 

come. 
Glo.  Let  him  thank  me,  that  holp  to  send  him 
liiither; 
?or  he  was  titter  for  that  place,  than  earth. 


Anne.  And  thou  unfit  for  any  place  but  hell. 
Glo.  Yes.  one  place  else,  if  you  will  hear  me 

name  it. 
Anne.  Some  dungeon. 
Glo.  Your  bed-chamber. 

^//??f.  Ill  rest  betide  the  chamber  where  thou  liest! 
Glo.  So  wilt  it,  madam,  till  I  lie  with  ytiu. 
An?ie.  I  hope  so. 

Glo.  1  know  so. — But,  gentle  lady  Anne, — 

To  leave  this  keen  encounter  of  our  wits, 
And  fall  somewhat  into  a  slower  method, — 
Is  not  the  causer  of  the  timeless  deaths 
Of  these  Plantagenets.  Henry  and  Edward, 
As  blameful  as  the  executioner] 
Anyte.  Thou  wast  the  cause  and  most  accuriM 

elli?ct. 
Gin.  Your  beauty  was  the  cause  of  that  eflect; 
Your  beauty  which  did  haunt  me  in  my  sleep, 
To  undertake  tiie  dnith  of  all  the  world, 
So  I  might  live  one  hour  in  your  sweet  bosom. 

Antie.  If  I  thought  that,  I  tell  (hee,  homicide, 
These   nails  should  rend   that  beauty   from  my 
checks. 
Glo.  These  eyes  could  not  endure  that  bcauty'3 
wreck ; 
You  should  not  blemish  it  if  I  stood  by: 
As  all  the  world  is  cheered  by  the  sun, 
So  I  by  that;  it  is  my  day,  my  life. 
Anne.  Black  night  o'ershade  thy  day,  and  death 

thy  life! 
Glo.  CuT^e  not  thyself,  fair  creature ;  thou  art  both. 
Anne.  I  would  I  were,  to  be  revenged  on  thee. 
Gh.  It  is  a  quarrel  most  unnatural, 
To  be  revenged  on  him  that  loveth  thee. 

Arifie.  It  is  a  quarrel  just  and  reasonable, 
To  be  revenged  on  him  that  kill'd  my  husband. 

67/).  He  tlint  bereft  thee,  lady,  of  thy  husband, 
Did  it  to  help  thee  to  a  better  husband. 
Anne.  His   better  doth  not   breathe   upon   the 

earth. 
Glo.  He  lives,  that  loves  you  better  than  he  could. 
Anne.  Name  him. 
Glo.  Plantagenet. 

Anne.  Why,  that  was  he. 

Glo.  The  self-same  name,butone  otbettcr  nature. 
Anne.  Where  is  he  1 
Glo.  Here :    [She  spits  at  him.]    Why 

dost  thou  spit  at  me  1 
Anne.   'Would  it  were  mortal  poison,  for  thy 

sake ! 
Glo.  Never  came  poison  from  so  sweet  a  place. 
Anne.  Never  hung  poison  on  a  fouler  toad. 
Out  of  my  sight !  thou  dost  infect  mine  eyes. 
Glo.  Thine  eyes,  sweet  lady,  have  inlected  mine. 
Anne.  'Would  they  were  basilisks,  to  strike  thee 

dead  ! 
Glo.  I  would  they  were,  that  I  might  die  at  once; 
For  now  they  kill  me  with  a  living  death. 
Those  eyes  of  thine  from  mine  iialh  drawn  salt 

tears. 
Shamed  their  aspgcts  with  store  of  cliildish  drops: 
These  eyes,  which  never  shed  remorseful'^  tear,— 
Nor  when  my  father  York  and  Edward  wept, 
To  hear  the  piteous  moan  that  Rutland  made, 
When  black-faced  Cliilbrd  shook  his  sword  at  him; 
Nor  when  thy  warlike  lather,  like  a  child, 
Told  the  sad  story  of  my  father's  death  ; 
And  twenty  times  made  pause,  to  sob  and  weep, 
That  all  the  standers-by  had  wet  their  cheeks. 
Like  trees  bedash'd  with  rain:  in  tliat  sad  time, 
My  manly  e\es  did  scorn  an  humble  tear: 
And  what  tiu'sc  sorrows  could  not  hence  exhale. 
Thy  beauty  halJi,  aud  made  them  bhnd  witlnVeep- 

ing. 
I  never  sued  to  friend,  nor  enemy; 
My  tongue  could  never  learn  sweet  soothing  word , 
But  now  thy  beauty  is  propos'd  my  ti?e. 
My  proud  lieart  sues,  and  prompts  my  tongue  to 
speak.  [She  looks  seornjully  at  him. 

Teach  not  thy  lip  such  scorn;  for  it  was  made 
For  kissing,  lady,  not  lor  such  contempt. 
If  thy  revengeful  heart  cannot  Ibrgive, 
Lo!  here  I  lend  thee  this  sharp-pointed  sword; 
Which  if  thou  please  to  hide  ni  this  true  breast, 
And  let  the  soul  forth  that  adorelh  thee, 
I  lay  it  naked  to  tlu^  deadly  stroke. 
And  humbly  beg  the  death  upon  my  knee. 

'  te  laim  his  Breast  open;'  she  offers  at  it 
with  Aw  Sworil. 
•*  Pitying. 


[He 


Scene  III. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


455 


Nay.  do  not  pause ;  for  I  did  kill  kins  Henry  ;— 
But  'ivvas  thy  beauty  that  provok'd  me. 
Nay,  now  dospatcJi ;  'twas  I  that  stabb'd  youn?;  Ed- 
ward ;—      [She  again  offers  at  his  Breasts 
But  'twas  thy  heavenly  face  that  set  me  on. 

[SVte  lets  fall  the  Sword. 
Take  up  the  sword  a^nin,  or  take  up  me. 

Anne.  Arise,  dissembler ;  though  I  wish  thy  death. 
I  will  not  be  thy  executioner. 

Gill.  Then  bid  me  kill  myself,  and  I  will  do  it. 

Anne.  I  have  already. 

Olo.  That  was  in  thy  rage; 

Speak  it  again,  and.  oven  with  the  word. 
This  hand,  which  for  thy  love,  did  kill  thy  love, 
Shall,  for  thy  love,  kill  a  far  truer  love  ; 
To  both  their  deaths  shalt  thou  be  accessary. 

Anne.  I  would.  I  knew  thy  heart. 

Gla.  'Tis  tifiur'd  in  my  tongue. 

Anne.  I  fear  ine,  both  are  false. 

Glo.  Then  man  was  never  true. 

Anne.  Well,  well,  put  up  your  sword. 

Glti.  Say  then,  my  peace  is  made. 

Anne.  That  shalTyou  know  hereafter. 

Olo.  But  shall  1  live  in  hope  ! 

Anne.  All  men,  I  hope,  live  so. 

O/n.  Vouchsafe  to  wear  this  ring. 

Anne.  To  take,  is  not  to  give. 

[She  puts  on  the  Ring. 

Glo.   Look,   how    this   ring   encompasseth  thy 
linger, 
Even  so  thy  breast  encloseth  my  poor  heart ; 
Wear  both  of  them,  for  both  of  them  are  thine. 
And  if  thy  poor  devoted  servant  may 
But  beg  one  Ia\or  at  thy  gracious  hand, 
Tliou  dost  contirm  his  happiness  for  ever. 

Anne.  Wiiat  is  it! 

Glv.  That  it  nuiy  please  you  leave  these  sad  de- 
signs 
To  him  that  hath  more  cause  to  be  a  mourner, 
And  presently  repair  to  Crosby-place:'' 
Where — aAcr  I  have  solemnly  interr'd, 
At  Chertsey  monast'ry  this  noble  king, 
And  wet  his  grave  with  my  repentant  tears, — 
I  will  with  all  expedient  duty  see  you. 
For  divers  unknown  reasons,  I  beseech  you, 
Grant  me  this  boon. 

Anne.   With  all  my  heart;  and  much  it  jo3-s  me 
too. 
To  see  you  arc  become  so  penitent. — 
Tressei,  and  Berkley,  go  along  with  me 

Olo.  Bid  me  farewell. 

Anne.  'Tis  more  than  you  deserve; 

But,  since  you  teach  me  how  to  Hatter  you, 
Imagine  I  have  said  farewell  already. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Anne,  Trksskl,  and  Berkley. 

Glo.  Take  up  the  cor.se,  sirs. 

Gent.  Towards  Chertsey,  noble  lord  ? 

Glo.  No,  to  White  Fnars ;  there  attend  my  com- 
ing.        [Exeunt  the  resty  ivith  the  Corpse. 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humor  woo'd  ! 
\yas  ever  woman  ni  this  humor  won  ? 
I'll  have  her, — but  I  will  not  keep  her  long. 
What!  I,  that  kill'd  her  husband,  and  his  father, 
To  take  her  in  her  heart's  extremest  hate; 
With  curses  in  her  moutli,  tears  in  her  eyes, 
The  bleeding  witness  of  her  hatred  by ; 
With  God,  her  conscience,  and  these  bars  against 

me. 
And  I  no  friends  to  back  my  suit  withal. 
But  the  plain  devil  and  dissembling  looks. 
And  yet  to  win  her, — all  the  world  to  nothing  ! 
Ila! 

}Iath  she  forgot  already  that  brave  prince, 
Edward,  her  lord,  whom  I  some  three  months  since 
Sta.bb'd  in  my  angry  mood  at  Tewksbury  ! 
A  sweeter  and  a  lovelier  gentleman, — 
Framed  in  the  prodigality  of  nature. 
Young,  valiant,  wise,  and,  no  doubt,  right  royal, — 
The  .spacious  world  cannot  again  attbrd : 
And  will  she  yet  abase  her  eyes  on  me. 
That  ct-oj^p'd    the    golden   prime  of  this  sweet 

prince. 
And  made  her  widow  to  a  woful  bed? 
On  me,  whose  all  not  equals  Edward's  moiety  1 
On  me,  that  halt,  and  am  misshapen  thus ] 
^Iy  dukedom  to  a  beggarly  dernicr.s 
[  do  mistake  my  person  all  this  while : 
Upon  my  hie,  she  finds,  although  I  cannot, 


In  Bishopgate-street. 


e  A  small  French  coin. 


Myself  to  be  a  marvellous  proper  man. 

I'll  be  at  charges  for  a  looking-glass  ; 

And  entertain  a  score  or  two  of  tailors. 

To  study  fashions  to  adorn  my  body; 

Since  I  am  crept  in  favor  with  myself, 

I  will  maintain  it  with  some  little  cost. 

But,  tirst,  I'll  turn  yon  fellow  in  his  grave; 

Aucl  then  return  lamenting  to  my  love. — 

Shuie  out.  fair  sun,  till  I  have  bought  a  glass. 

That  1  may  see  my  shadow  as  I  pass  [ExU 

SCENE  III.— ^  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Queen  Elizabeth,  Lord  Rivers,  a?id  Lord 
Grey. 
Riv.  Have  patience,  madam;    there's  no  doubt 
his  majesty 
Will  soon  recover  his  accustom'd  health. 

Grey.   In  that  you  brook  it  ill,  it  makes  him 

worse  : 

Therefore,  for  God's  sake,  entertain  good  comfort. 

And  cheer  his  grace  with  quick  and  merry  words, 

Q.  Kliz.  If  lie  were  dead,  what  would  betide  of 

me? 
Grey.  No  other  harm,  but  loss  of  such  a  lord. 
Q.liliz  The  lossofsuch  alord  includes  all  harms. 
Grey.    The  heavens  have   bletjs'd  you   with  a 
goodly  son. 
To  be  your  comforter,  when  he  is  ^one. 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  he  is  young;  and  his  minority 
Is  put  unto  the  trust  of  Richard  Gloster, 
A  man  tliat  loves  not  me,  nor  none  o\'  you. 
Riv.  Is  It  concluded,  he  siiall  be  protector? 
Q.  Kliz.  It  is  determiu'd,  not  concluded  yet: 
But  so  it  must  be,  if  the  king  miscarry. 

Enter  Buckingham  and  Stanley. 
Grey.   Here  come  the  lords  of  Buckingham  and 

Stanley. 
Buck.  Good  time  of  day  unto  your  royal  grace  !' 
iS/a/7.   God  make  your  majesty  joyful  as  you 

ha\'e  been ! 
Q.  Eliz.  The  countess  Richmond,  good  my  lord 
of  Stanley, 
To  your  good  prayer  will  scarcely  say — amen. 
Yet,  Stanley,  notwithstanding  she's  your  wife, 
And  loves  not  me,  be  you.  good  lord,  assur'd, 
I  hate  not  you  lor  her  proud  arrogance. 

Slan.  I  do  beseech  you,  cither  not  believe 
The  envious  slanders  of  Jier  lalse  accusers; 
Or,  if  she  be  accus'd  on  true  report. 
Bear  with  her  weakness,  which,  I  think,  proceeds 
From  wayward  sickness,  and  no  grounded  malice. 
Q.  Eliz.  Saw  you  the  king  to-day,  my  lord  of 

Stanley- ! 
Stan.   But  now  the  duke  of  Buckingiiam,  and  I, 
Are  come  from  visiting  his  majesty. 
Q.  Eliz.    What  likeUhood  of  his  amendment, 

lords  1 
Buck.    Madam,  good   hope ;    his  grace  speaks 

cheerfully. 
Q.  Eliz.  God  grant  him  health  !   Did  you  confer 

with  him  ? 
Buck.  Ay,  madam,  he  desires  to  make  atonement 
Between  the  duke  of  Gloster  and  your  brothers, 
And  between  them  and  my  lord  chamberlain ; 
And  sent  to  warn  them  to  his  royal  presence. 
Q.  Eliz.  Would  ail  were  well !— But  that  will 
never  be; — 
I  fear,  our  happiness  is  at  the  height. 

Enter  Gloster,  Hastings,  and  Dorset. 
Glo.    They  do  me  wrong,  and  I  will  not  endure 
it.— 
Who  are  they,  that  complain  unto  the  king, 
That  I,  forsooth,  am  stern,  and  love  them  not  ? 
By  holy  Paul,  they  love  his  grace  but  ligiitly. 
That  till  his  ears  with  such  dissentious  rumors. 
Because  I  cannot  liatter,  and  speak  fair. 
Smile  in  men's  faces,  smooth,  deceive,  and  cog. 
Duck  with  French  nods,  and  apish  courtesy, 
I  must  be  held  a  rancorous  enemy. 
Cannot  a  plain  man  live,  and  think  no  harm, 
But  thus  his  simple  trutJi  must  be  abus'd 
By  silken,  sly,  insinuating  Jacks  19 

Grey.  To  whom,  in  all  this  presence  speaks  your 

grace  ] 
Glo.  To  thee,  that  hast  nor  honesty,  nor  grace. 
When  have  1  injur'd  thee  \  when  done  thee  wrong  ? 
•  Low  fellows. 


456 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF 


Act  I. 


Or  thee  1 — or  thee  1 — or  any  of  your  faction  ! 
A  play;ue  upon  you  all !    His  royal  giace, — 
Whom  God  preserve  better  than  you  would  wish! — 
Cannot  be  quiet  scarce  a  breathing-while, 
Uutyou  must  trouble  him  with  lewd'  complaints. 

Q.  Kliz.  Brother  of  Glostcr,  you   mi:>ta-ke  the 
matter: 
The  king,  of  his  own  royal  disposition, 
And  not  provok'd  by  any  suitor  else ; 
Aiming,  bclikc.  at  your  interior  hatred, 
Tliat  in  your  outward  action  shows  itself. 
Against  my  children,  brothers,  and  myself, 
Makes  hini  to  send  ;  that  thereby  lie  may  gather 
Tlie  ground  of  your  ill-will,  and  so  remove  it. 

Gto.  I  cannot  tell; — The  world  its  grown  so  bad, 
That  wrens  may  prey  w^here  eagles  dare  not  perch. 
Since  every  Jack  became  a  gentleman. 
There's  many  a  gentle  person  made  a  Jack. 

Q.  ELiz.  Come,  come,  we  know  your  meaning, 
brother  (ilostcr: 
You  envy  my  advajicemcnt,  and  my  friends'; 
God  grant,  we  never  may  have  need  of  you  \ 

(jIu.  Meantime,  God  grants  that  we  iiave  heed 
of  you ! 
Our  brother  is  imprisoned  by  your  means, 
Myself  disgraced,  and  the  nobility 
Held  in  contempt;  while  great  promotions 
Are  daily  given,  to  ennoble  those 
Tliat  scarce,  some  two  days  since,  were  worth  a 
noble.- 

Q.  Eliz.  By  him  tliat  rais'd  me  to  this  careful 
height 
From  that  contented  hap  which  I  enjoy'd, 
I  never  did  incense  his  majesty 
Agauist  the  duke  of  Clarence,  but  have  been 
An  earnest  advocate  to  pitad  lor  him. 
MJ-  loid,  you  do  me  shameful  injury, 
Falsely  to  draw  me  in  these  vile  suspects. 

Glo.  Vou  may  deny  that  you  were  not  the  cause 
Of  my  lord  Hastings  late  imprisonment. 

Miv.  She  may,  my  lord  ;  tor 

Glo.  She  may,  lord  Rivers  ! — why,  who  k7iows 
not  so  { 
Siie  may  do  more,  sir,  than  denying  that : 
Siie  may  help  you  to  many  fair  preferments; 
And  then  deny  her  aiding  hand  therein. 
And  lay  those  honors  on  your  high  desert. 
WJiat  may  she  not  I     Slie  may, — ay,  marry  may 
she, — 

Rw.  What,  murry,  may  she"! 

Glo.  What,  marry, may  she]  marry  with  a  Idng, 
A  bachelor,  a  handsome  stripling  too: 
1  wis,^  your  grandam  had  a  worser  match. 

Q.  Eliz.  My  lord  ol  (iloster,  I  have  too  long  borne 
Your  blunt  upbraiduigs,  and  your  bitter  scolls: 
By  heaven,  I  will  ac(}uaint  his  majesty, 
Of  those  gross  taunts  I  oltcn  have  endur'd. 
I  had  ratlier  be  a  country  servant-maid, 
Tlian  a  great  queen  with  tin's  condition^ 
To  be  so  baited,  scorn'd,  and  storm 'd  at: 
Small  joy  Jiavc  I  in  being  England's  queen. 

Enter  QuEKX  Margauet,  behind. 
Q,  Mar.  And  lessen'd  be  that  small,  God,  I  be- 
seech then ! 
Thy  honor,  state,  and  seat,  is  due  to  rac. 

Glo.  What?    threat  you  me  with  telling  of  the 
king] 
Tell  him,  and  spare  not :  look,  what  I  have  said 
1  will  avouch,  in  i)re!5cncc  of  the  kmg: 
I  dare  adventure  to  be  sent  to  the  Tower. 
*Tis  time  to  speak,  my  pains  are  quite  forgot. 

Q.  Miir.  Out,  devil!  I  remember  tliem  too  well: 
Thou  luU'dst  my  husband  Henry  in  the  Tower, 
And  Edward,  my  poor  son,  at  Tewksbury. 

Glo.  Ere  you  were  queen,  ay,  or  your  husband 
king, 
I  was  a  pack-horse  in  his  great  affairs ; 
A  weeder-out  of  his  proud  adversaries, 
A  liberal  rewarder  of  his  friends; 
To  royalize  his  blood,  I  spilt  mine  own. 
Q.  Mar.  Ay,  and  much  better  blood  than  his,  or 

thine. 
Glo.  In  alt  which  time,  you,  and  your  husband 
(key, 
Were  fuctious  for  the  house  of  Lancaster; — 
And.  JUvers,so  were  you: — Was  not  your  husband 
In  Margaret's  battle  at  Saint  Alban's  slain  1 
Let  me  put  in  your  minds,  if  you  forget, 
*  Rudo,  iijuoraut.    a  A  coiu  nilej  at  Gs.  Sd.     a  Think. 


What  you  have  been  ere  now,  and  what  you  are  ; 
Withnl,  what  I  have  been,  and  wliat  I  am. 
Q.  Mar.  A  murd'rous  villain,  and  so  still  thou  art. 
Glo.  Poor  Clarence  did  Jbrsake  liis  father  War- 
wick, 
Ay,  and  Ibrswore  himself, — Which  Jesu  pardon  ! — 

Q.  Mar.  Which  God  revenge  ! 

Glo.  To  light  on  Edward's  j-arty,  for  the  crown ; 
And,  tor  his  meed,  poor  lord,  he  is  mcw'd  up  : 
1  would  to  God,  my  heart  were  tlint  like  Edward's, 
Or  Edward's  solt  and  pitii'ul,  like  mine ; 
I  am  too  childish-foolish  lor  this  world. 

Q.  Mar.  Hie  thee  to  hell  for  shame,  and  leave 
this  world. 
Thou  cacodaemon  !^  there  thy  kingdom  is. 

Rii\  My  lord  of  Glostcr,  in  tiiose  busy  days, 
Which  here  you  urge  to  prove  us  enemies. 
We  Ibllow'd  then  our  lord,  our  lawful  king; 
So  should  we  you,  if  you  should  be  our  king. 

Glo.  If  I  should  be  1 — I  had  rather  be  a  pedlar: 
Far  be  it  from  my  heart,  the  thought  thereof! 

Q.  Eliz.  As  little  joy.  my  loicl,  as  you  suppose 
You  should  enjoy,  were  you  this  country's  king; 
As  little  joy  you  may  suppose  in  me, 
That  I  enjoy,  bein^  the  queen  thereof. 

Q.  Mar.  A  little  joy  enjoys  the  queen  thereof; 
For  I  am  she,  and  altogether  joyless. 
I  can  no  longer  hold  me  patient. —       [^Advancins. 
Hear  me,  you  wrangling  pirates,  that  lall  out 
In  sharing  that  which  you  have  pill'd^  from  me: 
Which  of  you  trembles  not,  that  looks  on  me  : 
If  not,  that  1,  being  queen,  you  bow  like  subjects; 
Yet  tliat,  bj-  you  depos'd,  you  quake  like  rebels]  — 
Ah,  gentle  villain,  do  not  turn  away  ! 

Glo.  Foul  wrinliled  witch,  what  mak'st  thou  in 
my  sight] 

Q.  Mar.  But  repetition  of  what  thou  hast  marr'd; 
Tiiat  will  I  make,  belorc  1  let  thee  go. 

G7y.  Wert  thou  not  banished  on  pain  of  death  ] 

Q.  Mar.  I  was;  but  I  do  lind  more  pain  in  ba- 
nishment. 
Than  death  can  yield  me  here  by  my  abode. 
A  husband,  and  a  son,  thou  ow'st  to  me, — 
And  thou  a  kingdom; — all  of  you  allegiance: 
This  sorrow  that  I  have,  by  right  is  yours; 
And  all  the  pleasures  you  usurp  are  mine. 

Glu.  The  curse  my  noble  lather  laid  on  thee, 
When  thou  didst  crown  hiswarlikebrowswith  paper, 
And  with  thy  scorns  drew'st  rivers  I'rom  his  eyes; 
And  then  to  dry  them,  gav'st  the  duke  a  clout, 
Stcep'd  in  the  laultless  blood  of  pretty  Rutland; — 
His  curses,  then  from  bitterness  of  soul 
Denounced  against  thee,  are  all  fall'n  upon  thee; 
And  (Jod,  not  we,  hath  plagued  thy  bloody  deed. 

Q.  Eliz.  So  just  is  God,  to  right  the  innocent. 

Jhi.sf.  O,  'twas  the  foulest  deed  to  slay  that  babe, 
And  the  most  merciless,  that  e'er  was  heard  of. 

Riv.  Tyrants  themselves  wept  when  it  was  re- 
ported. 

Dors.  No  man  but  prophesied  revenge  for  it. 

Buck.  Northumberland,  then  present,  wept  to 
see  it. 

Q.  Mar.  What!  were  you  snarling  all,  before  I 
came. 
Ready  to  catch  each  other  by  the  throat. 
And  turn  you  all  your  hatred  now  on  me  ] 
Did  York's  dread  curse  prevail  so  much  with  heaven, 
Tliat  Henry's  death,  my  lovely  Edward's  death, 
Their  kingdom's  loss,  my  vvotui  banishment. 
Could  all  biit  answer  for  that  peevish  brat  ] 
Can  curses  pierce  the  clouds,  and  enter  heaven? — 
Why,  then  give  way,  dull  cloudy,  to  my  quick 

curses ! — 
Though  not  by  war,  by  surfeit  die  your  king, 
As  ours  by  murder,  to  make  him  a  king ! 
Edward,  thy  son,  that  now  is  prince  ofWales, 
For  Edward,  my  son,  that  was  prince  of  Wales, 
Die  in  his  youth,  by  like  unlimely  violence! 
Thyself  a  queen,  for  me  that  was  a  queen, 
Outlive  thy  glory  like  my  wretched  self! 
Long  mayst  thou  live,  to  wail  thy  children's  loss; 
And  see  another,  as  I  see  thee  now, 
Deck'd  in  thy  rights,  as  thou  art  stalTd  in  mine! 
Long  die  thy  happy  days  before  thy  deatli; 
And  after  many  lei'igthen'd  hours  of  grief. 
Die  neither  mother,  wife,  nor  England's  queen! — 
Rivers, — and  Dorset, — you  were  slanders  by, — 
And  so  wast  thou,  lord  Hastings, — when  m'y  son 
Was  siabb'd  with  bloody  daggers;  God,  I  pray  him, 
«  Corrupt  devil.  »  Pillaged. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  RICHARD   HI. 


457 


That  iioiir  of  you  may  live  your  natural  asre, 
But  by  5.01)1*'  uniook'd  accident  cut  olt! 

Glo.  fifive  done  tiiy  cliarin,  tliuu  lialeiul  witlier'd 

Q.  Ma-.  And  leave  out  thee!  stay,  dog,  for  tliou 
jhalt  hear  me. 
If  I  eavoM  have  any  grievous  plague  in  store, 
KNceediiig  those  that  I  ran  wish  upon  thee, 
O,  let  tiieui  keep  it,  tdl  thy  sins  be  ripe. 
And  then  hurl  down  their  indignation 
On  thee,  tlie  troubler  of  the  poor  world's  peace! 
The  worm  of  conscience  still  be-gnaw  thy  soul ! 
Thy  fiiends  suspect  for  traitors  while  thou  liv'st, 
A.nd  take  deep  traitors  for  thy  dearest  friends! 
No  sleep  close  up  that  deadly  eye  of  thine. 
Unless  It  be  while  some  tormenting  dream 
Atlrights  thee  with  a  hell  of  ugly  devils! 
Thou  clvish-mark'c!,  abortive,  rooting  hog  ! 
Thou  that  w^ast  seal'd  in  thy  nativity 
The  slave  of  nature,  and  the  son  of  liell ! 
Thou  slander  of  thy  mother's  heavy  womb  ! 
Thuu  loathed  issue  of  thy  fatlier's  loins! 
Thou  rag  ot  honor  I  thou  detested 

CIo.  Margaret! 

Q.  Mar.  Richard ! 

Glo.  Ha  1. 

Q.  Mar.  I  call  thee  not. 

Ulo.  1  cry  thee  mercy  then  ;  for  I  did  think, 
That  thou  liadst  call'd  me  all  these  bitter  names. 

Q.  Mar.  Why,  so  I  did;  but  look'd  for  no  reply: 
O,  let  nie  make  the  period  to  my  ciirse. 

Clo.  'Tis  done  by  mej  and  ends  in — Margaret. 

Q.  Eliz.  Thus  have   you  breath'd    your  curse 
against  jourself 

Q.  Mar.  Poor  painted  queen,  vain  flourish  of  my 
Ibrtune ! 
Why  strew'sl  thou  sugar  on  that  bottled  spider,6 
Whose  deadly  web  ensnarelh  thee  about? 
Fool,  fool !  thou  whet'st  a  laiife  to  kill  thyself. 
The  day  will  come,  that  thou  shall  wish  for  me 
To  help'lhee  curse  this  pois'iioushunch-back'd  load. 

W«.v/.  False-boding  woman,  end  thy  l"rantic  curse ; 
Lest,  to  thy  harm,  thou  move  our  patience. 

Q.  Mar.  Foul  sliame  upon  you  !   you  have  all 
niov'd  mine. 

Riv.  Were  you  well  serv'd,  you  would  be  taught 
your  duty. 

Q.  Mar.  To  serve  me  well,  you  all  should  do  me 
duty. 
Teach  me  to  be  your  queen,  and  you  my  subjects: 
0,  serve  me  well,  and  teach  yourselves  that  duty. 

Dors.  Dispute  not  with  her,  she  is  lunatic. 

Q.Mar.  Peace,  master  marquis,  you  are  malapert: 
Your  Jiie-new  stamp  of  honor  is  scarce  current:" 
(),  that  your  young  nobility  could  judge. 
What  'twere  to  lose  it  and  be  miserable  ! 
They  that  stand  high,  have  many  blasts  to  shake 

them; 
And,  if  tlioy  tall,  they  dash  themselves  to  piece.?. 

(Jlu.  Ciood  counsel,  marry; — learn  it,  learn  it, 
marquis. 

Dors.  It  touches  you,  my  lord,  as  much  as  me. 

Gill.  Ay,  and  much  more:  But  I  was  born  so  high, 
Our  aiery"  buildelh  in  the  cedar's  top. 
And  dallies  with  the  wind,  and  scorns  the  sun. 

Q.  Mar.  And   turns   the  sun  to  shade; — alas! 
alas  !— 
Witness  my  .son,  now  in  the  shade  of  death  ; 
Whose  bright  out-shining  beams  thy  cloudy  wrath 
Hath  in  eternal  darkness  folded  up. 
Vour  aiery  buildeth  in  our  aiery's  nest: — 
O  God,,  that  seest  it,  do  not  sutler  it ; 
As  it  was  won  with  blood,  lost  be  it  so  ! 

Buck.  Peace,  peace,  for  shame,  if  not  for  charity. 

y.  Mar.  Urge  neither  charity  nor  shame  to  me ; 
Uncharitably  with  me  have  you  dealt. 
And  shamefully  by  you  my  hopes  are  butcher'd. 
Mj-  charity  is  outrage;  life  my  shame,— 
And  in  my  shame  still  live  my  sorrow's  rage ! 

Buck.  Have  done,  have  done. 

Q.  Mar.  0  princely  Buckingham.  I  kiss  thy  hand. 
In  sign  of  league  and  amity  with  thee: 
Now  liiir  befall  thee,  and  thy  noble  house! 
Thy  sarnients  are  not  spotted  with  our  blood. 
Nor  thou  within  the  compass  of  my  cur.se. 

Buck.  Nor  no  one  here;  lor  curses  never  pass 
The  lips  of  those  that  breathe  them  in  the  air. 

Q.  Mar.  I'll  not  believe  but  they  ascend  tlie  sliy, 

«  .\Uudim;  to  Gloster's  furm  and  venom. 

'  Jle  was  juHt  created  lii.irquis  of  Dorset.  «  Xest. 


And  there  awake  God's  gentle-sleeping  peace. 

0  Buckingham,  beware  of  vender  dog; 

Look,  when  he  fawns,  he  bites;  and,  when  he  bites 
His  venom  tooth  will  rankle  to  the  death: 
Have  not  to  do  with  him,  beware  of  him  ; 
Sm,  death,  and  hell  have  set  their  nijirks  on  him  ; 
And  all  their  ministers  attend  on  him. 

Glo.  What  doth  she  sav.  mv  lord  of  Buckingham  I 

Buck.  Nothing  that  I  respect,  my  gracious  lord. 

Q.  Mar.  What,  dost  thou  scorn  me  lor  my  gentle 
counsel  ? 
And  soothe  the  devil  that  I  warn  thee  from? 
0,  but  remember  this  another  day. 
When  he  shall  split  thy  very  heart  with  sorrow; 
And  say.  poor  Margaret  was  a  prophetess.-r- 
Live  each  of  you  the  subjects  to  his  hate. 
And  he  to  yours,  and  all  of  you  to  God's!       [Exit. 

Hast.  My  hair  doth  stand  on  end  to  hear  her 
curses. 

Riv.  And  so  doth  mine;  I  muse,'  why  she's  at 
liberty. 

Glo.  I  cannot  blame  her.  by  God's  holy  mother, 
She  hath  had  too  much  wrong,  and  I  repent 
My  part  thereof  that  I  have  done  to  her. 

Q.Kliz.  1  never  did  her  anv,  to  my  knowledge. 

Glo.  Yet  you  have  all  the  vantage  of  her  wrong. 

1  was  too  hot  to  do  some  body  good. 
That  is  too  cold  in  thinkins  of  it  now. 
Marry,  as  for  Clarence,  he  is  well  repaid ; 
He  is  fiank'd'  uj)  to  fatting  for  his  pains;— 
God  pardon  them  that  arc  the  cause  thereof! 

Riv.  A  virtuous  and  a  ehristian-like  conclusion, 
To  pray  lor  them  that  have  done  .scalli-  to  us. 

Glo.  So  do  I  ever,  being  well  adns'd  ; — 
For  had  I  curs'd  now.  I  had  curs'd  myself  [.Isiiie. 
Enter  C.itesbt. 

Cates.  Madam,  his  majesty  doth  call  for  you,— 
And  for  your  grace,— and  jou,  my  noble  lords. 

Q.  Eliz.  Catcsby  I  come; — Lords,  will  you  go 
with  me  ? 

Riv.  Madam,  we  will  attend  upon  your  grace. 
{Exeunt  all  but  (iLosTEn, 

Glo.  I  do  the  wrong,  and  (irst  begin  to  brawl. 
The  secret  mischiefs  that  I  set  abroach, 
I  lay  unto  the  grievous  charge  of  others. 
Clarence,— whom  I,  indeed,  have   laid  in  dark 

ness, — 
I  do  bewecp  to  many  simple  gulls; 
Namel}-,  to  Stanli'y,  Hastings,  Buckingham; 
And  tell  them— 'tis  the  queen,  and  her  allie.s. 
That  stir  the  king  against  the  duke  my  brotlier. 
Now  they  believe  it;  and  withal  whet  me 
To  be  revenged  on  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey : 
But  then  I  sigli,  and  with  a  piece  of  scripture, 
Tell  them— that  God  bids  us  do  good  tor  evil: 
And  thus  I  clothe  my  naked  villany 
With  old  odd  ends,  stol'n  forth  of  lioly  writ. 
And  seem  a  saint,  when  most  I  play  the  devil. 

Enter  two  Murderers. 
But  soft,  here  come  my  executioners. — ■ 
How  now,  my  hardy,  stout-resolved  mates  1 
Are  you  now  going'to  despatch  this  thing  ! 
1  Muni.  We  are,  my  lord ;  and  come  to  have 
the  warrant. 
That  we  may  be  admitted  where  he  is. 

Glo.  Well  thought  upon,  I  have  it  here  about 
me:  [Gives  tlie  Warrant. 

W^hcn  you  have  done,  repair  to  Crosby-place. 
But,  sirs,  be  sudden  in  the  e.vccution. 
Withal  obdurate,  do  not  hear  Jiim  jilead ; 
For  Clarence  is  well  spoken,  and,  perhaps. 
May  move  your  hearts  to  pity,  if  you  mark  him. 
1  Murd.  Tut,  tut,  my  lord,  we  will  not  stand  to 
prate. 
Talkers  are  no  good  doers;  be  assured. 
We  go  to  use  our  hands,  and  not  our  tongues. 
Glo.  Your  eyes  drop   mill-stones,  when  fools' 
eyes  drop  tears : 
I  like  you,  lads;— about  your  business  straight 
Go,  go,  despatch. 
1  Muni.  We  will,  my  noble  lord. 

[  Exeunt 

SCENE  IV.— .4  Room  in  the  Tower. 

Enter  Clare.nte  and  Br.\ice.vdury. 

Brak.  Why  looks  your  grace  so  heavily  to-day  1 

Clar.  O,  I  have  pass'd  a  miserable  night, 

5  Wouder.  >  J*ut  in  a  sty.  »  Harm. 


458 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OP 


Act  I.    Scene  IV, 


So  full  of  fenrful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 
That  as  I  am  a  Christian  laithful  man, 
I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night, 
Though   twerc  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days; 
So  lull  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 
Brak.  What  was  your  dream,  my  lord  ?  I  pray 

you,  tell  me. 
Clar.   Methought  that  I  had  broken  from  the 
Tower, 
And  was  embark'd  to  cross  to  Burgundy; 
And,  in  my  company.my  brother  Gloater: 
Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 
Upon  the  hatches ;    thenco  we  look'd  toward  Eng- 
land, 
And  cited  up  a  thousand  heavy  times, 
Dunng  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster 
That  had  befallen  us.    As  we  paced  along 
Upon  the  giddy  tooting  of  the  hatches, 
Methought,  that  fl luster  stumbled;  and,  in  tailing, 
Struck  nic,  that  thought  to  stay  him.  overboard. 
Into  Uie  tumbling  billows  of  the  inain. 

0  heaven  !  methought,  what  pain  il  was  to  drown! 
What  dreadlul  noi.se  of  water  in  mine  ears  ! 
What  sights  of  ugly  death  within  mine  eyes  ! 
Meihought,  I  saw  a  thou.sand  learlul  wrecks- 
A  thousand  men,  that  fishes  gnaw'd  upon; 
Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 
Inestimable  stones,  unvalu'd  jewels, 
All  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Some  lay  m  dead  men's  skulls  ;  and,  in  those  holes 
Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crept 
(As  twere  in  scorn  of  eyes)  rcHecting  gems 
That  woo  d  ihe  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep, 
And  mock  d  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scatter'd  by. 

Bmk.  Had  you  such  leisure  in  the  time  of  death 
To  gaze  ujion  these  secrets  of  the  deep  ' 

Clar.  Methought,  I  had;  and  otten  did  I  strive 
To  yield  the  ghost:  but  still  the  envious  flood 
Kept  in  my  soul,  and  would  not  let  it  forth 
To  seek  the  empty,  vast,  and  wand'ring  air; 
liut  smother  d  it  within  my  panting  bulk 
Which  almost  burst  to  belch  it  in  the  sea! 

Brak.  Awak  d  you  not  with  tins  sore  agony ' 

Uar.    O   no,  my  dream  was  lengtlien'd  after 
lite; 
O,  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul ' 

1  pass  d,  mellioiight,  I  lie  im-bmcholy  liood. 
With  that  grim  leriyuiaii  which  poets  write  of. 
Unto  Ihe  kingdom  of  periietual  night. 
The  lirst  that  there  did  greet  my  stranger  soul 
Was  my  great  fither-in-law,  renowned  Warwick 
Who  cry  d  A[uv,d~lVhat  .imurgi: for  perjury 
Ian  tkusilurk  lunnarchij  affiird  false  Clarence  ? 
And  so  he  vanish'd:  Then  came  wand'ring  by 
A  shadow  like  an  angel,  with  bright  hair 
Dabliledin  blood;  and  he  shriek'd  out  aloud — 
Clarence  u  cume,— false,  fleeling,  perfur'd  Cla- 
rence,— 

Thai  s/abli'd  me  in  the  field  hi/  Tewksburii  — 
^cize  on  liiin. furies,  take  him  to  i/our  torments.' 
With  that,  methought,  a  legion  of  Ibul  fiends 
h.n\iron  d  me,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 
Such  hideous  cries,  tluit,  with  the  very  noise 
I  treinbling  waked,  and.  for  a  season  after. 
Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell; 
Such  terrible  impression  made  my  dream. 

Brack.  No  marvel,  lord,  that  it  allrighted  you: 
I  am  alraid,  methinks,  to  hear  you  tell  it. 

Clar.  0,  lirakenbiiry,  I  have  done  these  things  — 
That  nov.'  give  evidence  against  my  soul,— 
For  Edward's  sake;    and,  see  how  he  requites 
me  ! —  ^ 

0  God !  if  my  deep  prayers  cannot  appease  thee. 
But  thou  wilt  be  avenged  on  my  misdeeds. 
Yet  e.\ecute  thy  wrath  on  me  alone: 
0,  spare   my  guiltless   wile,  and   my  poor  cliil- 

dren  ! — 

1  pray  thee,  gentle  keeper,  slay  liy  me  ; 
Mysoul  IS  heavy,  and  I  fiin  would  sleep. 


give  your  grace  good 


ht. 


Brak.  I  will,  mylord;  God 
rest ! — 

[ChAHK>:cB  reposes  tiimsTlf  on  a  chair. 
borrow  breaks  seasons,  ami  re|iosnig  hours, 
Makes  the  iiighl  morning.aiid  llie  iiooii-tide  ni 
Princes  have  but  iheir  titles  liir  Iheir  glones 
An  outwa. d  honor  lor  an  inward  toil ;  ' 

And,  lor  unlcit  imagination.s, 
Tliey  ollcn  feel  a  world  of  restless  cares : 
So  tiiat  between  their  titles,  and  low  name 
There  s  nothing  dillers  but  the  outward  tame. 


Enter  the  two  Murderers. 
1  Murd.  Ho!  who's  here? 

Brak.  What  wouldst  thou,  fellow?    and   how 
cam  St  thou  hither  ! 

1  Murd.   I  would  speak  with  Clarence,  and   I 
came  hither  on  my  legs. 

Brak.  What,  so  brief? 

2  Murd.  O,  sir,  'tis  better  to  be  brief  than  te- 
dious:— 

Let  him  see  our  commission ;  talk  no  more. 
{A  Paper  is  delivered  to  Brakenbuuy,  «'Ao  reads  it, 
Brak.  I  am,  in  this,  commanded  to  deliver 
The  noble  duke  of  Clarence  to  your  hands  :— 
I  will  not  reason  what  is  meant  hereby, 
Because  I  will  be  guiltless  of  the  meahimr. 
Here  are  the  keys  ;— there  sits  the  duke  asleep: 
1  11  to  the  king ;  and  signify  to  him, 
That  I  thus  have  resign'd  to  you  my  charge. 

1  Murd.  You  may,  sir;  'tis  a  poiiit  of  wisdom: 
Fare  you  well.  [E.rit  BRAKEXBunY. 

2  il/i;)v/.  What,  shall  we  stab  him  as  he  sleeps  ? 

1  Murd.  No;  he'll  say,  'twas  done  cowardly, 
when  he  wakes. 

2  Murd.  When  he  wakes!  why  fool,  he  shall 
never  wake  until  the  great  judgment  day. 

1  Murd.  Why,  then  he'll  say,  we  stabb'd  him 
sleeping. 

2  Murd.  The  urging  of  that  word,  judgment, 
nalh  111!  il  a  kind  of  remorse  in  me. 

1  Murd.  What!  art  thou  afraid  ? 

2  !\Iurd.  Notio  kill  him.  having  a  warrant  for  it ; 
but  to  be  damn'd  lor  killing  hini,  from  the  which 
no  warrant  can  defend  me. 

1  Murd.  1  thought,  thou  hadst  been  resolute. 

2  Murd.  So  1  am,  to  let  him  live. 

1  Murd.  I'll  back  to  the  duke  of  Gloster,  and 
tell  him  so. 

2  Murd.  Nay,  I  pr'ythee.  stay  a  little :  I  hope, 
this  holy  humor  of  mine  will  change;  it  was  wont 
to  hold  ine  but  while  one  would  tell  twenty. 

1  ;i/iin/.  How  dost  thou  feel  thyself  now  ? 

2  Murd.  'Faithsomecertaindregsof conscience 
are  jet  within  me. 

1  Murd.  lleineiuberourreward,when  the  deed's 
done. 

2  liturd.  Come,  he  dies;  I  had  forgot  the  reward. 

1  Mur<l.  Where's  thy  conscience  now  ? 

2  Murd.  In  the  duke  of  Gloster's  purse. 

1  Murd.  So  when  he  opens  his  purse  to  give  us 
our  reward,  thy  conscience  flics  out, 

2  il/i/n/.  'Tis  no  matter;  let  it  go;  there's  few 
or  none,  will  entertain  it. 

1  Murd.  What,  if  it  come  to  thee  again  ! 

2  il/«r(,'.  I'll  not  meddle  with  it,  it  is  a  danger, 
ous  thing,  it  makes  a  man  a  coward ;  a  man  cannot 
steal,  but  it  accuseth  him;  a  man  cannot  swear, 
but  it  checks  him ;  a  man  cannot  lie  with  his  neigh- 
bor's wife,  but  it  detects  him  :  'Tis  a  blushing 
shamc-liiced  spirit,tliat  mutinies  in  a  man's  bosom; 
it  fills  one  full  of  obstacles  :  it  made  me  once  re- 
store a  purse  of  gold,  that  by  chance  I  found;  it 
beggars  any  man  that  keeps  it:  it  is  turned  out  of 
all  towns  and  cities  for  a  dangerous  thing;  and 
every  man,  that  means  to  live  well,  endeavors  to 
trust  to  liimscli;  and  live  without  it. 

1  Murd.  'Zounils.it  is  even  now  at  my  eibow, 
persuading  me  not  to  kill  the  duke. 

2  Murd.  Take  the  devil  in  thy  mind,  and  believe 
him  not :  he  would  insinuate  with  thee,  but  to 
make  thee  .sigh. 

1  Murd.  I  am  strong-framed,  he  cannot  prevail 
with  me. 

2  Muni.  Spoke  like  a  talP  fellow,  that  respects 
his  repiilali.iu.    Come,  shall  we  lall  to  work  ? 

1  Murd.  Take  him  over  the  costard^  witli  the 
hills  ol  Ihy  sword,  and  then  throw  _'iim  into  the 
malmsey-liutt,  in  the  ne.xt  loom. 

2  Murd.  O  excellent  device !  and  make  a  son 
ofhiiii.  ' 

1  Murd.  Soft !  he  wakes. 

2  Murd.  Strike. 

1   Muni.  No,  we'll  reason  with  him. 

Clar.  Where  art  thou,  keeper?    give  me  a  cup 

of  \viiie. 
1  Murd.   Vou  shall  have  wine  enough,  my  lord, 

anon. 
Clai:  In  God's  name,  what  art  thou  ? 
1  Murd.  A  man,  as  you  are. 


>  Brave. 


•  UeaO. 


Act  II.     Scene  I. 


KING  KICHARD  III. 


459 


Clar.  But  not,  as  I  am,  royal. 

1  Muni.  Nor  you,  as  we  are, loyal. 

Clar.  Thy  voice   is  thunder,  but  thy  looks  are 
humble. 

1  Murd.  My  voice  is  now  the  king's,  my  looks 
mine  own. 

Clar.   How  darkly,  and  how  deadly  dost  thou 
speak  1 
Vour  eyes  do  menace  me  :  Why  look  you  pale  1 
Wlio  .sent  you  hitlier?  Wherelbre  do  you  cornel 

Both  Mtird.  To,  to,  to, 

Clar.  To  murder  me] 

B(i/h  Murd.  Ay,  ay. 

Clar.  You  scarcely  have  the  hearts  to  tell  me  so, 
And  tlirrrlore  cannot  iiave  the  hearts  to  do  it. 
W lit 'M  ill,  my  I'ricnds,  have  I  otl5nded  you  ? 

1  Murd.  Oltendcd  us  you  have  not,  but  the  king. 
Clar.  1  shall  be  reconcil'd  to  him  again. 

2  Murd.    Never,  my  lord  ;    therelbre  prepare  to 

die. 
Clar.  Are  you  call'd  forth  from  out  a  world  of 

men, 
To  slay  tlie  innocent  1  "What  is  my  otTencc  1 
Where  is  the  evidence  that  doth  accuse  me  1 
What  lawl'ul  quost^  have  given  their  verdict  up 
Unlo  tlie  Irownnig  judge  1  or  who  pronounced 
The  bitter  sentence  of  poor  Clarence'  death  i 
Bflbre  I  be  convict  by  course  of  law, 
To  tiireaten  me  with  death  is  most  unlawful. 
I  chnrRe  you,  as  you  hope  for  any  goodness, 
By  Christ's  dear  blood  shed  tor  our  grievous  sins, 
That  you  depart,  and  lay  no  hands  on  me  ; 
Till'  (lectl  >oi  undertake  is  damnable. 

1  i)/«;-f/."\Vhatwe  will  do,  we  do  upon  command. 

2  Murd.  And  he,  that  iiath  commanded,  is  our 

king. 
Clar.  I'Inoneous  vassal !  the  great  King  of  kings 
Halh  ill  Ilie  table  of  his  law  commanded, 
That  Ihoii  shall  do  no  murder:  Wilt  thou  then 
Spurn  ;a  His  edict,  and  fullil  a  man's  ] 
Take  heed  ;  lor  lie  holds  vengeance  in  his  hand, 
To  hurl  upon  their  heads  that  break  his  law. 
2  Murd.  And  tliat  same  vengeance  doth  he  hurl 

ou  tliee, 
Vnv  false  forswearing,  and  for  murder  too: 
Tliou  dirist  receive  the  sacrament,  to  fight 
In  (jiiarrel''  ol'  the  house  of  Lancaster. 

1  Murd.  And  like  a  traitor  to  the  name  of  God, 
Didbt  break  that  vow;  and,  with  tliy  treacherous 

blade. 
Unrip'dbt  the  bowels  of  t!iy  sovereign's  son. 

2  Murd.  Whom  thou  wast  sworn  to  cherish  and 

delend. 

1  Mur.i.   Wow  canst  thou  urge  God's  dreadful 
law*  to  us, 
Wiieu  thou  hast  broke  it  in  such  dear  degree? 

Clar.  Alas  I  for  whose  sake  did  I  that  ill  deed  1 
For  Kdvvard,  lor  my  brother,  for  his  sake  : 
He  sends  you  not  to  n^urder  me  for  this  ; 
For  in  tlia't  sin  he  is  as  deep  as  I. 
li  God  will  be  avenged  for  the  deed, 
O,  know  you,  tliat  he  doth  it  publicly  ; 
Take  not  the  quarrel  from  his  powerful  arm  ; 
Jle  needs  no  indirect  nor  lawless  course, 
To  cut  oir  those  that  have  ollended  him. 

1   Murd.  Who  made  thee  then  a  bloody  minister, 
Whin  t;allant-springing,  brave  Planlagenet, 
That  jinneely  novice,  was  struck  dead  by  theel 

Clar.  My  brother's  love,  the  devil,  and  my  rage. 

1  Murd.  Thy  brother's  love,  our  duty,  and  thy 
fault. 
I'lovoke  us  hitlier  now  to  slaughter  thee. 


Clar.  If  you  do  love  my  brother,  hate  not  me  ■ 
I  am  his  brother,  and  I  love  him  well. 
If  you  are  hired  for  meed."  go  back  again. 
And  I  will  send  you  to  my  brother  Gloster; 
Who  shall  reward  you  better  tor  my  ufc, 
Tiian  Edward  wiilfor  tidings  of  my  death. 

2  Murd.  You  are  decciv'ci,  your  brother  Gloster 
hates  jou. 

Clar.  O,  no;  he  loves  me,  and  he  holds  me  dear; 
Go  you  to  him  from  me. 

B(i(h  Murd.  Ay,  so  we  will. 

C/«r.Tell  him.when that  ourprincely  lather Y'ork 
Bless'd  his  three  sons  with  his  victorious  arm, 
And  charged  us  from  his  soul  to  love  each  other. 
He  Httle  thought  of  this  divided  f^end^7hip  : 
Bid  Gloster  think  on  tJiis,  and  lie  will  weep. 

1  Murd.  Ay,  mill-stones;  as  he  lesson'd  us  to 
weep. 

Clar.  O,  do  not  slander  him.  for  he  is  kind. 

1  Murd.  Right,  as  snow  in  harvest. — Come,  you 
deceive  yourself; 
'Tis  he  that  sends  us  to  destroy  you  here. 

Clar.  It  cannot  be;  lor  he  hewcpt  my  fortune, 
And  hugged  me  in  his  arms, and  swore,  with  sobs, 
That  he  would  labor  my  delivery. 

1  Murd.  Why  so  he  doth,  when  he  delivers  you 
From  this  earth's  thraldom  to  the  joys  of  heaven. 

2  Murd.  Make  peace  with  God,  lor  you  must  die, 

my  lord. 

Clar.  Hast  thou  that  holy  feeling  in  thy  soul, 
To  counsel  me  to  make  my  peace  with  God, 
And  art  thou  yet  to  thy  own  soul  so  blind. 
That  thou  wilt  war  with  God,  by  murd'ring  mcl 
Ah.  sirs,  consider,  he  thai  set  you  on 
To  do  this  deed,  will  hate  you  for  the  deed, 

2  Murd.  What  shall  we  do] 

Clar.  Relent,  and  save  your  souls. 

1  Murd.  RelentI  'tis  cowardly,  and  womanish. 
Clar,  Not  to  relent,  is  beastly,  savage,  devilish. — 

Which  of  you,  if  you  were  a  prince's  son, 

Being  iicnf^  from  liberty,  as  1  am  now, — 

Iftwosuch  murderers aA  yourselves  came  to  you, — 

Would  not  entreat  for  lile1— 

My  Iriend,  I  spy  some  pity  in  thy  looks; 

O,  if  thine  eye  be  not  a  llatterer. 

Come  thou  on  my  side,  and  entreat  for  me. 

As  you  would  beg,  were  you  in  my  distress. 

A  begging  prince  what  beggar  pities  not ! 

2  Murd.  Look  behind  you.  my  lord. 

1  Murd.  Take  that,  and  that;  if  all  this  will  not 

do,  [Stabs  hif/i. 

I'll  drown  you  in  the  malmsey-butt  wiuiiii. 

[Exit  ivilh  the  hodij. 

2  Murd.  A  bloody  deed,  and  desiierately  de 

spatch'd ! 
How  fain,  like  Pilate,  would  I  wash  my  hands 
Of  this  most  grievous  guilty  murder  done  ! 

Re-enter  first  Murderer. 

1  Murd.  How  now]   what  mean'sl  thou,   that 

thou  help'st  me  not } 
By  heaven,  the  duke  shall  know  how  slack  you 
ha\e  been. 

2  Murd.  I  would  he  knew,  that  I  had  sav'd  his 

brother! 
Take  thou  the  fee.  and  tell  him  what  I  say 
For  I  repent  me  that  the  duke  is  slain.  [Exit, 

1  Murd.  So  do  not  I:  go,  coward,  as  thou  art. — 
Well.  I'll  go  hide  the  liody  in  some  liole. 
Till  that  tiie  duke  give  order  for  his  burial: 
And  when  I  have  my  meed,  I  will  away ; 
For  this  will  out,  and  then  I  must  not  stay.   [Exit. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— .4  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Ki\«  Edward,  [led  in  sick,)  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, Dorset,  Riveus,  Hastings,  BuciaNuiiAM, 
GuEV,  ami  olhars. 

K.  Edw.  Why,  so:— now  have  I  done  a  good 
day's  work; — 

You  peers  continue  this  united  league: 

I  every  day  expec  t  an  embassage 

From  my  Redeemer  to  redeem  me  hence; 

And  more  in  peace  my  soul  shall  part  to  heaven, 
»  Inquest,  jury,  o  {)n  tbo  part. 


Since  I  have  made  my  friends  at  peace  on  earth. 
Rivers,  and  IIastin:::s,  take  each  other's  hand; 
Dissemble  not  your  hatred,  swear  your  love. 

Rlv.  By  heaven,  my  soul  is  purged  from  grudging 
hate  ! 
And  with  my  hand  I  seal  my  true  heart's  love, 

Ha.st.  So  thrive  I,  as  I  truly  swear  the  like! 

A".  £f/if.  Take  heed,  you  dally  not  before  your  king 
Lest  he,  that  is  the  supreme  King  of  kings, 
Contbund  your  hidden  falsehood,  and  award 
Either  of  you  to  be  the  other's  end. 

1  Keward.  ^  Shut  up 


460 


LIFE   AND   DEATH   OF 


Act  n. 


Hast.  Su  prosper  I,  as  I  swear  perfect  love  ! 

Riv   And  I,  as  I  love  Hastings  with  my  heart! 

A',  irfm.  ^Iadam,  yourself  are  not  exempt  in  this,— 
Nor  yonr  son  Dorset,— Buckingham,  nor  you  ;— 
You  have  been  I'actious  one  against  the  other. 
Wife,  love  lord  Hastings,  let  him  Kiss  your  hand; 
And  what  you  do,  do  it  unli?igncdly. 

Q.  Eli:.  There,  Hastnigs;— 1   h'iU  never  more 
remember 
Our  former  hatred;  So  thrive  I,  and  mine  ! 

K.  Kdw.  Dorset,  embrace  him, — Hastings,  love 
lord  maniuis. 

Dor.  This  interchange  of  love,  I  here  protest, 
Upon  my  part  shall  be' inviolable. 

Ji(wl.  And  so  swear  I.  [Embraces  Dorset. 

K.  E'I'W.  Kow  princely  Bucliingham,  seal  thou 
this  league. 
With  thy  embraceinents  tomy  wife's  allies, 
And  make  nic  ha]ipy  in  your  unity. 

Btuk.  Whenever  Buckingham  doth  turn  his  hate 
Upon  your  grace,  [Tu  the  Queen.]  but  with  all 

duteous  love 
Doth  cherish  you,  and  yours,  God  punish  me 
With  hate  in  those  where  I  expect  most  love  ! 
When  1  have  most  need  to  employ  a  Iriend, 
And  most  assured  that  he  is  a  rtiend. 
Deep,  hollow,  treacherous,  and  full  of  guile, 
Be  he  uiilo  me  !  this  do  1  beg  of  heaven. 
When  I  am-cold  in  love  to  }'ou  or  yours. 

[Embru'dng  Rivers,  S;c. 

K.  Eilw.  A  pleasing  cordial,  princely  Bucking- 
ham, 
Is  this  thy  vow  unto  my  sickly  heart. 
There  wanteth  now  our  brother  (Jlostcr  here, 
To  make  ttie  blessed  period  of  this  peace. 

Bucli.  And,  in  good  time,  here  comes  the  noble 
duke. 

Enter  Gloster. 

Gto.  Good   morrow  to  my  sovereign  king,  and 
queen ; 
And,  princely  peers,  a  happy  time  of  day  ! 

K.  Eilw.  Hajipy,  indeed,  as  we  have  spent  the 
day  :— 
Brother,  we  have  done  deeds  of  charity; 
Made  peace  of  enmity,  fair  love  of  hate. 
Between  these  swelling  wrong-incensed  peers. 

Gto.  A  blessed  labor,  my  most  sovereign  liege. — 
Among  this  princely  heap,  if  any  here, 
By  liilse  intelligence,  or  wrong  surmise, 
Hold  me  a  foe; 

If  1  umvitlingly,  or  in  my  rage. 
Have  aught  committed  that  is  hardly  borne 
By  any  in  Ihis  presence,  I  desire 
To  reconcile  me  to  his  friendly  peace 
Tis  death  to  me  to  be  at  enmity; 

I  hate  It,  and  desire  all  good  men's  lovo. — 
First,  madam,  I  entreat  true  ]ieaee  of  you. 
Which  1  will  purchase  n^ilh  my  duteous  service;— 
Of  you,  my  noble  cousin  Buckingham, 

II  ever  any  grudge  were  lodg'd  between  us  ; 
Of  you,  lord  Rivers, — and,  lord  Grey,  of  you. 
That  all  without  desert  have  fro\vn"'d  oii  me  ;— 
Dukes,  earls,  lords,  gentlemen;  indeed,  of  all. 

I  do  not  know  that  Englishman  alive. 
With  whom  my  soul  is  any  jot  at  odds. 
More  than  the  infant  that  is  born  to-night; 
J  thank  my  God  lor  my  humility. 

Q.  ELiz.  A  holy-day  shall  this  be  kept  hereafter. 
1  would  to  God,  all  strifes  were  well  coin  pounded.— 
My  sovereign  lord,  I  do  beseech  your  iiighness 
To  take  our  brother  Clarence  to  >  our  grace. 

Gto.  Why,  madam,  have  I  olli-i'd  love  lor  this, 
To  be  so  llouted  in  this  royal  presence  ] 
Who  knows  ijot,  that  the  gentle  duke  is  dead  ? 

[  They  all  start. 
iou  do  him  injury  to  scorn  his  corse. 

K.  Eilw.  Who  knows  not  he  is  dead !  who  knows 
he  is  ] 

Q.  Eli:.  All-seeing  heaven,  what  a  world  is  this! 

Hiiek:  Look  1  so  ])ale,  lord  Dorset,  as  the  rest ! 

Uur.  Ay,  my  good  lord;  and  no  man  in  the  pre- 
sence, • 
But_his  red  color  hath  forsook  his  cheek. 

K.  Edw.  Is  Clarence  dead  1   the  order  was  re- 
vers  d. 

Gto.  But  he,  poor  man,  by  your  first  order  died, 
And  that  a  winged  Mercury  did  bear; 
Some  tardy  crijiple  horc  th'e  countermand, 
'J'liat  came  too  lag  to  see  him  buried: 


God  grant,  that  some,  less  noble,  and  less  loyal, 
Nearer  in  bloody  thoughts,  and  not  in  blood, 
Desen-e  not  worse  than  wretched  Clarence  did. 
And  yet  go  cufrciit  from  suspicion  I 
Enter  Stanley. 

Stan.  A  boon,  my  sovereign,  formy  service  done. 

K.Edw.  I  pr'ythee,  peace;  my  soul  is  full  of 
sorrow. 

Stan.  I  will  notrise  unless  yourhighness  hear  me. 

K.  Edw.  Then  say  at  once,  what  is  it  thou  re- 
Quest'st. 

Stan.  The  forfeit,  sovereign,  of  my  servant's  life; 
Who  slew  to-day  a  riotous  gentleman. 
Lately  attendant  on  the  duke  of  Norlblk. 

A'.  Ertw.  Have  1  a  tongue  to  doom  my  brother's 
death. 
And  shall  that  tongue  give  pardon  to  a  slave  I 
My  brother  kill'd  no  man,  hia  liiult  was  thought. 
And  yet  his  punishment  w,as  bitter  death. 
Who  sued  to  me  for  him  !  who,  in  my  wrath, 
Kneel'd  at  my  feet,  and  bade  me  be  advised  \ 
Who  spoke  of  brotherhood  !  who  spoke  of  love  ' 
Who  told  me,  how  the  poor  soul  did  forsake 
The  mighty  Warwick,  and  did  fight  for  me? 
Who  told  me,  in  the  ticid  of  Tewksbury, 
When  Oxliird  had  me  down,  he  rescued  me, 
And  said.  Dear  briithtr,  live,  and  be  a  king! 
Who  told  me,  when  we  hoth  lay  in  the  Held, 
Frozen  almost  to  death,  how  he  did  lap  me 
Even  in  his  garments  ;  and  did  give  himself. 
All  thin  and  naked,  to  the  numb-cold  night? 
All  this  from  my  remembrance  brutish  wrath 
Sinfully  pluck'd,  and  not  a  man  of  you 
Had  so  much  grace  to  put  it  in  my  mind. 
But  when  your  carters  or  your  waiting-vassals, 
Have  done  a  drunken  slaughter,  and  defaced 
The  precious  image  of  our  dear  Redeemer, 
You  straight  are  oh  your  knees  for  pardon,  pardon; 
And  I,  unjustly  too,  must  grant  it  you, — 
But  for  my  brother,  not  a  man  would  speak, — 
Nor  I  (ungracious)  speak  unto  myself 
For  him,  poor  soul.— The  proude-st  of  you  all 
Have  been  beholden  to  him  in  his  life; 
Yet  none  of  you  would  once  plead  for  his  life. — 
0  God  !  I  fear  thy  justice  will  take  hold 
On  me,  and  you,  aiid  mine,  and  yours,  for  this. — 
Come,  Hastings,  help  me  to  my  closet.    0, 
Poor  Clarence  ! 

[Ej-eiint  Kino,  QrEEu,  Hastings,  Rivers, 
Dorset,  a7id  Grey. 

Gto.  This  is  the  fruit  of  rashness !—Mark'd  you 
not. 
How  that  the  guilty  kindred  of  the  queen 
Look'd  pale,  when  they  did  hearof  Clarencc'death ' 
0!  they  did  urge  it  still  unto  the  king  ; 
God  will  revenge  it.    Come,  lords;  will  you  go. 
To  comfort  Edward  with  our  company  ! 
Buck.  We  wait  upon  your  grace.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.— The  same. 

Enter  the  Duchess   of   York,  with  a  Son   and 

Daughter  if  Clarence. 

Son.  Good  grandam,  IcU  us,  is  our  father  dead ' 

Duch.  No,  hoy. 

Vaugh.  Why"  do   you  weep  so  oft?   and   beat 
your  breast; 
And  cry— O  Clarence,  my  unhappy  smi  J 

So)i.  Why  do  you  look  on  us.and  shake  your  head. 
And  call  us— orphans,  wrelclics,  cast-avvays, 
Ifthat  our  noble  father  he  alive? 

Duch.  My  pretty  cousins. you  mistakp  me  both. 
I  do  lament  the  sickness  of  llie  king. 
As  loath  to  lose  hiin,  not  your  lather's  death  ; 
It  were  lost  sorrow,  to  wail  one  that's  lost. 

Sott.Then,  grandam,  you  conclude  that  he  is  dead 
The  king  my  uncle  is  to  blame  for  this. 
God  will  revenge  it;  whom  1  will  importune 
With  earnest  prayers  all  to  that  etlcct. 

Duiigh.  And  so  will  I. 

Duch.  Peace,  childion,  peace!  the  king  doth  love 
you  well ; 
Incapable^  and  shallow  innocents. 
You  cannot:  guess  who  caus'd  your  father's  death. 

Soil.  Grandam,  we  can;  liirmvgood  uncleGloster 
Told  me,  the  king,  provok'd  lo't  hy  the  queen, 
Devised  iniiicnchments  to  imprison  him; 
And  when  my  uncle  told  me  so,  he  went.,  ■ 
And  pitied  me,  and  kindly  kiss'd  my  check; 
"  lijiiorant. 


Scene  III. 


KINa  RICHARD   III. 


461 


Bade  me  rely  on  him,  as  on  ray  father, 
And  he  would  love  me  dearly  as  his  child. 
Duck.  Ah,  that  deceit  should  steal  such  gentle 
shapes, 
And  with  a  virtuous  visor  hide  deep  vice  ! 
He  is  my  son,  ay,  and  therein  my  sliame. 
Yet  from  my  duss  he  drew  not  this  deceit. 

Son.  Think  you,  my  uncle  did  dissemble,  gran- 
dam  ^ 
Duck.  Ay,  boy. 

Stni.  I  cannot  tliink  it.    Hark!  what  noise  is  this! 
E/iter   QCEES    Elizabeth,   di^traciedtij;    Rivers 
and  DoKSET,  fiMowing  her. 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah !  who  sliall  hinder  me  to  wail  and 
weep  ] 
T  >  chide  my  fortune,  and  torment  myself? 
r.i  join  with  black  despair  against  my  soul, 
And  lo  myself  become  an  enemy. 
D«cA.  What  means  this  scene  of  rude  impatience  1 
Q.  Kliz.  To  make  an  act  of  tragic  violence; — 
Kdward,  my  lord,  thy  son,  our  king,  is  dead. 
Why  grow  the  branches,  when  the  root  is  gone? 
Why  wither  not  the  leaves,  that  want  their  sapl — 
If  you  will  live,  lament ;  it  die,  be  brief; 
That  our  swift-winged  souls  may  catch  the  king's; 
Or,  like  obedient  subjects,  follow  him 
To  his  new  kingdom  of  perpetual  rest. 

Duch.  .\h,  so  much  interest  have  I  in  thy  sorrow, 
As  I  had  title  in  thy  noble  husband  ! 
1  have  bewept  a  worthy  iiusband's  death, 
And  liv'd  by  looking  oh  his  images  : 
But  now  two  mirrors  of  his  princely  semblance 
Are  cnick'd  in  pieces  by  malignant  death; 
And  1  lor  comlbrt  have  but  one  laisc  glass, 
That  grieves  me  when  I  sec  my  shame  in  him. 
Thou  art  a  widow;  yet  thou  art  a  mollier, 
And  hast  the  comfort  of  thy  childcrn  loll  thee  : 
Butdeath  hath  snatch'd  my  husband  from  my  arms. 
And  pliick'd  two  crutches  from  my  feeble  hands, 
Clarence  and  Edward.    0,  what  cause  have  1, 
(Thine  being  but  a  moiety  of  my  grief,) 
To  over-go  thy  plaints,  and  drown  thy  cries! 
Hun.  Ah,  aunt!   you  wept  not  for  our  father's 
death ; 
How  can  we  aid  you  with  our  kindred  tears  1 

Daugfi.  Our  fatherlessdistress  was  left  unmoan'd, 
Your  widow-dolor  likewise  be  unwept!     , 
Q.  Kliz.  Give  me  no  help  in  lamentation, 
I  am  not  barren  to  bring  forth  laments: 
All  springs  reduce  their  currents  to  mine  eyes, 
That  I,  being  govern'd  by  the  wat'ry  moon. 
May  scud  forth  plenteous  tears  to  drown  the  world! 
A h,  for  my  husband,  for  my  dear  lord  Edward ! 
Ckit.  Ah,  lor  our  father,  for  our  dear  lord  Cla- 
rence ! 
Dach.    Alas,  for  both,  both  mine,  Edward  and 

Clarence  ! 
Q.  Eliz.  What  stay  had  I,  but  Edward?   and 

he's  gone. 
CHI.  What  stay  had  we,  but  Clarence  ?  and  he's 

gone. 
Duch.  What  stays  had  I,  btit  they?  and  they  are 

gone. 
Q.  Eliz.  Was  never  widow,  had  so  dear  a  loss. 
Chil.  Were  never  orphans,  had  so  dear  a  loss. 
Duch.  Was  never  mother,  had  so  dear  a  loss. 
Alas!  1  am  the  inolhor  of  these  griefs; 
Tkieir  woes  are  parcell'd,*  mine  are  general. 
She  lor  an  Edward  weeps,  and  so  do  I ; 
I  lb  I*  a  Clarence  weep,  so  doth  not  she ; 
These  babes  for  Clarence  weep,  and  so  do  I: 
I  lor  an  Edward  weep,  so  do  not  they: 
Alas  !  you  three,  on  me,  threefold  distress'd. 
Pour  all  your  tears;  1  am  your  sorrow's  nurse. 
And  1  will  jiamper  it  with  lamentations. 
Dor.  Comfort,  dear  mother;    God  is  much  dis- 
pleas'il. 
That  you  take  with  unthankfulness  his  doing; 
In  common  worldly  things,  'tis  called — ui^grateful. 
With  dull  unwillihgness  to  repay  a  debt. 
Which  with  a  bounteous  hand  was  kindly  lent; 
Much  more  to  be  thus  opposite  with  heaven. 
For  itreiiuires  the  royal  debt  it  lent  you. 

Hiv.  Madam,  bethink  you,  like  a  careful  mother. 
Of  the  young  prince  your  son:  send  straight  for  him. 
Let  iiim  be  ciown'd;  in  him  your  comfort  lives  ; 
Drown  desperate  sorrow  in  dead  Edward's  grave. 
And  jilant  youi  ;oys  in  living  Edward's  throne. 
'  Divided. 


Enter  Gloster,  Bl'ckixuuam,  Sta>'ley,  Hastixgs, 
RATCUFr,  a«i/ o/to's. 
Glo.  Sister,  have  comfort:  all  of  us  have  causn 
To  wail  the  dimming  of  our  shining  star ; 
But  none  can  cure  their  harms  by  vvailiiig  them. — 
Madam,  my  mother,  1  do  cry  you  mercy, 
I  did  not  see  your  grace  :— Humbly  on  my  knee 
I  crave  your  blessing. 
Duch.  God  bless  thee ;  and  put  meekness  in  thy 
breast. 
Love,  charity,  obedience,  .and  true  duty! 

Glo.  Amen ;  and  make  me  die  a  good  old  man! — 
That  is  the  butt-end  of  a  mother's  blessing ;  [.iside. 
I  marvel  that  her  grace  did  leave  it  out. 

Buck.  You  cloudy  princes,  and  heart-sorrowing 
peers. 
That  bear  this  mutual  Jieavy  load  of  moan. 
Now  cheer  each  other  in  each  other's  love ; 
Though  we  have  spent  our  harvest  of  this  king. 
We  are  to  reap  the  harvest  of  his  son. 
The  broken  rancor  of  your  high-swoln  hearts. 
But  lately  splinted,  knit,  and  join'd  together. 
Must  gently  be  preserv'd,  cherish'd,  and  kept: 
Me  seeinelh  good,  that,  with  some  little  train. 
Forthwith  fiom  Ludlow  the  young  prince  be  tetch'd 
Hither  to  London,- to  be  crown'd  our  king. 

Riv.    Why  with  some  little  train,  my  lord  of ' 
Buckingham! 

Buck.  Marry,  my  lord,  lest  by  a  multitude, 
The  ncw-heal'd  wound  of  malice  should  break  out; 
Which  would  be  so  much  the  more  dangerous. 
By  how  much  the  estate  is  green,  and  yet  ungo- 

vern'd : 
Where  every  horse  bears  his  commanding  rein. 
And  may  direct  his  course  as  please"  himself, 
As  well  the  fear  of  harm,  as  harm  apparent, 
In  my  opinion,  ought  to  be  prevented. 

Glo.  I  hope,  the  king  made  peace  with  all  of  us; 
And  the  coinpiict  is  hrm,  and  true,  in  me, 

Riv.  And  so  in  me;  and  so,  1  think,  in  all: 
Yet,  since  it  is  but  green,  it  should  be  put 
To  no  apparent  likelihood  of  breach. 
Which,  haply,  by  much  company  might  be  urged : 
Therefore  I  say,  with  noble  Buckingham, 
That  it  is  meet  so  lew  should  fetch  the  prince. 

Ihat.  And  so  say  I. 

GU}.  Then  be  it  so  ;  and  go  we  to  determine 
Who  they  sliall  be  that  straight  shall  post  to  Lud- 
low. 
Madam, — and  you  my  mother, — will  you  go 
To  give  your  censures-  in  this  weighty  business? 
\_Exeunt  all  but  Buckisuham  and  Glosteh 

Buck.  _My  lord,  whoever  journeys  lo  the  prince, 
For  God's  sjake,  let  not  us  two  stay  at  home : 
For,  by  the  way,  I'll  sort  occirsion. 
As  index^  to  the  story  we  late  talk'd  of. 
To  part  the  queen's  proud  kindred  Irom  the  prince. 

Glo.  My  oilier  sell,  my  counsel's  consistory, 
My  oracle,  my  prophet ! — My  dear  cousin, 
I,  as  a  child,  will  go  by  thy  direction. 
Towards  Ludlow  then,  for  we'll  not  stay  behind. 

[Exeunt, 
SCENE  III.— .4  Street. 

Enter  two  Citizens,  meeting. 

1  at.  Good-morrow,  neighbor :   Whither  away 

so  liist  ? 

2  CU.  I  promise  you,  I  scarcely  know  myself: 
Hear  you  the  news  abroad  ? 

1  at.  Yes ;  the  king's  dead. 

2  CiY.   Ill  news,  by'r  lady;   seldom  comes  the 

better: 
I  fear,  I  fear,  'twill  prove  a  giddy  world. 
Enter  another  Citizen. 

3  at.  Neighbors,  God  speed ! 


1. 


at.  Give  you  good-morrow,  sir. 

at.   Doth  the  news  hold  of  good  king   Ed- 
ward's death  ? 
at.  Ay,  sir, it  is  too  true;  God  help,  the  while  ! 
at.    Then,  masters,  look  to  see  a  troublous 

world. 
at.   No,  no;    by  God's  gooa  grace,  his  son 
sliall  reign. 
3  at.  Woe  to  that  land,  that's  govern'd  by  a  child! 
2  at.  In  him  there  is  a  hope  of  government; 
That  in  this  nonage,-'  council  under  him. 
And,  111  his  full  and  ripen'd  years,  himself, 
No  doubt,  shall  then,  and  till  then,  govern  well 
a  Opiuions.  '  i.  e.  Preparatory.  «  Minurity. 


462 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF 


Act  III.    Scene  1. 


1  at.  So  stood  the  state,  when  Henry  the  Sixth 
Was  crown'd  in  Paris  but  at  nine  months  old. 
3  at.  Stood  the  state  so  !   no,  no,  good  friends, 
God  wot;' 
For  then  this  land  was  famously  enrich'd 
With  politic  grave  counsel ;  then  the  king 
Had  virtuous  uncles  to  protect  his  grace. 
1  at.  Why.  so  hath  this,  both  by  his  father  and 

mother. 
3  at.  Betterit  were  they  all  came  by  his  father- 
Or,  by  his  father,  there  were  none  at  all : 
For  emulation  now,  who  shall  be  nearest, 
Wdl  touch  us  all  too  near,  if  God  prevent  not. 
O,  full  of  danger  is  the  duke  of  Gloster; 
And  the  queen's  sons,  and  brothers,  haught  and 

proud  ; 
And  were  they  to  be  rul'd,  and  not  to  rule. 
This  sickly  land  might  solace  as  belbrc. 

1  at.  Come,  come,  we  lear  the  worst ;  all  will 

be  well. 
3  at.  When  clouds  are  seen,  wise  men  put  on 
their  cloaks ; 
When  great  leaves  fiill,  then  winter  is  at  hand; 
When  the  sun  sets,  who  doth  not  look  for  night? 
Untimely  storms  make  men  expect  a  dearth: 
AH  may  be  well ;  but,  if  God  sort  it  so, 
Tis  more  than  we  deserve,  or  I  expect. 

2  at.  Truly,  the  hearts  of  men  are  full  of  fear: 
■You  cannot  reason^  almost  with  a  man 

That  looks  not  heavily,  and  full  of  dread. 

3  at.  Before  the  dajs  of  change,  still  is  it  so: 
By  a  divine  instinct,  men's  minds  mistrust 
Knsuing  danger;  as,  by  proof,  we  see 

Tlie  water  swell  before  a  boist'rous  storm. 
But  leave  it  all  to  God.    Whither  away  ? 

2  at.  Marry,  we  were  sent  for  to  the  justices 

3  at.  And  so  was  I ;  I'll  bear  you  company. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— yl  Room  in  tlie  Pulace. 
Enter  tlie  Akchhishop  of  Yokk,  ttie  young  Dc^e 
OF  \  oiiK,  QuEE.N  Elizabeth,  and  tlie  Duchess  op 
York. 

Arcli.   Last  night,  I  lieard,  they  lay  at  Stonv- 
Stratford; 
And  at  Northampton  they  do  rest  to-night : 
To-morrow,  or  next  day,  they  will  be  here. 

puch.  I  long  with  all  'my  heart  to  see  the  prince  ; 
J  hope,  he  is  much  grown  since  last  I  saw  him. 

Q.  Eliz.  Butlliearno;  they  say  my  son  of  York 
Hath  almost  overta'en  him  in  his  growth. 

York.  Ay,  mother,  but  I  would  not  have  it  so. 

nuch.  Why,  my  good  cousin  !  it  is  good  to  grow. 

iwr/c.Grandam, one  night,  as  we  did  sit  at  supper. 
My  uncle  Rivers  talk'd  how  I  did  grow 

More  than  my  brother ;  yI(/,quoth  my  uncle  Gloster, 
kmiiU  kerbs  luive  grace,  great  weeds  do  grow  apace  : 
And  since,  methinks,  I  would  not  grow  so  fast. 
Because  sweet  llowers  are  slow,  and  weeds  make 
haste. 

Duch.  'Good  faith,  'good  faith,  the  saying  did  not 
hold 
In  him  that  did  obiect  the  same  to  thee: 
He  was  the  wretched'st  thing,  when  he  was  young, 
bo  long  a  growing,  and  so  leisurely. 
That,  If  his  rule  were  true,  he  should  be  gracious. 


Arc/i..  And  so,  no  doubt,he  is,  my  gracious  madam. 

Duck.  I  hope,  he  is;  but  vet  let  mothers  doubt. 

1  (wfc.  Now,by  my  troth,  ir  1  had  been  remember'd, 
I  could  have  given  ray  uncle's  grace  a  liout. 
To  touch  his  growth,  nearer  than  he  toueh'd  mine. 

Duch.  How,  my  young  York?  I  pr'ythee,  let  me 
Jiear  it. 

York.  JIarrj',  they  say  my  uncle  grew  so  fast, 
That  he  could  gnaw  a  crust  at  two  hours  old  ; 
Twas  full  two  years  ere  I  could  get  a  tooth. 
Grandam,  this  would  have  been  a  biting  jest. 

Duck.  I  pr'ythee,  pretty  York,  who  told  you  this? 

York.  Grandam,  his  nurse. 

Ouch.  His  nurse  ?   why,  she  was  dead  ere  thou 
wast  born. 

York.  If 'twere  not  she,  I  cannot  tell  who  told  me. 

Q.  £/ic.  A  parlo  us  boy :  Go  to,  you  are  too  shrewd. 

Arch.  Good  madam,  be  not  angry  with  the  child 

Q.  Eliz.  Pitchers  have  ears. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Arch.  Here  comes  a  messenger : 

What  news  ? 

Mess.  Such  news,  my  lord, 

As  grieves  me  to  unfold. 

Q.  Eliz.  How  doth  the  prince? 

Uless.  Well,  madam,  and  in  health. 

Diieh.  What  is  thy  news  ? 

Mess.  Lord  Rivers,  and  lord  Grey,  are  sent  to 
Pomfrct,  / 

With  them  sir  Thomas  Vaughan,  prisoners. 

Duch.  Who  hath  committed  them  ? 

^less.  The  mighty  dukes 

Gloster  and  Buckingham. 

Q.  Eliz.  For  what  offence  ? 

Mess.  The  sum  of  all  I  can,  I  have  disclos'd; 
Why,  or  for  what,  the  nobles  were  committed, 
Is  all  unknown  lo  me,  my  gracious  lady. 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah  me,  1  see  the  ruin  of  my  house! 
The  tiger  now  hath  seized  the  gentle  Kind  : 
Insulting  tjiauiiy  licgius  to  jut 
r;>i'ii  llie  inii.iciiit  and  awless  throne: — 
Wekoiue  de.-tf ui-lion.  blood,  and  massacre! 
1  see,  as  in  a  map,  the  end  of  all. 

Duch.  Accursed  and  unquiet,  wrangling  days! 
How  many  of  you  have  mine  eyes  beheld  ? 
My  husband  lost  his  life  to  get  the  crown  ; 
And  ollen  up  and  down  my  sons  were  tost. 
For  me  to  joy  and  weep,  their  gain  and  loss: 
And  being  seated,  and  domestic  broils 
Clean  over-blown,  themselves,  the  conquerors. 
Make  war  upon  themselves;  brother  to  brother. 
Blood  to  blood,  self 'gainst  self: — O,  preposterous 
And  frantic  courage,  end  thy  damned  spleen! 
Or  let  me  die,  to  look  on  death  no  more ! 

Q.  Eliz.  Come,  come,  my  boy,  we  will  to  sanc- 
tuary.— 
Madam,  liirewell. 

Duch.  Stay,  I  will  go  with  jou. 

Q.  Eliz.  You  have  no  cause. 

Arch.  My  gracious  lady,  go, 

.    ,  .  ,       ,  [To  the  Queen, 

And  thither  bear  your  treasure  and  your  goods. 
For  my  part,  I'll  resign  unto  your  grace 
The  seal  I  keep;  And  so  betide  to  me. 
As  well!  tender  you,  and  all  of  yours ! 
Come,  I'll  conduct  you  to  the  sanctuary.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.~A  Street. 

The  Trumpets  sound.  Enter  the  Pkince  of  Wales, 
Gloster,  Bl-ckiscuam,  Cardinal  Bol-rchier,  and 
others.  ' 

Buck.  Welcome,  sweet  prince,  to  London,  to 

your  chamber. 
Glo.  Welcome,  dear  cousin,  my  thoughts'  sove- 
reign : 
Tlie  weary  way  hath  made  you  melancholy. 

rnnce.  No,  uncle  ;  but  our  crosses  on  the  %vay 
Have  made  it  tedious,  weari.some,  and  heavy: 
want  more  uncles  here  to  welcome  me. 
Gto.  Sweet  prince,  the  untainted  virtue  of  your 
years  ' 

'  Knows.  0  Converse.  I 


Hath  not  yet  div'd  into  the  world's  deceit: 
No  more  can  you  distinguish  of  a  man. 
Than  of  his  outward  .show;  which,  God  he  knows, 
Seldom,  or  never,  jumpeth  with  the  heart. 
Those  uncles,  which  you  want,  were  dangerous: 
Your  grace  attended  to  their  sugar'd  words. 
But  look'd  not  on  the  poison  of  their  hearts  : 
God  keep   you  from  them,  and  from  such  false 

friends  ! 
Prince.  God   keep  me  from  false  friends  !  but 

they  were  none. 
Glo.  My  lord,  the  mayor  of  London  comes  to 

greet  you. 

Enter  the  Lord  Mayor  and  his  Train. 
May.  God   bless  your    grace  with   healtii  and 
happy  dai's ! 


Scene  I. 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


463 


Prince.  I  thank  you,  good  mv  lord— and  tliank 
you  all.—  [£xeiiiil  Mayor,  6cc 

I  thought  my  mother,  and  my  brother  York, 
Would  long  ere  this  have  met  us  on  the  way  : 
Fye,  what  a  slug  is  Hastings  !  that  he  comes  not 
To  tell  us,  whether  they  will  come,  or  no. 
£n/er  Hastings. 
Buck.  And  in  good  time,  here  comes  the  sweat- 
ing lord. 
Prince.  Welcome,  my  lord;  What,  will  our  mc- 

tlier  come  ? 
lla.^:t.  On  what  occasion,  God  he  kTiows,  not  I, 
The  queen  your  mother,  and  your  brother  York, 
Have  taken  sanctuary  :  The  tender  jirince 
Would  lain  have  come  with  me  to  meet  your  grace. 
But  by  his  mother  was  perforce  withheld. 

Buck.  Fye!  what  an  indirect  and  peevish  course 
Is  tins  ol'  liers! — Lord  cardinal,  will  your  grace 
Persuade  the  queen  to  send  the  duke  oI'Y'ork, 
Unto  his  princely  brother  presently  7 
If  she  deny, — lord  Hastings,  go  with  him, 
And  from  her  jealous  arms  piuck  him  perforce. 

Card.  iMy  lord  of  Buckingham,  if  my  weak  oratory 
Can  from  his  mother  win  ihe  duke  of  York, 
Anon  expect  him  here  ;  But  if  she  be  obdurate 
To  mild  entreaties,  God  in  heaven  forbid 
We  should  infringe  the  holy  privilege 
Of  blessed  .sanctuary  !  not  lor  all  this  land. 
Would  I  be  guilty  of  so  deep  a  sin. 

Buck.  You  are  too  senseless-obstinate,  my  lord. 
Too  ceremonious,  and  traditional : 
Weigh  it  but  with  the  grossiiess  of  this  age, 
You  break  not  sanctuary  in  seizing  him. 
The  benefit  thereof  is  always  granted 
To  those  whose  dealings  havedcserv'd  the  place. 
And  those  who  have  the  wit  to  claim  the  place: 
This  prince  hath  neither  claim'd  it.  nor  deserv'd  it. 
And  thereloie,  in  mine  opinion,  cannot  have  it: 
Then,  taking  him  from  thence,  that  is  not  there, 
Y'ou  break  no  privilege  nor  charter  there. 
Oft  have  1  heard  ol' sanctuary  men  ; 
But  sanctuary  children,  ne'er  till  now. 
Card.  My  lord,  you  shall  o'er-rule  my  mind  for 
once. — 
Come  on,  lord  Hastings,  will  you  go  with  mc  1 
Hii.-it.  I  go,  my  lord. 

Prince.  Good  lords,  make  all  the  speedy  haste  you 
may.         [Exeunt  Cardinal  and  il.\STiXGS. 
Say,  uncle  Gloster,  if  our  brother  come, 
Where  shall  we  sojourn  till  our  coronation  I 

(iki.  Where  it  seems  best  unto  your  royal  self. 
If  1  may  counsel  you,  some  day  or  two. 
Your  highness  shall  repose  you  at  the  Tower: 
Then  where  you  please,  and  shall  be  thought  most  fit 
For  your  best  health  and  recreation. 

Prince.  I  do  not  like  the  Tower,  of  any  place:— 
Did  Julius  Ca:sar  build  that  place,  my  lord  ] 

Gto.  He  did,  my  gracious  lord,  begin  that  place: 
Which,  since,  succeeding  ages  have  re-editied. 

Prince.  Is  it  upon  record  t  or  else  reported 
Successively  from  age  to  age  he  built  it? 
Buck.  Upon  record,  my  gracious  lord. 
Prince.  But  say,  my  lord,  it  were  notjjiegister'd 
Methiiiks,  the  truth  should  live  from  agcitojie, 
As  'twere  retail'd  to  all  posterity,  "™  . 

Even  to  the  general  all-ending  day.  ?■- 

(!lu.  So  wise  so  young,  they  say,  do  ne'er4ive 
„  .     long.  [Asvie. 

Prince.  What  say  you.  uncle  1 
Gto.  I  say,  without  characters,  fame  lives  long. 
Thus  like  the  formal'  vice.  Iniquity,     1       r  j   ■  j 
I  moralize  two  meanings  in  one  word. )        L^*'*- 

Prince.  Thai  Julius  CcDsar  was  a  famous  man: 
With  what  his  valor  did  enrich  his  wit. 
His  wit  set  down  to  make  his  valor  live: 
Death  makes  no  conquest  of  this  conqueror; 
For  now  he  lives  in  fame,  though  not  in  lili-.— 
1 11  tell  you  what,  my  cousin  Buckingham,— 

Buck.  What,  my  gracious  lord  ! 
^Prince.  An  if  I  live  until  I  be  a  man, 
I'll  win  our  ancient  right  in  France  again, 
Or  die  a  soldier,  as  I  liv'd  a  king. 

Clu.   Short    summers    lightly*  have  a  forward 
spring.  [Aside. 

Enter  Y'or.K,  Hastings,  and  t/ie  Cardinal. 
Buck.  Xow,  in  good  time,  here  comes  the  duke 
of  Y'ork, 
'  Sensible  Vice,  the  bulToon  in  the  old  pliiys. 
•  Cnmmonly. 


Prince.  Richard  of  Y'ork!  how  fares  our  loving 

brother  ] 
York.  Well,  my  dread  lord;  so  must  I  call  you 

now. 
prince.  Ay,  brother;  to  our  grief,  as  it  is  yours; 
Too  late"  he  died,  that  might  have  kept  that  title, 
Which  by  his  death  hath  lost  much  majesty. 
Gill.  How  lares  our  cousin,  noble  lord  of  York'! 
York.  1  thank  you,  gentle  uncle.    0,  my  lord, 
You  said,  that  idle  weeds  arc  last  in  growth :' 
The  prince,  my  brother,  hath  outgrown  me  far. 
Glo.  He  hath,  my  lord. 

Y(irk.  And  therefore  is  he  idle  '! 

GIji.  0,  my  fair  cousin,  I  must  not  say  so. 
Yifrk.  Then  he  is  more  beholden  to  you.  than  I. 
Glo.  He  may  command  mc.  as  my  sovereign ; 
But  you  have  power  in  me  as  in  a  kinsman. 

Yi/rk.  I  pray  you,  uncle,  then,  give  me  this  dagger. 
Glu.  My  dagger,  little  cousin?  with  all  my  heart. 
Prince.  A  beggar,  brother  ! 
Y(n-k.  Of  my  kind  uncle,  that  I  know  will  give ; 
And  being  but  a  toy,  which  is  no  grief  to  give. 
Gill.  A  greater  gill  than  that  I'll  give  my  cousin. 
Ywk.  A  greater  gift!  O,  that's  the  sword  to  it? 
Clu.  Ay,  gentle  cousin,  were  it  light  enough. 
York.  O  then,  I  see,  you'll  part  but  with  lighl 
gifts; 
In  weightier  things  you  11  say  a  beggar,  nay. 
Glo.  It  is  too  weighly  for  your  grace  to  wear. 
York.  I  weigh  it  lightly,  w  ere  it  heavier. 
Glo.  What,  would  you  have  my  weapon,  little 

lord  ! 
York.  1  would,  that  I  might  thank  you  as  you 

call  me. 
Glo.  How? 
York.  Little. 

Prince.  My  lord  of  Y'ork  will  still   be  cross  in 
talk  ;— 
Uncle,  your  grace  knows  how  to  bear  with  him. 
York.  You  mean,  to  bear  me,  not  to  bear  with 
me  : — 
Uncle,  my  brother  mocks  both  you  and  me ; 
Because  that  1  am  little,  like  an  ape. 
He  thinkslhat  you  should  bear  me  onyour  shoulders. 
jBhcA'.  With  what  a  sharp-provided  wit  he  reasons! 
To  miligale  the  scorn  he  gives  his  uncle. 
He  prettily  and  aptly  tauiits  himself: 
So  cunning,  and  so  young,  is  wonderful. 
Glo.  My  gracious  lord,  vviU't  please   )0U  pass 
along  ? 
Myself,  and  my  good  cousin  Bucldngham, 
Will  to  your  mother  ;  to  entreat  of  her. 
To  meet  you  at  the  Tower,  and  welcome  you. 
York.  What,  wiU  you  go  unto  the  Tower,  my 

lord  ! 
Prince.  My  lord  protector  needs  will  have  it  so. 
York.  I  shall  not  sleep  in  quiet  at  the  Tower. 
Glo.  Why,  sir,  what  should  you  fear  ! 
York.  Marry,  my  uncle  Clarence'  angry  ghost; 
My  grandam  told  me.  he  was  murder'd  there. 
Prince.  I  fear  no  uncles  dead. 
Glo.  Nor  none  that  live,  I  hope. 
Prince.  An  if  they  live.  I  hope,  I  need  not  fear. 
But  come,  my  lord,  and,  with  a  heavy  heart. 
Thinking  on  them,  go  I  unto  the  Tower. 

[Exeunt  Prince,  Yohk,  Hastixgs,  Cardinal, 
owl  Attendants. 
Buck.  Think  you,  my  lord,  this  little  prating  Y'ork 
Was  not  incensed'  by  his  subtle  mother. 
To  taunt  and  .scorn  you  thus  opprobriously  ? 

Glo.  No  doubt,  no  doubt;  O,  'tis  a  parlous  boy; 
Bold,  quick,  ingenious.  Ibrward,  capable;^ 
He's  all  the  mother's,  from  the  top  to  toe. 

Buck.  Well,  let  them  rest.— 
Come  hither,  gentle  Calesby:  thou  art  sworii 
As  deeply  to  elfect  what  we  intend. 
As  closely  to  conceal  what  we  Impart : 
Thou  know^st  our  reasons  urged  upon  the  way;— 
What  think'st  thou,  is  it  not  an  easy  matter 
To  make  William  lord  Hastings  of  our  mind, 
For  the  instalment  of  this  noble  duke 
In  the  seat  royal  of  this  famous  isle? 

Gate.  He  for  his  father's  sake  so  loves  the  prince. 
That  he  will  not  be  won  to  aught  against  him. 
Buck.  What  think'st  thou  then  of  Stanley  ?  will 

not  he  ? 
Cafe.  He  will  do  all  in  all  as  Hastings  doth. 
Buck.  Well  then,  no  more  but  tlus :  Go,  gentle 
Catesby, 
•  Latiilj.  *  Incited.  s  Intellgent. 


4G4 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF 


Act  III. 


And,  ns  it  were  far  oH'.  sound  thou  lord  Hastings, 
How  lie  dolh  stand  allected  to  our  purpose; 
AntI  summon  tiim  to-morrow  to  the  Tower, 
To  sit  about  tlie  coronation. 
ICthou  dost  tind  liinr  tractable  to  us, 
Kncourage  him.  and  tell  iiim  all  our  reasons: 
Itiie  be  leaden,  icy,  cold,  unwilling, 
Be  thou  so  too  ;  and  so  break  oil' the  talk. 
And  give  us  notice  ol'Jiis  inclination  : 
For  we  to-morrow  hold  divided^  councils. 
Wherein  thyself  shall  highly  be  employ'd. 
(Jlu.  Commend  me  to  lord  William;   tell  him, 
Catesby, 
His  ancient  knot  of  dangerous  adversaries 
To-morrow  are  let  blood  at  Pomfret'Castle; 
And  bid  my  friend  lor  joy  of  this  good  news, 
Give  mistress  Shore  one  gentle  kiss  the  more. 
liuck.   Good  Cateshy,    go,  etlect  this   business 

soundly. 
Ca/e.  My  good  lords  both,  with  all  the  heed  I 

can. 
G'to.  Shall  we  hear  from   you,  Catesby,  ere  we 

sleep  1 
Cate.  You  shall,  my  lord. 

G'to.  At  Crosby-place,  there  shall  you  find  us 
both.  [Exit  Catesby. 

Buck.  Now,  my  lord,  what  shall  we  do,  if  we 
perceive 
Lord  Hastings  will  not  yield  to  our  complots  1 
Gio.  Chop  off  his  head,  man: — somewhat  we 
will  do : — 
And,  look,  when  I  am  king,  claim  thou  of  me 
The  earldom  of  Hereford,  and  all  the  movables 
Whereof  the  king  my  brother  was  possess'd. 
£hcA:.  I'll  claim  that  promise  at  your  grace's  hand. 
G'to.  And  look  to  have  it  yielded  with  all  kind- 
ness. 
Come,  let  us  sup  betimes;  that  afterwards 
Wemaydigestourcomplotsinsonieform.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.— Bcfare  Lord  Hastings's  House. 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Iiless.  My  lord,  mv  lord,—  [Knocking. 

Ham.  [Willun.]    "Who  knocks  ? 

Mens.  One  from  lord  Stanley. 

Hunt.  [Witliin.]  What  is't  o'clock'! 

Mess.  Upon  the  stroke  of  four. 
Enter  Hastings. 

Hatt.  Cannot  thy  master  sleep  the  tedious  nights  ? 

ALess.  So  It  should  seem  by  that  I  have  to  say. 
First  he  commends  him  to  your  noble  lordship. 

ifo-v/.  And  then,— 

Miss.  And  then  he  sends  j-ou  word,  he  dreamt 
To-n;glit  the  boar  had  rased  olihis  helm  : 
Besides,  he  says,  there  are  two  councils  lield  ; 
And  that  may  be  determin'd  at  the  one, 
Which  may  make  you  and  him  to  rue  at  the  other. 
Thcrelbre  he  sends  to  know  your  lordship's  plea- 
sure,— 
If  presently,  you  will  take  horse  with  him. 
Anil  with  all  speed  post  wuh  him  toward  the  north. 
To  shun  the  danger  that  his  soul  divines. 

Hmt.  Go,  fellow,  go,  return  unto  thy  lord  ; 
Bid  liim  not  lear  the  separated  councils: 
His  lionor,  and  myself,  are  at  the  one ;  ■• 

And,  at  the  other,  is  my  good  triend  Catesby; 
Where  nothing  can  proceed,  that  touchcth  us. 
Whereof  1  shall  not  have  intelligence. 
Teil  him,  his  fears  are  shallow,  wanting  instance:-' 
And  Ibr  liis  dreams — I  wonder,  he's  so  Ibiid' 
To  trust  the  mockery  of  unquiet  slumbers: 
To  11)'  the  boar,  before  the  boar  pursues. 
Were  to  incense  the  boar  to  (bllow  us. 
And  iiiMl.e  iiiii>uit,  where  he  did  mean  no  chase. 
Go,  liid  thy  master  rise  and  come  to  me; 
And  we  will  bolh  together  to  the  Tower, 
Where  he  shall  see,  the  boart^  will  use  us  kindly. 

Mess.  1 'II  go,  my  lord,  and  tell  him  what  you  sa  v. 

[Exit. 
Enter  Catesby. 

Cafe.  Many  good  morrows  to  my  noble  lord! 

Hu.tt.  Good  morrow,    Catesby;    you  arc  early 
stirring; 
What  new.s,  what  news,  in  this  our  tottering  state  1 

('<;/(■.  It  is  a  reeling  world,  indeed,  my  lord; 
And,  1  believe,  will  never  stand  upriglil. 
Till  Richard  wear  the  garland  of  the  realm. 
■  .Spiiinl.'.  •  t:x:mi|>li-.  •Wf.ik. 

'  i.  e.  tilostor,  who  li;ul  a  boar  for  his  m-uis. 


Hast.  How!  wear  the  garland  1  dost  thou  mean 
the  crown  ? 

Cate.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Hast.  I'll  have  this  crown  of  mine  cut  from  my 
shoulders. 
Before  I'll  see  the  crown  so  foul  misplaced. 
But  canst  thou  guess  that  he  doth  aim  at  it ! 

Cate.  Ay,  on  my  life;  and  hopes  to  tind  you  for- 
ward 
Upon  his  party,  for  the  gain  thereof; 
And  thereupon,  he  sends  j-ou  this  good  news, — 
That,  this  same  very  day,  your  enemies, 
The  kindred  of  the  queen,  must  die  at  Pomfret. 

Hast.  Indeed,  I  am  no  mourner  for  that  news, 
Because  they  have  been  still  my  adversaries: 
IJ-ut,  that  I'll  give  my  voice  on  Richard's  side. 
To  bar  my  master's  heirs  in  true  descent, 
God  knows,  I  will  not  do  it,  to  the  death. 

Cate.  God  keep  your  lordship  in  that  gracious 
mind ! 

Haat.  But  I  shall  laugh  at  this  a  twelve-month 
hence. 
That  they,  who  brought  me  in  my  master's  hate, 
1  live  to  look  upon  their  tragedy. 
Weil,  Catesby,  ere  a  fortnight  make  me  older, 
I'll  send  some  jiacking,  that  yet  think  not  on't. 

Cate.  'Tis  a  vile  thing  to  die,  my  gracious  lord, 
When  men  arc  uiipre]>ar'd,  and  look  not  for  it. 

Hast.  0  monstrous,  monstrous !  and  so  falls  itout 
With  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey:  and  so  'twill  do 
With  some  men  else,  wlio  think  themselves  as  safe 
As  thou,  and  I ;  who,  as  thou  know'st,  are  dear 
To  iirinccly  Richard,  and  to  Buckingham. 

Cate.  The  princes  both  make  high  account  of 
you,— 
For  they  account  his  head  upon  the  bridge.  [Aside. 

Haet.  I  know,  they  do ;  and  1  have  welldeserv'd  it ! 
Enter  Stanley. 
Come  on,  come  on,  where  is  your  boar-spear,  raan"! 
Fear  you  the  boar,  and  go  so  unprovided] 

Stan.  My  lord,  good  morrow;  and  good  morrow, 
Catesby : — 
You  may  jest  on,  but,  by  the  holy  rood,' 
I  do  not  like  these  several  councils,  I. 

Hast.  My  lord,  I  hold  my  lite  as  dear  as  yours; 
And  never,  in  my  life,  1  do  protest. 
Was  it  more  precious  to  me  than  'tis  now: 
Think  >  ou,  but  tliat  I  know  our  state  secure, 
I  would  be  so  triumphant  as  I  am  '! 

Stan.  The  lords  at  Pomlrct,  when  they  rode  from 
London, 
Were  jocund,  and  suppos'd  their  states  were  sure, 
And  they,  indeed,  had  no  cause  to  mistrust; 
But  yet,  you  see^  how  soon  the  day  o'cr-cast. 
This  sudden  stao  of  rancor  I  misdoubt; 
Pray  God,  I  say,  I  prove  a  needless  coward  ! 
What,  shall  we  toward  the  Tower !  the  day  is  spent. 

Hoit.  Come,  come,  have  with  you. — Wot-  you 
what,  my  lord  ! 
To-day,  the  lords  you  talk  of  are  beheaded. 

Sttm.  They  for  their  truth,  might  better  wear  their 
heads. 
Than  some,  that  haveaccus'd  them, wear  their  hats. 
But  come,  my  lord,  let's  away. 

Enter  a  Pursuivant. 

Hast.  Go  on  belbre.I'll  talk  with  this  good  fellow. 
[Exeunt  St.i.nlev  and  Catesby. 
How  now,  sirrah,  how  goes  the  world  with  thcel 

Purs.  The  belter  that  your  lordship  please  to  ask. 

Hast.  1  tell  thee,  man,  'tis  better  with  me  now, 
Than  when  thou  met'st  me  last  where  now  we  meet: 
Then  was  I  going  prisoner  to  the  Tower, 
By  (he  suggestion  of  the  queen's  allies; 
But  now  I  tell  thee,  (keeji  it  to  thyseli;) 
This  day  those  enemies  are  put  to  death, 
And  1  ill  better  state  than  e'er  I  was. 

j^urs.  God  hold  it,  to  your  lienor's  good  content! 

Jla-st.  Gramercy,  fellow;   There  drink   that  lot 
nre.  [Ttirowing  him  Am  Parse. 

Furs.  I  thank  your  honor.         [Exit  Pursuivant, 

Enter  a  Priest. 
Pr.  Well  met,  my  lord;  I  am  glad  to  see  your 

honor. 
Hast.  I  thank  thee,  good  sir  John,  with  all  my 
heart. 
I  am  in  jour  debt  for  your  last  exercise  ; 
Come  the  next  Sabbalh,  and  1  will  conlent  you. 
1  Cross.  8  Kuow 


Scene  IV. 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


4G5 


Enler  Boceingham. 
Buck.  What,  talking  with  a  priest,  lord  cliamher- 
lain  ] 
Your  friends  at  Pomfrct,  they  do  need  the  priest ; 
Your  honor  iiath  no  shriving^'  vvovlf  in  liand. 

liiisl.  'Good  I'aitli,  and  wlien  I  nut  this  holy  man, 
Tlie  men  you  talk  of  came  into  my  mind. 
What,  go  you  toward  tile  Tower  ? 

Back:  1  ilo,  my  lord ;  but  long  I  cannot  stay  there : 
I  shiill  return  before  your  lordsJiip  thejice. 
Jidft.  >;ay,  like  enough,  for  1  slay  dinner  there. 
Buck.  And  supi^er  too,  although  tliou  know'st  it 
not.  [Asiik. 

Come,  will  you  go? 
Hu.:t.  I'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.        [Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— Pomfret.    B(f(/re  the  Ca.ille. 
Enltr  Katcliff,  witk  a  Guarit,  cmducfing  Riveks, 
(iiiEY,  and  Vauuuan,  Io  Execution. 
Rat.  Come,  bring  forth  the  prisoners. 
Kiv.  Sir  Richard  Ratcliff,  let  me  tell  thee  this,— 
To-day,  shalt  thou  behold  a  subject  die, 
i'or  triilh,  lor  duly,  and  for  loyalty. 

Creij.  (iod  keep  the  prince  from  all  the  packofyou! 
A  knot  >ou  are  of  damned  blood-suckers. 

I'migh.  Vou  live,  that  shall  cry  woe  for  this  here- 
after. 
Rat.  Despatch;  the  limit  of  your  lives  is  out. 
Riv.  O  pomfrct.  Pomfret  I  O  thou  bloody  prison, 
p'atal  and  ominous  to  noble  peers! 
Within  the  guilty  closure  of  thy  walls, 
Richard  tlie  Second  here  was  iiack'd  to  death: 
And,  lor  more  slander  to  thy  dismal  scat. 
We  give  thee  up  our  guiltless  blood  to  drink. 
Grei/.  Now  Margaret's  curse  is  fall'n  upon  our 
heads. 
When  she  cxclaim'd  on  Hastings,  you,  and  I, 
For  siaiiding  by  vvhen  Richard  stabb'd  her  son. 
Riv.  Then  curs'd  she  Hastings,  curs'd  she  Buck- 
ingham, 
Then  curs'd  she  Richard  : — 0,  reincmber,  God, 
To  hear  her  prayers  for  them,  as  now  lor  us ! 
And  lor  my  sister,  and  her  princely  sons, — 
Be  salislied,  dear  God,  with  our  true  bloods. 
Which,  as  thou  know  st,  unjustly  must  be  spilt ! 
Rut.  Make  haste,  the  hour  of  death  is  expiate.! 
Rii:  Come,  Grey,— come,  Vaughan,— let  us  here 
embrace ; 
Farewell,  until  we  meet  again  in  heaven.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  1\'.— London.    A  Room  in  tlie  Tower. 
BLTKixuiiAJt,  Stanley,  Hastings,  t/ie  Bishop  of 
Ely,  Catesby,  Lovel,  and  ottiers,  sitting  at  a 
Table:  Officers  cf  tlie  Council  attending. 
Hu.st.  Now.  noble  peers,  the  cause  why  we  are  met 
Is — to  determine  of  the  coronation  : 
In  God's  name  speak,  wlien  is  the  royal  day? 
Buck.  Are  all  things  ready  tor  that  royal  time  % 
titan.  They  are  :  and  wants  but  nomination. 
Ely.  To-morrow,  then,  I  judge  a  liapjiy  day. 
Buck.  Who  knows  the  lord  protector's  mind 
herein  ] 
Who  is  most  inward-  with  the  noble  duke  ? 
Ely.  Your  grace,  we  think,  should  soonest  know 

his  mind. 
Buck.  We  know  each  other's    faces;   for  our 
hearts, — 
Ho  knows  no  more  of  mine,  than  I  of  yours; 
Nor  I,  of  his,  my  lord,  than  you  of  mine: — 
Lord  Hastings,  you  and  he  are  near  in  love. 

liust.  I  thank  his  grace,  I  know  he  loves  me  well ; 
But,  for  his  purpose  in  the  coronation, 
I  have  not  sounded  him,  nor  he  deliver'd 
His  gracious  pleasure  any  way  therein: 
But  you,  my  noble  lord,  may  name  Ihe  time; 
And  III  the  duke's  behalf  I'll  give  my  voice. 
Which,  I  presume,  he'll  take  in  gentle  part. 
Enter  Gloster. 
Ely.  In  happy  time,  here  comes  the  duke'himself. 
G/(;.  My  noble  lords  and  cousins,  all,  good  morrow ; 
I  have  been  long  a  sleeper;  but,  I  trust. 
My  absence  doth  neglect  no  great  design, 
W  bifb  liy  my  presence  might  have  been  concluded. 
Buck.  Had  you  not  come  uponyourcuc,  my  lord, 
William  lord  Hastings  had  pronounced  your  part, — 
1  mean,  your  voice, — for  crowning  of  the  king. 
Glo.  Than  my  lord  Hastings,  no  man  might  be 

b<ilder ; 
•  Confession.       i  Expiatod.  completed,      a  latimate. 

30 


His  lordship  knows  me  well,  and  loves  me  well. — 
My  lord  of  Ely,  when  I  was  last  in  Holborn, 
I  saw  good  strawberries  in  your  garden  there; 
I  do  beseech  you,  send  lor  .s'ome  ot  them. 

Ely.  Marry,and  will,  my  lord,  with  all  my  heart. 

[Exit  Ely. 

Glo.  Cousin  of  Buckingham,  a  word  with  you. 
[Takes  tiini  aside. 
Cateshy  hath  sounded  Hastings  in  our  business ; 
And  finds  the  testy  genlleman  so  hot. 
That  he  will  lose  his  head,  ere  give  consent. 
His  master's  child,  as  wor.-hiiifully  he  terms  it. 
Shall  lose  the  royalty  of  Engl.uid's  throne. 

JJucfc.  Withdraw  yourself  awhile,  I'll  go  with  you. 
[Exeunt  Glostek  and  BlcKiNGiiAit. 

SVnn.Wchavenot  yet  setdowii  this  dayof  triumph. 
To-morrow,  in  my  judgment,  is  too  sudden; 
For  I  m}'self  am  not  so  well  provided. 
As  else  1  would  be  were  the  day  prolong'd. 
Re-enter  Bishop  of  Ely. 

Ely.  Where  is  my  lord  protector !  1  have  sent 
For  tiiese  strawberries. 

Jlast.  His  grace  looks  cheerfully  and  smooth  this 
morning : 
There's  some  conceit^  or  other  likes  him  well. 
When  he  doth  bid  good  morrow  with  such  spirit. 
I  think,  there's  ne'er  a  man  in  Christendom, 
Can  lesser  hide  his  love,  or  hate,  than  he ; 
For  by  his  face  straight  shall  ye  know  his  heart. 

S/an.  What  of  Ins  heart  perceive  you  in  his  face, 
By  any  likelihood  he  show'd  to-day  ! 

Ha.ll. Many,  Ihatwilh  no  man  hcreheisoUchdcd; 
For,  were  he,  he  had  shown  it  in  his  looks. 
Re-enter  Gloster  and  Bi-ckixgiia.v. 

Glo.  I  pray  you  all,  tell  me  what  they  deserve, 
That  do  conspire  my  death  with  devilish  plots 
Of  damned  witcherall ;  and  that  have  jirevail'd 
Upon  my  body  with  their  hellish  cliarms? 

i/oi7.  The  lender  love  1  bear  your  grace,  my  lord, 
Makes  me  most  forward  in  this  noble  presence 
To  doom  the  olienders :  Whosoe'er  they  be, 
I  siiy,  my  lord,  they  have  deserved  death. 

Glo.  Then  be  your  eyes  the  witness  of  their  evil, 
Look  how  I  am  bewitch'd;  behold  mine  arm 
Is,  like  a  blasted  sapling,  withcr'd  up  : 
And  this  is  Edward's  wife,  that  monstrous  witch. 
Consorted  with  that  harlot,  strumpet  Shore, 
That  by  their  wilchcrart  thus  have  marked  me. 

Hu^t.  1 1  they  have  done  this  deed,  my  noble  lord, — 

Glo.  If!  Ihou  protector  of  this  damned  strumpet, 
Talk  St  thou  to  me  of  ils  !— Thou  art  a  traitor  :— 
Olfwith  his  head:— now,  by  saint  Paul  I  swear, 
I  will  not  dine  until  I  .see  the  same. — 
Lovel,  and  Catesby,  look  that  it  be  done ; 
The  rest  that  love  me,  rise,  and  follow  me. 

[Exeunt  Council,  Willi  Glostek  and 

BtCKlNGIIAM. 

7/n.sy.  Woe,  woe.  tor  England !  not  a  wliit  for  me; 
For  I,  too  fond,  might  have  prevented  this  : 
Stanley  did  dream,  the  boar  did  rase  his  helm; 
But  I  disdain'd  it,  and  did  scorn  to  ily. 
Three  times  to-day  my  Ibol-cloth  horse  did  stumblnj 
And  startled,  when  he  look'd  upon  the  Tower, 
As  Uiath  to  bear  me  Io  the  slaughter-house. 
O,  now  I  want  the  priest  that  spake  to  me : 
1  now  repent  I  told  the  pursuivant. 
As  too  triumphing,  how  mine  enemies 
To-day  at  Pomfret  bloodily  were  butchcr'd, 
And  I  myself  secure  in  grace  and  lavor. 
O,  Margaret,  Margaret,  now  thy  heavy  curse 
Is  lighted  on  ]>oor  Hastings'  wretched  head. 

Cute.  Despatch,  my  lord,  the  duke  would  be  at 
dinner; 
Make  a  short  shrill,  he  longs  to  see  j-our  head. 

Hast.  O  momentary  grace  of  mortal  men. 
Which  we  more  hunt  lor  than  the  grace  of  God  ! 
Who  builds  his  hope  in  air  of  your  fair  looks. 
Lives  like  a  drunken  sailor  on  a  mast ; 
Readj-,  with  every  nod,  to  tumble  down 
Into  the  fatal  bowels  of  the  deej). 

Loa.  Come,  come,  despatch;  'tis  bootless  to  ex- 
claim. 

Hast.  O,  bloody  Richard !— miserable  England! 
I  prophesy  the  fearful'st  time  to  thee. 
That  ever  wretched  age  hath  look'd  upon.— 
Come,  lead  me  to  the  block,  bear  him  my  head , 
They  smile  at  me,  who  shortly  shall  be  dead. 

[Exeunt 
'  Thought. 


466 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  OP 


Act  III. 


SCENE  v.— The  Tower  JValls. 

Eniir  Gloster,  and  Buckisgham,  in  rusty  Armor, 

marvellous  rll-fuvur'd. 

do.  Come,  cousin,  canst  thou  quake,  and  change 
thv  color  ] 
Murder  thy  breath  in  middle  of  a  word, — 
And  tticn  again  begin,  and  slop  again. 
As  if  thou  wert distraught, and  mad  with  terror? 

Buek.  Tut,  I  can  countcrleit  the  deep  tragedian  ; 
.Speak,  and  look  back,  and  pry  on  every  side, 
Tremble  and  start  at  wagging  of  a  straw, 
Intending-'  deep  suspicion  :  ghastly  looks 
Are  at  my  service,  like  enforced  smiles ; 
And  both  are  ready  in  their  offices, 
At  any  time,  to  grace  my  stratagems. 
Bill  what,  is  Catesby  gone  1 

(Jlij.  He  is;  and,  see,  he  brings  the  mayor  along. 

Enter  tlie  Lord  Mayor  and  Catesby. 
Buck.  Let  me   alone   to  entertain  him.— Lord 

mayor, 

niv.  Look  to  the  draw-bridge  there. 

Buclc.  Hark,  hark!  a  drum. 

6'to.  Catesby,  o'erlook  the  walls. 

Buck.  Lord  mayor,  the  reason  we  have  sent  for 

you, 

Clii.  Look  back  defend  thee,  here  are  enemies. 
Buck.  God  and  our  innocence  defend  and  guard 

us! 

£7itcr  LoTEL  and  Ratcliff,  with  Hastings's 

JJead. 
Glo.  Be  patient,  they  are  friends;  Ratcliff,  and 

Lovel. 
Lov.  Here  is  the  head  of  that  ignoble  traitor, 
The  dangerous  and  unsuspected  Hastings. 

Glo.  So  dear  1  lov'd  the  man,  that  I  must  weep. 
I  took  him  for  the  plainest  harmless't  creature, 
That  breath'd  upon  the  earth  a  Christian  ; 
Made  him  my  book,  wherein  my  soul  recorded 
The  history  of  all  her  secret  thoughts  : 
So  smnotli  he  daub'd  his  vice  with  show  of  virtue. 
That,  his  apparent  open  guilt  omitted, — 
1  mean,  his  conversation  with  Shore's  wife, — 
Ho  liv'd  from  all  attainder  of  suspect. 
Buck.  Well,  well,  he  was  the  covert'st  shelter'd 
traitor 
That  ever  liv'd.— Look  you,  my  lord  mayor, 
Would  you  imagine,  or  almost  believe, 
( Were't  not,  that  by  great  preservation 
We  live  to  tell  it  you,)  the  subtle  traitor 
This  day  had  plotted  m  the  council-house 
To  murder  me,  and  my  good  lord  of  Gloster  1 
May.  What !  had  he  so  ! 

tih).  What!  think  you  we  are  Turks,  or  infidels! 
Or  that  we  would,  against  the  tbrm  of  law, 
Proceed  thus  rashly  in  the  villain's  death ; 
But  that  the  extreme  peril  of  the  case. 
The  peace  of  England,  and  our  persons'  safety, 
Enforced  us  to  this  execution  ? 

lSi((tj.  Now,  fair  befall  you  !  he  deserv'd  his  death; 
And  your  good  graces  both  have  well  proceeded, 
To  warn  false  traitors  from  the  like  attempts. 
I  never  look'd  for  better  at  his  hands. 
Alter  he  once  fell  in  with  mistress  Shore. 

Buck.  Yet  had  we  not  determin'd  he  should  die, 
Until  your  lordship  came  to  see  his  end  ; 
Which  now  the  loving  haste  of  these  our  friends. 
Somewhat  against  our  meaning, hath  prevented: 
Because,  my  lord,  we  would  have  had  you  heard 
The  traitor  speak,  and  timorously  conless 
The  manner  and  the  purpose  of  his  treasons; 
That  you  might  well  have  signirted  the  same 
Unto  the  citizens,  who,  haply,  may 
Misconstrue  us  in  him,  and  wail  his  death. 
May.  But,  my  good  lord,  your  grace's  word  shall 
serve. 
As  wrll  as  I  had  seen,  and  heard  him  speak  : 
And  do  not  doubt,  right  noble  princes  both, 
lint  I'll  acquaint  our  duteous  citizens 
With  all  your  just  proceedings  in  this  case. 

Gin.  And  to  thatciid  we  wish'd  your  lordship  here, 
To  avoid  the  censures  of  the  carping  world. 

Buck.  But  since  you  came  too  late  of  our  intent. 
Yet  witness  what  you  hear  we  did  intend  ; 
And  so,  my  good  lord  mayor,  we  bid  lirrewell. 

[  E.cil  Lord  Mayor. 
Glo.  Go  after,  aflcr,  cousin  Buckingham. 
The  mayor  towards  Guildhall  hies  him  in  all  post: — 
«  rrotunJing. 


There,  at  your  meetest  vantage  of  the  time, 

Infer  the  bastardy  of  Edward's  children  : 

Tell  tliem,  how  Edward  put  to  death  a  citizen, 

Only  for  saying — he  would  make  his  son 

Ileir  to  the  crown  ;  meaning  indeed  his  house, 

Which,  by  the  sign  thereof,  was  termed  so. 

Moreover,  urge  his  hateful  luxury. 

And  bestial  appetite  in  change  of  lust ; 

Which  stretch'd  unto  their  servants,  daughters, 

wives. 
Even  where  his  raging  eye,  or  savage  heart. 
Without  control,  listed  to  make  his  prey. 
Nay,  for  a  need,  thus  far  come  near  my  pcrsoi  :— 
Tcil  them,  when  that  my  mother  went  with  child 
Of  that  insatiate  Edward,  noble  Y'ork, 
My  princely  father,  then  had  wars  in  France ; 
And,  by  iust  computation  of  the  time, 
Kound,  that  the  issue  was  not  his  begot ; 
Which  well  appeared  in  his  lineaments. 
Being  nothing  like  the  noble  duke  my  father: 
Yet  touch  this  sparingly,  as  'twere  liir  oil"; 
Because,  my  lord,  you  know,  my  mother  lives. 

Buck.  Tioabl  not,  my  lord  ;  I'll  play  the  orator, 
As  if  the  golden  fee,  lor  which  I  plead. 
Were  for  myself:  and  so,  my  lord,  adieu. 

Glo.  H"  you  thrive  well,  bring  them  toBaynard's 
castle ; 
Where  you  shall  find  me  well  accompanied. 
With  reverend  lathers,  and  well-learned  bishops. 

Buck.  I  go;  and,  towards  three  or  linir  o'clock. 
Look  lor  the  news  that  the  Guildhall  aliiirds. 

\_£xit  BUCKINUUAM. 

Glo.  Go,  Lovel,  with  all  speed  to  doctor  Shaw, — 
Go  thou  [  To  Cat.]  to  friar  Pcnker ;— bid  them  both 
Meet  me,  within  this  hour,  at  Baynard's  castle. 

\_E.veunt  Lovel  and  Catesbt. 
Now  will  I  in,  to  take  some  privy  order 
To  draw  the  brats  of  Clarence  out  of  sight; 
And  to  give  notice,  that  no  manner  of  ]jerson 
Have,  any  time,  recourse  unto  the  princes.   [Exit. 

SCESEW.— A  Street. 
Enter  a  Scrivener. 
Scriv.  Here  is  the  indictment  of  the  good  lord 
Hastings  ; 
Which  in  a  set  hand  fairly  is  cngross'd, 
That  it  may  be  to-day  read  o'er  in  Paul's. 
And  mark  how  well  the  sequel  hangs  together: — 
Eleven  hours  I  have  spent  to  write  it  over. 
For  yesternight  by  Catesby  was  it  sent  me ; 
The  precedent'  was  full  as  long  a  doing : 
And  yet  within  these  five  hours  Hastings  liv'd, 
Untainted,  unexamined,  free,  at  liberty. 
Here's  a  good  world  the  while  !— Whois  so  gross, 
That  cannot  see  this  palpable  device  ? 
Yet  who  so  bold,  but  says — he  sees  il  not? 
Bad  is  the  world  ;  and  all  will  come  to  nought. 
When  such  bad  dealing  must  be  seen  in  thought. 

[ExU. 

SCENE  \'U.— Court  of  Baynard's  Castle. 

Enter  Gloster  atid  Bi"ckin(;iiam,  meeting. 

Glo.  How  now,  how  now?  what  say  the  citizens'* 

Buck.  Now  by  the  holy  mother  of  our  Lord, 
The  citizens  are  mum,  say  not  a  word. 

Glo.  Touch'd  you  the  bastardy  of  Edward's  chil- 
dren ? 

Buck.  I  did ;  with  his  contnlct  with  lady  Lucy, 
And  his  contnlct  by  deputy  in  France  : 
The  insatiate  greediness  of  his  desires. 
And  his  enforcement  of  the  city  wives; 
His  tyranny  lor  trifies  ;  his  own  bastardy, — 
As  being  got,  your  fatlier  then  in  France; 
And  his  resemblance,  being  not  like  the  duke. 
Withal,  I  did  inter  your  lineaments, — 
Being  the  right  idea  of  your  father. 
Both  in  your  form  and  nobleness  of  mind: 
Laid  open  all  your  victories  in  Scotland, 
Y'our  discipline  in  war,  wisdom  in  peace, 
■^'our  bounty,  virtue,  fair  humility  ; 
Indeed,  lelt  nothing,  lilting  for  your  purpose, 
Untoueh'd,  or  slightly  handled,  in  discourse. 
And,  when  my  oratory  grew  to  an  end, 
1  bade  them,  that  did  love  their  country's  good. 
Cry — God  save  mc/iard,  England's  ruy'al  king.' 

Glo.  And  did  they  so? 

Buck.  No,  so  God  help  me,  they  spoke  not  a  word; 
But  like  dumb  statues,  or  breathless  stones, 
»  Origiual  ilnift. 


Scene  VII. 


KING  EICHARD  III. 


467 


Star'd  on  each  other,  and  look'd  deadly  pale. 
Which  when  I  saw  I  roprtiiendcd  them; 
Andask'd  the  may  or.  wliat  meant  this  wilfuJ  silence; 
Ilis  answer  was, — the  people  were  not  us'd 
To  be  sjwkc  lo,  bnt  by  the  recorder. 
Then  lie  was  ui^^od  to  tell  my  talc  again: 
7'hus  saifh  (he  duke,  iUus  haik  the  duke  inferred; 
I3ut  noUnn^j;  spoke  in  warrant  IVom  iiimseltl 
When  he  Jiad  done,  some  Ibllowers  of  mine  own, 
At  lower  end  o'  the  hail,  hurl'd  up  their  caps. 
And  some  ten  voicesoried,  God  .tare  ki/ig  HicJiardJ 
And  Diiis  I  took  the  vantage  of  tliose  lew, — 
Thanks,  genile  citizeJiSy  and  friends,  quoth  I ; 
7'fii.s  ^(neral  appluuse,  and  ckeei^'ul  akmit, 
Ar^uf.s  i.our  WLsdom,  and  your  love  to  Hichiird: 
And  evi-n  hero  brake  otlandcame  awaj'. 

Glo.  Wiiat  tongueless  biocks  were  they  !    Would 
they  not  speak  \ 
Will  not  tJje  mayor  liien,  and  his  brethren. come? 

Buck.  The  nia^or  is  here  at  hand;  intend'* some 
fear; 
Be  not  2'ou  spoke  xvith,  but  by  mighty  suit: 
And  look  you,  get  a  prayer-book  in  your  hand. 
And  sLiind  [jelween  two  churcJimcii.  go<jd  my  lord; 
For  on  that  ground  I'll  make  a  holy  descant: 
And  be  not  easily  won  to  our  requests; 
I'iay  tile  maid's  part,  still  answer  na^',  and  take  it. 

Glo.  ]  go  ;  and  if  you  ijlead  as  well  lor  tiieni, 
As  I  can  s;ty  na^'  to  tJiee  tor  niiself. 
No  doubt  we'll  bring  it  to  a  happy  issue. 

Buek.  Go,  go,  up  to  the  leads;  the  lord  mayor 
knocks.  {KxU  liLOSTEi;. 

Elder  tke  Lord  Alayor,  Aldermen,  and  Citizens. 
Welcome,  my  lord;  I  dance  attendance  here; 
1  thinJi  Uie  duke  will  not  be  spoke  witiial. — 

Enter^fmm  tke  Castle,  Catesby. 
Now, Catesby,  what  sajs  your  lord  io  my  requcstl 

Oite.  He  ilolh  eiJtieat  your  grace,  my  iioble  lord, 
To  vLsit  him  to-morri>w,  or  nejtt  day: 
He  is  within  witJi  two  rigJit  reverend  lathers, 
Divinely  hent  tn  meditation; 
And  in  no  ■worldly  smt  would  he  be  mov'd, 
To  draw  him  from  his  holy  exercise- 

2fiR7»..Ilcturn, good  Catesby,  to  thegraciousduke; 
Tell  him,  myself,  tJic  mayor,  and  aldermen, 
In  deep  designs,  in  matter  of  great  momenty 
No  less  imjx>rii»g  than  our  general  good, 
Are  come  Lo  have  fmuic  ooniercnce  witJi  bis  grace. 

Cute.  I'll  sigmJy  so  much  mito  himsu-aight. 

[Exit. 

Buck*  Ah,  ha,  my  lord,  Uiis  prince  is  not  an 
Edward  i 
He  is  not  lolling  on  a  lewd  day-bed, 
Jiut  on  his  knees  at  meditation; 
Not  dallvijig  willi  a  brac^  of  courtezans, 
JJut  medilatJMg  with  two  di:cp  divines; 
Not  sleeping  to  engross"  his  idle  bodv% 
Jiut  praying  to  enrich  his  watchful  soul: 
Happy  were  England,  would  this  virtuous  prince 
Take  on  himself  the  sovereifinty  tiiereof: 
Uut,  sure,  I  fear,  we  shall  ne"er  win  him  to  it. 

Mwj.  Marry,  God  detcnd,  his  grace  should  say 
us  na3' ! 

Buck.  I   lear,    he   will;    Here    Catesb}'   comes 
again  ;— 

Re-enJer  Catesby. 
Now,  Cates1)5',  wJiat  says  Iiis  grace  ? 

Cote.  He  wonderstowhat  endjouhaveassembled 
Such  troops  of  citizens  to  come  to  him; 
His  grace  not  being  warii'd  thereof  beiore. 
He  fears,  my  lord,  you  mean  no  go«Ml  to  him. 

Buck.  Stivry  I  am,  my  noble  cousin  should 
Suspect  me,  fJiat  I  mean  no  good  to  him: 
By  heaven,  we  come  to  him  in  perh*cl  love ; 
And  so  once  more  ret4jrn  and  tell  his  grace. 

[KxU  Catesby. 
When  holy  and  devout  religious  men 
Are  at  the'ir  beads,  'tis  hard  to  draw  them  thence; 
So  sweet  is  zealous  contemplation. 

Enter  Gloster,  in  a  Galiery  ahm-e,  between  two 
Bishops-    Catesby  relurns. 
May.  See,  where  his  grace  stands  'tween  two 

clertcymen! 
Bmk.  Two  props  of  virtue  for  a  christian  prince, 
To  stay  him  from  die  lall  oi  vanity: 
And,  see,  a  book  of  prajer  'u\  his  hand; 

«  rietend.  i  fatten. 


True  ornaments  to  know  a  holy  man. — 
Famous  Plantagenet,  most  gracious  prince, 
Lend  lavorable  ear  to  our  requests; 
And  pardon  us  the  interruption 
Of  thy  devotion,  and  nght-christian  zeal. 

Glo.  My  lord.  Uiere  needs  no  sucii  apology ; 
r  rather  do  lieseech  you  j)ardon  me, 
Who.  earnest  in  the  service  of  my  God, 
Neglect  the  visitation  of  my  friends 
Uut,  leaving  liiis,  what  is  your  graces  pleasure? 

Bu-ck.  Kven   that,  I  hope,  wiiich  pleaseUi  God 
above, 
And  all  gt>od  men  of  this  ungoverit'd  isle. 

G/jK  I  do  sus^x-ct  I  have  done  some  otience. 
That  seems  disgracious  in  the  city's  eye; 
And  iiiat  you  come  to  reprehend  my  ignorance. 

Buck.  You  have,  m3' lord;  Would  U  might  please 
your  grace, 
On  our  entreaties  to  amend  vour  laultl 

G/o.  Else  wherefore  breathe  J  In  a  christian  laiid? 

Buck.  Know,  then,  it  is  jour  lault,  that  3  ou  resign 
The  supreme  seat,  tiie  liironc  majestical. 
The  sceptred  otlice  of  youi  ancestors, 
your  state  of  ibrtune.  and  jour  due  of  birth, 
The  lineal  glory  of  your  royal  house, 
To  the  corruption  ot'a  blemish 'd  stock: 
Whilst,  in  Uie  mildness  of  your  sleepy  thoughts, 
(Which  here  we  waken  to  our  country's  good,) 
The  noble  isle  doiJi  want  licr  proper  limbs; 
Her  lace  deliiced  with  scars  of  inlamy, 
Her  royal  stock  j^raft  with  ignoble  plants, 
And  almost  shoulder'd'^  in  the  swalloiving  gulf 
Of  dark  Ji>rgettuh)ess  and  deep  oblivion. 
Which  to  recure,y  we  Jieartily  solicit 
Vour  gracious  selito  take  on  you  the  charge 
And  kingly  government  of  tijTs  your  land: 
Not  as  pro'teclor,  steward,  sut»slitute, 
Or  lowly  (actor  Jiiranother\s  gain: 
iJut  as  sutvessirely,  Irom  biood  to  blood, 
Your  right  of  birth.  3  our  empery,'  your  ovm^ 
for  this,  consorl<^d  with  tiie  citizen's, 
Vour  verv  worshipful  and  loving  J'riciids, 
And  by  their  vehement  instigaUon, 
In  this  just  suit  come  I  to  move  your  grace, 

GUj.  I  cannot  tell,  if  to  depart  id  silence, 
Or  bitterly  to  speak  in  iour  reproof, 
Be.st  liUeth  my  degree,  or  your  condition: 
If.  not  to  ansxver, — you  might  liaply  think, 
Tongue-tied  ambition,  not  replying,  yielded 
To  bear  the  golden  yoke  of  sovereignty. 
Which  loudly  you  would  here  impose'oa  me; 
Hto  reprove  you  lor  this  suit  of  yours. 
So  seasoned  with  your  taitJiful  love  to  me, 
Then,  on  tJie  otiier  side,  I  check'd  my  friends. 
I'herefore — to  speak,  and  to  avoid  the  first ; 
And,  then  in  speaking,  not  to  incur  the  last, — 
Definitely'  thus  I  answer  you. 
Y'our  love  deserves  my  thanks;  but  my  desert 
Unmeri table,  shuos  yonriigh  request. 
First,  if  all  obstacles"  w-ere  cut  away-, 
And  that  my  path  were  even  to  the  crown. 
As  the  ri])e  revenue  and  due  of  birtii; 
Y'et  so  mucii  is  my  poverty  of  spirit. 
So  mighty,  and  so  many  my  delects. 
That  I  would  rather  hide  inc  from  my  greaitncss, — 
Being  a  bark  to  brook  no  niigJity  sea, — 
Than  in  my  greatness  covet  to  be  hid, 
And  in  the  vapor  of  my  glory  smotJier'd. 
But.  God  be  thank'd,  there  is  no  need  of  me; 
(And  much  I  need-  to  help  j'ou,  if  need  were;) 
The  royal  tree  hath  Iclt  us  royal  fruit. 
Which,  meilow'd  by  the  stealing  hours  of  time, 
Will  well  become  flie  seat  of  majesty, 
And  make,  no  doubt,  us  happy  by  his  reign. 
On  him  I  lay  what  you  would  lay  on  me. 
The  right  and  Ibrtune  of  his  happy  stars. — 
Which. God  defend,  that  I  should  wring  from  him! 

Bu-ck.  iily  lord,  this  argues  conscience  in  your 
grace ; 
But  the  resj)^^ts  thereof  arc  nice^aiid  trivial. 
All  circumstances  well  considered. 
You  say,  that  Edward  is  your  brother's  son; 
So  say  we  too,  but  not  by  Kdw.ird's  wife: 
For  first  he  was  contract  to  lady  Lucy, 
Y'our  mother  lives  a  witness  to  his  vow; 
And  atterwards  by  substitute  betroth'd 
To  Bona,  sister  to*  the  king  of  France. 
These  both  put  by,  a  poor  petitioner, 

c  Thrnst  iuto.  •  Ke^orer.  ■  Kinpirf, 

*  Wautability.  •  Minute. 


468 


LIFE   AND  DEATH   OF 


Act.  IV. 


A  carc-craz'd  mother  to  a  many  sons, 
A  lieauty-waning  and  distres.sDd  widow, 
Even  m  the  allcinoon  of  tier  best  day.s, 
JMade  prize  and  purchase  of  his  wanton  eye. 
Seduced  the  pitch  and  heightofall  his  thoughts 
To  base  declension  and  loath'd  bigamy : 
l!y  lier.  in  Jiis  unlawful  bed,  he  got 
Tliis  Edward,  whom  our  manners  call — the  prince. 
More  bitterly  could  I  expostulate. 
Save  that,  for  reverence  to  some  alive, 
1  give  a  sparing  limit  to  my  tongue ; 
Tlien,  good  my  lord,  take  to  your  royal  self 
This  proffer'd  benetit  oldignily: 
If  not  to  bless  us  and  the  land  withal. 
Yet  to  draw  forth  your  nolde  ancestry 
From  the  c«  rruption  of  abusing  time. 
Unto  a  lineal  true-<lerived  course. 
ihiy.  Do,  good  my  lord;   your  citizens  entreat 

you. 
Buck.  Re  (use   not,   mighty   lord,  this   proffer  d 

iove. 
Cafe.  O  make  them  joyful,  grant  their  lawful 

suit. 
Glo.  Alas,  why  would  you  heap  those  cares  on 
me  ] 
I  am  unfit  for  stale  and  majesty:— 
1  do  beseech  you,  take  it  not  amiss; 
1  cannot,  nor  I  will  not,  yield  to  yon. 

Buck.  If  you  refuse  it,— as  in  love  and  zeal. 
Loath  to  depose  Ihc  child,  your  brother's  son  ; 
As  well  we  know  your  tenderness  of  heart. 
And  gentle,  kind,  cllcminate  remorse, 
Which  we  have  noted  in  you  to  your  kindred, 
And  equally,  indeed,  to  all  estates, — 
Yet  know,  whc'r  you  accept  our  suit  or  no, 
Your  brother's  son  shall  never  reign  our  king; 
Hut  we  will  plant  some  other  in  your  throne. 
To  the  disgrace  and  downlall  of  your  house. 


And,  in  this  resolution  here  we  leave  you ; 
Come,  citizens,  we  wjU  entreat  no  more. 

lExeuiit  Bl'CKJNGHam  iind  Citizens. 

Ca/e.  Call  them  again,  sweet  prince,  accept  their 
suit; 
If  you  deny  them,  all  the  land  will  rue  it. 

(J!o.  Will  you  enlbrcc  me  to  a  world  of  cares] 
Well,  call  them  again  ;  I  am  not  made  of  stone. 
But  penetrable  to  your  kind  entreaties,  [Ex.  Cate. 
Albeit  against  my  conscience  and  my  soul. — 

Re-enter  Buckingham  and  the  rest. 
Cousin  of  Buckingham, — and  sage,  grave  men, — 
Since  you  will  buckle  Ibrtune  on  my  back, 
To  bear  her  burden,  whe'r  I  will,  or  no, 
I  must  have  patience  to  endure  the  load: 
But  if  black  scandal,  or  foul-tiiced  reproach, 
Attend  the  sequel  of  your  imposition. 
Your  mere  enl()rcement  shall  acquittance  me 
From  all  the  impure  blots  and  stains  thereof: 
For  God  he  knows,  and  you  may  partly  see. 
How  lar  I  am  from  the  desire  of  this. 
May.  God  bless  your  grace!  we  see  it,  and  will 

say  it. 
Glo.  In  saying  so,  you  shall  but  say  the  truth. 
Buck.  Then  1  salute  yon  with  this  royal  title. — 
Long  live  king  Richard,  England's  worthy  king  ! 
Alt.  Amen. 
Buck.    To-morrow    may    it   please  you  to  be 

crown'd  ? 
Cto.  Even  when  you  please,  since  you  will  have 

it  so. 
Buck.  To-morrow  then  we  will  attend  your  grace. 
And  so,  most  joyfully  we  take  our  leave. 
Glo.  Come,  let  us  to  our  holy  work  again.^ 

[  Tu  Mf  Bishops. 
Farewell,  good  cousin ; — farewell,  gentle  friends. 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.—Bijbre  ttie  Tower. 
Enter,  on  one  side.  Queen  Elizaueth,  Duchess  of 
York,  and  MAi'.yuis  of   Dorset:  on  lite  other, 
Anne,  Ducliess  nfGlosier,  teci'lins  Lady  Marga- 

IlET  I'LASTAGEXET,  CLARENCe's  IJOUng  DaUg/ltcT. 

Bucli.  Who  meets  us  here — my  niece  Plantagenet 
Led  in  the  hand  of  her  kind  aunt  of  Gloster  I 
Now,  for  my  lilc.  she's  wandering  to  the  Tower, 
On  pure  heart's  love  to  greet  the  tender  prince- 
Daughter,  well  met. 

Anne.  God  give  your  graces  both 

A  happy  and  a  joyful  time  of  day  ! 

Q.  Eliz.  As  much  to  you,  good  sister!  Whither 
away  ]  * 

Anjie.  No  lurther  than  the  Tower;  and, as  I  guess, 
ITpon  the  like  devotion  as  yourselves. 
To  gratulate  the  gentle  princes  there. 

Q.  Eliz.  Kind  sister,  thanks;  we'll  enter  ail  to- 
gether : 

Enter  Brakenburt. 
And,  in  good  time,  here  the  lieutenant  comes. — 
blaster  Lieutenant,  pray  you,  by  your  leave, 
How  doth  the  prince,  and  my  young  son  of  York? 

Brak.  Right  well,  dear  madam :  liy  your  patience, 
1  may  not  sutler  you  to  visit  them; 
Tlie  king  hath  strictly  charged  tlie  contrary. 

Q.  Eliz.  The  king!  who's  that  ! 

Brak.  I  mean  the  lord  protector. 

Q.  Etiz.  The  Lord  protect  him  from  that  kingly 
tillp 
Hath  ne  set  ooiinds  between  their  love,  and  me? 
i  :im  their  mother,  who  shall  bar  me  from  them  ] 

J)ucti.  I  am  their  father's  mother,  1  w  ill  see  tlicm. 

Anne.  Their  aunt  I  am  in  law,  in  love  their 
mother : 
Then  bring  me  to  their  sights;  I'll  bear  thy  blame, 
And  take  thy  otlice  from  thee,  on  thy  peril. 

Brak.  No.  madam,  no,  I  may  not  leave  it  so; 
1  am  bound  by  oath,  and  therefore  ^uirdon  me. 

[ExU  BuAKENBljTtY. 

Enter  Stanley. 
Stan.  Let  me   but  meet  you,  ladies,  one  hour 
hence, 
And  I'll  salute  your  grace  of  York  as  mother, 


And  reverend  looker-on  of  two  fair  queens. 
Come,  madam,  you  must  straight  to  Westminster, 


[To  t/ie  Duchess  of  Glostl'r. 
I  Rich 


Tiiere  to  be  crowned  Richard's  royal  queen. 

Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  cut  my  lace  asunder  ! 
That  my  pent  heart  ma-y  have  some  scope  to  beat, 
Or  else  I  swoon  with  (his  dead-killing  news. 

Anne-  Despiteful  tidings!  O  unpleasing  news! 

Dor.  Be  ot  good  cheer:  Mother,  how  fares  your 
grace  ? 

Q.Eliz.  0  Dorset,  speak  not  to  me,  get  thee  gone. 
Death  and  destruction  dog  thee  at  the  heels ; 
Thy  mother's  name  is  ominous  to  children  : 
If  thou  wilt  outstrip  death,  go  cross  the  seas. 
And  live  with  Richmond,  from  the  reach  of  hell. 
Go,  hie  thee,  hie  thee,  from  tliis  slaughter-house. 
Lest  thou  increase  the  number  of  the  dead; 
And  make  me  die  the  thrall  of  Margarei's  curse,— 
Nor  wife,  mother,  nor  England's  counted  queen. 

atun.  Full  of  wise  care  is   this  yout   counsel, 
madam: — 
Take  all  the  swift  advantage  of  the  hours; 
You  sliall  have  letters  firom  me  to  my  son 
In  your  behalf,  to  meet  you  on  the  way: 
Be  not  ta'en  tardy  by  unwise  delay. 

Duett.  0  ill-dispersing  wind  of  liiisery!— 
O  my  accursed  womb,  the  bed  of  death; 
A  cockatrice  hast  thou  hatch'd  to  the  world. 
Whose  unavoided  eye  is  murderous! 

Stan.  Come,  madam,  come;  I  in  all  haste  was 
sent. 

Anne.  And  I  with  all  unwillingness  will  go.— 
O,  would  to  God  that  the  inclusive  verge 
Of  golden  metal,  that  must  round  my  brow. 
Were  red-hot  steel,  to  sear  me  to  the  brain  ! 
Anointed  let  me  be  with  deadly  venom  ; 
And  die.  ere  men  can  say — God  save  the  queen! 

Q.  Eliz.  Go,  go,  poor  soul,  I  envy  not  thy  glory; 
To  feed  my  humor,  wish  thyself  no  harm. 

Anne.  No !  why  ?— When  he,  that  is  my  husband 
now. 
Came  to  me,  as  I  follow'd  Henry's  corse; 
When  scarce  the  blood  was  well-washed  from  Ins 

hands. 
Which  issued  from  my  other  angel  husband,      _ 
And  that  dead  saint  vviiich  then  1  weeping  follow  d, 


Scene  II. 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


4G9 


O,  when.  I  .«ay,  I  look'd  on  Richard's  face, 

This  was  my  wish.— i/f  tliDU.  quoth  1,  ciccurs'd, 

For  making  me  so  i/oung,  w  old  a  widow.' 

And,  when  thou  ived's/,  let  mrrow  haunt  thy  bed; 

Ani  be  tliii  wife  [ij'ony  be  so  mad) 

More  mvsirnlilc  by  the  life  vfthee. 

Than  tliou  huM  made  me  by  my  dear  lord  s  death! 

Lo,  ere  I  can  repeat  this  curse  again. 

Even  in  so  short  a  space,  my  woman's  heart 

Grossly  grew  captive  to  liis  honey  words. 

And  prov'd  the  suhjcct  olinine  own  soul's  curse: 

Which  ever  since  hath  lield  mine  eyes  from  rest; 

For  never  yet  one  hour  in  his  bed 

Did  I  enjoy  the  golden  dew  of  sleep. 

But  witJi  his  timorous  dreams  was  still  awak  d. 

Besides,  he  liates  me  (ijr  my  lather  Warwick; 

And  will,  no  doubt,  shortly  be  rid  of  me. 

Q.  Eti^.  Poor  heart,  adieu  ;  I  pity  thy  complam- 

ins. 
Anne.  No  more  than  with  my  soul  I  mourn  for 

yours. 
Dor.  Farewell,  thou  woful  welcomer  of  glory! 
Ajine.  Adieu,  poor  soul,   that  tak'st  thy  leave 

ofit! 
Duch.  Go  thou  to  Richmond,  and  good  fortune 
guide  thee  !—  {To  Dorset. 

Go  thou  to  Ricliard,  and  good  angels  tend  thee  !— 

[To  ANNE. 
Go  thou  to  sanctuary,  and  good  thoughts  possess 
thee  I—  [To  Q.  Elizabeth. 

I  to  my  grave,  where  peace  and  rest  lie  with  mc ! 
Eighty  odd  years  of  sorrow  have  I  seen. 
And  each  hour's  joy  wrcek'd  with  a  week  of  teen.< 
Q.  KHz.  Slay  yet;  look  back,  with  me,  unto  the 
Tower.— 
Pity,  you  ancient  stones,  those  tender  babes. 
Whom  envy  halli  iiiimur'd  within  your  walls! 
Rough  cradle  liir  such  little  iirelly  ones  ! 
Rude  ragged  nurse  !  old  sullen  play-(c;llow 
For  tender  princes,  use  my  babies  well ! 
So  foolish  sorrow  bids  your  stones  farewell. 

{Exeunt. 
SCENE  II.— .4  Room  of  Slate  in  the  Palace. 
' Flmimh  tf  Trumpets.    Richard,  as  King,  upon 
his  Throne;  Ui,X'Kin(iiiam,  Catesby,  a  Page,  am/ 
others. 

K.  Rich-  Stand  all  apart.— Cousin  of  Bucking- 
ham,  

J?ucfr.  My  gracious  sovereign. 
K.  Rich.  Give  me  thy  hand.    Thus  high,  by  thy 
advice. 
And  thy  assistance,  is  king  Richard  seated : — 
But  shall  we  wear  these  glories  (or  a  day  ! 
Or  shall  they  last,  and  we  rejoice  in  them  ] 
Buclx.  Still  live  they,  and  for  ever  let  them  last ! 
A'.  Rich.  Ah.  Buckingham,  now  do  1  play   the 
touch," 
To  try  if  thou  be  current  gold,  indeed; 
Young  Edward  lives ;— Think  now  what  I  would 
speak. 
Buck.  Say  on,  my  loving  lord. 
A'.  Rich.  Why,  Buckinghaui,  I  saj',  I  would  be 

king. 
Buck.  Why,  so  you  arc,  my  thricc-renowncd  liege. 
K.Rich.  Ha!  a"in  I  king!    'Tis  so:  but  Edward 

lives. 
Buck.  True,  noble  prince. 

A'.  Rich.  O  bitter  consequence. 

That  Edward  still  should  live, — true, noble  prince! — 
Cousin,  thou  wast  not  wont  to  be  so  dull: 
Shall  I  be  plain  !  I  wish  the  bastards  dead ; 
And  I  would  have  it  suddenly  perform'd. 
What  say'st  thou  now  !  s]ieaK  suddenly,  be  brief. 
Buck.  Your  grace  may  do  your  pleasure. 
A'.  Rich.  Tut,  tut,  thou  art  all  ice,  thy  kindness 
freezes : 
Say,  have  I  thy  consent,  that  they  shall  die  1 
Buck.  Give  me  some  breath,  some  little  pause, 
dear  lord. 
Before  I  positively  speak  in  this: 
1  will  resolve  your  grace  immediately. 

[E.nt  BrcKINGHAM. 
Cate^  The  king  is  angry;  see,  he  gnaws  his  lip. 

[Aside. 
K.  Rich.  I  will  converse  with  iron-wilted  tools, 
[Descen'lsfrotn  his  Throne. 
And  unrespective^  boys;  none  are  for  me, 
Tliat  look  into  me  with  considerate  eyes ; 
«  Sorrow.  »  Touchstoue.  *  Inconsiderate. 


High-reaching  Buckingham  grows  circumspect. 

Boy, 

Page.  My  lord. 
•A'.  Rich.  Know'st  thou  not  any,  whom  corrupting 

gold 
Would  tempt  unto  a  close  exploit'  of  death  ! 

Page.  I  know  a  discontented  gentleman. 
Whose  humble  means  match  not  his  haughty  mind: 
Gold  were  as  good  as  twenty  orators, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  tempt  him  to  any  thing. 
K.  Rich.  What  is  his  name  I 
Page.  His  name,  my  lord,  is — Tyrrel. 

K.  Rich.  I  partly  know  the  man;  Go,  call  him 
hither,  boy.  [Exit  Page. 

The  deep-revolving  wittyS  Buckingham 
No  more  s/iall  be  liie  neighbor  to  my  counsels: 
Hath  he  so  long  held  out  wilh  mc  u'ntir'd. 
And  stops  he  now  lor  breath  I — well,  be  it  so. — 

Enter  Stanley. 
How  now,  lord  Stanley]  what's  the  news'? 

Stan.  Know,  my  loving  lord, 

Tlie  marquis  Dorset,  as  I  hear,  is  lied 
To  Richmond,  in  the  parts  where  he  abides. 

K.Rich.  Come  hither,  Catesby:  rumor  it  abroad, 
That  Anne,  my  wile,  is  very  grievous  sick; 
1  Will  lake  order  lor  her  keeping  close. 
Inquire  me  out  some  mean-born  gentleman. 
Whom  1  will  marry  straight  to  Clarence' daughter: 
The  bo>'  is  (tiolish,  and  1  lear  not  him. — 
Look,  how  Ihou  dream'st! — I  say  again,  give  out, 
That  Anne  my  queen  is  sick,  and  like  to  die: 
About  it;  lor  it  stands  me  much  upon,9 
To  stop  ail  hopes,  whose  growth  may  damage  me. — 

{Exit  Catesby. 
I  must  be  married  to  my  brotlier's  daughter, 
Or  else  my  kingdtun  stands  on  brittle  glass: 
Murder  her  brothers,  and  then  marry  her! 
L'ncert^ain  way  of  gam!     But  I  am  in 
So  lar  in  bloo<l.  that  sin  w  ill  pluck  on  sin. 
Tear-falling  pity  dwells  not  in  tliis  eje. — 

Rc-enler  Page,  with  Tyrrel. 
Is  thy  name  TjTrel ! 

Tyr.  James  Tyrrel,  and  your  most  obedient  sub- 
ject, 
K.  Rich.  Art  thou,  indeed  ! 

Tyr.  Prove  ine,  my  gracious  lord. 

A.  Rich.  Dar'st  thou  resolve  to  kill  a  friend  ot 

mine  ! 
Tyr.  please  you;  but  I  had  rather  kill  two  ene- 
mies. 
A'. /iicA. Why,  then  thou  hast  it;  two  deepencmics! 
Foes  to  my  rest,  and  my  sweet  sleep's  disturbers, 
Are  they  that  1  would  have  thee  deal'  upon; 
Tyrrel,!  mean  those  bastards  in  the  Tower. 

Tyr.  Let  mc  have  open  means  to  come  to  them. 
And  soon  I'll  rid  >ou  from  the  fear  of  them. 
K.  Rich.  Thou  s'ing'st  sweet  music.    Hark,  come 
hither,  Tyrrel ; 
Go,  by  this  token: — Rise,  and  lend  thine  car: 

[  IVhispers. 
There  is  no  more  but  so: — Say,  it  is  done. 
And  I  will  love  thee,  and  preter  thee  for  it. 
Tyr.  I  will  despatch  it  straight.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Bltkingham. 
Bttck.  My  lord,  I  have  considered  in  my  mind 
The  late  demand  that  >ou  did  sound  me  in. 
K.  Rich.  Well,  let  that  rest.    Dorset  is  fled  to 

Richmond. 
Buck.  I  hear  the  news,  my  lord. 
K.Rich.  Stanley,  he  is  your  wife's  son:— Well, 

look  to  it. 
Buck.  My   lord,  I  claim   the  gift,  my  due   by 
promise. 
For  which  your  honor  and  your  faith  is  pawn'd 
The  earldom  of  Hereford,  and  the  movables. 
Which  you  have  promised  I  shall  possess. 

K.Rich.  Stanley, look  toyourwile;  if  she  convey 
Letters  to  Richmond,  you  shall  answer  it. 
Buck.  What  says  your  highness  to  my  just  re- 
quest! 
A'.  Rich.  I  do  remember  me,— Henry  the  sixth 
Did  prophesy,  that  Richmond  should  be  king, 
When  Richmond  was  a  little  peevish-  boy. 

A  king  I — perhaps 

Buck.  My  lord, ■ 

1  Secret  act.  b  Cunning. 

»  It  is  of  great  consequence  to  my  designs. 

'  Act.  »  Foolish. 


470 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


Act  IV 


K.  Rich.  How  chance,  the  prophet  could  not  at 
that  time, 
Have  tnki  me,  I  being  by,  that  1  should  kiJ!  him  1 

Buck.  My  lord,  your  promise  for  the  earldom,"- 

A'.  Rich.  Richmond ! — Wlien  hist  I  was  at  fc^xetcr. 
The  mayor  in  courtesy  show'd  me  tlie  castle, 
And  call'd   it  — Rouge-Mont:    at  which  name.  I 

started  ; 
Because  a  bard  of  Irehmd  told  me  once, 
I  should  not  live  long  after  I  saw  Kichniond. 

Buck.  My  lord, 

A'.  Rich.  Ay,  what's  o'clock  ] 

Buck.  I  am  thus  bold 

To  put  your  Krace  in  mind  of  what  you  pronn.s'dme. 

A'.  Rich.  Well,  but  what  is't  o'clock  I 

Buck.  Upon  the  stroke 

Often. 

A.  Rich.  Well,  let  it  strike. 

Buck.  Wiiy,  let  it  strike  7 

A".  Rich.  Because  that,  like  a  Jack,^  thou  keep'st 
the  stroke 
Betwixt  thy  be^t^ing  and  my  meditation. 
1  am  not  in  the  ^ivin^  vein  to-day. 

Buck.  Why,  then  resolve   me   whe'r   you  will, 
or  no, 

K.Rich.Thou  troublest  me;  I  am  not  in  the  vein. 
[Exeuitf  Kisfj  Richard  and  Train. 

Buck.  And  is  it  thus !  repays  he  my  deep  service 
With  such  contempt?  made  I  him  king  for  this] 
O,  let  me  think  on  HastJnjjs  ;  and  be^^one 
To  Brecknock,!  vvhile  my  tearful  head  is  on.  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.— r/ifi  same. 

Enter  Tyruel. 

Tyr.  The  tyrannous  and  bloody  act  is  done; 
The  most  arch  deed  ot  piteous  massacre. 
That  ever  yet  this  land  was  f^uilty  of. 
Dighton  and  Forrest,  whom  I  did  suborn 
To  do  this  piece  of  ruthless  t)utchery. 
Albeit  they  were  Hesli'd  villains,  bloody  do^s, 
Mt'liin^  \vi[h  tenderness  and  mild  ci>Mipassioii, 
Wi'i't  like  two  cluldren,  in  tlieir  death's  sad  story. 
<)  fh'is.  ijuiitli  Dif^hton,  lai/  the  gen/tt  ha>>cs, — 
77m;.v,  //lus,  quoth  Forrest,  girdling  one  another^ 
IVithui  th/ir  atahuster  innocent  urnus: 
Their  lijis  were  four  red  roses  im  a  stalky 
Which  in  tlieir  .summer  beauty  kiss'd  each  other, 
A  book  ofjrratjei'.s  on  their  pilloiu  lay, 
Which  once,  quoth  Forrest,  almost  changed  my 

mindy 
But,  O,  the  devil — there  the  villain  stopp'd  ; 
Wlicn  Difi;hton  thus  told  on, — loe  smothered 
The  inofit  repleni-stied  sweet  work  (f  naturey 
Tkat,jr(nii  the  prime  creutioti,  ere'she  framed. 
Hence  bulh  are  t;one  with  conscience  and  remorse, 
They  could  not  speak;  and  so  1  lell  them  both, 
To  bear  tlicse  tidings  to  the  bloody  king. 

Enter  King  Richard. 
And  here  he  comes: — All  health,  my  sovereign  lord  ! 

K.Rich.  Kind  Tyrrel!  am  I  happy  in  thy  news? 

Tyr.  If  lohave  done  the  thing  you  gave  in  charge 
Beget  your  happiness,  be  iiappy  then, 
For  it  IS  done. 

A^  Rich.  But  didst  thou  see  them  dead  1 

Tjfr.  I  did.  my  lord. 

A"".  Rich.  And  buried,  gentle  Tyrrel  ? 

Tyr.  The  chaplain  of  the  Tower  hath   buried 
them; 
But  where,  to  say  the  truth,  I  do  not  know. 

A'.  Rich.ComQ.  \o  me, Tyrrel, soon, at  after  supper. 
When  thou  shalt  tell  the  process  of  their  death. 
Mean  time,  but  think  how  I  may  do  tliee  good, 
And  be  inheritor  of  tliy  desire. 
Farewell,  till  then. 

Tyr.  I  humbly  take  my  leave.  [Exit. 

A'.  Rich.  The  son  of  Clarence  liave  1  penn'd  up 
close; 
Ilis  daughter  meanly  have  I  match'd  in  marriage; 
The  sons  of  Edward  sleep  in  Abraham's  bosom; 
And  Anne  my  wile  hath  bid  the  world  good-night. 
Now,  j;.r  I  know  tiie  Bretagne-  Richmond  aims 
At  yauiii;  Flizabeth,  my  brother's  daughter, 
And,  by  that  knot,  looks  proudly  on  the  crown, 
To  her  go  I,  a  jolly  thriving  wooer. 

3  A  Jacl.-  nf  ike  dovk-honse  is  an  iQi;ige  like  those  at  St. 
DuDstan's  i-hurch  iu  Fleet  street,  aud  then  a  common 
appendage  to  clocks. 

*  His  castle  in  Wales. 

»Tliy  cuautry  iu  which  Richmond  had  taken  refuge. 


Enter  CATEtiBY, 

Cate.  My  lord, 

A'.  Rich.  Good  news,  or  bad,  tiiat  thou  com'st  in 

so  bluntly  ! 
Cate.  Bad  news,  my   lord:  Morton'^  is  fied  to 
Richmond ; 
And  Buckingham,  b-ickM  with  the  hardy  Welshmen, 
Is  in  the  held,  and  still  his  power  increaseth. 
K.Rich.  Ely  with  Richmond  troubles  me  more 
near, 
Than  Buckingham  and  his  rash-levied  strength. 
Come, — I  have  learn'd,  that  fearful  commenting 
Is  leaden  servitor  to  dull  delay  ; 
Delay  leads  impotent  and  snail-pac€^  beggary: 
Tlien  hery  expedition  be  my  wing, 
Jove's  Mercury,  and  herald  for  a  king  ! 
Go,  muster  men  :  My  counsel  is  my  shield  ; 
We  must  he  brief,  when  traitors  brave  the  field, 

[Exeunt, 
SCENE  lV,—Beff/re  the  Palace. 
Enter  Quekn  Margaret. 
Q.  Mar.  So,  now  prosperity  begins  to  mellow, 
And  drop  into  the  rotten  mouth  of  death. 
Here  in  these  conhnes  slily  have  I  lurk'd. 
To  watch  the  waning  of  mine  enemies. 
A  tiire  induction  am  I  witness  to. 
And  will  to  France;  hoping  the  consequence 
Will  prove  as  bitter,  black,  and  tragical. 
Withdraw  thee,  wretched  Margaret!  Who  cornea 
here  I 

Enter  Queen  Elizabeth  and  the  Drcurss  of  Vork. 
Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  my  poor  princes!   ah,  my  tender 
babes  ! 
My  unblown  dowers,  new-appearing  sweets ! 
If  yet  your  gentle  souls  tly  in  the  air. 
Arid  be  not  lix'd  in  doom  perpetual, 
Hover  about  me  with  your  airy  wings. 
And  hear  your  mother's  lamentation  I 
Q.  Mar.  Hover  about  her;   say,  that  right  for 
right 
Hath  dimm'd  your  mfant  morn  to  aged  night. 

Duch.  So  many  miseries  have  craz'd  my  voice, 
That  my  woe-wearied  tongue  is  still  and  'mute,— 
Edward  Plantagcnct,  why  art  thou  dead  ? 

Q.  Mar.  Plantagenet  doth  quit  Plantagenet. 
Edward  for  Edwa'rd  pays  a  dying  debt. 
Q.  Eliz.  Wilt  thou,  O  God,  tly  from  such  gentle 
lambs, 
And  throw  them  in  the  entrails  of  the  wolf? 
When  didst  Ihousleep.when  such  adeed  wasdone? 
Q.  Mar.  When  holy  Harry  died,  and  my  sweet 

son. 
Duch.  Dead  life,  blind  sight,  poor  mortal-living 
ghost, 
Woe's  scene,  world's  shame,  gravels  due,  by  life 

usurp'd. 
Brief  abstract  and  record  of  tedious  days. 
Rest  thy  unrest  on  England's  lawful  earth, 

[Sitting  down. 
Unlawfully  made  drunk  with  innocent  blood  \ 
Q.  Eliz.  Ah,  that  thou  wouldst  as  soon  atlbrd  a 
grave, 
As  thou  canst  yield  a  melancholy  seat; 
Then  would  I  hide  my  bones,  not  rest  (hem  here ! 
Ah,  who  hath  any  cause  to  mourn,  but  we  ? 


[Sifting  dnwn  by  her, 
'  be  most 


Q.  Mar.  If  ancient  sorrow  be  most  reverent, 
Give  mine  the  benefit  of  seniory.'' 
And  let  my  griefs  frown  on  the" upper  hand. 
Ifsorrow  can  admit  society. 

^  [fitting  down  with  them. 

Tell  o  er  your  woes  again  by  viewing  mine: — 
I  had  an  Edward,  till  a  Kichard  kili'd  him ; 
I  had  a  husband,  till  a  Richard  kili'd   him : 
Thou  hadst  an  Edward,  till  a  Richard  kili'd  him; 
Thou  hadst  a  Richard,  till  a  Richard  kili'd  fiim. 

Duch.  I  Jiad  a  Richard  too,  aud  thou  didst  kill 
him ; 
I  had  a  Rutland  too.  thou  holp'st  to  kill  him. 

<^.  A///r.  Thou  hadst  a  Clarence  too,  and  Richard 
killM  him. 
From  forth  the  kennel  of  thy  womb  hath  crept 
A  hell-hound  that  doth  hunt  us  all  to  death: 
That  dog,  that  had  his  teeth  before  his  eyes, 
To  worry  lambs,  and  lap  their  gentle  blood  ; 
That  Ibul  deliicer  of  God's  handy-work  ; 

«  Bishop  of  Ely.  1  Seniority. 


Scene  IY. 


KING  RICHARD  III. 


471 


That  axcelletit  grand  lyrant  of  the  earth. 
That  reigns  in  galled  eyes  of  weeping  souls, 
Thy  worhb  let  loose  to  cliase  us  lo  our  graves. — 

0  upright,  just,  and  true-disposing  God, 
How  do  I  thank  tliee,  that  this  eafnal  cur 
Preys  on  the  issue  of  his  mother's  body. 

And  nialies  her  pew-fellow*  with  others'  moan  ! 

Duck.  0,  Harry's  wile,  tritimph  not  in  my  woes; 
God  witness  with  me,  I  have  wept  for  thine. 

Q.  Mar.  Bear  willi  me,  I  am  hungry  for  revenge, 
And  now  I  cloy  me  with  beholding  it. 
Thy  Kdward  he  is  dead,  that  kill'd  my  Edward; 
Thj  other  Kdward  dead  to  quit  my  Edward  ; 
Young  \  ork  he  is  but  boot,"  because  bolh  they 
JIalch  ni)t  the  high  perfection  of  my  loss. 
Thy  Clarence  he  is  dead  that  stabb'd  my  Edward ; 
And  ilie  beholders  of  this  tragic  i>lay. 
The  adulterate  Hastings,  Rivers,  Vaughan,  Grey, 
Untimely  smotherM  in  their  dusky  graves. 
Richard  yet  lives,  hell's  black  intelligencer; 
Only  reserv'd  their  laclor  to  buy  souls. 
And  send  them  thither  :  But  at  hand,  at  hand, 
Ensues  his  piteous  and  uupitied  end  : 
Earth  gapes,  hell  burns,  fiends  roar,  saints  pray, 
To  have  him  suddenly  coiivey'd  from  hence: — 
Cancel  his  bond  of  life,  dear  God,  I  pray, 
Tliat  I  may  live  to  say.  The  dog  is  dead  ! 

Q.  Eliz.  O,  thou  didst  prophesy  the  time  would 
come. 
That  I  should  wish  for  thee  to  help  me  curse 
Tliat  bottled  spider,  that  foul  buuch-back'd  toad. 

Q.  Mar.  1  call'd  thee  then,  vain  flourish  of  my 
fortune  ; 

1  call'd  thee  then,  poor  shadow,  painted  queen  ; 
The  presenlation  of  but  what  I  was. 

The  flattering  index  of  a  direful  pageant. 

One  heav'd  a  high,  to  be  hurl'd  down  below : 

A  mother  only  mock'd  with  two  fair  babes  ; 

A  dream  of  what  thou  wast,  a  garish'  liag, 

To  be  the  aim  of  every  dangerous  shot; 

A  sign  of  dignity,  a  breath,  a  bubble  ; 

A  queen  in  jest,  only  to  lill  the  scene. 

Where  is  thy  husband  now  !  where  be  thy  brothers? 

U'liere  be  thy  two  sons  !  wherein  dost  thou  joy? 

Who  sues,  and  kneels,  and  says—God  save  the 

queen \ 
Where  be  the  bending  peers  that  tlatter'd  thee? 
Where  be  the  thronging  troops  that  follow'd  thee  1 
Decline  all  this,  and  see  what  now  thou  art. 
For  happy  wife,  a  most  distressed  widow  ; 
For  joyful  mother,  one  that  wails  the  name ; 
For  one  being  sued  to,  one  that  humbly  sues ; 
For  queen,  a  very  caililfcrown'd  with  care; 
For  one  that  scorn'd  at  me,  now  scorn 'd  of  me; 
For  one  being  fear'd  of  all,  now  fearing  one; 
For  one  commanding  all,  oliey'd  of  none. 
Thi's  hath  the  course  of  justice  wheel'd  about, 
And  loll  thee  but  a  very  prey  to  time ; 
Having  no  more  but  thought  of  what  thou  wert, 
To  torture  thee  the  more,  being  what  thou  art. 
Thou  didst  usurp  my  place  ;  and  dost  thou  not 
Usurp  the  just  proportion  of  my  sorrow!  ^ 
Now  thy  proud  neck  bears  half  my  burden  d  yoke  ; 
From  vvhieh  even  here  I  slip  my  wearied  head, 
And  leave  the  burden  of  it  all  on  thee. 
Farewell.  York's  wife, — and  queen  of  sad  mis- 
chance,— 
These  English  woes  shall  make  mesmile  in  France. 

Q.  Eliz.  (J  Ihou  wollskill'd  in  curses,  stay  awhile. 
And  teach  me  how  to  curse  mine  enemies! 

Q.  Mar.  Forbear  to  sleep  the  night,  and  fast  the 
day; 
Compare  dead  happiness  with  living  woe  ; 
Think  that  thy  babes  were  fairer  than  they  were, 
And  lie  that  slew  them,  fouler  than  he  is  : 
Bettering  thy  loss  makes  the  bad-causer  worse; 
Revolving  this  will  teacli  thee  how  to  curse. 

Q.  KHz.  My  words  arc  dull,  0  quicken  them 
with  thine! 

Q  Mar.  Thy  woes  will  make  them  sharp,  and 
Iiierce  like  mine.  [Exit  Q.  Margaret. 

Duch.  Why  should  calaniity  be  full  of  words  ! 

Q.  Eliz.  Windy  attornies'to  their  client  woes,  • 
Airy  suceeeders  of  intestate  jojs. 
Poor  breathing  orators  of  miseries! 
Let  them  havS  scope:  Ihongh  what  they  do  impart 
Help  nothing  else,  yet  do  they  ease  the  heart. 

XJ«c/i.  Ifso,  tben'ie  not  tongue-tyed;  go  with  me, 

■  Conipauiun.     •  Throirn  iuto  the  bargain.    *  Flaring. 


And  in  the  breath  of  bitter  words  let's  smolher 
My  damned  son,  that  thy  two  sweet  sons  smolher'd. 

[Drum  wit/lilt. 
I  hear  his  drum, — be  copious  in  exclaims. 

Enter  Kixg  Richard,  and  Aw  Train,  marching. 

K.  Rich.  Who  intercepts  me  in  my  expedition  1 

Duch.  (),  she,  that  might  have  intercepted  thee. 
By  strangling  thee  in  her  accursed  womb. 
From  fillthe  slaughters, ■\vretch,thatthou  hastdone. 

Q.  Eliz.  Hid'st  thou  that  forehead  with  a  golden 
crown. 
Where  should  be  branded,  if  that  right  were  right. 
The  slaughter  of  the  prince  that  ow'd-  that  crown. 
And  the  dire  death  of  my  poor  sons  and  brothers  ? 
Tell  me.  thou  villain-slave,  where  are  my  children  1 

Duch.  'riiuu  toad,  thou  toad,  where  is  thy  bro- 
ther Clarence  ? 
And  little  Ned  Plaulagenet,  his  son  1 

Q.  Eliz.  Where  is  the  gentle  Rivers,  Vaughan, 
Grey] 

Duch.  Where  is  kind  Hastings? 

K.Rich.  A  nourish,  trumpets!    Strike  alarum, 
drums ! 
Let  not  the  heavens  hear  these  tell-tale  women 
Rail  on  the  Lord's  anointed  :  Strike,  I  say.^ 

[Flourish.    Alarums 
Either  be  patient,  and  entreat  me  fair. 
Or  with  the  clamorous  report  of  war 
Thus  will  I  drown  your  exclamations. 

Duch.  Art  thou  my  son  ] 

K.  Rich.  Ay;  1  thank  God,  my  father,  and  your- 
self. 

Duch.  Then  patiently  hear  my  impatience. 

A'.  Rich.  JIadam,  I  have  a  touch  of  your  con- 
dition.3 
That  cannot  brook  the  accent  of  reproof. 

Duch.  O,  let  me  speak. 

A'.  Rich.  Do,  then;  but  I'll  not  hear. 

Duch.  I  will  be  mild  and  gentle  in  my  words. 

K.Rich.  And  brief,  good   mother;   lor  I  am  in 
haste. 

Duch.  Art  thou  so  hasty?    I  have  staid  lor  thee, 
God  knows,  in  torment  and  in  agony. 

K.  Rich.  And  came  1  not  at  last  to  comfort  you? 

Duch.  No,  by  the  holy  rood,^  thou  know'st  it  well, 
Thou  eam'st  mi  earth  to  make  the  earth  my  hell. 
A  grievous  burden  was  thy  birth  to  nie ; 
Tetchy'  and  wayward  was  thy  infancy  ; 
Thy   school-days,  frightful,  desperate,  wild,  and 

furious  ; 
Thy  prime  of  manhood, daring,  bold,  and  v^turous; 
Thy  age  confirni'd,  jiroud,  subtle,  sly,  and  bloody, 
More  mild,  but  yet  more  harmful,  kind  in  hatred: 
What  comfortable  hour  canst  thou  name, 
That  ever  graced  me  in  thy  company  ? 

A'.  Rich.  'Faith  none,  but  Humphrey  Hour,  that 
call'd  your  grace 
To  breakfast  once,  forth  of  my  company. 
If  I  be  so  disgracious  in  your  sight. 
Let  me  march  on,  and  not  ollend  you,  madam. — 
Strike  up  the  drum. 

Duck.  I  pr'ythee,  hear  me  speak. 

A'.  Rich.  You  speak  too  bitterly. 

Duch.  Hear  me  a  word  , 

For  1  shall  never  speak  to  thee  again. 

K.Rich.  So. 

Duch.  Either  thou  wilt  die,  by  God's  just  ordi- 
nance. 
Ere  from  this  war  thou  turn  a  conqueror: 
Or  I  with  grief  and  extreme  age  shall  perish, 
And  never  look  upon  thy  face  again. 
Therefore,  take  with  thee  my  most  heavy  curse; 
Which,  in  the  day  of  battle,  tire  tliee  more. 
Than  all  the  cninplele  armor  that  thou  wear'st! 
Mv  prayers  on  the  adverse  party  fight : 
And  there  the  Utile  souls  of  Edward's  children 
Whisper  the  spirits  of  thine  enemies. 
And  promise  them  success  and  victory. 
Bloody  tliou  art,  bloody  will  be  thy  end; 
Shame  serves  thy  lite,  and  doth  thy  death  attend. 

[Exit. 
Q.  Eliz.  Though  far  more  cause,  yet  much  less 
spirit  to  curse 
Abides  in  me;  I  say  amen  to  her.  [Going. 

K.  Rich.  Stay,  madam,  I  must  speak  a  word  with 

you. 
Q.  Eliz.  I  have  no  more  sons  of  the  royal  blood, 

^  Owned.     '  Disposition.     <  Cross.     *  Touchy,  fretful. 


472 


KING   KICHARD   III. 


Act  it. 


For  thee  to  murder:  lor  my  daughters.  Kicliard, — 
Tlioy  shall  be  praying  nuns,  not  weeping  queens; 
And  tiiercfore  level  not  to  hit  their  lives. 

K.Rit:ft.  You  have  a  daughter  calTd — Elizabeth, 
Virtuous  and  fair,  royal  and  gracious. 

Q.EJiz.  .\nd  must  she  die  tor  this?  O.  let  her  live, 
And  ril  corrupt  her  manners,  stain  her  beauty  ; 
.^lander  mysell'.  as  liilse  to  Edward's  bed ; 
Throw  over  her  the  veil  of  infamy  : 
So  she  may  live  unscarr'd  of  b!ce(lin,g  slaughter, 
1  will  coMli'ss  she  was  not  Edward's  daughter. 

A'. -Wic^.  Wrong  not  her  birth.slieisofroyal  blood. 

Q.  E'iz,  To  save  her  life.  I'll  say — she  is  not  so, 

A'.  Rick.  Her  life  is  salbst  only  in  her  birth. 

Q.  Ellz.  And  only  in  that  safety  died  her  brothers. 

K-  Rich.  Lo,  at  their   births,  good  stars   were 
opposite. 

Q.  Eliz.  No,  to  their  lives  bad  friends  were  con- 
trary. 

K.  Rich.  All  unavoided''  is  the  doom  of  destiny. 

Q.  Eliz.  True,  when  avoided  grace  makes  destiny: 
My  babes  were  destined  to  a  fairer  death. 
If  grace  had  bless 'd  thee  with  a  fairer  lile. 

AT.  Rich.  You  speak,  as  if  tliat  I  had  sl.ain  my 
cousins. 

Q.  Eliz.  Coiisins,  indeed  ;  and   by   their  uncle 
cozen'd 
Of  comfort,  kingdom,  kindred,  freedom,  life. 
Whose  hands  soever  lanced  their  tender  hearts, 
Tiiy  head,  all  indirectly,  gave  direction  : 
No  doubt  the  murderous  knife  was  dull  and  blunt, 
Till  it  was  whetted  on  thy  stone-hard  heart, 
To  revel  in  the  entrails  of  my  lambs. 
But  that  still"  use  of  grief  makes  wild  grief  tame, 
My  tongue  should  to  thy  ears  not  name  my  boys, 
Till  that  my  nails  were  anchor'd  in  thine  eyes ; 
And  I.  in  such  a  desperate  bay  of  death. 
Like  a  poor  bark,  of  sails  and  tackling  reft. 
Hush  all  to  pieces  on  thy  rocky  bosom. 

K.  Rich.  Madam,  so  thrive  I  in  my  enterprise, 
And  dangerous  success  of  bloody  wars. 
As  I  intend  more  good  to  you  and  yours, 
Tlian  ever  you  or  yours  by  me  were  harm'd  ! 

Q.  Eliz.  What  good  is  cover'd  with  tlie  face  of 
heaven. 
To  be  discovcr'd,  that  can  do  me  good  ] 

K.  Rich.   The   advancement  of  jour  children, 
gentle  lady. 

Q.  Eliz.  Up  to  some  scaffold,  there  to  lose  their 
lieads  ] 

K.  Rich.  No,  to  the  dignity  and  hejght  of  fortune. 
The  high  imperial  type  of  this  earth's  glory. 

Q.  Eli*  Flatter  my  sorrows  with  report  of  it ; 
Tell  me.  what  state,  what  dignity,  what  honor. 
Canst  thou  demise^  to  any  child  of  mine  ] 

K.  Rich.  l'2ven  all  I  have;  ay.and  myself  and  all. 
Will  1  withal  endow  a  child  of  thine  ; 
So  in  the  Lethe  of  thy  angry  soul 
Thou  drown  the  sad  remembrance  of  those  wrongs, 
Wliich  thou  supposest,  I  have  done  to  thee. 

Q.  Eliz.  Be  brief,  lest  that  the  process  of  thy 
kindness 
Last  longer  telling  than  thy  kindness'  date. 

K.  Rich.  Then  know,  that  from  my  soul  I  lo^e 
thy  daughter. 

Q.  Eliz.  My  daughter's  mother  thinks  it  with  her 
soul. 

K.  Rich.  What  do  you  think  ? 

Q.  Eliz.  That  thou  dost  love  my  daughter  from 
thy  soul. 
So,  from  thy  soul's  love,  didst  thou  love  her  brothers. 
And,  from  my  heart's  love,  I  do  thank  thee  for  it. 

K.  Rich.  Be  not  so  hasty  to  confound  my  mean- 
ing: 
I  mean,  that  with  my  soul  I  love  thy  daughter. 
And  do  intend  to  make  her  queen  of  England. 

Q.  Eliz.  Well  then,  who  dost  thou  mean  shall 
be  her  king  ! 

A'.  Rich.  Even  he,  that  makes  her  queen:  Who 
else  shouki  be  ] 

Q.  Eliz.  What,  thou  ' 

A'.  Rich.  Even  so :  What  think  you 

of  it,  madam? 

Q.  Eliz.  How  canst  thou  woo  her  ? 

A'.  Rich.  That  I  would  learn  of  you. 

As  one  being  best  acquainted  with  her  humor. 

Q.  Eliz.  And  wilt  thou  learn  of  me  ! 

A.  Rich.  Madam,  with  all  my  heart. 

« Unavoiil;ibIe.  'Cuust;\Gt.  >  Hequeath. 


Q.  Eliz.  Send  to  her,  by  the  man  that  slew  her 

brothers, 
A  pair  of  bleeding  hearts;  thereon  engrave, 
Edward,  and  York  ;  then,  haply,9  will  she  weep: 
Therefore  present  to  her, — as  sometime  Margaret 
Did  to  thy  father,  steep'd  in  Rutland's  blood, — 
A  handkerchief;  which,  say  to  her,  did  drain 
The  purple  sap  from  her  sweet  brother's  body, 
And  bid  her  wipe  her  weeping  eyes  withal. 
If  this  inducement  move  her  not  to  love. 
Send  her  a  letter  of  thy  noble  deeds  ; 
Tell  her.  thou  mad'st  away  her  uncle  Clarence, 
Her  uncle  Rivers;  ay,  and  for  her  sake, 
Mad'st  quick    conveyance   with    her    good  aunt 

Anne. 
K.Rich.  You  mock  me,  madam ;  this  is  net  the 

way 
To  win  your  daughter. 

Q.  Eliz.  There  is  no  other  way ; 

Unless  thou  couldst  put  on  some  other  shape, 
And  not  be  Richard  that  hath  done  all  this. 
K.  Rich.  Say,  that  I  did  all  this  for  love  of  hei  1 
Q.  Eliz.  Nay,  then   indeed,  she  cannot  choi/?e 

but  have  thee. 
Having  bought  love  with  such  a  bloody  spoil. 
A'.  Rich.   Look,  what  is  done  cannot  be  now 

amended  ; 
Men  shall  deal  un.advisedly  sometime-s, 
Which  aller-hours  give  leisure  to  repent. 
If  I  did  take  the  kingdom  from  your  sons. 
To  make  amends,  I'll  give  it  to  vour  daughter. 
If  I  have  kill'd  the  issue  of  your  womb. 
To  quicken  your  increase,  I  will  beget 
Mine  issue  of  your  blood  upon  your  daughter. 
A  grandam's  name  is  little  less  in  love. 
Than  is  the  doting  title  of  a  mother  ! 
They  are  as  children,  but  one  step  below. 
Even  of  your  mettle,  of  your  very  blood  ; 
Of  all  one  pain,— save  for  a  night  of  groans 
Endur'd  of  her,  for  whom  you  bid  like  .sorrow. 
Your  children  were  vcvation  to  your  youth. 
But  mine  shall  be  a  comfort  to  your  age. 
The  loss  you  have,  is  but— a  son  being  king. 
And,  by  that  loss,  your  daughter  is  made  queen 
1  cannot  make  you  what  amends  I  would. 
Therefore  accept  such  kindness  as  I  can. 
Dorset,  your  son,  that  with  a  fearful  soul, 
Leads  discontented  steps  in  foreign  soil, 
This  lair  alliance  quickly  shall  call  home 
To  high  promotions  and  great  dignity  : 
The  king.thatcallsyour  beauteous  daughter— wife, 
FamiUarly  shall  call  thy  Dorset— brother ; 
Again  shall  you  be  mother  to  a  king. 
And  all  the  ruins  of  distressful  times 
Repair'd  with  double  riches  of  content. 
What !  we  have  many  goodly  days  to  sec: 
The  liquid  drops  of  tears  that  you  have  shed. 
Shall  come  again,  transform'd  to  orient  pearl ; 
.\dv,intaging  their  loan,  with  interest 
Of  ten-times  double  gain  of  happiness. 
Go,  then,  my  mother,  to  thy  daughter  go ; 
Make  bold  her  bashful  year's  with  your  experience, 
Prepare  her  ears  to  hear  a  wooer's  tale : 
Put  in  her  tender  heart  the  aspiring  flame 
Of  golden  sovereignty;  acquaint  the  princess 
With  the  sweet  silent  hours  of  marriage  joys  : 
.And  when  this  arm  of  mine  hath  ch  jstiscd 
The  petty  rebel,  dull-brain'd  Buckingham, 
Bound  with  triumphant  garlands  will  I  come. 
And  lead  thy  daughter  to  a  conqueror's  bed  ! 
To  whom  I  will  retail  my  conquest  won. 
And  she  shall  be  sole  vict'ress,  Cajsar's  C.fsar. 
Q.  Eliz.  What  were  I  best  to  say  ?  her  father's 

brother 
Would  be  her  lord?  Or  shall  1  say.  her  uncle  ? 
Or,  Jie  that  slew  her  brothers  andhcr  uncles? 
Under  what  title  shall  I  woo  for  thee. 
That  Ood,  the  law,  my  honor,  and  her  love. 
Can  make  seem  pleasing  to  her  tender  years  ? 
A".  Rich.  Infer  fair  England's  peace  by  this  alliance. 
Q.  Eliz.  Which  she  shall  purchase  with  still  last- 
ing war. 
A'.  Rich.  Tell  her,  the  king,  that  may  command 

entreats. 
Q.  Eliz.  That  at  her  hands,  which  the  king's  King 

forbids.'  • 

A.  Rich.  Say,  she  shall  be  a  high   and  mighty 

queen. 

Perhaps.  *Ia  the  Levitioal  L.iw,  chap,  xviii.  14. 


Scene  IV. 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


473 


Q.  Eli:.  To  wail  the  litlc  as  licr  mother  doth. 

K.  Rick.  Say,  I  will  luve  her  everhistiniily. 

Q.  Eliz.  Rut  liciw  long  sliall  that  title,  ever,  lasf! 

K.  Rich.  Sweetly  in  Ibrce  unto  her  lair  life's  end. 

Q.  Eli:.  But  how  long  fairly  shall  her  sweet  life 
last ! 

K.  Ricli.  As  long  as  heaven,  and  nature,  length- 
ens it. 

Q.  Eli:.  As  long  as  hell,  and  Richard,  likes  of  it. 

A'.  Rich.  Say, I, her  sovereign, am  hcrsubject  low. 

Q.  Eli:.  ISutshe,  your  subject,  loathes  such  sove- 
reignty. 

A'.  Rirh.  Be  eloquent,  in  my  behalf,  to  her. 

Q.  Eli:.  An  honest  tale  speeds  best,  being  plain- 
ly told. 

A'.  Rich.  Tlien,  in  plain  terms  tell  her  my  loving 
tale. 

Q.  Ell:.  Plain,  and  not  honest,  is  too   harsh  a 
style. 

A'.  Rich'.  Your  reasons  are  too  shallow,  and  too 
quick. 

Q.  Eli:.   O    no,  my  reasons  are  too  deep  and 
dead  ; — 
Two  deep  and  dead,  poor  infants,  in  their  graves. 

A'.  Rich.  Harp  not  on  that  string,  madam,  that  is 
past. 

Q.  Eli:.  Harp  on  it  still  shall  I  till  heart-strings 
break. 

A'.  Rich.  Xow,  hy  my  George,  my  garter,^  and 
my  crown, — 

Q.  Eli:.    Profau'd,   dishonor 'd,    and    the   third 
usurp'd. 

K.  Rich.  I  swear. 

Q.  Eli:.  By  nothing  ;  for  this  is  no  oath. 

Thy  (icorge,  profan'd,  hath  lost  his  holy  honor; 
T!i\  garter,  blemish'd.  pavvn'd  his  knightly  virtue; 
Thy  crown,  usurp'd,  disgraced  his  kingly  glory  : 
It  something  thou  wouldst  swear  to  be  believ'd, 
fe  wear  then  by  something  that  thou  hast  not  wrong*d, 

K.  Rich.  Now,  by  the  world, — 

Q.  Eliz.  'Tis  full  of  thy  foul  wrongs. 

A'.  Rich.  My  father's  death, — 

Q.  Eli:.  Thy  life  hath  that  dishonor'd. 

J\.  Rich.  Then,  by  myself, — 

Q.  Eli:.  Thyself  is  sell-misused. 

A'.  Rich.  Why  then,  by  God,— 

Q.  Eli:.  God's  wrong  is  most  of  all. 

If  thou  hadst  fear'd  to  break  an  oath  by  him. 
The  uiiily,  the  king  thy  brother  made, 
Hail  not  been  broken,  nor  my  brother  slain  ; 
If  thou  hadst  tear'd  to  break  an  oath  by  him, 
Tlie  imperial  metal,  circling  now  thy  head. 
Had  graced  the  tender  temples  of  my  child  ; 
And  both  the  princes  had  been  breathing  here. 
Which  now,  two  tender  bed-fellows  lor  dust. 
Thy  broken  laith  hath  made  a  piey  for  worms. 
What  canst  thou  swear  by  now  ? 

A'.  Rix-h.  By  the  time  to  come. 

Q.  Eli:.   That  thou  hast  wronged   in  the  time 
o'erpast ; 
For  I  myself  have  many  tears  to  wash 
Hercal^er  time,  for  time  past,  wrong'd  by  thee. 
The  children  live,  whose  parents  thou  hast  slaugh- 

ter'd. 
Ungovern'd  youth,  to  wail  it  in  their  age: 
The  parentslive,whosechildrentiiou  hast  butcher'd. 
Old  barren  plants,  to  wail  it  in  their  age  : 
Swear  not  by  time  lo  come ;  for  that  thou  hast 
Misused,  ere  used,  by  times  ill-used  o'er-past. 

A'.  Ric^.  As  1  intend  to  prosper  and  repent. 
So  thrive  I  in  my  dangerous  attempt 
Of  hostile  arms  !  myself  myself  confound  ! 
Heaven,  and  Ibrtune,  bar  nic  happy  hours! 
Day  yield  me  not  thy  light;  nor  night,  thy  rest! 
Be  opposite  all  planets  of  good  luck- 
To  my  proceeding,  if,  with  pure  heart's  love. 
Immaculate  devotion,  holy  thoughts, 
I  tender  not  thy  beauteous  princely  daughter  ! 
In  her  consists  my  happiness,  and  thine  ; 
Without  her,  follows  to  myself,  and  thee. 
Herself,  the  land,  and  many  a  christian  soul. 
Death,  desolation,  ruin,  and  decay  : 
It  cannot  be  avoided,  but  by  this; 
It  will  not  be  avoided,  but  by  this. 
Theri'fore,  dear  mother,  (I  must  call  you  so,) 
Be  the  attorney  of  my  love  to  her. 
Plead  what  I  will  be.  not  what  I  have  been ; 
Not  my  deserts,  but  what  I  will  deserve: 

'The  ensigns  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter. 


Urge  the  necessity  and  state  ot  times, 
And  be  not  peevish^  Ibund  in  great  designs. 
Q.  Eli:.  Shall  1  be  tempted  of  the  devil  thus? 
AT.  Rich.  Ay,  if  the  devil  tempt  thee  to  do  good. 
Q.  Eli:.  .Shall  I  Ibrget  m\'self  to  be  myself  I 
AT.  Rich.  Ay,  if  yoursell's  remembrance  wrong 

yourself. 
Q.  Eliz.  But  thou  didst  kill  my  children. 
K.  Rich.  But  in  your  daughter's  womb  I  bur) 
them  : 
Where,  in  that  nest  of  spiscry,^  they  shall  breed 
Selves  of  themselves,  to  your  recomforture. 
Q.  Eli:.  Shall  I  go  win  my  daiigiiterto  thy  willl 
A'.  Jiich.  And  be  a  happy  mother  by  the  deed. 
Q.  Eli:.  1  go. — Write  to  me  very  shortly, 
And  }ou  shall  understand  from  me  her  mind. 
A'.  Rich.  Bear  her   my  true  love's  kiss,  and  so 
I'urewell.  [Kis.^ing  her.    E.vif  Q.  Eliz. 

Relenting  tool,  and  shallow,  changing — woman  ! 
How  now  !  what  news  ] 

Enter  R.VTCLIFF ;  Cvvy^s-b\  fuUou'ing. 
Rat.  Most  mighty  sovereign,  on  the  western  coast 
Rideth  a  puissant  navy;  to  the  shore 
Throng  many  doubtful  hollow-hearted  friends, 
Unarni'd.  and  unresolv'd  to  beat  them  back: 
'Tis  thought  that  Richmond  is  their  admiral; 
And  there  they  hull,  expecting  hut  the  aid 
Of  Buckingham,  to  welcome  them  ashore. 
A.  Aic/i.  Some  light-loot  friend  post  to  the  duke 
of  Norlblk:— 
Ratclifi;  thyself, — or  Catcsby  ;  where  is  Re  % 
Cate.  Here,  my  good  lord. 
K.  Rieh.  Catesby,  fly  to  the  duke. 

Cate.  1  will,  my  lord,  with  all  convenient  haste. 
A'.  Rich.  Ratclilt.  come  hither  :  Post  to  Salisbury; 
When  thou  com'st  thither, — Dullunmindfulvillain, 

[To  Catksbv. 
Why  stay'st  thou  here,  and  go'st  not  to  the  duke? 
Cate.  First,  mighty  liege,  tell  me  your  highness' 
pleasure. 
What  from  your  grace  I  shall  deliver  to  him. 
K.Rich.  (1.  true,  good  Catesby;— Bid  him  levy 
straight 
The  greatest  strength  and  power  he  can  make. 
And  meet  mc  suddenly  at  Salisbury. 
Cate.  I  go.  [  Exit 

Rut.  What,  may  it  please   you,  shall   1   do   at 

Salisbury  f 
A".  Rich.  Why,  what  wouldst  thou  do  there,  be- 
fore I  go  f 
Rat.  Your  highness  told  me,  I  should  post  before 

Enter  Stanley. 
A'.  Rich.  My  mind  is  changed. — Stanley,  what 

news  with  you  T 
Stan.  None  good,  my  liege,  to  please  you  with 
the  hearing ; 
Nor  none  so  bad,  but  well  may  be  reported. 

K.Rich.  Heyday,  a  riddle !  neither  good  nor  bad ! 
What  need'st  thou  run  so  many  miles  about. 
When  thou  mayst  tell  tliy  tale  the  nearest  way  ? 
Once  more,  what  news  I 
Stan.  Richmond  is  on  thf  seas. 

A.  Rich.  There  let  him  sink,  and  be  the  seas  on 
him  ! 
White-liver'd  run.igate.  v\hat  doth  he  there? 
Stan.  I  know  not,  mighty  sovereign,  but  by  guess, 
A.  Rich.  Well,  as  you  guess  ] 
Stan.  Stirr'd   up  by   Dorset,  Buckingham,  and 
Morton, 
He  makes  tor  England,  here  to  claim  the  crown. 
K.  Rich.  Is  the  chair  empty  1  is  the  sword  un- 
sway'd  ? 
Is  the  king  dead  ?  the  empire  unpossess'd  ? 
What  heir  of  York  is  there  alive,  but  we  ? 
And  who  is  England's  king,  but  great  York's  heir? 
Then,  tell  me,  what  makes  he  upon  the  seas? 
.S7«n.  Unless  for  that,  my  liege,  1  cannot  guess. 
K.  Rich.  Unless  tor  that  he  comes  to  be  your  liege, 
You  cannot  guess  wherefore  the  Welshman  comes. 
Thou  wilt  revolt,  and  lly  to  him,  I  fear. 

Stan.  No,  mighty  liege  ;  theretbre  mistrust  me 

not. 
A'.  Rich.  Where  is  thy  power  then,  to  beat  him 
back  ] 
Where  be  thy  tenants,  and  thy  followers  ? 
Are  they  not  now  upon  the  western  shore. 
Safe-conducting  the  rebels  I'roni  their  ships? 
*  Foolish-  *  The  pha^nix's  nest. 


474 


KING   RICHARD  III. 


Act  V. 


Stan.  No,  my  good  lord,  my  friends  are  in  the 

nortii. 
A'.  Rich.  Cold  friends  to  me :  what  do  they  in 
the  north. 
When  they  should  serve  their  sovereign  in  the 
west? 
Slan.  They  have  not  been  commanded,  mighty 
king: 
PIea.scth  your  majesty  to  give  me  leave, 
I'll  muster  up  my  friends;  and  meet  your  grace, 
Where,  and  what  time,  your  majesty  sliall  please. 
K.llicli.  Ay,  ay,  tliou  wouldst  be  one  to  join  with 
llichmond : 
I  will  not  trust  you,  sir. 

t.7«H.  Most  mighty  sovereign. 

You  iiave  nocause  tohold  my  triendship  doubtful; 
I  never  was,  nor  never  will  be  false. 
K.  Rich.  Well,  go,  muster  men.    But,  hear  you, 
leave  behind 
Your  son,  George  Stanley;  look  your  heart  be  firm, 
Or  else  his  head's  assurance  is  but  frail. 
Slan.  So  deal  with  him,  as  I  prove  true  to  you. 
[Exil  Stanley. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  My  gracious  sovereign,  now  in  Devonshire, 
As  1  by  friends  am  well  advertised. 
Sir  Edward  Courteney,  and  the  haughty  prelate, 
Bisluip  of  Exeter,  his  elder  brother, 
Willi  many  more  conlederates,  are  in  arms. 

Enter  anutJier  Messenger. 

2  Mess.  In  Kent,  my  liege,  the  Guildfords  are  in 

arms ; 
And  every  hour  more  competitors' 
Klock  to  the  rebels,  and  their  power  grows  strong. 

Enter  anot/ier  Messenger. 

3  Mess.  My  lord,  the  army  of  great  Bucking- 

ham— 

K.  Ricti.  Out  on  ye,  owls  !  nothing  but  songs  of 

death?  [He  strikes  him. 

There,  take  thou  that,  till  thou  bring  better  news. 

3  Mess.  The  news  I  have  to  tell  your  majesty, 
Is, — that,  by  sudden  floods  and  fall  of  water.s, 
Buckingham's  array  is  dispers'd  .and  scatter'd* 
And  he  himself  wander'd  away  alone. 
No  iinin  knows  whither. 

A'.  Rich.  0. 1  cry  you  mercy : 

There  is  my  purse  to  cure  that  blow  of^ thine. 
Hath  any  well-advised  friend  proclaim'd 
Reward  to  him  tliat  brings  the  traitor  in1 

3  Mess.  Such  proclamation  hatii  beau  made,  my 
liege. 


Enter  another  Messenger. 
4  Mess.  Sir  Thomas  Lovel,  and  lord  marquis 
Dorset, 
'Tis  said,  my  liege,  in  Yorkshire  are  in  arms. 
But  this  good  comtort  bring  I  to  your  liigtiness,— 
The  Bretagne  navy  is  dispers'd  by  tempests; 
Richmond,  in  Dorsetshire,  sent  out  a  boat. 
Unto  the  shore,  to  ask  those  on  the  banks, 
If  they  were  his  assistants,  yea,  or  no; 
Who  answer'd  him,  they  came  from  Buckingham 
Upon  his  party:  he,  mistrusting  them, 
Hois'd  sail,  and  made  his  course  again  for  Bre- 
tagne. 
K.  Rieh.  March  on,  march  on,  since  we  are  tip 
in  arms ; 
If  not  to  tight  witli  I'oreign  enemies. 
Yet  to  beat  down  these  rebels  here  at  home. 
Enter  Catesby. 
Cate.  My  liege,  the  duke  of  Buckingham  is  taken, 
That  is  tlie  best  news;  That  tlie  earl  of  Richmond 
Is  with  a  mighty  jiower  landed  at  Millijrd, 
Is  colder  news,  but  yet  they  must  be  told. 
K.  Rich.  .-Vway  towards  Salisbury;  while  we  rea- 
son here, 
A  royal  battle  might  be  won  and  lost:— 
Some  one  take  order,  Buckingham  be  brought 
To  Salisbury ; — the  rest  march  on  with  me. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  V. — A  Rnom  in  Lord  Stanley's  House. 
Enter  Stanley,  and  Sir  Christopher  Urswick.' 
Stan.  Sir  Ciiristopher,  tell  Richmond  this  from 
me: — 
That,  in  tiie  sty  of  this  most  bloody  boar. 
My  son  George  Stanley  is  Irank'ds  up  in  hold  ; 
If  I  revolt,  off  goes  young  George's  head; 
The  fear  of  tliat  witliholds  my  present  aid. 
But,  tell  me.  wiiere  is  princely  Richmond  now? 
Chris.  At  Pembroke, oratHa'rford-west, in  Wales. 
Siun.  What  men  of  name  resort  to  him  ? 
t'hrvi.  Sir  Walter  Herbert,  a  renowned  soldier; 
Sir  Gilbert  Talbot,  sir\Villiam  Stanley  ; 
Oxford,  redoubted  Pembroke,  sir  James  Blunt, 
And  Rice  ap  Thomas,  with  a  valiant  crew  ; 
And  many  other  of  great  fame  and  worth  : 
And  towards  London  do  they  bend  their  course, 
If  by  the  way  they  be  not  ibught  withal. 
Stan.  Well,  hie  thee  to  thy  lord  ;  commend  me 
to  him; 
Tell  him,  the  queen  hath  heartily  consented 
He  shall  espouse  Elizabeth  her  daughter. 
These  letters  will  resolve  him  of  my  mind. 
Farewell.  [Gives  Papers  to  Sir  Cuiustopher. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— Salisbury.    An  open  Plaex. 

Enter  the  Sherifl',  and  Guard,  with  Buckingham, 
It'i  to  Execution. 

Buck.  Will  not  king  Richard  let  me  speak  with 
him  ? 

Shfr.  No,  my  good  lord ;  therefore  be  patient. 

Buck.  Hastings,  and  Edward's  children.  Rivers, 
Grev, 
Holy  king  Henry,  and  thy  fair  son  Edward, 
Vaiighan.and  ail  that  have  miscarried 
By  uiiilerhand  corrupted  foul  injustice; 
If  that  your  moody  discontented  souls 
Do  through  the  clouds  behold  this  present  hour, 

Even  tin"  revenge  mock  my  destruction  ! 

This  is  All-Souls'  day,  fellows,  is  it  not? 

Slier.  It  is,  my  lord. 

Ruck.  Why,  then  All-Souls'  day  is  my  body's 
doomsday. 
This  is  the  day,  which,  in  King  Edward  s  time, 
1  wish'd  might  fall  on  ine.  when  I  was  found 
False  to  his  children,  or  his  wile's  allies: 
This  is  the  day,  wherein  I  wish'd  to  full 
By  the  false  faith  of  him  whom  most  1  trusted; 
This,  this  All-Souls'  day  to  my  fearful  soul, 
Is  the  determin'd  respite  of  my  wrongs.'' 
That  high  All-seer  which  I  da'llied  with, 

•  Asso"iates.  '  Injurious  practices. 


Hath  turned  my  feigned  prayer  on  my  head. 
And  given  in  earnest  what  1  begg'd  in  jet. 
Thus  doth  he  force  the  swords  of  wicked  men 
To  turn  their  own  points  on  their  masters'  bosoms: 
Thus  Margaret's  curse  tails  heavy  on  my  iieek, — 
JVhen lie.qunthshc. shall s]il it Ihi/ heart  wit fisorruu; 
Remember  Margaret  teas  a  prophetess. — 
Come,  sirs,  convey  me  to  the  block  of  shame. 
Wrong  hath  but  wrong,  and  blame  the  due  of  blame. 
[Exeunt  Buckingham,  ^c 

SCENE  U.— Plain  near  Tamvvorth. 
Enter,  with  Drum  and  Colors,  Richmond,  Oxford, 
Sir  James  Blunt,  Sir  Walter  Herueri',  and 
others,  with  Forces,  marching. 
Richm.  Fellows  in  arms,  and  my  most   loving 
friends, 
Bruis'd  underneath  the  yoke  of  tyranny. 
Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 
Have  we  inareh'd  on  without  impediment; 
And  here  receive  we  from  our  father  Stanley 
Lines  of  fair  comfort  and  encouragement. 
The  wretched,  bloody,  and  usurping  boar, 
Tliat  spoii'd  yonrsummer fields, and  fruitful  vines, 
Swiibi  your  warm  blood  like  wash,  and  makes  his 
trough 
'Chaplain  to  the  countess  of  Rii-hmonii. 
"  A  frank  is  a  sty  iu  which  bogs  are  fattened 


Scene  III. 


KING   RICHARD.  III. 


475 


In  your  embowcli'd  bosoms,  this  foul  swine 
Lies  now  even  in  Uie  centre  oftliis  isle, 
Near  to  the  town  of  Leicester,  as  we  learn: 
From  Tannvorth  thither,  is  but  one  day's  march. 
In  God's  name,  checrly  on,  courageous  friends, 
To  reap  llie  harvest  of  perpetual  peace 
By  this  one  bloody  trial  of  sharp  war. 

OjJ    Every   man's    conscience    is    a    thousand 
swords, 
To  fight  a-iainst  that  bloody  homicide. 

Ilei-h.  I  iloubt  not,  but  his  friends  will  turn  to  us. 
llluut.  He  hath  no  friends,  but  who  are  friends 
(or  fear; 
Which,  in  his  dearest  need,  will  fly  from  him. 
Jikhm.  All    lor  our   vantage.    Then,  in  God's 
name,  marcli; 
True  hope  is  swilt,  and  Hies  with  swallow's  wings, 
Kinj^s  It  inalvcs  gods,  and  meaner  creatures  Idngs. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— Bosworth  Field. 
Enter  Ki.vG  Rich.vkd,  ami  Forces;  the  Duke  of 
Nc'UFOLK,  Eakl  of  SfUREY,  ami  otiiera. 
K.  Ric/i.  Here  pitch  our  tents,  even  here  in  Bos- 
worth Held. — 
My  lord  of  .Surrey,  why  look  you  so  sad] 
^•!«■.  My  heart  is  ten  limes  hghter  than  my  looks. 

A'.  RicA.  My  lord  of  Norl'olk, 

■t^'or.  Here,  most  gracious  liege. 

K.  Rich.  Norlblk,  we  must  have  knocks ;  Ha  ! 

must  we  not] 
Aar.  We  must  botli  give  and  take,  my  loving  lord. 
K.Ricli.  Up  with  my  tent:  Here  will  I  lie  to- 
night; 
ySuldicr.^  begin  to  set  up  tli£  King's  tent. 
But  where,  to-morrow  !— Well,  all's  one  for  that.— 
Who  hath  descried  the  number  of  the  traitors  .' 
Aor.  Six  or  seven  thousand  is  their  utmost  power. 
A..  Ricli.  Why,  our  battalia  trebles  that  account: 
Besides,  the  king's  name  is  a  tower  of  strength, 
Which  they  upon  the  adver.se  faction  want. 
Up  with  the  tent. — Come,  noble  gentlemen. 
Let  ys  survey  the  vantage  of  the  ground  ;— 
Call  for  some  men  of  sound  directions  : — 
Let's  want  no  discipline,  make  no  delay  ; 
For,  lords,  to-morrow  is  a  busy  day.  [Exeunt. 

Enter,  on  the  otiier  Side  nf  tlie  Field,  Riciimoxd, 

SiK  William  Buasdox.  Oxford, aiirf  otiier  Lords. 

Some  (iftlie  Soldiers  pitc/i  Richmosd's  Tent. 

Riclim.  The  weary  sun  hath  made  a  golden  set. 
And,  by  the  bright  track  of  his  fiery  car. 
Gives  token  of  a  goodly  day  to  morrow.— 
Sir  William  Brandon, you  shall  bear  my  standard.— 
Give  me  some  ink  and  paper  in  my  tent ; 
I'll  draw  the  form  and  model  of  our  battle, 
Limit  each  leader  to  his  several  charge. 
And  part  in  just  proportion  our  small  power. 
My  lord  of  O.xford,- you,  sir  William  Brandon,— 
And  you,  sir  Waller  Herbert,  stay  with  me  : 
The  earl  of  Pembroke.keeps  his  regiment ; 
Good  captain  Blunt,  bear  iny  good  night  to  him, 
And  by  the  second  hour  in  the  moiniiig 
Desire  the  earl  to  see  me  in  my  tent  :— 
Vet  one  thing  more,  good  captain,  do  for  me  ; 
Where  is  lord  Stanley  quarter'd,  do  you  know  ? 

Blunt.  Unless  1  have  mista'en  his  colors  much, 
(\\  Inch,  well  I  am  assur'd.  I  have  not  done,) 
Ills  resilient  lies  half  a  mile  at  least 
South  liom  the  mighty  power  of  the  king. 

Richni.  If  without  peril  it  be  possible. 
Sweet  Blunt,  make  some  good  means  to  speak 

with  him. 
And  give  him  from  me  this  most  needful  note. 

Blunt.  Upon  my  life,  my  lord,  I'll  undertake  it ; 
And  so,  God  give  you  quiet  rest  to-night ! 

Richni.  Good  night,  good  captain  Blunt.    Come, 
gentlemen. 
Let  us  consult  upon  to-morrow's  business  ; 
In  to  my  tent,  the  air  is  raw  and  cold. 

[Theij  withdraw  into  the  Tent. 

Enter,  to  his  Tent,  King  Richard,  Norfolk,  Rat- 
cliff,  and  Catesby. 
K.  Rich.  What  is't  o'clock? 

Cate.  It's  supper  time,  my  lord: 

Its  nine  o  clock. 

A".  Rich.  I  will  not  sup  to-night.— 

Oive  me  some  ink  and  paper.— 


What,  is  my  beaver  easier  than  it  was? — 
Anil  all  my  armor  laid  into  my  tent  ? 

Cute.  It  Is,  my  liege;  and  all  things  are  in  readi 
ness. 

K.  Rich.  Good  Norfolk,  hie  thee  lo  thy  charge ; 
Use  carel'ul  watch,  choose  trusty  sentinels. 

Nur.  I  go,  my  lord. 

A'.  Rich.  Stir  with   the  lark  to-morrow,  gentle 
Norfolk. 

Kor.  I  warrant  you.  my  lord.  [Exit. 

K.  Rich.  Ratclili; 

Rat.  My  lord  ? 

K.  Rich.  Send  out  a  pursuivant  at  arms 

To  Stanley's  regiment;  bid  hmv bring  hir  power 
Before  sun-rising,  lest  his  son  George  lall 
Into  the  blind  cave  of  eternal  night. — 
Fill  me  a  bowl  of  wine. — Give  me  a  watch  :' — 

\  To  Catesby 
Saddle  white  Surrey  for  the  field  to-morrow. — 
Look  that  my  stavesi  be  sound,  and  not  too  heavy 
Katclifi; 

Rat.  My  lord? 

K.  Rich.  Saw'st  thou  the  melancholy  lord  North- 
umberland I 

Rat.  Thomas  the  earl  of  Surrey,  and  himself. 
Much  about  cock-shut^  time,  Irom  troop  to  troop 
Went  through  the  army, cheering  up  the  soldiers. 

A.  Rich.  1  am  sat  ished.    Give  me  a  bowl  of  wine  : 
I  have  not  Ihat  alacrity  of  spirit. 
Nor  cheer  of  mind,  that  1  was  wont  to  have.— 
So,  set  It  down. — Is  ii;k  and  paper  ready  ! 

Rat.  It  is,  my  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Bid  my  guard  watch  ;  leave  me. 

About  the  mid  of  night,  come  to  my  tent, 
.4nd  help  to  arm  me.^Leave  me,  I  say. 

[King  Richard  retires  into  Ais-  Tent.    Exeunt 
Ratcliff  and  Catesbv. 

Richmond's  Tent  open,^.  and  discovers  him,  and 
hit  OlHccrs,  ^-c. 
Enter  Stanley. 

Stan.  Fortune  and  victory  sit  on  Ihv  helm  ! 

Richm.  .\11  comlbrt  that  the  dark  night  can  alford, 
Be  to  thy  person,  noble  father-in-law  ! 
Tell  me,  how  fares  our  loving  mother  ? 

Stan.  1,  by  attorney,  bless  thee  from  thy  mother 
Who  prays  continually  for  Richmond's  good  : 
So  much  for  that.— The  silent  hours  steal  on, 
And  flaky  darkness  breaks  within  the  east. 
In  brief,  lor  so  the  season  bids  us  be. 
Prepare  thy  battle  early  in  the  morning; 
And  put  thy  fortune  to  the  arbitrement 
01  bloody  strokes,  and  mortal-staring  war. 
I,  as  I  may,  (that  which  I  would,  I  cannot,) 
With  best  advantage  will  deceive  the  time, 
.\nd  aid  thee  in  this  doubtliil  shock  of  arms: 
But  on  thy  side  I  may  not  be  too  forward. 
Lest,  being  .seen,  thy  brother  tender  George 
Be  executed  in  his  lather's  sight. 
Farewell :  The  leisure  and  the  fearful  time 
Cuts  otllhe  ceremonious  vows  of  love, 
-And  ample  interchange  of  sweet  discourse. 
Which  so  long-sunder'd  friends  should  dwell  upon 
God  give  us  leisure  for  these  rites  of  love  ! 
Once  more,  adieu:— Be  valiant,  and  speed  w^ell. 

^Richm.  Good  lords,  conduct  him  to  his  regiment : 
I  11  strive,  with  troubled  thoughts,  lo  lake  a  nap  ; 
Lest  leaden  slumber  peise'  me  down  to-morrow, 
When  I  should  mount  with  wings  of  victory  : 
Once  more,  good  night,  kind  lords  and  gentlemen. 
[Exeunt  Lords,  ^c.  with  Stanley 
O  Thou  !  whose  caj.laiii  I  account  myself, 
Look  on  my  forces  with  a  gracious  eye; 
Put  in  their  hands  thy  brui.sing  irons  of  wrath, 
That  they  may  crush  down  with  a  heavy  fall 
The  usurping  helmets  of  our  adversaries  ! 
Make  us  thy  ministers  of  chastisement. 
That  we  may  praise  thee  in  the  victory ! 
To  thee  I  do  commend  my  watchful  soul. 
Ere  I  let  fall  the  windows  of  mine  eyes; 
Sleeping,  and  waking,  0,  defend  me  still !  [Sleeps. 
The    Ghost  (f  Prince    Edward,  son    to    Henry 
THE  Si.xTH,  ri^es  between  the  two  Tents. 

Ghost.  Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow  . 
„,  .   ,    ,        .  ,  [To  King  Richard. 

inink,  how  thou  stab'dstmeinmy  prime  of  youth 
At  Tewksbury;  Despair,  therefore,  and  die  !— 

'  ~   V;?*:''i-"ii'it-  '  Wood  of  the  lances. 

'  Twilight.  s  Wtib'h. 


476 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


Act  V 


Be  cheerful,  RiehmonJ  ;  lor  the  wronged  souls 
Of  butcher'd  princes  tight  in  thy  beliulf: 
King  Henry's  issue,  Richmond,  comforts  thee. 
The  Ghost  of  King  Hesrv  tiik  Sixth  rises. 
Ghost.  When  I  was  mortal,  my  anointed  body 
{Tn  King  Richard. 
By  thee  was  punched  full  of  deadly  holes : 
Think  on  the  Tower,  and  me  ;  Despair,  and  die  ! 
Harry  the  Sixth  hids  thee  despair,  and  die.— 
Virtuous  and  holy,  be  thou  conqueror! 

[To  Richmond. 
Harry,  that  prophesied  thou  shouldst  be  king. 
Doth  comlbrt  thee  in  thy  sleep;  Live, and  flourish! 

The  Ghost  of  Clarence  rises. 
Ghnd.  Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow! 
[To  KixR  Richard. 
I,  that  was  wash'd  to  death  with  fulsome  wme, 
Poor  Clarence,  by  thy  guile  betray'd  to  death  ! 
To-morrow  in  tlie  battle  think  on  me. 
And  fall  thy  edgeless  s«foid  ;  Despair,  and  die  !— 
Thou  ollspring  of  the  house  of  Lancaster, 

[Tu  Richmond. 
The  wronged  heirs  of  York  do  pray  for  thee  ; 
Good  angels  guard  thy  battle!  Live,  and  llourish! 

The  Ghosts  o/' Rivers,  Grey,  and  Vaughan,  rise. 
Riv.  Let  me  sit  heavy  on  thy  soul  to-morrow, 

[TuKiNG  Richard. 
Rivers,  that  died  at  Pomfret!  Despair,  and  die! 
Grey.  Tliink  upon  Grey,  and   let  Ihy  soul  de- 
spair! [To  King  Richard. 
Vaugh.  Think  upon  Vaughaii;  and,  with  guilty 
tear. 
Let  fall  thy  lance  !  Despair,  and  die  !— 

[To  King  Richard. 
All.  Awake!  and  think,  our  wrongs  in  Richard's 
bosom  [7'»  Richmond. 

Will  conquer  him;— Awake,  and  win  the  day  ! 
The  Ghost  (;/' Hastings  rises. 
Chosl.  Bloody  and  guilty,  guiltily  awake; 

[To  King  Richard. 
And  in  a  bloody  battle  end  thy  days ! 
Think  on  lord  Hastings  ;  and  despair,  and  die  !— 
Ciuiet  untroubled  soul,  awake,  awake  ! 

[7'«  Richmond. 
Arm,  fight,  and  conquer,  for  fair  Ehgland's  sake! 

The  Ghosts  ofihe  two  young  Princes  rise. 
Ghosts.  Dream  on  thy  cousins  smother'd  in  the 
Tower; 
Let  us  be  lead  within  thy  bosom,  Richard, 
And  weigh  thee  down  to  ruin,  shame,  and  death! 
Thy  nephews'  souls  bid  thee  despair,  and  die.— 
Sleep,  Richmond,  sleep  in  peace,  and  wake  in  joy; 
Good  angels  guard  thee  from  the  boar's  annoy  ! 
Live,  and  beget  a  happy  race  of  kings! 
Edward's  uiiliappy  sons  do  bid  thee  flourish. 
The  Ghost  o/Qi:een  Anne  rises. 
Ghost.  Richard,  thy  wife,  that  wretched  Anne, 
thy  will?. 
That  never  slept  a  quiet  hour  witji  thee, 
Now  fills  thy  sleep  with  perturbations: 
To-morrow  in  the  battle  think  on  mc. 
And  fall  thy  edgeless  sword  ;  Despair,  and  die  !— 
Thuu,  quiet  soul,  sleep  thou  a  quiet  sleep  ; 

[To  Richmond. 
Dream  of  success  and  happy  victory; 
Thy  adversary's  wife  doth  pray  for  thee. 
TAf  Ghost  of  BiCKiNGHAM  rises. 
Ghost.  The  first  was  I,  that  helji'd  thee  to  the 
crown  ;  [To  Kino  Richard. 

Tlu'  last  was  I,  that  felt  thy  tyranny  : 
(I,  111  ilie  battle  think  on  Biiekinghain, 
Ami  die  in  terror  of  thy  guiltiness! 
Dream  on,  dream  on,  of  bloody  deeds  and  death  ; 
Fainting,  despair;  desjjairing',  yield  thy  breath!— 
•  I  died  for  hope,  ere  I  could  lend  thee  aid  : 

[To  Richmond. 
But  cheer  thy  heart,  and  be  Ihnii  not  dismay'd  : 
God.  and  good  ongels,  light  on  Richinoud's  side; 
And  Richard  falls  in  height  of  all  his  pride. 

[The  Ghosts  vanish.    King  Richard  starts 
out  of  his  Dream. 
K.  Rich.  Give  me  another  horse, — bind  up  my 
wounds, — 
Have  mercy,  Jesu  !— Soil ;  I  did  but  dieain.— 


0  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  aflliet  me  : — 
The  lights  burn  blue— It  is  now  dead  midnight. 
Cold  fearful  drops  stand  on  my  trembling  flesh. 
What  do  I  fear  f  myself?  there's  none  else  by  : 
Richard  loves  Richard ;  that  is,  I  am  I. 
Is  there  a  murderer  here  1  ^fo;— Yes;  I  am: 
Then   fly.— What,  from    myself!    Great    reason 

Whyi 
Lest  I  revenge.    What?    Myself  on  myself ' 

1  love  myself.    Wherefore  ?  for  any  good. 
That  I  myself  have  done  unto  myself! 
O,  no:  alas,  I  rather  hate  myself, 
Kor  hateful  deeds  committed  bymyself. 
I  am  a  villain  :  Yet  I  lie,  I  am  not. 
Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well :— Fool,  do  not  flatter. 
My  conscience  hath  a  thousand  several  torgues. 
And  every  tongue  brings  in  a  several  tale. 
And  every  tale  condemns  me  for  a  villain. 
Perjury,  perjury,  in  the  high'st  degree. 
Murder,  stern  murder,  in  the  dir'st  degree  ; 
All  several  sins,  all  used  in  each  degree. 
Throng  to  the  bar,  cryingall,— Guilty  !  guilty! 
I  shall  despair.— There  is  no  creature  loves  me; 
And,  if  I  die,  no  soul  will  pity  me  :— 
Nay.  wherefore  should  they?  since  that  I  myselt 
Fiiid  in  myself  no  pity  to  myself. 
Methought,  the  souls  of  all  that  I  had  murder  d 
Came  to  my  tent :  and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow's  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard 


Enter  Ratcliff. 

Rat.  My  lord. 

K.  Rich.  Who's  there? 

Ral.  Ratehir,  my  lord  ;  'tis  L    The  early  village 
cock 
Hath  twice  done  salutation  to  the  morn  ; 
Your  friends  are  up,  and  buckle  on  their  armor. 

A'.  Rich.  0,  Ratcliir,  I   have  dream'd  a    fearful 
dream  ! 
What  thinkest  thou?  will  our  friends  prove  all  true' 

Hot.  No  doubt,  my  lord. 

A'.  Rich.  Ratclitr,  I  fear,  I  fear,— 

Rat.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  be  not  afraid  of  sha 
dows. 

A'.  Rich.  By  the  apostle  Paul,  shadows  to-uight 
Have  struck  "more  terror  to  the  soul  of  Richard, 
Than  can  the  substance  often  thousand  soldiers, 
Armed  lu  proof,  and  led  by  shallow  Richmond. 
U  is  not  yet  near  day.    Come,  go  with  me ; 
Under  our  tents  I'll  play  the  eaves-dropper. 
To  hear,  if  any  mean  lo  shrink  from  me. 

[Exeunt  King  Richard  and  Ratcliff. 

Richmond  icalces.    Enter  Oxford  and  others. 

Lords.  Good  morrow.  Richmond. 

Richm.  'Cry  mercy,  lords,  and  watchful  gentle- 
men. 
That  you  have  ta'en  a  lardy  sluggard  here. 

Lords.  How  have  you  slept,  my  lord  ! 

Richm.  The  sweetest  sleep,  and  liiirest-boding 
dreams. 
That  ever  enter'd  in  a  drowsy  head, 
Have  I  since  your  departure  had.  my  lords. 
Methought,  tlieir  souls,  whose  bodies  Richard  mut    ^ 

der'd, 
Came  to  my  tent,  and  cried— On  !  victory  ! 
I  promise  you,  my  heart  is  very  jocund 
In  the  remembrance  of  so  fair  a  dream. 
How  far  into  the  morning  is  it,  lords  1 

Lords.  Upon  the  stroke  of  four. 

Richm.  Why,  then  'tis  time  to  arm.  and  give  di- 
rection.—  [He  advances  to  the  Troops. 
More  than  I  have  said,  loving  countrymen. 
The  leisure  and  enforcement  of  the  times 
Forbids  to  dwell  on  :  Vet  remember  this,— 
God,  and  our  good  cause,  fight  upon  our  side  ; 
The  prayers  of  holy  saints,  and  wrmiL'ed  souls. 
Like  high-rear 'd  bulwarks,  stand  before  our  faces; 
Richard  except,  those,  whom  we  light  against. 
Had  rather  have  us  win,  than  him  they  Ibllow. 
For  what  is  he  they  follow  ?  truly,  gentlemen, 
A  bloody  tyrant  and  a  homicide  ; 
One  rais'd  in  blood,  and  one  in  blood  establish  d ; 
One  that  made  means  to  come  by  what  he  hath. 
And  slaughter'd  those  that  were  the  means  to  lielp 

him; 
A  base  foul  stone,  made  precious  by  the  foil 
Of  England's  chair,  where  he  is  falsely  set; 
One  that  hath  ever  been  God's  enemy  : 


Scene  IV. 


KlXa   KICHARD   III. 


477 


Then,  if  you  fight  against  God's  enemy, 
God  will,  in  ju:^tice,  ward'  you  as  his  soldiers  ; 
If  you  do  sweat  to  put  a  tyrant  down, 
You  sleep  in  peace,  the  tyrant  bcinj?  slain ; 
If  you  do  fight  against  your  country's  foes, 
Your  country's  fat  shall  pay  your  pains  the  hire ; 
If  you  do  light  in  saleguard  of  your  .wives. 
Your  wives  shall  welcome  home  the  conquerors  ; 
If  you  do  free  your  children  from  the  sword, 
Your  children's  cliildren  quit^  it  in  your  age. 
Tiien,  in  the  name  of  God,  and  all  these  rights, 
Advance  your  standards, draw  your  willingswords: 
For  me,  the  ransom  of  my  bold  attempt 
Shall  be  this  cold  corpse  on  the  earth's  cold  face; 
But  if  I  thrive,  the  gain  of  my  attempt 
The  least  oi  you  shall  share  his  part  thereof. 
Sound,  drums  and  trumpets,  boldly  and  cheerfully; 
God,  and  Saint  George  I  Richmond,  and  victory  ! 

[Exeunt. 

Re-enter  Kixa   Richard.  Ratcliff,   Attendants, 
and  Forces. 

K.  Rich.  What  said  Northumberland,  as  touch- 
ing Richmond  ! 

Rat.  Tliat  lie  was  never  trained  up  in  arms. 

K.  Rick.  He  said  tJie  truth:  And  wJiat  said  Surrey 
then  f 

Rat.  He  stnil'd  and  said,  the  better  for  our  pur- 
^  pose. 

A'.  Rich.  He  wasi*  tJic  rigJU;  and  so.  indeed,  it  is. 

[  Clvck  strikes. 
Tell  tlie  clock  there. — Give  me  a  calendar. — 
Wiio  saw  the  sun  to-day  ] 

Rat.  Not  I,  my  lord. 

R.  Rich.  Tlien  he  disdains  to  shine;  for,  by  the 
book, 
He  should  have  brav'd  the  east  an  hour  ago: 
A  black  day  will  it  be  to  somebody.— 
Ratclili; 

Rat.  My  lord  1 

K.  Rich.  The  sun  will  not  be  seen  to-day  ; 

The  sky  doth  frown  and  lour  upon  our  army. 
I  would,  these  dewy  tears  were  from  the  ground. 
Not  shine  to-day!  Wiiy,  what  i.-;  thai  to  me. 
More  than  to  Richmond  1  ihv  the  seli-sanie  heaven, 
That  frowns  on  me,  looks  sadly  upon  him. 

Enter  Noufole. 

N(/7\  Arm,  arm,  my  lord;  the  foe  vaunts  in  the 
field. 

K.  Rich.  Come,  hustle,  bustle ;— Caparison  my 
liorse  ;— 
Call  up  lord  Stanley,  bid  him  bring  his  power: 
I  will  lead  furlh  my  soldiers  to  the  plain. 
And  tJius  my  baltk^  shall  be  ordL'ied. 
My  foreward  shall  be  drawn  out  all  in  length. 
Consisting  equally  of  horse  and  foot; 
Our  archers  shall  be  placed  in  the  midst: 
John  duke  of  Norfolk,  Thomas  earl  of  Surrey, 
Shall  have  the  leading  of  tJiis  foot  and  horse. 
They  thus  directed,  we  ourself  will  follow 
Vi  the  main  battle  ;  wiiose  puissance  on  either  side 
Shall  be  well  winged  witli  our  chielf-st  horse. 
Tliis,  and  Saint  George  to  boot!— What  think'st 
thou,  Norfolk  1 

Nor.  A  good  direction,  warlike  sovereign.— 
This  found  1  on  my  tent  this  morning. 

[Ginnis:  a  Scroll. 

K.  Ricii.  Jncki/  of  Nit)folky  he  not  too -bold,  [Reads. 
For  Dickon^  thy  master  w  bought  and  sold. 
A  thing  devised  by  the  enemy. — 
Go.  gentleman,  every  man  unto  his  charge : 
Let  not  our  babbling  dreams  alfright  our  souls  : 
Conscience  is  but  o  word  that  cowards  use. 
Devised  at  first  to  keep  the  strong  in  awe; 
Our  strong  arms  be  our  conscience,  swords  our  law. 
March  on,  join  bravely,  let  us  to't  pell-mell; 

If  not  to  heaven,  then  hand  in  hand  to  hell. 

What  shall  1  say  more  than  I  have  inferr'dl 
Remember  whom  you  are  to  cope  withal ; — 
\  sort"  of  vagabonds,  rascals,  and  run-aways, 
A  scum  of  Breta^'iies,  and  base  lackey  peasants, 
Whom  their  o'er-rloyeil  country  vomits  Ibrth 
To  desperate  ventures  and  assured  destruction. 
You  sleepiiiii^  s;iie.  they  bring  you  to  unrest ; 
You  havim;  hinds, iind  bless'dwith  beauteous  wives, 
They  would  restrain  the  one,  distain  the  other. 

*  fluarci.  *  Requite. 

6  The  anciaut  familiarization  of  lilchard.     '  Company. 


And  who  doth  lead  them,  but  a  paltry  fellow, 
Long  kept  in  Bretagne  at  our  mother's  cost  1 
A  milk-sop,  one  that  never  in  his  life 
Kelt  so  much  cold  as  over  shoes  in  snow  1 
Let's  whip  these  stragglers  o'er  the  seas  again  ; 
Lash  hence  these  over-weening  rags  of  France, 
These  famish'd  beg*jars,  weary  of  their  lives; 
Who,  but  for  dreaming  on  this  fi>nd  exploit. 
For  want  of  means,  poor  rats,  had  hang'd  them 

selves : 
If  we  be  conquer'd,  let  men  conquer  us. 
And  not  these  bastard  Bretagnes;  whom  our  fathers 
Have  in  their  own  land  beaten,  bobb'd.  and  tliump'd, 
And,  on  record,  left  them  the  heirs  oi  shame. 
Shall  these  enjoy  our  lands  !  he  with  our  wives  T 
Ravish  our  daughters  ? — Hark,  I  hear  tlieir  drum. 

[Drum  afar  off. 
Fight,  gentlemen  of  England!  fjghl,  bold  yeomen! 
Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to  the  head ! 
Spur  your  proud  horses  hard,  and  ride  in  blood  ; 
Amaze  the  welkin  witlj  y*ur  broken  staves ! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
What  says  lord  Stanley  I  will  he  bring  his  power? 

Mess.  My  lord,  he  doth  deny  to  come. 

K.  Rich.  Olfinstantly  with  his  son  George's  head. 

Nor.  My  lord,  the  enemy  is  pass'd  the  marsh; 
Aher  the  battle  let  George  Stanley  die. 

A'.  Rich.   A    thousand  hearts  are  great  within 
my  bosom : 
Advance  our  standards,  set  upon  our  foes  ; 
Our  ancient  word  of  courage,  fair  Saint  George, 
Inspire  us  with  the  spleen  of  liery  dragons  ! 
Upon  them!  Victory  sits  on  our  helms.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.— Another  Part  cf  the  Field. 
Alarum:   Excwsi/ms.     Enter  Norfolk,  and 

Forces  ;  to  him  Catesby. 
Cafe.  Rescue, my  lord  of  Norfolk, rescue, rescue! 
The  king  enacts  more  wonders  than  a  man 
Daring  an  opposite  to  every  danger  : 
His  horse  is  shiin,  and  all  on  foot  he  fights, 
Seeking  for  Richmond  in  the  tliroat  of  death; 
Rescue,  lair  lord,  or  else  the  day  is  lost ! 

Alarum.    Enter  King  Richari>. 
K.Rich.  A  horse  I  ahorse!  my  kingdom  for  a 

horse  ! 
Cafe.  Withdraw,  my  lord.  I'll  helpyoutoa  horse. 
A.'.  Rich.  Slave,  I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast, 
And  I  will  stand  the  Iiazard  of  the  die : 
I  lliink  thert^  be  six  Richmonds  in  the  field  ; 
Five  Jiave  I  slain  to-day  instead  of  him : — 
A  horse  I  a  horse !  my  kingdom  for  a  horse ! 

[Exeunt. 

Alarums.  Enter  King  Richard  and  Riphmond  ; 
and  exeunt  Jightiug.  Retreat,  and  Flourish. 
Then  enter  Richmond,  Stanley  bearing  the 
Crown,  with  divers  other  Lords,  and  Forces. 

Richm.  God.  and  your  arms,  be  prais'd,  victorious 
friends  ; 
The  day  is  ours,  the  bloody  dog  is  dead. 

iiian.   Courageous   Richmond,  well  hast    thou 
acquit  thee  I 
Lo,  here,  tiiis  !i)ng-usurped  royalty, 
From  tlie  di*ad  temples  of  this  bloody  wretch 
Have  1  pluck'd  olf  to  grace  thy  brows  withal; 
Wear  U,  enjny  it,  and  make  much  of  it. 

Richm.  Great  God  of  heaven,  say,  amen,  to  all : — 
Bill,  tell  me  first,  is  young  George  Stanley  livingl 

Htau.  He  is,  my  lord. and  safe  in  Leicester  town, 
Wliither,  ifit  please  you,  we  may  now  withdraw  us 

Richm.  What  men  of  name  are  slain  on  either 
side ! 

Sfati.  .lohn  duke  of  Norfolk,  Walter  lord  Ferrers 
Sir  Robert  Brackenbury, and  sir  William  Brandon 

Rij^hm.lnlvT  their  bodies  as  becomes  their  births, 
Proclaim  a  pardon  to  the  soldiers  fled, 
Tiiat  in  submission  will  return  to  us; 
And,  then,  as  we  Jiave  la'en  the  sacrament, 
We  will  unite  the  white  rose  with  the  red: 
Smile  heaven  upon  this  fiiir  conjunction. 
That  long  hath  frown'd  upon  their  enmity  ! — 
What  traitor  hears  mo,  and  says  not — Amen  ? 
England  liatii  long  been  mad,  and  scarr'd  herself; 
The  brother  blindly  shed  the  brother's  blood, 
The  father  rashly  slaughter'd  his  own  son, 


478 


KING   RICHARD   III. 


Act  V.  Scene  IV. 


The  son,  compeU'd,  been  butcher  to  the  sire  ; 

All  this  divided  Yorli  and  Lancaster, 

Divided,  in  their  dire  division. — 

O,  now,  let  Richmond  and  Elizabeth, 

The  true  succeeders  of  each  royal  house, 

By  God's  fair  ordinance  conjoin  together  ! 

And  let  their  heirs,  (God,  if  thy  will  be  so,) 

Enrich    the    time    to    come    witti    smooth-faced 

peace, 
With  smiling  plenty,  and  f;ur  prosperous  days! 


Abate  the  edge  of  traitors,  gracious  Lord, 
That  would  reduce  these  bloody  days  again. 
And  make  poor    England   weep    in    streams  o! 

blood ! 
Let  them  not  live  to  taste  this  land's  increase, 
That  would  with  treason  wound   this  fair  land's 

peace ! 
No\V  civil  wounds  are  stopp'd,  peace  lives  again: 
That  she  may  long  live  here,  God  say— Amen. 

[Ejceunt. 


4<f)     &' 


:&.mmm'. 


KING  IIENEY.  YIII. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 


King  Henry  the  Eighth. 

Cardinal  Wolsey. 

Cardinal  Campeius. 

Capdcius,  Ambassador  from  the  Emperor 

Cliarles  V. 
Grassier,  Archbishop  0/ Canterbury. 
Duke  of  Norfolk. 
Duke  of  Buckingham. 
Duke  of  Suffolk. 
Earl  of  Surrey. 
L(jrd  Chamberlain. 
Lord  Chunceflor. 

Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Winchester. 
Kisiiop  OF  Lincoln. 
Lord  Arergavenny, 
Loud  Sands. 
Sir  Henry  Guildford. 
Sir  Thomas  Lovell. 
Sir  Anthony  Denny. 
Sir  Nicholas  Vaux. 
Secretaries  to  Wolsey. 
Cromwell,  Servant  10  Wolsey. 


Griffith,  Gentleman-usher  to  Queen  Katharine. 

Three  other  Geiiltemen. 

Doctor  Hutts.  I'hiisieian  to  the  King. 

Garter  Kiuf^  at  Arms. 

Surveyor  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

Brandon,  and  a  Sergeant  at  Arms. 

Dour-lceeper  if  the  Council-chamber. 

Porter  and  Aw  Man. 

Page  to  Gardiner. 

A  Crier. 

Queen  Katharine,  Wife  to  King  Henry,  after- 

wards  divorced. 
Anne  Bullen,  tier  Maid  of  Honor;  afterwards 

Queen. 
An  old  Ladii.  Friend  to  Anne  Bullen. 
Patlence,  Woman  to  Queen  Katharine. 

Several  Lords  and  Ladies  in  the  dumb  shnws; 
Women  attending  upon  the  Queen;  Spirits, 
which  appear  to  tier;  Scribes,  Officers,  Guards, 
and  other  Attendants. 


SCENE,  chiefly  in  London  and  Westminster;  once  at  Kimbollon. 


PROLOGUE. 


I  come  no  more  to  make  you  laugh ;  things  now, 

That  bear  a  weighty  and  a  serious  brow. 

Sad,  high,  and  working,  lull  ol'stale  and  woe, 

Sucii  noble  scenes  as  draw  the  eye  to  liow. 

We  now  present.    Those  that  can  pity,  here 

May,  if  they  think  it  well,  let  liill  a  tear; 

The  subject  will  deserve  it.    Such  as  give 

Their  money  out  of  hope  they  may  believe, 

May  here  hnd  truth  too.    Those,  that  come  to  see 

Only  a  show  or  two,  and  so  agree. 

The  play  may  pass;  if  they  be  still  and  willing, 

I'll  undertake,  may  see  away  their  shilling 

Richly  in  two  short  hours.  ■  Only  they. 

That  come  to  hear  a  merry,  bawdy  play, 

A  noise  of  targets;  or  to  see  a  lellow 

In  a  long  motley  coat,  guarded'  with  j  ellovv. 


Will  be  deeeiv'd ;  for,  gentle  hearers,  know. 
To  rank  our  chosen  truth  with  such  a  show 
.\s  fool  and  hght  is,  beside  forfeiting 
Our  own  brains,  and  the  opinion  that  we  bring, 
(To  make  that  only  true  we  now  intend,-) 
Will  leave  us  never  an  understanding  friend. 
Therefore,  lor  goodness'  sake,  and  as  you  are  known 
The  first  and  happiest  hearers  of  the  town, 
Be  sad,  as  we  would  make  ye:  Tliink,  ye  see 
The  very  persons  of  our  noble  story, 
As  they  were  living;  think  you  see  them  great. 
And  follow'd  with  the  general  throng,  and  sweat, 
Of  thousand  friends :  then,  in  a  moment,  see 
How  soon  this  mightiness  meets  misery  ! 
And,  if  you  can  be  merry  then,  I'll  say, 
A  man  may  weep  upon  his  wedding  day. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE   I.— London.    An   Ante-chamber  m   the 
Palace. 

Enter  the  Duke  op  Norfolk,  at  one  door ;  at  the 

other  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  the  Lord 

Abergavenny. 

Buck.  Good  morrow,  and  well  met.    How  have 
you  done. 
Since  last  we  saw  in  France  1 

A'or.  I  thank  your  grace  : 

Healthful;  and  ever  since  a  fresh  admirer 
Of  what  I  saw  there. 

1  Larud. 


Buck.  An  untimely  ague 

Stay'd  me  a  prisoner  in  my  chamber,  when 
Those  suns  of  glory,  those  two  lights  of  men,^ 
Met  in  the  vale  of  Ardc. 

Nor.  'Twixt  Guynes  and  the  Arde: 

I  was  then   present,  saw  them  salute  on  horse- 
back; 
Beheld  them,  when  they  lighted,  how  they  clung 
In  their  euibraceuient,  as  they  grew  together; 
Which  had  they,  what  four  thron'd  ones  could  have 

weigli'd 
Such  a  compounded  one  1 
a  Pretend.  >  Henry  VIII.  and  Francis  I.,  kin;  of  Francs 

479 


480 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


Act  I. 


Buck.  All  the  whole  time 

I  was  my  cliamber's  prisoner. 

A^fw.  Then  you  lost 

The  view  of  earthly  glory  :  Men  might  say. 
Till  this  time,  pomp  was  single  ;  hut  now  married 
To  one  above  itself.    Each  following  day 
Became  the  next  day's  master,  till  the  lust 
Made  former  wonders  its  :  To-day,  the  French, 
All  eliuquant,-'  all  in  gold,  like  heathen  gods, 
Sliciii'  down  the  English;  and,  to-morrow,  they 
jM:hIi-  Britain,  India:  every  man  that  stood. 
Show  d  like  a  mine.    Tlicir  dwarfish  pages  were 
As  cherubim,  all  gilt :  the  madams  too, 
Not  used  to  toil,  did  almost  sweat  to  bear 
The  pride  upon  them,  that  their  very  labor 
Was  to  them  as  a  painting;  now  this  mask 
Was  cry'd  incomparable;  and  the  ensuing  night 
Made  it  a  fool,  and  beggar.    The  two  kings, 
Equal  in  lustre,  were  now  best,  now  worst. 
As  presence  did  present  them;  him  in  eye, 
Still  him  in  praise;  and,  being  present  both, 
Twas  said, they  saw  but  one;  and  no  discerner 
Durst  wag  his  tongue   in  censure.'    When  these 

suns 
(For  so  they  phrase  them)  by  their  heralds  chal- 
lenged 
The  noble  spirits  to  arms,  they  did  perform 
Beyond  thought's  compass;  that  Ibrmer  labulous 

story. 
Being  now  seen  possible  enough,  got  credit, 
That  BevisS  was  believ'd. 

Huck.  0.  you  go  far. 

Aw.  As  I  belong  to  worship,  arid  all'ect 
In  honor  honesty,  the  tract  of  every  thing 
Would  by  a  good  discourser  lose  some  hie. 
Which  action's  .self  was  tongue  to.   All  was  royal; 
To  the  disposing  of  it  nought  rebell'd, 
Order  gave  each  thing  view;  the  office  did 
Distinctly  his  full  function. 

Buck.  Who  did  guide, 

I  mean,  who  set  the  body  and  the  limbs 
Of  this  great  sport  together,  as  you  guess  ? 

i\'(jr.  One,  certes"  that  promises  no  element^ 
In  such  a  business. 

Buck.  I  pray  you,  who,  my  lordl 

Nor.  All  this  was  order'd  by  the  good  discretion 
Of  the  right  reverend  cardinal  of  York. 

Buck.  The  devil  speed  him  !   no   man's  pie  is 
free'd 
From  his  ambitious  finger.    What  had  he 
To  do  in  these  herce  vanities  1    I  wonder. 
That  such  a  keechii  can  with  his  very  bulk 
Take  up  the  rays  o'  Ihe  beneficial  sun, 
And  keep  it  from  the  earth. 

Nor.  Surely,  sir. 

There  s  in  him  .=tuft'that  puts  him  to  these  ends; 
For,  being  not  propp'd  by  ancestry,  (whose  grace 
Chalks  Successors  their  way,)  nor  call'd  upon 
For  high  feats  done  to  the  crown ;  neither  allied 
To  eminent  assislanec,  but.  spider-like, 
Out  of  Ins  self-drawing  weli,  lie  gives  us  note, 
The  force  of  his  own  liiciJl  makes  his  way  ; 
A  gift  tliat  heaven  gives  for  him,  which  buys 
A  jilace  ne.xt  to  the  king. 
.      Ahcr.  I  cannot  tell 

What  heaven  hath  given  him,  let  some  graver  eye 
Pierce  into  that;  but  1  can  see  his  pride 
Peep  through  each  part  of  him:    Whence  has  he 

that? 
If  not  fiom  hell,  the  devil  is  a  niggard ; 
Or  has  givert  all  before,  and  he  begins 
A  new  hell  in  himself. 

Buck.  Why  the  devil, 

Upon  this  French  going-out,  took  he  upon  him, 
Without  Ihe  privity  o'  the  king,  to  appoint 
Who  should  attend  on  him!    He  makes  up  the 

file  ^ 

Of  all  the  gentry;  for  the  most  part  such 
Too,  whom  as  great  a  charge  as  little  honor 
He  meant  lo  lay  upon :  and  his  own  letter,' 
The  iKMiiiialile  board  of  council  out, 
Must  lelch  liiin  in  the  papers. 

Alier.  I  do  know 

Kinsmen  of  mine,  three  at  the  least,  that  have 
By  this  so  sicken'd  their  estates,  that  never 
They  shall  abound  as  formerly. 

«  Glittering,  shining,  i  In  opinion,  which  was  most  noble. 
■  Sir  Ilevis,  an  old  romance.  i  tVrtninlv. 

•  Practice.  "Lump  of  fat. 

'  Sets  down  in  his  letter  without  consulting  the  council. 


Buck.  '  O,  many 

Have  broke  their  backs  with  laying  manors  on  them 
For  this  great  journey.    What  did  this  vanity, 
But  minisler  communication  oi' 
A  most  poor  issue  ] 

Nor.  Gricvinglv  I  think 

The  peace  between  the  French  and  us  not  values 
The  cost  that  did  conclude  it. 

Buck.  Every  man. 

After  the  hideous  storm  that  folluw'd,  was 
A  thing  inspir'd:  and,  not  consulting,  broke 
Into  a  general  prophecy,— That  this  tempest, 
Dashing  the  garment  of  this  peace,  aboded 
The  sudden  breach  on't. 

Nor.  Which  is  budded  out; 

For  France  hath  Haw'd  the  league,  and  hath  at- 

tach'd 
Our  merchants'  goods  at  Bourdeaux. 

-■l*f''-  Is  it  therefore 

The  abmassador  is  silenced  ] 

Aw-.  Marry,  is't. 

Alier.  A  proper  title  of  a  peace  ;  and  purchas'd 
At  a  superduous  rate  ! 

Buck.  Why,  all  this  business 

Our  reverend  cardinal  carried.- 

^(^.  'Like  it,  your  grace, 

The  state  takes  notice  of  the  private  difference 
Betwixt  you  and  the  cardinal.    I  advise  you, 
(And  take  it  from  a  heart  that  wishes  towards  you 
Honor  and  plenteous  safety.)  that  you  read 
The  cardinal's  malice  and  his  potency 
Together:  to  consider  further,  that 
What  his  high  hatred  would  efleet,  wants  not 
A  minister  in  his  power:  You  know  his  nature, 
That  he's  revengeful;  and  I  know,  bis  sword 
Haih  a  sharp  edge;  it's  long,  and,  it  in,ay  be  said, 
It  reaches  far;  and  where  'twill  not  extend. 
Thither  he  darts  it.    Bosom  up  my  counsel. 
You  11  find  it  wholesome.  Lo.wherecomesthatrock, 
That  I  advise  your  shunning. 

Enter  Cardinal  Wolsey,  {/he  Purse  borne  before 
hmi,)  certain  oj  the  Guard,  and  two  Secretaries 
vith  Pa/,ers.  The  Cardinal  in  hi.i  pa.^sage 
fixeth  tit-i  eye  on  Bitkixoiiam,  and  BuuiaNUHAM 
on  him,  both  full  if  disdain. 

IFo/.  The  duke  of  Buckingham's  surveyor !  hal 
Where  s  his  examination  ? 

I  Seer.  Here,  so  please  you. 

fVol.  Is  he  in  person  ready  ? 

\,^^'^''-    „  Ay,  please  your  grace. 

tVol.  Well,  we  shall  then  know  more ;  and  Buck- 
ingham 
Shall  lessen  this  big  look. 

„     ,        ..  Exeunt  WohSEY.  and  Train. 

Buck.  This   butchers  cur^  is  venom-moulh'd. 
and  1 
Have  not  the  power  to  muzzle  him  :  therefore  best 
Not  wake  him  in  his  .slumber.    A  beggar's  book 
Out-worths  a  noble's  blood. 

.  ^'"r.  ^  What,  are  you  chafed  ? 

Ask  God  for  temperance ;  that's  the  appliance  only, 
Which  your  disease  requires. 

Buck.  I  read  in  his  looks 

Matter  against  me;  and  his  eye  revil'd 
Me,  as  his  abject  object:  at  this  instant 
He  bores^  me  with  some  trick:  He's  gone  to  the 

king; 
1 11  follow,  and  out-stare  him. 
.  A''":-  Stay,  my  lord. 

And  let  your  reason  with  your  clioler  question 
What  tis  you  go  about;  To  climb  steep  lulls 
Requires  slow  pace  at  first :  Anger  is  like 
A  full-hot  horse ;  who  being  allow'd  his  way. 
Sell-mettle  tires  him.    Not  a  man  in  England 
Can  advise  me  like  you  ;  be  to  yourself 
As  you  would  to  your  friend. 
.  -Bi'cA:.  I'll  to  Ihe  king, 

And  trom  a  mouth  of  honor  quite  cry  down 
This  Ipswich  Icllow's  insolence  ;  or  proclaim, 
There's  dillerence  in  no  persons. 

^'»--  Beadvis'd: 

Heat  not  a  furnace  for  your  foe  so  hot 
That  it  do  singe  yourself;  We  may  out-run, 
By  violent  swiftness,  that  pdiich  w-e  run  at. 
And  lose  by  over-running.    Know  you  not. 
The  fire,  that  mounts  the  liquor  till  it  run  o'er. 
In  seeming  to  augment  it.  wastes  it  ]  Be  advis  d. 
I  say  again,  there  is  no  English  soul 
a  Conducted.  '  Wolsey  was  the  son  of  a  butcher.  «  Stabs. 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


481 


Wore  stronger  to  direct  jou  than  yourself; 
II'  w  ith  the  sap  of  reason  you  ^vouid  quench, 
Or  ijut  allay,  the  fire  of  passion. 

Buck.  Sir, 

1  am  thankful  to  you :  and  I'll  go  alon 
liy  your  prescription: — Ijut  this  top-proud  fellow, 
(VVIiom  from  the  (low  of  gall  I  name  not,  but 
From  sincere  motions.)  by  intelligence. 
And  proofs  as  clear  as  ibunts  in  July,  when 
We  see  each  grain  of  gravel,  I  do  know 
To  be  corrupt  and  treasonous. 
Nor.  Say  not,  treasonous. 

Buck.  To  the  king  I'll  say't;  and  make  my  vouch 
as  strong 
As  shore  of  rock.    Attend.    This  holy  fox. 
Or  woll,  or  both,  (for  he  is  equal  ravenous, 
As  he  is  subtle;  and  as  prone  to  niischieti 
As  able  to  pe]lt>rm  it;  his  mind  and  place 
liilecling  one  another,  yea,  reciprocally,) 
Only  to  show  his  pomji  as  well  in  France 
As  here  at  home,  suggests^  the  king  our  master 
To  this  last  costly  treaty,  the  interview. 
That  swallow'd  so  much  treasure,  and,  like  a  glass, 
Did  break  i'  the  rinsing. 
N'lir.  'Faith,  and  so  it  did. 

Buck.  Pray,  give  mc  lavor,  sir.    Tins  cunning 
cardinal 
The  articles  of  the  combination  drew, 
As  himself  pleas'd;  and  they  were  ratified. 
As  he  cried.  Thus  let  be  :  to  as  much  end. 
As  give  a  crutch  to  the  dead:  But  our  count-car- 
dinal 
Has  done  this,  and  'tis  well;  for  worthy  Wolsey, 
Who  cannot  err,  he  did  it.    Now  this  lollows, 
(Which,  as  1  take  it,  is  a  kind  of  puppy 
To  the  old  d.im,  treason.)— Charles  the  emperor, 
Under  pretence  to  see  the  queen  his  aunt, 
(For  'twas  indeed,  his  color;  but  he  came 
To  whisper  Wolsey,)  here  makes  visitation: 
His  lears  were,  that  the  interview,  betwixt 
Kngland  and  France,  might,  through  their  amity, 
Breed  him  some  prejudice;  for  from  tins  league 
I'ecp'd  arms  that  menaced  him  :  He  luivily 
Deals  with  our  cardinal;  and,  as  I  trow, — 
Which  I  do  well;  lor,  1  am  sure,  the  emperor 
raid  ere  heproinis'd;  whereby liissuitw<as granted, 
Ere  it  was  ask'd;— but  when  the  way  was  made. 
And  pav'd  with  gold,  the  emperor  thus  desir'd; — 
That  he  would  please  to  alter  the  king's  course 
And  break  the  alinesaid  peace.     Let  the  king  know, 
(As  soon  he  shall  by  mc,)  that  thus  the  cardinal 
Does  buy  and  sell  his  honor  as  he  pleases, 
And  for  his  own  advantage. 

Ayr.  I  am  son-y 

To  hear  this  of  him;  and  could  wish,  he  were 
Something  mistaken  iii't. 

Buck.  No,  not  a  syllable ; 

1  do  I'rronounce  him  in  that  very  shape. 
He  shall  appear  in  proof. 

Enfcr  Branpox  ;  o  8ergeant-at-Arms  heforc  him, 
and  two  or  three  of  the  Guunl. 

Bran.  Your  ollice,  sergeant ;  execute  it. 

&'"■«■•  Sir, 

My  lord  the  duke  of  Buckingham,  and  earl 
01  Herelord.  Stallord,  and  Northampton,  I 
Arrest  thee  of  high  treason,  in  the  name 
Of  our  most  sovereign  king. 

Buck.  Lo  you,  my  lord, 

The  net  has  liillen  upon  me;  I  shall  perish 
Under  device  and  practice.6 

Bran.  X  am  sorry 

To  see  you  ta  en  from  liberty,  to  look  on 
The  business  present:  'Tis  his  highness'  pleasure 
1  on  shall  to  the  Tower. 

Buck.  It  will  help  me  nothing. 

To  plead  min  5  innocence;  for  that  dye  is  on  me. 
Which  makes  my  whitest  part  black.    The  will  of 

hea^'(  ii 
Be  done  in  this  and  all  things!— I  obey.— 
0  my  lord  Aberga'iiy,  fare  you  well. 

Bran.  Nay,  he  nrust  bear  you  company:— The 
,king  [To  Abeuqavesny. 

Is  pleas  d,  you  shall  to  the  Tower,  till  you  know 
How  he  determines  further. 

Aber.  As  the  duke  said. 

The  will  of  heaven  be  done,  and  the  king's  plea- 
sure 
By  me  obey'd. 

•  Excites.  «  Unfair  straLigem. 

31 


Bran.  Here  is  a  warrant  from 

The  king,  to  attacli  lord  Montaciite;  and  the  bodies 
Of  the  duke's  conlessor,  John  de  la  Court, 
One  Gilbert  Peck,  his  chancellor, — 

Buck.  So,  so; 

These  are  the  limbs  of  tl'.e  plot:  no  more,  I  hope. 

Bran.  A  monk  o'  the  Charlreiix. 

Buck.  O,  Nicholas  Hopkins  1 

Bran.  He. 

Buck.  My  surveyor  is  false ;  the  o'er-great  car- 
dinal 
Hath  show'd  him  gold:  my  life  is  spann'd  already; 
I  am  the  shadow  of  poor  Buckingham; 
Wliose  figure  even  this  instant  cloud  puts  on. 
By  dark'ning  my  clear  sun.    My  lord,  farewell. 

[Kxeunt. 

SCENE  11.— The  Council-chamber. 
Cornets.      Enter   Kint.    IIkxuv,  CAnnixAL  Wol- 
sey, the    Lorils  {if  the    Council,   Sin    Thomas 
LovKLL.   Officers    and    Attendants.    The  Ki.SQ 
enters,  leaning  on  the  Cardinal's  shouliler. 
K.  Hen.  My  life  itself  and  the  best  heart  of  it. 
Thanks  you  lor  this  great  care:  I  stood  i'  the  level 
Of  a  full-charged  conlederacy,  and  give  thanks 
To  you  that  chok'd  it. — Let  be  call'd  belbrc  us 
■That  gentleman  of  Buckingham's:  in  person 
ril  hear  him  his  conlessions  justify; 
And  point  by  point  the  trciisons  of  his  master 
He  shall  again  relate. 

The  KiXfi  takes  his  Stale.  The  iMrds of  tlie  Council 
take  their  several  Bluces.  The  CAmny.\L  places- 
himself  under  ttie  King's  ftf/,  oh  hisrightSide. 
A  NoU!eu-ilhin,cr;/inf;,  Room  for  the  Queen.  Enter 
the  QiEEX,  uj/ifc'rf  //;/  the  Dvkes  of  Nor- 
folk and  Siffolk:  ihe  kneeh.  The  Kiso 
riseth  from  hi%  Stale,  takes  her  up,  kisses,  and 
placeth  her  by  him. 
Q.Kalh.  N.ay,  wc  must  longer  kneel;  I  ,"im  a 

suitor. 
K.  Hen.  Ari.se,  and  take  place  by  us:  Half  your 
suit 
Never  name  to  us  ;  you  have  half  our  power; 
The  other  moiety,  ere  you  ask,  is  given  ; 
Repeat  your  will,  and  take  it. 

y.  Kuth.  Thank  your  majesty. 

That  you  would  love  yourself;  and,  in  that  love, 
Not  unconsider'd  leave  your  honor,  nor 
The  dignity  of  your  om'ce,  is  the  point 
Of  my  petition. 
A'.  7/(7).  Lady  mine,  proceed. 

Q.  Kath.  I  am  solicited,  not  by  a  few. 
And  those  of  true  condition,  that  your  subjects 
Are  in  great  grievance:  there  hath  been  commis- 
sions 
Sent  down  among  them,  which  hath  flaw'd  the  heart 
Of  all  their  loyalties  : — wherein,  although, 
My  good  lord  cardinal,  they  vent  reproaches 
Most  biiterly  on  you,  as  putter-on 
111  ihi-se  exactions,  yet  the  king  our  master 
(Whose  honor  Heaven  shield  from  soil!)  even  he 

escapes  not 
Language  unmannerly,  yea,  such  which  breaks 
The  sides  of  loyalty,  and  almost  appears, 
In  loud  rebellion. 

AVjr.  Not  almost  appears 

It  doth  appear;  for,  upon  these  taxations. 
The  clothiers  all,  not  able  to  maintain 
The  many  to  them  'longing,  liave  put  off' 
The  spinsters,  carders,  fullers,  weavers,  who. 
Unlit  Hir  other  life,  compell'd  by  hunger 
And  lack  of  other  means,  in  desperate  manner 
Daring  the  event  to  the  teeth,  are  all  in  u])roar. 
And  danger  serves  among  them. 

A',  lien.  Taxation! 

Wherein  ?  and  what  taxation  1 — My  lord  cardinal, 
Vou  that  are  blamed  f>r  it  alike  with  us. 
Know  you  of  this  taxation  ! 

IVol.  Please  you,  sir, 

I  know  but  of  a  single  part,  in  aught 
Pertains  to  the  state  ;  and  front  but  in  that  file 
Where  others  tell  steps  with  me.' 

y.  Kath.  No,  my  lord. 

You  know  no  more  than  others:  but  you  frame 
Things  that  are  known  alike;  which  are  not  whole- 
some 
Tothosewhich  would  not  know  them,  and  yet  must 
1 1  am  ouly  oue  among  the  other  counsellors. 


482 


KING   HENRY   VIIL 


Act  I. 


Perforce  be  their  acqaaiutance.    These  exactions, 
Whereof  ray  sovereijiii  would  have  note,  they  are 
Most  pestilent  to  the  hearing;  and  to  bear  them, 
The  back  is  saeiihce  to  the  load.   .They  say. 
They  are  devis'd  by  you ;  or  else  you  suiter 
Too  haid  an  exclamation. 

A'.  }[en.  Still  exaction! 

Tlie  nature  of  it  1    In  what  kind,  let's  Juiow, 
Is  this  exaction  1 

Q.  Kaih.  I  am  much  too  venturous 

In  Lempting  of  your  patience;  but  am  boIdenM 
Under  your  promis'd  pardon.    The  subject's  grief 
Comes  through  commissions,  which  compel  from 

each 
The  sixth  part  of  his  substance,  to  be  levied 
AVithoLit  delay  ;  and  the  pretence  for  this 
Is  named,  your  wars  in  France:  This  makes  bold 

mouths: 
Tonguesspitthcirdutiesout.andcold  hearts  freeze 
Allegiance  in  them  ;  tlicir  curses  now 
Live  where  their  prayers  did;  and  it's  come  to  pass, 
Tliat  tructable  obedioncs  is  a  slave 
To  each  incensed  will.    I  would,  your  highness 
Would  give  it  quick  consideration,  for 
There  is  no  primer^  business. 

A'.  Hen.  By  my  life, 

This  \A  against  our  pleasure. 

Wot.  And  for  me, 

I  have  no  farther  gone  in  this,  than  by 
A  single  voice;  and  that  not  pass'd  me,  but 
By  learned  approbation  of  the  judges. 
If  1  am  traduced  by  tongues,  vv-hieh  neither  know 
My  lacuitics,  nor  person,  yet  will  be 
Tlie  chronicles  of  my  doiu^, — let  me  say, 
'Tis  but  the  fate  of  place,  and  the  rough  brake^ 
TIuU  virtue  must  go  through.    We  must  not  stint 
Our  necessary  actions,  in  the  fear 
To  cope'  malicious  censurers;  whichever. 
As  ravenous  fishes,  do  a  vessel  follow 
That  is  new  trimm'd;  but  benelit  no  further 
Than  vainly  longing.    AV'^hat  we  ofl  do  best, 
By  sick  interpreters,  once-  weak  ones,  is 
Kot  ours,  or  not  allow'd  ;3  what  worst,  as  ofl. 
Hitting  a  grosser  quality,  is  cried  up 
For  our  best  act.    If  we  shall  stand  still, 
In  fear  our  motion  will  be  mock'd  or  carp'd  at. 
We  should  take  root  licre  where  we  sit,  or  sit 
State  statues  only. 

A',  ketj.  Things  done  well, 

And  with  a  care,  exempt  themselves  from  fear ; 
Tbnigs  done  without  example,  in  their  issue 
Are  to  be  fear'd.     Have  you  a  precedent 
(tf  this  commission  ?     I  believe,  not  any. 
We  must  not  rend  our  subjects  from  our  laws, 
And  stick  them  in  our  will.    Sixth  part  of  each? 
A  trembling  contribution  !  Why,  we  take, 
From  every  tree,  lop,  bark,  and  part  o'  the  timber; 
And  though  we  leave  it  with  a  root,  thus  hack'd, 
The  atr  will  drink  the  sap.    To  every  couniy, 
Where  this  is  questioned,  send  our  le'tters,  with   . 
Free  pardon  to  each  man  that  has  denied 
The  tbrce  of  this  commission:  Pray,  look  to't; 
1  iiut  it  to  your  care. 

Wot.  A  word  with  you.  {To  the  Secretary. 

Let  there  be  letters  writ  to  every  shire. 
Of  the  king's  grace  and  pardon.    The  griev'd  com.- 

mons 
Hardly  conceive  of  me;  let  it  be  nois'd, 
Tb.it.  through  our  intercession,  this  revokement 
And  pardon  comes:  I  shall  anon  advise  you 
Further  in  the  proceeding.  \_Exit  Secretary. 

Eater  Surveyor. 

Q.  Kaih.  I  am  sorry  that  the  duke  of  Buckingham 
Is  run  in  your  displeasure. 

K.  ihn.  It  grieves  many : 

Tlie  >;entleman  is  learn'd,  and  a  most  rare  speaker, 
To  nature  none  more  bound  ;  his  training  such. 
That  he  may  furnish  and  instruct  great  teachers, 
And  never  seek  for  aid  out  of  himself. 
Yet  see 

When  these  so  noble  benefits  shall  prove 
Not  well  dispos'd,the  mind  growing  once  corrupt, 
They  turn  to  vicious  forms,  ten  times  more  ugly 
Tlian  ever  they  were  fair.    This  man  so  complete. 
Who  was  enrolt'd  'nicingst  wonders,  and  when  we, 
Almost  with  ravisii'd  listening,  could  not  tind 
His  hour  of  speech  a  minute  ;  he,  my  lady, 

«  More  important.    »  Thicket  of  thorus.     '  Knt-ount^r. 
aScuietimo  =  Approved. 


Hath  into  monstrous  habits  put  the  gracea 
That  once  were  his,  and  is  become  as  black 
As  if  besmear'd  in  hell.    Sit  by  us:  you  shall  heai 
(This  was  his  gentleman  in  trust)  of  him 
Things  to  strike  honor  sad. — Bid  him  recount 
The  fore-recited  practices;  whereof 
We  cannot  leel  too  little,  hear  loo  much. 

IVol.  Stand   forth;  and   witJi   bold  spirit  relate 
what  you, 
Most  like  a  careful  subject,  have  collected, 
Out  of  tlie  duke  of  Buckingham.     » 
K.  Hen.  ^  Speak  freely. 

Surih  First,  it  was  usual  with  him,  every  day 
It  would  infect  his  speech,  That  if  the  king 
Should  without  issue  die,  he'd  carry  it  so 
To  make  the  sceptre  his  :  These  very  words 
I  have  heard  him  utter  to  his  son-in-law, 
Lord  Aberga'ny;  to  whom  by  oalh  he  menaced 
Revenge  upon  the  cardinal. 

JVoL  Please  your  highness,  note 

This  dangerous  conception  in  this  point. 
Not  friended  by  his  wish,  to  your  high  person 
His  will  is  most  malignant ;  and  it  stretches 
Beyond,  you,  to  your  friends. 

Q.  Kaih.  My  learn'd  lord  cardinal, 

Deliver  all  with  charity. 

K.  Hen.  Speak  on  : 

How  grounded  he  his  title  to  the  crown, 
Upon  our  fail  1  to  this  point  hast  thou  heard  him 
At  any  time  speak  aught  1 

Hiirv.  He  was  brought  to  this 

By  a  vain  prophecy  of  Nicliolas  Hopkins. 
A'.  Hen.  What  was  that  Hopkins  1 
Surv.  Sir,  a  Chartreux  friar. 

His  confessor,  who  fed  him  every  minute 
With  words  of  sovereignty. 
K.  Hen.  How  know'st  Ihou  this  1 

.S(^rr.NotIongbeforeyourhighnesssiied  to  France, 
The  duke  being  at  the  llose,-*  within  tlie  parish 
Saint  Lawrence  Poultney,  did  of  me  demand 
What  was  the  speech  amongst  the  Londoners 
Concerning  the  French  journey  :  I  replied. 
Men  tear'd,  the  French  wouUl  prove  perfidious, 
To  the  king's  danger.    Presently  the  duke 
Said,  'Tvvas  the  fear, indeed;  and  that  he  doubted, 
'Twould  prove  the  verity  of  certain  words 
Spoke  by  a  holy  monk;  That  oft,  .says  he. 
Hath  .sent  to  me,  ivishing  me  io  permit 
John  dt  la  Court,  my  chaplain,  a  chtnce  hour 
To  hear  from  him  a  matter  <f  .wnie  moment : 
IVlwm  after  iiniter  the  C0f7ff:''swn\s  seal 
He  si>leninhj  had  sworn,  tliai  wtiat  he  spoke. 
My  chaplain  to  no  creature  living,  hut 
To  me,  should  utter,  ivith  demure  ctmfidence 
Thus  pausing!  y  ensud, — Neither  the'king,  nor  his 

heirs  J 
[Tell  ynu  the  duke,)  shall  prosper :  bid  him  sir^iue 
To  gain  the  love  of  the  commonalty;    tlie  duke 
Shall  govern  England. 

Q.  Kaih.  If  I  know  yon  well. 

You  were  the  duke's  surveyor,  and  lost  your  office 
On  the  complaint  o'  the  tenants:  Take  good  heed, 
You  charge  not  in  your  spleen  a  noble  person, 
And  spoil  your  nobler  soul !  I  say,  take  heed  ; 
Yes,  heartily  beseech  you. 

A".  Hen.  Let  him  on  : — 

Go  forward. 

Surv.  On  my  soul,  I'll  speak  but  truth. 

I  told  my  lord  the  duke.  By  the  devil's  illusions 
The  monk  might  be  deceiv'd ;  and  that  'twa^  dan 

gerous  for  him, 
To  ruminate  on  this  so  far,  until 
It  forged  him  some  design,  which,  being  believ'd. 
It  was  much  like  to  do:    He  auswer'd.  Tush.' 
If  can  do  me  no  damage:  adding  turlher. 
That,  had  the  king  in  his  last  sickness  lall'd. 
The  cardinal's  and  sir  Thomas  Lovell's  heads 
Sliould  have  gone  olL 
A'.  Hen.  Ha  !  what,  so  rank  ?  Ah,  ha  ! 

There's  mischief  in  this  man: Canst  thou  say 

further  ] 
Suri'.  I  can,  my  liege. 
K.  Hen.  Proceed. 

Surv.  •    Being  at  Greenwich, 

Alter  your  highness  had  reprov'd  the  duke 
About  sir  William  Blomer, — 

AT.  Hen.  I  remember. 

Of  such  a  time  : — being  my  servant  sworn. 
The  duke  retain'd  him  bis.— But  ou;  What  hence  ^ 
«  Now  Merchant  Taylors'  Schocl. 


Scene  IV. 


KING   HENRY  VIII. 


483 


Surv.  /^.  quoth  he,  Tfor  fhvt  had  heen  commitfed. 
As  fo  the  Tower.  I  'h'ni^kt,—[  tvou/d  fuive  plat/'d 
The  part  mij  father  mcaut  fo  act  upon 
The  usurper' RWuird:  wko,  being  at  Salisbury, 
Made  sutl  to  come  in  his  presence ;  ivhichifgrantedj 
As  he  made  semhiance  of  kis  dutt/,  would 
Have  put  his  knife  into  kirn. 

K.  Hen.  A  giant  traitor ! 

W'd.  Now,  madam,  may   his  highness  live   in 
freedom, 
And  this  man  out  of  prison  ! 

Q.  Kafh.  God  mend  all ! 

K.Htn.  There's  something  more  would  out  of 
tliee;  What  say'st  ] 

Surv.    After — the    duke    Ais   father, — with    the 
knife,— 
He  stretch  d  him,  and,  with  one  hand  on  his  da?:ser, 
Another  spread  on  his  hreast.  mounting  his  eyes, 
He  did  di~;chars:e  a  horrihle  oath  whose  tenor 
Was, — Were  he  evil  used,  he  would  out-go 
His  tiather,  by  as  much  as  a  performance 
Does  an  in-esolutc  purpose. 

K.  Hen.  There's  his  period, 

To  sheath  his  knife  in  us.    He  is  attach'd  ; 
Call  him  to  prcseni  trial :  if  he  may 
Find  mercy  in  the  law,  'tis  his  ;  if  "none, 
Let  him  not  scek't  of  us:  By  day  and  night. 
He's  traitor  to  the  lieight.  [Exeunt. 

SC'fcN'E  III.— /I  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chainherlain,  and  Lord  Sands. 

Cham.  Is  it  possible,  the  spells  of  France  should 
juggle 
Men  into  such  strange  mysteries  : 

Sands.  New  customs, 

Though  they  he  never  so  ridiculous, 
Na_v,  let  them  be  unmanly,  yet  are  follow'd. 

Cham.  As  far  as  1  see,  all  the  good  our  English 
Have  got  by  the  late  voyage,  is  but  merely 
A  tit'  or  two  o'the  face;  but  they  are  shrewd  ones; 
For  when  they  hold  them,  you  would  swear  directly 
Their  very  noses  had  lieeu  counsellors 
To  Pepin,  or  Clothatiu^,  they  keep  state  so 

Stands.  They  have  at!  new  legs,  and  lame  ones  ; 
one  would  take  it, 
Tiiat  never  saw  them  pace  before,  the  spavin, 
A  springhalt^  reign'd  among  them. 

Cham.  Death  !  my  lord, 

Their  clothes  are  atter  such  a  pagan  cut  too, 
Tiiat,  sure,  they  have  worn  out  Christendom.    How 

now  ? 
What  news,  sir  Thomas  LoveK  1 

Enter  Sir  Thomas  Lovell. 

Lov,  'Faith,  my  lord, 

I  hear  of  none  but  the  new  proclamation 
That's  clapp'd  upon  the  court-gate. 

Cham.  What  is't  for  ? 

Lor.  The  reformation  of  our  travell'd  gallants, 
Thiit  till  the  court  with  quarrels,  talk,  and  tailors. 

Cliam.  I  am  glad,  'tis  there;  now  1  would  pray 
our  nionsieurs 
To  lliink  an  English  courtier  may  be  wise, 
And  never  see  the  Louvre.'^ 

Lov.  They  must  either 

(For  so  run  the  conditions)  leave  these  remnants 
Of  tool,  and  leather,  that  they  got  in  France, 
With  all  their  honorable  points  of  ignorance, 
Pertaining  thereunto,  (as  fights,  and  fireworks; 
Abusing  better  men  than  they  can  be. 
Out  of  a  foreign  wisdom,)  renouncing  clean 
The  faith  they  have  iu  tennis,  and  tall  stockings. 
Short  blister'd  breeches,  and  those  types  of  travel, 
And  understand  again  like  honest  men; 
Or  pack  to  their  old  playfellows  :  there,  I  take  it, 
Tliey  may,  cum  privHegio,^  wear  away 
The  lag  end  of  their  lewdness,  and  be  laugh'd  at. 

Sands.  'Tis  time  to  give  them  physic,  their  dis- 
eases 
Are  grown  so  catching. 

Cham.  What  a  loss  our  ladies 

Will  have  of  these  trim  vajiities  ! 

Lov.  Ay,  marry, 

There  will  be  woe  indeed. lords;  thesly  whoresons 
Have  got  a  speedy  trick  to  lay  down  ladies; 
A  French  song,  and  a  tiddle,  has  no  fellow. 

Sands.  The  "devil  fiddle  them !  I  am  glad,  they're 
going ; 

»  Grimace.  «  DisiMse  incident  to  horses. 

■>  A  palace  at  Paiia.  s  ^VitU  authority. 


(For,  sure,  there's  no  converting  of  them;)  now 

An  lionest  country  lord,  as  I  am,  beaten 

A  long   time  out  of  play,  may  bring  his  plam- 

song. 
And  have  an  hour  of  hearing  ;  and,  by'r-Iady, 
Held  current  music  too. 

Cham.  Well  said,  lord  Sands , 

Your  colt  s  tooth  is  not  cast  yet. 

Sands.  No,  my  lord  ; 

Nor  shall  not,  while  I  have  a  stump. 

Cham.  Sir  Thomas, 

Whither  were  you  a  going  1 

^w.  To  the  cardinal's, 

Your  lordship  is  a  guest  too. 

Cham.  o,  'tis  true: 

This  night  he  makes  a  supper,  and  a  great  one, 
To  many  lords  and  ladies;  there  will  be 
The  beauty  of  this  kingdom.  Til  assure  you. 

Lov.  That  churchman  bears  a  bounteous  mind 
indeed, 
A  hand  as  fruitful  as  the  land  that  feeds  us; 
His  dews  fall  everywhere. 

Cham.  No  doubt,  he's  noble ; 

He  had  a  black  mouth,  that  said  other  of  him. 

Sands.  He  may,  my  lord,  he  has  wherewithal; 
in  him 
Sparing  would  show  a  worse  sin  than  ill  doctrine ; 
Men  of  his  way  should  be  most  liberal, 
They  are  set  here  for  examples. 
.  Cham.  True,  they  are  so; 

But  few  now  give  so  great  ones.    My  barge  stays; 
your  lordship  shall  along  :— Come,  good  sir  Thomas 
We  shall  be  late  else:  which  I  would  not  be, 
P'or  I  was  spoke  to,  with  sir  Henry  Guildfordj 
This  night  to  be  comptrollers. 

Sands.  I  am  your  lordship's. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE   lY.—The    Prcsence-Chamber  in   York- 
Place. 

Hauthoys.     A  small  Table  under  a  State  for  ttit 
Cardinal,  rt  longer  Table  frr  the  Guests,    Enter 
at  one  d/Ktr  Anne  Bullion,  and  divers    Lords, 
Ladies, «;/(/  Gentlewomen,  as  Guests;  at  another 
Door,  enter  Siit  Henuy  Guildford. 
Guild.  Ladies,  a  general  welcome  from  his  grace 
Salutes  ye  all :  This  night  he  dedicates 
To  fair  content,  and  you  :  none  here,  he  hopes, 
In  all  this  no!)le  bevy,"  has  brought  with  her 
One  care  abroad  ;  he  would  have  all  as  merry 
As  tirsl-good  company,  good  wine,  good  welcome. 

Can  make  good   ])eopIe O,  my  lord,  you  are 

lardy ; 

Enter  Lord  Chamberlain,  Lord  Sands,  an-i  Sir 

Thomas  Lovell. 
The  very  thought  of  this  foir  company 
Clapp'd  wings  to  me. 

Cham.    Y"u  are  young,  sir  Harry  Guildford. 

Sands.  SirTiiomas  Lovell,  had  the  cardinal 
But  half  my  lay-tliouglits  in  him,  some  of  these 
Should  find  a  running  banquet  ere  they  rested, 
I  think,  would  better  please  them  :  By  my  life. 
They  are  a  sweet  society  of  fair  ones. 

Lov.  O,  that  your  lordship  were  but  now  con 
fessor 
To  one  or  two  of  these  ! 

Sands.  I  would  I  were ; 

They  should  find  easy  penance. 

Lfn\  'Faith,  how  easy  ! 

Sands.  As  easy  as  a  down-bed  would  afford  it. 

Cham.  Sweet  ladies,  will  it  please  you  sit  ?     Sir 
Harry, 
Place  you  that  side,  I'll  take  the  charge  of  this: 
His  grace  is  ent'ring. — Nay.  you  must  not  freeze; 
Two  women  placed  together'makescold  weather: — 
My  lord  Sands, you  are  one  will  keep  them  waking; 
Pray,  sit  between  these  ladies. 

Sands.  By  my  faith. 

And  thank  your  lordship. — By  your  leave,  sweet 
ladies ; 

[Seats  himself  hetiveen  Asxe  BrtLEN  and 
another  Lady. 
If  I  chance  to  talk  a  little  wild,  forgive  me; 
I  had  it  from  my  father. 
Anne.  Was  he  mad,  sir? 

•  Company. 


484 


KING   HENEY   YIII. 


Act  II. 


Sands,  0,  very  mad,  exceeding  mad,  in  love  too: 
But  he  would  bite  none  ;  just  as  I  do  now. 
He  would  kissyou  twenty  witliabrealh.  [Kisses  her. 

Cham.  Well  said,  my  lord. — 

So.  now  you  are  fairly  seated. — Gentlemen, 
The  penance  lies  on  you,  if  these  fair  ladies 
pass  away  frowning. 

Sanris.  For  my  little  cure, 

Let  me  alone. 

Hautboys.    Enter  Cardinal  Vfoi.?,^^,  attended; 
and  takes  his  Stale. 

Wol.  You  are   welcome,  my   fair  guests;  that 
noble  lady, 
Or  gentleman,  that  is  not  freely  merry. 
Is  not  my  friend:  This,  to  conlirm  my  welcome; 
And  to  you  all  good  health.  [Drinlis. 

Sands.  Your  grace  is  noble  ; — 

Let  me  have  such  a  bowl  may  hold  my  thanks, 
And  save  me  so  much  talking. 

Wol.  My  lord  Sands, 

I  am  beholden  to  you  :  cheer  your  neighbors.— 
Ladies,  you  are  not  merry  ; — Gentlemen, 
Whose  fault  is  this  1 

Sands.  The  red  wine  first  must  rise 

In  their  fair  cheeks,  my  lord  ;  then  we  shall  have 

them 
Talk  us  to  silence, 

Anne.  You  are  a  merry  gamester, 

My  lord  Sands. 

Sands.  Yes,  if  I  make  my  play.' 

Here's  to  your  ladyship;  and  pledge  it,  madam. 
For  'tis  to  such  a  thing,— 

Anne.  You  cannot  show  me. 

Sands.  I  told  your  crace,  they  would  talk  anon. 
[Drum  and  Trumpets  within  :  Chambers- 
discharged. 

Wfd.  What's  that? 

Cham.  Look  out  there,  some  of  you. 

\Exii  a  Servant. 

Wot.  What  wanlike  voice  ! 

And  to  what  end  is  this  ? — Nay,  ladies,  fear  not; 
liy  all  the  laws  of  war  you  are  privileged. 

Re-enter  Servant. 
Cham.  How  now  ]  what  is't  1 
Serv.  A  noble  troop  of  strangers  ; 

For  so  they  seem:  they  have  left  their  barge,  and 

landed ; 
And  hither  make,  as  great  ambassadors 
From  tbreign  princes, 

Wol.  Good  lord  chamberlain. 

Go,  give  them  welcome,  you  can  speak  the  French 

tongue; 
And.  pray,  receive  them  nobly,  and  conduct  them 
Into  our  presence,  where  this  Iieaven  of  beauty 
Shall  shine  at  full  upon  them: — Some  attend  him. — 
[Exit  Chamberlain,  attended.    All  arise, 
and  Tables  removed. 
You  have  nowa  broken  banquet:  but  we'll  mend  it. 
A  good  digestion  to  you  all :  and.  once  more, 
I  shower  a  welcome  on  you  ; — Welcome  all. 

Hautboys.  Enter  the  Kixr,,  and  twelve  others,  as 
JMask^ers,  habited  like  Shepherds,  ivifh  sixteen 
Torch-bearers ;  ushered  by  the  Lord  Chaml)erlain. 
They  pass  directly  before  the  Cardinal,  and 
gracefully  salute  him. 

A  noble  company  I  what  arc  their  pleasures  ? 


Cham.  Because  they  speak  nc  English,  thus  they 
pray'd 
To  tell  your  grace: — That,  having  heard  by  fame 
Of  this  sn  noble  and  so  fair  assembly 
TJiis  night  to  meet  here,  they  could  do  no  less. 
Out  of  the  great  respect  they  hear  to  beauty. 
But  leave  their  flocks;  and,  under  your  fair  conduct, 
Crave  leave  to  view  these  ladies,  and  entreat 
An  hour  of  revels  with  thein. 

JVol.  Say.  lord  chamberlain, 

They  have  done  my  poor  house  grace;  for  which  I 

pay  them 
A  thousand  thanks,  and  pray  them  take  their  plea- 
sures. 
[Ladies  chosen  for  the  Dance.    The  KiNQ 
chooses  Anne  Bullen. 

A".  Hen.  The  fairest  hand  1  ever  touched !    0 
beauty, 
Till  now  I  never  knew  thee.  [Music.    Dance* 

Wol.  My  lord, ■ 

Chum.  Your  grace  1 

Wol.  Pray  tell  them  thus  much  from  me: 

There  should  be  one  amongst  them,  by  his  person, 
More  worthy  this  place  than  myself:  to  whom, 
If  1  but  knew  him,  with  my  love  and  duty 
I  would  surrender  it. 

Chant,  I  will,  my  lord. 

[Cham,  goes  to  the  Company,  and 
returns, 

Wol.  What  say  they  1 

Cham.  Such  a  one,  they  all  confess, 

There  is  indeed;  which  they  would  have  your  grace 
Find  out,  and  he  will  take  it. 

Wol.  Let  me  see,  then. — [Comes  from  his  State. 
By  a!!  your  good  leave,  geijtlemen ; — Here  I'll  make 
Mv  royal  choice. 

K.  Hen.  You  have  found  him,  cardinal: 

[Unmasking. 
You  hold  a  fair  assembly  ;  you  do  well,  lord  : 
You  are  a  churchman,  or,  I'll  tell  you,  cardinal, 
I  should  judge  now  unhappily.^ 

Wol.  I  am  glad 

Your  grace  is  grown  so  pleasant. 

A'.  Hen.  My  lord  chamberlain, 

Pr'ythee,  come  hither:  Wiiat  fair  lady's  that  1 

Cham.  An't  please  your  grace,  sir  Thomas  Bul- 
len's  daughter, 
The  viscount  Rochlbrt,  one  of  her  highness'  women. 

K.  Hen.    By    heaven,    she    is    a    dainty    one. — 
Sweetheart, 
I  were  unmannerly  to  take  you  out, 
And  not  to  kiss  you. — A  health,  gentlemen, 
Let  it  go  round. 

U'ot.  Sir  Thomas  Lovell,  is  the  banquet  ready 
r  the  privy  chamber? 

Lov.  Yes,  my  lord, 

Jl'ot.  Your  grace, 

I  fear  with  dancing  is  a  little  heated. 

A".  Hen.  I  fear  too  much. 

Wol.  Thcre^  fresher  air,  my  lord. 

In  the  next  chamber. 

K.  Hen.  Lead  in  your  ladies,  every  one. — Sweet 
partner, 
f  must  not  yet  forsake  you  :  Let's  be  merry  : — 
Good  my  lord  cardinal,  I  have  half  a  dozen  healths 
To  drink  to  these  lair  ladies,  and  a  measure* 
To  lead  them  once  again ;  and  then  let's  dream 
Who's  best  in  favor. — Let  the  music  knock  it. 

[Exeuntf  with  Tru?npets. 


ACT  II 


SCENE  I.— .4  Street. 
Enter  two  Gentlemen,  meeting. 

1  Gent.  Whither  away  so  fa.st1 

2  Cent.  O. — God  save  you  ! 
Even  to  the  hall,  to  hear  what  shall  become 

Of  ihe  great  duke  of  Buckingham. 

1  Gent.  I'll  save  you 
That  labor,  sir.    All's  now  done,  but  Ihe  ceremony 
Of  bringing  back  the  prisoner. 

2  Gent.  Were  you  there? 

1  Gent.  Yes,  indeed,  was  I. 

2  Gent.  Pray  speak,  what  has  happen'd? 
'  Chooso  my  game.  ^  Small  cauuon. 


1  Gent.  You  may  guess  quickly  what. 

2  Gent.  Is  he  found  guilty? 

1  Gent.  Yes,  truly  is  he,  and  condemn'd  upon  it. 

2  Gent.  I  am  sorry  for't. 

1  Gent.  So  are  a  number  more. 

2  Gent.  But,  pray,  how  pass'd  it  f 

1  Gent.  I'll  tell  you  in  a  little.    The  great  duke 
Came  to  the  bar;  where,  to  his  accusations. 
He  pleaded  still  not  guilty,  and  alleged 
Many  sharp  reasons  to  defeat  the  law. 
The  king's  attorney,  on  the  contrary. 
Urged  on  the  exaniinations,  proofs,  confessions. 
Of  divers  witnesses;  which  the  duke  desired 
s  MischieYously.  *  Dane*. 


Scene  I. 


KING   HENT^Y   VIII. 


485 


To  liiin  brouirht.ui/'a  voce,  to  his  face: 
At  wl.icli  ajijiL'ar'ii  at;ainst  him,  his  surveyor; 
Sit  Cilberl  I'l-ck,  liis  chancellor;  antl  John  Court, 
Ci'Mii-'-or  Up  Inm  :  with  thai  devil-monk, 
Hopkins,  that  made  this  mischief. 

2  Gent.  That  was  he 

Tlia!  il-d  him  with  his  prophecies! 

1  G€7if,  The  same. 
All  yiicsc  accused  liim  strongly;  which  he  fain 
\Vo  Jld  have  Hung  from  him,  but,  indeed,  lie  could 

not : 
And  so  his  peers,  upon  this  evidence. 
Have  lound  him  fiuiltv  of  Jii^h  treason.    Much 
lie  spoke,  and  learnedly,  for  life  :  but  all 
Was  oititur  pitied  in  him,  or  forj^otien. 

2  (ifnf.  Afior  all  this,  how  did  lie  hear  himself? 

1  Gtiit.  When  he  was  brought  again  to  the  bar, — 

to  iiear 
His  knell  rung  out,  his  judgment, — he  was  stirr'd 
With  such  an  agony,  he  sweat  extremely, 
Ai;d  something  spoke  in  choler,  ill  and  hasty: 
But  he  f.'U  to  iiiniself  again,  and,  sweetly, 
111  all  the  rest  sliowM  a  most  noble  patience. 

2  Gcitf.  1  do  not  tliink  he  fears  death. 

1  Gnif.  Sure,  he  does  not, 
He  never  was  so  womanish;  the  cause 

He  may  a  little  grieve  at. 

2  G€7it.  Certanily, 
The  cardinal  is  the  end  of  tJiis. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  likely. 
By  all  conjectures:  First,  Kildare's  attainder, 
Then  Deputy  of  Ireland;  who  remov'd. 

Earl  Surrey  was  seut  thither,  and  in  liaste  too, 
Lc&t  he  should  help  his  father. 

2  Gerif.  TJiat  trick  of  state 
Was  a  deep  envious  one. 

1  Gent.  At  his  return, 

Ko  doubt,  he  will  requite  it.    This  is  noted, 
And  generally;  whoever  the  king  favors. 
The  c^irdinal  instantly  will  hnd  employment, 
And  lar  enough  from  court  too. 

2  Getit.  All  the  commons 
Hate  him  perniciously,  and  o'  my  conscience. 
Wish  him  ten  fathom  deep:  this  duke  as  much 
They  love,  and  dote  on;  call  him,  bounteous  Buck- 
ingham, 

The  Hiirror  ol  all  courtesy;— 

1  Gent,  Stay  there,  sir. 
And  see  the  noble  ruin'd  man  you  speak  of. 

Enter  Buckixgiiam  from  his  Arrai^nntcuf ;  Tip- 
staves before  him,  the  Axe  with  the  J^'fge  to- 
wards hint;  Halberds  on  eacti  Side;  tuith  him 
Sir  Thomas  Luvell,  Siu  Nicholas  Vaux,  Siu 
William  Sands,  and  co/nm&n  People. 

2  Gent.  Let's  stand  close,  and  behold  him. 
Buck.  AH  good  people, 

You  tiiat  thus  far  have  come  to  pity  me, 
Hear  what  I  say,  and  then  go  home  and  lose  me. 
I  have  this  day  receiv'd  a  traitor's  judgment, 
And  by  that  name  must  die;  yet,  heaven  bcarwit- 

11  ess. 
And,  ill  iiave  a  conscience,  let  it  sink  me, 
Kven  as  the  axe  lalls,  if  I  be  not  faithful  I 
The  law  I  bear  no  malice  for  my  death. 
It  has  done,  upon  the  premises,  but  justice: 
But  those  that  sought  it,  1  could  wisli  more  Chris- 
tians: 
Be  what  ihey  will,  I  heartily  forgive  them : 
Yet  let  thcin  look  they  glory  not  in  mischiet, 
Nor  build  Iheir  evils  on  the  graves  of  great  men  ; 
For  then  my  guiltless  blood  must  cry  against  them. 
For  furtlier  life  in  this  world  I  ne'er  hope, 
Nor  will  1  sue,  although  the  king  have  mercies 
More  than  I  dare  make  Jiiults.    Vou  few  that  lovM 

me. 
And  dare  be  bold  to  weep  for  Buckingham, 
His  noble  friends,  and  fellows,  whom  to  leave 
Is  only  bitter  to  him,  onlj'  dying, 
Go,  with  ine,  like  good  angels,  to  my  end; 
And,  as  the  long  divorce  of  steel  falls  on  mc, 
Make  of  your  prayers  one  sweet  sacritice, 
And  lift  my  soul  to  heaven. — Lead  on,  o*  God's 
name. 
Lov.  1  do  het^eccli  your  grace,  for  charity, 
If  ever  any  malice  in  your  heart 
Were  hid  against  me,  now  to  forgive  me  frankly. 
Buck.  Sir  Thomas  Lovell.  I  as  free  forgive  you, 
As  I  would  be  forgiven:  I  forgive  all; 
There  cannot  be  tliose  numberless  ollenees 


'Gainst  me,  I  can't  take  pence  with:  no  black  envy 
Shall  make  my  grnve.— Commend  me  to  his  t;race; 
And,  if  he  speak  of  Buckingham,  pray,  tell  him. 
■\'ou  met  him  hair  in  heaven :  my  vows  and  prayers 
Yet  arc  the  king's;  and,  till  my  soul  forsake  nie, 
Shall  cry  Ibr  blessings  on  him  :  May  he  live 
Longer  than  I  have  time  to  tell  his  years! 
Ever  beiovM.  and  loving,  may  liis  ride  be ! 
And.  wlien  old  time  shall  lead  hini  to  his  end. 
Goodness  and  ho  fill  up  one  monument ! 

L<n\To  the  waterside  I  must  conduct  your  grace; 
Then  give  my  charge  up  to  sir  Nicholas  Vaux, 
Who  undertakes  you  to  your  end. 

Vaux,  Prepare  there, 

The  duke  is  coming  :  see,  the  barge  be  ready  ; 
And  tit  it  with  such  lurniture,  as  suits 
The  greatness  of  his  person. 

Buck,  Nay,  sir  Nicholas, 

Let  it  alone  ;  my  state  now  will  but  mock  me. 
When  I  came  hither,  I  was  lord  high  constable, 
And  duke  of  Buckingham;    now,  poor  Edward 

Bohvm : 
Yet  I  am  richer  than  my  base  accusers. 
That  never  knewMvhat  truth  meant:  I  now  seal  it; 
And  with  that    blood  will   make   them  one  day 

groan  for't. 
My  noble  lather.  Henry  of  Buckingham, 
Who  lirst  rais'd  head  against  usurping  Richard, 
Flying  for  succor  to  his  servant  Banister, 
Being  distress'd,  was  by  that  wretch  bctrayM, 
And  w'ithout  trial  tell ;  God's  peace  be  with  hira  ! 
lienry  the  Si-venth  succeeding,  truly  pitying 
My  lather's  loss,  like  a  most  royal  prince, 
Bestor'd  mc  to  my  honors,  and.  out  of  ruins,       * 
Made  my  name  once  more  noI)le.    Now  his  son, 
Henry  the  Eighth,  life,  honor,  name,  and  all 
That  made  mc  huppy.  at  one  stroke  has  taken 
For  ever  from  the  world.     I  had  my  trial. 
And,  must  needs  say,  a  noble  one;  which  makes  me 
A  little  happier  than  my  wretched  father; 
Yet  thus  far  we  are  one  in  fortunes: — Both 
Fell  by  our  servants,  by  those  men  we  lov'd  most; 
A  most  uimatural  and  faithless  service  ! 
Heaven  has  an  end  in  all:  Yet,  you  that  hear  me, 
This  from  a  dying  man  receive  as  certain ; 
Where  you  are  liberal  of  your  loves,  and  counsels. 
Be  sure,  you  be  not  loose;  for  those  you  make  friends, 
And  give  your  heart-s  to,  when  they  once  perceive 
The  least  "rub  in  your  fortunes,  fall  away 
Like  water  I'rom  ye,  never  found  again 
But  where  they  mean  to  sink  ye.    All  good  people. 
Pray  for  me  !  1  must  now  forsake  ye ;  the  last  liour 
Of  my  long  weary  life  is  come  upon  me. 
Farewell: 

And  when  you  would  say  something  that  is  sad. 
Speak  how  I  fell. — I  have  done;  and  God  forgive 
me  !  [Exeunt  Bt'CKiXGiiAM  and  Train. 

1  Gent.  O,  this  is  full  of  pity!— Sir,  it  calls, 
I  fear,  too  many  curses  on  their  heads, 
That  were  the  authors. 

2  Gent.  If  the  duke  be  guiltless, 
'Tis  full  of  woe:  yet  I  can  give  you  inkling 
Of  an  ensuing  evil,  if  it  fall. 

Greater  than  this. 

1  Gent.  Good  angels  keep  it  from  us ! 
Where  may  it  be  7  you  do  not  doubt  my  faith,  sir  ! 

2  Gent.  This  secret  is  so  weighty,  'twill  require 
A  strong  faith  to  conceal  it. 

1  Gent,  Let  me  ha'-e  it; 
I  do  not  talk  much. 

2  Gent.  I  am  confident; 

You  shall,  sir:  Did  you  not  of  late  days  hear 
A  buzzing,  of  a  separation 
Between  the  king  and  Katharine  1 

1  Gent.  Yes,  but  it  held  not ; 
For  when  the  king  once  heard  it,  out  of  anger 

He  sent  command  to  the  lord  mayor  straight 
To  stop  (he  rumor,  and  allay  those  tongues 
That  durst  disperse  it. 

2  Ge?it.  But  that  slander,  sir. 
Is  tbund  a  truth  now:  for  it  grows  again 
Fresher  than  e'er  it  was ;  and  held  lor  certain. 
The  king  will  venture  at  it.     Either  the  cardinal. 
Or  some  about  him  near,  have,  out  of  malice 

To  the  good  queen,  possess'd  him  with  a  scruple 
That  will  undo  her:  To  confirm  this  too. 
Cardinal  Campeius  is  arriv'd,  and  lately; 
As  all  think,  lor  this  business. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  the  cardinal; 

And  merely  to  revenge  him  on  the  emperor, 


486 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


Act  II. 


For  not  bestowing  on  him,  at  his  asliing. 
The  archbishopric  of  Toledo,  this  is  purpos'd. 

2  Gent.  I  thinlc,  you  have  hit  the  mark :  but  is  t 
not  cruel. 
That  she  should  feel  the  smart  of  this  1  The  cardinal 
Will  have  his  will,  and  she  must  liiU. 

1  Cent.  'Tiswoful. 

Wc  are  too  open  here  to  argue  this ; 
Let's  think  in  private  more.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— An  Ante-chamber  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  reading  a  Letter. 
Cham.  Mij  lord, — The  hnrses  your  iunlship  sent 
fur,  with  all-  the  care  1  had,  I  saw  well  chosen,  rid- 
den, and.  furnished.    Theij  were  yuung  and  hand- 
suinc ;  and  (if  the  best  breed  in  the  north.     When 
they  were  ready  to  set  out  fur  Ltmdun,  a  man  of 
my    lord   cardinal's,  by  commissu/n,    and    main 
2Mwer,  took  'em  from  nie ;  with  this  reiUiun,—His 
master  would  be  served  before  a  subject,  if  not 
before  the  king:  which  stojip'd  our  ntoullis,  sir. 
I  tear,  lie  will,  indeed  ;  Well,  let  him  have  them  : 
Ho  will  have  all,  1  think. 

Enter  the  Dl'kes  of  NonFOLK  and  Suffolk. 
Nor.  Well  met,  my  good 

Lord  chamberlain. 

Chum.  Good  Jay  to  both  your  graces. 

Suf.  How  is  the  king  employ 'd  ? 
Cham.  I  left  him  private, 

Full  of  sad  thoughts  and  troubles. 
Kor.  What's  the  cause? 

Cham.  It  seems,  the  marriage  with  his  brother's 
wile 
Has  crept  too  near  his  conscience. 

Suf.  No,  his  conscience 

Has  crept  too  near  another  lady. 

Nor.  'Tis  so ; 

This  is  the  cardinal's  doing,  the  king-cardinal : 
That  blind  priest,  like  the  eldest  son  of  lortune. 
Turns  what  he  lists.    The  king  will  know  him  one 
day. 
Suf.  Pray  God,  he  do!  he'll  never  know  him- 
self else. 
Nor.  How  holily  he  works  in  all  liis  business ! 
And  with  what  zeal!  For,  now  he  has  crack'd  the 

league 
Between  us  and  the  emperor,  the  queen's  great 

nepliew. 
He  dives  into  the  king's  soul;  and  there  scatters 
Dangers,  doubts,  wringing  of  the  conscience. 
Fears,  and  despairs,  and  all  these  for  his  marriage: 
And,  out  of  all  these  to  restore  the  king. 
He  counsels  a  divorce:  a  loss  other, 
That,  like  a  jewel,  has  hung  twenty  years 
About  his  neck,  yet  never  lost  her  lustre : 
Of  her,  that  loves  liini  with  tliat  excellence 
That  angels  love  good  men  with;  even  of  her 
Tiiat,  when  the  greatest  stroke  of  ibrtune  falls. 
Will  bless  the  king:  And  is  not  this  course  pious? 
Cham.  Heaven  keep  me  from  such  counsel !   'Tis 
most  true. 
These  news  are  everywhere;  every  tongue  speaks 

tliem, 
And  every  true  heart  weeps  for't:  AM,  that  dare 
Look  into  these  aflairs,  see  this  main  end. — 
The  French  Icing's  sister.  Heaven  will  one  day  open 
The  king's  eyes,  that  so  long  have  slept  upon 
This  bold  bad  man. 
Suf.  And  free  us  from  his  slavery. 

Nor.  We  had  need  pray. 
And  heartily,  for  our  deliverance; 
(;r  this  imperious  man  \vill  work  us  all 
From  princes  into  pages;  all  men's  honors 
Lie  ill  one  lump  betbre  him,  to  be  fashion'd 
into  what  pitch  he  please. 

Suf.  For  me,  my  lords, 

I  love  him  not,  nor  fear  him ;  there's  my  creed: 
.\s  I  am  made  without  him,  so  I'll  stand. 
If  the  king  please;  his  curses  and  his  blessings 
Touch  me  alike,  they  are  breath  I  not  believe  in. 
1  knew  him,  and  I  know  him;  so  I  leave  him 
To  him,  that  made  him  proud,  the  pope. 

Nor.  Let's  in ; 

And,  with  some  other  liusiness,  put  the  king 
From  these  sad  thoughts,  that  work  too  much  upon 

him: — 
My  lord,  you'll  bear  us  company  1 

Cham.  E.xcuse  me ; 

The  king  hath  sent  me  other-whcre:  besides, 


You'll  find  a  most  unht  time  to  disturb  him: 
Health  to  your  lordships. 
Nor.  Thanks,  my  good  lord  chamberlain. 

[Exit  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Norfolk  opens  a  Fold'in g-do(jr.    The  Ktxo  is  dis- 
covered sitting  and  reading  pensively. 

Suf.  How  sad  he  looks !  sure,  he  is  much  afflicted. 

K.  Hen.  Who  is  there  ?  ha  ! 

Nor.  'Pray  God,  he  be  not  angry. 

K.  Hen.  Who's  there,  I  say  ?     How  dare  you 
thrust  yourselves 
Into  my  private  meditations  ? 
Who  am  II  ha? 

Nui:  A  gracious  king,  that  pardons  all  olfences 
Malice  ne'er  meant :  our  breach  of  duly,  this  way, 
Is  business  of  estate;  in  which,  we  come 
To  know  vour  royal  pleasure. 

A^  Hen.'  You  are  too  bold  ; 

Go  to;  I'll  make  ye  know  your  times' of  business: 
Is  this  an  hour  for  temporal  alfairs  1  ha  ? — 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Campeius. 
Who's  there?    ray  good    lord    cardinal?— O  my 

Wolsey, 
The  quiet  of  my  wounded  conscience. 
Thou  art  a  cure  flt  lor  a  king.— You're  welcome, 

[Td  Campeius. 
Most  learned  reverend  sir,  into  our  kingdom  ; 
Use  us,  and  it:— My  good  lord,  have  great  care 
1  be  not  found  a  talker.  [To  WOLSEY. 

tVol.  Sir,  you  cannot. 

I  would  your  grace  would  give  us  but  an  hour 
Of  private  conference. 
K.  Hen.  We  are  busy  ;  go. 

[To  NoKFoLK  and  Suffolk. 
Nor.  This  priest  has  no  pride  in  him  ? 
Suf.  Not  to  speak  of; 

I  would  not  be  so  sick  though,'  for  his 

P'^"^"  ■  i  Aside. 

Bui  this  cannot  continue.  ' 

Nor.  If  it  do, 

I'll  venture  one  heave  at  him. 
Suf.  I  another. 

[E.veunt  Norfolk  and  Suffolk. 
IVol.  Your  grace  has  given  a  precedent  of  wis- 
dom 
Above  all  princes,  in  committing  freely 
Your  scruple  to  the  voice  olXhristendom  : 
Who  can  be  angry  now?  what  envy  rciicli  you  ! 
The  Spaniard,  tied  by  blood  and  favor  to  her. 
Must  now  confess,  if  they  have  any  goodness, 
The  trial  just  and  noble.    All  the  clerks, 
1  mean,  the  learned  ones,  in  Christian  kingdoms. 
Have  their  free  voices;  Rome,  the  nurse  of  judg- 
ment. 
Invited  by  your  noble  self,  hath  sent 
One  general  tongue  unto  us,  this  good  man. 
This  just  and  learned  priest,  cardinal  Campeius, 
Whom,  once  more,  I  present  unto  your  highness. 
A'.  Hen.  And,  once  more,  in  mine  arms,  I  bid 
him  welcome. 
And  thank  the  holy  conclave  for  their  loves; 
They  have  sent  me  such  a  man  I  would  have  wish'd 
for. 
Cam.  Your  grace  must  needs  deserve  all  stran- 
gers' loves, 
Y'ou  are  so  noble:  To  your  highness'  hand 
I  tender  my  commission  ;  by  whose  virtue, 
(The  court  of  Rome  commanding,)— you,  my  lord 
Cardinal  of  York,  are  jnin'd  with  me  llieir  servant, 
In  the  impartial  judging  of  this  business. 
A'.  Hen.  Two  equal  men.    The  queen  shall  be 
acquainted 
Forthwith,  lor  what  you  come; — Where's  Garuincr? 
JVoL  I  know  your  majesty  has  always  lov'd  her 
So  dear  in  heart  not  to  deny  her  that 
A  woman  of  less  place  might  ask  by  law. 
Scholars,  allow'd  freely  to  argue  lor  Iier. 
A'.  Hen.  Ay,  and  the  best  she  shall  have ;  and  my 
lavor 
To  him  that  does  best;  God  forbid  else.    Cardinal, 
Pr'ythee,  call  Gardiner  to  me,  my  new  secretary  ; 
I  nhd  him  a  flt  fellow.  [Exit  WoLSEY 

Re-enter  Wolsey,  !i'i/A  Garotner. 
JVul.  Give  me  your  hand  :  much  joy  and  favor 
to  you  ; 
You  are  the  king's  now. 

•  So  sick  as  be  is  prouJ. 


Scene  III. 


KING  HENEY   VIII. 


487 


Gard.  But  to  be  commanded 

For  ever  by  your  grace,  whose  hand  has  raisM  me. 

[Aside. 

K.  Hen.  Come  hither,  Gardiner. 

{They  converse  apart. 

Cam.  My  lord  of  York,  was  not  one  doctor  Face 
In  tins  man's  place  belore  him  ] 

Wot.  Yes,  he  was. 

Cum.  Was  he  not  lield  a  learned  man  1 

Wot.  Yes,  surely. 

Cain,  Believe  me,  there's  an  ill  opinion  spread 
tln-n 
F.ven  of  jourself,  lord  cardinal. 

IVol.  How  !  of  me  ? 

Cam.  They  will  not  stick  to  say  you  envied  him ; 
A  ad,  tearing  he  would  rise,  he  was  so  virtuous, 
Ke])t  liim  atbreij^n  man**  still ;  which  so  griev'd  him, 
That  he  ran  mad,  and  died. 

Wot.  Heaven's  peace  be  with  him  ! 

That's  christian  care  enough ;  for  living  niurmurers. 
There's  places  of  rebuke.    He  was  a  tool; 
For  he  would  needs  be  virtuous :  That  good  fellow, 
\t  I  command  him,  follows  my  appointment; 
I  will  have  none  so  near  else.    Learn  this,  brother, 
We  live  not  to  be  griped  by  meaner  persons. 

K.  Hen.  Deliver  this  with  modesty  to  the  queen. 
[Exit  Gardiner. 
The  most  convenient  place  that  I  can  think  of. 
For  sucJi  receipt  of  learning,  is  IJlack-Friars  ; 
There  ye  shall  meet  about  this  weighty  business: — 
My  Wolsey,  see  it  turnish'd. — O  my  lord. 
Would  it  not  grieve  an  able  man,  to  leave 
So    sweet    a    bedlellow !    But,    conscience,  con- 
science,— 
0,  'tis  a  tender  place,  and  I  must  leave  her. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  III. — An  Ante-ctiamher  in   t/ie  Queen's 
Apartments. 
Enter  AsxE  Bullln,  and  an  otd  Lady. 

Anne.  Not  for   that  neither; — Here's  the  pang 
that  pinches : 
His  highness  having  liv'd  so  long  with  her:  and  she 
So  good  a  lady,  that  no  tongue  could  ever 
Pronounce  dishonor  of  her, — by  my  lile. 
She  never  knew  harm-doing; — 0  now,  al^er 
So  many  courses  of  the  sun  enlhron'd. 
Still  growing  in  a  majesty  and  jioiiip, — the  which 
To  leave  is  a  thousand-lbkl  iiioie  bitter,  than 
'Tis  sweet  at  first  to  acquire, — after  this  process, 
To  give  her  the  avaunt!  it  is  a  pity 
Would  move  a  monster. 

Old  L.  Hearts  of  most  hard  temper 

Melt  and  lament  for  her. 

Anne.  0,  God's  will !  much  belter. 

She  ne'er  had  known  ponijt:  though  it  be  temporal. 
Yet.  i(  that  qljarrel,"  lortune,  do  divorce 
It  from  the  bearer,  'tis  a  sulleraiice,  panging 
As  soul  and  body  severing. 

Old  L.  Alas,  poor  lady  ! 

She's  a  stranger  now  again. 

Anne.  So  much  the  more 

Must  i)ily  drop  upon  her.    Verily, 
1  swear,   tis  better  to  be  lowly  born,. 
And  range  with  humble  livers  in  content^ 
Than  to  be  perk'd  uj)  in  a  glistering  griet, 
And  wear  a  golden  sorrow. 

Old  L.  Our  content 

Is  our  best  having.' 

Anne.  By  my  troth,  and  maidenhead, 

I  would  not  be  a  queen. 

Old  L.  Beshrew  ine,  I  would. 

And  venture  maidenhead  for 't ;  and  so  would  you. 
For  ail  this  spice  ot  your  hypocrisy: 
Y'ou.  that  have  so  liiir  parls  of  woman  on  you, 
Have  loo  a  woman's  heart ;  which  ever  yet 
Allected  emineijce,  wealth,  sovereignty; 
Which,  to  say  south,9 are  blessings:  and  which  gift, 
(Saving  your  mincing.)  the  capacity 
Of  your  soft  cheveril'  conscience  would  receive, 
If  you  might  please  to  stretch  it. 

Anne.  Nay,  good  troth,— 

Old  L.  Y'es,  troth,  and  troth, — Y'ou  would  not 
be  a  queen? 

Anne.  No,  not  lor  all  the  riches  under  heaven. 

Otd  L.  'Tis  strange,  a  three-penee  bow'd-  would 
hire  me. 
Old  as  I  am,  to  queen  it :  But,  I  pray  you, 

«  Out  of  the  king's  presence.  '  Quarreller, 

■  Pcjsscssioa.        » Truth.        *  Kid-skia.        a  Crook'd. 


What  think  you  of  a  duchessi  have  you  limbs 
To  bear  that  load  of  title  ? 

Anne.  No,  in  truth. 

Otd  L.  Then  you  ore  weakly  made:  Pluck  oil' a 
hlUe;    " 
I  would  not  be  a  young  count  in  your  way. 
For  more  than  t)Iusliing  comes  to:  if  your  back 
Cannot  vouchsafe  this  burden,  'tis  too  weak 
Kver  to  get  a  boy. 

Anne.  How  you  do  talk  ! 
I  swear  again,  1  would  not  be  a  queen 
For  all  the  world. 

Old  L.  In  faith,  for  little  England 

You'd  venture  an  emballing:  I  myself 
Would  for  Carnarvonshire,  although  there  'long'd 
No  more  to  the  crown  but  that.    Lo,  who  comes 
here  ? 

Enter  t/ie  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Cham.  Good  morrow,  ladies.    What  were't  worth 
to  know 
The  secret  of  your  confidence  I 

Anne.  My  good  lord. 

Not  your  demand ;  it  values  not  your  asking : 
Our  mistress'  sorrows  we  were  i)itying. 

Cham.  It  was  a  gentle  business,  and  becoming 
The  action  of  good  women :  there  is  hope, 
All  will  be  well. 

Anne.  Now,  I  pray  God,  amen  '. 

Cham.  You  bear  a  gentle  mind,  and  heavenly 
blessings 
Follow  such  creatures.    That  you  may,  fair  lady, 
Perceive  I  speak  sincerely,  and  high  note  's 
Ta'en  of  your  many  virtues,  the  king's  majesty 
Commends  his  good  opinion  to  you,  and 
Does  purpose  honor  to  you  no  less  llowing 
Than  marcihoness  of  Pembroke;  to  which  title 
A  thousand  pound  a  year,  annual  support. 
Out  of  his  grace  he  adds. 

Anne.  I  do  not  know. 

What  kind  of  my  obedience  I  should  lender; 
More  than  my  all  is  nothing:  nor  my  prayers 
Are  not  words  duly  hallow'd,  nor  my  wishes 
More  worih  llian  empty  vanities ;  yet  prayers,  and 

wishes. 
Are  all  I  can  return.    "Beseech  your  lordship, 
Vouchsate  to  speak  my  thanks, and  my  obedience, 
As  from  a  blushing  handmaid,  to  his  highness; 
Whose  health,  and  royalty,  I  pray  lor. 

Cham.  Lady, 

I  shall  not  firil  to  approve  the  fair  conceit^ 
The  king  hath  of  you.— I  have  pcrus'd  her  well ; 

[Atide. 
Beauty  and  honor  in  her  are  so  mingled. 
That  they  have  caught  (he  king:  and  who  knows  yet, 
But  from  this  Iad\  may  proceed  a  gem. 
To  lighten  all  this  isle !— I'll  to  the  liing. 
And  say,  1  spoke  with  you. 

Anne.  Jly  honor'd  lord. 

[Exit  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Old  L.  Why,  this  it  is ;  see,  see  ! 
I  have  been  begging  sixteen  years  in  court, 
(Am  yet  a  courtier  beggarly,)  nor  could 
Come  pat  betwixt  too  early  and  too  late. 
For  any  suit  of  pounds:  and  you,  (O  liite  !) 
.\  very  fresh-lish  here,  (fye,  lye  upon 
Thiscompell'd  fortune  I)  have  jour  mouth  hll'd  up. 
Before  you  open  it. 

Anne.  This  is  strange  to  me. 

.  Old  L.  How  tastes  it  f  is  it  bitter?  forty  pence,  no. 
There  vvas  a  huly  once,  ('tis  an  old  story.) 
Tliat  would  not  bo  a  queen,  that  would  she  not. 
For  all  the  mud  in  Egypt :— Have  you  heard  it ! 

Anne.  Come,  y  ou  are  pleasant. 

Old  L.  With  your  theme,  I  could 

O'ermount  the  lark.    The   marchioness  of  Pem- 
broke ! 
A  thousand  jiounds  a  year!  for  pure  respect; 
No  other  obligation :  By  my  life. 
That  promises  more  thousands  :  Honor's  train 
Is  longer  than  his  foreskin.    By  this  time, 
I  know,  your  back  will  bear  a  duchess; — Say, 
Are  you  not  stronger  than  you  were  ? 

Anne.  Good  lady. 

Make  yourself  mirth  with  your  particular  fancy. 
And  leave  me  out  on't,    'VVould  I  had  no  being, 
If  ihis  salute  my  blood  a  jot;  it  faints  me. 
To  think  what  follows. 
The  queen  is  comfertless,  and  we  forgetful 
3  OpiuioD. 


488 


KING   HENRY  YIII. 


Act  II. 


In  our  long  ab:iencc:  Pray,  do  not  deliver 
WJiMt  here  you  have  heard,  to  her. 
Old  L.  What  do  you  think  me  1 

[Exeunt* 
SCENE  IV.— .-1  Ball  in  Black-Friars. 
Trumpets,  Sennets,^  and  Cornets.  Enter  two  Ver- 
pers,  with  short  silver  IVanif:;  next  them,  two 
Scribes,  in  the  habits  of  Doctors ;  after  them  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbl'rv,  atime ;  qf'ter  him, 
the  B[SHOPS  OF  Lincoln,  Ely,  Rochester,  and 
Saint  Asaph;  next  itiem,  with  some  small  dis- 
ttince.  follows  a  Gentleman,  bearing  the  Purse, 
tvUh  the  great  Seal,  and  a  Cardinal^ s  Hat ,-  then 
two  Priests,  bearing  each  a  silrer  Cross  ;  then  a 
Gentleman-Ushor  bare-tieadfd,  accompanied  with 
a  Sergeant-at-Arms  bearing  a  silver  Mace ;  then 
.  two  Gentlemen,  bearing  two  great  silver  Pillars;'^ 
after  them,  siie  by  side,  the  two  Cardinals,  Wul- 
SEY,  and  Cami'Eius;  two  JN'uljlenirn  wi/h  the 
Swr/rd  and  Mace.  Then  enter  the  King  and 
Qteen",  and  thnr  Trains.  The  Kix<;  takes  place 
under  the  Clvthif  State;  the  two  Cardinals  sit 
under  him  as  Judges.  The  Qleen  takes  place  at 
Sfifjie  distance  front  the  Kino.  The  Bishops  place 
themselves  on  each  side  of  the  Courts  in  manner 
of  a  Consistory  ;  between  them,  ike  Scribes.  The 
Lords  sU  ?iext  the  Bishops.  The  Crier  and  the 
7'est  of  the  Attendants  stand  in  convenient  order 
about  the  stage, 

Wol.  Whilst  our  commission  from  Rome  is  read, 
Let  silence  be  commanded. 

K.  Hen.  What's  the  need  ? 

It  hath  already  publicly  been  read, 
And  on  all  sides  the  authority  allowM; 
You  may  then  spare  Ihat  time. 

iVol.  Bc't  so  : — Proceed. 

Scribe.  Say,  Henry  king  of  England,  come  into 

the  court. 
Crier.  Henry  king  of  England,  &c. 
K.  Hen.  Here. 
Scribe.  Say,  Katharine  queen  of  England,  come 

into  court. 
Crier.  Katharine  queen  of  England,  &c. 
[The  Queen   makes  no  answer,  rises  out  of  her 
Clutir,  goes  about  the  court,  comes  to  the  King. 
and  kneela  at  his  feet ;  tfien  speaks. 
Q.Kath.  Sir,  I  desire  you  do  me  right  and  justice; 
And  to  bestow  your  pity  on  nie;  for 
I  am  a  most  poor  woman,  and  a  stranger, 
Born  out  of  your  dominions;  having  here 
No  judge  indif!i?reut.  nor  no  more  assurance 
Of  equal  friendship  and  proceeding.    Alas,  sir, 
In  what  have  I  olfended  you?  what  cause 
Hath  my  behavior  given  to  your  displeasure, 
That  thus  you  should  proceed  to  put  me  otf; 
And  take  your  good  grace  from  me?  Heaven  witness, 
I  have  been  to  you  a  true  and  humble  wife, 
At  all  times  to  your  will  cttntbrinable  : 
Ever  in  fear  to  kindle  your  dislike. 
Yea,  subject  to  your  countenance  ;  glad,  or  sorry, 
As  I  saw  it  inclin'd.    Wlicn  was  the  hour, 
I  ever  contradicted  your  desire, 
Or  made  it  not  mine  tool    Or  which  of  your  friends 
Have  I  not  strove  to  love,  although  I  knew 
He  were  mine  enemy  1  wliat  fiiend  of  mine 
That  had  to  him  denv'd  your  anger,  did  I 
Continue  in  my  liliiug  1  nay,  gave  notice 
He  was  from  thence  discharg'd  1    Sir,  call  to  mind 
Tliat  I  have  been  your  wile,  in  this  obedience, 
lipward  of  twenty  years,  and  have  been  blest 
With  many  children  by  you  :  If,  in  the  course 
And  process  of  this  time,  you  can  report, 
And  prove  it  too,  against  mine  honor  aught, 
IVly  bond  to  wedlock,  or  my  love  and  duty, 
Auaiust  your  sacred  person,  in  God's  name, 
Turn  me  away  ;  and  let  the  foul'st  contempt 
Sliut  door  upon  me,  and  so  ^ive  me  up 
To  the  sharpest  kind  of  justice.    Please  you,  sir. 
The  king,  your  father,  was  reputed  lor 
A  i)nnce  most  prudent,  of  an  excellent 
And  unmatch'd  wit  and  judgment:  Ferdinand, 
My  father,  king  of  Spain,  was  rockon'd  one 
Tlie  wisest  prince,  that  there  had  reign'd  by  many 
A  year  before:  It  is  not  to  be  quostion'd 
Tliat  they  had  galher'il  a  wise  council  to  them 
Of  every  lealm,  that  did  debate  this  business, 

•  Flourish  «n  poriU'ls. 

6  Ensio'us  of  diguity  c.arrk-d  bufore  cardiaala 


Who  dcem'd  our  marriage  lawful :  Wherefore  I 

humbly 
Beseech  you.  sir,  to  spare  me,  till  I  may 
Be  by  my  friends  in  Spain  advis'd  ;  whose  counsel 
I  will  implore  :  If  not,  i'  the  name  of  God, 
Your  pleasure  be  fuihll'd  ! 

lyol.  You  have  here,  lady, 

(And  of  your  choice.)  these  reverend  fathers;  men 
Of  singular  integrity  and  learning, 
Yea.  the  elect  of  the  land,  who  are  assembled 
To  plead  your  cause :  It  shall  be  therefore  bcc  tless,a 
That  longer  you  desire  the  court;  as  well 
For  your  own  quiet,  as  to  rectify 
What  is  unsettled  in  the  king. 

Cam.  His  grace 

Hath  spoken  well  and  justly  :  Therelbre,  madam, 
It's  fit  this  royal  session  do  proceed ; 
And  that,  witliout  delay,  their  arguments 
Be  now  produced  and  heard. 

Q.  Katti.  Lord  cardinal, — 

To  you  I  speak. 

IVol.  Your  pleasure,  madam  7 

Q.  Kath.  Sir, 

I  am  about  to  weep;  but,  thinking  that 
We  are  a  queen,  [or  long  havedream'd  so.)  certain 
Tlie  daughter  of  a  king,  my  drops  of  tears 
I'll  turn  to  sparks  of  tire. 

Wol.  Be  patient  yet. 

Q.  Katti.  I  will,  when  you  are  humble;  nay,  before, 
Or  God  will  punish  me'.     I  do  believe. 
Induced  by  potent  circumstances,  that 
You  are  mine  enemy  ;  and  make  my  challenge, 
You  sliall  not  be  my  judge  :  for  it  is  you 
Have  blown  this  coal  betwixt  my  lord  and  me, — ■ 
Which  God's  dew  quench  ! — Theretbre,!  say  again, 
I  utterly  abhor,  yea,  from  my  soul, 
Refuse  you  for  my  judge  ;  whom,  yet  once  more, 
I  hold  m>  most  maiicious  foe,  and  think  not 
At  all  a  Iriend  to  truth. 

Wol.  I  do  profess 

You  speak  not  like  yourself;  who  ever  yet 
Have  stood  to  clnuily,  and  display'd  the  effects 
Of  disposition  ticntle,  and  of  wisdom 
O'erlopping  woman's  power.    Madam,  you  do  mo 

wrong: 
I  have  no  spleen  against  you  ;  nnr  injustice 
For  you  or  any:  how  lar  I  have  proceeded, 
Or  how  far  further  shall,  is  warranted 
By  a  commission  from  the  consistory, 
Yea,  the  whole  consistory  of  Rome.    You  charge  rae^ 
That  I  have  blown  this  coal;  I  do  deny  it: 
The  king  is  present:  if  it  be  known  to  him. 
That  I  gainsay  my  deed,  how  may  he  wound, 
And  worthily,  my  falsehood  ?    yea,  as  much, 
As  you  have  done  my  truth.    But  if  he  know 
Tliat  I  am  free  of  your  report,  he  knows, 
I  am  not  of  your  wrong.    Therefore  in  him 
It  lies,  to  cure  me  ;  and  the  cure  is.  to 
Remove   those  thoughts  from   you:    The    which 

be  lb  re 
His  highness  siiall  speak  in,  I  do  beseech 
You.  gracious  madam,  to  unthink  your  speaking, 
And  to  say  so  no  more. 

A'.  Kath.    •  My  lord,  my  lord, 

I  am  a  simple  woman,  much  too  weak 
To  oppose  your  cunning.      You  are  meek,  and 

homble-mouth'd ; 
You  sign  your  place  and  calling,  in  full  seeming, 
With  meekness  and  humility  :  but  your  heart 
Is  cramm'd  with  arrogancy,  spleen,  and  pride. 
You  have  by  fi>rtune,  and  his  highness'  favors. 
Gone  slightly  o'er  low  steps;  and  now  are  mounted 
Where    powers    are    your   retainers:    and    your 

words. 
Domestics  to  you,  serve  your  will.  as*t  please 
Yourself  pronounce  their  office.    I  must  tell  you, 
You  tender  more  your  person's  honor,  than 
Your  high  profession  spiritual :  That  again 
I  do  refuse  you  for  my  judge ;  and  here, 
Before  you  all.  appeal  unto  the  pope, 
To  bring  my  whole  cause  'fore  his  holiness. 
And  to  be  judged  by  him. 

[She  curtesies  to  tlie  King,  ami  offers  to  depart 
Cam.  The  queen  is  obstinate, 

Stubborn  to  justice,  apt  to  accuse  it,  and 
Disdainful  to  be  tryM  by  it;  'tis  not  well. 
She's  Koing  away. 
K.  Hen.  Call  her  again. 

6  Useless. 


Scene  IV. 


KL\G   HENRY   VIII. 


489 


Crier.  Kathcrine,  queen  of  England,  come  into 
tlie  court ! 

Grif.  Madam,  you  are  call'd  back. 

Q.  Kath.  What  need  you  note  if!   pray  you, 
keep  your  way : 
When  you  are  call'd,  return. — Now  the  Lord  help, 
They  vex  me  past  my  patience! — Pray  you,  pass  on: 
I  will  not  tarry  ;  no,  nor  ever  more. 
Upon  this  business,  my  appearance  make 
In  any  of  their  courts. 

{Exeunt  Queen,  Griffith,  and  her  other 
Attendants. 

K.  Hen.  Go  thy  ways,  Kate  : 

That  man  i'  the  world  who  shall  report  he  lias 
A  better  wife,  let  him  in  nought  be  trusted. 
For  speaking  false  in  that:  Thou  art,  alone, 
(If  thy  rare  qualities,  sweet  gentleness, 
Thy  meekness  saint-like,  wife-like  government, — 
Obeying  in  commanding,  and  thy  parts 
Sovereign  and  pious  else,  could  speak  thee  out,) 
The  queen  of  earthly  queens : — She  is  noble  born  ; 
And.  like  her  true  nobility,  she  hat 
Carried  herself  towards  me. 

IVol.  Most  graciojis  sir. 

In  humblest  manner  I  require  your  highness. 
That  it  shall  please  you  to  declare  in  hearing 
Of  all  these  ears,  (for  where  I'm  robb'd  and  bound. 
There  must  I  be  unloos'd;  although  not  there 
At  once  and  fully  satislied,)  whether  ever  I 
Did  broach  this  business  to  your  highness;  or 
Laid  any  scruple  in  your  way,  which  might 
Induce  you  to  the  question  on't!  or  ever 
Have  to  you,— but  with  thanks  to  God  for  such 
A  ro5aI  lady. — spake  one  the  least  word,  might 
Be  to  the  prejudice  of  her  present  stale. 
Or  touch  of  her  good  person  1 

K.  Hen.  My  lord  cardinal, 

I  do  excuse  you,  yea,  upon  mine  honor, 
I  free  you  from't.     Vou  are  not  to  be  taught 
That  you  have  many  enemies,  that  know  not 
Why  they  are  so,  hut,  like  to  village  curs, 
H;irk  when  their  fellows  do:  by  some  of  these 
The  queen  is  put  in  anger.    You  are  excus'd : 
liut  will  you  be  more  justifledl  you  ever 
Have  wish'd  the  sleeping  of  this  business;  never 
Desir'd  it  to  be  stirr'd  ;  but  oft  have  hinder'd  ;  oft 
The  passages  made'  toward  it; — on  my  honor, 
I  speak,  my  g.)od  lord  cardinal,  to  this  point. 
And  thus  far  clear  him.  Now,  what  mov'd  me  to't,— 
I  will  be  bold  wi!h  time  and  your  attention  : — 
Then  mark  the  inducement.    Thus  it  came;— give 

heed  to't. 
My  conscience  first  receiv'd  a  tenderness. 
Scruple,  and  prick,  on  certain  speeches  utter'd 
By  the  Bishop  of  Bayonue,  then  Kreuch  ambassador. 
Who  had  been  hither  sent  on  the  debating 
A  marriage,  'iwixt  the  duke  of  Orleans  and 
Ourdau,'liter  .Mary  :  I' the  progress  of  this  business, 
Kre  a  dL'terniiuate  resolution,  he 
(I  mean,  the  bishop!  did  require  a  respite; 
Wherein  he  might  the  king  his  lord  advertise 
Whether  our  daughter  were  legitimate. 
Respecting  this  our  marriage  Vi'ith  the  dowager. 
Sometime  our  brother's  wife.    This  respite  shook 
The  bosom  of  my  conscience,  enter'd  me, 
Vca,  With  a  splitting  power,  and  made  to  tremble 


The  region  of  my  breast;  which  forced  such  way, 

That  many  inaz'd  coiisiderings  did  throng. 

And  press'd  in  with  this  caution.    First,  inethought, 

1  stood  not  in  the  smile  of  heaven  ;  who  had 

Commanded  nature,  that  my  lady's  womb. 

If  it  conceiv'd  a  male  child  by  nie,  should 

Do  no  more  oHices  of  Iile  to't  than 

The  grave  does  to  the  dead ;  for  her  male  issue 

Or  died  where  they  were  made,  or  shortly  aller 

This  world  had  air'd  them ;  Hence  I  took  a  thought 

This  was  a  judgment  on  me;  that  my  kingdom. 

Well  worthy  the  best  heir  o'the  world,  should  not 

Be  gladded  in't  by  me :   Then  follows,  that 

1  weigh'd  the  danger  which  my  realms  stood  in 

By  this  my  issue's  lail ;  and  that  gave  to  me 

Aiany  a  groaning  throe.    Tiius  hulling*  in 

The  wild  sea  of  my  conscience,  I  did  steer 

Toward  this  remedy,  whereupon  we  are 

Now  present  here  together:  that's  to  say, 

I  meant  to  rectify  my  conscience, — which 

I  then  did  feel  full  sick,  and  yet  not  wcll,^ 

By  all  the  reverend  fathers  of  the  land. 

And  doctors  learn'd. — First,  I  began  in  private 

With  you,  my  lord  of  Lincoln;  you  remember 

How  under  my  oppression  I  did  reek,  '■> 

When  I  first  mov'd  j'ou. 

Lin.  Very  well,  my  liege. 

K.  Hen.  I  have  spoke  long ;  be  pleas'd  yourself 
to  say 
How  fiir  j%)u  satisfied  me. 

I.in.  So  please  your  highness, 

The  question  did  at  first  so  stagger  me,— 
Bearing  a  stale  of  mighty  moment  in't. 
And  consequence  of  dread, — that  I  committed 
The  daring'st  counsel  which  I  had,  to  doubt; 
And  did  entreat  your  highness  to  this  course. 
Which  you  are  running  here. 

A".  Hen.  I  then  mov'd  yon, 

My  lord  of  Canterbury ;  and  got  your  leave 
To  make  this  present  summons : — Unsolicited 
I  left  no  reverend  person  in  this  court ; 
But  by  particular  consent  proceeded. 
Under  your  hands  and  seals.    Therefore,  go  on : 
For  no  dislike  i'  the  world  against  the  person 
Of  the  good  queen,  but  the  sharp  thorny  points 
Of  my  alleged  reasons,  drive  this  forward: 
Prove  but  our  marriage  lawful,  by  my  lite, 
And  kingly  dignity,  we  are  contented 
To  wear  our  mortal  state  to  come,  with  her 
Katharine  our  queen,  before  the  primest  creature 
That's  paragon'd'  o'  the  world. 

Cum.  So  please  your  highness, 

The  queen  being  absent,  'tis  a  needful  fitness 
That  we  adjourn  this  court  till  further  day: 
Mi-auwiiile  must  be  an  earnest  motion 
Made  to  the  queen,  to  call  back  her  ai)peal 
She  intends  unto  his  holiness. 

[Theij  ri^e  to  depart. 

K.  Hen.  I  may  perceive,    [Aside. 

These  cardinals  tritle  with  me  :  I  abhor 
This  dilatory  sloth,  and  tricks  of  Rome. 
My  learn'd  and  well-beloved  servant,  Cranmer, 
Pr'ythee  return  !  with  thy  approach,  I  know. 
My  comfort  comes  along.    Break  up  the  court: 
I  say,  set  on. 

[Exeunt,  in  manner  o.«  iheij  entere^i. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  1.— Palace  at^  Bridewell.    A  Room  in  the 
Queen's  Apartment. 

The  QuEEX,  and  some  of  her  Women  at  Work. 
Q.  Kath.  Take  thy  lute,  wench:  my  soul  grows 

sad  with  troubles; 
Sing,  and  disperse  them,  if  thou  canst:   leave 

working. 

SONG. 
Orphens  with  hii  lute  made  trees. 
And  the  mountaui'tops.  that  freeze. 
Bow  them.seli'es,  whe?i  he  liii  sing: 
To  his  music,  plants,  and  fanners. 
Ever  sprunf^;  us  sun,  an<t  showers. 
There  luid  been  a  lasting  spring. 
'  Closed,  or  Cistened. 


Every  thing  that  heard  him  play, 
Et'en  the  billows  of  the  sea. 

Hung  their  hentl.s,  and  then  lay  by. 
In  sweet  music  ix  such  art ; 
Killing  care,  and  grief  of  heart. 

Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  die. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 
Q.  Kath.  How  now  T 

Gent.  A  n't  please  your  grace,  the  two  great  car 
dinals 
Wait  in  the  presence.2 
Q.  Kath.  Would  they  speak  with  me  1 

Gent.  Tliey  wiU'd  me  say  so,  madam. 
Q.  Kath.  Pray  their  graces 

«  Flatting  without  guidance.      a  Waste,  or  wear  away. 
*  Without  compare.  a  Presence  chamber. 


490 


KING  HENEY  VIII. 


Act  III. 


To  come  Jiear.    [Exit  Gent.]    What  can  be  their 

business 
With  mc,  a  poor  weak  woman,  falTn  from  favor  1 
I  do  not  like  their  coming,  now  I  think  on't. 
Tiioy  should  be  good  men;  IheiratTair^i  as  righteous: 
But  all  hoods  make  not  monks. 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Campeics. 

IVol.  Peace  to  your  liighness! 

Q.  Kafk.  Your  graces  find  me  here  part  of  a 
housewife ; 
I  would  be  all,  against  the  worst  may  Iiappen. 
What  are  your  pleasures  with  me,  reverend  lords'? 

IVoL  May  it  please  you,  noble  madam,  to  with- 
draw 
Into  your  private  chamber,  we  shall  give  5-ou 
The  full  cause  of  our  coming. 

Q.  Kafh.  Speak  it  here ; 

There's  nothing! have  done  yet,o'  my  conscience, 
Deserves  a  corner:  'Would  all  other  women 
Could  speak  thig  with  as  free  a  soul  as  I  do  ! 
My  lords,  I  care  not  (so  much  I  am  happy 
Above  a  number)  if  my  actions 
Were  tried  by  every  tongue,  every  eye  saw  them, 
Knvy  and  base  opinion  set  against  them, 
I  know  my  life  so  even  :  If  your  business 
Seek  me  out,  and  that  way  I  am  wife  in, 
Out  with  it  boldly ;  Truth  loves  open  dealing. 

Wol.  Tanta  est  er^'}  te  mentis   inieg^ritcLS,  re- 
gii/a  serenmi/iia, — 

Q.  Kafh.  (.),  good  my  lord,  no  Latin  ; '" 
[  am  not  such  a  truant  since  my  coming. 
As  not  to  know  the  language  I  liave  livM  in: 
A  strange  tongue  makes  my  cause  more  strange, 

suspicious; 
pray,  speak  in  English:  here  are  some  will  thank 

you, 
If  you  speak  truth,  for  their  poor  mistress'  sake; 
Believe  me,  she  has  had  much  wrong:  Lord  cardinal, 
The  willing'stsin  I  ever  yet  committed, 
May  be  absolv'd  in  English. 

Wui.  Noble  lady, 

I  am  sorry,  my  integrity  should  breed 
(And  service  to  his  majesty  and  you) 
So  deep  suspicion,  wliere  all  faith  was  meant. 
We  come  not  Ijy  the  way  of  accusation. 
To  taint  that  honor  every  good  tongue  blesses  ; 
Nor  to  betray  you  any  way  to  sorrow; 
You  have  too  much,  good  lady  :  but  to  know 
How  you  stand  minded  in  the  weighty  ditference 
Bi'Iween  the  king  and  you  ;  and  to  deliver. 
Like  free  and  honest  men,  our  just  ojiinions, 
And  comlbrts  to  your  cause. 

Cam.  Most  honor'd  madam, 

My  lord  of  York, — out  of  his  noble  nature, 
Zeal  and  obedience  he  still  bore  your  grace; 
Forgetting,  like  a  good  man,  your  late  censure 
Both  of  his  truth  and  Iiim,  (which  was  too  far,) — 
Oilers,  as  I  do,  in  a  sign  of  peace. 
His  service  and  his  counsel. 

Q.  Kat/i.  To  betray  me.  [Aside. 

My  lords.  I  thank  you  both  for  your  good  wdls. 
Ye  speak  like  lion  est  men,  (pray  Ood  ye  prove  so !) 
But  how  to  make  you  suddenly  an  answer. 
In  such  a  point  of  weight,  so  near  mine  honor, 
(I\Iorc  near  my  life,  I  tear,)  with  my  weak  wit, 
And  lo  such  men  of  gravity  and  learning. 
In  truth,  I  know  not.    I  was  set  at  work 
Ariiong  my  maids;  full  little,  God  knows,  looking 
PZither  for  such  men,  or  such  business. 
For  her  sake  tliat  1  have  been,  (lor  I  feel 
Tlie  last  fit  of  my  greatness,)  good  your  graces, 
Let  me  have  time, and  counsel,  for  my  cause; 
Alas!  I  am  a  woman,  friendless,  hopeless. 

JVol.  Madam,  you  wrong  the  king's  love  with 
these  fears ; 
Your  hopes  and  friends  are  infinite. 

Q.  Kafh.  In  England, 

But  little  for  my  profit :  Can  you  think,  lords. 
That  any  Eni;Iishman  dare  give  me  counsel] 
Or  bca  known  iVieud,  'gainst  his  highness' pleasure, 
(Though  he  be  grown  so  desperate  to  be  honest,) 
And  live  a  sultjecf?     Nay,  forsooth,  my  friends. 
They  that  must  weigh  out^  my  afllictions, 
Thry  that  my  trust  must  grow  to,  live  not  here; 
They  are,  as  all  my  other  comforts,  far  hence, 
In  mine  own  country,  lords. 

Cam.  '  I  would,  your  grace 

Would  leave  your  griefs,  and  take  my  counsel. 
«  Outwoiirh. 


Q.Kath.  How,  sir? 

Cam.  Put  your  main  cause  into  the  king's  pro- 
tection ; 
He's  loving,  and  most  gracious  ;  'twill  be  much 
Both  for  your  Jionor  better,  and  your  cause  ; 
For,  if  the  trial  of  the  law  o'ertate  you. 
You'll  part  away  disgraced. 

Wot.  He  tells  you  rightl}'. 

Q.  Katk.  Ye  tell  me  what  ye  wisli  ibr  both,  ray 
ruin: 
Is  this  your  christian  counsel  1  out  upon  ye ! 
Heaven  is  above  all  yet;  there  sits  a  Judge, 
That  no  king  can  corrupt. 

Cam.  Your  rage  mistakes  us. 

Q.  Kath.  The  more  shame  for  ye;   holy  men  I 
thought  ye, 
Upon  my  soul,  two  reverend  cardinal  virtues; 
But  cardinal  sins,  and  hollow  hearts,  1  fear  ye: 
Mend  them  for  shame,  my  lords.    Is  this  your  com- 
fort ? 
The  cordial  that  ye  bring  a  wretched  lady  1 
A  woman  lost  among  ye,  laugh'd  at,  scorn 'd  1 
I  will  not  wish  ye  half  my  miseries, 
I  have  more  charity;  But  say,  I  warn'd  ye; 
Take  heed,  for  heaven's  sake,  take  heed,  lest  at  once 
Tlie  burden  of  my  sorrows  fall  upon  ye. 

XVol.  Madam,  this  is  a  mere  distraction; 
You  turn  the  good  we  oiTer  into  envy. 

Q.Kath.  Ye  turn  me  into  nothing:  Woe  upon  ye, 
And  all  such  false  professors  I  Would  ye  have  me 
(If  you  have  any  justice,  any  pily^; 
If  ye  be  any  thing  but  churchmen's  habits) 
Put  my  sick  cause  into  his  hands  tliat  liates  me  1 
Alas!  he  has  banish'd  me  his  bed  already; 
His  love,  too,  long  ago:  I  am  old,  my  lords. 
And  all  the  fellowship  1  hold  now  with  him 
Is  only  my  obedience.    What  can  happen 
To  me,  above  this  wretchedness  \  all  your  studies 
Make  me  a  curse  like  this. 

Cam.  Your  fears  are  worse. 

Q.  Kath.  Have  I  liv'd  thus  long — (let  me  speak 
myself. 
Since  virtue  finds  no  friends) — a  wife,  a  true  one"! 
A  woman  (I  dare  say,  without  vain-glory) 
Never  yet  branded  with  susjiicion  1 
Have  I  with  all  my  full  atlections 
Still  met  the  king!  lov'd  him  next  heaven  T  obey'd 

him  ? 
Been,  out  of  fondness,  superstitious  to  him  '{ 
Almost  forgot  my  prayers  to  content  him  ! 
And  am  I  thus  rewarded  ]  'tis  not  well,  lords. 
Bring  me  a  constant  woman  to  her  husband. 
One  that  ne'er  dream'd  a  joy  beyond  his  pleasure; 
And  to  that  woman,  when  she  has  done  most, 
Yet  will  I  add  an  honor, — a  great  patience. 

JFo/.  Madam, you  wanderfrointhegood  weaimat. 

Q.  Kath.  My  lord,  1  dare  not  make   myself  so 
guilty. 
To  give  up  willingly  that  noble  title 
Your  master  wed  me  to;  nothing  but  death 
Shall  e'er  divorce  my  dignities. 

Wol.  'Pray,  hear  me. 

Q.  Kath.  'Would  I  had  never  trod  tliis  English 
earth. 
Or  felt  the  flatteries  that  grow  upon  it! 
Ye  have  angels'  faces,   but  heaven  knows   your 

hearts. 
What  will  become  of  me  now,  wretched  lady) 
I  am  the  most  unhappy  woman  living, — 
Alas!  poor  wenches,  where  are  now  your  fortunes? 
[To  her  Women. 
Rhipwreck'd  upon  a  kingdom,  where  no  pity, 
No  friends,  no  hope ;  no  kindred  weep  Ibr  me, 
Almost  no  grave  allow'd  me: — Like  the  lily. 
That  once  was  mistress  of  the  held,  and  flourish'd, 
I'll  hang  my  head  and  perish. 

Wol.  If  your  grace 

Could  but  be  brought  to  know,  our  ends  are  honest. 
You'd  feel  more  comfort:  why  should  we,  good  lady, 
Upon  what  cause,  wrong  you  7  alas !  our  ])iaces, 
Tlie  way  of  our  profession  is  against  it;  » 

We  are  to  cure  such  sorrows,  not  to  sow  them. 
For  goodness'  sake,  consider  what  you  do; 
How  you  may  hurt  yourself,  ay,  utterly 
(Jrow  from  the  king's  acquaintance,  by  thiscarriago. 
The  hearts  of  princes  kiss  obedience, 
So  much  they  love  it ;  but,  to  stubborn  spirits, 
They  swell,  and  grow  as  terrible  as  storms. 
I  know,  you  have  a  gentle,  noble  temper, 
A  soul  as  even  as  a  calm  :  Pray,  think  us 


Scene  II. 


KING  HENKY  VIII. 


491 


Those  we  profess,  peace-makers,  friends,  and  ser- 
vants. 

Cam.  Madam,  you'll  find  it  so.    You  wrong  your 
virtues 
With  tliese  wt.ilt  women's  fears.    A  noble  spirit, 
As  yours  was  put  into  you,  ever  casts 
Sucli  doubts,  as  lalse  coin,  from  it.    The  king  loves 

you; 
Beware  you  lose  it  not ;  For  us,  if  you  please 
To  trust  us  in  your  business,  we  are  ready 
To  use  our  utmost  studies  in  your  service. 

Q.  A'o/A.  Do  what  ye  will,  my  lords :  And,  pray, 
Ibrgive  me. 
If  1  have  used*  myself  unmannerly  ; 
You  know,  I  am  a  woman,  lacking  wit 
To  make  a  seemly  answer  to  such  persons. 
Pray,  do  my  service  to  his  majesty: 
He  lias  my  heart  yet ;  and  sliall  have  my  prayers. 
While  I  sliall  have  my  life.  Come,  reverend  fathers. 
Bestow  your  counsels  on  me;  she  now  begs, 
That  little  thought,  when  she  set  footing  here, 
She  should  have  bought  her  dignities  so  dear. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  M.—Anie-cluimber  to  the  King's  Apart- 
ment. 
Enter  ttie  Ddee  of  Norfolk,  th.e  Dcke  of  Sctfolk, 

tke  Earl  of  Slrrev,  an.dt/ie  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Ni/r.  If  jou  will  now  unite  in  your  complaints, 
And  force'  them  with  a  constancy,  the  cardinal 
Cannot  stand  under  them:  If  you  omit 
The  otter  of  this  time,  1  canjiot  promise, 
Hut  that  you  shall  sustain  more  new  disgraces, 
With  these  you  bear  already. 

Siir.  I  am  joyful 

To  meet  the  least  occasion,  that  may  give  me 
Remembrance  of  my  lather-in-law,  the  duke. 
To  be  revenged  on  him. 

Suf.  Which  of  the  peers 

Have  uncontemn'd  gone  by  him,  or  at  least 
Strangely  neglected  3  wJieu  did  he  regard 
The  stamp  of  nobleness  in  any  person, 
Out  of  himself! 

Ctiam.  My  lords,  you  speak  your  pleasures; 

What  he  deserves  of  you  and  me,  1  know  ; 
What  we  can  do  to  him,  (though  now  the  time 
Gives  way  to  us,)  i  much  lear.    If  you  cannot 
Bar  his  access  to  the  king,  never  attempt 
Any  thing  on  him  ;  for  he  hath  a  witchcraft 
Over  the  king  in  his  tongue. 

Nor.  O,  fear  him  not ; 

His  spell  in  that  is  out:  the  king  liatli  louiid 
Mutter  against  him,  that  for  ever  mars 
The  honey  of  his  language.    No,  he's  settled, 
Not  to  come  oil',  in  his  displeasure. 

Sui:  Sir, 

I  should  be  glad  to  hear  such  news  as  this 
Once  every  hour. 

Nor.  Believe  it,  this  is  true. 

In  the  divorce,  his  contrary  proceedings 
Are  all  unfolded;  wherein  he  appears, 
As  I  could  wish  mine  enemy. 

Sur.  How  came 

His  practices  to  light? 

Suf.  Most  strangely. 

Sur,  ^  O,  how,  how  1 

Stif.  The  cardinal's  letter  to  the  pope  mi.scarried. 
And  came  to  tiiee\eo'  the  king:  wherein  was  read. 
How  that  the  cardinal  did  entreat  his  holiness 
To  stay  the  .judgment  o'  the  divorce:  Kor  if 
It  did  take  place.  I  do,  quoth  he,  perceive 
My  king  « tangled  in  affection  to 
A  creature  of  tke  queen  s.lady  Anne  Bullen. 

Sur.  Has  the  king  this  ! 

Suf.  Believe  it. 

Sur.  Will  this  work? 

Cham.  The  king  in  this  perceives  hiin  how  he 
coasts. 
And  hedges,  his  own  way.    But  in  this  point 
All  his  tricks  founder,  arid  he  brings  his  physic 
AfUn-  his  patient's  death;  the  king  already 
riath  married  the  liiir  lady. 

Sur.  "Would  he  had! 

Suf.  May  you  be  happy  in  your  wish,  my  lord! 
For,  I  protess,  you  have  it. 

Sur.  Now  all  my  joy 

Traced  the  conjunction ! 

Suf.  My  amen  to't ! 

Nor.  All  men's. 

*  Bch.ived.  B  Enforce.  •  Follow. 


Suf.  There's  order  given  tor  her  coronation: 
Marry,  tliis  is  yet  but  young,  and  may  be  left 
To  some  ears  unrecounted.— But,  my  lords, 
She  is  a  gallant  creature,  and  complete 
In  mind  and  I'eature ;  1  persuade  ine,  from  her 
Will  liill  some  blessing  to  this  land,  which  shall 
In  it  be  memoriz'd.^ 

Sur.  But,  will  the  king 

Digest  this  letter  of  the  cardinal's! 
The  Lord  forbid  ! 

Nor.  Marry,  amen  ! 

Suf.  No,  no ; 

There  be  more  wasps  that  buz  about  his  nose, 
Will  make  this  sting  the  sooner.  Cardinal  Campcius 
Is  stolen  away  to  Rome  ;  hath  ta'en  no  leave  ; 
Has  letl  the  cause  o'  the  king  unhandled;  and 
Is  posted,  as  the  agent  of  our  cardinal. 
To  second  all  his  plot.    I  do  assure  you, 
The  king  cry'd,  ha !  at  this. 

Cfium.  Now,  God  incense  him, 

And  let  him  cry,  ha,  louder ! 

Nor.  But,  my  lord, 

When  returns  Cranmer ! 

Suf.  He  is  return'd,  in  his  opinions;  which 
Have  satisfied  the  king  for  his  divorce, 
Together  with  all  lirmous  colleges 
Almost  in  Christendom  :  shortly,  I  believe. 
His  second  marriage  shall  be  publish'd,  and 
Her  coronation.    Katharine  no  more 
Shall  be  call'd  queen  ;  but  princess-dowager, 
And  widow  to  prince  Arthur. 

Nor.  This  same  Crammer's 

A  worthy  fellow,  and  hath  ta'en  much  pain 
In  the  king's  business. 

Suf.  He  has;  and  we  shall  see  him 

For  It,  an  archbishop. 

Nor.  So  I  hear. 

Suf.  'Tis  so. 

The  cardinal — 

Enter  Wolsey  and  Cromwell. 

Nor.  Observe,  observe,  he's  moody. 

(I'o/.  The  packet,  Cromwell,  gave  it  you  the  king! 

Cram,  To  his  own  hand,  in  his  bed-chamlior. 

Wul.  Look'd  he  o'  tlie  inside  of  the  paper ! 

Crom.  Presently 

He  did  unseal  tliem :  and  the  first  lie  view'd, 
He  did  it  with  a  serious  mind  ;  a  lieed 
Was  in  his  countenance  :  You  he  bade 
Attend  him  here  this  morning. 

'^'o/.  Is  he  ready 

To  come  abroad  ? 

Crom.  I  think,  by  this  he  is. 

IVol.  Leave  me  a  wliile.—      {E.vit  Cbostitell. 
It  shall  be  to  the  duchess  of  Alenwn, 
The  French  king's  sister;  he  shall  marry  her. — 
Anne  Bullen  !  No;  I'll  no  Anne  Bullens  for  him: 
There  is  more  in  it  than  lair  visage. — Bullen ! 
No,  we'll  no  Bullens. — Speedily  I  wish 
To  hear  from  Rome.— The  marchioness  of  Pem- 
broke ! 

Nor.  He's  discontented. 

Suf.  May  be,  he  hears  The  king 

Does  whet  his  anger  to  him. 

Sur.  Sharp  enough, 

Lord,  for  thy  justice  ! 

IVol.  The  late  queen's  gentlewoman;  a  knight's 
daughter. 
To  be  her  unstress' mistress!  the  queen's  queen  ! — 
This  candle  burns  not  clear;  'tis  I  must  snulf  it; 
Then,  out  it  goes. —  What  (hough  I  know  her  vir- 
tuous. 
And  well-deserving  !  yet  I  know  her  for 
A  spleeny  Lutheran ;  and  not  wholesome  to 
Our  cause,  that  she  should  lie  i'  the  bosom  of 
Our  hard-rul'd  king. — Again,  there  is  sprung  up 
A  heretic,  an  arch  one.  Cranmer ;  one 
Halli  crawl'd  into  the  favor  of  the  king, 
And  is  his  oracle. 

Nor.  He  is  vex'd  at  something. 

Suf  I  would,  'twere  something  that  would  fret 
the  string. 
The  master-cord  of  his  heart ! 
Enter  t/ie  Kixo,  reading  a  Scfiedule;  and  Lotell. 

Suf.  The  king,  the  king. 

K.  Hen.  What  piles  of  wealth  hatli  he  accumu- 
lated 
To  his  own  portion !  and  what  expense  by  thehour 
1  Made  memorable. 


492 


KING  HENRY  VIII. 


Act  III. 


Seems  to  How  from  him !  How,  i'  the  name  of  Christ, 
Does  lie  rake  this  logetherl — Now,  my  lords  ; 
Saw  jou  the  cardinal ! 

Nor.  My  lord,  we  have 

Stood  here  observing  him :  Some  strange  commo- 
tion 
Is  in  his  brain  ;  he  bites  his  lip,  and  starts  ; 
Stops  on  a  sudden,  looks  upon  the  ground, 
Then,  lays,  his  linger  on  his  temple  ;  straight, 
Springs  out  into  fast  gait;S  then,  stops  again, 
Strikes  his  breast  hard  ;  and  anon,  he  casts 
His  eye  against  ihe  moon:  in  most stranjje  postures 
We  have  seen  Jiim  set  himseltl 

A".  Hen.  It  may  well  be  ; 

There  is  a  mutiny  in  his  mind.    This  inorning 
Papers  of  state  he  sent  me  to  peruse. 
As  1  reqnir'd;  and  wot^'  you,  wliat  I  found 
There  ;  on  my  conscience,  put  unwittingly  1 
Forsiuoih,  an  mventory,  thus  importing, — 
The  several  parcels  of  his  plate,  his  treasure. 
Rich  studs  and  ornaments  of  household;  which 
1  find  at  such  proud  rate,  that  it  outspeaks 
Possession  of  a  subject. 

Nor.  It's  heaven's  will ; 

Some  spirit  put  this  paper  in  tiie  packet, 
To  bless  your  eye  withal. 

K.  Hen.  If  we  did  think 

His  coniemplation  were  above  the  earth, 
And  lix'd  on  spiritual  object,  he  should  still 
Dwell  in  his  niusnigs:  but,  1  am  afraid, 
His  tliinkmgs  are  below  the  moon,  not  worth 
Ilis  serious  considering. 

{He  takes  hLs  Seat,  and  tvfiUipers  Lovell, 

ivh(/  goes  to  WoLSEY. 

Wol.  Heaven  forgive  me! 

Ever  God  bless  your  liiglincss  ! 

K.  Hen.  Good,  my  lord^ 

You  are  full  of  heavenly  stufT,  and  bear  the  in- 
ventory 
Of  your  best  graces  in  your  mind  ;  the  which 
You  are  now  running  o'er;  you  Jiave  scarce  time 
To  steal  from  sjiiritual  leisure  a  brief  span. 
To  keep  your  earthly  audit:  Sure,  in  that 
I  liceni  jou  an  ill  husband  ;  and  am  glad 
To  liave  you  ttiert-in  my  companion. 

IVol.  Sir, 

For  holy  offices  I  have  a  time  ;  a  time 
To  think  upon  the  part  of  business,  which 
]  bear  i'  tlie  state;  and  nature  does  require 
Her  times  of  preservation,  whicli,  pertbrce, 
I,  Iter  frail  son,  amongst  my  brethren  mortal 
Must  give  my  tendance  to. 

K.Hen,  You  have  said  well. 

Wol.  And  ever  may  your  highness  yoke  together 
As  I  will  lend  you  cause,  my  doing  well 
With  my  well  saying  I 

A'.  Ht'n.  'Tis  well  said  again: 

And  'tis  a  kind  of  good  deed,  to  say  well : 
And  yet  words  are  no  deeds.    My  lather  lov'd  you  : 
He  said,  he  did  ;  and  with  his  deed  did  crown 
His  word  upon  you.    Sinc-e  I  liad  my  oflice, 
1  have  kept  you  next  my  heart ;  have  not  alone 
KmplojT'd  you  wliereJnghprotits  might  come  home, 
But  par'd  my  present  iiavings,  to  bestow 
My  twunties  upon  you. 

Wol.  What  should  this  mean  1 

Sur.  The  Lord  increase  this  business  !      [Afiide. 

K.  Hen.  Have  I  not  made  you 

Tlie  jirinie  man  of  the  state  !  I  pray  you,  tefl  me, 
If  what  I  now  pronounce,  you  have  ibund  true : 
And,  if  you  may  conlcbs  it,  say  withal. 
If  you  are  bound  to  us,  or  no.    What  say  you  ? 

M'til.  My  sovereign,  I  conless,  your  royal  graces, 
Siiower'd  on  me  daily,  have  been  more,  tliaii  could 
My  studied  purposes  requite;  which  went 
IJeyond  all  man  s  endeavors: — my  endeavors 
Have  ever  come  too  shoit  of  my  desires. 
Yet,  fill'd  with  my  abilities  :  Mme  own  ends 
Have  been  mine  so,  that  evermore  they  pointed 
To  the  good  of  your  most  sacred  person,  and 
The  jirolitof  the  state.    For  your  great  graces 
HeapVl  upon  nie,  poor  undeserver,  I 
Can  nothing  render  but  allegiant  thanks ; 
My  prayers  to  heaven  lor  you;  my  loyalty, 
WlucJi  ever  has,  and  ever  shall  be  growing, 
Till  death,  that  winter,  kill  it. 

A'.  Hi-n.  Fairly  answcr'd; 

A  loyal  and  oliedient  suoject  is 
Tiierein  illustrated  :  The  honor  of  it 

'St^ps.  e  Know. 


Does  pay  the  act  of  it ;  as,  i'  tiie  contrary, 
The  loulness  is  the  punishment.    I  presume, 
That,  as  my  hand  has  opeii'd  bounty  to  you, 
My  heart  dropp'd  love,  my  power  rain'd  honor, 

more 
On  you,  than  any ;  so  your  hand,  and  heart. 
Your  brain,  and  every  function  of  your  power, 
Should,  notwithstanding  that  your  bond  of  duty, 
As  'twere  in  love's  particular,  be  more 
To  me.  your  friend,  than  any. 

Wol.  I  do  profess. 

That  for  your  highness'  good  I  ever  iabor'd 
More  tlian  mine  own;  that  am,  have,  and  will  be, 
Though  all  theworldshouldcrack  their  duty  to  yoi^ 
And  throw  it  from  their  soul:  though  perils  did 
Abound,  as  thick  as  thought  could  make  them,  and 
Appear  in  ibrms  more  horrid ;  yet  my  duty. 
As  doth  a  rock  against  the  chiding  flood, 
Should  the  approach  of  this  wild  river  break, 
And  stand  unshaken  yours. 

K.  Hen.  'Tis  nobly  spoken  : 

Take  notice,  lords,  he  has  a  loyal  breast, 
For  you  have  seen  him  open't. — Read  o'er  this  ; 

[Givhig  him  Papers 
And,  after,  this:  and  then  to  breakfast,  with 
What  appetite  you  have. 

[£xi/.  King,  frowning  xipon  CArniNAt,  Wol 
SEV :  the  Nobles  tkro7ig  after  him,  smiling 
and  whispering. 

Tl'ol.  What  should  this  mean  1 

What  sudden  anger's  this  1   how  have  1  reap'd  it  1 
He  parted  Irowning  from  me,  as  if  ruin 
Leaji'd  from  his  eyes:  So  looks  the  chafed  lion 
Upon  the  daring  huntsman  that  Jias  gali'd  him  ; 
Then  makes  him  nothing.    I  must  read  this  paper : 
I  tear,  the  story  of  his  anger. — 'Tis  so  ; 
This  paper  has  undone  me :— 'Tis  the  account 
Of  all  that  world  of  wealth  I  have  drawn  together 
For  mine  own  ends;  indeed,  to  gain  the  popedom, 
And  fee  my  friends  in  Rome.    O  negligence. 
Fit  tor  a  fool  to  fall  by  !    What  cross  devil 
Made  me  put  this  main  secret  in  the  packet 
I  sent  the  king]    Is  there  no  way  to  cure  this? 
No  new  device  to  beat  this  from  his  brains  ] 
I  know,  'twill  stir  him  strongly ;  yet  I  know 
A  way,  if  it  take  right,  in  spite  of  fortune 
Will  bring  me  offagain.  Wliat'sthis — TothePope? 
The  letter,  as  I  live,  with  all  the  business 
I  writ  to  his  holiness.    Nay  then,  farewell ! 
I  have  touch'd  the  highest  point  of  all  my  great- 
ness; 
And.  fi-om  that  full  meridian  of  my  glory, 
I  haste  now  to  my  settlnj^ :  I  sliall  fall 
Like  a  bright  exhalation  in  the  evening, 
And  no  man  sec  me  more. 
Re-enter  the  Dikes  of  Norfolk  and  Scffolk,  the 

Earl  of  Slruev,  and  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Nor.  Hear  the  king's  pleasure,  cardinal;  who 
commands  you 
To  render  up  the  great  seal  presently 
Into  our  hands;  and  to  contine  yourself 
To  Asher-House,'  my  lord  of  Winchester's, 
Till  you  hear  further  from  his  highness. 

Wol.  Slay, 

Where's  your  commission,  lords'!   words  cannot 

carry 
Authority  so  weighty. 

Svf.  Who  dare  cross  them? 

Bearing  the  king's  will  from  Ins  mouth  expressly? 

Wol.  Tillltincl  more  than  will. or  words,  to  doit, 
(I  mean  your  malice,)  know,  oltleious  lords, 
I  dare,  arid  must  deny  it.    Now  I  tee! 
Of  what  coarse  metal  ye  are  moulded — envy. 
How  eagerly  ye  follow  my  disgraces, 
As  if  it  Jed  ye  !  and  how  sleek  and  wanton 
Ye  appear  in  every  thing  may  bring  my  ruin . 
Follow  your  envious  courses,  men  of  malice  ; 
You   have  christian  warrant  for   them,  and,  no 

doubt, 
In  time  will  hnd  their  fit  rewards.    That  seal. 
You  ask  witli  such  a  violence,  tiie  king 
(Mine  and  your  master)  with  his  own  hand  gave 

me": 
Hade  me  enjoy  it,  with  the  place  and  honors, 
During  my  lilip;  and,  to  conlirm  his  goodness. 
Tied  it  by  letters  patent:  Now,  who'll  take  it? 

Sur.  Tlie  king,  that  gave  it. 

Wol.  It  must  be  himself  Ihen 

*  Esher  in  Surrey. 


i 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY  YIII. 


493 


Sur.  Thou  art  a  proud  traitor,  priest. 

Wot.  Proud  lord,  thou  licst; 

Within  these  forty  hours,  Surrey  durst  better 
Have  burnt  that  tonj^ue,  than  said  so. 

Su/\  _  Thy  ambition, 

Tliou  scarlet  sin,  robb'd  this  bewailing  land 
Of  noble  Buckincjhani.  my  I'atJier-in-law: 
The  Jieads  of  all  Ihy  brother  cardinals, 
( Wilh  thee,  and  all  thy  best  parts  bound  tog^ether,] 
Wti^h'u  nut  a  hair  of  his.    Plaiiuc  of  your  policy  ! 
Vou  sent  me  deputy  for  Ireland ; 
Kar  from  his  succor,  from  the  kins,  from  all 
Tiiat  migtit  have  mercy  on  thefaultthougav'sthim; 
Whilst  your  great  goodness,  out  of  Jioly  pity, 
Absniv'd  him  with  an  axe. 

IVitl.  This,  and  all  else 

This  talking  lord  can  lay  upon  my  credit, 
I  answer,  is  most  lalse.    The  duke  by  law 
Kound  his  deserts:  Jiow  innocent  I  was 
Krom  any  private  malice  in  his  end, 
His  noblejury  and  foul  cause  can  witness. 
1(1  lov'd  many  words,  lord,  I  should  tell  you, 
Yuu  have  as  little  honesty  as  honor; 
That  I,  in  the  way  of  loyalty  and  truth 
Toward  the  king,  my  ever  royal  master, 
Dare  mate'  a  sounder  man  than  Surrey  can  be. 
And  all  that  love  liis  follies. 

Sur.  By  my  soul, 

Your  long  coat,  priest,  protects  you ;  thou  shouldst 

Jecl 
My  sword  i'  the  life-blood  of  thee  else.-r-My  lords. 
Can  ye  endure  to  hear  this  arrogance  1 
And  from  this  tellow  ]    If  we  live  thus  tamely^ 
To  be  thusjaded^  by  a  piece  of  scarlet. 
Farewell  nobility  ;  let  his  grace  go  Ibrward, 
And  dare  us  with  his  cap,  like  larks.-» 

ii'ol.  All  goodness 

Is  poison  to  thy  stomach. 

-S'wr.  ^    Yes,  that  goodness 

Of  gleaning  all  the  land's  wealth  into  one, 
Into  your  own  hands,  cardinal,  bv  extortion; 
The  goodnet^s  of  your  intercepted  packets. 
You  writto  the  jjope,  against  tile  king;  your  good- 
ness, 
Since  you  provoke  me,  shall  be  most  notorious. — 
My  lord  ot  Norfolk, — as  you  are  truly  noble, 
As  you  respect  the  common  good,  the  state 
Of  our  despis'd  nobiliry,  our  issues, 
Who,  if  lie  live,  will  scarce  be  gentlemen, — 
Produce  the  grand  sum  of  his  sins,  the  articles 
CoHected  from  his  life: — I'll  startle  you 
Worse  than  thesacring  bell,  when  the  brown  wench 
Lay  kissing  in  your  arms,  lord  cardinal. 

K'o/.  How  mucli,  methinks,  1  could  despise  this 
man, 
But  that  1  am  bound  in  charity  against  it! 

Aur.  Those  articles,  my  lord,  arc  in  the  king's 
hand : 
But,  thus  much,  they  are  foul  ones. 

JVol.  So  much  fairer. 

Anil  spotless,  shall  mine  innocence  arise. 
When  the  king  knows  my  truth. 

Stfr.  This  cannot  save  you  : 

I  thank  my  memory,  I  yet  remember 
Some  of  these  articles;  and  out  Ihey  shall. 
Now.  if  you  can,  blush,  and  cry  guilty,  cardinal, 
Voii'll  show  a  Ijtlle  honesty. 

Wot.  Speak  on,  sir: 

I  dare  your  worst  objections:  If  I  blush, 
It  is.  to  see  a  nobleman  want  manners. 

Sur.  I'd  rather  ♦.ant  those,  than  my  head.  Have 
at  you. 
First,  that,  without  the  king's  assent,  or  knowledge, 
You  wrought  to  be  a  legate;  by  which  power 
You  maim*d  the  jurisdiction  of  all  bishops. 

Nor.  Then,  that,  in  all  you  writ  to  Rome,  or  else 
To  loreign  princes,  Egit  ct  Rex  mens 
W' as  still  inscribed  ;  in  which  you  brought  the  king 
To  be  your  seivant. 

Sifj:  Then,  that  without  the  knowledge 

Either  of  king  or  council,  when  you  went 
Ambassador  to  the  emperor,  you  made  bold 
To  carry  into  Flanders  the  great  seal. 

Sur.  Item,  you  sent  a  large  commission 
To  Gregory  de  Cassalis,  to  conclude, 
Without  tlie  king's  will,  or  the  state's  allowance, 
A  league  between  his  highness  and  Ferrara. 
^  K.jual.  s  RiJdt'n  down. 

*  A  caidiiial's  htit  is  scarlet,  and  the  metlicd  of  daring 
larks  is  by  small  luiiTors  ou  scarlet  cloth. 


Sitf.  That,  out  of  mere  ani!)ition,you  havecaus'd 
Your  holy  liat  to  be  stamp'd  on  the  king's  coin. 

6'ur.  Then,  that  you  have  sent  innumerable  sub- 
stance. 
(By  what  means  got,  I  leave  to   your   own  con- 
science.) 
To  furnish  Rome,  and  to  prepare  the  ways 
You  have  for  dignities;  to  the  mere^  undoing 
Of  all  the  kingdom.    Many  more  there  arc  ; 
Which,  since  they  arc  of  you,  and  odious, 
I  will  not  taint  my  mouth  with. 

Cham.  O  my  lord. 

Press  not  a  falling  man  too  far;  'tis  virtue: 
His  faults  lie  open  to  the  laws  ;  let  them, 
Not  you,  correct  him.    My  heart  weeps  to  sec  him 
So  little  of  his  great  self. 

Sur.  I  forgive  him. 

Suf.  Lord  cardinal,  the  king's  further  pleasure 
is, — 
Because  all  those  things,  you  have  done  of  late 
By  your  power  legatine  Within  this  kingdom, 
Fall  into  the  com])ass  of  a  prsemumre,^ — 
That  therelbre  such  a  writ  he  sued  against  you  ; 
To  forfeit  all  your  goods,  lands,  tenements, 
Chattels,  and  whatsoever,  and  to  be 
Out  ot  the  king's  ^irotection  ; — This  is  my  charge. 

Nor.  And  so  we  11  leave  you  to  your  meditations 
How  to  live  better.    For  your  stubborn  answer, 
About  the  giving  back  tJie  great  seal  to  us, 
The  king  shall  know  it,  and  no  doubt,  shall  thank 

you. 
So  fare  you  well,  my  little  good  lord  cardinal. 

[Exeunf  all  but  Wolsev. 

Wnl.  So  farewell  lo  the  little  good  you  bear  me. 
Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness  ! 
Tiiis  is  the  state  of  man;  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  loaves  of  hojie.  to-morrow  blossoms. 
And  bears  his  blushing  lionors  thick  upon  him: 
The  tliird  day,  comes  a  frost,  a  killing  frost ; 
And — when  he  thinlfs,  good  easy  man,  full  surely 
His  greatness  is  a  ripening — nips  Ins  root. 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  h;ive  venlur'd. 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
Tliis  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory; 
But  far  beyond  my  depth  :  my  high-blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me;  and  now  has  lell  me 
Weary,  and  old  with  service,  to  tlie  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream,  that  must  tor  ever  iiide  me. 
Yain  pomp,  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye; 
I  feel  my  heart  new  open'd  :  O.  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man.  tliat  hangs  on  princes*  lixvors! 
There  is,  betwixt  tJiat  smile  we  would  aspire  to. 
That  sweet  aspt'-ct  of  princes,  and  their  ruin. 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have; 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Luciler 
Never  to  hope  again. — 

Ejifer  CuoMWELL,  amazedhj. 

Why,  how  now,  Cromwell  ? 

Crotn.  I  liave  no  power  to  s])cak,  sir  ? 

Wul.  What,  amaz'd 

At  my  misfortunes?  can  thy  spirit  wonder, 
A  great  man  should  decline  \    Nay,  an  you  weep, 
I  am  fallen  indeed. 

Cro/n.  How  does  your  grace  1 

Wol.  Why,  well; 

Never  so  truly  happy,  my  good  Cromwell. 
1  know  myself  now;  and  1  Rh;!  within  me 
A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 
Astiliandquietconsciencc.  Thekinghascured  me. 
I  humbly  thank  hisgracc;  and  from  these  shoulders. 
These  ruin'd  pillars,  out  of  pity,  taken 
A  load  would  sink  a  navy,  too  much  honor; 
O,  'tis  a  burden,  Cromwell,  'tis  a  burden, 
Too  heavy  li)r  a  man  that  hopes  for  heaven. 

Crom.  I  am  glad  your  grace  has  made  that  right 
use  of  it. 

IVol.  I  hope,  I  have  :  I  am  able  now,  methinks, 
(r)ut  of  a  Ibrtitude  of  soul  1  feel.) 
To  endure  more  miseries,  and  greater  far. 
Than  my  weak-hearted  enemies  dare  oder. 
What  news  abroad  \ 

Crom.  The  heaviest  and  the  worst, 

Is  your  displeasure  with  the  king. 

iVol.  God  bless  him  I 

Crom.  The  next  is,  that  sir  ThomaS  More  is  chosen 
Lord  chancellor  in  your  place. 

U'tfl.  '       That's  somewhat  sudden : 

But  he's  a  learned  man.    May  he  continue 

»  Absoluto.  *  A  writ  incurring  a  peualty. 


494 


KING   HENKY   VIII. 


Act  IV. 


Long  in  his  highness'  favor,  and  do  justice 
For  trulh's  sake,  and  his  conscience;  that  his  bones, 
When  he  has  run  his  course,  and  sleeps  in  blessings, 
May  have  a  tomb  of  orxjhans'  tears'  wept  on  'em! 
What  more  7 

Croin.  That  Cranmer  is  returned  with  welcome, 
Install'd  bird  archbisliop  of  Canterbury. 
Jf'nL  That's  news  indeed. 

V.roin.  Last,  the  lady  Anne, 

Whom  the  king  hath  in  secrecy  long  married, 
Ttiiri  day  was  view'd  in  open,  as  his  queen, 
Going  to  chapel;  and  the  voice  is  now 
Only  about  her  coronation. 

{V'uL  There  was  the  weight  thatpuU'd  me  down. 
(T'Cromwell, 
The  king  has  gone  beyond  me,  all  my  glories 
In  tliat  one  woman  1  have  lost  tor  ever: 
No  sun  ^IlaU  ever  usher  forth  mine  honors, 
Or  gild  again  the  noble  troops  that  waited 
Upon  my  smiles.    Go,  gettliee  from  me,  Cromwell, 
I  am  a  poor  fallen  man,  unworthy  now 
To  be  thy  lord  and  master:  Seek  the  king; 
Tliat  sun.  I  pray,  may  never  set !  I  have  told  him 
What,  and  how  true  thou  art:  he  will  advance 

thee; 
Some  little  memory  of  me  will  stir  him 
(I  know  his  noble  nature)  not  to  let 
Tliy  hopeful  service  perish  too:  Good  Cromwell, 
Neglect  him  not ;  make  use^  now,  and  provide 
For  thnie  own  future  safety. 

Cro.'/i.  0,  my  lord, 

Must  I  then  leave  you "?    Must  I  needs  forego 
So  good,  so  noble,  "and  so  true  a  master  ! 
Bear  witness,  all,  that  have  not  hearts  of  iron, 
With  what  a  sorrow  Cromwell  leaves  his  lord.^ 
The  king  shall  have  my  service;  but  my  prayers 
For  ever,  and  lor  over,  shall  be  yours 


iVol.  Cromwell.  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear 
In  all  my  miseries;  but  thou  hast  forced  mc 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth  to  play  the  woman. 
Let's  dry  our  eyes:  and  thus  tar  iiear  me,  Crom- 
well; 
And — when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be; 
And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  wbere  no  menticir. 
Of  me  more  must  be  iieard  ot^-say,  I  taught  thee, 
Say,  Wolsey — that  once  trod  the  ways  ot'glory, 
And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor — 
Found  thee  a  way,  out»of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in  ; 
A  sure  and  safe  one.  though  thy  master  miss'i^  :X 
Mark  but  my  liill,  and  that  that  ruin'd  me. 
Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  lUng  away  ambition 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels;  how  can  man  then, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by't  ] 
Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate 

thee ; 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 
To  silence  envious  tongues.    Be  just,  and  fear  not; 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's,  and   truth's ;  then,  if  thou  lall'st,  0 

Cromwell, 
Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr.    Serve  the  king, 
And, — Pr'ythee  lead  me  in  : 
There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have, 
To  the  last  penny:  'tis  the  king's  :  my  robe. 
And  my  integrity  to  heaven,  is  all 
1  dare  now  call  mine  own.    O  Cromwell,  Cromwell, 
Had  I  but  serv'd  my  God  with  hall  the  zeal 
1  serv'd  my  king,  he  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies. 

Cram.  Good  sir,  have  patience. 

WuL  So  I  have.    Farewell 

The  hopes  of  court!  my  hopes  in  heaven  do  dwell. 

\_£xcunt. 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I.— .1  Street  in  Westminster. 
Enter  two  Gentlemen,  metting. 

1  Ge^it.  You  are  well  met  once  again. 

2  Gent.  And  so  are  you. 

1  Gent.  You  come  to  take  your  stand  here,  and 

behold 
The  lady  Anne  pass  from  her  coronation? 
^  Gent.  'Tis  all  my  business.    At  our  last  en- 
counter, 
The  duke  of  Buckingham  came  for  his  trial. 

IGe/i^'Tis  very  true;  but  that  time  otIL'r'd  sorrow; 
This,  general  joy. 

2  Gent.  'Tis  well:  the  citizens, 

I  am  sure,  have  sliown  at  full  their  royal  minds; 
As,  let  them  have  their  rights,  tliey  are  ever  Ibrward 
In  celebration  of  this  day  with  shows, 
pageants,  and  sights  of  iionor. 

1  Gent.  Never  greater, 
Nor,  I'll  assure  5'ou,  better  taken,  sir. 

2  Gent.  May  1  be  hold  to  ask  what  that  contains, 
That  paper  in  your  hand  l 

1  Gent.  Yes;  'tis  the  list 
Of  tJiose  that  claim  their  offices  this  da}' 

By  custom  of  the  coronation. 

TJie  duke  of  SulKilk  is  the  ttrst,  and  claims 

To  be  high  steward  ;  next,  the  duke  of  Norfolk, 

He  to  be  earl  marshal;  you  my  read  the  rest. 

2  Gent.  I  thank  you,  sir;  had  I  not  known  those 

customs, 
I  sliouki  have  been  beholden  to  5'our  paper. 
But,  I  heseecii  you.  what  becomes  of  Katharine, 
The  priMcoss-ddwager  I  how  goes  her  business  ? 

1  Gent.  TInit   I   can  tell  you  too.     The  arch- 
bishop 
Of  Canterbury,  accompanied  with  other 
Learned  and  reverend  liithers  of  his  order, 
Held  a  lale  court  at  Dunstable,  six  miles  otf 
From  Amptliill,  where  (he  princess  lay;  to  which 
She  oft  was  cited  by  them,  but  appear  d  not: 
And  to  be  short,  Ii>r  not  appearance,  and 
The  king's  lale  scruple,  by  the  main  assent 
Of  all  these  learned  men  she  was  divorced, 
And  the  late  marriage  made  of  none  ellect: 
Since  which,  she  was  reniov'd  to  Kimbolton, 
Where  she  remains  now,  sick. 

1  The  chancellor  is  tby  guardian  of  orphans.  '  Interest. 


2  Gent.  Alas,  goorf  lady  !— 

[TruniprA'S. 
The  trumpets  sound:    stand  close,  the  queen  is 
coming. 

THE   ORDER   OF   THE   PROCESSIOX. 

A  lively jlourish  of  Trumpets ;  tfien  eiiter, 

1.  Ttvo  Judges. 

2.  Lord  C/uincellor,  loitk  the  jnirse  and  mace  be- 

fore him. 

3.  Chorviters  singing,  [Music. 

4.  Mayor  of  Lonrion,  hearing  the     luace.      Then 

Garter^  in  /lis  coat  of  arms,  und^  on  his 
head,  a  gilt  copper  crown. 

5.  Marqubi  Dorset,  hearing  a  sceptre  of  gold,  on 

his  head  a  demi-coronal  tf  gold.  With 
him,  tlie  Karl  of  Surrey,  hearing  the  rod 
(f  silver,  ivith  tlie  dove,  cruwncd  with  an 
carts  coronet.    Collars  of  SS. 

(.).  Duke  of  Suff'ol/c,  in  his  rohe  of  estate,  his  coro- 
net on  Itis  head,  bearing  a  long  white, 
wand,  as  hi^h  stewanl.  ll'ilh  him  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  irifh  the  rot  (f  marsh'd' 
ship,  a  cortnnl  ou  his  head.    'Co'flars  of  SS. 

7.  A  canopij  borne  by  four  of  the  Cin'pie-ports  ; 
undtr  it,  the  Queen  in  her  rohe;  in  her 
hair,  richly  adorned  withmpearl,  crowned. 
On  eacli  side  of  her,  the  Biahops  of  Lon-^ 
don  and  Winchester, 

S.  The  old  Duchess  of  Norfolk,  in  a  cm'onal  of 
gold,  wrought  with  flowerst  bearing  the 
Queen''s  train. 

9,  Certain    Ladies  or  Countesses,  with  plain  cir^ 
cles  of  gold  without Jiowers. 
2  Gent.    A    royal    train,   believe   me, — Ihese  I 
know : — 

Who's  that,  that  bears  the  sceptre  ? 

1  Gent.  Marquis  Dorset: 
And  that  the  earl  of  Surrey,  with  the  rod. 

2  Gent.    A    bold   brave   gentleman :    And   tliat 

should  be 
The  duke  of  Sullolk. 

1  Gent.  'Tis  the  same;  high-steward. 

2  Gent.  And  that,  my  lord  of  Norfolk  i 

1  Gent.  Yes. 

2  Gent,  Heaven  bless  tbee! 

[Looking  on  the  Queen. 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


495 


Tliou  liast  the  sweetest  face  I  ever  look'd  on.— 

Sir,  as  I  have  a  soul,  she  is  an  angel ; 

Our  kiuj^  lias  all  the  Indies  in  his  arms, 

And  more,  and  richer,  when  he  strains  that  lady : 

I  cannot  blame  his  conscience. 

1  Gent.  They,  that  bear 
The  cloth  of  honor  over  her,  are  four  barons 

Of  the  Cinque-j)orts. 

2  {jenf.  Those  men  are  happy;  and  so  are  all, 

ar°  near  her. 
I  take  it,  she  that  carries  ui^the  train. 
Is  Iliat  old  nbble  lady,  duchess  of  Norfolk. 

1  Cicnt.  ]t  is;  and  all  tJie  rest  are  countesses. 

2  Gent.  Their  coronets  say  so.    These  are  stars 

indeed  ; 
And.  sometimes,  falling  ones. 

1  Gent.  No  more  of  that. 

ExU  Prucesshn,  Willi  a  great fiuuristi  of 
Trumpets. 

Enter  a  Third  Gentleman. 
God  save  you,  sir!  wJn'rc  have  yon  been  broiling? 

3  Gent.  Among  the  crowd  i'  the  abbey;  where  a 

linger 
Could  not  be  wedg  d  in  more ;  and  I  am  stifled 
With  the  mere  rankness  of  their  joy. 

2  Gent.  You  saw 
The  ceremony  ? 

3  Gent.  That  I  did. 

1  Gent.  How  was  it! 
3  Gtnt,  Well  worth  the  seeing, 

2  Gent.  Good  sir,  speak  it  to  us. 

3  Gent.  As  well  as  I  am  able.    The  rich  stream 
Of  lords,  and  ladies,  having  brought  tiie  queen 
To  a  prepar'd  place  in  the  choir,  tell  olf 

A  distance  from  her;  while  her  grace  sat  down 
To  rest  a  while,  some  liall  an  hour,  or  so. 
In  a  rich  chair  of  stale,  opposing  freely 
Tile  beauty  of  her  ]ierson  to  the  people, 
liiheve  me,  sir,  she  i*  the  goodliest  woman 
Tliat  ever  lay  by  man;  which  when  the  people 
Had  the  liiU  view  of,  such  a  noise  arose 
As  the  shrouds  make  at  sea  m  a  stilf  tempest. 
As  loud,  and  to  as  many  tunes:  liats,  cloaks, 
(Doublets,  I  think,)  (lew  up ;  and  liad  their  faces 
Been  loose,  this  day  they  had  been  lost.    Such  joy 
1  never  saw  before,    (ireat-bellied  women, 
That  had  not  half  a  week  to  go,  like  rams 
In  the  old  time  of  war,  would  shake  the  press. 
And  make  them  reel  before  them.    No  man  living 
Could  say.  This  is  inij  ivij'e,  there;  all  were  VN'oven 
So  strangely  in  one  piece. 

2  Gent.  Uut,  'pray,  what  follow'd  1 

3  Gent.  At  length  her  grace  rose,and  with  modest 

paces 
Came  to  the  altar;  where  she  kneel'd,  and,  saint- 
like. 
Cast  her  Jair  eyes  to  heaven,  and  pray'd  devoutly. 
Then  rose  again,  and  bow'd  her  to  the  people; 
When  by  the  archbisliop  of  Canterbury 
She  had  all  the  royal  makings  of  a  queen  ; 
As  holy  oil,  Edward  Confes^or's  crown. 
The  rod,  and  bird  of  pc.ice,  and  all  such  emblems 
Laid  nobly  on  her:  which  perlbrm'd,  the  choir, 
Witli  all  the  choicest  music  of  the  kingdom. 
Together  sung  I'e  Dciun.    So  she  parted. 
And  with  the  same  full  state  paced  back  again 
To  York-place,  where  the  feast  is  lield. 

1  Gent.  Sir,  you 
JIust  no  more  call  it  York-place,  that  is  past: 
For,  since  the  cardinal  li?ll,  (hat  title's  lost ; 

'  f  is  now  the  king's,  and  call'd— Whitehall. 

3  Gent.  I  know  it; 

But  tis  so  lately  alter  d,  that  the  old  name 
Is  fresh  about  me. 

2  Gent.  What  two  reverend  bishops 
Were  those  that  went  on  each  side  of  the  queen  1 

3  Cent.  Stokesly  and  Gardiner;  the  one,  of  Win- 

chester, 
(Newly  preferr'd  from  the  king's  secretary,) 
The  other,  London. 

2  Gent.  He  of  Winchester 

Is  held  no  great  good  lover  of  the  archbishop's. 
The  virtuous  Cranmer. 

3  Gent.  All  the  land  knows  that : 
However,  yet  there's  no  great  breach;    when  it 

comes, 
Cranmer  will  tind  a  friend  will  not  shrink  from 
liim. 
2  Gent.  Who  may  that  be,  I  pray  you  ? 


3  Ornf.  Thomas  Cromwell  J 

A  man  in  much  esteem  with  the  king,  and  truly 
A  worthy  Iriend.— The  king 
Has  made  hi  in  master  o'  the  jewel-house, 
And  one,  already,  of  the  privy-council. 

2  Gent.  He  will  deserve  mo're. 
^  3  Gent.  Yes,  without  all  doubt. 

Come,  gentlemen,  ye  shall  go  my  way,  which 
Is  to  the  court,  and  there  ye  shall  be  my  guests 
Something  I  can  command.    As  I  walk  thither, 
Ml  tell  ye  more. 

Butli.  You  may  command  us,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.— Kimbolton. 
Enter  Katiiaiiine,  Downger,  .nek ;  led  between 
GKiFfiTH  and  Patien'CE. 

Grif.  How  does  your  grace  ? 

Au/A.  O,  Griffith,  sick  to  death: 

My  legs,  like  loadon  branches,  bow  to  the  earth. 
Willing  to  leave  their  burden:  Reach  a  chair;— 
So.— now,  methinks,  I  feel  a  little  ease. 
Didst  thou  not  tell  me,  Griffith,  as  thou  led'st  me, 
That  the  great  child  of  honor,  cardinal  Wolsey, 
Was  dead  ! 

Grif.  Yes,  madam ;  but  I  think,  your  grace, 
Out  of  the  pain  you  sulVer'd,  gave  no  ear  to't. 

Kat/t.  I'r'ythee,  good  Gritfith,  tell  me  how  he 
died  : 
If  well,  he  stepp'd  before  me,  happily,^ 
Eor  my  example. 

Grif.  Well,  the  voice  goes,  madam : 

For  after  the  stout  carl  Northumberland 
Arrested  Inin  at  York,  and  brought  him  tbrward 
(As  a  man  sorely  tainted)  to  his  answer, 
He  fell  sick  suddenly,  and  grew  so  ill. 
He  could  not  sit  his  mule. 

hatti.  Alas!  poor  man  I 

Grif.  At  last,  with  easy  roads,  became  to  Leicester, 
Lodg'd  in  the  abbey;  'where  the  reverenil  abbot, 
With  all  Ins  conveiit,  honorably  receiv'd  liim  ; 
To  whom  he  gave  these  yvovds,—  0.f<illirr  ablmt. 
An  old  man,  broken  Willi  tlie  storms  of  .state, 
Is  come  to  lai/  his  wean/  bones  amcmg  ye  ; 
Give  him  a  little  earth  for  chariti/J 
So  went  to  bed  :  where  eagerly  bis  sickness 
Pursu'd  liim  still;  and  three  nights  after  this. 
About  the  hour  of  eight,  (which  he  himself 
Foretold  should  be  Ins  last,)  hill  of  repentance, 
Continual  meditations,  tears,  and  sorrows, 
He  gave  his  honors  to  the  world  again. 
His  blessed  part  to  he.iven,  and  slept  in  peace. 

Kath.  So  may  lie  rest;  his  faults  lie  gently  on 
Inm  ! 
Yet  thus  far,  GrilKth.  give  me  leave  to  speak  him. 
And  yet  with  chanty.— He  was  a  man 
Of  an  unbounded  stomach,  ever  ranking 
Himself  Willi  ininoes;  one  that  by  suggestion 
Ty'd  all  the  kingdom:  simony  was  fair  play; 
His  own  opinion  was  his  law;  1'  the  presence' 
He  would  say  untruths  ;  and  be  ever  double 
Both  in  his  words  and  meaning:  He  was  never, 
But  where  he  meant  to  ruin,  pitiful : 
He  promises  were,  as  he  then  was,  mighty ; 
But  his  perftrmance,  as  he  is  now,  nothing. 
Of  his  own  body  he  was  ill,  and  gave 
The  clergy  ill  example. 

Grif.  Noble  madam. 

Men's  evil  manners  live  in  brass;  their  virtues 
We  write  in  water.    May  it  please  your  highness 
To  hear  me  sijeak  his  good  now  ! 

Kalh.  Yes,  good  Griffith  ; 

I  were  malicious  else. 

Grif.  The  cardinal. 

Though  from  an  humble  stock,  undoubtedly 
Was  fashion'd  to  iiiucli  honor.    From  bis  cradle. 
He  was  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good-one  ; 
Exceeding  wise,  lair  s])okeii,  and  persuading: 
Lofty,  and  sour,  to  them  that  lov'd  him  not ; 
But.lo  those  men  that  sought  him, sweet  as  summer. 
And  though  be  were  unsatisfied  in  getting, 
(WMiicb  was  a  sin.)  yet  In  bestowing,  madam, 
He  was  in.-.st  jiriiicely:  Ever  witness  for  hiui 
Those  twins  <>(  learning,  that  he  raised  in  you, 
Ipswich,  and  Oxliird!  one-  of  which  fell  with  him 
Unwilling  to  outlive  the  good  that  did  it ; 
The  other,  though  unlinish'd,  yet  so  famous. 
So  excellent  in  art,  and  still  so  rising. 
That  Christendom  shall  ever  speak  his  virtue. 
»  Uaply.  '  Of  the  king.  ■>  Ipswich. 


496 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


Act  IV.  Scene  II. 


His  ovcrlhrow  heap'd  hiippiiie-ss  uiion  him  ; 
For  then,  and  not  till  tlieii,  lie  felt  liiiriself, 
And  ibund  the  blessedness  of  being  little: 
And.  to  add  greater  honors  to  his  age 
Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died,  tearing  God 
Kaih.  After  my  death  I  wish  no  other  herald, 
No  other  speaker  of  iny  living  actions, 
To  keep  mine  honor  from  corruption. 
But  such  an  honest  chronicler  as  Griffith. 
Whom  I  most  hated  living,  thou  hast  made  me 
With  thy  religious  truth,  and  modesty, 
Now  in  his  ashes  honor  :  Peace  be  with  liim  !— 
Patience,  be  near  me  still;  arid  set  inc  lower: 
I  have  not  long  to  trouble  thee.— Good  Griffith, 
Cause  the  musicians  play  me  that  sad  note 
I  named  my  knell,  whilst  I  sit  raediluling 
On  that  celestial  harmony  I  go  to. 

Sa't  and  solemn  Music. 
GHf.  She  is  asleep.     Good  wench,  let's  sit  down 
quiet. 

For  fear  we  wake  her  ; — Softly,  gentle  Patience. 

The  J'isijin.  Enter,  solemnly  trip/nnff  one  after 
anolhtr,  si.c  Personages,  clad  in.  white  robes, 
ivcaring  on  their  heads  garlands  of  bays  and 
HoLden  vizards  on.  tlwir  faces  :  In-anches  of  bays 
or  palm  in  their  han. Is.  They  first  congee  un'to 
her,  then  dance ;  and,  at  certain  changes,  the  first 
two  Itid'l  a  .•ip'irt'  Kurhuid  imr  tier  head;  at  which, 
the  (d  her  four  make  rrrercnd  court'sies;  then  the 
two  that  held  the  garlanl.  deliver  the  same  to  tliC 
other  next  two,  u-hn  ohxcrve  the  same  order  in 
their  changes,  and  holding  the  garland  over  her 
head;  which  done,  they  deliver  the  same  garland 
to  the  last  tujo,  whn  likewLie  obseree  the  same  or- 
der: at  which,  {as  it  were  bi/  inspiratinn,)  she 
makes  in  tier  sleep  signs  (f  rejaiciiiii.and  hiildeth 
tip  her  hrind.s  to  heaven  :  and  su  in  their  dancing 
they  vanish,  carrying  the  garland  with  them. 
The  music  continues. 

Kath.  Spirits  of  peace,  where  are  yel  Are  ye  all 
gone  ! 
And  leave  me  here  in  wretchedness  behind  yel 

(jrif.  Madam,  we  are  here. 

Kalh.  It  is  not  you  I  call  for : 

Saw  ye  none  enter,  since  I  slept ! 

Orif.  None,  madam. 

hath.  No?  Saw  you  not.evennow,  a  blessed  troop 
Iiiviii'  me  to  a  baiiquet;  whose  bright  faces 
Cast  Ihousand  beams  upon  me,  like  the  sun? 
Tlu'y  promis'd  mo  eternal  happiness ; 
And  brought  me  garlands,  Grilfith,  which  I  feel 
1  am  not  worthy  yet  to  wear:  I  shall. 
Assuredly. 

Grif.    I   am  most   joyful,  madam,  such   good 
dreams 
Possess  your  fancy. 

Katli.  Rid  the  music  leave, 

They  are  harsh  and  heavy  to  me.      [Music  ceases. 

Pat.  Do  you  note, 

llow  much  her  grace  is  alter'd  on  the  sudden? 
How  long  her  liice  is  drawn  !  How  pale  she  looks. 
And  of  an  earthy  cold  T  Mark  you  her  eyes  ] 

Urif.  She  is  going,  wench  ;  pray.  pray. 

Pal.  Heaven  comfort  her  ? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  An't  like  your  grace, — 
Kath.  You  are  a  saucy  fellow: 

Deserve  we  no  more  reverence  ! 

Grif.  You  are  to  blame. 

Knowing,  she  will  not  lose  her  wonted  greatness. 
To  use  so  rude  behaviour:  go  to,  kneel. 

Me.ss.l  luinibiy  do  entreat  your  highness' pardon  : 
My  haste  made  me  unmannerly;  There  is  staying 
A  genlleman,  sent  from  the  kiiig,  to  see  you. 
Kath.  Admit  him  entrance,  GrilHth:    But  this 
fellow 
Let  ine  ne'er  see  again. 

[Exeunt  GvaFFiTU  and  Messenger. 


Re-enter  Griffith  ivith  Capucids. 
If  my  sight  fail  not. 
You  should  be  lord  ambassador  from  the  emperor, 
My  royal  nephew,  and  your  name  Capucius, 

Vaj).  Madam,  the  same,  your  servant. 

h'alh.  o,  my  lord, 

The  limes,  and  titles,  now  are  alter'd  strangely 
With  me,  since  lirst  you  knew  me.    But,  I  pray  you, 
What  IS  your  pleasure  with  me  ! 

Cap.  Noble  lady, 

First,  mine  own  service '^o  your  grace  ;.the  next, 
The  king's  request  that  I  would  visit  you  ; 
Who  grieves  much  lor  your  wsakness,  and  bynu 
Sends  you  his  jirincely  commendations, 
Ami  hearlily  enlreats  you  take  good  comfort. 

Kath.  O  my  good  lord,  that  comlbrt  comes  too 
late; 
'Tis  like  a  pardon  after  execution: . 
That  gentle  physic,  given  in  time,  had  cured  me  ; 
But  now  I  am  past  all  comforts  here,  but  prayers. 
How  does  his  highness  ? 

Cap.  Madam,  in  good  health. 

A'n/A.  So  may  he  ever  do  I  and  ever  llourish, 
Wlien  1  shall  dwell  with  worms,  and  my  poor  name 
Banish'd  the  kingdom  !— Patience,  is  that  letter 
I  caus'd  you  vvrite,  yet  sent  away  ? 

•''«'•  No,  m.idam. 

[Givin g  it  to  Katharinb. 

Kath.  Sir,  I  most  humbly  pray  you  to  deliver 
This  to  my  lord  the  king. 

Cap.  Most  willing,  madam. 

hath.  In  which  I  have  commended  to  his  good- 
ness 
The  model  of  our  chaste  loves,  his  young  daugh- 
ter ;3 — 
The  dews  of  heaven  fall  thick  in  blessings  on  her! — 
Beseeching  him  to  give  her  vii^uous  breeding; 
(She  is  young,  and  of  a  noble TOodest  nature; 
1  hope,  she  will  deserve  well;)jmd  a  little 
To  love  her  for  her  mother's  saTie,  that  lov'd  him. 
Heaven  knows  how  dearly.    My  next  poor  petition 
Is,  that  his  noble  grace  would  have  some  pity 
Upon  my  wretched  women,  that  so  long 
Have  follow'd  both  my  fortunes  faithfully  : 
Of  which  there  is  not  one,  I  dare  avow, 
(And  now  I  should  not  lie,)  but  will  deserve 
For  virtue,  and  true  beauty  of  the  soul, 
For  honesty,  and  decent  carriage, 
A  right  good  husband,  let  him  be  a  noble; 
And,  sure,  those  men  are  happy  that  shall  have 

them. 
The  last  is,  for  my  men  :— they  are  the  poorest, 
But  poverty  could  never  draw  them  from  me:— 
That  they  may  have  their  wages  duly  paid  them, 
And  something  over  to  remember  me  by  ; 
If  heaven  had  pleas'd  to  have  given  me  longer  life. 
And  able  means,  we  had  not  parted  thus. 
These  are  the  whole  contents;— And,  good  mv 
lord,  ■* 

By  that  you  love  the  dearest  in  this  world. 
As  you  wish  christian  peace  to-souls  departed. 
Stand  these  poor  people's  friend,  and  urge  the  king 
To  do  me  this  last  right. 

Cap.  By  heaven,  I  will; 

Or  let  me  lose  the  fashion  ol  a  man  ! 

Kath.  1  thank  you,  honest  lord.    Remember  me 
In  all  humility  unto  his  highness  : 
Say,  his  long  trouble  now  is  passing 
Out  of  this  world:  tell  him.  in  death  I  bless'd  him, 
For  so  I  will.— Mine  eyes  grow  dim.— Farewell, 
My  lord.— Griffith,  farewell.— Nay,  Patience, 
You  must  not  leave  me  yet.    I  must  to  bed  ; 
Call  in  more  women.  When  I  am  dead,  good  wench, 
Let  me  be  used  with  honor;  strew  me  over 
With  maiden  llowers,  that  all  the  world  may  know 
I  was  a  chaste  wife  to  my  grave  ;  embalm  me. 
Then  lay  me  Ibrlh:  although  unqueen'd,  yet  like 
A  queen,  and  daughter  to  a  king,  inter  mi-'. 

1  can  no  more. [Exeunt,  leading  Katiiari.\e. 

=*  .iftcrwaids  queen  Mai'y. 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


497 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  l.—A  Gall^  'j  m  the  Palace. 

Enter  Gakdixer,  BUhop  rif  Winchcstpr,  a  Page, 
with  a  Turc/i  before  kuii.    Ml  by  Sm  Thomas 

LOVELL. 

Gar.  It's  one  o'clock,  boy,  is't  lift  ? 

Biju  .  It  hath  struck. 

Udr.  These  should  be  hours  for  necessities, 
JCot  (itr  deiiy:h(^  ;  times  to  repair  ov/r  nature 
With  coniibrtiug  repose,  auci  not  (or  us 
To  waste   tliese  times. — (Jood  hour  of  night,  sir 

Thomas ! 
Whither  so  late  ? 

Lov.  Came  you  from  tlie  king,  my  lord  ? 

Gar.  I  did,  sir  Tliomas;  and  left  him  at  pfimero^ 
With  the  duke  of  Sullblk. 

I'Ov.  I  must  to  him  too, 

Before  he  go  to  bed.    I'll  take  my  leave. 

Gar.  Not  yet,  sir  Thomas  Lovell.     What's  the 
matter  \ 
It  seems,  you  are  in  haste:  an  if  there  be 
No  great  otli-nce  belongs  to't,  give  your  li-iend 
Some  touch  of  your  late  business:    Aflairs,  that 

walk 
(As,  they  say  spirits  do)  at  midnight,  have 
In  them  a  wilder  nature,  than  the  business 
That  seeks  despatch  by  day. 

Lav.  My  lord,  I  love  you: 

And  durst  commend  a  secret  to  your  ear 
Much  weightier  than  this  work.    The  queen's  in 

labor. 
They  say,  in  great  extremity  ;  and  fear'd. 
She'll  with  the  labor  end. 

Oar.  The  fruit,  she  goes  with, 

I  pray  for  heartily;  that  it  may  tiud 
Good  time,  and  live  :  but  lor  the  stock,  sir  Thomas, 
I  wish  it  grubb'd  up  now. 

L<fV.  Methinks,  I  could 

Cry  the  amen ;  and  yet  my  conscience  says 
She's  a  good  creature,  and,  sweet  lady,  does 
Deserve  our  better  wishes. 

Oar.  But,  sir,  sir,— 

Hear  rae,  sir  Thomas  :  you  are  a  gentleman 
Of  mine  own  way;  I  know  jou  wise,  religious; 
And,  let  me  tell  you,  it  will  ne'er  be  well,— 
'Twill  not,  sir  Thomas  LovcU,  take't  of  me. 
Till  Cranmer,  Cromwell,  her  two  hands,  and  she, 
Sleep  in  their  graves. 

I^w.  Now,  sir,  you  speak  of  two 

The  most  remark'd  i'  the  kingdoin.  As  for  Crom- 
well,— 
Beside  that  of  the  jewel-house,  he's  made  master 
O'  the  rolls,  and  the  king's  secretary;  further,  sir. 
Stands  in  the  gap  and  trade  of  more  prelerments. 
With  which  the  time  will  load  him:  The  archbi- 
shop 
Is  the  king'    hand,  and  tongue;  And  who  dare 

speak 
One  syllable  against  him  7 

Gar.  Yes,  yes,  sir  Thomas, 

There  are  that  dare;  and  I  myself  have  ventur'd 
To  speak  my  mind  of  him  :  a'mj,  indeed,  this  day, 
Sir,  (I  niay  tell  it  you,)  I  think,  1  have 
Incens'd'  the  lords  o'  the  council,  that  lie  is 
(For  so  I  know  he  is,  they  know  he  is) 
A  most  arch  heretic,  a  pestilence 
That  does  infect  the  laud  :  with  which  they  moved. 
Have  broken  with*  the  king;  who  hath  so  far 
Given  ear  to  our  complaint,  (of  his  great  grace 
And  princely  care;  foreseeim;  those  fell  mischiefs 
Our  reasons  laid  before  him,)  he  hath  commanded 
To-morrow  morning  to  the  council-board 
He  be  conveuted.-     He's  a  rank  weed,  sir  Thomas, 
And  we  must  root  him  out.    From  your  afliiirs 
I  hinder  you  too  long:  good  night,  sir  Thomas. 

iot'.  Many  good  nights,  my  lord:   I  rest  your 
servant.         [Exeunt  Gardiner  and  Page. 
As  Lovell  is  gning  out,  enter  tfie  Kisa  and  ilie 
Duke  of  Suffolk. 

K.  Hen.  Charles,  I  will  play  no  more  to-night; 

My  mind's  not  on't,  you  are  too  hard  for  me. 

«  A  g-inie  at  cards.  'St-toD.  '  Told  their  minds  to. 

^  Summoned. 

32 


.Si//.  Sir,  I  did  never  win  of  you  before. 
A'.  Hen.  But  little,  Charles; 
Nor  shall  not.  when  my  fancy's  on  my  play, — 
Now,  Lovell.  Irom  the  ipieen  what  is  the  news? 

Lav.  I  could  not  personally  deliver  to  her 
What  you  commanded  me,  but  bv  her  woman 
I  sent  your  message;  who  retunrd  her  thanks 
In  the  greatest  humbleness,  and  desired  your  high- 
ness 
Most  heartily  to  pray  for  her. 

A'.  Hen.  What  say'st  thou  7  ha? 

To  pray  lor  her  ?  what,  is  she  crying  out ! 

Lav.  So  said  her  woman ;   ancl  that  her  suffer- 
ance made 
Almost  each  pang  a  death. 

A'.  Hen.  Alas,  good  lady  ! 

Suf.  God  safely  quit  her  of  her  burden,  and 
With  gentle  travail,  to  the  gladding  of 
Your  highness  with  an  heir! 

A'.  Hen.  'Tis  midnight,  Charles, 

Pr  ythee,  to  bed  ;  and  in  thy  prayers  remember 
The  estate  of  my  poor  queen.    Leave  me  alone, 
For  I  must  think  of  that,  which  company 
Will  not  be  friendly  to. 

^af.  I  wish  5'our  highness 

A  quiet  night,  and  my  good  mistress  will 
Remember  in  my  prayers. 

AT.  Hen.  Charles,  good  night. 

[Exit  Suffolk. 
Enter  Sm  Axthont  De.n.vy. 
Well,  sir,  what  follows  ? 

Den.  Sir,  1  have  brought  my  lord  the  archbishop, 
As  you  commanded  me. 

A'.  Hen.  Ha!  Canterbury! 

Den.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

K.  Hen.  'Tis  true:  Where  is  he,  Denny? 

Den.  He  attends  your  highness'  pleasure. 

K.  Hen.  Bi'iig  him  to  us. 

[Exit  Denny. 

Lnv.  This  is  about  that  which  the  bishop  spake; 
I  am  happily  come  hither.  [Aside. 

Re-enter  Denxv,  with  Cranmeh. 

A'.  Hen.  Avoid  the  gallery. 

[Lovell  seems  to  slai/. 
Ha  ! — I  have  said.— Be  gone. 
What —  [Exeunt  Lovell  and  Denxv. 

^   Cran.  I  am  fearful :  Wherefore  frowns  he  thus? 
Tis  his  asp,k-t  of  terror.     All's  not  well. 

K.  Hen.  How  now,  my  lord  1     You  do  desire  to 
know 
Wherefore  1  sent  for  you 

Cran.  It  is  my  duty. 

To  attend  your  highness'  pleasure. 

A'.  Hen.  Pray  you,  arise, 

My  good  and  gracious  lord  of  Canterbury. 
Come,  you  and  I  must  walk  a  turn  together; 
I  have  news    to  tell  you  :  Come,  colne,  give  uie 

your  hand. 
Ah,  my  good  lord,  I  grieve  at  what  I  speak. 
And  am  right  sorry  to  repeat  what  follows  : 
1  have,  and  most  unwillingly,  of  late 
Heard  many  grievous,  I  do  say,  my  lord. 
Grievous  complaints  of  you;   which,  being  con 

sider'd. 
Have  mov'd  us  and  our  council,  that  you  shall 
This  morning  come  before  us;  where,  I  know. 
You  cannot  with  such  freedom  purge  yourself, 
But  that,  till  further  trial  in  those  charges 
Which  will  require  your  answers,  you  must  take 
Your  patience  to  you,  and  be  well  contented 
To  make  your  house  our  Tower;  You  a  brother  of 

US,» 

It  tits  we  thus  proceed,  or  else  no  witness 
Would  come  against  you. 

Cran.  I  humbly  thank  your  highness  , 

And  am  right  glad  to  catch  this  good  occasion 
Most  thoroughly  to  be  winnow'd,  where  my  chart 
And  corn  shall  fly  asunder:  for,  I  know. 
There's    none   stands    under    more   calumnious 

tongues, 
TlianI  myself,  poor  man. 

'  One  of  the  council. 


498 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


Act  V. 


K.  lien.  Stand  up,  good  Canterbury  ; 

Thy  truth,  and  thy  integrity,  is  rooted 
In  us,  thy  friend:  Give  me  thy  hand,  stand  up; 
Pr'ythee,  let's  walk.    Now,  by  my  holy-danie,    _ 
What  manner  of  man  are  you  \     My  lord.  I  look  d 
You  would  have  given  me  your  petition,  tliat 
1  should  have  ta'en  some  pains  to  bring  together 
Yourself  and  your  aecu.sers ;  and  to  have  heard  you 
Without  indurance,  further. 

Crun.  Most  dread  liege, 

The  good  I  stand  on  is  my  truth,  and  honesty  ; 
If  Ihey  shall  fail,  I,  with  mine  enemies. 
Will  triumph  o'er  my  person;  which  I  weigh  not, 
Being  of  those  virtues  vacant.    I  fear  nothing 
Whal  can  be  said  against  me. 

A'.  }len.  Know  you  not  how 

Y'our  stale  stands  i' the  world,  with  the  whole  world! 
Your  enemies 

Are' many,  and  not  small ;  their  practices 
Must  bear  the  same  jiroportion  :  and  not  ever 
The  justice  and  the  truth  o'  the  question  carries 
The  due  o'  the  verdict  with  it :  At  what  ease 
Might  corrupt  minds  procure  knaves  as  corrupt 
Toswcar  against  you!  such  things  have  been  done. 
Vou  are  potently  oppos'd ;  and  with  a  malice 
Of  as  great  size.    Ween"  you  of  better  luck. 
I  mean  in  perjur'd  witness,  than  your  Master, 
Whose  minister  you  are,  whiles  here  he  liv  d 

Upon  this  naughty  earth  1    Go  to,  go  to  ; 

You  take  a  precipice  for  no  leap  of  danger, 

And  woo  your  own  destruction. 
Crun.  God,  and  your  majesty. 

Protect  mine  innocence,  or  I  liiU  into 

The  trap  is  laid  for  me  ! 
K.  lien.  Be  of  good  cheer; 

Tiiey  shall  no  more  prevail,  than  wc  give  way  to. 

Keep  comfort  to  you;  and  this  morning  see 

You  do  appear  betore  them  :  if  they  shall  chance, 

In  charging  you  with  matters,  to  commit  you, 

The  best  persuasions  to  the  contrary 

Fail  not  to  use,  and  with  what  vehemency 

Tlic  occasion  shall  instruct  you  :  if  entreaties 

Will  render  you  no  remedy,  this  ring 

Deliver  them,  and  your  appeal  to  us 

Tliere  make  before  them.— Look,  the  good  man 
weeps ! 

He's  honest,  on  mine  honor.    God  s  blest  mother ! 

I  swear,  he  is  true-hearted ;  and  a  soul 

None  better  in  my  kingdom.— Get  you  gone. 

And  do  as  I  have  bid  you.— [i,'xi/  Cu.\.\meii.]    He 
has  strangled 

His  language  in  his  tears. 

Enter  an  old  Lady. 

Gent-  [Witlim.]  Come  back;  What  mean  s-ou? 

Ladq.  I'll  not  come  back;  the  tidings  that  1  bring 
Will    make   my   boldness    manners.— Now,  good 

angels 
Fly  o'er  thy  royal  head,  and  shade  thy  person 
Under  their  blessed  wings! 

K.  lien.  Now,  by  thy  looks 

I  guess  thy  message.    Is  the  queen  deliver'd  1 
Say,  ay  ;  and  of  a  boy  1 

Ladi/.  Ay,  ay,  my  liege  ; 

And  of  a  lovely  boy  :  The  God  of  heaven 
Botli  now  and  ever  bless  her! — 'tis  a  girl, 
Priuiuses  boys  hereafter.    Sir,  your  queen 
Desires  your  visitation,  and  to  be 
Aci]uaiiilcd  Willi  this  stranger;  'tis  as  like  you 
As  cheirv  is  to  cherry. 

K.  Hen.  Lovel!,— 

Enter  Lovell. 
J.nv.  Sir. 

K.  Hen.  Give  her  an   hundred   marks.    I  II  to 
the  queen.  \Exit  King. 

Lady.  An  hundred  marks!  by  this  liglit,I'll  have 
mure  : 
An  ordinary  groom  is  for  such  payment; 
1  will  have  more,  or  scold  it  out  ot  him. 
Saul  1  lor  this,  the  girl  is  like  to  him? 
1  will  have  more,  or  else  unsay't;  and  now 
While  it  IS  hot,  I'll  put  it  to  the  issue.       {Exeunt. 

SCKNE  U.—Lolihy  bijure  the  CmmcU-Cfiamber. 
lunler  CHA.nmek;  Servants,  Door-Keeper,  SrC,  at- 
tending. 
Cran.  I  hope,  I  am  not  too  late ;  and  yet  the 
gentleniiiii, 

>  Think. 


That  was  sent  to  me  from  the  council,  pray'd  me 
To  make  great  haste.    All  fast !  what  means  this' 

— Hoa  ! 
Who  waits  there?— Sure  you  know  me  7 

D.  Keep.  Yes,  my  lord ; 

But  yet  1  cannot  help  you. 
Cran.  Why! 

X).  lieep.  Your  grace  must  wait  till  you  be  call  d 
lor. 

Enter  Doctor  Butts. 
Cran.  So. 

Butts.  This  is  a  piece  of  malice;  I  am  glad 
I  came  this  way  so  happily:  The  king 
Shall  understand  it  presently.  \Exil  BcTrs. 

Cran.  [Aside.]  'Tis  Butts, 

The  king's  physician  :  As  he  past  along, 
How  earnestly  he  east  Ins  eyes  upon  me  ! 
Pray  heaven,  he  sound  not  my  disgrace !    For  cer- 
tain, 
This  is  of  purpose  lay'd,  by  .some  that  halo  me, 
(God  turn  theirhearts'!  I  nevcrsought  their  malice ,5 
To  quench   mine   honor:  they   would  shame  to 

make  me 
Wait  else  at  door;  a  fellow-counsellor. 
Among    boys,    grooms,  and    lackeys.    But  their 

pleasures 
Must  be  fulrtll'd,  and  I  attend  with  patience. 

Enter,  at  a  Window  above,  t/ie  King  and  Bdtts. 

Bulls.  I'll  show  your  grace  the  strangest  .sight, — 

K.  Hen.  What's  Ihat,  Butts? 

Bulls.  I  think  your  highness  saw  this  many  a  day. 

K.  Hen.  Body  o'  me,  where  is  it  ! 

Bulls.  There,  my  lord" 

The  high  promotion  of  his  grace  of  Canterbury  ; 
Who  holds  his  state  at  door,  'mongst  pur.suivants, 
Pages,  and  footboys, 

K.  Hen.  Ha!  'Tis  he,  indeed: 

Is  this  the  honor  they  do  one  another ! 
'Tiswell.there'soneabovelhem  jet.  1  hadthought. 
They  had  parted  so  much  honesty  amongst  them, 
(At  least,  good  manners,)  as  not  thus  to  suffer 
A  man  of  his  place,  and  so  near  our  favor. 
To  dance  attendance  on  their  lordship's  pleasures, 
And  at  the  door  too,  like  a  post  with  jiackets. 
By  holy  Mary.  Butts,  there's  knavery: 
Let  them  alone,  and  draw  the  curtain  close; 
We  shall  hear  more  anon.—  [Exempt. 

The  Council-Chamber. 
Enter  the  Lord  Chancellor,  Ihe  Dikes  of  Sitfolk 
and  Norfolk,   Kaui.  of   Sirrey,  Lord   Cham- 
berlain, Gardinkr,  and  Chomwei.l.     The  Chan- 
cellor places  himself  at  Ihe  tipper  end  of  the 
Table,  on  the  left  hand ;  a  Heat  being  left  void 
iihove  him,  as  firr  ihe  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
BiMiY.     The  rest  seat  themselces  in  order  on  each 
side.    Cromwell  at  Ihe  loiver  end  a.i  Secretary. 
Chan.  Speak  to  the  business,  master  secretary  : 
Why  are  we  met  in  council  ! 

C'roni.  Please  your  honors. 

The  chief  cause  concerns  his  grace  of  Canterbury. 
Car.  Has  he  had  knowledge  of  it? 
Crom.  Yes. 

JVw.  Who  waits  there  ' 

B.  Keep.  Without,  my  noble  lords  ? 
Oar.  Yej. 

D.  Keep.  My  lord  archbishop  ; 

And  has  done  half  an  hour,  to  know  your  pleasures. 
Chan.  Let  him  come  in. 

D.  Keep.  Your  grace  may  enter  now 

[Cranmer  approaches  tlie  Council-Table. 
Chan.  My  good  lord  archbishop,  I  am  very  sorry 
To  sit  here  at  this  present,  and  behold 
That  chair  stand  empty  :  But  we  all  are  men. 
In  our  own  natures  frail  ■  out  of  which  frailty. 
And  want  ofwisdom,  you, that  best  should  tea<;h  us, 
Have  misdemcan'd  yourself  and  not  a  little, 
Toward  the  king  tirst,  then  his  laws,  in  niling 
The  whole  realm,  by  your  teaching,  and  your  chap- 
lains, 
(For  so  we  are  inform  d.)  with  new  opinions, 
Divers  and  dangerous,  which  are  heresies. 
And,  not  relbrm'd,  may  prove  pernicious. 

(Jar.  Which  reformation  must  be  sudden  too. 

My  noble  lords  :  lor  those  that  tame  wild  horses. 

Pace  them  not  ill  their  hands  to  make  them  gentle; 

But  stop  their  mouths  with  stubborn  bits,  and  spur 

them, 


Scene  II. 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


499 


Till  they  obey  llie  manage.     If  we  suffer 

(Out  olour  easiness  and  cliildisli  pity 

To  one  man's  honor)  tliis  contagious  sickness, 

Farewell,  all  physic;  And  wh.at  follows  then^ 

Commotions,  uproars,  wilh  a  general  taint 

Of  the  whole  state:  as,  of  late  days,  our  neighbors, 

The  upper  Germany,  can  dearly  witness, 

Yet  freshly  pitied  in  our  memories. 

Cran.  My  good  lords,  hitherto,  in  all  the  progress 
Both  of  my  life  and  office,  I  have  labor'd, 
And  with  no  little  study,  that  my  teaching. 
And  the  strong  course  of  my  authority. 
Might  go  one  way,  and  salely;  and  tlie  end 
Was  ever,  to  do  \vell ;  nor  is  there  living, 
(I  speak  it  with  a  single  liearl,  my  lords,) 
A  man,  that  more  detests,  more  stirs  against, 
liolh  in  his  private  conscience,  and  his  place, 
Dcliicers  of  a  public  jieace,  ilian  I  do. 
'Piay  heaven,  the  king  may  never  tind  a  heart 
AViih  less  allegiance  in  il !'  Men,  that  make 
Knvy,  and  crooked  malice,  nourishment. 
Dare  bite  the  best.    1  do  beseech  your  lordships, 
That,  in  tjiis  case  of  justice,  my  accusers, 
lie  what  they  will,  may  stand  forth  face  to  face, 
And  freely  urge  against  me. 

S"/.  Nay,  my  lord. 

That  cannot  be;  you  are  a  counsellor. 
And,  by  that  virtue,  no  man  dare  accuse  youte* 

Gar.  My  lord,  because  we  have  business  of  more 
moment. 
We  will   be  short  with   you.    'Tis  his  highness' 

pleasure, 
And  our  c  msent,  for  better  trial  of  you, 
Krom  heme  you  be  comniitled  to  the  Tower; 
Where,  being  but  a  private  man  again, 
You  shall  know  many  dare  accuse  you  boldly. 
More  than,  1  fear,  you  are  jirovided  for. 

Cron.Ah,  my  good  lord  ofVVinehester.I  thank  you. 
You  are  always  my  good  friend;  if  your  will  pass, 
I  shall  both  Hiid  your  lordship  judge  and  juror, 
\'ou  are  so  merciful;  I  see  your  end, 
'Tis  my  undoing :  l.ove,  and  meekness,  lord, 
Become  a  churchman  belter  than  ambition  ; 
Win  straying  souls  with  modesty  again. 
Cast  none  away.    That  1  shall  clear  myself. 
Lay  all  the  weight  ye  can  upon  my  patience, 
1  make  as  little  doubt,  as  you  do  conscience, 
111  doing  daily  wrongs.    1  could  say  more. 
Hut  reverence  to  your  calling  makes  me  modest. 

iiar.  My  lord,  my  lord,  you  are  a  sectary. 
That's  the  plain  truth;  your  painted  gloss  discovers, 
To  men  that  understand  you,  words  and  weakness. 

Crom.  My  lord  of  Wiuchester,  you  are  a  little, 
By  your  good  favor,  too  sliarp ;  nien  so  noble, 
However  faulty,  yet  should  lind  respect 
For  what  they  have  been  :  'tis  a  cruelty. 
To  load  a  falling  man. 

Oar,  Good  master  secretary, 

I  cry  vour  honor  mercy  ;  you  may,  worst 
Of  all  this  table,  say  so. 

Crum.  Why,  my  lord  ! 

(Jar.  Do  not  I  know  you  liir  a  liivorer 
Of  this  new  sect  ?    Ye  arc  not  sound. 

Crom.  Not  sound  ! 

Gar.  Not  sound,  I  say. 

Criim.  'Would  you  were  half  so  honest ! 

Men  sprayers  then  would  seek  you,  not  Iheir  tears. 

G(ir.  I  shall  remember  this  bold  language. 

Crom.  Do. 

Remember  your  bold  life  too. 

Chan.  This  is  too  much  ; 

Forbear,  for  shame,  my  lords. 

Gar.  I  have  done. 

Crum.  And  I. 

Cluiii.  Then   thus  (or  you,  my  lord,— It  stands 
agreed, 
I  take  it,  by  all  voices,  that  Ibrthwith 
You  be  convey'd  to  the  Tower  a  prisoner  ; 
There  to  remain,  till  the  king's  further  pleasure 
Be  known  unto  us:  Are  you  all  agreed,  lords  ' 

A  I/.  We  are. 

Cran.  Is  there  no  other  way  of  mercy, 

But  I  must  needs  to  the  Tower,  my  lords  ! 

Gar.  What  other 

Would  you  expect?  You  are  strangely  troublesome! 
Let  some  o'  the  guard  be  ready  there. 

Enter  Guard. 
Cran.  Forme? 

Must  1  go  like  a  traibir  lliithcr  ? 


Gar.  Receive  him. 

And  see  him  safe  i'  the  Tower. 

Cran.  Stay,  good  my  lords; 

I  have  a  little  yet  (o  say. .  Look  there,  my  lords; 
By  virtue  of  that  ring,  I  take  my  cau.sc 
Out  of  the  gripes  of  cruel  men,  and  give  it 
To  a  most  noble  jiidi^e,  the  king  my  master. 

Cham.  This  is  the  king's  ring. 

Sur.  ^  'Tis  no  counterfeit. 

Suf.  'Tis  the  right  ring,  by  heaven :  I  told  ye  all. 
When  we  (irst  put  this  dangerous  stone  a  roiling, 
'Twould  fall  upon  ourselves. 

Nor.  Do  you  think,  my  lords. 

The  king  will  suffer  but  the  little  hnger 
Of  this  man  to  be  ve.v'd  ? 

Cham.  'Tis  now  too  certain  : 

How  much  more  is  his  life  in  value  with  himi 
'Would  I  were  fairly  out  on't. 

Crom.  My  mind  gave  me. 

In  seeking  tales,  and  informations, 
Against  this  man, (whose  honesty  the  devil 
And  his  disciples  (nily  envy  at,) 
Ye  blew  the  fire  that  burns  ye  :  Now  have  at  ye. 

Enter  Kisg,  frowning  on  them  ;  takes  his  Seat. 

Gar.  Dread  sovereign,  how  much  are  we  bound 
to  heaven 
In  daily  thanks,  that  gave  us  such  a  prince  ; 
Not  only  good  and  wise,  but  most  religious; 
One  that,  in  all  obedience,  makes  the  church 
The  chief  aim  of  his  honor  ;  and,  to  strengthen 
That  holy  duty,  out  of  dear  respect. 
His  royal  self  in  judgment  comes  to  hear 
The  cause  betwixt  her  and  this  great  ollcndcr  ! 

K.  lien.  You  were  ever  good  at  sudden  com  men 
dations. 
Bishop  of  Winchester.    But  know,  I  come  not 
To  bear  such  llattery  now,  and  in  my  i)resence ; 
They  arc  too  thin  and  base  to  hide  ollcnces. 
To  me  you  cannot  reach ;  you  play  the  spaniel. 
And  tliink  with  wagging  of  your  tongue  to  win  me, 
But  whatsoe'er  thou  tak'st  me  for,  I  am  sure. 
Thou  hast  a  cruel  nature,  and  a  bloody. — 
Good  man,  [To  Cuanmer.]  sit  down.    Now  let  mo 

see  the  proudest 
Ho,  that  dares  most,  i)ut  wag  his  finger  at  thee  : 
By  all's  that's  holy,  be  bad  better  starve. 
Than  but  once  think  this  place  becomes  thee  not. 

Sur.  May  rt  please  >our  grace. — 

A'.  lien.  No,  sir,  it  docs  not  please  me. 

I  had  thought  I  had  had  men  of  some  understand- 
ing 
And  wisdom,  of  my  council;  but  I  find  none. 
Was  it  discretion,  lords,  to  let  this  man. 
This  good  man,  (few  of  you  deserve  that  title,) 
This  honest  man,  wait  like  a  lousy  footboy 
At  chamber  door  !  and  one  as  great  as  you  are? 
Why,  what  a  shame  was  this  ;     Did  my  commis- 
sion 
Bid  ye  so  lar  forget  yourselves  !  I  gave  ye 
Power,  as  he  was  a  counsellor,  to  try  him. 
Not  as  a  groom  :  There's  some  of  ye,  1  see. 
More  out  of  malice  than  integrity. 
Would  try  him  to  the  utmost,  had  ye  mean; 
Which  ye  shall  never  have;  while  I  live. 

Chan.  Thus  far 

My  most  dread  sovereign,  may  it  like  your  grace. 
To  let  my  tongue  excuse  all.    What  was  purpos'd 
Concerning  Ins  imprisonment,  was  rather 
(If  there  be  faith  in  men)  meant  for  his  trial. 
And  fair  purgation  to  the  world,  than  malice, 
I  am  sure,  in  me. 

A'.  Hen.  Well,  well,  my  lords,  respect  him:; 

Take  him,  and  use  him  well,  he's  worthy  of  it. 
^  will  say  thus  much  for  him.  If  a  prince 
May  be  beholden  to  a  subject,  I 
Am,  for  his  love  and  service,  so  to  him. 
Make  me  no  more  ado,  but  all  embrace  him  ? 
Be  friends,  for  shame,  my  lords.— My  lord  of  Can- 
terbury, 
I  have  a  suit  which  you  must  not  deny  me  ; 
That  is,  a  lair  young  maid  that  yet  wants  baptism. 
You  must  be  godliither,  and  answer  for  her. 

Cran.  The  greatest  monarch  now  alive  may  glory 
In  sueb  an  honor;  How  may  I  deserve  it, 
That  am  a  poor  and  humble  subject  to  you  ? 

A".  Ilcn.  Come,  come,  my  lord,  you'd  spare  your 
spoons  ;i  you  shall  have 

>  It  w.isan  ancu'Titcustom  for  sponsor».toprcs*.-ntii!poons 
to  their  god-chilJi-L-n. 


500 


KING   HENIIY   VIII. 


Act  V. 


Two  noble  partners  with  you  ;  the  old  duchess  of 

Norfolk, 
And  lady  marquis  Dorset;  Will  these  please  you  I 
f)nce  mure,  my  lord  of  Winchester,  I  charge  you, 
Embrace,  and  love  th]s  man. 

Gar.  With  a  true  heart. 

And  brother-love,  I  do  it. 

Cnin.  And  let  heaven 

Witness,  how  dear  1  hold  this  conhrmalmn. 
K.  Hen.  Good  man,  tliose  joyful  tears  show  thy 
true  heart. 
The  common  voice,  1  sec,  is  verified 
Of  thee,  which  says  thus,  Do  my  lord  of  Catiter' 

bury 
A  shrewd  turn,  and  he  is  your  friend  for  ever, — 
Come,  lords,  we  trifle  time  away  ;  I  Ion;;; 
To  have  this  young  one  made  a  Christian. 
As  1  have  made  ye  one,  lords,  one  remain  ; 
So  1  grow  stronger,  you  more  honor  gain. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— r/te  Palace  Yard. 

Noise  and  Tumult  within.    Enter  Porter  and  his 
Man. 

Piyrt.  You'll  leave  your  noise  anon,  ye  rascals: 
Do  you  take  the  court  for  Paris-garden  1- ye  rude 
slavt^s,  leave  your  gaping.3 

[Within.']  Goud  master  porter,  I  belong  to  the 
larder. 

Port.  Belong  to  the  gallows,  and  be  hanged,  you 
rogue  :  Is  this  the  place  to  roar  in  ! — Fetch  me  a 
dozen  crab-tree  slaves,  and  strong  ones  ;  these  are 
but  switches  to  theui.— I'll  scralcli  your  heads: 
^  ou  must  be  seeing  christenings  !  Do  you  look  for 
ale  and  Cake  here,  you  rude  rascals  \ 

Man.  Pray,  sir,  be  patieni;  'tis  as  much  impos- 
sible 
(Unless  we  sweep  them  from  the  door  with  can- 
nous  ) 
To  scatter  them,  as  'lis  to  make  them  sleep 
On  .May-day  morning;  which  will  never  be: 
We  may  as  well  push  against  Paul's,  as  stir  them. 

Por.  How  got  they  in,  and  be  hang'd  \ 

Man.  Alas,  X  know  not:  How  geU  tl)e  tide  in? 
As  much  as  one  sound  cudgel  of  four  foot 
(Vou  see  the  poor  remainder)  could  distribute, 
1  made  no  spare,  sir. 

Port.  You  did  nothing,  sir. 

Man.  I  am  not  Samson,  nor  sir  Guy,  nor  Col- 
brand,'  to  mow  Ihem  down  betbre  me:  but,  if  I 
spared  any,  that  had  a  head  to  hit,  either  young 
or  old,  he  or  sJie,  cuckold  or  cuckold-maker,  let  me 
never  hope  to  see  a  chine  again;  and  that  1  would 
not  for  a  cow,  God  save  her. 

[/r/Z/ii/i.]  Do  you  hear,  master  porter  1 

Pfirt.  1  snail  be  with  you  presently,  good  master 
pi^'Ppy- — Keep  the  door  close,  sirrah. 

Man.  What  would  you  liave  me  do? 

Port.  What  should  you  do  but  knock  them  down 
by  tlie  dozens]  Is  tins  Moorhelds  to  muster  in  1 
or  have  we  some  strange  Indian  with  the  great  tool 
come  to  court,  the  women  so  besiege  us!  Bless 
me,  wiiat  a  fry  oi  fornication  is  at  door!  On  my 
Cliristian  conscience,  tills  one  christening  will  be- 
get a  thousand;  here  will  be  father,  godliither,  and 
all  together. 

Man.  The  spoons  will  be  the  bigger,  sir.  There 
is  a  fellow  somewhat  near  the  door,  iie  should  be 
a  brazier  by  his  hice,  lor,  o'  my  conscience,  twenty 
of  the  dog-days  now  reign  in'snose;  all  that  stand 
about  him  are  under  tlie  line,  they  need  no  other 
penance:  That  hre-dtake  did  i  hit  tliree  times  on 
tilt'  head,  and  three  times  was  his  nose  discharged 
against  me;  he  stands  there,  like  a  mortar-piece, 
to  blow  us.  There  was  a  haberdasher's  wife  or* 
small  wit  near  him  that  railed  upon  me  till  !ier 
jmik'd  porringer''  lellolfher  head,  tor  kindling  such 
a  eombustion  in  the  slate.  I  miss'd  the  meteoi-^ 
once,  and  hit  that  woman,  wlio  cried  out,  c/ul'^a' / 
when  1  might  see  from  tar  some  forty  truncheoneers 
draw  to  her-suet:or,  which  were  the  hoi)e  of  the 
Strand,  where  slie  was  quartered*  They  fell  on; 
I  iua<le  good  my  i)la<-e;  at  lengtli  they  came  to  the 
broomstalf  with  me,  1  deiied  ihem  still;  when  sun- 
denly  a  hie  of  bi>ys  behind  them,  loose  shot,dehv- 
cred  such  a  shower  of  pebbles,  that  1  was  fain  to 

'*  The  ln'ar  gnvLleii  on  tlu?  B;ink-side.  '  Koaiinj^. 

*  <.)uy  of  Warwick,  nor  Colbiiind  the  Danish  Riant. 

I  riuk'ii  cap.  »  The  brazier. 


draw  mine  honor  in,  and  let  them  win  the  work. 
The  devil  was  amongst  them,  I  think,  surely. 

Port.  These  are  the  youths  that  thunder  at  a 
play-house,  and  tight  for  bitten  apples;  that  no 
audience,  but  the  Tribulation  of  Tower-hill,  or  the 
Limbsof  Li  mehouse,  their  dear  brothers,  are  able  to 
endure.  I  have  some  of  them  in  Lintbo  Palrum^ 
and  there  they  arc  like  to  dance  tliese  three  days; 
besides  the  running  banquet  of  two  beadles,^  that 
is  to  come. 

Enter  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Cham.  Mercy  o'  me,  what  a  multitude  are  here- 
They  grows  still  too,  from  all  parts  they  are  com- 

ins, 
As  if  we  kept  a  fair  here!    Where  are  tliese  por- 
ters, 
These  lazy  knaves'! — Ye  have  made  a  tine  hand, 

fellows. 
There's  a  trim  rabble  let  in  :  Are  all  these 
Your  faithful  Incndso'  the  suburbs'?  We  shall  have 
Great  store  of  room,  no  doubt,  left  for  the  ladies, 
When  they  pass  back  from  the  christening. 

Port.  An't  please  your  honor. 

We  are  but  men ;  and  what  so  many  may  do, 
IS'ot  being  torn  a  pieces,  we  have  done  : 
An  army  cannot  rule  them. 

Cham.  As  1  live, 

If  the  king  blame  me  for't,  I'll  lay  ye  all 
By  the  heels,  and  sudtlenly;  and  on  your  heads 
Clapround  hnes,  for  neglect :  You  are  lazy  knaves; 
And  here  ye  lie  baiting  of  bumbards,^  wdien 
Ye  should  do  service.    Hark,  the  trumpets  sound  ; 
They  are  come  already  liom  the  christening: 
Go,  break  among  the  press,  a-nd  tind  a  way  out 
To  let  the  troop  pass  fairly  ;  or  I'll  find 
A  Marshalsea, shall  hold  you  play  these  two  months. 

Port.  Make  way  there  (or  the  princess. 

Man.  You  great  fellow,  stand  close  up,  or  I'll 
make  your  head  ache. 

Pott.  You  i'  the  eamblet,  get  up  o'  the  rail ;  I'll 
pick  I  you  o'er  the  pales  else.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  \Y.—rhe  Palace.^ 
Enter  Trumpets,  sounding ;  then  to'o  Aldermen, 
Lord  Mayor,  Garter,  CiiANMER,  DmcE  of  Nou- 
FOLK,  ivith  his  Marshals  Utaff,  Ul'ke  of  Sl'f- 
FuLK,  two  Noblemen  hearing  great  standing 
Bowls  for  the  Christening  Gifts ;  then  four 
Noblemen,  bearing  a  Canopy,  under  ivhick  the 
DnCMESS  OF  NouFor.K,  Godmother^  bearing  the 
Cliiid  rkhhj  habited  in  a  Mantle,  SfC.,  train 
borne  by  a  Lady,  then  folbnvs  the  Marciiion- 
KHS  OF  Dorset,  the  othtr  Godmother,  and 
Ladies.  The  Troop  pass  once  about  the  Stage, 
and  Garter  speaks. 

Gart.  Heaven,  from  thy  endless  goodness,  send, 
prosperous  life,  long,  and  ever  happy,  to' the  high 
and  mighty  princess  of  England,  Elizabeth. 

Flourish.    Enter  King  and  Train. 

Cran.  [Kneeling.]  And  to  your  royal  grace,  and 
the  good  queen. 
My  noble  partners,  and  myself,  thus  pray  : — 
All  comtbrt,  joy,  in  this  most  gracious  lady, 
Heaven  everla'id  up  to  make  parents  happy, 
May  hourly  lall  upon  ye  I 

A'.  Jten.  Thank  you,  good  lord  archbishop; 

What  is  her  name  f 

Cran.  Elizabeth. 

A',  lien.  Stand  up,  lord. — 

[The  King  ki'-scs  the  Child. 
With  this  kiss  take  my  blessing;  God  protect  thee  I 
Into  whose  hands  1  give  thy  life. 

Cran.  Amen. 

K.  Hen.  My  noble  gossips,  ye   have   been   too 
prodigal : 
I  thank  ye  heartily,  so  shall  this  lady, 
When  she  has  so  much  English. 

Cran,  Let  nie  speak  sir, 

For  heaven  now  bids  me;  and  the  words  1  utter 
Let  none  think  flattery,  for  they'll  find  tiiem  truth, 
Tliis  royal  inlant,  (Heaven  still  move  about  her  I) 
Though  in  her  cradle,  yet  now  promises 
Upon  this  land  a  thousand  thousand  blessings, 
Which  time  shall  bring  to  ripeness:  She  shall  be 

t  IM:ice  of  ronfineniont.  »  A  dessert  of  h  bipiiiiig. 

9  lilack  leather  vessels  to  holtl  beer. 

'  Pitch.  *  At  Greenwich. 


iSCENE  IV. 


KING   HENRY   VIII. 


501 


(liut  few  now  living  can  behold  that  goodness) 
A  pattern  to  all  princes  living  with  her, 
And  all  that  shall  suceed  :  Sheba  was  never 
More  covetous  of  wisdom  and  fair  virtue. 
Than  this  pure  soul  shall  be  ;  all  princely  graces, 
That  mould  up  sucii  a  mighty  piece  as  this  is. 
With  all  Ihe  virtues  tjiat  attend  tlie  good. 
Shall  still  bedoubled  on  her:  truth  shall  nurse  her. 
Holy  and  heavenly  thoughts  still  counsel  her: 
She  shall  be  lov'd  and  fear'd;  Her  own  shall  bless 

her : 
Her  foes  shake  like  a  field  of  beaten  corn, 
And  hang  tlieir  heads  witli  sorrow :  Good  grows 

with  her: 
In  her  dajs,  every  man  shall  eat  in  safety 
Under  his  own  vine,  what  he  plants;  and  sing 
The  merry  songs  of  peace  to  all  his  neighbors. 
God  shall  be  truly  known  ;  and  those  about  her 
from  her  shall  read  the  perfect  ways  of  honor. 
And  by  those  claim  their  greatness,  not  by  blood. 
[Nor''  shall  this  peace  sleep  witfi  her :  But  as  wlien 
The  bird  of  wonder  dies,  the  maiden  phoenix, 
Her  ashes  new  create  another  heir, 
As  great  in  admiration  as  herself; 
So  shall  she  leave  her  blessedness  to  one, 
(When  heaven  shall  call  her  from  this  cloud  of 

darkness,) 
Who,  from  tfie  sacred  ashes  of  her  Jionor, 
Shall  star-like  rise,  as  great  in  fame  as  she  was, 
And  so  stand iix'd:  Peace,  plenty,  love, truth,  terror, 
"  This  aud  Iho  followini;  seveuteeii  Hues  wero  probal^ly 
writteu  by  B.  JunsoQ,  after  the  accessiou  of  king  James. 


That  were  the  servants  to  this  chosen  infant. 
Shall  then  be  his,  and  like  a  vine  grow  to  him  ; 
Wherever  the  bright  sun  of  heaven  shall  shine. 
His  honor  and  the  greatness  of  his  name 
Shall  be,  and  make  new  nations  :  He  shall  flourish., 
And,  like  a  mountain  cedar,  reach  his  branches 

To  all  the   planis  about  liim : Our  children's 

children 
Shall  see  this,  and  bless  heaven. 
K.  Hen.  Thou  spcakest  wonders.] 

Crun.  She  shall  be,  to  the  happiness  of  England, 
An  aged  princess  ;  many  days  shall  see  her. 
And  yet  no  day  without  a  deed  to  crown  it. 
'Would  I  had  known  no  more  !  but  she  must  die. 
She  must,  the  saints  must  have  her;  yet  a  virgin, 
A  most  unspotted  lily  shall  she  pass 
To  the  ground,  and  all  the  world  shall  mourn  her 

A'.  Hen.  0  lord  archbishop. 
Thou  hast  made  me  now  a  man  ;  never,  before 
This  happy  child,  did  I  get  any  thing  : 
This  oracle  ol"  comfort  has  so  picas'd  me. 
That,  when  I  am  m  heaven,  I  shall  desire 
To  see  what  this  child  does, and  praise  my  M.aker. — 
I  thank  ye  all : — To  you,  my  good  lord  mayor. 
And  your  good  brethren,  I  am  much  beholden; 
I  have  received  much  honor  by  your  presence. 
And  ye  shall  find  me  thankful.    Lead  the  way, 

lords ; 
Ye  must  all  see  the  queen,  and  she  must  thank  ye, 
She  will  be  sick  else.    This  day,  no  man  think 
He  has  business  at  his  house  ;  tor  all  shall  stay  : 
This  httle  one  shall  make  it  holiday.        [Exeunt. 


EPILOGUE. 


*Tis  ten  to  one,  this  play  can  never  please 

All  that  are  here:  Some  come  to  take  their  ease. 

And  sleej)  an  act  or  two  ;  but  those,  we  fear. 

We  ha*e  frighted  with  our  trumiiefs;  so.  'tis  clear. 

They'll  say,  'tis  naught:  others,  lo  hear  the  city 

Abus'd  extremely,  and  to  cry, — thills  wi/tt/f 

Which  we  have  not  done  neilher:  that,  I  tear, 


All  the  expected  good  we  are  like  to  hear 
For  this  play  at  this  time,  is  only  in 
The  merciful  construction  of  good  women; 
For  such  a  one  we  show'd  them  ;  If  they  smile, 
And  say.  'twill  do,  I  know,  within  a  while 
All  the  best  men  are  ours;  lor,  'tis  ill  hap. 
If  they  hold,  wljcn  their  lad:cs  bid  them  clap. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTKD. 


Priam,  King  of  Troy. 
IfEGTon,        1 

TllOILUS, 

Paris,  'this  So7is. 

Duii'iionus, 

Hblf.xls,      J 

^SEAS,         j  Trojan  Commanders. 

Antenor,       J        ■*  J      .„    J, 

Calcuas,  a  Trojan  Priest,  taJdng  part  with  the 

Greeks. 
Pandarus,  Uncle  to  Cressida. 
MAitiiAHKLOS,  a  bastard  son.  ofVmm. 
Ai.EXANiiBJi,  Servant  to  Cressida. 
Seri-aiit  to  Tmilus;  Hervaid  to  Paris;  Servant  to 

Diomt'dcs. 


y  Grecian  Commander.'!. 


Aoamemnon,  the  Grecian  General. 
Menelaus,  his  Brother. 
Achilles, 

A.IAX, 

Ulysses, 

Nestor, 

Diomedes, 

PATIKK'LL'S, 

Tiiersites,  a  deformed  and  scurrilous  Grecian. 

Helen,  Wife  to  Menclaiis. 
Andromache,  IVife  to  Hector. 
Cassandra,  Daughter  to  Priam,  a  Prophetess, 
Cressida,  Daughter  to  Calclias. 

Trojan  and  Greeli  Soldiers,  and  Attenilants. 


SCENE,  Troy,  and  the  Grecian  Camp  before  il. 


PROLOGUE. 


In  Troy  tliere  lies  the  scene.    From  isles  of 
Greece 
The  princes  orgulous,'  their  high  blood  chafed, 
Have  to  the  port  of  Athens  sent  their  ships, 
I-'raught  with  tlie  ministers  and  instruments 
Of  cruel  war :  Sixty  and  nine,  that  wore 
Tlieir  crowncts  regal,  from  the  Athenian  bay 
Put  Ibrlh  toward  Phrvgia :  and  their  vow  is  made, 
To  ransack  Troy  ;  wi'thin  whose  strong  immures 
The  ravish'd  Helen,  Menelaus'  queen. 
With  wanton  Paris  sleeps;  and  tlmt's  the  quarrel. 
To  Tenedos  they  coinc ; 

And  the  deep-drawing  barks  do  there  disgorge 
Their  warlike  fraughtage:^  Now  on  Dardan  plains 
The  fresh  and  yet  unbniised  Greeks  do  jiitch 
Their  brave  pavilions:  Priam's  six-gated  city, 


Dardan,  and  Tymbria,  Hias,  Chctas,  Trojan, 

And  Antenorides,  with  massy  staples. 

And  corresponsive  and  fuililling  holts, 

Spcer^i  up  the  sons  of  Troy. 

Now,  expectation,  tickling  skittish  spirits, 

On  one  and  other  side,  Trojan  and  Greek, 

Sets  all  on  hazard : — And  hither  am  I  come 

A  prologue  arm'd, — but  not  in  conlidence 

Of  author's  pen,  or  actor's  voice;  but  suited 

111  like  conditions  as  our  argument, — 

To  tell  you,  tiiir  beholders,  that  our  play 

Leaps  o'er  the  vaunf  and  firstlings  of  tliose  broils, 

'Ginning  in  the  middle  ;  starting  thence  away 

To  what  may  be  digested  in  a  play. 

Like,  or  find  fault ;  do  as  your  pleasures  are  ; 

Now  good,  or  bad,  'tis  but  the  chance  of  war. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  L— Troy.    Before  Priam's  Palace. 
Enter  Troilds,  armed,  and  Pandarus. 
Tro.  Call  here  my  varlet,^  I'll  unarm  again: 
Why  should  I  war  wilhruil  the  walls  of  Troy, 
That  find  such  cruel  bailie  here  within  ! 
Kiich  Trojan,  that  is  master  of  his  heart, 
Let  hiiu  to  Held;  Troilus.  alas!  halh  none. 
Pan.  Will  this  gear'  ne'er  be  mended  !  . 

Tro.  The  Greeks  arc  strong,  and  skilful  to  their 
strength. 
Fierce  to  their  skill,  and  to  their  fierceness  vahant; 
But  I  am  weaker  tliaii  a  woman's  tear. 
Tamer  than  sleep,  louder'  than  ignorance; 
Less  valiant  than  the  virgin  in  the  night. 
And  skill-less  as  unpraelis'd  infancy. 

I'lin.  Well,  I  have  told  vou  enough  of  this:  for 
my  part,  I'll  not  meddle  mlr  make  no  further.    He, 
'  I'K.ud,  disiiainful.    '  Fivi.;lit,     >  ScrT.>iut.     <  Habit. 
•  \Vi;iiUtT. 
502 


that  will  have  a  cake  out  o(  Ihe  wheat,  must  tarry 
the  grinding. 

Tro.  Have  I  not  lorried? 

Pan.  Ay,  the  grinding  ;  but  you  must  tarry  the 
bolting. 

Tro.  Have  I  not  tarried  "! 

Pan.  Ay,  Ihe  bolting;  but  you  must  tarry  the 
leavening. 

Tro.  Still  have  I  tarried. 

Pan.  Ay.  to  the  leavening;  but  here's  yet  in  Ihe 
word— heiealler,  the  kneading,  the  making  of  the 
cake,  the  heating  of  the  oven, and  the  baking;  nay, 
you  must  stay  the  cooling  loo,  or  you  may  chance 
lo  burn  vour  lips.  ^ 

Tro.   Patience  herself,  what  goddess   e  cr  she 
be. 
Doth  lesser  blereh"  at  sulliuance  than  I  do. 
At  Priam's  royal  table  do  1  sit: 
And  when  fair  Cressid  comes  into  my  thoughts,— 
e  Shut.       1  Av.'vunt,  what  went  before.      "Shrink. 


Scene  II. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


503 


So,  traitor!    when    she  comes! When  is  she 

Ihi'iici''! 

Pan.  Wt'll,.--lie  look'd  yesternight  fairer  than  ever 
I  saw  tier  look,  or  any  woman  else. 

Tro.  I  was  about  to  tell  tliee,--When  my  heart. 
As  wedged  wllh  a  siRh,  would  riveS  in  twain  ; 
l.est  Hec;or  of  niv  father  should  perceive  me, 
I  have  (as  when  the  sun  doth  light  a  storm) 
Buned  this  sigh  in  wrinkle  of  a  sniilc: 
Hut  sorrow,  that  is  couoh'd  in  seeming  gladness, 
Is  like  Ihat  mirth  fate  turns  to  sudden  sadne.ss. 

P(fj.,  An  her  hair  were  not  somevvhatdarker  than 
HelerV,  (well,  go  to,)  there  were  no  more  com- 
parison between  the  women. — But,  for  my  part, 
she  is  my  kinswoman;  I  would  not,  as  they  term 
it,  praise  her, — But  I  would  somebody  had  heard 
her  talk  yesterday,  as  1  did.  1  will  not  dispraise 
your  sister's  Cassandra's  wit;  hut — 

Tru.  OPandarus!  I  tell  thee,  Pandarus,— 
When  I  do  tell  thee,  there  my  hopes  lie  drown'd, 
Reply  not  in  how  many  fathoms  deep 
They  lie  indrench'd.    I  tell  thee,  I  am  mad 
In  Cressid's  love  :  Thou  answer'st.  She  is  fair ; 
Pour'st  in  the  open  ulcer  of  my  heart 
Her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  cheek,  her  gait,  her  voice ; 
Handiest  in  thy  discourse,  0,  that  her  hand, 
III  whose  comparison  all  whites  are  ink. 
Writing  their  own  reproach  ;  to  whose  solt  seizure 
The  cygnet's  down  is  harsh,  and  s|iirit  of  sen.se 
Hard  as  the  palm  of  ploughman  !  This  thou  tell'st 

me, 
As  true  thou  tell'st  nie,  when  I  say,— I  love  her; 
But,  saying  thus,  instead  of  oil  and  halm. 
Thou  laj'st  in  every  gash  that  love  hath  given  me 
The  knile  that  made  it. 

Pan.  1  speak  no  more  than  truth. 

Trn.  Thou  dost  not  speak  so  much. 

Pan.  'Faith,  I'll  not  meddle  in't.  Let  her  be  as 
she  is:  if  she  lie  fair,  'lis  the  better  for  her;  an  she 
be  not,  she  has  the  mends  in  her  own  hands. 

Trn.  Good  Pandarus  !  how  now,  Pandarus  ? 

Pun.  I  liave  had  my  labor  lor  my  travel ;  ill- 
thought  on  of  her, and  "ill-thought  on  iif  you:  gone 
between  and  between, butsmall  thanks  lor  my  labor. 

Tro.  Wliat,  art  thou   angry,    Pandarus!    what, 
with  me  i 

Pan.  Because  she  is  kin  to  me,  therefore,  she's 
not  so  tiiir  as  Helen  ;  an  she  were  not  kin  to  me, 
she  would  be  as  fair  on  Friday  as  Helen  is  on  Sun- 
day. But  what  care  I!  I  care  not,  an  she  were 
a  black-a-moor ;  'tis  all  one  to  me. 

Tro.  Say  I,  she  is  not  fair? 

Pan.  I  do  not  care  whether  you  do  or  no.  She's 
a  fool  to  stay  behind  her  father;  let  her  to  the 
Greeks;  and  .so  I'll  tell  her  the  ne.\t  time  1  see  her: 
For  my  part,  I'll  meddle  no  make  nor  more  in  the 
matter. 

Tro.  Pandarus, — 

Pan.  Not  I. 

Trn.  Sweet  Pandarus. — 

Pan.  Pray  you,  speak  no  more  to  me;  I  will 
leave  all  as  I  Ibund  it,  and  there  an  end. 

[£'a*i/ P.\NDAiti'S.    An  Alarum. 

Tro.    Peace,  you    ungracious  clamors!    peace, 
rude  sounds ! 
Fools  on  bolh  sides!  Helen  must  needs  be  fiiir. 
When  witli  your  blood  you  daily  paint  her  thus. 
I  cannot  hglit  upon  this  argument; 
It  is  too  .starv'd  a  subject  for  my  sword. 
But,  Pandarus— O  gods,  how  do  you  plague  me  ! 
I  cannot  come  to  Cressid  but  by  Pandar ; 
And  hf  's  as  tetchy  to  be  woo'd  to  woo. 
As  she  is  stubborn-chaste  against  all  suit. 
Tell  me,  Apollo,  for  thy  Daphne's  love. 
V\lml  Cressid  is,  what  Pandar,  and  what  we  ! 
Her  bed  is  India  ;  there  she  lies,  a  pearl : 
Between  our  Ilium,  and  where  she  resides. 
Let  It  be  call'd  the  wild  and  wandering  Hood  ; 
Oiirself,  the  merchant:  and  this  sailing  Pandar, 
Our  doubtful  hope,  our  convoy,  and  our  bark. 

Alarum.    En/er  IEveks. 

jEne.  How  now, prince  Troilus?  wherefore  not 

a-lield  I 
Tro.  Because  not  there:  This  woman's  answer 
sorts,' 
1-or  womanish  it  is  to  be  from  thence. 
What  news,  /Eneas,  from  the  Held  to-day  1 
'  Split.  ■  Suits. 


jEne. 
Tro. 
jEne. 
Tro. 
Paris  i 
^Ene. 

Tro. 

But,  to 
jEiie. 
Tro. 


.  That  Paris  is  returned  home,  and  hurt. 
By  whom,  ,^ncas  ? 

Troilus,  by  Menelaus. 
Let  Paris  bleed  :  'Tis  but  a  scar  to  scorn  ; 
1  gor'd  with  IMcnelaus'  horn.  [.i/arum. 

,  Hark!  what  good  sport  is  outot  town  to- 
day ! 

Better  at  home,  if  would  I  might,  were 
may. — 

the  sport  abroad— Are  you  bound  thither? 
.  In  all  swilt  haste. 

Come,  go  we  then  together. 
[  Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— .1  street. 

Enter  Cressida  and  ALE.KANDEit. 

Ores.  Who  were  those  went  by] 

Alex.  Queen  Hecuba,  and  Helen. 

Cres.  And  whither  go  they  ! 

Alex.  Up  to  the  eastern  tower, 

Whose  height  commands  as  subject  all  the  vale, 
To  see  the  battle. _   Hector,  whose  patience 
Is,  as  a  virtue,  fix'd,  to-day  was  mov'd  : 
He  chid  Andromacfit.  ancl  struck  his  armorer; 
And  like  as  there  were  husbandry  in  war. 
Before  the  sun  rose,  he  was  harness'd  light. 
And  to  the  field  goes  he ;  where  every  tlowcr, 
Did  as  a  prophel,  weep  what  it  foresaw 
In  Hector's  wrath. 

Cres.  What  was  his  cause  of  anger? 

Alex.  The  noise  goes,  this :  There  is  among  Uie 
Greeks 
A  lord  of  Trojan  blood,  nephew  to  Hector ; 
They  call  him  Aja.x. 

Cres.  Good  ;  and  of  him  ? 

Alex.  They  say  he  is  a  very  man  per  se,^ 
And  stands  alone. 

Cres.  So  do  all  men;  unless  they  are  drunk, sick, 
or  have  no  legs. 

Alex.  This  man,  lady,  hath  robbed  many  beasts 
of  their  particular  additions;)  he  is  as  valiant  as  the 
lion,  churlish  as  the  bear,  slow  as  the  elephant :  a 
mall  into  whom  nature  hath  so  crowded  humors, 
that  Ins  valor  iscrushed  into^  folly,  his  folly  sauced 
with  discretion:  there  is  no  man  lialli  a  viltue  that 
he  hath  not  a  glimpse  of;  nor  any  man  an  attaint 
but  he  carries  some  stain  of  it :  he  is  melancholy 
without  cause,  and  merry  against  the  hair:'  He 
hath  the  joints  of  every  thing;  but  every  thing  so 
out  of  joint,  that  he  is  a  gouty  Briareus,  many 
hands  and  no  use ;  or  purblind  Argus,  all  eyes  and 
no  sight, 

Cres.  But  how  should  this  man,  that  makes  ine 
smile,  make  Hector  angry  ? 

Alex.  They  s,ay,  he  yesterday  coped  Hector  in 
the  battle,  and  struck  him  down  ;  the  disdain  and 
shame  whereof  hath  ever  since  kept  Hector  fiistins 
and  waking. 

Enter  Pa.n'dakis. 

Cres.  Who  comes  here  ? 

Alex.  Madam,  your  uncle  Pandarus. 

Cres.  Hector's  a  gallant  man. 

Alex.  As  may  be  in  the  world,  lady. 

Pan.  What's  that?  what's  that? 

Cres.  Good  morrow,  uncle  Pandarus. 

Pan.  Good  morow,  cousin  Cressid :  what  do 
you  talk  of!— Good  morrow,  Alexander.— How  do 
you.  cousin  ?  When  were  }ou  at  Ilium  ! 

Cres.  This  morning,  uncle. 

Pan.  What  were  you  talking  of  when  I  came  ? 
Was  Hector  armed,  and  gone, ere  ye  came  to  Ilium  ! 
Helen  was  not  up,  was  she  ? 

Cres.  Hector  was  gone  ;  but  Helen  was  not  up. 

Pan.  E'en  so  :  Hector  was  stirring  early. 

Cres.  That  were  we  talking  of,  and  of  his  anger. 

]*an.  Was  he  angry  ? 

Cres.  So  he  says,  iiere. 

Pan.  True,  he  was  so;  I  know  the  cause  too; 
he'll  lay  about  him  to-day,  I  can  tell  them  that:  and 
there  is  Troilus  will  not  come  far  behind  him  ;  let 
them  take  liecd  of  Troilus;  I  can  tell  them  that 
too. 

Cres.  What,  is  he  angry,  too  ? 

Pan.  Who,  Troilus  ?  Troilus  is  tlie  better  man 
of  the  two. 

Cres.  O,  Jupiter !  there's  no  comparison 


^  By  bimself. 
*  Mingled  with. 


3  Cb.iractt.'rs. 
'  Grain. 


504 


TROILUS    AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  I 


Pan.  What,  not  between  Troilus  and  Hector  1 
Do  you  know  a  man,  it'  you  see  Jiim  ? 

Cres.  Ay,  if  ever  I  saw  him  belbre,  and  knew 
him. 

Pun.  Well,  I  say,  Troilus  is  Troilus. 

Crts.  Tlicn  you  say  as  1  say ;  for  I  am  sure  he  is 
not  Hector. 

Pan.  No,  nor  Hector  is  not  Troilus,  in  some 
de;;recs. 

CVc5.  'Tis  just  to  each  of  them  ;  he  is  himself. 

Pan.  Himself!  Alas,  poor  Troilus !  1  would  he 
were, — 

Cres.  So  he  is. 

Pan.  — "Condition,  I  had  gone  barefoot  to  India. 

Cres.  He  is  not  Hector.^ 

Pan.  Himself!  no,  he's  not  himself. — 'Would 
'a  were  himself]  Well,  the  gods  are  above;  Time 
must  Iriend,  or  end:  Well,  Troilus,  well, — I  would 
my  heart  were  in  her  body  ! — No,  Hector  is  nut  a 
better  man  than  Troilus. 

Ores,  tlxcuse  me. 

Pan.  He  is  elder. 

Cres.  Pardon  me,  pardon  me. 

Pan.  The  other's  not  come  lo't ;  you  shall  tell 
me  anotlier  tale,  when  the  other's  come  to't.  Hector 
shall  not  liave  liis  wit  this  year. 

Cres.  He  shall  not  need  it,  if  he  have  his  own. 

Pan.  Nor  his  qualities  : ■ 

Cres.  No  matter. 

Pan.  Nor  his  beauty. 

Cres.  'Twould  not  become  him,  his  own 's  bet- 
ter. 

Pa?i.  You  have  no  judgment,  niece  :  Helen  her- 
self swore  the  other  day,  that  Troilus,  tor  a  brown 
favor,  (for  so  'tis,  1  must  confess,) — Not  brown, 
neither. 

Cres.  No,  but  brown. 

Pan.  'Faith,  to  say  truth,  brown  and  not  brown. 

Cres.  To  say  the  truth,  and  not  true. 

Pan.  She  praised  Jiis  cumplexiiui  above  Paris. 

Cres.  Why,  Paris  liaih  color  eiu)ugh. 

Pan.  So  he  has, 

Cres.  Then  Tioilus  should  have  too  much  :  if  she 
praised  him  above,  his  complexion  is  iugher  than 
his;  he  having  color  enough,  and  the  other  higher, 
is  loo  naming  a  praise  for  a  good  complexion.  I 
iiad  as  lief  Helen's  golden  tongue  had  commended 
Troilus  liir  a  copper  nose. 

Pan.  1  swear  to  you,  I  think  Helen  loves  him 
better  than  Paris. 

Cres.  Then  slie's  a  merry  Greek,  indeed. 

Pan.  Nay,  I  am  sure  she  does.  She  came  to 
him  the  other  day  into  a  compass'd^  window, — 
and,  ydii  Know,  he  lias  not  past  tinee  or  four  Jiairs 
on  his  ciiin. 

Cres.  Indeed,  a  tapster's  arithmetic  may  soon 
bring  his  particulars  therein  to  a  total. 

Piin.  Why,  he  is  very  young;  and  yet  will  he, 
within  tln*ee  pound,  liil  as  much  as  his  brother 
Hector. 

Cres.  Is  he  so  young  a  man,  and  so  old  a  lifter  1' 

Pan.  But,  to  provu  to  ynu  that  Helen  loves  him; 
— she  came,  and  puts  me  her  white  Jiand  to  his 
cloven  chin,— 

Cres.  Juno  have  mercy ! — How  came  it  cloven  1 

Pan.  Why,  you  know,  'tis  dimpled  :  I  think,  his 
smiling  becomes  him  better  than  any  man  in  all 
Phrygia. 

Cres.  (),  he  smiles  valiantly. 

Pan.  Docs  he  not "! 

Cres.  O  yes,  an  'twere  a  cloud  in  autumn. 

Pan.  Why,  go  to  then:— But  to  prove  to  you 
that  Helen  loves  Troilus, 

Cres.  Troilus  will  stand  to  the  proof,  if  you'll 
prove  it  so. 

P(tn.  Troilus?  why  he  esteems  her  no  more 
than  1  esteem  an  addle  egg. 

Cres.  If  you  love  an  addle  egg  as  well  as  ypu 
love  an  idle  head,  you  would  eat  chickens  i'  the 
shell, 

}*(/n.  1  cannot  choose  but  laugh,  to  think  how  she 
tickled  his  chin  ;— Indeed,  she  lias  a  marvellous 
white  hand,  1  must  needs  confess. 

Cres.  Without  the  rack. 

Pan.  And  she  takes  upon  her  to  spy  a  white 
hnir  on  his  rhin. 

Cres.  Alas,  poor  chin!  many  a  wart  is  richer. 

Pa/i.    Hut.   there   was  such   laughing; — Que 
Heeuba  laughed,  that  her  eyes  ran  o'er. 

a  Uuw.  "I  Tbiff. 


Cres.  With  mill-stones.8 

Pan.  And  Cassandra  laughed. 

Cres.  But  there  was  a  more  temperate  fire  under 
the  pot  of  her  eyes ; — Did  her  eyes  run  o'er  too  1 

Pan.  And  Hector  laughed. 

Cres.  At  what  was  all  this  laughing? 

Pan.  Merry,  at  the  white  iiair  tiiat  Helen  spied 
on  Troilus'  cnin. 

Cres.  An't  had  been  a  green  liair,  I  should  Jiave 
laughed  too. 

Pa7i.  They  laughed  not  so  much  at  the  hair  as 
at  his  pretty  answer. 

Cres.  What  was  his  answer? 

Pan.  Quoth  she,  Here^s  but  one  andjxflij  hairs 
on  your  chin,  and  one  of  them  is  ivhite. 

Cres.  This  is  her  question. 

Pan.  That's  true;  make  no  question  of  that.  Chit 
andjiftij  hairs,  quoth  he,  and  one  white:  That 
ivhite  hair  is  my  father,  and  all  the  re.st  are  tiis  .W7is. 
Jupiter!  quotii  she,  icAicA  of  these  hairs  is  Pai-is 
my  husband?  T/ieforlied  one,  quoth  he;  pluck  it 
out,  and  give  it  him.  But  there  was  such  laugh- 
ing! and  Helen  so  blushed,  and  Paris  so  chafed, 
and  all  the  rest  so  laughed,  that  it  passed.^ 

Cres.  So  let  it  now ;  lor  it  has  been  a  great 
while  going  by. 

Pan.  Well,  cousin,  I  told  you  a  thing  yesterday; 
think  on't. 

Cres.  So  I  do. 

Pan.  ril  be  sworn,  'tis  true ;  he  will  weep  you 
an  'twere  a  man  born  in  April. 

Cres.  And  I'll  spring  up  in  his  tears,  an  'twere 
a  nettle  against  May.  [^4  Retreat  sounded. 

Pan.  Hark,  they  are  coming  irom  the  field:  Shall 
we  stand  uphere,andsee  them,  as  they  pass  toward 
Ilium  ?  good  niece,  do;  sweet  niece  Cressida. 

Cres.  At  your  pleasure. 

Pan.  Here,  here,  here's  an  excellent  place;  here 
we  may  see  most  bravely  :  Til  tell  you  them  all 
by  their  names,  as  they  pass  by  ;  but  mark  Troilus 
above  the  rest. 

j^NEAS  pas.tes  over  the  Stage. 

Cres.  Speak  not  so  loud. 

Pan.  That's  j^neas;  Is  not  that  a  brave  mani 
he's  one  ot  the  tlowers  of  Troy,  I  can  tell  you:  But 
mark  Trnihis  ;  you  shall  see  anon. 

Cres.  Who's  that? 

AxTEN'OR  passes  over. 

Pan.  That's  Antenor;  he  has  a  shrewd  wit.  1 
can  tell  you;  and  he's  a  man  good  enough:  he's 
one  o'  the  soundest  judgments  in  Troy,  whosoever, 
and  a  proper  man  of  person: — Wlien  comes  Troi- 
lus?— I'll  show  you  Troilus  anon;  if  he  see  me, 
you  shall  see  him  nod  at  me. 

Cres.  Will  he  give  you  the  nod?' 

Pan.  You  shall  see. 

Cres.  If  Jie  do,  the  rich  shall  liave  more. 

Hector  passes  over. 

Pan.  That's  Hector,  that,  that,  look  you,  that: 
There's  a  fellow!— Go  thy  way,  Hector;— There's 
a  brave  man,  niece. — 0  brave  Hector '—Look, 
how  he  looks!  there's  a  countenance:  Is't  not  {i 
brave  man  ? 

Cres.  ().  a  brave  man  I 

Pan.  Is  'a  not?  It  does  a  man's  heart  good. — 
Look  you  what  hack^  are  on  his  helmet !  look  you 
yonder,  do  you  sce?^  look  you  tlu-re  I  There's  no 
jesting:  there's  laying  on;  take't  olf  who  will,  as 
they  say  :  there  be  hacks  ! 

Cres.  Be  those  with  swords  ? 

Paris  passes  over. 

Pan.  Swords?  any  thing,  he  cares  not:  an  the 
devil  come  to  him,  it's  all  one:  By  god's  lid  it  does 
one's  heart  good  : — Yonder  comes  Paris,  yonder 
comes  Paris:  look  ye  yonder,  niece;  Is't  not  a  gal- 
lant man,  too,  is't  not?— Why.  this  is  brave  now. 
—Who  said,  he  came  hurt  home  to-day  ?  he  s  not 
hurt:  why  this  will  do  Helen's  heart  good  now.— 
Ha!  would  I  could  see  Troilus  now !— you  shall 
see  Troilus  anon. 

Cres.  Who's  that  ? 

Hkleni'S  passes  over. 
Pan.  That's  Helcnus,— I  marvel,  where  Troilua 
8  A  prnverbiul  saying.  »  Went  beyond  bounds 

*  A  term  iu  tho  jjaino  at  c;\rds  called  noddy 


Scene  III. 


TEOILUS   AND    CRESSIDA. 


505 


is: — That's  Hrlenus; — I  think  he  went  not  forth 
to-flay  : — That'a  Helenus. 

Cres.  Can  Hrlciius  light,  uncle  1 

Pa/u  Helenus!  no; — yes,  iie'U  fight  indifferent 
well: — I  marvel,  where  Troilus  is! — Hark;  do 
you  not  hear  the  people  cry,  Troilus  1 — Helenus  is 
a  priest. 

Cres.  What  sneaking  fellow  comes  yonder] 

Troilus  passes  over. 

Pan.  Where?  yonder]  that's  Deiphobus:  'Tis 
Troilus!  there's  a  man,  niece! — Hem! — Brave 
Troilus!  the  prince  of  chivalry  ! 

Cres.  Peace,  for  shame,  peace  ! 

Pan.  Mark  him;  note  him; — 0  brave  Troilus! 
— look  well  upon  liiin,  niece;  look  you.  how  his 
sword  is  bloodied,  and  his  helm  more  h;ick*d  tlian 
Hector's ;  And  how  he  looks,  and  how  he  goes ! 
— O  admirable  youth  !  he  ne'er  saw  three  and 
twenty.  Go  thy  way,  Troilus,  go  thy  way  :  had  I 
a  sister  were  a  grace,  or  a  daughter  a  goddess,  he 
should  take  his  choice.  O  admirable  man  !  Paris  ] 
— Paris  is  dirt  to  liim  ;  and,  I  warrant,  Helen,  to 
change,  would  give  an  eye  to  boot. 

Forces  pass  over  the  Stage. 

Cres.  Here  come  more. 

Pan.  Asses,  fools,  dolts  !  chaff  and  bran,  chalT 
and  bran;  poiTidge  alter  meat!  I  could  live  and  die 
i' the  eyes  of  Troilus.  Ne'er  look,  ne'er  look;  the 
eagles  are  gone ;  crows  and  daws,  crows  and  daws ! 
I  had  rather  be  such  a  man  as  Troilus,  than  Aga- 
memnon and  all  Greece. 

Cres.  There  is  among  the  Greeks,  Achilles;  a 
better  man  than  Troilus. 

Pan.  Achilles!  a  drayman,  a  porter,a  very  camel. 

Cres.  Well,  well. 

Pan.  Well,  well? — Why,  have  you  any  di.'scre- 
tion]  have  jou  any  eyes  1  Do  you  know  what  a 
man  is  !  Is  not  birth,  beauty,  good  shape,  discourse, 
manhood,  learning,  gentleness,  virtue,  youth,  libe- 
rahty,  and  such  like,  the  spice  and  salt  that  season 
a  man  ! 

Cres.  Ay,  a  minced  man ;  and  then  to  be  baked 
with  110  date-  in  the  pye, — lor  then  the  man's  date 
is  out. 

Pun.  You  are  such  a  woman  !  one  knows  not  at 
what  ward3  you  lie. 

Cres.  Upon  my  back,  to  defend  my  belly;  upon 
my  wit,  to  defend  my  wiles  ;  upon  my  secrecy,  to 
delend  mine  honesty;  my  mask,  to  delend  my 
beauty;  and  you  to  defend  all  these;  and  at  all 
tliese  wards  I  lie,  at  a  thousand  watches. 

Pan.  Say  one  of  your  watches. 

Cres.  Nay,  I'll  watch  you  for  that;  and  that's 
one  of  the  chielest  of  them  too;  if  I  cannot  ward 
what  I  would  not  have  hit,  1  can  watch  you  lor 
telling  how  I  took  the  blow;  unless  it  swell  past 
hiding,  and  then  it  is  past  watching. 

Enter  TuoiLis'  Boy. 

Bo!/.  S'ii-,  my  lord  would  instantly  speak  with  you. 

Pw).  Where  ! 

Bin/.  At  your  own  house;  there  he  unarms  him. 

Pfni.  Good  boy.  tell  him  I  come:  [Exit  Boy.] 
I  doubt  he  be  hurt. — Fare  ye  well,  good  niece. 

Cres.  Adieu,  uncle. 

Pun.  I'll  be  with  you,  niece,  by-and-by. 

Cres.  To  bring,  uncle, 

Pan.  Ay,  a  token  from  Troilus. 

Cres.  By  the  same  token — you  are  a  bawd.-=- 

[Exit  P.\xrnuus. 
Words,  vows,  griefs,  tears,  and  love's  full  sacrifice. 
He  ottt-rs  in  another's  enterprise  : 
But  more  in  Troilus  thousand  fold  I  see 
Than  in  the  glass  of  Paiidar's  i>raise  may  be: 
Yet  hold  1  olfl    Women  are  angels,  wooing : 
I'hings  won  are  done,  joj-'s  soul  lies  in  the  doing: 
That  she  belov'd  knows  nought,  that  knows  not 

this, — 
Men  prize  tlie  thing  ungain'd  more  than  it  is  : 
That  she  was  never  yet  that  ever  knew 
Love  got  so  sweet,  as  when  desire  did  sue: 
Therefore  this  maxim  out  of  love  I  teach, — 
Achievement  is  command;  ungain'd,  beseech: 
Then  though   my  heart's  content  firm  love  doth 

bear. 
Nothing  of  that  shall  from  mine  eyes  appear.  [Exit. 

9  D.itL-s  were  an  ingreilifut  lu  ancient  pastry  of  almost 
every  kind.  a  Guard. 


.SCKNE  III.— TAe  Grecian  Camp.    Before 

Agamemnon's  Tent. 

Trumpets.    Enter  Agamemson,  Nestor,  Ulysses, 

Me.n'elaus,  and  others. 

Agam.  Princes, 
What  grief  hath  set  the  jaundice  on  your  clieeksl 
The  ample  proposition,  that  hope  makes 
In  all  designs  begun  on  earth  below, 
Fai  Is  in  the  promis'd  largeness ;  checksand  disas (era 
Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  rear'd; 
.\s  knots,  by  the  confiux  of  meeting  sap. 
Infect  the  sound  pine,  and  divert  liis  grain 
Tortive  and  errant^  from  his  course  of  growth. 
Nor,  princes,  is  it  matter  new  to  us. 
That  we  come  short  of  our  suppose  so  far. 
That,  allcr  seven  years' siege,  yet  Troy  walls  stand , 
Silhi  every  action  that  hath  gone  belbre. 
Whereof  we  have  record,  trial  did  draw 
Bias  and  thwart,  not  answering  the  aim. 
And  that  unbodied  figure  of  the  thought 
Thatgave'tsurmisedshape.  Why  then, you  princes, 
Do  you  with  cheeks  abash'd  behold  our  works; 
And  think  them  shames,  which  are,  indeed,  nought 

else 
But  the  jirotractive  trials  of  great  Jove, 
To  find  persistive  constancy  m  men  ! 
The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 
In  Ibrtu lie's  love;  lor  them,  the  bold  and  coward,' 
The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread. 
The  hard  and  soil,  seem  all  alfineds  and  kin  ; 
But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown. 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  Ian 
Putliug  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away; 
And  what  hath  mass,  or  matter,  by  itself 
Lies,  rich  in  virtue,  and  uiimingled. 

jVfs/.  With  due  observance  ot  thy  godlike  seat, 
(ireat  Agamemnon,  Nestor  shall  apply 
Thy  latest  words.    In  the  reproof  of  chance. 
Lies  the  true  jiroof  of  men  ;  The  sea  being  smooth. 
How  many  shallow  bauble  boats  dare  sail 
Upon  her  patient  breast,  making  their  way 
With  those  ol' nobler  bulk! 
But  let  the  rutiian  Boreas  once  enrage 
The  gentle  Thetis,  and,  anon,  behold 
The  strong-nbb'd  bark  through  liquid  mountains 

cut. 
Bounding  between  the  two  moist  elements, 
Like  Perseus'  horse:  Where's  then  the  saucy  boat. 
Whose  weak  untimber'd  sides  but  even  now 
Co-rival'd  greatness'!  either  to  harbor  lied, 
Or  made  a  toast  lor  Neptune.     Even  so 
Doth  valor's  show,  and  valor's  worth,  divide. 
In  storms  of  fortune :  For,  in  her  ray  and  bright- 
ness. 
The  herd  hath  more  annoyance  by  the  brize,^ 
Than  by  the  tiger:  but  when  the  splitting  wind 
Makes  Uexiblc  the  knees  of  knotted  oaks. 
And  files  ficd  under  shade,  why,  then,  the  thing 

of courage. 
As  rous'd  with  rage,  with  ra";e  doth  sympathize, 
And,  with  an  accent  tuned  the  self-same  key, 
I'.eturns  to  chiding  fortune. 

Ulyss.  A  gamemnon, — ■ 

Thou  great  commander,  nerve  and  bone  of  Greece, 
Heart  of  our  numbers,  soul  and  only  spirit. 
In  whom  the  tempers  and  the  minds  of  all 
Should  be  shut  up,— hear  what  Ulysses  speaks. 
Bc.'ides  the  ajiplause  and  approbation. 
The    which. — most    mighty    lor    thy    place    and 
sway, —  [To  AoAMEMN'o.v. 

.\nd  thou  most  reverend  for  thy  slretch'd-out  life, — 

[roNEsroR. 
I  give  to  both  your  speeches, — which  were  such, 
As  Agameniuon  and  the  hand  of  Greece 
Should  hold  up  high  in  brass;  and  such  again. 
As  venerable  Nestor,  hatch'd  in  silver. 
Should  with  a  bond  of  air,  (strong  as  the  axle-tree 
On  which  heaven  rides,)  kuit  all  the  Greekish  ears 
To  his    experienced    tongue, — yet  let   it   please 

both,— 
Thou  great,— and  wise,— to  hear  Ulysses  speak. 

Agam.  S|ieak,  prince  of  Ithaca;  and  be'tofless 
exiiecf* 
That  matter  needless,  of  importless  burden, 
Divide  thy  lips:  than  we  are  confident. 
When  rank  Thersites  opes  his  mastitl'jaws, 
We  shall  hear  music,  wit,  and  oracle. 

•  Twisted  .-ind  ramljling.     t,  Since,     e  Joined  bv  .iffinity 

'  The  Bad-ay  that  stings  cattle.  •  Kxpectalion. 


h06 


TKOILTJS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  I 


Uh/ss.  Troy,  yet  upon  his  basis,  had  Ncen  down, 
And  tlie  great  Hector's  sword  had  lack'd  a  master, 
But  fur  these  instances. 
The  specialty  of  rule^  hath  been  neglected  : 
And,  look,  how  many  Grecian  tents  do  stand 
Hollow  upon  this  plain,  so  many  hollow  factions. 
When  that  the  f^eneral  is  not  like  the  hive, 
To  wliom  the  foragers  shall  all  repair, 
What  honey  is  expected?  Degree  being  vizarded,^ 
The  unwor'thiest  shows  as  fairly  in  the  mask. 
The  heavens  themselves, the  planets,and  thisccntre, 
Observe  degree,  priority,  and  place, 
lnsisture,2  course,  proportion,  season,  form, 
Otlice,  and  custom,  in  all  Une  of  order; 
And  therefore  is  the  glorious  planet,  Sol, 
In  iiiiblc  eminence  enthron'd  and  spher'd 
AMild^t  the  other;  whose  med'cinabie  eye 
Corrects  the  ill  aspects  of  planets  evil, 
And  posts,  like  the  commandment  of  a  king, 
Sans3  check,  to  good  and  bad :  But  when  the  planets, 
In  evil  mixture,  to  disorder  wander. 
What  plagues,  and  what  portents  ]  what  mutiny  1 
What  raging  of  the  sea  T  shaking  of  earth  ? 
Commotion  in  the  winds'?  friglits, changes,  horrors, 
Divert  and  crack,  rend  and  deracmate^ 
The  unity  and  married  calm  of  states 
Quite  from  their  lixture?  O,  when  degree  is  shaked, 
Winch  is  tlie  ladder  of  all  high  designs, 
The  enterprise  is  sick!     How  could  communities, 
Di'groes  in  schools,  and  brotherhoods  in  cities, 
Peact'ful  commerce  from  dividablc'^  shores, 
Tlir  j)rimogenitive  and  due  of  birth, 
PreroL^ative  of  age.  crowns,  sceptres,  laurels, 
But  by  degree,  stand  in  authentic  place  ] 
Takr  but  degree  away,  untune  that  string, 
And,  hark,  what  discord  follows!  each  thing  meets 
In  mere'>  oppugnancy  :  The  bounded  waters 
Should  lift  their  bosoms  higher  than  the  shores, 
And  make  a  sop  of  all  this  solid  globe  : 
Strength  should  be  lord  of  imbecility. 
And  the  rude  son  should  strike  his  lather  dead: 
Force  should  be  nglit ;  or,  rather,  right  and  wrong 
(Between  whose  endless  jar  justice  resides) 
Should  lose  their  names,  and  so  should  justice  too. 
Then  every  thing  includes  itself  in  power. 
Power  into  will,  will  into  appetite; 
And  nppetito,  an  universal  w'olf. 
So  doubly  seconded  with  will  and  power, 
Must  make  perlorcc  an  universal  prey, 
And.  last,  eat  up  himself.    Great  Agamemnon, 
Tins  chaos,  when  degree  is  sutibcale, 
Follows  tlio  ciioking. 
And  this  neglection  of  degree  it  is,  ' 
Tliat  by  a  pace  goes  backward,  with  a  purpose 
It  hath  to  climb.    The  general's  disdain'd 
By  him  one  step  below ;  he,  by  the  next ; 
That  next  by  him  beneath  :  so  every  step, 
Exampled  by  the  tirst  pace  that  is  sick 
Of  his  superior,  grows  to  an  envious  lever 
Of  paie  and  bloodless  emulation  : 
And  'tis  this  fever  that  keeps  Troy  on  foot, 
Not  her  own  sinews.    To  end  a  tale  of  length, 
Troy  in  your  weakness  stands,  not  in  her  strength. 

Nest.  Most  wisely  hath  Ulysses  here  discover'd 
The  tever  whereof  all  our  power  is  sick. 

Again.  The  nature  of  the  sickness  found,  Ulysses, 
What  is  the  remedy  ! 

i;7/A*>*.  The  great  Achilles, — whomopinioncrowns 
The  sinew  and  the  forehand  of  our  host, — 
Having  his  ear  full  of  his  airy  fame, 
Grows  dainty  of  his  worth,  and  in  Ins  tent 
Lies  mocking  our  designs:  With  him,  Patroclus, 
Ui)on  a  lazy  bed,  the  live-long  day 
Breaks  scurril  jests ; 

And  with  ridiculous  and  awkward  action 
(Which,  slanderer,  he  imitation  calls) 
Hi.'  pa^ieaiils"  us.     Sometime,  great  Agamemnon. 
Thy  loi>Iess-*  reputation  he  putjs  on  ; 
And.  like  a  strutting  player. — whose  conceit 
Lies  in  liis  tiani'^tiim;.  and  doth  think  it  rich 
To  tiear  the  wnmloii  dialogue  and  sound 
'Twixt  his  stretclfd  looting  and  the  scalToldage,9 
Such  to-hc-iiitied  and  o'er-wn-sted'  seeming 
He  acts  thy  greatness  in  :  and  when  he  speaks, 
'Tis  like  a  chime  a  mending ;  with  terms  unsquared, 
Which,  from  the  tongue  of  roaring  Typhondropp'd, 

«  Itiirhfs  of  autbority.         *  Masked.  a  Constancy. 

•  Without.  «  ForcG  up  l\v  the  roots.         '  Divided. 

•  Absolute.         '  In  modern  language,  (at«s  us  off. 
•Supreme.         •Stage.  >  Beyond  the  truth. 


Would  seem  hyperboles.    At  this  fusty  stuIT, 
The  large  Achilles,  on  his  press'd  bed  lolling, 
From  his  deep  chest  laughs  out  a  loud  applause; 
Cries — Excellent!  ^iis  Agamemnon  just. — 
Now  play  me  Nestor  ; — hem,  and  stroke  thy  hearily 
As  he,  being  drest  to  some  oration. 
That's  done; — as  near  as  the  extremest  ends 
Of  parallels;  as  like  as  Vulcan  and  dis  wile: 
Yet  good  Achilles  still  cries,  Excellent .' 
'Tis  Nestor  rz^A//    Now ptai/  him  ?ne,  Patroclus, 
Arming  to  answer  in  a  night  alarm. 
And  then,  forsooth,  the  laint  defects  of  age 
Must  be  the  scene  of  mirth  ;  lo  cough  and  spit. 
And  with  a  palsy-fumbling  on  his  gorget, 
Shake  in  and  out  the  rivet: — and  at  this  sport, 
Sir  Valor  dies;  cries.  Of — eooi/g-^,  Patroclus  ; — 
Or  give  me  ?-ihs  of  steel !    I  shall  split  ail 
In  pleasure  nf  my  spleen.    And  in  this  fashion, 
All  our  abilities,  gifts,  natures,  shapes, 
Severais  and  generals  of  grace  exact. 
Achievements,  plots,  orders,  preventions. 
Excitements  to  the  lield,  or  speech  for  truce, 
Success,  or  loss,  what  is,  or  is  not,  serves 
As  stutffor  these  two  to  make  paradoxes. 

Nest.  And  in  the  imitation  of  thesn  twain, 
(Whom,  as  Ulysses  says,  opinion  crowns 
vVith  an  imperial  voice.)  many  are  infect. 
Ajax  is  grown  self-will'd;  and  bears  hi.*  head 
In  such  a  rein,  in  full  as  proud  a  placo 
As  broad  Achilles  :  keeps  liis  tent  like  him  ; 
Makes  liictious  feasts  ;  rails  on  our  state  of  war. 
Bold  as  an  oracle  :  and  sets  Thersites 
(A  slave,  whose  gall  coins  slanders  like  a  mint) 
To  match  us  in  comparisons  with  dirt ; 
To  weaken  and  discredit  our  exposure. 
How  rank  soever  rounded  in  with  danger. 

Ulyss.  They  tax  our  policy,  and  call  it  cowardice, 
Count  wisdom  as  no  member  of  the  war; 
Forestall  prescience,  and  esteem  no  act 
But  that  of  hand :  the  still  and  mental  parts, — 
That  do  contrive  how  many  hands  shall  strike, 
When  fitnesscalls  them  on;  and  know,  by  measure 
Of  their  observant  toil,  the  enemies'  weiglit, — 
Why,  this  hath  not  a  finger's  dignity: 
They  call  this — bed-work,  majipery,  closet-war: 
So  that  the  ram,  tliat  batters  down  the  wall, 
For  the  great  swing  and  rudeness  of  his  poise. 
They  place  belbre  his  iiand  that  made  the  engine 
Or  those,  that  with  the  liiicness  of  their  souls 
By  reason  guide  his  execution. 

Nest.  Let  this  be  granted,  and  Achilles'  horse 
Makes  many  Thetis'  sons.         [Trumpet  sounded, 

Aganu  What  trumpet .'  look,  Menelaus, 

Enter  JEse.vs. 

Me7i.  From  Troy- 

Agam.  What  would  you  'fore  our  tent  ? 

JEne.  Is  this 

Great  Agamemnon's  tent,  I  pray** 

Agam.  Even  this. 

JEne.  May  one  that  is  a  herald,  and  a  prince. 
Do  a  fair  message  to  his  kingly  ears  ? 

Agam.  With  surety  stronger  than  Achilles'  arm 
'Fore  all  the  Greekish  heads,  which  with  one  voice 
Call  Agamemnon  head  and  general. 

yEne.  Fair  leave  and  larii;e  security.    How  may 
A  stranger  to  those  most  imperial  looks 
Know  them  from  eyes  of  other  mortals  1 

Agam.  Howl 

jEne.  Ay: 
I  ask  that  I  might  waken  reverence. 
And  bid  the  cheek  he  ready  with  a  blush 
Modest  as  morning  when  she  coldly  eyes 
Tlie  youthful  Phcebus : 
Which  is  that  god  in  ot^ice,  guiding  men  ? 
Which  is  the  high  and  mighty  Agamemnon  1 

Agam.  This  Trojan  scorns  us;  or  the  men  of 
Troy 
Are  ceremonious  courtiers. 

jEne.  Courtiers  as  free,  as  debonair,  unarm'd, 
As  bending  angels;  that's  their  lame  in  peace  : 
But  when  they  would  seem  soldiers,  they  have 

galls. 
Good  arms,  strong  joints,  true  swords;  and,  Jove's 

accora. 
Nothing  so  full  of  heart.    But  peace,  .^neas, 
Peace,  Trojan  ;  lay  thy  linger  on  thy  lips  ! 
The  worthiness  of  praise  disdains  his  worth. 
If  that  the  prais'd  himself  bring  the  praise  forth 
But  what  the  repining  enemy  commends, 


Scene  III. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


507 


That  breath  fame  follows;  that  praise,  sole  purcj 
transcends. 
A^am.  Sir,youofTroy.callyoa  yourself ^neas1 
^ne.  Ay,  Greek,  that  is  my  name. 
Again.  Wliat's  your  alliiir,  I  pray  you  1 

JS/ie.  Sir,  pardon  ;  'tis  ibr  Agamemnon's  ears. 
Again.  He  hears  nought  privately,  that  comes 

from  Troy. 
j^ne.  Nor  I  from  Troy  come  not  to  whisper  him : 
I  bring  a  trumpet  to  awake  his  ear: 
To  set  hisscn^e  on  the  attentive  bent, 
And  tlien  to  speak. 

Agani.  Speak  frankly,  as  the  wind ; 

It  is  not  Agamemnon's  sleeping  hour: 
That  thou  shalt  know,  Trojan,  he  is  awake, 
He  leliri  thee  so  himself. 

ACne  Trumpet,  blow  loud. 

Send  thy  brass  voice  through  all  these  lazy  tents; — 
And  every  Greek  of  mottle,  let  liim  know. 
What  Troy  means  lairly,  shall  be  spoke  aloud. 

[Trumpet  soutids. 
We  have,  great  Agamemnon,  here  in  Troy 
A  prince  called  Hector,  (Priam  is  his  father,) 
Who  HI  this  dull  and  long-continued  truce 
Is  rusty  grown  :  he  bade  ine  take  a  trumpet, 
And  to  tills  purpose  speak.    Kings,  princes, lords! 
If  there  be  one  among  the  fair'st  of  Greece, 
That  holds  his  honor  higher  than  his  ease ; 
Tliat  seeks  his  praise  more  than  he  fears  his  peril ; 
Tliat  knows  his  valor,  and  knows  not  his  fear ; 
That  loves  his  mistress  more  than  in  contession, 
(With  truant  vows  to  lier  own  lips  lie  loves,) 
And  dare  avow  her  beauty  and  her  worth. 
In  other  arms  than  hers,— to  him  this  challenge. 
Hector,  in  view  of  Trojans  and  of  (ireeks, 
Sliall  make  it  good,  or  do  his  best  to  do  it. 
He  hath  a  lady,  wiser,  fairer,  truer. 
Than  ever  Greek  did  coniiiass  in  liis  arms; 
And  will  to-morrow  with  his  trumpet  call. 
Mid-way  between  your  tents  and  walls  of  Troy, 
To  rouse  a  Grecian  that  is  true  in  love: 
If  any  come,  Hector  sJiall  lionor  him ; 
If  none,  he'll  say  in  Troy,  when  he  retires. 
The  Grecian  dames  are  sun-burn'd,and  not  worth 
The  splinter  of  a  lance.    Even  so  much. 

Again.  This  shall  be  told  our  lovers,  lord  jEneas: 
If  none  of  them  have  soul  in  such  a  kind. 
We  ietX  them  all  at  home :  But  we  are  soldiers ; 
And  may  that  soUlier  a  mere  recreant  prove. 
That  means  not,  hath  not,  or  is  not  in  love  ! 
If  then  one  is,  or  hath,  or  means  to  be. 
That  one  me<-ts  Hector ;  if  none  else,  I  am  he. 

Nest.  Tell  him  of  Nestor,  one  that  was  a  man 
When  Hector's  grandsire  suck'd  :  he  is  old  now; 
But,  if  there  be  not  in  our  Grecian  host 
One  noble  man,  that  hath  one  spark  of  fire 
To  answer  for  his  love,  tell  him  from  me, — 
I'll  hide  my  silver  beard  in  a  gold  beaver. 
And  in  my  vantbrace-  put  this  withered  brawn; 
And,  meeting  him,  will  tell  him.  That  my  lady 
Was  fairer  than  his  grandame,  and  as  chaste 
As  may  be  in  tlie  world :  His  youth  in  Hood, 
I'll  prove  this  truth  with  my  three  drops  of  blood, 
j3^ne.  Now  heaven  forbid  suchsearcity  of  youth! 
Ulyss.  Amen. 

Agam  Fair  lord  JEneas,  let  me  touch  your  hand : 
To  your  pavilion  shall  I  lead  you,  sir. 
Achdles  shall  have  word  of  this  intent; 
So  shall  eacli  lord  of  Greece,  from  tent  to  tent : 
Yourself  sliall  feast  with  us  betbre  you  go. 
And  tind  the  welcome  of  a  noble  toe. 

[Exeunt  alt  but  Ulysses  and  Nestor. 

Ulyss.  Nestor, 

Nest.  What  says  Ulysses 

Ulyss.  I  have  a  young  conception  in  my  brain, 
Be  you  my  time  to  bring  it  to  some  shape. 
Nest.    What  is 't1 
Ulyss.  This  'tis: 
Blunt  wedges  rive  hard  knots  :  The  seeded  pride 
That  liatti  to  this  maturity  blown  up 
In  rank  Achilles,  must  or  now  be  cropp'd. 
Or,  shedding,  breed  a  nursery  of  like  evil, 
To  overbulk  us  all. 

a  An  armor  for  the  arm- 


Nest.  Well,  and  how  1 

Ulyss.  This  challenge  that  the   gallant  Hector 
sends, 
However  it  is  spread  in  general  name. 
Relates  in  purpose  only  to  Achilles. 
Nest.  The  purpose  is  perspicuous  even  as  sub- 
stance. 
Whose  grossness  little  characters  sum  up  : 
And,  in  the  publication,  make  no  strain, 
But  that  Achilles,  were  his  brain  as  barren 
As  banks  of  Lybia, — though,  Apollo  knows, 
'Tis  dry  enougJi, — will  with  great  speed  of  judg 

ments. 
Ay,  with  celerity,  find  Hector's  purpose 
Pointing  on  him. 

Ulyss.  And  wake  him  to  the  answer,  think  youT 

Nest.  Yes, 

It  is  most  meet :  Whom  may  you  else  oppose, 
That  can  from  Hector  bring  those  honors  oft. 
If  not  Achilles  !     Thougli't  be  a  sportful  combat, 
Yet  m  the  trial  much  opinion  dwells; 
For  here  the  Trojans  taste  our  dear'st  repute 
With  their  tin'st  palate  :  And  trust  to  me,  Ulysses 
Our  imputalion  shall  be  oddly  pois'd 
In  this  wild  action  :  for  tJie  success. 
Although  particular,  shall  give  a  scantling^ 
Of  good  or  bad  unto  the  general ; 
And  in  such  indexes,  although  small  pricks^ 
To  their  subsequent  volumes,  there  is  seen 
The  baby  figure  of  the  giant  mass 
Of  things  to  come  at  large.    It  is  suppos'd. 
He,  that  meets  Hector,  issues  from  our  choice : 
And  choice,  being  mutual  act  of  all  our  souls, 
Makes  merit  her  election;  and  doth  boil. 
As  'twere  from  forth  us  all,  a  man  distill'd 
Out  of  her  virtues  ;  Who  miscarrying, 
What  heart  receives  from  hence  a  conquering  part, 
To  steel  a  strong  opinion  to  themselves  ] 
Which  entertam'd.  limbs  are  his  instruments. 
In  no  less  working,  than  are  swords  and  bows 
Directive  by  the  limbs. 

Ulyss.  Give  pardon  to  my  speech  ;— 
Therelbre  'tis  meet  Achilles  meet  not  Hector. 
Let  us,  like  merchants,  show  our  louiest  wares, 
And  think,  perchance,  they'll  sell ;  if  not, 
The  lustre  of  the  better  shall  exceed. 
By  showing  the  worst  first.    Do  not  consent, 
That  ever  Hector  and  Achilles  meet; 
For  both  our  honor  and  our  shame,  in  this, 
Are  dogg'd  with  two  strange  followers, 

Nest.  1  see  them  not  with  my  old  eyes;  what  are 
they  I 

Ulyss.   What  glory  our   Achilles   shares  from 
Hector, 
Were  he  not  proud,  we  all  should  share  with  him: 
But  he  already  is  to  insolent ; 
And  we  were  better  parch  in  Afric  sun. 
Than  in  the  jiride  and  salt  scorn  of  his  eyes. 
Should  he  'scape  Hector  fair:  If  he  were  foil'd, 
Why,  then  we  did  our  main  opinion^  crush 
In  taint  of  our  best  man.    No,  make  a  lottery; 
And,  by  device,  let  blockish  Ajax  draw 
The  sort^^  to  hgiit  with  Hector:  Among  ourselves, 
Give  him  allowance  for  the  better  man. 
For  that  will  physic  the  great  Myrmidon, 
Who  broils  in  loud  applause  ;  and  make  him  fall 
His  crest,  that  prouder  than  blue  Iris  bends. 
If  the  dull  brainless  Ajax  come  safe  off, 
We'll  dress  him  up  in  voices:  If  he  fail, 
Yet  go  we  under  our  opinion"  still. 
That  we  have  l)etter  men.    But,  hit  or  miss, 
Our  project's  life  this  shape  of  sense  assumes, — 
Ajax,  employ'd,  jilucks  down  Achilles'  plumes. 

Nest.  Ulysses, 
Now  I  bet;in  to  relish  thy  advice  ; 
And  I  will  give  a  taste  oVit  forthwith 
To  Agamemnon  :  go  we  to  him  straight. 
Two  curs  sliall  tante  each  other;  Pride  alone 
Must  tarre^  the  mastills  on,  as  'twere  their  lione. 

[Ej:eu7it, 

>  Size  measure. 

*  Small  priiots  compared  with  the  volumes. 

B  Kstioiati'iu  of  character  a  Lot. 

«  Character.  9  Provoke. 


508 


TROILUS  AND   CKESSIDA. 


Act  II 


ACT   II. 


SCENE  1.— Another  Fart  of  the  Grecian  Camp. 
E7ifer  Ajax  ami  Tiiersites. 

Ajax.  Thersites, 

Ther.  Agamemnon— how  if  he  had  boils  1  full, 
all  over,  generally  1 

Ajax.  Thersites, 

7 her.  And  these  boils  did  run? — Say  so, — did 
not  the  general  run  then  ]  were  not  that  a  botchy 
sore  !  . 

Ajax.  Dog, 

Tkfr,  Then  would  come  some  matter  from  him; 
I  see  none  now. 

Ajax.  Tliou  bitch-wolf's  son,  canst  thou  not 
hear?     Feel  then.  [S/rikes  him. 

Thcr,  The  phiguc  of  Greece  upon  thee,  thou 
mongrel  beel-witted  lord  ! 

Ajax.  Speak  then,  thou  unsalted  leaven,  speak: 
I  wilt  beat  thee  into  handsomeness. 

Thcr.  I  shall  sooner  rail  thee  into  wit  and  holi- 
ness: but,  I  think,  thy  tio'rse  will  sooner  con  an 
oration,  than  thou  learn  a  prayer  without  book. — 
Thou  canst  strike,  canst  thou  ]  a  red  murrain  o'  thy 
jade's  tricks ! 

Jjax.  Toads-stool,  learn  me  the  proclamation. 

Thcr.  Dost  thou  think,  I  have  no  sense,  thou 
strikest  me  thus  1 

Ajax.  The  proclamation, — 

Thcr.  Tliou  art  proclaimed  a  fool,  I  think. 

Ajax.  Do  not,  porcupine,  do  not;  my  lingers  itch. 

'Thcr.  1  would  thou  didst  itch  from  head  to  foot, 
and  1  Iiad  thf  scratching  of  Uiee ;  I  would  make 
thee  Oil'  loatlisiHuest  scab  in  Greece.  When  tliou 
art  tbrlh  in  the  incursions,  thou  striiiest  as  slow  as 
another. 

Ajax.  I  say,  the  proclamation, ■ 

Ther.  Thou  grumblcst  and  railest  every  hour  on 
Achilles;  and  thou  art  as  full  at  envy  at  his  great- 
ness, as  Cerberus  is  at  Proserpina's  beauty,  ay,  that 
thou  barkest  at  Jiiin. 

Ajax.  Mistress  Thersites ! 

2'her.  Thou  shouldest  strike  him. 

Ajax.  Cobloal ! 

7'her.  He  would  pun^  thee  into  shivers  witli  his 
hst,  as  a  sailor  breaks  a  biscuit. 

Ajax.  You  whoreson  cur.  [Beating  him. 

Ther.  Do,  do. 

Ajax.  Thou  stool  for  a  wifch  I 

2'Acr.  Ay,  do,  do:  thou  sodden-witted  lord  !  thou 
hast  no  more  brain  than  I  have  in  mine  elbows;  an 
assinego'  may  tutor  thee:  Thou  scurvy  valiant  ass! 
tliou  art  here  put  to  thrash  Trojans;  and  thou  art 
hiiught  and  sold  among  those  of  any  wit,  like  a 
Barbarian  slave.  If  tliou  use  to  beat  me,  1  will 
begin  at  thy  heel,  and  tell  what  thou  art  by  inches, 
thou  tiling' of  no  bowels,  thou  ! 

AJcLX.  You  dog ! 

Thcr.  You  scurvy  lord  ! 

Ajax.  You  cur.  [Beating  him. 

Ther.  Mars  his  idiot!  do,  rudeness:  do,  camel, 
do,  do. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Achil.  Why,  how  now,  Ajax?  wherefore  do  you 
thusi 
How  now,  Thersites?  what's  the  matter,  man? 

Ther.  You  see  him  there,  do  you  I 

Achil.  Ay;  what's  tlie  matter  .' 

Ther.  Nay,  Inok  upon  him. 

Achil.  So  I  do;  What's  the  matter? 

Thcr.  Nay,  but  regard  him  well. 

Achil.  Well,  why  1  do  so. 

Ther.  But  yet  you  look  not  well  upon  him:  for 
whosoever  you  take  hiin  to  be,  he  is  Ajax. 

Achil.  I  know  that,  tool. 

Ther.  Ay,  but  that  fool  knows  not  himself. 

Ajax.  Therefore  I  beat  thee. 

Thcr.  ho,  lo,  lo,  lo,  what  modicums  of  wit  he 
utters!  his  evasions  have  ears  thus  long.  I  have 
bobbed  his  hrain,  more  Ihan  he  has  brat  my  bones: 
I  will  buy  nine  sparrows  Ibr  a  penny,  and  his  pia 
mater-  is  not  worth  the  ninth  part  ol  a  sparrow. — 

•  Pound.  *  Ass,  a  rant  term  for  .i  foclish  fellow. 

»  The  mombraoe  that  protracts  the  brain. 


!  This  lord,  Achilles,  Ajax, — who  wears  his  wit  in 
Ins  belly,  and  his  guts  in  his  head, — I'll  tell  you 
what  I  say  of  him. 

AchiL  What? 

Ther.  I  say  this,  Ajax 

Achil.  Nay,  good  Ajax. 

[Ajax  offers  to  s/rike  him,  Achilles 
interposes. 

Thcr.  Has  not  so  much  wit — 

Achil.  Nay,  I  must  hold  you. 

Ther.  As  will  stop  the  eye  of  Helen's  needle, 
for  whom  he  comes  to  hght. 

Achil.  Peace,  fool ! 

'Ther.  I  would  have  peace  and  quietness,  but  the 
fool  will  not:  he  there;  that  he;  look  you  there. 

Ajax.  0  thou  damned  cur,  1  shall 

Achil.  Will  you  set  your  wit  to  a  fool's? 

'Ther.  No,  I  warrant  you;  for  a  Iboi's  will  shame 
it. 

Pa/r.  Good  words,  Thersites. 

Achil.  What's  the  quarrel  ? 

Ajax.  I  bade  the  vile  owl,  go,  learn  me  the  tenor 
ot  the  proclamation,  and  he  rails  upon  me. 

Ther.  1  serve  thee  not. 

Ajax.  Well,  go  to,  go  to. 

'I'her.  1  serve  Jiere  voluntary. 

Achil.  Your  last  service  was  sufferance, 'twas  not 
viilunlary ;  no  man  is  beaten  voluntary:  Ajax  was 
here  the  voluntary,  and  you  as  under  an  impress. 

Ther.  Even  so? — a  great  deal  of  your  wit  too 
lies  in  your  sinews,  or  else  there  be  liars.  Hector 
shall  have  a  great  catch,  it  he  knock  out  either  of 
your  brains;  V  were  as  good  crack  a  fusty  nut  with 
no  kernel. 

Achil.  What,  witli  me  too,  Thersites? 

'Ther.  There's  Ulysses,  and  old  Nestor,  whose 
wit  was  mouldy,  ere  your  grandsires  had  nails  on 
their  toes, — yoke  you  like  draught  oxen,  and  make 
you  plough  up  the  wars. 
[      Achil.  What,  what? 

'Ther.  Yes,  good  sooth ;  to,  Achilles  !  to,  Ajax  ! 
to  ! 

Ajax.  I  shall  cut  out  your  tongue. 

'Ther.  'Tis  no  matter;  I  shall  speak  as  much  as 
tliou  afterwards. 

Pair.  No  more  words,  Thersites;  peace. 

'Ther.  1  wilf  hold  my  peace  when  Achilles*  brach^ 
bids  me,  shall  1  ? 

Achil.  There's  for  you,  Patroclus, 

'Ther.  \  will  see  you  hanged,  like  clotpoles,  ere 
I  come  any  more  to  your  tents;  I  will  keep  where 
there  is  wit  stirring,  and  leave  the  taction  of  inols. 

[Exit. 

Pair.  A  good  riddance. 

Achil.  Marry,  this,  sir,  is  proclaim'd  through  all 
our  host: 
That  Hector,  by  the  first  hour  of  the  sun. 
Will,  with  a  trumpet,  'twixt  our  tents  and  Troy» 
To-morrow  morning  call  some  knight  to  arms, 
That  hath  a  stomach  ;  and  such  a  one,  that  dare 
Maintain — 1  know  not  what;  'tis  trash:  Farewell. 

Ajax.  Farewell.    Who  shall  answer  him  ? 

Achil.  I  know  not,  it  is  put  to  lottery;  otherwise, 
He  knew  his  man. 

Ajax.  O,  meaning  you  : — I'll  go  learn  more  of  it. 

[Exeunt, 
SCENE  II.— Troy.    A  Room  in  Priam's  Palace, 
Enter  Puiam,  Hector,  Troilus,  Pauis,  and  Hk- 

LENUS. 

Pri.  AAer  so  many  hours,  lives,  speeches,  spent, 
Thus  once  again  says  Nestor  from  the  Greeks  : 
Deliver  Helen,  and  all  damage  else— 
As  honor,  loss  of  time,  travel,  expense^ 
IVoundJs,  friends,  and  what  el^e  dear  that  is  con- 
sumed 
In  hot  digc.stiim  of  Ihi^'i  ctirnturant  war— 
Shall  be  struck  off: — Hcctnr.  what  say  you  to't? 
llccf.  Though  no  man   lesser   tears  llio  Greeks 
than  1, 
As  far  as  toucheth  my  particular,  }  et. 
Dread  Priam, 

There  is  no  lady  of  more  sorter  bowels, 
»  Bitch.  houuJ. 


Scene  II. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


509 


More  spungy  to  suck  in  the  sense  of  foar, 

More  ready  to  cry  out — IVhn  knows  what  follows? 

Th:in  Hector  is:  the  wound  of  peace  is  surety, 

Surety  t-ecure;  but  modest  doubt  is  call'd 

The  beacon  of  the  wise,  the  tent  that  searches 

To  tiic  bottom  of  the  worst.    Let  Helen  go: 

Since  the  first  sword  was  drawn  abouttiiis  question. 

Every  tithe  soul,  'mon;;st  many  thousand  dismes,^ 

}Iath  been  as  dear  as  Helen  ;  I  mean  of  ours: 

If  \^e  have  lo~;t  so  many  tenths  ofoiirs. 

To  triiard  a  thing  not  ours;  not  worth  to  us. 

Had  it  our  name,  the  value  of  one  ten  ; 

What  merit's  in  that  reason,  which  denies 

Till'  yielding  of  her  upl 

3Vo.  Fye,  fye,  my  brother! 

Weigh  you  the  worth  and  honor  of  a  king, 
So  great  as  our  dread  father,  in  a  scale 
Of  common  ounces]  will  you  with  counters  sum 
The  past-proportion  of  his  infinite  .' 
And  buclJf-in  a  waist  most  lathomless, 
With  '^panis  and  mches  so  diminutive 
As  tears  and  reasons  !  fye,  for  godly  shame  ! 
Jiel.  No  marvel,  though  you  bite  so  sharp  at 
reasons. 
You  are  so  empty  of  them.    Should  not  our  father 
liear  the  great  sway  of  his  affairs  with  reasons, 
Because  your  speech  hatii  none,  that  tells  linn  so? 
Tro.  Von  are  lor  dreams  and  slumbers,  brother 
priest, 
You  fur  your  gloves  with  reason.    Here  are  your 

reasons ; 
You  know,  an  enemy  intends  you  harm; 
You  know,  a  sword  employed  is  perilous, 
And  reason  flics  the  object  of  all  harm: 
Who  marvels  then,  when  Helenus  beholds 
A  Grecian  and  his  sword,  if  he  do  set 
The  very  wings  of  Reason  to  his  heels; 
And  liy  like  chidden  Mercury  from  Jove, 
(Jr  like  a  star  disorh'd  ?— Nay,  if  we  talk  of  reason. 
Let's  shut  our  gates  and  sleep:   Manhood  and 

lion  or 
Should  have  hare  hearts,  would  they  but  Hit  their 

thougtits  ^ 
With  this  cramm'd  reason:  reason  and  respect^ 
Make  livers  pale,  and  lustdiood  deject. 
Hed.  Brother,  she  is  not  worth  what  she  doth 
cost 
The  holding. 
Tni.  W^hat  is  aught,  but  as  'tis  valued  ? 

li-ct.  Bui  value  dwells  not  in  particular  will ; 
It  holds  tiis  estimate  and  dignity 
As  well  wherein  'tis  precious  of  itself 
As  Ml  the  prizer :  'tis  mad  idolatry, 
To  ni:ike  tiie  service  greater  than  the  god, 
And  tlie  will  dotes,  lliat  is  attributive 
To  wh;it  inli-cliously  itself  affects. 
Without  some  image  of  the  alFected  merit. 

Trit.  I  take  to-day  a  wife,  and  my  election 
Is  led  on  in  the  conduct  of  my  will: 
My  .vill  enkindled  by  mine  eyes  and  ears, 
Two  traded  pilots  'twixt  the  dangerous  shores 
Of  V. ill  and  judgment:  How  may  I  avoid. 
Although  my  wiK  distaste  what  it  elected, 
Ttie  wile  I  chose]  there  can  be  no  evasion 
To  blench^  from  this,  and  to  stand  firm  by  honor: 
We  turn  not  back  the  silks  upon  the  merchant. 
When  we  have  soil'd  them  ;  nor  the  remainder 

viands 
We  do  not  throw  in  unrespective  sieve, 
Because  we  now  are  full.    It  was  thought  meet, 
Paris  should  do  some  vengeance  on  the  Greeks : 
Your  breath  with  full  consent  bellied  his  sails; 
The  seas  and  winds  (old  wranglers)  took  a  truce, 
And  did  him  service:  he  touch'd  the  ports  desir'd; 
And,  lor  an   old  aunt,"?  whom   the  Greeks  held 

captive. 
He  brought  a  Grecian  queen,  whose  youth  and 

freshness 
Wrinkles  Apollo's,  and  makes  pale  the  morning. 
Whv  keep  we  her]  the  (Jrecians  keep  our  aunt : 
Is  sill',  worth  keeping  ]  why,  she  is  a  pearl, 
Wli'i^e  price  hath  launch'd  above  a  thousand  sliips, 
And  turn'd  crown'd  king  to  merchants. 
If  you'll  avouch,  'twas  wisdom  Paris  went, 
(As  you  must  needs,  for  you  all  cry'd — Go,  ^o,) 
If  you'll  confess,  he  brought  home  noble  prize, 
(As  you  must  needs, for  you  all  clapp'dyour  hands, 
And  cry" (\— Inestimable.')  wJiy  do  you  now 
*  Tenths.  i  Caution.  o  Shrink,  or  fly  off. 

1  Priam  s  sister,  Ilesione, 


The  issue  of  your  proper  wisdoms  rate ; 
And  do  a  deed  that  fortune  never  did. 
Beggar  the  estimation  wliich  you  priz'd 
Richer  than  sea  or  land  ]  O  thell  most  base  ; 
That  we  have  stolen  what  we  do  tear  to  keep  ! 
But,  thieves  unworthy  of  a  thing  so  stolen, 
That  in  tlieir  country  did  tJiem  that  disgrace. 
We  fear  to  warrant  in  our  native  place  ! 
C«.v.  {IViihin.]  Cry,  Trojans,  cry  ! 
Pri.  What  noise  \  what  shriek  is  this  "^ 

Tro.  'Tis  our  mad  sister.  I  do  know  lier  voice. 
Cas.  [IViihin.]  Cry,  Trojan^  ! 
hcct.  It  is  Cassandra. 

Enter  Cassandra,  raving. 
Cas.  Cry,  Trojans,  cry !  lend  me  ten  thousand 
eyes. 
And  I  will  fill  them  with  prophetic  tears. 
Hcct.  Peace,  sister,  peace, 
Cay.  Virgins  and  boys,  mid-age,  and  wrinkled 
elders. 
Soft  infancy,  that  nothing  canst  but  cry, 
Add  to  my  clamors !  let  us  pray  betimes 
A  moiety  of  that  mass  of  moan  to  come.- 
Crj-,  Trojans,  cry  !  practise  your  eyes  with  tears ! 
Troy  must  not  be,  nor  goodly  llion  stand  ; 
Our  fire-brand  brother,  Paris,  burns  us  all. 
Cry,  Trojans,  cry  !  a  Helen  and  a  woe : 
Cry.  cry  !  Troy  burns,  or  else  let  Helen  go.  [Exit, 
hect.  Now,  youthful  Troilus,  do  not  these  high 
strains 
Of  divination  in  our  sister  work 
Some  touches  of  remorse]  or  is  your  blood 
So  madly  hot,  that  no  discourse  of  reason, 
Nor  fear  of  had  success  in  a  bad  cause. 
Can  qualify  the  same  ] 

Tro.'  Why,  brother  Hector, 

We  may  not  think  the  justness  of  each  act 
Such  and  no  other  than  event  doth  form  it ; 
Nor  once  deject  the  courage  of  our  minds 
Because  Cassandra's  mad;  her  brain-sick  raptures 
Cannot  distaste-  the  goodiiC'-s  of  a  quarrel. 
Which  hath  our  several  lionors  all  engaged 
To  make  it  gracious.     For  my  private  part, 
I  am  no  more  touched  than  all  Priam's  sons: 
And  Jove  forbid,  there  should  be  done  amongst  us 
Such  things  as  might  ollend  the  weakest  spleen 
To  fight  tor  and  maintain  ! 

Par.  Else  might  the  world  convince^  of  levity 
As  well  my  undertakings  as  your  counsels; 
But  I  attest  the  gods,  your  full  consent 
Gave  wings  to  my  propension,  and  cut  off 
Ail  fears  attending  on  so  dire  a  project. 
For  what,  alas,  can  these  my  single  arms? 
What  propugnationi  is  in  one  man's  valor 
That  stand  the  push  and  enmity  of  those 
This  quarrel  would  excite  !     Vet.  I  protest, 
Were  I  alone  to  pass  the  dilliculties, 
And  had  as  ample  power  as  \  have  wiB. 
Paris  should  ne'er  retract  what  he  hath  done, 
Nor  faint  in  the  pursuit. 

Pri.  Paris,  you  speak 

Like  one  besotted  on  your  sweet  delights: 
Vou  have  the  honey  still,  but  these  the  gall ; 
So  to  he  valiant,  is  no  praise  at  all. 

Par.  Sir,  I  propose  not  merely  to  myself 
The  pleasures  such  a  beauty  brin<cs  with  it; 
But  I  would  have  the  soil  ot'  her  lair  rape 
Wiped  oti;  in  honorable  keeping  her. 
What  treason  were  it  to  the  ransack'd  queen. 
Disgrace  to  your  great  wort  lis.  and  shame  to  me, 
Now  to  deliver  her  possession  up. 
On  terms  of  base  compulsion  ]     Can  it  be, 
That  so  degenerate  a  strain  as  this. 
Should  once  set  footing  in  your  generous  bosoms! 
There's  not  the  meanest  spirit  on  our  ])arty. 
Without  a  heart  to  dare,  or  sword  to  draw, 
Wlien  Helen  is  defended  ;  nor  none  so  noble. 
Whose  life  were  ill  bcstow'd.  or  death  untamed. 
Where  Helen  is  the  subject:  then,  I  say, 
Well  may  we  fight  for  her,  whom,  we  know  well. 
The  world's  large  spaces  cannot  parallel. 
Hect.   Paris,  and  Troilus,  you  have   both   said 
well : 
And  on  the  cause  and  question  now  in  hand 
Have  gloz'd.^i^ — but  superficially;  not  much 
Unlike  young  men,  whom  Aristotle  thought 
Unfit  to'  hear  moral  philosophy  : 
8  C-'rrupt,  change  to  a  worse  stato.  •  Convict. 

I  Defence.  ^  Commeuted. 


510 


TEOILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  II. 


The  reasons,  you  allege,  do  more  conduce 
To  tlip  hot  passion  of  distemper'd  blood, 
Tliati  to  make  up  a  tree  determination 
*Tvvixt  risht  and  wrong;   For  pleasure,  and  re- 
venge, 
Have  ears  more  deaf  than  adders  to  the  voice 
Of  any  true  decision.    Nature  craves, 
All  dues  be  rendei'd  to  their  owners;  Now 
What  nearer  debt  in  all  humanity. 
Than  wife  is  to  the  liusband  f  if  this  law 
Of  nature  be  corrupted  through  allection  ; 
And  that  great  minds,  of-i  partial  indulfi:ence 
To  their  benumbed  wilts,  resist  the  same  ; 
Tliere  is  a  law  in  each  well-order'd  nation, 
To  curb  those  raging  appetites  that  are 
Most  disobedient  and  refractory. 
If  Helen  then  be  wite  to  Sparta's  king, — 
As  it  is  known  she  is.— these  moral  laws 
Of  nature,  and  of  nations,  speak  aloud 
To  have  her  back  return  a:  Thus  to  persist 
In  duuig  wrong,  extenuates  not  wrong, 
But  makes  it  much  more  heavy.    Hector's  opinion 
Is  this,  in  Vi*ay  of  truth  :  yet  ne'ertheless, 
]\Iy  sprilety  brethren.  I  propend'  to  you 
In  resolution  to  keep  Helen  still  ; 
For  'tis  a  cause  that  hath  no  mean  dependence 
Upon  our  joint  and  several  dignities. 

Tro.   Why,  there  you  touch'd  the  life  of  our 
design : 
Were  it  not  glory  that  we  more  affected, 
Than  the  perlormanee  of  our  heaving  spleens, 
I  woukl  not  wisli  a  drop  of  Trojan  blooM 
*Spent  more  in  her  defence.    But,  worthy  Hector, 
She  IS  a  tlieme  of  honor  and  renown ; 
A  spur  to  valiant  and  magnanimous  deeds  ; 
Whose  present  courage  may  beat  down  our  foes, 
And  fame,  in  time  to  come,  canonize  us  : 
For.  I  presume,  brave  Hector  would  not  lose 
So  rich  advantage  of  a  promis'd  glory, 
As  smites  upon  the  forehead  of  this  action, 
For  the  wide  world's  revenue. 

Htci.  I  am  yours, 

You  valiant  offspring  of  great  Priamus. — 
1  have  a  roisting^  challenge  sent  amongst 
The  dull  and  f.ictious  nobles  of  the  Greeks, 
Will  sliike  ani;i/.cmenl  to  their  drowsy  spirits: 
I  was  advert  is'd,  their  great  general  siVpt, 
Whilst  emulatu)n"  in  the  army  crtpt; 
This,  1  presume,  will  wake  him.  {Exeunt. 


SCEXK  III.— TAe  Grecian  Camp. 
jVchilles'  Tent. 


Before 


Enter  Thersites. 

Ther-  How,  now,  Thersitesf  what,  lost  in  the 
labyrinth  of  thy  fury  f  Shall  the  elephant  Ajax 
carry  it  tlius  !  he  beats  me,  and  I  rail  at  him  :  O 
worthy  satisfaction!  'would  it  were  otherwise;  that 
I  could  beathim,whilsthc  railed  at  me:  'Sfoot,  I'll 
learn  to  conjure  and  raise  devils,  but  I'll  see  some 
issueofmy  spiteful  execrations.  Then  there's  Achil- 
les,— a  rare  engineer.  IfTroy  he  not  taken, till  these 
two  undermine  it.  tlie  walls  will  stand  till  they  fall 
of  tliemselves.  O  thou  great  thunder-darter  of 
Olympus,  forget  that  thou  art  Jove  the  king  of 
gods;  and,  Mercury,  lose  all  'the  serpentine  crall 
of  thy  Cu'litceus;'^  if  ye  tiike  not  that  little  little 
less-than-little  wit  from  them  that  they  have  I  which 
short-armed  ignorance  itself  knows  is  so  abundant 
scarce,  it  will  not  in  circumvention  deliver  a  tly 
from  a  spider,  without  drawing  their  massy  irons, 
and  cutting  the  web.  Al\er  this,  the  vengeance  on 
the  whole  camp!  or,  rather,  the  hone-ache!  for  that, 
mothiiiks,  is  the  curse  dependent  on  those  that  war 
tor  a  placket.  I  have  said  my  prayers  ;  and  devil, 
envy,  say  Amen. — What,  ho  !  my  lord  Achilles  ! 
Enter  Patroclus. 

Pa/r  Who's  there?  Thersites?  Good  Thersites, 
come  in  iiiid  rail. 

T/i'  r.  II  1  cniild  have  remembered  a  gilt  coun- 
terli'il.  iliou  w(uil(lst  not  have  slipped  out  of  my 
contemplation:  hut  it  is  no  matter ;  Thyself  upon 
thyself!  The  common  curse  ol' mankind,  folly  and 
Ignorance,  be  thine  in  great  revenue  !  heaven  bless 
thee  frnin  a  tutiu-.  and  discipline  come  not  near 
thee!  Let  thy  blood  be  thy  direction  till  thy 
death  !  then  if  she,  that  lays  thoe  out,  says— thou 

3  Thiou;.'h.        *  liicliuo.        «  Blustoring.        e  Envy. 
■>  The    w;iud  of  Mercury,  which  is  wreuthotl  with  ser- 
ponh). 


art  a  fair  corse,  I'M  he  sworn  and  sworn  upon't.she 
never  shrouded  any  but  lazars.^  Amen. — Where's 
Achilles'? 

Pafr.  What,  art  thou  devout  1  wast  tliou  in 
prayer  ] 

l^her.  Ay;  The  heavens  hear  me.' 

Enter  Achilles. 

Achil.  Who'?  there? 

Pair.  Thersites,  my  lord. 

Achil,  Where,  where? — Art  thou  come?  Why. 
my  cheese,  my  digestion,  why  hast  thou  not  scrveu 
thyself  in  to  my  table  so  many  meals!  Come; 
what's  Agamemnon  ? 

Ther.  Thy  commander,  Achilles;— Then  tell 
me,  Patroclus,  what's  Achilles  ? 

Pair.  Thy  lord,  Thersites  ;  Then  tell  me,  I  pray 
thee,  what's  thyself! 

Ther.  Thy  knower,  Patroclus;  Then  tell  me, 
Patroclus.  what  art  thou  ? 

Patr.  Thou  mayst  tell,  that  knowest. 

Achil.  O,  tell,  tell. 

Ther.  Til  decline  the  whole  question.  Agamem 
non  commands  Achilles;  Achilles  is  my  lord;  I 
am  Patroclus'  knower;  and  Patroclus  is  a  fool. 

Patr.  You  rascal ! 

Ther.  Peace,  fool ;  I  have  not  done. 

Acfiil.  He  is  a  privileged  man. — Proceed,  Ther- 
sites. 

Ther.  Agamemnon  is  a  fool ;  Achilles  is  a  fool, 
Thersites  is  a  fool ;  and,  as  aforesaid,  Patroclus  is 
a  foo!. 

Achil.  Derive  this;  come. 

Ther.  Agamemnon  is  a  fool  to  ofTer  to  command 
Achilles;  Achilles  is  a  fool  to  be  commanded  of 
Agamemnon;  Thersites  is  a  tool  to  serve  such  a 
fool ;  and  Patroclus  is  a  fool  positive, 

Patr.  Why  am  I  a  fool  ? 

Ther.  Make  that  demand  of  the  prover. — It  sut- 
fices  me,  thou  art.    Look  you,  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Agamem.von,  Ulvssks,  Nestor,  Diomedes, 
a7id  Ajax. 

Achil.  Patroclus,  I'll  speak  with  nobody : — 
Come  in  with  me,  Thersites.  [Exit. 

Ther.  Here  is  such  patchery.  such  juggling, and 
such  knavery  !  all  the  argument  is,  a  cuckold,  and 
a  whore;  A  good  quarrel,  to  draw  emulouss  fac- 
tions, and  bleed  to  death  upon.  Now  the  dry  ser- 
pigo^ on  the  subject  1  and  war,  and  lechery,  con- 
found all !  [Exit, 

Agant.  Where  is  Achilles  ? 

Pair.  Within  his  tent;  but  ill-dispos'd,  my  lord. 

Agani.  Let  it  ho  known  to  him  that  we  are  here; 
He  shent-  our  messengers  ;  and  we  lay  by 
Our  appertainments3  visiting  of  Iiim  : 
Let  him  be  told  so;  lest,  pereluincc,  he  think 
We  dare  not  move  the  question  of  our  place, 
Or  know  not  what  we  are. 

Pair.  I  shall  say  so  to  him.  [Exit, 

Uli/ss.  We  saw  him  at  the  opening  of  his  tent; 
He  is  not  sick. 

Ajax.  Yes,  lion-sick,  sick  of  proud  heart :  you 
may  call  it  melancholy,  if  you  will  favor  the  man; 
hut,  by  my  head,  'tis  pride:  But  why,  why]  let 
lum  show  us  a  cause. — A  word,  my  lord. 

[Takes  Agamemnox  aside. 

Nest.  What  moves  Ajax  thus  to  bay  at  him? 

Uti/ss.  Aciiilles  hath  inveigled  his  fool  from  him. 

Nest.  Who?  Thersites? 

Ulyss.  He. 

Nest.  Then  will  Ajax  lack  matter,  if  he  have  lost 
his  argument.' 

Vli/ss.  No;  yon  see,  he  is  his  argument,  that  has 
his  argument;  Achilles. 

Ncsr.  All  the  better;  their  fraction  is  more  our 
wish,  than  their  faction  ;  But  it  was  a  strong  com- 
posure, a  fool  could  disunite. 

Uti/ss.  The  amity  that  wisdom  knits  not,  folly 
may'casily  untie.    Here  comes  Patroclus. 

Re-enter  Patroclus. 

Nest.  No  Achilles  with  him. 

UUiss.  The  elephant  Jiath  joints,  but  none  for 
courlesy:  his  legs  are  legs  lor  necessity,  not  for 
Ilex  u  re. 


•  Leprous  persons. 
5  Ki'buked,  rated. 

*  Subject. 


s  Knvious.  *  Ti'ltcr.  scab, 

3  Appeudage  of  rank  Or  dignity. 


Scene  III. 


TROILUS   AND  CRESSIDA. 


511 


Patr.  Achilles  bids  me  say— he  is  much  sorry, 
\(  any  thing  more  than  your  sport  and  pleasure 
Did  move  your  greatness,  and  this  noble  state, 
To  call  upon  him ;  he  hopes,  it  is  no  other. 
But.  lor  your  health  and  your  digestion's  sake, 
An  aller-dinner's  breath.^ 

A^am.  Hear  you,  Patroclus; — 

We'iiie  too  well  acquainted  wilh  these  answers : 
But  his  evasion,  wing'd  thus  switl  with  scorn, 
Cannot  outtly  our  apprehensions. 
Much  altnbiite  he  iiath  ;  and  much  the  reason 
Why  we  ascribe  it  to  him:  yet  all  his  virtues,— 
Not  virtuously  on  his  own  part  beheld,^ 
Dm.  ill  our  eyes,  begin  to  lo^e  their  gloss; 
Yea,  like  fair  fruit  in  an  unwholesome  dish. 
Are  like  to  rot  untasted.    Go  and  tell  him. 
We  come  to  speak  with  him:  And  you  shall  not 

sin, 
a  you  do  say — we  think  him  over-proud, 
And  under-honest;  in  self-assumption  greater, 
TJiaa  ill  the  note  of  judgment;  and  worthier  than 

himself 
Here  tend^  the  savage  strangeness  he  puts  on  ; 
Disguise  the  holy  strength  of  their  command, 
And  underwrite'  in  an  observing  kind 
His  humorous  predominance;  yea,  watch 
His  pettish  lunes.s  his  ebbs,  his  flows,  as  if 
The  passage  and  whole  carriage  of  this  action 
Kode  on  his  tide,    (io,  tell  liim  this;  and  add, 
Tliat.  if  he  overbold  his  price  so  much, 
We'll  none  of  him  ;  but  let  him,  like  an  engine 
Not  portable,  lie  under  this  report — 
Bring  action  hither,  this  cannot  go  to  war: 
A  stirring  dwarf  we  do  allowance^  give 
Before  a  sleeping  giant : — Teil  him  so. 

Patr.  1  shall ;  and  bring  his  answer  presently. 

[Exit. 

Agam.  In  second  voice  we'll  not  be  satisfied, 
We  come  to  speak  with  him. — Ulysses,  enter. 

[Exit  Ulysses. 

Ajax.  What  is  he  more  than  another  \ 

Af^am.  No  more  than  what  he  thinks  he  is, 

Ajax.  Is  he  so  much]  Do  you  not  tiiink,  he 
thinks  himself  a  better  man  tlian  I  am  ! 

A^aiii.  No  question. 

Ajax.  Will  you  subscribe  his  thought,  and  say 
— he  IS  ! 

Again.  No,  noble  Ajax:  you  are  as  strong,  as 
valiant,  as  wise,  no  less  noble,  much  more  gentle, 
and  altogether  more  tractable. 

Ajax.  Wliy  should  a  man  be  proud  1  How  doth 
pride  grow  !  1  know  not  what  pride  is. 

Agam.  Your  mind's  the  clearer,  Ajax,  and  your 
virtues  the  fairer.  He  that  is  proud,  eats  up  him- 
self: pride  is  his  own  glass,  his  own  trumpet,  his 
own  clironicle;  and  whatever  praises  itself  but  in 
the  deed,  devours  the  deed  in  the  praise. 

Ajax.  I  do  hate  a  proud  man,  as  1  hate  the  en- 
gendering of  toads. 

Ne6t.  And  yet  he  loves  himself:  Is  it  not  strange? 

[Aside, 

Re-enter  Ulysses. 

Uli/ss.  Achilles  will  not  to  the  field  to-morrow. 

Agam.  What's  his  excuse  ? 

Uit/ss.  lie  doth  rely  on  none  ; 

But  carries  on  the  stream  of  his  dispose, 
Without  observance  or  respect  of  any, 
In  will  peculiar  and  in  sell-admission. 

Agam.  Why  will  he  not.  upon  our  fair  request, 
Untent  his  person,  and  share  tiie  air  with  us  ! 

Ult/ss.   Things  small  as  nothing,  for  request's 
sake  only. 
He  makes  important:  Possessed  he  is  with  great- 
ness; 
And  speaks  not  to  himself,  but  with  a  pride 
Tliat  quarrels  at  sell-breath  :  imagin'd  worth 
Holds  in  his  blood  such  swoln  and  hot  discourse, 
ThiiJ  'twixt  Jiis  mental  and  liis  active  parts, 
Kingdom'd  Achilles  in  commotion  rages, 
And  batiers  down  liimself :  What  should  I  say  1 
He  is  so  plaguy  proud,  that  the  death-tokens  of  it 
Cry — -V/>  recovery. 

Agam.  Let  Ajax  go  to  him. — 

Dear  lord,  go  you  and  greet  liiin  in  his  tent; 
*Tis  said,  he  holds  you  well ;  and  will  be  led, 
At  your  request,  a  little  from  himself. 

»  Exen-ise.  •  Attend.  '  Subscribe,  obey. 

•  Fits  of  luuacy.  •  Approbation. 


Ulyss.  O  Agamemnon,  let  it  not  be  so ! 

We'll  consecrate  the  steps  that  Ajax  makes 
When  they  go  from  Achilles:   Shall  the  proud 

lord. 
That  bastes  his  arrogance  vs-ith  his  own  seam  ;' 
And  never  sutJers  matter  ol'the  world 
Kntcr  his  thoughts, — save  such  as  do  revolve 
And  ruminate  himself, — shall  he  be  worshlppM 
Of  tlmt  we  hold  an  idol  more  than  he? 
No,  this  thrice  wortliy  and  right  valiant  lord 
Must  not  so  stale  his'palm.  nobly  <icquir'd.* 
Nor,  by  my  will,  assubjugate  his  merit, 
As  amply  titled  as  Achilles  is, 
By  going  to  Achilles; 
That  were  to  eniard  his  fat-already  pride  ; 
And  add  more  coals  to  Cancer,  when  he  burns 
W'lth  entertaining  great  Hyperion. 
This  lord  go  to  him  !  Jupiter,  forbid  . 
And  say  in  thunder — Ackitles  go  to  him. 

Nest.  0,  this  is  well ;  he  rubs  the  vein  of  him. 

[Asiffe. 

Dio.  And   how  his  silence  drinks  up  tins  ap- 
plause !  [A-s-ide. 

Ajax.  If  I  go  to  him,  with  my  arm'd  hst   I'll 
pash-  him 
Over  the  face. 

Agam.  O.  no,  you  shall  not  go. 

Ajax.  An  he  be  proud  with  me,  I'll  pheeze^  his 
pride : 
Let  me  go  to  him. 

Uli/ss.  Not  for  the  worth  that  hangs  upon  our 
quarrel. 

Ajax.  A  paltry,  insolent  fellow. 

Ae.sf.  How  he  describes 

Himself!  [Aside, 

Ajax.  Can  he  not  be  sociable  1 

hbjss.  The  raven 

Chides  blackness.  [Afride. 

AJa.c.,  J  will  let  his  humors  blood. 

Agam.  He'll   be  physician,  that  should    be  the 
patient.  [Aside. 

Ajax.  An  all  men 
Were  o'my  mind, 

Ulyss.  Wit  would  be  out  of  fiishion. 

[Aside, 

Ajax.  He  should  not  bear  it  so; 
He  should  eat  swords  first :  Shall  pride  carry  it  ? 

Nest.  An  'twould,  you'd  carry  half.  [Aside, 

Ulyss.  He'd  have  ten  shares, 

[Aside. 

Ajax.  I'll  knead  him,  I  will  make  him  supple; — 

Nest.  He's  not  yet  thorough  warm :  force'  him 
with  praises: 
Pour  in.  pour  in  ;  his  ambition  is  dry.  [Aside. 

Ulyss.  My  lord,  you  feed  too  much  on  this  dis- 
like. [To  Agamemnon. 

Nest.  O  noble  general,  do  not  do  so. 

Dio.  You  must  prepare  to  fight  without  Achilles. 

Ulyss.  Why, 'tis  this  naming  of  him  does  him 
harm. 
Here  is  a  man — But  'tis  before  his  face ; 
I  will  be  silent. 

Nest.  Wherefore  should  you  so  1 

He  is  not  emulous,^  as  Achilles  is. 

Ulyss.  Know  the  whole  world,  he  is  as  valiant, 

Ajax.  A  whoreson  dog,  that  shall  palter^  thus 
with  us  ! 
I  would,  he  were  a  Trojan  ! 

Nest.  What  a  vice 

Were  it  in  Ajax  now — - 

Ulyss.  Tf  he  were  proud  ■* 

Dio.  Or  covetous  of  praise  ? 

Ulyss.  Ay,  or  surly  borne  1 

Dio.  Or  strange,  or  self-aflfected  1 

Ulyss.  Thank  tlie  heavens,  lord,  thou  art  of  sweet 
composure ; 
Praise  him  that  got  thee,  she  that  gave  thee  suck : 
Famed  by  thy  tutor,  and  Ihy  parts  of  nature 
Thrice-famed,  beyond  all  erudition: 
But  he  that  disciplin'd  thy  arms  to  fight, 
Let  Mars  divide  eternity  in  twain. 
And  give  him  half:  and.  for  thy  vigor. 
Bull-bearing  Milo^his  addition^  yield 
To  sinewy  Ajax.    I  will  not  praise  thy  wisdom. 
Which,  like  a  bourn,''  a  pale,  a  shore,  confines 
Thy  spacious  and  dilated  parts:  Here's  Nestor,— 
Instructed  by  the  antiquary  times, 

*  Fat.  « Strike.        a  Comb  or  currj".     «  Ptuff. 

•  Envious.     » Tritl«.         "»  Titles.  ■  Uoundaiy. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


512 


He  must,  he  is,  he  cannot  but  be  wise  ; — 
But  pardon,  father  Neslor,  were  your  days 
As  green  as  Ajax,  and  your  brain  so  tempered, 
You  should  not  have  the  eminence  of  him, 
But  be  as  Ajax. 

Ajax.  Shall  I  call  you  father  1 

Nest.  Ay,  my  good  son. 

Dio.  By  rul'd  by  him,  lord  Ajax. 

Ukyss.   There    is    no    tarrying  here;    the  hart 
Achilles 


Act  III. 


Keeps  thicket.    Please  it  our  great  general 
To  call  together  all  his  state  of  war ; 
Fresh  kings  are  come  lo  Troy:  To-morrow, 
We  must  with  all  our  main  of  power  stand  fast : 
And    here's  .a  lord, — come  kniglits  from    east    to 

west. 
And   cull  their  flowers  Ajax  shall  cope  the  best. 
Again.  Go  we  lo  council.    Let  Acliilles  sleep: 
Light  boats  sail  swift,  though  greater  hulks  draw 

deep.  [Exeunt, 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I.— Troy.    A  Room  in  Priam's  Palace. 
Enter  Pandarus  and  a  Servant. 

Pan.  Friend!  you!  pray  you,  a  word:  Do  not 
you  follow  the  young  lord  Paris? 

Se?'V.  Ay,  sir,  when  he  goes  before  me. 

Pan.  You  do  depend  upon  him,  I  mnan  ? 

Serv.  Sir,  I  do  depend  upon  that  lord. 

Pan.  You  depend  upon  a  noble  gentleman  ; 
I  must  needs  praise  him. 

Serv.  Tlie  lord  be  praisM  ! 

Pan.  You  know,  me  do  you  not] 

Serv.  'Faith,  sir,  superticially. 

Pan.  Friend,  know  me  better;  I  am  the  lord 
pandarus. 

Serv,  I  hope  I  shall  know  j'our  honor  better. 

Pan.  I  do  desire  it. 

Serv.  You  arc  in  the  state  of  grace. 

[Music  iviihin. 

Pan.  Grace!  not  so,  friend;  honor  and  lordship 
are  my  titles; — What  music  is  this? 

Serv.  I  do  but  partly  know,  sir;  it  is  music  in 
parts. 

Pun.  Know  you  the  musicians  *? 

Serv.  Wholly,  sir. 

Pan.  Who  piny  they  to*? 

Serv.  To  the  hearers,  sir. 

Pan.  At  whose  pleasure,  friend? 

Serv.  At  mine,  sir,  and  tlieirs  that  love  music. 

Pan.  Command,  I  mean,  friend  ! 

Serv.  Who  shall  I  command,  sir! 

Pan.  Friend,  we  understand  not  one  another;  1 
am  too  courtly,  and  thou  art  too  cunning:  At 
wliosc  request  do  these  men  play? 

Serv.  That's  to't,  indeed,  sir;"Marry,  sir,  at  the 
re<inest  of  Paris  my  lord,  who  is  there  iu  person; 
with  him  the  mortal  Venus,  the  heart-blood  of 
beauly.  love's  invisible  soul. 

Pun.  Wiio,  my  cousin  CressidaT 

Serv.  No,  sir,  Helen;  Could  you  not  fmd  out 
that  by  her  attributes? 

Pan.  It  should  seem,  fellow,  that  thou  hast  not 
seen  the  lady  Cressida.  I  come  to  speak  with  Paris 
from  the  pnnce  Troilus:  I  will  make  a  compli- 
meiital  assavdt  upon  him,  for  my  business  seeths.^ 

Serv.  Sodden  busijiess!  there's  a  stewed  phrase, 
indeed ! 

Enter  Paris  and  Helen,  attended. 

Pan.  Fair  be  to  you,  my  lord,  and  to  all  this  fair 
company!  fair  desires,  in  ail  fair  measure,  (airly 
guidi^  them;  especially  to  you,  fair  queen  I  fair 
thoughts  be  your  fair  pillow  ! 

lifi.en.  Dear  lord,  you  are  full  of  fair  words. 

Pan.  Yon  speak  your  fair  pleasure,  sweetquccn. 
— Fiiir  ]>rlnce,  hereis  good  broken  music. 

Par.  You  have  broke  it,  cousin  :  and,  by  my 
life,  you  shall  make  it  whole  again;  you  shall  piece 
it  out  with  a  piece  of  your  performance: — Nell, 
he  i'i  full  of  harmony. 

Par.  Truly,  lady,  ho. 

IJrlrn.  0  sir. 

Pan.  Rude, ill  sooth;  in  good  sooth,  very  rude. 

Pan.  Well  said,  my  lord!  well,  you  say  so  in 
fits.' 

Pan.  I  have  business  to  my  lord,  dear  queen: — 
My  bird,  will  you  vouchsafe  me  a  word? 

Htlen.  Nay,  this  shall  not  hedge  us  out:  we'll 
hear  you  sing  certainly. 

Pail.  Well," sweet  qpocn,  you  arc  pleasant  with 


6  IJuils. 


'  Parts  of  a  song 


me. — But  (marry)  thus,  my  lord, — My  dear  lord, 
and  most  esteemed  fiiend,  your  brullier  Troilus, — 

Helen.  My  lord  Pandarus  ;  honey-sweet  lord — 

Pan.  Go  to,  sweet  queen,  go  to  : — commends 
himself  most  atTectionately  to  you. 

Helen.  You  shall  not  bob  us  outof  our  melody; 
it  you  do,  our  melancholy  upon  your  liead  ! 

Pan.  Sweet  queen,  sweet  queen  ;  that's  a  sweet 
queen,  i'  faith. 

Helen.  And  to  make  a  sweet  lady  sad,  is  a  sour 
o  tie  nee. 

Pan.  Nay.  tlint  shall  not  serve  your  turn;  that 
sliall  it  not,  in  truth,  la.  Nay,  I  care  not  for  such 
wonls;  no,  no. — .\nd,  my  lord,  he  desires  you. 
tliat,  if  the  king  call  tor  him  at  supper,  you  will 
make  liis  excuse. 

Helen.  My  lord  Pandarus, — 

Pan.  What  says  my  sweet  queen, — my  very 
very  sweet  queen? 

Pur.  What  exploit's  in  hand  ?  where  sups  he 
to-night? 

Helen.  Nay,  but  my  lord, 

Pan.  What  says  my  sweet  queen  ? — My  cousin 
will  tail  out  with  you.  You  must  not  know  where 
he  sups. 

Par.  I'll  lay  my  life,  with  my  disposer  Cressida. 

Pan.  No,  no,  no  such  matter,  you  are  wide;- 
corne,  jour  disposer  is  sick. 

Par.  Weil.  I'll  make  excuse. 

Pan.  Ay,  guod  my  lord.  Why  should  you  say 
— Cressida  ?  no,  your  poor  disposer's  sick. 

Par.  1  spy. 

Pan.  You  spy  !  what  do  you  spy  ?— Come,  give 
me  an  instrument.    Now,  sweetqueen. 

Helen.  Why.  this  is  kindly  done. 

Pan.  My  niece  is  horribly  in  love  with  a  thing 
you  have,  swefit  queen. 

Helen.  She  shall  have  it,  my  lord,  if  it  be  not 
uiy  lord  Pans. 

Pan.  He  !  no,  she'll  none  of  him  ;  they  two  are 
twain. 

Helen.  Falling  in,  after  falling  out,  may  make 
them  three. 

Pan.  Come. come,  I'll  hear  no  more  of  this;  I'ii 
sing  you  a  song  now. 

Helen.  Ay.  ay,  pr'ythee  now  By  my  troth, 
sweet  lord,  thou  liast  a  fine  forehead. 

Pan.  Ay,  you  may,  you  may. 

Hf'len.  Let  thy  song  be  love:  this  love  will  undo 
us  all.    (),  Cupid,  Cupid,  Cupid! 

Pan.  Love  !  ay,  that  it  shall,  i'  faith. 

Par.  Ay,  good  now,  love,  love,  nothing  but 
love. 

Pan-  In  good  troth,  it  begins  so: 

Love,  love,  nothing  but  love,  still  more ! 

For,  uk,  lnve\'i  bow 

Sh'int.s  hack  and  doe: 

The  shiift  ctnifinindSj 

Kul  that  it  iVDunds, 
But  ticklei>  atill  the  sore. 

These  lovers  cnj — Oh!  ho!  they  die! 

Yet  that  ivhich  seems  the  wound  to  killf 
Doth  turn  oh  !  oh  !  to  ha  !  Jul !  he  ! 

So  dijing  liwe  lives  still : 
Oh  !  oh  !  a  ■whiley  hut  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Oh!  oh!  groans  out  fur  ha  !  ha!  ha! 

Hey  ho  ! 
Helen.  In  love,  i'  faitli,  to  the  very  lip  of  the 

nose. 
Par.  He  eats  nothing  but  doves,  love;  and  that 
3  Wide  of  your  mark. 


Scene  II. 


TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 


513 


breeds  hot  blood. and  hot  blood  begets;  hot  thoughts, 
and  hot  thoughts  beget  hot  deeds,  and  hot  deeds  is 
love. 

Pun.  Is  this  the  generation  of  love  1  hot  blood, 
hot  thoughts,  and  hot  deeds  ? — Why,  they  are  vi- 
pers :  Is  love  a  generation  of  vipers  ?  Sweet  lord, 
who's  a-field  to-day  T  • 

Par.  Hector,  Deiphobus,  Helenus,  Antenor,  and 
all  the  gallantry  of  Troy :  I  would  fain  have  armed 
to-night,  but  niy  Nell  would  not  have  it  so.  How 
chance  my  brother  Troilus  went^not] 

Ihkn.  He  hangs  the  lip  at  something; — you 
know  all.  lord  Pandarus, 

Pan.  Not  I,  honey-sweet  queen. — I  long  to  hear 
how  they  sped  to-day. — You'll  remember  your 
brother's  excuse  ? 

Par.  To  a  hair. 

Pan.  Farewell,  sweet  queen. 

Helen.  Commend  me  to  your  niece. 

Pan.  I  will,  sweet  queen.  {Exit. 

\A  Retreat  smiwled. 

Par.  They  are  come  from  field:  let  us  to  Priam's 
hall. 
To  greet  the  warriors.    Sweet  Helen,  I  must  woo 

you 
To  help  unarm  our  Hector;  his  stubborn  buckles. 
With  these  your  white  enchanting  lingers  touch'd. 
Shall  more  obey,  than  to  the  edge  of  steel. 
Or  Ibrce  of  Greekish  sinews;  you  shall  do  more 
Than  all  the  island  kings,  disarm  great  Hector. 

Helen.  'Twill  make  us  proud  to  be  his  servant, 
Paris: 
Yea,  what  he  shall  receive  of  us  in  duty. 
Gives  us  more  palm  in  beauty  than  we  have; 
Yea,  overshines  oursclf. 

Par.  Sweet,  above  thought  I  love  thee. 

{Exeutit. 

SCENE   II.— Pandarus'  Orcftard. 
Enter  Paxdarcs  and  a  Servant,  meeting. 

Pan.  How  now?  Where's  thy  master]  at  my 
cousin  Cressida's! 

Serv.  No,  sir;  he  stays  for  you  to  conduct  him 
thitlicr. 

Enter  Troilus. 

Payi.  0.  here  he  comes. — How  now,  how  now? 

Trn.  Sirrah,  walk  oil'.  [Exit  Servant. 

Pan.  Have  you  seen  my  cousin? 

Tro.  No,  Pandarus:  I  stalk  about  her  door, 
Like  a  strange  soul  upon  the  Stygian  banks 
Staying  for  watlage.    O,  be  thou  my  Charon, 
And  give  me  swift  transportance  to  those  fields, 
Where  I  may  wallow  in  the  lily  beds 
Propos'd  for  the  deserver !  O  gentle  Pandarus, 
From  Cupid's  shoulder  pluck  his  painted  wings, 
And  ily  wilh  me  to  Crcssid  ! 

Pan.  Walk  here  i'  the  orchard,  I'll  bring  her 
straight.  [Exit  Paxdaiii's. 

Tro.  I  am  giddy  ;  expectation  whirls  me  round. 
The  imaginary  relish  is  so  sweet 
That  it  enchants  my  sense  ;  What  will  it  be, 
Wlien  that  the  watery  palate  tastes  indeed 
Love's  Ihrice-rcputed  nectar?  death,  I  fear  me; 
Swooning  destruction  :  or  some  joy  too  line. 
Too  subtle-potent,  tuned  too  sharp  in  sweetness, 
For  the  capacity  of  my  ruder  powers: 
I  fear  it  much  ;  and  I  do  fear  besides. 
That  I  shall  lose  distmction  in  in j*  joys; 
As  doth  a  battle,  when  they  ciiarge  on  heaps 
The  enemy  Hying. 

Re-enter  Pandaeus. 

Pan.  She's  making  her  ready,  she'll  come 
straight:  you  must  be  witty  now.  Sliedoesso  blush, 
and  fetches  her  wind  so  short,  as  if  she  were  frayed 
with  a  sprite  :  I'll  lelcli  her.  It  is  the  prettiest  vil- 
lain : — slie  fetches  her  breath  as  short  as  a  new- 
ta'en  sparrow.  [Exit  Paxdarcs. 

Tro.  Even  such  a  passion  doth  embrace  my 
bosom : 
My  heart  beats  thicker  than  a  feverous  pulse; 
And  all  my  powers  do  their  bestowing  lose, 
Like  vassalage  at  unawares  encount'ring 
The  eye  of  majesty. 

£«Yer  Pasdaih's  ondCRESsiDA. 

Pan.  Come,  come,  what  need  you  blush  ?  shame's 

a  baby. — Here  she  is  now:  swear  the  oaths  now  to 

her,  that  you  have  sworn  to  me. — What,  are  you 

33 


t^one  nj;ain  ?  you  must  be  watclied  ore  you  be  made 
tame,  must  youl  Come  your  ways,  come  your 
ways;  an  you  draw  backward,  we'll  put  youi'tlie 
fills.3 — Wby  do  you  notspeak  to  her] — Come, draw 
tbis  curtain,  and  let's  sec  your  picture.  Alas,  the 
day,  bow  loath  you  are  to  offend  day-hybl!  an 
'twere  dark,  you'd  close  sooner.  So,  so;  rub  on 
and  kiss  the  mistress.*  How  now!  a  kiss  in  fee- 
farm  7  build  there,  carpenter ;  t!ie  air  is  sweet.— 
Nay.  you  shall  f\^\n  your  hearts  out,  ere  I  part  tou. 
Tlie  talcon  as  the  tercel,^  lor  all  the  ducks  i  the 
river:  go  to,  go  to. 

Tro.  Vou  have  bereft,  me  of  all  words,  lady. 

Pan.  Words  pay  no  debts,  give  her  deeds:  but 
she'll  bereave  you  of  the  deeds  loo.  if  she  call  your 
activity  in  question.  Vv'hat,  billing  again  }  Here's 
— In  witness  w hereof  the  parties  intcrctianseabty 
— Come  in,  come  in  ;  I'll  go  get  a  lire. 

[Exit  PAKDARCS. 

Cres.  Will  you  walk  in,  my  lord  ? 

Tro.  O  Cressida,  how  oAcn  have  I  wished  me 
thus? 

Cres.  Wished,  my  lord?— The  gods  grant  !—0 
my  lord ! 

Tro.  What  should  they  grant?  what  makes  this 
pretty  abruption ]  What  too  curious  dreg  espies 
my  sweet  lady  in  tlie  fountain  of  our  love  : 

Cres.  More  dregs  than  water,  if  my  fears  have 
eyes. 

Tro.  Fears  make  devils  clicrubims;  they  never 
see  truly. 

Cres.  Blind  fear,  that  seeing  reason  leads,  finds 
safer  footing  than  blind  reason  stumbling  without 
tear  :  To  fear  the  worst,  olt  cures  the  worst. 

Tro,  0,  let  my  lady  apprehend  no  fear:  in  all 
Cujiid's  pageant  there  is  presented  no  monster. 

Cres.  Nor  nothing  monstrous  neither  ? 

Tro.  Nothing,  but  our  luidcrtakings:  when  we 
vow  to  weep  seas,  live  in  lire,  eat  rocks,  lame  tigers: 
thinking  it  harder  for  our  mistress  to  devi^^e  im- 
position enough, than  for  us  to  undergo  any  ditliculty 
imposed.  Tbis  is  the  monstruosity  in  love,  lady, — 
tliat  the  will  is  intinite,  and  tlie  execution  confined: 
that  the  desire  is  boundless,  and  the  act  a  slave  to 
limit. 

Cres.  They  say,  all  lovers  swear  more  perform- 
ance than  they  are  able,  and  yet  reserve  an  ability 
that  they  never  perform;  vowing  more  than  the 
perfection  of  ten,  and  discharging  le.-s  than  the 
tenth  part  of  one.  They  that  have  the  voice  of 
lions,  and  the  act  of  hares,  are  they  not  monsters'? 

Tro.  Are  there  such  1  such  are  not  we  :  Praise 
us  as  we  are  tasted,  allow  us  as  we  prove  ;  our  head 
shall  go  bare. till  merit  crown  it:  no  perfection  in 
reversion  shall  have  a  praise  in  present :  we  will 
not  name  desert  before  his  birth;  and,  being  born, 
his  addition^  shall  be  humi)Ie.  Few  words  to  fair 
faith:  Troilus  shall  be?Uch  to  Cressid.as  whatenvy 
can  say  worst,  shall  be  a  mock  for  his  truth;  and 
what  truth  can  speak  truest,  not  truer  than  Troilus? 

Cres.  Will  you  walk  in,  my  lord! 

Re-enter  Pandarus. 

Tan.  What,  blushing  still?  have  you  not  done 
talking  yet  ? 

Or.v.  Well,  uncle,  what  folly  I  commit,  I  dedi- 
cate to  you. 

Pan.  I  thank  you  for  that;  if  my  lord  get  a  boy 
of  yon,  you'll  give  him  me:  Be  true  to  my  lord: 
if  he  llinch,  chide  me  for  it, 

Tro.  You  know  now  yjur  hostages;  your  un- 
cle's word,  and  my  tirm  failii. 

Pa7i.  Nay,  I'll  give  my  word  for  her  too;  our 
kindred,  though  they  be  long  ere  they  are  wooed, 
they  are  constant,  being  won:  they  are  burs,  1  can 
tell  you  ;  they'll  stick  wiicre  they  are  thrown. 

Cres.  Boldness  comes  to  me  now,  and  brings  me 
lieart: — 
Prince  Troilus,  I  have  lov'd  you  night  and  day 
For  many  weary  months. 

Tro.  Why  was  my  Crcssid  then  so  hard  fo  win  1 

Cres.  Hard  to  seem  won  ;  but  I  was  won,  my  lord, 
With  the  tirst  glance  that  ever — Pardon  me  ; — ■ 
If  I  conti?ss  much,  you  will  play  the  tyrant. 

•  Shafts  of  a  carriage. 

•  The  Jrilusion  is  to  bowling;  what  is  now  called  the 
jack,  was  formerly  tunned  the  mistress. 

»  The  torcel  is  the  malo  and  the  falcon  the  fymaly  hawk. 

•  Titles. 


514 


TKOILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  III. 


I  love  you  now;  but  not,  till  now,  po  mucli 
But  I  might  master  it; — in  faith.  I  lie  ; 
My  thoughts  were  lilie  unbridled  children,  grown 
Too  headstrong  for  llicir  mother:  See,  we  foe  Is  ! 
Why  have  I  blabb'd  !  who  shall  be  true  to  us, 
When  we  are  so  unsecret  to  ourselves  ? 
But,  though  I  lov'd  you  well,  I  woo'd  you  not; 
And  yet,  good  laith.  I  wish'd  myself  a  man  ; 
Or  that  we  women  had  men's  privilege 
Of  srpealdng  first.    Sweet,  bid  me  hold  my  tongue  ; 
I-'or,  in  this  rapture,  I  shall  surely  speak 
The  tiling  I  shall  repent.    See,  see  your  silence. 
Cunning  in  dumbness,  from  my  weakness  draws 
My  very  soul  of  counsel:  Stop  my  mouth. 
Tro.  And  shall, albeitsweetmusic  issues  thence. 
Pan.  Pretty,  i'  laith. 

Cres.  My  lord,  I  do  beseech  you,  pardon  mc; 
Twas  not  my  purpose  thus  to  beg  a  kiss : 
T  am  ashameil ;— O  heavens  !  what  have  I  done? — 
Kor  this  time  will  I  take  my  leave,  my  lord. 
Tro.  Your  leave,  .sweet  Cressid  ? 
Pan.  Leave  !  an  you  take  leave  till  to-morrow 

morniiig, 

Crcs.  Pray  you,  content  you. 
Tro.  What  offends  you,  lady  ? 

Cres.  Sir,  mine  own  company. 
Tro.  You  cannot  shun 

Yourself. 

Cres.  Let  me  go  and  try  : 
I  have  a  kind  of  .self  resides  with  you  ; 
But  an  unkind  self,  that  it,self  will  leave. 
To  he  another's  fool.    1  would  be  gone : 
Where  is  my  wit]  I  know  not  what  1  speak. 
Tro.  Well  know  they  what  they  speak,  that  speak 

so  wisely. 
Crcs.  Perchance,  my  lord,  I  show  more  craft 
than  love ; 
And  fell  so  roundly  to  a  large  confes.sion. 
To  angle  tor  your  thoughte:  But  you  are  wise; 
Or  else  you  love  not;  liir  to  be  wise  and  love, 
K.xcecds  man's  might:  that  dwells  with  gods  above. 

Tro.  0,  that  I  thought  it  could  be  in  a  woman, 
(.Vs,  if  It  can,  I  will  presume  in  you.) 
To  li'cd  for  aye'  her  lamp  and  Hames  of  love 
To  keep  her  constancy  in  plight  and  youth. 
Outliving  beauty's  outward,  with  a  mind 
That  doth  renew  switler  than  blood  decays; 
Or.  that  persuasion  could  but  thus  convince  me, — 
That  my  integrity  and  truth  to  you 
Might  be  alfronted'  with  the  match  and  weight 
Of  such  a  winnow'd  purity  in  love; 
How  were  I  then  uplifted !  but  ala.s, 
1  am  as  true  as  truth's  simplicity. 
And  simpler  than  the  infancy  of  truth. 
Cres.  In  that  I'll  war  with  you. 
'Tro.  0  virtuous  tight. 

When  right  with  riglil  wars,  who  shall  be  most 

right!  6"*      .    ' 

True  swains  in  love,  shall,  in  the  world  to  come, 
Approve  their  truths  by  Troilus:  when  their  rhymes 
I''ull  of  protest,  of  oath,  and  big  compare. 
Want  similes,  truth  tired  with  tieralioii,^ 
As  true  as  steel,  as  plantage  to  the  moon, 
As  sun  to  day,  as  turtle  to  her  mate. 
As  iron  to  adamant,  as  earth  to  the  centre, — 
Yet,  alter  all  comparisons  of  truth, 
As  truth's  authentic  author  to  be  cited. 
As  true  as  Troilus  shall  crown  up'  the  verse, 
And  sanctify  the  numbers. 

Crts.  Prophet  may  you  be ! 

If  I  be  false,  or  swerve  a  hair  from  truth. 
When  time  is  old  and  hath  lorgot  ikelf. 
When  waterdrops  have  worn  the  stones  of  Troy, 
And  blind  oblivion  swallow'd  cities  up. 
And  mighty  stales  characterless  are  grated 
To  dusty  nothing ;  yet  let  memory. 
From  false  to  false,  among  false  niaids  in  love, 
Upbraid  my  falsehood  !  when  they  have  said— as 

false 
As  air,  as  water,  wind,  or  sandy  eartli. 
As  fox  to  lamb,  as  wolf  to  heller's  calt; 
Pard  to  the  hind,  or  stepdame  to  her  son  ; 
Yea,  let  them  say,  to  stick  the  heart  of  iiilsehood. 
As  false  as  Cressid. 

Pan.  Go  to,  a  bargain  made:  seal  it,  seal  it; 
I  11  be  thewilness.— Here,  I  hold  your  hand;  here, 
my  cousin's.  If  ever  you  prove  laisc  one  to  another, 

'Ever.  "Met  with  and  I'liuiilled. 

•  Comparison.  '  Cond  ude.  I 


since  I  have  taken  such  pains  to  bring  you  together, 

i  let  all  pitiful  gocrs-between  be  called  to  the  world's 

end  after  ray  name, call  tliem  all— Pandars;  let  all 

inconstant  men  be  Troiluses,  all  false  women  Cres- 

sids,  and  all  brokcrs-between  Pandars  !  say,  amen 

Tro.  Amen. 

Ofes.  Amen. 

Pan.  Amen.    Whereupon   I   will   show  you  a 
chamber  and  a  bed,  which  bed,  because  it  shall  not 
speak  of  your  pretty  encounters,  press  it  to  death : 
away. 
And  Cupid  grant  all  tongue-tied  maid(ms  here, 
Bed,  chamber,  Pandar,  to  provide  this  gear  ! 

{Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— The  Grecian  Camp 
Enter  Agamemnon,  Ulysses,  Diomedes,  Nestor, 
Ajax,  Meselahs,  and  Calchas. 
Cat.  Now,  princes,  for  the  service  I  have  done  you, 
The  advantage  of  the  time  prompts  me  aloud 
To  call  for  recompense.    Appear  it  to  your  mind, 
That,  through  the  sight  I  bear  in  things,  to  Jove, 
I  have  abandon'd  Troy,  left  my  possession, 
Incurr'd  a  traitor's  name;  exposed  myself, 
From  certain  and  possess'd  conveniences. 
To  doubtful  fortunes,  sequest'ring  from  me  all 
That  time,  acquaintance,  custom,  and  condition, 
Made  tame  and  most  familiar  to  my  nature  ; 
And  here,  to  do  you  service,  am  become 
As  new  into  the  world,  strange,  unacquainted: 
I  do  beseech  you,  as  in  way  of  taste. 
To  give  me  now  a  little  benefit. 
Out  of  those  many  register'd  in  promise. 
Which,  you  say,  live  to  come  in  my  behalf. 
Agam.  What  wouldst  thou  of  us,  Trojan?  make 

demand. 
Cut.  You  have  a  Trojan  prisoner  call'd  Antenor, 
Yesterday  took;  Troy  holds  him  very  dear, 
Oft  have  you  (often  have  you  thanks  therefore) 
Desired  my  Cressid  in  right  great  exchange, 
Whom  Troy  hath  still  denied:  But  this  Antenor, 
I  know,  is  such  a  wrest  in  their  afliiirs. 
That  their  negotiations  all  must  slack. 
Wanting  his  manage  ;  and  they  will  almost 
(live  us  a  prince  ot  blood,  a  son  of  Priam, 
In  change  of  him  :  let  him  be  sent,  great  princes. 
And  he  shall  buy  my  daughter:  and  her  presence 
Shall  quit  strike  otfall  service  I  have  done. 
In  most  accepted  pain. 

Agam.  Let  Diomedes  bear  him, 

And  bring  us  Cressid  hither;  Calchas  shall  have 
What  he  requests  of  us.— Good  Diomed, 
Furnish  you  fairly  for  this  interchange: 
Withal,  bring  word— if  Hector  will  lo-morrow 
Be  answer'd  in  his  challenge:  Ajax  is  ready.  - 

J)io.  This  shall  I  undertake  ;  and  'tis  a  burden 
Which  I  am  proud  to  bear. 

[Ejcetinf  Diomedes  and  Calchas. 
Enter  Achilles  and  Patroclus,  before  their  Tent. 
Uli/ss.  Achillesslandsi'the  entrance  of  his  tent:— 
Please  it  our  general  to  pass  strangely-  by  him, 
As  if  he  were  lorgot;  and  princes  all. 
Lay  negligent  and  loose  regard  upon  him: 
1  will  come  last :  'Tis  like,  he'll  question  me. 
Why  such  unplausive  eyes  are  bent,  why  turn'd 

on  him  : 
If  so,  I  have  derfsion  med'cinable. 
To  use  between  your  strangeness  and  his  pride. 
Which  his  own  will  shall  have  desire  to  drink  ; 
It  may  do  good  :  pride  hath  no  other  glass 
To  .show  itselt;  but  pride  ;  for  supple  knees 
Feed  arrogance,  and  are  the  proud  man's  fees. 

Agatn.  We'll  execute  your  purpose,  and  put  on 
A  form  of  strangeness  as  we  pass  along  ;— 
So  do  each  lord  ;  and  either  greet  him  not, 
Or  else  disdainfully,  which  shall  shake  him  more 
Than  if  not  look'd  on.    I  will  lead  the  way. 
Achit.  What,  comes  the  general  to  sjieiiJi  with 
me  ' 
You  know  my  mind,  I'll  fight  no  more 'gainst  Troy. 
Agnni.  What  says  Achilles?   would  he  aught 

with  us? 
A>.v7.  Would  you.my  lord,  aught  with  tlie  general? 
AcUU.  No. 

Acs/.  Nothing,  my  lord. 
Agani.  The  better. 

[Exeunt  Agamemnon  and  Nestor 

*  Like  a  stranger. 


Scene  III. 


TROILUS   AND    CRESSIDA. 


515 


Achil.  Good  da}',  pood  day. 

Men.  How  do  you  T  how  do  you  ]       [Exit  Men. 

Achil.  What,  does  the  cuckold  scorn  me  1 

Ajax.  How  now,  I'atroclus  ! 

Ackil.  Good  morrow,  Ajax, 

Ajax,  Ha  ■? 

Achil.  Good  morrow. 

Ajax.  Ay,  and  good  next  day  (oo. 

[Exit  Ajax. 

Achil.  What  mean  these  fellows?     Know  they 
not  Achilles  ! 

Pair.  They  pass  by  strangely:  they  were  used 
to  bend. 
To  send  their  smiles  before  them  to  Achilles: 
To  come  as  humbly  as  they  used  to  creep 
To  holy  altars. 

AckiL  What,  am  I  poor  of  late  1 

'Tis  certain,  greatness,  once  lall'n  out  with  fortune, 
Must  fall  out  with  men  too  :  What  the  declin'd  is. 
He  shall  as  soon  read  in  the  eyes  of  others, 
As  feel  in  his  own  fall:  for  men,  like  butlordies. 
Show  not  their  mealy  wings  but  to  the  summer ; 
And  not  a  man,  for  being  simply  man. 
Hath  any  honor  ;  but  honor  lor  those  honors 
Tiiat  are  without  iiim,  as  place,  riches,  favor, 
Prizes  of  accident  as  oft  as  merit : 
Which  wJien  tliey  fall,  as  being  slippery  standers, 
The  love  that  JeanM  on  them  as  shppery  too, 
Do  one  pluck  down  another,  and  together 
Die  in  the  fall.     But  'tis  not  so  with  me: 
Fortune  and  I  are  I'riends  ;  I  do  enjoy 
At  ample  point  all  that  I  did  possess. 
Save  these  men's  looks;   who  do,  methiaks,  find 

out 
Something  not  worth  in  me  such  rich  beholding 
As  lliey  have  often  given.    Here  is  Ulysses; 
I'll  interrupt  his  reading. — 
How  now,  Ulysscd  \ 

Ulyss.  Now.  great  Thetis'  son  ? 

Achil.  What  are  you  readiiig  ? 

Ulyss.  A  strange  fellow  here 

Writes  me,  that  man— how  dearly  ever  parted,^ 
How  much  in  Iiavmg.  or  without,  or  in, — 
Cannot  make  boast  to  have  that  which  he  hath, 
Nor  feels  not  what  he  owes,  but  by  retloction; 
As  when  his  virtues  shining  ujxm  others 
Heat  them,  and  they  retort  tJiat  heat  again 
To  the  tirst  giver. 

Achil.  Thin  is  not  strange,  Ulysses. 

The  beauty  that  is  borne  here  in  tlie  face 
The  bearer  kuows  not,  but  cuinmcmls  itself 
To  other's  eyes  :  nor  doth  the  f>  c  itself 
(That  most  pure  spirit  of  sense)  behold  itself. 
Not  going  from  itself;  but  eye  to  eye  opposed 
fiaiutcs  each  other  with  each  other's  form. 
For  speculation  turns  not  to  itself. 
Till  it  hath  traveil'd,  and  is  married  there 
Where  it  may  see  itself:  Ihis  is  not  strange  at  all. 

Ulyss.  [  do  not  strain  at  the  position. 
It  is'lamiliar;  but  at  the  authors  drift: 
Who,  in  his  circumstance,''  expressly  proves — 
That  uo  man  is  the  lord  of  any  thing, 
(Though  ill  and  of  him  there  be  much  consisting,) 
Till  he  communicate  his  parts  to  others: 
Nor  doth  he  of  himself  know  them  for  aught. 
Till  he  behold  tht-m  I'orm'd  in  the  applause 
Where  tiiey  are  extended,  which,  like  an  arch  re- 
verberates 
The  voice  again;  or  like  a  gate  of  steel 
Fronting  the  sun.  receives  and  renders  back 
His  figure  and  his  iieat.    I  was  much  ftpt  in  this; 
And  apprehended  here  immediately 
The  unknown  Ajax. 

Heavens,  what  a  man  is  there!  a  very  horse; 
That  has  he  knows  not  what.    Nature,  what  things 

there  are. 
Most  abject  in  regard,  and  dear  in  use ! 
What  things  again  most  dear  in  the  esteem. 
And  poor  in  worth  !  now  shall  we  see  to-morrow, 
An  act  that  very  chance  doth  throw  upon  him, 
Ajax  rennwn'd.    O  heavens,  what  some  men  do, 
VVhile  some  men  leave  to  do! 
How  some  men  creep  in  skittish  fortune's  hall, 
Whiles  others  play  the  idiots  in  her  eyes! 
How  one  man  eats  into  atiother*s  pride. 
While  pride  is  fasting  in  his  wantonness! 
To  see  these  Grecian  lords! — why,  even  already 
They  clap  the  lubber  Ajax  on  the  shoulder; 


•  Excellently  endowed. 


*  Detail  of  argument. 


As  if  his  foot  were  on  brave  Hector's  breast, 
And  great  Troy  shrinking. 

Achil.  I  do  believe  it:  ibr  they  pass'd  by  me, 
As  misers  do  by  beggars;  neither  gave  to  me 
Good  word,  nor  look:   What. are  my  deeds  fort^otl 

Ulyss.  Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back, 
Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion, 
A  great-sized  monster  of  ingratitudes: 
Those  scraps  are  good  deeds  past;  which  arc  de- 

vour'd 
As  fast  as  they  are  made,  forgot  as  soon 
As  done:  Perseverance,  dear  my  lord, 
Keej^s  honor  bright :  To  have  done  is  to  hang 
Quite  out  of  fashion,  like  a  rusty  mail 
In  motiumental  mockery.     Take  the  instant  way; 
For  honor  travels  in  a  strait  so  narrow. 
Where  one  but  goes  abreast:  keep  then  the  path  ; 
For  emulation  halh  a  thousand  sons. 
That  one  by  one  pursue:  if  you  give  way, 
Or  hedge  aside  from  the  direct  Ibrthright^ 
Like  to  an  entered  tide  they  all  rush  by, 
And  leave  you  hnidmost ; — 
Or,  like  a  gallant  horse  fallen  in  first  rank. 
Die  there  for  pavement  to  the  abject  rear, 
O'er-run  and  trampled  on  :  Then  what  they  do  in 

present. 
Though  less  than  yours  in  past,  must  o'ertop  yours : 
For  time  is  like  a  fashionable  host. 
That  slightly  shakes  his  parting  guest  by  the  hand; 
And  with  his  arms  out-stretch'd,  as  he  would  fly. 
Grasps  in  the  comer:  Welcome  ever  smiles. 
And  farewell  goes  out  sighing.    O,  let  not  virtue 

seek 
Remuneration  for  the  thing  it  was; 
For  tfcavity,  wit, 

High  birth,  vigor  of  bone,  desert  in  service, 
I.ctve,  fritmdship,  charity,  are  subjects  all 
To  envious  and  calumniating  tune. 
One  touch  of  nature  makes  tiie  whole  world  kin,— 
Thatall.with  one  consent,  praise  new-born  gawds,^ 
Though  they  are  made  and  moulded  of  things  past; 
And  give  to  dust,  that  is  a  iitl'.e  gilt. 
More  laud  than  gilt  o'er-dusted. 
The  present  eye  praises  the  present  object : 
Tiien  marvel  not,  thou  great  and  cnmplete  man. 
That  all  the  Greeks  begin  to  worship  Ajax; 
Since  things  in  motion  sooner  catch  the  eye. 
Than  what  not  stirs.    The  cry  went  once  on  thee, 
And  still  it  miglit;  and  yet  it  may  again. 
If  thou  wouldst  not  entomb  thyself  alive, 
And  case  Ihy  reimtaliun  in  thy  tent; 
Whose  glorious  deeds,  but  in  these  fields  of  late. 
Made  emulous  missions^  'mongst  tlie  gods  them- 
selves. 
And  drave  great  Mars  to  faction. 

Achil.  Of  this  my  privacy 

I  iiavc  strong  reasons. 

Ulyss.  But  'gainst  your  privacy 

The  reasons  are  more  potent  and  heroical: 
'Tis  known,  Achilb's.  that  you  are  in  love 
With  one  of  Priam's  daughters.' 

Achil.  Ha!  known] 

Ulyss.  Is  that  a  wonder  ? 
The  providence  that's  in  a  watchful  state. 
Knows  almost  every  grain  of  Plutus'  gold ; 
Finds  bottom  in  the  nncomprehensive  deeps; 
Keeps  place  witii  thought,  and  almost  litlce  the  goda, 
Does  thoughts  unveil  in  their  dumb  cradles. 
There  is  a  mystery  (with  whom  relation 
Durst  never  meddle)  in  the  soul  of  state; 
Which  hath  an  operation  more  divine. 
Than  breath,  or  pen.  can  give  expressure  to ; 
All  the  commiirce  that  you  have  had  with  Troy, 
As  perfectly  is  ours,  as  yours,  my  lord  ; 
And  better  would  it  lit  Achilles  much,  « 

To  throw  down  Hector,  than  Polyxena: 
But  it  must  grieve  youn^  Pyrrhus  now  at  home, 
When  lame  shall  in  our  islands  sound  her  irump  • 
And  all  the  Greekish  girls  shall  tripping  sing,— 
Great  Hector  s  si.'^ter  did  Achilles  win  ; 
But  our  great  Ajax  lyravely  beat  doivn  him. 
Farewell  my  lord:  I  as  your  iover'^  speak; 
The  fool  slides  o'er  the  ice  that  you  should  break- 

[Exit. 

Pair.  To  this  effect,  Achilles,  have  I  mov'd  you  : 
A  woman  impudent  and  mannish  grown 

»  New-fashioned  toys. 

8  The  dfs<-eat  of  the  deities  to  combat  on  either  slrte. 

1  Polyxena.  ■  Friend. 


516 


TROILUS  AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  IV. 


Is  not  more  loalhM  than  an  effeminate  man 
In  time  of  action.    I  stand  condemn'd  lor  this; 
Tliey  think,  my  little  stomach  to  the  war. 
And  your  great  love  to  me,  restrains  you  thus: 
Sweet,  rouse  yourself;  and  the  weak  wanton  Cupid 
Shall  from  your  neck  unloose  his  auiorous  fold, 
And,  like  a  dew-drop  from  the  lion's  mane, 
Be  shook  to  air. 

Achil:  Shall  Ajax  fight  with  Hector? 

Pair.  Ay;  and,  perhaps,  receive  much  honor  hy 
him. 

Achil.  I  see.  my  reputation  is  at  stake ; 
]\lv  fume  is  shrewdly  gor'd. 

Patr,  O,  then  beware  ! 

Those  wounds  heal  ill,thatmen  do  give  themselves: 
Omission  to  do  what  is  necessary 
Seals  a  commission  to  a  blank  of  danger; 
And  danger,  like  an  ague,  subtly  taints 
Even  then  when  we  sit  idly  in  the  sun. 

Achil.  Go  call  Tliersites  hither,  sweet  Patroclus : 
I'll  send  the  fool  to  Ajax.  and  desire  him 
To  invite  tlie  Trojan  iords  after  the  combat. 
To  see  us  here  unarm'd ;  1  have  a  woman's  longing, 
An  appetite  that  1  am  sick  withal. 
To  see  great  Hector  in  his  weeds  of  peace; 
To  talk  with  him,  and  to  behold  his  visage 
Even  to  my  full  of  view.    A  labor  sav'd  ! 

Enfe7-  Thersites. 

Ther.  A  wonder ! 

Achil.  What] 

Ther.  Ajax  goes  up  and  down  the  field,  asking 
for  himself. 

Achil.  How  sol 

Ther.  He  must  fight  singly  to-morrow  with  Hec- 
tor; and  is  so  prophetically  proud  of  an  heroical 
cudgelling,  that  he  raves  in  saying  nothing. 

Achil.  How  can  that  be! 

Thsr.  Why,  he  stalks  up  and  down  like  a  peacock, 
a  stride,  and  a  stand:  ruminates,  like  an  hostess, 
that  hath  no  arithmetic  but  her  brain  to  set  down 
iier  reckoning :  bites  his  lip  with  a  politic  regard, 
as  who  shoulct  say — there  were  wit  in  this  head,  an 
I  would  out;  and  so  there  is;  but  it  lies  as  coldly  in 
him  as  fire  in  a  Hint,  wliich  will  not  show  without 
kuocking.  The  man's  undone  forever;  Imif  Hector 
break  not  his  neck  i'  the  combat,  he'll  br<';ik  it  liiin- 
self  in  vain-glory.  He  knows  not  me:  I  said,  dum/- 
morrow,  Ajax;  and  hcrcplies,Thank\s,Aga//ieiunon. 
What  think  you  of  this  man,  that  t;ikes  me  for  the 
general  1  He  has  grown  a  very  land-Iish,  language- 


less,  a  monster.    A  plague  of  opinion  !  a  man  may 
wear  it  on  both  sides,  like  a  leather  jerkin. 

Achil.  Thou  must  be  my  ambassador  to  him, 
Thersites. 

Ther.  Who,  I?  why,  he'll  answer  nobody;  he 
professes  not  answering;  speaking  is  for  beggars; 
he  wears  his  tongue  in  his  arms.  I  will  put  on  his 
presence;  let  Patroclus  make  demands  to  me,  you 
shall  sec  the  pageant  of  Ajax. 

Achil.  To  him,  Patroclus:  Tell  him.— T  humbly 
desire  the  valiant  Ajax,  to  invite  the  most  vaforoua 
Hector  to  come  unarmed  to  my  tent ;  and  to  procure 
safe  conduct  for  his  person, of  the  magnanimous,and 
mostillustrious,six-or-seven-timcshoiioi-edcaptain 
generalof  the  Grecian  army,  Agamemnon.  Do  this 

Patr.  Jove  bless  great  Ajax  ! 

Ther.  Humph ! 

Pair.  I  come  from  the  worthy  Achilles, 

Ther.  Ha! 

Pair.  Who  most  humbly  desires  you,  to  invite 
Hector  to  his  tent ! 

Ther.  Humph! 

Pair.  And  to  procure  safe  conduct  from  Aga- 
memnon. 

Ther.  Agamemnon'] 

Pair,  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ther.  Ha ! 

Pfilr.  What  say  you  to*t? 

Ther.  God  be  wi'  you,  with  all  my  heart. 

Pu/r.  Your  answer,  sir. 

Ther.  If  to-morrow  be  a  fair  day.  by  eleven  oVlock 
it  will  go  one  way  or  other;  howsoever,  he  shall  pay 
for  me  ere  he  has  me. 

Pair.  Your  answer,  sir. 

Ther.  Fare  you  well,  with  all  my  heart. 

Achil.  Why,  but  he  is  not  in  this  tune,  is  he  ] 

Ther.  No.  but  he's  out  of  tune  thus.  What  music 
will  be  in  him  when  Hector  has  knock'd  out  his 
brains,  I  know  not:  But,  I  am  sure,  none;  unless  the 
fiddler  Apollo  get  his  sinews  to  make  catlings' on. 

Achil.  Come,  thou  shalt  bear  a  letter  to  him 
straight. 

Ther.  Let  me  bearanother  to  his  horse;  for  that's 
the  more  capable-  creature. 

Achil.  My  mind  is  troubled.like  a  fountain  stirr'd; 
And  1  myself  see  not  the  bottom  of  it. 

[Exeu/tt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Ther.  Would  the  fountain  of  your  mind  were 
clear  again,  that  I  might  water  an  ass  at  it  I  I  had 
rather  be  a  tick  in  a  sheeo,  than  such  a  valiant 
ignorance.  [Exit, 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.— Troy.  A  Slreei. 

Enfer,  at  one  side,  /Eneas  and  Servant,  with  a 
Torch ;  at  the  other,  Paris,  Deiimiobus,  Ante- 
KOR,  DioMEDi!:s,  and  others,  with  Torches. 

Par.  Sec,  ho  !  who's  that  there  1 

Dei.  'Tis  the  lord  ^Tineas. 

.Ene.  Is  the  prince  there  in  person] — 
Had  I  so  good  occasion  to  lie  long, 
As  you,  prince  Paris,  nothing  but  heavenly  busi- 
ness 
Should  rob  my  bed-mate  of  my  company. 

Div.  That's'my  mind  too. — Good  morrow,  lord 
j^neas. 

Par.  A  valiant  Greek,  j^neas  ;  take  his  hand  : 
Witness  the  process  of  your  speech,  wherein 
You  told — how  Dionied,  a  wliole  week  by  days, 
Did  haunt  you  in  the  field. 

.Ene.  Ilealth  (o  you,  valiant,  sir. 

During  all  question^  of  the  gentle  truce: 
But  when  I  meet  you  arm'd,  as  black  defiance. 
As  heart  can  think,  or  courage  execute. 

I)io.  The  one  and  other  Diomed  embraces. 
Our  bloods  are  now  in  calm ;  and,  so  long,  health  : 
But  when  contention  and  oecasiou  meet. 
By  Jove.  I'll  play  the  hunter  for  thy  life, 
VVith  all  my  force,  pursuit,  and  policy. 

.Ene.  And  thou  shalt  hunt  a  lion  that  will  fly 
With  his  face  backward. — In  humane  gentleness, 
Welcome  to  Troy  I  now,  by  Anchises'  life, 
»  Convi-irsation. 


Welcome,  indeed !  By  Venus'  hand  I  swear, 

No  man  alive  can  love,  in  such  a  sort, 

The  thing  he  means  to  kill,  more  excellently. 

Dio.  We  sympathize: — Jove,  let  .^,npas  live. 
If  to  my  sword  his  fate  be  not  the  glory, 
A  thousand  c6mplete  courses  of  the  sun  ! 
But,  in  mine  emulous  honor,  let  hiritdie, 
With  every  joint  a  wound  :  and  that  to-morrow! 

JEne.  We  know  each  other  well. 

Dix).  We  do;  and  long  to  know  each  other  worse 

Par.  This  is  the  most  despitelul  gentle  greeting 
The  noblest  hateful  love,  that  e'er  I  heard  of. — 
What  business,  lord,  so  early  I 

^Ene.  I  was  sent  for  to  "the  king;   but  why,  I 
know  not. 

Pur.  His  purpose  meets  you:  'Twas  to  bring  this 
Greek 
To  Calchas*  house;  and  there  to  render  him. 
For  the  enfreed  Antenor,  the  fair  Cressid : 
Let's  have  your  company:  or,  if  you  please. 
Haste  there  before  us:  I  constantly  do  think, 
(Or,  rather,  call  my  thought  a  certain  knowledge,) 
My  brother  Troilus  lodges  there  to-night ; 
Rouse  him.  and  give  him  note  of  our  approach, 
With  the  whole  quality  wherefore:  I  fear 
We  shall  be  much  unwelcome. 

jEne.  There  I  assure  you 

Troilus  had  rather  Troy  were  borne  to  Greece, 
Then  Cressid  borne  from  Troy. 

«  Lutp-striugs  made  of  catgut. 
«  Intellib'eut. 


Scene  II. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


5Vi 


Par*  There  is  no  help ; 

The  bitter  disposition  of  the  time 
Will  have  it  so.    Dn.  lord  ;  we'll  follow  you. 

jEne.  Good  morrow,  all.  [Exit. 

Par.  And  tell  me,  noble  Diomed ;  Yailh,  tell  me 
true, 
Even  in  the  soul  of  sound  f;ood  fellowship, — 
Who,  in  yonr  thoiie^hts,  merits  fair  Helen  best, 
M^  self  or  Menelaus  ] 

Din.  Both  alike: 

He  merits  well  to  have  her,  that  doth  seek  her 
(Not  makins:  any  scruple  of  her  soiUire) 
With  such  a  hell  of  pain,  and  world  ofcharg:e: 
And  you  as  well  to  keep  her,  that  detend  her 
(Not  palating  the  taste  of  her  dishonor] 
With  such  a  costly  loss  of  wealth  and  triends: 
He,  like  a  puling  cuckold,  would  drink  up 
The  Ices  and  6re^s  of  a  fiat  tamed  piece ; 
You,  like  a  lecher,  out  of  whorish  loins 
Are  pleas'd  to  breed  out  your  inheritors: 
Both  merits  poisM,  each  weighs  nor  less  nor  more  ; 
But  he  as  he,  the  heavier  for  a  whore. 

Par.  You  are  too  bitter  to  your  countrywoman. 

Z>io.  She's    bitter  to   her    country:    Hear   me, 
Paris, — 
For  every  lalse  drop  in  her  bawdy  veins 
A  Grecian's  life  hath  sunk  ;  for  every  scruple 
Of  her  contaminated  carrion  weight, 
A  Trojan  halh  been  slain:  since  she  could  speak 
She  hath  not  given  so  many  good  words  breath. 
As  for  her  Greeks  and  Troians  suffer'd  death. 

Par.  Fair  Diomed.  you  do  as  chapmen  do, 
Dispraise  the  thing  that  you  desire  to  buy  : 
But  we  in  silence  hold  this  virtue  woll,^ 
We'll  not  commend  what  we  intend  to  s^U. 
Here  lies  our  way.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Court  before  the  House  ofVundarus. 
Enter  Tuoilus  and  Ckessida. 

Tro.  Dear,  trouble  not  yourself;  the  morn  is  cold. 

Cres.  Then,  sweet  my  lord,  Til  call  mine  uncle 
down 
He  shall  unbolt  the  gates. 

Tro.  Trouble  him  not: 

To  bed,  to  bed :  Sleep  kill  those  pretty  eyes, 
And  give  as  sotl  attachment  to  thy  senses, 
As  int'ants'  empty  of  all  thought ! 

Cres.  Good  morrow  then. 

Tro,  Pr'ythee  now,  to  bed. 

Cres.  Are  you  aweary  of  me  T 

Tro.  O  Cressida!  but  that  the  busy  day, 
Wak'd  by  the  lark,  hath  rous'd  the  ribald^  crows, 
And  dreaming  night  will  hide  our  joys  no  longer, 

would  not  from  thee. 

Cres.  Night  hath  been  too  brief. 

Tru.  Beshrew  the  witch!  with  venomous  wights 
she  stays. 
As  tediously  as  hell;  but  flies  the  grasps  of  love, 
Witli  wings' more  momenlary-swill  than  thought. 
You  will  catch  cold,  and  curse  me. 

Cres.  Pr'ythee,  tarry; — 

You  men  will  never  tarry. 

0  foolish  Cre^d! — I  might  have  still  held  off. 
And  then  you  would  have  tarried.    Hark  !  there's 

one  up. 
Pan.  \lVithin.]   What,  are  all  the  doors  open 

here  ] 
Tro.  It  is  your  uncle. 

Enter  Pandahus. 
Cres.  A   pestilence   on  him  !    now   will  he   be 
mocking; 

1  shall  have  such  a  life. 

Pan.  How  now,  how  now  I    how  go  maiden- 
heads ? 
—Here,  you  maid  !  where's  my  cousin  Cressid  1 
Cres.  Go  hang  yourself,  you  naughty  mocking 
uncle ! 
You  bring  me  to  do,-*  and  then  you  flout  me  too. 

Pan.  To  do  what  7    to  do  what? — let  her  say 
what;  what  have  I  brought  you  to  do  ! 

Cres.  Come,  come;  beshrew  your  heart!  you'll 
ne'er  be  good. 
Nor  sufl^er  others. 

Pan.  Ha,  ha !    Alas,  poor  wretch !    a  poor  ca- 
pocchia!^ — hast  not  slept  to-night?  would  he  not, 

»  Noisy.  *  Tn  do  is  here  used  in  a  wanton  sense. 

•  An  Italian  word  for  poor  foul. 


a  naughty  man,    let  it  sleep?    a   bugbear   take 

him !  [Knocking. 

Cres.  Did    T  not    tell    you  1— 'would    he    were 
knock'd  o'  the  head  ! — 
Who's  that  at  door?  good  uncle,  go  and  see. — 
My  lord,  come  you  again  into  my  chamber: 
You  smile,  and  mock  me,  as  if  I  meant  naughtily. 

Tro.  Ha.  ha  ! 

Cres.  Come,  you  are  dcceiv'd,  I  think  of  no  such 
thing.—  [Knockinf^. 

How  earnestly  thej-^  knock  !  pray  you,  come  in  ; 
1  would  not  for  half  Troy  have  you  seen  here. 

[Exetiiit  TnoiLrs  ajid  Cuessida. 

Pan.  [Going  to  fke  doftr.]  Who's  there?  what's 
tne  matter?  will  you  beat  down  the  door  ?  How 
now  ?    what's  the  matter  i 

Enter  ^neas. 

jSne.  Good  morrow,  lord,  good  morrow. 

Pafi.  Who's  there!  my  lord  ,^neas?  By  my 
troth,  I  knew  ye  not:  what  news  with  you  so 
early? 

-"Smc,  Is  not  prince  Troilus  here  * 

Pan.  Here!  what  should  he  do  here? 

JEne.  Come,  he  is  here,  my  lord,  do  not  deny  him; 
It  doth  iuiport  him  much  to  speak  with  me. 

Pan.  Is  he  here  say  you  ?  'tis  more  than  I  know, 
ril  be  svvnru : — For  my  own  part,  I  came  in  late: 
What  should  he  do  here  ? 

jE)ie.  Who! — nay,  then: — 
Come,  come,  vou  Ml  do  hiui  wrong  ere  you  are  'ware: 
You'll  be  so  true  to  him,  to  be  false  to  him: 
Do  not  you  know  of  him,  yet  go  fetch  him  hither; 
Go. 

As  Pandarl'S  is  going  out,  enter  Troilus. 

Tro.  H'lw  now  ?  what's  the  matter? 

yEne.  .My  lord,!  scarce  have  leisure  to  salute  you, 
My  mailer  is  so  rash  fi  There  is  at  hand 
Paris  your  brother,and  Deiphobus. 
Tlie  Grecian  Diomed,  and  our  Antenor 
Delivcr'd  to  us;  and  lor  him  forthwith, 
Ere  the  tirst  sacrilice  within  this  hour, 
,We  must  give  up  to  Diomedes'  hand 
The  lady  Cressida. 

Tro.  Is  it  so  concluded  ? 

AZne.  By  Priam,  and  the  general  stateof  Troy  ; 
They  are  at  iiaud.and  ready  to  etiect  it. 

Tro.  How  my  achievements  mock  me  ! 
I  will  go  meet  them  :  and,  my  lord  JEneas, 
We  met  by  chance;  you  did  not  tind  me  here. 

jEne.  Good,  good,  my  lord ;  the  secrets  of  nature 
Have  not  more  gift  in  taciturnity. 

[Exeunt  Troilus  and  .^\EAa. 

Pan.  Is't  possible!  no  sooner  got,  but  lost?  The 
devil  take  Antenor!  the  young  prince  will  go  mad. 
A  plague  upon  Antenor,  1  would  they  had  broke's 
neck! 

Enter  Cressida. 

Cres.  How  now  ?    What  is  the  matter  ?    Who 
was  here  ? 

Pan.  Ah,  ah  ! 

Cres.  Why  sigh   j'ou  so  profoundly?    where's 
my  lord  gone? 
Tell  me,  sweet  uncle,  what's  the  matter? 

Pan.  'Would  I  were  as  deep  under  the  earth  as 
I  am  above ! 

Cres.  0  the  gods! — what's  the  matter? 

Pan.  Pr'ythee,  get  thee  in;  'Would  thou  hadst 
ne'er  been  born!  I  knew  thou  wouldst  be  bis 
death  :— 0  poor  gentleman  !— A  plague  upon  An- 
tenor! 

Cres.  Good  uncle,  I  beseech  you  on  my  knees, 
I  beseech  you,  what's  the  matter? 

Pan.  Tliou  must  be  gone,  wench,  thou  mu.st  oe 
gone;  thou  art  changed  tor  Antenor;  thou  must 
to  thy  tather,  and  be  gone  from  Troilus;  'twill  be 
his  death  :  'twill  be  his  bane;  he  cannot  bear  it. 

Cres.  O  you  immortal  gods! — I  will  not  go. 

Pan.  Thou  must. 

Cres.  I  will  not,  uncle:  I  have  forgot  my  father; 
I  know  no  touch  of  consanguinity;'^ 
No  kin,  no  love,  no  blood,  no  soul  so  near  me. 
As  the  sweet  Troilus. — 0  you  gods  divine  ! 
Make  Cressid's  name  the  very  crown  of  falsehood, 
If  ever  she  leave  Troilus!    Time,  force,  and  death, 
Do  to  this  body  what  extremes  you  can; 

•  Uasty,  1  Senge  or  feeling  of  relationship. 


518 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  IV. 


But  the  strong  base  and  Iniilding  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  centre  of  the  earth, 
Drawing  all  things  to  it. — I'll  go  in,  and  weep; — 
Pan.  Do,  do. 

Cres.  Tear    my  bright    hair,  and    scratch    ray 
praised  checks ; 
Crack  my  clear  voice  with  sobs,  and  break  my  heart 
With  sounding  Troilus.    I  will  not  go  from  Troy. 

[Exeunt.. 

SCENE  \U.— Before  Pandarus'  House. 

Enter  Paris,  Troilus,   TEkeas,   Deiphobus, 

AxTEXOR,  and  Diomedes. 
Par.  It  is  great  morninsc ;  and  the  hour  prefixed 
Of  her  delivery  to  this  valiant  Greek 
Comes  last  upon:— Good  my  brother  Troilus, 
Tell  you  the  lady  what  she  is  to  do, 
And  haste  her  to  the  purpose. 
.  Tro.  Walk  into  her  house ; 

1*11  bring  her  to  the  Grecian  presently: 
And  to  Jiis  hand  wheji  I  deliver  her. 
TJnnk  it  an  altar  ;  and  thy  brother  Troilus 
A  priest,  there  olfering  to  it  his  own  lieart,    [Exit. 

Par.  I  know  wliat  'tis  to  love; 
And  'would,  as  1  shall  pity,  I  could  help ! — 
Please  you,  walk  in,  my  lords.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— -4  Room  in  Pandarus'  House. 
Enter  Pandarus  and  Cressida. 

Pan.  Be  moderate,  be  moderate, 

Cres.  Why  tell  you  me  of  moderation? 
The  grief  is  tine,  lull,  perfect,  that  I  taste, 
And  violenteth  in  a  sense  as  strong 
As  that  which  causeth  it:  Plow  can  I  moderate  if? 
if  I  could  temporize  with  my  atTection, 
Or  brew  it  to  a  weak  and  colder  palate. 
The  like  allayment  could  I  give  my  grief; 
My  love  admits  no  qualifying  dross: 
No  more  my  grief  in  such  a  precious  loss. 
Enter  Troilus. 

Pan.  Here,  here,  here  he  comes. — Ah,   sweet 
ducks ! 

Ores.  0  Troilus!  Troilus!         [Embracing  Mm: 

Pan.  What  a  pair  of  spectacles  is  here!    Let  me 

embrace  too  :  0  heart  !  as  the  goodly  saying  is, 

O  heart,  O  heavy  heart .' 

IVhij  sigh'st  thou  without  breaking  ? 
where  he  answers  again, 

Because  thou  canst  not  ease  fhy  smarts 
By  friendship,  nor  by  speaking. 
There  never  was  a  truer  rliyme.    Let  us  cast  away 
nothing,  for  we  may  live  to  Jiave  need  of  such  a 
verse ;  we  see  it,  we  see  it. — How  now,  lambs  ] 

Tro.  Cressid,  I  love  thee  in  so  strain'd  a  purity, 
That  the  blest  gods — as  angry  with  my  fancy, 
More  bright  in  zeal  than  the  "devotion  whirh 
Cold  lips  blow  to  their  deities — take  thee  from  me. 

Cres.  Have  the  gods  envy  1 

Pan.  Ay,  ay,  ay,  ay  ;  'tis  too  plain  a  case. 

Cres.  And  is  it  true,  that  I  must  go  from  Troy  1 

Tro.  A  hateful  truth. 

Cres.  What,  and  from  Troilus  too  1 

Tro.  From  Troy  and  Troilus. 

Cres.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Tro.  And  suddenly;  where  injury  of  chance 
Puts  back  leave-taking,  justies  roughly  by 
All  time  of  pause,  rudely  beguiles  our  lips 
Of  all  rejoindure,  forcibfy  prevents 
Our  lock'd  embrasures,  strangles  our  dear  vows 
Even  in  the  birth  of  our  own  laboring  breath : 
We  two,  that  with  so  many  thousand  sighs 
Did  buy  each  other,  must  poorly  sell  ourselves 
With  the  rude  brevity  and  discharge  of  one. 
Injurious  time  now,  with  a  robber's  haste. 
Crams  his  rich  thievery  up,  he  knows  not  how: 
As  many  farewells  as  be  stars  in  heaven, 
With  distinct  breath  and  consi^^n'd^  kisses  to  them. 
He  fumbles  up  into  a  loose  adieu ; 
And  scants  us  with  a  single  famish'd  kiss. 
Distasted  with  the  salt  of  broken  tears. 

jEne.  [iVithin.]  My  lord!  is  the  lady  ready  ? 

Tro,  Hark!  youarecall'd:  Some  say,  the  Genius 
so 
Criefi,  Come!  to  him  that  instantly  must  die. — 
Bid  them  have  patience :  she  shall  come  anon. 
«  Sealed. 


Pan.  Whereare  my  tears'?  rain,  to  lay  this  wind, 
or  my  heart  will  be  blown  up  by  the  root! 

[Exit  Pandarus. 

Cres.  I  must  then  to  tlie  (Greeks  I 

Tro.  No  remedy. 

Cres.  A  woful  Cressid  'mongst  the  merry  Greeks! 
When  shall  we  see  again  \ 

Tro.  Hear  me,  my  \o\e\    Be  thou  but  true  of 
heart, 

Cres.  I  true!   how  now?   what  wicked  deem^  is 
this  ? 

Tro.  Nay,  we  must  use  expostulation  kindly, 
For  it  is  parting  from  us  : 
I  speak  not.  he  thou  true,  as  fearing  thee; 
For  I  will  throw  my  glove  to  death  himself. 
That  there's  no  maculatlon*  in  thy  heart; 
But,  be  thou  true,  say  I,  to  fashion  in 
My  sequent-^  protestation  :  be  thou  true, 
And  I  will  see  thee. 

Crss.  O,  you  shall  be  expos'd.my  lord, to  dangers 
As  infinite  as  imminent  !  but,  I'll  be  ti-ue. 

Tro.  And  I'll  grow  friend  with  danger.    Wear 
this  sleeve. 

Cres.  And  you  this  glove.  When  shall  I  see  you  ^ 

Tro.  I  will  corrupt  the  Grecian  sentinels, 
To  give  thee  nightly  visitation. 
But  yet,  be  true. 

Cres.  O  heavens  ! — be  true  again? 

Tro.  Hear  why  I  speak  it,  love ; 
The  Grecian  youths  are  full  of  quality  ;3 
They're  loving,  well  compos 'd,  with  girts  of  nature 

(lowing. 
And  swelling  o'er  with  arts  and  exercise; 
How  novelty  may  move,  and  parts  with  person, 
Alas,  a  kind  of  godly  jealousy 
(Which,  I  beseech  you,  call  a  virtuous  sin) 
Makes  me  afeard. 

Cres.  0  heavens!  you  love  me  not. 

Tro.  Die  I  a  villain  then  ! 
In  this  I  do  not  call  your  faith  in  question. 
So  mainly  as  my  merit :  I  cannot  sing, 
Nor  heel  the  hitch  iavolt,^  nor  sweeten  talk. 
Nor  play  at  subtle  games  ;  fair  virtues  all, 
To  which  the  Grecians  are  most  prompt  and  preg- 
nant; 
But  I  can  tell,  that  in  each  grace  of  these 
There  lurks  a  still  and  dumb-discoursive  devil. 
That  tempts  most  cunningly  :  but  be  not  tempted. 

Cres.  Do  you  think  I  will  1 

Tro.  No. 
Rut  something  may  be  done,  that  we  will  not: 
And  sometimes  we  are  devils  to  ourselves, 
When  we  will  tempt  the  frailly  of  our  powers, 
Presuming  on  their  changeful  potency. 

yEne.  [IVUhin.]  Nay,  good  my  lord. 

Tro.  Come,  kiss;  and  let  us  part. 

Par.  [JVithin.]  Brother  Troilus  ! 

Tro.  Good  brother,  come  you  hither; 

And  bring  ^^neas,  and  the  Grecian,  with  you. 

Cres.  My  lord,  will  you  be  true  ] 

Tro.  Who.  I  ]  alas,  it  is  my  vice,  my  fault: 
While  others  tish  with  cratt  for  great  opinion, 
I  with  great  truth  catch  mere  simplicity  ; 
Whilst  some  with  cunning  gild  their^ropper  crowns, 
With  truth  and  plainness  I  do  wear  mine  bare. 
Fear  not  my  truth  ;  the  moral  of  my  wit 
Is — plain,  and  true, — ttiere's  all  the  r*?ach  of  it. 

Enter   ^neas,  Paris,  Antenor,  Deiphodus, 
a?id  Diomedes. 

Welcome,  sir  Diomed  !  here  is  the  lady, 
Which  for  Antenor  we  deliver  you  ; 
At  the  port,^  lord,  I'll  give  her  to  thy  hand ; 
And,  by  the  way,  possess^  thee  what  she  is. 
Entreat  her  fair;  and,  by  my  soul,  fair  Greek, 
If  e'er  thou  stand  at  mercy  of  my  sword. 
Name  Cressid,  and  thy  life  shall  be  as  safe 
As  Priam  is  in  Ilion. 

i>M>.  Fair  lady  Cressid, 

So  please  you,  save  the  thanks  this  prince  expects ; 
The  lustre  in  your  eye,  heaven  in  your  cheek. 
Pleads  your  fair  usage;  and  to  Diomed 
You  shall  be  mistress,  and  command  him  wholly, 

Tro.  Grecian,  thou  dost  not  use  me  courteously, 
To  shame  the  zeal  of  mv  petition  to  thee. 
In  praising  her:  I  tell  thee,  lord  of  Greece, 

•  Surmise.  *  Spot.  '  Kollowlni;, 

>  lliu'hly  accomplished.  *  A  iLince. 

'  Gate.  «  Inform. 


Scene  V. 


TllOILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


519 


She  is  as  far  hish-snaring  o'er  thy  praises. 
As  tliou  unworthy  to  be  ealled  her  servant. 
I  charge  thee,  use  her  well,  even  for  my  charge; 
For,  hy  the  (Ireailfiil  Pluto,  if  thou  dost  not. 
Though  the  great  bulk  Achilles  be  thy  guard, 
I'll  cut  tliy  throat. 

Din.  O,  be  not  tnovM,  prince  Troilus , 

Let  me  be  privilejied  by  my  place,  and  message. 
To  be  a  speaker  free;  when  I  am  hence. 
I'll  answer  to  my  lust:"  And  know  you,  lord, 
I'll  nothing  do  on  charge;  To  her  own  worth 
She  shall  be  priz'd  ;  but  that  you  say— be'l  so, 
I'll  speak  it  in  my  spirit  and  honor, — no. 

Tro.  Come,  to  ihe  port. — I'll  tell  thee,  Diomed, 
This  brave  shall  oil  make  thee  to  bide  thy  heaa. — 
Lady,  give  me  your  hand;  and,  as  we  walk. 
To  our  own  selves  bend  we  our  needful  talk. 

[Ej:eunt  Tboilcs,  Cressioa.  oori  Diojren. 
[Trumpet  heara. 

Par.  Hark!  Hector's  trumpet. 

jflnn.  How  have  we  spent  this  morning  1 

The  prince  must  think  me  tardy  and  remiss, 
That  swore  to  ride  before  him  to  the  field. 

Par,  'Tis  Troilus' fault:  Come,  come  to  the  field 
with  him. 

Dei.  Let  us  make  ready  straight. 

A^rie.  Yea,  with  a  bridegroom's  fresh  alacrity, 
Let  us  address  to  tend  on  Hector's  heels : 
The  glory  of  our  Troy  doth  this  day  lie, 
On  his  lair  worth  and  single  chivalrj'.       [Exeunt. 

SCENE  Y.—The  Grecian  Camp.    Lists  set  out. 

Enter  Ajax.  armed;  AOAjruMSON,  AcniLLKS,  Pa- 

TROCLUS,    Menelacs,    Ulysses,    Nestok,    and 

others. 

Agam.  Here  art  thou  in  appointment'  fresh  and 
fair. 
Anticipating  time  with  starting  courage. 
Give  with  thy  trumpet  a  loud  note  to  Troy, 
Thou  dreadful  Ajax  ;  that  the  appalled  air 
May  pierce  the  head  of  the  great  combatant, 
And  hale  him  hither. 

Ajax.  Thou,  trumpet,  there's  my  purse. 

Now  crack  thy  lungs, and  split  thy  brazen  pipe; 
Blow,  villain,  till  thy  s])bercd  bias' cheek 
<lut-swell  the  colic  of  pulf'd  Aquiloii; 
Come.stretcbtbychest.  and  let  thy  eyes  spout  blood; 
Thou  blow'st  for  Hector.  [Trumpet  sfjunds. 

U/i/ss.  No  trumpet  answers. 

Acliil.  'Tis  but  early  days. 

Agam.  Is  not  yon  Diomed,  with  Calcbas'  daugh- 
ter? 

Uti/ss.  'Tis  he.  I  ken  the  manner  of  liis  gait: 
He  rises  on  the  toe  :  that  spirit  of  his 
In  aspiration  litis  him  from  the  earth. 

Enter  Diomed,  witti  Cressida. 

Agam.  Is  this  the  lady  Cressid  I 

Dio.  Even  she. 

Agam.  Most   dearly  welcome    to    the   Greeks, 
sweet  lady. 

Nest.  Our  general  doth  salute  you  with  a  kiss. 

Uli/ss.  Yet  is  the  kindness  but  particular; 
'Twere  lietter,  she  were  kiss'd  in  general. 

Nest.  And  very  courtly  counsel :  I'll  begin. — 
So  much  for  Nestor. 

Acliil.  I'll  take  that  winter  from  your  lips,  fair 
lady: 
Achilles  bids  you  welcome. 

Men.  I  had  good  argument  fir  kissing  once. 

Patr.  But  that's  no  argument  for  kissing  now: 
For  thus  popp'd  Paris  in  his  h.irdiment; 
And  parted  thus  you  and  your  argument. 

Utvsf.  0  deadly  gall  and  themeof  all  our.scorns! 
For  which  we  lose  our  heads,  to  gild  his  horns. 

Pair.  The  first  was  Menelaus'  kiss;— this,  mine: 
P.ilroclus  kisses  you. 

Men.  O.  this  is  trim  ! 

Patr.  Paris,  and  I,  kiss  evermore  for  him. 

Men.   I'll  have   my  kiss,  sir: — Lady,   by  your 
leave. 

Cres.  In  kissing,  do  you  render  or  receive  1 

Pair.  Both  take  and  give. 

Cres.  I'll  make  my  match  to  live. 

The  kiss  you  take  is  better  than  you  give  ; 
Therefore  no  kiss. 

Men.  I'll  give  you  boot,  I'll  give  you  three  for 


^  Pleasure,  will. 


8  Preparation. 


Cres.  You're  an  odd  man ;  give  even  or  give 
none. 

J^ten.  .\n  odd  man,  lady?  every  man  is  odd. 

Cres.  No,  Paris  is  not ;  for,  you  know,  'tis  true, 
That  you  are  odd.  and  he  is  even  with  you. 

Men.  You  fillip  me  o'  the  head. 

C're.9.  No,  I'll  be  sworn. 

Uli/ss.  It  were  no  match,  j'our  nail  against  hi3 
liorn. — 
May  I,  sweet  lady,  beg  a  kiss  of  you? 

Cres.  You  may. 

Ult/ss.  I  do  desire  it. 

Cres.  Why,  beg  then. 

Vljfss.  Why  then,  for  Venus'  sake,  give  me  a  kiss, 
Wlletj  Helen  is  a  maid  again,  and  his. 

Cres.  I  am  your  debtor,  clami  it  when  'tis  due. 

Uli/ss.  Never's  my  day.  and  then  a  kiss  of  \on. 

Dio.  Lady,  a  word  ;  I'll  bring  you  to  your  father. 
[Diomed  leads  out  Cressida. 

Nest.  A  woman  of  quick  sense. 

Uli/ss.  Fye,  fye  upon  her ! 

There's  language  in  her  eye,  her  cheek,  her  lip. 
Nay,  her  foot  speaks  ;  her  wanton  spirit-s  look  out 
At  every  joint  and  motive^  of  her  body. 
O.  these  enconnterers,  so  glib  of  tongue, 
Tiiat  give  a  coasting  welcome  ere  it  comes. 
And  wide  unclasp  the  tables  of  their  thoughts 
To  every  ticklish  reader!  set  them  down 
For  sluttish  spoils  of  opportunity. 
And  daughters  of  the  game.         [Trumpet  tcittiin. 

All.  The  Trojans'  trumpet. 

Agarn.  Yonder  comes  the  troop. 

Enter   Hector,   armed;    iEs'EAS.    Troilus,   and 
otlter  Trojans,  loith  Attendants. 

JEne.  Hail,  all  the  .state  of  Greece  !   what  shall 
be  done 
To  him  that  viclon'commands?  Ordoyou  purpose, 
X  victor  shall  be  known  ?  will  you  the  knights 
Shall  to  the  edge  of  all  extremity 
Pifrsue  each  other;  or  shall  tliey  be  divided 
By  any  voice  or  order  of  the  field  ! 
Hector  bade  ask. 

Agam.  Which  way  would  Hector  have  it? 

AZne.  He  cares  not;  he'll  obey  conditions. 

Acliil.  'Tis  done  like  Hector ;  but  securely  done, 
A  little  proudly,  and  great  deal  misprising 
The  knight  oppos'd, 

.Ene.  If  not  Achilles,  sir. 

What  is  your  name  ? 

Achil.  If  not  Achilles,  nothing. 

Alne.  Therefore  Achilles :  But,  whatc'er,  know 
this;— 
In  Ihe  extremity  of  great  and  little, 
Valor  and  pride  excel  them.selves  in  Hector; 
The  one  almost  as  infinite  as  at!. 
The  other  blank  as  nothing.    Weigh  him  well. 
And  that,  which  looks  like  pride,  is  emirtesy. 
This  Ajax  is  half  made  of  Hector's  blood: 
In  love  whereof,  half  Hector  stays  at  home; 
Half  heart,  half  hand,  half  Hector  comes  to  seek 
This  blended  knight,  half  Trojan,  and  half  Greek. 

Achil.  A  maiden  battle  then? — 0,1  perceive  you. 
Re-enter  Diomed. 

Agam.  Here  is  sir  Diomed  :— Go,  gentle  knight, 
Stand  by  our  Ajax :  as  you  and  lord  iEneas 
Consent  upon  the  order  of  their  fight, 
So  be  it;  either  to  the  uttermost. 
Or  else  a  breath  :'  the  combatants  being  kin. 
Half  stints  their  strife  before  their  strokes  begin. 
[Ajax  and  Hector  enter  tlic  LiMs. 

UI1/.1S.  They  are  oppos'd  already. 

Agam.  What  Trojan  is  that  same  that  looks  so 
heavy  ? 

Uli/ss.  The' youngest  son  of  Priam, a  true  knight; 
Not  yet  mature,  yet  matchless;  firm  of  word  ; 
Speaking  in  deecis,  and  deedless  in  his  tongue  ; 
Not  soon  provok'd, nor,  being  provok'd,  soon  calm'd : 
His  heart  and  hand  both  open,  and  both  free; 
For  what  he  has,  he  gives ;  what  thinks,  he  shows; 
Yet  gives  he  not,  till  judgment  guide  his  bounty, 
Nor  dignifies  an  impair-  thought  with  breath  : 
Manly  as  Hector,  but  more  dangerous  ; 
For  Hector,  in  his  blaze  of  wrath,  subscribes' 
To  tender  objects  ;  but  he,  in  heat  of  action. 
Is  more  vindicative  than  jealous  love  : 
They  call  him  Troilus ;  and  on  him  erect 

»  Motion.  »  Breattiing,  exercise. 

'  Unsuitible  to  his  character.        >  Yields,  gives  ivay. 


520 


TROILUS   AND  CRESSIDA. 


Act  ly.  Scene  V. 


A  second  hope,  as  fairly  built  as  Hertor. 
Thus  says  iBneas :  one  that  knows  the  youth 
Kven  to  his  inches,  and,  with  private  soul, 
Did  in  great  Ilion  thus  translate-*  him  to  me. 

[Alarum.    Hector  and  AjAXfighf. 
Jgarri.  They  are  in  action. 
Nesf.  NoWj  Ajax,  hold  thine  own! 
Tro.  Hoctor,  thou  sleep'st ; 

Awake  thee ! 
Again.  His  blows  are  well  disposed: — there, Ajax! 
JJio.  You  must  no  more.  [Trumpets  ctase. 

j^ne.  Princes,  enough,  so  please  you. 

AJax.  I  am  not  warm  yet,  let  us  hght  again. 
JJin.  As  Hector  pleases. 

llec/.  Why,  then,  will  I  no  more  : — 

Thou  art,  great  lord,  my  lather's  sister's  son, 
A  cousin-german  to  great  Priam's  seed  ; 
The  obligation  of  our  blood  forbids 
A  gory  emulation  'twixt  us  twain : 
Were  thy  commixion  (Ireek  and  Trojan  so, 
That  thou  couldst  say — This  lutnd  is  drccitm  all, 
And  this  is  7Vfi/(in  ;  ihr  si/icw.s  of  this  kg 
All  Gretk\  and  fkis  all  Troy  ;  my  mother  s  blood 
Huns  on  the  dexter'"  clieekj  and  this  smister^ 
Bounds-in  my  fat  tier  s  ;  by  Jove  multipotent, 
Thou  shouldst  not  bear  from  me  a  Greekish  mem- 
ber 
Wherein  my  sword  had  not  impressure  made 
Of  our  rank  feud:  But  tlie  just  gods  gainsay,  ' 
That  any  drop  thou  borrow'st  from  thy  mother, 
My  sacred  aunt,  should  by  my  mortal  sword 
Be  drain'd  !  Let  me  embrace  thee,  Ajax  : 
By  hint  that  thunders,  thou  hast  lusty  arms; 
Hector  would  have  them  fall  upon  him  thus: 
Cousin,  all  honor  to  thee  ! 

Ajax.  I  thank  thee,  Hector: 

Thou  art  too  gentle,  and  too  free  a  man: 
I  came  to  kill  thee,  cousin,  and  bear  hence 
A  great  addition  earned  in  thy  death. 

licet.  Not  Neoplolemus  so  mirable  , 

fOn  whose  bright  crest  Fame  with  herloud'stO  yes 
Cries,  Ttilf  is  he)  could  promise  to  himself 
A  thought  of  added  honor  torn  from  Hector. 

^'S;?(e.Thereisexpeetance  here  from  both  the  sides, 
What  further  you  will  do, 

Jhct.  We'll  answer  it ; 

Tlic  i^sue  is  embracement: — Ajax,  farewell. 
Ajax.  If  I  might  in  entreaties  find  success, 
(As  seld"  I  have  the  chance,)  I  would  desire 
my  famous  cousin  to  our  Grecian  tents. 

Vh.  'Tis  Agamemnon's  wish  :  and  great  Achilles 
Doth  long  to  sec  unarm'd  the  valiant  Hector. 

Ilcct.  -'Eneas,  call  my  brother  Troilus  to  me  : 
And  signify  this  loving  interview 
To  the  expecters  of  our  Trojan  part; 
Desire  them  home. — Give  me  thy  hand,  my  cousin; 
I  will  go  eat  with  thee,  and  see  your  knights. 
^'IJax.  Great  Agamemnon  comes  to  meet  us  here. 
Ilcct.  The  worthiest  of  them  tell  me  name  by 
name; 
But  for  Achilles,  my  own  searching  eyes 
Shall  hnd  him  by  his  large  and  portly  size. 

Agani.  Worthy  of  arms,  as  welcome  as  to  one 
That  would  be  rid  of  such  an  enemy  ; 
But  that's  no  welcome:  Understand  more  clear, 
What's  past,  and  what's  to  come,  is  strew'd  with 

husks 
And  formless  ruin  of  oblivion  ; 
But  in  this  extant  moment,  faith  and  troth, 
Strain'd  purely  from  all  hollow  bias-drawing 
Bids  thee,  with  most  divine  inle^^rity. 
From  heart  of  very  heart,  ;;ri'at  llteior,  welcome. 
ikct.  I  thank  thee,  most  I iiipo no us"^  Agamemnon. 
Agam.  My  well-tamed  lord  of  Troy,  no  less  to 
you.  [To  Troili's. 

Men.   Let   me  confirm  my  princely   brother's 
greeting;— 
You  brace  of  warlike  brothers,  welcome  hither. 
Hec(.  Whom  must  we  answer? 
Men.  The  noble  Menclaus. 

Hcct.  0  you,  my  lord?  by  Mars  his  gauntlet, 
thanks  I 
Mock  not,  that  I  allect  the  unlraded  oath  ; 
Your  quondam  wile  swears  still  by  Venus'  glove: 
Sh<*'s  well,  but  bade  me  not  commend  her  to  you. 
Men.  Name  hernotnow,sir*  slie'sadeadly  ttieme. 
Uect.  O  pardnn  ;  1  olleii 


«  Explain  his  ch;iinrtpr. 
•  Lefu  1  Sk-ldoin. 


•  ltii,'ht. 
■  Iniiieriiil. 


Nest.  I  have,  thou  gallant  Trojan,  seen  thee  oft, 
Laboring  for  destiny,  make  cruel  way 
Through  ranks  of  Greekish  youth :  and  I  have  seen 

thee, 
As  hot  as  Perseus,  spur  thy  Phrygian  steed, 
Despising  many  fbrleits  and  subduements,^ 
AVhen  thou  hast  hung  thy  advanced  sword  i'  the  air, 
Not  letting  it  decline  on  the  declin'd; 
That  I  have  said  to  some  my  standers-by, 
Lo,  Jupiter  w  y(mder,  dealing  life  ! 
And  I  have  seen  thee  pause,  and  take  thy  breath, 
When  that  a  ring  of  Greeks  have  hemm'd  thee  in? 
Like  an  Olympian  wrestling :  This  iiave  I  seen  ; 
But  this  thy  countenance,  still  lock'd  in  steel, 
I  never  saw  till  now.     I  knew  thy  giandstre,'' 
And  once  fought  w-ith  him:  he  was  a  soldier  good; 
But,  by  great  Mars,  the  captain  of  iis  all, 
Never  like  thee:  Let  an  old  man  embrace  thee; 
And,  worthy  warrior,  welcome  to  our  tents. 

jEne.  'Tis  the  old  Nestor, 

Heet.  Let  me  embrace  thee,  good  old  chronicle, 
That  hast  so  long  walk'd  hand  in  hand  with  time: — 
Most  reverend  Nestor,  I  am  glad  to  clasp  thee  ; 

Nest,  I   would,  my  arms  could  match  thee  in 
contention. 
As  they  contend  with  thee  in  courtesy. 

Hect.  I  would  they  could. 

Nest.  Ha ! 
By  this  white  beard,  I'd  fight  with  thee  to-morrow. 
Well,  welcome,  welcome !  I  have  seen  the  time — - 

Ulyss.  I  wonder  now  how  yonder  city  stands, 
When  we  have  here  her  base  and  pillar  by  us. 

Hcct.  1  know  your  liivor,  lord  Ulysses,  well. 
Ah,  sir,  there's  many  a  Greek  and  Trojan  dead. 
Since  first  I  saw  yourself  and  Diomed 
In  Ilion,  on  your  Greekish  embassy. 

Ulyss.  Sir,  I  foretold  you  then  what  would  ensue: 
My  prophecy  is  but  half  his  journey  yet; 
For  yonder  wails,  that  pertly  front  your  town, 
Yon  towers,  whose  wanton  tops  do  buss  the  clouds, 
Must  kiss  their  own  feet. 

Hect.  I  must  not  believe  you  : 

There  they  stand  yet;  and  modestly  I  think, 
The  fall  of  every  Phrygian  stone  will  cost 
A  drop  of  Grecian  blood  :  The  end  crowns  all ; 
And  that  old  common  arbitrator.  Time, 
Will  one  day  end  it, 

Ulyss.  So  to  him  we  leave  it. 

Most  gentle,  and  most  valiant  Hector,  welcome  : 
Atler  the  general,  I  beseech  you  next 
To  feast  with  me,  and  see  me  at  my  tent. 

Achil.  I  shall  forestall  thee,  lord  Ulysses,  thou  ! — 
Now,  Hector,  1  have  ted  mine  eyes  on  thee; 
1  have  with  exact  view  perus'd  thee,  Hector, 
And  quoted'  joint  by  joint. 

Hect.  Is  this  Achilles  ? 

Actiil.  I  am  AchUles. 

Hect.  Stand  fair,  I  pray  thee :  let  me  look  on  thee. 

Achil.  Behold  thy  lill. 

Hect.  Nay,  I  have  done  already. 

Achil.  Thou  art  too  brief;"  I  will  the  secon^i  time, 
As  I  would  buy  thee,  view  thee  limb  by  limb. 

Hect.  0,  like  a  book  of  sport  thou'lt  read  meoVr; 
But  there's  more  in  me  than  thou  undcrstand'st. 
Why  dost  thou  so  oppress  me  with  thine  eye? 

Achil.  Tell  me,  you  heavens,  in  which  part  of 
his  body 
Shall  I  destroy  liim?  whetherthere,  there, or  there? 
That  I  may  give  the  local  wound  a  name ; 
And  make  distinct  the  very  breach  whereout 
Hector's  great  spirit  llew  :  Answer  me,  heavens ! 

Hect.  It  would  discredit  the  biess'd  gods,  proud 
man. 
To  answer  such  a  question  :  Stand  again: 
Think'st  thou  to  catch  my  life  so  pleasantly, 
As  to  prenominatc-  in  nice  conjecture, 
Where  thou  wilt  hit  mc  dead  ? 

Achil.  I  tell  thee,  yea. 

Hect.  Wert  thou  an  oracle  to  tell  me  so, 
I'd  not  believe  thee.    Hencelorth  guard  thee  well, 
For  ril  not  kill  thee  tiu're,  nor  there,  nor  there; 
But,  by  the  forge  that  stithicd^  Mars  his  helm, 
I'll  kill  thee  every  where,  yea,  o'er  and  o'er  — 
You  wisest  Grecians,  pardon  me  this  brag, 
His  insolence  draws  folly  from  my  lips; 
But  I'll  endeavor  deeds  to  matcli  tliesc  words, 
Or  may  I  never — ~ 


9  Laomt'don. 
«  Fortinjime. 


I  Observed. 

>  Stitliv,  is  a  smith' 


shop. 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


521 


AJax.  Do  not  chafe  thee,  cousin  ; — 

And  yon,  Achilles,  let  these  threats  alone, 
Till  accident,  or  purpose,  bring  you  to't; 
You  may  have  every  day  enough  of  Hector, 
If  you  have  stomach  ;  the  general  state,  I  fear, 
Can  scarce  entreat  you  to  be  odd  with  him. 

Hect.  I  pray  yon,  let  us  see  you  in  the  field ; 
We  have  had  pelting  wars,  since  you  rcfus'd 
The  Grecians'  cause. 

Achil.  Dost  thou  entreat  me.  Hector  ^ 

To-morrow,  do  I  meet  thee,  fell  as  death : 
To-night,  all  friends. 

Hect.  Thy  hand  upon  that  match. 

Asum.  First,  all  you  peers  of  Greece,  go  to  my 
tent ; 
There  in  the  full  convive*  we:  afterwards. 
As  Hector's  leisure  and  your  bounties  shall 
Concur  together,  severally  entreat  him. — 
Beat  loud  the  tambourines,'  let  the  trumpets  blow, 
That  this  great  soldier  may  his  welcome  know. 

{Exeunt  alL  bid  Tkoilus  and  Ulysses. 


Tro.  My  lord  Ulysses,  tell  me,  I  beseech  you, 
In  wliat  place  of  the  field  doth  Calchas  keep? 

Vhjss.  At  Menelaiis'  tent,  most  princely  Troilus: 
There  Diomed  doth  feast  with  him  to-night ; 
Who  neither  looks  upon  the  heaven,  nor  earth. 
But  gives  all  gaze  ana  bent  of  amorous  view 
On  the  fair  Cressid. 

Tro.  Shall   I,  sweet  lord,  be  bound  to  you  so 
much. 
After  we  part  from  Agamemnon's  tent, 
To  bring  me  thither  ? 

Ulij.ss.  You  shall  command  me,  sir. 

As  gentle  tell  me,  of  what  honor  was 
This  Cressida  in  Troy  ?     Had  .she  no  lover  there 
That  wails  her  absence  ] 

Tro.  O,    sir,    to    such    as    boasting  show  their 
scars 
A  mock  is  due.    Will  you  walk  on,  my  lord? 
She  was  belov'd,  she  lov'd  ;  she  is,  and  doth : 
But,  still,  sweet  love  is  food  for  fortune's  tooth. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  I.— The  Grecian  Camp.    Before  Achilles' 
Tent. 

Enter  Achilles  and  P.^troclcs. 

Achil.  I'll   heat  his   blood  with  Greekish  wine 
to-night. 
Which  with  iny  scimitar  I'll  cool  to-morrow. — 
Patroclus,  let  us  feast  him  to  the  height. 

Pafr.  Here  comes  Thersites. 

Enter  Thersites. 

Acfiit.  How  now,  thou  core  of  envy  ? 

rhoH  crusty  batch  of  nature,  what's  the  news? 

Ttier.  Why,  thou  picture  of  what  thou  seernest, 
and  idol  of  irliot-worshippers.here's  a  letter  lor  thee. 

AckU.  From  whence,  fragment  ? 

Ther.  Why,  thou  full  dish  of  fool,  from  Troy. 

Pafr.  Who  keeps  the  tent  now  ? 

Tlier.  The  surgeon's  box,  or  the  patient's  wound. 

Pair.  Well  said.  Adversity  !«  and  what  need 
these  tricks  ? 

Tfier.  Pr'ythee  be  silent,  boy;  I  profit  not  by 
thy  talk:  thou  art  thought  to  be  Achilles'  male 
variet. 

Patr.  Male  variet,  you  rogue?  what's  that? 

T/ier.  Why.  his  masculine  whore.  Now  the  rot- 
ten disca.  esoi  the  siiuth.tiie  guts-griping, ruptures, 
catarrlis,  loads  o'  gravel  i'  the  back,  lethargies,  cold 
palsies, raw  eyes, dirt-rotten  livers. wheczinglungs, 
bladders  full  of  imposthume, sciaticas.  lime-kilns  i 
the  palm,  incurable  bone-ache,  and  therivelled  fee- 
simple  of  the  tetter,  take  and  take  again  such  pre- 
posterous discoveries! 

Patr.  Why,  thou  damnable  box  of  envy,  thou, 
what  meanest  thou  to  curse  thus? 

Tlier.  Do  I  curse  thee  ? 

Pair.  Why,  no,  you  ruinous  butt ;  you  whoreson 
indistinguishable  cur,  no. 

Ttier.  No  ?  why  art  thou  exasperate,  thou  idle 
immaterial  skein  of  sicive'  silk,  thou  green  sarcenet 
flap  for  a  sore  eye,  thou  tassel  of  a  prodigal's  purse, 
thou  ?  Ah,  how  the  poor  world  is  pestered  with 
such  water-tlies;  diminutives  of  nature! 

Pafr.  Out.  gall ! 

Titer.  Finch-egg! 

Achil.  Sly  sweet  Patroclus.  I  am  thwarted  quite 
From  my  great  purpose  in  to-morrow's  battle. 
Here  is  a  letter  from  queen  Hecuba; 
A  token  from  her  daughter,  my  fair  love; 
Both  taxing  me,  and  gaging  mc  to  keep 
An  oath  that  I  have  sworn.    I  will  not  break  it: 
Fall,  Greeks;  fail,  fame;  honor,  or  go,  or  stay, 

My  major  vow  lies  here,  this  I'll  obey. 

Come,  come,  Thersites,  help  to  trim  my  tent; 
This  night  in  banqueting  must  all  be  spent. 
Away,  Patroclus. 

[Exeunt  Achilles  and  Patroclus. 

Ther.  With  too  much  blood  and  too  little  brain, 
these  two  may  run  mad;  but  if  with  too  much 
brain,  and  too  little  blood,  they  do,  I'll  be  a  curer 


•  Feast. 

t  Contrariety. 


»  Small  drums. 

1  Coarse,  unwrought. 


of  madmen.  Here's  Agamemnon, — an  honest 
fellow  enough,  and  one  that  loves  quails  ;*■  but  he 
has  not  so  much  brain  as  ear-wax:  And  the  goodly 
translbrmalion  of  Jupiter  there, his  brother.the  bull, 
— the  primitive  statue,  and  oblique  memorial  of 
cuckolds  ;9  a  thrifty  shocing-horn  in  a  chain,  hang- 
ing at  his  brother's  leg. — to  what  Ibrm.  but  that  he 
is,shouM  wit  larded  with  malice,  and  malice  forced' 
with  wit.  turn  him  to  ?  To  an  ass,  were  nothing  : 
he  is  both  ass  and  ox  :  to  an  ox,  were  nothing  ;  he 
is  both  ox  and  ass.  To  be  a  dog,  a  mule,  a  cat,  a 
fitchew,^  a  load,  a  lizard,  an  awl,  a  puttock,  or  a 
herring  without  a  roc,  I  would  not  care  :  but  to  be 
Menelaus. — I  would  conspire  against  destiny.  Ask 
me  not  what  I  would  he,  if  I  were  not  Thersites; 
lor  I  care  not  to  be  the  louse  of  a  lazar,3  so  I  were 
not  Menelaus.— Hey-day  !  spirits  and  tires  ! 

Enter    Hector,     Troilus,     Ajax,     Agamemnon, 

Ulysses,  Nestor,  Menelaus,  anrf  Diomed,  iriM 

Lights. 

Agam.  We  go  wrong,  we  go  wrong. 

jljax.  No,  yonder  tis; 

There,  where  we  see  the  lights. 

Jlfct.  I  trouble  you. 

Ajax.  No,  not  a  whit. 

Utyss.  Here  comes  himself  to  guide  you. 

Enter  Achilles. 
Achil.  Welcome,  brave  Hector:  welcome,  princes 

all! 
Agam.  So  now,  fair  prince  of  Troy,  I  bid  good- 
night. 
Ajax  commands  Ihe  guard  to  tend  on  you. 
Jiect.  Thanks,  and  good  night  to   the  Greeks' 

general. 
Men.  Good  night,  my  lord. 
Jlect.  Good  night,  sweet  Menelaus. 

Tter.  Sweet  draught :*    Sweet,  quoth 'a!   sweet 
sink,  sweet  sewer. 

Achil.  Good  night. 
And  welcome,  both  to  those  that  go  or  tarry. 
Agam.  Good  night. 

[Exeunt  Agamemnon  and  Menblaus. 
Achil.  Old  Nestor  tarries;  and  you  too,  Diomcd, 
Keep  Hector  company  an  hour  or  two. 

Dio.  I  cannot,  lord  ;  I  have  important  business. 
The    tide  whereof   is    now.— Good    night,    great 
Hector. 
Heel.  Give  me  your  hand. 
Utyss.  Follow  his  torch,  he  goes 

To  Calchas'  tent;  I'll  keep  you  company. 

[Asvie  to  Troilus. 
Tro.  Sweet  sir,  you  honor  me. 
Hect.  And  so  good  night. 

[Exit  Diomed  ;  Ulysses  and  Troilus 
fulloiving. 
Achil.  Come,  come,  enter  my  tent. 

[Exeunt  Achilles,  Hector,  Ajax,  and 
Nestor. 


8  Harlots. 
»  Polecat. 


■  Menelaus. 

>  A  diseased  beg; 


•  Stuffed. 

*  Trivy. 


522 


TEOILUS  AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  V. 


Tker.  That  same  Diomed'saliilsc-heartedrogue, 
a  most  unjust  knave;  I  will  no  more  trust  him 
when  he  leers,  than  I  will  a  serpent  when  he  hisses: 
he  will  spend  his  mouth,  and  promise,  like  Urabler 
the  honnd;  but  when  he  peiibrms,  astronomers 
foretell  it:  it  is  prodigious,^  there  will  eonie  some 
change;  the  sun  borrows  of  the  moon,  when 
Diomed  keeps  ins  word.  I  will  rather  leave  to  sec 
Hector,  than  not  to  dog  him :  they  say,  he  keeps  a 
Trojan  drab,  and  uses  the  traitor  Calchas'  tent: 
I'll  after. — Nothing  but  lechery!  all  incontinent 
varlets !  \^Exit. 

SCENE  U.—Befin-e  Calchas'  Tent. 
Enter  Diomedks. 
Dio.  What,  are  you  up  here,  ho?  speak. 
CuL  [Within.]  Who  calls  ! 

I)io.  Diomed. — Calchas,  I  think.— Where's  your 
daughter! 
Cal.  ^^Within.']  She  comes  to  you. 

Enter  TrmiLus  and  Ulysses,  at  a  dhftmce ;  after 
them  Thersites. 

Ulyss.  Stand  where  the  torch  maynotdiscoverus. 
Enter  Cressida. 

Tro.  Cressid,  come  Ibrth  to  him  ! 

Dw.  How  now.  my  charge  ? 

Cres.  Now, my  sweet  guardian  ! — Hark  !  a  word 
witli  you.  [fVhispers. 

Tro.  Yea,  so  familiar! 

Uiys.t.  She  will  sing  any  man  at  first  sight. 

Ther.  And  any  man  may  sing  her,  if  lie  can  take 
her  clitr;'J  she's  noted. 

Di/j.  Will  you  remember  1 

Cres.  Remember  1  yes. 

Dio.  Nay,  but  do  then ; 

And  let  your  mind  be  coupled  with  your  words. 

Tru.  What  should  she  remember  ] 

U/yss,  List! 

Cj'Cs.  Sweet  honey  Greek,  tempt  me  no  more  to 
t>lly. 

Ther.  Roguery ! 

Bio.  Nay,  tlicn,— 

Cres.  I'll  tell  you  what : 

Dio.  Pho,  pho!  come,  tell  a  pin:  You  are  for- 
sworn.— 

Cres,  In  faith,  I  cannot:  What  would  you  have 
me  do  ] 

Tker.  A  juggling  trick,  to  be — secretly  open. 

Dio.  What  did  you  swear  you  would  bestow  on 
me  1 

Cres.  I  pr'ythee,  do  nol  hold  me  to  mine  oath  ; 
Bid  me  do  any  thing  but  that,  sweet  Greek. 

Dio.  Good  night. 

Tro.  Hold,  patience  ! 

Ulifss.  How  now,  Trojan  1 

Cres.  Diomed, 

Dio.  No,  no,  good  night:  Til  be  your  fool  no  more. 

Tro.  Thy  better  must. 

Cres.  Hark!  one  word  in  your  ear. 

Tro.  0  plague  and  madness  I 

Uli/ss.  You  are  mov'd,  prince ;  let  us  depart,  I 
pray  you, 
Lest  your  displeasure  should  enlarge  itself 
To  wralhfid  terms:  this  jilace  is  dangerous; 
The  time  right  deadly  ;  I  beseech  you,  go. 

Tro.  Behold,  I  pray  you  ! 

Ufyss.  Now,  good  my  lord,  go  off: 

You  How  to  great  destruction:  come,  my  lord. 

Tro.  I  pr'ythee,  stay. 

Uli/ss.  You  have  not  patience,  come. 

Tro.  1  pray  you,  stay ;    by  iiell,  and  ail  heli's 
torments, 
I  win  not  speak  a  word. 

Dio.  And  so,  good  night. 

Cres.  Nay,  but  you  part  in  anger. 

Tro.  Doth  that  grieve  thee  1 

0  wither'd  truth ! 

U/i/ss.  Why,  Iiow  now,  lord  ? 

Tro.  By  Jove, 

1  will  be  patient. 

Cres.  Guardian  !— why,  Greek! 

Dio.  Pho.  pho!  adieu;  you  palter.^ 
Cres.  In  faitli,  1  do  not;  come  hither  once  again. 
Ulyss.  Vou  stisikc,  my  lord,  at  something;  will 
you  go  I 
Vou  will  break  out. 
Tro.  She  strokes  his  cheek  ! 

■  Tortentous,  ominous.  s  Key.  i  Shuffle. 


Ulyss.  Come,  come. 

Tro.  Nay, stay ;  by  Jove,  I  will  not  F.peak  a  word: 
There  is  between  my  will  and  all  oti'enccs 
A  guard  of  patience :— stay  a  little  while. 

Ther.  How  the  devil  hixury,  with  his  fat  rump 
and  potatoe  hnger  tickles  tlicse  together !  Fry, 
lechery,  fry  ! 

Dio.  But  will  you  th.m  7 

Cres.  In  faith,  I  will,  la  ;  never  trust  me  else. 

Dio.  Give  me  some  token  for  the  surety  of  it. 

Cres.  I'll  fetch  you  one.  [Exit. 

Ulyss.  You  liave  sworn  patience. 

Tro.  Fear  me  not.  my  lord  ; 
I  will  not  be  myself,  nor  have  cognition^ 
Of  what  I  feel ;  I  am  all  patience. 

Re-enter  Cressida. 

Ther.  Now  the  pledge;  now,  now,  now  ! 

Cres.  Here,  Diomed,  keep  this  sleeve. 

Tro.  O  beauty!  wlicre's  thy  faith? 

Ulyss.  My  lord, 

Tro.  I  will  be  patient;  outwardly  I  will. 

Cres.  You  look  upon  that  sleeve;  Behold  itwell.— 
He  lov'd  me— O  ftilse  wench  ! — Give't  me  again. 

Dio.  Who  was'tl 

C?'es.  No  matter,  now  I  have't  again. 

I  will  not  meet  with  you  to-morrow  nigJit: 
I  pr'ythee,  Diomed,  visit  me  no  more. 

Ther.  Now    she    sharpens ;— Well    said,    whet- 
stone. 

Dio.  I  shall  have  it. 

Cres.  What,  this? 

Dio.  Ay,  that. 

Cres.  0.  all  you  gods  ! — 0  pretty,  pretty  pledge  ! 
Thy  master  now  lies  thinking  in  his  bed 
Of  thee  and  me;  and  sighs,  and  takes  my  glove, 
And  gives  memorial  dainty  kisses  to  it, 
As  I  kiss  thee. — Nay,  do  not  snatch  it  Irom  me; 
He  that  takes  that,  must  take  my  heart  withal. 

Dio.  I  had  your  heart  before,  this  follows  it. 

Tro.  I  did  swear  patience. 

Cres.  You  shall  not  have  it,  Diomed;  'faith  you 
shall  not; 
I'll  ^ive  j'ou  something  else. 

Dio.  I  will  have  this;  Whose  was  it? 

Cres.  'Tis  no  matter. 

Dio.  Come,  tell  me  whose  it  was. 

Cres,  'Twas  one's    that  loved  me  better  than 
you  will. 
But,  now  you  have  i.t,  take  it. 

Dio.  Whose  was  it? 

Cres.  By  all  Diana's  waiting-women  yonder,^ 
And  by  herself,  I  will  not  ttdl  you  whose. 

Dio.  To-morrow  will  I  wear  it  on  my  helm; 
And  grieve  his  spirit  that  dares  not  challenge  it. 

Tro.  Wert  thou  the  devil, and  wor'st  iton  tliyhorn, 
It  should  be  challenged. 

C7-es.  Well,  well,  'tis  done,  'tis  past;— And  yet 
it  is  not; 
I  will  not  keep  my  word. 

Din.  Why  then,  farewell ; 

Thou  never  shalt  mock  Diomed  again. 

Cres.  You  shall  not  go : — One  cannot  speak  a 
word, 
But  it  straight  starts  you. 

Dio.  I  do  not  like  this  fooling. 

Ther.  Nor  I.  by  Pluto;  but  that  that  likes  not 
you,  pleases  me  best. 

Dirj.  What,  shall  I  come?  the  hour? 

Cres.  Ay,  come  : — O  Jove  ! — 

Do  come  : — I  shall  be  plagued. 

Dio.  FareVell  till  then. 

Cres.  Good  night.    I  pr'ythce,  come.— 

{EdHi  DiOMEDEa. 

Troilus,  farewell !  one  eye  yet  looks  on  thee  ; 
But  with  my  heart  the  other  eye  doth  see. 
Ah  !  poor  our  sex  !  this  lault  in  us  I  find, 
The  error  of  our  eye  directs  our  mind  : 
What  error  leads,  must  err  ;  O  then  conclude, 
Minds,  sway'd  by  eyes,  are  full  of  turpitude. 

[Exit  Cressida. 

Ther.  A  proof  of  strength  she  could  not  publish 
more. 
Unless  she  said,  My  mind  is  now  turn'd  whore. 

Uh/ss.  All's  done,  my  lord. 

Tro.  It  is. 

Uli/ss.  Why  stay  we  then'' 

Tro.  To  make  a  recordation'  to  iny  soul 
Of  every  syllabic  that  here  was  spoke. 

8  Knowledge.  »  S^tars.  *  Ilemembrance. 


Scene  III. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


523 


But,  if  I  tell  how  these  two  did  co-act, 
Shall  I  not  lie  in  publishing  a  truth  .' 
bill!  yet  there  is  a  credence  in  my  heart. 
All  esperance  so  obstinately  strong, 
That  doth  invert  the  attest  of  eyes  and  ears ; 
As  if  those  organs  had  deceptious  functions, 
Created  only  to  calumniate. 
Was  Cressid  here  ! 

Uli/ss.  I  cannot  conjure,  Trojan. 

Tra.  She  was  not,  sure. 

I'ti/ss.  Most  sure  she  was. 

Tru.  Why,  my  negation  halh  no  taste  of  madness. 

Uli/ss.  Nor  mine,  my  lord :  Cressid  was  iiere  but 
now. 

Tro.  L  >  it  not  be  believ'd  for^  womanhood  ! 
Tfiiiik,  we  had  mothers;  do  not  give  advantage 
To  stubborn  critics^ — apt,  without  a  theme. 
For  depravation. — to  square  the  general  sex 
By  Crcssid's  rule  :  rather  think  this  not  Cressid. 

Uli/iis-  Wiiat  hath  she  done,  prince,  that  can  soil 
our  mothers  ] 

Tro.  Nothing  at  all,  unless  that  this  were  she. 

Ther,  Will  he  swagger  himself  on  ton's  own  eyes. 

Tro.  This  she  ?  no,  this  is  Diomed's  Cressida  ; 
If  beauty  have  a  soul,  this  is  not  she; 
If  souls  guide  vows,  if  vows  be  sanctimony, 
If  sanctimony  be  the  gods'  deliglit, 
If  there  be  rule  in  unity  itself. 
This  was  not  she.     O  madness  of  discourse, 
That  cause  sets  up  with  and  against  itself! 
Bi-Ibld  authority!  where  reason  can  revolt 
Without  perdition,  and  loss  assume  all  reason 
Without  revolt;  this  is.  and  is  not,  Cressid  ! 
Within  my  soul  there  doth  commence  a  tight 
Of  this  strange  nature,  that  a  thing  inseparate 
Divides  more  wider  than«lie  sky  and  earth; 
And  yet  the  spacious  breadth  of  tfiis  division 
Admits  no  orilice  for  a  point,  as  subtle 
As  is  Arachne's  broken  woof,  to  enter. 
Instance,  O  instance  !  strong  as  Pluto's  gates; 
Cressid  is  mine,  tied  with  the  bonds  of  heaven: 
Instance,  O  instance  !  strong  as  heaven  ifself; 
Thebondsofheavenareslipp'd,dissolv'd,andloos'd; 
And  with  another  knot,  live-flnger-tied. 
The  fractions  of  her  faith,  orts  of  her  love, 
The  fragments,  scraps,  the  bits,  and  greasy  relics 
Of  her  o'er-eaten  liiith  are  bound  to  Diomed. 

U/yss.  May  worthy  Troilus  be  half  attacb'd 
With  that  which  here  his  passion  doth  express? 

2'ro.  Ay,  (ircek  ;  and  that  shall  be  divulged  well 
In  characters  as  red  as  Mars  his  heart 
Inllam'd  with  Venus  :  never  did  young  man  fancy< 
With  so  eternal  and  so  tix'd  a  soul. 
Hark,  Greek  ;— As  much  as  I  do  Cressid  love. 
So  much  by  weight  hate  I  her  Diomed : 
That  sleeve  is  mine,  that  he'll  bear  on  his  helm  ; 
Were  it  a  casque  compos'd  by  Vulcan's  skill. 
My  sword  sliould  bile  it:  not  the  dreadful  spout, 
Which  shipmen  do  the  hurricano  call, 
ConstringedJ  in  mass  by  the  almighty  sun, 
Shall  dizzy  with  more  clamor  Neptune's  ear 
In  bis  aetcent,  than  shall  my  prompted  sword 
Falling  on  Diomed. 

The):  He'll  tickle  it  for  his  concupy.6 

Tru.  O Cressid!  0  lalse Cressid!  false, false,  false! 
Let  all  untruths  stand  by  thy  stained  name, 
And  they'll  seem  glorious. 

Vlyw.  0,  contain  yourself; 

Your  passion  draws  ears  hither. 

Enter  iExEAS. 

vE»e.  I  have  been  seeking  you  this  hour,  my  lord: 
Hector,  by  this,  is  arming  him  in  Troy; 
Ajax.  your  guard  "lays  to  conduct  you  home. 

Tro.    Have  witn   you,  prince:— My  courteous 
lord,  adieu: 
Farewell,  revolted  fair  !— and,  Diomed, 
Stand  fast,  and  wear  a  castle  on  thy  head ! 

Uly^s.  I'll  bring  you  to  the  gates. 

Trc   Accept  distracted  thanks. 

,  [Exeunt  Thoilus,  ^Exeas,  and  Ulysses. 

7  to-.  Would,  I  could  meet  that  rogue  Diomed! 
I  would  croak  like  a  raven ;  1  would  bode,  I  would 
bode.  Patroclus  will  give  me  any  thing  lor  the  in- 
telligence of  tills  whore:  the  parrot  will  not  do 
more  for  an  almond,  than  he  tor  a  commodious 
drab.    Lechery,  lechery;  still,  wars  and  lechery; 

»  For  the  sate  of.  a  Cynics.  4  Love. 

•  Compressed.  *  Concupiscence. 


nothing  else  holds  fashion:  A  burning  devil  take 
them!  [Ejcit. 

SCENE  III.— Troy.    Befure  Priam's  Palace. 

Enter  Hectou  and  Andromache. 
And.  When   was   my  lord  so  much  ungently 
temper'd. 
To  stop  his  ears  against  admonishment  \ 
Unarm,  unarm,  and  do  not  tight  to-day. 

ilect.  You  train  me  to  otJ'erid  you :  get  you  in  : 
By  all  the  everlasting  gods,  I'll  go. 
Awl.  My  dreams  will,  sure,  prove  ominous  to  the 

day. 
Ued.  No  more,  I  say. 

Enter  Cassandra. 

Cn.s.  Where  is  my  brother  Hector  1 

And.  Here,  sister;  arm'd,  and  bloody  in  intent : 
Consort  with  me  in  loud  and  dear  petition, 
Pursue  we  him  on  knees;  lor  I  have  dream'd 
Of  bloody  turbulence,  and  this  whole  night 
Hath  nothing  been  butshapesandformsof  slaughter. 

Cas.  0,  it  IS  true. 

litct.  Ho !  bid  my  trumpet  sound ! 

Cus.  No  notes  of  sally,  for  tlie  heavens,  sweet 
brother. 

Hcd.  Begone,  I  say:  the  gods  have  heard  me 
swear. 

Cas.  The  gods  are  deaf  to  hot  and  peevish'  vows ; 
They  are  polluted  oBcrings,  more  abhorr'd 
Than  spotted  livers  in  the  .sacrifice. 

And.  0 :  be  persuaded  :  Do  not  count  it  holy 
To  liurt  by  being  just:  it  is  as  lawlul. 
For  we  would  give  much,  to  use  violent  thefts, 
And  rob  in  the  behalf  of  charity. 

Cas.  It  is  the  purpose  that  makes  strong  the  vow ; 
But  vows  to  every  purpose  must  not  hold  : 
Unarm,  sweet  Hector. 

Hed.  Hold  you  still,  I  say  ; 

Mine  honor  keeps  the  weather  of  my  liite  : 
Lite  every  man  holds  dear;  but  the  dear  man 
Holds  honor  far  more  precious  dear  than  life, — 

Enter  Troilcs. 
How  now,  young  man,  mean'st  thou  to  fight  to-day  ? 

And.  Cassandra,  call  in}-  father  to  persuade. 

[Exit  Cassandra. 

Hed.  No,   faith,  young  Troilus;  doU'^  thy  har- 
ness, youth. 
I  am  to-day  i'the  vein  of  chivalry: 
Let  grow  t'hy  sinews  till  their  knots  be  strong, 
And  tempt  not  yet  the  brushes  of  the  war. 
Unarm  thee,  go;  and  doubt  thou  not,  brave  boy, 
I'll  stand,  to-day,  for  thee,  and  me,  and  Troy. 

Tro.  Brother,  jou  have  a  vice  of  mercy  in  you 
Which  better  fits  a  lion,  than  a  man. 

Hect.  What  vice  is  that, good  Troilus?  chide  me 
for  it. 

Tro.  When  many  times  the  captive  Grecians  fall, 
Even  in  the  fan  and  wind  of  your  fair  sword. 
You  bid  them  rise  and  live. 

Hed.  O,  'tis  liiir  play. 

Tro.  i-'ool's  play,  by  heaven,  Hector. 

Hect.  How  now  ?  how  now ! 

Trii.  For  the  love  of  all  the  gods. 

Let's  leave  the  hermit  pity  with  our  niuther; 
And  when  we  have  our  armors  buckled  on. 
The  vcnom'd  vengeance  ride  upon  our  swords; 
Spur  them  to  ruthfuli'  work,  rein  them  from  ruth.' 

Hect.  Fye,  savage,  fye  ! 

Tro.  Hector,  then  'tis  wars. 

Hect.  Troilus,  I  would  not  have  you  fight  to-day. 

Tro.  Who  should  withhold  me  ! 
Not  fate,  obedience,  nor  tlie  hand  of  Mars 
Beckoning  with  tiery  truncheon  my  retire; 
Not  Priamusaiid  Hecuba  on  knees. 
Their  eyes  o'ergalled  with  recourse  of  tears; 
Nor  you,  iny  brottier,  with  your  true  sword  drawn, 
Oppos'd  to  hinder  me,  should  stop  my  way, 
But  by  my  ruin. 

Re-enter  Cassandra,  wUh,  Priam. 
Cas.  Lay  hold  upon  him,  Priam,  hold  him  last: 
He  IS  thy  crutch ;  now  if  thou  lose  thy  stay. 
Thou  on  him  leaning,  and  all  Troy  on  thee, 
Fall  all  together. 

I'ri.  Come,  Hector,  come,  go  back  : 

Thy  wife  hath  dream'd;  thy  mother  hath  had  visions; 
Cassandra  doth  foresee,  and  I  myself 
'foolish.        sputoS         •  Itueful,  woful.        'Mercy 


524 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  V. 


Am  like  a  prophet  suddenly  enrapt, 
To  tell  thee — that  this  day  is  ominous, 
Therefore,  come  back. 

Hed.  jRnea.^  is  a-ficld  ; 

And  I  do  stand  engaged  to  many  Greeks, 
Even  in  the  laith  of  valor,  to  appear 
This  morning  to  them. 

Prl.  But  thou  Shalt  not  go. 

Hect.  I  must  not  break  my  faith. 
You  know  me  dutiful ;  therefore,  dear  sir, 
Let  me  not  shame  respect;  but  give  me  leave 
To  taivc  that  course  by  j'our  consent  and  voice, 
Wliich  30U  do  here  forbid  me,  royal  Priam. 

Cas.  0  Priam,  yield  not  to  him. 

Anil.  Do  not,  dear  father. 

Hect.  Andromache,  I  am  offended  with  j'ou  : 
Upon  the  love  you  bear  me,  get  you  in. 

[Exit  Androm.hche. 

Tro.  This  foolish,  dreaming,  superstitious  girl. 
Makes  all  these  bodements. 

Cas.  0  farewell,  dear  Hector. 

Look,  how  thou  dicst !  look, how  thy  eye  turns  pale! 
Look,  how  thy  wounds  do  bleed  at  many  vents  ! 
Hark,  l]ow  Tro}^  roars  !  how  Hecuba  cries  out ! 
How  poor  Andromache  shrills  her  dolors  forth  ! 
Behold,  destruction,  frenzy,  and  amazement, 
Like  witless  antics,  one  another  meet, 
And  all  cry — Hector  !  Hector's  dead  !    0  Hector. 

Tru.  Away  ! — Away  ! 

Cus.    Farewell.    Yet  soft:— Hector,  I   take  my 
leave  ; 
Thou  dost  thyself  and  all  our  Troy  deceive.  [Exit. 

Hect.  You  are  aniaz'd.  my  liege,  at  her  exclaim  ; 
Go  in.  and  clieer  the  town:  we'll  forth  and  tight : 
Do  deeds  worth  praise,  and  tell  you  them  at  night. 

Pri.  Farewell :  the  gods  with  safety  stand  about 
thee! 

[Exeunt  severally  Phiam  and  Hector. 
Alarums. 

Tro.  Theyareal  it;  hark!  Proud  Dionied,believe. 
I  come  to  lose  my  arm,  or  win  my  sleeve. 

As  TuoiLus  is  going  out, enter. from  tlie  other  side, 
Pa.ndarus. 

Ptin.  Do  you  hear,  my  lord  ?  do  you  hear  ? 

Tro.  What  now  I 

Pan.  Here's  a  letter  from  yon'  poor  girl. 

Tro.  Let  me  read. 

Pan.  A  whoreson  phthisic,  a  whoreson  rascally 
phthisic  so  troubles  ine,  and  the  foolish  fortune  of 
this  girl ;  and  what  one  thing,  %vhat  another,  that  I 
shall  leave  you  one  o'  these  days:  And  I  have  a 
rheum  in  mine  eyes  too;  and  such  an  ache  in  my 
bones,  that,  unless  a  man  were  cursed,  I  cannot  tell 
what  io  think  on't.— Wliat  says  she  there  ! 

Tro.  Words,  words,  mere  words,  no  matter  from 
tiie  heart ;  [Tearing  the  Letter. 

The  effect  doth  operate  another  way. — 
Go.  wind,  to  wind,  there  turn  and  change  together. 
My  love  with  words  and  errors  still  she  feeds; 
But  edifies  another  with  her  deeds. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  IW— Between  Troy  and  the  Grecian 
Camp, 
Alarums:  Excursions.  Enter  Thersites. 
Ther.  Nowthey  are clapper-clawingone another; 
I'll  go  look  on.  'Thai  dissembling  abominable  var- 
let.  Diomed,  hasgot  that  same  scurvy,  doting,  fool- 
ish young  knave's  sleeve  of  Troy  there,  in  his  helm: 
1  would  lain  see  them  meet;  that  that  same  young 
Trojan  ass,  that  loves  the  whore  there,  might  send 
that  Greekish  whoremaster  villain  with  the  sleeve, 
back  to  the  dissembling  luxurious  drab, on  a  sleeve- 
less errand.  O'  the  other  side.  The  policy  of  those 
cratlyswearingrascals,— that  staleold  mouse-eaten 
dry  cheese,  Nestor;  and  that  same  dog-fox  Ulysses, 
—is  not  proved  worth  a  blackberry :— They  set 
me  up,  in  policy,  that  mongrel  cur,  Ajax,  against 
that  dog  of  as  bad  a  kind,  Achilles:  and  now  is  the 
cur  Ajat  prouder  than  the  cur  Achilles,  and  will 
not  arm  to-day:  Whereupon  the  Grecians  begin  to 
proclaim  barbarism,  and  policy  grows  into  an  ill 
opinion.    Soft !  here  come  sleeve,  and  t'other. 

Enter  Diomedes,  Troilcs  y«Wo«'i;)5-. 
Tro.  Fly  not;  for,  shouldst  thou  lake  the  river 
Styx, 
I  would  swim  afler. 


Dio.  Thou  dost  miscall  retire  : 

I  do  not  fly  ;  but  advantageous  care 
Withdrew  me  from  the  odds  of  multitude  : 
Have  at  thee ! 

Ther.  Hold  thy  whore,  Grecian  !— now  for  thy 

whore,  Trojan  ! — now  the  sleeve,  now  the  sleeve  ! 

[Exeunt  TnoiLvs  and  Dwuedes,  fighting. 

Enter  Hector. 

Hect.  What  art  thou,  Greek  !  art  thou  for  Hec- 
tor's match  ] 
Art  thou  of  blood,  and  honor  1 

Ther.  No,  no, — I  am  a  rascal ;  a  scurvy  railing 
knave  ;  a  very  tilthy  rogue. 

Hect.  I  do  believe  thee  ;— live.   *  [Exit. 

Ther.  God-a-mercy,  that  thou  wilt  believe  me; 
But  a  plague  break  thy  neck,  for  fi-ighting  me! 
What's  become  of  the  wenching  rogues  ?  I  think, 
they  have  swallowed  one  another:  I  would  laugh 
at  that  miracle.  Y'et,  in  a  sort,  lechery  eat.s  itself. 
I'll  seek  them.  [Exit. 

SCENE  V.-The  Same. 
Enter  Diomedes  a?id  a  Servant. 
Din.  Go,  go,  my  servant,  take  thou  Troilus' horse: 
Present  the  fair  steed  to  my  lady  Cressid  : 
Fellow,  commend  my  service  to  her  beauty ; 
Tell  her,  I  have  chastis'd  the  amorous  Trojan, 
And  am  her  knight  by  proof. 
iierv.  1  go,  my  lord.    [Exit  Servant. 

Enter  Agamemnox. 
Agnm.  Renew,  renew  !  The  tierce  Polydamus 
Hath  beat  down  Menon:  bastard  Margai'elon 
Hath  Doreus  prisoner; 

And  st,ands  colossus-wise,  waving  his  beani,2 
Upon  the  pashed^  corses  of  the  kings 
Epistrophus  and  Cedius:  Polixenes  is  slain; 
Amphimachus,  and  Thoas,  deadly  hurt; 
Patroclus  ta'en  or  slain  ;  and  Paliimedes 
Sore  hurt  and  bruis'd :  the  dreadful  Sagittary 
.\ppals  our  numbers;  haste  we,  Diomed, 
To  reinforcement,  or  we  perish  all. 

Enter  Nestor. 
Nest.  Go,  bear  Patroclus'  body  to  Achilles: 
And  bid  the  snail-paced  Ajax  arm  for  shame. — 
There  is  a  thousand  Hectors  in  the  tield  ; 
Now  here  he  tights  on  Galathe  his  horse. 
And  there  lacks  work  ;  anon,  he's  there  afoot. 
And  there  they  tly,  or  die,  like  scaled  sculls^ 
Before  the  belching  whale  ;  then  is  he  yonder. 
And  there  the  strawy  Greeks,  ripe  for  liis  edge. 
Fall  down  before  him  like  the  mower's  swath  : 
Here,  there,  and  every  w  here,  he  leaves  and  takes ; 
Dexterity  so  obeying  appetite. 
That  what  he  will,  he  does;  and  does  so  much. 
That  proof  is  call'd  impossibility. 

Enter  Ulysses. 
Ulyss.  0,  courage,courage. princes!  grcatAchilles 
Is  arming,  weeping,  cursing,  vowing  vengeance : 
Patroclus'  wounds  have  rous'd  his  tlrowsy  blood. 
Together  with  his  mangled  Alyrmidons, 
That  noseless,  handless,  hack'd  and  chipp'd,  come 

to  him. 
Crying  on  Hector.    Ajax  hath  lost  a  friend. 
And  loams  at  mouth,  and  he  is  arm'd,  and  at  it. 
Roaring  for  Troilus;  who  hath  done  to-day 
Mad  and  fantastic  execution  ; 
Kiigaging  and  redeeming  of  himself. 
With  such  a  careless  force,  and  Ibrceless  care, 
As  if  that  luck,  in  very  spite  of  cunning, 
Bade  him  win  all. 

Enter  Ajax. 
^ijax.  Troilus  !  thou  coward  Troilus  !        [E.ru 
Din.  Ay,  there,  ther» 

Kest.  So,  so,  we  draw  together. 

Enter  Achilles. 
Achil.  Where  is  this  Hector  ! 

Come,  come,  thou  boy-queller,  show  thy  face : 
Know  what  it  is  to  niect  Achilles  angry. 
Hector!  Where's  Hector  1    I  will  none  but  Hector. 


*  Lance. 

•  Shoal  of  fish. 


[Exeunt 
»  BruiSL'd,  crushed. 


Scene  XI. 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


525 


SCENE  \l.—Aiwther  Part  of  the  Field. 
Enter  AJAX. 
AJax.  Troilus,  thou  coward  Troilus,  show  thy 
head  ! 

Enter  Diomeoes. 
Did.  Troilus,  1  say!  Where's  Troilus  1 
AJuj:.  What  wouldst  thou  ! 

Liu.  I  would  correct  him. 
Ajcu:.  Were  I  the  general,  thou  shouldst  have 
my  office, 
Ere  tliat  correction  .'—Troilus,  I  say !  what,Troilus  ! 
Enter  Tkoilus. 
Tro.  0   traitor   Diomcd ! — turn    thy  false    face, 
tiiou  traitor, 
And  pay  thy  life  thou  ow'st  me  for  my  horse  ! 
Dio.  Ha  !  art  thou  there  ! 

JJax.  I'll  liKht  with  him  alone:  stand,  Diomed. 
Dio.  He  is  my  prize,  I  will  not  look  upon. 
Tro.  Come  both,  you  cogguis^  Greeks  ;  have  at 
you  both.  [Exeunt,  Jigkting. 

Enter  Hector. 

Hect.  Yea,  Troilus  1  0,  well  fought,  my  youngest 
brother ! 

Enter  Achilles. 
Achil.  Now  do  I  see  thee:  Ha!— Have  at  thee. 

Hector. 
Hect.  Pause,  if  thou  wilt. 

Achit.  I  do  disdain  thy  courtesy,  proud  Trojan. 
Be  happy  that  my  arms  are  out  of  use  : 
My  rest  and  negligence  befriend  thee  now. 
But  tliou  anon  shalt  hear  of  me  again  ; 
Till  when,  go  seek  thy  fortune.  [Exit. 

Hect.  Fare  thee  well:— 

I  would  have  been  much  more  a  Ireslier  man. 
Had  I  expected  tliee. — How  now,  my  brotlier! 
Re-enter  Troilus. 
Tro.  Ajax  hath  taken  jT^ne.as;  Shall  it  be? 
No.  by  the  llame  of  yonder  glorious  heaven, 
He  shall  not  carry*  him  ;  I'll  be  taken  too. 
Or  bring  him  off: — Fate,  hear  me  what  I  say  ! 
I  reck'  not  tliough  I  end  my  life  to-day  [Exit. 

Enter  one  in  sumptuous  .irmor. 

Hect.  Stand, stand,  thou  Greek!  tliou  art  a  goodly 
mark ; — 
No  1  wilt  thou  not !— I  hke  thy  armor  well ; 
I'll  frusli''  it,  and  unlock  the  rivets  all, 
But  I'll  be  master  of  it:— Wilt  thou  not,  beast, 

abide  ] 
Why,  then  fly  on,  I'll  hunt  thee  for  thy  hide. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  \-U.—T!iesame. 
Enter  Achilles,  icUh.  Myrmidons. 
ActiiL  Cotne  here  about  me,  youmyMyrmidons; 
Mark  what  I  say. — Attend  me  where  I  wheel: 
Strike  not  a  stroke,  but  keep  yourselves  in  breath  ; 
And  when  I  have  the  bloody  Hector  found. 
Empale  him  with  your  weapons  round  about; 
In  li?Uest  manner  e.vecute  your  arms. 
Follow  me,  sirs,  and  my  proceedings  eye: 
It  is  decreed — Hector  the  great  must  die. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  WU.—Ttu:  same. 
Enter  Meselaus  and  Paris,  figlitins  ■•   tlien 

TUERSITES. 

Tlier.  The  cuckold,  and  the  cuckold-maker  are 
at  it:  Now,  bull!  now,  dog!  'Loo,  Paris, 'loo! 
now  my  double-hcnned  sparrow !  'Loo,  Paris,  'loo  ! 
The  bull  has  tiie  game  : — 'ware  horns,  ho  ! 

[Exeunt  Paris  ami  Mexelacs. 
Enter  Margakelon'. 

Mar.  Turn,  slave,  and  fight. 

Tlier.  What  art  thou  ^ 

Mar.  A  bastard  son  of  Priam's. 

Titer.  I  am  a  bastard  too ;  I  love  bastards :  I  am 
a  bastard  begot, bastard  instructed,b.astard  inmind, 
bastard  in  valor,  in  every  thing  illegitimate.  One 
bear  will  not  bite  another,  and  wherefore  should 
one  bastard  !  Take  heed,  the  quarrel's  most  omi- 
nous to  us  ;  if  the  son  of  a  whore  tight  for  awhore, 
he  tempts  judgment:  Farewell,  bastard. 

Mar.  The  devil  take  tliee,  coward  !        [Exeunt. 

'  Lying.         »  Provail  over.  i  Cue.         •  Burst. 


SCENE  lis..— A7iot  tier  Part  oftlie  Field 
Enter  Hector. 
Hect.  Most  putrefied  core,  so  I'air  without, 
Thy  goodly  armor  thus  hath  cost  thy  life. 
Now  is  my  day's  work  done  ;  I'll  take  good  breath: 
Rest,  sword  ;  thou  hast  thy  till  of  blood  and  death  ! 
[Puts  off  tiis  tielinet,  and  hangs  his  shield 
behind  him. 

Enter  Achilles  and  Myrmidons. 
Achit.  Look.  Hector,  how  the  sun  begins  to  set ; 
How  ugly  night  comes  breathing  at  his  heels : 
Even  with  the  vail  and  daik'ning  of  the  sun, 
To  close  the  day  up.  Hector's  lite  is  done. 
Hect.  I  am  unarm'd;  Ibrego  this  vantage,  Greek. 
Achit.  Strike,  fellows,  strike;  this  is  the   man 
I  seek.  [Hector  ^ii/is. 

So  Ilion,  fall  thou  next !  now,  Troy,  sink  down  ; 
Here  lies  thy  heart,  thy  sinews,  arid  thy  bone. — 
On,  Myrmidons;  and  cry  you  all  amain, 
Achilles  hath  the  /nighty  Hector  sictin  .' 

[-4  Retreat  sounded. 
Hark  !  a  retreat  upon  our  Grecian  part. 
Mi/r.  The  Trojan  trumpets  sound  the  like,  my 

lord. 
Achil.  The   dragon-wing  of  night   o'erspreads 
the  earth. 
And,  stickler'^  like,  the  armies  separate. 
My  half-supp'd  sword, tliat  tVankly'  would  have  fed, 
Piea^i'd  with  this  dainty  bit,  thus  goes  to  bed.— 

[  Sheathes  his  sword. 
Come,  tie  his  body  to  my  horse's  tail ; 
Along  the  held  I  will  the  Trojan  trail.      [Exeu7it. 

SCENE  X.— The  same. 
Enter    Agamemnon,   Aja-x,   Menelaus,   Nestor, 
DioMEDES,    and    otiiers,    marching.        Hhuuta 
within. 

Again.  Hark  !  hark  !  what  shout  is  that  1 

Af.v/.  Peace,  drums. 

[intliin.]  Achilles! 

Achilles!  Hector  s  slain  !  Achilles! 

Dio.   The     hruit^    is— Hector's    slain,    and    by 
Achilles. 

AJax.  If  it  be  so,  yet  bragless  let  it  be ; 
Great  Hector  was  as  good  a  man  as  he. 

Agam.  March  ]iaticiitly  aloikg:- let  one  be  sent 
To  pray  .\cliilles  see  us  at  our  tent. — 
If  in  his  deatii  the  gods  have  us  befriended. 
Great  Troy  is  ours,  and  our  .sharp  wars  are  ended. 
[Exeunt,  marching. 
SCENE  XL— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 
Enter  jEneas  and  Trojans. 

.Ene.  Stand, ho!  yet  are  we  masters  of  the  field: 
Never  go  home;  here  starve  we  out  the  night. 
Enter  Troilcs. 

Tro.  Hector  is  slain. 

Alt.        ^  Hector?— The  gods  forbid. 

Tro.  He  s  dead;  and  at  the  murderer's  horse's  tail. 
In   beastly  sort,  dragg'd    through    the  shameful 

field.— 
Frown  on,  you  heavens,  eflfect  your  rage  with  speed ! 
Sit.  gods,  upon  your  thrones,  and  smile  at  Troy  ? 
I  sav,  at  once  let  your  brief  plagues  be  mercy, 
And  linger  not  our  sure  destruction  on  ! 

.Ene.  My  lord,  you  do  discomfort  all  the  host. 

Tro.  You  understand  me  nol,  that  tell  me  so: 
I  do  not  speak  of  flight,  of  fear,  of  death  ; 
But  dare  all  imminence,  that  gods  and  men 
.\ddress  their  dangers  in.     Hector  is  gone  ! 
Who  shall  tell  Priam  so,  or  Hecuba  ? 
Let  him,  that  will  a  screech-owl  aye  be  call'd, 
Go  in  to  Troy,  and  say  there— Hector's  dead: 
There  is  a  word  will  i'riam  turn  to  stone; 
Make  wells  and  Niobcs  of  the  maids  and  wives, 
Cold  statues  oftlie  youth;  and,  in  a  word. 
Scare  Troy  out  of  itself    But,  march,  away; 
Hector  is  dead  ;  there  is  no  more  to  say. 
Stay  yet;— You  vile  abominable  tents. 
Thus  proudly  pight=  upon  our  Phrygian  plains. 
Let  Titan  rise  as  early  as  he  dare, 
I'll  through  and  through  you  .'—And  thou,  great 

siz  d  coward ! 
No  space  of  earth  shall  sunder  our  two  hates: 

»  An  arbitrator  at  athletic  games.        '  Fattening. 
"  Ko'se,  rumor.  s  pitcbod,  fixed. 


526 


TROILUS   AND   CRESSIDA. 


Act  V. 


I'll  haunt  thee  like  a  wicked  conscience  still. 
That  nioLildeth  goblins  swift  as  frenzy  thoughts. — 
Strike  a  tree  march  to  Troy  !— with  comfort  go  : 
Hope  of  revenge  shall  hide  our  inward  woe. 

[Exeunt  jExeas  and  Trojans. 

As  TuoiLus  is  going  out,   enter,  from  the  ot/ier 
side,  Pandari's. 
Pan.  But  hear  you,  hear  you  ! 
Tro.  Hence, broker  lackey  !  ignomy'andshame 
Pursue  thy  life,  and  live  aye  with  thy  name  ! 

[Exit  Troilus. 
Pan.  A  goodly  med'cine  for  my  aching  bones ! — 
O  world!  world!  world!  thus  is  tile  poor  agent 
despised  !  0  traitors  and  bawds-  how  earnestly  are 
you  set  a'worli.and  how  ill  requited  I  Why  should 
our  endeavor  be  so  loved,  and  Ihe  performance  so 
loathed  7  what  verse  for  it  7  what  instance  for  it  ?— 
Let  me  see : — 

*  Ignominy. 


Full  merrily  the  humble-bee  doth  sing. 
Till  he  hath  lost  his  honey,  and  his  sting: 
And  being  once  subdued  in  armed  tail, 
Sweet  honey  and  sweet  notes  together  ftiil. — 
Good  traders  in  the  llesh,  set  this  in  your  painted 
cloths.5 

As  many  as  be  here  of  panders'  hall. 
Your  eyes,  half  out,  weep  out  at  Pandar's  fall: 
Or,  if  you  cannot  weep,  yet  give  some  groans, 
Though  not  tor  me,  yet  for  your  aching  hones. 
Brctliren  and  sisters,  of  the  hold-door  trade, 
Some  two  months  hence  my  will  shall  here  be  made: 
It  should  be  now,  but  that  my  fear  is  this, — 
Some  galled  goose  of  Winchester  would  hiss : 
Till  then  I'll  sweat,  and  seek  about  for  eases; 
And,  at  that  time,  bequeath  you  ray  diseases. 

[ExU. 
*  Canvass  hangings  for  rooms,  painted  with  emblenu 
and  mottoes. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


TiMON,  a  noble  Athenian. 

Lucii's,  "I 

LucuLLCs,       >  Lords,  and  Flatterers  o/'Timon. 

SEMPROSI0S,   J 

Ventidius,  one  nfTimon'sfalse  Friends. 

Apemanti's,  a  churlis/i  Ptulosopher. 

Alcibiades,  an  Athenian  General. 

Flavu'S,  Steward  to  Tinion. 

Flaminr-s, 

LuciLius,      [•Timon'.s  Servants. 

Servilius, 

Caphis, 

Philotus, 

Titus, 

Lucius, 

horte.ssics, 


>  Servants  iu  Timon's  Creditors. 


Tirn  Serr'aiitfi  of  Varro. 

Tfie  Scrr/trit  f^' Isidore. 

Tico  (i/Tniion's  Creditors. 

Cupid  awl  Maskers. 

Three  Strangers. 

Poet. 

Painter. 

Jeweller. 

Mercliant. 

An  old  Athenian. 

A  Page.    A  Foul. 


Phkyma, 

TiMANDRA, 


Mistresses  to  Alcibiades. 


Other  Lords,  Senators,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Thietei, 
and  Attendants. 


SCENE,  Athens,  and  the  Woods  a<{joining 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I.— Athens.     A   Uiill  in  Timon's  House. 

Enter  Poet,  Painter.  Jeweller,  Mercliant,  and 
others.,  at  several  duors. 

Poet.  Good-day,  sir. 

Pain.  I  am  glad  you  are  well. 

Pott.  I  have  not  seen  you  long ;  How  goes  the 
world  1 

Pain.  It  wears,  sir,  as  it  grows. 

Poet.  Ay,  that's  well  known  : 

But  what  particular  rarity?  what  strange. 
Which  manifold  record  not  matches  1     See, 
Magic  of  bounty  !     All  these  spirits  thy  power 
Halh  conjiir'd  to  attend.    I  know  the  merchant. 

Pain.  I  know  them  both  ;  t'other's  a  jeweller. 

Mer.  0,  'tis  a  worthy  lord  ! 

Jew.  Nay,  that's  most  fix'd. 

Mer.  A  most  incomparable  "man;  breath'd,'  as 
it  were. 
To  an  untirable  and  contin  iate2  goodness  : 
He  passes.3 

Je}v.         I  have  a  jewel  here. 

Mer.  O,  pray,  let's  see't:  For  the  lord  Timon,  sir? 

Jew.  If  he  w'ill  touch  the  estimate ;  But,  for  that — 

Poet,  When  we  for  recompense  have  prais'd  the 
vUe, 
It  stains  the  glory  in  that  happy  verse 
Which  aptly  sings  the  good. 

Mtr.  'Tis  a  good  form, 

[Looking  at  th^  Jewel. 

Jew.  And  rich:  here  is  a  water,  look  you. 

Pain.  You  are  rapt,  sir,  in  some  work,  some  de- 
dication 
To  the  great  lord. 

Poet.  A  thing  slipp'd  idly  from  me. 

Our  poesy  is  as  a  gum,  which  oozes 
From  whence  'tis  nourished :  the  tire  i'  the  flint 
Shows  not  till  it  be  struck;  our  gentle  flame 

»  Inured  by  constant  practice.  *  Continual. 

3  i.e.  Kxceedfl,  goes  beyond  common  boxmds. 


Provokes  itHclf,  and,  like  the  current,  flies 
Each  bound  it  chafes.    What  have  you  there  ? 

Pain.  A   picture,  sir. — And  when  comes  your 
book  forth  1 

Poet.  Upon  the  heels  of  my  presentment,^  sir. 
Let's  see  your  piece. 

Pain.  *Tis  a  good  piece. 

poet.  So  'lis  :  this  comes  off  well  and  excellent. 

Pain.  Inditfcrcnt. 

Poet.  Admirable:  How  this  grace 

Speaks  his  own  standing !  what  a  mental  pow-er 
This  eye  shoots  Ibrth  !  how  big  imagination 
Moves  in  this  lip  !   to  the  dumbness  of  tlie  gesture 
One  might  interpret. 

Pain.  It  is  a  pretty  mocking  of  the  life. 
Here  is  a  touch  ;  Is't  good  I 

Poet.  I'll  say  of  it, 

It  tutors  nature  :  artificial  strife^ 
Lives  in  these  touches,  livelier  than  life. 

Enter  certain  Senators,  and  pass  over. 

Pain.  How  this  lord's  follow'd  ! 

Poet.  The  senators  of  Athens  :  Happy  men  ! 

Pain.  Look,  more ! 

Poet.  You  see  this  confluence,  this  great  flood 
of  visitors. 
I  have,  in  this  rough  work,  shaped  out  a  man. 
Whom  this  beneath  world  doth  embrace  and  hug 
With  amph'st  entertainment :  My  free  drift 
Halts  not  particularly,*^  but  moves  itself 
In  a  wide  sea  of  wax:  no  levelled  malice 
Infects  one  comma  in  the  course  I  hold  ; 
But  flies  an  eagle  flight,  bold,  and  forth  on, 
Leaving  no  track  bcliind. 

Pain.  How  shall  I  understand  you  1 

Poet.  I'll  unbolt  to  you. 

you  see  how  all  conditions,  how  all  minds, 

«  As  soon  as  my  book  has  been  presented  to  Timon. 

•  i.e.  The  cont*;st  of  art  with  nature. 

•  My  design  does  not  stop  at  any  particular  character. 

627 


528 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  I. 


(As  well  of  glib  and  slippery  creatures,  as 
Of  grave  and  austere  quality,)  tender  down 
Tlieir  services  to  lord  Tiraon :  his  large  Ibrtune, 
Upon  his  good  and  gracious  nature  hanging. 
Subdues  and  properties  to  his  love  and  tendance 
Allsorts  ofhearts ;  yea,  from  the  glass-facedflattercr' 
To  Aperaantus,  that  few  things  loves  better 
Than  to  abhor  himself;  even  he  drops  down 
The  knee  before  him,  and  returns  in  peace 
Most  rich  in  Timon's  nod. 

Pain.  I  saw  them  speak  together. 

Poet.  Sir,  I  have  upon  a  high  and  pleasant  hill, 
Feign'd  Fortune  to  be  thron'd :  The  base  o'the  mount 
Is  rank'd  with  all  deserts,  all  kind  of  natures, 
That  labor  on  the  bosom  of  this  sphere 
To  propagate  their  states  :8  amongst  them  all, 
Whose  eyes  are  on  this  sovereign  lady  fixed, 
One  do  I  personate  of  lord  Timon's  frame. 
Whom  Fortune  with  her  ivory  hand  wafts  to  her; 
Whose  present  grace  to  present  slaves  and  servants 
Translates  his  rivals. 

Pain.  'Tis  conceiv'd  to  scope. 

This  throne,  this  Fortune,  and  this  hill,  methinks, 
With  one  man  beckon'd  from  the  rest  below, 
Bowing  his  head  against  the  steepy  mount        _ 
To  climb  his  happiness,  would  be  well  express  d 
In  our  condition. 

Puef.  Nay,  sir,  but  hear  me  on  : 

All  those  which  were  his  fellows  but  of  late, 
(Some  better  than  his  value,)  on  the  moment 
Follow  his  strides,  his  lobbies  Kll  with  tendance, 
Kain  sacrificial  whisperings  in  his  ear, 
Make  sacred  even  his  stirrup,  and  through  him 
Drink  the  free  air. 

Pain.  Ay,  marry,  what  of  these  7 

Puet.  When  Fortune,  in  Iier  shift  and  change  of 
mood, 
Spurns  down  her  late  belov'd,  all  his  dependants. 
Which  labor'd  after  him  to  the  mountain's  top. 
Even  on  their  knees  and  hands,  let  him  slip  down. 
Not  one  accompanying  his  declining  foot. 

Pain.  Tis  common: 
A  thousand  moral  paintings  I  can  show. 
That  shall  demonstrate  these  quick  blows  of  fortune 
More  pregnantly  than  words.    Yet  you  do  well. 
To  show  lord  Tinion  that  mean  eyes  have  seen 
The  foot  above  the  head. 

Trumpets  sound.     Enter  Timox,   attended;    the 
Servant  0/ Ventiuius  talking  ivitli  him. 

Tim.  Imprison'd  is  he,  say  you  ? 

Ven.  Serv.  Ay,  my  good  lord:  five  talents  is  his 
debt; 
His  means  most  short,  his  creditors  most  strait: 
Your  honorable  letter  he  desires 
To  tliose  have  shut  him  up;  which,  failing  to  him. 
Periods  his  comfort. 

Tim.  Noble  Ventidius!    Well; 

I  am  not  of  that  feather,  to  shake  oft' 
My  friend  when  he  must  need  me.    I  do  know  him 
A  gentleman,  that  well  deserves  a  help. 
Which  he  shall  have:  I'll  pay  the  debt, and  tree  him. 

Ven.  Serv.  Your  lordship  ever  binds  him. 

Tim.  Commend   me   to  him:    I   will  send  his 
ransom ; 
And,  being  enfranehis'd,  bid  him  come  to  me: 
'Tis  not  enough  to  help  the  feeble  up. 
But  to  support  him  arter.— Fare  you  well. 

Ven.  Serv.  All  happiness  to  your  honor  !     [Exit. 

Enter  an  old  Athenian. 
Old  Ath.  Lord  Timon,  hear  me  speak. 
Tim.  Freely,  good  father. 

Old  Ath.  Thou  hast  a  servant  named  Lucilius. 
Tim.  I  have  so:  What  of  him  ? 
Old  Ath.  Most  noble  Timon,  call  the  man  before 

thee. 
Tim.  Attends  he  here,  or  no  ?— Lucilius! 

Enter  LcciLius. 
Luc.  Here,  at  your  lordship's  service. 
Old  Ath.  This  fellow  here,  lord  Tiraon,  this  thy 
creature. 
By  night  fi-equents  my  house.    I  am  a  man 
That  from  my  first  have  been  inclin'd  to  thrift; 
And  my  estate  deserves  an  heir  more  rais'd. 
Than  one  which  holds  a  trencher. 

1  One  who  shows  by  rplleclion  the  looks  of  bis  patron. 
•  Xo  aijvance  their  conditions  of  life. 


Tim.  Well ;  what  further  ? 

Old  Ath.  One  only  daughter  have  I,  no  kin  else 
On  whom  I  may  confer  what  I  have  got: 
Tiie  maid  is  fair,  o'  the  youngest  for  a  bride, 
And  I  have  bred  her  at  my  dearest  cost. 
In  qualities  of  the  best.    This  man  of  thine 
Attempts  her  love  :  I  pr'ythee,  noble  lord. 
Join  with  me  to  forbid  him  her  resort ; 
Myself  have  spoke  in  vain. 

Tim.  The  man  is  honest. 

Old  Ath.  Therefore  he  will  be,  Tinion  : 
His  honesty  rewards  him  in  itself. 
It  must  not  bear  my  daughter. 
Tim.  Does  she  love  him  ! 

Old  Ath.  She  is  young  and  apt : 
Our  own  precedent  passions  do  instruct  us 
What  levity's  in  youth. 
Tim.  [To  LcciLics.]  Love  you  the  maid] 
Lite.  Ay,  my  good  lord,  and  she  accepts  of  it. 
Old  Ath.  If  in    her    marriage    my  consent    be 
missing, 
I  call  the  gods  to  witness,  I  will  choose 
Mine  heir  from  forth  the  beggars  of  the  world, 
And  dispossess  her  all.  , 

Tim.  How  shall  she  be  endow  d, 

If  she  be  mated  with  an  equal  husband  1 
Old  Ath.  Three    talents,  on  the  present;  in  fu- 
ture, all ; 
Tim.  This  gentleman  of  mine  hath  serv  d  me 
long ; 
To  build  his  fortune,  I  will  strain  a  little. 
For  'tis  a  bond  in  men.    Give  him  Illy  daughter: 
What  you  bestow,  in  him  I'll  counterpoise. 
And  make  him  weigh  with  her. 

Old  Ath.  Most  noble  lord, 

Pawn  me  to  this  your  honor,  she  is  his. 

Tim.  My  hand  to  thee ;  mine  honor  on  my  pro- 
mise. 
Lue.  Humbly  I  thank  your  tordship  ;  Never  may 
That  state  or  fortune  fall  into  my  keeping. 
Which  is  not  ow'd  to  you  ! 

[Exeunt  LlcILirs  and  old  Athenian. 
Poet.  Vouchsafe  my  labor,  and  long  live  your 

lordship  ! 
Tim.  I  thank  you;  you  shall  hear  from  me  anon: 
Go  not  away.— What  have  you  there,  my  friend] 
Pain.  A  piece  of  painting,  which  I  do  beseech 
Your  lordship  to  accept. 

Tim.  Painting  is  welcome. 

The  painting  is  almost  the  natural  man; 
For  since  dishonor  traflics  with  man's  nature, 
He  is  hut  outside  :  These  pencil'd  figures  are 
Even  such  as  they  give  out.    I  like  your  work  ; 
And  you  shall  hnd,  I  like  it:  wait  attendance 
Till  vou  hear  further  from  me. 
Pain.  The  gods  preserve  you  ! 

Tim.  Well  fare  you,  gentlemen  :— Give  nie  your 
hand : 
We  must  needs  dine  together.— Sir,  your  jewel 
Hath  sufl'er'd  under  praise.  " 

Jew.  What,  my  lord?  dispraise  ! 

Tim.  A  mere  satiety  of  commendations. 
If  I  should  pay  you  for't  as  'tis  extoU'd, 
It  would  unclewS  nie  quite. 

Jew.  My  lord,  tis  rated 

As  those,whichscll,would  give:  But  you  well  know, 
Things  of  like  value,  dilli?ring  in  the  owners. 
Are  prized  by  their  masters  ;  believe't,  dear  lord, 
Y'ou  mend  the  jewel  by  wearing  it. 

Tim.  Well  mock  d. 

l\!er.  No,  my  good  lord  ;  he  speaks  the  common 
tongue. 
Which  all  men  speak  with  him. 
Tim.  Look,  who  comes  here?    Will  you  be  chid? 

Enter  Apemastcs. 
Jew.  We  will  bear  with  your  lordship. 
jV/e/-,  He'll  spare  none. 

Tim.  Good  morrow  to  thee,  gentle  Apcmantus  ! 
Ajiem.  Till  I  be  gentle,  stay  lor  thy  good  mor- 
row; 
When  thou  art  Timon's  dog,  and  these  knaves 
honest. 
Tim.  Why  dost  thou  call  them  knaves!   thou 

know'st  them  not. 
Apem.  Are  they  not  Athenians  1 
Tim.  Yes. 

Ajiem.  Then  I  lepentnot. 
•  Kuin. 


Scene  II. 


TIMON  OF  ATH?:NS. 


529 


Jew.  Ynu  know  me,  Apemantus. 

Apein.  Tliou  liiiow'st  I  do ;  I  call'd  thee  by  thy 
name. 

Tim.  Thou  art  proud,  Apeinantus. 

Apem.  Of  nothing  so  mucli,  as  that  I  am  not 
like  Timon. 

Tim.  Whither  art  going  7 

Apent.  To  knock  outan  honest  Athenian  s  brains. 

Tim.  Tliafs  a  deed  thou'it  die  for. 

Apem.  Right,  if  doing  nothing  be  death  by  the 
law. 

Tim.  How  lik'st  thou  this  picture,  Apemantus  ! 

Apem.  The  best,  for  the  innocence. 

Tim.  Wrought  he  not  well  that  painted  it  1 

Apem.  He  wrought  better  that  made  the  painter; 
and  yet  he's  but  a  filthy  piece  of  work. 

Pain.  You  arc  a  dog.  _ 

Apem.  Thy  mother's  of  my  generation  :  What  s 
she,  if  1  be  a  dog  ! 

Tim.  Wilt  dine  with  me,  Apemantus? 

Apem.  No  ;  1  eat  not  lords. 

Tim.  An  tliou  should'st,  thou'dst  anger  ladies. 

Apem.  0,  tlicy  eat  lords;  so  they  come  by  great 
beUies. 

Tim.  That's  a  lascivious  apprehension. 

Apem.  So  thou  apprchend'st  it ;  Take  it  for  thy 
labor. 

Tim.  How  dost  thou  like  this  jewel,  Apemantus  1 

Apem.  Not  so  well  as  plain  dealing,'  which  will 
not  cost  a  man  a  doit. 

Tim.  What  dost  thou  think  'tis  worth  1 

Apem.  Notworth  my  thinking. — Hownow,poet? 

Poet.  How  now,  philosopher  ! 

Apem.  Thou  best. 

Puef.  Art  not  one  ? 

Apem,  Yes. 

Poet.  Tlien  I  lie  not. 

Apem.  Art  not  a  poet? 

Poet.  Yes. 

Apem.  Then  thou  liest:  look  in  thy  last  work, 
where  thou  hast  ll'ign'd  him  a  worthy  fellow. 

Poet.  That's  not  leigii'd,  he  is  so. 

Apem.  Yes,  he  is  worthy  of  thee,  and  to  pay  thee 
for  thy  labor:  He  that  loves  to  be  tlatlercd,  is  worthy 
o'  the  tiattercr.    Heavens,  that  I  were  a  lord ! 

Tim.  What  wouldst  do  then,  Apemantus? 

Apem.  Even  as  Apeinantus  does  now,  hate  a 
lord  with  my  heart. 

Tim.  What,  thyself? 

Apem.  Ay. 

Tijii.  Wlierefore  ? 

Apem.  That  I  had  no  angry  wit  to  be  a  lord. — 
Art  not  thou  a  merehaut? 

Jl/fr.  Ay,  Apemantus. 

Apem.  TraHic  confound  thee,  if  the  gods  will 
not! 

Mer.  If  traffic  do  it,  the  gods  do  it. 

Apem.  Traffic's  thy  god,  and  thy  god  confound 
thee! 
Trumpets  sound.     Enter  a  Servant. 

Tii7i.  What  trumpet's  that  ? 

t<err.  'Tis  Alcibiades,  and 

Some  twenty  horse,  all  of  companionship. 

Tim.  Pray,  entertain  them;  give  them  guide  to 

us.—  [Kxeunt  some  Aiiendanls. 

Y'ou  must  needs  dine  with  me: — Go  not  you  hence. 

Till  I  have  thaiik'd  you;  and  when  dinner's  done. 

Show  me  this  piece. — I  am  joyful  of  your  sights. — 

Enter  Alcibiades,  with  Ats  Company. 
Most  welcome,  sir !  [T/iey  salute. 

Apem.  So,  so  ;  there ! — 

Aches  contract  and  starve  your  supple  joints  ! — 
Thatthere  should  be  small  love  'mongst  these  sweet 

knaves. 
And  all  this  court'sy !  The  strain  of  man's  bred  out 
Into  baboon  and  monkey. 

Aleib.  Sir,  you  have  sav'd  my  longing,  and  I  feed 
Most  hungrily  on  your  sight. 

Tim.  Right  welcome,  sir; 

Ere  we  depart,  we'll  share  a  bounteous  lime 
In  ditlerent  pleasures.     Pray  you,  let  us  in. 

{E.eeunt  ail  but  Apemantus. 

Enter  two  Lords. 
1  Lord.  What  time  a  day  is't,  Apemantus  ? 
Apem.  Time  to  be  honest. 

*  Alludin;^  to  the  proverb  :  Plain  dealing  is  a  jewel,  but 
they  wlio  use  it  beggars. 

34 


1  Lord.  That  time  serves  still. 

Apem.  The  most  accursed  thou,  that  still  omit'st 
it. 

2  Lord.  Thoii  art  going  to  lord  Timon's  feast. 
Apem.  Ay;  to  see  meat  fill  knaves,  and  wine 

licat  fools. 
2  Lord.  Fare  thee  well,  fare  thee  well. 
Apem.  Thou  art  a  fool,  to  bid  me  farewell  twice. 
2  Lord.  Why,  Apemantus  ! 
Apem.  Shouldst  have  kept  one  to  thyself,  for  I 
mean  to  give  thee  none. 

1  Lfjrd.  Hang  thyself. 

Apem.  No,  I   will  do  nothing  at  thy  bidding; 
make  thy  requests  to  thy  friend. 

2  Lfjrd.  Away,  unpeaceable   dog,  or  I'll  spurn 
thee  hence. 

Apem.  1  will  fly,  like  a  dog,  the  heels  of  the  ass. 

[Exit. 

1  Lord.  He*s  opposite  to  humanity.    Come, shall 

we  in, 
And  taste  lord  Timon's  bounty  1  he  outgoes 
The  very  heart  of  kindness. 

2  Lord.  He  pours  it  out ;  Plutus  the  god  of  gold 
Is  but  his  steward:  no  meed,2  but  he  repays 
Sevenfold  above  itself;  no  gill  to  him. 

But  breeds  the  giver  a  return  exceeding 
AH  use  of  quittance.3 

1  Urrd.  The  noblest  mind  he  carries, 
That  ever  govern 'd  man. 

2  Lord.  Long  may  he  live  in  fortunes!    Shall 

vre  i  n  ! 
1  Lord.  I'll  keep  you  company.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE   II.— .4  Rfxjm  of  State  in  Timon's  House. 

Hautboys  playing  loud  Music.  A  great  Banquet 
served  in  ;  h'Lw lis  and  others  attending i  then 
enter  Timun,  Alciliades,  Licit  s,  Luclllis, 
Semi'Roxils,  and  oifier  Athenian  Senators^  wiik 
Vestidils,  ««rf  Attendants.  Tfien  annes^  drojh- 
ping  after  alt,  Apkjiasti's,  disconterdedLij. 

Ven.  Most  honor'd  Timon,  't  hath  pleas'd  the 
gods  remember 
My  fatiier's  age,  and  call  him  to  long  peace. 
He  is  gone  liappy,  and  lias  lell  me  nch  : 
Then,  as  in  gnilulul  virtue  1  am  bound 
To  your  tree  heart,  I  do  return  those  talents. 
Doubled  with  tiianks,  and  service,  irom  wJiosehelp 
1  deriv'd  liberty. 

Tun.  O,  by  no  means. 

Honest  Vcntidius  :  you  mistake  my  love ; 
I  gave  it  freely  ever;  and  there's  none 
Can  truly  say,  lie  gives,  if  he  receives: 
If  our  betters  play  at  that  game,  we  must  not  dare 
To  imitate  them  ;  Faults  that  are  ricli,  are  lair. 

Ven.  A  noble  spirit. 
[They  all  stand  ceremoniously  looking  on  Timon. 

Tim.  Nay,  my  lords,  ceremony 

Was  but  devis'd  at  first,  to  set  a  gloss 
On  faint  deeds,  hullow  welcomes, 
Hecauting  goodness,  sorry  ere  'tis  shown  ; 
But  where  there  is  true  friendsiiip,  there  needs 

none. 
Pray  sit;  more  welcome  are  ye  to  my  fortunes. 
Than  my  fortunes  to  me.  [They  sit. 

1  Lord.  My  lord,  we  always  have  confesseil  it. 

Apem.  Ho,  ho,  confess'd  it  ]  hang'd  it,  iiave  you 
not? 

Tim.  O,  Apemantus ! — you  are  welcome.. 

Apem.  No, 

You  shall  not  make  me  welcome; 
I  come  to  have  lliee  thrust  me  out  of  doors. 

Tim.  Fye,  thou  art  a  churl;  you  have  got  a 
humor  tJiere 
Does  not  becunie  a  man,  'tis  much  to  blame  : 
They  say,  my  lords,  that  ira furor  trevis  es/,^ 
But  yond'  man's  ever  angry. 
Go,  let  him  have  a  table  by  himself; 
For  he  does  neither  allect  company, 
Nor  is  he  fit  lor  it,  indeed. 

Apem.  Let  me  stay  at  thine  own  peril,  Timon  ; 
I  come  to  observe;  I  give  thee  warning  ou't. 

Tim.  I  take  no  heed  of  thee;  thou  art  an  Athe- 
nian; therelbre  welcome  :  I  myself  would  have  no* 
power:  pr'ythee,  let  my  meat  make  thee  silent. 

Apem.  I  scorn  thy  meat ;  'twould  choke  me,  for 
I  should 

a  Meed  here  means  desoit. 

«  i.e.  All  the  customary  returns  made  in  discharge  of 
obligations.  *  Anger  is  a  short  madness. 


530 


TIMON   OF  ATHENS. 


Act  I.  Scene  II. 


Ne'er  flatter  thee. — 0  you  gods  !  what  a  number 
Of  men  eat  Timon,  and  he  sees  them  not ! 
It  fjrieves  me  to  sec  so  many  dip  their  meat 
In  one  man's  ?jlood ;  and  all  the  madness  is, 
He  cheers  them  up  too.^ 

I  wonder  men  dare  trust  themselves  with  men  : 
Methinks  they  should  invite  them  without  knives  ; 
Good  for  their  meat,  and  safer  for  their  lives. 
There's  much  example  fort;  the  fellow,  that 
Sits  next  him  now.parts  bread  with  liim.and  pledges 
The  breath  of  him  in  a  divided  draught, 
Is  the  readiest  man  to  kill  him :  it  has  been  prov'd. 
If  I 

Were  a  huge  man,  I  should  fear  to  drink  at  meals ; 
Lest  theyshouldspy  my  windpipe's  dangerous  notes: 
Great  men  should  drink  with  haniess6  on  their 
throats. 

Tim.  My  lord,  in  heart ;'  and  let  the  health  go 
round. 

2  Lord.  Let  it  flow  this  way,  my  good  lord. 

Apem.  Flow  this  way  ! 

A  brave  fellow  I — he  keeps  his  tides  well.    Timon, 
Tliose  healths  wi  II  make  thee,  and  thy  state,  look  ill. 
Here's  that  which  is  too  weak  to  be  a  sinner, 
Honest  water,  which  ne'er  left  man  i'  tlie  mire: 
Tins,  and  my  food,  are  equals  ;  there's  no  odds. 
Feasts  are  loo  proud  to  give  thanks  to  the  gods. 

Apema.ntus's  Grace. 

Immortal  gods,  I  crave  no  pelf; 
I  pray  fur  no  man  but  myself: 
Grant  I  may  never  prove  sofond,^ 
To  trust  man  on  tiis  oath  or  bond; 
Or  a  ftarlotfi/r  tier  weeping ; 
Or  a  dog  ttiat  seems  a-steeping  ; 
Or  a  keeper  wilfi  my  freedom  ; 
Or  my  friends,  if  I  sliuuld  need  'em. 
Amen.    Ho  Jail  to't ; 
Rich  men  sin,  and  I  eat  root. 

[Eats  and  drinks. 

Much  good  dich  thy  good  heart,  Apemantus  ! 

Tim.  Captain  Alcibiades,  your  heart's  in  the  field 
now. 

Alcib.  My  heart  is  ever  at  your  service, niy  lord. 

Tim.  You  had  rather  be  at  a  breakfast  of  ene- 
mies, than  a  dinner  of  friends. 

Alci'i.  So  they  were  bleeding-new,  my  lord, 
there's  no  meat  like  them ;  I  could  wish  my  best 
friend  at  such  a  least. 

Apem.  'Would  all  those  flatterers  were  thine 
enemies  then  ;  and  then  thou  might'stkill  'em,  and 
bid  me  to  'em. 

1  Lord.  Might  we  but  have  that  happiness,  my 
lord,  that  you  would  once  use  our  hearts,  whereby 
we  might  express  some  part  of  our  zeals,  we  should 
think  ourselves  for  ever  perfect. 

7'im.  O,  no  doubt,  my  good  friends, but  the  gods 
themselves  have  provided  that  I  shall  have  much 
111  Ip  from  you :  How  had  you  been  my  friends  else  ? 
why  have  you  that  charitable  title  from  thousands, 
did  you  not  chiclly  belong  to  my  iieart  '.  I  have  told 
more  of  you  to  myself,  than  you  can  with  modesty 
speak  in  your  own  behalf;  and  thus  fiir  I  confirm 
you.  0,  you  gods,  think  I,  what  need  we  have  any 
friends,if  we  should  never  have  need  of  them  1 
they  were  the  most  needless  creatures  living,should 
we  ne'er  have  use  for  them ;  and  would  most  re- 
semble sweet  instruments  hung  up  in  cases,  that 
keep  their  sounds  to  themselves.  Why,  I  have 
orten  wished  myself  poorer,  that  I  might  come 
nearer  to  you.  Wo  are  horn  to  do  benefits  :  and 
what  better  or  propercr  can  we  call  our  own  than 
the  riches  of  our  friends!  0,  what  a  precious 
cnmtbrt  'tis,  to  have  so  many,  like  brothers,  com- 
manding one  another's  fortunes  !  O  joy,  e'en  made 
away  ere  it  can  be  born  !  Mine  eyes  cannot  hold 
out  water,  methinks :  to  forget  their  faults,  I  drink 
to  you. 

Apem.  Thou  weepest  to  make  them  drink,  Timon. 

2  Lord.  Joy  h,id  the  like  conception  in  our  eyes, 
And,  at  that  insunt,  like  a  babe  sprung  up. 

Apem.  Ho,  ho  '.  I   laugh   to   think   that   babe  a 
bastard. 

•  Ttie  allusion  Is  to  a  park  of  hounds  trained  to  pursuit, 
tiy  lii-injr  gralilii'd  iiith  th.-  blood  of  an  animal  which  fhL-y 
kill:  and  tha  wonder  is,  that  the  animal,  on  which  they 
are  foedinj;,  cliycrs  tbt^m  to  the  chase. 

«  Armor.  i  With  sincerity.  >  Foolish. 


3  Lord.  I  promise  you,  my  lord,  you  mov'd  me 
much. 

Apem.  Much'.s  [Tucket  sounded. 

Tim.  What  means  that  trump  T— How  now  ? 
Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  Please  you,  my  lord,  there  are  certain  ladies 
most  desirous  of  admittance. 

Tim.  Ladies  1  what  are  their  wills  1 

Serv.  There  comes  with  them  a  forerunner,  my 
lord.which  bears  that  otHce,tosignify  their  pleasures. 

Tim.  I  pray,  let  them  be  admitted. 

Enter  Cupid. 
Cup.  Hail  to  thee,  worthy  Timon;— and  to  all 
Thai  of  his  bounties  taste  !— The  five  best  senses 
Acknowledge  thee  their  patron;  and  come  freely 
To  gratulate  thy  plenteous  bosom  :  The  ear. 
Taste,  touch,  smell,  all  pleas'd  from  thy  table  rise; 
They  only  now  come  but  to  feast  thine  eyes. 
Tim.  They  are  welcome  all ;  let  them  have  kind 
admittance  : 
Music,  make  their  welcome.  [Exit  Cri'iD. 

1  Lord.  You  see,  my  lord,  how  ample  you  are 
belov  d. 

Mu.nc.  Re-enter  Ccpid,  zvifh  a  Masque  of  Ladies 
as  Amazons,  with  Lutes  in  their  Hands,  dancing, 
and  playing. 

Apem.  Hey  day,  what  a  sweep  of  vanity  comes 
this  way  ! 
They  dance  !  they  arc  mad  women. 
Like  madness  is  the  glory  of  this  life. 
As  this  pomp  shows  to  a  little  oil,  and  root. 
We  make  ourselves  fools,  to  disport  ourselves; 
And  spend  our  flatteries,  to  drink  those  men. 
Upon  whose  age  we  void  it  up  again. 
With  poisonous  spite,  and  envy.  Who  lives,  that's 

not 
Depraved,  or  depraves?  who"dies,  that  bears 
Not  one  spurn  to  their  graves  of  their  friends'  gifti 
I  .should  tear,  those,  that  dance  before  me  now. 
Would  one  day  stamp  upon  me:  It  has  been  done; 
Men  shut  their  doors  against  a  setting  sun. 

The  Lords  rise  from  Table  with  murl,  adoring  of 

Timon;  and  to shrno  their  Litres,  ii/c/i  singles  out 

an  Amazon,  and  all  dance.  Men  untli  ll'umen,a 

lofty  Strain  or  two  to  the  Haulhuys,  and  cease. 

Tim.  You  have  done  our  pleasures  much  grace, 
fair  ladies, 
Set  a  fair  fashion  on  9ur  entertainment, 
Which  was  not  half  so  beautiful  and  kind; 
You  have  added  worth  unto't,  and  lively  lustre. 
And  entertain'd  me  with  mine  own  device ; 
I  am  to  thank  you  for  it. 

1  Lady.  My  lord,  you  take  us  even  at  the  best. 

Apem.  Faith,  lor  the  worst  is  filthy ;  and  would 
not  liold  taking,  I  doubt  me. 

Tim.  Ladies,  there  is  an  idle  banquet 
Attends  you  :  Please  you  to  dispose  yourselves. 

Alt  Lad.  Most  thankfully,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  Cci'iD,  onrf  Ladies. 

Tim.  Flavins, 

Flav.  My  lord. 

Tim.  The  little  casket  bring  me  hither. 

tlav.  Yes,  my  lord.— More  jewels  yet ! 
There  is  no  crossing  him  in  his  humor;       [  i.tide. 
Else  I  should  tell  him.— Well,— i'faith,  I  should. 
When  all  s  spent,  he'd  be  cross'd'  then,  an  he  could. 
Tis  pity,  bounty  had  not  eyes  behind  ; 
That  man  might  ne'er  be  wretched  lor  his  mind.- 
[Exit,  and  returns  with  the  Casket. 

1  Lord.  Where  be  our  men? 

Serv.  Here,  my  lord,  in  readiness. 

2  L(n-d.  Our  horses. 

Tim.  O  my  friends,  I  have  one  wont 

To  say  to  you  :— Look  you,  my  good  lord,  I  must 
Entreat  you.  honor  me  so  much,  as  to 
Advance  this  jewel; 
Accept,  and  wear  it,  kind  my  lord. 

1  Lord.  I  am  so  far  already  in  your  gifts, — 

Ail.  So  are  we  all. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Sfni.Mylord.therearecertainnoblesof  the  senate 
Newly  alighted,  and  come  to  visit  you. 

»  Much,  was  formerly  an  expression  of  contemptuous 
admiration. 

>  Shakspearo  plays  on  the  word  crossed^  alluding  tc 
the  piece  of  silver  money  called  a  cross. 

"  For  his  nobleness  of  soul. 


Act  n.  Scene  I. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


531 


Tim.  They  are  fairly  welcome. 
ytav.  I  beseech  your  honor, 

Vouchsafe  nie  a  word  ;  it  does  concern  you  near. 

Tim.  Near  \  «  h  v  then  another  time  I'll  hear  thee : 
I  pr'y  thee,  let  us  "be  provided 
To  show  them  entertainment. 
FUu\  I  scarce  know  how. 

{Aside. 
Enter  another  Servant. 

2  SeiT.  May  it  pleaseyourhonor,  the  lord  Lucius, 
Out  of  his  free  love,  hath  presented  to  you 

Four  milk-white  horses,  trapp'd  in  silver. 
Tim.  1  shall  accept  them  lairly :  let  the  presents 
Enter  a  tliird  Servant. 
Be  worthily  cntertain'd. — How  now.  what  news  1 

3  tierv.  Please  you,  my  lord,  that  honorable 
gentleman,  lord  Luculhis,  entreats  your  company 
to-morrow  to  hunt  with  him;  and  has  sent  your 
honor  two  brace  of  greyhounds. 

Tim.  I'll    hunt   with   him;    And  let  them   be 
receiv'd. 
Not  without  fair  reward. 

Flov.  {Aside.']  What  will  this  come  to'! 

He  commands  us  to  provide,  and  give  great  gifts, 
And  all  out  of  an  empty  cotter. — 
Nor  will  he  know  his  purse;  or  yield  me  this, 
To  show  him  what  a  beggar  his  heart  is. 
Being  of  no  power  to  make  his  wishes  good  ; 
His  promises  fly  so  beyond  his  state. 
That  wliat  he  speaks  i.s  all  in  debt,  he  owes 
For  every  word  ;  he  is  so  kmd,  that  he  now 
Pays  interest  for'l;  his  land's  put  to  their  books. 
Well,  'would  I  were  gently  put  out  of  office, 
Before  I  were  forc'd  out! 
Happier  is  he  that  has  no  friend  to  feed, 
Than  such  as  do  even  enemies  exceed. 
I  bleed  inwardly  for  my  lord.  \ExU. 

Tim.  You  do  yourselves 

Much  wrong, you  batetoo  muchofyourown  merits: 
Here,  my  lord,  a  trille  of  our  love. 

2  Lord.  With  more  than  common  thanks  I  will 

receive  it. 

3  Lord.  0.  he  is  the  very  soul  of  bounty  ! 

Tim.  And  now  I  remember  me,  my  lord, you  gave 
Good  words  the  other  day  of  a  bay  courser 
I  rode  on :  it  is  yours,  because  you  liked  it. 

2  Lord.  I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  my  lord,  in 
tiiat. 


Tim.  You  may  take  my  word,  my  lord ;  1  know, 
no  man 
Can  justly  praise,  but  what  he  does  affect: 
I  weigh  niy  friend's  alli^ction  with  mine  own : 
I'll  tell  you  true.    I'll  call  on  you. 

A  LI  Lfirds.  None  so  welcome. 

Tim.  I  take  all  and  your  several  visitations 
So  kind  to  heart,  'tis  not  enough  to  give  ; 
Methinks,  I  could  deal  kingdoms  to  my  triends, 
And  ne'er  be  weary. — Alcibiadcs, 
Thou  art  a  soldier,  therefore  seldom  rich. 
It  comes  in  charity  to  thee  :  for  all  thy  living 
Is  'mongst  the  dead  ;  and  all  the  lands  thou  hast 
Lie  in  a  pitch'd  field. 

Alcib.  Ay,  defiled  land,  my  lord. 

1  Lord.  We  are  so  virtuously  bound, 

Tim.  And  so 

Am  I  to  you. 

2  Lord.  So  infinitely  cndear'd, 

Tim.  All  to  you.^— Lights,  more  lights. 

1  Lord.  The  best  of  happiness. 

Honor,  and  fortunes,  keep  with  you,  lord  Timon  ! 

Tim.  Ready  for  his  friends. 

[Exeunt  Alcieiades,  Lords,  ^c. 

Apern.  What  a  coil's  here  I 

Serving  of  beeks.-^  and  jutting  out  of  bums  ! 
1  doubt  whether  Iheir  legs  be  worth  the  sums 
That  are  given  for 'em.  Friendship's  full  of  dregs: 
Methinks.  lalse  hearts  should  never  have  sound  legs. 
Thus  honest  tools  lay  out  Iheirweaith  on  court'sies. 

Tim.  Now,  Apemantus,  if  thou  wert  not  sullen, 
I'd  be  good  to  tJiec. 

Ajj/ni.  No,  I'll  nothing:  for. 

If  I  should  be  brib'd  too,  tliere  would  be  none  left 
To  rail  upon  thee  ;  and  then  thou  wouldst  sin  the 

faster. 
Thou  giv'st  so  long, Timon,  I  fear  me,  thou 
Wilt  give  away  thyself  in  paper  shortly  : 
What  need  these  leasts,  pomps,  and  vain  glories  1 

Tim.  Nay, 

An  you  begin  to  rail  on  society  once, 
I  am  sworn,  not  to  give  regard  to  you. 
Farewell;  and  come  with  better  music.         [Exit. 

Ajiem.  So ; — 

Thou'lt  not  hear  me  now, — thou  shall  not  then, 

I'll  lock 
Thy  heaven'' from  thee.  O.that  men's  ears  should  be 
To  counsel  deaf,  but  not  to  flattery  !  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— .4  Room  in  n  Senator's  House. 
Enter  a  Senator,  tviffi  Papers  i/?  Aw  Hand. 

Sen.  And  late,  five  thousand  to  Varro;  and  to 
Isidore 
He  owes  nine  thousand  ;  hcsides  my  former  sum, 
Which  makes  it  (ivc-nnd-twcnty. — Still  in  motion 
Of  raginp; waste?     It  cannot  hold;  it  will  not. 
If  I  want  sold,  steal  but  a  beggar's  dog. 
And  give  it  Timon,  why,  tt>e  do^  coins  Kold  : 
If  I  would  sell  my  horse,  and  buy  twenty  more 
Belter  than  lie,  why,  give  my  horse  to  Timon, 
Ask  nothing,  give  it  him,  it  foals  me,  straight, 
And  able  horses  :  No  porter  at  his  gate ; 
But  rather  one  that  smiles,  and  still  invites 
AH  that  pass  by.    It  cannot  hold  ;  no  reason 
Can  found  his  state  in  safety.    Caphis,  ho  ! 
Caphis,  1  say  I 

Enter  Caphis. 

Cfiph.  Here,  sir,  what  is  your  pleasure? 

Sen.  Get  on  your  cloak,  and  haste  you  to  lord 
Timon ;" 
Impftrtune  him  for  my  moneys  ;  be  not  ceased^ 
With  slight  denial;  nor  then  silenced,  when — 
Commend  me  to  your  master — and  the  cap 
Plays  in  the  right  hand  thus  : — but  tell  him,  sirrah, 
My  uses  cry  to  me,  I  must  serve  my  turn 
Out  of  mine  own  ;  his  days  and  times  are  past. 
And  my  reliances  on  his  iVactcd  dates 
Have  smit  my  credit :  I  love,  and  honor  him  ; 
But  must  not  break  my  back,  to  heal  his  finger. 
Immediate  arc  my  needs;  and  my  relief 
Must  not  be  toss'd  and  turn'd  to  me  in  words, 
3  Stopped. 


But  find  supply  immediate.    Get  you  gone  : 

Put  on  a  most  importunate  aspeci, 

A  visage  of  demand  ;  for,  I  do  fear, 

When  every  leather  slicks  in  his  own  wing, 

Lord  Timon  will  be  lel^  a  naked  gull^ 

Which  (hislies  now  a  phtenix.    Get  you  gone. 

Caph.  I  j;o,  sir. 

Hen.  I  go.  sir  !— take  the  bonds  along  with  you, 
And  have  tlie  dates  in  compt. 

Capli.  I  will,  sir. 

Sen.  •         Go.    [Exeunt 

SCENE  II.— -4  Hall  in  Timon's  House. 
Enter  Flavu'S,  tvith  many  Bills  in  fiis  Ham 
Flav.  No  care,  no  stop!  so  senseless  of  expens 
That  he  will  neither  know  how  to  maintain  it, 
Nor  cease  his  flow  of  riot:  Takes  no  account 
How  things  go  from  him  ;  nor  resumes  no  care 
Of  what  is  to  continue  :  Never  niind 
Was  to  be  so  unwise,  to  be  so  kind. 
What  slinll  l)e  d«me  ?  He  will  not  hcAr,  till  feel : 
1  must   he  round  with  him,  now  he  comes  from 

hunting. 
Fye,  fye,  fye,  fye  ! 

Enter  Caphis,  and  tfte  Servants  of  Isidore  and 

Varro. 

Capfi.  Good  even,  Varro:  What, 

You  come  for  money  1 

Var.  Serv.  Is't  not  your  business  too] 

Caph.  It  is; — and  yours  too,  Isidore  1 
laiU.Serv.  It  is  so 

*  )■.<■.  All  happiness  to  you.  '  Offeiing  ealutatioa 

«  By  his  heaveu  he  means  good  advice. 


532 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  II.  Scene  IT. 


Caph.  Would  we  were  all  discharged ! 

Vur.  Senj.  I  fear  it. 

Caph.  Here  comes  the  lord. 

Enter  Timon,  Alcibiades,  and  Lords,  4-c. 

Tim.  So  soon  as  dinner's  done,  w'cll  forth  again, 
My  Alcibiades. — With  me  ?     What's  your  will  \ 

Caph.  My  lord,  here  is  a  note  of  certain  dues. 

Tim.  Dues  ]     Whence  are  you  ! 

Caph.  Of  Athens  here,  my  lord. 

Tim.  Go  to  my  steward. 

Caph.  Please  it  your  lordship,  he  hath  put  me  off 
To  the  succession  of  new  days  tliis  month  ; 
My  master  is  awak'd  hy  great  occasion, 
'J'o  call  upon  his  own;  and  humbly  prays  you, 
That  with  your  other  noble  parts  you'll  suit, 
In  giving  him  his  right. 

Tim.  Mine  honest  friend, 

I  jir'ythce,  but  repair  to  me  next  morning. 

Caph.  Nay,  good  my  lord, 

Tim.  Contain  thyself,  good  friend. 

Var.  Serv.  One  Varro's  servant,  my  good  lord : — 

Isvi.Serv.                                           From  Isidore  ; 
He  humbly  prays  your  speedy  payment, ■ 

Caph.  If  you  did  know,  my  lord,  my  master's 
wants, 

I'ar.  Serv.  'Twas  due  on  forfeiture,  my  lord,  six 
weeks, 
And  past, 

hill.  Sen.  Your  steward  puts  me  o/f,  my  lord ; 
And  I  am  sent  expressly  to  your  lordship. 

Tim.  Give  me  breath  : 

I  do  beseech  you,  good  my  lords,  keep  on  ; 
^  [E.r:eant  ALCini,vm;s  and  Lords. 

I  11  wait  upon  you  instantly.— Come  hither,  pray 
you;  [To  P'LAVius. 

How  goes  the  world,  that  I  am  thus  encounler'd 
With  clamorous  demands  of  date-broke  bonds, 
And  the  detention  of  long-since-due  debts, 
Against  my  honor  ? 

Ftav.  Please  you,  gentlemen, 

The  time  is  unagreeable  to  this  business: 
Your  importunacy  cease,  till  at^erdirmer; 
That  I  may  make  his  lordship  understand 
Wherefore  you  arc  not  jjaid. 

Tim.  Do  so,  my  friends: 

See  them  well  enterlain'd.  [Exit  Timon. 

Ftuv.     '      I  jjray,  draw  near.        [Exit  Flavius. 

Enter  ArEMANTis  and  a  Fool. 

Caph.  Stay,  stay  ;  here  comes  tlie  fool  with  Ape- 
mantus  ;  let's  have  some  sport  with  'em. 

Vetr.  Serv.  Hang  him,  he'll  abuse  us. 

Isid.  SeriK  A  plague  upon  liim,  dog  ! 

Var.  Serv.  How  dost,  tool  ? 

Apeni.  Dost  dialogue  with  thy  shadow? 

Kur.  I  speak  not  to  thee. 

Apem.  No;  'tis  to  thyself.— Come  away. 

[To  the  Font. 

Isid.  Serv.  [To  Var.  Serv.]  There's  the  tool 
hangs  on  your  back  already. 

Apem.  No,  thou  sland'st  single,  thou  art  not  on 
him  yet. 

Caph.  Where's  the  fool  now  ? 

Apem,  He  last  ask'd  the  question. — Poor  rogues, 
and  usurers'  men  !  bawds  between  gold  and  want ! 

All  Serv.  What  are  we,  Apemantusl 

Apem.  Asses. 

All  Serv.  Why? 

Apem.  That  you  ask  me  what  you  are,  and  do 
not  know  yourselves. — Speak  to 'em,  fool. 

Fnot.  How  do  you,  gentlemen  ? 

All  Serv.  Gramercies,  good  fool:  how  does  your 
nu-^tress  ? 

Ffiot.  She's  e'en  setting  on  water  to  scald  such 
cliiekens  as  you  are.  'Would  we  could  see  you 
at  Corinth. 

Apem.  Good  !  gramcrcy. 

Enter  Page. 

Fool.  Look  you,  here  comes  my  mistress'  page. 

I'oKe.  [To  he  Fool.]  Why,  how  now,  captain  ? 
what  do  you  in  this  wise  company  ?— How  dost 
thou.  Apemantus  ? 

Apem.  'Would  1  had  a  rod  in  my  mouth,  that  I 
might  ansvver  thee  profifably. 

Page.  Pr'ythee.  Apemantus,  read  me  the  super- 
scription of  I  hese  letters  ;1  know  not  which  is  which. 

Apem.  Canst  not  read  ? 

Page.  No. 


Apem.  There  will  little  learning  die  then,  that 
day  thou  art  hanged.  This  is  to  lord  Timon  ;  this 
to  Alcibiades.  Go  ;  thou  wast  born  a  bastard,  and 
thou'lt  die  a  bawd. 

Page.  Thou  wast  whelped  a  dog ;  and  thou  shall 
famish,  a  dog's  death.    Ansvver  not,  1  am  gone. 

[i'i-ii  Page, 

Apem.  Even  so  thou  out-run'st  grace.  Fool, 
I  will  go  with  you  to  lord  Timon's. 

Fool.  Will  you  leave  me  there? 

Apem.  If  Timon  stay  at  home.— You  three  serve 
three  usurers  ? 

All  Serv.  Ay  ;  'would  tliey  serv'd  us  I 

Apem.  So  would  1, — as  good  a  trick  as  ever 
hangman  served  thief. 

Foot.  Are  you  three  usurers'  men? 

All  Serv.  Ay,  tool. 

Fool.  I  think,  no  usurer  but  has  a  fool  to  his 
servant:  My  mistress  is  one,  and  I  am  her  fool. 
When  men  come  to  borrow  of  your  masters,  they 
approach  sadly,  and  go  away  merry;  but  they 
enter  my  mistress'  house  merrily,  and  go  away 
sadly  :  The  reason  of  this  ? 

Tar.  Serv.  I  could  render  one. 

Apem.  Do  it  then,  that  we  may  account  thee  a 
vvhoremaster,  and  a  knave ;  whicii'notwithstanding 
thou  Shalt  be  no  less  esteemed. 

Var.  Serv.  What  is  a  wlioremaster,  fool  ? 

Foot.  A  fool  in  good  clothes,  and  something  like 
thee.  'Tis  a  spirit:  sometime,  it  appears  like  a  lord; 
sometime,  like  a  lawyer;  sometime,  like  a  philoso- 
pher, with  two  stones  more  than  his  artiticial  one: 
He  is  very  often  likea  knight;  and,  generally  inall 
shapes,  that  man  goes  up  and  down  in,  from  ibur- 
score  to  thirteen,  this  si)irit  walks  in. 

J'ar.  Serv.  Thou  art  not  altogether  a  fool. 

Fool.  Nor  thou  altogether  a  wise  man  :  as  much 
foolery  as  1  have,  so  much  wit  thou  laekest. 

Apem.  That  answer  might  have  become  Ape- 
mantus. 

Alt  Serv.  Aside,  aside;  here  comes  lord  Timon. 

Re-enter  TiMOS  and  Flavius. 

Apem.  Come  with  me,  fool,  come. 
Fool.  I  do  not  always  follow  lover,  elder  brother, 
and  woman  ;  sometime,  the  philosopher. 

[Exeunt  Apemantus  and  Fool. 
Flav.  'Pray  you,  walk  near ;  I'll  speak  with  you 
anon.  [Exeunt  Serv. 

Tim.  You  make  me  marvel:  Wherefore,  ere  this 
time. 
Had  you  not  fully  laid  my  state  before  me; 
That  1  might  so  have  rated  my  expense. 
As  1  had  leave  of  means  ? 

Flav.  You  would  not  hear  me, 

At  many  leisures  I  propos'd. 

Tim.  Go  to : 

Perchance,  some  single  vantages  you  took. 
When  my  indispositi.ui  put  you  back; 
And  that  unajitness  made  your  nnnister. 
Thus  to  excuse  yourself. 

Flav.  O  my  good  lord  ! 

At  many  times  1  brought  in  my  accounts. 
Laid  them  before  you  ;  you  would  throw  them  off. 
And  say,  you  found  them  in  mine  honesty. 
When,  for  some  trilling  present,  you  liave  bid  me 
Return  so  much,"  I  have  shook  my  head, and  wept; 
Yea, 'gainst  the  anlhorily  of  manners,  pray'd  you 
To  hold  your  hand  more  close:  I  did  endure 
Not  seldom,  nor  no  slight  checks;  when  1  have 
Prompted  you,  in  the  ebb  of  your  estate. 
And  your  great  tlow  of  debts.  Mv  deai-lov'd  lord. 
Though  you  hear  now,  (too  late  !■)  yel  uow'satime. 
The  greatest  of  your  having  lacks  a  half 
To  pay  your  present  debts. 
Tim.  Let  all  my  land  be  sold. 

Flav.  'Tis  all  engaged, some  forfeited  and  gone; 
And  what  reinaiiis  will  hardly  slop  the  mouth 
Of  present  dues  ;  the  future  comes  apace  : 
What  shall  delend  the  interim  ?  and  at  length 
How  goes  our  reckoning? 
Tim.  To  Laccda;mon  did  my  land  extend. 
Flav.  O  my  good  lord,  the  w'orld  is  but  a  word ; 
Were  it  all  yours,  to  give  it  in  a  breath. 
How  quickly  were  it  gone  ! 
Tim.  You  tell  me  true. 

Fliiv.  Ifyou  suspect  my  husbandry,  or liilsehood. 
Call  me  before  the  exactest  auditors, 
1  A  ctM-taiu  sum. 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


TIMOX  OF  ATHENS. 


533 


And  set  me  on  the  proof.    So  the  gods  bless  me, 
When  all  our  oHiccs*  have  been  oppress  d 
With  riotous  feeders  ;  when  our  vaults  have  wept 
With  drunken  spilth  of  wine  ;  when  every  room 
Hath  blaz'd  with  lights,  and  bray'd  with  minstrelsy ; 
I  hiive  retir'd  me  to  a  wasteful  cock, 
And  set  mine  eyes  at  flow. 

Tim.  Pr  ythee,  no  inorc. 

Fla'v.  Heavens,  have  I  said,  the'  bounty  of  this  lord ! 
H.1W  many  prodigal  bits  have  slaves,  and  peasants, 
This  night  englutted  !     Who  is  not  Timon's  1 
What  heart,  head,  sword,  force,  means,  but  is  lord 

Timon's  "! 
Great  Timon,  noble,  worthy,  royal  Timon  ! 
Ah  !  when  the  means  are  gone,  that  buy  this  praise. 
The  breath  is  gone  whereof  this  praise  is  made  : 
Feast-won,  fast-lost ;  one  cloud  of  winter  showers. 
These  Hies  are  couch'd. 

Tim.  Come,  sermon  ine  no  farther: 

No  villanous  bounty  yet  hath  pass'd  my  heart ; 
Unwisely,  not  ignobly,  have  I  given. 
Why  dost  thou  weep  !    Canst  thou  the  conscience 

lack. 
To  think  I  shall  lack  friends  ?    Secure  thy  heart ; 
If  I  would  broach  the  vessels  of  my  love. 
And  try  the  argument  of  hearts  by  borrowing. 
Men,  and  men's  fortunes,  could  I  frankly  use, 
As  I  can  bid  thee  speak. 

fUiv.  Assurance  bless  your  thoughts  ! 

Tim.  And,  in  some  sort,  these  wants  of  mine 
are  crown'd,^ 
That  I  account  them  blessings;  for  by  these 
Shall  I  try  friends:  Yon  shall  perceive  how  you 
Jlistake  my  fortunes  ;  I  am  wealthy  in  myfriends. 
Within  there,  ho  !— Flaminius,  Servilius  '. 

Enter  Flajiixius,  Servilius,  and  other  Servants. 
Serv.  My  lord,  my  lord, — 

Tim.  1   will   despatch  you  severally.— You,  to 
lord  Lucius,— 
To  lord  Lucullus  you  ;  I  hunted  with  his 
Honor  to-day  ;— You  to  Sempronius  ; 
Commend  me  to  their  loves  ;   and,  I  am  proud, 

saj', 
That  my  occasions  have  found  time  to  use  them 
Toward  a  supply  of  money  :  let  the  request 
Be  fifty  talents. 
Fliiin.  As  you  have  said,  my  lord. 

Fiuv.  Lord  Lucius, and  lord  Lucullus]  humph! 

\_Asi(lc. 


Tim.  Go  you,  sir,  [To  another  Serv.]    to  the 

senators, 
(Of  whom,  even  to  the  state's  best  health.  I  have 
beserv'd  this  hearing,)  bid  'em  send  o'  the  instant 
A  thousand  talents  to  me. 

Flav.  I  have  been  bold, 

(For  that  I  knew  it  the  most  general  way.) 
To  them  to  use  your  signet,  and  your  name  ; 
Hut  they  do  shake  their  heads,  and  I  am  hero 
No  richer  in  return. 
Tim.  Is't  true  ?  can  it  be? 

Flav.  They  answer  in  a  joint  and  corporate  voice. 
That  now  they  are  at  fall,  want  treasure,  cannot 
Do  what  they  would;  arc  sorry — you  are  honor- 
able,— 
But  yet  tliey  could  have  wish'd — they  knov?  not — 

but 
Something  hath  been  amiss— a  noble  nature 
May  catch  a  wrench — svould  all  were   well — 'tis 

pity— 
And  so,  intending-^  other  serious  matters. 
Alter  distasteful  looks  and  these  hard  fractions. 
With  certain  half-caps,^  and  cold-moving  nods. 
They  froze  me  into  silence. 

Tim.  You  gods,  reward  them  ! — 

I  pr'ylhee,  man,  look  cheerly  ;  These  old  fellows 
Have  their  ingratitude  in  them  hereditary  : 
Their  blood  is  cak'd,  'tis  cold,  it  seldom  tiows  ; 
'Tis  lack  of  kindly  warmth,  they  are  not  kind; 
And  nature,  as  it  grows  again  toward  earth. 
Is  liishion'd  for  the  journey,  dull,  and  heavy.— 
Go  to  Ventidius,— [To  a  Serv.]     'Pr'ythee.— [To 

Flavics,]  be  not  sad. 
Thou  art  true  and  honest;  ingeniously'  I  speak, 
No  blame  belongs  to  thee :    [Tu  Serv.]  Ventidius 

lately 
Buried  his  father;  by  whose  death,  he  s  stepp  d 
Into  a  great  estate  ;  when  he  was  poor, 
Imprison'd,  and  in  scarcity  of  friends, 
I  clear'd  him  with  five  talents  :  Greet  him  from  me ; 
Bid  him  suppose,  some  good  necessity 
Touches  his  friend,  which  craves  lobe  remember'd 
With  those  five   talents:   that  had,— [To  Fi,AV.] 

give  it  these  fellows 
To  whom  'tis  instant  due.    Ne'er  speak,  or  think. 
That  Timon's  fortunes  'mong  his  friends  can  sink. 
Flav.  I  would, I  could  not  think  it;  that  thought 

is  bounty's  foe; 
Being  free^ itself, it  tlunks  all  others  so.     [Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I.— .4  Room  in  Liicullus's  House. 

Flamin'il'S  waifiug.    Enter  a  Servant  to  him. 

Serv.  I  have  t(»ld  my  lord  of  you  ;  he  is  coming 
down  to  you. 

Flam.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Enter  LUCOLLUS. 

Serv.  Here's  my  lord. 

LitcuL  [Asvie.]  One  of  lord  Timon's  men^  a 
gift.  I  warrant.  Why  this  hits  ri.i^ht;  I  dreamt  of 
a  silver  basin  and  ewer  to-nit^ht.  Flaminius,  honest 
Flaminius;  you  are  very  respectively'  welcome. 
sir. — Fill  me  some  wine. — [Exit  Servant.!  And 
how  does  that  honorable,  complete,  free-hearted 
gentleman  of  Athens,  thy  very  bountiful  good  lord 
and  master? 

Flam.  His  health  is  well,  sir. 

Lucid.  I  am  right  glad  that  his  health  is  well.  sir. 
And  what  hast  thou  there  under  thy  cloak,  pretty 
Flaminius  ? 

Flam.  'Faith,  nothing  but  an  empty  box,  sir; 
which,  in  my  lord's  behalf,  I  come  to  entreat  your 
honor  to  supply  :  who,  having  grent  and  instant 
occasion  to  use  lifty  talents,  hath  sent  to  your  lord- 
ship to  furnish  him  ;  nothingdoubting  your  present 
assistance  therein. 

LucuL  La,  la,  la,  la, — nothing  doubting,  says 
he  1  alas,  good  lord  !  a  noble  gentleman  'tis,  if  he 
would  not  keep  so  good  a  houso.  Many  a  time  and 
often  have  I  dined  with  him.  and  told  himon't;  and 
come  again  to  supper  to  him,  of  purpose  to  have 

8  Tbe  apartments  allotted  to  culinary  offices,  kc. 

»  Dignified,  made  respectable.  »  for  respectfully. 


him  spend  less;  and  yet  he  would  embrace  no 
counsel,  take  no  warning  by  my  coming.  Every 
man  has  his  fault,  and  honesty''  is  his;  I  have  told 
him  on'l,  but  I  could  never  get  him  from  it. 

Rc'Cnter  Servant,  with  Wine. 

Serv.  Please  your  lordship,  here  is  the  wine. 

JaicuL  Flaminius,  I  have  noted  thee  always  wise. 
Here's  to  thee. 

Flam.  Your  lordship  speaks  your  pleasure. 

LucuL  I  have  observed  thee  always  tor  a  towardly 
prompt  spirit, — give  thee  thy  due.^and  one  that 
knows  wliat  belongs  to  rea.^on  ;  and  canst  use  the 
time  well,  if  the  time  use  thee  well :— good  parts  in 
thee.— Get  you  gone,  sirrah.— [To  the  Servant, 
icho  goes  ouL] — Draw  nearer,  honest  Flaminius. 
Thy  lord's  a  bountiful  gentleman:  but  thou  art 
wise;  and  thou  knowest  well  enough,  allhmigli 
thou  comest  to  me,  that  this  is  not  a  time  to  lend 
money;  especially  upon  bare  friendship,  without 
security.  Here's  three  solidares  for  thee;  good 
boy,  wink  at  me,  and  say,  thou  sawest  me  not. 
Fare  thee  well. 

Flam.  Is't  possible,  the  world  should  so  much 
d  I  tier; 
And  we  alive,  that  liv'dl     Fly,  damned  baseness, 
To  him  that  worships  thee. 

{Throwing  the  Money  away. 

1  Intending  had  anciently  the  same  meaning  as  attend- 
ing. 

J  A  half-cap  is  a  cap  slightly  moved,  not  put  off. 

<  For  ingenuously.  ■  Liberal,  not  parsimonious. 

6  Honesty  hero  means  liberality. 


534 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  III 


Lund.  Ha !  Now  I  see  thou  art  a  fool,  and  fit 
for  thv  master.  [Exit  Lvcullus. 

Flam.  May  theise  add  to  the  nuniticr  that  may 
scald  thee  ' 
Let  molten  coin  be  thy  damnation. 
Thou  disea.<e  of  a  friend,  and  not  himself! 
Has  friendship  such  a  faint  and  milky  heart, 
]t  turns  in  less  than  two  niirhts  '?     O,  you  gods, 
I  feel  my  master's  passion  !^    This  slave 
Vnto  his  honor  has  my  lord's  meat  in  him  : 
Why  should  it  thrive,  and  turn  to  nutriment, 
When  he  is  turn'd  to  poison  ] 
D,  may  diseases  only  work  upon't ! 
And  when  he  is  sick  to  death,  let  not  that  part  of 

nature 
Which  my  lord  paid  for,  be  of  any  power 
To  e.xpel  sickness,  but  prolong  his  hour  !      [Exit. 

SCENE  11.—^  ruUic  Place. 

Enter  Lncica,  with  three  Strangers. 

Luc.  Who.  the  lord  Timon  ?  he  is  my  very  good 
friend,  and  an  honorable  gentleman. 

1  Stran.  We  know  lijm  for  no  less,  though  we 
are  but  strangers  to  him.  But  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing,  my  lord,  and  vvliich  I  hear  from  common 
rumors;  now  lord  Timou's  happy  hours  are  done 
and  past,  and  his  estate  shrinks  from  him. 

Luc.  Fye,  no,  do  not  believe  it;  he  cannot  want 
lor  money. 

2  Stran.  But  believe  you  this,  my  lord,  that  not 
long  ago,  oneof  his  men  was  with  the  lord  LucuUus, 
to  borrow  so  many  talents;  nay,  urged  extremely 
for*t,  and  show'd  what  necessity  beloug'd  to't,  and 
yet  was  denied, 

Luc.  How  1 

2  Stran.  I  tell  you,  denied,  my  lord. 

Luc.  What  a  strange  case  was  tliat  7  now,  before 
the  gods,  I'm  ashamed  on't.  Denied  that  honor- 
able man?  there  was  very  little  honor  show'd  in't. 
For  my  own  part,  I  must  needs  con  less,  I  have  re- 
ceived some  small  kindnesses  from  him, as  money, 
plate,  jewels,  and  such  like  trifles, nothing  compar- 
ing to  his;  yet,  had  he  mistook  him,  and  sent  to 
nie,  I  should  ne'er  have  denied  his  occasion  so 
many  talents. 

Enter  Serviiius. 

Ser.  See,  my  good  hap,  yonder's  my  lord  ;  I  have 
sweat  to  see  his  honor. — My  honored  lord, — 

[Tu  Lvciis. 

Luc.  Servilius!  you  are  kindly  met,  sir.  Fare 
thee  well ; — Commend  me  to  thy  honorable-virtu- 
ous lord,  my  very  exquisite  friend. 

Ser.  May  it  please  your  honor,  my  lord  hath 
sent 

Luc.  Ha!  what  has  he  sent]  I  am  so  much 
endeared  to  that  lord  ;  he's  ever  sending  ;  How 
shall  1  thank  him,  thinkest  thou  !  And  what  has 
he  sent  now ! 

Ser.  He  has  only  sent  his  present  occasion  now, 
my  lord;  requesting  your  lordship  to  supply  his 
instant  use  with  so  many  talents. 

Luc,  I  know,  his  lordship  is  but  merry  with  me; 
He  cannot  want  fifty-five  hundred  talents. 

Ser.  But  in  the  mean  time  he  wants  less,  my 
lord. 
If  his  occasion  were  no^  virtuous, 
I  should  not  urge  it  half  so  faithfully. 

Luc.  Dost  thou  speak  seriously,  Servilius? 

Ser.  Upon  my  soul,  'tis  true,  .sir, 

Luc.  What  a  wicked  beast  was  I,  to  disfurnish 
myselfagainstsuch  a  good  tiine,wlien  I  might  have 
shown  myself  honorable  !  how  unluckily  it  hap- 
pened, that  I  should  purchase  the  day  before  lor 
a  little  part,  and  undo  a  great  deal  of  honor  1 — 
Ser\iliiis,  now,  before  the  gods,  I  am  not  able  to 
do't ;  ttie  more  beast,  I  say: — I  was  sending  to  use 
lord  Tiinon  myself,  these  gentlemen  can  witness  ; 
But  1  would  not  for  the  wealth  of  Athens,  I  had 
done  it  now.  Commend  me  bountifully  to  his 
good  lordship;  and  1  hope,  his  honor  will  conceive 
the  fairest  of  me.  because  I  have  no  power  to  be 
Kind  :  And  tell  him  this  from  me, I  count  it  oneof 
my  greatest  a!llielii)ns,  say,  that  I  cannot  pleasure 
such  an  honorable  gentleman.  Good  Servilius, 
will  )K)u  befriend  me  so  liir,  as  to  use  mine  own 
words  to  him ' 

1  SulTering. 


Ser.  Yes,  sir,  I  shall. 

Luc.  I  will  look  you  out  a  good  turn.  Servilius. — 
[E.vit  Sehvilius. 
True,  as  you  said,  Timon  is  shrunk,  indeed  ; 
And  he,  that's  once  denied,  will  hardly  speed. 

[  ICxit  LuciuB. 

1  Stran.  Do  you  observe  this,  Hostihua  ! 

2  Stran.  Ay,  too  well. 
1  Stran.  Why  this 

Is  the  world's  soul ;  and  just  of  the  same  piece 
Is  every  flatterer's  spirit.    Who  can  call  him 
His  friend,  that  dips  in  the  same  dish  !  for,  in 
My  knowing,  Timon  hath  been  this  lord's  father 
And  kept  his  credit  with  his  purse  ; 
Supported  his  estate  ;  nay,  Timou's  money 
Has  paid  his  men  their  wages  ;  He  ne'er  drinks. 
But  Timon's  silver  treads  upon  his  lip  ; 
.\nd  yet,  (O,  see  the  monstrousness  of  man 
When  he  looks  out  in  an  ungrateful  shape !) 
He  does  deny  him,  in  respect  of  his. 
What  charitable  men  afford  to  beggars. 

3  Stra?i.  Religion  groans  at  it. 

1  Stran.  For  mine  own  part, 

I  never  tasted  Timon  in  my  Ufc, 
Nor  came  any  of  his  bounties  over  me. 
To  mark  me  for  his  friend ;  yet,  I  protest. 
For  his  right  noble  mind,  illustrious  virtue, 
And  honorable  carriage, 
Had  his  necessity  made  use  of  me, 
I  would  have  put  my  wealth  into  donation. 
And  the  best  half  should  have  return'd  to  him. 
So  much  I  love  his  heart :  But,  I  perceive, 
Men  must  learn  now  with  pity  to  dispense: 
For  policy  sits  above  conscience.  [Exeunt* 

SCENE  III.— ^  Room  in  Sempronius's  House. 
Enter  Sempronil'S,  and  a  Servant  o}'TiMOs's. 
Sem.  Must  he  needs  trouble  me  in't?    Humph  ! 
'Bove  all  others? 
He  might  have  tried  lord  Lucius,  or  LucuUus; 
And  now  Ventidius  is  wealthy  too. 
Whom  he  redeem'd  from  prison:  All  these  three 
Owe  their  estates  unto  liim. 

Sen'.  0  my  lord. 

They  have  all  been  touched,  and  found  base  metal ; 

for 
They  have  all  denied  him  ! 

Sem.  How!  have  they  denied  liim^ 

Has  Ventidius  and  LucuUus  denied  him  ? 
And  does  he  send  to  me  ?     Three  ?  humph  ! — 
It  shows  but  little  love  or  judgment  in  hini. 
Must  I  be  his  last  refuge  ?     His  friends,  like  phy- 
sicians. 
Thrive,  give  him  over;  Must  I  take  the  cure  upon 

me? 
He  has  much  di.sgr.aced  me  in't ;  I  am  angry  at  him. 
That  might  have  known  my  place:  I  see  no  sense 

for't. 
But  his  occasions  might  have  woo'd  me  Hrst ; 
For,  in  my  conscience,  I  was  the  first  man 
That  e'er  received  gift  from  him  : 
And  does  he  think  so  backwardly  of  me  now, 
That  I'll  requite  it  last  ?     No  :  So  it  may  prove 
An  argument  of  laughter  to  the  rest. 
And  1  amongst  tlie  lords  be  thought  a  fool. 
I  had  rather  than  the  worth  of  thrice  the  sum. 
He  had  sent  to  me  first,  but  for  my  mind's  sake; 
I  had  such  a  courage  to  do  him  good.     But  now 

return, 
.■\nd  with  their  faint  reply  this  answer  join  ; 
Who  bates  mine  honor  shall  not  know  my  coin. 

[Exit. 
SfTO.  ExceUent !  Your  lordship's  a  goodly  villain. 
The  devil  knew  not  what  be  did,  when  he  made 
man  politic;  he  cross'd  himself  by'f;  and  I  cannot 
think,  but  in  the  end,  the  viUanies  of  man  will  set 
him  clear.  How  fairly  this  lord  strives  to  appear 
foul  I  takes  virtuous  co'pies  to  be  wicked;  like  those 
that,  under  hot  ardent  zeal,  would  set  whole  realms 
(Ui  fire. 

Of  such  a  nature  is  his  politic  love. 
This  was  my  lord's  best  hope ;  now  all  arc  fled, 
Save  the  gods  only:  Now  his  friends  are  dead. 
Doors,  that  were  ne'er  acquainted  with  their  wards 
Many  a  bounteous  year,  must  bo  employ'd 
Now  to  guard  sure  their  master. 
.\nd  this  is  all  a  liberal  course  allows; 
Who  cannot  keep  his  wealth,  must  keep  hishouse 

[ExU 


Scene  IV. 


TIMON  OP  ATHENS. 


535 


SCENE    IV.— ^  Hall  in  Timon's  Hoitse. 

Enter  two  Ser\'ants  nf  Varro,  anii  the  Servant  of 
LcciDs,  meeting  Titcs,  Horte.vsius,  and  other 
Servants  to  Timon's  Creditors,  wailing  his 
coming  out. 

Var.  Serv.  Well  met;  good  morrow,  Titus  and 
Horteasius. 

Tit.  The  like  to  you,  kind  \iarro. 

Hor.  Lucius? 

Wliat  do  wc  meet  togetlier  1 

Luc.  Serv.  Ay,  and,  I  think. 

One  business  dotli  command  us  all ;  Ibr  mine 
Is  moneJ^ 

TU.         So  is  theirs  and  ours. 

Enter  PniLOTfs. 

Luc.  Serv.  And  sir 

Philotus  too! 

Phi.  Good  day  at  once. 

Lttc.  Serr.  Welcome,  good  brother. 

What  do  you  think  the  hour  ! 

Phi.  Laboring  for  nine. 

Luc.  Serv.  So  much  1 

Phi.  Is  not  my  lord  seen  yet  ? 

Luc.  Serv.  Not  yet. 

Phi.  1  vvonderon't:  he  was  wont  to  shine  at  seven. 

Luc.  Serv.  Ay,  but  the  days  are  waxed  shorter 
with  him  : 
You  must  consider,  that  a  prodigal  course 
Is  like  the  sun's,  but  not,  like  his,  recoverable. 
I  fear, 

'Tis  deepest  winter  in  lord  Timon's  purse  ; 
That  is,  one  may  reach  deep  enough,  and  yet 
Find  little. 

Phi.  I  am  of  your  fear  for  that. 

Tit.  I'll  show  you  how  to  observe  a  strange  event. 
Your  lord  sends  now  for  money. 

hor.  Most  true,  he  does. 

Tit.  And  he  wears  jewels  now  of  Timon's  gilt. 
For  which  I  wait  lor  money. 

hor.  It  is  against  my  heart. 

Luc.  Serv.  Mark,  how  strange  it  shows, 

Timon  in  this  sfiould  pay  more  than  he  owes ; 
And  e'en  as  if  your  lord  should  wear  rich  jewels 
And  send  for  money  for  'em. 

Hor.  I  am  weary  of  this  charge,  the  gods  can 
witness : 
I  know,  my  lord  hath  spent  of  Timon's  wealth. 
And  now  ingratitude  makes  it  worse  than  stealth. 

I  Var.  Serv.  Ves,mine's  three  thousand  crtiwns  ; 
What's  yours  ! 

Luc.  Serv.  Five  thousand  miiie. 

1  Var.  Serv.  'Tis  much  deep  :  and  it  should  seem 
by  the  sum. 
Your  master's  confidence  was  above  mine ; 
Else,  surely,  his  had  equall'd. 

Enter  Flamin'ius. 

Tif.  One  of  lord  Timon's  men. 

Luc.  Serv.  Flaminius  !  sir, a  word:  'Pray,  is  my 
lord  ready  to  come  forth  ? 

Flam.  No,  indeed,  he  is  not. 

Ti/.  We  attend  his  lordship; 'pray  signify  so  much. 

Flam.  I  need  not  tell  him  that :  he  knows,  you 
are  too  diligent.  [Exit  Fi.a!jinii's. 

Enter  Flavics,  in  a  cloak,  muffled. 

Lu :.  Serv.  Ha !  is  not  that  his  steward  inufTIed  so  ? 
He  sues  away  in  a  cloud;  call  him,  call  liim. 

Tit.  Do  you  hear,  sir  ] 

1  Var.  Serv.  By  your  leave,  sir, 

Flav.  What  do"  you  ask  of  me,  my  friend  ? 

Tit.  We  wait  for  certain  money  here,  sir. 

Ftav.  Ay, 

If  money  were  as  certain  as  your  waiting, 
'Twerc  sure  enough.    Why  then  preferr'd  you  not 
Your  sums  and  bills, when  your  false  masters  eat 
Of  my  lord's  meat?  Then  they  could  smile.andfawn 
Upon  his  debts,  and  take  down  th'  interest 
Into  their  gluttonous  maws.    You  do  yourselves 

but  wroni. 
To  slir  me  up;  let  me  pass  quietly  : 
Believe't,  my  lord  and  1  have  made  an  end  : 
I  have  no  more  to  reckon,  he  to  spend. 

Luc.  Serv.  Ay,  but  this  answ'er  will  not  serve. 

Flav.  If 'twill  not, 

'Tis  not  so  base  as  you ;  for  you  serve  knaves. 

[Exit. 


1  Vur.  Serv.  How!  what  docs  his  cashier'd  wor- 

ship mutter? 

2  Var.  Serv.  No  matter  what ;  he's  poor,  and 
that's  revenge  enough.  Who  can  speak  broader 
than  he  that  has  no  house  to  put  his  head  in? 
Such  may  rail  against  great  buildings. 

Enter  Seiivilius. 

Tit.  0,  here's  Servihus;  now  we  shall  know 
Some  answer. 

Ser.  If  I  might  beseech  you,  gentlemen, 

To  repair  some  other  hour.  I  should  much 
Derive  from  it;  for,  take  it  on  my  soul. 
My  lord  leans  woiid'rously  to  discontent. 
His  comfortable  temper  has  forsook  him  ; 
He  is  much  out  of  heallli,  and  keeps  his  chamber. 

Luc.  Serv.  Many  do  keep  their  chambers,  are 
not  sick  : 
And,  if  it  be  so  far  beyond  his  health, 
i\Iethinks,  he  should  the  sooner  pay  his  debts, 
And  make  a  clear  way  to  the  gods. 

iSVr.  Good  gods ! 

Tit.  We  cannot  take  this  for  an  answer,  sir. 

Flam.  [H'ithin.]  Serviliu.s,  help! — my  lord!  my 

lord  :— 
Enter  Tiiiox,  in  a  rage;  FhMnswa  following. 

Tim.  What,  are  my  doors  oppos'd  against  my 
passage  ? 
Have  I  been  ever  free,  and  must  my  house 
He  my  retentive  enemy,  my  gaol  ? 
The  place  which  I  have  feasted,  does  it  now. 
Like  all  mankind,  show  me  an  iron  heart ! 

Luc.  Serv.  Put  in  now,  Titus. 

Tit.  My  lord,  here  is  my  bill. 

Luc.  Serv.  Here's  mine. 

Hor.  Serv.  And  mine,  my  lord. 

Both  Var.  Serv.  And  ours,  my  lord. 

Phi.  All  our  bills. 

Tim.  Knock  me  down  with  'cm:S  cleave  mc  to 
the  girdle. 

Luc.  Serv.  Alas  !  my  lord, 

Tim.  Cut  my  heart  in  sums. 

Til.  Mine,  li'lly  talents. 

Tim.  Tell  out  my  blood. 

Luc.  Serv.  Five  thousand  crowns,  my  lord. 

Tim.  Five  tliousand  drops  pays  that. — 
What  yours? — and  yours  ? 

1  Var.  Serv.  My  lord, 

2  I  or.  Serv.  My  lord, • 

Tim.  Tear  me,  take  me,  and  the  gods  fall  upon 

you!  [Exit 

Hor.  'Faith,  1  perceive  our  masters  may  throw 

their  caps  at  their  money;  these  debts  may  well 

be  called  desperate  ones,  for  a  madman  owes  'em. 

[Exeunt. 
Re-enter  Timon  and  Flavits. 
Tim.  They  have  e'en  put  my  breath  from  me, 
the  slaves ; 
Creditors! — devils. 

Flav.  Mv  dear  lord, • 

Tim.  What  if  it  should  be  so  ? 

Fliiv.  My  lord. 

Tim.  Ill  have  it  so ; — My  steward  ! 
Flav.  Here,  my  lord. 

Tim.  So  fitly  ?     Go.  bid  all  my  tViends  again, 
Lucius,  Lucullus.  and  Sempronius;  all: 
I'll  once  more  feast  the  rascals. 

/7(/i'.  0,  my  lord. 

You  only  speak  from  your  distracted  soul ; 
There  is  not  so  much  left  to  furnish  out 
A  moderate  table. 

Tim.  Be't  not  in  thy  care ;  go, 

I  charge  thee ;  invite  them  all :  let  in  the  tide 
Of  knaves  once  more ;  my  cook  and  I'll  provide. 

[Exeunt 
SCENE  y.—The  Senate-Howe. 
The  Senate  silting.    Enter  Alcibiades,  attended 

1  Sen.  My  lord, you  have  my  voice  to  it;thc  fault's 
Bloody ;  'lis  necessary  he  should  die  : 

Nothing  emboldens  sin  so  much  as  mercy. 

2  Sen.  Most  true  ;  the  law  shall  bruise  him. 
Alcib.  Honor,  health,  and  compassion    to   the 

senate  ! 

I  Sen.  Now,  captain? 

Alcih.  I  am  an  humble  suitor  to  your  virtues  , 
For  pity  is  the  virtue  of  the  law, 

•  Timon  quilibles.   They  present  tht^ir  written  bill.'':  ho 
catcbus  at  the  word,  and  .alludes  to  bills  or  battle-axes. 


536 


TBION  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  III.   Scene  VL 


And  none  but  tyrants  use  it  cruelly. 

It  pleases  time,  and  fortune,  to  lie  heavy 

Upon  n  friend  of  mine,  who,  in  hot  blood, 

Hath  stepp'd  into  the  law,  which  is  past  depth 

To  those  thai,  wiihont  lieed,  do  plunge  into  it. 

He  is  a  man,  getting  liis  fate  aside, 

Of  comely  virtues  : 

IVor  did  lie  soil  the  fact  with  cowardice; 

(An  honor  in  him,  which  buys  out  his  fault;) 

But,  with  a  noble  fury,  and  fair  spirit, 

Seein^-his  reputation  touch'd  to  death. 

He  did  oppose  his  foe  : 

And  with  such  sober  and  unnoted  passion 

}{e  did  behave^  his  an^'er,  ere  'twas  spent, 

As  if  he  had  but  prov'd  an  argument. 

1  Sen.  You  undergo  too  strict  a  paradox, 
Strivuig  to  make  an  ugly  deed  look  fair ; 
Your  words  iiave  took  such  pains,  as  if  they  laborM 
To  briuK  manslaughter  into  form,  set  quaVelling 
Upon  the  head  of  valor;  which,  indeed. 
Is  valor  misbegot,  and  came  into  the  world 
When  sects  and  tactions  were  newly  born  : 
He's  truly  valiant,  that  can  wisely  suffer 
The  worst  that  man  can  breathe ;  and  make  his 

wrongs 
His  outsides;  wear  them  like  his  raiment.,carelessly ; 
And  ne'er  prefer  his  injuries  to  his  heart, 
To  bring  it  into  danger. 
If  wrongs  be  evils,  and  enforce  us  kill, 
What  folly  'tis  to  hazard  life  for  ill ! 

Alrih.  My  lord, 

1  Sen.  You  cannot  make  gross  sins  look  clear  ; 
To  revenge  is  no  valor,  but  to  bear. 

Alcib.  My  lords,  then,  under  lavor,  pardon  me. 

If  I  speak  like  a  captain. 

Why  do  fond  men  cxju)-se  themselves  to  battle, 

And  not  endure  ail  tlln■atenl^u^■^ !  sleep  upon  it 

And  let  the  foes  quietly  cut  tiicir  throats, 

Witliout  repugnancy  !  but  if  there  be 

Such  valor  in  the  bearing,  what  make  we 

Abroad  \  why  then,  women  are  more  valiant, 

That  stay  at  home,  if  bearing  carry  it ; 

And  tir  ass  more  captain  than  the  lion  ;  the  felon, 

Laden  with  irons,  wiser  than  the  judge, 

If  wisdom  be  in  sutfering.    0  my  lords, 

As  you  are  giieat.  be  pitifully  good : 

Who  cannot  condemn  rashness  in  cold  blood? 

To  kill,  I  grant,  is  sin's  extremest  gust  ;i 

But,  in  defence,  by  mercy,  'tis  most  just. 

To  be  in  anger,  is  imjiiety; 

But  who  is  man.  that  is  not  angry? 

Weigh  but  the  crime  with  this. 

2  Sen.  You  breathe  in  vain. 

Alcib.  In  vain?  his  service  done 

At  Lacedfemon,  and  Byzantium, 
Were  a  sulticient  briber  for  his  life. 

1  Sen.  What's  that  ? 

Alcib.  Why,  I   say,  my  lords,    h'as    done   fair 
service. 
And  slain  in  hght  many  of  your  enemies: 
How  full  of  valor  did  be  bear  himself 
In  the  last  contlict,  and  made  plenteous  wounds  ! 

2  Sen.  He  has  made  too  much  plenty  with'em,  he 
Is  a  sworn  rioter;  h'as  a  sin  that  ot^en 

Drowns  him,  and  takes  his  valor  prisoner: 
If  there  were  no  foes,  that  were  enough  alone 
To  overcome  him  :  in  that  beastly  fury 
He  has  been  known  to  commit  outrages, 
And  cherish  factions:  'Tis  iuferr'd  to  us, 
His  days  are  foul,  and  his  drink  dangerous. 

1  N(7(.  He  dies. 

Aici!/,        Hard  fate  !  he  might  have  died  in  war. 
My  lord:^.  if  not  for  any  parts  in  him, 
(Though  his  rightarnunight  purchase hisown  time, 
And  be  in  debt  to  none,)  yet  more  to  move  you. 
Take  my  deserts  to  his,  and  join  them  both  : 
And,  for  I  know,  your  reverend  ages  love 
Security.  I'll  pawn  my  victories,  all 
My  honor  to  you,  upon  his  good  rrlums. 
If  by  this  crime  he  owes  the  law  his  life, 
Wliy-  b't  the  war  receive't  in  valiant  gore  ; 
For  law  is  strict,  and  war  is  nothing  more. 

1  Sen.  Wc  are  for  law,  he  dies ;  urge  it  no  more, 
On  height  of  our  displeasure  :  Friend,  or  brother, 
He  forfeits  his  own  blood,  that  spills  another. 

Alcib.  Must  it  be  so  ?  it  must  not  be.  My  lords, 
T  do  beseech  you,  know  me. 

2  Sen.  How? 

Alcib.  Call  me  to  your  remembrances. 
•  Manage,  govL-rn.  *  For  aggrav.ttion. 


3  Sen.  What? 

Alcib.  I  cannot  think,  but  your  age  has/isrgotme; 
It  could  not  else  be.  I  should  prove  so  base,^ 
To  sue,  and  be  denied  such  common  grace  : 
My  wounds  ache  at  you. 

1  Sen.  Do  you  dare  our  anger  1 

'Tis  in  a  few  words,  but  spacious  in  effect; 
We  banish  thee  for  ever. 

Alcib.  Banish  me  ? 

Banish  your  dotage;  banish  usury, 
That  makes  the  senate  ugly. 

1  Se7i.  If.after  two  days'shine,  Athens  contain  thee, 
Attend  our  weightier  judgment.    And,  not  to  swell 

our  spirit. 
He  shall  be  executed  presently.   [Exeunf  Senators, 

Alcib.  Now  the  gods  keep  you  old  enough:  that 
you  may  live 
Only  in  bone,  that  none  may  look  on  you  ! 
I  am  worse  than  mad :    I  have  kept  back  theii 

foes. 
While  they  have  told  their  money,  and  let  out 
Their  coin  upon  large  interest;  I  myself. 
Rich  only  in  large  hurts;— All  those,  for  this  ? 
Is  this  the  balsam,  that  the  usurin^  senate 
Pours  into  captains' wounds?  ha!  banishment? 
It  comes  not  ill ;  I  hate  not  to  be  banish'd  ; 
It  is  a  cause  worthy  my  spleen  and  fury, 
That  I  may  strike  at  Athens.    I'll  cheer  up 
My  discontented  troops,  and  lay  for  heart.s,3 
'Tis  honor  with  most  lands  to  be  at  odds; 
Soldiers  should  brook  as  little  wrongs,  as  gods. 

[Exir, 

SCENE    VI. — A  magnijicent  Room  in  Timon's 

House. 

Music.     Tables  out:    Servants  attending.    Enter 

(livers  Lords,  at  several  Doors. 

1  Lord.  The  good  time  of  day  to  you.  sir. 

2  Lord.  I  also  wish  it  to  you.  I  think,  this 
honorable  lord  did  but  try  us  this  other  day. 

1  Lord.  Upon  that  we're  my  thoughts  tiring.'^ 
when  we  encountered:  I  hope  it  is  not  so  low 
withJiim,  as  he  made  it  seem  in  the  trial  of  his 
sf^veral  friends. 

2  Lord.  It  should  not  be,  by  the  persuasion  of 
his  new  feasting. 

1  Lord.  I  should  think  so  :  He  hath  sent  me  an 
earnest  inviting. which  many  my  near  occasions  did 
urge  me  toput  otf;  but  he  hath  conjured  me  beyond 
them,  and  I  must  needs  appear. 

2  Lfird.  In  like  manner  was  I  in  debt  to  my 
importunate  business,  but  he  would  not  hear  my 
excuse.  I  am  sorry,  when  he  sent  to  borrow  of  me, 
that  my  provision  was  out. 

1  Lord.  I  am  sick  of  that  grief  too,  as  I  under- 
stand how  all  things  go. 

2  Lord.  Every  man  here's  so.  What  would  he 
have  borrowed  of  you  ? 

1  Lord.  A  thousand  pieces. 

2  Litrd.  A  thousand  pieces  ? 

1  Lord.  What  of  you  ? 

3  Lord.  He  sent  to  me,  sir— Here  he  comes. 

Enter  Timon,  trrzrf  Attendants. 

Tim.  With  all  my  heart,  gentlemen  both:— And 
how  fare  you  ? 

!  Lf;r(f.'Ever  at  the  best,  hearing  well  of  your 
lordship. 

2  Lord.  The  swallow  follows  not  summer  more 
■willing,  than  we  your  lordship, 

Tim.  [Aside.]  Nor  more  willingly  leaves  winter; 
such  summer-birds  are  men. — Gentlemen,  our 
dinner  will  not  recompense  this  long  stay:  feast 
your  ears  with  the  music  awhile  ;  if  they  will  fare 
so  harshly  on  the  trumpet's  sound:  we  shall  lo't 
presently. 

1  D/rd.  I  hope  it  remains  not  unkindly  with  y.tur 
lordship,  that  I  returned  you  an  empty  messenger. 

Tim.  O,  sir,  let  it  not  trouble  you. 

2  Lord.  My  noble  lord. 

Tim.  Ah,  my  good  friend,  what  cheer? 

[The  Banquet  brougfit  in. 

2  Lard.  My  most  honorable  lord,  I  am  e'cu  sick 
of  shame,  that  when  your  lordship  this  other  day 
sent  to  me,  I  was  so  unfortunate  a  beggar. 

Tim.  Tliink  not  on't,  sir. 

a  For  dishonored. 

a  AVe  should  now  say — lay  out  for  hearts,  i.  c.  the  affec- 
tions of  the  people. 
*  To  tire  on  a  thing,  meant  to  be  idly  employed  on  it. 


Act  IV.  Scene  II. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


537 


2  Loril.  If  you  had  sent  but  two  hours  before,— 
Tim.  Let  it  not  cumber  your  better  remembrance. 
— Come,  bring  in  all  together. 

2  Lm-d.  All  covered  dishes  ! 

1  Lord.  Royal  cheer,  I  warrant  you. 

3  Lord.  Doubt  not  that,  if  money  and  the  season 
can  yield  it. 

1  Lord.  How  do  you  ■!  wh,at's  the  newsl 

3  Lrrrd.  Alcibiades  is  banisli'd  :  Hear  you  of  it ! 

1  Sf  2  Lord.  Alcibiades  banished  ! 

3  Lord.  'Tis  so,  be  sure  of  it. 

1  Lord.  How  ]  how  1 

2  Lord.  I  pray  you,  upon  what  ? 

Tim.  My  worthy  friends,  will  you  draw  near  ! 

3  Lord.  I'll  tell  you  more  anon.  Here's  a  noble 
feast  toward. 

2  lAjrd.  This  is  the  old  man  still. 

3  Lord.  Will't  hold  7  wiU't  hold? 

2  Lord.  It  docs:  but  time  will— and  so 

3  Lord.  I  do  conceive. 

Tim.  Each  man  to  his  stool,  with  that  spur  as  he 
would  to  the  lip  of  his  mistress:  your  diet  shall 
be  in  all  places  alike.  Make  not  a  city  feast  of  it, 
to  let  the  meat  cool  ere  we  can  agree  upon  the  Hrst 
place:  Sit,  sit.    The  gods  require  our  thanks. 

You  great  benefactors,  sprinkle  our  society  Ivith 
iliankfulness.  For  ijouroivn  f^ifls,  make  you'rselres 
praised :  but  reserre  still  to  t^ine,  lest  iiour  deities  be 
despised.  Lend  to  eacti  man  enou^ti,  ttiat  otie  need 
7iot  lend  to  another ;  for,  were  your  godtieads  to 
borrow  of  men,  men  would  forsake  the  gods.  Make 
the  meal  be  beloved,  more  than  lite  man  that  gives  it. 
Let  no  assembly  of  twenty  be  withtmt  a  score  of 
villains :  Ifttiere  sit  twelve  women  at  the  table,  let  a 
dozen  of  fkem  be— as  they  are.— The  rest  of  your 
fees,  O  gods, — ttie  senators  of  Athens,  together  with 
the  common  hi  g'^  of  maple,— what  is  aviissin  ttiem, 
you  gods,  make  suitable  for  destruction.  For  these 
7ny  present  friends, — as  they  are  to  me  notliing,  so 
in  nothing  bless  them,  and  to  nothing  they  are 
tuelcoiue. 
Uncover,  dogs,  and  lap. 

[The  Vishes uncovered  are  fullof  warm  water. 


Some  speak.  What  does  his  lordship  mean  1 

Stnne  other.  I  know  not. 

Tim.  May  you  a  better  feast  never  behold, 
You  knot  of  mouth-friends !  smoke,  and  luke-warin 

water. 
Is  your  pcrlection.    This  is  Timon's  last ; 
Who  stuck  and  spangled  you  with  flalteries, 
Washes  it  od',  and  sprinkles  in  your  faces 

[Throwing  water  in  their  faces. 
Your  reeky  villany.    Live  loath'd  and  long. 
Most  smiling,  smooth,  detested  parasites. 
Courteous  destroyers,  artiible  wolves,  meek  bears, 
You  fools  of  fortune,  trencher-friends,  time's  dies, 
Cap  and  knee  slaves,  vapors,  and  minute-jacks  !» 
Of  man  and  beast,  the  inhnite  malady 
Crust  you  quite  o'er  !— What,  dost  thou  go  1 
Soft,  take  thy  physic  first— thou  too,— and  thou  ;— 
[Throws  the  Dishes  at  them,  and  dnves 
them  out. 
Stay,  I  will  lend  thee  money,  borrow  none. — 
What,  all  in  motion  1     Henceforth  be  no  feast, 
Whereat  a  villain's  not  a  welcome  guest, 
liurn,  house  !  sink,  Athens  !  henceforth  hated  be 
Of  Timon,  man,  and  all  humanity  !  [Exit. 

Re-enter  the  Lords,  with  other  Lords  and  Senators. 

1  Lord.  How  now,  my  lords  1 

2  L(/i-d.  Know  you  the  quality  of  lord  Timon  3 

fury  1 

3  Lord.  Pish  !  did  you  see  my  cap  ■? 

4  Lord.  I  have  lost  my  gown. 

3  Lord.  He's  but  a  mad  lord,  and  nought  but 
humor  sways  him.  He  gave  me  a  jewel  the  other 
day,  and  now  he  has  beat  it  out  of  my  hat :— Did 
you  see  my  jewel  1 

4  Lard.  Did  you  see  my  i  jpl 
2  Lirrd.  Here  'lis. 

4  Lord.  Here  lies  my  gown. 

1  Lord.  Let's  make  no  stay. 

2  Ijird.  Lord  Timon's  mad. 

3  Lord.  I  leel't  upon  my  bones, 

4  Ijjrd.  One  day  he  gives  us  diamonds,  next  day 

stones.  [Ejceunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.— Without  the  tra/fa  o/ Athens. 
Enter  Timon. 
Tim.  Let  me  look  hack  upon  thee,  0  thou  wall 
That  girdiest  in  tliose  wolves  !     Dive  in  the  earth, 
And  fence  not  Athens  !  Matrons,  turn  incontinent ! 
Obedience  fail  in  children  !  slaves  and  fools, 
Pluck  the  grave  wrinkled  senate  from  the  bench, 
And  minister  in  their  steads !  to  general  tilths'" 
Convert,  o'  the  instant,  green  virginity  ! 
Do  't  in  your  parents'  eyes  !    bankrupts,  hold  fast ; 
Rather  than  render  back,  out  with  your  knives, 
Andcut  your  trusters'lhroats!  bound servants.steal! 
Large-handed  robbers  your  grave  masters  are; 
And  pill  by  law  !  maid,  to  lliy  master's  bed; 
.Thy  mistress  is  o'  the  brothel'!  s(m  of  sixteen. 
Pluck  the  lin'd  crutch  from  the  old  limping  sire, 
With  it  boatouthis  brains!  piety,  and  tear, 
Religion  to  the  gods,  peace,  justice,  truth, 
Dcmestic  awe,  night-rest,  and  neighborhood, 
Instruction,  manners,  mjsteries,  and  trades, 
Degrees,  observances,  customs,  and  laws, 
Decline  to  your  confounding  contraries. 
And  yet  confusion  live ! — Plagues,  incident  to  men. 
Your  potent  and  inlecttous  fevers  heap 
On  Athens,  ripe  for  stroke  !  thou  cold  sciatica. 
Cripple  our  senators,  that  their  limbs  may  halt 
As  lamely  as  their  manners  !  lust  and  liberty" 
Creep  in  the  minds  and  marrows  of  our  youth ; 
That  'gainst  the  stream  of  virtue  they  may  strive. 
And  drown  themselves  in  riot!  itches,  blains. 
Sow  all  the  Alhcnian  bosoms;  and  their  crop 
Be  general  leprosy  !  breath  infect  breath  ; 
TliaL  their  society,  as  their  friendship,  may 
Be  merely  poistni !     Nothing  I'll  bear  from  thee, 
But  nakedness,  thou  detestable  town  ! 


•  The  lowfst. 
1  For  libertiuism. 


•  Common  sewers. 


Take  thou  that  too,  with  multiplying  bans!' 
Timon  will  to  the  woods;  where  he  shall  find 
The  unkindest  beast  more  kinder  than  mankind 
The  gods  confound  (hear  me,  ye  good  gods  all) 
Tlie  Athenians  both  within  and  out  that  wall ! 
And  grant,  as  Timon  grows,  his  hate  may  grow 
To  the  whole  race  of  mankind,  high  and  low  ! 
Amen.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— Athens.    A  Room  in  Timon's 

House. 
Enter  FLAvnis,  with  two  or  three  Servants. 
1  Serv.  Hear  you,  master  steward,  Where's  our 
master  1 
Are  we  undone  ]  cast  off?  nothing  remaining  ! 

Flav.  Alack,  mvfellows,what  should  I  say  to  you  1 
Let  me  he  recorded  by  the  righteous  gods, 
I  am  as  poor  as  you. 

1  Serv.  Such  a  house  broke  ! 
So  noble  a  master  fallen  !     All  gone  !  and  not 
One  friend,  to  take  his  fortune  by  the  arm. 
And  go  along  with  him  I 

2  Serv.  As  we  do  turn  our  backs 
From  our  companion,  thrown  into  his  grave  ; 

So  his  familiars  to  his  buried  fortunes 
Slink  all  away ;  leave  their  false  vows  wnth  him, 
Like  empty  purses  pick'd  :  and  his  poor  self, 
A  dedicated  beggar  to  the  air. 
With  his  disease  of  all-shunn'd  poverty. 
Walks,  like  contempt,  alone.— More  of  our  fellows. 
Enter  other  Servants. 
Flav.  All  broken  implements  of  a  ruin'd  house. 

3  Serv    Yet  do  our  hearts  wear  Timon's  livery. 
That  see  I  by  our  faces;  we  are  fellows  still, 

•  .Tacksof  the  clock;  like  those  of  St.  Bunstan's  church, 
in  Flfft  stroot. 
>  Accumulate-d  curses. 


538 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  IV. 


Serving  alike  in  sorrow ;  Leak'd  is  our  bark  ; 
And  vvc,  poor  mates,  stand  on  tha  dying  deck, 
Hearing  the  surges  threat:  we  must  all  part 
.    Into  tills  sea  of  air. 

Flew.  Good  fellows  all. 

The  latest  of  my  wealth  I'll  share  amongst  you. 
Wherever  we  shall  meet,  for  Timon's  sake, 
Let's  >'ct  be  fellows  ;  let's  shake  our  heads,  and  say, 
As  'tvvere  a  knell  unto  our  master's  fortunes. 
We  have  seen  betler  days.    Let  each  take  some ; 

[  Giving  them  Money. 
Nay,  jHit  out  all  your  hands.  Not  one  word  more  : 
Thus  part  we  rich  in  sorrow,  parting  poor. 

[Exeunt  Servants. 
0,  the  fierce'  wretchedness  that  glory  brings  us  ! 
Who  would  not  wish  to  be  from  wealth  exempt, 
Since  riches  point  to  misery  and  contempt? 
Who'd  be  so  mock'd  with  glory  1  or  to  live 
But  in  a  dream  of  friendship  \ 
To  have  his  pomp,  and  all  what  state  compounds. 
But  only  painted  like  his  varnish'd  friends  1 
Poor  honest  lord,  brought  low  by  his  own  heart, 
Undone  by  goodness  !    Strange,  unusual  blood,- 
When  a  man's  worst  sin  is,  he  does  too  much  good! 
Who  then  dares  to  be  half  so  kind  again  1 
For  bounty,  that  makes  gods,  does  still  mar  men. 
My  dearest  lord,— bless'd,  to  be  most  accurs'd, 
Rich,  only  to  be  wretched ;— thy  great  tbrtunes 
Are  made  thy  chief  afflictions.    Alas,  kind  lord  ! 
He's  rtung  in  rage  from  this  ungrateful  seat 
Of  monstrous  friends:  nor  has  he  with  him  to 
Supply  his  life,  or  that  which  can  command  it. 
I'll  liillow,  and  inquire  him  out; 
I'll  serve  his  mind  with  my  best  will; 
Whilst  I  have  gold,  I'll  be'his  steward  slill.  [Exit. 
SCENE   III.— Tte  Woo^is. 
Enter  Timon. 
Tim..  0  blessed  breeding  sun,  draw  from  the  earth 
Rotten  humidity;  below  thy  sister's  orb 
Infect  the  air!     Twinn'd  brothers  of  one  womb, — 
Whose  procreation,  residence,  and  birth. 
Scarce  is  dividant,— touch  them  with  several  for- 
tunes ; 
The  greater  scorns  the  lesser :  Not  nature. 
To  whom  all  sores  lay  siege,  can  bear  great  fortune. 
But  by3  contempt  of  nature. 
Raise  me  this  beggar,  and  denude  that  lord  ; 
Tiie  senator  shall  bear  contempt  hereditary. 
Tile  boggar  native  honor. 
It  is  IMe  pasture  lards  the  brother's  sides. 
The  want  that  makes  him  lean.    Who  dares,  who 

dares. 
In  purity  of  manhood  stand  upright. 
And  say.  This  man's  a  flatterer?    If  one  be, 
So  are  they  all ;  for  every  grize  of  fortune 
Is  smooth'd  by  that  below  :  the  learned  pate 
Ducks  to  the  golden  tool :  All  is  oblique; 
There's  nothing  level  in  our  cursed  natures, 
But  direct  villany.    Therefore  be  abhorr'd 
All  feasts,  societies,  and  throngs  of  men  ! 
His  semblable,  yea,  himself,  Timon  disdains: 
Destruction    fang'    mankind !— Earth,   yield    me 
roots !  [Digsing. 

Who  seeks  lor  betler  of  thee,  sauce  his  palate 
With  thy  most  operant  poison  !     What  is  here  1 
Gold?  yellow,  glittering,  precious  gold  ?  No,gods, 
I  am  no  idle  votarist.    Roots,  you  clear  heavens  ! 
Thus  much  of  this,  will  make  black,  white;  foul, 

lair; 
Wrong,  right;  base,  noble;  old,  young;  coward, 

valiant. 
Ha,  you  gods  !  why  this  \     What  this,  you  gods  ? 

Why  this 
Will  lug  your  priests  and  servants  from  your  sides; 
Pluck  stout  men's  pillows  from  below  their  heads: 
This  yellow  slave 

Will  knit  and  break  religions;  bless  the  accurs'd; 
Make  the  honr  leprosy  ador'd;  place  thieves. 
And  give  them  title,  knee,  and  approbation. 
With  senaiors  on  the  bench  :  this  is  it. 
That  makes  tlie  wappen'dJ  vvidow  wed  again  ; 
She,  whom  the  spital-liouse.  and  ulcerous  sores. 
Would  cast  the  gorge  at,  this  i-inb;iliiis  and  spices 
To  the  April  day  again.s    Come,  damned  earth, 
'  Hasty,  procipit.ifc,  i  Propensity,  disposition. 

3  Bid  l.y  is  here  usetl  for  without. 

•  Seize,  gripe.  i  .Sorrowful. 

•  i.e..  Gold  restores  her  to  all  the  sweetness  and  fresh- 
ness of  youth. 


Thou  common  whore  of  mankind,  that  put'stodds 

Among  the  rout  of  nations,  I  will  make  thee 

Do  tiiy  right  nature.— [ilto-cA   afar  off.]—lia..   a 

drum  ?— Thou'rt  quick. 
But  yet  I'll  bury  thee:  Tliou'lt  go,  strong  thief, 
When  gouty  keepers  of  thee  cannot  stand  :— 
Nay,  stay  thou  out  for  earnest.  [Keeping  same  gold. 

Enter  Alcibiades,  with  Jl-»  m  and  Fife,  in  luarlike 
manner;  Purvma  oHrf  Tlmandua. 
Alcib.  What  art  thou  there  1 

Speak. 
Tim.  A  beast,  as  thou  art.    The  canker  gnaw 
thy  heart. 
For  showing  me  again  the  eyes  of  man  ' 
Alcib.  What  is  thy  name  '    Is  man  so  hateful  to 
thee. 
That  art  thyself  a  man? 

Tim.  I  am  misanthrnpns,  and  hate  mankind. 
For  thy  part,  I  do  wisli  thou  wert  a  dog. 
That  I  might  love  thee  something. 

Alcib.  I  know  thee  well : 

But  m  thy  fortunes  am  unlearn'd  and  strange. 
Tim.  1   know  thee   too;  and  more   than  that  I 
know  thee, 
I  not  desire  to  kiiow.    Follow  thy  drum  ; 
With  man's  blood  paint  the  ground,  gules,  gules: 
Religious  canons,  civil  laws  are  cruel ; 
Then  what  should  war  be?  This  fell  whore  of  thine 
Hath  in  lier  more  destruction  than  thy  sword. 
For  all  her  cherubin  look. 
Phr.  Thy  lips  rot  off! 

Tim.  I  will  not  kiss  thee ;  then  the  rot  returns 
To  thine  own  lips  again. 
Alcil).  How  came  the  noblcTimon  to  this  change? 
Tim.  As  the  moon  does,  by  wanting  light  to  give: 
But  then  renew  I  could  not,  like  the  moon; 
There  were  no  suns  to  borrow  of. 

Alcib.  Noble  Timon, 

Wliat  triendship  may  I  do  thee  ? 

Tim.  None,  but  to 

Maintain  my  opinion. 
Alcib.  What  is  it,  Timon? 

Tim.  Promise  me  friendship, but  perform  none:If 
Tliou  wilt  not  promise,  the  gods  plague  thee,  for 
Thou  art  a  man !  If  thou  dostperform,confound  thee, 
For  thou'rt  a  man  ! 
Alcib.  I  have  heard  in  some  sort  of  thy  miseries. 
Tim.  Thou  siiw'st  them,  when  I  had  prosperity. 
Aleib.  I  see  them  now ;  then  was  a  blessed  time. 
Tim.  As  thine  is  now,  held  with  a  brace  of  harlots. 
Timan.  Is  this  the  Athenian  minion,  whom  the 
world 
V^oiced  so  regardfully '! 
Tim.  Art  thou  Timandra  ! 

Timan.  Yes. 

Tim.  Be  a  whore  still !  they  love  thee  not,  that 
use  thee ; 
Give  them  diseases,  leaving  with  thee  their  lust. 
Make  use  of  thy  salt  hours  :  season  the  slaves 
For  tubs,and  baths ;  bring  down  rose-cheeked  youth 
To  the  tub-fast,  and  the  diet.' 
Timan.  Hang  thee,  monster ! 

Alcib.  Pardon  him,  sweet  Timandra  ;  for  his  wits 
Arc  drown'd  and  lost  in  his  calamities. — 
I  have  but  little  gold  of  late,  brave  Timon, 
The  want  wliereof  doth  daily  make  revolt 
In  my  penurious  band  :  I  have  heard,  and  griev'd, 
How  cursed  Athens,  mindless  of  thy  worth, 
Forgetting  thy  great  deeds,  when  neighbor  states, 
But  lor  thy  sword  and  fortune,  trod  upon  them, — 
Tim.  I  pr'ythee,  beat  thy  drum.and  get  thee  gone. 
Aleib.  I  am  thy  friend,  and  pity  thee,  dear  Timon. 
Tim.  How  dost  thou  pity'  him,wlioui  tliou  dost 
trouble  ? 
I  had  rather  be  alone. 

Alcib.  Why,  fare  thee  well : 

Here's  some  gold  for  thee. 
Tim.  Kcep't,  I  cannot  eat  it. 

Alcib.    When  I  have  laid  proud  Athens  on  a 

heap. 

Tim.  Warr'st  thou  'gainst  Athens? 
Alcib.  Ay,  Timon,  and  have  cause, 

Tim.  The  gods  confound  them  all  i'  thy  coiir|uest ; 
and 
Thee  after,  when  thou  hast  conquer'd  ! 
Alcib.  Why  me,  Timon? 

">  Alluding  to  the  cure  of  the  lues  venerea,  then  in 
practice. 


Scene  III. 


TIMON  OP  ATHENS. 


5.39 


Tim.  Tliat, 
B\  killini^  villains,  tliou  wast  bom  to  conquer 
My  country. 

Pilt  up  thy  gold  :  Go  on, — here's  gold, — go  on; 
Be  as  a  planetary  ]>lagne,  when  Jove 
Will  o"cr  some  high-vic'd  city  hang  his  poison 
In  the  sick  air :  Let  not  thy  sword  skip  one : 
Pity  not  honor'd  age  for  his  white  beard, 
He*s  an  usurer :  Strike  nie  the  counteileit  matron  ; 
It  is  her  habit  only  that  is  honest, 
Hersell's  a  bawd  :  Let  not  the  virgin's  cheek 
Make  sott  thy  trenchant^  sword ;  tor  those  milk- 
paps. 
That  through  the  window-bars  bore  at  men's  eyes, 
Are  not  within  the  leaf  of  pity  writ. 
Set  them  down  horrible  traitors:  Spare  not  the  babe. 
Whose  dimpled  smiles  from  fools  exhaust  their 

merc5' ; 
Think  it  a  bastard.s  whom  the  oracle 
Hath  doubtfully  pronounced  thy  throat  shall  cut, 
And  mince  it  sans  remorse:'  swear  against  objects  ;- 
Put  armor  on  tliine  ears,  and  on  thine  eyes. 
Whose  proof,  nor  yells  (il  ini>ihiTs.niaids,'nor  babes, 
Nor  sight  of  priests  in  holy  \e>tiii(nts  bleeding, 
Shall  pierce  a  jot.  There's  gold  to  jiay  thy  soldiers : 
Make  large  confusion  ;  and,  thy  fury  spent. 
Confounded  be  thyself!  Speak  not,  be  gone. 
Akib.  Hast  tho'u  gold  yet!     I'll  lake  the  gold 

thou  giv'st  me ! 
Not  all  thy  counsel. 
Tim.  Dost  thou,  or  dost  thou  not,  heaven's  curse 

upon  thee  ! 
Phr.Si  Tinian.  Give  us  some  gold,  good  Timon: 

Hast  thou  more ! 
Tiiti.  Enough  lo  make  a  whore  forswearher  trade, 
And  to  make  whores,  a  bawd.    Hold  up,  you  sluts, 
V'our  aprons  mounlant:  You  are  not  oathable. — 
Although,  I  know.  jou'U  swear,  terribly  swear, 
Into  strong  shudders,  and  to  heavenly  "agues. 
The  immortal   gods   that  hear  you, — spare  your 

oaths, 
I'll  trust  to  your  conditions :3  Be  whores  slill ; 
And  he  whose  pious  breath  seeks  to  convert  you. 
Be  strong  in  whore,  allure  him,  burn  him  up  ; 
Let  your  close  hre  predominate  his  smoke, 
And  be  no  turncoats:   Yet  may  your  pains,  six 

months. 
Be  quite  contrary :  And  thatch  your  pofir  thin  roofs 
With  burdensol  thedead  ;— some  that  were  hang'd. 
No  matter:— wear  them,  betray  with  Ihem  :  whore 

still; 
Paint  till  a  horse  may  mire  upon  your  face  : 
A  pox  of  wrinkles! 

PItr.Sf  Tirnaii.  Well,  more  gold;— What  then?— 
Believe't,  that  we'll  do  any  thing  lor  gold. 

Tim.  Consumptions  sow 
In  hollow  bones  of  man  ;  strike  their  sharp  shins. 
And  mar  men's  spurring.  Crack  the  lawyer's  voice. 
That  he  may  never  more  false  title  plead. 
Nor  sound  his  quiUels'  shrilly  :  hoar  the  liamen, 
That  scolds  against  the  quality  of  llesh. 
And  not  believes  himsell :  down  with  the  nose, 
Down  with  it  Hat ;  take  the  bridge  quite  away 
Of  him,  that  his  particular  to  foresee. 
Smells  from  the  general  weal:  make  curl'd-pate 

ruffians  bald ; 
And  let  the  unscarr'd  braggarts  of  the  war 
Derive  some  pain  from  you :  PJague  all ; 
That  your  activity  may  defeat  and  quell 
The  source  of  all  erection.— There's  more  gold  :— 
Do  you  damn  others,  and  let  this  damn  you. 
And  ditches  grave  you  all ! 
PAr.  Sr  Timan.  Jlore  counsel  with  more  money, 

bounteous  Timon. 
Tim.  More  whore,  more  mischief  first;  I  have 

given  you  earnest. 
Akib    Strike    up    the   drum    towards  Athens. 

Farewell,  Timon ! 
If  I  thrive  well,  I'll  visit  thee  again. 
Tim.  If  I  hope  well,  I'll  never  see  thee  more. 
Akib.  I  never  did  thee  harm. 
Tim.  Y^es,  thou  spok'st  well  of  me. 
•^'cid.  Call'st  thou  that  harm  ? 

Tm.  Men  daily  find  it  such.    Get  thee  away. 
And  take  thy  beagles  with  thee. 

«  Cutting.  »  An  allusion  to  the  talu  of  (Edipus. 

*  Without  pity. 

^  i.e.  .4gaiu.st  objects  of  charity  and  compassion 

>  Vocations.  .  Subtilties. 


Akib.  We  but  offend  him.— 

Strike. 

[Drum  beats.    Exit  Alcieiades,  Phuynia, 

(ind  TiM.iNDHA. 

Tim.  That  nature,  being  sick  of  man's  unkind- 
ness. 
Should  yet  be  hungry  !— Common  mother,  thou 

[Digging. 
Whose  womb  unmeasurable,  and  infinite  breast, 
Teems,  and  feeds  all;  whose  self-same  mettle. 
Whereof  thy  proud  child,  arrogant  man,  is  pufTd, 
Engenders  ihe  black  toad,  and  adder  blue, 
The  gilded  newt,  and  eyeless  venoni'd  worm,* 
With  all  the  abhorred  births  below  crisp"  heaven 
Whereon  Hyperion's  quickening  hre  doth  shine; 
Y'ield  him,  who  all  thy  human  sons  doth  hale. 
From  forth  thy  plenteous  bosom  one  poor  rout ! 
Ensear  thy  f(?rtile  and  conceptions  womb. 
Let  it  no  more  bring  out  ingrateful  man  ! 
Go  great  with  tigers,  dragons,  wolves,  and  bears  ; 
Teem  with  new  monsters,  whom  thy  upward  face 
Hath  to  the  marble  mansion  all  above 
Never  presented  !— O,  a  root,— Dear  thanks  ! 
Dry  up  thy  marrows,  vines,  and  plough-torn  leas  : 
Whereof  ingrateful  man,  with  liquorish  draughts, 
And  morsels  unctuous,  greases  his  pure  mind, 
That  from  it  all  consideration  slips ! 

Enter  Apemantis. 
More  man  '!  Plague  !  ])lague  ! 

Apeni.  I  was  directed  hither:  Men  report 
Thou  dost  all'ect  my  manners,  and  dost  use  them. 

Tim,   Tis  then,  because  thou  dost  not  keep  a  doe 
Whom  I  would  imitate:  Consumption  catch  theel 

A/iem.  This  is  in  thee  a  nature  but  allijcted ; 
A  pooruTimanly  melancholy,  sprung 
From  change  of  Itirtune.     Why  this  spade  1  this 

place  ] 
This  slave-like  habit,  and  these  looks  of  care  t 
Thy  flatterers  yet  wear  silk,  drink  wine,  lie  soft, 
Hug  their  diseas'd  perfumes,  and  have  forgot 
That  ever  Timon  was.    Shame  not  these  woods, 
By  putting  on  the  cunning  of  a  carper. 
Be  thou  a  flatterer  now,  and  seek  to  thrive 
By  that  which  has  undone  thee :  hinse  thy  knee, 
And  let  his  very  breath,  whom  thou'lt  obs'erve. 
Blow  oir  thy  cap;  jiraise  his  most  vicious  strain, 
And  call  it  excellent;  thou  wast  told  thus; 
Thou  gav'st  thine  ears,  like  tapsters,  that  bid  wel- 
come, 
To  knaves,  and  all  approachers ;  'Tis  most  just. 
That  thou  turn  rascal ;  hadst  thou  wealth  again, 
Uasc.ils  should  have't.  Do  not  assume  my  likeness. 

Tim.  Were  I  like  thee,  I'd  throw  away  myself. 

Apem.  Thou  hast  cast  away  thyself,  being  like 
thyself; 
.\  madman  so  long,  now  a  fool :    What,  think'st 
That  the  bleak  air,  thy  boisterous  chambcrhiin. 
Will  iHil  thy  shirt  on  warm  1  Will  these  moss'd  trees. 
That  have  outliv'd  the  eagle,  page  thy  heels, 
.\nd  skip  when  thou  point'st  out !    Will  the  cold 

brook. 
Candied  with  ice,  caudle  thy  morning  taste. 
To  cure  Ihy  o'ernight  surfcitl  call  the  creatures,— 
Whose  naked  natures  live  in  all  the  spile 
Of  wreakful  heaven;  whose  bare  unhoused  trunks, 
To  the  conllicting  elements  expos'd, 
.\iiswer  mere  nature,— bid  them  flatter  thee; 
O  !  thou  shall  find 

Tim.  A  fool  of  thee:  Depart. 

■Ajiem.  I  love  thee  better  now  than  e'er  I  did. 

Tim.  I  hate  theo  worse. 

Apem.  Why  ? 

?■'"'■  Thou  flatter'st  misery. 

Apem.  I  flatter  not ;  but  say  thou  art  a  caitili; 

Tim.  Why  dost  thou  seek  ihe  out ! 

Apem.  To  vex  thee. 

1  im.  Always  a  villain's  oUice,  or  a  fool's. 
Dost  please  thyself  in't ! 

Aiiem.  Ay. 

Tim.  What !  a  knave  too  ? 

Apem.  If  thou  didst  put  this  sour  cold  habit  on 
To  castigate  thy  pride,  'iwcre  well :  but  thou 
Dost  it  enforcedly  ;  Ihou'dst  courtier  be  again, 
Wert  thou  not  beggar.    Willing  misery 
Outhves  uncertain  pomp,  is  ciown'd  before;' 
The  one  is  hlling  still,  never  complete  ; 
The  other  at  high  wish  :  Best  state,  contentless, 

'  The  serpent  called  the  blind-worm.  «  Curved. 

'  i.e.  Arrives  sooner  at  the  completion  of  its  wishes. 


540 


TIMON   OP  ATHENS. 


Act  IV. 


Hath  a  distracted  and  most  wretched  being, 

Worse  than  the  worst,  content. 

Thou  shouldst  desire  to  die.  being  miserable, 

Tim.  Not  by  his  breath^  that  is  more  miserable. 
Thou  art  a  slave,  ■whom  Fortune's  tender  arm 
With  favor  never  clasp'd ;  but  bred  a  dog. 
Hadst  thou,  like  us,  from  our  first  swat h^  proceeded, 
The  sweet  degrees  that  this  brief  world  atlbrds 
To  such  as  may  the  passive  drugs  of  it 
Freely  com mand.thouwouldst  have  plunged  thyself 
In  gen'ral  riot;  melted  down  thy  youth 
In  dilFerent  beds  of  lusts;  and  never  learnM 
The  icy  precepts  of  respect,  but  foUow'd 
The  sugar'd  game  before  thee.    But  myself 
Who  had  the  world  as  my  confectionary  ; 
The  mouths,  the  tougucs,  the  eyes  and  lioartsof  men 
At  duty,  more  than  1  could  frame  employment; 
That  numberless  upon  me  stuck,  as  leaves 
Do  oil  tlie  oak,  have  with  one  winter's  brush 
Fell  from  their  boughs,  and  left  me  open,  bare 
For  every  storm  that  blows; — I  to  bear  this, 
That  never  knew  but  better,  is  some  burden  : 
Thy  nature  did  commence  in  sutTerance,  time 
Hath  made  thee  hard  in*t.  Why  should'st  thou  hate 

men  1 
They  never  flatterM  thee.    What  hast  thou  given"! 
If  thou  wilt  curse, — thy  father,  that  poor  rag, 
Must  be  thy  subject ;  who,  in  spite,  put  stulf 
To  some  she-beggar,  and  compounded  thee. 
Poor  rogue  hereditary.    Hence  I  be  gone  ! — 
If  thou  hadst  not  been  born  the  worst  of  men 
Thou  hadst  been  a  knave,  and  tlatterer. 

Apf-Jii.  Art  thou  proud  yet  1 

Tun.  Ay,  that  I  am  not  thee. 

Apcni.  I,  that  I  t^'as 

No  prodigal. 

Tim.  I,  tiiat  I  am  one  now  ; 

Were  all  the  wealth  1  have  shut  up  in  thee, 
I'd  give  thee  leave  to  hang  it.    Get  thee  gone. — 
That  the  whole  life  of  Athens  were  in  this ! 
Thus  would  I  eat  it.  [Eating  a  root. 

Apeiii.  Here;  I  will  mend  thy  feast. 

[Offeri7ig  him  something. 

Tim.  First  mend  my  company,  take  away  thy- 
self. 

Apcm.  So  I  shall  mend  mine  own,  by  the  lack 
of  thine. 

Tim.  'Tis  not  well  mended  so,  it  is  but  botch'd  ; 
If  not,  I  would  it  were. 

Apem.  What  wouldst  thou  have  to  Athens  1 

Tim.  Thee  thither  in  a  whirlwind.  If  thou  wilt, 
Tel!  them  there  I  have  gold;  look,  so  I  have. 

Apcm.  Here  is  no  use  for  gold. 

Tim.  The  best  and  truest ; 

For  here  it  sleeps  and  does  no  hired  harm. 

Apem.  Where  ly'st  o'nights,  Timoni 

Tim.  Under  that's  above  me. 

Where  feed'st  thou  o'days,  Apcmantus'? 

Apem.  Where  my  stomach  liuds  meat;  or,rather, 
where  I  eat  it. 

Tim.  "Would  poison  were  obedient,  and  knew 
my  mind  ! 

Apem.  W^here  wouldst  thou  send  it? 

Tim.  To  sauce  thy  dishes. 

Apem.  TJie  middle  of  humanity  thou  never 
knewest,  but  the  extremity  of  both  ends  ;  When 
thou  war^t  in  thy  gilt,  and  thy  perfume,  they  mock- 
ed thee  lor  too  much  curiosity;'  in  thy  rags  thou 
knov.est  none,  but  art  despised  lor  tlie  contrary. 
There's  a  nied!ar  for  tliee,  eat  it. 

Tim.  On  what  1  hate,  I  feed  not. 

A7>c!'t.  Dost  hate  a  medlar? 

Tim.  Ay,  though  it  look  like  Hice. 

Apem.  An  thou  hadst  hated  meddlers  sooner, 
thou  shouldst  have  loved  thyself  better  now.  What 
man  didst  thou  ever  know  unthrift,  that  was  be- 
loved after  his  means  ! 

'Tim.  WJio,  without  those  means  tliou  talkest  of, 
didst  thou  ever  know  beloved? 

Apem.  Myselt; 

Tim.  I  understand  thee;  thou  hadst  some  means 
to  keep  a  dog. 

Apem.  What  things  in  the  world  canst  thou 
fiearest  compare  to  thy  batterers] 

Tim.  Women  nearest:  but  men,  men  are  the 
things  themselves.  What  wouldst  ihou  do  with  the 
world,  Apemantus,  if  it  lay  in  tJiy  power! 


■  l!y  his  voice,  sentence. 

*  For  ton  much  finical  delicacy. 


»  From  infancy. 


Apem.  Give  it  the  beasts,  to  be  rid  of  the  men. 

I'im.  Wouldst  thou  liave  thyself  fall  in  the  con» 
fusion  of  men.  and  remain  a  beast  witJi  the  beasts! 

Apem.  Ay,  Timon. 

Tim.  A  beastly  ambition,  which  the  gods  grant 
thee  to  attain  to!  If  thou  wert  the  lion,  the  fox 
would  beguile  thee:  if  thou  wert  the  lamb,  the  fox 
would  eat  thee  :  if  thou  wert  the  fox,  tlic  lion  would 
suspect  thee .when.pcradventurc. thou  wert  accused 
by  the  ass  :  if  thou  wert  the  ass,  thy  dulness  would 
torment  thee;  and  still  thou  livedst  but  as  a  break- 
fast to  the  wolf:  if  thou  wert  the  wolf,  thy  greedi- 
ness would  afllict  thee,  and  ol^  thou  shouldst  hazard 
thy  life  for  thy  dinner:  wert  thou  the  unicorn,  pride 
and  wrath  would  conlbund  thee,  and  make  thine 
own  self  the  conquest  of  thy  fury:  wert  tlioua  bear, 
thou  wouldst  be  killed  by  the  "horse:  wert  thou  a 
horse,  thou  wouldst  be  seized  by  the  leopard :  vi-ert 
thou  a  leopard,  thou  wert  gerinan  to  the  lion,  and 
the  spots  of  thy  kindred  were  jurors  on  tiiy  life:  all 
thy  safety  were  remotion  ;2  and  thy  detence,absence. 
What  beast  couldst  thou  be,  that  wert  not  subject  to 
a  beast  ?  and  what  a  beast  art  thou  already,  that 
scest  not  thy  loss  in  transformation  ] 

Apem.  If  thou  couldst  please  me  with  speaking 
to  me,  thou  mightst  have  hit  upon  it  here :  The  com- 
monwealth of  Athens  is  become  a  forest  of  beasts. 

Tim.  How  has  the  ass  broke  the  wall,  that  thou 
art  out  of  the  city  \ 

Apem.  Yonder  comes  a  poet  and  a  painter:  The 
plague  of  company  light  upon  thee!  I  will  fear  to 
catch  it,  and  give  way;  When  1  know  not  whatelse 
to  do,  I'll  see  thee  again. 

Tim.  When  there  ]s  nothing  living  but  thee,  thou 
shalt  be  welcome.  I  had  rather  be  a  beggar's  dog, 
than  Apemantus. 

Apem.  Thou  art  the  cap^  of  all  the  fools  alive. 

Tim.  'Would  thou  wert  clean  enough   to  spit 
upon. 

Apem.  A  plague  on  thee,  thou  art  too  bad  to 
curse. 

Tim,  All  villains,  that  do  stand  by  thee,  are  pure. 

Apem.  There  is  no  leprosy  but  what  thou  speak'st. 
^  Tim.  If  I  name  thee. — 
ril  beat  thee, — but  I  should  infect  my  hands. 

Apem.  I  would,  my  tongue  could  rot  them  off! 

Tim.  Away,  thou  issue  of  a  mangy  dog! 
Choler  does  kill  me,  that  thou  art  alive; 
I  swoon  to  see  thee. 

Apem*  'Would  thou  would'st  burst! 

Tim.  Away, 

Thou  tedious  rogue!  I  am  sorry,  I  shall  lose 
A  stone  by  thee.  [Throws  a  Shne  at  him. 

Apem.  Beast ! 

Tim.  Slave ! 

Apem.,  Toad ! 

Tim.  Rogue,  rogue,  rogue  ! 

[APEMAXTrs  retreats  backward,  as  going. 
I  am  sick  of  this  false  world  ;  and  will  love  nought 
But  even  the  mere  necessities  upon  it. 
Then,  Timon.  presently  prepare  thy  grave; 
Lie  where  the  light  foam  of  the  sea  may  beat 
Thy  grave-stone  daily  ;  make  thine  epitaph. 
That  death  in  me  at  others'  lives  may  laugh. 
0  thou  sweet  king-killer,  and  dear  divorce 

[Looking  un  the  Gold. 
Twixt  natural  son  and  sire  !  thou  bright  defiler 
Of  Hymen's  purest  bed  !  thou  valiant  Mars  ! 
Thou  ever  young,  fresh,  lov'd,  and  delicate  wooer, 
Wiiose  blush  doth  thaw  the  consecrated  snow 
That  lies  on  Dian's  lap;  thou  visible  god, 
That  solder'st  close  impossibilities. 
And  mak'st  them  kiss!  that  speak'st  with  every 

tongue. 
To  every  purpose!  O  thou  touch^of  hearts! 
Think,  tJiy  slave  man  rebels ;  and  by  thy  virtue 
Set  them  into  contbunding  odds,  that  beasts 
May  have  tiic  world  in  empire  ! 

Apem,  'W^ould  'twere  so  ;— 

But  not  till  I  am  dead  !— I'll  sav,  thou  hast  gold, 
TJiou  wilt  be  throng'd  to  shortly. 

Tim.  Throng'd  to  \ 

Apem.  Ay. 

Tim.  Thy  back,  I  pr'ythec. 

Apem.  Live,  and  love  thy  misery 

Tim.   Long  live  so,  and  so  die  !— I  am  quit.— 
[Exit  Apemantl'S, 

■>  Rcmotoness;  the  bpinj;  placed  at  a  distance  from  the 
lion,  a  The  top,  the  priQcipal.  *  Touchstone. 


Scene  III. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


541 


More  thin°;s  like  men! — Eat,  Timon,  and  abhor 
them. 

Enter  Thieves. 

1  Thief.  Where  should  he  have  this  ^old  1  It  is 
some  poor  fragment,  some  slender  oi  t  of  his  re- 
mainder :  The  mere  want  of  gold,  and  the  falling- 
froni  of  Ids  friends,  drove  him  into  this  melancholy. 

2  Thitf.  It  is  noised, hehatha  raassof  treasure. 

3  Thitf.  J,et  us  make  the  assay  upon  him :  if  he 
care  not  for't,  he  will  supply  us  easily;  if  he  covet- 
ously reserve  it,  how  shall's  get  it  1 

2  7'A;/7'.True;rorhebearsitnotabouthim,'tishid. 

1  Thiif.  I- not  this  he! 
Thicvef^.  Where  ! 

2  Thief.  'Tis  his  description. 

3  Thuf.  He  ;  I  know  him. 
Thiev'fs.  Save  thee,  Timon. 
Tun.  Now.  thieves  ^ 
Thieves.  Soldiers,  not  thieves. 
Tun.  B  )th  too:  and  women's  sons. 

Thieves.  We  are  not  thieves,  but  men  that  much 
do  want. 

Tim.  Vour  greatest  want  is,  you  want  much  of 
meat. 
Why  should  you  want?  Behold  the  earth  hath  roots; 
Within  this  mile  break  forth  a  hundred  springs: 
The  oaks  bear  mast,  the  briars  scarlet  hips  ; 
The  bounteous  housewife,  nature,  on  each  bush 
Lays  her  full  mess  before  you.  Wanti  why  want? 

1  Thief.  We  cannot  live  on  grass, on  berries, water, 
As  beasts,  aud  birds,  and  tishcs. 

Tint.  Nor  on  the  beasts  themselves,  tlic  birds, 
and  fishes ; 
You  must  eat  men.    Yet  thanks  I  must  you  con, 
Tliat  you  are  thieves  profess'd  ;  that  you  work  not 
In  holier  shapes  :  for  there  is  boundless  Ihefl 
In  limited^  professions.    Rascal  thieves. 
Here's  gold  :  Go,  suck  the  subtle  blood  of  the  grape, 
Till  th(?  high  fever  seethe  your  blood  to  froth. 
And  so  'scape  hanging  :  trust  not  the  physician  ; 
His  antidotes  are  poison,  and  he  slays 
More  than  you  rob:  take  wealth  and  lives  together; 
Do  villany,  do,  since  you  profess  to  di»'t, 
Like  woriimen.     I'll  example  you  with  thinvery  : 
The  sun's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Hobs  the  vast  sea:  the  moon's  an  arrant  thief, 
And  her  pale  tire  she  snatches  from  the  sun  : 
The  sea's  a  thief,  whose  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  moon  into  salt  tears  :  the  earth's  a  thief. 
That  feeds  and  breeds  by  a  composture^  stolen 
From  general  excrement:  each  thing's  a  Ihief; 
The  law^s,  your  curb  and  whip, in  their  rough  power 
Have  uiicheck'd  theft.    Love  not  yourselves:  away, 
Ilob  one  another.  There's  more  gold  :  Cut  throats; 
All  that  you  meet  are  thieves  :  To  Athens,  go, 
Break  open  shops  ;  nothing  can  you  steal. 
But  thieves  do  lose  it;  Steal  not  "less,  for  this 
I  give  you ;  and  gold  confound  you  howsoever  ! 

[TiMON'  retires  to  Aw  Cave. 

3  Thief.  He  has  almost  cliarmed  me  from  my 
profi'ssinn,  by  persuading  me  to  it. 

1  'Thief.  'Tis  in  the  malice  of  mankind,  that  he 
thus  advises  us;  not  to  have  us  thrive  in  our  mystery. 

2  Thiff  I'll  believe  him  as  an  enemy,  arid  give 
over  my  trade. 

1  Thief.  Let  us  first  see  peace  in  Atliens:  There 
is  no  time  so  miserable,  but  a  man  may  be  true. 

[Kxeutit  Thieves, 

Jil7iler  Flavius. 
Flav.  O  you  gods  ! 
Is  yon  despis'd  and  ruinous  man  my  lord  ? 
Full  of  decay  and  failing  !     O  monument 
And  wonder  of  good  deeds  evilly  bestow'd  ! 
What  an  alteration  of  honor  has 
Desperate  want  made  ! 

What  viler  thing  upon  tlie  earth,  than  lYiends 
Who  can  bring  noblest  minds  to  basest  ends! 
How  rarely"  does  it  meet  vvitli  this  time's  guise, 
When  man  was  wish'd  to  love  his  enemies: 


•  Legal.         8  Compost,  manure. 


'  How  happily. 


Grant,  I  may  ever  love,  and  rather  woo 

Those  that  would  mischief  me,  than  those  thatdo! 

He  has  caught  me  in  his  eye:  I  will  present 

My  honest  grief  unto  liim;  and.  as  my  lord. 

Still  serve  him  with  my  life. — My  dearest  master! 

Timon  comes  forward  froin  his  Cave. 

Tim.  Away  !  what  art  thou  1 

Flav.  Have  you  forgot  me,  sir? 

Tim.  Why  dost  ask  that  1    I  have  forgot  all  men  ; 
Then,ifthougrant'st  thou  art  man,l!iave  Ibrgotthee. 

Flav.  An  honest  poor  servant  of  yours. 

Tim.  Then 

I  know  thee  not :  I  ne'er  had  honest  man 
About  me,  I ;  all  that  I  kept  were  knaves, 
To  serve  in  meat  to  villains. 

Flav.  The  gods  are  witness, 

Ne'er  did  poor  steward  wear  a  truer  grief 
For  his  undone  lord,  than  mine  eyes  for  you. 

Tim.  What,  dost  thou  weep?— Come  nearer;— 
then  I  love  liiee. 
Because  thou  art  a  woman,  and  disclaim'st 
Flinty  mankind  ;  whose  eyes  do  never  give. 
But  tliorougli  lust  and  laughter.    Pity's  sleeping: 
Strange  times,  that  weep  with  laughing,  not  with 
weeping ! 

Flav.  i  beg  of  you  to  know  me,  good  my  lord, 
Toacceptmygrief.and  will  1st  this  poor  wealth  lasts, 
To  entertain  me  as  your  steward  still. 

Tim.  Had  I  a  steward  so  true,  so  just,  and  now 
So  comfortable  ?     It  almost  turns 
My  dangerous  nature  wild.    Let  me  behold 
Thy  lace.— Surely,  this  man  was  born  of  woman. 
Forgive  my  generous  and  exceptless  rashness, 
Perpetual-sober  gods!     I  do  proclaim 
One  honest  man,— mistake  me  not, — but  one; 
No  more,  I  pray, — and  he  is  a  steward. — 
How  fain  would  I  have  hated  all  mankind, 
And  thou  redeem'st  thyself:  But  all,  save  thee, 
I  lell  with  curses. 

Methinks,  thou  art  more  honest  now,  than  wise 
For,  by  oppressing  and  betraying  me, 
Thou  "mightst  have  sooner  got  another  service  : 
For  many  so  arrive  at  second  masters. 
Upon  their  first  lord's  neck.    But  tell  me  true, 
(For  I  must  ever  doubt,  though  ne'er  so  sure,) 
Is  not  thy  kindness  subtle,  covetous. 
If  not  a  usu  ring  kindness:  and  as  rich  men  deal  gifts, 
Expecting  in  return  twenty  for  one? 

Flav.  No, my  most  wortliy  master,  in  whose  breast 
Doubt  and  suspect,  alas,  are  placed  too  late  : 
You  should  have  fear'd  false  times,  when  you  did 

feast : 
Suspect  still  comes  where  an  estate  is  least. 
That  which  I  show,  heaven  knows,  is  merely  love. 
Duty,  and  zeal  to  your  unmatched  mind, 
Care  of  your  food  and  living;  and,  believe  it. 
My  most  honor'd  lord. 
For  any  benefit  that  points  to  me. 
Either  in  hope,  or  present,  I'd  exchange 
For  this  one  wish.  That  you  liad  power  and  wealth 
To  requite  me,  by  making  rich  yourself. 

Tim.  Lookthee,'iissoI — Tliousingly  honest  man. 
Here,  take: — the  gods  out  of  my  misery 
Have  sent  me  treasure.    Go,  live  rich,  and  happy  • 
But  thus  condition'd  ;  Thou  shalt  build  from  mcn:^ 
Hate  all,  curse  all ;  show  cliarjty  to  none; 
But  let  the  famish'd  llesh  slide  from  the  bone. 
Ere  thou  relieve  the  beggar:  give  to  dogs 
What  thou  deny'st  to  men;   let  prisons  swallow 

them. 
Debts  wither  them  :  Be  men  like  blasted  woods, 
And  may  diseases  lick  up  their  false  bloods! 
And  so  farewell,  and  thrive. 

Flav.  0,  let  me  stay, 

And  comfort  you,  my  master. 

Tim.  If  thou  hat'st 

Curses,  stay  not;  fly,  whilst  thou  art  bless'd  and 

free  : 
Ne'er  see  thou  man,  and  let  me  ne'er  see  Ihee. 

lExeuni  severally. 

•  Away  from  human  habitation. 


542 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  v. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  1.— Before  Timon's  Cave. 
Enter  Poet  and   Pairucr;    TiMON  btkind,  unseen. 

Fain.  As  I  look  note  of  the  place,  it  cannot  be 
far  wlicre  he  abides. 

Puet.  What's  to  be  thought  of  him  ?  Does  the 
rumor  hold  for  true,  that  he  is  so  full  of  gold  ? 

Pom.  Certain:  Alcibiades  reports  it;  Phrynia 
and  Timandra  had  gold  of  him;  he  hkewise  en- 
riched poor  straggling  soldiers  with  great  (juanlity : 
Tis  said  he  gave  unto  his  steward  a  miglity  sum. 

Poet.  Then  this  breaking  of  his  has  been  but  a 
try  for  his  friends  ! 

Pain,  ^fothing  else  :  you  shall  see  him  a  palm 
in  Alliens  again,  and  llourish  with  the  highest. 
Therefore,  'tis  not  amiss  we  tender  our  loves  to 
him,  in  this  supposed  distress  of  his:  it  will  show 
honeslly  in  us.;  and  is  very  likely  to  load  our  pur- 
poses with  what  they  travel  for,  if  it  he  a  just  and 
true  report  that  goes  of  his  having. 

Poti.  What  have  you  now  to  present  unto  him? 

Pain.  Nothing  at  this  time  but  my  visitation : 
only  I  will  promise  him  an  excellent  piece. 

P«f/.  1  must  serve  him  so  too;  tell  him  of  an 
intent  that's  coming  toward  him. 

Pain.  Good  as  the  best.  Promising  is  the  very 
air  o  the  time :  it  opens  the  eyes  of  expectation  : 
performance  is  ever  the  duller  for  his  act ;  and,  but 
in  the  plainer  and  simpler  kind  of  people,  the  deed 
of  sayings  is  quite  out  of  use.  To  promise  is  most 
courtly  and  fashionable  :  performance  is  a  kind  of 
will^or  testament,  which  argues  a  greatsickness  in 
his  judgment  that  makes  it. 

Tim.  Excellent  workman !  Thou  canst  not 
paint  a  man  so  bad  as  is  thyself 

Poet.  I  am  thinking  what  I  shall  say  I  have  pro- 
vided for  him:  It  must  be  a  personating  of  him- 
self: a  satire  against  the  softness  ofprosperity;  with 
a  discovery  of  the  inlinite  llattenes,  that  follow 
youth  and  opulency. 

TUa.  Must  thou  needs  stand  for  a  villain  in  thine 
own  work?  Wilt  thou  whip  tliine  own  fault»  in 
otiier  men  ?     Do  so.  I  have  gold  tor  thee. 

Poet.  Nay,  let's  seek  liiin: 
Then  do  we  sin  against  our  own  estate. 
When  we  may  profit  meet,  and  come  too  late. 

Pain.  True; 
When  the  day  serves,  before  black-corner'd  nigJit, 
find  what  thou  want'st,  by  free  and  oller'd  ligl/t. 
Come. 

Tim.  I'll  meet  you  at  the  turn.    What  a  god's 
gold. 
That  he  is  worshipp'd  in  a  baser  temple, 
Than  where  swine  iised  ! 
'Tis  thou  that  rigg'st  the  bark,  and  plough's!  the 

tbam  ; 
Settlest  admired  reverence  in  a  slave  : 
To  thee  be  worship  !  and  thy  saints  for  aye 
He  crown'd  with  plagues,  that  thee  alone  obey  ! 
Eit  1  do  meet  them.  [Acii'an'cine. 

Poet.  Hail,  worthy  Timon  ! 

Pain.  Our  late  noble  master. 

Tim.  Have  I  once  liv'd  to  see  two  honest  mmi ! 

Poet.  Sir, 
Having  often  of  your  open  bounty  tasted. 
Hearing  you  were  retired,  your  friends  fall'n  ofl, 
Whose  thankless  natures — 0  abhorred  spirits  .' 
Not  all  the  whips  of  heaven  are  large  enough— 
What !  to  you  ! 

Whose  slar-like  nobleness  gave  life  and  influence 
To  their  whole  being!     I'm  rapt,  and  cannot  aover 
The  monstrous  bulk  of  this  ingratitude 
With  any  size  of  words. 

Tim.  Let  it  go  naked,  men  may  sec't  the  better : 
You,  that  are  honest  by  being  what  you  are, 
Make  tiiem  best  seen,  and  known. 

„^'"".''      „.j        ,  He,  and  myself, 

Have  travell  d  in  the  great  shower  of  your  gitls. 
And  sweetly  felt  it.  jo, 

'{}'"■    ,,.  .  .  ^y,  you  "e  honest  men. 

Pain.  We   arc   hither  come    to  oiler  you  our 
service.  i 

•  The  loing  of  what  we  said  we  would  Jo. 


Tim.  Most  honest  men  !    Why,  how  shall  I  re- 
quite you  ? 
Can  you  eat  roots,  and  drink  cold  water  !  no. 

Bo'tti.  What  we  can  do,  we'll  do,  to  do  you  service. 

Tim.  You  are  honest  men  :  you  have  heard  that 
I  have  gold : 
I  am  sure  you  have:  speak  truth  :  you  are  honest 
men. 

Pain.  So  it  is  said,  my  noble  lord:  but  therefore 
Came  not  my  friend,  nor  I. 

Tim.  Good  honest  men :— Thou  draw'st  a  coun- 
terfeit! 
Rest  in  all  Athens  ;  thou  art,  indeed,  the  best; 
Thou  counterfeit'st  most  lively. 

Pain.  '  So,  so,  my  lord. 

Tim.  Even  so,  sir,  as  I  say  :— And  for  thy  fiction, 

[To//ie  Poet. 
Why.thy  verse  swells  with  stufl'so  fine  and  smooth, 
That  thou  art  even  natural  m  thine  art.— 
But,  for  all  this,  my  honest-natur'd  friends, 
I  must  needs  say,  you  have  a  little  fault: 
Marry,  'tis  not  monstrous  in  you;  neither  wish  I, 
You  take  much  pains  to  mend. 

Bot/i.  Beseech  your  honor, 

To  make  it  known  to  us. 

Tim.  You'll  take  it  ill. 

Bol/i..  Most  thankfully,  my  lord. 

Tim.  '       Will  you,  indeed? 

Biil/i.  Doubt  it  not,  worthy  lord. 

Tim.  There's  ne'er  a  one  of  you  but  trusts  a 
knave. 
That  mightily  deceives  you. 

Biit/i.  Do  we,  my  lord  ? 

Tim.  Ay,  and  you  hear  him  cog,  see  him  dis- 
semble, 
Know  his  gross  patchery,  love  him,  feed  him, 
Keep  in  your  bosom  :  yet  remain  assor'd, 
That  he's  a  made-up  villain.^ 

Pain.  I  know  none  such,  my  lord. 

Poet.  Nor  I. 

Tint.  Look  you,  I  love  you  well;  I'll  give  you 
gold. 
Rid  me  these  villains  from  your  companies: 
Hang  Ihem,  or  stab  them,  drown  them  in  a  draught, 
Coiilbund  them  by  some  course,  and  coma  to  me, 
1  II  give  you  gold  enough. 

Bolli.  Name  them,  my  lord,  let's  know  them. 

Tim.  You  that  way,  and  you  this,  but  two  m 
company : — 
Each  man  apart,  all  single  and  alone, 
Yet  an  arch-villain  keeps  him  company. 
If,  where  thou  art,  two  villains  shall  not  be, 

[To  Mf  Painter. 
Come  not  near  him.— If  thou  wouldst  not  reside 

„    .      u  .„  .     .  [Td  Me  Poet. 

But  where  one  villain  is,  then  him  abandon.— 
Hence  !   pack  !   tliere's  gold,  ye  came  tor  gold,  ye 

slaves. 
You  have  done  work  for  me,  there's  payment: 

Hence  '. 
You  are  an  alchemist,  make  gold  of  that: 
Out,  rascal  dogs  ! 

[  Exit,  beating  and  driving  them  out. 

SCENE  II.— ne  some. 
Enter  Flavios,  and  two  Senators. 

F/«!i.  It  is  in  vain  that  you  would  speak  wilb 
Timon  ; 
For  he  is  set  so  only  to  himselt; 
That  nothing  but  himself,  which  looks  like  man. 
Is  Inendly  with  him. 

'  *".  Bring  us  to  his  cave  : 

It  IS  our  part,  and  promise  to  the  Athenians, 
To  speak  with  Timon. 

2  Sen.  At  all  times  alike 

Men  are  not  still  the  same:  'Twas  time,  and  grieft 
That  darned  him  thus:  time,  with  Ills  lairer  hand 
Olreriiig  the  forlunes  of  his  former  days. 
The  lormer  man  may  make  him  :  Bring  us  to  mm 
And  chance  it  as  it  may. 

*  A  portrait  was  so  called. 

^  A  complete,  a  finLshed  villain. 


Scene  V. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


543 


Flav.  Here  is  his  cave. — 

Peace  and  content  be  here  !  Lord  Timon  !  Tirnon  ! 
Lool\  out,  and  speak  to  friends  :  TJie  Athenians, 
By  two  of  their  most  reverend  senate,  greet  thee  : 
Speali  to  them,  noble  Timon. 

JCnter  Timon. 

Tim.  Thou  sun,  that  comfort'st,  burn! — Speak, 
and  be  hang'd : 
For  each  true  word,  a  blister!  and  each  false 
Be  as  a  caut'rizing  to  the  root  o*  the  tongue, 
Consuming  it  with  speaking  ! 

1  Sen.  Worthy  Timon — 
Tim.  Of  none  but  such  as  you,  and  you  of  Timon. 

2  Sen.  ThesenatorsofAthcnsgreettlice, Timon. 
Tim.  I  tiiank  them ;  and  would  send  them  back 

the  plague. 
Could  I  but  catch  it  for  them. 

1  Sen.  0,  forget 
What  we  are  sorry  for  ourselves  in  thee. 
The  senators,  with  one  consent  of  love. 
Entreat  thee  back  to  Athens;  who  have  thought 
On  special  dignities,  which  vacant  lie 

For  thy  best  use  and  wearing. 

2  Se/i.  They  confess. 
Toward  thee,  forgetfulness  too  general,  gross  : 
Which  now  ihe  public  body,— which  doth  seldom 
Play  the  recanter,— feeling  in  itself 

A  hick  of  Timon's  aid,  hath  sense  withal 

Of  Its  own  lall,  restraimng  aid  to  Timon: 

And  send  Ibrth  us,  to  make  their  sorrow'd  render,' 

Together  with  a  recompense  more  Ituitful 

Tlian  their  otlence  can  weigh  down  by  the  dram ; 

A> ,  even  such  heaps  and  sums  of  love  and  wealth, 

Ae  sliall  to  thee  blot  out  what  wrongs  were  theirs, 

And  write  iii  tliee  tlie  ligures  of  their  love, 

Ever  to  read  them  thine. 

Tim.  You  witch  me  in  it; 

Surprise  me  to  the  very  brink  of  tears  : 
Lend  me  a  Ibul's  Jieart,  and  a  woman's  eyes. 
And  I'll  beweei)  these  conilbrts,  worthy  senators. 

1  Sen.  Tliereiorc,  so  iilia.sc  ihee  to  return  with  us, 
And  ol  our  Alliens,  (tlune,  and  ours,)  to  take 
The  ewlltaln^lllp,  tliou  shall  be  met  with  thanks, 
Allow'iH  Willi  absolute  ]iower,  and  thy  good  name 
Live  with  autljorit}' ; — so  soon  we  shall  drive  back 
Of  Alcibiades  the  approaches  wild; 

Who,  like  a  boar  loo  savage,  doth  root  up 
Llis  country's  peace. 

2  Sen.  And  shakes  his  thrcat'ning  sword 
Against  the  walls  of  Athens. 

1  Sen.  Therefore,  Timon,— 

Tim.  Well,  sir,  I   will;    therelbre,  1   will,  sir; 
Thus, — 
If  Alcibiades  kill  my  countrymen, 
Let  Alcibiades  know  this  of  Timon, 
Thai— Timon  cares  not.  Butif  he  sack  fair  Athens, 
And  take  our  goodly  aged  men  by  the  beards, 
Giving  our  holy  virgins  to  the  stain 
Of  contumelious,  beastly,  mad-brain'd  war; 
Then,  let  him  know,— and  tell  liini,  Timon  speaks  it. 
In  pity  of  our  aged,  and  our  youth, 
I  cannot  choose  but  tell  him,  that— I  care  not, 
And  let  him  take't  at  worst;  lor  their  knives  care 

not 
While  you  have  throats  to  answer:  for  myself, 
There's  not  a  whitlles  in  the  unruly  camp. 
But  1  do  prize  it  at  my  love,  belbre 
The  reverend'st  throat  in  Athens.    So  I  leave  you 
To  the  protection  of  the  prosperousi>  gods, 
As  thieves  to  keepers. 

Flav.  Stay  not,  all's  in  vain. 

Tim.  Why,  I  was  writing  of  my  epitaph. 
It  will  be  seen  to-morrow:  my  long  sickness 
Of  lieallli,  and  living,  now  begins  to  mend, 
Anil  iiutliing  brings  me  all  things.    Go,  live  still ; 
Be  Aleibiades  your  plague,  you  his, 
And  last  so  long  enough  ! 

1  Sen.  We  speak  in  vain. 

Tim.  But  yet  I  love  my  country;  and  am  not 
One  that  rejoices  in  the  common  wreck. 
As  common  bruif  doth  put  it. 

1  &'"•  That's  well  spoke. 
Tim.  Commend  me  to  my  loving  countrymen,— 
J  iSen.  These  words  become  your  lipsas  they  pass 

through  them. 

2  Se7i.  And  enter  in  our  ears  like  great  triiimphers 
In  their  applauding  gates. 


'  Confession. 
A  clasp  knife. 


*  Licensed,  uncontrolled. 
«  Fropitious.        i  lleport,  rumor. 


Tim.  Commend  me  to  them  ; 

And  tell  them,  that  to  ease  them  of  their  griels. 
Their  tears  of  hostile  strokes,  their  aches,  losses. 
Their  pangs  of  love,  with  other  incident  throes 
That  iiature's  fragile  vessel  doth  sustain 
In  life's  uncertain  voj  age,  I  will  some  kindness  do 

them  ; 
I'll  teach  them  to  prevent  wild  Alcibiades'  wrath. 

2  Sen.  1  like  this  well,  he  will  return  again. 

Tim.  I  have  a  tree,  which  grows  here  in  my  close, 
That  mine  own  use  invites  me  to  cut  down. 
And  shortly  must  I  fell  it :  Tell  my  friends, 
Tell  Athens,  in  the  sequence  of  degree. 
From  high  to  low  throughout,  that  wlioso  please 
To  stop  aliliction,  let  him  take  his  haste. 
Come  hither,  ere  my  tree  hath  felt  Ihe  a.xe. 
And  hang  hinisell :— I  pray  you,  do  my  greeting. 

Flav.  Trouble  hira  uo  further,  thus  you  still  shall 
find  him. 

Tim.  Come  not  to  nie  again:  but  say  to  Athens, . 
Timon  hath  made  his  everlasting  mansion 
Upon  tile  beached  verge  of  the  salt  Hood; 
Which  once  a  day  with  his  embossed  froth 
The  turbulent  surge  shall  cover  ;  thither  come, 
,Vnd  let  mj-  grave-stone  be  your  oracle. — 
Lips,  let  sour  words  go  by,  and  language  end: 
What  is  amiss,  plague  and  infection  mend ! 
Graves  only  be  men's  works;  and  death,  their  gain ! 
Sun,  hide  thy  beams  !  Timon  hath  done  his  reign! 

[Fx-it  Timon. 

1  Sen.  His  discontents  arc  unremovably 
Coupled  to  nature. 

2  Sen.  Our  hope  in  him  is  dead :  let  us  return, 
.\nd  strain  what  other  means  is  left  unto  us 

In  our  dear'  peril. 
1  Sen.  It  requires  swift  foot.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE   III.— The  Walls  ef  Alhens. 
Enter  two  Senators,  and  a  Messenger. 

1  Sen.  Thouhastpainfullydiscovered;arehisfacs 
As  full  as  thy  report  \ 

Mexs.  I  have  spoke  the  least : 

Besides,  his  expedition  promises 
Present  ajiproach. 

2  Sen.  We  stand  much  hazard,  if  they  bring  not 

Timon. 
Mes.  I  met  a  courier,  one  mine  ancient  friend  ;— 
Whom,  though  in  general  part  we  were  oppos'({, 
Yet  our  old  love  made  a  particular  force. 
And  made  us  speak  like  friends : — this  man  ^^^a 

riding 
From  Alcibiades  to  Timon's  cave. 
With  letters  of  entreaty,  which  imported 
His  lellowship  i'  the  cause  against  your  citv. 
In  part  lor  his  sake  mov'd. 

Enter  Senators/rom  Timon. 

1  Sen.  Here  come  our  brothers. 

2  Sen.  No  talk  of  Timon,  nothing  of  him  ex- 

pect.— 
The  enemies'  drum  is  heard,  and  fearful  scouring 
Doth  choke  the  air  with  dust:  In  and  prepare  ; 
Ours  is  the  liill,  1  fear ;  our  Ibes,  the  snare. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  l\.—The  Woods.    Timon's  Cave,  and  a 

Tumb'Stune  seen. 

Enter  a  Soldier,  seeking  Timok. 

Sol.  By  all  description  this  should  be  the  place. 

Who's   here!   speak,  ho  !— No  answer  ?— What  is 

this  1. 
Timon  is  dead,  who  hath  outstretch'd  his  span : 
Some  beast  rear'd  this  ;  there  does  not  live  a  man. 
Dead,  sure  ;  and  this  his  grave. 
Vyiiafs  on  this  tomb  I  cannot  read ;  the  character 
I'll  take  with  wax. 

Our  captain  hath  in  every  figure  skill ; 
An  aged  interpreter,  though  young  in  days: 
Belbre  proud  Athens  he's  set  down  by  tlus. 
Whose  liill  the  mark  of  his  ambition  is.         [Exit. 

SCENE  \. -Before  the  Walls  of  Alliens. 

Trumpets  sounded.   Enter  Alcibiades  and  Forces. 

AlciU.  Sound  to  this  coward  and  lascivious  town 

Our  terrible  approach.  [A  Parley  sounded. 

Enter  Senators  on  the  Wails. 
Till  now  you  have  gone  on,  and  fill'd  the  tmie 
»  Dreadlul. 


544 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Act  V.  Scene  V. 


With  all  licentious  measure,  making  your  wills 
The  scope  of  justice;  till  now,  myself,  and  such 
As  slept  within  the  shadow  of  your  power, 
Have  wandered   with  our    travers'd  arms.s  and 

breath'd 
Our  sufferance  vainly;  Now  the  time  is  flush,' 
When  crouchins  mairow,  in  the  bearer  strong, 
Cries,  of  itself,  Xn  mare:  now  breathless  wrong 
Shall  sit  and  pant  in  your  great  chairs  of  ease  ; 
And  pursy  insolence  shall  break  his  wind, 
With  fear  and  horrid  flight. 

1  Sen.  Noble  and  young, 
When  thy  first  griefs  were  but  a  mere  conceit. 
Ere  thou  hadst  power,  or  we  had  cause  of  fear. 
We  sent  to  thee  ;  to  give  thy  rages  balm, 

To  wipe  out  our  ingratitude  with  loves 
Above  their  quantity. 

2  Sen.  So  did  we  woo 
Transformed  Timon  to  our  city's  love. 

By  humble  message,  and  by  promis'd  means  ; 
We  were  not  all  unkind,  nor  all  deserve 
The  common  stroke  of  war. 

1  Sen.  These  walls  of  ours 
Were  not  erected  by  their  hands,  from  whom 
You  have  recciv'd  your  griefs:  nor  are  they  such, 
Tliat  these  great  towers,trophies, and  schoolsshould 

fall 
For  private  faults  in  them. 

2  Sen.  Nor  are  they  living 
Wlio  were  the  motives  that  you  first  went  out; 
Shame,  that  they  wanted  cunning,  in  excess 
Hath  broke  their  hearts.    March,  noble  lord, 
Into  our  city  with  thy  banners  spread  : 

By  decimation,  and  a  tithed  death, 

(If  tliy  revenges  hunger  for  that  food. 

Winch  naturc'loathes.)  take  thou  the  dcstin  d  tenth; 

And  by  the  hazard  of  the  spotted  die, 

Let  die  the  spotted. 

1  Sen.  All  have  not  offended ; 
For  those  that  were,  it  is  not  square-  to  take. 
On  those  that  are,  revenges :  crimes,  like  lands, 
Arc  not  iiiheiiled.    Then,  dear  countryman, 
liririi;  in  thy  ranks,  but  leave  without  thy  rage: 
Spin'  Ihy  Allicni^in  cradle,  and  those  kin. 
Which,  I'n  the  bluster  ol  Iliy  wralli,  must  fall 
With  those  that  have  olH-uded  :  like  a  shepherd, 
Approach  the  told,  and  cull  the  iiilocted  forth, 
But  kill  not  all  together. 

"2  Sen.  What  thou  wilt. 

Thou  rather  slialt  enforce  it  with  thy  smile, 
1  nan  hew  to't  with  thy  sword. 

2  i,en.  Set  but  thy  foot 

•  JLrmE  across.    '  Mature.    "  Not  regular,  not  equitable. 


Against  our  rampir'd  gates,  and  they  shall  ope  , 
So  thou  wilt  send  thy  gentle  heart  before. 
To  say,  thou'lt  enter  friendly. 

2  Sen.  Throw  thy  glove ; 

Or  any  token  of  thine  honor  else, 
That  thou  wilt  use  the  wars  as  thy  redress. 
And  not  as  our  confusion,  all  thy  powers 
Shall  make  their  harbor  in  our  town,  till  we 
Have  seal'd  thy  full  desire. 

Alcib.  Then  there's  my  glove  ; 

Descend,  and  open  your  uncharged  ports  ;3 
Those  enemies  of  Timon's,  and  mine  own. 
Whom  you  yourselves  shall  set  out  for  reproof, 
Fall,  and  no  more :  and, — to  atone^  your  fears 
With  my  more  noble  meaning.— not  a  man 
Shall  pass  his  quarter,  or  ofJend  the  stream 
Of  regular  justice  in  your  city's  bounds. 
But  shall  be  remedied,  to  your  public  laws 
At  heaviest  answer. 

Bolh,.  'Tis  most  nobly  spoken. 

Alcili.  Descend,  and  keep  your  words. 

[  The  Senators  descend,  and  upen  the  Gales. 

Enter  a  Soldier. 

Sol.  My  noble  general,  Timon  is  dead  ; 
Entomb'd  upon  tlie  very  hem  o'  the  sea  ; 
And  on  his  gravestone,  this  insculpture  ;  which 
With  wax  I  brought  away,  whose  soft  impression 
Interprets  for  my  poor  ignorance. 
Alcib.  [Reads.]    Here  lies  a  wretched  caise,  of 

Ivretched  soul  bereft : 
Seek  not  my  name :  A  plague  consume  you  nncked 

cailifs  left ! 
Here  tie  I.  timon;  who,  alive,  all  living  mtn  did 

hate : 
Pass  by.  and  curse  t  try  fill;  but  pass,  and  stay  not 

here  thy  gui/. 
These  well  express  in  thee  thy  latter  spirits: 
Though  thou  abhorr'dst  in  us  our  human  giiefs, 
Scorn 'dst  our  brain's  flow,  and  those  our  dioplets 

which 
From  niggard  nature  fall,  yet  rich  conceit 
Taught  thee  to  make  vast  Neptune  weep  foi  aj  • 
On  thy  low  grave,  on  faults  forgiven.    Dead 
Is  noble  Timon;  of  whose  memory 
Hereafter  more.— Bring  me  into  your  city, 
And  I  will  use  the  olive  with  my  sword: 
Make  war  breed  peace;   make  peace  stint^war; 

make  each  ^ 

Prescribe  to  other,  as  each  other  s  leech.s 
Let  our  drums  strike.  [Exeunt. 


•  Unattacked  gates. 
»  Stop. 


*  Reconcile. 

•  rhysiciao. 


COEIOLANUS. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


CAirs  Marcius  Coriolancs,  a  noble  Roman. 
CiHUNius!""'^'''  j  (^•cnerals  against  the  Volscians. 
Mk.nenius  Agrip7>a,  Friend  to  Coriolanus. 

Young  Marcius,  Sou  to  Coriolanus. 

A  Roman  Herald. 

TfLLis  AiFiDira,  General  (if  the  Volscians. 

Lieutenant  to  Aiifidius. 

Coiit^pirators  witli  Autidius. 


A  Citizen  r/Antium. 
Two  Voiscian  Guards, 

VOLI-MXIA.  Mother  to  Coriolanus. 
ViKtiii.iA,  Wife  to  Coriolanus. 
Valeria,  Friend  to  Vir^ilia. 
Gentlewoman  attending  Virgilia. 

Roman  and  Voiscian  Senators,  Patricians,  Mdiles, 
I.ictors.  Soldiers,  Citizens,  Messengers,  Servants 
to  Autidius,  and  other  Attendants, 


SCENE,  purlly  in  Rome,  and  partly  in  the  Territories  of  the  Volscians  and  Antiales. 


ACT   I. 


it.  We  are  accounted  poor  citizens  ;  the  pa- 
ns, eood  :'  What  authority  surfeits  on,  would 


SCENE  I.— Rome.    A  Street. 
Enter   a    Company  of  mufimnts   Citizens,    with 
Staves,  Ciiibs,  and  other  U'eajxms. 
I  at.  Before  we  proceed  any  further,  hear  me 

speak". 
at.  Speak,  speak.        [Several  speaking  at  once. 
1  at.  You  are  resolved   rather  to  die  than  to 
famish  ? 
at.  Resolved,  resolved. 

1  at.  First,  you  know,  Caius  Marcius  is  chief 
enemy  to  the  people.     ■ 
at.  We  know't,  we  know't. 

1  at.  Let  us  kill  him,  and  we'll  have  corn  at 
our  own  price.     Is't  a  verdict? 

at.  Komore  talking  on't;  let  it  be  done:  away, 
away. 

2  tit.  One  word,  good  citizens. 

1  at.  '" 
trician; 

relieve  us:  If  they  would  yield  us  but  the  super- 
thiity.  while  it  were  wholesome,  we  might  guess, 
they  relieved  us  humanely  !  but  they  think,  we  are 
too  dear:  the  leanness  that  afflicts  us,  the  object 
of  our  misery,  is  an  inventory  to  particularize  their 
abundance;  our  sullerance  is  a  gain  to  them. — 
Let  U-:  -".venge  this  with  our  pikes,  ere  we  become 
rakes  :2  for  the  gods  know,  I  speak  this  in  hunger 
for  bread,  not  in  thirst  for  revenge. 

2  at.  Would  you  proceed  especially  against 
Ciins  Marcius  ? 

at.  Against  him  first;  he's  a  very  dog  to  the 
coninionalty. 

2  at.  Consider  you  what  services  he  has  done 
for  his  country] 

1  at.  Very  well ;  and  could  be  content  to  give 
him  good  report  for't,  but  that  he  pays  himself 
with  being  proud. 

2  at.  Nay,  but  speak  not  maliciously. 

1  CU.  I  say  unto  you,  what  he  hath  done  famously, 
he  did  it  to  that  end :  though  soft  conscienced  men 
can  be  content  to  say  it  was  for  his  country,  he  did 
it  to  please  iiis  mother,  and  to  be  partly  proud; 
which  he  is,  even  to  the  altitude  of  his  virtue. 
*  Rich.  ^  Thin  as  rakes. 

35 


2  at.  What  he  cannot  help  in  his  nature,  you 
account  a  vice  in  him:  You  must  in  no  way  say, 
he  is  covetous. 

1  at.  If  I  must  not,  I  need  not  be  barren  of 
accusations  ;  he  hath  faults  with  surplus,  to  tire  in 
repetition.  [Skaiifs  with  in. ]\^  hat  shouts  3.tc  these? 
The  other  side  o'  the  cily  is  risen  :  Why  stay  we 
prating  here  ?     To  the  Capitol. 

at.  Come,  come. 

1  at.  Soft;  who  comes  here  1 

Enter  Menenics  Agrippa. 

2  a/.  Worthy  Menenius  Agrippa:  one  that  hath 
always  loved  tlie  people. 

I  at.  He's  one  honest  enough ;  'Would,  all  the 
rest  were  so  ! 

Men.  What  work's,  my  countrymen,  in  hand? 
Where  go  you 
With  bats  and  clubs  !  The  matter  speak,  I  pray  you. 

1  at.  Our  business  is  not  unknown  to  the  senate; 
Tiiey  have  had  inkling,  this  fortnight,  wliat  we  in- 
tend to  do,  which  now  we'll  show  'em  in  deeds. 
They  say,  poor  suitors  have  strong  breaths;  they 
shall  know,  we  have  strong  arms  too. 

Meji.  Why,  masters,  my  good  friends,  mine  h^ 
nest  neighbors, 
Will  you  undo  yourselves? 

1  at.  We  cannot,  sir,  we  are  undone  already. 

Men.  I  tell  you,  friends,  most  charitable  carfl 
Have  the  patricians  of  you.    For  your  wants, 
Your  sulfering  In  this  dearth,  you  may  as  well 
Strike  at  the  heaven  with  your  staves,  as  litl  them 
Against  the  Roman  state  ;  whose  course  will  on 
The  way  it  takes,  cracking  ten  thousand  curbs 
Of  more  strong  link  asunder,  than  can  ever 
Appear  in  your  impediment:  For  the  dearth, 
The  gods,  not  the  patricians,  make  it ;  and 
Your  knees  to  them,  not  arms,  must  help.    Alack, 
You  are  transported  by  calamity 
Thither  where  more  attends  you  :  and  you  slander 
The  helms  o'  the  state, who  care  for  you  like  fathers, 
When  you  curse  them  as  enemies. 

1  at.  Care  for  us! — True,  indeed  ! — They  ne'er 
cared  for  us  yet.  Suffer  us  to  famish,  and  their 
storehouses  crammed  with  grain  ;  make  edicts  for 

545 


546 


COKIOLANUS. 


Act  I. 


usury  to  support  usurers  ^repeal  daily  any  whole- 
some act  established  against  the  rich  ;  and  provide 
more  piercing  statutes  daily,  to  chain  up  and  re- 
strain tlie  poor.  If  the  wars  eat  us  not  uii,  they 
will ;  and  there's  all  the  love  they  bear  us. 

Men.  Either  you  must 
Confess  yourselves  wondrous  malicious, 
Or  be  accus'd  of  folly.     1  shall  lell  you 
A  pretty  tale  ;  it  may  be,  you  have  heard  it ; 
liiit,  since  it  serves  my  purpose,  I  will  venture 
To  scale'ts  a  little  more. 

1  Ci/.  Well,  I'll  hear  it,  sir:  yet  you  must  not 
think  to  fob  otf  our  disgrace  with  a  tale :  but,  au't 
please  yon,  deliver. 
Men.'  There   was  a  time  when  all   the  body's 
members 
Robell'd  against  the  belly  ;  thus  accus'd  it  :— 
That  only  like  a  gulf  it  did  reniain 
r  the  midst  o'  the  body,  idle  and  inactive. 
Still  cupboarding  the  viand,  never  bearing 
Like  labor  with  the  rest;  where-"  the  other  instru- 
ments 
Did  see,  and  hear,  devise,  instruct,  walk,  feel, 
And,  mutually  participate,  did  nnnister 
Unto  the  appetite  and  afleclion  commoir 
Of  the  whole  body.    The  belly  answered,— 
1  at.  Well,  sir,  what  answer  made  the  belly  1 
Men.  Sir,  I  shall  tell  you.— With  a  kind  of  smile, 
Which  ne'er  came  from  the  lungs,  but  even  thus, 
(For,  look  you,  I  may  make  the  belly  smile, 
As  well  as  speak,)  it  tauntingly  replied 
To  the  discontented  members,  the  mutinous  parts 
That  envied  his  receipt ;  even  so  most  titlyS 
As  you  malign  our  senators,  for  that 
Thev  are  not  such  as  you. 

1  Cit.  Your  belly's  answer:  WhatI 

The  kingly-crowned-head,  the  vigilant  eye. 
The  counsellor  heart,  the  arm  our  soldier. 
Our  steed  the  leg,  the  tongue  our  trumpeter, 
With  other  muniments  and  petty  helps 
In  this  our  fabric,  if  that  they — — 

Men.  What  then  ? 

'Fore  me.  this  fellow  speaks  !— What  then  !— what 
thenl 
1  Cif.  Should    by  the    cormorant  body    be   re- 
strain'd. 

Who  is  the  sink  o'  the  body, 

Men.  Well,  what  then? 

1  Cif.  The  former  agents,  if  they  did  complain. 
What  could  the  belly  answer  1 

Men.  I  will  tell  yon; 

If  you'll  bestow  a  small  (of  what  you  have' lillle) 
Fa'tience,  a  while,  you'll  hear  the  belly's  answer. 
1  Ci7.  You  are  long  abonl  it. 
Men.  Note  me  ll<is.  gooil  friend  ; 
Your  most  grave  belly  was  deliberate. 
Not  rash  like  his  accusers,  and  thus  answered  : 
True  w  il,  my  incorjicrate  friends,  quoth  he, 
Tkat  I  receive  the  general  foad  ut  first, 
Which  i/ou  do  Hoe  upon  :  and  fit  it  is ; 
Because  I  am  the  storelmuse,  and  the  shop 
Of  the  irhcle  bodii :  Bui  if  you  do  remember, 
I  send  it  througli  the  rivers  of  your  Ijlvod, 
Even  to  the  court,  the  heart.— to  the  seat  o'  the  brain; 
Anil,  through  the  crantt.',^  and  ofiices  of  man. 
The  strongest  nerves,  ami  small  inferior  reins, 
■From  me  receive  that  natural  cinii/icteiicy 
Whereby  theii  live :  And  though  that  all  at  once. 
You,  my  good  friends,  (this  .says  the  belly,)  mark 
"me, — 
1  at.  Ay,  sir;  well,  well. 

Men.  Though  nil  at  once  cannot 

^ee  what  I  do  deliver  out  to  each  ; 
Yet  I  can.  make  my  audit  up,  that  all 
From  me  do  back  receive  thefViur  of  all,  ^ 

And  leave  me  but  t/ie  bran.    What  say  you  to  1 7 
I  at.  It-was  an  answer.     How  apply  you  thist 
Men.  The  senators  ofRome  are  this  goodly  belly, 
'  And  you  the  mutinous  members:  For  examine 
Theircounsels.and  their  cares;  digest  things  rightly- 
Touching  the  weal  o'  the  common  ;  you  shall  hud. 
No  public  benefit  which  you  receive. 
But  it  proceeds,  or  comes,  from  them  to  you, 
And  no  way  from  yourselves. — Whatdo  you  think? 
•You,-the  gieattoe  of  this  assembly  ! — 

1  Cit.  I  the  great  toe  !     Why  the  great  toe  1 
Men.  For  that  being  one  o'  the  lowest,  basest, 
poorest, 

«  Irpread  it.       *  Whereas.       •  Exactly.      •Winding.'!. 


Of  this  most  wise  rebellion,  thou  go'st  foremost: 
Thou  rascal,  that  art  worst  in  blood,  to  run 
Lead'st  first,  to  win  some  vantage. — 
But  make  you  ready  your  stiff  bats  and  clubs; 
Rome  and  her  rats  are  at  the  point  of  battle. 
The  one  side  must  have  bale.'  Hail,nobh-  Warcius! 

Enter  CAirs  Marcius. 
Mar.  Thanks. — What's  the  matter,  joudisseii- 
tinus  rogues. 
That,  rubbing  the  poor  itch  of  your  opinion. 
Make  yourselves  scabs  ? 
I  at.  We  have  ever  your  good  word. 

Mar.  He  that  will  give  good  words  to  thee,  will 
flatter 
Beneath  abhorring.    What  would  you  have,  you 

curs, 
That  like  nor  peace,norwar'!  the  one  affrights  you, 
The  other  makes  you  proud.    He  that  trusts  you. 
Where  he  should  find  you  lions,  finds  you  hares ; 
Where  foxes,  geese  :  You  are  no  surer,  no, 
Than  is  the  coal  of  fire  upon  the  ice. 
Or  hailstone  in  the  sun.     Your  virtue  is, 
TO  make  him  worthy,  w-hose  otli?nce  subdues  him. 
And  curse  that  justice  did  it.  Who  deserves  great- 
ness. 
Deserves  your  hate:  and  your  afiections  are 
A  .sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 
Which  would  increase  his  evil.    He  that  depends 
Upon  your  favors,  swims  with  fins  of  lead, 
And  hews  down  oaks  with  rushes.     Flang  ye! 

Trust  ye  ! 
With  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind  ; 
And  call  him  noble,  that  was  now  your  hate. 
Him  vile,  that  was   your  garland.     What's    the 

matter. 
That  in  these  several  places  of  Hie  city 
You  cry  against  the  noble  senate,  who. 
Under  the  gods,  keep  you  in  awe,  which  else 
Would  feed  on  one  another  ■!— What's  their  seeking! 
Men.  For  corn  at  their  own  rates  ;  whereof,  they 
say. 
The  city  is  well  stor'd. 

Mar.  Hang  em  !    They  say  ? 

They'll  sit  by  the  fire,  and  presume  to  know 
What's  done'i'  the  Capilol :  who's  like  to  rise. 
Who  thrives,  and  who  declines:  side  factions,  and 

give  out 
Conieetural  marriages;  making  parlies  strong. 
Ami  fcebling  such  as  stand  not  in  their  liking. 
Below  their  cobbled  shoes.  They  say  there's  grain 

enough  1 
Would  the  nobility  lay  aside  their  ruth.s 
,\nd  let  me  use  my  sword,  I'd  maki^  a  quarry^ 
With  thousands  of  these  quarter'd  slaves,  as  high 
As  I  could  pick'  my  lance. 
Men.   Nay,  these    are  'almost  thoroughly  per- 
suaded ; 
For  though  abundantly  they  lack  discretion. 
Yet  are  they  passing  cowardly.  But  1  beseech  you. 
What  says  the  other  troop  ! 

Mar.  They  are  dissolved  :Hang  em! 

They  said  they  were  an-hungry;  sigh'd  forth  pro- 
verbs ;— 
That,  hunger  broke  stone  walls;  that,dogs  must  eat; 
That,  meat  was  made  for  mouths ;  that,  the  gods 

sent  not 
Corn  for  the  rich  men  only  :— With  these  shreds 
They   vented   their  complainings;    which    being 

answer'd, 
And  a  petition  granted  them,  a  strange  one, 
(To  bre:ik  llu-  In-art  of  generosity, 
And  make  bold  power  look  pale,)  they  threw  theit 

caps  , 

As  they  would  hang  them  on  the  hornso  the  moon. 
Shouting  their  emulation.- 
Men.  What  is  granted  them  i 

Mar.  Five  tribunes  to  defend  their  vulf  ar  wis- 
doms, 
Of  their  own  choice:  One's  Junius  Brutus, 
Sicinius  Velutus,  and  I  know  not— 'Sdeath  ! 
The  rabble  should  have  first  unrool  d  the  city. 
Ere  so  prevail'd  with  me  :  it  will  in  lime 
Win  upon  power,  and  throw  forth  greater  themes 
For  insurrection's  arguing. 
Men.  This  is  strnnge. 

Mar.  Go,  get  you  home,  you  fragments  ! 

'Dane.  •  I'ily,  compassion.  •  Heap  of  de.-id. 

1  Pitch.  "  ^  Faction. 


Scene  III. 


CORIOLANUS. 


547 


Enfer  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Where's  Caius  Marcius  ? 

Alar.  Here:  what's  the  matter? 

Mess.  The  news  is,  sir,  the  Voices  arc  in  arms. 

Mar.  I  am  glad  on't,  then  we  shall  have  means 
to  vent 
Our  musty  supcrlluity  : — See,  oil'-  best  ciders, 
Ent.  CoMisu'S,  TiTCS  Lartius,  a7id  other  Senators ; 
Junius  Buutus,  and  Sicinius  Velutus. 

]  Sen.  Marcius,  'tis  true,  that  you  have  lately 
told  us ; 
Tlie  Voices  are  in  arms. 

Mar.  They  have  a  leader, 

Tullus  Aufidius,  that  will  put  you  to't. 
I  sin  in  envying  his  nobility : 
And  were  I  any  thing  but  what  I  am, 
I  would  wish  mc  only  lie. 

Com.  You  have  fought  together. 

Alar.  Were  half  to  half  the  world   by  the  ears, 
and  he 
Upon  my  party,  I'd  revolt,  to  make 
Only  my  wars  with  him:  he  is  a  lion 
Th'Jt  I  am  proud  to  hunt. 

1  iSVrt.  Then,  worthy  Marcius, 

Attend  upon  Cominius  to  these  wars. 

Com.  It  is  your  former  promise. 

Mar.  Sir,  it  is; 

And  I  am  constant. — Titus  Lartius,  thou 
Shalt  see  me  once  more  strike  at  Tullus'  face  : 
What,  art  thou  stiti*!  stand'st  out? 

Tit.  No.  Cains  Marcius; 

I'll  loan  upon  one  crutch,  and  fight  with  the  other, 
Ere  stay  beliind  tliis  business  ! 

Men.  O,  true  bred  ! 

1  Se7i.  Your  company  to  the  Capitol;  where,  I 
know. 
Our  greatest  friends  attend  us. 

Tit.  Lead  you  on : 

Follow,  Cominius  ;  wo  must  follow  you  ; 
Right  worthy  your  priority. 

Com.  Noble  Lartius ! 

1  Sen.  Hence  !  to  your  homes,  be  gone. 

[To  the  Citizens. 

Mar.  Nay,  let  Ibem  follow: 

TbeVolces  have  much  corn  ;  take  these  rats  thither, 
To  gnaw  their  garners  :3 — Worshipful  mutineers, 
Your  valor  puts  well  forth;  pray,  follow. 

[Exeunt  Senators,  Cum.,  Mak.,  Tit.,  mid 
Mknkn.    Citizens  steal  away. 

Sic,  Was  ever  man  so  proud  as  is  this  Marcius  1 

Bru.  He  has  no  equal. 

Sic.  When   we  were  chosen    tribunes    for  the 
people, 

Brii.  Mark'd  you  his  lip,  and  eyes? 

Sic.  ^  Nay,  but  his  taunts. 

Jirti.  Being  mov'd,  he  will  not  spare  to  gird*  the 
gods. 

Sic.  Bemock  the  modest  moon. 

Bru.  The  present  wars  devour  him  :  he  is  grown 
Tod  proud  to  be  so  valiant. 

Sic.  Such  a  nature, 

Tickled  with  good  success,  disdains  the  siiadow 
Which  he  treads  on  at  noon  :  But  I  do  wonder, 
His  insolence  can  brook  to  be  commanded 
Under  Cominius. 

Bru.  Fame,  at  the  which  he  aims, — 

In  whom  already  he  is  well  graced, — cannot 
Better  be  held,  nor  more  attain'd,  than  by 
A  jilace  below  the  first:  for  what  miscarries 
Shall  be  the  general's  fault,  though  he  periiirm 
To  the  utmost  of  a  man  ;  and  giddy  censure 
Will  then  cry  out  of  Marcius,  0,ijhe 
Had  home  the  business  ! 

Sic.  Besides,  if  things  go  well. 

Opinion,  that  so  sticks  on  Marcius,  shall 
01  his  demerits^  rob  Cominius. 

Bru.  Come : 

Half  all  Cominius*  honors  are  to  Marcius, 
Tliough   Marcius  earn'd   them  not:   and  all  his 

fiiuUs 
To  Marcius  shall  be  honors,  though,  indeed, 
In  aught  he  merit  not. 

Sic.  Let's  hence,  and  hear 

How  the  despatch  is  made;  and  in  what  fashion. 
More  than  in  singularity,  he  goes 
Upon  Ins  present  action. 

Bru.  Let's  along.        [Exeunt. 

'  Oi-aoaries.  «  Snoer. 

^  Ltumerits  and  merits  had  anciently  the  same  meaning. 


SCENE  IL— Corioli.     The  Senate  House. 
Enfer  Tullus  Aufidius,  and  certain  Senators. 

1  Sen.  So,  your  opinion  is,''Aufidius, 
That  they  of  Rome  are  enter'd  in  our  councils, 
And  know  how  we  proceed. 

At/f.  Is  it  not  yours  ? 

What  ever  hath  been  thought  on  in  this  state, 
Tliat  could  be  brought  to  bodily  act,  ere  Rome 
Had  circumvention  ?     'Tis  not'four  days  gone. 
Since  1  heard  thence;  these  are  the  words:  I  think 
I  have  the  letter  here;  yes,  here  it  is:  [Reads. 

They  have  pres.'Cd  a  power,  but  it  is  not  kmnvfi 
Whether  for  east,  or  west :     The  dearth  vi  ^reat ; 
The  people  mutinous :  and  it  is  rumored, 
Cominius,  Marcius,  your  old  enemy, 
{ IVfio  j.s  of  Rome  worse  hated  than  of  you,) 
And  Titus  Lartius,  a  most  valiant  Roman, 
These  three  lead  on  thus  preparation 
IVhither  'tis  bent:  most  likely.,  tis  for  you: 
Consider  of  it. 

1  Sen.  Our  army's  in  the  field  : 

We  never  yet  made  doubt  that  Rome  was  ready 
To  answer  us. 

Auf,  Nor  (lid  you  think  it  folly. 

To  keep  your  great  pn-ti-nces  vril'd.  till  when 
They  needs  must  show  Ihumselves  ;   whicli  in  the 

hatching. 
It  seem'd,  appeared  to  Rome.    By  the  discovery, 
We  shall  be  shortcn'd  in  our  aim  ;  which  was. 
To  take  in'^  many  towns,  ere,  almost,  Rome 
Should  know  we  were  afoot. 

2  Sen.  Noble  Aufidius, 
Take  your  commission  ;  hie  you  to  your  bands: 
Let  us  alone  to  guard  Corioli': 

If  they  set  down  before  us,  for  the  remove 
Bring  up  your  army  ;  but,  I  think,  you'll  find 
They  liave  not  piepur'd  for  us. 

Auf.  0,  doubt  not  that; 

I  speak  from  certainties.    Nay,  more. 
Some  parcels  of  their  powers  are  forth  already, 
And  only  hitherward.     I  leave  your  honors. 
If  we  and  Cains  IMarcius  chance  to  meet, 
'Tis  sworn  between  us  we  sliall  never  strike 
Till  one  can  do  no  more. 

All.  The  gods  assist  you  ! 

Auf.  And  keep  your  honors  safe  ! 

1  Sen.  Farewell. 

2  Stn.  Farewell. 
All,  Farewell.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE    III,— Rome.      An    Apartment    in    Mar- 
cius' House. 

Enter  Volumnlv  and  ViRcarA:    They  sit  down 
on  two  low  stools;  and  sew. 

Vol.  I  pray  you,  daughter,  sing;  or  express  your- 
self in  a  more  comlorlable  sort.  If  my  son  were 
my  hns[)and,I  shouhl  iVeelierrejoiceinlhatahsence 
wticrein  he  won  honor,  tlian  in  the  cmbracements 
of  his  bed,  where  lie  would  show  most  love. — 
When  yet  he  was  but  tender-bodied,  and  the  only 
son  of  my  womb;  when  youth  with  comehness 
plucked  all  gaze  his  way;  when  for  a  day  of  kiniis' 
entreaties,  a  mother  should  not  sell  him  ah  hour 
from  her  beJiolding;  I, — considering  how  honor 
would  become  such  a  i>erson  ;  that  it  was  no  better 
than  picture-like  to  hang  by  the  wall,  if  renown 
made  it  not  stir, — was  pleased  to  let  him  seek  dan- 
ger where  he  was  like  to  find  lame.  To  a  cruel  war 
1  sent  liini;  I'rom  whence  he  returned,  his  brows 
bound  with  oak.  I  tell  thee,  daughter, — I  sprang 
not  more  in  joy  at  first  hearing  he  was  a  man-child, 
than  now,  in  first  seeing  he  had  proved  himself  a 
man. 

Vir.  But  had  he  died  in  the  business,  jiadam, 
how  then  I 

Vol.  Then  his  good  report  should  have  bi^en  my 
son  ;  I  therein  would  have  found  issue.  Hear  me 
piolhss  sincerely:  Had  I  a  dozen  sons, — each  in 
my  love  alike,  and  none  less  dear  than  tliineand  my 
good  Marcius, — 1  had  rnlher  had  eleven  die  nobly 
for  their  country,  than  one  voluptuously  surfeit  out 
of  action. 

Enter  a  Gentlewoman. 

Gent.  Madam,  the  lady  Valeria  is  come  to  visit 

you. 
Vir.  'Beseech  you,  give  me  leave  to  retire  myself. 
«  To  subdue. 


548 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  I. 


Vol.  Indeed  you  .shall  not. 
Melhinks,  1  hear  hither  your  husband's  drum; 
See  him  pluek  Aufldm.s  down  by  the  hair; 
As  children  froma  bcur,  the  Voices  sluinning  him: 
Methinks  I  see  hiin  stamp  thus,  and  call  thus, — 
Come  (ni,  you  cowards,  you  were  ^ot  in  fear. 
Though  you  were  bom  m  Rome :  His  bloody  brow 
With  his  maii'd  hand  then  wipin;;.  forth  he  goes 
Like  to  a  harvest-man,  that's  task'd  to  mow 
Or  nil,  or  lose  his  hire. 

Vir.  His  bloody  brow!  0,  Jupiter,  no  blood  ! 

Vol.  Away,  you  fool !  it  piore  becomes  a  man, 
Than  gilt'  his  trophy  :  The  breasts  of  Hecuba, 
When  she  did  suckle  Hector,  look'd  not  lovelier 
Than  Hector's  Ion  lir;iil,  when  it  spit  Ibrth  blood 
At  Grecian  swords'  contending. — Tell  Valeria, 
We  are  tit  to  bid  her  welcome.  [k.rit  Gent. 

Vir.  Heavens  bless  my  lord  from  fell  Autidius  ! 

Vol.  He'll  beat  Autidius'  head  below  his  knee, 
And  tread  upon  his  neck. 

Re-enter  Gentlewoman,  wUk  Valeria  and  her 
Usher. 

Val.    My  ladies  both,  good  day  to  you. 

Vol.  Sweet  madam, 

Vir.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  ladyship. 

Val.  How  do  you  both  !  you  are  manifest  house- 
keepers. What,  are  you  sewing  here  !  A  Hne  spot, 
in  good  faith. — How  does  your  little  son  ! 

Vir.  I  thank  your  ladyship:   well,  good  madam. 

Vol.  He  had  rather  see  the  swords,  and  hear  a 
drum,  than  look  upon  his  school-master. 

Val.  O'  my  word,  the  father's  son  :  I'll  swear,  'lis 
a  very  pretty  boy.  O'  my  troth,  I  looked  upon  him 
o  Wednesday  half  an  hour  together:  he  has  such 
a  confirmed  countenance.  I  saw  him  run  after  a 
gilded  butterfly;  and  when  he  caught  it,  he  let  it  go 
again  ;  and  after  it  again  ;  and  over  and  over  he 
comes,  and  up  again;  catched  it  again  :  or  whether 
iiis  fall  enraged  hun,  or  how  'twas,  he  did  so  set  his 
teeth,  and  tear  it ;  O,  I  warrant,  how  he  mammock- 
ed" it! 

Vol.  One  of  his  father's  moods. 

Val.  Indeed,  la,  'lis  a  noble  child. 

Vir.  A  crack,9  madam. 

Val.  Come,  lay  aside  your  stitchery;  I  must  have 
you  play  the  idle  huswile  with  me  Ibis  afternoon. 

Vir.  No,  good  madam  :  1  will  not  out  of  doors. 

Val.  Not  out  of  doors! 

Vol.  She  shall,  she  shall. 

Vir.  Indeed,  no,  by  your  patience:  I  will  not 
over  the  threshold,  till  my  lord  return  from  the  wars. 

Fa/.  Fye.youconhne  yourself  most  unreasonably; 
Come,  you  must  go  visit  the  good  lady  that  lies  in. 

Vir.  I  will  wish  her  speedy  strength,  and  visit 
her  with  my  prayers;  but  1  cannot  go  thither 

Vol.  Why,  1  pray  you  1 

Vir.  'Tis  not  lo  save  labor,  nor  that  I  want  love. 

Val.  You  would  be  another  Penelope:  yet,  thev 
say,  all  the  yarn  she  spun,  in  Ulysses"  absence,  did 
but  till  Itliaca  lull  of  moths.  Come  ;  I  would,  your 
cambric  were  sensible  as  your  finger,  that  you 
might  leave  pricking  it  for  pity.  Come,  you  shall 
go  with  us. 

Vir.  No,  good  madam,  pardon  me;  indeed  1 
will  not  Ibrth. 

Val.  In  truth,  la,  go  with  me;  and  I'll  tell  you 
excellent  news  of  your  husband. 

V'ir.  O,  good  madam,  there  can  be  none  yet. 

Val.  Verily,  I  do  not  jest  with  you  ;  there  came 
news  from  him  last  night. 

Vir.  Indeed,  madam  ! 

Val.  In  earnest,  it's  true;  I  heard  a  senator  speak 
it.  Thus  it  is:— Ttii  Voices  have  an  army  forth  ; 
against  whom  Cominius  the  general  is  gone,  with 
one  part  of  our  Roman  power:  your  lord, and  Titus 
haiiius.are  set  down  boiiire  their  city  Corioli;  they 
nothing  doubt  prevailing.and  lo  make  it  brief  wars. 
This  is  true,  on  mine  honor:  and  so,  1  pray  to 
with  us.  '      i     j>  B 

Vir.  Give  me  excuse,  good  madam  ;  I  will  obey 
you  in  every  fliuig  hereafter. 

Vol.  Let  her  alone,  lady;  as  she  is  now,  she  will 
but  disease  our  better  mirth. 

Val.  In   froth.  1    think,  she  would:— Fare  you 

well,    Ihen.— Come,  good  sweet    lady.— Pr'ytiiee, 

Virgiha.turnlhysolemnessouto'door.andsoalon" 
with  us,  " 


'  (JlldJng. 


'  Tore. 


Vir.  No:  at  a  word,  madam;  indeed,  I  must 
not.    I  wish  you  much  mirth. 

Val.  Well,  then,  liirewell.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.-Bf/ore  Corioli. 
Enter,  with  Brum  and  Colors,  March;3,  Titus 
LAitrirs,    Otiicers,   and   Soldiers.      To  them  a 
Messenger. 

Mar.  Yonder  comes  news :— A  wager,  they  ha\e 

met. 
hart.  My  horse  to  yours,  no. 
Mar.  'Tis  done. 

Lurt.  Agreed. 

Mar.  Say,  has  our  general  met  the  enemy  ? 
Mess.  They  lie  in  view;  but  have  not  spoke  as 

yet. 
l,art.  So  the  good  horse  is  mine. 
•"'«'••  ,  I'll  buy  him  of  you. 

hart.  No,  I  11  nor  sell,  nor  give  Inra :  lend  you 
him,  I  will. 
For  half  a  hundred  years.— Summon  the  town. 
Mar.  How  far  olf  lie  these  armies  ! 
Mess.  Within  this  mile  and  a  half. 

Mar.  Then  shall  we  hear  tlieir  'larum,  and  they 
ours. 
Now,  Mars,  I  pr'ythee  make  us  quick  in  work; 
That  we  with  smoking  swords  may  inarch  from 

hence, 
To  help  our  fielded  friends  !— Come,  blow  thy  blast. 
They  sound  a  Parley.    Enter,  on  the  Walls,  some 

Senators,  and  ot tiers. 
Tullus  Autidius,  is  he  within  your  walls  ? 

1  Sen.  No,  nor  a  man  that  fears  you  less  than  he, 
That  s  lesser  than  a  little.    Haik,  our  drums 

.    .  {Alarums  afar  off. 

Are  bringing  forth  our  youth:     We'll  break  our 

walls. 
Rather  than  they  shall  pound  us  up  :  our  gates. 
Which  yet  seem  shut,  we  have  but  pinn'd  with 

rushes; 
They'll  open  of  themselves.    Hark  you,  afar  oflf; 
_.         ..,.,.        ..  [Other  Alarums. 

There  is  Aufidius;  list,  what  woiK  he  makes 
Amongst  your  cloven  army. 
•^^'"•-      ,  O,  they  are  at  it ! 

Lart.  Their  noise  be  our  instruction.— Ladders, 
ho! 

The  Voices  enter,  and  pass  over  tlie  Stage. 
Mar.  They  fear  us  not.  but  issue  forth  their  city. 
Now  put  your  shields  before  your  hearts,  and  light 
With  hearts  more  proof  than  shields.— Adiance, 

brave  Titus : 
They  do  disdain  us  much  beyond  our  thoughts. 
Which  makes  me  sweat  with  wrath.— Come  on, 

my  fellows ; 
He  that  retires,  I'll  take  him  for  a  Voice, 
And  he  shall  liiel  mine  edge. 

Alarum,  and  exeunt  Romans  and  \u\<:es.fighling. 
Tlie  Romans  are  beaten  back  to  their  Trenches. 
Re-enter  MAiiCiis. 

Mar.  Allthccontagionof  the  south  light  on  you, 
You  shames  of  Rome  !   you  herd  of— Boils  and 

plagues 
Plaster  you  o'er ;  that  you  may  be  abhorr'd 
Further  than  seen,  and  one  inlcct  another 
Against  the  wind  a  mile  !    You  souls  of  gccsc. 
That  bear  the  shapes  of  men,  how  have  you  run 
From  slaves  that  apes  would  beat !  Pluto  and  hell'. 
All  hurt  behind;  backs  red,  and  litces  jale 
WithlUghtandagu'dlear!  Mend, and  charge  home, 
(Ir,  by  the  fires  of  heaven,  I'll  leave  the  foe. 
And  iiiake  my  wars  on  you  :  look  to't :  Come  on, 
It  jou'fl  stand  fast,  we'll  beat  them  to  their  wives. 
As  they  us  lo  our  trenches  followed. 

Another  Alarum.  Ttie  \ olccs  and  llomtinsre-enier, 

and  the  Fight  u  renewed.  Tlie  \\>[i:vi  retire  into 

Corioli,  and  MAUi:ii:ii/ollows  tluni  lo  the  Gules. 

So,  now  the  gates   are   ope :— Now    prove   good 

seconds : 
'Tis  for  the  followers  fortune  widens  them. 
Not  for  the  fliers  :  mark  me,  and  do  the  like. 

[He  enters  the  Gates  and  is  shut  ill. 

1  Sol.  FooI-hardiness ;  not  1. 

2  Sol.  Nor  I. 

•*  *•'"'•  See,  they 

Have  shut  him  in.  [Alarum  continues, 

■^tt-  To  the  pot,  1  warrant  him. 


Scene  VI. 


CORIOLANUS. 


549 


Enter  TiTi'S  Lartits. 
Lart.  What  is  become  of  Marcius  ? 
AIL  Slain,  sir,  doubtless. 

1  Sol.  Following  the  fliers  at  tlie  very  lii-els, 
With  them  lie  enters;  who.  upon  the  sudden, 
Cl^pp'd-to  their  tjatcs;  he  is  himself  alone, 
To  answer  all  the  city. 

Lart.  O  noble  fellow ! 

W^ho,  sensibly.'  outdares  his  senseless  sword. 
And,  when  it   bows,  stands  up!     Thou  art  left, 

Marcius: 
A  carbuncle  entire,  as  bis;  as  thou  art. 
Were  not  so  rich  n  jewel.    Thou  wast  a  soldier 
Even  to  Calo's  wish,  not  fierce  and  terrible 
Only  in  strokes;  hut,  with  thy  srim  lools,  and 
The  thunder-like  percussion  o(^  thy  sounds, 
Thou  mad'.-:t  thine  enemies  shake,  as  if  the  world 
Were  feverous  and  did  tremble. 
Re-enter  Makcils,  hlfnlinf;,  assaulted  by  the 

Enemy. 
1  Sill.  Look,  sir. 

I-urt.  'Tis  Marcius! 

Let  s  fetch  him  oi'\.  or  make  remain  alike. 

[Tkry  fight,  and  all  enter  lite  City. 

SCENE   V.—  rvithin  the  Town.    A  Street. 
Enter  ecrtain  Romans,  with  Spoils. 

1  Rnm.  This  will  I  carry  to  Rome. 

2  Rom.  And  I  this. 

3  Ro7n.  A  murrain  on't !  I  took  this  for  silver. 

[Alarum  continues  ."till  aj'trr  off. 

Enter  Marcius,  and  Titus  Laktuts,  ivith  a 
Trumpet. 

Mar.  See  here  these  movers,  that  do  prize  their 
hours 
At  a  crack'd  drachm  I-    Cushions,  leaden  spoons. 
Irons  of  a  doit,  doublets  that  hangmen  would 
Bury  with  those  that  wore  them, these  base  slaves, 
Ere  yet  the  fight  be  done,  pack  up:— Down  with 

them. — 
And  hark,  what  noise  the  general  makes !— To 

him: — 
There  is  the  man  of  my  soul's  hate.  Aulidius, 
Piercing  our  Romans  :' Then,  valiant  Titus,  take 
Convenient  numbers  to  make  good  the  city  ; 
Whilst  L  with  those  that  have  the  spirit,  will  haste 
To  help  Cominius. 

Lart.  Worthy  sir,  thou  bleed'st ; 

Thy  exercise  hath  been  too  vioJent  for 
A  second  course  of  fight. 

Mar.  Sir.  praise  mr  not; 
l\Iy  work  hatli  yet  not  wa/m'd  m<> :  Kane  j-ou  well. 
The  blood  I  drop  is  rat.'ier  physical 
Than  dangerous  to  me:  T.j  .VulidiH.'!  thus 
I  will  appear,  and  fight. 

l-art.  N'ow  the  fair  goddess,  Fortune, 

Faii  deep  in  Ijve  with  tlieo  ;  and  her  great  charms 
Misguide  thy  opposer.*'  swords  !  Bold  gentleman. 
Prosperity  be  thy  page! 

Mar.  Thy  friend  no  less 

Than  lh.)se  she  plucelh  highest!     So,  farewell. 

Lar,'.  Thou  wivrlhicst  Marcius  ! — 

[E.rif  Marcius. 
Co.  sound  thy  tru.'upet  in  the  market  place; 
Call  thither  all  the  oUicers  of  Ihe  town. 
Where  they  sha^l  know  our  mind :  Away.  [Exeunt. 

S'CE.N'E  VI.— A'eor  the  Camp  of  Cominius. 
Enter  Cominius  and  Forces  retreating. 
Com.  Breathe  you,  my  friends  ;  well  fought,  we 
are  come  olf 
Like  Romans,  neither  foolish  in  our  stands. 
Nor  cowardly  in  retire  :  bel'eve  me,  sirs. 
We  shall  becharged  again.  Whiles  we  have  struck, 
Hv  interims,  and  conveying  gusts,  we  have  heard 
The  charges  of  our  friends  .-^-The  Roman  gods, 
Lead  their  successes  ,as  we  wish  our  own  ; 
That  both  oar  powers,  with  smiling  fronu  encoun- 
tering. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Ma.y  give  you  thnnkful  sacrifice  !— Thy  newsl 

Mess.  The  citizens  of  C-orioli  have  issued, 
And  given  to  Lartiiis  and  to  Marcius  battle: 
I  saw  our  party  to  their  trenches  driven. 
And  thi;n  I  came  away. 


*  Ikiving  sensation,  feeling. 


^  A  Roman  coin. 


Corn.  Though  thou  speak'st  truth, 

Methinks.  thou  speak'st  not  weU.    Huw  long  is't 
since  1 

ilff.t.v.  Above  an  hour,  my  lord. 

Com.  'Tis  not  a  mile;    briefly  we  heard  their 
drums  ; 
How  coiildst  thoii  in  a  mile  confound^  an  hour. 
And  bnng  thy  news  so  late  I 

Mess.  Spies  of  the  Voices 

Held  me  in  chase,  that  I  w.as  forced  to  wheel 
Three  or  four  miles  about ;  else  had  I,  sir, 
Half  an  hour  since  brought  my  report. 

Enter  MAncius. 

Com.  Who's  yonder, 

That  does  appear  as  he  were  flay'd  1    O  gods ! 
He  has  the  stamp  of  Marcius ;  and  I  have 
Before-time  seen  him  thus. 

Mar.  Come  I  too  late? 

Com.  The  shepherd  knows  not  thunder  from  a 
tabor. 
More  than  I  know  the  sound  of  Marcius'  tongue 
From  every  meaner  man's. 

Mar.  Come  I  too  late  1 

Com.  Ay.ifyou  come  not  in  the  blood  of  others, 
But  mantled  in  your  own. 

Mar.  O  !  let  me  clip  you ; 

In  arms  as  sound,  as  when  I  woo'd;  in  lipart 
As  merry,  as  when  our  nuptial  day  was  done, 
And  tapers  burn'd  to  bedward. 

Com.  Flower  of  warriors, 

How  is  t  with  Titus  Lartius? 

Mar.  As  with  a  man  busied  about  decrees: 
Condemning  some  to  death,  and  some  to  exile  ; 
Ransoming  him.  or  pitying,  threat'ning  the  other; 
Holding  Corioli  in  the  name  of  Rome, 
Even  like  a  Ikwning  greyhound  in  the  leash, 
To  let  him  slip  at  will. 

Com.  Where  is  that  slave. 

Which  told  me  thev  had  beat  you  to  your  trenches  ! 
Where  is  he  I    Call  him  hither. 

^I">:  Let  him  alone. 

He  did  inlorm  the  truth  :  Rut  for  our  gentlemen. 
The    common    tile,    (.\    plague!— Tribunes    for 

them!) 
The  mouse  ne'er  shunu'd  the  cat,  as  they  did  budge 
From  rascals  worse  than  they. 
■  Corn.  Hut  how  prevail'd  you  ? 

Mar.  Will  the  time  serve  to  tell  t  I  do  not  think- 
Where  is  the  enemy  !  .\re  you  lords  o'  the  held  ! 
If  not,  why  cease  you  till  you  are  so? 

Com.  Marcius, 

We  have  at  disadvantage  fought,  and  did 
Retire  to  win  our  purpose. 

Mar.  How  lies  their  battle?  Know  y<m  on  which 
side 
They  have  ]ilaced  their  men  of  trust? 

Coin.  As  I  guess,  Marcius, 

Their  bands  in  the  va ward' are  the  Antiates,^ 
Of  their  best  trust:  o'er  them  .lutidius, 
Their  very  heart  of  hope. 

Mar.  I  do  beseech  >'0u, 

By  all  the  battles  wherein  we  have  fought, 
By  the  blood  we  have  shed  together,  by  the  vows 
We  have  made  to  endure  friends,  that  yon  directly 
Set  me  against  Aufidius,and  his  Antiales: 
And  that  you  not  delay  the  present;!'  but. 
Filling  the  air  with  swords  advanced,  and  darts. 
We  prove  this  very  hour. 

Com.  Though  I  could  wish 

You  were  conducled  to  a  gentle  bath. 
And  balms  applied  to  you;  yet  dare  I  never 
Deny  your  asking  ;  take  yoiir  choice  of  those 
Thehest  can  aid  your  action. 

Mar.  Those  are  they 

That  most  arc  willing: — If  any  such  be  here. 
[.\.s  it  were  sin  to  doubt.)  that' love  Ibis  painting 
Wherein  you  see  me  smear'd;  if  any  fear 
Lesser  his  person  than  an  ill  report; 
If  any  think,  brave  death  outweighs  bad  life. 
And  that  his  country's  dearer  than  himself; 
Let  him,  alone,  or  so  many,  so  minded. 
Wave   thus,   [  Waving  hiM  hand,]  to  express  his 

disposition, 
.\nd  follow  Marcius, 

[They  all  shout,  and  wave  their  Sword.t ;  lake 
him  up  ill  their  Arms,  and  cast  up  their  Caps. 


'  ExpeTid. 

•  Soldiers  of  Antium. 


4  Front. 

•  Present  timu. 


550 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  I.  Scene  IX. 


O  me,  alone  !    Make  you  a  sword  of  me  1 

If  these  shows  be  not  outward,  wliich  of  you 

IJut  is  four  Voices]     None  of  you  but  is 

Able  to  bear  against  the  great  Aufidius 

A  shield  as  hard  as  his.    A  certain  number, 

Though  thanks  to  all,  must  I  select :  the  rest, 

Shall  bear  the  business  in  some  other  hght. 

As  cause  will  be  obey'd.     Please  you  to  march; — 

And  four  shall  quickly  draw  out  my  command, 

Wliich  men  are  best  inclin'd. 

Clint.  March  on,  my  fellows ; 

]\Iake  good  this  ostentation,  and  you  sliall 
Divide  in  all  with  us.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.— ne  Gates  nf  Corioli. 
TiTPS  Lauth'S,  having  set  a  Guard  upon  Corioli, 
^nin^   zvit/i   a    Drum    and    Trunijiet    towards 
CoMixius   and    Cails   Marcus,    enters  witli  a 
Lieutenant,  a  party  rj/' Soldiers,  and  a  Scout. 
Lart.  So,  let  the  ])orts^  be  guarded;  keep  your 
duties. 
As  I  have  set  them  down.    If!  do  send,  despatch 
Those  centuries^  to  our  aid  ;  the  rest  will  serve 
For  a  stiort  holding :  if  we  lose  the  field, 
We  cannot  keep  the  town. 
Lieu.  Fear  not  our  care,  sir. 

Lart.  hjence,  and  shut  your  gates  upon  us. — 
Our  guider,  come ;  to  the  Roman  camp  conduct  us. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE  VIII.— ^  Field  of  Buttle  between  tlie 
Roman  and  tlie  Volscian  Camps. 
Alarum.    Enter  March's  and  Aufidius. 
Mar.  I'll  fight  with  none  but  thee  ;  for  I  do  hate 
thee 
Worse  than  a  promise-breaker. 

Auf.  We  hate  alike; 

Not  Afric  owns  a  serpent  I  abhor 
More  than  thy  lame  and  envy :  Fix  thy  f  lot. 

Mar.  Let  the  first  budger  die  the  other's  slave. 
And  the  gods  doom  him  alter  ! 

Auf.  If]  tly,  Marcius, 

Halloo  me  like  a  hare. 

Mar.  Within  these  three  hours,  Tullus, 

Alone  I  fought  in  your  Corioli  walls. 
Anil  made  what  work  I  pleas'd  ;  'Tis  not  my  blood 
Wherein  thou  seest  me  mask'd  :  for  thy  revenge. 
Wrench  up  thy  ])o\ver  to  the  highest. 

Auf.  Wert  thou  the  Hector, 

That  was  the  whip  of  your  bragg'd  progeny. 
Thou  shoiddst  not  scape  me  here. — 

[Ttieyjiglit,  and  certain  Voices  come  to  the 
aid  of  AuFimus. 
Officious  and  not  valiant,— you  have  shain'd  me 
In  your  condemned  seconds.^ 

[Exeunt  fighting,  driven  in  bij  Maecius. 

SCENE  IX.— TAe  Roman  Camp. 
Alarum.    A  Retreat  li  .iininded.   Flourlsli.   Eater, 

lit  line  side,  Cumtiws  and  Romans;  at  the  ut  tier 

side,  Marcius,  with  tiis  Arm  in  a  Scarf,  and 

otfier  Romans. 

Cum.  If  I  should  tell  thee  o'er  this  thy  day's  work, 
Thou'lt  not  believe  Ihy  deeds  :  but  I'll  report  it. 
Where  senators  shall  mingle  tears  with  smiles; 
AVbere  great  patricians  shall  attend,  and  shrug, 
r  Ihe  end,  admire  ;  where  ladies  shall  be  frighted. 
And,  gladly  quak'd,'  hear  more;  where  the  dull 

tribunes. 
That,  with  the  fusty  plebeians,  hate  thine  honors, 
Shall  say  against  their  hearts— (-Te  Ihaiilc  the  gods, 
Our  Home  tiath  such  a  soldier  ! — 
Vet  cain'st  thou  to  a  morsel  of  this  least, 
Having  luily  dined  before. 

Enter  TiTUS  Lautius,  luith  his  Power,  from  Ihe 
Pursuit. 

Lart.  O  general, 

Here  is  the  steed,  we  the  caparison  : 
Hadst  thou  beheld 

Mar.  Pray  now,  no  more  :  my  mother. 

Who  has  a  charier  to  extol  her  blood, 
When  she  docs  ]iiaise  me,  grieves  me.  I  have  done 
As  you  have  done  ;  that's  what  I  can  ;  induced 
Ai;  you  have  been ;  that's  for  my  country : 

'  Gates.  ■  Conip.inies  of  .1  hundred  men. 

It  In  afTordinK  such  ilMiined  help.  • 

'  'J'hrown  into  grateful  trepidation. 


He  that  has  but  effected  his  good  will. 
Hath  overta'en  mine  act. 

Com.  You  shall  not  be 

The  grave  of  your  deserving;  Rome  must  know 
The  value  of  her  own:  'twere  a  concealment 
Worse  than  a  thell,  no  less  than  a  traducement, 
To  hide  your  doings ;  and  to  silence  that. 
Which  to  the  spire  and  top  of  praises  vouch'd, 
Would  seem  but  modest.  Therelbre,  I  beseech  you, 
(In  sign  of  what  you  are, not  to  reward 
What  you  have  done,)  before  our  army  hear  me. 

Mar.  I  have  some  wounds  upon  me,  and  they 
smart 
To  hear  themselves  remember'd. 

Com.  .     Should  they  not, 

Well  might  they  fester  'gainst  ingratitude, 
And  tent  themselves  with  death.   Of  all  the  horses, 
( Whereof  we  have  ta'cn  good,  and  good  store, )of  all 
The  treasure,  in  this  field  achiev'd,  and  city, 
We  render  you  the  tenth ;  to  be  ta'en  forth, 
Before  the  common  distribution,  at 
Your  only  clioice. 

Mar.  I  thank  you,  general; 

But  cannot  make  my  heart  consent  to  take 
A  bribe  to  pay  my  sword :  I  do  refuse  it ; 
And  stand  ujion  my  common  part  with  those 
That  have  beheld  the  doing. 

[A  long  Flourish.  Then  all  cry,  Marcius  !  Mar- 
cius! cast  up  their  Caps  and  Jjunces :  CoMi- 
Nius  and  Lartius  stand  bare. 

Mar.  May  these  same  instruments,  which  you 
profane, 
Neversoundmore!  Whendrumsand  trumpetsshall 
r  the  field  prove  llatterers,  let  courts  and  cities  be 
Made  all  of  liilse-faced  soothing :  When  steel  grows 
Soft  as  the  parasite's  silk,  let  him  be  made 
An  overture  for  the  wars  !    No  more,  I  say ; 
For  that  I  have  not  wash'd  my  nose  that  bled. 
Or  Ibil'd  some  debile^  wretch, — which,without  note. 
Here's  many  else  have  done, — you  shout  me  Ibrth 
In  acclamations  hyperbolical ; 
As  if  I  loved  my  little  should  be  dieted 
In  praises  sauced  with  lies. 

Com.  Too  modest  are  you  ; 

More  cruel  to  your  good  report  than  grateful 
To  us  that  give  you  truly  :  by  your  patience. 
If 'gainst  yourself  you  be  iiicens'd,  we'll  put  you 
(Like  one  that  meanshisproper^harm)  in  manacles. 
Then  reason  safely  with   you.— Therefore,  be  it 

known. 
As  to  us,  to  all  the  world,  that  Caius  Marcius 
Wears  this  war's  garland  :  in  token  of  the  which 
My  noble  steed,  known  to  the  camp,  I  give  him. 
With  all  his  trim  belonging;  and,  from  this  time, 
For  what  he  did  belbre  Corioli,  call  him, 
With  all  the  applause  and  clamor  of  the  host, 
Cars  Marcus  Cohiolasis. — 
Bear  the  addition  nobly  ever ! 

[Flourish.    Trumpets  sound,  and  Drums. 

All.  Caius  Marcius  Coriolaiius! 

Cor.  I  will  go  wash  ; 
And  when  my  liice  is  lair,  you  shall  perceive 
Whether  1  blush,  or  no  :  Ilowbeit,  1  thank  you  :^ 
I  mean  to  stride  jour  steed  ;  and,  at  all  times. 
To  undercrest'  your  good  addition. 
To  the  fairness  of  my. power. 

Com.  So  to  our  tent: 

Where,  ere  we  do  repose  us.  we  will  write 
To  Rome  of  our  success.— You,  Titus  Lartius, 
Must  to  Corioli  back:  send  us  to  Rome 
The  best.s  with  whom  we  may  articulate,^ 
For  their  own  good,  and  ours.' 

Lart.  I  shall,  my  lord. 

C'or._  The  gods  begin  to  mock  ine.    I  that  now 
Refus'd  more  princely  gills,  am  bound  to  beg 
Of  my  lord  general. 

''"'"•  Take  it;  'tis  yours.— What  ia't ' 

Car.  I  sometime  lay,  here  in  Corioli. 
At  a  poor  man's  house :  he  used  ine  kindly  : 
He  cried  to  me;  I  saw  him  prisoner; 
But  then  Aulidius  was  within  inj'  view, 
.\nd  wrath  o'crwhelm'd  my  pily:  I  request  you 
To  give  my  poor  host  freedom. 

Com.  O,  well  begg'd ! 

Were  he  the  butcher  of  my  son,  he  should 
Be  ireo,  as  the  wind.    Deliver  him,  Titus. 

Lart.  Marcius,  his  name] 

1  Weak.  feeUe.  j  Own. 

*  Add  more  tiy  doing  his  best.  i  Chief  men. 

•  Kuter  into  articles. 


Act  II.   Scene  I. 


COPJOLANUS. 


551 


Cor.  By  Jupiter,  forgot: — 

I  am  weary  ;  yea,  my  memory  is  tir'd. — 
Have  we  uo  wine  iiere  ! 

Com.  Go  we  to  our  tent : 

Tile  biood  uj'On  your  visage  dries:  'tis  time 
It  sliould  be  look'd  to  :  come.  [Exeunt. 

scene;   X.—The  Camp  of  the  Voices. 

A  Flourish.     Cornets.     Enter  Ti'U.VS  AUFIDItTS, 

blouily,  until  two  or  iliree  Soldiers. 

Atif.  The  town  is  ta'en  ! 

1  HdL   'Twill   be  deliver'd   bacit  on   good  con- 
dition. 

Auf.  Condition ! 
I  would  I  were  a  Roman  ;  for  I  cannot. 
Being  a  Voice,  be  tiiat  I  am. — Condition! 
What  good  condition  can  a  treaty  find 
1'  the  part  that  is  at  mercy?  Five  times,  Marcius, 
I  have  fought  with  thee;  so  often  hast  thou  beat  me, 
And  wouldst  do  so,  I  think,  should  we  encounter 
As  often  as  we  eat. — By  the  elements, 
If  e'er  again  I  meet  him  beard  to  beard. 
He  IS  mine,  iir  I  am  his:  Mine  emulation 
Hath  not  that  honor  ni't,  it  had  ;  l<->r  where' 
1  thought  to  crush  him  in  an  equal  force. 


(True  sword  to  sword.)  I'll  potcW  at  him  someway; 
or  wrath,  or  crait,  may  get  liim. 

1  Hut.  '  He  s  the  devil. 

Auf.  Bolder,  though  not  so  subtle  :  My  valor's 
poison'd. 
With  only  Kutlering  stain  by  liim  ;  for  him 
Shall  fly  out  of  itself:  nor  sleep,  nor  sanctuary, 
Being  naked,  sick  :  nor  fane,  nor  Capitol, 
The  prajers  of  priests,  nor  times  of  sacritice, 
Knibarquemenlsall  of  fury,  shall  lill  up 
Their  rotten  privilege  and  custom  'gainst 
My  hate  to  Marcius:  where  1  iiiid  him,  were  it 
At  home  upon  my  brother's  guard,  even  there 
Against  the  hos]>itable  canon,  would  I 
Wash  my  herce  hand  in  his  heart.    Go  you  to  the 

city  ; 
Learn,  how  'tis  held  ;  and  what  they  ore,  that  ii  ust 
Be  hostages  lor  Rome. 

I  Sul.  Will  not  you  go  ? 

Auf.  I  am  attendedo  at  the  cypress  grove : 
I  pray  you, 

('Tis  south  the  city  mills.)  bring  me  word  thither 
How  the  world  goes;  that  to  the  pace  of  it 
1  m.Ty  spur  on  my  jouiney. 

1  tiul.  I  sliall,  sir.    [Exeunt. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— Rome.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  Me.n'enius,  Sicinil's,  and  Brutus. 

ISlen.  The  augurer  tells  nie,  we  shall  have  news 
to-night. 

Bru.  lioud  or  bad  1 

Men.  Not  according  to  the  prayer  of  the  peo- 
ple, lor  they  love  not  Marcius. 

Sic.  Nature  teaches  beasts  to  know  their  friends. 

IMen.  Pray  you,  who  does  the  wolf  love  \ 

Hie.  The  lamb. 

Men.  Ay,  to  devour  him;  as  the  hungry  ple- 
beians would  Hie  noble  Marcius. 

Bru.  He's  a  lamb  indeed,  that  baes  like  a  bear. 

Men.  He's  a  bear  indeed,  that  lives  like  a  lamb. 
You  two  are  old  men;  tell  me  one  thing  that  I 
shall  ask  vou. 

Biitli  Ti-ib.  Well,  sir. 

l^len.  In  what  enonnily  is  Marcius  poor,  that 
you  two  ha\e  not  in  abundance  ! 

Bru.  He's  poor  in  no  one  lault,  but  stored  with 
all, 

iS'tc.  Especially  in  pride. 

Bru.  And  topping  all  others  in  boasting. 

Men.  This  is  strange  now:  Do  you  two  know 
how  you  arc  censured  here  in  the  city,  I  mean  of 
us  o'  the  right  hand  tile  !  Do  you  ? 

Botti  Trih.  Why.  how  are  we  censured? 

Mett.  Because  }'ou  talk  of  jiride  now, — Will  >ou 
not  be  angry  1 

Botli  Trill.  Well,  well,  sir,  well. 

Men.  \Vhy,  'lis  no  great  matter:  for  a  very  little 
thief  of  occasion  will  rob  you  of  a  great  deal  of 
patience:  give  your  disposition  the  leins,  and  be 
angry  at  your  jilcasures  ;  at  the  least,  if  you  take 
it  as  a  pleiisure  to  }ou,  in  being  so.  You  blame 
Marcius  for  being  proud? 

Bru.  We  do  it  not  alone,  sir. 

Men.  I  know,  you  can  do  very  little  alone;  for 
your  helps  are  many ;  or  else  your  actions  would 
grow  wondrous  single:  your  abilities  are  too  in- 
tar*  like,  for  doing  much  alone.  You  talk  of  pride: 
O.  that  you  could  turn  your  eyes  towards  the  napes 
of  jour  necks,  and  make  but  an  interior  survey 
0/  your  good  selves  !    O,  that  you  could! 

Bru.  What  then,  sir? 

Men.  Why,  then  you  should  discover  a  brace  of 
unmeritiiig,  proud,  violent,  testy  magistrates,  (alias 
fools,)  as  any  in  Rome. 

Sic.  Mene'nius,  you  are  known  well  enough  too. 

]\len.  1  am  known  to  be  a  humorous  patrician, 
and  one  that  loves  a  cup  of  hot  wine  with  not  a 
drop  of  allaying  Tyber  in't;  said  to  be  something 
imperfect,  in  liivoring  the  first  complaint:  hasty, 
and  tinder-like,  upon  too  trivial  motion  :  one  that 
converses  more  with  the  buttock  of  the  night,  than 

1  Whereas. 


with  the  forehead  of  the  morning.  What  I  think 
I  ulter;  and  spend  my  malice  in  my  breath  :  Meet- 
ing two  such  weals-men'  as  you  are.  (I  cannot  call 
you  Lycurguses,)  if  the  drink  you  gave  me,  touch 
iny  jialate  adversely,  I  make  a  crooked  lace  at  it. 
1  cannot  say,  your  worships  have  delivered  the 
matter  well,  when  I  find  the  ass  in  com]iound  with 
the  major  part  of  jour  syllables:  and  though  I 
must  be  content  to  bear  with  those  that  say  you 
are  reverend  grave  men;  yet  they  lie  deadly,  that 
tell,  you  have  good  faces.  If  you  see  this  in  the 
iiKipof  my  microcosm,  follows  it,  that  I  am  known 
well  enough  too  ?  What  harm  can  your  bi.sson- 
cons])ectuiiies  glean  out  of  this  cliaracter,  if  1  be 
known  well  enough  too  ? 

Bru.  Come,  sir. come;  we  know  you  well  enough. 

Men.  Vou  know  neitlier  me,  yourselves,  nor  any 
thing.  Vou  are  ambitious  for  poor  knaves'  caps 
and  legs;  5 on  wear  out  a  good  wholesome  fore- 
noon, in  hearing  a  cause  between  an  orange  wife 
and  a  fosset-seller ;  and  then  rejourn  the  contro- 
versy of  three-pence  to  a  second  day  of  audience. 
—When  you  are  hearing  a  matter  between  party 
and  party,  if  you  chance  to  be  pinched  with  the 
colic,  you  make  laces  like  mummers;  set  up  the 
bloody  Hag  against  all  jialience^  and,  in  roaring  for 
a  chamber-pot,  dismiss  the  controversy  bleeding, 
the  more  entangled  by  your  hearing:  all  theiicaee 
you  make  in  their  cau.se,  is.  calling  both  the  parties 
knaves:    You  are  a  pair  of  strange  ones. 

Bru.  Come,  come,  you  are  well  understood  to 
be  a  perfecter  giber  lor  the  table,  than  a  necessary 
bencher  in  the  Capitol. 

Men.  Our  very  priests  must  become  mockers,  if 
they  shall  encounter  such  ridiculous  subjects  as  you 
are.  When  j  on  speak  best  unto  the  purpose,  it  is 
not  worth  Ihe  wagging  of  your  beards;  and  your 
beards  deserve  not  so  honorable  a  grave,  as  to  stull 
a  botcher's  cushion,  or  to  be  entombed  in  an  ass's 
pack-saddle.  Yet  you  must  be  saying,  Marcius  is 
]}roud;  who,  in  a  cheap  estimation,  is  worth, all 
your  predecessors,  since  Deucalion;  though,  per- 
adventure,  some  of  the  best  of  them  were  hereditary 
hangmen.  Good  e'en  to  your  worships:  more  of 
your  conversation  would  infect  my  brain,  being  the 
herdsmen  of  the  beastly  plebeians :  I  wi)l  be  bold 
to  take  my  leave  of  you. 

[BiiU.  and  Sic.  retire  to  ilie  back  of  tlie  Scene. 

Enter  Volumsia,  VinniLiA,  and  Valeria,  ^-c. 
How  now,  my  as  fair  as  noble  ladies,  (and  Ihe  moon, 
were  she  earthly,  no  nobler,)  whither  do  you  lol- 
low  3'our  eyes  so  fast  ? 

Tot.  Honorable  Menenius,  my  boy  Marcius  ap- 
proaches: for  the  love  of  Juno,  let's  go. 

Men.  Ha!  Marcius  coming  home  ? 

■  Poke,  push.     •  Waited  fur.    •  Statesmen.     '  Blind. 


55^ 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  II, 


Vol.  Ay,  worthy  Menenius;  and  with  most  pros- 
perous approbation. 

Men.  Take  my  cap.  Jupiter  and  I  thank  thee: — 
Hoo  !  Marcius  coming  home  1 

Two  Ladies.  Nay,  'tis  true. 

Vol.  Look,  here's  a  letter  from  him:  the  slate 
hath  another,  li is  wife  another;  and,  I  think,  there's 
one  at  home  for  you. 

Men.  I  will  make  my  very  house  reel  to-night: 
—\  h?tter  for  me  ] 

Vir.  Yes,  certain,  there's  a  letter  for  you;  I 
saw  it. 

Men.  A  letter  for  me  7  It  fives  me  an  estate  of 
seven  years'  health;  in  which  time  I  will  make  a 
lip  at  the  physician:  the  most  sovereig;n  prescrip- 
tion in  Galen  is  but  empiricutic,  and  to  this  pre- 
servative, of  no  better  report  than  a  horse-drench. 
Is  he  not  wounded  1  he  was  wont  to  come  home 
wounded. 

J'ir.  O,  no,  no,  no. 

Vol.  0,  he  is  wounded.  I  thank  (he  gods  for't, 

7l/fH.  So  do  I  too,  if  it  he  not  too  much  : — IJrings 
'a  victory  in  his  packet! — The  wounds  become 
him. 

]'al.  On's  brows.  Menenius  :  he  comes  the  third 
time  home  with  the  oaken  tjarland. 

Men.  Has  he  disciplined  Autidius  soundly  ? 

Vol.  Titus  Larlius  writes, — TJiey  fought  to- 
gelher,  but  Autidius  got  oil". 

Me7i.  And  'twas  time  for  him  too,  I'll  warrant 
him  that:  an  he  had  slaid  by  him,  I  would  not  have 
been  so  fidiused  for  all  the  chests  in  Corioli,  and 
the  gold  that's  in  them.  Is  the  senate  possessed 
of  this? 

Vol.  Good  ladies,  let's  go: — Yes,  yes,  yes:  the 
senate  has  letters  from  the  general,  wherein  he 
gives  my  son  the  whole  name  of  the  war :  he  hath 
m  this  action  outdone  his  former  deeds  doubly. 

Val.  In  troth,  there's  wondrous  things  spoke  of 
him. 

Men.  Wondrous?  Ay,  I  warrant  you,  and  not 
without  his  true  purchasing, 

Vir.  The  gods  grant  them  true! 

Vol..  True  1  pow,  wow. 

Men.  True?  I'll  be  sworn  they  are  tnie: — 
Wliere  is  he  wounded? — God  save  your  good 
■worships!  [To  the  Tribunes,  z^V^  come  forward.^ 
Marcius  is  coming  home:  lie  has  more  cause  to  be 
proud. — Where  is  he  wounded? 

Vol,  I' the  shoulder,  and  i' the  left  arm:  There 
will  be  large  cicatrices  to  show  the  people,  wlien 
he  shall  stand  lor  his  place.  He  received  in  tlie 
repulse  of  Tarquin,  seven  hurts  i'  the  body. 

men.  One  in  the  neck,  and  two  in  the  thigh, — 
there's  nine  that  I  know. 

Vol.  He  had,  before  this  last  expedition,  twenty- 
five  wounds  upon  him. 

Men.  Now  it's  twenty-seven  :  every  gash  was  an 
enemy's  grave:  [.4  Shout  and  Flourish.]  Hark! 
the  trumpets. 

Vol.  These  are  the  ushers  of  Marcius:  before  him 
He  carries  noise,  and  behind  him  he  leaves  tears; 
Death,  that  dark  spirit,  in's  nervy  arm  doth  lie  ; 
Which  being  advanced, declines;  and  then  men  die. 

A  Sennet.^  Trumpets  sound.  Enter  Cominius 
and  Tirrs  Lartr's;  between  them,  Coriola- 
KfS.  crowned  with  an  oaken  Garland;  with 
Captains,  Soldiers,  and  a  Herald. 

Her.  Know,  Rome,  that  all  alone  Marcius  did 
fight 
Within  Corioli  gates:  where  he  hath  won. 
With  fame  a  name  to  Caius  Marcius;  these 
In  honor  follows,  Coriolanus  : 
Welcome  to  Rome,  renowned  Coriolanus! 

[Flonrl'ih. 

All.  Welcome  to  Rome,  renowned  Coriolanus! 

Cor.  No  more  of  this,  it  does  offend  my  heart; 
Pray  now,  no  more. 

Cam.  Look,  sir,  your  mother. 

Cor.  0! 

Ymi  liave,  I  know,  pctition'd  all  the  gods 
For  my  prosperity.  [Kneels. 

yal.                          Nay.  my  good  soldier,  up: 
My  gentle  Marcius,  worthy  Caius.  and 
By  deed-achievinjT  honor  newly  nam'd, 
What  is  it?  Coriolanus,  must  I  call  thee'' 
But  O.  thy  wife 

Cor.  My  gcacious^  silence,  hail  I 

•  Flourish  on  cornets.  «  Graceful. 


Wouldst  thou  have  laugh'd,  had  I  come  coffin'd 

home. 
That  weep'st  to  see  me  triumph  ?     Ah,  my  dear, 
Such  eyes  the  widows  in  Corioli  wear, 
And  mothers  that  lack  sons. 

Mefi.  Now  the  gods  wovvn  thee  ! 

Cor.  And    live    you    yet? — 0    my  sweet  lady, 
pardon.  [To  Valeria. 

Vol.  I   know  not  where   to  turn:— O  welcome 
liome ; 
And  welcome,  general ; — And  you  arewitlcome  all. 

Me7i.  A  hundred  thousand  welcomes:   I  could 
weep. 
And  I  could  laugh;  I  am  light,  and  heavy:  Wel- 
come : 
A  curse  begin  at  every  root  of  his  heart. 
That  is  not  glad  to  see  thee  ! — You  are  three, 
That  Rome  should  dote  on :  yet,  by  the  faith  of 

men, 
We  have  some  old  crab-trees  here  at  home,  that 

will  not 
Be  grafted  to  your  relish.    Yet  welcome,  warriors: 
We  call  a  nettle,  but  a  nettle  ;  and 
The  taults  of  fools,  but  folly. 

Com.  Ever  right. 

Cor.  Menenius,  ever,  ever. 

Ber.  Give  way  there,  and  go  on. 

Cur.  Your  hand,  and  yours. 

[To  his  Wife  and  Mother. 
Kre  in  our  own  house  I  do  shade  my  head, 
The  good  patricians  must  be  visited  ; 
From  wliom  I  have  received  not  only  greetings, 
But  with  them  change  of  honors. 

Vol.  I  have  lived 

To  see  inherited  my  very  wishes, 
And  the  buildings  of  my  fancy:  only  there 
Is  one  thing  wanting,  which  I  doubt  not,  but 
Our  Rome  will  cast  upon  tJice. 

Cor.  Know,  good  mother, 

I  had  rather  be  their  servant  in  my  way. 
Than  sway  with  them  in  theirs. 

Com.  On  to  the  Capitol. 

[Flourish.  Cornets.  Exeunt  in  state,  as  btfore. 
The  Tribunes  remain. 

Bru.  All  tongues  speak  of  him,  and  the  bleared 
sii^hts 
Are  spectacled  to  see  him  :  Your  prattling  nurse 
Into  a  rapture  lets  her  baby  cry. 
While  she  chats  him :  the  kitchen  malkin^  pins 
Her  richest  lockrains  'bout  her  reechy"  neck, 
Clambering  the  walls  to  eye  him:   stalls,  bulks, 

windows, 
Are  smothcr'd  up.  leads  fill'd,  and  ridges  hors'd 
With  variable  complexions:  all  agreeing 
In  earnestness  to  see  him  ;  seld--shown  llamens^ 
Do  press  among  the  popular  throngs,  and  putf 
To  win  a  vulgar  station  :  our  veil'd  dames 
Commit  the  war  of  white  and  damask,  in 
Their  nicely-gawded'  cheeks,  to  the  wanton  spoil 
Of  Phcebus   burning  kisses  :  such  a  pother, 
As  if  that  whatsoever  god,  who  leads  him, 
Were  slily  crept  into  his  human  powers. 
And  gave  him  graceful  posture. 

Sic.  On  the  sudden, 

I  warrant  him  consul. 

Bi-ii.  Then  our  oltice  may, 

During  his  power,  go  sleep. 

Sic.  He  cannot  temperately  transport  his  honors 
From  where  he  should  begin  and  end ;  but  will 
Lose  those  that  he  hath  won. 

£ru.  In  that  there's  comfort- 

Sic.  Doubt  not,  the  commoners,  for  whom  wo 
stand. 
But  they,  upon  their  ancient  malice,  will 
Forget,  with  the  least  cause,  these  his  new  honors; 
Which  that  he'll  give  them,  make  as  little  question 
As  he  is  proud  to  do't. 

Brt/.  I  heard  him  swear. 

Were  he  to  stand  for  consul,  never  would  he 
Appear  i'  the  market-place,  nor  on  him  put 
T^he  napless  vesture  of  humility' ; 
Nor,  showing  (as  the  manner  is)  his  wounds 
To  the  people,  beg  their  stinking  breaths. 

^ic.  'Tis  right. 

Bru.  It  was  his  word:  O,  he  would  miss  it,  ratlier 
Than  carry  it,  but  by  the  suit  o'  the  gentry  to 

him. 
And  the  desires  of  the  nobles. 

6  Ma'nl.        8  liest  linen.         i  Sfiloil  with  swe.ntand  smok» 
"  Seldom.    »  Priests.  *  Adorned. 


Scene  II. 


CORIOLANUS. 


553 


Sic.  I  wish  no  better, 

Than  have  him  hold  that  purpose,  and  put  it 
III  execution. 

Bru.  *Tis  most  like,  he  will. 

Sic,  It  shall  be  to  him  then,  as  our  good  wills  ; 
A  sure  destruclion. 

Bru.  So  it  must  fall  out 

To  him,  or  our  authorities.    For  an  end, 
\Vc  must  sup:sest-  the  people  in  what  hatred 
He  still  hath  Iiekl  Ihenuthat  to  his  power  he  would 
Have  made  them  n^ulcs.gileneedlheir  pleaders, and 
Dispropertied  their  freedoms:  holding  them. 
In  human  action  and  capacity, 
Of  no  more  soul,  nor  fitness  for  the  world, 
Than  camels  in  their  war;  who  have  their  provand^ 
Only  ffir  bearing  burdens,  and  sore  blows 
For  sinking  under  them. 

Sic.  This,  as  you  say,  suggested 

At  some  time  when  his  soaring  insolence 
Shall  teach  the  people,  (which  time  shall  not  want, 
If  he  be  put  upon  't;  and  that's  as  easy, 
As  to  set  dugs  on  sheep,)  will  be  his  tire 
To  kindle  their  dry  stubble ;  and  their  blaze 
Shall  darken  him  lor  ever. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Bru.  What*s  the  matter  1 

Mess.  You  are  sent  for  to   the   Capitol.     'Tis 
thought 
That  Marcius  should  be  consul:  I  have  seen 
The  dumb  men  throng  to  see  him,  and  the  blind 
To  liear  him  speak:  Tlie  matrons  tlung  their  gloves, 
Ladies  and  maids  their  scarfs  and  handkerchiefs, 
Upon  him  as  he  passM :  the  nobles  bended, 
As  to  Jove's  statue  ;  and  the  commons  made 
A  shower,  and  thunder,  with  their  caps,  and  shouts: 
1  never  saw  the  like. 

Bru.  Let's  to  the  Capitol; 

And  carry  with  us  ears  and  eyes  for  the  time, 
But  hearts  for  the  event. 

Sic.  Have  with  you.  {Exeunt, 

SCENE  II.— The  Capitol. 
Enter  two  Olficers,  to  lay  Cushions. 

1  Off.  Come,  come,  tliey  are  almost  here :  How 
many  stand  for  consulships  \ 

2  Off.  Three,  tbey  say  :  but  *tis  thought  of  every 
one,  Coriolauus  will  carry  it. 

1  Off.  That's  a  brave  fellow;  but  he's  vengeance 
proud,  and  loves  not  the  common  people. 

2  Off.  'Faith,  there  have  been  many  great  men 
thai  have  IlalterM  the  people,who  ne'er  loved  them ; 
and  liiere  be  many  tbat  they  have  loved,  they  know 
not  wherefore ;  so  that,  if  they  love  they  know  not 
why,  they  hate  upon  no  better  a  ground  :  There- 
forn,  for  Coriohuuis  neither  to  care  whether  they 
love  or  hate  hiui,  manifests  the  true  knowledge  he 
has  in  their  disposition  ;  and  out  of  his  noble  care- 
lessness, lets  them  plainly  see't. 

1  Off.  If  he  did  not  care  whether  he  had  their 
love, "or  no.  he  waved  inditlerentty  'twixt  doing 
them  neither  good  nor  harm;  but  he  seeks  their 
hate  with  groaler  devotion  than  they  can  render  it 
hitn;  aad  leaves  nothing  undone,  that  may  fully 
discover  him  their  opposite.  Now,  to  seem  to 
atfect  the  malice  and  displeasure  of  the  people,  is 
as  bad  as  that  which  he  dislikes,  to  flatter  them  for 
their  love. 

2  Off.  He  hath  deserved  worthily  of  his  country: 
And  nis  ascent  is  not  by  such  easy  degrees  as 
those,  wlio,  having  been  supple  and  courteous  to 
tlie  people,  bonneted-*  without  any  further  deed  to 
heave  them  at  ail  into  their  estimation  and  report : 
but  he  haih  so  planted  his  honors  in  their  eyes, 
and  hisactionsin  their  hearts,  that  for  their  ton;;ues 
to  be  silent,  and  not  confess  so  much,  were  a  kind 
of  ingrateful  injury:  to  report  otherwise  were  a 
malice,  that,  giving  itself  the  lie,  would  pluck  re- 
proof and  rebuke  from  every  ear  that  heard  it. 

1  Off.  No  more  of  him;  he  is  a  worthy  man: 
Make  way,  they  are  coming. 
A  Sennet.   Enter,  with  Lictors  before  thern,  CoMi- 

Nius,  the  Consul,  Mesenius.  CouioLANrs,  many 

other   Senators,    Sicinius,   and    Brutus.     The 

Senators  take  their  places;   the  Tribunes  take 

theirs  also  by  themselves. 

Men.  Having  determin'd  of  the  Voices,  and 
To  send  for  Titus  Lartius,  it  remains, 

•  Inform.  »  Pioveuder.  *  Took  off  caps. 


As  the  main  point  of  this  our  at^er-meeting, 

To  gratify  his  noble  servicf,  that 

Hath  thus  stood  for  his  country  :  Therefore  please 

you. 
Most  reverend  and  grave  elders,  to  desire 
The  present  consul,  and  last  general 
In  our  well-found  successes,  to  report 
A  little  of  that  worthy  work  perform'd 
By  Caius  Marcius  Coriolanus  ;  wiiom 
We  meet  here,  both  to  thank  and  to  remember 
With  honors  like  himself. 

1  Sen.  Speak,  good  Cominius: 

Leave  nothing  out  for  length,  and  make  us  think 
Rather  our  state's  defective  for  requital, 
Than  we  to  stretch  it  out.    Masters  o'  the  people, 
We  do  request  your  kindest  ears;  and,  after, 
Your  loving  motion  toward  the  common  body, 
To  yield  what  passes  here. 

Sic.  We  are  convented 

Upon  a  pleasing  treaty  ;  and  have  hearts 
Inclinable  to  honor  and  advance 
The  theme  of  our  assembly. 

Bru.  Which  the  rather 

We  shall  be  bless'd  to  do,  if  he  remember 
A  kinder  value  of  the  people,  than 
He  hath  hereto  prized  them  at. 

Men.  That's  off,  that's  off;^ 

I  would  you  rather  had  been  silent:  Please  you 
To  hear  Cominius  sj^'akl 

Bru.  Most  willingly : 

But  yet  my  caution  was  more  pertinent. 
Than  the  rebuke  you  gave  it. 

Men.  He  loves  your  people ; 

But  tie  him  not  to  be  their  bedfellow.^ 
Worthy  Cominius,  speak. — Nay,  keep  your  place. 
[CuniOLANUS  rises^  and  offe7-s  to  go  away. 

I  Sen.  Sit.  Coriolanus:  never  shame  to  hear 
What  you  have  nobly  done. 

Cor.  Your  honors*  pardon  ; 

I  had  rather  have  my  wounds  to  heal  again. 
Than  hear  say  how  1  got  them. 

Bru.  ^  Sir,  I  hope, 

My  words  disbench'd  you  not. 

Cor.  No,  sir;  yet  ofl 

When  blows  have  made  me  stay,  I  Hcd  from  words. 
You  sooth'd  not,  therefore  hurt   not:   But  your 

people, 
I  love  them  as  they  weigh. 

Men.  Pray  now,  sit  down. 

Cor.  I   had  rather  have   one  scratch  my  head 
i'  the  sun, 
When  the  alarum  were  struck,  than  idly  sit 
To  hear  my  nothings  monster'd. 

[Exit  Coriolanus. 

Men.  Masters  o'  the  people, 

Your  multiplying  spawn  how  can  he  flatter, 
(That's  thousand  to  one  good  one,)  when  you  now 

see. 
He  had  rather  venture  all  his  limbs  for  honor. 
Than  one  of  his  ears  to  hear  it? — Proceed,  Co- 
minius. 

Corn.  I  shall  lack  voice:  the  deeds  of  Coriolanus 
Should  not  be  utter'd  feebly.— It  is  held. 
That  valor  is  the  chiefest  virtue,  and 
Most  dignifies  the  haver:  if  it  be, 
The  man  I  speak  of  cannot  in  the  world 
Be  singly  counterpois'd.    At  sixteen  years. 
When  Tarquin  made  a  head  for  Rome,  he  fought 
Beyond  the  mark  of  others:  our  then  dictator. 
Whom  with  all  praise  I  point  at,  saw  him  fight, 
When  with  his  Amazonian^  chin  he  drove 
Tiie  bristled  lips  betbre  him:  he  bestrid 
An  o'er-press'd  Roman,  and  i'  the  consul's  view 
Slew  thrcp  opposers:  Tarquin's  self  he  met. 
And  struck  him  on  his  knee :  in  that  day's  feats, 
When  he  might  act  the  woman  in  the  scene. 
He  prov'd  best  man  o'  the  held,  and  for  his  meed'' 
Was  brow-bound  with  the  oak.    His  pupil  age 
Man-enter'd  thus,  he  waxed  like  a  sea; 
And,  in  the  brunt  of  seventeen  battles  since. 
He  lurch'd^  all  swords  o'the  garland.  For  this  last, 
Before  and  in  Corioli,  let  me  saj', 
I  cannot  speak  him  home.    He  stopp'd  the  fliers; 
And.  by  his  rare  example,  made  the  coward 
Turn  terror  into  sport:  as  waves  belbre 
A  ^'essel  under  sail,  so  men  obcy'd, 
And  fell  below  hisstein  :  his  sword  (death's stamp) 
Where  it  did  mark  it  took;  from  face  to  foot 

<  \ofbing  to  the  purpose.  e  Without  a  board. 

1  Rewai-d.  •  Bisappoiuted. 


554 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  11. 


He  was  a  thing  of  blood,  whose  every  motion 
Was  timed  with  dving  cries;  alone  he  entered 
The  niorial  gate  o*  the  city,  which  he  painted 
With  shunless  destiny,  aidless  came  off. 
And  with  a  sudden  reinforcement  struck 
Corioli.  like  a  planet:  Now  all's  his: 
When  by  and  by  the  din  of  war  'gan  pierce 
His  ready  sense  :  then  straight  his  doubled  spirit 
Re-quickenM  what  in  flesh  was  fatigate.s 
And  to  the  battle  came  he;  where  he  did 
Run  reeking  o'er  the  lives  of  men,  as  if 
'Tvvere  a  perpetual  spoil ;  and,  till  we  call'd 
Both  field  and  city  ours,  he  never  stood 
To  ease  his  breast  with  panting. 

Men.  Worthy  man ! 

1  Sen.  Hecannotbutwith  measure  fitthe  honors 
Whicli  we  devise  him. 

C('iii.  Our  spoils  he  kick'd  at ; 

And  Inok'd  upon  things  precious,  as  they  were 
The  common  muck  o'  the  world ;  he  covets  less 
Than  misery'  itself  would  give;  rewards 
His  deeds  with  doing  them,  and  is  content 
To  spend  the  time  to  end  it. 

Men.  He's  right  noble  ; 

Let  him  be  call'd  for. 

1  Sen.  Call  for  Coriolanus. 

0^".  He  doth  appear. 

Re-enter  CoRiotANUS. 

Men.  The  senate,  Coriolanus,  are  well  pleasM 
To  make  thee  consul. 

Cor.  I  do  owe  them  still 

My  Hte,  and  services. 

Men,  It  then  remains, 

That  you  do  speak  to  the  people. 

Cor.      ^  I  do  beseech  you, 

Let  mc  o'erleap  that  custom;  for  I  cannot 
Put  on  the  gown,  stand  naked,  and  entreat  them, 
For  my  wounds'  sake,  to  give  their  sulFiagc  :  please 

you. 
That  I  may  pass  this  doing. 

Sir.  Sir.  the  people 

Must  have  their  voices;  neither  will  they  bate 
One  jot  of  ceremony. 

Men,  Put  them  not  to't: — 

Pray  you,  go  fit  ynu  to  the  custom  ;  and 
Talie  to  you,  as  your  predecessors  have, 
Your  hoiior  with  your  form. 

C'jr.  It  is  a  part 

That  I  shall  blush  in  acting,  and  might  well 
Be  taken  Irom  the  people. 

Bin.  Mark  you  that? 

Cor.  To  brag  unto  them — thus  I  did,  and  Ihus; — 
Show  them  the  unaching  scars  which  I  should 

hide. 
As  if  I  had  receiv'd  them  for  the  hire 
Of  their  breath  only: — 

Men.  Do  not  stand  upon't. — 

We  recommend  to  you,  tribunes  of  the  people. 
Our  purpose  to  them  ; — and  to  our  noble  consul 
Wish  we  all  joy  and  honor. 

Sen.  To  Coriolanus  come  all  joy  and  honor  ! 

[Flniirhth.    Then  exeunt  Senators. 

Bru.  You  see  now  he  intends  to  use  the  people. 

Sic.  May  they  perceive  his  intent!    He  that  will 
require  them. 
As  if  he  did  contemn  what  he  requested 
Should  be  in  them  to  give. 

Bru.  Come,  we'll  inform  them 

Of  our  proceedings  here:  on  the  market-place, 
I  know  they  do  attend  us.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  UL—The  Forum. 
Enter  several  Citizens. 

1  Cif.  Once,  if  Jie  do  require  our  voices,  we 
ought  not  to  deny  him. 

2  Cif.  We  may,  sir.  if  we  will. 

'S  at.  We  have  power  in  ourselves  to  do  it,  but 
it  is  a  jiower  that  we  have  no  power  to  do:  for  if 
he  show  us  his  wounds,  and  tell  us  his  deeds,  we  arc 
to  put  our  tongues  into  those  wounds,  and  speak 
for  them  ;  so.  if  he  tell  us  his  noble  deeds,  we  must 
also  tell  him  our  noble  acceptance  of  them.  Ingra- 
titude is  monstrous:  and  for  the  multitude  to  be 
ingrateful,  were  to  make  a  monster  of  the  multi- 
tude; of  the  which,  we  being  members,  should 
t;ring  ourselves  to  be  monstrous  members. 

1  Cit.  And  to  make  us  no  better  thought  of,  a 
V  Wearied.  *  Avarice. 


little  help  will  serve:  for  once,  when  \vc  stooa  up 
about  the  corn,  he  himself  stuck  not  to  call  us  the 
many-headed  multitude. 

3  Cit.  We  have  been  called  so  of  many  ;  not  that 
our  heads  are  some  brown,  some  black,  some  au- 
burn, some  bald,  but  that  our  wits  arc  so  diversely 
colored  :  and  truly  I  tliink,  if  all  our  wits  were  to 
issue  out  of  one  skull,  they  would  lly  east,  west, 
north,  south  ;  and  their  consent  of  one  direct  way 
should  be  at  once  to  all  the  points  o'  the  compass. 

2  Cit.  Think  you  so?  Which  way,  do  you 
judge,  my  wit  would  lly  1 

3  Cif.  Nay,  your  wit  will  not  so  soon  out  as 
another  man's  will,  'tis  strongly  wedged  jp  ir  a 
blockhead :  but  if  it  were  at  liberty,  'twould,  sure, 
southward. 

2  Cif.  Why  that  way  1 

3  Cif.  To  lose  itself  in  a  fog;  where  being  three 
parts  melted  away  with  rotten  dews,  the  fourth 
would  return  for  "conscience  sake  to  help  to  get 
thee  a  wile. 

2  Cit.  You  are  never  without  your  tricks  : — You 
may,  you  may. 

3  Cit.  Are  you  all  resolved  to  give  your  voices? 
But  that's  no  matter,  the  greater  part  carries  it* 
I  say,  if  he  would  incline  to  the  people,  there  was 
never  a  worthier  man. 

Enter  Coriolanus  and  MENESirs. 
Here  he  comes,  and  in  tlie  gown  of  humility :  mark 
his  behavior.  We  are  nut  to  slay  nllogcther,  but 
to  come  by  him  where  he  stands,  by  ones,  by  twos, 
and  by  threes.  He's  to  make  his  requests  by  parti- 
culars: wherein  every  one  of  us  has  a  single  honor, 
in  giving  him  our  own  voices  with  our  own  tongues: 
therefore,  IijIIovv  me,  and  I'll  direct  you  Iiow  j'ou 
shall  go  by  him. 

Afl.  Content,  content.  [Exeujif, 

Men.  O  sir,  you  are  not  right;   have  you  not 
known 
The  worthiest  men  have  done  it  ? 

Cor.  What  must  I  say  ? — 

I  pray,  sir, — Plague  upon't!    I  cannot  bring 

My  tongue   to  such   a  pace: look,  sir; my 

wounds ; 
I  got  them  in  my  country's  service,  when 
Some  certain  of  your  brethren  roar'd,  and  ran 
From  the  noise  of  our  own  drums. 

Men,  O  me,  the  gods ! 

You  must  not  speak  of  that:  you  must  desire  them 
To  think  upon  you.  , 

Cor.  Think  upon  me?     Hang  'em! 

I  would  they  would  forget  me,  like  the  virtues 
Which  our  divines  lose  by  tiiem. 

Men.  You'll  mai"  all ; 

I'll  leave  you :  pray  you,  speak  to  them,  1  prav  you. 
In  wholesome  manner.  [Exit. 

Enter  two  Citizens. 
Cor.  Bid  them  wash  their  faces, 

And  keep  their  teeth  clean.— So,  here  comes  a 

brace. — 
You  know  the  cause,  sir,  of  my  standing  here. 

1  Cit.  We  do,  sir;  tell  us  what  halh  brought  you 

to't. 
Cor.  Mine  own  desert. 

2  Cii.  Your  own  desert? 

Cor.  Ay,  not 

Mine  own  desire, 

I  Cit.  How!  not  your  own  desire? 

Cor.  No,  sir: 
'Twas  never  my  desire  yet. 
To  trouble  the  poor  with  begging. 

1  Cit.  You  must  think,  if  we  give  you  any  thing, 
We  hope  to  gain  by  you. 

Cur.  Well  then,  I  pray,  your  price  o'  the  consul- 
ship? 

1  Cif.  The  price  is,  sir,  to  ask  it  kindly. 

Cor.  '    Kindly? 

Sir,  I  pray  let  me  ha't :  I  have  wounds  to  sliow  you. 
Which  shall  be  yours  in  private.— Your  good  voice, 

sir; 
What  say  you? 

2  Cit.  You  shall  have  it,  worthy  sir. 
Cor.  A  match,  sir: — 

There  is  in  all  two  worthy  voices  begg^'d  : — 
I  iiave  your  alms ;  adieu. 

1  Cif,  But  this  is  something  odd. 

2  Cit.  An   'twere   to    give    again. — But    'tis    no 

matter.  [Exeunt  two  Citizens. 


Scene  III. 


OOKIOLANUS. 


555 


Enter  two  ntfier  Citizens. 

Cur.  Pray  you  now,  if  it  may  stand  witli  the  tune 
of  your  voices,  tliat  I  may  be  consul,  I  liave  here 
tlie  customary  gown. 

3  at.  You  have  deserved  nobly  of  your  country, 
and  you  liave  not  deserved  nobly. 

Cor.  Youreni;<ma7 

3  at.  You  have  been  a  scourge  to  lier  enemies, 
you  liavc  been  a  rod  to  her  friends;  you  have  not, 
indeed,  loved  tlie  common  people. 

Cor.  Y'ou  should  account  me  the  more  virtuous, 
that  I  have  ni>t  been  common  in  my  love.  I  will,  sir, 
flatter  mysworn  brother  the  people,  to  earn  a  dearer 
estimation  of  them;  'tis  a  condition  they  account 
p:enlle:  and  since  the  wisdom  ol"  their  choice  is  ra- 
ther to  have  my  hat  than  my  heart.  I  will  practise  the 
insmuain.^  nod,  and  be  oU"  to  tliem  most  counter- 
feitly;that  is,  sir,  I  will  counterfeit  the  bewitchment 
of  some  po]3ular  inan.andgiveit  bountifully  to  the 
desirers.    Thcrelbre,  beseech  >  ou.  I  may  be  consul. 

4  at.  We  hope  to  find  you  our  friend  ;  and  there- 
fore give  you  our  voices  heartily. 

3  at.  You  have  received  many  wounds  for  your 
country. 

Cor.  1  will  not  seal  your  knowledge  with  show- 
ing thom.  I  will  make  much  of  your  voices,  and  so 
trouble  \ou  no  further. 

Botli  Lit.  The  gods  give  you  joy,  .■iir,  heartily  ! 

\Exeunt. 

Cor.  Most  sweet  voices  ! — 
Better  it  is  to  die.  better  to  starve, 
Tlian  crave  the  hire  which  first  we  do  deserve. 
Why  in  this  wolvish  gown  should  I  stand  here, 
To  beg  of  Hob  and  Dick,  that  do  appear, 
Their  needless  vouches  ]    Custom  calLs  mo  to'f : — 
What  custom  wills,  in  all  things  sliould  we  do't. 
The  dust  on  antique  time  would  lie  unswcpt, 
And  mountainous  error  be  too  highly  lieap'd 
For  truth  to  over-peer. — Rather  than  fool  it  so, 
Let  the  high  ollice  and  the  honor  go 
To  one  that  would  do  thus. — I  am  half  through  ; 
The  one  part  sulli'r'd,  the  other  will  I  do. 

Enter  three  otlier  Citizens. 
Here  come  more  voices, — 
Your  voices  :  i'm  your  voices  I  have  fought ; 
WatchM  tor  your  voices;  tor  your  voices,  hear 
Of  wounds  two  dozen  odd  ;  battles  thrice  six 
I  have  seen  and  heard  of;  for  your  voices  have 
Done  many  things,  some  less,  some  more:  your 

voices  : 
Indeed,  I  would  be  consul. 

6  at.  He  has  done  nobly,  and  cannot  go  without 
any  honest  man's  voice. 

b  at.  Therelorc  let  him  be  consul :  The  gods 
give  him  joy,  and  make  him  good  friend  to  the 
people  ! 

Ati.  Amen,  Amen. 

God  save  thee,  noble  consul !       [Exeunt  Citizens. 

Cor.     .  Worthy  voices ! 

lie-enter  MEXENirs,  ivitli  Brutus  and  Sicisius. 

Men.  You  have  stood  your  limitalion;  and  the 
tribunes 
Endue  you  with  the  people's  voice:  Remains, 
That,  in  the  ollicial  marks  invested,  you 
Anon  do  meet  the  senate. 

Cor.  Is  this  done  1 

Sic.  The  custom  of  request  you  liavc  discharged: 
The  people  do  admit  you  ;  and  are  suminoii'd    ' 
To  meet  anon,  upon  your  approbation. 

Cnr.  Where  ]  at  the  senate-house  1 

*■''<:•  There,  Coriolanus. 

Cor.  May  I  then  change  these  garments  ? 

•^'C-  ,  You  may,  sir. 

Cur.  That  I  11  straight  do ;  and,  knowing  niyself 
again. 
Repair  to  ihe  senate-house. 

Wtv    ru  keep  yim  company.— Will  you  along? 

Bru.  We  stay  here  for  the  people. 

S^e.  Fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  Coiiiol.  and  Menen. 
He  has  it  now;  and  by  his  looks,  methinks, 
Tis  warm  at  Ins  heart. 

B"'.  With  a  proud  lieart  he  wore 

His  humble  weeds:  Will  you  dismiss  the  people  ! 
Re-enter  Citizens. 

Sic.  How  now,  my  masters  1  have  you  chose  this 
man  .' 

1  at.  He  has  oi;r  voices,  sir. 


Bru.  We  pray  tile  gods,  he  may  deserve  your 
loves. 

2  at.  Amen,  sir:  To  my  poor  unworthy  notice, 
He  inock'd  us,  when  he  begg'd  our  voices. 

3  at.  Certainly, 
He  llouted  us  downright. 

1  at.  No,  'tis  his  kind  of  speech,  he  did  not 

mock  us. 

2  Ci7.  Not  one  amongst  ussavcyourself.butsays. 
He  used  us  scornfully :  he  should  have  show  u  us 
His  marks  of  merit,  wounds  receiv'dforliis  country. 

Sic.  Why,  so  he  did,  I  am  sure. 
at.  No  ;  no  man  saw  'em. 

[Several  speutc. 

3  Ci7.  He  said,  he  had  wounds,  which  he  could 

show  in  private ; 
And  with  his  hat.  thus  waving  it  in  scorn, 
/  woutt  be  consul,  says  he  :  aged  custinn. 
But  tnj  i/(ntr  voices,  will  not  t^o permit  me ; 
Your  voices  ttierefore:  When  we  granted  that. 
Here  was, — /  ttiank  you  for  ijour  voices, — lltank 

you,— 
Your  most  sweet  voices : — now  you.  liave  left  your 
voices, 

1   have   no   farther   with  you: Was   not   this 

mocKery  ? 

Sic.  Why,  either,  were  you  ignorant  to  see't? 
Or,  seeing  it,  of  such  childish  friendliness 
To  yield  your  voices  ? 

Bru.  Could  you  not  have  told  him, 

As  you  were  lesson 'd,— When  he  liad  no  power, 
Diit  was  a  petty  servant  to  the  state. 
He  was  your  enemy  ;  ever  spake  against 
Your  liberties,  and  the  charters,  that  you  bear 
r  the  body  of  the  weal :  and  now  arriving 
A  place  of  potency,  and  sway  o'  the  state. 
If  he  should  stdl  nialignanlly  remain 
Fast  foe  to  the  i)Iebeh.-^  >our  voices  might 
Be  curses  to  yourselves'!     You  should  have  said, 
That  as  his  worthy  deeds  did  claim  no  less 
Than  what  he  stood  for ;  so  his  gracious  nature 
Would  think  upon  you  lor  yetir  voices,  and 
Translate  his  malice  towards  you  into  love, 
Standing  your  friendly  lord. 

Sic.  Thus  to  have  said, 

As  you  were  fore-advis'd,  had  touch'd  his  spirit, 
And  try'd  ills  inclinalion  :  from  liim  ]>Iuek'd 
Kither  his  gracious  promise,  which  ymi  might. 
As  cause  had  call'd  you  up.  have  held  him  to ; 
Or  else  it  would  have  gali'd  his  surly  nature, 
Which  easily  endures  not  article 
Tying  liim  to  aught ;  so,  putting  him  to  rage. 
You  sliould  have  ta'cn  the  advantage  of  his  choler, 
And  i)ass*d  him  unelected. 

Bru.  Did  you  perceive. 

He  did  solicit  you  in  free  contempt, 
Wiien  he  did  need  j'our  loves;  and  do  you  think. 
That  his  contempt  shall  not  be  bruising  Id  you. 
When  he  hath  power  to  crush?     Why,  had  your 

bodies 
No  heart  among  you  ?  Or  liad  you  tongues,  to  cry 
Against  the  rectorship  of  judgment ! 

Sic.  Have  you. 

Ere  now,  deny  d  the  asker?  and,  now  again. 
On  him,  that  did  not  ask,  but  mock,  bestow 
Yoursued-for  tongues  ] 

3  at.  He's  not  conlirm'd.we  may  deny  him  yet. 
_2  at.  .\nd  will  deny  him  : 
I'll  have  live  hundred  voices  of  that  sound. 

1  at.  I  twice  live  hundred,  and  their  friends  to 
piece  'em. 

Bru.  (iet  you  hence  instantly;  and  tell   those 
friends,— 
They  have  cliose  a  consul,  that  will  from  them  take 
Their  liberties;  make  them  of  no  more  voice 
Than  dogs,  that  are  as  olten  beat  for  harknig. 
As  tlierelore  kept  to  do  so. 

Sic.  Let  them  assemble; 

And,  on  a  safer  judgment,  all  revoke 
Your  ignorant  election:  Enlbrce  his  pride. 
And  his  old  hate  unto  you  :  besides,  forget  not 
With  what  contempt  he  wore  the  humble  weed; 
How  in  his  suit  he  scorn'd  you  :  but  your  loves, 
Tliinkiiig  upon  his  services,  took  from  you 
The  apprehension  of  his  present  portance,^ 
Which  gibingly,  ungravely  he  did  fashion 
Alter  the  inveterate  hate  he  hears  you. 

Bru.  Lay 

A  lault  on  us,  your  tribunes;  that  we  labor'd 

*  i'ltjbeiaus,  common  people.  a  Carriage. 


556 


COmOLANUS. 


Act  in. 


(No  impcdimeat  between)  but  that  you  must 
Cast  your  election  on  liira. 

Sic.  Say,  you  chose  him 

More  after  our  commandment,  than  as  guided 
Byyourown  true  aflL'clions;  and  that,  yourminds 
Pre-occupied  with  wiiat  you  rather  must  do 
TJian  vviiat  you  should,  niade  you  a(i;ainst  tJie  grain 
To  voice  him  consul :  Lay  the  fault  on  us. 

Bru.  Ay,  spare  us  not.    Say,  we  read  lectures  to 

J'OU, 

How  youngly  he  began  to  serve  his  country. 
How  Ioul;  continued  ;  and  what  slock  he  springs  of. 
The  noble  house  o' the  Marcians;  from  whence  came 
That  Ancus  Marcius,  Numa's  daughter's  son, 
Who,  afler  great  Hostilius,  here  was  king; 
Of  the  same  house  Publius  and  Quintus  were. 
That  our  best  water  brought  by  conduits  hither; 
And  Cen.sorinus,  darling  of  the  people, 
And  nobly  nam'd  so,  being  censor  twice, 
Was  his  great  ancestor. 

Sic.  One  thus  descended, 

That  hath  beside  well  in  his  person  wrought 


To  be  set  high  in  place,  we  did  commend 
To  your  remembrances:  but  you  have  found, 
Scaling-'  his  present  bearing  with  his  past, 
That  he's  your  fixed  enemy,  and  revoke 
Your  sudden  approbation. 

lii'U-  Say,  you  ne'er  had  done't 

(Harp  on  that  still.)  but  by  oiir  putting  on  : 
And  presently,  when  you  have  drawn  your  number, 
Repair  to  the  Capitol. 

at.  We  will  so:  almost  all  [Several  speak. 

Repent  in  their  election.  [Exeunt  Citizens. 

Bru.  Let  them  go  on  ; 

This  mutiny  were  better  put  in  hazard, 
Than  stay,  past  doubt,  tor  greater : 
If.  as  his  nature  is,  he  tall  in  rage 
With  their  refusal,  bolh  observe  and  answer 
The  vantage  of  his  anger. 

Sie.  To  the  Capitol : 

Come ;  we'll  be  there  before  the  stream  o'  the  people ; 
And  this  shall  seem,  as  partly  'tis,  their  own. 
Which  we  have  goaded  onward.  [Ejceunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— ^  Street. 

Cm-nets.     Enter    Coriolancs,   MENEXins,   Coin- 
Nius,  Titus  Lautius,  Senators,  and  Patricians. 

Cor.  Tullus  Aufidius  then  had  made  new  headi 

Lart.  He  had,  my  lord  ;  and  that  it  was,  which 
caused 
Our  swifter  composition. 

Cor.  So  then  the  Voices  stand  but  as  at  first; 
Ready,  wlien  time  shall  prompt  thcin,  to  make  road 
Upon  us  again. 

Com.  They  are  worn,  lord  consul,  so, 

That  we  shall  hardly  in  our  ages  see 
Their  banners  wave' again. 

Cur.  Saw  you  Aufidius  I 

Larf.  On  safe-guard  became  tome;  and  did  curse 
Against  the  Voices,  for  they  had  so  vilely 
Yielded  the  town :  he  is  retir'd  to  Antium. 

Cor.  Spoke  he  of  me  ! 

Lart.  He  did,  my  lord. 

Cur.  How?  what? 

Lart.  How  often  he  had  met  you  sword  to  sword: 
That,  of  all  things  upon  the  earth,  lie  hated 
Y'our]iersonmost:  that  he  \\(nild  jiawniiiKfortui>es 
To  hojieless  restitution,  so  h*  miglit 
Be  call'd  your  vanquisher. 

Cur.  At  Antium  liTcs  he] 

/-«?■/.  At  Antium. 

Cur.  1  wish  I  had  a  cause  to  seek  him  there, 
To  oppose  his  hatred  tully. — Welcome  home. 

[ To  L AKflCS. 
Enter  SiciNics  and  BnuTfs. 
Behold  !  these  are  the  tribunes  of  tlie  people, 
The  tongues  o'  the  common  mouth.    I  do  despise 

them 
For  they  do  prank   hem  in  authority, 
Against  all  noble  sutlerance. 

Sie.  Pass  no  further. 

Cur.  Ha!  what  is  that] 

Bru.  It  will  be  dangerous  to 

Go  on:  no  further. 

Cur.  What  makes  this  change? 

Men.  Tiie  matter! 

Com.  Hath  he  not  pass'd  the  nobles,  and  Uie 
commons  ] 

Bru.  Cominius,  no. 

Cur.  Have  I  had  children's  voic»s? 

1  Sen.  Tribunes,  give  way :  he  shall  to  the  mar- 
ket-place. 

Bru.  The  people  are  incens'd  against  him. 

Sie.  Stop, 

Or  all  will  liiU  in  broil. 

Cur.  Are  these  your  herd? — 

Must  these  have  voices,  I  hat  can  y'ield  them  now. 
And  "traight  disclaim  their  tongues  ?— What  are 

your  offices? 
You  being  their  mouths,  why  rule  you  not  their 

teeth  ? 
Have  you  not  set  them  on  ? 
Men.  Be  calm,  be  calm. 


Cor.  It  is  a  purpos'd  thing,  and  grows  by  plot, 
To  curb  the  will  of  the  nobility : — 
Sul&r  it,  and  live  with  such  as  cannot  rule, 
Nor  ever  will  be  rul'd. 

Bru.  Call't  not  a  plot: 

The  people  cry,  you  mock'd  them;  and,  of  late, 
When  corn  was  given  them  gratis,  you  repin'd; 
Scandal'd  the  suppliants  lor  the  people ;  call'd  them 
Time-pleasers,  flatterers,  foes  to  nobleness. 

Cur.  Why,  this  was  known  before. 

Bru.  Not  to  them  all. 

Cur.  Have  you  inform'd  them  since  ? 

Bru.  How!  1  inform  them? 

Cur.  You  are  like  to  do  such  business. 

Bru.  Not  unlike 

Each  way  to  better  yours. 

Cur.  Why  then  should  I  be  consul?  By  yon  clouds 
Let  nie  deserve  so  ill  as  you,  and  make  me 
Your  lellow-tribune. 

Sic.  You  show  too  much  of  that, 

For  which  the  people  stir:  If  you  will  pass 
To  where  you  are  bound,  you  must  inquire  your 

way. 
Which  you  are  out  of,  with  a  gentler  spirit; 
Or  never  be  .so  noble  as  a  consul. 
Nor  yoke  with  him  for  tribune.' 

Men.  Let's  be  calm. 

Cum.    The   people  are  abus'd:— Set  on.— This 
palt'ring^ 
Becomes  not  Rome  ;  nor  has  Coriolanus 
Dc.serv'd  this  so  dishonor'd  rub,  laid  falsely 
r  the  plain  way  of  his  merit. 

Cur.  Tell  me  of  corn  ! 

This  was  my  speech,  and  I  will  speak't  again  ;— 

Men.  Not  now,  not  now. 

1  Sen.  Not  in  this  heat,  sir,  now. 

Cur.  Now,  as  I  live,  I  will.— My  nobler  friends, 
I  crave  their  pardons:^ 

For  the  mutable,  ranlc-scented  many,  let  them 
Regard  me  as  I  do  not  flatter,  and 
Therein  behold  themselves:  I  say  again. 
In  soothing  them,  we  nourish  'gainst  our  senate 
The  cockle  of  rebellion,  insolence,  sedition. 
Which  we  our.selves  have  plough 'd  lor,  sow'd,  and 

scatter'd, 
By  mingling  them  with  us,  the  honor'd  number; 
Who  lack  not  virtue,  no,  nor  power,  but  that 
Winch  Ihey  have  given  to  beggars. 

Men,  Well,  no  more. 

I  Sen.  No  more  words,  we  beseech  you. 

Cur.  How  !  no  more  ? 

As  lor  my  country  I  have  shed  my  blood. 
Not  fearing  outward  lorce,  so  shall  my  lungs 
Coin  words  till  they  decay,  against  those  meazels^ 
Which  we  disdain  should  tetter'  us,  yet  sought 
The  very  way  to  catch  them. 

Bru.  You  speak  o'  the  people 

As  if  you  were  a  god  to  punish,  not 
A  man  of  their  iniirmity. 

*  Wciijliing.  t  fbuffiing.  e  Lepers.         i  Scab. 


Scene  I. 


CORIOLANUS. 


557 


Sic.  'Twere  well, 

We  let  the  people  know't. 

Men.  What,  what  ?  his  cliolcr  1 

Cor.  Choler! 
Were  I  as  patient  as  the  midnight  sleep, 
By  Jove,  'twould  be  my  mind. 

Sic.  It  is  a  mind, 

That  shall  remain  a  poison  where  it  is. 
Not  poison  any  further. 

Ctrr.  Shall  remain  I — 

Hear  you  this  Triton  of  the  minnows  ^  marl;  you 
His  absolute  shall? 

Com.  'Twas  from  the  canon.' 

Cm:  Shall .' 

0  S'^od.  but  most  unwise  patricians,  why. 

You  t^rave,  hut  reckless  senators,  have  you  thus 

Given  Hydra  here  to  clioose  an  odicer. 

That  with  Ins  iieremjitory  .'ihall.  bein^  but 

The  horn  and  noise  o'  ihc  monsters,wants  not  spirit 

To  say,  ho*  11  turn  your  current  in  a  ditch. 

And  make  your  channel  his  ?  If  he  have  power, 

Then  vail  your  i;;norance;  if  none,  awake 

Your  dangerous  lenity.    If  you  are  learned, 

Be  not  as  common  fools  ;  if  you  are  not. 

Let  tiieui  have  cushions  by  you.  Vou  are  plebeians. 

If  they  be  senators  ;  and  they  are  no  less. 

Wlien  both  your  voices  blended,  the  greatest  taste 

Most  palates  theirs.  They  choose  their  magistrate; 

And  such  a  one  as  he,  who  puts  his  shall. 

His  popular  shall.  a:;ainst  a  graver  bench 

Than  ever  frown'd  in  tireece!     By  Jove  himself. 

It  makes  the  consuls  base:  and  my  soul  aches. 

To  know,  when  two  authorities  are  up, 

Neither  supreme,  how  soon  confusion 

May  enter  twixt  the  gap  of  both,  and  take 

The  one  by  the  other. 

Com.  Well — on  to  the  market-place. 

Cor.  Whoever  gave  that  counsel,  to  give  forth 
The  corn  o*  the  slore-house  gratis,  as  'twas  used 
Sometime  in  Greece, ■ 

Men.  Well,  well,  no  more  of  that. 

Cor.  (Though  there  the  people  had  more  absolute 
power.) 

1  say,  they  nourish'd  disobedience,  fed 
The'  ruin  of  the  state. 

Bru.  Why,  .shall  the  people  give 

One,  that  speaks  thus,  their  voice? 

Cur.  I'll  give  my  reasons, 

More  worthier  than  their  voices.    They  know,  the 

corn 
Was  not  our  recompense  :  resting  well  assured 
They  ne'er  did  service  for't:  Being  press'd  tothewar, 
Kven  when  the  navel  of  the  state  was  touch'd. 
They  would  not  thread  the  gates;  this  kind  of 

service 
Did  not  deserve  corn  gratis  :  being  i'  the  war. 
Their  mutinies  and  revolts,  wherein  they  show'd 
Most  valor,  spoke  not  tor  them  :  The  accusation 
Which  they  have  often  made  against  the  senate. 
All  cause  nnborn,  could  never  be  the  native^ 
Of  our  so  frank  donation.     Well,  what  then  1 
How  shall  Ibis  bosom  multiplied  digest 
The  senate's  courtesy  I     Let  deeds  express 
What's  like  to  be  their  words:— (Ce  itid  request  it, 
We  are  the  greater  poll,'  anil  in  true  fear 
They  gave  us  our  demands : — Thus  we  debase 
The'  nature  of  our  seats,  and  make  the  rabble 
Call  our  cares,  fears  :  wliich  will  in  time  break  ope 
The  locks  o'  the  senate,  and  bring  in  the  crows 
To  peck  the  eagles. — 

Men.  Come,  enough. 

Bru.  Enough,  with  over-measure. 

C  'r.  No,  take  more : 

Wiiat  may  be  sworn  by,  both  divine  and  human. 
Seal  what  I  end  wilhaf !— This  double  worship,— 
Where  one  part  does  disdain  with  cause,  the  other 
Insultwithoutall  reason;wherc  gentry.title,\visdom 
Cannot  conclude,  but  by  the  yea  and  no 
Of  general  ignorance, — it  must  omit 
Keal  necessities,  and  give  way  the  while 
Tounstableslightuess:  purpose  .^o  barr'd,it  follows, 
Nolliing  is  done  to  purpose:  Therefore,  beseech 

you, — 
You  tliat  will  be  less  fearful  than  discreet; 
That  love  the  iundaiuental  part  of  state. 
More  than  you  doubt-  the  change  oft;  that  prefer 
A  noble  life  before  a  long,  and  wish 

•  AccordiiiK  to  law, 

•  Motive,  no  doubt,  was  Sh.ikspeare's  word. 

•  Kumber.  i  Fe.ar. 


To.jump^  a  body  with  a  dangerous  physic 
That's  sure  of  death  without  it,— at  once  pluck  out 
The  multitudinous  tongue,  let  them  not  lick 
The  sweet  which  is  their  poison  :  your  dishonor 
Mangles  true  judgment,  and  bereaves  the  state 
(if  that  integrity  which  should  become  it; 
Not  having  the  power  to  do  the  good  it  would 
For  the  ill  which  doth  control  it. 

Bru.  He  has  said  enough. 

Sic.  He  has  spoken  like  a  traitor,and  shall  answer 
As  traitors  do. 

Cor.  Thou  wretch!  despite  o'erwhelm  thee! — 
What  should  the  people  do  with  these  bald  tri- 
bunes'! 
On  whom  depending,  tlieir  obedience  fails 
To  the  greater  bench  :  in  a  rebellion. 
When  what's  not  meet,  but  what  must  be,  was  law. 
Then  were  they  chosen  ;  in  a  better  hour, 
Let  what  is  meet,  be  .said  it  must  be  meet. 
And  throw  their  power  i'  the  dust. 

Bru.  Manifest  treason. 

Sic.  This  a  consul  ]  no. 

Bru.  The  asdiles,  ho  !— Let  him  be  apprehended. 

Sic.  Go,  call  the  people ;  [Exit  Brutus.]  in  whose 
name,  myself 
Attach  thee,  as  a  traitorous  innovator, 
A  foe  to  the  public  weal :  Obey,  I  charge  thee, 
Anil  follow  to  thine  answer. 

Cor.  Hence,  old  goat ! 

Sen.  S,-  Pat.  We'll  surety  him. 

Com.  Aged  sir,  hands  off. 

Cor.  Hence,rotten  thing,  or  I  shall  shake  thy  bones 
Out  of  thy  garments. 

Sic.  Help,  ye  citizens. 

Re-enter  Bituxcs,  with  the  J^diles,  and  a  Rabble 
of  Citizens. 

Men.  On  both  sides  more  respect. 

.Sic.  Here's  he,  that  would 

Take  from  you  all  your  power. 

Bru.  Seize  him,  aidiles. 

at.  Down  with  him,  down  with  him  ! 

[Several  speak. 

2  Sen.  ^Veapons,  weapons,  weapons  ! 

[The;/  all  tnistle  about  Coriolaxls. 
Tribunes,  patricians',  citizens ! — what  ho  ! — 
Siciiiius,  Brutus,  Coriolanus,  citizens  ! 

at.  Peace,  peace,  peace;  stay,  hold,  peace! 

Men.  What  is  about  to  be  ?— I  am  out  of  breath  : 
Confusion's  near:  1  cannot  speak: — You,  tribunes, 
To  the  people, — Coriolanus,  patience: — 
Speak,  good  Sicinius. 

Sic.  Hear  me,  people; — Peace. 

at.  Let's  hear  our  tribune; — Peace.  Speak,speak, 
speak. 

Sen.  Y'ou  are  at  point  to  lose  your  liberties : 
Marcius  would  have  all  from  you;  Marcius, 
Whom  late  you  have  named  for  consul. 

Men.  Fye,  fye,  fye ! 

This  is  the  way  to  kindle,  not  to  quench. 

1  Sen.  To  unbuild  tiie  city,  and  to  lay  all  flat. 

Sit.  What  is  the  city,  but  the  people  7 

at.  True, 

The  people  are  the  city. 

Bru.  By  the  consent  of  all  we  were  established 
The  people's  magistrates. 

at.  You  so  remain. 

Men.  And  so  are  like  to  do. 

Ctrr.  That  is  the  way  to  lay  the  city  Hat; 
To  bring  tlie  roof  to  the  foundation; 
And  bury  all,  which  yet  distinctly  ranges. 
In  heaps  and  piles  of  ruin. 

Sic.  This  deserves  dcatii. 

Bru.  Or  let  us  stand  to  our  authority. 
Or  let  us  lose  it ; — We  do  here  pronounce, 
Upon  the  part  o'  the  peoiile.  in  whose  power 
We  were  elected  theirs,  Marcius  is  worthy 
Of  present  death. 

Sic.  Therefore,  lay  hold  of  him  : 

Bear  him  to  the  rock  Tarpeian,-!  and  from  thence 
Into  destruction  cast  him. 

Bru.  iEdiles,  seize  him. 

at.  Y'ield,  Marcius,  yield. 

Men.  Hear  me,  one  word. 

Beseech  you,  tribunes,  hear  me  but  a  word. 

.i^di.  Peace,  peace. 

Men.  Be  that  you  seem,  truly  jour  country's 
friend, 

•  liisk. 

«  Whence  crmiinals  wore  thrown,  and  dashed  to  pieces 


658 


CORIOLANUb-. 


Act.  til 


And  tcT7iiierately  proceed  to  what  you  would 
Thus  violently  redress.  . 

Bra.  Sir,  those  cold  ways, 

That  seem  like  prudent  helps,  are  very  poisonous 
Where  the  disease  is  violent: — Lay  hands  upon  him, 
And  bear  him  to  tlie  rock. 

Cor.  No;  I'll  die  here. 

[Drawing  hit  Sword, 
There  s  some  amonfr  you  have  beheld  ine  Hfrhting; 
Come,  try  upon  yourselves  what  you  have  seen  me. 
Men.  Down  with  that  sword;— Tribunes,  with- 
draw a  while. 
Bru.  Lay  hands  upon  him. 
Men.  Help  Marcius!  help. 

Vou  Ihat  be  noble ;  help  him,  young  and  old  ! 
at.  Down  witli  him,  down  with  him  ! 

[In  thi-i  Mtitinii,  the  Tribunes,  the  .SEdiles, 
and  the  People,  are  all  beat  in. 
Men.  Go, get  yon  lo  your  house;  begone, away, 
All  will  be  naught  else. 
2  Sen.  Get  you  gone. 

Cur.  Standfast; 

We  iiave  as  nianv  friends  as  enemies. 
Men.  Shall  it  lie  put  to  thaf! 
2  Sen.  The  gods  forbid  ! 

I  pr  y  thee,  noble  friend,  home  to  thy  house  ; 
Leave  us  to  cure  this  cause. 

^len.  Kor  'tis  a  sore  upon  ns, 

You  cannot  tent  yourself:  Begone,  'beseech  you. 
Com.  Come,  sir.  along  with  us. 
Cur.  I  would  they  were  barbarians,  (as  they  are. 
Though  in  Rome  littei'd,)  not  Romans,  (as  they 

are  not. 
Though  calv'd  i'  the  porch  o'  the  Capitol,!— 

■  Men.  Begone; 

Put  not  your  worthy  rage  into  your  tongue; 
One  time  will  owe  anottier. 

Cm:  On  fair  ground, 

I  could  beat  forty  of  them. 

Men.  I  could  myself 

Take  up  a  brace  of  the  best  of  them ;  yea,  the  two 
tribunes. 
Com.  But  now  'tis  odds  beyond  arithmetic  : 
And  manhood  is  call'd  Ibolefy,  when  it  stands 
Against  a  iiilling  f  ibric. — Will  you  hence. 
Before  the  tag''  return  f  whose  rage  doth  rend 
Like  interrujited  waters,  and  o'erbear 
What  they  are  used  to  bear. 
,  Men.  Pray  you,  begone  : 

I  li  try  whether  my  old  nit  be  in  request 
Willi  those  thathave  but  little;  thisniust  be  patch'd 
Willi  cloth  of  any  color. 
Com.  Nay,  come  away, 

[Exeunt  Cor.,  Com.,  and  others. 

1  Fat.  This  man  lias  marr'd  his  fortune. 
Aren.  His  nature  is  too  noble  for  the  world: 

lie  would  not  (latter  Neptune  tor  his  trident. 

Or  Jove  for  his  power  to  thunder.    His  heart's  Ins 

mouth  : 
What  his  breast  forges,  Ihat  his  tongue  must  vent; 
And,  being  angry,  does  forget  that  ever 
He  lieai-d  the  name  of  death.  [A  iVoisc  within. 

Here's  goodly  work ! 

2  Put.  I  would  they  were  a-bed  ! 
Men.  I  would  they  were  in  TytJer  !— What,  the 

vengeance. 
Could  he  not  speak  them  fair? 

Re-enter  Bruti's  and  Sicisius,  witli  the  Raltble. 

Sic.  Where  is  this  viper, 

That  would  depopulate  the  city,  and 
Be  every  man  hiniscllT 

Men.  You  worthy  tribunes, 

S'jc.  He  shall  be  thrown  down  the'Tarpeian  rock 
With  rigorous  hands;  he  hath  resisted  law. 
And  therefore  law  shall  scorn  him  further  trial 
Than  the  severity  of  the  public  power, 
Wliieh  he  so  sels  at  nought. 

1  ('(7.  He  shall  well  know. 
The  noble  tribunes  arc  the  people's  mouths, 
Anil  we  their  hands. 

at.  He  shall,  sure  oii't. 

[Several  speak  together. 

Men.  Sir,— 

Sii:  Peace. 

Men.  Do  not  cry.  havoc,  where  you  should  but 
hunt 
With,  modest  warrant. 

*  Tho  lowest  of  the  populace,  ti^,  r.ig,  and  bobt.Hil. 


Sic.  Sir,  how  comes  it,  that  you 

Have  holp  to  make  this  rescue? 

l^Ien.  Hear  me  speak : — 

As  1  do  know  the  consul  s  worthiness, 

So  can  I  name  his  faults ; 

''•''>■  Consul !— What  consul  ? 

Men.  The  consul  Coriolanus. 
Bra.  He  a  consul  ? 

at.  No,  no,  no,  no,  no. 

Men.  If,  by  the  tribunes'  leave,  and  yours,  gooil 
people, 
I  may  be  heard.  I'd  crave  a  word  or  two; 
The  which  shall  turn  you  to  no  further  harm, 
Than  so  much  loss  of  time. 

Sic.  Speak  briefly  then ; 

For  we  are  peremptory,  to  despatch 
This  viperous  traiinr:  to  eject  him  hence. 
Were  but  one  danger;  and,  to  keep  him  here. 
Our  certain  death  ;  Ihcrelbre  it  is  decreed. 
He  dies  to-night. 

Men.  Now  the  good  gods  forbid. 

That  our  renowned  Rome,  whose  gralitude 
Towards  her  deserved^  children  isVnrolI'd 
In  Jove's  own  book,  like  an  unnatural  dam 
Should  now  eat  up  her  own  I 
Sic.  He's  a  disease,  that  must  be  cut  away. 
Men.  O,  he's  a  limb,  that  has  but  a  disease; 
Mortal,  to  cut  it  olf;  to  cure  it,  easy. 
What  has  he  done  to  Rome,  that's  worthy  death? 
Killing  our  enemies?     The  blood  he  hath  lost, 
(Which,  I  dare  vouch,  is  more  than  that  he  hath. 
By  many  an  ounce.)  he  dropp'd  it  for  his  country. 
.\nd,  what  is  lelt,  to  lose  it  by  his  country. 
Were  to  us  all  that  do'l,  and  sutler  it, 
A  brand  to  the  end  o'  the  world. 
Sic.  This  is  clean  kam.' 

Bru.  McrelySawry:  whenhedid  lovehiscountry. 
It  honor'd  him. 

Men.  The  service  of  the  foot 

Being  once  gangren'd,  is  it  not  then  respected 
For  what  betbre  it  was  ? 

Bru.  We'll  hear  no  more  :— 

Pursue  him  to  his  house,  and  pluck  him  thence  ; 
Lest  his  infection,  being  of  catching  nature. 
Spread  further. 

Men.  One  word  more,  one  word. 

This  tiger-footed  rage,  when  it  shall  hiid 
The  harm  of  unscann'd  swilTness,9  will,  too  late. 
Tie  leaden  pounds  to  his  heels.    Proceed  by  pro- 
cess; 
Lest  parties  (as  he  is  belov'd)  break  out, 
.\nd  sack  great  Rome  with  Romans. 
Bru.  Ifitwercso,— 

.Sic.  What  do  you  talk? 
Have  we  not  had  a  taste  of  his  obedience? 
Our  ffidilcs  smote  ?  ourselves  resisted  ?     Come: — 
Men.  Considerthis; — he  has  been  bred  i'  the  wars 
Since  he  could  draw  a  sword,  and  is  ill  school'd 
In  boulted'  language;  meal  and  bran  together 
He  throws  without  distinction.    Give  die  leave, 
I'll  go  to  him,  and  undertake  to  bring  him 
Where  he  shall  answer  ti>'  a  lawful  tbnii, 
(In  jieace,)  to  his  utmost  peril. 

I  Sen.  Noble  tribunes. 

It  is  the  humane  way:  the  other  cnmse 
Will  prove  too  bloody  ;  and  the  end  of  it 
Unkiiovi'n  to  the  beginning. 

Sif.  Noble  Mencnius, 

Be  you  then  as  tho  people's  ufticer : 
i\Iasters,  lay  down  your  weapons. 
Bru.  Go  not  home. 

Sic.  Meet  on  the  market-place :— We'll  attend 
you  there : 
Where,  if  you  bring  not  Marcius,  we'll  proceed 
In  our  hrst  way. 

Men.  I'll  bring  him  to  you  : — 

Let  me  desire  your  compa'ny.      [To  the  Senators.] 

He  must  come. 
Or  what  is  worst  will  follow. 
1  Sen.  Pray  you,  let's  to  him.    [Exeunt. 

SCE.N'E  II.— .4  Room  in  Coriolanus'  House. 
Enter  CoRiOLAXfS,  and  Patricians. 

Cor.  Let  Ilieni  pull  all  about  mine  ears; present  me 
Death  on  the  wheel,  or  at  wild  horses'  heels; 
Or  pile  ten  hills  on  the  Tarpeian  rock. 
That  the  precipitation  might  down  stretch 

«  -M'solutely. 

*  I'inoly  sifted. 


6  Peserving.  '  Quite  awry. 

9  lucunsiderate  haste. 


Scene  II. 


CORIOLANUS. 


559 


Below  the  beam  of  sight,  yet  will  I  still 
Be  thus  to  them. 

Enter  Volumnta. 

1  Paf.  You  do  the  nobler. 

Cor.  I  muse,2  my  mother 
Does  not  approve  me  further,  who  was  wont 
To  call  them  woollen  vassals,  things  created 
To  buy  and  sell  with  groats;  lo  show  bare  heads 
In  confrreirntioiis.  to  yawn,  be  still  and  wonder, 
When  one  but  of  my  ordinance^  stood  up 
To  speak  of  peace,  or  war.    I  talk  of  v'ou  ; 

[To  VOLUMNIA. 

Why  did  j-ou  wish  me  milder?  Would  you  have  me 
False,  to  my  nature  .'    llather  say,  I  play 
The  man  I  am. 

To/.  O.  sir,  sir,  sir, 

I  would  have  had  you  put  your  power  well  on, 
Before  you  had  worn  it  out. 

C'ir.  Let  go. 

Vol.  You  might  have  been  enough  the  man  you 
are, 
With  striving  less  to  be  so  :  Lesser  had  been 
The  thwarlings  of  your  dispositions,  if 
You  had  not  show'd  them  hnw  you  were  disposM, 
Ere  they  lack'd  power  to  cross  you. 

Cor.  Let  them  hang. 

VuL  Ay,  and  burn  too. 

Enter  Menenius,  and  Senators. 

Men.  Come,  come,  you   have   been  too  rough, 
something  too  rough  ; 
You  must  return  and  mend  it. 

1  Sen.  There's  no  remedy  ; 

Unh^ss.  by  not  so  doing,  our  good  city 
Cleave  in  the  midst,  and  perish. 

Vol.  Pray,  be  counsclTd  : 

I  have  a  heart  as  little  apt  as  yours, 
But  yet  a  bram.  that  leads  my  use  of  anger, 
To  t)ctter  vantage. 

Men.  Well  said,  noble  woman  : 

Before  ho  should  thus  stoop  to  the  herd,  but  that 
The  violent  tit  o'  the  time  craves  it  as  physic 
For  the  whole  stale,  I  would  jiut  mine  armor  on, 
Which  I  can  scarcely  bear. 

Cor.  What  must  I'do  l 

Men.  Return  to  the  tribunes. 

Cor.  Well, 

What  then?  what  then  1 

Men.  Repent  what  you  have  spoke. 

Cor.  For  them  1 — I  cannot  do  it  to  the  gods  ; 
Must  I  then  do't  to  them  ] 

Vol.  You  are  ton  absolute; 

Though  therein  yon  can  never  be  too  noble. 
But  when  extremitiesspeak.  1  have  lieard  you  say, 
Honor  and  policy,  like  uiisever'd  friends, 
r  the  war  do  grow  together:  Grant  that,  and  tell  me, 
In  peace,  what  each  uf  them  by  th'  other  lose. 
That  they  combine  not  there.  . 

Cor.  Tush,  tush  ! 

Men.  A  good  demand. 

Vol.  If  It  be  honor,  in  yoxir  wars,  to  seem 
The  same  you  are  not,  (which,  for  your  best  ends. 
You  adopt  your  policy,)  how  is  it  les^  or  worse, 
That  it  shiiil  hold  companionship  in  peace 
With  honor  as  in  war;  since  that  to  both 
It  stands  in  like  request  1 

Cf/r.  Why  force  you  this? 

Vol.  Because  that  now  it  lies  on  yon  to  speak 
To  the  people;  not  by  your  own  instruction, 
Nor  by  the  matter  v^diich  your  heart  prompts  you  to, 
lint  with  such  words  that  are  but  roted  in 
Your  tongue,  though  but  bastards,  and  syllables 
Of  no  allowance,  to  your  bosom's  truth. 
Now,  thisn*)  more  dishonors  yon  at  all, 
Tlian  to  take  in^  a  town  with  genlle  words. 
Which  else  would  put  you  to  yuur  lortune,  and 
The  hnzard  of  much  blood. — 
I  would  dissemble  with  my  nature,  where 
]\Iy  fortune,  and  my  friends,  at  stnke,  requir'd 
I  sh  )uhl  do  so  in  honor:  1  am  in  this, 
Your  wife,  your  son,  these  senators,  the  nobles; 
And  you  will  rather  show  our  general  lowts'' 
Ilowyou  can  frown,  than  spend  a  tiivvn  upon  them, 
For  the  inheritance  of  their  loves,  and  safeguard 
Of  what  that  want  might  ruin. 

Men.  Noble  lady  !— 

Come,  go  with  us;  speak  fair:  you  may  salve  so, 

a  Wonder.  »  Rank. 

«  Subdue.  «  Common  clowns. 


Not  what  is  dangerous  present,  but  the  loss 
Of  what  is  past. 

Vol.  I  pr'ythee,  now,  my  son. 

Go  to  them,  with  this  bonnet  in  thy  hand ; 
A  nd  thus  far  having  stretch'd  it,(herE  be  with  them.) 
Tliy  knee  bussing  the  stones,  (ior  in  such  business 
Action  is  eloquence,  and  the  eyes  of  the  ignorant 
More  learned  than  the  ears.)  waving  thy  head, 
winch  often,  thus,  correcting  thy  stout  heart, 
Now  humble,  as  the  ripest  mulberry. 
That  will  not  hold  the  handling:  Or,  say  to  them. 
Thou  art  their  soldier,  and,  being  bred  in  broils, 
Hasl  not  the  sort  way,  which,  thou  dost  confess. 
Were  tit  for  thee  to  use,  as  they  to  claim. 
In  asking  their  good  loves;  but  thou  wilt  frame 
Thyself  Ibrsooth,  hereafter  theirs,  so  far 
As  thou  hast  power,  and  person. 

Men.  This  hut  done, 

Kven  as  she  speaks,  why,  all  their  hearts  were 

yours : 
For  they  have  pardons,  being  ask'd,  as  free 
As  words  to  little  purpose. 

Vol.  Pr'ythee  now, 

Go,  and  be  ruled:  although,  Tknow,  thou  hadst 

rather 
Follow  thine  enemy  in  a  fiery  gulf. 
Than  (latter  him  in  a  bower.    Here  is  Cominius. 

Enter  CoMiNirs. 

Com.  I  have  been  i'  the  market-place;  and,  sir, 
'tis  tit 
You  make  strong  party,  or  defend  yourself 
By  calmness,  or  by  absence,  all's  in  anger. 

Men.  Only  tair  speech. 

Com.  I  think,  'twill  ser^-e,  if  ho 

Ciiri  thereto  frame  his  gpirit 

Vol.  He  must,  and  will; — 

Pr'ythee,  now,  say,  you  will,  and  go  about  it. 

C(/r.  Must  I  go  show  them  my  unbarb'd  sconce  1^ 
Must  I, 
With  my  base  tongue,  give  to  my  noble  heart 
A  lie.  that  it  must  bear  1    Well,  I  will  do't : 
Yet  were  there  but  this  single  plot  to  lose, 
Tliismouldof  Marcius,they  to  dust  should  grind  it, 
And  throw  it  against  the  wind.— To  the  market- 
place : 
You  have  put  me  now  to  such  a  part,  which  never 
I  sliall  discharge  to  the  life. 

Com.  Come,  come,  we'll  prompt  you. 

Vol.  I  pr'ythee  now,  sweet  son;  as  thou  hast 
said 
My  praises  made  thee  first  a  soldier,  so. 
To  have  my  praise  for  this,  perform  a  part 
Tlu)u  hast  not  done  before. 

Cor.  Well,  I  must  do't: 

Away,  mv  disposition,  and  possess  me 
Some  harlot's  spirit !  My  throat  of  war  be  turn'd, 
Wliich  quired  with  my  drum,  into  a  pipe 
Small  as  an  eunucli.  or  the  virgin  voice 
That  babies  lulls  asleep  !  Tlie  smiles  of  knaves 
Tent'  in  my  cheeks  ;  and  scliool-boys'  tears  take  up 
The  glasses  of  my  sight!     A  beggar's  tongue 
Make  motion   through   my  lips;  and   my  arm'd 

knees, 
Who  bow'd  hut  in  my  stirrup,  bend  like  his 
That  hath  receiv'd  an  alms! — I  will  not  do't: 
Lest  I  surcease  to  honor  mine  own  truth, 
And,  by  my  body's  action,  teach  my  mind 
A  most  inherent  baseness. 

Vol.  At  thy  choice  then : 

To  beg  of  thee,  it  is  my  more  dishonor, 
Than  thou  of  them.    Come  all  to  ruin;  let 
Thy  mother  rather  feel  thy  pride,  than  fear 
Thy  diiugerous  stoutness ;  for  I  mock  at  death 
With  as  big  heart  as  thou.    Do  as  tliou  list. 
Thy  valiantness  was  m inc. thou  suck'dst  it  from  me; 
But  owe^  thy  pride  thyself. 

Cor.  pray,  be  content; 

Mother,  T  am  going  to  the  market-place; 
Chide  me  no  more.    I'll  mountebank  their  loves, 
Cog  their  hearts  from  them,  and  come  home  belov'd 
Of  ail  the  tnides  in  Rome.     Look.  I  am  going: 
Commend  me  to  mv  wTfe.    I'll  return  consul ; 
Or  never  trust  to  what  my  tongue  can  do 
r  the  way  of  llattery,  further. 

Vol.  Do  your  will.  [Exit. 

Com.  Away,  the  tribunes  do  attend  you:  arm 
yourself 
To  ansvver  mildly  ;  for  they  are  prepar'd 

9  Unshaven  head.  ^  Dwell.  '  Own. 


560 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  III.  Scene  III 


With  accusations,  as  I  hear,  more  strong 
Than  are  upon  you  j'et. 

Cur.  The  word  is,  mildly: — Pray  you,  let  us  go; 
Let  thctn  accuse  me  by  invention',  I 
Will  answer  in  mine  honor. 

Men.  Ay,  but  mildly. 

Cor.  Well,  mildly  be  it  then;  mildly.    [Ejreunt. 

SCENE  lU.—The  Forum. 
Enter  StciNirs  and  BiiuTVS. 

Bru.  In  this  point  charge  him  home.that  he  affects 
Tyrannical  power:  II  lie  evade  us  there. 
Enforce  him  with  his  envy  to  the  people; 
And  that  the  spoil,  got  on" the  Antiates, 
Was  ne'er  distributed. — 

Enter  an  MdWe. 
What,  will  he  come  ? 

jErl.  He's  coming. 

Bru.  Hmv  accompanied  f 

Aid.  With  old  Monenius,  and  those  senators 
That  always  favor'd  him. 

Sk.  Have  you  a  catalogue 

Of  all  the  voices  that  we  have  procur'd,  * 
Set  down  by  the  poll  ] 

^^d.  I  have;  'tis  ready,  here. 

Sic.  Have  you  collected  them  by  tribes  1 

^d.  I  have. 

Sic.  Assemble  presently  the  people  hither: 
And  when  they  hear  me  say.  It  s/iall  be  so 
r  t/ie  riglit  and  strengl/i  of  the  commons,  be  it  either 
For  death,  for  fine,  or  banishment,  then  let  them. 
If  I  say,  tine,  cry  fine ;  if  death,  cry  death; 
Insisting  on  the  old  prerogative 
And  power  i'  the  truth  o'  the  cause. 

'^I.  .     I  shall  inlbrm  them. 

Bru.  And  when  such  lime  they  have  begun  tocry, 
Let  them  not  cease,  but  with  a  din  conlus'd 
Enforce  the  present  execution 
Of  what  we  chance  to  sentence. 

-■Ed.  Very  well. 

Sic.  Make  them  be  strong,  and  ready  for  this  hint, 
When  we  shall  hap  to  give't  them. 

Bru.  Go  about  it.— 

[Exit  iEdile. 
Put  him  to  choler  straight:  He  hath  been  used 
Ever  to  conquer,  and  to  have  his  worth 
Of  contradiction :  Being  once  chafed,  he  cannot 
Be  rein'd  again  to  temijcranee ;  then  he  speaks 
What  s  in  his  heart ;  and  that  is  there,  which  looks 
With  us  to  break  his  neck. 

Enter  Coriolanus,  Menenius,  Cominius,  Senators, 
and  Patricians. 

Sic.  Well,  here  he  conies. 

Men.  Calmly,  I  do  beseech  you. 

Ccrr.  Ay,  as  an  ostler,  that  for  tlie  poorest  piece 
Will  bear  the  knaves  by  the  volume.— The  honor'd 

gods 
Keep  Rome  in  safety,  and  the  chairs  of  justice 
Supplied  with  worthy  men  !  plant  love  among  us  ! 
Throng  our  large  temples  with  the  shows  of  peace, 
And  not  our  streets  with  war  ! 

1  Sen.  Amen,  amen! 

Men.  A  noble  wish. 

Re-enter  iEdile,  ivith  Citizens. 

Sic.  Draw  near,  ye  people. 

uEd.  List  to  your  tribunes;  audience:  Peace,  I 
say. 

Cnr.  First,  hear  me  speak. 

Both  Tri.  VVell.  say.— Peace,  ho. 

Cw.Shall  I  be  charged  no  further  than  thispresent? 
Must  all  determine  here  ? 

Sic.  I  do  demand. 

If  you  submit  you  to  the  people's  voices. 
Allow  tlieir  otKcers,  and  are  content 
To  snili'r  lawful  censure  for  such  faults 
As  shall  be  prov'd  upon  you  .' 

f''"'-  I  am  content. 

Men.  Lo.  citizens,  he  says,  he  is  content: 
The  warlike  .service  he  has  done,  consider; 
Think  on  the  wounds  his  body  bears,  which  show 
Like  graves  i   the  holy  churchyard. 
„  t'f'/'.  Scratches  with  briars. 

Scars  to  move  langhtcr  only. 
„,^'"'- ,       ,  Consider  further, 

That  when  he  speaks  not  like  a  citizen, 
Vou  lind  him  like  a  soldier :  Do  not  take 

'  Will  lie.'ir  beiUK  railed  u  klKlve. 


His  rougher  accents  for  malicious  sounds. 
But,  as  I  say,  such  as  become  a  soldier, 
Rather  than  envyi  you. 

Com.  Well,  well,  no  more. 

Cor.  What  is  the  matter. 
That,  being  pass'd  for  consul  with  full  voice, 
I  am  so  dishonor'd,  that  lihe  very  hour 
You  take  it  off  again  ! 

Sic.  Answer  to  us. 

Cor.  Say  then  :  'tis  true,  I  ought  so. 

Sic.We  charge  you,that  you  have  contrived  to  take 
From  Rome  all  season'd^  office,  and  to  wind 
Yourself  into  a  power  tyrannical ; 
For  which,  you  are  a  traitor  to  the  people. 

Ctrr.  How  !  Traitor? 

Men.  Nay ;  temperately :  Y'our  promise. 

Cor.  The  fires  i'  the  lowest  hell  fold  in  the  people  ! 
Call  me  their  traitor !— Thou  injurious  tribune! 
Within  thine  eyes  sat  twenty  thousand  deaths, 
In  thy  hands  clutch'd  as  many  millions,  in 
Thy  lying  tongue  both  numbers,  I  would  say, 
Thou  liest,  unto  thee,  with  a  voice  as  free 
As  I  do  pray  the  gods. 

Sic-  Mark  you  this,  people  ? 

at.  To  the  rock  with  him  ;  to  the  rock  with  him  ! 

PCQCG» 

We  need  not  put  new  matter  to  his  charge : 
What  you  have  seen  him  do,  and  heard  him  speak, 
Beating  your  otJicers,  cursing  yourselves, 
Opposing  laws  with  strokes,  and  here  defying 
Those  whose  great  power  must  try  him;  even  this, 
So  criminal,  and  in  such  capital  kind. 
Deserves  the  extremest  death. 

„  ■'''■,",•  But  since  he  hath 

Serv  d  well  for  Rome, 

Cor.  What,  do  vou  prate  of  servicel 

Bru.  I  talk  of  that,  that  know  it. 

C'"'-  You  ? 

.^^l"'-  Is  this 

The  promise  that  you  made  your  mother? 
,  Com.  Know, 

I  pray  you, 

Cor.  I'll  know  no  further: 

Let  them  pronounce  the  steep  Tarpeian  death, 
Vagabond  exile,  flaying;  pent  to  linger 
But  with  a  grain  a  day  :  I  would  not  buy 
Their  mercy  at  the  price  of  one  fair  word; 
Nor  check  my  courage  for  what  they  can  give. 
To  have  t  witli  saying,  Good  morrow. 

Sic.  For  that  he  has 

(As  much  as  in  him  lies)  fVom  time  to  time 
Envied^  against  the  people,  seeking  means 
To  plu!-k  away  their  power;  as  now  at  last 
Given  hostile  .-trokes.and  that  nofi  in  the  presence 
Of  dreaded  lustiee,  but  on  the  ministers 
That  do  distribute  it;  In  the  name  o'  the  people. 
And  in  the  power  of  us  the  tribunes,  we, 
Even  from  this  instant,  banish  him  our  city; 
In  peril  of  precipitation 
From  off  the  rock  Tarpeian,  never  more 
To  enter  our  Rome  gates;  I'  the  people's  name, 
I  say,  it  shall  be  so. 

at.  It  shall  be  so. 

It  shall  be  so ;  let  him  away :  he's  banished. 
And  so  it  shall  be. 

Com.  Hear  me,  my  masters,  and  my  common 
fViends ; 

Sic.  He's  sentenced  :  no  more  hearing. 

Com.  Let  me  speak: 

I  have  been  consul,  and  can  show  from'  Rome, 
Her  enemies'  marks  upon  me.    I  do  love 
iMy  country's  good,  with  a  respect  more  tender. 
More  holy  and  profound,  than  mine  own  life, 
My  dear  wife's  estiinate,6  her  womb's  increase, 
And  treasure  of  my  loins;  then  if  1  would 
Speak  that 

Sic.  _    We  know  your  drill:  Speak  what? 

Bru.  There  s  no  more  to  be  said,but  he  is  banish'd, 
As  enemy  to  the  people,  and  his  country  : 
It  shall  be  so. 

Cil-  It  shall  be  so,  it  shall  be  so. 

Cor.  You  common  cry'  of  curs  !  whoso  breath  I 
hate 
As  reek'*  o'  the  rotten  fens,  whose  loves  I  prize 
As  the  dead  carcasses  of  unburied  men 
That  do  corrujit  my  air,  I  banish  you ; 
And  here  remain  with  your  uncerlaiiity ! 
Let  every  feeble  rumor  shake  your  hearts! 
*  Mali.-e.       a  (If  long  stHnding.        a  .^flowed  liatred. 
«  Kot  only.  •  Fur.        '  \ti\aa  t  Pack.    ■  yapor. 


Act  IV.  Scene  IT. 


CORIOLANUS. 


561 


Your  enemies,  with  nodding  of  their  phimes, 
Fan  you  into  despair!  have  the  power  still 
To  banish  your  detbndcrs;  till,  at  icnsth, 
Your  ignorance,  (which  linds  not,  till  it  ieels,) 
Making  not  reservation  of  yourselves, 
(Stilt  your  own  foes,)  deliver  you,  as  most 
Abated^  captives,  to  some  nation 
That  won  you  without  blows  !  Despising, 
For  you.  the  city,  thus  I  turn  my  back : 
There  is  a  world  elsewhere. 

\_ExCUnt  CuRIOLANfS,  COMINIL'S,  Me.n'exii'S, 

Senators,  and  Patricians. 


jEdi.  The  people's  eneioY  is  gone,  is  gone  I 
Hit.  Our  enemy's  banish"'d !  he  is  gone!    Hoo! 
hoo ! 
\_The  People  shoitf,  and  ihrow  up  fheir  Caps. 
Sic.  Go^  see  him  out  at  gates,  and  tollow  Jiim, 
As  he  hath  follovv'd  you,  with  all  despite  ; 
Give  him  deserv'd  vexation.    Let  a  guard 
Attend  us  through  the  city. 
Cif.  Come,  come,  let  us  see  him  out  at  gates; 
come : — 
The  gods  preserve  our  noble  tribunes! — Come. 

[E^-eunt. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.—Brjiin  a  Grite  nf  the  City. 
Enter   Coriolanxs,   Volumxia,  Viugilia,  Mexe- 

Nii"s,  CoMiNiLS,  and  several  young  Patricians. 

Car.  Come,  leave  your  tears;  a  brief  i'arcwell: — 
the  beast 
With  many  heads  butts  me  away. — Nay,  mother, 
Where  is  your  ancient  courage  1  you  were  used 
To  say,  extremity  was  the  trier  of  spirits; 
That  cornnion  ctiances  common  men  could  bear ; 
That,  wiien  the  sea  was  calm,  all  boats  alike 
Show'd  mastership  in  lloatinj;  :  fortune's  bitfws. 
When  most  strucis  home,  being  gentle  wounded, 

craves 
A  noble  cunning:  you  were  used  to  load  me 
With  precepts,  that  would  make  invincible 
The  iieart  Ihat  coiui'd  them. 

Vir.  0  heavens  !  O  heavens  ! 

Cor.  Nay,  1  pr'ythee,  woman, — 

Vol.  Now  the  red  pestilence  strike  all  trades  in 
Rome, 
And  occupations  perish ! 

Cor.  What,  what,  what ! 

I  shall  be  lov'd  when  I  am  lack'd  !  Nay,  molher. 
Resume  that  s])iril,  when  you  were  wont  to  say, 
If  you  liad  been  the  wile  oi  Hercules, 
Six  of  his  labors  youVI  have  done,  and  sav*d 
Your  husband  .so  much  sweat.    Coniinius, 
Droop  not;  adieu  :— Farewell,  my  wife!  my  mo- 
ther! 
I'll  do  well  yet.— Thou  old  and  true  Menenius, 
Thy  tears  are  sailer  than  a  younuer  man's. 
And  venonrous  to  thine  eyes.— My  sometime  gen- 
eral 
I  have  seen  thee  stern,  and  thou  hast  oft  beheld 
Heart-hard'ning  spectacles;  tell  these  sad  women, 
'Tis  fond'  to  wail  inevitable  strokes. 
As  'tis  to  laugh  at  them. — My  mother,  you  wot  well 
My  hazards  still  have  been  your  solace  :  and 
Believe't  not  lightly,  (I hough  I -go  alone 
Like  to  a  lonely  dragon,  that  his  ten 
Makes  fear'd.aiidlalk'd  of  more  than. seen, )you'r  son 
Will,  or  exceed  the  ciuiiinoii,  or  be  caught 
With  cautelou.s-  baits  and  practice. 

Vol.  My  first'  son, 

Whither  wilt  thou  go  7  Take  good  Cominius 
With  thee  a  while  ;  Determine  on  some  course, 
More  than  a  wild  exposture^  to  each  chance 
That  starts  i'  the  way  before  thee. 

Cor.     ^  O  the  gods ! 

Com.  I  II  follow  thee  a  month,  devise  with  thee 
Where  thou  shall  resl,  llial  thou  mavst  hear  of  us, 
And  wo  of  thee  :  so.  if  the  tune  thriist  tbrth 
A  cause  liar  thy  repeal,  we  shall  not  send 
O'er  the  vast  world,  to  seek  a  single  man ; 
And  lose  advantage,  which  doth  ever  cool 
r  the  absence  of  the  needer. 

Cor.  Fare  ye  well : 

Thou  hast  years  upon  thee ;  and  Ihou  art  too  full 
(If  the  war's  surl'eits,  to  go  rove  with  one 
Thai's  yet  uubruis'd:  bring  me  but  out  at  gate.— 
Come,  my  sweet  wife,  my  dearest  mother,  and 
My  friends  of  noble  touch,*  when  1  am  Ibrth, 
Bid  me  farewell,  and  smile.    I  pray  you,  come. 
While  I  remain  above  the  ground, 'you  shall 
Hear  from  me  still ;  and  never  of  me  aught 
But  what  is  like  me  Ibrmerly. 

Men.  That's  worthily 

As  any  ear  can  hear.— Come,  let's  not  weep.— 


s  Subdui^d. 

'  Foolish. 

»  Noblest. 

«  E.xpiisuro. 

3G 

*  True  metiil. 

If  I  could  shake  olT  bul  one  seven  years 

From  these  old  arms  and  legs,  by  the  good  gods, 

I'd  with  thee  every  loot. 

Cc/r.  Give  me  thy  hand ; — 

Come.  \_Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.—^  Street  near  the  Gate. 
Enter  Sicixus,  BntJTrs,  arid  an  iEdilc. 
Sic.  Bid  them  all  home  ;  he's  gone,  and  we'll  no 
further. — 
The  nobility  are  vcx'd,  who,  we  see,  have  sided 
In  his  behalf 

Bru.  Now  we  have  shown  our  power. 

Let  us  seem  humbler  aOer  it  is  done. 
Than  when  it  was  a-doing. 

Nic.  Bid  them  home: 

Say,  their  great  enemy  is  gone,  and  they 
Stand  in  their  ancient  strength. 
Bru.  Dismiss  them  home. 

[Exit  .^■:dile. 
Enter  Volumxia,  Viecilia,  and  Mexenivs. 
Here  comes  his  mother. 
Nic.  Let's  not  meet  her. 

Bru.  Wliy  ? 

iS'tc.  They  say,  slie's  mad. 

Bru.  They  have  ta'en  note  of  us: 

Keep  on  your  way. 

Vol.  t),_you're  well  mel:    The  hoarded  plague 
o'  the  gods 
Requite  your  love! 
Men.  Peace,  peace;  be  not  so  loud. 

Vol.   If  that  I  could   lor  weeping,  you  should 
hi'ar,— 
Nay,  and  you  shall  hear  some.— Will  yon  be  gone  1 

[To  BKL'TI'8. 

Vir.  You  shall  stay  too:    [To  Sicix.]  I  would, 
I  had  the  ])ower 
To  say  so  to  my  husband. 

Sic.  Are  you  mankind  ? 

Vol.  Ay,  fool;  is  tliat  a  shame  1— Note  but  this 
loul.— 
Was  not  a  man  my  father?  Hadst  thou  fo;<ship 
To  banish  him  that  struck  more  blows  for  Rome, 
Than  thou  hast  spoken  words  1 

Sic.  0  blessed  heavens! 

Vol.  More  noble  blows  than  ever  thou  wise  words; 
And    liir    Rome's    good.— I'll    tell    thee    what;— 

Yet  go : 
Nay  but  thou  shall  stay  too : — I  would  my  son 
Were  iu  Arabia,  and  thy  tribe  before  him, 
His  good  sword  in  his  hand. 

Sic.  What  then? 

Vir.  What  then? 

He  d  make  an  end  of  thy  posterit)'. 

Vol.  Haslards,  and  .all.— 
Good  maii.Uie  wounds  that  he  does  bear  for  Rome! 

Men.  Come,  come,  peace. 

Sic.  1  would  he  had  continued  to  his  country. 
As  he  began  ;  and  not  unknit  himself 
The  noble  knot  he  made. 

Bru.  I  would  he  had. 

Vol.  I  would  he  had?     'Twas  you  incens'd  the 
rabble  : 
Cats,  that  can  judge  as  fitly  of  his  worth 
As  1  can  of  those  mysteries  which  heaven 
Will  not  have  earth  to  know. 

Bru.  Pray,  let  us  go. 

)  W.  Now,  pray,  sir,  get  you  gone : 
You  have  done  a  brave  deed.  Ere  you  go,  hear  this: 
As  liir  as  doth  the  Capitol  exceed 


562 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  IV. 


The  meanest  house  in  Rome  :  so  far,  my  son, 
(This  lady's  husband  ficre,  this,  do  you  see,) 
Whom  you  have  banish'd,  does  exceed  you  all. 

Bru.  Well,  well,  we'll  leave  you. 

Sic.  Why  stay  we  to  be  baited? 

Wiih  one  that  wants  her  wits? 

Vul.  Take  my  prayers  with  you. — 

I  would  the  gods  had  nothing  else  lo  do. 

[Hvciint  Tribunes. 
But  to  confirm  my  curses  !    Could  1  meet  them 
liut  once  a  day.  it  would  unclog  my  heart 
(Jt  what  lies  heavy  to't. 

Men.  You  have  told  them  home, 

And,  by  my  troth,  yoii  have  cause.  You'll  sup  with 
me  ! 

Vol.  Anger's  my  meat;  I  sup  upon  myself 
And  so  shall  starve  with  feeding. — Come,  let  s  go: 
Leave  this  faint  puling,  and  lament  as  1  do, 
In  anger,  Juno-like.    Come,  come,  come. 

Jl/i'H.  F)  e,  lye,  fye !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE    III.— A   Highwm/   between   Rome   and 

Anlium. 

Enter  a  Roman  anri  a  Voice,  meeting. 

Tioni.  I  know  \ou  well,  sir,  and  you  know  me: 
your  name,  I  think,  is  Adrian. 

Vdl.  It  is  so,  sir;  truly,  1  have  forgot  you. 

I\(nn.  I  am  a  Roman  ;  and  my  services  are,  as 
you  are.  against  them  :  Know  you  mc  yet  1 

Vtil.  Nieanor  ?  No. 

Ihmi.  The  same,  sir. 

Vol.  You  had  more  beard,  when  I  last  saw  you  ; 
but  your  lavor^  is  well  appeared  by  your  tongue. 
What's  the  news  in  Rome  ]  I  have  a  note  from  the 
Volscian  state,  to  find  you  out  there:  You  have  well 
saved  me  a  day's  journey. 

Rom.  There  hath  been  in  Rome  strange  insur- 
rection :  the  people  against  the  senators,  patricians, 
and  nobles. 

Vol.  Jlath  been!  Is  it  ended  then?  Our  state 
thinkii  not  so;  they  are  in  a  most  warlike  prepara- 
iiou,  and  hope  to  come  upon  them  in  the  heat  of 
their  division. 

Rom.  The  main  blaze  of  it  is  past,  but  a  small 
thing  would  make  it  llame  again.  For  the  nobles 
receive  so  to  heart  the  banishment  of  that  worthy 
Coriolanus.  that  they  arc  in  a  ripe  ajitness  to  take 
all  power  from  the  people,  and  to  pluck  from  them 
their  tribunes  for  ever.  This  lies  glowing,  I  can 
tell  you,  .and  is  almost  mature  for'  the  violent 
breaking  out. 

Vol.  Coriolanus  banished? 

Horn.  Banished,  sir. 

Vol.  You  will  be  welcome  with  this  intelligence, 
Kicauor- 

Rum..  The  day  serves  well  for  them  now.  I  have 
heard  it  said,  the  fittest  time  to  corrupt  a  man's  wife, 
is  when  she's  fallen  out  with  her  husband.  Your 
noble  Tullus  Autidius  will  appear  well  in  these 
wars,  his  gre^t  oi'iposer,  Coriolanus,  bemg  now  in 
no  request  of  his  country. 

Vol.  He  cannot  choose.  I  am  most  fortunate, 
thus  accidentally  to  encounter  you:  You  have 
onded  my  business,  and  I  will  merrily  accompany 
you  home. 

Rum.  I  shall,  between  this  and  supper,  tell  5'ou 
roost  strange  things  from  Rome  ;  all  tending  to  the 
good  of  their  adversaries.  Have  you  an  army  ready, 
say  you  ? 

i'ol.  A  most  royal  one:  the  centurions, and  their 
charges,  distinctly  billeted,  already  in  the  enter- 
tainment,' and  to  be  on  foot  at  an  hour's  warning. 

Uttm.  I  am  joyful  to  hear  of  their  readiness,  and 
am  the  man,  I  tliink,  that  shall  set  them  in  present 
action.  So,  sir,  heartily  well  met,  and  most  glad 
of  your  company. 

Vol.  You  take  my  part  from  me,  sir;  I  have  the 
most  cause  to  be  glad  of  yours. 
^  Rom.  Well,  let  us  go  together.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Anlium.     Before  Aufidius's  House. 
Enter  CoRioLAXcs,  in  mean  Apparel,  disguised 
and  mujfled. 
Cor.  A  goodly  city  is  this  Anlium:  City, 
'Tis  I  that  made  thy  widows ;  many  an  heir 
Of  these  lair  editices  'fore  my  wars 
Have  I  heard  groan,  and  drop:  then  know  me  not; 
Lestlliat  thy  wiveswith  spits, and  boys  with  stones, 
«  Countenance.  '  In  p.iy. 


Enter  a  Citizen. 
In  puny  battle  slay  me. — Save  you,  sir. 

at.  And  you. 

Cor.  Direct  me,  if  it  be  your  will, 

Where  great  Aufidius  lies;  Is  he  in  Anlium? 

at.  He  is,  and  feasts  the  nobles  of  the  state, 
.-Vt  bis  liouse  this  night. 

Ctir.  Which  is  his  house,  'beseech  you? 

at.  This,  here,  belijre  you. 

Cor.  Thank  you.  sir ;  farewell. 

[Exit  Citizen. 

0  world, thy  slippery  turns!  Friends  now  liist  sworn. 
Whose  double  bosoms  seem  to  wear  one  heart. 
Whose  hours,whose  bed, whose  meal,  and  exercise^ 
Are  still  together,  who  twin,  as  'twere,  in  love 
Unseparable,  shall  within  this  hour. 

On  a  dissension  of  a  doit,'*  break  out 
To  bitterest  enmity  :  So  fellest  foes, 
Whose  passions  and  whose  plots  have  broke  their 

sleep 
To  take  the  one  the  other,  by  some  chance. 
Some  trick  not  worth  an  egg,shall  grow  dear  friends, 
And  interjoin  their  issues.    So  with  me: — 
My  birth-place  hate  I.  and  my  love's  upon 
This  enemy  town. — I'll  enter:  if  he  slay  me. 
He  does  lair  justice:  if  he  give  me  way, 
I'll  do  his  country  service.  [ExU. 

SCENE  v.— .■!  Hall  in  .Aufidius's  House. 
Music  IVilliin.    Enter  a  Ser\ant. 

1  Seri'.  Wine,  wine,  wine  !   Whatserviceis  here  ! 

1  think  our  fellows  are  asleep.  [ExU, 

Enter  unotlier  Servant. 

2  Serv.  Where's  Cotus  ?  my  master  calls  for  him. 
Cotus !  [Exit. 

Enter  Coriot.axus. 
Cor.  A   goodly  house :  The  feast  smells  well, 
but  I 
Appear  not  like  a  guest. 

Re-enter  llie  first  Servant. 

1  Sen'.  What  would  you  have,  friend  ?  Whence 
are  you  ?  Here's  no  place  for  you  :  Pray,  go  to  the 
door. 

Cor.  I  have  deserved  no  better  entertainment. 
In  being  Coriolanus. 

Re-enter  second  Servant. 

2  Serv.  Whence  are  you,  sir?  Has  the  porter 
his  eyes  in  his  head,  that  he  gives  entrance  to  such 
companions  ?     Pray,  get  you  out. 

Cor.  Away ! 

2  Serv.  Away  ?     Cct  yon  away. 
Cor.  Now  thou  art  troublesome. 

1  Serv.  Are  you  so  brave  ?  I'll  have  you  talked 
with  anon. 

Enter  a  third  Servant.     The  first  meets  Iiim. 

3  Serv.  What  fellow's  this? 

1  Serv.  A  .strange  one  as  ever  I  looked  on  :  I 
cannot  get  him  out  o'  the  house  :  Pr'ythee,  call  my 
master  to  him. 

3  Serv.  What  have  you  to  do  here,  fellow  ?  Pray 
you,  avoid  the  house. 

Cor.  Let  me   but  stand;   I  will  not  hurt  your 
hearth. 

3  Serv.  What  are  you  ? 

Cur.  A  gentleman. 

3  Serv.  A  marvellous  poor  one. 

Cerr.  True,  so  I  am. 

3  Serv.  Pray  you,  poor  gentleman,  take  up  some 
other  station ;  here's  no  place  for  you  ;  pray  you, 
avoid :  come. 

Cor.  Follow  your  function,  go  ! 
And  batten^  on  cold  bits.  [Pu.ihes  him  away. 

3  Serv.  What,  will  you  not?  Pr'ythee,  tell  ray 
master  what  a  strange  guest  he  has  here. 

2  Serv.  And  I  shall.  [Exit. 

3  Serv.  Were  dwellest  thou? 
C'rr.  Under  the  canopy. 

3  Serv.  Under  the  canopy  ? 
Cor.  Ay. 

3  Serr.  Where's  that  ? 
Cor.  r  the  city  of  kites  and  crows. 
3  Serv.  I'llie  city  of  kites  and  crows  ?— What 
an  ass  it  is  !— Then  thou  dwellesl  with  daws  too  ? 
Cor.  No,  I  serve  not  thy  master. 
'  A  small  coin.  '  Feed. 


i 


Scene  V. 


COEIOLAXUS. 


5G3 


3  Sen'.  How,  sir!      Do    you  meddle  with    my 
master  1 

Cor.  Ay;  'tis  an  honester  service  than  to  meddle 
with  thy  mistress; 

Thou  prat'st,  and  prat'st;  serve  with  thy  trencher, 
hence  !  [Beats  him  awaij. 

Enter  Aufidius,  atid  the  second  Servant. 

Aiif.  Where  is  this  fellow  1 

2  Sfri\  Here,  sir;    I'd  have  beaten  him  like  a 
do^.  but  for  disfurbins  the  hirds  within. 

Auf.  Whence  comest  thou  !  wiiat  wouldest  thou? 
Thy  name  1 
Why  speak  st  not?  Speak,  man:  What's  thy  name  ? 

Cor.  If.TuIlus.      [U}ir}itiffii?}s. 

Not  yet  thou  know'st  me,  and  seeing  me,  dost  not 
Think  mo  for  the  man  I  am.  necessity 
Commands  me  name  myself. 

Auf,  What  is  thy  name  1 

[Servants  retire. 

Cor.  A  name  unmusical  to  the  Volscians'  cars, 
And  harsh  in  sound  to  thine. 

Auf.  Say,  what's  thy  name? 

Thou  hast  a  grim  appearance,  and  thy  face 
Bears  a  command  iri't;  though  thy  tackle's  torn, 
Thou  show'st  a  noble  vessel :  What's  thy  name  1 

Cor.  Prepare  thy  brow  to  frown :  Know'st  thou 
me  yet  ? 

Auf.  I  knuw  thee  not : — Thy  name  ? 

Cor.  My  name  is  Caius  Marcius.  who  hath  done 
To  thee  particularly,  and  to  all  the  Voices, 
Great  hurt  and  mischief;  thereto  witness  may 
My  surname,  Coriolanus  :  The  paintlil  service, 
Tlie  extreme  dangers,  and  the  drops  of  blood 
Shed  for  my  thankless  country,  are  requited 
Hut  with  tliat  surname;  a  ^ood  memory,' 
And  witness  of  the  malice  and  displeasure 
Which  thou  shouldst  bear  me:  only  that  name  re- 
mains; 
The  cruelty  and  envy  of  the  people. 
Permitted  by  our  dastard  nobles,  who 
Have  all  forsook  nie.  hath  dcvour'd  the  rest; 
And  sutler'd  me  by  the  voice  of  slaves  to  be 
Wiioop'd  out  of  Rome.    Now,  this  extremity 
}iatti  liroufcht  me  to  thy  hearlh  :  Not  out  of  hope, 
Mistake  me  not,  to  save  my  life  ;  for  if 
I  had  fcar'd  death,  ofall  the  men  i'  the  world 
I  would  have  "voided  thee  :  but  in  mere  spite, 
To  be  full  guit  of  those  my  bamshers. 
Stand  I  belbre  thee  here.    Then  if  thou  hast 
A  heart  of  wreak-  in  thee,  that  will  revent^e 
Thine  own  particular  wrongs,and  stop  those  maims 
Of  shame  seen  through  thy  country,  speed  thee 

straight, 
And  make  my  misery  serve  thy  turn  ;  so  use  it,. 
Tliat  my  revengeful  services  may  prove 
As  benehts  to  thee:  for  I  will  tinht 
Ai^ainst  my  canker  d  country  with  the  spleen 
Ofall  the  under^  fiends.    But  if  so  be 
Thou  dar'st  not  this,and  that  to  prove  more  fortunes 
Thou  art  tir'd,  then,  ni  a  word,  I  also  am 
Longer  to  live  most  weary,  and  present 
My  throat  to  thee,  and  to  thy  ancient  malice: 
\V^hich  not  to  cut,  would  sJjriw  (hre  but  a  fool ; 
Since  I  have  ever  follow'd  thee  witti  tiute. 
Drawn  tuns  of  blood  out  of  thy  country's  breast, 
And  cannot  live  but  to  thy  shame,  unless 
It  be  to  do  thee  service. 

Auf.  O  Marcius,  Marcius, 

Each  word  thou  hast  spoke  hath  weeded  from  my 

heart 
A  root  of  ancient  envy.    If  Jupiter 
Siioiild  from  yon  cloud  speak  divine  things,and  say, 
"fis  true;   I'd  not  believe  them  more  than  thee, 
All  noble  Marcius. — O  let  me  twine 
]\Iine  arms  about  that  body,  where  against 
My  grained  ash  an  hundred  times  hath  broke. 
And  scariid  the  moon  with  splinters  I    Here  I  clip^ 
The  anvil  of  my  sword  ;  and  do  contest 
As  hotly  and  as  nobly  witli  thy  love, 
As  ever  in  ambitious  strength  I  did 
Contend  against  thy  valor.    Know  thou  first, 
I  love  tlie  maid  I  married;  never  man 
Sigh'd  truer  breath  ;  but  that  I  see  thee  here. 
Thou  noble  thing!  more  dances  my  rapt  heart, 
Than  when  I  first  my  wedded  mistress  saw 
Bestride  my  threshold.  Why,  thou  Mars  !  I  tell  thee, 
We  have  a  power  on  foot ;  and  I  liad  purpose 

1  Memorial.  «  Resentment. 

» Infernal.  *  Embrace. 


Once  more  to  hew  thy  target  from  thy  brawn,^ 
Or  lose  mine  arm  for  t:    Thou  hast  beat  me  out^ 
Twelve  several  times,  and  I  have  nightly  since 
Dreamt  of  encounters  'twixt  thyself  and  me  : 
We  have  been  down  together  in  my  sleep. 
Unbuckling  helms,  fisting  each  other's  throat, 
Andwak'd  halfdead  with  nothing.  WorthyMarcius, 
Had  we  no  quarrel  else  to  Rome,  but  that 
Thou  art  lience  hnnish'd,  we  would  muster  all 
From  twelve  to  seventy;  and,  pouring  war 
Into  the  bowels  of  ungrateful  Rome, 
Like  a  bold  fiood  oVr-beat.    O,  come,  go  in, 
And  take  our  friendly  senators  by  the  hands; 
Who  now  are  here,  taking  their  leaves  of  me, 
Who  am  prepar'd  against  your  territories, 
Though  not  lor  Rome  itself. 

Cn}\  Yon  bless  me,  gods  I 

Auf.  Therefore. most  absolute  sir.if  thou  wilt  have 
The  leading  of  thine  own  revenges,  take 
The  one  half  of  my  commission  ;  and  set  down,— 
As  best  thou  art  experienced,  since  thou  know'st 
Thy  cOtintry's  strength  and  weakness, — thine  own 

■ways : 
Whether  to  knock  against  the  gates  of  Rome, 
Or  rudely  visit  them  ni  parts  remote, 
To  fright  them,  ere  destroy.    But  come  in  : 
Let  me  commend  thee  firs't  to  those,  tliat  shall 
Say.  yea,  to  thy  desires.    A  thousand  welcomes  ! 
And  more  a  friend  than  e'er  an  enemy  : 
Vet,  Marcius,  that  was  much.    Your  hand  !    Most 

welcome  \ 

[Exeunt  ConioLAxrs  and  ArriDirs. 

1  Serv.[Adrnncinfi:.]  Here's  a  strange  alteration  ! 

2  Sen:  By  my  hand,  I  had  thought  to  have 
strucken  him  with  a  cudgel;  and  yet  my  mind 
gave  me,  his  clothes  made  a  false  report  of  him. 

1  Serv.  What  an  arm  he  has!  He  turned  me 
about  with  his  finger  and  his  thumb,  as  one  would 
set  up  a  lop. 

2  Serv.  Naj*,  I  knew  by  his  face  that  there  was 
something  ni  him:  He  had,  sir,  a  knid  of  face,  me- 
thought, — I  cannot  tell  how  to  term  it. 

1  Serv.  He  had  so:  looking,  as  it  were, — 'Would 
I  were  hanged,  bnt  I  thought  there  was  more  in 
him  than  I  could  think. 

2  Serv.  So  did  I.  I'll  be  sworn:  He  is  simply  the 
rarest  man  i'  the  world. 

1  Serv.  I  think  he  is:  but  a  greater  soldier  ttian 
he.  you  wot"  one. 

2  Serv.  Whol  my  master! 

1  Serv.  Nay,  it's  no  matter  for  that. 

2  Serv.  Worth  six  of  him. 

1  Serv.  Nay.  not  so  neither;  but  I  take  hhn  to  be 
the  greater  soldier. 

2  Serv.  'Faith,  look  you,  one  cannot  tell  how  to 
say  that:  for  the  defence  of  a  town,  our  general  is" 
excellent. 

1  Sen\  Ay,  and  for  an  assault  too. 

Re-enter  third  Servant. 

3  Serv.  0,  slaves,  I  can  tell  you  news ;  news,  you 
rascals. 

1,  2  Serv.  What,  what,  what?  let's  partake. 

3  Ne/T.  I  would  not  be  a  Roman,  of  all  nations 
I  liad  as  lieve  be  a  condemned  man, 

1,  2  Serv.  Wherefore  ?  wherefore  ? 

3  Serv.  Why,  here's  he  that  was  wont  to  thwack 
our  general.— Caius  Marcius. 

1  Serv.  Why  do  you  say,  thwack  our  general  ? 

3  Serv.  I  do  not  say,  thwack  our  general;  but  he 
was  always  good  enough  for  him. 

2  Serv.  Come,  we  are  fellows  and  friends:  he 
was  ever  too  hard  for  hmi;  I  have  heard  him  saj' 
so  himself. 

1  Sen\  He  was  too  hard  for  him  directly,  to  say 
the  trulii  on't :  before  Corioli,  he  scotched  him  and 
notched  him  like  a  carbonado.* 

2  Serv.  An  he  had  been  cannibally  given,  he 
might  have  broiled  and  eaten  him  too. 

1  Sen".  But,  more  of  thy  news? 

3  Sen\  Why,  he  is  so  made  on  here  within,  as 
if  he  were  son  and  heir  to  Mars:  set  at  upper  end 
o'  the  table :  no  question  asked  him  by  any  of  the 
senators,  but  they  stand  bald  before  him  :  Our 
general  himself  makes  a  mistress  of  him  ;  sanctifies 
himself  with's  hand,  and  turns  up  the  white  o'  the 
eye  to  his  discourse.  But  the  bottom  of  the  news 
is,  our  general  is  cut  i'  the  middle,  and  but  one  half 

6  Arm.  •  Full.  i  Kuow. 

"  Meat  cut  across  to  be  broiled. 


564 


COEIOLANUS. 


Alt  IV. 


of  what  he  was  yesterday;  for  the  other  has  half,  by 
the  entreaty  and  grant  of  tlie  whole  table.  He'll 
go,  he  says,  and  sowle^  the  porter  of  Rojiie  gates  by 
the  ears:  He  will  mow  down  all  before  him,  and 
leave  his  passage  polled.^ 

2  Sej'v.  And  he's  as  like  to  do't,  as  any  man  I  can 
imagine. 

3  Se7'i\  Do't?  he  will  do't :  For,  look  yon.  sir, 
he  has  as  many  friends  as  enemies :  which  friends, 
sir.  (as  it  were.)  durst  not  ^look  you, sir)show  them- 
selves (as  we  term  it)  his  friends,  wnilst  he's  in 
directilude. 

J  Serv,  Dircctitndc!  what's  that? 

3  Serv.  But  when  they  sliall  see,  sir,  his  crest  up 
again,  and  the  man  in  blond,  they  will  out  of  their 
burrows,  like  coneys  after  rain,  and  revel  all  with 
him. 

1  Serv.  But  when  goes  ♦his  forward? 

3  Sei'V.  To-morrow ;  to-day  ;  presently.  You  shall 
have  the  drum  struck  up  tliis  afternoon  :  'tis,  as  it 
w'ere,  a  parcel  of  their  feast,  and  to  be  executed  ere 
they  wipe  their  lips. 

2  Serv.  Why  then  we  shall  have  a  stirring  world 
again.  This  peace  is  nothing,  but  to  rust  iron,  in- 
crease tailors,  and  breed  ballad-makers. 

1  Serv.  Let  me  have  war.  say  I ;  it  exceeds  peace, 
as  far  as  day  does  night ;  it's  sprightly,  waking,  audi- 
ble, and  full  of  vent.-  Peace  is  a  very  apoplexy, 
letliargy  ;  mulled,^  deaf,  sleepy,  msensible;  a  getter 
of  more  bastard  children,  tlian  war's  a  destroyer  of 
men. 

2  Sen\  'Tis  so:  and  as  war.  in  some  sort,  may 
be  said  to  be  a  ravisher;  so  it  cannot  be  denied,  but 
peace  is  a  great  maker  of  cuckolds. 

]  Serv.  Ay,  and  it  makes  men  hate  one  another. 

3  Serv.  Jleason  ;  because  Ihey  then  less  need  one 
another.  The  wars,  fur  my  money.  I  hope  to  see 
Romans  as  cheap  as  Volscians.  "They  are  rising, 
they  are  rising. 

All.  In,  in,  in,  in.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.— Rome.    A  public  Place. 
Inter  Sicimus  and  Brctt'S. 

Sic.  Wehearnotof  him,  neither  need  w-e  fear  him: 
His  remedies  are  tame  \    the  present  peace 
And  quietness  o'  the  people,  which  before 
Were  in  wild  hurry.    Here  do  we  make  his  friends 
Blush,  that  the  world  tioes  well;  who  rather  had. 
Though  Ihcy  themselves  did  sillier  by't,  behold 
Dissentious  numbers  pestering  streets,  than  see 
Our  tradesmen  singing  in  their  shops,  and  going 
About  tlieir  functions  Iriendly. 

Enter  jMenknits. 

Bru.  We  stood  to't  in  good  time.    Is  this  Me- 
nenius! 

Sic.  'Tis  he,  'tis  he:  0,  he  is  grown  most  kind 
Of  late.— Hail,  sir! 

Men.  Hail  to  you  both  ! 

Sic.  Your  Coriolanus,  sir,  is  not  much  miss'd. 
But  with  his  friends:  Ihecommonvveaith  doth  stand, 
And  so  would  do,  were  he  more  angry  at  it. 

Men.  All's  well;  and  might   have  been  much 
betler,  if 
He  could  Jiave  temporiz'd. 

Sic.  Where  is  he,  hear  yon  ? 

Men.  Nay,  I  hear  nothing;  his  mother  and  ins  wife 
Hear  nothing  from  him. 

Enter  three  or  four  Citizens. 

at.  The  gods  preserve  you  both  ! 

Sic.  Giiud  e'en,  our  neighbors. 

Bru.  C.ood  e'en  to  you  all,  good  e'en  to  you  all. 

1  at.  Ourselves,  our  wives,  and  children,  on  our 
knees, 
Are  bound  to  pray  for  you  both. 

Sic»  .Live  and  thrive! 

Brxi.  Farewell,  kind  neighbors:   we  wish'd  Co- 
riolanus 
Had  lov'd  y'ou  as  wc  did. 

at.  Kow  the  gods  keep  you. 

BtAfi  Tri.  Farewell,  farewell.    [Kcciin/  Citizens. 

Sic.  1'liis  is  a  happier  ami  more  eotufly  time. 
Than  when  these  (ellows  ran  about  the  streets, 
Crying,  confusion. 

Jiru.  Cains  Marcius  was 

Axworthy  ofTicer  i'  the  war;  but  insolent, 
oVrcome  with  pride,  ambitious  past  all  thinking, 
Self-loving, 

>  Tull.  I  Cut  clear.  a  Kumor.  «  Softenud. 


Sic.  And  alTecting  ono  sole  throne, 

Without  assistance.-* 

Men.  I  think  not  so. 

.Sic.  We  should  by  thia.  tc  all  our  lamentation, 
If  he  had  gone  forth  consul,  found  it  so. 

Bru.  The  godshav?  -/veU  prevented  it,  and  Rome 
Sits  safe  and  still  without  him. 

Entey  jEdile. 

^^d.  Worthy  tribunes, 

There  is  a  slave,  whum  we  have  put  in  prison, 
Reports, — the  Volets  with  two  several  powers 
Are  enter'd  in  the  Roman  territories; 
And  with  the  deeijest  malice  of  the  war 
Destroy  what  lies  before  them. 

Men.  'Tis  Aufidius. 

Who,  hearing  oJ"  our  Marcius'  banishment, 
Thrust.s  forth  hiv  horns  attain  into  the  world 
Which   were  ijishell'd,  when  IVlarcius  str>od    for 

Rome, 
And  durst  no(  once  peep  out. 

Sic.  Come,  what  t9")»  you 

Of  iMarcius'' 

Bru.  Go  s^n  this  rumorer  whipp'U. — It  cannot 
be 
The  Voices  dare  break  with  us. 

Men.  Can;<ot  \^ ! 

We  have  record,  that  very  well  it  cy.t ; 
And  three  t\ainp)es  of  the  like  have  been 
Within  my  age.    But  reason  wi'h  the  lellow, 
Belbre  you  punish  him,  where  br  heard  this: 
Lest  you  should  chance  to  whip  your  inJbrmation, 
And  beat  the  messenger  wh&  tids  beware 
Of  what  is  to  be  dreaded. 

Sic.  1  ell  not  me : 

I  know  this  cannot  be. 

Bru.  N  jt  possible. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  The  nobles,  in  g^t-st  earnestness, are  going 
Ail  to  the  senate-hou(  t' :  s-^me  news  is  come, 
That  turns  their  coun'eniinccs. 

Sic.  'Tis  this  slave; — 

Go  whip  him  'fore  *'m  people's  eyes: — his  raising  ! 
Nothing  but  his  repjit  .' 

Mess.  Yes,  worthy  sir, 

The  slave's  report  in  seconded;  and  more, 
More  learful  is  d£l'?jred. 

Sic.  What  more  fearful? 

Mess.  It  is  spuki  freely  out  of  many  mouths, 
(How  probable,  [  -Jo  not  know.)  that  Marcius", 
Join'd  with  Au'k'ius,  leads  a  power  'gainst  Rome; 
And  vows  revii,i^,e  as  spacious,  as  between 
The  young'st  Mid  oldest  thing. 

Sic.  This  is  most  likely  I 

Bru.  Rais'd  cnly,  that  the  weaker  sort  may  wish 
Good  Marciur>  iiome  again. 

Sic.  The  very  trick  on't. 

Men.  ThiKU  unlikely: 
He  and  AuliJius  can  no  more  atone,5 
Tlian  violei\tJst  contrariety. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

iV/e-s.f.  Yon  are  sent  for  to  the  senate: 
A  tearful  army,  led  by  Caius  Marcius, 
Associated  with  Autidius.  rages 
Upon  our  territories;  and  have  already 
o'erborne  their  way,  consum'd  with  hre,  and  tooh 
What  lay  ttetbrc  them. 

Eyiier  Cominifs. 

Com.  0,  you  have  made  good  work  ! 

Men.  What  news  !  what  news? 

Cum.  You  have  holp  to  ravish  your  own  daugh- 
ters, and 
To  melt  the  city  leads  upon  your  pates ; 
To  see  your  wives  dishonor'd  to  your  noses; — 

7l///i. What's  the  news]  what's  the  news? 

Ctn/i.  Your  temples  burn'd  in  their  cement  ;  and 
Your  francbises,  whereon  you  stood,  contin'd 
Into  an  auger's  bore. 

Men.  Pray  now,  your  news? — 

YoQ  have  made  fair  work,  1  fear  nie  : — Pray,  yoi» 

news  ] 
If  Marcius  should  be  join'd  with  Volscians, 

Com.  If! 

He  is  their  god  :  he  leads  them  like  a  thing 
Aladi*  b\  sniue  other  deity  than  nature, 
'lliiit  sluiiH's  man  belter;  and  they  tollnw  him, 
Against  us  brats,  with  no  less  contidence, 


*  Suffrage. 


fc  Uuite. 


Scene  711. 


CORIOLANUS. 


565 


Than  boys  rursiiiTig  summer  butterflies, 
Or  butchers  killing  (lies. 

Men.  You  iiave  made  pood  work. 

You,  and  your  apron  men  ;  you  that  stood  so  much 
Upon  the  voice  ot'  occupation,^  and 
The  breath  ol'  garlic-eaters  ! 

Com.  He  will  shake 

Your  Rome  about  your  ears. 

]\ten.  As  Hercules 

Did  shake  down  mellow  fruit :  You  have  made  fair 
work  I 

Bru.  But  is  this  true,  sir  ] 

Com.  Ay;  and  you'll  look  pale 

Belorc  you  find  it  other.    All  the  regions 
Do  smilingly  revolt;  and,  Avho  resist. 
Are  ouly  mock'd  lor  valiant  ignorance, 
And  perish  constant  lijols.    Who  is't  can  blame 

himi 
Your  enemies,  and  his,  find  something  in  him. 

Men.  VVe  are  all  undone,  unless 
Tlie  nobleman  have  mercy. 

Com,  Who  shall  ask  it '! 

The  tribunes  cannot  do't  for  shame  :  the  people 
Deserve  such  pity  of  him,  as  the  wolf 
Does  of  the  siiepherds;  for  his  best  friends,  if  they 
Should  sa.y, JBeffonil  fu  Rome,  they  charged  him  even 
As  those  shoulil  do  that  had  deserv'd  his  hate, 
And  therein  siiow'd  like  enemies. 

Men.  'Tis  true : 

If  he  were  putting  to  my  house  the  brand 
That  should  consume  it,  I  have  not  Ibe  face 
To  say,  ^Beseech  you  cease. — You  have  made  fair 

hands, 
Y'ou  and  jour  crafts  !  you  have  crafled-fair  ! 

Com.  You  have  brought 

A  trembling  upon  Rome,  such  as  was  never 
So  incapable  of  help. 

Tri.  Say  not.  we  brought  it. 

Men.  How!  Was  it  wel    We  lov'd  him;  but, 
like  beasts. 
And  cowardly  nobles,  gave  way  to  j'our  clusters 
Who  did  hoot  him  out  o'  the  city. 

Com.  But.  I  fear. 

They'll  roar  him  in  again.    Tullus  Aulidius 
The  second  name  of  men,  obeys  his  points 
As  if  he  were  his  ofticer: — Desperation 
Is  all  the  policy,  strength,  and  deleiice, 
That  E,ome  can  make  against  them. 

Enter  a  Troop  of  Citizens. 

Men.  Here  come  the  clusters. — 

And  is  Aufidius  with  hini '! — You  are  they 
That  made  the  air  unwbolosome,  when  you  cast 
Your  stinking,  greasy  caps,  in  hooting  at 
Coriolanus'  exile.    Now  he's  coming; 
And  not  a  hair  upon  a  soldier's  head. 
Which  will  not  [irove  a  whip;  as  many  coxcombs, 
As  you  threw  caps  up,  will  he  tumbledown. 
And  pay  you  for  your  voices.    'Tis  no  matter; 
If  he  couid  burn  "us  all  into  one  coal, 
We  have  deserv'd  it. 

at.  'Faith,  we  hear  fearful  news. 

1  at.  Tor  mine  own  part. 
When  I  said,  banish  him,  I  said,  'twas  pity. 

2  at.  And  so  did  I. 

3  ('.it.  And  so  did  I;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  so 
did  very  many  of  us:  That  we  did,' we  did  liir  the 
best:  and  though  we  willingly  consented  to  his 
bauisliment,  yet  it  was  against  bur  will. 

Com.  You  are  goodly  things,  you  voices  ! 

Men.  You  have  made 

Good  work,  ^'ou  and  \'Our  cry  !'— Shall  us  to  the 
Capitol  ? 

Com.  0,  ay ;  what  else  1  [Exeunt  Com.  and  Men. 

&'tc.  Go.  masters,  get  you  home,  be  not  dismay'd ; 
These  are  a  side,  that  would  be  glad  to  have 
This  true,  whicli  they  so  seem  to  fear.    Go  home, 
And  show  no  sign  of  fear. 

1  at.  The  gods  be  good  to  us  !     Come,  masters, 

8  Jlcchanii'fi.     i  Pack  ;  alluJing  to  a  pack  of  hounds. 


let's  home.    I  ever  said,  we  were  i'  the  wrong, 
when  we  banished  hi  in. 

2  at.  So  did  we  all.    But  come,  let's  home. 

{Exeunt  Citizens. 

Bru.  I  do  not  like  this  news, 

Sic.  Nor  I. 

Bru.  Let's    to  the  Capitol :— 'Would    half  my 
wealth 
Would  buy  this  for  a  lie. 

Sic.  Pray,  let  us  go.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE    YII.— .-I    Camp;    at   a  small   distance 

from  Rome. 

Enter  ArFiniis,  and  Ms  Lieutenant. 

Auf.  Do  they  still  fly  to  the  Roman  ? 

Lieu.  I  do  liot  know  what  witchcrall's  in  him ; 
.     but 
Your  soldiers  use  him  as  the  grace  'fore  meat, 
Their  talk  at  talile,  and  their  thanks  at  end; 
And  you  are  darken'd  in  tills  action,  sir, 
Even  by  your  own. 

Auf.  I  cannot  help  it  now; 

Unless,  by  using  means,  I  lame  the  foot 
Of  our  design.    He  hears  himself  more  proudlier, 
Even  to  my  person,  than  I  thought  he  would. 
When  first  I  did  embrace  him  :  Yet  his  nature 
In  that's  no  changeling;  and  I  must  excuse 
What  cannot  be  amended. 

Lieu.  Yet  I  wish,  sir, 

(I  mean  for  your  particular,)  you  ha<l  not 
.loin'd  in  commission  with  him;  but  either 
Hail  borne  the  action  of  yourself,  or  else 
To  him  had  left  it  solely. 

AiiJ.  I  understand  thee  well;  and  be  thou  sure. 
When  he  shall  come  to  his  account,  he  knows  not 
What  1  can  urge  against  him.   Although  it  seems, 
.\nd  so  he  thinks,  and  is  no  less  ajiparent 
To  the  vulgar  eye,  that  he  bears  all  things  fairly. 
And  shows  good  husbandry  liir  the  VoLscian  state; 
Fights  dragon-hke,  and  does  achieve  as  soon 
As  draw  his  sword  :  yet  he  hath  left  undone 
That  which  shall  break  his  neck,  or  hazard  mine, 
Wliene'er  we  come  to  our  account. 

Lieu.  Sir.  I  beseech  you,  think  you  he'll  carry 
Rome  ] 

Juf.  All  places  yield  to  him  ere  he  sits  down; 
And  the  nobility  of  Rome  are  his: 
The  .senators,  aiid  patricians,  love  him  too. 
The  tribunes  are  no  soldiers;  and  their  people 
Will  be  as  rash  in  the  reivai,  as  hasty 
To  expel  him  thence.    I  think,  he'll  be  to  Rome, 
Asi.s  the  osprey*  to  the  tish,  who  takes  it 
By  sovereignty  of  nature.    First  he  was 
A  noble  servant  to  them;  but  he  could  not 
Carry  his  honors  even:  whether  'twas  pride, 
Which  out  of  daily  liirtune  ever  taints 
The  happy  man  ;  whether  defect  of  judgment, 
To  fail  in  the  disposing  of  those  chances 
Which  he  was  Imd  of;  or  whether  nature. 
Not  to  be  other  than  one  thing,  not  moving 
From  the  casque'  to  the  cushion,'  but  commanding 

peace 
Even  with  tiie  same  austerity  and  garb 
.\s  he  controli'd  the  war;  but,  one  ot  these, 
(As  he  hath  spices  of  them  all,  not  all,-' 
For  1  dare  so  tiirfree  him,)  made  him  fe.ar'd. 
So  haled,  and  so  hanisli'd  :  But  he  has  a  merit, 
To  choke  it  in  the  utterance.    So  our  virtues 
Lie  in  the  interpreUitum  of  the  time; 
Auil  ]iower,  unto  itself  most  commeiulable, 
llalli  not  a  tomb  so  evulent  as  a  chair 
To  extol  what  it  hath  done. 
One  fire  drives  out  one  fire;  one  nail,  one  nail; 
Rights  by  rights  fouler,  strengths  by  strengths  do 

fail. 
Come,  let's  away.    When,  Caius,  Rome  is  tliine, 
Tiiou  art  poor'st  of  all ;  then  shortly  art  thou  mine. 

[Exeunt. 
e  An  eagle  that  preys  on  fish.  •  Ili^lmet. 

1  The  chair  of  civil  authority, 
a  Not  all  in  thcu'  full  exten't. 


566 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  V. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I.— Rome.    A  Public  Place. 

Enter  Menexics,  Comisius,  Sicisics,  Brutus,  and 

others. 

Men.  No,  I'll  not  go :  you  hear,  what  he  hath 
said, 
AVhich  was  sometime  his  general;  who  lov'd  him 
In  a  most  clear  pariicular.    He  calTd  me  lather: 
But  what  of  that !    Go,  you  that  banish'd  him, 
A  mile  before  his  tent  lall  down,  and  knrel 
The  way  unto  his  mercy :  Nay,  if  he  eoy'd^ 
To  hear  Cominius  spcaK,  I'll  krep  at  home. 

Com.  Me  would  not  seera  to  know  me. 

Men.  Do  you  hear? 

Com.  Yet  one  time  he  did  call  me  by  my  name: 
I  ur^ed  our  old  aequaintance,  and  the  drops 
That  we  have  bled  togetlier.    Coriohinus 
lie  would  not  answer  to:  forbade  all  names; 
He  was  a  kind  of  nothing,  titleless, 
Till  he  had  forged  himself  a  name  i*  the  fire 
Of  burniMg  Rome. 

Men.  Wliy,  so:  you  have  made  good  work: 
A  pair  of  tribunes  that  have  rack'd  for  Rome, 
To  make  coals  cheap  :'  A  noble  memory  ! 

Co/n.  I  minded  him  how  royal  'twas  To  pardon 
When  it  was  less  expected  :  He  replied, 
it  was  a  hare  petition  of  a  slate 
To  one  whom  they  had  puni^li'd. 

Mtn.  Very  well: 

Could  he  say  less  1 

Com.  I  orter'd  to  awaken  Iiis  regard 
For  his  private  friends  :  His  answer  to  me  was 
He  could  not  stay  to  pick  them  in  a  pile 
( tf  noisome,  musty  clialf :  He  said,  'twas  folly, 
For  one  poor  gram  or  two,  to  leave  unburnt, 
And  still  to  nose  the  ollence. 

Men.  For  one  poor  grain 

Or  two  1     I  am  one  of  these  ;  his  mother,  wife, 
His  child,  and  tJiis  brave  lellow  too,  we  are  the 

grains: 
Vou  are  the  musty  chafT;  and  you  are  smelt 
Above  the  moon:  We  juust  he  burnt  for  you. 

.Sic.  Nay,  pray,  be  patient:  If  you  refuse  your  aid 
In  this  HO  never-needed  help,  yet  do  not 
Upbraid  us  with  our  distress.    But,  sure,  if  you 
Would  be  your  country's  pleader.yourgood tongue 
More  than  the  instant  army  we  can  make, 
JMiiiht  stop  our  countryman. 

Men.  No:  I'll  not  meddle. 

Sic.  I  praj'  you,  go  to  him. 

Men.  What  should  I  do? 

Brti.  Only  make  trial  what  your  love  can  do 
For  Rome  towards  ^lareius. 

Me7i.  Well,  and  say  that  Marcius 

Return  me,  as  Cominius  is  returned, 
Unheard  ;  what  then  ? 
But  as  a  discontented  friend,  grief-shot 
With  his  unkindness?     Say't  be  so  ! 

■Sic.  Yet  your  good  will 

Must  have  that  thanks  from  Rome,alter  the  measure 
As  you  intended  well. 

Men.  I'll  undertake  it: 

I  think,  lie^ll  hear  me.     Yet  to  bite  his  lip, 
And  hum  at  good  Cominius,  much  unhearts  me. 
\h-  was  not  taken  well;  he  had  not  dined: 
The  veins  unfill'd,  our  blood  is  cold,  and  then 
AVe  pout  upon  the  morning,  are  unapt 
']'o  give  or  to  forgive;  but  when  we  have  stufT'd 
These  pipes  and  these  conveyances  of  our  blood 
With  wine  and  feeding,  we  have  suppler  souls 
Tlian  in  our  priest-like  lasts;  therefore  I'll  watch  him 
Till  111'  be  dieled  to  my  request, 
And  then  I'll  set  U])»n  him. 

Bru.  Vou  know  tho  very  road  into  his  kindness. 
And  cannot  lose  your  way. 

Men.  Cood  faith.  I'll  prove  him. 

Speed  howitwill.    I  shall  erelong  haveknovv|edy;e 
OI"  my  success.  _  [Exit. 

Com,  He'll  never  hear  him. 

i^ic.  Not? 

3  Con doRcon fled  iinwllliiif^ly. 

*  1.  c.  ll.ive  innnn-ri'd  so  well  fnr  Rome  as  to  got  the  town 
burnt  to  save  tho  expouso  of  coals. 


Com.  I  tell  you,  he  does  sit  in  gold,  his  eye 
Red  as  'twould  burn  Rome:  and  his  injury 
The  gaoler  to  his  pity.    1  kneel'd  belbrc  him; 
'Twas  very  family  he  said,  Rise  ;  dismiss'd  me 
Thus,  with  his  speechless  hand:  What  he  would  do, 
He  sent  in  writing  after  me ;  what  he  would  not, 
Bound  with  an  oath,  to  yield  to  his  conditions: 
So,  that  all  hope  is  vain. 
Unless  his  noble  mother,  and  his  wife ; 
Who,  as  1  hear,  mean  to  solicit  him 
Fur  mercy  to  his  country.    Tiierefore  let's  hence, 
And  with  our  lair  entreaties  haste  them  on.     [Ex* 

SCENE   \\.—An  advanced  Post  of'  the  Volscian 
Camj)  before  Rome,  Tke  Guard  at  their  Siulimis. 
Enter  to  them  Menenics. 

1  G.  Stay:  Whence  are  you ? 

2  G.  Stand,  and  go  back. 
Men.  You  guard  like  men;  'tis  well:  But,  by 

}'our  leave, 
I  am  an  olhcer  of  slate,  and  come 
To  speak  with  Coriolanus. 

1  G.  From  whence? 

Men.  From  Rome. 

1  G.  You  may  not  pass,  you  must  return;  our 

general 
Will  no  more  hear  from  thence. 

2  G.  You'll  see  your  Rome  embraced  with  fire, 

before 
You'll  speak  with  Coriolanus. 

Men.  Good  my  friends, 

If  you  have  heard  your  general  talk  of  Rome, 
Aiid  of  his  friends  there,  it  is  lots^  to  blanks. 
My  name  hath  touch'd  your  cars:  It  is  Menenius. 

1  G.  Be  it  so ;  go  back :  the  virtue  of  your  name 
Is  not  here  passable. 

Men.  I  tell  thee,  fellow. 

Thy  general  is  my  lover  r"^  I  have  been 
The  book  of  his  good  acts,whence  men  have  read 
His  fame  unparallel'd,  haply,  amplilied; 
For  I  have  ever  verilied  my  friends, 
f  Of  whom  he's  chief,)  with  all  the  size  that  verity 
Would  without  lapsing  suller:  nay,  sometimes. 
Like  to  a  bowl  upon  a  subtle"  ground, 
I  have  tumbled  past  the  throw;  and  in  his  praise 
Have    almost    stamp'd    the  leasing.^    Therefore, 

ll'llow, 
I  must  have  leave  to  pass. 

1  G.  'Faith,  sir,  if  you  had  told  as  many  lies  in 
his  behalf,  as  you  have  uttered  words  in  your  own, 
you  should  not  pass  here:  no,  though  it  were  as 
virtuous  to  he,  as  to  live  chastely.  Tiierefore,  go 
back. 

Men.  Pr'ythee,  fellow,  remember  my  name  is 
IMenenius,  always  lactionary  on  the  party  of  your 
general. 

2  G.  Howsoever  you  have  been  his  liar,  (as  you 
say  you  have,)  I  am  one  that,  teUing  true  under 
hiJn,  must  say,  you  cannot  pass.  Therefore,  go 
back. 

Men.  Has  he  dined,  canst  thou  tell?  for  I  would 
not  speak  with  him  till  at^er  dinner. 
1  G.  You  are  a  Roman,  are  you  ? 
Men.  I  am  as  thy  general  is. 

1  G.  Then  you  should  hate  Rome,  as  he  does. 
Can  you,  when  you  liave  pushed  out  your  gates 
the  very  defender  of  them,  and,  in  a  violent  popular 
ignorance,  given  your  enemy  your  shield,  think  to 
front  his  revenges  with  the  easy  groans  of  old 
women,  the  virginal  palms  of  your  daughters,  or 
with  the  palsied  intercession  of  such  a  decayed 
dotant'J  as  you  seem  to  be  ?  Can  yon  think  to  blow 
out  the  intended  tire  your  city  is  ready  to  tiamein, 
wilh  such  weak  breath  as  this]  No.  you  arc  de- 
ceived ,  therefore,  back  to  Rome,  and  prepare  for 
your  execution;  you  are  condemned,  our  general 
has  sworn  you  out  of  reprieve  and  pardon. 

Men.  Sirrah,  if  thy  captain  knew  I  were  here, 
he  would  use  me  with  estimation. 

2  G.  Come,  my  captain  knows  you  not. 


>  Prizes. 
«  Lie. 


6  Friend. 
B  Dotard. 


'  Deceitful. 


Scene  III. 


COmOLANUS. 


507 


Men,  I  mean  thy  general. 

1  G.  My  general  cares  not  for  you.  Back.  I  say  ; 
go,  lest  I  let  Jbrth  your  half  pint  of  blood  : — back,— 
itiat's  the  utmost  of  your  havin;^: — back. 

Mcn»  Nay,  bat  fellow,  fellow, 

Ettter  CoRioiiANUS  and  Aupidius. 

Or.  What's  the  matter? 

M(n.  Now,  you  companion,' 1*11  say  an  errand 
for  vuu  ;  >ou  shall  know  now  that  I  am  in  esti- 
inatiO'.i;  you  shall  perceive  that  a  Jack^guardant 
cantiOt  olJJce  me  from  my  son  Coriolanus;  guess, 
but  by  my  entertainment  with  him,  if  thou  stand's! 
nut  i'  the  btate  of  hanging,  or  of  some  death  more 
loii;^  in  spectatorship  and  crueller  in  sulTering; 
behold  now  presently,  and  swoon  for  what's  to 
coniB  upon  thee.  The  glorious  gods  sit  in  Jiourly 
synod  about  thy  particular  jirosperity,  and  love 
tlicc  no  worse  than  thy  old  father  IMenenius  does! 
O.  my  son  !  my  son  !  thou  art  preparing  tire  for  us; 
look  thee,  here's  water  to  quench  it.  1  was  hardly 
moved  to  come  to  tJice ;  but  being  assured,  none 
but  myself  could  move  thee,  I  have  been  blown 
out  ot  your  gates  with  sighs;  and  conjure  thee  to 
pardon  Rome,  and  thy  petitionary  countrymen. 
The  good  gods  assuage  thy  wrath,  and  turn  the 
dregs  of  it  upon  the  varlet  here;  this,  who,  like  a 
block,  halh  denied  my  access  to  Uice. 

Orr.  Away  ! 

Men*  How!  away? 

Cor.  Wife,  motlier,  child.  I  know  not.   My  affairs 
Are  servanted  to  others:  Though  I  owe 
My  revenge  properly,  my  remission  lies 
In  VoJscian  breasts.    That  we  have  been  familiar, 
Ingrate  forgetfulness  shall  poison,  ratlier 
Tlian  pity  note  how  much. — Therefore,  begone. 
Mine  ears  against  your  suits  are  stronger,  than 
Your  gales  against  my  force.  Yet,  for^  1  lov'd  thee, 
Take  this  along  ;  I  writ  it  for  thy  sake, 

[Gives  a  Letter. 
And  would  have  sent  it.  Another  word,  Menenius, 
I  will  not  hear  thee  speak. — This  man,  Aulidius, 
Was  my  beloved  in  Rome  :  yet  thou  behold'st 

Avf.  you  keep  a  constant  temper. 

[Exeunt  Coriol.  and  Aufid. 

1  G.  Now,  sir,  is  your  name  Menenius  ] 

2  G.  'Tis  a  spell,  you  see,  of  much  power:  You 
know  the  way  home  again. 

1  G.  Do  you  hear  how  we  are  shent'  for  keeping 
your  gre:ituess  backl 

2  G.  What  cause,  do  you  think,  I  have  to  swoon  ] 
J\/t7^  I   neither  care  for  the   world,  nor  your 

general :  for  such  things  as  you,  I  can  scarce  tliink 
there  is  any,  you  are  so  slight.  He  tliat  iialh  a  will 
to  die  by  himself,  fears  it  not  from  another.  Let 
your  general  do  his  worst.  For  you,  be  that  you 
are,  long;  and  your  misery  increase  with  your  age  ! 
I  say  to  you,  as  I  was  said  to.  Away  !  [Exit. 

1  G.  A  noble  fellow,  I  warrant  him. 

2  G.  The  worthy  fellow  is  our  general:  He  is  the 
rock,  the  oak  not  to  be  wind-shaken. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— TAe  Tent  o/ Coriolanus. 
Enter  Coriolanus,  Aufidu's,  and  others. 

Cor.  We  will  before  the  walls  of  Rome  to-morrow 
Set  dovi-n  our  host. — My  partner  in  this  action, 
You  must  report  to  the  Volscian  lords,  how  plainly^ 
I  have  borne  iji  this  business. 

Axif.  Only  their  ends 

You  have  respected;  stopp'd  your  ears  against 
The  general  suit  of  Rome;  never  admitted 
A  private  whisper,  no,  not  with  such  friends 
That  thought  them  sure  of  you. 

Cor.  This  last  old  man, 

Whom  with  a  crack'd  heart  I  have  sent  to  Rome, 
Loved  me  above  the  measure  of  a  father; 
Niiy.  godded  me.  indeed.    Their  latest  refuge 
Was  to  send  him :  for  whose  old  love,  I  have 
(Though   I   show'd    sourly  to    him)    once    more 

o  tie  red 
The  first  conditions,  which  they  did  refuse, 
And  cannot  now  accept,  to  grace  him  only. 
That  thoutiht  he  could  do  more;  a  very  little 
1  linvc  \  K-bli'd  too:  Fresh  embassies,  and  suits, 
Nor  froiij  the  slate,  nor  private  friends,  hereafter 
Will  I  lend  ear  to. — Ha!  what  shout  is  this? 

[Slwut  within. 

'  Pellow.  4  J.ick  In  office.  ■  Because. 

•  Repiimanded,      »  Openly. 


Shall  I  be  tempted  to  infringe  my  vow 

In  tlie  same  time  'tis  madel  I  will  not. — 

Enter  in  mourning  Jlubits,  Virgilia,  VoLirMNiA, 

leading  young  Maucils,  Valeria,  and  Attend- 
ants. 
My  wife  comes  foremost;  then  the  honar'd  mould 
Wherein  this  trunk  was  framed,  and  in  her  hand 
The  grandchild  to  her  blood.    But.  out.  allection. 
All  l>ond  and  privilege  of  nature,  break! 
Let  it  be  virtuous,  to  be  obstinate. — 
What  IS  that  curtesy  worth?  or  those  doves'  eye^. 
Which  can  make  gods  forsworn? — I  melt,  and  am 

not 
Of  stronger  earth  than  others. — My  mother  bows; 
As  if  Olympus  to  a  molehill  should 
In  supplication  nod:  and  my  young  boy 
Hath  an  aspect  of  intercession,  which 
Great  nature  cries,  DcJiy  not. — Let  the  Voices 
IJIough  Rome,  and  liarrow  Italy;  I'll  ncvt: 
lie  such  a  gosling  to  obey  instinct;  but  stand, 
As  if  a  man  were  author  of  himself, 
And  knew  no  other  kiji. 

Vlr.  My  lord  and  husband ! 

Cor.  These  eyes  are  not  the  same  I  wore  in 
Rome. 

Vir.  The  sorrow  that  delivers  us  thus  changed, 
Makes  you  think  so. 

Cor.  Like  a  dull  actor  now, 

I  have  forgot  my  part,  and  I  am  out, 
Even  to  a  full  disgrace.    Rest  of  my  flesh, 
Forgive  my  tyranny ;  hut  do  not  say. 
For  that,  lorgive  our  Romans.    0,  a  kiss 
Long  as  my  exile,  sweet  as  my  revenge! 
Now  by  the  jealous  queen^  of  heaven,  that  kiss 
I  carried  Irom  thee,  dear;  and  my  true  lip 
J  lath  virginM  it  e'er  since.    You  gods!  I  prate, 
And  the  most  noble  mother  of  the  world 
Leave  unsaluted;  Sink,  my  knee  i'  the  earth ; 

[Kneels. 
Of  thy  deep  duty  more  impression  show 
Than"  that  of  common  sons. 

V(d.  O,  stand  up  bless'd! 

Whilst  with  no  softer  cushion  than  tiie  flint, 
I  kneel  before  thee;  and  unproperly 
Show  duty,  as  mistaken  all  the  while 
Between  tiic  child  and  parent.  [^Kneels. 

Cor.  What  is  this  I 

Your  knees  to  me?  to  your  corrected  son  ? 
Then  let  the  pcbldes  on  the  hungry  beacli 
Fillip  the  stars;  then  let  the  mutinous  winds 
Strike  the  proud  cedars  'gainst  the  liery  sun; 
MurdVing  impossibility,  to  make 
What  cannot  oc,  slight" work. 

Vol.  Tliou  art  my  warrior; 

I  holp  to  frame  thee.    Do  you  know  this  lady! 

Cor.  The  noble  sister  of  Publlcola, 
The  moon  of  Rome;  chaste  as  the  icicle. 
That's  curded  by  the  frost  from  purest  snow, 
And  hangs  on  Dian's  temple:  Dear  Valeria! 

Vol.  This  is  a  poor  epitome  of  yours, 
Which  by  the  interpretation  of  full  time 
May  show  Uke  all  yourself. 

Cor.  The  god  of  soldiers, 

With  the  consent  of  supreme  Jove,  inform 
Thy  thoughts  with  nobleness;   that  ihou  may'st 

prove 
To  shame  invulnerable,  and  stick  i'  the  wars 
Like  a  great  sea-mark,  sUinding  every  flaw,"' 
And  saving  those  that  eye  thee! 

Vol.  Y''our  knee,  sirrah, 

Ctir.  That's  my  brave  boy. 

Vol.  Even  he,  your  wife,  this  lady,  and  myself. 
Are  suitors  to  you. 

Cor.  I  beseech  you,  peace : 

Or,  if  you'd  ask,  remember  this  before; 
The  things,  1  have  forsworn  to  grant,  may  never 
Be  held  by  you  denials.    Do  not  bid  me 
Dismiss  my  soldiers,  or  capitulate 
Again  with  Rome's  mechanics: — Tell. me  not 
Wherein  I  seem  unnatural:  Desire  not 
To  allay  my  rages  and  revenges,  with 
Your  colder  reasons. 

Vol.  0,  no  more,  no  more ! 

You  have  said,  you  will  not  grant  us  any  thing; 
For  we  have  nothing  else  to  ask.  but  tliat 
Which  you  deny  already:  Yet  we  will  ask; 
That,  if  you  faifin  our  refjuest,  the  blame 
May  hang  upon  your  hardness:  therefore  hear  us, 
•  Juno.     '  '  Gust,  storm. 


568 


CORIOLANUS. 


Act  V. 


Cor.  Aufidius,  and  you  Voices,  mark;  for  we'll 
Ht'arnoii^'htlVoin  Romein  private. — Vourrequcstl 

Vul.  Should  \vc  be  silent  and  not  speak,  our 
raiment. 
And  state  ol'  bodies  would  bewray^  what  life 
We  have  led  since  thy  exile.    Think  with  thyself, 
How  more  unfortunate  than  all  living  women 
Are  we  come  hitlier:  since  that  thy  sight,  which 

should 
Make  our  eyes  flow  wi'h  joy,  hearts  dance  with 

comibrts, 
Constrams  them  weep,  and  shake  with  fear  and 

sorrow ; 
Making  the  mother,  wife,  and  child,  to  see 
T!ie  son,  the  husband,  and  the  father,  tearing 
His  country's  bowels  out.    And  to  poor  we, 
Tiiinc  enmity's  most  capital:  thou  barr'st  us 
Our  prayers  to  the  ^ods,  which  is  a  comfort 
That  all  but  we  enjoy:  For  how  can  we, 
Alas!  how  can  we  for  our  country  pray. 
Whereto  we  are  bound;  together  with  thy  victory, 
AVliereto  we  are  bound';     Alack!  or  we  must  lose 
The  country,  our  dear  nurse;  or  else  thy  person, 
Our  comfort  in  the  country.    We  must  lind 
An  evident  calamity,  though  we  had 
Our  wish,  which  side  should  win:  for  either  thou 
Must,  as  a  foreign  recreant,  be  led 
AVith  manacles  through  our  streets,  or  else 
Triumphantly  tread  upon  thy  country's  ruin; 
And  bear  the  palm,  for  having  bravely  shed 
Tliy  wife  and  children's  blood.    For  myself,  son, 
1  purpose  not  to  wait  on  fortune,  till 
Tlicse  wars  determine:  if  I  cannot  persuade  thee 
Rather  to  sliow  a  noble  grace  to  botli  parts. 
Than  seek  the  end  of  one,  thou  shalt  no  sooner 
March  to  assault  thy  country,  than  to  tread 
(Trust  toH  thou  shalt  not)  on  tliy  mother's  womb, 
That  brought  thee  to  this  world. 

Vir.  Ay,  and  on  mine, 

That  brought  you  forth  this  boy,  to  keep  your  name 
Living  to  tune. 

Botj.  He  shall  not  tread  on  me; 

I'll  riin  away,  till  I  am  bigger,  but  then  I'll  fight. 

Cur.  IS'ot  of  a  woman's  tenderness  to  be, 
Re<iuires  nor  child  nor  woman's  face  to  see. 
1  have  sat  too  long.  \Iiising. 

Vol.  Nay,  go  not  from  us  thus. 

If  it  were  so.  that  our  request  did  tend 
To  save  the  Romans,  thereby  to  destroy 
The  Voices  whom  you  serve,  you  might  condemn  us, 
As  ])oisonous  of  your  honor:  No;  our  suit 
Is,  that  you  reconcile  them:  while  the  Voices, 
J\lAy  s3.y.  This  mercy  ive  h/ive  show' fi;  the  Romans, 
This  ive  rccckPd;  and  each  in  eillicr  side 
Give  the  all-hail  to  thee,  and  cry.  Be  btess'd 
For makin^upihis peace!  Thou know'st,greatson, 
The  end  of  war's  uncertain;  but  this  certain. 
That,  if  thou  conquer  Rome,  the  benefit 
W^hicJi  thou  shalt  thereby  reap,  is  such  a  name. 
Whose  repetition  will  be  dogg'd  with  curses; 
V/Iiose  chronicle  llius  writ, —  The  man  was  noble, 
But  wifh  hvs  lui't  aiteatpt,  he  wipcfl  it  out ; 
Destroi/it.  his  country;  and  hia  name  rentabis 
To  the  ensuing  age,  abhorred.    Speak  to  me,  son: 
Thou  hast  affected  the  fine  strains  of  honor, 
To  imitate  the  graces  of  the  gods; 
To  tear  with  tliuudor  tlic  wide  cheeks  o'  the  air, 
And  yet  to  charge  thy  sulphur  with  a  bolt 
Tliat'should  but  rive  an  oak.  Wiiy  dost  not  speak  1 
TJiink'st  thou  it  honorable  for  a  noble  man 
Still  to  remember  wrongs! — Daughter,  sjieak  yon: 
He  cares  not  for  your  weeping. — Speak  thou,  boy: 
Perhaps  thy  childishness  will  move  him  more 
Than  can  our  reasons. — There  is  no  man  in  the 

world 
Morobound  to  his  mother;  yet  here  he  lets  me  prate 
Like  one  i'  the  stocks.    Thou  hast  never  in  thy  liJe 
Show'd  thy  dear  mother  any  courtesy; 
When  she',  (poor  hen!)  Ibna  of  no  second  brood. 
Has  cluck'd  thee  to  the  wars,  and  safely  home, 
Loaden  with  honor.    Say,  my  request's  unjust, 
And  spurn  nic  back:  But,  if  it  be  not  so. 
Thotiart  not  honest ;  and  thegods  will  plague  thee. 
That  thou  restraiii'st  from  mo  the  duty,  which 
To  a  mother's  part  heloni;s. — He  turns  away: 
Down,  lacfies;  let  vis  shame  him  with  our  kiiees. 
To  his  surname  Coriolanus  'lontcs  more  pride. 
Than  pity  to  our  prayers.     Down ;  an  cjid  : 
This  is  the  last; — So  'we  will  iiome  to  Rome 
»  BL'ti-uy. 


And  die  among  our  neighbors. — Nay,  behold  us: 
This  boy,  that  cannot  tell  what  he  would  have. 
But  kneels,  and  holds  up  hands,  lor  fellowship, 
Does  reason  our  petition  with  more  strength 
Than  tliou  hast  to  deny't.— Come,  let  us  go  : 
TJiis  fellow  had  a  Volscian  to  his  mother; 
His  wife  is  in  CorioU,  and  his  child 
Like  him  by  chance: — Yet  give  us  our  despatch: 
I  am  hush'd  until  our  city  be  afire. 
And  then  Til  speak  a  little. 

Cor,  0  mother,  mother 

[Holding  VoLT'MNiA  by  the  hands,  sil^A<t. 
What  have  you  done  ?    Rehold,  the  heavens  do  ope. 
The  gods  look  down,  and  this  unnatural  scene 
They  laugh  at.    0  my  mother,  mother !  0 ! 
You  have  won  a  happy  victory  to  Rome: 
IJut,  tor  your  son, — believe  it,  O,  believe  it, 
Most  dangerously  you  have  with  him  prevail'd, 
H'not  most  mortal  "to  him.    But,  let  it  come: 
Aufidius,  though  I  cannot  make  true  wars, 
I'll  frame  convenient  peace.    Now,  good  Aufidius, 
Were  you  in  my  stead,  say,  would  you  have  heard 
A  mother  less!  or  granted  less,  Auiidius? 

Auf.  I  was  mov'd  withai. 

Cor.  I  dare  be  sworn,  you  were; 

And,  sir,  it  is  no  little  thing,  to  make 
Mine  eyes  to  sweat  compassion.    But,  good  sir. 
What  peace  you'll  make, advise  me:  For  my  part, 
I'll  not  to  Rome,  I'll  back  with  you ;  and  prav  you. 
Stand  to  me  in  this  cause. — O  mother !  wife  I 

Auf.  I  am  glad  thou  hast  set  thy  mercy  and  thy 
honor 
At  difference  in  thee  :  out  of  that  I'll  work 
Myself  a  former  fortune.  [Aside 

[The  Ladies  make  signs  to  Coriolancs. 

Cor.  Ay,  by-and-by ; 

{To  VOLUMXIA,  VlRGIUA,  ^C. 

But  we  will  drink  together;  and  you  shall  bear 

A  better  witness  back  than  words,  which  we, 

On  like  conditions,  will  have  counter-seal'd. 

Come,  enter  with  us.    Ladies,  you  deserve 

To  have  a  temple  built  you;  ail  the  swords 

In  Italy,  and  her  confederate  arms, 

Could  not  have  made  this  peace.  \Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.    Rome.    A  public  V lace. 
Enter  Menenius  and  SiciNU's. 

Men.  See  you  yond'  coign-  o'  the  Capitol:  yond' 
comer  stone ! 

kS7c.  Why,  what  of  that? 

Men.  If  It  be  possible  for  you  to  displace  it  with 
your  little  finger,  there  is  some  hope  the  ladies  of 
Rome,  especially  his  mother,  may  prevail  with  him. 
But  I  say,  there  is  no  hope  in't;  our  tliroats  are 
sentenced,  and  stay  upon  execution. 

i>ic.  Is't  possible,  that  so  short  a  time  can  alter 
the  condition  of  a  man  ] 

Men,  There  is  a  dillerency  between  a  grub,  and  a 
butterfiy;  yet  your  butterfly  was  a  grub.  This 
Marcius  is  grown  from  man  to  dragon:  lie  has 
wings;  he's  more  than  a  creeping  thing. 

i:iic.  He  loved  liis  mother  dearl.y. 

Men.  So  did  he  me:  and  he  no  more  remembers 
his  motlier  now.  than  an  eight  year  old  horse.  The 
tartness  of  his  face  sours  ripe  grapes.  When  he 
walks,  he  moves  liJ;e  an  engine,  and  the  ground 
shrinks  before  his  treading.  He  is  able  to  pierce  a 
corslet  with  his  eye;  talks  like  a  knell,  and  his  hum 
is  a  balterj".  He  sits  in  his  state,'  as  a  thing  made 
for^  Alexander.  What  he  bids  be  done,  is  finished 
with  his  biddijig.  He  wants  nothing  of  a  god  but 
eternity,  and  a  heaven  to  throne  in. 

iSic.  Yes,  mercy,  if  you  report  him  truly. 

Men.  I  paint  him  in  the  character.  >Tark  what 
mercy  his  mother  shall  bring  from  him:  There  is  no 
more*  mercy  in  him,  than  there  is  milk  in  a  male 
tiger;  that  shall  our  poor  city  find:  and  all  this  is 
'long  of  vou. 

Sic.  Tlie  gods  be  good  unto  us ! 

Men.  No,  in  such  a  case  the  gods  will  not  be 
good  unto  us.  When  we  banished  him,  we  le- 
spected  not  them :  and,  he  returning  to  break  our 
necks,  tliey  respect  not  us. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Sir,  if  you'd  save  your  life,  fly  to  your 
house; 
The  plebeians  have  got  your  fellow-tribune. 
And  naie  him  up  and  do'wn;  all  swearing,  if 
•  Angle.         *  Ch.iir  i^f  state.  ^  To  resemble. 


Scene  V. 


COKIOLANUS. 


569 


The  Roman  ladies  brini  not  conilbrt  liome, 
They'll  give  him  deatli  by  inclies. 

Enter  another  Messenger. 

Sic.  What's  the  news? 

Mess.  Good  news,  good  news; — The  ladies  have 
prevailed, 
The  Voices  are  dislodg'd,  and  Marcius  gone: 
A  merrier  day  did  never  yet  sreet  Rome, 
No,  not  the  expulsion  of  the  Tarquins. 

Sic.  Friend, 

Art  thou  certain  this  is  true  1  is  it  most  certain  ! 

Mess.  As  certain  as  I  know  the  sun  is  tire  ; 
Where  have  you  lurk'd,  that  you  nia];e  doubt  of  it? 
NeVr  throup:li  an  arcii  so  liurricd  the  blown  tide. 
As  the  recomforted  through  the  gates.    Why,  hark 
you; 

[Trumpets  and  Jiauthoys  snunded.  and  Drums 
beaten,  all  togetlier.   Shouting  also  within. 
The  trumpets,  sackbuts,  psalteries,  and  tifes. 
Tabors,  and  cymbals,  and  the  sliouting  Romans, 
Make  the  sun  dance.   Hark  you !  [  Shouting  again. 

Men.  Tiiis  is  good  news : 

I  will  go  meet  the  ladies.    This  Volumnia 
Is  worth  of  consuls,  senators,  patricians, 
A  city  full ;  of  tribunes,  sucii  as  you, 
A  sea  and  land  full :  You  liave  prayed  well  to-day; 
This  morning,  for  ten  thousand  of  your  throats 
I'd  not  have  given  a  doit.    Hark,  how  they  joy !  • 
[Shouting  and.  Atusic. 

Sic.  First,  the  gods  bless  you  for  their  tidings ; 
next. 
Accept  my  thankfulness. 

Mess.  Sir,  we  liave  all 

Great  cause  to  give  great  thanks. 

Sic.  '  They  are  near  the  city  1 

Mess.  Almost  at  point  to  enter. 

Sic.  We  will  meet  them. 

And  help  the  joy.  [Going. 

Enter  the  Ladies,  accompanied  b;/  Senators.  Patri- 
cians, and  People.    They  pass  over  the  Stage. 

I  Sen.  Behold  our  patroness,  the  life  of  Rome: 
Call  all  your  tribes  together,  praise  the  gods. 
And  make  triumphant  fires;  strew  llowers  before 

tlicm : 
Unshout  the  noise  tliat  banish'd  Marcius, 
Repeal^  him  with  tlie  welcome  of  his  mother; 
Cr}',  — Welcome,  ladies,  welcome  ! 

Alt.  Welcome,  ladies! 

Welcome !    [A  flourish  with  Drums  and  Trumpets. 

[Kxeunt. 

SCENE  V.    Antium.    A  public  Place. 
Enter  TrLLius  Attfidios,  with  Attendants. 
Auf.  Go  tell  the  lords  of  the  city,  I  am  here: 
Deliver  them  this  paper:  having  read  it. 
Hid  them  repair  to  the  market-place ;  where  I, 
Even  in  theirs  and  in  the  commons'  ears. 
Will  vouch  the  truth  of  it.    Him  I  accuse. 
The  city  ports'  by  this  hath  enter'd,  and 
Intends  to  appear  before  the  ^lenple,  honing 
To  purge  himself  with  words:  Despatch. 

[Exeunt  Attendants. 
Enter  three  or  four  Conspirators  of  AuHduis' 
Factiun. 
Most  welcome ! 

1  Cm.  How  is  it  with  our  general  ? 

A  of.  Even  so, 

As  witli  a  man  by  his  own  alms  empoison'd. 
And  with  his  charity  slain. 

2  Con.  Most  noble  sir. 
If  you  do  hold  the  same  intent  wherein 
You  wisii'd  us  parties,  we'll  deliver  you 

Of  your  great  danger. 

Auf.  Sir.  I  cannot  tell ; 

We  must  proceed,  as  we  do  find  the  people. 

3  Con.  The  people  will  remain  uncert;iin.  whilst 
'Twixt  you  there's  differenec :  but  the  fall  of  either 
Makes  the  survivor  heir  of  all. 

Auf.  I  know  it; 

And  my  pretext  to  strike  at  him  admits 
A  good  construction.    I  rais'd  iiim,  and  I  pami'd 
Mine  honor  forhis  truth  :  Wlio  being  so  heighten'd 
He  water'd  his  new  plants  .with  dews  of  llattery, 
Seducins  so  my  friends :  and  to  this  end, 
He  bow'd  his  nature,  never  kTiown  before 
Rut  to  be  rough,  unswayable,  and  free. 

3  Con.  Sir,  his  stoulness, 
'  Recall.  <  Gates. 


When  he  did  stand  for  consul,  which  he  lost 
IJy  lack  of  stooping. - 

Auf.  Tliat  I  would  have  spoke  of: 
Being  banish'd  for't,  he  came  unto  my  hearth ; 
Presented  to  my  knife  his  throat:  I  took  him  ; 
Made  him  joint  servant  with  me ;  gave  him  way 
In  all  his  own  desires ;  nay,  let  him  choose 
Out  of  my  tiles,  his  projects  to  accomplish. 
My  best  and  freshest  men;  serv'd  his  designmenta 
In  mine  own  person ;  holp  to  reap  the  fame. 
Which  he  did  end  all  his ;  and  took  some  pride 
To  do  myself  this  wrong :  till,  at  tlie  last, 
I  seemed  liis  tbllower,  not  partner;  and 
He  waged  me  with  his  countenance,^  as  if 
I  had  been  mercenary. 

1  Con.                          So  he  did,  my  lord : 
The  army  mari'eU'd  at  it.    And,  in  the  last. 
When  he"  had  carried  Rome;  and  that  we  look'd 
For  no  less  spoil  than  glory, 

Auf.  There  was  it; — 

For  which  my  sinews  shall  be  stretch'd  upon  him. 
At  a  few  drops  of  women's  rheum.6  which  are 
As  cheap  as  lies,  he  sold  the  blood  and  labor 
Of  our  great  action;  Therefore  shall  he  die. 
And  I'll  renew  me  in  his  fall.    But.  hark! 

[Drums  and  Trumpets  .sound,  tvilh  great 
shou/s  if  t/i£  People. 

1  Con.  Your  nativetown  you  enter'd  like  a  post, 
And  had  no  wolcomes  home;  but  he  returns, 
Splitting  the  air  with  noise.. 

2  Con.  And  patient  fools. 
Whose  chddren  he  hath  slain,  their  base  throats  tear, 
With  giving  him  glory. 

3  Con.  Therefore,  at  your  'vantage, 
Ere  he  express  himself,  or  move  the  people 
With  what  he  would  say.  let  him  feel  your  sword, 
Which  we  will  second.    When  he  lies  along. 
After  your  way  his  talc  pronounc'd  shall  bury 
His  reasons  with  his  body. 

A  uf.  Say  no  more ; 

Here  come  the  lords. 

Enter  the  Lords  of  the  City. 

Lords.  You  are  most  welcome  home. 

Auf.  I  have  not  deserv'd  it : 

But,  worthy  lords,  have  you  with  heed  perus'd 
What  1  have  written  to  you  1 

Jjtrds.  We  have. 

1  jMrd.  And  grieve  to  hear  it. 

What  faults  he  made  before  the  last,  I  think. 
Might  have  found  easy  tines:  but  there  to  end. 
Where  he  was  to  begin,  and  irivc  away 
The  beneilt  of  our  levies,  answering  us 
With  our  own  charge;'  making  a  treaty,  where 
There  was  a  yielding:  This  admits  no  excuse. 

Auf.  He  approaches,  you  shall  hear  him. 

Enter  Cokiola>xs,  with  Drums  and  Colors;  a 
Crowd  of  Citizens  loith  him. 

Cor.  Hail,  lords!  I  am  return'd  your  soldier; 
No  more  infected  with  m>'  coimtrj's  love. 
Than  when  I  parted  hence,  but  still  subsisting 
Under  your  great  command.    You  arc  to  know. 
That  prosperously  I  have  attempted,  and 
With  bloody  passage,  led  your  wars,  even  to 
The  gates  of  Rome.    Our  spioils  we  ha\e  brought 

home. 
Do  more  than  counterpoise,  a  full  third  part. 
The  charges  of  the  action.    We  have  made  peace. 
With  no  less  honor  to  the  Antiates, 
Than  shame  to  the  Komans:  And  we  here  de- 
liver. 
Subscribed  by  the  consuls  and  pati'icians. 
Together  witn  the  seal  o'  the  senate,  what 
^Ve  have  compounded  on. 

A  uf.  Read  it  not,  noble  lords ; 

But  tell  the  traitor,  in  the  highest  degree 
He  hath  abus'd  your  powers. 

Cor.  Traitor  !-^How  now  ] 

A  uf.  Ay,  traitor,  Marcius. 

Cor.      ..  Marcius? 

Auf.  Av.  Marcius,  Caius  Marcius;    Dost  thou 
think 
I'll  grace  thee  with  that  robbery,  thy  stol'n  name 
Corioianus  in  Corioli  ? 

S'ou  lords  and  heads  of  the  state,  perfidiously 
He  has  betray'd  your  business,  and  given  up. 
For  certain  drops  of  salt,  your  city  Rome, 
(I  say.  your  city,)  to  his  w'ife  and  mother : 

» Th-^tU'-'ht  me  rewarded  with  good  looks,  «  Tears. 

^Kewarding  us  with  our  own  expenses. 


570 


COJilOLANUS. 


Act.  V.  Scene  V. 


Breaking  his  dhth  and  resolution,  like 
A  twist  of  rotten  silk;  never  admitting 
Counsel  o'  the  war;  but  at  his  nurse^s  tears 
He  whin'd  and  roar'd  away  your  victory; 
That  paffes  blush'd  at  him,  and  men  of  heart 
LookM  wondering  eacii  at  otlier. 

Cor.  Hear'st  thou.  Mars ': 

Auf.  Name  not  the  god,  thou  boy  of  tears, — 
Car.  Ha ! 

Aiff.  No  more. 

Cur.  Measureless  liar,  thou  hast  made  my  heart 
Too  great  for  what  contains  it.    Boy !  0  slave  ! — 
Pardon  me.  lords,  'tis  the  first  time  that  ever 
I  was  fore'd  to  scold.    Your  judgments,  my  grave 

lords, 
INIust  give  this  cur  the  lie ;  and  his  owm  notion 
(  Wiio  wears  my  stripes  impress'd  on  him ;  tliat  must 

bear 
My  beating  to  his  grave)  shall  join  to  thrust 
The  lie  unto  him. 

1  Lord.  Peace,  both,  and  hear  me  speak. 
Cor.  Cut  me  to  pieces.  Voices ;  men  and  lads. 

Stain  all  your  edges  on  me. — Boy !     False  Jiound, 
If  you  have  writ  your  annals  true,  'tis  there, 
That  like  an  ea^le  in  a  dove-cote,  I 
Flutle-'d  your  Voices  in  Corioli : 
Alone  I  did  it. — Boy ! 

Auf.  .         Why,  noble  lords. 

Will  you  be  put  in  mind  of  his  blind  fortune, 
Whicli  was  your  shame,  by  this  unlioly  braggart, 
'Fore  your  own  eyes  and  ears  ] 

Con.  Let  him  die  for't.     [Sereral  speak  at  once. 

CU.  [Speakiiif;  promiscuou.'dii.]  Tear  liim  to 
pieces,  do  it  presently.  He  killed  my  son ; — my 
daughter; — He  killed  my  cousin  Marcus; — He 
killed  my  father. 

2  Lord.  Peace,  ho ; — no  outrage : — peace, 
T)ie  man  is  noble,  and  his  fame  folds  in 
This  orb  o'  the  earth.    His  last  offence  to  us 
Shall  liave  judicious*  hearing. — Stand,  Aufldius, 
And  trouble  not  the  peace. 

^  Judiciol. 


C(n:  0,  that  I  had  him. 

With  six  Aufidiuses,  or  more,  his  tribe, 
To  use  my  lawful  sword  ! 
Auf.  Insolent  Villain ! 

Con.  Kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill  him. 
[ADFiDiiis  and  the  Conspirators  draw, and  Mil 
CORioLANCS,  wlio  falls,  and  AtJFiDii^a  stands 
Ofi  tiim. 
Lords.  Hold,  hold,  hold,  hold. 

Auf.  My  noble  masters,  hear  me  speak. 

1  iMrd.  O  Tullus,— 

2  Lord.  Thou  hast  done  a  deed  whereat  valor  will 

weep. 

3  iMrd.  Tread  not  upon  him. — blasters  all,  be 

quiet; 
Put  up  your  swords. 

Auf.  My  lords,  when  you  shall  Imow  {as  in  this 
rage, 
Provok'd  by  him,  you  cannot)  the  great  danger 
Which  this  man's  life  did  owe  you,  you'll  rejoice 
That  he  is  thus  cut  off'.    Please  it  your  honors 
To  call  me  to  your  senate,  I'll  deliver 
Myself  your  royal  servant,  or  endure 
Your  lieaviest  censure. 

1  lAjrd.  Bear  from  hence  his  body, 

And  mourn  you  for  him  :  let  him  be  regarded 
As  the  most  noble  corse  that  ever  herald 
Did  follow  to  his  urn. 

*  2  Lord.  His  own  impatience 

Takes  from  Aufidius  a  great  part  of  blame. 
Let's  make  the  best  of  it. 

A  uf.  My  rage  is  gone, 

And  1  am  struck  with  sorrow. — Take  him  up. 
Help,  three  o'  the  chiefest  soldiers;  I'll  be  one.— 
Beat  thou  the  drum,  that  it  speak  mournfully: 
Trail  your  steel  pikes. — Though  in  this  city  lie 
Hath  widow'd  and  unchilded  many  a  one. 
Which  to  this  hour  bewail  the  injury. 
Yet  he  shall  have  a  noble  memory. — 
AsaisL' 

[Exeunt,  bearing  the  hodi/  of  CoRiOLANoa 
A  dead  Marcit  soumled. 


i 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTKD. 


Julius  C^sae, 

MA^'pr'rfA'^TnNn'.^    iTriumvirs  after  the  Death. 

Mf'iMiL^Sm't^',  \  «/Jul."«  Caesar.. 

Cicero,  Publics,  Pofilius  Lena;  Senators. 

Marcus  Brutus, 

Cassius, 

Casca, 

Treboxius, 

LiGARIUS, 

Decks  Brutus, 
Metellos  Cimber, 

ClS.XA, 

Flavius  ajid  Maru'llus,  Tribunes. 


Conspirators  against 
Julius  CiEi^ar. 


Artemidorus,  a  SopMst  of  Cuidos. 

A  Sootlisai/er. 

CiNXA,  a  Pott. 

Another  Poet. 

LuciLus,  TiTixius,   Messala,  young  Cato,  and 

VOLUMXius;  Friends  to  Brutus  and  Cassius. 
Varro,  Clitus,  Claudius,  Strato,  Lucius,  Daeda- 

Nius;  Servants  to  Jirulus. 
PiNDARUS,  Servant  to  Cassius. 

Calphurnta.  IVife  to  Cxsar. 
Portia,  IVife  to  Brutus. 

Senators,  Citizens,  Guards,  Attendants,  ^c. 


SCENE,  during  a  great  Part  of  the  Play,  at  Rome :  afterwards  at  Sardis ;  and  near  Pliilippi. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— Home.    A  Street. 
Enter  Flavius,  Marullus,  and  a  Rabble  of  Citi- 
zens. 
Flat:  Hence  ;  home,  you  idle  creatures,  get  you 
home ; 
Is  this  a  Jioliday  1    What !  know  you  not, 
Being  mechanical,  you  ought  not  walk, 
Ul^on  a  laboring  day,  without  the  sign 
01  your  protbssmn  f — Speak,  what  trade  art  thoul 

1  at.  Why,  sir,  a  carpenter. 

Mar.  Where  is  thy  leather  apron  and  thj'  rule? 
What  dost  thou  with  thy  best  apparel  on  1 — 
You,  sir ;  what  trade  are  you  \ 

2  Cit.  Truly,  sir,  in  respect  of  a  fine  workman, 
I  am  but,  as  you  would  say,  a  cobbler. 

Mar.  But  what  trade  art  thou  1  Answer  me  di- 
rectly. 

2  Cit.  A  trade,  sir,  that,  I  hope,  I  may  use  with 
a  sale  consiencc ;  which  is,  indeed,  sir,  a  mender 
of  bad  soles. 

Mar.  What  trade,  thou  knave?  thou  naughty 
knave,  what  trade  f 

2  Cit.  Nay,  I  beseech  you,  sir.  be  not  out  with 
me:  yet.  if  you  be  out,  sir,  I  can  mend  you. 

Mar.  What  meanest  tiiou  by  that!  Mend  me, 
thou  saucy  fclimv  .' 

2  Cit.  Why,  sir,  cobble  you. 

Flav.  Thou  art  a  cobbler,  art  thou  ? 

2  Cit.  Truly,  sir,  all  tliat  I  live  by  is,  with  the  awl: 
I  meddle  wilii  no  tradesman's  matters. nor  women's 
matters,  but  with  awl.  I  am,  indeed,  sir,  a  surgeon 
to  old  shoes ;  wlien  they  are  in  great  danger,  I  re- 
cover them.  As  proper  men  as  ever  trod  upon 
neat's  leather,  have  -^onc  upon  my  handy-work. 

Flav.  lint  wherefore  art  not  in  thy  shop  to-day  1 
Why  dost  thou  lead  these  men  about  the  streets] 

2  Cit.  Truly,  sir,  to  wear  out  their  shoes,  to  get 
myself  into  more  work,  13ut,  indeed,  sir,  we  make 
holiday,  to  see  Ccesar,  and  to  rejoice  in  his  triumph. 

Mar.  VVlierefore  rejoice?  What  conquest  brings 
he  home  ? 
What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 


To  grace  in  captive  bonds  iiis  chariot  wheels! 
Vou  blocks,  you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless 

things! 
0,  you  hard  hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome, 
Knew  you  not  Pompey  ?    Many  a  lime  and  oft, 
Have  you  climb'd  up  to  walls  and  battlements, 
To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops. 
Your  inliints  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat 
The  live-long  day,  with  patient  expectation. 
To  see  great  Pompey  pass  tiie  streets  of  Rome : 
And  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 
Have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout. 
That  Tyber  trembled  underneath  lier  banks, 
To  iiear  the  replication  of  your  sounds 
Made  in  her  concave  shores  ? 
And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  altire  ? 
And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  lioltday  I 
And  do  you  now  strew  llowcrs  in  his  way. 
That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pompey's  blood? 
Begone ; 

Run  to  your  houses,  fol!  upon  your  knees, 
Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague 
That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude. 

Fiuv.  Go,  go,  good  countrymen,  and  for  this  fault, 
Assemble  all  the  poor  men  of  your  sort ;' 
Draw  them  to  Tyber  banks,  and  weep  your  tears 
Into  the  channel,  till  the  lowest  stream 
Do  kiss  the  most  exalted  shores  of  all. 

[Exeunt  Citizens. 
See,  whe'r  their  basest  metal  be  not  mov'd; 
They  vanish  tongue-tied  m  their  guiltiness. 
Go  you  down  tliat  way  towards  the  Capitol; 
This  way  will  I :  Disrobe  the  images. 
If  you  do  tind  them  deck'd  with  ceremonies. 

Mar.  May  we  do  so  ? 
You  know,  it  is  the  feast  of  Lupercal. 

Flav.  It  IS  no  matter;  let  no  images 
Be  liung  with  Caesar's  trophies.  I'll  about, 
And  drive  away  the  vulgar  from  the  streets: 
So  do  you  too,  where  you  perceive  them  thick. 
These  growing  feathers  plucVd  from  Caesar's  wing, 


»  Kank. 


571 


Oil 


JULIUS   CESAR. 


Act  T. 


Will  Tiiakc  him  fly  an  ordinary  pitch  ; 

Wlio  (rise  would  soar  above  the  view  of  men, 

And  keep  us  all  in  servile  learl'ulness.       [JCa:eunt. 

SCENE  lh~ A  public  Place. 

Enter,  in  Procession,  with  Music,  C.^sar,  Antony, 

for  the    Course;  CalmiuriNia,  Portia,  J)ecius, 

Cicero,  Brutus,  Cassius,  and  Casca;  a  ^eat 

Crowd  fulUjwing^  among  iheni  a  Soothsayer. 

Csps.  Calphurnia, — 

Laaca.  Peace,  ho  '  Ca;sar  speaks. 

•  {Music  ceases. 

Cses,  Calphurnia, — 

Cal.  Here,  my  lord. 

Cses.  Stand  you  directly  in  Antonius'  way, 
When  he  doth  run  his  course.'-^— .Antoniuy,— 

Ant.  Caesar,  my  lord. 

Cxs.  Korp;et  not,  in  your  speed,  Antonius, 
To  touch  Calphurnia  :  lor  our  elders  say, 
Tlie  barrtM),  touched  in  this  holy  chase, 
Sliake  oil  their  sterile  curse. 

Ant.  I  shall  remember: 

When  Ca3sar  says,  Do  this,  it  is  perlbrm'd. 

Cses.  Set  on;  and  leave  no  ceremony  out.  [Music. 

Sooth.  Caesar. 

Cses.  Ha!  who  calls? 

Casca.  Bid  every  noise  be  still : — Peace  yet  af^ain. 

[Music  cca^'tes. 

Caos.  Who  is  it  in  the  press,^  that  calls  on  me  i 
I  hear  a  tonjiuc,  shriller  than  all  the  music, 
Cry,  C:esar;  Speak;  Ctesar  is  turn'd  to  hear. 

hootk.  Beware  tiie  ides  of  March. 

CiL's.  What  man  is  that? 

Bru.  A  sootlisayer,  bids  you  beware  tJie  ides  of 
March. 

Caes.  Set  him  before  me,  let  me  see  his  face. 

Cas.  Fellow,  come  from  tlie  tlirong :  Look  upon 
Caesar. 

Cxs.    What    say'st  thou   to  me  now?      Speak 
once  aj;ain. 

Soot/i.  Beware  the  ides  of  March. 

Cazs.  He  is  a  dreamer;  let  us  leave  him; — pass, 
[Sennet.'^    Exeunt  alt  but  Bru.  a7iil  Cas. 

Cas.  Wiil  you  go  see  the  order  of  tlie  course? 

Bru.  Not  i. 

Cas.  I  pray  you,  do. 

Bru,  I  am  not  gamesome :  I  do  lack  some  part 
Of  that  (juick  spirit  that  is  in  Antony. 
Let  me  not  hinder,  Cassius,  your  desires: 
I'll  leave  you. 

Cas.  Brutus,  I  do  observe  you  now  of  late: 
I  liave  not  from  your  eyes  that  gentleness, 
And  show  of  love,  as  I  was  wont  to  have  : 
You  bear  too  stubborn  and  too  strange  a  hand 
Over  your  friend  that  love&you.  ■ 

Brtc.  Cassius, 

Be  not  deceiv'd  :  if  I  have  veil'd  my  look, 
1  turn  the  trouble  of  my  countenance 
Merely  upon  myself.    Vexed  I  am, 
Of  late,  witii  passions  of  some  ditlerence, 
Conceptions  only  proper  to  myself^ 
Whicli  give  some  soil,  perhaps,  to  my  behaviors: 
But  let  not  therefore  my  good  friends  be  grieved  ; 
(Among  which  number.  Cassius,  be  you  one;) 
Nor  construe  any  further  my  neglect, 
Than  that  poor  Brutus,  with  himself  at  war, 
Forgets  the  shows  of  love  to  other  men. 

Cas.  Then,  Brutus,  1  have  much  mistook  your 
passion,^ 
By  means  whereof,  this  breast  of  mine  halh  buried 
Thoughts,  of  great  value,  worthy  cogitations. 
Tell  mc,  good  Brutus,  can  you  see  your  (ace  ? 

Bru.  No,  Cassius:  for  the  eye  sees  not  itself, 
But  by  rejection,  by  some  other  tilings. 

Cas.  'Tis  just: 
And  It  is  very  much  lamented,  Brutus, 
That  you  have  no  such  mirrors,  as  will  turn 
Your  hidden  worthiness  into  your  eye, 
That  you  might  see  your  shadow.     I  have  heard, 
Where  many  of  the  best  respect  in  Rome, 
(Except  immortal  Ca?sar,)  speaking  of  Brutus, 
And  groaning  underneath  this  age's  yoke. 
Have  wish'd  that  noble  Brutus  had  h'is  eyes. 

Bru.   Into  what  dangers  would  you   lead  me, 
Cassius, 
That  you  would  have  me  seek  into  m3-self 
For  that  which  is  not  in  nie  ? 
3  A  ceremony  observed  nt  tlic  feast  of  Lupercalt'a. 
"  Crowd.  «  Flourish  of  iustrumentp. 

a  The  nature  of  your  feeliuys. 


Cas.  Therefore, good  Brutus,  be  prepar'd  to  hear: 
And  since  you  know  you  cannot  see  yourself 
So  well  as  by  reflection,  I,  your  glass, 
Will  modestly  discover  to  yourself 
That  of  yourself  which  you  yet  know  not  of. 
And  be  not  jealous  of  me,  gentle  Brutus  : 
Were  I  a  common  laugher,  or  did  use 
To  stale'J  with  ordinary  oaths  my  love 
To  every  new  protester;  if  you  know  ^ 
That  I  do  fawn  on  men,  and  hug  them  hard. 
And  aller  scandal  them  ;  or  if  you  know 
That  I  profess  myself  iji  banqueting 
To  all  the  rout,  then  hold  me  darigerous. 

[Flour'ish  and  Shout, 

Bru.  What  means  this  shouting?  I  do  iear,  the 
people 
Choose  Cassar  for  their  king. 

Cas.  Ay,  do  you  fear  it  "^ 

Then  must  I  think  you  would  liut  have  it  so. 

Bru.  I  would  not.  Cassius ;  yet  I  love  him  well : — 
But  wherelbre  do  you  hold  me  here  so  long? 
What  is  it  that  you  would  impart  to  me  ? 
If  it  be  aught  toward  Hie  general  good, 
Set  hoimr  in  one  eye,  and  death  i'  the  other, 
And  i  will  look  on  both  indillerently : 
For,  let  the  gods  so  speed  me,  as  I  love 
The  name  of  honor  more  than  I  fear  death. 

Cas.  I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  Brutus 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favor 
Well,  honor  is  the  subject  of  my  story.— 
1  cannot  tell,  what  you  and  other  men 
TInnk  of  this  lilc;  but,  lor  my  single  self, 
1  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to'  be 
In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  born  free  as  Ccesar ;  so  were  you : 
We  both  have  fed  as  well :  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold,  as  well  as  lie. 
For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  daj', 
The  troubled  Tyber  chaliiii;  with  her  shores, 
Caesar  said  to  me,  Dar''st  thou,  Cassius,  noWj 
Leap  in  witfi  nie  into  this  angnjjlood, 
And  sivini  to  yonder  point?    Upon  the  word, 
Accoutred  as  I  was,  1  plunged  in. 
And  bade  him  follow:  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roar'd;  and  we  did  buffet  it 
With  lusty  sinews;  throwing  it  aside 
And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 
But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 
Cajsar  cryM,  Help  mc,  Cassius,  or  I  sink. 
I,  as  .Eneas,  our  great  ancestor, 
Did  Iroiu  the  llames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 
The  old  Anehises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tyber, 
Did  I  the  tired  Cssar:  And  thus  man 
is  now  become  a  god;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 
Jle  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 
And,  when  the  fit  was  on  liim,  I  did  mark 
How  he  did  shake:  'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake: 
His  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly; 
And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world, 
Did  lose  his  lustre:  I  did  hear  him  gro:ui: 
Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 
Mark  iiim,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 
Alas!  it  cried,  Give  me  some  drink,  Titinius, 
As  a  sick  girl.    Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 
A  man  of  such  a  teeble  temper'  should 
So  get  tlie  start  of  the  majestic  world. 
And  bear  the  palm  alone.  [Stiout.    Flourish. 

Bru.  Another  general  shout! 
I  do  believe,  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  iionors  that  are  hcapM  on  Ca'sar. 

Crt*.Why,man,hedoth  bestride  the  narrow  world, 
Like  a  Colossus;  and  we  petty  men 
\Valk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  lind  ourselves  dishonorable  graves. 
I\Ien  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fiites , 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus  and  Ca-sar:  What  should  he  in  that  Cjesar? 
\VliyslioukIlh;it  name  be  sounded  more  tiian  yours? 
Wnte  iliriti  loL'cthcr,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name  ; 
S.iuiul  lliem,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well; 
AVeii^h  them,  it  is  as  heavy;  conjure  with  them, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  as  Caesar.  [Sfiout. 
Xitw  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
lipon  what  meat  doth  this  our  CVsar  leed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great !  Age.  thou  art  shamed: 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  tlic  breed  of  noble  bloods! 


0  Make  common. 


1  Tern  peril  mcnlj  constitution. 


Scene  II. 


JULIUS   C^SAR. 


When  went  there  by  an  ajje.  since  the  great  Hood, 
But  it  was  !anrd  with  more  than  with  one  man  I 
Wiien  could  ihey  say,  till  now,  that  talkM  olRome, 
That  her  wide  walks  eucompassM  but  one  man  ! 
Now  is  it  Rome  indeed,  and  room  enough, 
When  Uicre  is  m  it  but  one  only  man. 
()!  you  and  I  have  Iieard  our  iatliers  say, 
There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brook'd 
Tlic  eternal  devil  to  keep  ids  state  in  Kome, 
As  eaSily  a^a  king. 

Bru.  Tliatyou  do  love  me,  lam  nothing  jealous; 
What  you  would  work  me  to,  1  have  some  aim  ;^ 
l!ow  I  have  thought  of  this,  and.of  tliese  times, 
1  shall  recount  hereafter;  lor  this  present, 
I  would  not,  so  with  love  I  might  er.treat  vou, 
He  any  lurtlier  movM.    What  you  have  said, 
I  will  consider;  wh;it  you  have  to  say, 
I  will  with  patience  Iiear:  and  JniJ  a  time 
itotli  meet  to  hear,  and  answer,  such  high  things. 
Till  tJien,  my  noble  triend.  chew'-*  upon  tJiis; 
Brutus  had  rather  be  a  villager. 
Than  to  repute  himself  a  son  of  Rome 
Under  these  hard  conditions  as  this  time 
Is  like  to  lay  upon  us. 

Cas.  I  am  glad  that  my  weak  words 
Have  struck  but  thus  much  show  of  hrc  from  Brutus. 

Re-enter  Cesar,  and  his  Train. 

Bru.  The  games  are  done,  and  Caesar  is  returning. 

Cas.  As  they  pass  by,  pluck  Casca  by  the  sleeve; 
And  he  will,  after  his  sour  fashion,  tell  you 
What  hath  proceeded,  worthy  note,  to-day. 

Bru.  I  will  do  so  :— But  look  you,  Cassius, 
Tlie  angry  spot  doth  glow  on  Cajsar's  brow, 
And  ail  the  rest  look  like  a  chidden  train : 
Calphurnia's  cheek  is  pale  ;  and  Cicero 
Looks  with  such  ferret^  and  sut.h  hery  eyes. 
As  we  have  seen  him  in  the  Capitol, 
Being  cross'd  in  corileienrc  hy  some  senators. 

Cas.  Casca  will  tt-ll  us  what  the  matter  is. 

Cxs.  Antonius, — 

Ant.  Caisar, — 

C'rT.v.  Let  me  have  men  al)out  me  that  are  fat; 
Klirk-hi'adrd  men,  and  such  as  sleep  o'nights: 
Vnini'  Ciissius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look  ; 
He  thinks  too  much  :  such  men  are  dangerous. 

Ant.  Fear  him  not,  C<Tsar.  he's  not  dangerous; 
He  is  a  noble  Roman,  and  well  given. 

Ca-.?.  'Would  he  were  fatter:— But  1  fear  Iiimnot: 
Yet  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear, 
I  do  not  know  the  man  1  should  avoid 
So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius.    He  reads  much ; 
He  is  a  great  observer,  and  he  looks 
(^uite  through  the  deeds  of  men:  he  loves  no  plays, 
As  ihou  dost,  Antony;  he  hears  no  music: 
Sekiom  he  smiles;  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort. 
As  if  he  mock'd  himself,  and  scorn'd  his  spnit 
That  could  be  mov'd  to  smile  at  any  thing. 
Such  men  as  he  be  never  at  heart's  ease, 
Wliiles  tliey  behold  a  greater  than  themselves; 
And  tiiorelore  are  they  very  dangerous. 
I  rather  tell  thee  what  is  to  be  fearM, 
Tiian  what  I  tear,  for  always  I  am  Ctesar. 
Come  on  my  right  hand,  for  this  ear  is  deaf. 
And  tell  me  truly  what  thou  think'st  of  iiim. 

[Exeunt  C.^:sau  a7id  his  Train,    Casca 
stays  hefiind. 

Casca.  You  puird  me  by  the  cloak;  would  you 
spea  k  with  me  \ 

Bru.  Ay,  Casca ;  tell  us  what  hatli  chanced  to-day, 
That  Cssar  looks  so  sad. 

Ca.'-ica.  Why,  you  were  with  him,  were  vou  not] 

Bru.  I  should  not  then  ask  Casca  what  liath 
eliancM. 

Ca.'^cci.  Wtiy. there  was  a  crown  ofTerM  him:  and 
beiuL'  oiler'd  him.  he  put  it  by  with  the  back  of  liis 
hand,  tims;  and  then  the  people  tell  a-shouting. 

Bru.  Wliat  was  the  second  noise  ibr  ] 

Caica.  Why.  tor  tliat  too. 

Cus,  They  snouted   thrice;  Whut  was  the  last 
cry  for  ] 

Casca.  VVhy,  for  that  too. 

Bru.  Was  the  crown  offered  him  thrice  1 

Casca.  Ay,  marry,  was't,  and  he  i)ut  it  by  thrice, 
every  time  gentler  than  other;  and  at  every  putting 
by,  mine  honest  neighbors  shouted. 

Ca.'i.  Who  offered  him  the  crown! 

Casca.  Why,  Antony. 

Bru.  Tell  us  the  manner  of  it,  gentle  Casca. 
•  Guess.      3  KumiD;ite.       '  A  ferret  has  red  eyes. 


Casca.  I  can  as  well  be  hanged  as  tell  the  man- 
ner of  it:  it  was  mere  Ibolery.  I  did  not  mark  it. 
I  saw  JMark  Antony  offer  him  a  crown; — yet  'twas 
not  a  crown  neither, 'twas  one  of  these  coronets; 
— and,  as  I  told  you,  he  put  it  by  once;  but,  for  all 
that,  to  my  thiidving,  he  would  Iain  have  had  it. 
Tlien  he  offered  it  to  him  again;  tlien  he  put  it  by 
again;  but,  to  my  tliinking,  he  was  very  loath  to 
lay  his  lingers  oti  it.  And  then  he  offbred  it  the 
tlnrd  time;  he  put  it  the  tJiird  time  by:  and  still  as 
he  refused  it,  the  rabblement  hooted,  and  clapjjed 
their  chopped  hands,  and  threw  up  their  sweaty 
night-caps,  and  uttered  such  a  deal  of  slinking 
breath  because  Casar  refused  tlie  crown,  that  it 
had  almost  choked  Casar;  lor  he  swooned,  and  fell 
down  at  it:  And  lor  mine  own  part,  1  durst  not 
laugh,  tor  lear  of  opening  my  hps,  and  receiving 
the  bad  air. 

Cas,  But  soft,  I   pray  you:    What!    did  Caisar 
swoon  ! 

Casca.  He  lell  down  in  the  market-place,  and 
foamed  at  mouth,  and  was  speechless. 

Bru.  'Tis  very  like:  he  hath  the  falling-sickness. 

Cas.  No,  Casar  hath  it  not:  but  you,  and  I, 
And  honest  Casca,  we  have  the  laltiuf^-sickness. 

Casca.  I  know  not  what  you  mean  by  tliat;  but, 
I  am  sure  Ca'sar  Irll  down^  If  the  tag-rag  people 
did  not  clap  iiim,  and  liiss  him,  according  as  he 
pleased,  and  disjileased  them,  as  they  used  to  do  the 
players  in  the  theatre,  1  am  no  true  man. 

Bru.  What  said  he,  when  he  came  unto  hitnself? 

Casca.  Marry,  belbre  he  fell  down,  when  he  per- 
ceived the  common  herd  was  glad  he  refused  the 
crown,  he  plucked  me  ope  his  doublet,  and  offered 
them  his  throat  to  cut. — An  1  had  been  a  man  of 
any  occupation,  if  I  would  not  have  taken  him  at  a 
word,  I  would  1  miglitgoto  liell  among  the  rogues: 
— and  so  he  fell.  When  lie  came  to  himself  again, 
he  said.  If  he  had  done,  or  said,  anything  amiss,  he 
desired  their  worships  to  think  it  was  his  infirmity. 
Three  or  lour  wenches,  where  1  stood,  cried.  Alas, 
gt)od  .soul.' — and  lorgave  him  witli  all  their  hearts: 
But  tJiere's  no  heed  to  be  taken  ofthem;  if  Ca-sar 
had  stabbed  their  mothers,  they  would  have  done 
no  less. 

Bru.  And  after  that,  he  came,  thus  sad,  awayl 

Casca.  Ay. 

Cas.  Did  Cioero  say  any  thing ! 

Casca,  Ay,  lie  spoke  Greek. 

Cas.  To  what  effect? 

Casca.  Nay,  an  1  tell  you  that,  I'll  ne'er  look  you 
i'  the  face  again:  But  tliose  that  understood  him, 
smiled  at  one  another,  and  shook  their  heads;  but, 
lor  mine  own  part,  it  was  (Ireek  to  me.  I  could  tell 
you  more  news  too:  MaruUus  and  Flavius,  ibr 
pulling  scarJs  off'Ca'sar's  images,  are  put  to  silence. 
Fare  you  well.  There  was  more  Ibolery  yet,  if  I 
could  remember  it. 

Cas.  Will  you  sup  with  me  to-nigtit,  Casca  1 

Casca.  No.  1  am  promised  forth. 

Cas.  Will  you  dine  with  me  to-morrow  T 

Casca.  Ay,  if  I  he  alive,  and  your  mind  hold,  and 
your  dinner  worth  the  eating. 

Cas.  Good:  1  will  expect  you. 

Casca.  Do  so:  Farewell  botn.  [Exit  Casca. 

Bru.  What  a  blunt  fellowthis  is' grown  to  be; 
He  was  quick  mettle,  when  he  went  to  school. 

Cas.  So  is  he  now,  in  execution 
Of  any  bold  or  noble  enterprise, 
Hijwever  he  puts  on  this  tardj-  form. 
This  rudeness  is  a  sauce  to  ms  good  wit. 
Which  gives  men  stomach  to  digest  his  words 
With  better  appetite. 

Bru.  And  so  it  is.    For  this  time  I  will  leave  you . 
To-morrow,  if  you  jileasc  to  speak  with  me, 
I  will  come  Iiome  to  you  ;  or,  if  you  will, 
Come  home  to  me,  and  I  will  wait  for  you. 

Cas.  I  will  do  so: — till  then,  think  ot  the  world. 

[Exit  Brutub. 
Well  Brutus,  thou  art  noble ;  yet,  I  see, 
Thy  honorable  metal  may  be  "wrought 
From  that  it  is  dispus'd  :-    Therelbre,  His  meet 
That  noble  minds  keep  ever  with  their  likes: 
For  who  so  tirm.  tfiat  caimot  be  seduc'd  ! 
Caesar  doth  bear  me  hard;  but  he  loves  Brutus: 
If  I  were  Brutus  now.  and  he  were  Cassius, 
He  should  not  humor^  me.    I  will  this  night, 
In  several  hands,  in  at  his  windows  throw, 
As  if  they  came  from  several  citizens, 

2  Disposed  to.  a  C-jjole. 


574 


JULIUS   CESAR. 


Act  I.  Scene  III. 


Writings  all  tending  to  the  great  opinion 

That  Rome  lioids  of  liis  name;  wherein  obscurely 

Csesar';:;  ambition  shall  be  glanced  at : 

And,  aller  this,  let  Ca-sar  seat  him  sure ; 

For  we  will  shake  him,  or  worse  days  endure. 

[Exit. 
SCENE  III.— J  Street. 
Thinvler  and  Lif^fttninK.     Enter,  from  opposite 

Aides,  Casca,  ii'i//i  fiis  Sword  drawn,  and  Cicero. 

Cic.  Good  even,  Casca:  Brought  you  Ca!sar  home? 
Why  are  you  breathless!  and  why  stare  you  so  ! 

Casca.  Are  not  you  mov'd,  wlicn  all  the  sway 
of  earth 
Shakes,  like  a  thing  unfirm  1    0  Cicero, 
I  have  seen  tempests  when  the  scolding  winds 
Have  rived  the  knotty  oaks ;  and  I  have  seen 
The  ambitious  ocean  swell,  and  rage,  and  loam. 
To  he  exalted  with  the  tbrr.it'ning  clouds: 
But  never  till  to-night,  never  till  now, 
Did  1  go  through  a  tem]iest  dropping  fire. 
Either  there  is  a  civil  strife  in  heaven; 
Or  else  the  world,  too  saucy  with  the  gods, 
Incenses  them  to  send  destruction. 

Cic.  Why,  saw  you  any  thing  more  wonderful  1 

Casca.  A  common  slave  (you  know  him  well  by 
sight) 
Held  up  his  left  hand,  which  did  flame,  and  burn 
Like  twenty  torclies  join'd :  and  yet  his  hand, 
Not  sensible  of  fire.  rcmainM  unscoreh'd. 
Besides,  (I  have  not  since  put  up  my  sword,) 
Against  the  Capitol  I  met  a  lion, 
Wlio  glan^d  upon  me,  and  went  surly  by. 
Without  annoying  me;  and  there  were  drawn 
Upon  a  heap,  a  hundred  ghastly  women. 
Transformed  with  their  tear:  w-ho  swore,  they  saw 
Men,  all  on  fire,  walk  up  ana  down  the  streets. 
And,  yesterday,  the  bird  of  night  did  sit, 
Even  at  noon-"day,  upon  the  market-place. 
Hooting  and  shrieking.    When  these  prodigies 
Do  so  conjointly  meet,  let  not  men  say. 
These  are  their  reasons, — They  are  natural; 
For,  I  believe,  they  are  portentous  things 
Unto  the  climate  that  they  point  upon. 

Cic.  Indeed,  it  is  a  strange-disposed  time: 
But  men  may  construe  things  alter  their  tiishion, 
Clean  from  the  purpose  of  the  things  themselves. 
Comes  Ca'sar  to  the  Capitol  to-morrow  ,' 

Casca.  He  doth ;  tor  he  did  bid  Antonius 
Send  word  to  you,  he  would  be  there  to-morrow. 

fie.  Good  night  then,  Casca:  this  disturbed  sky 
Is  not  to  walk  in. 

Casca.  Farewell,  Cicero. 

Enter  Cassius. 

Cra.  Who's  there? 

Casca.  A  Roman. 

C'ts.  Casca,  by  your  voice. 

Casca.  Your  ear  is  good.    Cassius,  what  night  is 
tills! 

Cos.  A  very  pleasing  night  to  honest  men. 

Casca.  Who  ever  know  the  heavens  menace  so  ? 

Cas.  Those  that  have  known  tlie  earth  so  full 
of  faults. 
For  my  part.  I  have  walkVl  about  the  streets, 
Submitting  me  unto  the  perilous  night. 
And,  thus  unbraced.  Casca,  as  you  see. 
Have  bared  ray  bosom  to  the  thunder-storm  ; 
And,  when  the  cross  blue  lightning  sccni'd  to  open 
The  breast  of  heaven,  I  did  present  myself 
Even  in  the  aim  and  ve*5'  (lash  of  it. 

Cascu.  But  wherefore  did  you  so  much  tempt 
the  heavens! 
It  is  the  part  of  men  to  fear  and  tremble. 
When  the  most  mighty  gods,  by  tokens,  send 
Such  dreadful  heralds  to  astonish  us. 

Cas.  You  are  duB,  Casca;  and  those  sparks  of 
life 
That  should  be  in  a  Roman,  you  do  want. 
Or  else  you  use  not:  You  look  pale,  and  gaze. 
And  put  on  fear,  and  cast  yourself  in  wonder. 
To  see  the  strange  impatience  of  the  heavens : 
But  if  y.<u  v,ould  consider  the  true  cause, 
Why  all  Ihese  fires,  why  all  these  gliding  ghosts, 
Wliy  birds  and  beasts,  rrom  quality  and  kind;J 
Why  old  men,  fools,  and  children  calculate  : 
Why  all  these  things  change,  from  their  ordinance, 
Their  natures  and  pro-formed  faculties. 
To  monstrous  quality;  why,  you  shall  find, 
«>Vhy  they  deviiite  from  qunlity  and  nature. 


That  heaven  hath  infus'd  them  with  these  spirits, 
To  make  them  instruments  of  fear  and  warning, 
Unto  some  monstrous  state.    Now  could  I,  Casca, 
Name  to  thee  a  man  most  like  this  dreadful  mght ; 
That  thunders,  lightens,  opens  graves,  and  roars 
As  doth  the  lion  in  the  Capitol: 
A  man  no  mightier  than  thyself,  or  me. 
In  personal  action ;  yet  prodigious  grown, 
And  fearful,  as  these  strange  eruptions  are. 

Casca.  'Tis  Caesar  that  you  mean:    Is  it  not, 
Cassius ! 

Cas.  Let  it  be  who  it  is :  for  Romans  now 
Have  thews^  and  limbs  like  to  their  ancestors; 
But  woe  the  while  !  our  fathers'  minds  are  dead, 
And  we  are  govern'd  with  our  mothers'  spirits; 
Our  yoke  and  sullerance  show  us  womanish. 

Casca.  Indeed,  they  say,  the  senators  to-morrow 
Mean  to  establish  Caesar  as  a  king: 
And  he  shall  wear  his  crown  by  sea  and  land, 
In  every  place,  save  here  in  Ital)'. 

Cas.  I  know  where  I  will  wear  this  dagger  then: 
Cassius  from  bondage  will  deliver  Cassius : 
Therein,  ye  gods, you  make  the  weak  most  strong; 
Therein,  ye  gods,  you  tyrants  do  deleat: 
Nor  stony  tower,  nor  walls  of  beaten  brass, 
Nor  airless  dungeon,  nor  strong  links  of  iron. 
Can  be  retentive  to  the  strength  of  spirit; 
But  Bfe,  being  weary  of  these  worldly  bars. 
Never  lacks  power  to  dismiss  itself. 
If  I  know  this,  know  all  the  world  besides, 
That  part  of  tyranny  that  I  do  bear, 
I  can  shake  oil  at  j^leasure. 

Casca.  So  can  I : 

So  every  bondman  in  his  own  hand  bears 
The  power  to  cancel  his  captivity. 

Cas.  And  why  should  Ca-sar  be  a  tjTant  theni 
Poor  man  !  I  know,  he  would  not  be  "a  wolf. 
But  that  he  sees  the  Romans  are  but  sheep : 
He  were  no  lion,  were  not  Romans  hinds.!* 
Those  that  with  haste  will  make  a  mighty  fire. 
Begin  it  with  weak  straws:  What  trash  is  Rome, 
What  rubbish,  and  what  otial,  wdien  it  serves 
For  the  base  matter  to  illuminate 
So  vile  a  thing  as  Cssar?    But,  O  grief! 
Where  hast  thou  led  me !  I,  perhaps,  speak  this 
Before  a  willing  bondman:  then  I  know 
My  answer  must  be  made :  But  I  am  arm'd, 
And  dangers  are  to  me  indificrent. 

Casca.  You  speak  to  Casca ;  and  to  such  a  man. 
That  is  no  fleering  tell-tale.    Hold  my  liand: 
Be  factious  lor  redress  of  aU  these  griefs; 
And  I  will  set  this  foot  of  mine  as  far, 
As  who  goes  farthest. 

Cas.  There's  a  bargain  made. 

Now  know  you,  Casca,  I  have  mov'd  already 
Some  certain  of  the  noblest-minded  Romans, 
To  undergo  with  me  an  enterprise 
Of  honorable-dangerous  consequence ; 
And  I  do  know,  by  this,  they  stay  for  me 
In  Pompey's  porch  :  for  now,  this  fearful  night. 
There  is  no  stir,  or  walking  in  the  streets; 
And  the  complexion  of  the  element 
Is  favor'd,'  like  the  work  we  have  in  hand. 
Most  bloody,  fiery,  and  most  terrible. 
Enter  Cinxa. 

Casca.  Stand  close  awhile,  for  here  comes  one 
in  haste. 

Cas.  'Tis  Cinna,  I  do  Ktiow  him  by  his  gait ; 
He  is  a  friend.— Cinna,  where  haste 'you  so  ! 

Cm.  To  find  out  you :    Who's  that !    Melcllus 
'  Cimber! 

Cas.  No,  it  is  Casca  ;  one  incorporate 
To  our  attempts.    Am  I  not  staid  for,  Cinna  1 

Cm.  I  am  glad  oii't.  What  a  fearful  night  is  this ! 
There's  two  or  three  of  us  have  seen  .strange  sights. 

Cas.  Am  I  not  staid  for,  Cinna?  tell  me.' 

Cin.  Yes- 

You  are.    0,  Ca.ssius,  if  you  could  but  win 
The  noble  Brutus  to  our  party 

Cas.  Be  you  content:  Good  Cinna,  take  this  paper, 
And  look  you,  lay  it  in  the  priptor's  chair. 
Where  Brutus  may  but  find  it;  and  throw  this 
In  at  his  window:  set  this  up  with  wav 
Upon  old  Brutu.s'  statue:  all  this  done. 
Repair  to  Pompey's  porch,  where  you  shall  find  us, 
Is  Decius  Brutus,  and  Trehonius, "there  ! 

Cin.  All  but  Melcllus  Cimber:  and  he's  gone 
To  seek  you  at  your  hou.se.    Well.  I  will  hie. 
And  so  bestow  these  papers  as  you  bade  me. 
•  Mueclcs.  'Deer.  'Apprars 


Act  II.  Scene  I. 


JULIUS    CESAR. 


575 


Cas.  That  done,  repair  to  Pompcy's  theatre. 

[  Exit  CiNXA. 
Come.  Casca,  j'ou  and  I  will  yet,  ere  day, 
See  Brutus  at  his  house:  three  i">arts  of  him 
Is  ours  already ;  and  the  man  entire, 
Upon  the  next  encounter,  yields  him  ours. 

Ca\cu.  O,  he  sits  high,  in  all  the  people's  hearts: 
And  that  whicli  would  appear  offence  in  us. 


Ilis  countenance,  like  richest  alchymy, 
Will  change  to  virtue,  and  to  worthiness. 
Ciis.  Him,  and  his  worth,  and  our  gieat  need  ot 
liim. 
You  have  right  well  conceited.    Let  us  go, 
For  it  is  af^er  midnight;  and,  ere  day. 
We  will  awake  him,  and  be  sure  of  him. 

[ExeuTii. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— Brutus's  Orchartl 

Enter  ERrTia. 

Brii.  What,  Lucius  !  ho  ! — 
I  cannot,  by  the  progress  of  the  stars, 
Oivc  guess  how  near  to  day. — Lucius,  I  say! 
I  would  it  were  my  fault  to  sleep  so  soundly. 
When, Lucius,  when  ?  Awake,  I  say :  What,  Lucius ! 
Enter  Lccius. 

Lite.  Call'd  you,  my  lord  ? 

Bra.  Get  mc  a  taper  in  my  study,  Lucius: 
When  it  is  lighted,  come  aiui  call  ine  here. 

Jaic.  I  will,  my  lord.  \^Exif. 

Brii.    It  must  be  by  his  death :  and,  for  my  part, 
I  know  no  personal  cause  to  spurn  at  him. 
But  Ibr  the  general.    He  would  be  crowned : — • 
How  that  might  change  his  nature,  there's  the 

question. 
It  is  the  bright  day  that  brings  forth  the  adder; 
And  that   craves  wary  walking.    Crown  him  ? — 

That  :— 
And  then,  I  grant,  we  put  a  sting  in  him. 
That  at  his  will  he  may  do  danger  with. 
Tile  abuse  of  greatness  is.  when  it  disjoins 
Remorse'  from  power:    And,  to  speak  truth  of 

CVsar, 
I  have  not  known  when  his  alTection  sway'd 
More  than  his  reason.    But  'tis  a  common  proofs 
That  lowliness  is  young  ambition's  ladder, 
AVIirrcIo  the  climuer  upward  turns  his  face: 
But  when  he  once  attains  the  upmost  round, 
lie  then  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 
Loojvs  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees* 
By  which  he  did  ascend:  So  Ciesar  may: 
Tiirn,  lest  he  may,  prevent.  And,  since' the  quarrel 
Will  bear  no  color  for  the  thing  he  is, 
Fiisliicin  it  thus;  that  what  he  is,  augmented, 
WouliI  run  to  these,  and  these  extremities: 
And  therefore  think  him  as  a  serpent's  egg. 
Which,  hatch'd,  would,  as  his  kind,  grow  mis- 
chievous ; 
And  kill  him  in  the  shell. 

Re-enter  Lrcirs. 

Iaic.  The  taper  burnetii  in  your  closet,  sir. 
Searching  the  window  for  a  ll'int,  I  found 
This  paper,  thus  seal'd  up;  and,  I  am  sure, 
It  did  not  lie  there  when  I  went  to  bed. 

Brii.  Get  you  to  bed  again,  it  is  not  day. 
Is  not  to-morrow,  boy,  the  ides  of  March  ! 

Luc.  I  know  not,  sir. 

Bra.  Look  in  the  calendar,  and  bring  mc  word. 

Luc.  1  will,  sir. 

Bru.  The  exhalations,  whizzing  in  the  air, 
Gives  so  much  light,  that  I  may  read  by  them. 

[Ojieii.t  the  Litter,  and  reads. 
Brutux,  ttinu  sleep'st ;  awake,  and  .sfe  Itiyself. 
Stiall  Riniie,  i-c.    Speak,  -strike,  redress  ! 

Brutus,  ttiau  steepest;  awake 

Such  instisations  have  been  often  dropp'd 
Wlier"  I  have  took  them  up. 
Stiall  Rome,  4'C.    Thus  must  I  piece  it  out; 
Shall  Rome  stand  under  one  man's  awe  1    What ! 

Home  ? 
My  ancestors  did  from  the  streets  of  Rome 
The  Tarquin  drive,  when  he  was  call'd  a  king. 
Speak,  strike,  redress .' — Am  I  entreated  then 
To  speak,  and  strike?    0  Rome!    I  make  thoe 

promise. 
If  tlie  redress  will  follow,  thou  receivest 
Thy  full  petition  at  the  hand  of  Brutus. 
Re-enter  LfcifS. 

Luc.  Sir,  March  has  wasted  fourteen  days. 

[Knock  within. 

•  rity,  tenderness.         9  Experienco.  *  Low  steps. 


Bru.  'Tis   good.     Go  to  the   gate;   somebody 
knocks.  [Exit  Llcil-s. 

Since  Cassius  first  did  whet  me  against  Casar, 
I  have  not  slept. 

Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  tiling 
And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  phantasma.^  or  a  hideous  dream : 
The  genius,  and  the  mortal  instruments, 
Are  then  in  council ;  and  the  state  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection. 

Re-enter  Lucius. 

lAtc.  Sir,  'tis  your  brother  Cassius  at  the  door, 
Who  doth  desire  to  sec  you. 

Bru.  Is  he  alone  ? 

Luc.  No,  sir,  there  are  more  with  hiin. 

Bra.  Do  you  know  them  1 

Luc.  No,  sir;  their  hats  are  pluck'd  about  their 
ears. 
And  half  their  faces  buried  in  their  cloaks. 
That  by  no  means  I  may  discover  them 
By  any  mark  of  favor.3 

Bru.  Let  them  enter. 

I £jcit  Lucifs 
They  are  the  faction.    0  conspiracy ! 
Sham'st  tliou  to  show  thy  dangerous  brow  by  night, 
When  evils  are  most  free  !    (),  then,  by  day. 
Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 
To  mask  Ihy  monstrous  visage  !     Seek  none,  con- 
spiracy; 
Hide  it  in  smiles,  and  aflirbilit}': 
For  if  thou  iialh  thy  native  semblance  on,-" 
Not  Erebus^  itself  were  dim  enough 
To  hide  thee  from  prevention. 
Enter  Cassius,  Casca,  Decius,  Cixka,  Metellus 
CiiiBEU,  and  Tkebosius. 

Cas.  I  think  we  are  too  bold  upon  your  rest: 
Good  morrow,  Brutus :  Do  we  trouble  you  ! 

Bru.  1  have  been  up  this  hour;  awake  all  night. 
Know  I  these  niAi,  that  come  along  with  you  ? 

Cas.  Yes,  c\ery  man  of  llicm;  and  no  man  here, 
But  honors  you :  and  every  one  doth  wish, 
You  had  but  tliat  opinion  of  yourself. 
Which  every  noble  Roman  bears  of  you. 
This  is  Trebonius. 

Bni.  He  is  welcome  hither. 

('as.  This,  Decius  Brutus. 

Sru.  He  is  welcome  too. 

Cas.  This,  Casca ;  this,  Cinna ; 
And  this,  Metellus  Ciniber. 

Bru.  They  are  all  welcome. 

What  watchful  cares  do  interpose  tliemselves 
Betwixt  your  eyes  and  night ! 

Ca.i.  Shall  I  entreat  a  word  !  <Thei/  whisper. 

Dec.  Here  lies  the  cast:  i)oth  not  the  day  break 
here? 

Casca.  No. 

Cia.  0,  pardon,  sir,  it  doth;  and  yon  grey  lines. 
That  fret  the  clouds,  arc  messengers  of  day. 

Casca.  You  shall  confess,  that  you  are  uotli  de- 
ceiv'd. 
Here,  as  I  point  my  sword,  the  sun  arises; 
Which  is  a  great  way  growing  on  the  south. 
Weighing  the  youthful  season  of  the  year. 
Some  two  months  licnccuphigherloward  thenorth 
He  lirst  presents  his  fire ;  and  the  high  east 
Stands,  ,as  the  Capitol,  directly  here. 

Bra.  Give  me  your  hands  all  over,  one  by  one. 

Cas.  And  let  us  swear  our  resolution. 

Bru.  No,  not  an  oath  :  If  not  the  face^  of  men, 
The  suOtrance  of  our  souls,  the  time's  abuse,— 

■>  Vision.  a  Countenance. 

«  Walk  in  thy  true  form.  »  Hell. 

1  Perhaps  Sbakspeare  wrote  faith. 


576 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


Act  11. 


If  these  be  motives  weak,  break  oflf  betimes, 

And  every  man  hence  to  his  idle  bed; 

So  let  high-sighted  tyranny  range  on. 

Till  each  man  drop  by  lottery.    But  if  these, 

As  I  ;i^n  sure  they  do,  hear  tire  enough 

To  kindle  cowards,  and  to  steel  with  valor 

The  melting  spirits  of  women  ;  then,  countrymen, 

What  need  we  any  spur,  but  onr  own  cause, 

To  prick  us  to  redress  ]  what  other  bond. 

Than  secret  Romans,  that  have  spoke  the  word, 

AtkI  will  not  palter]'  and  what  other  oath, 

Than  honesty  to  honesty  entraged, 

That  this  shall  be.  or  we  will  tall  for  iti  . 

Swear  priests,  and  cowards,  and  men  cautelous,^ 

Old  feeble  carrions,  and  such  .^utlering  souls 

That  welcome  wrongs;  unto  bad  causes  swear 

Such  creatures  as  men  doubt;  but  do  not  stain 

Tile  even  virtue  of  our  enterprise. 

Nor  the  insuppressive  mettle  of  our  spirits, 

To  tiiink,  that,  or  our  cause,  or  our  performance, 

Did  need  an  oath  ;  when  every  drop  of  blood. 

That  every  Roman  bears,  and  nobly  bears. 

Is  guilty  of  a  several  bastardy. 

If  he  do  break  the  smallest  particle 

Of  any  promise  that  hath  pass  d  from  him. 

Co*.  But  what  of  Cicero  I    Shall  we  sound  him  1 
I  think,  he  will  stand  very  strong  with  us, 
Ca^ca.  Let  us  not  leave  him  out, 
CifJ.  ■    No,  by  no  means. 

Mtt.  0,  let  us  have  him  ;  for  Ins  silver  hairs 
Will  purchase  us  a  good  opinion. 
And  huy  men's  voices  to  commend  our  deeds; 
It  shall  be  said,  his  judgment  rul'd  our  hands: 
Our  youths,  and  wildness,  shall  no  whit  appear, 
But  all  be  buried  in  his  gravity. 
Brti.  O,  name  him  not;  let  us  not  break  with 
him;i 
For  he  will  never  follow  any  thing 
That  other  men  begin. 
Cas,  Then  leave  him  out. 

Casca.  Indeed,  he  is  not  ht. 
Dec.  Shall   no  man  else    be  toucliM   but  only 

Caesar  1 
Caft.  Decius,  well  urged  :— I  think  it  isnotmeet, 
Mark  Antony,  so  well  bclov'd  ofCa'sar, 
Should  outlive  Ciesar.    We  shall  find  of  him 
A  shrewd  contriver;  and,  you  know,  his  means, 
If  he  improves  them,  may  well  stretch  so  far. 
As  to  annoy  us  all:  wliich  to  prevent, 
Let  Antony  and  Ciesar  lall  together. 
Brii.  Our  course  will  seem   too  bloody,  Caius 
Cassius, 
To  cut  the  head  ofT,  and  then  hack  the  limbs; 
Like  wrath  in  death,  and  envy'  afterwards: 
For  Antony  is  but  a  limb  of  Ca;sar. 
Let  us  be  sacriticers,  but  no  butchers.  Caius, 
We  all  stand  up  aganist  the  spirit  of  Caesar ; 
And  in  the  spirit  of  men  there  is  no  blood  : 
0,  that  we  then  could  come  by  Caesar's  spirit, 
And  not  dismember  Cisar  !     But,  alas,     , 
Cees-ar  must  bleed  for  it !     And,  gentle  friends, 
Let^s  kill  him  boldly,  but  not  wrathfully  ; 
Let's  carve  him  as  a  dish  fit  tor  the  gods, 
Not  hew  him  as  a  carcase  lit  for  hounds : 
And  let  our  hearts,  as  subtle  masters  do, 
Stir  up  their  servants  to  an  act  of  rage. 
And  allcr  seem  to  chide  them.    This. shall  make 
Our  imrpose  necessary,  and  not  envious: 
Whicii  so  appearing  to  the  conunon  eyes, 
We  shall  be  call'd  purgers,  not  murderers. 
And  lur  Mark  Antony,  think  not  of  him; 
For  he  can  do  no  more  than  Ca;sar's  arm, 
When  Caesar's  head  is  olK 
Cas,  Yet  I  do  fear  him  : 

For  lu  the  ingrafted  love  he  bears  to  Cirsar: 

Jiru.  Alas,  good  Cassius,  do  not  think  of  him: 
If  tie  love  Cresar.  all  that  he  can  do 
Is  to  tiunself:  take  thought,  and  die  for  Cmsar: 
And  tliat  wert^  much  he  should  ;  for  he  is  given 
To  sjiDits.  to  wildness,  and  much  company. 

Treh.  There  is  no  tear  in  him.  let  him  not  die ; 
For  he  will  live,  and  laugh  at  this  hcrt-aller. 

[Clock  strikes. 
Sn/.  Peace,  count  the  clock. 
(V/.v.  The  clock  hath  stricken  three. 

Trch.  'Tis  time  to  part. 

Ca.^.  But  it  is  doubtful  yet, 

Whe'r  Cinsar  will  come  forth  to-day,  or  no: 
'  l'rfv:iriciit<.'.  s  Cautious. 

»  Lvt  us  net  break  tlie  matter  to  hiui.  »  Malice. 


For  he  is  superstitious  grown  of  late; 
Quite  from  the  main  opinion  he  held  once 
(Jf  fantasy,  of  dreams,  and  ceremonies : 
]t  may  be,  these  apparent  prodigies, 
The  unaccustom'd  terror  of  this  night, 
And  the  persuasion  of  his  augu'rers. 
May  hold  him  from  the  Capitol  to-day. 

Dec.  Never  fear  that :  If  lie  be  so  resolv'd, 
I  can  o'ersway  him;  ibr  he  loves  to  hear. 
That  unicorns  may  be  betray'd  with  trees,         41 
And  bears  with  glasses,  elephants  with  holes, 
Lions  with  toils,  and  men  with  llatterers. 
But,  when  I  tell  him,  he  Jiates  flatterers, 
He  says,  he  does :  being  then  most  flattered. 
Let  niG  work : 

For  I  can  give  his  hnmnr  the  true  bent ; 
And  I  will  bring  him  to  the  Capitol. 

Cas.  Nay,  we  will  allof  us  be  there  to  fetch  him. 

Bru.  By  the  eightl)  hour:  Is  that  the  uttcrmostl 

Cin.  Be  that  the  uttermost,  and  foil  not  then. 

Met.  Caius  Ligarius  doth  bear  Caesar  hard, 
Who  rated  him  for  spealving  well  of  Pompey ; 
I  wonder,  none  of  you  iiave  thought  of  him. 

Bni.  Now,  good  Metellus,  go  along  by  him  :2 
He  loves  me  well,  and  I  have  given  him  reasons; 
Send  him  but  hither,  and  I'll  lashion  him, 

Cas.  The  morning  comes  upon  us:    VVe'll  leave 
you,  Brutus : — 
And,  friends,  disperse  yourselves:  but  all  remember 
What  you  have  said,  and  show  yourselves  true 
Romans. 

Bru.  Good  gentlemen,  look  fresh  and  merrily; 
Let  not  our  looks  put  on  our  purposes; 
But  bear  it  as  our  Roman  actors  do, 
With  untir'd  spirits,  and  formal  constancy: 
And  so,  good-morrow  to  you  every  one. 

[  Exeunt  ail  but  BrutuS, 
Boy  I  Lucius! — Fast  asleep  .'     It  is  no  matter; 
Knjoy  the  honey-heavy  dew  of  slumber: 
Tiiou  hast  no  figures,i  nor  no  fantasies, 
Wiiich  busy  care  draws  in  the  brains  of  men; 
Therefore  thou  sleep*st  so  sound. 

Enter  Portia. 

P«*.  Brutus,  my  lord  ! 

Bru.  Portia,  what  mean  you?     Wherelbre  rise 
you  now  ! 
It  is  not  for  your  health  tlins  to  commit 
Your  weak  condition  to  the  raw-cold  morning. 

For.  Nor  lor  yours  neither.  You  have  ungenlly, 
Brutus, 
Stole  from  my  bed  :  And  yesternight,  at  supper, 
You  suddenly  arose,  and  walk'd  about. 
Musing,  and  sighing,  with  your  arms  across: 
And  when  I  ask'd  you  what  the  matter  was, 
You  stared  upon  me  with  ungentle  looks: 
I  urged  you  further;  then  you  scratch'd' your  head, 
And  too  impatiently  stamp'd  with  your  toot: 
Yet  I  insisted,  yet  you  answer'd  not ; 
But  with  an  angry  wafture  of  your  hand, 
Gave  sign  for  me  to  leave  you  :  So  1  did ; 
Fearing  to  strengthen  that  impatience. 
Which  seem'd  too  much  enkindled  ;  and,  withal, 
Hoping  it  was  but  an  eltect  of  humor, 
Which  sometime  hatii  his  liour  with  every  man. 
It  will  not  let  you  eat,  nor  talk,  nor  sleep; 
And,  could  it  work  so  much  uj'on  your  shape 
As  it  Iiath  much  prcvaifd  on  your  condition,* 
I  should  not  know  you,  Bri:tus.     Dear  my  lord. 
Make  me  acquainted  with  your  cause  of  grief. 

Bru.  I  am  not  well  in  hialih,  and  that  is  all. 

For.  Brutus  is  wise,  and  were  he  not  in  health, 
He  would  embrace  the  means  to  come  by  it. 

Bru.  Why,  so  I  do  : — good  Portia,  go  to  bed. 

Pur.  Is  Brutus  sick;  and  is  it  physical 
To  walk  unbraced,  and  suck  up  the  humors 
Of  the  dank^  morning?     What,  is  Brutus  sick; 
And  will  lie  steal  out  of  his  wholesome  bed, 
To  dare  the  vile  contagion  of  the  night  ; 
And  tempt  the  rheumy^  and  iinjiurged  air 
To  add  unto  his  sickness  !     No,  my  Brutus; 
You  have  some  sick  ollence  within  your  mind, 
Which,  by  the  right  and  virtue  of  my  place, 
I  ought  to  know  of:  And,  upon  my  knees, 
I  charm  you,  by  my  once  commended  beauty, 
By  all  your  vows  of  love,  and  that  great  vow 
Which  did  incorporate  and  make  us  one, 
That  you  unfold  to  me,  yourself,  your  half, 

3  Ity  his  boustj.  3  Shnpos  created  by  imajri nation. 

*  Temper.  *  Damp.  «  MoisL 


Scene  II. 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


577 


Why  you  are  heavy  ;  and  what  men  to-night 
Have  had  resort  to  you  ;  Ibr  here  have  been 
Some  six  or  seven, "who  did  hide  their  laces 
Even  from  darkness. 

Brii.      '-  Knee]  not,  gentle  Portia. 

Pur.  I  should  not  need,  if  you  were  gentle  Brutus. 
Within  the  bond  of  marriage,  tell  me,  Jirutus, 
Is  it  excepted,  I  should  know  no  secrets 
That  appertain  to  you  ?     Am  I  yourself, 
Hut.  as  it  were,  in  sort,  or  limitation  ; 
To  keep  with  you  at  meals,  comfort  your  bed, 
And  talk  to  you  sometimes  ]     Dwell  1  but  in  the 

suburbs 
Of  jour  good  pleasure  7    If  it  be  no  more, 
Portia  is  Brutus'  harlot,  not  his  wife. 

Bru.  You  arc  my  true  and  honorable  wife; 
As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart. 

Tor.  If  this  were  true,  then  should  I  know  this 
secret. 
I  grant,  I  am  a  woman;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  that  lord  Brutus  took  to  wife  : 
I  grant,  I  am  a  woman  ;  but,  withal, 
A  woman  well  reputed  :  Cato's  daughter. 
Think  you,  I  am  no  stronger  than  my  sex, 
Being  so  fatJier'ii,  and  so  husbanded  1 
Tell  me  your  counsels,  1  will  not  disclose  them: 
i  have  made  strong  pror>f  of  my  constancy. 
Giving  myself  a  voluntary  wound 
Here,  in  the  thigli :  Can  I  bear  that  with  patience, 
And  not  my  husband's  secrets? 

Bni.  O  ye  gods, 

Render  me  worthy  of  this  noble  wile  ! 

\_Knockinf^  wilhin. 
Hark,  hark  !  one  knocks  :  Portia,  go  in  a  wlule; 
And  by  and  by  thy  bosom  shall  partake 
The  secrets  ot  my  heart. 
AH  my  engagements  I  will  construe  to  thee, 
All  the  charactery  of  my  sad  brows: — 
Leave  me  with  haste.  {Exit  Poetia. 

Enter  Lucres  and  Ligarius. 
Lucius,  who  is  that  knocks? 

Luc.  Here  is  a  sick  man,  that  would  speak  with 
you. 

Bru.  Caius  Ligarius,  that  Metellus  spake  of. — 
Boy,  stand  aside. — Caius  Ligarius!  how  ] 

Xi^.Voucbsalti  good-morrow  from  a  feeble  tongue. 

Bru.  O,  what  a  time  liave  you  chose  out,  brave 
Caius, 
To  wear  a  kerchief]  'Would  you  were  not  sick! 

Lig.  I  am  not  sick,  if  Brutus  liave  in  hand 
Any  exploit  worthy  the  name  of  honor, 

Bru.  Such  an  exploit  have  I  in  hand,  Ligarius, 
Had  you  a  healthlul-ear  to  hear  of  it. 

Lig.  By  all  the  gods  that  Romans  bow  before, 
I  here  discard  my  sickness.    Soul  of  Rome! 
Brave  son,  deriv'd  from  honorable  loins! 
Thou,  like  an  exorcist,  hast  conjur'd  up 
My  niortitied  spirit.     Now  bid  me  run, 
Aud  I  will  strive  with  things  impossible; 
Yea,  got  the  better  of  them.    What's  to  do  ? 

Bru.  A  piece  of  work,  that  will  make  sick  men 
whole. 

Lig.  But  are  not  some  whole,  that  we  must  make 
sick  \ 

Bru.  That  must  we  also.    What  it  is,  my  Caius, 
I  stiail  untold  to  thee,  as  we  are  going. 
To  whom  it  must  be  done. 

Lig.  Set  on  your  foot; 

And  with  a  heart  new  fired,  I  follow  you, 
To  do  I  know  not  what :  but  it  sutliceth. 
That  Brutus  leads  me  on. 

Bru.  Follow  me  then. 

{Exeunt. 

SCE\E  II.— ^1  Room  in  Coesar's  Palace. 

Thunder  and  Liglilning.    Enter  Cesar,  in  Ms 

Nigti/gown. 
C3ES.  Xor  heaven,  nor  earth,  have  been  at  peace 
to-night : 
Thrice  hath  Cali:)hurnia  in  her  sleep  cried  out, 
help,  fLo!  tkey  murder  desar /    Who's  within? 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Serv.  My  lord  ? 

Ci&s.  Go  bid  the  priests  do  present  sacrifice, 
And  bring  me  their  opinions  of  success. 
Hen;  I  will,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

37 


Enter  Calphurnia. 

Cat.  What  mean   you,  C:es'ar  ?    Think  you  to 
walk  forth? 
You  shall  not  stir  out  of  your  house  to-daj'. 

Caw.  Cfesar  shall  fortli:  The  things  that  threat- 
en'd  me. 
Ne'er  look'd  but  on  my  back;  when  they  shall  see 
The  face  of  C^sar,  they  are  vanished. 

Cut.  Cffisar,  I  never  stood  on  ceremonies,'' 
Yet  now  they  fright  me.    There  is  one  wilhin. 
Besides  the  things  that  we  have  heard  and  seen. 
Recounts  most  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch. 
A  lioness  iialh  whelped  in  the  streets; 
And  graves  have  yawn 'd,  and  yielded  up  their  dead: 
Fierce  fiery  warriors  light  upon  the  clouds. 
In  ranks,  and  squadrons,  and  right  form  of  war, 
Which  drizzled  blood  upon  the  Capitol: 
The  noise  of  battle  hurtled*  in  the  air. 
Horses  did  neigh,  and  dying  men  did  groan  ; 
And  ghosts  did  shriek,  and  squeal  about  the  streets, 

0  Caisar  !  these  things  are  beyond  all  use. 
And  I  do  fear  them. 

Cws.  What  can  be  avoided. 

Whose  end  is  purpos'd  by  the  mighty  gods  ? 
Yet  C:Esar  shall  go  forth  :  for  these  prcdicllons 
Are  to  the  world  in  general,  as  to  Csesar. 

Cat.  When  beggars  die,  there  are  no  comets  seen; 
The  ficavens  themselves  blaze  forth  the  death  of 
princes. 

Ca?s.  Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths; 
Tile  valiant  never  ta-sle  of  death  but  once. 
Of  all  the  wonders  that  i  yet  have  heard. 
It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear; 
Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end. 
Will  come,  when  it  will  come. 

Re-cnier  a  Servant. 

What  say  the  augurers? 

Sen'.  They  would  not  have  you  to  stir  liirth  to-day. 
Plucking  the  entrails  of  an  offering  forth. 
They  could  not  find  a  heart  within  the  be.ist. 

Ca-s.  The  gods  do  this  in  shame  of  cowardice: 
Cffisar  should  be  a  beast  without  a  heart. 
If  he  should  stay  at  hmne  to-day  for  fear. 
No,  CiEsar  shall  not :  Danger  knows  full  well. 
That  Caesar  is  more  dangerous  than  he. 
We  were  two  lions  litter'd  in  one  day, 
And  I  the  cider  and  more  terrible; 
And  C.Tsar  shall  go  forth. 
■   Cat.  Alas,  my  lord, 

Your  wisdom  is  consum'd  in  confidence. 
Do  not  go  lorlh  to-day  :  Call  it  my  fear. 
That  keeps  you  in  the  house,  ami  not  your  own. 
We'll  send  ^lark  ,\iiton)'  to  the  senate-house; 
.\nd  he  shall  say,  you  are  not  well  to-day: 
Let  me,  upon  my  knee,  prevail  in  this. 

Cie^.  Mark  .\iitony  shall  say,  I  am  not  well; 
And,  for  thy  humor,  I  will  stay  at  home. 

Enter  Dtcifs. 
Here's  Dccius  Brutus,  he  shall  tell  them  so. 

Dec.  Cipsar.allhaill  Good  morrow, worthy  Ciesar: 

1  come  to  letch  you  to  the  senate-house. 

Ca'S.  And  you  arc  come  in  very  hajjpy  time, 
To  bear  my  greeting  to  the  senators. 
And  tell  them,  that  I  will  not  come  to-day : 
Cannot,  is  false;  and  that  I  dare  not,  falser; 
I  will  not  come  to-day :  Tell  them  so,  Decius. 

Cat.  Sa}',  he  is  sick. 

Cws.  Shall  Ca?sar  send  a  lie  ? 

Have  I  in  conquest  stretch'd  mine  arm  so  far, 
To  be  ali-ard  to  tell  gre\-bcards  the  truth  ? 
Decius,  go  tell  them,  C:esar  will  not  come. 

Dec.  Alost  mighty  C,Tsar.  let  me  know  some  cause. 
Lest  I  be  laugh'd  at,  when  I  tell  them  so. 

(.Vf.s.  The  cause  is  in  my  will,  I  will  not  come; 
Tliat  IS  enough  to  satisfy  the  senate. 
But,  for  your  private  salieliiction, 
Because  1  love  you,  I  will  let  you  know. 
Calphuruia  here,  my  wife,  stays  me  at  home  : 
She  dreamt  to-night  she  saw  my  statue. 
Which,  like  a  fountain  witli  a  hundred  spouts. 
Did  run  pure  blood;  and  many  lusty  Romans 
Came  smiling,  and  did  bathe  their  hands  in  it. 
And  these  docs  she  apjily  fbr  warnings,  portents 
And  evils  imminent;  and  on  her  knee 
Hath  begg'd,  that  I  will  stay  at  home  to-day. 

Dec.  This  dream  is  all  amiss  interpreted; 
It  was  a  vision,  fiiir  and  fortunate  ; 

'  Never  paid  regard  to  prodiijics  cr  omens.  '  Encountered, 


578 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


Act  III. 


Yourslatne  spouting  blood  in  many  pipes, 
In  which  so  many  smiUng  Romans  bath'd, 
Signifies  tliat  from  you  great  Rome  sliall  suck 
Reviving  blood  ;  and  tliat  great  men  shall  press 
For  tinctures,  stains,  relics,  and  cognizance. 
This  by  Calphurnia's  dream  is  signified. 

Cses.  And  this  way  have  you  well  expounded  it. 

Dec.  I  ha^e,  when  you  have  heard  what  I  can  say: 
And  know  it  now:  The  senate  have  concluded 
To  give,  this  day,^  crown  to  mighty  Ca:sar. 
If  you  shall  send  them  word,  you  will  not  come. 
Their  nnnds  may  change.    Besides,  it  were  a  mock 
A  pt  to  be  render'd,  tor  .some  one  to  say, 
lirtak  up  lilt  senate  till  another  time, 
li'/iin  L'w.iar's  wife  shall  meet  with  better  dreams. 
If  CjEsar  hide  himself,  shall  they  not  whisper, 
La,  Casar  is  afraid  ? 

Pardon  me,  CjEsar ;  for  my  dear,  dear  love 
To  your  proceeding  bids  me  tell  you  this; 
And  reason  to  my  love  is  liable.^ 

Cass.  How  focilish  do  your  fears  seem  now,  Cal- 
phurnia  ? 
I  am  ashamed  I  did  yield  lo  them. — 
Give  me  my  robe,  for  I  will  go:^ 

Enter    PcBLirs,    Brdtcs,   Lir.Anirs,   Metellus, 
Casca,  Trebonr'S,  and  Cixsa. 

And  look  Tvhere  Publius  is  come  to  fetch  me- 

Pub.  Good-morrow,  CiEsar. 

Cses.  Welcome,  Publius. — 

What,  Brutu.s,  are  you  .stirr'd  .so  early  too  !— 
Good-morrow,  Casca. — Caius  Ligarius, 
Ca'sar  was  ne'er  so  much  your  enemy. 
As  that  same  ague  which  hath  made  you  lean. — 
What  is't  o'clock  f 

Bru.  Cffisar,  'tis  strucken  eight. 

Cses.  I  thank  you  tor  your  pains  and  courtesy. 

Enter  Antony. 
Sec  !  Antony,  that  revels  long  o'  nights, 
Is  notwithstandnig  up  : — 
Good-morrow,  Antony. 
Ant.  So  to  most  noble  Cajsar. 

Ci€s.  Bid  them  prepare  within: — 
I  a;n  to  blame  to  be  tlius  waited  lor. — 
Kow,    tiima: — Now,    Metellus: — W^hat,    Trebo- 

nius  ! 
I  have  an  hour's  talk  in  store  for  j-ou ; 
Remember  that  you  call  on  me  to-day  : 
lie  near  me,  that" I  may  remember  you. 
Treb.  Ciesar,  I  will: — and  so  near" will  I  be, 

[Aside. 

Th.atyour  best  friend  shall  wish  I  had  been  hirtber. 

Cecs.  Good  friends,  go  in,  and  taste  some  wine 

with  Tne ; 

And  we,  like  friends,  will  straightway  go  together. 

Bru.  That  every  like  is  not  the  same,  O  Cajsar, 
Tile  heart  of  Brutus  jearns'  to  think  upon  ! 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— .4  Street  near  the  CapUul. 
Enter  Aktemidorus,  reading  a  Paper. 
Art.  Caisar,  beware  of  Brutus ;  fake  heed  of  Cas- 
si  ns  ;  come  not  near  Casca  ;  tuive  an  eye  to  Cinna ; 
trust  not  Trebonius ;  mark  well  Metellus  Cimber; 
Decius  Brutus  loirs  thee  not ;  thou  hast  wronged 
Cams  Ligarius.  Tliere  is  but  one  mind  in  all  lltrse 
i/ifii.  and  it  is  bent  against  Ciesar.  If  thou  be\yt 
not  imnurrtat,  look  about  you  :  Security  gives  way 


to   conspiracy.    The   mighty   gods   defend   thee! 

Thy  lover,  Artemidorus. 

Here  will  I  stand,  till  Csesar  pass  along 

And  as  a  suitor  will  I  give  him  this. 

My  heart  laments,  that  virtue  cannot  live 

Out  of  the  teeth  of  emulation.- 

If  thou  read  this,  O  Ctesar,  thou  may'st  live; 

If  not,  the  lates  with  traitors  do  contrive.      [Exit. 

SCENE    IV.— Another  Pari  of  the  same  Street, 
before  the  House  of  Brutds. 

Enter  Portia  and  Lucius. 

For.  I  pr'ythee,  boy,  run  to  the  senate-house : 
Stay  not  to  answer  me,  but  get  thee  gone  : 
Why  dost  thou  stay  ! 

Luc.  To  know  my  errand,  madam. 

Pur.  I  would  have  had  thee  there,  and  here  again, 
Ere  I  can  tell  thee  what  thou  shouldst  do  there.— 

0  Constancy,  be  strong  upon  my  side  ! 

Set  a  huge  mountain  'tween  my  heart  and  tongue! 

1  have  a  man's  mind,  but  a  woman's  might. 
How  hard  it  is  for  women  to  keep  couiibel ! 
Art  thou  here  yet  ^ 

Luc.  Madam,  what  should  I  do  ? 

Run  (0  the  Capitol,  and  nothing  else  ! 
And  so  return  to  you,  and  nothing  else  ? 

Por.  Yes,  bring  me  word,  boy,  if  thy  lord  look 
well. 
For  he  went  sickly  forth :    And  take  good  note, 
What  Caasardoth,  what  suitors  press  to  him. 
Hark  !  boy,  what  noise  is  that ! 

Luc.  I  liear  none,  madam. 

Por.  ■     Pr'ythee,  listen  well; 

I  heard  a  bustling  rumor  like  a  fray. 
And  the  wind  brings  it  from  Ihe  Capitol. 

Luc.  Sooth,3  madam,  I  hear  nothing. 

Enter  Soothsayer. 

Por.  Come  hither,  fellow : 

Which  way  hast  thou  been? 

Sooth.  At  mine  own  house,  good  lady. 

Pin-.  What  is't  o'clock  ! 

Sooth.  About  the  ninth  hour,  lady. 

Por.  Is  Cres.ar  yet  gone  to  the  Capitol ! 

Sooth.  Madam,  not  yet;  I  go  to  lake  my  stand, 
To  see  him  pass  on  to  the  Capitol. 

Por.  Thou  hastsomesuittoCiEsar.hast  thou  not? 

Sootli.  That  I  have,  lady  :  if  it  will  please  Cxsar 
To  be  so  good  to  Cajsar.  as  to  hear  me, 
I  shall  beseech  him  to  befriend  himself. 

Pur.   Why,  know'st  Ihou  any  harm's  intended 
towards  him ! 

Sooth.  None  that  I  know  will  be,  much  that  I 
fear  may  chance. 
Good-morrow  to  you.    Here  the  street  is  narrow  : 
The  throng  that  follows  Ca>sar  at  the  heels, 
Of  senators,  of  praetors,  common  suitors, 
VVill  crowd  a  lecble  man  almost  to  dealh: 
I'll  get  me  to  a  place  more  void,  and  there 
Speak  to  great  Cssar  as  he  comes  along.        [E.rit. 

Por.  I  must  go  in.— Ah  me  !  how  weak  a  thing 
The  heart  of  woman  is  !  O  Brutus! 
The  heavens  speed  thee  in  thy  enterprise! 
Sure  the  boy  heard  me :— Brutus  hath  a  suit, 
That  C.Tsar  will  not  grant.— O.  I  grow  faint:— 
Run,  Lucius,  and  commend  me  to  my  lord; 
Say,  1  am  merry:  come  to  me  again. 
And  bring  me  word  what  he  doth  say  to  thee. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  1.— The  Capitol;  the  Senate  sitting. 
A   Crowd  if  People  in  tlie  Street  leading  to  the 
Capitol:    among   them    Artemidorus  and   the 
Soothsayer.    Flouriih.     Enter  C.ksar,  Brutus, 
Cassius,    Casca,    Decius,    Metellus,    Tueeo- 

KIUS,  CtNNA,  ANTO.NY,  LEI'IDUS,  Pol'lLIUS,  PUBLIUS, 

and  others. 

(',T.s.  The  Ides  of  March  are  come. 
Sooth.  Ay,  Ca'sar  ;  but  not  gone. 
Art.  Haii,  Ca-sar!  Read  this  schedule. 
Dec.  Trebonius  dolh  desire  yon  to  o'er-read. 
At  your  best  leisure,  this  his  h'umblc  suit. 

"  Subordinate.  >  Grioves. 


Art.  O  C.Tsar,  read  mine  first ;  for  mine's  a  suit 
That  touches  Cajsar  nearer:  Read  it,  great  Cojsar. 

■Cus.  What  touches  us  ourself,  shall  be  l.astserv'd. 

Art.  Delay  not,  Caesar ;  read  it  instantly. 

Ca-.s.  What,  is  the  fellow  mad  ! 

Pub.  Sirrah,  give  place. 

Cas.  What,  urge  you  your  petitions  in  the  street ! 
Come  to  the  Capitol. 

C/ESar  enters  the  Capitol,  the  restfolliAving. 

All  the  Senators  rise. 
Pop.  I  wish  your  enterprise  to-day  may  thrive. 
Cas.  What  enterprise,  I'opiliusi 

"  JSnvy.  I  In  truth. 


Scene  I. 


JULIUS  C.-ESAK. 


579 


Pop.  Fare  you  well. 

[Arlvances  to  Cesar. 
Brii.  What  said  Popilius  Lena! 
Cus.  He  wish'dto-daj- our  enterprise  might  thrive. 
I  tear,  our  purpose  is  discovered. 
Bru.  Look,  how  he  makes  to  Ciesar:  Mark  him. 
Cas.  Casca,  be  Rudden,  for  we  tear  prevention. 
Brutus,  what  .'shall  he  done  !  If  Ihis  be  known, 
Cassius  or  Ca!sar  never  shall  turn  back. 
For  I  will  slay  myself. 

Bru.  Cassius,  be  constant : 

Popilius  Lena  speaks  not  of  our  purposes; 
For,  look,  he  smiles,  and  Ciesar  duth  not  change. 
Cas.  Trebonius  knows  his  time;  tor,  look  you, 
Brutus. 
He  draws  jMark  Antony  out  of  the  way. 

[hUeimt  AxTONV  and  TREBoxit's.    Cesar 
anil  the  Senators  take  ttieir  Seats. 
Bee.  Where  is  Metellus  Cimbcr?     Let  him  go. 
And  presently  prefer  his  suit  to  Cesar. 
Bru.  He  is  addrcss'd :'  press  near.and  second  him. 
Cin.  Casca,  you  are  the  first  that  rears  your  hand. 
Cas.  Are  we  all  ready  ?  what  is  now  amiss. 
That  Cffisar  and  his  senate  must  redress  ! 
Met.  Most  high,  most  mighty,  and  most  puis- 
sant Cffisar, 
Metellus  Ciinbcr  throws  before  thy  scat 
An  humble  heart:—  [Kneeling. 

Cies.  I  must  prevent  thee,  Cimber. 

These  couchings,  and  these  lowly  courtesies, 
Might  lire  the  blood  of  ordinary  men. 
And  turn  pre-ordinance,  and  Hrst  decree, 
Into  the  law  of  children.    Be  not  Ibnd, 
To  think  that  Cesar  bears  such  rebel  blood, 
That  will  be  thaw'd  from  the  true  quality 
With  that  which  melteth  fools;  I  mean,  sweet  words, 
Low-crookM  court'sies,  and  base  spaniel  lii wiling. 
Thy  brother  by  decree  is  banished ; 
If  tliou  dost  bend,  and  pray,  and  fawni  for  him, 
I  spurn  thee  like  a  cur  out  of  my  way. 
Kno\v,Ca;sar  doth  not  \vrong;  nor  without  cause 
WrtI  he  be  satisfied. 

Met.  Is  there  no  voice  more  worthy  than  my  own, 
To  sound  more  sweetly  in  great  Cesar^s  ear. 
For  the  repealing  of  my  banishM  brother! 

Bru.  I  Idss  thy  hand,  but  not  in  (lattery,  Caesar ; 
Desiring  thee,  that  Publius  Cimber  may 
Have  an  immediate  freedom  of  repeal. 
Cxs.  What,  Brutus  ? 

Cas.  Pardon,  CtEsar ;  Cffisar,  pardon : 

As  low  as  to  thy  foot  doth  Cassius  fall. 
To  beg  enfrancliisement  for  Publius  Cimber. 

Caes.  I  could  be  well  mov'd,  if  I  were  as  you; 
If  I  could  pray  to  move,  prayers  would  move  me: 
But  I  am  constant  as  the  northern  star. 
Of  whose  truc-fix'd  and  resting  quality. 
There  is  no  fellow  in  the  Hrmaiuent. 
The  skies  are  painted  with  unnumber'd  sparks, 
They  are  all  fire,  and  every  one  doth  shine; 
But  there's  but  one  in  all  doth  hold  his  place: 
So,  in  the  world ;  'lis  furnish'd  well  with  men. 
And  men  arc  Hesh  and  blood,  .and  apprehensive ;> 
Yet,  in  the  number,  I  do  know  but  one 
That  unassailable  holds  on  his  rank, 
Unshak'd  of  motion  fi  and,  that  I  am  he, 
Let  me  a  little  show  it,  even  in  this; 
That  I  was  consUint,  Cimber  sliould  be  banish'd, 
And  constant  do  remain  to  keep  him  so. 

Cin.  O  Cffisar. 

CaiS.  Hence !  Wilt  thou  lift  up  Olympus  1 

Dec.  Great  Cajsar. 

t'a?.'-  Doth  not  Brutus  bootless'  kneel ' 

Casca.  Speak,  hands,  for  me  ! 

[Casca  stah.t  Cesar  in  the  neck.     Cesar 
cat r lies    liolil    of  his   arm.      He    it   then 
stahhcil    hi/   sereral    other    Conspirators, 
awl  at  last  In/  MARCfS  Brcti'.s. 
Ca;s.  Et  tu.  Brule  .?«— Then  fall,  Cesar. 

[Dies.    The  Senators  and  People  retire  in 
con)  iisi/in. 
Cin.  Liberty  !  Freedom !  Tyranny  is  dead  '— 
Run  hence,  proclaim,  cry  it  about  the  streets. 

Ca.5.  Some  to  the  common  pulpits,  and  cry  out 
Lihertij,  freedom,  and  enfranchisement .'  ' 

Bru.  People,  and  senators!  be  not  aflrighted • 
Fly  not ;  stand  still :— ambition's  debt  is  paid     ' 
Ca.ica.  Go  tu  the  pulpit,  Brutus. 
■^f<^-  And  Cassius  too. 

•Ready.  •Intelligent.        •  Soli.-itation. 

'  Unsuccessfully.  ■  And  thou,  Brutas  ) 


Bni.  ^Vhere's  Publius! 

('ill.  Here,  quite  conlbunded  n-ith  this  mutiny. 

Met.  Stand   fast    together,  lest  some  friend'  of 
CVsar's 
Should  chance • 

Bru.  Talknotofstanding;— Publius,  good  cheer; 
There  is  no  harm  intended  to  your  person. 
Nor  to  no  Roman  else :  so  tell  them,  Publius. 

Cas.  And  leave  us,  Publius,  lest  that  the  people. 
Rushing  on  us,  should  do  your  age  some  mischief. 

Bru.  Do  so; — and  let  no  man  abide  this  deed, 
But  we  the  doers. 

Re-enter  Trebonius. 

Cas.  Where's  Antony ! 

"^fe.  Fled  to  his  house  amaz'd : 

Men,  wives,  and  children,  stare,  cry  out,  and  run, 
As  it  were  doomsday. 

Bru.  Fates!  we  will  know  your  pleasures  :-— 
That  we  shall  die,  we  know;  "'tis  but  the  time. 
And  drawing  days  out,  that  men  stand  upon. 

Cas.  Why,  he  that  cuts  olf  twenty  years  of  life, 
Cuts  off  so  many  years  of  fearing  death. 

Bru.  fJrant  that,  and  then  is  death  a  benefit: 
So  are  we  Ctesar's  friends,  that  have  abridg'd 
His  time  of  fearing  death. — Stoop,  Romans,  stoop, 
And  let  us  bathe  our  hands  in  Cajsar's  blood 
Up  to  the  clbow-s,  and  besmear  our  swords: 
Then  walk  we  forth,  even  to  the  market-place; 
.\nd.  waving  our  red  wcajions  o'er  our  heads. 
Lei's  all  cry,  Peace  !  Freedom  !  and  Liberty  ! 

Cas.  Stoop,  then,  and  wash.    How  many  ages 
hence. 
Shall  this  our  lofty  scene  be  acted  over. 
In  stales  unborn,  and  accents  yet  unknown  ! 

Bru.  How  many  times  shall  CsEsar  bleed  in  sport. 
That  now  on  Pompey's  basis  lies  along. 
No  worthier  than  the  dust ! 

Cas.  So  oft  as  that  shall  be, 

So  ollen  shall  the  kniot  of  us  be  call'd 
The  men  that  gave  our  country  liberty. 

Dec.  What,  shall  we  forth  ! 

Cas.  Ay,  every  man  away : 

Brutus  shall  lead;  and  wc  will  grace  his  heels 
With  the  most  boldest  and  best  hearts  of  Rome. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Bru.  Soft,  who  comes  here?     A  friend  of  An- 
tony's. 

Sen:  Thiis,  Brutus, did  mvmasterbid  nic  kneel; 
Thus  did  Mark  Antony  bid  ine  fall  down: 
And,  being  prostrate,  thus  he  bade  me  say. 
Brutus  is  noble,  wise,  valiant,  and  honest; 
Cesar  was  mighty,  bold,  royal,  and  loving : 
Say,  I  love  Brutus,  and  I  honor  him  ; 
Say,  I  fear'd  Ciesar.  honor'd  him,  and  lov'd  him. 
If  Brutus  will  vouchsafe,  that  Antony 
May  safely  come  to  him.  and  be  resolv'd 
How  Ca-siir  hath  deserv'd  to  lie  in  death, 
Mark  Antony  shall  not  love  Ca?sar  dead 
So  well  as  Brutus  living ;  but  will  follow 
The  fortunes  and  alliiirs  of  noble  Brutus 
Thorougli  the  hazards  of  this  untrod  state. 
With  all  true  faith.    So  says  my  master  Antony. 

Bru.  Thy  master  is  a  wise  and  valiant  Roma'n: 
I  never  thought  him  worse. 
Tell  him,  so  please  him  come  unbi  this  place, 
He  shall  be  satisfied  ;  and,  by  my  honor. 
Depart  untouch'd. 

Serv.  I'll  fetch  him  presently. 

[Exit. 

Bru.  Ik-nowthatweshall  have  him  well  to  friend. 

Cas.  I  wish  we  may;  hut  yet  have  I  a  mind. 
That  fears  him  much  ;  and  my  misgiving  still 
Falls  shrewdly  to  the  purpose. 

Re-enter  Antony. 

Bru.  But  here  comes  Antony.— Welcome,  Mark 
.\ntony. 

.4nt.  O  mighty  Ca>sar!    Dost  thou  lie  so  low? 
Are  all  thy  con<juesls,  glories,  triumphs,  spoils, 
Shrunk  to  this  liltle'nii-asnre  !— Fare  thee  well.— 
I  know  not.  geutlemeii.  what  you  intend, 
Willi  else  must  be  let  blood,  who  else  is  rank  :9 
If  I  myself,  there  is  no  hour  so  fit 
As  C.Tsnr's  death's  hour;  nor  no  instrument 
( if  iKilf  that  worth,  as  those  your  swords,  made  rich 
With  the  most  noble  blood  of  all  this  world. 
1  do  beseech  ye,  if  you  bear  me  hard. 
Now,  whilst  your  purpled  hands  do  reek  and  smoke, 
>  Grown  too  high  for  the  puUic  saffty. 


580 


JULIUS   CESAR. 


Act.  III. 


Fulfil  your  pleasure.    Live  a  thousand  years, 

I  shall  not  find  myself  so  apt  to  die ; 

No  place  will  please  me  ao,  no  mean  of  death, 

As  here  by  Caesar,  and  by  you  cut  oft", 

The  choice  and  master-spirits  of  this  age. 

Bru.  0  Antony  !  beg  not  your  death  of,us. 
Though  now  we  must  appear  bloody  and  cruel, 
As,  by  our  hands,  and  this  our  present  act. 
You  see  we  do ;  yet  see  you  but  our  hands. 
And  this  the  bleedins  business  they  have  done  : 
Our  hearts  you  see  not,  they  are  pitiful ; 
And  pity  to  the  general  wrong  of  Rome 
(As  hre  drives  out  fire,  so  pity,  pity) 
Hath  done  this  deed  on  Co'sar.    For  your  part. 
To  you  our  swords  have  leaden  points.'Mark  Antony: 
Our  arms,  in  strength  of  malice,  and  our  hearts, 
Of  brother's  temper,  do  receive  you  in 
With  all  kind  love,  good  thoughts,  and  reverence. 
Ciis.  Your  voice  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  man's. 
In  the  disposing  of  new  dignities. 

Bru.  Only  be  patient,  till  we  have  appeasM 
The  multitude,  beside  themselves  with  ti?ar, 
And  then  we  will  deliver  you  the  cause, 
Why  I,  that  did  love  Ca;sar  when  I  struck  him, 
Have  thus  proceeded. 

-4"'-  I  doubt  not  of  vour  wisdom. 

Let  each  man  render  me  his  bloody  hand : 
Fust,  Marcus  Brutus,  will  I  shake  with  you  ;— 
Next,  faius  Cassius,  do  I  take  your  hand  ; 
Now,    Decius    Brutus,    yours;— now    yours,    Me- 

tellus; 
Yours,  Cinna;  and  my  valiant  Casca,  yours;— 
Tliough  last,  not  least  in  love,  yours,  good  Trebo- 

nius. 
Gentlemen  all,— alas !  what  shall  I  say  ? 
IMy  credit  now  stands  on  such  slippery  ground. 
That  one  of  two  bad  ways  you  must  conceit  me. 
Either  a  coward,  or  a  flatterer. — 
That  I  did  love  thee,  Ca>sar,  O,  'tis  true: 
H'  then  thy  spirit  look  upon  us  now. 
Shall  it  not  grieve  thee,  dearer  than  thy  death, 
To  see  thy  Antony  making  his  peace. 
Shaking  the  bloody  lingers  of  thy  liies. 
Most  noble!  in  the  presence  of  thy  corse  1 
Had  I  as  many  eyes  as  thou  hast  wounds, 
Wecpnig  as  fast  as  they  stream  (brth  thy  blood, 
It  would  become  me  better,  than  to  close 
In  terms  of  fi-iendship  with  thine  enemies. 
Pardon  me,  Julius !— Here  wast  thou  bay'd,  brave 

hart ; 
Here  didst  thou  fall ;  and  here  thy  hunters  stand, 
Sign'd  in  thy  spoil,  and  crimson'd  in  thy  lethe. 

0  world !  thou  wast  the  forest  to  this  hart; 
And  this,  indeed,  O  world,  the  heart  of  thee.— 
How  like  a  deer,  stricken  by  many  princes. 
Dost  thou  here  lie ! 

Cas.  JIark  Antony, 

„'•''''•       .  Pardon  me,  Caius  Cassius: 

The  enemies  of  Csesar  shall  say  this: 
Then,  in  a  friend,  it  is  cold  modesty. 

Vas.  I  blame  you  not  tor  praising  Crrsar  so" 
But  what  compSct  mean  you  to  have  with  us"' 
Will  you  be  prick'd  in  number  of  our  friends- 
Or  shall  we  on,  and  not  depend  on  you  !  ' 

-/In/.  Therclor,' I  took  \oin  hands  ;liut  was,  indeed 
Sway'd  Irom  the  point,  by  looking  down  on  Ca;sar! 

1  riends  am  I  with  you  all,  and  love  you  all ; 
L'poii  'lus  hope,  that  you  shall  give  me  reasons, 
\\  by,  and  wherein,  Cx-sar  was  dangerous. 

Bni.  Or  else,  wore  this  a  savage  spectacle : 
Our  reasons  are  so  full  of  good  regard. 
That  were  you,  Antony,  the  son  of  Cffisar, 
You  should  be  satislied. 

-•I,"'-  That's  all  I  seek: 

And  am  moreover  suitor,  that  I  may 
Produce  his  body  to  the  market-place; 
And  in  the  pulpit,  as  becomes  a  friend, 
.'ipeak  in  the  order  of  his  funeral. 

Bru.  You  shall,  Mark  Antony. 
,.''"■?•  ,  Brutus,  a  word  with  you.— 

1  ou  know  not  what  you  do :  Do  not  consent. 

That  .\ntony  speak  in  his  funeral: 

Know  you  how  much  the  people  may  be  mov'd 

By  that  which  he  will  utter  ? 

I  ■^'li''        ,,■  ■   ,     ,  By  your  pardon; 

I  will  myself  into  the  pulpit  first, 

And  show  the  reason  of  our  Ca;sar's  death  • 

W  hat  .\ntony  shall  spealc,  I  will  protest 

He  s])ealcs  by  leave  and  by  permission  ; 


And  that  we  are  contented.  Ctesar  shall 
Have  all  true  rites,  and  lawful  ceremonies. 
It  shall  advantage  more,  than  do  us  wrong. 
Cas.  I  know  not  wliat  may  fall ;  I  like  it  not. 
Bru.  Mark  Antony,  here,  take  you  Ciesar's  body 
You  shall  not  in  your  funeral  speech  blame  us. 
But  speak  all  good  you  can  devise  of  Csesar; 
And  say,  you  do't  by  our  permission; 
Else  shall  you  not  have  any  hand  at  all 
About  his  funeral:  And  you  shall  speak 
In  the  same  pulpit  whereto  I  am  going. 
Alter  my  speech  is  ended. 

Ani.  Be  it  so; 

I  do  desire  no  more. 
Bru.  Prepare  the  body  then,  and  follow  us. 

[E.Vfuii/  all  hut  Antony 
AnI.  O,  pardon  me,lhou  bleeding  piece  of  earth 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers! 
Thou  art  the  ruins  of  the  noblest  man, 
That  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times. 
Woe  to  the  hand  that  slied  this  costly  blood! 
Over  thy  wounds  now  do  I  prophesy — 
Which,  like  dumb  mouths,  do  ope  t'heir  ruby  lips 
To  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue: — 
A  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men  ; 
Domestic  fury,  and  tierce  ciWl  strife. 
Shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy; 
Blood  and  destruction  shall  be  so  in  use, 
And  dreadful  objects  so  familiar. 
That  mothers  shall  but  smile,  when  they  behold 
Their  infants  quarter'd  with  the  hands  of  war: 
All  pity  choked  with  custom  of  fell  deeds: 
And  C-Tsar's  spirit,  ranging  ibr  revenge. 
With  At4  by  his  side,  come  hot  from  hell. 
Shall  in  these  confines,  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
Cry,  Hamc.'<  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war; 
That  this  foul  deed  shall  smell  above  the  earth, 
With-carrion  men  groaning  for  burial. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Yon  serve  Octavius  Ca?sar,  do  you  not! 
SVri'.  I  do.  Mark  Antony. 

Ant.  Ciesar  did  write  for  him  to  come  to  Rome 
tierv.  He  did  receive  his  letters,  and  is  coming: 
And  bid  me  say  to  you  by  word  of  mouth, — 

0  Ca!sar ! [  Seeing;  the  Body. 

.int.  Thy  heart  is  big,  get  thee  apart  and  weep. 
Passion,  I  see,  is  catching;  for  mine  eyes. 
Seeing  those  beads  of  sorrow  stand  in  thine, 
Began  to  water.    Is  thy  master  coming? 
Sen:  He  lies  to-night  within  seven  leagues  of 

Rome. 
Ant.  Post  back  with  spced,and  tell  him  what  hath 
chanced : 
Here  is  a  mourning  Rome,  a  dangerous  Rome, 
No  Rome  of  safety  ibr  Octavius  yet ; 
Hie  hence,  and  fell  him  so.    Yet,  stay  a  while; 
Thou  Shalt  not  back,  till  I  have  borne  this  corse 
Into  the  market-place;  there  shall  I  try, 
In  my  oration,  how  the  people  take 
The  cruel  issue  of  these  bloody  men; 
According  to  the  which,  thou  shalt  discourse 
To  young  Octavius  of  the  state  of  things. 
Lend  me  your  hand.  [Exeunt,  ivitfi  CyKSAit's  Boiiij. 

SCENE  U.—Tfie  Forum. 
Enter  BRUTca   and  Cassics,  and  a  Throng   of 
Citizens. 
Cit.  We  will  be  satisfied ;  let  us  be  satisfied. 
Bru.  Then  follow  me,  and  give  me  audience, 
friends. — 
Cassius,  go  you  into  the  other  street. 
And  part  the  numbers. — 

Those  that  will  hear  me  speak,  let  them  stay  here; 
Those  that  will  follow  Cassius,  go  with  him; 
And  public  reasons  sh.-Ul  be  rendered 
OfC.Tsar's  death. 

1  ('it.  I  will  hear  Brutus  speak. 

2  Vit.  I  will  hear  Cassius,  and  compare  their 

reasons. 
When  severally  we  hear  them  rendered. 

[Exit  Cassius,  with  some  ofthe  Citizens. 
BmiTLS  goes  into  tlic  Rostrum. 

3  Cit.  The  noble  Brutus  is  ascended:  Silence! 
Bru.  Be  patient  till  the  last. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  !2  hear  me  for  my 
cause;  and  be  silent,  that  ye  may  hear:  believe  me 
for  mine  honor;  and  have  respect  to  mine  honor, 
that  you  may  believe:  censure  me  in  your  wisdom; 
*  The  signal  for  giving  no  quarter.         «  Friends. 


Scene  IL 


JULIUS   CESAR. 


581 


and  awake  your  senses,  that  you  may  the  better 
judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly,  any  dear 
friend  of  Cffisars,  to  iiim  I  say,  that  Brutus'  love 
to  Csesar  was  no  less  tlian  his.  If  then  that  friend 
demand,  why  Brutus  rose  against  Caesar,  this  is  my 
answer, — Nut  tliat  I  loved  Csesar  less,  but  that  I 
loved  Rome  more.  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were 
living,  and  die  all  slaves:  than  that  Cresar  were 
dead,  to  live  all  tree  men;  As  Cscsar  loved  me,  I 
weep  for  him;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it ; 
as  he  was  vaUant,  I  honor  him:  but,  as  he  was 
ambitious,  I  slew  him:  There  is  tears,  for  his  love: 
jo}',  for  his  fortune;  honor,  for  his  valor;  and 
death,  for  his  ambition.  Who  is  here  so  base,  that 
would  be  a  bondman  1  If  any,  speak;  for  him 
have  I  olfended.  Who  is  iicre  so  rude,  that  would 
not  be  a  Roman!  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I 
offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile,  that  will  not  love  his 
country  ?  If  any,  speak;  for  him  have  I  offended. 
I  pause  for  a  reply. 

CU.  None,  Brutus,  none. 

[Several  speaking  at  once. 

Bru.  Then  none  have  I  oliended,  I  have  done  no 
more  to  Ca;sar,  than  you  should  do  to  Brutus.  The 
question  of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the  Capitol:  his 
glory  not  extenuated,  whereiii  he  was  worthy ;  nor 
his  oflences  enforced,  for  which  he  sutTered  death. 

Enter  Antoxy  and  others^  with  Cesar's  Body. 
Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony: 
who,  though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall 
receive  the  benefit  of  his  dying,  a  place  in  the 
commonwealth:  As  which  of  you  shall  not  ?  With 
this  I  depart;  That  as  I  slew  my  best  lover  for  the 
good  ot  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  myself, 
when  it  shall  please  my  country  to  need  my  death, 

at.  Live,  Brutus,  live!  live! 

1  at.  Bring  him  with  triumph  home  unto  his 

house. 

2  Cif.  Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors. 

3  at.  Let  him  be  Ccesar. 

4  at.  Caesar's  better  parts 
Shall  now  be  crown'd  in  Brutus. 

1  at.  We'll  bring  him  to  his  house  with  shouts 

and  clamors. 
Bru.  My  countrymen, 

2  at.  Peace;  silence!  Brutus  speaks. 
1  at.  Peace,  ho ! 

Bru.  Good  countrymen,  let  me  depart  alone, 
And.  for  my  sake,  stay  here  with  Antony : 
Do  grace  to  Csesar's  corpse,  and  grace  his  speech 
Tending  to  Caesar's  i;!orics:  which  Mark  Antony, 
By  our  permission,  is  allowed  to  make. 
I  do  entreat  you,  not  a  man  depart. 
Save  I  alone,  till  Antony  have  spoke.  [ExU, 

at.  Stay,  ho!  and  let  us  hear  Mark  Antony. 

3  at.  Let  him  go  up  into  the  public  chair; 
We'll  hear  him : — Noble  Antony,  go  up. 

Ant,  For  Brutus'  sake,  I  am  beholden  to  j'ou. 

4  at.  What  does  he  say  of  Brutus? 

3  at.  "lie  says,  for  Brutus'  sake, 
He  tinds  himself  beholden  to  us  all. 

4  at.  'Twere  best  he  speak  no  harm  of  Brutus 

here. 

1  at.  This  Csesar  was  a  tyrant. 

3  at,  Nav,  that's  certain: 

We  are  bless'd  that  Rome  is  rid  of  him. 

2  at.  Peace;  let  us  hear  what  Antony  can  say. 
Ant.  You  gentle  Romans, 

at.  Peace,  ho !  let  us  hear  him. 

Ant.  Friends,    Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me 
your  ears; 
I  come  to  bury  Csesar,  not  to  praise  him. 
The  evil,  that  men  do,  lives  alter  them ; 
The  good  is  ol>  interred  with  their  bones; 
So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.    The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you,  Caesar  was  ambitious ; 
If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault ; 
And  grievously  hath  Ctesar  answerM  it. 
Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest, 
(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man; 
So  are  they  all,  all  lionorable  men  ;) 
Come  I  to  speak  in  C:esar"'s  funeral. 
He  was  my  friend,  laithful  and  just  to  me: 
But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 
He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill: 
Did  this  in  Cresar  seem  ambitious  I 
When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wept : 


Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff: 

Yet  Brutus  says,  he  was  ambitious; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

You  all  did  see,  that  on  the  Lupercal, 

1  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Wliich  he  did  thrice  refuse.    Was  this  ambition'? 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 

And,  sure,  he  "is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause ; 

What  cause  withholds  you  then  to  mourn  fnr  him? 

0  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts. 
And  men  have  lost  their  reason! — bear  with  me; 
My  heart  is  in  the  coltin  tJiere  with  Caesar, 

And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

1  at.  INIethinks,  there  is    much  reason  in  his 

sayings. 

2  at.  If'thou  consider  rightly  of  the  matter, 
Csesar  has  had  great  wrongs. 

3  CU.  Has  he,  masters'? 

1  fear,  there  will  a  worse  come  in  his  place. 

4  at.  Mark'd  ye  his  words?  He  would  not  take 

the  crown; 
Therefore,  'tis  certain,  he  was  not  ambitious. 

1  at.  If  it  be  found  so,  some  will  dear  abide  it. 

2  at.  Poor  soul!  his  eyes  are  red  as  fire  with 

weeping. 

3  at.  There's  not  a  nobler  man  in  Rome  than 

Antony. 

4  at.  Now  mark  him,  he  begins  again  to  speak. 
Ant.  But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Cssar  mi^ht 

Have  stood  against  the  world:  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 

0  masters!  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 

Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

1  should  do  Brutus  wrong,  and  Cassius  wrong, 
Who,  you  all  know, are  honorable  men: 

I  will  iiot  do  them  wrmig;  I  rather  choose 

To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself,  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men. 

But  here's  a  parchment,  with  the  seal  of  Caesar, 

I  found  it  in  his  closet,  'tis  his  will: 

Let  but  tlie  commons  hear  this  testament, 

(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read,} 

And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 

And  diji  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood; 

Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  lor  memory. 

And,  dying,  mention  it  withiji  their  wills, 

Bequeathing  it,  as  a  rich  legacy, 

LTnto  their  issue. 

4  Ct/.  We'll  hoar  the  will:  Read  it, Mark  Antony. 

at.  The  will,  the  will;  we  will  hear  Caesars  will. 

Ant.  Have  patience,  gentle  friends,  I  must  not 
read  it ; 
It  is  not  meet  you  k^now  how  C^sarlov'd  you. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men; 
And.  being  men,  hearins:  the  will  of  Ca'sar, 
It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad: 
'Tis  tcood  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs; 
For  if  you  shoidd.  O.  what  would  come  of  it! 

4  Cif.  Read  the  will;  we  will  hear  it,  Antony; 
You  shall  read  us  the  will;  Cresar's  will. 

A7it.  Will  you  be  patient!  Will  you  stay  awhile"? 
I  have  o'ershot  myself,  to  tell  you  of  it. 
I  fear.  I  WTong  the  honorable  men, 
Whose  daggers  havestabb'd  Csesar:  I  do  fear  it. 

4  at.  They  were  traitors:  Honorable  men! 

at.  The  will!  the  testament ! 

2  at.  They  were  villains,  murderers:  The  will! 
read  the  will ! 

.4/?^  You  will  compel  me  then  to  read  the  wiin 
Then  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  C^sar, 
And  let  me  show  you  him  that  made  the  will. 
Shall  I  descend  ?     And  will  you  give  me  leave  \ 

at.  Come  down. 

2  at.  Descend.  [He  comes  doicnfrom  the  Pulpit. 

3  at.  You  shall  have  leave. 

4  at.  A  ring;  stand  round. 

1  at.  Stand  from  the  hearse,  stand  from  the  body 

2  at.  Room  for  Antony; — most  noble  Antony. 
Ant.  Nay.  press  not  so  upon  me;  stand  far  o!"t' 
at.  Stand  back!  room!  bear  back! 

Ant.  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them 
now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Ca?sar  put  it  on; 
'Twas  on  a  smnmer's  evening  in  his  tent; 
Tiiat  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii : — 
Look!  in  this  place,  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through : 


682 


JULIUS   C^SAK. 


Act  III.  Scene  III. 


See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made : 
Through  this,  the  weU-bcloved  Brutus  stabb'd; 
And,  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Ciesar  foUowM  it; 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  rcsolv'd. 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knockM,  or  no; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Csesar's  angel: 
Judge,  O  you  gods,  how  dearly  Ceesar  lov  d  him! 
This  wari  tlie  most  unkindest  cut  of  all : 
For  when  the  noble  Ca?sar  saw  him  stab, 
In^irittitudc,  more  strong  than  traitor's  arms, 
Quite  vauquishM  him:  thenburst  his  miglity  heart; 
And,  in  his  mantle  mufflinL^  \]\y  his  face, 
Kven  at  the  base  of  Pomiicy's  statua.^ 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Ca;sar  fell. 
O,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen ! 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
Whilst  bloody  treason  tlourish'd  over  us. 
O,  now  you  weep;  and,  I  perceive,  yon  feci 
The  dint^  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls,  what,  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  1  Look  you  here, 
Here  is  himself,  marr'd,  as  you  see,  with  traitors. 

1  Cii.  0  piteous  spectacle  ! 

2  CU.  0  noble  Cssar ! 

3  at.  0  woful  day! 

4  Cit.  0  traitors,  villains! 

1  Cit.  O  most  bloody  sight ! 

2  Cit.  V^e  will  be  revenged:  revenge;  about, 
— seek,— burn, — fire, — kill, — slay  ! — let  not  a  traitor 
live. 

Atit.  Stay,  countrymen. 

1  Cit.  Peace  there  :— Hear  the  noble  Antony. 

2  Cit.  We'U  hear  him,  we'll  follow  him,  we'll  die 
with  him. 

A?it.  Good  friends,  swoet  friends,  let  me  not  stir 
you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 
They,  that  have  done  this  deed,  are  honorable; 
AVhat  private  griefs'  they  have,  alas,  I  know  not. 
That  made  them  do  it;  they  arc  wise  and  honorable. 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts ; 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is: 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain  blunt  man, 
Tliat  love  my  I'riend ;  and  that  they  know  full  well, 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him. 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood :  I  only  speak  right  on  ; 
I  telJ  you  that,  which  you  yourselves  do  know: 
Show  you  sweet  Cesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb 

mouths. 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me  :  But  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  ruftle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Ciesar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 

at.  We'll  mutiny. 

1  Cit.  We'll  burn  the  house  of  Brutus. 

2  Cif.  Away  then!  come,  seek  tiie  conspirators. 
Ant.  Yet  hear  me.  countrymen,  yet  hear  me  speak. 
at.  Peace,  ho!  Hear  Antony,  most  noble  Antony, 
A/it.  Why,  friends,  you  go  to  do  you  know  not 

what: 
Wherein  hath  Caesar  thus  deservM  your  loves'! 
Alas,  you  know  not: — I  must  tell  you  then: — 
You  have  forgot  the  will  I  told  you  of. 

Cit.  Most  true; — the  will:— let's  stay,  and  hear 

the  will. 
Anf.  Here  is  the  will,  and  under  Cresar's  seal. 
To  every  Roman  citizen  he  gives. 
To  every  several  man,  seventy-five  drachmas.^ 
2  Ci/.'  Most    noble    Ctesar !— we'll    revenge    his 
death. 

■  Statua  for  statue,  is  common  among  the  old  wi-itprs. 
*  Impression.        •  Orleyances.        s  ^'^.ar  fifty  shilling - 


3  Cit.  O  royal  Csesar! 

Ant.  Hear  me  with  patience. 

at.  Peace,  ho  ! 

Ant.  Moreover,  he  hath  left  you  all  his  walks, 
His  private  arbors,  and  new-planted  orchards. 
On  this  side  Tyber:  he  hath  left  them  you. 
And  to  your  heirs  for  ever;  common  pleasures, 
To  walk  abroad  and  recreate  yourselves. 
Here  was  a  Ciesar:  When  comes  such  another'? 

1  Cit.  Never,  never: — Come,  away,  away  : 
We'll  burn  his  body  in  Ihe  holy  place, 

And  wilh  the  brands  fire  the  traitors'  houses. 
Take  up  the  body. 

2  Cit.  Go,  fetch  tire. 

3  CiJ.  Pluck  down  benches. 

4  at.  Pluck  down  forms,  windows,  any  thing. 

[Exeunt  Citizens,  with  the  borty. 
Ant.  Now  let  it  work.    Mischief,  thou  art  afoot. 
Take  thou   what  course   thou  wilt ! — How  now^ 
fellow  ] 

^  Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  Sir,  Octavius  is  already  come  to  Rome. 

Ant.  Where  is  he  ] 

aerv.  He  and  Lepidus  are  at  Casar's  house. 

Ant.  And  thither  will  I  straight  to  visit  hnn  : 
He  comes  upon  a  wish.    Fortune  is  merry, 
And  in  this  mood  will  give  us  any  thing. 

Serv.  I  heard  him  say,  Brutus  and  Cassius 
Are  rid  like  madmen  through  the  gates  of  Rome. 

Ant.  Belike,  they  had  some  noticeof  the  people 
How  I  had  mov'd  them.  Bring  me  to  Octavius, 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  III.— ^  Street. 
Enter  Cinna,  the  Puet. 
Cin.  Idreamt  lo-night  that  I  did  feast  with  Ccesar, 
And  things  unluckily  charge  my  fantasy: 
1  have  no  will  to  wander  Ibrth  of  doors. 
Yet  something  leads  me  forth. 

Enter  Citizens. 

1  at.  What  is  your  name  ] 

2  Cit.  Wliither'are  you  going? 

3  Cit.  Wliere  do  you  dwell  ? 

4  at.  Are  you  a  married  man.  or  a  bachelor? 

2  Cit.  Answer  every  man  directly. 

1  Cit.  Ay,  and  brieily. 
4  Cit.  Ay,  and  wisely. 

3  Cit.  Ay,  and  truly,  you  were  best. 

Cin.  What  is  my  name?  Whither  am  I  going? 
Wliere  do  I  dwell?  Am  I  a  married  man,  or  a 
bachelor?  Then  to  answer  every  man  directly, 
and  briefly,  wisely,  and  truly.  Wisely  I  say,  I  am 
a  bachelor. 

2  at.  Tliat's  as  much  as  to  say,  they  are  fools 
that  marry.— You'll  bear  me  a  bang  tijr  that,  I  fear. 
Proceed ;  directly. 

Cin.  Directly,  I  am  going  to  Cssar's  funeral. 

1  Cit.  As  a  iriend,  or  an  enemy  ? 
Cin.  As  a  friend. 

2  at.  Tliat  matter  is  answered  directly. 

4  Cit.  For  your  dwelling. — briefly. 
Cin.  Briefly.  I  dwell  by  the  Capitol. 
4  at.  Your  nauie,  sir,  truly. 

Cin.  Truly,  my  name  is  Cinna. 

1  at.  Tear  him  to  pieces,  he's  a  conspirator. 
Cin.  I  am  Cinna  thr  poet,  I  am  Cinna  the  poet. 

4  at.  Tear  him  for  his  bad  verses,  tear  him  for 
his  bad  verses, 
Cin.  I  am  not  Cinna  the  conspirator. 

2  Cit.  It  is  no  matter,  his  name's  Cinna;  pluck 
but  his  name  out  of  his  Jieart,  and  turn  Inm  going. 

3  Cit.  Tear  him.  tear  him.  Come,  brands,  ho! 
firebrands.  To  Brutus',  to  Cassius';  burn  all- 
Some  to  Decius'  house,  and  some  to  Casca*s;somo 
toLigarius';  away;  go, 

[Exeunt 


Act  rV.  Scene  III. 


JULIUS  C^SAK. 


583 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.— A  Room  in  Antony's  House. 

Antony,  Octavics,  mirl  Lepidcs,  seated  at  a 
Table. 

Ant.  These  many  then  shall  die;  their  names 
are  prick'd. 

Oct.  Your  brother  too  must  die;  Consent  you, 
Lepidus  ] 

Lep.  I  do  consent. 

Oct.  Prick"  him  down,  Antony. 

Lep.  Upon  condition  Pulilius  shall  not  live. 
Who  is  your  sister's  son,  Mark  Antony. 

Ant.  He  shall  not  live ;  look,  with  a  spot  I  damns 
him. 
But,  Lepidus,  go  you  to  Ciesar's  house  ; 
Fetch  the  will  hither,  and  we  will  determine 
How  to  cut  oflsome  charge  in  legacies. 

Lep.  What,  shall  I  tiud  you  here  ? 

Oct.  Or  here,  or  at 

The  Capitol.  [Exit  Lepidus. 

Ant.  This  is  a  slight  unmeritable  man, 
Meet  to  be  sent  on  errands:  Is  it  fit. 
The  (hrce-foltl  world  divided,  he  should  stand 
One  of  the  three  to  share  it? 

Oct.  So  you  thought  him; 

And  took  his  voice  who  should  lie  prick'd  to  die, 
In  our  black  sentence  and  proscription. 

Ant.  Ociavius,  I  have  seen  more  days  than  jou ; 
And  tiiough  we  lay  these  honors  on  this  man. 
To  ease  ourselves  of  divers  slanderous  loads. 
He  shall  but  bear  them  as  the  ass  bears  gold. 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  the  business, 
Either  led  or  driven,  as  we  point  the  way; 
And  having  brought  our  treasure  where  we  will, 
Then  take  we  down  his  load,  and  turn  him  otF, 
Like  to  the  empty  ass,  to  shake  his  cars, 
And  graze  in  coiiimons. 

Oct.  You  may  do  your  will ; 

But  he's  a  tried  and  valiant  soldier. 

Ant.  So  is  my  horse,  Ociavius;  and,  for  that, 
I  do  appoint  him  store  of  provender. 
It  is  a  creature  that  I  teach  to  fight. 
To  wind,  to  stop,  to  run  directly  on  ; 
His  corporal  motion  govern'd  by  my  spirit. 
'And,  in  some  taste,  is  Lepidus  but  so; 
He  must  be  taught,  and  Iraiii'd,  and  bid  go  forth  ; 
A  barren-spirited  fellow;  one  that  feeds 
On  objects,  arts,  and  imitations  ; 
Which,  out  of  use.  and  stal'd  by  other  men, 
Begin  his  fashion  :  Do  not  talk  of  bim. 
But  as  a  property.    And  now,  Octavius, 
Listen  great  things.— Brutus  and  Cassius 
Are  levying  powers:  we  must  straight  make  head. 
Tlierefore,  let  our  alliance  be  combin'd. 
Our  best  friends  made,  and  our  best  means  stretch'd 

out;  — 
And  let  us  presently  go  sit  in  council. 
How  covert  matters  may  be  best  disclos'd. 
And  open  perils  surest  answered. 

Oct.  Let  us  do  so  ;  (or  we  are  at  the  stake, 
And  bay'd^  about  with  many  enemies; 
And  some,  that  smile,  have  in  their  hearts.  I  fear. 
Millions  of  mischief.  \_Excunt. 

SCENE   l\.—Btfure  Brutus'  Tent,  in  the  Camp 
near  Sardis. 

.  Drum.  Enter  BnuTis,  LiciLirs,  Lrcirs.  and  Sol- 
diers :  TiTiNiLS  and  Pisdarls  meeting  tfiem. 
Bru.   Stand  here. 

Luc.  Give  the  word,  ho !  and  stand. 
Bru.  What  now,  Lucilius?  is  Cassius  nearl 
Luc.  He  is  at  hand  ;  and  Pindarus  is  come 
To  do  j'ou  salutation  iVom  his  master. 

[PiNDAUus  gires  a  Letter  to  Bruits. 
Bru.  He    greets  me   well. — Your  master,  Pin- 
darus, 
In  his  own  charge,  or  by  ill  offices. 
Hath  given  nie  some  worthy  cause  to  wish 
Things  done,  undone:  but,  if  he  be  at  hand, 
I  shall  be  satisfied. 
Pm.  I  do  not  doubt 

'  Set,  mark.        «  Condemn.        •  Surrounded,  baited. 


But  that  my  noble  master  will  appear 
Such  as  he  is,  full  of  regard  and  honor. 

Bru.  He  is  not  doubled.— A  word,  Lucilius: 
How  he  receiv'd  you.  let  me  be  resolv'd. 

Luc.  With  courtesy,  and  with  respect  enough; 
But  not  with  such  liiiniliar  instances. 
Nor  with  such  free  and  friendly  conference. 
As  he  hath  used  of  old. 

Bru.  Thou  hast  describ'd 

A  hot  friend  cooling:  Ever  note.  Lucilius, 
When  love  begins  to  sicken  and  decay, 
It  useth  an  enlorced  ceremony. 
There  are  no  tricks  in  plain  and  simple  failh: 
But  hollow  men,  like  horses  hot  at  hand. 
Make  gallant  show  and  promise  of  their  mettle : 
But  when  they  should  endure  the  bloody  spur. 
They  fall  their  crests,  and,  like  deceilful  jades. 
Sink  ill  the  trial.    Comes  his  ariny  on  ! 

Luc.  They  mean  this  night  in  Sardis  to  be  quar- 
ter'd ; 
The  greater  part,  the  horse  in  general. 
Are  come  with  Cassius.  [Marcti  witliiti. 

Bru.  Hark,  he  IS  arriv'd: — 

March  gently  on  to  meet  him. 

Enter  Cassius  and  Soldiers. 
Cas.  Stand,  ho! 

Bru.  Stand,  lio  !    Speak  the  word  along. 
ll'it/iin.]  Stand. 
n'it/iin.]  Stand. 
iruiiin.]  Stand. 
Cas.  Most  noble   brother,  you   have   done   me 

wrong. 
Bru.  Judge  me,  you  gods  !     Wrong  I  mine  ene- 
iiiii^s  ! 
.\nd,  if  not  so,  how  should  I  wrong  a  brother'; 
Cas.  Brutus,    this  sober  form   of  yours    hides 
wrongs; 

And  when  you  do  them 

Bru.  Cassius,  be  content. 

Speak  your  grief  softly.— I  do  know  you  well:— 
Before  the  eyes  of  both  our  armies  here. 
Which  sliouid  perceive  nothing  but  love  from  us, 
Let  us  not  wrangle.   Bid  them  move  away : 
Then,  in  my  tent,  Cassius,  enlarge  your  griefs, 
And  I  will  give  you  audience. 

Cas.  Pindarus, 

Bid  our  commanders  lead  their  charges  oil' 
A  little  from  this  ground. 

Bru.  Lucilius,  do  the  like;  and  let  no  man 
Come  to  ourtent.  till  we  have  done  our  conli'renee. 
Let  Lucius  and  TItinius  guard  our  door.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE    lU.— Within  the  Tent  (i/'Brutus. 
Lucius  and  Titinius  at  some  distance  fniin  it. 

Enter  Buuirs  and  Cassius. 
Cas.  That  you  have  wrong'd  me,  doth  appear  in 
this: 
You  havecondemn'd  and  noted  Lucius  Pella, 
Kor  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians; 
Wiiercin  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side. 
Because  I  kiiew  tlie  man,  were  slighted  oH; 
Bru.  You  wrong'd  yourself,  to  write  in  such  a 

case. 
Cas.  In  such  a  lime  as  this,  it  is  not  meet  ' 
That  every  nice'  ollencc  should  bear  his  comment. 

Bru.  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
Are  much  condeniii'd  to  have  an  itching  palm; 
To  sell  and  mart  your  otliccs  for  gold. 
To  undeservers. 

Cas.  I  an  itching  palm  1 

You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this. 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Bru.  The  nameof  Cassius  honors  this  corruption, 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 
Cas.  Chastisement! 

Bru.  Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  re 
member! 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  \ 
What  villain  touch'd  his  body,  that  did  stab. 
And  not  for  justice  !     What,  shall  one  of  us, 
>  Tiining. 


584 


JULIUS   CiESAK. 


Act  IV. 


That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world, 
But  for  supporting  robbers  ;  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  tinkers  wilh  base  bribes'? 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors, 
j'or  so  much  trash,  as  may  be  grasped  thus  I — 
I  had  ratlier  be  a  do^,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cas.  Brutus,  bay  not  me  ; 

I'll  not  endure  it;  you  forget  yourself 
To  hedge  me  in ;  I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 
Bni.  Go  to  ;  you're  not,  Cassius. 

Crt.9.  I  am. 

Brii.  I  sajs  you  are  not. 

Cas,  Urge  me  no  more,  [  shall  forget  myself; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  no  lurther. 
Bru.  Away,  slight  man  ! 

Cas.  Is't  possible] 

Bru.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rasli  choler? 
Shall  I  be  frighted,  when  a  madman  sturcs  ? 

Cas.  0  ye  gods!  yc  gods!  Must  I  endure  all  this? 

Bru.  All  tliis  !  ay,  more:  Fret,  till  your  proud 
heart  break ; 
Go  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are. 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.    Must  I  budge"! 
Must  I  observe  you  7    Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
llnder  your  testy  humor  ?    By  the  gods. 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen, 
Though  it  do  split  you :  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cas.  Is  it  come  to  this  1 

Bru,  You  say,  you  are  a  better  soldier: 
Let  it  appear  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true. 
And  it  shall  please  me  well :  For  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cas.  You  wrong  me  every  way;  you  wrong  me, 
Brutus: 
I  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better : 
Did  I  say,  better  ] 

Brji.  If  you  did,  I  care  not. 

Cas.  When  Cxsar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have 
movM  me. 

Bru,  Peace,  peace,  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted 
him. 

Cas.  I  durst  not? 

Bru.  No. 

Cas.  What!  durst  not  tempt  him? 

Bru.  For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Cas,  Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love, 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  tor. 

Bru.  You  have  done  that  you  shouldbe  sorrj^for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats: 
For  1  am  arm'd  so  strong  in  honesty, 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wmd, 
V/hicii  iVespect  hot.    I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me; — 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means : 
By  lieaven,  I  had  ratlier  coin  my  heart. 
And  diop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  ■v^Ting 
From  the  hard  hands  of  jjeasants  tlieir  vile  trash 
By  any  indirection.    I  did  send 
To  you  lor  gold  to  pay  my  legions. 
Which  you  denied  me :  Was  that  done  Iil:e  Cassius  ? 
Should  I  have  answer'd  Caius  Cassius  so? 
Wlien  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous, 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  liis  friends. 
Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, 
Dash  him  to  pieces ! 

Cas.  I  denied  you  not. 

Bru.  You  did. 

Cas.  I  did  not : — he  was  but  a  fool. 

That  brought  my  answer  back. — Brutus  hath  rived^ 

my  heart: 
A  friend  should  bear  his  frieud's  infirmities. 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  tlicy  are. 

Bru.  I  do  not,  till  you  practise  tliem  on  me. 

Cas.  You  love  me  not. 

Bru.  I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Cas.  A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 

Bru.  A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do 
appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cfw.  Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come, 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  aweary  of  tlio  world: 

a  Split. 


Hated  by  one  he  loves ;  brav'd  by  his  brother ; 

CheckM  like  a  bondman ;  all  his'faults  observed, 

Set  in  a  note-book,  learn'd  and  conn'd  by  rote, 

To  cast  into  my  teeth.    O,  I  could  weep 

My  spirit  from  mine  eyes! — There  is  my  dagger, 

And  here  my  naked  breast;  within,  a  heart 

Dearer  than  Plutus"'  mine,  richer  than  gold: 

If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth ; 

I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart: 

Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Caesar;  for  I  know, 

Wlien  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lov'dst  him 

better 
Than  ever  thou  iovMst  Cassius. 

Bru.  Sheathe  your  dagger: 

Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope; 
Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor. 
O  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb 
That  carries  anger,  as  the  flint  bears  tire  ; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark. 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 

Cas.  Hath  Cassius  liv'd 

To  be  but  mirth  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-temperM.  vexeth  himl 

Bru.  When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-temperM  too. 

Cas.  Do  you  confess  so  much  ?    Give  me  your 
hand. 

Bru.  And  my  heart  too. 

Cas.  0  Brutus ! 

Bru.  What's  the  matter  1 

Cas.  Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  me, 
When  that  rash  humor,  which  my  mother  gave  me, 
Makes  me  forgetful? 

Bru.  Yes,  Cassius ;  and  Iienceforth, 

Wiien  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
Hc''ll  tliink  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 

[Noise  unthin. 

Poet.  [  Within.']  Let  me  go  in  to  see  the  generals: 
There  is  some  grudge  between  them,  'tis  not  meet 
They  be  alone. 

Luc.  [  Within.]  You  shall  not  come  to  them. 

Poet.  [  Within,]  Nothing  but  death  shall  stay  me. 
Enter  Poet. 

Cas.  How  now?    Whafs  the  matter?  . 

Poet.  For  sliame,  you  generals :   What  do  you 
mean  ? 
Love,  and  be  friends,  as  two  such  men  should  be; 
For  I  have  seen  more  years,  I  am  sure,  than  ye. 

Cas.  Ha,  ha  ;  how  vilely  doth  this  cynic  rhyme! 

Bru.  Get  you  hence,  sirrah ;  saucv  tiellow^,  hence. 

Cas.  Bear  with  him,  Brutus;  'tis  his  fashion. 

Bru.  ril  know  his  humor,  when  he  knows  his 
time: 
What  should  the  wars  do  with  these  jigging  fools'? 
Compauion,3  hence. 

Cas.  Away,  away,  begone. 

[Exit  Poet, 
Enter  Lucilics  aiid  Titinius. 

Bru.  Lucilius  and  Titinius,  bid  the  commanders 
Prepare  to  lodge  their  companies  to-ni^ht. 

Cas.  And  come  yourselves,  and  bring  Messala 
with  you, 
Inmiediatcly  to  us.  [Ex.  Lucilius  and  Titinius. 

Bru.  Lucius,  a  bowl  of  wine. 

Cfl^s-.  I  did  not  think,  you  could  have  been  so  angry 

Bru.  0  Cassius.  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs. 

Cas,  Of  your  philosophy  you  make  no  use. 
If  you  give  place  to  accidental  evils. 

Bru.  No   man   bears  sorrow  belter: — Portia  is 
dead, 

Cas.  Ha!  Portia? 

Bru.  She  is  dead. 

Cas.  How  'scap'd  I  killing,  when  I  cross'd  you 
so? — 
O  insupportable  and  touching  loss! — 
Upon  what  sickness  ? 

Bru.  Impatient  of  my  absence; 

And  grief,  that  young  Octavius  with  Jlark  Antony 
Have  made  themselves  so  strong; — lor  with  her 

death 
That  tidings  came;— With  this  she  fell  distract. 
And,  her  attendants  absent,  swallowed  tire. 

Cas.  And  died  so? 

Bru,  Kven  so. 

Cas.  O  ye  immortal  gods! 

Enter  Lucius,  with  Wine  and  Tapers. 

Bru.  Speak  no  more  of  her. — Give  me  a  bowl 
of  wine : — 
In  this  I  bury  all  unkindness,  Cassius.        {Brvik^, 
•  Fellow. 


Scene  III. 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


585 


Cas.  My  heart  is  thirsty  for  that  noble  pledge:— 
Fill.  Lucius,  till  the  wine  o'erswell  the  cup ; 
I  caraiot  drink  too  much  of  Brutus'  love.  [Drinks. 

Re-enter  Titinios,  with  Messala. 
Bru.  Come  in,  Titinius :— Welcome,  good  Mes- 
sala.— 
Now  sit  we  close  about  this  taper  here, 
And  call  in  question  our  necessities. 
Cos.  Portia,  art  thou  gone  ! 

Bru.  No  more,  I  pray  you. — 

Messala,  I  have  here  received  letters, 
That  young  Octavius,  and  Mark  Antony, 
Comedown  upon  us  witii  a  mis^hty  power. 
Bending  their  expedition  toward  Philippi. 
Mes.  Myself  have  letters  of  the  self-same  tenor. 
Bru.  With  what  addition  1 

Mes.  That  by  proscription,  and  biUs  of  outlawry, 
Octavius,  Antony,  and  Lepidus, 
Have  put  to  death  a  hundred  senators. 

Bru.  Therein  our  letters  do  not  well  agree : 
Mine  speak  of  seventy  senators,  that  died 
By  their  proscriptions,  Cicero  being  one. 
.    C'ns.  Cicero  one^ 

Mes.  Ay,  Cicero  is  dead, 

And  by  that  order  of  proscription. — 
Had  you  your  letters  from  your  wife,  my  lord  7 
Bru.  No,  Messala. 

Mes.  Nor  notliing  in  your  letters  writ  of  her] 
Bru.  Nothing,  Messala. 

JVfes.  That,  methinks,  is  strange. 

Bru.  Why  ask  you  1    Hear  you  aught  of  her  in 

yours  \ 
Mes.  No,  my  lord. 

Bru.  Now,  as  you  are  a  Roman,  tell  ine  true. 
Mes.  Then  like  a  Roman  bear  tlie  truth  I  tell; 
For  certain  she  is  dead,  and  by  strange  manner. 
Bru.    Why,  farewell,  Portia.  —  We  must  die, 
Messala ; 
With  meditating  that  she  must  die  once, 
I  have  the  patience  to  endure  it  now. 
Mes.  Even  so  great  men  great  losses  should  en- 
dure. 
Cas.  I  liave  as  much  of  this  in  art^  as  you ; 
But  yet  my  nature  could  not  bear  it  so. 

Bru.  Well,  to  our  work  alive.  What  do  you  think 
Of  marching  to  Philippi  presently  ! 
Cas.  I  do  not  thinJi  it  good. 
Bru.  Your  reason"! 

Cas.  This  it  is : 

'Tis  better  that  the  enemy  seek  us : 
So  shall  he  waste  his  means,  weary  his  soldiers, 
Doing  himself  ollence ;  whilst  we,  lying  still, 
Are  full  of  rest,  defence,  and  nimbleness. 
Bru.  Good  reasons  must,  of  force,  give  place  to 
better. 
The  people,  'twixt  Philippi  and  this  ground,  ■ 
Do  stand  but  in  a  forced  allcction; 
For  they  have  grudg'd  us  contribution: 
The  enemy,  marching  along  by  them. 
By  them  shall  make  a  fuller  number  up. 
Come  on  refresird,  new-added,  and  encouraged ; 
From  which  advantage  shall  we  cut  him  otT, 
If  at  Philippi  we  do  ikce  him  there, 
These  people  at  our  back. 

Cas.  Hear  me,  good  brother. 

Bru.  Under  your  pardon. — You  must  note  be- 
side, 
That  we  have  tried  the  utmost  of  our  friends. 
Our  legions  are  lirinifuU.  our  cause  is  ripe : 
The  enemy  incrcaseth  every  day. 
We,  at  the  height,  are  ready  to  decline. 
There  is  a  tide  in  the  alliiirs  of  men. 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortime ; 
■  Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallow  3,  and  in  miseries. 
On  such  a  full  sea  are  we  now  afloat; 
And  we  must  take  the  current  when  it  serves. 
Or  lose  our  ventures. 

Cas.  Then,  with  your  will. go  on: 

We'll  on  ourselves,  and  meet  them  at  Philippi. 

Bru.  The  deep  of  night  is  crept  upon  our  talk. 
And  nature  must  obey  necessity  ; 
VYliich  we  will  niggard  witji  a  little  rest. 
There  is  no  more  to  say  1 

Cas.  No  more.    Good-night ; 

£arly  to-morrow  will  we  rise,  and  hence. 
Bru.  Lucius,  my  gown.    [Exit  Lccius.]    Fare- 
well, goodMessala : — 
•  Theory. 


(^ood-night,  Titinius: — Noble,  noble  Cassius, 
Good-night,  and  good  repose. 

Cas.  0  my  dear  brotlier  i 

This  was  an  ill  beginning  of  the  night: 
Never  come  such  division  'tween  our  souls ! 
Let  it  not,  Brutus. 
Bru.  Every  thing  is  well. 

Cas.  Good-night,  my  lord. 

Bru.  Good-night,  good  brother. 

Tit.  Mes.  Good-night,  lord  Brutus. 
Bru.  Farewell,  every  one. 

[Exeunt  Cas.,  Tit.,  and  Mes. 
Re-enter  Lccirs,  with  the  Gown. 
Give  me  the  gown.    Where  is  tiiy  instrument^ 
Luc.  Here  in  the  tent. 

Bru.  What,  thou  speak'st  drowsily  ! 

Poor  knave,  I  blame  tiice  not;  thou  art  o'erwatch'd. 
Call  Claudius,  and  some  other  of  my  men; 
I'll  have  them  sleep  on  cushions  in  my  tent. 
Luc.  Varro,  and  Claudius ! 

Enter  Varro  and  Ci.acdius. 
T'«r.  Calls  my  lord  ? 

Bru.  I  pray  you,  sirs,  lie  in  my  tent,  and  sleep ; 
It  may  be,  I  shall  raise  you  by  and  by 
On  business  to  my  brother  Cassius. 

Var.  So  please  you,  we  will  stand,  and  watch 

your  pleasure. 
Bru.  I  will  not  have  it  so  :  lie  down,  good  sirs ; 
It  may  be,  I  shall  otherwise  bethink  me. 
Look,  Lucius,  here's  the  book  I  sought  for  so  ; 
I  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  gown. 

[Servants  lie  down. 
Luc.  I  was  sure  your  lordship  did  not  give  it  me. 
Bru.  Bear  with  me,  good  boy.    I  am  much  Ibr- 
getful. 
Canst  thou  hold  up  thy  heavy  eyes  awhile, 
And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two  ] 
Luc.  Ay,  my  lord,  an  it  please  you. 
Bru.  It  does,  my  boy : 

I  trouble  thee  too  much,  but  tliou  art  willing. 
Luc.  It  is  my  duty,  sir. 

Bru.  I  should  not  urge  thy  duty  past  thy  miglit ; 
I  know,  young  bloods  look  lor  a  time  of  rest. 
Luc.  I  have  slept,  my  lord,  already. 
Bru.  It  is  well  done ;  and  thou  shalt  sleep  again ; 
I  will  not  hold  thee  long:  if  I  do  live, 
I  will  be  good  to  thee.  [Mu.'iic  and  a  So?tg. 

This  is  a  sleepy  tune  :— 0  murd'rous  slumber! 
Lay'st  thou  thy  leaden  mace^  upon  my  boy, 
That  plays  thee  music  ?  —  Gentle  lijiave,  good- 
night. 
I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. 
If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break'st  thy  instrument ; 
I'll  take  it  from  thee,  and,  good  boy.  good-uight. 
Let  me  see,  let  me  see : — Is  not  the  leaf  turn'd 

down, 
Where  I  left  reading  7    Here  it  is,  I  think. 

[He  sits  down. 
Enter  the  Ghost  of  C^sar. 
How  ill  this  taper  burns  !— Ha !  who  comes  here  : 
1  think  it  is  the  weakness  of  mine  eyes. 
That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 
It  comes  upon  me: — Art  thou  any  thing? 
Art  thou  some  god.  some  angel,  or  some  devil. 
That  mak"Bt  my  blood  cold,  and  my  hair  to  stare  1 
Speak  to  me,  what  thou  art. 
Ghost.  Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 
Bru.  Why  coni'st  thou  ? 

Ghost.  To  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi. 
Bru.  Well; 
Then  I  shall  see  thee  again ! 
Ghost.  Ay,  at  Philippi. 

[Ghost  vanishes. 
Bru.  Why,  I  will  see  thee  at  Philippi,  then. — 
Now  I  have  taken  heart,  thou  vanishest: 
III  sjiirit,  I  would  hold  more  talk  with  thee. — 
Boy  !  Lucius!— Varro  !   Claudius!    Sirs,  awake  ! — 
Claudius! 
Luc.  The  strings,  my  lord,  are  false. 
Bru.  He  thinks,  he  still  is  at  his  instrument. — 
Lucius,  awake. 
Luc.  My  lord  ! 
Bru.  Didst  thou  dream,  Lucius,  that  thou  so 

cry'dst  out  I 
Luc.  My  lord,  I  do  not  know  that  X  did  cry. 
Bru.  Yes,  that  thou  didst:  Didst  thou  see  any 
thing  1 
I  •  Sceptre. 


586 


JULIUS  C^SAR. 


Act  V. 


Luc.  Nothing,  my  lord. 

Brti.  Sleep  asain-  Lucius.— Sirrah,  Claudius! 
Fellow,  thou !  awake. 
Var.  My  lord ! 
Clan.  My  lord ! 

Bru.  Why  did  you  socry  out.  sirs,  in  your  sleep? 
Var.  Clan.  Did  we,  my  lord  1 
Bru.  Ay ;  Saw  you  any  thing  1 


Var.  No,  my  lord,  I  saw  nothing. 

Clan.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Bru. Go, and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassius] 
Bid  him  set  on  his  powers  betimes  before, 
And  we  will  follow. 

Var.  CLau.  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord. 

\_Exeunt. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  \.~The  Plains  of  Philippi. 
Enter  Octavius,  Antony,  and  their  Army, 

Oct.  Now,  Antony,  our  hopes  are  answered: 
You  said  the  enemy  would  not  come  down, 
But  keep  the  hills  and  upper  regions; 
It  proves  not  so  :  their  battles  are  at  hand; 
They  mean  to  warn^  us  at  Philippi  here, 
Answering  before  we  do  demand  of  them. 

Ant.  Tut,  I  am  in  their  bosoms,  and  I  know, 
Wherelbre  they  do  it:  they  could  be  content 
To  visit  other  places;  and  come  down 
With  learfu!  bravery,  thinkinf^,  by  this  face, 
To  fasten  in  our  thoughts  that  they  have  courage ; 
But  'tis  not  so. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Prepare  yon,  generals: 

The  enemy  comes  on  in  gallant  show; 
Their  bloody  sign  of  battle  is  hung  out. 
And  sometliing's  to  be  done  immediately. 

Ani.  Octiivius,  lead  your  battle  sofily  on. 
Upon  the  lell  hand  of  the  even  field. 

Oct.  Upon  the  right  hand  I,  keep  thou  the  Jefl, 

Anf.  Why  do  you  cross  me  in  this  exigent^ 

Oct.  1  do  not  cross  you ;  but  I  will  do  so. 

{March. 

Drum.    Enter  Brutus,  Casstus,  and  their  Army; 
LuciLUS,  TiTiNius,  Messala,  and  others, 

Bru.  They  stand,  and  would  have  parley* 

Cas.  Stand  fast,Titinius:  We  must  out  and  talk. 

Oct.  Mark  Antony,  shall  we  give  sign  of  battle  ! 

Ant.  No,  CiEsar,  we  will  answer  on  the  charge. 
Make  forth,  the  generals  would  have  some  words. 

Oct.  Stir  not  until  the  signal. 

Bru.  Words   before  blows:    Is  it  so,  country- 
men 1 

Oct.  Not  that  we  love  words  better,  as  you  do. 

Bru.  Good  words  are  better  than  bad  strokes, 
Octavius. 

Ant.  In  your  bad  strokes,  Brutus,  you  give  good 
words : 
Witness  the  hole  you  made  in  Cjesar's  heart, 
Qxy'xwg,  Long  live  !  hail,  Caesar! 

C(is.  Antony, 

The  posture  of  your  blows  are  yet  unknown; 
But  lor  your  words,  they  rob  the  Hyhla  bees. 
And  leave  them  honeyless. 

Ant.  Not  stingless  too. 

Bru.  0,  yes,  and  soundless  too; 
For  you  have  stol'n  tfieir  buzzing,  Antony, 
And.  very  wisely,  threat  before  you  sting. 

Anf.  V'illains,  you  did  not  so,  when  your  vile 
daggers 
Hack  d  one  another  in  the  sides  of  Cresar: 
You  show'd  your  teeth  like  apes,  and  fawn'd  like 

hounds, 
And  bow'd  like  bondmen,  kissing  Ciesar's  feet, 
Whilst  damned  Casea,  like  a  cur,  behind, 
Struck  Cresar  on  the  neck.    O  llattercrs  ! 

Cas.  Flatterers!— Now,  Brutus,  thank  yourself: 
This  tongue  had  not  olFended  so  to-day, 
If  Cnssius  might  have  ruled. 

Oct.  Come,  come,  the  cause:  If  arguing  make  us 
sweat, 
The  proof  of  it  will  turn  to  redder  drops. 
Look ; 

I  draw  a  sword  against  conspirators; 
Wlirn  think  you  t):at  the  sword  goes  up  again! — 
Never  till  C.'Psar*s  three  and  twenty  wounds 
Be  well  avenged  ;  or  till  another  Csesar 
Have  added  slaugiitcr  to  the  sword  of  traitors, 

Bru.  Cffisar,  thou  canst  not  die  by  traitors'  hands. 
Unless  thou  bring 'st  them  witli  thee. 
•  Summon. 


Oct.  So  I  hope ; 

I  was  not  born  to  die  on  Brutus'  sword. 

Bru.  0,  if  thou  wert  the  noblest  of  thy  strain. 
Young    man,    thou    couldst    not    die    more    ho- 
norable. 

Cas.  A  peevish  school-boy,  worthless  of  such 
honor, 
Join'd  with  a  masker  and  a  reveller. 

^;//.  .Old  Cassius  still ! 

Oct.  Com;,  Antony;  away. — 

Defiance,  traitors,  hurl  we  in  your  teeth  : 
If  you  dare  tight  to-day,  come  to  the  held; 
If  not,  when  you  have  stomachs. 

[ExetuH  OcvTAVius,  Antony,  and  tficir  Army. 

Cas.  Why  now,  blow,  wind;  swell,  billow;  and 
swim,  bark ! 
The  storm  is  up,  and  all  is  on -the  hazard. 

Bru.  Ho! 
Lucilius ;  hark,  a  word  with  you. 

Luc.  My  lord. 

[Brutus  a7id  Lucilius  converse  apart, 

Cas.  Messala, — 

Mcs.  What  says  my  general  1 

Cas.  Messala, 

This  is  my  birlh-day ;  as  this  very  day 
Was  Cassius  born.    Give  me  thy  hand,  Messala: 
Be  thou  my  witness,  that,  against  my  will, 
As  Pompey  was,  am  I  com])eird  to  set 
Upon  one  battle  all  our  liberties. 
You  know,  that  I  held  Epicurus  strong, 
And  his  opinion:  now  I  change  my  mind, 
And  partly  credit  things  that  do  presage. 
Coming  from  Sardis,  on  our  former"^  ensign 
Two  mighty  eagles  fell,  and  there  they  perch'd, 
Gorging  and  feeding  from  our  soldiers'  hands; 
Who  to  Philippi  here  consorted'^  us  ; 
This  morning  are  they  tied  away,  and  gone  ; 
And  in  their  steads,  do  ravens,  crows,  and  kites, 
Fly  o'er  our  heads,  and  downward  look  on  us, 
As  we  were  sickly  prey ;  their  shadows  seem 
A  canopy  most  latal,  under  which 
Our  army  lies,  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost. 

Mes.  Believe  not  so. 

Cas.  I  but  believe  it  partly; 

For  I  am  fresh  of  spirit,  and  resolv'd 
To  meet  all  perils  very  constantly. 

Bru.  Even  so,  Lucilius. 

Cue.  Now,  most  noble  Brutus, 

The  gods  to-day  stand  friendly;  that  we  may. 
Lovers  in  peace.  lead  on  our  days  to  age ! 
Hut,  since  the  affairs  of  men  rest  still  uncertain, 
Let's  reason  with  the  worst  that  may  befall. 
If  we  do  lose  this  battle,  then  is  this 
The  very  last  time  we  sliall  speak  together: 
What  are  you  then  determined  to  do  I 

Bru.  Even  by  the  rule  of  that  philosophy, 
By  wliich  I  did  blame  Cato  for  the  death 
Which  he  did  give  himself: — I  know  not  how, 
But  I  do  find  it  cowardly  and  vile. 
For  fear  of  what  might  mil,  so  to  prevent 
The  time  of  life  .-—arming  myselt  with  patience, 
To  stay  the  providence  of  some  high  powers 
That  govern  us  below. 

Cas.  Then,  if  we  lose  this  battle, 

You  are  contented  to  be  led  in  triumph 
Thoroujih  the  streets  of  Rome? 

Bru.  No.  Cassius,  no:    think  not,  thou  noblo 
Roman, 
That  ever  Brutus  will  go  bound  to  Rome ; 
He  bears  too  great  a  mind.    But  this  same  day 
Must  end  that  work  the  ides  oI'Miircli  heguii ; 
And  whether  we  shall  meet  iigaiii,  I  know  not. 
Therelbre  our  everlasting  larewell  take: — 
For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Cassius  ! 

1  Foremost.  »  Acconip.'iiiied. 


Scene  IV. 


JULIUS  C^SAE. 


587 


If  we  do  meet  again,  why  we  shall  smile  ; 
If  not,  why  then  this  parting  was  well  made. 

Cas.  For  ever,  and  for  ever,  farewell,  Brutus  ! 
If  we  do  meet  again,  we'll  smile  indeed: 
If  not,  'tis  true,  this  parting  was  well  made. 
Bru.  Why  then,  lead  on. — 0,  that  a  man  might 
know 
The  end  of  this  day's  business,  ere  it  come  ! 
But  it  sulhceth,  that  the  day  will  end. 
And  then  the  end  is  known. — Come,  ho  !  away  ! 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  U.—The  Field  of  Battle. 
Alarum.    Enter  Buutcs  and  Messala. 
Bru.  Ride,  ride,  Messala,  ride,  and  give  these 
bills? 
Unto  the  legions  on  the  other  side:  [Loud  Alarum. 
Let  them  set  on  at  once  ;  for  I  perceive 
But  cold  demeanor  in  Octavius'  wing. 
And  sudden  push  gives  them  the  overthrow. 
Ride,  ride,  Messala:  let  them  all  come  down. 

{ExeunU 
SCENE  m.~Another  Part  of  the  Field. 
Alarum.    Enter  Cassius  and  TiTiNiua. 
Cas.  O,  look,  Titiniiis,  look,  the  villains  fly  : 
Myself  have  to  mine  own  turn'd  enemy  : 
This  ensign  here  of  mine  was  turning  back  ; 
I  slew  the  coward,  and  did  take  it  from  him. 

Tit.  O  Cassius,  IJrutus  gave  the  Aord  (oo  early; 
Who,  having  some  advantage  on  Octavius, 
Took  it  too  eagerly  :  his  soldiers  fell  to  spoil, 
Whilst  we  by  Antony  were  all  enclos'd. 
Enter  Pisdarcs. 
Pin.  Fly  further  off",  my  lord,  lly  further  off; 
Mark  Antony  is  in  your  tents,  my  lord  ! 
Fly,  therefore,  noble  Cassius.  lly  far  olf. 

Cas.  This  hill  is  far  enough.  Look,  ]ook,Titinius; 
Are  those  my  tents,  where  I  perceive  the  hre  ] 
Tit.  They  are,  my  lord. 

Cas.  Titinius.if  thou  lov'st  me, 

Mount  thou  my  horse,  and  Jiidc  tiiy  spurs  in  him. 
Till  he  have  brought  thee  up  to  yonder  troops, 
And  here  again  ;  that  1  may  rest  assur'd. 
Whether  yond'  troops  are  friend  or  enemy. 
Tit'  1  will  be  here  again,  even  with  a  thought. 

[Exit. 
Cas.  Go,  Pindarus,  get  higher  on  that  hill; 
My  sight  was  ever  thick  ;  regard  Titinius. 
And  tell  me  what  thou  not'st  about  the  field. — 

[Exit-    Pl.NDARUS. 

This  day  I  breathed  first:  time  is  come  round. 

And  where  I  did  begin,  there  I  shall  end ; 

My  lil'e  is  run  his  compass. — Sirrah,  what  news  1 

Pin.  [Abitve.]  O  my  lord! 

Cas.  What  news  ? 

Pin.  Titinius  is 
Enclosed  round  about  with  horsemen,  that 
Make  to  him  on  the  spur: — yet  he  spurs  on. — 
Now  they  are  almost  on  hini ;  now,  Titinius  ! — 
Now  some  'light: — O,  iie  'lights  too — he's  ta'en — 
and,  hark!  [Shout. 

They  shout  for  joy. 

Cus.  Come  down,  behold  no  more. — 

O.  coward  that  I  am,  to  live  so  long. 
To  see  my  best  lYiend  ta'en  before  my  face  ! 

Enter  Pindahus. 
Come  hither,  sirrah : 
In  Parthia  did  I  take  thee  prisoner; 
And  then  I  swore  thee,  saving  of  thy  life. 
That  whatsoever  I  did  bid  thee  do. 
Thou  shouldst  attempt  it.    Come  now,  keep  tinne 

oath  ! 
Now  be  a  freeman  ;  and  with  this  good  pword. 
That  ran  through  Caesar's  bowels, search  this  bosom. 
Stand  not  to  answer:  Here,  take  thou  the  hilts; 
And,  when  my  face  is  cover'd,  as  'tis  now, 
Guide  thou  the  sword. — Caesar,  thou  art  reveng'd. 
Even  with  I  lie  sword  that  kill'd  thee.  [Dies. 

Pin.  So  I  am  free,  yet  would  not  so  have  been, 
Durst  I  have  done  my  will.     0  Cassius! 
Far  from  this  country  Pindarus  shall  run. 
Where  never  Roman  shall  take  note  of  him.  [Exit. 
Re-enter  Titinius  with  Messala. 

Mes.  It  is  but  change,  Titinius  ;  for  Octavius 
Is  overthrown  by  noble  Brutus'  power, 
As  Cassius'  legions  are  by  Antony. 

■  Directions  fur  the  officers. 


Tit.  These  tidings  will  well  comfort  Cassius. 

Mes.  Wiiere  did  you  leave  him  1 

Tit.  All  disconsolate, 

With  Pindarus  his  bondman,  on  this  hill. 

Mes.  Is  not  that  he,  that  lies  upon  the  ground'^ 

Tit.  He  lies  not  like  the  living.    0  my  heart ! 

Mes.  Is  not  that  he  ] 

Tit.  No,  this  was  he,  Messala, 

But  Cassius  is  no  more. — O  setting  sun  ! 
As  in  thy  red  rays  thou  dost  sink  to-night. 
So  in  his  red  blood  Cassius'  day  is  set ; 
The  sun  of  Rome  is  set !    Our  day  is  gone ; 
Clouds,  dews,  and  dangers  come;  our  deeds  are 

done; 
Mistrust  of  my  success  hath  done  this  deed. 

Mts.  Mistrust  of  good  success  hath  done  this  deed, 

0  hateful  error,  melancholy's  child  ! 

Why  dost  thou  show  to  the  apt  thoughts  of  men 
The  things  that  are  not  1     0  error,  soon  conceiv'd, 
Thou  never  com'st  unto  a  happy  birth. 
But  kill'st  the  mother  that  engenderd  thee. 

ri/.  What,  Pindarus!  Where  art  thou,  Pindarus? 

Mes.  Seek  him,  Titinius  :  whilst  I  go  to  meet 
Tiie  noble  Brutus,  thrusting  this  report 
Into  his  ears  :  I  may  say  thrusting  it ; 
For  piercing  steel,  and  darts  envenomed. 
Shall  be  as  welcome  to  the  ears  of  Brutus, 
As  tidings  of  this  sight. 

Tit.  Hie  you,  Messala, 

And  I  will  seek  for  Pindarus  the  while. 

[Exit  Messala- 
Why  didst  thou  send  me  forth,  brave  Cassius  I 
Did  1  not  meet  thy  friends,  and  did  not  they 
Put  on  my  brows  this  WTcath  of  victory. 
And  bid  me  givH  thee?    Didst  thou  not  hear  their 

shouts  \ 
Alas  !  thou  hast  misconstrued  every  thing. 
But  hold  thee,  take  this  garland  on'thy  brow; 
Thy  Brutus  bid  me  give  it  thee,  and  I 
Will  do  his  bidding. — Brutus,  come  apace, 
And  see  how  I  regarded  Caius  Cassius. — 
By  your  leave,  gods. — This  is  a  Roman's  part: 
Come,  Cassius'  sword,  and  find  Titinius'  heart. 

[  Dies. 
Alarum.   Re-enter  Messala,  with  Brutus,  young 

Cato,  Strato,  Volumsius,  and  Lucilius. 

Bru.  Where,  where,  Messala,  doth  his  body  lie? 

Mes.  Lo.  yonder;  and  Titinius  mourning  it. 

Bru.  Titinius'  face  is  upward. 

Cato.  He  is  slain, 

Bru.  0  Julius  Ca?sar,  thou  art  mighty  yet ! 
Thy  spirit  walks  abroad,  and  turns  our  swords 
In  our  own  proper  entrails.  [Loiv  Alarums, 

Cato.  Brave  Titinius! 

Look,  whe'r  he  have  not  crown'd  dead  Cassius ! 

Bru.  Are  yet  two  Romans  living  such  as  these? — 
The  last  of  all  the  Romans,  fare  thee  well ! 
It  is  imjiossihle  that  ever  Rome 
Should   breed  thy  fellow. — Friends,  I  owe  more 

tears 
To  this  dead  man,  than  you  shall  see  me  pay. — 

1  shall  find  time,  Cassius,  I  shall  find  time. — 
Come,  therefore,  and  to  Thassos  send  his  body; 
His  funeral  shall  not  be  in  our  camp, 

Lest  it  discomfort  us.— Lucilius,  come  ; 
And  come,  young  Cato,  let  us  to  the  field. — 
Labeo,  and  Flavins,  set  our  battles  on  : — 
'Tis  three  o'clock;  and,  Romans,  yet  ere  night 
We  shall  try  fortune  in  a  second  tight.      [Exeunt* 

SCENE  IV.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 
Alarum.  Enter, fghtingy  Soldiers  nf  both  Armies; 
t/ien  Brutus,  Cato,  Lucilius,  and  others. 
Br«.  Yet,  countrymen,  O  yet  hold  up  your  heads! 
Cato.  What  bastard  doth  not  I  Who  will  go  with 
me  ? 
I  will  proclaim  my  name  about  the  field: 
I  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato,  ho  ! 
A  foe  lo  tyrants,  and  my  country's  Mend  ; 
I  am  the  son  of  Marcus  Cato,  ho  I 

[Charges  the  Enemy. 
Bru.  And  I  am  Brutus,  Marcus  Brutus.  I ; 
Brutus,  my  country\s  Inend;  know  nie  for  Brutus, 
[Exit,  charging  the  Enemy.    Cato  is  over' 
powered,  and  falls. 
Luc.  O  young  and  noble  Cato,  art  thou  down? 
Why,  now  thou  diest  as  bravely  as  Titinius; 
And  may'st  be  honor'd,  being  Cato's  son. 
1  Sold.  Yield,  or  thou  diest. 


588 


JULIUS   C^SAR. 


Act  V.  Scene  V. 


Luc.  Only  I  yield  to  die, 

There  is  so  much  that  thou  wilt  kill  me  straight : 

[Off'ering  Money. 
Kill  Brutus,  and  be  honor'd  in  his  death. 

1  Sold.  We  must  not. — A  noble  prisoner ! 

2  Sold.  Room,  ho !   Tell  Antony,  Brutus  is  ta'en. 
I  Sold.  I'll  tell  the  news. — Here  comes  the  ge- 
neral : 

Enter  Antony. 
Brutus  is  ta'en,  Brutus  is  ta'en,  my  lord. 

Ani.  Where  is  he  ] 

Luc.  Sale,  Antony;  Brutus  is  safe  enough; 
I  dare  assure  thee,  that  no  enemy 
Shall  ever  take  alive  tiie  noble  Brutus: 
Tile  gods  defend  him  from  so  great  a  shame ! 
When  you  do  find  him,  or  alive,  or  dead. 
He  will  be  Ibund  Uke  Brutus,  like  himself. 

vin^Thisisnot  Brutus,  friend;  but,  I  assure  you, 
A  prize  no  less  in  worth  :  keep  this  man  safe, 
Give  him  all  liindness;  I  had  rather  have 
Such  men  my  friends  than  enemies.    Go  on, 
And  see  whe'r  Brutus  be  alive,  or  dead ; 
And  bring  us  word,  unto  Octavius'  tent, 
How  every  thing  is  chanced.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \.—Anotlier  Part  of  t lie  Field. 
Enter  Bectus,  Daedanius,  Clitls,  Strato,  and 

VOLUMNIDS. 

Bru.  Come,  poor  remains  of  friends,  rest  on  this 
rock. 

Cli.  Statilius  show'd  the  torch-light;  but,  my  lord. 
He  came  not  back;  he  is  or  ta'en,  or  slain. 

Bru.  Sit  thee  down,  Clitus:  slaying  is  the  word; 
It  is  a  deed  in  fashion.    Hark  thee,  Clitus.— 

[  Whispering. 

Cll.  What,  I,  my  lord  1  No,  not  for  all  the  world. 

Bru.  Peace,  then,  no  words. 

Cli.  I'll  rather  kill  myself. 

Bru.  Hark  thee,  Dardanius  !         [  IVhispers  him. 

Dar.  I  do  such  a  deed ! 

Cli.  O,  Dardanius ! 

Dar.  0,  Clitus ! 

Cli.  What  ill  request  did  Brutus  make  to  thee? 

Dar.  To  kill  him,  Clitus :  Look,  he  meditates. 

CU.  Now  is  that  noble  vessel  full  of  grief. 
That  it  runs  over  even  at  his  eyes. 

Bru.  Come  hither,  good  Volumnius:  list  a  word. 

Vol.  What  says  my  lord  1 

Bru.  Why,  this,  Volumnius : 

The  ghost  of  Ca?sar  hath  appear'd  to  me 
Two  several  times  by  night:  at  Sardis,  once; 
And,  this  last  night,  here  in  PhUippi'  fields. 
I  know  my  hour  is  come. 

Vol.  Not  so,  my  lord. 

Bru.  Nay,  I  am  sure  it  is,  Volunuiius. 
Thou  seest  the  world,  Volumnius,  how  it  goes; 
Our  enemies  have  beat  us  to  the  pit : 
It  is  more  worthy  to  leap  in  ourselves. 
Than  tarry  till  they  push  us.    Good  Volumnius, 
Tliou  know'st,  that  we  two  went  to  school  together: 
Even  for  that  our  love  of  old  I  pray  thee, 
Hold  thou  my  sword-hilts,  whilst  i  run  on  it. 

Vol.  That's  not  an  cflice  for  a  friend,  my  lord. 

[Alarum  stilt. 


Cli.  Fly,  fly,  my  lord;  there  is  no  tarrying  here. 

Bru.  Karewell    to    you; — and    you;-^and    you, 
Volumnius. — 
Strato,  thou  hast  been  all  this  while  asleep ; 
Farewell  to  thee,  too,  Strato.— Countrymen, 
My  heart  doth  joy,  that  yet  in  all  my  life, 
1  lound  no  man,  out  he  was  true  to  me. 
I  shall  have  glory  by  this  losing  day. 
Wore  than  Octavius,  and  MarkAnlony, 
By  this  vile  conquest  shall  attain  unto. 
So  fare  you  well  at  once;  for  Brutus'  tongue 
Hath  almost  ended  his  life's  history : 
Night  hangs  upon  mine  eyes;  mv  bones  would  rest. 
That  have  but  labor'd  to  attain  this  hour. 

[Alarum.    Cry  within;  Fly,  fly,  fly. 

CZi.  Fly,  my  lord,  fly. 

Bru.  Hence;  I  will  follow  thee. 

[Exeunt  Clitcs,  Dardaniis,  and  Volliinics. 
I  pr'ythee,  Strato,  stay  thou  by  thy  lord: 
Thou  art  a  fellow  of  a  good  respect ; 
Thy  life  hath  had  some  smatch  of  honor  in  it: 
Hold  then  my  sword,  and  turn  away  thy  face. 
While  I  do  run  upon  it.    Wilt  thou,  Strato ! 

Stra.  Give  me  your  hand  first:  Fare  you  well, 
my  lord. 

Bru.  Farewell,  good  Strato.— Ca;sar,  now  be  still, 
I  kill'd  not  thee  with  half  so  good  a  will. 

[He  runs  oh  his  Sword,  and  dies. 
Alarum.     Retreat.     Enter   Octavius,    Astony, 
Messala,  Lucilics,  and  their  Army. 

Oct.  What  man  is  that? 

Mes.  My  master's  man.— Strato,  where  is  thy 
master  l 

Stra.  Free  from  the  bondage  you  are  in,  Mes- 
sala ; 
The  conquerors  can  but  make  a  fire  of  him; 
For  Brutus  only  overcame  himself, 
And  no  man  else  hath  honor  by  his  death. 

Luc.  So  Brutus  should  be  fo'und.- 1  thank  thee, 
Brutus, 
That  thou  hast  prov'd  Lucilius*  saying  true. 

Oct.  All  that  serv'd  Brutus,  I  will  entertain  them.' 
Fellow,  wilt  thou  bestow  thy  time  with  me? 

Stra.  Ay.  if  Messala  will  preitn-  me  to  you. 

Oct.  Do  so,  Messala. 

■"'fs.  How  died  my  master,  Strato  ? 

S/ra.  I  held  tlie  sword,  and  he  did  run  on  it. 

Mes.  Octavius,  then  take  him  to  follow  thee. 
That  did  the  latest  service  to  my  master. 

Ant.  This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all: 
All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he, 
Did  tliat  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Cffisar; 
He  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought, 
And  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them. 
His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 
So  mix'd  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up, 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  T/iw  was  a  yuan: 

Oct.  According  to  his  virtue  let  us  use  him, 
With  all  respect  and  rites  of  burial. 
Within  my  tent  his  bones  to-night  shall  lie. 
Most  like  a  soldier,  order'd  honorably.— 
So,  call  the  field  to  rest :  and  let's  away. 
To  part  the  glories  of  this  happy  day.       [Exeunt, 
*  Receive  into  my  service.  9  Kecommend. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


M.  Antony, 
OcTATirs  Cesar. 
M.  TEmil.  Lepidi- 
Sextl's  Pompeius. 
domitius  e.n'uearbus,' 
Ventiwus, 
Euos, 

SCARl-S, 

Dercetas, 

DEMETHIL'S, 

Philo, 
Mec.enas, 
Agrippa, 
Dolabella, 

PROCfLEirS, 

THYREL'S, 

GALLI'S, 


Triumvirs. 


Friends  o/' Antony. 


Friends  to  Cjcsar. 


>  Friends  of  Pompey. 


Menas, 

Menecrates,  I 

Varru's,         ' 

Taurus,  Lieutenant-Generat  to  Caesar. 

Canidil'S,  Lieutenajit-Generol  to  Antony. 

SiLius,  an  Officer  in  Venti  Jiiis's  Arinij. 

EUPHR0N1U3,  an  AmbaesaiU/r  Jrom  Antony  to 
Ca?.sar. 

Alexas,  Mahdian,  Seleuous,  and  DioiiEDES,  At- 
tendants on  Cleopatra. 

A  Sonttuwycr. 

A  Clown. 

Cleopatra,  Queen  of  Egypt. 

OCTAViA.  Sister  to  Csisiir,'and  Wife  to  Antony. 

Iifis,'""'^*"''    \  ^tl'^ndants  on  Cleopatra. 

Officers,  Soldiers,Messe7igers,andotlier  Attendants. 


SCENE,  dispersed ;  in  several  parts  of  the  Roman  Empire. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I.— Alexandria.    A  Room  in  Cleopatra's 
Palace. 
Enter  Demetrius  a7id  PniLO. 
Phi.  Nay,  but  this  dotage  of  our  general's, 
O'erllows  the  measure:   Those  his  goodly  eyes, 
That  o"er  the  tiles  and  musters  of  tlie  war 
Have  glow'd  like  jilated  Mars, now  bend, now  turn, 
Tlie  ottice  and  devotion  of  their  view 
Upon  a  tawny  front:  his  captain's  heart, 
Whieh  in  the  scuttles  of  great  tights  had  burst 
The  buckles  on  his  breast,  reneges'  all  temper; 
And  is  become  the  bellows  and  the  fan, 
To  cool  a  gipsy's  lust.    Look,  where  they  come ! 

Flourish.     Enter  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  witfi 

their  Trains;  Eunuchs  fanning  tier. 
Take  but  good  note,  and  you  shall  see  in  him 
The  triple  pillar  of  the  world  transform'd 
Into  a  strumpet's  Ibol:  behold  and  see. 

Cleo.  If  it  be  love  indeed,  tell  me  how  much. 

Ant.  There's  beggary  in  the  love  that  can  be 
reckon'd. 

Cko.  I'll  set  a  bourn-  how  far  to  be  belov'd. 

Ant.  Then  must  thou  needs  tind  out  new  heaven, 
new  earth. 

Enter  an  Attendant. 

Alt.  News,  my  good  lord,  from  Rome. 

■Ant.  Grates^me:— The  sum! 

Cleo.  Nay,  hear  them,  Antony. 
Fulvia,  perchance,  is  angry :  Or,  who  knows 
If  the  scarce-bearded  CiEsar  have  not  sent 
His  powerful  mandate  to  you,  Do  thli.  or  this  ; 
Take  in'  that  kingdom,  and  enfranchise  i/iat  ; 
Perforni't,  or  else  we  damn  thee. 

■Ant.  How,  my  love  ! 

Cleo.  Perchance,— nay,  and  most  like. 
You  must  not  stay  here  longer,  your  dismission 

'  licnouDces.  5  Bound  or  limit. 

>  Offeuds.  4  guV4ue,  comjuer. 


Is  come  from  Ca!sar;  therefore  hear  it,  Antony. — 
Where's  Kulvia's  process  i^  Cajsar's,  I  would  say? 

—Both  1— 
Call  in  the  messengers. — As  I  am  Egypt's  queen. 
Thou  blushest,  Antony;  and  Ihal  blood  of  thine 
Is  Cajsar's  liomager :  else  so  thy  clieek  pays  shame, 
Wlien  shrill-tongued    Fulvia   scolds.— The    mes- 
sengers. 

Ant.  Let  Rome  in  Tyber  melt!  and  the  wide 
arch 
Of  the  ranged  empire  fall !   Here  is  my  space ; 
Kingdoms  are  clay  :  our  dungy  earth  alike 
Feeds  beasts  as  man  :  the  nobleness  of  life 
Is,  to  do  thus;  when  such  a  mutual  pair 

[Embracing, 
And  such  a  twain  can  do't.  in  which,  1  bind, 
On  pain  of  punishment,  tlic  world  to  weet,>> 
We  stand  up  peerless. 

Cleo.  Excellent  falsehood  ! 

Why  did  he  marry  Fulvia,  and  not  love  her  ! — 
I'll  seem  the  tool  I  am  not:  Antony 
Will  be  himself. 

Ant.  But  stirr'd  by  Cleopatra. — 

Now,  for  the  love  of  Love,  and  her  soil  hours. 
Let's    not   confound'   the    time   with   conference 

harsh  : 
There's  not  a  minute  of  out  lives  should  stretch 
Withoutsome  pleasure  now  ;  Whatsport  to-niglit! 

Cleo.  Hear  the  ambassadors. 

Ant.  Fye,  wrangling  queen  ! 

Whom  every  thing  becomes,  to  chide,  to  laugh, 
To  weep;  whose  every  passion  fully  strives 
To  make  itseli;  in  thee,  lair  and  adinir'd  '. 
No  messenger;  but  thine  and  all  alone, 
To-night,we'll  wander  through  the  streets,  and  note 
The  qualities  of  people.    Come,  my  queen; 
Last  night  you  did  desire  it : — Speak  not  to  us. 

[Exeunt  Ant.  and  Ci.eop.  with  their  Train. 

Dcm.  Is  CiEsar  with  Autonius  priz'd  so  slight? 

*  ifummons.  •  Know.  '  Cousume. 

589 


590 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


Act  L 


Phi.  Sir,  sometimes,  when  he  is  not  Antony, 
He  comes  too  short  of  that  great  property 
Which  still  should  go  with  Antony. 

De/u.  I  am  full  sorry, 

That  he  approves  the  common  liar,^  who 
Thus  speaks  of  him  at  Rome:  But  I  will  hope 
Of  better  deeds  to-morrow.    Rest  you  happy  ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Another  Room. 

Enter  CnARmAN,  Ir.AS,  Alexas,  ojid  a  Soothsayer. 

Char.  Lord  Alexas,  sweet  Alexas,  most  any  thing 
Alexas,  almost  most  absolute  Alexas,  where's  the 
soothsayer  thatyou  praised  so  to  the  queen?  O,  that 
I  Knew  this  husband,  which,  you  say,  must  change 
his  horns  with  garlands! 

Alex.  Soothsayer, 

South.  Your  will  \ 

Char,  Is  this  the  man  1— Is't  you,  sir,  that  know 
things] 

Sooth.  In  nature's  infinite  book  of  secrecy, 
A  little  I  can  read. 

Alex.  Show  him  your  hand. 

Enter  En'obarbus. 

Enn.  Bring  in  the  banquet  quickly:  wine  enough, 
Cleopatra's  health  to  drink. 

Char.  Good  sir,  give  me  good  fortune. 

Sooth.  I  make  not,  but  foresee. 

Char.  Pray,  then,  foresee  me  one. 

South.  You  shall  be  yet  far  fairer  than  you  are. 

Char.  He  means,  in  flesh. 

Iras.  No,  you  shall  paint  when  you  are  old. 

Char.  Wrinkles  tbrbid ! 

Alex.  Vex  not  his  prescience  ;  be  attentive. 

Char.  Hush! 

Sooth.  You  shall  he  more  beloving.  than  beloved. 

Char.  1  had  rather  heat  my  liver  with  drinking. 

Alex.  Nay,  hear  him. 

Char.  Good  now,  some  excellent  fortune!  Let 
me  be  married  to  three  kings  in  a  forenoon,  and 
widow  them  all;  lot  me  have  a  child  at  hl'ty,  to 
whom  licrod  of  Jewry  may  do  Jioniage  :  lind  me 
to  marry  me  with  Octavius  Ciesar, and  companion 
me  with  my  mistress. 

South.  Youshalloutlive  the  lady  whom  you  serve. 

Char.  O  excellent!  1  love  long  Win  better  thaa 
fig-^- 

Sooth.  You  have  seen  and  proved  a  fairer  former 
fortune 
Than  that  which  is  to  approach. 

Char.  Then,  behke,  my  children  shall  have  no 
names  :&  Pr'ythee,  how  many  boys  and  wenches 
must  I  have] 

Sdoth.  If  every  of  your  wishes  had  a  womb, 
And  fertile  every  wish,  a  million. 

Char.  Out,  fool !  I  forgive  thee  for  a  witch. 

Alex.  You  think,  none  but  your  sheets  are  privy 
to  your  wishes. 

Char.  Nay,  come,  tell  Iras  hers. 

Alex.  We'll  know  all  our  fortunes. 

Eno.  Mine,  and  most  of  our  Ibrlunes,  to-night, 
shall  be — drunk  to  bed. 

Iras.  Tliere's  a  palm  presages  chastity,  if  no- 
thing else. 

C/t«r.  Even  as  the  o'erflowing  Nilus  presageth 
famine, 

Iras.  Go,  you  wild  bedfellow,  you  cannot  sooth- 
say. 

Char.  Nay,  if  an  oily  palm  be  not  a  fruitful  prog- 
nostication, I  cannot  scratch  mine  ear. — Pr'ythee 
tell  her  but  a  worky-day  fortune. 

Suoth.  Your  Ibrtunes  are  alike. 

Ira.s:  But  how]  but  how  ]  give  me  particulars. 

Sooth.  1  have  said. 

Iras.  Am  I  not  an  inch  of  fortune  better  than  she? 

Cfiar.  Well,  if  you  were  but  an  inch  of  iortune 
better  than  1,  where  would  you  choose  it? 

I}-as.  Not  in  my  husband's  nose. 

Char.  Ouj  worsor  thoughts  heavens  mend  !  Alex- 
as,— come,  his  fortune,  his  fortune.— (),  let  him 
marry  a  woman  that  cannot  go,  sweet  lsis,i  I  be- 
seech tliee  !  And  let  her  die  too,  and  give  him  a 
worse  !  and  let  worse  foUow  worse,  till  the  worst  of 
all  tbilow  him  laughing  to  his  grave,  titty-fold  a 
cv;ckold !  Good  Isis,  hear  me  this  prayer,  though 
thou  deny  me  a  matter  of  more  weight;  good  Isis, 
1  beseech  thee ! 


t  Fame.    >  Shall  be  bftsUirds, 


'  An  Egj'ptiftn  goddess. 


Iras.  Amen.  Dear  goddess,  hear  that  prayer  of 
the  people  !  for,  as  it  is  a  heart-breaking  to  see  a 
handsome  man  loose-wived,  so  it  is  a  deadly  sor- 
row to  behold  a  foul  knave  uncuckoided :  There- 
fore, dear  Isis,  keep  decorum,  and  fortune  him  ac- 
cordingly I 

Char.  Amen. 

Alex.  Lo,  now!  if  it  lay  in  their  hands  to  make 
meacuckold,  they  would  make  themselves  whores, 
but  they'd  do't. 

Eno.  Hush!  here  comes  Antony. 

Char.  Not  he,  the  queen. 

Enter  Cleopatra, 

Cleo.  Saw  you  my  lord  ? 

Eno.  No,  lady. 

Cleo.  Was  he  not  here  1 

Char.  No,  madam. 

Cleo.  He  was  disposed  to  mirth;  but  on  a  sudden 
A  Roman  thought  hath  struck  him. — Enobarbus. 

Eno.  Madam, 

Cleo.  Seek  him  and  bring  him  hither.  Where's 
Alexas? 

Alex.  Here,  madam,  at  your  service. — My  lord 
approaches. 

Enter  Antony,  icilh  a  Messenger  and  Attendants. 

Cleo.  We  will  not  look  upon  him :  Go  with  us. 
[Exeunt  Cleopatra,  Esobarbu.?,  Alexas,  Iras, 
Charmian,  Soothsayer  and  Attendants. 

Mess.  Fulvia  thy  wife  tirst  came  Into  the  field. 

Ant.  Against  my  brother  Lucius  ? 

Mess.  Ay: 
But  soon  that  war  had  end,  and  the  time's  state 
Made  friends  of  them,  jointing  their  ibrce  'gainst 

Cresar ; 
Whose  better  issue  in  the  war,  from  Italj', 
Upon  the  tirst  encounter,  dravc  them. 

Ant.  Well, 

What  worst  ? 

Mess.  The  nature  of  bad  news  infects  the  teller. 

Ant.  When  it  concerns  the  fool,  or  coward. — On  : 
Things  that  are  past,  arc  done  with  me. — ''Tis  thus : 
Who  tells  me  true,  though  in  his  tale  lie  death, 
I  hear  him  as  he  flatter'd. 

Aless.  Labienus 

(This  is  stiff  news)  halh,  with  Jiis  Parthian  force, 
Extended-  Asia  from  Euphrates; 
His  conquering  banner  shook,  from  SjTla 
To  Lydia,  and  to  Ionia; 
Whilst 

Ant.  Antony,  thou  wouldst  say — 

Mess.  O,  ray  lord. 

Ant.  Speak  to  me  home,  mince  not  the  general 
tongue ; 
Name  Cleopatra  as  she^s  call'd  in  Rome  ; 
Rail  thou  in  P'ulvia's  phrase;  and  taunt  my  faults 
With  such  full  license,  as  both  truth  and  malice 
Have  power  to   utter.    O,  then  we    bring    forth 

weeds, 
When  our  quick  winds^  lie  still;  and  our  ills  told  us, 
Is  as  our  earing.^    Fare  thee  well  a  while. 

Mess.  At  your  noble  pleasure.  [Exit* 

Ant.  From  Sicyon  how  the  news  ?    Speak  there. 

1  Ait.  The  man  from  Sicyon, — Is  there  such  a 

one. 

2  Att.  He  stays  upon  your  will. 

Ant.  Let  him  appear, — 

These  strong  Egyptian  fetters  I  must  break, 

Enter  another  Messenger. 
Or  lose  myself  in  dotage.— What  are  you  ? 

2  i\/e55.'Fulvia  thy  wife  is  dead. 

Ant.  Where  died  she? 

2  Mess.  In  Sicyon: 
Her  Icnglhof  sickness,  with  what  else  more  serious 
Importelh  thee  to  know,  this  bears.  [Give^  a  tetter. 

Ant.  Forbear  me.— 

[Exit  rvlessenger 
There's  a  great  spirit  gone  !  Thus  did  I  desire  li ; 
What  our  "contempts  do  otten  hurl  from  us, 
We  wish  it  ours  again;  the  present  pleasure, 
By  revolution  lowering,  does  become 
The  opposite  of  itself:  she's  good,  being  gone; 
The  hand  could  pluck  her  back,  that  sIiovM  her  on. 
I  must  from  this  enchanting  queen  break  oil; 
Ten  thousand  harms,  more  than  the  ills  I  know, 
My  idleness  doth  hatch. — How  now!  Enobarbus! 

5  Overrun.  »  In  some  editions,  riiuds. 

<  Tilliug,  ploughing:  prepare  us  to  produco  good  seed. 


iSCENE  III. 


ANTOXY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


59J 


Enter  Exobarbus. 

Eno.  What's  your  pleasure,  sir? 

Ant.  I  must  with  haste  from  hence. 

Eno.  Why  then,  we  kill  all  our  women  :  We  see 
how  mortal  an  unkindness  is  to  them  ;  if  they  suf- 
fer our  dei)arture,  death's  the  word. 

Ant.  I  must  be  g:one. 

Eno.  Under  compelling:  occasion, let w-oman  die: 
It  were  pitvto  cast  them  away  for  nothing;;  though, 
between  them  and  a  great  cause,  they  should  bo 
esteemed  nothing.  Cleopatra,  catehiuj;;  but  the 
least  noise  of  this,  dies  instantly:  I  have  seen  her 
die  twenty  times  upon  lar  poorer  moment:  I  do 
think,  there  is  mettle  in  death,  whicii  commits 
some  loving  act  upon  her,  she  hath  such  a  celerity 
in  dying. 

Ant.  She  is  cunning  past  man'^s  thought. 

Eno.  Alack,  sir,  no;  her  passions  are  made  of 
notiiing  but  the  finest  part  of  pure  love;  We  can- 
not cjiil  her  wmds  and  waters,  sighs  and  tears ;  they 
are  greater  stjrms  and  tempests  than  almanacs  caii 
report :  this  cannot  be  cunning  in  her;  if  it  be,  she 
makes  a  shower  of  rain  as  well  as  Jove. 

Ant.  'Would  I  had  never  seen  her! 

Eno.  O,  sir,  you  had  then  left  unseen  a  wonder- 
ful piece  of  work ;  which  not  to  have  been  blessed 
witlial,  would  have  discredited  your  travel. 

Ant.  Fulvia  is  dead. 

Eno.  Sir  ! 

Ant.  Fulvia  is  dead. 

Eno.  Fulvia! 

Ant.  Head. 

Eno.  Why,  sir.  give  the  gods  a  thankful  sacrifice. 
Wiien  It  jileaseth  their  deities  to  take  the  wife  of  a 
man  from  him,  it  shows  to  man  the  tailors  of  the 
earth;  comforting  tJicrein,  tliat  when  old  robes  are 
worn  out,  there  are  members  to  make  new.  If 
there  were  no  more  women  but  Fulvia,  then  had 
you  indeed  a  cut,  and  the  case  to  be  lamented :  this 
pief  is  crowiied  with  consolation;  your  old  smock 
brings  forth  a  new  petticoat :— and  indeed  tlie  tears 
live  m  an  onion,  that  should  water  tiiis  sorrow. 

Ant.  The  business  she  hath  broached  in  the  state, 
Cannot  endure  my  absence. 

Eno.  And  the  business  you  have  broached  here, 
cannot  be  without  you;  especially  that  of  Cleo- 
patra's, which  wholly  depends  on  your  abode. 

Ant.  No  more  light  answers.    Let  our  olVicers 
Have  notice  what  we  purpose.    I  shall  break 
The  cause  of  our  expedience^  to  the  queen. 
And  get  her  love"^  to  part.    For  not  alone 
Tiie  death  of  Fulvia,  with  more  urgent  touches, 
Do  strongly  speak  to  us;  but  the  letters  too, 
Of  many  our  contriving  friends  in  Rome 
Petition  us  at  home:  Sextus  Pompeius 
Hath  given  the  dare  to  Caesar,  and  commands 
The  empire  of  the  sea :  our  slippery  people 
(\Vhosc  love  is  never  linkM  to  the  deserver, 
Till  his  deserts  are  past)  be^in  to  throw 
Pompey  the  great,  and  all  his  dignities. 
Upon  his  son ;  who,  higli  in  name  and  power, 
Higher  than  both  in  blood  and  life,  stiinds  up 
For  the  main  soldier:  whose  ipialiiy,  p)ing  on, 
Thesideso' the  world  maydanger.IVIucn  is bi-eeding. 
Which.  like  the  courser's  hair,  liath  yet  but  life. 
And  not  a  serpent's  poison.    Say,  our  pleasure, 
To  sucli  whose  place  is  under  us,  requires 
Our  quick  remove  from  hence. 

Eno.  1  shall  do't.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  III. 
Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Alexas. 

Clco.  Where  is  he  1 

Char.  I  did  not  see  him  since. 

Cleo.  Sec  where  he  is,  who's  with  him,  what  he 
does : — 
I  did  not  send  you:^— If  j-ou  find  him  sad, 
Say,  I  am  dancing;  if  in  mirtli,  report 
That  I  am  sudden  sick:  Quick,  and  return. 

[Exit  Alexas. 

Char.  Madam,  methinks,  if  you  did  love  him 
dearly. 
You  do  not  hold  the  method  to  enforce 
The  like  from  him. 

Cleo.  Wliat  should  I  do,  I  do  not  ? 

Char.  In  each  tiling  give  Iiim  way,  cross  him 
in  nothing. 

Cleo.  Tiiou  teachest  like  a  fool:  the  way  to  lose  him. 
■  Expeditinn.  e  Leave. 

'  Look  as  if  I  did  not  send  you. 


Char.  Tempt  him  not  so  too  far:  I  wish,  forbear; 
In  time  we  hate  that  which  we  often  fear. 

Enter  Antony, 
But  here  comes  Antony. 

Clco.  I  am  sick,  and  sullen. 

A  nt.  I  am  sorry  to  give  breathing  to  my  purpose. 

Cleo.  Help  me  away,  dear  Charmian,  I  shall  fall; 
It  cannot  be  thus  long,  the  sides  of  nature 
Will  not  sustain  it. 

Ant.  Now,  my  dearest  queen, — 

Cleo.  Pray  you,  stand  further  from  me. 

Ant.  What's  the  matter'! 

Cleo.  I  know,  by  that  same  eye,  there's  some 
good  news. 
What  says  the  married  womanl — You  may  go; 
'Would,  she  had  never  given  you  leave  to  come! 
Let  her  not  say,  'tis  I  that  keep  you  here, 
I  have  no  power  upon  you:  hers  you  are. 

Ant.  The  gods  best  know, — ■ 

Cleo.  O,  never  was  there  queen 

So  mightily  betray'd  1    Yet,  at  the  tirst, 
I  saw  the  treasons  planted. 

A7\t.  Cleopatra, — 

Cleo.  Why  should  I  think,  you  can  be  mine,  and 
true, 
Thou'ch  you  in  swearing  shake  the  throned  gods, 
WIio  have  been  false  to  l-'ulvia  J  Riotous  madness, 
To  be  entangled  with  those  mouth-made  vows, 
Wiiich  break  themselves  in  swearing  ! 

Ani.  Most  sweet  queen,— 

Cleo.  Nay,  pray  you,  seek  no  color  for  your  going, 
But  bid  farewell,  and  go  :  when  you  sued  staying, 
Then  was  the  time  for  words:  No  going  then;— 
Eternity  was  in  our  lips  and  eyes; 
Bliss  in  our  brows'  bent  ;5  none  our  parts  so  poor. 
But  was  a  race^  of  heaven :  They  are  so  still. 
Or  thou,  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  world. 
Art  turn'd  the  greatest  liar. 

Ant.  How  now, lady  f 

Cleo.  I  would,  I  had  thy  inches;  thou  shouldst 
know, 
■  There  were  a  heart  in  Egypt. 

Ant.  ^  Hear  me,  queen: 

The  strong  necessity  of  time  commands 
Our  ser\'ices  awtiile  ;  but  my  lull  heart 
Remains  in  use  with  you.    bur  Italy 
Shines  o'er  with  civil  swords:  Sextus  Pompeius 
Makes  his  approaches  to  tlie  port'  of  Rome : 
Equality  of  two  domestic  powers 
Breeds  scrupulous  faction :  The  hated,  grown  to 

strength. 
Are  newly  grown  to  love :  the  condemn'd  Pompey, 
Rich  in  his  lather's  honor,  creeps  apace 
Into  the  hearts  of  such  as  have  not  thrived 
Upon  the  present  slate,  whose  numbers  threaten; 
And  quietness,  grown  sick  of  rest,  would  purge 
By  any  desperate  change  :  My  more  particular. 
And   that  which  most  with  you  should  sale  my 

going, 
Is  Fulvia's  death. 

Cleo.  Though  age  from  folly  could  not  give  me 
freedom. 
It  does  from  childishness:— Can  Fulvia  die  1 

Ant.  She's  dead,  my  queen: 
Look  h^re,  and,  at  thy  sovereign  leisure,  read 
The  garboils  she  awaked  ;-  at  the  last,  best : 
See,  when,  and  where  she  died. 

Cle^.  O  most  false  love  \ 

Where  be  the  sacred  vials  thou  shouldst  fill 
With  sorrowful  water  f    Now  I  see.  I  see, 
In  Fulvia's  death,  how  mine  received  shall  be. 

Ani.  Quarrel  no  more,  but  be  prepared  to  know 
The  purposes  I  bear;  which  are,  or  cease, 
As  you  shall  give  the  advice :    Now,  by  the  fire 
That  quickens  Nilus'  slime,  I  go  from  hence, 
Thy  soldier,  servant;  making  peace,  or  war, 
As  thou  affect'st. 

Cleo.  Cut  my  lace,  Charmian,  come  ;— 

But  let  it  be. — I  am  quickly  ill,  and  well : 
So  Antony  loves. 

Ant.  My  precious  queen,  forbear; 

And  give  true  evidence  to  his  love,  which  stands 
An  honorable  trial. 

Cleo.  So  Fulvia  told  me. 

I  pr'ythee  turn  aside,  and  weep  for  her ; 
Then  hid  adieu  to  me,  and  say,  the  tears 
Belong  to  Egypt  ■?  Good  now,  play  one  scene 
•  The  arch  of  our  eye-brows.  9  Smack  or  flavor 

^  Gate.  '  The  commotion  she  occasioned, 

a  To  me,  the  queen  of  rgvpt. 


592 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATEA. 


Act  I.  Scene  V. 


Of  excellent  dissembling ;  and  let  it  look 
Like  perfect  honor. 

Ant.  You'll  heat  my  blood  J  no  more. 

Cleo.  You  can  do  better  yet;  but  this  is  meetly. 

Ant.  Now  by  my  sword, 

Cleo.  And  target.— Still  he  mends; 

But  this  is  not  the  best:  Look, pr'y thee, Charmian, 
How  this  Herculean  Roman  does  become 
The  carriage  of  his  cliafe.-" 

Artt.  I'll  leave  you,  lady. 

Clen.  Courteous  lord,  one  \vord. 
.Sir,  you  and  I  must  part,— but  that's  not  it: 
Sir,  yuu  and  I  have  lov'd, — but  there'.s  not  it; 
Tliiii  you  know  well:  Something  it  is  I  would, — 
O,  my  oblivion^  is  a  very  Antony, 
And  I  am  all  forgotten. 

Ant.  But  that  your  royalty 

Holds  idleness  your  subject,  I  should  take  you 
For  itlleness  itself. 

Cteo.  'Tis  sweating  labor, 

To  bear  such  idleness  so  near  the  heart 
As  Cleopatra  this.    But,  sir,  forgive  me; 
Since  my  becomings  kill  me,  when  they  do  not 
Eye  well  to  you :  Your  honor  calls  you  hence  ; 
Theri^liire  be  deaf  to  my  unpitied  folly, 
And  all  the  gods  go  with  you  !  upon  your  sword 
Sit  laurel'd  victory  !  and  smooth  success 
Be  .strew'd  belbre  your  tect ! 

Ant.  Let  us  go.    Come; 

Our  separation  so  abides,  and  flies. 
That  you,  residing  here,  go'st  yet  with  me. 
And  I,  hence  fleeting,  here  remain  with  thee. 
Away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Rome.    An  Apartment  in  Caesar's 

House. 
Enter  Ootatius  C.tSAn,  Lepidcs,  and  Attend- 
ants. 

Cms.  You  may  see,  Lcpidus,  and  henceforth  know, 
It  is  not  Ca-sar's  natural  vice  to  liate 
One  great  competitor:  From  Alexandria 
This  is  the  news :  He  fishes,  drinks,  and  wastes 
The  lamps  of  night  in  revel :  is  not  more  manlike 
Than  Cleopatra;  nor  the  queen  Ptolemy 
More  womanly  than  ho:  hardly  gave  audience,  or 
Vouchsafed  to  thiidc  he  had  partners:    You  shall 

fuid  there 
A  man,  that  is  the  abstract  of  all  faults 
That  all  men  follow. 

Lep.  I  must  not  think,  there  are 

Evils  enough  to  darken  all  his  goodness : 
His  faults,  m  him,  seem  as  the  spots  of  heaven, 
More  Hery  by  night's  blaclviiess;  hereditary. 
Rather  tlian  purciias'd;^  what  he  cannot  change, 
Than  what  he  chooses. 

Cees.  You  are  too  indulgent :  Let  us  grant,  it  is  not 
Amiss  to  tumble  on  the  bed  of  Ptolemy ; 
To  give  a  kingdom  lor  a  mirth;  to  sit 
And  keep  the  turn  of  tippling  with  a  slave; 
To  reel  the  streets  at  noon,  and  stand  the  buffet 
With  knaves  thatsuiellof  sweat:  say,tlus  becomes 

him, 
(As  bis  composure  must  be  rare  indeed, 
Whom   these  things  cannot  blemish,)  yet  must 

Antony 
No  way  excuse  his  soils,  when  we  do  bear 
So  great  weight  in  his  lightness.    If  he  fill'd 
His  vacancy  with  his  voluptuousness, 
Full  surfeits,  and  the  dryness  of  his  bones, 
Call  on  him'  for't:  but,  to  confound'  such  time. 
Thai  drums  him  from  his  sport,  and  speaks  as  loud 
As  his  own  stale,  and  ours,— 'tis  lo  be  chid 
As  we  rate  boys;  wlio  beingmature  in  knowledge. 
Pawn  their  experience  to  their  present  pleasure, 
And  so  rebel  to  judgment. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Lep.  Here's  more  news. 

Mess.  Thy  biddings  have  been  done ;  and  every 
hour, 
Most  noble  Crosar,  shall  thou  have  report 
How  'lis  abroad.    Pompey  is  strong  at  sea; 
And  it  appears,  be  is  beluv'd  of  those 
Thai  only  have  fear'd  Caesar:  to  the  ports 
The  discontents!'  re|)air,  and  men's  reports 
(iivc  him  much  wrong'd. 

C:i's.  I  sliould  have  known  no  less: — 

It  hath  been  laughl  us  from  the  primal  slate, 

•  HilJIt'.  t  oblivious  memory. 

•  I'rot-ui'ed  by  liis  own  fault.  '  \'isit  bim. 

•  Cousume.  >  DiscouttnU'd. 


That  he,  which  is,  was  wish'd,  until  he  were; 
And  the  ebb'd  man,  ne'er  lov'd,  till  ne'er  worth 

love. 
Comes  dcar'd,  by  being  lack'd.i  This  common  body, 
Like  a  vagabond  Ibig  upon  the  stream. 
Goes  lo,  and  back,  lackeying  the  varying  tide, 
To  rot  itself  with  molion. 

RIess.  Cffisar,  I  bring  thee  word, 

Menecrates  and  Mcnas,  famous  pirates, 
Make  the  sea  serve  them;  which  they  earand  wound 
With  keels  of  every  kind:  Many  hot  inroads 
They  make  in  Italy  ;  the  borders  maritime 
Lack-blood^  to  think  on't,  and  Hush  youth  revolt: 
No  vessel  can  peep  forth,  but  'lis  as  soon 
Taken  as  seen  ;  for  Pompey's  name  strikes  more, 
Than  could  his  war  resisted. 

Cass.  Antony, 

Leave  thy  lascivious  wassels.'    Whcii  Ihou  once 
Wast  beaten  from  Modena,  where  thou  slew'st 
Hirlius  and  Pansa,  consuls,  at  thy  heel 
Did  famine  follow;  whom  thou  foiight'st  against, 
Though  daintily  brought  up,  with  patience  more 
Than  savages  could  sulfrr:  thou  didst  drink 
Tlie  staled  of  horses,  and  the  gilded  puddle^ 
Which  beasts  would  cough  at:  thy  palate  then  did 

deign 
The  roughest  berry  on  the  rudest  hedge  ; 
Yea,  like  the  slag,  when  snow  the  pasture  sheets, 
The  barks  of  trees  thou  browsed'st ;  on  the  Alps 
It  is  reported,  thou  didst  eat  strange  flesh. 
Which  some  did  die  lo  look  on  :  And  all  this 
(11  wounds  thine  honor,  that  I  speak  it  now) 
Was  borne  so  like  a  soldier,  that  thy  cheek 
So  much  as  lank'd  not. 

Lep.  It  is  pity  of  him. 

Cxs.  Let  his  shames  quickly 
Drive  him  to  Rome:  'Tis  time  we  twain 
Did  show  ourselves  i'  the  held  ;  and,  to  that  end. 
Assemble  we  immediate  council:  Pompey 
Thrives  in  our  idleness. 

Lep.  To-morrow,  Cssar, 

I  shall  be  furnish'd  to  inform  you  rightly 
Both  what  by  sea  and  land  I  can  be  able, 
To  'front  this  present  time. 

Cas.  Till  which  encounter, 

It  IS  my  business  too.    Farewell. 

Lep.  Farewell,  my  lord:  What  you  shall  know 
meantime 
Of  stirs  abroad,  I  shall  beseech  you,  sir. 
To  let  me  be  partaker. 

Cses.  Doubt  not,  sir : 

I  knew  it  for  my  bond.6  [Exeu?it. 

SCENE  v.— Alexandria.    A  Room  in  ttie  Palace. 

Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and 

Maedian. 

Cleo.  Charmian,— 

Ctiar.  Madam. 

Clcu.  Ha,  ha  !— 
Give  me  to  drink  mandragora.*' 

Cliar.  Why,  madam  ! 

tVco.  That  I  might  sleep  out  this  great  gap  of 
time. 
My  Antony  is  away. 

Cluir.  You  think  of  him 

Too  much. 

Cleo.  O,  treason ! 

Ctior.  Madam,  I  trust,  not  so. 

Cleo.  Thou,  eunuch!  Mardian  ! 

Mar.  What's  your  highness'  pleasure  1 

Cleo.  Not  now   to  hear  thee   sing;  I   take  no 
pleasure 
In  aught  an  eunuch  has:  'Tis  well  for  thee. 
That,  being  unseininar'd,8  thy  freer  thoughts 
May  not  fly  Ibrlli  of  Egypt.    Hast  thou  altt'ctions'! 

Mar.  Yes,  gracious  madam. 

Cleo.  Indeed? 

Mar.  Not  in  deed,  madam  ;  for  1  can  do  nothing 
But  what  in  deed  is  honest  lo  be  done: 
Yet  have  I  (ierce  alieclions,  and  think. 
What  Venus  did  with  Mars. 

Cleo.  0  Charmian, 

Where  think  st  thou  he  is  now!    Stands  he,  or 

sits  he '! 
Or  does  he  walk  ?  or  is  he  on  his  horse?— 
O  happy  horse,  to  bear  the  weight  of  Antony  ! 

t  KndeJU-ed  by  heiiij;  inisst'd.  ^Turii  pule. 

3  Fi!:i8ting8 :  in  the  old  copy  it  is  vaissaiks.  i.  e.  v-issals. 
•  Urine,  '.flagnjiut,  slimy  water.  «  My  bouuden  duty. 
'  .i  sleepy  potiuu.  •  Uumanntd. 


Act  II.  Scene  II. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


503 


Do   bravely,  horse !   for  wot'st  thou  whom   thou 

mov'st  1 
The  demi- Atlas  of  this  earth,  the  arm 
And  burgonet'J  of  men.— He's  speaking  now. 
Or  murmuring,  Whereas  my  xerpeni  qt  old  Nile? 
For  so  he  calls  mc:   Now  1  feed  myself 
With  most  delicious  poison  :— Think  on  me. 
That  am  with  Pha-lms'  amorous  pinches  black. 
And  wrinkled  deep  in  time?  Broad-fronted  Csesar, 
When  thou  wast  here  above  the  ground,  I  was 
A  morsel  lor  a  monarch :  and  great  Pompey 
Would  stand, and  make  his  eyes  grow  in  my  brow; 
There  would  be  anchor  his  aspect,  and  die 
With  lookijig  on  his  life. 

Enter  Alexas. 

Alex.  Sovereign  of  E?ypt,  hail ! 

Cleo.  H(W  much  unlike  art  thou  Mark  Antony  ! 
Vet  coming  Ironi  him,  that  great  medicine  hath 
With  his  tinet  gilded  thee.— 
How  goes  it  with  my  brave  Mark  Antony  1 

Alex.  Last  thing  he  did,  dear  queen. 
He  kiss'd,— the  last  of  many  doubled  kisses,— 
This  orient  pearl ; — His  speech  sticks  in  my  heart. 

Cleo.  Wine  ear  must  pluck  it  thence. 

Alex.  Good  friend,  quoth  he, 

Say,  The  firm  Raman  to  greiit  Ef^ijpt  sends 
Tlthi  ireosure  of  an  oiister ;  at  whoKCfout, 
To  mend  the  pHlii  present,  1  will  jiitce 
Her  opulent  throne  with  kintnlom^  ;  Alt  the  east. 
Say  thou,  shall  enll  her  mi.-itress.    So  he  nodded, 
And  soberly  did  mount  a  lerinagant'  steed. 
Who  neigh'd  so   Ingli,  that  what  1  would  have 

spoke 
Was  beastly  dumb'd  by  him. 

Cleo.  What,  was  he  sad,  or  merry  1 


Alex.  Like  to  the  time  o'  the  year  between  the 
extremes 
Of  hot  and  cold  ;  he  was  nor  sad  nor  merry. 

Clen.  O  well-divided  disposition  !— Note  him, 
Note  him,  good  Charmian,  'tis  the  man;  but  note 

him : 
He  was  not  sad  :  for  he  would  .shine  on  those 
That  make  their  looks  by  his  :  he  was  not  merry  ; 
Which  seem'd  to  tell  them,  his  remembrance  lay 
111  Kgypt  with  his  joy;  but  between  both; 

0  heavenly  mingle'!— Be'st  thou  sad  or  merry, 
The  violence  of  either  thee  hecomes  ; 

So  does  it  no  man  else.— Met'st  thou  my  posts'! 

Ale.r.  Ay,  madam,  twenty  several  messengers: 
Why  do  you  send  so  tliick  i 

cleo.  Who's  born  that  day 

When  I  forget  to  send  to  Antony, 
Shall  die  a  beggar.— Ink  and  paper,  Charmian.— 
Welcome,  my  good  Alexas.— Did  I,  Charmian, 
Ever  love  Casar  so  ? 

Char.  0  that  brave  Ca;sar ! 

Cleo.  Be  choked  with  such  another  emphasis ! 
Say,  the  brave  Antony. 

(fiar.  The  valiant  Cffsar! 

Cleo.  By  Isis,  I  will  give  thee  bloody  teeth, 
H'  thou  w"ilh  C<esar  paragon  again 
My  man  of  men. 

Char.  By  your  most  gracious  pardon, 

1  sing  but  after  you. 

Cleo.  My  salad  days ; 

When  I  was  green  in  judgment :— Cold  in  blood. 
To  say,  as  I  said  then  !— But,  come,  away: 
(Jet  me  ink  and  paper:  be  shall  have  c\ery  day 
A  several  greeting,  or  I'll  unpeople  Egypt. 

[Exeunt 


ACT   II. 


SCENE    I.— Messina.     A    Room   in   Pompey's 
House. 

Enter  Pompey,  Meneorates,  and  Mesas. 

Pom.  \(  the  great  gods  be  just,  they  shall  assist 
The  deeds  of  justest  men. 

Me'ne.  Know,  worthy  Pompey, 

That  what  they  do  delay,  they  not  deny. 

Fum.   Whiles  we  are  suitors   to   their  throne, 
decays 
The  thing  we  sue  for. 

Mene.  We,  ignorant  of  ourselves, 

Beg  oilen  our  own  harms,  which  tlie  wise  powers 
Deny  us  for  our  good  ;  so  find  we  profit. 
By  losing  of  our  prayers. 

Pont.  I  shall  do  well: 

The  people  love  me,  and  the  sea  is  mine; 
My  power's  a  crescent,  and  my  auguring  hope 
Says,  it  will  come  to  the  full.    Mark  Antony 
In  Egypt  sits  at  dinner,  and  will  make 
No  wars  without  doors  :  Ca-sar  gets  money,  where 
He  loses  liearls  :  Lepidus  Hatters  both. 
Of  both  is  llailer'd  ;  but  he  neither  loves. 
Nor  eitlier  cares  tor  iiim. 

Men.  CiEsar  and  Lepidus 

Are  in  the  field;  a  mighty  strength  they  carry. 

Pom.  Where  have  j  ou  this  i  'tis  false. 

Men.  •    From  Silvius,  sir. 

Foni.  He  dreams;  I  know,  they  are  in  Home 
together, 
Looking  for  Antony  :  But  all  charms  of  love, 
Salt  Cleopatra,  soften  Ihy  waned-  lip! 
Let  witchcraft  join  with  beauty,  lust  with  both! 
Tie  up  the  libertine  in  a  iield  of  leasts, 
Keep  his  brain  fuming;  Epicurean  cooks. 
Sharpen  with  cloyless  sauce  his  appetite; 
That  sleep  and  feeding  may  prorogue  his  honor. 
Even  tilP  a  Lethe'd  dulness.— How  now,  Varriusi 

Enter  Varrtus. 

Var.  This  is  most  certain  that  I  shall  deliver: 
Mark  Antony  is  every  hour  in  Rome 
Expected  ;  since  he  went  from  Egypt,  'tis 
A  sp.ace  for  further  travel. 

Pom.  1  could  have  given  less  matter 

A  better  ear.— Menas,  I  did  not  think. 


•  A  helmet. 


'  Furious.        »  Declined,  feded. 

38 


■  To. 


This  amorous  surfeiter  would  have  don'd'  his  helm^ 

For  such  a  petty  war:  his  soldiership 

Is  twice  the  other  twain  :  But  let  us  rear 

The  higlicr  our  opinion,  that  our  stirring 

Call  IJom  the  lap  of  Egypt's  widow  pluck 

The  ne'er  lust-wearied  Antony. 

Men.  I  cannot  hope, 

Ca>sar  and  Antony  shall  well  greet  togeilier  : 
His  wile,  Ihat's  dead,  did  trespasses  to  Ca'sar; 
His  brother  warr'd  upon  him;  although,  I  think. 
Not  niov'd  by  .Antony. 

Pom.  I  know  not,  Menas, 

How  lesser  enmities  may  give  way  to  greater. 
Wer't  not  that  we  stand  up  against  them  all, 
'Twere   jiregnant    they   should  square<>    between 

themselves; 
For  they  have  eiilertained  cause  enough 
To  draw  their  swords  :  but  how  the  tear  of  us 
May  cement  their  divisions,  and  bind  up 
The  petty  diflijrence,  we  yet  not  know. 
Be  it  as  our  gods  will  liave  it!  It  only  stands 
Our  lives  upon,  to  use  our  strongest  hands. 
Come,  Menas.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Rome.      ,4   Room  in   the   House  of 
Lepidus. 

Enter  Enobarbvs  and  Lepidus. 

Lep.  Good  Enobarbus,  'tis  a  worthy  deed. 
And  shall  become  you  well,  to  entreat  your  captain. 
To  soft  and  gentle  speech. 

Eno.  I  shall  entreat  him 

To  answer  like  himself:  If  Ca?sar  move  him. 
Let  Antony  look  over  Caesar's  head. 
And  speak  as  loud  as  Mar.s.    By  Jupiter, 
Were  I  the  wearer  of  Antonius'  beard, 
I  would  not  sliav't  to-day. 

I,cp.  'Tis  not  a  time 

For  private  stomaching. 

£)(().  Every  time 

Serves  for  the  matter  that  is  then  born  in  it. 

Lep.  But  small  to  greater  matters  must  give  way, 

Eno.  Not  if  the  small  come  first. 

Lep.  Your  speech  is  passion  : 

But,  pray  you,  stir  no  embers  up.    Here  comes 
The  noble  Antony. 

*  Dodo  on;  i.«.  put  on.  •Helmet.  «  Quiirrel. 


594 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


Act  II. 


Enter  Antony  and  VENTiniua. 
Eno.  And  yonder,  CsEsar. 

Enter  Cjesar,  Mec;enab,  ami  Aghippa. 
Ant.  If  we  compose'  well  here,  to  Parlhia: 
Hark  jou,  Ventvdius. 

Cbss.  I  do  not  know, 

Mecajnas  i  ask  Agrippa.  ,,    „.      _, 

X,fp.  ^olllc  friends, 

That  which  conihin'd  us  was  most  great, and  let  not 
A  leaner  action  rend  us.    What's  amiss, 
May  it  be  gently  heard:  When  we  dehate 
tlur  tiivial  dillerence  loud,  we  do  commit 
Murder  in  healing  wounds  :  Tlien,  noble  partners, 
(The  rather,  for  I  earnestly  beseech,) 
Touch  you  the  sourest  points  with  sweetest  terms, 
Nor  curstness*  grow  to  the  matter. 

yj„t.  Tis  spoken  well ; 

Were  we  before  our  armies,  and  to  light, 
1  should  do  thus. 

CVrs.  Welcome  to  Rome. 
Ant.  Thank  you. 

Cms.  Sit.       . 

Ant.  Sit,  sir! 

Cie-i.  Nay, 

Then— 

Ant.  I  learn, you  take  thingsill,  which  are  not  so; 
Or.  being,  concern  you  not. 

Ca;x.  I  must  be  laugh  d  at, 

If,  or  for  nothing,  or  a  little,  I 
Should  say  myself  olftnded  ;  and  with  you 
Chicliy  i'  the  world  :  more  laugh'd  at.  that  I  should 
Once  name  you  derogately,  when  to  sound  your 

name 
It  not  concern'd  me. 

Ant.  My  being  in  Egypt,  Cajsar, 

What  was't  to  youl 

Cics.  No  more  than  my  residing  here  at  Rome 
Might  be  to  you  in  Egypt:  Yet,  if  you  there 
Did  practises  on  my  slate,  your  being  in  Egypt 
Might  be  my  question.' 
Ant.  How  intend  you,  practis  d? 

C'cTi.  You  may  be  pleas'd  to  catch  at  mine  intent. 
By  what  did  here  befall  me.  Your  wife.and  brother. 
Made  wars  upon  me  ;  and  their  contestation 
Was  theme  for  you.  you  were  the  word  of  war. 
Ant.  You  do  mistake  your  business  ;  my  brother 
never 
Did  urge  me  in  his  act:  I  did  inquire  it; 
And  have  my  learning  from  some  true  reports. 
That  drew  their  swords  with  you.  Did  he  not  rather 
Discredit  my  authority  with  yours  ; 
And  make  the  wars  alike  against  my  stomach. 
Having  alike  your  cause  !    Of  tliis,  my  letters 
BclLire  did  satisfy  you.    If  you'll  patch  a  quarrel. 
As  matter  whole  you  have  not  to  make  it  with, 
It  must  not  be  with  this. 

Cie.t.  You  praise  yourself 

By  laying  defects  of  judgment  to  me;  but 
You  patch'd  up  your  excuses. 

Ant.  Not  so,  not  so; 

I  know  you  could  not  lack,  I  am  certain  on't, 
Very  necessity  of  this  thought,  that  I, 
Your  partner  in  the  cause  'gainst  which  he  fought, 
Could  not  with  graceful  eyes  attend  those  wars 
Wliicli  'fronted-  mine  own  peace.   As  lor  my  wife, 
1  would  you  had  her  spirit  lu  such  another  : 
Tlie  third  o'  the  world  is  yours;  which  wilhasnaffle 
You  may  pace  easy,  but  not  such  a  wife. 

Enu.  'Would  we  had  all  such  wives,  that  the  men 
might  go  to  wars  with  the  women  ! 

Ant.  So  much  uncurable,  her  garboils,'  Ca?sar, 
Made  out  other  impatience,  (which  not  wanted 
Shrewdness  of  policy  too.)  I  grieving  grant. 
Did  you  too  much  disquiet:  tor  that,  you  must 
But  say,  1  could  not  help  it. 

lies.  I  wrote  to  you, 

When  rioting  in  Alexandria;  you 
Did  pocket  up  my  letters,  and  with  taunts 
Did  gibe  my  missive^  out  of  audience. 

Ant.  Sir, 

lie  lell  upon  me,  ere  admitted;  then 
Three  kings  I  had  newly  feasted,  and  did  want 
Of  what  I  was  i'  the  morning:  but,  next  day, 
1  told  liim  of  myself;  which  was  as  much 
As  to  have  ask'd  him  pardon  :  Let  this  fellow 

1  .\gree.  ^  Let  not  ill-humor  he  added. 

B  Use  badartsor  strat.iuems.    »  .Sulject  of  conversation. 
•  Opposed.  3  t'ouimotioDS.  *  Messenger. 


Be  nothing  of  our  strife  ;  if  we  contend, 
Out  of  our  question*  wipe  him. 

Cws.  You  have  broken 

The  article  of  your  oath  ;  which  you  shall  never 
Have  tongue  to  charge  me  with. 
Lep.  Soft,  CiEsar. 

Ant.  No,  Lepidus,  let  him  speak  ; 
The  honor's  sacied  which  he  talks  on  now, 
Supposing  that  I  lack'd  it:  But  on,  Caesar; 
Ttie  arlicle  of  my  oath, — 
C»«.  To  lend  me  arms,  and  aid,  when  I  reijuireil 
them ; 
The  which  i'ou  both  denied. 

Ant.  Neglected,  rather; 

And  then,  when  poison'd  hours  had  bound  me  up 
From  mine  own  knowledge.     As  nearly  as  I  may, 
I'll  play  the  penitent  to  you  :  but  mine  honesty 
Shall  not  make  poor  my  greatness,  nor  my  power 
Work  without  it:  Truth  is,  that  Fulvia, 
To  have  me  out  of  Egypt,  made  wars  here; 
For  which  myself,  the  ignorant  motive,  do 
So  far  ask  pardon,  as  belits  mine  honor 
To  stoop  in  such  a  case, 
Lep.  ■   'Tis  nobly  spoken. 

Mec.  If  it  might  please  you,  to  enforce  no  further 
The  griefs^  between  ye:  to  forget  them  quite, 
Were  to  remember  that  the  present  need 
Speaks  to  atone'  you. 
Lep.  Worthily  spoke,  Mecsenas. 

Enn.  Or,  if  you  borrow  one  another's  love  tiir 
the  instant,  you  may,  when  you  hear  no  more  words 
of  Pompey,  return  it  again  :  youshall  have  time  to 
wrangle  in,  when  you  have  nothing  else  to  do. 
Ant.  Thou  art  a  soldier  only;  speak  no  more. 
Enn.  That  truth  should  be  silent,  I  had  almost 
forgot. 
Ant.  You  wrong  this  presence,  therefore  speak 

no  more. 
Eno.  Go  to,  then ;  your  considerate  stone. 
Cws.  1  do  not  much  dislike  the  matter,  but 
The  manner  of  his  speech:  for  it  cannot  be. 
We  shall  remain  in  friendship,  our  conditions' 
So  dillLuing  in  their  acts.    Yet.  if  I  knew 
W  ha  tlioop  should  hold  us  staunch, from  edge  to  edge 
O'  the  world  I  would  pursue  it. 
Agr.  Give  me  leave,  Caisar, — 

Cass.  Speak,  Agrippa. 

Affr.  Thou  hast  a  sister  by  the  mother's  side, 
Admir'd  Octavia  :  great  Mark  Antony 
Is  now  a  widower. 

Ca^s.  Say  not  so,  Agrippa; 

If  Cleopatra  heard  you,  your  reproof 
Were  well  deserv'd  of  rashness. 

Ant.  1  am  not  married,  Csesar;  let  me  hear 
Agrippa  further  speak. 

Agr.  To  hold  you  in  perpetual  amity. 
To  make  you  brothers,  and  to  knit  your  hearts 
With  an  unslipping  knot,  take  Antony 
Octavia  to  his  wife:  whose  beauty  claims 
No  worse  a  husband  than  the  best  of  men; 
Whose  virtue,  and  whose  general  graces,  .speak 
That  which  none  else  can  utter.  By  this  marriage. 
All  little  iealcuisics,  which  now  seem  great. 
And  all  gii';il  IVars.which  now  import  their  dangers. 
Would  Ihc'U  be  iii>lhillg  :  truths  would  be  but  tales 
Where  now  halt  tales  be  truths  :  her  love  to  both, 
VVould,  each  to  other,  and  all  loves  to  both, 
Draw  after  her.    Pardon  what  1  have  spoke; 
For  'tis  a  studied,  not  a  present  thought, 
By  duty  ruminated. 
Ant.  ■  Will  Cresar  speak? 

Cws.  Not  till  he  hears  how  Antony  is  touch'd 
With  what  is  spoke  already. 

.4h/.  What  power  is  in  Agrippa, 

If  1  would  say,  Agrippa,  be  it  su. 
To  make  this  good  J 

Cw.i.  The  power  of  Ca'sar,  and 

His  power  unto  Octavia. 

Ant.  May  I  never 

To  this  good  purpose,  that  so  liiirly  shows. 
Dream  of  impediment ! — Let  me  have  thy  hand: 
Furl  her  this  act  of  grace  ;  and,  from  this  hour. 
The  heart  of  brothers  govern  in  our  loves, 
And  sway  our  great  designs  ! 

Ca'.i.  There  is  my  hand. 

A  sister  I  bequeath  you,  whom  no  brother 
Did  ever  love  so  dearly :  Let  her  live 


•  Convers-ition. 
1  Keconcile. 


6  GrieT-incps. 
•  Dispositions. 


Scene  III. 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


595 


To  join  our  kiiiKcloms  and  our  hearts  ;  and  never 
Flvottour  loves  a^ain ! 

Lep.  Happily,  amen! 

Ant.  I  did  not  tliink  to  draw  my  sword  'gainst 
Poinpey ; 
For  he  halh  laid  strange  courtesies,  and  great, 
Of  late  upon  me:  I  must  thank  him  only, 
Lest  my  remembrance  sutler  ill  report ; 
At  heel  of  that,  defy  him. 

Lep.  Time  calls  upon  us  : 

Of  us  must  Pompcy  presently  be  sought, 
Or  else  he  seeks  out  us. 

Ant.  And  where  lies  he  1 

Cws.  About  the  Mount  Misenum. 

Ant.  What's  his  strength 

By  land  ? 

Cseii.         Great,  and  increasing:  but  bj' sea 
He  IS  an  absolute  master. 

Ant.  So  is  the  fame. 

'Would,  we  had  spoke  together  !  Haste  we  for  it : 
Vet,  ere  we  i^ut  ourselves  in  arms,  despatch  we 
The  business  we  have  talk'd  of. 

Ca".s.  With  most  gladness ; 

And  do  invite  you  to  my  sister's  view, 
Whither  straight  I  will  lead  you. 

Ant.  Let  us,  Lepidus, 

Wot  lack  your  company. 

Lep.  Noble  Antony, 

Not  sickness  should  detain  me. 

[Fluurusli.     E.ieunt  Cesar,  Antoxt,  and 

LEl'lDt'S. 

Mec.  Welcome  from  Egypt,  sir. 

Eno.  Half  the  heart  of  Ca?sar,  worthy  Mectenas  ! 
— my  honorable  friend,  Agrippa! — 

Ak^.  firiod  Knobarbus! 

Mcr.  We  ha\e  cause  to  be  glad,  that  matters  are 
so  well  digested.    You  stay'd  well  by  it  in  Kgypt. 

Eno.  Ay,  sir;  we  did  sleep  day  but  of  counte- 
nance, and  made  the  night  light  with  drinking. 

Mec.  Kight  wild  boars  roasted  wliole  at  a  break- 
fast, and  but  twelve  persons  there  :  Is  tins  true  ] 

Eno.  This  was  but  as  a  fly  by  an  eagle  :  we  had 
much  more  monstrous  matter  of  feasts,  winch  wor- 
thily deserved  noting. 

^'lcc.  She's  a  most  triumphant  lady,  if  report  be 
square^  to  her. 

Emi.  When  she  first  met  Mark  Antony,  she 
pursed  up  his  heart  upon  the  river  of  Cydnus. 

Afi^r.  There  she  appeared  indeed ;  or  my  reporter 
devised  well  tor  her. 

Eno.  I  will  tell  you: 
The  barge  she  sat  in.  like  a  burnish'd  throne, 
Burn'd  oil  the  water  :  the  poop  was  beaten  gold  ; 
Purple  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed,  that 
The  winds  were  love-sick  with  them  :  the  oars  were 

silver; 
Which  to  the  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and  made 
The  water,  which  they  beat,  to  follow  faster. 
As  amorous  of  their  strokes.  For  her  own  person, 
It  beggar'd  all  description:  she  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion,  (cloth  of  gold,  of  tissue.) 
O'er-picturing  that  Venus,  wliere  we  see. 
The  tiincy  out-work  nature :  on  each  side  her. 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 
With  diverse-eolor'd  tans,  wliose  wind  did  seem 
To  glow  the  delicate  cheeks  which  they  did  cool. 
And  what  they  undid,  did. 

Agr.  O,  rare  for  Antony ! 

Eno.  Her  gentlewomen,  like  the  Nereides, 
So  many  mermaids,  tender  her  i'  the  eyes. 
And  made  their  bends  adornings;  at  the  helm 
A  seeming  mermaid  steers;  the  silken  tackles 
Swell  with  the  touches  of  those  flower-soft  hands. 
That  yarely  frame'  the  office.    From  the  barge 
A  strange  invisible  pi'-rfume  hits  the  sense 
Of  the  adjacent  wharfl^.    The  city  cast 
Her  people  out  upon  her;  and  Antony, 
Knthron  d  in  the  market-place,  did  sit  alone, 
Wluslling  to  the  air  ;  which,  but  for  vacancy, 
Had  gone  lo  gaze  on  Cleopatra  too, 
And  made  a  gap  in  nature. 
Agr.  Rare  Egyptian ! 

Enn.  Upon  her  landing,  Antony  sent  to  her, 
Invited  her  to  supper:  she  replied. 
It  should  be  better,  he  became  her  guest; 
Which  she  entreated  ;  Our  courteous  Antony, 
Whom  ne'er  the  word  of  AVi  woman  heard  speak, 
Being  barber'd  ten  times  o'er,  goes  to  the  feast ; 

•  Suit  with  her  merits.  *  Iteadily  perform. 


And,  for  his  ordinary,  pays  his  heart, 
For  what  his  eyes  eat  only. 

Art.  Royal  wench  ! 

She  made  great  Ctesar  lay  his  sword  to  bed ; 
He  plough'd  her,  and  she  cropp'd. 

Eno.  I  saw  her  once 
Hop  forty  paces  through  the  public  street : 
Antt  having  lost  her  breath,  she  spoke,  and  panted. 
That  she  did  make  defect,  pert«?etion, 
And,  breathless,  power  breathe  forth. 

Mec.  Now  .\ntony  must  leave  her  utterly. 

Eno.  Never;  he  will  not. 
Age  cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 
Her  infinite  variety:  Other  women 
Cloy  tirappetites  they  feed  ;  butshe  makes  hungry 
Where  most  she  satisfies.     For  vilest  things 
Become  themselves  in  her;  tliat  the  holy  priests 
Bless  her,  when  she  is  riggisb.-' 

Mec.  If  beauty,  wisdom,  modesty  can  settle 
The  heart  of  Antony.  Octavia  is 
A  blessed  lottery  to  him. 

Ag:r.  Let  us  go.— 

Good  Enobarbus,  make  yourself  my  guest, 
Whilst  you  abide  here. 

Eno.  Humbly,  sir,  I  thank  you. 

{Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— ^  Room  in  Cesar's  House. 

Enter  Cesar,  Antony,  Octavia  between  iliem; 
Attendant-s,  und  a  Soothsayer. 

Attt.  The  world,  and  my  great  ollice,  will  some- 
times 
Divide  me  from  your  bosom. 

Octa.  All  which  time 

Before  the  gods  my  knee  shall  bow  in  prayers 
To  ffiem  for  you. 

Ant.  Good-night,  sir. — My  Octavia, 

Read  not  my  hlemislies  in  the  world's  report: 
I  iiave  not  kept  my  s<|uare;  but  that  to  come 
Shall  all  be  done'by  the  rule.     Good-night,  dear 
lady. 

Octa.  Good-night,  sir. 

Cir.i.  Good-night.  [Ex.  CjESkR  and  OcTWik. 

Ant.  Now,   sirrah!    you    do   wish    yourself  in 
Egypt! 

Sooth.  Would  I  had  never  come  from  thence, 
nor  you 
Thither! 

Ant.        If  you  can,  your  reason  ? 

So(jtfi.  I  sec't  in 

My  motion,  have  it  not  in  my  tongue:  But  yet 
Hie  you  again  to  EgypL 

Aiit.  Say  to  me. 

Whose    fortunes    shall    rise    higher,    Cjesar's,    or 
mine! 

Sooth.  Ca-sar's. 
Therefore,  O  Antony,  stay  not  by  his  side : 
Thy  da-mon,  that's  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thee,  is 
Noble,  courageous,  high,  unmatehable. 
Where  Caisar's  is  not ;  but  near  him,  thy  angel 
Becomes  a  Fear,  as  being  o'erpower'd ;  therefore 
Make  space  enough  between  you. 

Ant.  Speak  this  no  more. 

Soot/t.  To  none  but  thee;  no  more,  but  when  to 
thee. 
If  thou  dost  play  with  him  at  any  game. 
Thou  art  sure  to  lose;  and.  of  that  natural  luck. 
He  beats  thee 'gainst  the  odds;  thy  lustre  thickens, 
When  he  shines  by:  I  say  again,  thy  spirit 
Is  all  afraid  to  govern  thee  near  him; 
But,  he  away,  'tis  noble. 

Ant.  Get  thee  gone : 

Say  to  Ventidius,  I  would  speak  with  him : 

[Exit  Soothsayer. 
He  shall  to  Parthia, — Be  it  art,  or  hap. 
He  hath  spoken  true:  the  very  dice  obey  him; 
And,  in  our  sports,  my  better  cunning  faints 
Under  his  chance  :  if  "we  draw  lots,  he  speeds : 
His  cocks  do  win  the  battles  still  of  mine. 
When  it  is  all  to  nought;  and  his  quails^  ever 
Beat  mine,  inhooji'd'  at  odds.    I  will  to  Egypt : 
And  tiiough  I  make  this  marriage  for  my  peace, 

Enter  Ventidius. 
I'  the  east  my  pleasure  lies:— 0,  come,  Ventidius, 
You  must  to'Parthia;  your  commission's  ready: 
Fotlow  me,  and  receive  it.  [Exeunt* 

^  Wanton. 

5  The  .incients  used  to  match  quiiils  as  we  m.itch  cooks 

*  Inclosed. 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATKA. 


Act  II 


SCENE  IV.— ^  Street. 
Enter  Lepidus,  MeCjUXas,  and  Agrippa. 

Lep.  Trouble  yourselves  no  I'urtlier:  pray  you 
hasten 
Vour  generals  after. 

Agr.  Sir,  Mark  Antony 

Will  e^cn  but  Iciss  Octavia,  and  we'll  Ibllow. 

Leji.  Till  I  shall  see  you  in  your  soldier's  dress, 
Which  will  become  you  both,  liirewell. 

Mec.  We  shall, 

As  1  conceive  the  journey,  be  at  mount' 
Belbre  you,  Lepidus. 

Lep.  Your  way  is  shorter, 

My  purposes  do  draw  me  much  about; 
You'll  win  two  days  upon  me. 

Mec.  Agr.  Sir,  good  success ! 

Lep.  Farewell.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V  —Alexandria.    A  Room  in  ttie  Palace. 
Enter  CLfOPATiu,  Charmias,  Iras,  and  Ale.xas. 

Cleo.  (iivc  me  some  music;  music,  moody^  food 
Of  us  that  Irade  in  love. 

Attend.  The  music,  ho ! 

Enter  Mardian. 

Cleo.  Let  it  alone ;  let  us  to  billiards : 
Come,  Charmian. 

Char.  My  arm  is  sore,  best  play  with  Mardian. 

Cleo.  As  well  a  woman  with  an  eunuch  play'd, 
As  with  a  woman : — Come,  you'll  play  with  me',  sir? 

Mar.  As  well  as  I  can,  madam. 

Cleo.  And  when  good  will  is  show'd,  though  it 
come  too  sliort. 
The  actor  may  plead  pardon.    I'll  none  now: — 
Give  me  mine  angle,— We'll  to  the  river:  there. 
My  music  playing  far  off,  I  will  betray 
Tawny-flnn'd  fishes;  my  bended  hook  shall  pierce 
Their  slimy  jaws;  and,  as  I  draw  them  up, 
I'll  think  them  every  one  an  Antony, 
And  say.  Ah  !  ha  !  you're  caught. 

Char.  'Twas  merry,  when 

You  wager'd  on  your  angling;  when  your" diver 
Did  hang  a  salt-fish  on  his  hook,  wliich  he 
AVith  lervency  drew  up. 

Cleo.  That  time  !— O  times  !— 

1  laugh'd  him  c»jt  of  patience  ;  and  that  night 
1  hiugiril  him  into  ]iatience;  and  next  morn. 
Ere  tlie  ninth  hour,  1  drunk  him  to  his  bed ; 
Then  jiut  my  tires"  and  mantles  on  him,  whilst 
I  wore  his  sword  Philijjpan.    O !  liom  Italy ; 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Ram  thou  thy  fruitful  tidings  in  mine  ears, 
That  long  time  have  been  barren. 

Mess.  Madam,  madam,— 

Cleo.  Antony's  dead? — 
If  thou  say  so,  villain,  thou  kill'st  thy  mistress: 
Hut  well  and  free. 

If  thou  so  yield  him,  there  is  gold,  and  here 
My  bluest  veins  to  kiss ;  a  hand,  that  kings 
Have  lipp'd,  and  trembled  kissing. 

Mess.  I'irst,  madam,  he's  well. 

Cleo.  Why,  there's  more  gold.    But,  sirrah,  mark ; 
we  use 
To  say,  the  dead  arc  well;  bring  it  to  that, 
Tlie  gold  1  sive  I  bee,  will  I  melt,  and  pour 
Down  lliy  ill-uttering  throat. 

Mf!<s.  Good  madam,  hear  me. 

Cleo.  Well,  go  to,  I  will ; 

But  there's  no  goodness  in  thy  face:  If  Antony 
Be  free  and  healthful,— why  so  tart  a  lavor" 
To  trumpet  such  good  tidings  ]    If  not  well. 
Thou  shouldst  come  like  a  fury  crown'd  with  snakes. 
Not  like  a  formal  man.s 

Mess.  Will't  please  you  liear  me  ? 

Cleo.  I   have  a  mind  to  strike  tliee,  ere  thou 
speak'st : 
Yet,  if  thou  say,  Antony  lives,  is  well. 
Or  friends  with  Casar,  or  not  cajilive  to  him, 
I'll  set  thee  in  a  shower  of  gold,  and  hail 
Kich  jieai  e  upon  lliee. 

Mess.  Madam,  lie's  well. 

Cleo.  Well  said. 

Mess.  A  nd  friends  with  C.Tsar. 

Cleo.  Thou'rt  an  honest  man. 

Mess.  C.Tsar  and  he  are  greater  IViends  than  ever. 

Cleo.  Make  thee  a  lortune  from  me. 

t  Mount  Misenum.        6  Meltiiichnly,        i  Head-dress. 

■  So  sour  a  countennuce.  »  .\  uian  iu  his  st-Dses. 


Mess.  But  yet,  madam — 

Cleo.  I  do  not  like  but  yet,  it  does  allay 
The  good  precedence;  fye  upon  but  yet: 
But  yet  is  as  a  gaoler  to  bring  Ibrth 
Some  monstrous  malelactor.    Pr'ylhee,  friend, 
Pour  out  the  pack  of  matter  to  mine  car. 
The  good  and  bad  together:    He's  friends  with 

Caesar; 
In  state  of  health,  thou  say'st ;  and,  thou  say'st,  free. 

Mess.  Free,  madam  !  no ;  I  made  no  such  report: 
He's  bound  unto  Octavia. 

Cleo.  For  what  good  turn  ? 

Mess.  For  the  best  turn  i'  the  bed. 

Cleo.  I  am  pale,  Charmian. 

Mess.  Madam,  he's  married  to  Octavia. 

Cleo.  The  most  infectious  pestilence  upon  thee! 
[Strikes  hint  down. 

Mess.  Good  madam,  patience. 

Cleo.  What  say  you  ? — Hence, 

[Strikes  him  again. 
Horrible  villain!  or  I'll  spurn  thine  eyes 
Like  balls  before  me;  I'll  unhair  thy  head; 

[She  hates  hint  up  and  down. 
Thou  Shalt  be  whipped  with  wire,  and  stcw'd  in 

brine. 
Smarting  in  ling'ring  pickle. 

Mess.  Gracious  madnm, 

I,  that  do  bring  the  news,  made  not  the  match. 

Cleo.  Say,  'tis  not  so,  a  province  I  will  give  thee. 
And  make  thy  fortunes  proud :  the  blow  thou  hadst 
Shall  make  thy  peace,  lor  moving  me  to  rage; 
And  I  will  boot'  thee  with  what  gift  beside 
Thy  modesty  can  beg. 

Mess.  He's  married,  madam. 

Cleo.  Rogue,  th  >u  hast  liv'd  too  long. 

[Draws  a  Dagger. 

Mess.  Nay,  then  I'll  run  :— 

What  mean  you,  madam?  I  have  made  no  limit. 

[Exif. 

CAar.Good  madam,  keep  yourself  within  yourself ; 
The  man  is  innocent. 

Cleo.  Some  innocents  'scape  not  the  thunder- 
bolt.- 
Melt  Egypt  into  Nile  !  and  kindly  creatures 
Turn  all  to  serpents  I— Call  the  slave  again; 
Though  I  am  mad,  I  will  not  bite  him : — Call. 

Char.  He  is  afcard  to  come. 

Cleo.  I  will  not  hurt  him  :— 

These  hands  do  lack  nobility,  that  they  strike 
A  meaner  than  myself;  since  I  myself 
Have  given  myself  the  cause. — Come  hither,  sir. 

Re-enter  Messenger. 
Though  it  be  honest,  it  is  never  good 
To  bring  bad  news:  Give  to  a  gracious  message 
A  host  of  tongues  ;  but  let  ill  tidings  tell 
Themselves,  when  they  be  felt. 

Mess.  I  have  done  my  duty. 

Cleo.  Is  he  married  ? 
I  cannot  hate  thee  worser  than  I  do. 
If  thou  again  say.  Yes. 

Mess.  He  is  married,  madam. 

Cteo.  The  gods  confound  thee!  dost  thou  hold 
there  still  ? 

Mess.  Should  I  lie,  madam  ? 

Cleo.  O,  I  would,  thou  didst; 

So  half  my  Egypt  were  submerged,  and  made 
A  cistern  for  scaled  snakes!  Go,  get  thee  hence; 
Hadst  thou  Narcissus  in  thy  lace,  to  me 
Thou  wouldst  appear  most  ugly.    He  is  married? 

Mess.  I  crave  your  highness'  pardon. 

Cteo.  He  is  married? 

Mess.  Take  no  olTencc,  that  I  would  not  offend 
you: 
To  punish  me  for  what  you  make  me  do. 
Seems  much  unequal:  He  is  married  to  Octavia. 

Clen.  O,  that  his  fault  should  make  a  knave  of  thee. 
That  art  not!— What?  thou'rt  sure  oft?— Get  thee 

hence : 
The  merchandise  whicli  thou  hast  brought  from 

licmie 
Are  all  too  dear  for  me;  lie  they  upon  thy  hand. 
And  be  undone  by  'em  !  [Exit  Messenger, 

Char.  Good  your  highness,  patience. 

CYfo.  In  praising  Antony,  I  have  disprais'd  Cajsar. 

Char.  Many  times,  madam. 

Cleo.  I  am  paid  for't  now: 

Lead  me  from  hence, 

1  taint;  0  Iras,  Charmian, — 'Tis  no  matter: — 
*  r.econipense. 


Scene  VI 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


597 


Go  to  the  fellow,  good  Alexas;  bid  him 
Report  the  feature  of  OcUivia,  her  years, 
Her  inclination ;  let  him  not  leave  out 
The  color  of  Iter  hair;— bring  me  word  quickly.— 

[Exit  Aluxas. 
Let  him  for  ever  50 ;— Let  him  not— Charmian,     , 
Though  he  be  painted  one  way  like  a  Gorgon, 
T'other  way  he's  a  Mars :— Bid  you  Alexas 

[To  Mardiax. 
Bring  me  word,  how  tall  she  is.— Pity  me,  Char- 
mian, 
But  do  not  speak  to  me.— Lead  me  to  my  chamber. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  \l.—Jfear  Misenum. 

Enter  Po>n'EY  a7id  Men'as.  at  one  si<ie,  witli  Dnim 
unit  Trumpet:  at  another,  C.«sar.  LEPiDfS. 
Antony,  Enobarbus,  MEC^tNAS,  wUli  Soldiers 
7naretiing. 

Pom,  Your  hostages  I  have,  so  have  you  mine ; 
And  we  shall  talli  bclbre  we  tight. 

Cics.  Most  meet, 

Thattirstwccometowords;aiKl  therefore  nave  we 
Our  written  purposes  belbre  us  sent ; 
Which,  if  thou  hast  consider'd,  let  us  know 
If  'twill  tic  up  thy  discontented  sword; 
And  carry  back  to  Sicily  much  tall-'  youth 
That  else  must  perish  here. 

Pom,  To  you  all  three, 

The  senators  alone  of  this  groat  world. 
Chief  lactors  (or  the  gods,— I  do  not  know. 
Wherefore  my  father  should  revengers  want. 
Having  a  son,  and  li-iends;  since  Julius  Ciesar, 
Who  at  Philippi  the  good  Brutus  ghosted,^ 
There  saw  vou  laboring  for  him.    What  was  it. 
That  mov'd  pale  Cassius  to  conspire  1     And  what 
Made  the  all-honor'J,  honest,  Roman  Brutus, 
Witli  the  arm'd  rest,  courteous  of  beauteous  free- 
dom, 
To  drench  the  Capitol;  but  that  they  vyould 
Have  one  man  but  a  man  ]     And  that  is  it. 
Hath  made  me  rig  my  navy;  at  whose  burden 
The  anger'd  ocean  loams ;  with  which  I  meant 
To  scourge  the  ingratitude  that  despiteful  Rome 
Cast  on  my  noble  lather. 
Cies.  Take  your  time. 

Ant.  Thou  canst  not  fear'  us,  Pompey,  with  thy 
sails; 
We'll  speak  with  theeat  sea:  at  land,  thouknow'st 
How  much  we  do  o'er-count  thee. 

Pom.  At  land,  indeed. 

Thou  dost  o'cr-coimt  me  of  my  father's  house  : 
But,  since  the  cuckoo  builds  not  for  himself, 
Remain  iu't,  as  thou  niay'st. 

Lep.  Be  pleas'd  to  tell  us, 

(For  this  is  from  the  present.^)  how  you  take 
The  oilers  we  have  sent  you. 

Cies.  There's  the  point. 

Ant.  Which  do  not  be  entreated  to,  but  weigh 
What  it  is  worth  embraced. 

Css.  And  what  may  follow. 

To  try  a  larger  fortune. 

Pnin.  You  have  made  me  offer 

Of  Sicily,  Sardinia;  and  I  must 
Rid  all  the  sea  of  pirates;  then,  to  send 
Measures  of  wheat  to  Rome :  This  'greed  upon. 
To  part  with  uuhack'd  edges,  and  bear  back 
Our  targe''  undinted. 

Cais.  Ant.  Lep.  That's  our  oiler. 

Pom.  Know,  then, 

I  came  before  vou  here,  a  man  prepar'd 
To  take  this  otiijr:  But  Mark  Antony 
Put  me  to  some  impatience  : — Though  I  lose 
The  praise  of  it  by  telling,  you  must  know, 
Wlien  Caesar  and  your  brothers  were  at  blows, 
Y'our  mother  came  to  Sicily,  and  did  fmd 
Her  welcome  friendly. 

Ant.  I  have  heard  it,  Pompey ; 

And  am  well  studied  for  a  liberal  thaidis. 
Which  I  do  owe  you. 

Pojn.  Let  me  have  your  hand : 

I  did  not  tliink,  sir,  to  have  met  you  here. 
Ant.  The  beds  i'  the  cast  are  soft;  and  thanivs  to 
A'ou, 
That  cail'd  me.  timelier  than  my  purpose,  hither. 
For  1  have  gain'd  by  it. 

Ca;s.  Since  I  saw  you  last, 

There  is  a  change  upon  you. 
» Brave-  "  Uauuted.  *  Affright. 

•  Present  subject.  '  Taiget,  shield. 


Pom.  Well,  I  know  not 

What  counts"  harsh  fortune  casts  upon  my  face; 
But  in  my  bosom  shall  she  never  come, 
To  make'my  heart  her  vassal. 

Lep.  Well  met  here. 

Pom.  1  hope  so,  Lcpidus.— Thus  we  are  agreed  : 
I  crave,  our  composition  may  be  written 
And  seal'd  between  us. 

Cxs.  That's  the  next  to  do. 

Pom.  We'll  feast  each  other,  ere  we  part;  and 
let  us 
Draw  lots  who  shall  begin. 

Anf.  That  will  I,  Pompey. 

Poni.  No,  Antony,  take  the  lot ;  but,  lirst, 
Or  last,  your  line  Egyptian  cookery 
Shall  ha\  e  the  tirmc.  1  have  heard,  that  Julius Cffisar 
Grew  (lit  witli  feasting  there. 

Ant.  Y'ou  have  heard  much. 

Pom.  I  have  fair  meanings,  sir. 

Ant.  And  fair  words  to  them. 

Pom.  Then  so  much  have  I  heard: 
.\nd  1  have  hoard,  Apollodorus  carried — 

Eno.  No  more  of  that:— He  did  so. 

Pom.  What,  1  pray  you  1 

Eno.  A  certain  queen  to  Cajsar  in  a  mattress. 

Pom.  I    know    thee    now :  —  How  far'st    thou, 
soldier ! 

Eno.  Well: 

And  well  am  like  to  do :  for,  I  perceive, 
F'onr  feasts  are  toward. 

Pum.  Let  me  shake  thy  hand ; 

I  never  hated  thee:  I  have  seen  thee  fight. 
When  I  have  envied  thy  behavior. 

Eno.  Sir, 

I  never  lov'd  you  much:  but  I  have  prais'd  yon. 
When  you  have  well  deserv'd  ten  times  as  much 
As  I  liave  said  you  did. 

Pom.  Enjoy  thy  plainness, 

It  nothing  ill  becomes  thee.—  ' 
Aboard  my  galley,  I  invite  you  all : 
Will  you  lead,  lords  ! 

Ca-s.  Ant.  Lep.  Show-  us  the  way,  sir. 

Pom.  Come. 

[Exeunt  Pompey,  C.i-;sar,  Antony,  Lei'i- 
tits,  Soldiers,  and  .Attendants. 

H!en.  Thy  father,  Pompey,  would  ne'er  have 
made  tliis  treaty.—  [AHile]  —  Y'ou  and  I  have 
iaiown,^  sir. 

Enn.  At  .sea,  1  think. 

Me/I.  We  have,  sir. 

Enn.  Y'ou  have  done  well  by  water. 

Men.  And  you  by  laud. 

Enn.  I  will  praise  any  man  that  wiU  praise  me, 
though  it  cannot  be  denied  what  I  have  done  by 
land. 

Men.  Nor  what  I  have  done  by  water. 

Eno.  Yes.somcthing  you  can  deny  for  your  own 
safety :  you  have  been  a  great  thief  by  sea. 

Men.  And  you  by  land. 

Enn.  There  I  deny  my  land  service.  But  give 
me  your  hand,  Menas:  If  our  eyes  had  authority, 
here  Ihey  might  take  two  thieves  kissing. 

Men.  All  men's  faces  arc  true,  whatsoe'er  their 
hands  are. 
£;)o.  But  there  is  never  a  fair  woman  has  a  true 

Men.  No  slander;  they  steal  IiearLs. 

Eno.  We  came  hither  to  light  with  you. 

Men.  For  my  part,  I  am  sorry  it  is  turned  to  a 
drinking.  Pompey  doth  this  day  laugh  away  his 
fortune. 

Eno.  If  he  do.sure  he  cannot  weep  it  back  again. 

Men.  You  have  said,  sir.  We  looked  not  lor 
Mark  Antony  here:  Pray  you,  is  he  married  to 
Cleopatra  1 

Eno.  Cxsar's  sister  is  called  Octavia. 

Ji/en.  True,  sir;  she  was  the  wife  of  Caius  Mar- 
cellus. 

Enn.  Butshe  is  now  tlic  wife  of  Marcus  Antonius. 

Men.  Pray  you,  sir! 

Enn.  'Tis  true. 

Men.  Then  is  C.-esar  and  he  for  ever  laiit  together. 

Enn.  Ill  wore  bound  to  divine  of  this  unity,  I 
would  not  prophesy  so. 

Men.  I  thiuk  the  policy  of  that  purpose  mad-j 
more  in  the  marriage,  tlian  the  love  of  the  parlies. 

Eno.  I  think  so  too.  But  you  shall  fmd,  the 
baud  that  seems  to  tie  their  friendship  together, 


'  Scores,  marks. 


•  Been  acquaiutfil. 


598 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


Act  II.  Scene  VII. 


Aviil  be  the  very  stranRlor  of  their  amity;  Octavia 
IS  of  a  holy,  cold,  and  ytiU  conversation. 

Men.  Wiio  would  not  have  his  wile  so  ] 

EiiO.  Not  he,  that  himself  is  not  so;  which  is 
IMark  Antony.  He  will  to  his  Esyptian  dish  again: 
then  shall  the  sit;hs  of  Octavia  blow  the  fire  up  in 
Cajsar ;  and,  as  I  said  before,  that  which  is  the 
strength  of  their  amity,  shall  prove  the  immediate 
author  of  their  variance.  Antony  will  use  his  atli?c- 
tion  where  it  is;  he  married  but  his  occasion  here. 

Men.  And  thus  it  may  be.  Come,  sir,  will  you 
aboard^  I  have  a  health  tor  you. 

Etw.  I  shall  take  it,  sir:  we  have  used  our  throats 
in  Egypt. 

Men.  Come;  let's  away.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VII.— On    luard    Pompey's    Calley, 

lying  near  Misenum. 

Mti.iic,  Enter  two  ur  tliree  Servants, ivilh  a  Banquet. 

1  Serv.  Here  tl'.cy'II  be,  man  :  Someo'  their  plan tsf 
are  ilt-rootcd  already;  the  least  wind  i'  the  world 
will  blow  thejn  down. 

2  Sen'.  Lepidus  is  high-colored. 

1  Serv.  They  have  made  liim  drink  alms-drink. 

2  Serv.  As  they  jiinch  one  another  by  the  dis- 
position, he  cries  out,  No  more;  reconciles  tliem  to 
his  entreaty,  and  himself  to  the  drink. 

1  Serv.  But  it  raises  the  greater  war  between 
Jiim  and  his  discretion. 

2  Serv.  Why,  tliis  it  is  to  have  a  name  in  great 
men's  tellowsiiip :  I  had  as  lief  have  a  reed  that  will 
do  me  no  service,  as  a  partizan'  I  could  not  beave. 

1  Serv.  To  be  called  into  a  huge  sphere,  and  not 
to  be  seen  to  move  in't,  are  the  holes  where  eyes 
sliould  be,  which  pitifully  disaster  the  cheeks. 

A  Sennet  soumled.    Enter  Cvf.sar,  Antony,  Pom- 

PISY,  I,Erim  S,    AciillT'A,  MECtiNAS,    Enoeaubus, 

JMena.s,  n^llti  other  Captains. 

Ant.  Thns  do  they,  sir:    [To  C.ESAn.]     They 
take  the  flow  o'  the  Nile 
By  certain  scales  i'  tlie  pyramid ;  they  Icnow, 
By  the  height,  the  lowness,  or  the  mean,  if  dearth. 
Or  ibison,-  Ibllow  :  The  bigbcr  Nilus  swells. 
The  more  it  promises:  as  it  ebbs,  the  seedsman 
Upon  the  slime  and  ooze  scatters  his  grain, 
And  shortly  conies  to  harvest. 

Lep.  You  have  strange  serpents  there. 

Ant.  Ay,  Lepidus. 

Lep.  Your  serpent  of  Egypt  is  bred  now  of  your 
mud  liy  the  operation  of  your  sun;  so  is  your  cro- 
codile. 

Ant.  They  are  so. 

/■«/«.  Sit,— and  some  wine. — A  health  to  Lepidns. 

Lep.  I  am  not  so  well  as  I  should  be,  but  I'll 
neVr  out. 

Eno.  ^fot  till  you  liavc  slept;  I  fear  me,  you'll 
be  iu,  till  then. 

Lep.  Nay,  certainly,  I  have  heard,  the  Ptolemies' 
pyramises  are  very  goodly  things ;  without  contra- 
diction, I  have  heard  that. 

Men.  Pompey,  a  word.  {Aside. 

Pom.  Say  in  mine  ear:  What  is't ! 

Men.  Forsake  thy  seat,  I  do  beseech  thee, captain. 
And  hear  me  speak  a  word.  [Aside. 

I'oin.  Forbear  me  till  anon. — 

Tins  wine  for  Lepidus. 

Lep.  What  manner  o'  thing  is  your  crocodile? 

Ant.  It  is  shaped,  sir,lilie  itself;  and  itis as  broad 
as  it  hath  breadth  ;  it  is  just  so  high  as  it  is,  and 
moves  with  its  own  organs;  it  lives  by  that  which 
nourishcth  it;  and  the  elements  once  out  of  it,  it 
transmigrates. 

Lep.  What  color  is  it  of! 

Ant.  Of  its  own  color  too. 

Lep.  'Tis  a  strange  serpent. 

Ant.  'Tis  .'■o.    And  tlie  tears  of  it  are  wet. 

Cir.s.  Will  this  descrintion  satisfy  him'! 

Ant.  With  the  hcaltli  that  Pompey  gives  him, 
else  hi'  is  a  very  epicure. 

Pom.  [Tu  Menas,  Aside.]   Go,  hang,  sir,  hang! 
Tell  me  of  that!  away. 
Do  as  I  hid  you.— Where's  this  cup  I  call'd  for ! 

Men.  If  for  the  sake  of  merit  thou  wilt  hear  me. 
Rise  from  thy  stool.  [A.ii.de. 

Pom.  I  think,  thou'rt  mad.  The  matter! 

[Rlies,  and  waltis  aside. 

Men.  I  have  over  held  my  cap  off  to  thy  fortunes. 

'  l'>-'et.  '  I'iko.  a  I'lenty. 


Pom.  Thou  hast  serv'd  me  with  much  faith: 
Wliat's  else  to  say  ! 
Be  jolly,  lords. 

Ant.  These  quicksands,  Lepidus. 

Keep  olT  them,  for  you  sink. 

Men.  WUt  thou  be  lord  of  alhthe  world! 

Pom.  Wliat  say'st  thou? 

Men.  Wilt  tliou  be  lord  of  the  whole  world! 
That's  twice. 

Pom.  How  should  that  be! 

Men.  But  entertain  it,  and, 

Although  you  think  me  poor,  I  am  the  man 
Will  give  thee  all  the  world. 

Pom.  Hast  thou  drunk  wel  ? 

Men.  No,  Pompey,  I  have  kept  me  from  the  cup. 
Thou  art,  if  tijou  dar'.st  be,  the  earthly  Jove : 
Whate'er  the  ocean  pales.3  or  sky  iiiclips,^ 
Is  thine,  if  thou  wilt  have't. 

Pom.  Show  me  which  way. 

Men.  These  three  world-sharers,  these  competi- 
tors,^ 
Are  in  thy  vessel :  Let  me  cut  the  cable ; 
And,  when  we  are  put  oti;  flrll  to  their  throats : 
All  there  is  thine. 

Pont.  Ah,  this  thou  shouldst  have  done, 

And  not  have  spoken  on't !  In  me,  'tis  villany ; 
In  thee,  it  liad  been  good  service.  Thou  must  know, 
'Tis  not  my  profit  that  doth  lead  mine  honor ; 
Mine  honor,  it.    Repent,  that  e'er  thy  tongue 
Hath  so  betray'd  tliine  act:  Being  done  unknown, 
I  should  have  found  it  afterwards  well  done ; 
But  must  condemn  it  now.    Desist,  and  drink. 

Men.  For  this  !  [Aside. 

I'll  never  Ibllow  thy  pali'ds  fortunes  more. — 
Who  seeks,  and  will  not  take,  when  once  'tis  oflTer'd, 
Shall  never  fmd  it  more. 

Pom.  Tliis  health  to  Lepidus. 

Ant.  Bear  him  ashore.— I'll  pledge  it  for  him, 
Pompey. 

Eno.  Here's  to  thee,  Menas. 

J^ten.  Enobarbus,  welcome, 

Pi}m.  Fill  til!  the  cup  be  hid. 

E'.no.  There's  a  strong  fellow,  Menas. 

[Planting  to  tlie  Attendant  ivlio  carries 
off  Lepidus. 

Men.  Why ! 

Eno.  He  bears 

The  tliird  part  of  the  world,  man  :  Seest  not! 

Men.  The  third  part  then  is  drunk:  'Would  it 
were  all. 
That  it  might  go  on  wheels  ! 

Eno.  Drink  thou ;  increase  the  reels. 

Men.  Come. 

Pom.  Tliis  is  not  yet  an  Alexandrian  feast. 

Ant.  It  ripens  towards  it. — Strike  the  vessels,  ho ! 
Here  is  to  Ciesar. 

Cses.  I  conld  well  forbear  it. 

It's  monstrous  labor  when  I  wash  my  brain, 
And  it  grows  fouler. 

Ant.  Be  a  child  o'  the  time. 

C'aa.  Possess'  it,  I'll  make  answer:    But  I  had 
rather  fast 
From  all,  four  days,  than  drink  so  much  in  one. 

Eno.  Ha,  my  brave  emperor !  [To  Antony. 

Shall  we  dance  now  the  Egyptian  Bacchanals, 
And  celebrate  our  drink! 

Pom.  Let's  ha't,  good  soldier. 

A  nt.  Come,  let  us  all  take  hands ; 
Till  that  file  conquering  wine  hath  steep'd  our  sense 
Ifi  soft  and  delicate  Lethe. 

Eno.  All  ta'KC  hands.— 

Make  battery  to  our  ears  with  the  loud  music;— 
The  while.  I'll  place  you:  Then  the  boy  shall  sing; 
The  holding'  every  man  shall  bear,  as  loud 
As  his  strong  sides  can  volley. 

[Music  plays.    Enobahbcs  places  tticm 
tiand  in  tiand. 

SONG. 
Come,  ttion  monarcti  of  t tie  vine. 
Plumpy  Bacctius.  witli  pink  et/ne:^ 
Instill/  vats  our  cores  lie  droivn'ti  ; 
Witti  ttiij  gropes  our  hairs  tic  crowned; 
Cup  as,  tilt  the  vorlil  go  round  ; 
Cup  us,  till  I  tic  world  go  round! 

Ca-s.  What  would  you  more !— Pompey,  good- 
night.   Good  brother, 
3  F.nrompassfs.  *  Kmlir.ices.  s  Confederates. 

•  CUiyid.     1  Uuderstaad.      »  Burden,  chorus.       a  Eyes, 


Act  III.  Scene  II. 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


599- 


Let  me  request  you  oft":  our  graver  Dusmcss 
Frowns  at  this  levity.— Gentle  lords,  let's  part; 
You  see,  we  have  burnt  our  cheeks:  Strong  Eno- 

barbe 
Is  weaker  than  the  wine ;  and  mine  own  tongue 
Splits  what  it  speaJcs:  the  wild  disguise  halh  al- 
most [night,— 
Antic'd  us  all.   What  needs  more  words  i    Good- 
Good  Antony,  your  hand. 
Pom.                                  1*11  try  you  o  the  shore 
Ant.  And  shall,  sir;  give's  your  hand. 
Finn.                                                           O,  Antony, 
you  have  my  father's  house.— But  what  i  we  are 

friends : 
Come,  down  into  the  boat. 


Eno.  Take  heed  you  fall  not. — 

[Exeunt  Pompey,  Caisaii,  A.ntosy,  and 
Attendants. 
Menas,  I'll  not  on  shore. 

Mm.  No,  to  my  cabin. — 

These  drums,  these  trumpets,  tlutes  !  what! — 
Let  Neptune  hear  we  bid  a  loud  larewell 
To   these  great  fellows :    sound,  and   be  hang'd, 
sound  out. 

[A  Fluurish  qf  Trumpets,  with  Brums. 
Enn.  Ho,  says  'a  !— There's  my  cap. 
Men.  Ho !— noble  captain  ! 

Come.  \^Exeuni. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— ^  Plain  in  Syria. 
Enter  VENTinirs.  rw  after  conquest,  icitti  Silttjs, 
'    anit  fjt  tier  Romiits,  Olilcem  and  Soldiers;  t  tie  dead 

Body  of  Pacorus  borne  before  tiim. 

Ven.  Now,  darting  Parlhia,  art  thou  struck;  and 
now 
Pleas'd  fortune  does  of  Marcus  Crassus'  death 
IVIake  me  revenger.— Bear  the  king's  son's  body 
Before  our  army  :— Thy  Pacorus,  Orodes,' 
Pays  this  for  Marcus  Crassus. 

.<,'(■/.  Noble  Ventidius, 

Whilst  yet  with  Parthian  blood  thy  sword  is  warm. 
The  fugitive  Parthians  follow;  spur  throughMedia, 
Mesopotamia,  and  the  shelters  whither 
The  routed  fly  :  so  thy  grand  captain  Antony 
Shall  set  thee  on  triumphant  chariots,  and 
Put  garlands  on  thy  head. 

Ven.  O  Silius,  Silius, 

I  have  done  enough  :  A  lower  place,  note  well. 
May  make  too  great  an  act:  For  learn  this,  Silius; 
Better  leave  undone,  than  by  our  deed  acquire 
Too  high  a  fame,  when  him  wc  serve's  away. 
Ca?sar  and  Antony  have  ever  won 
More  in  their  otheer,  than  person  :  Sossius, 
One  of  my  place  in  Syria,  his  lieutenant, 
For  quick  accumulation  of  renown, 
Which  he  achiev'd  by  the  minute,  lost  his  favor: 
Who  does  i'  the  wars  more  than  his  captain  can, 
Becomes  his  captain's  captain  ;  and  ambition. 
The  soldier's  virtue,  rather  makes  choice  of  loss, 
Than  gain,  which  darkens  him. 
I  could  do  more  to  do  Antonius  good. 
But  'twould  otieiul  him  ;  and  in  his  oirence 
Should  my  performance  perisli. 

Sil.  Thou  hast,  Ventidius, 

That  wifiout  which  a  soldier,  and  his  sword, 
Grants    *^earce    distinction.     Thou   wilt  write  to 
Antony  1 

Ven.  I'll  humbly  signify  what  in  his  name, 
That  magical  word  of  war,  we  have  eftected  ; 
How,  with  his  banners,  and  his  well-paid  ranks, 
The  ne'er-yel-beaten  horse  of  Parthia 
We  have  jaded  out  o'  the  field. 

Sit.  Where  is  he  now  1 

Ven.  He   purposeth   to  Athens:    whither  with 
what  haste 
The  weight  we  must  convey  with  us  will  permit. 
We  siiall  appear    belore   him. — tjn,  there ;    pass 
along.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.— Rome.    An  Anfe-ckamber  in  Caisar's 
llrni.'^e. 
Enter  Ac.nippA  and  Enobarbcs,  meeting. 
Agr.  What,  are  the  brothers  parted! 
Eno.  They  have  despatch'd  with  Pompey,  he  is 
gone  ; 
The  other  three  are  sealing.    Octavia  weeps 
To  part  from  Rome ;  Caisar  is  sad  ;  and  Lepidus, 
Since  Pompey's  li^ast,  as  Menas  says,  is  troubled 
With  tlie  green-sickness. 
A^r.  'Tis  a  noble  Lepidus. 

Eno.  A  very  fine  one ;  0.  how  he  loves  Caesar  ! 
Agr.  Nay.  but  how  dearly  he  adores  Mark  An- 
tony ! 
Eno.  Cffisar,  why  he's  the  Jupiter  of  men. 
Atx   What's  Antony  1     The  god  of  Jupiter. 
•  r^Qfrrut  wa3  the  son  of  Orodes,  l:lag  of  I'arthia. 


Eno.  Spake  you  of  Ctcsar?  How?  the  nonpareil! 

Agr.  O  Antony  !    0  thou  Arabian  bird  I- 

Eiio.  Would  you  praise  Caesar,  say, — Ca?sar; — 

go  no  further, 
ylg-r.  Indeed,  he  ply'd  them  both  with  excellent 

praises. 
Eno.  But  he  loves  Ciesar   best;— Yet  he  loves 
Antony: 
Ho  !  hearts,  tongues,  figures,  scribes,  bards,  poets, 

cannot 
Think,  speak,  cast.write.  sing,  number,  ho,  his  love 
To  Antony.    But  as  for  Ca;sar, 
Kneel  down,  kneel  down,  and  wonder. 
Agr.  Bolh  he  loves. 

Eno.  They  arc  his  shards,'  and  he  their  beetle. 
So. —  [Ti-uniijtts. 

This  is  to  horse.— Adieu,  noble  .\grippa. 
Agr.  Good  fortune,  worthy  soldier;  and  farewell. 

Enter  Cesar,  Antost,  Lepidus,  and  Octavia. 

Ant.  No  further  sir. 

Ca'.s.  You  take  from  me  a  great  part  of  myself; 
Use  me  well  lu  it.— Sister,  prove  such  a  wile 
Asmy  thoughts  make  thee, and  as  my  furthest  band* 
Shall"  pass  on  thy  approof — Most  noble  Antony, 
Let  not  ttie  jiiece  of  virtue,''  which  is  set 
Betwixt  us,  as  the  cement  of  our  love. 
To  keep  it  budded,  be  the  ram,  to  batter 
The  Ibrtress  of  it :  for  better  might  we 
Have  loved  without  this  mean,  if  on  both  parts 
This  be  not  cherish'd. 

Ant.  Make  me  not  oflijnded 

In  your  distrust. 

Cxs.  I  have  said. 

Ant,  You  shall  not  find, 

Though  you  be  therein  curious.c  the  least  cau.se 
For  wiiat  you  seem  to  fear:  So,  the  gods  keep  you. 
And  make  the  hearts  of  Romans  serve  your  ends  ! 
We  v.'iU  here  part. 

Cws.  Farewell,  my  dearest  sister,  fare  thee  well ; 
The  elements  be  kind  to  thee,  and  make 
Thy  spirits  all  of  comfort  I  fare  thee  well. 

i'kta.  My  noble  brother  !— 

Ant.  The  April's  in  her  eyes:  It  is  love's  spring, 
And  these  the  showers  to  bring  it  on.— Be  cheerful. 

Octa,  Sir,  look  well  to  my  husband's  house ;  and— 

Ca-s.  What, 

Octavia  1 

Octa,       I'll  tell  vou  in  your  ear 

Ant.  Her  tongue'will  not  obey  her  heart.nor  can 
Her  heart  inl'urm  her  tongue:   the  swan's  down 

li-ather. 
That  stands  upon  the  swell  at  full  of  tide. 
And  neither  way  inclines. 

Eno.  Will  Casar  weep  !  [Aside  to  AanipPA. 

Agr.  He  has  a  cloud  m's  face. 

Eno.  He  were  the  worse  for  that,  were  he  a  horse ; 
So  is  he,  being  a  man. 

Agr.  Why.  Enoliarbus"! 

When  Antony  found  Julius "Ca-sar  dead, 
He  cried  almost  to  roaring;  and  he  wept. 
When  at  Philippi  he  found  Brutus  slain. 

Eno.  That  year,  indeed,  he  was  troubled  with  a 
rheum  ; 
What  willingly  he  did  confound,"'  he  wail'd  : 
Believe  it,  till  I  weep  too. 

«  The  phocDix.  3  Wing-r.ises.  •  Bond. 

» Octavia.  •  Scrupulous.  '  Destroy. 


600 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATKA. 


Act  III. 


(ass.  No,  sweet  Octavia, 

You  shall  hear  from  me  still :  the  time  shall  not 
Out-go  my  thinking  on  you. 

Ant.  Come,  sir,  come : 

I'll  wrestle  with  you  in  my  stron;j;tli  of  love  : 
Look,  here  I  have  you;  thus  I  let  you  go, 
And  give  you  to  tlie  gods. 

Cx's.  Adieu  ;  be  happy  ! 

Lep.  Let  all  the  number  of  the  stars  give  liglit 
To  thy  fair  way  ! 

Ca^s.  Farewell,  farewell !    [KUses  Octavia. 

Ant.  Farewell ! 

{Trumpets  sound.    Exeunt. 

SCKNE  in.— Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Alexas. 
Clen.  Where  is  the  fellow  1 

Alex.  Half  afcnrd  to  come. 

Cleo.  (io  to,  go  to :— Come  hither,  sir. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Alex.  Good  majesty, 

Herod  of  Jewry  dare  not  look  upon  you, 
But  when  you  are  well  plcas'd. 

Cleo.  That  Herod's  head 

I'll  have:  But  how 7  when  Antony  is  gone, 
Through  whom  I  might  command  it. — Come  thou 
near. 

Ness.  Most  gracious  majesty, — 
•     Cleo.  Didst  thou  behold 

Octavia  1 

Mess.  Ay,  dread  queen. 

Cleo.  Where  ? 

Mess.  Madam,  in  Rome 

I  lonk'd  her  in  the  face,  and  saw  her  led 
Between  her  brother  and  Mark  Antony. 

Cleo.  Is  she  as  tall  as  me  ? 

Mess.  She  is  not,  madam. 

Cleo.  Didsthear  her  speak]  Is  she  shriil-tongued, 
or  low  ] 

Mess.  Madam,  I  heard  her  speak;  she  is  low- 
voiced. 

Cleo.  That's  not  so  good: — He  cannot  like  her 
long. 

Char,  Like  her!    Olsis!  'tis  impossible. 

Cleo.  I  think  so,  Charmian  :  Dull  of  tongue,  and 
dwartish ! — 
What  majesty  is  in  her  gait  1     Remember, 
If  e'er  thou  look'dst  on  majesty. 

Mess.  She  creeps ; 

Hor  motion  and  her  station*  are  as  one: 
She  shows  a  body  rather  than  a  life; 
A  statue,  than  a  breather. 

Cleo.  Is  this  certain? 

Mf::s.  Or  I  have  no  observance. 

Char.  Three  in  Egypt 

Cannot  make  better  note. 

Cleo.  He's  very  knowing, 

I  do  percCTve't: — There's  nothing  in  her  yet:— 
The  tellow  has  good  judgment. 

Char.  Excellent. 

Cleo.  Guess  at  her  years,  I  pr'ythee. 

Mess.  Madam, 

She  was  a  widow. 

Cleo.  Widow  ? — Charmian,  hark. 

Mess.  And  I  do  think,  she's  thirty. 

Cleo.  Bear'st  thou  her  face  in  mind  ?  Is  it  long, 
or  round  ! 

Mess.  Round  even  to  fauliiness. 

Cleo.  For  (he  most  part  too, 

Theyarc  foolish  thatareso. — Her  hair,  whatcolor"? 

Mc.ss.  Brown,  madam:   And  her  forehead  is  as 
low 
As  she  would  wish  it. 

Cleo.  There  is  gold  for  thee. 

Thnu  must  not  take  my  former  sharpness  ill:^ 
I  will  employ  thee  back  again;  I  fmd  thee 
]\T"st  fit  for  business:  Go,  make  thee  ready; 
Our  letters  are  prepared.  [Exit  Messenger. 

Char.  A  proper  man. 

Cko.  Indeed,  he  is  so :  I  repent  me  much, 
Tiiat  so  1  Iiarry'd-'  him.    Why,  methinks,  by  him, 
Tliis  creature's  no  such  thing. 

Char.  0,  nothing,  madam. 

Cleo.  The  man   hath  seen  some  majesty,  and 
shoidd  know. 

Char.  Halh  he  seen  majesty]    Isis  else  defend, 
And  sowing  you  so  long  ! 


I^tamlnii;  sUlI. 


»  railed,  lugged. 


Cleo.  I   have  one  thing  more  to  ask  him  yet, 
good  Charmian : 
But  'tis  no  matter:  thou  shalt  bring  him  tn  me 
Where  1  will  write:  All  may  be  well  enough. 

Char.  I  warrant  you,  madam.  [Exeu7it* 

SCENE  IV.— Athens.  A  Room  in  Antony's  House. 
Enter  Antony  and  Octavia. 

Ant.  Nay,  nay,  Octavia;  not  only  that, — 
That  were  excusable,  that,  and  thousands  more 
Of  semblable  import, — but  he  hath  waged 
New  wars  'gainst  Pompey;  made  Ids  will,  and  read  it 
To  public  ear : 

Spoke  scantly  of  me:  when  perforce  he  could  not 
But  pay  me  terms  of  honor,  cold  and  sickly 
He  vented  them;  most  narrow  measure  lent  me: 
When  the  best  hmt  was  given  him,  he  not  took*t, 
Or  did  it  from  his  teeth.'     • 

Ocfa.  0  my"  good  lord, 

Believe  not  all ;  or,  if  you  must  believe. 
Stomach-  not  all.    A  more  unhappy  lady, 
If  this  division  chance,  ne'er  stood  between, 
Praying  lor  both  parts: 
And  the  good  gods  will  mock  me  presently, 
WJien  I  shall  pray,  O,  bless  my  lord  and  husband,' 
Undo  that  prayer,  by  crying  out  as  loud, 
O,  bless  ntu  brother!  Husband  win,  win  brother, 
Prays,  and  destroys  the  prayer;  no  midway 
'Tvvixt  these  extremes  at  all. 

Ant.  Gentle  Octavia, 

Let  your  best  love  draw  to  that  point,  which  seeks 
Best  to  preserve  it :  If  I  lose  mine  honor, 
I  lose  myself:  better  I  were  not  yours. 
Than  yuurs  so  branchless.    But,  as  you  requested. 
Yourself  shall  go  between  us:  The  mean  time,  lady, 
I'll  raise  the  preparation  of  a  war 
Sliallsliiin^  your  brother:  Make  your  soonest  haste; 
So  your  desires  are  yours. 

Octa.  Thanks  to  my  lord. 

The  Jove  of  power  make  me, most  weak,  most  weak, 
Your  reconciler !  Wars  'twixt  you  twain  would  be 
As  if  the  world  should  cleave,  and  that  slam  men 
Should  solder  up  the  rill. 

Ant.  When  it  appears  to  you  where  this  begins, 
Turn  your  displeasure  that  way;  for  our  faults 
Can  never  be  so  equal,  that  your  love 
Can  equally  move  with  thcni.  Provide  your  going; 
Clioose  yyur own  company,  and  command  whatcost 
Your  heart  has  mind  to.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Enobarbus  ayid  Euos,  meeting. 

Eno.  How  now,  friend  Eros  ? 

Eros.  There's  strange  news  come,  sir. 

Eno.  What,  man  ] 

Eros.  Ca.^sar  and  Lepidus  have  made  wars  upon 
Pompey. 

Eno.  This  is  old  :  What  is  the  success  7-i 

Eros.  Caesar,  Jiaving  made  use  of  liim'*  in  the 
wars  'gainst  Pompey,  presently  denied  him  rival- 
ity  ;'^  would  not  let  liim  partake  in  the  glory  of  the 
action:  and  not  resting  Jiere,  accuses  iiim'of  let- 
ters he  had  tbrmerly  wrote  to  pompey  ;  upon  his 
own  appeal,"  seizes  him:  So  the  poor  third  is  up, 
till  death  enlarge  his  confine. 

Eno.  Then,  world,  thou  liast  a  pair  of  chaps,  no 
more ; 
And  throw  between  them  all  the  food  thou  hast, 
They'll  grind  the  one  the  other.  Where's  Antony? 

Eros.  He's  walking  in  the  garden— thus;  and 
spurns 
The  rush  that  lies  before  him  ;  cries  Fool,  Lepidus! 
And  threats  the  throat  of  that  his  officer, 
Tliat  murder'd  Pompey. 

Eno.  Our  great  navy's  rigged. 

Eros.  For  Italy,  and  Casar.    More,  Domilius; 
My  lord  desires  you  presently:  my  news 
I  might  have  told  hereafter. 

Eno.  *TwiU  be  naught: 

But  let  it  be.— Bring  me  to  Antony. 

Eras.  Come,  sir.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  VI.— Rome.    A  Room  in  Cesar's  House. 
Enter  Cesar,  AciRippA,  and  Mec^enas. 
Caos.  Contemning  Rome,  he  has  done  all  this* 

And  more ; 
I  Tiulistini-t,  throuijh  his  tiX'th.  «  Resent 

3  [»isi;r:u-...  4  What  fulluws?  » /.  €.  UpU\\is. 

«  E(iual  muk.  i  Accusation. 


Scene  VII. 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


GO  I. 


In  Alpxandria.— here's  the  manner  of  it, — 
r  the  market-place,  on  a  tribunal  silver'd, 
Cleopatra  and  himself  in  chairs  of  gold 
Were  publicly  enthrqn'd  :  at  the  feet,  sat 
Caesarion.  whom  they  call  my  father's  son  ; 
And  all  the  unlawful  issue,  that  their  lust 
Since  then  hath  made  between  them.    Unto  her 
He  gave  the  'stablishment  of  Egypt;  made  her 
Of  lower  Syria,  Cyprus,  Lydia, 
Absolute  queen. 

Mec.  This  in  the  public  eye? 

CcCS.  r  the  common  show-place,  where  they  ex- 
ercise. 
His  sons  lie  there  proclaim'd,  The  kings  of  kings: 
Gr^t  Media,  Parthia,  and  Armenia, 
He  gave  to  Alexander  ;  to  Ptolemy,  he  assigned 
Syria,  Silicia,  and  Phccnicia:  She 
In  the  habiliments  of  the  goddess  Isis 
That  day  appear'd;  and  oft  before  gave  audience, 
As  'tts  reported,  so. 

Mec.  ^  Let  Rome  be  thus 

Inforni'd. 

Ag^r.         Who.  queasyS  with  his  insolence 
Already,  will  their  good  thoughts  call  from  him. 

Ci£S.  The  people  know  it;  and  have  now  received 
His  accusations, 

Agr.  Whom  does  he  accuse  ? 

CcPs,  Caisar:  and  that,  liaving  in  Sicily 
St'xUis  Pumpeius  spoiPd,  we  iiave  not  rafed^  him 
Jlis  part  o'  the  isle:  then  does  he  say,  he  lent  me 
Sntue  shi])ping  unrestor'd:  lastly,  he  frets, 
Tliat  Lepiaus  of  the  triumvirate 
Should  be  depos'd;  and,  being,  that  we  detain 
All  his  revenue. 

Agr.  Sir,  this  should  be  answer'd. 

CcC5.  *Tis  done  already,  and  the  messenger  gone. 
I  have  told  him,  Lepidus  was  grown  too  cruel; 
That  he  his  high  authority  abus'd. 
And  did  deserve  his  change;  tor  what  I  have  con- 

quer'd, 
I  grant  hiin  part;  but  then,  in  his  Armenia, 
And  other  of  his  conquer'd  kingdoms,  I 
Demand  the  like. 

Mcc.  He*ll  never  yield  to  that. 

Cijcs.  Nor  must  not  then  be  yielded  to  m  this. 
Enter  Octavia. 

Octa.  Hail.  Ca?sar,  and  my  lord  !  Iiail,  most  dear 
Cffisar  I 

Cse.f.  That  ever  I  should  call  thee,  cast-away  ! 

Ocia.  You  have  not  call'd  me  so,  nor  have  you 
cause. 

Cses.  Why  have  you  stol'n  upon  us  thus?  You 
come  not 
Like  Caesar's  sister:  The  wife  of  Antony 
Should  iiavc  an  army  lor  an  usher,  and 
The  netglis  of  horse'to  tell  of  her  approach, 
Long  ere  she  did  appear;  the  trees  by  the  way 
Should  have  borne  men;  and  expectation  fainted, 
Longing  tor  what  it  had  not:  nay,  the  dust 
Should  have  ascended  lo  the  roof  of  heaven, 
llais'd   by  your  populous  troops:    But  you  are 

come 
A  market-maid  to  Rome;  and  have  prevented 
The  ustent'  of  our  love,  wliich,  letl  unshown, 
Is  utlen  lell  unlov'd  :  we  should  have  met  you 
By  sea,  and  land;  supplying  every  stage 
VVith  an  augmented  greeting. 

Ocia.  Good  my  lord, 

To  come  thus  was  T  not  constraiu'd,  but  did  it 
On  my  free-will.    My  lord,  Mark  Antony, 
Hearnig  that  you  prepared  (or  war,  acquainted 
My  grieved  ear  witlial;  whereon,  1  begg'd 
His  pardon  tor  return. 

Ca?-".  Which  soon  he  granted, 

Being  an  obstruct  'tween  liis  his-t  and  him. 
.     Ocia.  Do  not  say  so,  my  lord. 

dcs.  I  have  eyes  upon  him, 

And  his  affairs  come  to  me  on  the  wind. 
Where  is  he  now? 

Ocia.  My  lord,  in  Athens. 

Ci£.s.  No,  my  most  wronged  sister;  Cleopatra 
Hath  nodded  him  to  her.  He  hath  given  his  empire 
Up  to  a  whore;  wlio  now  are  levying 
Tlie  kings  o'  the  earth  tor  war:  He  hath  assembled 
Bocchus,  the  king  of  Lybia;  Archeiaus 
Of  Cajijiadocia  ;  Philadelphos,  king 
Of  Pai)hlagonia  ;  the  Thraciun  king,  Adallas  ; 
KiJig  Malchus  of  Arabia;  king  of  Pont; 

*  £ick..  disgusted.         »  Assigned.  *  Show,  token. 


Herod  of  Jewry  ;  Milhridates,  king 
Of  Comagene;  Polemon  and  Aminfas, 
The  kings  of  Alede,  and  Lycaonia,  with  a 
More  larger  list  of  sceptres. 

Octa.  Ah  me,  most  wretched, 

That  have  my  heart  parted  betwixt  two  friends, 
That  do  afflict  eacJi  other  ! 

Cass.  Welcome  hither : 

Your  letters  did  withhold  our  breaking  forth  ; 
Till  wc  perceiv'd  both  how  you  were  wrong  led. 
And  we  in  negligent  danger.    Cheer  your  heart: 
Be  you  not  troubled  vi'ith  tlie  time,  which  drives 
o'er  your  content  these  strong  necessities; 
But  let  determin'd  things  to  destiny 
Hold  unbewail'd  their  way.    Welcome  to  Rome: 
NotlMUg  more  dear  to  mc.    You  are  abused 
Beyond  the  mark  of  thought;  and  the  high  gods, 
To  do  you  justice,  make  them  ministers 
Of  us,  and  those  that  love  you.    Bes^t  of  comfort; 
And  ever  welcome  to  us. 

Agr.  Welcome,  lady. 

Mec,  Welcome,  dear  madam. 
Each  heart  in  Rome  does  love  and  pity  you  : 
Only  the  adulterous  Antony,  most  large 
In  his  abominations,  turns  you  olF; 
And  gives  his  potent  regiment^  to  a  trull, 
That  noises  it  against  us. 

Octa.  Is  it  so,  sirl 

Ci£s.  Most  certain.    Sister,  welcome:  Pray  you, 
Be  ever  known  to  patience :  My  dearest  sister  ! 

[Exeu7it, 

SCENE  VII. — Antony's  Camp  near  tlie  Prunwn- 
iury  o/Actium. 

Enter  Clkopatua  and  ExoDARBts 

Cleo.  I  will  be  even  with  thee,  doubt  it  not. 

Eno.  But  wliy,  why,  why  ! 

C/eo.  Thou  hast  forspoke^ my  being  in  these  wars,  ■ 
And  sayst,  it  is  not  liU 

Eno.  Well,  is  it?  isiti 

Cleo.  Is'tnotl  Denounce  against  us,  why  should 
not  we 
Be  there  in  person  1 

Eno.  [Aside.]  Well,  I  could  reply : — 
If  we  should  serve  willi  Iioise  and  maies  togctlier, 
The  horse  were  merely'  lost;  the  mares  would  bear 
A  soldier,  and  his  horse. 

Cleo*  What  is't  you  say  ] 

Kjw.  Your  presence  needs  must  puzzle  Antony; 
Take  from  his  heart,  take  from  his  brain,  from  his 

time. 
What  should  not  then  be  spared.    He  is  already 
Traduced  lor  levity;  and  *tis  said  in  Rome, 
That  Photinus  an  eunuch,  and  your  maids. 
Manage  this  war. 

Clto.  Smk  Rome;  and  their  tongues  rot, 

That  speak  against  us!  A  charge  we  bear  iUhe  war. 
And,  as  the  president  of  my  kingdom,  will 
Appear  there  lor  a  man.    Speak  not  against  it; 
I  will  not  stay  behind. 

Eiio.  Nay,  I  have  done: 

Hurc  comes  the  emperor. 

Enter  Antony  and  Canidius. 

Anf.  Is't  not  strange.  Canidius, 

That  from  Tarcntnm,  and  Brundusium, 
He  could  so  quickly  cut  the  Ionian  sea, 
And    take  in^    Torync^  —  You  have  heard   on't 
sweet  1 

Cleo.  Celerity  is  never  more  admired, 
Than  by  tlie  negligent. 

Ant.  A  good  rebuke, 

Wliich  might  have  well  become  the  best  of  men. 
To  taunt  at  slackness. — Canidius,  we 
Will  fight  with  him  by  sea. 

Cleo.  By  sea  !   Wiiat  else  1 

Can.  Why  will  my  lord  do  to  ? 

Ant.  ForC  he  dares  us  to't. 

Eno.  So  hath  my  lord  dared  him  lo  single  tight. 

Can.  Ay,  and  to  wage  this  battle  at  Pliarsaha, 
Where  Ca'sarlbughtwithPonipey:  But  thcM-oIlL-rs, 
Which  serve  not  lor  his  vantage,  he  shakes  olf; 
And  so  should  you. 

Eno.  Your  ships  are  not  well  manned: 

Your  mariners  are  muleteers,  reapers,  people 
Ingross'd  by  switl  impress;'  in  Ca-sar's  tleet 
Are  those,  that  otten  have  'gainst  Pompey  Ibught: 


»  Governnit'iit. 
-  *  Take,  subdue. 


a  Forbid. 
6  liucause. 


«  Absolutely. 

1 1'rtisscd  in  haat& 


602 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


Act  III. 


Their  ships  are  yare  ;S  yours,  heavy.    No  disgrace 
Shall  fall  you  for  refusing  him  at  sea, 
Being  prepar'd  for  laud. 
Ant.  By  sea,  by  sea. 

Kiw.  Most  worthy  sir,  you  therein  throw  away 
The  absolute  soldiership  you  have  by  land; 
Distract  your  army,  which  doth  most  consist 
Of  war-mark'd  footmen;  leave  unexecuted 
Your  own  renowned  knowledge  ;  quite  forego 
The  way  which  promises  assurance  ;  and 
Give  up  yourself  merely  to  chance  and  hazard, 
From  tivm  security. 
Ant.  I'll  fight  at  sea. 

Cte<i.  I  have  sixty  sails.o  C-Bsar  none  better. 
Ant.  Our  overplus  of  shipping  will  we  burn; 
And,  with  the  rest  fuU-mann'd  from  the  head  of 

Acti  u  in 
Beat  the  approaching  Ca-sar.    But  if  we  fail, 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
We  then  can  do't  at  land.— Thy  business? 

Men/!.  The  news  is  true,  my  lord;  he  is  descried; 
Ca:sar  has  taken  Toryne. 

Ant.  Can  he  be  there  in  person?  'tis  impossible; 
Strange,  that  his  power  should  be.— Canidius, 
Our  luneteen  legions  thou  shalt  hold  by  land. 
And  our  twelve  thousand  horse;— We'll  to  our 
ship; 

Enter  a  Soldier. 
Away,  my  Thetis."— How  now,  worthy  soldier? 

Siilil.  O  noble  emperor,  do  not  Hght  by  sea; 
Trust  not  to  rotten  planks  :  Do  you  misdoubt 
This  sword,  and    these    my   wounds  ?     Let    the 

Esyptians, 
And  the  Phoenicians,  go  a-ducking;  we 
Have  used  to  conquer,  standing  on  the  earth. 
And  ligliting  toot  to  foot. 
Ant.  Well,  well,  away. 

[Ex.  Antony,  Cleopatra,  ami  Enubarbus. 
Sold.  By  Hercules,  I  think,  I  am  i'  the  right. 
Clin.  Soldier,  thou  art :  but  his  whole  action  grows 
Not  in  the  power  on't:  So  our  leader's  led. 
And  we  arc  women's  men. 

*■"'''•  You  keep  by  land 

The  legions  and  the  horse  whole,  do  you  not? 

Clin.  Marcus  Octavius,  Marcus  Justeius, 
Puiilicola,  and  Cselius,  are  for  sea: 
But  we  keep  whole  by  land.  This  speed  of  CiEsar's 
Carries^  beyond  belief. 

Sold.  While  he  was  yet  in  Rome, 

His  power  went  out  in  such  distractions,  as 
Beguil'd  all  spies, 
''a".  Who's  his  lieutenant,  hear  you ' 

Sol, I.  They  say,  one  Taurus. 
<-'""■  \Yell  I  knovi'  the  man. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mess.  The  emperor  calls  for  Canidius. 
Can.  Willi  news  the  time's  witli  labor ;  and  throes 
forth,3 
Each  minute,  some.  {Exeunt, 

SCENE  VIII.— .-I  Plain  near  Actiura. 
Enter  C-ESAr,  Taokhs,  Officers,  and  olfiers. 
Crs.  Taurus,— 
Tour.  My  lord. 

Cas.  Strike  not  by  land ;  keep  whole : 

Provoke  not  battle,  till  we  have  done  at  sea. 
Do  not  exceed  the  prescript  of  this  scroll : 
Our  ibrtune  lies  upon  this  jump.*  [Exeunt. 

Enter  AxToxY  and  Exobarbus. 
Ant.  Set  we  our  squadrons  on  yon'  side  o'  the  hill 
In  eye  of  Cesar's  battle;  from  whicli  place  ' 

We  may  the  number  of  the  ships  behold. 
And  so  proceed  accordingly.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Canidh'S,  7naretiinff  witli  Ais  TMnd  Army 
one  loaij  over  tlie  stuffe;  and  Talrus,  t/te  Lieu- 
tenant of  Cesar,  tlie  otiier  way.  After  their 
eomg  in,  is  tieard  t/te  noise  of  a  Sca-Flg/it, 

Alarum.    Re-enter  Exocaurus. 
Eno.  Naught,  naught,  all  naught !    I  can  behold 
no  longer; 
The  Anloniad.s  the  Egyptian  admiral. 
With  all  their  sixty,  fly,  and  turn  the  rudder : 
1  o  see't,  mine  eyes  are  blasted. 


■  Henily. 

5 (loOH 


"  ■''birs-  I  Cleopatra. 

..  ,„,         ,     ,' "i"'i3S  forth.  4  11az.-u-d. 

^Jlme  of  Cleopatra  s  ship. 


Enter  SCARtJs. 

Scar.  Gods,  and  goddesses, 

All  the  whole  synod  of  them ! 

Eno.  •    What's  thy  passion? 

Scar.  The  greater  cantloc  of  the  world  is  lost 
VVitli  very  ignorance ;  we  have  kiss'd  away 
Kingdoms  and  provinces. 

Eno.  Howappears  the  fight? 

Scar.  On  our  side  like  the  token'd'  pestilence. 
Where  death  is  sure.  Yon' ribald-rid  naj;  of  Egypt, 
\Vhom  leprosy  o'ertakc '.  i'  the  midst  o'  the  fight,— 
When  vantage  like  a  pair  of  twins  appeard, 
Both  as  the  same,  or  rather  ours  the  elder,— 
The  brize*  upon  her,  like  a  cow  in  June,— 
Hoists  sails,  and  flies. 

Eno.  That  I  beheld ;  mine  eyes 

Did  sicken  at  the  sight  on't,  and  could  not 
Endure  a  further  view. 

Scar.  She  once  being  loof 'd,9 

The  noble  ruin  of  her  magic,  Antony. 
Claps  on  his  sea-wing,  and  like  a  doting  mallard, 
Leaving  the  fight  in  height,  flics  after  her : 
1  never  saw  an  action  of  such  shame ;  ^ 

Experience,  manhood,  honor,  ne'er  before 
Did  violate  so  itself. 

Ena.  Alack,  alack ! 

Enter  Canidius. 

Can.  Our  fortune  on  the  sea  is  out  of  breath, 
And  sinks  most  lamentably.    Had  our  general 
Been  what  he  knew  himself,  it  had  gone  well: 
O,  he  has  given  example  of  our  flight. 
Most  grossly,  by  his  own. 

Eno.  Ay,  are  you  thereabouts  ?  Why  tlien,  good- 
night 
Indeed.  [Aside. 

tan.  Towards  Peloponnesus  are  they  fled. 

Scar.  'Tis  easy  to't ;  and  tliere  I  will  attend 
What  further  comes. 

Can.  To  Ccesar  will  I  render 

My  legions  and  my  horse;  six  kings  already 
Show  me  the  way  of  yielding. 

Eno.  I'll  vet  follow 

The  wounded  chance  of  Antony,  though  my  reason 
Sits  in  the  wind  against  me.  ['Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.— Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the 
Palace. 
Enter  Antony  and  Attendants. 
Ant.  Hark,  the   land  bids   me  tread  no  more 
upon't. 
It  is  asham'd  to  bear  me !    Friends,  come  hither, 
I  am  so  lated'  in  the  world,  th.^t  I 
Have  lost  my  way  lor  ever :— I  have  a  ship 
Laden  with  gold  ;  take  that,  divide  it:  fly, 
And  make  your  peace  with  Cajsar. 
-5";       ,  Fly !  not  we. 

Ant.  I  have  fled  myself;  and  have  instructed 
cowards 
To  run,  and  show  tlieir  shoulders.- Friends,  be 

gone; 
I  have  myself  resolv'd  upon  a  course. 
Which  lias  no  need  of  you;  be  gone: 
My  treasure's  in  the  harbor,  take  it.— 0, 
1  lollow'd  that  I  blush  to  look  upon: 
My  very  hairs  do  mutiny ;  for  the  white 
Iteprove  the  brown  for  rashness,  and  they  them 
For  fear  and  doting.— Friends,  be  gone :  you  shall 
Have  letters  from  me  to  some  friends,  that  will 
Sweep  your  way  for  you.    Pray  you,  look  not  sad. 
Nor  make  replies  of  loathness;  take  the  hint 
Which  my  despair  proclaims;  let  that  be  left 
Which  leaves  itself;  to  the  sea-side  straightway: 
I  will  po.ssess  you  of  that  ship  and  treasure. 
Leave  me,  I  pray,  a  little  ;  'pray  you  now  :— 
Nay,  do  so;  for,  indeed,  I  have  lost  command. 
Therefore  I  pray  you:— I'll  see  you  by  and  by 

[  Sits  down. 

Enter  Eros   and  Cleopatra,  led   by  Charmian 

and  Iras. 

Eros.  Nay,  gentle  madam,  to  him :  —  Comfort 

him. 
Iras.  Do,  most  dear  queen. 
Char.  Do!  Why,  what  else ? 
Cleo.  Let  me  sit  down.    O  Juno ! 
Ant.  No,  no,  no,  no,  no. 
Eros.  See  you  here,  sir. 

•Corner.      'Spotted.      «  Thogaa-lly  that  slings  cattle. 
'  Drought  closu  to  the  wind.  '  Belated,  bouigUlocJ. 


Scene  XL 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


603 


Anf.  O  fye,  fye,  fye. 
Char.  Madam, — 

Ims.  Madam ;  0  good  empress  \— 
Kros.  Sir,  sir, — 

Ant.  Yes,  my  lord,  yes;— He,^  at  Philirpi,  kcpt 
His  sword  even  like  a  dancer;  while  I  struck 
The  lean  and  wrinkled  Cassius;  and  'twas  I, 
Tliat  the  mad  Brutus  ended:  he  alone 
Dealt  on  lieutcnantry,^  and  no  practice  had 
In  Ihc  brave  squares  of  war:  Yet  now — No  matter. 
Cleo.  Ah,  stand  by. 
Krof^.  Tlic  queen,  my  lord,  the  queen. 
Iras.  Go  to  him,  madam,  speak  to  him  ; 
lit  is  unqualitied^  with  very  shame. 
Ctco.  VVell  then. — Sustain  me: — 0  ! 
Eros,   aiost   noble   sir,  arise :    the   queen   ap- 
proaches ; 
Her  head's  declin'd,  and  death  will  seize  her;  but^ 
Y^our  comfort  makes  the  rescue. 

Anf.  I  have  ottended  reputation; 
A  most  umiobie  swerving. 
Eros.  Sir,  the  queen. 

Anf.  O,  whither  hast  thou  led  me,  Egypt]    See, 
How  I  convey  my  shame  out  of  thine  eyes, 
By  looking  back  on  what  I  have  left  behind 
'Stroy'd  in  disl»onor. 

Cleo.  O  my  lord,  my  lord  ! 

Forgive  my  fearful  sails!    I  little  thought, 
You  would  have  followed. 

Ant.  Kgypt,  thou  knew'st  too  well, 

Wv  heart  was  to  thy  rudder  tied  by  the  strings, 
And  thou  shouldst  tow  me  after:  O'er  my  spirit 
Thy -full  supremacy  thou  knew'st ;  and  that 
Thy  beck  might  I'rom  the  bidding  of  the  gods 
Command  me. 
Cleo.  0,  my  pardon. 

Ant.  Now  I  must 

To  the  young  man  send  humble  treaties,  dodge 
And  jwlter  in  the  shifts  of  lowness;  who 
\Vith  half  the  bulk  o'  the  v^orld  play'd  as  I  pleas'd, 
M;tkliig  and  marring  fortunes.  You  did  know 
How  much  you  were  my  conqueror;  and  that 
My  sword,  made  weak  by  my  alli^ction,  would 
Obey  it  on  all  cause. 

Cleo.  O  pardon,  pardon. 

Ant.  Fall  not  a  tear,  1  say:  one  of  them  rates^ 
All  that  is  won  antl  lost;  Give  me  a  kiss; 
Even  this  repays  me. — We  sent  our  schoolmaster; 
Is  he  come  bac'k  \ — Love,  I  am  full  of  lead  : — 
Some  wine,  within  there,  and  our  viands:— For- 
tune knows, 
We  scorn  her  most,  when  most  she  oficrs  blows. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  X.— Caesar's  Camp  in  Egypt. 
Enter  Cksar,  Dolauell.v,  Thyrel's,  and  otiiers. 
CiES.  Let  him  appear  that's  come  from  Antony. — 
Know  you  Inml 

Dot.  Cffisar,  'tis  his  schoolmaster;'^ 

An  argument  that  lie  is  j)Inck'd,  when  hiliicr 
lie  sends  so  jioor  a  pinion  of  his  wing, 
Wliich  had  superlluous  kings  for  messengers, 
Not  many  moons  gone  by. 

Enter  Euphroxics. 
Ca^s.  Approach,  and  speak. 

Eiip.  Such  as  I  am,  I  come  Ifom  Antony : 
I  was  of  late  as  petty  to  his  ends. 
As  is  the  morn-dew  on  the  myrtle  leaf 
To  his  grand  sea. 
dcs.  Be  it  so:  Declare  thine  office. 

Eup.  Lord  of  his  Ibrtunes,  he  salutes  thee,  and 
Requires  to  live  in  Kgyjit :  which  not  granted, 
He  lessens  his  requests  ;  and  to  tliee  sues. 
To  let  him  breathe  between  the  heavens  and  earth, 
A  private  man  in  .\thens:  Tliis  for  him. 
Ne*"',  Cleopatra  docs  confess  thy  greatness; 
Submits  her  to  thy  might;  and  of  thee  craves 
The  circle^  of  the' Ptolemies  for  her  heirs. 
Now  hazarded  to  thy  grace. 

C!£S.  For  ."Vntony, 

I  have  no  eai-s  to  his  request.    The  queen 
Of  audience,  nor  desire,  shall  fail ;  so  she 
From  Egypt  drive  her  all-disgraced  triend. 
Or  take  his  life  there  :  This  it  she  perlbrm. 
She  sliall  not  sue  luiheard.    So  to  them  both. 


3  Foiiglit  by  his  oIBcers. 
»  Uuless. 


«  Cffisar. 

•  Divested  of  his  faculties. 

«  Equals  in  value. 

'  EiipkroniuSy  schoolm.ister  to  Antony  "a  children. 

'  Diadem,  the  crowu. 


Eup.  Fortune  pursue  thee  ! 

Cscs.  Bring  him  through  the  bands. 

[Exit  Euphronios. 
To  try  thy  eloquence,  now  'tis  time  :  Despatch; 
From  .■Vntony  win  Cleopatra  :  promise, 

[TbTrrVREca, 
And  in  our  name,  what  she  requires;  add  more, 
From  thine  invention,  ofli?rs:  women  are  not. 
In  their  best  fortunes,  strong;  but  want  will  perjure 
The  ne'er  touch'd  vestal :  Try  thy  cumiing,  Thyreus; 
Make  thine  own  edict  for  thy  pains,  which  we 
Will  answer  as  a  law. 

Thijr.  Cffisar,  I  go. 

Cxs.  Observe  how  Antony  becomes  his  flaw;' 
And  what  thou  think'st  his  very  action  speaks 
In  every  power  that  moves. 

Ttii/r.  Ctesar,  I  shall. 

SCENE  XL— Alexandria.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Cleopatra,  E.nobarbcs,  CaARsnAN,  and 
Iras. 
Cleo.  What  shall  we  do,  Enobarbus  1 
Eno.  Think,  and  die. 

Cleo.  Is  Antony,  or  we,  in  fault  for  this  ! 
Eno.  Antony  only,  tliat  would  make  his  will 
Lord  of  his  reason.    Wliat  although  you  lied 
From  that  great  face  ot  war,  whose  several  ranges 
Frighted  ^ach  other  ]  why  should  he  ibllow  1 
The  itch  of  his  atli^ction  should  not  then        • 
Have  nick'd  his  captainship;  at  such  a  point. 
When  half  to  halt'  the  world  oppos'd,  he  being 
The  mered  question  :'  'Twas  a  siiame  no  less 
Than  was  his  loss,  to  course  your  flying  flags, 
And  leave  his  navy  gazing. 
Cleo.  Pr'ythee,  peace. 

Enter  Antony,  witli  Euphromus. 
Ant.  Is  this  his  answer  ] 
Eup.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ant.  The  queen 

Shall  then  have  courtesy,  so  she  will  yield 
Us  up. 
Eup.  He  says  so. 

Ant.  Let  her  know  it. — 

To  the  boy  Cresar  send  this  grizzled  head, 
And  he  will  till  thy  wishes  to  the  brim 
With  principahties. 
Cleo.  That  head,  my  lordl 

Ant.  To  him  again;  tell  him  he  wears  the  ro«e 
Of  youth  upon  him;  from  which  the  world  should 

note 
Something  particular:  his  coin,  ships,  Icgion.s, 
Maybe  a  coward's;  whose  ministers  would  prevail 
Under  the  service  of  a  child,  as  soon 
As  i'  the  command  of  Cxsar:  I  dare  him  therefore 
To  lay  his  gay  caparisons-  apart. 
And  answer  me  declined,^  sword  against  sword. 
Ourselves  alone:  I'll  write  it;  toUow  me. 

[Exeunt  .Antony  an'l  Ei'PiiitoNirs. 
Eno.  Yes,  like  enough,  high-battled  Cii'sar  will 
Unstate  liis  hapiiiness,  and  lie  staged  to  tlie  show. 
Against  a  swordcr. — 1  see,  men's  Uidgineuts  are 
A  parceH  of  their  fortunes:  and  things  outward 
Do  draw  the  inward  quality  after  them, 
To  suller  all  alike.    Tliat  he  should  dream. 
Knowing  all  measures,  the  full  Ca-sar  will 
Answer  1iis  emptiness! — Ctesar,  thou  hast  subdued 
His  judgment  loo. 

Enter  an  Attendant. 
Alt.  A  messenger  from  Ctesar. 

Cleo.    What,  no   more   ceremony  !  —  See,  my 
women  ! — 
Against  the  blown  rose  may  they  stop  their  nose. 
That  knecPd  unto  the  buds. — Admit  him,  sir. 
Eno.  Mine  honesty,  and  I,  begin  to  square.5 

[Aside. 
The  loyalty,  well  held  to  fools,  does  make 
Our  faith  mere  folly : — Yet,  he  that  can  endure 
To  Ibllow  with  allegiance  a  fallen  lord. 
Does  conquer  him  that  did  his  master  conquer, 
And  earns  a  place  i'  the  story. 

Enter  Thy'reos. 
Cleo.  Coesar's  will  1 

Ttii/r.  Hear  it  apart. 

Cleo.  None  but  friends ;  say  boldly, 

8  Conforms  himself  to  this  breacll  of  his  fortune. 
>  The  only  eaiise  of  disi)ute. 

a  Circunistanees  of  si>lendor.        »  In  age  and  power. 
*  Are  of  a  piece  with  them.  •  Quarrel. 


604 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA.       Act  III.    Scene  XI. 


Thyr.  So,  haply,  are  they  friends  to  Antony. 

Eno.  He  needs  as  many,  sir,  as  Caesar  has; 
Or  needs  not  us.    If  Csesar  please,  our  master 
Will  leap  to  be  his  friend :  For  us,  you  know, 
VViiose  he  is,  we  are ;  and  that's  Ceesar's. 

Thyr.  So.— 

Tluis  then,  thou  most  rcnown'd;  Csesar  entreats, 
Not  to  consider  in  wliat  ease  thou  stand'st, 
Further  tlian  he  is  Ccesar. 

Cleo.  Go  on:  Right  royal. 

Thyr.  He  knows,  that  you  emlirace  not  Antony 
As  you  did  love,  but  as  you  fear'd  him. 

Cleu.  O ! 

Tkyr.  The  scars  upon  your  honor,  therefore,  he 
Does  pity,  as  constrained  blemishes, 
Not  as  descrv'd. 

Cleo.  He  is  a  god,  and  knows 

Wliat  is  most  riglit;  Mine  lionor  was  not  yielded, 
But  eonquer'd  merely. 

End.  To  he  sure  of  that,   {Aside. 

I  will  ask  Antony. — Sir,  sir,  thouVt  so  leaky, 
That  we  must  leave  thee  to  thy  sinking,  lor 
Thy  dearest  quit  thee.  [Exit  Kxobaebus. 

Thyr.  Shall  I  say  to  Cajsar 

Wliat  you  require  of  him?  tor  he  partly  begs 
To  be  desir'd  to  give.    It  much  would  please  him, 
Tliat  of  his  fortunes  you  should  make  a  staff 
To  lean  upon :  hut  it  would  warm  his  spirits, 
To  hear  trom  me  you  had  left  Antony, 
And.put  yourself  under  his  shrowd, 
Tiic  universal  landlord. 

Cleo.  What's  your  name  ? 

Thyr.  My  name  is  Thyreus. 

Clfo.  Most  kind  messenger, 

Say  to  great  C.-csar  this :  In  disputation' 
I  kiss  his  conquering  hand:  tell  him  I  am  prompt 
To  lay  my  crown  at  his  feet,  and  there  to  kneel: 
Tell  him.  from  his  all-obeying'  breath  I  hear 
The  doom  of  Egypt. 

Thur.  'Tis  your  noblest  course. 

Wiscfom  and  fortune  combating  together, 
If  that  the  former  dare  but  what  it  can. 
No  chance  may  shake  it.    Give  me  grace*  to  lay 
M^■  duty  on  your  hand. 

Cleo.  Your  Cesar's  father 

Oft,  when  he  hath  mused  of  taking  kingdoms  in,!i 
Bestow'd  his  lips  on  that  unworthy  place, 
As  it  rain'd  Ifisses. 

Re-enter  Antoxt  and  EsoBAnnrs. 

Ant.  Favors,  by  Jove  that  thunders  !— 

What  art  thou,  fellow  '.' 

Thyr.  One,  that  but  performs 

The  bidding  of  the  fullest  man,  and  worthiest 
To  liave  command  obey'd. 

Eno.  You  will  be  wliifp'd. 

Ant.  Approach,   (here:— Ay,   you   kite!— Now 
gods  and  devils! 
Authority  melts  from  me :  Of  late,  when  I  cried,  Hn! 
Like  boys  unto  a  muss.i  kings  would  start  forth, 
And  cry,  Yitur  ivitt?  Have  you  no  ears  !  I  am 

Enter  Attendants. 
Antony  yet.  Take  hence  this  Jack,2and  whip  him. 

Eno.  'Tis  better  playing  with  a  lion's  wh-clp, 
Thau  with  an  old  one  dying. 

Ant.  Moon  and  stars ! 

Whip  him:— Were't  twenty  of  the  greatest  tribu- 
taries 
That  do  acknowledge  Cnesar.  should  I  find  Iheia 
So  saucy  with  the  hand  ofshe  here,  ( What's  her  name 
Since  she  was  Cleopatra  1}— Whip  him,  fellows. 
Till,  like  a  boy,  you  see  him  cringe  his  lace. 
And  whine  aloud  for  mercy  :  Take  him  honcc. 

Thyr.  l\Iark  Antony, — 

A  lit.  Tug  him  away:  being  whipp'd. 

Bring  him  again  :— This  Jack  of  Ca;sar's  shall 
Bear  us  an  errand  to  him. — 

[Ereunt  .\ttend.  with  Thtreds. 
You  were  half  blasted  ere  I  knew  you  :— Ha  ! 
Have  1  my  pillow  left  nnpress'd  in  Rome, 
Forborne  the  getting  of  a  lawful  race. 
And  by  a  gem  of  women,  to  be  abused 
By  one  that  looks  on  feeders  ?3 

Cleo.  Good  my  lord,— 

Ant.  You  have  been  a  boggier  ever: — 
But  when  we  in  o\o-  viciousncss  grow  hard, 

"  Snppnspd  to  lu>  nn  error  for  ihpvtation.  i.  r.  by  prosy. 

'  Obfvt'd.        8  (Irant  nu' thit  fQvor.         "Conquering. 

'  t'ciiimlile.     '  A  term  of  coutompt.        »  Servants. 


(0  misery on't!)  the  wise  gods  secl^  our  eyes; 
In  our  own  filth  dropour  clear  judgments;  make  U3 
Adore  our  errors :  laugh  at  us,  while  we  strut 
To  our  contiision, 

tVfo.  O,  is  it  <  ome  to  this  ? 

Ant.  I  found  you  as  a  morsel,  cold  upon 
Dead  Ca?sar's  trencher:  nay,  you  were  a  fragment 
Of  Cneius  Pompey's;  besides  wliat  hotter  hours, 
Unregister'd  in  vulgar  fame,  5'ou  have 
Luxuriously  pick'd  out: — For,  1  am  sure, 
Though  you  can  guess  what  temperance  should  be, 
You  know  not  what  it  is. 

Cleo.  Wherelbre  is  this  1 

Ant.  To  let  a  fellow  that  will  take  rewards. 
And  say,  God  qiiit  you  !  be  familiar  with 
My  playfellow,  your  hand  ;  this  kingly  .seal, 
And  plighter  of  high  hearts! — O,  that  I  were 
Upon  the  hill  of  Basan,  to  outroar 
The  horned  herd  !  for  I  have  savage  cause  ; 
And  to  jiroclaim  it  civilly,  were  like 
A  halter'd  neck,  which  does  the  hangman  thank 
For  being  yare^  about  him. — Is  he  whipp'd  ! 

Re-enter  Attendants,  with  Thyheds. 

1  Att.  Soundly,  my  lord. 

Ant.  Cry  d  he  ]  and  bejg'd  he  pardon  ! 

1  Att.  He  did  ask  favor. 

Ant.  If  that  thy  father  live,  let  him  repent 
Thou  wast  not  made  his  daughter ;  and  be  thou  sorry 
To  follow  Ca?sar  in  his  triumph,  since 
Thou  hast  been  whipp'd  lor  iollowing  him:  hence- 
forth. 
The  white  hand  of  a  lady  fever  thee, 
Shake  tliou  to  look  on't.— Get  thee  back  to  Ca?sar, 
■Tell  him  thy  entertainment :  Look,  thou  say, 
He  makes  me  angry  with  him  :  lur  he  seems 
Proud  and  disdainful ;  hari^ng  on  what  I  am ; 
Not  what  he  knew  I  was:  ht^  makes  me  angry  ; 
And  at  this  time  most  easy  'tis  to  do't ; 
When  my  good  stars,  that  were  my  former  guides, 
Have  empty  left  their  orbs,  and  shot  their  fires 
Into  the  abysm  of  hell.    If  he  mislike 
My  speech,  and  what  is  done  ;  tell  him,  he  has 
Hipparchus,  my  entranchis'd  bondman,  whom 
He  may  at  pleasure  whip,  or  hang,  or  torture, 
As  he  shall  hke.  to  quit'  me :  Urge  it  thou  : 
Hence,  with  thy  stripes,  begone.     [E.vit  Thyrecs. 

Cleo.  Have  you  done  yet ! 

Ant.  Alack,  our  terrene"  moon 

Is  now  eclips'd  ;  and  it  portends  alone 
The  fall  of  Antony  ! 

Cleo.  I  must  stay  his  time. 

Ant.  To  flatter  Ca?sar,  would  you  mingle  eyes 
With  one  that  ties  his  points  1 

Cleo.  Not  know  me  yet  1 

Ant.  Cold-hearted  toward  me? 

CU'ih  All,  dear,  if  I  be  so, 

From  my  cold  heart  let  heaven  engender  hail. 
And  poison  it  in  the  source ;  and  tlie  first  sloue 
Dro])  in  my  neck :  as  it  determines,"  so 
Dissolve  my  life  !  The  next,  Casarion'  smite  ! 
Till,  by  degrees,  the  memory  of  my  womb, 
Together  with  my  brave  Egyptians  all. 
By  the  discandying'  of  this  pelleted  storm, 
Lie  graveless;  till  the  flies  and  gnats  of  Nile 
Have  buried  them  for  prey  ! 

Ant.  I  am  satisfied. 

Ccpsar  sits  down  in  Alexandria :  where 
I  will  oppose  his  fate.    Our  force  by  land 
Hath  nobly  held;  our  sever'd  navy' too 
Have  knit  again,  and  fleet,-  thrca'l'ning  most  sea- 
like." 
Where  hast  thou  been,  my  heart? — Dost  thou  hcs' 

lady  ? 
If  from  the  field  I  shall  return  once  more 
To  kiss  these  lips,  I  will  ajii)ear  in  blood  : 
I  ajid  my  sword  will  earn  our  chronicle: 
There  is  hope  in  it  yet. 

Cleo.  That's  my  brave  lord ! 

Ant.  I  will  be  treble-sinew'd,  hearted,  breath'd. 
And  fight  maliciously:  for  when  mine  hours 
Were  nice^  and  lucky,  men  did  ransom  lives 
Of  me  lor  jests;  but  now,  I'll  sot  my  teelh. 
And  send  to  darkness  all  that  stop  inc. — Come, 
Let's  have  one  other  gaudy  night:  call  to  me 
All  my  sad  captains,  fill  our  bowls  ;  once  more 
Let's  mock  the  midnight  bell. 

<  Close  up.  »  Iveiidy.  bandy.  «  nequite. 

'Earthly.      8  Dissolves.      »  Her  son  by  Julius  Cjesap. 

'  Jlelting.  •  Float.  '  Trifling. 


Act  IV.  Scene  IV.        ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


COS 


Cleo.  I'  is  my  birth-day  : 

I  had  thought  to  have  held  it  poor;  but.  since  my 

lord 
Is  Antony  airain,  I  will  be  Cleopatra. 
Ant.  We'll  jet  do  well. 
Cleo.  Call  all  his  noble  captains  to  my  lord. 
Ant.  Do  so;  we'll  speak  to  them;  and  to-night 
I'll  force 
The  wine  peep  through  their  scars.— Come  on,  my 

queen ; 
There's  sap  in't  yet.    The  next  time  I  do  fight, 


I'll  make  death  love  me ;  for  I  will  contend 
Even  with  his  pestilent  scythe. 

{Ex.  Antony,  Cleopatra,  and  Attendants. 
Eno.  Now  he'll  out-stare  the  lightning.    To  be 
furious 
Is,  to  be  frighted  out  of  fear;  and  in  that  mood. 
The  dove  will  peck  the  estridge  ;"■  and  I  see  still, 
A  diminution  in  our  captain's  brain 
Restores  Iiis  heart:  When  valor  preys  on  reason. 
It  eats  the  sword  it  fights  with.    I  will  seek 
Some  way  to  leave  him.  '^Exit. 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I.— CsEsar's  Camp  at  Alexandria. 
Enter  Cesar,  reading  a  Letter;  Acrippa,  Me- 
c.ENAS,  and  otiiers. 
Cxs.  He  calls  me  boy;  and  chides,  as  he  had 
power 
To  beat  me  out  of  Egypt:  my  messenger 
He  hath  whipp'd  with  rods;  dares  me  to  personal 

combat. 
Caesar  to  Antony :  Let  the  old  ruffian  Icnow, 
I  have  many  other  ways  to  die;  meantime, 
Laugh  at  his  challenge. 

Mec.  Csesar  must  think. 

When  one  so  great  begins  to  rage,  he's  hunted 
Even  to  falling.    Give  him  no  breath,  but  now 
Make  boot'  of  his  distraction:  Never  anger 
Made  good  guard  for  itself. 

Cees.  Let  our  best  heads 

Know,  that  to-morrow  the  last  of  many  battles 
We  mean  to  fight : — Within  our  files  there  are. 
Of  lliose  that  serv'd  Mark  Antony  but  late, 
Enough  to  fetch  him  in.    See  it  he  done  ; 
And  feast  the  army:  we  have  store  to  do't, 
And  they  have  carn'd  the  waste.    Poor  Antony ! 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Alexandria.    A  Runin  in  tlie  Palace. 

Enter  Antony,  Cleopatra,  Enobarbvs,  Charmian, 

Iras,  Alkxas,  and  uttiers. 

Ant.  He  will  not  fight  with  me,  Doraitius. 

Enn.  No. 

Aat.  Why  should  he  not  ? 

Eno.  He  thinks,  being   twenty  times  of  better 
tbrtunc, 
lie  is  twenty  men  to  one. 

Ant.  To-morrow,  soldier, 

Bv  sea  and  land  I'll  fight:  or  I  will  live, 
of  bathe  my  dying  honor  in  the  blood 
Shall  make'it  five  again.    Woo't  thou  fight  welH 

Enn.  I'll  strike  ;  arij  cry,  Take  alt. 

Ant.  Well  said  ;  come  on. — 

Call  forth  my  household  servants ;  let's  to  night 

Enter  Servants. 
Be  bounteous  at  our  meal.— Give  me  tliy  hand. 
Thou  hast  been  rightly  lioni'st ;— so  hast  thou  ;— _ 
And  thou,— and  thou,— and  thou;— you  have  serv'd 

me  well, 
And  kings  have  been  your  fellows. 

Cleo.  What  means  this? 

Eno.  'Tis  one  of  those  odd  tricks,  which  sorrow 
shoots  [Aside. 

Out  of  the  mind. 

Ant.  And  Ihou  art  honest  too. 

I  wish  I  could  be  made  so  many  men  ; 
And  all  of  you  clapp'd  ui>  together  in 
An  Antony  ;  that  I  might  do  you  service, 
So  good  as  you  have  done. 

Sen:  The  gods  forbid !    • 

Ant.  Well.mygood  fellows.walton  me  to-night: 
Scant  not  my  cups;  and  make  as  much  of  me. 
As  when  my  empire  was  your  fellow  too. 
And  suffer'd  ray  command. 

Cleo.  What  does  he  mean  i 

Eno.  To  make  his  followers  weep. 

Ant.  Tend  me  to-night; 

May  be,  it  is  the  period  of  your  duty  : 
Haply,  you  shall  not  see  me  more;  or  if, 
A  mangled  shadow:  perchance  to-morrow 
you'll  serve  another  master.    I  look  on  you. 
As  one  that  takes  his  leave.    Mnie  honest  friends, 
I  turn  you  not  away  ;  but,  like  a  master 
*  Tiiko  advantase. 


Married  to  yonr  good  service,  stay  till  death : 
Tend  me  to-night  two  hours,  I  ask  no  more, 
And  the  gods  yields  you  for't ! 

Eno.  What  mean  you,  sir, 

To  give  them  this  discomfort?     Look,  they  weep; 
And  1,  an  ass.  am  onion-eye;  for  shame  I 
Translbrm  us  not  to  women. 

Ant.  Ho,  ho,  ho! 

Now  the  witch  take  me,  if  I  meant  it  thus ! 
Grace  grow  where  those  drops  fall !    My  hearty 

friends, 
You  take  me  in  too  dolorous  a  sense: 
I  spake  to  you  fi>r  your  comfort :  did  desire  you 
To  burn  this  night  with  torches:  Know,  my  hearts, 
I  hope  well  of  to-morrow  ;  and  will  lead  you. 
Where  rather  I'll  expect  victorious  life. 
Than  death  and  honor.    Let's  to  supper;  come, 
.\nd  drown  consideration.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \U.— Before  tlie  Palace. 
Enter  two  Soldiers  to  titeir  Guard. 

1  Soil.  lirolher.good  night:  to-morrow  is  the  day. 

2  Sold.  11  will  determine  one  way  :  tare  you  well. 
Heard  you  of  nothing  strange  about  the  streets  ? 

1  Soil.  Nothing  :  What  news  ? 

2  SoM.  Belike,  'tis  but  a  rumor: 
Good-night  to  you. 

1  Sold.  Well,  sir,  good-night. 

Enter  two  other  Soldiers. 

2  Sold.  Soldiers, 
Have  careful  watch. 

3  Sold.  And  you  :  Good-night,  good-night. 

[  The  first  two  place  tlienisclves  at 
tkiir  Posts. 

4  S(dd.  Here  wc :  [Tlutj  take  tfieir  Pests.]  and 

if  to-morrow 
Our  navy  thrive,  I  have  an  absolute  hope 
Our  landmen  will  stand  up. 

3  Soil.  'Tis  a  brave  army, 
And  full  of  purpose. 

Musi£  of  Hauthmjs  under  tlie  Stage. 

4  Sidd.  Peace,  what  noise  ? 

1  Sold.  List,  list! 

2  Soil.  Hark! 

1  Sold.  Music  i'  the  air. 

3  Sold.  Under  the  earth. 

4  Sold.  It  signs'  well, 
Does'l  not? 

3  Soil.        No. 

1  Sol'l.  Peace,  I  say.    What  should  this  mean  ? 

2  Sold.  'TisthegodHerculcs,whomAntonylov'il, 
Now  leaves  him. 

1  Solil.  Walk;  let's  see  if  other  watchmen 
Do  hear  what  we  do.  [They  alvancetoanidfier  Post. 

2  Soil.  How  now,  masters  ! 

Sol  I.  How  now ! 

How  now  ?  do  you  hear  this? 

[Several  speaking  together. 
1  Sold.  Ay ;  Is't  not  strange  ? 

3  Sid-l.  Do  you  hear,  masters  ?  do  you  hear  ! 

1  Soil.  Follow  the  noise  so  far  as  we  have  quarter. 
Let's  see  how  'twill  give  oil; 
Sold.  [Several  speaking.]  Content:  'Tis  strange. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— ^1  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Antony  and  Cleopatra;   Charmian  and 

others  attending. 

Ant.  Eros  !  tjiine  armor,  Eros  ! 

Cleo.  Sleep  a  little 

s  Ostrich.  "  Kewai-d.  '  Bodes, 


606 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


Act  IV. 


Ant,  No,  my  chuck. — Eros,  come ;  mine  armor, 
Eros! 

Enter  Eros,  with  Armor. 

Come,  my  good  fellow,  put  thine  iron  on  ; — 
If  fortune  be  not  ours  to-day,  it  is 
Because  we  brave  her. — Come. 

Clen.  Nay,  I'll  help  too. 

What s  this  for! 

Ant.  Ah,  let  be,  let  be!  thou  art 

The  armorer  of  mv  heart  .-—False,  false;  this,this. 

Cleo.  Sooth,  la,  I'll  help:  Thus  it  must  he. 

Ant.  Well,  well; 

We  shall  thrive  now. — Seest  thou,  my  good  fellow! 
Go,  put  on  thy  defences. 

Eros,  Brielly,  sir. 

Cleo.  Is  not  this  buckled  well ! 

Ant,  Rarely;  rarely: 

He  Ihat  unbuckles  this,  till  we  do  please 
To  dulf't^  for  our  repose,  shall  hear  a  storm. — 
Thou  fumblest,  Eros  ;  and  my  queen's  a  squire 
Jlore  tights  at  this  than  thou  :    Despatch. — 0  love, 
That  thou  couldst  see  my  wars  to-day,  and  kncw'st 
The  royal  occupation!  thou  shoulds't  see 

Enter  an  Oflicer,  armei. 

A  workman    in't.  —  Good-morrow  to  thee;    wel- 
come ; 
Thou  Inok'st  like  him  that  knows  a  warlike  charge: 
To  business  that  we  love,  we  rise  bctime, 
And  go  to  it  with  delight. 

1  Off.  A  thousand,  sir. 
Early  though  it  be,  have  on  their  riveled  trim, 
And  at  the  port  e.\pect  you. 

[S/ujut.    Trumpets,    Flouris/i. 
Enter  otfier  Officers  and  Soldiers. 

2  Off.  The  morn  is  fair.— Good-morrow,  general. 
All.  Good-morrow,  general. 

.'l'(/-  'Tis  well  blown,  lads. 

Tliis  morning,  like  the  spirit  of  a  youtli 
That  means  to  be  of  note,  begins  betimes. — 
So,  so  ;  come,  give  me  that :  this  way,  well  said. 
Fare  thee  well,  dame,  whate'er  becomes  ol'me  : 
This  is  a  soldier's  kiss:  rebukable         [Kisses  her. 
And  worthy  shameful  check  it  were,  to  stand 
On  more  mechanic  compliment;  I'll  leave  thee, 
Now,  like  a  man  of  sleel.— 'i'ou  that  will  fight, 
Follow  me  close;  I'll  bring  you  to't.— Adieu. 

[E.reiint  .\n'to.vy,  Eros,  OtJicers,  and 
Soldiers. 

Char.  Please  you,  retire  to  your  chamber  ! 

Cleo.  Lead  me. 

He  goes  forth  gallantly.  That  he  and  Csesar  might 
Dc'leriiiine  Ihls  great  war  in  single  hght! 
Then,  Antony,— But  now,— Well,  on.        [Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. — Antony's  Cffwjj  near  Alexandria. 

Trumpets  sound.    Enter  .\xton-y  and  Euos ;   a 
Soldier  meeting  tliem. 

Sold.  The  gods  make  this  a  happy  day  to  Antony. 

Ant.  'Would.  Iliou  and  those  thy  scars  had  once 
preva  i  I'd 
To  make  me  fight  at  land  ! 

^"l  I.  Hadsf  thou  done  so. 

The  kings  that  have  revolted,  and  the  soldier 
That  h:is  this  morning  left  thee,  would  have  still 
Follow'd  tliy  heels. 

Aiit.  Who's  gone  this  morning'! 

N('/  /.  Who  7 

One  ever  near  thee  :  Call  for  Enobarbus, 
He  shall  not  hear  thee  ;  or  from  Cajsar's  camp 
Say,  I  am  rumt  <rf' thine. 

A  nt.  ■  What  say'st  thou  1 

Sold.  Sir, 

He  is  with  Caesar. 

Eros.  Sir,  his  chests  and  treasure 

He  has  not  with  him. 

Aiit.  Is  lie  gone  1 

^old.  Most  certain. 

/I;//.  Go,  Eros,  send  bis  treasure  after;  do  it; 
Delain  no  jot,  I  charge  lliee:  write  to  him 
(I  will  subscribej  genlle  adieus  and  greetings: 
■Say,  that  I  wish  lie  never  find  more  cause 
To  change  a  master.— O  my  fortunes  have 
Corrujited  honest  men:— Eros,  despatch.  [Exeunt. 
■  I'ut  It  off.  9  Handy. 


SCENE  VI. — Ca;sar's  Camp  before  Alexandria. 

Flourish.  Enter  C,«SAn,  with  Agrippa,  Exobarbus, 

and  others. 

Cxs.  Go  forth,  Agriijpa,  and  begin  the  fight : 
Our  will  is,  Antony  be  took  alive  ; 
Make  it  so  known. 

Agr,  Casar,  I  shall.   [Exit  Agrippa. 

C^s.  The  time  of  universal  peace  is  near  : 
Prove  this  a  prosperous  day,  the  three-nook'd  world 
Shall  bear  the  olive  freely. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Antony 

Is  come  into  the  tield. 

Ca!s.  Go.  charge  Agrippa 

Plant  those  that  have  revolted  in  the  van, 
Tliat  .\ntony  may  seem  to  spend  iiis  fury 
Upon  himself.  [Exeunt  Cesar  and  his  Train. 

Eno.  Alexas  did  revolt;  and  went  to  Jewry, 
On  aliiiirs  of  .\ntony  :  there  did  persuade 
Great  Herod  to  incline  himself  to  Ciesar, 
And  leave  his  master  Antony:  for  this  pains, 
C.xsar  hath  hang'd  him.    Canidius,  and  the  rest 
That  fell  away,  have  entertainment,  but 
No  honorable  trust.    I  have  done  ill; 
Of  which  I  do  accuse  myself  so  sorely. 
That  I  will  joy  no  more. 

Enter  a  Soldier  n/ Cesar's. 

Sell.  Enobarbus,  Antony 

Hath  after  thee  sent  all  thy  treasure,  wi;h 
His  bounty  overplus:  The  messenger 
Came  on  my  guard,  and  at  tliy  tent  is  now. 
Unloading  of  his  mules. 

Eno.  I  give  it  j'ou. 

Sold.  Mock  me  not,  Enobarbus. 

I  tell  you  true  :  Best  that  you  saled  the  bringer 
Out  of  the  host;  I  must  attend  mine  office. 
Or  would  have  done't  myself.    Your  emperor 
Continues  still  a  Jove.  [Exit  Soldier. 

Kuo.  I  am  alone  the  villain  of  the  earth, 
And  feel  I  am  so  mo.'-.t.    O  .\ntony, 
Thi.li  mine  of  bounty,  how  would'^t  thou  have  paid 
My  better  service,  when  my  turpitude 
Thou  dost  so  crown  with  gold!    'This  blowsi  my 

heart: 
If  switt  thought  break  it  not,  a  swifter  mean 
Shall  outstrike  thought;  but  thouglit  wilt  do't,I  feel. 
I  fight  against  Ihee  ! — No:  ]  vvill  go  seek 
Some  ditch,  wherein  to  die:  the  loul'st  best  fits 
My  latter  part  of  life.  [Exit, 

SCENE  \U.— Field  of  Battle  between  the  Camps, 

Alarums.   Drums  and  Trumpets.    Enter  Agrippa 

and  others. 

Agr,  Retire,  we  have  engaged  ourselves  too  far: 
C.-Bsar  himself  has  work,  and  our  oppression 
Exceeds  what  we  expected.    „  .[ia-ftm^ 

Alarum,  Enter  Antony  and  Scarus,  wounded. 

Scar,  0  my  brave  emperor,  this  is  fought  indeed  ! 
Had  we  done  so  at  first,  we  had  driven  them  home 
With  clouts  about  their  heads. 

Ant.  Thou  bleed'st  apace. 

Sear.  I  had  a  wound  here  that  was  like  a  T, 
But  now  'tis  made  an  H. 

Ajit.  They  do  retire. 

Scar.  We'll  beat  'em  into  beiich-holes;  I  have  yet 
Room  lor  six  scotches^  more. 
Enter  Eros. 

Eros.  They  are  beaten,  sir;  and  our  advantage 
serves 
For  a  fair  victory. 

Scar.  Let  us  score  their  backs. 

And  snatch  'em  up,  as  we  lake  hares,  behind; 
'Tis  sport  to  maul  a  runner. 

A7it.  I  will  reward  thee 

Once  for  thy  sprilely  comfort,  and  len-lold 
For  thy  good  valor.    Come  tliee  on. 

Scar,  I'll  halt  after.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  \IU.— Under  the  (ro//.s  n/ Alexandria. 
.ilaruni.   Enter  Antony,  marching;  Scarl's  and 
Forces, 
.int.  We  have  beat  him  to  his  cainp :  Run  one 
belbre, 
And  let  the  queen  knowofour  gtiests. — To-morrow, 
liefore  the  sun  shall  see  us,  we'll  spill  the  blood 
That  b.is  to-day  escaped.    I  tliank  jou  all ; 
*  Swells.  4  Cuts. 


Scene  X. 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


607 


For  doughty^-handcd  are  you  ;  and  have  fouRht 
Not  as  yon  serv'd  the  cause,  but  as  it  had  been 
Kach  man's  like  mine  ;  you  have  shown  yourselves 

all  Hectors. 
Enter  the  city,  clip'  your  wives,  your  friends. 
Tell  them  your  ti?ats;  whilst  they  with  joyful  tears 
Wash  the  congeahnent  froju  your  wounds,  and  kiss 
The  lionor'd  gashes  whole.— Give  me  thy  hand  ; 

[Tu  SCARCS. 

Enter  Cleopatua,  attended. 
To  this  great  fairyS  I'll  commend  thy  acts,      ^ 
RIaku  her  thanks  bless  thee.— 0  thou  day  o    the 

world. 
Chain  rnincarm'd  neck;  leap  thou,  attire  and  all, 
ThroUKh  proof  of  harness^  to  my  heart,  and  there 
Ride  on  the  pants  Iridinphing. 

Cleo.  Lord  of  lords! 

O  infinite  virtue!  com'st  thou  smiling  from 
The  world's  great  snare  uiicaught! 

Ant.  My  nightingale, 

We  have  beat  them  to  their  beds.    What,  girl! 

though  grey 
Do  something  mingle  with  our  brown ;  yet  have  we 
A  brain  that  nourishes  our  nerves,  and  can 
Get  goal  ibr  goal  of  youth.    Behold  this  man ; 
Commend  unto  his  lips  tliy  favoring  hand: — 
Kiss  it,  my  warrior:— He  iiath  fought  to-day. 
As  if  a  god,  in  hate  of  mankind,  had 
Destroyed  in  such  a  shape. 

Cteo.  ril  give  thee,  friend, 

An  armor  all  of  gold :  it  was  a  Icing's. 

Ant.  He  has  deserv'd  it,  were  it  carbiincled 
Like  lioly  Phosbus'  car.— Give  me  thy  hand; 
Through  Alexandria  make  a  jolly  march  ; 
Dear  our  hack'd  targets  like  the  men  that  owe' 

them. 
Had  our  great  palace  the  capacity 
To  camp  this  liost,  we  all  would  sup  together; 
AikI  drink  carouses  to  the  next  day's  fate, 
Whi.il  promises  royal  peril.— Trumpeters, 
Willi  brazen  din  blast  you  the  city's  car; 
M.ike  mingle  with  our'rattling  tambourines; 
Tliat  heaven  and  earth  may  strike  their  sounds  to- 

getherr 
Applauding  our  approach.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  IX.— Csesar's  Camp. 
Sentinels  on  tlieir  Post.    Enter  Enobarbus. 

1  Sid  l.  If  we  be  not  reliev'd  within  this  hour. 
We  must  return  to  the  court  of  guard  :  The  night 
Is  shiny  ;  and,  they  say,  we  shall  embattle 

By  the  second  hour  i'  the  morn. 

'2  Sold.  This  last  day  was 

A  shrewd  one  to  us. 

Klin.  0,  bear  me  witness,  night, — 

3  Sid- 1.  What  man  is  tliis  1 

2  Sol  I.  Stand  close,  and  list  to  him. 
E'lo.  Be  witness  to  me,  O  thou  blessed  moon, 

When  men  revolted  shall  upon  record 
Bear  hateful  memory,  poor  Enobarbus  did 
Before  thy  face  repent! — 

1  Sidd.  Enobarbus! 

3  Sold.  Peace; 
Hark  further. 

Eno.  O  sovereign  mistress  of  true  melancholy. 
The  poisonous  damp  of  night  disponge  upon  me: 
That  life,  a  very  rebel  to  my  will. 
May  hang  no  longer  on  me:  Throw  my  heart 
Against  the  Hint  and  hardness  of  my  lault ; 
Which,  lilting  dried  with  grief,  will  break  to  powder. 
And  tiiiish  all  tbul  thoughts.    O  Antony, 
Nobler  tluin  my  revolt  is  inlamous. 
Forgive  me  in  thine  own  particular; 
But  let  the  world  rank  me  in  register 
A  master-leaver,  and  a  fugitive: 
O  Antony  !  0  Antony  !  [Dks. 

2  Soil.  Let's  speak 
To  him. 

1  S/it !.  Let's  hear  him,  for  the  things  he  speaks 
May  concern  Ca;sar. 
3'Soll.  Let's  do  so.    But  he  sleeps. 

1  Sold.  Swoons  rather;  for  so  bad  a  prayer  as  his 
Was  never  yet  for  sleeping. 

2  Sold.  Go  we  to  him. 

3  Sold,  Awake,  awake,  sir ;  speak  to  us. 

2  Sold..  Hear  you,  sir  ? 

■  Bravo.  *  Embrace. 

•  Roauty  united  with  pnwer,  was  tbe  popular  character- 
istic of  faiiies.  «  Armor  of  proof.  'Owe. 


1  Sold.  The  hand  of  death  hath  raught-'  hun. 
Hark,  the  drums  [Drums  ofur  off. 

Demurely  wake  the  sleepers.  Let  us  bear  him 
To  the  court  of  guard :  he  is  of  note :  our  hour 
Is  fully  out. 

3  Sold.         Come  on,  tlien ; 
He  may  recover  yet.  {Exeunt  with  tlie  Body. 

SCENE  X.— Between  tfie  two  Camps. 
Enter  Antoxt  aiid  Scarus,  wUli  Forces,  march- 
ing. 
Ant.  Their  preparation  is  to-day  by  sea; 
We  please  them  not  by  land. 
Scar.  For  both,  my  lord 

Ant.  I  would, they'd  tight  i' the  tire,  or  in  the  air, 
We'd  hght  there  too.    But  this  it  is;  our  foot 
Upon  the  hills  adjoining  to  the  city. 
Shall  stay  witli  us :  order  tor  sea  is  given ; 
They  have  put  forth  the  haven:  Further  on. 
Where  their  appointment  we  may  best  discover, 
And  look  on  their  endeavor.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  C.tSAR  and  Ais  Fnrcex,  marctiing. 
Cscs.  But'  being  charged,  we  will  be  still  by  land, 
Wliich,  as  I  take  t,  we  shall;  for  his  best  force 
Is  Ibrtli  to  man  his  galleys.    To  the  vales, 
And  hold  our  best  advantage.  [Exeunt, 

Re-enter  Antony  and  Scakcs. 
Ant.  Yet  they're  not  join'd:  Where  yonder  pine 
does  stand, 
I  shall  discover  all:  I'll  bring  thee  word 
Straight,  how  'tis  like  to  go.  [Exit. 

Sciir.  Swallows  have  built 

In  Cleopatra's  sails  their  nests:  the  augurers 
Say,  they  know  not,  —  they  cannot   tell : —  look 

grimly, 
And  dare  not  speak  their  knowledge.    Antony 
Is  valiant  and  dejected ;  and,  by  starts. 
His  fretted  Ibrtunes  give  liiiii  hope,  and  fear, 
Of  wliat  he  has,  and  has  not. 

Alarum  ofur  off,  as  at  a  Sea-Figlit. 
lie-enter  Axtosy. 
Ant.  All  is  lost; 

This  Ibul  Egyptian  hatli  betray'd  me: 
My  fleet  hatli  yielded  lo  the  liie;  and  yonder 
Ttiey  cast  their  cajis  U]},  and  carouse  together 
Like  friends  long  lost. — Triple-tuni'd  whore!'  'tis 

thou 
Hast  sold  me  to  this  novice;  and  my  heart 
Makes  only  wars  on  thee. — Bid  them  all  rly ; 
For  when  I  am  revenged  upon  my  charm, 
I  have  done  all: — Bid  tliem  all  fly,  be  gone. 

[  Exit  Scarus. 
O  sun,  thy  uprise  shall  I  see  no  more : 
Fortune  and  Antony  part  here ;  even  liere 
Do  wesliake  hands. — All  come  to  this  ! — Theliearts 
Tliat  spaiiiel'd  me  at  lieeis,  to  whom  I  gave 
Their  wishes,  do  discandy,  melt  their  sweets 
On  blossoming  Ca'sar;  aiid  tJiis  pine  is  bark'd, 
That  over-tojip'd  them  all.    Betray'd  I  am: 
O  tliis  fiilse  soul  of  Egypt !  this  grave  ciiarm. 
Whose  eye  beck'd  Ibrtli  my  wars,  and  call'd  them 

home; 
Whose  bosom  was  my  crownet,^  my  chief  end. 
Like  a  right  gipsy,  hath,  at  fast  and  loose,^ 
Beguil'd  me  to  the  very  lieart  of  loss. — 
What,  Eros,  Eros ! 

Enter  Cleopatra. 

Ah!  thou  spell!  Avaunt ! 
Cleo.  Why  is  my  lord  enraged  against  liis  love] 
Ant.  Vanish  :  or  I  shall  give  thee  thy  deserving, 
And  blemish  Caesar's  triumph.   Let  him  take  tiice 
Ami  hoist  thee  up  to  the  shouting  plebeians  ; 
Follow  his  chariot,  like  the  greatest  spot 
()f  all  thy  sex  ;  most  monster-like,  be  shown 
For  poor'st  diminutives,^  to  dolts;  and  let 
Patient  Octavia  plough  thy  visage  up 
With  her  iirepared  nails.    [ExU  Cleo.]    'Tis  well 

thou'rt  gone, 
If  it  be  well  to  live:  But  better  'twere 
Thou  fell'st  into  my  fury,  for  one  death 
Might  have  prevented  many. — Eros,  ho  ! — 

•  Itfatbfd.  »  Without. 

•  CU'Opatra  first  bel'-D^ed  to  .T alius  Caisar,  theu  to  An- 
tony, and  now,  as  Autouy  supposes,  to  Augustus. 

•  Finish. 

I  A  cheating  game,  at  present  named  priding  at  tlie  belt. 

•  For  the  smallest  piece  of  money. 


608 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


Act  IV. 


The  shirt  of  IVessus  is  upon  me:  Teach  me, 
Alcides,  tliou  mine  ancestor,  thy  rage: 
Let  nie  lodge  Lichas^  on  the  horns  o'  the  moon; 
And  with  tiTose  hands  that  grasp'd  the  heaviest  club, 
Sul)due  my  worthiest  self.    The  witch  sliall  die; 
To  tile  Roman  boy  slic  hath  sold  me,  and  I  fall 
Under  this  plot:  She  dies  Ibr't. — Eros,  ho  !     [Exit. 

SCENE  XI. — Alexandria.     A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Cleopatra,  Charmian,  Iras,  and  Mahdia.n. 

Cteo.  Help  me,  my  women!  0,  he  is  more  mad 
Than  TclamonS  for  his  shield;  the  boarof  Thessaly 
Was  never  so  emboss'd.'' 

C/iur.  To  the  monument; 

There  lock  yourself,  and  send  him  word  you  are 

dead. 
The  soul  and  hody  rive  not  more  in  parting, 
Than  greatness  going  otll 

CVco.  To  the  monument: — 

Mardian,  go  tell  him  I  have  slain  myself; 
Say,  tliat  the  last  I  sjjoke  was,  Antony, 
AntI  word  it,  pr^ythee,  piteously;  Hence, 
Mardian;  and  bring  me  how  he  takes  my  death. — 
To  tlie  monument.  [Exeu?it. 

SCENE  XU.—Anot/ier  Room. 
Enter  Antony  and  Ekos. 

Ant.  Eros,  thou  yet  behold'st  mel 

Eros.  Ay,  noble  lord. 

Ant.  Sometime  we  see  a  cloud  (hat's  dragonish; 
A  vajior.  sometime,  like  a  bear,  or  lion, 
A  tower'd  citadel,  a  pendant  rock, 
A  Ibrked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory 
With  trees  upon't,  tliat  nod  unto  the  world, 
And  mock  our  eyes  with  air :  Thou  hast  seen  these 

signs; 
They  are  black  vesper's  pageants. 

Eros.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ant.  That  which  is  now  a  horse,  even  with  a 
Iliought. 
Tlic  rack-  dislinms;  and  makes  it  indistinct. 
As  water  is  in  water. 

Eros.  It  does,  my  lord. 

Ant.  My  good  knave,  Eros,  now  thy  captain  is 
Even  sucli  a  body :  here  I  am  Antony  ; 
Yet  cannot  liold  this  visil)le  shape,  my  knave. 
I  made  tliese  wars  for  Egypt;  and  the  queen, — 
Whose  heart,  I  thought.  1  had,  for  she  had  mine  ; 
Which,  whilst  it  was  mine,  liad  annex'd  unto't 
A  million  more,  now  lost, — she,  Ero.s,  has 
Pack'd  cards  with  Ca-sar,  and  I'alse  play'd  my  glory 
Unto  an  enemy's  triumph. — 
Niiy,  weep  not,  gentle  Eros  ;  there  is  left  us 
Ourselves  to  end  ourselves. — 0,  thy  vile  lady  ! 

Enter  Mardian. 
She  has  robbed  me  of  my  sword. 

il/'"'.  No,  Antony : 

My  mistress  lov'd  thee,  and  her  fortunes  mingled 
Witli  thuic  entirely. 

Ant.  Hence,  saucy  eunuch ;  peace : 

She  hath  betray'd  me.  and  shall  die  the  death. 

Mar.  Death  of  one  person  can  be  paid  but  once; 
And  Ihat  she  hasdiscliarged :  What  thou  vvouldst  do. 
Is  done  imto  Ihy  hand:  the  last  she  spake 
Was.  Antony!  most  noble  Antony! 
Then  in  the  midst  a  tearing  groan  did  break 
The  name  of  Antony  :  it  was  divided 
Between  her  heart  and  lips:  she  render'd  life, 
Tliv  name  so  buried  in  her. 

Ant.  Dead-then? 

^I'lr.  Dead. 

Ant.  Eros,  unarm;  the  long  day's  task  is  done. 
And  we  must  sleep:— That  thou  dcpart'st  hence 

saltj. 
Docs  pay  thy  labor  richly:  Go.— Off,  pluck  oil;— 

[Ex-it  Makdian. 
The  seven-fold  shield  of  Ajax  cannot  keep 
The  liatlery  from  my  heart.    0,  cleave,  my  sides! 
Heart,  once  be  stronger  Ihan  tliy  continent,' 
Crack  tliy  frail  case!— Apace,  Eros,  apace.— 
No  more  a  soldier  :— liruiscd  pieces,  go; 
You  ha\e  been  nobly  borne.— From  me  a  while. 
,     .,.    ,       ,      ,  [ExUKaos. 

I  wdl  0  ertake  thee,  Cleopatra, and 

•  Th-  boy  tb.nt  brouflit  the  ptiisom-il  shirt  to  Hercules. 

•  -Viax  Tcl.imon  for  Ihi-  sliiild  of  Ailiilles. 

••  Fo.iniin;;  at  the  inoiUli,  »  Tha  llcothig  clouas. 

»  i.  c.  The  thiug  that  cuutains  thee. 


Weep  for  my  pardon.    So  it  must  be,  for  now 
All  length  is  torture: — Since  the  torch  is  out. 
Lie  down,  and  stray  no  further :  Now  all  labor 
Mars  wdiat  it  does :  yea,  very  force  entangles 
Itself  with  strength:  Seal  then,  and  all  is" done. — 
Eros!  I  come,  my  queen: — Eros!  Stay  for  me: 
Where  souls  do  couch  on  flowers,  we'll  hand  in 

hand. 
And  with  our  sprightlyport  make  the  ghosts  gaze: 
Dido  and  her  ^'Eneas  shall  want  troops. 
And  all  the  hauiit  be  ours. — Come,  Eros,  Eros! 

Re-enter  Eros. 

Eros.  What  would  my  lord  1 

Ant.  Since  Cleopatra  died, 

I  have  liv'd  in  such  dishonor,  that  the  gods 
Detest  my  baseness.    I,  that  with  my  sword 
Quarter'a  the  world,  and  o'er  green  Neptune's  hacl" 
With  ships  made  cities,  condemn  myself,  to  lack 
The  courage  of  a  woman;  less  noble  mind 
Than  she,  whicli,  by  her  death,  our  Ca!sar  tells, 
I  am  conqueror  of  nnjself.  Tliou  art  sworn,  Eros, 
That,  when  the  exigent  should  come,  (which  now 
Is  come,  indeed,)  when  I  should  see  behind  me 
The  inevitable  prosecution  of 
Disgrace  and  horror,  that,  on  my  command. 
Thou  then  wouldst  kill  me:    do"t;  the   time  is 

come: 
Thou  strik'st  not  me,  'tis  Ca;sar  thou  defeat'st. 
Put  color  in  tliy  cheek. 

Eros.  The  gods  withhold  me ! 

Shall  I  do  that,  which  all  the  Partliian  darts, 
Though  enemy,  lost  aim,  and  could  not  ] 

Ant.  Eros, 

Wouldst  thou  be  window'd  in  great  Rome,  and  see 
Thy  master  thus  with  picach'd' arms,  bending  down 
His  corrigible  neck, his  liice  subdued 
To  penetrative  shame ;  whilst  the  wheel'd  seat 
Of  Ibrtunatc  Cffsar,  drawn  before  him,  branded 
His  baseness  that  ensued  1 

Eros.  I  would  not  see't. 

Ant.  Come  then ;  for  with  a  wound  I  must  be 
cured. 
Draw  that  thy  honest  sword,  which  tliou  hast  worn 
I\Iost  useful  lor  tliy  country. 

Eros.  0,  sir,  pardon  me. 

Ant.  When  I  did  make  thee  free,  swor'st  thou 
not  then 
To  do  this  wiien  I  bade  thee?    Do  it  at  once; 
Or  thy  precedent  services  arc  all 
But  accidents  unpurpos'd.    Draw,  and  come. 

Eros.  Turn  from  me  then  that  noble  countenance, 
Wherein  the  worship-  of  the  whole  wi)rld  lies. 

Ant.  Lo  thee  !  [Turning from  him. 

Eros.  My  sword  is  drawn. 

Ant.  Then  let  it  do  at  once 

The  thing  why  thou  hast  drawn  it. 

Eros.  My  dear  master. 

My  captain,  and  my  emperor  !  let  me  say, 
Beliire  1  strike  this  bloody  stroke.  Farewell. 

Ant.  'Tis  said,  man  ; — and  tarewell. 

Eros.  Farewell,  great  chief.  Shall  I  strike  now  ? 

Ant.  Now,  Eros. 

Eros.  Why,  there  then :—  [Falls  on  his  sword. 
Thus  do  I  escape  the  sorrow 
Of  Antony's  death.  [Dies. 

Ant.  Thrice  nobler  than  mjself! 

Thou  teachest  me,  0  valiant  Eros,  what 
I  should,  and  thou  couldst  not.     My  queen  and 

Eros 
Have,  liy  (heir  brave  instruction,  got  upon  me 
A  nobleness  in  recorit :  lUit  I  wilfbo 
A  bridegroom  in  my  death,  and  run  into't 
As  to  a  lover's  bed.    Come  then ;  and,  Eros, 
Thy  master  dies  thy  scholar;  to  do  thus 

[Falling  on  hi.'i  stvord. 
I  learn 'd  of  thee.  How  !  not  yet  dtad  !  nut  dead  1 — 
Tlie  guard  !— lio  ! — O,  despatch  me. 

Enter  Dercetas  and  Guard. 

1  Guard.  What's  the  noise  ? 
Ant.  I  have  done  my  work  ill,  li-iends :   O,  make 

an  end 
Of  what  1  have  begun. 

2  Cuard.  The  star  is  fallen. 
1  Cuard.  And  tfrne  is  at  his  period. 

All.  Alas,  and  woe ! 

Ant.  Let  him  that  loves  me  strike  me  dead. 
I  Guard.  Not  I. 

>  Folded.  •  Dignity. 


Scene  XIII. 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


609 


2  Guard.  Nor  I.  ,  .•         j 

3  Guard.  Nor  any  one.  [Exeunt  Guard. 
Der.  Thy  death  'and  fortunes  bid  tliy  Ibllowers 

fly. 
Tliis  sword  but  shown  to  Cresar,  with  this  tidings, 
Shall  enter  me  with  him. 

Enter  DioMEDES. 

Di.o.  Where's  Antony  1 
Der.  There,  Diomed,  there. 

Bin.  Lives  he "! 

Wilt  thou  not  answer,  man?  [Exit  Dehcetas. 

Ant.  Art  thou  there,  Diomed?    Draw  thy  sword, 
and  give  me 
SulTicient  strokes  for  death. 

Bio.  Most  absolute  lord, 

My  mistress  Cleopatra  sent  me  to  thee. 
Ant.  When  did  she  send  thee  1 
Dio.  Ndw,  my  lord. 

Ajyt.  Where  is  she  \ 

Dio.  Lock'd  in  her  monument.    She  had  a  pro- 
phesyinj;  fear 
Of  what  liath  eome  to  pass :  for  when  she  saw 
(Which  never  sliall  he  found)  you  did  suspect 
She  had  dispos'd  wilh  Ca>sar,  and  that  your  rase 
Would  not  be  purjj'd,  she  sent  you  word  she  was 

dead ; 
But,  fearins  since  how  it  might  work,  hath  sent 
Me  to  proclaim  the  truth  ;  and  I  am  come, 
I  dread,  too  late. 
Ayit.  Ton  late,  good  Diomed :— Call  my  guard,  I 

pr'ythee. 
Dii).  What    ho!    the    emperor's    guard!      The 
guard,  what  ho  ! 
Come,  your  lord  calls. 

Enter  some  of  the  Guard. 
Ant.  Bear  me,  good   friends,  where  Cleopatra 
Itides : 
'Tis  the  last  service  that  I  shall  command  you. 
1  Guard.  Woe  are  we,  sir,  you  may  not  live  to 
wear 
All  your  true  followers  out. 
All.  Most  heavy  day ! 

Ant.  Nay,  good  my  fellows,  do  not  please  sharp 
fate 
To  grace  it  with  your  sorrows:  bid  that  welcome 
Which  comes  to  punish  us,  and  we  punish  it. 
Seeming  to  bear  it  lightly.    Take  me  up: 
1  have  led  you  ott ;  carry  me  now,  good  friends, 
And  have  my  thanks  for  all. 

{Exeunt,  bearing  An'tony. 

SCENE  XIII.— .4  Monument. 

Enter  above,  Cleopatra,  Ciiarmian,  a7id  Iras. 

Cleo.  O  Charmian,  I  will  never  go  from  hence. 

V/iar.  Be  comforted,  dear  madam. 

Cleo.  No,  I  will  not : 

All  strange  and  terrible  events  are  welcome, 
But  comtbrt~s  we  despise  ;  our  size  of  sorrow, 
Proportion'd  to  our  cause,  must  be  as  great 

Enter  Diosiedes. 
As  that  which  makes  it. — How  now  ^    Is  he  dead'! 

Dio.  His  death's  ujion  him,  but  not  dead. 
Look  out  o'  the  other  side  your  monument, 
His  guard  h.ave  brought  him  thither. 

Enter  Antony,  borne  by  tlie  Guard. 

Clen.  O  thou  sun, 

B  jrn  the  great  sphere  thou  mov'st  in ! — darkling 

stand 
The  varying  shore  o'  the  world  ! — O  Antony ! 
Antony,  Antony! — Charmian,  help;  help,  tras; 
ilelp,  friends  below:  Let's  draw  him  hither. 

int.  Peace: 

Not  Cfesar  s  valor  hath  o'erthrown  Antony, 
But  Antony's  hath  triuinph'd  on  itself 

C7fo.  So  it  sliould  be,  that  none  but  Antony 
Sliouiti  conquer  Antony  ;  but  woe  'tis  so  ! 

Ant.  I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying;  only 
I  here  importune  death  awhile,  until 
Of  many  thousand  kisses  the  poor  last 
I  lav  upon  thy  lips.— 

Cleo.  I  dare  not.  dear, 

(Dear  my  lord,  pardon,)  I  dare.not. 
Lest  I  be  taken  :  not  the  imperious  show 
Of  the  full-fortuned  Ca?sar  ever  shall 
30 


Be  brooch'd'  with  me;  if  knife,  drugs,  serpents, 

have 
Edge,  sting,  or  operation,  I  am  safe  : 
Yo'ir  wife  Octavia,  with  her  modest  eyes. 
And  still  conclusion,^  shall  acquire  no  honor 
Demuring  upon  ine. — But  come,  come,  Antony, — 
Help  me,  my  women, — we  must  draw  thee  up; — 
Assist,  good  friends. 
Ant.  0.  quick,  or  I  am  gone. 

Cleo.  Here  s  sport  indeed !— How  heavy  weighs 
my  lord  ! 
Our  streuiith  is  all  gone  into  heaviness, 
Tliat  makes  the  weight:  Had  I  great  Juno's  power, 
The  stroiig-wing'd  Mercury  should  letch  thee  up. 
And  set  thee  by  Jove's  side.  Yet  come  a  little, — 
Wishers  were  ever  fools;— O,  come,  come,  come ; 

{Theij  draw  Anto:;y  up. 
And  welcome, welcome  !  d;e, where  thou  hast  liv'd: 
Quicken'  wilh  kissing  ;  had  my  lips  that  powtT, 
Thus  would  I  wear  them  out. 
All.  A  hea^T  sight! 

Ant.  I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying : 
Give  me  some  wine,  and  let  me  speak  a  little. 

Clen.  No.  let  me  speak ;  and  let  me  rail  so  high. 
That  the  filsc  housewife  Fortune  break  her  wheel, 
Pro\'oked  by  my  oll'eiice. 

Ant.  One  word,  sweet  queen  : 

Of  C.Tsar,  seek  your  honor,  with  your  safety.— O  ! 
Clen.  They  do  not  go  together. 
Ant.  Gentle,  hear  me ; 

None  about  Ca-isar  trust,  but  Proculeius. 

Cleo.  My  resolution,  and  my  hands,  I'll  trust: 
None  about  Ca>sar. 

Ant.  The  miserable  change  now  at  my  end. 
Lament  nor  sorrow  at:  but  please  your  thoughts, 
In  feeding  them  with  those  my  Ibrmer  fortunes 
Wherein  I  liv'd,  the  greatest  prince  o'  the  world, 
The  noblest :  and  do  now  not  basely  die, 
Nor  cowardly;  put  oil' my  helmet  to 
My  countryman,  a  Roman,  by  a  Rom.an 
Valiantly  vanquish'd.    Now,  my  sjiirit  is  going; 
I  can  no  more.  \_Bies 

Cleo.  Noblest  of  men,  woo't  die  \ 

Hast  liiou  no  care  of  me  !     Shall  I  abide 
In  this  dull  worlil,  wliioli  in  thy  absence  is 
No  better  than  a  stye  ? — O,  see,  my  women. 
The  crown  o'  the  earth  doth  melt : — I\Iy  lord  ! — 
O,  wither'd  is  the  garland  of  the  war, 
The  soldier's  pole  is  fallen  ;  young  boys,  and  girls, 
Arc  level  now  with  men ;  the  odds  is  gone, 
And  there  is  nothing  left  remarkable 
Beneath  the  visiting  moon.  [Site  faints. 

Char.  O  quietness,  lady  ! 

Iras.  She  is  dead  too,  our  sovereign. 
Char.  Lady,—   • 

Ira.'!.  Madam, — 

Char.  0  madam,  madam,  madam  ! 
Iras.  Royal  Egypt! 

Empress  ! 
C/iur.        Peace,  peace.  Iras. 
Cko.  No   more,  but  e'en  a  woman;  and  com- 
mandtHl 
By  such  poor  passion  as  the  maid  tliat  milks. 
And  does  the  meanest  chares.'' — It  were  for  me 
To  throw  my  scei>tre  at  the  injurious  gods; 
To  tell  them  that  this  world  did  equal  theirs. 
Till  they  had  stolen  our  jewel.    All's  but  naught ; 
Patience  is  sottish;  and  impatience  does 
Become  a  dog  that's  mad:  Then  is  it  sin, 
To  rush  into  the  secret  house  of  death. 
Ere  deatii  dare  come  to  us  ? — How  do  you,  women  ? 
What,  what]  goodclieer!    Why,  how  now,  Char- 
mian ! 
My  noble  girls ! — Ah,  women,  women,  look  ! 
Our    lamp    is  spent,    it's  out: — Good    sirs,    take 
heart: —  [To  tlie  Guard,  below. 

We'll  bury  him:  and   then  what's  brave,  what's 

noble. 
Let's  do  it  afier  the  high  Roman  feshion. 
And  make  death  jiroud  to  take  us.    Come  away : 
This  case  of  that  luige  spirit  now  is  cold. 
Ah,  women,  women  !  come  ;  wo  have  no  friend 
But  resolution,  and  the  briefi?st  end. 

[Exeunt;  those  above  bearing  ojf 
Antony's  Body. 


8  Ornamented. 
»  Revive. 


*  Sedate  determination. 
6  T.isk-work. 


610 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


Act  V. 


ACT    V. 


SCENE  I.— Csesar's  Camp  before  Alexandria. 

Enter  C/Esab,  Aorippa,    Dolabella,   Mecbnas, 
Gallus,  Pruclleus,  and  others. 

Caes.  Go  to  him,  Dolabella.  bid  him  yield  ; 
Being  so  frustrate,  tell  him,  ho  moclis  us  by 
The  pauses  that  he  makes. 

Dol.  Ciesar,  1  shall.    {ExU  Dolabella. 

Enter  Dercetas,  mitli  the  Sword  of  Astont. 
Cses.  Wherefore  is  that !  and  what  art  thou,  that 
dar'st 
Appear  thus  to  us? 

Der.  lam  call'd  Dercetas  ; 

Murk  Antony  I  serv'd,  who  best  was  worthy 
Best  to  be  serv'd  :  whilst  lie  stood  up  and  spoke, 
He  was  my  master  ;  and  I  wore  my  life. 
To  spend  upon  his  haters  :  If  thou  please 
To  take  inc  to  thee,  as  I  was  to  hint 
I'il  be  to  Ciesar;  if  thou  pleasest  not, 
I  yield  thee  up  my  life. 

Cicn.  What  is't  thou  say'stl 

Her.  I  say,  0  Csesar,  Antony  is  dead. 

Cff.s.The  breaking  of  so  greatathini;  should  make 
A  greater  crack :  The  round  world  shouldhave  shook 
Lions  into  civil  streets. 

And  citizens  to  tlieir  dens.— The  death  of  Antony 
Is  not  a  single  doom  ;  in  the  name  lay 
A  moiety  of  the  world. 

Oer.  He  is  dead,  Ca;sar ; 

Xot  by  a  public  minister  of  justice. 
Nor  by  a  hired  knife;  but  that  self  hand, 
Which  writ  his  honor  in  the  acts  it  did, 
Haih,  with  the  courage  which  the  heart  did  lend  it, 
Sjilitted  the  heart. — Tliis  is  his  sword; 
I  robb'd  his  wound  of  it;  behold  it  slain'd 
With  his  most  noble  blood. 

r'a'.'.  Look  you  sad,  friends  1 

The  gods  rebuke  me,  but  it  is  a  tidings 
To  wash  the  eyes  of  kings. 

-■Ip'".  And  strange  it  is. 

That  nature  must  compel  us  to  lament 
Our  most  persisted  deeds. 

Mee.  His  taints  and  honors 

Waged  equal  with  him. 

Agr.  A  rarer  spirit  never 

Pid  steer  humanity:  but  you,  gods,  will  give  us 
Some  faults  to  make  us  men.    Ciesar  is  touch'd. 

n/ec.   When  such  a  spacious  mirror's  set  before 
him, 
}Ie  needs 'must  see  himself. 

Cies.  O  Antony  ! 

I  have  follow'd  thee  to  this:— But  we  do  lance 
Diseases  in  our  bodies  :  I  must  perforce 
Have  shown  to  thee  such  a  declining  day. 
Or  look  on  tliine  ;  we  could  nut  stall  together 
■    In  the  whole  world  :  but  yet  le',  me  lament, 
AVith  tears  as  sovereign  as  the  blood  of  hearts, 
That  thou,  iny  brother,  my  competitor 
In  top  of  all  design,  my  mate  in  empire. 
Friend  and  companion  in  the  front  of  war. 
The  arm  of  mine  own  body,  and  the  heart 
"\Vherc  mine  his'  thoughts  did  kindle,— that  our 

stars, 
Unreconciliable,  should  divide 
Our  equalness  to  this. — Ile:ir  me,  good  friends, — 
But  1  will  tell  yoivat  some  meeter  season  ; 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
The  business  of  this  man  looks  out  of  him, 
We'll  hear  him  what  he  says. — Whence  are  you  ! 

Mess.  A  poor  Egyptian  yet.    The  queen  my 
mistress, 
Confin'd  in  all  she  has.  her  monument, 
Of  thy  intents  desires  instruction  : 
Tliatslie  preparedly  may  Irame  herself 
To  the  way  she's  loiced  to. 

Ca:.t.  Bid  her  have  good  heart; 

She  soon  shall  know  of  us.  by  some  of  ours. 
How  honorable  and  how  kindly  we 
Determine  lor  her :  lor  Cajsar  cannot  live 
To  be  ungentle.  i 

Mess.  So  the  gods  prcser-e  thee  !  [Exit. 

1  Its.  I 


Cass.  Come  hither,  Proculeius  :  Go,  and  say. 
We  purpose  her  no  shame:  give  her  what  comforts 
The  quality  of  her  passion  shall  require  ; 
Lest,  in  her  greatness,  by  some  mortal  stroke 
She  do  delcat  us:  for  her  life  in  Rome 
Would  be  eternal  in  our  triumph  :  Go, 
And,  with  your  speediest,  bring  us  vvhE  t  she  says, 
And  how  you  find  of  her. 

I'ro.  Ca<sar.  I  shall.  [Exit  PnocrLEius. 

Cws.  Gallus,  go  you  along.— Where's  Dolabella, 
To  second  Proculeius  !  [Exit  Galh;s. 

Agr.  Mec.  Dolabella  ! 

Cws.  Let  him  alone,  for  I  remember  now 
How  he's  employed ;  he  shall  in  time  be  ready. 
Go  with  me  to  my  lent ;  where  you  shall  see 
How  hardly  I  was  drawn  into  this  war; 
How  calm  and  gentle  I  proceeded  still 
In  all  my  writings:  Go  with  me  and  see 
What  I  can  show  in  this.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  II.— Alexandria.    A  Roam  in  the 
Muniinient. 

Enter  Cleopatka,  CHArMiAN,  and  Iras. 

Cleo.  My  desolation  does  begin  to  make 
A  better  life :  'Tis  paltry  to  be  Cssar  ; 
Not  being  fortune,  he's  but  fortune's  knave,* 
A  minister  of  her  will ;  And  it  is  great 
To  do  that  thing  that  ends  all  other  deeds; 
Which  shackles  accidents,  and  bolts  up  change; 
Which  sleeps,  and  never  palates  more  the  dung. 
The  beggar's  nurse  and  C:psar's. 
Enter,  to  the  Gates  of  the  Monument,  Procu- 
leius, GALLts,  and  Soldiers. 

Pro.  Ca?sar  sends  greeting  to  the  queen  of  Egypt ; 
And  bids  thee  study  on  what  fair  demands 
Thou  mean'st  to  have  hiin  grant  thee. 

Cleo.  [  Within.]  What's  thy  name  ' 

Pro.  My  name  is  Proculeius. 

Cleo.  [Within.]  Antony 

Did  tell  me  of  you,  bade  me  trust  j  ou  ;  but 
I  do  not  greatly  care  to  be  deceiv'd, 
That  have  no  use  for  trusting.    If  your  master 
Would  have  a  queen  his  beggar,  you  must  tell  him, 
That  majesty,  to  keep  decorum,  must 
No  less  beg  than  a  kingdom  :  if  he  please 
To  give  me  conquer'd  Egypt  for  my  son. 
He  gives  mc  so  much  of  mine  own,  as  I 
Will  kneel  to  hiin  with  thanks. 

Pro.  Be  of  good  cheer , 

You  are  fallen  into  a  princely  hand,  fear  nothing: 
Make  your  liiU  relerence  treely  to  my  lord, 
Who  is  so  full  of  grace,  that  it  flows  over 
On  all  that  need  :  Let  me  report  to  him 
Your  sweet  dependency  ;  and  you  shall  find 
A  conqueror,  tliat  will  pray  in  aid  lor  kindness. 
Where  he  Ibr  grace  is  kiieel'd  to. 

Cleo.  [Within.]  Pray  you,  tell  him 

I  am  his  fortune's  vassal,  and  I  send  him 
The  greatnes.s  he  has  got.    I  hourly  learn 
A  doctrine  of  obedience;  and  would  gladly 
Look  him  i'  the  face. 

Pro.  This  I'll  report,  dear  lady. 

Have  comfort ;  for  1  know,  your  plight  is  pitied 
Of  hiin  that  caus'd  it. 

Gat.  You  see  how  easily  she  may  be  surpris'n  ; 
[Here  Procvlehs,  and  two  if  the  Guard, 
ascend  the  Monument  by  a  Ladder  ]datcd 
against  a  Window,  anit'having  de.vcndeil, 
eome  behind  CLEOPATn.\.  Some  tf  the  Guard 
vnbar  and  open  the  Gates. 
Guard  her  till  Csesar  come. 

[To  Proculeii's  and  the  Guard.    Exit 

GALLUa. 

Iras.  Royal  queen  ! 

Char.  ()  Cleopatra  !  thou  art  taken,  queen  I — 

V  .eo.  Quick,  quick,  good  hands. 

[Drawing  a  Dagger. 
Pro.  Hold,  worthy  lady,  hold  : 

[Seizes  and  disarms  her. 
Do  not  yourself  such  wrong,  wlio  are  in  this 
Rehev'd,  but  not  betray'd. 

•  Servant. 


Scene  II. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 


611 


Cleo.  What,  of  death  loo, 

That  rids  our  dogs  of  languish  1 

Pro.  Cleopatra, 

Do  not  abuse  my  master's  bounty,  by 
The  undoing  of  yourself:  let  Ifie  world  see 
His  nobleness  well  acted,  wliich  your  death 
Will  never  let  come  forth. 

Cleo-  W^herc  art  thou,  death  1 

Come  hither,  come  !  come,  come,  and  take  a  queen 
Worth  many  babes  and  beggars  ! 

Pro.  O  temperance,  lady  ! 

Cleo.  Sir,  I  will  eat  no  meat,  I'll  not  drink,  sir; 
If  idle  talk  will  once  be  necessary, 
I'll  not  sleep  neither:  This  mortal  house  I'll  ruin, 
DoCsEsar  what  he  can.    Know,  sir,  that  I 
Will  not  wait  pinion'd  at  your  master's  court; 
Nor  once  be  chastis'd  with  the  sober  eye 
Of  dull  Octavia.    Shall  they  hoist  me  up. 
And  show  me  to  the  shouting  varletry^ 
Of  censuring  Rome  \  Rather  a  ditch  in  Egypt 
Be  gentle  grave  to  me  !  rather  on  Nilus'  mud 
Lay  me  stark  naked,  and  let  the  water-flies 
Blow  me  into  abhorring!  rather  make 
My  country's  high  pyramides  my  gibbet, 
A.nd  hang  me  up  in  chains  ! 

Pro.  You  do  extend 

These  thoughts  of  horror  further  than  >ou  shall 
Find  cause  ni  Ca;sar. 

Elder  Dolabella. 

Dol.  Proculeius, 

What  thou  hast  done  thy  master  Cresar  knows, 
And  he  hath  sent  for  tliee:  as  lor  the  queen, 
I'll  take  her  to  my  guard. 

Pro.  So,  Dolabella, 

It  shall  content  me  best :  be  gentle  to  her. — 
To  CsBsar  I  will  speak  what  you  shall  please, 

[To  Cleopatra. 
If  you'll  employ  me  to  him. 

Cleo.  Say,  I  would  die. 

\Exeiint  Proculeius  and  Soldiers. 

Dol.  Most  noble  empress,  you  have  heard  of  me  \ 

Cleo.  I  cannot  tell. 

Dol.  Assuredly,  you  know  me. 

Cleo.  No  matfer,  sir,  what  I  have  heard  or  known. 
You  laugh,  when  boys,  or  women,  tell  their  dreams, 
Is't  not  your  trick  ! 

BoL  I  understand  not,  madam. 

Cleo.   I    dream'd,  there  was  an  emperor    An- 
tony ; — 
O,  such  anuiher  sleep,  that  I  might  see 
But  such  another  man  ! 

Dot.  If  it  might  please  you, — 

Cleo.  His  face  was  as  the  heavens;  and  therein 
stuck 
A  sun,  and  moon ;  which  kept  their  course,  and 

lighted 
The  little  O,  the  earth. 

Vol.  Most  sovereign  creature, — 

Cko.  His  legs  bestrid  the  ocean:  his  rearM  arm 
Crested  the  world  :  his  voice  was  propertied 
As  all  the  tuned  spheres,  and  that  to  Iriends; 
But  when  he  meant  to'quail'  and  shake  t!ie  orb. 
He  was  as  rattling  thunder.    For  his  bounty, 
There  was  no  winter  in't;  an  autumn  'twas, 
That  grew  the  more  by  reaping :  His  delights 
Were  dolphin-like  ;  they  sJiow'd  his  back  above 
The  element  they  liv'd  in  :  In  his  livery 
Walk'd  crowns,  and  crow  nets;  realms  and  islands 

were 
As  plates-  dropp'd  from  his  pocket. 

Dol.  Cleopatra,— 

CUo.  Think  you,  there  was,  or  might  be,  such 
a  man 
As  this  I  dream'd  of? 

Dol.  Gentle  madam,  no. 

Cleo.  You  lie,  up  to  the  hearing  of  the  gods. 
But,  if  there  be,  or  ever  were  one  such, 
It's  past  tJie  size  of  dreaming:  Nature  wants  stuff 
To  vie  strange  forms  with  fancy  ;  yet,  to  imagine 
An  Antony,  were  nature*s  piece  *gainst  fancy 
Condemning  shadows  quite. 

Dol.  Hear  me,  good  macr^^Ti : 

Your  loss  is  as  yourself,  great :  and  you  bear  if 
As  answering  to  the  weight :  Would  I  might  never 
O'ertake  pursued  success,  but  I  do  feel. 
By  the  rebound  of  yours,  a  giicf  that  shoots 
My  very  heart  at  root. 


•  Kabble. 


'  Crush. 


5  Silver  money. 


Cleo.,  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Know  you,  what  Caesar  means  to  do  with  me  \ 

Dot.  1  am  loalli  to  tellyou  what  I  would  you  knew. 

Cleo.  Nay,  pray  you,  sir, — 

Dol.  Though  he  be  honorable, — 

Clto.  He'll  lead  me  then  in  triumph  \ 

Dol.  Madam,  he  will ; 

I  know  it. 

\^lVithi7^.]  Make  way  there, — Csesar 

Enter   C,*:sar,  Gallus,  Proculeius,  Mec.enas, 
Seleucus,  G«(/  Attendants. 

Cses.  Which  is  the  queen 

Of  Kgypt "! 

Dol.  *Tis  the  emperor,  madam. 

[Cleoi'Atra  kneels. 

Cws.  Aris^, 

You  shall  not  kneel : — 
I  pray  you,  rise  ;  rise,  Egypt. 

Cleo.  Sir,  the  gods 

Will  have  it  thus  ;  my  master  and  my  lord 
I  must  obey. 

Cies.  Take  to  you  no  hard  thoughts  : 

The  record  of  what  injuries  you  did  us. 
Though  written  in  our  flesJi,  we  shall  remember 
As  tilings  but  done  by  chance. 

Cleo.  Sole  sir  o'  the  world, 

I  cannot  project^  mine  own  cause  so  well 
To  make  it  clear;  but  do  confess,  I  have 
Been  laden  with  like  frailties,  which  before 
Have  often  shamed  our  sex. 

Cacs.  Cleopatra,  know, 

We  will  extenuate  rather  than  enfurce  : 
If  you  ajiply  yourself  to  our  intents, 
(Which  towards  you  are  most  gentle,)  you  shall  find 
A  beneht  in  this  change;  but  if  you  sct-k 
To  lay  on  me  a  cruelty,  by  taking 
Antony's  course,  you  thall  bereave  yourself 
Of  my  good  purposes,  and  put  your  children 
To  that  destruction  which  I'll  guard  tbcm  from, 
If  thereon  you  rely.    I'll  take  my  leave. 

Cleo.  And  may,  through  all  the  world:  'tis  yours: 
and  we 
Your  'scutcheons,  and  your  signs  of  conquest,  shall 
Hang  in  w  hat  place  you  please.    Here,  my  good 
lord. 

Cip^.  You  shall  advise  me  in  all  for  Cleopatra. 

CUo.  This  isthe  brief  of  money, pinte, and  jewels, 
I  am  possess'd  of:  'lis  exactly  valued  : 
No  petty  things  admitted. — VVhere's  SeleucusT 

iirL  Here,  madam. 

Cleo,  This  is  my  treasurer;  let  him  speak, my  lord, 
Upon  his  peril,  that  1  have  reserv'd 
Ti>  myself  nothing.    Speak  the  truth,  Seleucus. 

SeL  Madam, 
I  had  rather  seeH  my  lips,  than,  to  my  peril. 
Speak  that  wliich  is  not. 

Cleo.  What  have  1  kept  back  ] . 

Sel.  Enough  to  purchase  what  you  have  made 
known. 

Cics.  Nay,  blush  not,  Cleopatra  ;  I  approve 
Your  wisdom  in  the  deed. 

Cleo.  See,  Cfcsar!  0,  behold, 

Hmv  pomp  is  followed !  mine  will  now  be  yours; 
And,  should  we  shift  estates,  yours  would  be  mine. 
The  ingratitude  of  this  Seleucus  does 
Even  make  me  wild  : — O  slave,  of  no  more  trust 
Than  ioxc  that's  hired! — What,  goest  thou  back'! 

thou  shalt 
Go  back,  1  warrant  thee;  but  Til  catch  thine  eyes. 
Though  they  had  wings:  Slave, soulless  villain,dog! 
O  rarely  base  ! 

Cn's.  Good  queen,  let  us  entreat  you. 

Cleo.  O  Ca-sar,  what  a  wounding  shame  is  this  ; 
That  Ihou,  vouchsafing  here  to  visit  me, 
Doing  the  honor  of  thy  lordliness 
To  one  so  meek,  that  mine  own  servant  should 
Parcel^  the  sum  of  my  disgraces  by 
Addition  of  his  envy  !  Say,  good  Ca^-sar, 
That  I  some  lady  trifles  have  reserv'd, 
Immoment  toys,  things  of  such  dignity 
As  we  greet  moderns  friends  withal :  and  say,. 
Some  nobler  token  I  have  kept  apart 
For  Livia.'  aiul  Octavia,  to  induce 
Ttieir  mediation  ;  must  I  be  uiiiokled 
With  one  that  1  have  bred!  The  gods!  It  smites  rae 
Beneath  the  fall  I  have.    Pr'ythee,  go  hence  ; 

[To  Seleucus. 

"  Phapp  or  foi-m.  «  Sew  up*.  '  Add  to. 

8  Commou.  t  Cwjs;u's  wife. 


612 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


Act  V. 


Or  I  shall  show  the  cinders  of  my  spirits 
Through  the  ashes  of  my  chance.— Wert  thou  a 

man, 
Thou  wouldst  have  mercy  on  me. 

Casi  Forhear,  Seleucus. 

[Exit  Seleucus. 
Clfo.  Be  it  known,   (hit  we,  the  greatest,  are 
misthou^ht 
For  things  that  others  d  ' ;  und,  when  we  fall, 
We  answer  others'  merits  in  our  u«!Ee, 
Arc  therefore  to  be  pitied. 

Ca-'.  Cleopatra, 

Not  whatyou  havereserv'd.norwliatacknowledg'd, 
Put  we  i'  the  roll  of  conquest :  still  be  it  yours, 
Hestow  it  at  your  pleasure  ;  and  believe, 
Ca;sar's  no  merchant,  to  make  prize  with  you 
Of  things  that  merchants  sold.  Therefore  be  cheer'd; 
Make  not  your  thoughts  your  prisons :  no,  dear 

queen ; 
For  we  intend  so  to  dispose  you,  as 
Yourself  shall  give  us  counsel.    Feed,  and  sleep: 
Our  care  and  pity  i.«  so  much  upon  you. 
That  we  remain  your  friend  ;  And  so,  adieu. 
Clco.  My  master,  and  my  lord  ! 
Ca:s.  Not  so :  Adieu. 

[Exeunt  Cesar  and  his  Train, 
deo.  He  words  me,  girls,  he  words  me,  that  I 
should  not 
Ke  noble  to  myself;  but  hark  Ihee,  Charmian. 

[  lVllU:pprS  ClIARMIAX. 

Irns.  Finish,  good  lady;  the  bright  day  is  done, 
And  we  are  for  the  dark. 

Cko.  Hie  thee  again : 

I  have  spoke  already,  and  it  is  provided ; 
C;o.  put  It  to  the  haste. 

Ctiur.  Madam,  I  will. 

Re-enter  Dolabella. 

Vol.  Where  is'the  queen? 

CItar.  Behold,  sir.  [Exit  Charmian. 

Cleo.  Dolabella ! 

Dot,  Madam,  as  thereto  sworn  by  your  command, 
Wiiich  my  love  makes  religion  to"  obey, 
1  tell  you  this :  Cfesar  through  Syria 
Intends  his  journey;  and,  within  three  days, 
'\'o;i  with  your  children  will  he  send  before  : 
Make  your  best  use  of  this:  I  have  pcrforni'd 
Your  pleasure  and  my  promise. 

Cleo.  Dolabella, 

I  shall  remain  your  debtor. 

Dot.  I  your  servant. 

Adieu,  good  queen;  I  must  attend  on  C»sar. 

Cleo.  Farewell,  and   thanks.   [Exit  DoL.]   Now, 
Jras,  what  think'st  thou  T 
Thou,  an  Egyptian  puppet,  shalt  be  shown 
In  Rome,  as  "well  as  I :  mechanic  slaves 
With  greasy  aprons,  rules,  and  hanuners,  shall 
Uplift  us  to  the  view;  in  their  thick  breaths, 
Rank  of  gross  diet,  shall  we  be  enclouded, 
And  forcM  to  drink  their  vapor. 

Iras.  The  gods  forbid  ! 

Cleo.  Nay,  'tis  most  certain,  Iras:  Saucy  lictors 
Will  catch  at  us,  like  strumpets:  and  scald  rhymers 
Ballad  us  out  o'  tune:  the  quick* comedians 
Kxtemporally  will  stage  us,  and  present 
Our  Alexandrian  revels;  Antony 
Shall  be  brought  drunken  forth,  and  I  shall  sec 
Some  squeaking  Cleopatra  boy'J  my  greatness 
I'  the  posture  of  a  whore. 

Jra.i.  0  the  good  gods  ! 

Cleo.  Nay,  that  is  certain. 

/n/.v\  ril  never  see  it ;  for,  I  am  sure,  my  nails 
Are  stronger  than  mine  eyes. 

Cleo.  Why.  that's  the  way 

To  fiiol  their  preparation,  and  to  conquer 
Their  most  absurd  intents. — Now,  Charmian  \^ 

Enter  Charmian. 
Show  me,  my  women,  like  a  queen  : — Go  fetch 
My  best  attires;— I  am  again  for  Cydnus, 
To  meet  Mark  Antony :— Sirrah,  Iras,  go. — 
Now,  noble  Charmian,  we'll  despatch  indeed: 
And.  when  thou  hast  done  this  chare,  I'll  give  thee 

leave 
To  play  till  doomsday.— Bring  our  crown  and  all. 
Wliereforc's  this  noise  ? 

[Exit  lRA9.    A  Noise  within. 
Enter  one  of  the  Guard. 

GuarcL  Here  is  a  rural  fellow, 

•  Lively.        •  Fem.lle  chnractcrs  were  played  by  boys. 


That  will  not  be  denied  your  highness'  presence ; 
He  brings  you  figs. 
Cleo,  Let  him  come  in.    How  poor  an  instrument 

[Exit  Guard. 
May  do  a  noble  deed  !  he  brings  me  liberty. 
I\Iy  resolution's  placed,  ard  I  have  nothing 
Of  woman  in  me  :  Now  from  head  to  loot 
I  am  marble-constant ;  now  the  fleeting  moon 
No  planet  is  of  mine. 

Re-enter  Guard,  vnlh  a  Clown  br-'m^ing  a  Basket. 

Guard.  This  is  the  man. 

Cleo.  Avoid,  and  leave  him.  [Exit  Guard. 

Hast  thou  the  pretty  worm  cf  NilUB  tliere. 
That  kills  and  pains  not  ] 

CUtii'n.  Truly  I  have  him :  but  I  would  not  be 
the  party  that  should  desire  you  to  touch  him,  for 
his  biting  is  immortal;  those,  that  do  die  of  it,  do 
seldom  or  never  recover. 

Cleo.  Remember'st  thou  any  that  have  died  on't  1 

Clown.  Very  many,  men  and  women  too.  I  heard 
of  one  of  them  no  longer  than  yesterday ;  a  very 
honest  woman,  but  something  given  to  lie;  i.s  a 
woman  should  not  do,  but  in  the  way  of  honesty: 
howshe  died  of  the  biting  of  it,  what  pains  she  felt,— 
Truly,  she  makes  a  very  good  report  o'  the  worm  : 
But  he  that  will  believe  all  that  they  say.  shall  never 
be  saved  by  half  that  they  do:  i3ut"this  is  most 
fallible,  the  worm's  an  odd  worm 

Cleo,  (iet  thee  hence  ;  larewell. 

Clown.  I  wish  you  all  joy  of  the  worm. 

Cleo.  Farewell.       [Clow'n  sets  down  the  Basket. 

CItjtvn.  You  must  think  this,  look  you,  that  the 
worm  will  do  his  kind.' 

Cleo.  Ay,  ay  ;  farewell. 

Clown.  Look  you,  the  worm  is  not  to  be  trusted, 
but  in  tile  keeping  of  wise  people;  for,  indeed,  there 
is  no  gooilness  in  the  worm. 

Cleo.  Take  thou  no  care  ;  it  shall  be  heeded. 

Cluwn.  Very  good :  give  it  nothing,  I  jjray  you, 
for  it  is  not  worth  the  iceding. 

Cleo,  Will  it  eat  me? 

Clown.  You  must  not  think  I  ara  so  simple,  but 
I  know  the  devil  himself  will  not  cat  a  woman  :  I 
know,  that  a  woman  is  a  dish  for  the  gods,  if  the 
devil  dress  her  not.  But,  truly,  these  same  whore- 
son devils  do  the  gods  great  harm  in  their  women; 
for  in  every  ten  that  they  make,  the  devils  mar  five. 

Cleo.  Well,  get  thee  gone  ;  farewell. 

Clown,  Yes,  forsooth;    I  wish  you  joy  of  the 
worm.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Iras,  wi/h  a  Robe,  Crovm,  ^e. 

Cleo.  Give  me  my  robe,  put  on  my  crown ;  I  have 
Immortal  longings  in  me :  Now  no  more 
The  juice  of  Egypt's  grape  shall  moist  this  lip  :— 
Yare,  yare,-  good  Iras;  quick.— Methinics,  I  hear 
Antony  call ;  I  see  him  rouse  himself 
To  praise  my  noble  act;  I  hear  him  mock 
The  luck  of  Ca'sar,  which  the  gods  give  men 
To  excuse  their  atler  WTath  :  Husband,  I  come  : 
Now  to  that  name  my  courage  prove  my  title  I 
I  am  fire,  and  air ;  my  other  elements 
I  give  to  baser  life. — So, — have  you  done  ? 
Come  then,  and  take  the  last  warmth  of  my  lips. 
Farewell,  land  Charmian ;— Iras,  long  farewell. 

[Kisses  them,    lius  falls  and  dies. 
Have  I  the  aspic  in  my  lips  ?     Dost  tall  ? 
If  thou  and  nature  can  so  gently  part. 
The  stroke  of  death  is  as  a  lover's  pinch. 
Which  hurts,  and  is  desir'd.    Post  thou  lie  still  1 
If  thus  thou  vanishcst,  thou  tell'st  the  world 
It  is  not  worth  leave-taking. 

Char.  Dissolve,  thick  cloud,  and  rain ;  that  I  may 
say. 
The  gods  themselves  do  weep  ! 

Cleo.  This  proves  me  base- 

If  she  first  meet  the  curled  Antony, 
He'll  make  demand  of  her  ;  and  spend  that  Idss, 
Which  is  my  heaven  to  have.  Come,  mortal  wretch, 
[To  the  Axp,  which  she  applies  to  her  Breast.  ■ 
With  thy  sliarj)  leelli  this  knot  intrinsicate 
Of  lili?  at  once  untie:  poor  venomous  fool. 
Be  angry  and  despatch.    O.  eouldst  thou  speak ! 
That  I  might  hear  thee  call  great  Cffisar,  ass 
Unpolicied  !3 

Chnr.  0  eastern  star  ! 

Cleo.  Peace,  peace! 

•  Act  .ipfnrding  to  his  nature.  ^  Make  hasto. 

«  Uuptilitic,  to  leave  me  to  niyselC 


Scene  II. 


ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA. 


613 


Dost  thou  not  see  my  baby  at  my  breast, 
That  sucks  the  nurse  asleep  ] 

Cluir.  0,  break !  0,  break ! 

rteo.  As  sweet  as  balm,  as  sort  as  air,  as  gentle, — 
0  Antony  ! — Nay,  I  will  take  thee  too: — 

[Apjilijing  itnolher  Asp  to  her  Arm. 
What  should  I  stay —      [Falls  on  a  Bed,  and  dies. 

Char.  In  this  wild  vvorlcl? — So,  fare  thee  well. — 
Now  boast  thee,  death  !  in  thy  possession  lies 
A  lass  unparallel'd.— Downy  wnidows,  close ; 
And  golden  Pliojbus  never  be  beheld 
Of  eyes  again  so  royal !  Your  crown's  awry ; 
ril  mend  it,  and  then  play. 

Enter  the  Guard,  rushing  in. 

1  Guard.  Where  is  the  queen  ? 
Char.  Speak  soflly,  wake  her  not. 

1  Guard.  Caisar  hath  sent — 
Cfiur.  Too  slow  a  messenger. 

[Applies  the  Asp. 
O,  come ;  apace,  despatch :  I  partly  leel  thee. 

1  Gwerf/.  Approach,  ho!  AU's  not  well:  Caesar's 

begiiil'd. 

2  Guard.  There's  Dolabella  sent  from  Cajsar; — 

call  him. 

1  Guard.  What  work    is    here? — Charmiaii,  is 

this  well  done  1 
Char.  It  is  well  done,  and  fitting  for  a  princess 
Descended  of  so  many  royal  Idngs. 
Ah,  soldier !  [Dies. 

Enter  Dolabella. 
Dol.  How  goes  it  here  ] 

2  Guard.  All  dead. 

Dol.  C.fsar,  thy  tlioughts 

Touch  their  effects  in  tliis:  Thyself  art  coming 
To  see  pcrforni'd  the  dreaded  act,  which  thou 
So  sought'st  to  hinder. 

[  IViihin.]  A  way  there,  way  for  Caesar? 

Enter  CcaAa  attd  Attendants. 

I)ol.  0,  sir.  \>ou  are  too  sure  an  augurer; 
Tliat  you  did  tear,  is  done. 


Cses.  Bravest  at  the  last: 

She  levell'd  at  our  purposes,  and,  being  royal. 
Took  her  own  way. — The  mamicr  of  their  deatlisl 
I  do  not  see  them  bleed. 

Dol.  Who  was  last  with  them  ? 

1  Guard.  A  simple  comitryman,  that  brouglit 
Iter  ligs : 
This  was  his  basket. 

Os.  Poison'd,  then. 

1  Guard.  0  Cffisar, 

ThisCharmianliv'd  but  now;  slie  stood,  and  spake 
I  found  her  triinmijig  up  tiie  diadem 
On  her  dead  mistress;  trembUngly  she  stood, 
.\nd  on  the  sudden  dropp'd. 

Cws.  0  noble  weakness ! 

If  they  had  swallow'd  poison,  'twould  appear 
By  external  swelling :  but  she  looks  like  sleep, 
As  she  would  cutch  another  Antony 
In  her  strong  toil  of  grace.-" 

Dot.  Here,  on  her  breast, 

There  is  a  vent  of  blood,  and  something  blown : 
The  like  is  on  her  arm. 

1  Guard.  This  is  an  aspic's  trail:  and  these  fig- 
leaves 
Have  slime  upon  them,  such  as  the  aspic  leaves 
Upon  the  caves  of  Nile. 

Cws.  Most  probable. 

That  so  she  died ;  f)r  her  physician  tells  me, 
She  hath  pursued  conclusions  inlinite 
Of  easy  ways  to  die.— Take  up  her  bed ; 
And  bear  her  women  from  the  monument : — 
She  shall  be  buried  by  her  Antony  ; 
No  grave  upon  the  earth  shall  clip^  in  it 
A  pair  so  liimous.    Higb  events  as  these 
Strike  those  that  make  them  ;  and  their  story  is 
No  less  in  pity  than  his  glory,  which 
Brought  them  to  be  lamented.    Our  army  shi.!!, 
In  solemn  show,  attend  this  funeral; 
And  then  to  Home. — Come.  Dolabella,  see 
High  order  in  this  great  solemnity. 

\F.r.-unt. 
*  Qracetul  ai'pearauce.  6  EnruM. 


CYMBELINE. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


CvsiBEUXE,  King  of  Britam. 

Cr.oTEN,  Son  to  the  Queen  by  a  former  Husband. 

Lkonatis  Pt^TiiuMus,  fl  Caitteniun,  Husband  to 

lmoi;en. 
BELAnus,  a  bunislied  Ij^rd,  disguised  imder  the 

name  of  Mosc.sN. 
GciDERius     f  ^""^  '"  t^yibcline,  disguised  tinder 
Ahvikuls   I      "'^  Names  0/ Poltdore  OH'i  Cad- 

■   '     '  l^     IVAL,  supposed  Suns  to  ISelarius. 
VmsjAmo,  Fnend  to  PoslUmxms,  ),    ,. 
Iachimo,  Friend  to  Pliilaiio,  j  J™"ans. 

A  Frencli  Gentteman,  Friend  to  Philario. 
Caius  Ll'cius,  General  (ff  ttie  Roman  Forces. 
A  Roman  Captain. 


Two  British  Captains. 

PiSANio,  Servant  to  Postliumus. 
Cornelius,  a  P/iysieian. 
Two  Gentlemen. 
Two  Gaolers. 

Qi'EES,  Wife  to  Cymbcline. 

Imogen,   Vaugliter   to  Cymbeline,   by  a  former 
Queen. 

Helen,  Woman  to  Imofon. 

Lords.  Ladies,  Roman  Senators,  Tribunes,  Appa- 
ritiiins,  a  Soothsayer,  a  Diitcli  Gentleman,  a 
Spanish  Gentleman,  Musicians,  Officers,  Cap 
tains,  Soldiers, Messengers, andother  Attendants 


SCENE,  sometimes  in  Britain ;  sometimes  in  Italy. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I.— Britain.    T/ie  Garden  behind  Cymbe- 
linefe  Palace. 

Enter  tivo  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  You  do  not  meet  a  man,  but  frowns  : 

our  bloods' 
No  more  obey  the  heavens,  than  our  courtiers  ; 
Still  seem,  as  docs  the  king's. 

2  Gent.  But  what's  the  matter? 

1  Gent.  His  daughter,  and  the  heir  of  his  king- 

dom, whom 
He  purpos'd  to  his  wife's  sole  son,  fa  widow, 
That  late  he  married.)  hath  referr'd  herself 
I'nlo  a  poor  but  worthy  gentleman:  She's  wedded; 
Her  husband  banish'd  ;  she  imprison'd  :  all 
Is  outward  sorrow;  though,  I  think,  the  king 
Be  touch'd  at  very  heart. 

2  Gent.  None  but  the  king  1 

1  Gent.  He,  that  hath  lost  her,  too:  so  is  the  queen. 
That  most  desn'd  the  match  :  But  not  a  courtier. 
Although  they  wear  their  faces  to  the  bent 

Ot  the  king's  looks,  hath  a  heart  that  is  not 
Glad  at  the  thing  they  scowl  at. 

2  Gent.  And  why  so? 

1  Gent.  Hethat  hath  miss'd  the  princess, IS  a  thing 
Too  bad  for  bad  report:  and  he  that  hath  her, 

{ I  mean,  that  married  her,— alack,  good  man  !— 
And  therelbre  banish'd,)  is  a  creature  such 
As  lo  seek  through  the  regions  of  the  earth 
For  one  his  like,  there  would  be  something  failing 
In  liiui  that  should  compare.    I  do  not  think, 
So  lair  an  ou'vnrd,  and  such  stuff  witiiin. 
Endows  a  man  but  he. 

2  Gent.  you  speak  him  lar.2 

1  Gent.  I  do  extend  him,  sir,  within  himself; 
Crush  him  tngellier,  rather  than  unfold 

His  measure  duly.3 

2  Gent.  What's  his  name,  and  birth? 

I  Gent.  I  cannot  delve  him  to  the  root:  His  father 
Was  call  d  Sicilius,  who  did  join  his  honor, 
*  Iui;lination,  natural  disiKisition. 
1 1.e.  You  praise  him  extensively. 

»  My  praise,  however  extensive,  is  within  his  merit.        I 
614 


Against  the  Romans,  with  Cassibelan  : 
But  had  his  titles  by  Tenantius,-*  whom 
He  serv'd  with  glory  and  adrair'd  success: 
So  gain'd  the  sur-addition,  Leonatns: 
And  had,  besides  this  gentleman  in  question, 
Two  other  sons,  who,  in  the  wars  o'  the  time, 
Diedwitli  their  swords  in  hand;  for  which  their  father 
(Then  old  and  Ibnd  of  issue)  took  such  sorrow, 
That  ho  quit  being;  and  his  gentle  lady, 
Big  of  this  gentleman,  our  theme,  deceas'd 
As  he  was  born.    The  king,  he  takes  the  babe 
To  liis  protection;  calls  him  Posthumus; 
Breeds  him.  and  makes  him  of  his  bed-chamber: 
Puts  him  to  all  the  learnings  that  his  lime 
Could  make  him  the  receiver  of;  which  he  took. 
As  we  do  air,  fast  as  'twas  minister'd  ;  and 
In  his  spring  became  a  harvest:  Liv'd  in  court 
(Which  rare  it  is  to  do)  most  prais'd,  most  lov'd: 
A  sample  to  the  youngest;  to  the  more  mature, 
A  glass  that  feated'  them ;  and  to  the  graver, 
A  child  that  guided  dotards  :  to  his  mistress. 
For  whom  he  now  is  banish'd, — her  own  price 
Proclaims  how  she  esteem'd  him  and  his  virtue; 
By  her  election  may  be  truly  read. 
What  kind  of  man  he  is, 

2  Cent.  I  honor  him 

Even  out  of  your  report.    But,  'pray  you,  tell  mc, 
Is  she  sole  child  to  the  Icing  ? 

1  Gent.  His  only  child. 
He  had  two  sons,  (if  this  be  wortli  your  hearing, 
Mark  it,)  the  eldest  of  them  at  three  years  old, 

r  the  swathing  clothes  the  other,  from  their 
nursery 

Were  stolen  :  and  to  this  hour,  no  guess  in  know- 
ledge 

Which  way  they  went. 

2  Gent.  How  long  is  this  ago  ? 

1  Gent.  Some  twenty  years. 

2  Gent.  That  a  king's  children  should  be  so  con 

vey'd  ! 
So  slackly  guarded  !  And  the  search  so  slow. 
That  could  not  trace  them  ! 

*  The  father  of  Cymbeline.       •  Formett  their  manners. 


Act  I.  Scene  III. 


CYMBELINE. 


615 


1  Gaif.  Ilowsoc'er 'tis  strange, 
Or  that  the  negligence  may  well  be  laugh'd  at, 
Vet  is  it  true,  sir. 

2  Gent.  I  do  well  believe  you. 

1  Gent.  We  must  Ibrbcar:  Here  comes  the  gen- 
ticmun, 
The  queen  and  princess.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.—Tke  .^ame. 
Enle.   the  Queen,  Postuumus,  and  Imogen. 

Queen.  No.  be  assured,  you  shall  not  tind  me, 
daughter. 
After  the  slander  of  most  step-mothers, 
Evil-ejed  unto  you  :  you  are  my  prisoner,  but 
Your  gaoler  shall  deliver  you  the  Kejs 
That  lock  up  your  restniint.  P'or  you,  Posthflraus, 
So  soon  as  I  can  win  the  ollended  king, 
I  will  be  known  your  advocate  :  marry,  yet 
The  tire  of  rage  i^  in  liiin  ;  and  'twere  good, 
You  leaned  unto  his  sentence,  with  what  patience 
Your  wisdom  may  inform  you. 

Post.  Please  your  highness, 

I  will  fjom  hence  to-day. 

Qucin.  You  know  the  peril: — 

I'D  (etch  a  turn  about  the  garden,  pitying 
The  pangs  of  barr'd  atlections;  though  the  king 
Hath  charged  you  should  not  speak  together. 

[Exit  QCEEN. 

Jmo,  0 

Dissembling  courtesy  !    How  fine  this  tyrant 
Can  tickle  where  she  wounds  ! — My  dearest  hus- 
band, 
I  something  lenr  my  father's  wrath  ;  but  nothing, 
(Always  reserved  my  holy  duty,)  what 
His  rage  can  do  on  me:  You  must  be  gone; 
And  I  shall  here  abide  the  hourly  shot 
Of  angry  eyes;  not  comforted  to'live, 
But  that  there  is  this  jewel  in  the  world. 
That  I  may  sec  again. 

Post.  My  queen  !  my  mistress  ! 

O,  lady,  weep  no  more  ;  lest  I  give  cause 
To  be  suspected  of  more  tenderness 
Than  doth  become  a  man  !     I  will  remain 
The  loyal'st  husband  Ihat  did  e'er  plight  troth. 
My  residence  in  Ronu^,  at  one  Philario's ; 
Who  to  my  father  was  a  friend,  to  me 
Known  but  by  letter:  thitlier  write,  mv  queen. 
And  with  mine  eyes  Til  drink  the  words  you  send, 
Though  ink  be  made  of  gall. 

Re-enter  Qui:en. 

Queen.  Be  brief,  I  praj''  you: 

If  the  king  come,  I  shall  incur  I  know  not 
How  much  of  his  displeasure:  Yet  I'll  move  him 

[Aside. 
To  walk  this  way :  I  never  do  him  wrong. 
But  he  does  buy  my  injuries,  to  be  friends  ; 
Pays  dear  for  my  oiFences.  [Exit. 

Post.  Should  we  be  taking  leave 

As  long  a  term  as  yet  we  have  to  live, 
The  loathness  to  depart  would  grow  :  Adieu  ! 

Imo.  Nay,  stay  a  little  : 
Were  you  but  riding  forth  to  air  yourself. 
Such  parting  were  too  petty.     Look  here,  love; 
This  diamond  was  my  mother's:  take  it,  heart; 
But  keep  it  till  you  woo  another  wife, 
When  Imogen  is  dead. 

Post.  How!  how!  another]  — 

You  gentle  gods,  give  me  but  this  I  have, 
And  sear  up^  my  embraeenieuts  from  a  next 
With  bonds  of  death! — Remain  thou  here 

[Putting  on  the  Ri7i^. 
While  sense  can  keep  it  on  f  And  sweetest,  fairest, 
As  I  my  poor  self  did  exchange  for  you. 
To  yoi.i  so  infinite  loss;  so  in  our  iritles 
I  still  win  of  you  :  For  my  sake,  wear  this  ; 
It  is  a'  manacle  of  love  ;  I'll  place  it 
Upon  this  iiiirest  prisoner. 

[Putting  a  Bracelet  on  her  Arm. 

Imo.  0,  the  gods  ! 

Wiicn  shall  we  see  again? 

Enter  Cymbeline  and  Lords. 

Post.  Alack,  the  king  ! 

Cym.  Thou   basest  thing,  avoid  !    hence,  from 
my  sight ! 
If.  after  this  conimand,  thou  fraught^  the  court 
With  thy  unwortbiness.  thou  diest :  Away  ! 
Tliou  art  poison  to  my  blood. 

«  Close  up  1  Fill. 


Post.  The  gods  protect  you ! 

And  bless  the  good  remainders  of  the  court  I 
1  am  gone.  [Exit, 

Into.  There  cannot  be  a  pinch  in  death 

More  sharp  than  this  is. 

Ci/m.  0  disloyal  thing. 

That  shouldst  repair  my  j-outh  ;  thou  heapest 
A  year's  age  on  me  ! 

imo.  I  beseech  you,  sir, 

Harm  not  yourself  with  your  vexation  ;  I 
Am  senseless  of  your  wrath  ;  a  touch  more  rare* 
Subdues  all  pangs,  all  fears. 

Cym.  Past  grace  ?  obedience  ? 

Imo.  Past  hope,  and  in  despair;  that  way,  past 
grace. 

Cym,  That  might'st  have  had  the  sole  son  of  my 
queeu ! 

Imo.  O  bless'd.that  I  might  not !  I  chose  an  eagle, 
And  did  avoid  a  putlock.^ 

Cym.  Thou  took'st  a  beggar ;  wouJdet  have  made 
my  throne 
A  seat  for  baseness. 

Imo.  No;  I  rallicr  added 

A  lustre  to  it. 

Cy7/t.  O  thou  vile  one  ! 

Imo,  Sir, 

It  is  your  fault  that  I  have  loved  Posthumus: 
You  "bred  him  as  my  playfellow;  and  he  is 
A  man,  worth  any  woman;  overbuys  me 
Almost  the  sum  he  pays. 

Cym.  What ! — art  thou  mad  1 

Imo.  Almost,  sir:  Heaven  restore  me  ! — 'Would 
I  were 
A  neat-herd's'  daughter!  and  my  Leonatus 
Our  neighbor  shepherd's  son! 

Re-enter  Queex. 

Cym.  Thou  foolish  thing  !^ 

They  were  again  togetiier  :  you  liave  done 

[To  the  QuEK.v. 
Not  after  our  command.    Away  witn  her, 
And  pen  her  up. 

Queen.  'Beseech  your  patience: — Peace, 

Dear  lady  daughter,  peace: — Sweet  sovereign, 
Leave  us  to  ourselves;  and  make  yourself  some 

comfort 
Out  of  your  bpst  advice,^ 

Cym.  Nay,  let  her  languish 

A  drop  of  blood  a  day;  and,  being  aged. 
Die  of  this  folly.  [Exit. 

Enter  PrSANio. 

Queen.  Fye! — you  must  give  way: 

Here  is  your  sen.'ant. — How  now,  sir"!  What  news? 

Pis.  My  lord  your  son  drew  on  my  master. 

Queen,  Ha! 

No  harm,  I  trust,  is  done  1 

Pi.'i.  There  might  have  been, 

Rut  that  my  master  rather  play'd  than  fought. 
And  had  no  help  of  anger:  they  were  parted 
By  gentlemen  at  hand. 

Queen.  I  am  very  glad  on't. 

Imo.  Your  son's  my  father's  friend;  he  takes  his 
part. — 
To  draw  upon  an  exile ! — 0  brave  sir ! — 
I  would  they  were  in  Afi'ic  both  together; 
Myself  by  with  a  needle,  that  I  might  prick 
The  goerback.^Why  came  you  from  your  masterl 

Pis.  On  his  command:  He  would  not  suffer  me 
To  bring  him  to  the  haven  :  left  these  notes 
Of  what  commands  I  should  be  subject  to, 
When  it  pleas'd  you  to  employ  mc. 

Queen_.  This  hath  been 

Your  lai*thful  servant;  I  dare  lay  mine  honor, 
He  will  remain  so. 

Pis.  I  humbly  thank  your  higliness, 

Queen.  Pray,  walk  a  while. 

Imo.  A!)Out  some  half  hour  hence, 

I  pray  you  speak  with  me:  you  shall,  at  least, 
Go  see  my  lord  aboard :  for  tliis  time,  leave  me. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  III.— ^  public  Place. 
Enter  Cloten"  and  two  Lords. 
1  Lord.  Sir,  I  would  advise  you  to  shift  a  shirt; 
the  violence  of  action  hath  made  you  reek  as  a  sa- 
crifice :  Where  air  comes  out,  air  comes  in  :  therc^'s 
none  abroad  so  wholesome  as  that  you  vent. 

8  A  more  exquisite  feeling.  »  A  kitf. 

>  Cattle-keeper.  a  CoueiUeration. 


616 


CYMBELTNE. 


Act  I. 


Clo.  If  my  sliirt  were  bloody,  then  to  shift  it- 
Have  1  hurt  liim? 
2  Lord.  No,  faith;  not  so  much  as  his  patience. 

[Aside. 

1  Lord.  Hurt  Iiimi  liis  body^s  a  passalile  carcass, 
if  he  be  not  hurt:  it  is  a  thoroughfare  Tor  steel  if  it 
be  not  hurt. 

2  Lord.  His  steel  was  in  debt;  it  went  o'  the 
backside  the  town.  [Asiile. 

Clo.  The  villain  would  not  stand  me. 
2  Lord.  No ;   but  he  fled  forward  still,  toward 
your  face.  [AHde. 

1  Loj'd.  Stand  you !  You  have  land  enough  of 
your  own:  but  he  added  to  your  having;  gave  you 
sonic  ground. 

2  Lord.  As  many  inches  as  you  have  oceans : 
Puppies!  \_.iside. 

Clo.  I  would  they  had  not  conre  between  us. 

2  Lurd.  So  would  I,  till  you  had  measured  how 
long  a  fool  you  were  upon  the  ground.  [Aahte. 

Clo.  And  tliat  she  should  love  this  Icllow,  and 
refuse  me! 

2  Lord.  If  it  be  a  sin  to  make  a  true  election, 
she  is  damned.  [Aside. 

1  Lord.  Sir,  as  I  told  you  always,  her  beauty  and 
her  brain  go  not  together  :  She's  a  good  sign,  but  I 
have  seen  small  retiection  of  her  wit.3 

2  Lord.  She  shines  not  upon  fools,  lest  the  reflec- 
tion sliould  hurt  her.  [Aside. 

Clo.  Come,  I'll  to  my  chamber:  'Would  there 
had  been  some  hurt  done ! 

2  Lt/rd.  X  wish  not  so;  unless  it  had  been  the  fall 
of  an  ass,  wliich  is  of  no  great  hurt.  [Aside. 

Clo.  You'll  go  with  us? 

1  Lurd.  I'll  attend  your  lordship. 
Clo.  Nay,  come,  let's  go  together 

2  Lord.  Well,  my  lord.  [  Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. — A  Room  in  Cymbeline's  Palace. 
Enter  Imucen  and  Pisanio. 

low.  1  would  tiiou  grew'st  unto  the  shores  o'  the 
haven. 
And  cpiestion'dst  every  sail ;  if  lie  should  WTite, 
And  1  not  have  it, 'twere  a  pajier  lost 
As  otliM-'d  mercy  is.    What  was  the  last 
Tliat  he  spake  lo  thee  ? 

Pi-s.  'Twas,  His  queen,  his  queen! 

lino.  Then  wav'd  his  handkerchief! 

Pis.  And  kiss'd  it,  madam. 

Into.  Senseless  linen !  happier  therein  than  I ! — 
And  tliat  was  alU 

Pis.  No,  madam;  for  so  long 

As  he  could  make  me  with  this  eye  or  ear 
Distinguish  him  from  others,  he  did  keep 
Tii('  deck,  with  glove,  or  hat,  or  handkercliief, 
Still  waving,  as  the  fits  and  stirs  of  his  mind 
Could  best  express  how  slow  his  soul  sail'd  on. 
How  swift  his  ship. 

lino.  Thou  shouldst  have  made  him 

As  little  as  a  crow,  or  less,  ere  left 
To  after-eye  him. 

Pis.  Madam,  so  I  did. 

Inio.  I  would    have    broke    mine    eye-strings; 
crack'd  them,  but 
To  look  upon  him;  till  the  diminution 
Of  space  had  pointed  him  sharp  as  my  needle: 
Nay,  follow'd  him  till  he  had  nielttd  from 
The  smallness  of  a  gnat  to  air;  and  then 
Have    turn'd    mine   eye    and   wept.  —  But,  good 

Pisanio, 
When  shall  we  hear  fi-om  him  1 

Pis.  Be  assured,  madam. 

With  iiis  next  'vantage.'* 

Into.  I  did  not  take  my  leave  of  him,  but  had 
Most  pretty  things  to  say:  ere  I  could  tell  him. 
How  I  v.'ould  tliiuli  on  liim,  at  certain  hours, 
Snrli  tlii.KL'lits,  and8Ucli;or  I  could  make  him  swear 
Til''  sli.s  nf  Italy  should  not  betray 
Mini'  iiilt'i'i'st.and  his  honor;  or  iiavecliarged  him. 
At  till'  sixtb  hour  of  morn,  at  noon,  at  midnight, 
To  encinmter  me  with  orisons, 5  for  tlien 
1  am  ill  licaven  for  him:  or  ere  J  could 
Give  liini  that  parting  kiss,  wliich  I  had  set 
Betwixt  two  charming  words,  comes  in  my  father, 
And,  like  the  tyrannous  breathing  of  the  north. 
Shakes  all  our  buds  from  growing. 

'  Til  ilnclcrsliind  the  force  of  (his  ide.i,  it  shfiuld  be  rB- 
jnL'iiitiiTcd  timt  jiiH'iendy  .ilmost  ^'wcvy  st;/n  had  a  motto, 
lir  .ifiiiii,  iitteiiipt  lit  a  wittiirisin,  undiTneiith  it. 

*  Ujiliortunity.  »  ileet  me  with  reciprocal  prayer. 


J!ntcr  a  Lady. 

Lady.  The  queen,  madam, 

Desires  your  highness'  company. 
Jmo.  Those  things  I  bid  you  do,  get  them  de- 
spa  tch'd. — 
I  will  attend  the  queen. 
Pis.  Madam,  I  shall. 

[Exeunt 

SCENE  v.  — An  Apartment  in  Philario's 
House. 
Enter  Philario,  Iachimo,  a  Frenchman,  a  Dutch- 
man, a7id  a  Spaniard. 

lack.  Believe  it,  sir:  I  have  seen  him  in  Biitain 
he  was  then  of  a  crescent  note,^  expected  lo  prove 
so  worthy, as  since  he  hatli  been  allowed  the  name 
of:  but  I  could  then  have  look.id  on  him  without 
the  help  of  admiration  ;  thougli  the  catalogue  of  his 
endowments  had  been  tabled  by  Ins  side,  and  I  to 
peruse  him  by  items. 

Phi.  You  speak  of  him  when  he  was  less  fur- 
nislied  than  now  he  is,  with  that  which  makes  Mm 
both  without  and  within. 

French.  I  have  seen  him  in  France:  w-e  had  very 
many  there,  could  behold  the  sun  with  as  firm  eyes 
as  he. 

lach.  This  matter  of  marrying  his  king's  daugh- 
ter (wherein  he  must  be  weighed  rather  by  her 
value,  than  his  own)  words  him,  I  doubt  not,  a 
great  deal  from  the  matter. 

French.  And  then  his  banishment: 

luch.  Ay,  and  the  approbation  of  those,  tliat 
weep  this  lamentable  divorce,  under  her  colors,  are 
wonderfully  to  extend'  him;  be  it  but  to  fortify 
her  judgment,  which  else  an  easy  battery  might 
lay  flat,  for  talcing  a  beggar  without  more  quality. 
But  how  comes  it,  he  is  to  sojourn  with  you? 
How  creeps  acquaintance'! 

Phi.  His  father  and  I  were  soldiers  together;  to 
whom  I  have  been  often  bound  for  no  less  than  mv 
lite  — 

Enter  Posthi'mcs. 
Here  comes  the  Briton.  Let  him  be  so  entertained 
amongst  you,  as  suits  with  gentlemen  of  your 
knowing  to  a  stranger  of  his  qdality.— I  beseech 
you  all,  be  better  known  to  this  gentleman;  whom 
1  commend  to  you,  as  a  noble  friend  of  mine :  How 
worthy  he  is,  I  will  leave  to  appear  hereafter,  rather 
than  story  hiin  in  his  own  hearing. 

French.  Sir,  we  have  known  together  in  Orleans. 

Post.  Since  when  I  have  been  debtor  to  you  for 
courtesies,  which  I  will  be  ever  to  pay,  and  yet  pay 
still. 

French.  Sir,  you  o'er-rate  my  poor  kindness;  I 
was  glad  I  did  atone'*  my  countrymen  and  you  ;  it 
li.ad  been  pity,  you  should  have  been  put  together 
with  so  mortal  a  purpose,  as  then  each  bore,  upon 
importance^  of  so  slight  and  trivial  a  nature. 

Post.  By  your  pardon,  sir,  I  was  then  a  young 
traveller:  riither  shumi'd  to  go  even  with  what 
I  heard,  than  in  my  every  action  to  be  guided  by 
otbers'  experiences:  but,  upon  my  mended  judg- 
ment, (if  I  otTend  not  to  say  it  is  mended,)  my 
quarrel  was  not  altogether  slight. 

French.  'Faith,  yes,  to  be  put  to  the  arbitrament 
of  swords;  and  by  such  two,  that  would,  by  all 
likelihood,  have  confounded'  one  the  other,  or  have 
fallen  both. 

lach.  Can  we,  with  manners,  ask  what  was  the 
ditli^reuce  ! 

French.  Safely,  1  think:  'twas  a  contention  in 
public,  which  may,  without  contradiction,  sufler 
the  report.  It  was  much  like  an  argument  tliat  tell 
out  last  night,  where  each  of  us  foil  in  praise  ot  our 
country  mistresses:  Tliis  gentlemen  at  tliat  time 
vouching  (and  n])on  warrant  of  bloody  athrniation) 
his  to  lie  more  fair,  virtuous,  wise,  chaste,  constant, 
qualified,  and  less  attcmptable,  than  any  the  rarest 
of  our  ladies  in  Fiance. 

Inch.  That  lady  is  not  now  living;  or  this  gentle- 
man's ojiinion,  by  this,  worn  out. 

Post.  She  holds  her  virtue  still,  and  I  my  mind. 

Inch.  You  must  not  so  far  prefer  her  'lore  ours 
of  Italy. 

Post.  Being  so  far  provoked  as  I  was  in  France, 
I  would  abate  her  nothing ;  though  I  profess  my- 
self her  adorer,  not  her  friend.^ 

"  Increasing  in  time.        '  Praise  Lira.        8  Itcconcile. 

n  Instlgiition.  *  Destroyed.  '  LiOver. 


Scene  VI. 


CYMBELINE. 


G17 


lach.  As  fair,  and  as  good,  (a  kind  of  hand-in- 
hand  comparison,)  had  been  soniethins  too  fair,  and 
too  good,  for  any  lady  in  Brittany.  If  she  went 
before  others  I  have  seen,  as  that  diamond  of  yours 
out-lustres  many  I  have  beheld,  I  could  no-t  but  be- 
lieve she  excelled  many :  but  I  have  not  seen  the 
most  precious  diamond  that  is,  nor  you  the  lady. 

Fast.  I  praised  her,  as  I  rated  her :  so  do  I  my 
stone. 
lacli.  What  do  you  esteem  it  at 7 
Post.  Jlorc  than  the  world  enjoys. 
lack.  Either  your  miparagoncd  mistress  is  dead, 
or  she's  out-prized  by  a  trillc. 

Post.  You  are  mistaken:  the  one  may  be  sold, 
or  given ;  if  there  were  wealth  enough  for  the  pur- 
chase, or  merit  lor  the  gift :  the  other  is  not  a  thing 
for  sale,  and  only  the  gilt  of  the  gods. 
lacli.  Which  the  gods  have  given  you? 
Post.  Which,  by  their  grace,  1  will  keep. 
lacli.  You  may  wear  her  in  title  yours :  but.you 
iniow,  strange  fowl  light  upon  neighboring  ponds. 
Your  ring  may  be  stolen,  too :  so,  of  your  brace  of 
unprizable  estimations,  the  one  is  but  frail,  and  the 
otiier  casual ;  a  cunning  thief,  or  a  tliat-way  accom- 
plished courtier,  would  hazard  the  wimiing  both  of 
first  and  last. 

Post.  Y'our  Italy  contains  none  so  accomplished 
a  courtier,  to  convince^  the  honor  of  my  mistress; 
if,  in  the  holding  or  loss  of  that,  you  term  her  frail, 
I  do  nothing  doiibt,  you  have  store  of  tliieves;  not- 
withstanding I  fear  not  my  ring. 
Ptii.  Let  us  leave  here,  gentlemen. 
Post.  Sir,  with  all  my  heart.  This  worthy  sig- 
nior,  I  thank  him,  maics  no  stranger  of  me :  wc 
are  lamiliar  at  tirst. 

lacli.  With  live  times  so  much  conversation,  I 
sliould  got  ground  of  your  fair  mistress :  make  her 
go  back  even  to  the  yielding;  had  I  admittance 
and  opportunity  to  friend. 
Post.  No,  no. 

Iac^.  I  dare,  thereon,  pawn  the  moiety  of  my 
estate  to  your  ring ;  which,  in  n^y  opinion,  o'er- 
values  it  something:  But  1  make  my  wager  rather 
against  your  conlidencc,  than  her  reputation:  and, 
to  bar  your  oltence  hcj'ein  too,  I  durst  attemi^t  it 
against  any  lady  in  the  world. 

Post.  You  are  a  great  deal  abused  in  too  bold  a 
persuasion ;  and  I  doubtnot  you  sustain  what  you're 
worthy  of,  by  your  attempt. 
Incli.  What's  that ! 

Post.  A  repulse  :  Though  your  attempt,  as  you 
call  it,  deserves  more ;  a  pmiishment  too. 

Phi.  Gentlemen,  enough  of  this:  it  came  in  too 
suddenly ;  let  it  die  as  it  was  bom,  and,  I  pray  you, 
be  better  acquainted. 

lac/i.  'Would  I  had  put  my  estate,  and  my  neigh- 
bor's, on  the  approbation'  of  what  I  have  spoke. 
Post.  What  lady  would  you  choose  to  assail  \ 
lack.  Yours;  whom  in  constancy,  you  think, 
stands  so  safe.  I  will  lay  you  ten  thousand  ducats 
to  your  ring,  that,  commend  me  to  the  court  where 
your  lady  is,  with  no  more  advantage  tiian  tfie  op- 
portunity of  a  second  conference,  and  1  will  bring 
from  thence  that  honor  of  hers,  which  you  imagine 
so  reserved. 

Post.  I  will  wage  against  your  gold,  gold  to  it : 
my  ring  I  hold  dear  as  my  finger;  'tis  part  of  it. 

Incti.  Yon  are  a  friend,  and  therein  the  wiser. 
If  you  buy  ladies'  flesh  at  a  million  a  dram,  you 
cannot  preserve  it  from  tainting :  But,  I  see,  you 
liave  some  religion  in  you,  that  you  fear. 

Post.  This  is  but  a  custom  in  your  tongue:  you 
bear  a  graver  purpose,  I  hope. 

ladi.t  am  the  master  of  my  speeches;  and  would 
undergo  what's  spoken,  I  swear. 

Post.  Will  you  ! — I  shall  but  lend  my  diamond 
tiU  your  return : — Let  tliere  be  covenants  drawn 
between  ns:  My  mistress  exceeds  in  goodness  the 
hugeiiess  of  your  unworthy  thinlving :  I  dare  you 
to  this  match :  here's  mv  ring. 
Ptii.  1  will  have  it  no  lay. 

lucli.  By  the  gods  it  is  one : — If  I  bring  you  no 
sutticient  testimony  that  I  have  enjoyed  the  dearest 
bodily  part  of  your  mistress,  my  ten  thousand  du- 
cats are  yours;  so  is  your  diamond  too.  If  I  come 
off,  and  leave  her  in  such  honor  as  you  have  trust 
in,  she  your  jewel,  this  your  jewel,  and  my  gold 
are  yours  : — provided,  I  have  your  commendation,^ 
lor  my  more  free  entertainment, 
a  Overcome.  *  Proo£  »  KecommeDdation. 


Post.  I  embrace  these  conditions;  let  us  have 
articles  betwixt  us : — only,  thus  far  you  shall  an- 
swer. If  you  make  your  voyage  upon  her,  and 
give  me  directly  to  understand  you  have  prevailed, 
I  am  no  further  your  enemy,  she  is  not  worth  our 
debate:  if  she  remain  unseduced,  (you  not  making 
it  appear  otherwise,)  for  your  ill  opinion,  and  the 
assault  you  have  made  to  her  chastity,  you  stall 
answer  me  with  your  sword. 

lacli.  Y'our  hand;  a  covenant:  We  will  l-.ave 
these  things  set  down  by  lawful  counsel, and  straight 
awayforBritain;  lest  the  bargain  should  catch  cold, 
and  starve :  I  will  fetch  my  gold,  and  have  our  two 
wagers  recorded. 

Post.  Agreed. 

[E.vtunt  PosTHOirs  and  Iachimo. 

Frencti.  Will  this  hold,  think  you ! 

Plii.  Signior  lachimo  wiU  not  from  it.  Pray.  let 
us  follow 'em.  {£.t:euHt. 

SCENE  VI.— Britain.     A  Room,  in  Cymbeline's 

Palace. 

Enter  QtJEEN,  Ladies,  and  Cornelius. 

Queen.  Whiles  yet  the  dew's  on  ground,  gather 
those  dowers; 
Make  haste :  Who  has  the  note  of  them  !    ■ 

1  Ladi/.  I,  madam. 

Queen.  Despatch. [KreunI  Ladies. 

Now,  master  doctor ;  have  you  brought  those  drugs? 

Cor.  Pleaseth  your  highness,  ay:  here  they  are, 
madam  :  [Presenting  a  small  Fox. 

But  I  beseech  your  grace,  (without  oflence; 
My  conscience  bids  me  ask,)  wherefore  you  have 
Commanded  of  me  these  most  poisonous  com- 
pounds. 
Which  are  the  movers  of  a  languishing  death  ; 
But,  though  slow,  deadly  1 

Queen.  I  do  wonder,  doctor, 

Thou  ask'st  rae  such  a  question :    Have  I  not  been 
Thy  pupil  long  1  Hast  thou  not  Icarn'd  me  how 
To'make  perfumes!  distil!  preserve!  yea,  so. 
That  our  great  king  himself  doth  woo  me  oft 
For  my  confections !     Having  tlius  far  proceeded, 
(I'nless  you  think  mc  devilish,)  is't  not  meet 
That  I  did  amplify  my  judgment  in 
Other  conclusions  P    1  will  try  the  forces 
Of  these  thy  compounds  on  such  creatures  as 
We  count  not  worth  the  hanging,  (but  none  human,) 
To  try  the  vigor  of  them,  and  apply 
AUayments  to  their  act ;  and  by  them  gather 
Their  several  virtues,  and  etlects. 

Cnr.  Your  highness 

Shall  from  this  practice  but  make  hard  your  heart: 
Besides,  the  seeing  these  etlects  will  be 
Both  noisome  and  infectious. 

Queen.  0,  content  thee.— 

Enter  PiSAXio. 
Here  comes  a  flattering  rascal;  upon  him    [Aside. 
Will  I  first  work:  he's  for  his  master. 
And  enemy  to  my  son. — IIow  now,  Pisaniol — 
Doctor,  your  service  for  this  time  is  ended; 
Take  your  own  way. 

Cor.  I  do  suspect  you,  madam ; 

But  you  shall  do  no  harm.  [Aside. 

Queen.  Hark  thee,  a  word. — 

[To  PlSAMO. 

Cur.  [Aside.]  I  do  not  like  her.    She  doth  tliink, 
she  has 
Strange  lingering  poisons  :  I  do  know  her  spirit. 
And  will  not  trust  one  of  her  malice  with 
A  drug  of  such  damn'd  nature:  Those  she  has, 
Will  stupify  and  dull  the  sense  awhile: 
Which  first,  perchance,  she'll  prove  on  cats  and  dogs ; 
Then  afterward  up  higher;  but  there  is 
No  danger  in  what  show  of  death  it  makes. 
More  than  the  locking  up  the  spirits  a  lime. 
To  be  more  fresh,  reviving.    She  is  fool'd 
With  a  most  false  effect ;  and  I  the  truer. 
So  to  be  false  with  her. 

Queen.  No  furtlier  service,  doctor. 

Until  I  send  for  thee. 

Cor.  I  humbly  take  my  leave. 

[Exit. 

Queen.  Weeps  she  still,  say'st  thou?    Dost  thou 
think,  in  time 
She  will  not  quench ;  and  let  instructions  enter 
Where  folly  now  possesses  f     Do  thou  work ; 
When  thou  shalt  bring  me  word,  she  loves  my  son, 
8  Experiments. 


618 


CYxMBELINE. 


Act  L  Scene  Vll 


ril  tell  thee,  on  the  instant,  thou  art  then 
As  tj;ro:it  as  is  thy  master:  greater;  for 
HisYortunea  all  lie  speechless,  and  his  name 
Is  at  last  gasp :  Return  he  cannot,  nor 
Continue  where  he  is :  to  shift  his  being,"' 
Is  to  exchange  one  misery  with  another ; 
And  every  day  that  conies,  comes  to  decay 
A  da>'s  work  in  him  :  What  shait  thou  expect, 
To  be  aependcr  on  a  thing  that  leans  ? 
Who  cannot  l)e  new  built;  nor  has  no  friends, 

[The  Queen  drops  a  Box;  Pisaniu  takes 
it  up. 
So  much  as  but  to  prop  him  ? — Thou  tak''st  up 
Thou  know'st  not  what;  but  take  it  for  thy  labor: 
It  is  a  thing  I  made,  which  hath  the  king 
Five  times  redeemVl  from  death:  I  do  not  know 
What  is  more  cordial: — Nay,  I  pr'ythee,  take  it; 
It  is  an  earnest  of  a  further  good 
That  1  mean  to  thee.    Tell  thy  mistress  how 
The  case  stands  with  her;  doH.  as  from  thyself. 
Think  what  a  chance  thou  changest  on ;  but  think 
Thou  hast  thy  mistress,  still ;  to  boot,  my  son, 
Who  shall  take  notice  of  thee:  I'll  move  the  king 
To  any  shape  of  thy  preferment,  such 
As  thou'lt  desire;  and  then  myself,  I  chiefly, 
That  set  thee  on  to  this  desert,  ara  bound 
To  load  tiiy  merit  riclily*    Call  my  women: 
Think  on  my  words,  [^xit  Pisa.] — A  sly  and  con- 
stant knave ; 
Not  to  be  shaked :  the  agent  for  his  master ; 
And  the  remembrancer  of  her,  to  hold 
The  hand  fast  to  her  lord.— I  have  given  him  that. 
Which,  if  he  take,  shall  quite  un]>en]ik'  her 
Of  liegers  for  her  sweet;  and  wiiicli  she.  atl:er, 
Except  she  bend  her  humor,  shall  be  assured 

Re-enter  Pisanio  and  Ladies. 
To  taste  of  too.— So,  so; — well  done,  well  done; 
The  violets,  cowslips,  and  the  primroses, 
Bear  to  my  closet: — Fare  thee  weH,  Pisanio; 
Tliink  on  my  words.    [Exciinf  Qckem  and  Ladies. 

Pis.  And  shall  du  : 

And  when  to  my  good  lord  I  prove  untrue, 
rU  choke  myself:  there's  all  I'll  do  lor  you.  [Exit. 
SCENE  Yll.—Anoiher  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Imogen. 

Imn.  A  father  cruel,  and  a  step-dame  false; 
A  foolish  suitor  to  a  wedded  lady, 
That  hath   her  husband   banish'd;— 0,  that  hus- 
band ! 
My  supreme  crowm  of  grief!  and  those  repeated 
Vexations  of  it!    Had  I  been  thief-stolen. 
As  my  two  brothers,  happy!  but  most  miserable 
Is  the  desire  that's  glorious:  Blessed  be  those 
How  mean  soeVr,  that  have  their  honest  wills. 
Which  seasons  comfort. — Who  may  this  be]    Fye! 
Enter  Pisanio  and  Iachimo. 

Pin.  Madam,  a  noble  gentleman  of  Rome; 
Comes  from  my  lord  with  letters. 

lach.  Change  you,  madam? 

The  worthy  Leonatus  is  in  safety, 
And  greets  your  highness  dearly. 

[Pi-csents  a  Lifter. 

Into.  Thanlvs,  good  ^r : 

You  are  kindlj'  welcome. 

lack.  All  of  ner,  that  is  out  of  door,  most  ricli ! 

[Aside. 
If  sho'  be  furnishM  with  a  mind  so  rare, 
Slic  is  alone  the  Arabian  bird ;  and  I 
Have  lost  the  wager.    Boldr.oss.  be  my  friend  ! 
Ann  me,  at   tacitv.  from  head  to  foot! 
Or.  like  llu-  Parthian,  I  shall  Hying  light;  ' 

Rather,  (lircctly  Jly. 

In/o.  [Reads.]— i/f-  U  one  of  the  noblest  note,  to 
whose  kindness  I  am  most  infinitely  tied.  Refect 
U}X)n  him  accordingly^  as  you  value  your  truest 

Leon  Ales. 
So  far  I  read  aloud : 
But  even  the  very  middle  of  my  heart 
Is  warm'd  by  the  rest,  and  takes  it  thankfully. — 
You  are  as  welcome,  worthy  sir,  as  I 
Have  words  to  bid  you  ;  and  shaU  find  it  so, 
In  all  that  I  can  do. 

lach.  Thanks,  fairest  lady.-- 

Wliat  I  are  men  mad  ?  Ilalli  nature  given  them  eyes 
To  see  Ibis  vjullod  arcli.  and  Ihr  rich  crop 
Of  yt-a  and  land,  wliicli  can  distinguish  'twixt 
The  liery  orbs  above,  and  the  twinn'd  stones 
1  To  chaugo  his  abode. 


Upon  the  number'd  beach  ]  and  can  we  not 
Partition  make  with  spectacles  so  precious 
'Twixt  tair  and  fouH 

Imo.  What  makes  your  admiration  ? 

lack.  It  cannot  be  i'  the  eye  ;  lor  apes  and  mon- 
keys, 
'Twixt  two  such  shcs, would  chatter  thiswa-y,  and 
Contemn  with  mows^  the  other:  Nor  i'  the  judg- 
ment; 
For  idiots  in  this  case  of  favor,  would 
Be  wisely  delinite.    Nor  i'  the  appetite: 
Sluttery,  to  such  neat  excellence  oppos'd. 
Should  make  desire  vomit  emptiness, 
Not  so  allured  to  feed. 

Into.  What  is  the  matter,  trow  1 

lach.  The  cloyed  will, 

(That  satiate  yet  unsatisfied  desire, 
Tiiat  tub  both  till'd  and  running,)  ravening  first 
Tlie  lamb,  longs  after  for  the  garbage. 

Imo.  What,  dear  sir, 

Tluis  raps  you  1     Are  you  well  ? 

luch.  Thanks,  madam;  well: — Beseech  you,  sir, 
desire  To  Pisanio. 

My  man's  abode  where  I  did  leave  him  ;  he 
Is  strange  and  peevish." 

Pvt.  I  was  going,  sir, 

To  give  him  welcome.  [Exit  Pisanio. 

Imo.  Continues  weU  my  lord?     His  health, 'be- 
seech you  1 

lach.  Well,  madam. 

Imo.  Is  he  disposed  to  mirth  ?    I  hope  he  is. 

Inch.  Exceeding  pleasant;  none  a  stranger  there 
So  merry  and  so  gamesome:  he  is  calPd 
The  Briton  reveller. 

Imo.  When  he  was  here, 

He  did  incline  lo  sadness;  and  oft-times 
Not  knowing  wliy. 

lack.  I  never  saw  him  sad. 

There  is  a  Frenchman  bis  companion,  one 
An  eminent  monsieur,  tliat,  it  seems,  much  loves 
A  Gallian  girl  at  home,  he  furnaces 
The  thick  sighs  from  him:  whiles  the  jolly  Briton 
(Your   lord,   I    mean)  laugiis  from's"  free  lungs, 

cries  0/ 
Can  my  sides  hold,  to  think,  that  man, — who  knows 
By  history,  I'eport,  or  his  own  proof 
li'kat  woman  w,  yea,  what  she  cannot  choose 
But  must  be, — will  his  free  liows  lufiguishfor 
Assured  bondage^ 

Imo.  Will  my  lord  say  so  T 

lach.  Ay,  madam;  with  his  eyes  in  flood  with 
laugliter. 
It  is  a  recreation  to  be  by. 
And  hear  him  mock  the  Frenchman :  But,  heavens 

know. 
Some  men  arc  mucli  to  blame. 

Imo.  Not  he,  I  hope. 

lack.  Not  he :  But  yet  heaven's  bounty  towards 
him  might 
Be  used  more  thankfully.    In  himself,  'tis  much : 
In  you, — which  I  count  his,  beyond  all  talents, — 
Wliilst  I  am  bound  to  wonder, "I  am  bound 
To  pity  too. 

Imo.  What  do  you  pity,  sir? 

lach.  Two  creatures  heartily. 

Imo.  Am  I  one,  sir? 

You  look  on  me:  What  \VTeck  discern  you  in  me, 
Deserves  your  pity? 

Inch.  Lamentable!  Whgt! 

To  hide  me  from  the  radiant  sun,  and  solace 
V  the  dungeon  by  a  snnfl"? 

Into.  I  pray  you,  sir 
Deliver  with  more  openness  your  answers 
To  my  demands.    Why  do  you  pily  me  ? 

lack.  That  others  do, 

I  was  about  to  say,  enjoy  your But 

It  is  an  office  of  the  gods  to  'venge  it, 
Not  mine  to  speak  on't. 

Imo.  You  do  seem  to  know 

Something  of  me,  or  what  concerns  me :  Pray  you, 
(Since  doubling  things  go  ill  often  hurts  more 
Than  to  be  sure  they  do:  For  certainties 
Either  are  past  remedies; or,  timely  knowing. 
The  remedy  then  born,)  d  scover  lo  me 
What  both  you  spur  and  stop.' 

lack.  Had  I  this  cheek 

To  bathe  my  lips  upon  ;   this  hand,  whose  touch 
Whose  every  touch  would  force  the  feeler's  soul 

8  Alaking  mouths.  •  Shy  and  fi>plish. 

»  \\  hat  you  seem  anxious  to  utter,  aud  yet  withhold. 


Act  II.  Scene  I. 


CYMBELINE. 


619 


To  the  oath  of  loyally  ;  this  object,  which 
Takes  prisoner  the  wild  motion  of  mine  eye. 
Fixing  it  only  here  :  should  I  {danin'd  then) 
Slaver  with  lips  as  common  as  the  stairs 
That  mount  the  Capitol ;  join  gripes  with  hands 
Made  hard  with  hourly  falsehood  ;  (falsehood,  as 
With  labor  ;)  tfien  lie  peeping  in  an  eye. 
Base  and  unlustrous  as  the  smoky  light 
That's  fed  with  stinking  tallow;  it  were  fit 
That  all  the  plagues  of  hell  should  at  one  time 
Kncounter  such  revolt. 

Imu.  My  lord,  I  fear, 

Has  lorgot  Britain. 

lack-  And  himself.    Not  I, 

Inclin'd  to  this  intelligence,  pronounce 
The  beggary  of  his  change  ;  but  'tis  your  graces 
That,  from  hiy  mutest  conscience,  to  my  tongue, 
Charms  this  report  out. 

lino.  Let  me  hear  no  more. 

lack.  O  dearest  soul !  your  cause  doth  strike  my 
heart 
With  pity,  that  doth  make  me  sick.    A  lady 
So  fair,  and  fasten'd  to  an  empery,^ 
Would  make  the  great'st  king  double !  to  be  part- 

ner'd 
With  tomboys,  hired  with  that  self-exhibition' 
Which  your  own  coffers  yield !  with  diseas'd  ven- 
tures, 
That  play  with  all  infirmities  for  gold,  ^ 

Which  rottenness  can  lend  nature  !    such  boil  d 

stulf, 
As  well  might  poison  poison  !    Be  revenged  ; 
Or  she,  that  bore  you,  was  no  queen,  and  you 
Recoil  from  your  great  stock. 

lino.  Revenged ! 

How  should  I  be  revenged  ?    If  this  be  true, 
(As  I  have  such  a  heart,  that  both  mine  ears 
Must  not  in  haste  abuse,)  if  it  be  true, 
How  should  I  be  revenged  1 

lack.  Should  he  make  me 

Live  like  Diana's  priest,  betwixt  cold  sheets; 
Whiles  he  is  vaulting  variable  ramps. 
In  your  despite,  upon  your  purse  !     Revenge  It. 
I  dedicate  myself  to  your  sweet  pleasure; 
More  noble  than  that  runagate  to  your  bed; 
And  will  continue  fast  to  your  aU'ection, 
Still  close,  as  sure. 

Imo.  What  ho,  Pisanio  ! 

lach.  Let  me  my  service  lender  on  your  lips. 

Iiao.  Away  ! — I  do  condemn  mine  ears,  that  have 
So  long  attended  thee.— If  thou  wert  honorable. 
Thou  wouldst  have  told  this  tale  for  virtue,  not 
For  such  an  end  thou  seek'st;  as  base,  as  strange. 
Thou  wrong'st  a  gentleman,  who  is  as  far 
From  thy  report,  as  thou  from  honor;  and 
Solicit'st  here  a  lady,  that  disdains 
Thee  and  the  devil  alike.— Wliat  ho,  Pisanio!— 
The  king,  my  father,  shall  be  made  acquainted 
Of  thy  assault:  if  he  shall  think  it  tit. 
A  saucy  stranger  in  his  court,  to  mart 
As  in  a  Romish  stew,  and  to  expound 
His  beastly  mind  to  us;  he  hath  a  court 
He  little  cares  lor,  and  a  daughter  whom 
He  not  respects  at  all. — What  ho,  Pisanio! — 

Jack.  0  happy  Leonatus !  I  may  say : 


The  credit  that  thy  lady  hath  of  Ihee, 

Deserves  thy  trust';  and  thy  most  perfect  goodness, 

Her  assur'd  cretlit ! — Blessed  li\'e  you  long  ! 

A  lady  to  the  worthiest  sir,  that  ever 

Country  called  his  !  and  you,  his  mistress,  only 

For  the  most  worthiest  hi !    Give  me  your  pardon. 

I  have  spoke  this,  to  know  if  your  affiance 

Were  deeply-rooted  ;  and  shall  make  your  lord, 

That  which  he  is,  new  o'er:  And  he  is  one 

The  truest  manner'd;  sucli  a  lioly  witch, 

That  he  enchants  societies  unto  him  : 

Half  all  men's  hearts  are  his. 

hno.  You  make  amends, 

lack.  He  sits  'mongst  men,  like  a  descended  god '. 
He  hath  a  kind  of  honor  svU  him  off. 
More  than  a  mortal  seeming.    Be  not  angry. 
Most  mighty  princess,  that  I  have  advenlur'd 
To  try  your  taking  of  a  lalse  report;  which  hath 
Honor 'd  with  conliraiation  your  great  judgment 
In  the  election  of  a  sir  so  rare, 
Wliich  you  know,  cannot  err:  The  love  I  bear  him 
Made  me  to  fan=  you  thus;  but  the  gods  made  you. 
Unlike  all  others,  chaltless.    Pray,  your  pardon. 

Imii.  All's  well,  sir:  Take  my  power  i'  the  court 
for  yours. 

lack.  My  humble  thanks.    I  had  almost  forgot 
To  entreat  your  grace  but  in  a  small  request, 
And  yet  of  moment  loo,  for  it  concerns 
Your  lord  ;  myself,  and  other  noble  friends, 
Are  partners  in  the  business. 

Imo.  Pray,  what  is't  ? 

Inch.  Some  dozen  Romans  of  us,  and  your  lord, 
(The  best  feather  of  our  wing,)  have  mingled  sums, 
To  buy  a  present  for  the  emperor ; 
Which  I,  the  factor  fur  the  rest,  have  done 
In  France:  'Tis  plate,  of  rare  device  ;  and  jewels. 
Of  rich  and  exquisite  form:  their  values  great; 
And  1  am  something  curious,  being  strange, 
To  have  them  in  sale  stowage :  May  it  please  you 
To  take  tliem  in  protection] 

Imo.  Willingly ; 

And  pawn  mine  honor  for  their  safety  :  since 
My  lord  hath  interest  in  them,  I  will  keep  them 
in  my  bed-chamber. 

lack.  They  are  in  a  trunk, 

Attended  by  my  men  :  I  will  make  bold 
To  send  them  to  you.  only  for  this  night: 
1  must  aboard  to-morrow. 

Imo.  O.  no,  no. 

luck.  Yes,  I  beseech  ;  or  I  shall  short  my  word, 
By  lengthening  my  return.    From  Oallia 
I  cross'd  the  seas  on  jiurpose,  and  on  promise 
To  see  your  grace. 

lino.  I  thank  you  for  your  pains  ; 

But  not  away  to-morrow? 

luch.  O,  I  must,  madam : 

Therefore,  I  shall  beseech  you,  if  you  please 
To  greet  your  lord  with  writing,  do't  to-night. 
I  have  ouLstood  my  time ;  which  is  material 
To  the  lender  of  our  present. 

Imo.  I  will  write. 

Send  your  trunk  to  me ;  it  shall  safe  be  kept, 
And  truly  yielded  you:  You  are  very  welcome. 

{Exeunt 


ACT  II. 


SCF.XE  I.— Court  before  Cymbeline's  Palace. 
Enter  Cloten  and  two  Lords. 

Clo.  Was  there  ever  man  had  such  luck?  when 
I  kissed  the  jack  upon  an  up-cast,'  to  be  hit  away! 
I  had  a  hundred  pound  on't:  And  then  a  whore- 
.jon  jackanapes  must  talce  me  up  for  swearing  ;  as 
if  I  borrowed  mine  oaths  of  him,  and  might  not 
Bpend  them  at  my  pleasure. 

1  Lor  I.  What  got  he  by  that?  You  have  broke 
his  pate  with  your  bowl. 

2  Lorii.  If  his  wit  had  been  like  him  that  broke 
it,  it  would  have  run  all  out.  [Aside. 

Clo.  When  a  gentleman  is  disposed  to  swear, 

a  Sovereign  command.  '  Allow.ance,  pension. 

«  lie  is  descritiing  his  fitte  at  bowls :  the  jack  is  the  small 
bowl  at  which  the  others  are  aimed. 


it  is  not  for  any  standers-by  to  curtail  his  oaths : 
Ha? 

2  Lord.  No,  my  lord ;  nor  [Aside.]  crop  the  ears 
ofthem.  .  _      .      .1 

Cli).  Whoreson  dog!— I  give  him  satisfaction! 
'Would  he  had  been  one  of  my  rank! 

2  Ijjrd.  To  have  smelt  like  a  fool.  [Aside. 

Clii.  I  am  not  more  vexed  at  any  thing  in  the 
earth: — A  pox  on't!  I  had  rather  not  be  so  noble 
,as  I  am :  they  dare  not  light  with  me,  because  ot 
the  queen  my  mother:  every  jack-slave  hath  his 
belly  full  of  fighting,  and  I  must  g;o  up  and  down 
like  a  cock  that  nobody  can  match. 

2  Lord.  You  are  a  cock  and  capon  too;  and  you 
crow,  cock,  with  your  comb  on.  [Aside. 

Clo.  Sayest  thou  ? 

>  To  fan  is  to  winnow. 


C20 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  II. 


1  Lord.  It  is  not  fit,  your  lordship  siiould  uiider- 
talie  every  comranio!i  that  you  give  offence  to. 

C7<).  No,  I  linow  thut :  but  it  is  tit,  I  should  com- 
mit oflence  to  my  interiors. 

2  Lord.  Ay,  it  is  tit  for  your  lordship  only. 
Cb).  Why,  so  I  say. 

1  Lord.  Did  you  hear  of  a  stranger  tliafs  come 
to  court  to-night  ? 

Clo.  A  stranger!  and  I  know  not  on't? 

2  Lirrd.  He's  a  strange  fellow  himself,  and  laiows 
it  not.  [Aside. 

1  Lord,  There's  an  Italian  come;  and,  'tis 
thought,  one  of  Leonatus'  friends. 

Clo.  Leonatus  !  a  banished  rascal ;  and  he's  an- 
other, whatsoever  he  be.  Who  told  you  of  this 
stranger  1 

1  Lord.  One  of  your  lordship's  pages. 

Cic.  Is  it  tit  I  went  to  look  upon  him  ?  Is  there 
no  derogation  in't  1 

1  Lord.  You  cannot  derogate,  my  lord. 
Clo.  Not  easily,  I  think. 

2  L(rrd.  You  are  a  fool,  granted:  therefore  your 
issues,  being  foolish,  do  not  derogate.  [  Aside. 

Clo.  Come,  I'll  go  see  this  Italian;  What  I  have 
lost  to-day  at  bowls,  I'll  win  to-night  of  him. 
Come,  go. 

2  Lord.  I'll  attend  your  lordship. 

{tCreunl  Clote.n  and  first  Lord. 
That  such  a  crafty  devil  as  is  his  mother 
Should  yield  the  world  this  ass !  a  woman,  that 
Bears  all  down  with  her  brain  ;  and  this  her  son 
Cannot  take  two  fiom  twenty  for  his  heart, 
And  leave  eighteen.    Alas,  poor  princess. 
Thou  divine  Imogen,  what  thou  endur'st ! 
Betwixt  a  father  by  thy  step-dame  govern'd  ; 
A  mother  hourly  coining  plots  ;  a  wooer 
More  hateful  than  the  foul  expulsion  is 
Of  (liy  dear  husband,  than  that  horrid  act 
01  the  divorce  he'd  make!  The  heavens  hold  firm 
The  walls  of  thy  dear  honor;  keep  unshak'd 
That  temple,  thy  fair  mind;  that  thou  may'ststand. 
To  enjoy  thy  banish'd  lord,  and  this  great  land  ! 

{Exit. 

SCENE   II.— ,4  BeJ-chamber;   in  one  Part  of  it 
a  Trunk. 

Imogen  readini;  in  her  Bed;  a  Lady  attending. 

Imo.  Who's  there  ?  my  woman  Helen  1 

Lady.  Please  you,  madam. 

Iiao.  What  hour  is  it? 

Lady.  Almost  midnight,  madam. 

Imo.  1  have  read  three  hours,  then :  mine  eyes 
are  weak: — 
Fold  down  the  leaf  where  I  have  left:  To  bed: 
Take  not  away  the  taper,  leave  it  burning; 
And  if  thou  canst  awake  by  four  o'  the  dock, 
I  pr'ythee,  call  me.    Sleep  hath  seiz'd  me  wholly. 

[Exit  Lady. 
To  your  protection  I  commend  me,  gods ! 
From  firiries,  and  the  tempters  of  the  night, 
Guard  me,  beseech  ye  ! 

[Sleeps.    lACEmo,  from  the  Trunk. 

laeh.  The  crickets  sing,  and  man's  o'er-labor'd 
sense 
Repairs  itself  by  rest:  Our  Tarquin  thus 
Did  sottly  press  the  rushes.6  ere  h^waken'd 
The  chastilv  he  wounded. — Cytherea, 
How  bravelV  thou  becom'st  thy  bed  !    Fresh  lily  ! 
And  whiter  than  the  sheets  !  That  I  might  touch  ! 
But  kiss;  one  kiss! — Rubies  nnparagon'd. 
How  dearly  they  do't!— 'Tis  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus:  The  tiameo'the  taper 
Bows  toward  her ;  and  would  under-peep  her  lids, 
To  see  the  enclosed  lights,  now  canopied 
Under  these  windows :  White  .and  azure,  laced 
With  blue  of  heaven'sovi-n  tincl."— But  my  design  ? 
To  note  the  chamber:— I  will  write  all  down  :— 
Such  and  such  pictures:— There  the  window:— 

.Such 
The  adornment  of  her  bed ;— The  arras,  figures. 
Why,  such,  and  such:— And  the  contents  o' the 

story, — . 
Ah,  but  some  natural  notes  about  her  body, 
Above  ten  thousand  meaner  movables 
Would  testify,  to  enrich  mine  inventory: 

«  It  w.as  anciently  the  custom  to  strew  chambers  with 
ru8bo.s. 
'  i.  e.  The  white  skin  laced  with  blue  veins. 


0  sleep,  thou  ape  of  death,  lie  dull  upon  her! 

.\nd  be  her  sense  but  as  a  monument. 

Thus  in  a  chapel  lying  !— Come  otf,  come  oft;- 

[  Taking  off  her  Bracelet 
As  slippery  as  the  Gordian  knot  was  hard  ! 
Tis  mine ;  and  this  will  witness  outwardly. 
As  strongly  as  the  conscience  does  within," 
To  the  madding  of  her  lord.    On  her  left  breast 
A  mole  cinque-spotted,  like  the  crimson  drops 
I'  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip;  Here's  a  voucher. 
Stronger  than  ever  law  could  make ;  this  secret 
Will  force  him  think  I  have  pick'd  the  lock,  and 

ta'en 
The  treasure  of  her  honor.    No  more.— To  what 

end? 
Why  should  I  write  this  down,  that's  riveted, 
Screw'd  to  my  memory  1  She  hath  been  reading  late 
The  tale  of  Tereus;  here  the  leaf's  turn'd  down, 
Where  Philomel  gave  up: — I  have  enough: 
To  the  trunk  again,  and  shut  the  spring  of  it. 
Swift,  swift,  you    dragons  of  the    night!  — that 

dawning 
May  bare  the  raven's  eye:  I  lodge  in  fear; 
Though  this  a  heavenly  angel,  hell  is  here. 

[  Clock  strikes 
One,  two,  three. — Time,  time! 

[  Goes  into  the  Trunk.    The  Scene  closes. 

SCENE  HI.— An  Ante-chamber  joining  Imogen's 

Apartment. 

Enter  Cloten  atid  Lords. 

1  Lord.  Your  lordship  is  the  most  patient  man 
in  loss,  the  most  coldest  that  ever  turned  up  ace. 

Clo.  It  would  make  any  man  cold  to  lose. 

1  Lord.  But  not  every  man  patient,  after  the 
noble  temper  of  your  lordship:  You  are  most  hot, 
and  furious,  when  you  win. 

Cto.  Winning  would  put  any  man  into  courage: 
If  I  could  get  this  foolish  Imogen,  I  should  have 
gold  enough :  It's  almost  morning,  is't  not  1 

1  Lord.  Day,  my  lord. 

Clo.  I  would  this  music  would  come:  I  am  ad- 
vised to  give  her  music  o'  the  mornings ;  they  say, 
it  will  penetrate. 

Enter  Musicians. 
Come  on;  tune:  If  you  can  penetrate  her  with 
your  lingering,  so;  we'll  try  with  tongue  too:  if 
none  will  do,  let  her  remaui;  but  I'll  never  give 
o'er.  First,  a  very  excellent,  good-conceiled  thing; 
after,  a  wonderful  sweet  air,  with  admirable  rich 
words  to  it, — and  then  let  her  consider. 

SONG. 
Hark .'  hark .'  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 

And  Phcebus  ^gins  arise. 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chaliced^Jknvers  fhtit  lies; 
And  winking  Mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes; 
With  every  thing  tlwl  pretty  bin  : 

My  lady  sweet,  arise; 
Arise,  arise. 

So,  get  yon  gone :  If  this  penetrate,  I  will  consider 
your  music  the  bettcr;9  if  it  do  not,  it  is  a  vice  in 
her  ears,  which  horse-hairs,  and  cat-guts,  nor  the 
voice  of  unpaved  eunuch  to  boot,  can  never  amend. 
[Exeunt  Musicians. 
Enter  CrjiBEt.ixE  a7id  Queen. 

2  Lord.  Here  comes  the  king. 

Cto.  I  am  glad  I  w.as  up  so  late;  for  that's  the 
reason  I  was  up  so  early:  He  cannot  choose  but 
take  this  service  I  have  done,  fatherly.— t;ood-mor- 
row  to  your  majesty,  and  to  my  gracious  mother. 

Cyni.  Attend  you  here  the  door  of  our  stern 
daughter? 
Will  she  not  forth? 

Clo.  I  have  assailed  her  with  music,  but  she 
vouchsafes  no  notice. 

Cym.  The  exile  of  her  minion  is  too  new; 
She  hath  not  yet  forgot  him  :  some  more  time 
Must  wear  the  print  of  his  remembrance  out. 
And  then  she's  yours. 

Queen.  You  are  most  bound  to  tlie  king. 

Who  lets  go  by  no  'vantages,  that  may 
Prefer  you  to  his  daughter:  Frame  yourself 


•  Cupped, 


•  Will  pay  you  more  for  it. 


Scene  I\''. 


CYMBELINE. 


621 


To  orderly  solicits;  and  be  friended 
With  aptness  of  the  season  :  malic  denials 
Increase  your  services:  so  seem,  as  if 
You  were  inspired  to  do  those  duties  wliich 
You  tender  to  her:  that  you  in  all  obey  her, 
Save  when  command  to  your  dismission  tends, 
And  therein  you  are  senseless. 
Clo.  Senseless  7  not  so. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 
Mt_ns.  So  like  you,  sir,  ambassadors  from  Rome; 
The  one  is  Caius  Lucius, 

Cym.  A  worthy  feUow, 

Albeit  he  comes  on  angry  purpose  now ; 
But  that\s  no  fault  of  his:  We  must  receive  him 
According  to  the  honor  of  his  sender; 
And  towards  himself  his  goodness  forespent  on  us 
We  must  extend  our  notice. — Our  dear  son, 
Whea  5"ou  have  given  good-morning  to  5*our  mis- 
tress, 
Attend  tlie  queen,  and  us:  we  shall  have  need 
To  employ  you  towards  this  Roman.— Come,  our 
queen. 

\Exeimt  Ztsu.  QrEEs'.  Lords,  and  Mess. 
Cto.  If  she  be  up,  I'll  speak  with  her;  if  not. 
Let  her  lie  still,  and  dream. — By  your  leave,  ho!^ 

\_Knocks. 
I  know  her  women  arc  about  her:  What 
If  1  do  Une  one  of  their  hands?  'Tis  gold 
Which  buys  admittance ;  oft  it  doth  ;  yea, and  makes 
Diana's  rangers  false  themselves,  yield  up 
Their  deer  to  the  stand  of  the  stevi'ier ;  and  'tis  gold 
Which  makes  the  true  man  kiU'd,  and  saves  the 

thief; 
Nay.sometiine.hangsboth  thief  and  true  man:  What 
Can  it  not  do,  and  undo  1  I  will  make 
One  of  her  women  lawyer  to  me;  for 
I  yet  not  understand  the  case  myself. 
By  your  leave.  [KnocTis. 

Enter  a  Lady. 

Lddij.  Who's  there,  that  knocks  1 

Cto.  A  gentleman. 

Lady.  No  more  ■? 

Clo.'  Yes,  and  a  gentlewoman's  son. 

Latlu.  That's  more 

Than  "some,  whose  tailors  are  as  dear  as  yours, 
Can  justly  boast  of:  What's  your  lordship's  plea- 
sure ? 

Cln.  Your  lady's  person;  Is  she  ready! 

Lady.  Ay, 

To  keep  her  chamber. 

CI'.).  There's  gold  for  you ;   sell  me  your  good 
report. 

Lady.  How!  my  good  name?  or  to  report  of  you 
What  I  shall  thiiik  is  good  ! — The  princess 

Enter  Imogen'. 

Clo.  Rood-morrow,  fairest  sister :    Y'our  sweet 
hand. 

Imo.  Good-morrow,  sir  :    Y'ou  lay  out  too  much 
pains 
For  purchasing  but  trouble :  the  thanks  I  give, 
Is  telling  you  that  I  am  poor  of  tlianks, 
And  scarce  can  spare  them. 

Cio.  Still  I  swear  I  love  you. 

Imo.  If  you  but  said  so,  'twere  as  deep  with  me : 
If  you  swear  still,  your  recompense  is  still 
That  1  regard  it  not. 

Clo.  Tiiis  is  no  answer. 

Imo.  But  that  you  shall  not  say  I  yield,  being 
silent, 
I  would  not  speak.    I  pray  you, spare  me:  i'  faith, 
I  shall  unfold  equal  discourtesy 
To  your  best  kindness;  one  of'your  great  knowing 
Should  learn,  being  taught,  forbearance. 

Cln.  To  leave  yoii  in  your  madness,  'twere  my  sin : 
I  will  not. 

Imo.  I'ools  are  not  mad  folks. 

Clo.  Do  you  call  me  fool  ? 

Imo.  As  I  am  mad,  I  do ; 
If  you'll  be  patient,  I'll  no  more  be  mad  ; 
That  cures  us  both.    I  am  much  sorry,  sir, 
You  put  me  to  forget  a  lady's  manners. 
By  being  so  verbal :'  and  learn  now,  for  all, 
That  I,  which  know  my  heart,  do  here  pronotmce, 
By  the  very  truth  of  it,'I  care  not  for  you ; 
And  am  so  near  the  lack  of  charity, 

'  So  verbose,  so  full  of  talk. 


(To  accuse  myself,)  I  hate  you :  which  I  had  rather 
You  tcU,  than  make't  my  boast. 

Cln.  Y'ou  sin  against 

Obedience,  which  you  owe  your  father.    For 
The  contract  you  pretend  with  that  base  wretch, 
(One,  bred  of  "alms,  and  foster'd  with  cold  dishes, 
With  scraps  o'  the  court.)  it  is  no  contract,  none 
And  though  it  be  allow'd  in  meaner  parties. 
Yet  who  than  he  more  mean?)  to  knit  their  souls 
On  whom  there  is  no  more  dependency 
Jut  brats  and  beggary)  in  seli-iigured  knot:^ 
Yet  you  are  curb'd  from  that  enfargement  by 
The  consequence  o'  the  crown;  and  must  not  soil 
The  precious  note  of  it  with  a  base  slave, 
A  hilding3  for  a  livery,  a  squire's  cloth, 
.V  pantlcr,  not  so  emnient. 

Imo.  Profane  fellow! 

Wert  thou  the  son  of  Jupiter,  and  no  more. 
But  what  thou  art  besides,  thou  wert  too  base 
To  be  his  groom :  Thou  wert  digniticd  enough, 
Even  to  the  point  of  envy,  if  'tv^ere  made 
Comparative  for  your  virtues,  to  be  styl'd 
The  under-hangihan  of  his  kingdom ;  and  hated 
For  being  preferr'd  so  well. 

Cln.  The  south-fog  rot  him ! 

Imo.  He  never  can  meet  more  mischance,  than 
come 
To  be  but  named  of  thee.    His  meanest  garment, 
That  ever  hath  but  clipp'd  his  body,  is  dearer. 
In  my  respect,  than  all  the  hairs  above  thee. 
Were  they  all  made  such  men. — How  now,  Pisanio  ! 
Enter  Pisasio. 

Clo.  His  garment?    Now,  the  devil — 

lino.  To  Dorothy  my  woman  hie  thee  present- 
ly :- 

Clo.  His  garment  ? 

Into.  I  am  sprighted^  with  a  fool 

Frighted, and  anger'd  worse: — Go,  bid  my  w'oman 
Search  for  a  jewel,  that  too  casually 
Hath  loll  niinearm ;  it  was  thy  master's:  'shrew  me 
If  I  would  lose  it  for  a  rcvon::e 
Of  any  king's  in  Europe.    I  do  think,  • 

I  saw't  this  morning:  confident  I  am 
Last  night  'twas  on  mine  arm;  I  kiss'd  it: 
1  hope,  it  be  not  gone,  to  tell  my  lord 
That  I  kiss  aught  but  he. 

Pi-i.  'Twill  not  be  lost. 

Imo.  I  hope  so:  go,  and  search.  {Exit  Pis. 

Clo.  Y'ou  have  abused  me : — 

His  meanest  garment? 

Imo.  Ay ;  I  said  so,  sir. 

If  you  will  make't  an  action,  call  witness  to't. 

Clo.  I  will  inform  your  father. 

Imo.  Your  mother  too. 

She'.s  my  good  lady ;  and  will  conceive.  I  hope. 
But  the  "worst  of  me.    So  I  leave  you,  sir, 
To  the  worst  of  discontent.  {Exit. 

Civ.  I'll  be  revenged  : — 

His  meanest  garment  ?— Well.  {Exit. 

SCENE  IV.— Rome.    An  Aiiarlmcntin  Vhi\a.no'a 

Himxe. 

Enter  Posthumus  and  Piiil.\rio. 

Po.it.  Fear  it  not,  sir:  I  would,  I  were  so  sure 
To  win  the  king,  as  I  am  bold,  her  honor 
Will  remain  her^v 

Pfii.  What  means  do  you  make  to  him  ? 

Post.  Not  any  ;  but  abide  the  change  of  time  ; 
Quake  in  the  present  winter's  state,  and  wish 
That  warmer  days  would  come :  In  these  fear'd 

Iiopes, 
I  barely  gratify  your  love;  they  failing, 
I  niustdie  much  your  debtor. 

Plii.  Your  very  goodness,  and  your  company, 
0"erpays  all  I  can  do.    By  thi.s.  your  king 
Hath  heard  of  great  Augustus:  Caius  Lucius 
Will  do  his  commission  thoroughly:  And,  I  think, 
He'll  grant  the  tribute,  send  the  arrearages. 
Or  look  upon  our  Romans,  whose  remembrance 
Is  vet  fresh  iji  their  grief. 

Post.  I  do  belipve, 

(Statist''  though  I  am  none,  nor  hke.to  be  ) 
That  this  will  prove  a  war;  and  you  shall  bear 
The  legions  now  in  Gallia,  sooner  landed 
In  our  iiot-fearing  Britian,  thaji  have  tidings 
Of  any  penny  tribute  paid.    Our  countrymen 

i»  Knots  of  their  own  tying. 

»  A  low  fellow,  only  fit  to  wear  a  livery. 

*  llauDted.  6  St.ttesnian. 


622 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  II.  Scene  IV. 


Are  men  more  orderM,  than  when  Julius  Cresar 
Smiled   at   their   lack   of  skill,    but   Ibund    their 

courage 
Worthy  his  frowning  at:  Their  discipline 
(Now   mingled   with   their  courages)   will  make 

known 
To  their  approvers,^  they  are  people,  such 
That  mend  upon  the  world. 

Enter  Iachimo. 

Phi.  See!  Iachimo'! 

Post.  The  swiftest  harts  have  posted  you  by 
land; 
And  winds  of  all  the  corners  kissM  your  sails, 
To  make  your  vessel  nimble. 

Phi.  Welcome,  sir. 

Pofit.  I  hope,  the  briefness  of  your  answer  made 
The  specdiness  of  your  return. 

lack.  Your  lady 

Is  one  the  fairest  that  I  have  lookM  upon. 

Post.  And  therewithal,  the  best ;  or  let  her  beauty 
Look  through  a  casement  to  allure  false  hearts, 
And  be  false  with  them. 

lach*  Here  are  letters  for  you. 

Pout.  Their  tenor  good,  I  trust. 

lack.  'Tis  very  like. 

Phi.  Was  Cains  Lucius  in  the  Britain  court, 
When  you  were  there  ? 

lack.  He  was  expected  then, 

But  not  approach'd. 

Pmi.  All  IS  well  yet. — 

.Sparkles  this  stone  as  it  was  wont  ?  or  isH  not 
Too  dull  for  your  good  wearing '! 

lack.  If  I  had  lost  it, 

I  should  have  lost  the  worth  of  it  in  gold, 
ril  make  a  journey  twice  as  far,  to  enjoy 
A  second  night  of  such  sweet  shortness,  which 
Was  mine  in  Britain;  for  the  ring  is  won. 

Post.  The  stone\s  too  hard  to  come  by. 

lach.  Not  a  whit, 

Your  lady  being  so  easy. 

Post.  Make  not,  sir, 

Yofljr  loss  your  sport;  I  hope,  you  know  that  we 
Must  not  continue  friends. 

lac  ft.  Good  sir,  we  must, 

If  you  keep  covenant:  Had  I  not  brought 
Tlie  knowledge  of  your  mistress  home,  I  grant 
We  were  to  question  further:  but  I  now 
Profess  myself  the  winner  of  her  honor, 
Together  wilh  your  ring;  and  nut  tlie  wronger 
Of  her,  or  you,  liaving  proceeded  but 
By  both  your  wills. 

Ptist.  If  you  can  make't  apparent 

Tliat  you  have  tasted  her  in  bed,  my  liand. 
And  nn^  is  yours:  If  not,  the  foul  opinion 
You  haa  of  her  pure  honor,  gains,  or  loses, 
Your  sword,  or  mine;  or  masterJess  leaves  both 
To  who  shall  find  tJiein. 

lack.  Sir,  my  circumstances, 

Being  so  near  the  truth,  as  I  will  make  them, 
Must  tirst  induce  you  to  believe:  whose  strength 
I  will  conlirm  with  oath ;  which,  I  doubt  not. 
You'll  give  me  leave  to  spare,  wlicn  you  shall  find 
Y'ou  need  it  not. 

Post.  Proceed. 

lacfi.  First, her  bed-chamber; 

(Where,  t  confess,  I  slept  not;  but,  profess. 
Had  that  was  well  worth  watching:)  It  was  hang*d 
With  tapestry  of  silk  and  silver;  the  story, 
Proud  Cleopatra,  when  she  met  her  Roman, 
And  Cydnus  swell'd  above  the  banks,  or  for 
The  press  of  boats,  or  pride:  A  piece  of  work 
So  bravely  done,  so  rich,  that  it  did  strive 
In  workmanship  and  value;  which  I  wondcr'd 
Could  be  so  rarely  and  exactly  wrought. 
Since  the  true  lile  on't  was— 

pod.  This  is  true; 

And  this  you  might  have  heard  of  her,  by  me 
Or  by  riome  other. 

hick.  More  particulars 

Must  justify  my  knowledge. 

Post.  So  they  must, 

Or  do  your  honor  injury. 

lack.  The  chimney 

Is  south  the  chamber;  and  the  chimney-piece, 
Chaste  Diau,  bathing:  never  saw  I  figures 
So  likely  to  report  tticmsi'Ives  :  the  cutter 
Was  as  another  Nature,  dumb  ;  outwent  her, 
Motion  and  breath  left  out. 

•  To  those  who  ti-y  thorn. 


Post.  This  is  a  thing. 

Which  you  might  from  relation  likewise  reap; 
Being,  as  it  is,  much  spoke  of. 

lacfi.  The  roof  o'  the  chamber 

With  golden  cherubins  is  fretted  :   Her  andirons"' 
(I  had  forgot  them)  were  two  winking  Cu])ids 
Of  silver,  each  on  one  foot  standing,  nicely 
Depending  on  their  brands. 

Post.  This  is  her  honor  !— 

Let  it  be  granted,  you  have  seen  all  this,  [and 

praise 
Be  given  to  your  remembrance,)  the  description 
Of  what  is  in  her  chamber,  nothing  saves 
The  wager  you  have  laid. 

lack.  Then,  if  you  can, 

[Pullins  out  the  Bracelet. 
Be  pale;  I  beg  but  leave  to  air  this  jewel :  See!— 
And  now  'tis  up  again :  It  must  be  married 
To  that  your  diamond;  I'll  keep  them. 

Post.  Jove  !— 

Once  more  let  me  behold  it:  Is  it  that 
Which  I  left  with  her! 

hicfi.  Sir,  (I  thank  her,)  that: 

She  stripp'd  it  from  her  arm  ;  I  see  her  yet ; 
Her  pretty  action  did  outsell  her  gift. 
And  yet  enncli'd  it  too:  Siie  gave  it  me,  and  said, 
Slie  priz'd  it  once. 

Post.  May  be,  she  pluck'd  it  ofT, 

To  send  it  me. 

lack.  She  writes  so  to  you  1  doth  she? 

Post.  O,  no,  no,  no;  'tis  true.     Here,  take  this 
too ;  [  Gives  the  Ring, 

It  is  a  basilisk  unto  mine  eye. 
Kills  me  to  look  on*t : — Let  there  be  no  honor. 
Where  there  is  beauty;  truth,  where  semblance, 

love, 
Where  there's  another  man  :  The  vows  of  woman 
Of  no  more  bondage  bp,  to  where  tliey  are  made. 
Than  they  are  to  their  virtues;  whicliis  nutiiing: — 
O,  above  measure,  false  I 

Pki.  Have  patience,  sir. 

And  take  your  ring  again  ;  'tis  not  yet  won : 
It  may  be  probable  she  lost  it;  or. 
Who  knows,  if  one  oMier  women,  being  corrupted, 
Hath  stolen  it  Irom  her  1 

Post.  Very  true; 

And  so,  I  hope,  he  came  by't:— Back  my  ring:— 
Render  to  me  some  corporal  sign  about  her. 
More  evident  than  this  ;  for  this  was  stolen. 

lack.  By  Jupiter,  I  had  it  from  her  arm. 

Post.  Hark  you,  iie  swears;  by  Jupiter  he  swears, 
'Tis  true; — nay,  keep  the  ring — 'tis  true:   I  am 

sure, 
She  would  not  lose  it:  her  attendants  are 
All  sworn  and  honorable  :— They  induced  to  steal 

it: 
And  by  a  stranger? — No,  he  hath  enjoy'd  her: 
The  cognizance^  of  her  incontineney 
Is  this, — she  hath  bought  tlie  name  of  whore  thus 

dearly. — 
There,  take  thy  hire  ;  and  all  the  fiends  of  hell 
Divide  themselves  between  you  ! 

Phi.  Sir,  be  patient: 

This  is  not  strong  enough  to  be  believ'd 
Of  one  persuaded  well  ol^ 

Pof^f-  Never  talk  on't ; 

She  hath  been  colled  by  him. 

lack.  If  you  seek 

For  further  satisfying,  under  her  breast 
(Worthy  the  pressing]  lies  a  mole,  right  proud 
Of  that  most  delicate  lodging:  by  my  life, 
I  kiss'd  it;  and  it  gave  me  present  hunger 
To  feed  again,  though  full.    You  do  remember 
This  stain  upon  her  .' 

Post.  Ay,  and  it  doth  confirm 

Another  stain,  as  big  as  hell  can  hold. 
Were  there  no  more  but  it. 

lock.  Will  you  hear  morel 

Post.  Spare  your  aritlnnetic:  never  count  the 
turns; 
Once,  and  a  million  ! 

lack.  I'll  be  sworn, 

Post.  No  swearing. 

If  you  will  swear  yon  have  not  done't.  you  lie ; 
And  I  will  kill  thee,  if  thou  dost  deny 
Thou  hast  made  me  cuckold. 

lock.  I  will  deny  nothing 

■>  Ornamented  Ircn  bars  which  support  wood  burnt  In 
chjuiueya.  •Thebad^e;  tbo  token. 


Act  III.  Scene  II. 


CYMBELINE. 


6-3 


Post.  0,  that  I  had  her  here,  to  tear  herhnib-meal ! 
I  will  go  there,  and  do't;  i'  the  court;  before 
iler  father : — I'll  do  sometliitig {Exit. 

Pill.  Quite  beside 

The  governnient  of  patience  ! — You  have  won  ; 
Let's  IblJow  him,  and  pervert  tile  present  wrath 
He  hath  against  himself. 

luch.  With  all  my  heart.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  Y.— Another  Room  in  tlie  name. 
Enter  Posthliius. 
Post.  Is  there  no  way  for  men  to  be,  but  women 
Must  he  half-workers  f  We  are  bastards  all; 
And  that  most  venerable  man,  wliicli  I 
Did  call  m\'  lather,  was  I  know  not  where 
When  I  was  stauiji'd  j  some  coiner  wuli  his  tools 
Made  me  a  counterfeit.    Yet  my  mother  seem'd 
The  Dian  of  that  time:  so  doth  my  wife 
The  nonpareil  of  this. — O  vengeance,  vengeance  ! 
INIe  of  my  lawful  pleasure  she  restrain'd, 
And  pray'd  me,  oil,  torbearance:  did  it  with 
A  pudency^  so  rosy,  the  sweet  view  on't 
Might  well  have  warm'd  old  Saturn;  that  I  thought 
her 


As  chaste  as  unsunn'd  snow  : — 0,  all  the  devils  !  — 

This  yellow  lachimo,  in  an  hour, — was't  not  !— 

Or  less, — at  lirst :  Perchance  he  spoke  not ;  but 

Like  a  full-acorn 'd  boar,  a  (Jerman  one, 

Cry'doA.'  and  mounted:  found  no  opposition 

Uut  what  lie  look'd  for  should  oppose,  and  she 

Should  from  encounter  guard.    Could  I  find  out 

The  woman's  part  in  me  !  For  there's  no  motion 

That  tends  to  vice  in  man,  but  I  allirm 

It  is  the  woman's  part :  Be  it  lying,  note  it, 

The  woman's;  flattering,  hers;  deceiving,  hers; 

Lust  and  rank  thoughts,  hers,  hers;  revenges,  hers; 

Ambitions,  covetings,  change  of  prides,  disdain, 

Nice  longing,  slanders,  mutability, 

All  faults  that  may  be  named,  nay,  that  hell  knows, 

Why,  liers,  in  ])art,  or  all ;  but,  rather,  all : 

For  even  to  vice 

They  are  not  constant,  but  are  changing  still 

One  vice,  but  of  a  minute  old,  for  one 

Not  half  so  old  as  that.    I'll  write  against  them. 

Detest    them,    curse    them:  —  Yet    'lis    greatei  ' 

skill 
In  a  true  hate,  to  pray  they  have  their  will: 
The  very  devils  cannot  plague  them  better. 

[Exit 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I.— Britain.    A   Room  if   State  in  Cym- 
beline's  Palace. 

Enter  Cvmiieline.  Qijeen,  Cloten,  and  Lords, 
at  one  Door ;  and  at  another,  C.iius  Lucius 
and  Attendants. 

Ci/m.  Now  say,  what  would  Augustus  Ctcsar 
with  us? 

Luc.  When  Julius  Cajsar  (whose  remembrance 
yet    _ 
Lives  in  men  s  eyes  ;  and  will  to  eaie,  and  tongues, 
[)e  theme,  and  hearing  ever)  was  in  this  Britain, 
And  conquer'd  it,  Cassibelan,  thine  uncle, 
(Famous  in  Cusar's  praises,  no  whit  less 
Than  in  his  feats  deserving  it,)  for  him. 
And  his  succession,  granted  Rome  a  tribute, 
Yearly  three  thousand  pounds;  which  by  thee  lately 
Is  lell  untender'd. 

Qnten.  And,  to  kill  the  marvel, 

Shall  be  so  ever. 

Clo.  There  be  many  Csesars, 

Ere  such  another  Julius.    Britain  is 
A  world  by  it.self ;  and  we  will  nothing  pay, 
For  wearing  our  own  noses. 

Queen.  That  opportunity. 

Which  then  they  had  to  take  from  us,  to  resume 
We  have  again.— Remember,  sir,  my  liege. 
The  kings  your  ancestors;  together  with 
The  natural  bravery  of  your  isle  ;  which  stands 
As  Neptune's  park,  riblied  and  paled  in 
With  rocks  unscaleable,  and  roaring  waters; 
With  sands,  that  will  not  bear  your  enemies'  boats. 
But  suck  them  up  to  the  lop-mast.   A  kind  of  eon- 
quest 
C.Tsar  made  here ;  but  made  not  here  his  brag 
Of  came,  and  saiv,  and  'mercame :  with  shame, 
(The  first  that  ever  touch'd  him,)  he  was  carried 
From  otioiir  coast,  twice  beaten:  and  his  shipping 
(Poor  ignorant  baubles  !)  on  our  terrible  seas. 
Like  e;;g-shells  moved  upon  their  surges,  erack'd 
As  easily  'gainst  our  rocks;  for  joy  whereof. 
The  liinied  Cassibelan,  who  was  once  at  point 
(I),  giglot  fortune  !)  to  master  Casar's  sword, 
Niade  Lud's  town  witli  rejoicing  fires  bright. 
And  Britons  strut  with  courage. 

Clo.  Come,  there's  no  more  tribute  to  be  paid: 
Our  kingdom  is  stronger  than  it  was  at  that  time  ; 
and,  as  I  said,  there  is  no  more  such  Caisars :  other 
of  them  may  liave  crooked  noses  ;  but  to  owe'sucli 
straight  arms.  none. 

Ci/m.  Son,  let  your  mother  end. 

Cto.  W'e  liave  yet  many  among  us  can  gripe  as 
hard  as  Cassibelan  :  I  do  not  say,  I  am  one;  but  I 
have  a  hand. — Why  tribute  !  why  should  we  pay 
triliule  !  II  Ca?sar'  can  hide  the  sun  /roin  us  with 
a  blanket,  or  put  the  moon  in  his  pocket,  we  will 


■  Modesty. 


'  Own. 


pay  him  tribute  for  light;  else,  sir,  no  more  tribute, 
pray  you  now. 

Cyin.  You  must  kTiow, 
Till  the  injurious  Romans  did  extort 
This  tribute  from  us, we  were  free:  Ciesar's  ambition 
(Which  swell'd  so  much  tliat  it  did  almost  stretch 
The  sides  o'  the  world,)  against  all  color,  here 
Did  put  the  yoke  upon  us;  which  to  shake  oil". 
Becomes  a  warlike  i)eoi)Ie.  whom  we  reckon 
Ourselves  to  be.     We  do  ^ay  then  to  Ca"sar, 
Our  ancestor  was  that  iWulmutius,  which 
Ordain'd  our  laws  ;  (whose  use  the  sword  of  Ca;sai 
Hath  too  much  mangled  ;  whose  repair,  and  Irau- 

chise. 
Shall,  by  the  power  we  hold,  be  our  good  deed. 
Though  Rome  be  theretbre  angry  ;)  jMulmutius, 
Who  was  the  first  of  Britain,  which  did  put 
His  brows  within  a  golden  crown,  and  call'd 
Himself  a  king. 

Euc.  I  am  sorry,  Cymbelinc, 

That  I  am  to  pronounce  Aiigustu.s  Ciesar 
(Ca'sar,  that  hath  more  kings  his  servants,  than 
Tliyself  domestic  ollicers.)  thine  enemy  : 
Receive  it  from  me,  then  :— War.  and  confusion, 
In  Ca'sar  s  name  jironounce  1  'gainst  thee  :  look 
For  fury  not  to  be  resisted :— Thus  defied, 

I  thank  thee  for  myself. 

L'ljm.  Thou  art  welcome,  Caius. 

Thy  Ca>sar  knighted  me;  my  youth  I  spent 
Aluch  under  hini ;  of  him  i  gather'd  honor; 
Winch  he,  to  seek  of  me  again,  perlurce. 
Behooves  me  keep  at  uitciaiice;-  1  am  perfect,' 
That  the  Pannoinans  and  Dalmatians,  lor 
Their  liberties,  are  now  in  arms:  a  precedent 
Which,  not  to  read,  would  show  the  Britons  cold 
So  Ca;sar  shall  not  find  them. 

^"C.  Let  proof  speak. 

Clo.  His  majesty  bids  you  welcome.  Wake  pas- 
time with  us  a  day,  or  two,  longer:  If  you  seek  us 
afierwards  in  other  terms,  you  shall  find  us  in  our 
salt-water  girdle:  if  you  beat  us  out  of  it,  it  is  yours; 

II  you  tall  111  the  adventure,  our  crows  shall  fare  the 
better  tor  you  ;  and  there's  an  end. 

Ltic.  So,  sir. 

Ci/m.  Iknowyourmaster'spIeasure,andliemine: 
All  the  remain  is,  welcome.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  U.— Another  Room  in  the  same. 

•    Enter  Pisaxio. 

Pis.  How!  of  adultery?  Wherefore  write  you  not 
What  monster  s  her  accuser  ?— Leonatus  ! 
0,  master!  what  a  strange  infection 
Is  fallen  into  thy  ear  ?     What  false  Italian 
(As  poisonous  tongu'd,  as  handed)  halh  prevail'd 
On  tliy  too  ready  hearing  ?— Disloyal  ?    No: 

»  At  the  extremity  of  defi.ince.  a  Vi'eU  infurmed. 


624 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  III. 


She's  punishVl  lor  hor  truth  ;  nnd  underi2:oes. 
More  poddess-]ike  than  wife-like,  such  assavUts 
As  would  take  in'  some  virtue. — 0,  my  master  ! 
Thy  mind  to  her  is  now  as  low,  as  were 
Thy  fortunes. — How  !  that  I  should  murder  her] 
Upon  the  love,  and  truth,  and  vows,  wliich  I 
Have    made    to    thy  command?  —  I,  her?  —  her 

blood  ] 
If  it  be  so  to  do  frood  service,  never 
Let  me  be  counted  serviceable.    How  look  I 
That  I  should  seem  to  lack  humanity 
So  much  as  this  fact  comes  lo  ]     DoH:    The  letter 

[Reading. 
That  I  have  .sent  her,  by  her  oion  command. 
Shall  give  thee  opportunity  :—0  damn'd  paper ! 
Black  as  the  ink  that's  on  thee!    Senseless  bauble, 
Art  thou  a  feodary^  for  this  act,  and  look'st 
So  virgin-like  without?     Lo,  here  she  comes. 

Enter  Imogen. 
.  I  am  ignorant  in  what  I  am  commanded. 

Imo.  How  now,  Pisanio? 

Pis.  Madam,  here  is  a  letter  from  my  lord. 

177UJ.  Who?  thy  lord?  that  is  my  lord,  Leonatus? 
O,  learn'd  indeed  were  that  astronomer, 
That  knew  the  stars,  as  I  his  characters ; 
He'd  lay  the  future  open. — You  good  gods, 
Let  what  is  here  contain'd  relish  of  love, 
or  my  lord's  health,  of  his  content, — yet  not, 
That  we  two  are  asunder,  let  that  grieve  him, — 
(Some  tiriefs  are  medcinable;)  that  isoneof  them, 
For  it  doth  physic  love; — of  his  content. 
All  but  in  that! — Good  wax,  thy  leave: — Bless'd 

be. 
You  bees.thatmake  these locksof  counsel!  Lovers, 
And  men  in  dan:j;crous  bonds,  prfiy  not  alike  ; 
Though  forfeiters  you  ca'st  in  prison,  yet 
You  clasp    young  Cupid's   tables:— Good    news, 
gods !  [Reads. 

Justice,  and  j/ourfi/tlifr''s  wrath,  .shniill  he  fake 
me  in  //w  tlnnnainn,  could  not  be  so  crurl  to  //te,  as 
you,  Othe dcnrrst  ofcrratnres.  wi/ull not erefi renew 
me  ivilh  your  ri/c.'^.Tal'r  not  we  that  Iain  in  Cambria, 
at  Milford-IIa'rr/i.  JVhat  your  own  love  will,  out  of 
this,  advise  you,  follow.  So,  he  wishes  you  all  hap- 
piness,that  remains  loyal  to  his  vow, and  your^  in.' 
creasing  in  love,  Leonatus  Posthumus. 

O.  for  a  horse  with  wings  ! — Hear'st  thou.  Pisanio  ? 
He  IS  at  r.Tilford-Havcn:  Read,  and  tell  me 
How  far  'tis  thither.    If  one  of  mean  atVairs 
May  plod  it  iJi  a  wee?;,  why  may  not  I 
Ghde  (hither  in  a  day? — Then,  true  Pisanio, 
(Who    long'st,    like    mo,  to  see    thy  lord;    who 

loug'st, — 
O,  let  me  'bate, — !uit  not  like  me: — yet  long'st, — 
But  in  a  fainter  kind; — O.  not  like  me; 
For  mine's  beyond  beyond,)  say,  and  speak  thick,^ 
(Love's  counsellor  should  till  the  bores  of  hearing, 
To  the  smothering  of  the  sense,)  Jiow  far  it  is 
To  this  same  blessed  Miiford:  And,  by  the  way, 
Tell  me  how  Wales  was  made  so  happy,  as 
To  inherit  such  a  haven  :  But,  tirst  of  all. 
How  wc  may  steal  from  hence;  and  for  the  gap 
That  we  shall  make  in  time,  from  our  hence-going 
And  our  return,  to  excuse: — but  first,  how  get 

hence ; 
Why  should  excuse  be  born  or  e'er  begot? 
We'll  talk  of  that  hereafter.    Pr'ythee,  speak. 
How  many  score  of  miles  may  vve  well  ride 
'Twixt  liour  and  hour  ? 

Pw.  One  score,  'twixt  sun  and  sun. 

Madam,  's  enough  for  you ;  and  too  much  too. 

Lno.  Why,  one  that  rode  to  his  execution,  man, 
Could  never  go  so  slow:  I  have  heard  of  riding 

.  wagers. 
Where  horses  have  been  nimbler  than  the  sands 
That  run  i'  the  clock's  !)eha!f : — But  this  is  foolery  : 
Go,  bid  my  womnn  feign  a  sicloiess;  say 
Siie'll  home  to  her  father;  and  provide  me,  pre- 
sently, 
A  riding  suit;  no  costlier  than  wou^d  fit 
A  franklin's'  housewife. 

Pis.  Madam,  youVebest  consider. 

Imo.  I  see  before  me.  man.  nor  here,  nor  here, 
Nor  what  ensues ;  but  liave  a  fog  in  them. 
That  I  cannot  look  through.    Away,  I  pr'ythee; 

*  To  htle  in  a  town,  is  to  conquer  it.         «  Confuderate. 
6  Crowd  one  word  uii  another,  as  fast  as  possible. 
1  A  freeholder. 


Do  as  I  hid  thee  :  There's  no  jnnrc  to  say  ; 
Accessible  is  none  but  Miiford  way,        "  [Exeunt 

SCEXE  III.— Wales.    A  Mountainous  Country, 

with  a  Cave. 

Enter  BELAniu3,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragcs. 

Bel.  A  goodly  day  not  to  keep  house,  with  such 
Whose  roof's  as  low  as  ours  !  Stoop,  boys:  This  gate 
Instructs  you  how  to  adore  the  heavens;  and  bows 

you 
To  mornings  holy  office.    The  gates  of  monarchs 
Are  arch'd  so  high,  that  giants  may  jet"^  through, 
And  keep  their  impious  turbans  on,  without 
Good-morrow  to  the  sun. — Hail,  thou  fair  heaven  : 
We  house  i'  the  rock,  yet  use  thee  not  so  hardly 
As  prouder  livers  do. 

Gui.  Hail,  heaven! 

Arv.  Hail, heaven  ! 

Bel.  Now,  for  our  mountain  .sport,:  Up  to  yon  hill. 
Your  legs  are  young;  I'll  tread  these  fiats.    Con- 
sider, 
When  you  above  perceive  me  like  a  crow. 
That  it' is  place  which  lessens,  and  sets  oiX, 
And  5'ou  may  then  revolve  what  tales  I  have  told 

you. 
Of  court^i.  of  princes,  of  the  tricks  in  war: 
This  service  is  not  service,  so  being  done, 
But  being  so  allow'd  :  To  apprehend  thu5, 
Draws  us  a  pro'it  from  all  things  we  see  : 
And  often,  lo  our  comfort,  shall  we  find 
The  sharded^  beetle  in  a  safer  hold 
Than  is  the  fuU-wing'd  eagle.    0,  this  life 
Is  nobler,  than  attending  for  a  check; 
Richer,  than  doing  nothing  for  a  babe ; 
Prouder,  tlian  rustling  in  unpaid-for  silk  : 
Such  gain  the  cap  of  him,  that  makes  them  fine, 
Yet  keeps  his  book  uncross'd:  no  life  to  cmrs.' 

Gui.  Out  of  your  i^roof  you  speak:  we,  poor  un- 
(Icdg'd, 
liave  never  wing'd  from  view  o'  the  nest;  nor 

know  not 
What  air's  frojji  home.     Haply,  this  life  is  best, 
If  quiet  life  be  best;  sweeter  to  you. 
That  have  a  sharper  known;  well  corresponding 
With  your  stilfage  ;  but,  unto  us,  it  is 
A  cell  of  ignorance;  travelling  a-bed  ; 
A  prison  for  a  debtor,  that  not  dares 
To  stride  a  limit.^ 

Arv.  What  should  we  speak  of, 

When  we  are  old  as  you  ?  when  we  shall  hear 
The  rain  and  wind  beat  dark  December,  how, 
In  this  our  pinching  cave,  shall  we  discourse 
The  freezing  hours  away  ?  We  have  seen  nothing: 
We  are  beastly;  subtle  as  the  fox,  for  prey; 
Like  warlike  as  tlie  wolf,  for  what  we  eat: 
Our  valor  is,  to  chase  what  flies;  our  cage 
We  make  a  quire,  as  doth  the  prison  bird, 
And  sing  our  bondage  freely. 

BeL  ^       How  you  speak ! 

Did  you  but  know  the  city's  usuries. 
And  felt  them  knowingly,  the  art  o'  the  court. 
As  hard  to  leave,  as  keep;  whose  top  to  climb 
Is  certain  falling,  or  so  slippery,  that 
The  fear's  as  bad  as  Killing;  tile  toil  of  tlie  war, 
A  pain  that  only  seems  to  seek  out  danger 
I'  the  name  of  fame  and  honor;  which  dies  i'  the 

search ; 
And  hath  as  oft  a  slanderous  epitaph. 
As  record  of  fair  act;  nay,  many  times, 
Doth  ill  deserve  by  doing  well ;  what's  worse, 
Must  court'sy  at  the  censure  : — O,  boys,  this  story 
The  world  may  read  in  me:  My  body's  mark'd 
With  Roman  swords;  and  my  report  was  once 
First  witli  the  best  of  note:  Cvmbclinc  lov'd  me; 
And  when  a  soldier  was  the  theme,  my  name 
Was  not  far  otf:  Then  was  I  as  a  tree. 
Whose  boughs  did  bend  with  fruit:  but  inone  night, 
A  storm,  or  robbery,  call  it  what  you  will, 
Shook  down  my  mellow  hangings,  nay,  my  leaves, 
And  leftjue  bare  to  weather. 

Gui.  Uncertain  favor! 

Bel.  My  fault  being  nothing,  (as  I  have  told  you 
olt.) 
Rut  that  two  villains,  whose  false  oaths  prevail'd 
Heliire  my  perfect  honor,  swore  to  Cymbeline, 
I  was  confederate  with  the  Romans:  so 
F(p|low'd  my  banishment ;  and,  this  twenty  years, 

8  SIrnt.  w.ilk  proudly.  »  Pcaly-winEred. 

'  I.e.  Compared  with  ours.     >  To  ovL-rpass  his  bound. 


Scene  IV. 


CYMBELINE. 


625 


This  rock,  and  these  demesnes.have  been  my  world; 
Where  I  have  liv'd  at  honest  freedom  ;  paid 
More  pious  debts  to  heaven,  than  in  all 
The  fore-end  of  mj'  time. — But,  up  to  the  moun- 
tains; 
This  is  not  hunters'  lansua^c: — He  that  strikes 
Tlie  veni.son  tirst,  shall  be  the  lord  o'  the  feast; 
To  him  the  other  two  shall  minister; 
And  we  will  fear  no  poison,  which  attends 
In  place  of  greater  state.    I'll  meet  you  in  the  val- 
leys. [Exeunt  Cvj.  and  Ary. 
How  hard  it  is  to  hide  the  sparks  of  nature! 
These  bo^■sknow  little,  they  are  sons  to  the  king; 
Nor  Cymbeline  dreams  that  they  are  alive. 
They  tliink,  they  are  mine:  and,  though  train'dup 

tlius  meanly 
I'  the  cave,  wherein  they  bow,  their  thoughts  do  hit 
The  roofs  of  palaces;  and  nature  prompts  them, 
In  simple  and  low  things  to  prince  it,  much 
Beyond  the  trick  of  others.    This  Polydore, — 
The  heir  of  Cymbeline  and  Britain,  whom 
The  king  his  father  call'd  Guiderius, — Jove! 
When  on  my  three-foot  stool  I  sit,  and  tell 
The  warlike  feats  I  have  done,  his  spirits  fly  out 
Into  my  story:  say,— TAu*  mine  enemy  fell; 
And  ikus  I  set  nujjhnl  on  his  neck ;  even  then 
The  princely  blood  tlows  in  his  cheek,  he  sweats, 
Strams   his   young   nerves,  and    puts  himself  in 

posture 
That  acts  my  words.  The  younger  brother,CadwaI, 
{Once,  Arvifagus,)  in  as  li"ke  a  figure. 
Strikes  life  into  my  speech,  and  shows  much  more 
His  own  conceiving.  Hark!  the  game  is  rous'd  ! — 
O  Cyniheliue!  heaven,  and  my  conscience,  knows. 
Thou  didst  unjustly  banish  me:  whereon. 
At  three,  and  two  years  old,  I  stole  these  babes ; 
Thinking  to  bar  thVe  of  succession,  as 
Thou  reffst  me  of  my  lands.    Euriphile, 
Thou  wast  their  nurse;  they  took  thee  for  their 

mother, 
And  every  day  do  honor  to  her  grave; 
Myself,  Belarius,  that  am  Morgan  call'd. 
They  take  for  natural  father.    The  game  is  up. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV.— iVrar  Milford-Haven. 
Enter  Pisanio  and  Imoges. 

Imo.  Thou  told'st  me,  when  we  came  from  horse, 

the  place 
Was  near  at  hand :— Ne'er  long'd  my  mother  so 
To  see  me  tirst,  as  I  have  now  : — Pisanio !    Man  ! 
Where  is  Posthtimus'!*  What  is  in  thy  mind. 
That  makes  thee  stare  thus!    Wherefore  breaks 

that  sigh 
From  the  inward  of  thee?     One,  but  painted  thus, 
Would  be  interpreted  a  thing  perplex'd 
Beyond  sell-explication:  Put  thyself 
Into  a  havior^  of  less  fear,  ere  wMdness 
Vanquish  my  staider  .senses.    What's  the  matter ! 
Why  tender'st  thou  that  paper  to  me,  with 
A  look  untcnder!     If  it  be  summer  news. 
Smile  to't  before:  if  winterly,  thou  need'st 
But  keep  that  countenance  still. — My  husband's 

hand ! 
That  drug-damn'd  Italy  hath  out-craftied  him, 
And  he's  at  some  hard  point. — Speak,  man;   thy 

tongue 
May  t.ake  off  some  extremity,  which  to  read 
Would  be  even  mortal  to  me. 

-P**.  Please  you,  read; 

And  you  shall  find  me,  wretched  man,  a  thing 
The  most  disdain'd  ol' fortune, 

Imo.  [Reads.]  Thy  7niitre.is,Visa-ivo,  hatkplay'd 
the  strumpet  ininiihed:  the  testimfini.es  wherenf lie 
bleeding  in  me.  Ispenk  not  out  nf  weak  surm'ises, 
but  from  proof  as  strong  as  m\i  grief,  and  as  certain 
as  I  expect  my  revenge.  That  part,  thou,  Pisanio, 
mint  act  for  rhe,  if  th}/ faith  he  not  tainted  with  the 
breach  oj  hers.  Let  thine  own  hands  take  airny  her 
life.  I  shall  give  thee  ojiport unities  at  Milford- 
Haven  :  she  hath  my  letter  for  the  purpose:  Where, 
if  thmi  fear  to  strike,  and  to  make  me  certain  it  is 
done,  thou  art  the  pander  to  her  dislionur,  and 
equally  to  me  disloyal, 
Pw.  What,  shall  I  need  to  draw  my  sword !   the 

paper 
Hath  cut  her  throat  already. — No,  'tis  slander ; 
3  For  behavior. 

40 


Whose  edge   is  sharper  than  the  sword;  whoso 

tongue 
Ouf-venonis  all  the  worms  of  Nile;  whose  brenth 
Rides  on  the  postiiiij  winds,  and  doth  belie 
All  eovners  of  the  world;  kings,  queens, and  states, 
Maids,  matrons,  nay.  the  secrets  of  the  grave 
This  viperous  slander  enters.— What  cheer, madam] 

Itnn.  False  to  his  bed !  What  is  to  be  false] 
To  lie  in  watch  there,  and  to  think  on  him? 
To  weep  'twixt  clock  and  clock]  if  sleep  charge 

nature. 
To  break  it  with  a  fearful  dream  of  him. 
And  cry  myself  awake]     That's  talsc  to  his  bedl 
Is  it] 

Pis.  Alas,  good  lady! 

Imo.  1  false]  Thy  conscience  witness: — lachimo, 
Thou  didst  accuse  him  of  incontineney ; 
Thou  then  lookMst  like  a  villain;  now.  methinks, 
Tliy  favor\'^  good  enough, — Some  jay  of  Italj-, 
Whose  motherwasherpainting,-'hatii  betrayed  him: 
Poor  I  am  stale,  a  garment  out  of  fashion ; 
And,  for  I  am  richer  than  to  hang  by  the  walls, 
I  must  be  ripp'd  :— To  pieces  with  me  ! — O, 
MeM''s  vowsarc  women's  traitors!  All  good  seeming, 
]Jy  thy  revolt,  O  husband,  shall  be  thougiit 
Put  on  for-  villany  ;  not  born,  where't  grows ; 
Bui  worn,  a  bait  for  ladies. 

Pis.  Good  madam,  hear  me. 

Imo.  True  honest  men,  being  heard,  like  false 
i^neas. 
Were,  in  his  time,  thougiit  false:  and  Sinon's  weep- 
ing 
Did  scandal  many  a  holy  tear;  took  pity 
From   most    true  wretchedness:    So,  thou,  Post- 
humus, 
Wilt  Jay  the  leaven  on  all  proper  men ; 
Goodly,  and  gallant, shall  be  (l^Ise  and  nerjurM, 
From  thy  great  tail. — Come. fellow, be  tliou  honest: 
Dothou'thy  master's  bidding:   when  thou  sccst 

him, 
A  little  witness  my  obedience:  Look! 
I  draw  the  sword  myself:  take  it,  and  hit 
The  innocent  mansion  of  my  love,  my  heart: 
Ft'ar  not;  'tis  empty  of  all  things,  but  grief: 
Thy  master  is  not  there;  who  was,  indeed. 
The  riches  of  it:  Do  his  bidding;  strike. 
Thou  may'st  be  valiant  in  a  beUer  cause, 
But  now  thou  seem'st  a  coward. 

Pis.  Hence,  vile  instrument ! 

Thou  shalt  not  damn  my  hand. 

Imo.  '  Why,  I  must  die; 

And  if  I  do  not  by  thy  hand,  thou  art 
No  servant  of  thy  master's:  Against  self-slaughter 
There  is  a  prohioition  so  divine, 
That  cravensJ  my  weak  hand.    Come,  here's  my 

he;irt; 
Something's  afore't : — Soft;  soft;  we'll  no  defence; 
Obedient  as  the  scabbard. — What  is  here! 
The  scriptures'^  of  the  loyal  Leonatus, 
All  turn'd  to  heresy  ]     Away,  away. 
Corrupters  of  my  faith  !  you  shall  no  more 
Be  stomachers  to  my  heart !  Thus  may  poor  fools 
Believe  false  teachers:  Though  those  that  are  be- 
tray'd 
Do  feel  the  treason  sharply,  j*et  the  traitor 
.Stands  in  worse  case  of  woe. 
And  thou,  Posthumus,  thou  that  didst  set  up 
My  disobedience  'gainst  the  king  my  father. 
And  make  me  put  into  eontempt  the  suits 
Of  princely  I>llows,  shalt  thereatter  fmd 
It  is  no  act  of  common  pa-'^sage.  but 
A  strain  of  rareness;  and  I  t^rleve  myself, 
To  think,  when  thou  shalt  be  disedgM  by  her 
That  now  thou  lir'st"'  on,  how  thy  memory 
Will  then  be  pang'd  by  me. — Pr'ythee,  despatch  : 
The  Iamb  entreats  the  butcher:  Where's  thy  Icnife] 
Thou  art  too  slow  to  do  thy  master's  bidding, 
When  I  desire  it  too. 

Pis.  O  gracious  lady, 

Since  I  received  command  to  do  this  business, 
I  have  not  slept  one  wink. 

Into.  Do't,  and  to  bed  then. 

Pu9.  I'll  wake  mine  eye-balls  blind  first. 

Imo.  Wherefore  then 

Did'st  undertake  it]  Why  hast  thou  abused 
Sit  nuiTiy  miles  with  a  pretence  ?  this  place] 
Mine  action,  and  thine  own  ]  our  horses'  labor! 


•  Likcne?;-s. 
6  Thd  writings. 


"  Cowards. 

t  Feedest  or  preyest  en. 


626 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  III. 


The  time  inviting  theel  the  perturbM  court, 
For  my  being  absent :  wliereunto  I  never 
Purpose  return  1     Why  hast  thou  gone  so  far, 
To  be  unbent,  when  thou  hast  ta'en  thy  stand, 
The  elected  deer  before  thee'! 

Pis.  But  to  win  time 

To  lose  so  bad  employment:  in  the  which 
I  have  considerM  of  a  course;  Good  lady, 
Hear  me  with  patience. 

I/no.  Talk  thy  tongue  weary ;  speak : 

I  have  heard,  I  am  a  strumpet;  and  mine  ear, 
Therein  false  struck,  can  take  no  greater  wound, 
Nor  tent  to  bottom  that.    But  speak. 

Pis,  Then,  madam, 

I  thought  you  would  not  back  again. 

Imo.  Most  like; 

B»inging  me  here  to  kill  me. 

Pis.  Not  so,  neither: 

But  if  I  were  as  wise  as  honest,  then 
My  purpose  would  prove  well.    It  cannot  be, 
But  that  my  master  is  abused : 
Some  villain,  ay,  and  singular  in  his  art, 
Hath  done  you  both  this  cursed  injury. 

Imo.  Some  Boman  courtesan. 

Pis.  No,  on  my  life. 

V\l  give  but  notice  you  are  dead,  and  send  him 
Some  bloody  sign  of  it;  for  His  commanded 
I  should  do  so :  You  shall  be  missM  at  court. 
And  that  will  well  confirm  it. 

Imo.  Why,  good  fellow, 

What  shall  I  do  the  while  1  Where  bide?  HowUvel 
Or  in  my  life  what  comfort,  when  I  am 
Dead  to  my  husband  ! 

Pis.  If  you'll  back  to  the  court, — 

Imo.  No  court,  no  father ;  nor  no  more  ado 
With  that  harsh,  noble, simple,  notliing: 
That  Cloten,  whose  love-suit  hath  been  to  me 
As  fearful  as  a  siege. 

Pis.  If  not  at  court, 

Then  not  in  Britain  must  you  'bide. 

Imo.  Where,  then  1 

Hath  Britain  all  the  sun  that  shines?  Day,  night, 
Are  tliey  not  but  in  Britain?  I'  tlie  world's  volume 
Our  Britain  seems  as  of  it,  but  not  in  it; 
In  a  great  pool,  a  swan's  nest;  Pr'ythec,  think 
There's  livers  out  of  Britain. 

Pis.  I  am  most  glad 

You  think  of  other  place.    The  amI)assador, 
Lucius  the  Roman,  comes  to  Milford-Haven 
To  morrow :  Now,  if  you  could  wear  a  mind 
Dark  as  your  fortune  is;  and  but  disguise 
That,  which,  to  appear  itself,  must  not  yet  be, 
But  by  self-danger;  you  should  tread  a  course 
pretty,  and  full  of  view:  yea,  haply,  near 
The  residence  of  Posthumus:  so  ni^h.at  least, 
Tliat  though  his  actions  were  not  visible,  yet 
Report  should  render  hira  hourly  to  your  ear, 
As  truly  as  he  moves. 

Imo.  O,  for  such  means ! 

Though  peril  to  ray  modesty,  not  death  on't, 
I  would  adventure. 

Pis.  Well,  then,  here's  the  point: 

You  must  forget  to  he  a  woman ;  change 
Command  into  obedience;  fear,  and  niccness, 
(Tlie  liandmaids  of  all  women,  or,  more  truly, 
Woman  its  pretty  self,)  to  a  waggish  courage; 
Ready  in  gibes,  quick-answer'd.  saucy,  and 
As  quarreious  as  the  weasel :  nay,  you  must 
Forget  that  rarest  treasure  of  your'cheek, 
Exposing  it  (but,  O,  tiie  harder  heart! 
Alack,  no  remedy  !)  to  the  greedy  touch 
Of  comrnon-kissing  Titan;''  and  Ibrget 
Your  laborsome  and  dainty  trims,  wherein 
You  made  great  Juno  angry. 

//'/".  Nay,  be  brief: 

I  see  into  tliy  end,  and  am  almost 
A  man  already. 

Pw.  First,  make  yourself  but  like  one. 

Fore-thinking  this,  I  have  already  fit, 
PTis  in  my  cloak-hag.)  doublet,  hat,  hose,  all 
That  answer  to  them  :  Would  you.  in  tlieir  serving, 
And  with  what  imitation  you  can  burrow 
From  youth  of  sueii  a  season,  'tore  nol)Ic  Lucius 
Present  yourself,  desire  his  service,  teil  him 
Wherein  you  are  ha]>py,  (Which  you'll  make  him 

know. 
If  that  his  head  have  ear  in  music,)  doubtless, 
With  joy  he  will  einltraceyou  ;  lor  he's  honorable. 
And,(U)ubling  that,  most  Jioly.  Your  means  abroad 
>  The  sua. 


You  have  me,9  rich  ;  and  I  will  never  fail 
Beginning,  nor  supplyment. 

I/nu.  Thou  art  all  the  comfort 

The  gods  will  diet  me  with.    Pr'ythee,  away: 
There's  more  to  be  consider'd  ;  but  we'll  even 
All  that  good  time  will  give  us:  This  attempt 
I'm  soldier  to,  and  will  abide  it  with 
A  prince's  courage.    Away,  I  pr'ythee. 

Pis.  Well,  madam,  we  must  take  a  short  farewell: 
Lest,  being  miss'd,  I  be  suspected  of 
Your  carriage  from  the  court.    My  noble  mistress, 
Here  is  a  box  :  I  had  it  from  the  queen; 
What's  in't  is  precious ;  if  you  are  sick  at  sea, 
Or  stomach-qualni'd  at  lana,  a  dram  of  this 
Will  drive  away  distemper. — To  some  shade. 
And  fit  you  to  your  manhood : — May  the  goas 
Direct  you  to  the  best ! 

Imo.  Amen :  I  thank  thee. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  v.— ^  Room  in  Cymbeline's  Palace, 

Enter  Cymbeline,  Queex,  Cloten,  Lucius,  and 
Lords. 

Cyyn.  Thus  far;  and  so  farewell. 

Luc.  Tlianks,  royal  sir. 

My  emperor  hath  wrote;  I  must  from  hence; 
And  am  riglit  sorry  that  I  must  report  ye 
My  master's  enemy. 

Cym.  Our  subiects,  sir. 

Will  not  endure  his  yoke ;  and  for  ourself 
To  show  less  sovereignty  than  they  nmst  needs 
Appear  unkingly. 

Luc,  So,  sir^  I  desire  o^  you 

A  conduct  over  land,  to  Milford-Haven. — 
Madam,  all  joy  belall  your  grace,  and  you! 

Cijm.  Mjf  lords,  you  are  appointed  tor  that  office: 
The  due  of  honor  in  no  point  omit: — 
So,  farewell,  noble  Lucius. 

Luc.  Your  hand,  my  lord. 

Via.  Receive  it  friendly :  but  from  this  time  IbrLh 
I  wear  it  as  your  enemy. 

Luc.  Sir,  the  event 

Is  yet  to  name  the  winner:  Fare  you  well. 

Cym.   Leave  not  the  worthy  Lucius,  good  my 
lords, 
Till  he  have  cross'd  the  Severn.— Happiness  ! 

[Exeunt  Licius  and  Lords. 

Queen.  He  goes  hence  frowning:  but  it  honors 
us, 
Tliat  we  have  given  him  cause. 

Clo.  'Tis  all  the  better; 

Your  valiant  Britons  have^heir  wishes  in  it. 

Cym.  Lucius  hath  wrote  already  to  the  emperor 
How  it  goes  here.    It  fits  us,  therefore,  ripely, 
Our  chariots  and  our  horsemen  be  in  readiness: 
Tlie  powers  that  he  already  hath  in  Gallia 
Will   soon    be  drawn   to  head,  from  whence  he 

moves 
His  war  tor  Britain. 

Queefi.  'Tis  not  sleepy  business; 

Bui  nnist  lie  look'd  to  speedily,  and  strongly. 

Cym.  Our  expectation  that  it  would  be  thus. 
Hath  made  us  Ibrward.    But,  my  gentle  queen, 
Wliere  is  our  daughter  ?     She  hath  not  appear'd, 
Before  the  Roman,  nor  to  us  hath  tender'd 
The  duty  of  the  day:  She  look-s  us  like 
A  thing  more  made  of  maUce,  than  of  dut}'^: 
We  have  noted  it. — Call  her  before  us ;  tor 
We  have  been  too  slight  in  sullerance. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 

Queen.  Royal  Pir, 

Since  the  exile  of  Posthumus,  most  retir'd 
Hath  her  life  beexi;  the  cure  wJiereof,  my  lord, 
'Tis  time  must  ilo.    'Beseech  your  majesty. 
Forbear  sharp  speeches  to  her :  she's  a  lady 
So  teiidtT  (if  rebukes,  tliat  words  are  stroke*. 
And  strokes  death  to  her. 

Re-enter  an  Attendant. 

Cym.  Where  is  she,  sli  ?  How 

Can'  her  contempt  be  answer'd  ? 

Ail.  Please  you,  sir, 

Her  chambers  are  all  lock'd  ;  and  tliere'snoanswei 
That  wdl  be  given  to  the  hiud'st  of  noise  we  make 

Queen.  My  lord,  when  last  I  went  to  visit  her, 
She  jiray'd  me  to  excuse  her  keeping  close; 
Whereto  constrain'd  by  her  infirmity. 
She  should  that  duty  leave  unpaid  to  you, 

s  As  for  your  subsistence  nbroad,  you  may  rely  on  me. 


Scene  VI. 


CTMBELINE. 


627 


Which  daily  she  was  bound  to  proffer:  this 

She  wish'd  mo  to  make  known ;  but  our  great  court 

Made  me  to  blame  in  memory. 

Cym.  Her  doors  lock'd  \ 

Not  seen  oflatel  Grant, heavens,  tliat,  which  I  fear, 
Prove  false!  [ExU. 

Queen.         Son,  I  say,  follow  the  kinji. 

Clo.  That  man  of  hers,  Pisanio,  her  old  servant, 
I  have  not  seen  these  two  days. 

Queen.  Go,  look  after.— 

["E-ril  Clotex. 
Pisanio,  thou  that  stand'sl  so  for  Posthiimus  !— 
He  hath  a  dru^r  of  mine :  I  pray,  his  absence 
Proceed  tty  swallowin;;  that;  lor  he  believes 
It  is  a  thins  most  precious.    But  for  her, 
Whereisshesone?  Haply. despair  hath  seiz'd  her: 
Or,  winged  with  fervor  of  her  love,  she's  Ilown 
To  her  desir'd  Posthiimus:  Gone  she  is 
To  death,  or  to  dishonor;  and  my  end 
Can  make  good  use  of  either:  .*she  being  down, 
I  have  the  placing  of  the  British  crown. 

Re-enter  Clotes. 
How  now,  my  son  1 

Ctit.  'Tis  certain  she  is  fled ; 

Go  in,  and  cheer  the  king;  he  rages;  none 
Dare  come  about  him. 

Queen.  All  the  better:  May 

This  night  forestall  him  of  the  coming  day! 

[Exit  QtiEEX. 

Clo.  I  love  and  hate  her:  for  she's  fair  and  royal; 
And  that  she  hath  all  courtly  parts  more  exquisite 
Than  lady.  ladies,  woman;'  from  every  one 
The  best  she  hath,  and  she,  of  all  compounded, 
Outsells  them  all:  I  love  her  therefore;  But, 
Disdainiii;ir  me,  and  throwing  favors  on 
The  low  Posthumus,  slanders  so  her  judgment. 
Tliat  what's  else  rare,  is  choked ;  and,  in  that  point, 
I  will  conclude  to  hate  her,  nay,  indeed. 
To  be  revenged  upon  her.    For,  when  tools 

Enter  PisA.vio. 
Shall — Who  is  here'!    What!   are  you  packing, 

sirrah  1 
Come  hither:  Ah,  you  precious  pander !  Villain, 
Where  is  thy  lady  7  In  a  word ;  or  else 
Thou  art  straightway  witli  the  tiends. 

Pis.  O,  good  my  lord  ! 

Clo.  Where  is  thy  lady  ?  or,  by  Jupiter, 
I  will  not  ask  again.    Close  villain, 
I'll  have  this  secret  from  thy  heart,  or  rip 
Thy  heart  to  lind  it.    Is  she  with  Posthtimus? 
From  wliose  so  many  weights  of  baseness  carmot 
A  dram  of  worth  be  drawn. 

Pis.  Alas,  my  lord. 

How  can  she  be  with  him  1   When  was  she  miss'd  1 
He  is  in  Rome. 

Clo.  Where  is  she,  sir?    Come  nearer; 

No  further  halting:  satisfy  me  home. 
What  is  become  of  her  ! 

Pis.  0,  my  all-wortliy  lord  ! 

Clo.  All-worthy  villain  ! 

Discover  where  thy  mistress  is,  at  once. 
At  the  next  word. — No  more  of  worthy  lord, — 
Speak,  or  thy  silence  on  the  instant  is 
Thj'  condemnation  and  thy  death. 

Pis.  Then,  sir, 

This  paper  is  the  history  of  my  Icnowledge 
Touching  her  flight.       '         ['Pre.senting  a  Letter. 

CUi.  Let's  see't: — I  will  pursue  her 

Even  to  Augustus'  throne. 

Pis.  Or  this,  or  perish,  i 

She"sfarenough;and  what  he  learns  by  this,  >  Asule. 
May  prove  his  travel,  not  her  danger.  ) 

Clo.  Humph! 

Pis.  I'll  write  to  my  lord  she's  dead.  O  Imogen, 
Safe  may 'st  thou  wander,  safe  return  again !  [Aside. 

Clo.  Sirrah,  is  this  letter  true? 

Pis.  Sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.  It  is  Posthumus'  hand;  I  know't. — Sirrah, 
if  thou  wouldst  not  be  a  villain,  but  do  me  true 
service;  undergo  those  employments  wherein  I 
should  have  cause  to  use  thee,  with  a  serious  in- 
dustry,—that  is,  what  villany  soe'er  I  bid  thee  do, 
to  perform  it.  directly  and  truly, — I  would  think 
thee  an  honest  man :  thou  shouldst  neither  want 
my  means  for  thy  relief,  nor  my  voice  for  thy  pre- 
ferment. 

Pis.  Well,  my  good  lord. 

*  Than  any  lady,  than  all  ladies^  than  all  womanJand. 


Clo.  Wilt  thou  serve  me  ?  For  since  patiently  and 
constantly  thou  hast  stuck  to  the  bare  fortune  of 
that  beggar  Posthumus,  thou  canst  not  in  the 
course  of  gratitude  but  be  a  diligent  follower  of 
mine.    Wilt  thou  serve  me? 

Pis.  Sir,  I  will. 

Clo.  Give  me  thy  hand,  here's  ray  purse.  Hast 
any  of  thy  late  master's  garments  in  thy  possession?  _ 

Pis.  1  liave,  my  lord,'at  my  lodgings,  the  same 
suit  he  wore  when  he  took  leave  of  my  lady  and 
mistress. 

Clo.  The  first  service  thou  dost  me,  fetcli  that 
suit  hither :  lot  it  he  thy  first  service :  go. 

Pis.  I  shall,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Clo.  Meet  thee  at  Milford-Haven:— I  forgot  to 
ask  liim  one  thing:  I'll  remcmher't  anon: — Even 
there,  thou  villain.  Posthumus,  will  I  kill  thee. — I 
would  these  garments  were  come.  She  said  upon 
a  time,  (the  i>itteriiess  of  it  I  now  belch  from  my 
heart,)  that  she  held  the  very  garment  of  Posthu- 
mus in  more  respect  than  my  noble  and  natural 
person,  together  with  the  adornment  of  my  quali- 
ties. With  that  suit  upon  my  back  will  1  ravish 
her:  First  kill  him, and  in  her  eyes:  there  shall  she 
see  my  valor,  which  will  then  be  a  torment  to  her 
contempt.  He  on  the  ground,  my  s])eecli  of  in- 
sultment  ended  on  his  dead  body, — and  when  my 
lust  hath  dined,  (which,  as  I  say,  to  vex  her,  I  will 
execute  in  the  clothes  that  she  'so  praised,)  to  the 
court  I'll  knock  her  back,  foot  her  home  again. — 
She  hath  despised  me  rejoicingly,  and  I'll  be  ma-ry 
in  my  revenge. 

Re-enter  Pisanio,  witli  ilie  Clotties. 
Be  those  the  garments  ? 

Pis.  Ay,  my  noble  lord. 

Clo.  How  long  is"t  since  she  went  to  Jlilford- 
Haven  \ 

Pis.  She  can  scarce  be  there  yet. 

Clo.  Bring  this  apparel  to  my  chamber;  that  Is 
the  second  thing  that  I  have  commanded  thee  :  the 
tliird  is,  that  thou  slialt  be  a  voluntary  mute  to  my 
design.  Be  but  duteous,  and  true  preferment  shall 
tender  itself  to  tliee. — My  revenge  is  now  at  Mil- 
ford:  'Would  I  had  wings  to  follow  it! — Come, 
and  be  true.  [Exit. 

Pis.  Thou  bid'st  me  to  my  loss:  for  true  to  thee, 
Were  to  prove  lalse,  which  1  will  never  be. 
To  him  that  is  most  true.— To  Milford  go. 
And  find  not  her  whom  thou  pursu'st.    Flow,  flow, 
Vou  heavenly  blessings,  on  her!    This  fool's  speed 
Be  cross'd  with  slowness;  labor  be  his  meed ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE  yi.— Before  tlie  Cave  o/Belarius. 
Enter  Imogen,  in  Boy's  Clotties. 
Tmo.  I  see  a  man's  life  is  a  tedious  one: 
I  have  tired  myself;  and  for  two  nights  together 
Have  made  the  ground  my  bed.    I  should  be  sick, 
Hut  that  my  resolution  helps  me. — Milford, 
When  "from  the  mountain-top  Pisanio  show'd^hce, 
Tliou  wast  within  a  ken:  O  .love!  I  think. 
Foundations  fly  the  wretched:  such,  I  mean, 
\Vhere  they  should  be  reliev'd.  Two  beggars  told  me, 
I  could  not  miss  my  way :  Will  poor  lolks  lie, 
That  have  afllictions  on  them  ;  knowing  'tis 
A  nunishnient,  or  trial?     Yes;  no  wonder. 
When  rich  ones  scarce  tell  true :  To  lapse  in  fulness 
Is  sorer,  than  to  lie  lor  need;  and  falsehood 
Is  worse  in  Kings  than  beggars. — My  dear  lord  ! 
Thou  art  one  o'  the  lalse  ones:  Now  I  think  on  thee, 
My  hunger's  gone ;  but  even  before,  I  was 
At  point  to  sink  for  food. — But  what  is  this? 
Here  is  a  path  to  it :  'Tis  some  savage  hold: 
I  were  best  not  call :  I  dare  not  call :  yet  famine. 
Ere  clean  it  o'erthrow  nature,  makes  it  valiant. 
Plenty,  and  peace,  breeds  cowards;  hardn<?ss  ever 
Of  hardiness  is  mother. — Ho!  who's  here? 
If  any  thing  that's  civil,  speak  ;  if  savage. 
Take,  or  lend. — Ho  !— No  answer?  then  I'll  enter 
Best  draw  my  sword  :  and  if  mine  enemy 
But  fear  the  sword  like  me.  he'll  scareely  look  on'f. 
Such  a  foe,  good  heavens  !  [Slie  goes  into  tlie  Cave. 

Enter  Belarius,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragus. 
Bet.  Vou,  Polydore,  have  prov'dbest  woodman,^ 
and 
Are  master  of  the  feast :  Cadwal,  and  I, 
Will  play  the  cook  and  servant ;  'tis  our  match  j* 
2  Best  hunter.  »  Ajrreemtut. 


628 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  IV. 


The  sweat  of  industry  would  dry,  and  die, 
liut  Ibr  tlic  end  it  works  to.    Come;  our  stomachs 
Will  make  wliat's  Iiomely,  savory:  Weariness 
Can  snore  upon  the  tlint,  when  restive  sloth 
Finds  tlic  down  pillow  liard. — Now,  peace  be  here, 
Poor  house,  that  keep'st  thyself! 

GuL  .  I  am  thorougfdy  weary. 

Arv.  I  am  weak  with  toil,  yet  stronjLi  in  appetite. 

Gui.  There's  cold  meat  1'  the  cave;  VeUl  browze 
on  that, 
Whilst  what  we  have  killM  be  cook'd. 

Bel.  Stay ;  come  not  in : 

[Looking  in. 
But  tliat  it  eats  our  victuals,  I  should  thuik 
Here  were  a  lairy. 

Gui.  What's  the  matter,  sirl 

Bel.  By  Jupiter,  an  angel !  or,  i(  not, 
An  earthly  paraxon! — Behold  diviueness 
No  elder  than  a  boy  ! 

£nier  Imogen. 

Into.  Good  masters,  harm  me  not: 
Before  I  entcrM  here,  I  cali'd;  and  thought 
To  have  begg'd,  or  bought,  what  1  have  took :  Good 

troth, 
I  have  stolen  naught ;  nor  would  not,  though  I  had 

found 
Gold  strew'd  o'  the  floor.    Here's  money  for  my 

meat : 
I  would  have  left  it  on  the  board,  so  soon 
As  I  had  made  my  meal ;  and  parted 
With  prayers  for  the  provider. 

Gui.  Money,  youth? 

Ari\  All  gold  and  silver  rather  turn  to  dirt! 
As  'tis  no  better  reckon'd,  but  of  those 
Who  worship  dirty  gods. 

Jmo.  I  see  you  are  angry  : 

Know,  if  you  kill  me  for  my  liiult,  I  should 
Have  died,  had  I  not  made  it. 

Bel.  Whither  bound  1 

Imo.  To  Milford-Havcn,  sir. 

Bel.  What  is  your  name  ? 

I//W.  Fidolc,  sir:  I  have  a  kiiis^iuan.  wlio 
Is  bound  lor  Italy;  he  cmbarkM  ul  Milihrd: 
To  whom  beiug  t^oing,  almost  sjiLiit  with  hunger, 
I  am  liillen  in-^  this  ollence. 

Bel.  Pr'ythee,  fair  youth, 

Think  us  no  churls;  nor  measure  our  good  minds 
By  this  rude  place  we  live  in.    Well  cncounter'd  ! 
'Tis  almost  night:  you  siiallhave  better  cheer 
Kre  you  depart;  and  thanks,  to  stay  and  eat  it. — 
Boys,  bid  him  welcome. 

Gui.  Were  you  a  woman,  youth, 

I  should  woo  hard,  but  be  your  groom. — In  honesty, 
I  bid  for  you,  as  I'd  buy. 

A7'V.  I'll  make't  my  comfort, 

He  is  a  man  ;  I'll  love  him  as  my  brother: — 


And  such  a  welcome  as  I'd  give  to  him, 

After  long  absence,  such  is  yours : — Most  welcome ! 

Be  sprightly,  for  you  fall  'mongst  friends. 

Into.  'Mongst  friends " 

If  brothers? — Would  it  had  been  so,  that 

they 
Had  been  my  father's  sons!  then  had  my  \ Aside, 

prize 
Been  less ;  and  so  more  equal  ballasting 
To  thee,  Posthiimus. 

Bel.  '  He  v\Tings  at  some  distress, 

Gui.  Would  I  could  free't  I 

Arc.  Or  I ;  whate'er  it  be, 

What  pain  it  cost,  what  danger !    Gods  ! 

Bel.  Hark,  boys. 

[IVhispering* 

Imo.  Great  men. 
That  had  a  court  no  bigger  than  this  cave, 
That  did  attend  themselves,  that  had  the  virtue 
Which  tiieir  own  conscience  seai'd  tliem,  (laying  by 
That  nothing  gift  of  ditlering  multitudes,) 
Could  not  out-peer  these  twain.   Pardon  me,  gods ! 
I'd  change  my  sex  to  be  companion  with  thorn, 
Since  Leonatus'  ialse. 

Bel.  It  shall  be  so : 

Boys,  we'll  go  dress  our  hunt. — Fair  youth,  come  in: 
Discourse  is  iicavy,  lasting;  when  we  have  supp'd. 
We'll  mannerly  demand  thee  of  thy  story, 
So  far  as  thou  wilt  speak  it. 

Gui.  Pray,  draw  near. 

Arv.  The  night  to  the  owl,  and  morn  to  the  lark, 
less  welcome. 

Imo.  Thanks,  sir. 

Arv.  I  pray,  draw  near.    [Exetmt, 

SCENE  VII.— Rome. 
Enter  two  Senators  and  Tribimes. 

1  Sen.  This  is  the  tenor  of  the  emperor's  writ: 
That  since  the  common  men  are  now  in  action 
'Gainst  the  Pannonians  and  Dalmatians: 

And  that  the  legions  now  in  Gallia  are 
Full  weak  to  undertake  our  wars  against 
The  fallen-oll  Bi'itons;  that  wc  do  incite 
Tlie  gentry  to  this  business:  He  creates 
Lucius  pro-consul :  and  to  you  the  tribunes, 
For  this  immediate  levy,  he  commands 
His  absolute  roiiLmission.    Long  live  Casar! 
Tri.  Is  Lucius  general  of  the  forces  ? 

2  Sen.  Ay. 
Tri.  Remaining  now  in  Gallia  1 

1  Sen.  With  those  legions 

Which  I  have  spoke  of,  whereunto  your  levy 
Mnstbesupplyant:  The  wordsof  your  commission 
Will  tie  you  lo  the  numbers,  and  Uie  time 
Of  Iheir  despatch. 

Tri.  .     We  will  discharge  our  duty. 

{Exeunt. 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I.— Whales.    The  Forest,  near  the  Cave. 
Enter  Clote\. 

Cln.  I  am  near  to  the  place  where  they  should 
meet,  it  Pisanio  have  mapped  it  truly.  How  fit  his 
garments  serve  me!  Why  should  his  mistress,  wiio 
was  made  by  him  that  liiade  the  tailor,  not  be  fit 
too  f  the  rather  (saving  reverence  o-f  the  word)  for 
'tis  said,  a  woman's  litness  comes  by  tits.  Therein 
1  must  play  the  worlonan.  I  dare  "speak  it  to  my- 
self, (for  it  is  not  vain-glory,  for  a  man  and  his  glass 
to  conler, — in  his  own  ciiainber.  I  mean,)  the  lines 
of  my  body  areas  well  drawn  as  his;  no  less  young, 
moio  strong,  not  beneath  him  in  ibrtunes,  beyond 
him  in  the  advantage  ofIhetime,above  him  in  birth, 
alike  conversant  in  general  services,  and  more  re- 
markable in  single  oppositions;^  yet  this  impersc- 
verant  Ihingjoves  him  in  my  despite.  What  mor- 
tality is!  Posthumus,  thy  head,  which  now  is  grow- 
mg  upon  thy  shoulders,  shall  within  this  hour  he 
otV;  thy  mistress  rnlbrred;  thy  garments  cut  to 
pircrs  before  thy  (iice:  and  nil  this  done,  spurn  her 
iiome  to  iu-r  llillicr;  who  may,  haply,  be  a  little 
angVy  for  my  so  rough  usage:  hut 'my  mother, 
having  power  of  hiri  testiness,  shall  turn  all  into 
*  In,  for  iuto.  •  In  single  comb;it.. 


my  commendations.  My  horse  is  tied  up  safe :  Out 
sword,  and  to  a  sore  purpose  !  Fortune  !  put  them 
intt)  my  hand!  This  is  the  very  description  of  their 
meeting-place;  and  the  fellow  dares  not  drceive 
me.  [Exit. 

SCENE  n.— Before  the  Cave. 
Enter,  from  the  Cure,  BELAnifS,  Guideuius, 

AuviRAGUS,  and  Imocex. 
Bel.  You  are  not  well;  [To  Imogen.]  remain 
here  in  the  cave; 
We'll  come  to  you  after  hunting. 
Arv.  Brother,  stay  here; 

[To  I.MOGE.-*. 

Are  we  not  brothers? 

Imo.  So  man  and  man  sliould  be ; 

But  clay  and  clay  ditTers  in  dignity. 
Whose  dust,  is  both  alike. — I  am  very  sick. 

Gui.  Go  you  to  liunting,  I'll  abide  with  him. 

hno.  So  sick  I  am  not :  yet  I  am  not  well : 
But  not  so  citizen  a  wanton,  as 
To  seem  tn  die,  ere  sick  :  So  please  you  leave  me  ; 
Slick  to  your  journal'' course:  the  breach  of  custom 
Is  breach  of  all.    I  am  ill;  but  your  being  by  me 
Cannot  amend  me:  Society  is  no  comfort 
•  Keep  your  daily  course. 


FCENE   n. 


CYMBELINE. 


629 


To  one  not  sociable  :  I'm  not  very  sick. 
Since  I  can  reason  of  it.    Pray  you,  trust  me  here: 
I'll  rob  none  but  myself;  and  let  me  die, 
Stealing  so  poorly. 

Cui.  I  love  thee ;  I  have  spoke  it: 

How  much  the  quantity,  the  weight  as  much. 
As  I  do  love  my  father. 

Bel.  What?  hovf?  howl 

Arv.  If  it  be  sin  to  say  so,  sir,  I  yoke  me 
In  my  good  brother's  fault:  I  know  not  why 
I  love  this  youth ;  and  I  have  heard  vou  say. 
Love's  reason's  without  reason  ;  thcTjier  at  door, 
And  a  demand,  who  is't  shall  die,  I'd  say. 
Mil  father,  not  this  youth. 

Bel.  O  noble  strain  !  [Aside. 

0  worthiness  of  nature  !  breed  of  greatness  : 
Cowards  father  cowards,  and  base  things  sire  base: 
Nature    hath    meal,    and    bran;    contempt,    and 

grace. 

1  am  not  their  father;  vet  who  this  should  be, 
Doth  miracle  itself,  lovM  before  me. — 

'Tis  the  ninth  hour  o'  the  mom. 
Arv.  Brother,  farewell. 

lino.  I  wish  ye  sport. 

Arv.  You  health.— So  please  you,  sir. 

lino.  [A.fiile.]  Tliese  are  kind  creatures.    Gods, 
what  lies  I  have  heard  ! 
Our  courtiers  say,  all's  savage,  but  at  court: 
Kspericnce,  O.  thou  disprov'st  report ! 
Tile  imperious^  seas  breed  monsters;  for  the  dish. 
Poor  tribulAry  rivers  as  sweet  fish. 
I  am  sick  still;  heart-sick: — Pisanio, 
I'll  now  taste  of  Ihy  drug. 

Gui.  I  could  not  stir  bim: 

He  said,  he  was  gentle,^  but  unfoftunatc; 
Dishonestly  afflicted,  but  yet  honest. 

Arv.  Thus  did  he  answer  me:  yet  said,  hereafter 
I  might  know  more. 

Bel.  To  the  field,  (o  the  field.— 

We'll  leave  you  for  this  time  :  go  in,  and  rest. 
.irr.  We'll  not  be  long  away. 
Bel.  •  Pray,  be  not  sick, 

For  you  must  be  our  housewife. 

Iiiin.  Well,  or  ill, 

I  am  bound  to  you. 
Bel.  And  so  shalt  be  ever. 

[Exit  iMOfiKN. 
This  youth,  howe'er  distrcss'd, appears,  he  hath  had 
Good  ancestors. 
Arv.  How  angel-like  he  sings! 

Cut  But  his  neat  cookery!  he  cut  our  roots  in 
characters ; 
And  sauced  our  broths,  as  Juno  had  been  sick, 
And  he  her  dieter. 

Arv.  Nobly  he  yokes 

A  smiling  with  a  sigh ;  as  if  the  sigh 
Was  that  it  was,  for  not  being  such  a  smile ; 
The  smile  mocking  the  sigh,  that  it  would  tly 
From  so  divine  a  temple,  to  commix 
With  winds  tliat  sailors  rail  at. 

Gui.  I  do  note. 

That  grief  and  patience,  rooted  in  him  both, 
Mingle  tiicir  spurs'"  together. 

Arv.  Grow,  patience ! 

And  let  the  stinking  elder,  grief,  untwine 
His  perishing  root,  with  the  increasing  vine  ! 
Bel.  It  is  great  morning.    Come;  away. — Who's 
there  ? 

Enter  Clote.n'. 
Clo.  I  cannot  find  those  runagates;  tliat  villain 
Hath  mock'd  me: — I  am  faint. 

Bel.  Those  runagates ! 

Means  he  not  us  ]  I  partly  know  him  ;  'tis 
Cloten.  the  son  o'  the  queen.  I  fear  some  ambush. 
I  saw  him  not  these  many  years,  and  yet 
I  know  'tis  he: — We  are  held  as  outlaws: — Hence. 
Giti.  He  is  but  one:  you  and  my  brother, search 
Wliat  companies  are  near:  pray  you,  away; 
Let  me  alone  with  him. 

[Exeunt  Belarius  nnd  AnvinAGCS. 
Clo.  Soil!    Wliatareyou 

That  fly  me  thus]  some  villain  mountaineersl 
I  have  heard  of  such. — What  slave  art  thou  ? 

Gui.  A  thing 

More  slavish  did  I  ne'er,  than  answering 
A  slave,  without  a  knock. 

Ci'o.  Thou  art  a  robber, 

A  law-breaker,  a  villain:  Yield  tlice,  thief. 
'  Imperial,     o  Well-boru.     s  Spurs  are  the  roots  of  trees. 


Gui.  To  who?    totheel    What  art  thou?     Have 
not  I 
An  arm  as  big  as  thine?  a  lie.art  as  big? 
Thy  words,  I  grant,  are  bigger;  tor  I  wear  not 
j\Iy'  dagger  in  my  mouth.    Say,  what  thou  art; 
Why  I  should  yield  to  thee? 

Ctii.  Thou  villain  base, 

Knnw'st  me  not  by  my  clothes  ? 

Gtii.  No,  nor  thy  tailor,  rascal, 

Who  is  thy  grandlather;  he  made  those  clothes, 
Which,  as  it  seems,  make  thee. 

Cki.  Thou  precious  varlct, 

My  tailor  made  them  not. 

Gui.  Hence  then,  and  thank 

The  man  that  gave  them  thee.  Thou  art  some  tool; 
1  am  loath  to  beat  Ihee. 

Vlo.  Thou  injurious  thict, 

Hear  but  my  name,  and  tremble. 

Gui.  What's  thy  name? 

Cln.  Cloten,  thou  villain. 

Giti.  Cloten.  thou  double  villain,  be  thy  name, 
I  cannot  tremble  at  it;  werc't  toad,  or  adder,  spider, 
'Twould  move  me  sooner. 

Clo.  To  thy  further  fear. 

Nay,  to  thy  mere  confusion,  thou  shalt  know 
I'm  son  to  the  queen. 

Gui.  I'm  sorry  for't;  not  seeming 

So  worthy  as  thy  birth. 

Clo.      '  Art  not  afcard  ? 

Gui.  Those  that  I  reverence,  those  I  tear;  the  wise: 
At  tliols  I  laugh,  not  liiar  them. 

Clo.  Die  the  death: 

When  I  have  slain  thee  with  my  proper  hand, 
I'll  llillow  those  that  even  now  tied  hence. 
And  on  the  gates  of  Lud's  town  set  your  heads: 
Yield,  rustic  mountaineer.  [Exeunt. fighting. 

Enter  Belarius  and  Arviragcs. 

Bel.  No  company's  abroad. 

Arv.  None  in  the  world:  You  did  mistake  him, 
sure. 

Bel.  I  cannot  tell :  Long  is  it  since  I  saw  him. 
But  time  hath  nothing  blurr'd  those  lines  of  favor' 
Wliicli  then  he  wore;  tlie  snatches  in  his  voice. 
And  burst  of  speaking,  were  as  his :  I  am  absolute, 
'Twas  very  Cloten. 

Arv.  In  this  place  we  lell  them ; 

I  wish  mv  brother  make  good  time  with  him, 
Vou  say  he  is  so  fell. 

Bel.  Being  scarce  made  up, 

I  mean,  to  man.  he  !iad  not  apprehension 

Of  roaring  terrors;  for  the  ctiect  of  judgment 

Is  olt  the  cause  of  fear:  But  see,  thy  brother. 

Re-enter  Gctderius,  with  Clotes's  Uead, 

Gui,  This  Cloten  was  a  fool;  an  empty  purse, 
There  was  no  money  in't:  not  Hercules 
Could  have  knock'd  out  his  brains,  tor  he  had  none: 
Yet  I  not  doing  this,  the  fool  had  borne 
My  head  as  I  do  his. 

Bel.  What  hast  thou  done? 

Gui.  I  am  perl'ect,  what ;  cut  otione  Cloten's  head, 
Son  to  the  (iiieeii,  after  his  own  report; 
Who  call'd  me  traitor,  mountaineer;  and  swore. 
With  his  own  single  baud  he'd  take  us-in,2 
Displace  our  heads,  where  (thank  the  gods!)  they 

grow. 
And  set  them  on  Lud's  town. 

Bel.  We  are  all  undone. 

Gui.  Why,  worthy  father,  what  have  we  to  lose 
But,  that  he  swore  to  lake,  our  lives?     The  law 
Protects  not  us:  Then  why  should  we  be  tender. 
To  let  an  arrogant  piece  of  fiesli  threat  us  ; 
Play  judge,  and  executioner,  all  himself; 
For  we  do  fear  the  law  ?     Wliat  company 
Discover  you  abroad? 

Bel.  No  single  soul 

Can  we  set  eye  on,  but,  in  all  safe  reason. 
He  must  have-some  attendants.  Though  his  humor 
Was  nothing  but  mutation  ;  ay,  and  that 
From  one  bad  thing  to  worse ;  not  frenzy,  not 
Absolute  madness  could  so  far  have  raved. 
To  bring  him  here  alone:  Although,  perhaps, 
It  may  be  heard  at  court,  that  such  as  we 
Cave  here,  hunt  here,  are  outlaws,  and  in  time 
May  make  pomcstronger  head:  the  which  he  hearing, 
(As  it  is  like  him,)  might  break  out  and  swear 
He'd  fetch  us  in  ;  yet  is't  not  probable 
To  come  alone,  either  he  so  undertaking, 

*  Countenauce.  *  Conquer,  eubdue. 


G30 


CYMBELTNE. 


Act  ly. 


Or  they  so  siiflt'iinfr:  thrn  on  fcond  ground  we  fear, 
If  we  do  four  thi*  body  hath  a  tail 
More  perilous  than  the  head.  . 

Arv.  Let  ordinance 

Come  as  the  ends  forcsay  it:  howsoe'er, 
My  brother  hath  done  well. 

Bei.  I  had  no  mind 

To  hunt  this  day:  the  boy  Fidele's  sickness 
Did  make  my  way  long  ibrth. 

Gui.  With  his  own  sword, 

Which  he  did  wave  against  my  throat,  I  Jiave  ta'cn 
His  head  from  him  :  I'll  throw't  into  the  creek 
Behind  our  rock;  and  let  it  to  the  sea, 
And  tell  the  fishes  he's  tlie  queen's  son,  Cloten : 
That's  all  I  reck  3  [Exif. 

Bel.  I  fear, 'twill  be  revenged: 

'Would,  Polydore,  thou  hadst  not  done't !  though 

valor 
Becomes  tliee  well  enough. 

Arv.  'Would  I  had  done't, 

So  the  revenge  alone  pursued  me  ! — Polydore, 
I  love  thee  brotherly;  but  envy  much, 
Thouliastrobb'dmeoftliisdeed;  I  would. revenges, 
That  possible  strength  might  meet,  would  seek  us 

through. 
And  put  us  to  our  answer. 

Bel.  Well,  'tis  done:— 

We'll  hunt  no  more  to-day,  nor  seek  for  danger 
Where  there's  no  prolit.    I  pr'ythee,  to  our  rock; 
You  and  Fidele  play  the  cooks:  I'll  stay 
Ttll  hasty  Polydore  return,  and  bring  him 
To  ditmer  presently. 

Arr.  Poor  sick  Fidele  ! 

I'll  willingly  to  him  :  To  gain  his  color, 
I'd  let  a  parish  of  such  Clotens'  blood, 
And  praise  myself  for  charity.  [Exif. 

Be!.  0  thou  goddess, 

Thou  divine  Nature,  how  thyself  thou  blazon'st 
In  these  two  princely  boys!  They  are  as  gentle 
As  zephyrs,  blowing  Ijolow  the  violet. 
Not  wagging  his  sweet  head:  and  yet  as  rough, 
Their  royal  blood  enchafed,  as  the  rnd'st  wind, 
That  by  the  toj)  doth  take  the  mountain  pine, 
And  make  him  stoop  to  the  vale.    *Tis  wonderful, 
Tliat  an  invisible  instinct  should  frame  them 
To  royalty  unlearn''d  ;  honor  untaught; 
Civility  not  seen  from  other;  valor, 
That  wildly  grows  in  tliem.  but  yields  a  crop 
As  if  it  had  been  sow'd  !     Yet  still  it's  strange 
What  Clolen's  being  here  to  us  portends; 
Or  wliat  his  death  will  bring  us. 

•      Re-enier  GuiDEiiius. 

Gui.  Where's  my  brother? 

1  have  sent  Clolen's  clot-poll  down  the  stream, 
In  embassy  to  his  niolhcr;  his  body's  hostage 
For  his  return.  [ Sole irm  music. 

Bel.  My  ingenious  instrument! 

Hark.  Polydore,  it  sounds  !  But  what  occasion 
ilalh  Cadwal  now  to  give  it  motion?  Hark  ! 

Gui.  Is  he  at  home  ? 

Bel.  He  went  hence  even  now. 

Gui.  What  does  he  mean  ]   since  death  of  my 
dear'st  mother 
It  did  not  speak  before.    All  solemn  things 
Should  answer  soienni  accidcnis.    Tin*  matterT 
Triumphs  for  nothnig,  and  latuenting  toys,'' 
Is  joliily  lor  apes,  and  grief  lor  boys. 
Is  Cadwal  mad  I 

Re-cnlcr  Auviuagus,  hearing  Imogen  as  deadj  m 
his  arms. 

B(L  Look,  here  he  comes, 

And  t)rings  the  dire  occasion  in  his  arms, 
01'  what  we  blame  him  fori 

Arv.  The  bird  is  dead, 

Thai  we  have  made  so  much  on.    I  had  rall)er 
Have  sivipp'fl  tVum  sixteen  years  of  age,  to  sixty. 
To  ha\e  luin'd  my  Icaping-time  into  a  crulcli, 
Thiui  have  seen  this. 

('•'li.  0  sweetest,  fairest  lily  ; 

My  lirother  wears  not  thee  one-half  so  well, 
As  when  tliou  grcw'sL  thyself. 

Bel.  O,  melancholy ! 

Who  ever  yet  could  sound  thy  bottom?   find 
'I^ie  ooze,  io  show  what  coast  thy  sluu'^'i^li  crare^ 
Alight  easiliest  harbor  in  f— Tliou  hlesscd  tiling! 
Jove  knows  what  man  thou  nuglit'st  Jiave  made; 

but  I, 
»  Care.        *  TrilJeB.'         •  A  glow-Failing,  unwieldy  Vessel. 


Thou  dicdst,  a  most  rare  boy,  of  melancholy  !^ 
How  found  you  him? 

Arv.  Stark,c  as  you  see : 

Thus  smiling,  as  some  fly  liad  tickled  slumber, 
Not  as  death's  dart,  benig  laughM  at:  his  right 

cheek 
Reposing  on  a  cushion. 

Gui.  Where? 

Ai-v.  0'  the  floor; 

His  arms  thusleagu'd:  I  thought  he  slept;  and  put 
My  clouted  brogues"  from  ofl'my  feet,  wiiose  rude- 
ness 
AnswerM  my  steps  too  loud. 

Gui.  Why,  he  but  sleeps: 

If  he  be  gone,  heUl  make  his  grave  a  bed; 
With  female  fairies  will  his  tomb  be  haunted, 
And  worms  will  not  come  to  thee. 

Arv.  With  fairest  flowers, 

Whilst  summer  lasts,  and  I  live  here,  Fidele, 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  ^'rave:  Thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower,  thiilV  Irke  tliy  face, pale  primrose;  nor 
The  azur'd  hare-bell,  like  thy  veins;  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine,  whom  not  to  slander, 
Out-sweeteuMnot  thy  breath:  tiic  rudducK'* would, 
With  charitable  hill,  (0  bill,  sore-shaming 
Those  rich-left  heirs,  that  let  their  fathers  lie 
Without  a  monument !)  !)ring  thee  all  this; 
Yea,  and  furrM  moss  besides,  when  flowers  are 

none, 
To  winter-ground^  tliy  corse. 

Gui.  Pr'ythee,  have  done. 

And  do  not  play  in  wench-like  words,  with  that 
Which  is  so  serious.    Let  us  bury  him. 
And  not  protract  with  admiration  what 
Is  now  due  debt. — To  the  grave. 

Arv.  Say,  where  shalPs  lay  him  ? 

Gui,  By  good  Euripliile,  our  mother. 

Arv.  BeH  so: 

And  let  us,  Polydore,  though  now  our  voices 
Have   got  the   mannish   crack,  sing  him  to   the 

ground, 
As  once  our  mother;  us^Iike  note,  and  words, 
Save  that  Euriphile  must  be  Fidele. 

Gui.  Cadwal, 
I  cannot  sing :  Til  weep,  and  word  it  with  thee : 
For  notes  of  sorrow,  out  of  tune,  are  worse 
Than  priests  and  fanes  tliat  lie. 

Arv.  We'll  speak  it,  then,. 

Bel.  Great  griefs,  I  see,  medicine  the  less:  for 
Cloten 
Is  quite  forgot.    He  was  a  queen's  son,  boys: 
And,  though  he  came  our  enemy,  remember, 
He  was  paid  for  that:  Though  mean  and  mighty, 

rotting 
Together,  have  one  dust ;  yet  reverence 
(That  angel  of  the  world)  doth  make  distinction 
Of  place  'tween  high  and  low.  Our  foe  was  princely ; 
And  though  you  took  his  life,  as  being  our  foe, 
Yet  bury  him  as  a  prince. 

Gui.  'Pray  you,  fetch  him  hither 

Thersitcs'  body  is  as  good  as  Ajax, 
When  neither  are  alive. 

Arv.  If  you'll  go  fetch  him, 

We'll  say  our  song  the  whilst.— Brother,  begin. 

{Exit  BELARItTS- 

Gui   Nay,  Cadwal,  we  must  lay  his  head  to  the 
east ; 
My  father  hath  a  reason  for't. 
Arv.  'Tis  true. 

Gni.  Come  on  tlien,  and  remove  him. 
Arv.  So, — begin 

SON  a 

(iui.  Fear  no  nurre  the  heal  cP  fhe  M/n, 

Nor  the  furious  wlnler'^s  rages; 

Thou  Ihyinrrldly  task  huM  fUtue, 

Home  art  gime,  and  ta'en  thy  ivages. 
Golden  lads  and  girls  all  must. 
As  chimney-sweepers,  come  to  dust. 

Arv.  Fear  no  more  the  frown  o"  the  great, 
Tlum  art  past  the  tyrant^s  stroke; 
Care  7io  more  In  clotlie,  and  eat; 
To  thte  the  rttd  i.s  a.s  the  oak: 

The  srrpfre,  Irarr/itif:,  p/iysic,  micst 
All  follow  this,  and  rn/nc  to  r/(/.s/. 

«  Stiff.        1  Shoes  plated  with  iron.        8  The  rod-liro.ist 
0  I'lobably  a  corrui't  reiidiog  lur  ivither  rvund  thy  corse. 


Scene  II. 


CYMBELINE. 


631 


Gui.  Fear  no  more  Me  liifhfnin/!; flash, 
Arv.      Nnr  Ihe  a Ll-dreaited  thuwler-stone; 
Giii.  Fear  nut  .slnmler,  censure^  rmh; 
Arv.      Thou  hnxt finished  joii  and  moan: 
lioi\\.AU  Umers  young,  all  lovers  must 
Cunsign-  to  thee,  and  come  to  dual. 

Gui.  No  cxorciser  harm  thee ! 
Arv.  AV,;-  710  witchcraft  charm  thee .' 
Gui.  (Ihdst  inilaii!  t'orlirar  thee  ! 
Arv.  Kcthiiig  ill  Clinic  near  thee! 
Both.  Quiet  cimsummalinn  have; 
And  renowned  be  lliy  grave! 

Re-enter  BEL.tRivs,  with  the  Body  of  Clotes. 
Gui.  We  liave  done  our  obsequies:  Come,  lay 

liim  down. 
Bel.  Here's  a  few  flowers,  T)ut  about  midnight, 
more:  '  ,       .   , 

The  hcr!)s,  that  have  on  them  cold  dew  o' the  night, 
Are    strcwiiiijs    liW'st    for    graves.  —  Upon    their 

lacos : — 
You  wore  as  Ihiwers,  now  wither'd:  even  so 
These  hcrlj'h^ls  shall, which  wc  upon  you  strow.— 
Come  on,  away :  apart,  upon  our  knees. 
The  ground,  that  gave  them  lirst,  has  them  again ; 
Their  pleasures  here  arc  past,  so  is  their  pain. 

'lExeunt  Bel.\kics,  Glideiul-s,  and 
Ahviragcs. 
Imo.  [Awaliing.]   Yes,  sir,  to  Milford-Haven; 
vvhicli  is  tlie  way] — 
I  thank  you.  — By  yon  bush 7  — Pray,  how  far 

thithcrl 
'Ods  pittildns  l^—can  it  be  six  miles  yet? 
1  have  gone  all  uiglit:— 'Faith,  I'll  He  down  and 

sleep. 
But,  soft,  no  bedfellow  :— 0,  gods  and  goddesses ! 

[Seeing  the  Body. 
Tiiese  flowers  are  like  the  pleasures  of  tlie  world ; 
Tills  bloody  man,  tlie  care  oii't.— I  hope  1  dream  ; 
For,  so,  1  thouglit  I  was  a  cavc-kecjier. 
And  cook  to  luinest  creatures:  But  'tis  not  so; 
'Twas  Imt  a  bolt'  of  notliing,  shot  at  notliiiig. 
Wliich  tlic  brain  makes  of  luines  :  Our  very  eyes 
Are  sometimes  lilie  our  judgments,  blind.    Good 

faitli. 
I  tremble  still  with  fear:  But  if  tliere  be 
Yet  left  in  licaven  as  small  a  drop  of  pity 
As  a  wren's  eye,  fear'd  gods,  a  part  of  it ! 
The  dream's  here  still  :  even  wlicn  1  wal<e,  it  is 
Without  me,  as  witliin  me;  not  iinagiii'd,  lelt. 
A  hcLidlcss  man  ! — Tlic  garments  of  Posthiiinus! 
1  know  the  shaue  of  his  leg:  this  is  his  hand; 
His  Iciot  Mercurial;  his  Martial  thigh: 
The  brawns  ol  Hercules ;  but  his  Jovial'  face- 
Murder  in  lieaven'!— Howl— 'Tis  gone.- Pisa- 

nio. 
All  curses  madded  Hecuba  gave  tlie  Greeks, 
And  mine  to  boot,  be  darted  on  thee!     Thou, 
Conspir'd  with  that  irrcgulousS  dovil,  Cloten, 
Hast  here  cut  olf  my  lord.— To  write,  and  read, 
lie  henceforth  treacherous.    Damn'd  Pisanio, 
Hath  with  his  forged  letters,— damn'd  Pisanio— 
From  this  most  bravest  vessel  of  the  world 
Struck  the  main-top!— O,  Posthumus!  alas. 
Where  is  thy  head  !  Where's  that !  Ah  me  I  where's 

that ! 
Pisanio  might  have  kiU'd  thee  at  the  heart. 
And  left  this  head  on.— How  should  this  be  !    Pi- 
sanio 1 
'Tis  he,  and  Cloten  :  malice  and  lucre  in  them 
Have  laid  this  woe  here.    O,  'tis  pregnant,  preg- 
nant!' 
The  drug  he  gave  me,  which,  he  said,  was  precious 
And  cordial  to  me,  have  I  not  found  it 
jrurd'rous  to  the  senses'!  That  confirms  it  home: 
This  is  Pisanio's  deed,  and  Cloten's :  O  !— 
Give  color  to  my  pale  cheek  with  thy  blood, 
That  w-e  the  horrider  may  seem  to  those 
Which  chance  to  find  us:  0,  my  lord,  my  lord  ! 

Enter  Lucirs,  a  Captain,  and  other  Officers,  and 
a  Sootlisayer. 
Cap.  To  them  the  legions  garrison'd  in  Gallia, 
I  .Ijid'^mcnt.  *  •'*<^al  the  s.ime  contract* 

aTbiadimiuutive  adjuration  is  derived  from  6V>d'j(  my 

Bify.  «  An  arrow. 

•  A  &C8  like  .love's.  =  Lawless,  licentious. 

1 1,  c.  'Tis  a  ready,  apposite  conclusiou. 


\fter  your  will,  have  cross'd  the  sea:  attending 
You  here  at  Milford-Haven,  with  your  ships: 
They  are  here  in  readiness. 
7,„c.  But  what  from  Rome  7 

Co;).  The  senate  hath  stirr'd  up  the  confiners, 
And  gentlemen  of  Italy;  most  willing  spirits. 
That  promise  noble  service  :  and  tliey  come 
Under  the  conduct  of  bold  lachimo. 
Sienna's  brotiier. 
Luc.  When  expect  you  them  7 

Cap.  With  the  next  benefit  o'  the  wind. 
Luc.  This  forwardness 

Makes  our  liopes  fair.    Command,  our   present 

numbers 
Be  muster'd;  bid  the  captains  look  to't.— Now,sir, 
What  have  you  dream'd,  of  late,  of  this  war's  pur- 
pose ! 
Sooth.  Last  night  the  very  gods  show'd  me  a 
vision : 
fl  fast. and  pray'd.  for  their  intelligence:)  Thus:— 
I  saw  Jove's  bird,  tiie  Roman  eagle,  wing'd 
From  the  spon:;v  soutli  to  tliis  part  of  the  west. 
There  vanisb'd  I'n  the  sunbeams:  wliich  portends 
(Unless  my  sins  abuse  my  divination) 
Success  to  the  Roman  host. 

Luc.  Dream  often  so. 

And  never  false.— Soft,  ho!  what  trunk  is  here. 
Without  his  top  !    The  ruin  speaks,  that  sometime 
It  was  a  worthy  building.— How  !  a  page!— 
Or  dead,  or  slcei>iiig  on  him  1     But  dead,  rather: 
For  nature  dotli  abhor  to  make  his  bed 
With  the  defunct,  or  sleep  upon  the  dead.— 
Let's  see  the  boy"s  face. 

Cap.  He  is  alive,  my  lord. 

Luc.  He'll    then    instruct   us   of  this    body.— 
Young  one. 
Inform  us  of  thy  Ibrtunes;  for,  it  seems. 
They  crave  to  lie  demanded :  Who  is  this, 
Tlio'u  mak'st  thy  bloody  pillow  ?  Or  who  was  he, 
Tliat,  otherwise  tiian  noble  nature  did, 
Hath  alter'd   that  good  picture?    What's  thy  in- 
terest 
In  this  sad  wreck  7  How  came  it !  V,'ho  is  it ! 
What  art  thou! 

Imo.  I  am  nothing:  or,  if  not, 

Notliing  to  be  were  better.    This  was  my  master, 
A  very  valiant  Britain,  and  a  good, 
Tliat  here  by  mountaineers  lies  slain: — Alas! 
There  are  no  more  such  masters :  1  may  wander 
From  east  to  Occident,  cry  out  lor  service, 
Try  many,  all  good,  serve  truly,  never 
Find  such  another  master. 

Luc.  'Lack,  good  youth  ! 

Tliou  mov'st  no  less  with  thy  complaining,  than 
Thy  masier  in  bleeding :  Say  his  name,  good  liiend. 

Imo.  Richard  du  Champ.  If  I  do  lie,  and  do 
No  harm  by  it,  though  the  gods  hear,  I  liope 

[Aside. 
They'll  pardon  it.— Say  you,  sir  1 
Luc.  Thy  name  ? 

Imo.  Fidele; 

Luc.  Thou  dost  approve  thyself  the  very  same: 
Thy  name  well  lits  thy  liiitli;  thy  faith,  thy  name. 
Wilt  take  thy  chance  with  me  !     I  will  not  say.. 
Thou  slialt  he  so  well  m,ister'd;  but,  be  sure. 
No  less  belov'd.    The  Roman  cmiieror's  letters. 
Sent  by  a  consul  to  me,  should  not  sooner 
Than  thine  own  worth,  preler  thee:  Go  with  me. 
Imo.  I'll  follow,  sir.    But  fiist,  an't  please  the 
gods, 
I'll  hide  iny  master  from  the  flies,  as  deep 
As  these  poor  pickaxes''  can  dig  :  and  when 
'vVith  wild  wood-leaves  and  weeds  I  have  strew'd 

his  grave. 
And  on  it  said  a  century  of  prayers, 
Such  as  I  can,  twice  o'er,  I'll  weep,  and  sigh  ; 
And,  leaving  so  his  service,  follow  you, 
So  please  you  entertain  me. 

Luc.  Ay,  good  youth ; 

And  rather  father  thee,  than  master  thee.— 
My  triends. 

The  boy  hath  taught  us  manly  duties:  Let  us- 
Find  out  the  prettiest  daisied  plot  we  can. 
And  make  him  with  our  pikes  and  partizans 
A  grave:  Come,  arm  him.— Boy,  he  is  pieferr'd 
By  thee  to  us;  and  he  shall  be  inlerr'd, 
As  soldiers  can.    Be  cheerful;  wipe  thine  eyes. 
Some  falls  are  means  the  happier  to  arise. 

[Exeunt. 
8  Her  fingers. 


632 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  V. 


SCENE  III. — A  Room  in  Cymbelinc*'s  Palace* 
Enter  Ci-mremn'E,  Lords,  and  Pisanio. 

Cym,  Affain;  and  bring  mc  word  how  'tis  with 
her. 
A  fever  with  the  absence  of  her  sou ; 
A    madness,    of  which    her    life's    in    danger : — 

Heavens, 
How  deeply  you  at  once  do  touch  mc !  Imo°;en, 
The  great  part  of  my  comfort,  gone;  my  queen 
Dpou  a  desperate  bed;  and  in  a  time 
When  fearful  wars  point  at  me;  her  son  gone, 
So  needful  for  this  present:  It  strikes  me,  past 
The  hope  of  comlort. — But  lor  thee,  fellijw, 
Who  needs  must  know  of  her  departure,  and 
Dost  seem  so  ignorant,  we'll  enforce  it  from  thee 
By  a  sharp  torture. 

Pi-f.  Sir,  my  life  is  yours: 

I  humbly  set  it  at  your  will :  But,  for  my  mistress, 
1  nothing  know  where  she  remains,  why  gone, 
Nor  when   slic  purposes  return.    'Beseech   your 

highness. 
Hold  me  your  loj'al  servant. 

1  Lord.  Good  my  liege, 

The  daj'  that  she  was  missing,  he  was  here: 
I  dare  be  bound  he's  true,  and  shall  perform 
All  parts  of  his  subjection  loyally. 
For  Cloten,— 

There  want^s  no  diligence  in  seeking  him, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  be  found. 

Cifm.  The  time's  troublesome: 

Weil  slip  you  for  a  season ;  but  our  jealousy 

[Tu  Pisanio. 
Does  yet  depend. 

1  Lord.  So  please  your  majesty. 

The  Roman  legions,  all  from'Gallia  drawn. 
Are  litnded  on  your  coast;  with  a  supply 
Of  Roman  gentlemen,  by  the  senate  sent. 

Cym.  Now  for  the  counsel  of  my  son  and  queen! — 
I  aiii  amaz'd  with  matter.^ 

1  Lord.  Good  my  liege, 

Your  preparation  can  affront'  no  less 
Than  what  you  hear  of:  come  more,  for  more 

you're  ready : 
Tlie  want  is,  but  to  put  those  powers  in  motion, 
Tlint  long  to  move. 

Vijni.  I  thank  you:  Let's  withdraw; 

And  meet  the  time  as  it  seeks  us.    We  fear  not 
What  can  from  Italy  annoy  us;  but 
We  grieve  at  chances  here. — Away.  [Exeitnt. 

Pw.  I  heard  no  letter  from  my  master,  since 
I  wrole  him,  Imogen  was  slain :  'Tis  strange  : 
Nor  hear  I  from  my  mistress,  who  did  promise 
To  yield  me  oflen  tidings :  Neither  know  I 
What  is  betid  to  Cloten  ;  but  remain 
Perplex'd  in  ail.    The  heavens  still  must  work: 
Wherein  I  am  false,!  am  honest;  not  true,  to  be  true. 
These  present  wars  shall  find  I  loye  my  country, 
Kvnn  to  the  note-^  o'  the  king,  or  1*11  fall  in  them. 
All  other  doubts,  by  time  let  them  be  clear 'd: 
Fortune  brings  in  some  boats,  that  arc  not  steerM. 

[Exii. 

SCENE  IV.—Bffore  the  Cave. 

Enter  Belarius,  Guiderius,  and  Arviragus. 


Gut  The  noise  is  round  about  us. 


Bel. 


Let  us  from  it. 


Arv.  W^hat  pleasure,  sir,  find  we  in  life,  to  lock  it 
From  action  and  adventure  1 

Gut.  Nay,  what  hope 

Have  we  in  hiding  us"?  this  way,  the  Romans 
Must  or  for  Britons  slay  us ;  or  receive  us 
For  barbarous  and  unnatural  revolts-* 
During  their  use,  and  slay  us  alter. 

Bel.  Sons, 

We'll  higher  to  the  mountains  ;  there  secure  U3, 
To  the  king's  party  there's  no  going:  newness 
Of  Cloten's  death  (we  being  not  known, not  muster'd 
Among  the  bands)  may  drive  us  to  a  render^ 
Where  we  have  liv'd  ;  and  so  extort  from  us 
That  which  we've  done,  whose  answer  would  bo 

death 
Drawn  on  with  torture. 

Gut  This  is,  sir,  a  doubt, 

In  such  a  time,  nothing  becoming  you, 
Nor  satisfying  us. 

Arv.  It  18  not  likely, 

That  when  they  hear  the  Roman  horses  neigh. 
Behold  their  quartcr'd  fires,  have  both  their  eyes 
And  ears  so  cloy'd  importantly  as  now. 
That  they  will  waste  their  time  ujxjn  our  note,6 
To  know  from  whence  we  are. 

Be/.  0, 1  am  knomi 

Of  many  in  the  army:  many  years, 
Though  Cloten  then  but  young,  you  see,  not  wore 

him 
From  my  remembrance.    And,  besides,  the  king 
Hath  not  deserv'd  my  service,  nor  your  loves; 
Who  lind  in  my  exile  the  want  of  breeding, 
The  certainty  of  this  hard  life  ;  aye  hopeless 
To  have  the  courtesy  your  cradle  promis'd, 
But  to  be  still  hot  summer's  tanlings,  and 
The  shrinking  slaves  of  winter. 

Gut  Than  be  so, 

Better  to  cease  to  be.    Pray,  sir,  to  the  army: 
I  and  my  brother  arc  not  known^  yourself, 
So  out  of  thought,  and  thereto  so  o'ergrown, 
Cannot  be  question'd. 

Art'.  By  this  sun  that  shines, 

I'll  thither:  What  thing  is  it,  that  I  never 
Did  see  man  die  1  scarce  ever  look'd  on  blood. 
But  that  of  coward  hares,  hot  goats,  and  venison'? 
Never  bestrid  a  herse,  save  one,  that  had 
A  rider  like  myself,  who  ne'er  wore  rowel 
Nor  iron  on  his  heel !     I  am  ashamed 
To  look  upon  the  holy  sun,  to  have 
The  benefit  of  his  bless'd  beams,  remaining 
So  long  a  poor  unknown. 

Gut  By  heavens,  I'll  go: 

If  you  will  bless  me,  sir,  and  give  ine  leave, 
I'll  take  the  better  care;  but  if  you  will  not, 
The  hazard  Iherelbre  due  fall  on  mc,  by 
The  hands  of  Romans! 

Ari\  So  say  I;  Amen. 

Bel.  No  reason  I,  since  on  your  lives  you  set 
So  slight  a  valuation,  should  reserve 
My  crack'd  one  to  more  care.    Have  with  you, 

boys : 
If  in  your  country  wars  you  chance  to  die. 
That  is  my  bed  too,  lads,  and  tliere  I'll  lie : 
Lead,  lead. —  The  time  seems  long;  their  blood 
tliinks  scorn,  [Aside, 

Till  it  fly  out,  and  show  them  princes  born. 

[  Ei-eunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  l.—A  Field  hefwcen  the  British  and  Ro- 
man Camps. 

Enter  Postiuthius,  ivith  a  bloody  Ilandkerchiff. 

Post.  Yea,   bloody  cloth,  I'll  keep  thee;   for  I 
wish'd 
Thou  slioiildst  be  color'd  thus.  You  married  ones, 
If  each  ot  you  wiuild  take  tliis  course,  how  many 
Must  murder  wives  much  better  than  tiicinseives, 
For  wrying^  but  a  little — 0,  Pisanio  ! 
Every  good  servant  does  not  all  commands  : 
No  bond,  but  to  do  Just  ones. — Gods  !  if  you 
Should  have  ta'en  vengeance  on  my  faults,  I  never 

*  Onnfnundtjd  by  .i  variety  of  l.usiripss.      ■  Kiu-ounter. 

■»  Notice.  3  I'L-viatiuy  from  the  right  way. 


Had  liv'd  to  put  on"'  this :  so  had  you  sav'd 
Tlio  noble  Imogen  to  repent;  and" struck  . 
Me,  wretch,  more  worth  your  vengeance.     But, 

alack, 
You  snatch  some  hence  for  little  faults;  that's  love, 
To  have  them  fall  no  more :  you  some  permit 
To  second  ills  with  ills,  each  elder  worse; 
And  make  them  dread  it  to  the  doer's  thrift. 
But  Imogen  is  your  own:  Do  your  best  wills, 
And  make  me  bless'd  to  obey! — I  am  brought 

hither 
Among  the  Italian  gentry,  and  to  fight 
Against  my  lady's  kingdom  :  'Tis  enough 

«  KeTolttTS.  *  An  account 

s  Noticing  uB.  "*  Incite,  instigate. 


Scene  III. 


CYMBELINE. 


633 


That,  Britain,  I  have  kill'd  Ihy  mistress;  peace! 

I'll  give  no  wound  to  thee.  Therefore,  good  heavens, 

Hear  patiently  my  purpose  :  ru  disrobe  me 

Of  these  Italian  weeds,  and  suit  myself 

As  does  a  Briton  peasant;  so  I'll  tight 

Against  the  part  I  come  with;  so  I'll  din 

For  thee,  O  Imogen,  even  for  whom  my  life 

Is,  every  breath,  a  death:  and  thus,  unknown, 

Pitied  nor  hated,  to  the  face  of  peril 

Myself  I'll  dedicate.    Let  me  make  men  taiow 

More  valor  in  me,  than  my  habits  show. 

(Jods,  put  the  strength  o'  tile  Leonati  in  me  ! 

To  shame  the  guise  o'  the  world,  I  will  begin 

The  fashion,  less  without,  and  more  within.  [Exit. 

SCENE  n.—The  same. 
Enter  at  one  side,  Lncius,  lAcarsto,  onri  tlie  Roman 
Arinij;  at  the  other  svle,  the  British  Armi/ ; 
LEciN'ATca  PoSTHUMfS  fhlluwiiif;  it,  like  a  ponr 
Suiiier,  They  Tiiarcli  over,  and  gu  out.  Atantni^. 
Tlieii  enter  a^ain  in  skirmUh.  I  aciiimo  and  PosT- 
nuMfs;  he  vanquifheth  and  disarmed  Iachimo, 
and  then  leaves  him. 

Jach.  The  heaviness  and  guilt  within  my  bosom 
Takes  ollniy  manhood:  1  have  belied  a  lady. 
The  princess  of  this  country,  and  the  air  on  t 
Revengingly  enfeebles  me  ;  Or  could  this  carl,' 
A  very  drudge  of  nature's,  have  subdued  me. 
In  my  profession  ?  Knighthoods  and  honors,  borne 
As  1  wear  mine,  are  titles  but  of  scorn. 
If  that  thy  gentry,  Britain,  go  before 
This  lout,  as  he  exceeds  our  lords,  the  odds 
Is,  that  we  scarce  are  men,  and  you  are  gods.  {Exit. 

The  Battle  continues,  the  Britons_^i/;   Cvmbelixe 
is  taken:    then  enter  to  his  rescue,  Belakius, 

GtlDERIfS,  and   AUVIRAGtj'S. 

Sel.  Stand,  stand!    We  have  the  advantage  of 
the  ground; 
The  lane  is  guarded  :  nothing  routs  us,  but 
The  villany  of  our  fears. 

Gui.  An:  Stand,  stand,  and  light ! 

Enttr  PosTHtJsius,  and  seconds  the  Britons.    Thet/ 

rescue    Cvmeeltse,  and  exeunt.      Then    enter 

LtxiL'S,  lAcniMo,  and  Imogen. 

Luc.  Away,  boy,  from  the  troops,  and  save  thy- 
self: 
For  friends  kill  friends,  and  the  disorder's  such 
As  war  were  hood-wink'd. 

Jach.  'Tis  their  fresh  supplies. 

Luc.  It  is  a  day  turn'd  strangely:  or  betimes 
Let's  reinforce,  or  fly.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Another  Part  of  the  Field. 
Enter  Posthumcs  and  a  British  Lord. 

Lnrd.  Cam'st  thou  from  where  they  made  the 
stand  ! 

Post.  I  did : 

Though  you,  it  seems,  come  from  the  fliers. 

Lord.  I  did. 

Post.  No  blame  be  to  vou,  sir;  for  all  was  lost. 
But  that  the  heavens  fought:  The  king  himself 
Of  his  wings  destitute,  the  army  broken. 
And  but  the  backs  of  Britons  seen,  all  Hying 
Through  a  straight  lane;  the  enemy  full-hearted. 
Lolling  the  tongue  with  slaughtering,  having  work 
More  plentiful  than  tools  to  do"t,  struck  down 
Some  mortally,some  slightly  touch'd,some  falling 
Merely  through  fear;    that  the  strait  path  was 

damm'd^ 
With  dead  men,  hurt  behind,  and  cowards  living 
To  die  with  lengthen'd  shame. 

Ijo-d.  Where  was  this  lane  ] 

Post.  Close   by   the   battle,  ditch'd    and  wall'd 
with  turf; 
Which  gave  advantage  to  an  ancient  soldier, — 
An  honest  one, I  warrant;  who  deserv'd 
So  long  a  breeding,  as  his  while  beard  came  to. 
In  doing  this  for  his  country;— athwart  the  lane, 
He,  wish  two  striplings,  (lads  more  like  to  run 
Tlie  c.iuniry  base,'  than  to  commit  such  slaughter; 
With  faces  ftt  for  masks,  or  rather  fairer 
Than  those  fiir  preservation  cased,  or  shame,) 
Made  good  the  passage;  cry'd  to  those  that  fled, 

"  Clown.  1  Blocked  up. 

<  A  coiuitry  g.ime  called  prison-hars,  vulgarly  prison- 


Our  Britain's  hnrts  die  flying,  not  our  men: 

To  darkness  fleet,  souls  t  lint  fly  Imckwards .'  Stand; 

Or  ive  are  Romans,  and  will  give  you  that 

Like  beasls,  which  i/ou  shun  beastly;  and  jnaysave. 

But  to  Inok  back  m  frown:  stand,  stand.— These 

three. 
Three  thousand  confident,  in  act  as  many, 
(For  three  performers  are  the  tile,  when  all 
The  rest  do  nothing,)  with  this  word.  Stand,  stand. 
Accommodated  by  the  place,  more  charming. 
With  their  own  nobleness,(  which  could  have  turn'd 
A  distafl'to  a  lance,)  gilded  pale  looks. 
Part,  shaaie,  part,spirit  renew'd ;  thatsome  turn'd 

coward 
But  fay  example,  (0,  a  sin  in  war 
Danin'd  in  the  rtrst  beginners!)  'gan  to  look 
The  way  that  they  did,  and  to  grin  like  lions 
Upon  the  pikes  o"  the  hunters.    Then  began 
A  stop  i'  the  chaser,  a  retire ;  anon, 
A  rout,  confusion  thick:  Forthwith  they  fly. 
Chickens,  the  way  which  they  stoop'd  eagles ;  slaves. 
The  strides  they  victors  made:  and  now  our  cowards 
(Like  fragments  in  hard  voyages)  became 
The  life  o'  the  need;  having  found  the  back-door 

open 
Of  the  unguarded  hearts.  heavens,how  they  wound! 
Some,  slain  before;  some,  dying;  some,  their  friends 
O'erborne  i'  the  former  wave :  ten,  chased  by  one. 
Are  now  each  one  the  slaughter-man  of  twenty: 
Those,  that  would  die  or  ere  resist,  are  grown 
The  mortal  bugs^  o'  the  field. 

Lord.  This  w.as  strange  chance! 

.\  narrow  lane!  an  old  man,  and  two  boys! 

Post.  Nay,  do  not  wonder  at  it:  You  arc  made 
Rather  to  wonder  at  the  things  you  hear, 
Than  to  work  any.    Will  you  rhyme  upon't, 
And  vent  it  for  mockery  ]     Here  is  one: 
Two  botrs,  an  old  man  twice  a  boy,  a  lane, 
Preserv'd  th£  Britons,  was  the  Romans'  bane. 

Lord.  Nay,  be  not  angry,  sir. 

Post.  'Lack,  to  what  end  ? 

Who  dares  not  stand  his  foe,  I'll  be  his  friend : 
For  if  he'll  do,  as  be  is  mrde  to  do, 
I  know  he'll  quickly  fly  mv  friendship  too. 
You  have  put  me  into  rhyine. 

Lord.  Farewell,  you  are  angry. 

„    .  .  [-Ej'''- 

Post.  Still  going;  — This  is  a  lord!    0  noble 
misery ! 
To  be  i'  the  tield,  and  ask,  what  news  of  me! 
To-day,  how  many  would  given  their  honors 
To  liave  sav'd  their  carcasses  ]  took  heels  to  do't, 
And  yet  died  too]     I,  in  mine  omi  woe  charm'd. 
Could  not  find  death, where  I  did  hear  him  groan; 
Nor  feel  him  where  he  struck:  lieing  an  ugly 

monster, 
'Tis  strange,  he  hides  him  in  fresh  cups,  sofi  beds, 
Sweet  words;  or  hath  more  ministers  than  we 
That  draw  his  knives  i'  the  war.— Well,  I  will  find 

him; 
For  being  now  a  favorer  to  the  Roman, 
No  more  a  Briton,  I  have  resumed  again 
The  part  I  came  in:  Fight  I  will  no  more. 
But  yield  me  to  the  veriest  hind,  that  shall 
Once  touch  my  shoulder.    Great  the  slaughter  is 
Here  made  by  the  Roman  ;  great  the  answer  bo 
Britons  must  take:  For  me,  my  ransom's  death; 
On  cither  side  I  come  to  spend  my  breath  ; 
Which  neither  here  I'll  keep,  nor  bear  again. 
But  end  it  by  some  means  lor  Imogen. 

Enter  two  British  Captains,  and  Soldiers. 

1  Co/).  Great  Jupiter  be  prais'd!  Lucius  is  taken: 
'Tis  thought  the  old  man  and  his  sons  were  angels. 

2  Cap  There  was  a  fourth  man,  in  a  silly  habit. 
That  gave  the  afliont^  with  them. 

1  Cap.  So  'tis  reported: 
But  none  of  them  can  be  found. — Stand!  who  is 

there! 
Post.  A  Roman  ; 
Wiio  had  not  now  been  drooping  here,  if  seconds 
Had  answered  him. 

2  Cap.  Lav  hands  on  liim;  a  dog ! 
A  leg  of  Rome  shall  not  return  to  tell 

What  crows  have  peck'd  them  liere :  He  brags  his 

service 
As  if  he  were  of  note  ;  bring  him  to  the  king. 
Enter  Cymhelixe,  attended;  Belarios,  GuiDEHirg, 
Arvibagi-s,  Pisanio,  and  Roman  Captives.    The 
«  Bug-bears,  terrors.  a  i)ncounter. 


634 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  V 


Captains  f>resent  PosTHc^rus  io  C'V'mbemne,  tvho 
delivirs  him  over  to  a  Gaoler:  after  which,  all 
go  out, 

SCENE  IV.— ^  Pri'ion. 
Enter  PosTHtJMra  and  two  Gaolers. 

1  Gaal.  You  shall  not  now  be  stolen,  you  have 

locks  upon  you  ; 
So,  graze,  as  you  find  pasture. 

2  Gaol.  Ay,  or  a  stomach. 

[Exeunt  Gaolers. 
Po^t.  Most  welcome  bondage !  tor  thou  art  a  way, 
I  think,  to  liberty  :  Yet  I  am  better 
Than  one  that's  sick  o'  the  gout ;  si  nco  he  had  rather 
Groan  so  in  perpetuity,  than  be  cured 
By  the  sure  physician,  death;  who  is  the  key 
To  unbar  these  locks.    My  conscience !  thou  art 

fetter'd 
More  than  my  shanks,  and  wrists :  You  good  gods, 

give  me 
The  penitent  instrument,  to  pick  that  bolt. 
Then  free  lor  ever !  Is't  enough.  I  am  sorry  1 
So  children  temporal  Ihtliers  do  appease; 
Gods  are  more  lull  of  mercy.    Must  I  repent? 
I  cannot  do  it  better  than  in  gyves,* 
Dcsir'd,  more  than  constrain'd  :  to  satisfy, 
If  of  my  freedom  'tis  the  main  part,  take 
No  stricter  render  of  me  tJian  my  all. 
I  know,  you  are  more  clement  than  vile  men, 
Who  of  their  broken  debtors  take  a  third, 
A  sixth,  a  tenth,  letting  them  thrive  again 
On  their  abatement ;  that's  not  my  desire  : 
For  Imogen's  dear  Itte,  take  mine ;  and  though 
'Tis  not  so  dear,  yet  'tis  a  life;  you  coin'd  it: 
'Tween  man  and  man,  they  weigh  not  every  stamp; 
Though  light,  take  pieces  lor  the  ligure's  sake: 
You  rather  mine,  being  yours :  And  so,  great  powers, 
If  you  wilt  take  this  audit,  take  this  liie. 
And  cancel  these  cold  bonds.    O  Imogen  ! 
I'll  speak  to  thee  in  silence.  [He  sleeps 

Solemn  Music.  Enter,  as  an  Apparition,  Sicilius 
Lkonatus.  Father  to  Postucmus,  an  old  Man, 
attired  like  a  Warrior;  leadinfi;  in  his  Hand  an 
ancient  Matron,  his  Wife,  and  Mother  to  Post- 
HL'-MLT:^,  ivitk  Music  befiire  them.  Ttien,  after 
other  Music,  folliiw  the  two  young  Leonati,  Bro- 
thei's  to  PoSTHUML'S.  ivUh  wounds,  as  they  died  in 
the  IVurs.  They  circle  Pusthumls  round,  as  he 
lies  sleeping. 
Sici.  No  more,  thou  thunder-master,  show, 

Thy  spite  on  mortal  Hies: 
With  Mars  fall  out,  with  Juno  chide, 

Tiiat  thy  adulteries 

Rates  and  revenges. 
Hath  my  poor  boy  done  aught  but  well, 

Whose  face  I  never  saw  \ 
I  died  whilst  in  the  womb  he  stay'd, 

Attending  Nature's  law. 
Whose  father  then  (as  men  report, 

Thou  orphans'  lather  art) 
Thou  shouldst  have  been,  and  shielded  him 

From  this  earth-vexing  smart. 
Moth.  Lucina  lent  not  me  her  aid, 

But  took  me  in  my  throes: 
That  from  me  was  Posthiiinus  ript, 

Came  crying  'mongst  his  foes, 

A  thing  of  pity  ! 

Sici.  Great  nature,  like  his  ancestry, 

Moulded  the  stull'so  lair. 
That  he  dcserv'd  the  praise  o'  the  world, 

As  great  Sicilius'  heir. 
1  Bro.  When  once  he  was  mature  for  man, 

In  Britain  where  was  he 
That  could  stand  up  his  parallel ; 

Or  fruitful  object  be 
In  eye  of  Imogen,  that  best 

('(luld  deem  his  dignity? 
Moth.  With  marriage  wherefore  was  he  mock'd, 

To  be  exiled  and  thrown 
From  Leonati'  scat,  and  ca?t 

From  her  his  dearest  one. 

Sweet  Imogen  ? 

Sici.  Why  did  yon  suller  lachimo, 

Shiiht  thing  of  Italy, 
To  t:iirit  his  nobler  ht-nrt  and  brain, 

Willi  needless  jpulousy  ; 
And  to  become  tlu'  geek'-  and  scorn 

0'  the  other's  villany? 
«  Fett.irs.  •  The  fool. 


2  Bro.  For  this,  from  stiller  seats  we  came, 

Our  parents,  and  us  twain. 
That,  striking  in  our  country's  cause, 

Fell  bravely,  and  v^'ere  slain  ; 
Our  fealty,  and  Tenantius'  right, 

With  honor  to  mamtain. 

1  Brn.  Like  hardiment,  Posthdmus  hath 

To  Cymbeline  perlbrm'd  : 
Then  Jupiter,  tliou  king  of  gods. 

Why  hast  thou  thusadjourn'd 
The  graces  for  his  merits  due  ; 

Being  all  to  dolors  turn'd? 
Sici.  Thy  crjstal  window  ope;  look  out; 

No  longer  exercise, 
Upon  a  valiant  race,  thy  harsh 

And  potent  injuries. 
Moth.  Since,  Jupiter,  our  son  is  good, 

Take  oil  his  miseries. 
Sici.  Peep  through  thy  marble  mansion:  help! 

Or  we  poor  ghosts  will  cry 
To  tlie  shining  synod  of  the  rest, 

Against  thy  deity. 

2  Bro.  Help,  Jupiter;  or  we  appeal, 

And  from  tliy  justice  lly. 

JcPiTER  descends  in  Thunder  and  Lightning,  sit- 
ting upon  an  Eagle;  he  throws  a  Thunderbolt. 

The  Ghosts  fall  on  tfif.ir  knees, 
Jup.  No  more,  you  pettj'  spirits  of  region  low, 

Offi^nd    our    hearing:    hush! — How    dare    yoix, 
ghosts, 
Accuse  the  thundercr,  whose  bolt,  you  Icnow, 

Sky-planted,  butlers  all  rebelling  coasts  \ 
Poor  shadows  of  Elysium,  hence  ;  and  rest 

Upon  your  never-wilhering  banks  of  flowers : 
Be  not  with  mortal  accidents  opprest; 

No  care  of  yours  it  is,  you  know  'tis  ours. 
Whom  best  1  love,  I  cross  ;  to  make  my  gift, 

The  more  delay 'd,  delighted.    Be  content: 
Your  low-laid  son  our  godiiead  will  uplitl.: 

His  comforts  thrive,  his  trials  well  are  spent. 
Our  jovial  star  reign'd  at  his  birth,  and  in 

Our  temple  was  he  married. — Rise,  and  fade  ! — 
He  shall  be  lord  of  lady  Imogen, 

And  happier  much  by  his  atlliction  made. 
This  tablet  lay  upon  his  breast;  wherein 

Our  pleasure  his  full  fortune  doth  contine;. 
And  so,  away:  no  further  with  your  din 

Express  impatience,  lest  you  stir  up  mine. — 

Mount,  eagle,  to  my  palace  crystalline.  \Ascendii. 

8lcL  He  came  in  thunder:  his  celestial  oreath 
Was  sulphurous  to  smell :  the  holy  eagle 
Stoop'd  as  to  foot  us:  his  ascension  is 
More  sweet  than  our  bless'd  fields  :  his  royal  bird 
Prunes  the  immortiil  wing,  and  cloys  his  beak, 
As  when  his  god  is  pleas'd. 

All.  Thanks,  Jupiter ! 

Sici.  The  marble  pavement  closes,  he  is  enter'd 
His  radiant  roof: — Away !  and  to  be  blest, 
Let  us  with  care  perform  his  great  behest. 

[Ghosts  vanisfu 

Post.  [Waking.]  Sleep,  thou  hast  been  a  grand- 
sire,  and  begot 
A  father  to  rae:  and  thou  hast  created 
A  mother  and  tv.-o  brothers:  But  (0  scorn  !) 
Gone!  they  went  hence  so  soon  as  they  were  bom. 
And  so  I  am  awake, — Poor  wretches  that  depend 
On  greatness'  favor,  dream,  as  I  have  done; 
Wake,  and  tind  nothing. — But,  alas,  I  swerve: 
Many  dream  not  to  find,  neither  deserve, 
And  yet  are  steep'd  in  favors  ;  so  am  I, 
That'have  this  golden  chance,  and  know  not  why. — 
Wliat  lairies  haunt  this  ground?    A  book?    O,  raie 

one  ! 
Be  not,  as  in  our  fangled  world,  a  garment 
Nobler  than  that  it  covers:  let  thy  effects 
So  follow,  to  be  most  unlike  our  courtiers, 
As  good  as  promise. 

[Reads.]  Wke7i  as  a  licm'^s  whelp  shall,  to  him.'<elf 
unknown,  without  seeking  fin  d,an<i  be  embraced 
by  a  piece  of  tej}dcr  air ;  and  wficnfrom  aslafely 
cedar  shall  he  lopped  branches,  which,  being 
(had  many  years,  shall  after  revive,  be  jointed 
to  the  old  stock,  and  f}-eshly  grmv;  tfien  shall 
Posthumus  eu'i  his  miseries,  iirilixin  be  fortunate, 
andjlouribh  in  peace  awl  plenty. 

'Tis  still  a  dream  ;  or  else  such  stulfas  madmen 

Tongue,  and  brain  not    cither  both,  or  nothing; 

Or  senseless  speaking,  or  a  speaking  such 


Scene  V. 


CYMBELINE. 


C35 


As  sense  cannot  untie  Be  what  it  is, 
The  action  of  my  life  is  hke  it,  which 
ril  lieep,  it  but  tor  sympathy. 

Re-enter  Gaolers. 

Gaol.  Come,  sir,  are  you  ready  for  death  T 

Post.  Over-roasted  ratiier :  ready  long  ago. 

Gaol.  Hanging  is  the  word,  sir;  if  you  be  ready 
tor  that,  you  are  well  cooked. 

Post.  So,  if  I  prove  a  good  repast  to  the  spec- 
tators, the  dish  pays  the  shot. 

Gaol.  A  heavy  reckoning  for  you,  sir:  But  the 
comlbrt  is,  you  shall  he  called  to  no  more  payments, 
fear  no  more  tavern  bills;  which  are  otTen  the  sad- 
ness of  parting,  as  the  procuring  of  mirth  :  you 
come  in  laint  fur  want  of  meat,  depart  reeling  with 
too  much  drink ;  sorry  that  you  have  paid  too  much, 
and  sorry  that  you  are  paid  too  much;  purse' and 
brain  botJi  enijity;  the  brain  the  heavier  for  being 
too  light,  tiic  ]nu-se  too  light,  being  drawii  of  heavi- 
ness: O!  of  this  contradiction  you  shall  now  be 
quit. — O  the  cliarity  of  a  penny  cord  !  it  sums  up 
tnousands  in  a  trice:  you  have  no  true  debitor  and 
creditor  but  it;  of  what^s  past,  is,  and  to  come,  tfie 
discharge : — Yom*  neck,  sir,  is  pen,  book,  and  coun- 
ters, so  the  acquittance  Ibllows. 

Post.  1  am  merrier  to  die,  than  thou  art  to  live. 

Gaoi.  Indeed,  sir,  he  that  sleeps  feels  not  the 
tootli-ache.  But  a  man  that  were  to  sleep  your 
sleep,  and  a  hangman  to  help  him  to  bed.  I  think, 
lie  vioukl  change  places  with  his  ollicer:  for,  look 
you.  sir,  jou  know  not  which  way  you  shall  go. 

Post.  Yes,  indeed,  do  I,  fellow. 

Gaol.  Your  death  has  ej'cs  in's  head,  then;  I 
have  not  seen  him  so  pictured :  you  must  either  be 
directed  by  some  that  take  upon'tliem  to  know;  or 
take  ujKjn  yourself  that  which  I  am  sure,  you  do 
not  know;  or  junip^  tlie  after-inquiry  on  your  own 
peril:  and  how  you  shall  speed  in  your  journey's 
end,  1  think  you'll  never  return  to  tell  one. 

Post.  I  tell  tliee,  fellow,  tliere  arc  none  want 
eyes  to  direct  them  the  way  I  am  going,  but  such 
as  wink,  and  will  not  use  them. 

Gaol.  What  an  inllnite  mock  is  this,  that  a  man 
should  have  the  best  use  of  eyes,  to  see  the  way  of 
Blindness !  I  am  sure,  hanging's  the  way  of  winking. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Knock  olJ'  liis  manacles ;  bring  your  pri- 
soner to  the  king. 

Post.  Thou  bringest  good  news;— I  am  called  to 
be  made  free. 

Gaol.  I'll  be  hanged  then. 

Fust.  Thou  Shalt  be  then  freer  than  a  gaoler ;  no 
bolts  for  the  dead. 

[Exeunt  PoSTHtrMrs  and  Messenger. 

Ga/>1.  Unless  a  man  would  marry  a  gallows,  and 
beget  young  gibbets.  I  never  saw  one  so  prone.'^ 
Yet,  oii  my  conscience,  tliere  arc  verier  knaves  de- 
sire to  live,  lor  all  be  be  a  Roman :  and  there  be 
some  of  them  too,  that  die  against  their  wills :  .so 
should  I.  if  I  were  one.  I  would  we  were  all  of 
one  mind,  and  one  mind  good;  O,  there  were  de- 
solation of  gaolers,  and  gallowses!  1  speak  against 
mv  present  profit;  but  my  wish  hath  a  prelermeut 
inH.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Cymbcline's  Tent. 
Enter  Ctmbelixe,  Belarius,  GuiDEnirs,  Arviba- 

GLS,  Pis.^Nio,  Lords,  Officers,  and  Attendants. 

Ct/m.  Stand  by  my  side,  you  whom  the  gods 
have  made 
Preservers  of  my  throne.    Woe  is  my  heart, 
That  the  poor  soldier,  that  so  richly  fought. 
Whose  rags  shamed  gilded  arms,  whose  naked 

breast 
Stepp'd  before  large'  of  proof,  cannot  be  found: 
He  shall  be  happy  that  can  find  him,  if 
Our  grace  can  make  him  so. 

Bel.  I  never  saw 

Such  noble  fury  in  so  poor  a  thing; 
Such  precious  deeds  in  one  that  promis'd  nought 
But  beggary  and  poor  looks. 

Ci/m.  No  tidings  of  him  ? 

Pi.i.  He  hath  been  search'd  among  the  dead  and 
living, 
But  no  trace  of  him. 

Cijm.  To  my  grief  I  am 


«  Hazard. 


'  Forw.ird. 


■  Target,  shield. 


The  heir  of  his  reward;  which  I  will  add 
To  you,  the  liver,  heart,  and  brain  of  Britain, 

[To  Belauius,  Guiderius,  a?id  Aiivikagcs. 
By  whom,  I  grant,  she  lives  :  'Tis  now  tlie  time 
To  ask  of  whence  you  are : — report  it. 

Bel.  Sir, 

In  Cambria  are  we  born,  and  gentlemen  : 
Further  to  boast,  were  neither  true  nor  modest, 
Unless  I  add,  we  are  honest. 

Cym.  Bow  your  knees ; 

Arise,  my  knights  o'  the  battle  :  I  create  you 
Companions  to  our  person,  and  will  tit  you 
With  dignities  becoming  your  estates. 

Enter  Cornelios  and  Ladies. 
There's  business  in  these  faces. — Why  so  sadly 
Greet  you  our  victory  !     You  look  like  Romans, 
And  not  o'  the  court  of  Britain. 

Ci/r.  Hail,  great  king ! 

To  sour  your  happiness,  I  must  report 
The  queen  is  dead. 

Cym.  Whom  worse  than  a  physician 

Would  this  report  become?  But  I  consider. 
By  medicine  life  may  be  prolong'd,  yet  death 
VVill  seize  the  doctor,  too. — How  ended  shel 

Cor.  With  horror,  madly  dying,  like  her  life; 
Which,  being  cruel  to  the  world,  concluded 
Most  cruel  to  herself. — What  she  cunless'd, 
I  will  report,  so  please  you :  These  her  women 
Can  trip  me,  if  I  err;  who,  with  wet  cheeks. 
Were  present  when  she  tinish'd. 

Ctjm.  Pr'ythee,  say. 

Ciir.  First,sheconfess'dsheneverlov'dyou;  only 
Alli^cted  greatness  got  by  you,  not  you ; 
Married  your  roj-aity,  was  wife  to  your  place  ; 
Abhorr'd  your  person. 

Cit/n.  She  alone  knc  ff  this: 

And.  but  she  spoke  it  dying.  I  would  not 
Believe  her  lips  in  opeiung  it.    Proceed. 

Cor.  Your  daughter,  whom  she  bore  in  hand  to 
love 
With  such  integrity,  she  did  confess 
Was  as  a  scorpion  to  her  sight;  whose  life. 
But  that  her  (light  prevented  it,  she  had 
Ta'en  off  by  poison. 

Cijm.  0  most  delicate  fiend ! 

Who  is't  can  read  a  woman  !— Is  there  morel 

Cor.  More,  sir,  and  worse.    She  did  confess,  she 
had 
For  you  a  mortal  mineral;  which,  being  took, 
Should  by  the  minute  feed  on  life,  and,  ling'rmg, 
B\-  inches  waste  you :  In  which  time  she  jiurpos'd. 
By  watching,  weeping,  'tendance,  kissing,  to 
(I'ercome  you  with  hershow:  yes,  and  in  time, 
(When  she  had  iilled  you  with  her  craft,)  to  work 
iler  s(tii  into  the  a(]o[)tion  of  the  crown. 
But  failing  of  her  end  by  his  strange  absence. 
Grew  shameless  desi>erulc;  opeii'd,  in  despite 
01'  heaven  and  men,' her  purposes;  repented 
The  evils  she  batcii'd  were  not  etiiicted  :  so. 
Despairing,  died. 

Vt/ni.  Heard  you  all  this,  her  women'! 

Lady.  We  did  so,  please  your  highness. 

Cym.  Mine  eyes 

Were  not  in  fault,  for  she  was  beautiful ; 
Mine  cars,  that  heard  her  tiattery  ;  nor  my  heart. 
That  thought  her  like  her  seeming :  it  had  been 

vicious. 
To  have  mistrusted  her :  yet,  O  my  daughter ! 
That  it  was  lolly  in  me,  tliou  may'st  say. 
And  prove  it  in  thy  libeling.    Heaven  mend  all ! 

Enter  Lucics,  Iaciiimo,  the  Soothsayer,  and  other 
Roman  Prisoners,  guarded;  PosTUUMUS  behind, 
and  Imogen. 
Thou  com'st  not,  Cains,  now  for  tribute  ;  that 
The  Britons  have  razed  out,  thougli  with  tlie  loss 
Of  many  a  bold  one ;  whose  kinsmen  have  made 

suit 
That  their  good  souls  maybe  appoas'dwithslanghter 
Of  you  their  captives,  which  oursclf  have  granted: 
So,  think  of  your  estate. 

Luc.  Consider,  sir,  the  chance  of  war:  the  day 
Was  yours  by  accident ;  had  it  gone  with  us. 
We  sliould  not,  when  the  blood  was  cool,  havo 

threaten'd 
Our  prisoners  with  the  sword.    But  since  the  gods 
Will  have  it  thus,  that  nothing  but  our  lives 
May  be  call'd ransom,  let  it  come:  snlliceth, 
A  Roman  with  a  Roman's  heart  can  suUi^r: 


636 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  v. 


Augustus  lives  to  think  onH  ;  And  so  much 
For  my  peculiar  care.    This  one  thing  only 
I  will  entreat;  My  boy,  a  Briton  born, 
Let  him  be  ransomVl :  never  master  had 
A  pa^c  so  kind,  so  duteous,  diligent, 
So  tender  over  his  occasions,  true, 
So  feat,9  so  nurselike  ;  let  his  virtue  join 
With  my  request,  which,  I'll  make  bold,  your  high- 
ness 
Cannot  deny :  he  hath  done  no  Briton  harm, 
Though  he  nave  serv'd  a  Roman:  save  him,  sir. 
And  spare  no  blood  beside. 

Ci/m.  I  have  surely  seen  him  : 

His  fnvor'  is  familiar  to  me. — 
Boy,  iliou  hast  lo'ik'd  tliyself  into  my  grace, 
And  art  mine  own. — 1  know  not  why,  nor  where- 
fore. 
To  say,  live,  boy ;  ne'er  thank  thy  master :  live : 
And  ask  of  Cymbeline  what  boon  thou  wilt. 
Fitting  my  bounty,  and  thy  stiite.  Til  give  it; 
Yea,  though  thou  do  demand  a  prisoner. 
The  noblest  ta'en. 

lino.  I  humbly  thank  your  highness. 

Luc.  I  do  not  bid  tlioc  beg  my  life,  good  lad ; 
And  yet,  I  know,  thou  wilt. 

lino.  No, no:  alack! 

Tlierc's  other  work  in  hand ;  I  see  a  thing 
Bitter  to  me  as  death:  your  life,  good  master, 
Must  shuffle  for  itself. 

Luc.  The  boy  disdains  me. 

Ho  leaves  me,  scorns  me:  Briefly  die  their  joys, 
Tliat  place  them  on  tlie  truth  of  girls  and  boys. — 
Why  stands  he  so  pcrplex'd? 

Cj/m.  What  wouldst  thou,  boy  1 

I  love  thee  more  and  more ;  think  more  and  more 
What's  best  to  ask.  Know'st  him  thou  look'st  on  ? 

speak. 
Wilt  have  him  live  ?    Is  he  thy  kin  1  thy  friend  t 

lino.  He  is  a  Roman;  no  more  kin  to  me, 
Than  I  to  your  highness ;  who,  being  born  your 

vassal. 
Am  something  nearer. 

Cym.  Wherefore  ey'st  him  so  1 

lino.  I'll  tell  you,  sir,  in  private,  if  you  please 
To  give  me  hearing. 

Ciim.  Ay,  with  all  my  heart, 

And  lend  my  best  attention.  What's  thy  namel 

lino.  Fidele,  sir. 

_  Ciim.  Thou  art,  my  good  youth,  my  page ; 

I'll  be  thy  master:  Walk  with  me;  speak  freely. 
[Cymbeline  and  Imogen  converse  apart. 

Bel.  Is  not  this  boy  revived  from  death  7 

Arv.  One  sand  another 

Not  more  resembles;  TJiat  sweet  rosy  lad. 
Who  died,  and  was  Fidele:— Wliat  think  you? 

Gui.  The  same  dead  thing  alive. 

Bel.  Peace,  peace !  see  further,  he  eyes  us  not ; 
forbear : 
Creatures  may  be  alike:  were'4  he,  I  am  sure 
He  would  have  spoke  to  us. 

CSui.  _  But  we  saw  him  dead. 

Bei.  Be  silent ;  let's  see  further. 

Pis.  It  is  my  mistress  : 

[Aside. 
Since  she  is  living,  let  the  time  run  on. 
To  good,  or  bad. 

[CvMnELiNE  and  Imohen  come fiymmrd. 

Cj/m.  Come,  stand  tliou  by  our  side; 

Make  thy  demand  aloud. — Sir,  [To  Iach.]  step  you 

ibrtli ; 
C.ive  answer  to  tliis  boy,  and  do  it  freely : 
f  tr.  !i\*  our  greatness,  and  the  grace  of  it, 
Wliirh  is  our  honor,  bitter  torture  shall 
Winnow  tlie  truth  from  falseliood. — On,  speak  to 
him. 

Inio.  Jly  boon  is,  tliat  tliis  gentleman  may  render 
Of  whom  he  had  this  ring. 

Post.  What's  that  to  him  ? 

[Aside. 

Coin.  Tliat  diamond  upon  your  finger,  say, 
How  canio  it  yours  ? 

Inch.  Tiiou'lt  torture  me  to  leave  unspoken  that 
Which,  to  be  -spoke,  would  torture  thee. 

Ciiiii.  How!  me? 

luch.l  am  glad  to  be  constrain'd  to  utter  that  which 
Torments  ntc  to  conceal.    By  villany 
I  got  tliis  ring;  'twas  I.eonatus' jewel; 
A'hom  thou  didst  banish;  and  (which  more  may 
grieve  thoe, 
0  Ready,  dexterous.  »  Countenance. 


As  it  doth  me)  a  nobler  sir  ne'er  liv'd 
'TwLxt  sky  and  ground.    Wilt  thou  hear  more,  my 
lord  ! 

Cym.  All  that  belongs  to  this. 

lacfi.  That  paragon,  thy  daughter, — 

For  whom  my  heart  drops  blood ,and  my  lalse  spirits 
Quail^  to  remember, — Give  me  leave;  I  faint. 

Cym.  My  daughter  !  what  of  her !     Renew  thy 
strength : 
I  had  rather  thou  shouldst  live  while  nature  will. 
Than  die  ere  I  hear  more:  strive,  man,  and  speak. 

lac/i.  Upon  a  time,  (unhappy  was  the  clock 
That  struck  the  hour  !]  it  was  in  Rome,  (accurs'd 
The  mansion  where!)  'twas  a  (east,  (0,  vvoald 
Our  viands  had  been  poison'd  !  or,  at  least. 
Those  which  1  heav'd  to  head!)  the  good  Posthli- 

nius, 
(What  should  I  say?  he  was  too  good  to  he 
Where  ill  men  were ;  and  was  the  best  of  all 
Amongst  the  rar'st  of  good  ones,)  sitting  sadly. 
Hearing  us  praise  our  loves  of  Italy 
For  beauty  that  made  barren  the  swell'd  boast 
Of  him  that  best  could  speak :  for  feature,  laming 
The  shrine  of  Venus,  or  straight-pight  Minerva, 
Postures  beyond  brief  nature :  lor  condition, 
A  shop  of  ail  the  qualities  that  man 
Loves  women  for;  besides,  that  hook  of  wiving. 
Fairness  which  strikes  the  eye : 

Cym.  I  stand  on  fire: 

Come  to  the  matter. 

lack.  All  too  soon  I  shall. 

Unless  thou  wouldst  grieve  quickly. — This  Post- 

hiimus 
(Most  like  a  noble  lord  in  love,  and  one 
That  had  a  royal  lover)  took  his  liint : 
And,  not  dispraising  wliom  we  prais'd,  (therein 
He  was  as  calm  as  virtue,)  he  began 
His  mistress' picture ;  which  by  his  tongue  being 

made. 
And  then  a  mind  put  in't,  either  our  brags 
Were  crack'd  of  kitchen  trulls,  or  his  description 
Prov'd  us  unspeaking  sots. 

Cym.  Naj-,  nay,  to  the  purpose. 

laclt.  Your  daughter's  chastity— there  it  begins. 
He  spake  other  as  Dian  had  hot  dreams. 
And  she  alone  were  cold  :  V,'hereat,  1,  wretch  ! 
Made  scruple  of  his  praise;  and  wager'd  with  him 
Pieces  of  gold,  'gainst  this  which  then  he  wore 
Upon  his  honor'd  linger,  to  attain 
In  suit  the  place  of  his  bed,  and  win  this  ring 
By  her's  and  mine  adultery :  he,  true  knight, 
No  lesser  of  her  honor  confident 
Than  I  did  truly  find  her,  stakes  this  ring; 
And  would  so,  had  it  been  a  carbuncle 
Of  Phcebus'  wheel,  and  might  so  safely,  had  it 
Been  all  the  worth  of  his  car.    Away  to  Britain 
Post  1  ill  this  design  :  Well  may  you,  sir. 
Remember  me  at  court,  where!  was  taught 
Of  your  chaste  daughter  the  wide  diftcrcnce 
'Twixt  amorous  and  villanous.  Being  tlius  qucnch'd 
Of  hope,  not  longing,  mine  Italian  brain 
'Can  in  your  duller  Britain  operate 
Most  vilely;  for  my  'vantage,  excellent; 
And,  to  be  brief,  my  practice  so  prevail'd. 
That  I  return'd  with  simular  proof  enough 
To  make  the  noble  Leonatus  mad. 
By  \vounding  his  belief  in  her  renown 
With  tokens  thus,  and  thus;  averring  notes 
Of  chamber-hanging,  jiictures,  this  her  bracelet, 
(O,  cunning,  how  I  got  it !)  nny,  some  marks 
Of  secret  on  her  person,  that  lie  could  not 
But  think  her  bond  of  chastity  quite  crack'd, 
I  having  ta'en  the  Ibrfeit.    Whereupon, — 
Methinks  I  see  him  now, 

Post.  Ay,  so  thou  dost, 

[Coming  forward 
Italian  fiend  !— Ah  me,  most  credulous  lool, 
Egregious  murderer,  thief,  any  thing 
That's  due  to  all  the  villains  past,  in  being. 
To  come  !— O,  give  me  cord,  or  knil'e,  or  poison. 
Some  upright  justicer !    Thou,  king,  send  out 
For  torturers  ingenious :  It  is  I 
That  all  the  abhorred  things  o'  the  earth  amend. 
By  being  worse  than  they.    I  am  PosthCunus, 
That  kill'd  thy  daughter':— villain-like,  I  lie; 
Tiiat  4-aiis\l  a  lesser  villain  than  myself, 
A  saciilr^gious  thief,  to  do't:  the  temple  « 

Of  virtue  was  she;  yea,  and  she  herself.' 
«  Sink  into  dejection. 
5  Not  only  the  temple  of  virtue,  tut  virtue  herself. 


Scene  V. 


CYMBELINE. 


637 


Spit,  and  throw  stones,  cast  mire  upon  me,  set 
The  doss  o'  the  street  to  bay  rae :  every  viUain 
Be  call'd  Posthumus  Leonatus;  and 
Be  villany  less  than  'twas !— 0  Imogen  ! 
My  queen,  my  life,  my  wife  !  0  Imogen, 
Imogen,  Imogen! 

Imo.  Peace,  my  lord ;  hear,  hear — 

Post.  Shall's  have  a  play  of  thisi  thou  scornful 
page, 
There  lies  thy  part.  [Striking  her:  stiefatls. 

Pis.  8,  gentlemen,  help,  help 

Mine  and  your  mistress:— O,  my  lord  Posthumus! 
You  ne'er  kill'd  Imogen  till  now:— Help,  help!— 
Mine  honor'd  lady  ! 

t'l/OT.  Does  the  world  go  round  1 

Post.  How  come  these  staggers  on  me ! 

Pi-s.  Wake,  my  mistress  ! 

Cym.  Iflhis  be  so,  the  gods  do  mean  to  strike  me 
To  death  with  mortal  joy. 

Pis.  How  fares  my  mistress  1 

Iiao.  O,  get  thee  from  my  sight; 
Thou  gav'sL  me  poison  :  dangerous  fellow,  hence ! 
Breathe  not  where  princes  are. 

Ci/m.  The  tune  of  Imogen ! 

Ph.  Lady, 
The  gods  throw  stones  of  sulphur  at  me,  if 
That  box  I  gave  you  was  not  thought  by  me 
A  precious  thing ;  I  had  it  from  the  queen. 

Ci/ni.  New  matter  still  1 

Inio.  It  poison'd  me. 

Car.  O  gods  !— 

I  lett  out  one  thing  which  the  queen  confess'd, 
Which  must  approve  thee  honest:  IfPisanio 
Have,  said  she,  given  his  mistress  that  confection 
Which  1  gave  him  for  a  cordial, she  is  serv'd 
As  I  would  serve  a  rat. 

Ci/m.  What's  this,  Cornelius  ? 

Cor.  The  queen,  sir,  very  oft  importun'd  me 
To  temper'  poisons  tor  her;  still  pretending 
The  satisfaction  of  her  knowledge  only 
In  killing  creatures  vile,  as  eats  and  dogs. 
Of  no  esteem:  I,  dreading  that  her  purpose 
Was  of  more  diinger,  did  compound  for  her 
A  certain  stuff,  which  being  ta'en,  would  cease 
The  present  power  of  life  ;  but  in  short  time. 
All  offices  of  nature  should  again 
Do  their  due  functions. — }lnve  you  ta'en  of  itl 

Ijjw,  Most  like  1  did,  for  I  was  dead, 

Bel.  My  boys, 

There  was  our  error. 

Gut.  This  is  sure,  Fidele. 

Imo.  Why  did  you  throw  your  wedded  lady  from 
you] 
Think,  that  you  are  upon  a  rock;  and  now 
Throw  rae  again.  [Emhraring  liim. 

Post.  Hang  there  like  fruit,  my  soul. 

Till  the  tree  die! 

d/m.  How  now,  my  flesh,  my  child  ? 

What,  mak'st  thou  me  a  dullard  in  this  act  ? 
Wilt  tiiini  not  speak  to  me  1 

Imo.  Your  blessing,  sir.  [Kneeling. 

Bel.  Though  you  did  love  this  youth,  I  blame 
you  not; 
You  had  a  motive  for't. 

[To  GtiiDEUius  and  ARViKAat^s. 

Ctjm.  My  tears  that  fall. 

Prove  holy-water  on  thee !    Imogen, 
Thy  mother's  dead. 

Imo.  I  am  sorry  for't,  my  lord. 

Ci/m.  0,she  was  naught;  and 'long  of  her  it  was, 
That  we  meet  here  so  strangely :  But  her  son 
Is  gone,  we  know  not  how  nor  where, 

Pii.  _  My  lord. 

Now  fear  is  from  me,  I'll  speak  truth.    Lord  Cloten, 
Upon  my  lady's  missing,  came  to  me 
With  his  sword  drawn;  ioara'd  at  the  mouth,  and 

swore. 
If  1  discover'd  not  which  way  she  was  gone. 
It  was  my  instant  death  :  By  accident, 
I  had  a  feigned  letter  of  my  master's 
Then  in  my  pocket;  which  directed  him 
To  see  her  on  the  mountains  near  to  Milford, 
'Where,  in  a  frenzy,  in  my  master's  garments. 
Which  he  enforced  from  me,  away  he  posts 
With  unchaste  purpose,  and  with  oath  to  violate 
My  lady's  honor:  what  became  of  him, 
1  further  know  not. 

Gui.  Let  me  end  the  story : 

I  slew  him  there. 

*  31  Lx,  compound. 


Cym.  Marry,  the  gods  forefend  '.^ 

I  would  not  thy  good  deeds  should  fror^  my  lips 
Pluck  a  hard  sentence :  pr'ythee,  valiant  youth, 
Deny't  again. 

Gui.  I  have  spoke  it,  and  I  did  it. 

Cym.  He  was  a  prince. 

Gui.  A  most  uncivil  one:  The  wrongs  he  did  me 
Were  nothing  prince-like ;  for  he  did  provoke  me 
With  language  that  would  make  me  spurn  the  sea, 
If  it  could  so  roar  to  me  :  I  cut  oil's  head; 
And  aju  right  glad,  he  is  not  standing  here 
To  tell  this  tale  of  mine. 

Cym.  I  am  sorry  for  thee : 

By  thine  own  tongue  thou  art  condemn'd,  and  must 
Endure  our  law :  Thou  art  dead. 

Inw.  That  headless  man 

I  thought  had  been  my  lord. 

Cum.  Bind  the  ofTender, 

And  take  him  from  our  presence. 

Bel.  Stay,  sir  king: 

This  man  is  better  than  the  man  he  slew. 
As  well  descended  as  thyself';  and  hath 
More  of  thee  merited,  than  a  band  of  Clotens 
Had  ever  scar  for. — Let  his  arms  alone ; 

[Tol/ie  Guard. 
They  were  not  born  for  bondage. 

Cym.  Why,  old  soldier, 

Wilt  thou  undo  the  worth  thou  art  unpaid  ibr, 
By  tasting  of  our  wrath?     How  of  descent 
As  good  as  we  ?  • 

An:  In  that  he  spake  too  far. 

Cym.  And  thou  shalt  die  tbr't. 

Bel.  We  will  die  all  three: 

But  I  will  prove,  that  two  of  us  are  as  good 
As  I  have  given  out  him. — My  sons,  I  must. 
For  mine  own  part,  untold  a  dangerous  speech. 
Though,  haply,  well  for  you. 

Arv.  Your  danger  is 

Ours. 

Gui.  And  our  good  his. 

Bel.  Have  at  it,  then.— 

By  leave: — Thou  hadst,  great  Idng,  a  subject,  who 
Was  call'd  Belarius. 

Cym.  What  of  him?  he  is 

A  banish'd  traitor. 

Bel.  He  it  is  that  hath 

Assumed  this  age  :  indeed,  a  banish'd  man  ; 
I  know  not  how,  a  traitor. 

Cym.  Take  him  hence; 

The  whole  world  shall  not  save  him. 

Bel.  Not  too  hoi: 

First  pay  me  for  the  nursing  of  thy  sons; 
And  let  it  be  confiscate  all,  so  soon 
As  I  have  receiv'd  it. 

Cym.  Nursing  of  my  sons  ? 

Bel-  lam  too  blunt  and  saucy:  Here's  my  kneo; 
Ere  I  arise,  I  will  prefer  my  sons; 
Then,  spare  not  the  old  father.    Mighty  sir. 
These  two  young  gentlemen,  that  call  me  father, 
And  think  they  are  my  sons,  are  none  of  mine; 
They  are  the  issue  of  your  loins,  my  liege. 
And  blood  of  your  begetting. 

Cym.  How!  my  issue? 

Bel.  So  sure  as  you  your  father's.  I,  old  Morgan, 
Am  that  lielarius  whom  you  sometime  banisli'd. 
Your  pleasure  was  my  mere  olftnce, my  punishment 
Itself,  and  all  my  treason:  that  I  sutter'd. 
Was  all  the  harm  I  did.    These  gentle  princes 
(For  such,  and  so  they  are)  these  twenty  years 
Ilave  I  train'd  up:  those  arts  they  have, as  I 
Could  put  into  them;  my  breeding  was,  sir,  as 
Your  highness  knows.    Their  nurse,  Euriphile, 
Whom  for  the  theft  I  wedded,  stole  these  children 
Upon  my  banishment:  I  mov'd  herfo't: 
Having  receiv'd  the  punishment  before. 
For  that  which  I  did  then  :  Be.aten  lor  loyalty 
Excited  me  to  treason:  Their  dear  loss. 
The  more  of  you  'twas  felt,  the  more  it  shaped 
Unto  my  end  of  stealing  them.  But,  gracious  sir. 
Here  are  your  sons  again ;  and  I  must  lose 
Two  of  the  sweet'st  companions  in  the  world : — 
The  benediction  of  these  covering  heavens 
Fall  oil  their  heads  like  dew!  for  they  are  worthy 
To  inlay  heaven  with  stars. 

Cym.  Thou  weep'st,  and  speak'st. 

The  service,  that  you  three  have  done,  is  more 
Unlike  than  this  thou  tell'st:  I  lost  my  children; 
If  these  be  they,  I  know  not  how  to  wish 
A  pair  of  worthier  sons. 

•  rortii 


638 


CYMBELINE. 


Act  V. 


Bel.  Be  ploas'd  a  while.— 

This  gcntfeman,  whom  I  call  Polydore, 
Mosl  worthy  prince,  as  yours,  is  true  Guiderius  ; 
This  gentleman,  my  Cadwal,  Arviriigiis, 
Your  younger  princely  son;  he,  sir,  was  lappM 
In  a  most  curious  mantle,  wrought  by  the  hand 
Of  his  qiioen-mother,  which,  for  more  probation, 
I  can  with  ease  produce. 

Cijm.  Guiderius  had 

Upon  his  neck  a  mole,  a  sanguine  star; 
It  was  a  mark  of  wonder. 

Bel.  This  is  he; 

Who  hath  upon  him  still  that  natural  stamp; 
It  was  wise  nature's  end  in  the  donation, 
To  be  his  evidence  now. 

Ci/m-  O,  what  am  I 

A  mother  to  the  birth  of  three  ?     Ne'er  mother 
Rejoiced  deliverance  more :— Bless'd  may  you  be. 
That,  after  this  strange  starting  from  your  orbs, 
You  may  reign  in  them  now! — O  Imogen, 
Thou  hast  lost  by  this  a  kingdom. 

Iiiio.  No,  my  lord  ; 

I  have  got  two  worlds  by't. — 0  my  gentle  brother, 
Have  we  thus  met?     0  never  say  hereaAer, 
But  I  am  truest  speaker:  you  call'd  nie  brother, 
Wlien  I  was  but  your  sister ;  I  you  brothers, 
When  you  were  so  indeed. 

Cum.  Did  you  e'er  meet  ■? 

Arv.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Gui.  And^at  first  meeting  lov'd; 

Continued  so,  until  we  thought  he  died. 

Cfir.  IJy  the  queen's  dram  she  swallow'd. 

Cyin.  O  rare  instinct ! 

When  shall  I  hear  all  through?  This  tierce  abridge- 
ment 
Hath  to  it  circumstantial  branches,  wliich 
Distinction  should  be  rich  in.^ — Where  1  how  liv'd 

you  ? 
And  when  came  you  to  serve  our  Roman  captive  1 
How  parted  with  your  brothers  1   how  first  met 

them  ? 
Why  fled  you  from  the  courtl  and  whither?  These, 
An(]  your  three  motives  to  the  battle,  with 
1  know  nut  how  much  more, should  be  demanded; 
And  all  the  otiier  by-dependencies. 
From  cliance  to  chance ;  but  nor  the  time,  nor  place. 
Will  serve  long  interrogatories.    Sec, 
Posth'mus  anchors  upon  Imogen  ; 
And  siie,  like  harmless  lightning,  throws  her  eye 
On  him.  her  brothers,  me,  her  master;  hitting 
Each  object  with  joy ;  the  counterchaiige 
Is  severally  in  all.    Let's  quit  this  ground. 
And  smoke  the  temple  with  our  sacritices. — 
Thou  art  my  brother;  So  we'll  hold  thee  ever. 

[To  BELAnirs. 

Inw.  Y'ou  are  my  father  too ;  and  did  relieve  me. 
To  see  this  gracious  season. 

Ci/in.  All  o'erjoyed. 

Save  these  in  bonds:  let  them  be  joyful  too, 
For  they  sliail  taste  our  comfort. 

Iiiio.  My  good  master, 

I  will  yet  do  you  service. 

Luc.  Happy  be  you  ! 

Ci/nt.  The  forlorn  soldier,  that  so  nolily  Ibught, 
He  would  liave  well  becomd  this  place,  and  graced 
The  thankingsof  a  king. 

Po.\t.  I  am,  sir. 

The  soldier  tliat  did  company  these  three 
In  poor  beseeming;  'twa.s  a  litnient  for 
The  purpose  I  then  foUow'd ; — That  I  was  he. 
Speak,  lachimo  :  1  had  you  down,  and  might 
Have  made  you  finish. 

lack.  I  am  down  again : 

[Kneeling. 
But  now  my  heavy  conscience  sinks  my  knee. 
As  then  your  force  did.  Take  that  life, 'beseech  y^ou, 
Which  1  so  otlen  owe:  but.  your  ring  first ; 
And  here  the  bracelet  of  the  truest  princess, 
That  ever  swore  her  faith. 

I'list.  Kneel  not  to  me : 

Tile  power  that  I  have  on  yon,  is  to  spare  you ; 
The  malice  towards  you,  to  forgive  you:  Live, 
And  deal  with  others  better. 

Ci/m.  Nobly  doom'd : 

We'll  learn  our  freeness  of  a  son-in-law; 
Pardon's  the  word  to  all. 

Arv.  You  holp  us,  sir, 

«  1.  r.  ^Vhich  ought  to  be  rcudeicd  distiuct  by  an  amplo 
narrative. 


As  you  did  mean  indeed  to  be  our  brother; 
Joy*d  are  we,  that  you  are. 

Post.  Your  servant,  princes. — Good  my  lord  of 
Rome, 
Call  forth  your  soothsayer.   As  I  slept,  methought. 
Great  Jupiter,  upon  his  eagle  back. 
Appear 'd  to  me,  with  other  sprightly  shows' 
Of  mine  own  kindred:  when  I  waked,  I  found 
This  label  on  my  bosom ;  whose  containing 
Is  so  from  sense  and  hardness,  tJiat  1  can 
Make  no  collection  of  it;  let  him  show 
His  skill  in  the  construction. 

Luc.  Philarmonus, 

Sovlh.  Here,  my  good  lord. 

Luc.  Read,  and  declare  the  meaning. 

Sooth.  [Reads.]  When  o.s  a  lwn\s  whelp  shall, 
to  himself  unknown,  wifhiiut  seeking  find,  ami 
be  embraced  by  a  piece  of  tender  air;  and  irhen 
from  a  stalely  cclar  shall  be  lopp'd  branches,  U'h  kh, 
being  dead  iiiuini  years,  shall  <ijlerrevive.be  jointed 
to  the  old  stuck,  'ondfnshh.  Krow;  then  shall  I'ost- 
hunius  cud  Ai.v  iiiiseriis,  llrilain  be  fortunate,  and 
fliiuriih  in  peace  and  plenty. 

Thou,  Leonatus,  art  the  lion's  whelp; 
The  fit  and  apt  construction  of  thy  name. 
Being  Leo-natus.  doth  import  so  much ; 
The  piece  offender  air,  thy  virtuous  daughter, 

[  To  Cymbeline. 
Which  we  call  mollis  air ;  and  mollis  uer 
We  term  it  niulier :  which  mulier  I  divine. 
Is  this  most  constant  wife;  who,  even  now. 
Answering  the  letter  of  the  oracle. 
Unknown  to  you,  unsought,  were  clipp'd*  about 
With  this  most  tender  air. 

Ci/m.  This  hath  some  seeming. 

Sooth.  The  lofty  cedar,  royal  Cymbeline, 
Personates  thee:  and  thy  lopp'd  branches  point 
Thy  two  sons  tbrth  :  who,  by  Belanus  stolen. 
For  many  years  thought  dead,  are  now  reviv'd, 
To  the  majestic  cedar  joiii'd;  whose  issue 
Promises  Britain  peace  and  plenty. 

Cym.  Well, 

My  peace  we  will  begin  :— And,  Cains  Lucius, 
Although  the  victor,  we  submit  to  Cojsar, 
And  to  the  Roman  empire;  promising 
To  pay  our  wonted  tribute,  from  the  which 
We  were  dissuaded  by  our  wicked  queen; 
Whom  heavens,  in  justice. (both  on  her  and  hers,) 
Have  laid  most  heavy  Iiand. 

Sooth.  The  fingers  of  the  powers  above  do  tune 
Tlie  harinony  of  this  peace.    The  vision 
Which  I  made  known  to  Lucius,  ere  tlie  stroke 
Of  tins  yet  scarce-cold  battle,  at  this  instant 
Is  full  accomplish'd  :  For  the  Roman  eagle. 
From  south  to  west  on  wing  soaring  alolt, 
Lessefli'd  herself,  and  in  the  beams  o'  the  sun 
So  vanish'd :  winch  foreshow'd  our  princely  ea-gle, 
The  imperial  Caesar,  should  again  unite 
His  favor  with  the  radiant  Cymbehnc, 
Which  shines  here  in  the  west. 

Com.   ■  Laud  we  the  gods; 

And  let  ourcrookcd  smokes  climb  to  their  nostrils 
From  our  bless'd  altars  !  Publish  we  this  peace 
To  all  our  subjects.    Set  wc  forward  :  Let 
A  Roman  and  a  British  ensign  wave 
Friendly  together:  so  through  Lud's  town  march: 
And  in  file  temple  of  great  Jui'iter 
Our  peace  we'll  ratify  ;  seal  it  with  feasts. — 
Set  on  there : — Never  was  a  war  did  cease, 
iire  bloody  hands  were  wash'd,with  such  a  peace. 

[Kxeunt. 

A  SONG, 

SCNO  BT  GtnDEBIUa  AND  ARTIRACrS  OVER  FIDELE, 
SUPPOSED   TO   BE   DEAD. 

BY  MR.  WILLIAM   COLLINS. 

To  fair  Fidele's  grassy  tomb. 

Sift  maids  and  villuge  hinds  shall  bring 
Each  o/iening  siceel.  of  earliest  bloom, 

And  rijle  all  the  breathing  spring. 

No  wailing  ghost  shall  dare  appear 
To  ve.v  with  shrieks  his  tpiiet  grove ; 

But  shiiiherd  toils  iisseiiiblc  here. 
And  melting  virgins  own  their  love. 

'  Ghostly  appearances.  '  Embraced. 


Scene  V. 


CYMBELINE. 


639 


No  u'ilher^l  vjilch  ■•■hril!  here  heseeii. 

Ku  giiblins  lead  their  iiiglilly  creiu  : 
The  female  fai/x  shall  haunt  the  green. 

And  dress  thij  grave  with  pearly  dew. 

The  red-breast  oft  at  evening  hours 
Sli/ill  kindli/  'lend  Ais-  little  aid. 

With  hniint  innss,  and  gather'dflnwers. 
To  deck  the  ground  where  thou  art  laid. 


When  hmeding  winds,  and  beating  rain, 
In  tempests  shake  the  sylvan  cell; 

Or  miibit  the  cha.'.e  on  every  plain. 
The  tender  thought  on  thee  shall  dwell, 

Eeich  lonely  scene  shall  thee  restore; 

Fur  thee  the  tear  be  duly  shed: 
Beloc'd,  till  life  could  charm  no  more; 

And  mourn'd,  till  pily'e  self  be  dead. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


Saturnints,  San  to  the  late  Emperor  nf  Rome, 

ajid  afterwards  declared  Emperor  liimself. 
Bassianus,  Brutlier  to  Saturninus;  in  love  tuit/i 

Lavinia. 
TiTfS    ANDRONicus,    o    noble    Roman,    General 

against  tfte  Goths. 
Marcus    Andronicus,    Tribune   nf  tlie   People; 

and  Brotlier  to  Titus. 
Lucius,     "I 

M  A'uTufs,  f  ^"'^  '"  '^''"^  Andronicus. 

Ml'TIUS,     J 

Young  Lucius,  a  Boy,  Son  to  Lucius. 
PoBLius,  Son  to  Marcus  tlie  Tribune. 


Jlmilius,  a  noble  Roman. 

ALARBU.S,        i 

Chiron,        }  Sons  to  Tamora. 
Demetrius,  ) 

Aaron,  a  Moor,  behved  by  Tamora. 
A  Captain,  Tribune,  Messenger,  and  Cloum ;  Ro- 
mans. 
Goths,  and  Romans. 

Tamora,  Queen  nf  tlie  Roths. 
Lavinia,  Daugliter  to  Titus  Andronicus. 
A  Nurse,  and  a  black  Child. 
Kinsmen  of  Titus,  Senators,  Tribunes,  Officers, 
Soldiers,  and  Attendants. 


SCENE,  Rome ;  and  the  Country  near  it. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I.— Rome.    Before  the  Capitol, 

The  Tomb  of  the  Andronici  apj^enrin^:  the  Tri- 
bunes anil  Senators   aloft.,  as  in  the  Senate. — 
J^nier,  below,  Satukninus  and  his  Followers,  on 
one  sitl€  ;  and  Bassiaxus  a7id  his  Followers^  on 
the  other;  with  Drum  and  Colors. 
Suf.  Noble  pntvicians,  patrons  of  my  right, 
Defend  the  ju-stice  of  my  cause  with  arms; 
And.  countrymen,  my  loving  followers, 
plead  my  successive  title'  with  your  swords ; 
I  am  his  first-born  son,  that  was  the  last 
That  ware  the  imperial  dia4em  of  Kome; 
Then  let  my  father's  honors  live  in  me. 
Nor  wrong  mine  age  with  this  indignity. 
JBas.  Romans, — friends,   followers,   lavorors   of 
my  right, — 
If  ever  Bassianus,  Cffisar's  son. 
Were  gracious  in  the  eyes  of  royal  Rome, 
Keep  then  this  passage  to  the  Capitol; 
And  sutTer  not  dishonor  to  approach 
The  imperial  seat,  to  virtue  consecrate, 
To  justice,  continence,  and  nobility: 
But  let  desert  in  pure  election  shine; 
And,  Romans,  fight  for  freedom  in  your  choice. 

Enter  Marcus  Andronicus  aloft,  with  the  Crown. 

J^larc.  Princes  that  strive  by  factions,  and  by 
friends, 
Ambitiously  tor  rule  and  empery, — 
Know,  that  the  people  of  Rome,  tor  whom  we  stand 
A  special  party,  have  by  tlieir  common  voice, 
In  election  tor  the  Roman  empery, 
Chosen  Andronicus,  surnamed  Pius, 
For  many  good  and  great  deserts  to  Rome; 
A  nobler  man,  a  braver  warrior. 
Lives  not  (his  day  within  tlie  city  walls: 
He  by  the  senate  is  acciteil-  home, 
From  weary  wars  against  the  barbarous  Goths  ; 


*  i.e.  My  title  to  tbo  succession. 

G40 


o  Summoued. 


That,  with  his  sons,  a  terror  to  our  foes, 

Hath  yok'd  a  nation  strong,  train'd  up  in  aim^. 

Ten  years  are  spent,  since  first  he  undertook 

This  cause  of  Rome,  and  chastised  with  arms 

Our  enemiq^'  pride  :  Five  times  he  hath  return'd 

Bleeding  to  Rome,  bearing  his  valiant  sons 

In  cofhns  from  the  field  ; 

And  now  at  last,  laden  with  honor's  spoils, 

Returns  the  good  Andronicus  to  Rome, 

Renowned  Titus,  flourishing  in  arms. 

Let  us  entreat,— By  honor  ot  Iiis  name, 

Whom,  wortliily,  you  would  have  now  succeed. 

And  in  the  Capitol  and  senate's  riglit, 

Whom  you  pretend  to  honor  and  adure, — 

That  you  withdraw  you,  and  abate  your  strength: 

Dismiss  your  followers,  and,  as  suitors  should, 

plead  your  deserts  in  peace  and  humbleness. 

Sat.  How  lair  the  tribune  speaks  to  calm  my 
thouglits  ! 

Bas.  Marcus  Andronicus,  so  do  I  alTy 
In  ihy  uprightness  and  integrity, 
And  so  1  love  and  honor  thee  and  tliine, 
Thy  nobler  brother  Titus  and  his  sons, 
And  Jier,  to  whom  my  thoughts  are  humbled  all, 
Gracious  Lavinia,  Rome's  rich  ornament, 
That  I  will  here  dismiss  my  loving  friends; 
And  to  my  fortunes,  and  the  people's  favor. 
Commit  my  cause  in  balance  to  be  weigh'd. 

[Furunt  the  Followers  if  Bassianus. 

Sat.  Friends,  that  have  been  thus  Ibrward  in  niy 
right, 
I  thank  you  all,  and  here  dismiss  you  all ; 
And  to  t"he  love  and  favor  of  my  country 
Commit  «iyself.  my  person,  and  the  cause. 

[Exeunt  tfte  Fidbjivcrs  /j/  Satuuninus. 
Rome,  be  as  just  and  gracinus  unto  me, 
As  1  am  confident  and  kind  to  thee. — 
Ojten  the  gales,  and  let  mc  in. 

Bas,  Tribunes!  and  me,  a  jioor  competitor. 

[Sat.  and  Bas.  go  into  the  Capitol, arid 
exeunt  with  Senators,  Marcus,  tVc. 


Act  I.  Scene  II. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


611 


SCENE  n.—Tke  same. 
Enter  a  Captain  and  others. 
Cap,  Romans,  make  way;  the  f;ood  Andronicus, 
Patron  of  virtuf,  Rome's  best  champion, 
Successful  in  tlie  battles  that  he  lights, 
With  honor  and  with  fortune  is  returnd. 
From  where  he  circumscribed  with  his  sword, 
JViid  brought  to  yoke,  the  enemies  of  Rome. 

Flourish  qf'  Trumpets,  ^-c.  Knter  Mrnus  and 
Marth-s:  nfter  them,  two  Men  bearing  n  Coffin 
covere-l  with  lilacic;  then  Qt;lNTrs  and  Licit  s. 
After  thrni,  TiTfS  ANDitONMcus ;  und  then  Ta- 
MuuA.  with  Ai-Aimrs,  Chiron.  Demethrs,  Aaron, 
andother  GoiU^, pri.'ioners;  Soldiers  nm/  People. 
following.  The  Bearers  set  down  the  Coffin,  and 
Tins  speaks. 

Tit.  Hail,    Rome,  victorious   in   thy  mourning 
weeds  ! 
Lo.  as  the  bark  that  hath  discharged  her  fraught, 
leturns  with  precious  lading  to  the  bay, 
•  r,m  whence  at  lirst  she  weigh'd  her  anchorage, 
Cometh  Andronicus,  bound  with  laurel  boughs, 
To  re-salute  his  country  with  his  tears; 
Tears  of  true  joy  for  his  return  to  Rome. — 
Thou  great  defender  of  this  Capitol, 
Stand  gracious  to  the  rites  that  we  intend! 
Romans,  of  five  and  twenty  valiant  sons, 
Half  of  the  number  that  king  Priam  had. 
Behold  the  poor  remains,  alive,  and  dead  ! 
These,  that  survive,  let  Rome  reward  with  love; 
These,  that  I  bring  unto  their  latest  home. 
With  burial  amongst  their  ancestors: 
Here  Goth  shave  given  me  leave  to  sheath  m}' sword. 
Titus,  unkind,  and  careless  of  thine  own. 
Why  .sullerest  thou  thv  sons,  unbnried  >'et. 
To  hover  on  the  dreadful  shore  of  Styx  1 — 
Make  way  to  lay  them  by  their  brethren. 

[  The  Tomb  is  opened. 
There  greet  in  silence,  as  the  dead  are  wont. 
And  sleep  in  peace,  slain  in  your  country's  wars  ! 
O  sacred  receptacle  of  my  jo\s, 
Sweet  cell  of  virtue  and  nobility. 
How  many  sons  of  mine  hast  thou  in  store. 
That  thou  wilt  never  render  to  me  more  ! 

Luc.  Give  us  the  proudest  prisoner  of  the  Goths, 
That  we  ma\'  liew  his  limbs,  and,  on  a  pile. 
Ad  meinesfrntrum  saeritice  his  flesh, 
Hetlire  this  earthly  prison  of  their  bones ; 
That  so  the  shadows  be  not  unappcas'd. 
Nor  we  disturb'd  with  prodigies  on  earth.3 

Tit.  I  give  him  you;  the  noblest  that  survives, 
The  eldest  son  of  this  distressed  queen. 
Tarn.  Stay,    Roman    brethren ; — Gracious    con- 
queror, 
Victorious  Titus,  rue  the  tears  T  shed, 
A  mother's  tears  in  passioni  liir  her  son : 
And,  if  thy  sons  were  ever  dear  to  thee, 
O,  think  my  son  to  be  as  dear  to  me. 
SulHceth  not,  that  we  arc  brought  to  Rome, 
'J'o  beaulify  thy  triumphs,  and  return. 
Captive  to  thee,  and  to  thy  Roman  yoke ; 
But  must  my  sons  be  slanghter'd  in  the  streets, 
For  valiant  doings  in  their  country's  caused 
O!  if  to  fight  for  king  and  common-jveal 
Were  piety  in  thiue.it  is  in  these. 
Andronicus,  stain  not  thy  tomb  with  blood  : 
Wilt  thou  draw  near  the  nature  of  the  gods? 
Draw  near  them  then  in  being  merciful : 
Sweet  mercy  is  nobility's  true  badge; 
Thrice  noble  Titus,  spare  my  first-born  son. 

Tit.  Patient  yourself,  madam,  and  pardon  me. 
These  are  'heir  brethren,  whom  you  Goths  beheld 
Alive,  ana  dead  ;  and  lor  their  brethren  slain, 
Religiously  they  ask  a  sacrifice: 
To  this  your  son  is  niark'd;  and  die  he  must, 
To  appease  their  groaning  shadows  that  are  gone. 
Lvc.  Away  with  him!  and  make  a  fire  straight; 
And  with  our  swords,  upon  a  pile  of  wood, 
Let's  hew  his  limbs,  till  they  be  clean  consumed. 
{Exeunt  Lticibs,  QriNTUS,  Martius, 
and  MUTiiTS,  with  Alarbcs. 
Tarn.  0  cruel,  irreligious  piety! 
Chi.  Was  ever  Scythia  half  so'barharous? 
Bern.  Oppose  not  Scythia  to  ambitious  Rome. 
Alarbus  goes  to  rest;  and  we  survive 
To  tremble  under  Titus'  threatening  look. 

»  It  was  suppos.Hl  th.1t  the  ghosts  of  uuburieil  jioople 
appeared  to  solicit  the  rites  of  funeral.  *  Sufrerinkj. 

41 


Then,  madam,  stand  resolv'd  ;  but  hope  withal. 
The  self-same  gods,  that  arm'd  the  queen  of  Troy 
With  opportunity  of  sharp  revenge 
Upon  the  Thracian  tyrant  in  his  tent, 
May  tavorTamora,  the  queen  of  Goths, 
(When  Goths  were  Goths,  and  Tamora  \vas  queen,) 
To  quit  the  bloody  wrongs  upon  her  foes. 
Re-e>der  Heirs.  Qfis'Trs,  Martr's.  mtrf  MuTius, 
with  their  Swords  bloody. 
LuCi  See,  lord  and  father,  how  we  have  perform 'd 
Our  Roman  rites:  Alarbus'  limbs  are  lopp'd. 
And  entrails  feed  the  sacrificing  fire. 
Whose  smoke,  like  incense,  dotli  perfume  tho  sky. 
Remaineth  naught,  hut  to  inter  our  brelliren. 
And  with  loud  iarnnis  welcome  them  to  Rome. 

Tit.  Let  it  be  so,  and  let  Andronicus 
Make  this  his  latest  farewell  to  tlieir  souls.       ^ 

[Trunipets.*<oiinded,and  the  Coffins 
laid  in  the  Tomb. 
In  peace  and  honor  rest  you  liere,  my  sons; 
Rome's  readiest  champions,  repose  yon  here 
Secure  f:om  worldly  chances  and  mi.shaps! 
}Ieri?  lurks  no  treason,  here  no  envy  sw'ells, 
Here  grow  no  damned  grudges ;  here  are  no  storms, 
No  nuise,  but  silence  and  eternal  sleep: 

Enter  Lavinia. 
In  peace  and  honor  rest  you  here,  my  sons ! 

Lor.  In  peace  and  honor  live  lord  Titus  long; 
My  noble  lord  and  lather,  live  in  lame  ! 
Lo !  at  this  tomb  my  tributary  tears 
I  render,  lor  my  brethren's  obsequies; 
And  at  thy  feet  I  kneel  with  tears  of  joy 
Shed  on  the  earth,  tor  thy  return  to  Rome: 
()  bless  me  here  with  thy"  victorious  hand. 
Whose  tbrtunes  Rome's  best  citizens  applaud. 

Tit.  Kind  Rome,  that  hast  thus  lovingly  reserv'd 
The  cordial  of  mine  age  to  glad  my  lieart  ! — 
Lavinia.  live  ;  outlive  thy  father's  days, 
And  lame's  eternal  date,  for  virtue's  praise  ! 
Enter  Marcus  Andronicis,  Satcrnincs,  Bassi- 
anus,  and  others. 
Marc.  Long  live  lord  Titus,  my  beloved  brother, 
Gracious  triiimpbcr  in  Ihe  eyes  of  Rcnni^! 
Ti/.Thanks, gentle  tribune' noble  brother  Marcus. 
Marc.  And  welcome,  nephews,  from  successful 
wars. 
You  that  survive,  and  you  that  sleep  in  fame. 
Fair  lords,  your  fortunes  are  alike  in  all. 
That  in  your  country's  service  drew  your  swords: 
But  safer  triumph  is  this  funeral  pomp. 
That  hath  aspir'd  to  Solon's  happine.ss.5 
And  triumphs  over  chance,  in  honor's  bed. — 
Titus  Andronicus,  the  people  of  Rome, 
Whose  friend  injustice  thou  hast  ever  been. 
Send  thee  by  me,  their  tribune,  and  their  trust, 
This  parliament^  of  white  and  spotless  hue; 
.'\nd  name  thee  in  election  Ibr  the  empire. 
With  these  our  late-deceased  emperor's  sons: 
Ue  candilajus  then,  and  put  it  on. 
And  help  to  set  a  head  on  headless  P^ome. 
Tit.  A  better  head  her  glorious  body  tits. 
Than  his  that  shakes  Ibr  age  and  feebleness: 
What;  should  1  dun"  this  robe,  and  trouble  you? 
Be  chosen  with  proclamations  to-day; 
To-morrow  yield  up  rule,  resign  my  life. 
And  set  abroad  new  business  for  you  all  ? 
Rome,  I  have  been  thy  soldier  forty  years, 
And  led  my  country's  strength  successfully, 
And  buried  one-and-twenly  valiant  sons. 
Knighted  in  field,  slain  manfully  in  arms. 
In  right  and  service  of  their  noble  country: 
(live  me  a  stalPof  honor  for  mine  age. 
But  not  a  sceptre  to  control  the  world: 
Upright  he  held  it,  lords,  that  held  it  last. 
il/Hrc.Titus,thou  Shalt  obtain  and  ask  theempery 
Sut.  Proud  and  ambitious  tribune,  canst  t'liou 

tein— 
Tit.  Patience,  prince  Saturnine. 
Sat.  Romans,  do  me  right;— 

Patricians,  draw  your  swords,  and  sheath  them  no4 
Till  Saturninus  be  Rome's  emperor: — 
Andronicus, 'would  thou  wertshipp'd  to  hell. 
Rather  than  rob  me  of  the  people's  hearts. 

Luc.  Proud  Saturnine,  interrupter  of  the  good 
That  noble-minded  Titus  means  to  thee  ! 

•  The  maxim  alluded  to  is,  that  no  man  can  by  pn> 
nounced  h.Tppy  before  his  death. 
'A  robe.  '  I.e.  Boon,  put  it  on. 


G42 


TITUS   ANDRONICUS. 


ActL 


Tit.  Content  thee,  prince;  I  will  restore  to  thee 
The  peuple's  hearts,  and  wean  Ihem  from  them- 
selves. 
Bas.  Andronicus,  I  do  not  flatter  thee, 
But  honor  tliee,  and  will  do  till  I  die; 
IVIy  faction,  if  thou  strengthen  with  thy  friends, 
I  will  most  thankful  be :  and  thanks,  to  men 
Of  noble  minds,  is  honorable  raced. 

Tit.  People  of  Rome,  and  people's  tribunes  here, 
T  ask  your  voices,  and  your  sutiragcs ; 
Will  you  bestow  them  friendly  on  Andronicus'? 

Tri'l).  To  gratify  the  good  Andronicus, 
And  ^Tutulate  his  safe  return  to  Rome, 
The  people  will  accept  whom  he  admits. 

Tit,  Tribunes,  I   thank   you:    and   this   »uit  I 
make. 
That  you  create  your  emperor's  eldest  son, 
Lord»Saturnine  ;  whose  virtues  will,  I  hope, 
Reflect  on  Rome,  as  TitanV  rays  on  earth, 
And  ripen  justice  in  this  common-weal: 
Then  if  you  will  elect  by  my  advice, 
Crown  him,  and  say,— io^g-  live  our  emperor! 

Alurc.  With  voices  and  applause  of  every  sort, 
Patricians,  and  plebeians,  we  create 
Lord  Saturninus  Rome's  threat  emperor; 
And  say,— Long  live  our  emperor  Saturnine  ! 

\_A  ton^  Flmtrish. 
^at.  Titus  Andronictis,  for  thy  favors  done 
To  us  in  our  election  this  day, 
I  L;ive  ihee  thanks  in  part  of  thy  deserts, 
Aiid  will  with  deeds  requite  thy  gentleness: 
And.  for  an  onset.  Titus,  to  advance 
Thy  name,  and  honorable  family, 
Lavinia  will  I  make  my  emperess, 
Roine"'s  royal  mistress,  mistress  of  my  heart, 
And  in  the  sacred  Pantheon  her  espouse : 
Tell    me,   Andronicus,  doth   this  motion    please 
thee  ] 
Tit.  Itdoth,  my  worthy  lord;  and,  in  this  match, 
I  hoUi  me  highly  honor'd  of  your  grace  : 
And  here,  in  sight  of  Ropie,  to  Saturnine^ 
King  and  commander  of  our  common-weal, 
The  wide  world's  emperor — do  I  consecrate 
My  swurd,  my  chariot,  and  my  prisoners; 
I'lvst'iits  well  worthy  Rome's  imperial  lord: 
Rreeive  them  then,  the  tribute  that  I  owe, 
Mine  lionor's  ensigns  liumbled  at  thy  teet. 

Saf.  Tlianks,  noble  Titus,  father  of  my  lite  ! 
IIow  proud  I  am  of  thee,  and  of  thy  gills, 
Rome  shall  record;  and,  when  I  do  forget 
The  least  of  these  unspeakable  deserLs, 
Rniiiaiis.  forget  your  fealty  to  me. 

3'i/.  Now,  madam,  are  you  prisoner  to  an  em- 
peror; [To  Tamora. 
To  him,  that  for  your  lionor  and  your  state, 
Will  use  you  nobly,  and  your  followers. 

Sat.  A  goodly  iady,  tru^  me ;  of  the  iiue 
That  I  would  choose,  were  I  to  choose  anew. — 
Clear  up,  fair  queen,  that  cloudy  countenance ; 
Tliough  chance  of  war  hath  wrought  this  change 

of  cheer,  *•. 

Thou  corn's!  not  to  be  made  a  scorn  in  Rome: 
Princely  shall  be  thy  usage  every  way. 
Rest  on  my  word,  and  let  not  discontent 
Daunt  all  your  hopes;  Madam,  he  comforts  you. 
Can  make  you  greater  tli;in  the  queen  of  Goths. — 
Lavinia.  you  are  not  disjileas'd  with  thisl 
Lav.  Nut  I.  my  lord  :  silh^  true  nobUity 
Warrants  these  words  in  princely  courte'sy. 

Sat.  Thanks,  sweet  Lavinia. — Romans,  let  us  go: 
Ransomless  here  we  set  our  prisoners  free : 
proclaim  our  honors,  lords,  with  trump  and  drum. 
Bos.  Lord  Titus,  by  your  leave,  this  maid  is  mine. 
[Seizing  Lavinia, 
7'i/.  How,  sir?  Are  you  in  earnest  then,  my  lord] 
Bas.  Ay,  noble  Titus;  and  resulv'd  withal, 
To  do  myself  this  reason  and  this  right. 

[T/ie  Emperor  courts  TAyiijR A  in  ttumbshow* 
IVIarc.  Suum  cuique  is  our  Roman  justice : 
This  prince  injustice  seizeth  but  his  own. 
Jjic.  And  that  he  will,  and  shall,  if  Lucius  live. 
Tit.  Traitors,  avaunti    Where  is  the  emperor's 
guard ! 
Treason,  my  lord  ;  Lavinia  is  surprised. 
Sat.  Surprised!  by  whom"? 
Bas,  By  him  that  justly  may 

Hear  his  betroth'd  from  all  the  world  away. 

[Kx.  Maucus  and  Bassianus,  with  Lavinia. 
»  Tb«  sun.  8  Since. 


Mut.  Brothers,  help  to  convey  her  hence  away, 
And  with  my  sword  I'll  keep  this  door  safe. 

[Exeunt  Lucius,  Quintus,  and  MAR-nua 

Tit.  Follow,  my  lord,  and  I'll  soon  bring  her  bacif 

Nut.  My  lord,  you  pass  not  here. 

Tit.  What,  villain  boy 

Barr'stme  my  way  in  Rome  1    [Titus  fri//.sMuTics. 

Mat.  Help,  Lucius,  help. 

lie-enter  Lucius. 

Luc.  Mylord,  you  are  unjust ;  and,  more  than  so 
In  wrongful  quarrel  you  have  slain  your  son. 

Tit.  Nor  thou,  nor'hc,  are  ariy  sons  of  mine: 
My  sons  would  never  so  dishonor  me  : 
Traitor,  restore  Lavinia  to  the  emperor. 

Luc.  Dead,  if  you  will:  but  not  to  be  his  ^vii^. 
That  is  another's  lawful  promis'd  love.  [Exit 

Sat.  No,  Titus,  no;  the  emperor  needs  her  not, 
Not  her,  nor  thee,  nor  any  of  thy  stock : 
I'll  trust,  by  leisure,  him  that  mocks  me  once  ; 
Thee  never,  nor  thy  traitorous  haughty  sons, 
Conti?deratcs  all  thus  to  dishonor  me. 
Was  there  none  else  in  Rome  to  make  a  stale'  of, 
But  Saturnine  1     Full  well,  Andronicus, 
Agree  these  deeds  with  that  proud  brag  of  thine. 
That  said'st,  I  bcgg'd  the  empire  at  thy  liands. 

Tit.  O  monstrous!  what  reproachful  words  are 
these] 

S«/.  But,  go  thy  ways ;  go,  give  that  changingpicce 
To  him  that  flourishM  for  her  witii  his  sword: 
A  valiant  son-in-law  thou  shalt  enjoy  ; 
One  lit  to  bandy  with  thy  lawless  sons, 
To  ruffle-  in  the  commonwealth  of  Rome. 

Tit.  These  words  are  razors  to  my  wounded  heart. 

Sat,  And  therefore,  lovely   Tamora,  queen  of 
Goths,— 
That,  like  the  stately  Piicebe  'mont;^t  her  nymphs 
Dost  oversbine  tlie  L'lillanrst  damrs  of  Rome, — 
If  thou  be  i>[eas\l  with  lliis  my  sudden  choice, 
Behold.  I  choose  thee,  Tamora,  for  my  bride, 
And  will  create  thee  emperess  of  Ronie. 
Speak,  queen  of  Goths,  dost  thou  applaud  my 

choice  ] 
And  here  I  swear  by  all  the  Roman  gods, — 
Sith  priest  and  holy  water  are  so  near, 
And  tiipers  bum  so  bright,  and  every  thing 
In  readmcss  for  Hymeneus  stand, — 
I  will  not  re-salute  the  streets  of  Rome, 
Or  climb  my  palace,  till  from  forth  this  place 
I  lead  espoused  my  bride  along  with  me. 

Tarn.  And  here,  in  sight  of  heaven,  to  Rome  I 
swear. 
If  Saturnine  advance  the  queen  of  Goths, 
She  will  a  handmaid  be  to  his  desires, 
A  loving  nurse,  a  mother  to  his  youth. 

"Sat.  Ascend,  fair  queen,  Pantheon: — Lords,  ac- 
company 
Your  noble  emperor,  and  his  lovely  bride, 
Sent  by  the  heavens  for  prince  Saturnine, 
Whose  wisdom  hath  her  Ibrtune  conquered  : 
There  shall  we  consummate  our  spousal  rites. 

[Exeunt  Satrrnisus.  and  his  Followers;  Ta- 
mora, and  her  Sons ;  Aaron,  and  Goths. 

Tit.  I  am  not  bid^  to  wait  upon  this  bride;— 
Titus,  vi'hen  wert  thou  wont  to  walk  alone, 
DishonorM  thus,  and  challenged  of  wrongs] 

Re-enter  Marcus,  Lucius,  Quintus,  and  Martics 

Marc.  0,  Titus,  see,  O  see,  what  thou  hast  done 
In  a  bad  quarrel  slain  a  virtuous  son. 

Tit.  No_.  Ibolish  tribune,  no:  no  son  of  mine, — 
Nor  thou,  nor  these  confederates  in  the  deed 
That  hath  dishonor'd  all  our  family  ; 
LInworthy  brother,  and  unworthy  sons! 

Luc.  But  let  us  give  him  burial,  as  becomes, 
Give  Mutius  burial  with  our  brethren. 

Tit.  Traitors,  away !  he  rests  not  in  this  tomb 
This  monument  five  hundred  years  hath  stood, 
Which  I  have  sumptuously  re-edified  : 
Here  none  but  soldiers,  and  Rome'^s  servitors. 
Repose  in  fame;  none  basely  slain  in  brawls  — 
Burv  him  where  you  can,  he  comes  not  hero. 

Marc.  My  lord,  this  is  impiety  in  you: 
My  ne])hew  Mutius'  deeds  do  plead  for  him  ; 
He  must  ttc  buried  with  his  brethren. 

Qu  in.  Mart.  And  shall,  or  him  we  will  accompany. 

Tit.  And  shall]     What  villain  was  it  spoke  that 
word] 

Qin;?.  lie  that  would  vouch't  in  any  place  but  here. 

»  A  stalking-horse.    >  A  ruffler  was  a  bully.    »  Invited. 


Scene  II. 


TITUS  ANDEONICUS. 


643 


Tit.  What!  would  you  bury  him  in  my  despite] 

JSJarc.  No,  noble  Titus;  but  entreat  of  tlice 
To  pardon  Mutius,  and  to  bury  him. 

r(7.Marcus,even  thou  Iiast  struck  upon  my  crest. 
And,  with    these    boys,  mine    honor    thou   hast 

wounded: 
My  foes  I  do  repute  you  every  one  ; 
So  trouble  me  uo  more,  but  get  you  gone. 

Marc.  He  is  not  with  himself;  let  us  withdraw. 

Quiiu  Not  I,  till  Mutius'  bones  be  buried. 

[Marcls  aiid  the  Sons  t/Tirus  k?ieeL 

Marc,  Brother,  for  in  that  name  doth  nature 
plead. 

Quin.  Father,  and  in  that  name  doth  nature 
speak. 

Tit.  Speak  thou  no  more,  if  all  the  rest  will  speed. 

Marc.   Renowned   Titus,  more    than   half  my 
soul, — 

Liic.  Dear  Hither,  soul  and  substance  of  us  all, — 

Marc.  Sutler  thy  brother  Marcus  to  inter 
His  noble  iiej>hcw  here  in  virtuc''s  nest, 
That  died  in  honor  and  Lavinia''s  cause. 
Thou  art  a  Roman,  be  not  barbarous. 
The  Greeks,  upon  advice,  did  bury  Ajax, 
That  slew  himself;  and  wise  Laertes'  son 
Did  graciously  plead  lor  his  funerals. 
Let  not  young  Mutius  then,  that  was  thy  joy, 
Be  barr'd  Iiis  entrance  here. 

Tit.  Rise,  Marcus,  rise  : — 

The  dismarst  day  is  this  that  cVr  I  saw, 
To  be  dishonor'd  by  my  sons  in  Rome ! — 
Well,  bury  him,  and  bury  me  the  next. 

[Mutius  is  put  into  the  Tomb. 

Luc.  There  lie  thy  bones,  sweet  Mutius,  with  thy 
friends. 
Till  we  with  trophies  do  idom  thy  tomb! 

All.  No  man  shed  tears  lor  noble  Mutius: 
He  lives  in  fame  that  died  in  virtue''s  cause. 

Marc.  Mj'  lord, — to  step  out  of  these  dreary 
dumps, — 
How  comes  it,  that  the  subtle  queen  of  Goths 
Is  of  a  sudden  thus  advanced  in  Rome  1 

Tit.  I  know  not,  Marcus;  but,  I  know,  it  is: 
Whether  by  device  or  no,  the  lieavcns  can  tell: 
Is  slie  not  then  beholden  to  the  man 
That  brought  her  for  this  high  good  turn  so  far? 
Yes,  and  will  nobly  him  remunerate. 

Flourish.    Be-enter,  at  one  side.  Saturxinxs,  at- 
tended;    Tamoua.    CutiioN,     Demetrius,  .  and 
Aaron:  at  the  other,  Bassianus,  Lavima,  and 
others. 
Sat.  So,  Bassianus,  you  have  playM  your  prize; 

God  give  you  joy,  sir,  of  your  gallant  bride. 
Bas.  And  you  of  yours,  my  lord  :  I  say  no  more. 

Nor  wish  no  less;  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

Sat.  Traitor,  if  Rome  have  law,  or  we  have  power, 

Thou  and  thy  faction  shall  repent  this  rape. 
Bas.  Rape,  call  you  it,  my  lord,  to  seize  my  own, 

My  true-betrothed  love,  and  now  my  wite  ! 

But  let  the  laws  of  Rome  determine  all: 

Meanwhile  I  am  possessM  of  that  is  mine. 

Sat.  'Tis  good,  sir:  You  are  very  short  with  us; 

But,  if  we  live,  we'll  be  as  sharp  with  you. 
Bas.  My  lord,  what  I  have  done,  as  best  I  may. 

Answer  I  must,  and  sfiall  do  with  my  lile. 

Only  thus  much  I  give  your  grace  to  know, 

By  all  the  duties  that  I  owe  to  Rome, 

This  noble  gentleman,  lord  Titus  here, 

Is  in  opinion,  and  in  honor  wrong'd ; 

That,  m  the  rescue  of  Lavinia, 

With  his  own  hand  did  slay  his  youngest  son, 

In  zeal  to  you,  and  highly  inovM  to  wrath 

To  be  conhollM  in  that  he  frankly  gave : 

Receive  him  then  to  favor.  Saturnine; 

That  hath  expressed  himself,  in  all  his  deeds, 

A  lather,  and  a  friend,  to  thee,  and  Rome. 
TU.  Prince  Bassianus,  leave  to  plead  my  deeds; 


Aside, 


'Tis  thou,  and  those,  that  have  dishonorVl  me: 
Rome  and  the  righteous  heavens  be  my  judge, 
How  I  have  lov'd  and  honored  Saturnine  ! 

Tarn.  My  worthy  lord,  if  ever  Tamora 
Were  gracious  in  those  princely  eyes  of  thine, 
Then  hear  me  speak  indilferently  for  all ; 
And  at  my  suit,  sweet,  pardon  w'hat  is  past. 

Sat.  What!  madam!  be  dishonor'd  openly, 
And  basely  put  it  up  without  revenge  ! 

7'arn.  Not  so,  my  lord:  The  gods  of  Rome  fore- 
fend ,-» 
I  should  be  author  to  dishonor  you  ! 
But,  on  mine  honor,  dare  I  undertake 
For  good  lord  Titus'  innocence  in  all. 
Whose  fury,  not  dissembled,  speaks  his  griefs  : 
Then,  at  my  suit,  look  graciously  on  hini ; 
Lose  not  so  noble  a  friend  on  vain  suppose. 
Nor  with  sour  looks  afflict  his  gentle  heart. — 
My  lord,  be  rul'd  by  me,  be  Won  at  last. 
Dissemble  all  your  grieis  and  discontents: 
You  arc  but  newly  planted  in  your  throne : 
Lest  then  the  people  and  patricians  too, 
Upon  a  just  survey,  take  Titus'  part, 
And  so  suiij^lant  us  Ibr  ingratitude, 
(Which  Rome  reputes  to  be  a  heinous  sin,) 
Yield  at  entreats,  and  then  let  me  alone: 
I'll  fmd  a  day  to  massacre  Ihem  all, 
And  roze  their  taction,  and  their  family. 
The  cruel  father,  and  his  traitorous  sons, 
To  whom  I  sued  for  my  dear  son's  life ; 
And  make  them  know,  what  'tis  to  let  a 

queen 
Kneel  in  the  streets,  and  beg  for  grace  in 

vain. — 

Come,  come,  sweet  emperor. — come,  Andronicus, 
Take  up  this  good  old  man,  and  cheer  the  Jieart 
That  dies  in  tempest  of  thy  ani:ry  frown. 

Sat.  Rise, Titus, rise;  my  empress  hath  prevail'd. 

Tit.  I  thank  your  majesty,  and  her,  my  lord  : 
These  words,  these  looks,  infuse  new  lite  in  nie. 

Tani.  Titus.  I  am  incorporate  in  Rome, 
A  Roman  now  adopted  happily. 
And  must  advise  the  emperor  Ibr  his  good. 
This  day  all  quarrels  die,  Andronicus ; — 
And  let  it  be  mine  honor,  good  my  lord, 
That  I  have  reconciled  your  friends  and  yoa. — 
For  you.  prince  Bassianus,  I  have  pass'd 
My  word  and  promise  to  the  emperor. 
That  you  will  be  more  miid  and  tractable. — 
And  tear  not.  lords, — and  you,  Lavinia; — 
By  my  adviee,  all  humbled  on  your  knees, 
You  shall  ask  pardon  of  his  majesty. 

Luc.  We  do,  and  vow  to  heaven  and  to  his  high- 
ness, 
That,  what  we  did,  was  mildly,  as  we  might, 
TendVing  our  sister's  honor,  and  our  own. 

Marc.  That  on  mine  honor  here  I  do  protest. 

Sat.  Away,  and  talk  not;  trouble  us  no  more. — 

Tarn.  Nay,  nay,  sweet  emperor,  we  must  all  be 
friends : 
The  tribune  and  his  nephews  kneel  for  grace ; 
I  will  not  be  denied.    Sweet  heart,  look  oack. 

Sat.  Marcus,  for  thy  sake,  and  thy  brother's  here, 
And  at  my  lovely  Tamora's  entrcat-s, 
I  do  remit  these  young  men's  heinous  faults. 
Stand  uj). 

Lavinia.  though  you  left  me  like  a  churl, 
I  Ibund  a  friend;  and  sure  as  death  I  swore, 
I  would  not  part  a  bachelor  from  the  priest. 
Come,  if  the  emperor's  court  can  feast  two  brides, 
You  are  my  guest,  Lavinia,  and  your  friends; 
This  day  snail  be  a  love-day,  Tamora. 

Tit.  To-morrow,  an  it  jilease  your  majesty. 
To  hunt  the  panther  and  the  hart  with  me. 
With  horn  and  hound,  we'll  give  your  grace  ftoryowr. 

Sat.  Be  it  so,  Titus,  and  gramercy  Ido. 

[Exeimt. 
•  Forliid. 


644 


TITUS   ANDKONICUS. 


Act  II. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  J.— Before  the  Palace, 
Enter  Aaron. 
Aar.  Now  climbeth  Tainora  Olympus'  top, 
Safe  out  of  fortunc''s  shot:  and  sits  aloft, 
Secure  of  thunder''s  crack,  or  lifihtninjj's  flash  ; 
Advanced  above  pale  envy's  threat'nini;  reach. 
As  when  the  g:oIdcn  sun  salutes  the  mom, 
And,  having  ^ilt  the  ocean  with  his  beams, 
Gallops  the  zodiac  in  his  ^listerin'j;  roach, 
And  overlooks  the  highest-peeriny:  hills  ; 

So  Tamora. 

Upon  her  wit  doth  earthly  honor  wait. 
And  virtue  stoops  and  trembles  at  her  fro'wn. 
Then,  Aaron,  arm  thy  heart,  and  tit  thy  thoughts 
To  mount  aloft  with  thy  imperial  mistress, 
And  mount  her  pitch ;  whom  thou  in  triumph  long 
Hast  prisoner  held.  fetterM  in  amorous  chain, 
And  faster  bound  to  Aaron*'s  charming  eyes, 
Than  is  Prometheus  tied  to  Caucasus. 
Away  with  slavisli  weeds,  and  idle  thoughts ! 
I  will  be  bright,  and  shine  in  pearl  and  gold, 
To  wait"  upon  this  new-made  emperess. 
To  wait,  said  I?  to  wanton  with  this  queen, 
This  goddess,  this  Semiramis; — this  queen, 
This  syren,  that  will  charm  Romeo's  Saturnine, 
And  see  his  shipwreck,  and  his  common-wears. 
Holla  !  what  storm  is  this  ! 

Enter  Chiron"  and  Demetrius,  braving. 

Dem.  Chiron,  thy  years  want  wit,  thy  wit  wants 
edge, 
And  manners,  to  intrude  where  I  am  graced  ; 
And  may,  for  aught  thou  knov.'''st,  atVected  he. 

Chi.  Demefrius.  thou  dost  overween  in  all; 
And  so  in  this  to  bear  me  down  with  braves. 
'Tis  not  the  diflerence  of  a  year,  or  two. 
Makes  me  less  gracious,  thee  more  fortunate: 
I  am  as  able,  and  as  fit  as  thou, 
T.i  serve,  and  to  deserve  my  mistress' grace; 
And  that  my  sword  upon  thee  shall  approve. 
And  plead  my  passions  for  Lavinia's  love. 

Aar.  Clubs!  clubs!'  these  lovers  will  not  keep 
the  peace. 

Dem.  Why,  boy,  although  our  mother,  unadvisM, 
Gave  you  a  dancintr-rapier  by  your  side. 
Are  you  so  desperate  grown,  to  threat  your  friends? 
Go  to;  have  your  lath  glued  within  your  sheath. 
Till  you  know  bettev  how  to  handle  it. 

Chi.  IVIo:inwhih\  sir. with  the  little  skill  I  have, 
Full  well  shalt  thou  perceive  how  much  I  dare. 

Vein.  Ay,  boy,  grow  ye  so  brav::*  f     [They  ^/raw. 

Aar.  Why,  how  now",  lords  ] 

So  near  the  emperor's  palace  dare  you  draw. 
And  maintain  such  a  quarrel  openlv  1 
Full  well  I  wot6  the  ground  of  all  this  grudge; 
I  would  not  for  a  million  of  gold. 
The  case  were  known  to  them  it  most  concerns: 
Nor  would  your  nohle  mother,  for  much  more, 
lie  so  dishonor'd  in  the  court  of  Rome. 
For  shame,  i>ut  up. 

De/n.  Not  I;  till  I  have  sheathM 

My  rapier  in  his  bosom,  and  withal. 
Thrust  these  reproachful  speeches  doviTi  his  throat, 
That  he  hatli  breath'd  in  my  dishonor  here. 

Chi.  For  that  I  am  prepared  and  full  resolvM. — 
Foul-spoken    coward,  that    thunder''st    with    thy 

tongue. 
And  with  thy  weapon  nothing  dar'st  perform. 

Aar.  Away,  I  say. — 
Now  by  the  "gods,  that  warlike  Goths  adore, 
This  petty  brabble  will  imdo  us  all.— 
Why,  lords, — and  think  you  not  how  dangerous 
It  is  to  jut  upon  a  princc''s  right ! 
What,  is  Lavinia  then  become  so  loose. 
Or  Bnssianus  so  degenerate, 

That  lor  her  love  such  quarrels  may  be  hroach'd. 
Without  controlment,  Justice,  or  revenge'! 
Young  lords,  beware !— an  should  the  empress  know 
This  discord^s  ground,  the  music  would  not  please. 

Chi.  I  care  not,  I.  knew  she  and  all  the  world; 
I  love  Lavinia  more  than  all  the  world. 

*  This  was  the  usual  outcry  for  assistance,  whon  any 
riot  iu  the  street  bnitpeued.  e  Know. 


Dem.   Youngling,    learn    thou    to    make    some 
meaner  choice; 
Lavinia  is  thine  elder  brother's  hope. 

Aar.  Why,  arc  ye  mad ']  or  know  ye  not,  in  Rome 
How  furious  and  impatient  they  be. 
And  cannot  brook  competitors  in  love] 
I  tell  you,  lords,  you  do  but  plot  your  deaths 
By  this  device. 

Chi.  Aaron,  a  thousand  deaths 

Would  I  propose,  to  achieve  her  whom  I  love 

Aar.  To  achieve  her!— How! 

Dein.  Why  mak'st  thou  it  so  strange  ? 

She  is  a  woman,  therelbre  may  be  woo'd; 
She  is  a  woman,  therefore  may  be  won; 
She  is  Lavinia,  therefore  must  be  lov'd. 
What,  man  !  more  water  glideth  by  the  mill 
Than  wots  the  miller  of;  and  easy  it  is 
Of  a  cut  loaf  to  steal  a  shive,'^  we  know: 
Though  Bassianus  be  the  emperor's  brother, 
Better  than  he  have  yet  worn  Vulcan's  badge. 

Aa7'.  Ay,  and  as  good  as  Satuminus  may. 

[Aside, 

Dem.  Then  why  should  he  despair,  that  knows 
to  court  it 
With  words,  liiir  looks,  and  liberality? 
What !  hast  thou  not  full  often  struck  a  doe, 
And  borne  her  cleanly  by  the  keeper's  nose? 

Aar.  Why,  then,  it  seems,  some  certain  snatch 
or  so 
Would  serve  your  turns. 

C/ii.  Ay,  so  the  turn  were  serv'd. 

Dem.  Aaron,  thou  hast  hit  it. 

Aar.  'Would  you  had  hit  it  too 

Then  should  not  we  be  tirM  with  this  ado. 
Why,  hark  ye,  hark  ye.— And  are  you  such  fools, 
To  square*  tor  this  ?  Would  it  olFend  you  then 
That  both  sliould  speed? 

Chi.  rfaith,not  me. 

Dem.  Nor  me, 

So  I  were  one. 

Aar.  For  shame,  be  friends;  and  join  for  that 
^  you  jar. 

Tis  policy  and  stratagem  must  do 
That  you  affect;  and  so  must  you  resc  Ive 
That  what  you  cannot,  as  you  would,  achieve, 
You  must  perforce  accomplish  as  you  may'. 
Take  this  of  n^e,  Lucrece  was  not  more  chaste 
Than  this  Lavinia,  Bassianus'  love. 
A  speedier  course  than  lingering  languishment 
Must  we  pursue,  and  I  have  Ibund  the  path. 
My  lords,  a  solemn  hunting  is  in  hand  ; 
There  will  the  lovely  Roman  ladiOs  troop: 
The  forest  walks  are  wide  and  spacious  ; 
And  many  unfrequented  plots  there  are, 
Fitted  by  kind^  for  rape  and  viliany: 
Single  you  thither  then  tliis  dainty  doe, 
And  strike  her  home  by  force,  if  not  by  words. 
This  way,  or  not  at  all,  stand  you  in  hope. 
Come,  come,  our  emf)ress,  with  her  sacred'  wit, 
To  villany  and  vengeaiice  consecrate, 
Will  we  aci|naiut  wiih  .ill  tliat  we  intend; 
And  she  shall  lile  our  eniiines  with  advice. 
That  will  not  suller  you  to  square  yourselves, 
But  to  your  wishes'  height  advance  you  both. 
The  emperor's  court  is  like  the  house  of  fame 
The  palace  full  of  tongues,  of  eyes,  of  ear^ : 
Ttie  woods  are  ruthless,  dreadful,  deaf,  and  du  I 
There  s]ieak,  and  strike,  brave  boys,  and  take  your 

turns : 
There  serve  your  lust.sliadow'd  from  heaven^s  eye, 
And  revel  in  Lavinia's  treasurj'. 

C/ii.  Thy  counsel,  lad,  smells  of  no  cowardice. 

Dem.  Sit  fas  aiit  ?iefa.s,  till  1  tind  the  stream 
To  cool  this  heat,  a  charm  to  calm  these  tits. 
Per  Sfiji^a.pcr  manes  vehor.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  n.— ^  Forest  near  Rome.    A  Lodge  seen 
at  a  distance.    Hums  and  Cnj  of  Hounds  ktard. 

Enter    TriTS    Anduomcus,    with    Hunters,    ^c 
Maticls,  Lucius,  Quintus,  and  Maktius. 
Tit.  The  hunt  is  up,  the  morn  is  bright  and  grey 

^  Slice.  8  Quarrel.  »  Ity  n;itur9 

'  &.icrid  here  signifies  iu.\-urml;  a  Liitinism. 


Scene  III. 


TITUS  AXDROXICUS. 


645 


The  fields  nre  fracnint,  and  the  woods  are  green: 
Uncouple  here,  and  let  us  make  a  bay. 
And  wake  the  emperor  and  his  lovely  bride, 
And  rouse  the  prince  ;  and  riiij^:  a  hunter^s  peal, 
That  all  the  court  may  echo  with  the  noise. 
Sons,  let  it  be  your  charge,  as  it  is  ours. 
To  tend  the  emperor's  person  carefully; 
I  have  been  troubled  in  my  sleep  this  night. 
But  dawning  day  new  comfort  hath  inspird. 

Horns  tcind  a  Peal.    Enter  Si'rcRsiNrs,  Tamora, 

BASsiAsrs,  Lavixia,  Chiuo.v,  Demetrius,  and 

Attendants. 

TU.  Many  good-morrows  to  your  majesty ; — 
Madam,  to  you  as  many  and  as  good  ! — 
I  promised  your  grace  a  hunter's  peal. 

Sat.  And  you  have  rung  it  lustily,  my  lords, 
Somewhat  too  early  for  new-married  ladies. 

Bas,  Lavinia,  Jiow  say  you  ] 

Lav.  I  say,  no ; 

I  have  been  broad  awake  two  hours  and  more. 

Sat.  Come  on  then,  horse  and  chariotiilet  us  have. 
And  to  our  sport : — Madam,  now  shall  ye  see 
Our  Roman  hunting.  [To  Tamora. 

Marc.  I  have  dogs,  my  lord. 

Will  rouse  the  proudest  panther  in  the  chase, 
And  climb  the  highest  promontory  top. 

Tif.  And  I  have  horse  will  follow  where  the  game 
Makes  way,  and  run  like  swallows  o'er  the  plain. 

Dem.  Cniron,  we  liunt  not,  we,  with  horse  nor 
hound. 
But  liope  to  plucka  dainty  doe  to  gromid.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— .4  desert  Part  of  t/ie  Forest. 
Enter  Aarox,  loitfi  a  Bag  of  Gold. 
Aar.  lie  that  had  wit  would  think  that  I  had  none. 
To  bury  so  much  gold  under  a  tree. 
And  never  arter  to  inherit-  it. 
Let  him,  that  thinks  erf  me  so  abjectly. 
Know,  that  this  gold  must  coin  a  stratagem; 
Which,  cunningly  elli'cted,  will  beget 
A  very  excellent  piece  of  villany  ; 
And  so  repose,  sweet  gold,  tor  their  unrest,' 

[Hides  the  Gold. 
That  have  their  alms  out  of  the  empress'  chest. 

Enter  Tamora. 

Tarn.  My  lovely  Aaron,  wherefore  look'st  thou 

sad. 
When  every  thing  doth  make  a  gleeful  boast  \ 
The  birds  chaunt  melody  on  every  bush; 
The  snake  lies  rolled  in  the  cheerful  sun  ; 
The  green  leaves  quiver  with  the  cooling  wind. 
And  make  a  ehecquerM  shadow  on  the  ground : 
Under  their  sweet  shade,  Aaron,  let  us  sit. 
And— whilst  the  babbling  echo  mocks  the  hounds. 
Replying  shrilly  lo  the  well-tuned  horns. 
As  if  a  doul'le  hunt  were  heard  at  once, — 
Let  us  sit  down,  and  mark  their  yelling  noise  : 
And — after  contlict,  such  as  was  supposed 
The  wandering  prince  of  Dido  once  enjoy'd, 
^Vhen  with  a  happy  storm  they  were  surpris'd, 
And  curtain'd  wtth  a  counsel-keeping  cave, — 
\Ve  may.  each  wreathed  in  the  other's  anns. 
Our  pastimes  done,  possess  a  golden  slumber; 
Whiles  hounds,  and  horns,  and  sweet  melodious 

birds. 
Be  unto  us,  as  is  a  nurse's  song 
Of  lullaby,  to  bring  her  babe  asleep. 

Aar.  Madam,  though  Venus  govern  your  desires, 
Saturn  is  dominator  over  mine: 
What  signihes  my  deadly-standing  eye. 
My  silence,  and  iny  cloudy  melancholy  ? 
My  fleece  of  woolly  hair  that  now  uncurls, 
Even  as  an  adder,  when  she  doth  unroll 
To  do  some  fat.al  execution  ? 
No,  madam,  these  arc  no  venereal  signs; 
Vengeance  is  in  my  heart,  death  in  my  hand. 
Blood  and  revenge  are  hammering  in  my  head. 
Hark,  Tamora,— the  empress  of  my  soul. 
Which  never  hopes  more  heaven  than  rests  in 

thee, — 
This  is  the  day  of  doom  for  Bassiamis; 
His  PhilomeH  must  lose  her  tongue  to-day: 
Thy  sons  make  pillage  of  her  chastity. 
And  wash  their  hands  in  Bassianus'  blood. 
Seest  thou  this  letter !  take  it  up,  I  pray  thee, 
«  Possess..  3  Disquiet. 

•  S-ie  Ovid's  MeU-miorphosea,  book  vL 


And  give  the  king  this  fatal-plotted  scroll : — 
Now  question  me  no  more,  we  are  espied  ; 
Here  comes  a  parcep  of  our  hopeful  booty. 
Which  dreads  not  yet  their  lives'  destruction. 
Tani.  Ah,  my  sweet  Moor,  sweeter  to  me  than 
liic! 
-  Aar.  No  more,  great  empress,  Bassianus  comes 
Be  cross  with  him ;  and  I'll  go  fetch  thy  sons 
To  back  thy  quarrels,  whatso'er  they  be.       [Exit. 

Enter  Bassiaxcs  and  Latixia. 

Bas.  Wlio  have  we  here  ?  Rome's  royal  empress, 
Unfurnish'd  of  her  well-beseeming  troop  ! 
Or  is  it  Dian,  habited  like  her; 
Who  hath  abandoned  her  holy  groves. 
To  see  the  general  hunting  in'this  forest? 

Turn.  Saucy  controller  of  our  private  steps? 
Had  I  tJic  power,  that,  some  say,  Dian  had. 
Thy  temples  should  be  planted  presently 
With  horns,  as  was  Acta;on's;  and  tlie  hounds 
Should  drive  upon  thy  new-transformed  limbs. 
Unmannerly  intruder  as  thou  art! 

Jmv.  Under  your  patience,  gentle  emperess, 
'Tis  thought  you  have  a  goodiv  gift  in  horning; 
And  to  be  doubted,  that  your  jloor  and  you 
Are  singled  forth  to  try  experiments: 
Jove  shield  your  husband  from  his  hounds  to-day ! 
'Tis  pity  they  should  take  him  for  a  st<ig. 

iJai.  Believe  me,  queen,  your  swarth  Cimmerian 
Doth  make  your  honor  of  his  body's  hue, 
Spotted,  detected, and  abominable. 
Why  are  you  sequester'd  from  all  your  train  ? 
Dismounted  from  your  snow-white  goodly  steed, 
And  wander'd  hither  to  an  obscure  jilot. 
Accompanied  with  a  barbarous  Moor, 
If  foul  desire  had  not  conducted  you  ? 

Lav.  And,  being  intercepted  in  >our  sport, 
Great  reason  that  my  noble  lord  be  rated 
For  sauciness. — I  pray  you,  let  us  hence. 
And  let  her  'joy  her  raven-color'd  love; 
This  valley  tits  the  purpose  passing  well. 

Bas.  The  king,  my  brother,  shall  have  note  of 
this. 

Lav.  Ay,  for  these  slips  have  made  him  noted 
long: 
Good  king  !  to  be  so  mightily  abused  ! 

Tain.  Why  have  I  paUence  to  endure  all  this  ? 

Enter  Cninox  and  Demetrics. 
Dem.  How  now,  dear  sovereign,  and  our  gra- 
cious mother. 
Why  doth  your  highness  look  so  pale  and  wan  ? 

Tarn.  Have  I  not  reason,  think  j ou,  to  look  pale  ? 
These  two  have  'ticcd  me  hither  io  this  place, 
A  harrcn,  detested  vale,  yoa  see,  it  is : 
The  trees,  though  summer,  yet  forlorn  and  lean, 
O'ercome  with  moss,  and  baneful  mistletoe. 
Here  never  shines  the  sun ;  here  nothing  breeds, 
Unless  the  nightly  owl,  or  fat;il  raven. 
And  when  they  snow'd  me  this  abhorred  pit. 
They  told  me  here,  at  dead  time  of  the  night, 
A  thousand  liends,  a  thousand  hissing  snakes. 
Ten  tiiousand  swelling  toads,  as  many  urchins,<! 
Would  make  such  fearful  and  confused  cries, 
As  any  mortal  body,  hearing  it. 
Should  straight  fall  mad.  or  else  die  suddenly. 
No  sooner  had  they  told  this  hellish  tale. 
But  straight  they  told  me  they  would  bind  me  here 
Unto  the  body  of  a  dismal  >ew; 
And  leave  me  to  this  miserable  death. 
And  then  they  call'd  me  foul  adulteress. 
Lascivious  Goth,  and  all  the  bitterest  terms 
That  ever  ear  did  hear  to  such  ellect. 
And,  had  you  not  by  wondrous  Ibrtune  come,  ' 
This  vengeance  on  me  had  they  executed: 
Revenge  it,  as  you  love  your  mother's  life, 
Or  be  ye  not  henceforth  call'd  my  children. 
Dem.  This  is  a  witness  that  I  am  thy  son. 

[Stabs  Bassianus. 

Chi.  And  this  for  me,  struck  home  to  show  my 

strength  [  Stabbing  /lim  likewise. 

Lav.  Ay,   come,   Semiramis,  —  nay,  barbarous 

Tamora  ! 

For  no  name  tits  thy  nature  but  thy  own! 

Tarn.  Give  me  thy  poniard;  you  shall  know,  my 
boys. 
Your  mother's  hand   shall  right  your   mother's 
wrong. 
Dem.  Stay,  madam,  here  is  more  belongs  to  her- 


•  Tart. 


«  Uedge-hog^, 


646 


TITUS   ANDEONICUS. 


Act  II.  Scene  IV 


First,  thiash  the  com,  then  alter  burn  the  straw : 

This  minion  stood  upon  her  chastity, 

Upon  her  nuptial  vow,  her  loyally. 

And  with  that  painted  hojie  braves  your  mightiness ; 

And  shall  she  carry  this  unto  her  grave? 

Chi.  An  if  she  do,  I  would  I  were  an  eunuch. 
Drai;  hence  her  husband  to  some  secret  hole, 
And  make  his  dead  trunk  pillow  to  our  lust. 

Tftin.  But  when  you  have  the  honey  you  desire. 
Let  not  this  wasp  outlive,  us  both  to  sting. 

Chi.  I  warrant  you,  madam ;  we  will  make  that 
sure. — ■ 
Come,  mistress,  now  perforce  we  will  enjoy 
That  nice-preserved  honesty  of  yours. 

Lav.  OTamora!  Tliou  bear'st  a  woman's  face,— 

Tam.  I  will  not  hear  her  speak  ;  away  with  her. 

Lai\  Sweet  lords,  entreat  her  hear  me  but  a  word. 

Bern.  Listen,  lair  madam:  Let  it  be  your  glory 
To  see  her  tears :  but  be  your  heart  to  them, 
As  unrelenting  flint  to  drops  of  rain. 

Lav.  When  did  the  tiger's  young  ones  teach  the 
dam  ! 
O,  do  not  learn  her  wrath ;  she  taught  it  thee  : 
The  milk  thou  suck'dst  from  her,  did    turn  to 

marble; 
Even  at  thy  teat  thou  hadst  thy  tyranny. — 
Yet  every  mother  breeds  not  sons  alike  ; 
Do  thou  entreat  her  show  a  woman  pity. 

[To  CniHON. 

Chi.  What!  wouldst  thou  have  me  prove  myself 
a  bastard  ? 

L(n\  'Tis  true ;  the  raven  doth  not  hatch  a  lark  ; 
Yet  I  have  heard,  (O  could  I  find  it  now!) 
The  lion,  mov'd  with  pity,  did  endure 
To  have  his  princely  paws  pared  all  away, 
.•^ome  say,  that  ravens  Ibster  forlorn  children. 
The  whilst  their  own  birds  famish  in  their  nests: 
O,  be  to  me,  though  thy  hard  heart  say  no, 
Nothing  so  kind,  but  something  pitiful! 

Tam.  I  know  not  what  it  means;  away  with 
her. 

Imv.  O,  let  me  teach  thee  :  for  my  father's  sake. 
That  gave  thee  life,  when  well  he  might  have  slain 

thee, 
Be  not  obdurate,  open  thy  deaf  ears. 

Tam.  Hadst  thou  in  person  ne'er  offended  me, 
Kven  for  his  sake  am  I  ])itiless: — 
Remember,  boys,  I  pour'd  forth  tears  in  vain, 
To  save  your  brother  from  the  sacrifice; 
But  fierce  Andronicus  would  not  relent. 
Therefore,  away  with  her.  and  use  her  as  you  will : 
The  worse  to  iter,  the  better  lov'd  of  me. 

Lav.  O  Tamora,  be  cali'd  a  gentle  queen. 
And  with  thine  own  hands  kill  me  in  this  place; 
For 'tis  not  life,  that  I  have  begg'd  so  long; 
Poor  I  was  slain  when  Bassiaiuis  died. 

Tam.  What  begg'st  thou  then?  fond  woman, let 
me  go. 

Lav.  'Tis  present  death  I  beg:  and  one  thing 
more, 
That  womanhood  denies  niv  tongue  to  tell: 
O,  keep  me  from  their  worse  than  killing  lust, 
And  tumble  me  into  some  loathsome  pit; 
Where  never  man's  eye  may  behold  my  body: 
Do  this,  and  be  a  charitable  murderer. 

Tam.  So  should  I  rob  my  sweet  sons  of  their  fee: 
jN'o,  let  them  satisfy  their  lust  on  thee. 

Dem.  Away,  for  thou  hast  staid  us  licre  too  long. 

Lau.  No  grace?    No  womanhood?     Ah,  beastly 
creature ! 
The  blot  and  enemy  to  our  general  name ! 
Confusion  fall 

Chi.  Nay,  then.  I'll   stop  your  mouth:  — Bring 
tliou  her  husband ; 
^,  .    .     ,_     ,  [Drafiffing  off  l.Ayitii.\. 

This  IS  the  hole  where  Aaron  hid  us  liide  him. 

[K.veu!i/. 

Tam.  Farewell,  my  sons:   see  that  you   make 
her  sure : 
Ne'er  let  my  heart  know  merry  cheer  indeed, 
Till  all  the  Andronici  be  made  away. — 
Now  will  I  henee  to  seek  my  lovely 'Moor, 
And  let  my  spleenful  sons  tliis  trull  dellour.  [Exit. 

SCENE  IV.— r^c  same. 
Enter  Aahon,  with  QtixTis  and  MAnTtrs. 
Aar.  Come  on,  my  lords  ;  the  better  foot  before : 
.■straight  will  I  bring  vou  to  the  loathsome  pit, 
Where  I  espy'd  the  i)aniher  liist  asleep. 


Quin.  My  sight  is  very  dull,  whate'er  it  bodes. 

Mart.  And  mine,  I  promise  you :  were't  not  foi 
shame, 
Well  could  I  leave  our  sport  to  sleep  awhile. 

[Martu'S  falt^  into  the  Pit. 

Quin.  What,  art  thou  liiUen  ?  What  subtle  hole 
is  this, 
Whose  mouth  is  cover'd  with  rude-growing  briers- 
Upon  whose  leaves  are  drops  of  new-shed  blood. 
As  fresh  as  morning's  dew  distill'd  on  flowers? 
A  very  fatal  plac%it  seems  to  nie: — 
Speak,  brother,  hast  thou  hurt  thee  with  the  fall? 

Mart.  O,  brother,  with  the  dismallest  object 
That  ever  eye,  with  sight,  made  heart  lament. 

Aar.  [Aside.]  Now  will  I  fetch  the  king  to  find 
them  here; 
That  he  thereby  may  give  a  likely  guess, 
How  these  were  they  that  made  away  his  brother 

[Exit  Aahon. 

Mart.  Why  dost  not  comfort  me,  and  help  me  out 
From  this  unhallow'd  and  blood-stained  hole  ? 

Quin.  I  am  surprised  with  an  uncouth  fear: 
A  chilling  sweat  o'er-runs  my  trembling  joints; 
IMy  heart  suspects  more  than  mine  eye  can  see. 

Afart.  To  prove  thou  hast  a  true-divining  heart, 
Aaron  and  thou  look  down  into  this  den. 
And  see  a  fearful  sight  of  blood  and  death. 

Quin.  Aaron  is  gone ;  and  my  compassionate  heart 
Will  not  permit  mine  eyes  once  to  behold 
The  thing  whereat  it  trembles  by  surmise  : 
O.  tell  me  how  it  is;  for  ne'er  till  new 
Was  I  a  child,  to  fear  I  know  not  wliat. 

Mart.  Lord  Bassianus  lies  embrued  here, 
All  on  a  heap,  like  to  a  slaughter'd  lamb. 
In  this  detested,  dark,  blood-drinking  pit. 

Quin.  If  it  be  dark,  how  dost  thou  know  'lis  het 

Mart.  Upon  his  bloody  finger  he  doth  wear 
A  precious  ring,  that  lightens  all  the  hole. 
Which,  like  a  taper  in  some  monument. 
Doth  shine  upon  the  dead  man's  earthy  cheeks, 
And  shows  the  ragged  entrails  of  this  pit: 
So  pale  did  shine  the  moon  on  Pyramus, 
When  he  by  night  lay  bathed  in'maiden  blood. 

0  brother,  help  me  with  thy  fainting  hand— 
If  fear  hath  made  thee  faint,  as  me  it  hath — 
Out  of  this  fell  devouring  receptacle, 

As  hateful  as  Cocytns'  misty  mouth. 
Quin.  Reach  me  thy  hanil,  that  I  may  help  thee 
out; 
Or,  wanting  strength  to  do  thee  so  much  good, 

1  may  be  pluck'd  into  the  swallowing  womb 
Of  this  deep  pit,  poor  Bassianus'  grave. 

I  have  no  strength  to  pluck  thee  to  the  brink. 

Mart.  Nor  I  no  strength  to  climb  without  thy 
help. 

Quin.  Thy  hand  once  more ;  I  will  not  loose  again 
Till  Ihou  art  here  aloft,  or  I  below : 
Thou  canst  not  come  to  me,  I  come  to  thee. 

[Falls  in 
Enter  Satckninus  and  Aabon. 

Sat.  Along  with  me :— I'll  see  what  hole  is  hero 
And  wliat  he  is,  that  now  is  leap'd  into  it. 
Say,  who  art  thou,  that  lately  didst  descend 
Into  this  gaping  hollow  of  the  earth? 

Mart.  The  unhapjiy  son  of  old  Andronicus; 
Brought  hither  in  a  most  unlucky  hour. 
To  find  tliy  brother  Bassiaiuis  dead. 

Sat.  My'brother  dead  ?  I  know  thou  dost  but  jest 
Ho  and  his  lady  both  are  at  the  lodge. 
l']ion  the  north  side  of  this  pleasant  chase: 
'Tis  not  an  hour  since  1  letl  him  there. 

Mart.  We  know  not  where  you  left  him  all  alive. 
But,  out  alas!  here  have  we  found  him  dead. 

Enter  Tamora,  with  Attendants;   TiTua  ANona 

NiCLS,  U)ld  LfCIlS. 

'    Tant.  Where  is  my  lord  the  king  ' 

.So/.  Here,  Tamora;  though  griev'd  with  kiUing 

grief. 
Tam.  Where  is  thy  brother  Bassianus? 
Sat.  Now  to  the  bottom  dost  thou  search  m} 
wound ; 
Poor  Bassianus  here  lies  murdered. 

Tam.  Then  all  too  late  I  bring  this  fatal  writ, 
[Giving  a  teitfi 
The  complot  of  this  timeless'  tragedy ; 
And  wonder  greatly,  that  man's  fiice  can  fold 
In  pleasing  smiles  such  murderous  tyranny. 
'  Uutimel^. 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


TITUS   ANDRONICUS. 


G-17 


Sat.  [Reads.]  An  if  we  mlistomeet  him  hand- 
soiitely, —  j 

Sweet  kunt.i/uaii,  Eassianus  Vw,  ice  mean, — 
Do  Ihou  so  much  as  ilig  the  grave  for  him ; 
Thou,  know^stimr  meaning:  Look  for  I  hy  reward 
Among  the  nettles  at  the  elder-tree. 
Which  overshailes  the  mouth  of  that  same  pit, 
Where  we  decreed  to  bury  Bassiunus. 
Do  this,  and  purchase  us  thy  lasting  friends. 
O,  Taraora  !  was  ever  heard  the  like  I 
This  is  the  pit,  and  this  the  elder-tree: 
Look,  sirs,  if  you  can  find  the  huntsman  out, 
That  sliould  have  murder'd  Bassianus  here. 

Aar.  J\Iy  gracious  lord,  here  is  the  has  of  gold. 

\_iihowing  it . 

Sat.  Two  of  thy  wlielps,  [To  Tit.]  icU  curs  of 
bloody  kind. 
Have  here  berel't  my  brother  of  his  life  : — 
Sirs,  drag  them  from  the  pit  unto  the  prison; 
There  let  them  bide,  until  we  have  devis'd 
Some  never-heard-of  torturing  pain  for  tliem. 

Tarn.  What,  are  they  in  this  pit  1  O  wondrous 
thing! 
How  easily  murder  is  discovered  ! 

Tit.  High  emperor,  upon  my  feeble  knee 
I  beg  this  boon,  with  tears  not  lightly  shed, 
That  this  fell  (ault  of  my  accursed  sons, 
Accursed,  if  the  fault  be  prov'd  in  them, 

Sat.  l(  it  be  provM  !  you  see  it  is  apparent,^ 
Who  found  this  letter !  Taraora,  was  it  you  ! 

Tam.  Andronicus  himself  did  take  it  up. 

Tit.  I  did,  my  lord:  yet  let  me  be  their  bail: 
For  by  my  lather's  reverend  tomb,  I  vow, 
Theyshall  be  ready  at  your  highness'  will. 
To  answer  their  suspicion  with  their  lives. 

Sat.  Thou  Shalt  not  bail  them :  see,  thou  follow 
me. 
Some  bring  the  murder'd  body,  some  the  mur- 
derers : 
Let  them  not  speak  a  word,  tlie  guilt  is  plain : 
For,  by  my  soul,  were  there  worse  end  than  death, 
That  end  upon  them  should  be  executed. 

Tam.  Andronicus,  I  will  entreat  the  king; 
Fear  not  thy  sons,  they  shall  do  well  enough. 

Tit.  Come,  Lucius,  come;  stay  not  to  talk  with 
them.  [Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  X.—The  same. 
Enter  Demetrics  and  Ciiiaox,  with  Lavin'ia  ;  her 
hands  cut  off,  and  her  Tongue  cut  out. 
Dem.So  now.go  tell, an  if  thy  tongue  can  speak. 
Who  'twas  that  cut  thy  tongue,  and  ravisli'd  thee. 
Chi.  Write  down  thy  mind,  bewray  thy  meaning 
so  ; 
And,  if  thy  stumps  will  let  thee,  play  the  scribe. 
Dem.  See,  how  with  signs  and  tokens  she  can 

scowl. 
Cki.  Go  home,  call  for  sweet  water,  wash  thy 
hands. 


Dcm.  She  hath  no  tongus  to  call,  nor  hands  to 

wash ; 
And  so  let's  leave  her  to  her  silent  walks. 

Chi.  An  'twere  my  case,  I  should  go  hang  myself. 
Dem.  If  thou  hadst  hands  to  help  thee  knit  the 

cord.         [Exeunt  Demetkius  and  Chirox. 

Enter  Marccs. 
Marc.  Who's  this, — my  niece,  that  flies  away  so 

fast! 
Cousin,  a  word;  Where  is  your  husband  1 — 
If  I  do  dream,  'would  all  my  wealth  would  wako 

me  ! 
If  I  do  wake,  some  planet  strike  me  down. 
That  I  may  slumber  in  eternal  sleep ! — 
Speak,  gentle  niece,  what  stern  ungentle  hands 
Have  lopp'd,  and  hew'd,  and  made  thy  body  bare 
Of  her  two  branches  1  those  sweet  ornaments. 
Whose  circling  shadows  kings  have  sought  to  sleep 

in; 
And  misht  not  gain  so  great  a  happiness. 
As  half  "thy  love !  Why  dost  not  speak  to  me  1 — 
Alas,  a  criinson  river  of  warm  blood, 
Like  to  a  bubbling  fountain  stirr'd  with  wind. 
Doth  rise  and  fall  between  thy  rosed  lips. 
Coming  and  going  with  thy  honey  breath. 
I3ut,  sure,  some  Tcreus  liath  dedourcd  thee ; 
And,  lest  Ihou  shouldst  detect  him,  cut  thy  tongue. 
Ah,  now  thou  turn'st  away  thy  face  for  shame! 
And,  notwithstanding  all  this  loss  of  blood, — 
As  from  a  conduit  with  three  issuing  spouts, — 
Yet  do  thy  cheeks  look  red  as  Titan's  tace, 
Blushing  to  be  encounter'd  with  a  cloud. 
Shall  I  speak  for  thee  !  shall  I  say,  'tis  .so  1 
().  that  I  knew  thy  heart;  and  knew  the  beast, 
That  I  might  rail  at  him  to  ease  my  mind! 
Sorrow  concealed,  like  an  oven  stopp'd. 
Doth  burn  the  heart  to  cinders  where  it  is. 
Fair  Philomela,  she  but  lost  her  tongue. 
And  in  a  tedious  sainjiler  sew'd  her  mind: 
But,  lovely  niece,  that  mean  is  cut  irum  thee; 
A  craftier  Tereus  hast  thou  met  withal. 
And  he  hath  cut  those  jjretly  fingers  oil; 
That  could  have  better  sew'd  than  Philomel. 
O,  had  the  monster  seen  those  lily  hands 
Tremble,  like  aspen-lcavcs,  upon  a  lute. 
And  make  the  silken  strings  delight  to  kiss  them, 
He  would  not  then  have  touch'd  them  lor  hislilc; 
Or.  had  he  heard  the  heavenly  harmony, 
Whicli  that  sweet  tongue  hath  made. 
He  would  iiave  dropji'd  his  knile,  aixl  fell  asleep, 
As  Cerberus  at  the  Thracian  poet's'-  leet. 
Come,  let  us  go.  and  make  thy  father  bhnd  : 
For  such  a  sight  will  blind  a  father's  ey  e  : 
One  hour's  slorin  will  drown  liie  fragrant  meads; 
What  will    \\Jiole    months   of  tears   thy  lather's 

eyes'! 
Do  not  draw  back,  for  we  will  mourn  with  thee ; 
0,  could  our  mourning  case  thy  misery  ! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   TIL 


SCENE  L— Rome.    A  Street. 

Enter  Senators.  Tribunes,  and.  Ollicers  rf  Justice, 
with  MARTifS  and  QriNTUs,  bound,  pa.ysing  on 
to  tlie  Place  of  Execution :  TtTis  going  before, 
pleading. 
Tit.  Hearme,  grave  fathers!  noble  tribunes, stay! 

For  pity  of  mine  age,  whose  youth  was  spent 

In  dangerous  wars,  whilst  you  securely  slept; 

For  all  my  blood  in  Rome's  great  quarrel  shed; 

For  all  the  frosty  nights  that  I  have  watch'd; 

And  for  tliese  bitter  tears,  which  now  you  see 

Filling  the  aged  wrinkles  in  my  cheeks; 

Be  pitiful  to  my  condemned  sons. 

Whose  souls  are  not  corrupted  as  'tis  thought ! 

For  two  and  twenty  sons  1  never  wept, 

Because  they  died  m  honor's  lolly  bed. 

For  these,  these,  tribunes,  in  the  dust  I  write 

[Throwing  himself  an  the  Grmmd. 

My  heart's  deep  languor,  andniy  soul's  sad  tears. 

Let  my  tears  stanch  the  earth's  dry  appetite; 

My  sons' sweet  blood  will  make  il  shame  and  blush. 
[Exeunt  Senalors,  Tribunes,  ^c.  ivith 
the  Prisoners. 


O  earth,  I  will  befriend  thee  more  with  rain. 
That  shall  distil  from  these  two  ancient  urns. 
Than  youthful  April  shall  with  all  his  showers: 
In  summer's  drought  I'll  drop  upon  thee  still; 
In  winter,  with  warm  tears  I'll  melt  the  snow. 
And  keep  eternal  spnng-lime  on  thy  liice. 
So  thou  leluse  to  drink  my  dear  sons'  blood. 
Enter  Liciis,  tvilh  hu  Sword  drawn. 
0,  reverend  tribunes!  gentle  aged  men! 
Unbind  my  sons,  reverse  the  doom  of  death  ; 
And  let  me  say,  that  never  wept  before, 
Mv  tears  are  now  prevailing  orators. 

f.uc.  O,  noble  father,  you  lament  in  vain; 
The  tribunes  hear  you  not,  no  man  is  by. 
And  you  recount  your  sorrows  to  a  stone. 

Tit.  Ah,  Lucius,  for  thy  brothers  let  me  plead: 
Grave  tribunes,  once  more  I  entreat  ot  you. 

Luc.   INIy  gracious  lord,  no  tribune  hears  you 
speak. 

Tit,  Why,  'tis  no  matter,  man:  if  they  did  hear, 
They  would  not  mark  me  ;  or,  if  they  did  mark. 
All  bootless  to  them,  they'd  not  pity  me. 

•  Orpheus. 


648 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  III 


Therefore  I  tell  my  sorrows  to  the  stones  ; 
VVlin,  tlioiigh  they  cannot  answer  my  distress, 
Yet  in  some  sort  they're  better  tlian  the  tribunes, 
For  that  lliey  will  not  intercept  my  tale : 
When  I  do  weep,  ihey  humbly  at  "my  I'eet 
Receive  my  tears,  and  seem  to  weep  wilh  me; 
And,  were  they  but  altired  in  grave  weeds, 
Rome  could  afford  no  tribune  like  to  these. 
A  stone  is  soft  as  wax,  tribunes  more  hard  than 

stones : 
A  stone  is  silent,  and  oHendelh  not; 
And  tribunes  with  theirtonj^ues  doom  men  to  death. 
But   wherclore   stajid'^t   thou   with   tliy   weapon 
drawn  ? 

LuC'  To  rescue  my  two  brothers  from  I  heir  death; 
For  which  atten)pt,  tile  judges  have  pronounced 
My  everlasting  doom  of  banishment. 

Tit.  O  happy  man  !  they  have  befriended  thee. 
Why,  foolish  Lucius,  dost  thou  not  perceive 
That  Rome  is  but  a  wilderness  of  tigers] 
Tigers  must  prey  ;  and  Rome  affords  no  prey, 
Hut  me  and  mine  :  How  happy  art  thou,  then. 
From  tliese  devourers  to  be  banished  I 
Hut  who  comes  w-ith  our  brotiicr  Marcus  here] 
Enter  Marci'S  imd  Lavikia. 

Mtirc.  Titus,  prepare  Ihy  noble  eyes  to  weep; 
Or,  if  not  so,  tliy  noble  heart  to  break ; 
I  bring  consuming  sorrow  to  thine  age. 

Tit.  Will  it  consume  me  7  let  nie  see  it  then. 

Mure.  This  was  thy  daughter. 

Tit.  Why,  Marcus,  so  she  is. 

i,;/f.  Ahmc!  this  object  kills  mc! 

2\t.    I'aint-hearted   boy,  arise,  and  look  upon 
!icr : — 
Speak,  my  Lavinia,  what  accursed  hand 
Halh  made  thee  haiidless  in  thy  lather's  sight  l 
What  fool  hath  addetl  water  to  the  sea  ? 
Or  brought  a  laggot  lo  bright-burning  Troy? 
My  grief  was  at  the  lieight  before  thou  cam'st, 
And  now,  like  Nilus,'  it  disdaineth  bounds. — 
Mivc  me  a  sword,  I'll  chop  off  my  hands  too; 
For  they  have  fought  for  Rome,  and  all  in  vain ; 
And  they  have  nurs'd  this  woe,  in  feeding  lile ; 
In  bootless  prayer  have  they  been  held  up. 
And  they  have  scrv'd  me  to  ellectless  use; 
Now,  all  the  service  I  require  of  them 
Is  that  the  one  will  helji  lo  cut  Ihe  other.— 
'Tis  well,  Lavinia,  that  Ihou  hast  no  bauds; 
For  hands,  to  do  Rome  service,  are  but  vain. 

i»c.  Speak,  genlle  sister.who  hath  martyr'd  thee  ? 

Mnrc.  0,Jhat  delightful  engine  of  her  thoughts. 
That  blabb'd  them  wilh  such  pleasing  eloquence, 
Is  torn  from  forth  that  prelty  hollow  cage; 
Where,  like  a  sweet  melodious  bird,  it  sung 
Sweet  varied  notes,  enchanting  every  ear  ! 

Luc.  0,  say  Ihou  Ibr  her,  who  fiath  done  this 
deed? 

Marc.  O,  thus  I  found  her,  straying  in  the  park, 
Seeking  to  hide  herself  as  dolh  Hie  deer. 
That  hath  rcceiv'd  some  unrecuring  wound. 

Til.  It  was  my  deer,  and  he  that  wounded  her 
Ilath  hurt  me  niore,  liian  had  he  killed  me  dead : 
For  now  I  stand  as  one  upon  a  rock, 
Knviron'd  with  a  wilderness  of  sea; 
Who  marks  the  wa.iting  tide  grow  wave  by  wave. 
Expecting  ever  when  some  envious  surge 
Will  in  his  brinish  bowels  swallow  him. 
Thi.s  way  to  death  my  wretched  sons  are  gone; 
Here  stands  my  other  son,  a  banish'd  man  ; 
And  here  my  brotiicr,  weeping  at  my  woes; 
Rut  that,  which  gives  my  soul  the  greatest  .spurn. 
Is  dear  Lavinia,  dearer  than  my  soul. — 
Had  I  but  seen  thy  picture  in  this  plight. 
It  W(nilil  have  madded  me  ;  What  shall  I  do 
Now  1  bidiold  Ihy  lovely  body  so  ! 
Thiui  liast  no  hands,  to  wipe  away  thy  tears; 
Nor  longue,  to  tell  me  who  hath  marlyr'd  thee: 
Thy  husliand  ho  is  dead  ;  and,  for  his  death, 
Thy  broihers  are  condemn'd,  and  dead  by  this: 
Look,  M.ircus!  ah,  son  Lucius,  look  on  her  ! 
When  1  did  iiaim-  her  brc  theis,  llieii  fresh  lears 
Stood  on  her  cheeks;  as  doth  the  honey  dew 
Upon  a  galher'd  lily  almost  wither'd. 

Marc.  Perchance,  she  weeps  because  they  kill'd 
her  husband  : 
Perchance,  because  she  knows  lliem  innoeent. 

Tit.  If  Ihey  did  kill  Ihy  husband,  then  be  joyful, 
Because  tile  law  halh  ta'en  revenge  on  tlieiii. — 
•Theriver  .MIu. 


No,  no,  they  would  not  do  so  foul  a  deed  ; 

Witness  the  sorrow  t/iat  their  sister  makes. — 

Gentle  Lavinia,  let  me  kiss  thy  lips; 

Or  make  some  sign  how  I  may  do  thee  case ; 

Shall  Ihy  good  uncle,  and  thy  brother  Lucius, 

And  thou,  and  I,  sit  round  about  some  fountain  ; 

Looking  all  downwards,  to  behold  our  cheeks 

How  they  are  stain'd?  like  meadows,  yet  not  dry 

With  miry  slime  lelt  on  them  by  a  flood  I 

And  in  the  fountain  shall  we  gaze  so  long. 

Till  Ihe  fresh  taste  be  taken  from  that  clearness, 

And  made  a  brine-pit  with  our  bitter  tears? 

Or  shall  we  cut  away  our  hands,  like  lliiue? 

Or  shall  we  bite  our  tongues,  and  in  dumb  shows 

Pass  the  remainder  o'f  our  hateful  days  ? 

What  shall  we  do?  let  us  that  have  our  tongues, 

Plot  some  device  of  further  miserjs 

To  make  us  wonder'd  at  in  time  to  come. 

Luc.  Sweet  father,  cease  your  tears ;  for  at  your 
grief. 
See  how  my  wrelthed  sister  sobs  and  weeps. 

Marc.   I'atience,  dear  niece ; — good   Titus,  dry 
thine  eyes. 

Tit.  Ah,  I\Larcus,  M.arcus  !  brother,  well  I  wot,' 
Thy  naiikin-  cannot  drink  a  tear  ol"  mine. 
For  thou,  poor  man,  hast  drown'd  it  with  thme 
own. 

Luc.  Ah,  my  Lavinia,  I  will  wipe  thy  cheeks. 

Tit.  Mark,   Marcus,  mark!    I    understand   her 
signs ; 
Had  she  a  tongue  to  speak,  now  would  she  say 
Tliat  to  her  brother  which  I  said  to  thee; 
Ills  napkin,  with  his  true  tears  all  bewet. 
Can  do  no  service  on  her  sorrowful  checks: 
(),  what  a  sjmpathy  of  woe  is  this? 
As  lar  from  help  as"  limbo  is  from  bliss! 
Enter  AaiiO-N'. 

Aar.  Titus  .\ndronicus,  my  lord  the  emperor 
Sends  thee  this  word,— That.'if  tliou  love  thy  sons. 
Let  Marcus,  Lucius,  or  thyself,  old  Titus, 
Or  any  one  of  you,  chop  oil'  your  hand. 
And  scud  it  to  the  king:  he  Ibr  the  same. 
Will  send  thee  hither  both  Ihy  sons  alive; 
And  that  shall  be  the  ransom  liir  their  liiult. 

Til.  O,  gracious  emperor !  O,  geiille  Aaron  ! 
Did  ever  raven  sing  so  like  a  lark. 
That  gives  sweet  tidings  of  the  sun's  uprise  ? 
Wilh  all  my  heart,  I'll  send  the  emperor 
My  hand  ; 
tiood  Aaron,  wilt  thou  help  to  chop  it  off! 

Luc.  Stay,  latlier;  lor  that  noble  hand  of  thine. 
That  halh  thrown  down  so  many  enemies. 
Shall  not  be  sent:  my  baud  will  serve  the  turn: 
My  youth  can  better  spare  my  blood  than  you  ; 
And  therefore  mine  shall  save  my  brothers''  lives. 

Marc.  Which  of  your  hands  liath  not  delendej 
Rome, 
.\nd  rear'd  aloft  the  bloody  ballle-axe, 
Writing  destruction  on  the  enemy's  castle? 
O,  none  of  bolli  but  are  of  high  desert: 
My  hand  hath  been  but  idle;  let  it  serve 
To  ransom  my  two  nephews  from  their  death  ; 
Then  have  I  kept  it  lo  a  worthy  end. 

Aar.  Nay,  come,  agree  whose  hand  shall  go  along. 
For  lear  they  die  belbre  their  pardon  come. 

Marc.  My  liand  shall  go. 

Luc.  By  heaven,  it  shall  not  go 

Tit.  Sirs,  strive  no  more;  such  wither'd  herbs  as 
these 
Are  meet  for  plucking  up,  and  therefore  mine. 

Luc.   Sweet  father,  if  I   sliall  be   thought   thy 
son. 
Let  me  redeem  my  broihers  both  from  death. 

Marc.  And,  for  our  lather's  sake,  and  mothei'a 
care. 
Now  let  me  show  a  brother's  love  to  thee. 

Tit.  Agree  belween  you  ;  I  will  spare  my  hand. 

Luc.  Then  1 11  go  fetch  an  axe. 

^larc.  But  I  win  use  the  axe 

\ Exeunt  hvcivs  ami  MAiicua- 

Tit.  Come  liilher,  Aaron  ;  I'll  deceive  them  both- 
Loud  me  Ihy  hand,  and  I  will  give  thee  mine. 

Aar.  II  that  be  call'd  deceit.  I  will  be  honest. 
And  never,  whilst  I  live,  deceive  men  so  :— 
But  1  II  deceive  you  in  another  sort, 
.■Vud  that  you'll  say,  ere  half  an  hour  can  pass. 

[Aside. 
[He  cuts  off  Titus's  lla'td. 

'  Know.  s  IlaudlaMcbiui: 


Scene  II. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


649 


Enter  Lucius  and  Marcus. 

Tit.  Now.  stay  your  strife;  what  shall  be, is  de- 
spatch'd. — 
Good  Aaron,  give  his  mnjesty  my  hand  : 
Tell  him,  it  was  a  hand  that  warded  him 
From  thousand  dangers:  bid  him  bury  it; 
More  hath  it  merited,  tiiat  Jet  it  have. 
As  for  my  sons,  say,  I  account  of  them 
Ah  jewels  purcliasM  at  an  easy  price  ; 
And  yet  dear  too,  because  I  bought  mine  own. 

Aar.  I  go,  Andronicus :  and  for  thy  hand, 
Look  by  and  by  to  have  thy  sons  with  thee : — 
Their  heads,  1  'mean.— O,  how  this  villany 

{Asiiie* 
roth  fat  me  with  the  very  thoughts  of  it ! 
Let  fools  do  good,  and  tiiir  men  call  tor  grace, 
Aaron  will  have  his  soul  black  like  his  face.  [ExU. 

Tit.  O,  liere  I  lilt  this  one  Jiand  up  to  heaven, 
And  bow  tliis  feeble  ruin  to  the  earth : 
If  any  power  pities  wretched  tears. 
To  that  I  call:— What,  wilt  thou  kneel  with  me? 

{To  Lavinia. 
Do  then,  dear  heart;  for  heaven  shall  hear  our 

prayers; 
Or  with  our  sighs  we'll  breathe  the  welkin^  dim, 
And  stain  the  sun  with  fog.  as  sometime  clouds, 
Wlicn  they  do  hug  him  in  their  melting  bosoms. 

Marc.  0  brother,  speak  with  possibilities, 
And  do  not  break  into  these  deep  extremes. 

Tit.  Is  not  my  sorrow  deep,  having  no  bottom  ] 
Then  be  my  passions'*  bottomless  with  them. 

Marc.  But  yet  let  reason  govern  thy  lament. 

Tit.  It  there  were  reason  lor  these  miseries, 
Then  into  limits  ciuild  1  bind  my  woes: 
When  heaven  doth  weep,  doth  not  the  earth  o*er- 

f!ow  l 
If  the  winds  rage,  doth  not  the  sea  wax  mad, 
Threat'ning  the  welkin  with  his  big-swoln  face  1 
And  wilt  thou  have  a  reason  lor  this  coil  V^ 
I  am  the  sea  ;  hark,  how  her  sighs  do  blow  I 
She  is  the  weeping  welkin,  I  the  earth  : 
Then  must  my  sea  be  moved  with  her  sighs; 
Then  must  my  earth  wilh  her  continual  tears 
Become  a  deluge,  overllow'd  and  drown'd  : 
For  why!  my  bowels  cannot  liide  iier  woes, 
But,  like  a  drunkard,  must  I  vomit  them. 
Tiien  give  me  leave;  lor  losers  will  have  leave 
To  ease  their  stomachs  wilh  their  bitter  tongues. 

Enter  a  Messenger,  xmth  twn  Heads  and  a  Hand. 

Me$s.  Worthy  Andronicus,  ill  art  thou  repaid 
For  that  good  hand  thou  sent'st  the  emperor. 
Here  are  the  heads  of  thy  two  noble  sons  ; 
And  liere's  thy  hand,  in  scorn  to  thee  sent  back: 
Thy  griefs  their  sports,  thy  resolution  mock'd: 
That  woe  is  me  to  think  upon  thy  woes. 
More  than  remembrance  of  my  father's  death. 

[Exit. 

Marc.  Now  let  hot  /Etna  cool  in  Sicily, 
And  be  my  heart  an  ever-burning  hell! 
These  miseries  are  more  than  may  be  borne! 
Toweepwith  them  that  weep, doth  ease  some  deal, 
But  sorrow  Iloiited  at  is  double  death. 

Luc  Ah,  that  this  siglit  should  make  so  deep  a 
wound, 
And  yet  detested  life  not  shrink  thereat ! 
That  ever  death  should  let  life  hear  his  name. 
Where  life  iurth  no  more  interest  but  to  breathe  ! 
[Lavinia  kisses  fiini. 

Marc.  Alas,  poor  heart,  that  kiss  is  comfortless, 
As  tVozen  water  to  a  starved  snake. 

Tit.  When  will  this  fearful  slumber  have  an  end? 

Marc.  Now,  farewell,  (lattery:  Die,  Andronicus: 
Thou  dost  not  slumber:  see,  thy  two  sons'  heads; 
Thy  warlike  hand;  tliy  mangled  daughter  here; 
Thy  other  banish'd  son,  with  this  dear  sight 
Struck  pale  and  bloodless;  and  tliy  brother,  I, 
Even  like  a  stony  image,  cold  antf  numb. 
Ah  !  now  no  more  will  I  control  thy  griefs: 
Rend  off  tliy  silver  hair,  thy  other  hand 
Gnawing  with  thy  teeth  ;  an<l  be  this  dismal  sight 
Tlie  closing  up  of  our  most  wretched  eyes  ! 
Now  is  a  time  to  storm ;  why  art  thou  still  ? 

Tit.  Ha.  ha.  ha ! 

Marc.  Why  dost  thou  laugh?  it  fits  not  with  this 
hour'. 

Tit.  Why,  I  have  not  another  tear  to  shed: 
Besides,  this  sorrow  is  an  enemy, 

a  The  sky.  ■•  SuffL-iiog.  •  Stir,  bustle. 


And  would  usurp  upon  my  wat'ry  eyes, 

And  make  them  blind  with  tributary  tears; 

Then  which  way  shall  I  hnd  revenge's  cave? 

For  these  two  heads  do  seem  to  speak  to  me  ; 

And  threat  me^I  shall  never  come  to  bliss. 

Till  all  these  mischiefs  be  returned  again. 

Even  in  tlieir  throats  that  have  committed  them. 

Come,  let  me  see  what  task  I  have  to  do. — 

You  heavy  people,  circle  me  about; 

That  I  may  turn  me  to  each  one  of  you, 

And  swear  unto  my  soul  to  right  your  wrongs. 

Tiie  vow  is  made.— Come,  brother,  take  a  head ; 

And  in  tliis  hand  the  other  will  I  bear: 

Lavinia,  thou  shalt  be  employed  in  these  things; 

Bear  thou  my  hand,  sweet  wench,  between  thy 

teeth. 
As  for  thee,  boy,  go,  get  thee  from  my  sight : 
Thou  art  an  exile,  and  thou  must  not  slay  : 
Hie  to  the  Goths, and  raise  an  army  there: 
And,  if  you  love  me,  as  I  think  you  do, 
Let's  kiss  and  part,  for  we  have  much  to  do. 

[Exeunt  Titus,  Marcus,  and  h^wisik, 
Luc.  Farewell,  Andronicus,  my  noble  father; 
The  woefuTst  man  that  ever  liv'd  in  Rome  ! 
Farewell,  j)roud  Rome!  till  Lucius  come  again, 
He  leaves  his  pledges  dearer  than  his  life. 
Farewell.  Lavinia,  my  noble  sister; 
O,  'would  thou  wert  as  thou  'toforc  hast  been! 
But  now  nor  Lucius,  nor  Lavinia,  lives, 
But  in  oblivion,  and  hateful  grids. 
If  Lucius  live,  he  will  requite  your  wrongs; 
And  make  proud  Saturninus  and  his  empress 
Beg  at  the  gates,  like  Tarquin  and  his  queen. 
Now  will  1  to  the  Goths,  and  raise  a  power, 
To  be  revenged  on  Rome  and  Saturnine.       [Exit* 

SCENE  11.— .4  Room  in  Titus's  House. 
A  Banquet  set  out. 
Enter  Titus,  Marcus,  Lavinia,  and  young  Lu- 
cius, a  Boy. 

Tit.  So,  so;  now  sit:  and  look  you  eat  no  moro 
Than  will  preserve  just  so  much  strength  in  us 
As  will  roveuf^e  these  bitter  woes  of  ours. 
Marcus,  unknit  that  sorrow-wreathen  knot; 
Thy  niece  and  I,  poor  creatures,  want  our  hands, 
An'd  cannot  passionate  our  tenfold  grief 
With  iblded  arms.    This  poor  right  hand  of  mine 
Is  lelt  to  tyrannize  upon  my  breast ; 
And  wlien  my  heart,  all  mad  with  misery, 
Beats  in  this  hollow  prison  of  my  tlcsh, 
Then  thus  1  thump  it  down.— 
Thou  map  of  woe,  that  thus  dost  talk  in  signs  ! 

[To  Lavinia 
When  tliy  poor  heart  beatswith  outrageous  beating, 
Thou  canst  not  strike  it  thus  to  make  it  still. 
Wound  it  wilii  sighing,  girl,  kill  it  witli  groans; 
Or  get  some  little  knile  between  tliy  teeth, 
And  just  against  lliy  iieart  make  thou  a  hole ; 
That  all  (he  tears  that  thy  poor  eyes  let  fall, 
May  run  into  tliat  sink,  and  soaking  in, 
Drown  the  lamenting  fool  in  sea-salL  tears. 

Marc.  Fye,  brother,  lye !    teach  her  not  thus  to 
lay 
Such  violent  hands  upon  her  tender  life. 

Td.  How  now!    has  sorrow  made    thee    dote 
already  \ 
Wliy,  Marcus,  no  man  should  be  mad  but  T. 
What  violent  hands  can  she  lay  on  her  life  \ 
Ah,  wherefore  dost  thou  urge  the  name  of  hands;— 
To  bid  yEneas  tell  the  tale  twice  o'er, 
How  Troy  was  burnt,  and  he  made  miserable? 
O,  handle  not  the  theme,  to  talk  of  hands; 
Lest  we  remember  still,  that  we  have  none.— 
Fye,  fye,  how  franticly  I  square  my  talk! 
As  if  we  should  Ibrget  we  had  no  hands, 
It  Marcus  did  not  name  the  word  of  har.ds! 
Come^  let's  fall  to ;  and,  gentle  girl,  eat  this : — 
Here  is  no  drink !  Hark,  Marcus,  what  she  says  ;— 
I  can  interpret  all  her  martyr'd  signs: — 
She  says,  she  drinks  no  other  drink  but  tears, 
Brew'd  with  her  sorrows,  mesh'd  upon  her  cheeks  :6 
Speechless  complainer,  I  will  learn  thy  thought; 
In  thy  dumb  action  will  I  be  as  perfect, 
As  begging  hermits  in  their  holy  prayers: 
Thou  shall  notsigh,nor  hold  thy  stumps  to  heaven, 
Nor  wink,  nor  nod,  nor  kneel,  nor  make  a  sign, 
But  I,  of  these,  will  wrest  an  alphabet. 
And,  by  stilU  practice,  learn  to  know  thy  meaning, 
6  An  allusiun  to  brewing.    '  Constant  or  continual  practice. 


650 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


Act  IV. 


Boy.  Good  grandsire,  leave    these   bitter  deep 
laments; 
Make  my  aunt  merry  with  some  pleasing  tale. 

Marc.  Alas,  the  tender  boy,  in  passion  mov'd, 
Doth  weep  to  see  his  grandsire's  iieaviness. 

Tit.  Peace,tendersapling;  thou-art  madeof  tears, 
And  tears  will  quicl<ly  melt  thy  lite  away. — 

[Marcus  strikes  the  DLih  ivitfi  a  Knife. 
What  dost  thou  strike  at,  Marcus,  with  thy  knile  ! 

Marc.  At  that  that  I  have  kill'd,  my  lord;  a  tly. 

Tit.  Out  on  thee,  murderer!  thoukill'stmyheart: 
Mine  eyes  are  cloy'd  witli  view  ol"  tyranny  ; 
A  deed  of  death,  done  on  tlie  innocent, 
Becomes  not  Tilus'  brother  :  Get  thee  gone ; 
I  see  thou  art  not  for  my  company. 

Marc.  Alas,  my  lord.  I  have  but  killM  a  tly. 

Tit  But  how,  it' that  llv  had  a  father  and  mother] 
How  would  he  hang  lii 'slender  gilded  wings. 
And  buz  lamenting  doings  in  the  air  1 
Poor  harmless  tly  ! 

That  with  his  pretty  buzzing  melody. 
Came  here  to  make  us  merry ;  and  thou  hast  kill'd 
him. 


Marc.  Pardon  me,  sir:  'twas  a  black  ill-fa vor'd 

fly. 

Like  to  the  empress  Moor;  therefore  I  kill'd  him. 

nt.  O,  O,  0, 
Tlien  pardon  me  for  reprehending  thee, 
For  thou  hast  done  a  charitable  deed. 
Give  me  thy  knife,  I  will  insult  on  him; 
Flattering  myself,  as  if  it  were  the  Moor, 
Come  hither  purposely  to  poison  me. — 
There's  for  thyself,  and  that's  for  Tamora. — 
Ah,  sirrah  !9 — 

Yet  I  do  think  we  are  not  brought  so  low, 
But  that,  between  us,  we  can  kill  a  dy. 
That  comes  in  likeness  of  a  coal-black  Moor. 

Marc.  Alas,  poor  man!  grief  has  so  wrought  on 
him. 
He  takes  false  shadows  for  true  substances. 

Tit.  Come,  take  away. — Lavinia,  go  with  me: 
I'll  to  thy  closet;  and  go  read  with  thee 
Sad  stories,  chanced  in  the  times  of  old. — 
Come,  boy,  and  go  with  me ;  thy  sight  is  young, 
And  thou  shalt  read,  when  mine  begins  to  dazzle. 

[Exeunt 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I,— Before  Titus's  House. 

Enter  Titus  and  Marcus.     The?}  enter  young 
Lucius,  Lavima  running  after  him. 

Boy.  Ht'Ip,  grandsire,  help!  my  aunt  Lavinia 
Follows  me  everywhere.  1  know  not  why: — 
Good  uncle  Marcus,  see  how  switl  she  comes  ! 
Alas,  sweet  aunt,  1  know  not  what  you  mean. 

Marc.  Stand  by  me,  Lucius;  do  not  fear  thine 
aunt. 

Tit.  She  lovesthee,  boy,  toowell  to  do  thee  harm. 

Boy.  Ay.  when  my  father  was  in  Rome,  slie  did. 

Marc.  What  means  my  niece  Lavinia  by  these 
signs  \ 

Tit.  Fear  her  not,  Lucius  :— Somewhat  doth  she 
mean : 
See,  Lucius,  see,  how  much  she  makes  of  thee  : 
Somewhither  would  she  have  thee  go  with  lier. 
Ah,  boy,  CorncHa  never  with  more  care 
Read  lb  her  sons,  than  she  hath  read  to  thee, 
Sweet  poetry,  and  Tully's  Orator.^ 
Canst  tliou  not  guess  whereto  re  she  plies  thee  thus? 

Boy.  My  lord,  I  know  not,  I,  nor  can  I  guess, 
Unless  some  tit  or  frenzy  do  possess  her: 
For  I  have  heard  my  grandsirc  say  full  ofl, 
Extremity  of  griefs  would  make  men  mad; 
And  I  have  read  that  Hecuba  of  Troy 
Kan  mad  through  sorrow:  That  made  me  to  fear: 
Although,  my  lord,  I  know,  my  noble  aunt 
Loves  me  as  dear  as  e'er  my  mother  did, 
And  would  not,  but  in  fury,  fright  my  youth  : 
Which  made  me  down  to  throw  my  books,  and  fly; 
Causeless,  perhaps:  But  pardon  me,  sweet  aunt: 
And.  madam,  if  my  uncle  Marcus  go, 
I  will  most  willingly  attend  your  ladyship. 

Marc.  Lucius,  I  will. 

[Lavinia  turns  over  tfie  Book^  tvkicti 
Lucius  has  let  fall. 

Tit.  How  now,  Lavima  1 — Marcus,  what  means 
this? 
Some  book  there  is  that  she  desires  to  see: — 
Which  is  it,  girl,  of  these? — Open  them,  boy.— 
iiut  tliou  art  deeper  read,  and  better  skiU'd; 
Come,  and  take  choice  of  all  my  library, 
And  so  beguile  thy  sorrow,  till  the  heavens 
Reveal  the  damn'd  contriver  of  this  deed. — 
Why  lifts  she  up  her  arms  in  sequence  thus? 

Marc.  I  think,  she  means,  tliat  tliere  was  more 
than  one 
Confederate  in  the  fact: — Ay,  more  there  was: — 
Or  else  to  heaven  slie  heaves  (hrm  lor  revenge. 

Tit.  Lucius,  wli:it  book  is  tli;it  she  tosseth  so? 

Btiy.  Grandsirc.  'tis  Ovid's  Metamorphoses; 
My  niother  gave't  me. 

'M(irc.  For  love  of  jier  that's  gone, 

Pcrliaps  she  cull'd  it  from  among  the  rest. 

Tit.  Soil!  see,  how  busily  she  turns  the  leaves! 
Help  her: — 

•  Tully's  Treatise  on  Eloq^uence,  entitled  Orator. 


What  would  she  find? — Lavinia,  shall  I  read? 
This  is  the  tragic  tale  of  Philomel, 
And  treats  of  Tereus'  treason,  and  his  rape; 
And  rape,  I  fear,  was  root  of  thine  annoy. 

Mar.  See,  brother,  see;  note,  how  she  quotes^ 
the  leaves. 

Tit.  Lavinia,  wert  thou  thussurpris'd,sweetgirl, 
Ravish'd  and  wrong'd,  as  Philomela  was. 
Forced  in  the  ruthless,^  vast,  and  gloomy  woods  \ — 

See,  see ! 

Ay,  such  a  place  there  is,  where  we  did  hunt, 
( 0,  had  we  never,  never,  hunted  there ! ) 
Pattern'd  by  that  the  poet  here  describes, 
By  nature  made  for  murders,  and  for  rapes. 

Marc.  O  why  should  nature  build  so  foul  a  den, 
Unless  the  gods  delight  in  tragedies! 

Tit.  Give  signs,  sweet  giri^— for  here  are  none 
but  friends, — 
What  Roman  lord  it  was  durst  do  the  deed: 
Or  slunk  not  Saturnine,  as  Tarquin  erst, 
That  left  the  camp  to  sin  in  Lucrece'  bed? 

Marc.  Sit  down, sweet  niece;— brother,  sit  down 
by  me. — 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  or  Mercury, 
Inspire  me,  that  1  may  this  treason  find ! — 
My  lord,  look  here; — Look  here,  Laviuia: 
This  sandy  plot  is  plain  ;  guide,  if  thou  canst, 
This  after  me,  wlien  I  have  writ  my  name 
Without  the  help  of  any  hand  at  all. 

[He  ivrites  his  Name  wiik  Im  Sfajf.  and 
guides  it  with  his  Ftet  and  Mhuth. 
Curs'd  be  that  heart,  that  Ibrccd  us  to  this  shift! — 
Write  thou,  good  niece;  and  here  display, at  last, 
What  God  will  have  disoover'd  for  revenge  : 
Heaven  guide  thy  pen  to  print  thy  sorrows  plain, 
That  we  may  know  the  traitors,  and  the  truth  ! 

[  She  fakes  tfie  Stajf'  in  her  Mouth,  and  guides 
it  with  her  Stumps,  and  writes. 

Tit.  0,  do  you  read,  my  lord,  what  she  hath  writ? 
Stujira7ji — Chiron — Demetrius. 

Marc.  What,  what! — the  lustful  sons  of  Tamora 
Performers  of  this  heinous,  bloody  deed  ? 

Tit.  Magne  Dominator  poll. 
Tarn  lentus  audis  sceleraP  tam  lentus  fides? 

Marc.  O,  calm   thee,  gentle  lord  I    although   I 
know. 
There  is  enough  written  upon  this  earth, 
To  stir  a  mutiny  in  the  mildest  thouglUs, 
And  arm  the  minds  of  inlants  to  exclaims. 
My  lord,  kneel  down  with  me ;  Lavinia,  kneel; 
And  kneel,  sw^eet  boy,  the  Roman  Hector's  liope; 
And  swear  with  me,— as  with  the  woeful  lecre,^ 
And  lather,  of  that  chaste  dishonorM  dame, 
Lorii  Junius  Brutus  swarc  lor  Lucrece''  rape, — 
That  we  will  prosecute,  by  good  advice. 
Mortal  revenge  upon  these  traitorous  Goths, 
And  see  their  blood,  or  die  with  this  reproach, 

8  This  was  formerly  not  a  disrespectful  expression. 
*  Observes.  a  ritiless.  "  llusbnut^ 


Scene  II. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


651 


Tit.  'Tis  ^ure  enough,  and  you  knew  how. 
But  if  you  hurt  these  bear-wlieips,  then  beware: 
The  dam  will  wake;  and,  il'she  wind  you  once, 
Slie's  witli  the  lion  deeply  still  in  league, 
And  lulls  him  while  she  playeth  on  her  back, 
And,  when  he  sleeps,  will  she  do  what  she  list. 
You're  a  young  huntsman,  Marcus;  let  it  alone; 
And,  come,  I  will  go  get  a  leaf  of  brass. 
And  with  a  gad'  of  steel  will  write  these  words, 
And  lay  it  by:  the  angry  northern  wind 
\Vill  blow  these  sinds,  like  Sibyl's  leaves,  abroad. 
And  Where's  youi  lesson  then?— Boy,  what  say  you  1 

Boi/.  I  say,  m»  lord,  that  if  I  were  a  man. 
Their  mother's  bed-chamber  should  not  be  safe 
Fur  these  bad  bondmen  to  the  yoke  of  Rome. 

Marc.  Ay,  that's  my  boy  !  thy  father  hath  lull  ofl 
For  this  ungrateful  country  done  the  like. 

Bou.  And  uncle,  so  will  I.  an  ill  live. 

Tit.  Come,  go  with  me  into  mine  armory; 
Lucius,  I'll  fit  thee ;  and  withal,  my  boy 
Shall  carry  from  me  to  the  empress'  sons 
I'resents,  that  I  intend  to  send  them  both : 
Come, come;  thou'ltdo  thy  message, wilt  thou  not? 

Boy.  Ay,  with  my  dagger  in  their  bosoms,  grand- 
sire. 

Tit.  No,  boy,  not  so ;  FlI  teach  thee  another  course. 
Lavinia,  come: — Marcus,  look  to  my  liouse; 
Lucius  and  I'll  go  brave  it  at  the  court ; 
Ay,  marry,  will  we,  sir:  and  we'll  be  waited  on. 

[Exeunt  Titus,  Lati.nia,  and  Boy. 

Marc.  O  heavens,  can  you  hear  a  good  man  groan, 
And  not  relent,  or  not  compassion  liim  \ 
Marcus,  attend  him  in  his  ecstasy  ; 
That  hath  more  scars  of  sorrow  in  his  heart, 
Tlian  foemen's  marks  upon  his  batter'd  shield : 
But  jet  so  just,  that  he  will  not  revenge : — 
Revenge  the  heavens  for  old  Andronicus!      [Exit. 

SCENE  11.—^  Room  in  tlie  Palace. 
Enter  Aaron,   Chiron',  and   Demetuics,   at  one 
JJnor ;  at  anot/ier  Door,  ytmn^  Lucius    and  an 
Attendant,  ivilh.   a    bundle   if   Weapons,  and 
Verses  writ  upon  tlient. 

Clii.  Demetrius,  here's  the  son  of  Lucius; 
He  hath  some  message  to  deliver  us. 
Aar.  Ay,  some  mad  message  fi-om  his  mad  grand- 
father. 
Boy.  My  lords,  with  all  the  humbleness  I  may, 
I  greet  your  honors  from  Andronicus ; — 
And  pray  the  Roman  gods  confound  you  both. 

[Aside. 

De/n.  Gr,amercy,5  lovely  Lucius :  What's  the  news? 

Boy.Thaiyou  a  re  both  decipher'd,  that's  the  news. 

For  Villains  mark'd  with  rape.  [Aside.]   May  it 

please  you. 
My  grandsire,  well  advis'd,  hath  sent  by  me 
The  goodliest  weapons  of  his  armory, 
To  gratify  your  honorable  youth. 
The"  hope  of  Rome :  for  so  lie  bade  me  say ; 
And  so  1  do,  and  with  his  gifts  present 
Your  lordships,  that  whenever  you  have  need, 
Y'ou  may  be  armed  and  appointed  well : 
And  so  I  leave  you  both,  [Aside.]  like  bloody  vil- 
lains. [Exeunt  Boy  and  Attendant. 
Deni.  What's  here?  A  scroll;  aiid  written  round 
,^      about  ? 
Let's  see. 

Integer  nVa',  scelen^Que  purus, 
Non  eget  Maurijaculis,  ncc  arcu. 

Cfii.  O,  'tis  a  verse  in  Horace;  I  know  it  well: 
I  read  it  in  the  grammar  long  ago. 
Aar  Ay,  just! — a  verse  in  Horace: — right,  you 
have  it. 
Now,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  an  ass  ! 
Here's  no  sound  jest !  the  old  man  hath 

found  their  guilt ; 
And  sends  the  weapons  wTapp'd  about 

with  lines, 
That  wound,  beyond  their  feeling,  to  the 

quick. 
But  were  our  witty  empress  well  a-foot. 
She  would  applaud  Andronicus'  conceit. 
But  let  her  rest  in  her  unrest  awhile. — 
And  now,  young  lords,  was't  not  a  happy  star 
Led  us  to  Rome,  strangers,  and  more  than  so, 
Captives,  to  be  advanced  to  this  height? 
H  did  me  good,  before  the  palace  gate. 
To  brave  the  tribune  in  His  brother's  hearing. 
«  The  point  of  a  spear.  *  i.  e.  Grand  merci;  great  thanks. 


■  Aside. 


Dem.  But  me  more  good,  to  see  so  great  a  lord 
Basely  insinuate,  and  send  us  git\s. 

Aar.  Had  he  not  reason,  lord  Demetrius? 
Did  you  not  use  his  daughter  very  friendly? 

Veni.  I  would  we  had  a  thousand  Roman  damea 
At  such  a  bay.  by  turn  to  serve  our  lust. 

Chi.  A  cha'ritaMe  wish,  and  full  of  love. 

Anr.  Here  lacks  but  your  mother  for  to  say  amen. 

CAi.  And  that  would  she  for  twenty  thousand 
more. 

Dem.  Come,  let  us  go ;  and  pray  to  all  the  gods 
For  our  beloved  mother  in  her  pains. 

Aar.  Pray  to  the  devils ;  the  gods  have  given  us 
o'er.  [Aside.    Flourish. 

Dem.  Why  do  the  emperor's  trumpets  flourish 
thus? 

Clii.  Belike,  for  joy  the  emperor  hath  a  son. 

Dent.  Soil;  who  comes  here ? 

Enter  a  Nurse,  witli  a  Black-a-moor  Cliild  in  her 
Arms. 

Nur.  Good-morrow,  lords : 

0,  tell  me,  did  you  see  Aaron  the  Moor  ? 

Aar.  Well,  more  or  less,  or  ne'er  a  whit  at  all, 
Here  Aaron  is:  and  what  with  Aaron  now? 

Nur.  O,  gentle  Aaron,  we  are  all  undone ! 
Now  help,  or  woe  betide  thee  evermore  ! 

Aar.  Why,  what  a  caterwauling  dost  thou  keep? 
What  dost  thou  wrap  and  fumble  in  thine  arms  ? 

Nur.  0,  that  which  I  would  hide  from  heaven's 
eye. 
Our  empress'  shame,  and  stately  Rome's  disgrace; 
She  is  deliver'd,  lords,  she  is  deliver'd. 

Aar.  To  whom? 

S>iur.  I  mean,  she's  brought  to  bed. 

Aar.  Well,  God 

Give  her  good  rest !    What  hath  he  sent  her  ? 

Nur.  A  devil. 

Aar.  Why,  then  she's  the  devil's  dam ;  a  joyful 
issue. 

Nur.  A  joyless,  dismal,  black,  and  sorrowful 
issue : 
Here  is  the  babe,  as  loathsome  as  a  toad 
Amongst  the  fairest  breeders  of  our  clime. 
The  empress  sends  it  thee,  thy  stamp,  thy  seal, 
And  bids  thee  christen  it  with  thy  dagger's  point. 

^ar.  Out,  out,  you  whore!  is  black  so  base  a  hue  ? 
Sweet  blowse,  you  are  a  beauteous  blossom,  sure. 

Dent.  Villain,  what  hast  thou  done? 

Aar.  Done !  that  which  thou 

Canst  not  undo. 

Vhi.  Thou  hast  undone  our  mother. 

Aar.  Villain,  I  have  done  thy  mother. 

Detn.  And  therein,  hellish  dog,  thou  hast  undone. 
Woe  to  her  chance,  and  damn'd  her  loathed  choice  ! 
Accurs'd  the  oflspring  of  so  foul  a  trend  ! 

Chi.  It  shall  not  live. 

Aar.  It  shall  not  die. 

Nur.  Aaron,  it  must:  the  mother  wills  it  so. 

Aar.  What,  must  it,  nurse  ?  then  let  no  man  but  I 
Do  execution  on  my  Ilosh  and  blood. 

Dew.  I'll  broach'^  the  tadjiole  on  my  rapier's  point; 
Nurse,  give  it  me ;  my  sword  shall  soon  despatch  it, 

Aar.  Sooner  this  sword  sjiall  plough  thy  bowels  up. 
[Takes  lite  Child  from  the  Nurse,  and  draws. 
Stay,  murderous  villains!  will  you  kill  j-our  brother? 
Now,  by  the  burning  tapers  of  the  sky. 
That  shone  so  brightly  when  this  boy  was  got. 
He  dies  upon  my  scimitar's  sharp  point. 
That  touches  tliis  my  first-born  son  and  heir ! 
I  tell  you.  younglings,  not  Enceladus, 
With  all  Ill's  threafning  band  of  Typhon's  brood, 
Nor  great  Alcides,  nor  the  god  of  war. 
Shall  seize  this  prey  out  of  his  father's  hands. 
What,  what;  ye  sanguine,  shallow-hearted  boys! 
Ye  white-lim'd  walls!  ye  ale-house  painted  signsl 
Coal-black  is  better  than  another  hue. 
In  that  it  scorns  to  bear  another  hue  : 
For  all  the  water  in  the  ocean 
Can  never  turn  a  swan's  black  legs  to  white, 
Altliough  she  lave  them  hourly  in  the  flood. 
Tell  the  eiuperess  from  me,  I  am  of  age 
To  keep  mine  own;  excuse  it  how  she  can. 

Dem.  Wilt  thou  betray  thy  noble  mistress  thus? 

Aar.  My  mistress  is  my  mistress;  this,  myself 
The  vigor  and  the  picture  of  my  youth: 
This,  before  all  the  world,  do  I  prefer; 
This,  maugre'  all  the  world,  will  I  keep  safe, 
Or  some  of  you  shall  smoke  for  it  in  Rome. 
8  Spit.  '  In  spite  of 


652 


TITUS   AXDROXICUS. 


ActIV- 


Dem.  Ry  this  our  mother  is  for  ever  shamed, 

Chi.  Roine  will  despise  her  for  this  foul  es^ape. 

JV^»r.TIie  emperor,  in  his  rage,will  doom  her  death. 

Chi.  I  blush  to  think  upon  this  ignomy.s 

^(7r.Why,thereVtI]e  privilege  your  beauty  bears: 
Fye,  treacherous  hue!  thatwill  betray  with  blushing 
The  close  enacts  and  counsels  of  the  heart ! 
Here''s  a  younj;  lad  framed  of  another  leer  :9 
Look  how  the  Mack  slave  smiles  upon  the  father; 
As  who  should  say,  Old  la.t,  I  ain  ihine  own. 
He  is  your  brother,  lords;  sensibly  fed 
Of  that  se!f-blood  that  first  gave  life  to  you  ; 
And,  from  that  womb,  where  you  iinprison'dwere, 
He  is  enfranchised  and  come  to  light: 
Nav,  he''s  your  brother  by  the  surer  side, 
Altliough  my  seal  be  stamped  in  his  face. 

Nur.  Aaron,  what  shall  I  say  unto  the  empress  1 

De)n.  Advise  thee,  Aaron,  what  is  to  be  done, 
And  we  will  all  subscribe  to  thy  advice; 
Save  thou  the  child,  so  we  may  all  be  safe. 

Aar.  Then  sit  we  down,  and  let  us  all  consult. 
My  son  and  I  will  have  the  wind  of  you : 
Keep  tliere:  Now  talk  at  pleasure  ot'your  safety, 
{They  sit  on  the  Ground. 

Dem.  How  many  women  saw  this  child  of  his? 

Aar.  Why,  so,  brave  lords!  when  we  all  join  in 
league, 
I  am  a  lamb :  but  if  you  brave  the  Moor, 
The  chafed  boar,  tiie  mountain  lioness. 
The  ocean  swells  not  so  as  Aaron  storms.— 
But.  say  again,  how  many  saw  the  child  ] 

Nur.  Cornelia  the  midwife,  and  myself: 
And  no  one  else  but  the  deliver^  empress. 

Aar.  The  empercss,  the  midwife,  and  yourself: 
Two  may  keep  counsel  when  the  thirdVaway : 
Go,  to  the  empress;  tell  her,  this  I  said  : — 

[Stabbing  her. 
Weko.  woke ! — so  cries  a  pig  prepared  to  the  spit. 

Dem.  What  mean'st  thou,  Aaron!    Wherefore 
didst  thou  this? 

Anr.  O,  lord,  sir,  'tis  a  deed  of  policy: 
Shall  she  live  to  betray  this  guilt  of  ours  ? 
A  long-tongued  babbling  gossip  ?  no,  lord.s,  no. 
And  now  be  it  known  to  you  my  full  intent. 
Not  far,  one  Muliteus  lives,  my  countryman; 
His  wife  but  yesternight  was  brought  to  bed; 
His  child  is  like  to  her.  fair  as  you  are : 
Go  pack!  with  him,  and  give  tlie  mother  gold. 
And  tell  them  both  the  circumstance  of  all ; 
And  how  by  this  their  child  shall  be  advanced, 
And  be  received  for  the  emperor^'s  heir, 
And  substituted  in  the  place  of  mine, 
To  calm  this  tempest  whirling  in  the  court : 
And  let  the  emperor  dandle  him  for  his  own. 
Hark  yc,  lords;  ye  see,  that  I  have  given  her  phy- 
sic, [Pointing  to  the  Nurse. 
And  you  must  needs  bestow  her  funeral ; 
The  fields  are  near,  and  you  are  gallant  grooms: 
This  done,  see  that  you  take  no  longer  days, 
But  send  the  midwife  presently  to  me. 
The  midwife,  and  the  nurse  well  made  away. 
Then  let  the  ladies  tattle  what  they  please. 

Chi.  Aaron,  I  see  thou  wilt  not  trust  the  air 
With  secrets. 

Dem.  For  this  care  of  Tamora. 

Herself,  and  hers,  are  highly  bound  to  thee. 

[Exeunt  Demetrius  and  Chiron,  bearing  off 
the  Nurse. 

Aar.  Now  to  the  Goths,  as  swift  as  swallow  flies ; 
There  to  dispose  this  treasure  in  mine  arms, 
And  secretly  to  greet  the  empress'  friends. — 
Come  on,  you  thick-iipp'd  slave,  I'll  bear  you  hence ; 
For  it  is  you  that  puts  us  to  our  shifts  : 
I'll  make  you  feed  on  berries,  and  on  roots. 
And  Iced  on  curds  and  whey,  and  suck  the  goat, 
And  cabin  in  a  cave;  and  bring  you  up 
To  be  a  Warrior,  and  command  a  camp.         [Exit. 

SCENE  III.— X  Public  Place. 

Enter  Tirrs,  bearin^x  Amnof^,  with  Letters  ot  the 

Ends  (ifth^'m ;  with  him  M  Ancv  s,  youJi  g  Lvcixjs, 

and  Uher  GeJitlem.en,  with  Bows. 

Tit.  Come,  Marcus,  come; — Kinsman,  this  is  the 
way : — 
Sir  boy,  now  let  me  see  your  archery ; 
Look  ye  draw  home  enough,  and  'tis  there  straight : 
Terroji  Astrasa  reliquit  : 

»  Ignominy.   •  ComplL-xion.    i  Contrive,  bargain  i\ith. 


Be  you  rememberM,  Marcus,  she's  gone,  she's  fled. 
Sir,  take  you  to  your  tools.    You,  cousins,  shall 
Go  sound  tlic  ocean,  and  cast  your  nets; 
Happily  you  may  find  her  in  the  sea ; 
Yet  there's  as  little  justice  as  at  land  : — 
No;  Publius  and  Sempronius,  you  must  do  it; 
'Tis  you  must  dig  with  mattock  and  with  spade, 
And  pierce  the  inmost  centre  of  the  earth: 
Then,  when  you  come  to  Pluto's  region, 
I  pray  you,  deliver  him  this  petition: 
Tell  him,  it  is  tor  justice,  and  for  aid  : 
And  that  it  comes  from  olc^  Andronicus, 
Shaken  with  sorrows  in  ungrateful  Rome. — 
Ah,  Rome!— Weil,  well;  I  made  thee  miserable, 
What  time  I  threw  the  people's  sufl^rages 
On  him  that  thus  doth  tyrannize  o'er  me. — 
Go,  get  you  gone  ;  and  pray  be  careful  all. 
And  leave  you  not  a  man  of  war  unsearch'd  ; 
This  wicked  emperor  may  have  shipp'd  her  Jience, 
And,  kinsmen,  then  we  may  go  pipe  lor  justice. 

Marc.  O,  Publius,  is  not  this  a  heavy  case, 
To  see  thy  noble  uncle  thus  distract  \ 

Pub.  Therefore, my  lord,  it  higiily  us  concerns, 
By  day  and  night  to  allend  him  carefully; 
And  feed  his  humor  kindly  as  we  may. 
Till  time  beget  some  careful  remedy. 

Marc.  Kinsmen,  his  sorrows  are  past  remedy. 
Join  with  the  Goths;  and  with  revengeful  war 
Take  wreak  on  Rome  for  this  ingratitude. 
And  vengeance  on  the  traitor  Saturnine. 

Tit.  Publius,  how  now?  how  now,  my  masters! 
What, 
Have  you  met  with  her? 

Pub.  No.  my  good  lord;   but  Pluto  sends  you 
word. 
If  you  will  have  Revenge  from  hell,  you  shall: 
Marry,  for  Justice,  she  is  so  emptoy'd. 
He  thinks,  with  Jove  in  heaven,  or  somewhere  else, 
So  tliat  perforce  you  must  needs  stay  a  time. 

Tit.  He  doth  me  wrong,  to  feed  me  with  delays. 
I'll  dive  into  the  burning  lake  below. 
And  pull  her  out  of  Acheron  by  the  heels. — 
Marcus,  we  are  but  shrubs,  no  cedars  we  ; 
No  big-bon'd  men,  framed  of  the  Cyclops'  size 
But,  metal,  Marcus,  steel  to  tlie  very  back; 
Yet  wrung-  with  wrongs,  more  than  our  backs  can 

bear: 
And  sith3  there  is  no  justice  in  earth  nor  hell, 
We  will  solicit  heaven ;  and  move  the  gods, 
To  send  down  justice  lor  to  wreak-*  our  wrongs: 
Come,  to  this  gear.  You  are  a  good  archer,  Marcus. 
[He  gives  tfiejn  the  Arrows* 
Ad  Jovem,  that's  tiir  you :  Here,  ad  ApoUinem:— 
Ad  Mardem,  that's  for  myself: — 
Here,  boy,  to  Pallas  : — Here,  to  I\Tercury  : 
To  Saturn,  Caius,  not  to  Saturnine. — 
You  were  as  good  to  shoot  against  the  wind.— 
To  it,  boy,    Marcus,  loose  when  I  bid:   . 
O'  my  word.  I  have  written  to  eliect ; 
There's, not  a  god  left:  unsolicited. 

Marc.  Kinsmen,  shoot  all  your  shafts  into  the 
court; 
We  will  afHict  the  emperor  in  his  pride. 

Tit.  Now,  masters,  draw.   [They  shoot.]    0,  well 
said.  Lucius! 
Good  boy,  in  Virgo's  lap;  give  it  Pallas. 

Marc.  My  lord.  I  am  a  mile  beyond  the  moon ; 
Your  ktter'is  with  Jupiter  by  this. 

Tit.  ila!  I'ubhus,  Publius,  what  hast  thou  done? 
See.  see,  thou  hast  shot  ofTonc  of  Taurus'  horns. 

Marc.  This  was  the  sport,  my  lord:  when  Pub- 
lius shot. 
The  bull,  being  ;^'a!l*d.  gave  Aries  such  a  knock, 
Tliat  down  fell  both  the  ram's  horns  in  the  court ; 
And  wlio  should  find  them  but  the  empress' villain  ? 
She   laugh'd  and  told  the  Moor,  he  sliould  not 

choose 
But  give  them  to  his  master  for  a  present. 

Tif.  Why, -there  it  goes:  God  give  your  lordship 

j»5y- 

Enter  a  Clown,  with  a  Basket  and  two  Pigeons, 
News,  news  from  heaven !    Marcus,  the  post  is 

come. 
Sirrah,  what  tidings?  have  you  any  letters? 
Shall  I  have  justice?  what  says  Jupiter? 

C/o.  Ho!  the  gibbet-maker?  he  says,  that  ho 
hath  taken  them  down  again,  for  the  man  mustnot 
be  hanged  till  the  next  week. 

»  Straiiietl.  »  Since.  *  Revenge. 


Scene  IV. 


TITUS   ANDRONICUS. 


G53 


Tit.  But  what  says  Jiipiler,  I  ask  thee  ] 

Cto.  Alas,  sir,  I  know  not  Jupiter.  I  never 
drank  with  hiin  in  all  my  life. 

Tif.  Why,  vllaiu,  art  not  thou  the  carrier  t 

Clu.  Ay,"of  my  piseons,  sir;  nothing  else. 

Tit.  Wliy,  didst  thou  not  come  from  heaven  1 

Cto.  Froin  heaven  !  alas, sir, I  never  came  there; 
God  forbid,  I  should  be  so  bold  to  press  to  heaven 
in  my  youiiK  days.  Why,  I  am  going  with  my 
pigeons  to  the  tribunal  plebs,  to  take  up  a  matter 
of  brawl  betwixt  my  uncle  and  one  of  the  empe- 
rial's  men. 

Marc.  Why,  sir,  that  is  as  fit  as  cari  be,  to  serve 
for  your  oration  ;  and  let  him  deliver  the  pigeons 
(o  the  emperor  from  jou. 

Tit.  Tell  me,  can  you  deliver  an  oration  to  the 
emperor  with  a  grace  ? 

Cln.  Nay,  truly,  sir,  I  could  never  say  grace  in 
all  niv  life. 

Tit'.  Sirrah,  come  hither,  make  no  more  iido. 
But  give  your  pigeons  to  the  emperor: 
)iy  me  thou  shalt  have  justice  at  his  hands. 
Hold,  hold ;  —  meanwhile,  here's  money  for  thy 

charges. 
Give  me  a  pen  and  ink. — 
Sirrah,  can  you  with  a  grace  deliver  a  supplication? 

Clo.  Ay,  sir. 

Tit.  Then  here  is  a  supplication  for  you.  And 
when  you  come  to  him,  at  the  first  approach,  you 
must  kneel;  then  kiss  his  loot;  then  deliver  up  your 
pigeons;  and  then  look  lor  your  reward.  I'll  be  at 
hand,  sir:  see  you  do  it  bravely. 

Clu.  I  warrant  you,  sir ;  let  me  alone. 

Tit.  Sirrah,  hast  thou  a  knife!    Come,  let  me 
see  it. 
Here,  JIarcus,  fold  it  in  the  oration  ; 
For  thou  hast  made  it  like  an  humble  suppliant: 
And  when  Ihou  hast  given  it  to  the  emperor. 
Knock  at  my  door ;  and  tell  me  what  he  says. 

Cl(i.  Tiod  be  with  you,  sir;  I  wiU. 

Tit.  Come,  Marcus,  let's  go:— Publius,  follow 
me.  \_Exeuni. 

SCENE  IV.— Hi-fore  tlie  Palace. 

Enter  SAiriiNiNrs,  Tamoha,  Chirom,  Demetrics, 
Li>rds,  anl  iitlicrs;  Saturninus,  with  the  Arrows 
ill  ftis  Hand,  ttiat  TiTua  i^tiut. 

Sat.  Why,  lords,  what  wrongs  are  these'!    Was 
ever  seen 
An  emperor  of  Rome  thus  overborne. 
Troubled,  confronled  thus:  and,  for  the  extent 
Of  egal^  justice,  used  in  .such  eontemjit! 
IMy  lords,  you  know,  as  do  the  mightful  gods. 
However  these  disturbers  of  our  peace 
Buz  in  the  people's  ears,  there  naught  hath  pass'd, 
But  even  with  law,  against  the  wiltul  sons 
Of  old  Andronicus.    And  what  an  if 
His  sorrows  have  so  ovcrwhelm'd  his  wits. 
Shall  we  be  thus  afflicted  in  his  wreaks, 
His  tits,  his  frenz>',  and  his  bitterness  ! 
And  now  he  writes  to  heaven  lor  his  redress: 
See,  here's  to  Jove,  and  this  to  Mercury; 
This  to  Apollo;  this  to  the  god  of  war: 
Sweet  scrolls  to  lly  about  the  streets  of  Rome  ! 
What's  this,  but  libelling  against  the  senate. 
And  blazoning  our  injustice  everywhere! 
A  goodly  huniiir,  is  it  not,  my  lords  ? 
As  who  would  say,  in  Rome  no  justice  were. 
But,  if  I  live,  his  feigned  ecstacies 
Shall  be  no  shelter  to  these  outrages: 
But  he  and  his  r.hall  know,  that  justice  lives 
In  Saturninus'  health;  whom,  if  she  sleep, 
He'll  so  awake,  as  she  in  fury  shall 
Cut  oil  the  proud'st  conspirator  that  lives. 

Tani.  My  gracious  lord,  my  lovely  Saturnine, 
Lord  of  my  life,  commander  of  my  thoughts. 
Calm  thee,  and  bear  the  laults  of  Titus'  age, 
The  elleets  of  sorrow  tiir  his  valiantsons. 
Whose  loss  hath  pierced  him  deep,  and  scarr'd  his 

heart: 
And  rather  comfort  his  distressed  plight. 
Than  prosecute  the  meanest,  or  the  best. 
For  these  contempts.    Why,  thus  it  shall  become 
High-witted  Tamora  to  gloze^  with  all:         [Aside. 
But,  Titus,  I  have  touch'd  thee  to  the  quick. 
Thy  life-blood  out:  If  Aaron  now  be  wise. 
Then  all  is  sate,  the  anchor's  in  the  port.:— 

»  Equal.  6  Flatter. 


Enter  Clown. 
How  now,   good    fellow !    would'st  thou   speak 
with  us ! 

Clo.  Yes,  forsooth,  an  your  mistership  bo  im- 
perial. 

Tarn.  Km  press  I  am,  but  yonder  sits  the  emperor. 

Clo.  'Tis  he.  God,  and  .Saint  Stephen,  give  you 
good  den : — 1  have  brought  you  a  letter,  and  a 
couple  of  pigeons  liere. 

[Satursixcs  reals  Itie  Letter. 

Sat.  Go,  take  him  away,  and  hang  him  presently. 

Cln.  How  much  money  must  I  liave  ? 

Tarn.  Come,  sirrah,  you  must  be  hang'd. 

Cto.  Hang'd  !  By'r  lady,  then  I  have  brought  up 
a  neck  to  a  liiir  end.  [Exii,  suurded. 

Sat.  Despiteful  and  intolerable  wrongs! 
Shall  I  endure  this  monstrous  villany! 
1  know  from  whence  this  same  device  proceeds ; 
May  this  be  borne  ! — as  if  his  traitorous  sons,       ^ 
That  died  by  law  for  murder  of  our  brother, 
Have  by  my  means  been  butcher'd  wrongfully. — 
Go  drag'  the  villain  hither  by  the  hair; 
Nor  age,  nor  honor,  shall  shape  privilege  :^ 
For  this  proud  mock,  I'll  be  thy  slaiighter-nian ; 
Sly,  frantic  wretch,  tiiat  holp's't  to  make  me  great, 
In  hope  thyself  should  govern  Rome  and  me. 

Enter  ^MiLius. 
What  news  with  thee,  .S^milius! 

.■Emit.  Arm,  arm.  my  lords;   Rome  never  had 
more  cause  ! 
The  Goths  have  gather'd  head;  and  with  a  power 
Of  high-resolved  men,  bent  to  thespoil. 
They  hither  march  amain,  under  conduct 
Of  Lucius,  son  to  old  Andronicus; 
Who  threats,  m  course  of  this  revenge,  to  do 
As  much  as  ever  Corioianus  did. 

Sat.  Is  warlike  Lucius  general  of  the  Goths! 
These  tidings  nip  me;  and  I  hang  the  head 
As  flowers  with   frost,  or  grass   beat  down  with 

storms. 
Ay,  now  begin  our  sorrows  to  approach  : 
'T"is  he  the  common  people  love  so  much  : 
Myself  hath  oHen  overheard  them  say, 
(When  I  have  walked  like  a  private  man,) 
That  Lucius'  banishment  was  wrongfully. 
And  they  have  wisli'd  that  Lucius  were  their  em 
peror. 

Turn.  Why  should  you  fear!  is  not  your  city 
strong ! 

Sat.  Ay,  but  the  citizens  favor  Lucius; 
And  will  revolt  from  me,  to  succor  him. 

Tarn.  King,  be  thy  thoughts  imperious,' like  thy 
name. 
Is  the  sun  diinm'd,  that  gnats  do  fly  in  it ! 
The  eagle  sutlers  little  birds  to  sing. 
And  isliot  careful  what  they  mean  thereby; 
Knowing  that  with  the  shadow  of  his  wings 
He  can  at  pleasure  stint-  their  melody: 
Even  so  may'st  thou  the  giddy  men  of  Rome. 
Then  cheer  thy  spirit:  for  know,  thou  emperor, 
I  will  enchant  the  old  Andronicus, 
Witii  words  more  sweet,  and  yet  more  dangerous, 
•Than  baits  to  tish,  or  honey-stalks  to  sheep  ; 
When  as  the  one  is  wounded  with  the  bait. 
The  other  rotted  with  delicious  feed. 

Sat.  But  he  will  not  entreat  his  son  for  u.s. 

Tarn.  If  Tamora  entreat  him,  then  he  will: 
For  1  can  smooth,  and  fill  his  aged  ear 
With  golden  promises;  that,  were  his  lieart 
Almost  impregnable,  liis  old  ears  deaf. 
Vet  should  both  ear  and  heart  obey  my  tongue. — 
Go  thou  belbre,  be  our  ambas.sador.    [ro-EMlLiL'S. 
Say.  that  the  emperor  requests  a  parley 
Ot  warlike  Lucius,  and  appoint  the  meeting. 
Even  at  his  father's  house,  the  old  .\ndronicus. 

Sat.  -dnilius,  do  this  message  honorably: 
And  if  he  stand  on  hostage  for  his  safely. 
Bid  him  demand  what  pledge  will  please  liim  best 

.'Emit.  Your  bidding  shall  I  do  etti;clually. 

[Ejcit  ^MILIUS 

Tarn.  Now  will  I  to  that  old  Andronicus; 
And  temper  him  with  all  the  art  I  have. 
To  pluck  proud  Lucius  from  the  warlike  Goths, 
And  now,  sweet  emperor,  be  blithe  again. 
And  bury  all  thy  fears  in  my  devices. 

Sat.  Then  go  successfully,  and  plead  to  liim. 

[Exeunt. 
1  Imperial.  •  Stop. 


654 


TITUS   ANDEONICUS. 


Act  V. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  I.— Plains  near  Rome. 
Enter  Lucius  and  Goths,  tuUh  Drum  and  Colors. 

Luc.  Approved  warriors,  and  my  faithful  Iricnds, 
I  have  received  letters  from  sreatRome, 
VVliich  signify  wliat  hate  they  bear  their  emperor. 
And  how  desirous  of  our  sight  they  are. 
Tlierefore,  great  lords,  be,  as  your  titles  witness, 
Imperious,  and  imjiatient  of  your  wrongs; 
And.  wherein  Rome  liath  done  you  any  scath,' 
Let  him  make  treble  satisfaction. 

1  Guth.  Brave  slip,  sprung  from  the  great  An- 

dronicus. 
Whose  name  was  once  our  terror,  now  our  comfort ; 
Whose  high  exploits,  and  honorable  deeds, 
Ingrateful  Rome  requites  with  foul  contempt. 
Be  bold  in  us:  we'll  follow  where  thou  lead'st, — 
Like  stinging  bees  in  hottest  summer's  day, 
Led  by  their  master  to  the  Hower'd  fields,— 
And  be  avenged  on  cursed  Tamora. 

Goths.  And.  ashesaith.sosay  we  all  with  him. 

Luc.  I  humbly  thank  him, and  I  thank  vou  all. 
But  who  comes  here,  led  by  a  lusty  Goth  ? 

Enter  a  Goth,  leading  Aaron,  with  his  Child  in 
his  Arms. 

2  Goth.  Renowned  Lucius,  from  our  troops  I 

stray'd. 
To  gaze  upon  a  ruinous  monastery; 
And  as  I  earnestly  did  lix  mine  eye 
Upon  the  wasted  building,  suddenly 
1  heard  a  child  cry  underneath  a  wall : 

I  made  unto  the  noise ;  when  soon  I  heard 
The  crying  babe  controll'd  with  this  discourse  : 
Peace,  fawnt/  slave ;  half  me,  and  half  thy  dam  ! 
Dul  not  thy  hue  bewray  tvhose  brat  thou  art, 
Had  nature  lent  thee  but  thy  mother's  look, 
Villain,  thou  miphlst  have  been  an  emperor: 
But  where  the  bull  and  enw  are  both  milk-white. 
They  never  do  bcurt  a  coal-black  ealf. 

feme,  f(:/to(((./)(?n«-.'—cvcn  thus  he  rates  thebabe,— 
For  I  miixt  bear  thee  to  a  tru.stii  Goth; 
Who,  when  he  knows  thou  art  the  empress'  babe, 
IViil  hold  thee  dearly  for  thy  mother's  sake. 
With  tins,  my  weapon  drawn,  I  rush'd  upon  him, 
Surpns'd  him  suddenly;  and  brought  him  hither. 
To  use  as  you  think  needful  of  the' man. 

Luc.  O  worthy  Goth  !  this  is  the  incarnate  devil 
That  robb'd  Andronicus  of  his  good  hand: 
This  is  the  pearl  that  pleas'd  your  empress'  eye ;' 
And  here's  the  base  fruit  of  his  burning  lust.— 
Say,  wall-e5'ed  slave,  whither  wouldst  thou  convey 
This  growing  image  of  thy  fiend-like  face  ' 
Why  dost  not  speak]     What!  deaf!    No;  not  a 

word  \ 
A  halter,  soldiers;  h.ing  him  on  this  tree, 
And  by  his  side  his  fruit  of  bastardy. 

Aur.  Touch  not  the  boy,  he  is  of  royal  blood. 

Luc.  Too  like  the  sire  tor  ever  being  good. — 
First,  hang  the  child,  that  he  may  sec  it  sprawl ; 
A  sight  to  vex  the  father's  soul  withal. 
Get  iiie  a  ladder. 

[-■1  ladder  brou,e:ht,  which  Aaron  is 
obl/f::€d  to  ascend. 

■A'lr.  Lucius,  save  the  child; 

And  bear  it  from  me  to  the  emjicress. 
If  tliou  do  this,  I'll  show  thee  wondrous  things. 
That  highly  may  advantage  thee  to  hear: 

II  thou  wilt  not,  beliill  what  may  befall, 

I'll  speak  no  more;  Butvengeance  rot  you  all! 
Luc.  Say  on ,  and,  if  it  please  me  which  thou 
speak'st. 
Thy  child  shall  live,  and  I  will  see  it  nourish'd. 
Aar.  All    if  it  please   thee?   why,  assure    thee, 
Lucius, 
'Twill  vex  thy  soul  to  hear  what  I  shall  speak; 
For  I  must  talk  of  murders,  rapes,  and  massacres. 
Acts  ol  black-night,  abominable  deeds, 
ComploLs  of  mischief,  treason ;  villanies 
Rulhful  to  hear,  yet  piteously  perform'd : 
»  Harm.  j 

<  AlluJiag  to  (he  proverl.,  «  4  bl.ick  man  is  a  pearl  in  a 
fair  wuuiau  s  eye. ' 


And  this  shall  all  be  buried  by  my  death. 
Unless  thou  swear  to  me,  my  "child  shall  live. 

Luc.  Tell  on  thy  mind :  I  say,  thy  child  shall 
live. 

Aar.  Swear,  that  he  shall,  and  then  I  will  begin. 

Luc.  Who  should  I  swear  by  !  thou  believ'st  no 
god  ; 
That  granted,  how  canst  thou  believe  an  oath  1 

Aar.  What  if  I  do  not?  as,  indeed,  I  do  not: 
Yet, — for  I  know  thou  art  religious. 
And  hast  a  thing  within  thee,  called  conscience  ; 
With  twenty  popish  tricks  and  ceremonies. 
Which  I  Jiave  seen  thee  careful  to  observe, — 
Therefore  I  urge  thy  oath  ;— For  that,  I  know, 
An  idiot  holds  his  bauble  for  a  god. 
And  keeps  the  oath,  which  by  that  god  he  swears; 
To  that  I'll  urge  him  :— Therefore  thou  shalt  vow 
By  that  same  god,  what  god  soe'er  it  be. 
That  thou  ador'st  and  hast  in  reverence, — 
To  save  my  boy,  to  nourish,  and  bring  him  up; 
Or  else  I  will  discover  naught  to  thee. 

Luc.  Even  by  my  god,  I  swear  to  thee,  I  will. 

Aar.  First,  know  thou,  I  begot  him  on  the  em- 
press. 

Taic.  O  most  insatiate,  luxurious  woman  ! 

ylar.  Tut,  Lucius!  this  was  but  a  deed  of  charity, 
To  that  which  thou  shalt  hear  of  me  anon. 
'Twas  her  two  sons  that  murder'd  Bassiaiius: 
They  cut  thy  sister's  tongue,  and  ravish'd  her. 
And  cut  her  hands ;   aiid   triium'd  her  as   thou 
saw'st. 

Luc.  O,  detestable  villain !  call'st  thou  that  trim- 
ming? 

Aar.  Why,  she  was  wash'd,  and  cut,  and  trimm'd; 
ana  'twas 
Trim  sport  for  them  that  had  the  doing  of  it. 

Luc.  0,  barbarous,  beastly  villains,  like  thyself! 

Aar.  Indeed,  I  was  their  tutor  to  instruct  them; 
That  codding  spirit  had  they  from  their  mother, 
As  sure  a  card  as  ever  won  the  set: 
That  bloody  mind,  I  think,  they  learn'd  of  me, 
As  true  a  dog  as  ever  fought  at  head.— 
Well,  let  my  deeds  be  witness  of  my  worth. 
I  train'd  thy  brethren  to  that  guileful  hole. 
Where  the  dead  corpse  of  liassianus  lay : 
I  wrote  the  letter  that  thy  lather  found; 
And  hid  the  gold  within'the  letter  mention'd, 
Coulederate  with  the  queen,  and  her  two  sons: 
And  wli;it  not  done,  that  thou  hast  cause  to  rue, 
VVIierein  1  had  no  stroke  of  mischief  in  it? 
I  play'd  the  cheater  for  thy  lather's  hand  ; 
And  when  I  had  it,  drew  mj-self  apart. 
And  almost  broke  my  heart  with  extreme  laughter. 
I  pry'd  me  through  the  crevice  of  a  wall. 
When,  for  his  hand,  he  had  his  two  sons'  heads: 
Beheld  his  tears,  and  laugh'd  so  heartily, 
That  both  mine  eyes  were  rainy  like  to  his; 
.•\.nd  when  I  told  the  empress  of  this  sport. 
She  swounded  almost  at  my  pleasing  tale. 
And,  for  my  tidings,  gave  n'le  twenty  kisses. 

Goth.  What !  canst  thou  say  all  this,  and  never 
blush  ! 

Aar.  Ay,  like  a  black  dog,  as  the  saying  is. 

Luc.   Art    thou    not    sorry    lor    these    heinous 
d^'eds  ? 

Aar.  Ay,  that  I  had  not  done  a  thousand  more. 
Even  now  I  curse  the  day,  (and  yet,  I  think. 
Few  come  within  the  compass  ol  my  curse,) 
Wherein  I  did  not  some  notorious  ill : 
As  kill  a  man,  or  else  devise  his  death  ; 
Ravish  a  maid,  or  plot  the  way  to  do  it; 
Accuse  some  innocent,  and  forswear  myself; 
Set  deadly  enmity  between  two  friends; 
Make  poor  men's  cattle  break  their  necks; 
Set  fire  on  barns  and  hay-staclcs  in  the  night, 
."Vnd  bid  the  owners  quench  them  with  their  tears 
Oft  have  I  digg'd  up  dead  men  from  their  graves. 
And  set  them  upright  at  their  dear  friends'doois. 
Even  when  their  sorrows  almost  were  forgot ; 
And  on  their  skins,  as  on  the  bark  of  trees. 
Have  with  my  knitc  carved,  in  Koiuan  h'llers, 
/.(■/  not  your  .\iirrinv  die.  Ihini^h  I  aoi  dead. 
Tut.  I  have  dune  a  thousand  dreadful  things. 
As  willingly  as  one  would  kill  a  fly  : 


Scene  II. 


TITUS   ANDRONICUS. 


655 


And  nothing  grieves  mo  heartily  indeed. 
But  that  I  cannot  do  ten  thousiuid  more. 

Luc.  Bring  down  the  devil;  for  he  must  not  die 
So  sweet  a  death,  as  hanging  presently. 

Aar.  If  there  be  devils,  'would  I  were  a  devil, 
To  live  and  burn  in  everlasting  fire ; 
So  I  might  have  your  company  in  hell, 
But  to  torment  you  with  my  bitter  tongue ! 

Luc.  Sirs,  stop  his  mouth,  and  let  him  speak  no 
more. 

Enter  a  Goth. 

Goth.  Mv  lord,  there  is  a  messenger  from  Rome 
Desires  toW  admitted  to  your  presence. 

Luc.  Let  him  come  near. — 

Enter  ^milius. 
Welcome,  JEmilius  !  what's  the  news  from  Rome'? 

jEmU.  Lord  Lucius,  and  you  princes  of  the  Goths, 
The  Roman  emperor  greets  you  all  by  me: 
And,  for  he  understands  yon  are  in  arms, 
He  craves  a  parley  at  your  father's  house, 
Willing  you  to  demand  your  hostages. 
And  they  shall  be  immediately  deiiver'd. 

1  Gotti.  What  says  our  general  T 

Luc.  .-Emilius,  let  the  emperor  give  his  pledges 
Unto  my  (hther  and  my  uncle  Marcus, 
And  we"  will  come. — March  away.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  IL— Rome.    Before  Titus's  House. 

Enter  Tamora,  Chiron,  and  Demetrius, 
difiguised. 

Tarn.  Thus,  in  this  strange  and  sad  habiliment, 
I  will  encounter  with  Andronicus; 
And  say,  I  am  Revenge,  sent  from  below. 
To  join  witli  him,  and  right  his  heinous  wTongs, 
Knock  at  his  study,  where,  they  say,  he  keeps, 
To  ruminate  strange  plots  of  dire  revenge; 
Tell  him,  Revenge  is  come  to  join  with  him. 
And  work  confusion  on  his  enemies,  [Thei/  knock. 
Enter  Titus,  above* 

Tit.  Who  doth  molest  my  contemplation  1 
Is  it  your  trick,  to  make  me  ope  the  door ; 
That  so  my  sad  decrees  may  Uy  away, 
And  all  my  study  be  to  no  effect ! 
You  are  decciv'd  ;  for  what  I  mean  to  do, 
See  here,  in  bloody  lines  I  have  set  down; 
And  what  is  written  shall  be  executed. 

Tarn.  Titus,  I  am  come  to  talk  with  thee. 

Tit.  No;  not  a  word:  How  can  I  grace  my  talk, 
Wanting  a  hand  to  give  it  action  ! 
Thou  bust  the  odds  of  me,  therefore  no  more. 

Tani,  If  thou  didst  know  me,  thou  wouldst  talk 
with  me. 

Tit.  I  am  not  mad  ;  I  know  thee  well  enough : 
Witness  this  wretched  stump,  these  crimson  lines; 
Witness  these  trenches,  made  by  grief  and  care; 
Witness  the  tiring  day,  and  heavy  night ; 
Witness  all  sorrow,  that  I  know  thee  well 
For  our  proud  empress,  mighty  Tamora : 
Is  not  thy  coming  for  my  other  hand  ] 

Tarn.  Know  thou,  sad  man.  I  am  not  Tamora; 
She  is  thy  enemy,  and  I  thy  friend: 
I  am  Revenge;  sent  from  the  infernal  kingdom, 
To  ease  the  gnawing  vulture  of  thy  mind, 
By  working  wreakful  vengeance  on  thy  foes. 
Come  down,  and  welcome  me  to  this  world's  light; 
Confer  with  me  of  murder  and  of  death  : 
There's  not  a  hollow  cave,  or  lurking-place, 
No  vast  obscurity,  or  misty  vale. 
Where  bloody  murder,  or  detested  rape, 
Can  couch  for  fear,  but  I  will  find  them  out; 
And  in  tlieir  ears  tell  them  my  dreadful  name. 
Revenge,  which  makes  the  foul  otlender  quake. 

Tit.  Art  thou  Revenge  1  and  art  thou  sent  to  me, 
1  o  be  a  torment  to  mine  enemies? 

Tuin.  I  am  ;  therefore  come  down  and  welcome 
me. 

Tit.  Do  me  some  service,  ere  I  come  to  thee. 
Lo,  by  thy  side,  where  Rape  and  Murder  stand ; 
Now  give  some  'surance  that  thou  art  Revenge, 
Stab  tliem,  or  tear  them  on  thy  chariot  wheels; 
And  then  I'll  come,  and  be  thy  waggoner, 
And  whirl  along  with  thee  aliout  the  globes. 
Provide  thee  proper  palfries,  black  as  jet, 
To  hale  thy  vengeful  waggon  switt  away, 
And  find  out  murderers  in  their  guilty  cave: 
And,  when  thy  car  is  loaden  with  their  heads, 
I  will  dismount,  and  by  the  waggon  wheel 


Trot,  like  a  servile  footman,  all  day  long; 
Even  from  Hyperion's  rising  in  the  east, 
Until  his  very  downfall  in  the  sea. 
And  day  by  day  I'll  do  this  heavy  task, 
So  tliou  destroy  Rapine  and  Murder  there. 

7V/m.  These  are  my  ministers,  and  come  with  me. 

Tit.  Are  they  thy  ministers  ?  what  are  theycalPdl 

Tarn.  Rapine,  and  Murder;  therefore  called  so, 
'Cause  they  take  vengeance  on  such  kind  of  men. 

Tit.  Good  lord,  how  like  the  empress'  sons  they 
arc ! 
And  you.  the  empress!  But  we  worldly  men 
Have  miserable,  mad.  mistaking  eyes. 

0  sweet  Revenge,  now  do  I  come  to  thee ; 

And,  if  one  arm's  embracement  will  content  thee, 

1  will  embrace  thee  in  it  fiy  and  by. 

[Exit  TiTVS,  from  above 
Tarn.  This  closing  with  him  fits  his  lunacy : 
Whate'er  I  forge,  to  feed  his  brain-sick  tits. 
Do  you  uphold  and  maintain  in  your  speeches, 
For  now  he  firmly  takes  me  lor  Revenge; 
And,  being  credulous  in  this  mad  thought, 
I'll  make  him  send  for  Lucius,  his  son; 
And,  whilst  I  at  a  banquet  hold  him  sure, 
I'll  find  some  cunning  practice  out  of  hand. 
To  scatter  and  disperse  the  giddy  Goths, 
Or,  at  the  least,  make  them  his  enemies. 
See,  here  he  comes,  and  I  must  ply  my  theme. 

Enter  Titus. 

Tit.  Long  have  I  been  forlorn,  and  all  for  thee. 
Welcome,  dread  fury,  to  my  woeful  house; — 
Rapine,  and  Murder,  you  are  welcome  too  : 
How  like  the  empress  and  her  sons  you  are  I 
Well  are  you  fitted,  had  you  but  a  Moor: — 
Could  not  all  hell  afford  you  such  a  devil  ] — 
For,  well  I  wot.  the  empress  never  wags, 
But  in  her  company  there  is  a  Moor; 
And,  would  you  represent  our  queen  aright, 
It  were  convenient  you  had  such  a  devil: — 
But  welcome,  as  you  are.    What  shall  we  do  ? 

Tani.What  wouldst  thou  have  us  do,  Andronicusl 

Dtni.  Show  me  a  murderer,  I'll  deal  w^ith  him. 

Chi.  SJiow  me  a  villain,  that  hath  done  a  rape, 
And  I  am  sent  to  be  reveng'd  on  him. 

Tarn.  Show  me  a  thousand,  that  hatfi  done  thee 
wrong. 
And  I  will  be  revenged  on  them  all. 

Tit.  Look  round  about  the  wicked  streets  of 
Rome; 
And  when  thou  find'st  a  man  that's  like  thyself, 
Good  JNIurder,  stab  him  ;  he's  a  murderer.^ 
Go  thou  witli  him ;  and  when  it  is  thy  hap 
To  find  another  that  is  like  to  thee. 
Good  Rapine,  stiib  him  ;  he's  a  ravisher. — 
Go  thou  with  tliem ;  and  in  the  emperor's  court 
There  is  a  queen,  attended  by  a  iloor; 
Well  may'st  thou  know  lier  by  thy  own  proportion. 
For  up  and  down  she  doth  resemble  thee  ; 
I  pray  thee,  do  on  them  some  violent  death. 
They  have  been  violent  to  me  and  mine. 

rftm.Well  hast  thou  lessoiTd  us;  this  shall  we  do. 
But  wotild  it  please  thee,  good  Andronicus, 
To  send  for  Lucius,  thy  thrice  valiant  son. 
Who  leads  towards  Romea  band  of  warlike  Goths, 
And  bid  him  come  and  banquet  at  thy  house: 
When  he  is  here,  even  at  thy  solemn  feast, 
I  will  bring  in  the  empress  and  her  sons, 
Tlie  emi)eri)r  himself,  and  all  thy  foes; 
And  at  thv  mercy  shall  they  stoop  and  kmeel, 
And  on  them  shall  thou  ease  thy  angry  heart. 
What  says  Andronicus  to  this  device  ? 

Til.  Marcus,  my  brother  I — 'tis  sad  Titus  calls. 

Enter  Marcus. 
Go,  gentle  Marcus,  to  thy  nephew  Lucius  ; 
Thou  sbalt  inquire  him  out  among  the  Goths: 
Bid  him  repair  to  me.  and  bring  with  him 
Some  of  the  chiefest  princes  of  the  Goths; 
Bid  him  encamp  his  soldiers  where  they  are  : 
Tell  him,  the  emperor  and  the  empress  too 
Feast  at  my  house :  and  he  shall  feast  with  them. 
This  do  thou  for  my  love;  and  so  let  him. 
As  he  regards  his  aged  father's  life. 

Marc.  This  will  I  do,  and  soon  return  again. 

[Exit 

Tarn.  Now  will  I  hence  about  thy  business. 
And  take  my  ministers  along  with  me. 

Tit.  Nay,  nay,  let  Rape  and  Murder  stay  with 
me; 


656 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS, 


Act  V. 


Or  else  I'll  call  my  brothor  back  again, 
And  cleave  to  no  "revenge  but  Lucius. 

Tam.  [To  her  Sons.]  What  say  you,  boysl  will 
you  abide  witfi  him. 
Whiles  I  ^o  tell  my  lord  the  emperor, 
How  I  have  ^oveni'd  our  determin'd  jest! 
Yield  to  his  humor,  smooth  and  speak  him  fair. 
And  tarry  with  iiim,  till  I  come  again. 
Tit.  I  know  them  all,  tliough  they  suppose  me 
mad ; 
And  will  o'er-reach  them  in  their  own  devices, 
A  pair  of  cursed  hell-hounds,  and  their  dain. 

{Aside. 
Bern.  Madam,  depart  at  pleasure,  leave  us  here. 
Tain.  Farewell,  Andronicus:  Revenge  now  goes 
To  lay  a  coinplot  to  betray  tliy  foes. 

[Exit  Tamora. 
Tit*  I  know,  thou  dost;   and,  sweet  Kevenge, 

farewell. 
Chi.   Tell   us,  old  man,  how  shall  we   be  em- 
ployed ! 
Tit.  Tul,  I  have  work  enough  for  you  to  do. — 
Publius,  come  hither,  Caius,  and  Valentine  ! 

Enter  Pltblius  and  others. 
Pub.  What's  your  wiin 
Tit.  Know  yon  these  twol 

Pub.  "Th'  empress'  sons, 

I  take  them,  Chiron  and  Demetrius. 

Tit.  Fye,  Publius,  fye]  Ihou  art  too  much  dc- 
ceiv'd; 
The  one  is  Murder,  Rape  is  the  other's  name: 
And  therclore  bind  them,  gentle  Publius; 
Caius  and  Valentine,  lay  hands  on  them. 
Ott  have  you  heard  me  wish  for  such  an  hour. 
And  now  J  lind  it;  therefore  bind  theui  sure; 
And  btop  their  mouths,  if  they  begin  to  cry. 

[Ejcit  Titus.— PuBLiL'S,  .^-c.  lay  hold  on 
Chiron  and  Demetuius. 
Chi.  Villains,  Ibrbear:  we  are  the  empress' sons. 
Pu'j.  And  theretbre  do  we  what  we  are  com- 
manded.— 
Stop  close  their  mouths,  let  tliem  not  speak  a  word  : 
Is  he  sure  bound?  look,  that  you  bind  tliem  fast. 
Re-enter  Titus  Andronicus,  loith  Lavinia;  &he 
bearing  a  Bason,  and  he  a  Knife. 
Tit.  Come,  come,  Lavinia;    look,  thy  foes  are 
bound  ; — 
Sirs,  stop  their  mouths,  let  them  not  speak  to  me: 
But  let  them  Jicar  what  fearl'ul  wtnds  I  utter. — 
O  villains,  Chiron  and  Demetrius  I 
Here  stands  the  spring  whom  you  have  stain'd  with 

mud; 
This  goodly  summer  with  j'our  winter  mix'd. 
You  kill'd  her  husband  ;  and.  for  that  vile  fault. 
Two  of  her  brothers  were  condemn'd  to  death  : 
My  hand  cut  off.  and  made  a  merry  jest: 
BotJi  her  sweet  hands,  her  tongue,  and  that,  more 

dear 
Than  liands  or  tongue,  her  spotless  chastity, 
Inhuman  traitors,  you  constrain'd  and  Ibrced. 
What  would  you  say,  if  1  sliouki  let  you  speak? 
Villains,  for  shame  you  could  not  beg  for  grace. 
Hark,  vvretclies,  Iiow  I  mean  to  martyr  you. 
This  one  hand  yet  is  left  to  cut  your  throats; 
Wiiilst  that  Lavinia  'tween  her  stumps  doth  hold 
The  busun,  thai  receives  your  guilty  blood. 
You  know,  your  mother  meann  to  least  with  me. 
And  calls  herself,  Revenge,  and  thinks  me  mad, — 
Hark,  villains;  I  will  grind  your  bones  to  dust, 
And  with  your  blood  and  it,  I'll  make  a  paste; 
Antt  of  the  paste  a  coflin-  I  will  rear, 
And  make  two  pasties  of  your  shameful  heads; 
And  bid  that  strumpet,  your  unj.-Mow'd  dam, 
Like  to  the  earth,  swallow  her  own   •^crease. 
This  i>  the  feast  that  I  have  bid  her  to. 
And  this  the  banquet  she  shall  surfeit  on; 
For  \v.)rse  than  Philomel  you  used  my  daughter. 
And  v.nrse  than  Progne  Twill  be  reveng'd : 
And  now  prepare  your  throats, — Lavinia,  come, 

[Be  cuts  ttieir  Tfiruats. 
Receive  the  blood  :  and,  when  tliat  they  are  dead. 
Let  me  uo  ;,'rind  their  bones  to  powder  small, 
And  Willi  this  hateful  liquor  temper  it; 
AiuJ  in  that  paste  let  their  vile  heads  be  bak*d. 
Come,  come,  be  every  one  otbcious 
To  make  this  baiupiet ;  wliieli  1  wish  may  prove 
Wore  stern  and  bloody  than  the  Centaurs'  least. 

'  Crust  of  a  raiscti  pio. 


So,  now  bring  them  in,  for  1  will  play  the  cook. 
And  see  them  ready  'gainst  their  mother  comes. 
[Exeunt,  bearing  ttie  dead  Bodies* 

SCExXE  IIL— 4  Pavilion,  with  Tables,  £fC. 

Enter  Lucius,  Marcus,  and  Goths,  with  Aaron 
Prisoner. 

LuCt  Uncle  Marcus,  since  'tis  my  father's  mind 
That  I  repair  to  Rome.  I  am  content. 

1  Gotti.  And  ours,  with  thine,  befall  what  fortune 
wilt. 

Luc.  Good   uncle,  take  you   in   this   barbarous 
Moor, 
This  ravenous  tiger,  tliis  accursed  devil ; 
Let  him  receive  no  sustenance,  tetter  him, 
Till  he  be  brought  unto  the  empress'  face, 
For  testimony  of  her  foul  proceedings: 
And  see  the  ambush  of  our  friends  be  strong  : 
1  fear,  the  emperor  means  no  good  to  us. 

Aar.  Some  devil  whisper  curses  in  mine  ear. 
And  prompt  me,  tltat  my  tongue  may  utter  tbrth 
The  venomous  malice  of  my  swelling  heart ! 

Luc.  Away,  inhuman  dog,  unhallow'd  slave! — 
Sirs,  help  our  uncle  to  convey  him  in. — 

[Exeunt  Goths  with  Aarun.    Flourish, 
The  trumpets  show  the  emperor  is  at  hand. 

Enter  Saturnisus  and  Tamora,  with  Tribunes, 
Senators,  atid  others. 
Sat.  What!  hath  the  linnament  more  suns  than 

one  ] 
Luc.  What  boots  it'^  thee,  to  call  thyself  a  sun  1 
Marc.  Rome's  emperor,  and  nephew,  break  the 
parle ; 
These  quarrels' must  be  quietly  debated. 
The  feast  is  ready  whicli  the  careful  Titus 
Hath  ordain'd  to  an  honorable  end, 
For  peace,  for  love,  lor  league,  and  good  to  Rome : 
please  jou,  thereibre,  draw  nigh,  and  take  your 
places. 
Sat.  Marcus,  we  will. 

[Hautboys  found.    The  Coinj^anij sit  down 
at  Table. 
Enter  Titus,  dressed  like  a  Cook,  Layinia,  veiled^ 
young  Lucius,  and  others.      Titus  places  tfie 
Dishes  on  the  Table. 

Tit.  Welcome,  my  gracious  lord:  welcome,  dread 
queen; 
Welcome,  ye  warlike  Goths  ;  welcome,  Lucius 
And  welcome  all :  although  the  cheer  be  poor, 
'Twill  fill  your  stomachs;  please  you  eat  of  it. 
Sat.  Why  art  thou  thus  attired,  Andronicus  ! 
7V/.  Because  I  would  be  sure  to  have  all  well, 
To  entertain  your  higliness,  and  your  empress. 
Ta//i.  We  are  beholden  to  you,  good  Andronicus. 
Tit.  An  ifyour  highness  knew  my  heart,  you  were. 
My  lord  the  emperor,  resolve  me  "this; 
Was  it  well  done  of  rasli  Virgimus, 
To  slay  his  daughter  with  his  own  right  hand. 
Because  she  was  eiilbrced,  stain'd,  and  deilour'dl 
Sat.  It  was,  Andronicus. 
Tit.  Your  reason,  mighty  lord  1 
Sat.  Because   the  girl  should  not  survive  her 
shame, 
And  by  her  presence  still  renew  his  sorrows. 

Tit.  A  reason  mighty,  strong,  and  elfectual; 
A  pattern,  precedent,  and  lively  warrant. 
For  me,  most  wretched,  to  perform  the  like : — 
Die,  die,  Lavinia,  and  thy  shame  with  thee; 

17/c  kills  Lavinia. 
And,  with  thy  shame,  thy  father's  sorrow  die  ! 
Sat.  What  hast  thou  done,  unnatural,  and  un- 
kind ? 
Tit.  Xill'd  her,  for  whom  my  tears  have  made 
me  blind. 
I  am  as  woeful  as  Virginius  was: 
And  have  a  thousand  times  more  cause  than  he 
To  do  this  outrage; — and  it  is  now  done. 
Sat.  WJiat,  was  she  ravish 'd  !  tell,  who  did  the 

deed. 
Tit.  Will't  please  you  eat?  wiU't  please  your 

iiighness  leed  ? 
Tarn.  Why  hast  thou  slain  thine  only  daughter 

thus? 
Tit.  Not  I ;  'twas  Chiron  ond  Demetrius  : 
They  ravish'd  her,  and  cut  away  her  tongue, 
And  they,  'twas  tliey,  that  did  her  all  this  wrong. 

3  Of  what  advantage  is  it? 


Scene  III. 


TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 


057 


Saf.  Go,  fetch  Ihem  hitJier  to  us  proscntly. 

Tit.  Why. there  Ihey  are  both,  baked  in  that  pie; 
Whereof  their  mother  daintily  hath  fed, 
Eating  the  fk'sh  that  ahe  lierself  hath  bred  : 
'Tis  true,  'tis  true  :  witness  my  knife's  sharp  point. 
[KiUin.s:  Tamura. 

Saf.  Die,  frantic  wretch,  for  this  accursed  deed. 
[KUling  Titus. 

Luc.  Cnn  the  son's  eye  hel)uld  his  father  bleed  1 

There's  meed  for  meed,  death  lor  a  deadly  deed. 

[Kit/s  Satukninus.    A  great  Tumult.    T/ie 

Per  pie  m  cu/tfiisimi  disperse,    Makcus, 

hvcics,  a7id  iheir  PartisanSj  ascendifie 

Steps  before  Titus''s  House. 

Marc.  You  sad-liiccd  men,  people  and  sons  of 
Rome, 
By  uproar  sever'd,  like  a  flight  of  fowl 
Scattered  hy  winds  and  hii'h  tpmpesluous  gusts, 
O,  let  mc  teach  you  how  to  knit  a^ain 
This  scatter'd  com  into  one  mutual  sheaf, 
These  broken  limbs  again  int'>  one  body. 

Sen.  Lest  Rome  herself  be  bane  unto  herself; 
And  she,  whom  mighty  kingdoms  court'sy  to, 
Like  a  forlorn  and  desperate  castaway, 
Do  shameful  exccut;()u  on  herself. 
}iut  if  my  frosty  signs  and  chai)s  of  age, 
Grave  witnesses  ol  irue  experience, 
Cannot  induce  you  to  attend  iny  words,— 
Speak,  Rome's  dear  friend;  [To  Lucius.]  as  erst 

our  ancestor, 
When  with  his  solemn  tongue  he  did  discourse 
To  love-sick  Dido's  sad  attending  ear. 
The  story  of  that  baleful  burning  night. 
When  subtle  Greeks  surpris'd  king  Priam's  Troy. 
Tell  us  what  Smon  ha'h  bewitehVl  our  ears, 
Or  who  iialh  brought  the  fatal  engine  in. 
That  gives  our  Tr(iy,  our  Rome,  the  civil  wound. 
My  heart  is  not  compact  of  (hnt,  nor  steel ; 
Nor  can  I  utter  all  our  bitter  grief, 
But  iloods  ot  tears  w'ill  drown  my  oratory,      ^ 
And  break  my  very  utierance;  even  i'  the  time 
When  it  should  move  yon  to  attend  me  most, 
Lending  your  kind  commiseration: 
Here  is  a  captain,  let  him  tell  the  tale; 
Your  hearts  will  throb  and  weep  to  hear  him  speak. 

Luc.  Then,  noble  auditory,  be  it  known  to  you, 
That  cursed  Chiron  and  Deinelrius 
Were  they  that  murdered  our  emperor's  brother; 
And  they  it  were  thot  ravished  our  sister: 
For  their  fell  faults  our  brothers  were  beheaded ; 
Our  father's  tears  despised;  and  basel}'  cozen "d 
Of  that  true  hand,  that  (ought  Rome's  quarrel  out, 
And  sent  her  enemies  unto  the  grave. 
Lastly,  myself  unkindly  banislied. 
The  gales  shut  on  me.  and  turn'd  weeping  out. 
To  beg  relief  among  Rome's  enemies. 
Who  drowu'd  their  enmity  in  my  true  tears. 
And  np'd  their  arms  lo  enibrace'me  as  a  Iriend; 
And  I  am  the  turn'd-forth,  be  it  known  to  you, 
That  have  presrrv'd  her  welfare  in  my  blood; 
And  from  licr  bosom  took  the  enemy's  point. 
Sheathing  the  steel  in  my  advent'rous  body. 
Ahrs  !  you  know,  I  am  no  vaunter,  I ; 
My  scars  can  witness,  dumb  although  they  are, 
That  my  report  is  just,  and  full  of  truth. 
But.  Eolt ;  methinks,  I  do  digress  too  much. 
Citing  my  worthless  praise  :  0,  pardon  me ; 
For  when  no  triendsare  by.  men  praise  themselves. 

Marc,  Now  is  my  tuin  to  speak:  Rehoid  thischiid. 
[Pointi?},!^  t(i  the  I  'hil-l  in  the  arms  cf  an  Attendant. 
Of  this  was  Tamora  deUvered  ; 
The  issue  of  an  irreligious  Moor, 
Chief  arehilecl  and  plotter  of  these  woes: 
The  villain  is  alive  in  Titus'  house, 
Danin'd  as  he  is.  to  witness  this  is  true. 
Now  judge,  what  cause  had  Titus  to  revenge 
These  wrongs,  unspeakable,  past  patience, 
Or  more  than  any  living  man  could  bear. 
Now  you  have  heard  the  truth,  what  say  you,  Ro- 
mans 7 
Have  we  done  aught  amiss  I  Show  us  wherein, 
And.  from  the  place  where  you  behold  us  now, 
The  poor  remainder  of  Andronici 
Will,  hand-in-hand,  ail  headlong  cast  us  down, 
And  on  the  ragged  stones  heat  Ibrth  our  brains, 


And  make  a  mutual  closure  of  our  house. 
Speak,  Romans,  speak;  and,  if  you  say,  we  shall, 
Lo,  hand-in-hand,  Lucius  and  I  "will  fall. 

jEiiiil.  Come,  come,  thou  reverend  man  of  Rome, 
And  bring  our  emperor  gently  in  thy  hand, 
Lucius  our  emperor;  for  well  1  know. 
The  common  voice  do  cry,  it  shall  be  so. 

Rom.  [Several  epeak.]  Lucius,  all  hail;  R.ome"'s 
royal  emperor! 

Lucius,  ^-c.  descend. 

Marc.  Go,  go  into  old  Titus'  sorrowful  house; 

%  [To  an  Attendant. 

And  hither  hale  tliat  misbelieving  Moor, 
To  be  adjudg'd  some  direfuJ  slaughtering  death. 
As  punisimieiu  for  his  most  wicked  hfe. 

Rom.  [Several speak.]  Lucius,  all  hail;  Rome's 
gracious  governor! 

Luc.  Tlianks.  gentle  Romans;  may  I  govern  so. 
To  heal  Rome's  harms,  and  wipe  away  her  woe  I 
But,  gentle  jieople,  give  me  aim  awhile, — 
For  nature  puis  me  to  a  lieavy  task ; — 
Stand  all  aloof: — but,  uncle,  draw  you  near, 
To  shed  obsequious  tears  upon  this  trunk: 
O  take  this  warm  kiss  on  thy  pale  cold  lips, 

[Kisses  TiTUS. 
These  sorrowful  drops  upon  thy  blood-stain'd  face, 
The  hist  true  duties  of  thy  noble  son  ! 

Marc.  Tear  for  tear,  and  loving  kiss  for  kiss, 
Thy  brother  Marcus  tenders  on  thy  lips: 
O,  were  the  sum  of  these  that  I  should  pay 
Countless  and  intinite.  yet  would  I  pay  them. 

Luc.  Come  hither,  boy;  come,  come,  and  leam 
of  us 
To  melt  in  showers:   Thy  grandsirc  lov'd  thee 

well : 
Many  a  time  he  danced  thee  on  his  knee. 
Sung"  thee  asleep,  his  loving  breast  thy  piilow; 
Many  a  matter  hath  he  told  to  thee. 
Meet,  and  agreeing  with  thine  infancy; 
In  that  res|)ect  then,  like  a  loving  child, 
Shed  yet  sonic  small  drops  from  thy  tender  spring. 
Because  kind  nature  doth  require  it  so  : 
Friends  should  associate  friends  in  grief  and  woe: 
Bid  him  l;ireuell ;  commit  him  to  the  giave; 
Do  hmi  that  kindness,  and  take  leave  of  llim. 

Boi/.  O  grandsire,  grandsirc!  even  with  all  my 
heart 
Would  I  were  dead,  so  you  did  live  again  ! — 

0  lord,  I  cannot  speak  lo  him  for  weeping  ; 
My  tears  will  choke  me,  if  I  ope  my  mouth. 

Enter  Attendants,  with  AaroS 
1  Rom. Yon  sad  Andronici, have  donewilh  woes; 
Give  sentence  on  this  execrable  wretch, 
That  hath  been  breeder  of  these  dire  eve:ds. 
Luc.  Set  him  breast-deep  in  eartii,  and  famish 
him. 
There  let  him  stand,  and  rave  and  cry  for  food  ; 
If  anv  one  relieves  or  pities  him, 
For  tlie  onbnce  he  dies.    This  is  our  doom  : 
Some  stay,  to  see  him  fasten"d  in  the  earth 
Aar.  0,  why  should  wrath   be  mute,  ami   (ury 
dumb  1 

1  am  no  baby,  I.  that,  with  base  prayers, 
I  should  rejieut  the  evils  1  have  done; 
Ten  thousand,  worse  than  ever  yet  I  did, 
Would  I  perJbrm,  if  I  might  have  my  will; 
I  Tone  good  deed  in  all  my  life  I  did, 

1  do  repent  it  from  my  verj'  soul. 
Lac.  Some  loving  friends  convey  the  emperor 
heneo. 
And  give  him  buria!  in  his  father'^  grave: 
My  father,  and  Lavinia,  shall  forthwith 
Be  closed  in  our  household's  monument. 
As  for  that  heinous  tiger.  Tamora, 
No  funeral  rite,  nor  man  in  mournful  weeds, 
No  mournful  bell  shail  ring  her  burial; 
But  throw  her  forth  to  beasts,  and  birds  of  prey  : 
Her  life  was  beast-Iikc,  and  devoid  of  pity; 
And,  being  so,  shall  have  like  want  ot  pity. 
See  justice  done  to  Aaron,  that  damned  Moor, 
By  whom  our  heavy  haps  had  their  beginning: 
Then,  allerwards,  to  order  well  the  state, 
That  like  events  may  ne'er  it  ruinate.       [Exeunt 


42 


PERICLES, 

PEINCE    OF    TYRE. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


ANTiocni-S,  King  0/  Antioch. 
Pehicles,  Prince  of  Tyre. 

HeLICANUS,  )  .n  r       j       ^^ 

EsCA.NES,     }  ^""'  ^'"*'  "^  Tj-re. 
SiMu.siDES,  King  of  Pcntapolis. 
Cleox,  Gove7-nor  of  Th^r»\is. 
Lysimachls,  Governor  (/Milylene. 
Ceiumon,  a  Lord  o/Ephesiis. 
TuALiARD,  a  Lord  (/Antioch. 
Philemon,  Servant  to  C'erimon. 
Leonine,  Servant  to  Dionyza. 
MantiaU 


A  Pandar,  and  his  Wife. 
BoiLT,  tkeir  Servant. 
Gowcr,  as  Chorus. 

The  Daughter  fif  Antiochus. 

DioxYZA,  Wife  lu  Cleon. 

Thaisa,  Daughter  lu  Simoiiidcs. 

Madina,  DauglUer  to  Pericles  and  Thaisa. 

Lychorida,  Nurse  to  Marina. 

Diana. 

Lords,  Ladies,  Knights,  Gentlemen.  Sailors,  Pi- 
rates, Fishermen,  and  Messengers,  ^c. 


SCENE,  dispersedhj  in  various  countries. 

That  the  render  may  know  through  how  many  regions  the  scene  of  this  drama  is  dispersed  it  is 
necessary  to  observe  that  Antioch  was  the  metropolis  of  Syria ;  Tyre,  a  city  of  Phccnicia  in  Asia  • 
Tharsus,  the  metropolis  of  Cilicia,  a  country  of  Asia  Minor;  Mitylcne,  the  capital  of  Lesbos' an  island' 
in  the  iEgeau  Sea  ;  and  Ephesus,  the  capital  of  Ionia,  a  country  o'f  the  Lesser  Asia. 


ACT   I. 


Enter  Gower.i    Before  the  Palace  of  Antioch. 

To  sing  a  song  of  old-  was  sung, 

From  ashes  ancient  Gower  is  come ; 

Assuming  man's  infirmities, 

To  glad  your  ear,  and  please  your  eyes. 

It  hath  been  sung  at  festivals. 

On  ember-eves,  and  holy  ales;' 

And  lords  and  ladies  of  their  lives 

Have  read  it  for  restoratives: 

'Purpose  to  make  men  glorious ; 

El  quo  antiqidus,  eo  melius. 

If  you,  born  in  these  latter  times, 

Wlien  wit's  more  ripe,  accept  mv  rhymes. 

And  that  to  hear  an  old  man  sing. 

May  to  your  wishes  pleasure  bring, 

1  lile  would  wish,  and  that  1  might 

Waste  it  for  you,  like  taper-light. — 

This  city  then,  Antioch  the  great 

Built  up  lor  his  chiefest  seat : 

'The  fairest  in  all  Syria; 

(1  tell  you  what  mine  authors  say;) 

This  king  unto  him  took  a  pheere,' 

Who  died  and  lett  a  female  heir. 

So  buxom,  blithe,  and  full  efface. 

As  heaven  had  lent  her  all  h/s  grace; 

With  whom  the  father  liking  took, 

And  her  to  incest  did  provoke: 

Had  father!  to  entice  his  own 

To  evil,  should  be  done  by  none. 

Hy  custom,  what  they  did  begin, 

Was,  with  long  use,  account'  no  sin 

The  beauty  of  this  sinful  dame 

Made  many  princes  thither  frame, 

'  Chorus,  in  the  character  of  Gower.  an  nnrient  English 
poet,  who  has  relateil  tin.  storv  of  this  plav  in  his  Om- 
ftssio  Jniavlis.      a  i.  c.  That  of  olii.      »  W  hiisun-alcs,  ic. 

•  Wife:  the  word  signifies  a  mate  or  companion. 

<'  Accounte<l. 

058 


To  seek  her  as  a  bed-fellow. 
In  marriage-pleasures  play-fellow: 
Which  to  prevent,  he  made  a  law, 
(To  keep  her  still,  and  men  in  awe,) 
That  whoso  ask'd  her  for  his  wife, 
His  riddle  told  not,  lost  his  life : 
So  for  her  many  a  wight  did  die, 
As  yon  grim  looks  do  testify.^ 
What  now  ensues,  to  the  judgment  of  your  eye 
I  give,  my  cause  who  best  can  justify. "       [Exit. 

SCENE  L— Antioch.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Antiochls,  Pericles,  and  Attendants. 

Ant.  Young  prince  of  Tyre,  you  have  at  large 
receiv'd 
The  danger  of  the  task  you  undertake. 

Per.  I  have,  Antiochus.  and  with  a  soul 
Embolden'd  with  the  glory  of  her  praise. 
Think  death  no  hazard,  in  this  enterprise.  [Music. 

Ant.  Bring  in  our  daughter,  clothed  like  a  bride, 
For  the  embracements  even  of  Jove  himself; 
At  whose  conception,  (till  Lucina  reign'd,) 
Nature  this  dowry  gave  to  glad  lier  jiresence. 
The  senate-house  of  pl.anets  all  did  sit, 
To  knit  in  her  their  best  perfections. 

Enter  the  Daughter  (f  Antiochus. 

Per.  Sec,  where  she  comes,  apparclPd  like  the 
spring, 
Graces  her  subjects,  and  her  thoughts  Ihc  king 
Of  every  virtue  gives  renown  to  men ! 
Her  Uice,  the  book  of  praises,  where  is  read 
Nothing  but  curious  pleasures,  as  from  thence 
Sorrow  were  e\er  ras'd,  and  testy  wrath 
Could  never  be  her  mild  companion. 

"  Pointing  to  the  scene  of  the  palace  gate  at  Antioch,  on 
which  the  heads  of  those  unfortunate  wights  were  fixed. 


Act  I.  Scene  I. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE   OP   TYRE. 


659 


Te  gods,  that  made  me  man,  and  sway  in  love, 

That  have  infiamM  desire  in  my  breast, 

To  taste  the  fruit  of  yon  celestial  tree, 

Or  die  in  the  adventure,  be  my  helps. 

As  I  am  son  and  servant  to  your  will. 

To  compass  such  a  boundless  happiness! 

AnI.  Prince  Pericles, 

Per.  That  would  be  son  to  great  Antioelnis. 

Ant.  Before  thee  stands  this  fair  Hesperidcs, 
With  golden  fruit,  but  dangerous  to  be  touch'd; 
For  death-like  dragons  here  atlright  thee  hard;  - 
lier  face,  hke  heaven,  enticeth  thee  to  view 
A  countless  glory,  which  desert  must  gain: 
And  wliich,  without  desert,  because  thine  eye 
Presumes  to  reach,  all  thy  whole  lieap  must  die. 
Yon  sometime  famous  princes,  like  thyself. 
Drawn  by  report,  advent'rous  by  desire. 
Tell  thee  witli  speechless  tongues,  and  semblance 

pale, 
That,  without  covering,  save  yon  field  of  stars, 
They  here  stand  martyrs,  slaiii  in  Cuiiid's  wars; 
And  with  dead  cheeks  advise  thee  to  desist. 
For  going  on  death's  net,  whom  none  resist. 

Per,  Antiochus,  I  thank  thee,  who  hath  taught 
My  frail  mortality  to  know  itself. 
And  by  those  fearful  objects  to  prepare 
This  body,  like  to  them,  to  what  I  must: 
For  death  remember'd,  should  be  like  a  mirror. 
Who  tells  us,  life's  but  breath  ;  to  trust  it,  eiTor. 
I'll  make  my  will  tlien;  and  as  sick  men  do. 
Who  know  the  world,  sec  heaven,  but  feeling  woe, 
Gripe  not  at  earthly  joys,  as  erst  they  did; 
So  1  bequeath  a  happy  peace  to  you. 
And  all  good  men,  as  every  prince  should  do ; 
My  riches  to  the  earth,  from  whence  they  came  ; 
But  my  unspotted  fire  of  love  to  you. 

[Tu  the  Daughter  of  Antiochus. 
Thus  ready  for  the  way  of  life  or  death, 
1  wait  the  shari>est  blow,  Antiochus, 
Scorning  advice. 

Ant.  Read  the  conclusion,  then  ; 

Which  read,  and  not  expounded,  'tis  decreed. 
As  these  before  thee,  thou  thyself  shalt  bleed. 

JJaugli.  In  all,  save  that,may'st  thou  prove  pros- 
perous ! 
In  all,  save  that,  I  wish  thee  happiness! 

Per.  Like  a  bold  champion.  1  assume  the  lists. 
Nor  a.sk  advice  of  any  other  tliought 
But  lUithfuiness  and  courage. 

[He  reads  the  Riddle.] 
I  atn  no  viper,  yet  I  feed 
On  inol tier's  fli-sli,  U'fikli  did  me  tn-eed: 
Isou^ht  (t  hushdnd.  in  icfiick  tnhnr, 
I  found  tlint  kindnesii  in  o  fallur. 
//t'.s  fiittitr.  son.  Olid  tinslmnd  otild, 
I  multier,  icijc.  and  i/et  tits  ctiild. 
How  ttieif  only  be.  and  yet  in  two. 
As  you  wilt  live,  resolve  it  you. 

Sharp  physic  is  the  last :  but  O  you  powers  ! 
That  give  heaven  countless  eyes  to  view  men's  acts, 
Why  cloud  they  not  their  sights  perpetually. 
If  this  be  true,  which  makes  me  pale  to  read  it? 
Fair  glass  of  light,  I  lov'd  you,  and  could  still, 

[Takes  lioldof  tlie  Hand  of  ttie  Princess. 
Were  not  this  glorious  casket  stor'd  with  ill : 
But  I  must  tell  you,— now,  my  thoughts  revolt; 
For  he's  no  man  on  whom  pertections  wait. 
That,  faiowing  sin  within,  will  touch  the  gale. 
"V'ou're  a  fair  viol,  and  your  sense  the  strings: 
Who.  linger'd  to  nrake  inaji  his  lawful  music. 
Would  draw  heaven  down,  and  all  the  gods  to 
hearken ; 

But,  being  play'd  upon  before  your  time. 

Hell  only  danccth  at  so  harsh  a  chime: 
Good  sooth,  I  care  not  for  you. 
Ant.  Prince  Pericles,  touch  not.  upon  thy  life. 

For  that's  an  article  within  our  law. 

As  dangerous  as  the  rest.    Your  time's  expir'd ; 

Either  expound  now,  or  receive  your  sentence. 
Per.  Great  king. 

Few  love  to  hear  the  sins  they  love  to  act; 

'Twould  'braid  yourself  too  near  for  me  to  tell  it. 

Who  has  a  book  of  all  that  monarchs  do. 

He's  more  secure  to  keep  it  shut,  than  shown; 

For  vice  repeated,  is  like  the  wand'ring  wind, 

Blows  dust  in  others'  eyes,  to  spread  itself; 

And  yet  the  end  of  all  is  bought  thus  dear. 

The  breath  is  gone,  and  the  sore  eyes  see  clear: 


To  stop  the  air  would  hurt  them.    The  blind  mole 

casts 
Cop'd'  hills  towards  heaven,  to  tell,  the  earth  is 

wrong'd 
By  man's  opipression,  and  the  poor  worm  doth 

die  tbr't. 
Kings  are  earth's  gods :  in  vice  their  law's  their  wiU  ; 
And  if  Jove  stray,  who  dares  say,  Jove  doth  ill ! 
It  is  enough  youknow ;  and  it  is  fit. 
What  being  more  Icnowngrows  worse,  tosmotlicrit. 
All  love  the  womb  that  their  first  beings  bred. 
Then  give  my  tongue  like  leave  to  love  my  head. 
AnI.  Heaven,  that  I  had  thy  head!  he  has  Ibund 

the  meaning ; — 
But  I  will  srloze^  with  him.  [Aside.]  Young  prince 

of  TjTC, 

Though,  by  the  tenor  of  our  strict  edict. 
Your  exposition  misinterpreting, 
We  might  proceed  to  cancel  of  vourdaj's;' 
Y'et  hope,  succeeding  from  so  fair  a  tree 
As  your  fair  self,  doth  tune  us  otherwise : 
Forty  days  longer  we  do. respite  you ; 
If  l)y  which  time  our  secret  oe  undone. 
This  mercy  shows,  we'll  joy  in  such  a  son : 
And  until  then  your  entertain  shall  be. 
As  doth  befit  our  honor,  and  your  worth. 

[Ex-eunt  AsTux'uus,  liis  Daughter,  and 
Attendant.s. 
Per.  How  courtesy  would  seem'  to  cover  sin ! 
Wlieii  what  is  done  is  like  a  hypocrite. 
The  which  is  good  in  nothingbut  in  sight. 
If  it  be  true  that  I  interpret  liiisc. 
Then  were  it  certain,  you  were  not  so  bad. 
As  with  (bul  incest  to  abuse  your  soul ; 
Where'  now  you're  both  a  father  and  a  son, 
Bv  your  untimely  claspings  w'ith  your  child  ; 
(Which  pleasure  fits  a  husband,  not  a  lather;) 
And  slie  an  eater  of  her  mother's  llesh, 
Bv  the  defiling  of  her  parent's  bed  ; 
And  both  like  scrpenls  are,  who  though  they  feed 
On  sweetest  tlowers,  yet  they  poison  breed. 
Antioch,  farewell!  lor  wisdom  sees,  those  men 
Blush  not  in  actions  blacker  than  the  night, 
Will  shun  no  course  to  keep  them  from  the  light, 
(hie  sin.  I  know, another  doth  provoke; 
Murder's  as  near  to  lust,  as  fiame  to  smoke. 
Poison  and  treason  are  the  hands  of  sin. 
Ay,  and  the  targets  to  put  olf  the  sliaine : 
Then,  lest  my  lili;  be  crojip'd  to  keep  you  clear. 
By  night  I'll  shun  the  danger  which  I  fear.    [Exit. 

Re-enter  Axnocnrs. 
Ant.  He  hath  found  the  meaning,  for  the  which 
we  mean 
To  have  his  head. 

He  must  not  live  to  trumpet  forth  my  infamj', 
Nor  tell  the  world,  Antioclius  doth  sin 
In  such  a  loathed  manner: 
And  therefore  instantly  this  prince  must  die; 
For  by  his  liall  my  honor  must  keep  high. 
Who  attends  on  us  there  ! 

Enter  Tiialiard. 
Ttial.  Doth  your  highness  call' 

Ant.  Thaliard,  you're  of  our  chamber,  and  our 
mind 
Partakes  her  private  actions  to  your  secresy; 
And  for  your  faithfulness  we  will  advance  yon. 
Thaliard,  behold,  here's  poison,  and  here's  gold; 
We  hate  tlie  prince  of  Tyre,  and  thou  must  kill 

him; 
It  fits  thee  not  to  ask  the  reason  why, 
Beca  use  we  bid  it.    Say,  is  it  done  1 

Tlinl.  My  lord, 

'Tis  done. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Ant.  Enough; 
Lest  your  breath  cool  yourself,  telling  your  haste. 
Mess.  My  lord,  prince  Pericles  is  lied.        [Exit. 
Ant.  As  thou 

Wilt  live,  fly  after:  and,  as  an  arrow,  shot 
From  a  well-experienc'd  archer,  hits  the  mark 
His  eye  doth  level  at,  so  ne'er  return, 
Unless  thou  .say.  Prince  Pericles  is  dead, 

TItal.  My  lord,  if  I 
Can  get  him  once  within  my  pistol's  length, 
I'll  make  him  sure :  so  farewell  to  your  highness. 

[Exit. 
'  Rising  to  the  top  or  head.  »  Flatter,  insiuuate. 

I    9  To  the  destruction  of  your  life.      '  Whereas. 


860 


PEKICLES,   PKINCE   OF  TYRE.       Act  I.  Scene  III. 


Atit.  Th.iliard,  adieu!  till  Pericles  be  dead. 
My  heart  can  lend  no  succor  to  my  head.      [Exit. 

SCENE  II.— Tyre.    A  Room  in  the  Pakice. 
Enter  Pericles.  Helicanus,  rmd  otfier  Lords. 
Pe?:  Let  none  disturb  us:  Wliy  this  change  of 

thoughts'! 
The  sad  companion,  diill-ev'd  melanchol)', 
By  me  so  used  a  guest  is.  riot  an  liour, 
III  the  day's  priorious  walk,  or  peaceful  ni^ht, 
(The  tom'b  where  grief  should  sleep,)  can  breed  me 

quiet! 
Here  pleasures  court  mine  eyes,  and  mine  cj'cs 

slnin  them. 
And  danger,  which  I  feared,  is  at  Antioch, 
Whose  arm  seems  far  too  short  to  hit  me  here: 
Yet  neither  pleasure's  art  can  joy  my  spirits. 
Nor  yet  the  other's  distance  comtbrtme. 
Then  it  is  thus:  the  passions  of  the  mind. 
That  have  their  first  conception  by  mis-dread, 
Have  after-nourishment  and  life  liy  care; 
And  what  was  first  but  fear  what  inight  be  done, 
Grows  elder  now,  and  cares  it  be  not  done. 
And  so  with  me; — the  great  Antiochns 
("Gainst  whom  I  am  too  little  to  contend. 
Since  he's  so  great,  can  make  his  will  his  act) 
Will  think  rae  speaking,  though  I  swear  to  silence; 
Nor  boots  it  me  to  say,  I  honor  him, 
If.he  suspect  I  may  dishonor  him : 
And  what  may  make  him  blush  in  being  laiown, 
He'll  stop  the  course  by  which  it  misrht  be  known: 
With  hostile  forces  he'll  o'erspread  the  land. 
And  with  the  oslent  of  war  will  look  so  huge, 
.\m.azement  shall  drive  courage  from  the  state; 
Our  men  be  vanquish'd,  ere  they  do  resist. 
And  .subjects  punish'd  that  ne'e'r  thought  offence  : 
Which  care  of  them,  not  pity  of  mj'self, 
(Who  am  no  more  but  as  the  tops  of  tree's. 
Which  fence  the  roots  they  grow  by,  and  defend 

them,) 
Makes  both  my  body  pine,  and  soul  to  languish, 
jVnd  punish  that  before,  that  he  would  punish. 

1  Lord.  Joy  and  all  comfort  in  your  sacred  breast ! 

2  Lorrf.  And  keep  your  mind,  till  you  return  to  us, 
Peaceful  and  comfortable ! 

Het.  Peace,  peace,  my  lords,  and  give  experience 
tongue. 
They  do  abuse  the  king,  that  flatter  him : 
For  flattery  is  the  bellows  blows  up  sin ; 
The  thing  the  which  is  flattcr'd,  but  a  spark. 
To  whicii  that  breath  gives  heat  and  stronger  glow- 
ing; 
Whereas  reproof,  obedient,  and  in  order. 
Kits  kings,  as  they  are  men,  for  they  may  err. 
When  signior  Sooth  here  doe.s  proclaim'a  peace, 
He  Hatters  you,  makes  war  upon  your  life: 
Prince,  pardon  me,  or  strike  me,  if  you  please; 
I  cannot  be  much  lower  than  my  knees. 

Per.  All  leave  us  else :  but  let  your  cares  o'erlook 
W  hat  shipping,  and  what  lading's  in  our  haven. 
And  then  return  to  us.  [Exeunt  Lovd».]  Helicanus, 

thou 
Kast  moved  us :  what  scest  thou  in  our  looks  ? 

Hel.  An  angry  brow,  dread  lord. 

Per.  If  there  be  such  a  dart  in  princes'  frowns, 
How  durst  thy  tongue  move  anger  to  our  fiice? 

JJel.  How  dare  the  plants  look  up  to  heaven, 
from  whence 
They  have  their  nourishment? 

Pf>:  Thou  kmow'st  I  liave  power 

To  take  thy  life. 

Met.  [K/ieeling.]  I  have  ground  tlie  axe  myself; 
Do  you  but  strike  the  blow. 
^.-''^'■-        .    ,  Rise,  pr'ythec,  rise; 

.■sit  down,  sit  down;  thou  art  no  flatterer: 
I  thank  thee  for  it;  and  high  heaven  forbid. 
That  kinLTs should  Ictthcirearsheartheirfaulfshid? 
I  It  counsellor,  and  servant  for  a  prince. 
Who  liy  thy  wisdom  mak'st  a  prince  thy  servant, 
\Vhat  wouldEt  thou  liave  me  do  ! 

^'f''    .  With  patience  bear 

S>uch  griefs  as  you  do  lay  upon  yourself. 
„.l'"'-  T'.'°"  speak'sf  like  a  physician,  Helicanus; 
\v  ho  mnnster'st  a  potion  unto  me, 
Tliat  thou  wouldst  tremble  to  receive  thyself. 
Attend  me.  then :  I  went  to  Autioch, 
Where,  as  thou  know'st.  against  the  face  of  death 
J  sought  the  purchase  of  a  glorious  beauty, 
I'rom  whence  an  issue  I  might  propagate) 


Bring  arms  to  princes,  and  to  subjects  joys. 
Her  face  was  to  mine  eye  beyond  all  wonder, 
The  rest,  (hark  in  thine  ear,)  as  black  as  incest; 
Which  by  my  knowledge  found,  the  sinful  father 
Scem'd  not  to  strike,  but  smooth;  but  thou  laiow'st 

this, 
'Tis  time  to  fear,  when  tyrants  seem  to  Iciss. 
Which  fear  so  grew  in  nie.  I  hither  fled, 
Under  the  covering  of  a  careful  night, 
Who  seem'd  my  good  protector;  and  being  here. 
Bethought  me  what  was  past,  what  might  succeed. 
I  know  him  tyrannous;  and  tyrants'  fears 
Decrease  not,  but  grow  faster"than  their  years: 
And  should  he  doubt  it.  (as  no  doubt  he  doth,) 
That  I  should  open  to  the  listening  air. 
How  many  worthy  princes'  bloods  were  shed. 
To  keep  his  bed  of  blackness  unlaid  ope, — 
To  lop  that  doubt,  he'll  fill  this  land  with  arms. 
And  make  pretence  of  wrong  that  I  h.ave  done  him; 
When  all,  for  mine,  if  I  may  call't  ofti?nce. 
Must  feel  war's  blow,  who  spares  not  innocence  : 
Which  love  to  all  (of  which  thyself  art  one. 

Who  now  reprov'st  me  for  it) 

llel.  Alas,  sir! 

Per.  Drew  sleep  out  of  mine  eyes,  blood  from 
my  cheeks. 
Musings  iiito  my  mind,  a  thousand  doubts 
How  I  might  stiip  this  tempest,  ere  it  came; 
And  finding  little  comfort  to  relieve  them. 
1  thought  it  princely  charity  to  grieve  tliem. 
Jicl.  Well,  my  lord,  since  you  have  given  me 
leave  to  speak. 
Freely  I'll  speak.    Antiochus  you  fear. 
And  justly  loo,  I  think,  you  fear  the  tyrant, 
Wfio  either  by  public  war,  or  private  treason, 
Will  take  away  your  life. 
Therefore,  my'lbrd,  go  travel  for  a  while, 
Till  that  his  rage  and  auger  be  forgot. 
Or  Deslinies  do  cut  his  thread  of  life. 
Your  rule  direct  to  any  ;  if  to  me. 
Day  serves  not  light  more  faithful  than  I'll  be. 

Per   I  do  not  doubt  lliy  linth  ; 
But  should^  he  wrong  my  liberties  iii  absence — 

Jlet.  We'll  mingle  bloods  together  in  the  earth, 
From  whence  we  had  our  being  and  our  birth. 
Per.  Tyre,  I  now  look  from  thee  then,  and  to 
Tharsus 
Intend  mv  travel,  where  I'll  hear  from  thee  ; 
And  by  whose  letters  I'll  dispose  myself 
The  care  I  had  and  have  of  subjects'  good. 
On  thee  I  lay,  whose  wisdom's  strength  can  hcarit. 
1  II  take  thy  word  for  fiiith,  not  ask  thine  oath  ; 
Who  shuns  not  to  break  one,  will  sure  crack  both: 
But  in  our  orbs-!  we'll  live  .so  round  and  sale. 
That  time  of  both  this  truth  shall  ne'er  convince,^ 
Thou  show'dst  a  subject's  shine,  I  a  true  prince. 

[K.veunt. 

SCENE  III.— Tyre.    An  Ante-ctuimber  in  llie 

Palace. 

Enter  Tiialiard. 

Tlial.  So,  this  is  Tyre,  and  this  is  the  court. 
Here  must  I  kill  king  Pericles;  and,  if  1  do  not  I 
am  sure  to  be  hanged  at  home:  'lis  dangerous.— 
Well,  I  perceive  he  was  a  wise  fellow,  and  l)ad 
good  discretion, that  being  bid  to  ask  what  he  would 
of  the  king,  desired  he  inight  know  none  of  his 
secrets.  Now  do  I  see  he  had  some  reason  for  it : 
lor  if  a  king  bid  a  man  be  a  villain,  he  is  bound  by 
the  indenture  of  Ins  oath  to  be  one.— Hush,  here 
come  the  lords  of  Tyre. 

Enter  Helicanl's,  Escaxes,  and  ottier  Lords. 

Hel.  You  shall  not  need,  my  fellow-peers  of  Tvie, 
Further  to  question  of  your  king's  departure.  " 
His  seai'd  commission,  left  in  trust  wit/i  me. 
Doth  speak  sufhcicntly,  he's  gone  to  travel. 

Thril.  How!  the  king  gone?  [Aside. 

i/W.  1  f  further  yet  you  will  be  satisfied, 
Why,  as  it  were,  uiiliccns'd  of  your  loves. 
He  would  depart,  I'll  give  some  hght  unto  you. 
Bi'ing  at  Aniioch 

'Pl^<'l.  What  from  Antioch  ?     [Aside. 

Hel.  Royal  Antiochus  (on  what  cause  I  know 
not) 
Took  some  displeasure  at  him;  at  least  he  judg'd 

so ; 
And  doubting  lest  that  he  had  err'd  or  sipn'd, 
To  show  his  sorrow,  would  correct  himself; 
5  In  our  dilTerent  spb-.'i-es.  3  Otercome. 


Act  II. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE   OF  TYRI 


661 


So  puts  himself  unto  the  shipm^in's  toil, 

With  whom  cacli  minute  tJireatens  lile  or  do;ith. 

Thai.  Well,  I  perceive  [Aside, 

I  shall  not  be  lianj^'d  now,  although  I  would  ; 
But  since  he's  gone,  tiic  king  it  sure  must  please, 
He  'sciip'd  the  land,  lo  perish  on  the  seat;. — 
But  \'i\  present  me.    Peace  to  the  lords  ofTyre ! 

Uel.  LordThaliard  from  Antiochus  is  welcome. 

That.  From  liim  I  come 
With  message  unto  princely  Pericles: 
But,  since  my  landing,  as  1  iiave  understood 
Your  lord  has  took  hnnsell'to  unknown  travels, 
My  message  must  return  from  whence  it  came. 

HeL  We  have  no  reason  to  desire  it,  since 
Commended  to  our  master,  not  to  us: 
Yet,  ere  you  shall  depart,  this  we  desire. — 
As  friends  to  Antioch,  we  may  feast  in  Tyre. 

[Exeunt. 

SCEXE  IV. — Tarsus.    A  Room  in  ike  Governor's 
House. 

Eiifer  Cleon,  Dtonyza,  and  Attendants. 

Cle.  My  Dionyza,  shall  we  rest  us  here, 
And.  by  relating  tales  of  others'  grief-;. 
See  if 'twill  teach  us  to  forget  our  own  I 

UJio.  That  were    to    blow  at    fire,  in    hope    to 
quench  it ; 
For  who  digs  liills  because  they  do  aspire, 
Tlnows  down  one  mountain,  to  cast  up  a  higher. 
O  my  distressed  lord,  even  such  our  griels  ; 
Here  they're  but  felt,  and  seen  with  mistful  eyes, 
But  like  to  groves,  being  lopp'd,  they  Jiiglier  rise. 

Cle.  0  Dionyza, 
Who  wanteth  lood.  and  will  not  say  he  wants  it, 
Or  can  conceal  his  hunger,  till  he  lamish  ] 
Our  tongues  and  sorrows  do  sound  deep  our  woes 
Hito  the  air  :  our  eyes  do  weep,  till  lungs 
FctcJi    breath    that   may   proclaim  Ihem  louder; 

that. 
If  heaven  slumber,  while  their  creatures  want, 
They  may  awake  their  helps  to  comfort  them. 
I'll  then  discourse  our  woes,  felt  several  years. 
And.  wanting  breath  to  speak,  help  me  vvitii  tears! 

JJlo.  I'll  do  mj'  best,  sir. 

Cle.  ThisTharsus,  o'er  which  I  have  government, 
(A  city,  on  whom  plenty  held  full  hand,) 
For  riches,  strew'd  herself  even  in  the  streets  ; 
Whose  towers  bore  heads  so  liigh,  they  kiss-d  the 

clouds, 
And  strangers  ne'er  beheld,  but  wonderM  at; 
Whose  men  and  dames  so  jetted'  and  adorn'd, 
Like  one  another's  glass  to  trim  them  by: 
Thfiir  tables  were  stor'd  full,  to  glad  the  siglit, 
And  not  so  much  to  feed  on,  as  delight; 
All  poverty  was  scorn'd,  and  pride  so  great, 
Tiie  name  of  heij)  grew  odious  to  repeat. 

Dio.  O,  'tis  loo  true. 

Cle.  But  see  wliat  heaven  can  do!    By  this  our 
change. 
These  moullis.  whom  but  of  late,  earth,  sea,  and  air, 
Were  all  too  little  to  content  and  please, 
Although  they  gave  liieir  creatures  in  abundance, 
As  houses  are  delil*d  Jbr  want  of  use, 
They  are  now  starv'd  lor  want  of  exercise: 
Those  palates,  who,  not  yet  two  summers  younger, 
Must  have  inventions  to  delight  the  taste. 
Would  now  be  glad  of  bread,  and  beg  for  it ; 
Those  mothers  who,  to  nousle^  up  their  babes, 
Thought  naught  too  curious,  are  ready  now 
To  eat  those  little  darlings  whom  Ihcy  lovM, 
So  sharp  are  hunger's  teeth,  that  man  and  wife 


Draw  lots,  who  tirst  sliall  die  to  lengthen  hfe : 
Here  stands  a  lord,  and  there  a  lady  weeping  ; 
Here  many  sink,  yet  those  which  see  them  (all 
Have  scarce  strength  leit  to  give  them  burial. 
Is  not  tins  true  1 
DU).  Our  cheeks  and  hollow  eyes  do  witness  it, 
Cle.  O,  let  tliDse  cities,  that  of  Plenty's  cup 
And  her  prosjicrities  so  largely  taste, 
With  their  sujiertluous  riots,  iiear  these  tears  I 
The  misery  of  Tharsus  may  be  theirs. 

Enter  a  Lord. 

Lrrd.  Where's  the  lord  governor! 

Cle.  Here. 
Speak    out   thy  sorrows  which  thou  bring'st,  in 

haste, 
For  comtitrt  is  too  far  for  us  to  expect. 

Lord.  We  have  descried,  upon  our  neighboring 
shore, 
A  pi'trtly  sail  of  ships  make  hithcrward. 

etc.  1  thought  as  much. 
One  sorrow  never  comes,  but  brings  an  heir, 
That  may  succeed  as  his  inheritor; 
And  so  in  ours:  some  neighboring  nation, 
Taking  advantage  of  our  miserj", 
Hatli  stulf  d  these  hollow  vessels  with  their  power, 
To  beat  us  down,  the  which  are  down  already; 
And  make  a  conquest  of  unhappy  me, 
Whereas  no  glory's  got  to  overcome. 

Lord.  That's  the  least  fear:  for,  by  the  semblance 
Of  their  white  flags  display'd  they'bring  us  peace, 
And  come  to  us  as  favorers,  not  as  foes. 

Cle.  Thouspeak'st  likehtm's  untutor'd  to  repeat; 
Wiio  maUes  the  lairest  show,  means  most  deceit. 
But  brnig  they  what  they  will,  what  need  we  fearl 
The  ground's  the  low'st.and  we  are  halt-way  there. 
Go  tell  their  general,  we  attend  him  here. 
To  know  for  what  he  comes,  and  wliencc  lie  comes, 
And  what  he  craves. 

Jj>rd.  I  go,  my  lord.  [^Exit. 

Cle.  Welcome  is  peace, if  he  on  peace  consist;' 
If  wars,  we  arc  unable  to  resist. 

Enter  Pericles,  with  Attendants. 

Per.  Lord  governor,  for  so  we  hear  you  are, 
Let  not  our  sliips  and  nuuiber  of  our  men. 
Be,  like  a  lieacon  tird,  to  amaze  your  eyes. 
We  have  heard  your  mi;*eries  as"lar  as  Tyre, 
And  seen  the  desolation  of  your  streets: 
Nor  come  we  to  add  sorrow  to  your  tears, 
Bui  lo  relieve  them  of  their  heavy  load  ; 
And  these  our  ships  you  liappily  may  think 
Are.  like  the  Trojan  horse,  war-stuIlM  within, 
With  bloody  views,  expecting  overthrow. 
Are  stored  with  corn,  to  make  your  needy  bread. 
And  give  them  liie,  who  are  hunger-starv'd,  iialf 
dead. 

All.  The  gods  of  Greece  protect  you  ! 
Anfl  we'll  pray  for  you. 

Per.  Rise,  T  pray  you,  rise ; 

We  do  not  look  for  reverence,  but  tor  love, 
And  harborage  for  ourself,  our  ships,  and  men 

Cle.  The  which  when  any  shall  not  gratify, 
Or  pay  you  with  unthankfulness  in  thought. 
Be  It  our  wiv-v^,  our  children,  or  ourselves. 
The  curse  of  heaven  and  men  succeed  their  cvu.s  ! 
Till  when. (the  which,  1  liope. shall  ne'er  be  seen,) 
Your  grace  is  welcome  to  our  town  and  us. 

Per.  Which  welcome  we'll  accept;   feast  here 
a  while. 
Until  our  stars  that  frov»'n,lend  us  a  smile. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   11. 


Enter  Gowcr. 
Gnw.  Here  have  you  seen  a  mighty  king 
His  child,  I  wis,6  to  incest  bring; 
A  better  prince,  and  benign  lord. 
Prove  awful  both  in  deed  and  word. 
Be  (juiet  then,  as  men  should  be, 
Till  he  liath  pass'd  necessity. 
I'll  show  you  those  in  trouljle's  reign, 

<  Til  jef  is  to  strut,  to  ivalk  proudly. 

•  Nurstf  fondly.  s  Know. 


Losing  a  mite,  a  mountain  gain. 

The  good  in  conversation*^ 

(To  wliom  I  give  my  benizon) 

Is  still  at  Tharsus,  where  each  man 

Thinks  all  is  writhe  spoken  can: 

And,  to  remember  what  he  does, 

Gild  his  statue  glorious: 

But  tidings  to  the  contrary 

A  re  bro  ugh  t  you  r  eyes ;  what  need  speak  1 1 


1      1  If  ho  stands  on  peace. 


8  i.e.  Conduct,  behavior 


662 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


Act  II. 


Dumb  Show.  Enter  at  one  Door,  Pericles,  ^o/fei?!^ 
xoiili  C'LEON ;  all  the  Train  with,  them.  Enter,  at 
another  Door,  a  Gentleman,  with  a  Letter  to 
PEnicLES ;  Pericles  shxiws  the  Letter  to  Cleon  ; 
then  gives  the  Messenger  a  reward.and  tinigtits 
him.    Exeunt  Pericles,  Cleon,  ^-c,  severally. 

Goto.  Good  Helicanc  hath  staid  at  home, 
Not  to  eat  honey,  like  a  drone, 
From  others'  latjors;  forth  lie  strive 
To  killcn  bad,  keep  good  alive; 
And  to  fulfil  his  prince'  desire. 
Sends  word  of  all  that  haps  in  Tyre: 
How  Thaliard  came  full  bent  with  sin, 
And  liid  intent,  to  murder  him  ; 
And  that  in  Tharsus  was  not  best 
Longer  lor  him  to  make  his  rest: 
He  knowing  so,  put  lorth  to  seas. 
Where  when  men  been,  there's  seldom  ease; 
For  now  the  wind  begins  to  blow; 
Thunder  above,  and  deeps  belnw. 
Make  such  unquiet,  that  the  ship 
Should  house  him  safe,  is  wreck'd  and  spUt; 
And  he,  good  prince,  having  all  lost, 
liy  waves  from  coast  to  coast  is  tost: 
All  perishen  of  man,  of  pelf, 
Ne  aught  escapen  but  himself; 
Till  fortune,  tired  with  doing  bad. 
Threw  him  ashore,  to  give  him  glad: 
And  here  he  comes:  what  shall  be  next, 
Pardon  old  Gower:  this  lung's  tlie  text.      [Exit. 

SCENE  I.— Pentapolis.     An  open  Place  liy  ttie 
Seaside. 
Enter  Pericles,  luet. 
Per.  Yet  cease  your  ire,  ye  angry  starsof  heaven ! 
Wind,  rain, antl  thunder,  remember,  earthly  man 
Is  but  a  substance  tliat  must  yield  to  you; 
And  I,  as  tits  my  uature,  do  obey  you ; 
Alas,  the  sea  hath  cast  me  on  the  rocks, 
Wasii'd  me  from  shore  to  shore,  and  lelt  me  breath 
Nothing  to  think  on,  but  ensuing  death  ; 
Let  it  suffice  the  greatness  of  your  powers, 
To  have  bereft  a  prince  of  all  bis  fortunes; 
And  liaving  thrown  him  liom  your  wat'ry  grave, 
Here  to  have  death  in  peace,  is  all  he'll  crave. 

Enter  three  Fishermen. 

1  Fiih.  What,  ho,  Pilcbe  ! 

2  Fi.'<h.  Ho  !  come,  and  bring  away  the  nets. 
1  Fisli.  What,  I'atch-breech,!  say'! 

3  Fi^h.  What  say  you,  master  ] 

1  Fish.  Look  how  thou  stirrest  now!  come  away, 
or  I'll  It^tch  thee  with  a  wannion. 

3  Fiih.  'Faith,  master,  1  am  thinking  of  the  poor 
men  that  were  cast  away  bclbre  us.  even  now. 

1  Fi^h.  Alas.  jioor  souls,  it  grieved  my  heart  to 
hear  what  pitiful  cries  they  made  to  us,  to  help  them, 
when,  well-a-day,  we  could  scarce  help  ourselves. 

3  Fiik.  Nay.  maslcr,  said  not  I  as  miicli,  when 
I  saw  the  porpus,  how  he  bounced  and  tumbled  ! 
Ihoy  say,  they  are  half  fish,  half  flesh  ;  a  pl.igue  on 
them,  they  ne'er  come,  but  I  took  to  be  washed. 
I\Iaster,  I  marvel  how  the  fishes  live  in  the  sea. 

1  Fish.  Why,  as  men  do  a-land  :  the  great  ones 
cat  up  the  little  ones:  I  can  compare  our  rich  mi- 
sers to  nothing  so  filly  as  to  a  whale;  'a  plays  and 
tumbles,  driving  thepoor  liy  belbre  him,  and  at 
last  devours  them  all  at  a  inouthliil.  Such  whales 
have  I  heard  on  a'  the  land,  who  never  leave  ga]iing, 
till  Ihcy've  swallow'd  the  whole  parish,  churcii, 
steeple,  bells,  and  all. 

Per.  A  pretty  moral. 

3  Fish.  IJuf,  master,  if  I  had  been  the  sexton,  I 
would  have  been  that  day  in  the  belfry. 

2  Fiih.  Why,  man  ^ 

3  Fish.  Becausi^  he  should  have  swallowed  me 
too:  and  when  1  had  been  in  his  belly.  I  would 
have  kept  sucli  a  jangling  of  the  bells,  that  he 
should  never  have  lejt.  till  he  cast  bells,  steeple, 
church,  anil  parish,  up  again.  But  if  the  good 
king  SiniMiiides  wore  of  my  mind- 

Per.  Simonides ! 

3  Fi.ih.  We  would  purge  the  land  of  these  drones, 
that  rob  the  bei-  of  her  iioney. 

Per.  How  from  the  linnj'  subject  of  the  sea 
These  fislicrs  tell  the  infir'milies  of  men  ; 
And  fVom  their  wat'iy  emiiirc  recollect 
All  that  may  men  aiijiroAe.  or  men  delect! 
^cace  be  to  your  labor,  honest  hshermen. 


2  Fish.  Honest!  good  fellow,  what's  that?  if  it 
be  a  day  fits  you,  scratch  it  out  of  the  calendar, 
and  nobody  will  look  alter  it. 

Per.  Nay,  see,  the  sea  hath  cast  upon  your  coast — 

2  I-^ish.  What  a  drunken  knave  was  the  sea,  to 
cast  thee  in  our  way  ! 

Per.  A  man  whom  both  the  waters  and  the  wind, 
In  that  vast  tennis-court,  hath  made  the  ball 
J'or  them  to  play  upon,  entreats  you  pity  him; 
He  asks  of  you,  that  never  used  to  beg. 

1  Fish.  No,  friend,  cannot  you  beg]  here's  them 
in  our  country  of  Greece,  gets  more  with  begging, 
than  we  can  do  with  working. 

2  Fish.  Canst  thou  catch  any  fishes  then'! 
Per.  I  never  practised  it. 

2  Fish.  Nay,  then  thou  wilt  starve  sure ;  for 
here's  nothing  to  be  got  now-a-days,  unless  thou 
canst  fish  for't. 

Per.  Wliat  I  have  been,  I  have  forgot  to  know; 
But  what  I  am,  want  teaches  me  to  think  on  ; 
A  man  shrunk  up  with  cold:  my  veins  are  chill, 
And  have  no  more  of  life,  than  may  suffice 
To  give  my  tongue  that  heat,  to  ask  your  help; 
Which  if  you  shall  refuse,  when  I  am  dead. 
For  I  am  a  man,  pray  see  me  buried. 

1  Fish.  Die,  quoth-a!  Now  gods  forbid!  I  have 
a  gown  here:  come,  put  it  on;  keep  thee  warm. 
Now,  afore  me,  a  handsome  fellow!  Come,  thou 
Shalt  go  home,  and  we'll  have  flesh  fiir  holidays, 
fish  for  fasting  days,  and  moreo'er,  puddings  and 
tlap-jacks,!i  and  thou  shall  be  welcome. 

Per.  I  thank  you,  sir. 

2  Fish.  Hark  you,  my  friend,  you  said  you  could 
not  beg. 

Per.  I  did  but  cr,ive. 

2  Fish.  But  crave!  Then  I'll  turn  craver  too, 
and  so  I  shall  'scape  whipping. 

Per.  Why,  are  all  your  beggars  whipped,  then 7 

2  Fish.  O,  not  all,  my  fi-iend,  not  all ;  for  if  all 
your  beggars  were  wbipped,  1  would  wish  no  bet- 
ter office,  than  to  be  beadle.  But,  master,  I'll  go 
draw  up  the  net.    [Exeunt  two  if  the  Fishermen. 

I'cr.  How  well  this  honest  mirth  becomes  tiicir 
labor! 

1  Fish.  Hark  you,  sir;  do  you  know  where  you 
are  I 

Per.  Not  well. 

1  Fish.  Why,  I'll  tell  you  :  this  is  called  Penta- 
polis, and  our  king,  the  good  Simonides. 

Per.  The  good  king  Simonides,  do  you  call  him? 

I  Fiih.  Ay,  sir;  and  he  deserves  to  be  so  called, 
for  his  peaceable  reign,  and  good  government. 

Per.  He  is  a  happy  king,  since  from  his  subjects 
He  gains  the  name  of  good,  by  his  governniem. 
How  far  is  his  court  distant  liom  this  shore  ! 

1  Fish.  Marry,  sir,  iialf  a  day's  journey  ;  and  I'll 
tell  you,  he  hath  a  lair  daughter, and  to-morrow  is 
her  birth-day;  and  there  are  princes  and  knights 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  to  just  and  tour- 
ney for  her  love. 

Per.  Did  but  my  fortunes  equal  my  desires, 
I'd  wish  to  make  one  there. 

1  FLih.  0,  sir,  tilings  must  be  as  they  may;  and 
what  a  man  cannot  get,  he  may  lawfully  deal  for— 
his  wife's  soul. 

Re-enter  the  two  Fishermen,  drawing  up  a  N,:t. 

2  Fiik.  Help,  master,  help ;  here's  a  fish  hangs 
in  the  net,  like  a  poor  man's  right  in  the  law;  'twMl 
hardly  come  out.  Ha!  bots  on't, 'tis  come  at  last, 
and  'tis  turned  to  a  rusty  armor. 

Per.  An  armor,  friends !  I  pray  you,  let  me  sec  it. 
Thanks,  fortune,  yet,  that  after  all  my  crosses, 
Thou  giv'st  me  somewhat  to  repair  myself;  ' 
And,  though  it  was  mine  own,  part  of  mine  heritage, 
Wfiich  my  dead  father  did  be(picath  to  me. 
With  this  strict  charge,  (even  as  he  left  his  life,) 
Keip  it,  my  Pericles,  it  hath  been  a  shield 
'Twiit  nie  and  death, [And  pointed  to  this  brace:') 
For  that  it  sav^d  oie,  1,'ecji  it ;  in  tike  necessity. 
Which  gods ]irotect  t lire  from!  it  mait  dej'end  ihcc. 
It  kept  where  1  kejit.  I  s"o  dearly  lov'il  it; 
Till  the  rough  seas,  that  spare  iiot  any  man. 
Took  it  in  rage,  though,  calm'd,  they  give't  again: 
I  thank  thee  fiir't;  my  shipwreck's  now  no  ill, 
Since  I  liave  here  my  fatlier's  gift  by  will. 

1  Fisli.  AV'hat  mean  yon,  sir  I 

Per.  To  beg  of  you,  kind  friends,  this  coat  o( 
worlli, 
»  r.iQ-cakes.  *  Armor  fbr  the  arm. 


Scene  III. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


C63 


For  it  was  sometime  target  to  a  king; 
I  know  it  by  this  mark.    He  lov'd  me  dearly, 
And  for  his  sake,  I  wish  the  having  of  it ; 
And  that  you'd  guide  me  to  your  sovereign's  court, 
Where  with't  I  may  appear  a  gentleman; 
And  if  tliat  ever  my  low  fortunes  bettor, 
I'll  pay  your  bounties;  till  then,  rest  your  debtor. 
1  Fish.  Why,  wilt  thou  tourney  lor  the  lady  1 
Fer.  I'll  show  the  virtue  I  have  borne  in  arms. 

1  Fish.  Why,  do  ye  take  it,  and  the  gods  give 
thee  good  on't ! 

2  Futh.  Ay,  but  hark  you,  my  friend:  twas  we 
that  made  up  thisgarmentthrough  the  roughseams 
of  the  waters ;  there  are  certain  condolements,  cer- 
tain vails.  I  hope,  sir,  if  you  thrive,  you'll  remem- 
ber from  whence  you  had  it. 

Fcr.  Believe't,  I  will. 
Now,  by  your  furtherance,  I  am  cloth'd  in  steel; 
And  spite  of  all  the  rupture  of  tlie  sea, 
This  jewel  liolds  his  bidding-  on  my  arm ; 
Unto  thy  value  will  I  mount  myself 
Upon  a  courser,  whose  delightful  steps 
SItall  make  the  gazer  joy  to  see  him  tread. — 
Only,  my  friend,  I  yet  am  unprovided 
Of  a  pair  of  bascs.^ 

2  Fiih.  We'll  sure  provide  :  thou  shalt  have  my 
best  gown  to  make  thee  a  pair;  and  I'll  bring  thoe 
to  the  cotirt  m>self. 

Per.  Then  honor  be  but  a  goal  to  my  will ; 
This  day  I'll  rise,  or  else  add  ill  to  ill.       [Exeunt' 

SCENE  U.—Tke  same.  A  Public  Way,  or  Plat- 
form, leailing  to  the  Lists.  A  Poriliim  by  the 
side  of  it,  fur  the  reception  of  the  King,  Princess, 
Lords,  ,5c. 

Enter  SraoNiDES,  Thaisa,  Lords,  and  Attendants. 

.Sim.  Are  the  knighl-s  ready  to  begin  the  triumph? 

1  Lorit.  They  are,  my  liege ; 
And  stay  your  coming  to  present  themselves. 

Sim.    Return   thein,-*  we  are    ready;    and  our 
daughter. 
In  honor  of  whose  birth  these  triumphs  are, 
.Sits  here,  like  beauty's  child,  wiioin  nature  gat 
For  me  to  see,  and  seeing,  wonder  at. 

[  Exit  a  Lord. 

Th^i.  It  pleaseth  you,  my  father,  to  express 
My  commendations  great,  whose  merit's  less. 

Sint.  'Tis  fit  it  should  be  so  ;  iiir  princes  are 
A  model,  which  heaven  makes  like  to  itself: 
As  jewels  lose  their  glory,  if  neglected. 
So  princes  their  renown,  if  not  resjiected. 
'Tis  now  your  honor,  daughter,  to  explain 
The  labor  of  each  knight,  in  his  device. 

Thui.  Which,  to  preserve  mine  honor,  I'll  per- 
form. 
Enter  a  Knight;  he  passes  over  the  Stage,  and  his 
Squice  presents  his  Shield  to  the  I'rincess. 

Sim.  Who  is  the  first  that  doth  prefer  himself? 

Thai.  A  knight  of  Sparta,  my  reiiouned  liilher; 
And  the  device  he  bears  upon  his  shield, 
Is  a  black  ^'l^thiop,  reaching  at  the  sun; 
The  word.  Lux  tua-i-ita  mihi. 

Sim.  He  loves  you  well,  tliat  holds  his  life  of  you. 
{The  second  Knight  passes. 
Who  is  the  second,  that  presents  himself? 

Tliai.  A  prince  of  Jlacedon,  my  royal  father; 
And  the.devjcc  lie  bears  upon  his  shield 
Is  an  arm'd  knight,  that's  conquer'd  by  a  lady: 
The  motto  thus,  in  Spanish,  Piu  per  du  i:ura  que 
perfuer(:a.^  [  The  third  Knight  passes. 

Sim.  And  what's  the  tliird  ? 

Thai.  The  third,  of  Antioch ; 

And  his  device,  a  wreath  of  chivalry; 
The  word.  Me  pompae  provexit  apex. 

[  The  fourth  Knight  passes. 

Sim.  What  is  the  fourth  ! 

TAaJ.  Aburninglorch,that'sturned  upside  down: 
The  word.  Quod  me  atit,  me  extinguit. 

Sim.  Which  shows  that  beauty  hath  his  power 
and  will, 
Which  can  as  well  inflame,  as  it  can  kill. 

[  The  fifth  Knight  passes. 

Thai.  The  fifth,  a  hand  environed  with  clouds; 
Holding  out  gold,  that's  by  the  touchstone  tried: 
The  motto  thus,  Sic  spectanda  fiies. 

a  Kee])ing.  3  A  kind  of  loose  breeches. 

*  i.  e  Iteturn  fbem  notice. 

•  i.  €.  More  by  sweetness  than  hy  force. 


[The  sixth  Knight  passes. 

Sim.  And  what's  the  sixth  and  last,  which  the 
knight  himself 
With  such  a  graceful  courtesy  deliver'd  ? 

Thai.  He  seems  a  stranger;  but  his  present  is 
A  withor'd  branch,  that's  only  green  at  top; 
The  motto,  //;  hue  spe  vivo. 

Sim.  A  pretty  moral; 
From  the  dejected  state  wherein  he  is. 
He  hopes  by  you  his  fortunes  yet  may  flourish. 

1  Lord.  He  had  need  mean  better  tlian  his  out- 

ward show 
Can  any  way  speak  in  his  just  commend; 
For,  by  his  rusty  outside,  he  appears 
To  have  practis'd  more  the  whipstock,  than  the 

lance. 

2  Lord.  He  well  may  be  a  stranger,  for  he  comes 
To  an  honor'd  triumph,  strangely  furnished. 

3  Lord.  And  on  set  purpose  let  his  armor  rust, 
Until  this  day,  to  scour  it  in  the  dust. 

Sim.  Opinion's  but  a  loot,  that  makes  us  scan 
The  outward  habit  by  the  inward  man. 
Hut  stay,  the  knights  arc  coming  ;  we'll  withdraw 
Into  the  gallery.  [Exeunt. 

[Great  shouts;  and  all  cry,  The  mean  knight ! 

SCENE   Ul.—Tlie   same.     A  Hall  of  Slate.— A 
Banquet  prepared. 

Enter  Simoxides,  Thaisa.  Lords,   Knights,  and 
Attendants. 

Sim.  Knights, 
To  say  }'ou  are  welcome,  were  superlluous. 
To  place  upon  the  volume  of  j'our  deeds, 
As  in  a  title-page,  your  worth  in  arms. 
Were  more  than  j  ou  expect,  or  more  than's  fit 
Since  every  worth  jii  show  commends  itself. 
Prepare  for  mirth,  for  mirth  becomes  a  least: 
You  are  my  guests. 

Tluii.  But  you,  my  knight  and  guest, 

To  whom  this  wreath  of  victory  1  give. 
And  crown  you  king  of  this  day's  linpiiincss. 

Per.  'Tis  more  by  liirlune,  lady,  than  by  merit, 

Sim,  Call  it  by  what  you  will,  tile  day  is  yours; 
And  here,  I  hope,  is  none  that  envies  it. 
In  framing  artists,  art  hath  tlius  decreed. 
To  make  some  good,  but  others  to  exceed; 
And  you're  her  labor'd  scholar.    Come,  queen  o 

the  feast, 
(For,  daughter,  so  you  are.)  here  take  your  place: 
Alarshal  the  rest,  as  they  deserve  their  grace. 

Knights.  We  are  honor'd  much  by  good  Simo- 
nides. 

Sim.  Your  presence  glads  our  dajs;  h.onor  we 
love. 
For  who  hales  honor,  hates  the  gods  above. 

Marsh.  Sir,  yond's  your  place. 

Per.  Some  other  is  more  fit. 

1  Knight.  Contend  not,  sir;  for  we  are  gentle- 
men. 
That  neither  in  our  hearts,  nor  outward  eyes, 
Envy  the  great,  nor  do  the  low  despise. 

Per.  You  arc  right  courteous  knighls. 

Sim.  Sit,  sit,  gir;  sit. 

Per.  By  Jove,  I  wonder,  that  is  king  of  thoughts, 
These  cales  resist  nie.i'  she  not  thought  upon. 

Thai.  By  Juno,  that  is  queen 
Of  marriage,  all  the  viands  that  I  eat 
Do  seem  unsavory,  wishing  him  my  meat; 
Sure  he's  a  gallant  gentleman. 

Sim.  He's  but 

A  country  gentleman ; 

He  has  done  no  more  than  other  knights  have  done, 
Broken  a  stall',  or  so ;  so  let  it  pass. 

Tluii.  To  me  he  seems  like  diamond  to  glass. 

Per.  Yon  king's  to  me,  like  to  my  father's  pic- 
ture, 
Which  tells  me,  in  that  glory  once  he  was; 
Had  princes  sit,  like  stars,  about  his  throne. 
And  he  the  sun,  tor  them  to  reverence. 
None  that  beheld  him,  but,  like  lesser  lights, 
Did  vail  their  crowns  to  his  supremacy; 
Where  now  his  son's  a  glow-worm  in  the  night, 
The  which  hath  tire  in  darkness,  none  in  light; 
Whereby  I  see  that  time's  the  king  of  men. 
For  he's  their  parent,  and  he  is  their  grave. 
And  gives  them  what  he  will,  not  what  they  crave. 

Sim.  What,  are  you  merry,  knights  ! 

«  i.  e.  These  delicacies  go  against  my  stomach. 


664 


PERICLES,   PEINCE   OF   TYRE.        Act  II.  Scene  V. 


i  drunk  to  you. 


1  Knight.  \Vho  can  be  other,  in  this  royal  pre- 
sence \ 
Sim.  Here,  with  a  cup  that's  stor'd  unto  the  brim, 
(As  you  do  love,  till  to  your  mistress'  lips,) 
VVe  drinlithis  healtli  to  you. 
Knights.  We  thank  your  grace. 

iiini.  Yet  pause  a  while  ; 
Yon  kuiglit,  metliinks,  doth  sit  too  melancholy, 
As  if  tlie  entertainment  in  our  court 
Had  not  a  show  niiglit  countervail  his  worth. 
Note  it  not  you,  Thaisa  ! 

Thai.  Wliat  is  it 

To  me,  my  father  1 

Sim.  0,  attend,  my  daughter; 

Princes,  in  this,  should  live  like  gods  above, 
Wlio  li-eely  give  to  every  one  that  comes 
To  honor  them  ;  and  prniccs,  not  doing  so. 
Are  like  to  gnats,  which  make  a  sound,  but  kill'd 
Are  wonder'd  at. 

Therefore  to  make's  entrance  more  sweet,  here  say, 
We  drink  this  standing  bowl  of  wine  to  him. 

Thai.  Alas,  my  lather,  it  befits  not  me 
Unto  a  stranger  laiigiit  to  be  so  bold  ; 
He  may  my  proller  take  for  an  olli-nce, 
Since  men  tal;e  women's  gifts  lor  impudence. 

Sim.  How ! 
Do  as  I  bid  5'ou,.or  you'll  move  me  else. 
Thai.  Now,  by  the  gods,  he  could  not  please  me 
better.  [Aside. 

Sim.  And  further  tell  him  we  desire  to  knovi', 
If  whence  he  is,  his  name  and  parentage. 
Thai.  The  king,  my  father,  sir,  lias  drunl 
Per.  1  tliank  Inm. 
Thai.  Wishing  it  so  much  blood  unto  your  life. 
Per.  I  thank  both  him  and  you,  and  pledge  him 

freely. 
Thai.  And  further  he  desires  to  know  of  you, 
Of  whence  you  are,  your  name  and  parentage. 

Per.  A  gentleman  of  Tyre ;— ( my  name,  Pericles; 
My  education  being  in  arts  and  arms;)— 
Who,  looking  for  adventures  in  the  world, 
Was  by  the  rough  seas  relt  of  ships  and  men, 
And,  after  shipwreck,  driven  upon  this  shore. 
Ttiui.  He  tlianks  your  grace ;   names  liimscif 
Pericles, 
A  genllemau  of  Tyre,  who  only  by 
Mistiirtunc  of  the  seas  has  been  bereft 
Of  ships  and  men,  and  cast  upon  this  sliore. 

Sim.  Now  by  the  gods,  I  pity  his  niislbiiune, 
And  will  awake  him  from  his  melancholy. 
Come,  gentlemen,  we  sit  too  long  on  tiilles. 
And  waste  the  time,  wliich  looks  for  other  revels. 
Even  in  your  armors,  as  you  are  address'd, 
Will  very  well  become  a  soldier's  dance. 
I  will  not  have  excuse,  with  saying,  this 
Loud  music  is  too  harsh  for  ladies'  lieads; 
Since  they  love  men  in  arms,  as  well  as  beds. 

[The  Knights  dance. 
So,  this  was  well  ask'd,  'twas  so  well  peiform'd. 
Come,  sir; 

Here  is  a  lady  that  wants  breathing  too  : 
And  I  have  often  heard,  you  knights  of  Tyre 
Are  excellent  in  making  ladies  trip ; 
And  that  their  measures  are  as  excellent. 
Per.  In  those  that  practise  tliem,  they  are,  my 

lord. 
Sim.  0,  that's  as  much  as  you  would  be  deny'd 
[The  Knights  and  Ladies  dunce. 
Of  your  fair  courtesy.— Unclasp,  unclasp ; 
Thanks,  gentlemen,  to  all;  all  have  done  well. 
But  you  the  best.  [To  Pericles.]  Pages  and  lights, 

conduct 
Tliese  knights  unto  their  several  lodgings:  Yours, 

sir. 
We  have  given  orders  to  be  next  our  o\vn. 
Per.  I  am  at  your  grace's  pleasure. 
Sim..  Princes,  it  is  too  late  to  talk  of  love. 
For  that's  the  mark  I  know  you  level  at: 
Therclbre  each  one  betake  him  to  his  rest ; 
To-morrow,  all  for  speeding  do  their  best.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— TjTc.    A  Room  in  the  Governor's 

House. 

Enter  Helicants  and  Escaxes. 

Jlel.  No,  no,  my  Escanes;  know  this  of  me,— 

Antioi  bus  from  incest  liv'd  not  free ; 

For  which,  the  moat  high  gods  not  minding  longer 

To  withhold  the  vengeance  that  they  had  in  store. 

Due  to  this  heinous  capital  ollbnee. 


Even  in  the  height  and  pride  of  all  his  glory. 
When  he  was  seated,  and  his  daughter  with  him. 
In  a  chariot  of  inestinrable  value, 
A  tire  from  heaven  came,  and  shrivelfd  up 
Their  bodies  even  to  loathing  ;  for  they  so  stunk. 
That  all  those  eyes  ador'd  them,  ere  their  fall, 
.Scorn  now  their  hand  should  give  them  burial. 

Esca.  'Twas  very  strange. 

Hel.  And  yet  but  just;  for  though 

This  king  was  great,  his  greatness  was  no  guard' 
To  bar  heaven's  shaft,  but  sin  had  his  reward. 

Esca.  'Tis  very  true. 

Enter  three  Lords. 

1  Lord.  See,  not  a  man  in  private  conference, 
Or  council,  has  respect  with  him  but  he. 

2  Lord.  It  shall  no  longer  grieve  without  reproof. 

3  Lord.  Follow  me  then :  Lord  Helicane,  a  word. 
Het.  With  me!  and  welcome:  Happy  day,  my 

lords. 
1  Lord.  Know  that  our  griefs  are  risen  to  the  top, 
And  now  at  length  they  overllow  their  banks. 
Hel.  Your  griels,  for  what!  wrong  not  the  prince 
you  love. 

1  Lm-d.  Wrong  not  yourself  then,  noble  Helicane : 
But  if  the  prince  do  live,  let  us  salute  him, 

Or  know  what  ground's  made  happy  bv  his  breath. 
If  in  the  world  he  live,  we'll  seek  him  out ; 
If  in  his  grave  he  rest,  we'll  find  him  there; 
And  be  rcsolv'd  he  lives  to  govern  us. 
Or  dead,  gives  cause  to  mourn  his  funeral, 
And  leaves  ns  to  our  free  election. 

2  Lord.  Whose  death's,  indeed,  the  strongest  in 

our  censure  : 
And  knowing  this  kingdom,  if  without  a  head, 
(Like  goodly  buildings  left  without  a  roof,) 
Will  soon  to  ruin  fall,  your  noble  self. 
That  best  know'st  how  to  rale,  and  how  to  reign. 
We  thus  submit  unto, — our  sovereign. 

All.  Live,  Lord  Helicane! 

Bel.  Try  honor's  cause,  forbear  your  sutTrages, 
If  that  you  love  prince  Pericles,  forbear. 
Take  I  your  wish,  I  leap  into  the  seas, 
Where's  hourly  trouble  lor  a  minute's  ease. 
A  twelvemonth  longer  let  me  then  entreat  you 
To  forbear  choice  i'  the  absence  o'  the  king ; 
If  in  which  time  expir'd,  he  not  return. 
I  shall  with  aged  jiatience  bear  your  yoke. 
But  if  I  cannot  win  you  to  his  love; 
Go  search  like  noblemen,  like  noble  subjects. 
And  in  your  search  spend  your  adventurous  worth : 
Whom  if  you  find,  and  win  unto  return. 
You  shall  like  diamonds  sit  about  his  crown. 

1  Lord.  To  wisdom  he's  a  fool  that  will  not  yield 
And,  since  lord  Helicane  enjoinelh  us. 
We  with  cur  travels  will  endeavor  it. 

Hel.  Then  you  love  us,  vm  you,  and  we'll  clasp 
hands; 
When  peers  thus  knit,  a  kingdom  ever  stands. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  v.— Pentapolis.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Simonides,  reading  a  Letter,  the  Knights 
meet  him. 

1  Knight.  Good-morrow  to  the  good  Simonides. 
Sim.  Knights,  from  my  daughter  this  I  let  you 

know. 
That  for  this  twelvemonth,  she'll  not  Undertake 
A  married  life. 

Her  reason  to  herself  is  only  known. 
Which  from  herself  by  no  means  can  I  get. 

2  Knight.  May"  we  not  get  access  to  her,  mv 

lord ! 
Sim.  'Faith,  by  no  means;  she  hath  so  strictly 

tied  her 
To  her  chamber,  that  it  is  impossible. 
One  twelve  moons  more  she'll  wear  Diana's  livery; 
This  by  the  eye  of  Cynthia  hath  she  vow'd, 
And  on  her  virgin  honor  will  not  break  it. 

3  Knight.  Though  loath  to  bid  tiirewell,  we  lake 

our  leaves.  [Exeunt. 

Sim.  So 
They're  well  despatch'd;  now  to  my  daughter's 

letter ; 
She  tells  me  here,  she'll  wed  the  stranger  knight, 
Or  never  more  lo  view  nor  day  nor  light. 
Mistress,  'tis  well,  your  choice  agrees  with  mine , 
I  like  that  well :— nay,  how  absolute  she's  in't, 
Not  minding  wlielhcr  1  dislike  or  no  I 
Well,  I  commend  her  choice; 


Act  III.  Scene  I.       PERICLES,  PRINCE   OF   TYRE. 


665 


And  will  no  lon{j:er  have  it  be  delay'd. 
Soft, here  he  comes; — I  must  dissemble  it. 
Enter  Pericles. 

Per.  All  fortune  to  the  Rood  SimonidesJ 

Hiin.  To  you  as  much,  sir!  I  am  beholden  to 
you. 
For  your  sweet  music  this  last  nii^ht :  my  ears, 
I  do  protest,  were  never  better  fed 
With  such  deli^ihtful  pleasing  harmony. 

Per.  It  is  yoiir  grace's  pleasure  to  commend ; 
Not  my  desert. 

Sim.  Sir,  j'ou  are  music's  master. 

Per.  The  worst  of  all  her  scholars,  my  good  lord. 

Sim.  Let  me  ask  one  thing.   What  do  you  think, 
sir,  of 
My  daughter? 

Per.  As  of  a  most  virtuous  princess. 

Sim,  And  she  is  fair  too,  is  she  not? 

Per.  As  a  fair  day  in  summer;  wondrous  fair. 

Sim.  My  dau;;;hter,  sir,  thinks  very  well  of  you  ; 
Ay,  so  well,  sir,  that  you  must  be  her  master. 
And  she'll  your  scholar  be ;  therefore,  look  to  it. 

Per.  Unworthy  I  to  be  her  schoolmaster. 

Siw,  She  thinks  not  so;  peruse  this  wTiting  else. 

Per.  Wliat's  herel 
A  letter  tliat  s!ie  loves  the  Icnight  of  Tyre? 
'Tis  the  kin^^'s  subtilty,  to  have  my  lite.        {Aside. 
0,  seek  not  to  intra  p,  my  gracious  lord, 
A  stranger  and  distressed'gentlcman, 
That  never  aim\i  so  hit;h  to  love  your  daughter, 
But  bent  al!  oihces  to  honor  her. 

Sim.  Thou   hast  bewitch'd  my  daughter,  and 
thou  art 
A  viilaiii. 

Per.         By  the  gods,  I  have  not,  sir : 
Never  did  thousht  of  mine  levy  olTence; 
Nor  never  did  my  actions  j-et  commence 
A  deed  mii;ht  gain  her  love,  or  your  displeasure. 

Slin.  Traitor,  thou  licst. 

Per.  Traitor ! 

Sim.  Ay,  traitor,  sir. 


Per.  Even  in  his  tiiroat  (unless  it  be  the  king) 
That  calls  me  traitor,  I  return  the  lie. 

Sim.  Now,  by  the  gods,  I  do  applaud  his  cou- 
rage. [Aside, 

Per.  My  actions  are  as  noble  as  my  thoughts 
That  never  relish'd  of  a  base  descent. 
I  came  unto  your  court,  tor  honor's  cause, 
And  not  to  be  a  rebel  to  her  state ; 
And  he  that  otherwise  accounts  of  me, 
This  sworfl  shall  prove  he's  honor's  enemy. 

Sim.  No ! — 
Here  comes  my  daughter,  she  can  witness  it. 

£/2/crTHAISA. 

Per.  Then,  as  you  are  as  virtuous  as  fair, 
Resolve  your  angry  father,  if  my  tongue 
Did  e'er  solicit,  or  my  hand  subscribe 
To  any  syllable  that  made  love  to  you  \ 

Thai.  Why.  sir,  say  if  you  had. 
Who  takes  dirence  at  that  would  make  me  glad? 

Sim.  Yea,  mistress,  are  you  so  peremptory  1^ 
I  am  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart.  [Aside.]  Vii  tarae 

you; 
I'll  bring  you  in  subjection.— 
Will  yoii,  not  having  my  consent,  bestow 
Your  love  and  your  affections  on  a  stranger? 
(Who.  for  auslit  I  know  to  the  contrary, 
Or  think,  may  be  as  great  in  blood  as  I.)       [Ande, 
Hear,  therefore, mistress:  frame  your  will  to  mine,— 
And  you,  sir,  hear  you. — Either  be  rui'd  by  me. 
Or  I  will  make  you"— man  and  wife. — 
Nay.  come ;  your  hands  and  lips  must  seal  it  too. — 
And  being  join'd,  I'll  thus  your  hopes  destroy; — 
And  tor  a  further  grief.—fJod  give  you  joy ! 
What,  arc  you  both  plcas'd  ? 

Thai.  Yes.  if  you  love  me,  sir. 

Per.  Even  as  my  life,  my  blood  that  fosters  it. 

Sim.  Wiiat,  are  you  botli  agreed  ? 

Bnfh.  '         Yes,  'please  your  majesty. 

Sim.  It  pleaseth  tne  so  well,  I'll  see  you  wed ; 
Then,  with  what  haste  you  can,  get  you  to  bed. 

[Exeii7it 


ACT  III. 


Enter  Gower. 
Gnw.  Now  sleep  ysl-.iked"  hath  the  rout, 
No  (iin  but  snores,  the  house  abotit, 
I^Iatle  louder  by  the  oVr-ied  breast, 
Of  this  most  pompous  marriai^e-Ceast. 
The  cat,  with  eyiic  of  burning  coal. 
Now  crouches  'lore  the  movise's  hole  ; 
Aud  cricket.s  sin;;  at  the  oven's  mouth. 
As  the  blither  for  their  drouth. 
Hymen  hath  brou^jht  tlie  bride  to  bed, 
Where,  by  the  loss  of  maidenhead, 
A  babe  is  moulded  ; — Be  attent. 
And  tiine  that  is  so  briefly  spent. 
With  your  line  fancies  quaintly  eche;' 
What's  dumb  in  show,  I'll  plain  with  speech. 
Dumb  shniit.   Enter  Pekici.es  nnd  Simoxides  at  one 
d(ior,icUli  Attendants;  a  Messenger  mec/s  tiim, 
kneels,  ami  ffipes  Pericles  a  Letter.    Pericles 
sitows  it  tn  SiMONiDES;  t/ie  Lords  kneel  In  the 
furmcr.    Tlirn  enter  Thaisa  !(ii7A  cliUil,  and  Lv- 
cnoRiDA.     SiMONiDES  sliinvs  M.s   DauKhter  the 
Letter:    xlie   rejuices :    slie   and   PEiiicLES  take 
leave  rf  tier  Fattier,  and  depart.  Tlien  Simonides, 
4e.  retire. 

r,ow.  By  many  a  dcarn'  and  painful  perch,i 
Of  Pericles  the  careful  search, 
Ry  the  four  opposinj;  coi:;nes.2 
Which  the  world  together  joins. 
Is  made  with  all  due  diligence. 
That  horse,  and  sail,  and  high  expense. 
Can  stead  the  qucst.3    At  last  from  Tyre, 
(Fame  answerinp:  the  most  strong  inquire,! 
To  the  court  of  king  Simonides 
Are  letters  brought;  the  tenor  these 
Antiochus  and  his  daughter's  dead; 
The  men  of  Tyrus,  on  the  head 
Of  Helicanus  would  set  on 
The  crown  of  Tyro,  but  ho  will  none : 
'  Quenched.      «  Kke  out.        "»  liOnelj-.      i  A  measure, 
a  Corners.  »  Uelp,'or  assist  the  search. 


The  mutiny  there  he  hastes  t'appease: 

Rays  to  thcin,  if  king  Pericles 

Coine  not,  in  twice  six  moons,  home, 

He.  obedient  to  their  doom, 

Will  take  the  crown.    The  sum  of  this, 

Brouiiht  hither  to  Pentapolis, 

Y-ravished  the  regions  round. 

And  every  one  with  claps  'gan  sound. 

Our  ticir  apparent  U  ft  kins; 

Wlin  dreamed,  vfin  ttimiglit  of  suett  a  thing? 

Brief,  he  must  hence  depart  to  Tyre: 

His  queen,  with  child,  makes  her  desire 

f  Wliich  who  shall  cross?)  along  to  go; 

(Omit  we  all  their  dole  and  wo;) 

Lychorida,  her  nurse,  she  takes. 

And  so  to  sea.    Their  vessel  shakes 

On  Neptune's  billow ;  half  the  llood 

Hath  their  keel  cut;  but  fortune's  mood 

Varies  again  ;  the  grizzled  north 

Disgorges  such  a  tempest  Ibrth, 

That,  as  a  duck  for  life  that  dives. 

So  up  and  down  the  poor  ship  drives. 

The  lady  shrieks,  and,  well-a-near!^ 

Doth  fall  in  travail  with  her  fear:. 

And  what  ensues  in  this  fell  storm. 

Shall,  for  itselt',  itself  perform. 

I  nilP  relate;  action  may 

Conveniently  the  rest  convey: 

Which  might  not  what  by  me  is  told. 

In  your  imagination  hold 

This  stage,  the  ship,  upon  whose  deck 

The  sea-tost  prince  appears  to  speak.  [Lx'it. 

SCENE  I. 
Enter  Pericles,  07i  a  Ship  at  Sea. 
Per.  Thou  god  of  this  great  vast,  rebuke  theso 
surges. 
Which  wash  both  heaven  and  hell ;  and  thou,  that 
hast 

«  An  exd.imation  eciuivalent  to  well-a-day. 
>  I  shall  not. 


666 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF   TYRE. 


Act  III. 


Upon  the  winds  command,  bind  them  in  brass, 
Having  callM  them  from  the  deep  !    O  still  thy 

deaf 'nin^, 
Thy  dreadful  thunders;  gently  quench  thy  nimble. 
Sulphureous  fLislies! — 0  liow,  Lychorida, 
How  does  my  queen?— Thou  storm,  thou !  venom- 
ously 
Wilt  thou  spit  all  thyself?— The  seaman's  whistle 
Is  as  a  whisper  in  the  ears  of  death. 
Unheard. — Lychorida!— Lucina,''  0 
Divinest  patroness,  and  midwife,  gentle 
To  tiiose  that  cry  by  niglit,  convey  tliy  deity 
Aboard  our  dancing  boat;  make  swift  the  pangs 

Of  my  queen's  travails ! — Now,  Lychorida 

Enter  L\CRomDA,wilh  an  InJ'ant. 

Lye.  Here  is  a  thing 
Too  young  for  such  a  place,  who,  if  it  had 
Conceit,  would  die  as  1  am  like  to  do. 
Take  in  your  arms  this  piece  of  your  dead  queen. 

Per.  How'!  how,  Lychorida ! 

Lye.  Patience, good  sir;  do  not  assist  the  storm. 
Here's  all  that  is  left  living  of  your  queen, — 
A  little  daughter;  for  the  sake  of  it, 
Be  manly,  and  take  comfort. 

Per.  0  you  gods ! 

Why  do  you  make  us  love  your  goodly  gifts. 
And  snatch  them  straight  away?  We,  here  below, 
Recall  not  what  we  give,  and  therein  may 
Vie  honor'  with  yourselves. 

Lye.  Patience,  good  sir, 

Even  for  this  charge. 

Per.  Now,  mild  may  be  thy  life  ! 

For  a  more  blust'rous  birtli  had  never  babe : 
Quiet  and-gentle  thy  conditions! 
For  thou'rt  the  ruddiest  welcom'd  to  this  world. 
That  e'er  was  prince's  child.  Happy  what  follows! 
Thou  hast  as  chiding  a  nativity. 
As  lire,  air,  water,  earth,  and  heaven  can  make. 
To  herald  thee  from  the  womb  !  even  at  the  first, 
Tliy  loss  is  more  than  can  thy  portage  quit,* 
Willi  all  thou  canst  find  here.— Now  the  good  gods 
Throw  their  best  eyes  upon  it ! 

Enter  two  Sailors. 

1  Sail.  What  courage,  sir  ?    God  save  you. 

Per.  Courage  enough:  I  do  not  fear  the  haw; 
It  hath  done  to  me  the  worst.    Yet,  lor  the  love 
Of  this  poor  infiint,  this  fiesh-new  sea-farer, 
I  would,  it  would  be  quiet. 

1  fSail.  Slack  the  bolinss  there;  thou  wilt  not, 
wilt  thou  ?    Blow,  and  split  thyself. 

2  .S'ni/.  But  sea-room,  an  the  brine  and  cloudy 
billow  kiss  the  moon,  I  care  not. 

1  ScrU.  Sir,  your  queen  must  overboard  ;  the  sea 
works  high,  the  wind  is  loud,  and  will  not  lie  till 
the  ship  be  cleared  of  the  dead. 
Per.  That's  your  superstition. 
1  Sail.  Pardon  us.sir;  with  us  at  sea  it  still  hath 
been    observed;    and  we   are  strong  in  earnest. 
Therefore  briefly  yield  her;  lor  she  must  overboard 
straight. 
Per.  Be  it  as  you  think  meet.— Most  wretclied 

queen ! 
Lye.  Here  she  lies,  sir. 

Per.  A  terrible  child-bed  hast  thou  had, my  dear. 
No  light,  no  fire ;  the  unfriendly  elements 
Forgot  thee  utterly ;  nor  have  I  time 
To  give  thee  hallowed  to  thy  grave,  but  straight 
Must  cast  thee,  scarcely  colhn'd,  in  the  ooze ; 
Where,  for  a  monument  upon  thy  bones. 
And  aye-remaining  lamps,  the  belching  whale. 
And  humming  water  must  o'erwhelm  thy  corpse, 
Lying  with  simple  shells.    Lychorida, 
Bid  Nestor  bring  me  sjiices,  ink,  and  paper; 
My  casket,  and  my  jewels;  and  bid  Nicander 
Dniig  me  the  satin  coder:  lay  the  babe 
Upon  the  pillow;  liie  thee,  whiles  I  .say 
A  priestly  farewell  to  her:  suddenly,  woman. 

[Exit  Lychorida. 
2  i<ail.  Sir,  we  have  a  chest  beneath  the  hatches, 
caulk'dand  bitumed  ready. 
Per.  I  thanlc  thee.    Mariner,  say,  what  coast  is 

this? 
2  Sail.  We  are  near  Tharsus. 
Per.  Thither,  gentle  mariner. 
Alter  thy  course  lor  Tyre.  When  canst  thou  reach  it? 
■  The  gO(IileR.s  of  chil(U«iiring. 
'  Cont^'nJ  with  you  in  honor. 
>  Thiin  any  t-ntrance  into  life  can  requite. 
•  BmvUnc^f  ropes  of  the  sails. 


2  Sail.  By  break  of  day,  if  the  wind  cease. 

Per.  0  make  for  Tharsus. 
There  will  I  visit  Cleon,  for  the  babe 
Cannot  hold  out  to  Tyrus;  there  I'll  leave  it 
At  careful  nursing.    Go  tliy  ways,  good  mariner; 
I'll  bring  the  body  presently.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Ephesus.    A  Room  in  Cerimon's 

House. 

Enter  Cekimon,  a  Servant,  and  some  Persons  wlu 

fiave  been  Shipwrecked, 

Cer.  Philemon,  ho ! 

Enter  Philemon. 
Phil.  Doth  my  lord  call  ? 
Cer.  Get  fire  and  meat  for  these  poor  men; 
It  has  been  a  turbulent  and  stormy  night. 
Serv.  I  have  been  in  many;  but  such  a  night  as 
this. 
Till  now,  I  ne'er  endur'd. 

Cer.  Your  master  will  be  dead  e'er  vou  return; 
There's  nothing  can  be  minister'd  to  nature. 
That  can  recover  him.  Give  this  to  the  "jiotliecary, 
And  tell  me  how  it  works.  [r«  I'iiilemos. 

[Exeunt  Philemon,  Servant,  and  tlwse  who 
had  been  Stiipwrecked. 
Enter  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  Good-morrow,  sir. 

2  Getit.  Good-morrow  to  your  lordship. 

Cer.  Gentlemen, 

Why  do  you  stir  so  early  ? 

1  Gent.  Sir, 

Our  lodgings,  standing  bleak  upon  the  sea 
Shook,  as  the  earth  did  quake; 
The  very  principals'  did  seem  to  rend. 
And  all  to  topple ;  pure  surprise  and  fear 
Made  me  to  quit  the  house. 

2  Gent.  That  is  the  cause  we  trouble  you  so 

early ; 
'Tis  not  our  husbandry .2 
Cer.  0,  you  say  well. 

1  Gent.  But  I  much  marvel  that  your  lordship, 
having 
Rich  'tire  about  you,  should  at  these  early  hours 
Shake  off  the  golden  slumber  of  repose. 
It  is  most  strange. 

Nature  should  be  so  conversant  with  pain. 
Being  thereto  not  eompeli'd. 

Cer.  I  held  it  ever, 

Virtue  and  cunning^  were  endowments  greater 
Than  nobleness  and  riches ;  careless  heirs 
May  the  two  latter  darken  and  expend; 
But  immortality  attends  the  former. 
Making  a  man  a  god.    'Tis  known,  I  ever 
Have  studied  physic,  through  which  secret  art, 
By  turning  o'er  authorities,  1  have 
(Together  with  my  practice)  made  familiar 
To  me  and  to  my  aid,  the  blest  infusions 
That  dwell  in  vegitives,  in  metals,  stones; 
And  I  can  speak  of  the  disturbances 
That  nature  works,  and  of  her  cures  ;  which  give 

me 
A  more  content  in  course  of  true  delight 
Than  to  be  thirsty  at>er  tottering  honor. 
Or  tie  my  treasure  up  in  silken  bags, 
To  please  the  fool  and  death. 
2  Gent.    Your    honor    has    through    Epiiesus 
pour'd  forth 
Your  charity,  and  hundreds  call  themselves 
Your  creatures,  who  by  you  have  been  restor'd ; 
And  not  your  knowledge,  personal  pain,  but  even 
Your  purse,  still  open,  hath  built  lord  Cerimon 

Sucli  strong  renown  as  time  shall  never 

Enter  two  Servants  with  a  Cliest. 
Serv.  So ;  lift  there. 
Cer.  What  is  that? 

Serv.  sir,  even  now 

Did  the  sea  toss  upon  our  shore  this  chest ; 
'Tis  of  some  wreck. 
Cer.  Set 't  do^vn,  let's  look  on  it. 

2  Gent.  'Tis  like  a  coflin,  sir. 
Cer.  Whate'er  it  be, 

'Tis  wondrous  heavy.     Wrench  it  open  straight; 
If  the  sea's  stomach  be  o'ercharged  with  gold, 
It  is  a  good  constraint  of  fortune,  that 
It  belches  upon  us. 

»  Tht'  piincipaU  are  the  strongest  rafters  in  the  roof  of 
a  building. 
«  Kconomical  prudence,  early  rising.        ■  Knowledge. 


SCKNE   IV. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OP  TYRE. 


667 


2  Gent.  'Tis  so.  my  lord. 

Cer.  How  close  'tis  caulk'd  and  bitumed  !— 
Did  the  sea  cast  it  up  ? 

Serv.  I  never  saw  so  huge  a  billow,  sir. 
As  toss'd  it  upon  shore. 

Ce'-  Come,  WTcnch  it  open. 

Soft,  soft !— it  smells  most  sweetly  in  my  sense. 

2  Gent.  A  delicate  odor. 

Cer.  As  ever  hit  my  nostril;  so,— up  with  it. 
0  you  most  potent  god !  what's  here  1  a  corse  1 

1  Gfnf.  Mo.st  stranKC ! 

Cer.  Shrouded  in  cloth  of  state ;  balm'd  and  en- 
treasur-d 
With  bass  of  spices  full !  A  passport  too  ! 
Apollo,  perfect  me  i'  the  characters! 

[  Unfolds  a  scrnll. 
[Reads. 

Here  I  ^ive  fn  understand, 

(If  e'erthit  cnjtin  drive  a-land,) 

I  kinff  Pcrirles,  hare  lost 

T/iis  ijtteen.  ir<ir//f  aft  our  mundane  cost. 

IVtin  findx  tter.gire  tier  linriiing. 

She  ihns  ttie  datif(hter(f  <i  king: 

Besides  tfiis  treasure  fir  a  fee. 

The  gods  requite  Ms  cttariiy  I 

If  thou  liv'sl,  Pericles,  thou  hast  a  heart 
That  even   cracks   for  woe!  —  This  chanced   to- 
niu'ht. 

2  Gent.  Most  likely,  sir. 

Cer.  Nay,  certainly  to-ni^ht, 

For  look,  how  fresh  she  looks! — They  were  too 

rouffh. 
That  threw  her  in  the  sea.    Make  fire  within ; 
Fetch  hither  all  the  boxes  in  my  closet. 
Death  may  usurp  on  nature  many  hours. 
And  yet  the  fire  of  life  kindle  a;rain 
The  overpressed  spirits.    I  have  heard 
Of  an  Ei^yplian.  had  nine  hours  lien  dead, 
By  good  appliance  was  recovered. 

Enter  a  Servant,  with.  Boxes,  Napkins,  and  Fire. 

Well  said,  well  said  ;  the  fire  and  the  cloths. — 
The  roush  and  woeful  m\isic  lliat  we  have, 
Cause  it  to  sound,  'beseech  you. 
The  vial   once   more; — How   thou  stirr'st,  thou 

block!— 
The  music  there. — I  pray  you,  give  her  air : — 
Gentlemen, 

This  queen  will  live:  nature  awakes;  a  warmth 
Breathes    out   of  her;    she    hath    not    been    en- 

Iranc'd 
Above  five  hours.    See.  how  she  'gins  to  blow 
Into  life's  flower  again! 

1  Cent.  The  heavens,  sir, 
Tlirough  you,  increase  our  wonder,  and  set  up 
Your  lame  for  ever. 

Cer.  She  is  alive;  behold. 

Her  eyelids,  cases  to  those  heavenly  jewels 
Which  Pericles  hath  lost, 
Bciiin  to  part  their  fringes  of  bright  gold; 
Tlie  diamonds  of  a  most  praised  water 
Appear  lo  make  the  world  twice  rich.    0  live. 
And  raaKe  us  weep  to  hear  your  fate,  fair  crea- 
ture. 
Rate  as  you  seem  to  be  !  [She  moves. 

Thai.  0  dear  Diana, 

Where  am  II    Where's  my  lordl    What  world  is 
tliis? 

2  Gent.  Is  not  this  strange? 

1  Gent.  Most  rare. 

Cer.  Hush,  gen[le neighbors; 

Lend  me  your  hands:   lo  liie  next  chamber  bear 

her. 
Get  linen  ;  now  this  matter  must  be  look'd  to. 
For  her  relapse  is  morlal.    Come,  come,  come ; 
And ^-Esculapius  guide  us! 

[£xeunt,  carrying  Thaisa  away. 


SCENE  III.— Tharsus.    A  Room  in  Cleon's 

House. 

Enter  Pericles,  Cleon,  Dioxyza,  Ltchoeida,  and 

Marina. 

Per.  Most  honor'd  Cleon,  I  must  needs  be  gone; 
My  twelve  months  are  expir'd.and  Tyrus  stands 
In  a  litigious  peace.    You,  and  your  lady. 
Take  from  my  heart  all  thankfulness  !     The  gods 
Make  up  the  rest  upon  you  ! 

Cte.  Y'our  shafts  of  fortune,  though  they  hurt 
you  mortally, 
Y'et  glance  full  wan'd'ringly  on  us. 

Ditin.  O  your  sweet  queen  ! 

That  the  strict  fates  had  pleas'd  you  had  brought 

her  iiither. 
To  have  bless'd  mine  eyes ! 

Per.  We  cannot  but  obey 

The  powers  above  us.    Could  I  rage  and  roar 
As  doth  the  .sea  she  lies  in,  yet  the  end 
Must  l>e  as  'tis.    My  babe  Marina  (whom. 
For  she  was  born  at  sea,  I  have  nam'd  so)  here 
I  charge  your  charity  withal,  and  leave  her 
The  infafit  of  your  care;  beseeching  you 
To  give  her  pi-incely  training,  that  she  may  be 
Manuer'd  as  she  is  born. 

Cle.  Fear  not,  my  lord : 

Your  grace,  that  fed  my  country  with  your  corn, 
(For  which  the  people's  prayers  still  fall  on  you,) 
iVIusI  in  your  child  be  thought  on.     If  neglection 
Sliould  therein  make  me  vile,  the  common  body,* 
By  yim  reliev'd,  would  force  me  to  my  duty  : 
But  if  to  that  my  nature  need  a  spur. 
The  gods  levenge  it  upon  me  and  mine, 
To  the  end  of  generation! 

Per.  I  believe  you, 

Y'our  honor  and  your  goodness  teach  me  credit. 
Without  >'our  vows.    Till  she  be  married, madam, 
ily  bright  Diana,  whom  we  honor  all, 
Unscissor'd  shall  this  hair  of  mine  retnain. 
Though  I  show  wilf^  in't.    So  1  take  my  leave. 
Good  madam,  make  me  blessed  in  your  care 
In  bringing  up  my  child. 

Diim.  I  have  one  myself, 

Who  shall  not  be  more  dear  to  my  respect, 
Thau  yours,  my  lord. 

Per.  Madam,  my  thanks  and  prayers. 

Cte.  We'll   bring  your  grace  even  lo  the  edge 
o'  the  shore ; 
Then  give  you  up  to  the  mask'd  Neptune,  and 
The  gentlest  winds  of  heaven. 

Per.  I  will  embrace 

Y'our  olTer.    Come,  dear'st  madam. — 0,  no  tears. 
Lychorida,  no  tears: 

Look  to  your  little  mistress,  on  whose  grace 
You  may  depend  hereafter. — Come,  my  lord. 

SCENE  IV.— Ephesus.    A  Room  in  Cerijion's 

House. 

Enter  Ceuimon  a7td  Thaisa. 

Cer.  Madam,  this  letter,  and  some  certain  jewels, 
Lay  with  >'0U  in  your  cotter:  which  are  now 
At'your  commaiiil.     Know  you  tlie  character  ] 

Thai.  It  is  my  lord's. 
That  I  was  shipp'd  at  sea.  I  well  remember. 
Even  on  my  yearning  time  ;  but  whether  there 
Delivered  or  no,  by  the  holy  gods, 
I  cannot  rightly  say:  But  since  king  Pericles, 
My  wedded  lord,  I  ne'er  shall  see  again, 
A  vestal  livery  will  I  take  me  to, 
.\nd  never  more  have  joy. 

Cer.  Madam,  if  this  you  purpose  as  you  speak, 
Diana's  temple  is  not  distant  far. 
Where  you  may  'bide  until  your  date  expire. 
Moreover,  if  you  please,  a  niece  of  mine 
Shall  there  attend  you. 

Thai.  My  recompense  is  thanks,  that's  all ; 
Y'et  my  good  will  is  great,  though  the  gift  small. 

[Exeunt. 
*  The  common  people.  <  Appear  wilful. 


668 


PERICLES,  PEINCE  OP  TYRE. 


Act  IV. 


ACT  IV. 


Enter  Goweh. 
Gnw.  Imagine  Pericles  at  Tj're, 
WciConiM  to  his  own  desire. 
His  woeful  queen  leave  at  Ephess, 
To  Dian  there  a  votaress. 
Now  to  Marina  bend  jour  mind, 
^\'hom  our  fast-srowing  scene  must  find 
At  Tharsus,  and  by  Cleon  train'il 
In  music,  letters;  who  hath  gaiu'd 
Of  education  all  the  grace, 
Which  makes  her  both  the  heart  and  place 
Of  general  wonder.    But  alack ! 
That  monster  envy,  oft  the  wrack 
Of  earned  praise.  Marina's  lilc 
Seeks  to  take  oil' by  treason's  knife. 
And  in  this  kind  hath  our  Cleon 
One  daughter,  and  a  wench  full  grown. 
Even  ripe  for  marriage  tight;  this  maid 
Higlits  Philoten:  and  it  is  said 
For  certain  in  our  story,  she 
Would  ever  with  Marina  be : 
Be't  when  she  weav'd  the  sicided"  silk 
With  fingers  long,  small,  wliite  as  milk; 
Or  when  she  would  with  sharp  neeld»  wound 
The  cam'oric.  which  she  made  more  sound 
Ey  hurting  it;  or  when  to  the  lute 
She  sung,  and  made  the  night-bird  mute. 
That  still  rccordss  with  moan  ;  or  when 
She  would  with  rich  and  constant  pen 
Vail  to  her  mistress  Dian  ;  still 
This  Philoten  contends  in  skill 
With  absolute'  Marina:  so 
With  the  dove  of  Paphos  might  the  crow 
Vie  ((gathers  while.    Marina  gets 
All  praises,  which  arc  paid  as  debts, 
And  not  as  given.    Th!s  so  darks 
In  Philoten  all  graceful  marks. 
That  Clcon's  wife,  with  envy  rare, 
A  present  murderer  does  prepare 
For  good  Marina,  that  her  daughter 
Might  stand  peerless  by  this  slaughter. 
The  sooner  her  vile  thoughts  to  stead, 
Lyciiorida,  our  nurse,  is  dead  ; 
Arid  cursed  Dionyza  hath 
The  pregnant-  instrument  of  wrath 
Prest^  tor  this  blow.    The  unborn  event 
1  do  commend  to  your  content : 
Only  I  carry  winged  time 
Post  on  the  lame  feet  of  my  rhyme ; 
AVhich  never  could  I  so  convey. 
Unless  your  thoughts  went  on  my  way. — 
Dionyza  does  appear. 
With  Leonine,  a  murderer.  [Exit. 

SCENE  I.  — Tharsus.    An  open  Place  near  the 

Hea-sfiore. 

Enter  Dioxtza  and  Leoxise. 

Dion.  Thy  oath, remember;  thou  hast  sworn  to 
do  it: 
'Tis  Init  a  blow,  which  never  shall  be  k-nown. 
Thou  canst  not  do  a  thing  i'  the  world  so  soon 
To  yield  thee  so  much  profit.    Let  not  conscience, 
Wliich  is  but  cold,  inflame  love  in  thy  bosom, 
Infianie  too  nicely  ;  nor  let  pity,  which 
Even  women  have  east  oil,  melt  thee,  but  be 
A  soklier  to  thy  purpose. 

Leon.  I'll  do't ;  but  yet  she  is  a  goodly  creature. 

Bum.  The  litter  then  the  gods  should  liave  her. 
Here 
Weeping  she  comes  for  her  old  nurse's  death. 
Thou  art  resolv'd ! 

Leon.  I  am  resolv'd. 

Enter  Marixa,  ivith  a  Basket  of  Flowers. 
Mar.  No,  no,  I  will  rob  Tellus'  of  her  weed. 
To  strew  thy  green  with  flowers;  the  yellows,  blues, 
The  purple  violets,  and  marigolds. 
Shall,  as  a  chaplet,  hang  upon  thy  grave, 

f  r.iiled.  '  Untwisted.  s  Needle. 

•  Sinirs.  *  Accomplished,  perfect.         5 1'repared. 

•  Kcady.         «  The  earth. 


While  summer  days  do  last.    Ah  me!  poor  maid, 
Born  in  a  tempest,  when  my  mother  died, 
This  world  to  me  is  like  a  lasting  storm. 
Whirring  me  from  my  friends. 
Dion.  How  now,  Marina!    why  do  you    keep 
alone  1 
How  chance  my  daughter  is  not  with  you  7  Do  not 
Consume  your  blood  with  sorrowing:  you  have 
.\  nurse  of  me.    Lord!  how  your  favor's  changed 
With  this  unprofitable  woe!    Come,  come; 
Give  me  your  wreath  of  flowers.    Ere  the  sea 

mar  it. 
Walk  forth  with  Leonine  ;  the  air  is  quick  there. 
Piercing,  and  sharpens  well  the  stomach.   Come; — 
Leonine,  take  her  by  the  arm,  walk  with  her. 
_  JV/ur.  No,  I  pray  you  ; 
I'll  not  bereave  you  of  your  servant. 

Dion.  Come,  come; 

I  love  the  king  your  father,  and  yourself. 
With  more  than  foreign  heart.    We  every  day 
Expect  him  here:  vvlien  he  shall  come,  and  find 
Our  paragon  to  all  reports,  thus  blasted, 
Ho  will  repent  the  hrcadth  of  his  great  voyage; 
Blame  both  my  lord  and  me,  that  we  have  ta'en 
No  care  to  your  best  courses.    (rO,  I  pray  you. 
Walk,  and  be  cheerful  once  again  ;  reserve 
That  excellent  complexion,  vCiiich  did  steal 
The  eyes  of  young  aiid  old.    Care  not  for  me  ; 
I  can  go  home  alone. 

Mur.         .  Well.  I  will  go ; 

But  yet  I  have  no  desire  to  it. 

Dit/n.  Come,  come,  I  know  'tis  good  for  you. 
Walk  half  an  hour.  Leonine,  at  the  least; 
Remember  what  I  have  said. 
Leon.    ^  I  warrant  you.  madam, 

Diott.  I'll  leave  you,  my  sweet  lady,  for  a  w  bile ; 
Pray  you,  walk  softly,  do  not  heat  your  blood : 
Whal !  I  must  have  a  care  of  you. 

Mar.  Thanks,  sweet  madam.—  [Exit  Diox. 

Is  this  wind  westerly  that  blows? 
Leon.  South-west. 

Mar.  When  I  was  born,  the  wind  was  north. 
Leon.  Was't  so  t 

Mur.  My  flithcr,  as  nurse  said,  did  never  fear, 
But  cry'd,  ^ood  fseovten  !  to  the  sailors,  galling 
His  kingly  hands  with  hauling  of  tlie  ropes; 
.\nd,  clasping  to  the  mast,  endur'd  a  sea 
That  almost  burst  t|-,c  deck,  and  from  the  ludder- 

taekln 
W,a-ch'd  otfa  canvass-climber:  tla!  says  one, 
Wilt  out?  and,  with  a  dropping  industry. 
They  skip    from  stem  to  stern:    the    boatswain 

vvliistles. 
The  master  calls,  and  trebles  their  confusion. 
Leon.  And  when  was  this! 

I^Iar.  1 1  was  when  I  was  born : 

Never  was  waves  nor  wind  more  violent. 
Le<m.  Come,  say  your  prayers  speedily. 
iWw.  What  liiean  voul 

Leon.  If  you  require  a  little  space  for  prayer, 
I  grant  it:  Pray;  liut  be  not  tedious, 
For  the  gods  are  quick  of  ear,  and  I  am  sworn 
To  do  my  work  with  haste. 
Mar.  Why  will  you  kill  me  1 

Leon.  To  satisfy  my  lady. 
Mur.  Why  would  she  have  me  kill'd  1 
Now,  as  I  calf  remember,  by  my  troth, 
I  never  did  her  hurt  in  all  my  life; 
I  never  spake  had  word,  nor  did  ill  turn 
To  any  living  creature:  believe  me,  la, 
I  never  kilPd  a  mouse, nor  hurt  a  fly: 
I  trod  upon  a  worm  against  my  will, 
I'.iit  I  wept  for  it.    How  have  f  offended. 
Wherein  my  death  might  yield  her  profit,  or 
My  life  imply  her  danger? 

Leon.  My  commission 

Is  not  to  reason  of  the  deed,  but  do  it. 

Mar.  You  will  not  do't  for  all  tlie  world,  I  hope. 
You  are  well-favor'd,  and  your  looks  foreshow 
You  have  a  gentle  heart.    I  saw  you  lalely. 
When  you  caught  hurt  in  parting  two  that  fought. 
Good  sooth,  it  sliow'd  well  in  you;  do  so  now: 


Scene  HI. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF   TYRE. 


669 


Your  lady  seeks  my  life  :  come  j'ou  between, 
And  sa\c  poor  ine,  the  weaker. 

Lmn.  I  am  sworn, 

And  will  dospateh. 

Enter  Pirates,  whilst  Marina  is  struggling. 

1  Pirate.  Hold,  villain  !       [Leonine  ?■«««  aivcy. 

2  Pirate.  A  prize  !  a  jirize ! 

'6  Pirate.  Hair-part,  mates,  half-part.  Come,  let's 
have  her  aboard  suddenly. 

[Exeunt  Pirates,  witti  Marina. 

i5CE?CE  II.— TA-  same.    Re-enter  Leonine. 
Levn.  Those  roving  thieves  serve  the  great  pi- 
rate Valdes; 
And  they  iiave  seiz'd  Marina.    Let  her  go. 
There's  no  hope  slic'll  return.  V\\  swear  she's  dead. 
And  thrown  into  the  sea. — But  V\\  see  further; 
Perhaps  Ihey  will  but  ]>lease  themselves  upon  her. 
Not  carry  her  aboard.    If  she  remain. 
Whom  they  have  ravisli'd,  must  by  me  be  slain. 

[ExU. 

SCENE  111.— Mitylcnc.    A  lionm  in  a  Brotliel. 
Enter  Pander,  Bawd,  <md  BoULT. 

Pnnd.  Boiilt. 

Boult.  Sir. 

Piinil.  Search  the  market  narrowly;  Mitylene  is 
ftdl  of  i;;i Hants.  We  lost  too  much  money  this 
mort,  hy  iieint;  too  \\cncliless. 

Bawd.  We  were  never  so  mucli  out  of  creatures. 
We  have  but  poor  three,  and  they  can  do  no  more 
than  they  can  do;  and  with  continual  action  are 
even  as  good  as  rotten. 

Pand.  Therefore  lot's  have  fresh  ones,  whato'cr 
we  pay  tor  them.  If  there  he  not  a  conscience  to 
bo  used  in  every  trade,  wo  shall  never  prosper. 

Bawd.  Thou  say'st  true;  'tis  not  the  bringing 
up  of  poor  bastards,  as  I  tinnk  I  have  brought  up 
some  eleven 

Boult.  Ay,  to  eleven,  and  brought  them  down 
again.    But  sliall  I  search  the  market? 

Bawd.  What  else,  man  ?  The  stuff  we  have,  a 
strong  wind  will  blow  it  to  pieces,  they  are  so  piti- 
fully sodden.- 

Fund.  Thou  say'st  true;  they  are  too  unwhole- 
some, o'  conscience.  The  poor  Transylvanian  is 
dead,  that  lay  with  the  little  baggage. 

Boult.  Ay,  she  quickly  poop'd  him  ;  she  made 
him  roast  meat  for  wortns:  but  I'll  go  search  the 
market.  [Exit  Bcui.T. 

Pand.  Three  or  four  thousand  choquins  were  as 
pretty  a  proportion  to  live  quietly, andsogiveovcr. 

Bawd.  Wliy,  to  give  over.  1  pray  you?  is  it  a 
shame  to  got  when  we  are  old  ? 

Pand.  0,  our  credit  comes  not  in  like  the  com- 
modity ;  nor  the  commodity  wages  not  with  the 
danger;  therolbre,  if  in  our  youths  we  could  pick 
up  some  pretty  estate  'twere  not  amiss  to  keep  our 
door  hatcliod.i  Bositles,  the  sore  terms  we  stand 
upon  with  tlie  gods,  will  be  strong  with  us  for  giv- 
ing over. 

Bawd.  Come,  other  sorts  offend  as  well  as  we. 

Pand.  As  well  as  we  !  ay,  and  better  too ;  we 
offend  worse.  Neither  is  our  jirofession  any  trade  ; 
it's  no  calling:— but  here  conies  Boult. 

Enter  the  Pirates,  and  Boult,  dragging  in 
Marina. 

Bnntt.  Come  your  ways.  [To  Marina.]— My 
masters,  you  say  she's  a  virgin  1 

1  Piraic.  0,  sir,  we  doubt  it  not. 

Boult.  Master,  I  have  gone  thorough^  for  this 
piece,  you  see:  if  you  likelier,  so:  if  not,  I  have 
lost  my  earnest. 

Bawd.  Boult,  has  she  any  qualities? 

Boult.  She  has  a  good  face,  speaks  well,  and  has 
excellont  good  clothes;  tliere's  no  further  necessity 
of  qualities  can  make  her  be  refused. 

Buw  I.  Wliat's  her  price,  Boult  ? 

Btnilt.  I  cannot  be  bated  one  doit  of  a  thousand 
pieces. 

Pand.  Well,  follow  me,  my  masters ;  you  shall 
have  your  money  presently.  Wife,  take  her  in; 
instruct  her  what  she  has  to  do,  tliat  she  may  not 
be  raw  in  her  entertainment. 

[Exeunt  Pander  and  Pirates. 

Bawd.  Boult,  take  you  tiie  marks  of  her;  the 

'  i.  e.  Uall'cipsn.  •  Bid  ,•>  high  price  for  her. 


color  of  her  hair,  complexion,  height,  age,  with 
warrant  of  her  virginity;  and  cry.  He  iliat  will 
give  most  sliall  liave  lier'jirst.  Such  a  maidenhead 
were  no  cheap  tiling,  if  men  were  as  they  have 
been.    Got  lliis  done  as  I  command  j'ou. 

Boult.  Performance  shall  follow.      [Exit  BouiT. 

Mar.  Alack,  that  Leojiine  was  so  slack',  so  slow! 
(He  should  have  struck,  not  spoke;)  or  tliat  these 

pi  rates 
(Not  enough  barbarous)  had  not  overboard 
Thrown  me  to  seek  my  mother! 

Bawd.  Why  lament  you,  pretty  one? 

Mar.  That  I  am  pretty. 

Bawd.  Come,  the  gods  have  done  their  part  in 
you. 

3Iar.  I  accuse  tliem  not. 

Bawd.  You  are  lit  into  my  hands,  where  you  are 
like  to  live. 

Mar.  The  more  my  fault. 
To  'scape  his  hands,  where  I  was  like  to  die. 

Bawi.  Ay,  and  you  shall  live  in  pleasure. 

Mar.  No. 

Bawd.  Yes,  indeed,  shall  you,  and  taste  gentle- 
men of  all  fashions.  You  shall  fare  welf;  you 
shall  have  the  dilierenceof  all  complexions.  What ! 
do  you  stop  your  ears  ? 

Mar.  Are  you  a  woman? 

Biiwd.  What  would  you  have  me  be,  an  I  be 
not  a  woman. 

Mar.  .\n  honest  woman,  or  not  a  woman. 

Bawd.  Marry,  whip  thee,  goslin:  I  think  I  shall 
have  something  to  do  with  you.  Come,  you  are  a 
young  foolish  sapling,  and  must  be  bowed  as  I 
would  have  you. 

Mar.  The  gods  defend  me! 

Bawd.  If  it  picase  the  gods  to  defend  you  by 
men,  then  men  must  comfort  you.  men  must  feed 
you,  men  must  stir  you  up.— Boult's  relurn'd. 

Enter  Boclt. 
Now,  sir,  hast  thon  cried  licr  through  the  market? 

Boult.  I  have  cried  her  almost  to  the  number  of 
her  hairs ;  I  have  drawn  her  picture  with  my  voice. 

Bawd.  And  I  pr'ythec  tell  me,  how  dost  thou 
find  the  inclination  of  the  people,  especially  of  the 
younger  sort  \ 

Boult.  'Faith,  they  listened  to  me,as  they  would 
have  hearkened  to  their  Lather's  testament.  There 
was  a  Spaniard's  mouth  so  watered,  that  he  went 
to  bed  to  her  very  description. 

Bawd.  We  shall  have  Jiim  here  to-morrov/  with 
his  best  rtitf  on. 

Boult.  To-night,  to  night.  But,  mistress,  do  vou 
know  the  French  kniglit  that  cowers'  i'  the  haiiis  ! 

Bawd.  Who!  monsieur  Veroles? 

Boult.  Ay  ;  ho  olHred  to  cut  a  caper  at  the  pro 
claniatiou ;  but  he  made  a  groan  at  it,  and  sv.oro 
he  woidd  see  her  to-morrow. 

Bawd.  Well,  well;  as  lor  him,  he  brought  liis 
disease  liillier:  here  he  does  but  repair  it.  1  know, 
he  will  come  in  our  shadow,  to  scatter  liis  crowns 
in  the  sun. 

Boult.  Well,  if  we  had  of  every  nation  a  travel- 
ler, we  should  lodge  thorn  with  this  sign. 

Bawd.  Pray  you,  c»nie  hither  a  wliilc.  You  Iiave 
fortunes  coming  upon  you.  Mark  me;  you  must 
seem  to  do  tliat  fearfull}-,  wliicli  you  commit  wil- 
lingly; to  des])ise  profit,  wlicrc  you  have  most  gain. 
To  weep  that  you  live  as  you  do,  makes  pity  in 
your  lovers:  Seldom,  but  that  pity  begets  you  a 
good  opinion,  and  that  opinion  a  mere  profit. 

Mar.  1  understand  you  not. 

Boult.  O.take  her  home, mistress,  take  her  home: 
these  blushes  others  must  be  quenched  with  some 
present  practice. 

Bawd.  Thou  sayest  true,  i' faith,  so  theymrst: 
for  your  bride  goes  to  that  with  shame,  which  is 
•her  way  to  go  with  warrant. 

Boult.  'Faith  some  do,  and  some  do  not.  But, 
mistress,  if  I  have  bargained  for  the  joint, 

Bawd.  Thou  niayost  cut  a  morsel  olfthc  spit. 

Boult.  I  may  so. 

Bawd.  Who  should  deny  it?  Come,  young  one, 
I  like  the  manner  of  your  garments  well. 

Boult.  Ay,  by  ni}-  faith,  they  shall  not  be  changed 
yet. 

Bawd.  Boult,  spend  thou  that  in  the  town :  re- 
port what  a  sojourner  we  have :  you'll  lose  nothing 
by  custom.    When  nature  framed  this  piece,  she 
'  Bends. 


670 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


Act  IV 


meant  thee  a  good  turn;  therefore  say  what  a  pa- 
ragon she  is,  and  thou  hast  the  harvest  out  of  thine 
own  report. 

Botilr.  I  warrant  yon,  mistress,  thunder  shall  not 
so  awake  the  beds  of  eels,  as  my  giving  out  her 
beauty  stir  up  the  lewdly  inclined.  I'll  bring  home 
some  to-night. 

Bciwcl.  Come  your  ways;  follow  me. 

]\[ar.  If  fires  be  hot,  knives  sharp,  or  waters  deep, 
Untied  I  still  ray  virgin  knot  will  keep. 
Diana,  aid  my  purpose  ! 

Bawd.  What  have  we  to  do  with  Diana  ?  Pray 
you,  will  you  go  with  us  1  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— Tharsus.    A  Room  in  Cleox's 

House. 

Enter  Clegs  and  Dioxvz.i. 

Dio)7.  Why.  are  j-ou  foolish  ?    Can  it  he  undone? 

Cle.  0  Dionyza.  such  a  piece  of  slaughter 
The  sun  and  iiioon  ne'er loolv'd  upon! 

Dinn.  I  think 

You'll  turn  a  child  again. 

Cle.  Were  I  chief  lord  of  all  the  spacious  world, 
I'd  give  it  to  undo  the  deed.    O  lady. 
Much  less  in  blood  than  virtue,  vet  a  princess 
To  equal  any  single  crown  i'  the  earth, 
I'  the  justice  of  compare!  O  villain  Leonine, 
Whom  thou  hast  poison'd  too! 
If  lliou  hadst  drunk  to  him,  it  had  been  a  Kindness 
Beciiming  well  thy  feat:*  What  canst  thou  say, 
When  noble  Pericles  shall  demand  his  child? 

Vi/m.  That  she  is  dead.  Nurses  are  not  the  fates, 
To  fosjter  it.  nor  ever  to  preserve. 
She  died  by  night ;  I'll  say  so.    Who  can  cross  it? 
Unles^;  you  play  the  impious  innocent,' 
And  for  an  honest  attribute  cry  out. 
She  died  by  foul  play. 

(-le.  0-  go  to.    Well,  well, 

Of  all  the  faults  beneath  the  heavens,  the  gods 
Do  like  this  worst. 

D'lin.  Be  one  of  those  that  think 

The  petty  wrens  of  Tharsus  will  ilv  hence, 
And  open  this  to  Pericles.    I  do  shame 
To  think  of  what  a  noble  strani  50U  are. 
And  of  how  cow'd  a  spirit. 

Cte.  To  such  proceeding 

Who  ever  but  his  approbation  added. 
Though  not  hi.s  prc-conscnt,  he  did  not  flow 
From  honorable  courses. 

Dion.  Be  it  so  then: 

Yet  none  does  know,  but  you.  how  she  came  dead; 
Nor  none  can  know,  Leonine  being  goTie. 
She  did  disdain  my  child,  and  stood  between 
Her  and  her  fortunes:  None  would  look  on  her, 
But  cast  their  gazes  on  Marina's  face  ; 
Whilst  ours  was  blurted  at,  and  held  a  malkin,i 
Nor  worth  the  time  of  day.  It  pierced  me  thorough; 


C;'s-  Heavens  forgive  it ! 

Dion.  And  as  for  Pericles, 
What  should  he  say  ?     We  wept  after  her  hearse. 
And  even  yet  we  mourn:  her  monument 
Is  almost  Hnish'd.  and  her  epitaphs 
In  glittering  golden  characters  express 
A  gcTieral  praise  to  her.  and  care  in  us 
At  whose  expense  'tis  done. 

,  '^e-  Thou  art  like  the  liarpy. 

Which,  to  betray,  doth  wear  an  angel's  face. 
Seize  with  an  eagle's  talons. 

Di(m.  Vou  are  like  one,  that  superstitiously 
Doth  swear  to  the  gods,  that  winter  kills  the  "flies; 
But  yet  I  know  you'll  do  as  I  advise.         [Exeunt. 

Enter  Gower,  before  the  Monument  of  Marina, 
at  Tharsus. 
Gow.  Thus  time  we  waste,  and  longest  leagues 
make  short; 
Sail  seas  in  cockles,  have,  and  wish  but  for't; 
Making  (to  lake  your  imaKination) 
From  bourn  to  bourn,  region  to  region. 
By  you  being  pardon'd,  we  commit  no  crime 
To  use  one  language  in  each  several  clime 

■  i.  r.  Of  a  picco  witli  th.'  rest  of  thy  exploit. 

■  An  inuocelit  v.as  fonniTlj-  a  common  apncllalion  for 
an  idiot. 

»  A  coarso  wench,  not  worth  a  good  morrow. 


Where  our  scenes  seem  to  live.    I  do  beseech  you 

To  learn  of  me,  who  stand  i'  the  gap  to  leach  you 

The  stages  of  our  story.    Pericles 

Is  now  again  thwarting  the  wayward  seas 

(.\ttcnded  on  by  many  a  lord  and  knight) 

To  see  his  daughter,  aill  his  life's  delight. 

Old  Escanes,  whom  Helicanus  late 

Advanced  ni  time  to  great  and  high  estate, 

Is  lell  to  govern.    Bear  you  it  in  mind. 

Old  Helicanus  goes  along  behind. 

Well-sailing  ships,  and    bounteous  winds,   have 

brought 
This  king  to  Tharsus.  (think  this  pilot  thought; 
So  with  his  steerage  shall  your  thoughts  grow  on,) 
To  tetch  his  daughter  home,  who  first  is  gone. 
Like  motes  and  shadows  see  them  move  a  while ; 
Your  ears  unto  your  eyes  I'll  reconcile. 

Dumb  shnw.    Enter  at  one  Donr,  Periples,  with 

his  Train  ;   Ci.EOX  and   DioxvzA.  at  the  other. 

Cleox  shinv.i  Pericles  the   Tomb  of  Marina; 

ivhereat  Pericles  matces  lamenlalinn,  puts  on 

Sackctiith,  and    in  a    mighty  passion  departs. 

Tlien  Cleox  and  Dioxv»a  retire. 

Gow.  See  how  belief  may  sulTer  by  foul  show! 
This  borrow'd  passion  stands  for  triie  old  woe  ; 
And  Pericles,  in  sorrow  all  devour'd. 
With  sighs  shot  through,  and  biggest  tears  o'er- 

shower'd. 
Leaves  Tharsus,  and  again  embarks.    He  swears 
Never  to  wash  his  (ace,  nor  cut  his  hairs; 
He  puts  on  sackcloth,  and  to  sea.    He  bears 
A  tempest,  whicii  his  mortal  vessel  tears. 
And  yet  he  rides  it  out.    Now  please  you  wit 
The  epitaph  is  for  Marina  writ 
By  wicked  Dionyza.  • 

[Reads  the  Inscription  on  Maeixa's  Monument. 
The  fairest,  sweet'sf,  and  best,  ties  here, 
Who  wither''d  in  her  spring  of  year. 
She  was  if  Tyrus.  the  liings' daughter. 
On  irhinn  foul  death  hath  'mate  this  slaughter; 
Marina  shf  was  call'd;  and,  at  her  birth, 
Thetis,-  being  proud,  swallow'd  some  part  0'  the 

earth  : 
Therefore  the  earth,  fearing  to  be  o''eiflotu''d, 
Ilath  Thetis^  birth-child  nn  the  heavens  be.stowM: 
Wherefore  she  does  [and  swears  she'll  never  stint^) 
Make  raging  battery  upon  sliores  of  flint. 

No  visor  does  become  black  vilhany 

So  well  as  soft  and  tender  flattery. 

Let  Pericles  believe  his  daughter's  dead. 

And  bear  his  courses  to  be  ordered 

By  lady  Ibrtune;  while  our  scenes  display 

His  daughter's  woe  and  heavy  well-a-day. 

In  her  unholy  service.    Patience,  then. 

And  think  you  now  are  all  in  Mitylen.  [Exif. 

SCENE  v.— Mitylene.     A  Street  before  the 

Brothel. 
Enter,  from  the  Brothel,  two  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ! 

2  Gent.  No.  nor  never  shall  do  in  such  a  place 
as  this,  she  being  once  gone. 

1  Gent.  But  to  have  divinity  preached  there! 
did  you  ever  dream  of  such  a  thing  I  * 

2  Gent.  No.  no.  Come.  I  am  for  no  more  bawdy- 
houses  :  shall  we  go  hear  the  vestals  sing  ? 

I  Gent.  I'll  do  anything  now  that  is  virtuous ; 
but  I  am  out  ol  the  road  of  rutting,  forever. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI.— TAe  same.  A  Room  in,  the  Brothsl. 
Enter  Pander,  Bawd,  and  Boult. 

Band.  Well.  I  h.id  rather  than  twice  the  worth 
of  her,  she  had  ne'er  come  here. 

Bawd.  Fye,  fye  upon  her;  she  is  able  to  freeze 
the  god  Priapus.and  undo  a  whole  generation.  We 
must  either  get  her  ravished,  or  be  rid  of  her.— 
When  she  should  do  for  clients  her  fitment,  and  do 
me  the  kindness  of  her  profession,  she  has  me  her 
quirks,  her  reasons,  lii>r  master-reasons,  her  pray- 
ers, her  knees;  that  she  would  make  a  puritan  of 
the  devil,  if  he  would  cheapen  a  kiss  of  her. 

Boult.  'Failh.  I  must  ravish  her,  or  slie'll  dis- 
furnish  us  of  all  our  cavaliers,  and  make  all  oui 
swearers  priestij. 

»  The  sea.  s  Xever  cease. 


Scene  VI. 


PERICLES,    PRINCE   OF    TYRE. 


671 


Pand.  Now,  the  pox  upon  her  green-sickness 
for  me  !  , 

Biiwd.  'Failh.  there's  no  way  to  be  rid  on  t,  but 
by  the  way  to  tlie  pox.  Here  comes  the  lord  Lysi- 
machus,  disguised. 

Bualt.  We  .should  have  both  lord  and  lown,  if 
the  peevish  baggage  would  but  give  way  to  cus- 
tomers. 

Enter  Lysimachus. 

I.ys.  Hov;  now  1     How'  a  dozen  of  virginities  1 

Biiwd.  Now,  the  gods  to  bless  your  honor  ! 

Bi/ull.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  honor  in  good 
health. 

Li/s.  You  may  so:  tis  the  better  for  you  that 
your  resortcrs  stand  upon  sound  logs.  How  now, 
wholesome  iniquity'!  Have  you  tliat  a  man  may 
deal  withal,  and  defy  the  surgeon  ] 

Bawd.  We  have  here  one,  sir,  if  she  would  ■ — - 
but  there  never  came  her  like  in  Mitylene. 

Li/s.  If  she'd  do  the  deeds  of  darkness,  thou 
woiiMst  say. 

Bawd.  Your  honor  knows  what  'tis  to  say,  well 
enough. 

Lys.  Well;  call  forth,  call  forth. 

Buult.  For  llesh  and  blood,  sir,  white  and  red, 
you  shall  see  a  rose ;  and  she  were  a  rose  indeed, 
if  she  had  but 

Lys.  What,  pr'y thee'! 

Buult.  G,  sir,  I  can  be  modest. 

Lys.  Thatdignilies  the  renown  of  a  bawd,  no  less 
than  it  gives  a  good  report  toanumber  to  be  chaste. 

Enter  Marina. 

Bawd.  Here  conies  that  which  grows  to  the  stalk ; 
— never  plucked  yet,  I  can  assure  you.  Is  she  not 
a  fair  creature ! 

Lys.  'Faith,  she  would  serve  after  a  long  voyage 
at  sea.    Well,  there's  for  you; — leave  us. 

Bawl.  I  lieseech  your  honor,  give  ine  leave ;  a 
word,  and  I'll  have  done  presently. 

Li/s.  I  besoech  you,  do. 

Bawd.  First,  I  would  have  you  note,  this  is  an 
honorable  man. 

[7*0  Marina,  wfiom  stie  takes  a.nde. 

Mar.  I  desire  to  find  him  so,  that  I  may  worthily 
nole  him. 

Bawd.  Next,  he  is  the  governor  of  this  country, 
and  a  man  whom  I  am  bound  to. 

Mar.  If  he  govern  tlie  country,  you  are  bound 
to  him  indeed;  but  how  honorable  he  is  in  that, 
I  know  not. 

Bawd.  'Pray  you,  without  any  more  virginal 
fencing,  will  you  use  him  kindly!  He  will  line 
your  apron  with  gold. 

Mar.  What  he  will  do  graciously,  I  will  thank- 
fully receive. 

Li/s.  Have  you  done  ? 

B'aw  I.  My  lord,  she's  not  paced  yet ;  you  must 
take  some  pains  to  work  her  to  your  manage. 
Come,  we  will  le;ive  his  honor  and  her  together. 

[E.reanI  Bawd.  Pander,  and  BoCLT. 

Lijs.  Go  thy  ways.— Now.  pretly  one,  how  long 
have  you  been  at  this  trade  \ 

Mar.  What  trade,  sir? 

Lys.  What  I  cannot  name  hut  I  shall  offend. 

Mar.  I  cannot  be ot&nded  with  my  trade.  Please 
you  to  name  it. 

Lys.  How  long  have  you  been  of  this  profession! 

Mar.  Kver  since  I  can  remember. 

Lys.  Did  you  go  to  it  so  young !  "Were  you  a 
gamester  at  hve,  or  at  seven! 

Mar.  Earlier  too,  sir,  if  now  I  be  one. 

Lys.  Why,  the  house  you  dwell  in,  proclaims 
you  to  be  a  creature  of  sale. 

Mar.  Do  you  know  this  house  to  be  a  place  of 
such  resort,  and  will  come  into  itl  I  hear  say,  you 
are  of  honorable  parts,  and  are  the  governor  of  this 
place. 

Lys.  Why,  hath  your  principal  made  known 
unto  you.  who  i  am  ] 

Mar.  Wlio  is  my  principal ! 

Lys.  Why,  your  herb-woman;  she  that  sets  seeds 
and  roots  of  shame  and  iniquity.  O,  you  have  heard 
something  of  my  power,  and  so  stand  aloof  for 
more  serious  wooing.  But  I  protest  to  thee,  pretty 
one,  my  authority  shall  not  see  thee,  or  else  look 
friendly  upon  thee.  Come,  bring  me  to  some  pri- 
vate place.    Come,  come. 

*  How  much?  what  price? 


Mar.  If  ye  were  born  to  honor,  show  it  now; 
If  juit  upon  you,  make  the  judgment  good 
That  thought  you  worthy  of  it. 

Lys.  How's  thisi  how's  this! — Some  more! — 
be  sage. 

Mar.  For  me. 
That  am  a  maid,  though  most  ungentle  fortune 
Hath  placed  me  here  wilhin  this  loathsome  sty. 
Where,  since  I  came,  diseases  have  been  sold 
Dearer  than  physic, — O  that  the  good  gods 
Would  set  me  Iree  from  liiis  unhallow'd  place, 
Tfiough  they  did  change  me  to  the  meanest  bird 
That  Hies  i'  the  purer  air ! 

Li/s.  I  did  not  think 

Thou  couldst  have  spoke  so  well ;  ne'er  dream'd 

thou  couldst. 
Had  I  brought  hither  a  corrupted  mind. 
Thy  speech  had  alter'd  it.    Hold,  here's  gold  for 

thee : 
Persever  still  in  that  clear  way  thou  goest, 
And  the  gods  strengthen  thee  ! 

Mar.  'the  gods  preserve  you  ! 

Lys.  For  me,  be  you  thougliten 

That  I  came  with  no  ill  intent;  for  to  me 
The  very  doors  and  windows  savor  vilely. 
Farewell.    Thou  art  a  piece  of  virtue,  and 
I  doubt  not  but  thy  training  hatli  been  noble. — 
Hold;  here's  more  gold  lor  thee.— 
A  curse  upon  him,  die  he  like  a  thief. 
That  robs  thee  of  thy  goodness  I — If  thou  hear'st 

from  me. 
It  shall  be  for  thy  good. 

[As  LvsiMACiius  is  putting  up  Ms  Purse, 
BoL'LT  enters. 

Boult.  I  beseech  your  honor,  one  piece  for  me. 

Li/s.  Avaunt,  thou  damned  door-keeper!    Your 
house, 
Put  for  this  virgin,  that  doth  prop  it  up. 
Would  sink,  and  overwhelm  you  all.    Away ! 

[Exit  LvsiMAcnrs. 

Boult.  How's  this  ?  We  must  take  another  course 
with  you.  If  your  peevish  chastity,  which  is  not 
worth  a  breaklast  in  the  cheapest  country  under 
the  cope,^  shall  undo  a  whole  household,  let  me  be 
gelded  like  a  spaniel.    Come  your  ways. 

Mar.  VVIiithcr  would  you  have  me  ! 

Boult.  I  must  have  your  maidenhead  taken  off, 
or  the  common  hangman  shall  execute  it.  Come 
your  way.  We'll  have  no  more  gentlemen  driven 
away.    Come  your  ways,  I  say. 

Re-enter  Bawd. 

Bawd.  How  now!  what's  the  matter! 

Bi'ult.  Worse  and  worse,  mistress ;  she  has  here 
s]niken  holy  words  to  the  lord  Lysimachus. 

Jhitrd.  O  abominable! 

Buult.  She  makes  our  profession,  as  it  were,  to 
stink  afore  the  face  of  the  gods. 

Bawd.  Marry,  hang  lier  up  forever  ! 

Buult.  The  nobleman  would  have  dealt  with  her 
like  a  nobleman,  and  she  sent  him  away  as  cold  as 
a  snowball;  saying  his  prayers  too. 

Bawd.  Boult,  take  her  away ;  use  her  at  thy 
pleasure :  crack  the  glass  of  her  "virginity,  and  make 
the  rest  malleable. 

Buult.  An  if  she  were  a  thornier  piece  of  ground 
than  slie  is,  she  shall  be  ploughed. 

Mar.  Hark,  hark,  you  gods  ! 

Bawl.  She  conjures:  away  with  her.  Would 
siie  had  never  come  within  my  doors !  Marry  hang 
you!  She's  born  to  undo  us.  Will  you  not  go  the 
way  of  woman-kind  !  Marry  come  up,  my  dish  of 
chastity  with  rosemary  and  bays  !        [Exit  Bawd. 

Buult.  Come,  mistress;  come  your  way  with  me. 

Mar.  Whither  would  you  have  me  ! 

Buult.  To  tidie  from  you  the  jewel  you  hold  so 
dear. 

Mar.  Pr'ythee,  tell  mc  one  thing  first. 

Buult.  Come  now,  your  one  thing  1 

Mar.  What  canst  thou  wish  thine  enemy  to  be? 

Buult.  Why,  I  could  wish  him  to  be  my  master, 
or  rather,  my  mistress. 

Mar.  Neither  of  these  are  yet  so  bad  as  thou  art. 
Since  they  do  better  thee  in  their  command. 
Thou  hold'st  a  place,  for  which  the  pained'st  fiend 
Ofliell  would  not  in  reputation  change: 
Thou'rt  the  damn'd  door-keeper  to  every  coystreis 
That  hither  conies  inquiring  for  his  tib; 

•  Cope  or  canopy  of  heaven.  e  PalUy  fellow. 


G72 


PERICLES,   PRINCE   OF  TYRE. 


Act  V. 


To  the  choleric  fisting:  of  each  rogue  thy  ear 

Is  liable;  thy  very  food  is  such 

As  hath  been  belcli'd  on  by  infected  lungs. 

Bimlt.  What  would  you  have  mc?  go  to  the 
wars,  would  you  1  wiiere  a  man  may  serve  seven 
years  for  the  loss  of  a  ]et,%  and  iiave  not  money 
enouf2;h  in  the  end  to  buy  him  a  wooden  one? 

Mar.  Do  any  tliinjj;  but  this  thou  doest.    Empty 
Old  receptacles,  common  sewers  of  tilth; 
Serve  by  indenture  to  the  common  han2:man; 
Any  of  these  ways  are  better  yet  than  this : 
For  that  which  tJiou  professest.  a  baboon, 
Could  he  but  speak,  would  own  a  name  too  dear: 
O  that  the  p^ods  would  salely  iVom  this  place 
Deliver  me'?     Here,  here  is  ^old  for  thee. 
If  that  thy  master  would  gain  au^ht  by  me. 
Proclaim  that  I  can  sin;;,  weave,  sew,  and  dance, 
With  other  virtues,  which  I'll  lieep  from  boast; 


And  I  will  undertake  all  these  to  leach. 
I  doubt  not  but  this  populous  city  will 
yield  many  scholars. 

Boiilt.  But  can  you  teach  all  this  you  speak  of? 

]\Iar.  Prove  that  I  cannot,  take  me  home  again, 
And  prostitute  me  to  the  basest  groom 
That  doth  frequent  your  house. 

Bimlt.  Well,  I  will  see  wiiat  I  can.  do  for  thee: 
if  I  can  place  thee,  I  will. 

Mar.  Hut  amongst  lionest  women  1 

Boult.  'Faith,  my  acquanitance  lies  little  amongst 
them.  But  since  my  master  and  mistress  have 
bought  you,  there's  no  going  but  by  their  consent; 
therefore  I  will  make  them  acquainted  with  your 
purpose,  and  I  doubt  not  but  I  shall  find  them  trac- 
table enougii.  Come,  I'll  do  for  tiiee  wJiat  I  can ; 
come  your  ways, 

[Exeunt, 


ACT   V. 


Ea!cr  GoiVER. 
Cow.  Marina  thus  the  brothel  'scapes,  and  chances 
Into  an  honest  liousc,  our  story  says. 
She  sinss  like  one  immortal,  and  she  dances 
As  ^o(ldcss-liI<e  to  lier  admired  lays: 
Deep  clerks'  she  dumbs;  and  witli  her  nccld^  com- 
poses 
Nature's  own  shape,  of  bud,  hird,  branch,  or  berry ; 
That  even  her  art  sisters  tlie  natural  roses: 
Her  inkle,  silk,  twin  with  the  rubied  cherry: 
Tliat  pupils  lacks  she  none  of  noble  race, 
Who  pour  their  bounty  on  her;  and  her  gain 
She  gives  the  cursed  bawd.    Here  we  iier  place; 
And  to  her  fotlier  turn  our  thoufrhts  again. 
Where  we  left  him,  on  tlie  sea.    We  there  him  lost; 
Whence,  driven  before  tlie  winds,  he  is  arriv'd 
Here  where  liis  daughter  dwells;  and  on  this  coast 
Suppose  him  now  at  anolior.    Tlie  city  striv'd 
God  Neptune's  annual  fe.ist  to  keep;  from  whence 
Lysimachus  our  Tyrian  siiip  espies, 
His  banners  sable,  trimm'd  with  rich  expense; 
And  to  liim  in  his  barge  with  fervor  hies. 
In  your  supposing  onrc  more  put  your  sight: 
Of  heavy  Pericles  think  this  the  bark: 
Where,  what  is  done  in  action,  more,  if  might, 
Shall  be  discover'd;  please  you,  sit,  and  hark'. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  I.— On  board  Pericles'  Ship,  off  Jlitylene. 
A  close  Faviiiijn  nn'Tifck,  ivi/h  a  Curiain  before 
if ;  Pericles  within  it,  reclined  on  a  Couch.  A 
Barge  lying  beside  the  Tyrian  Vessel. 

Enter  two  Sailors,  one  belonging  to  the  Tyrian 
Vessel,  the  other  to  the  Barge;  to  ihemllr.hiCAJivs. 

Tyr.  Sail.  Where's  the  lord  Helicanns?  He  can 
resolve  you.        [To  the  Sailor  o/'Mitylene. 

O,  here  he  is. 

Sir,  there's  a  barge  put  off  from  Mitylene  ; 
And  in  it  is  Lysimachus  tlie  governor, 
Who  craves  to  come  aboard.    What  is  your  will  1 
liel.  That  he  have  his.    Call  up  some  gentle- 
men. 
Tyr.  Suit.  Ho,  gentlemen !  my  lord  calls. 

£H/er/i(,v)  Gentlemen.    ■ 
1  Cent.  Doth  your  lordship  call  1 
Ilel.  Gentlemen. 
Tlieic  is  some  of  worth  would  come  aboard ;  I  pray 

you 
To  greet  them  fairly. 

[The  Gentlemen  and  the  two  Sailors  descend, 
and  go  on  board  tlie  Barge. 

Enter  from  thence  LYSlMACHrs  and  Lords;    the 
Tyrian  Gentlemen  and  the  two  Sailors. 

Tijr.  Soil.  Sir, 
This  is  the  man  that  can,  in  aught  you  would, 
Resolve  you. 

Li/s.  Hail,  reverend  sir!    The  gods  preserve  j'ou  ! 

Het.  And  you,  sir,  to  outlive  the  age  I  am. 
And  die  as  I  would  do. 

if/.?.  You  wish  me  well. 

Being  on  shore,  honoring  oiNcptune's  triumphs, 
'  Learned  men.  b  Xeedle. 


Seeing  this  goodly  vessel  ride  before  us, 
I  made  to  it,  to  know  of  whence  you  are. 

Met.  First,  sir,  what  is  your  placed 

I.ys.  I  am  governor  of  this  place  you  lie  before. 

Het.  Sir, 
Our  vessel  is  of  Tyre,  in  it  the  king ; 
A  man,  who  for  this  three  months  hath  not  spoken 
To  any  one,  nor  taken  sustenance, 
l!«t  to" prorogue'  his  grief. 

Li/s.  Upon  what  ground  is  his  distcmperature? 

J/p/.  Sir,  it  would  be  too  tedious  to  repeat; 
But  the  main  grief  of  all  springs  from  the  loss 
Of  a  beloved  daughtej;  and  a  wife. 

Li/s.  May  we  not  see  him,  then  1 

Uel.  You  may,  indeed,  sir, 

But  bootless  is  your  sight;  he  will  not  speak 
To  any. 

Lys.  Yet,  let  me  obtain  my  wish. 

Ilel.   Behold    him,    sir:    [Pericles  discovered.'] 
this  was  a  goodly  person. 
Till  the  disaster,  that,  one  mortal  night. 
Drove  him  to  this. 

Lys.  Sir,  king,  all  hail !  the  gods  preserve  you ! 
Hail, 
Hail,  ro>al  sir! 

Jiel.  It  is  in  vain  ;  he  will  not  speak  to  you. 

i  Lord.  Sir,  we  have  a  maid  in  Mitylene,  I  durst 
wager. 
Would  win  some  words  of  him. 

Lys.  'Tis  well  bethought, 

She",  questionless,  with  her  sweet  harninny 
And  other  choice  attractions,  would  allure. 
And  make  a  battery  through  his  deaien'd  parts,' 
Which  now  are  midway  slopp'd  ; 
She,  all  as  happy  as  of  all  the  fairest. 
Is,  with  her  fellow-maidens,  now  within 
The  leafy  slielter  that  abuts  against 
The  island's  side. 

[He  whimpers  one  of  the  attendant  Lords. — 
Exit  Lord,  in  the  Barge  r?" Lysimachus. 

Ucl.  Sure,  all's  ellectlcss;  yet  nothing  we'll  omit 
That  bears  recovery's  name.  But,  since  your  kind- 
ness 
We  have  stretch'd  thus  far,  let  ns  beseech  you  fur- 
ther, 
That  for  our  gold  we  may  provision  have, 
Wherein  we  are  not  destitute  for  want. 
But  weary  for  the  stalencss. 

Lys.  0,  sir,  a  courtesy. 

Which  if  we  should  deny,  the  most  just  God 
For  every  gralf  would  send  a  cateriiillar. 
And  so  iiitlict  our  province. — Yet  once  more 
Let  me  entreat  to  know  at  large  the  cause 
Of  your  king's  sorrow. 

ilel.  Sit,  sir,  I  will  recount  it; 

But  see,  I  am  prevented. 

Enter,  from  the  Barge,  Lord,  MxnmA,and  a  young 

Lady. 
.  Li/s.  O,  here  is 

The  lady  that  I  sent  for.    Welcome,  fair  one! 
Is't  not  a  goodly  presence  ? 
Hel.  A  gallant  ladv. 

Lys.  She's  such,  that  were  I  well  a.ssur'd  she  came 
»  To  lengthen  or  prolong  his  grie£  *  ilara 


Scene  I. 


PERICLES,   PRIXCE    OF   TYRE. 


673 


Of  gentle  kind,  and  noble  stock,  I'd  wish 
No  better  choice,  and  think  me  rarely  wed. 
Fair  one,  all  goodness  that  consists  in  bounty 
Expect  even  here,  where  is  a  kingly  patient: 
If  that  thy  prosperous  artificial  leat 
Can  draw  him  hut  to  answer  thee  in  aught, 
Thy  sacred  physic  shall  receive  such  pay 
As  thy  desires  cau  wish. 

J\tar,  Sir,  I  will  use 

My  utmost  skill  in  his  recovery, 
Provided  none  but  1  and  my  companion 
Be  suller'd  to  come  near  him. 

Lvs.  Come,  let  ns  leave  her, 

And  the  gods  make  her  prosperous.    [Mar.  sin^s. 

Lus.  Mark'd  he  your  music  1 

Mar   N'o,  nor  looked  on  us. 

Lys  See,  she  will  speak  to  him. 

Mar.  Hail,  sir !  my  lord,  lend  car  : — 

Per.  Hum!  ha! 

Mar.  I  am  a  maid, 

Aty  lord,  that  neVr  belbre  invited  eyes. 
But  have  been  gazed  on  comet-like:  she  speaks, 
My  lord,  that,  may  be,  hath  endur'd  a  grief 
Migiit  equal  yours,  if  both  were  justly  weighM. 
Though  wayward  fortune  did  malign  my  state. 
My  derivation  was  from  ancestors 
Who  stood  equivalent  with  mighty  kings: 
But  time  hath  rooted  out  my  parentage. 
And  to  the  world  and  awkward  casualties 
Bound  me  in  servitude. — I  will  desist; 
But  there  is  something  glows  upon  my  cheek. 
And  whispers  in  mine  ear,  Go  not  till  he  speak. 

[Aside. 

Per.  My  fortunes — parent^ise — good  parentage — 
To  equal  mine; — was  it  not  thus  ?  what  say  you  1 

Mar.  I  said,  my  lord,  if  you  did  kjiow  my  parent- 
age, 
You  would  not  do  me  violence. 

Per.  I  do  think  so. 

I  pray  you  turn  your  eyes  again  upon  me. — 
You  arc  hke  something  that — Whatcountry  woman? 
Here  of  these  siioresl 

Mar.  No,  nor  of  any  shores  : 
Yet  I  was  mortally  brought  ibrth,  and  am 
No  other  than  I  appear. 

Per.  I  am  great  with  woe,  and  shall  deliver 
weeping. 
My  dearest  wife  was  like  this  maid,  and  such  a  one 
My  daughter  might  have  been:  my  queen's  square 

brows ; 
Her  stature  to  an  inch  ;  as  wand-like  straight; 
As  silver-voiced  ;  her  eyes  as  jewel-hke, 
And  cased  as  riclily  :  in  pace  anotlier  Juno; 
Who  starves  the  cars  she  feeds,  and  makes  them 

hungry. 
The  more  she  gives  them  speech. — Where  do  you 
live ! 

Mar.  Where  I  am  but  a  stranger:  from  the  deck 
You  may  discern  the  place. 

Per.  Where  were  you  bred  ) 

And  how  achievM  you  these  endowments,  which 
You  make  more  rich  to  owe  1 

Mar.  Should  I  tell  my  history, 

'Twould  seem  like  lies  disdaiuM  in  tlie  reporting. 

Per.  Pr'ythee  speak ; 
Falseness  cannot  come  from  thee,  for  thou  look'^st 
Modest  as  justice,  and  thou  seeinVt  a  palace  • 
For  the  crown'd  truth  to  dwell  in :  I'll  believe  thee, 
And  make  my  senses  credit  thy  relation. 
To  points  that  seem  impossible  ;  lor  thou  look'^st 
Like  one  I  lov'd  indeed.     Wl)at  were  Iliy  (riends? 
Pidst  thou  not  say,  when  I  did  push  thc'e  back, 
(Which   was  when  I   perceiv'd   thee,)   that  thou 

cam*st 
From  good  descending  1 

Mar.  So  indeed  I  did. 

Per.  Report  thy  parentage.    I  think  thou  said'st 
Thou  hadst  been  toss'd  from  wrong  lo  injury, 
And  that  thou  thought'st  thy  griefs  might  equal 

mine, 
If  both  were  open'd. 

Mc7\  Some  such  thing  indeed 

I  said,  and  said  no  more  but  what  my  thoughts 
Did  warrant  me  was  likely. 

Per.  Tell  thy  story; 

If  thine  considcrM  prove  the  thousandth  part 
Of  my  endurance,  thou  art  a  man,  and  I 
Have  surter'd  liKe  a  girl:  yel  thou  do«i:t  look 
Like  Patience,  t^azing  on  king's  graves,  and  snn'ling 
Eitremity  out  of  act.    What  were  thy  liieuds  ! 
4^ 


How  lost  thou  tliem  ?    Thy  name,  my  most  kind 

virgin  ? 
Recount,  I  do  beseech  thee  ;  come,  sit  by  me. 

Mar.  My  name,  sir,  is  Marina. 

Per.  O,  I  am  mockM, 

And  thou  by  some  incensed  god  sent  hither 
To  make  the  world  laugh  at  me. 

Mar.  Patience,  good  sir, 

Or  here  I'll  cease. 

Per.  Nay,  Til  be  patient; 

Thou  little  know'st  how  thou  dost  startle  me, 
To  call  thyself  Marina. 

Mar.  The  name  Marina, 

Was  given  me  by  one  that  had  some  power; 
My  father,  and  a  king. 

Per.  How !  a  king's  daughter  T 

And  calPd  Marina  ? 

Mar.  You  said  you  W'ould  believe  me ; 

But.  not  to  be  a  Iroubler  of  your  peace, 
I  will  end  here. 

Per.  But  are  you  Ilesh  and  blood  ? 

Have  you  a  working  pulse  !  and  are  no  fairy  ? 
No  motion!^ — Well;  speak  on.    Where  were  you 

born  ? 
And  wherelbre  caifd  Marina  1 

Mar.  Caird  Marina, 

For  I  was  born  at  sea. 

Per.  At  sea  ?    Thy  mother! 

Mar.  My  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  king  ; 
Who  died  "the  very  minute  I  was  born, 
As  my  good  nurse  Lychorida  hath  oft 
Deliver'd  weeping. 

Per.  O,  stop  there  a  little  ! 

This  is  the  rarest  dream  that  e'er  dull  sleep 
Did  mock  sad  fools  withal:  this  cannot  be. 
My    daughter's    buried.    [Aside.]    Well: — where 

^^el■e  you  bred  ? 
ril  hear  you  more,  to  the  bottom  of  your  story, 
And  never  interrupt  you. 

Mar.  You'll  scarce  believe  me ;  'twere  l>est  I  did 
give  o'er. 

Per.  I  will  believe  you  bj'  the  syllable 
Of  what  yo*u  shall  deliver.    Yet,  give  me  leave: — 
How  canieyouin  these  parts?  where  were  you  bred? 

Mar.  Tiie  king,  my  fathered  id  in  Tharsus  leave  me ; 
Till  cruel  Cleon,  with  his  wicked  wiJe, 
Did  seek  to  murder  mo:  and  having  woo'd 
A  villain  to  attempt  it,  who  having  drawn, 
A  crew  of  pirates  came  and  rescued  me; 
Brought  me  to  Mitylene.    But  now,  good  sir, 
Whither  will  you  I'lavc  me?     Why  do  you  weep' 

It  m:iy  lie. 
You  think  me  an  impostor;  no,  good  faith; 
I  am  the  daughter  to  king  Pericles, 
If  good  king  Pericles  be. 

Per.  Ho,  Helicanus! 

Hel.  Calls  mv  gracious  lord  ? 

Per.  Thou  art  a  grave  and  noble  counsellor, 
Most  wise  in  general:  Tell  me.  if  thou  canst, 
What  this  maid  is.  or  what  is  like  to  be, 
TJiat  thus  hath  made  me  weep? 

liel.  I  know  not;  but 

Here  is  the  regent,  sir,  of  Mitylene, 
Speaks  nobly  of  fier. 

Lys.  She  would  never  tell 

Her  parentage;  being  demanded  that. 
She  would  sit  still  and  weep. 

Per.  O  Helicanus,  strike  me,  honored  sir; 
Give  me  a  gash,  put  me  to  present  pain  ; 
Lest  this  great  sea  of  joys  rushing  upon  me, 
O'erbear  the  shores  of  my  mortality, 
And  drown  me  with  their  sweetness.     O,  come 

1  lit  her, 
Thou  that  bcgct'st  him  that  did  thee  beget: 
Thou  that  wast  born  at  sea.  buried  at  Tharsus, 
And  found  at  sea  again  !     O  Helicanus, 
Down  on  thy  knees,  thank  the  holy  gods,  as  loud 
As  thunder  threatens  ns.    This  is  Marina. — 
What  was  thy  mother's  name  ?  tell  me  but  that, 
Fo!  truth  can  never  be  conhrm'd  enough, 
Though  doubts  did  ever  sleep. 

Mar.  First,  sir,  I  pray, 

Wliat  is  your  title? 

Per.  I  am  Pericles  of  Tyre:  but  tell  me  now 
(As  in  the  rest  thou  hast  been  godlike  perfect) 
My  drown'd  queen's  name,  thou  art  the  heir  of 

kingdoms. 
And  anotlier  lile  to  Pericles  thy  father. 

5  I.  e.  No  puppet  dressed  up  to  deceive  me. 


674 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


Act  V, 


Mar.  Is  it  no  more  lo  be  5  our  daughter,  than 
To  say,  my  mother's  name  was  Tliaisa! 
Thaisa  w;is  my  mother,  who  did  end, 
Tlie  minute  I  began. 

Per.  Now,  blessing  on  thee,  rise;  thou  art  mv 
child.  ' 

Give  me  fresh  gavmenls.     Mine  own,  Helicanus, 
(Not  dead  at  Tharsus,  as  she  should  have  been. 
By  savage  Cleon,)  she  shall  tell  thee  all ; 
■\V'hen  tliou  shall  kneel  and  justify  in  knowledge, 
She  is  thy  very  princess.— \Vho  is  tins  ! 

Hel.  Sir,  'tis  the  governor  of  Mitylene, 
Wlio,  hearing  of  your  melancholy  state, 
Bid  come  to  see  you. 

Per.  I  embrace  you,  sir. 

Give  me  my  robes  ;  I  am  wild  in  my  beholding. 

0  heavens  bless  my  girl  I  But  hark.what  music!— 
Tell  Helicanus,  my  Marina,  tell  him 

O'er,  point  by  point,  for  yet  he  seems  to  doubt, 
How  sure  you  are  my  daugliter.— But  what  music'! 

Eel.  My  lord,  I  hear  none. 

Per.  None  ? 
The  music  of  the  spheres:  List,  my  Marina. 

Lys.  It  is  not  good  lo  cross  hiin;  give  him  way. 

Per.  Rarest  sounds  ! 
Do  ye  not  hear? 

1-iJs.  Music  ?  my  lord,  I  hear— 

Per.  Most  heavenly  music: 
It  nips  me  unto  list'ning,  and  thick  slumber 
Hangs  on  mine  eye-lids;  let  me  rest.      {He  sleeps. 

Li/s.  A  pillow  lor  his  head  ; 
\_Tke  Viirlain  bej'ure  the  Pavilion  ^Pericles 
is  closed. 
So  leave  him  all.— Well,  my  companion-friends. 
If  this  but  answer  to  my  just  belief, 
I'll  well  remember  you. 

[Exeunt  LvsiMAcnus,  Helicanus,  Ma- 
KINA,  and  Attendant  Lady. 

SCEN'E  l\.—The  same.  Pericles  on  t/ie  Deck 
asleep  ;  Diaxa  appearing  to  Mm  as  in  a  Vision. 

Bia.  Mv  temple  stands  in  Epiicsus:  hie  thee 
thither. 

And  do  upon  mine  altar  sacrifice. 

There,  when  my  maiden  priests  are  met  to- 
gether. 

Before  the  people  all, 

Keveal  how  thou  at  sea  didst  lose  tliy  wife: 

To  in. mm  thy  crosses,  with  thy  daughter's,  call, 

And  give  Ihcm  repetition  lo  the  life. 

Peilbrm  my  bidding,  or  thou  liv'st  in  woe: 

Do't,  and  be  happy,  by  my  silver  bow. 

Awake,  and  tell  tliy  dream.  [Diana  diwppears. 
Per.  Celestial  Duin,  goddess  argeiuine,^ 

1  will  obey  thee  ! — Helicanus  ! 

Enter  Ltsimacuus,  Helicanus,  and  Marina. 
Jlel.  Sir. 

Per    My  purpose  was  for   Tharsus,  there   to 
strike 
The  inhospitable  Cleon;  but  I  am 
For  other  service  hrst:  toward  E|ihcsus 
Turn  our  blown  sails;  eftsoons^  I'll  lell  thee  why.— 

[To  Helicanus. 
Shall  we  refresh  us,  sir,  upon  your  shore, 
And  give  you  gold  )br  such  provision 
As  our  intents  will  need  I 
Lijs.   With  all    my  heart,  sir;   and  when   you 
come  ashore, 
I  have  another  suit. 

Per.  You  shall  prevail. 

Were  it  to  woo  my  daughter;  for  it  seems 
You  have  been  noble  towards  her. 
1-ys.  Sir,  lend  your  aim. 

Per.  Come,  my  Marina.  [Exeunt. 

Enter   Goweh,  bejlire  the  Temple  of  Diana   at 
Ephesus. 
Goto.  Now  our  sands  are  almost  run ; 
More  a  little,  and  then  done. 
This,  as  my  last  boon,  give  me 
(Eor  such  kindness  must  relieve  me) 
That  jou  a]Uly  will  sujipose 
What  ]iageanl'iy,  what  k-ai.s,  what  shows, 
What  niinslrelsy,  and  pielty  din. 
The  regent  made  in  .Miljleli, 
To  greet  the  king.    So  he  was  thrived. 
That  he  is  jiroinis'd  to  be  wived 


To  fair  Marina;  but  in  no  wise, 
Till  he^  had  done  his  sacrifice. 
As  Dian  bade  :  whereto  being  bound 
The  interim,  pray  you,  all  conlbund.a 
In  feather'd  briclhess  sails  are  till'd. 
And  wishes  liill  out  .as  they're  wiU'd. 
At  Ephesus,  the  temple  see. 
Our  king,  and  all  his  company. 
That  he  can  hither  come  so  soon. 
Is  by  your  fancy's  thankful  boon. 


\Exit. 


»  i.  e  Kegont  of  the  silver  moon. 


'  Soon. 


SCENE  Ul.—The  Temple  cf  Diana  at  Ephesus: 
TiiAiSA  stanilbif;  near  the  Altar,  us  High- 
Prustess;  a  number  of  Virgins  on  each  side; 
Cerimon  and  other  Inhabitants  of  Ephesus  at 
tending. 

Enter   Pericles,   ivith  fiis    Train;    Lysimachus, 
Helicanus,  Marina,  and  a  Lady. 

Per.  Hail,  Dian;  to  perforin  thy  just  command 
I  here  conti?ss  myself  the  king  of  Tyre  ; 
Who,  frighted  from  my  country,  did  wed 
The  fair  Thaisa.  at  Pentapolis. 
At  sea  in  child-bed  died  she;  but  brought  forth 
A  maid-child  call'd  Marina;  who,  O  goddess. 
Wears  yet  thy  silver  livery.';    She  at  Tharsus 
Was  nurs  d  with  Cleon;  whom  at  fourteen  years 
He  sought  to  murder:  but  her  better  stars 
Brought  her  to  Milylene;  against  whose  shore 
Riding,  her  fortunes  brought  the  maid  aboard  us. 
Where,  by  her  own  most  clear  remembrance,  she 
Made  known  herself  my  daughter. 

'Pttai.  Voice  and  favor ! — 

Y'ou  are— you  are— 0  royal  Pericles  !    [She  faints. 

Per.  What  means  the  woman?  she  dies!  help, 
gentlemen! 

Cer.  Noble  sir. 
If  J  ou  have  told  Diana's  altar  true, 
This  is  your  wife. 

■P""'  Reverend  appearer,  no; 

I  threw  hero'erboard  with  these  very  arms. 

Cer.  Upon  this  coast,  I  warrant  you. 

■''f '  'Tis  most  certain. 

Ler.  Look  to  the  lady  ;— O,  she's  but  o'eijoy'd. 
Early,  one  blust'ring  morn,  this  lady  was 
Tlirown  on  this  shore.    I  oped  the  cofhn,  and 
Found  there  rich  jewels;  rccover'd  her  and  placed 

her 
Here  in  Diana's  temple. 

-f  «'■•  May  we  see  them  ? 

Cer,  Great  sir,  they  shall  be  brought  you  to  my 
house, 
Wliither  I  invite  you.    Look!  Thaisa  is 
Rccover'd. 

Thai.  O,  let  me  look  ! 
If  he  be  none  of  mine,  my  sanctity 
Will  to  my  senses  bend  no  licentious  ear, 
But  curb  It  spite  of  seeing.    O,  my  lord. 
Are  you  not  Pericles?  Like  him  you  speak. 
Like  him  you  are  :  Did  you  not  name  a  tempest, 
A  birth,  and  death  ? 

-?■'"•■  The  voice  of  dead  Thaisa ! 

Thai.  That  Thaisa  am  I,  supposed  dead, 
And  drown'd. 

Per.  Immortal  Dian! 

'J'hai.  Now  I  know  you  better. — 

Wlien  we  with  tears  parled  Pentapolis, 
The  king,  my  fallicr,  gave  you  sucli  a  ring. 

[  Shiiws  a  ring. 

Per.  This,  this:  no  more,  you  gods!  your  pre- 
sent kindness 
Makes  my  past  mi.series  sport:  You  shall  do  well, 
That  on  the  touching  of  her  lips  I  may 
Melt,  and  no  more  be  seen.    O  come,  be  buried 
A  second  time  within  these  arms. 

Mar.  My  heart 

Leaps  to  be  gone  into  my  mother's  bosom. 

[KnceLs  to  Thaisa. 

Per.  Look,  who  kneels  here !  Flesh  of  thy  tlesh, 
Thaisa  : 
Thy  burden  at  the  .sea,  and  call'd  Marina, 
For  she  was  yielded  there. 

Thai.  Blcss'd  and  mine  own ! 

Ji/7.  Hail,  madam,  and  my  queen  ! 

'Thai.  I  know  you  not. 

Per.  You  have  heard  me  say,  when  I  did  Ily 
liom  Tyre, 
I  left  behind  an  ancient  substitute. 

'  /.  e.  Pericles.        e  Confound  here  signifies  to  consume. 
^  I.  c.  Her  white  robe  of  innocence.      •  iSensuid  passion. 


Scene  111. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


675 


Can  you  remember  what  I  call'd  the  man'! 
I  l)ave  named  him  oft. 

J'hdi.  'Twas  Helicanus  then. 

Per.  Still  confirmation: 
Embrace  him,  dear  Thaisa;  this  is  he. 
Now  do  I  long  to  hear  how  you  were  found ; 
How  possibly  preserv'd ;  an"d  whom  to  tliank, 
Besides  Ihe  gods,  for  this  great  miracle. 

Thai.  Lord  Cerimon,  my  lord ;  this  man 
Through  whom  the  gods  have  shown  their  power; 

that  can 
From  first  to  last  resolve  you. 

Pg!-,  Reverend  sir, 

The  gods  can  have  no  mortal  officer 
More  like  a  god  than  you.     Will  jou  deliver 
How  this  dead  queen  re-lives! 

Cer.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Beseech  you,  first  go  with  me  to  my  house, 
Where  shall  be  shown  you  all  was  Ibund  with 

her; 
How  she  came  placed  here  within  the  temple, 
No  needful  thing  omitted. 

Per.  Pure  Dian ! 

I  bless  thee  for  thy  vision,  and  will  Oder 
My  night  oblations  to  thee.    Thaisa, 
This  prince,  the  fair-belrothed  of  your  daughter, 
Shall  marry  her  at  Pentapolis.    And  now. 
This  ornament"  that  makes  me  look  so  dismal, 
Will  I,  my  lov'd  Marina,  clip  to  form  ; 
And  what  this  fourteen  yearsno  razor  touch  d, 
To  grace  tliy  marriage  day,  I'll  beautify. 

>  i.  e.  His  buAixL 


T/iai.  Lord  Cerinion  hath  letters  of  good  credit, 
Sir,  tliat  my  lather's  dead. 

Per.  Heavens  make  a  star  of  him !    Yet  there, 
my  queen. 
We'll  celebrate  their  nuptials,  and  ourselves 
Will  in  that  kingdom  spend  our  following  days ; 
Our  son  and  daughter  shall  in  Tyrus  reign. 
Lord  Cerimon,  we  do  our  longing  stay 


Exeunt. 


To  hear  the  rest  untold.— Sir,  lead  the  way^ 

Enter  Gower. 
Gow.  In  Antioch,'  and  his  daughter,  you  have 
heard 
Of  monstrous  lust  the  due  and  just  reward  : 
In  Pericles,  his  queen  and  daughter,  seen 
(Although  assaii'd  witJi  fortune  tierce  and  keen) 
virtue  preserv'd  from  fell  destruction's  blast, 
Led  on  by  heaven,  and  crown'd  with  joy  at  last. 
In  Helicanus  may  you  well  descry 
A  figure  of  truth,  of  faith,  of  loyalty : 
In  reverend  Cerimon  there  well  appears 
The  worth  that  learned  charity  aye  wears. 
For  wicked  Cleon  and  his  wife,  when  fame 
Had  spread  their  cursed  deed,  and  honoi'd  name 
Of  Pericles,  to  rage  the  city  turn, 
Tliat  him  and  his  they  in  his  palace  burn. 
The  gods  for  murder  seemed  so  content 
To  punish  them  ;  although  not  done,  but  meant. 
So  on  your  patience  evermore  attending. 
New  joy  wait  on  you  !  Here  our  play  has  ending. 

[Exit  GOKEB. 
•  i  «.  The  king  of  Antiocb. 


KING  LEAR. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


Lear,  King  of  Britain. 

King  of  France. 

Dike  of  Burgcxdv. 

Duke  of  Cornwall. 

Dike  of  Albany. 

Earl  of  Kent. 

Eakl  of  Glosteb. 

Edcar,  Sim  tn  Gloster. 

EoMLND,  Basfaril  tiun  to  Gloster. 

CuRAN.  a  Courtier. 

Ol'l  Man.  Tenant  to  Gloster. 

Phijiiiiun. 


Font. 

Oswald,  Steivanl  to  Goneril. 

An  Officer,  eniplmjed  by  Edmund. 

Uciitlcinan,  Attendant  on  Cordelia. 

A  Herald. 

Servants  to  Cornwall.  ' 


Goneril,     5 
Regan,       [  Dauglit, 
Cordelia,  ) 


'ers  to  Leah. 


Knigtits  attending  on  the  King.  Officers,  Messen- 
gers, Soldiers,  and  Atteniiants. 


SCENE,  Britain. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.— A  Room  of  Slate  in  King  Lear's 

Palace. 

Enter  Kent,  Gloster,  cmd  Edmund. 

Kent.  I  thought  the  king  had  more  aflfected  the 
duke  of  Albany,  than  Cornwall. 

Gin.  It  did  always  seem  so  to  us;  hut  now,  in 
the  division  of  the  kingdom,  it  appears  not  which 
of  the  dukes  lie  values  most  j  for  equalities  are  so 
wcigh'd  that  curiosityi  in  neither  can  make  choice 
of  eitlier's  moiety.- 

Kent.  Is  this  your  son,  my  lord  1 

<!lo.  His  breeding,  sir,  hath  been  at  my  charge;  I 
have  so  often  blushed  to  acknowledge  him,  that  now 
I  am  brazed  to  it. 

Kent.  I  cannot  conceive  you. 

(Slo.  Sir,  this  young  fellow's  mother  could: 
whereupon  she  grew  round-wonibcd  :  and  had,  in- 
deed, sir,  a  son  for  her  cradle,  ere  she  had  a  hus- 
band lor  her  bed.    Do  you  smell  a  fault? 

Kent.  I  cannot  wish  the  fault  undone,  the  issue 
of  it  being  so  proper. 

Ctt).  But  I  have,  sir,  a  son,  by  order  of  law.  some 
year  elder  than  this,  who  yet  is  no  dearer  in  my 
acoouut:  tliough  tliis  knave  came  somewhat  saucily 
into  llie  world  heJore  he  was  sent  for,  yet  was  his 
molherfair:  there  was  good  sport  at  his  making, 
and  tbo  whoreson  must  beackuowledged. — Do  you 
know  this  noble  gentleman,  Edmund? 

Edni.  No,  my  lord. 

ill".  My  lord  of  Kent:  remember  him  hereafter 
as  my  honorable  friend. 

Kilin.  My  services  to  your  lordship. 

Kent.  I  must   love  you,  and  sue  to  know  you 

Kihn.  Sir,  I  shall  study  deserving. 
(.ilo.  He  hath  been  out  nine  years,  and  away  he 
shall  again  .-—The  king  is  coming. 

[Trumpets  sound  within. 

Enter  Lear,  Cornwall,  Alrany,  Goneril, 
Regan,  Cordelia,  and  Attendants. 
Lear.  Attend  the  lords  of  France  and  Burgundy, 
Gloster.  ' 


'  Most  Ecnipulous  nk*oty. 

676 


2  Part  or  division. 


Clo.  I  shall,  my  liege. 

[Exeunt  Gloster  and  Edmitn-d. 
Lear.  Meantime  we   shall  express  our  darker 
purpose. 
Give  me  the  map  there.— Know,  that  we  have  di- 
vided. 
In  three  our  kingdom:  and  'tis  our  fast  intent 
To  shake  all  cares  and  business  from  our  age: 
Conferring  them  on  younger  strengths,  while  we 
Unburden'd  crawl  toward  death.  —  Our  son  of 

Cornwall, 
And  you,  our  no  less  loving  son  of  Albany. 
We  have  this  hour  a  constant  will  to  publish 
Our  daughters'  several  dowers,  that  future  strife 
May  be  prevented  now.    The  princes,  France  and 

Burgundy, 
Great  rivals  in  our  youngest  daughter's  love. 
Long  in  our  court  liavc  made  their  amorous  sojourn. 
And  here  are  to  be  answer'd.— Tell  me,  my  daugh- 
ters, 
(Since  now  we  will  divest  us,  both  of  rule. 
Interest  of  territorv,  cares  of  state,) 
Whicli  of  you,  shall  we  say,  doth  love  us  most? 
That  we  our  largest  bounty  may  extend 
Where  merit  doth  most  challenge  it.— Goneril, 
Our  eldest-born,  speak  first. 

Gon.  Sir,  I 

Do  love  you  more  than  words  can  wield  the  matter, 
Dearer  than  eyesight,  sjmce,  and  liberty ; 
Beyond  what  can  he  valued,  rich,  or  rare ; 
No  less  thanlife.with  grace, health, beauty, honor: 
As  much  as  child  e'er  lov'd,  or  lather  found. 
Aleve  that  makes  breath  poor,  and  speech  unable: 
Beyond  all  manner  of  so  much  I  love  you. 
Cor.  What  shall  Cordelia  do?  love,  and  be  silent. 

[Aside. 
Lear.  Of  all  these  bounds,  even  from  this  line  to 
this, 
Wilh  shadowy  forests  and  with  chnmpains'  rich'd, 
With  plenteous  rivers  and  wide-skirted  meads. 
We  make  thee  lady  :  To  thine  and  Albany's  issue 
Be  this  perpetual.— What  says  our  second  daughter, 
Our  dearest  Regan,  wife  (o  Cornwall  ?  .Speak; 
Keg.  I  am  made  of  that  self  metal  as  my  sister, 
»  Open  plains. 


Act  I.  Scene  I 


KING  LEAR. 


077 


And  prize  me  at  her  worth.    In  my  true  heart 

I  find,  she  names  my  very  deed  of  love ; 

Only  she  comes  too  short.— That  I  profess 

Myself  an  enemy  to  all  other  joys, 

VV'hich  the  most  precious  square^  of  sense  possesses  ; 

And  find,  I  am  alone  felicitate^ 

In  your  dear  highness'  love. 

Cor.  Then  poor  Cordelia ! 

[Aside. 
And  yet  not  so;  since,  I  am  sure,  my  love's 
More  richer  than  my  tonsiue. 

Lear.  To  thee,  and  thine,  hereditary  ever. 
Remain  this  ample  third  of  our  fair  kingdom  : 
No  less  in  space,  validity.'^  and  pleasure. 
Than  that  confirm'd  on  Goneril.— Now,  our  joy, 
Altliough  the  last,  not  least;  to  whose  young  love 
The  vines  of  France,  and  milk  of  Burgundy, 
Strive  to  be  interess'd:  what  can  you  say  to  draw 
A  third  more  opulent  than  your  sisters  ]    Speak. 

Cor.  Nothing,  my  lord. 

Lear.  Nothing! 

Cor.  Nothing. 

Lear.  Nothing  can  come  of  nothing :  speak  again. 

Cor.  Unhappy  that  I  am,  I  cannot  heave 
My  heart  into  my  mouth :  I  love  your  majesty 
According  to  my  bond ;  nor  more  nor  less. 

Lear.  How, how,  Cordelia!  mend  your  speech  a 
little. 
Lest  it  may  mar  your  fortunes. 

Cor.  Good  my  lord, 

You  have  begot  me,  hrcd  me,  lov'd  me  ;  I 
Keturn  those  duties  back  as  are  right  fit, 
0!)ey  you,  love  you,  and  most  honor  you. 
Why  have  my  sisters  husbands,  if  they  say. 
They  love  50U  all  1  Haply,  when  I  shall  wed, 
Tha'tlord.whose  hand  must  takemyplight.shallcarry 
Half  my  love  with  him,  half  my  care,  and  duty: 
Sure,  I  shall  never  marry  like  my  sisters, 
To  love  my  father  ail. 

Lear.  But  goes  this  with  thy  heart! 

Cor.  Ay,  good  my  lord. 

Lear.  So  young,  and  so  untender ! 

Cor.  So  young,  my  lord,  and  true. 

I^ear.  Letitbeso,— Thy  truth  then  be  thy  dower: 
For,  by  the  sacred  radiance  of  the  sun  ; 
The  niysteries  of  Hecate,  and  the  night; 
By  all  tlie  operations  of  the  orbs, 
l-'rom  whom  we  do  exist,  and  cease  to  be ; 
Here  I  disclaim  all  my  paternal  care. 
Propinquity,"  and  property  of  blood. 
And  as  a  stranger  to  my  heart  and  me 
Hold   thee,   from   this'*    forever.     The    barbarous 

Scythian, 
Or  he  that  makes  his  generation^  messes 
To  gorge  his  appetite,  shall  to  my  bosom 
Be  as  well  ncighbor'd,  pitied,  and  reliev'd, 
As  thou,  my  sometime  daughter. 

Keiil.  Good  my  liege,— 

Lear.  Peace,  Kent ! 
Come  not  between  the  dragon  and  his  wrath : 
I  lov'd  her  most,  and  thought  to  set  my  rest 
On  her    kind    nursery.  —  Hence,  and  avoid  my 
sight!—  [roCoKDELiA. 

So  be  my  grave  my  peace,  as  here  I  give 
Her  father's  heart  from  her! — Call  France; — Who 

stirs  ! 
Call  Burgundy.— Cornwall,  and  Albany, 
With  my  two  daughters'  dowers  digest  this  third: 
Let  pride,  which  she  calls  plainness,  marry  her. 
I  do  invest  you  jointly  with  my  power. 
Pre-eminence,  and  all  tlie  large  cllects 
That  troop  with  majesty. — Ourself,  by  monthly 

course. 
With  reservation  of  an  hundred  knights, 
By  you  to  be  sustain'd,  shall  our  abode 
IVlake  with  you  by  due  turns.    Only  we  still  retain 
The  name,  and  all  the  additions^  to  a  king ; 
The  sway. 

Revenue,  execution  of  the  rest. 
Beloved  sons,  be  yours;  which  to  confirm. 
This  coronet  part'between  you.    [Gii'ing  the  crown. 

Kent.  RoyalLear, 

Whon".  I  have  ever  honor'd  as  my  king, 
Lov'd  as  my  father,  as  my  master  foUow'd, 
As  my  great  patron  thought  on  in  my  prayers, — 

iear.The  bow  is  bent  and  drawn,  make  trom 
the  shaft. 

*  Comprehetisinn.       '  Made  bappv.  "  Value. 

»  Kiudred.   •  From  this  time.     9  ilis  children.     ^  Titles. 


Kent.  Let  it  tail  rather,  though  the  fork  invade 
The  region  of  my  heart :  be  Kent  uimiannerly, 
When  Lear  is  mad.    What  wouldst  thou  do,  old 

man ! 
Think'st  thou,  that  duty  shall  have  dread  to  speak, 
When  power  to  flattery  bows !    To  plairmess  ho- 
nor's bound. 
When  majesty  stoops  to  folly.  Reverse  thy  doom  ; 
And,  in  thy  best  consideration,  check 
This  hideous  rashness ;  answer  my  life  my  judg- 
ment. 
Thy  youngest  daughter  does  not  love  thee  least; 
Nor  are  those  empty-hearted,  whose  low  sound 
Ileverbs^  no  lioUowness. 

I^ar.  Kent,  on  thy  life,  no  more. 

Kent.  My  life  I  never  held  but  as  a  pawn 
To  wage  against  thine  enemies;  nor  fear  to  lose  it, 
Thv  safety  being  the  motive. 

Lear.  Out  of  mv  sight ! 

Kent.  See  better,  Lear;  and  let  me  still  remain 
The  true  blank^  of  thine  eye. 

Lear.  Now,  by  Apollo, — 

Kent.  Now,  by  Apollo,  king, 

Thou  swear'st  thy  gods  in  vain. 

Lear.  O,  vassal,  miscreant ! 

[Laywg  /lis  Hand  mi  kis  sword, 

Alh.  Corn.  Dear  sir,  forbear. 

Kent.  Do ; 
Kill  (hy  iibysiei.an,  and  the  fee  bestow 
Upon  the  foul  disease.    Revoke  thy  gift: 
Or  whilst  1  can  vent  clamor  from  my  throat, 
ril  tell  thee  thou  dost  evil. 

Lear.  Hear  me,  recreant ! 

On  thine  allegiance  hear  me  ! — 
Since  thou  hast  sought  to  make  us  break  our  vow, 
(Which  we  durst  never  yet,)  and,  with  strain'd 

pride. 
To  come  betwixt  our  sentence  and  our  power; 
{Which  nor  our  nature,  nor  our  place  can  bear ;) 
Our  potency  make  good,  take  thy  reward. 
Five  davs  we  do  allot  thee,  for  provision 
To  shield  thee  from  diseases  of  the  world: 
And,  on  the  sixth,  to  turn  thy  hated  back 
Upon  our  kingdom:  if, on  the  tenth  day  ti)llowing 
Tliy  lianish'd  trunk  be  (bund  in  our  dominions. 
The  moment  is  thy  death  :  Away  !    By  Jupiter, 
This  shall  tiot  be  revok'd. 

Kent.  Fare  thee  well,  king :  since  thus  thou  wilt 
appear. 
Freedom  lives  hence,  and  banishment  is  here. — 
The  gods  to  their  dear  shelter  take  thee,  maid, 

[To  ConDELIA. 

That  justly  think'st,  and  hast  most  riglitly  said  ! — 
.-Vnd  your  large  speeches  may  your  deeds  approve, 
[  To  Regan  and  Gu.nebil. 
That  good  elTects  may  spring  from  words  of  love. — 
Tims  Kent,  O  princes,  bids  jou  all  adieu; 
He'll  shape  his  old  course  ma  country  new,  [Exit. 

Re-enter  Glostek;  xoilli  France,  Borguxdt,  and 
Attendants. 

Glo.  Here's  France  and  Burgundy,  my  noble  lord. 

Lear.  Mv  lord  of  Hujgundy, 
We  first  address  towards  jon.  who  with  this  king 
Hath  rivalfd  for  our  daugliler;  What,  in  the  least, 
Will  you  require  in  present  dower  with  her, 
Or  cease  your  quest  of  love  ! 

Bur.  Most  royal  majesty 

I  crave  no  more  than  hath  your  highness  olli^r'd, 
Nor  will  you  tender  less. 

Lear.  Right  noble  Burgundy 

When  she  was  dear  to  us,  we  did  hold  her  so; 
But  n«*w  her  price  is  faJl'n  :  Sir,  there  she  stands; 
If  auglit  wittnn  that  little  seeming  substance, 
Or  all  of  it,  with  our  displeasure  pieced. 
And  nothing  more,  may  fitly  like  your  grace. 
She's  there,  and  she  is  yours. 

Bur.  I  know  no  answer. 

Lear.  Sir, 
Will  you,  with  those  infirmities  she  owes,^ 
Unfriended,  new-adopted  to  our  hate, 
Dower'd  with  our  curse,  and  straiiger'd  with  oui 

oath. 
Take  her,  or  leave  her  \ 

Bur.  Pardon  me,  royal  sir ; 

Election  makes  not  up  on  such  conditions. 


»  Itevorbor,ites. 

*  Owns,  is  possessed  of. 


>  The  mark  to  shoot  at 


Ltar.  Then  leave  her,  sir;  for,  by  the  power 
tliiit  made  me, 
I  tell  you  all  her  wealth.— For  you,  great  king, 

[To  FUANCE. 

I  would  not  from  your  love  make  such  a  stray, 
To  match  you  where  I  hate;  therefore  beseech  you 
To  avert  your  liking  a  more  worthier  way, 
Tlian  on  a  wretch  wliom  nature  is  asliamed 
Almost  to  acknowledge  hers. 

France.  This  is  most  strange  ! 

That  she,  that  even  but  now  was  your  best  object, 
Tlie  arnnment  of  your  praise,  balm  of  your  age. 
Most  bi'st,  most  dearest,  should  in  this  trice  of  time 
Counnif  a  tiling  so  monstrous  to  dismantle 
So  many  folds  of  favor  !     .Sure,  her  oIlcMice 
IMust  In'  of  such  ujmatural  degree. 
That  monsters  it,  or  your  fore-vouch'd  affection 
Fall  into  taint:  wbicii  to  believe  other. 
Must  be  a  fiith,  that  reason  without  miracle 
Could  never  plant  in  me. 

Cia:  t  yet  beseech  your  m.ajcsty, 

(If  foi-i  I  want  that  glib  and  oily  art, 
To^peakand  purpose  not;  since  what  I  well  intend, 
I'll  do't  before  I  speak,)  that  you  make  known 
it  is  no  vicious  blot,  murder,  orfoulness, 
No  unchaste  action  or  dishonor'd  step. 
That  hath  depriv'd  me  of  your  grace  and  favor: 
But  even  for  want  of  that,  for  which  I  am  richer  ; 
A  still-soliciting  eye,  and  such  a  tongue 
That  I  am  glad  I  have  not,  though  not  to  have  it, 
lialh  lost  me  in  your  liking. 

Lear.  Better  thou 

Hadst  not  been  born,  than  not  to  have  pleas'd  me 
better. 
France.  Is  it  but  this  ?  a  tardiness  in  nature, 
Which  ollcn  leaves  the  history  unspoke. 
That  It  intends  to  do  ^— My  lord  of  Burgundy, 
What  say  you  to  the  lady  X    Love  is  not  love, 
Wlien  it  is  mingled  with  respects,  Ihat  stand 
Aloof  Irom  the  entire  point.    Will  you  have  her  1 
She  is  herself  a  dowry. 

Bur.  Royal  Lear, 

r.ive  but  that  portion  which  yourself  propos'd, 
And  here  I  lake  Ccurielia  by  the  hand, 
Duchess  of  Burgundy. 
J.riir.  Nothing  :  I  have  sworn  ;  I  am  firm. 
Bur.  I  am  sorry  then,  }ou  have  so  lost  a  father, 
Thiit  you  must  lose  a  husband. 

Car.  Peace  be  with  Burgundy! 

Since  that  respects  of  fortune  arc  his  love, 
I  shall  not  be  his  wile. 
France.  Fairest  Cordelia,  thou    art    most  rich, 
being  poor; 
Most  choice,  forsaken  ;  and  most  lov'd,  de.spis'd  ! 
'J'bee  and  thy  virtues  here  I  seize  upon: 
lie  It  lawful,  1  take  up  what's  cast  away. 
Gods,  gods!    'tis  strange,  that  from  their  cold'st 

neglect 
My  love  should  kindle  to  inflamed  respect. — 
Thy  dowerless  daughter,  king,  thrown  to  my  chance. 
Is  queen  of  us,  of  ours,  and  our  fair  France  : 
Not  all  the  dukes  of  wat'rish  Burgundy 
Shall  buy  this  unpriz'd  precious  maid  of  me. — 
Bid  them  farewell,  Cordelia  ;  though  unkind  : 
Thou  losest  here,  a  better  where  to  find. 
Lear.  Thou  hast  her,  France :  let  her  be  thine ; 
for  we 
Have  no  such  daughter,  nor  shall  ever  see 
That  face  of  hers  again  : — Therefore  be  gone, 
Without  our  grace,  our  love,  our  benizon.'"— 
Come,  noble  Burgundy. 

[Flourith.  Exeunt  Lear,  BtmocNDT,  Cornwall, 

Aldanv,  Gloster,  and  Attendants. 
France.  Bid  farewell  to  your  sisters.        ^ 
Cirr.  The  jewels  of  our  lather,  with  wash  d  eyes 
Conlclia  leaves  you  ;  I  know  you  what  you  are  ; 
And,  like  a  sister,  am  most  loath  to  call 
Vour  fiiiilts.as  they  arc  named.  Use  well  our  father: 
To  )our  professed  bosoms  I  commit  him: 
But  ye(,  alas!  stood  I  within  his  grace, 
I  would  jirefer  him  to  a  better  place. 
So  liirewell  to  you  both. 
Oon.  Prescribe  not  us  our  duties. 
lleg.  Let  your  study 

Be,  to  content  your  lord  ;  who  halh  receiv'd  you 
At  lortniie's  alms.    You  have  obedience  scanted. 
And   v^■cll    are   worth    the    want    that  you   have 
wanted. 
t  Because.  ^  Blessing. 


Cor.  Time  shall  unfold  what  plaited  cunning 
hides; 
Who  cover  faults,  at  last  shame  them  derides. 
Well  may  you  prosper! 

I'rance.  Come,  my  fair  Cordelia. 

[Exeunt  France  ami  Cordelia. 

Gon.  Sister,  it  is  not  a  little  I  have  to  say,  of 
what  most  nearly  appertains  to  us  both.  I  think, 
our  father  will  hence  to-night. 

Reg.  That's  most  certain,  and  with  you;  nexi 
month  with  us. 

Can.  You  see  how  full  of  changes  his  age  is:  the 
observation  we  have  made  of  it  hath  not  been  little: 
he  always  lov'd  our  sister  most;  and  wilh  what 
poor  judgment  he  hath  now  cast  her  offappcars  too 
grossly. 

RcK-  'Tis  the  infirmity  of  his  age :  yet  he  hath 
ever  but  slenderly  known  himself. 

Con.  The  best  and  soundest  of  his  time  hath 
been  but  rash  ;  then  must  we  look  to  receive  from 
his  age,  not  alone  the  imperfections  of  long-en- 
grafted condition,''  but  therewithal, the  unruly  way- 
wardness that  infirm  and  choleric  years  bring  with 
them. 

Reg.  Such  unconstant  starts  are  we  like  to  have 
from  him,  as  this  of  Kent's  banishment. 

Gun.  There  is  further  compliment  of  leave-taking 
between  France  and  him.  Pray  you,  let  us  hit 
together:  If  our  lather  carry  authority  wilh  such 
dispositions  as  he  bears,  this  last  surrender  of  his 
will  but  otttsnd  us. 

Reg.  We  shall  further  think  of  it. 

Gon.  We  must  do  something,  and  i'  the  heat. 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.—^  Hall  in  the  Earl  of  Gloster's 

Cattle. 

Enter  Edml'nd,  with  a  Letter. 

Edm.  Thou,  nature,  art  my  goddess  ;  to  thy  law 
My  services  are  bound:  Wherefore  shoukl  I 
Su'ind  in  the  plague  of  custom;  and  peiinit 
The  curiosity*^  of  nations  to  deprive  me. 
For  that  I  am  some  twelve  or  fourteen  moon-shines 
Lagofa  brother?    Why  bastard?  wherefore  base! 
When  my  dimensions  arc  as  well  compact 
My  mind  as  generous,  and  my  shape  as  true. 
As  honest  madam's  issue  1     Why  brand  they  us 
With  base?  with  baseness?  bastardy?  base,  base! 
Who,  in  the  lusty  stealth  of  nature,  take 
More  composition  and  fierce  quality. 
Than  doth,  within  a  dull,  stale,  tired  bed, 
Go  to  file  creating  a  whole  tribe  of  fops. 
Got  'tween  asleep  and  wake  ?— Well  then. 
Legitimate  P^dgar,  I  must  have  your  land  : 
Our  lather's  love  is  to  the  bastard  Edmund, 
As  to  the  legitimate:  Fine  word,— legitimate  ! 
Well,  my  legitimate,  if  this  letter  speed. 
And  my' invention  thrive,  Edmund  the  base 
Shall  top  the  legitimale.    I  grow;  I  prosper:— 
Now,  gods,  stand  up  for  bastards! 
Enter  Gloster. 

Ghi.  Kent  banish'd  thus!    And  France  in  choler 
parted ! 
And  the  king  goneto-night!  subscribedshis  power! 
Confined  to  exhibition  !'    All  this  done 

Upon   the  gad  !-^ Edmund!    How  now?    what 

news? 

Edm.  So  please  your  lordship,  none. 

[Putting  up  the  Letter. 

Gin.  Why  so  earnestly  seek  you  to  put  up  that 
letter? 

Edm.  I  know  no  news,  my  lord. 

Glu.  What  paper  were  yo'u  readir?': 

Eitm.  Nothing,  my  lord. 

Glo.  No?  What  needed  then  that  terrible  de- 
spatch of  it  into  your  pocket?  the  quality  of  nothing 
halh  not  such  need  to  hide  itself".  Let's  see:  Come, 
if  it  be  nothing,  I  shall  not  need  spectacles. 

Edm.  1  beseech  you, sir, pardon  me:  itisaletter 
from  my  brother,  that  I  have  not  all  o'er  read  ;  for 
so  much  as  I  have  perused,  I  find  it  not  fit  for  your 
over-looking. 

Glu.  Give  me  the  letter,  sir. 

Edm.  I  shall  ollend,  either  to  detain  or  give  it. 
The  contents,  as  in  part  I  understand  them,  are  to 
blame. 

1  QuiilitiBS  of  mind.  '  The  nioity  of  civil  institution. 

•  Yleklcit,  surrendored.       i  Allowance.  "  Suadenly 


Scene"  III. 


KING   LEAR. 


679 


Gin.  Let's  sec,  let  s  see. 

Edm.  I  liorc  tbr  my  brother  s  justification,  he 
wrote  this  but  as  :in  ossay^  or  taste  of  my  virtue. 

Olo.  [Reads.]  This  piilici/.  and  reverence  uf  age, 
makes  1,'ie  uyrrld  Inller  la  the  hcsl  nfuur  timex;  keeps 
oiirjurtunrs  friiiii  us,  till  mir  iildness  rinniiil  rclisll 
t/ieiii.  Ibeiun  In  find  nn  idle  and J\ind<  hnndm^e  in 
/he  (ipijnssiiin  ij  aised  ti/ranni/ ;  udin  swiiys.  not  as 
it  hi:th  pawer,  hut  aJi  it  is  suffered.  Ciniie  lu  ate,  that 
eflhls  I  may  speak  more.  If  our  father  W(nild  sleep 
till  I  waked  him.  you  sftould  enjmj  Italfliix  revenue 
for  ever,  and  lii-e  the  belvved  <f  yaiir  briither, 
Edgar.— Iluuiph— Conspiracy  '.—Sleep  till  I  waked 
him—ijou  should  eiijiu/  hit  ,hvi  revenue.— My  son 
Edgar!  had  he  a  liaiid  t.i  «ritc  this?  a  heart  and 
bram  to  breed  it  in?— When  came  tliis  to  you! 
Wlio  brought  It ! 

Edm.  It  was  not  brouglit  me.  my  lord,  tliere's 
the  cunningolit;  I  found  it  thrown  in  at  the  case- 
ment of  my  closet.  .  ,      ,  , 
Gin.  You  knowthecharactertobcyourbrother  s  ! 
Elm.  M  llie  matter  were  good,  my  lord.  1  durst 
swear  it  were  his;  but,  in  respect  of  that,  I  would 
fain  think  it  were  not. 
Glo.  It  is  his. 

Edm.  It  is  liis  hand,  my  lord;  but,  I  hope,  his 
heart  is  not  in  the  contents. 

Cln.  Hatli  lie  never  heretofore  sounded  you  in 
this  business  ? 

Edm.  Never,  my  lord :  But  I  have  often  heard 
liim  maintain  it  to  be  lit,  that  sons  at  perfect  age, 
and  fathers-declining,  the  father  should  be  as  ward 
to  the  son,  and  the  son  manage  his  revenue. 

Glo.  0  villain,  villain!— His  very  opinion  in  the 
letter  !—Abhiirrcd  villain!  Unnatural,  detested, 
brutish  villain!  worse  than  brutish  !—(",o,  sirrah, 
seek  liiin;  I'll  apprehend  him :— Abominable  vil- 
lain ! — Where  is  he  ! 

Edm.  I  do  not  well  know,  my  lord.  If  it  shall 
please  you  to  suspend  your  indignation  against 
my  brother,  till  \ou  can  derive  from  him  better  tes- 
timony ol  his  intent,  you  shall  run  a  certain  course; 
wherc,5  if  you  violently  proceed  against  him,  mis- 
taking his  purpose,  it  would  make  a  great  gap  in 
your  "own  honor,  and  shake  in  pieces  the  heart  of 
ills  obedience.  I  dare  pawn  down  my  life  for  him, 
that  he  hath  writ  this  to  feel  my  allection  to  your 
honor,  and  to  no  other  pretence  of  danger. 
<;/o.  Think  you  so  1 

Edm.  It  yoiir  honor  judge  it  meet,  I  will  place 
you  where  you  shall  hear  us  confer  of  this,  and  by 
an  auricular  assurance  have  yoursalisfaction  ;  and 
that  without  any  further  delay  than  this  very 
evening. 

Gin.  He  cannot  be  such  a  monster. 
Edm.  Nor  is  not,  sure. 

Gin.  To  his  father,  lliat  so  tenderly  and  cntirel 
loves  him. — Heaven  and  earth  ! — Edmund 
him  out;  wind  me  into  him,  I  pray  you:  frame  the 
business  after  your  own  wisdom  :  I  would  unstate 
myseli;  to  be  in  a  due  resolution. 

'Edm.  I  will  seek  him,  sir,  presently ;  convey«  the 
business  as  I  shall  find  means,  and  acquaint  you 
withal. 

Gin.  These  late  eclipses  in  the  sun  and  moon 
portend  no  good  to  us  :  Thougli  the  wisdom  of 
nature  can  reason  it  thus  and  thus,  yet  nature  finds 
itself  scourged  by  the  sequent' ertects  :  love  cools, 
Irieiidship  falls  olf,  brothers  divide  :  in  cities,  mu- 
tinies; in  countries,  discord;  in  palaces,  treason ; 
and  the  bond  cracked  between  son  and  father. 
This  villain  of  mine  comes  under  the  prediction; 
there's  son  against  father:  the  king  liills  from  bias 
of  nature  ;  there's  father  agftinst  child.  We  liave 
seen  the  best  of  our  time:  Machinations,  hollow- 
ress,  treachery,  and  all  ruinous  disorders,  follow  us 
disquielly  to  our  graves!— Find  out  this  villain, 
Edmund,  it  shall  lose  thee  nothing ;  do  it  carelully : 
—And  the  noble  and  true-hearted  Kent  banished  ! 
his  ollcnce,  honesty  !— Strange !  strange !  [Exit. 
Edm.  This  is  the  excellent  (bppery  of  the  world  ! 
that  when  we  arc  sick  in  fortune,  (often  the  surfeit 
of  our  own  beliaviour,)  we  make  guilty  of  our  dis- 
asters, the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars:  as  if  we 
were  villains  by  nccessitv ;  fools,  by  heavenly 
compulsion  ;  knaves,  thieves,  and  treachers,»  by 
spherical  predominance ;  drunkards,liars,and  adul- 
terers, by  an  enlbrccd  obedience  of  planetary  in- 
»  Trial.  '  Kenk  and  foolisb.  '  Wheie.is. 

•  JIauagc.  '  i'oUoiving.  •  Traitors. 


ftuence;  and  all  that  we  are  evil  in,  by  a  divine 
thrusting  on :  An  admirable  evasion  of  whoremas- 
tcr  man,  to  lay  his  goatish  disposition  to  the  charge 
of  a  star!  My  liither  compounded  with  my  mother 
under  the  dragon's  tail;  and  my  nativity  was  un- 
der iirsa  major;  .so  that  it  follows,  I  am  rough  and 
lecherous. — Tut,  I  should  have  been  that  I  am,  had 
the  niaidenliest  star  in  the  firmament  twinkled  on 
my  bastardizing.    Edgar — 

i'H  to- Edgar. 
and  pat  he  comes,  like  the  catastrophe  of  the  old 
comedy:  My  cue  is  villainous  melancholy,  with  a 
sigh  like  Tom   o'Uedlam.— 0.  these    eclipses   do 
portend  these  divisions!  la, sol,  la,  mi.' 

r,i,y  TTnw  now  brother  Rilinnnd?   Wh'atserious 


ely 
cek 


£(/«■. How  now,  brother  Edmund? 
contemplation  arc  you  in  ? 

Edni.  1  am  thinking,  brother,  of  a  prediction  I 
read  this  other  day,  what  should  Ibliuw  these 
eclipses. 
Edg.  Do  you  busy  yourself  with  that? 
Edm.  I  promise  you,  the  etlects  he  writes  of, 
succeed  unhappily;  as  of  unnaturalness  between 
the  child  and  the  parent;  death,  dearth,  dissolu- 
tions of  ancient  amities ;  divisions  in  state,  menaces 
and  maledictions  against  king  and  nobles;  needless 
diliidences,  banishment  of  friends,  dissipation  of 
cohorts.i  nuptial  breaches,  and  1  know  not  what. 

Eilg.  How  long  have  you  been  a  sectary  astro- 
nomical ! 

Edm.  Come,  come :  when  saw  you  my  father 
last ! 

Edg.  Why,  the  night  gone  by. 
Edm.  Spake  you  with  him? 
Edg.  Ay,  two  hours  together. 
Edin.  Parted  you   in  good  terms?     Found  you 
no  displeasure  in  him,  by  word  or  countenance? 
Edg.  None  at  all. 

Eilni.  Bethink  yourself,  wherein  you  may  have 
ollended  him :  and,  at  my  entreaty,  Ibrbear  his  pre- 
sence, till  some  little  time  hath  qualified  the  heat 
of  his  displeasure;  which  at  this  instant  so  rageth 
in  him,  tliat  with  the  mischief  of  your  person  it 
would  scarcely  allay. 
Edg.  Some  villain  hath  done  me  wrong. 
Edm.  That's  my  fear.    1  pray  you,  have  a  con- 
tinent-i  forbearance,  till  the  speed  of  his  rage  goes 
slower;  and,  as  I  say,  retire  with  me  to  my  lodging, 
Irom  whence  I  will  fitly  bring  you  to  hear  my  lord 
speak:  Pray  you,  go;  there's  my  key  :— If  you  do 
stir  abroad,  go  armed. 
Edg.  Armed,  brother? 

Edm.  Brother,  1  advise  you  to  the  best:  go 
armed;  I  am  no  honest  man,  if  there  be  any  good 
meaning  towards  you :  I  have  told  you  what  I  have 
seen  and  heard,  but  faintly;  nothing  hke  the  image 
and  horror  of  it :  Pray  you,  away. 
Edg.  Shall  I  hear  trom  you  anon? 
Edm.  I  do  serve  you  in  this  business.— 

[Exit  Edgar. 
A  credulous  father,  and  a  brother  nolile. 
Whose  nature  is  so  lar  from  doing  harms. 
That  he  suspects  none;  on  whose  Ibolish  honesty 
My  practices  ride  easy!— I  see  the  business.- 
Le't  me,  if  not  by  birth,  have  lands  by  wit: 
All  with  me's  meet,  that  I  can  fashion  fit.      [Exit. 

l  Room  in  the  Duke  of  Albany's 
Palace. 
Enter  Goneril  and  Steward. 
Did  my  father  strike  my  gentleman  for 
chiding  of  his  fool? 
Stew.  Ay,  madam. 

Gon.  By  day  and  night!  he  wrongs  me;  every 
hour. 
He  flashes  into  one  gross  crime  or  other. 
That  sets  us  all  at  odds  :  I'll  not  endure  it : 
His  knights  grow  riotous,  and  himself  unoraids  us 
On  every  tritle:— When  he  returns  from  hunting, 
I  will  not  speak  with  him ;  say,  I  am  sick:— 
if  you  come  slack  of  former  services, 
'You  shall  do  well ;  the  liiult  of  it  I'll  answer. 
Slew.  He's  coming,  madam  ;  I  hear  him. 

[Horns  within. 
Gon.  Put  on  what  weary  negligence  you  please, 
Y'ou  and  your  fellows ;  I'd  have  it  come  to  question: 
If  he  dislike  it,  let  him  to  my  sister. 
Whose  mind  and  mine,  I  know,  in  that  are  one, 
s  These  snunds  .ire  unn.itural  .tnd  offensire  in  music. 
»  For  cohorts  some  ethtors  read  courts.        >  Tempt-rate. 


SCENE  III.- 


Con. 


Not  to  be  overruled.    Idle  old  man. 
That  still  would  manage  those  authorities. 
That  he  hath  given  away! — Now,  by  my  life, 
Old  fools  are  babes  again;  and  must  be  used 
With  checks,  as  flatteries, — when  they  are  seen 

abused. 
Remember  what  I  have  said. 

^few.  Very  well,  madam. 

Gon.  And  let  his    knights    have    colder  looks 

among  you ; 
What  grow30t'it,no  matter;  advise  your  fellows  so: 
I  would  breed  from  hence  occaj^ions,  and  I  .shall, 
That  I  may  speak. —  TU  write  slraight  to  my  sister, 
To  htvld  my  very  course: — Prepare  lor  dinner. 

[E.reunL 

SCENE  IV.— .4  Hall  in  the  same. 
Enter  Kent,  disguised. 
Kent.  If  but  as  well  I  other  accents  borrow, 
That  can  my  speech  dilluse,^  my  good  intent 
I^Iay  carry  through  itself  to  that  full  issue 
For  which  I  razM^  my  likeness. — Now,  banish'd 

Kent, 
I  fthou  canst  senewli  ere  thou  dost  stand  condemnM, 
(So  may  it  come!)  thy  master,  whom  tJiou  lov'st, 
Shall  find  thee  full  of  labors. 

Horns  unthin.    Enter  Lear,  Knight-s,  and 
Attendants. 

Lear.  Let  me  not  stay  a  jot  for  dinner:  go,  get 
it  ready.  [Exit  an  Attendant.]  How  now,  wjiat 
art  tliou  ? 

Kfnt.  A  man.  sir. 

Lear.  What  dost  thou  profess?  What  wouldst 
thou  with  usi 

Kent.  I  do  profess  to  be  no  less  than  I  seem ;  to 
serve  iiim  truly,  that  will  put  me  in  trust;  to  love 
him  that  is  honest;  to  converse  with  him  that  is 
wise,  and  says  little;  to  fear  judgment;  to  light, 
when  I  cannot  choose ;  and  to  eat  no  fish. 

I^ear.  What  art  thou  ? 

Kent.  A  very  honest-hearted  fellow,  and  as  poor 
as  the  king. 

Liar.  If  thou  be  as  poor  for  a  subject,  as  he  is 
for  a  king,  thou  art  poor  enough.  What  wouldst 
thou  7 

Kent.  Service. 

Lear.  Who  wouldst  thou  serve  1 

Kent.  You. 

Lear.  Dost  thou  know  me.  fellow? 

Kent.  No,  sir;  but  you  have  that  in  j'our  coun- 
tennnce,  which  I  would  tain  call  master. 

Lear.  What's  that '! 

Kent.  Authority. 

Lear.  What  services  canst  thou  do] 

Kent.  I  can  keep  honest  counsel,  ride,  run,  mar 
a  curious  tale  in  telling  it,  and  deliver  a  plain  mes- 
sage blnnlly:  that  wj)ich  ordinary  men  are  fit  for, 
I  am  qualified  in  ;  and  the  best  of  me  is  diligence. 

Lrar.  How  old  art  tJiou  ] 

Kent.  Not  so  young,  sir,  to  love  a  woman  for 
singing;  nor  so  old,  to  dote  on  her  for  any  thing: 
I  have  years  on  my  back  forty-eight. 

Lear,  Follow  me;  thou  slialt  serve  me:  if  I  like 
thee  no  worse  after  dinner,  I  will  not  part  from  thee 
yet. —  Dinner,  ho,  dinner! — Where's  my  knave] 
my  tool]  Go  you,  and  call  my  fool  hither: 

Enter  Steward. 
Yon,  yon,  sirrah,  where 's  my  daughter  1 

Steiv.  So  please  yon, —  [Exit. 

/.«/?■.  What  says  the  follow  there]  Call  the  clut- 
poll  back.— Where's  my  fool,  ho]— I  think  the 
world's  asleep. — How  now,  where's  that  mongrel! 

Knight.  He  says,  my  lord,  your  daughter  is  not 
well. 

Lrar.  Why  came  not  the  slave  back  to  me,  when 
r  ciiird  him] 

Kui^^ht.  Sir,  he  answcr'd  me  in  the  roundest 
manner,  he  would  not. 

Lear.  He  would  not! 

Knig/if.  My  lord,  I  know  not  what  the  matter  is; 
but.  to  my  judgment,  yuiir  higl)ness  is  not  enter- 
tainVi  Willi  that  ccrcMuniious  allection  as  you  were 
wont;  there-s  a  great  abatement  of  kindness  ap- 
pears, as  well  in  the  gciirml  dependants,  as  in  the 
duke  himself  also,  and  vour  daughter. 

Lear.  Ha!  say'st  thnii  so] 

Knight.  I  beseech  you,  pardon  me,  my  lord,  if 
»  Disorder,  disguise.  4  Effaced. 


I  be  mistaken ;  for  my  duty  cannot  be  silent,  when 
I  think  your  highness  is  wrong'd. 

Lear.  Thou  but  remember'st  me  of  mine  own 
conception;  I  have  perceived  a  most  faint  neglect 
of  late;  which  I  have  rather  blamed  as  mine  own 
jealous  curiosity,^  than  as  a  very  pretence.^  and 
purpose  of  unklndncss:  1  will  look  further  into't. 
— But  Where's  my  fool]  I  have  not  seen  him  this 
two  days. 

Knight.  Since  my  young  lady's  going  into 
France,  sir,  the  Ibol  hath  much  pined  away. 

Lear.  No  more  of  that;  I  have  noted  it  well.— 
Go,  you,  and  tell  my  daughter  1  would  speak  tvilh 
her. — Go  you,  call  hither  my  fool. — 

Re-enter  Steward. 
O,you  sir,  you  sir,  come  you  hither:  Who  am  I,  sir  \ 
Stew,  My  ladyVs  father. 

Lear.  My  lady's  lather!  my  lord's  knave:  you 
whoreson  dog  I  you  slave  !  you  cur ! 

Stew.  I  am  none  of  this,  my  lord;  I  beseech  you, 
pardon  me. 
Lear.  Do  you  bandy  looks  with  me,  you  rascall 
[Striking  him, 
Sfew.  I'll  not  be  struck,  my  lord. 
Kent.  Nor  tripped  neither;  you   base  foot-ball 
P^'ycr-  [Tripping  up  hi$  Heels. 

Lear.  I  thank  thee,  fellow;  thou  servest  me, 
and  I'll  love  thee. 

Ke7it.  Come,  sir,  arise,  away;    I'll  teach  you 
diilcrences;  away, away:  If  you  will  measure  your 
lubber's  length  again,  tarry:  but  away;  go   to: 
Have  you  wisdom]  so.     [Pushes  the  Sleward  out. 
,    L.ear.  Now,  my   friendly  knave,  I   thank  thee: 
there's  earnest  oi  thy  service.  [  Giving  Ke.nt  Money. 
Enter  Fool. 
Fool.  Let  me  liire  him  too; — Here's  my  cox- 
comb. [Giring  Kknt  hh  Cap. 
Lear.  How  now,  my  pretty  knave]   how  dust 
thou  ] 
Fool.  Sirrah,  you  were  best  take  my  coxcomb. 
Kent.  Why,  tool  ] 

Fool.  Why,  for  taking  one's  part  that  is  out  of 
favor:  Nay.  an  thou  canst  not  smile  as  the  wind 
sits,  thou'it  catch  cold  shortly:  There,  take  my 
coxcomb:  Why,  this  fellow  has  banish'd  two  of  his 
daughters,  ana  did  the  third  a  blessing  against  his 
will;  if  thou  follow  him,  thou  must  needs  wear  my 
coxcomb. — How  now,  nuncle]  'Would  I  had  two 
coxcombs,  and  two  daughters! 
Lear.  Why.  my  boy]' 

Fool.  If  I  gave  them  all  my  living,  I'd  keep  my 
coxcombs  myself:  There's  mine:  beg  another  of 
thy  daughter's. 
J^ear.  Take  heed,  sirrah  ;  the  whip. 
Fool.  Truth's  a  dog  that  must  to  kennel;  he 
must  he  whipp'd  out,  when  Lady,  the  brach,"  may 
stand  by  the  tire  aud  stink. 
Lear.  A  pestilent  gall  to  me  ! 
Fool.  Sirrah,  I'll  teach  thee  a  speech, 
Lear.  Do. 
Fool.  Mark  it,  nuncle:— 

Have  mnrc  than  thnu  shoivesty 
Speak  less  than  thnu  knowest. 
Lend  less  than  ihmt  oarst,'^ 
Hide  more  than  thou  ^''t-sf. 
Learn  nune  than  Ifmu  Iron-est^ 
Set  less  than  Hum  throwest ; 
Leave  Ihij  ilrink  ami  thy  whore. 
And  keep  in-n-doory 
And  thou  shall  have  more 
Than  two  tens  to  a  score. 
Lear.  This  is  notliing,  fool. 
Fool.  Then  'tis  like  the  breath   of  an   unfee'd 
lawyer;  you  gave  me  nothinglbrt:  Can  you  make 
110  use  ot^  nothing,  nuncle  ] 

Lear.  Why,  no,  boy;  nothing  can  be  made  out 
of  nothing. 

FtioL  Pr'ythce.  tell  him.  so  much  the  rent  of  his 
land  comes'  to;  he  will  not  believe  a  fool. 

[To  Kent. 
Lear.  A  bitter  fool ! 

Fool.  Dost   thou   know  the  dilTerence,  my  boy, 
between  a  bitter  lool  and  a  sweet  fool  ? 
Lear.  No,  lad  ;  leach  me. 
Fool.  That  lord,  that  cimnselPd  Mce, 

To  give  away  thy  land, 
e  Tunc-tilious  jealousy.  8  PHKiifn. 

1  lUtch-bouud.       ■  Ownest,  posaessest.       »  UL-lievest. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  LEAR. 


681 


Come  place  him  here  by  me, — 

Or  'If)  ihini  fitr  him  .sfand  : 
Thr  sicecf  and  hitter  fool 
JViU  presently  appear ; 
The  one  in  motley  here. 
The  ot tier  found  out  there. 
Lear.  Dost  thou  call  me  fool,  boy  1 
Fool.  All  thy  other  titles  thou  h'ast  given  away  ; 
that  thou  wast  born  with. 
Kent.  This  is  not  altogether  fool,  my  lord. 
Fuol.  No,  'faith,  lords  and  great  men  will  not  let 
ine;  if  I  had  a  monopoly  out,they  would  have  part 
on't:  and  ladies  too,  they  will  not  let  me  have  all 
fool  to  myself;  they'll  be  snatching.— Give  me  an 
egg,  nunde,  and  I'll  give  thee  two  erowiis. 
Lear.  Wliat  two  crowns  shall  they  be] 
Foo/.  Why.  a  Her  I  have  cut  the  egg  i'  the  middle, 
and  eat  up'  the  meat,  the  two  crowns  of  the  q',;^. 
When  thou  clovcst  thy  crown  i'  the  middle  and 
gavest  away  both  parts,  thou  borest  thine  ass  on 
thy  back  over  the  dirt:  Thou  hadst  little  wit  in  thy 
ba"ld  crown,  when  thou  gavest  thy  golden  one  away, 
ll  I  speak  like  myself  In  this,  let  liim  be  whipp'd 
tliat  first,  linds  it  so. 
Fools  had  ne'er  less  ^race^  in  a  year  ;    [Singing. 

For  O'ise  men  are  ^nnvn  foppish  ; 
And.  kmai)  not  ftoio  tlieir  ivits  to  weary 

Their  manners  are  so  apish. 
Lear.  When  were  you  wont  to  be  so  full   of 
songs,  sirrah  ^ 

Fool.  I  liave   used    it,  nuncle,  ever  since  thou 

madest  Thy  daughters  thy  mother:  for  when  thou 

eavest  them  the  rod,  and  put'st  down  thine  own 

breeches, 

Then  they  for  sudden  joy  did  weep,       [Singing. 

And  I  Jor  sorrow  sung, 
Tfiat  such  a  king  should  play  bo-peepj 
And  go  the  fools  among. 
Pr'ythee, nuncle,  keep  a  schoolmaster  that  can  teach 
thy  fool  to  lie;  I  would  fain  learn  to  lie. 
Lear.  If  you  He.  sirrah,  we^'U  have  you  whipp'd. 
Foot.  I  marvel,  what  kin  thou  and  thy  daughters 
are:   theyMl   have  me  whipp'd  for  speaking  true, 
thou'lt  hn\c  nit'  uhipjiM  (or lying;  and. sometimes, 
I  am  whipped  Ji»r  holding  my  peace.    I  had  rather 
be  any  kind  of  thing  than  a  tool  :  and  yet  I  would 
not  be  thee,  nuncle ;  Ihou  hast  pared  thy  wit  o'  hoth 
sides,  and  left  nothing  in  the  middle:  Here  comes 
one  o'  the  parings. 

Enter  Go\eril. 
Lear.  How  now,  daughter!    what  makes   that 
frontlet-  on  1     Methinks,  you  are  too  much  of  late 
i''  the  frown. 

Fool.  Thou   wast  a   pretty  fellow,  when  thou 
hadst  no  need  to  care  for  her  frowning;  now  thou 
art  an  0^  without  a  figure:  I  am  better  than  thou 
art  now;  I  am  a  fool,'thou  art  nothing. — Vcs,  for- 
sootli.I  V.  ill  hold  my  tongue;  so  your  face  [To  GoN.] 
bids  me,  thougli  you  say  nothing.    Mum,  mum, 
He  that  Uceps  nor  crust  nor  cru7ii, 
Weary  of  alt,  shall  want  some. 
Thafs  a  shealM  peascod^.  [Pointing  to  Leah. 

Gon.  Not  only,  sir,  this  your  all-licensM  fool, 
But  other  of  your  insolent  retinue. 
Do  hourly  carp  and  quarrel;  breaking  forth. 
In  rank  and  not-to-be-endured  riots.    Sir, 
I  had  thought,  by  making  ihiswcll  known  unto  you. 
To  have  found  a  safe  redress ;  but  now  grow  tearful, 
By  wliat  yourself  too  late  have  spoke  and  done, 
That  you  protect  this  course,  and  put  it  on 
By  your  allowance;'  which  if  you  should,  the  fault 
Would  not  'scape  censure,  nor  the  redresses  sleep; 
Which,  in  the  lender  of  a  wholesome  wf-alj^ 
Might  in  their  working  do  you  that  oflTencc, 
Which  else  were  shame,  that  then  necessity 
Will  call  discreet  proceeding. 
Fool.  For  you  trow,  nuncle, 

The  hedge-spai'Toiv  fed  the  cuckoo  so  longj 
That  it  had  its  head  bit  off  by  its  you?ig. 
So.  outwent  the  candle,  and  we  were  left  darkling. 
Lear.  Are  you  our  daughter? 
Gon.  Come,  sir,  I  would,  you  would  make  use  of 
*  Favnr. 

a  Part  of  a  woman's  head-dress,  to  which  Lear  compares 
her  frowning  bi-ow.  a  A  cypher. 

«  A  mere  husk  which  contains  nothing. 
»  Approbation.  •  Wt'll-govemed  state- 


that  good  wisdom  whereof  I  know  you  are  fraught;"^ 
and  put  away  these  dispositions,  wnich  of  late  trans- 
form you  from  what  you  rightly  are. 

Font.  May  not  an  ass  know  when  the  cart  drawa 
the  horse  1 — Whoop,  Jug !  I  love  thee. 

Lear.  Does  any  here  know  me!  —  Why  this 
is  nut  Lear:  does  Lear  vi^alk  thus!  speak  thus! 
Wlierc  are  his  eyes!  Either  his  notion  weakens, 
or  his  discernings  are  lethargied. —  Sleeping  or 
waking! — tfa  !  sure  "'tis  not  so. — Who  is  it  that 
can  tell  me  who  I  am! — Lear's  shadow!  I  would 
learn  that;  tor  by  the  marks  of  sovereignty,  know- 
ledge, and  reason,  I  should  be  false  persuaded  I  liad 
dauiihters. 

Fo(/l.  Which  they  will  make  an  obedient  father. 

Lear.  Your  name,  fair  gentlewoman  ! 

Goti.  Come,  sir; 
This  admiration  is  much  o'  the  favor^ 
Of  other  your  new  pranks.    I  do  beseech  you 
To  understand  my  purposes  aright: 
As  you  are  old  and  reverend,  you  should  be  wise; 
Here  do  you  keep  a  hundred  knights  and  squires: 
Men  so  disordered,  so  dehauch'd,  and  hold. 
That  this  our  court,  infected  with  their  manners, 
Shows  like  a  riotous  inn :  epicurism  and  lust 
Make  it  more  like  a  tavern  or  a  brothel, 
Than  a  graced  palace.  The  shame  itself  doth  speak 
For  instant  remedy:  Be  then  desir'd 
By  her,  that  else  vviU  take  the  thing  she  begs, 
A  little  to  disquantity  your  train; 
And  the  remamder,  that  shall  still  depend,9 
To  he  such  men  as  may  besort  your  age, 
And  know  themselves  and  you. 

Lear.  Darkness  and  devils! — 

Saddle  my  horses;  call  my  train  together. — 
Degenerate  bastard !  Fll  not  trouble  thee  ; 
Yet  have  I  left  a  daughter. 

Gw".  You  strike  my  people ;  and  your  disordered 
rabble 
Make  servants  of  their  betters. 

Enter  Albany. 

Lear.  Woe,  that  too  late  repents, — 0,  sir,  are 
you  come ! 
Is  it  your  will !  [To  Alb.]  Speak,  sir. — Prepare  my 

horses. 
Ingratitude  !  thou  marble-hearted  fiend, 
More  hideous,  when  thou  show'st  thee  in  a  child, 
Than  the  sea-monster! 

J  lb.  Pray,  sir,  be  patient, 

Lear.  Detested  kite  !  thoulicst;       [^To  GoNEniL. 
My  train  are  meji  of  choice  and  rarest  parts, 
That  all  particulars  of  duty  know; 
And  in  the  most  exact  regard  support 
The  worships  of  their  name. — O  most  small  fault. 
How  ugly  aidst  thou  in  Cordelia  show  ! 
Which,  like  an  engine,'wTcnch''d  my  frame  of  nature 
From  the  fixM  place;  drew  from  my  heart  all  love, 
And  added  to  the  gall.    O  Lear,  Lear,  Lear  ! 
Beat  at  this  gate  that  let  thy  folly  in, 

[Striking  hvi  Head, 
And  thy  dear  judgment  out! — Go,  go,  my  people. 

All).  My  lord,  I  am  guiltless,  as  I  am  igijorant 
Of  vihat  fiath  mov'd  you. 

Lear.  It  may  be  so,  my  lord. — Hear,  nature,  hear ! 
Dear  goddess,  hear!  Suspend  thy  purpose,  if 
Thou  didst  intend  to  make  this  creature  fruitful! 
Into  her  womb  convey  sterility  ! 
Dry  up  in  her  the  organs  of  increase; 
And  from  her  derogate-  body  never  spring 
A  babe  to  honor  her!  If  she  must  teem. 
Create  her  cliild  of  spleen;  (hat  it  may  live. 
And  be  a  thwart  disnatured  torment  to  her! 
Let  it  stamp  wrinkles  on  her  brow  of  youth; 
With  cadent^  tears  fret  channels  in  her  cheeks; 
Turn  all  her  mother''s  pains,  and  benefits. 
To  laughter  and  contempt ;  that  she  may  feel 
How  sJiarper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is 
To  have  a  thankless  child  ! — A  way,  away  !     [Exit, 

Alb.  Now,  gods,  that  we  adore,  wlicicof  comes 
this! 

Gon.  Never  afflict  yourself  to  know  the  cause; 
But  lei  his  disposition  have  that  scope 
That  dotage  gives  it. 

Re-enter  Lear. 
Lear.  What,  fifty  oi'my  followers,  at  a  clap ! 
Within  a  tbrtnigiit! 


1  PtAred. 
»  The  rack. 


B  Complexion, 
a  Degraded. 


9  Continue  in  service 
3  Fulling. 


682 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  II. 


Alb.  What's  the  matter,  sir] 

if  or.  I'll  tell   thee;  —  Life   and   death!   I  am 
ashamed 
That  tliou  hast  power  to  shake  my  manhood  thus; 

[Tu  GoNKKIL. 

That  these  hot  tears,  which  break  from  me  perlbrcc, 
Should  make  thee  worth  them. — Blasts  and  togs 

upon  thee. 
The  untenledJ  woundings  of  a  father's  curse 
Pierce  every  sense  about  thee ! — Old  Ibnd  eyes, 
lieweep  this  cause  again,  I'll  pluck  you  out. 
And  cast  you,  with  the  waters  that  you  lose, 
To  temper  clay. — Ua  !  has  it  come  to  this] 
Let  it  be  so  .•—Vet  have  I  left  a  daughter. 
Who,  I  am  sure,  is  kind  and  comfortable; 
When  she  shall  hear  tliis  of  thee,  with  her  nails 
She'll  Hay  thy  wolfish  visage.    Thou  shall  tind. 
That  I'll  resume  the  shape  which  thou  dost  think 
1  have  cast  orf  ibrever;  thou  shalt,  I  warrant  thee. 
[Exeunt  Lkar,  Kent,  and  Attendants. 

Con.  Do  you  mark  that,  my  lord! 

Alb.  I  cannot  be  so  partial,  Goneril, 
To  the  great  love  I  bear  you, — 

Gun.  Pray  you,  content. — What,  Oswald,  ho! 
You,  sir,  more  knave  tlian  fool,  al'ter  your  master. 

[To-tke  Fool. 

Fool.  Nuncle  Lear,  nuncle  Lear,  tarry,  and  take 
the  fool  with  thee. 

A  fox,  when  otie  hns  caught  her 

Anil  such  a  ilaughter. 

Should  sure  to  the  slaughter, 

If  my  cap  ivc/uld  buija  halter. 

Ho  the  fool  follows  after.  [Exit. 

Gon.  This  man  hath  had  good  counsel: — A  hun- 
dred knights! 
'Tis  politic,  and  sate,  to  let  him  keep 
At  point,*  a  hundred  knights.    Yes,  that  on  every 

dream. 
Each  buz,  eacii  fancy,  each  complaint,  dislike, 
He  may  enguard  his  dotage  with  their  powers, 
And  hold  our  lives  in  mercy.— Oswald,  I  say  ! — 

Alb.  Well,  you  may  fear  too  far. 

Gon.  Safer  than  trust: 

Let  me  still  take  away  the  arms  I  fear. 
Not  tear  still  to  be  l;iken.    I  know  his  heart: 
What  ho  hath  utter'd,  I  have  writ  my  sister; 
If  she  sustain  him  and  his  hundred  k'niglits. 
When  I   have  show'd  the  unfitness, — How  now, 
Oswald ! 

Enter  Steward. 

What,  have  you  writ  that  letter  to  my  sister  ? 

Steto.  Ay,  madam. 

Gon.  Take  you   some  company,  and  away  to 
horse : 
Inform  her  full  of  my  particular  fear; 
And  thereto  add  such  reasons  of  your  own, 
As  may  compact  it  more,    (iet  you  gone ; 
And  hasten  your  return.   [E.r(/'Stew.]  No,  no,  my 

lord. 
This  milky  gentleness,  and  course  of  yours. 
Though  I  condemn  it  not.  vet,  under  pardon. 
You  are  much  more  attask'd'>  lor  want  of  wisdom, 
Than  prais'd  for  harmful  mildness. 


Alb.  How  far  your  eyes  may  pierce, I  cannot  tell; 
Striving  to  better,  oft  we  mar  wliat's  well. 


Gon.  Nay,  then- 

Alb.  Well,  well;  the  event. 


[  Exeunt. 


SCENE  v.— Court  before  the  same. 
Enter  Lear,  Kent,  and  Fool. 

Lear.  Go  you  before  to  Gloster  with  these  letters : 
acquaint  my  daughter  no  further  with  any  thing 
you  know,  than  comes  from  her  demand  ou'tcifthe 
letter:  If  your  diligence  be  not  speedy,  I  shall  be 
there  before  you. 

Kent.  I  will  not  sleep,  my  lord,  till  I  have  deli- 
vered your  letter.  [Exit. 

Fool.  If  a  man's  brains  were  in  his  heels,  were't 
not  in  danger  of  kibes  ] 

Lear.  Ay,  boy. 

Fool.  Then,  I  pr'ythee,  be  merry ;  thy  wit  shall 
not  go  slip-shod. 

Lear.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Fool.  Shalt  see,  thy  other  daughter  will  use  thee 
kindly:  for  though  she's  as  like  this  as  a  crab  is  Uke 
an  apple,  yet  I  can  tell  what  I  can  tell. 

Lear.  Why,  what  canst  thou  tell,  my  boy  ? 

Fool.  She  will  taste  as  like  this,  as  a"  crab  does  to 
a  crab.  Thou  canst  tell,  why  one's  nose  stands  i' 
the  middle  of  his  face  ! 

Lear.  No. 

Fool.  ^Vliy,  to  keep  his  eyes  on  either  side  his 
nose ;  that  what  a  man  cannot  smell  out,  lie  may 
spy  into. 

Lear.  I  did  her  wrong : — 

Fool.  Canst  tell  how  an  oyster  makes  his  shell  ] 

I^ear.  No. 

Fool.  Nor  I  neither;  but  I  can  tell  why  a  snail 
has  a  house. 

Lear.  Why! 

Fool.  Why,  to  put  his  head  in;  not  to  give  it 
away  to  his  daughters,  and  leave  his  horns  without 
a  case. 

Lear.  I  will  forget  my  nature.— So  kind  a  fatlier  ! 
— Be  my  horses  ready  ! 

Fool.  Thy  asses  are  gone  about  'em.  The  rea 
son  why  the  seven  stars  are  no  more  than  seven, 
is  a  pretty  reason. 

Lear.  Because  they  arc  not  eight? 

Fool.  Yes,  indeed:  thou  wouldst  make  a  good 
fool. 

Lear.  To  take  it  again  perforce !— Monster  in- 
gratitude. 

Fool.  If  thou  wert  my  fool,  nuncio,  I'd  have 
thee  beaten  llir  being  old  before  thy  time. 

Lear.  How's  that  f 

Fool.  Thou  shouldst  not  have  been  old,  before 
thim  hadst  been  wise. 

Lear.  0  let  me  not  be' mad,  not  mad,  sweet  hea- 
ven !     Keep  ine  in  temper;  I  would  not  be  mad! 

Enter  Gentleman. 
How  now!  Are  the  horses  ready] 

Gent.  Ready,  my  lord. 

Lear.  Come,  boy. 

Fool.  She  that  is  maid  now,  and  laughs  at  my 
departure. 
Shall  not  be  a  maid  long,  unless  things  be  cut 
shorter.  [Exeunt. 


ACT   II. 


SCENE  I.— A  Court  tvUhin  the  Castle  of  the  Earl 
.     rf  Gloster. 

Enter  Edsiuxd  and  CtRAX,  meeting. 

Elm.  Save  thee,  Curan. 

Cur.  And  you,  sir.  I  have  been  with  your 
father;  and  given  him  notice,  that  the  duke  of 
Cornwall,  and  Pvcgaii  his  duchess,  will  be  here 
with  him  In-iiight. 

Ednt.  !Iow  comes  that? 

Cur.  Nin,  I  know  not:  You  have  heard  of  the 
news  abroad  ;  I  mean  the  whispered  ones,  for  they 
are  yet  but  ear-ki^isirig  arguments? 

Edm.  Not  I ;  'Pray  you,  what  are  they  ? 

'  fnii rested.  .  Armed. 

8  Liidilu  to  reprebeosion. 


Cur.  Have  you  heard  of  no  likely  wars  toward, 
twixt  the  dukes  of  Cornwall  and  Albany  ! 
Edm.  Not  a  word. 

Cur.  You  may  then,  in  time.  Fare  you  well.  sir. 

'Exit. 
Edm.  The  duke  be  here  to-night?  The  better! 
Best ! 
This  weaves  itself  perforce  into  my  business  ! 
Jly  father  hath  set  guard  to  take  my  brother; 
And  I  h.ave  one  thing  of  a  queaxy'  question. 
Which    I    must    act:  —  Briefness,  and    fortune, 

work  !— 
Brother,  a  word  ;  descend  :— Brother,  I  s;iy ; 

Enter  Edgar. 
My  father  watches:— 0  sir,  fly  this  place; 
'  Dflicato. 


Scene  II. 


KING  LEAR. 


683 


Intelligence  is  given  where  you  are  hid; 
You  have  now  Ihc  good  advantage  of  the  night:— 
Have  you  notspolicn  'gainst  the  duke  of  Comwain 
He's  coming  hither;  now  i'  the  niglit.  i'  the  liastc, 
And  Regan  with  him  ;  Have  you  nothing  said 
Upon  Ins  party  'gainst  the  duke  of  Albany  1 
Advise*  yourself. 
Edg.  I  am  sure  on  t,  not  a  word. 

Ellin.  I  hear  my  father  coming,— Pardon  me:— 
In  cunning,  1  must  draw  my  sword  upon  you  :— 
Draw:   Seem  to  defend  yourself:   Now  quit  you 

well. 
Yield :  —  come    before   my   father ;  —  Light,   ho 

here  I — 
riy,  brother ;— Torches  !  torches !  So  farewell.— 

[Exit  Edgak. 
Some  blood  drawn  on  me  would  beget  opinion 

[  IVounds  hi",-  Ann. 
Of  my  more  tierce  endeavor :  I  have  seen  drunkards 
Do  more  lium  tins  in  sport.— Father !  liither  !    . 
Stop,  stop!  No  help  ! 

Enter  Gloster,  and  Servants  with  Torches. 
Gin.  Now,  Edmund,  Where's  the  villain] 
Edni.  Here  stood  he  in  the  dark,  his  sharp  sword 
out. 
Mumbling  of  wicked  charms,  conjuring  the  moon 
To  stand  his  auspicious  mistress: — 
Gill.  But  where  is  he? 

Edin.  Look,  sir,  I  bleed. 

G/o.  Where  is  the  villain,  Edmund  ? 

Kdni.  Fled  this  way,  sir.    When  by  no  means 

tic  could — 
Glo.  Pursue  him,  ho!— Go  afler. — [Exit  Serv.] 

]^y  no  means, — what  ] 
Edm.  Persuade  me  lothemurderofyourlordship; 
But  that  I  told  him,  the  revenging  gods 
'Gainst  ]'arricides  did  all  their  thunders  bend; 
Spoke,  Willi  how  manifold  and  strong  a  bond 
The  child  was  bound  to  the  father;- Sir,  in  fine. 
Seeing  how  loathly  opiiositc  I  stood 
To  his  unnatural  purpose,  in  fell  motion. 
With  his  prci)3red  sword,  iie  charges  home 
My  unprovided  body,  lanced  mine  arm  : 
But  when  he  saw  my  best  alarum'd  spirits, 
Bold  in  the  quarrel's  right,  rous'd  to  the  encounter, 
( )r  whether  gastedi*  by  the  noise  I  made, 
Full  suddenly  he  tied. 

Glo.  Let  him  fly  far: 

Not  m  this  land  shall  he  remain  uncaught; 
Andlound — Despatch. — The  noble  duke  my  master. 
My  wortliy  arch'  and  patron,  comes  to-night: 
By  his  authority  I  will  proclaim  it, 
Tlial  ho.  which  linds  him,  shall  deserve  our  thanks. 
Bringing  tlie  murtlerous  coward  to  the  stake; 
He,  that  conceals  him,  death. 

Edm.  When-1  dissuaded  him  from  his  intent. 
And  liiund  him  piglit-'  to  do  it,  with  cui'st^  speech 
]  tlireatcn'd  to  discover  him:  He  rejjlied, 
Thou  nnj>iis.yc.-^.'<liig  bn.sf(trd.'  dost  tttiiu  t/iink, 
If  I  would  slaiiil  ngninst  tlue,  would  Hit  reposal 
Of  any  IrusI,  virtue,  or  wortti,  in  tttee 
tilake  thy  worila  fait  lid?  Xo:  wlint  I  .should  deny, 
[As  this  I  would;  ay.  tliuu^k  thou  didst  produce 
Aly  very  character,)  Vd  turn  it  all 
To  thy  stn'KCstKin,  plot,  and  damned  practice: 
And  iliou  must  mabe  a  dullard  if  the  worlil. 
If  they  not  thuuKht  llie  priijits  of  my  death 
li'cre  very  iTegnant  and  putenlial  spurs 
To  nialie  thee  seek  it. 

Gill.  Strong  and  fastcn'd  villain! 

Would  he  deny  his  letter] — 1  never  got  him. 

[Trvinpets  within. 
Hark,  the  duke's  trumpets!   I  know  not  why  he 

comes: — 
All  ports  I'll  bar;  the  villain  shall  not 'scape; 
The  duke  must  grant  me  tliat :  besides,  his  picture 
I  will  send  liir  and  near,  that  all  the  kingdom 
May  have  due  note  of  him  ;  and  of  my  land, 
Lojal  and  natural  boy,  I'll  work  the  means 
To  make  thee  cajjable.-i 

Enter  Cokswall,  REGAN,"on(i  Attendants. 
Corn.  How  now,  my  noble  friend]  since  I  came 
hither, 
(Which  1  can  call  but  now,)  I  have  heard  strange 
news, 

*  Consider,  recollect  yourself.  •  Frightened. 

*  Chief.  »  Pitched,  fixed.  '  Severe,  harsh. 

*  :'.  e.  Capable  of  succeeding  to  my  land. 


Reg.  If  it  be  true,  all  vengeance  comes  too  short. 
Winch  can  pursue  IheolTender.  How  dost,my  lord] 
GUi.  (),  madam, my  old  heart  is  crack'd, is crack'd! 
ReK.  What.did  my  father's  godson  seek  your  life] 
He  wliom  my  lather  named  !  your  Edgar] 
Gill.  O  lady,  lady,  shame  would  have  it  hid  ! 
Reg.  Was  he  not  companion  with  the  riotous 
knights 
That  tend  upon  my  father] 

ijlo,  I  know  not,  madam : 

It  is  too  bad,  too  bad. — 
Edm.  Yes,  madam,  he  was. 

Hcg.  No  marvel  then,  though  he  were  ill  atlected ; 
'Tis  they  have  put  him  on  tlie  old  man's  death. 
To  have  the  waste  and  spoil  of  his  revenues. 
I  have  tills  present  evening  from  my  sister 
lieenwellinlbrm'dofthem;  and  wilh  such  cautions, 
Tliat,  if  they  come  to  sojourn  at  my  house, 
I'll  not  be  there. 

Cum.  Nor  I,  assure  thee,  Regan. — 

Ediiuiiid,  I  hear  that  you  have  shown  your  father 
A  child-like  otiice. 
Edm.  'Twas  my  duty,  sir.  _ 

Gill.  He  did  bewray  his  practice  ;'  and  receiv  d 
This  hurt  you  see,  striving  to  apprehend  him. 
Corn.  Is  he  pursued  J 

Glo.  Ay.  my  good  lord,  he  is. 

Corn.  If  he  be  taken,  he  shall  never  more 
Be  fear'd  of  doing  harm:  make  your  own  purpose. 
How  111  my  strength  you  please.— For  you,  Ed- 
mund, 
Whose  virtue  and  obedience  doth  tliis  instant 
So  much  commend  itself,  you  shall  be  ours ; 
Natures  of  such  deep  trust  we  shall  much  need; 
You  we  lirst  seize  on, 

Edm.  I  shall  serve  you,  sir. 

Truly,  however  else. 

Gill.  For  him,  I  thank  your  grace. 
Corn.  You  know  not  why  we  came  to  visit  yon, — 
Heg.  Thus  out  of  season;   threading  dark-cy'd 
night. 
Occasions,  noble  Gloster,  of  some  poise,'' 
Wherein  we  must  have  use  of  your  advice: — 
Our  lalhcr  he  hath  writ,  so  hath  our  sister. 
Of  dill'eiences,  which  I  best  thought  it  tit 
To  answer  from  our  home  ;  the  several  messengers 
From  hence  attend  despatch.    Our  good  old  friend, 
Lay  comforts  to  your  bosom  ;  and  bestow 
Your  needful  counsel  to  our  business. 
Which  craves  the  instant  use. 

GU>.  I  serve  you,  madam: 

Your  graces  are  right  welcome.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  n.— Before  Gloster's  Castle. 
Enter  Kent  and  Steward,  severally. 

Stew.  Good  dawning  to  tliee,  friend  :  Art  of  the 
house] 

Kent.  Ay. 

Stew.  Where  may  we  set  our  horses] 

Kent,  r  the  mire. 

Stew.  Pr'ythec,  if  thou  love  me,  tell  inc. 

Kent.  I  love  thee  not. 

Stew.  Why,  then  I  care  not  for  thee. 

Kent.  If  I  liad  thee  in  Lipsbury  pinfold,  I  would 
make  thee  care  for  me. 

Slew.   Why  dost  thou  use  me  thus]    I  know 
thee  not. 

Kent.  Fellow,  1  know  thee. 

Sltw.  What  dost  thou  know  me  for] 

Kent.  A  knave;  a  rascal,  an  eater  of  broken 
meats;  a  base. proud.shaliow, beggarly, three-suited, 
Iiundred-pound,  hltiiy,  worsted-stocking  knave;  a 
lily-liver'd,  action-taking  knave;  a  whoi  eson,  glass- 
ga/.ing,superserviccable,  finical  rogue;  one-trunk- 
inlieriting  slave;  one  that  wouldst  be  a  bawd,  in 
way  of  good  service,  and  art  nothing  but  the  com- 
position of  a  knave,  beggar,  coward,  pander,  and 
the  son  and  heir  of  a  mongrel  bitch  :  one  wlunn  I 
will  beat  into  clamorous  whining,  if  thou  deny'st 
the  least  syllabic  of  tliy  addition.' 

Stew.  Why,  what  a  monstrous  fellow  art  thou, 
thus  to  rail  on  one,  that  is  neither  known  of  thee, 
nor  knows  thee  ] 

Kent.  What  a  brazen-faced  varlet  art  thou,  to 
deny  thou  know'st  me]  Is  it  two  days  ago,  since  I 
tripii'd  up  thy  heels, and  beat  thee,  before  tiie  king] 
Draw,  you  rogue:  tor,  though  it  be  night,  the 
moon  shines;  I'll  make  a  sop  o'  the  moonshine  of 

'  Wicked  purpose.  •  Weight.  '  Titles. 


684 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  T1 


you  :  Draw,  you  "vvhoreson  cullionty  barhcr-mon^:- 
er.  draw.  [  D?-airing:  his-  Swnrd. 

Stew.  Away ;  I  have  nothing:  to  do  with  thee. 

Kent.  Draw,  yon  rascal :  you  come  with  letters 
against  the  king;  and  take  Vanity'^  tlie  puppet's 
part,  against  the  royalty  of  her  father:  Draw,  you 
rogue,  or  1*11  so  carbonado  your  shanks: — draw, 
you  rascal ;  come  your  ways. 

Sfew.  Help,  ho  !  murder"!  help  ! 

Kejif.  Strike,  you  slave;  stand, 'rogue,  stand; 
you  neat  slave,  strike.  iBeaUng  him. 

Steiv.  Help,  ho!  murder!  murder! 

Enter  Edmund,  Cornwall,  Regan,  Gloster,  and 
Servants, 

Eflm.  How  now?  What's  the  matter?  Part. 

Kent-  With  you,  goodman  boy,  if  you  please; 
come,  ril  llesh  you  ;  come  on,  young  master. 

Glo.  Weapons!  arms!  What's  the  matter  here? 

Corn.  Keep  peace,  upon  jour  lives  ; 
He  dies,  that  strikes  again:  What  is  the  matter? 

Reg:.  The  messengers  from  our  sister  and  the  king. 

Cirrn.  What  is  your  difference  ?  speak. 

Sfcu:  I  am  scarce  in  breath,  my  lord. 

KeJit.  No  marvel,  you  have  so  bestirrM  your 
valor.  Von  cowardly  rascal,  nature  disclaims  in 
thee;  a  tailor  made  thee. 

Corn.  Thou  art  a  strange  fellow:  a  tailor  make 
a  man  ? 

Kent.  Ay,  a  tailor, sir;  a  stone-cutter. or  a  paint- 
er, could  liot  have  made  him  so  ill,  though  they 
had  been  but  two  hours  at  the  trade. 

Com.  Speak  yet.  how  grew  your  quarrel  ? 

Stew.  This  ancient  ruthan,  sir,  whose  life  I  have 
spared. 
At  suit  of  his  grey  beard, — 

Kent.  Thou  whoreson  zed!  thou  unnecessary 
letter!— My  lord^  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  I  will 
tread  this  unbolteds  villain  into  mortar,  and  daub 
the  walls' of  a  Jakes'  with  him. — Spare  my  grey 
beard,  you  wagtail ! 

Corn.  Peace,  sirrah ! 
You  beastly  knave,  know  you  no  reverence  ? 

Kent.  Yes.  sir;  but  anger  has  a  privilege. 

Corn.  Why  art  thou  angry  ? 

Kent.  That  such  a  slave  as  this  should  wear  a 
sword, 
\Vho  wears  no  honest}'.    Such  smiling  rogues  as 

these. 
Like  rats,  oil.  bite  the  holy  cords  atwain 
Wliich  are  too  intrinse^  t' unloose:  smooth  every 

passion 
That  in  the  natures  of  their  lords  rebels; 
Bring  oil  to  tire,  snow  to  their  colder  moods; 
Renege,3  afiirm,  and  turn  their  halcyon'  beaks 
With  every  gale  and  vary  of  their  masters, 
As  knowing  naught, like  doi^s,  but  Ibllowing. — 
A  plague  upon  your  epileptic  visage  \ 
Smile  you  my  speeches,  as  I  were  a  fool? 
Goose,  if  I  had  you  upon  Sarum  plain, 
rd  drive  ye  cackling  home  to  Camelot.^ 

Crn-n.  What,  art  thou  mad,  old  leliow? 

Glo.  How  fell  you  out  ? 

Say  that. 

Kent.  Vo  contraries  hold  more  antipathy. 
Than  I  and  such  a  knave. 

Corn.  Why  dost  thou  call  him  knave?     What's 
his  ollence  ? 

Kent.  His  countenance  likes  me  not. 

Coi'n.  No  more,  perchance,  does  mine,  or  his,  or 
hers. 

Kent.  Sir,  'lis  my  occupation  to  be  plain: 
I  have  seen  better  faces  in  my  time, 
Tlian  stands  on  any  slioulder  that  I  see 
Before  me  at  this  instant. 

Corn.  This  is  some  fellow 

Who,  having  been  prais'd  for  bluntness.dothalFect 
A  saucy  roughness;  and  constrains  the  garb. 
Quite  from  his  nature  :  He  cannot  Halter,  he  ! — 
An  honest  mind  and  plain.— he  must  speak  truth ; 
An  they  will  take  it.  so;  if  not,  he's  plain. 
These  kind  of  knaves  I  know,  which  in  this  plain- 
ness 

B  A  rbir.'icter  in  thi>  ol.t  mnralities.  9  UnrefintKl. 

*  Hilvy.  a  IVrpU'xed.  3  Disown. 

*  The  bird  cnlled  the  klnK-fisher.  which,  when  dried  and 
hunsr  up  hy  a  thre-id.  is  suiipnpod  to  turn  bis  hill  to  the 
point  frnm  wht-me  the  wind  blows. 

*  In  Somersetshire,  where  are  bred  great  quantities  of 
geese. 


Harbor  more  craft,  and  more  corrupter  ends. 
Than  twenty  silly  ducking  observants, 
That  stretch  their  duties  nicely- 

Kent.  Sir.  in  good  sooth,  in  sincere  verity, 
Under  the  allowance  of  your  grand  asppct, 
Whose  inlluence.  like  the  wreath  of  radiant  fire 
On  nickering  Phccbus'  front. — 

Corn.  What  mean'st  by  this^ 

Kent.  To  go  out  of  my  dialect,  which  you  dis 
commend  so  much.  1  know.  sir.  I  am  no  flatterer' 
he  that  beguiled  you.  in  a  plain  accent,  wasa  plain 
knave ;  which,  for  my  part,  I  wiii  not  be,  though  I 
should  win  your  displeasure  to  entreat  me  in  it. 

Corn.  What  was  the  offence  you  gave  him  ? 

Stew.  Never  any 

It  pleas'd  the  king  his  master,  very  late. 
To  strike  at  me,  upon  his  misconstruction  ; 
When  he,  conjunct,  and  flattering  his  displeasure, 
Tripp'd  me  behind  :  being  down,  insulted,  rail'd, 
And  put  upon  him  such  a  deal  of  man. 
That  worthy'd  him,  got  praises  of  the  king 
For  him  attempting  who  was  self-subdued; 
And.  in  the  tleshment  of  this  dread  exploit. 
Drew  on  me  hero. 

Kent.  None  of  these  rogues,  and  cowards, 

But  Ajax  is  their  fool.t> 

Corn.  Fetch  forth  the  stocks,  ho  ! 

You  stubborn,  ancient  knave,  you  reverend  brag- 
gart. 
We'll  teach  you 

Kent.  Sir.  T  am  too  old  to  learn: 

Call  not  your  stocks  for  me  :  I  serve  the  king; 
On  whose  employment  I  was  sent  to  you  ; 
You  shall  do  small  respect, show  too  bold  malice 
Against  the  grace  and  person  of  my  master, 
Stocking  his  messenger. 

Corn.  Fetch  forth  the  stocks: 

As  Tve  life  and  honor,  there  sliall  he  sit  til!  noon. 

Reg.  Till  noon  !  till  night,  my  lord;  and  all  night 
too. 

Kent.  Why,  madam,  if  I  were  your  father's  dog, 
You  should  not  use  uic  so. 

Reg.  Sir,  being  his  knave,  I  will. 

[  Stocks  l>roiis;tit  out. 

Com.  This  is  a  fellow  of  the  self-same  color 
Our  sister  speaks  of:— Come,  bring  away  the  stocks, 

Gfo.  Let  me  beseech  your  graco  not  to  do  so: 
His  fiult  is  much,  and  the  good  king  his  master 
Willcheckhim  forH:  your  purposed  low  correction 
Is  such,  as  basest  and  contemned'st  wretches. 
For  pilferings  and  most  common  trespasses. 
Are  punishd  with:  the  king  must  take  it  ill, 
That  he*s  so  slightly  valued  in  his  messenger, 
Should  have  him  thus  restrain'd. 

Ci/rn,  I'll  answer  that. 

Reg.  My  sister  may  receive  it  much  more  worse, 
To  have  her  gentleman  abused,  assaulted. 
For  following  her  at7ixirs. — Put  in  his  legs. — 

[Kent  is  jmt  in  tfie  Stocks. 
Come,  my  good  lord ;  away. 

[Exeunt  Regan  and  Cornwall. 

Glo.  I  am  sorry  for  thee,  friend  ;  'tis  the  duke's 
pleasure. 
Whose  disposition,  all  the  world  well  knows. 
Will  not  be  rubbd,  nor  stopp'd :  I'll  entreat  for 
thee. 

Kent.  Pray,  do  not,  sir;   I  have  watch'd,  and 
travell'd  hard; 
Some  time  I  shall  sleep  out,  the  rest  I'll  whistle. 
A  good  man's  fortune  may  grow  out  at  heels: 
Give  you  good-morrow ! 

Glo.  The  duke's  to  blame  in  this:  'twill  be  ill 
taken.  [Exit. 

Kent.  Good  king,  that  must  approve  the  common 
saw !' 
Thou  out  of  heaven*s  benediction  com'st 
To  the  warm  sun  ! 

Approach,  thou  beacon  to  this  under  globe, 
That  by  thy  comfortable  beams  1  may 
Peruse  this  letter  ! — Nothing  almost  sees  miracles, 
But  misery  : — I  know;  'tis  from  Cordelia  ; 
Who  hath  most  fortunately  been  informd 
Of  my  obscured  course;  and  shall  (ind  time 
From  this  enormous  state, — seeking  to  icive 
Losses  their  remedies: — All  weary  and  oVrwatch'd, 
Take  vantage,  heavy  eyes,  not  to  behold 
This  shameful  lodging. 

Fortune,  good-night;   smile  once  more;  turn  thy 
wheel !  [He  sleeps, 

8  i.e.  Ajna  is  n  fool  to  them.  "*  Swying  or  proverb. 


Scene  IV. 


KING  LEAR. 


685 


SCENE   III.- 4  Part  of  the  Heath. 
Enter  Edgar. 
Edg.  I  heard  myself  proclaim'd: 
And.  by  tlie  h:ippy  hollow  of  a  tree, 
Escaped  the  hunt.    No  port  is  free  ;  no  place, 
That  guard,  and  most  unusual  vigilance. 
Does  not  attend  my  taking.    While  I  may  'scape, 
1  will  preserve  myself;  and  am  bethought 
To  take  the  basest  and  most  poorest  shape, 
That  ever  penury,  in  contempt  of  man, 
Brought  near  to  beast :  my  face  Til  grime  with  filth; 
Blanket  my  loins;  elf^  all  my  hair  in  knots; 
And  with  presented  nakedness  outface 
The  winds,  and  persecutions  of  the  sky. 
The  country  gives  me  proof  and  precedent 
Of  Bedlam  beggars,  who,  with  roaring  voices. 
Strike  in  their  numbM  and  mortitied  bare  arras 
pins,  wooden  pricks,^  nails,  sprigs  of  rosemary  ; 
And  with  this  horrible  oliject,  from  low  farms, 
Poor  pelting  villages,  sheep-cotes  and  mills, 
Sometime    with    lunatic    bans,'    sometime    with 

prayers. 
Enforce  their  charity. — PoorTurlygood!  poorTom! 
That's  something  yet; — Edgar  1  nothing  am. 

[ExU, 

SCENE  IV.— Be/w-eGIoster's  Castle. 
Enter  Leau,  Fool,  and  Gentleman, 

Lear.  'Tis  strange,  that  they  should  so  depart 
from  home, 
And  not  send  back  my  messenger. 

Oent.  As  I  learnM, 

The  night  before  there  was  no  purpose  in  them 
Of  this  remove. 

Kent.  Hail  to  thee,  noble  master ! 

Lear.  How  ? 
Mak'st  thou'  this  shame  thy  pastime  ? 

Kent.  No,  my  lord. 

Fool.  Ha,  ha;  look!  he  wears  cruel-  garters! 
Horses  arc  tied  by  the  heads;  dogs  and  bears,  by 
the  neck;  monkeys  by  the  loins;  and  men  by  the 
legs:  when  a  man  is  over-lusty  at  legs,  then  lie 
wears  wooden  nether  stocks.3 

Lear.  What's  he,  that  hath  so  much  thy  place 
mistook 
To  set  thee  hcrc^ 

Kent.  It  is  both  he  and  she, 

Your  son  and  daughter, 

Lear.  No. 

Kent.  Yes. 

Lear.  No,  I  say. 

Kent.  I  say,  yea. 

Leur.  No,  no;  they  would  not. 

Kent.  Yes.  thoy  have. 

Lear.  Hy  Jupiter,  I  swear,  no. 

Ktnt.  By  Juno,  I  swear,  ay. 

Lear.  They  durst  not  do't; 
They  could  not,  would  not  do*t;  'tis  worse  than 

murder. 
To  do  upon  respect  such  violent  outrage  : 
Resolve  me,  with  all  modest  haste,  which  way 
Thou  might'st  deserve,  or  they  impose,  this  usage, 
Coming  from  us. 

Kent.  M5'  lord,  when  at  their  home 

I  did  commend  your  highness'  letters  to  them. 
Ere  1  was  risen  from  the  place  that  show'd 
My  duty  kneeling,  came  there  a  reeking  post, 
Stew'd  in  liis  haste-  half  breathless,  panting  forth 
From  Concril  his  mistress,  salutations; 
Delivt^'d  letters,  spite  of  intermission, 
Which  presently  they  read:  on  whose  contents, 
They  summon'ii  up  their  meiny,''    straight  took 

horse ; 
Commanded  mo  to  follow,  and  attend 
The  leisure  of  their  answer:  gave  me  cold  looks: 
And  meeting  here  the  other  messenger, 
Whose  welcome,  I  perceivM,  had  poison'd  mine, 
(Being  the  very  fellow  that  of  late 
Display'd  so  saucily  against  your  highness,) 
Having  more  man  than  wit  about  me,  drew  : 
He  raised  the  house  with  loud  and  coward  cries : 
Your  son  and  daughter  found  this  trespass  worth 
The  shame  which  here  it  sutfers. 

•  Hair  thus  knotted  was  supposed  to  be  the  work  of 
elves  and  fairies  in  the  niirht.  »  Skewers. 

*  Curses.  »  A  quibble  on  crewel^  worsted. 

•  The  old  word  for  fitockings. 

*  Peciplo,  train,  or  retinue. 


Fool.  Winter''s  nut  gone  yetj  if  the  wild  geese  jiy 
that  way. 
Fathers,  that  wear  rags, 

Dii  make  thtir  children  blind; 
But  fathers,  that  bear  bags^ 

Shall  see  their  children  ki?id. 
Fortune,  that  arrant  whore. 
Ne'er  turn.s  tht  key  to  the  poar. — 

But.  for  all  this,  thou  shalt  have  as  many  dolors^ 
for  thy  daughters,  as  thou  canst  tell  in  a  year. 

Lear.  O,  how  this  mother*  swells  up  toward  my 
heart! 
Hysterica  pasfiia  I  down,  thou  climbing  sorrow, 
Tny  elemenl''s  below  I— Where  is  this  daughter? 

Kent.  With  the  carl,  sir,  here  within. 

Lear.  Follow  mc  not : 

Stay  here.  [Exit. 

Gent.  Made  you  no  more  offence  tJian  what  you 
speak  of? 

Kent.  None. 
How  chance  the  king  comes  with  so  small  a  train? 

Fool.  An  thou  hadst  been  set  i'  the  stoclis  for 
that  question,  thou  hadst  well  deserved  it. 

Kent.  Why,  fooil 

Fool.  We'll  set  thee  to  school  to  an  ant,  to  teach 
thee  there's  no  laboring  in  the  winter.  All  that 
follow  their  noses  are  led  by  their  eyes,  but  blind 
men;  and  there's  not  a  nose  among  twenty,  but 
can  smell  him  that's  slinking.  Let  go  thy  hold, 
when  a  great  wheel  runs  down  a  hill,  lest  it  break 
thy  neck  with  following  it;  but  the  great  one  that 
goes  up  the  hill,  let  him  draw  thee  al^er.  When 
a  wise  man  gives  thee  better  counsel,  give  me  mine 
again:  I  would  have  none  but  knaves  follow  it, 
since  a  tool  gives  it. 

That,  sir,  ivhich  serves  and  seeks frr  gain, 

AndfoWnvs  but  for  form. 
Will  pack,  when  it  begins  to  rain. 

And  leave  thee  in  the  storm. 
But  I  will  tarry,  the  fool  will  stay, 

And  let  the  wise  manjly, 
The  knave  turns  fool,  th/it  runs  away  ; 

The  fool  no  knave,  perdy, 

Kent.  Where  learned  you  this,  fool ! 
Fool.  Not  i'  the  stock.s,  ibol. 

Re-enter  Lear,  wUh  Gloster. 

Lear.  Deny  to  speak  with  me  1    They  are  sick  1 
they  are  weary  ? 
They  have  travelPd  hard  to-night?    Mere  fetches; 
Tlie  images  of  revolt  and  (lying  off! 
Fetch  me  a  better  answer. 

GLo.  My  dear  lord, 

You  know  the  fiery  quality  of  the  duke  ; 
How  unremoveable  and  lixM  he  is 
In  his  own  course. 

Lear.  Vengeance  !  plague  !  death  !  confusion  ! 
Fiery  ]  what  quality?     Why,  Gloster,  Gloster, 
I'd  speak  with  the  duke  of  Cornwall,  and  his  wife. 

Glo.  Well,  my  good  lord,  I  have  informal  them  so. 

Lear.  Inlbrm'd  them  !  Dost  thou  understand  me, 
man? 

Glo.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Lear.  The  king  would  speak  with  Cornwall ;  the 
dear  lather 
Would  with  his  daughter  speak,  commands  her 
service : 

Are   they  informM  of  this? My  breath   and 

blood  !— 
Fiery?  the  ticry  duke?— Tell  the  hot  duke  that— 
No,  but  not  yet  :^may  be  he  is  not  well : 
Intirmity  doth  stil!  neglect  ail  ottice, 
Whereto  our  health  is  bound;  we  are  not  our.selves. 
When  nature,  being  oppressM,  commands  the  mind 
To  sutler  with  the  body  :  I'll  forbear ; 
And  am  fallen  out  with  my  more  headier  will. 
To  take  the  indisjjos'd  and  sickly  fit 
For  the  sound  man. — Death  on  my  slate!  wlierefore 
[Looking  on  Kent. 
Should  he  sit  here?     This  act  persuades  me, 
That  this  remotion'^  of  the  duke  and  her 
Is  practice^  only.    Give  me  my  servant  forth : 
Go,  leli  the  duke  and  his  wife,  I'd  speak  with  them, 
Now,  presently  :  bid  them  come  forth  and  hear  me, 

•  A  quibble  betwet'ii  thtjurs  and  dollart, 

•  The  disease  called  the  muOi'^r. 

'  IlemoTing  fi-om  their  own  bouso.  ■  Artifice. 


Or  at  their  chamber-door  I'll  beat  the  drum. 
Till  it  cry—Sleep  to  ileal h,. 

Glu.  I'd  have  all  well  betwixt  you.  [Exit. 

Lear.  O  me,  my  heart,  my  rising  heart!— but, 
down. 

Fool.  Cry  to  it.  nuncle,  as  the  cockney  did  to  the 
eels,  when  she  put  tlicm  i'  the  paste  alive-  she 
rapp'd  'em  n'  the  coxcombs  with  a  stick,  and  cry'd 
Dutcn.  wantons,  ilnwn  :  'Twas  her  brother,  that  iii 
pure  kindness  to  his  horse,  butter'd  his  hay. 
Enter  Coenwall,  Regan,  Gloster,  and  Servants. 

Lear.  Good-morrow  to  you  both. 

^'""'*-  Hail  to  your  grace ! 

r,^     .  ...  [Kent  is  set  at  liberty. 

Reg.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  highness. 

Lear.  Regan,  I   think   you   are;   I  know  what 
reason 
I  have  to  think  so :  if  thou  shouldst  not  be  glad 
I  would  divorce  me  from  thy  mother's  tomb, 
Sepfilchnng  an  adultress.— 0,  are  you  freer 

I  To  Kent 
Some  ofher  time  for  that.— Beloved  Rcan 
Thy  sister's  naught :  O,  Regan,  she  hath  tied 
Sharp-tooth'd  unldndness,  like  a  vulture,  here.— 
T  ,        .  [Points  to  Ills  Heart. 

I  can  scarce  speak  to  thee;  thou'lt  not  beheve, 
Vt  how  depraved  a  C(uality.— 0,  Rcan' 

Reg-  I  pray  you,  sir,  take  patienc?;  I'have  hope 
i  ou  less  know  how  to  value  her  desert 
Than  she  to  scant  her  duty.  ' 

^"''■,  ..,..,  Say,  how  is  that  1 

„T     ?j  ■  '^^™'>^  '^'"^'  '"y  "'ster  in  the  least 
Would  tail  her  obligation :  if,  sir.  perchance 
She  have  restrain'd  the  riots  of  your  followers, 
'Tis  on  such  ground,  and  to  such  wholesome  end. 
As  clears  her  from  all  blame. 
Lear.  My  curses  on  her ! 

1..^/^'  ■  ,  0,  sir,  you  are  old  ; 

JVature  in  you  stands  on  the  very  verge 
Ot  her  conline:  you  should  be  ruled,  and  led 
By  some  discretion,  that  discerns  your  state 
Better  than  you  yourself:  Therefore,  I  pray  you 
That  to  our  sister  you  do  make  return ;  ' 

Say,  you  have  wrong'd  her,  sir. 

T^„"''  I.   .         ,  u         ,  .        A-''k  her  forgiveness  1 
Do  jou  but  mark  how  this  becomes  the  house  ;9 
Lear  (laughter,  I  confess  that  lam  old  ■ 
Age  IS  unnecessary:  m  my  knees  I  beg,  [Kneeling. 
I  hat  you  Uvouchsaje  me  raiment,  bed,  and  food 
Reg.  Good  sir,   no  more;  these  are  unsightly 
tricks :  °      -' 

Return  you  to  my  sister. 
cJ'^l''''.^.    .       ,  Never,  Regan: 

't      ,  -"^.'^  "'''"""l  nic  of  lialf  my  train  ; 
Look  .1  black  upon  me;  struck  me  with  her  tongue, 
Mf.st  scrpcnt-hke  upon  the  very  heart:— 
All  the  stor'd  vengeances  of  heaven  fall 
On  her  iiigrateful  top!  strike  her  young  bones 
You  taking  airs,  with  lameness! 

,'"'"•  Fye  fve  fte' 

Lear.  You  nimble  lightnings,  dart  your  blinding 
names  ° 

Into  her  scornful  eyes!  Infect  her  beauty 

T.^fnl'iltH''^,'*  IT'*'  '^'•''Y",  ^y  «"=  powerful  sun, 
1  o  tall  and  blast  her  pride  ! 

.,  ■'''"?,•,         ■    .  ,  0  the  blest  gods! 

so  will  you  wish  on  me,  when  the  rash  mood's  on. 

Lear.  No,   Regan,   thou   shalt  never  have   mv 
curse;  •' 

Thy  tender-hefted  nature  shall  not  give 
Thee  o  er  to  harshness ;  her  eyes  are  tierce,  but  thine 
Do  cointort,  and  not  burn:  'Tis  not  in  thee 
To  grudge  my  pleasures,  to  cut  olf  my  train. 
To  bandy  hasty  words,  to  scant  my  sizes.i 
And,  m  conclusion,  to  opjiose  the  bolt 
Against,  my  Cj)ming  in:  thou  better  know'st 
i  lie  odices  of  nature,  bond  of  childhood 
Kilccls  ot  courtesy,  dues  of  gratitude; 
1  My  hall  o  the  kingdom  hast  thou  not  forgot, 
W  herein  I  thee  endovv'd. 

■''''^"  Good  sir,  to  the  purpose. 

Lear.  Who  put  my  man  i'  thi^™ck's"f"'  ""'*'"■ 

^"'  "■  What  trumpet's  that  f 

Enter  Steward. 
letS?"'      '"^  "'s'^f's:   'his  approves  her 
That  she  wou'ld  soon  be  here.- Is  your  lady  come ' 

•  The  order  of  families,  ■  Contract  aiy  allowances. 


if nr.  This  is  a  slave,  whose  easy-borrow'd  pride 
Dwells  in  the  fickle  grace  of  her  he  follows:— 
Out,  varlet,  from  my  sight ! 
Corn.  What  means  your  grace' 

Lear.  Who  stock'd  my  servant  ?   Regan,  I  have 
good  hope 
Thou  didst  not  know  oft.— Who  comes  here  ?    0 
heavens, 

Enter  Goneril. 
If  you  do  love  old  men,  if  j'our  sweet  sway 
AllowJ  obedience,  if  yourselves  are  old. 
Make  it  your  cause;  .send  down,  and  take  my  part. 
Art  not  ashamed  to  look  upon  this  beard  !  — 
„    „  .,      ,  [To  Go.VERIL. 

O,  Regan,  wilt  thou  take  her  by  the  hand  > 

Gon.  Why  not  by  the  hand,  sir!    How  have  I 
otlended  ? 
All's  not  olfcnce,  that  indiscretion  fmds, 
And  dotage  terms  so. 

Mtrn'"''         ■.  V.  ■  J  ,     P'  ^''^''^'  yo"  "^  '00  tough ! 
Will  you  yet  hold  7— How  came  my  man  i'  the 

stocks  : 

Corn.  I  set  him  there,  sir :  but  his  own  disorders 
Deserv  d  much  less  advancement. 

f,'''""-.  You!  did  you? 

T^-'^^fi-  I  P'^y  y°"'  father,  being  weak,  seem  so. 
il,  till  the  expiration  of  your  month, 
You  will  return  and  sojourn  witli  my  sister, 
Dismissing  half  your  train,  come  then  to  me  ; 
I  am  "ow  from  home,  and  out  of  that  provision 
Which  shall  be  needful  for  your  entertainment. 

Lear.  Return  to  her.  and  fifty  men  dismiss'dl 
No,  rather  I  abjure  all  roofs,  and  choose 
To  wage  against  the  enemy  o'the  air; 
To  be  a  comrade  with  the  wolf  and  owl  — 
Necessity's  sharp  pinch  !— Return  with  her? 
Why,  the  hot-blooded  France,  tiiat  dowerless  took 
Our  youngest  born,  I  could  as  well  be  brought 
To  knee  his  throne,  and,sr|uire-like,  pension  beg 
To  keep  base  life  afoot :— Return  with  her  ' 
Persuade  me  rather  to  be  slave  and  sumpter' 
To  this  detested  groom.  [Lixjking  on  the  Steward. 

'•en.  At  your  choice,  sir. 

Lear.  I  pr'ytliee,  daughter,  do  not  make  me  mad. 
I  will  not  trouble  thee,  my  child;  farewell: 
We  II  no  more  meet,  no  more  see  one  another:— 
But  yet  thou  art  my  fiesh,iny  blood, my  daughter; 
Or,  rather,  a  disease  that's  in  my  fiesh. 
Which  I  must  needs  call  mine:  thou  art  a  boil, 
A  plague-sore,  an  emboss'd*  carbuncle 
In  my  corrupted  blood.    But  I'll  not  chide  thee; 
Let  shame  come  when  it  will,  I  do  not  call  it: 
1  do  not  bid  the  thunder-bearer  shoot. 
Nor  tell  talcs  of  thee  to  high-judging  Jove; 
Mend  when  thou  canst ;  be  better  at  thy  leisure : 
I  can  be  patient;  I  can  stay  with  Regan, 
I,  and  my  hundred  knights. 

T  /'''?•■  1      .  ^  ^°^  altogether  so,  sir: 

1  look  d  not  for  you  yet,  nor  am  provided 

t  or  your  fit  welcome :  Give  ear.  sir,  to  my  sister  • 

I  or  those  that  mingle  reason  with  your  passion. 

Must  be  content  to  think  you  old,  and  so— 

But  she  knows  what  she  does. 

^S"^\   .  Is  this  well  spoken,  now  ? 

Reg.  I  dare  avouch  It,  sir:  What, liiiyibllowers' 
Is  It  not  well  ^  What  should  you  need  of  more ' 
\  ea,  or  so  many  7  siths  that  both  charge  and  danger 
bpcak  'gainst  so  great  a  number?    How,  in  one 

house 
Should  many  people,  under  two  commands. 
Hold  amity  7  'Tis  hard;  almost  impossible. 

Gon.  Why  might  not  you,  my  lord,  receive  at- 
tendance 
From  those  that  slie  calls  servants,  or  from  mine  ' 

Reg.  \\  hy  not,  my  lord  !  If  then  they  chanced 
to  slack  you. 
We  could  control  them :  If  you  will  come  to  me 
([•  or  now  I  spy  a  danger,)  1  entreat  you 
,.?,,.'"¥  °"' ''™  and  twenty;  to  no  more 
Will  1  give  place  or  notice. 

Lear.  I  gave  you  all— 

^''S-  And  in  good  time  von  g.ave  it. 

ienr. Made  you  my  guardians,  my  depositaries; 
But  kept  a  reservation  to  be  Ibllow'd 
With  such  a  number:  What,  must  I  come  to  you 
W  ith  live  and  twenty,  Regan  7  said  you  so  7 

^  Approve. 

•  A  horse  that  cwries  necessaries  on  a  journcv. 

'  S"^-lling-  ;  Since. 


Act  m.  Scene  II. 


KING  LEAK. 


687 


eg.  And  speak  it  again,  my  lord ;  no  more  with 
me. 
Lear.  Those  wicked  creatures  yet  do  look  well- 
la  vor'd, 
When  otJiers  are  more  wicked ;  not  being  the  worst, 
Stands  in  some  rank  of  praisp  ■ — I'll  go  with  thee ; 

[  To  GO.NERIL. 

Thy  fifty  yet  doth  double  five  and  twenty, 
And  thoa  art  twice  her  love. 

Grin.  Hear  me,  my  lord ; 

What  need  you  five  and  twenty,  ten,  or  five, 
To  Ibllow  in  a  house,  wiiere  twice  so  many 
Have  a  comjiiand  to  tend  you  \ 
Re'^.  What  need  one  ? 

Lear,  O,  reason  not  the  need :   our  basest  beg- 
gars 
Are  in  tfie  poorest  thing  superfluous: 
Allow  not  nature  more  than  nature  needs, 
Alan's  life  is  cheap  as  beast's:  tliou  art  a  lady; 
If  only  to  go  warm  were  gorgeous, 
Why,  nature  needs  not  what  thou  gorgeous  wear'st, 
Which  scarcely  keeps  thee  warm  — But,  for  true 

need, — 
You  heavens,  give  me  that  patience,  patience  I 

need ! 
You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 
As  full  of  grief  as  age ;  wretched  in  both  ! 
If  it  be  you  that  stir  these  daughters'  iiearts 
Against  their  fother,  fool  me  not  so  much 
To  bear  it  tamely;  touch  me  with  noble  anger! 
O,  let  not  women*'s  weapons,  water-drops, 
Stain  my  man's  checks!  No,  you  uimatural  hags, 
I  will  have  such  revenges  on  you  botli, 
That  all  the  world  shall — I  will  do  such  things, — 
What  they  arc,  yet  I  know  not ;  but  they  shall  be 
The  terrors  of  the  earth.    You  think,  Til  weep ; 
No,  I'll  not  weep : — 
I  liave  full  cause  of  weeping  ;  but  this  heart 


Shall  break  into  a  hundred  thousand  flaws, 
Or  ere  I'll  weep:  O,  fool,  I  shall  go  mad! 

[Exeunt  Lear,  Gloster.  Kent,  atid  Fool. 

Corn.  Let  us  withdraw,  'twill  be  a  storm. 

[Storm  heard  at  a  distance, 

Reg.  "  This  house 

Is  little;  the  old  man  and  his  people  cannot 
Be  well  bestow'd. 

Gon.  'Tis  his  own  blame;  he  hath  put 

Himself  from  rest,  and  must  needs  taste  his  folly. 

Reg.  For  his  particular,  I'U  receive  liim  gladly, 
But  not  one  follower. 

Gon.  So  am  I  purpos'd. 

Where  is  my  lord  of  Gloster  1 

Re-enter  Gloster. 
Corn.  Follow'd  the  old   man  forth ; — he  is  re- 

turu'd. 
Gli).  The  king  is  in  high  rasre. 
Corn.  Whither  is  he  going? 

Glo.  He   calls   to   horse;   but  will  I  know  not 

whither. 
Corn.  'Tisbest  togive  him  way  ;  he  leads  himself. 
Go7i.  My  lord,  entreat  him  by  no  means  to  stay. 
Glo.  Alack,  the  night  comes  on,  and  the  bleak 
winds 
Do  sorely  rufile ;  for  many  miles  about 
Thcre''s  scarce  a  bush. 

Re^.  O,  sir,  to  wilful  men, 

The  injuries  that  they  themselves  procure. 
Must  be  their  schoolmasters  :  Shut  up  your  doors; 
He  is  attended  with  a  desperate  train; 
And  what  they  may  incense^  him  to,  being  apt 
To  have  his  ear  abused,  wisdom  bids  fear. 

Corn.  Shut  up  your  doors,  my  lord;  'tis  a  wild 
ni;,'Iil: 
My  Regan  counsels  well:  come  out  o'  the  storm. 

[Extant. 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I.— ^  Heath. 

A  Storm  is  heard,  with  Thunder  and  Lightning. 

Enter  Kent  and  a  Gentleman,  meeting. 

Kent.  Who's  here,  beside  foul  weather  \ 

Gent.  One  minded  like  the  weather,  most  un- 
quietly. 

Kent.  I  know  you  ;  Where's  the  king? 

Gent.  Contending  with  the  fretful  element: 
Bids  the  wind  blow  the  earth  into  the  sea, 
Or  swell  the  curled  waters  'bove  the  main, 
Tliat  things   niiirht  change,  or  cease:   tears  his 

white  hair : 
Which  tlic  impetuous  blasts,  with  eyeless  rage. 
Catch  in  their  fury,  and  make  nothing  of: 
Strives  in  his  little  world  of  man  to  out-scorn 
The  to-ond-fro  conllicting  wind  and  rain. 
This  niglit.  wherein  the  cub-drawn  bear**  would 

couch. 
The  lion  and  the  belly-pinched  wolf 
Keep  their  fur  dry,  unbonneted  he  runs, 
And  bids  what  will  t;ike  all. 

Kent.  But  who  is  with  him? 

Gent.  None  but  the  fool;  who  labors  to  out-jest 
His  lieart-struck  injuries. 

Kent.  Sir,  I  do  know  you ; 

And  dare,  upon  the  warrant  of  my  heart. 
Commend  a  dear  thin^  to  you.    There  is  division. 
Although  as  yet  the  lace  of  it  be  coverM 
With  mutual  cunning,  'twixt  Albany  and  Cornwall ; 
Who  have  (as  who  have  not,  that  their  great  stars 
Thron'd  and  set  hisli  ?)  servants,  who  seem  no  less; 
AVhich  are  to^rance  the  spies  and  speculations 
Intelligent  of  our  state;  what  hath  been  seen, 
Either  in  snutfs  and  packings"  of  the  dukes; 
Or  the  hard  rein  which  both  of  them  have  borne 
Against  the  old  kind  king;  or  something  deeper, 
Whereof,  perchance,  these  are  but  furnishings  :S — 
But,  true  it  is,  from  France  there  comes  a  power 
Into  this  scatter'd  kingdom  ;  who  already, 
Wise  in  our  negligence,  have  secret  feet 
In  some  of  our  best  ports,  and  are  at  point 

«  Whose  dups  arft  drawn  hy  its  youug. 
■t  Snuffs  flKi  aislijieL,  and  packings   uuderhand   contri- 
Tiinu'S.  ■  Samples. 


To  show  their  open  banner. — Now  to  3-ou : 

If  on  my  credit  you  dare  build  so  far 

To  make  your  speed  to  Dover,  you  shall  find 

Some  that  will  thank  you,  making  just  report 

Of  how  unnatural  and  bemadding  sorrow 

The  king  hath  cause  to  'plain, 

I  am  a  gentleman  of  blood  and  breeding; 

And  from  some  knowledge  and  assurance,  oflTer 

This  othce  to  you. 

Gent.  I  will  talk  further  with  you. 

Kent.  No,  do  not. 

For  confirmation  that  I  am  much  more 
Than  my  out  wall,  open  this  purse,  and  take 
What  it  contains:  If  you  shall  see  Cordelia, 
(As  l{?ar  not  but  you  shall,)  show  her  tJiis  ring; 
And  she  will  tell  you  who  your  fellow  is 
That  yet  you  do  not  know.    Fie  on  this  storm ! 
I  will  go  seek  the  king. 

Gent.  Give  me  your  hand ;  Have  you  no  more  to 
say  ?  * 

Kent.  Few  words,  but  to  efTect,  more  than  all  yet; 
That,  when  we  have  found  the  king,  (in  which 

your  pain 
That  way;  I'll  this,)  he  that  first  lights  on  him. 
Holla  the  other.  [Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  n.— Another  Part  of  the  Heath. 
Storm  continues. 
Enter  Leak  and  Fool. 
Lear.  Blow,  wind,  and  crack  your  cheeks!  rage! 
blow  ! 
You  cataracts,  and  hnrricanoes,  spout 
Till  you  have  drench'd  our  steeples,  drown'd  the 

cocks ! 
You  sulphurous  and  thought-executing'  fires. 
Vaunt-couriers'  to  oak-cleaving  thunder-bolts. 
Singe  my  white  head!  And  thou, all-shaking  thunder, 
Strike  flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world  ! 
Crack  nature's  moulds,  all  germins  spill  at  once, 
That  make  ingratelul  man  ! 
Foot.  O  nuncle,  court  holy-water^  in  a  dry  house 

»  Tnstij^ate. 

>  Quick  as  thought.  »  Avajit-couriers,  French. 

"  A  proTerbial  phrase  for ^ai'r  words. 


688 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  m. 


IS  better  than  this  rain-water  out  o'  door.  Good 
nuncle,  in,  and  ask  thy  daut;hters'  blessing;  here's 
a  niglit  pities  neither  wise  men  nor  tools. 

Lear.  Rumble  thy  belly-luU !    Spit,  fire  !  snout, 
rain ! 
Nor  rain,  wind,  thunder,  fire,  are  my  daughters  : 
I  tax  not  you,  you  elements,  with  unkindncss, 
I  never  gave  you  kingdom,  call'd  you  children, 
Vou  owe  me  no  subscription ;<  why  then,  let  tall 
Your  horrible  pleasure;  here  I  stand  your  slave, 
A  poor  infirm,  v/eak,  and  despised  old  man  ;— 
But  yet  I  call  you  servile  ministers. 
That  have  with  two  pernicious  daughters  ioin'd 
1  our  high-engender'd  battles  'gainst  a  head 
So  old  and  white  as  this.    0  !  0 !  'tis  foul  ! 

Fool.  He  that  has  a  house  to  put  his  head  in, 
lias  a  good  head-piece. 

The  cod-piece  that  ivill  house. 

Before  the  head  has  any, 
The  head  and  he  shall  luuse,— 

So  beggars  niarrii  ninny. 
The  tnan  that  makes  his  fiie 

What  he  his  heart  should  make. 
Shall  of  a  com  cry  woe. 
And  turn  his  sleep  to  wake. 
—for  there  was  never  yet  fair  woman,   but  she 
made  mouths  in  a  glass. 

Enter  Kent. 

Lear.  No,  I  will  be  the  pattern  of  all  patience,  I 
will  say  nothing. 

Kent.  Who's  there  ? 

Foot.  Marry,  here's  grace,  and  a  cod-piece ;  that's 
a  wise  man,  and  a  fool. 

Kent.  Alas,  sir,  arc  you  here?  things  that  love 
night. 
Love  not  such  nights  as  these:  the  wrathful  skies 
GallowS  the  very  wanderers  of  the  dark. 
And  make  them  keep  their  caves.  Since  I  was  man 
Such  sheets  of  fire,  such  bursts  of  horrid  thunder 
Such  groans  of  roaring  wind  and  rain,  1  never      ' 

Rcmcinber  to  have  heard:  man's  nature  cannot  carry 
The  affliction,  nor  the  fear. 

Lear.  Let  the  great  gods, 

That  keep  this  dreadful  pother  o'er  our  heads. 
Find  out  their  enemies  now.  Tremble,  thou  wretch 
That  hast  within  thee  undivulged  crimes,  ' 

Vnwliipp'd  of  justice:  Hide  thee,  thou  bloody  hand; 
Thou  perjur'd,  and  thou  simulai*  man  of  virtue. 
That  art  incestuous:  Caitilt;  to  pieces  shake, 
That  under  covert  and  convenient  seeming 
Hasi  practised  on  man's  lili? :— Close  pent-up  guilts 
Rive  your  conceahng  continents,  and  cry 
Those  dreadful  suinmoncrs  grace."— I  am  a  man 
More  sinn'd  against  than  sinning. 
^  A'*"?''-  ■        Alack,  bare-headed ! 

Gracious  my  lord,  hard  by  here  is  a  hovel ; 
Some  friendship  will  it  lend  you  'gainst  the  tempest ; 
Repose  you  there:  while  I  to  this  hard  house 
(More  hard  than  is  the  stone  whereof 'lis  rais'd; 
Which  even  but  now,  demanding  after  you, 
Denied  me  to  come  in)  return,  and  Ibrce 
Their  scanted  courtesy. 

^  I'''"'-  ,  My  wits  begin  to  turn,— 

Come  on,  my  boy:  How  dost,  my  boy]  Art  coldl 


your 


I  am  cold  myself.— Wliero  is  Ihis'straw,  iny  feliow' 

The  art  of  our  necessities  is  strange, 

That  can  make  vile  tilings  precious.    Come, 

hovel. 

Poor  fool  and  knave,  I  have  one  part  in  my  heart 
That's  sorry  yet  lor  thee. 
Fool.  He  that  has  a  little  tiny  wit,— 

With  heigh,  hii,  the  wind  and  the  rain,— 
Must  make  content  with  hit  fortunes  fit  i 
Fur  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day.» 
Lear.  True,  my  good  boy.— Come,  bring  v?s  to 
this  hovel.  [Exeunt  Lear  and  Keyr. 

Foot.  This  is  a  brave  night  to  cool  a  courtezan. 
—I'll  speak  a  prophecy  ere  I  go : 

Wlien  priests  are  more  in  mini  than  matt'r; 

When  lircivers  mar  Ihiir  molt  irith  water; 

When  nobles  are  their  toibirs^  tulure  ; 

No  heretics  buru'il,  but  loenches''  suiturs: 

Whin  eveni  case  in.  low  is  right ; 

No  squire  in  debt,  nor  no  poor  knight; 

When  slanders  do  nut  live  in  tongues; 

Nor  cutpurses  come  nut  to  tlirimgs; 

«  Obedieuce.        ■  Srnrn  or  fiigliten.         «  Countcfpll 

'  Favor.        a  Part  of  the  clown's  song  in  Twdfth  Niyt^. 


When  usurers  tell  their  gold  f  the  field ; 

And  bawds  and  ivhores  do  churches  build;— 

Then  shall  the  realm  of  Album 

Come  to  great  confusion. 

Then  comes  the  time,  who  lives  to  see^t, 

T'iat  going  shall  be  used  with  feet. 

This  prophecy  Merlin  shall  make  ;  for  I  live  before 
his  tune.  [i'^-i/. 

SCENE  III.— ^  Room  in  Gloster's  Castle. 
Enter  Gloster  and  Edmund. 

Glo.  Alack,  alack,  Edmund,  I  like  not  this  un- 
natural dealing:  When  1  desired  their  leave  that  I 
might  pity  him,  tliey  took  from  me  the  u.se  of  nnne 
own  house;  charged  me  on  pain  of  their  periietual 
displeasure,  neither  to  speak  of  him,  entreat  for 
hull,  nor  any  way  sustain  him. 

Edm.  Most  savage,  and  unnatural ! 

Gin.  Go  to;  say  you  nothing:  There  is  division 
between  the  dukes;  and  a  worse  matter  than  that: 
I  have  received  a  letter  this  night ;— 'lis  dangerous 
to  be  spoken ;— I  have  locked  the  letter  in  my 
closet:  these  injuries  the  king  now  bears  will  be 
revenged  home;  there  is  part  of  a  power  already 
footed:  we  must  incline  to  the  king.  1  will  seek 
him,  and  privily  reheve  him :  go  you,  and  maintain 
talk  with  the  duke,  that  my  charity  be  not  of  him 
perceived:  If  he  ask  lor  me,  I  am  "ill,  and  gone  to 
bed.  It  I  die  for  it,  as  no  less  is  threatened  me, 
the  King  my  old  master  must  be  relieved.  There 
IS  some  strange  thing  toward,  Edmund;  pray  you, 
be  careful.  [Ej-it. 

Edm.  This  courtesy,  forbid  thee,  shall  the  duke' 
Instantly  know;  and  of  that  letter  too:— 
This  seems  a  fair  deserving,  and  must  draw  me 
That  which  my  father  loses;  no  less  than  all  • 
The  younger  rises,  when  the  old  doth  fall.     [Exit. 

SCENE  IV.— A  Part  if  the  Heath,  with  a  HuveL 

Enter  Lear,  Kent,  and  Fool. 
Kent.  Here  is  the  place,  my  lord ;  good  mj'  lord, 
enter;  » 

The  tyranny  of  the  open  night's  too  rough 
For  nature  to  endure.  [tilurm  stilL 

Lear.  Let  me  alone. 

Kent.  Good  my  lord,  enter  here. 
-J'.""'-    ,  Wilt  break  my  heart'! 

Kent.  1  d  rather  break  mine  own:  Good  my  lord, 

enter. 
Lear.  Thou  think'st  'tis  much,  that  this  conten- 
tious storm 
Invades  us  to  the  skin:  so  'tis  to  thee; 
But  where  the  greater  malady  is  fix'd. 
The  lesser  is  scarce  felt.    Thou'dst  shun  a  bear: 
liut  II  thy  iliglit  lay  toward  the  raging  sea. 
Thou'dst  meet  the  bear  i'  the  mo'uth.    When  the 

mind's  free. 
The  body's  delicate :  the  tempest  in  my  mind 
Doth  from  my  senses  take  all  feeling  else, 
Save  what  beats  there.    Filial  ingratitude ! 
Is  it  not  as  this  mouth  should  tear  tliis  hand, 
For  lilting  food  to't?— But  I  will  punish  home:— 
No,  1  will  weep  no  more.— In  such  a  night 
To  shut  me  out !— Pour  on ;  I  will  endure  : 
In  such  a  night  as  this!  O  Regan,  Goneiil  !— 
Your  old  kind  father,  whose  tfank  heart  gave  all,— 
O,  that  way  madness  lies;  let  me  shun  that: 
No  more  of  that. — 
Kent.  Good  my  lord,  enter  here. 

Lear.  Pr'ythee,  go  in  thyself;  seek  thine  own 
ease ; 
This  tempest  will  not  give  me  leave  to  ponder 
On  things  would  hurt  me  more.— But  I'll  go  in  : 
In  boy;  go  first.— [To  the  Fool.]  You  house'ess 

poverty, — 
Nay,  get  thee  in.    I'll  pray,  and  then  I'll  sleep.— 
r,  1    J        .  ._         ,  [Fool  goes  i«. 

Poor  naked  wretches,  wheresoe'er  you  are. 
That  bide  the  pelting  of  this  pitiless  storm. 
How  shall  your  houseless  heads,  and  unled  sides. 
Your  loop'd,  and  window'd  raggcdness,  defisnd  you 
From  seasons  such  as  these  !  O,  I  have  ta'en 
Too  little  care  of  this!  Take  physic,  pomp; 
Expose  thyself  to  feel  what  wretches  feel; 
That  thou  may'st  shake  the  sujierflux  to  them, 
And  show  the  heavens  more  just. 
Edg.  [Wilhin.]   Fathom  and  half,  lUtliom  and 
ball!  Poor  Tom  ! 

[Tlie  Fool  runs  out  from  the  Hovel 


Scene  IV. 


KING  LEAR. 


689 


Fool.  Come  not  in  here,  nuncle,  here^s  a  spirit. 
Help  me,  iielp  me ! 
Ktnt,  Give  me  thy  hand. — Who's  tliere? 
Fvol.  \  spirit,  a  spirit ;  he  says  liis  name's  poor 

Tom. 
Kent.  What  art  thou   tiiat  dost  grumble   there 
i'  the  straw  t 
Come  forth. 

Enter  Edgar,  disguised  as  a  Madman. 

Edg.  Away!  the  foul  fiend  follows  me! — 
Through  the  sharp  hawthorn  blows  the  cold  wind. — 
Humph!  go  to  thy  cold  bed,  and  warm  thee. 

Lear.  Hast  thou  given  all  to  thy  two  daughters! 
yind  art  thou  come  to  this  ] 

Edg.  Who  gives  any  thing  to  poor  Tom  1  whom 
tlie  foul  tiend  hath  led  through  tire  and  through 
flame,  through  tbrd  and  whirlpool,  over  bog  and 
quagmire;  that  liath  laid  knives  under  his  pillow, 
and  lialters  in,his  pew;  set  ratsbane  by  his  por- 
ridge ;  made  him  proud  of  heart,  to  ride  on  a  bay 
trouing-horse  over  four-inched  bridges,  to  course 
liis  own  shadow  lor  a  traitor: — Blesslhy  five  wits  ! 
Tom's  a-cold, — 0,  do  de,  do  de,  do  de. — Bless 
thee  from  whirlwinds,  star-blasting,  and  taking!-' 
Do  poor  Tom  some  ctiarity,  whom  the  ibul  fiend 
vexes;  There  could  I  have  him  now, — and  there, 
—and  tllcre, — and  there  again,  and  there. 

[Sf(rrm  contiftnefi. 

Lear.  What,  have  his  daughters  brought  him  to 
this  pass! — 
Couldst  thou  save  nothing!  Didst  thou  give  them 
all ! 

Fool.  iVa>',  he  reserved  a  blanket,  else  we  had 
been  all  shamed. 

Ltar.  Now,  all  the  plagues  that  in  the  pendu- 
lous air 
Hang  fated  o'er  men's  faults,  light  on  thy  daughters ! 

Kent.  He  hatli  no  daughters,  sir. 

Lear.  Death,  traitor!  nothing  could  have  sub- 
dued nature 
To  such  a  lowness,  but  his  unkind  daughters.— 
Is  it  the  foshion,  that  discarded  fathers 
Should  have  thus  little  mercy  on  their  flesh? 
Judicious  punisliment!  'twas  this  flesh  begot 
Those  pelican  daughters. 

Edg.  Pillicock  sat  on  pillicock's  hill; — 
Halloo,  halloo,  loo,  loo  ! 

Fool.  This  cold  night  will  turn  us  all  to  fools 
and  madmen. 

Edg.  Take  heed  o'  (he  foul  fiend:  obey  (hv  pa- 
rents; keep  thy  word  .justly;  swear  nol ;  coniniit 
not  with  man's  sworn  spouse ;  set  not  thy  sweet 
heart  on  proud  array  :  Tom's  a-cold. 

Lear.  What  hast  tliou  been  ? 

Edg.  A  serving-man,  proud  in  heart  and  mind  ; 
thatcurlcdmy  hair;  wore  gloves  in  my  cap  ;i  served 
the  lust  of  my  mistress's  lieart,  and  did  the  act  of 
darkness  with  her ;  swore  as  many  oaths  as  I  spake 
words,  and  broke  I  hem  in  the  sweet  lace  of  heaven: 
one,  that  slept  in  the  conlnvingof  lust.and  waked 
to  do  it:  Wine  loved  1  deeply  ;  dice  dearly;  and  in 
woman,  out-paramoured  Ihe  Turk;  Kalse  of  heart. 
Iighl  01  ear,  bloody  of  hand:  Hog  in  sloth,  fox  in 
stealth,  wolf  in  greediness,  dog  in  madness,  lion  in 

icy.  Let  not  the  creaking  of  shoes,  nor  the  rust- 
ing of  silks,  betray  tby  jioor  heart  to  women;  Keep 
thy  loot  out  of  brothels,  tliy  hand  out  of  plackets, 
thy  pen  (rom  lenders'  books,  and  defy  the  foul  fiend. 
—Still  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the  cold  wind: 
Says  suum,  mun,  ha  no  nonny,  dolphin  my  boy, 
my  boy,  sessa;  let  him  trot  by. 

[Storm  still  ronlinues. 

Lear.  Why,  Ihou  wert  better  in  thy  grave,  than 
to  answer  with  Ihy  uncovered  body  this  extremity 
of  the  skies.— Is  man  no  more  than  this"!  Con- 
sider him  well :  T/iou  owest  tlie  worm  no  silk,  the 
beast  no  hide,  the  sheep  no  wool,  the  cat  no  per- 
fume:—Ila!  here  three  of  us  are  sophisticated!— 
Thou  ajl  the  thing  itself:  unaccomniodaled  man 
is  no  more  but  such  a  poor,  bare,  forked  animal  as 
thou  art.— on;  oil;  you  tendings  :— Come  ;  unbut- 
ton here.  [Tearing  of  his  Clothes. 

Font.  Pr  ythee,  nuncle,  be  contented  ;  this  is  a 
naughty  night  to  swim  in.— Now  a  little  fire  in  a 
wild  field  were  like  an  old  lecher's  heart:  a  smiiU 

"  To  toAe  is  to  blast,  or  strike  with  malignant  influence. 
>  It  W.1S  thL>  custom  to  ivt-nr  gloves  in  the  bat,  as  the 
fevor  of  a  mistress. 

44 


I 


spark,  all  the  rest  of  his  body  cold. — Look,  here 
comes  a  walking  fire. 

Edg.  This  is  Ihe  foul  fiend  Flibbertigibbet:  he 
begins  at  curlew,  and  walks  till  the  first  cock;  he 
gives  the  web  and  the  pin,^  squints  the  eye,  and 
makes  llie  hare-lip;  mildews  the  while  wheat, and 
hurts  the  jioor  creature  of  earth. 

Suint  WithnhP  footed  tlirice  the  umld;^ 
lie  met  the  night-inare,  and  her  nine-fold; 
Bid-hcr  aiixht, 
And  her  trtdh  plight. 
And  aniini  thee^  ivi/ch,  aroint  thee! 
Kent.  How  fares  your  grace! 

Enter  Gloster,  with  a  Torch. 
Lear.  What's  he! 

Kent.  Who's  there  ?  What  is't  you  seek  ! 
(jlo.  Wlint  are  you  there!  Your  names! 
Edg.  Poor  Tom  ;  that  eats  the  swimming  frog, 
the  toad,  the  tadpole,  the  wall-newt,  and  the  water  ;o 
that  in  the  Uiry  of  his  heart,  when  the  Ibul  fiend 
rages,  cats  cow -dung  for  sallets;  swallows  the  old 
rat,  and  the  ditch-dog;  drinks  the  green  mantle  of 
thcslaiidiiig-])nol;  who  is  whipped  from  tylhingto 
tything,"  and  stocked,  punished,  and  imprisoned; 
who  hath  had  three  suits  to  his  back,  six  shirts  to 
his  body,  horse  to  ride,  and  weapon  to  wear,- 

But  mice,  ami  rats,  and  such  small  deer. 
Have  lieen  Tom^s  fooil  frn-  seven  long  year. 

Beware    my    follower:— Peace,  Sniolkin;?    peace, 
thou  fiend  ! 

GUi.  What,  hath  your  grace  no  better  company! 

Edg.  The  luince  of  darkness  is  a  gentleman; 
Modo  he's  call'd,  and  Mahu.9 

G7o.  Our  (lesh  and  blood.niy  lord,  is  grown  so  vne, 
That  it  doth  hate  what  gets  it. 

Edg.  Poor  Tom's  a-cold. 

07«.  Go  in  with  me  ;  my  duty  cannot  suite. 
To  obey  in  all  your  daughter's  hard  commaiida 
Though  their  injunction  be  to  bar  my  doors. 
And  let  this  tyrannous  night  take  hold  upon  you 
Vet  have  1  ventured  to  come  seek  you  out. 
And  bring  you  where  both  fire  and  Ibod  is  ready 

l^ur.  First  let  me  talk  with  this  philosopher.— 
Wliat  is  the  cause  of  thunder! 

Kent.  Good  my  lord,  take  his  oiler; 
Go  into  the  hou.se. 

Lear.  I'll  talk  a  word  with  this  same  learned 
Theban.— 
What  is  your  study  ! 

Edg.  How  to  prevent  the  fiend,  and  to  kill  ■  er- 
niin. 

I^ar.  Let  me  ask  you  one  word  in  private. 

Kent.  Imjioitunc  him  once  more  to  go,  my  lord; 
His  wits  begin  to  unsettle. 

(ilo.  Canst  thou  blame  him  ! 

His  daughters   seek   his   death:— Ah,  that   good 

Kent  !— 
He  said  it  would  be  thus:— Poor  banish'd  man  !— 
Thou  say'st,  the  king  grows  mad ;  I'll  tell  thee, 

Ifiend, 
I  am  almost  mad  myself:  Ihad  a  son. 
Now  oullaw'd  from  my  blood  ;  he  sought  my  life. 
But  lately,  very  late;  1  lov'd  him,  fiiend,— 
No  father  his  son  dearer:  true  to  tell  thee, 

[Sturm  continues. 
The  grief  hath  craz'd  my  wits.  What  a  night's  this ! 
I  do  beseech  your  grace, — 

Lear.  0,  cry  you  mercy  .• 

Noble  philosopher,  your  company. 

Edg.  Tom's  a-colil. 

Ulu.  In,  fellow,  there,  to  the  hovel;  keep  thee 
warm. 

Lear.  Come,  let's  in  all. 

Kent.  This  way,  my  lord. 

^ear.  With  him; 

I  v>ill  keep  still  with  my  philosopher. 

Kent.  (;ood  my  lord,  soothe  him;  let  him  take 
the  fellow. 

do.  Take  liiin  you  on. 

Kent.  Sirrah,  come  on;  go  along  with  us. 

Lear.  Come,  good  Athenian. 

5  Diseases  of  the  e.ve. 

»  A  saint  said  to  protect  his  devotees  from  the  diseasa 
called  the  iivjlitrmare. 

•■  Wild  downs,  so  called  in  various  parts  of  England. 

'  Avaunt.  a  ,.  j.  The  water-newt. 

'  A  tything  is  a  division  of  a  county. 

9  isame  of  a  sphil.  »  The  chief  devil. 


GOO 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  III. 


No  words,  no  words : 


Gto. 
Hush! 

E(Ik.  CfiilP  Rowland  In  the  dark  inwer  came. 

His  word  was  f-lill. — Fie,  fnh,  awl  fain, 

I  smell  the  blnud  of  a  lirilitih  man. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— .^  Room  in  Gloster's  Ca-Me. 
Enter  Cornwall  and  Edmund. 

Corn.  1  will  have  my  revenge,  ere  I  depart  his 
house. 

Edin.  How,  my  lord,  I  may  be  censured,  that 
nnturc  thus  gives  way  to  loyalty,  something  fears 
me  to  think  of. 

Corn.  I  now  perceive,  it  was  not  altogether  your 
brother's  evil  disposition  made  him  seek  his  death; 
but  a  provoking  merit,  set  a-work  by  a  reproveable 
badness  in  himseltl 

£din.  How  malicious  is  my  fortune,  that  I  must 
repent  to  be  just!  This  is  the  letter  he  spoke  of, 
which  approves  him  an  intelligent  party  to  the  ad- 
vantages of  France.  O  heavens!  that  this  treason 
were  not.  or  not  I  the  detector  ! 

Vorn.  Go  with  me  to  the  duchess. 

Edni.  If  the  matter  of  this  paper  be  certain,  you 
have  mighty  business  in  hand. 

Corn.  Triie,  or  (iilse,  it  hath  made  the*  earl  of 
Glostor.  Seek  out  where  thy  lather  is,  that  he 
may  be  ready  for  our  apprehension. 

Edm.  [Aside.]  If  1  hnd  him  comforting  the 
king,  it  Will  stulT  his  suspicion  more  fully.— I  will 
persevere  in  my  course  of  loyalty,  though  the  con- 
flict be  sore  between  that  and  my  blood. 

Cum.  1  will  lay  trust  upon  thee;  and  thou  shall 
find  a  dearer  father  in  my  love.  [Exeunt. 

.SCENE  VI.— ^  Chamber  in  a  Furm-House, 
adjoining  the  Custle. 

Enter  Gloster,  Lkah,  Kent,  Fool,  and  Edgar. 

Gin.  Here  is  better  than  the  open  air;  take  it 
thankfully;  I  will  piece  out  the  comtiirt  with  what 
addition  I  can;  1  will  not  be  long  from  you. 

Kent.  All  the  power  of  his  wits  has  given  way 
to  his  impatience:— The  gods  reward  your  kind- 
ness! [Exit  GwstEa. 

Edg.  Frateretto  calls  me ;  and  tells  me,  Nero  is 
an  angler  in  the  lake  of  darkness.  Pray,  inno- 
cent,2  and  beware  the  foul  fiend. 

Frji^l.  Pr'ythee,  nuncie.tell  me,  whether  a  mad- 
man b^  a  gentleman,  or  a  yeoman ! 

Lear.  A  king,  a  king  ! 

Fool.  No;  he's  a  yeoman  that  has  a  gentleman 
to  his  son  :  thr  he's  a  mad  yeoman  that  sees  his 
son  a  gentleman  before  him. 

Lear.  To  have  a  thousand  with  red  burning  spits 
Come  hissing  in  upon  them; — 

Edg.  The  foul  liend  bites  my  back. 

Fold.  He's  mad,  that  trusts  in  the  lameness  of  a 
wolf,  a  horse's  health,  a  boy's  love,  or  a  whore's 
oath. 

Lear.  It  shall   be  done,  I   will   arraign   them 
straight: — 
Come,  sit  thou  here,  most  learned  justicer; — 

[  To  Edgah. 
Thou,  sapient  sir,  sit  here.  [Tu  the  Fool.]— Now, 
you  she-foxes ! — 

Elg.  Look,  where  he  stands  and  glares  ! — 
Wantest  thou  eyes  at  trial,  madam? 

Come  o'er  the  hourn?  Bessij,  to  me:— 

Fool.  Jlcr  bout  hath  a  leak, 

And  she  m.it!<l  not  speak 
IVhi/  she  dare  not  come  over  to  thee. 

Edg.  The  foul  fiend  haunts  poor  Tom  in  the 
voice  of  a  nightingale.  Ilopdance  cries  in  Tom's 
belly  liir  two  white  herrings.  Croak  not,  black 
angel;  I  have  no  food  for  thee. 

Kent.    How   do   you.-tir?    Stand    you   not   so 
amaz'd : 
Will  you  lie  down  and  rest  upon  the  cushions'! 

Lear.  I  II  see  their  trial  first ;— Bring  in  the  evi- 
dence.— 
Thou  robed  man  of  justice,  take  thy  place; 
..,,.,  [To  Edoah. 

And  thou,  his  yoke-fellow  of  equity,  [To  tite  Fool. 
Clold  is  an  old  name  for  kni.i;ht. 

«  Ajarcssed  to  the  i'ool,  who  were  anriently  colled  In- 
"  KWita.  :  Blwk,  or  rfvulot. 


Bench  by  his  side:— You  are  of  the  commission, 
Sit  you  too.  [ To- Kent. 

Edg.  Let  us  deal  justly. 

Steepest,  or  wakest  thou,  jolly  shepherd? 

Thy  sheep  be  in  the  corn  ; 
And  for  one  blast  of  thij  minikin  mouth, 
Thy  sheep  will  take  no  harm. 
Pur!  the  cat  is  gray. 

Lear.  Arraign  her  first;  'tis  Goneril.  I  here  take 
my  oath  before  this  honorable  assembly,  she  kicked 
the  poor  king  her  father. 

Fonl.  Come  hither,  mistress;  Is  your  natue  Go- 
neril ? 
Lear.  She  cannot  deny  it. 

FooL   Cry  you  mercy,  I  took  you  for  a  joint- 
stool. 
Lear.  And  here's  another,  whose  warp'd  looks 
proclaim 
What  store  her  heart  is  made  of. — ,'yop  her  there! 
Arms.arms.  sword,  fire  !— Corruption  in  the  placej 
False  justieer,  why  hast  thou  let  her  'scape  T 
Edg.  Bless  thy  five  wit.s! 

Kail.  0  pity! — Sir,  where  is  the  patience  now, 
That  you  so  oft  have  boasted  to  retain  ? 

Edg.  My  tears  begin  to  take  his  part  so  much, 
They'll  mar  my  counterfeiting.  [Aside- 

Lear.  The  little  dogs  and  all. 
Traf.  Blanch,  and  Sweet-heart,  see,  they  hark  at  me. 

Edg.  Tom  will  throw  his  head  at  them: — 
Avaunt,  you  curs ! 

Be  thy  mouth  or  black  or  lohite, 
T"olh  llial  judsons  if'  it  bite ; 
Masltjd',  greyhound,  mongrel  grim, 
Hound.,  or  sfxiaiel,  bruch.  or  hini;'^ 
(Ir  holdinl  like,  or  trundU-tnil  ; 
Tom  will  fuakr  llieni  weep  and  wail: 
For,  With  llinuring  thus  my  head, 
Liog.'y'  leap  the  hutch,  and  all  arejleil. 
Do  de,  do  de.     Sessa.    Come,  march  to  wakes  and 
fairs,  and  market  towns:— Poor  Tom,  thy  horn  is 
dry. 

Lear.  Then  let  them  anatomize  Regan,  see  what 
breeds  about  her  heart:  Is  there  any  cause  in  na- 
ture that  makes  these  hard  hearts  !— You,  sir,  I 
entertain  you  for  one  of  my  hundred;  only,  I  do 
not  like  the  fashion  of  your  garments:  you  will 
say,  they  are  Persian  attire ;  but  let  them  be  changed. 

[To  Edgar. 
Kent.  Now.good  my  lord,  liehere.and  rest  awhile. 
Lear.  Make  no  noise,  make  no  noise;  draw  the 
curtains:  So,so,so:  We'll  go  to  supper  i' the  morn- 
ing :  So,  so.  so. 
Fool.  And  I'll  go  to  bed  at  noon. 

Re-Entcr  Gloster. 
Gin.  Come   hither,  friend:    Where  is  the  king 

my  master  ? 
Kent.  Here,  sir;  but  trouble  him  not,  his  wits 

are  gone. 
Gto.  Good  friend,  I  pr'ythee  take  him  in  thy 
arms; 
I  have  o'crheard  a  plot  of  death  upon  him: 
There  is  a  litter  ready;  lay  him  in't. 
And  drive  towards  Dover,  friend,  wliere  thou  shall 

meet 
Both    welcome    and   protection.      Take    up    thy 

master. 
If  thou  shouldst  dally  half  an  hour,  his  life. 
With  thine,  and  all  that  olfer  to  defend  him, 
Stand  in  assured  loss:  Take  up,  take  up; 
And  Ibllow  me,  that  will  with  some  provision 
Give  thee  quick  conduct. 

Kent.  Oppress'd  nature  sleeps: — 

This  rest  might  yet  have  balm'd  thy  broken  senses, 
Which,  if  convenience  will  not  allow. 
Stand  in  hard  cure. — Come,  help  to  bear  thy  master; 
Thou  mu.st  not  stay  behind.  [To  'the  Fool. 

Glo.  Come,  come,  away. 

[E.reunt  Kent.  Gloster,  and  tlie  Fool, 
bearing  off  the  King. 
Edg.  When  we  our  betters  see  hearing  our  woes, 
We  scarcely  think  our  miseries  our  ii)es. 
Who  alone  sullers,  sutlers  most  i'  tiio  mind; 
Leaving  tree  Ihings.  and  happy  sb.ow.s,  liehind: 
But  then  thr  mind  much  sulleranco  doth  o'erskip 
When  griel  hath  males,  and  bearing  IcUowship. 
How  light  and  portable  my  pain  seems  now, 

*  A  bloodhound. 


Scene  VII. 


KING  LEAK. 


691 


When  that  which  makes  me  bend,  makes  the  king 

bow ; 
He  childed,  as  I  father'd  ! — Tom,  an-ay : 
Mark  the  liifih  noises  ;5  and  thyself  bewray. 
Wlicn  false  opinion,  whose  wrong  thought  defiles 

thee, 
In  thy  just  proof,  repeals,  and  reconciles  thee. 
What  vvill  hap  more  to-night, safe  'scape  the  king  ! 
Lurk,  lurk.  I  Exit. 

SCENE  VII.— /I  Room  in  Gloster's  Castle. 

Enter  Cornwall,  Regan,  Gonekil,  Edmund,  and 
Servants. 
Corn.  Post  speedily.to  my  lord,  your  husband; 
sliowhimthisletter: — tJic  armyof  France  is  landed. 
Seek  out  the  villain  Oloster. 

[Exeunt  some  of  ilie  Servants. 
Rp^.  Hang  him  instantly. 
Guti.  Pluck  out  liis  eyes. 

Corn.  Leave  him  to  my  displeasure. — Edmund, 
keep  you  our  sister  company  ;  the  revenges  we  are 
bound  to  take  upon  your  traitorous  father  are  not 
fit  for  your  bcliolding.  Advise  the  duke,  where  you 
are  going,  to  a  most  festinate  preparation  :  we  are 
biiuuil  to  the  like.  Our  posLs  shall  be  swift,  and 
iiiteIHgent  betwixt  us.  Farewell,  dear  sister; — 
farewell,  my  lord  of  Glostcr.6 

Enter  Steward. 
How  now?  Wiiere's  tlie  king? 
Stew.  My  lord  of  Gloster  hath   convey'd  him 
hence: 
Some  five  or  six  and  thirty  of  his  knights. 
Hot  questrists"  after  him,  njet  liim  at  gate  ; 
Who,  with  some  otiier  of  the  lord's  dependants. 
Are  gone  witli  Iiim  towards  Dover,  where  they  boast 
To  have  well-armed  friends. 
Corn.  Get  horses  for  your  mistress. 

Gon.  Farewell,  sweet  lord,  and  sister. 

[Exeunt  Goneril  and  Edmcnd. 
Corn.  Edmund,  farewell. — Go,  seek  the  traitor 
Gloster, 
Pinion  him  like  a  thief,  bring  him  before  us : 

[Exeunt  otfier  Servants. 
Though  well  we  may  not  pass  upon  his  lite 
Without  tlie  form  of  Justice  ;  yet  our  power 
Shall  do  a  courtesy^  to  ourwratii,  which  men 
May  blame  but  not  control.    Who's  there?     The 
traitor. 

Re-enter  Servants,  ivitlt  Gloster. 
Reg.  Ingrateful  fox  !  'tis  he. 
Corn.  Bind  fast  his  corkys  arms. 

Glo.  What   mean    your  graces  ] Good  my 

friends,  consider 
Yon  are  my  guests;  do  me  no  foul  play,  friends. 
Corn.  Bind  him,  I  say.  [Servants  fttnrf  Aim. 

Reg.  Hard,  hard  :— O  filthy  traitor  ! 

Gtv.  Unmerciful  lady  .as  you  are,  1  am  none. 
Corn.  To  this  cliair  l)ind  him:  —  Villain,  thou 


gnobly  done, 


slialt  find—  [Regan  piueks  ftis  Beard. 

Gio.  By  the  Idnd  gods, 'tis  most  igi 
To  pluck  me  by  tlie  beard 

Reg.  So  white,  and  such  a  traitor  ! 

Glo.  Naughty  lady. 

These  hairs,  which  tliou  dost  ravish  I'rom  my  chiii. 
Will  quicken"  and  accuse  thee :  I  am  your  host; 
With  robtier's  liaiids,  my  hospitatile  tavors2 
You  should  not  ruffle  tlius.    What  will  you  do? 

Corn.  Come,  sir,  what  letters  had  you  late  ft'om 
France? 

Reg.  Be  simple-answer'd,  for  we  know  the  truth. 

Corn.  And  what  confederacy  have  you  with  the 
traitors 
Late  footed  in  the  kingdom  ? 

Reg.  To  whose  hands  have  you  sent  tlie  lunatic 
king? 
Speak. 

Gto.  I  liave  a  letter  guessingly  set  down. 
Which  came  from  one  that's  of  a  neutral  heart. 
And  not  from  one  oppos'd. 

Cor,  Cunning. 

Reg.  And  false. 

Corn.  Where  hast  thou  sent  the  king  ? 

Glo.  To  Dover. 

6  The  gre.lt  events  th.at  Jire  appro.aching. 

6  Meuninj;  Edmund  invosttd  wilh  bis  fjtther's  title. 

'  Inquirer.s.  •  Beud.  n  Dry.  like  cork. 

'  Live.  3  Features. 


Reg.  Wherefore 

To  Dover  ?  Wast  thou  not  charged  at  thy  peril — 
Com.  Wherefore  to  Dover?  Let  him  first  answer 

that. 
Glo.  I  am  tied  to  the  stake,  and  I  must  stand  tho 

course. 
Reg.  Wherefore  to  Dover? 
Gin.  Because  I  would  not  see  thy  cruel  nails 
Pluck  out  his  poor  old  eyes;  nor  thy  fierce  sister 
In  his  anointed  flesh  stick  boarish  tangs. 
The  sea.  with  such  a  storm  as  his  bare  head 
In  hell-hlacknightendur'd,  would  have  huoy'd  up. 
And  quench'd    the  stelled^  fires;  yet,    poor   old 

heart. 
He  holp  the  heavens  to  rain. 
If  wolves  had  at  thy  gate  howPd  that  stern  time, 
Thou  shouldst  have  said,  G'oo^por/er,/»;-;i  thekey  ; 
AH  cruels  else  snb.scribed:^ — But  1  shall  see 
The  winged  vengeance  overtake  such  children, 
Cm-n.  See  it  shalt  thou  never; — Fellows,  iiold 
the  chair: 
Upon  these  eyes  of  thine  Til  set  my  foot, 

[Gloster  is  lield  down  in  his  Cliair,  white 
Cornwall  plnckf  out  one  of  tiis  Eyes, 
and  sets  his  Foot  on  it. 
Gto.  He,  that  will  think  to  live  till  he  be  old. 
Give  me  some  help : — O  cruel !  O  ye  gods ! 
Reg.  One  side  will  mock  another;  the  otlier  too. 
C>n-n.  If  you  see  vengeance, — 
Sen:  Hold  your  hand,  my  lord : 

I  have  serv'd  you  ever  since  I  was  a  child  ; 
But  better  service  have  1  never  done  you. 
Than  now  to  bid  you  hold. 
Reg.  How  now,  you  dog  ? 
Serr.  If  you  did' wear  a  beard  upon  your  chin. 
I'd  shake  it  on  this  quarrel :  What  do  you  mean  ? 
C<trn.  My  villain!         [Draws  and  runs  at  him. 
Serv.  Nay,  then  come  on,  and  take  the  cliance 
of  anger. 
[Draws.    They  fight.    C>msv!KU,vi  wounded, 
Reg.  Give  me  thy  sword.— [To  another  Servant.] 

A  peasant  "stand  up  thus  ! 
[  Snatche.s  a  sword,  comes  behind,  and  stabs  him. 
Serv.  O,  I  am  slain! — My  lord^   you  have  one 
eye  left 
To  see  some  mischief  on  him: — O!  [Dies. 

Corn.  Lest  it  see  more,  prevent  it:— Out,  vile 
jelly ! 
Where  is  thy  lustre  now? 
[Tearsout  Gloster's  other  Eye,  and  throws  it  on 

the  Ground. 
Glo.  All  dark  and  comfortless. — Where's  my  son 
Edmund  ? 
Edmund,  enkindle  all  the  sparks  of  nature, 
To  quit'  this  horrid  act. 

Reg.  Out,  treacherous  villain ! 

Thou  call'st  on  him  that  hates  thee :  it  was  he 
That  made  the  overture^  of  thy  treasons  to  us; 
Who  is  too  good  to  pity  thee. 

Gh.  0  my  follies ! 

Then  Edgar  was  abused. — 
Kind  gods,  Ibrgive  me  that,  and  prosper  him ! 

Reg.  Go.thrusthimoutatgates.and  let  himsmell 
His  way  to  Dover. — How  is't,  my  lord?  How  look 
you? 
Corn.  I    have    received   a  hurt:  —  Follow   me, 
lady.— 
Turn  out  that  eyeless  villain  ;  throw  this  slave 
Upon  the  dunghill. — Regan,  I  bleed  ap.ace: 
Untimely  comes  this  hurt :  Give  me  your  arm. 

[Exit  Cornwall,  led  by  Regan  ; — Servants 
unbind  Gloster,  and  lead  him  out. 

1  Serv.  I'll  never  care  what  wickedness  I  do. 
If  this  man  comes  to  good. 

2  Serv.  If  she  live  long. 
And,  in  the  end,  meet  the  old  course  of  death, 
Women  will  all  turn  monsters. 

1  Serv.  Let's  (bllow  the  old  earl,  and  get  the 

Bedlam' 
To  lead  him  where  he  would;  his  roguish  madness 
Allows  ifself  to  any  thing. 

2  Serv.  Go  thou ;  I'll  (etch  some  ilax,  and  whites 

of  eggs. 
To  apply  to  his  bleeding  face.    Now,  heaven  help 
him ! 

[Exeunt  severally. 

'  starred. 

«  Yielded,  submitted  to  the  necessity  of  the  occasion. 

'  lle(iuite.         •  Laid  open.         '  Dedi-imito.  madm:in. 


692 


KING  LEAK. 


Act  IV. 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  l.-Thelkath. 
Enter  Edgar. 

Edi::.  Yet  better  thus,  and  known  to  be  contcmn''d, 
Tlian  still  contemn'd  and  flattcrVl.    To  be  worst, 
The  loweKt  and  most  dejected  thing  of  fortune, 
Stands  still  in  esperance,^  lives  not  in  fear: 
Theiamentiible  change  is  from  the  best; 
Tlio  worst  returns  to  laughter.    Welcome,  then, 
rhou  unsubstantial  air,  that  I  embrace! 
The  wretch,  tliat  thou  hast  blown  unto  the  worst, 
Owes  nothing  to  thy  blasts. — Butwho  comes horel 

Enter  Gloster,  led  by  an  Old  Man. 
My  father,  poorly  led? — World,  world,  0  world  ! 
4ut  that  thy  strange  mutations  make  us  hate  thee, 
Life  would  not  yield  to  age. 

Old  Man.  0  my  good  lord,  I  have  been  your  te- 
nant and  your  father's  tenant,  these  fourscore  years. 

Glo.  Away, get  thee  away;  good  trirnd,  begone: 
Thy  conlforts  can  do  me  no  good  at  all, 
Thee  they  may  hurt. 

Old  Mini.  Alack,  sir,  you  cannot  see  your  way. 

Glo.  I  have  no  way, and  therefore  want  no  eyes; 
I  stumbled  when  I  saw:  Full  oft  'lis  seen, 
Our  mean  secures  us;  and  our  mere  defects 
Trove  our  commodities. — Ah,  dear  son  Edgar, 
The  food  of  thy  abused  father's  wratli ! 
Might  I  but  live  to  see  thee  in  my  touch, 
I'd  say.  I  had  my  eyes  again  ! 

Old'  hi  an.  How  now]  Who's  there? 

Edg.  [Aside.']  O  gods  !  Who  is't  can  say,  /  am  at 
the  worst? 
I  am  worse  than  e'er  I  was. 

Old  Man,  'Tis  poor  mad  Tom. 

Edg.  [Aside.']  And  worse  1  may  be  yet;    TJie 
worst  is  not, 
So  long  as  we  c^n  say,  This  is  the  ivorst. 

Old  Man.  Fellow,  where  goesf.' 

Glo.  Is  it  a  beggar-man  \ 

Old  Man.  Madman  and  beggar  too. 

Glo.  He  has  some  reason,  else  he  could  not  beg. 

V  the  last  night's  storm  I  such  a  lellow  saw; 
Which  made  me  tliink  a  man  a  worm:  My  son 
Came  then  into  my  mind;  and  yet  my  mind 
Was  tlien  scarce  tiiends  with  liim:  1  have  heard 

more  since: 
As  flies  to  wanton  boys,  are  we  to  the  gods ; 
They  Idll  us  lor  their  sport. 

Edg.  How  should  tliis  be? — 

Bad  is  the  trade  must  play  the  fool  to  sorrow, 
Ang'riiig  itself  and  others.    [Aside] — Bless  thee, 
master ! 

Glo,  Is  that  the  naked  fellow? 

Old  Man.  Ay,  my  lord. 

(;/w.Then,pr'ythee,  get  thee  gone:  It,  for  my  sake, 
TIiou  wilt  o'ertake  us,  hence  a  mile  or  twain, 

V  tlie  way  to  Dover,  do  it  for  ancient  love; 
And  b'ring  some  covering  for  this  naked  soul, 
Wliom  ril  entreat  to  lead  me. 

Old  Man.  Alack  sir,  he's  mad. 

Glo.  'Tis  the  time's  plague,  when  madmen  lead 
the  blind. 
Do  as  I  bid  thee,  or  rather  do  thy  pleasure  ; 
Above  the  rest,  be  gone. 

Old  iU(7».  I'll  bring  him  thebest  'j>arel  tiiatlliave, 
Come  on't  what  will.   .  [Exit. 

Glo.  Sirrah,  naked  fellow. 

Edg.  Poor  Tom's  a-cold:  I  canr.ot  daub"  it  fur- 
ther, [Aside. 

Glo,  Come  hither,  fellow. 

Edg,  [Aside.]  And  yet  I  must.— Bless  thy  sweet 
eyes,  they  bleed. 

Glo.  Know'st  thou  the  way  to  Dover? 

Edg.  Both  stile  and  gate,  horse-way  and  foot- 
path. Poor  Tom  hath  been  scared  out  of  his  good 
wits:  Bless  the  good  man  from  the  foul  fiend! 
Five  fiends  have  been  in  poor  Tom  at  once ;  of  lust, 
as.  Obidicut;  Ilubbididnjice,  prince  of  (himl>ness ; 
^1/r//ju,  of  stealing;  J^A^/o,  of  murder;  and  FUhha-- 
iigihbef.  of  moi)pini;  :uid  mowing;  who  since  \wa- 
sosses  chamber-maids  and  waiting-women.  So 
bless  thee,  master! 

s  In  liopo.  ■  Disguise. 


Glo.  Here,  take  this  purse,  thou  whom  tlie  hea- 
vens' plagues 
Have  humbled  to  all  strokes:  that  I  am  wretched, 
Makes  thee  the  happier : — Heavens,  deal  so  still ! 
Let  the,superlluous,  and  lu&t-dieted  man, 
That  slaves  your  ordinance,  that  will  not  see 
Because  he  doth  not  icel,  feel  your  power  quickly ; 
So  distribution  should  undo  excess. 
And  each  man  have  enough. — Dost  thou  krow 
Dover  ! 

Edg.  Ay,  master, 

(;/f>.  There  is  a  clill",  whose  high  and  bending  head 
Looks  fearfully  in  the  confined  deep: 
Bring  me  but  to  the  very  brim  of  it. 
And  I'll  repair  the  misery  thou  dost  bear. 
With  soniethirg  rich  about  mc;  from  liiat  place 
I  shall  no  leading  need. 

Edg.  Give  me  thy  arm  ; 

Poor  Tom  shall  lead  thee.  [Ejceunt. 

SCENE  U —Before  the  Duke  o/' Albany's  Palace. 

Enter  Goneril  and  Edmund;    Steward  meeting 

them. 

Gon.  Welcome,  my  lord :  I  marvel,  our  mild 
husband 
Not   met   us   on  the  way: — Now,  where's  your 
master? 

Stew.  Madam,  within ;  but  never  man  so  changed : 
I  told  iiim  of  tJie  army  that  was  landed; 
He  smil'd  at  it:  I  told  him  you  were  coming; 
His  answer  was,  The  worse:  of  Gloster's  treachery, 
And  of  the  loyal  service  of  his  son, 
Wlien  I  inforin'd  him,  then  he  call'd  me  sot; 
And  told  me,  I  had  turn'd  the  wrong  side  out: — 
Whatmosthe  should  dislike,  seems  pleasant  to  him; 
What  like,  olicnsivc. 

Gun.  Then  shall  you  go  no  further. 

[To  Edmund. 
It  is  the  cowish  terror  of  his  spirit. 
That  dares  not  undertake:  he'll  not  feel  wrongs. 
Which  tie  him  to  an  answer:  Ourwishes.on  theway, 
May  prove  etlects.'    Back,  Edmund,  to  my  brother: 
Hasten  his  musters,  and  conduct  his  powers: 
I  must  change  arms  at  home,  and  give  the  distaff 
Into  my  husband's  hands.    This  trusty  sen-ant 
Shall  pass  between  us :  ere  long  you  are  like  to  hear. 
If  you  dare  venture  in  your  own  behalf, 
A  mistress's  command.    Wear  this:  spare  speech; 
[Giinng  a  Favor, 
Decline  your  head:  this  kiss,  if  it  durst  speak, 
Would  stretch  thy  spirits  up  into  the  air; — 
Conceive,  and  fare  thee  well. 

Edni.  Vours  in  the  ranks  of  death. 

Gon.  My  most  dear  Gloster! 

[Exit  Edmund. 
0,  the  difliereuce  of  man,  and  man  !  To  thee 
A  woman's  services  are  due ;  my  fool 
Usurps  my  bed. 

Stew.  Madam,  here  comes  my  lord. 

[Exit  Steward. 
Eiiier  Albany. 

Gon.  I  have  been  worth  the  whistle.^ 

Alb.  0  Goneril 

You  are  not  worth  the  dust  which  the  rude  wind 
Blows  in  your  face.— I  fear  your  disposition; 
That  nature,  which  contemns  its  origin, 
Cannot  be  border'd  certain  in  itself; 
She  that  herself  will  slivei-3  and  disbranch 
Froiu  her  material  sap,  perforce  must  wither 
And  come  to  deadly  use. 

Gon.  No  more ;  the  text  is  foolish. 

Alb.  Wisdom  and  goodness  to  the  vile  seem  vile: 
Filths  savor  but  themselves.  What  have  you  done! 
Tigers,  not  daughters,  what  have  you  perform'd? 
A  lather,  and  a  gracious  aged  man, 
Whose  reverence  the  head-lugg'd  bear  would  lick% 
Most  barbarous. most  degenerate!  have  you  madded. 
Couid  my  good  brother  suiler  you  to  do  it? 
A  man,  a  prince,  by  him  so  benctited  ] 
If  that  the  heavens  do  not  their  visible  spirits 
*  i.  *:.  Our  wishes  nn  the  road  may  l>o  completed, 
a  Worth  callius  for.  "■  Tear  cH. 


Scene  IT. 


KING  LEAK. 


693 


Send  quickly  down  to  tame  these  viie  offences, 
'Twill  come, 

Humanity  must  perforce  prey  on  itself, 
LilvO  monsters  of  the  deep. 

Gun.  Milk-Iiver'd  man ! 

That  bear'st  a  cheek  for  blows,  a  head  tor  wrongs ; 
Who  hast  not  in  thy  brows  an  eye  discerning 
Thine  honor  from  thy  sullerin;;;  that  not  know'st 
Fools  do  those  villains  pity,  who  are  punisli'd 
Ere  they  have  done  their  mischief.    Where's  thy 

drum? 
France  spreads  his  banners  in  our  noiseless  land; 
With  plumed  helm  thy  slayer  begins  threats ; 
Whilst  thou,  a  moral  iool,  sit'st  still,  and  cry'st, 
A  lack.'  why  floes  he  so? 

Alb.  See  thyself,  devil! 

Proper  deformity  seems  not  in  the  licnd 
So  horrid,  as  in  woman. 

Con.  0  vain  fool !_ 

Alb.  Thou  changed  and  scllK;over'd  thing,  for 
shame, 
Be-monster  not  thy  feature.    Were  it  my  fitness 
To  let  these  hands  obey  my  blood. 
They  are  apt  enough  to  dislocate  and  tear 
Thy  flesh  and  bones:— Howc'er  thou  art  a  fiend, 
A  woman's  shape  doth  shield  thee. 

Gon.  Marry,  your  manhood  now  ! 
Enter  a  Messenger. 

Alb.  What  news  T 

Mess.  O,  my  good  lord,  the  duke  of  Cornwall's 
dead  ! 
Slain  by  his  servant,  going  to  put  out 
The  other  eye  of  Gloster. 

Alb.  Gloster's  eyes ! 

Mess.  A  servant  that  he  bred,  thriU'd  with  re- 
morse, 
Oppos'd  against  the  act,  bending  his  sword 
To  his  great  master;  who,  thereat  enraged. 
Flew  on  him.  and  amongst  them  fell'd  liim  dead: 
But  not  without  that  harmful  stroke,  which  since 
Hath  pluck'd  him  after. 

Alb.  This  shows  you  arc  above, 

You  justicers,  that  these  our  nether  crimes 
So  speedily  can  venge ! — But,  O  poor  Gloster  ! 
Lost  he  his  other  eye  1 

Mess.  Both,  both,  my  lord. — 

This  letter,  madam,  craves  a  speedy  answer; 
'Tis  from  your  sister. 

Gon.  \^Aside.'\  One  way  I  like  this  well; 
But  being  widow,  and  my  Gloster  with  her, 
May  all  the  building  in  my  fancy  pluck 
Upon  my  hateful  lile  :  Another  way, 
The  news  is  not  so  tart. — I'll  read,  and  answer. 

{Exit. 

Alb.  Where  was  his  son,  when  they  did  take  his 
eyes  ] 

Mess.  Come  with  my  lady  hither. 

Alb.  He  is  not  here. 

Mess.  No,  my  good  lord;  I  met  him  back  again. 

Alb.  Knows  he  the  wickedness  ? 

Mess.  Ay.  my  good  lord;    'twas    he  inform'd 
against  liim; 
And  quit  the  house  on  purpose,  that  their  punish- 
ment 
Might  have  the  freer  course. 

Alb.  Gloster,  I  live 

To  thank  thee  for  the  love  thou  show'dst  the  king. 
And  to  revenge  thine  eyes. — Come  hither,  friend, 
Tell  me  what  more  thou  knowest.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  Ul.—Tke  French  Cump  near  Dover. 
Enter  Kent  and  a  Gentleman. 

Kent.  Why  the  king  of  France  is  so  suddenly 
goue  back,  know  yon  the  reason  1 

Gent.  Something  he  left  imperfect  in  the  state. 
Which  since  his  coining  forth  is  thought  of;  which 
Imports  to  the  kingdom  so  much  fear  and  danger. 
That  his  personal  return  was  most  requir'd. 
And  necessary. 

Kent.  Who  hath  he  left  behind  him  general? 

Gent.  The  Mareschal  of  France,  Monsieur  le  Fer. 

Kent.  Did  your  letters  pierce  the  queen  to  any 
demonstration  of  grief! 

Gent.  Ay,  sir;  she  took  them,  read  them  in  my 
presence ; 
And  now  and  then  an  ample  tear  triU'd  down 
Her  delicate  cheek;  it  seem'd,  she  was  a  queen 
Over  her  passion;  who,  most  rebel-like. 
Sought  to  be  king  o'er  her. 


Kent.  0,  then  it  raov'd  her. 

Gent.  Not  to  a  rage:  patience  and  sorrow  strove 
Wlio  should  express  her  goodliest.    You  have  seen 
Suusliine  and  rain  at  once:  her  smiles  and  tears 
Were  like  a  better  day:  Tliose"  happy  smiles, 
Tliat  plaj'd  on  her  ripe  lip,  seem'd  not  to  know 
What  guests  were  in  her  eyes;  which  parted  thence, 
Aspearls  from  diamonds 'dropp'd. — In  brief,  sorrow 
Would  be  a  rarity  most  belov'd,  if  all 
Could  so  become  it. 

Kent.  Made  she  no  verbal  question  !■• 

Gent.  'Faith,  once,  or  twice,  she  heav'd  the  name 
of  Father 
Pantingly  forth,  as  if  it  press'd  her  Jieart ; 
Cried,  Sisters!  sisters.' — Shame  rf  tadiesf  sisters! 
Kent!  father!  sisters!    What?  i'  ttie  storm?  V  t/ie 

niiilit? 
Let  pity  not  be  believed!^ — There  she  shook 
Tlie  holy  water  from  her  heavenly  eyes, 
And  clamor  nioistcu'd  ?  then  away  she  started 
To  deal  with  grief  alone. 

Kent.  It  is  the  .•^tars. 

The  stars  above  us,  govern  our  conditions  ;6 
Else  one  self  mate  and  mate  could  not  beget 
Such  dilli^rentissues.  You  spoke  not  with  hcrsincel 

Gent.  No. 

Kent.  Was  this  before  the  king  return'd ! 

Gent.  No,  since. 

Kent.  Well,  six;  the  poor  distress'd  Lear  is  i'  the 
town : 
Who  sometime,  in  his  better  tune,  remembers 
What  we  are  come  about,  and  by  no  means 
Will  yield  to  see  his  daughter. 

Geiil.  Why,  good  sir ' 

Kent.  A  sovereign  shame  so  elbows  him:  his 
own  unkindness. 
That  stripp'd  her  I'rom  his  benediction,  turn'd  her 
To  Ibroign  ca.^uolties,  gave  her  dear  rights 
To  his  dog-hearted  daughters, — these  things  sting 
His  mind  so  venomously,  that  burniiig  shame 
Detains  him  from  Cordelia. 

Gent.  Alack,  poor  gentlem.in ! 

Ke/it.  Of  Albany's  and  Cornwall's  powers  you 
heard  not  1 

Gent.  'Tis  so;  they  are  afoot. 

Kent.  Well,  sir,  I'll  bring  you  to  our  master  Lear, 
And  leave  jou  to  attend  him:  some  dear  cause, 
Will  in  concealment  wrap  rae  up  awhile  ; 
When  I  am  known  aright,  you  shall  not  grieve 
Lending  nu^  this  acquaintance.    I  pray  you.  go 
Along  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— rA«  .same.    A  Tent. 
Enter  Cordelia,  Physician,  and  Soldiers. 

Cnr.    .\lack,  'tis  he  ;  why,  he  was  met  even  now 
As  mad  as  the  vex'd  sea :  singing  aloud ; 
Crown'tl  witli  rank  fumiter.^  and  furrow  weeds. 
With  liarlocks.s  hemlock,  nettles,  cuckoo-ilow'ers, 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn. — A  century  send  forth; 
Search  every  acre  in  the  high-grown  field. 
And  bring  him  to  our  eye.        [Exit  an  Officer.] — 

What  can  man's  wisdom  do. 
In  the  restoring  his  bereaved  sense  ? 
He,  that  helps  him,  take  all  my  outwaid  worth. 

Phu.  There  is  means,  madam  : 
Our  loste.r-nurse  of  nature  is  repose. 
The  which  he  lacks ;  that  to  provoke  in  him, 
Are  many  simples  operative,  whose  power 
Will  close  the  eye  of  anguish. 

Car.  -AH  bless'd  secrets. 

All  you  unpublish'd  virtues  of  the  earth. 
Spring  with  my  tears!  be  aidant,  and  remediate. 
In  the  good  man's  distress! — Seek,  seek  for  him; 
Lest  his  ungovern'd  rage  dissolve  the  hfe 
That  wants  the  means  to  lead  it. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Madam,  news; 

The  British  powers  are  marching  hitherward. 

Cor.  'Tis  known  betbre:  our  preparation  stands 
In  exiiectatioii  of  them. — O  dear  liither. 
It  is  (by  business  that  I  go  about; 
Thereliire  great  France 

My  mourning,  and  important^  tears,  hath  pitied. 
No  blown'  ambition  doth  our  arms  incite, 

•  Piscriurse,  conversation. 

•  I.  e.  bet  not  pity  bo  supposed  to  exist. 

«  Di?popitions.  '  Fumitory.  ■  Clmrloc'rcs. 

•  Importunate.  »  Inflated,  swelling. 


694 


KING  LEAK. 


Act  IV. 


;  stay  with  us; 


But  love,  dear  love,  and  our  aged  father's  risht  : 
Soon  may  I  hear,  and  see  him.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— A  Room  in  Gloster's  Ciui/le. 
Enter  Regan  and  Stew^ard. 
Re^.  But  are  my  brother's  powers  set  forth  7 
f,'f '•  Ay,  madam. 

,  ^''=-       ..        ,  Himself 

In  person  there  i 

S/eiu.  Madam,  with  much  ado  : 

Vour  sister  is  the  better  soldier. 
Reg.  Lord  Edmund  spake  not  with  your  lord  at 

home  ! 
Stew.  No,  madam. 

Reg.  What  miRht  import  my  sister's  letter  to  him  ' 
Wftt'.  I  know  not.  huly. 

Reg.  'Faith,  he  is  ])osted  hence  on  serious  matter. 
It  was  Kreat  ignorance,  Gloster's  eyes  being  out, 
To  let  him  live ;  where  he  arrives.'he  moves 
All  hearts  against  us:  E<l]uund,  I  think,  is  gone, 
la  pity  of  his  misery,  to  dispatch 
His  nightcd  life;  moreover,  to  descry 
The  strength  o'  the  enemy. 
Htcw.  I  must  needs  after  him,  madam,  %rith  mv 
letter.  ^ 

Reg.  Our  troops  set  forth  to-morrow 
The  ways  are  dangerous. 

Stew.  I  may  not,  madam: 

Mj-  lady  charged  my  duty  in  this  business. 
Meg.  Why  should  she  write  to  Edmund?  Might 
not  you 
Transport  her  purposes  by  word  ?    Belike, 
Something— I    know    not    what:— I'll    love    thee 

much. 
Let  me  unseal  the  letter, 
■^'f"'-  Madam,  I  had  rather— 

iif,£r.lkTiow,  your  lady  does  not  love  her  husband: 
I  am  sure  of  that:  and,  at  her  late  being  here, 
She  gavestrange  ffiiliads.-and  most  speaking  looks 
To  noble  Edmund  :  I  know  you  are  of  her  bosom. 
Stew.  I,  madam  ? 

Reg.l    speak    in   understanding;    you    are,    I 
know  it: 
Therefore,  I  do  advise  you,  take  this  note ;' 
My  lord  is  dead  ;  Edmund  and  I  have  talk'd ; 
And  more  convenient  is  he  lor  my  hand, 
Than  lor  your  lady's:— You  may  gather  more. 
It  you  do  lind  him,  pray  you,  give  him  this: 
And  when  your  mistress  hears  thus  much  from  you, 
I  pray,  desire  her  call  her  wisdom  to  her. 
So,  fare  you  well. 

If  yon  do  chance  to  hear  of  that  blind  traitor 
Preferment  falls  on  him  that  cuts  him  oil;      ' 
Stew.  'Would  I  could  meet  him,  madam  ;  I  would 
show 
What  party  I  do  follow. 
^^tK.  Fare  thee  well.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  Yl.—Tfie  Country  near  Dover. 
Enter  Gi.oSTEH,  and  Edoar  ilre.ssed  tike  a  Peasant. 
Glu.  When  shall  we  come  to  the  top  of  that  same 


look,  how  we 

n. 

Horrible  steep; 

No,  truly. 


hill? 
Edg.  You  do  climb  up  it  now 

labor. 
GIti.  Methinks,  the  ground  is  even, 

Hark",  do  you  hear  the  sea  ? 

Gtu.  _     ^. 

Edg.  Why,then  your  other  senses  grow  imperfect 
Ey  your  eyes  anguish. 

/'/"•  So  may  it  be,  indeed  : 

Jlefhinks,  thy  voice  is  alter 'd  ;  and  thou  spcak'st 
In  heller  phrase,  and  matter,  than  thou  didst. 
E<lg.  You  are  much  deeeiv'd;  in  nothing  am  I 
eiianged. 
But  in  my  garments. 

Glo.  Methinks,  you  are  better  spoken. 

Edg.  Come  on,  sir;    here's    the  place  .-—stand 
still.— How  fearful 
And  dizzy  'tis  to  cast  one's  eyes  so  low  ! 
'I  lie  crows,  and  choughs,  that  wing  the  midway  air, 
Miow  scarce  so  gross  as  beetles:  Halfway  down 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  samphire;'  dreadful  trade' 
Moihinks,  he  seems  no  bigger  than  his  head  : 
The  lishermen,  that  walk  upon  the  beach. 
Appear  like  mice;  and  you"  tall  anchoring  bark, 
5  A  cast,  or  significant  glance  of  the  eye. 
"  Oi'serve  what  I  am  saving. 
*  A  vegetable  gathered  fur  pickling. 


Diminish'd  to  her  cock;'  her  cock,  a  buoy 
Almost    too    small    for  sight:    The   murmuring 
surge,  " 

That  on  the  unnumber'd  idle  pebbles  chafes, 
Cannot  be  heard  so  high  :— I'll  look  no  more  : 
Lest  my  brain  turn,  and  the  dehcieut  sight 
Topple'i  down  headlong. 

^J-"-  Set  me  where  you  stand. 

Edg.  Give  me  your  hand:  You  are  now  within 
a  foot 
Of  the  extreme  verge:  for  all  beneath  the  moon 
Would  I  not  leap  upright. 
,,  ^'^'-^  .      .  Let  go  my  hand. 

Here,  friend,  is  another  purse;  in  it  a  jewel 
Well  worth  a  poorman's  taking:  Fairies,  and  gods, 
Prosper  it  with  thee!    Go  thou  further  oil'; 
Bid  me  farewell,  and  let  me  hear  thee  going. 

Edg.  Now  fare  you  well,  good  sir. 

„,  [Seems  to  go, 

GLo.  With  all  my  heart. 

Edg.  Why  I  do  trifle  thus  with  his  despair. 
Is  done  to  cure  it. 

tF^"'      1^,..         0  you  mighty  gods! 

I  his  world  I  do  renounce  ;  and.  in  your  sights, ' 
Shake  patiently  my  great  affliction  oil': 

II  1  could  bear  it  longer,  and  not  fall 
To  quarrel  with  your  great  opposeless  wills. 
My  snuir,  and  loathed  part  of  nature,  should 
Burn  Itself  out.    If  Edgar  live,  O,  bless  him  1— 
Now  fellow,  fare  thee  well. 

[He  leaps,  and  falls  along. 
,^''S-  Gone,  sir?  farewell.— 

And  yet  I  know  not  how  conceit  may  rob 
The  treasury  of  life,  when  life  itself 
Yields  to  the  theft:  Had  he  been  where  he  thought. 
By  this,  had  thought  been  past.— Alive,  or  dead? 
Ho,  you  sir  !  fi-iend  !— Hear  you  !  sir?— speak. 
Thus  might  he  pass  indeed  :'— Yet  he  revives  : 
What  are  you,  sir  ? 
Gl".  Away,  and  let  me  die. 

Edg.  Hadst   thou    been    aught    but    gossamer, 
feathers,  air. 
So  many  fathom  down  precipitating. 
Thou  hadst  shiver'd  like  an  egg:  but  thou  dost 

breathe; 
Hast  heavy  substance;  blced'st  not;  speak'st;  art 

sound. 
Ten  masts  at  each  make  not  the  allitude, 
Which  thou  hast  perpendicularly  fell; 
Thy  life's  a  miracle  :  Speak  vet  again. 
GJo.  But  have  I  fallen,  or  no  ? 
hdg.  From    the    dread  summit  of  this  chalky 
bourn ; 
Look  np  a-height ;— the  shrill-gorgeds  lark  so  far 
Cannot  be  seen  or  heard  :  do  but  lookup. 

Glu.  Alack,  I  have  no  eyes. — 
Is  wretchedness  deprived  that  benefit. 
To  end  itself  by  death  ?     'Twas  yet  some  comfort 
When  misery  could  beguile  the  tyrant's  rage. 
And  frustrate  his  proud  will. 

Edg.  Give  mc  your  arm : 

L  p :— so ;— How  is't  ?     Feel  you  your  legs  ?     You 
stand. 
Glo.  Too  well,  too  well. 

Edg.  This  is  above  all  strangeness. 

Upon  the  crown  o'  the  clift',  what  thing  was  that 
\Vhich  jiarted  from  you  ? 
f''"-  A  poor  unfortunate  beggar. 

Edg.  As  I  stood  here  below,  methought,  his  eyes 
Were  two  full  moons;  he  had  a  thousand  noses. 
Horns  whellc'd,"  and  waved  like  the  enridged  sea  • 
It  was  some  liend:    Therefore,  thou  happy  lather. 
Think   that  the  clcaresti   gods,  who  make  them 

honors 
Of  men's  impossibilities,  have  preserved  thee. 

Gin.  I  do  remember  now:  henceforth  I'll  bear 
Affliction,  till  it  do  cry  out  itself 
Enougit,  enough,  and  die.  That  thing  you  speak  of, 
I  took  it  for  a  man  ;  often  'twould  say. 
The  fiend,  the  fend:  he  led  me  to  that  place. 
Edg.  Bear  free  and  i>atient  thoughts.— But  who 
conies  here  ? 

Enter   Lear,  fanta.it ically  dressed  up   with 
Flowers. 
The  .safer  sense  will  ne'er  accommodate 
His  master  thus. 


•  Her  cuck-bnat. 

1  TIm.s  mif^ht  be  die  in  reality. 

»  Twisted,  convolved. 


•  Tumble. 

•  Shrillthroiited. 

•  The  purest. 


Scene  VI. 


KING  LEAR. 


695 


Lear.  No, they  cannot  touch  mc  for  coining; 
I  am  the  king  himself. 
Edg.  O  thou  side-piercing  sight ! 
Lear.  Nature'saboveart  in thatrespcct.— There  s 
your  press-money.  Tiiat  fellowhandles  his  bow  hke 
a  crow-keeper:  draw  me  a  clotJiier's  yard.-— Look, 
look,  a  mouse!  Peace,  peace  ; — this  piece  of  toasted 
cheese  will  do"t,— There's  my  gauntlet;  I'll  prove 
it  on  a  giant.— Bring  up  the  brown  biils.^— O,  well 
flown,  bird!— i'  the  clout,  i' the  ciout:^  hewgh  !— 
G]ve  the  word.'' 
£ilg.  Sweet  marjoram. 
Lear.  Pass. 

67/1.  I  know  that  voice. 

Lear.  Ha!  Goneril ! — with  a  white  beard  ! — They 
flatter'd  me  like  a  dog;  and  told  me,  1  had  wlnle 
hairs  in  my  beard,  ere  the  black  ones  were  there. 
To  say  ay.  and  nrj,  to  every  thing  I  said  ! — Ay  and 
no  too' was  no  good  divinity.  When  the  rain  came 
to  wet  me  once, and  the  wind  to  make  me  chatter; 
when  the  thunder  would  not  peace  at  my  bidding; 
there  1  found  them,  there  I  smelt  them  out.  Go  to, 
they  are  not  men  o'  their  words :  they  told  mc  I  was 
everything;  'tis  a  lie  ;  I  am  not  ague-proof. 

Gin.  The  trick^ot  that  voice  1  do  well  remember: 
Is't  not  the  king] 

Lear.  Ay,  every  inch  a  king: 

When  I  do  stare,  sec,  how  the  subject  quakes. 
I  pardon  that  man's  life;  what  was  thy  cause? — 
AduUerii. — 

Thou  sHalt  not  die:  Die  for  adultery  !  No: 
The  wren  goes  to't,  and  the  small  gilded  Hy 
Docs  lecher  in  my  sight. 

Let  copulation  thrive,  for  Gloster's  bastard  son 
Was  kinder  to  his  father,  than  my  daughters 
Got  'tween  the  lawful  sheets, 
To't,  luxury,  pell-mell,  for  1  lack  soldiers. — 
Behold  yon'  simpering  dame. 
Whose  face  between  her  forks  presageth  snow  ; 
That  mincclh  virtue,  and  does  shake  the  head 
To  hear  of  pleasure's  name  ; 
The  fitchew,  nor  the  soiled  horse,  goes  to't 
With  a  more  riotous  appetite. 
Down  t>om  the  waist  they  are  centaurs, 
Though  women  all  above  ; 
But  to  the  girdle  do  the  gods  inherit. 
Beneath  is  all  the  fiend's;  there's  hell,  there's  dark- 
ness. 
There  is  the  sulphurous  pit,  burning,  scalding, 
stench,  consumption;— Kie,  fie,  He!    pah;    pah! 
Give  mc  an  ounce  of  civet,  good  apothecary,  to 
sweeten  my  imagination  :  there's  money  for  thee. 
G!o.  0.  le't  me  kiss  that  hand! 
Lear.  Let  me  wipe  it  first;  it  smells  of  mortality. 
Glo.  0  ruin'd  piece  of  nature!    This  great  world 
Shall  so  wear  out  to  naught.— Dost  thou  know  me'! 
Lear.  I  remember  thine  eyes  well  enough.   Dost 
thou  sqniny'at  ine?  No,  do  thy  worst,  blind  Cupid; 
I'll  rot  love.— Read  thou  this  challenge;  mark  but 
the  penning  of  it. 

Gio.  Were  all  the  letters  suns,  I  could  not  see  one. 
Edg.  I  would  not  take  this  from  report;— it  is. 
And  my  heart  breaks  at  it. 
Lear.  Read. 

Glo.  What,  with  the  case  of  eyes'! 
Lear.  O,  ho,  are  you  therewith  me!    No  eyes 
in  your  head,  nor  no  money  in  your  purse !    Your 
eyes  are  in  a  heavy  case,  your  purse  in  a  light : 
Yet  you  see  liow  this  world  goes. 
Cln.  I  see  it  feelingly. 

Lear.  What.artmad!  A  man  maysee  howthis 
world  goes,  with  no  eyes.  Look  with  thine  ears; 
see  how  yon' justice  rails  upon  yon'  simple  thief. 
Hark,  in  thine  ear:  change  places;  and,  handy- 
dandy,  which  is  the  justice,  which  is  the  thief! — 
Thou  hast  seen  a  farmer's  dog  bark  at  a  beggar  ! 
Gin.  Ay,  sir, 

Lear.  And  the  creature  run  from  the  cur'!  There 
thou  might'st  behold  the  great  image  of  authority  : 
a  dog's  obey'd  in  office. 
Thou  rascal  beadle,  hold  thy  bloody  hand  : 
Why  dost  thou  lash  that  whore  1    Strip  thine  own 

back  ; 
Thou  hotly  lust'st  to  use  her  in  that  kind 
For  which  thou  whipp'st  her.    The  usurer  hangs 
the  cozener, 

»  An  arrow  of  a  cloth-yartl  lonjr.  '  Battle-axes. 

*  The  white  mark  for  archers  to  aim  at. 

'  The  watch-word.    «  Likeness,  manner.     '  Look  asquint. 


Through  taller'd  clothes  small  vices  do  appear  ; 
Robes,  and  furr'd  gowns,  hide  all.    Plate  sin  with 

gold. 
And  the  strong  lance  of  justice  hurtless  break-s. 
Arm  it  in  r.igs,  a  pigmy's  straw  doth  pjerce  it. 
None  does  ofiend,  none,  1  say,  none  ;  I'll  able  'em  : 
Take  that  of  me,  my  friend,  who  have  the  power 
To  seal  the  accuser's  lips.    Get  thee  glass  eyes  ; 
And,  like  a  scurvy  politician,  seem 
To  see  the  things  thou  dost  not, — Now,  now,  now, 

now : 
Pull  ofFinv  boots:— harder,  harder;  so, 

Edg.  0,  matter  and  impertincucy  mix'd! 
Reason  in  madness! 
Lear.  If  thou  wilt  weep  my  fortunes,  take  my 

eyes, 
I  know  thee  well  enough;  thy  name  is  Gloster, 
Thou  must  be  patient;  we  came  crying  hither. 
Thou  know'st  the  first  time  that  we  smell  the  air. 
We  vvawl.and  cry.— I  will  preach  to  thee;    mark 

me. 
Gh.  Alack,  alack  the  day  ! 
Lear.  When  we  are  born,  we  cry,  that  we  arc 

come 

To  this  great  stage  of  fools ; This  a  good  block  i^ 

It  were  a  delicate  stratagem,  to  shoe 
A  troop  of  horse  with  ie\X:  I'll  put  it  in  proof; 
And  when  I  have  stolen  upon  these  sons-in-lavi-, 
Then  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill,  kill. 

Enter  a  Gentleman,  witk  Attendants, 

Cent.  0,  here  he  is ;  lay  hand  upon  him,— Sir, 

Your  most  dear  daughter 

Lear.  No  rescue!  What, a  prisoner'!  I  am  even 
The  natural  fool  of  Ifirtune.— Use  nie  well ; 
You  shall  have  ransom.    Let  me  have  a  surgeon, 
I  am  cut  to  the  brains. 
Gent.  You  shall  have  any  tiling. 

Z^ear.  No  seconds  !     All  myself ! 
Why,  this  would  make  a  man.  a  man  of  salt,9 
To  iise  his  eyes  fur  garden  water-jiots, 
Ay.  and  for  laying  autumn's  dust. 
Gent.  Good  sir. — 

I^ar.  I   will   die    bravely,   like  a   bridegroom  : 
What ! 
I  will  be  jovial :  come,  come  ;  I  am  a  king. 
My  masters,  know  you  that! 

Gent.  You  are  a  roval  one,  and  we  obey  you. 
Lear.  Then  there's "lile  in  it.    Nay, an  you  get  it, 
you  shall  get  it  bv  running.    Sa,  sa,  sa,  sa, 

[E'xit,  running;  Attendants JoWotji. 

Gent.  A  sight  most  pitiful  in  the  meanest  wretch; 

Past    speaking  of  in  a    king!  — Thou    hast    one 

daughter. 
Who  redeems  nature  from  the  general  curse 
Which  twain  have  brought  her  to. 
Edg.  Hail,  gentle  sir. 

Gent.  Sir,  speed  you  :  'What  s  your  will  ! 

Edg.  Do  you  hearaught,  sir,  of  a  battle  toward? 
Cent.  Most  sure,  and  vulgar;  every  one  hears 
that. 
Which  can  distinguish  sound. 

Edg.  But  by  your  favor, 

How  near's  the  other  army  ? 

Gent.  Near,  and  on  speedy  foot;  the  main  descry 
Stands  on  the  hourly  thousht,' 
Edg.  I  thank  you,  sir :  that  s  all. 

Ge7:t.  Though  that  the  queen  on  special  cause  is 
here. 
Her  army  is  mov'd  on, 
Edg.  1  thank  you,  sir.    [Exit  Gent. 

Glo.  You  ever-gentle  gods,  take  my  breath  ftom 
me; 
Let  not  my  worscr  spirit^  tempt  me  again 
To  die  before  you  please  ! 
Eilg.  Well  pray  you,  father. 

Glo.  Now,  good  sir,  what  are  you  ? 
Edg.  A  most  poor  man,  made  tame  by  fortune's 
blows; 
Who,  by  the  art  of  known  and  feeling  sorrows. 
Am  pregnant  to  good  pity.    Give  me  your  hand, 
I'll  lead  jou  Ui  some  biding. 

Gin.  Hearty  thanks: 

The  bounty  and  the  benizon'  of  heaven 
To  boot,  and  boot!** 


•  }ljnck^r\cient\y  signified  the  head  part  of  a  hat. 

»  i.e.  A  man  of  tears. 

be  descried  every 

•  Keward,  recompense. 


»  I.e.  A  man  of  tears. 

*  The  main  body  is  expected  to  be  descried  every  hour 

«  Evil  genius.      a  Blessing.       *  Keward,  recompense. 


696 


KING  LEAE. 


Act  IV.  Scene  VII. 


Enter  Steward. 

f^leiv.  A  proclainiM  prize!  Most  happy! 

Tiiat  eyeless  head  of  tliiiie  was  tirst  framed  tlcsh 
To  raise  my  fortunes. — Tliou  old  uiiliappy  traitor, 
Bricrty  thyself  remember  : — The  sword  is  out 
That  must  destroy  thee. 

Olo.  Now  let  thy  friendly  hand 

Put  strength  enough  to  it.  [Eduar  opposes. 

tflew.  Wherefore,  bold  peasant, 

Dar'st  thou  support  a  puhlish'd  traitor?  Hence; 
Lest  tliat  the  injection  of  his  fortune  take 
Like  liokl  on  thee.    Let  go  liis  arm. 

E'li;.  Ch'ill  notletgo,  zir,  withoutvurther  'casion. 

><tcic.  Let  go,  slave,  or  thou  diest. 

E'Ig.  Good'  gentleman,  go  your  gait,^  and  let 
poor  volk  pass.  And  cli'ud  ha'  been  swaggerVI  out 
of  my  lile,  'twould  not  ha'  been  so  long  as  'tis  by  a 
vorlnight.  Nay,  come  not  near  the  old  man  ;  keep 
out.  clie  vor'  ye,  or  ise  try  wjiether  your  costard** 
01  my  bat'  be  the  harder ;  'Ch'ill  be  plain  with  you. 

i^lew.  Out,  dunghill ! 

K'Ig.  Ch'ill  pick  your  teeth,  zir:  Come;  no  mat- 
ter vor  your  foins.^* 

[The II fight ;  and  Epgar  knocks  fiim  rioicn. 

Steir.  Slave,  thou  hast  slain  me:— Villain,  take 
my  pnrse; 
If  cvei  thou  wilt  thrive,  bnry  my  body; 
And  give  the  letters,  which  "thou  find'st  about  me, 
To  Edmund  earl  of  Gloster:  seek  him  out 

Upon  the  Britisli  party  : 0,  untimely  death ! 

[Dies. 

Eilg.  I  know  thee  well :  a  serviceable  villani ; 
As  duteous  to  the  vices  of  your  mistress, 
As  badness  would  desire. 

Glo.  What,  is  he  dead  ! 

Erig.  Sit  you  dovra,  father;  rest  you. — 
Let's  see  his  pockets :  these  letters,  that  he  speaks  of, 
May  be  my  tiicnds. — He's  dead  :  I  am  only  sorry 
lie  had  no  other  death's  man. — Let  us  see: 
Leave,  gentle  wax;  and,  manners,  blame  us  not: 
To  knowourcnemics'minds,  we'd  rip  their  hearts; 
Tiieir  pajiers,  is  more  lawful. 

[Reads.]  Let  our  reciprocal  vows  be  rememheretl. 
Yuu  have  many  opportunities  to  cut  hint  off:  if 
your  tril!  want  not,  time  ami  place  will  befruit- 
fullij  offered.  There  is  nidhiiif;  done,  if  he  return 
the  cioiijacror:  Then  am  I  the  /irisuiier.and  his  bed 
my  gaol ;  fnnn  the  kiathed  warmth  whereof  deliver 
me,  and  supply  the  place  for  i/our  labor. 

Your  wife,  [so  I  would  .^ai/,)  anil  your 
affectionate  servant, 

GoNERIL. 
O  iindistinguish'd  space  of  w'oman's  will ! — 
A  i>lot  upon  her  virtuous  husband's  life ; 
And  the  exchange,  my   brother!  — Here,  in   the 

sands, 
Thee  I'll  rake  up,'  the  post  unsanctified 
Of  murderous  lechers;  and,  in  the  mature  time, 
Willi  this  ungracious  paper  strike  the  sight 
Of  llie  death-practis'd  duke:  For  him  'tis  well, 
Tiiat  of  thy  death  and  business  lean  tell. 

[Exit  Elic:ar.  dragf^iag  out  the  Body. 

Glo.  The  king  is  mad :  How  stilfis  my  vile  sense, 
That  I  stand  up,  and  have  ingenious  feeling 
Of  my  huge  sorrows!  Better  I  were  distract: 
So  should  my  thoughts  be  sever'd  from  my  griefs; 
AjhI  woes,  by  wrong  imagination,  lose 
The  knowleuge  of  themselves. 

Re-enter  Edoar. 
Edg.  Give  me  your  hand  : 

Far  oli;  methinks,  I  hear  the  beaten  drum, 
tome,  father,  I'll  bestow  you  with  a  friend. 

[Exeimt. 

SCENE  y\l.—A  Tent  in  the  French  Camp. 
Lear  on  a  Bed,  asleep;  Physician, Gentleman, a7i(f 

others  attending.    Enter  CinaiEUA  and  Kent. 

Cor.  0  thou  good  Kent,  how  shall  I  live,  and 
work. 
To  match  thy  goodness  7  My  life  will  be  too  short, 
And  every  measure  fail  me. 

Kent.  To  be  acknowledg'd,  madam,  is  o'erpaid. 
All  my  reports  go  with  the  modest  truth ; 
Nor  more,  nor  clipp'd,  but  so. 

Cor.  Be  better  suited :' 

t  fio  your  w.iy.         «  Ilenil.         i  rinb.  b  Thrusts. 

»  ril  pnver  tbfo  (the  dend  sfewarilj  in  the  s;md3. 

*  Ureset'U. 


These  weeds  are  memories  of  those  worser  hours  ; 
I  pr'ythee,  put  them  off. 

Eent.  Pardon  me,  dear  madam ; 

Yet  to  be  k-nown,  shortens  my  made  intent : 
My  boon  I  make  it,  that  you  know  me  not, 
Till  time  and  I  think  meet. 
Cor.  Then  he  it  so,  my  good  lord.— How  does 
tlie  king  1  [To  the  Phy.sician. 

Phys.  Madam,  sleeps  still. 
Cor.  O  you  kind  gods. 
Cure  this  great  breach  of  his  abused  nature! 
Th'  untuned  and  jarring  senses,  0,  wind  up. 
Of  this  child-changed  father ! 

Phys.  So  please  your  majesty, 
That  we  may  wake  the  king  !  he  halli  slept  long. 
Cor.  Be  goverii'd  by  your  knowledge,  and  proceed 
I'  the  sway  of  your  own  will.    Is  he  array'd  ! 

Gent.  Ay,  madam:  in  the  heaviness  of  his  sleep, 
We  put  fresh  garments  on  him. 
Phys.  Be  by,  good  madam,  when  we  do  awake 
him ; 
I  doubt  not  of  his  temperance. 
Cor.  Very  well. 

P/fi/s.  Please  you,  draw  near.— Louder  the  mu- 
sic there! 
Cor.  0  my  dear  father  !  Restoration,  hang 
Thy  medicine  on  my  lips;  and  let  this  kiss 
Repair  those  violent  harms,  that  my  two  sisters 
Have  in  thy  reverence  made  ! 

Eent.  Kind  and  dear  princess! 

Cor.  Had  you  not  been  their  father,  these  white 
hakes 
Had  challenged  pity  of  them.    Was  this  a  fece 
To  be  expos'd  against  the  warring  winds? 
To  stand  agiiinst  the  deep  dn-:i<l-bolted  thunder? 
In  the  most  terrible  and  nimble  stroke 
Of  quick,  cross  lightning  !  n.  watch  (poor  perdu  !-) 
Willi  this  thin  helm  P  Mine  enemy's  dog, 
Though  he  had  bit  me,  should  have  stood  that  night 
Against  my  lire;  And  wast  thou  fain,  poor  liither, 
To  hovel  thee  with  swine,  and  rogues  forlorn, 
In  short  and  musty  straw  ?     Alack,  alack ! 
'Tis  wonder,  that  thy  life  and  wits  at  once 
Had  not  concluded  all.— He  wakes;  speak  to  liim. 
Phys.  Madam,  do  you  ;  'lis  fittest. 
Cur.  How  does  my  royal  lord  ?    How  fares  your 

majesty  1 
Lear.  You  do  me  wrong,  to  take  me  out  o'  the 
grave: — 
Thou  art  a  soul  in  bliss;  but  I  am  bound 
Ujion  a  wheel  of  fire,  that  tuine  own  tears 
Do  scald  like  molten  lead. 
Cor.  Sir,  do  you  know  me  ? 

Lear.  You  are  a  spirit,  I  know:  When  did  you 

die? 
Cor.  Slill,  still,  far  wide! 

Phys.  He's  scarce  awake  ;  let  him  alone  awhile. 
Lear.  Where  have  I  been?— Whe-e  am  1?— Fair 
day-light?— 
I  am  mightily  abused.— I  should  even  die  with  pity, 
To  see  another  thus.- 1  know  not  what  to  say.— 
I  will  not  swear,  these  are  my  hands:— let's  see; 
I  feel  this  pin  prick.    'Would  I  were  assured 
Of  my  condition. 

Cor.  O,  look  upon  me,  sir, 
.\iid  hold  your  hands  in  benediction  o'er  me. — 
No.  sir,  you  must  not  kneel. 

f^ear.  Pray,  do  not  mock  me: 

I  am  a  very  foolish  fond  old  man, 
Fourscore,  and  upwards;  and,  to  deal  plainly, 
I  t(Mr,  I  am  not  in  my  perfect  mind. 
Methinks,  I  should  know  you, and  know  this  man; 
Yet  I  am  doubtful :  tor  I  am  mainly  ignorant 
What  place  this  is;  and  all  the  skill  I  have 
Remembers  not  these  garmenis ;  nor  I  know  not 
Where  I  did  lodge  last  night :  Do  not  laugh  at  mc. 
For,  as  I  am  a  man,  I  think  this  lady 
To  be  my  child  Cordelia, 
fw.  And  so  I  am,  I  am. 

Lear.  Be  your  tears  wet?     Yes,  faith.    I  pray, 
weep  not : 
If  you  have  poison  for  me,  I  will  drink  it. 
I  know,  you  do  not  love  me;  for  your  sisters 
Have,  as  1  do  remember,  done  me  wrong: 
You  have  some  cause,  they  have  not. 
^'f^r.  No  cause,  no  cause. 

Lear.  Am  I  in  France  ? 

»  The  .illusion  is  to  the  forlorn  hn|>e  in  on  army,  nilled 
in  Fri'Dch,  eii/ims ptrdus.  i  Ttiin  covering  of  hair 


Act  V.  Scene  HI. 


KING  LEAR. 


697 


Kent.  In  your  own  kingdom,  sii. 

Lear.  Do  not  abuse  me. 

Fhus.  Be  comforted,  good  madam :  the  great 
rage, 
You  see.  is  cured  in  liim ;  and  yet  it  is  danger 
To  make  him  even^  oVr  the  time  lie  has  lost. 
Desire  him  to  go  in;  trouble  him  no  more, 
Till  further  settling. 

Cnr.  WiU't  please  your  highness  walk  7 

Lear.  You  must  bear  with  me: 

Piay  now,  forget  and  forgive :  I  am  old  and  foolish. 
[Ej:eunt  Lear,  Cordelia,  Physician, 
and  Attendants. 

Gent.  Holds  it  true,  sir, 
That  the  djtke  of  Cornwall  was  so  slain  1 


Kent.  Most  certain,  sir. 

Uent.  Who  is  conductor  of  his  people  ^ 

Kent.  As  'tis  said 

The  bastard  son  of  Gloster. 

Gent.  They  say,  Edgar, 

His  liaiiish'd  son,  is  with  the  earl  of  Kent 
In  Germany. 

Kent.  Report  is  changeable. 

'Tis  time  to  look  about ;  the  powers  o'  the  kingdom 
Approach  apace. 

Ge7if.  The  arbitrement'  is  like  to  be  a  bloody. 
Fare  you  well,  sir.  [Kxit. 

Kent.  My  point  and  period  will  be  thoroughly 
wrought, 
Or  well,  or  ill,  as  this  day's  battle's  fought.    [Exit. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  l.~The  Camp  of  the  British  Forces,  near 

Dover. 

Etiter,  tvi/h  Drums  and  Colors,  Er):^irND,  Regan, 

OfficerSj  Soldiers,  a7id  others. 

Edm.  Know  of  the  duke,  if  his  last  purpose  hold, 
Or,  wlicther  since  he  is  advis'd  by  au;;ht 
To  change  the  course:  He's  full  oi  alteration, 
And  seli-approving:  —  Brinj;    his  constant  plea- 
sure .^ 

[  To  an  Officer,  lohx)  goes  out. 

Reg.  Our  sister**s  man  is  certainly  miscarried. 

Edm.  ""Tis  to  he  doubted,  madam. 

Reg.  Now, 'sweet  lord, 

You  know  the  goodness  I  intend  upon  you: 
Tell  me, — but  truly, — but  then  speak  the  truth, 
Do  you  not  love  my  sister  1 

Edm.  In  honorM  love. 

Reg.  But  Iiave  you  never  found  my  brother'sway 
To  the  foreiended''  place? 

Edm.  That  thoufjht  abuses"  you. 

Reg.  I  am  doubtful  that  you  liave  been  conjunct 
And  bosoni'd  with  her,  as  liir  as  we  call  hers. 

Edm.  No,  by  mine  iionor,  madam. 

Reg.  I  never  shall  endure  her  ;  Dear  my  lord, 
Be  not  familiar  with  her. 

Edm.                                 Fear  me  not: — 
She,  and  the  duke  her  husband, 

Enter  Albany,  Goxeuil,  ajid.  Soldiers, 

GoJi.  I  had  rather  lose  the  battle,  than  that  sister 
Should  loosen  him  and  me.  [Aside. 

Alb.  Our  very  loving  sister,  well  be  met. — 
Sir,  this  I  hear. — The  king  is  come  to  his  daughter, 
With  others,  whom  the  rigor  of  our  state 
Forced  to  cry  out.    Where  I  could  not  be  honest, 
I  never  yet  was  valiant:  for  tliis  business, 
It  touches  us  as  France  invades  our  land. 
Not  holds^  tlie  king;  with  others,  whom,  I  fear. 
Most  just  and  heavy  causes  make  oppose.^ 

Edm.  Sir,  you  speak  nobly. 

Reg.  Why  is  this  reason'd  1 

Gun.  Combine  together  'gainst  the  enemy  : 
For  these  domestic  and  particular  broils 
Are  not  to  question  here. 

Alb.  Let  us  then  determine 

VVilh  the  ancient  of  war  on  our  proceedings, 

Edm.  I  shall  attend  you  presently  at  your  tent. 

Reg.  Sister,  you'll  go  witn  us? 

Gnn.  No. 

Reg.  "'TIS  most  convenient ;  pray  you,  go  witli  us. 

Gun.  0,ho,I  know  the  riddle:  [A.'iid^.]  I  will  go. 

As  Ihcy  are  going  out,  enter  Edgar,  disguised. 
Eilg.  If  e'er  your  grace  had  speech  with  man 
so  poor. 
Hear  me  one  word. 
Alb.  V\l  overtake  you. — Speak. 

[Exeunt  Edmund,  Regan,  Goneril,  Officers, 
Soldiers,  a7id  Attendants. 
Edg.  Before  you  fight  the  battle,  ope  this  letter. 
If  you  have  victory,  let  the  trumpet  sound 
For  him  that  brought  it :  wretched  though  I  seem, 

*  To  reconrile  it  to  hii^  apprehension. 

s  His  settled  resolution,  •  Forbidden. 

'  Imposes  ou  you.  •  i.  e.  Emboldens  him, 

•  Opposition 


I  can  produce  a  champion,  that  will  prove 
What  is  avouched  there:  If  you  miscarry, 
Your  business  of  the  world  hath  so  an  eiid. 
And  machination  ceases.    Fortune  love  you! 

Alb.  Stay  till  1  have  read  the  letter. 

Edg.  I  was  forbid  it. 

When  time  shall  serve,  let  but  the  lierald  cry. 
And  ril  appear  again.  \^Exif. 

Alb.  Why,  tare  thee  well;   I  will  o'erlooK  tiiy 
paper. 

Re-enter  Edsil'nd, 

Edm.The  enemy's  in  view,  draw  up  your  powers. 
Here  is  the  guess  of  their  true  strength  and  forces 
By  diligent  discovery  ; — but  3'our  haste 
Is  now  urged  on  you. 

Alb.  We  will  greet  the  time.2  [Exit. 

Edm.  To  both  these  sisters  have  I  sworn  my  love; 
Each  jealous  of  the  other,  as  the  stung 
Are  of  the  adder.    Which  of  them  sliall  I  takel 
Both?  one?  or  neither?  neither  can  be  enjoy'd. 
It  both  remain  alive  :  To  take  the  widow, 
Exasperates,  makes  mad  her  sister  Goneril ; 
And  hardly  shall  I  carry  out  my  side,3 
Her  husband  being  alive.    Now  then  weMl  use 
His  countenance  lor  the  battle;  which  being  done, 
Let  her,  who  would  be  rid  of  him,  devise 
His  speedy  taking  oil".    As  lor  the  mercy 
Which  he  nitends  to  Lear,  and  to  Cordelia, — 
The  battle  done,  and  tliey  within  our  power. 
Shall  never  see  nis  pardon  :  lor  my  slate 
Stands  on  me  to  dclend,  not  to  debate.  [Exit. 

SCENE   II.— vl  Field  between  the  two  Camps. 
Alarum  within.    Enter,  ivilh  Drums  and  CulorSt 

Leak,  Cuudelia,  a)id  thfir  Forces;  and  exeunt. 
Enter  Edgar  and  Gloster. 

Edg.  Here,  father,  lake  the  shadow  of  this  free. 
For  your  good  iiost;  pray  that  the  right  may  thrive. 
If  ever  I  return  to  you  again, 
I'll  bring  you  comlbrt. 

Glo.  Grace  go  with  you,  sir. 

[Exit  Edgar. 
Alarums;  afterwards  a  Retreat.  Re-enter 'E.dgau. 

Edg.  Away,  old  man,  give  me  thy  hand,  away; 
King  Lear  hath  lost,  he  and  his  daughter  la'en: 
Give  me  thy  hand,  come  on. 

Gl^.  No  lurther,  sir;  a  man  may  rot  even  here. 

Edg.  What,  in  ill  thoughts  again?     Men  must 
endure 
Their  going  hence,  even  as  their  coming  hither; 
Ripeness  is  all :  Come  on. 

Glo.  And  that's  true,  too. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  III.— TAe  British  Camp  near  Dover. 

Enter,  in  Conquest,  tvith  DrumaJid  Co/ors,  Edmund  ; 
Lear  and  Cordelia,  as  Rrisoiiers;  Officers,  Sol- 
diers, ^-c. 
Emd.  Someofficers  take  them  away:  good  guard; 

Until  their  greater  pleasures  first  be  known 

That  are  to  censure^  them. 

*  Decision.  *  Be  ready  to  meet  the  occasion. 

>  i.e.  Make  my  part  good,        *  Pass  judgment  on  them. 


€98 


KING  LEAK. 


Act  V. 


Cor.  We  are  not  the  first, 

Wlio,  with  best  meaning,  have  incurr'd  the  worst. 
For  thee,  oppressed  kin}^;,  am  I  cast  down; 
Myself  could  else  out-frown  false  fortune's  frown.— 
Shall  we  not  see  these  daughters,  and  these  sisters? 

Lear.  No,  no,  no,  no!      Come,    let's    away  to 
prison : 
We  two  alone  will  sing  like  birds  i'  the  cage : 
When  thou  dost  ask  my  blessing,  I'll  kneel  down, 
And  ask  of  thee  forf^iveness:  So  we'll  live. 
And  pray,  and  sing,  and  tell  old  tales,  and  laugh 
At  gildrd  butterflies,  and  hear  poor  rogues 
Talii  of  court  news;  and  we'll  talk  with  them  too — 
Who  loses,  and  who  wins;  who's  in,  who's  out; — 
And  take  upon  us  the  mystery  of  things, 
As  if  wp  were  God's  spies:  And  we'll  wear  out, 
In  a  wall'd  prison,  packs  and  sects  of  great  ones, 
Thiit  ebb  and  flow  by  the  moon. 

Edni,  Take  them  away. 

Lear.  Upon  such  sacrifices,  my  Cordelia, 
The  gods    themselves    throw  incense.     Have    I 

caught  thee  1 
He  that  parts  us,  shall  bring  a  brand  from  heaven, 
And  fire  us  hence, like  foxes.    Wipe  thine  eyes; 
The  goujeers^  shall  devour  them,  flesh  and  fell.s 
Ere  they  shall  make  us  weep :    we'll  sec  them 

starve  first. 
Come.         [Exeunt  Leah  and  Cordelia,  guarded. 

E'hit.  Come  hither,  captain;  hark. 
Take  thou  this  note;  [Giving  a  Paper.]  go,  follow 

them  to  prison: 
One  step  I  have  advanced  thee  ;  if  thou  dost 
As  this  instructs  thee,  thou  dost  make  thy  way 
To  noble  Ibrtunes:  Know  thou  this, — that  men 
Are  as  the  time  is:  to  be  tender-minded 
Does  not  become  a  sword  :— Thy  great  employment 
Will  not  bear  question  ;  either  say,  thou'lt  do't, 
Or  thrive  by  other  means. 

Oif.  I'll  do't,  my  lord. 

Ed/n.  About  it;  and  write  happy,  when  thou 
hast  done. 
Mark. — I  say,  instantly  ;  and  carry  it  so, 
As  I  have  set  it  down. 

Otf-  I  cannot  draw  a  cart,  nor  eat  dried  oats ; 
If  it  be  man's  work,  I  will  do  it.  [Exit  Officer. 

Flourish.    Enter  Albany,  Goneril,  Regan,  Offi- 
cers, and  Attendants, 

Alb.  Sir,  you  have  shown  to-day  your  valiant 
strain. 
And  fortune  led  you  well:  You  have  the  captives, 
Who  were  the  opposites  of  this  day's  strife: 
We  do  require  them  of  you ;  so  to  use  them. 
As  we  shall  find  their  merits  and  our  safety 
May  equally  determine. 

Edni.  Sir,  I  thought  it  fit 

To  send  the  old  and  miserable  king 
To  some  retention,  and  appointed  guard  ; 
Whose  age  has  charms  in  it,  whose  title  more, 
To  pluck  the  common  bosom  on  his  side, 
And  turn  our  impress'd  lances  in  our  eyes 
Wiiich  do  command  them.    With  him  I  sent  the 

'queen; 
My  reason  all  the  some  ;  and  they  are  ready 
To-morrow,  or  at  further  space,  to  appear 
Where  you  shall  hold  your  session.    At  this  time. 
We  sweat,  and  bleed:    the  friend    hath  lost  his 

friend, 
And  the  best  quarrels,  in  the  heat,  are  curs'd 
By  those  that  feel  their  sharpness: — 
The  question  of  Cordelia,  and  her  father, 
Requires  a  fitter  place. 

Alb.  Sir,  by  your  patience, 

I  hold  you  but  a  subject  of  this  war. 
Not  as  a  brother. 

Rfg.  That's  as  we  list  to  grace  him, 

Mclliinks.our  pleasure  might  have  been  demanded, 
Kre  you  had  spoke  so  far.    He  led  our  powers; 
Bore  the  commission  of  my  place  and  person; 
The  wliicii  mimediacy'  may  well  stand  up. 
And  rail  itself  your  brother. 

(inn.  Not  so  hot: 

In  ins  OUT!  grace  he  doth  exalt  himself. 
Mure  than  in  your  advancement. 

lieg.  In  my  rights, 

By  me  invested,  he  compeers  the  best. 

Gon.  That  were  the  most,  if  he  should  husband 
you. 

B  The  French  disoaso.  6  Skin. 

'  Authority  to  act  on  his  own  judgment. 


Jteg.  Jesters  do  oft  prove  prophets. 

Gon.  Holloa,  holloa! 

That  eye,  that  told  you  so,  look'd  but  a-squint.^ 

Reg.  Lady,  I  am  not  well;  else  I  should  answer 
From  a  full-flowing  stomach. — General. 
Take  Ihou  thy  soldiers,  prisoners,  patrimony; 
Dispose  of  them,  of  me;  the  walls  are  thine  : 
Witness  the  world,  that  I  create  thee  here 
My  lord  and  master. 

Gini.  Mean  you  to  enjoy  him  ? 

Alf).  The  let-alone  lies  not  in  your  good  will. 

Edm,  Nor  in  thine,  lord. 

Alb.  Half-blooded  fellow,  yes. 

Reg,  Let  the  drum  strike,  and  prove  my  title 
thine.  [To  Ejmund. 

Alb.  Stay  yet;  hear  reason: — Edmund,  I  arrest 
thee 
On  capital  treason;  and,  in  thy  arrest, 
This  gilded  serpent:  [Pom/i/i^ /o  GoN.]— for  your 

claim,  fair  sister, 
I  bar  it  in  the  interest  of  my  wife ; 
'Tis  she  is  sub-contracted  to  this  lord. 
And  I,  her  husband,  contradict  your  banns. 
If  you  will  marry,  make  your  love  to  me, 
My  lady  is  bespoke. 

Gon.  An  interlude! 

Alb.  Thou  art  arm'd,  Gloster:— Let  the  trumpet 
sound : 
If  none  appear  to  prove  upon  thy  person. 
Thy  heinous,  manifest,  and  many  treasons, 
There  is  my  pledge:    [Throwing  down  a  Glove.] 

I'll  prove  it  on  tliy  heart. 
Ere  I  laste  bread,  thou  art  in  nothing  loss 
Than  I  have  here  proclaim'd  thee. 

Reg.  ^  Sick,  O,  sick! 

Gon.  If  not,  I'll  ne'er  trust  poison.  [Aside. 

Edm.  There's  my  exchange:  [Throwing  down 
a  Glove.]  what  in  the  world  he  is 
That  names  me  traitor,  villain-like  he  lies  : 
Call  by  thy  trumpet:  be  that  dares  approach, 
On  him,  on  you,  (who  not])  I  will  maintain 
My  truth  and  honor  firmly. 

Alb.  A  herald,  ho! 

Edm.  A  herald,  ho,  a  herald  ! 

Alb.  Trust  to  thy  single  virtuejS  for  thy  soldiers, 
All  levied  in  my  name,  have  in  my  name 
Took  their  discharge. 

Reg.  This  sickness  grows  upon  me. 

Enter  a  Herald. 

Alb.  She  is  not  well;  convey  her  to  my  tent. 

[Exit  Regan,  led* 
Come  hither,  herald, — Let  the  trumpet  sound,— 
And  read  out  this. 

OJf.  Sound  trumpet.  [A  Trumpet  sounds. 

Herald  reads. 

If  any  man  of  qualify,  or  degree,  tvithin  the 
lls}s  of  the  army,  will  maintain  -upon  Edmund, 
supposed  Earl  if  Gloster,  ih/it  he  w  a  manifold 
traitor,  let  him  appear  at  the  third  sound  of  the 
tnnnpet :  He  is  bold  in  his  defence. 

Edm.  Sound. 

Her.  Again. 

Jler.  Again. 


[l  Truriipef, 

[2  Trvmprt, 


[3  Trumpet. 
[Trumpet  anstvers  icithin. 

Enter  Edgar,  armed,  preceded  by  a  Trumpet. 

Alb.  Ask  him  his  purposes,  why  he  appears 
Upon  this  call  o*  the  trumpet. 

Her.  What  are  you  ? 

Vour  name,  your  quality?  and  why  you  answer 
This  present  summons? 

Edg.  Know,  my  name  is  lost 

By  treason's  tooth  bare-gnawn,  and  canker-bit: 
Yet  am  1  noble,  as  the  adversary 
I  come  to  cope  withal. 

Alb.  Which  is  that  adversary? 

Edg.  Whafs  he,  that  speaks  tor  Edmund  earl  of 
Gloster! 

Edm.  Himself; — What  say'st  thou  to  him? 

Kdg.  Draw  thy  sword! 

Tliat,  if  my  speech  oflcnd  a  noble  heart, 
Thy  arm  may  do  thee  justice:  here  is  mine, 
lloliold,  it  is  the  privilege  of  mine  honors, 
My  oath,  and  my  profession  :  I  protest, — 
Maugre'  thy  strength,  youth,  place,  and  eminence, 

8  AlluJinp  to  the  proverb:  "Ix)to  being  jealous  makes 
good  eye  look  as'iuint.^* 

»  i.e.  Valor.  *  Notwithstanding. 


Scene  III. 


KING  LEAR. 


699 


Despite  thy  viclor  sword,  and  fire-new  fortune, 
Thy  valor,  and  thy  heart, — thou  art  a  traitor : 
False  to  thy  gods,  tliy  brother,  and  thy  father; 
Conspirant  'gainst  this  high  illustrious  prince; 
And,  from  the  exlreinest  upward  of  thy  head, 
To  the  descent  and  dust  beneath  thy  feet, 
A  most  toad-spotted  traitor.    Say  thou,  No, 
This  sword,  this  arm,  and  my   best  spirits,  are 

bent 
To  prove  upon  thy  heart,  whereto  I  speaif, 
Tiiou  Iicst. 

E'h/i.  In  wisdom,  I  should  ask  thy  name ; 

But,  since  thy  outside  looks  so  fair  and  warlike. 
And    that    thy    tongue    some   'say^    of  breeding 

breathes. 
What  safe  and  nicely  I  mishtwell  delay 
By  rule  of  knighthood,  I  di>-dain  and  spurn : 
Back  do  I  toss  these  treasons  lo  thy  head ; 
With  the  hell-hated  lie  o'erwliclm  thy  heart; 
Which.(turthey  yet  glance  by,and  scarcely  bruise,) 
This  sword  of  mine  shall  give  them  instant  way. 
Where  they  shall  rest  forever. — Trumpets,  speak. 
[Alarums.    Theij fight.    EDMUNDy«//s. 

Alb.  0  save  him,  save  him  ! 

Gon.  Tliis  is  mere  practice,^  Gloster: 

By  the  lawof  arms,  thou  wast  not  bound  to  answer 
An  unknown  opposite;  thou  art  not  vanquish'd, 
But  cozen 'd  ajid  beguilM. 

Alf->.  Shut  your  mouth,  dame, 

Or  with  this  paper  shall  I  stop  it: — Hold,  sir: 
Thou  v/orse  than  any  name,  read  thine  own  evil; — 
No  tearing,  lady :  I  perceive  you  know  it. 

[(lives  ifip.  Letter  to  Edmund. 

Gon.  Saj',  if  I  do;  the  laws  are  mine,  not  thine: 
Who  shall  arraign  me  Ibr't] 

All),  Most  monstrous! 

Know''st  thou  this  paper] 

Gun.  Ask  me  not  what  I  know. 

[Exit  GONERIL. 

Alb.  Go  after  her:  she's  desperate;  govern  her. 
[To  an  Olhcer,  tvko  ^oes  out. 

Edni.   What  you  have  charged  me  with,  that 
have  I  done; 
And  more, much  more:  the  time  will  bring  it  out; 
'Tis  past,  and  so  am  1 :  But  what  art  thou, 
That  liast  this  fortune  on  me"?  If  thou  art  noble, 
I  do  forgive  thee. 

Edg.  Let's  exchange  charity. 

I  am  no  less  in  blood  than  thou  art,  Edmund; 
If  more,  the  more  thou  hast  wrong'd  me. 
My  name  is  Edgar,  and  thy  latJier's  son. 
The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vices 
Make  instruments  to  scourge  us: 
TJie  dark  and  vicious  place  where  thee  he  got, 
Cost  him  his  eyes. 

Edm.  Thou  hast  spoken  right,  *tis  true ; 

The  wheel  lias  come  full  circle;  I  am  here. 

Alb.  Methought,  thy  very  gait  did  prophesy 
A  royal  nobleness: — I  must  embrace  thee; 
Let  sorrow  split  my  heart,  if  ever  1 
Did  hate  thee,  or  thy  lather! 

Edg.  Worthy  prince, 

I  know  it  well. 

Alb.  Where  have  you  hid  yourself? 

How  have  you  known  the  miseries  of  your  father? 

Edg.  By  nursing  them,  my  lord. — List^  a  brief 
tale;— 
And,  when  'tistold,0,that  my  heart  would  burst! — 
The  bloody  proclamation  to  escape, 
That  Ibilow'd  me  so  near.(0,our  lives* sweetness! 
Thnt  with  the  pain  of  death  we'd  hourly  die, 
Kather  than  die  at  once!)  taught  me  to  shill 
Into  a  mad-man's  rags  ;  to  assume  a  semblance 
That  very  dogs  disdain'd  ;  and  in  this  habit 
Met  I  my  father  with  liis  bleeding  rings, 
Tlieir  precious  stones  new  lost ;  became  his  guide. 
Led  hmi,  begi^M  for  him,  sav'd  him  from  despair; 
Never  (0  lault!)  revealM  myself  unto  him, 
Until  some  half  hour  past,  when  I  was  arm'd, 
Not  sure,  though  hoping,  of  this  good  success, 
I  ask'd  his  blessing,  and  from  first  to  last 
Told  him  my  pilgrimage:  but  his  tlaw'd  heart, 
(Alack,  too  weak  the  conflict  to  support !) 
Twixt  two  extremes  of  passion,  joy  and  grief, 
Burst  smilingly, 

Edr/i.  This  speech  of  yours  hath  mov'd  me, 

And  shall,  perchance,  do  good:  but  speak  you  on; 
you  look  as  you  had  something  more  to  say. 


Sample. 


'  Stratagem. 


«  Hear. 


Alb.  If  there  be  more,  move  woeful,  hold,  it  in, 
For  I  am  almost  ready  to  dissolve, 
Hearing  of  this. 

Edg.  This  would  have  secm'd  a  period 

To  such  as  love  not  sorrow;  but  another, 
To  amplify  too  much,  would  make  much  more, 
And  top  extremity. 

Whilst  I  was  big  m  clamor,  came  there  a  man. 
Who  having  seen  me  in  my  worst  estate, 
Shunn'd  my  abhorr'd  society ;  but  then,  finding 
Who  'twas  that  so  endured,  with  his  strong  arms 
He  fasten'd  on  my  neck,  and  bellow'd  out 
As  he'd  burst  heaven  ;  threw  him  on  my  father; 
Told  the  most  piteous  tale  of  Lear  and  him, 
That  ever  ear  receiv'd  :  which  in  recounting. 
His  grief  grew  puissant,  and  the  strings  of  life 
Began  to  crack  :  Twice  then  the  trumpet  sounded, 
And  there  I  lert  him  tranced. 

Alb.  But  who  was  this? 

Edg.  Kent,  sir,  the  banish'd  Kent ;  who  in  dis- 
guise 
Follow'd  his  enemy  king,  and  did  him  service 
Improper  for  a  slave. 

Enter  a  Gentleman  hastily,  with  a  bloody  Knife* 

Gent.  Help!  help!  Ohelp! 

Edg.  What  kind  of  help? 

Alb.  Speak,  man. 

Edg.  What  means  that  bloody  kTiife? 

Gent.  'Tis  hot,  it  smokes ; 

It  came  even  from  the  heart  of— 

Alb.  Who,  man?  speak. 

Gent.  Your  lady,  sir,  your  lady :  and  her  sister 
By  her  is  poison'd  ;  she  confesses  it. 

Edm.  I  was  contracted  to  them  both;  all  three 
Now  marry  in  an  instant. 

Alb,   Produce    their    bodies,  be    they  alive   or 
deati ! — ■ 
This  judgment  of  the  heavens,  that  makes  us 

tremble. 
Touches  us  not  with  pity.  [Exit  Gentleman. 

Enter  Kent. 

Edg.  Here  comes  Kent,  sir. 

AlO.  0!  it  is  he. 
The  time  will  not  allow  the  compliment, 
Which  very  maimers  urges. 

Kent.  I  am  come 

To  bid  my  king  and  master  aye^  good-night; 
Is  he  not  here! 

Alb.  Great  thing  of  us  forgot! — 

Speak,  Edmund,  where 's  the  kingi  and  where's 

Cordelia  !— 
Seest  thou  this  object,  Kentl 

[The  Bodies  c^'Goneril  and  Regan  are 
brought  in. 

Kent.  Alack,  why  thus? 

Ednt,  Yet  Edmund  was  belov'd: 

The  one  the  other  poison'd  for  my  sake, 
And  alter  slew  herselt". 

Alb.  Even  so. — Cover  their  faces. 

Ediu.  1  pant  for  life: — Some  good  I  mean  to  do, 
Despite  ol  mine  own  nature.    Quickly  scikI, — 
Be  brief  in  it, — to  the  castle;  for  my  writ 
Is  on  the  life  of  Lear,  and  on  Cordelia: — 
Nay,  send  in  time. 

Alb,  Run,  run,  0,  run —     • 

Edg.  To  whom,  my  lord  ! — Who  has  the  oflice'? 
send 
Thy  token  of  reprieve. 

Edm.  Well  thought  on;  take  my  sword, 
Give  it  the  captain. 

Alb.  Haste  thee,  for  thy  life.  [Exit  Edgar. 

Edm.  He  hath  commission  from  thy  wiicand  me 
To  hang  Cordelia  in  the  prison,  and 
To  lay  the  blame  upon  her  own  despair, 
That  she  fordid"*  herselt. 

Alb.  The  gods  defend  her!     Bear  him  hence 
awhile,  [Edmund  is  borne  o^. 

Enter  Lear,  with  Cordelia  dead  in  his  Arms; 

Edgar,  Ollicer,  and  others. 
Lear.  Howl,  howl,  howl,  howl! — 0,  ye  arc  men 
of  stones : 
Had  I  your  tongues  and  eyes,  I'd  use  them  so 
That  heaven's  vault  should  crack : — 0,  she  is  gone 

for  ever  ! — 
I  know  when  one  is  dead,  and  when  one  lives; 
She's  dead  as  earth :— Lend  me  a  looking-glass  ; 


*  For  ever. 


6  Destroyed  hersel£ 


00 


KING  LEAR. 


Act  V.  Scene  IH 


If  ihat  her  breath  will  mist  or  stain  the  stone, 
Why,  then  she  lives. 

Kent.  Is  this  the  promis'd  end? 

Edg.  Or  image  of  that  horror? 

■Alb.  Fall,  and  cease. 

Lear.  This  feather  stirs;  she  lives!  if  it  be  so, 
it  is  a  chance  that  does  redeem  all  sorrows 
That  ever  I  Jiave  felt. 

Kent.  O  my  good  master !  [A'neeHng-. 

Leur.  Pr  ythee,  away. 

£ilg.  "ris  noble  Kent,  your  friend. 

Lear.  A  plague  upon  you,  murderers,  traitors,  all! 
I  might  have  saved  her;  now  she's  gone  forever! — 
Cordelia,  Cordelia,  stay  a  little.    Ha! 
What  is't  thou  say'st?— Her  voice  was  ever  soft, 
Gentle,  and  low ;  an  excellent  thing  in  woman  : — 
I  kiil'd  the  slave  that  was  a-hanging  thee. 

Off.  'Tis  true,  my  lords,  he  did. 

Lear.  Did  I  not,  fellow  7 

I  have  seen  the  day,  with  my  good  biting  faulchion 
I  would  have  made  them  sliip:  I  am  old  now, 
And  these  same  crosses  spoil  me. — Who  are  you? 
Mine   eyes  are  none  o'  the   best: — I'll    tcU   you 
straight. 

Kent.  If  fortune  brag  of  two  she  lov'd  and  hated. 
One  of  them  we  behold. 

Lrar.  This  is  a  dull  sight:  Are  you  not  Kent? 

Kent.  Tlie  same  ; 

Your  servant  Kent:  Where  is  your  servant  Caius? 

Lear.  He's  a  good  lellow,  I  can  tell  you  that; 
He'll   strike,  and    quickly   too: — He's   dead   and 
rotten. 

Kent.  No,  my  good  lord  :  I  am  the  very  man  ;— 

Lear.  I'll  see  that  straight. 

Kent.  That,  from  your  first  of  difference  and 
decay. 
Have  foUow'd  your  sad  steps. 

Lear.  You  are  welcome  hither. 

Kent.  Nor  no  man  else  ; 
All's  cheerless,  dark,  and  deadly.^ 
Your  eldest  daughters  have  foredoom'd  themselves. 
And  desperately  are  dead. 

Lear.  Ay,  so  I  think. 

Alb.  He  knows  not  what  he  says  ;  and  vain  it  is 
That  we  present  us  to  hiin. 

E'lg.  Very  bootless.'' 

'  Useless. 


Enter  an  Officer. 

Off.  Edmund  is  dead,  my  lord. 

AUi.  That's  but  a  trifle  here.— 

You  lords  and  noble  friends,  know  our  intent: 
What  comfort  to  this  great  decay  may  come, 
Shall  be  applied  :  For  us,  we  will  resign. 
During  the  life  of  this  old  majesty, 
To  him  our  absolute  power: — You  to  yonr  rishts; 
[To  Edgaii  OnrfKENT. 
With  boot,  and  such  addition  as  your  honors 
Have  more  than  merited.— All  friends  shall  taste 
The  wages  of  their  virtue,  and  all  foes 
The  cup  of  their  deservings. — O,  see,  sec  ! 

Lear.  And  my  poor  tool  is  hang'd!    No,  no,  no 
life: 
Why  should  a  dog,  a  horse,  a  rat,  have  life. 
And  thou  no  breath  at  all?  0,  thou  wilt  come  no 

more. 
Never,  never,  never,  never,  never  ! — 
Pray  you,  undo  this  button:  Thank  you,  sir.— 
Do  you  see  this  ?  Look  on  her,— look,— her  lips,— 
Look  there,  look  there  ! —  [He  dies. 

Edg.  He  faints  !— My  lord,  my  lord.— 

Kent.  Break,  heart;  1  pr'ythee,  break  ! 

E'Ig.  Look  up,  my  lord. 

Kent.  Vex  not  his  ghost:  0,  let  him  pass!  he 
hates  him. 
That  would  upon  the  rack  of  this  tough  world 
Stretch  him  out  longer. 

Edg.  o,  he  is  gone,  indeed. 

Kent.   The   wonder   is,   he   hath    endured   so 
long: 
He  but  usurp  d  his  life. 

Alb.    Bear    them    from    hence.- Our    present 
business 
Is  general  woe.    Friends  of  my  soul,  you  twain 
„   ,    .  [To  Kent  anrf  Edgar. 

Rule  in  this  realm,  and  the  gor'd  state  sustain. 

Kent.  I  have  a  journey,  sir,  shortly  to  go  ; 
My  master  calls,  and  I  must  not  say,  no. 

Alb.   The   weight  of  this  sad    time   we  must 
obey; 
Speak  what  we  feel,  not  what  we  ought  to  say. 
The  oldest  hath  borne  most :  we,  that  are  young, 
Shall  never  see  so  much,  nor  live  so  long. 

[Exeunt,  with,  a  dead  march. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


EsCALCS.  rrir.ci  rf  Verona. 

pAi;i3.  a  'lOHttu  hoblernan,  Kin^mnn  to  the  Prince. 

]\Iij-V1Ai_;i'e,  j  Hewh  af  two  Houses  ut    variance 

Capllet,       J         wi^li  eocti  oltier. 

An  old  Man,  Uncle  to  C'apulct. 

Romeo,  Son  to  MoiitaKue. 

Meucvt!o,  Kinsman  to  trie  Prince,  and  Friend  to 

Romeo. 
Bexyomo,  Nepliew  to  Montague,  and  Friend  to 

Komeo. 
TVDALT.  Neptiew  to  Lady  Capulct. 
Fkiar  Laurence,  a  Franciscan. 
Friar  Johx,  of  t lie  same  Order. 
Balthazar,  Servant  to  Romeo. 

GREGORY,  I  ^^'"""^'''Capulet. 


Abram,  Servant  to  Montague. 

An  Apottieeury. 

Three  Musicians. 

Chorus. 

Buji,  Page  to  Paris. 

Petek,  an  Officer. 

Lady  Montague,  Wife  to  Montague. 
Lady  Capilet.  iVife  to  Capulet. 
Jl'liet,  Daughter  to  Capulet. 
Nurse  to  Juliet. 

Citizens  of  Verona ;  several  Men  and  fVomen,  rela- 
tions to  both  Houses ;  McLikers,  Guards,  lyatcti' 
men,  and  Attendants. 


SCENE,  during  the  greater  Part  cfthe  Play,  in  Verona ;  once,  in  the  fifth  Act,  at  JMantua. 


PEOLOGUE. 


Two  households,  both  alike  in  dignity, 

In  liair  Verona,  where  we  lay  our  scene, 
From  ancient  ":rad°;e  break  to  new  mutiny^ 

Whore  civil  blood  makes  civil  hands  unclean. 
From  forth  the  fatal  loins  of  these  two  foes 

A  pair  of  star-cros.^ed  lovers  take  their  life; 
Wlio-se  misadventur'd  piteous  overthrows 

Do,  with  their  dcatli,  bury  their  parents'  strife. 


The  fearful  passage  of  their  death-mark'd  love, 
And  the  continuance  of  their  parents'  rag;e, 

Which,  but  their  children's  end,  naught  could  re- 
move, 
Is  now  the  two-hours'  traflic  of  our  stage; 

Tlie  whicfi,  if  you  with  patient  ears  attend. 

Wiiat  here  sha"U  miss,  our  tuil  shall  strive  to  mend. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I.— 4  Public  Place. 

Enter  Sampson  and  Greoory,  armed  with  Swords 
and  Bucklers. 

Sam.  Gregory,  o'  my  word,  we'll  not  carry  coals.' 

Ore.  No,  for  then  we  should  be  colliers. 

Sam.  I  mean,  an  we  be  in  choler,  we'll  draw. 

Gre.  Ay,  while  you  live,  draw  your  neck  out  of 
the  collar. 

Sam.  I  strike  quickly,  being  moved. 

Gre.  But  thou  art  not  quickly  moved  to  strike. 

Sam.  A  dog  of  the  house  of  Montague  moves  me. 

Gre.  To  move,  is — to  stir;  and  to  be  valiant,  is — 
to  siand  to  it:  therefore,  if  thou  art  moved  thou 
runu'st  away. 

Sum.  A  dog  of  that  house  shall  move  me  to 
stand  :  I  will  take  the  wall  of  any  man  or  maid  of 
Montague's. 

Gre.  That  shows  (bee  a  weak  slave;  for  the 
weakest  goes  to  tJic  wall. 

Sam.  True;  and  therefore  women,  being  the 
weaker  vessels,  are  over  thrust  to  the  wall:— there- 
fore I  will  push  Montague's  men  from  the  wall, 
and  thrust  his  maids  to  the  wall. 

Gre.  The  quarrel  is  between  our  masters,  and 
us  their  men. 

Sam.  'Tis  all  one^  I  will  show  myself  a  tyrant: 
wdien  I  have  fought  with  the  men.  I  will  be'  cruel 
witii  the  maids;  I  will  cut  oil" tlioir  lieads. 
»  A  phrase  formerly  in  use,  to  siguif.  the  be;irmg  injuriLS. 


Gre.  The  heads  of  the  maids? 

Sam.  Ay,  the  heads  of  the  maids,  or  their  maiden- 
heads ;  take  it  in  what  sense  thou  wilt. 

Gre.  They  must  take  it  in  sense,  that  feel  it. 

Sam.  Me  they  shall  feel,  while  I  am  able  to 
stand:  and, 'tis  known,  I  am  a  pretty  piece  of  desh. 

Gre.  *Tis  well,  thou  art  not  llsh;  if  thou  hadst, 
thou  hadst  been  ]ioor  John.-  Draw  thy  tool;  here 
comes  two  of  the  house  of  the  Montagues. 

Enter  Abram  and  Balthazar. 

Sam.  My  naked  weapon  is  out;  quarrel,  I  v.'ill 
back  thee. 

Gre.  How?  turn  thy  back,  and  run? 

Sam.  Fear  me  not. 

Gre.  No,  marry :  I  fear  thee  ! 

Sam.  Let  us  take  the  law  of  our  sides;  let  them 
begin. 

Gre.  I  will  frovra  as  I  pass  by;  and  let  them 
take  it  as  they  list. 

Satn.  Nay.  as  they  dare.  I  will  bite  my  thumb  at 
them;  which  is  a  disgrace  to  them,  if  they  bear  iU 

Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir? 

Sam.  1  do  bite  my  thumb,  sir. 

Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir? 

Sara.  Is  the  law  on  our  side,  if  I  say — ay? 

Grf.  No. 

Sam.  No,  sir;  I  do  not  bite  my  thumb  at  you, 
sir:  but  1  bite  my  thumb,  sir. 

«  Poor  John  is  L-ike,  diied  and  salted. 

701 


702 


EOMEO   AND   JULIET. 


Act  I. 


Gre.  Do  you  quarrel,  sir] 

Ahr.  Quarrel,  sir  I  no,  sir. 

Sam.  \i  you  do,  sir,  I  am  for  you;  I  serve  as 
good  a  man  as  you. 

Abr.  ISo  belter. 

Sam.  Well,  sir. 

Enter  Benyolio,  at  a  distance. 

Gre.  Say — better;  here  comes  one  of  my  mas- 
ter's kinsmen. 

Sam.  Yes.  belter,  sir. 

Abr.  You  lie. 

Sam.  Draw,  if  you  be  men. — Gregory,  remem- 
ber thy  swashing  blow.  [Tkeyjight. 

£e».  Part,  ibols;  put  up  your  swords;  youlmow 
not  what  you  do.  [Beats  down  their  Swt/rds. 

Enter  Tybalt. 
T^b.  What,  art  ihou  drawn  among  these  heart- 
less hinds  ! 
Turn  thee,  Bcnvolio,  look  upon  thy  death. 

Bcii.  I  do  but  keep  the  peace:  put  up  thy  sword. 
Or  manage  it  to  part  ttiese  men  with  me. 
T(//j.  What,  drawn,  and  talk  of  peace]    I  hate 
the  word, 
As  I  liato  hell,  ail  Montagues,  and  thee; 
Have  at  tiiee,  coward.  [Tkeyjlght. 

Enter  several  Partizans  of  both  Houses,  tvh/)join 
the  Fraij;  then  enter  Citizens  with  Clubs. 
Cit.  Clubs,3  bills,  and  partizans !    strike !   beat 
them  down ! 
Do\^m  with  tiieCapulels!  down  with  the  Montagues! 

Enter  Capclet  in  tds  Gown,  and  Lady  Capi'let. 
Cap.  What  noise  is  this? — Give  me  my  long 

sword,  ho ! 
La.  Cap.  A  crutch,  a  crutch! — Why  call  you  for 

a  sword  ^ 
Cap.  My  sword,  I  say ! — Old  Montague  is  come. 
And  nourishes  his  blade  in  spite  of  me. 

Enter  Montacce  and  Lady  Mon'TAGUE. 
Mon.  Thou  villain,  Capulet, — Hold  me  not,  let 

me  go  I 
La.  Mon.  Thou  shalt  not  stir  one  foot  to  seek  a  foe. 

Enter  Prince,  icith  Attendants. 

Prin.  RebeHions  subjects,  enemies  to^eace, 
Profaners  of  this  neiL'hbor-stained  steel, — 
Will   th.^y  not  hear ! — what,  ho !  you  men,  you 

boasts, — 
That  quench  the  fire  of  your  pernicious  rage 
With  purple  fountains  issuing  from  your  veins, 
On  paui  of  torture,  from  those  bloody  hands 
Throw  your  mistemper'd^  weapons  to  the  ground. 
And  h.ear  the  sentence  of  your  moved  prince. — 
Three  civil  brawls,  bred  of  an  airy  word. 
By  thee,  old  Capulet  and  Montague, 
Have  thrice  disturbed  the  quiet  of  our  streets; 
And  made  Verona's  ancient  citizens 
Cast  by  their  grave  beseeming  ornaments. 
To  wield  old  pariizans,^  in  hands  as  old, 
CankoiM  with  peace,  to  part  your  cankerM  hate. 
If  ever  you  disturb  our  streets  again. 
Your  lives  shall  pny  the  Ibrfeit  of  the  peace. 
For  tills  time,  all  liie  rest  depart  away: 
You.  Capulet,  shall  go  along  with  me  ; 
And,  Montague,  come  you  this  afternoon, 
To  Know  our  furtlier  pleasure  in  this  case. 
To  old  Free-town,  our  common  judgment-place. 
Once  more,  on  pain  of  death,  all  men  depart. 

[Exeunt  Prince  and  Attendants j  Capulrt, 
Lady  Capulet,  Tybalt,  Citizens,  and 
Servants, 

A/m7.  Who  set  this  ancient  quarrel  new  abroach? — 
Speak,  nephew,  were  you  by,  when  it  began  ] 

Bfn.  Here  were  the  servants  of  your  ad\"ersary, 
And  yours,  close  fighting  ere  I  riicf  approach  : 
I  drew  to  part  them  ;  in  the  instant  came 
TIk'  fiery  Tybalt,  wi'h  his  sword  prepared  ; 
Which,  as  he  brealh'd  defiance  to  my  ears, 
He  swung  about  liis  head,  and  cut  the  winds. 
Who.  nothing  hurt  withal,  hiss'd  him  in  scorn: 
While  we  were  interchanging  thrust  and  blows. 
Came  more  and  more,  and  fought  on  part  and  part, 
Till  the  prince  came,  who  parted  cither  part. 

a  Clubs  was  the  u-'Unl  ex  (.■!;»  mat  ion  at  an  affray  in  the 
streets,  as  we  now  call  ^Valch  I 

«  Augry.  »  A  l\lni!  of  pike. 


La.  Mon.  0,  where  is  Romeo  1 — saw  you  him  to- 
day ] 
Right  glad  I  am.  he  was  not  at  this  fray. 

Beti.  Madam,  an  hour  before  the  worshippM  sun 
PeerM**  forth  tJie  golden  window  of  the  cast, 
A  troubled  muid  drave  me  to  walk  abroad; 
Where, — underneath  the  grove  of  sycamore. 
That  westward  rooteth  from  the  city's  side,^ 
So  early  walking  did  I  see  your  son: 
Towartls  him  I  made;  but  he  was  'ware  of  me, 
And  stole  into  the  covert  of  the  wood  : 
I.  measuring  his  aftections  by  my  own, — 
That  most  are  busied  wlien  they  are  most  alone, — 
Pursued  my  humor,  not  pursuing  his, 
And  gladly  shunn'd  who  gladly  tied  from  me. 

Mon.  Many  a  morning  hath  he  there  been  seen, 
With  tears  augmenting  the  fresh  morning's  dew, 
Adding  to  clouds  more  clouds  with  his  deep  sigiis: 
But  all  so  soon  as  the  all-cheering  sun 
Should  in  the  furthest  east  begin  to  draw 
The  shady  curtains  from  Aurora's  bed. 
Away  Jrom  li^ht  steals  home  my  heavy  son. 
And  private  in  liis  chamber  jx^ns  hnns^ell ; 
Sluits  up  his  windows,  locks  lair  dayliLdji  out, 
And  makes  himself  an  artiricial  niglit: 
Black  and  portentous  must  this  humor  prove. 
Unless  good  counsel  may  the  cause  remove. 

Ben.  My  noble  uncle,  do  you  know  the  cause"? 

Mon.  I  neither  know  it,  nor  can  leani  of  him. 

Ben.  Have  you  importuned  him  by  any  means] 

Mon.  Both  by  myself  and  many  other  friends: 
But  he,  his  own  allections'  counsellor. 
Is  lo  himself, — I  will  not  say,  how  true — 
But  to  himself  so  secret  and  so  close, 
So  far  from  sounding  and  discovery, 
As  is  the  bud  bit  with  an  envious  worm. 
Ere  he  can  spread  his  sweet  ieaTes  to  the  air, 
Or  dedicate  his  beauty  to  the  sun. 
Could  we  but  learn  from  whence  his  sorrows  grow, 
We  would  as  willingly  give  cure,  as  know. 
Enter  Romeo,  at  a  distance. 

Ben.  See,  where  he  comes:  So  please  you,  step 
aside; 
ril  know  his  grievance,  or  be  much  denied. 

Mo7i.  I  would,  thou  wert  so  happy  by  thy  stay, 
To  hear  true  shrill.— Come,  madam,  let's  away. 

[Exeunt  Montague  and  Lady. 

Ben.  Good-morrow,  cousin. 

]{i>m.  Is  the  day  so  young] 

Ben.  But  new  struck  nine. 

Rom.  Ah  me  !  sad  hours  seem  long. 

Was  that  my  father  that  went  lience  so  tiist ! 

Be?2.  It  was: — What  sadness  lengthens  Romeo's 
hours] 

Rom.  Not  having  that,  which  havmg,  makes 
them  short. 

Ben.  In  love] 

Rinn.  Out — 

Ben.  Of  love? 

Rom.Ont  of  her  favor,  where  I  am  in  love. 

Ben.  Alas,  that  love,  so  gentle  in  his  view. 
Should  be  so  tyrannous  and  rough  in  proot ! 

Rom.  Alas,  that  love,  whose  view  is  mulTled  still, 
Should,  without  eyes,  see  pathways  to  his  will ! 
Where  shall  we  dine]— 0  me!— What  fray  was 

here  ] 
Yet  tell  me  not,  for  I  have  heard  it  all. 
Here'smucli  todo  with  hate,  but  more  with  love: — 
Why  then,  0  brawling  love !  O  loving  hate ! 
0  any  thing,  of  nothing  first  create  ! 
O  heavy  lightness !  serious  vanity  ! 
Mis-shapen  chaos  of  well-seeming  forms! 
Feather  oflead,  bright  smoke,  cold  fire,  sick  health  ! 
Still  waking  sleep,  that  is  not  what  it  is! — 
This  love  feel  I,  that  feel  no  love  in  this. 
Dost  thou  not  laugh  ] 

Ben.  No,  coz,  I  rather  weep. 

R'>m.  Good  heart,  at  what] 

Ben.  At  thy  good  heart's  oppression. 

Rom.  Why,  such  is  love's  transgression. — 
Griefs  of  mine  own  lie  heavy  in  my  breast; 
Which  thou  wilt  propagate,  to  have  it  pvcst 
With   more  of  thine:   this  love,  that  thou   hast 

shown, 
Dotii  add  more  grief  lo  too  much  of  mine  own. 
Love  is  a  smoke  raisM  with  the  fume  of  sighs; 
Being  purged,  a  fire  sparkling  in  lovers'  eyes; 
Being  vcx'd,  a  sea  nourished  with  lovers'  tears* 
*  Appeared. 


Scene  II. 


ROMEO   AND  JULIET. 


703 


Beju  I  oimVl  so  ncar,when  I  siinposM  you  lovM. 
Rom.  A  rijcht  good  marksman '—And  she's  fair 


What  is  it  clfe]  a  madness  most  discreet, 
A  choking  gall,  and  a  preserving  sweet. 
Farev/eil,  my  coz.  [Going, 

Ben.  Soft,  I  will  go  along ; 

An  if  yoi^  leave  me  so,  you  do  me  wrong. 

Rnm,  Tut.  I  have  lost  myself;  I  am  not  here  ; 
This  is  not  Romeo,  he's  soine  other  where. 

Bfn.  Tell  me  in  sadness  wlio  she  is  you  love. 

Korn.  What,  shall  I  groan,  and  tell  thee] 

Ben.  Groan]  why  no; 

But  sadly  tell  me,  who. 

Rom.  Hid  a  sick  man  in  sadness  make  his  will : — 
Ah,  word  i!I-ur^^ed  to  one  that  is  so  ill  !— 
In  sadness,  cousin,  I  do  love  a  woman. 

Be,     -    '     '^  '       ' 

Rom. 

1  love, 

Ben,  A  ri^ht  fair  mark,  fair  coz.  is  soonest  hit. 

Rom.WeU.  in    that    hit,  you  miss:    she^ll    not 
he  hit 
With  Cupid''s  arrow,  she  hath  Dian's  wit ; 
And,  in  strong  proof  of  chastity  well  armM, 
From  love's  vveak  childish  bow'she  lives  unharmM. 
Siie  will  not  stay  the  siege  of  loving  terms, 
Nor  bide  the  encounter  of  assailing  eyes, 
Nor  ope  her  lap  to  saint-seducing  gold: 
O.  she  is  rich  in  beauty ;  only  poor. 
That,  when  she  dies,  with  beauty  dies  her  store. 

Ben.  Then  she  hath  sworn,  that  she  will  still  live 
chaste  ] 

Roiu.  She  hath,  and  in  that  sparing  makes  huge 
waste ; 
For  beauty,  starvM  with  her  severity, 
Cuts  beauty  off  from  all  posterity. 
She  is  too  fair,  too  wise;  wisely  too  fair, 
To  merit  bliss  by  making  me  despair: 
She  hath  forsworn  to  love;  and  in  that  vow, 
Do  I  live  dead,  that  live  to  tell  it  now. 

Ben.  Be  ruled  by  me.  forget  to  think  of  her. 

Rofii.  O.  teacli  me  how  I  should  forget  to  think. 

Ben.  By  giving  liberty  unto  thine  eyes; 
Examine'othcr  beauties. 

Rmn.  'Tis  the  way 

To  call  hers,  exquisite,  in  r^uestion  more : 
These  happy  masks,  that  kiss  fair  ladies'  brows, 
Being  black,  put  us  in  mind  they  hide  the  fair; 
He,  that  is  strucken  blind,  cannot  forget 
The  precious  treasure  of  his  eyesight  lost: 
Show  mc  a  mistress  that  is  passing  fair. 
What  doth  her  beauty  serve,  but  as  a  note 
Where  1  may  read,  who  passM  that  passing  fair"? 
Farewell ;  thou  canst  not  teach  me  to  forget. 

Ben.  VH  pay  that  doctrine,  or  else  die  in  dobt. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— .4  Street. 
Enter  Capulet,  Paius.  and  Ser\-ant. 

Cap.  And  Montague  is  bound  as  well  as  I, 
In  penalty  alike;  and  'tis  not  hard,  I  think. 
For  men  so  old  as  we  to  kceji  the  peace. 

Par.  Of  honorable  reckoning"  are  you  both  ; 
And  pity  'tis,  you  liv'd  at  odds  so  long. 
But  now.  my  lord,  what  say  you  to  my  suit  ? 

Cup.  But  saying  oVr  what  I  have  said  before: 
My  cliild  is  yet  a  stranger  in  the  world. 
She  hath  not  seen  the  change  of  fourteen  years; 
Let  two  more  summers  wither  in  their  pride, 
Ere  we  may  think  her  ripe  to  be  a  bride. 

Par.  Younger  than  she  are  happy  mothers  made. 

Cap.  And   loo  soon  marr'd  are  those  so  early 
made. 
The  earth  hath  swallow'd  all  my  hopes  but  she, 
She  is  the  hopeful  lady  of  my  earth  : 
But  woo  her.  gentle  Paris,  get  her  heart. 
My  will  to  her  consent  is  but  a  part ; 
An  she  agree,  within  her  scope  of  choice 
Lie.^  my  consent  and  fair  according;  voice. 
Tbis  night  I  hold  an  old  accustom'd  feast, 
W'horeio  I  have  invited  many  a  guest. 
Such  as  I  love ;  and  you,  among  the  store, 
One    more,   most   welcome,  makes   my  number 

more. 
At  my  poor  house,  look  to  behold  this  night 
Earth-treading  stars, that  make  dark  heaven  light: 
Such  comfort,  as  do  lusty  young  men  feel 
When  well-apparelPd  April  on  the  heel 
Of  limping  winter  treads,  even  such  delight 
Among  fresh  female  birds  shall  you  this  night 

»  Account,  estimation. 


Inherit^  at  my  bouse;  hear  all,  all  see, 
And  like  her  most,  Avhose  merit  most  shall  be  : 
Such,  amongst  view  of  many,  mine,  being  one. 
May  stand  in  number,  though  in  reckoning  none. 
Come,  go  with  me: — Go,  siiTah,  trudge  about 
Through  fair  Verona;  tlnd  those  persons  out, 
Whose"  names  are  written  there,  [Gives  a  Paper.] 

and  to  them  say, 
My  house  and  welcome  on  their  pleasure  stay. 

[EjceitJif  Capllet  and  Paris. 
Seri\  Find  them  out.  wliose  names  are  wTitten 
herel  It  is  written — that  the  shoemaker  should 
meddle  with  his  yard,  and  the  tailor  with  his  last, 
the  fisher  with  his  pencil,  and  the  painter  with  his 
nets;  but  I  am  sent  to  find  those  persons,  whose 
names  are  hrre  writ,  and  can  never  find  what 
names  the  writing  person  hath  here  WTit.  1  must 
to  the  learned  : — In  good  time. 

Enter  Besvolio  and  Romeo. 

Ben.  Tut,  man!   one  fire  bums  out  another's 
burning, 

One  pain  is  lessenM  by  another's  anguish; 
Turn  giddy,  and  be  holp  by  backward  turning. 

One    desperate  grief  cure  with  another's   lan- 
guish: 
Take  thou  some  new  infection  to  thy  e^e, 
And  the  rank  poison  of  the  old  will  die. 

Rom.  Your  plantain  leaf  is  excellent  for  that. 

Bc7i.  For  what,  1  yuay  thee  T 

Rom.  For  your  broken  shin. 

Ben.  Why,  Romeo,  art  thou  mad  ? 

Rom.  Not  mad,  but  bound  more  than  a  madman 
is: 
Shut  up  in  prison,  kept  without  my  food. 
WhippM    and    tormented,  and — Good-e'en,  good 
fellow. 

Serv.  God  t^i'  good-e'cn. — I  pray,  sir,  can   you 
read  ] 

Rnm.  Ay,  mine  own  fortune  in  my  misery. 

Serv.  Perhaps  you  have  learn'd  it  without  book: 
But  I  pray,  can  you  read  any  thing  you  see  .' 

R<im.  Ay,  if  I  know  the  letters,  and  the  lan- 
guage. 

Sert\  Ye  say  honestly:  Rest  you  merrj'! 

Rom.  Stay,  fellow;  I  can  rc-.ui.  [Reads. 

Sjg-nic/r  Martino,  and  his  wife  and  datigkters ; 
Count  1/ \nsv\me.  and  klf  hraufeous  slsitrs;  The 
twill  widow  of  \"\Xxw\\o\  Signior  Placentio. //////  Ats 
Invitij  nieces ;  Mereutio,a/;'/  Ma-  ^/ro/^er  Valentine; 
Mine  uncle  Capulet,  hif  iinfe  and  daughter.^ ;  My 
fair  niece  Ro^ahne  ;  Livia;  Si^Jiinr  Valentio.  and 
his  cousin  Tybalt;  Lucio,  and  the  tividy  Helena. 
A  fair  assembly;  [Gives  back  the  ^ote.]  Whither 
should  they  come  ? 

Serv.  Up. 

Rom.  Whither? 

Serv.  To  supper;  to  our  house, 

Rom.  Whose  house] 

Serv.  My  master's, 

Rom.  Indeed,  I  should  have  asked  5-ou  that  be- 
fore. 

SC7-V.  Now  I'll  tell  you  without  asking:  My 
master  is  the  great  rich'Capulet;  and  if  you  be  not 
of  the  house  of  Montagues,  I  pray,  come' and  crush 
a  cup  of  wine.^    Rest  you  merry.  [Exit. 

Ben.  At  this  same  ancient  feast  of  Capulet^s 
Sups  the  fair  Rosaline,  whom  thou  so  lov'st; 
With  all  the  admired  beauties  of  Verona. 
Go  tliithrr;  and,  with  unattainted  eye, 
Comprire  her  face  with  some  that  I  shall  show, 
And  I  win  mike  thee  think  thy  swan  a  crow. 

Rom.  When  the  devout  religion  of  mine  eye 
Maintains  such  falsehood,  then  turn  tears  to 
fires ! 
And  these,  who,  often  drown'd,  could  never  die,— 

Transparent  heretics,  be  burnt  for  liars! 
One  fairer  than  my  love!  the  all-seeing  sun 
NcVr  saw  her  match,  since  first  the  world  begun. 

Ben.  Tut!  you  saw  her  lair,  none  else  being  by, 
Herself  pnis'd'  with  herself  in  either  eye: 
But  in  tliose  crystal  scales,  let  there  be'weigii''d 
Your  lady's  love  against  some  other  maid 
That  1  will  show  you,  shining  at  this  feast. 
And  she  shall  scant-show  well,  that  now  shows  best. 

Rom.  I'll  go  along,  no  such  sight  to  be  shov/n, 
But  to  rejoice  in  splendor  of  mine  own.    [Exeunt, 

8  Toinbtnit.  in  thi-  hinirnuge  of  Sbakpnc^aro.  is  toposscss, 

9  We  still  say,  in  cant  lansuage,  cracJ:  a  hotik. 

*  ^Veigh^*d.  a  Scarcely,  hardly. 


704 


EOMEO  AND   JULIET. 


Act  I. 


SCENE  III.— yl  Room  in  Capulet's  House. 
Enter  Lady  Capdlet  and  Nurse. 
La.  Cap.  Nurse,  Where's  my  daughter?  call  her 

forth  to  me. 
Kiirse.  Now,  by  my  maidenhead,  at  twelve  year 
old,— 
I  bade  her  come.— What,  lamb  !  what,  lady-bird! 
God  forbid !— whore's  thi.s  girl?— what,  Juhet ! 
i"n/er  JuxiKT. 
Jul.  How  now,  who  calls'! 
Nurse.  Your  mother. 

Jul.  Madam,  I  am  here, 

What  is  your  will  ? 
La.  Cap.  This  is  the  matter:— Nurse,  give  leave 
avi'hile, 
We  must  talk  in  secret.— Nurse,  come  back  again ; 
1  have  rememberM  me,  thou  shall  hear  our  counsel. 
Thou  kTiow'st,  my  daughter's  of  a  pretty  age. 
Nur.ie.  'Faith,  1  can  tell  her  age  unto  an  hour. 
La.  Cap.  She's  not  fourteen. 
Nurse.  I'll  lay  fourteen  of  my  teeth, — 
And  yet.  to  my  teen'  be  i  t  spoken,  1  have  hut  four,— 
She  is  not  fourteen:  How  long  is  it  now 
To  Lammas-tide  ? 
La.  Cap.  A  fortnight  and  odd  days. 

Nurse.  Even  or  odd,  of  all  days  in  the  year, 
Come  Lammas-eve  at  night,  shall  she  be  i'onrteen. 
Susan  and  she, — God  rest  all  Christain  souls!— 
Were  of  an  age.— Well.  Susan  is  with  God; 
She  was  too  good  for  mo:  But  as  I  said. 
On  I.amraas-eve  at  night  shall  she  be  fourteen; 
That  shall  she,  marry ;  I  remember  it  well. 
'Tis  since  .the  earthquake  now  eleven  years; 
And  she  was  wean'd,— I  never  shall  forget  it,— 
Of  all  the  days  in  the  year,  upon  that  day : 
For  I  had  then  laid  wormwood  to  my  dug, 
Sitting  in  the  sun  under  the  dove-ho'use  wall, 
My  lord  and  you  were  then  at  Mantua : — 
Nay.  1  do  bear  a  brain:' — Hut,  as  I  said. 
When  it  did  taste  the  wormwood  on  the  nipple 
Of  my  dug.  and  felt  it  bitter,  pretty  fool ! 
To  see  it  tetchy,  and  fall  out  with  the  dug. 
Shake,  quoth  the  dove-house:  'twas  no  need,  I  trow, 
To  hit!  me  trudge. 

Anil  since  that  time  it  is  eleven  years: 
Foi;  then  she  could  stand  alone;  nay, by  the  rood,' 
She  could  have  run  and  waddled  all  about. 
For  even  the  day  before,  she  broke  her  brow: 
And  then  my  husband— God  be  with  his  soul ! 
'A  was  a  merry  man;— took  up  the  child: 
Yea^  quoth  he,  du.-it  t/iaufall.  upon  thy  face? 
Thau  unit  fall  buckwar/i.  when  thnu  hast  more  wit; 
If  ill  thou  not.  Jute?  and  by  my  holy  dam.s 
The  pretty  wretch  left  crying,  and  said — Ay: 
To  see  now,  how  a  jest  iihall  come  about ! 
I  warrant,  an  I  should  live  a  thousand  years, 
I  never  should  forget  it;  JFilt  thou  nut,  Jule? 

quoth  he: 
And,  pretty  fool,  it  stinted,"  and  said—.iy. 
La.  Cap.  Enough  of  this ;  I  pray  thee,  hold  thy 

peace. 
Nurse.  Yes,  madam;  Yet  I  cannot  choose  but 
laugh. 
To  think  it  should  leave  crying,  and  say — Ai/: 
And  yet  I  warrant,  it  had  upon  its  brow 
A  buhip  as  big  as  a  young  cockrel's  stone; 
A  parlous  knock;  and  it  cried  bitterly. 
Yea,  quoth  my  hus!iand.^«//'s;  upon  thy  face? 
Thiiu  wilt  fall  backward,  when  tlioii  comlft  to  age; 
Witt  Hum  not,  Jule  ?  it  stijited,  and  said — .Ay. 
Jul.  And  stint  thou  too.  1  pray  tliee.nurse".  say  I. 
Nurse.  Peace,  I  have  done.    God  mark  thee  to 
his  grace! 
Thou  wast  the  prettiest  babe  that  e'er  I  nurs'd : 
An  I  might  live  to  see  thee  married  once, 
I  have  my  wish. 

La.  Cap.  Marry,  that  marry  is  the  very  theme 
I  came  to  talk  of:— Tell  nie,  daughter  .riiliet. 
How  st:inds  your  dispoMiion  to  be  married? 
Jul.  It  is  an  honor  lh;it  I  dream  not  of. 
^Nurse.  An  honor  !  vrt're  not  I  thine  only  nurse, 
I  d  say.  thou  had'st  suck'd  wisdom  from  thy  teat, 
in.  Cap.  Well,  think  of  marriage  now;  younger 
than  you, 

B  To  my  sorrnir. 

*  i.  f.  I  have  a  porfi'rt  rcnK-mljrflnco  or  reooUection. 

•  Tho  cross.  «  Holy  dame,  t.  o.  the  blessed  Virgin. 
1  It  stopped  crying. 


Here,  in  Verona,  ladies  of  esteem. 

Are  made  already  mothers  :  by  my  count, 

I  was  your  mother  much  upon  these  years 

That  you  are  now  a  maid.    Thus  then,  m  brief:— 

The  valiant  Paris  seeks  you  for  his  love. 

Nurse.  A  man,  young  lady  !  lady,  such  a  man, 
As  all  the  world— Why,  he's  a  man  of  wax.8 

La.  Cap.  Verona's    summer    hath    not   such   a 
llower. 

Nurse.  Nay,  he's  a  flower,  in  faith,  a  very  flower. 

La.  Cap.  What    say    you  1    can    you    love    the 
gentleman  ? 
This  night  you  shall  behold  him  at  our  feast: 
Read  o'er  the  volume  of  young  Paris'  face. 
And  tind  delight  writ  there  with  beauty's  pen  ; 
Examine  every  married  lineament, 
.\nd  see  how  one  another  lends  content: 
And  what  obscured  in  this  tair  volume  lies. 
Find  written  in  the  margin  of  his  cycs.'J 
This  precious  book  of  love,  this  unbound  lover. 
To  beautify  him  only  lacks  a  cover  : 
The  fish  lives  in  the  sea;'  and  'tis  much  pride, 
For  fair  without  the  fair  within  to  hide: 
That  book  in  many's  eves  doth  share  the  glory. 
That  in  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  story ; 
So  shall  you  share  all  that  he  doth  possess. 
By  having  him,  making  yourselfno  less. 

Nurse.  No  less!   nay,  bigger;  women  grow  by 
men. 

La.  Cap.  Speak  briefly,  can  you  like  of  Paris' 
love  ? 

Jul.  I'll  look  to  like,  if  looking  liking  move: 
But  no  more  deep  will  I  endart  mine  eye, 
Than  your  consent  gives  strength  to  make  it  fly. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  Madam,  the  guests  are  come,  supper  served 
up,  you  called,  my  young  lady  asked  (or,  the  nurse 
cursed  in  the  pantry,  and  every  thing  in  extremity. 
I  must  hence  to  wait;  I  beseech  you,  follow 
straight. 
La.  Cap.  We   follow  thee.— Juliet,  the   county 

stays. 
Nurse.  Go,  girl,  seek  happy  nights  to   happy 
flays.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— .4  Street. 

Enter  Romeo,  Mkhcutio.  Benvolio,  tdthfive  or  sii 
■   Maskers,  Torchbcarers,  and  otiiers. 

Rom.  What,  shall  this  speech  be  spoke  foi  our 
excuse ! 
Or  shall  we  on  without  apology? 

Ben.  The  date  is  out  of  such  prolixity: 
We'll  have  no  Cupid  hoodwink'd  niih  a  scaif. 
Bearing  a  Tartar's  painted  bow  of  lath, 
Searing  the  ladies  like  a  crow-keeper;- 
Nor  no  wilhout-book  prologue,  tiiiutly  spoke 
After  the  prompter,  for  our  entrance  : 
Biitj  let  them  measure  us  by  what  they  will. 
We'll  measure  them  a  measure.a  and  ll,^  gone. 

Rom.  Give    me    a    torch,-!- 1    am    not  for  this 
ambling; 
Being  but  heavy,  I  will  bear  the  light. 

Mer.  Nay,  gentle  Romeo,  we  must  have  you 
dance. 

Rnm.  Not  I,  believe  me:  you  have  dancing  shoes 
Willi  nimble  soles  :  I  have  a  soul  of  lead. 
So  slakes  me  to  the  ground,  I  cannot  move. 

Mer.  Youarealover:  borrow  Cnpid's  wings, 
And  .soar  with  tlieni  above  a  common  bound. 

Rom.  I  am  too  sore  impierced  with  bis  shaft 
To  soar  with  his  light  feathers;  and  so  bound, 
I  cannot  bound  a  pitch  above  dull  woe : 
Under  love's  heavy  burden  do  I  sink. 

Ma:  And,  to  sink  in  it,  .should  you  burden  love; 
Too  great  oppression  for  a  tender' I  hi  ug. 

Rnm.  Is  love  a  tender  thing?  it  is  too  rough. 
Too  rude,  too  boist'rous;  and  it  pricks  like  thorn. 

Mer.  If  love  be  rough  with  you,  be  rougli  with 
love ; 

8  Well  made,  as  if  he  had  lieen  modelled  in  \yax. 

"  The  comments  on  ancient  books  were  alw.ays  printed 
in  the  margin. 

'  i.e.  Is  not  yet  caught,  whose  skin  was  wanted  to  bind 
bini. 

^  .\  .scju-e-crow,  a  figure  made  up  to  frighten  crows. 

s  A  dance. 

«  A  torch  hearer  was  a  constant  appendage  to  every 
troop  of  maskers. 


Scene  V. 


EOMEO    AND    JULIET. 


705 


Prick  love  for  pi  icking,  and  5'ou  heat  Jove  down. — 
Give  me  a  case  to  put  my  visage  in  ; 

[PtilUiig  on  a  Mask. 
A  visor  for  a  visor! — what  care  I, 
Wliat  curious  eye  doth  quoted  deformities  ? 
Here  are  the  beetle  brows,  shall  blush  for  me. 

Ben.  Come,  knock,  and  enter;  and  no  sooner  in, 
But  every  man  betake  lum  to  his  le'^s. 
Rom.  A   torch  lor   uie;    let  wantons,  light  of 
heart, 
Tickle  the  sen.';eless  rushes^  with  their  heels ; 
For  I  am  proverb'd  with  a  grandf^ire  i^hrase, — 
I'll  be  a  candle-holder,  and  look  on. — 
The  game  was  ne'er  so  fair,  and  I  am  done. 
Mcr.  Tut!  dun's  the  mouse,  the  constable's  own 
word: 
If  Ihou  art  dun,  we'll  draw  thee  from  the  mire 
Of  this  f  save  reverence)  love,  wherein  thou  stick'st 
Up  to  tlie  ears. — Come,  we  burn  daylight,  ho. 
Ro7n.  Kay,  that's  not  so. 

Mer.  I  mean,  sir,  in  delay. 

We  waste  our  lights  in  vain,  like  lamps  by  day. 
Take  our  good  nicamng:  for  our  judgment  sits 
Five  times  in  tiiat,  ere  once  in  our  live  wifs. 

Rom.  And  we  mean  well,  in  going  to  this  mask; 
But  'tis  no  wit  lo  go. 
il/f-  Why,  may  one  aski 

Rom.  I  dreamt  a  dream  to-nig'ht. 
Mer.  And  so  did  I. 

Rum.  Well,  what  was  yours  1 
Mer.  That  dreamers  often  lie. 

Rum.  In  bed, asleep, while  they  do  dream  things 

true. 
Mcr.  CI,  llien;  I  see,  queen  Mab  hath  been  with 
you. 
She  is  tlie  liiiries'  midwife;  and  she  comes 
In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 
On  the  fore-flnger  of  an  alderman. 
Drawn  with  a  team  of  little  atomies' 
Athwart  men's  noses  as  they  lie  asleep : 
Her  waggon-spokes  made  oflong  spinners'  legs  ; 
The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers; 
The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider's  web; 
The  collars,  of  the  moonshine's  watery  beams: 
Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone;  the  hish,  of  Kim: 
Her  waggoner,  a  small  grey-coated  gnat, 
Not  half  so  big  as  a  round  little  worm 
Piick'd  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a  maid: 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  ha/.el-nul. 
Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel,  or  old  grub. 
Time  out  of  mind  the  liiiries'  coach-makers. 
And  in  this  slate  she  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lovers'  brai.ns,  and  then  they  dream  of 

love: 
On   courliers'   knees,   that   dream  on  court'sies 

straight: 
o'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees: 
O  er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream  ; 
Which  oil  the  angry  Ma!)  with  blisters  plagues. 
Because  their  breath  with  sweet-meats  tainted  are. 
Sonielime  she  gallops  o'er  a  courlier's  nose, 
.'Vnd  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit  i^ 
And  sometime  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail. 
Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  'a  lies  asleep, 
Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice: 
Sometime  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck. 
Anil  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats. 
Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Siianish  blades. 
Of  healths  five  fathom  deep;  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear;  at  which  he  starts,  and  wakes  ; 
And,  being  thus  frighted,  swears  a  prayer  or  two. 
And  sleeps  again.    This  is  that  very  liab. 
That  plats  the  manes  of  horses  in  the  night; 
And  bakesf  the  elf-lnck.s9  in  Ibul  sluttish  hairs, 
Which  cnce  untangled,  much  misfortune  bodes. 
This  is  the  hag,  when  maids  lie  on  their  backs. 
That  presses  them,  and  learns  them  first  to  bear. 
Making  them  women  of  good  carriage. 
This,  this  is  she — 

Ri-m.  Peace,  peace,  Mercutio,  peace; 

Thou  talk'st  of  nothing. 

Mcr.  Tvue,I  talk  of  dreams; 

Which  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain. 
Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  liintasy; 
Which  is  as  thin  of  substance  as'lhe  air  ; 

•  OliSflTP. 

«  If  was  antiently  ttie  custom  to  strew  rooms  ^ith  rashes. 
1  Atoms.  8  A  place  m  court. 

*  i.e.  Fairy-locks,  locks  of  hair  clotted  aud  taoglcxl  in 
the  night. 

45 


And  more  inconstant  than  the  wind,  who  woos 
y.\Qn  now  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  north. 
And,  being  anger'd,  pulls  away  from  thence. 
Turning  his  liice  to  the  dew-dropping  south. 

Ben.  This  wind  you  talk  of;  blows  us  from  our- 
selves ; 
Supper  is  done,  and  we  shall  come  too  late. 

Rnm.  I  fear, too  early:  lor  my  mind  misgives, 
Some  consequence,  }et  hanging  in  the  stars. 
Shall  bitterly  begin  his  fearful  date 
With  this  night's  levels;  and  expire  the  term 
Ofa  despised  life,  clos'd  in  my  breast. 
By  some  vile  Ibrh'it  of  untimely  death: 
But  He,  that  hath  the  steerage  of  my  course, 
Direct  my  siiil !— On,  lusty  gentlemen. 

Ben.  Strike,  drum.  \^Exeunt, 

SCF.N'E  V.—.i  Hall  in  Capulet's  Hou.se. 
Musicians  waiting.    Enter  Servants. 

1  Scrv.  Where's  Potpan,  that  he  helps  not  to  take 
away!  he  shill  a  trencher!  he  scrape  a  trencher! 

2  Serv.  When  good  manners  shall  lie  all  in  one 
or  two  men's  hands,  and  they  unwashed  too,  'tis  a 
Ibnl  thing. 

1  Serv.  Away  with  the  joint  stools,  remove  the 
court-cupboard,'  look  to  the  plate: — good  thou, 
save  me  a  piece  of  march-pane  ;-and, as  thou  lovest 
me,  let  the  iiorter  let  in  Susan  Grindstone,  and 
Nell. — Antony !  and  Potpan  ! 

2  Serv.  .\y,  boy  ;  ready. 

1  iS'cri*.  You  are  looked  lor,  and  called  for.  asked 
for,  and  sought  for,  in  the  great  chamber. 

2  Serv.  We  cannot  be  here  and  there  too. — 
Cheerly,  boys;  be  brisk  a  while,  and  the  longer 
liver  take  all.  [They  ret'ire  behind. 

Enter  CapI'I.KT,  S(e.,lvilh  the  Guests  and  Maskers. 
C«;).  Gentlemen,  welcome!    ladies,   that    have 
their  toes 
Unplagucd  with  corns,  will  have  about  with  you : — 
Ah  ha.  my  mistresses!  which  of  you  all 
Vyillnow'deny  to  dance?  she  that  makes  dainty,  she, 
I'll  swear,  hath  corns ;   Am  I  come  near  you  now? 
You  are  welcome,  gentlemen!  I  have  seen  the  day, 
That  I  have  worn  a  visor;  and  could  tell 
A  whispering  tale  in  a  fair  lady's  ear, 
Such  as  would  jjlease; — 'tis  gone, 'tis  gone, 'tis  gone. 
You  are  welcome,  gentlemen  !— Come,  musicians, 

play, 
A  hall !  a  hall  !3  give  room,  and  foot  it,  girls. 

[Music  j)lai/s,  and  they  dance. 
More  light,  ye  knaves;  and  turn  the  tables  up. 
And  quench  the  fire,  tlie  room  is  grown  too  hot. — 
Ah,  sirrah,  this  unlook'd-for  sport  comes  well. 
Nay,  sit,  nay,  sit,  good  cousin  Capulet; 
For  you  and  1  are  ]-iast  our  dancing  days: 
How'  long  is't  now,  since  last  yourself  and  I 
Were  in  a  mask? 
2  Cap.  By'r  lady,  thirty  years. 

1  Cup.  What,  man!   'tis  not  so  much,  'tis  not  so 

much  ; 
'Tis  since  Ihe  nujitial  of  Lucentio. 
Come  Pentecost  as  quickly  as  it  will. 
Some  five-aiid-twcnly  years;  and  then  we  mask'd. 

2  Cap.  'Tis  more, 'tis  more:  his  son  is  elder,  sir;. 
His  son  is  thirty. 

1  Cap.  Will  you  tell  me  that? 

His  son  was  but  a  ward  two  years  ago. 

Ram.  What  lady's  that  which  doth  enrich  the 
hand 
Of  yonder  knight? 

Serv.  1  know  not.  sir. 

Rom.  O.  she  doth  teach  the  torches  lo  burn  bright! 
Her  beauty  hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night 
Like  a  rich  jewel  in  an  Kthiop's  ear : 
Beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear! 
So  shouts  a  snowy  dove  trooping  with  crows. 
As  yonder  lady  o'er  her  fellows  shows. 
The  measure^  done,  I'll  watch  her  place  of  stand/ 
And,  touching  hers,  make  happy  my  rude  hand. 
Did  my  heart  love  till  now  ?  Ibrsweai-  ft,  sijjht ! 
For  1  ne'er  saw  true  beauty  till  this  night. 

Ti/I>.  This,  by  his  voice, should  be  a  Montague : — 
Fetch  me  my  rapier,  boy  :— What !  dares  the  slave 
Come  hither,  cover'd  with  an  antic  face. 
To  fleer  and  scorn  at  our  solemnity  ? 

*  A  sideboard  ou  which  the  plate  was  placed. 

u  Almoud-cuke.        3  i.  e.  Make  room.  «  The  dance. 


706 


ROMEO    AND    JULIET. 


Act  II. 


Now,  by  tlie  stock  and  honor  of  my  kin, 
To  strike  him  dead  I  liold  it  not  a  sin. 

1  Cup.  Why,    how   now,  kinsman  ?    wherefore 

storm  you  po? 
Tv'j.  Uncle,  this  is  a  Montague,  our  foe  : 
A  villain,  ihat  is  hither  come  in  spite, 
To  scorn  at  our  solemnity  this  ni^ht. 
1  Cap.  Young  Romeo  is't  7 

T!/!i.  'Tis  he,  that  villain  Romeo. 

1  Cfip.  Content  thee,  gentle  coz,  let  hnn  alone  ; 
He  bears  him  like  a  portly  K^'ille:  an  ; 
And.  to  say  trutli,  Verona  brags  of  him, 
To  be  a  virtuous  and  well-^overnM  youth  : 
I  would  not  lor  the  wealth  of  all  this  town, 
Here  in  my  liouse,  do  liitn  disparagement: 
Tlierelbre,  be  patient,  take  no  note  of  him, 
Ii  IS  my  will ;  the  which  if  thou  respect, 
Siiow  a  liiir  presence,  and  put  olT  these  frowns, 
An  ill-boseeming  semblance  tor  a  feast. 

Ti/!j.  It  hts,  wJien  such  a  villain  is  a  guest; 
I'll  liot  endure  him. 

1  Cap.  He  shall  be  endured  ; 

What,  Koodman  boy! — I  say,  lie  shall; — Go  to; — 
Am  I  the  master  here,  or  yowl  go  to. 
You'll  not  endure  him  ! — God  shall  mend  my  soul — 
You'll  make  a  mutiny  among  my  guests! 
Y'ou  will  ^ct  cock-a-hoop  !  you'll  be  the  man  I 
Tijb.  Why,  uncle, 'tis  a  shame. 
1  Cap.  Go  to,  go  to, 

You  are  a  saucy  boy : — Is't  so  indeed  ? — 
This  trick  may  chance  to  scath^  you; — I  know  what, 
You  must  contrfiiy  me  !  marry,  'tis  time — 
WeU  said,  my  hearts  : — You  are  a  princox  \^  go  : — 
Be    quiet,    or—More    light,    more    light !  —  For 

shame ! — 
ril  make  you  quiet;  What !— Cheerly,  my  hearts. 
Tyh.  Pafienceperforce  with  wilful  cholcrmeeling, 
Mnkes  my  flesh  tremble  in  their  dillerent  greeting. 
I  will  withdraw:  but  this  intrusion  shall, 
Is'ow  seeming  sweet,  convert  to  bitter  gall.  \^Exit. 
Rum.  if  1  profane  with  my  unworthy  hend 

[To  Juliet. 
This  holy  shrine,  the  gentle  fine  is  this, — 
My  lips,  two  blushing  pilgrims,  ready  stand 

To  smooth  that  rough  touch  with  a  tender  kiss, 
Jul.  Good  pilgrim,  you  do  wrong  your  hand  too 
much, 
Which  mannerly  devotion  shows  in  this; 
For  saints  have  hand:?that  pilgrims' hands  do  touch, 
And  palm  to  palm  is  lioiy  jialmcrs'  kiss. 
Rom.  Have  not  saints  lips,  and  holy  palmers  tool 
Jul.  Ay,  pilgrim,  lips,  that   they  must  use  in 

prayer. 
Rom,  O  then,  dear  saint,  let  lips  do  what  hands 
do; 
They  pray,  grant  thou,  lest  faith  turn  to  despair. 
Jul.  yaintsdo  not  move,  though  grant  for  prayers' 

sake. 
Rom.  'I hen  move  not,  while  my  prayer's  ctroct 
I  take. 
Thus  from  my  lips,  by  yours,  my  sin  is  purged. 

[Kissing  her. 


Jul.  Then  have  my  lips  thesin  that  they  have  look, 

Rom.  8ni  from  my  lips?  0  trespass  sweetly  urged ! 
Give  me  my  sin  again. 

Jul.  You  kiss  by  the  book. 

Nurse.  Madam,  your  mother  craves  a  word  with 
you, 

Rom.  What  is  her  mother  1 

Nur.se.  Marry,  bachelor, 

Her  motJicr  is  the  lady  of  the  house. 
And  a  good  lady,  and  a  wiee,  and  virtuous: 
I  nurs'd  her  dauf^hter,  that  you  talk'd  withal; 
I  toll  you, — he,  that  can  lay  hold  of  her. 
Shall  have  the  clunks. 

Rom.  Is  she  a  Capuletl 

0  dear  account!  my  life  is  my  foe's  debt. 
Ben.  Away ;  begone  ;  the  sport  is  at  the  best. 
Rom.  Ay,  so  1  fear;  the  more  is  my  unrest. 

1  Cap.  Nay.  gentlemen,  prepare  not  to  begone; 
We  have  a  tiilling  foolish  banquet  towards.^ 
Is  it  e'en  so  1  Why,  then  I  thank  you  all ; 

1  thank  you,  honest  gentlemen  ;  good  night: — 
More  torches  here!— Come  on,  then,  let's  to  bed. 
Ah,  sirrali,  [7'o  2  Cap.]  by  my  fay,"  it  waxes  late; 
I'll  to  my  rest.   [Exeunt  all  Out  Juliet  and  Nurse. 

Jul.  Come  hither,  nurse:    What  is  yon  gentle- 
man 1 

Nurse.  The  son  and  heir  of  old  Tiberio. 

Jul.  What's  he,  that  now  is  going  out  of  door  7 

Nurse.  Marry,  that,  I  tliink.  be  young  Petruchio. 

Jul.   What's  he,  that  follows  there,  that  would 
not  dance  1 

Nurse.  I  know  not. 

Jul.  Go.  ask  his  name  : — if  he  be  married, 
My  grave  is  like  to  be  my  wedding-bed. 

Nurse.  His  name  is  Uomco.  ami  a  Montague; 
The  only  son  of  your  great  enemy. 

Jul.  My  only  love  sprung  irom  my  only  hate! 
Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late  I 
Prodigious  birth  of  love  it  is  to  me. 
That  I  must  love  a  loathed  enemy. 

Nui'se.  What's  this  ?  what's  this  ? 

Jul.  A  rhyme  1  learn 'd  even  now 

Of  one  I  danced  withal.  [0/te  calls  wilhi?i,  Juliet! 

Nurse.  Anon,  anon ; — 

Come,  let's  away  ;  the  strangers  all  are  gone. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter  Chorus. 

Now  old  Desire  doth  in  his  death-bed  lie. 

And  young  Aflection  gapes  to  be  his  heir; 
That  lair,  for  which  love  groaned,  and  would  die, 

With  tender  Juliet  matcli'd  is  now  not  fair. 
Now  Romeo  is  belov'd  and  loves  again, 

Alike  bewitched  by  the  charm  of  h)oks; 
But  to  his  foe  suppos'd  he  must  complain. 

And  she  steal  love's  sweet  bait  from  tearful  hooks: 
Being  held  a  toe,  he  may  not  have  access 

To  breathe  such  vows  as  lovers  use  to  swear; 
And  she  as  much  in  love,  her  means  much  less 

To  meet  her  new-beloved  any  where: 
But  passion  lends  them  power,  time  means  to  meet, 
Temp'ring  extremities  with  extreme  sweet.  [Exit. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE   I.— An  opeyi  place  atljoining  Capulet's 
GanltJi. 
Enter  Romf.o. 
Rmii.  Can  I  fjo  forward  when  my  iipart  is  Jicre? 
Turn  back,  duil  earth,  and  rind  tliy  centre  out. 
[He  climbs  the  IVally  and  leaps  ilinvn  wit/tin  if. 
Enter  Benvolio  and  Meucutio. 
Ben.  Romeo !  my  cousin  Romeo  ! 
Mer.  He  is  wise  ; 

And,  on  my  life,  hath  stolen  him  home  to  bed. 

Bf;i.  lie  ran  this  way,  and  Iciiji'd  this  orchard  wall : 
Call,  good  Mercutio. 

Mer.  Nay,  I'll  conjure  too — 

Romeo!  humors!  madman!  passion!  lover! 
Appear  thou  in  the  likeness  of  a  sifjh, 
.Speak  bvit  one  rhyme,  and  I  am  satisfied; 
Cry  hut — Ah  me  ! — coujile  but — love  and  dove; 
Sj)eak  lo  my  gossij)  Venus  one  linr  word, 

*  Un  J  nu  .in  iiij  ury.  a  .\  coxcomb. 


One  nick-name  for  her  purblind  son  and  heir, 
Young  Adam  Cupid,  he  lliat  sliot  so  trim, 
When  king  Coplietua  lov'd  the  begsar-maid.s — 
He  Iiearetii  not.  stirrcth  not.  he  movetli  not; 
The  ajie'  is  de.Td.  and  1  must  conjure  him. — 
I  conjure  thee  by  Rosaline's  bright  eyes. 
By  her  high  forehead,  and  her  scarlet  lip. 
By  her  lino  foot,  straight  leg,  and  quivering  Ihifjh, 
And  the  demesnes  that  there  adjacent  lie. 
That  in  thy  likeness  thou  appear  to  us. 

Sen.  An  if  he  hear  thee,  thou  wilt  anger  him. 

Mer.  This  cannot  anger  him:  'twould  anger  him 
To  raise  a  spirit  in  his  mistress'  circle. 
Of  some  strange  nature,  lettingit  there  stand 
Till  she  had  laid  it,  and  conjur'd  it  down; 
That  were  some  spite;  my  invocation 

■>  F!iitb. 

■  Alluiling  to  the  old  b.ill.nd  of  (he  Iiing  nnd  the  beggar. 
•  This  phmse  in  Shakspeare's  time  wks  used  as  an  e» 
pressiou  of  tenderness. 


Scene  II. 


EOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


707 


Is  fair  and  hnnrst,  and,  in  his  mistress'  name, 
I  conjure  only  but  to  raise  up  liim. 

Ben.  Come, he  hatli  hid  himself  among  those  trees, 
To  be  consorted  witli  the  liumorous'  niglit: 
Blind  is  Ills  love,  and  host  befits  the  dark. 

Mer.  If  love  be  blind,  love  cannot  hit  the  mark. 
No'.v  will  he  sit  under  a  medlar-tree. 
And  wish  his  mistress  were  that  kind  of  fruit. 
As  maids  call  medlars,  when  they  laugh  alone. — 
Romeo,  good  night;— I'll  to  my  truckle-bed; 
This  field-bed  is  too  cold  for  lue  to  sleep; 
Come,  shall  we  go  1 

Ben.  Go,  then  ;  for  'tis  in  vain 

To  seek  him  here,  that  means  not  to  be  Ibund. 

[Exeutit. 

SCENE  II.— Capulet's  Garden. 
Enter  RoJiEO. 

Rom.  He  jests  at  scars,  that  never  felt  a  wound. — 
[Jn-IET  appears  above,  at  a  Wimtow. 
But.sofl!  what  light  Ihroughyondcr  window  breaksf 
It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun  ! — 
Arise,  fair  sun,  and  kill  the  envious  moon. 
Who  is  already  sick  and  pale  with  grief, 
That  thou  her  maid  art  far  more  fair  than  she: 
Be  not  Iicr  maid,  since  siie  is  envious; 
ILer  vestal  livery  is  but  sick  and  green. 
And  none  but  fuols  do  wear  it ;  cast  it  off.— 
It  is  my  lady  ;  O,  it  is  my  love : 
O,  that  she  knew  she  were  I — 
She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing:  What  of  that? 
Her  eye  discourses,  I  will  answer  it. — 
1  am  too  bold,  'tis  not  to  nie  she  sjieaks  : 
Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven. 
Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  tlicy  return. 
What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head  1 
The  hrightness  of  her  eheekwould  shame  Ihosestars, 
As  d;i\  liglit  doth  a  lamp;  her  eye  in  heaven 
Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright, 
Tliat  hi.-ds  would  sing,  and  Ihinkit  were  not  night. 
See.  how  she  leans  her  check  upon  her  hand  ! 
(),  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 
That  I  might  touch  that  check  '. 

Jul.  Ah  me ! 

Kom.  She  speaks:— 

O,  speak  again,  bright  angel !  for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  night,  being  o'er  my  head. 
As  is  a  winged  messenger  of  lieaven 
Unto  the  white-upturned  vvond'ring  eyes 
Of  mortals,  that  tail  back  to  gaze  oii  hiui. 
When  he  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  clouds, 
And  sails  ujion  the  bosom  ol  Ihe  air. 

Jal.  0  Romeo, Romcol  wherefore  art  thou  Romeo? 
Deny  thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name: 
Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn  my  love, 
AJid  I'll  no  longer  be  a  Capulet. 

Horn.  Shall  I  hear  more,  or  shall  I  speak  at  this? 

,  ,   ,    .  {Aside. 

Jul.    Tis  but  thy  name,  that  is  my  enemy ; — 
Thouart  thyself  though,  not  a  Montague. 
What's  Montague  ?  it  is  nor  hand,  nor  loot. 
Nor  arm,  nor  lace,  nor  any  other  part 
Belonging  to  a  man.    O,  be  some  other  name ! 
What's  in  a  name!  that  which  we  call  a  rose, 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet ; 
So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  eall'd. 
Retain  that  dear  perfection  which  he  owe*,? 
Without  that  title  :— Romeo,  doll^  thy  name ; 
And  lor  that  name  which  is  no  part  of  thee. 
Take  all  myself. 

Horn.  I  take  thee  at  thy  word: 

Call  me  but  love,  and  I'll  be  new  ba'pliz'd  ; 
Henceforth  I  never  will  be  Romeo. 

Jul.  What  man  art  ihou,  that,  thus  bescreen'd 
in  night. 
So  stumbles!  on  my  counsel? 

li^ni.  By  a  name 

I  know  not  how  to  tell  thee  who  1  am  : 
My  name,  dear  saint,  is  hateful  to  myself. 
Because  it  is  an  enemy  to  thee; 
Had  I  it  written,  I  would  tear  the  word. 

Jal.  My  ears  have  not  jet  drunk  a  hundred  words 
Of  that  tongue's  utterance,  vet  I  know  the  sound; 
Art  thou  not  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  ? 

Rom.  Neither,  lair  saint,  if  either  thee  dislike. 

Jul.  How  cam'st  thou  hitlier,  tell  me  \  and  where- 
f6re  ! 

*  Humid,  moist.    «  Owns,  possesses.    >  Do  off,  put  off. 


The  orchard  walls  are  high,  and  hard  to  climb ; 
.\nd  the  place  death,  considering  wiio  thou  art, 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here. 
Riini.  With  love's  light  wings  did  I  o'er-pcrch 
these  walls ; 
For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out : 
And  what  love  can  do,  that  dares  love  attempt. 
Therefore  thy  kinsmen  are  no  let'  to  me. 
Jul.  If  they  do  see  thee,  they  will  murder  thee. 
Rom.  Alack!  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye. 
Than  twenty  of  their  swords;  look  thou  but  sweet. 
And  1  am  proof  against  their  enmity. 
Jul.  I  would  not  (or  the  world  they  saw  thee  here. 
Rom.  I  have  night's  cloak  to  hide  me  from  their 
sight; 
And,  but=  thou  love  me,  let  them  find  me  here : 
My  life  w'cre  better  ended  by  their  hate. 
Than  death  prorogued,  wanting  of  thy  love. 
Jul.  By  whose  direction  found'st  thou  out  this 

place  ? 
Rnm.  Uy  love,  who  firstdid  prompt  me  to  inquire ; 
He  lent  me  counsel,  and  I  lent  him  eyes. 
I  am  no  pilot;  yet  wert  thou  as  tar 
As  that  vast  shore  wash'd  with  the  furthest  sea, 
I  would  adventure  lor  such  merchandise. 

/:</.  Thou  knnw'st  the  mask  of  night  ison  my  (ace. 
Else  would  a  maiden  blush  bepaint  my  cheek. 
For  that  which  thou  liast  heard  me  speak  to-night. 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  fain,  fain,  deny 
What  I  have  spoke:  But  fiirewell  compliment! 
Dost  thou  love  me?  I  know  thou  wilt  say — Ay; 
.\nd  1  wlllj-ake  thy  word:  yet  if  thou  swear'sl. 
Thou  may'st  prove  false;  at  lovers'  perjuries, 
They  say.  Jove  laughs.    O,  gentle  Romeo, 
If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  (i^ithfuUy  : 
Or,  if  thou  thiuk'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 
I'll  frown,  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay. 
So  thou  wilt  woo;  but  else,  not  for  the  world. 
In  truth,  lair  Montague,  I  am  too  fond  ; 
And  therefore  thou  may'st  think  my  'havior  light : 
But,  trust  me,  gentleman,  I'll  prove  more  true 
Than  those  that  have  more  cunning  to  be  strange.^ 
I  should  have  been  more  strange,  1  must  confess, 
But  that  thou  overheardst,  ere  I  was  'ware. 
My  true  love's  passion;  therefore,  pardon  me; 
And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love. 
Which  the  dark  night  liath  so  discovered. 

Rom.  Lady,  by  yonder  blessed  moon  I  swear, 
That  tips  with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops. — 
Jul.  O,  swear  not  by  the  moon,  the  inconstant 
moon. 
That  monthly  ch.anges  in  her  circled  orb. 
Lest  that  thy  love  prove  likewise  variable. 
Rota.  What  shall  I  swear  by  ! 
Jul.  Do  not  swear  at  all; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  swear  by  thy  gracious  self. 
Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatry, 
And  I'll  believe  thee. 
Rom.  If  my  heart's  dear  love— 

Jul.  Well, do  not  swear:  although  I  joy  in  thee, 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night: 
It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvis'd,  too  sudden; 
Too  like  t)ie  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be. 
Ere  one  can  say— Jt  lightens.    S  weet,  good-night ! 
This  bud  of  love,  by  summer's  ripening  breath. 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet. 
Good-night,  good-night!  as  sweet  repose  and  rest 
Come  to  thy  heart,  as  that  within  my  breast ! 
Rom.  O,  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  unsatisfied  \ 
Jul.    What    satisliiction    canst    thou    have    to- 
night? 
Rom.  The  exchange  of  thy  love's  faithful  vow  for 

mine. 
Jul.  I  gave  thee  mine  before  thou  didst  request 
it: 
And  yet  I  would  it  were  to  give  again. 
Ro'm.  Wouldst  thou  withdraw  it?  (or  what  pur- 
pose, love  ? 
Jul.  But  to  be  frank,  and  give  it  thee  again. 
And  yet  I  wish  but  for  the  thing  I  have : 
My  bounty  is  as  boundless  as  the  .sea. 
My  love  as  deep;  the  more  I  give  to  thee, 
The  more  I  have,  for  both  are  infinite. 

[Nurse  ealls  within 
I  hear  some  noise  within  :  Dear  love,  adieu  ! 
Anon,  good  nurse  !— Sweet  Montague,  be  true. 
Stay  but  a  little,  I  will  come  again.  [Kxit. 

Rom.  O  blessed,  blessed  night!  I  am  afeard. 


•  Ilindiance. 


•  UnUss. 


.=by. 


708 


ROMEO  AND   JULIET. 


Act  II. 


Being  in  niis^ht,  all  this  is  buL  a  dream, 
Too  flattering  sweet  to  be  substantial. 
Re-enter  Juliet,  above> 
Jul.  Three  words,  dear  Romeo,  and  good-night, 
indeed. 
If  tliat  thy  bent"  of  love  be  honorable. 
Thy  puniose  marriage,  send  me  word  to-morrow, 
By  one  that  I'll  procure  to  come  to  thee, 
Where, and  what  time,  thou  wilt  perform  the  rite; 
And  all  my  fortunes  at  thy  loot  Til  lay. 
And  tbllow  thee,  my  lord,  throughout  the  world  : — 
Nurse.  [  JViiJiin.]  Madam. 

JuL  I  come,  anon: — But  if  thou   meanest  not 
well, 
I  do  beseech  thee, — 
Nurse.  [Within.]  Madam. 

Jul.  By  and  by,  I  come  : — 

To  cease  tliy  snit,  and  leave  me  to  my  grief: 
To-niorrowwill  I  send. 
Rfim.  So  thrive  mv  soul_. — 

Jul.  A  thousand  times  good-night!  [Exit. 

Rom.  A  tliousand  times  the  worse,  to  want  thy 
light.- 
Love  goes  toward  love,  as  school-boys  from  their 

books. 
But  love  firom  love,  toward  school  with  heavy  looks. 
[Retiring  slowly. 

Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 

JuL  Hist!    Romeo,  hist! — 0,  for  a  falconer's 
voice. 
To  lure  this  tassel-gentle^  back  again  ! 
Bondage  is  hoarse,  and  may  not  speak  aloud ; 
Klpe  would  I  tear  the  cave  where  echo  lies, 
And  make  her  airy  tongue  more  hoarse  than  mine 
Wilh  repetition  of  my  Romeo's  name. 

Rii7n.  It  is  my  soul  that  calls  upon  my  name: 
How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers'  tongues  by  night, 
Like  sottest  music  to  attending  ears! 

JuL  Romeo ! 

Ri>ni.  My  sweet! 

Jul.  At  what  o'clock  to-morrow 

SJiall  I  send  to  thee  1 

R<i?u.  At  the  hour  oi^  nine, 

Jul.  I  will  not  fail;  'tis  twenty  years  till  then. 
I  have  forgot  why  I  did  call  thee  hack. 

Rtun.  Let  me  stand  here  till  thon  remember  it. 

JuL  I  shall  forget,  to  iiave  thee  still  stand  there. 
Remembering  how  I  love  thy  company. 

Rnm.  And  I'll  still  stay,  to  have  thee  still  forget. 
Forgetting  any  other  home  but  this, 

Jul.  'Tis  almost  morning,  I  would  have  thee  gone : 
And  yet  no  further  than  a  wanton^'s  bird  ; 
Who  lets  it  hop  a  little  from  her  hand, 
Like  a  _poor  prisoner  in  liis  twisted  gyves,^ 
And  with  a  silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again. 
So  loving-jeahms  of  his  liberty. 

Rom.  I  would,  I  were  thy  bird. 

JuL  Sweet,  so  would  1 : 

Yet  I  should  kill  thee  with  much  cherisinng. 
Good-night,  good-night!  parting  is  such  siveet  sor- 
row, 
That  I  shall  say — good-night,  till  it  be  morrow. 

[Exit. 

Rom.  Sleep  dwell  upon  thine  eyes,  peace  in  thy 
breast ! — 
Would  I  were  sleep  and  peace,  so  sweet  to  rest ! 
Hence  will  I  to  my  ghostly  father's  cell; 
liis  help  to  crave,  and  my" dear  hap'  to  tell.  [Exit. 

SCENE  III.— Friar  Laurence's  CelL 
Enter  Fkiar  Laurence,  unth  a  basket. 

Fri.  Tlie  grcy-ey'd  morn  smiles  on  the  frowning 
night. 
Checkering  the  eastern  clouds  with  streaks  of  light ; 
And  llcrked-  darktirss  like  a  drunkard  reels 
From  tbrth  day's  pathway,  made  byTitanVwheels: 
Now  ere  the  sun  advance  his  burning  eye. 
The  day  to  cheer,  and  night's  dank  dew  to  dry, 
1  must  till  up  this  osier  cage  of  ours, 
With  baletul  weeds,  and  precious-juiced  flowers. 
The  earth,  that's  nature's  mother, 'is  her  tomb; 
What  is  her  burying  grave,  that  is  her  womb: 
And  from  her  wmnb  children  of  divers  kind 
AVe  sucking  on  her  natural  bosom  fhid; 

1  Inclination. 

•  The  Uircd  is  the  miUti  hn\Yk,  tlio  falcon  the  fenrnlG. 

B  KetterK.  *  Clianop,  fortune. 

»  inputted,  streaked.  ^  Thy  sua. 


Many  for  many  virtues  excellent. 

None  but  for  some,  and  yet  all  different. 

O,  mickle  is  the  powerful  grace,  that  lies 

In  herbs,  plants,  stones,  and  their  true  qualities . 

For  naught  so  vile  that  on  the  earth  doth  live. 

But  to  the  earth  some  special  good  doLh  give; 

Nor  aught  .so  good,  but.  strain'd  Irom  tliat  fair  use, 

Revolts  from  true  birth,  stumbling  on  abuse  ■ 

Virtue  itself  turns  vice,  being  misapplied ; 

And  vice  sometimc's  by  action  dignified. 

Within  the  infant  rind  of  this  small  Hower 

Poison  hath  residence,  and  med'cinc  power: 

For  this,  being  smelt,  wilh  that  part  cheers  each 

part. 
Being  lasted,  slays  all  senses  with  i\\e  heart. 
Two  such  opposed  foes  encamp  them  still 
In  man  as  Well  as  herbs,  grace,  and  rude  will 
And  where  the  worser  is  predominant, 
FuU  soon  the  canker  death  eats  up  that  plant. 
Enter  Romeo. 
Rnm.  Good-morrow,  father! 
Fri.  Benedinfe .' 

What  early  tongue  so  sweet  saluteth  me] 
Young  son,  it  argues  a  distempcrM  head, 
So  soon  to  bid  good-morrow  to  thy  bed; 
Care  keeps  his  watch  in  every  olil  man's  eye, 
And  where  care  lodges,  sleep  will  never  lie; 
But  where  nnbruised  youth  with  unstulf'd  brain 
Doth  couch  his  limbs,  there  golden  sleep  doth  reign: 
Therefore  thy  earliness  doth  me  assure, 
Thou  art  up-rousM  by  some  distenip'rature  ; 
Or  if  not  so,  then  here  T  hit  it  right — 
Our  Romeo  hath  not  been  in  bed  to-night, 
Rom.  That  last  is  true.thesweeter  rest  was  mine. 
Fri.  God  pardon  sin  !  wast  thou  with  Rosaline? 
Rom.  With  Rosaline,  my  ghostly  father?  no; 
I  have  forgot  that  name,  and  that  name's  woe. 
Fri.  That^s  my  good  son:  But  wliere  hast  thou 

been  then '? 
Rom.  ril  tell  thee,  ere  thou  ask  it  me  again. 
I  have  been  feasting  with  mine  enemy; 
Where,  on  a  sudden,  one  hath  wounded  me. 
That's  by  me  wounded;  both  our  remedies 
Within  thy  help  and  holy  physic  lies; 
I  bear  no  natrcd,  blessed"  man  :  for,  lo, 
My  intercession  likewise  steads  my  foe. 

Fri.  Be  plain, good  son, and  homely  in  thy  drilt. 
Riddling  confession  finds  but  riddling  shrilt. 
Rom.  Then  plainly  know,  my  heart's  dear  love  is 
set 
On  the  fair  daughter  of  rich  Capulet : 
As  mine  on  hers,  so  hers  is  set  on  mine  ; 
And  all  combined,  save  what  thou  must  combine 
By  holy  marriage,  when,  and  where,  and  how, 
\Ve  met,  we  woo'd,  and  made  exchange  of  vow, 
I'll  tell  thee  as  we  pass ;  but  this  I  pray, 
That  thou  consent  to  marry  us  thi^i  daj-. 

Fri.  Ifoly  saint  Francis !  what  a  change  is  here  ! 
Is  Rosaline,  whom  thou  didst  love  so  dear. 
So  soon  forsaken  ?  young  men's  love  then  lies 
Not  truly  in  their  hearts i)ut  in  their  eyes. 
Jesu  Maria  !  what  a  deal  of  brine 
Hath  wash'd  thy  sallow  cheeks  for  Rosaline ! 
Ilow  much  salt  water  thrown  away  in  waste, 
To  season  love,  that  of  it  doth  not  taste! 
The  sun  not  yet  thy  sighs  from  heaven  clears, 
Thy  old  groans  ring  yet  in  my  ancient  ears; 
Lo.  here  upon  thy  cheek  the  stain  doth  sit 
Of  an  old  tear  that  is  not  wash'd  otf  yet: 
If  e'er  thou  wast  thyself,  and  these  woes  thine, 
Thou  and  these  woes  were  all  for  Rosaline; 
And  art  thou  changed]  pronounce  this  sentence 

then — 
Women  may  fall,  when  there's  no  streneth  in  men 
Rom.  Thou  ehid'st  me  oft  for  loving  Rosaline. 
Fri.  For  doting,  not  for  loving,  pupil  mine, 
Rnm.  And  bad'st  me  bury  love. 
Fri.  Not  in  a  grave 

To  lay  one  in,  another  out  to  have. 
Rom.  I  pray  theo,  chide  not:  she,  whom  I  lova 
now, 
Doth  grace  for  grace,  and  love  for  love  allow; 
The  other  did  not  so. 

Fri.  0,  she  kTiew  well, 

Thy  love  did  rend  by  rote,  and  could  not  .spell. 
Hut  come,  young  waverer,  come  go  with  me, 
In  one  respect  I'll  thy  assistant  be; 
For  this  alliance  may  so  happy  prove, 
To  turn  your  households'  rancor  to  pure  love. 


Scene  IV. 


EOMEO  AND   JULIET. 


700 


Rom,  O  let  us  hence;  I  stand  on  sudden  haste. 
Fri.  Wisely  and  slow;    they  stumble  that  run 
last.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— ^  Sh-cef. 
Enter  Benyolio  and  Meucutio. 

Mer.  Where  the  devil  should  this  Romeo  be? 
Came  he  not  home  to-nif;ht  ? 

Ben.  Nu*  to  his  father's;  I  spoke  with  liis  man. 

Mer.  Ah.  Miut  same  pale  hard-hearted  wench, 
tn  ic  Rosaline, 
Torments  him  so,  tliat  he  will  sure  run  mad. 

Ben.  Tybalt,  the  kinsman  of  old  Capulet, 
Hath  sent  a  letter  to  his  latlier\s  house. 

Mer,  A  challenjie,  on  my  life, 

Ben.  Romeo  will  answer  it. 

Mer,  Any  man,  that  can  wTite,  may  answer  a 
letter. 

Ben,  Nay,  he  will  answer  the  letter's  master,  how 
he  dares,  being  dared, 

Mer,  Alas,  poor  Romeo,  he  is  already  dead! 
stabljed  with  a  white  wench's  black  eye!  shot 
through  the  ear  with  a  love-song:  the  very  pin  of 
his  heart  cleft  witli  tlie  blind  bow-boy'sbutt-sh'aft;' 
And  is  he  a  man  to  encounter  Tybalt.' 

Ben,  Why,  what  is  Tybalt  ] 

Mer.  More  th^n  prince  of  cat,*,^  I  can  tell  you. 
0,  he  is  the  courageous  captain  of  comp>linients. 
He  tights  as  you  sing  prick-song,^  keeps  time,  dis- 
tance,and  proportion ;  rests  me  his  minim  rest  one, 
two,  and  the  third  in  your  bosom  :  tiic  very  butcher 
of  a  silk  button, a  duelUst,  a  duellist;  a  gentleman 
of  the  very  iirst  house, — of  the  first  and  second 
cause:  Ah,  the  immortal  passado!  the  punto  re- 
verso  !  the  hay  V 

Be7i,  The  wliat? 

Mer,  The  pox  of  such  antic,  lisping,  affecting 
fantasticoes ;  these  new  tuners  of  accenLs! — Bt/ 
Jesu,  a  very  good  blade! — a  very  tall  man! — a 
very  f^ood  ivho7'€  ! — Whj',  is  not  this  a  lamentable 
thing,  grandsire,  that  we  should  be  thus  afHictcd 
with  these  strange  Hies,  these  tiishion-mongers, 
these  pardonnez-moys,  who  stand  so  much  on  tlie 
new  form,  tiiat  they  "cannot  sit  at  ease  on  the  old 
bench  1  O,  tlieir  bons,  their  boiis  ! 
Enter  Romeo. 

Ben.  Here  comes  Romeo,  here  comes  Romeo. 

Mer.  Without  his  roe,  like  a  dried  herring: — O 
fish,  ticsh,  how  art  thou  fishirted  !— Now  is  he  for 
the  numbers  that  Petrarch  llov^'od  in  :  Laura,  to  his 
lady,  was  but  a  kitclien-wcneh  ;— marry,  she  had 
a  better  love  to  bc-rliyme  her:  Dido,  a  dowdy; 
Cleopatra,  a  gipsy  ;  Helen  and  Hero,  hildings  and 
harlots;  Thisbe,  a  grey  eye  or  so,  but  not  to  the 
purpose. — Signior  Romeo,  boa  jour!  There's  a 
French  salutation  to  your  FrencJi  slop.^  You  gave 
us  the  connterteit  fairly  last  night. 

Rom.  Good-morrow  to  you  both.  What  coun- 
terfeit did  I  give  youl 

Mer.  The  slip,  sir,  the  slip;^  Can  you  not  con- 
ceive \ 

Rom.  Pardon,  good  Mercutio,  my  business  was 
great;  and,  in  such  a  case  as  mine,  a  man  may 
strain  courtesy. 

Mer,  That's  as  much  as  to  say— such  a  case  as 
yours  constrains  a  man  to  bow  in  the  hams. 

Rom.  Meaning — to  court'sy. 

Mer.  Thou  hast  most  kindly  hit  it. 

Rnm    A  most  courteous  exitosilion. 

JSler.  Nay,  I  am  the  very  pink  of  courtesy 

Ham.  Pink  for  llower. 

Mer.  Right. 

Rom.  Why,  then  is  my  pump'  well  flowered, 

Mer.  Well  said:  Follow  me  this  jest  now,  till 
thou  hast  worn  out  thy  pump;  tiiat,  when  the  sin- 
gle sole  of  it  is  worn",  the  jest  may  remain  aller 
the  wearing,  solely  singular. 

Rum.  O  single-soled  jest,  solely  singular  for  the 
singleness! 

Mer.  Come  between  us,  good  Benvolio;  my  wits 
fail. 

Rom.  Switch  and  spurs,  switch  and  spurs;  or 
I'll  cry  a  match. 

«  Arrow.  s  See  tho  story  of  Reynard  the  fox. 

c  By  uutt's  prirked  ilowu. 
'  Terms ol"  tbu  f(_'ncIng-school. 

8  TrowFiTs  or  pantulooos,  a  French  fashion  iu  Shak- 
fipeare'fl  time. 
•  A  pun  on  counterfeit  money  called  slips.        *  Shoe. 


Mer,  Nay,  if  thy  wits  run  the  wild-goose  chase, 
I  have  done:  lor  thou  hast  more  of  the  wild-goose 
in  one  of  liiy  wits,  than,  I  am  sure,  1  have  in  my 
whole  five:  \Vas  I  with  you  there  lor  the  goose  ! 

Rom.  Thou  wast  never  with  me  for  any  thing. 
when  thou  wast  not  there  for  the  goose, 

Mer,  1  will  bite  tliec  by  the  ear  lor  that  jest. 

Rom.  Nay,  good  goose,  bite  not. 

Mer.  TJiy  wit  is  a  very  bitter-sweeting ;2  it  is  a 
most  sharp  sauce. 

Rom.  And  is  it  not  well  served  in  to  a  sweet 
goose  ! 

Mer,  0,  here's  a  wit  of  cheverel  3  that  stretches 
from  an  inch  narrow  to  an  ell  broad  ! 

Rom.  I  stretch  it  out  for  that  word — broad: 
which  added  to  the  goose,  proves  thee  far  and 
wide  a  broad  goose. 

Mer.  Why,  is  not  this  better  now  than  groaning 
for  love!  now  art  thou  sociable,  now  art  thou  Ro- 
meo; now  art  thoii  what  ihou  art,  by  art  as  well 
as  by  nature:  tor  this  drivelling  love  is  like  a  great 
natural,  that  runs  lolling  up  and  down,  to  hide  his 
bauble  in  a  hole. 

Ben.  Stop  there,  stop  there. 

Mer.  Thou  desirest  me  to  stop  in  my  talc  against 
the  hair. 

Ben.  Thou  wouldst  else  have  made  thy  tiilc 
large. 

Mer.  0,  thou  art  deceived.  I  would  have  made 
it  short:  lor  I  was  come  to  the  whole  depth  of  my 
tale;  and  meant,  indeed,  to  occupy  the  argument 
no  longer. 

Rom.  Here's  goodly  gecr! 

Enter  Nurse  a7id  Peter. 

Mer.  A  sail,  a  sail,  a  sail ! 

Ben.  Two,  two ;  a  shirt,  and  a  smock. 

Nurse.  Peter ! 

Ret.  Anon  i 

Nurse.  My  Ian,  Peter. 

Mer.  Pr'vthee,  do,  good  Peter,  to  hide  her  face; 
for  her  fan  s  iJic  fairer  of  tlte  two. 

Nurse,  (lod  ye  good-morrow,  gentlemen. 

Mer.  God  ye  good-den,**  lair  gentlewoman. 

Nurse,  Is  it  good-den  .' 

Mer.  'Tis  no  less,  I  tell  you ;  for  the  bawdy  hand 
of  ijie  dial  is  now  upon  the  prick^  of  noon. 

Nurse,  Out  upon  you  !  wJiat  a  man  are  j'ou  ? 

Rom,  One,  genllowoman,  that  God  haiii  made 
himself  to  mar. 

Nurse,  By  my  troth,  it  is  well  said;— For  him- 
self to  mar,  quotlfa  1 — Gentlemen,  cau  any  of  you 
tell  me  wlierc  I  may  find  the  >oung  Romeo  ! 

Rom.  I  can  tell  you;  but  joung  Romeo  will  be 
older  when  you  have  lound  him,  than  he  was  when 
you  souglitliim  ;  I  am  the  youngest  of  that  name, 
for  'lault  of  a  worse. 

Nurse.  You  say  well. 

Mer.  Yea,  is  t'he  worse  well?  very  well  took, 
i'  liiith;  wisely,  wisely. 

Nurse,  If  you  be  he,  sir,  I  desire  some  confidence 
with  you  ! 

Ben,  She  will  indite  him  to  some  t-uppcr. 

Mei:  A  bawd,  a  bawd,  a  bawd  !  So  lio  ! 

Rom.  VVliat  hast  thou  found  ? 

Mer.  No  hare,  sir ;  unless  a  hare,  .sir.  in  a  Icnteu 
pie,  that  is  sometliing  stale  and  hoarereitbespent. 
An  old  fiare  hnarfi 
And  an  old  hare  hoar. 
Is  very  ^ood  meat  in  lent : 
But  a  hare  tliat  is  Aoar, 
Is  too  muchfor  a  scure^ 
When  it  hoars  ere  it  be  spent. 
Romeo,  will  you  come  to  your  father's?  we'll  to 
dinner  thither. 

R(nu.  1  will  fiillow  you. 

Mer.  Farewell,  ancient  lady;  farewell,  lady,  ladj', 
lady.       [Exeunt  JNIekcutio  an<l  Benvolio. 

Nurse,  ^iarry,  tareweli! — I  pray  you,  sir,  what 
saucy  merchant"  was  this,  that  was  so  fiUi  of  his 
ropery  ' 

R<nn.  A  gentleman,  nurse,  that  loves  to  iiear 
himself  talk;  and  will  speak  more  in  a  minute,  tiiaii 
he  will  stand  to  in  a  month. 

Nurse.  An  'a  speak  any  thing  against  me,  I'll 
take  Iiim  down  an  'a  were  lustier  than  he  is,  and 
twenty  such  Jacks;  and  if  I  cannot,  I'll  tind  those 

3  An  npplo.      »  Soft  stretching  leather.      «  GooJ-even. 

s  I'oint.  ■  Iloary,  moukiy. 

■<  A  term  of  disrespect,  in  contradistinction  to  g^'utJeman. 


710 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


Act  II.  Scene  VI. 


that  sliall.— Scurvy  kiiavc !  I  am  none  of  liis  (livt- 
gills;  I  am  none  of  his  skains-mates:'— And  thou 
must  stand  by  too,  and  sutler  every  knave  to  use 
nie  at  his  pleasure  1 

Pet.  I  .saw  no  man  use  you  at  his  pleasure;  if  I 
had,  my  weapon  should  quickly  have  been  out,  I 
warrant  you:  I  dare  draw  as  soon  as  another  man, 
if  I  see  occasion  in  a  good  quarrel,  and  the  law  on 
my  side. 

Nurse.  Now,  afore  God,  I  am  so  vexed,  that 
every  part  about  me  quivers.  Scurvy  knave  !— Pray 
5  ou,  sir,  a  word ;  and,  as  I  told  you,  my  young 
lady  bade  me  inquire  you  out;  what  she  bade  me 
say,  I  will  keep  to  myself:  but  first  let  me  tell  ye, 
it  ye  should  lead  her  into  a  tool's  paradise,  as  they 
say,  it  were  a  very  gross  kind  of  behavior,  as  tliey 
say :  lor  the  gentlewoman  is  young:  and,  theretbre, 
it  you  should  deal  double  with  her,  truly,  it  were 
an  ill  thing  to  be  oflered  to  any  gentlewoman,  and 
very  weak  dealing. 

Rum.  Nurse,  commend  me  to  thy  lady  and  mis- 
tress.   I  protest  unto  tiiee,— 

Nurse.  Good  heart!  and,  i'  faith,  I  will  tell  her 
as  much:  Lord,  lord,  she  will  be  a  joyful  woman. 

Rom.  What  wilt  thou  tell  her,  nurse!  thou  dost 
not  mark  me. 

Nurse.  I  will  tell  her,  sir,  that  you  do  protest; 
■nliiih,  as  I  take  it,  is  a  gciitleman-like  olftr. 

Rviii.  Bid  her  devise  some  means  to  come  to 
shiitia 
This  afternoon  ; 

And  there  she  shall  at  friar  Laurence'  cell 
Be  shriv'd  and  married.    Here  is  lor  Ihy  pains. 

Aurse.  No,  truly,  sir;  not  a  penny. 

Rum.  Go  to  ;  I  say  you  shall. 

Nurse.  This  afternoon,  sir;  well,  she  shall   be 
there. 

Rum.  And  stay,  good  nurse,  behind  the  abbey- 
wall  : 
Within  this  hour  my  man  shall  be  with  thee ; 
And  bring  thee  cords  made  like  a  tackled  stair, 
Winch  to  the  high  top-gallanti  of  my  joy 
Must  be  my  convoy  in  the  secret  night. 
J'arewelU— Be  trusty,  and  I'll  quit*  thy  pains. 
I'arewell !— Comnu-iid  me  to  thy  mistress. 

jSurse.  Now,  God  in  heaven  bless  thee!    Hark 
you,  sir. 

Rom.  What  say'st  thou,  my  dear  nurse  1 

Aurse.  Is  your  man  secret !    Did  you  ne'er  hear 

Two  may  keep  counsel,  putting  one  away  'i 
Rnin.  1  warrant  thee;  my  man's  as  true  as  steel. 
Aurse.  Well,  sir;  my  mistress  is  the  sweetest 
lady— Lord,  lord !— when  'twas    a    little    prating 
thing. — O,— Ihcre's  a  nobleman  in  town,  one  Paris, 
that  would  lain  lay  knile  aboard;   but  she,  good 
soul,  had  as  lieve  see  a  toad,  a  very  toad,  as  see 
Inm.    I  anger  her  sometimes,  and  tell  her  that  Paris 
is  the  propercr  man;  but,  I'll  warrant  you,  when  I 
say  so,  she  looks  as  pale  as  any  clout  in  the  varsal 
world.    Dotli  not  rosemary  and  Romeo  begin  both 
wilh  a  letter? 
Rum.  Ay,  nurse;  what  of  that?  both  with  an  R. 
Nurse.  .\h,  mocker!  that's  the  dog's  name;  Ris 
for  the  dog.    No;  I   know  it  begins  with  some 
olher  letter;  and  she  hath  tlie  prettiest  sententious 
of  it,  of  you  and  rosemary,  that  it  would  do  you 
good  to  hear  it. 
Rom.  Connnend  me  to  thy  lady.  [Exit. 

Nurse.  Ay,  a  thousand  times.— Peter ! 
Pel.  Anon '! 
Nurse.  Peter,  take  my  fan,  and  go  before. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  v.— Capulet's  Garden. 
Enter  JuLiKT. 
Jut.  The  clock  struck  nine,  when  I  did  send 
the  nurse ; 
In  half  an  hour  she  promis'd  to  return. 
Perchance  she  cannot  meet  him:  that's  not  so.— 
O,  she  is  lame!  lovc"s  heralds  should  be  thoughts. 
Which  ten  times  taster  glide  than  the  sun's  beams, 
Driving  back  shadows  over  low'iing  hills : 
Therefore  do  nimhie-piuion'd  doves  draw  love. 
And  theretbre  hath  the  wind-swift  Cupid  wings. 
Now  is  the  sun  upon  the  highmost  hill 

•  A  mate  or  companion  of  one  wearing  a  skain— a  short 
sword.  a  Confession. 

>  The  hiiiliest  extremity  of  the  mast  of  a  ship. 

•  Kequite. 


0(  tnis  day  s  journey ;  and  from  nine  till  twelve 

Is  three  long  hours,— yet  she  is  not  come. 

Had  she  allections,  and  warm  youthful  blood, 

She'd  be  as  swift  in  motion  as  a  ball; 

IWy  words  would  baudy^  her  to  my  sweet  love. 

And  his  to  me  : 

But  old  folks  many,  feign  as  they  were  dead ; 
,  Unwieldy,  slow,  heavy  and  pale  as  lead. 
I  Enter  Nurse  and  Peter. 

O  God,  .she  comes  !— 0  honey  nurse,  what  news] 


Hast  thou  met  with  him?  Send  thy  man  away. 
Nurse.  Peter,  stay  at  the  gate.  [Exit  Pei 

Jul.  Now,    good,    sweet    nurse,— O  lord!    v 


ETEIU 

why 


look'sf  thou  sad? 
Though  news  be  sad,  yet  tell  them  merrily; 
If  good,  thou  sham'st  the  music  of  sweet  news 
By  playing  it  to  me  with  so  sour  a  liice. 

Nurse.  1  am  weary,  give  me  leave  a  while  ;— 
Fye,  how  my  bones  ache?  What  a  jaunt  have  I  had. 
Jut.  I  would,  thou  hadst  my  bones,  and  I  thy 
news : 
Nay,  come,  I  pray  thee,  speak;- good,  good  nurse, 
speak. 
Nurse.  Jesu!  What  haste?   can  you  not  stay  a 
while  ? 
Do  you  not  see  that  I  am  out  of  breath  ? 
Jul.  How  art  thou  out  of  breath,  when  thou  hast 
breath 
To  say  to  me— that  thou  art  out  of  breath  ? 
The  excuse  that  thou  dost  make  in  this  delay. 
Is  longer  Ihan  the  tale  thou  dost  excuse. 
Is  thy  news  good  or  bad  !  answer  to  that ; 
Say  either,  and  I'll  stay  the  circumstance  : 
Let  me  be  .satisfied,  Is't  good  or  bad  ? 

Nurse.  Well,  you  have  made  a  simple  choice; 
.you  know  not  how  to  choose  a  man:  Romeo!  no, 
not  he  ;  though  his  lace  be  better  than  any  man's, 
yet  his  leg  excels  all  men's;  and  for  a  hand  and  a 
toot,  and  a  body,— though  they  be  not  to  be  talked 
on,  yet  they  are  past  compare :  He  is  not  the  llower 
of  courtesy,— but.  Til  warrant  him,  as  genlle  as  a 
lamb.— Go  thy  ways,  wench;  serve  God.— What, 
have  you  dined  at  home  ? 

Jul.  No,  no  :  But  all  this  did  I  know  before ; 
Wliat  says  he  otour  marriage?  what  of  that? 
Nurse.  Lord,  how  my  head  aches !  what  a  head 
have  I ! 
It  beats  as  it  would  fall  in  twenty  pieces. 
JNIy  back  o'  t'other  side.    O,  my  back,  my  back  !— 
Beshrew  your  heart,  for  sending  me  about. 
To  catch  my  death  with  jaunting  up  and  down  ! 
Jul.  V  liiith,  I  am  sorry  that  thou  art  not  well : 
Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  nurse,  tell  me,  what  says  my 
love  ? 
Nurse.  Your  love  .says,  like  an  honest  gentleman, 
And  a  courteous,  and  a  kind,  and  a  handsome, 

And,  I   warrant,  a  virtuous: Where  is    your 

mother  ? 
Jul.  Where  is  my  mother?— why,  she  is  within ; 
Where  should  she  he  ?  How  oddly  thou  reply'st; 
Yutir  luve  says  like  an  livnesl  gentleman,— 
Where  u  your  mother. ^ 

Nurse.  0,  God's  lady  dear ! 

Are  you  so  hot?  Marry,  come  up,  I  trow  : 
Is  this  the  poultice  tor  my  aching  bones  ? 
Hencctbrward  do  your  messages  yourself. 
Jut.   Here's    such    a    coilli- come,  what   says 

Romeo? 
Nurse.  Have  you  got  leave  to  go  to  shrift  to-day  ' 
Jul.  I  have. 

Nurse.Then  hie  you  hence  to  friar  Laurence' cell 
There  stays  a  husband  to  make  you  a  wife: 
Now  comes  the  wanton  blood  up  in  your  cheeks. 
They'll  be  in  scarlet  straight  at  any  news. 
Hie  you  to  church  :  I  must  another  way. 
To  lelch  a  ladder,  by  tlie  wliich  vour  love 
Must  climb  a  bird's  nest  soon,  when  it  is  dark: 
1  am  Ihe  drudge,  and  toil  in  your  delight; 
But  you  shall  bear  Ihe  burden  .soon  at  night, 
lio,  I  II  to  dinner;  hie  you  to  the  cell. 
Jut.  Hie  to  high  fortune !— honest  nurse,  fare- 
"'""•  [Exeunt. 

SCENE   VL— Friar  Laurence'  Celt. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 
Fri.  So  smile  the  heavens  upon  this  holy  act, 
That  after-hours  with  sorrow  chide  us  not. 

»  Drive  her,  as  a  b;Ul  struck  Kith  a  bandy,  i.  e.  a  liat  o? 
battledore.  <  Bustle. 


Act  III.  Scene  I. 


KOMEO  AND   JULIET. 


711 


Rom.  Amen,  amen  \  but  come  what  sorrow  can, 
It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy 
That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight : 
Do  thou  but  close  our  hands  with  holy  words, 
Then  iove-devourins  death  do  what  he  dare, 
It  is  enoug;h  I  may  but  call  her  mine. 

Fri.  The^^c  violent  delights  have  violent  ends, 
And  in  their  triumph  die;  like  tire  and  powder, 
Which,  as    they    kiss,    consume:    The    sweetest 

honey 
Is  loaih-;ome  in  his  own  deliciousness. 
And  in  the  taste  confounds  the  appetite  : 
Therefore,  love  moderately;  long  love  doth  so; 
Too  swift  arrivc-s  as  tardy  as  too  slow. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Here  comes  the  lady :— 0,  so  light  a  foot 
Will  ne'er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint : 
A  lover  may  bestride  the  gossamers^ 
That  idle  iii  the  wanton  summer  nir, 
And  yet  not  lali ;  so  light  is  vanity. 


Jul.  Good-even  to  my  ghostly  confessor. 

Fri.  Romeo  shall  thank  thee,  daughter,  for  us 
both. 

Jul.   As  much  to  him,  else  are  his  thanks  too 
much. 

Rom.  Ah.  Juliet,  if  the  measure  of  thy  joy 
lie  heapM  like  mine,  and  that  thy  skill  be  more 
To  blazon^  it,  then  sweeten  with  thy  breath 
This  neighbor  air.  and  let  rich  muslc'.s  tongue 
Untold  the  imaginM  happiness  that  both 
Receive  in  either  by  tiiis  dear  encounter. 

Jul.  Conceit,"  more  rich  in  matter  tlian  in  words, 
Hrags  of  his  substance,  not  of  ornament: 
They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth; 
IJut  my  true  love  is  grown  to  such  excess, 
I  cannot  sum  up  half  my  sum  of  wcaltli. 

Fri.  Come,  come  with  me,  and  we  will  make 
short  work; 
For.  hy  your  leaves,  you  shall  not  stay  alone. 
Till  holy  churcli  incorporate  two  in  one. 

{Exeunt, 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  \.-A  Public  Place. 
Enter  Mercutio,  Ben'volto,  Page,  awl  Servants. 

Ben.  I  pray  thcc,  good  Mercutio,  let's  retire; 
Tile  day  is  iiot,  tjie  Capulets  abroad. 
And,  if  we  meet,  wo  sliall  not  'scape  a  brawl ; 
For  now.  these  hot  days,  ia  the  mad  bloorl  stirring. 

Mer.  Thou  art  like  one  of  those  fellows,  that, 
when  he  enters  the  confines  of  a  tavern,  claps  nie 
his  sword  upon  the  table,  and  says,  Gail  send  me 
no  needoflhee .'  and,  hy  the  operation  of  the  second 
cup,  draws  it  on  the  drawer,  when,  indeed,  there  is 
no  need. 

Hen.  Am  I  like  such  a  fellow 7 

Mer.  Come,  come,  thou  art  as  hot  a  Jack  in  thy 
mood  as  any  in  Italy;  and  as  soon  jnovcd  to  be 
moody,  and  as  soon  moody  to  be  moved. 

Ben.  And  what  to  7 

Mer.  Nay,  an  there  were  two  such,  we  should 
have  none  shortly,  lijr  one  would  kill  the  other. 
Thou!  why  thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a  man  thatliath 
a  hair  more,  or  a  hair  less,  in  his  beard,  than  thou 
hast.  Thou  will  quarrel  with  a  man  for  cracking 
nuts,  having  no  otlicr  reason  but  because  thou  hast 
hazel  eyes;  What  eye-  but  such  an  eye,  would  spy 
out  such  a  quarrel  1  Thy  head  is  as  full  of  quarrels 
as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat;  and  yet  thy  head  hath 
been  beaten  as  addle  as  an  egg,  for  quarrelling. 
Thou  hast  quarrelled  with  a  man  for  coughing  in 
the  street,  because  he  hath  wakened  thy  dog  that 
hath  lain  asleep  in  the  sun.  Didst  thou  not  fall  out 
with  a  tailor  lor  wearing  his  new  doublet  before 
Easier  t  with  another,  for  tying  his  new  shoes  with 
old  riband  ?  and  yet  thou  wilt  tutor  me  from  quar- 
relling '. 

Ben.  An  I  were  .so  apt  to  quarrel  as  thou  art.any 
man  should  buy  the  fee-simple  of  my  life  for  an 
hour  and  a  quarter. 

Mer.  The  fee-simple  1     0  simple ! 

En/er  Tybalt  an/l  others. 

Ben.  By  my  lieail,  here  come  the  Capulets. 

Jlffr.  By  my  heel.  1  care  not. 

Ti/b.  Follow  me  close,  for  I  will  speak  to  them. — 
Gentlemen,  gond-den;  a  word  with  one  of  you. 

Mer.  And  but  one  word  %vithoncof  us?  Couple 
it  with  something ;  make  it  a  word  and  a  blow. 

Tyb.  You  will  find  me  apt  enough  to  that,  sir, 
if  you  will  give  me  occasion. 

Ister.  Could  you  not  take  some  occasion  without 
giving ! 

Ti/b.  Mercutio,  thou  consortest  with  Romeo,— 

Mer.  Consort?  what,  dost  thou  make  us  min- 
strels? an  thou  make  minstrels  of  us,  look  to  hear 
nothing  but  discords:  here's  my  fiddlestick;  here's 
that  shall  make  you  dance.    'Zounds,  consort ! 

Ben.  We  talk  here  in  the  public  haunt  of  men  : 
Either  withdraw  into  some  ])rivate  place, 
Or  reason  coldly  of  your  grievances, 
Or  else  depart;  here  all  eyes  gaze  on  us. 

6  The  lon^  white  filameut  which  flies  in  the  air. 


Mer.  Men's  eyes  were  made   to  look,  and  let 
them  gaze; 
I  will  not  budge  tor  no  man's  pleasure,  I. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Ti/b.  Well,  peace  be  with  you,  sir !  liere  comes 
my  man. 

Mer.  But,  I'll  be  hanged,  sir,  if  he  wear  your 
livery: 
Marry,  go  he'fiire  to  field,  he'll  he  your  follower; 
Your  worship  in  that  sense  may  call  him — man. 

Ti/b.  Romeo,  the  hale  1  bear  thee,  can  allbrd 
No  better  term  than  this — Thou  art  a  villain. 

Rcnn.  T>  bait,  the  reason  that  I  have  lo  love  thee 
Doth  much  excuse  the  ajipertaining  rage 
To  such  a  greeting: — Villain  am  I  none  ; 
Therefore,  larewell ;  I  see,  thou  know'st  me  not, 

Tyb.  Boy,  this  shall  not  excuse  the  injuries 
That  thou  hast  done  me;  therefore  turn, .and  draw. 

liont.  I  do  protest,  I  never  injur'd  thee; 
But  love  thee  better  than  thou  canst  devise. 
Till  thou  shalt  know  the  reason  of  my  love : 
And  so,  good  Capuiet, — which  name  I  tender 
As  dearly  as  mine  own, — lie  satisfied.  ' 

Bier.  O  calm,  dishonorable,  vile  submission! 
A  la  stoccata^  carries  it  away.  [Draws. 

Tybalt,  you  rat-catcher,  will  you  walk? 

Tub.  What  wouldst  thou  have  wilh  me! 

Mer.  Good  king  of  cats,  nothing,  but  one  of  your 
nine  lives;  that  I  mean  to  make  bold  withal," and 
as  you  shall  use  me  hereaAer.  dry-beat  the  rest  of 
the  eight.  Will  you  pluck  your  sword  out  of  hi.s 
pilcher^  by  the  ears'!  make  liaste,  lest  mine  be 
about  your  ears  ere  it  be  out. 

Ti/b.  I  am  tor  you.  {Drawing. 

Rom.  Gentle  Mercutio,  put  thy  rapier  up. 

Mer.  Come,  sir,  your  passado.  [Tkeyjight. 

Rom.  Draw.  Beiivolio; 
Beat  down  their  weapons: — Gentlemen, for  shame; 
Forbear  this  outrage; — Tybalt — Mercutio— 
The  prince  expressly  hath  Ibrbid  this  bandying 
In  Verona  streets :— hold.  Tybalt ;— good  Mercutio. 
[Exeunt  Tvdalt  and  his  Partisans. 

Mer.  I  am  hurt; — 
A  plague  o'  buth  the  houses! — I  am  sped: — 
Is  he  gone,  and  hath  nothing  ! 

Ben.  What,  art  thou  hurt? 

Mer,  Ay,  ay,  a  scratch,  a  scratch;   marry,  'tis 
enough. — 
Where  is  my  page  ? — go,  villain,  fetcii  a  surgeon. 

[E.vit  Page. 

Rnm.  Courage,  man;  the  hurt  cannot  be  much. 

Mer.  No,  'tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide 
as  a  church  door;  but  'tis  enough,  'twill  serve:  ask 
for  me  to-morrow,  and  you  shall  find  me  a  grave 
man.  I  am  peppered.  I  warrant,  for  this  world: — 
A  plague  o'  both  your  houses! — 'Zounds,  a  dog, 
a  rat,  a  mouse,  a  cat,  to  scratch  a  man  to  dealli ! 

6  P.'iint,  display,  i  Tm.l^iu.atif.>n. 

8  Ttie  Italian  term  for  a  thrust  or  stab  with  a  rapier, 

9  Case  or  Gcabbard. 


(12 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  III. 


a  brag:g;irt,  a  ro^ue-  a  villain,  that  figlits  by  the 
book  of  arithmellc! — Why,  the  devil,  came  you 
between  us]     I  was  hurt  under  your  urin. 

Rom.  I  thousibt  all  lor  the  best. 

Mer.  Help  me  into  some  house,  Benvolio, 
Or  I  shall  faint. — A  pla^rue  o'  both  your  houses! 
They  have  made  worm's  meat  of  mc: 
I  have  it,  and  soundly  too: — Your  houses! 

[Exeunt  iMEitcuTio  and  Benvolio. 

Rom..  This  gentleman,  the  prince'^s  near  ally, 
■My  very  friend,  hath  got  his  mortal  hurt 
In  my  hehalf;  my  reputation  stain'd 
With  Tybalt's  slander,  Tybalt,  that  an  hour 
Hath  been  my  kinsman: — 0  sweet  Juliet, 
Thy  beauty  hath  made  me  cReminate, 
And  in  my  temper  sotlen'd  valor's  steel. 
Re-enter  Benvolio. 

Ben.  O  Romeo,  Romeo,  brave  Mcrcutio^s  dead ; 
That  p:allaut  spirit  hath  aspir'd  tlic  clouds, 
Wliich  too  untimely  here  did  scorn  the  earth. 

Rnm.  This  day's  black  fate  on  more  days  doth 
depend ; 
This  but  begins  the  woe,  others  must  end. 
Re-enter  Tvbalt. 

Ben.  Here  comes  the  furious  Tybalt  back  again. 

Ro7n.  Alivf!  in  triumph  !  and  Mercutio  slain  ! 
Away  to  Heaven,  res]iective'  lenity, 
And  tirc-eyed  fury  be  my  conduct-  now! — 
Now,  Tybalt,  take  the  villain  hack  again, 
Tiiat  late  ihou  gav'^st  me;  for  iMcrcutio'ssmil 
Is  but  a  little  way  above  our  heads. 
Staying  for  thine  to  keep  him  company; 
Either  tliou,  or  I,  or  both,  must  go  with  him. 

Ti/b.  Thou,  wretched  boy,  that  didst  consort^ 
him  here, 
Slialt  with  him  hence. 

Rom.  This  shall  determine  that. 

[They  fight;    Tybxlt  f alia. 

Ben.  Romeo,  away,  be  gone  I 
The  citizens  are  up.'and  Tybalt  slain  : 
Stand  not  amaz'd : — the  prince  will  doom   thee 

death, 
Ifthou  art  taken  :— hence! — be  gone! — away! 

Rom.  0!  I  am  Fortune's  fool  ! 

Bin.  Why  dost  thou  stay  1    [Exit  Romeo. 

Enter  Citizens,  ^-c, 

1  CU.  Which  wny  ran  he,  that  kilTd  Mercutio? 
Tvbalt,  that  murderer,  which  way  ran  he] 

'LV7?.  There  lies  that  Tybalt. 

>Cit.  ^     Up,  sir,  go  with  me; 

I  charge  thee  in  the  prince's  name,  obey. 

Enter  Px'mcc, at f en'l erl ;  IMoNTAfifE,  Capl"LET,  their 
Wives,  a/7d  others. 

Prill.  Where  are  the  vile  beginners  of  this  fray? 

Ben.  O  noble  prince,  I  can  discover  all 
Tiic  unlucky  manage  of  this  fatal  brawl : 
There  lies  the  man  slain  by  young  Romeo, 
That  slew  thy  kinsman,  brave  Mercutio. 

La.  Cap.  Tybalt,  my  cousin! — O  my   brother^s 
child"! 
Unhappy  si^ht !  all  me,  the  blood  is  spill'd 
Of  my  dear  kinsman  ! — Prince,  as  thou  art  true,-* 
For  lilood  of  ours,  shed  blood  of  Montague. — 
O  cousin,  cousin  ! 

Prin.  Benvolio,  who  began  this  bloody  fray? 

Ben.  Tybalt,  iiere  slain,  whom  Romeo's  Jiand 
did  slay  ; 
Romeo  that  spoke  him  fair,  bade  him  bethink 
I[t»w  nice''  the  quarrel  was,  and  urged  wiliial 
Your  iiitih  displeasure  : — All  this — uttered 
With    gentle    breath,  calm    look,  knees  humbly 

bow'd,— 
Conld  not  take  truce  with  the  unruly  spleen 
Of 'I'ybalt,  deaf  to  peace,  but  that  he  tilts 
^Vi1h  piercing  steel  at  !»old  Meicutio's  breast; 
^Vho.  all  as  hot,  turns  deadly  point  to  point, 
And.  with  a  martial  scorn,  with  one  hand  beats 
Cold  death  aside,  and  with  the  other  sends 
It  back  to  Tybalt,  whose  dexterity 
Retort.'i  it  :  Konieo  he  erics  aloud, 
Hold,  friends  !  friends,  pari  I  and,  swil^cr  than  his 

tonirvie. 
His  agile  arm  beats  down  their  fatal  points, 
And  'twixt  them  rushes;  underneath  whose  arm 
An  envious  tlirust  from  Tybalt  Jiit  the  lite 

*  Considerate.  a  Conductor.  »  Accompany. 

*  Just  aud  upriglit.  »  Slight,  uuimportaut. 


Of  stout  Mercutio,  and  then  Tybalt  fled  : 

But  by  and  by  comes  back  to  Romeo, 

Who  had  but  newlj-  entertain'd  revenge. 

And  to't  they  go  like  lightning;  for,  eie  I 

Could  draw  to  part  them,  was  stout  Tybalt  slain ; 

And,  as  he  fell,  did  Romeo  turn  and  Uy  : 

This  is  the  truth,  or  let  Benvolio  die. 

La.  Cap.  He  is  a  kinsman  to  the  Montague, 
Aflection  makes  him  false,  he  speaks  not  true  : 
Some  twenty  of  them  fought  in  tiiis  black  strife, 
And  all  those  twenty  could  but  kill  one  life: 
I  beg  for  justice,  which  thou,  prince,  must  give  ; 
Romeo  slew  Tybalt,  Romeo  must  not  Jive. 

Prin.  Romeo  slew  him,  he  slew  Mercutio; 
Who  now  the  price  of  his  dear  blood  doth  owe  ? 

JSIpn.  Not  Romeo,  prince,  he   was    Mercutio's 
friend ; 
His  fault  concludes  but  what  the  law  should  end, 
The  life  of  Tybalt; 

Prin.  And,  for  that  offence, 

Immediately  we  do  exile  him  hence: 
1  have  an  interest  in  your  hates'  proceeding, 
My  blood  fur  your  rude  brawls  doth  lie  a-bJeeding, 
But  I'll  amercot'  you  with  so  strong  a  fine, 
That  you  shall  all  repent  the  loss  of  mine. 
I  wilCbe  deaf  to  pleading  and  excuses; 
Nor  tears,  nor  prayers,  shall  purchase  out  abuses; 
Therefore  use  none  :  let  Romeo  hence  in  haste, 
Else,  when  hc-s  found,  that  hour  is  his  last. 
Bear  hence  Iiis  body,  and  attend  our  will : 
Mercy  but  murders,  pardoning  those  that  kill. 

[Exeunt 

SCENE  II.— .4  Room  in  Capulef  s  House. 
Enter  Juliet. 

Jul.  Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds, 
Towards  Phcebus'  mansion;  such  a  waggoner 
As  Phaeton  would  whip  you  to  the  west. 
And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately.— 
Spread  thy  close  curtain,  lovc-perlbrniing  night ! 
Tliat  run-away 's  eyes  may  wink;  and  Romeo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  untalk'd  of,  and  unseen  ! — 
Lovers  can  see  to  do  their  amorous  rites 
By  their  own  beauties:  or,  if  love  be  blind. 
It  best  agrees  with  night. — Come,  civiF  night. 
Thou  sober-suited  matron,  all  in  black, 
And  learn  me  how  to  lose  a  winning  match, 
Piuy\I  for  a  pair  of  stainless  maidenhoods  : 
Hood  my  unmann'd  blood  bating  in  my  cheeks,^ 
With  tliy  black  mantle ;  till  strange  love,  grown 

bold, 
Think  true  love  acted,  simple  modesty. 
Come,  night !— Come,  Rouieo!  come,  thou  day  in 

night! 
For  Ihou  wilt  lie  upon  the  wings  of  night 
Whiter  than  new  snow  on  a  raven's  back. — 
Come,  gentle  night ;  come,  loving,  black-brow'd 

night. 
Give  me  my  Romeo  :  and  when  he  shall  die, 
Take  him  and  cut  him  out  in  little  stars, 
And  he  will  make  the  face  of  heaven  so  fine 
That  all  the  v;orld  will  be  in  love  with  night, 
And  pay  no  worship  to  the  garish^  sun. — 
0, 1  have  bought  the  mansion  of  a  love. 
But  not  possessed  it;  and,  though  I  am  sold, 
Nut  yet  enjoy'd :  So  tedious  is  this  day, 
As  is  the  night  belbre  some  festi\al 
To  an  impatient  child,  that  Iiath  new  robes, 
And  may  not  wear  them.  O,  here  comes  my  nurso, 

Enter  Nurse,  with  Cords. 
And  she  brings  news;  and  every  tongue  that  speaks 
But  Romco'S  name,  speaks  heavenly  eloquence. — 
Now,  nurse,  what  news?    What  hast  thou  there, 

the  cords. 
That  Romeo  bade  thee  fetch  ? 

JSurse.  Ay,  ay,  the  cords. 

[  Tlirows  them  down. 

Jul.  Ah  me!  what  news?  why  dost  thou  wring 
thy  hands? 

Nuj'se.  Ah  well-a-day!—he''s  dead, he's  dead,  he's 
dead ! 
We  are  undone,  lady,  we  are  undone ! — 
Aliick  the  day  ! — he's  gone,  he's  kill'd,  he's  dead  ! 

Jul,  Can  heaven  be  so  envious? 

Nurse.  Ronleo  can, 

Though  heaven  cannot: — 0  Romeo!  Romeo! 
Who  ever  would  have  thought  it? — Romeo  ! 

6  I'nnish  by  fine.  '  Grave,  solemn. 

8  Tlictt.'  are  terms  of  falconry.  •  Gaudy,  shony. 


Scene  III. 


KOMEO   AND  JULIET. 


713 


Jul.  What  devil  art  tliou,  that  dost  torment  mc 
thus! 
This  torture  should  be  roar'd  in  dismal  hell. 
Hath  Romeo  slain  himsclfl  say  thou  but/,' 
And  that  bare  vowel  /shall  poison  more 
Than  tlie  death-darting  ej'e  of  cockatrice : 
1  am  not  I,  if  there  be  such  an  I: 
Or  those  eyes  bhut,  that  makes  thee  answer,  /. 
If  he  be  slain,  say — /,-  or  iftiot,  no : 
Brief  sounds  determine  of  my  weal  or  woe. 

I^^urse.  I  saw  the  wound. I  saw  it  with  mine  eyes, — 
God  save  the  mark  ! — here,  on  his  manly  breast ; 
A  piteous  corse,  a  bloody  piteous  corse ; 
Pale,  pale  as  ashes,  all  bedauhM  in  blood. 
All  in  sore  blood ;  I  swoondcd  at  the  sight. 

Jut.  0  break,  my  heart! — poor  bankrupt,  brFak 
at  once ! 
To  prison,  e3'es !  ne'er  look  on  liberty  ! 
Vile  eartii,  to  earth  resi;j:n  ;  end  motion  here  ; 
And  tJiou,  and  Romeo,  press  one  heavy  bier ! 

Nurse.  0  Tybalt,  Tybalt,  the  best  friend  I  had  ! 
O  courteous  Tybalt !  honest  gentleman  ! 
That  ever  I  should  live  to  see  thee  dead  ! 

Jut.  What  storm  is  this,  that  blows  so  contrary  1 
Is  Romeo  slaughter'd;  and  is  Tybalt  deadl 
My  dear-lov'd  cousin,  and  my  dearer  lord  I — 
Then,  dreadful  trumpet,  sound  the  general  doom  ! 
For  who  is  living,  if  those  two  are  gone  ! 

Nurge.  Tybalt  is  gone,  and  Romeo  banished; 
Romeo,  tliat  kill'd  him,  ho  is  banished. 

Jut.  0  God !— did  Romeo's  hand  siied  Tybalt's 
blood! 

Nurse.  It  did,  it  did  ;  alas  the  day  !  it  did. 

Jul.  0,  serpent  heart,  hid  with  a  llow'ring  face  ! 
Did  ever  drai^on  keej)  so  fiiir  a  cave  ' 
Beautiful  tyrant!  liend  angelical! 
Bove-Ieather'd  raven!  woltish  ravening  lamb  ! 
Despised  substance  of  diviaest  show ! 
Just  opposite  to  what  thou  justly  seem'st, 
A  damned  saint,  an  honorable  villain  ! — 
O.  nature  !  w/iat  hadst  thou  to  do  in  liell. 
When  thou  didst  bower  the  spirit  of  a  fiend 
Ir.  mor'al  paradise  of  such  sweet  flesh  ! 
Was  ever  book,  containing  such  vile  matter. 
So  fairly  bound  !    0,  that  deceit  .should  dwell 
In  such  a  gorgeous  palace  ! 

Nurse.  There's  no  trust, 

No  faith,  no  honesty  in  men;  all  perjur'd. 
All  Ibrsworn,  all  naught,  all  dissemblers. — 
Ah,  Where's  my  manl  give  mc  some  aqua  vitse: — 
These  griefs,  these  woes,  these  sorrows,  make  me 

old. 
Shame  come  to  Romeo! 

Jul.  _  Blister'd  be  thy  tongue, 

For  r.iu'h  a  wish!  he  was  not  born  to  shame: 
Upon  his  brow  shame  is  asham'd  to  sit; 
For  'tis  a  throne  where  honor  may  be  crown'd 
Sole  monarch  of  the  universal  earth. 
O,  what  a  beast  was  I  to  chide  at  him ! 

Nurse.  Will  you  speak  well  of  him  that  kill'd 
your  cousin  I 

Jul.  Shall  I  speak  ill  of  him  that  is  my  husbandl 
Ah,  poor  my  lord,  what  tongue  shall  smooth  thy 

name. 
When  I,  thy  three-hours'  wife,  have  mangled  it  ? — 
But,  wherelbre,  villain,  didst  thou  kill  my  cousin  ! 
That  villain  cousin  would  have  kill'd  my  husband  : 
Back,  foolish  tears,  hack  to  your  native  spring; 
Your  tributary  drops  bjlong  to  woe, 
■Which  you,  mistaking,  oiler  up  to  joy. 
My  husband  lives,  that  Tybalt  would  have  slain  ; 
And  Tybalt's  dead,  that  would  have  slain  my  hus- 
band ; 
All  this  is  comfort;  Wherefore  weep  I  theni 
Some  word  there  was,  worser  than  Tybalt's  death 
That  murder'd  me:  I  would  forget  it  fain; 
But,  0  !  it  presses  to  my  memory, 
Lilvc  damned  guilty  deeds  to  sinners'  minds: 
Ti/hull  is  itcad.  and  Uumeo—banislied, 
That. — banished,  that  one  word, — banislied. 
Hath  slain  ten  thousand  Tybalts.    Tybalt's  death 
Was  woe  enough,  if  it  had  ended  there: 
Or,— if  sour  woe  delights  in  fellowship. 
And  needly  will  be  rank'd  with  olher  griefs,^ 
Why  foUow'd  not,  when  she  said— Tybalt's  dead, 
Thy  lather,  or  thy  mother,  naj,  or  both, 

*  In  Sbakspeare's  time  the  alHrui.itive  particle  ai/  w.as 
usually  wiitteu  /,  auil  hei-e  it  is  necfss.ar}'  to  retaiu  the 
oiil  spelling. 


Which  modern^  lamentation  might  have  mov'd'! 
But,  with  a  rear-ward  following  Tybalt's  death, 
liumeu  is  ban'islied.—yo  speak  that  word, 
Is  father;  mother,  Tybalt,  Romeo,  Juliet, 
All  slain,  all  dead ; — Uanieo  is  banUtied, — 
There  is  no  end,  no  limit,  measure,  bound, 
In  that  word's  death;  no  words  can  thatwoe  sound. — 
Where  is  my  father,  and  my  mother,  nurse  1 

Nurse.  Weepingand  wailing  over  Tybalt's  corse  ; 
Will  you  go  to  them  !  I  will  bring  you  thither. 

Jut.  Wash  they  his  %vounds  with  tears  !  mine 
shall  be  spent. 
When  theirs  arc  dry,  for  Rorneo's  banishment. 
Take  up  those  cords : — Poor  ropes,  you  are  heguil'd, 
Both  you  and  I ;  for  Romeo  is  exii'd : 
He  made  you  for  a  highway  to  my  bed  ; 
But  I,  a  maid,  die  muiden-widowed. 
Come,  cords;  come, nurse;  I'll  to  my  wedding-bed: 
And  death,  not  Romeo,  take  my  maidenhead! 

Nurse.  Hie  to  your  chamber':  I'll  find  Romeo 
To  comfort  you  : — I  wot^  well  where  he  is. 
Hark  ye.  your  Romeo  will  be  here  at  night; 
I'll  to  him;  he  is  hid  at  Laurence'  cell. 

Jul.  O  find  him  !  give  this  ring  to  my  true  knight, 
And  bid  him  come  to  take  his  last  farewell. 

{Exeunt. 

SCENE  III.— Friar  Laurence's  Cell. 

Enter  Fri.\r  Laurence  and  Romeo. 

Fri,  Romeo,  come  forth;  come  forth,  thou  fear- 
ful man; 
Affliction  is  enamor'd  of  thy  parts. 
And  thou  art  wedded  to  calamity. 

Honi.  Father,  what  news!  what  is  the  prince's 
doom  ! 
What  sorrow  craves  acquaintance  at  my  hand. 
That  I  yet  know  not! 

Fri.  Too  familiar 

Is  my  dear  son  with  such  sour  company: 
I  bring  thee  tidings  of  the  prince's  doom. 

Hum.  What  less  than  dooms-day  is  the  prince's 
doom ! 

Fri.  A  gentler  judgment  vanish'd  from  his  lips, 
Not  body's  death,  but  body's  banishment. 

Ru7n.Ua.'.  banishment  !  be  merciful, say — death: 
For  exile  hath  more  terror  in  his  look. 
Much  more  than  death  :  do  not  say — banishment. 

Fri.  Hence  from  Verona  art  thou  banished: 
Be  patient,  for  the  world  is  broad  and  wide. 

Rum.  There  is  no  world  without  Verona  walls. 
But  purgatory,  torture,  hell  itself, 
llence-lianished  is  banish'd  from  the  world, 
And  world's  exile  is  death  :— then  banishment. 
Is  death  mis-tcrm'd:  calling  death — banishment, 
Thou  cut'st  my  head  off  with  a  golden  axe, 
And  smil'st  upon  the  stroke  that  murders  me. 

Fri.  O  deadly  sin  !  O  rude  unthankfulness ! 
Thy  fault  our  law  calls  death  ;  but  the  kind  prince, 
Tai'iing  thy  jnirt,  hath  rush'd  aside  the  law. 
And  turn'd  that  black  word  death  to  banishment: 
This  is  dear  mercy,  and  thou  seest  it  not. 

Rom.  'Tis  torture, and  not  mercy;  heaven  is  here, 
Where  Juliet  lives;  and  every  cat,  and  dog, 
,A.nd  little  mouse,  every  unworthy  thing. 
Live  here  in  heaven,  and  may  look  on  her. 
But  Romeo  may  not.— More  validity,-' 
More  honorable  state,  more  courtship,  lives 
In  carrion  (lies,  than  Romeo  :  they  may  seize 
On  the  white  wonder  of  dear  Juliet's  hand, 
And  steal  immortal  blessing  from  her  lips; 
Who,  even  in  pure  and  vestal  modesty. 
Still  blush,  as  thinking  their  own  kisses  sin; 
But  Romeo  may  not;  lie  is  banished; 
Flies  may  do  this,  when  I  from  this  must  fly; 
They  are  free  men.  but  I  am  banished. 
And  say'st  thou  yet,  that  exile  is  not  death  ? 
Hadst  thou  no  poison  mix'd,no  sharp-ground  knife, 
No  sudden  mean  of  death,  though  ne'er  so  mean, 
Jiut, — banished — to  kill  me;  banished! 
0  friar,  the  dajnned  use  that  word  in  hell ; 
Howlings  attend  it:  How  hast  thou  the  heart. 
Being  a  divine,  a  ghostly  confessor, 
A  sin-absoJver,  aiul  my  "friend  profess'd. 
To  mangle  me  with  that  word — banishmenf! 

Fri.  Thou  fond  mad  man,  hear  me  but  speak  a 

word. 
Rom.  O,  thou  wilt  speak  again  of  banishment. 


•  Common. 


a  Know. 


*  "Worth,  value. 


ri4 


EOMEO  AND   JULIET. 


Act  III. 


Fri.  I'll  give  thee  armor  to  keep  off  that  word: 
Adversity's  sweet  milk,  philosophy, 
To  comfort  thee.  thouc;h  tliou  art  banished. 

Rom.  Yet  banished  !— Hang  up  philosophy  ! 
Unless  philosophy  can  make  a  Juliet, 
Displant  a  town,  reverse  a  prince's  doom, 
It  helps  not,  it  prevails  not, — talk  no  niore. 
Fri.  O,  then  I  see  that  madmen  have  no  ears. 
liom.  How  should  they,  wlien  that  wise  men  ' 

have  no  eyes  1 
Fi'i.  Let  me  dispute  witli  thee  of  thy  estate. 
Ro/n.  Thou  canst  not  speak  of  what  thou  dost 
not  feel : 
Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  Juliet  thy  love, 
An  hour  hut  married,  Tybalt  murdered, 
Doling  like  me,  and  like  me  banished, 
Thenmightst  thou  speak,  then  miglilst  thou  tear 

thy  hair, 
And  fall  upon  the  ground  as  I  do  now, 
Taldng  the  measure  of  an  unmade  grave. 
FrL  Arise ;  one  knocks ;  good  Romeo,  hide  tJiy- 
self.  [Knucking  within. 

Rom*  Not  I;   unless   the    breath  of  heart-sick 
groans, 
Mist-like,  infold  me  from  the  search  of  eyes, 

[Knocking. 
Fri.  Hark,  how  they  knock ! — Who  s  there  1 — 
Romeo,  arise : 
Thou  wilt  be  taken: — Stay  a  while:— stand  up; 

[Knocking. 
Run  to  my  study : — By  and  by : — God's  will ! 
What  wiUulness  is  this"? — I  come,  1  come. 

[Knocking. 
Who  Icnocks  so  hard  1  Whence  come  you  .'  what  s 
your  will  1 
Nurse.  [tVithi?}.]  Let  me  come  Lii,  and  you  shall 
know  my  errand ; 
I  come  from  Lady  Juliet. 
Fri.  Welcome  then. 

Enter  Nurse. 

Nurse.  0  holy  friar,  O,  tell  me,  holy  friar, 
Where  is  my  lady's  lord,  where's  Romeo  ! 

Fri.  There  on  the  ground,  with  his  own  tears 
made  drunk. 

Nurse.  0,  he  is  even  in  my  mistress'  case, 
Just  in  her  case! 

Fi^i.  0  woeful  sympathy! 

Piteous  predicament. 

Nurse.  Even  so  lies  she, 

Blubbering  and  weeping,  weepmg  and  blubber- 
ing : — 
Stand  up,  stand  up;  stand,  an  you  be  a  man: 
For  Juliet's  sake,  for  her  sake,  rise  and  stand; 
Why  should  you  fall  into  so  deep  an  0 1 

Ri)7n.  Nurse ! 

Nurse.  Ah  sir  !  ah  sir ! — Well,  death's  the  end 
of  all. 

Rom.  Spak'stthou  of  Juliet?  how  is  it  with  her? 
Does  not  she  think  me  an  old  murderer. 
Now  I  have  stain'd  the  childhood  of  our  joy 
With  blood  remov'd  but  little  from  lier  own? 
Where  is  she  ?  and  how  doth  she  ?  and  what  says 
My  conccal'd  lady  to  our  cancell'd  love  ? 

Nurse.  O,  she  says  nothing,  sir,  but  weeps  and 
weeps; 
And  now  falls  on  her  bed ;  and  then  starls  up, 
And  Tybalt  calls;  and  then  on  Romeo  cries, 
And  then  down  falls  again. 

Rom.  As  if  that  name. 

Shot  from  the  deadly  level  of  a  gun. 
Did  murder  her;  as  that  name's  cursed  hand 
Murder'd  Jicr  kinsman.— 0  tell  me,  friar,  tell  me. 
In  what  vile  part  of  tliis  anatomy 
Doth  my  name  lodge?  tell  me,  that  I  may  sack 
Thf  baleful  mansion.  [Dniiviu^  hi.s  Su-ord. 

Fri.  Hold  thy  despeiale  hand: 

Art  thou  a  man?  thy  form  cries  out,  tliou  art; 
Thy  tears  are  womanish,  thy  wild  acts  denote 
Ttie  unreasonable  fury  of  a  beast. 
Unseemly  woman,  in  a  seeming  maij! 
Or  ill-beseeming  beast,  in  seeming  both  ! 
Thiiu  hast  ainaz'd  me :  by  my  holy  order, 
I  tliought  thy  dispositionbetter  temper'd. 
Hast  thou  slain  Tybalt?  wilt  thou  slay  thyself? 
And  slay  thy  lady  too  that  lives  in  thee, 
By  doing  damned  hate  upon  thyselJ? 
Why  rail'st  thou  on  thy  birth,  the  heaven, and  earth  ? 
Since  birth, and  heaven,  and  earlh,  all  three  do  meet 
In  thee  at  once  ;  which  thou  at  once  wouldst  lose. 


Fye,  fye!  thou  sham 'st  thy  shape,  thy  love,  ihy  wit; 
Which,  like  an  usurer,  abound'st  in  all. 
And  usest  none  in  that  true  use  indeed 
Which  should  bedeck  thy  shajje,  thy  love,  thy  wit. 
Thy  noble  shape  is  but  a  Ibrin  of  wax. 
Digressing  from  the  valor  of  a  man  : 
Thy  dear  love,  sworn,  but  hollow  perjury, 
Killing  that  love  which  thou  hast  vow  d  to  cherish: 
Thy  wit,  that  ornaraefJt  to  shape  and  love, 
Mis-shapen  in  the  conduct  of  them  both, 
Like  powder  in  a  skill-less  soldier's  Ilask, 
Is  set  on  lire  by  thine  own  ignorance. 
And  thou  dismember'd  with  thine  own  defence 
What,  rouse  thee,  man  !  thy  Juliet  is  alive, 
For  whose  dear  sake  thou  wast  but  lately  dead , 
There  art  thou  happy:  Tybalt  would  kill  thee, 
But  thou  slew'st  Tybalt;  there  art  thou  happy  too: 
The  law,  that  threaten'd  death,  becomes  thy  friend, 
And  turns  it  to  exile;  there  art  thou  hapi)y  : 
A  pack  of  blessings  lights  upon  thy  back; 
Happiness  courts  thee  in  her  best  array; 
But,  like  a  mis-behav'd  and  sullen  wench. 
Thou  pout'st  upon  thy  fortune  and  thy  love: 
Take  heed,  take  heed,  for  such  die  miserable. 
Go,  get  thee  to  thy  love,  as  was  decreed, 
Ascend  her  chamber,  hence,  and  comfort  her; 
But,  look,  thou  stay  not  till  the  watch  be  set, 
For  then  thou  canst  not  pass  to  Mantua; 
Where  thou  shait  live,  till  we  can  hnd  a  lin^ 
To  blaze  your  marriage,  reconcile  your  friends, 
Beg  pardon  of  the  prince,  and  call  liiee  back 
With  twenty  hundred  thousand  times  more  joy 
Than  thou  went'st  forth  in  lamentation.— 
Go  belore,  nurse:  commend  me  to  tliy  lady; 
And  bid  her  hasten  all  the  house  to  bed. 
Which  heavy  sorrow  makes  them  apt  unto: 
Romeo  is  coming. 

Nurse.  O  Lord,  I  could  have  staid  here  all  the 
night. 
To  hear  good  counsel :  O,  what  learning  is  I — 
My  lord,  I'll  tell  my  lady  you  will  come. 

Rom.  Do  so,  and  bid  my  sweet  prejinre  to  chide. 

Nurse.  Here,  sir,  a  ring  siie  bid  me  give  you,  sir: 
Hie  you,  make  haste,  for  it  grows  very  late.  [Exit. 

Rum.  How  well  my  comfort  is  reviv'd  by  this  ! 

Fri.  Go  hence:  good-night:  and  here  stands  all 
your  state  ;^ 
Either  be  gone  belbre  the  watch  be  set. 
Or  by  the  break  of  day  dJsguis'd  from  hence: 
Sojourn  in  Mantua  ;  TU  hnd  out  your  man, 
And  he  shall  signify  from  time  to  tune 
Every  good  hap  to  you,  that  chances  here : 
Give  me  thy  hand;  'tis  late:  larewell;  good-nighL 

Rom.  But  that  a  joy  past  joy  calls  out  on  me. 
It  were  a  grief,  so  brief  to  part  with  thee : 
Farewell.  [Exeu7it, 

SCENE  IV.— ^  Room  in  Capulet's  House. 
Enter  Capclet,  Lady  Capulet,  and  Paris. 

Cap.  Things  have  fallen  out,  sir,  so  unluckily. 
That  we  have  had  no  time  to  move  our  daughter. 
Look  you,  she  lov'd  her  kinsman  Tybalt  dearly, 
And  so  did  I ;— Well,  we  were  born  to  die.— 
'Tis  very  late,  she'll  not  come  down  to-niglil: 
I  promise  you,  but  for  your  company, 
I  would  have  been  a-bed  an  hour  ago. 

Par.  Tliese  times  of  woe  atfoid  no  time  to  woo  . 
Madam,  good-night:  commend  me  to  your  daughter. 

La.  Cap.  I  will,  and  know  her  mind  early  to- 
morrow ; 
To-night  she's  mew'd^  up  to  her  heaviness. 

Cap.  Sir  Paris,  I  will  make  a  desperate'  tender 
Of  my  child's  love:  I  think,  she  will  be  rul'd 
In  ail  respects  by  me;  nay  more,  I  doubt  it  nut. 
Wile,  go  you  to  her  ere  you  go  to  bed ; 
Acquaint  her  here  of  my  son  Paris'  love; 
And  bid  Jier,  mark  you  me,  on  Wednesday  next— • 
But  solt :  what  day  is  this  ? 

Par.  Monday,  my  lord. 

Cap.  Monday?  ha!  ha!  Well,  Wednesday  is  too 
soon ; 
0*  Thursday  let  it  be ;— o'  Thursday,  tell  her. 
She  shall  be  married  to  this  noble  (-arl ; — 
Will  you  be  ready  I  do  you  like  this  haste  ? 
We'll  keep  no  great  ado  ; — a  friend,  or  two: 
For,  iiark  you,  Tybalt  being  slain  so  late, 

»  Tho  whole  of  your  tbrtune  Ueponds  on  this. 
6  Shut  up.  f  Bold. 


Scene  V. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


715 


It  may  be  thought  we  held  him  carelessly, 
Bcin^  our  kinsman,  if  we  revel  much: 
Therefore  we'll  have  some  half  a  dozen  friends, 
And  there  an  end.  13ut  what  say  you  to  Thursday  1 
Par.  .My  lord,  I  would  that  Thursday  were  to- 
morrow. 
Cap.  Well,  get  you  gone:— 0'  Thursday  be  it 
then:— 
Go  you  to  Juliet  ere  you  go  t1>  bed. 
Prepare  her.  wife,  agai:ist  this  wedding-day. — 
Farewell,  my  lord.— Light  to  my  chamber,  ho! 
Alijie  me,  it  is  so  very  late,  that  we 
May  call  it  early  by  and  by :— Good-night.  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Juliet's  Chamber. 
Enter  Romeo  and  Jcliet. 

/!/.'.  Wilt  thou  be  gone  1  it  is  not  yet  near  day : 
Jt  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierced  the  tearful  hollow  of  thine  ear; 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate  tree : 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale. 

Rom.  It  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 
No  nightingale :  look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east: 
Night's  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops; 
I  must  be  gone  and  live,  or  stay  and  die. 

Jui.  Yon  light  is  not  day-light,  I  know  it,  I: 
It  is  some  meteor  that  the  sun  exhales, 
To  be  to  thee  this  night  a  torch-bearer. 
And  light  thee  on  thy  way  to  Mantua: 
Therelbre  stay  yet,  thou  need'st  not  to  be  gone. 

Rum.  Let  me  be  ta'en,  let  me  be  put  to  death; 
I  am  content,  so  thou  wilt  have  it  so. 
I'll  say,  yon  grey  is  not  the  morning's  eye, 
'Tis  but  llic  pale  rcllcx  of  Cynthia's  brow  I* 
Nor  that  is  not  the  lark,  whose  notes  do  beat 
The  vaulty  heaven  so  high  above  our  heads: 
I  have  more  carc^  to  stay,  than  will  to  go ; — 
Come,  death,  and  welcome !  Juliet  wills  it  so. — 
How  js't,  my  soul  ]  let's  talk,  it  is  not  day, 

Jul.  It  is,  it  is.  hie  hence,  be  gone,  away; 
It  is  the  lark  that  sings  so  out  of  tune, 
Straining  harsh  discords,  and  unpleasing  sharps. 
.Some  say,  the  lark  makes  sweet  division ;' 
This  doth  not  so,  for  she  dividcth  us  : 
Some  say,  the  lark  and  loathed  toad  change  eyes: 
O,  now  I  would  they  liad  changed  voices  too; 
Since  arm  from  arm  that  voice  doth  us  atfray, 
Hunting  thee  hence  with  hunts-up'^  to  the  day. 
0.  now  be  gone ;  more  light  and  light  it  grows. 

Rom.  More  light  and  light ! — more  dark  and 
dark  our  woes. 

Enter  Nurse. 

Nurse.  Madam ! 

Jul.  Nurse  i 

Nurse.  Your   lady   mother's   coming   to   your 
chamber : 
The  day  is  broke  ;  be  warJ^  look  about.         \_ExU. 

Jul.  Then,  window,  let  day  in,  and  let  life  out. 

Rum.  Farewell,  farewell!  one  kiss,  and  I'll  de- 
scend. [  Romeo  descends. 

Jul.  Art  thou  gone  so?  my  love!  my  lord!  my 
friend ! 
I  must  hear  Irom  thee  every  day  i'  the  hour, 
For  in  a  minute  there  are  many  daj's: 
O !  by  this  count  1  shall  be  much  in  years, 
Kre  i  again  behold  my  Romeo. 

Rom.  Farewell !  I  will  omit  no  opportunity 
That  may  convey  my  greetings,  love,  to  thee. 

Jul.  O,  think'st  thou,  we  shall  ever  meet  again? 

Rum.  I  doubt  it  not;  and  all  these  woes  shall 
serve 
For  sweet  discourses  in  our  time  to  come. 

Jul.  0  God  !  1  have  an  ill-divining  soul : 
Mcthinks,  I  see  thee,  now  thou  art  below. 
As  one  dead  in  the  bottom  of  a  tomb: 
Either  my  eyesight  fails,  or  thou  look'st  pale. 

Rum.  And  trust  me,  love,  in  mine  eye  so  do  you: 
Dry  sorrow  drinks  our  blood.    Adieu !  adieu  ! 

[ExU  Romeo. 

Jul.  0  fortune!  fortune!  all  men  call  thee  hckle: 
If  thou  art  tickle,  what  dost  thou  with  him 

*  Keflection  of  tbemooD.  »  Inclination. 

*  Division  was  the  technical  phrase  for  mutical  compo- 
eition. 

*  A  tune  played  to  wake  hunters;  also  a  morniDg  song 
to  &  woman  the  day  after  marriage. 


That  is  renown'd  for  faith?  Be  tickle,  fortune: 
For  then.  I  hope,  thou  wilt  not  keep  him  long. 
But  send  him  back. 

La.  Cap.  [H'itliin.]  Ho,  daughter!  are  you  up? 

Jut.  Who  is't  that  calls  ?  is  it  my  lady  mother? 
Is  she  not  down  so  late,  or  up  so  early? 
What  unaccustom'd  cause  procures^  her  hither  ? 

Enter  Lady  Capixet. 
La.  Cap.  Why,  how  now,  Juliet  ? 
Jul.  Madam,  I  am  not  well. 

La.  Cap.  Evermore  weeping  lor  your  cousin's 
death  ! 
What,  wilt  thou  wash  him  from  his  grave  with 

tears ! 
An  if  thou  couldst,  thou  couldst  not  make  him  live; 
Therefore,  have  done:  Some  grief  shows  much  of 

love ; 
But  much  of  grief  shows  still  some  want  of  wit. 
Jul.  Yet  let  me  weep  for  such  a  feeling  loss. 
La.  Cap.  So  shall  you  feel  the  loss,  but  not  the 
Iriend, 
Which  you  weep  for. 

Jul.  Feeling  so  the  loss, 

I  cannot  choose  but  ever  weep  the  friend. 
La.  Cap.  Well,  girl,  thou  weep'st  not  so  much 
lor  his  death. 
As  that  the  villain  lives  which  slaughter'd  him. 
Jul.  What  villain,  madam  ? 
La.  Cap.  That  same  villain,  Romeo. 

Jul.  Villain  and  he  are  many  miles  asunder. 
God  pardon  him!  1  do,  with  all  my  heart; 
And  yet  no  man,  like  he,  doth  grieve  my  heart. 
La.  Cap.  That  is,  because  the  traitor  murderer 

lives. 
Jul.  Ay,  madam,  from  the  reach  of  these  my 
hands, 
'Would,  none  but  I  might  'venge  my  cousin's  death ! 
La.  Cap.   We  will  have  vengeance  for  it,  fear 
tliou  not: 
Then  weep  no  more.    I'll  send  to  one  in  Jlan- 

tua, — 
Where  that  same  banisli'd  runagate  doth  live, — ■ 
That  shall  bestow  on  him  so  sure  a  draught. 
That  he  shall  soon  keep  Tybalt  company ; 
And  then.  1  hope,  thou  wilt  be  satislied. 
Jul.  Indeed,  I  never  shall  be  satisfied 
With  Romeo,  till  I  behold  hiin — dead — 
Is  my  poor  heart  so  for  a  kinsman  vex'd: — 
Madam,  if  you  could  find  out  but  a  man 
To  bear  a  poison,  I  would  temper  it; 
Tiiat  Romeo  should,  upon  receipt  thereof, 
Soon  sleep  in  quiet. — I),  how  my  heart  abhors 
To  hear  him  named, — and  cannot  come  to  him, — 
To  wreak  the  love  1  bore  tny  cousin  Tybalt 
Upon  his  body  that  hath  slaugliter'd  him ! 
La.  Cap.  Find  thou  the  means,  and  I'll  find  such 
a  man. 
But  now,  I'll  tell  thee  joyful  tidings,  g:.-l. 
Jul.   And   joy  comes  well  in  such  d  needful 
It  me: 
What  are  they,  I  beseech  your  ladyship? 
La.  Cap.  Well,  well,  thou  hast  a  careful  father, 
child; 
One,  who,  to  put  thee  from  thy  heaviness. 
Hath  sorted  out  a  sudden  day  of  joy. 
That  thou  expecl'st  not,  nor  I  look  d  not  for. 
Jul.  Madam,  in  happy  time,  what  day  is  that? 
La.  Cap.  Marry,  my  child,  early  next  Thursday 
morn, 
That  gallant,  young,  and  noble  gentleman. 
The  county  Paris,  at  Saint  Peter's  church. 
Shall  happily  make  thee  there  a  joyful  bride 
Jul.   Now,  by  Saint  Peter's  church,  and  Peter 
too. 
He  shall  not  make  me  there  a  joyful  bride. 
I  wonder  at  this  haste:  that  I  must  wed 
Ere  he,  that  should  be  husband,  comes  to  woo. 
1  pray  you,  tell  my  lord  and  fatlier,  madam, 
I  will  not  marry  yet;  and  when  I  do,  I  swear. 
It  shall  be  Romeo,  whom  you  know  I  hate. 
Rather  than  Paris :— These  are  news  indeed  ! 
La.  Cap.  Here  comes  your  father;  tell  him  so 
yourself. 
And  see  how  he  will  take  it  at  your  bands. 

Enter  Capclet  and  Nurse. 
Cap.  When  the  sun  sets,  the  air  dot  h  drizzle  dew ; 
But  tor  the  sunset  of  my  brother's  sun, 

■  Brings. 


716 


ROMEO   AND  JULIET. 


Act  IV. 


It  rains  downriglit.— 

How  now  !  a  conduit,  girl  1  what,  still  in  tears  ] 
Ever  more  sliowering:  in  one  little  body 
TIiou  counterfeit'st  a  bark,  a  sea,  a  wind  : 
For  still  thy  eyes,  which  I  may  call  the  sea. 
Do  ebb  and  flow  with  tears ;  the  bark  thy  body  is, 
Sailnig  in  this  salt  flood ;  tlie  winds,  thy  eiglis; 
Who,— raging  with  tliy  tears,  and  they  with  them,— 
Witliout  a  sudden  calm,  will  overset 
Thy  tempest-tossed  body. — How  now,  wife  1 
Have  you  deliver'd  to  her  our  decree  1 
La.  Cap.  Ay,  sir;  but  she  will  none,  she  gives 
you  tlianks. 
I  would,  the  tool  were  married  to  her  grave ! 
Cup.  .Soil,  take  me  witii  you,  take  me  with  you, 
wiii3. 
How^  will  she  none'!  doth  she  not  give  us  thanks? 
Is  she  not  proud  ?  doth  she  not  count  her  bless'd. 
Unworthy  as  she  is,  tliat  we  have  wrought 
So  worthy  a  gentleman  to  be  her  bridegroom  ? 
Jut.  Not  proud,  you  have;  but  thankful,  that  you 
have ; 
Proud  can  1  never  be  of  what  I  hate; 
But  tliankful  even  tor  hate,  that  is  meant  love. 
Cap.  How  now!  how  now,  chop-logic!    What 
is  this  ! 
Proud,— and,  I  thank  jou,— and.I  thank younot;— 
And  yet  not  proud; — Mistress  minion,  you, 
Tliank  me  no  tliaiikiiigs,  nor  proud  me  no  prouds. 
But  settle  your  fine  joiiits  'gainst  Thursday  next, 
To  go  with  Paris  to  St.  Peter's  church, 
Or  I  will  drag  thee  on  a  hurdle  tiiither. 
Out,  you  green-siclaiess  carrion !  out, you  baggage ! 
You  tallow-face ! 
La.  Cap.  Fye.  fye,  wliat,  are  you  mad  1 

Jul.  Good  father,  1  beseech  you  on  my  knees. 
Hear  me  witli  patience  but  to  speak  a  word. 
Cap.  Hang  tliee,  young  baggage!    disobedient- 
wretch  I 
I  tell  thee  what,— get  tliec  to  cliurch  o'  Thursday, 
Or  never  after  look  mo  in  the  face : 
Speak  not,  reply  not,  do  not  answer  me : 
^Iy  lingers    itch. — Wilis,  we    scarce    thought   us 

bless'd. 
That  God  had  sent  us  but  this  only  child: 
But  now  I  see  this  one  is  one  too  much. 
And  that  we  have  a  curse  in  htN'ing  her  : 
Out  on  her,  hilding  !^ 

Nurse.  God  in  heaven  bless  her  !— 

You  are  to  blame,  my  lord,  to  rate  her  so. 
Cap.  And  why,  my  lady  wisdom  ?    hold  your 
tongue. 
Good  iJrudence  ;  smaller  with  your  gossips,  go. 
Nurse.  I  speak  no  treason. 

Cap.  0,  God  ye  good-den  1 

Nurse.  May  not  one  speak  ? 
Cap.  Peace,  you  mumbling  fool ! 

Utter  your  gravity  o'er  a  gossip's  bowl, 
For  Iierc  we  need  it  not. 
La.  Cap.  You  are  too  hot. 

Cup.  tiod's   bread!  it   makes   me   mad:   Day, 
night,  late,  early, 
At  home,  abroad,  alone,  in  company. 
Waking,  or  sleeping,  still  my  care  hath  been 
To  have  her  matched  :  and  having  now  provided 
A  gentleman  of  princely  parenlage. 
Of  tair  demesnes,  youthful,  and  nobly  train'd, 
StufT'd  (as  they  say)  with  honorable  parts, 


Proportmn'd  as  one's  heart  could  wisli  a  man,— 
And  then  to  have  a  wretched  puling  fool, 
A  whining  mammet,  in  her  tbrtune's  tender. 
To  answer— i'Zi  not  wed,— I  cannot  love, 
I  am  too  young,— I  pray  you,  parihin  me  ;— 
But,  an  you  will  not  wed,  I'll  pardon  you  : 
Graze  where  you  will,  you  shall  not  house  with  me : 
Look  to't,  think  on't,  I  do  not  use  to  jest. 
Thursday  is  near;  lay  hand  on  heart,  advi'se  : 
An  you  be  mine,  I'll  give  you  to  my  friend; 
An  you  be  not.  hang,  beg,  starve,  die  i'  the  streets, 
For,  by  ray  soul,  I'll  ne'er  acknowledge  thee, 
Nor  what  is  mine  shall  never  do  thee  good  : 
Trust  to't,  bethink  you,  I'll  not  be  Ibrsvvorn.    [Eiit 

Jul.  Is  there  no  jiity  sitting  in  the  clouds, 
That  sees  into  the  bottom  of  my  grief! 
O,  sweet  my  molhcr,  cast  me  not  away  ! 
Delay  this  marriage,  lor  a  month,  a  week: 
Or,  if  you  do  not,  make  the  bridal  bed 
In  that  dim  monument  where  Tybalt  lies. 
La.  Cap.  Talk  not  to  me,  for  I'll  not  speak  a 
word : 
Do  as  thou  wilt,  for  I  have  done  with  thee.    [Exit 
Jul.  O  God!— 0  nurse!  how  shall  this   be  pro. 
vented  1 
My  husband  is  on  earth,  my  faith  in  heaven  ; 
How  shall  that  faith  return  again  to  earth. 
Unless  that  liusband  send  it  me  from  heaven 
By  leaving  earth  !— Conitbrt  me,  counsel  me.— 
Alack,  alacli,  that  heaven  should  practise  stratagems 
Upon  so  soft  a  subject  as  mj'seif ! — 
What  say'st  tliou !  hast  thou  not  a  word  of  joy  7 
Some  comfort,  nurse. 

■^'"'•■5''.  Faith,  here  'tis:  Romeo 

Is  banish'd ;  and  all  the  world  to  nothing, 
Tliat  he  dares  ne'er  come  back  to  challenge  you 
Or.  if  he  do,  it  needs  must  he  by  stealth. 
Then,  since  the  case  so  stands  as  now  it  doth, 
I  think  it  best  you  married  with  the  counlv. 
O,  he's  a  lovely  gentleman  ! 
Romeo's  a  dishclout  to  him  ;  an  eagle,  madam, 
Halh  not  so  green,  so  quick,  so  fair  an  eye. 
As  Paris  hath.    Beshrew  my  very  heart, 
I  think  you  are  happy  in  this  second  match, 
For  it  excels  your  lirst :  or  if  it  did  not. 
Your  first  is  dead  ;  or  'twere  as  good  he  were. 
As  living  here  and  you  no  use  of  him. 
Jul.  Speakest  thou  from  thy  heart? 
Nurse.  From  my  soul  too, 

Or  else  beshrew  them  both. 
Jal.  Amen ! 

Nurse.  To  what  ? 

Jut.  Well,  thou  hast  comforted  me  marvellous 
much. 
Go  in ;  and  tell  my  lady  I  am  gone. 
Having  displeas'd  my  lather,  to  Laurence'  cell, 
To  make  confession,  and  to  be  absolv'd. 
Nurse.  Marry,  I  will ;  and  this  is  wisely  done. 

[Exit. 
Jul  Ancient  damnation  !  O  most  wicked  fiend! 
Is  it  more  sin— to  wish  me  thus  forsworn. 
Or  to  dispraise  my  lord  with  that  same  tongue 
Which  she  hath  prais'd  him  with  above  compare 
So  many  thousand  times  ?    Go,  counsellor; 
Thou  and  my  bosom  henceforth  shall  be  twain. — 
I'll  to  the  friar,  to  know  his  remedy  ; 
If  all  else  fail,  myself  have  power  to  die. 

[E.tit 


ACT  IV. 


SCENF.  I.— Friar  Laurence's  Cell. 

Enter  Friar  LAtRExcE  and  Paris. 

Fri.  On  Thursday,  sir?  the  time  is  very  short. 

Par.  My  father  Capulet  will  have  it  so  ; 

And  I  am  nothing  slow,  to  slack  his  h.asle. 

Fri.  You  say  you  do  not  know  the  lady's  mind ; 
Uni'ven  is  the  course;  I  like  it  not. 

J-'or.  Immoderately  she  weeps  for  Tybalt's  death. 
And  therefore  have  I  little  talk'd  of  love. 
For  Venus  smiles  not  in  a  house  of  tears. 
Now,  sir,  her  lather  counts  it  dangerous, 
That  she  doth  give  her  sorrow  so  much  sway ; 
And,  in  liis  wisdom,  hastes  our  marriage, 
*  l!ase  woman. 


To  stop  the  inundation  of  her  tcii-s  ; 
Which,  too  much  minded  by  herself  alone, 
May  be  put  from  her  by  society: 
Now  do  yon  know  the  reason  o"f  ibis  haste. 
/>!.  I  would  I  knew  not  why  it  should  be  slow'd. 

[A.iide. 
Look,  sir,  here  comes  the  lady  towards  my  cell. 

Enter  Juliet. 
Pur.  Happily  met,  my  lady,  and  my  wife! 
Jul.  That  may  be,  sir,  wlien  I  may  be  a  wife. 
Far.  That  may  be,  must  be,  love,  on  Thursday 

next. 
Jul.  Wliat  must  be  shall  be. 
Fri.  That's  a  certain  ton. 


Scene  III. 


EOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


ri7 


Par.  Come  vou  to  make  confession  to  tliis  father ! 
Jut.  To  ans'wer  that,  were  to  confess  to  you. 
Par.  Do  not  deny  to  him,  that  you  love  me. 
Jul.  I  will  confess  to  you,  that  1  love  him. 
Far.  So  will  you.  I  am  sure,  that  you  love  me. 
Jul.  If  [  do  so,  it  will  be  of  more  price, 
Beins  spoke  behind  your  back,  than  to  your  face. 
Pur.  Poor  soul,  thy  face  is  much  abused  with  tears. 
Jul.  The  tears  have  got  small  victory  by  that; 
For  it  was  bad  enough  before  their  spite. 
Par.  Thou  wrong'st  it,  more  than  tears,  with 

that  report. 
Jul.  That  is  no  slander,  sir,  that  is  a  truth ; 
And  what  I  spake,  I  spake  it  to  my  face. 
Par.  Thy  face  isminc.and  thou  hast  slander'd  it. 
Jul.  It  may  be  so,  for  it  is  not  mine  own.— 
Are  vou  at  leisure,  holy  father,  now ; 
Or  shall  I  co]nc  to  you  at  evenins;  mass  ! 
Fri.  My  leisure  serves  nie,  pensive  daughter, 
now  : — 
Mv  lord,  we  must  entreat  the  time  alone. 

Par.  God  shield,  I  should  disturb  devotion! 
Juliet,  on  Thursday  early  will  I  rouse  you; 
Till  then,  adieu  !  and  keep  this  holy  kiss. 

[Exil  Paris. 

Jul.  0,  shut  the  door !  and  when  thou  hast  done  so. 

Come  weep  with  me:  Past  hope,  past  cure,  past  help! 

Fri.  Ah,  Juliet,  I  already  know  thy  grief; 
It  strains  me  past  the  compass  of  my  wits; 
I  hear  thou  must,  and  nothing  must  prorogue  it, 
On  Thursday  next,  be  married  to  this  county. 

Jul.  Tell  me  not,  friar,  that  thou  hcar'st  of  this, 
Unless  thou  tell  me  how  I  may  prevent  it  : 
If,  in  thy  wisdom,  thou  canst  give  no  help, 
Do  thou  but  call  my  resolution  wise, 
•  And  with  this  knife  I'll  help  it  presently. 
God  ioin'd  my  heart  and  Romeo's,  thou  our  hands; 
And'ere  this  hand,  by  thee  to  Romeo  seal'd, 
Shall  be  the  label  to  another  deed. 
Or  mv  true  heart  with  treacherous  revolt 
Turn"  to  another,  this  shall  slay  them  both  : 
Therefore,  out  of  thy  long-experienc'd  time, 
Give  me  some  present  counsel ;  or,  behold, 
'Twixt  my  extremes  and  me  this  bloody  knife 
Shall  play  the  umpire;'^  arbitrating  tha't 
Which  the  commissions  of  thy  years  and  art 
Could  to  no  issue  of  true  honor  bring. 
Be  not  so  long  to  sjieuk  ;  1  long  to  die, 
If  what  thou  speak'st  speak  not  of  remedy. 

Fri.  Hold,  daughter;  I  <lo  spy  a  kind  of  hope. 
Which  craves  as  desperate  an  execution 
As  that  is  desperate  which  we  would  prevent. 
If,  rather  than  to  marry  county  Pans, 
Thou  hast  the  strength  of  will  to  slay  thyself. 
Then  is  it  likely,  thou  wilt  undertake 
A  thing  like  death  to  chide  away  this  shame. 
That  cop'st  with  death  himself  to  scape  tirom  it; 
And,  if  thoudar'st,  I'll  give  thee  remedy. 

Jul.  O,  bid  me  leap,  rather  than  marry  Paris, 
From  olTthe  battlements  of  yonder  tower; 
Or  walk  in  thievish  ways;  or  bid  me  lurk 
Where  serpents  are;  chain  me  with  roaring  bears. 
Or  shut  me  nightly  in  a  charnel-house, 
O'er-cover'd  quite  with  dead  men's  rattling  hones, 
With  reeky  shanks,  and  yellow  chapless  skulls; 
Or  bid  me  "go  into  a  new-made  grave, 
And  hide  me  with  a  dead  man  in  his  shroud ; 
Things  that,  to  hear  them  told,  have  made  me 

tremble ; 
And  I  will  do  it  without  fear  or  doubt, 
TiJ  live  an  unstain'd  wife  to  my  sweet  love. 

Fri.  Hold,  then;  go  home,  be  merry,  give  consent 
To  marry  Paris :  Wednesday  is  to-morrow ; 
To-morrow  night  look  that  thou  lie  alone. 
Let  not  thy  mirse  lie  with  thee  in  thy  chamber: 
Take  thou  this  phial,  being  then  in  bed. 
And  this  distilled  liquor  drink  thou  off: 
When,  presently,  through  all  thy  veins  shall  run 
A  cold  and  drowsy  humor,  which  shall  seize 
Each  vital  spirit ;  for  no  pulse  shall  keep 
His  natural  progress,  but  surcease  to  beat: 
No  warmth,  no  breath,  shall  testify  thou  liv'st; 
The  roses  in  thy  lips  and  cheeks  shall  fade 
To  paly  ashes;  thy  eyes'  windows  fall. 
Like  death,  when  he  shuts  up  the  day  of  life; 
Each  part,  depriv'd  of  supple  government, 
Shall  stilT,  and  stark,  and  cold,  appear  like  death: 
And  in  this  borrow'd  likeness  of  shrunk  death 
•  Becide  tbe  struggle  between  me  aud  ray  distresses. 
«  Authority  or  power. 


Thou  shalt  remain  full  two  and  forty  hours. 

And  then  awake  as  from  a  pleasant  sleep. 

Now  when  the  bridegroom  in  the  morning  conies 

To  rou.se  thee  from  thy  bed,  there  art  thou  dead: 

Then,  (as  the  manner  of  our  country  is,) 

In  thy  best  robes  uncover'd  on  the  bier. 

Thou  shalt  he  borne  to  that  same  ancient  vault. 

Where  all  the  kindred  of  the  Capulets  lie. 

In  the  mean  tiint%  against  thou  shalt  awake, 

Shall' Romeo  by  my  letters  know  our  drift: 

And  hither  shall  he  come;  and  he  and  I 

Will  %vatch  thy  waking,  and  that  very  night 

Shall  Romeo  bear  thee  hence  to  Mantua. 

And  this  shall  free  thee  from  this  present  shame; 

If  no  inconstant  toy,  nor  womanish  fear. 

Abate  thy  valor  in  the  acting  it. 

Jul.  Gi"ve  me.  0  give  me !  tell  me  not  of  fear. 

Fri.  Hold ;  get  vou  gone,  he  strong  and  prosperous 
In  this  resolve  :  I'll  send  a  friar  with  speed 
To  Mantua,  with  my  letters  to  thy  lord. 

Jut.  Love,  give  me  strength !  and  strength  shall 
help  allbrd. 
Farewell,  dear  hither.  [E.reu7it. 

SCENE  II.— -4  Room  in  Capulet's  House. 
Enter  Capl'let,  Laiiy  Capclet,  Nurse,  and 

Servants. 
Cai>.  So  many  guests  invite  as  here  are  writ. — 
'  [Exit  Servant. 

Sirrah,  go  hire  me  twenty  cunning  cooks. 

2  Sen:  You  shall  have  none  ill,  sir;  lor  I'll  try 
if  they  can  lick  their  lingers. 

Cap.  How  canst  thou  try  them  so? 
2  .Sen'.  Marry,  sir,  'tis  an  ill  cook  that  cannot 
lick  his  own  fingers :  therefore  lie,  that  cannot  lick 
Ills  fingers,  goes  not  with  uie. 

Caj).  Go,  begone.—  [Exit  Servants. 

We  shall  be  much  unfurnish'd  for  this  time. 
What,  is  my  daughter  gone  to  friar  Laurence  1 
Nurse.  Ay,  forsooth. 

Co;t>.  Well,  he  may  chance  to  do  some  good  on  her: 
A  peevish  self-will'd  harlotry  it  is. 
Enter  Juliet. 
Nurse.  See,  where  she  comes  from  shrift  with 

merry  look. 
Cap.  How  now.  my  headstrong?  where  have  j-ou 

been  gadding  ! 
Jul.  Where  I  have  leanit  rac  to  repent  the  sin 
Of  disobedient  opposition 
To  vou,  and  your  behests;'  and  am  eiijoiii'd 
By  holy  Laurence  to  liiU  prostrate  here. 
And  beg  your  pardon:— Pardon,  I  beseech  you! 
llenceforward  I  am  ever  ruled  by  you. 

Cap.  Send  for  the  county:  go  tell  him  of  this; 
I'll  have  this  knot  knit  up  to-morrow  morning. 

Jul.  I  met  the  youthful  lord  at  Laurence'  cell; 
And  gave  him  what  bcconied*  love  I  might. 
Not  stepping  o'er  the  bounds  of  modesty. 

Cap.  Why,  1  am  glad  on't;  this  is  well,— stand 
up: 
This  is  as't  should  be.— Let  me  see  the  county: 
Ay.  marry,  go,  I  say,  and  fetch  him  hither.— 
Now,  atbre  God,  this  reverend  holy  friar. 
All  our  whole  city  is  much  bound  to  him. 

Jul.  Nurse,  will  you  go  with  me  into  my  closet. 
To  help  me  sort  such  needful  ornaments 
As  you  think  fit  to  tiirnish  me  to  morrow  ! 
i'a.  Cap.  No,  not  till  Thursday  ;  there  is  time 

enough. 
Cap.  Go,  nurse,  go  with  her:— we'll  to  church 
to-morrow.       [Exeuiii  Juliet  and  Nurse. 
La.  Cap.  We  shall  be  short  in  our  provision) 
'Tis  now  near  night. 

Cap.  Tush  !  I  will  stir  about, 

And  all  things  shall  be  well,  I  warr.ant  thee,  wife: 
Go  tlion  to  Juliet,  help  to  deck  up  her; 
I'll  not  to  bed  to-night ;— let  me  alone; 
I'll  play  the  housewife,  for  this  once.— What,  ho  ! 
They  a"re  all  forth  :  Well,  1  will  walk  myself 
To  county  Paris,  to  prepare  him  up 
Against  lb-morrow  :  my  heart  is  wondrous  light. 
Since  this  same  wayward  girl  is  so  reclaim'd. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— Juliet's  Clwmher. 
Enter  Juliet  atid  Nurse. 
Jut.  Ay,  those  attires  are   best:- But,  gentli? 
nurse, 
1  Commands.  *  Becoming. 


718 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  IV.  Scene  V. 


I  pray  thop,  Irave  me  tn  myself  to-night; 
For  1  have  need  of  many  orisons^ 
To  move  the  iicavcris  lo  smile  upon  mv  state, 
Whicli,  wcil  tliou  laiow'st,  is  cross,  and  full  of  sin. 
Enter  Lady  Capdlet. 

La.  Cap.  What,  are  you   busyl    do  you  need 
help? 

Jul.  No,  madam;  we  have  cull'd  such   neces- 
saries 
As  are  behoveftil  for  our  state  to-morrow: 
So  please  you,  let  me  now  be  left  alone, 
And  let  the  nurse  this  night  sit  up  with  yon  ; 
For,  I  am  sure,  yon  have  your  hands  full  all. 
In  this  so  sudden  business. 

La.  Cup.  Good-nisht! 

Get  thee  to  bed,  and  rest ;  for  thou  hast  need. 

[Hreurif  Lauy  Capvlet  ami  Nurse. 

Jul.  Farewell !— God  Icnows  when  we  shall  meet 
again. 
I  have  a  faint  cold  fear  thrills  through  my  veins. 
That  almost  freezes  up  tlie  heat  of  life: 
I'll  call  them  back  again  to  comfort  me;— 
Nurse  ! — What  should  she  do  here  ? 
My  dismal  scene  I  needs  must  act  alone, — 
Come,  piiial. — 

What  if  this  mixture  do  rot  work  at  all? 
]\l!:st  1  of  tbrcc  be  married  to  the  county?^ 
No,  no; — This  shall  tbrbid  it:— lie  thou'there. — 

[Layinp:  down  a  Dagger. 
Wliaf  if  it  be  a  poison,  which  the  fiiar 
Subtly  hath  minister'd  to  have  me  dead  ; 
Lest  ill  this  marriage  he  should  be  dishonor'd, 
Because  he  married  nie  before  to  Romeo  ? 
I  fear  it  is :  and  yet,  methinks,  it  should  not; 
For  he  hath  still  been  tried  a  holy  man: 
I  will  not  entertain  so  bad  a  thought. — ■ 
How,  if,  when  I  am  laid  into  the  tomb, 
I  wake  belbre  the  time  that  Romeo 
Come  to  retlcem  me?  there's  a  fearful  point! 
Shall  I  not  tiien  be  stifled  in  the  vault. 
To  whose  Ibul  month  no  healthsome  air  breathes  in, 
And  there  die  strangled  ere  my  Komeo  comes? 
(~)r,  if  1  live,  is  it  not  very  like. 
The  horrible  conceit  of  death  and  nighl, 
Togetlier  with  the  terror  of  the  place, — 
As  in  a  vault,  an  ancient  receptacle, 
Wliere,  for  these  many  hundred  years,  the  bones 
Of  all  my  buried  ancestors  are  pack'd  ; 
Where  bloody  Tybalt,  yet  but  green  in  earth. 
Lies  fesl'ring  in  his  shroud  ;  where,  as  they  say. 
At  some  hours  in  the  night,  spirits  resort; — 
Alack,  ,iiack  !  is  it  not  like,  that  J. 
So  early  waking, — what  with  loathsome  smells, 
And  shrieks  like  mandrakes  torn  out  of  tlic  earth. 
That  living  mortals,  hearing  them,  run  mad  ;' — 
O!  if  I  wake,  .shall  I  not  be  distraught,^ 
Environed  with  all  these  hideous  fears? 
And  madly  play  wilh  my  (brefathers'  joint,s? 
And  pluck  the  inangled  Tybalt  from  liis  shroud? 
And.  in  Ibis  rage,  with  some  great  kinsman's  bone. 
As  with  a  club,  dash  out  my  desperate  brains? 
O,  look!  melhinks,  I  pee  my  cousin's  ghost 
Seeking  out  Romeo,  that  d"id  spit  his  body 
Upon  a  rajiicr'a  point :— Stay,  Tybalt,  stay  !— 
Romeo,  1  come!  this  do  I  drink'to  thee. 

[  She  throws  herself  on  the  Beil. 

SCENE  IV.— Capulet's  JfaH. 

Enter  Lady  Capl'let  anrf  Nurse. 

X«.  Cap.  Hold,  take  these  keys,  and  fetch  more 

spices,  nurse. 
Nurse.  Tlicy  call  for  dates,  and  quinces  in  the 
pastry.-'^ 

Enter  Capolet. 
Cap.  Come,  stir,  stir,  stir  !  the  second  cock  hath 
crow'd. 
The  curlbu-bell  hath  rung,  tis  three  o'clock: — 
Look  to  the  bak'd  meats,  good  Angelica: 
Spare  not  lor  cost. 

Nurse.  Go,  go,  you  cot-quean,  go. 

Get  you  to  bed  ;  faitli,  you'll  be  sick  to-morrow 
For  this  night's  watching. 
0  Pr.iyers. 

^  Till-'  ("ftliulous  accnunts  of  the  pK-int  called  mamJral-c 

give  it  n  decree  of  jiniiiuil  lifi?.  and  pay  that,  when  it  is 

t,:ru  from  the  ground,  it  gro.ins,  which  is  fatal  to  him 

that  iniUs  it  np. 

»  Distmrted,  "  The  room  where  pies  were  made. 


Cap.  No,  not  a  wliit :  What !  I  have  watch'd  ere 
now 
All  night  for  lesser  cause,  and  ne'er  been  sick. 
La.  Cap.  Ay,  you  have  been  a  mouse-hunt  in 
your  time; 
But  I  will  watch  you  from  such  watching  now. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Capvlet  anil  Nurse. 
Cap.  A    jealous-hood,  a  jealous-liood!  —  Now, 
fellow. 
What's  there  ? 
Enter  Servants,  wilh  Spits,  Logs,  and  Baskets. 

1  Serv.  Things  for  the  cook,  sir  ;  but  I  know  not 

what. 
Cap.  Make  haste,  make  haste.    [Exit  1  Scrv.j— 
Sirrah,  fetch  drier  logs  ; 
Call  Peter,  he  will  show  thee  where  they  arc. 

2  Serv.  I  have  a  head,  sir,  that  will  find  out  logs. 
And  never  trouble  Peter  for  the  matter.         [Exit. 

Cap.  'Mass,  and  well  said:  A  merry  whoreson  ! 
ha. 
Thou  .shalt  be  logger-head.— Good  faith,  'tis  day: 
The  county  will  be  here  with  music  straight. 

[Music  within. 
For  so  he  said  he  would.    I  hear  him  near: — 
Nurse !— Wife  !— what,  ho  !— what,  nurse,  1  say ! 

Enter  Nurse. 
Go,  waken  Juliet,  go,  and  trim  her  up ; 
I'll  go  and  chat  with  Paris:— Hie.  make  haste, 
Make  haste  !  the  bridegroom  he  is  come  already : 
Make  haste,  I  say.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  v.— Juliet's  Chamber;  Juliet  on  the  Bed 
Enter  Nurse. 
Nurse.  Mistress ! — what,  mistress  !— Juliet !— tasl,' 

I  warrant  her,  she: — 
Why,    lamb  !  —  why,   lady  !  —  fye,    you    slug-a- 
bed ! — 
Why,  love,  I   say  ! — madam  ! — sweetlieart ! — why, 

bride  ! — 
What,  not  a  word?— you  take  your  pennyworths 

now; 
Sleep  for  a  week:  for  the  next  night,  I  warrant, 
The  county  Paris  hath  set  up  his  rest, 
Tiiat  you  shall  rest  but  little, — God  forgive  me, 
(Marry  and  amen  !)  how  sound  is  she  asleej;) ! 
I  needsmustwake  her: — Madam, madam, madam  ! 
Av,  let  the  county  take  you  in  your  bed  ; 
He'll  fright  you  up,  i'  fiiith.— Will  it  not  be? 
WIiat,drest!  and  in  your  clothes!  and  do\vn  again! 
I  must  needs  wake  you:  Lady!  lady!  lady  !— 
Alas !  alas ! — Help  !  help !  my  lady's  dead  I — 
O,  well-a-day,  that  ever  I  was  born  ! — 
Some  aqua  vita:,  ho ! — my  lord,  ray  lady  ! — 

Enter  Ladv  Capclet. 

/.«.  Cap.  What  noise  is  here  ? 

Nurse.  0  lamentable  day ! 

/.a.  Cup.  What  is  the  matter? 

Nurse.  Look,  look!  0  heavy  day! 

La.  Cap.  0  me,  0  me  ! — my  child,  my  only  life, 
Revive,  look  uji.  or  I  will  die  with  thee  ! — 
Help,  help ! — call  help. 

Enter  Capitlet. 

Cap.  For  shame,  bring  Juliet  forth;  her  lord  is 

come. 
Nurse.  She's  dead,  deceased,  she's  dead  ;  alack 

the  day! 
La.  Cap.  Alack  the  day!  she's  dead,  she's  dead, 

slie's  dead. 
Cup.  Ha!  let  me  see  her: — Out,  alas!  she's  cold; 
Her  olood  is  settled,  and  her  joints  are  stiif: 
Life  and  these  lips  have  long  been  separated: 
Death  lies  on  her,  like  an  untimely  Irost 
Upon  the  sweetest  (lower  of  all  the  field. 
Accurs'-d  time!  unfortunate  old  man! 
Nurse.  O  lamentable  day  ! 
Tm.  Cap.  O  woeful  lime  ! 

Cup.  Death,  that  lipth  ta'en  her  hence  to  make 
me  wail. 
Ties  uji  my  tongue,  and  will  not  let  me  speak. 

Enter  FiUAit  Laurence  and  PAUfs,  wilh  Jlusi- 
clans. 

Fri.  Come,  is  the  bride  ready  to  go  to  clmrch  ? 

Cap.  Ready  to  go,  but  never  to  return: 
O  son,  the  night  before  thj'  wedding-day 
Hath  death  lain  with  thy  bride  :— See,  thereslie  lies, 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


no 


Fl'«vei'  as  sill',  was,  dcilowered  by  liim. 
Death  is  my  soM-iii-Iaw,  death  is  mv  heir; 
My  dauglit'er  he  halh  wedded!  I  will  die, 
Aiid  leave  him  all;  life  leaving,  all  is  death's. 
Par.  Have  I  thought  lonij  to  see  this  morning's 
lace, 
And  doth  it  give  me  such  a  sight  as  this  ? 
La.  Cap.  Accurs'd.  unhappy,  wretched,  hateful 
day! 
M  )st  miserable  hour  that  e'er  time  saw 
III  lasting  labor  of  his  pilgrimage! 
But  one,  poor  one,  one  poor  and  loving  child, 
But  one  thing  to  rejoice  and  solace  in. 
And  cruel  death  hath  catcli'd  it  from  my  sight. 
Nurse.  O  woe !  O  woeful,  woeful,  woeful  day  ! 
Most  lamentable  day  !  most  woeful  day, 
That  ever,  ever,  1  did  yet  behold  ! 
O  day  !  O  day  !  O  day !  O  hateful  day ! 
Never  was  seen  so  black  a  day  as  this : 
O  woeful  day.  O  woeful  day  ! 

Par.  Beguil'd,  divorced,  wronged,  spited,  slain  ! 
Most  detestable  death,  by  thee  beguird. 
By  cruel,  cruel  thee  quite  overthrown  !— 
O'love  !  O  lilo  !— not  life,  but  love  in  death  ! 

Cap.  Despis'd,  distressed,  hated,  martyr'd.ldU'd  ! 
Uncomfortable  time  !  why  cam'st  thou  now 
To  ninrdcr.  murder  our  solemnity  ! — 
O  child  !  O  child  !— my  soul,  and  not  my  child  !— 
Dead  art  thou,  dead  !— alack !  my  child  is  dead ; 
And.  with  my  cliild,  my  joys  are  buried ! 
Fri.  Peace,  ho,  for  shame!  confusion's  cure  lives 
not 
In  these  confusions.    Heaven  and  yourself 
Had  part  in  this  fair  maid ;  now  heaven  hath  all, 
And  all  the  better  is  it  lor  the  maid : 
Your  part  in  her  you  could  not  keep  from  death ; 
But  heaven  keeps  his  part  in  eternal  life. 
The  most  you  sought  was— her  promotion  ; 
For  'twas  your  heaven,  she  should  be  advanced: 
And  weep  ye  now,  seeing  she  is  advanced 
Above  the  cbiuds,  as  higli  as  heaven  itself? 
O,  in  tliis  love,  you  love  your  child  so  ill. 
That  you  run  mad,  seeing  that  slie  is  well : 
She's  not  well  married,  that  lives  married  long ; 
But  she's  best  married,  that  dies  married  young. 
Dry  up  your  tears,  and  stick  your  rosemary 
On  this  fair  corse;  and,  as  the  custom  is. 
In  all  her  best  array  bear  her  to  church : 
For  though  fond  nature  bids  us  all  lament, 
Yet  nature's  tears  are  reason's  merriment. 

Cap.  All  things  that  we  ordained  festival, 
Turn  from  their  othce  to  black  funeral: 
Our  instruments,  to  melanclioly  bells; 
Our  wedding-cheer,  to  a  sad  burial  feast; 
Our  solemn  hymns  to  sullen  dirges  change  ; 
(lur  bridal  flowers  serve  for  a  buried  corse,' 
And  all  things  change  them  to  the  contrary. 

Fri.  Sir,  go  you  in,— and,  madam,  go  with  him; — 
And  go,  sir  Paris; — every  one  prepare 
To  follow  this  liiir  corse  unto  her  grave  : 
The  heavens  do  lower  upon  you  for  some  ill ; 
Move  them  no  more,  by  crossing  their  high  will. 
{Exeunt  Cai'Ulet,  Lady  Capulet,  Paris, 
and  Friar. 


1  Mus.  'Faith,  we  may  put  up  our  pipes,  and  be 
gone. 

Nurse.  Honest  good  fellows,  ah,  put  up ;  put  up ; 
For,  well  you  luiow,  this  is  a  pitiful  case. 

[Exit  Nurse. 
1  Mus.  .4.y,    by    my  troth,   the    case    may    bo 
amended. 

Enter  Peteu. 

Pet.  Musicians,  0,  musicians.  Heart's  ea.^e, 
tiearVs  ease;  O,  an  you'll  have  me  live,  play— 
heart's  ease. 

1  Mus.  Why  tieart's  ease  ? 

Pet.  O.  musicians,  because  my  heart  itself  plays 
—Mil  lieart  lijull  of  woe :  O,  play  me  some  raeri-y 
duniji,*  to  comtbrl  me. 

2  Mus.  Not  a  dump  we ;  'tis  no  time  to  play 

now. 

Pet.  You  will  not,  then  ] 

Mas.  No. 

Pet.  I  will  then  give  it  yon  soundly. 

1  Mus.  What  will  you  give  us? 

Pet.  No  money,  oii  my  faith;  but  the  gleek:^  I 
will  give  you  the  minstrel. 

1  Mus.  Then  will  I  give  you  the  serving- 
creature. 

Pet.  Then  will  1  lay  the  serving-creature's  dagger 
0!i  >our  pate.  1  will  carry  no  crotchets  :  I'll  re  you, 
I'll'/'n  you  ;  Do  you  note  me  ! 

l  Mus.  An  you  re  us,  and/«  us,  you  note  us. 

1  Mus.  Pray  you,  put  up  your  dagger,  and  put 
out  your  wit. 

Pet.  Then  have  at  you  with  my  wit;  I  will  dry- 
beat  you  with  an  iron  wit,  and  put  up  my  iron 
dagger : — Answer  mc  like  men : 

Wtien  griping  grief  the  heart  doth  wound, 

.And  doleful  iluinps  the  mind  oppress, 
Then  nius'ic,  with  her  silver  sound; 

Why,  sileer  sound?  why,  7nusic  with  her  silver 
sound? 
Wliat  say  you,  Simon  Catling'! 

1  Mus.  Marry,  sir,  because  silver  hath  a  sweet 
sound. 

Pet.  Pretty !  What  say  you,  Hugh  Rebeck? 

2  Mus.  1  say— «t(fer  sound,  because  musicians 
sound  for  silver. 

Pet.  Pretty  too !— What  say  you,  James  Sound- 
post  ? 

3  Mus.  'Faith,  I  know  not  what  to  say. 

Pet.  0, 1  cry  you  mercy  !  you  are  the  singer :  I 
will  say  for  you.  It  is — music  with  her  .nicer 
sound,  because  such  fellows  as  you  have  seldom 
gold  for  sounding:— 

Then  musie  wUh  her  silver  sound, 
With  speedy  help  doth  lend  redress. 

[Exit,  singing- 

1  Mus.  What  a  pestilent  knave  is  this  same  ! 

2  Mus.  Hang  him.  Jack  !  Came,  we'll  in  here: 
tarry  for  the  mourners,  and  stay  dinner. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE    I.— Mantua.    ,1  Street. 
Enter  Romeo. 
Rom.  If  I  may  trust  the  flattering  eye  of  sleep, 
Bly  dreams  presage  some  Joylul  news  at  hand : 
My  bosom's  lord  sils  lightly'in  his  throne; 
And  all  this  day,  an  unaccustom'd  spirit 
Lilts  mc  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts. 
1  dreamt,  my  lady  came  and  Ibund  me  dead  ; 
(Strange  dream!  that  gives  a  dead  man  leave  to 

think,) 
And  brealh'tl  such  life  with  kisses  in  my  lips, 
That  I  reviv'd,  and  was  an  emperor. 
Ail  me  !  how  sweet  is  love  itself  possess'd 
When  but  love's  sliadows  are  so  rich  in  joj^ ! 

Enter  Balthazar. 

News  imm  Verona! — How  now,  Balthazar? 
Dost  thou  not  bring  me  letters  from  the  friar  ? 


How  doth  my  lady  ?  is  my  father  well  ? 
How  fares  my  Juliet?     That  I  ask  agr.in  ; 
For  nothing  can  be  ill,  if  she  be  well. 

Bat.  Then  she  is  well,  and  nothing  can  be  ill ; 
Her  body  sleeps  in  Capels'  monument. 
And  her'ininiorlal  part  with  angels  lives; 
I  saw  her  laid  low  in  her  kindred's  vault, 
And  presently  took  post  to  tell  it  you  : 
0  pardon  mc'for  bringing  these  ill  news, 
Since  you  did  leave  it  for  my  ortice,  sir. 

Roni.  Is  it  even  so  ?  then,  I  defy  you,  stars!— 
Thou   know'st    my   lodging:    get   me   ink   and 

paper. 
And  hire  post-horses;  I  will  hence  to-night. 

hat.  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  will  not  leave  you  thus: 
Your  looks  are  pale  and  wild,  and  do  import 
Some  misadventure. 

*  Dtimp.^  were  heavy,  mournful  tune=i. 

>  To  gleeJc  is  to  scolf,  and  a  gktkman  signified  a  minstrel 


720 


IIOMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Act  V. 


Rant.  Tush,  tlioii  art  dnceiv'd  : 

Leave  me,  and  do  the  thing  I  bid  lliee  do  : 
Ha-t  thou  no  letters  to  me  from  the  friar'! 

Sill.  No,  my  good  lord. 

Horn.  No  matter:  get  thee  gone, 

And  hire  those  horses ;  I'll  be  with  thee  straiifht. 

{Exit  Balthazar. 
Well.  Juliet,  I  will  lie  with  thee  to-night. 
Let's  St^e  lor  moans  : — O,  mischief,  thou  art  swift 
To  enter  iu  the  thoughts  of  desperate  men  ! 
I  do  rojnember  an  apothecary, — 
And  hereabouts  he  dwells, — whom  late  I  noted 
In  tatler'd  weeds,  with  overwlielming  brows, 
Culling  of  simples;  meagre  were  his  looks, 
Sharp  misery  had  worn  him  to  the  bones: 
And  in  his  needy  shop  a  tortoise  hung, 
An  allitrator  stuiF'd,  and  other  skins 
Of  ill-shap'd  fishes;  and  about  his  shelves 
A  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes, 
Green  earthen  pots,  bladders. and  musty  seeds. 
Remnants  r)f  packtiiread,  and  old  cakes  of  roses, 
Were  thinly  scalter'd,  to  make  up  a  show. 
Noting  this  penury,  to  myself  I  said — 
An  if  a  man  did  need  a  poison  now. 
Whose  sale  is  present  death  in  Mantua, 
Here  lives  a  caililTwretcli  would  sell  it  him. 
O,  this  same  thought  did  but  fore-rmi  my  need; 
And  this  same  needy  man  must  sell  it  me. 
As  I  remember,  this  should  be  the  house: 
Being  holiday,  the  beggar's  shop  is  shut. — 
What,  ho!  apothecary! 

Enter  Apothecary. 

Ap.  Who  calls  so  loud] 

Rom.  Come  hither,  ni.in. — I  see,  that  thou  art 
poor ; 
Hold,  there  is  forty  ducats:  let  me  have 
A  dram  of  poison:  such  soon-speeding  geer^ 
As  will  disperse  itself  through  all  the  veins. 
That  the  life-weary  taker  may  fall  dead; 
And  that  the  trunk  may  be  discharged  of  breath 
As  violently,  as  hasty  powder  tired 
Doth  hurry  from  the  fata!  cannon's  womb. 

Ap.  Such   mortal  drugs  I  have;  but  Mantua's 
law 
Is  death,  to  any  he  that  utters  them. 

Rfini.  Art  thou  so  bare,  and  full  of  wretchedness, 
And  fear'st  to  die  ]  famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 
Need  and  oppression  starveth  in  tliine  eyes. 
Upon  thy  hack  hangs  ragged  misery. 
The  world  is  not  thy  friend,  nor  the  world's  law: 
The  world  alfords  no  law  to  make  thee  rich ; 
Then  be  not  poor,  but  break  it,  and  take  this. 

Ap.  My  jioverty,  but  not  in\'  will,  consents. 

Rom.  I  pay  thy  poverty,  and  not  thy  will. 

A]).  Put  this  in  any  liquid  thing  you  will. 
And  drink  it  ofl';  and.  if  you  had  the  strength 
Of  twenty  men,  it  would  despatch  you  .straight. 

Rom.  There  is  thy  gold;  worse  poison  to  men's 
souls. 
Doing  more  murders  in  this  loathsome  world,    ' 
Than  these  poor  compounds  that  thou  may'st  not 

sell : 
I  sell  thee  poison,  thou  hast  sold  me  none. 
Farewell  ;  buy  (bod.  and  get  thyself  in  flesh. — 
Come,  cordial,  and  not  poison;  go  with  me 
To  Juliet's  grave,  for  there  must  I  use  thee. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— Friar  Laurence's  Cell. 
Enter  Friar  John. 
Jo/iii.  Holy  Franciscan  friar!  brother,  ho! 
Enter  FniAR  Lauhexce. 

Lati.  This  same  should   be  tlje  voice  of  Friar 
John. — 
Welcome  from  Mantua:  Whatsays  Romeo? 
Or.  if  his  mind  be  writ,  give  me  his  letter. 

Jolin.  tilling  to  find  a  barefoot  brother  out, 
One  of  our  order  to  associate  me. 
Here  in  this  city  visiting  the  sick. 
And  lintliiig  hiin,  the  searchers  of  the  town, 
SusjUH'ting  I  hat  we  both  were  in  a  house 
Wllere  the  infectious  pestilence  did  reign, 
SeaI'd  up  the  doors,  and  wauld  not  let  us  forth; 
So  that  my  speed  to  Mantua  there  was  stay'd. 

Latt.  Who  bare  my  letter  then  to  Romeo? 
«  stua-. 


John.  I  could  not  send  it, — here  it  is  again, — ■ 
Nor  get  a  messenger  to  bring  it  thee. 
So  fearful  were  they  of  infection. 

Lau.  Unhapjiy  Ibrtune  I  by  my  brotherhood, 
The  letter  was  not  nice,"  but  full  of  cliarge, 
Of  dear  import;  and  the  neglecting  it 
May  do  much  danger:  Friar  John,  go  hence; 
t^et  me  an  iron  crow,  and  bring  it  straight 
Unto  my  cell. 

Jofin.  Brother,  I'll  go  and  bring  it  thee. 

[Exit. 

Lau.  Now  must  I  to  the  monument  alone  ; 
Within  these  three  hours  will  lair  Juliet  waiie ; 
Siie  will  beshrew  me  much  tiiat  Romeo 
Hath  had  no  notice  of  tliese  accidents : 
But  I  will  write  again  to  Mantua, 
And  keep  her  at  niy  cell  till  Romeo  come; 
Poor  living  corse,  clos'd  in  a  dead  man's  tomb  ! 

[ExU. 

SCENE  III. — A  Churcltyarii ;  in  it,  a  Monument 
belonging  to  tfie  Capulets. 

Enter  Paris  and  /lis  Page,  bearing  Flowers  and 
a  Torc/i. 

Par.  Give  me  thy  torch,  boy :  Hence,  and  stand 
aloof; — 
Yet  put  it  out,  for  I  would  not  be  seen. 
Under  yon  yew-trees  lay  thee  all  along. 
Holding  thine  car  close  to  tiie  hollow  ground  ; 
So  shall  no  li'ot  upon  the  churchyard  tread, 
(Being  loose,  unfirm,  with  digging  up  of  gra\es,) 
But  thou  Shalt  hear  it:  whistle  then  to  me. 
As  signal  that  thou  hear'st  something  approach. 
Give  ine  those  flowers.    Do  as  I  bid  thee,  go. 

Page.  I  am  almost  afraid  to  stand  alone 
Here  in  the  churchyard;  yet  I  will  adventure. 

[  Hetires. 
Par.  Sv\'eet    flower,  with    flowers  I  strew   thy 
bridal  bed : 
Sweet  tomb,  that  in  thy  circuit  dost  contain 
The  pcrll?cl  model  of  eternity ; 
Fair  Juliet,  that  with  angels  dost  remain, 
.\ccept  this  latest  favor  at  my  hands; 
That  living  honor'd  thee,  anil,  being  dead. 
With  funeral  praises  do  adorn  thy  tomb  ! 

[  The  Boy  wliiflles. 
The  boy  gives  warning,  something  doth  approach. 
What  cursed  foot  wanders  this  way  to-niglit. 
To  cross  my  obsequies,  and  true  love's  rites? 
What,  with  a  torch!— mufile  me,  night,  a  while. 

[Retires, 
Enter  Romeo  and  Balthazar,  with  a  Torch, 
Mutliictt,  ^c. 

Rom.  Give  me  that  mattock,  and  the  wrenching 
iron. 
Hold,  take  this  letter;  early  in  the  morning 
See  thou  deliver  it  to  my  lord  and  father. 
Give  me  the  light :  Upon  thy  lite,  I  charge  thee, 
Whate'er  thou  hear'st  or  seest,  stand  all  aloof, 
And  do  not  interrupt  me  in  my  course. 
Why  I  descend  into  this  bed  of  death. 
Is,  partly,  to  behold  my  lady's  face. 
But,  chiefly,  to  take  thence  from  her  dead  finger 
A  precious  ring;  a  ring  that  I  must  use 
In  dear  employment:^  therefore  hence,  bcgonei — 
But  if  thou,  jealous,  dost  return  to  pry 
In  what  1  further  shall  intend  to  do. 
By  heaven,  I  will  tear  thee  joint  by  joint, 
And  strew  this  hungry  churchyard  with  Illy  limbs: 
The  time  and  my  intents  are  savage-wild  ; 
More  fierce,  and  more  inexorable  tar. 
Than  empty  tigers,  or  the  roaring  sea. 

Bui.  I  will  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Rom.  So  shall  thou  show  me  friendship.— Take 
thou  that: 
Live,  and  be  prosperous ;  and  farewell,  good  fellow. 

Rat.  For  all  this  same,  I'll  hide  me  hereabout; 
His  looks  I  fear,  and  his  intents  1  doubt.    [Retires, 

Rom. Thou  detestable  m,aw,  thou  womb  of  death. 
Gorged  with  the  dearest  morsel  of  the  earth. 
Thus  I  enforce  thy  rotten  jaws  to  open. 

[Breaking  open  the  Door  oft  tie  Mtmnment, 
And,  in  despite,  I'll  cram  thee  wi'th  more  food  ! 

Par.  This  is  that  banish'd  haughty  Montague, 
That  murder'd  my  love's  cousin ;— with  which  grief, 
It  is  supposed,  the  fair  creature  died, — 

1  i.e.  On  .a  trivi:il  cr  iill.'  suliject. 
■  I.e.  .\  n];itter  ofiinportuuce. 


Scene  III. 


ROMEO   AND   JULIET. 


721 


And  here  is  come  to  do  some  villainous  shame 
To  the  dead  bodies :  I  will  apprehend  him. — 

[Advances, 
Stop  thy  unhallow'd  toil,  vile  Montague ; 
Can  vengeance  be  pursued  further  than  death! 
Condemned  villain,  I  do  apprehend  thee : 
Obey,  and  go  with  me ;  for  thou  must  die. 

Eom.  I    must,  indeed;  and   therefore   came  I 
hither. — 
Good  gentle  youth,  tempt  not  a  desperate  man. 
Fly  hence,  and  leave  me ;— think  upon  these  gone; 
Le't  them  affright  thee.— I  beseech  thee,  youth, 
Heap  not  another  sjn  upon  my  head, 
Bv  urgnig  me  to  fury : — 0,  be  gone  ! 
By  heaven,  I  love  thee  lictter  than  myself: 
For  I  come  hither  arnvd  against  myself: 
Stay  not,  be  gone ; — live,  and  hereatler  say — 
A  niadman's  mercy  bade  thee  run  away. 

Par.  I  do  defy  thy  conjurations,^ 
And  do  attach  thee  as  a  lelon  here. 

Rom.  Wilt  thou  provoke  me1  then  have  at  thee, 
boy.  [They  fight- 

Page.  0"  lord!    they  fight,  I  will   go  call  the 
watch.  [Exit  Page. 

Pnr.  0,lam  slain!  [FaZts.]— If  thou  be  merciful. 
Open  the  tomb,  lay  me  with  Juliet.  [Dies. 

Rom.  In  faith,!  will:— Let  me  peruse  this  face; — 
Mcrcutio's  kinsman,  noble  county  Paris: — 
What  said  my  man,  when  my  betossed  soul 
Did  not  attend  him  as  we  rode  '<  I  think. 
He  told  me  Paris  should  have  married  Juliet: 
Said  he  not  sol  or  did  I  dream  it  so  ! 
Or  am  I  mad,  hearing  him  talk  of  Juliet, 
To  tliink  it  was  so  ?— O.  give  me  thy  liand. 
One  writ  with  me  in  sour  mislbrtune-s  book ! 
I'll  bury  thee  in  a  triumphant  grave, — 
A  gravel  O,  no;  a  lantern,  slaughter'd  youth, 
For  here  lies  Juliet,  and  her  beauty  makes 
Tliis  vault  a  feasting  presence'  full  of  light. 
Death,  lie  thou  there,  liy  a  dead  man  interr'd. 

[Laying  Pahis  in  the  Monument. 
How  oft,  when  men  are  at  the  point  of  death. 
Have  they  been  merry?  which  their  keepers  call 
A  lightning  before  death  ; — 0,  how  may  I 
Call  this  a  lightning!— O,  mv  love!  my  wife! 
Death,  that  hath  suck'd  the  lioney  of  thy  breath. 
Hath  had  no  power  yet  upon  thy  beauty: 
Thou  art  not  conquer'd;  l)eauty's  ensign  yet 
Is  crimson  in  tliy  lips,  and  in  thy  cheeks, 
And  death's  pale  Hag  is  not  advanced  there. — 
Tybalt,  liest  thou  there  in  thy  bloody  slieet? 
O,  what  more  favor  can  I  do  to  thee, 
Than  with  that  hand  that  cut  thy  youth  in  twain. 
To  sunder  his  that  was  thine  enemy  1 
Forgive  me,  cousin  ! — Ah,  dear  Juliet, 
Why  art  thou  yet  so  fair?  Shall  I  believe 
That  unsubstantial  death  is  amorous; 
And  that  the  lean  abhorred  monster  keeps 
Thee  here  in  dark  to  be  bis  paramour! 
For  fear  of  that,  I  will  slill  stay  with  thee; 
And  never  from  tiiis  palace  of  dim  night 
Depart  asain  ;  here,  here  will  I  remain 
With  worms  that  are  thy  chambermaids;  0,  here 
Will  I  set  up  my  everlasting  rest ; 
And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars 
From  this  world-wearied  ilesh. — Eyes,  look  your 

last! 
Arms,  take  your  last  embrace!  and  lips,  0  you, 
The  doors  of  breath,  seal  with  a  righteous  kiss 
A  dateless  bargain  to  engrossing  death  ! — 
Come,  bitter  conduct,^  come,  unsavory  guide ! 
Thou  desperate  pilot,  now  at  once  run  on 
The  dashing  rocks  thy  sea-sick  weary  bark ! 
Here's  to  my  love !— ['D/-/')A-.?.]  0,  true  apothecary ! 
Til)  drugs  are  quick. — Thus  with  a  kiss  I  die. 

[Dies. 

Enter,  at  the  oilier  End  of  the  Churchyard,  Friar 
Laurkn'ce,  with  a  Lantern,  Crow,  and  Spade. 
Fri.  Saint  Francis  be  my  speed!  how  oft  to-night 
flave  my  old   feet  stumliled  at  graves! — Who's 

tliere ! 
Who  is  it  that  consorts,  so  late,  the  dead  ! 
Bat.  Here's  one,  a  friend,  and  one  that  knows 

you  well. 
Fri.  Bliss  be  upon  you !     Tell  me,  good  my 
friend. 
What  torch  is  yond',  that  vainly  lends  his  light 
B  I  refuse  to  do  ns  thou  conjurcgt  me  to  do,  iy.  to  depart. 
*  Presence-chamber.  ^  Conductor. 

46 


To  grubs  and  eyeless  skulls!  as  I  discern, 
It  buriicth  in  the  Capels'  monument. 

Bat.  It  doth  so,  holy  sir;  and  there's  my  master, 
One  that  you  love. 

Fi-i.  Who  is  it! 

Bat.  Romeo. 

Fri.  How  long  hath  he  been  there ! 

Bat.  Full  half  an  hour. 

Fri,  Go  with  me  to  the  vault. 

Bat.  I  dare  not.  sir: 

My  master  knows  not,  but  I  am  gone  hence ; 
And  fearfully  did  menace  me  with  death. 
If  I  did  stay  to  look  on  his  intents. 

Fri.  Stay  then,  I'll  go  alone:— Fear  comes  upon 
me; 
0,  much  I  fear  some  ill  unlucky  thing. 

Bat.  .\s  I  did  sleep  under  this  yew-tree  here, 
I  dreamt  my  master  and  another  fought, 
And  that  my  master  slew  him. 

Fri.  Romeo!  [Advances. 

Alack,  alack,  what  blood  is  this,  which  stains 
The  stony  entrance  of  this  sepulchre  ! — 
What  mean  these  masterless  and  gory  swords 
To  lie  discolor'd  by  this  place  of  peace! 

[Enters  the  Monument. 
Romeo!  O,  pale!— Who  else!  what,  Paris,  ton! 
And  stee|i'd  in  blood  ! — Ah,  what  an  unkind  hour 
Is  guilty  of  this  laiucutable  chance  ! — 
The  lady  stirs.  [Juliet  ivakes  and  xlirs. 

Jul.  O,  comfortable  friar!  where  is  my  lord! 
I  do  remember  well  where  I  should  be. 
And  there  I  am :— Where  is  my  Romeo  ! 

[Xoite  ivilldn. 

Fri.  I  hear  some  noise. — Lady,  come  from  that 
nest 
Of  death,  contagion,  and  unnatural  sleep; 
A  greater  I'ower  than  we  can  contradict 
Hath  thwarted  our  intents;  come,  come  away: 
Thy  husband  in  thy  bosom  there  lies  dead; 
And  Paris  too:  come,  I'll  dispose  of  Ihee 
Among  a  sisterhood  of  holy  nuns: 
Stay  not  to  question,  for  the  watch  is  coming; 
Come,  go,  good  Juliet,— [iVoise  again.]  I  dare  stay 
no  longer.  [Exit. 

Jul.  Go,  get  thee  hence,  for  I  will  not  away.— 
What's  here!  a  cup,  clos'd  in  my  true  love's  iiand! 
Poison,  I  see,  hat'h  been  bis  timeless  end: — 
O  churl!  drink  all;  and  leave  no  friendly  drop, 
To  help  nie  aller  !— I  will  kiss  thy  lips  : 
Haply,  some  poison  yet  doth  hang  on  them. 
To  make  me  die  with  a  restorative.      [Kisses  him. 
Thy  lips  are  warm  ! 
1  fVatch.  [IVithin.]  Lead,  hoy: — Which  way! 

Jul.  Yea,  noise! — Then  I'll  be  brief. — O  happy 
dagger  !  [Snatching  Rojieu's  Dagger. 

This  is  thy  sheath;  [Stahs  herself.]  there  rust,  and 
let  mc  die. 

[Falls  on  Romeo's  Sody,  and  dies. 
Enter  Watch,  with  Ike  Page  »/■  Paris. 

Page.  This  is  the  place;  there,  where  the  torch 
doth  burn. 

1  Watch.  The  ground  is  bloody;  Searcli  about 

the  churchyard: 
Go,  some  of  you,  whoe'er  you  find,  attach. 

[Er.eunt  some. 
Pitiful  sight!  here  lies  the  county  slain  ;— 
And  Juliet  bleeding ;  warm,  and  newly  dead, 
Who  here  hath  lain  these  two  days  buried. — 
Go,  tell  the  prince, — run  to  the  Capulets, — 
Raise  up  the  Montagues. — some  others  search ; — 

[Exeunt  other  Watchmen. 
We  see  the  ground  whereon  these  woes  do  lie ; 
But  the  true  ground  of  all  these  piteous  woes 
We  cannot  without  circumstance  descry. 

Enter  some  rfthe  Watch,  with  Balthazar. 

2  Watch.  Here's  Romeo's  man,  we  found  him  in 

the  eluirchy'ard. 
1  Watch.  Hold  him  in  safety,  till  the  prince  come 
hilher. 

Enter  another  Watchman,  with  Friar  LAURExra. 

3  Watch.  Here  is  a  friar,  that  trembles,  sighs, 

and  weeps : 
We  took  this  mattock  and  this  spade  from  him. 
As  he  was  coming  from  this  churchyard  side. 
1  Watch.  A  great  suspicion  :  Stay  the  friar  too. 

Enter  the  Prince  and  Attendants. 
Prince.  What  misadventure  is  so  early  up. 
That  calls  our  person  from  our  morning's  rest ! 


722 


ROMEO  AND   JULIET. 


Act  V.  Scene  III. 


Enter  Capulet,  Lady  Capulet,  and  others. 

Cap.  What  should  it  be,  that  they  so  shriek 
abroad f 

La.  Cap.  The  people  in  the  street  cry — Romeo, 
Some — Juliet,  and  some — Paris;  and  all  run, 
With  open  outcry,  toward  our  monument.- 

Prince.  What  fear  is  this,  which  startles  in  our 
cars? 

1  JVatc/i.  Sovereign,  here  lies  the  county  Paris 
slain ; 
And  Romeo  dead;  nnd  Juliet,  dead  before, 
Warm  and  new  kill'd. 

Frince.  Search,  seek,  and  know  how  this  foul 
murder  comes. 

1  JVafch.  Here  is  a  friar,  and  slaughter^  Romeo's 
man ; 
With  instruments  upon  them,  fat  to  open 
These  dead  men's  tombs. 

Cap.  O,  heavens ! — 0  wife  !  look  how  our  daughter 
bleeds ! 
This  dagger  hath  mista'en,— for  lo !  his  housed 
Is  empty  on  the  hack  of  Montague, — 
And  is  mis-sheathed  in  my  daughter's  bosom. 

La.  Cap.  O  me!  ihis  sight  of  death  is  as  a  bell, 
That  warns  my  old  age  to  a  sepulchre. 
Enter  jMoNTAGUE  a7id  others. 

Prince.  Come,  Montague;  for  thou  art  early  up, 
To  see  thy  son  and  heir  more  early  down, 

Man.  Alas,  my  licgc,  my  wife  is  dead  to-night; 
Grief  of  my  son's  exile  hath  stopp'd  her  breath  : 
What  further  woe  conspires  agamst  mine  agel 

prince.  Look,  and  thou  shalt  see. 

Man.  0  thou  untaught;  what  manners  is  in  this, 
To  press  before  thy  father  to  a  grave  ? 

PHnce.  Seal  up  the  mouth  of  outrage  for  a  while, 
Till  we  can  clear  these  ambiguities, 
And  know  their  spring,  their  head,  their  true  de- 
scent ; 
And  then  will  I  be  general  of  your  woes. 
And  lead  you  even  to  death :  Meantime  forbear, 
And  let  mischance  be  slave  to  patience.— 
Bring  Ibrth  the  parties  of  suspicion. 

Fri.  1  am  the  greatest,  able  to  do  least. 
Yet  most  suspected,  as  the  time  and  place 
Poth  make  against  me,  of  this  direful  murder; 
And  here  I  stand,  both  to  impeach  and  purge 
Myself  condemned  and  myself  excus'd. 

Prince.  Then  say  at  once  what  thou  dost  know 
in  this. 

Fri.  I  will  be  brief,  for  my  short  date  of  breath 
Is  not  so  long  as  is  a  tedious  tale. 
Romeo,  there  dead,  was  husband  to  that  Juliet; 
And  she,  there  dead,  Ihat  Romeo's  faithful  wife : 
I  married  them  ;  and  their  stolen  nuirriage-day 
Was  Tybalt's  dooms-day,  whose  untimely  death 
Ranish'd  the  new-made  bridegroom  from  this  city; 
For  wliom,  ajjd  not  for  Tybalt,  Juliet  i>iued. 
You — to  remove  that  sicge^  of  grief  from  lier, — 
Retroth'd.  and  would  have  married  her  perforce, 
To  county  Paris  : — Then  comes  she  to  me; 
And.  with  wild  looks,  bid  me  devise  some  means 
To  rid  her  from  this  second  marriage. 
Or,  in  my  cell  there  would  she  kill  herself. 
Then  gave  I  her,  so  tutor'd  by  my  art, 
A  sleeping  potion  ;  which  so  took  ellect 
As  I  intended,  for  it  wrought  on  her 
The  form  of  death :  meantime  I  writ  to  Romeo, 
That  he  should  liither  come  at  this  dire  night, 
i  i.  c.  Tbe  scabbard.  *  Seat. 


To  help  to  take  her  from  her  boiTow'd  grave, 
Reing  the  time  the  potion's  force  should  cease. 
Rut  he  which  bore  my  letter,  friar  John, 
Was  staid  by  accident;  and  yesternight 
Return'd  my  letter  I)ack:  Then  all  alone. 
At  the  pretixed  hour  of  her  waking.^ 
Came  I  to  take  her  from  her  kindred's  vault; 
Meaning  to  keep  her  closely  at  ray  cell. 
Till  I  conveniently  could  send  to  Romeo: 
Put,  when  I  came,  (some  minute  ere  the  time 
Of  her  awakening,)  here  untimely  lay 
The  noble  Paris,  and  true  Romeo,  dead. 
She  wakes;  and  I  entreated  her  come  forth. 
And  hear  this  work  of  heaven  with  patieiffie: 
Ilut  then  a  noise  did  scare  me  from  the  tomb ; 
And  she,  too  desperate,  would  not  go  with  mc, 
Rut  (as  it  seems)  did  violence  on  herself. 
All  tnis  I  know;  and  to  the  marriage. 
Her  nurse  is  privy:  And,  if  aught  in  this 
Miscarried  by  my  fault,  let  my  old  life 
Be  sacrificed,  some  hour  before  his  time, 
Unto  the  rigor  of  severest  law. 
Prince.  We  still  have  known  thee  for  a  holy 
man. — 
Where's  Romeo's  man?  what  can  he  say  in  this? 
Bal.  I  brought  my  master  news  of  Juliet's  death ; 
And  then  in  post  he  came  from  Mantua, 
To  this  same  place,  to  this  same  monument. 
This  letter  lie  early  bid  me  give  his  father; 
And  threaten'd  me  witli  death,  going  in  the  vault. 
If  I  departed  not,  and  lefl  him  there. 

Prince.  Give  me  the  letter,  I  will  look  on  it. — 
Where  is  the  county's  page,  tliat  rais'd  the  watch  ? — 
Sirrah,  what  made"  your  master  in  this  place  ? 
Page.  He  came  with  flowers  to  strew  his  lady's 
grave ; 
And  bid  me  stand  aloof,  and  so  I  did : 
Anon,  comes  one  with  light  to  ope  the  tomb  ; 
And,  by  and  by,  my  master  drew  on  him  ; 
And  then  I  ran  away  to  call  the  watch. 
Prince.  This  letter  doth  make  good  the  friar's 
words, 
Their  course  of  love,  the  tidings  of  her  death  : 
And  here  he  writes — that  he  did  buy  a  poison 
Of  a  poor  'pothecary,  and  therewithnt 
Came  to  this  vault  to  die,  and  lie  with  Juliet. — 
Where  he  these  enemies?  Capulet!  Montague! 
See  what  a  scourge  is  laid  upon  your  hate. 
That  heaven  finds  means  to  kill  your  joys  witt 

love; 
And  I,  for  winking  at  your  discords  too. 
Have  lost  a  brace  of  kinsmen:'' — All  are  punish'd. 

Coji.  O  brother  Montague,  give  me  thy  liand: 
Tliis  is  my  daughter's  jointure,  for  no  more 
Can  I  demand. 

Man.  Rut  I  can  give  thee  more : 

For  I  will  raise  her  statue  in  pure  gold  ; 
That,  wliile  Verona  by  that  name  is  known, 
There  shall  no  ligure  at  such  rate  be  set, 
As  that  of  true  and  faithful  Juliet. 

Cap.  As  rich  shall  Romeo  by  his  lady  lie  ; 
Poor  sacrifices  of  our  enmity! 
Prince.  A  glooming  peace  this  morning  with  it 
brings: 
The  sun  for  sorrow  will  not  show  his  head: 
Go  hence,  to  have  more  talk  of  these  sad  things ; 
Some  shall  be  pardon'd,  and  some  punished: 
For  never  was  a  story  of  more  woe, 
Thau  this  of  Juliet  and  her  Romeo,  [Exeunt. 

»  Mcrcutio  and  Paris. 


I 


HAMLET, 

PRINCE   OF   DENMARK. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


Claudius,  A'in?  of  Denmark. 

Hamlet,  Sou  to  the  furiuer,  and  Nephew  to  the 

jyreseiit  Kitig.  . 

PoLONiuS,  Ijird  Chamberlain, 
Horatio,  Friend  to  Hamlet. 
Laektes,  Son  to  Polonius. 


voltiman'd, 
coiixelius, 
Rosescrantz, 
guildenstern, 
OsRic,  a  Cuiuiier. 
Another  Courtier. 
A  Priest. 
Marcellus, 
Berxardo, 


1 


Courtiers. 


'^'  I     Officers. 


Francisco,  a  Soldier. 

Revnaldo,  Servant  to  Polonius. 

A  Copt  (tin. 

An  Ambassador. 

Gh/ist  of  Hamlet's  Fattier. 

FouTixERAS,  Prince  of  Norway. 

Gertrude.  Queen   of  Denmark,  and  Motlier  of 

Hamlet. 
Ophelia,  Daughter  of  Polonius. 

Lords,  Ladies,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Players,  Grave- 
diggers,  Sailors,  Messengers,  and  other  Attendr 
ants. 


SCENE,  Elsinore. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I.  —  Elsinore.     A    Platform    before    the 

Castle. 
Francisco  on  his  Post.    Enter  to  him  Bernardo. 

Bcr.  Who's  there! 

Fran.  Nay,  answer  me:  stand,  and  unfold 

Yourself. 

Per.  Long  live  the  king ! 

Fran.  Bernardo  ? 

Her.  He. 

Fran.  You  come  most  carefully  upon  your  hour. 

Ber.   'Tis  now  struck  twelve ;'  gel  thee  to  bed, 
Francisco. 

Fran.  For  this  reHef,  much  thanks;  'tis  bitter 
cold. 
And  I  am  sick  at  heart. 

Ber.  Have  you  had  quiet  guard  1 

Fran.  Not  a  mouse  stirritig. 

Ber.  Well,  good-night. 
Tf  you  do  meet  Horatio  and  Marcellus, 
The  rivals'  of  my  watch,  bid  them  make  haste. 
Enter  Horatio  and  Marcellus. 

Fran.  I  think,  I  hear  them. — Stand,  ho!  Who  is 
there  ! 

Ilor.  Friends  to  this  ground. 

Mar.  And  liegemen  to  the  Dane. 

Fran.  Give  you  good-night. 

Mar.  O,  farewell,  honest  soldier : 

Who  hath  relieved  you  ? 

Fran.  Bernardo  hath  my  place. 

Give  you  good-night.  [£.T(/  Francisco. 

Mar.  Holla !  Bernardo ! 

Ber.  .  Say, 

Wliul.  is  Horatio  there"! 

Jlor.  A  piece  of  him. 

Ber.  Welcome,  Horatio;   Welcome,  good   Mar- 
cellus. 

llor.  What,  has  this   thing  appear'd  again  to- 
night ! 

Ber.  I  have  seen  nothing. 

*  Partners. 


Mar.  Horatio  says,  'tis  but  our  fantasy, 
And  will  not  let  belief  take  hold  of  him, 
Touching  this  dreaded  sight,  twice  seen  of  us; 
Thorolbrc  I  have  entreated  him,  along 
With  us  to  watch  the  minutes  of  this  night; 
That,  if  again  this  apparition  come. 
He  may  approve-  our  eyes,  and  speak  to  it. 

Ilor.  Tusii !  tush  !  'twill  not  ai)pear. 

Ber.  Sit  down  awhile; 

And  let  us  once  again  assail  your  ears, 
That  are  so  fortified  against  our  story, 
What  we  two  nights  have  seen. 

Hor.  Well,  sit  we  down, 

And  let  us  hear  Bernardo  speak  of  this. 

Ber.  Last  night  of  all. 
When  yon  same  star,  that's  westward  from  the  pole, 
Had  made  his  course  to  illume  that  partof  heaven 
Where  now  it  burns,  Marcellus,  and  myself. 
The  bell  then  beating  one. — 

Mar.   Peace,    break  thee    olT;    look,    where    it 
comes  again ! 

Enter  Ghost. 

Ber.ln  the  same  figure,  like  the  king  that's  dead. 

Mar.  Thou  art  a  scholar,  speak  to  it,  Horatio. 

Ber.  Looks  it  not  like  the  king!  mark  it,  Ho- 
ratio. 

Hor.  Most  like : — it  harrows  me  with  fear,  and 
wonder. 

Ber.  It  would  be  spoke  to. 

Mar.  Speak  to  it.  Horatio. 

Hur.  What  art  thou,  that  usurp'st  this  time  of 
niglit. 
Together  with  that  fair  and  warlike  form 
In  which  the  majesty  of  buried  Denmark 
Did  sometimes  niarch!     By  iieaven,  1  charge  thee, 
speak. 

Mar.  It  is  offended. 

Ber.  See  !  it  stalks  away. 

Bur.  Stay,  speak:  speak,  I  charge  thee,  speak. 

[Exit  Ghost. 
3  Make  good,  or  establish. 

723 


724 


HAMLET, 


Act  I. 


Mar.  'Tis  gone,  and  will  not  answer. 
Ber.  How  now,  Horatio  7   you  tremble,  and  look 
pale: 
Is  not  this  something  more  than  fantasy  1 
What  think  you  ofit? 

Hor.  Before  my  God,  I  might  not  this  believe, 
Without  the  sensible  and  true  avouch 
Of  mine  own  eyes. 
Mar.  Is  it  not  like  the  king  1 

Jliir.  As  thou  art  to  thyself: 
."^iich  was  the  very  armor  lie  had  on. 
When  he  the  ambitious  Norway  combated  ; 
So  frown'd  he  once,  when,  in  an  angry  parle,3 
He  smote  the  sledded^  Polack*  on  the  ice. 
Tis  strange. 
31ar.  Thus,  twice  before,  and  jumps  at  this  dead 
hour. 
With  martial  stalk  halh  he  gone  hv  our  watch. 
Hor.  In  what  particular  thought  to  work,  I  know 
not; 
nut  in  the  gross  and  scope  of  mine  opinion. 
This  bodes  some  strange  eruption  to  our  state. 
Mar.  Good  now,  sit  down,  and  tell  me,  he  that 
knows. 
Why  this  same  strict  and  most  observant  watch 
Souiglilly  toils  the  subject  ofthe  land; 
And  why  such  daily  cast  ofbrazen  cannon, 
And  foreign  mart  for  implements  of  war: 
Why  such  impress  of  shipwrights,  whose  sore  task 
Does  not  divide  the  Sunday  from  the  week: 
What  might  be  toward,  th.it  this  sweaty  haste 
Doth  make  the  night  joint-laborer  with  the  day ; 
Who  is't,  that  can  inform  mel 

-f^f"--  That  can  I ; 

A  t  least,  the  whisper  goes  so.    Our  last  king, 
Whose  image  even  but  now  appear'd  to  us. 
Was,  as  you  know,  by  Fortinbras  of  Norway, 
Thereto  prick'd  on  by  a  most  emulate  pride. 
Dared  to  the  combat;  in  which  our  valiant  Hamlet 
(For  so  this  side  of  our  known  world  estcem'd  him) 
Did  slay  this  Fortinbras ;  who,  by  a  seal'd  com- 
pact. 
Well  ralitied  by  law  and  heraldry. 
Did  forloit  with  his  life,  all  those  his  lands, 
AVhich  he  stood  seis'd  of.  to  the  conqueror; 
Against  the  which,  a  moiety  competent 
Was  gaged  by  our  king  ;  v/hich  had  rcturn'd 
To  the  inheritance  of  Fortinbras, 
Had  he  been  vanquisher;  as,  by  the  same  comart,' 
And  carriage  ofthe  article  design'd,s 
His  fell  to  Hamlet:  Now,  sir,  young  Fortinbras, 
Of  unimproved  mettle  hot  and  fall,^ 
Hath  in  the  skirts  of  Norway,  here  and  there, 
Sliark'd'  up  a  list  of  landless  resolutes, 
For  Ibod  and  diet,  to  some  enterprise 
That  hath  a  stomach-  in't;  which  is  no  other, 
(As  it  doth  well  appear  unto  our  state,) 
But  to  recover  of  us,  by  strong  hand. 
And  terms  compulsatory,  those  'foresaid  lands 
So  by  his  father  lost:  And  this,  I  take  it. 
Is  the  main  motive  of  our  prcparalions  ; 
The  source  of  Ibis  our  watch  ;  and  the  chief  head 
Of  this  post-haste  and  roniage'  in  the  land. 
Bcr.  I  think,  it  be  no  other,  but  even  so : 
Well  may  it  sort,'  that  this  portentous  figure 
Comes  armed  through  our  watch ;  so  like  the  king 
That  was,  and  is,  the  question  of  these  wars. 

Ilnr.  A  mote  it  is.  to  trouble  the  mind's  eye. 
In  the  most  high  and  palmy-^  state  of  Rome, 
A  little  ere  the  mightiest  Julius  fell. 
The  graves  stood  tenantlcss,  and  the  sheeted  dead 
Did  squeak  and  gibber  in  the  Roman  streets. 

As,  stars  with  trains  of  fire  and  dews  of  blood, 
Disasters  in  the  sun  ;  and  the  moist  star^ 
Upon  whose  inlluence  Neptune's  empire  stands, 
Was  sick  almost  to  doomsday  with  eclipse. 
And  even  the  like  precurse  of  fierce  events, — 
As  harbingers  preceding  still  the  fiites. 
And  prologues  to  the  omen^  coming  on, — 
Have  heaven  and  earth  together  demonstrated 
Unto  our  climafures  and  countrymen,— 


'  Piapiito.  a  Sledged. 

»  rnl:imter,  an  inh.il)it;iut  of  PoKind. 

'  ■'"»'■  1  .loiut  b.lrgain. 

a  Thn  corpoant  to  confirm  tli;it  biirj^'ain. 

0  Kill]  of  spirit  without  oxp.-rience.  *  Pirked. 

»  IIi'HoJntion.  3  Si!.irch.  *  ."^uit. 

•  ^  k-turious.  •  The  moon.  i  Kvent. 


Re-enter  Ghost. 
But,  .soft;  behold  !  lo,  where  it  comes  again  ! 
I  II  cross  it,  though  it  blast  me.— Stay,  illusion! 
If  thou  hast  any  sound,  or  use  of  voice, 
Speak  to  me : 

If  there  be  any  good  thing  to  be  done. 
That  may  to  thee  do  ease,  and  grace  to  me. 
Speak  to  me  : 

If  thou  art  privy  to  thy  country's  fate. 
Which,  happily,  foreknowing  may  avoid, 
0  speak ' 

Or,  if  fhou  hast  uphoardcd  in  thy  life 
Extorted  treasure  in  the  womb  of  earth. 
For  which,  they  say,  you  spirits  oft  walk  in  death, 
_       ,     „.  [Cpck  crcnvs. 

Speak  of  It:— stay,  and  speak.— Stop  it,  Maicellus 
Mar.  Shall  I  strike  at  it  with  my  partizan  ?* 
Har.  Do,  if  it  will  not  stand. 
Ber.  'Tis  here ! 

,,"'■    ,.^.  'Tis  here! 

Mar.   Tts^nne.  [Exit  Ghost. 

We  do  It  wrong,  being  so  majestical, 
To  olfer  it  the  show  of  violence; 
For  iuis,  as  the  air,  invulnerable. 
And  our  vain  blows  malicious  mockery. 
Ber.  It  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  cock  crew. 
Hor.  And  then  it  started  like  a  guilty  thing 
Upon  a  li'arful  summons.    I  have  heard. 
The  cock,  that  is  the  trumpet  ofthe  morn. 
Doth  with  his  lofty  and  shrill-soundiug  throat 
Awake  the  god  of  day  ;  and,  at  his  warning, 
Whether  in  sea  or  fire,  in  earth  or  air. 
The  extravagant  and  errings  spirit  hies 
To  his  confine:  and  of  the  truth  herein 
This  present  object  made  probation.' 

Mar,  It  faded  on  the  crov\'ing  ofthe  cock. 
Some  say,  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Whereni  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated. 
This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long: 
And  then  they  say  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad  ; 
The  nights  are  whole.some;  then  no  planets  strike, 
No  Iftiry  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm. 
So  liallow'd  and  so  gracious  is  the  time. 

Hur.  So  have  I  heard,  and  do  in  part  believe  it. 
But,  look,  the  morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad. 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill. 
Break  we  our  watch  up;  and,  by  my  advice, 
Let  us  impart  what  we  have  seen  to-night 
Unto  young  Hamlet:  lor,  upon  my  life. 
This  spirit,  dumb  to  us,  will  speak  to  him  : 
Do  you  consent  we  shall  acquaint  him  with  it, 
As  needful  in  our  loves,  fitting  our  duty? 

Mar.  Let's  do't,  I  pray ;  and  I  this  mornintr  know 
Where  we  shall  find  him  most  convenient. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.—^  Room  of  State  in  the  same. 
Enter    tlie    King,    Queen,    Hamlet,    PoLoxtrs, 
Laeiites,   Voltimaxd,  CoRNELits,    Lords,  and 
Attendants. 

King.  Though  yet  of  Hamlet  our  dear  brother's 
death 
The  memory  be  green;  and  that  it  us  befitted 
To  bear  our  hearts  in  grief,  and  our  whole  kingdom 
To  be  contracted  in  one  brow  of  woe; 
Yet  so  far  hath  discretion  fought  with  nature, 
That  we  with  wisest  sorrow  think  on  him. 
Together  with  remembrance  of  ourselves. 
Therefore  our  sometime  sister,  now  our  queen. 
The  imperial  jointress  of  this  warlike  state, 
Have  we,  as  'twere,  with  a  defeated  joy, — 
With  one  auspicious, and  one  drooping  eye; 
Willi  mirth  in  funeral,  and  with  dirge  in  marriage, 
In  equal  scale  weighing  delight  and  dole,2 — 
Taken  to  wife  :  nor  have  we  herein  barr'd 
Your  better  wisdoms,  which  have  Ireely  gone 
With  this  affair  along: — For  all,  our  thanks. 

Now  follows,  that  you  know,  young  Fortinbras,— 
Holding  a  weak  supnosal  of  our  worth  ; 
Or  thinking,  by  our.iate  dear  brother's  death, 
Our  state  to  be  disjoint  and  out  of  frame, 
Colleagued  with  this  dream  of  his  advantage, 
He  hath  not  liiil'd  to  pester  us  with  message, 
Imjiorting  the  surrender  of  those  lands 
Lost  by  his  lather,  with  all  bands'^  of  law. 
To  our  most  valiant  brolher. — So  much  for  him. 


« .\.  sort  of  pike. 
»  Grisf. 


6  Wiindering, 


'  Proof. 
3  Uonds. 


ScK^E  II. 


PMXCE  OF  DENMARK. 


ilio 


Now  for  oiirsolf,  and  for  this  time  of  meeting;. 

Thus  much  the  business  is:   We  have  here  writ 

To  Norway,  uncle  of  young  Fortinbras, — 

Who,  impotent  and  bed-rid,  scarcely  hears 

Of  this  liis  nephew's  purpose, — to  suppress 

His  further  gait^  herein  ;  in  that  the  levies, 

The  lists,  and  full  proportions,  are  all  made 

Out  of  liis  subject: — and  we  here  despatch 

You,  good  Cornelius,  and  you,  Voltimand, 

For  bearers  of  this  greeting  to  old  Norway  ; 

(iiving  to  you  no  further  personal  power 

To  business  witli  the  kini^,  more  than  the  scope 

Of  these  dilated  articles  allow. 

Farewell ;  and  let  your  haste  commend  your  duty. 

Cor.  Vol.  In  that,  and  all  tilings,  will  we  show 
our  duty. 

King.  We  doubt  it  nothing:  heartily  farewell. 
[Exeunt  Voltimand  and  Cornelius. 
And  now,  Laertes,  what'^s  the  news  with  you  1 
Yon  loid  us  of  some  suit:  What  is't.  Laertes! 
You  cannot  speak  of  reason  to  the  Dane, 
And  lose   your  voice:  What  wouldst  thou   beg, 

Laertes, 
That  shall  not  be  my  offer,  riot  thy  asking  ] 
The  head  is  not  more  native  to  the  heart. 
The  hand  more  instrumental  to  the  mouth, 
Than  is  the  tlirone  ol  Denmark  to  thy  tather. 
What  wouldst  thou  have,  Laertes? 

Laer.  My  dread  lord, 

Your  leave  and  favor  to  return  to  France; 
From  whence,  though  willingly,  I  came  to  Den- 
mark. 
To  show  my  duty  in  your  coronation  ; 
Yet  now  I  must  conless,  that  duty  done. 
My  thoughts  and  wishes  bend  again  toward  France, 
And  bow  them  to  your  gracious  leave  and  pardon. 

King.  Have  you  your  lUtiier's  leave'?  Wliat  says 
PoloniusT 

Pol.  He  hath,  my  lord,  wrung  from  me  my  slow 
leave. 
By  laborsomc  petititm  ;  and,  at  last. 
Upon  his  will  I  seal'd  my  hard  consent: 
I  do  beseech  you,  give  him  leave  to  go. 

King:.  Take  thy  iair  hour,  Laertes;  time  bctiiine, 
And  thy  best  graces :  spend  it  at  thy  will. — 
But  now,  my  c  usin  Hamlet,  and  my  son, 

JIurn.  A  little  more  than  kin, and  less  than  kind. 

[Anide. 

King.  How  is  it  that  the  clouds  still  hang  on 
you  I 

Ham.  Not  so,  my  lord,  I  am  too  much  i'  the  sun. 

Queen.  Good  Hamlet,  cast  tiiy  nightod  color  otY, 
And  let  thine  eye  look  like  a  friend  on  Denmark. 
Do  not,  for  ever,  witli  thy  vailed  lids^ 
Seek  for  thy  noble  lather  in  the  dust: 
Thou  know'st  'tis  common ;  all,  that  live,  must  die, 
Passing  through  nature  to  eternity. 

Haju.  Ay,  madam,  it  is  common. 

Queen.  If  it  be. 

Why  seems  it  so  particular  with  thee  1 

Ham.  Seems,  madam!   nay,  it  is;    I  know  not 
seems. 
'Tis  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother, 
Nor  customary  suits  of  solemn  black, 
Nor  windy  suspiration  of  forced  breath, 
No,  nor  the  fruitful  river  in  the  eye, 
Nor  the  dejected  'havior  of  the  visage. 
Together  with  all  forms,  modes,  shows  of  grief. 
That  can  denote  me  truly:  These,  indeed,  seem, 
For  they  are  actions  that  a  man  might  play  : 
But  1  have  that  within,  wliich  passeth  show; 
These,  but  the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  woe. 

King.  'Tis    sweet    and    commendable  in  your 
nature,  Hamlet, 
To  give  these  mourning  duties  to  your  father: 
But,  you  must  know,  your  father  lost  a  lather; 
That  father  lost,  lost  Ins;  and  the  survivor  bound 
In  tihal  obligation,  tor  some  term 
To  do  obsequious  sorrow  :  But  to  persever 
In  obstinate  condolemcnt,  is  a  course 
Of  impious  stubbornness  ;  'tis  unmanly  grief: 
It  shows  a  will  most  incorrect  to  heaven, 
A  heart  unfbrtilied,  or  mind  impatient; 
An  understanding  simple  and  unschool'd  : 
For  what,  we  know,  must  be,  and  is  as  common 
As  any  the  most  vulgar  thing  to  sense. 
Why  should  we,  in  our  peevish  opposition. 
Take  it  to  iieart  f     Fye  !  'tis  a  fault  to  heaven, 
A  fault  against  the  dead,  a  fault  to  nature, 
•  Way,  path.  8  Lowering  eyes. 


To  reason  most  absurd  ;  whose  common  tlieme 
Is  death  of  fathers,  and  who  still  hath  cried, 
From  the  tirst  corse,  till  he  that  died  to-day, 
TAw  must  he  sn.    We  pray  you,  throw  to  earth 
This  unprevaiiing  woe  ;  and  think  of  us 
As  of  a  tather;  for  let  the  world  take  note, 
You  are  the  most  immediate  to  our  throne; 
And,  with  no  less  nobility  of  love. 
Than  that  which  dearest  father  bears  his  son, 
Do  I  impart  toward  you.    For  your  intent 
In  going  back  to  school  in  Wittenberg, 
It  is  most  retrograde^  to  our  desire : 
And,  we  beseech  you,  bend  you  to  remain 
Here,  in  the  chetT  and  comfort  of  our  eye. 
Our  chicfest  courtier,  cousin,  and  our  son. 

Queen.  Let   not  thy  mother  lose  her  praj'ers, 
Hamlet: 
I  pray  thee,  stay  with  us ;  go  not  to  Wittenberg. 

Ham.  I  shall  in  all  my  best  obey  you,  madam. 

King.  Why,  'lis  a  lovmg  and  a  "fair  reply; 
Be  as  ourseif  in  Denmark. — Madam,  come; 
This  gentle  and  nnforcM  accord  of  Hamlet 
Sits  smiling  to  my  heart:  in  grace  whereof. 
No  jocund  liealth,  tliat  Denmark  drinks  to-day, 
But  the  great  cannon  to  the  clouds  shall  tell ; 
And  the  king's  rouse' ihe  heaven  shall  bruit"^ again, 
Re-s]ieaking  earthly  thunder.    Come  away. 

[Exeunt  King,  Qit:en,  Lords,  ^-c,  PoLoxius, 
and  Laertes. 

Ham.  0.  that  this  too  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw,  and  resolve^  itself  into  a  dew  ! 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  hxed 
His  canon'  "gainst  self-slaughter!  O  Ood  !  0  God! 
How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world! 
Fye  on't!  O  fye!  'tis  an  unweeded  garden. 
That  grows  to  .seed;  thingsrank,and  gross  in  nature, 
Possess  it  merely.    That  it  should  come  to  this! 
But  two  months  dead  ! — nay,  not  so  much,  not  two; 
Si>  excellent  a  king ;  that  was,  to  this, 
Hyperion-  to  a  satyr:  so  loving  to  my  mother, 
Tliat  lie  might  not  beteem^  the  winds  of  heaven 
Visit  her  fiiee  too  roughly.     Heaven  and  earth  ! 
Must  I  remember?  wliy,  she  would  hang  on  him 
As  if  increase  of  appetite  had  grown 
By  what  it  fed  on  :  And  yet,  within  a  month, — 
Let    me    not    think  on't; — Frailty,  thy  name  is 

woman  I —   - 
A  little  monlh  ;  or  ere  those  shoes  were  old. 
With  which  slie  follow'd  my  poor  father's  bod}'. 
Like  Niobe,  all  tears; — why  she.  even  she, — 

0  heaven  !  a  beast,  that  wants  discourse  of  reason. 
Would  have  mourn 'd  longer, — married  with  my 

uncle, 
Aly  father's  brother;  but  no  more  like  mj'  father, 
Titan  I  10  Hercules:  Within  a  month; 
]*^ie  yet  the  salt  of  most  unrighteous  tears 
Had  lell  llie  flushing  in  her  galled  eyes, 
Stie  married : — O  most  wicked  speed,  to  post 
With  such  dexterity  to  incestuous  slieets  ! 
It  is  not,  nor  it  cannot  come  to,  good ; 
But  break,  my  heart:  for  I  must  hold  my  tongue! 
Enter  Horatio,  Bernardo,  and  Makcellus. 

Hrr.  Hail  to  your  lordship! 

Ham.  1  am  glad  to  see  you  well: 

Horatio, — or  I  do  forget  myself, 

Hor.  The  same,  my  lord,  and  your  poor  servant 
ever. 

Ham.  Sir.  my  good  friend;  I'll  change  that  name 
witli  you. 
And  what  nnike  you  from  Wittenberg,  Horatio  ? — 
Marcellus'? 

Mar.  My  good  lord, 

Ham.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  j"Ou ;  good-even, 

sir. 

But  what,  in  laith,  make  you  from  Wittenberg  T 

Hor.  A  truant  disposition,  good  my  lord. 

Ham.  I  would  not  hear  your  eneiiiy  say  so : 
Nor  sliall  you  do  mine  car  that  violence, 
To  make  it  truster  of  your  own  report 
Against  yourself:  I  know,  you  are  no  truant. 
But  what  is  your  atliiir  in  Elsinore  1 
We'll  teach  you  to  drink  deep  ere  you  depart. 

Hor.  My  lord,  I  came  to  seeyour  lathei's  tuneral 

Ham.    1    pray  thee,  do   not  mock  me,  fellow 
student ; 

1  think,  it  was  to  see  my  molher's  wedding. 


•  Contrary. 
»Law. 


f  Draught. 
»  Apollo. 


8  Report. 


9  Eissolve. 
s  Suff*;r. 


726 


HAMLET, 


Act  I. 


Hot.  Indeed,  my  lord,  it  follow'd  hard  upon. 

Hum.  Thrift,  thi ill,   Horatio!  the  funeral-baked 
meats 
Did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  tables. 
'Would  1  had  met  my  dearest^  foe  in  heaven 
Or  ever  I  had  seen  that  day.  Horatio  ! — 
IMy  father, — Methinks,  I  see  my  father. 

Hor,  WJiere. 

My  lordl 

liatji.       In  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio. 

Jlnr.  I  ?aw  him  once,  he  was  a  g:oodly  king, 

Ilam.  He  was  a  man,  take  him  tor  all  in  all, 
1  shall  not  look  upon  liis  like  again. 

Hor.  iMy  lord,  1  think  I  saw  him  yesternight. 

Ham.  Saw  !  who  1 

Hor.  My  lord,  the  king  j'our  father. 

Ham.  The  king  my  father! 

Hor,  Season  your  admiration  for  a  while 
With  an  attent-'  ear ;  till  I  may  deliver, 
Vpon  the  witness  of  these  gentlemen, 
This  marvel  to  you. 

Ham.  For  God's  love,  let  me  hear. 

Hor.  Two  nights  together  had  these  gentlemen, 
Marcellus  and  Bernardo,  on  their  watch. 
In  the  dead  waist  and  middle  of  the  night, 
3ieen  thus  encounlcr'd.    A  figure  like  your  father, 
Armed  at  point,  exactly  cap-a-pe, 
Appears  bctbre  them,  and  wiili  solemn  march, 
Goes  slow  and  stately  by  them  :  thrice  he  walk'd, 
By  their  oppress'd  and  fear-surprised  eyes, 
Witliin  his  truncheon's  length;  whilst  they,  distill'd 
Almost  to  jelly  with  the  act  of  fear. 
Stand  dumb,  and  speak  not  to  him.    This  to  me 
]n  dreadful  secresy  impart  they  did; 
And  I  with  them,  the  third  night  kept  the  watch : 
AVIiere,  as  they  had  dehver'd,^botli  in  time. 
Form  of  the  thing,  each  word  made  true  and  good. 
The  apparition  comes:  I  knew  your  father: 
These  hands  arc  not  more  like. 

Ham.  But  where  was  this? 

Mar.   My  lord,  upon   the  platform  where  we 
watch'd. 

Ham.  Dul  you  not  speak  to  iti 

Hor.  My  lord,  I  did; 

But  answer  made  it  none:  yet  once,  melhought, 
]t  lifted  up  its  head,  and  did  address 
liself  to  motion,  like  as  it  would  speak : 
liut,  even  then,  the  morning  cock  crew  loud  ; 
And  at  the  sound  it  shrunk  in  haste  away, 
And  vamsh'd  from  our  sight. 

Ham.  'Tis  very  strange. 

Hor.  As  I  do  live,  my  honor'd  lord,  'tis  true  ; 
And  we  did  think  it  writ  down  in  our  duty, 
To  let  you  know  of  it. 

Ham.  liideed,  indeed,  sirs,  but  this  troubles  me. 
Hold  you  the  watch  to-night] 

^•l//'  We  do,  my  lord. 

Ham,  ArmM,  say  you  ] 

Aft.  Arm'd,  my  lord. 

Jiom.  From  lop  to  toe? 

-■)//.  My  lord,  from  head  to  loot. 

Ham.  Then  saw  you  not 

His  face? 

H(/r.  O.  yes,  my  lord  !  he  wore  his  beavei-t>  up. 

Ham.  What,  look'd  lie  frowningly'! 

Hor.  A  countenance  more 

In  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

Ham.  Pale,  or  red  1 

Hor.  Nay,  very  pale. 

Ha?n  And  fix'd  his  eyes  upon  you  T 

Hi>r.  :Most  constantly. 

JIam.  I  would,  I  had  been  there. 

Hor.  It  would  have  much  amuz'd  you. 

Ham.  Very  like, 

Very  like:  Stay'd  it  long? 

Hor.  While  one  with  moderate  haste  might  tell 
a  hundred. 

]\tar.  licr.  Longer,  longer. 

Hor.  Not  when  1  saw  it. 

Ham.  His  beard  was  grizzl'd?  no? 

Hor.  It  was,  as  I  have  seen  it  in  iiis  life, 
A  sable  silver'd. 

Ham.  I  will  watch  to-night; 

Perchance,  'twill  walk  again, 

■^^f^'"-  I  warrant,  it  will. 

_  Ham.  If  it  assume  my  noble  liuher'S  person, 
I  11  speak  to  il,  though  hell  itself  should  gape, 

*  riiit'fest.  »  Attentive. 

fl  TbHt  purt  of  the  heliimt  whii-h  protwts  the  lower  part 
ol  the  tV'i:',  and  may  be  lifted  up. 


And  bid  me  hold  my  peace.    I  pray  you  all, 
If  you  have  hitherto  conceaPd  this  sight. 
Let  it  be  tenable  in  your  silence  still : 
And  whatsoever  else  shall  hap  to-night, 
Give  it  an  understanding,  but  no  tongue; 
I  will  requite  your  loves  :  So,  tare  you  well : 
Upon  the  platlbrm,  *tvvixt  eleven  and  twelve, 
I'll  visit  you. 

All.  Our  duty  to  your  honor. 

Ham.  Your  loves,  as  mine  to  you  :  Farewell. 

[Exeu7it  Hon..  Mar.,  and  Ber. 
My  father's  spirit  in  arms  !  all  is  not  well : 
1  doubt  some  foul  play:  'would  the  night  were 

come  ! 
Till  then  sit  still  my  sou! :  Foul  deeds  will  rise. 
Though  all  the  earth  o'er  whelm  them,  to  men's  eyes. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III. — A  Room  in  Polonius's  House. 

Enter  Laertes  atid  Ophelia. 

Laer.  My  necessaries  are  embark'd;  farewell; 
And,  sister,  as  the  winds  give  benefit. 
And  convoy  is  assistant,  do  not  sleep. 
But  let  me  hear  from  you. 

Oph.  Do  you  doubt  that? 

Laer.  For  Hamlet,  and  the  triding  of  his  favor, 
Hold  It  a  fashion,  and  a  toy  in  blood  ; 
A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature. 
Forward,  not  permanent,  sweet,  not  lasting, 
The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute  ; 
No  more. 

Oph.         No  more  but  so? 

Laer.  Think  it  no  more: 

For  nature,  crescent,''  does  not  grow  alone 
In  thews,s  and  bulk,  but,  as  this  temple  waxes, 
The  iii^ard  service  of  tlie  mind  and  soul 
Grows  wide  withal,     perhaps,  he  loves  yon  now; 
And  now  no  soil,  nor  cautel,^  doth  besmirch' 
The  virtue  of  his  will:  but,  you  must  fear. 
His  greatness  weigh'd,  his  will  is  not  his  own; 
For  he  himself  is  subject  to  his  birth  : 
He  may  not,  as  unvalued  persons  do. 
Carve  lor  himself;  for  on  his  choice  depends 
The  safety  and  the  health  of  the  whole  stale ; 
And  theretbre  must  his  choice  be  circumscribM 
Unto  the  voice  and  yielding  of  that  body 
Whereof  he  is  the  head:  Then  if  he  says  he  loves 

you. 
It  fits  your  wisdom  so  far  to  believe  it, 
As  he  in  his  particular  act  and  place 
May  give  his  saying  deed ;  wliich  is  no  further 
Than  the  main  force  of  Denmark  goes  withal. 
Tiien  weigh  what  loss  your  honor  may  sustain. 
If  with  too  credent^  ear  you  list^  his  songs: 
Or  lose  your  heart;  or  your  chaste  treasure  open 
To  his  unmaster'd^  importunity. 
Fear  it,  Ophelia,  fear  it,  my  dear  sister; 
And  keep  you  in  the  rear  of  your  alliiction, 
Out  of  the  shot  and  danger  of  desire. 
The  chariest  maid  is  ])iodigal  enough, 
If  she  unmask  her- beauty  to  the  moon  : 
Virtue  itself  scapes  not  calumnious  strokes: 
The  canker  galls  the  infants  of  the  spring, 
Too  oft  belbre  their  buttons  be  disclos'd ; 
And  in  the  morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth 
Contagious  blastments  are  most  imminent. 
Be  wary  then:  best  safety  lies  in  fear; 
Youth  to  itself  rebels,  though  none  else  near. 

Oj)h.  I  shall  the  cllect  of  this  good  lesson  keep, 
As  watchman  to  my  heart:  But,  good  my  brother. 
Do  not,  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do. 
Show  me  tiie  steep  and  thorny  way  to  heaven; 
Whilst,  like  a  pult'd  and  reckless  libertine, 
Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance  treads, 
And  recks  not  his  own  lead.^ 

Lae7\  0  fear  me  not. 

I  stay  too  long; — But  here  my  father  comes. 

Enter  Poloxics. 
A  double  blessing  is  a  double  grace; 
Occasion  smiles  upon  a  second  leave. 

Po/.  Yet  here,  Laertes  !  aboard, aboard,  forshame; 
Tlie  wind  sits  in  the  shoulder  of  your  sail, 
And  you  are  staid  for:  There, — my  blessing  with 
you  ;  [Laainf;  his  Hand  on  Laertes' Kcatt 
And  these  few  precepts  in  thy  memory 


'  Increasing. 
1  Diacolor. 
*  Licentious. 


8  Finews.  s  Subtlety,  deceit. 

«  lli'lieviug.        a  Listen  to. 
6  I'-egiiuls  not  bis  own  lessons. 


Scene  IV, 


PRINCE  OP  DENMARK. 


727 


Look  thou  char^icter.''  r.ivo  lliy  thoiiKhlsno  tongue, 
Nor  any  unproportion'd  tliouirht  his  act. 
Be  Ihnu  laniUiar,  but  by  no  means  vul;iar. 
The  Iriends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  tliem  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel : 
But  do  nut  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  each  new-hatcli'd,  nnlledg'd  comrade.    Beware 
Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel :  but,  being  in. 
Bear  it,  that  the  opposer  may  teware  of  thee. 
Give  every  man  tliinc  ear,  but  few  thy  voice  : 
Take  each  man's  censure,'  but  reserve  tliy  judg- 

nient. 
Costly  thy  habit,  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 
But  not  expressed  in  fancy;  rich,  not  gaudy: 
For  tlie  apparel  olt  jiroclaims  the  man; 
And  they  in  France  of  the  best  rank  and  station, 
Arc  most  select  and  generous,*  chiefs  ni  that. 
Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be  : 
For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend; 
And  borrov\-ing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 
This  above  all. — To  thine  ownself  be  true ; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 
Farewell;  my  blessing  season'  this  in  thee! 

Laer.  Most  humbly  do  I  take  my  leave,  my  lord. 

Pol.  The  time  invites  you;  go,  your  servants 
tend.- 

Lnrr.  Farewell,  Ophelia;  and  remember  wall 
What  I  have  said  to  you. 

Oph.  'Tis  in  my  memory  lock'd, 

And  you  yourself  shall  keep  the  key  of  it. 

I.ner.  Farewell!  [£xi/ L iFKTES. 

Pi)l.  What  is"t,  Ophelia,  he  hath  said  io  youl 

Vpfi.  So  please  you,  something   touching    the 
lord  Hamlet. 

Pill.  Marry,  well  bethought: 
'Tis  told  me,  he  hath  very  oft  of  late 
Given  private  time  on  you  :  and  you  yours'.-lf 
Have  of  your  audience  been  most  free  and  boun- 
teous : 
If  it  be  so,  (as so  'tis  put  on  me, 
And  that  in  way  of  caution,)  I  must  tell  you, 
You  do  not  understand  yourself  so  clearly. 
As  it  behoves  my  daughter,and  your  honor: 
What  is  between  you  1  give  me  up  the  truth. 

Oph.  He  hath, my  lord, oflate, made  many  iendTs 
Of  his  alTection  to  me, 

Pfil.  Afloction  !  Puh  !  you  speak  like  a  green  girl, 
Unsifted^  in  such  iierilo'us  circninstance. 
Do  you  believe  his  tenders,  as  you  cail  them? 

Ciph.  I  do  not  know,  my  lord,  what  I  sliould  think. 

Pol.  Marry,  I'll  teach   you;   think   yourself  a 
baby ; 
That  you  have  ta'cn  these  tenders  for  true  pa5^ 
Which  are  not  sterling.    Tender  yourself  more 

dearly ; 
Or  (not  to  crack  the  wind  of  the  poor  phrase. 
Wronging  it  tluis)  you'll  tender  me  a  tool. 

Opfi.  Mv  lord,  he  hath  importun'd  me  with  love 
In  honor-able  fashion. 

Pi>f.  Ay,  fashion  you  may  call  it:  go  to,  go  to. 

Oph.  And  halh  given  countenance  to  his  speech, 
my  lord, 
With  almost  all  the  holy  vows  of  heaven. 

Pol.  Ay, sjiringes  tocatch  woodcocks.  Idoknow, 
When  the  blood  burns,  how  prodigal  the  soul 
Lends  the  tongue  vows :  these  blazes,  daughter, 
Giving  more  light  than  heat, — extinct  in  both, 
p^von  in  their  promise,  as  it  is  a-making, — 
You  must  not  take  for  lire.    From  this  time 
Ee  son.iewhat  scanter  of  your  maiden  presence ; 
Set  your  entreatments'  a't  a  higher  rate. 
Than  to  connnand  a  parley.    For  lord  Hamlet, 
Believe  so  much  in  him.  That  he  is  young; 
And  with  a  larger  tether  may  he  w^afk. 
Than  may  be  given  you:  In  few.  Ophelia, 
Do  not  Iteiieve  his  vows,  for  they  are  brokers. 
Not  of  that  die  which  their  investments  show, 
But  mere  implorators''^  of  unholy  suits. 
Breathing  like  sanctified  and  pious  bonds, 
The  better  to  beguile.    This  is  for  all. — 
I  would  not,  in  plain  terms,  IVom  this  time  forth. 
Have  you  so  slander  any  moment's  leisure, 
As  to  give  words  or  talk  with  the  lord  Hamlet. 
Look  to't,  I  charge  you ;  come  your  ways. 

Oj)h.  I  shall  obey,  my  lord.  [Exeunt. 


«  ^yl■ife.        1  Opinion. 
'  Infix.  n  Wait. 

•  Implorers. 


»  Noble. 

'  Unteinpted. 


s  Cliiefiy. 
•  Company. 


SCENE  IV.— TAe  Plalfurm. 
Enter  Hamlet,  IIoratio,  and  Marcellus. 

limn.  The  air  bites  shrewdly ;  it  is  very  cold. 

Hnr.  It  is  a  nipping  and  an  eag^'r*  air. 

Hani.  What  hour  now ! 

Hor.  I  thiiik  it  lacks  of  twelve. 

Mar.  No,  it  is  struck. 

llor.  Indeed  1  I  heard  it  not ;  it  then  draws  near 
the  season. 
Wherein  the  spirit  held  his  wont  to  walk. 

[A  Fltnirkh  af  Tntnipels,  and  Ordnance  shot 
off,  wilhin. 
What  does  tiiis  mean,  my  lord  1 

Ham.  The  king  doth  "wake  to-night,  and  takes 
his  rouse,' 
Keeps  wassel,'*  and  the  swaggering  np-spring'  reels ; 
And,  as  he  drains  liis  draughts  of  P.henisli  down. 
The  kettle-drum  and  trumpet  thus  bray  out 
The  triumph  of  his  pledge. 

Jior.  Is  it  a  custom  T 

Ham.  .\y,  marry,  is't : 
But  to  my  mind,  though  I  am  native  here. 
And  to  the  manner  born,— it  is  a  custom 
More  honor'd  in  the  breach,  than  the  observance. 
This  heavy-headed  revel,  east  and  west, 
Makes  us  traduced  and  tax'd  of  other  nations: 
Theyclepe'  us  drunkards. and  with  swinish  phrage 
Soil  our  addition;  and,  indeed,  it  takes 
From  our  achievcments,thoughperform'd  at  height, 
The  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute. 
So  oil  it  chances  in  particular  men. 
That  liir  .some  vicious  mole  of  nature  in  tliem, 
As,  in  their  birth,  (wherein  they  arc  not  guilty. 
Since  nature  cannot  choose  his  origin,) 
By  the  o'ergrnwth  of  some  complexion,' 
Oft  breaking  down  the  pales  and  forts  of  reason; 
Or,  by  some  habit,  that  too  much  o'er-leavens 
The  Ibrm  of  plausive  manners; — that  these  men, — > 
Carrying,  I  say,  the  stamp  of  one  d',.*fect, 
Being  nature's  livery,  or  fortune's  star, — 
Their  virtues  else  (be  they  as  pure  as  grace, 
As  intinitc  as  man  may  undergo) 
Shall  in  the  general  censure  take  corruption 
From  that  particular  tiiult:  The  dram  of  base 
Doth  all  the  noble  substance  often  doul,^ 
To  his  own  scandal. 

Enter  Ghost. 

l]irr.  Look,  my  lord,  it  comes! 

Ham.  Angels  and  mi  nisters  of  grace  defend  us^ — 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health,  or  goblin  dumn'd. 
Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven,  or  blasts  from 

hell. 
Be  thy  intents  wicked, or  charitable. 
Thou  com'st  in  such  a  questionable'  shape. 
That  I  will  speak  to  thee;  I'll  call  thee.  Hamlet, 
King,  father,  royal  Pane  :  O,  answer  me: 
Let  me  not  burst  in  ignorance!  but  tell. 
Why  thy  canoniz'd  bones,  hearsed  in  death. 
Have  burst  their  cerements!  why  the  sepulchre, 
Wherein  we  saw  thee  quietly  in-urn'd, 
Ilatli  op'd  his  ponfferous  and  marble  jaws. 
To  cast  thee  up  again  !    What  may  this  mean, 
Tliat  thou,  dead  corse,  again  in  complete  steel 
Uevisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Making  night  hideous;  and  we  fools  of  nature, 
So  horridly  to  shake  our  disposition. 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls? 
Say,  why  is  this  !  'wherefore  !  what  should  we  do  ! 

Hnr.  I't  beckons  you  to  go  away  with  it,. 
As  if  it  some  impartment  did  desire 
To  you  alone. 

Mar.  Look,  with  what  courteous  action 

It  waves  you  to  a  more  removed  ground: 
But  do  not  go  with  it. 

Hor.  No,  by  no  means. 

Ham.  It  will  not  speak;  then  I  will  follow  it. 

Hiir.  Do  not,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why,  what  should  be  the  fear? 

I  do  not  set  my  life  at  a  pin's  fee  f 
And,  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that. 
Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself  I 
It  waves  me  forth  again; — I'll  follow  it. 

Hor.  What,  if  it  tempt  you  toward  the  flood,  my 
lord. 
Or  to  the  dreadful  summit  of  the  clifT, 
6  Sharp.  '  .Tovial  draught.  "  .Tonifj. 

9  A  d.Tnce.  '  Call.  *  Ilumnr 

3  Do  out.  «  Cunvursal-'le.  >  \'ulue. 


728 


HAMLET, 


Act  I.  Scene  V. 


Tiiat  beetles^  o'er  his  base  into  tlie  sea  ! 
And  there  assume  some  other  liorritile  form, 
Wtiich  mi^ht  deprive  your  sovereic^iity  of  reason, 
And  draw  you  into  madness!  think  ol'  it; 
Tile  ver>'  place  puts  toys"  of  desperation 
AVithout  more  motive,  into  every  brain, 
Tliat  looks  so  inany  fathoms  to  the  sea, 
And  hears  it  roar  beneath. 

Hatn.  It  waves  me  still: — 

Go  on,  I'll  follow  thee. 

Mar.  You  shall  not  go,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Hold  off  your  hands. 

Hiir.  Be  rui'd,  you  shall  not  go. 

Ham.  My  fate  cries  out, 

And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
As  hardy  as  the  N^m'ean  lion's  nerve. — 

[Ghost  beckons. 
Still  am  I  call'd; — unhand  me,  gentlemen  ; — 

[Sreakmf;  from  them. 
By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets* 

me ; — 
I  say,  away ;— Go  on,  I'll  follow  thee. 

{Exeunt  Ghost  and  IIamlkt. 

Hor.  He  waxes  desperate  with  imagination. 

Mar.  Let's  follow;  'tis  not  tit  thus  to  obey  him. 

Hor.  Have  after: — To  what  issue  will  this  cornel 

Mar.  Something  is  rotten  in  the  state  of  Denmark. 

Hrrr.  Heaven  will  direct  it. 

Mar.  Nay,  let's  follow  him. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  X.—A  more  remote  Part  of  ttte  Plutfurm. 
Re-enter  Ghost  itnd  Hamlet. 

Ham.  Vv'hither  wilt  thou  lead  me!     Speak,  I'll 
go  no  further. 

Gtinst.  i\Iark  me. 

Ham.  I  will. 

Ctwit.  My  hour  is  almost  come, 

AVIicn  I  to  sulphurous  and  tormenting  llames 
Must  render  up  myself. 

Ham.  Alas,  poor  ghost ! 

Ghost.  Pity  me  not,  but  lend  thy  serious  hearing 
To  what  X  shall  unfold. 

Ham.  Speak,  I  am  bound  to  hear. 

Ghost.  So  art  thou  to  revenge,  when  thou  shall 
hear. 

Ham.  What! 

Ghost.  I  am  thy  father's  spirit: 
Doom'd  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night ; 
And.  for  the  day,  contin'd  to  first  in  tires," 
Till  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  my  days  of  nature. 
Are  burnt  and  purged  away.   But  tliat  I  am  forbid 
To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house, 
I  could  a  tale  unfold,  whose  lightest  word 
Would  harrow  up  thy  soul ;  freeze  thy  young  blood ; 
Make  thj'  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their 

spheres ; 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part, 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcui)!ne: 
But  this  eternal  blazon^  must  not  be 
To  ears  of  llesh  and  blood  : — LiSt.  list,  0  list ! — 
If  thou  didst  ever  thy  dear  father  love, 

Ham.  0  heaven  I 

Ghost.  Revenge    his  foul  and  most    unnatural 
murder. 

Ham.  Murder? 

Ghnst.  :\Iurder  most  fiul.  as  in  the  best  it  is; 
But  tills  most  foul,  s(rang(\  and  unnatural. 

Hoot.  Haste  tnc  to  know  it;  that  I,  with  wings 
as  swift 
As  meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love, 
May  sweep  to  my  revenge. 

Ghost.  I  find  thee  apt; 

And  duller  shouldst  thou  be  than  the  fat  weed 
That  rots  itself  in  ease  on  Lethe  wharf, 
Wouldst  thou  not  stir  in  this.  Now,  Hamlet,  hear: 
'Tis  given  out,  that,  sleeping  in  mine  orchard, 
A  serpent  stung  me:  so  the  whole  ear  of  Detimark 
Is  by  a  fi)rged  process  of  my  death 
Bankly  alius'd;  but  know,  thou  noble  youth, 
The  serpent  that  did  sting  thy  father's  life 
Now  wears  his  crown. 

Ham.  O,  my  prophetic  soul !  my  uncle. 

Ghost.  Ay,  that  incestunus.  that  adulterate  beast, 
Willi  witchcraft  of  his  wit.  with  trailnrous  gifts, 
(()  wicked  wit,  and  gilts,  that  have  the  power 
So  to  seduce!)  won  to  his  shameful  lust 

«  llan^.  1  Whims.  8  lliuders.  8  Pipphiy. 


The  will  of  my  most  seeming-virtuous  queen: 
O,  Hamlet,  what  a  falling-oirwas  there ! 
From  me,  whose  love  was  of  that  dignity, 
That  it  went  hand-in-hand  even  with  the  vow 
I  fnadc  to  her  in  marriage  ;  and  to  decline 
Upon  a  wretch,  whose  natural  gilts  were  poor 
To  those  of  mine  I 
But  virtue,  as  it  never  will  be  mov'd. 
Though  lewdness  court  it  in  a  sliape  of  heaven; 
So  lust,  though  to  a  radiant  angel  liaik'd, 
Will  sate  itself  in  a  celestial  bed, 
And  prey  on  garbage. 

But  soft!  mcthinks  I  scent  the  morning  air: 
Brief  let  me  be:— Sleeping  within  mine  orcnard, 
My  custom  always  of  the  afternoon. 
Upon  luy  secure  hour  thy  uncle  stole. 
With  juice  of  cursed  hebenon'  in  a  vial. 
And  in  the  porches  of  mine  ears  did  pour 
The  Icperous  distilment :  whose  ellcct 
Holds  such  an  enmity  with  blood  of  man, 
That,  swift  as  quicksilver,  it  courses  through 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body; 
And,  with  a  sudden  vigor,  it  doth  posset 
And  curd,  like  eager  droppings  into  milk. 
The  thin  and  wholesome  blood  ;  so  did  it  mine; 
And  a  most  instant  tetter  bark'd  about. 
Most  lazar-like,-  with  vile  and  loathsome  crust, 
All  my  smooth  body. 
Thus  was  I,  sleeping, by  a  brother's  hand. 
Of  life,  of  crown,  of  queen,  at  once  despatch's :' 
Cut  off  even  in  the  blossoms  of  my  sin, 
Unhousel'd,-"  disappointed,^  unaneled  -fi 
No  reckoning  made,  but  sent  to  my  account 
With  all  my  imperfections  on  my  head : 
0,  hoiTible  !  0,  horrible  !  most  horrible  ! 
If  thou  hast  nature  in  thee,  bear  it  not; 
Let  not  the  royal  bed  of  Denmark  be 
A  couch  for  luxury  and  damned  incest. 
But,  howsoever  thou  pursucst  this  act. 
Taint  not  tliy  mind,  nor  let  thy  sold  contrive 
Against  thy  mother  aught;  leave  her  to  heaven. 
And  to  those  thorns  that  in  her  bosom  lodge. 
To  prick  and  sting  her.    Fare  thee  well  at  once  ! 
The  glow-worm  shows  the  matin  to  be  near, 
And  'gins  to  pale  his  inelR'ctual  fire : 
Adieu,  adieu,  adieu  !  remember  me.  [Exit. 

Ham.  0  all  you  host  of  heaven !  0  earth  !  What 

else  ! 
And  shall  I  couple  hell !— 0  fye  !— Hold,  hold,  my 

heart ; 
And  you,  my  sinews,  grow  not  instant  old. 
But  bear  me  stiffly  np!— Remember  thee? 
Ay,  thou  poor  ghost,  while  memory  holds  a  seat 
In  this  distracted  globe.'    Remember  thee  ! 
Yea,  from  the  table  of  my  memory 
I'll  wipe  away  all  trivial  fond  lecords. 
All  sawss  of  books,  all  forms,  all  pressures  past. 
That  youth  and  observation  copied  there; 
And  thy  commandment  all  alone  shall  live 
Within  the  book  and  volume  of  my  brain, 
Unmix'd  with  baser  matter:  yes,  by  heaven. 
O  most  pernicious  woman  ! 

0  villain,  villain,  smiling,  damned  villain  ! 
My  tables,' — meet  it  is,  I  set  it  down. 

That  one  may  smile,  and  smile, and  be  a  villain; 
At  least,  I  am  sure,  it  may  be  so  in  Denmark : 

[  IVrltins* 
So,  uncle,  there  you  are.    Now  to  iny  word  ; 
It  is.  Adieu,  adieu  !  remember  me. 

1  have  sworn't. 

Jii}r.   [  Within.]  My  lord,  my  lord,— 

Mar.  [IVi/hin.]   Lord  Hamlet,- 

}t(jr.   [ll'iMm.]  Heaven  secure  him. 
Hooi.  So  be  it. 

Mar.  [  Within.]  Illo,  ho,  ho,  my  lord  ! 
Ham.  Hillo,  ho,  ho,  boy  I  come,  bird,  come. 

Enter  HonAxto  and  JNIarcellus. 
Mar.  How  is't,  my  noble  lord  ! 
Hiir.  What  news,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  0  wonderful! 

■""'■.  Good,  my  lord,  tell  it. 

Ham.  No ; 

You  will  reveal  it. 
Hor.  Not  I,  my  lord,  by  heaven. 
>  Henbane.  a  Leprous.  s  Cereft. 

•  V\"itliout  having  received  the  sacrament. 

*  rnappriinted.  unprepared. 

6  Witlinut  extreme  unction.  '  Head. 

8  Sajiufjs,  sentences.  b  Memorandum-book- 


Act  II.  Scene  I. 


PRINCE   OF   DENMAEK. 


729 


Mar.  Nor  I.  my  lord. 

Jl!i/i.  How  say  you,  then  :  would  heart  of  man 
once  think  it  I — 
But  you'll  he  secret, 

IHar.  Mar.  Ay,  by  heaven,  my  lord. 

Ham.  There's  ne'er  a  villain,  dwelling  in  all 
Denmark, 
But  he's  an  arrant  knave. 

hur.  There  needs  no  ghost,  my  lord,  come  from 
tile  grave, 
To  tell  us  this. 

Hum.  Why,  right;  j'ou  are  in  the  right; 

And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
I  hold  it  lit,  that  we  shake  hands,  and  part : 
You,  as  your  husiness,and  desire,shall  point  you; — 
For  every  man  hath  business,  and  desire. 
Such  as  it  is; — and,  for  my  own  poor  part, 
Look  you,  I  \\ill  go  pray. 

Hur.  These  are  but  wild  and  whirling  words, 
my  lord. 

Ham.  I  am  sorry  they  offend  you,  heartily;  yes, 
'Faith,  heartily. 

Hur.  There's  no  offence,  my  lord. 

Hum.  Yes,  by  Saint  Patrick,  but  there  is.  Horatio, 
And  much  offence  too.    Touching  this  vision  here, 
It  is  an  honest  gtiost,  that  let  me  tell  you ; 
For  >our  desire  to  know  what  is  between  us, 
(i'cr-master  it  as  you  may.  And  now,  good  friends. 
As  you  are  friends,  scholars,  and  soldiers, 
Give  me  one  poor  request. 

Hor.  What  is't,  my  lord  % 

We  will. 

Ham.  Never  make  known  what  you  have  seen 
to-night. 

Hur.  Mar.  ily  lord,  we  will  not. 

Hum,  Nay,  but  swear't. 

Hur.  '  In  faith, 

My  lord,  not  I. 

Mar.  Nor  T,  my  lord,  in  faith. 

Ham.  Upon  my  sword. 

Mar.  '\\q  have  sworn,  my  lord,  already. 

Ham.  Indeed,  upon  my  sword,  indeed. 

GImst.  [Beneath.']  Swear. 

Ham.  Ha,  ha,   boy  !   say'st  thou  so  ?   art  thou 
tliere,  true-penny  T 
Come  on, — you  hear  this  fellow  in  the  cellerage, — 
Consent  to  swear. 


Hor.  Propose  the  oath,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Never   to  speak  of  this  that   you  have 
seen. 
Swear  by  my  sword. 

Ghost.  [Beneath.]  Swear. 

Ham.   Hie   et   ubique?'-    then  we'll   shift    our 
ground : — 
Come  hither,  gentlemen. 
And  lay  your  iiaiids  again  upon  my  sword: 
Swear  by  my  sword. 
Never  to  speak  of  this  that  you  have  heard. 

Ghost.  [Beneath.]  Swear'hy  his  sword. 

Ham.  Well  said,"  old   mole  I   canst  work  i'  the 
earth  so  fast! 
A    worthy    jiioncerl  —  Once  more   remove,  good 
friends. 

HffT.  O   day  and  night,  but  this  is  wondrous 
strange  I 

Ham.  And  therefore  as  a  stranger  give  it  welcome. 
There  are    more    things   in  heave*  and   earth, 

Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy. 

But  come; 

Here,  as  before,  never,  so  help  you  mercy ! 

How  strange  or  odd  soe'er  I  bear  myself. 

As  I,  perchance,  hereafter  shall  think  meet 

To  put  an  antic  disposition  on, — 

That  you,  at  such  times  seeing  me,  never  shall. 

With  arms  encumber'd  thus,  or  this  head-shake, 

Or  by  pronouncingof  some  doubtful  phrase. 

As,  tVell.  well,  we  know; — or.  We  coubi.  an  if  u-e 

would ; — or,  If  we  list  to  speak ; — or.  There  be,  an 

if  they  might : — 

Or  such  ambiguous  giving  nut,  to  note 

That  you  know  aught  of  me; — This  do  you  swear, 

So  grace  and  merrv  at  your  most  need  help  you  ! 

Ghost.  [Beneath."]  Swear. 

Ham.  Rest,  rest,  perturbed  spirit !     So,  gentle- 
men. 
With  all  my  love  I  do  commend  me  to  you  : 
.-Vud  what  so  poor  a  man  as  Hamlet  is 
May  do.  to  express  his  lovo  and  friending  to  you, 
God  willing,  shall  not  lack.    Let  us  go  in  together; 
And  still  \our  lingers  on  your  lips,  I  pray. 
The  time  is  out  of  joint; — 0  cursed  spite  ! 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right! 
Nay,  come,  let's  go  together.  '        [Eiewtt. 


ACT   II. 


SCENE  I.— A  Room  in  Polonius's  House. 
Enter  Polonh's  ami  Reynmldo. 

Pol.  Give  him  this  money,  and  these  notes,  Rey- 

naldo. 
Rey.  I  will,  my  lord. 

Pot.  Vou  shall  do  marvellous  wisely,  good  Rey- 
naldo. 
Before  you  visit  him,  to  make  inquiry 
Of  his  behavior. 
Rey.  My  lord,  I  did  intend  if. 

Pol.  Marry,  well  said:    very  well  said.    Look 
you.  sir. 
Inquire  me  first  what  Danskers'  are  in  Paris  ; 
And  how,  and  who,  what  means,  and  where  they 

keep. 
What  company,  at  what  expense;  and  finding, 
By  this  cncompassment  and  drift  of  question. 
That  they  do  know  my  son, come  you  more  nearer 
Than  your  particular'demands  will  touch  it: 
Take  you,  as  'twere,  some  distant  knowledge  of 

him : 
As  thus, — I  know  hut  father,  and  hli  friends. 
And,  in  part, him; — Do  you  mark  this,  Reynaldo? 
Rcji.  Ay,  very  well,  my  lord. 
Pol.  And,  in  part,  him; — but,  you  may  say,  not 
well: 
But.  if't  be  he  I  mean,  he''s  very  wild ; 
Addicted  so  and  «o,— and  there"  put  on  him 
What  forgeries  you  please;  marry,  none  so  rank 
As  may  dishonor  him  ;  take  Jieedof  that: 
But,  sir,  such  wanton,  wild,  and  usual  slips. 
As  are  companions  noted  and  most  known 
To  youth  and  liberty. 
Rey.  As  gaming,  my  lord. 

»  Panes. 


Pol.  Ay,  or  drinking,  fencing,  swearing,  quar- 
relling. 
Drahbing; — You  may  go  so  far. 

Rey.  y\y  lord,  that'would  dishonor  him. 

Pol.  'Faith,  no;  as  you  may  season  it  in  the 
charge. 
You  must  not  put  another  scandal  on  him. 
That  he  is  open  to  iiicnnttnency  ; 
That's  not  my  meaning;  but  breathe  his  faults  so 

quaintly. 
That  they  may  seem  tlie  taints  of  liberty : 
The  fiasii  and  outbreak  of'a  tiery  mind; 
A  savageness  in  unreclaimed  blood, 
Of  general  assault, 

Rey.  But,  my  good  lord, 

Pot.  Wherefore  should  you  do  this  '! 

Rey.  Ay,  my  lord, 

I  would  know  that. 

Pol.  Marry,  sir,  here's  my  drift ; 

And,  I  believe,  it  is  a  fetch  of  warrant: 
You  laying  these  slight  sullies  on  my  son. 
As  'twere  a  thing  a  little  soil'd  i'  the  working, 
Mark  you, 

Your  ijarty  in  converse,  him  you  would  sound, 
Having  ever  seen  in  the  prenominate^  crimes. 
The  youth  you  breathe  of,  guilty,  be  assured, 
He  closes  w'lth  you  in  this  consequence  ; 
Good  sir,  or  .so ;  nr  friend,  or  gentleman, — 
According  to  the  phrase,  or  the  addition, 
Of  man,  and  country. 

Rey.  Very  good,  my  lord. 

Pot.  And  then,  sir,  does  he'this, — He  does^ 
What  was  I  about  to  say  ! — By  the  mass,  I  was 
about  to  say  something:— Where  did  I  leave! 

Rey.  At,  closes  in  the  consequence. 
*  Here  and  evtrj'where.  '  Ahcady  named. 


730 


HAMLET, 


Act  II. 


Pol.  At,  closes  in  the  consequence, — Ay,  marry; 
He  closes  with  you  thus:— /  Avioiu  the  scnltenian; 
I  saw  him  yesterdai/,  iir  Vother  day. 
Or  then,  or  then;  u4lh  siich,m-fuch  ;  and,  as  you  say, 
There  ivas  he  gaming;  there  u'erlooli  in  his  rmise; 
There  fatting  out  at  tennis:  ur,  perchance, 
I  saiv  him  enter  such  a  fiouse  a}  sate, 
(Videlicet,  a  brotliel,)  or  so  forth. — 
See  you  now ; 

Your  l)ait  of  falseljood  takes  this  carp  of  truth: 
And  thus  do  we  of  wisdom  and  of  reach, 
With  windlaces,  and  with  assays  of  bias, 
Dy  indirections  find  directions  out; 
So,  liy  my  (brmer  lecture  and  advice. 
Shall  you  my  son:  You  have  me, have  you  not? 

Rey.  My  lord,  I  have. 

Pol-  Cod  be  wi'  you;  fare  you  well. 

liey.  Good,  my  lord, 

Pot.  Observe  liis  inclination  in  yourself. 

Rey.  I  shall,  my  loid. 

Pot.  And  let  hiin  ply  his  music. 

Re  It-  Well,  my  lord:  [Exit. 

Enter  Ophelia. 

Pot.  Farewell.'— How  now,  Ophelia?  what's  the 
matter? 

Oj}li.  Q.  my  lord,  my  lord,  I  have  been  so  af- 
friiihted  ! 

Pol.  With  what,  in  the  name  of  heaven? 

Opti.  My  lord,  as  1  w.is  sewing  in  my  closet, 
Lord  Hamlet,— with  his  doublet  all  unbraced; 
No  hat  upon  his  head;  his  stockings  foul'd, 
Un^arter'd,  and  down-gyved-i  to  his  ankle; 
Pale  as  his  shirt;  his  knees  knocking  each  other; 
And  with  a  look  so  piteous  in  purport. 
As  if  he  had  been  loosed  out  of  hell, 
To  sjieak  of  horrors, — he  conies  before  mc, 

Pol.  Mad  liDr  thy  love  ? 

Oph.  My  lord,  I  do  not  know ; 

But,  truly,  I  do  fear  it. 

Pol.  What  said  he  ? 

Opii.  He  look  mc  by  the  wrist,  and  hold  me  hard; 
Then  goes  he  to  the  length  of  all  his  arm  ; 
And  with  his  other  hand  thus  o'er  his  brow, 
He  (alls  to  such  perusal  of  my  flice. 
As  he  would  draw  it.    Long  stay'd  he  so; 
At  last,— a  litlle  shaking  of  mine  arm. 
And  thrice  his  head  thus  waving  up  and  down, — 
He  rais'd  a  sigh  so  piteous  and  proJbund, 
As  it  did  seem  to  shallcr  all  his  bulk. 
And  end  Ins  being  :  That  done,  he  lets  me  go; 
And,  with  his  head  over  his  shoulder  turn'd. 
He  seem"d  to  hud  his  way  without  his  eyes; 
For  out  of  doors  ho  went  without  their  lielps, 
And,  to  the  last,  bended  their  light  on  me. 

Pol.  Come,  go  with  me;  I  will  go  seek  the  king. 
This  is  Ihe  very  ecstasy  of  love; 
^Vhose  violent  properly  foredoes''  itrelf. 
And  leads  the  will  to  desperate  undertakings, 
As  oil  .as  any  passion  under  heaven, 
Tliat  docs  atliict  our  natures.    I  am  sorry. — 
What,  have  you  given  him  any  hard  words  of  late? 

Oph.  No,  my  good  lord:   but,  as  you  did  com- 
mand, 
I  did  repel  his  letters,  and  denied 
His  access  to  me. 

Pot.  That  hath  made  him  mad. 

I  am  sorry,  that  with  better  heed  and  ludgment, 
I  had  not  quotede  him  :  I  lear'd,  he  did  hut  trifle. 
And  meant  to  wreck  thee;  but,  beshrew  mv  jea- 
lousy! '  ■' 
It  seems,  it  is  as  proper  to  our  age 
To  cast  beyond  ourselves  in  our  opinions, 
As  it  is  common  for  the  younger  sort 
To  lack  discretion.    Comc»  go  we  to  the  king; 
This  must  be  known;  which,  being  kept  close, 

might  move 
More  grief  to  hide,  than  hate  to  utter  love. 
Come.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.— yl  Room  in  the  Cnslle. 
Enter  Ki.\G,  Qceex,  Rosexcrantz,  Guildensteen, 
and  Atlondants. 
King.  Welcome,  dear  Roscncrantz,  and  Guilden- 
stern ! 
Moreover  that  we  much  did  long  to  see  you. 
The  need,  we  have  to  use  you.  did  provoke 
Our  hasty  sending.    Somcihing  have  you  heard 
*  Ilulighig  down  liko  fotturs.      t  DL-stroys.      8  obsorved. 


Of  Hamlet's  transformation;  so  I  call  it, 
Since  not  the  exterior  nor  the  inward  man 
Resembles  that  it  was:  What  it  should  be. 
More  than  his  father's  death,  that  thus  hath  put 

him 
So  much  from  the  understanding  of  himself, 
I  cannot  dream  of:  I  entreat  you  both. 
That,— being  of  so  young  days  brought  up  with 

him; 
And,  since,  so  neighbor 'd   to  his  youth  and  hu- 
mor,— 
That  you  vouchsafe  your  rest  here  in  our  court 
Some  little  time:  so  by  your  companies 
To  draw  him  on  to  pleasures;  and  lo  gather. 
So  much  as  from  occasion  you  may  slcaii. 
Whether  aught,  to  us  unknown,  afflicts  hira  thus, 
That,  open'd,  lies  within  our  remedy. 

Queen.  Good  gentlemen,  he  hath  much  talk'd  of 
you; 
And,  sure  I  am,  two  men  there  are  not  living. 
To  whom  he  more  adheres.    If  it  will  please  you 
To  show  us  so  much  gentry,  andgood  will, 
As  to  expend  your  time  with  us  awhile, 
For  the  supply  and  profit  of  our  hope. 
Your  visitation  shall  receive  such  (hanks 
As  hts  a  king's  remembrance. 
,,-"''*•  ,  Both  your  majesties 

Might,  by  the  sovereign  power  you  have  of  us, 
Put  your  dread  pleasures  more  into  command 
Than  to  entreaty. 

Ouit.  But  we  both  obey; 

And  here  give  up  ourselves,  in  the  full  bent;' 
To  lay  our  service  freely  at  your  feet. 
To  be  commanded. 

King.  Thanks,  Kosencrantz,  and  gentle  Guilden- 
stern. 

Queen.  Thanks,  Guildenstern,  and  gentle  Kosen- 
crantz : 
And  I  beseech  you  instantly  to  visit 
My  too  much  changed  son.— Go,  some  of  you, 
And  bring  these  gentlemen  where  Hamlet  is. 

Guil.  Heavens  make  our  presence,  and  our  prac- 
tices. 
Pleasant  and  helpful  to  him  ! 

Queen.  Ay,  amen ! 

[Exeunt  Rosexcrantz,  Guildenstern, 
and  some  Attendants. 

Enter  Polosius. 

Pot.  The  ambassadors  from  Norway,  my  good 
lord. 
Are  joyfully  return'd. 

King.  Thou  still  hast  been  the  father  of  good 
news. 

Pol.  Have  I,  my  lord  ?    Assure  you,  my  good 
liege, 
I  hold  my  duty,  as  I  hold  my  soul. 
Both  to  my  God,  and  to  my  gracious  Idng: 
And  I  do  think,  (or  else  this  brain  of  mine 
Hunts  not  the  trail*  of  policy  so  sure 
As  it  hath  used  to  do,)  that  I  have  lound 
The  very  cause  of  Hamlet's  lunacy. 

King.  O,  speak  of  that:  that  do  I  long  to  hear. 

Pot.  Give  hrst  admittance  to  the  ambassadors; 
My  news  shall  be  the  fruit  to  that  great  least. 

A'(«ff.  Thyself  do  grace  to  them,  and  bring  them 
„    ,  ,,  '"■  ,  [E.i-it  PuLoxius. 

He  tells  mc,  my  dear  Gertrude,  he  hath  (bund 
The  head  and  source  of  all  your  son's  dislemper. 

Queen.  I  doubt  it  is  no  other  but  the  main  . 
His  liither's  death,  and  our  o'er-hasty  marriage. 

Re-enter  Poloxius,  with  Voltisiand  a7td 

CoRXELIUS. 

King.  Well,  we  shall  sift  him.— Welcome,  my 
good  tWends ! 
Say,  Voltimand,  what  from  our  brother  Norway  ? 

Volt.  Most  lair  return  of  greetings,  and  desires. 
Upon  our  tirst,  he  sent  out  to  suppress 
His  nephew's  levies;  which  to  him  appear'd 
To  be  a  preparation  'gainst  the  Polack  ;» 
Hut,  better  look'd  into,  he  truly  found 
II  was  against  your  highness:  Whereat  griev'd, — 
That  so  his  sickness,  age,  and  impotence. 
Was  (iilsely  borne  in  hand,' — sends  out  arrests 
On  Fortinbras;  which  he,  in  brief,  obeys; 
Receives  rebuke  from  Norway  ;  and,  in  fine, 
J\Iakes  vow  before  his  uncle,  never  more 
To  give  the  assay  of  arms  against  your  m,ajesty. 

1  Utmost  exertion,    s  gccut.    »  Pckiuil.     i  IuipoaL>d  on. 


SCEXE   II. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


31 


Whereon  old  Norway,  overcome  with  joy, 
Gives  him  three  tliousand  crowns  in  annual  fee; 
And  his  commission  to  employ  those  soldiers, 
So  levied  as  before,  against  the  Polack: 
With  an  entreaty,  herein  further  shown, 

[  Gives  a  Paper. 
That  it  mi^ht  please  you  to  give  quiet  pass 
Through  your  dominions  tor  this  enterprise; 
On  such  regards  of  salely,  and  allowance, 
As  lijerein  are  set  down. 

King.  It  likes  us  well : 

And,  at  our  more  considcr'd  lime,  we'll  read, 
Answer,  and  think  upon  this  business. 
Mean  time,  we  thank  you  tor  your  well-took  labor: 
Go  to  your  rest;  at  night  we'll  feast  together: 
Most  welcome  home ! 

{Exttmt  VOLTIMAND  m^d  CoRN'Ki-irs. 

PoL  Tliis  business  is  well  ended. 

My  liege,  and  madam,  to  expostulatc- 
What  majesty  should  be.  wliat  duty  is. 
Why  day  is  diiy,  night,  night,  and  time  is  time, 
Were  nothing  but  to  waste  night,  day,  and  time, 
TJierefore, — since  brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit, 
And  lediousness  the  limbs  and  outward  flourishes, 
I  will  be  brief;  Your  noble  son  is  mad  : 
Alad  call  I  it :  for,  to  define  true  madness. 
What  isH,  but  to  be  nothing  else  but  mad  ? 
But  let  that  go. 

Queen.  More  matter  with  less  art. 

PoL  Madam.  I  swear  I  use  no  art  at  all. 
That  he  is  mad,  'tis  true:  'tis  true,  'tis  pity; 
And  pity  'tis  'tis  true:  a  Ibolish  figure  ; 
But  larewell  it,  for  I  will  use  no  art. 
Mad  let  us  grant  him  tlien:  and  now  remains, 
That  we  find  out  the  cause  of  this  etiect; 
Or.  rather  say,  the  cause  of  this  defect ; 
For  tliis  effect,  detective,  comes  by  cause: 
Thus  it  remains,  and  tlic  remainder  thus, 
perpend. 

I  have  a  daughter ;  have,  while  she  is  mine ; 
Who,  in  her  duty  and  obedience,  mark, 
Hatii  given  iiie  tliis:  Now  gather  and  surmise. 
— To  ike  cr/i'.sfia/,  and  iittj  souPs  idol,  the  most 

heuufijied  Ophtlia, 

That's  an  lU  plu'ase,  a  vile  phrase  ;  beautyied  is  a 
vile  phrase;  but  you  shall  hear. — Thus: 

III  htr  excellent  wkite  hoHim,  fkese,  S^c. — 

Queen.  Came  this  from  Hamlet  to  her? 

Pol.  Good  madam,  stay  awhile;  I  will  be  faith- 
ful.— 
Doubt  thou,  the  f-fars  are  fire;  [Reads. 

Doubt,  that  the  nun  dutti  /nave: 
Doubt  irutk  to  be  a  liar  ; 
But  never  d/iubt,  I  love. 

0  dear  Ophelia,  /  urn  ill  at  these  numbers ;  I 
have  not  art  to  reckon  nt;/  groans ;  but  that  I  love 
thee  be&tf  O  nto-st  best,  betieve  it.    Adieu. 

Tfiine  evermore,  tnnst  dear  lady,  whilst 
this  machine  is  to  him,  Hamlet. 
This  in  obedience,  hntii  my  daughter  shown  me: 
And  more  above,  hatli  his  solicitings. 
As  they  fell  out  by  time,  by  means,  and  place, 
All  given  to  mine  ear. 

King.  But  how  hath  she 

Received  Iiislove? 

Pol.  What  do  you  think  of  mel 

King.  As  of  a  man  laithful  and  honorable. 

Pol.  I  would   fain  prove  so.     But  what  might 
you  think. 
When  I  liad  seen  this  hot  love  on  the  wing, 
(As  I  perceiv"d  it.  I  must  tell  you  that, 
lieforo  my  dauirhter  told  me,)  what  might  you, 
Or  my  dear  m;ijesty  your  queen  here,  think, 
If  I  had  play'd  the  desk,  or  table-book; 
Or  given  my  hear*  a  working,  mute  and  dumb  ; 
Or  look'd  upon  this  love  wiih  idle  sight ; 
Wiiat  might  you  tliink  ]  no,  1  went  round^  tffwork, 
And  my  youiig  mistress  thus  did  I  bespeak: 
Lord  hamlet  is  a  2^'ince  out  of  thy  sphere; 
This  must  not  be:  and  then  I  precepts  gave  her, 
That  she  should  lock  herself  from  his  resort. 
Admit  no  messengers,  receive  no  tokens. 
Wliich  done,  she  took  the  fruits  of  my  advice; 
And  he,  repulsed,  (a  short  tale  to  make,) 
Fell  into  a  sadness ;  then  into  a  fast ; 
Thence  to  a  watch  ;  thence  into  wealmess; 
TJience  to  a  lightness;  and,  by  this  declension. 
Into  the  madness  wherein  now  he  raves, 
And  all  we  mourn  lor. 

3  Discuss.  »  Roundly,  without  reserve. 


King.  Do  you  think,  'tis  this  7 

Queen.  It  may  be,  very  likely. 

Pol.  Hath  there  been  such  a  "time,  (I'd  fain  know 
that,) 
That  I  have  positively  said,  'Tifi  50, 
Wlien  it  proved  otherwise  I 

King.  Not  that  I  know. 

Pol.  Take  this  from  this,  if  this  be  otherwise: 

[Pointing  to  his  Head  and  Shoulder. 
If  circumstances  lead  me,  I  will  find 
Where  truth  is  hid,  though  it  were  hid  indeed 
Within  the  centre. 

King.  How  may  we  try  it  further! 

Pol.  You  know  sometimes  he  walks  for  hours 
together. 
Here  in  the  lobby. 

Queen.  So  he  does,  indeed. 

Pol.  At  such  a  time  I'll  loose  my  daughter  to 
him; 
Be  you  and  I  behind  an  arras  then; 
Mark  the  encounter:  it  he  love  Iier  not. 
And  l)e  not  trom  his  reason  lallen  thereon, 
Let  me  be  no  assistant  for  a  state, 
But  keep  a  liirm,  and  carters. 

King.  We  will  try  it. 

Enter  Hamlet,  reading. 

Queen.  But  look,  where  sadly  the  poor 'wretch 
comes  reading. 

Pol.  Away,  I  do  beseech  you,  both  away: 
I'll  board  him  presently  : — O,  give  me  leave. — 

[Exeunt  Kino.  Queen,  and  Attendanta 
How  does  my  good  lord  Hamlet ! 

Ham.  Well,  god-'a-mercy. 

Pol.  Do  you  know  me,  my  lord! 

Ham.  Excellent  well;  yoa  are  a  fishmonger. 

PoL  Not  I,  my  h>rd. 

Ham.  Tiien  I  would  you  were  so  honest  a  man. 

Pol.  Honest,  my  lord  I 

Ham.  Ay,  sir;  to  be  honest,  as  this  world  goes 
is  to  be  one  man  picked  out  often  thousand. 

PoL  That's  very  true,  my  lord. 

Ham.  For  if  tlie  sun  breed  maggots  in  a  dead 

dog,  being  a  god,  kissing  carrion, Ha\c  you  a 

daughter  ? 

Pol.  1  have,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Let  her  not  walk  i'  the  sun :  conception'*  is 
a  blessing ;  hut  not  as  your  daughter  may  conceive,^ 
— friend,  look  to't. 

Pol.  How  say  you  by  that)  [Aside.]  Still  harp- 
ing on  my  daughter: — yet  he  knew  me  not  at  first; 
he  said,  I  was  a  fishmonger:  He  is  lUr  gone,  far 
gone:  and,  truly  in  my  youth  1  sufiered  much  ex- 
tremity for  love :  very  near  this.  FU  speak  to  him 
again. — What  do  you  read,  my  lord  ! 

Ham.  Words,  words,  words  ! 

PoL  What  IS  the  matter,  my  lord  1 

Hunt.  Between  wiio  f 

PoL  I  mean  the  matter  Ihat  you  read,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Slanders,  sir:  for  the  satirical  rof^^ue  says 
here,  that  old  men  have  grey  beards;  tiiat  tiieirliices 
are  wrinkled ;  their  eyes  purging  thick  amber,  and 
plum-tree  gum;  and  that  they  have  a  plentiful 
lack  of  wit,  together  with  most  weak  hams:  All  of 
which,  sir,  tliough  I  most  powerfully  and  potently 
believe,  yet  I  hold  it  not  honesty  to  have  it  thus 
set  down;  for  yourself,  sir,  shall  be  as  old  as  I  am, 
if,  like  a  crab,  you  could  go  backward. 

PoL  Though' this  be  madness,  yet  there's  method 
in  it.  [.-I^i'/e.]  Will  you  waikoutoftheair,  my  lord! 

Ham.  Into  my  ^ruvc  ? 

PoL  Indeed,  ihat  is  out  o'  the  air. — How  preg- 
nanfi  sometimes  his  replies  are!  a  happiness  that 
olfen  madnes-s  hits  on,  which  reason  and  sanity 
could  not  so  prosperously  be  delivered  of.  1  will 
leave  Jiim,  and  suiidenly  contrive  the  means  of 
meeting  between  Jiim  and  my  daughter. — My 
lionorable  lord,  I  will  most  humbly  take  my  leave 
of you. 

Ham.  You  cannot,  sir,  take  from  me  any  thing 
that  I  will  more  willingly  part  withal;  except  my 
lite,  except  my  lite,  except  my  lile. 

Pol.  Fare  you  well,  my  lord. 

Ham.  These  tedious  old  fools! 

Enter  Rosencrantz  and  Guildexstern. 
PoL  You  go  to  seek  the  lord  Hamlet;  there  he  is 
Ros.  God  save  you,  sir!  [To  PoLONirs. 

[Exit  FoLONita. 
<  Understacding.         e  Ke  preg^caut.         e  Ready,  apt. 


732 


HAMLET, 


Act  II. 


Gull.  My  honored  lord  !— 

Ros.  Mv  most  dear  lord  ! — 

Hum.  Mv  excellent  good  friends !  How  dost 
thou,  Guildenstenx !  Ah,  Rosencrantz !  Good  lads, 
how  do  ye  both  1 

R(fs.  As  the  indifferent  children  of  the  earth. 

Guil.  Happy,  in  that  we  are  not  over  happy; 
On  Ibrtune's  cap  wc  are  not  the  very  button. 

Htna.  Nor  the  soles  of  her  shoe  ] 

Jilts.  Neither,  my  lord. 

Ihnn.  Then  you  live  about  her  waist,  or  in  the 
middle  of  her  favors? 

Guil.  'Faith,  her  privates  we. 

Ham.  In  the  secret  parts  of  fortune?  0,  most 
true  ;  she  is  a  strumpet.    What  news  ? 

Ros.  None,  my  lord :  but  that  the  world  is 
grown  honest. 

Ham.  Then  is  doomsday  near:  But  your  news 
is  not  true.  Let  me  question  more  in  particular: 
What  have  you,  my  sood  friends,  deserved  at  the 
hands  of  fortune,  that  she  sends  you  to  prison 
hither? 

GuiL  Prison,  my  lord  ! 

Ham.  Denmark's  a  prison. 

Hiifi.  Tiien  is  the  world  one. 

Ham.  A  goodly  one;  in  which  there  are  many 
conlines,  wards,  and  dungeons;  DenmarJi  being 
one  of  the  worst. 

Riis.  We  think  not  so,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why,  then.  His  none  to  you;  for  there  is 
nothing  either  good  or  bad,  but  thinking  makes  it 
so :  to  me  it  is  a  prison. 

Ros.  Why,  ihen  your  ambition  makes  it  one  ;  'tis 
too  narrow  "for  your  mind. 

Ham.  OGod!  I  could  be  hounded  in  a  nut-shell, 
and  count  myself  a  king  of  infinite  space;  were  it 
not  tliat  I  have  bad  dreams. 

GuiL  Which  dreanis,  indeed,  arc  ambition;  for 
the  very  substance  of  the  ambitious  is  merely  the 
shadow  of  a  dream. 

Ham.  A  dream  itself  is  bnt  a  shadow. 

Ra&.  Truly,  aiid  I  iiold  ambition  of  so  airy  and 
light  a  quality,  that  it  is  but  a  shadow''s  shadow. 

Ham.  Then  are  our  beggars,  bodies;  and  our 
monarchs,  and  outstretchM  heroes,  the  beggars' 
shadows:  Sliall  we  to  the  court  ?  for,  by  my  tay,  I 
cannot  reason. 

Riis.  Gail.  We'll  wait  upon  you. 

Ham.  No  such  matter:  I  wi'll  not  sort  you  with 
the  rest  of  my  servants;  for,  to  speak  to  you  like 
an  honest  man,  I  am  most  dreadfully  attended. 
But,  in  the  beaten  way  of  friendship,  what  make 
you  at  Elsinore? 

Ros.  To  visit  you,  my  lord;  no  other  occasion. 

Ham.  Beggar  that  1  am.  I  am  even  poor  in 
thanks;  hut  I  thank  you:  and  sure,  dear  friends, 
my  tiianks  are  too  dear,  a  halfpenny.  ^Vere  you 
not  sent  for  !  Is  it  your  own  inclining?  Is  it  a  free 
visitation!  Conic,  come;  deal  justly  with  me: 
come,  come ;  nay,  speak. 

Gail.  What  should  we  say,  my  lord? 

Ham.  Any  thing — but  to  the  purpose.  You 
were  sent  tor,  and  there  is  a  kind  of  confession  in 
your  looks,  which  your  modesties  have  not  craft 
enough  to  eolnr:  I  know  the  good  king  and  queen 
have  sent  lor  yon. 

Ros.  To  what  end,  my  lord? 

Ha/n.  That  you  must  teach  me.  But  let  me 
conjure  you  by  iJic  rights  of  our  fellowship,  by  the 
consonahcy  of'  our  youth,  by  the  obligation  of  our 
ever-preserved  love,  and  by  what  more  dear  a  bet- 
ter proposer  could  charge  you  withal,  be  even  and 
direct  with  me,  whether  you  were  sent  for,  or  no? 
'  Ros.  What  say  you  ?  [To  Gi'iL  den  stern. 

Haai.  Nay,  theii  I  have  an  eye  of  you ;  [Aside.] 
— if  you  love  me,  hold  not  off. 

Gi/U.  My  lord,  we  were  sent  for. 

Haat.  I  will  tell  you  why;  so  shall  my  anticipa- 
tion prevent  your  discovery,  and  your  secresy  to 
the  king  and  queen  moult  no  feather,  I  have  of 
late,  (but  wherefore.  I  know  not,}  lost  all  my 
niirtli,  forgone  all  custom  of  exercises;  and, indeed, 
it  goes  so  heavily  with  my  disposition,  that  this 
goodly  iViune,  the  e:irth, seems  to  me  a  sterile  pro- 
montory :  this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look 
you,  tins  brave  oVrhanging  firmament,  this  majes- 
tical  roof  fretted  with  golden  tire,  why,  it  apjiears 
no  other  thing  to  me,  than  a  foul  and  pestilent 
congregation  of  vapors.  What  a  piece  of  work 
is  man!    IIow  noble  in  reason!   how  inrtnite  in 


faculties!  in  form  and  moving,  how  express  and 
admirable!  in  action,  how  like  an  angel!  in  ap- 
prehension, how  hke  a  god!  the  beauty  of  the 
world  !  the  paragon  of  animals  !  And  yet,  to  me, 
what  is  this  quintessence  of  dust?  man  delights 
not  me, — nor  woman  neither;  though  by  your 
smiling  you  seem  to  say  so. 

Ros.  My  lord,  there  is  no  such  stuflf  in  my 
thoughts. 

Hata.  Why  did  you  laugh  then,  when  I  said, 
Man  flelif^hfs  not  me? 

Ros.  To  think,  my  lord,  if  you  itlight  not  in 
man,  what  lentcn"  entertainment  the  players  shall 
receive  from  you:  we  cotedJ^  them  on  the  way; 
and  hither  are  they  coming,  to  otfer  you  service. 

Hum.  He  that  plays  the  king,  shall  be  welcome; 
his  majesty  shall  have  tribute  of  me;  the  adven- 
turous knight  shall  use  his  foil  and  target:  the 
lover  shall  not  sigh  gratis:  the  humorous  man  shall 
end  his  part  in  peace:  the  clown  shall  make  those 
laugh  whose  lungs  are  tickled  o'  the  sere;  and  the 
lady  shall  say  her  mind  freely,  or  the  blank  verse 
shall  halt  for't. — What  players  are  they? 

Ros.  Even  those  you  were  wont  to  take  such 
dcliiiht  in,  the  tragedians  of  the  city. 

Ham.  How  chances  it  they  travel?  their  resi- 
dence, both  in  reputation  and  protit,  was  better  both 
ways. 

R(/s.  I  think  their  inhibition  comes  by  the  means 
of  tile  late  nmovation. 

Ham.  Do  they  hold  the  same  estimation  they 
did  when  I  was  in  the  city?  Are  they  so  fol- 
lowed ? 

Ros.  No,  indeed,  they  are  not. 

Ham.  How  comes  it?     Do  they  grow  rusty? 

Ros.  Nay,  their  endeavor  keeps  in  the  wonted 
pace :  But  there  is,  sir,  an  aiery  of  children,  little 
cyases,9  that  cry  out  on  the  top  of  question, •  and 
are  most  tyrannically  clapp'd  for't :  these  are  now 
the  fashion;  and  so  berattle  the  common  stages, 
(so  they  call  them,)  that  manj'.  wearing  rapiers, 
are  afraid  of  goose-qulUs,  and  dare  scarce  come 
hither. 

Ham.  What,  are  they  children?  who  maintains 
them?  how  are  they  escoted  ?^  Will  they  pursue 
the  quality^  no  longer  than  they  can  sni  .'  will 
they  not  say  afterwards,  if  they  should  grow  them- 
selves to  common  players,  (as  it  is  most  like,  if 
their  means  are  no  better,J  their  writers  do  them 
wrong,  to  make  them  exclaim  against  their  own 
succession  ? 

Ros.  'Faith,  there  has  been  much  to  do  on  both 
sides ;  and  the  nation  holds  it  no  sin.  to  tarre'  them 
on  to  controversy:  there  was,  for  a  while,  no  money 
bid  lor  argument,  unless  the  poet  and  the  player 
went  to  culls  in  the  question. 

Ham.  Is  it  possible? 

Guil.  0,  there  has  been  much  throwing  about 
of  brains. 

Ham.  Do  the  boys  carry  it  away  ? 

Ros.  Ay,  that  they  do,  my  lord;  Hercules  and 
his  load,  too.^ 

Ham.  It  is  not  very  strange:  for  my  uncle  is 
king  of  Denmark,  and  those,  that  would  make 
mouths  at  liim  while  my  lather  lived,  give  twenty, 
Ibrty,  fitly,  an  hundred  ducats  a-piece,  lor  liis  pic- 
ture in  little.  'Sblood,  there  is  something  in  this 
more  than  natural,  if  philosophy  could  tind  it  out. 
•    [Flourish  of  'Trumpets,  wUhin. 

Guil.  There  are  the  players. 

Ham.  Gentlemen,  you  are  welcome  to  Klsinore. 
Your  hands.  Come'then:  the  appurtenance  of 
welcome  is  lashion  and  ceremony:  let  me  coniplyS 
with  you  in  tliisgarb  ;  lest  myexfi'nt  to  the  p]a>ers, 
whicii,  I  tel!  you.  must  sliow  liiirly  outward,  sln)uld 
more  appear  hke  entertainment  than  yours.  You 
are  welcome;  but  my  uncle-father,  and  aunt- 
mother,  are  deceived. 

Gui/.  In  what,  my  dear  lord. 

Ham.  I  am  but  mad  north-northwest:  when 
the  wind  is  southerly,  I  know  a  hawk  from  a  hand- 
saw. 

Enter  Polonics. 


±:)iter  colonics. 

Pol.  Well  be  with  you,  gentlemen  ! 
Ham.  Hark  you,  Guildenstern; — and  you  too: 
i,Sparo.  8  OviTtook.  » Young  iiL'sllnigR. 

*'l)iaI<'guo.        '^  I'nid.        3  Profession.        «  rrovoko. 
>  i'.  «'.  The  globe,  the  sigu  of  i:hakspeare*s  tlieatro. 
6  CompliiueEit. 


Scene  II, 


PKINCE  OF  DENMAKK. 


733 


— at  each  ear  a  hearer;  that  great  baby,  you  see 
there,  is  not  yet  out  of  his  swaddling-elouts. 

Ros.  Happily,  lie's  the  second  time  come  to  them ; 
for  they  say  an  old  man  is  twice  a  child. 

Ham.  I  will  prophesy,  he  comes  to  tell  me  of 
the  players;  mark  it. — You  say  right,  sir:  o'  Mon- 
day morning  ;  'twas  then,  indeed. 

Poi,  My  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you. 

Ham.  lily  lord,  I  have  news  to  tell  you :  When 
Roscius  was  an  actor  in  Rome, 

Put.  Tlie  actors  are  come  hither,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Buz,  buz! 

Pol.  Upon  my  honor, 

Ham.  Then  came  each  actor  nn  his  ass, 

Pol.  The  best  actors  in  the  world,  either  for 
tragedy,  comedy,  history,  pastoral,  pastoral-comi- 
cal, historical-pastoral,  [tragical-historical, tragical- 
comical-historical-pastoral,]  scene  individable,  or 
poem  unlimited;  Seneca  cannot  be  too  heavy,  nor 
Plautus  too  light.  For  the  law  of  writ'  and  the 
liberty,  these  are  the  only  men. 

Ham.  O  Jeph/hah.  Judge  of  Israel,  — vfhat  a 
treasure  hadst  thou ! 

Pol.  Wliat  a  treasure  had  he,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Why— One  fair  daughter,  and  no  more. 
The  which  he  laved  passing  well. 

Pol.  Still  on  my  daughter.  [Aside. 

Ham.  Am  I  not  in  the  right,  old  Jephthah  ? 

Pol.  It  you  call  me  Jephthah,  my  lord,  I  have  a 
daughter,  that  1  love  passing  well. 

Ham.  Nay,  that  follows  not. 

Pol.  What  Ibllows  then,  my  lord  ? 

Hum.  Why,  As  by  lot,  God  wot,  and  then  you 
know,  //  came  to  pass,  As  most  like  it  was,— The 
first  row  of  the  pious  chansons  will  show  you 
more ;  lor  look,  my  abridgment  comes. 
Enter  fmr  or  five  Players. 
You  are  welcome,  masters;  welcome  all; — I  am 
glad  to  see  thee  well :— welcome,  good  triends  ;— 
O,  old  friend  !  Why,  thy  face  is  valanced^  since  I 
saw  thee  last;  Coin'st  thou  to  beard  mc  in  Den- 
mark !— What !  my  young  lady  and  mistress! 
By'r  lady,  your  ladyship  is  nearer  to  heaven  than 
when  1  saw  you  last  by  the  altitude  of  a  chopine.i 
Pray  God,  your  voice,  like  a  piece  of  uncurrcnt 
gold,  be  not  cracked  within  the  ring.— Masters,you 
are  all  welcome.  We'll  e'en  to  it  like  French  fal- 
coners, fly  at  any  thing  we  sec;  We'll  have  a 
speech  straight :  Come,  give  us  a  taste  of  your 
quality  ;  come,  a  passionate  speech. 

1  Play.  What  speech,  my  lordl 

Ham.  I  heard  thee  speak  me  a  speech  once, — 
but  it  was  never  acted;— or,  if  it  was,  not  above 
once;  lor  the  play,  I  remember,  pleased  not  the 
million;    'twas   caviare^  to  the  general  ;3    but  it 
was  (as  I  received  it  and  others,  whose  judgments, 
in  such  matters,  cried  in  the  top'  of  mine)  an  ex- 
cellent play;  well  digested  in  the  scenes,  set  down 
with  as  much  modesty  as  cunning.    I  remember, 
one  said,  there  were  no  salads  in  the  lines,  to  make 
the  matter  savory;  nor  no  matter  in  the  phrase, 
that  might  indilei  the  author  of  allection ;«    but 
called  it  an  honest  method,  as  wholesome  as  sweet, 
mid  by  very  much  more  handsome  than  fine.  One 
speech  in  it  I  chiefiy  loved ;  'twas  ^llneas'  tale  to 
Dido ;  and  thereabout  of  it  especially,  where  he 
speaks  of  Priam's  slaughter:  If  it  live"in  your  me- 
mory, begin  at  this  line;  let  me  see,  let  me  see:— 
The  rugged  Pyrrhus,  like  the  Hyrcaniun  beast,— 
'tis  not  so ;  it  begins  with  Pyrrhus. 
The  rugged  Pyrrhus,— he,  u-hose  sable  arms. 
Black  OS  his  purjiose,  did  the  night  resemble 
H'hen  he  lay  couched  in  the  omfnou.'i  horse, 
JIalh  now  I  his  dread  and  black  complcxiini  smear'd 
H'ilh  heraldry  more  dismal;  head  to  foot 
Now  is  he  total  gules;'  hnrridty  trick  d"^ 
With  blood  if  fathers,  nnithers,  daughters,  sons; 
Baked  and.  im/iasted  with  ttie parching  streets. 
That  lend  a  tyrannous  and  a  damned  light 
To  Ihiir  lord's  murder:  Roasted  in  wralh,  and  fire. 
Anil  thus  li'er-.sized  ivith  coagulate  gore. 
With  eyes  like  carbuncles,  the  hellish  Pyrrhus 
Old  grundsire  Priam  seeks  ;— So  proceed  you. 

Pol.  'Fore  God, my  lord, well  spoken;  with  good 
accent,  and  good  discretion. 

1  WriliDg.  8  Christmas-carols.  «  Fringed. 

'  Cloj.         5  An  Italian  dish  made  of  the  roes  of  fishes. 
■  Multitude.  4  Above.  »  Convict. 

•  Affectation.     i  Ked,  a  term  in  heraldry.     '  lilazoned. 


1  Play.  Anon  he  finds  him, 

Striking  too  stwrt  at  Greeks;  his  antit/ue  sword, 
Rebellious  to  his  arm,  lies  rchere  it  falls. 
Repugnant  to  command :  Unequal  match'd, 
Pyrrhus  at  Priam  drives;  in  rage,  strikes  wide; 
But  with  the  whiff  and  wind  of  his  fell  sword 
The  iinnerv'd  father  falls.    Then  seiLieless  Ilium, 
Seeming  to  feel  this  bltnu,  ivith  flaming  top 
Stoops  to  his  base  ;  and  wit/i  a  liideoas  crash 
Takes  prvioner  Pyrrlius^  ear;  for,  lo  t  his  sword. 
Which  was  declitiing  on  tlie  milky  head 
Of  reverend  Priam,  seem'd  P  the  air  to  stick: 
So,  as  a  painted  tyrant,  Pyrrhus  stood ; 
And,  like  a  neutral  to  his  will  and  mutter. 
Did  nothing. 

But,  as  we  often  see,  against  some  storm, 
A  silence  in  the  heavens,  the  rackS>  stand  stilt, 
The  bold  winds  .speechless,  and  the  orb  below 
As  hush  as  death  :  anon  the  dreadful  thunder 
Doth  rend  tlie  region :  so,  after  Pyrrhus'  pause, 
A  roused  vengeance  sets  him  new  a-work ; 
And  never  did  the  Cyclops'  hammers  fall 
On  Mars's  armor,  forged  for  proof  eterne^ 
With  less  remorse  than  Pyrrhus'  bleeding  sword 
Now  falls  on  Priam. — 

Out,  out,  thou  strumpet.  Fortune!   All  you  gods. 
In  general  synod,  take  away  her  power ; 
Break  all  the  spokes  and  fellies  Jrom  her  wlieel. 
And  bowl  the  round  nave  down  the  kill  of  heaven, 
As  low  as  to  the  fiends  ! 

Pol.  This  is  too  long. 

Ham.  It  shall  to  the  barber's  with  your  beard. 
— Pr'yihee,  say  on  : — He's  lor  a  jig,  or  a  tale  of 
bawdry,  or  he  sleeps: — Say  on;  come  to  Hecuba. 

1  Play.  But  who,  ah  woe!  had  seen  the  mobled^ 
queen 

Ham.  The  mobled  queen  ? 

Pol.  That's  good ;  mobled  queen  is  good. 

1  Play.  Run  barefoot  up  and  down,  tltreat'ning 
the  flames 
With  btsson^  rheum  ;  a  clout  upon  that  head 
Where  late  the  diadem  .stood ;  and,  for  a  robe. 
About  her  lank  and  all  o'trtccmed  loins, 
A  bhiiiket,  in  the  alarm  of  fear  cauglit  up ; 
Who  this  liad  seen,  with  tongue  in  venom  steep'd, 
'Gainst  fortune's  state  would  treason  have  pro- 

nounced :  • 

But  if  tlie  gods  themselves  did  see  her  then. 
When  she  saw  Pyrrhus  make  maliciuus  .sport 
In  mincing  with  his  sword  her  husband's  linibsf 
The  instant  burst  of  clamor  that  she  mailf, 
[Unless  things  mortal  move  them  not  at  all,) 
Would  have  made  m  itch'  the  burning  eye  of  heaven. 
And  passifni  in  the  gods. 

Pol.  Look  whether  he  has  not  turn'd  his  color, 
and  h.as  tears  in's  eyes. — Pr'ythee,  no  more. 

Ham.  'Tis  well;  Til  have  thee  speak  out  the 
rest  of  this  soon.  Good  my  lord,  will  jou  see  the 
players  well  bestowed  ]  Do  you  hear,  let  them  be 
well  used;  for  they  are  llie  abstract,  and  brief 
chronicles,  of  the  time;  After  your  death  you  were 
betterlmve  a  bad  epitaph,  than  their  ill  report  while 
you  live. 

Pol.  My  lord,  I  will  use  them  according  to  their 
de.serl. 

Ham.  Odd's  bodikin,  man,  much  better;  Use 
every  man  alter  his  deserl,  and  who  shall  'scape 
whij>ping  \  Use  them  arter  your  own  honor  and 
digniiy:  The  less  they  deserve,  the  more  merit  is 
in  your  bounty.    Take  them  in. 

Pol.  Come,  sirs. 

[E.rit  PoLONirs.  with  some  rf  the  Players. 

Ham.  Follow  him,  friends:  we'll  hear  a  play  to- 
morrow.— Dost  thou  hear  me.  old  friend;  can  you 
play  the  murder  of  Gonzago  I 

1  Play.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  We'll  have  it  to-morrow  night.  Y'ou  could, 
for  a  need,  study  a  sjieech  of  some  dozen  or  six- 
teen lines,  which  I  would  set  down,  and  insert  in't: 
could  you  not  ? 

1  Play.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Very  well.— Follow  that  lord;  and  look 
you  mock  him  not.  [Exit  Player.]  My  good  friends, 
[To  Ros.  and  GciL.J  I'll  leave  you  till  night:  yon 
are  welcome  to  Elsinore. 

Ros.  Good  my  lord ! 

[Exeunt  Rosexcraktz  and  GtnLDENSTEHV. 

Ham.   Ay,  so,  God  be  wi'  you: — Now   I  am 
alone. 
»  Light  clouds.    'Eternal,     o  Muffled.    "Blind.    «  Milky 


34 


HAMLET, 


Act  III 


O,  what  a  rogue  and  peasant  slave  am  I ! 

Is  it  not  monstrous,  that  this  player  liere, 

But  in  a  fiction,  in  a  dream  of  passion. 

Could  force  his  soul  so  to  his  own  conceit, 

Tliat  from  her  working  all  his  visage  wann'd ; 

Tears  in  his  eyes,  distraction  in's  aspect, 

A  broken  voice,  and  his  whole  function  suiting 

With  forms  to  his  conceit  ?    And  all  for  nothuig  ! 

For  Hecuba  ! 

What's  Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Hecuba, 

That  he  should  weep  for  herf     What  would  he  do, 

Had  he  tiie  motive  and  tiie  cue  for  passion, 

Tliat  I  have  ]  He  would  drown  the  stage  with  tears, 

And  cleave  the  general  car  with  horrid  speech  ; 

Make  mad  the  guilty,  and  appal  the  free,    • 

Conlound  the  ignorant ;  and  amaze,  indeed, 

The  very  faculties  of  eyes  and  cars. 

Yet  I, 

A  dull  and  muddy-mettled  rascal,  peak, 

Like  John-a-dreams,  unpregnant  of  my  cause, 

And  can  say  nothing  ;  no,  not  Ibr  a  king, 

Upon  whose  property,  and  most  dear  iiie, 

A  damn'd  deleat^  was  made.     Am  I  a  coward  1 

Who  calls  me  villain  1  breaks  my  pate  across? 

Plucks  off  my  beard,  and  blows  it  in  my  face] 

Tweaks  me  by  the  nosel  gives  me  the  lie  i'  the 

throat. 
As  deep  as  to  the  lungs'!  Who  does  me  this  ] 
Ha! 

Wiiy.  I  should  take  it :  for  it  cannot  be, 
But  1  ain  pigeon-liver'd,  and  lack  gail 


To  make  oppression  bitter;  or,  ere  this, 

I  should  have  fatted  all  the  region  kites 

With  this  slave's  oftal :  ^loody,  bawdy  villain ! 

Remorseless,  treacherous,  lecherous,  tindless.o  vil 

Jain! 
Why,  what  an  ass  am  1 1  This  is  most  brave; 
That  I,  the  son  of  a  dear  father  murder'd. 
Prompted  to  my  revenge  by  heaven  and  hell. 
Must,  like  a  whore,  unpack  my  heart  with  words, 
And  fail  a  cursing,  like  a  very  drab, 
A  scullion  ! 
Fye  upon't!  fob!    About  my  brains!  Humph!  1 

have  heard, 
That  guilty  creatures,  sitting  at  a  play. 
Have  by  the  very  cunning  of  the  scene 
Been  struck  so  to  the  soul,  that  presently 
They  have  proclaim'd  their  malefactions; 
For  murder,  ttiough  it  have  no  tongue,  will  speak 
With  most  miraculous  organ.  I'll  have  these  players 
Play  something  like  the  murder  of  my  father, 
Bctbre  mine  uncle:  I'll  observe  his  looks; 
I'll  tent  himi  to  the  quick;  if  he  do  blench,^ 
I  know  my  course.    Tlie  spirit,  that  I  have  seen, 
May  be  a  devil:  and  the  devil  hath  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape ;  yea,  and,  perhaps, 
Out  of  my  weakness,  and  my  melancholy, 
(As  he  is  very  potent  with  such  spirits,) 
Abuses  me  to  damn  me  ;  I'll  have  grounds 
More  relative  than  this:  The  play's  the  thing 
Wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king. 

[Exit. 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I.— ^  noom  in  the  Castle. 

Enter  King,  Queen,  Polonius,  Ophelia,  Rosen- 
CRANTZ,  and  Gdildenstern. 

King.  And  can  you,  by  no  drift  of  conference, 
Get  from  him,^why  he  puts  on  this  confusion; 
Graiing  so  harshly  all  his  days  of  quiet 
With  turbulent  and  dangerous  lunacy  1 

Hus.  He  does  confess,  he  feels  himself  distracted; 
But  from  what  cause  he  will  by  no  means  speak. 

Guil.  Nor  do  we  lind  him  forward  to  be  sounded; 
But  witfi  a  crat>y  madness,  keeps  aloof. 
When  we  would  bring  Jiim  on  to  some  confession 
Of  his  true  state. 

Queen.  Did  he  receive  5'ou  welll 

Hus.  Most  like  a  gentleman. 

Guil.  But  with  much  ibrcing  of  his  disposition. 

Ras.  Niggard  of  question;  but, of  our  demands, 
Most  free  in  his  reply. 

Queen.  Did  you  assay  him    ■ 

To  any  pastime? 

lios.  Madam,  it  so  fell  out,  that  certain  players 
We  o'er-raught^  on  the  way  :  of  these  we  told  hira: 
And  tiiere  did  seem  in  him  a  kind  of  joy 
To  hear  of  it:  They  are  about  tlie  court; 
And,  as  I  think,  they  iiave  already  order 
This  night  to  play  belbrc  him. 

P"L  'Tis  most  true: 

And  he  beseech'd  me  to  entreat  your  majesties 
To  hear  and  see  the  matter. 

King.   With  all  my  heart;    and  it  doth  much 
content  me 
To  hear  him  so  inclin'd. 
Good  gentlemen,  give  him  a  further  edge, 
And  dri\e  his  purpose  on  to  these  delights. 

Jias.  We  shall,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  Rusencuantz  and  Guildenstern. 

King.  Sweet  Gertrude,  leave  us  too: 

For  we  have  closely  sent  for  Hamlet  hither; 
That  he,  as  'twere  by  accident,  may  here 
AllVont"  Ophelia: 

Her  father,  and  myself,  (lawful  espials,^) 
Will  so  bestow  ourselves,  that  seeing,  unseen. 
We  may  of  their  encounter  frankly  judge; 
And  galher  by  him.  as  he  is  behaved, 
If't  be  the  afllietion  of  his  love  or  no, 
Tlint  thus  he  sutlers  Jbr. 

Queen.  I  shall  obey  you: 

And  Ibr  your  part,  Ophelia,  I  do  wish, 
That  your  good  beauties  be  the  happy  cause 
Of  Hamlet's  wildness:  so  shall  I  hope,  your  virtues 

»  Dtstruotion.         «  Overtook.        '  lleet.         s  Spies. 


Will  bring  him  to  his  wonted  way  again, 
To  both  your  honors. 

Oph.  Madam,  I  wish  it  may. 

[  k:xi/  QrEEN. 

Pol.    Ophelia,  walk    you    here:  —  Gracious,  so 
please  you. 
We  will  bestow  ourselves: — Read  on  this  book; 

[To  Ophelia. 
That  show  of  such  an  exercise  may  color 
Your  loneliness. — We  are  oil  to  blame  in  this, — 
'Tis  too  much  prov'd,^ — that,  with  devotion's  visage, 
And  pious  action,  we  do  sugar  o'er 
The  devil  himself. 

King.  0,  'tis  too  true  !  how  smart 

A  lash  that  speech  doth  give  my  conscience! 
The  harlot's  cheek,  beautied  with  plastering  art, 
is  not  more  ugly  to  the  thing  that  helps  it. 
Than  is  my  deed  to  my  most  painted  word: 
0  heavy  burden  !  [As-ide, 

Pol.  I  hear  him  coming;  lefs  withdraw,  my  lord. 
[Exeunt  King  and  PoLOMua. 
Enter  Hamlet. 

Hatn.  To  be,  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question: — 
Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suHl-r 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune  ; 
Or  to  lake  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And,    by  opposing,  end   them  I  —  To   die,  —  to 

sleep, — 
No  more  ; — and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  tliousand  natural  shocks 
That  llesh  is  heir  to, — 'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wishM.    To  die; — to  sleep: — 
To  sleep!  perchance  to  dream; — ay,  there's  the 

rub; 
For  in  tliat  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  com,e, 
When  we  have  shuffled  otF  this  mortal  coil,'* 
Must  give  us  pause:  There's  the  respect,^ 
That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life ; 
For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time. 
The   oppressor's  wrong,  the    proud    man's  con- 
tumely,** 
The  pangs  of  dcspis'd  love,  tlie  law^'s  delay. 
The  insolence  of  oHice,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  tlic  unworthy  takes, 
When  iie  himself  might  his  quietus'  make 
With  a  hare  bodkin  Is*    Who  would  fardels^  bear, 
To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life; 
But  tliat  the  dread  of  something  atler  death, — 

"  rnnatural.  "  Seiirrb  his  wouudt;. 

a  Shrink  or  start.        ■  Too  frfiueut.        *  Stir,  bustle. 

»  ConsiUeratiou.  e  Kudi-ni'ss.  i  Quiet. 

8  The  ancient  term  for  a  small  dagger.    •  I'ack,  burclen. 


Scene  II. 


PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


735 


The  imdiscover'd  country,  from  whose  bourni 
No  tiavcller  returns, — puzzles  the  will; 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 
Than  fly  to  other*  that  we  know  not  of! 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
With  this  rej^ard,  their  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action. — Soft  you,  now  I 
The  fair  Ophelia;— Nymph,  in  thy  orisons^ 
Be  all  my  sins  remembered. 

Oph.  Good  my  lord, 

How  does  your  honor  for  this  many  a  day  ] 

Ham.  I  humbly  thank  you;  well. 

Oph.  My  lord,  I  have  remembrances  of  yours, 
That  I  have  longed  long  to  re-deliver; 
I  praj'  you,  now  receive  tiiem. 

Huju.  No,  not  I: 

I  never  gave  you  aught.    • 

0})}i.  My  lionor*d  lord,  you  know  right  well,  you 
did; 
And,  with  Ihem.  words  of  so  sweet  breath  composM 
As  made  the  things  more  rich:  their  perfume  lost, 
Take  the^^e  again;  for  to  the  noble  mind, 
Rich  gifts  wax  poor,  when  givers  prove  unkind. 
There,  my  lord. 

ihnn.  Ha.  ha  !  are  you  honest? 

Ovh.  My  lord! 

Bam.  Are  you  fair] 

Oph.  What  means  your  lordship  ? 

Ham.  That  if  you  be  honest  and  fair,  you  should 
admit  no  discourse  to  j'our  beauty. 

Oph.  Could  beauty,  my  lord,  have  better  com- 
merce than  with  honesty  ! 

Bam.  Ay,  truly;  for  the  power  of  beauty  ^vill 
sooner  trnnsforin  honesty  from  what  it  is  to  a  bawd, 
than  the  force  of  honesty  can  translate  beauty  into 
bis  likeness;  this  was  some  time  a  paradox,  but 
now  Ihe  time  gives  it  proof.    I  did  Jove  you  once. 

Opk.  Indeed,  my  lord,  you  made  me  believe  so. 

Hum.  You  shuuhl  not  have  believed  me:  for 
virtue  cannot  so  innculale  our  old  stock,  but  we 
shall  relish  of  it:  I  lov'd  you  not. 

Oph-  1  was  tlie  more  deceived. 

Ham.  Get  thee  to  a  nunnery :  Why  wouldst  thou 
be  a  breeder  of  sinners  ?  I  am  myself  indiiferent 
honest;  but  yet  I  could  accuse  me  of  such  things, 
that  it  were  better  my  mother  had  not  borne  mc;  I 
am  very  proud,  revengeful  ambitious;  with  more 
ollences  at  my  beck,  than  I  have  thoughts  to  put 
tliem  in,  imagination  to  give  them  shape,  or  time  to 
act  them  in:  What  shtuild  such  fellows  as  I  do 
crawling  between  earth  and  heaven?  Wearearrant 
knaves,  all;  believe  none  of  us:  Go  thy  ways  to  a 
nuiHiery.    Where's  your  father? 

Oph.  At  home,  my  lord. 

Sium.  Let  the  doors  be  shut  upon  him  ;  that  he 
may  i)hiy  the  fool  nowhere  but  in  's  own  house. 
Farewell. 

Opk.  O.  help  Jiim,  you  sweet  heavens! 

Ham.  Ifthoii  dost  many,  I'll  give  thee  this  plague 
for  thy  dowry :  He  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as 
snow,  thou  snalt  not  escape  calumny-  Get  thee  to 
a  inmnery;  farewell:  Or,  if  thou  wilt  needs  marry, 
marry  a  fool;  for  wise  men  know  well  enough, 
what  monsters  you  make  of  them.  To  a  nunnery, 
go;  and  quickly  too.    farewell, 

Oph.  Heavenly  powers,  restore  him! 

Ham.  I  have  heard  of  your  paintings  too,  well 
enough;  God  bath  given  you  one  face,  and  you 
make  yourselves  another :  you  jig,  you  amble,  and 
you  lisp,  and  nick-uame  God's  creatures,  and  make 
your  wantonness  your  ignorance:  Go  to;  Til  no 
more  oft;  it  hath  made  me  mad.  I  say,  we  will 
have  no  more  marriages:  (hose  that  are  married 
already,  all  but  one,  shall  live  ;  the  rest  shall  keep 
as  tJiey  are.    To  a  nunnery,  go. 

[Exit-  Hamlet. 

Oph.  O,  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown  I 
The   courtier's,  soldier's,  scholar's,  eye,  tongue, 

sword : 
The  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state, 
Tlie  glass  of  fashion,  and  the  mould  of  form. 
The  observed  of  all  observers  !  quite,  quite  down  ! 
And  I.  of  ladies  most  deject  and  wretched, 
That  suckVI  the  honey  of  his  music  vows. 
Now  see  that  noble  and  most  sovereign  reason. 
Like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh; 
'  Bouudaryj  limits.  a  Prayers. 


That  unmatch'd  form  and  feature  of  blo^'n  youth, 

Blasted  with  ecstasy  :'^  0,  woe  is  me  ! 

To  have  seen  what  I  have  seen,  see  what  I  see  ! 

Re-enier  King  and  Polonics. 

Kifig.  Love!  his  atlections  do  not  that  way  tend, 
Nor  what  he  spake,  though  it  lack'd  tbrm  a  little. 
Was  not  like  madness.    There's  something  in  his 

soul, 
o'er  which  his  melancholy  sits  on  brood ; 
And.  I  do  doubt,  the  hatch,  and  the  disclose, 
Will  be  some  danger:  Which  for  to  prevent, 
I  have,  in  quick  determination, 
Thus  set  it  down  ;  He  shall  with  speed  to  England, 
For  the  demand  of  our  neglected  tribute: 
Haply,  the  seas,  and  countries  dilierent, 
With  variable  objects,  shall  expel 
This  something-settled  matter  in  his  heart; 
Whereon  his  brains,  still  beating,  puts  him  thug 
From  fashion  of  himself.    What  think  you  on't? 

Pol.  It  shall  do  well:  but  yetl  do  believe, 
The  origin  and  commencement  of  his  grief 
Sprung  from  neglected  love. — How  now,  Ophelia? 
You  need  not  fell  us  what  lord  Hamlet  said; 
'We  heard  it  all.— My  lord,  do  as  you  please; 
But.  if  you  hold  it  lit,  aiXcr  the  play, 
Let  his  queen  juother  all  alone  entreat  him 
To  show  his  grief;  let  her  be  round'  with  him; 
And  I'll  be  placed,  so  please  you,  in  the  ear 
Ofall  their  conference:  Ifshe  find  him  not. 
To  England  send  him:  or  confine  him,  where 
Your  wisdom  best  shall  think. 

King.  It  shall  be  so  : 

Madness  in  great  ones  must  not  unwalch'd  go. 

[Exeunt 

SCENE  II.— .-I  Hall  in  ihe  same. 
Enter  H.<vjilet  and  certain  Players. 

Ham.  Sjieak  the  speech,  I  pray  you.  as  I  pro- 
nounced it  to  you,  trippingly  on  the  tongue :  but 
if  you  mouth  it,  as  many  of  our  players  do,  I  had 
as  lief  the  town-crier  spoke  my  lines."  Nor  do  not 
saw  tlie  air  loo  much  wilh  your  hand,  thus;  but 
use  all  gently;  for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest, 
alid  (as  I  may  say)  whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you 
must  acquire  and  beget  a  temperance,  that  may 
give  it  smootlmess.  O,  it  olTends  me  to  the  soul,  to 
hear  a  robustious  pcriwig-pated  fellow  tear  a  pas- 
sion to  tatters,  to  very  rags,  to  split  the  cars  of  tho 
groundlings;^  who,  for  the  most  part,  are  capable 
of  nothing  but  inexplicable  duml)  shows  and  noise; 
I  would  have  such  a  lellow  whipt  for  o'er-doing 
Termagant;  it  oul-herods  Herod:''  Pray  you, 
avoid  it. 

1  Play.  I  warrant  your  honor. 

Ham.  Be  not  too  tame  neither,  but  let  your  oi;\'n 
discretion  be  vour  tutor:  suit  the  action  to  the 
word,  the  word  to  the  action;  wilh  this  special 
observance,  that  you  o'er-step  not  the  modesty  of 
nature  :  for  any  thing  so  overdone  is  from  the  pur- 
pose of  playing,  whose  end.  both  at  the  first,  and 
now,  was,  and  is.  to  hold,  as  *twere,  the  mirror  up 
to  nature;  to  show  virtue  her  own  feature,  scorn 
her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the 
time,  his  form  and  pressure."?  Is'ow  this,  overdone, 
or  come  tardy  otT,  though  it  make  the  unskilful 
laugh,  cannot  but  make  the  judicious  grieve;  the 
censure  of  which  one.  must,  in  your  allowance,* 
o'er-weigh  a  whole  theatre  of  olliers.  O,  there  be 
players,  that  I  liavc  seen  play, — and  heard  others 
praise,  and  that  highly. — not  to  speak  it  profanely, 
that,  neither  having  the  accent  of  Christians,  nor 
the  gait  of  Christian,  pagan,  nor  man,  have  so 
strutted,  and  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some 
of  nature's  journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not 
made  them  well,  they  imitated  humanity  so  abomi- 
nably. 

1  Play.  I  hope,  we  have  reformed  that  indif- 
ferently with  us. 

Ham.  O,  reform  it  altogether.  And  let  those, 
that  play  your  clowns,  speak  no  more  than  is  set 
down  tb'r  them :  for  there  be  of  them,  that  will 
themselves  laugh,  to  set.  on  some  quantity  of  barren 
spectators  to  laugh  too;  though,  in  the  mean  time, 

3  Alien:^tion  of  mind. 

*  Keprimaiiii  liiui  with  freedom. 

s  The  uieiiiuT  penple  then  seem  to  have  sat  in  tho  pit. 

6  lleiod's  chiiracter  was  always  violent. 

'  Impression,  resemblance.  •  ^pprobatioo. 


736 


HAMLET, 


Act  III. 


some  necessary  question  of  the  play  be  then  to  be 
considered:  tliat's  villanous;  and  shows  a  most 
pitiful  ambition  in  tlie  fool  that  uses  it.  Co,  make 
you  ready.  [i:j:eimi  Players. 

Enter  PoLOSius,  Rosencrajjtz,  and  Gcilden- 

STERS. 

How  now,  my  lord  ?  will  the  king  hear  this  piece 
of  work  1 
Pol.  And  the  qiiecn  too,  and  that  presently. 
Ham.  Bid  the  players  make  haste.— 

[JCjcU  Polonius. 
Will  you  two  help  to  hasten  them  1 
Bo/h.  Ay,  my  lord. 

[f:xeunt  RosENCRANTZ  and  Guildenstern. 
Ham.  What,  ho ;  Horatio  ! 

Enter  Horatio. 

Hnr.  Here,  sweet  lord,  at  vour  service. 

Ham.  Horatio,  thou  art  eVn  as  just  a  man 
As  e'er  my  conversation  cop'd  withal. 

Hor.  0,  my  dear  lord, 

Ham.  Nay,  do  not  think  I  flatter: 

For  what  advancement  may  I  hope  from  thee, 
That  no  revenue  hast,  but  thy  good  spirits. 
To  feed  and  clothe  thee?    Why  should  the  poor 

be  rtatler'd  ? 
No,  let  the  candied  tongue  lick  absurd  pomp  ; 
And  crook  the  preRnanls  hinges  of  the  knee. 
Where  thrift  may  follow  fawning.  Dost  thou  hear? 
Since  my  dear  soul  was  mistress  of  her  choice, 
And  could  of  men  distinguish  her  election. 
She  hath  seal'd  thee  for  herself:  for  thou  hast  been 
As  one,  in  suCTeVing  all,  that  suffers  nothing ; 
A  man.  that  fortune's  bullets  and  rewards 
Hast  la'en  with  equal  thanks :  and  bless'd  are  those 
Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  co-minglcd, 
That  tliey  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  flngcr 
To  sound  what  stop  she  please  :  Give  me  that  man 
That  is  not  passion's  slave,  and  I  will  wear  him 
In  my  heart's  core,  ay,  in  uiy  heart  of  heart. 
As  I  do  thee. — Something  too  much  of  this. — 
There  is  a  play  to-night  before  Ihc  king  ; 
One  scene  of  it  comes  near  the  circumstance, 
Which  I  have  told  thee  of  my  father's  death. 
I  pr'ythee,  when  thou  see'st  that  act  albot, 
Even  with  the  very  commentof  thy  soul 
Observe  my  uncle:  it  his  occulted'  guilt 
Doth  not  itself  unkennel  in  one  speech, 
It  is  a  damned  giiost  that  we  have  seen; 
And  my  imaginations  are  as  tbul 
As  Vulcan's  stithy.2    ("live  him  heedful  note: 
For  I  mine  eyes  will  rivet  to  his  tace : 
And,  after,  we  will  bolh  our  judgments  join 
In  censure^  of  his  seeming. 

Hiir.  Well,  my  lord: 

If  he  steal  aught,  the  whilst  this  play  is  playing, 
And  'scape  delecting,  I  will  pay  the  theft. 

Ham.  They  are  coming  to  the  play;  I  must  be 
idle: 
Get  you  a  place. 

Danisli  March.  A  Flourish.  Enter  King,  Qiteex, 
PoLoNius.  Ophelia,  IIosencrantz,Guildensteum, 
and  others. 

King.  How  fares  our  cousin  Hamlef! 

Ham.  Excellent,  i'faith  ;  of  the  camclion's  dish  : 
I  eat  the  air,  promise-crammed  :  You  cannot  feed 
capons  so. 

King.  I  have  nothing  with  this  answer,  Ham- 
let ;  these  words  are  not  mine. 

Ham.  No,  nor  mine  now.  My  lord, — you  played 
once  in.the  university,  you  say  ?        [T^o  Polonius. 

Pol.  That  did  1,  my  lord :  and  was  accounted  a 
good  actor. 

Ham.  And  what  did  you  enact? 

Pol.  I  did  enact  .lulius  Cssar;  I  was  killed  i'the 
Capilol;  Brutus  killed  me. 

Ham.  It  was  a  brute  part  of  him  to  kill  so  capi- 
tal a  calf  there. — Be  the  players  ready  ? 

7?'w.  Ay,  my  lord;  they  stay  upon  your  patience. 

Queen.  Come  hither,  my  dear  Hanilet,  sit  by  me. 

//(/M.  No,  good  mother,  here's  metal  more  at- 
tractive. 

Pol.  Oho!  do  you  mark  that  ?        [  To  the  King. 

Ham.  Lady,  shall  I  lie  in  your  lap  T 

{Lying  duivn  at  Ophelia's  Feet. 


•  Quick,  ready. 

a  A  stithy  is  a  smith's  shop. 


*  Secret. 

*  Opinion. 


Oph.  No,  my  lord. 

Ham.  I  mean,  my  head  upon  your  lap. 

0]ih.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Do  you  think,  I  meant  country  matters  t 

Ojili.  I  think  nothing,  my  lord. 

Ham.  That's  a  fair  thought  to  lie  between  maids' 
legs. 

Oph.  What  is,  my  lord? 

Hani.  Nothing. 

Oph.  Vou  are  merry,  ray  lord. 

Ham.  Who,  1? 

Oph.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  0!  your  only  jig-maker.  What  should  a 
man  do,  but  be  merry?  for  look  you,  how  cheer- 
fully my  mother  looks,  and  my  father  died  within 
these  two  hours. 

Oph.  Nay,  'tis  twice  two  months,  my  lord. 

Ham.  So  long  ?  Nay,  then  let  the  devil  wear 
black,  for  I'll  have  a  suit  of  sables.^  0  heavens  ! 
die  two  months  ago,  and  not  forgotten  yet?  Then 
there  s  hope,  a  great  man's  memory  may  outlive 
his  life  half  a  year :  But,  by'r-lady.  he  must  build 
churches  then  :  or  else  shall  he  suffer  not  thinking 
on,  with  the  hobby-horse;  whose  epitaph  is,  j"or 
O,  fur,  0,  the  hobby-horse  is  forgot. 

Trumpets  sound.    The  dumb  Show  follows. 

Enter  a  King  and  a  Queen,  verij  lovingly ;  the 
Queen  embracing  him,  and  he  fier.  She' kneels 
and  makes  show  nf  protestation  unto  him.  He 
takes  her  up,  and  declines  his  heal  upon  her 
neck;  lai/s  him  down  upon  a  liank  I'ffnwers; 
she,  seeing  him  asleep,  leaves  him.  Anvn  co?nes 
in  a  fellow,  takes  off  his  crown,  ki.sses  it,  and 
p<^irs  poison  in  the  King's  ears,  and  e.vif.  The 
Queen  returns;  finds  the  King  dead,  and  makes 
passiimate  action.  The  Poisoner,  with  some  two 
or  three  Mutes,  comes  in  again,  seeming  to 
lament  tcith  her.  The  dead  body  is  carried 
away.  The  Poisoner  woos  tlie  Queen  udth 
gij'ts;  she  seems  loath  and  unwilling  aivhile, 
but,  ill  the  end,  accepts  his  lore.  [E.xeunt. 

Oph.  What  means  this,  my  lord  ? 

Ha/a.  Marry,  this  is  michihg  mallecho  ;5  it  means 
mischief. 

Oph.  Belike,  this  show  imports  the  argument  of 
the  play. 

Enter  Prologue. 

Ham.  We  shall  know  by  this  fellow:  the  pla3-ers 
cannot  keep  counsel ;  they'll  tell  all. 

Oph.  Will  he  tell  us  what  this.show  meant? 

Ilam.  .A.y,  or  any  show  that  you'll  show  him: 
Be  not  you  ashamed  to  show,  he'll  not  shame  to 
tell  you  what  it  means. 

Oph.  You  are  naught,  you  are  naught;  I'll  mark 
the  play. 

Prfj.  For  us-  and  for  our  tragedy. 

Here  stooping  to  your  clemency, 
IVe  beg  your  hearing  patiently. 

Ham.  Is  this  a  prologue,  or  the  posy  of  a  ring  ? 

Ofih.  'Tis  brief,  my  lord. 

Hum.  As  woman's  love. 

Enter  a  King  and  a  Queen. 
P.  King.  Full  thirty  times  hath  Phrebus'  cart 

gone  round 
Neptune's  salt  wash,  and  Tellus'6  orbed  ground; 
And  thirty  dozen  moons,  with  borrowed  sliecn,^ 
About  the  world  have  times  twelve  thirties  been; 
Since  love  our  hearts,  and  Hymen  did  our  hands, 
Unite  commutual  in  most  sacrtd  bands. 
P.  Queen.  So  many  journeys  may  the  sun  and 

moon 
Make  us  again  count  o'er,  ere  love  be  done ! 
But,  woe  is  me,  you  are  so  sick  of  late. 
So  far  from  cheer,  and  from  your  former  state, 
That  I  distrust  you.    Yet,  though  I  distrust, 
Discomfort  you,  my  lord,  it  nothing  must : 
For  women  fear  loo  much,  even  as  they  love; 
And  women's  fear  and  love  hold  quantity; 
In  neither  aught,  or  in  extremity. 
Now,  what   my   love  is,   proof  hath  made  you 

know: 
And  as  my  love  is  siz'd,^  my  fear  is  so. 

*  Tli(«  richest  dress.  »  Secret  wickedness. 

8  Tliti  earth.  '  Shining,  lustr*j. 

8  lu  proportion  to  the  extent  of  my  love. 


Scene  II. 


PIIINCE   OF   DENMARK. 


737 


Where  love  is  great,  Ihe  littlest  doubts  are  fear; 
Where  little  fears  grow  great,  great  love  grows  there. 

P.  Kinf;.  'Kaitli,  I   must  leive  tliee,  love,  and 
siiortly  too; 
My  operanf^  powers  their  functions  leave  to  do  ; 
And  thou  slialt  live  in  this  fair  world  behind, 
Honor'd,  bclov'd;  and,  haply,  one  as  knid 
For  husband  slialt  thou 

P.  Queen.  O,  confound  the  rest! 

Such  love  must  needs  be  treason  in  my  breast; 
lu  second  husband  let  nie  be  accurst! 
None  wed  the  second,  but  who  killM  the  first. 

Ham.  Tiiat's  wormwood. 

P.  Queen.  The  instances,'  that  second  marriage 
move, 
Are  base  respects  of  thrift,  but  none  of  love  ; 
A  second  time  I  kill  my  husband  dead, 
W"hen  second  husband  kisses  nie  in  bed. 

P.  King.  I  do  believe,  you  think  what  now  you 
spciik ; 
But,  what  we  do  determine,  oft  we  break. 
Purpose  is  but  the  slave  to  memory; 
Of  violent  birth,  but  poor  validity  : 
Wliich  now,  like  fruit  unripe,  sticks  on  the  tree; 
But  fall,  unshaken,  when  they  mellow  be. 
Most  necessary  His^^hat  we  Ibrget 
To  pay  ourselves  what  to  ourselves  is  debt: 
Wiiat  to  ourselves  in  passion  we  propose. 
The  passion  ending,  dotii  the  purpose  lose. 
The  violence  of  either  grief  or  joy 
Their  own  enactures^  with  themselves  destroy: 
Where  joy  most  revels,  grief  dolli  most  lament; 
Grief  joys,  joy  grieves,  on  slender  accident. 
This  world  is  not  for  aye ;  nor  'tis  not  strange, 
That  even  our   loves  should  with  our  fortunes 

change ; 
For  'tis  a  question  left  us  yet  to  prove. 
Whether  love  lead  fortune,  or  else  fortune  love. 
The  great  man  down,  you  mark,  his  favorite  ilies; 
The  poor  advanced  makes  friends  of  enemies. 
And  hitherto  doth  love  on  fortune  tend : 
For  who  not  needs,  shall  never  lack  a  friend ; 
And  who  in  want  a  hollow  friend  doth  try, 
Directly  seasons  him  liis  enemy. 
But,  orderly  to  end  where  I  begun, — 
Our  wills,  and  fates,  do  so  eontr:lry  run, 
That  our  devices  still  are  overthrown ; 
Our  thoughts  arc  ours,  their  ends  none  of  our  own: 
So  think  tliou  wilt  no  second  husband  wed  ; 
But  die  thy  thoughts,  when  thy  first  lord  is  dead. 

P.   Queen.    Nor    earth    to    give    me    food,    nor 
heaven  light ! 
Sport  and  repose  lock  from  me,  day  and  niglit ! 
To  desperation  turn  my  trust  and  hope  ! 
An  anchor's^  cheer  in  prison  be  my  scope  ! 
Each  opposite,  that  blanks  the  face  of  joy. 
Meet  what  I  would  have  well,  and  it  destroy ! 
Both  here,  and  hence,  pursue  me,  lasting  strife, 
If,  once  a  widow,  ever  I  be  wife  ! 

Ihim.  If  she  sliould  break  it  now, 

[To  OpHEr.iA. 

P.  Kmg.  'Tis   deeply  sworn.    Sweet,  leave  me 
here  awhile ; 
My  spirits  grow  dull,  and  fain  I  would  beguile 
The  tedious  day  with  sleep.  '  [Sleeps. 

P.  Queen.  Sleep  rock  thy  brain ; 

And  never  come  mischance  between  us  tw'ain! 

[  Exit. 

Ham.  Madam,  how  like  you  this  play  ! 

Queen.  The  lady  doth  protest  too  much,  methinlis. 

Hum.  O,  but  slie'U  keep  her  word. 

King.  Have  you  heard  the  argument  1  Is  there 
n.^  ollence  in't] 

Ham.  No.  no,  they  do  but  jest,  poison  in  jest; 
no  oflence  i'  the  world. 

King.  What  do  you  call  the  play  ? 

Ham.  The  Mouse-trap ^  Marry,  how'  Tropi- 
cally. This  play  is  the  image  of  a  murder  done 
in  Vienna:  Gonzago  is  the  duke's  name;  his  wile, 
Baptista:  you  shall  see  anon;  'tis  a  knavish  ])ieco 
ol  work:  But  what  of  that?  your  majesty,  and  we 
that  have  free  souls,  it  touches  us  not :  Let  the 
galled  jade  wince,  our  withers  are  unwrung.— 

Enter  Luciant's. 
This  is  one  Lucianus,  nephew  to  the  king. 
Oph.  Vou  are  as  good  as  a  chorus,  my  lord. 
•  .ictive.     *  Motives.     »  Dettrniinnfions.    a  Anchoret 

* Ihetliini; 

In  which  he'll  c;itth  thi3  conscience  of  the  king. 
47 


Ham.  I  could  interpret  between  yon   and  your 
love,  if  1  could  .see  the  pupijets  dallying. 
Oph.  You  are  keen,  my  lord,  you  are  keen. 
Hum.  It  would  cost  you  a  groaning,  to  take  off 
my  edge. 

Oph.  Still  better, and  worse. 
Hum.  So  you   mistake   jour  husbands.— Begin, 
murderer;— leave  thy  damnable  liices,  and  begin. 

Come ; 

The  croaking  raven 

Doth  bellow  for  revenge. 
Luc.  Thoughts  black,  hands  apt,  drugs  fit,  and 
time  agreeing ; 
Confederate  season,  else  no  creature  seeing; 
Thou  mixture  rank,  of  midnight  weeds  collected, 
With  Hecate's  bani  thrice  bkisted,  thrice  infected, 
Thy  natural  magic,  and  dire  property. 
On  wholesome  life  usurp  immediately. 

[Puurs  ihe  Poinon  into  Ihe  S'/ef;ier's  Ears. 
Ham.  He  poisons  him  i'  the  garden  for  his  estate. 
His  name's  (lonzago  :  the  story  is  extant,  and  writ- 
ten in  very  choice  Italian  :  You  shall  see  anon,  how 
the  murderer  gets  the  love  of  Gonzago's  wile. 
Oph.  The  king  rises. 
Ham.  Wihat!  frighted  with  false  fire] 
Queen.  How  fares  my  lord  ] 
Pill.  Give  o'er  the  play. 
King.  Give  me  some  iiglit:— away  ! 
Pol.  Lights,  lights,  lights  ! 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Hamlkt  ami  Horatio. 
Ham.  Why,  let  the  struckcn  deer  go  weep, 
The  halt  ungalled  play  : 
For  some  must  watch,  while  some  must  sleep; 
Thus  runs  the  world  away. — 
Would  not  this,  sir,  and  a  forest  of  leathers,  (if  Ihe 
rest  of  my  fortunes  turn  Turk  with  me,)  with  two 
Proveucial  roses  on  my  razed^  shoes,  get  me  a  tel- 
lowship  in  a  cry'  of  players,  sir '.' 
Hur.  Haifa  share. 
Ham.  A  whole  one,  I. 
For  thou  dost  know,  0  Damon  dear. 

This  realm  dismantled  was 
Of  Jove  himself;  and  now  reigns  here 
A  very,  very— peacock. 
Hnr.  Y'ou  might  have  rhymed. 
Ham.  O  good  Horatio,  I'll  lake  the  ghost's  word 
for  a  thousand  pound.    Didst  perceive  ? 
Hnr.  \'ery  well,  my  lord. 

Hem.  Upon  the  talk  of  the  poisoning, 

Hnr.  I  did  very  well  note  liini. 
Ham.  Ah,  ah  1— Come,  some  music;  come,  the 
recorders.*^ — 

For  if  the  king  like  not  the  comedy. 

Why  then,  belike,— he  likes  it  not,  perdy.'— 

Enter  Rosexcraxtz  and  Gcildexsteex. 
Come,  some  music. 

Guil.  Good  my  lord,  vouchsafe  me  a  word  with 
you. 

Ham.  Sir,  a  whole  history. 

Gail.  The  king,  sir, 

Hain.  Ay,  sir,  what  of  him  ? 

Guil.  Is,  in  his  retirement,  marvellous  distem- 
pered. 

Hani.  With  drink,  sir ! 

(lui.l.  No,  my  lord,  wiih  choler. 

Ham.  Your  wisdom  should  show  itself  more 
richer,  to  signify  this  to  tiic  doctor;  for,  for  me  to 
put  him  to  his  purgation,  would,  perhaps,  plunge 
him  into  more  choler. 

Guil.  Good  my  lord,  put  your  discourse  into  some 
frame,  and  start  not  so  wildly  from  my  atlair. 

Ham.  I  am  tame,  sir: — pronounce. 

Guil.  The  queen,  your  mollier,  in  most  great 
affliction  of  spirit,  hath  sent  me  to  you. 

Ham,  You  are  welcome. 

Guil.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  this  courtesy  is  not  of 
the  right  breed.  If  it  sliull  please  you  to  make  me 
a  wholesome  answer,  1  will  do  your  mother's  com- 
mandment: if  not.  jour  pardon,  and  my  return, 
shall  be  the  end  of  my  business. 

Hani.  Sir,  I  cannot. 

Guil.  What,  my  lord? 

Ham.  Make  you  a  wholesome  answer;  my  wit's 
diseased:  Hut.  sir,  such  answer  as  I  can  make,  yon 
shall  command ;  or,  rather,  as  you  say,  my  mother : 
therefore  no  more,  but  to  the  matter:  iM'y  mother, 
you  say, 


*  Curse.  6  Slashed. 

•A  kind  of  flute. 


'  Pack,  company. 
»  Par  Dku. 


38 


HAMLET, 


Act  m. 


Ilos.  Then  thus  she  says;  Your  Liehavior  hath 
struck  her  into  amazement  and  admiration. 

Ham.  O  wondertui  son,  tliat  can  so  astonish  a 
molher!— But  is  there  no  sequel  at  the  lieels  of 
this  mother's  admiration'  impart. 

lius.  She  desires  to  speak  with  you  in  her  closet, 
ere  you  fro  to  hed. 

Ham.  We  shall  obey,  were  she  ten  times  our 
mother.    Have  you  any  further  trade  with  us  ? 

Ron.  My  lord,  you  oiice  did  love  me. 

Ham.  And  do  still,  by  these  pickers  and  stealers. 

Ros.  Good  my  lord,  what  is  your  cause  of  dis- 
temper ?  you  do,  surely,  but  bar  the  door  upon 
your  own  liberty,  if  you  deny  your  griefs  to  your 
li  lend. 

Ham.  Sir,  I  lack  advancement. 

Uos.  How  can  that  be,  when  you  have  the  voice 
of  the  kiui;  himself  lor  your  succession  in  Denmark? 

Ham.  Ay,  sir,  liut,  \Vhile  the  grass  gruivs, — the 
proverb  is  something  musty. 

Enter  the  Players,  ivi/h  Recorders. 
O,  the  recorders: — let  me  see  one. — To  withdraw 
with  you  : — Why  do  you  go  ahout  to  recover  the 
wind  of  me,  as  if  you  would  drive  me  iflfto  a  toil ! 

Giiil.  O,  my  lord,  if  my  duty  be  too  bold,  my 
love  is  too  unmannerly. 

Ham.  I  do  not  well  understand  that.  Will  you 
play  upon  tliis  pipe  ■ 

GuU.  My  lord,  I  cannot. 

Ham.  I  pray  you. 

a  (til.  Believe  me,  I  cannot. 

Ham.  I  do  beseech  you. 

GuU.  I  know  no  touch  of  it,  my  lord.  ■ 

Ham.  'Tis  as  easy  as  lying;  govern  these  vcn- 
tagcsi  with  your  lingers  aiid  thumb,  give  it  breath 
with  your  mouth,  and  it  will  discourse  most  eloquent 
music.    Look  you,  these  are  the  stops. 

Gull.  But  these  cannot  I  command  to  any  utter- 
ance of  harmony  ;  I  have  not  the  skill. 

Ham.  Why,  look  you  now,  how  unworthy  a  thing 
you  make  ot'me  !  You  would  play  upon  me  ;  you 
would  seem  to  know  my  stops;  you  would  pluck 
out  the  heart  of  my  mystery ;  you  would  sound  me 
from  my  lowest  note  to  the  fop  of  my  compass :  and 
there  is  much  music,  excellent  voice,  in  this  little 
organ;  yet  cannot  you  make  it  speak.  'Sblood,  do 
you  Ibiiik.  I  am  easier  to  be  played  on  than  a  pipe  ! 
I'iill  uie  what  instrument  you  will,  though  you  can 
I  ret  me.  you  cannot  play  upon  me. 

Enter  PoLoxics. 
God  bless  you,  sir  ! 

Pol.  My  lord,  the  queen  would  speak  with  you, 
and  iiresently. 

Hani.  Do  you  see  yonder  eloud,  that's  almost  in 
shape  of  a  camel  ? 

Vol.  By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel  indeed. 

Ham.  Melhinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 

Pal.  It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 

Ham.  Or,  like  a  whale  1 

Pal.  Very  like  a  whale. 

Hum.  Then  will  I  come  to  my  mother  by  and 
by. — They  tool  me  to  the  top  of  my  bent.^ — I  will 
come  by  and  by. 

Pul.  I  will  say  so.  [Exit  PoLONius. 

Ham.  By    and    by    is    easily  said. — Leave    me, 

friends.         [ Exeunt  Ro.s.,  Gitil.,  Hor.,  \c. 

'Tis  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night; 

When  churchyards  yawn.and  hell  itself  breathes  out 

Contagion  to  this  world:  Now  could  I  drink  hot 

blood. 
And  do  such  business  as  the  bitter  day 
Would    quake    to    look    on.     Soft:    now    to    my 

mother.— 
O.  heart,  lose  not  thy  nature;  let  not  ever 
The  soul  of  Nero  enter  this  lirm  bosom  : 
Let  me  be  cruel,  not  unnatural : 
I  will  speak  daggers  to  her,  but  use  none; 
My  tongue  and  soul  in  this  be  hypocrites: 
How  in  my  words  soever  she  be  slient,^ 
To  give  them  seals'  never,  my  soul,  consent !  [Exit. 

SCENE  in.— ^  Rnom  in  the  same. 

Enter  Kinb,  Roskn'ciiantz,  atid  Guildenstern. 

King.  I  like  him  not;  nor  stands  it  safe  with  us. 
To  let  liis  madness  range.  Theri'lbre,  jirepare  you ; 
I  your  commission  will  tbrtbwith  despatch, 

'  llclcs.  ^  ftiii'^st  strotch.  3  Itc'prOTed. 

*  Autliorify  to  put  tbum  iu  ci^ovution. 


And  he  to  England  shall  along  with  you: 
The  terms  of  our  estate  may  not  endure 
Hazard  so  near  us,  as  doth  hourly  grow 
Out  of  his  lunes.^ 

Guil.  We  will  ourselves  provid?: 

Most  holy  and  religious  fear  it  is. 
To  keep  those  many  many  bodies  safe, 
That  live,  and  feed,  upon  your  majesly. 

Ros.  The  single  and  peculiar  life  is  bound, 
With  all  the  strength  and  armor  of  the  mind. 
To  keep  itself  from  'noyance;  but  much  more 
That  spirit,  upon  whose  weal  depend  and  rest 
The  lives  of  many.    Tite  cease  of  majesty 
Dies  not  alone  ;  but,  like  a  gulf,  doth  draw 
What's  near  it,  with  it :  it  is  a  massy  wheel, 
Fix'd  on  the  summit  of  the  highest  mount, 
To  whose  huge  spokes  ten  thousand  lesser  thmgs 
Are  mortis'd  and  adjoin'd  ;  which,  when  it  falls, 
Each  small  annexment,  petty  consequence. 
Attends  the  boist'rous  ruin.    Never  alone 
Did  the  king  sigh,  but  with  a  general  groan. 

King.  A  rm  you ,  I  pray  you ,  to  this  speedy  voyage ; 
For  we  will  i(?tters  put  upon  this  fear. 
Which  now  goes  too  free-footed. 

Ros.  Guil.  We  will  haste  us. 

[Exeunt  RosencrantZ  o«rf  Guildenstern. 

Enter  Polonius. 

Pol.  My  lord,  he's  going  to  his  mother's  closet: 
Behind  the  arras  I'll  convey  myself. 
To  hear  the  process;  I'll  warrant,  she'll  tax  him 

home : 
And,  as  you  said,  and  wisely  was  it  said, 
'Tis  meet  that  some  more  audience,  than  a  mother, 
Since  nature  makes  them  partial,  should  o'erhcar 
The  speech,  of  vantage.    Fare  you  well, my  liege; 
I'll  call  upon  you  ere  you  go  to  bed, 
And  tell  you  what  I  know. 

King.  Thanks,  dear  my  lord. 

[El-it  POLONIUB. 

0,  my  offence  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven; 
It  hath  the  primal  eldest  curse  upon't, 

A  brolher's  murder! — Pray  can  I  not. 

Though  inclination  be  as  .sharp  as  will; 

My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent; 

And,  like  a  man  to  double  business^bound, 

I  stand  in  pause  where  1  shall  first  begin. 

And  both  neglect.    What  if  tliis  cursed  hand 

Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood? 

Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens. 

To  wash  it  white  as  snow]  Whereto  serves  mercy, 

But  to  confront  the  visage  of  oflence  ? 

And  what's  in  prayer,  but  this  twolbld  force, — 

To  be  forestalled,  ere  we  come  to  tiill. 

Or  pardon'd,  being  down?  Then  I'll  look  up; 

My  liiult  is  past.    But,  O,  what  form  of  prayer 

Can  serve  my  turn  1  Forgive  me  my  foul  murder  !— 

That  caimot  be;  since  I  am  still  possess'd 

Of  those  etrects  for  which  I  flid  the  murder. 

My  crown,  mine  own  ambition,  and  mv  queen. 

May  one  be  pardon'd,  and  retain  the  ollence ! 

In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world. 

Offence's  gikled  hand  may  shove  by  justice* 

And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 

Buys  out  the  law :  But  'tis  not  so  above : 

There  is  no  shuffling,  there  the  action  hes 

In  his  true  nature;  and  we  ourselves  compcll'd, 

Even  to  the  teeth  and  Ibrehead  of  our  faults. 

To  give  in  evidence.    What  then  ?  what  rests! 

Try  what  repentance  can:  What  can  it  not ! 

Yet  what  can  it,  when  one  cannot  repent? 

O  wretched  state  !  O  bosom,  black  as  death ! 

O  limed''  soul ;  that,  struggling  to  be  free, 

Art  more  engaged!  Help,  angels,  make  assay  ! 

Bow,  stubborn  knees!  and,  heart,  with  strings  of 

steel. 
Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe 
All  may  be  well.  [Retires  and  kneels. 

Enter  Hami.et. 
Ham.  Now  might  I  do  it,  pat, now  he  is  praying, 
And  now  I'll  do't;— and  so  he  goes  to  heaven; 
And  so  am  1  revenged  ?    That  would  be  scami'd:" 
A  villain  kills  my  lather;  and,  for  that, 

1,  his  solo  son,  do  this  .same  villain  send 
To  heaven. 

Wiry,  this  is  hire  and  salary,  not  revenge. 
He  took  my  father  grossly,  full  of  bread ; 

*  I-ini.ifit'S. 

8  Ciught  as  with  bird-lime.       '  Should  be  considered. 


Scene  IV. 


PRINCE   OP  DENMARK. 


With  all  Ills  crimes  broad  blown,  as  Hush  as  May; 
And,  how  his  audit  stands,  who  knows,  save  Hea- 
ven] 
But  in  our  circumstance  and  course  of  thought, 
'Tis  heavy  with  him:  And  am  I  then  revenj^ed, 
To  take  him  in  the  purging  of  his  soul, 
When  he  is  fit  and  seasoned  for  his  passage"? 
No. 

Up,  sword;  and  kTiow  thou  a  more  horrid  hent.-s 
When  he  is  drunk,  asleep;  or  in  his  rage; 
Or  in  the  incestuous  pleasures  of  his  bed ; 
At  gaming,  swearing; — or  about  some  act 
That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in't. — 
Then  trip  him,  that  his  heels  may  kick  at  heaven. 
And  that  his  soul  may  be  as  damn'd,  and  black, 
As  hell,  whereto  it  goes.    My  mother  stays: 
This  physic  but  prolongs  thy  sickly  days.      [Exit. 
The  King  rises,  and  advances. 
King.   My  words  tly  up,  my  tiioughts   remain 
below  : 
Words,  witiiout  thoughts,  never  to  heaven  go. 

[Exit, 

SCENE  IV. — Another  Room  in  the  same* 
Enter  Queen  and  Polonius. 
Pol.  He  will  come  straight.  Look  you,  lay  home 
to  him : 
Tell  him,  his  pranks  have  been  too  broad  to  bear 

with ; 
And  thatyour  grace  hath  scrcon'd and  stood  between 
Much  heat  and  him.    Til  silence  me  e'en  here. 
Pray  you,  be  round  with  him. 

Queen.  I'll  warrant  you ; 

Fear  me  not: — withdraw,  I  hear  him  coming. 

[Polonius  hides  himself. 
Enter  Hajilet. 
Ham.  Now,  motlier;  what's  the  matter? 
Queen.  Ilamlct,  thou  hast  thy  lather  much  of- 
fended. • 
Ham.  Mother,  j^ou  have  my  father  much  otlendcd. 
Queen.  Come,  come,  you  answer  with   an  idle 

tongue. 
Ham.  Go, go,  you  question  with  a  wicked  tongue. 
Queen.  Why,  how  now,  Hamlet? 
Ham.  What's  the  matter  now? 

Queen,  Have  you  forgot  me? 
Ham.  No.  by  the  rood,9  not  so: 

You  are  the  queen,  your  husband's  brother's  wife; 
And — would  it  were  not  so ! — you  are  my  mother. 
Queen.  Nay,  then  I'll  set  those  to  you  that  can 

speak. 
Ham.  Come,  come,  and  sit  you  do%\m  ;  you  shall 
not  budge; 
You  go  not,  till  I  set  you  up  a  glass 
Where  you  may  see  the  inmost,  part  of  you. 
Quec?'i.  What  wilt  thou  do?  thou  wilt  not  murder 
me  ? 
Help,  help,  ho! 
Pol.  [Behind.]  What,  ho  !  help! 
Ham.  How  now  !  a  rat? 

[Draws. 
Dead,  for  a  ducat,  dead. 

fllAMLKT  makes  a  pass  through  the  Arras, 
Pol.  [Behind.]  o,  I  am  slaui. 

[Fails  and  dies. 
Queen.  O  me,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 
Ham.  Nay,  I  know  not : 

Is  it  the  king? 

[Lifts  up  the  Arras,  and  draws  forth  Polonius. 
Queen.  O.  what  a  rash  and  bloody  deed  is  this  ! 
Ham.  A  bloody  deed!— almost  as  bad,  good  mo- 
ther. 
As  kill  a  king,  and  mairy  with  his  brother. 
Queen.  As  kill  a  king ! 

Ham.  Ay,  lady,  'twas  my  word.— 

Thou  wretched,  rash,  intruding  fool,  farewell ! 

,....,,  [^"  Polonius. 

I  took  thee  for  thy  better:  take  thy  fortune: 
Thou  lind'st,  to  be  too  busy,  is  some  danger, — 
Leave  wringing  of  your  hands:  Peace;  sit  you  down, 
And  let  me  wring  your  heart:  for  so  I  shall, 
If  it  be  made  of  penetrable  stuff; 
If  damned  custom  have  not  braz'd  it  so, 
That  it  be  proof  and  bulwark  against  sense, 
Queen.  What  have  I  done,  that  thou  dar'st  wag 
thy  tongue 
In  noise  so  rude  against  me! 

•  Hold,  i.  e.  purpose.  a  Cross. 


Ham.  Such  an  act. 

That  blurs  the  grace  and  blush  of  modesty ; 
Calls  virtue,  hypocrite  ;  takes  oli  the  rose 
From  the  fiir  Ibrehead  of  an  innocent  love. 
And  sets  a  blister  tbere;  makes  marriage  vows 
As  false  as  dicers'  oaths:  O,  such  a  deed 
As  from  the  body  of  contraction'  plucks 
The  very  soul ;  and  sweet  religion  makes 
A  rhajisody  of  words:  Heaven''s  face  doth  glow; 
Yea,  this  solidity  and  compound  mass, 
With  tristful-  visage,  as  against  the  doom, 
Is  thought-sick  at  the  act. 

Queen,  Ah  me,  what  act. 

That  roars  so  loud,  and  thunders  in  the  index  P 

Ham.  Look  here,  upon  this  picture,  and  on  this; 
The  counterfeit  presentment  of  two  brothere. 
See,  what  a  grace  was  seated  on  this  brow : 
Hyperion's'  curls;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command; 
A  sta'tion^  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New-Iiglitod  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill; 
A  combination,  and  a  Ibrm,  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal. 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man : 
Tliis   wrf?i  your  husband. — Look  you  now,  what 

follows: 
Here  is  your  lujsband;  like  a  mildew'd  car. 
Blasting  Ins  wholesome  brother.    Have  you  eyes? 
Could  you  on  this  fair  mountain  leave  to  feed. 
And  batten^  on  this  moor?  Ha!  Iiuve  you  eyes? 
You  cannot  call  it,  love:  for,  at  your  age, 
The  hey-day  in  the  blood  is  tame,  it's  humble, 
And  waits  upon  the  judgment;  Andwhatjudgment 
Would  step  from  thia  to  this?     Sense,"  sure,  you 

have. 
Else,  could  you  not  have  motion:  But, sure,  that 

sense 
Is  apoplexM  :  for  madness  would  not  err; 
Nor  sense  to  ecstasy^  wasneVr  so  thrall'd, 
But  it  rcserv'd  some  quantity  of  choice. 
To  serve  in  such  a  dillerence.    Wliat  devil  was't, 
That  thus  hath  cozenM  you  at  hoodman-biind  .'^ 
Eyes  without  feeling,  feeling  without  sight, 
I^iars  without  hands  or  eyes,  smelling  sans'  all, 
Or  but  a  sickly  jiart  of  one  true  sense 
Could  not  so  mope.^ 

O  shame!  where  is  thy  blush  ?  Rebellious  hell, 
If  thou  canst  mutino  in  a  matron's  bones, 
To  Ilaming  youth  let  virtue  be  as  wax. 
And  melt  in  her  own  tire:  proclaim  no  shame, 
Wlien  the  compulsive  ardor  gives  the  charge; 
Since  frost  itself  as  actively  aoth  burn, 
And  reason  panders  will. 

Queen.  0  Hamlet, speak  no  more; 

Thou  turn'st  mine  eyes  into  my  very  soul ; 
And  tJiere  I  see  such  black  and  grained  spots. 
As  will  not  leave  their  tinct.^ 

Ham.  Nay,  but  to  live 

In  the  rank  sweat  of  an  enseamed^  bed ; 
Stew'd  in  corrnplion  ;  honeying  and  making  love 
Over  the  nasty  sty; 

Queen.  O,  speak  to  me  no  more ; 

These  words,  like  daggers,  enter  in  mine  ears; 
No  more,  swcut  Hamlet. 

Ham.  A  murderer,  and  a  villain: 

A  slave,  that  is  not  twentieth  part  the  tytlie 
Of  your  iirecedont  lord  : — a  vice^  of  kings: 
A  culpurse  of  Iho  empire  and  the  rule  ; 
That  irom  a  shelf  the  precious  diadem  stole, 
And  put  it  in  his  pocket ! 

Queen.  No  more. 

£/?/C7- Ghost. 

Ham.  A  King 

Of  shreds  and  patches: — 
Save  me,  and  hover  o'er  me  with  your  wings, 
You  heavenly  guards  !— What  would  your  gracious 
figure  ? 

Queen.  Alas!  he's  mad. 

Ham.  Do  you  not  come  your  tardy  son  to  chide, 
That,  laps'd  in  time  and  passion,  lets  go  Ijy 
The  important  acting  of  your  dread  command? 
O,  say ! 

Ghost.  Do  not  forget:  This  visitation 
Is  but  to  wiiet  thy  almost  blunted  purpose. 

*  AhuTi.-igo  contract.  a  Sorrowful. 

*  Index  f'f  contents  prefixed  to  a  book. 

*  Apollo's.  1  The  act  of  stanfiing. 

«  (Irow  I;it.  1  Senftatiou.  t-  Frenzy. 

"  Ulindman'e  buff.        i  WithoHt.  «  He  so  stupid. 

'  Color  4  Greasy.  » Mimi>:. 


■iO 


HAMLET, 


Act  IV. 


But,  look !  amazement  on  thy  mother  sits  : 
if  step  tuHwcen  tier  and  her  tif^hting  soul; 
Conceif'  in  weakest  bodies  strongest  works  : 
Si)p:ik  to  lier,  Hamlet. 

Iffnii.  How  is  it  with  j'ou,  lady  1 

(Jueen.  Alas,  how  is  it  with  you  1 
Th.if  you  do  bend  your  eye  on  vacanry. 
And  with  the  incorporal  air  do  hold  discourse! 
Forth  at  your  eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep; 
And,  as  the  sieepiny:  soldiers  in  the  alarm. 
Your  bedded  hair,  like  life  in  excrements? 
Starts  up  and  stands  on  end.    0  gentle  son, 
Upon  the  heat  and  flame  of  thy  distemper 
SprinJde  cool  patience.    Whereon  do  you  look  1 

Ham.  On  him!  on  him  I— Look  you,  how  pale 
he  glares ! 
His  form  and  cause  conjoinM,  preaching  to  stones. 
Would  make  them  capable^  —  Do  not  look  upon 

me; 
Lest  with  this  piteous  action  yon  convert 
My  stern  elTects  :9  then  what  I  have  to  do 
Will  want  true  color;  tears,  perchance,  for  blood. 

Queen.  To  whom  do  you  speak  this! 

Ham.  Do  ynu  see  nothing  there? 

Queen.  Nothing  at  all ;  yet  all,  that  is,  I  see. 

Ham.  Nor  did  you  nothing  hear? 

Queen.  No,  nothing,  but  ourselves. 

Ham.  Why,  look  you  there !  look,  how  it  steals 
away ! 
My  Hither,  in  his  habit  as  he  liv'd ! 
Look,  where  he  goes,  even  now,  out  at  the  portal  I 

[Exit  Ghost. 

Queen.  This  is  the  very  coinage  of  your  brain : 
This  bodiless  creation  ccst;isy> 
Is  very  cunning  in. 

TIam.  Ecstasy !    . 
My  pulse,  as  yours,  doth  temperately  keep  time, 
And  makes  as  healthl'nl  music:  It  is  not  madness, 
Tliat  I  have  utterM:  bring  me  to  the  test, 
And  I  the  matter  will  re-word;  which  madness 
AVuuld  gambol  from.    Jlother,  for  love  of  grace, 
Lay  not  tliat  tlattering  unction  to  your  soul, 
That  not  your  trespass  but  my  madness  speaks : 
It  will  but  skin  and  fdm  the  ulcerous  place ; 
Whiles  rank  corruption,  mining  all  within,    . 
Inlbct-s  unseen.    Confess  yourself  to  heaven  ; 
Kepent  whafs  past:  avoid  what  is  to  come; 
And  do  not  spread  the  compost-  on  the  weeds, 
To  make  tliem  ranker.  Forgive  me  tiiis  my  virtue  ; 
For  in  tiic  fatness  of  these  pursy  times, 
Virtue  itself  of  vice  must  pardon  beg: 
Yea,  curb^and  wno,  for  leave  to  do  him  good. 

Queen.  0  Hanilet!  thou  hast  cleft  my  heart  in 
twain. 

Ilrirn.  O,  throw  away  the  worser  part  of  it, 
And  live  the  purer  witli  the  other  half. 
Good-night:  but  go  not  to  my  uncle's  bed; 
Assume  a  virtue,  if  you  have  it  not. 
TJiat  monster,  custom,  who  all  sense  doth  eat 
or  habit's  devil,  is  angel  yet  in  this  ; 
That  to  the  use  of  actions  fair  and  good 


He  likewise  gives  a  frock,  or  livery, 

That  aptly  is  put  on:  Refrain  to-night; 

And  that  shall  lend  a  kind  of  easiness 

To  the  next  abstinence :  the  next  more  easy : 

For  use  almost  can  change  the  stamp  of  nature, 

And  either  curb  the  devil,  or  throw  liim  out 

With  wondrous  potency.    Once  more  good-nigh.! 

And  when  you  are  desn'ous  to  be  blessM, 

I'll  blessing  beg  of  you. — For  this  same  lord, 

[Pointing  to  Polo.vius. 
I  do  repent:  But  heaven  hath  plcasM  it  so, — 
To  punish  me  with  this,  and  this  with  me, 
That  I  must  be  their  scourge  and  minister. 
I  will  bestow  him,  and  will  answer  well 
The  death  I  gave  him.    So  again  good-night! — 
I  must  be  cruel,  only  to  be  kmd: 
Thus  bad  begins,  and  worse  remains  behind. — 
But  one  word  more,  good  lady. 

Queen.  What  shall  I  do  .' 

Ham.  Not  this,  by  no  means,  that  I  bid  you  do  : 
Let  the  bloat  king  tempt  you  again  to  bed; 
Pinch  wanton  on  your  cheek;  call  you, his  mouse; 
And  let  him,  for  a  pair  of  reechy  kisses. 
Or  paddling  in  your  neck  with  liis  damned  fingers, 
;Make  you  to  ravel  all  this  matter  out, 
That  I  essentially  am  not  in  madness, 
But  mad  in  cratl.  'Twere  good,  you  let  him  kmow: 
For  who,  that's  but  a  queen,  fair,  sober,  wise, 
Would  from  a  paddock.'  from  a  bat,  a  gib,^ 
Such  dear  conccrnings  hide  !  who  would  do  so  ? 
No,  in  despite  of  sense,  and  secrecy. 
Unpeg  the  basket  on  the  house's  top. 
Let  ihe  birds  fly  :  and.  like  the  famous  ape. 
To  try  conclusions,^  in  the  basket  creep. 
And  break  your  own  neck  down. 

Queen.  Be  thou   assur'd,  if  words   be  made  of 
breath. 
And  breath  of  life.  I  have  no  life  to  breathe 
What  thou  hast  said  to  me. 

Hain.  I  must  to  Kngland-;  you  know  that? 

Queen.  Alack, 

I  had  forgot;  'tis  so  concluded  on. 

Ham.  There's  letters  seal'd  :  and  my  two  school- 
fellows,— 
Whom  I  will  trust,  as  I  will  adders  fang'd,? — 
They  bear  the  mandate;  they  must  sweep  my  wa)'. 
And  marshal  me  to  knavery:  Let  it  work; 
For  'tis  the  sport  to  have  the  engineer 
Hoist  with  Jus  own  petar:^  and  it  shall  go  hard, 
But  I  will  delve  one  yard  below  their  mines. 
And  blow  them  at  the  moon:  0,  'tis  most  sweet, 
When  m  one  line  two  era  Its  directly  meet. — 
Ttiis  man  shall  sot  me  packing. 
I'll  lug  the  guts  into  the  neighbor  room : — 
Mother,  good-night. — Indeen,this  counsellor 
Is  now  most  still,  mo.-^t  secret,  and  most  grave, 
Who  was  in  life  a  foolish  prating  knave. 
Come,  sir,  to  draw  toward  an  end  with  you  : 
Good-night,  mother. 

[Exeunt  severally;  Hamlet  dragging  in 
PuLoxica. 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  I.— ^  Room  in  tlie  Castle. 
Eater  King,  Queen,  Rosexcrantz,  and  GnLOEX- 

STEKN. 

King.  There's  matter  in  these  sighs ;  these  pro- 
found heaves  ; 
You  must  translate:  'tis  fit  we  understand  them: 
Wliere  is  your  son  ? 
Queen.  Bestow  tin's  place  on  us  a  little  while. — 
[To  IlosKXCUAXTZ  and  Guildensterx, 
wfu)  f^o  out. 
All.  my  good  lord,  wliat  have  I  seen  to-night ! 
King.  What,  Gertrude?     How  does  Hamlet? 
Queen.  Mad  as  the  sea,  and  wind,  when  both 
contend 
Which  is  the  mightier:  In  his  lawless  fit, 

•     •  Ini;itrination. 

'  Tilt!  h;iir  of  animals  is  excremt'ntitious,  that  is,  with- 
out, lito  or  sensation. 

•  Intelligent,  ■  Actions.  *  Frenzy, 

a  M;uiuro.  3  Bend. 


Behind  the  arras  hearing  something  stir, 
Whips  out  his  rapier,  cries,  A  rat  f  a  rat! 
And,  in  this  brainish  apprehension,  kills 
The  unseen  good  old  man. 

King.  0  heavy  deed  ! 

It  had  been  so  with  us,  had  we  been  there: 
His  liberty  is  full  of  threats  to  all ; 
To  you  yourself,  to  us,  to  every  one. 
Alas  I  how  shall  this  bloody  deed  be  answcr'd  1 
It  will  be  laid  to  us,  whose  providence 
Should   have  kept  short,  restrain'd,  and   out  of 

haunt,3 
This  mad  young  man  :  but,  so  much  was  our  lovoj 
We  would  not  understand  what  was  most  tit; 
But.  like  the  owner  of  a  foul  disease. 
To  keep  it  from  divulging,  let  it  feed 
Even  on  the  pith  of  life.     Where  is  he  gone? 

Queen.  To  draw  ai)art  the  body  he  hdtii  kiU'd ; 


*  Toad. 

1  Having  their  teeth. 

•  Company. 


*  Cat.  «  Experiments 

B  lilown  np  with  hia  own  bomb. 


Scene  IV. 


PRINCE   OF  DENMxVRK. 


741 


o'er  whom  his  verj'  madness,  like  some  ore, 

Among  a  miiierali  of  metals  base. 

Shows  itself  pure;  he  weeps  for  what  is  done. 

King.  O,  Gertrude,  come  away  ! 
The  sun  no  sooner  shall  the  mountains  touch, 
But  we  will  ship  him  hence :  and  this  vile  deed 
We  must,  with  all  our  majesty  and  skill. 
Both   countenance   and  excuse.  —  Ho!    Guilden- 
stern  '. 
Enter  Rosexcrantz  and  Gcildexsters. 
Friends  both,  go  join  you  with  some  further  aid: 
Hamlet  in  madness  hath  Polonius  slain. 
And  from  his  mother's  closet  hath  he  dragged  him: 
Go  seek  him  out :  speak  fair,  and  bring  the  body 
Into  the  chapel.    I  pray  you  haste  in  this. 

[Exeunt  Ros.  and  Gcil.. 
Come,  Gertrude,  we'll  call  up  our  wisest  friends ; 
And  let  them  know  both  what  we  mean  to  do. 
And  what's  untimely  done:  so,  haply,  slander, — 
Wiiose  whisper  o'er  the  world's  diameter. 
As  level  as  the  cannon  to  his  blank,- 
Transports  his  poison'd  shot, — may  miss  ournamc. 
And  hit  tlie  woundless  air. — O  come  away  ! 
My  soul  is  fun  of  discord,  and  dismay.     [Exeunt. 

SCENE  11.— Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  Hamlet. 

Ham.  Safely    stowed,  — [Ros.    Sc-   wiltiin. 

Hamlet!  lord  Hamlet!]    But  soft!— what  noise? 
who  calls  on  Hamlet !     0,  here  they  come. 

Enter  Rosexcrantz  and  GnrLDEXSTERN. 

Ros.  What  have  you  done,  my  lord,  with  the 
dead  body  ] 

Uam.  Compounded  it  with  dust,  whereto  'tis  kin. 

Ros.  Tell  us  wliere   'tis;   that  we  may  take  it 
thenee. 
And  bear  it  to  the  chape]. 

Ham.  Do  not  believe  it. 

Rns.  Beltevc  wliat  1 

Ham.  That  I  can  keep  your  counsel,  and  not 
mine  own.  Besides,  to  be  demanded  of  a  sponge — 
what  replication  should  be  made  by  the  son  of  a 
king  ? 

Ron.  Take  you  me  for  a  sponge,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Ay,  sir;  that  .soaks  up  the  king's  eounle- 
nauce.  his  rewards,  his  authorities.  But  such  ollicers 
do  the  king  best  service  in  the  end  :  He  keeps  them, 
like  an  ape.  in  the  corner  of  his  jaw  ;  first  mouthed, 
to  be  last  swallowed:  When  he  needs  what  you 
have  gleaned,  it  is  but  squeezing  you,  and,  sponge, 
j^ou  sliall  be  dry  again. 

Rns.  I  understand  you  not,  my  lord. 

Ham.  1  am  glad  of  it:  a  knavish  speech  sleeps 
in  a  tbolish  car. 

Rus.  My  lord,  you  must  tell  us  where  the  body 
is,  and  go' with  us  to  the  king. 

Ham.  The  body  is  with  the  king,  but  the  king  is 
not  with  the  body.    The  king  is  a  thing 

Quit.  A  thing,  my  lord  ] 

Ham.  Of  nothing:  bring  me  to  him.  Hide,  fox, 
and  all  afler.^  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  in.—Anottier  Room  in  t/ie  same. 
Enter  King,  attended. 
King.  I  have  sent  to  seek  him,  and  to  find  the 
body. 
How  dangerous  is  it,  that  this  man  goes  loose! 
Yet  must  not  we  put  tlie  strong  law  on  him : 
He^s  lov'd  of  the  distracted  multitude, 
AVho  like  not  in  their  judgment,  but  their  eyes; 
And,  where  'tis  so,  the  oflender's  scourge  is  weigh'd. 
But  never  the  oflence.    To  bear  all  smooth  and 

even. 
This  sudden  sending  him  away  must  seem 
Deliberate  pause:  Diseases,  desperate  grown. 
By  desperate  appliance  arc  reliev'd. 
Enter  Rosencrantz. 
Or  not  at  all. — How  now  ?  what  hath  befallen  ? 

Ros.  Where  the  dead  body  is  bcstow'd,  my  lord. 
We  cannot  get  from  him. 
Kin^.  But  where  is  he  1 

Rus.  Without,  my  lord;  guarded,  to  know  your 

pleasure. 
King.  Bring  him  before  us. 
Ros.  Ho,  Guililenstcrnl  bring  in  my  lord. 
'  Mine.  *  Mark.  3  .\  sport  among  children. 


Enter  H.uilet  and  Guildesstern. 

King.  Now,  Hamlet,  wherc's  Polonius? 

Ham.  At  supper. 

A'i»g-.  At  supper?     Where? 

Ham.  Not  where  he  cats,  but  where  he  is  calen  : 
a  certain  convocation  of  politic  worms  are  e'en  at 
him.  Your  worm  is  your  only  emperor  for  diet : 
we  tilt  all  creatures  else,  to  fat  us:  and  we  (iit our- 
selves for  maggots:  Your  fat  king,  and  your  lean 
beggar,  is  but  variable  service;  two  dishes,  but  to 
one  table;  that's  the  end. 

King.  Alas,  alas  ! 

Ham.  A  man  may  fish  with  the  worm  that  hath 
cat  of  a  king;  and  eat  of  the  fish  that  halh  fed  of 
that  worm. 

King.  What  dost  thou  mean  by  this? 

Ham.  Nothing,  but  to  show  you  how  a  king 
may  go  a  progress  through  the  guts  of  a  beggar. 

King.  \Vhere  is  Polonius? 

Ham.  In  heaven;  send  thither  to  see;  if  your 
messenger  tind  him  not  there,  seek  him  i' the  otlier 
place  yourself.  Hut,  indeed,  if  you  find  him  not 
within'  this  month,  you  shall  no»e  him  as  you  go 
up  the  stairs  into  the  lobby. 

King.  Co  seek  him  there.   [To  some  Attendants. 

JIam.  He  will  stay  till  you  come. 

[Exeunt  .Mtendants. 

King.  Hamlet,   this   deed,   for   thine   especial 
sali'ty,— 
Which  we  do  tender,  as  we  dearly  grieve 
For  that  which  thou  hajt  do:ie, — must  send  thee 

hence 
With  fiery  quickness  :  Therefore,  prepare  thyself; 
The  barkis  ready,  and  the  wind  at  help. 
The  .associates  tend,  and  every  thing  is  bent 
For  England. 

Ham.  For  England  ! 

King.  Ay,  Hamlet. 

Ham.  ,  Good. 

King.  So  is  it,  if  thou  knew'st  our  purposes. 

Ham.  I  sec  a  cherub,  fhat  sees  Ihem.  —  But, 
come,  for  England  !— Farewell,  dear  mother. 

King.  Thy  loving  lather.  Hamlet. 

Ham.  My  mother:  Father  and  mother  is  man  and 
wife;  man  and  wife  is  one  flesh;  and  so,  my  mother. 
Come,  for  England  ! —  [E-eit. 

King.  Follow  him  at  foot:  tempt  him  withspeed 
aboard : 
Delay  it  not.  1 11  have  him  hence  to-ni^ht: 
Away;  for  every  thing  is  seal'd  and  done 
That  else  leans  on  the  alPair:  Pray  you,  make  Iiaste. 
[Exeunt  Ros.  and  Gl'il. 
And,  England,  if  my  love  lliou  hold'st  at  aught, 
(As  my  great  power  thereof  may  give  thee  sense* 
Since  yet  thy  cicatrice  looks  raw  and  red 
Afier  tlie  Danish  sword,  and  thy  free  awe 
Pays  homage  to  us.)  thou  luay'st  not  coldly  set' 
Our  sovereign  jirocess;  which  imports  at  lull. 
By  letters  conjuring  to  that  etiert. 
The  present  death  of  Hamlet.    Do  it,  England  ; 
For  like  the  hectic  in  my  blood  he  rages. 
And  thou  must  cure  me:  Till  1  know  'tis  done, 
Howe'cr  my  haps,  my  joys  will  ne'er  begin.  [Exit. 

SCENE  IV.— .-l  Ptain  in  Denmark. 
Enter  Fortixdras,  and  Forces,  marcliing. 

Far.  Go,  captain,  from  me  greet  the  Danish  king.; 
Tell  him,  tliat,  by  his  licence,  Fortinbras 
Craves  the  conveyance  of  a  promised  march 
Over  his  kingdom.    Yon  know  the  rendezvous. 
II  that  his  majesty  would  aught  with  us. 
We  sliall  express  our  duty  in  his  eye,' 
And  let  him  know  so. 

Cap.  I  will  do't,  my  lord. 

For.  Go  softly  on. 

[Exeunt  Fortixpras  and  Forces 

Enter  Hamlet,  Rosexcraxtz,  Guildexstekx,  4-c. 

Ham.  Good  sir,  whose  powers  are  tliese? 

C«;i.  They  are  of  Norway,  sir. 
Ham.  How  purpos'd,  sir, 

I  P^y  you? 
Cap.  Against  some  part  of  Poland. 

Hum.  Who 

Commands  them,  sir? 

yap.  The  nephew  to  old  Norway,  Fortinbras. 
«  Value,  estimate.  »  Presence. 


742 


HAMLET, 


Acr  IV. 


Ham.  Goes  it  against  the  main  of  Poland,  sir, 
Or  lor  some  frontier  1 

Cap.  Truly  lo  speak,  sir,  and  with  no  addition, 
V/e  go  lo  gain  a  little  patch  of  ground, 
Thai  lialh  in  it  no  prolit  but  Ihe  name. 
To  pay  live  ducals,  live,  I  would  not  farm  it: 
Kor  will  it  yield  to  Norway,  or  the  Pole, 
A  ranker  rate,  should  it  be  sold  in  fee. 

Hatu.  Why,  Ihen  the  Polack  never  will  defend  it. 

Vdji.  Yes,  tis  already  garrison'd. 

lluin.   Two  thousand  souls,  and  twenty  thou- 
sand ducats. 
Will  not  debate  the  question  of  this  straw: 
This  is  the  iniposthume  of  much  wealth  and  peace; 
That  inward  breaks,  and  shows  no  cause  Without 
Why  the  man  dies.— I  liumbly  thank  you,  sir. 

CV/yj.  God  be  wi'  you.  sir.  [A',n7  Captain. 

Aw'-  Will't  please  you  go,  my  lord? 

Ham.  I  will  be  with  you  straight.    Go  a  little 
''P'orP-  [Exeunt  Ros.  and  GuiL. 

How  all  occasions  do  inform  against  me, 
Ami  spur  my  dull  revenge !  What  is  a  man, 
If  his  chief  good,  and  market  of  his  time. 
Be  but  to  sleep,  and  leed  !  a  beast,  no  more. 
Sure.  He,  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse,' 
Looking  belbre,  and  alter,  gave  us  not 
That  capability  and  godlike  reason 
To  fust'  in  us  unused.    Now,  whether  it  be 
Keslial  oblivion,  or  some  cravens  scruple 
Of  thinking  too  precisely  on  the  event, — 
A  thought,  which  quarter'd,  hath    but  one  part 

wisdom. 
And,  ever,  three  parts  coward,— I  do  not  know 
Why  yet  I  live  to  say,  This  thing's  to  do; 
SithJ  1  have  cause,  and  will,  and  strength,  and 

means. 
To  do't.    Examples,  gross  as  earth,  exhort  me : 
Wilness,  tins  army  of  such  mass,  and  charge, 
Led  by  a  delicate  and  lender  prmee  : 
Whose  spirit,  with  divine  ambition  puff'd, 
Makes  mouths  at  the  invisible  event ; 
Exposing  what  is  mortal,  and  unsure. 
To  all  that  fortune,  dealh,  and  danger,  dare, 
Even  lor  an  egg-shell.    Kighlly  to  be  great, 
Is  not  lo  stir  without  great  argument; 
But  greatly  lo  lind  quarrel  in  a  straw. 
When  honor's  at  the  slake.    How  stand  I  then. 
That  have  a  liither  kill'd,  a  mother  stain'd, 
Excilcmeiits  of  my  reason,  and  my  blood. 
And  let  all  sleep  !  while,  to  my  shame,  I  see 
The  imminent  dealh  of  twenty  thousand  men. 
That,  for  a  liintasy.  and  triek  of  fame. 
Go  to  their  graves  like  beds;  tight  liir  a  plot 
Whereon  the  numbers  cannot  try  the  cause, 
Which  is  not  tomb  enough,  and  coiuinent 
To  hide  the  slain  1—0,  Ihun  this  time  Ibrth 
My  thoughts  be  bloody, or  be  nothing  worth !  [Exit. 

SCENE  v.— Elsinore.    A  lioominthe  Castle. 
'  Enter  Quee.v  and  Horatio. 

Queen. 1  will  not  speak  with  her. 

Jhir.  She  is  imiiortunate;  indeed,  distract; 
Her  mood  will  needs  be  pitied. 

Queen.  What  would  she  have '' 

Hur.  She  speaks  much  of  her  liither;  says,  she 
hears. 
There's  tricks  i' the  world;  and  hems,  and  beats 

her  heart; 
Spurns  enviously  at  straws;  speaks  things  in  doubt 
That  carry  but  half  sense :  her  speech  is  nolliing. 
Yet  the  unshaped  use  of  it  doth  move 
The  hearers  to  collection:  they  aim  at  it. 
And  bolch  the  words  up  lit  lo  Iheir  own  thoughts 
Which,  as  her  winks,  and  nods,  and  gestures  yield 

them. 
Indeed  would  make  one  think,  there  might  be 

thought. 
Though  iiolhing  sure,  yet  much  unhappily. 
Queen.    I'were  good  she  were  spoken  with  :  for 
she  may  strew 
Dangerous  conjectures  in  ill-breeding  minds : 
Let  her  come  in.  [y,-^.;^  Horatio. 

lo  my  sick  soul,  as  sm  s  true  nature  is. 
Each  loy  seems  prologue  lo  some  great  amis-s; 
So  lull  ol  artless  jealousy  is  guilt, 
H  siiills  Itself  in  iearing  to  be  spilt. 


e  Power  of  comprehi'Hsiun. 
"  Cowurdlj. 


1  Orow  mouldy. 
"  Siaco. 


He-enter  Horatio,  with  Ophelia. 
Oph.  Where  is  the  beauteous  majestv  ol  Den- 
mark I 
Queen.  How  now,  Ophelia? 
Oph.  How  should  I  your  true  love  Imoiu 
From  ani'iltt  r  one  P 
By  his  cockle  hat  iinil  -iteiff, 
.ind  his  sanitle  shooti.i  |Singin"-. 

Queen.  Alas,  sweet  lady,  what  imports  this  song ] 
Vph.  Sa  J  you  ;  nay,  pray  you,  mark. 

He  is  dead  and  gone,  lady,  [Sings. 

He  is  dead  and  gone ; 
At  his  head  a  grass-green  turf. 
At  his  heels  a  stone. 
0,  ho  r 

Queen.  Nay,  but  Ophelia, 

^l'^-  Pray  you,  marK. 

IVhite  his  shroud  as  the  mountain  snow. 

„    .  ISings. 

Enter  Kino.  '      ° 

Queen.  Alas,  look  here,  my  lord. 

Oph.        Larded  all  with  sweet flcflMers t 
Which  bewept  to  the  grave  did  go. 
With  true-love  showers. 
King.  How  do  you,  pretty  lady? 
Oph.  Well,  God  'icid-  you  !    They  say  the  owl 
was  a  baker  s  daughter.    Lord,  we  know  what  we 
arc,  but  know  not  what  we  may  be.    God  be  at 
your  table ! 
King.  Conceit  upon  her  father. 
Oph.   Pray,  let  us  have  no  words  of  this;    but 
when  they  ask  you  what  it  means,  say  you  this  : 
Good  morrow,  '/w  Saint  Valentine''s  day. 

All  in  the  morning  betime, 
And  la  niuid  at  your  window. 
To  be  your  Valentine. 

Then  up  he  rose,  and  don\l  his  clothes. 

And  dupp^P  the  chamber  door; 
Let  in  the  maid,  that  out  a  maid 
Aecer  departed  nurre. 
King.  Pretly  Ophelia! 

Oph.  Indeed,  without  an  oath,  I'll  make  an  end 
on  t: 

By  Ois,'  and  by  ilaint  Charily;^ 

Alack,  and Jie for  shame! 
Young  men  will  doV,  if  they  come  toH; 

By  cock,  they  are  to  blame. 

Quotk  she.  Before  you  tumbled  me, 
lou  promiA^i  me  to  wed: 
[He  answers.] 
So  woulil  I  ha''  done,  by  yonder  sun. 
An  thou  liadst  not  come  to  my  bed 
King.  How  long  hath  she  been  thus  ' 
Opii.    I   hope,  all  will  be  well.     We  must   be 
patient :  bill  I  cannot  choose  but  weep,  lo  think 
they  should  lay  liini  1'  the  cold  ground  :  My  brolher 
shall  know  ot  it,  and  so  I  thank  you  for  your  good 
counsel.     Come,  my  coach!    Good-night,  ladies; 
good-nighl,  sweet  ladies;  good-night,  good-night. 

King.  Follow  her  close;  give  her  good  waich,' 
I  pray  you.  [A'.(i/ Horatio. 

O,  this  is  the  poison  of  deep  grief;  ii  sprin-s 
All  fioui  her  lather's  death:  And  now  behold, 

0  Gertrude,  Gertrude, 

When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies. 

But  in  battalions  !  First,  her  Jiilher  slam  ; 

Next,  ymir  son  gone  ;  and  he  most  violent  aulhor 

01  his  own  just  remove:  The  people  muddied 
Thick  and  unwholesome  in   llielr  Ihuughls  and 

whispers. 
For  good  Polonius'  dealh ;  and  we  have  done  but 

greenly. 
In  hiig^'i  i-inugger  to  inter  him:  Poor  Oiiliella 
Divided  Ir.ilii  hersell,  and  her  lair  judgment ; 
Wilhoul  Ihe  which  we  are  pictures,  or  nicro  beasts 
Last,  and  as  much  containing  as  all  these, 
Iler  brolher  is  in  secret  come  from  France; 
Feeds  on  his  wonder,  keeps  himself  in  clouds, 
And  wants  not  buzzers  to  infect  his  ear 
Willi  ]ieslilent  speeches  of  his  father's  death: 
Wherein,  necessity  of  matler  beggar'd, 

'  Shoes.  0  IlennrJ.  3  Do  up. 

«  Saints  Iq  the  lioman  (.'atbolio  calendar. 


Scene  YI. 


PP.IXCE  OF  DENMARK. 


743 


Will  Tiolliiiii?  Stick  our  person  to  arraign 
In  ear  and  car.    O  my  dear  Gertrude,  tins, 
I.Ike  to  a  murderin;;  piece,  in  many  places 
Gives  mc  superfluous  death  !         [A  Noise  wilhm. 
Queen.  Alack!  wliut  noise  is  this ! 

■  Enter  a  Gentleman. 

King.  Attend. 
Where  are  my  Switzers?  Let  them  guard  the  door: 
What  is  tlie  matter? 

Genf.  Save  yourself,  my  lord; 

The  ocean,  overpcering  of  his  list.i' 
Eats  not  the  flat*  with  more  impetuous  haste, 
Than  younj;  Laertes,  in  a  riotous  head, 
O'crhe'ars  your  olticers  !  The  rahble  call  him  lord; 
And,  as  the  world  were  now  hut  to  begin, 
Antiquity  forgot,  custom  not  known. 
The  ratitiers  and  props  of  every  word, 
They  cry.  Choose  we;  Lacrles  shall  be  king.' 
Caps,  hands,  and  tongues,  applaud  it  to  the  clouds, 
Laertes  shall  be  king,  Laertes  king .' 

Queen.  How  cheerfully  on  the  false  trails  they 
cry ! 
O,  this  is  counter,'  you  false  Danish  dogs. 

King.  Tlie  doors  are  broke.  [Noise  within. 

Enter  Laertes,  armed;  Oanesfollowing. 

Laer.  Where  is  this  king?— Sirs,  stand  you  all 
without. 

Dan.  No,  let's  come  in. 

Laer.  I  pray  you,  give  me  leave. 

Dan.  We  will,  we  %vill. 

[Theii  retire  without  the  door. 

Laer.  I  thank  you:  — Keep  the  door.     0  thou 
vile  king. 
Give  me  my  father. 

Queen.  Calmly,  good  Laertes. 

Laer.  That  drop  of  blood,  that's  calm,  proclaims 
me  bastard; 
Cries,  cuckold,  to  my  (iilher;  brands  the  harlot 
Even  here,  Ijetween  the  chaste  unsmirched*  brow 
Of  my  true  mother. 

King.  What  is  the  cause,  Laertes, 

That  thy  rebellion  looks  so  giant-like  f — 
Let  liiin  go,  Gertrude;  do  not  fear  our  person; 
There's  such  divinity  doth  hedge  a  king. 
That  treason  can  but  peep  to  what  it  would. 
Acts  little  of  his  will.— Tell  me,  Laertes, 
Why  thou  art  thus  incens'd;- Let  him  go,  Ger- 
trude ; — 
Speak,  man. 

Laer.  Where  is  my  father? 

King.  Dead. 

Queen.  But  not  by  him. 

King.  Let  him  demand  his  fill. 

Laer.  How  came  he  dead?    I'll  not  be  juggled 
with : 
To  hell,  allegiance  !  vows,  to  the  blackest  devil ! 
Conscience,  and  grace,  to  the  protimndest  pit ! 
I  dare  damnation:  To  this  point  I  stand,— 
That  both  the  worlds  I  give  to  negligence. 
Let  come  what  comes;  only  I'll  be  revenged 
Most  thoroughly  lor  my  father. 

King.  Who  shall  stay  you? 

Laer.  My  will ;  not  all  the  world's  : 
And,  for  my  means,  I'll  husband  them  so  well, 
They  shall  go  far  with  little. 

King.  Good  Laertes, 

If  you  desire  to  know  the  certainty 
Of  your  dear  father's  death,  is't  writ  in  your  re- 
venge. 
That,  sweepstake,  you  will  draw  both  friend  and  foe, 
Winner  and  loser? 

Laer.  None  but  his  enemies. 

King.  Will  you  know  them  then? 

Laer.  To  his  good  friends  thus  wide  I'll  ope  my 
arms ; 
And,  like  the  kind  life-rend'ring  pelican, 
Repast  them  with  my  blood. 

King.  Why,  now  you  speak 

Like  a  good  child  and  a  true  gentleman. 
That  I  am  guiltless  of  your  titther's  death, 
And  am  most  sensibly  in  grief  for  it. 
It  shall  as  level  to  your  judgment  'pear, 
As  day  does  to  your  eye. 

Danes.  [  Within.]  Let  her  come  in. 

Laer.  How  now  (  what  noise  is  that  ? 

I  Bounds.  «  Scent. 

'  Hounds  run  counter  when  they  (race  the  scent  back- 
w.irds.  '  Clean,  undefiled. 


Enter  Opuelia,  fantasticallt/  dressed  wit/i  Straws 

and  Flowers. 
0  heat,  dry  up  my  brains !  tears  seven  times  salt, 
Burn  out  the  sense  and  virtue  of  mine  eye ! — 
By  heaven,  thy  madness  shall  be  paid  with  weight, 
Till  our  scale  turn  the  beam.    O  rose  of  May  ! 
Dear  maid,  kind  sister,  sweet  Ophelia  !_ 
()  heavens!  is't  possible,  a  young  maid's  wits 
Should  be  as  mortal  as  an  old  man's  life  ! 
Nature  is  tineS  in  love :  and,  where  'tis  tine, 
It  sends  some  precious  instance  of  itself 
.\fter  the  thing  it  loves. 
Oph.  Theij  bore  hint  barefaced  on  tlie  bier ; 
lieij  no  nunntj,  nonny  hey  nanny: 
And  in  his  grave  raui'd  many  a  tear ; — 
Fare  you  well,  my  dove ! 
Laer.  Hadst  thou  thy  wits,  and  didst  persuade 
revenge. 
It  could  not  move  me  thus. 

Oph.  You  must  sing,  Down-a-down,  an  ymi  call 
him  a-di)wn-a.  0,  how  the  wheel'  becomes  it !  It 
istlie  false  steward,  thatstole  his  master's  daughter. 
Laer.  This  nothing's  more  than  matter. 
Opii.  There's  rosemary,  that's  lor  remembrance ; 
pray  you,  love,  remember:  and  there  is  pansies, 
that's  lor  thoughts. 

Laer.  A  document  in  madness  ;  thoughts  and 
remembrance  fitted. 

Oph.  There's  fennel  for  you,  and  columbines:- 
there's  rue  liir  you :  and  here's  some  for  me  :— 
we  may  call  it,"herb  of  grace,  o'  Sundays  — jou 
may  wear  your  rue  with  a  di!lt?rence.^ — There  s  a 
daisy: — I  would  give  you  some  violets;  but  they 
withered  all,  when  my  father  died:— They  say,  he 

made  a  good  end, 

Fur  bunny  svieet  Robin  is  all  my  Joy, — 

[Sings. 
LMcr.  Thought  and  affliction,  passion,  hell  itselt, 
She  turns  to  liivor,  and  to  prettiness. 

Oph.  Arid  loill  he  luit  come  again  ?  [Sings. 

And  will  he  nut  come  again? 
No,  nu,  he  i.s  dead. 
Go  to  thy  death-bed, 
He  never  will  come  again. 

//i.5  beard  was  as  while  ■■  s  snow, 

Atljlai-en  was  his  poll : 
lie  is  gone,  tit  is  gone. 
And  lue  cast  away  moan; 

God  '«  mercy  on  hi^  soul ! 

And  of  all  Christian  souls  !  I  pray  God.    God  be 
wi'  you !  [Exit  Oi>helia. 

Ijier.  Do  you  see  this,  0  God ! 

King.  Laertes,  I  must  commune  with  your  grief, 
Or  you  deny  me  right.    Go  but  apart. 
Make  choice  of  whom  your  wisest  friends  you  will. 
And  they  shall  hear  and  judge  "twixt  you  and  me : 
If  by  direct  or  by  collateral  hand 
They  tind  us  toueh'd,  we  will  our  kingdom  give, 
Our  crown,  our  Hie.  and  all  that  we  call  ours. 
To  you  in  satisfaction;  but,  if  not. 
Be  you  content  to  lend  your  patience  to  us. 
And  we  shall  jointly  labor  with  your  soul 
To  give  it  due  content. 

Laer.  Let  this  be  so; 

His  means  of  death,  his  obscure  funeral, — 
No  trophy,  sword,  nor  hatchment,  o'er  his  bones, 
No  noble  rite,  nor  formal  ostentation, — 
Cry  to  be  heard,  as  'twere  from  heaven  to  earth 
That  I  must  call't  in  question. 

King.  So  you  shall. 

And  where  the  olTence  is,  let  the  great  a.xe  tall. 
I  pray  you,  go  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VI. — Another  Rnnm  in  the  same. 
Enter  Horatio  and  a  Serv,ant. 
Ilur.  W'hat  are  they,  that  would  speak  with  nu  ? 
Serv.  Sailors,  sii; 

They  .say,  they  have  letters  for  you. 
Hor.  Let  them  come  in  :— 

[Exit  Servant. 
I  do  not  know  from  what  part  of  the  world 
I  should  be  greeted,  if  not  liom  lord  Hamlet. 

s  Artful.  *  The  burden. 

'i.e.  By  its  Sunday  name,  "herb  of  grace;"'  nine  is 
merely  rue,  i.  c.  sorrow. 


744 


HAMLET, 


Act  IV.  Scene  VII. 


Enter  Sailors. 

]  Sail.    God  bless  you,  sir. 

Hnr.  Let  him  bless'thee  too. 

1  Salt.  He  shall,  sir,  an't  please  him.  There's  a 
letter  Ibr  you,  sir;  it  comes  froui  the  ambassador 
that  was  bound  for  England  ;  if  your  name  be  Ho- 
raiio,  as  I  am  let  to  know  it  is. 

Hor.  [Reads.]  Horatio,  when  ihrm  shalt  have 
overlooked  this,  give  these  felUiWssimie  means  to  the 
king;  then  have  letter.^  fur  him.  Ere  ive  were  two 
days  old  at  sea.  a  pirate  of  vcni  warlike  aj/pnintoient 
gave  us  chase. ■fuiding  nurselirs  Inn  siniv  of  sail,  we 
put  (m  a  compelled  valor;  awl  in  the  graji;ile,I 
boarded  them:  on  the  instant, the;/  got  clear  of  our 
ship;  so  I  alone  hero  me  thiir'pri.inner.  Theij 
have  dealt  ivith  me  like  thieves  of  mercy  ;  but  they 
knew  what  they  did;  I  am.  to  ilo  a  good  turn  for 
lliem.  Let  the  king  have  the  letter's  1  have  sent, 
and  repair  thou  to'me  with  as  much  ha.ite  as  thou 
ivoul'l.st  till  death.  I  have  word.s  to  speak  in  thine 
ear  will  n'lake  thee  dumb;  yet  are  they  much  too 
li/iht  for  the  bore  (f  the  nicilter.  Tltese  good  fel- 
lows will  bring  thee  where  I  am.  Rosencrautz  and 
r.uildenstern  hold  their  course  for  England;  of 
them  I  have  much  to  tell  thee.    Farewell. 

He  that  thou  knowe.it  thine,  Hamlet. 

Come.  I  \\  in  give  y()u  way  for  these  j-our  letteis; 
And  do't  the  speedier,  tl)at  you  may  direct  me 
To  him  from  whom  3-ou  brought  them.    [Exeunt. 

SCENE  Vn. — Another  Room  in  the  same. 
Enter  King  and  Laertes. 

Kijig.  Now  must  your  conscience  my  acquittance 
seal. 
And  you  must  put  me  in  your  heart  for  friend; 
Sith  you  have  heard,  and  with  a  knowing  ear, 
That  he,  which  hath  your  noble  lather  slain, 
I'ursued  my  lite. 

Laer.  It  well  appears:— but  tell  me, 

Why  you  proceeded  not  against  these  fcals, 
So  crimeful  and  so  capital  in  nature. 
Ashy  your  safety,  greatness,  wisdom.all  things  else. 
You  mainly  were  stirrM  up. 

King.  O,  for  two  special  reasons : 

Which  may  to  you,  perhaps, seem  much  unsinew'd, 
But  yet  to  me   they  are  strong.    The  queen   his 

mother 
Lives  almost  by  his  looks;  and  for  myself, 
(.My  virtue,  or  my  plague,  be  it  either  which,) 
She  is  so  conjunctive  to  my  lilc  and  soul, 
Tliat,  as  the  star  moves  not  but  in  his  sphere, 
1  could  not  but  by  her.    The  other  motive, 
Why  to  a  public  count  I  might  not  go. 
Is,  the  great  love  the  general  gender^  bear  him; 
Wlio,  dipping  all  his  lault-s  in  their  aHijction, 
Work  like  the  spring  that  tunieth  wood  to  stone, 
Convert  his  gyves^  to  graces ;  so  that  my  arrows, 
Too  slightly  fimber'd  lor  so  loud  a  wind, 
"Would  have  reverted  to  my  bow  again. 
And  not  where  I  had  aimVl  them. 

Laer.  And  so  have  I  a  noble  liither  lost ; 
A  sister  driven  into  desperate  terms; 
Whose  worth,  if  praises  may  go  back  again, 
Stood  challenger  on  mount  of  all  the  age 
For  her  perfections:— But  my  revenge  will  come. 

King.  Break  not  your  sleeps  for  that:  you  must 
not  think. 
That  we  are  made  of  stulf  so  flat  and  dull, 
'J'liat  we  can  let  our  beard  be  sliook  with  danger, 
And  think  it  pastime.  You  shortlyshall  hearmore: 
]  iiiv'cl  your  father,  and  we  love  ourself ; 
And  lliat,  1  hope,  will  leach  you  to  imagine, — 
How  now'.'  what  news? 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Me.'S.  Letters,  my  lord,  from  Hamlet: 

This  to  your  majesly  ;  this  to'lbe  queen. 

King.  From  Hamlet!  who  brought  them? 

jl/fss.Sailors,my  lord,theysay:  I  sawthemnot; 
They  were  given  me  by  Claudib,  he  receiv'd  them 
Of  him  that  brought  them. 

King.  Laertes,  you  sliall  lie.ir  them  :— 

Leave  us.  [E.vit  Messenger. 

[Reads.]  High  and.  mighty. you sliaU  knoiv.I am 
set  naked  on  your  kingdom.'  'J'o-morraw shall  I  beg 
leave  to. see  your  kingly  eyes;  Ivhen  I  shall  first, 
asking  yinir  pardon  thereunto,  rec(mnl  the  occasi)m 
if  my  sudden  and  more  strange  return.  Hamlet, 
a  Common  people.  «  Chnius. 


What  should  this  mean?    Are  all  the  rest  come 

back? 
Or  is  it  some  abuse,  and  no  such  thing  ? 
Laer.  Know  you  the  hand? 
King.  'Tis  Hamlet's  character.    Naked,— 

And,  in  a  postcript  here,  he  says,  alone: 
Can  you  advise  me  ? 
Laer.  1  am  lost  in  it,  my  lord.    But  let  him 
come ; 
It  warms  the  very  sickness  in  my  heart. 
That  I  sliall  live  and  tell  him  to  his  teeth, 
Thus  didilest  thou. 

King.  If  it  be  so,  Laertes,— 

As  how  should  it  be  so  ?  how  otherwise?.^ 
Will  you  be  rul'd  by  me? 

Laer.  Ay,  my  lord ; 

So  you  will  not  o'er-rule  me  to  a  peace. 

King.  To  thine  own  peace.    If  lie  be  now  re- 
turn'd. — 
As  checking^  at  his  voyage,  and  that  he  means 
No  more  to  undertake  "it, — I  will  work  him 
To  an  exploit,  now  ripe  in  my  device. 
Under  the  which  he  shall  not  ehoo.se  but  fnV  : 
And  for  his  death  no  wind  of  blame  shaU  breathe; 
But  even  his  mother  shall  uncharge  the  practice, 
And  call  it  accident, 

Laer.  My  lord,  I  will  be  rul'd: 

The  rather,  if  you  could  devise  it  so. 
That  I  might  be  the  organ. 

King.  It  falls  right. 

You  have  been  talk'd  of  since  your  travel  mitch. 
And  that  in  Hamlet's  hearing,  for  a  quality, 
Wherein,  they  say,  you  shine:  your  sum  of  parts 
Did  not  together  pluck  such  envy  from  him. 
As  did  that  one;  and  that,  in  my  regard. 
Of  the  unworthiest  siege.6 

Laer.  What  part  is  that,  my  lord? 

King.  A  very  riband  in  the  cap  of  vouth. 
Yet  needful  too;  for  youth  no  less  becomes 
The  light  and  careless  livery  that  it  wears, 
Than  settled  age  his  sables  and  his  weeds. 
Importing  health   and  gravencss.— Two  months 

since. 
Here  was  a  gentleman  of  Normandy, — 
I  have  seen  myself,  and  serv'd  against,  tile  French, 
.\m[  they  can  well  on  horseback:  but  tliis  gallant 
Had  witchcraft  in't;  he  grew  unto  his  seat; 
And  to  such  wonderous  doing  brought  his  horse, 
As  he  had  been  incorps'd  ana  demi-natur'd 
With  the  brave  beast:  so  far  he  topp'd  my  thought, 
Tliat  I,  in  for;jery  of  shapes  and  tricks, 
Come  sliort  of  what  he  did. 

Laer.  A  Norman,  was't  ? 

King.  A  Norman. 

Laer.  Upon  my  life,  Lamord. 

King.  The  very  same. 

Laer.  I  know  him  well :  he  is  the  brooch'  indeed. 
And  gem  of  all  the  nation. 

King.  He  made  confession  of  you  ; 
And  gave  you  such  a  masterly  rejwrt, 
For  art  and  exercise  in  your  defence, 
And  for  your  rapier  most  especial, 
That  he  cried  out,  'twould  be  a  sight  indeed. 
If  one  could  match  you :  the  scrimcrss  of  their 

nation. 
He  swore,  had  neither  motion,  guard,  nor  eye, 
If  you  oppos'd  them :  Sir,  this  report  of  his 
Did  Hamlet  so  en\'enom  witli  his  envy, 
Tliat  he  could  nothing  do,  but  wish  and  beg 
Your  sudden  coming  o'er,  to  play  with  you. 
Now,  out  of  this, 

I-aer.  What  out  of  this,  my  lord  ? 

King.  Laertes,  was  your  father  dear  to  you  ? 
Or  arc  you  like  the  painting  of  a  sorrow, 
A  face  without  a  heart? 

Lear.  Why  ask  you  this  ! 

King.  Not  that  I  think,  you  did  not  love  your 
father; 
Buttiiat  1  know,  love  is  begun  by  time; 
And  that  I  .see,  in  passages  of  prool",^ 
Time  qualifies  the  spark  and  fire  of  it. 
There  lives  within  the  very  flame  of  love 
A  kind  of  wick,  or  snutT,  that  will  abate  it: 
And  nothing  is  at  a  like  goodness  still; 
For  goodness,  growing  to  a  pleurisy. 
Dies  in  his  own  too-much  :  That  we  would  do. 
We  .should  do  when  wo  would;    for  this  would 
changes, 

'  Oltjectiug  to.  6  Se.it.  pLice.  '  Ornament, 

'Fencers.  »  l>uily  experience. 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


PRINCE   OF  DENMARK. 


r45 


And  liatli  abatements  and  delays  as  many, 
As  there  are  tonj^ues,  are  iiands,  are  accidents  ; 
And  then  this  should  is  like  a  spendthrift  sigh, 
That  Imrts  by  easing.  But,  to  thequicl<  o'  the  ulcer: 
Hamlet  comes  hack ;  What  would  you  undertake, 
To  show  yourself  indeed  jour  father's  son 
More  than  in  words? 

jAur.  To  cut  his  throat  i'  the  church. 

Kilts.  No  place,  itidced,  should  murder  sanctuar- 
ize ; 
Revenge  should   have   no   bounds.     But,   good 

Laertes, 
Will  you  do  this:  keep  close  within  your  chamber? 
Hamlet,  returned, shall  know  you  are  come  home: 
We'll  put  on  those  shall  praise  your  excellence, 
And  set  a  double  varnish  on  the  fame 
The  Frenchman  gave  you;  bring  you,  in  fine,  to- 
gether, 
And  wager  o'er  your  heads:  he,  being  remiss, 
Most  generous,  and  free  from  all  contriving, 
W]I1  not  peruse  the  foils;  so  that,  with  ease, 
Or  with  a  little  shuffling,  you  may  choose 
A  .sword  iinbated,'  and,  ni  a  pass  of  practice, 
Requite  him  for  your  father. 

Laer.  I  will  do't : 

And,  lor  the  purpose,  I'll  anoint  my  sword. 
I  bought  an  unction  of  a  mountebaiili, 
.So  mortal,  that,  but  dip  a  knife  in  it. 
Where  it  draws  blood,  no  cataplasm  so  rare, 
Collected  from  ail  simples  that  have  virtue 
Under  the  moon,  can  save  the  thing  from  death 
That  is  hut  scratch'd  withal :  I'll  touch  my  point 
With  this  contagion  ;  that,  if  I  gall  him  slightly, 
It  may  be  death. 

King.  Let's  further  think  of  this; 

Weigh,  what  convenience,  both  of  timeand  means, 
May  ht  us  to  our  shape:  if  this  should  fail. 
And  that  our  drill  look  through  our  bad  perform- 
ance, 
'Twere  hetler  not  essay'd :  therefore  this  project 
Should  have  a  back,  or  second,  that  might  hold. 
If  this  should  blast  in  proof.-!    goft  ; — let  me  sec  : 
We'll  make  a  solemn  wager  on  your  cunnings,' — 
I  ha"t: 
When  on  your  motion  you  are  hot  and  dry, 


(As  make  your  bouts  more  violent  to  that  end.) 
And  that  he  calls  tor  drink,  I'll  have  preferr'd  him 
A  chalice  for  the  nonce  ;'»  wliereon  but  sipping, 
If  he  by  chance  escape  your  venora'd  stuck,' 
Our  purpose  may  hold  there.  But  stay,  what  noise  1 

Enter  Qceen. 
How  now,  sweet  queen  ? 

Queen.  One  woe  doth  tread  upon  another's  heel, 
So  fast  they  follow  :—Voiir  sister's  drown'd,  Laertes. 

Laer.  Drown'd  I  O,  where  ? 

Queen.  There  is  a  willow  grows  ascaunt  (he 
brook. 
That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream ; 
Therewith  fantastic  garlands  did  she  make 
Of  crow-Howers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  purples, 
That  liberals  shepherds  give  a  grosser  name, 
But  our  cold  maids  do  dead  men's  fingers  call 

them : 
Tlierc,  on  the  pendent  boughs  her  coronet  weeds 
Clambering  to  hang,  an  envious  sliver  broke; 
When  down  her  weed\'  trophies,  and  herself. 
Fell  in  the  weeping   orook.    Her  clothes  spread 

wide ; 
And,  mermaid-like,  a  while  they  bore  her  up : 
Which  time  she  chanted  snalclics  of  old  tunes; 
As  one  incapable'J  of  her  own  distress, 
Or  like  a  creature  native  and  indued 
Unto  that  element:  but  long  it  could  not  be, 
Till  that  her  garments,  heavy  with  their  drink, 
PulI'd  the  poor  wretch  from  her  melodious  lay 
To  muddy  death. 

Laer.  Alas !  then,  she  is  drown  d  ? 

Queen.  Drown'd,  drown'd. 

Laer.  Too  much  ofwater  hast  thou,  poor  Ophelia, 
And  therefore  I  forbid  my  tears :  But  yet 
It  is  our  trick  ;  nature  her  custom  holds. 
Let  shame  say  what  it  will:  when  these  are  gone 
The  woman  will  be  out.— Adieu,  my  lord  ! 
I  have  a  speech  of  fire,  that  Iain  would  blaze. 
But  that  this  folly  drowns  it.  [Exit. 

King.  Let's  follow,  Gertrude; 

How  much  I  had  to  do  to  calm  his  rage ! 
Now  fear  I,  this  will  give  it  start  again  ; 
Therelbre,  let's  follow.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  l.—A  Churchyard. 
Enter  two  Clowns,  with  Spades,  <5c. 

1  Clo.  Is  she  to  be  buried  in  Christian  burial, 
that  wilfully  seeks  her  own  salvation  ! 

2  Clti.  I  tell  thee,  she  is;  therefore  make  her 
grave  straight  :■•  the  crowner  hath  set  on  her,  and 
finds  it  Christian  burial. 

1  Clu.  How  can  that  be,  unless  she  drowned  her- 
self in  her  own  defence? 

2  Via.  Why,  'tis  fiiuiul  so. 

1  C7o.  It  must  be  sfJiyi'H'/fnf/o;  it  cannot  be  else. 
For  here  lies  the  point:  If  I  drown  myself  wit- 
tingly, it  argues  an  act:  and  an  act  liath  three 
branches;  it  is,  to  act,  to  <lo,  and  to  perform:  Argal, 
she  drowned  herself  wittingly. 

2  C/o.  Nay,  but  hear  you,  goodman  delver. 

1  CLu.  Give  me  leave.  Here  lies  the  water;  good  : 
here  stands  the  man  ;  good  :  If  the  man  go  to  this 
water,  and  drown  himself,  it  is,  will  he,  niU  he,  he 
goes;  mark  you  that:  hut  if  the  water  come  to  him, 
and  drown  him,  he  drowns  not  himself:  Argal,  he, 
that  is  not  guilty  of  liis  own  death,  shortens  not 
his  own  liiiL'. 

2  Clo.  But  is  this  law  ? 

1  Clo.  Ay,  marry,  is't ;  crowner's  ciuest  law. 

2  Clt).  ^Vill  you  ha'  the  truth  on't?  If  this  had 
not  been  a  {gentlewoman,  she  should  iiave  been 
buried  out  ot  Christian  burial. 

1  Clu.  Why,  there  thou  say'st:  And  the  more 
pity,  that  great  folks  shall  have  countenance  in  this 
world  to  drow  n  or  hang  themselves,  more  than  their 
eveip  Christian.  Come,  my  spade.  There  is  no 
ancient  gentlemen  but  gardeners,  ditchers,  and 
grave-makers;  they  hold  up  Adam's  profession. 

»  Not  Itlunted  as  foils  are. 

9  As  fire-arms  sometimes  burst  in  proving  their  strength. 

•  Skill.  « Immediately.  •  Fellow.         I 


2  Clo.  Was  he  a  gentleman  ? 

1  Clo.  He  was  the  first  that  ever  bore  arms, 

2  Clo.  Why,  he  had  none. 

1  Clo.  What,  art  a  heathen?  How  dost  thou  un- 
derstand the  Scripture?  The  Scripture  says,  Adam 
digged:  Could  he  dig  without  arms?' I'll  put 
another  question  to  thee:  if  thou  answerestme  not 
to  the  purpose,  confess  thyself 

2  Clo.  Co  to. 

1  Clo.  What  is  he,  that  builds  stronger  than 
either  the  mason,  the  shipwright,  or  the  car- 
penter? 

2  Clo.  The  gallows-maker;  for  that  frame  out- 
lives a  thousand  tenants. 

1  Clo.  I  like  thy  wit  well,  in  good  faith  ;  the 
gallows  does  well:  But  how  does  it  well?  it  does 
well  to  those  that  do  ill :  now-  thou  dost  ill.  to  say, 
the  gallows  is  built  stronger  than  the  church; 
argal,  the  gallon s  may  do  well  to  thee.  To't  again; 
come.  * 

2  Clo.  Who  builds  stronger  than  a  mason,  a 
shipwright,  or  a  carpenter  ? 

1  Clo.  Ay,  tell  me  that,  and  unyoke.' 

2  Clo.  Marry,  now  I  can  tell. 

1  Clo.  To't. 

2  Clo.  Mass,  I  cannot  tell. 

Enter  Hamlet  and  Horatio,  at  a  distance. 
•1  C/o.  Cudgel  thy  brains  no  more  about  it;  for 
your  dull  ass  will  not  mend  his  iiaccwilh  beating: 
and.  when  you  are  asked  this  question  next,  say,  a 
grave-maker;  the  houses  that  he  makes,  last  till 
doomsday.  Go.  get  thee  to  Yaughan,  and  fetch  me 
a  stoup  of  liquor. 

{E.rit  2  Clown. 

«  A  cup  for  fho  purpose.  '  Thrnst. 

s  Licentious.  »  Insensible. 

»  Give  over. 


7-i6 


HAMLET, 


Act  Y. 


1  Clown  (ii;i;s,  and  sings. 
In  yottih,  ivken  I  did  love^  did  love,^ 

JMeihougkt,  it  was  very  sweet. 
To  contract,  O,  the  time,Jor,  ah,  my  behove 
0,  methought,  there  was  nothing  meet. 

Ham.  Has  this  fellow  no  feeling  of  his  business*! 
he  sings  at  grave-making. 

Hor.  Custom  hath  made  it  in  him  a  property  of 
easiness. 

Hum.  'Tis  e-en  so:  the  hand  of  little  employ- 
ment tialh  the  daintier  sense. 

1  Clo.  But  age,  ivifh  his  stealing  steps, 
Hath  claw'd  me  in  his  clutch, 
And  hath  shipped  me  into  the  landj 
As  if  J  had  never  been  such. 

[Throws  up  a  Skull. 

Ham.  That  skull  had  a  tongue  in  it,  and  could 
sing  once:  How  the  knave  jowls  it  to  the  ground, 
as  if  it  were  Cain's  jaw-bone,  that  did  the  first  mur- 
der! This  might  be  the  pate  of  a  politician,  which 
this  ass  now  o'er-reachcs ;  one  that  would  circum- 
vent God,  might  it  not? 

Hor.  It  might,  my  lord. 

Hum.  Or  of  a  courtier;  which  could  say,  Good- 
mornnv,  sweet  lo^rd !  How  dost  thou,  guod  lord? 
Tins  might  be  my  lord  Such-a-one,  that  praised  my 
lord  Such-a-one's  horse,  when  he  meant  to  beg  it; 
might  it  not? 

Hor.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Ham.  Why,  e^en  so:  and  now  my  lady  Worm's; 
chapless,  and  laiocked  about  the  mazzard  with  a 
sexton's  spade:  Here's  tine  revolution,  and  we  had 
the  trick  to  see't.  Did  these  bones  cost  no  more 
the  breeding,  but  to  j)Iay  at  loggats^  with  them? 
mine  ache  to  think  oiTt. 

1  Clo.  ^4  pickaj:e,  anl  a  spade,  a  spade^       [Sings. 
Far— and  a  shrouding  sheet : 
0,  a  pit  ofclutifiir  to  be  iuade 
For  such  a  guest  is  meet. 

[Throws  up  a  Skull. 

Ham.  There's  another:  Why  may  not  that  be 
the  skull  of  a  lawyer?  Where  be  his  quiddits^  now, 
his  quillets,^  his  cases,  his  tenures,  and  his  tricks  ? 
wiiy  does  he  suffer  this  rude  Imave  now  to  knock 
him  about  the  sconce  with  a  dirty  shovel,  and  will 
not  tell  him  of  his  action  of  battery  I  Humph! 
This  fellow  might  be  in's  time  a  great  buyer  of  land, 
with  his  statutes,  his  recognisances,  his  tines,  his 
double  vouchers,  his  recoveries:  Is  this  the  fine  of 
his  tines,  and  t#ie  recovery  of  his  recoveries,  to  have 
his  fine  pate  full  of  tine  dirt?  will  his  vouchers  vouch 
him  no  more  of  hi?>  purchases,  and  double  ones  too, 
than  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  pair  of  indentures? 
The  very  conveyances  of  his  lands  will  hardly  lie 
in  this  box;  and  must  the  inheritor  himself  have  no 
more  ?  ha  1 

H*ir.  Not  a  jot  more,  my  lord. 

Bam.  Is  not  parchment  made  of  sheep-skins? 

Hor.  Ay,  my  lord,  and  of  calves'-skins  too. 

Hum.  They  are  sheep,  and  calves,  which  seek 
out  assurance  in  that.  I  will  speak  to  this  fellow:— 
Whose  grave's  this,  sirrah  ? 

1  Clfj.  Mine,  sir. — 

O,  a  pit  of  clay  for  to  be  made  [Sings. 

Firr  such  a  guest  is  meet. 

Ham.  I  think  it  be  thine  indeed;  for  thou  liest 
in't. 

1  Clo.  You  lie  out  on't,  sir,  and  therefore  it  is  not 
yours:  for  my  part,  I  do  not  lie  in't,  yet  it  is  mine. 

Ham.  Thou  dost  lie  in't,  to  be  in'tj  and  say  it  is 
thine:  'tis  for  the  dead,  not  tor  the  quick;  theretbre 
thou  liest. 

1  Cbi.  'Tis  a  quick  lie,  sir;  'twill  away  again 
from  me  to  you. 

Ham.  What  man  dost  thou  dig  it  for? 

1  Clo.  For  no  man.  sir. 

Hutu.  What  woman,  then? 

I  Clo.  For  none  neither. 

Ham.  Who  is  to  be  buried  in't? 

1  Clo.  One,  that  was  a  woman,  sir;  but,  rest  her 
soui,  she's  dead. 

Ham.  How  absolute  the  knave  is!  we  must  speak 
by  the  card,6  or  equivocation  will  undo  us.    By 

•i  Tin*  son;r  entire  is  printt-tl  in  Percy's  Rell^ues  of  au- 
ck'iit  Kn;!;Iish  Poetry,  vol.  i, :  it  was  written  by  Lord  Vaux. 

»  All  ancit'ut  gamo,  played  iis  r/umL't  are  at  present. 

*  Subtilties.  *  Frivolous  diatinctioas. 

s  By  the  compass. 


the  lord,  Horatio,  these  three  years  I  have  taken 
note  of  it ;  the  age  is  grown  so  picked,"  that  the  toe 
of  the  peasant  comes  so  near  the  heel  of  the  courtier, 
he  galls  his  kibe-- -How  long  hast  thou  been  a 
grave-maker? 

I  Clo.  Of  all  the  days  i'  the  year,  I  came  to't  that 
dav  that  our  last  king  Hamlet  overcame  Fortinbras 

Ham.  How  long's  that  since  ? 

1  Clo.  Cannot  you  tell  that?  every  fool  can  tell 
that:  It  was  that  very  day  that  young  Han)let  was 
born:  he  that  is  mad,  and  sent  into  England. 

Ham.  Ay,  marry,  why  was  he  sent  into  Eng- 
land ? 

1  Clo.  Why,  because  he  was  mad:  he  shall  re- 
cover his  wits  there;  or,  if  he  do  not,  'tis  no  great 
matter  there. 

Ham.  Why? 

1  Clo.  'Twill  not  be  seen  in  him  there;  there 
the  men  are  as  mad  as  he. 

Ham.  How  came  he  mad? 

1  Cl(t.  Very  strangely,  they  say. 

Ham.  How  strangely  ? 

1  Clo.  'Faith,  e'en  with  losing  his  wits. 

Hum.  Upon  what  ground  ? 

1  Clo.  Why,  here  in  Denmark;  I  have  been  sex- 
ton here,  man  and  boy,  thirty  years. 

Ham.  How  long  will  a  man  lie  i"*  the  earth  ere 
he  rot  ? 

1  Clo.  'Faith,  if  he  be  not  rotten  before  he  die, 
(as  we  have  many  pocky  corses  now-a-days,  tliat 
will  scarce  hold  the  laying  in,)  he  will  last  you 
some  eight  year  or  nine  year:  a  tanner  will  last 
you  nine  year. 

Ham.  Why  he  more  than  another? 

1  Clo.  ^V'hy,  sir,  liis  hide  is  so  tanned  with  his 
trade,  that  he  will  keep  out  water  a  great  while; 
and  your  water  is  a  sore  decayer  of  your  whoreson 
dead  body.  Here's  a  skull  now  hath  lain  you  i' 
the  earth  three-and-twenty  years. 

Ham.  Whose  was  it  ? 

1  Clo.  A  whoreson  mad  fellow's  it  was;  Whose 
do  you  think  it  was? 

Ham.  Nay,  I  know  not. 

I  Clo.  A  pestilence  on  him  for  a  mad  rogue! 
he  poured  a  llagon  of  Rhenish  on  my  head  once. 
This  same  skull,  sir,  was  Yorick's  skull,  the  king's 
jester. 

Ham.  This?  [Takes  the  Skull. 

1  Clo.  E'en  that. 

Ham.Alasl  poor  Yorick! — I  kT.ew  him,  Horatio; 
a  (ellow  of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy :  he 
hath  borne  me  on  nis  back  a  thousand  times;  and 
now  liow  abhorred  in  my  imagination  it  is!  my 
gorge  rises  at  it.  Here  iiung  those  lips,  that  I  have 
kissed  I  know  not  how  oft.  Where  be  your  gibes 
now?  your  gambols?  your  songs?  your  flashes  of 
merriincnt,that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar  ? 
not  (me  now,  to  mock  your  own  grinning?  quite 
chap-fit  lien  ?  Now  get  you  to  mj'  lady's  chamber, 
and  tell  her,  let  her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  fa- 
vor^ she  must  come:  make  her  laugh  at  that. — 
Pr'ythee,  Horatio,  tell  me  one  thing. 

Hor.  What's  that,  my  lord  ? 

Ham.  Dost  thou  think,  Alexander  looked  o'  this 
fashion  i'  the  earth  ? 

Hor.  E'en  so. 

Ham.  And  smelt  so  ?  pah  ! 

[Throws  down  the  SkulL 

Hor.  E'en  so,  my  lord. 

Ham.  To  wliat  base  uses  we  may  return,  Ho- 
ratio! W'by  may  not  imagination  trace  the  noble 
dust  of  Alexander,  till  he  find  it  stopping  a  bung- 
hole? 

Hor.  'Tvvere  to  consider  too  curiously,  to  con- 
sider so. 

Hum.  No,  faith,  not  a  jot:  but  to  follow  him 
thither  with  modesty  enough,  and  likelihood  to  lead 
it:  As  thus;  Alexandenhed,  Alexander  was  buried, 
Alexander  returneth  to  dust;  the  dust  is  earth ;  of 
earth  we  make  loam:  and  why  of  that  loam,  where- 
to he- was  converted,  might  they  not  stop  a  bcer- 
barrei  ! 

Imperious"  Ctesar,  dead,  and  turn'd  to  clay, 

INIight  stop  a  hole  to  keep  tlie  wind  awny : 

O.  that  the  earth,  which  kept  the  world  in  awe. 

Should  natch  a  wall  to  expel  the  winter's  llaw!i 
But  soft!  out  solt !  aside: — Here  comes  the  king. 


'  Ppruce.  .ifTected. 
9  Imperial. 


8  Cuuntenance,  comploxiou. 


Scene  II. 


PRIXCE  OF  DENMARK. 


747 


Eriter  Priests,  ^c,  in  Procession;  the  Corpse  of 
Ophelia,  Laertes,  and  Mourners,  following; 
King,  Queex,  Iheir  Trains,  4c. 

The  queen,  the  courtiers :  Who  is  this  thej-  follow  ? 
And  with  scch  maimed  rites!  This  doth  betoken. 
The  corpse  tliey  follow  did  with  desperate  hand 
Fordo2  its  own  life.    'Twa.s  of  some  estate ; 
Couch  ne  a  while,  and  mark. 

[Retiring  with  Horatio. 
Laer.  What  ceremony  else ! 
Ham.  That  is  Laertes, 

A  very  noble  youth :  Jlark. 
Laer.  What  ceremony  else  ? 
1  Priest.  Her  obsequies  have  been  as  far  enlarged 
As  we  have  warranty:  Her  death  was  doubtful; 
And,  but  that  great  command  o'erswiiys the  order. 
She  should  in  ground  unsanctified  have  lodg'd 
Till  the  last  triimpet ;  for  charitable  prayers, 
Shards,3  tiints,  and  pebbles,  should  be  thrown  on 

her; 
Yet  here  she  is  allow'd  her  virein  crants,-* 
Her  maiden  strewments,  and  the  bringing  home 
Of  bell  and  burial. 
Laer.  Must  there  no  more  be  done? 
1  Priest.  No  more  be  done ! 

We  should  profane  the  service  of  the  dead. 
To  sing  a  requiem,^  and  such  rest  to  her 
As  to  peace-parted  souls. 

Laer.  Lay  her  i'  the  earth  ;— 

And  Irom  her  fair  and  unpolluted  Hesh 
Way  violets  spring  !— I  tell  thee,  churlish  priest, 
A  niinistVing  ansel  shall  my  sister  be. 
When  thou  liest  howling. 
Ham.  What !  the  fair  Ophelia  ! 

Queeii.  Sweets  to  the  sweet :  Farewell ! 
, .        .    .  [  Scattering  Flowers. 

I  hoped,  thou  shouldst  have  been  my  Hamlet's  wife ; 
I  thought,  thy  bride-bed  to  have  deck'd,  sweet  maid. 
And  not  have  strew'd  thy  grave. 

l-i'fr.  O,  treble  woe 

Fall  ten  times  treble  on  that  cursed  head. 
Whose  wicked  deed  Ihv  most  ingenious  sense 
Deprived  thee  of !— Hold  off  the  earth  a  while, 
TiU  I  have  caught  her  once  more  in  mine  arms  : 

[Leaps  into  ttie  grave. 
ftow  pile  your  dust  upon  the  quick<>  and  dead; 
Till  of  this  tlat  a  mountain  you  have  made 
Too'ertop  old  Pelion,  or  the  skyish  head 
Of  blue  Olympus. 

ham.  [Advancing.!  AVhat  is  he  whose  grief 
Bears  such  an  emphasis?  whose  phrase  of  sorrow 
Conjures  the  waiid'ring  stars,  and  makes  them 

stand 
Like  wonder-wounded  hearers?  this  is  I, 
Hamlet  the  Dane.  [Leaps  into  t/ie  grave. 

Laer.  The  devil  take  thy  soul ! 

^,  [Grappling  with  him. 

Ham.  Thou  pray'st  not  well. 
I  pr'yihee.  take  thy  lingers  from  mv  throat; 
For,  though  I  am  not  splenetive  and  rash, 
Yet  have  I  in  me  somct|iing  dangerous. 
Which,  let  thy  wisdom  fear :  hold  olf  thy  hand. 
King.  Pluck  them  asunder, 

Q"(en.  Hamlet!  Hamlet! 

All.  Gentlemen, 

Hot.  Good  my  lord,  be  quiet, 

{The  Attendants  part  tikm,  and  they  come 
out  if  the  (Irate. 

Ham.Why.l  will  tight  with  him  upon  this  theme 
Lntil  my  eyelidswill  no  longer  wag. 

Queen.  O  mv  son,  what  theme  !  " 

Ham.  I  lov'd  Ophelia :  Ibrty  thousand  brothers 
Could  not,  with  all  their  quantity  of  love, 
Make  up  my  sum,— What  wilt  thou  do  for  her? 

King.  O,  he  is  mad.  Laertes, 

Queen.  For  love  of  God,  forbear  him. 

Ham.  'Zounds,  show  me  what  thou'lt  do : 
Woul't  weep?  woul't  light?  wouFt  fast! 

tear  thyself? 
Woul't  drink  up  Esil  ?'  eat  a  crocodile? 
I  II  do't.— Dost  thou  come  here  to  whine? 
To  outface  me  with  leaping  in  her  grave  ' 
Be  buried  quick  with  her,  and  so  will  I : 
And,  if  thou  prate  of  mountains,  let  them  throw 
Millions  of  acres  on  us;  till  our  ground, 

>  Ctdo.  destroy.      »  Broken  pots  or  tiles.       <  Oarlands. 

A  mass  fnr  the  dead.  6  Livioc. 

'  Eisel  is  vinegar;  but  Mr.  Stevens  eonjectores  the  word 
should  be  Wdiel,  a  river  which  &II3  into  the  Baltic  Ocean 


woul't 


Singeing  his  pate  against  the  burning  zone. 
Make  Ossa  like  a  wart !  Nay,  an  thoul't  mouth, 
I'll  rant  as  well  as  thou. 

Queen.  This  is  mere  madness; 

And  thus  a  while  the  fit  will  work  on  him; 
Anon,  as  patient  as  the  female  dove, 
\Vhen  that  her  golden  couplets  are  disclos'd,^ 
His  silence  will  sit  drooping. 

Ham.  Hear  you,  sir: 

W  hat  is  the  reason  that  vou  use  me"thus  ? 
I  lov'd  you  ever:  But  it  is  no  matter; 
Let  Hercules  himself  do  what  he  may, 
The  cat  Bill  mew,  and  dog  will  h.ivehis  day,  [Exit. 
King.  I   pray   thee,   good   Horatio,  wait   upon 
him,—  [Exit  Horatio, 

Strengthen  your  patience  in  our  lastniijhfs  speech ; 

W'll  put  the  matter  to  the  present  push.— 

Good  Gertrude,  set  some  watch  over  your  son.— 

This  grave  shall  have  a  living  monument: 

An  hour  of  quiet  shortly  shall  we  see; 

TiU  then,  in  patience  our  proceeding  be.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— ,4  Hall  in  the  Castle. 
Enter  Hamlet  and  Horatio. 
Ham.  So  much  lor  this,  sir:  now,  shall  you  see 
the  other; — 
You  do  remember  all  the  circumstance  ? 
Hor.  Remember  it,  mv  lord  ? 
Ham.  Sir,  in  my  heart  iliere  was  a  kind  of  fighting, 
That  would  not  let  me  sleep:  methought,  Tlay 
Wor.se  than  the  mutines*  in  the  bilboe.s.'    Itashly, 
And  prais"d  be  rashness  for  it.— Let  us  know. 
Our  indiscretion  sometimes  serves  us  well. 
When  our  deep  plots  do  pall;-!   and  that  should 

teach  us, 
There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will. 

■f^'""-    ..    ,  That  is  most  certain. 

tiam.  I  p  fi-om  mv  cabin. 
My  sea-gown  scarl'd  about  me,  in  the  dark 
Groji'd  1  to  find  out  them  :  had  my  desire; 
Finger'd  their  packet;  and,  in  fine,  withdrew 
To  mine  own  room  again  :  making  so  bold. 
My  fears  forgetting  manners,  to  unseal 
Their  grand  commission  ;  where  I  Ibund,  Horatio, 
A  royal  knavery;  an  exact  command. — 
Larded  with  many  several  soils  of  reasons. 
Importing  Denmark's  health,  and  Enirland's  too, 
U  ith,  ho!  such  bugs^  and  goblins  in  my  life,— 
That  on  the  super\ise,  no  leisure  bated. 
No,  not  to  stay  the  grinding  of  the  axe. 
My  head  should  be  struck  oil; 

^"^-    „      .     ^  Is't  possible? 

Jlaai.  Here  s  the  commission;  read  it  at  more 
leisure. 
But  wilt  thou  hear  now  how  I  did  proceed? 

Hor.  Ay,  'beseech  you. 

Ham.  Being  thus  benetted  round  with  villanics, 
Or"  I  could  make  a  prologue  to  mv  brains. 
They  had  begun  the  play  ;— 1  sat'me  down- 
Devis'd  a  new  commission;  wrote  it  fair: 
I  once  did  hold  it, as  our  statist.*'  do, 
A  baseness  to  write  liiir,  and  labored  much 
How  to  forget  that  learning ;  but.  sir,  now 
It  did  me  yeoman's  service:  Wilt  thou  know 
The  eflect  of  what  I  wrote? 

^f""-  Av.  good  my  lord. 

Ham.  An  earnest  conjuration  tirom  the'king,— 
As  England  was  his  faithlul  tributary; 
As  love  between  them  hkc  the  palm  might  nourish- 
As  peace  should  still  her  w  beaten  garland  wear. 
And  stand  a  comma*  'tween  their  amities; 
.\iid  many  such  like  as's  of  great  charge- 
That,  on  the  view  and  knowing  of  these  contents 
W  ithout  debalement  further,  more  or  less. 
He  should  the  bearers  put  to  sudden  death. 
Not  shriving'  time  allowed. 

{'"'■■  How  was  this  seal'd? 

Ham.  W  hy.even  in  that  was  heaven  ordinant : 
I  had  my  father's  .signet  in  mv  purse. 
Which  was  the  model  of  that' Danish  seal: 
F'lded  the  writ  up  in  the  Ibrm  of  the  other; 
»^-bscribed  it;  gave't  the  impression;   placed   it 

salely. 
The  changehng  never  known :  Now  the  ne.xt  day 

s  Hatchi-d.  ,  Mutineers, 

letters  and  handcuffs  brought  from  UUboa  in  Spain, 

^  *^^n.  3  Bugtiears.  t  Before. 

•  Statesmen.        e  A  note  of  connection.      »  Confessing. 


748 


HAMLET, 


Act  V. 


Was  our  sea-fiKtit;  and  what  to  this  was  sequent, 
Thou  kriow'st  already. 
Hor.  So  Guildenste'rii  and  Rosencrantz  go  to't. 
Ham.  Why  man,  tliey  did   make  love    to  this 
employment ; 
They  are  not  near  my  conscience ;  their  defeat 
Does  by  their  own  insinuation  grow  : 
'Tis  dangerous,  when  the  baser  nature  comes 
Between  the  pass  and  fell  incensed  points 
Of  mighty  opposiles. 
■?''"■•  Why,  what  a  king  is  this  ! 

Ha?n.  Does  itnot,  think  thee. stand  me  now  upon  1 
He  thathath  kiirdniyki;ig.and whor'd  niymother; 
Popp\i  in  between  the  election  and  my  hopes; 
Thrown  out  his  angle  for  my  proper  life. 
And   with  such  cozenage ;   is't  not   perfect  con- 
science. 
To  quit  him  with  this  arm?  and  is't  not  to  be 

damnM, 
To  let  this  canker  of  our  nature  come 
In  further  evil  ] 
Hor.  It  must  be  shortly  known  to  him  from 
England, 
What  is  the  issue  of  the  business  there. 

Hrim.  It  will  be  short:  the  interim  is  mine; 
And  a  man's  life  no  more  than  to  say,  one. 
Hut  I  am  very  sorry,  good  Horatio, 
That  to  Laertes  I  forgot  mj-self ; 
For  by  the  image  of  my  cause,  I  see 
The  portraiture  of  his:  I'll  count'  bis  favors: 
But.  sure,  the  bravery  of  his  grief  did  put  me 
Into  a  towering  passion. 
Hor.  Peace ;  who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Osric. 
Osr.  Your  lordship  is  right  welcome   back  to 

Denmark. 
Ham.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir.— Dost  know  this 

waterfly  ? 
Hnr.  No,  my  good  lord. 

Ham.  Thy  state  is  the  more  gracious;  for  'tis  a 
vice  to  know  him  :  lie  hath  mncli  land,  and  fertile: 
let  a  beast  be  lord  of  l)''asts,and  his  crib  shall  stand 
at  the  king's  mess:  'Tis  a  chough  ;S>  but,  as  I  say, 
spacious  in  the  possession  of  dirt. 

Qir.  Sweet  lord,  if  your  lordship  were  at  leisure, 
I  should  impart  a  thingto  you  from  his  majesty. 

Hum.  I  will  receive  it,  sir,  with  all  diligence  of 
spirit:  Your  bonnet  to  his  right  use ;* 'tis  for  the 
head. 

0.9)-.  I  thank  your  lordship,  'tis  very  hot. 
Ham.  No,  believe  me,  'tis  very  cold ;  the  wind  is 
northerly. 

Osr.  It  is  indifTercnt  cold,  my  lord,  indeed. 
Ham.  But  yet,  methinks,  it  is  very  sultry  and 

hot ;  or  my  complexion 

O.ir.  Exceedingly,  my  lord:  it  is  very  sultry — 
as  'twere, — I  cannot  tell  how.— Jly  lord,  his  t'na- 
jesty  bade  me  .signify  to  you,  that'  he  has  laid  a 
great  w.ager  on  your  head:  Sir.this  is  the  matter, — 

Ham.  I  be.seecii  you,  remember 

[Hamlet  moves  Mm  to  pat  on  Aw  Hat. 
i.>sr.  Nay,  good  my  lord ;  for  my  ease,  in  good 
ftith.i  Sir,  here  is  newly  come  to  'court.  Laertes : 
believe  me.  an  absolute  gentleman,  full  of  most  ex- 
cellcut  ditferences.2  of  very  soft  society,  and  great 
showing:  Indeed,  to  speak  feelingly  of  him.  he  is 
the  card^  or  calendar  of  gentry,  for'you  shall  find 
in  him  the  continent' of  what  part  a  gentleman 
would  see. 

Hum.  Sir,  bis  deflnement  suffers  no  perdition  in 
yon  ; — though.  I  know,  to  divide  him  inventorially, 
would  dizzy  the  arithmetic  of  memory ;  and  yet 
but  raw  neither,  in  respect  of  his  quick  sail.    But. 
in  the  verity  of  exlolment.  I  take  liirn  to  be  a  soul 
nf  great  article;  and  his  infusion  of  such  dearth 
and   rareness,  as,  to  make  true  diction  of  him,  his 
seinhlable  is  his  mirror;  and.  who  else  would  trace 
him.  his  umbrage,  nothing  more."- 
Osr.  Your  lord-shipi-peaks  most  infallibly  of  him. 
Ham.  The  concernaucy,  sir  ?  why  do  vve  warp 
the  gentleman  in  our  more  rawer  breath  1 
O.vr.  Sir? 

Hiir.  Is't  not  possible  to  understand  in  another 
tongue  ?    You  will  do't,  sir,  really. 

•  Mnke  account  of,  v.ilne.  •  A  bird  like  a  jackdaw. 

t  The  alTecti?d  i)lir.'ise  of  tlio  time. 

'  i.'lstinguishing  excelletu-i.'S.  a  Cnrnpas-l  or  rbart. 

«  'I'lio  country  and  pattern  for  imitation. 

» Tliis  ..;pt_'ecli  isQ  ridicule  of  the  court  jargon  of  that  time. 


Ham.  What  imports  the  nomination  of  this  gen 
tleman? 

O.ir.  Of  Laertes  ? 

Hor.  His  purse  is  empty  already;  all  his  golden 
words  are  spent. 

Ham.  Of  him,  sir. 

Osr.  I  know,  you  are  not  ignorant 

Ham.  I  would,  you  did,  sir;  yet.  in  faith,  if  you 
did.  it  would  not  liiuch  approved  mo  ;— Well.  sir. 

Osr.  You  are  not  ignorant  -if  what  excellence 
Laertes  is 

Ham.  I  dare  not  confess  that,  lest  I  shouU  com- 
pare with  him  in  excellence;  but,  to  know  a  man 
well,  were  to  know  himself. 

Osr.  I  mean,  sir,  lor  his  weapon  ;  but  in  the  im- 
putation laid  on  him  by  them,  in  his  meed'  he's 
unfellowed. 

Ham.  What's  his  weapon! 

Osr.  Rapier  and  dagger. 

Ham.  That's  two  of  his  weapons;  but,  well. 

Osr.  The  king,  sir,  hath  wagered  with  him  six 
Barhary  horses:  against  the  which  he  has  im- 
pawned,? as  I  take  it,  six  French  rapiers  and 
poniards,  with  their  assigns,  as  girdle,  hangers,^ 
and  so:  Three  of  the  carriages,  in  faith,  are  very 
dear  to  fancy,  very  responsive  to  the  hilts,  most 
delicate  carriages,  and  of  very  liberal  conceit. 

Ham.  What  call  you  the  carriages  ? 

Hor.  I  knew  you  must  be  edified  by  the  mar- 
gent,'  ere  yiwt  had  done. 

Osr.  The  carriages,  sir.  are  the  batigers. 

Ham.  The  phr.ase  would  be  more  german'  to  the 
matter,  if  we  could  carry  a  cannon  hy  our  sides; 
I  would,  it  might  be  hangers  till  then.  But.  on: 
Six  Barl)ary  horses  against  six  French  swords, 
theirassigns.and  three  liberal-conceiled  carriages; 
that's  the  French  bet  .against  the  Danish :  Why  is 
this  impawned,  as  you  call  it  1 

O.ir.  The  king,  sir,  hath  laid,  that  in  a  dozen 
pas.ses  between  yourself  and  him.  he  shall  not  ex- 
ceed you  three  hits;  he  hath  laid,  on  twelve  for 
nine;  and  it  would  come  to  immediate  trial,  if  your 
lordship  would  vouchsafe  the  answer. 

Ham.  How,  if  I  answer,  no  ? 

Osr.  I  mean,  my  lord,  the  opposition  of  your 
person  in  trial. 

Ham.  Sir,  I  will  walk  here  in  the  hall:  If  it 
please  his  majesty,  it  is  the  breathing-time  of  day 
with  me:  let  the  foils  he  brought,  the  gentleman 
willing, and  the  king  bold  bis  purpose.  I  will  win 
for  him.  if  I  can;  if  not.  I  will  gain  nothing  but 
my  shame,  and  the  odd  liits. 

Osr.  Shall  I  deliver  you  so  ? 

Ham.  To  this  ellect,  sir;  after  what  flourish 
your  nature  will. 

Osr.   I  commend  my  duty  to  your  lordship. 

[Exit. 

Ham.  Yours,  yours. — He  does  well  to  commend 
it  himself;  there  are  no  tongues  else  for's  turn. 

Hor.  This  lapwing''  runs  away  with  the  shell 
on  his  head. 

Ham.  He  did  comply^  with  his  dug,  before  he 
sucked  it.  Thus  has  he  (and  many  more  of  the 
same  breed,  that.  I  know,  the  drossy*  age  dotes  on) 
only  got  the  tune  of  the  time,  and  outward  habit 
of  encounter;  a  kind  of  yesty  collection,  which 
carries  them  fhrouih  and'through  the  most  fonds 
and  winnowed  opinions;  and  do  but  blow  them  to 
their  trial,  the  bubbles  are  out. 

Enter  a  Lord. 

Lard.  My  lord,  his  majesty  commended  him  to 
you  by  young  Osric.  who  brings  back  to  liim,  that 
you  attend  him  in  the  hall:  He  semis  to  know,  if 
your  pleasure  hold  to  play  with  Laertes,  or  that 
yon  will  take  longer  time. 

Ham.  I  am  constant  to  my  purposes,  they  fol- 
low the  knig's  pleasure:  if  his  fitness  speaks,  mine 
is  ready;  now,  or  whensoever,  provided  I  be  so 
able  as  now. 

Lord.  The  king,  and  queen,  and  all,  are  coining 
down. 

«  Itecommend.  •»  Praise.  »  Staked. 

»  Tliat  part  of  the  belt  Iiy  which  the  sword  w.as  su> 
pended. 

*  Mnrcin  of  a  book  wtiich  contains  explanatory  notes. 
•>  Akin. 

3  A  l)ird  which  runs  .about  immediately  it  is  batched. 

*  ronipliinent.  *  Worthless 
«  Yor/'nid  read /an7i\I. 


Scene  II. 


PKINCE   OF   DENMARK. 


r49 


Bam.  In  liappy  lime. 

Lord.  The  queen  desires  j'ou  to  use  some  gentle 
entertainment  to  Laertes,  before  you  fall  to  play. 

Ham.  She  well  instructs  me.  [Exit  Lord. 

Hur.  You  will  lose  this  wager,  my  lord. 

Ham.  I  do  not  think  so;  since  he  went  into 
France.  I  have  been  in  continual  practice ;  I  shall 
win  at  the  odds.  But  thou  wouldst  not  think,  how 
ill  all's  here  about  my  heart :  but  it  is  no  matter. 

Hot.  Nay,  good  my  lord, 

Ham.  It  IS  but  foolery;  but  it  is  such  a  kind  of 
gain-giving,"  as  would,  perhaps,  trouble  a  woman. 

Hnr.  If  your  mind  diblike  any  thing,  obey  it:  I 
will  fureslall  their  repair  hither,  and  say,  you  are 
not  tit. 

Hum.  Not  a  whit;  we  defy  augury;  there  is  a 
special  providence  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow.  If  it  be 
now,  'tis  not  to  come ;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  will 
be  now;  if  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will  come:  the 
readiness  is  all:  Snice  no  man.  of  aught  he  leaves, 
knows,  what  is't  to  leave  betimes  ]     Let  be. 

Enter  Ki>'g,  Queen,  Laertfs.  Lords,  Osric,  and 
Attendants,  with.  Foils,  ^c. 

King.  Come,  Hamlet,  come,  and  take  this  hand 
from  me. 

{The  King  puts  the  Hand  of  Laertes 
into  that  of  Hamlet. 

Ham.  Give  me  your  pardon,  sir:   I  have  done 
you  wrong; 
But  pardon  it,  as  you  are  a  gentleman. 
This  presence^  knows,  and  you  must  needs  have 

heard, 
How  T  am  punish'd  with  a  sore  distraction. 
What  I  have  done, 

Tliut  might  your  nature,  honor,  and  exception, 
Roui^lily  awake,  I  here  proclaim  was  madness. 
Was't  riamlet  wronged  Laertes  1     Never  Hamlet ; 
If  Hamlet  from  him-^elf  be  ta'en  away, 
And,  when  he's  not  himself,  does  wrong  Laertes, 
Then  Hamlet  does  it  not,  Hamlet  denies  it. 
Who  does  it,  then  ■     His  madness  :  If 't  be  so, 
Hamlet  is  of  the  faction  that  is  wrong'd  ; 
His  madness  is  poor  Hamlet's  enemy. 
Sir,  in  this  audience, 
Let  my  disclaiming  from  a  purpos'd  evil 
Free  me  so  far  in  your  most  generous  thoughts, 
That  I  have  shot  my  arrow  o'er  the  house. 
And  hurt  my  broth'er. 

La'L')'.  I  am  satisfied  in  nature. 

Whose  motive,  in  this  case,  should  stir  me  most 
To  my  revenge:  but  in  my  terms  of  honor 
I  stand  aloof;  and  will  no  reconcilement. 
Till  by  some  elder  masters  of  known  Iionor, 
I  have  a  voice  and  precedent  of  peace. 
To  keep  my  name  ungorM:'*  Hut  til!  that  time, 
I  do  receive  your  offer*d  love  like  love, 
And  will  not  wrong  it. 

Ham.  I  embrace  it  freely; 

And  will  this  brother's  wager  frankly  play. — 
Give  us  the  foils ;  come  on. 

Laer.  Come,  one  for  me. 

Ham.  I'll  be  your  foil,  Laertes ;  in  mine  igno- 
rance 
Your  skill  shall,  like  a  star  i'  the  darkest  night, 
Stick  fiery  oft'  indeed. 

Laer,  You  mock  me,  sir. 

Ham.  No.  by  this  hand. 

King.  Give  them  the  foils,  young  Osric. — Cousin 
Hamlet, 
You  know  the  wager] 

Haiiti^  Very  well,  my  lord  ; 

Your  grace  hath  laid  the  odds  o'  the  weaker  side. 

King.  I  do  not  fear  it: — I  have  seen  you  both: — 
But  since  he's  better'd,  we  have  therefore  odds. 

Laer.  This  is  too  heavy,  let  me  see  another. 

Ham.  This  likes  me  well :  These  foils  have  all 
a  length  ]  [Theij  prepare  to  play. 

Osr.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  Set  me  the  stoups'  of  wine   upon  tliat 
table:— 
If  Hamlet  give  the  first  or  second  hit, 
Or  quit  in  answer  of  the  third  exchange. 
Let  all  the  battlements  their  ordnance  tire, 
The  king  shall  drink  to  Hamlet's  better  breath  ; 
And  in  the  cup  an  union^  shall  he  throw. 


•  Unwouuded. 
>  A  precious  pearl. 


«  The  king  and  queen's  presence. 
*  Large  jugs. 


Richer  than  (hat  which  four  successive  kings 

la    Denmark's  crown  have  worn;  Give  me   the 

cups; 
And  let  the  kettle  to  the  trumpet  speak. 
The  trumpet  to  the  cannoneer  without, 
The  cannons  to  the  heavens,  the  heaven  to  earth, 
Now  the  King  drinks  to  Haniltt. — Come,  begin;— 
And  you.  the  judges,  bear  a  wary  eye. 

Ham.  Come  on,  sir. 

Laer.  Come,  my  lord.  [Thfij play. 

Ham.  -  One. 

Laer.  No. 

Ham.  Judgment. 

0<sr.  A  hit,  a  very  palpable  hit. 

Laer.  Well, — again. 

King,  Stay,  give  me  drink:  Hamlet,  this  pearl 
is  thine ; 
Here's  to  thy  health. — Give  him  the  cup. 

[Trumpets  sound  ;  and  Cannon 
shot  off  within. 

Ham.  V\\  play  this  bout  first,  set  it  by  a  while. 
Come. — Another  hit;  What  say  you?    [They  play* 

Laer,  A  touch,  a  touch,  I  do  conless. 

King.  Our  son  shall  win. 

Quee/i.  He's  fat,  and  scant  of  breath.— 

Here,  Hamlet,  take  my  napkin,  rub  thy  brows: 
The  queen  carouses  to  thy  fortune,  Hamlet. 

Ham.  Good  madam, 

King.  Gertrude,  do  not  drink. 

Queen,  T  will,  my  lord ; — I  pray  you.  pardon  me. 
.King.  Itisthe  poison'd  cup  ;  it  is  toolate.  [Aside. 

Ham.  I  dare  not  drink  yet.  madam;  by-and-by. 

Queen.  Come,  let  me  wipe  thy  face. 

L^ier.  My  lord,  I'll  hit  him  now. 

King.  I  do  not  think  it 

Laer.  And  yet  it  is  almost  against  my  conscience , 

[Aside. 

Ham.  Come,  tor  the  third,  Laertes :   You  do  but 
dally; 
I  pray  you,  pass  with  your  best  violence; 
I  am  aleard,  you  make  a  wanton^  of  me. 

Laer.  Say  you  so!  come  on.  [They play. 

Osr.  Nothing  neither  way. 

Laer.  Have  at  you  now. 
[Laertes  wounds  Hamlet;  then,  in  scujjliiig, 
they  change  Rapiers,  and  Hamlet  ivounds 
Laertes. 

King.  Part  them ;  they  are  incens'd. 

Hum.  Nay,  come  again.  [The  Q^vees  fulls. 

Osr.  Look  to  the  queen  there,  ho  ! 

Hor.  They  bleed  on  botii  sides:— How  is  it,  my 
lord! 

Osr.  How  is't,  Laertes  1 

Laer.  Why,  as  a  woodcock  to  my  own  springe, 
Osric ;  ^ 
I  am  justly  kill'd  with  mine  own  treachery. 

Hum.  How  does  the  queen  1 

King.  She  swoons  to  sec  then^i  bleed. 

Queen,   No,  no,  the  drink,  the  drink,  —  O  my 
dear  Hamlet ! — 
The  drink,  the  drink; — I  am  poison'd  I  [IHes. 

Ham.  O  villany  !  —  Hoi  let  the  door  be  lock'd  : 
Treachery  !  seek  it  out.  [LAERTEHfatls. 

Laer.  It  is  here.  Hamlet:  Hamlet,  thou  art  slam; 
No  mediciuffin  the  world  can  do  thee  good, 
In  thee  there  is  ncil  half  an  hour's  life  ; 
The  treacherous  instrument  is  in  thy  hand, 
Unbated,-"  and  enrcnom'd  :  the  foul  practice 
Hath  turn'd  ib^elfon  me;  lo.  here  1  lie. 
Never  to  rise  again  :  Thy  mother's  poison'd; 
I  can  no  more;  the  king,  the  king's  to  blame, 

Hufu.  The  p(»int 
Envenom'd  too  ! — then,  venom,  to  thy  work, 

[Stabs  the  King- 

Osr.  ^  Lords.  Treason  !  treason  ; 

King.  O,  yet  defend  me  friends,  I  am  but  hurt. 

Ham.  Here,  thou  incestuous,  murd'rous,  damned 
Dane, 
Drink  olf  tliis  potion: — Is  thy  union  here? 
Follow  my  mother.  \  King  dies, 

Laer.  He  is  justly  serv'd; 

It  is  a  poison  tempcr'dJ  by  himself. — 
Exchange  forgiveness  wiih  me,  noble  Hamlet: 
Mine  and  my  father's  death  come  not  upon  thee. 
Nor  tliine  on  me  !  [Dies. 

Ham.  Heaven  make  tliee  free  of  it !     I  loilow 
thee. 


3  Bov. 
*  Mixed. 


*  Not  blunted;  irithout  a  button. 


750 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DEMMARK.      Act  V.  Scene  II. 


I  am  dead,  Horatio: — Wretched  queen,  adieu! — 
You  that  look  pale  and  tremble  at  this  chance, 
That  are  but  mutes  or  audience  to  this  act. 
Had  I  but  time,  (as  this  fell  sergeant,^  death, 
Is  strict  in  his  arrest,)  O,  I  could  tell  j^ou, — 
But  let  it  be: — Horatio.  I  am  dead; 
Thou  liv'st;  report  me  and  my  cause  aright 
To  the  unsatistied. 

Hnr.  Never  believe  it; 

I  am  more  an  antique  Roman  than  a  Dane, 
Here's  yet  some  liquor  lelt. 

Ham.  As  thouVt  a  man, — 

Give  me  the  cup;  let  go  ;  by  heaven  Til  have  it. — 

0  God  ! — Horatio,  what  a  wounded  name, 
Things  slandin;;  thus  unknown,  shall  live  behind 

me  ! 
If  thou  didst  ever  hold  me  in  thy  heart, 
Abseut  thee  from  felicity  a  while, 
And  in  this  harsh  world  draw  thy  breath  in  pain, 
To  tell  my  story. — 

{March  afar  ojf,  and  Shot  xvifhin. 
What  warlike  noise  is  this? 
Osr.  Young    Fortinbras,  with    conquest    come 
from  Poland, 
To  the  ambassadors  of  England  gives 
This  warlike  volley. 

Ham.  0, 1  die,  Horatio; 

The  potent  poison  quite  o"'er-crows  my  spirit ; 

1  caunot  live  to  hear  the  news  from  England: 
But  I  do  prophesy  the  election  lights 

On  Fortinbras ;  he  has  my  dying  voice  ;  , 

So  tell  him,  with  the  occurrents,"  more  or  less. 
Which  have  solicited,^ — the  rest  is  silence.     [Dies. 
Hor.  Now  cracks  a  noble  heart; — Good-night, 
sweet  prince; 
And  nights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest ! 
Why  does  the  drum  come  hither]  [March  within. 
Enter  Fortinbras,  the  English  Ambassadors, 

and  others. 
Fort.  Where  is  this  sight? 

Hot.  What  is  it  you  would  see  ? 

If  aught  of  woe  or  wonder,  cease  your  search. 
Fort.  This  quarry^  cries  on  havoc!' — O  proud 
death ! 

•  A  Bergeant  is  a  sheriffs  officer.     '  Occurrences. 

•  InciteJ.  ^  Heap  of  dead  game, 
i  A  word  of  censure  when  more  g.ime  was  destroyed 

than  was  reasonable. 


What  feast  is  toward  in  thine  eternal  cell, 
That  thou  so  many  princes,  at  a  shot, 
So  bloodily  hast  struck  1 

1  A/nb.  The  sight  is  dismal; 

And  our  affairs  from  England  come  too  late  : 
The  ears  are  senseless,  that  should  give  us  iiearing, 
To  tell  him,  his  commandment  is  fulfill'd. 
That  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern  are  dead: 
Where  should  we  have  our  thanks? 

Hor.  Not  from  his  mouth, 

Had  it  the  ability  of  life  to  thank  you  ; 
He  never  gave  commandment  for  their  death. 
But  since,  so  jump-  upon  ttiis  bloody  question, 
You  from  the  Polack^  wars,  and  you  from  England, 
Are  here  arrivM;  give  order,  that  these  bodies 
High  on  a  stage  be  placed  to  the  view ; 
And  lot  me  speak,  to  the  yet  unknowing  world, 
How  these  things  come  about:  8o  shall  you  hear 
Of  carnal,  bloody,  and  unnatural  acts ; 
Of  accidental  judgments,  casual  slaughters; 
Of  deaths  put  on  by  cunning,  and  forced  cause; 
And,  in  this  upsliot,  purposes  mistook 
Fall'n  on  the  inventors'  heads;  all  this  can  I 
Truly  deliver. 

Fort.  Let  us  haste  to  hear  it. 

And  call  the  noblest  to  the  audience. 
For  me,  with  sorrow  I  embrace  my  fortune; 
I  have  some  rights  of  memory  in  this  kingdom, 
Which  now  to  claim  my  vantage  doth  invite  me. 

Hfrr.  Of  that  I  shall  have  also  cause  to  speak, 
And  from  his  mouth  whose  voice  will  draw  on 

more : 
But  let  this  same  be  presently  perform 'd, 
Even  while  men's  minds  are  wild;  lest  more  mis- 
chance. 
On  plots  and  errors,  happen. 

Fort.  Let  four  captains 

Bear  Hamlet,  like  a  soldier,  to  the  stage; 
For  he  was  likely,  had  he  been  put  on, 
To  have  prov'd  most  royally  :  and,  for  his  passage, 
The  soldier's  music,  and  the  rites  of  war, 
Speak  loudly  for  him. — 
Take  up  the  bodies :— Such  a  sight  as  this 
Becomes  the  field,  but  here  shows  much  amiss. 
Go,  bid  the  soldiers  shoot.  [A  Dead  March. 

[Exeiinty  bearing  off  the  dead  Bodies ;  after 
which,  a  Peal  of  Ordnance  is  shot  off'. 
•  So  exactly  at  the  time.  »  Polish. 


OTHELLO, 

THE   MOOR  OF   VENICE. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


Duke  of  Vexice. 
Braeaxtio.  a  Senator. 
Two  other  Senators. 
Ghatiano,  Brol/ier  to  Brabantio. 
LuDuvico.  Kinsman  to  Brabantio. 
Othello,  lite  Moor. 
Cassio.  Ais  Lieutenant. 
Iago,  Aw  Ancient. 
RoDEiiiGO,  a  Venetian  Gentleman. 
MoNTASo,  Otiiello's   Predecessor  in  the   Govern- 
ment of  Cyprus. 


Clown,  Seri'ant  to  Othello. 
Herald. 


Desdemona,  Daughter  to  Brabantio,  and  IVife  to 

Othello. 
EsnLiA,  Wife  to  Iago. 
BiA.vcA,  a  Courtezan,  Mistress  to  Cassio. 

Officers,  Gentlemen,  ^^essengers,  Musicians, 
SaiUirs,  Attendants,  ^c. 


SCENE,  fur  the  first  Act,  in  Venice ;  during  the  rest  of  the  Play,  at  a  Sea-port  in  C  j'prus. 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  L— Venice.    A  Street 

Enter  Roderigo  and  Iago. 

Rod.  Tush,  never  lell  me,  I  take  it  much  un- 
kindly, 
That  thou,  Iago, — who  hast  had  my  purse, 
As  if  the  strings  were  tJiine, — shouldst  know  of 
this. 

Iago.  'Sblood.  but  you  will  not  hear  me  : — 
If  ever  I  did  droam  of  such  a  matter, 
Abhor  me. 

Rod.  Thou  told'st  me,  thou  didst  hold  him  in  thy 
hate. 

Iago.  Despise  me,  if  I  do  not.    Three  great  ones 
of  tlie  city, 
In  personal  suit  to  make  mc  his  lieutenant. 
Oft  capp'd'  to  him ;— alid,  by  the  laith  of  man, 
I  know  my  price,  I  am  woitli  no  worse  a  place: 
But  he,  as  loving  liis  own  pnde  and  purposes, 
Kvades  them,  with  a  bombast  circumstance,^ 
Horribly  stulf'd  with  epitliets  of  war; 
And.  in  conclusion,  nonsuits 
My  mediators  ;  fhr  certts,^  says  he, 
/  have  already  choice  my  ojjiccr. 
And  what  was  he  I 
Forsooth,  a  great  arithmetician, 
One  Micliael  Cassio,  a  Florentine, 
A  %llow  almost  damnM  in  a  fair  wife  ; 
That  never  set  a  squadron  in  the  held, 
Nor  the  division  of  a  battle  knows 
More  than  a  spinster;  unless  the  bookish  theoric, 
Wherein  the  toged  consuls  can  propose 
As  masterly  as  he  :  mere  prattle,  without  practice, 
Isall  his  soldiership.    But  he, sir,  had  theelection: 
And  I.— of  whom  his  eyes  Iiad  seen  the  proof 
At  Rhodes,  at  Cyprus  ;  and  on  other  grounds 
Christian  and  heathen, — mustbebe-lee'dandcalra*d 
By  debitor  and  creditor,  this  counter-caster  ;•* 
He,  in  good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  be, 
And  I,  (God  bless  the  mark!)  his  Moorship's  an- 
cient. 

Rod.  By  heaven,  I  rather  would  have  been  his 
hangman. 

Iago.  But  there's  no  remedy,  'tis  the  curse  of 
service; 
Preferment  goes  by  letter,  and  affection, 
Not  by  the  old  gradation,  where  each  second 
Stood  heir  to  the  first.    Now,  sir,  be  judge  yourself, 
Whether  I  in  any  just  term  am  attin'd^ 
To  love  the  Moor. 

Rod.  I  would  not  follow  him  then. 

Iago.  O,  sir,  content  you; 
I  follow  him  to  serve  my  turn  upon  him : 

'  Saluted.  «  Circuuilocutiou.  3  Certainly. 

*  It  was  anciently  the  practice  to  reckon  up  sums  with 
counters.  *  Related. 


We  cannot  all  be  masters,  nor  all  masters 
Cannot  be  truly  foUow'd,    You  shall  mark 
Many  a  duteous  and  knee-crooking  knave. 
That,  doting  on  his  own  obsequTous  bondage, 
Wears  out  liis  time,  much  like  his  master's  ass, 
For  naught  but  provender;  and,  when  he's  old, 

cashicr'd ; 
Whip  me  such  honest  knaves:  Others  there  are, 
Who,  triinm'd  in  forms  and  visages  of  duty. 
Keep  yet  their  hearts  attending  on  themselves; 
And,  throwing  but  shows  of  service  on  their  lords. 
Do  wcU  thrive  by  them,  and  when  they  have  lined 

their  coats. 
Do  themselves  Jiomage:  these  fellows  have  some 

soul; 
And  such  a  one  do  1  profess  myself. 
For,  sir. 

It  is  as  sure  as  you  are  Roderigo, 
Were  I  the  Moor,  I  would  not  be  Iago: 
In  following  hmi.  I  follow  but  myself; 
Heaven  is  my  judge,  not  I  for  Jove  and  duty, 
But  seeming  so,  for  my  peculiar  end: 
For  when  my  outward  action  doth  demonstrate 
The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  lieart 
In  compliment  extern,  'tis  not  long  after 
But  I  will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at:  I  am  not  what  I  am. 

Rod.  What  a  full  Ibrtune  does  tJie  thick-lips  owe,8 
If  he  can  carry 't  thus ! 

Iago.  Call  up  her  fether, 

Rouse  him  :  make  after  him,  poison  his  delight, 
Proclaim  him  in  the  streets;  incense  her  kinsmen, 
And,  though  he  in  a  fertile  climate  dwell, 
Plague  him  with  tlies;  though  that  his  joy  be  joy, 
Yet  throw  such  changes  of  vexation  on't, 
As  it  may  lose  some  color. 

Rod.  Here  is  her  father's  house;  I'll  call  aloud. 

Iago.  Do;  with  like  timorous  accent. and  dire  yell, 
As  when,  by  night  and  negligence,  tile  tire 
Is  spied  in  populous  cities. 

Rod.  What  ho  !  Brabantio !  signior  Brabantio,  ho! 

Iago.  Awake!    what   ho!    Brabantio!    thieves! 
thieves !  thieves! 
Look  to  your  house,  your  daughter,  and  your  bags ! 
Thieves  I  thieves! 

Brabantio,  above,  at  a  Window. 

Bra.  What  is  the  reason  of  this  terrible  summons"^ 
What  is  the  matter  there  ! 

Rod.  Signior,  is  all  your  family  within  1 

Iago.  Are  your  doors  lock'd  ] 

Bra.  Why  !  wherefore  ask  you  this? 

Iago.  Zounds,  sir,  you  are  robb'd ;  for  shame,  put 
on  your  gown ; 
Your  heart  is  burst,  you  have  lost  half  your  soul; 


•  Otvn,  possess. 


751 


r52 


OTHELLO, 


Act  I. 


Even  now,  very  now.  an  old  black  ram 
Is  tuppinf^  your  Vv'hitc  ewe.    Arise,  arise ; 
Awake  tlie  snorting  citizens  with  tlie  bell. 
Or  else  tlie  devil  will  make  a  grandsire  of  you : 
Arise,  I  say. 
Ura.  What,  have  you  lost  your  wits? 

Rod.  Most  reverend  signior,  do  you  know  my 

voice  ? 
Bra.  Not  I :  What  are  you  '> 
Rcil.  My  name  is— Roderigo. 
Bra.  The  worse  welcome ; 

I  liavc  charged  thee,  not  to  haunt  about  my  doors: 
In  honest  piaiinicss  thou  hast  lieard  me  say. 
My  duiigliter  is  not  for  thee  ;  and  now,  in  madness, 
Being  full  of  supper,  and  distempering  draughts, 
Upon  malicious  bravery,  dost  thou  coiue 
T3  start  my  quiet. 

Hod.  Sir,  sir,  sir,  sir, 

Bra.  But  thou  must  needs  be  sure. 

My  spirit,  and  my  place,  have  in  them  power 
To  make  this  bitter  to  thee. 
B'lil.  Patience,  good  sir. 

Bra.  What  tell'st  thou  me  of  robbiug?   this  is 
Venice ! 
My  house  is  not  a  grange.' 

Rod.  Most  grave  Brabantio, 

In  simple  and  pure  soul  I  come  to  you. 

lOKo.  Zounds,  sir,  you  are  one  of  those,  that  will 
not  serve  God,  if  the  devil  bid  you.    Because  we 
come  to  do  you  service,  you  think  we  are  ruffians: 
You'll  have  your  daughter  covered  with  a  Barbary 
horse;  you'll  have  your  nephews  neigh  to  yon; 
you'll  liave  coursers  for  cousins,  and  gennets  for 
germans.« 
Bra.  What  profane  wretch  art  thou  7 
lu/co.  1  am  one,  sir,  tliat  comes  to  tell  you,  your 
dau!,'hler  and  the  Moor  are  now  making  the  beast 
with  two  backs.    ■ 
Bra.  Thou  art  a  villain. 

Ii'S".  You  are — a  senator. 

Bra.  This  thou  shalt  answer:  I  know  thee,  Ro- 

derigo. 
Rod.  Sir,  I  will  answer  any  thing.    But  I  be- 
seech you, 
If't  be  your  pleasure,  and  most  wise  consent, 
(As  partly.  I  find,  it  is,)  that  your  lair  daughter. 
At  tins  odd-evensi  and  dull  watch  o'  the  night. 
Transported— vvitli  no  worse  nor  better  guard. 
But  with  a  knave  of  commonhire,  a  gondolier — 
To  the  gross  clasps  of  a  lascivious  Moor, — 
If  this  be  known  to  you,  and  your  allowance,' 
We  then  have  done  you  bold  and  saucy  wrongs; 
But,  if  you  know  not  this,  my  manners  tell  me. 
We  have  your  wrong  rebuke.    Do  not  believe. 
That,  from  the  sense' of  all  civihty, 
I  thus  would  play  and  trilie  with  your  reverence: 
Your  daughter,— if  you  have  not  given  her  leave,— 
I  say  again,  hath  made  a  gross  revolt ; 
Tyiiig  her  duty,  beauty,  wit,  and  Ibrtunes, 
In  an  extravagant^  ana  wheeling  stranger. 
Of  here  and  everywhere:    Straight  satisfy  your- 
self:' 
If  she  be  in  her  chamber,  or  your  house. 
Let  loose  on  me  the  justice  of  the  state 
For  thus  deluding  you. 

Bra.  Strike  on  the  tinder,  ho ! 

Give  me  a  taper;— call  up  all  my  people:— 
This  accident  is  not  unlike  my  dream ; 
Belief  of  it  oppresses  me  already  :— 
Light,  I  say  !  light !  [Exit from  above, 

lago.  Farewell ;  for  I  must  leave  you: 

It  seems  not  meet,  nor  wholesome  to  my  place, 
To  be  produced  (as,  if  I  stay,  I  shall) 
Against  the  Moor:  For.  I  do  know,  the  state,— 
However  this  may  gall  him  with  some  check, — 
Caniiot  with  safety  cast  him;  for  he's  emhark'd 
Willi  such  loud  reason  to  the  Cyprus'  wars, 
(Which  even  now  stand  in  act,)  that,  for  their 

souls, 
Anotlier  of  his  fithom  they  have  not. 
To  lead  their  business:  in"  which  regard. 
Though  1  do  hate  him  as  I  do  hell  panis, 
Y'et,  lor  necessity  of  present  life, 
I  must  show  out  a  Hag  and  sign  of  love, 
Which  is  indeed  but  sign.    That  you  shall  surely 

lind  him. 
Lead  to  the  Sagittary  the  rais'd  search  ; 
And  Iherc  will  1  be  with  him.    So  farewell.  [E:cit. 
'  A  lono  Jiirm-house.        e  Relations.        "  Midniirht. 
»  ApprolatioD.  a  WanderiDg. 


Enler  below,  Brabaxtio,  and  Servants  wilh 
Torches. 
Bra.  It  is  too  true  an  evil:  gone  she  is; 
And  what's  to  coine  of  my  despised  time,3 
Is  naught  but  bitterness.    Now,  Roderigo, 
Where  didst  thou  see  her?— O,  unhappy  girl  !— 
With  the  Moor,'  say'st  thou  ?— Who  would  be  a 

father? — 
How  didst  thou  know 'twas  she?— 0, thou  deceiv'st 

me 
Past  thought!— What  said  she  to  you?— Get  more 

tapers : 
Raise  all  my  kindred.— Are  they  married,  think  you? 
Rod.  Truly,  I  think,  they  are. 
Bra.  0  heaven!- how  got  she  out?— 0  'reason 
of  the  blood! — 
Fathers,  from  hence  trust  not  your  daughters' minds 
By  what  you  see  them  act.— Are  there:  not  charms, 
By  which  the  property  of  youth  and  maidhood 
May  be  abus'd  ?  Have  you  not  read,  Roderigo, 
Of  some  such  thing? 
Rod.  Yes,  sir ;  I  have  indeed. 

Bra.  Call  up  my  brother.— O,  that  you  had  had 
her! — 
Some  one  way,  some  another.— Do  you  know 
Vhere  we  maj-  apprehend  her  and  the  Jdoor  ? 

Roil.  I  tliink,  I  can  discover  him:  if  you  please 
To  get  good  guard,  and  go  along  with  me. 

Bi-a.  Pray  you,  lead  on.   At  every  house  I'll  call; 
I  may  command  at  most;— liet  weapons,  ho  ! 
And  raise  some  special  olticers  of  night. — 
On,  good  Roderigo :— I'll  deserve  your  pains. 

[Exeu7tl. 
SCENE  Ih— Another  SIreet. 
Enter  Othello,  Iago,  and  Attendants. 
logo.  Though  in  the  trade  of  war  I  have  slain 
men. 
Yet  do  I  hold  it  very  stufTo'  the  conscience. 
To  do  no  contriv'd  "murder;  I  lack  iniquity 
Sometimes,  to  do  me  service:  Nine  or  ten  times 
I  had  thought  to  have  yerk'd  him  here  under  the 
ribs. 
OM-  'Tis  better  as  it  is. 
lego.  Nay,  but  he  prated, 

And  spoke  such  scurvy  and  provoking  terms 
Against  your  honor. 
That  with  the  little  godliness  I  have, 
I  did  full  hard  tbrbear  him.    But,  I  pray,  sir. 
Are  you  fast  married?  lor.  be  sure  of  this,— 
That  the  magnifieo^  is  mucli  belov'd ; 
And  hath,  in  hiselli?ct,  a  voice  potential 
As  double  as  the  duke's;  he  will  divorce  you; 
Or  put  upon  you  what  restraint  and  grievance 
The  law  (with  all  his  might,  to  cnlbrce  it  on) 
Will  give  him  cable. 

OIL  Let  him  do  his  spite : 

My  services,  which  I  have  done  the  signiory. 
Shall  out-tongue  his  complaints.    'Tis  yet  to  laiow, 
(Which  when  I  know  that  boasting  is  an  honor, 
1  shall  promulgate,)  I  fetch  my  life  and  being 
From  men  of  royal  siege  ;5  and  my  demerits"    • 
May  speak,  unbonneted,  to  as  proud  a  fortune 
As  this  that  I  have  reach'd  :  For  know,  Iago, 
But  that  I  love  the  gentle  Desdcmoiin, 
I  would  not  my  unlioused  free  condilion 
Put  into  circumscription  and  conline 
For  the  sea's  worth.    But,  look!  what  lights  come 
yonder? 

Enter  Cassio,  at  a  distance,  and  certain  Ollicers 
ivith  Torches. 

Iago.  These  are  the  raised  father,  and  his  ftiends : 
Y"ou  were  best  go  in. 

0th.  Not  I :  I  must  be  found ; 

My  parts,  my  title,  and  my  perfect  soul, 
Shall  manliest  me  rightly.    Is  it  they  ? 

Iago.  By  Janus,  I  think  no. 

01  li.  The  servants  of  the  duke,  and  my  lieutenant. 
The  goodness  of  the  night  upon  you,  friends! 
What  is  the  news? 

Cas.  The  duke  does  greet  you,  general ; 

And  he  requires  your  haste-post-haste  appearance, 
Even  on  the  instant. 

Olh.  What  is  the  matter,  think  you  ? 

Cas.  Something  from  Cyprus,  as  1  may  divine; 
It  is  a  business  of  some  heat:  the  galleys 

3  (llii  af;e.  <  Brabantio.   Magnifico  is  liis  title  as  senator. 

*  Scat  nr  thrnni'. 

"  Uemeiits  has  the  same  meaning  in  Shakspeare  as  merits. 


Scene  III. 


THE   MOOR   OF   VENICE. 


753 


H.ive  sent  a  dozen  sequent  messengers 

This  very  ni^ht  at  one  another's  heels; 

And  many  of  the  consuJs,  raised,  and  met, 

Are  at  tlie  duke's  already:  You  have  been  liotly 

call'd  for; 
When,  beini;  not  at  your  lodsinf?  to  be  found. 
The  senate  hath  sent  about  three  several  quests, 
To  search  you  out. 

Olh.  'Tis  well  I  am  found  by  you. 

1  will  but  spend  a  word  here  in  the  house. 
And  go  with  you.  [Exit- 

Cos.  •         Ancient,  what  makes  he  here  ] 

lago.  'Faith,  he  to-night  lialh  boarded  a  land 
carack;" 
If  it  prove  lawful  prize,  he's  made  for  ever. 

Cas.  I  do  not  understand. 

Jago.  He's  married. 

Cas.  To  who ! 

Re-enter  Otrello. 

lago.  Marry,  to — Come,  captain,  will  you  go  ! 

Otii.  Have  with  you. 

Cas.  Here  comes  another  troop  to  seek  lor  you. 

Enter  Brabantio.  Roderigo,  and  Officers  nfnislit, 

wUtt  Torches  and  JVeajxms. 

lago.  It  is  Brabantio:— general,  be  advis'd; 
He  c«mes  to  bad  intent. 

0/A.  Hola !  stand  there ! 

Rod.  Signior,  it  is  the  Moor. 

Bra.  Down  with  him,  thief! 

[They  draw  on  both  shies. 

logo.  You,  Roderigo!  come  sir,  I  am  for  you. 

0th.  Keep  up  your  bright  swords,  for  tlie  dew 
will  rust  ihem. — 
flood  signior,  you  shall  more  command  with  years. 
Than  willi  your  weapons. 

Bra.  O  thou  foul  thief,  where  hast  thou  stow'd 
my  daughter  1 
Bamn'd  as  thou  art,  thou  hast  enchanted  her: 
For  I'll  refer  me  to  all  things  of  sense. 
If  she  in  cliains  of  magic  were  not  bound. 
Whether  a  maid— so  tender,  fair,  and  happy; 
So  opposite  to  marriage,  that  she  shunn'd 
Tlie  wealthy  curled  darlings  of  our  nation, 
Would  ever  have,  to  incur  a  general  mock. 
Run  from  her  guardage  to  the  sooty  bosom 
f  If  such  a  thing  as  thou  :  to  fear,  not  to  delight. 
Judge  me  the  world,  if  'lis  not  gross  in  sense. 
That  Ihou  hast  praclis'd  on  her  with  foul  charms: 
Abus'd  her  delicate  youtli  with  drugs. or  minerals 
That  waken  motion  : — I'll  have  it  disputed  on ; 
'Tis  probable,  and  palpable  lo  thinking. 
I  therefore  apprehend  and  do  attarh  thee, 
For  an  abuser  of  the  world,  a  practiser 
Of  arts  inhibited  and  out  of  warrant: — 
Lay  hold  upon  him ;  if  he  do  resist, 
Subdue  him  at  his  peril. 

0th.  Hold  your  hands, 

Both  you  of  my  inclining,  and  tlie  rest: 
Were'it  my  cue  to  fight.  I  should  have  kiiown  it 
Without  a  prompter.— Where  will  you  that  I  go 
To  answer  this  your  cliarge  ? 

Bra.  To  prison  :  till  fit  time 

Of  law,  and  course  of  direct  session. 
Call  thee  to  answer. 

Olh.  What  ifl  do  obey? 

How  may  the  duke  be  therewith  satisfied  ; 
Whose  messengers  are  here  about  my  side, 
Upon  some  present  business  of  the  slate, 
To  bring  me  to  him  ? 

Off.        _  'Tis  true,  most  worthy  signior. 

The  duke  s  in  council ;  and  your  noble  self, 
I  am  sure,  is  sent  for. 

Bra.  How!  the  duke  in  council 

In  Ibis  time  of  the  night !—Brin:;  him  away; 
Mine's  not  an  idle  cause:  the  duke  himself. 
Or  any  of  my  brothers  of  the  state. 
Cannot  but  led  this  wrong,  as  'twere  their  own  : 
For  if  such  actions  may  have  passage  free, 
Bond-sUves,  and  pagans,  shall  our  statesmen  be. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  III.— ^  Conncil  Chamber. 
The  Duke  and  Senators,  si/fing  at  a  Table;   Offi- 
cers altending. 

Duke.  There  is  no  eomposilion'  in  these  news, 
That  gives  them  credit. 

1  Sen.  Indeed,  they  are  disproportion 'd  ; 

My  letters  say,  a  hundred  and  seven  galleys. 
'  A  rich  vessel.  •  Consistency. 

48 


Duke.  And  mine,  a  hundred  and  forty. 

2  Sen.  And  mine,  two  hundred: 

But  though  they  jump  not  on  a  just  account, 
(As  in  these  cases,  where  the  aiin^  reports, 
'Tis  oft  with  dillerence,)  yet  do  they  all  confirm 
A  Turkish  fleet,  and  bearing  up  lo  Cyprus. 

Duke.  Nay,  it  is  possible  enough  to  judgment; 
I  do  not  so  secure  me  in  the  error, 
But  the  main  article  I  do  approve 
la  fearful  j-ense. 

Suiliir.  [Within.]  What  ho  !  what  ho!  what  ho! 
Enter  an  Oflicer,  with  a  Sailor. 

Off.  A  messenger  iVotu  the  galleys. 

Duke.  Now  Mhe  business  ? 

Sailar.    The    Turkish    preparation    makes    lijr 
Rliodes: 
So  was  1  bid  report  here  to  the  state. 
By  signior  Angclo. 

Duke.  Iloiv  say  you  by  this  change  ? 

1  Sen.  This  cannot  be, 

By  no  a.ssay  of  reason;  'tis  a  pageant. 
To  kcei>  us  in  false  gaze  :  Wlien  we  consider 
The  importancy  of  Cyprus  to  the  Turk; 
And  let  ourselves  again  but  understand. 
That,  as  it  more  concerns  the  Turk  than  Rhodes, 
So  may  lie  with  more  facile  question'  bear  if. 
For  that  it  stands  not  in  such  warlike  Ijrace,^ 
But  altogether  lacks  the  abilities 
That  Rhodes  is  dress'd  in: — if  we  make  thought 

of  this. 
We  must  nut  think,  the  Turk  is  so  unskilful. 
To  leave  that  latest  which  concerns  him  first; 
Neglecting  an  attempt  of  ease  and  gain. 
To  wake  and  wagc^  a  danger  protilless. 

Duke.  Kay.iii  all  confidence,  he's  not  forRhodcs. 

Off.  Here  is  more  news. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  The  Ottomifes,  reverend  and  gracious. 
Steering  with  due  course  toward  the  isle  of  Rhodes. 
Have  there  injointed  tiiein  with  an  after  fleet. 

1  Sen.  Ay,  .so  I  thought:— Ho%v  many,  as  you 
guess  1 

Utess.  Of  thirly  sail:  and  now  do  they  re-stem 
Their  backward  course,  bearing  witli  frank  appear- 
ance 
Their  purposes  toward  Cyprus.— Signior  Jlontano, 
Your  trusly  and  most  valiant  servilor. 
With  his  free  duty  recommends  you  thus, 
.\iid  praj^s  yon  to  believe  Inin. 

Duke.  'Tis  certain  then  lor  Cyprus. — 
Marcus  Lucchcse,  is  he  not  in  town  ! 

1  Sen.  He's  now  in  Florence. 

Duke.  Write  lioin  us;  wish  him  post  post-haste; 
despatch. 

I  Sen.  Here  conies  Brabantio  and   the  valiant 
Moor. 
Enter  Brabantio,  Othello,  Iago,  Rodehigo,  and 
Oflicers, 

Duke.  Valiant  Othello,  we  must  straight  employ 
you 
Against  the  general  enemy  Oltoman. 
I  did  not  see  you  ;  welcome,  gentle  signior; 

[Tl)  BRAEANTlq. 

We  lack'd  your  coun-sel  and  your  help  to-night. 

Bra.  So  did,  I  yours:   Good  your  grace,  pardon 
me ; 
Neither  iny  place,  nor  aught  I  heard  of  business, 
llaih  lais'd  me  from  iny  bed;  nor  doth  the  general 

care 
Take  hold  on  tne;  for  my  particular  grief 
Is  of  so  flood-gate  and  o'erbcaring  nature, 
Tliat  it  engliils  and  swallows  other  sorrows, 
.\ud  iUs  still  itself. 

Duke.  Why,  what's  the  matter! 

Bra.  ,My  daughter!  O,  my  daughter! 

Sen.  Dead  t 

Bra.         _            _  Ay,  to  me; 

She  is  abus  d,  slol  n  from  me,  and  corrupted 
By  spells  and  medicines  bought  of  mountebanks  : 
For  nature  so  |)reposterously  to  err, 
Being  not  deticient,  blind,  or  lame  of  sense, 
Sans^  witchcraft  could  not 

Duke.  Whoe'er  he   be,  that,  in  this  foul  pro- 
ceeding, 
Hath  thus  beguii'd  your  daughter  of  herself, 
And  you  of  her,  the  bloody  book  of  law 
You  shall  yourself  read  in  the  bitter  letter, 

•  Conjecture.  '  Easy  dispute.  3  sute  of  dalsnoe, 

»  Combat.  <  Without. 


54 


OTHELLO, 


Act  L 


After  your  own  prnsc  ;  yea,*though  our  proper  son 
Stood  in  your  action.'' 

Bra.     '  TTiimbly  I  thank  your  grace. 

Here  is  the  man.  this  Moor;  whom  now,  it  seems, 
Your  special  mandatR,  for  the  state  atfairs, 
Hath  hither  brought. 

Bul'e  ^-  SeiJ.  We  are  very  sorry  for  it. 

Duke.  What,  in  your  own  part,  can  you  say  to 
ihisi  [To  Othello. 

Sra.  Nothing  but  this  is  so. 

Ofh.  Most  potent,  prave.  and  reverend  signiors, 
My  very  noble  and  approv'd  good  masters.— 
That  I  have  taVn  away  this  old  man's  daughter, 
It  is  most  true;  true.  I  have  married  licr; 
The  very  head  and  front  of  my  olTending 
Hath  this  extent,  no  more.     Ilude  am  I  in  my 

speech. 
And  little  bless'd  with  the  set  phrase  of  peace; 
For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  yi^ars^pith. 
Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  used 
Their  dearest  action^  in  the  tented  field; 
And  little  of  this  grrat  world  can  I  speak, 
I\Inre  than  pcrlains  to  feats  of  broil  and  battle  ; 
And  therefore  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause, 
In  speaking  for  myself:  Yet,  by  your  gracious  pa- 
tience, 
I  will  a  round  unvarnish'd  tale  deliver 
Of  my  whole  course  of  love;  what  drugs,  what 

charms. 
What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic. 
'  For  such  proceeding  J  am  charged  withal,) 

I  won  liis  daughter  with. 

Bra.  A  maiden  never  bold  ; 

Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
lilush'd  at  herself;  and  slie, — in  spite  of  nature, 
Of  years,  of  country,  credit,  every  thing. — 
To  fall  in  love  with  wjtat  she  fear'd  to  look  on  T 
It  is  a  judgment  maim'd,  and  most  imperfect, 
That  will  confess — perrection  so  could  err 
Ag.Tinst  all  rules  of  nature,  and  must  he  driven 
To  find  out  practices  of  cunning  hell. 
Why  this  should  be.    I  therefore  vouch  again. 
That  with  some  mixtures  powerful  o'er  tlie  blood, 
Or  with  some  dram  conjurd  to  this  eflect, 
He  wrought  upon  her. 

Duke.  To  vouch  this  is  no  proof; 

Without  more  certain  and  more  overt  test."' 
Than  these  thin  habits,  and  poor  likelihoods 
Ofmodern  seeminL%s  do  prefer  against  him. 

1  Sen.  But,  Othello,  speak;— 
Did  you  by  indirect  and  forced  courses 
Subdue  and  poison  this  young  maid's  affections? 
Or  came  it  by  request,  of  such  fair  question 
As  soul  to  soul  alfbrdeth  1 

0th.  I  do  beseech  you, 

Fend  for  the  lady  to  the  Sagitrary,^ 
And  let  her  speak  of  me  before  her  father: 

II  you  do  find  me  foul  in  her  report. 
The  trust,  the  ofiicc,  I  do  hold  of  you, 
Not  only  take  away,  but  let  your  sentence 
Ev"u  (all  upon  my  life. 

Duke.  Fetch  Desdemona  hither. 

Olh.  Ancient,  conduct  them;  you  best  know  the 
place. — [Exeunt  Iago  ajid  Attendants. 
And,  till  she  come,  as  truly  as  to  heaven 
1  do  confess  the  vices  of  my  blood, 
So  justly  to  your  g.rave  years  I'll  present 
How  I  (lid  thrive  in  this"  fair  lady^'s  love. 
And  she  is  mine. 

Duke.  Say  it,  Othello. 

Oth.  Her  father  lov'd  nie,ofl  invited  me; 
Still  question'd  me  the  story  of  my  life, 
From  year  to  year ;  the  batlles,  sieges,  fortiyjes, 
That  I  have  pass'd. 

1  nin  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days, 
To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  teU'it. 
Wiierein  I  spoke  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents,  by  flood  and  field  ; 
Of  hair-breadth  scapes  i'   the   imminent  deadly 

breach  ; 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe. 
And  sold  to  slavery;  of  my  redemption  thenco. 
And  porlance'  in  my  travel's  history: 
Wherein  otantres-  vast,  and  deserts  idle. 
Rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  lulls  whose  heads  touch 
heaven, 

fc  Acpusatifin.  s  Post  nxprtion. 

T  Open  proof.  *  AVciik  show. 

0  Tlie  Kign  of  the  fictitious  crc.ituro  so  rnlli^Tl, 
*  My  behavior.  '  Caves  and  dens. 


It  was  my  hint  to  speak,  such  was  the  process 

And  of  tlie  Cannibals  that  each  other  eat, 

The  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 

Do  grow  beneath  their  sJiouIders.    These  things  to 

hear, 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline  : 
But  still  the  house  atTairs  would  draw  her  thence; 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 
She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 
Devour  up  my  discourse:  Which  I  observing. 
Took  once  a  pliant  hour;  and  found  good  meana 
To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest,  heart, 
That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 
Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard. 
But  not  inteutively  :3  I  did  consent ; 
And  ofien  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears. 
When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke. 
That  my  youth  sufTer'd.    My  story  being  done. 
She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs: 
She  swore, — In  faith,  'twas  strange,  'twas  passing 

strange; 
'Twas  pitiful,  'twas  wondrous  pitiful : 
She  wish'd,  she  had  not  heard  it ;  yet  she  wish'd 
That  heaven   had   made  her  such^a  man:    she 

thank'd  me  ; 
And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  lov'd  her, 
1  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story. 
And  that  would  woo  her.    Upon  this  hint,  1  spake; 
She  lov'd  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd; 
And  I  lov'd  her.  that  she  did  pity  them. 
This  only  is  the  witchcrall  I  have  used: . 
Here  comes  the  lady,  let  her  witness  it. 

Enter  Desdemoka,  Iaoo,  c/Zfi  Attendants. 

Duke.  I  think,  this  tale  would  win  my  daughter 
too. — 
Good  Brabantio, 

Take  up  this  mangled  matter  at  the  best: 
Men  do  their  broken  weapons  rather  use, 
Thau  their  bare  hands. 

Bra.  I  pray  you,  hear  her  speak; 

Ifshe  confess,  that  she  was  half  the  wooer, 
Destruction  on  mv  tiead,  if  my  had  blame 
Light  on  the  man'!— Come  hithcr.gentle  mistress; 
Do  you  perceive  in  ail  this  noble  company. 
Where  most  you  owe  obedience  ! 

Des.  My  noble  father, 

I  do  perceive  here  a  divided  duty  : 
To  you  I  am  bound  for  life  and  education ; 
My  life,  and  education,  both  do  learn  mo 
How  to  respect  you  ;  yon  arc  the  lord  of  duty, 
I  am  hitherto' your  daughter:  But  here's  my  hus- 
band ; 
And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  show'd 
To  you.  preferring  you  IJefore  her  father. 
So  much  I  challenge  that  I  may  profess 
Due  to  tiie  Moor,  my  lord. 

Bra.  God  be  with  you  ! — I  have  done. — 

Please  it  your  grace,  on  to  the  stale  atlairs: 
I  had  rather  to  adopt  a  child,  than  get  it. — 
Come  hither,  Moor : 

I  here  do  give  thee  that  with  all  my  heart. 
Which,  but  thou  hast  already,  with  all  my  heart 
I  would  keep  from  thee. — For  your  sake,  jewel, 
I  am  glad  at  soul  I  have  no  oilier  child  ; 
For  thy  escape  would  teach  me  tyranny, 
To  hang  clogs  on  them.— I  have  done,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Let  me  speak  like  yourself,  and  lay  a 
sentence, 
Which,  as  a  grise,^  or  step,  may  help  these  lovers 
Into  your  favop. 

When  remedies  are  past,  the  griefs  are  ended. 
By  seeing  the  worst,  which  late  on  hopes  depended. 
To  mourn  a  miscliief  that  is  past  and  gone. 
Is  the  next  way  to  draw  new  mischief  on. 
What  cannot  be  preserv'd  when  fortune  takes 
Patience  her  injury  a  mockery  makes. 
The  robb'd.  that  smiles,  steals  something  from  the 

thief; 
He  robs  himself,  that  spends  a  bootless  grief. 

Bra.  So  let  the  Turk  of  Cyprus  us  beguile ; 
We  lose  it  not,  so  long  as  we  can  smile. 
He  bears  the  sentence  well,  that  nothing  bears 
But  the  free  comfort  which  from  thence  he  hears 
But  he  bears  both  the  sentence  and  the  sorrow. 
That,  to  pay  grief,  must  of  poor  patience  borrow. 
These  sentences,  to  sugar,  or  to  gall. 
Being  strong  on  both  sides,  are  equivocal : 

3  Intention  and  attention  were  once  synonymous. 
«  Grise,  from  degrees. 


Scene  III. 


THE  MOOR   OF  VENICE. 


But  words  are  words;  I  never  yet  did  hear. 

That  the  bruis'd  heart  was  pierced  throiijih  the  ear. 

I  humbly  beseech  you,  proceed  totheaflairsot'stnte. 

Duke,  Tlie  Turk  with  a  most  mighty  preparation 
makes  tor  Cyprus: — OHiclIo,  the  fortitude  of  the 
place  is  best  known  to  you :  And  though  we  have 
there  a  substitute  of  most  allowed  sufJiciency,  yet 
opinion,  a  sovereign  mistress  of  ellects,  throws  a 
more  safer  voice  on  you:  you  must  therefore  be 
cuntonlto  slubber^  the  gloss  of  your  new  fortunes 
with  this  more  stubborn  and  boisterous  expedition. 

0/k.  The  tyrant  custom,  most  grave  senators, 
Hatli  made  the  flinty  and  stce!  couch  of  war 
RIj'  thrice-driven  bed  of  down:  I  do  agnize^ 
A  natural  and  prompt  alacrity, 
I  find  in  hardness,  and  do  undertake 
These  jirescnt  wars  airainst  tlie  Ottomites. 
Most  humbly  tlierefore  bending  to  your  state, 
I  crave  tit  disposition  for  my  wile; 
Due  reference  of  place,  and  exhibition"^ 
With  such  accommodation,  and  besort, 
As  levels  witli  her  breeding. 

Duke.  If  you  please, 

Be't  at  her  father''s. 

Bra.  ni  not  have  it  so. 

Of  ft.  Nor  I. 

Des.  Nor  I ;  I  would  not  there  reside, 

To  put  my  father  in  impatient  thoughts. 
By  being  in  tiis  eye.   Most  gracious  duke, 
To  my  unfolding  lend  a  gracious  ear; 
And  let  me  tind  a  charter  in  your  voice, 
To  assist  my  simpleness. 

Duke.  Wliat  would  you,  Desdemona  1 

Defy.  That  I  did  lovc'the  Moor  to  live  with  him. 
My  downright  violence  and  storm  of  fortunes 
May  trumpet  to  the  world  ;  my  heart's  subdued 
Even  to  the  very  quality  of  my  lord : 
I  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his  mind; 
And  to  his  honors,  and  his  valiant  parts. 
Did  I  my  soul  and  fortunes  consecrate. 
So  that,  dear  lords,  if  1  be  leR  behind, 
A  moth  of  peace,  and  he  go  to  the  war. 
The  rites,  for  which  I  love  him,  are  bereft  me. 
And  I  a  heavy  interim  shall  support 
By  his  dear  absence:  Let  me  go  with  him. 

0/A.  Your  voices,  lords: — 'beseech  you,  let  her  will 
Have  a  free  way. 

Vouch  with  me,  heaven;  I  therefore  beg  it  not, 
To  please  the  palate  of  my  appetite: 
Nor  to  comply  with  heat,  the  young  afiects,^ 
In  my  distinct  and  proper  satisfaction  ; 
But  (o  be  free  and  bounteous  to  her  mind  : 
And  heaven  defend^  your   good   souls,  that  you 

think 
I  will  your  serious  and  great  business  scant. 
For'  she  is  with  me :  No,  when  light-wing'd  toys 
Of  feathcr'd  Cupid  seel-^  with  wanton  dulness 
My  speculative  and  active  instruments, 
That  my  disports  corrupt  and  taint  my  business. 
Let  housewives  make  a  skillet^  of  my  helm,' 
And  all  indign  and  base  adversities 
Make  head  against  my  estimation  ! 

Duke.  Be  it  as  you  shall  privately  determine, 
Either  for  her  stay,  or  going:   the  aflair  cries^ 

haste, 
And  speed  must  answer  it;  you  must  hence  to- 
night. 

Df.s.  To-night,  my  lord  1 

Duke.  This  night. 

Offi,  With  all  mv  heart. 

Duke.  At  nine  i*  the  morning  here  we'll  meet 
again. 
Othello,  leave  some  officer  behind, 
And  he  shall  our  commission  bring  to  you  ; 
With  such  things  else  of  quality  and  respect, 
As  doth  import  you. 

Otfi.  Please  your  grace,  my  ancient; 

A  man  he  is  of  honesty  and  trust: 
To  his  conveyance  I  assign  my  wife, 
With  what  else  needful  yourgood  grace  shall  think 
To  be  sent  af'.cr  me. 

Duke.  Let  it  be  so. — 

Good-night  to  every  one, — And,  noble  signior, 

[To  Brabantio. 
If  virtue  no  delighted  beauty  lack. 
Your  son-in-law  is  far  more  fair  than  black. 

1  Sen.  Adieu,  brave  Moor!  use  Desdemona  well. 


•  Obscure, 
8  Affi'ctioiiS. 
a  liliud. 


«  Acknowledge. 

1  Forbid. 

3  A  small  kettle. 


'  Allowance. 
*  Rt'f'iiuRe. 
«  Ilolmet. 


Bra.  Look  to  her.  Moor;  have  a  quick  eye  to  see  ; 
She  has  dcccivM  lier  lather,  and  may  thee. 

\Exeuni  Duke,  Senators,  Oflicers,  ^c. 

Offi.  My  lile  upon  her  laith. — Honest  lago. 
My  Desdemona  must  I  leave  to  thee ; 
I  pry 'thee,  let  thy  wife  attend  on  her; 
And  bring  them  after  in  the  best  advantage. — 
Come,  Desdemona  ;  I  have  but  an  Iiour 
Of  love,  of  worldly  matters  and  direction, 
To  spend  with  thee :  we  must  obey  tlie  lime. 

{£j:euni  (;tuellu  and  Desdemoxa. 

Rod.  lago. 

Jago.  What  say'st  thou,  noble  heart! 

Rod.  What  will  I  do,  thinkesl  thou  ] 

luf^o.  Why,  go  to  bed,  and  sleep. 

Rod.  I  will  incontinently^  drown  myself. 

la^o.  Well,  if  thou  dost,  I  shall  never  love  thee 
after  it.    Why,  thou  silly  ^rentleman  ! 

Rod.  It  is  trilliness  to  "live,  when  to  live  is  a  tor- 
ment; and  then  have  we  a  prescription  to  die,  when 
death  is  our  physician. 

Rif^o.  O  villainous!  I  have  looked  upon  the  world 
for  lour  times  seven  years!  and  since  I  could  dis- 
tinguish between  a  benefit  and  an  injury,  1  never 
Ibund  a  man  that  knew  how  to  love  himself.  Ere 
1  would  say,  I  would  drown  myself  for  the  love  of 
a  Guinea-hen,  I  would  change  my  humanity  with 
a  baboon. 

Rod.  What  should  I  dol  I  confess  it  is  my 
shame  to  be  so  fond;  but  it  is  not  in  virtue  lo 
amend  it. 

logo.  Virtue?  a  fig!  'tis  in  ourselves,  that  we 
are  thus,  or  thus.  Our  bodies  are  our  gardens,  lo 
the  whicli,  our  wills  are  gardeners:  so  tliat  if  we 
will  plant  nettles,  or  sow  lettuce;  set  hyssop,  and 
weed  up  thyme;supp]y  it  with  one  gender  of  herbs, 
or  distract  it  with  many;  either  to  have  it  steril 
with  idleness,  or  manured  with  industry;  why,  tlie 
power  and  corrigible  autiiority  of  tJiis  lies  in  our 
wills.  If  tlie  balance  of  our  lives  liad  not  one  scale 
of  reason  to  poise  another  of  sensuality,  the  blood 
and  baseness  of  our  natures  would  conduct  us  to 
mo.st  preposterous  conclusions:  Butwe  have  reason 
to  cool  our  raging  motions,  our  carnal  stings,  our 
unbitted^  lust;  whereof  I  take  this,  that  you  call — 
love,  to  be  a  sect'  or  scion. 

Riid.  It  cannot  be. 

laf^o.  It  is  merely  a  lust  of  the  blood,  and  a  per- 
mission of  the  will.  Come,  be  a  man  :  Drown  thy- 
self f  drown  cats  and  blind  puppies.  I  have  pro- 
fessed me  thy  Iriend,  and  I  conless  me  knit  to  thy 
deserving  with  cables  of  perduralile  toughness;  I 
could  never  belter  stead  thee  than  now.  Put 
money  in  thy  purse;  follow  these  wars;  defeat  thy 
liivor  with  an  usurped  beard  !■*  I  say,  put  money  in 
tliy  purse.  It  cannot  be,  that  Desdemona  should 
long  continue  her  love  to  tlie  Moor, — put  money  in 
thy  purse; — nor  he  his  to  her;  it  was  a  violent  com- 
mencement, and  thou  shall  see  an  answerable  se- 
questration;—put  but  money  in  thy  purse. — These 
Moors  are  changeable  in  their  wills; — till  tliy  purse 
with  money:  the  food  that  to  him  now  is  as  lus- 
cious asloc^usts.  shall  be  to  him  shortly  as  bitter  as 
coloquintida.  She  must  change  for  youth:  when 
she  is  sated  with  his  body,  she  will  lind  the  error 
of  her  choice. — She  must  liave  cliange,  she  must: 
therefore  put  money  in  thy  purse,— If  thou  wilt 
needs  damn  thyself,  do  it  a  more  delicate  way  than 
drnwning.  Make  all  the  money  thou  canst:  If 
sanctimony,  and  a  trail  vow  betwixt  an  ening  bar- 
barian and  asupcrsubtle  Venetian,  be  not  too  hard 
for  my  wits,andall  the  tribe  of  hell,  thou  shalt  en- 
joy her;  tlierefore  make  money.  A  pox  of  drown- 
ing thysell !  it  is  clean  out  of  the  way:  seek  thou 
rather  to  be  hanged  in  compassing  thy  joy,  than  to 
be  drowned  and  go  without  her. 

Rod.  Wilt  thou  be  layt  to  my  hopes,  if  I  depend 
on  llic  issue  \ 

Rigo.  Tlion  art  sure  of  me;— Go,  make  money: 
— 1  liave  told  thee  often,  and  I  re-Ieil  thee  again 
and  again,  1  liate  tlie  Moor:  My  cause  is  hearted; 
thine  liath  no  less  reason:  Let  us  be  conjunctive  in 
our  revenge  against  him:  if  thou  canst  cuckold 
him,  thou  dost  thyself  a  pleasure,  and  me  a  sport. 
There  are  many  events  in  the  womb  of  time,  which 
will    be    delivered.    Traverse ;»  go ;    provide    thy 

i  TuiDipdiately.  6  Unbridled. 

1  A  si'ct  is  wb;it  the  gardeners  call  a  culling. 
■  Chaiii^e  yutir  couutenance  with  a  IJdse  beard. 
»  An  ;iu(.ii;ut  military  word  of  commaud. 


756 


OTHELLO, 


Act  IL 


money.    We  wUl   have  more  of  this  to-morrow. 

Adieu. 

Jiod.  Where  shall  we  meet  i'  the  morning'! 

lago.  At  my  lorlging. 

lio-l.  rii  he  witli  thee  betimes. 

Ifigo.  Go  to;  tarewell.    Do  you  hear,  Roderigo? 

Rod.  What  say  you? 

logo.  No  more  of  drowning,  do  you  hear  1 

JioiL  I  am  ehanged.    I'll  sell  all  my  laud. 

Itign.  Go  to;  tarewell;  put  money  enough   in 
your  purse.  [Exit  Roderigo. 

Thus  do  I  ever  make  my  fool  my  purse  : 
For  I  mine  own  gain'd  knowledj^e  should  profane, 
If  I  would  time  expend  with  such  a  snipe, 
IJut  for  my  sport  and  profit.    I  hate  the  Moor; 
And  it  is  thought  abroad,  that  twixt  my  sheets 
He  has  done  my  office:  1  know  not  ift  be  true; 


But  I,  for  mere  suspicion  in  that  kind, 
Will  do,  as  if  for  surety.    He  holds  me  well'* 
The  better  shall  my  purpose  work  on  him. 
Cassio's  a  proper  man:  Let  me  see  now;      < 
To  get  his  place,  and  to  plume  up  my  will ; 
A  double  knavery, — How  I  how! — Let  me  see: — 
After  some  time,  to  abuse  Otheliu's  ear. 
That  he  is  too  liimiliar  with  his  wife:— 
He  hatha  person,  and  a  smooth  dispose. 
To  be  suspected;  Iramed  to  make  women  false, 
TJie  Moor  is  of  a  free  and  open  nature, 
That  thinks  men  honest  that  but  seem  to  be  so* 
And  will  as  tenderly  be  led  by  the  nose, 
As  asses  arc. 

I  have''t; — it  is  engendered: — Hell  and  night 
Must  bring  this  monstrous  birth  to  the  world's  light. 

{£xit. 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I.— ^  Sea-pf}rf  Town  in  Cyprus.     A 
Plafjhrm. 
Enfer  Montano  and  two  Gentlemen. 
M(m.  What  from  the  cape  can  you  discern  at  sea? 

1  Gent.   Nothing  at  all:   it  is  a  high-wrought 

tlood; 
I  cannot,  'twixt  the  heaven  and  the  main, 
Descry  a  sail. 
Mon.  Methinks,  the  wind  hath  spoke  aloud  at 
land; 
A  fuller  blast  neVr  shook  our  battlements: 
If  it  hath  rufhan'd  so  upon  the  sea. 
What  ribs  of  oak,  when  mountains  melt  on  them, 
Can  hold  the  mortise  ?  what  shall  we  hear  of  this  I 

2  Gent.  A  segregation'  of  the  Turkish  lleet: 
Fnr  do  but  stand  upon  the  foaming  shore, 
The  chiding  billow  seems  to  pelt  the  clouds; 
TJic  wind-sliaked  surge,  with  high  and  monstrous 

main. 
Seems  to  cast  water  on  the  burning  bear,2 
And  quench  the  guards  of  the  ever-tixed  pole: 
1  never  did  like  molestation  view 
On  ih'  enchaled  Hood. 

Mon,  If  that  the  Turkish  fleet 

Be  not  inshelter'd  and  embayM,  they  are  drown'd : 
It  is  impossible  they  bear  it  out. 

Enter  a  third  Gentleman. 

3  Gent.  News,  lords!  our  wars  are  done: 

The  desperate  tempest  hath  so  l)ang'd  the  Turks, 
That  their  desifinment  halts:  A  nobleship  of  Venice 
Hath  seen  a  grievous  wreck  and  suflerance 
On  most  part  of  their  lleet. 

Mon.  How!  is  tljis  true! 

3  Gent.  The  ship  is  here  put  in, 
A  Veronese;  Michael  Cassiu, 
Lieutenant  to  the  warlike  Moor,  Othello, 
Is  come  on  shore :  The  Moor  himself 's  at  sea, 
And  is  in  full  commission  here  lor  Cyprus. 

Miin.  I  am  glad  on't;  'tis  a  worthy  governor. 

3  Gent.  But  this  same  Cassio,— though  he  speak 
of  comlbrt. 
Touching  the  Turkish  loss, — yet  he  looks  sadly, 
And  prays  Ihe  Moor  be  safe;  Ibr  they  were  parted 
Wi;h  ibul  and  violent  tempest. 

Mun.  'Pray  heaven  he  be; 

For  I  have  serv'd  him,  and  the  man  commands 
Like  a  full  soldier.    Let's  to  the  sea-side,  ho  ! 
As  well  to  see  the  vessel  tiiat's  come  in. 
As  to  throw  out  our  eyes  Ibr  brave  Othello ; 
Even  till  we  make  the  main,  and  the  aerial  blue, 
An  indistinct  regard. 

3  Gent.  Come,  let's  do  so; 

For  every  minute  is  expectancy 
Of  more  arrivancc. 

E?iter  Cassio. 

Cas,  Thanks  to  the  valiant  of  this  warlike  isle. 
That  so  approve  the  Moor:  O,  let  the  heavens 
Give  him  defence  against  the  elements. 
For  I  have  lost  him  on  a  dangerous  sea! 

Man.  Is  he  well  shippM  ] 

Cos.  His  bark  i-^  stonily  timhcr'd,  and  his  pilot 
Of  very  expert  and  appruv'd  allowance  :^ 
*  Si'paratloii. 

■  'the  consti-'llntion  near  the  polar  star. 
>  Allowed  HuU  approved  expcrtueba. 


Therefore  my  hopes,  not  surfeited  to  death. 
Stand  in  bold  cure. 

[  JViihin.]  A  sail,  a  sail,  a  sail ! 

Enfer  a  Gentleman. 

Cff.^r.  AVhat  noise  ] 

4  Gent.  The  town  is  empty;  on  the  brow  o'  the 
sea 
St^ind  ranks  of  people,  and  they  cry — a  sail, 

Cos.  My  hopes  do  sliape  him  ibr  the  governor. 

2  Gent.  They  do  discharge  their  shot  of  cour- 
tesy :  [Guns  heard. 
Our  friends,  at  least. 

Cas.  1  pray  you,  sir,  go  forth, 

And  give  us  truth  who  'lis  that  is  arrived. 

2  Gent.  1  shall.  [Exit. 

Mon.  But.  good  lieutenant,  is  your  general  wived  1 

Cas.  Most  fortunately  :  he  hath  achiev'd  a  maid 
That  paragons  description,  and  wild  tame; 
One  that  excels  the  quirks  of  blazoning  pens. 
And  in  the  essential  vesture  of  creation. 
Does  bear  all  excellency. — How  now!    who  has 
put  in  ] 

Re-enter  second  Gentleman. 

2  Gent.  'Tis  one  lago,  ancient  to  the  general. 

Co*.    He    has  had  most  favorable  and  happy 
speed : 
Tempests  themselves,  high  seas,and  howling  winds 
Tlie  gutter'd  rocks,  and  congregated  sands, — 
Traitors  ensteep'd  to  clog  the  guiltless  keel, 
As  having  sense  of  beauty,  do  omit 
Their  mortal^  natures,  letting  go  safely  by 
The  divine  Desdcmona. 

Mo?i.  What  is  shel 

Cas.  She  that  I  spake  of,  our  great  captain's 
captain, 
Lefl  in  the  conduct  of  the  bold  Tago  ; 
Wiiose  footing  here  anticipates  our  tlioughts, 
A  se'nnight's  speed.— Great  Jove,  Othello  guard, 
And  swell  his  sail  with  thine  own  powerful  breath; 
That  lie  may  bless  this  bay  with  his  tall  ship. 
Make  love's  quick  pants  in  Desdemona's  arms, 
Give  renew'd  tire  to  our  extincted  spirits, 
And  bring  all  Cyprus  comfort! — 0,  behold, 

Enter  Desdemosa,  Emilia,  Iago,  Roderigo,  and 

Attendants. 
The  riches  of  the  ship  is  come  on  shore! 
Ve  men  of  Cyprus,  let  her  have  your  knees; — 
Hail  to  thee,  lady  !  and  the  grace  of  heaven, 
BeJbre,  behind  thee,  and  on  every  hand, 
Enwiieel  thee  round  ! 

Des.  I  thank  you,  valiant  Cassio. 

What  tidings  can  you  tell  me  of  my  lord  ! 

Cus.  He  is  not  yet  arrived;  nor  know  I  aught 
But  that  he's  well,  and  will  be  shortly  here. 
J)cs.  O,  but  I  fear; — How  lOst  you  company? 
Cas.  The  great  contention  of  the  sea  and  skies 
Parted  our  fellowship:  But,  hark  !  a  sail! 

[dy  wit/iin,  A  sail,  a  sail !  Ttien  Gims  heard. 
2  Gent.  They  give  their  greeting  to  liie  citadel; 
This  likewise  is  a  friend. 
CV/5.  See  for  the  news.— ■ 

[Exit  Gentleman. 
Good  ancient,  you  are  welcome; — Welcome,  mis- 
tress;— [To  Emiua. 
*  Deadly,  destructive. 


Scene  I. 


THE  MOOR  OF  YEXICE. 


757 


Let  it  not  gall  your  patience,  {?ood  la^o, 
That  I  extend  my  mannors;  Mis  my  breeding 
That  gives  me  this  bold  show  of  courtesy. 

[Kisswg  her, 

Tago.  Sir,  would  she  {jivp  you  so  muchof  her  lips, 
As  of  her  tongue  she  ott  bestows  on  me, 
You'd  have  enough. 

Des.  Alas,  she  has  no  speech. 

lagn.  In  faith,  too  much, 
I  find  it  slill,  when  I  have  list''  to  sleep: 
Marry,  before  your  ladyship.  I  Rrant, 
She  puts  her  tongue  a  little  in  lier  heart, 
And  chides  with  thinking. 

ErnU.  Vou  have  little  cause  to  say  so. 

la^o-  Come  on,  come  on;  you  are  pictures  out 
of  doors. 
Bells  in  your  parlors,  wild  cats  in  your  kitchens, 
Saints  in  your  injuries,  devils  being  oilended. 
players  in  your  housewifery,  and  housewives  in 
your  beds. 

Dcs.  O,  fye  on  thee,  slanderer ! 

lago-  Nay.  it  is  true,  or  else  I  am  a  Turk; 
You  rise  to  play,  and  go  to  bed  to  work. 

Emit.  You  shall  not  write  my  praise. 

lago.  No,  let  me  not. 

Des.  What  wouldst  thou  write  of  me,  if  thou 
shouldst  praise  me? 

Jagn.  O,  gentle  lady,  do  not  put  me  to't; 
For  I  am  nothing,  if  "not  critical. 

Des.  Come  on,  assay: — There's  one  gone  to  the 
harbor] 

lago.  Ay,  madam. 

Ves.  I  am  not  merry:  but  I  do  beguile 
The  thing  I  am,  by  seeming  otherwise. — 
Come,  Ijow  wouJcist  thou  praise  me  "l 

logo.  I  am  about  it;  but,  indeed,  my  invention 
Comes  from  my  pate,  as  birdlime  docs  from  frize; 
It  plucks  out  brains  and  nil:  But  my  muse  labors, 
And  thus  she  is  deliver^!. 
If  she  be  fair  and  wise.— fairness,  and  wit, 
The  one's  for  use,  the  other  useth  it. 

Dcs.   Well  prais'd!     How  if  she  be  black  and 
witty  ! 

lago.  If  she  be  black,  and  thereto  have  a  wit. 
She'll  find  a  whfto  that  siiall  iier  blackness  lit. 

Bes.  Worse  and  worse. 

Eniil.  How,  if  fair  and  foolish'! 

Icgn.  She  never  yet  was  Ibolish  that  was  fair; 
For  e^'cn  her  folly  help'd  her  to  an  heir. 

!)€!>.  These  are  old  fbud'^  paradoxes,  to  make 
fo*ls  laugh  i'  the  alehouse.  What  miserable  praise 
hast  thou  for  her  that\s  Ibul  and  foolish  ? 

lago.  Therc'^s  none  so  tbul  and  Ibolish  thereunto, 
But  does  loul  pranks  which  fair  and  wise  ones  do. 

Des.  O  heavy  ignorance!  —  thou  praisest  the 
worst  best.  But  what  jiraise  couldst  thou  bestow 
on  a  des^erving  woman  indeed?  one  that,  in  the 
authority  of  her  merit,  did  justly  put  on  the  vouch 
of  very  malice  itself? 

lago.  She  that  was  ever  fair,  and  never  proud; 
Had  tongue  at  will,  and  yet  was  never  loud ; 
Never  lack'd  gold,  and  yet  went  never  gay  ; 
Fled  from  her  wish,  and  yet  said, — 7iuw  I  may ; 
She  that,  being  anger'd,  her  revenge  being  nigh. 
Bade  Iier  wrong  stay,  and  lirr  displeasure  fly  ; 
She,  that  in  wisdom  never  was  so  frail. 
To  cliange  the  cod's  head  for  the  salmon's  tail; 
She  that  could  think,  and  ne'er  disclose  her  mind, 
Sec  suitors  liillowing,  and  not  look  behind  ; 
She  was  a  wight, — if  ever  such  wight  were.— 

Des.  To  do  what  ? 

logo.  To  suckle  fools,  and  chronicle  small  beer. 

Bes.  t)  most  lame  and  impotent  conclusion! — 
Do  not  learn  of  him,  Kmilia.  though  lie  be  thy 
husband. — How  say  you,  Cassio  ?  is  he  not  a  most 
profane  and  liberal  counsellor? 

Cos.  He  speaks  home,  madam;  you  may  relish 
him  more  in  the  soldier,  than  in  the  scholar. 

Jugo.  {Afiile.]  He  takes  her  by  the  palm:  Ay. 
well  said,  whisper:  with  as  Jitllea  web  as  this  will 
I  ensnare  as  great  a  llyas  Cassio.  Ay,  smile  upon 
her,  do.  I  will  gyve"  thee  in  thine  own  courtship. 
You  say  true;  'iis  so,  indeed:  if  such  tricks  as 
these  strip  you  out  of  your  lieu  tenantry,  it  had  been 
belter  you  had  not  kissed  your  three  fingers  so  oO, 
which  "now  again  you  are  most  apt  to  play  the  sir 
in.s  Very  good;  well  kissed  I  an  excellent  cour- 
tesy! 'tis  so,  indeed.    Yet  again,  your  fingers  to 

•  Tesh-p.  •  Foolish.  '  Shackle,  fetter. 

•  Your  gocd-bree<ling  and  gallantry. 


your  lips?  would  they  were  clyster-pipes,  for  your 
sake. [Tninq}ttS\  'Tlie  Moor,  I  know  his  trum- 
pet. 

C(75.  'Tis  truly  so. 

Df:s.  Let's  meet  Iiim,  and  receive  him. 

Vus.  Lo,  wiicrc  lie  comes! 

Enter  Othello  and  Attendants. 

Ofh.  0  my  fair  warrior! 

Des.  My  dear  Othello ! 

0th.  It  gives  me  wonder  great  as  my  conient, 
To  see  you  here  before  me.    O  my  soul's  joy  \ 
if  atler  every  tempest  come  such  calms. 
May  the  winds  blow  till  they  have  waken'd  death! 
And  let  the  laboring  bark  climb  hills  of  seas, 
Olympus-fiigh  ;  and  duck  again  as  low 
A«  hell's  iVom  heaven  !  If  it  were  now  lo  die, 
'Twcre  now  to  be  most  happy;  for,  I  fear, 
My  soul  batli  her  content  so  absolute, 
That  not  another  comtbrt  like  to  this 
Succeeds  in  unknown  fate. 

Des.  The  heavens  forbid, 

Rut  that  our  loves  and  comforts  should  increase, 
Even  as  our  days  do  grow  ! 

0/A.  Ameu  to  that,  sweet  powers! — 

I  cannot  speak  enough  of  this  content;. 
U  stojis  me  here;  it  is  too  much  of  Joy: 
And  this,  and  (his,  the  greatest  discords  be, 

{Kissing  her. 
That  e'er  our  hearts  shall  make ! 

lagn.  {),  you  are  well  tuned  now  ! 

But  I'll  set  down  the  pegs  that  make  this  music. 
As  honest  as  I  am.  {An-ic^ 

0(h.  Come,  let's  to  the  castle. — 

News,  iViends;  our  wars  arc  done,  Uie  Turks  are 

drown'd. 
How  do  our  old  acquaintance  of  this  isle? — 
lloney,  you  shall  be  well  desir'd"  in  Cyprus; 
1  have  found  great  love  amongst  them.  O  my  sweet, 
I  prattle  out  of  fashion,  and  I  dote 
In  mine  own  comforts. — I  pr'ythee,  good  lago, 
Co  to  the  bay,  and  disembark  my  coders: 
Bring  thou  the  master  to  the  citadel; 
He  is  a  good  one,  and  his  worthiness 
Does  challenge  much  respect. — Come,  Desdcmona, 
Once  more,  well  met  at  Cyprus. 

[Exeinif  OniKLLO,  Desdemona,  and 
Atlenilants. 

lagn.  Do  thou  meet  nu'  presently  at  the  harbor. 
Come  hither.  If  thou  br'st  valiant  as  (tlu-y  say) 
Itase  men,  beiuir  iu  love,  have  then  a  iiohiiity  ui 
their  natures  more  than  is  native  to  them, — list 
mc.i  The  lieutenant  lo-night  watches  on  the  court 
of  guard  :— First.  I  must  tell  Ihee  this — Desdc- 
mona is  directly  in  hue  with  him. 

Rni{.  With  him!  why,  'lis  not  possible, 

lago.  Lay  thy  finger — thus,  and  let  thy  sou!  be 
instructed.  Mark  me  with  wliat  violence  she  first 
loved  the  Moor,  but  for  bragging,  and  telling  her 
lantastical  lies:  And  will  she  love  him  still  for 
prating?  let  not  thy  discreet  heart  think  it.  Her 
eye  must  be  fed  ;  and  what  deli;^ht  shall  she  have 
to  look  on  the  devil!  When  the  blood  is  made 
dull  witli  the  act  of  sport,  there  should  be,— a^iain 
to  inflame  it,  and  to  give  satiety  a  fresh  nitpetile. — 
lo\eliness  in  la\'or;  s>uiiiathy  in  years.  inaniUTs, 
and  beauties;  nil  which  the  Aloor  is  defective  in: 
Now,  tor  want  of  tliesc  required  conveniences,  her 
delicate  tenderness  will  find  itself  abu^t*d,  begin  to 
heave  the  gorge,  disrelish  and  abhor  the  Moor;  very 
nature  will  instruct  lier  in  it,  and  compel  her  to 
some  second  choice.  Now,  sir,  tliis  tjranted.  (as  it 
is  a  nmst  pregnant  and  unlbreed  pofifion,)  who 
stands  so  eminently  in  the  degree  of  this  Ibrlune, 
as  Cassio  does?  a  Knave  very  voluble;  no  further 
conscionable,  than  in  putting  on  tiie  mere  fi)rm  of 
civil  and  humane  seeming,lbr  the  better  compass- 
ing of  his  salt  and  more  bidden  loose  anectii>n? 
why,  none;  why,  none:  A  slippery  and  subtle 
knave;  a  finder  out  of  occasions;  that  has  an  «ye 
can  stami>and  counterfeit  advantages.  1  hough  true 
advantage  never  present  itself:,  A  devilish  knave! 
besides,  the  knave  is  handsome,  y(uing,  and  halii 
all  those  reipiisites  in  him,  tliat  lolly  and  green 
minds  look  alter:  Apcstilcnt  complcleknave  ;  and 
the  woman  hath  found  him  already. 

Rod.  I  cannot  believe  that  in  her;  she  15  full  of 
most  blessed  condition.^ 

s  5Iuih  sf>liritt'd  by  invit.sfion.  '  U^lcn  to  me. 

a  Qualitie.*,  disposition  of  the  mind. 


758 


OTHELLO, 


Act  IL 


lago.  Blessed  fig's  end  I  the  wine  she  drinks  is 
made  of  grapes:  it' she  had  been  blessed,  she  would 
never  liave  loved  the  I\Ioor:  Blessed  pudding! 
Didst  thou  not  see  her  paddle  with  the  palni  of  his 
hand?  didst  not  mark  that? 

JRud.  Yes,  that  I  did;  but  that  was  but  courtesy. 

logu.  Lechery,  by  this  hand;  an  index  and  ob- 
scure prolog:ue  to  the  history  of  lust  and  foul 
thoughts.  They  met  so  near  with  their  lips,  that 
Iheirbreathsemhraccdtof^cl  her.  Villanoust  hough  ts, 
Koderigo!  when  these  mutualities  so  marshal  the 
way,  hard  at  hand  comes  the  master  and  main  ex- 
ercise, the  incorporate  conclusion: — Pish! — But, 
sir,  be  you  ruled  by  me  :  I  have  brought  you  from 
Venice.  Watch  you  to-night;  for  tJic  command, 
I'll  lay't  upon  you:  Cassio  knows  you  not; — 1*11 
not  be  far  from  you:  Do  you  find  some  occasion 
to  anger  Cassio,  either  by  speaJving  too  loud,  or 
tainting  his  discipline;  or  from  what  other  course 
you  please,  which  the  time  shall  more  favorably 
minister. 

Rod,  Well. 

lago.  Sir,  he  is  rash,  and  very  sudden  in  cholcr; 
and,  hajjly,  with  his  truncheon  may  strike  at  you: 
Provoke  him,  that  he  may;  for,  even  out  of  that 
will  I  cause  thescof  Cyprus  to  mutiny  ;  whose  qua- 
lifi  ration  shall  come  into  no  true  taste  again,  but 
by  the  displanting  of  Cassio.  So  shall  you  have  a 
shorter  journey  to  your  desires,  by  the  means  I 
shall  then  have  to  prefer  them  ;  and  the  impediment 
must  profitably  removed,  without  the  which  tJiere 
were  no  expectation  of  our  prosperity. 

Rfid.  I  will  do  this,  if  I  can  bring  it  to  any  op- 
portunity. 

lugo.  I  warrant  thee.  Meet  me  by  and  by  at 
the  citadel:  I  must  letch  his  necessaries  ashore. 
Farewell. 

7?o'/.  Adieu.  [Exit, 

lugo.  That  Cassio  loves  her,  T  do  well  believe  it; 
That  she  loves  him,  'tis  apt,  and  of  great  credit: 
The  Moor — howbeit  that  1  endure  him  not — 
Is  of  a  constant,  loving,  noble  nature; 
And,  I  dare  tliink,  he'll  prove  to  Desdemona 
A  most  dear  husband.     Now  I  do  love  her  too; 
Not  out  of  absolute  lust,  (though  peradventure, 
I  stand  accountant  for  as  great  a  sin,) 
But  partly  led  to  diet  my  revenge, 
For  that  1  do  suspect  tlie  lusty  Moor 
Hatli  leap'd  into  my  seat:  the  thought  whereof 
Doth,  like  a  poisonous  mineral,  gnaw  my  inwards; 
ATid  nothing  can  or  shall  content  my  soul, 
Till  I  am  even  with  him,  wife  for  wife; 
Or,  failing  so,  yet  that  I  put  the  Moor 
At  least  into  a  jealousy  so  strong 
That  judgment  cannot  cure.    Which  thing  to  do,— 
If  this  poor  trash^  of  Venice,  whom  I  Irasli^ 
For  his  quick  hunting,  stand  the  putting  on, 
ni  have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  tlie  hip; 
Abuse  him  to  the  Moor  in  the  rank  garb,^ — 
For  I  fear  Cassio  with  my  night-cap  too; 
Make  the  Moor  thank  me,  love  me,  and  reward  me, 
For  making  him  egregiously  an  ass. 
And  practising  upon  his  peace  and  quiet 
Kven  to  madness.    'Tis  here,  but  yet  confus'd  ; 
Knavery's  plain  face  is  never  seen,  till  used.    [£xU. 

SCKNKU.— A  Sf reef. 

Enter  a    Herald,  tcifh    a  Proclafttatian,    People 

fotloiclug. 

tier.  It  is  Othello's  pleasure,  our  noble  and 
valiant  general,  that,  upon  certain  tidings  now  ar- 
rived, importing  the  mero^  perdition  of  the  Turkish 
fleet,  every  man  put  himself  into  triumph;  some 
to  dance,  some  to  make  bonfires,  each  man  to  what 
sport  and  revels  his  addiction  leads  him;  for,  be- 
sides these  beneficial  news,  it  islhe  celebration  of  his 
nuptials:  So  much  was  his  pleasure  should  be  pro- 
claimed. All  oHices^  are  open;  and  there  is  full 
liberty  of  ieasting,  from  this  present  hour  of  five, 
till  the  bell  hatli  told  eleven.  Heaven  bless  the  isle 
olCyprus,  and  our  noble  general,  Othello.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  HI.— /I  Hall  in  tlie  Castle. 
Enter  Othello,  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and 
Attendants. 
Ofh.  Good  Michael,  look  you  to   the  guard  to- 
night : 
•■>  "Worthless  hound. 

•  Tho  tuj-m  for  a  clog  put  on  a  hound,  to  binder  hU 
runTiiii^r.  »  In  the  grossi^st  manner. 

*  Jiutire.  1  Hooms,  or  places  in  the  castle. 


Let's  teach  ourselves  that  honorable  stop. 
Not  to  out-sport  discretion. 

Cits.  lat;o  hath  direction  what  to  do; 
But,  notwithstanding,  with  my  personal  eye 
WiU  I  look  to^t. 

Ot/t.  lago  is  most  honest. 

Michael, good-night:  To-morrow, with ourearliest, 
Let  me  have  speech  with  you, — Come,  my  dear  love, 
The  purchase  made,  the  fruits  are  to  ensue ; 

[To  I)K«DEMON'A. 

That  profit's  yet  to  come  Hwixt  me  and  you. — 
Good-night.   '[Exeunt  Otu.,  Des.,  and  Attendants. 
Enter  Iago. 

Cas.  Welcome,  lago:  We  must  to  the  watch. 

Iiigo.  Not  this  hour,  lieutenant;  'tis  not  yet  ten 
oVlock:  Our  general  cast"*  us  Uius  early,  for  tlie 
love  of  his  Desdemona;  whom  let  us  not  theretbre 
blame;  he  hath  not  yet  made  wanton  the  night 
with  her:  and  she  is  sport  for  Jove. 

Cas.  She's  a  most  exquisite  lady. 

Jago.  And,  I'll  warrant  her,  full  of  game. 

Cas.  Indeed,  she  is  a  most  fresh  and  delicate 
creature. 

lago.  What  an  eye  she  has!  methinks  it  sounds 
a  parley  of  provocation. 

Cas.  An  inviting  eye;  and  yet  methinks  right 
modest. 

lago.  And,  when  she  speaks,  is  it  not  an  alarm 
to  love  ] 

Cas.  She  is,  indeed,  perfection. 

lago.  Well,  happiness  to  their  sheets!  Come, 
lieutenant,  I  have  a  stoup  of  wine;  and  here  with- 
out are  a  brace  of  Cyprus  gallants,  that  would  fain 
have  a  measure  to  the  iieallh  of  the  black  Othello. 

Cas.  Not  to-night,  good  lago;  I  have  very  poor 
and  unhappy  brains  lor  drinking:  I  could  well  wish 
courtesy  would  invent  some  other  custom  of  enter- 
tainment. 

lago.  O,  they  are  our  friends;  but  one  cup;  I'll 
drink  tor  you. 

Cas.  I  have  drunk  but  one  cup  to-niicht,  and  that 
was  craftily  qualified^  too,  and,  behold,  what  imio- 
vation  it  makes  here:  I  am  unlbrtunate  in  the  in- 
firmity, and  dare  not  task  my  weakness  with  any 
more, 

lago.  What,  man!  'tis  a  night  of  revels;  the 
gallants  desire  it. 

Cas.  Where  are  they  7 

lago.  Here  at  the  door;  I  pray  you,  call  them  in. 

Cas.  ni  do't;  but  it  dislikes  me.      [Exit  Cassio. 

logo.  If  I  can  fasten  but  one  cup  upon  him, 
Willi  that  which  he  hath  drunk  to-night  already. 
He'll  be  as  full  of  quarrel  and  ofieuce 
As  my  young  mistress'  dog.    Now,  my  sick  fool, 

Jloderigo, 
Whom  love  has  turn'd  almost  the  wrong  side  out- 
ward. 
To  Desdemona  hath  to-night  carousM 
Potations  pottle  deep;  and  he's  to  watch  : 
Three  lads  of  Cyprus, — noble  swelling  spirits, 
.That  hold  their  honors  in  a  wary  di.stance, 
The  very  elements  of  this  warlike  isle, — 
Have  I  to-night  fluster'd  with  flowing  cups, 
And  they  watch  too.    Now,  *mongst  this  flock  of 

drunkards. 
Am  I  to  put  our  Cassio  in  some  action 
That  may  oflond  the  isle:— But  here  they  come: 
If  consequence  do  but  approve  my  dream. 
My  boat  sails  freely,  both  with  wind  and  stream. 
lie-enter  Cassio.  ivith  him  Mo\tano,  and 
Gentlemen. 

Cas.  Tore  heaven,  they  have  given  me  a  rouse' 
already. 

Mon.  Good  faith,  a  little  one;  not  p^ist  a  pint, 
as  I  am  a  soldier. 

lago.  Some  wine,  ho  ! 

And  let  me  the  canakin  clink,  clink;  [Sings. 
And  let  nte  the  canakin  clink: 
A  soldier''s  a  jnan  ; 
A  life''s  Out  a  spafi ; 
Why  the7ij  let  a  soldier  drink. 

Some  wine,  boys !  [  IVitie  hrtmght  in- 

Cas.  'Fore  heaven,  an  excellent  song. 

lago.  I  learned  it  in  England,  where  (indeed) 
they  are  most  potent  in  putting;  your  Dane,  your 
German,  and  your  swag-luUn  d  IfoUander, — Drink, 
ho! — are  nothing  to  your  Kngli^sh. 

e  Pismissed.  s  Slyly  mixed  witli  water. 

'■  A  little  more  than  enough. 


Scene  III. 


THE   MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


59 


Cas.  Is  your  Englishman  so  expert  in  liis  diinli- 
ing  ! 

Iiigo.  Wliv,  lie  drinks  you,  with  (bcihty,  your 
Dane  dead  drunl<;  he  sweats  not  to  overthrow  your 
Almain;  he  gives  your  Hollander  a  vomit,  ere  the 
next  pottle  can  be  (JUcd. 

Ca.s.  To  the  health  of  our  general. 

Miin.  I  ara  lor  it,  lieutenant;  and  I'll  do  you 
justire." 

Jaga.  0  sweet  England  ! 

King  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peer? 

His  breeches  cnsl  him  but  a  crown; 
He  held  them  sixpence  alt  too  dear, 

With  that  he  caWd  tlie  tailor— town.* 
He  leas  a  wight  of  high  renown, 

Attd  thou  art  but  of  Inw  degree: 
'Tis  pride  tluit  putts  the  country  down, 
Then  take  tlUne  auld  ctoali  about  thee. 
Some  wine,  ho ! 

Cas.  Why,  this  is  a  more  exquisite  song  than  the 
other. 

logo.  Will  you  hear  it  again  i 

Cas.  No;  for  I  hold  him  to  be  unworthy  of  his 
place,  that  does  those  things.— Well.— Heaven's 
above  all ;  and  there  be  souls  that  must  be  saved, 
and  there  be  souls  must  not  be  .saved. 

lago.  It's  true,  good  lieutenant. 

Cas.  For  mine  own  part, — no  offence  to  the  gene- 
ral, or  any  man  of  quality, — I  hope  to  be  saved. 

lago.  And  so  do  I  too,  lieutenant. 

Cas.  Ay,  but,  by  your  leave,  not  before  me;  the 
lieutenant  is  to  he  saved  before  the  ancient.  Let's 
have  no  more  of  this;  let's  to  our  aflairs. — Forgive 
us  our  sins! — Gentlemen,  let's  look  to  our  busi- 
ness. Do  not  think,  gentlemen.  I  am  drunk;  this 
is  my  ancient;— Ihis  is  my  right  hand,  and  this  is 
my  left  hand:— I  am  not  drunk  now;  I  can  stand 
well  enough,  and  speak  well  enough. 

All.  Excellent  well. 

Cas.  Wliv.  very  well,  then:  you  must  not  think 
then  that  lam  drunk.  [Exit. 

Mon.  To  the  platform,  masters;  come,  let's  set 
the  watch. 

lago.  You  see  this  fellow  that  is  gone  before ; — 
He  is  a  soldier,  fit  to  stand  by  Ctesar 
And  give  direction ;  and  do  but  see  his  vice ; 
'Tis  to  his  virtue  a. just  equinox. 
The  one  as  long  as  the  other:  'tis  pity  of  him. 
I  tear,  the  trust  Othello  puis  him  in, 
On  some  odd  time  of  his  infirmity 
Will  shake  this  island. 

Mun.  But  is  he  often  thus  1 

logo.  'Tis  evermore  the  prologue  to  his  sleep: 
He'll  watch  the  horologe  a  double  set,» 
If  drink  rock  not  his  cradle. 

Mon.  It  were  well 

The  general  were  put  in  mind  of  it. 
Perhaps  he  sees  it  not;  or  his  good  nature 
Prizes  the  virtue  that  appears  ni  Cassio, 
And  looks  not  on  his  evils :  Is  not  this  true  1 
EiUer  RoDERiGO. 

lago.  How  now,  Roderigo  ?  [Aside. 

I  pray  you,  alter  the  Ueutcnant ;  go. 

[Exit  RonERiGO. 

Mon.  And  'tis  great  pity,  that  the  noble  Jloor 
.Should  hazard  such  a  place,  as  his  own  second. 
With  one  of  an  ingralV  infirmity  : 
It  were  an  honest  action,  to  say 
So  to  the  Moor. 

lago.  Not  I,  for  Ihis  fair  island  : 

I  do  love  Cassio  well;  and  would  do  much 
To  cure  him  of  this  evil.    Hut  hark!  what  noise? 
[Cry  wilhin^-lieX^)'.  help! 
Re-enter  Cabsio,  driving  in  Roderigo. 

Cas.  You  rogue  !  you  rascal ! 

MoJi.  "        What's  the  matter,  lieutenant  1 

Cas.  .K  kTiave ! — teach  me  my  duty  ? 
I'll  beat  the  knave  into  a  twiggeu'  bottle. 

Rod.  Beat  me ! 

Cos.  Dost  thou  prate,  rogue  1 

[Striking  RoDEniGO. 

Mon.  Nay,  good  lieutenant;  [Stayi?ig  him. 

I  pray  you,  sir,  hold  your  hand. 

Cas.  Let  me  go,  sir. 

Or  I'll  knock  you  o'er  the  mazzard. 

Mon.  Come,  come,  you're  drunk. 

a  Prhik  as  much  as  you  do.  3  .\  worthy  fellow.  *  Clown. 

8  \Vhile  the  clock  strikes  two  rounds,  or  four-and-t wen ty 
hours,  e  Hooted,  settled.         ■>  A  wicker'd  bottle. 


Cos.  Drunk!  •  [They fight. 

lago.  Away,  I  say!  go  out,  and  cry — a  mutiny. 
[Aaide  to  Rod.,  who  goes  out. 
Nay,  good  lieutenant, — alas,  gcniletnen, — 
Help,  ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montaiio, — sir, — 
Help,  masters ! — Here's  a  goodly  walch.  indeed  ! 

[Bell  rings. 
Who's  that  that  rings  the  bell?— Diablo,  ho  ! 
The  town  will  rise:  God's  will,  lieutenant !  hold; 
You  will  be  shamed  lor  ever. 

Enter  Othello  and  Attendants. 
'  Ofh.  What  is  the  matter  here  ? 

Mon.  I  bleed  still,  I  am  hurt  to  the  death ; — he 
dies. 

0th.  Hold,  for  your  lives. 

lago.  Hold,    bold,    lieutenant,  sir,  Montano, — 
gentlemen, — 
Have  you  forgot  all  sense  of  place  and  duty? 
Hold,  hold !  the  general  speaks  to  you ;  hold,  for 
shame ! 

Otk.  Why.  how  now,  ho  !  from  whence  ariseth 
this? 
.\re  we  turn'd  Turks;  and  to  Ourselves  do  that. 
Which  heaven  hath  forbid  the  Ottomites? 
For  Christian  shame. put  by  this  barbarous  brawl: 
He  that  stirs  next  to  carve  for  his  own  rage. 
Holds  bis  soul  light;  he  dies  upon  his  molion.— 
.Silence  that  dreadful  bell,  it  frights  the  isle 
From  her  propriety. — What  is  the  matter,  masters  ? 
Honest  lago,  that  look'st  dead  with  grieving. 
Speak,  who  began  this  ?  on  thy  love,  I  charge  Ihee. 

lago.  I   do  not    know; — friends  all   but  now, 
even  now. 
In  quarter,  and  in  terms  like  bride  and  groom 
Divesting  them  for  bed:  and  then,  but  now, 
(As  if  some  planet  had  unwilted  men.) 
Swords  out,  and  tihiug  one  at  other's  breast. 
In  opposition  bloody.    1  cannot  speak 
Any  beginmng  to  this  peevish  odds; 
,\nd  'would  in  action  glorious  I  had  lost 
These  legs,  that  brought  me  to  a  part  of  it ! 

0th.  How  comes  it,  Michael,  you  arc  Ihus  forgot? 

Cas.  I  pray  you  pardon  me,  I  cannot  speak. 

0th.  Worthy  Montano,  you  were  wont  be  civil; 
The  gravity  and  stillness  of  your  j-outh 
The  world  hath  noted,  and  your  name  is  great 
In  mouths  of  wisest  censure;  What's  the  matter. 
That  \ou  unlace  your  reputation  thus. 
And  s'pend  your  rich  opinion,  for  the  name 
Of  a  Tiight  brawler?  give  me  answer  to  it. 

Mon.  Worthy  Othello,  I  am  hurt  to  danger  ; 
Your  officer,  lago,  can  inform  you — 
While  I  spare  speech,  which  something  now  offends 

me — 
Of  all  that  I  do  know:  nor  know  I  aught 
By  me  that's  said  or  done  amiss  this  night; 
i;"nless  self-charity  be  sometime  a  vice; 
.\nd  to  defend  ourselves  it  be  a  sin, 
Wlien  violence  assails  us. 

0th.  Now,  by  heaven, 

My  blood  begins  my  safer  guides  to  rule ; 
And  passion,  having  my  best  judgment  coIUed,' 
Ass.ays  to  lead  the  way  :  If  once  I  stir. 
Or  do  hut  lift  this  arm',  the  best  of  you 
Shall  sink  in  my  rebuke.    Give  me  to  know 
How  this  foul  rout  began,  who  set  it  on  ; 
And  he  that  is  approy'd'  in  this  oflence. 
Though  he  had  twinii'd  with  me,  both  at  a  birth, 
Shall  lose  me. — What !  in  a  town  of  war. 
Yet  wild,  the  people's  hearts  brimful  of  fear, 
To  manage  private  and  domestic  quarrel. 
In  night,  and  on  the  court  and  guard  of  safety! 
'Tis  monstrous.— lago.  who  began  it  ? 

Mon.  If  partially  afhn'd.i  or  leagued  in  office 
Thou  dost  deliver  more  or  less  than  truth. 
Thou  art  no  soldier. 

lago.  Touch  me  not  so  near: 

I  bad  rather  have  this  tongue  cut  from  my  mouth. 
Than  it  should  do  ollc'nce  to  Michael  Cassio  ; 
Yet.  I  iiersuade  myself,  to  speak  the  truth 
Shall  nothing  wrong  him. — Thus  it  is,  general. 
Montiino  and  myself  being  in  speech. 
There  comes  a  lellow,  crying  out  for  help  ; 
And  Cassio  follo\^^ng  him  with  determin'd  sword. 
To  execute  upon  him :  Sir,  this  gentleman 
Steps  in  to  Cassio,  and  entreats  his  pause ; 
Myself  the  crying  fellow  did  pursue. 
Lest,  by  his  clamor,  (as  it  so  fell  out.) 

e  Darliened.  ■  Convicted  by  proc£ 

1  llelated  by  nearnegs  of  office. 


760 


OTHELLO, 


Act  IL  Scene  IIL 


The  town  might,  fall  in  fri^iht:  he,  swift  of  foot, 
Outran  my  purpose;  and  I  return'd  the  rather 
For  that  1  heard  the  clink  and  tail  of  swords, 
And  Cassio  high  in  oath ;  which,  till  to-ni^ht, 
1  neVr  might  say  before :  when  1  came  back, 
(For  tiiis  was  brief,)  I  found  them  close  toijelher, 
At  blow,  and  thrust;  even  as  ai;ain  they  were, 
When  you  yourself  did  part  them. 
More  of  this  matter  can  I  not  report : — 
But  men  are  men  ;  tlie  best  sunii^times  forg:et: — 
Thoujrh  Cassio  did  some  little  wrcn-j:  to  liim, — 
As  men  in  rage  strike  those  Hiat  wish  tiicm  bcst,^ 
Yet,  surely,  Cassio,  I  believe,  rcceivM, 
From  him  that  tied,  some  strange  indignitj', 
Which  patience  could  not  pass. 

Oik.  I  know,  lago 

Thy  honesty  and  love  dotJi  mince  this  matter. 
Making  it  light  to  Cassio  :— Cassio,  1  love  thee: 
But  never  more  be  othcer  of  mine. — 

Ktiier  Desdemona,  nifcmJed. 
Look,  if  my  gentle  love  be  not  rais'd  up;— 
ni  make  thee  an  example. 

/)e.v.  What''s  the  matter,  dear? 

0th,  AlFs  well  now,  sweeting ;  Come  away  to  bed. 
Sir,  for  your  hurts, 
Myself  will  be  your  surgeon :  Lead  him  ofT. 

[To  MoNTANo,  who  vs  led  off. 
lago,  look  with  care  ahout  the  town ; 
Aiid  silence  those  whom  this  vile  brawl  distracted. — 
Come.  Desdemona  ;  His  the  soldiers'  life. 
To  have  their  balmy  slumbers  waked  with  strife. 
[Exeunt  all  but  L\go  and  Cassio. 

Ingo.  What,  are  you  hurt,  lieutenant ! 

Cas.  Ay,  past  all  surgery. 

Jngo.  Marry,  heaven  forbid! 

Cas.  Reputation,  reputation,  reputation  !  0,  I 
have  lost  my  reputation!  I  have  lost  the  immortal 
part,  sir,  of  myself,  and  what  remains  is  bestial. — 
My  reputation,  lago,  my  reputation. 

logo.  As  I  am  an  honest  man,  I  thought  you  had 
received  some  bodily  wound;  there  is  more  oflenee 
in  that,  than  in  reputation.  Reputation  is  an  idle 
and  most  false  imposition  ;  oft  got  without  merit, 
and  lost  without  deserving:  You  have  lost  no  repu- 
tation atali,  unless  you  repute  yourself  such  a  loser. 
What, man  !  there  are  ways  to  recover  the  general 
again:  You  arc  but  now  east  in  his  mood,^  a 
punishment  more  in  policy  than  in  malice;  even 
so  as  one  would  beat  his  ortenceless  dog,  to  aflViglit 
an  imperious  lion  :  sue  to  him  again,  and  hc^'s  yours. 

Cas.  I  will  rather  sue  to  be  despised,  than  to 
deceive  so  good  a  commander,  willi  so  slight,  so 
drunken,  and  so  indiscreet  an  officer.  Druiikl  and 
speakitarrot  !3ands(^uabble  ;  swagger?  swear?  and 
discourse  fustian  with  oner's  own  shadow? — O  thou 
invisible  spirit  of  w'ine,  if  thou  hast  no  name  to  be 
known  by,  let  us  call  tliee — devil ! 

lago.  What  was  he  that  you  followed  with  your 
sword  !     What  had  he  done  to  you? 

Vas.  I  kiiow  not. 

Iifgo.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Cas.  I  remember  a  mass  of  things,  but  nothing 
distinctly;  a  quarrel,  but  nothing  wherclbre. — (), 
that  men  should  put  an  eneuiy  in  their  mouths,  to 
steal  away  their  brains!  that  wo  should,  with  joy, 
revel,  pleasure,  and  applause,  transform  ourselves 
into  beasts! 

logo.  Why,  but  you  are  now  well  enough:  How 
came  you  thus  recovered  .' 

Cas.  It  hath  pleased  the  devil,  drunkenness,  to 
give  place  to  the  devil,  wrath  :  one  unperfectness 
shows  me  another,  to  make  me  frankly  despise  my- 
self. 

logo.  Come,  you  are  too  severe  a  moralcr:  As 
thn  tune,  tiie  i)laee,  and  the  condilion  of  this  coun- 
try stands,  1  could  heartily  wisli  tliis  had  not  bc- 
liiUen;  but  since  it  is  as  it  is,  mend  it  for  your  own 
good. 

Can.  I  will  ask  him  for  my  place  again;  he  shall 
tell  me,  I  am  a  drunkard!  Had  I  as  many  mouths 
as  Hydra,  such  an  answer  would  stop  them  all.  To 
be  now  a  sensible  man,  by-and-by  a  fool,  and  pre- 
sently a  beast!  O  strange  !— Kvery  inordinate  cup 
is  unolessed,  and  the  ingredient  is  a  devil. 

lago.  Come,  come,  good  wine  is  a  good  familiar 
creature,  if  it  be  well   used;   exclaim  no  more 
3  Dismissed  in  hJs  .nugor.  a  Tulk  idly. 


against  it.   And,  good  lieutenant,  I  think,  you  think 
I  love  you. 

Cas.  I  have  well  approved  it,  sir.— I  drunk? 

lago.  You,  or  any  man  living,  may  be  drunk  at 
some  time,  man.  "Fll  tell  you  what  you  shall  do. 
Our  gencraPs  wife  is  now  the  general : — I  may  say 
so  in  this  respect,  for  that  he  hath  devoted  and 
given  up  himself  to  the  contemplation,  mark,  and 
denotement  of  her  parts  and  graces:  —  confess 
yourself  freely  to  her;  importune  her;  she'll  help 
to  put  you  in  your  place  again :  she  is  of  so  free, 
so  kind,  so  apt,  so  blessed  a  disposition,  that  she 
holds  it  a  vice  in  her  goodness,  not  to  do  more 
than  she  is  requested:  This  broken  joint,  between 
you  and  her  husband,  entreat  her  to  splinter;  and, 
my  fortunes  against  any  lay^  worth  naming,  this 
crack  of  your  love  shall  grow  stronger  tlian  it  was 
before. 

Cas.  You  advise  me  well. 

lago.  I  protest  in  the  sincerity  of  love,  and  honest 
kindness. 

Cas.  I  think  it  freely;  and. betimes  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  will  beseech  the  virtuous  Desdemona  to  un- 
dertake for  me:  1  am  desperate  of  my  fortunes,  if 
they  check  me  here. 

lago.  You  are  in  the  right.  Good-night,  lieu- 
tenant; I  m\ist  to  the  watch. 

Cas.  Good-night,  honest  lago.  [Exit  Cassio. 

lago.  And  what's  he  then,  that  says, — 1  play  the 
villain ; 
When  this  advice  is  free,  I  give,  and  honest, 
Probai  to  thinking,  and  (indeed)  the  course 
To  win  tbe  Moor  again  !  For,  tis  most  easy 
Tile  inclining  Desdemona  to  subdue 
In  any  honest  suit:  she's  framed  as  fruitful^ 
As  the  free  elements.    And  then  lor  her 
To  win  the  Moor,  were't  to  renounce  his  baptism, 
All  seals  and  symbolsof  redeemed  sin, — 
His  .soul  is  so  enfctter'd  to  her  love, 
That  she  may  make,  unmake,  do  what  she  list, 
Kven  as  her  appetite  shall  play  the  god 
With  his  weak  function.    How  am  I  then  a  villain, 
To  counsel  Cassio  to  this  parallel'>  course. 
Directly  to  his  good  ?    Divinity  of  hell ! 
Wiicn  devils  with  their  blackest  sins  put  on. 
They  do  suggest  at  tirst  with  heavenly  shows, 
As  1  do  now:  For  while  this  honest  fool 
Plies  Desdemona  to  repair  iiis  tbrtunes, 
And  she  for  him  pleads  strongly  to  the  Moor, 
I'll  pour  this  pestilence  into  his  ear, — 
That  she  repeals'  him  for  her  love  of  him  ; 
And.  by  liovv  much  slie  strives  to  do  him  good, 
She  shai'l  undo  her  credit  with  the  Moor. 
So  will  I  turn  her  virtue  into  pilch; 
And  out  ol  her  own  goodness  make  the  net 
That  shall  enmesh  them  all. — How  now,  Roderigo  T 
JCnler  Roderigo. 

Hod.  I  do  follow  here  in  the  chase,  not  like  a 
hound  that  hunts,  but  one  that  tills  up  the  cry.  My 
money  is  almost  spent;  I  have  been  to-night  ex- 
ceedingly well  cudgelled;  an  J,  1  think,  the  issue 
will  be — I  shall  have  so  much  experience  for  my 
pains:  and  so,  with  no  money  at  all,  and  a  little 
more  wit,  return  to  Venice. 

lago.   How  poor  are  they,  that  have  not    pa- 
tience!— 
What  wound  did  ever  heal,  hut  by  degrees 
Thouknow'st  we  work  by  wit,  and  not  bywitchcrafl; 
And  wit  depends  on  dilatory  time. 
Does't  not  go  well?  Cassio  hath  beaten  thee. 
And  tbou,by  that  small  hurt,  hath cashier'd  Cassio 
Though  other  things  grow  liiir  against  the  sun, 
Yet  fruits  that  blossom  lirst,  will  tirst  be  ripe: 
Content  thyself  a  while.— By  the  mass, 'tis  morning, 
Pleasure,  and  action,  make  the  hours  seem  short. — 
Retire  thee;  go  where  lliou  art  billeted: 
Away,  I  say;  thou  shall  know  nioreliereafler: 
^■ay,  get  thee  gone.  [iU'i/ Rod.]  Two  tilings  aie 

to  be  done, — 
My  wife  must  move  for  Cassio  to  her  mistress; 
ril  set  heron; 

Myself,  the  while,  to  draw  the  Moor  apart, 
And  bring  him  jumpf'  when  he  may  Cassio  find 
Soliciting  his  wife: — Ay,  that's  the  way  ; 
Dull  not  de\icc  by  coldness  and  delay.      [ExeuiiU 

*  Jttt  or  wager.  >  l.ihoinl.  bountiful.  •  Even. 

1  Kecails.  ■  Just  at  tho  time. 


Act  III.  fcENE  III. 


THE    MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


761 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I,— Before  ike  Castle.     * 
Enter  CvVSSio  (Oidsonie  Musicians. 

Cas.  Masters,  play  here,  I  will  content  your  pains, 
Something  tliat's  brief;  and   bid— good-morrow, 
general.  [Music. 

Enter  Clown. 

Clo.  Why,  masters,  have  your  instruments  been 
at  N;ii)Ies,  tliaL  they  speak  P  the  nose  thus  .' 

1  Mas.  How,  sir,  how? 

Clo.  Are  tliose,  1  pray  you,  called  wind  instru- 
ments ! 

1  Mus.  Ay,  marry,  are  they,  sir. 

Clo.  O,  thereby  hangs  a  tail. 

1  Mus.  Wherehv  iiangs  a  tale,  sir  ? 

Cl'i,  Marry,  sir,  by  many  a  wind  Instrument  that 
I  know.  But,  masters,  here^s  money  lor  you  ;  and 
the  generalsolikesyour  music,  that  he  desires  you, 
ol'  all  loves,  to  make  no  more  noise  with  it. 

1  Mus.  Well,  sir,  we  will  not. 

Clo.  It"  you  liave  any  music  that  may  not  be 
heard,  to't'  again:  but,  as  they  say,  to  hear  music, 
the  general  does  not  greatly  care. 

1  Mus.  We  have  none  such,  sir. 

Clo.  Then  put  up  your  pipes  in  your  bag,  for  I'll 
away:  Go;  vanisli  into  air;  away. 

[Exeunt  Musicians. 

C(is.  Dost  thou  hear,  my  honest  friend  \ 

Clo.  No,  I  hear  not  your  honest  friend  ;  i  hear  you. 

Cas.  Pr'ythee,  keep  up  thy  quillets.^  TIierc''s  a 
poor  piece  of  gold  lor  thee:  if  the  gentlewoman 
tliat  attends  the  general's  wife  be  stirring,  tell  her 
there's  one  Cassio  entreats  her  a  little  liivor  of 
speech:  Wilt  thou  do  this! 

Clo.  She  is  stirring,  sir;  If  she  will  stir  hither,  I 
shall  seem  to  notify  unto  her.  [Exit. 

Enter  Iago. 

Ca.f.  Do,  good  my  friend. — In  hnppy  time,  Iago. 

hf^o.  You  have  not  been  a-bed  tlicn  ! 

Ca.s.  Why,  no;  the  day  had  broke 
Before  we  partetl.    I  have  made  bold.  Iago, 
To  send  in  to  your  wife :  My  suit  to  her 
Is,  that  slie  will  to  virtuous  Desdemona 
procure  me  some  access. 

Ja^o.  VU  send  her  to  you  presently; 

And  I'll  devise  a  mean  to  draw  the  Ahior 
Out  of  the  way,  that  your  converse  and  business 
May  be  more  irue.  [Exit. 

CV/.s.  I  humbly  thank  you  forH.    I  never  knew 
A  Florentine  more  kind  and  honest. 

Enter  Emilia. 
Emil.   Good-morrow,  good    lieutenant:    I    am 
sorry 
For  j'our  displeasure;  but  all  will  soon  bo  well. 
The  general  and  his  wile  are  talking  of  it ; 
AtuI  she  speaks  for  you  stoutly :  Tlie  Moorreplics, 
That  lie,  you  hurt,  is  of  great  fame  in  Cyprus, 
And  great  adinity;  and  that,  in  wholesome  wis- 
dom. 
He  might  not  but  refuse  you :  but,  he  protests,  he 

loves  you ; 
And  needs  no  other  suitor,  but  his  likings, 
To  take  the  sal'st  occasion  by  the  front, 
To  bring  you  in  again. 

Co-f.  Yet,  I  beseccli  you, — 

If  you  think  fit,  or  that  it. may  be  done, 
Give  me  advantage  of  some  brief  discourse 
With  Desdemona  alone. 

Emil.  Pray  you,  come  in  ; 

I  will  liestow  you,  where  you" shall  have  time 
To  speak  your  bosom  freely. 
Cas,  1  am  much  bound  to  you. 

[Kxcu7d. 

SCENE  II  —A  Room  in  the  Castle. 
Ejiter  Othello,  Iago,  a?id  Gentlemen. 
Ofh.  These  letters  give,  Iago,  to  the  pilot ; 
And.  l)y  him,  do  my  duties  to  the  state : 
Tliat  done,  I  will  he  walking  on  the  works  ; 
Repair  there  to  ine. 
Iago.  Well,  my  good  lord,  I'll  do't. 

•  Nice  distiDctions. 


[      0/A.  This  fortification,  gentlemen,  —  shall   we 
I  sec't '! 

Gent.  We'll  wait  upon  your  lordship.    [Exeuni» 

SCENE  Ul.— Before  the  Castle. 
Enter  Desdemona,  Cassio,  and  Emilia. 

Des.  Be  thou  assur'd,  good  Cassio,  I  will  do 
All  my  ahililics  ni  tliy  behalf. 

Emil.  Good  madam,  do;  1  know  it  grieves  my 
husband 
As  if  the  case  were  liis. 

Des.  O,  that's  an  honest  fellow. — Do  not  doubt, 
Cassio, 
But  1  will  have  my  lord  and  you  again 
As  friendly  as  you  were. 

Cas.  Bounteous  madam, 

Whatever  shall  become  of  Micliael  Cassio, 
He's  never  any  thing  but  your  true  servant. 

Des.  O.  sir,  I  thank  you:  You  do  love  my  lord: 
You  have   known   him  long;   and,  be   you  well 

assur'd, 
He  shall  in  strangeness  stand  no  further  oil" 
Than  in  a  jwJitic  distance. 

(V/.v.  Ay,  but,  lady, 

Tiiat  policy  may  either  last  so  hmg, 
Or  feed  upon  such  nice  and  waterish  diet. 
Or  l)reed  itselfso  out  of circumstaiiri', 
Ttiat.  1  being  absent,  and  niy  place  supplied, 
My  general  will  forget  my  love  and  service. 

Dts.  Do  nol  (li)iiltt  lli;tl ;  before  Emilia  here, 
I  give  thee  warrant  of  thy  ]ilace ;  assure  thee, 
If  I  do  vow  a  friendslii|>,  Vll  pertbrm  it 
To  the  last  article:  my  lord  shall  never  rest ; 
I'll  watch  him  tame,'  and  talkhim  outof  patience; 
His  bed  shall  seem  a  schooj.  his  board  a  shnU  ; 
1*11  intermingle  every  thing  he  does 
Wilh  Cassio*s  suit:  Therelbre  be  merry,  Cassio; 
For  thy  solicitor  sIkiII  rather  die, 
Tliaugivc  thy  cause  away. 

Elder  Otukllo  and  Iaco,  at  a  distance. 

Emil.  Madam,  here  comes 

My  lord. 

Cas.        Madam,  I'll  take  my  leave. 

Dts.  Wliy,  stay. 

And  hear  me  speak. 

Ca.s:  Madam,  not  now;  I  am  very  ill  at  ease, 
Until  for  mine  own  purposes. 

Ut'.v.  Well,  well. 

Do  your  discretion.  [Exit  Cassio. 

la^o.  Ha  !  1  like  not  that. 

Olh.  What  dost  thou  say  I 

loi^o.  Notlnng,  my  lord  :  or  if— I  know  not  what. 

Olh.  Was  not  that  Cassio,  parted  frommy  wilcT 

///A'-f>.  Cassio, my  lord  !  No, sure, I  cannot  thmkit, 
That  ho  would  steal  away  so  guilty-like, 
Seeing  you  coining. 

Otli.  I  do  believe  *twas  he. 

DfS.  How  now,  my  lord  ! 
I  have  been  talking  with  a  suitor  here, 
A  man  that  languishes  in  your  displeasure. 

Olh.  Who  is't.  yi)ii  mean  \ 

Dts.  WJiy,  your  lieutenant  Cassio.     Good   my 
lord, 
If  I  lia\e  any  grace,  or  power  to  move  you, 
His  present  rec(tnciliaIion  take  : 
For,  if  he  be  not  one  that  truly  loves  you. 
That  errs  in  ignorance,  and  not  in  cunning, 
I  have  no  judgment  in  an  honest  lace: 
I  pr'ythee,  cull  Jnm  back. 

Olh.  Went  he  hence  nowl 

Dts,  Ay,  soolh;  so  humbled. 
That  he  halh  left  part  ol  his  grief  wilh  me* 
I  sutler  with  him.    Good  love,  call  liim  hacK. 

Olh.  Not  now,  sweet  Desdemona;   some  other 
time. 

Drs.  But  shan't  be  shortly? 

0th.  The  sooner,  sweet,  for  you. 

Drs.  Shall't  be  to-night  at  supper  .' 

0th.  No,  not  to-night. 

Dc:u  To-morrow  dinner  tlien  ? 

0th.  I  shall  not  dine  at  home; 

I  meet  the  captains  at  the  citadel. 

*  Hawks  are  tamod  by  kecpiug  them  fronx  sleep. 


762 


OTHELLO, 


Act  in. 


Des>  Why  theil,  to-morrow  night;  or  Tuesday 
morn ; 
Or  Tuesday  noon, or  ni^ht;  or  Wednesday  morn;— 
I  pray  tliee.  name  the  lime;  but  let  it  not 
Kxcecd  three  days:  in  faith  he's  penitent; 
And  yet  iiis  trespass,  in  our  common  reason, 
(Save  that,  they  say,  the  wars   must  make  ex- 
amples 
Out  of  their  best,2)  is  not  almost  a  fault 
To  incur  a  private  check  :  When  shall  he  come  1 
Tel!  inc,  Othello.    I  wonder  in  my  soul, 
Wluit  you  could  ask  me,  that  I  should  den^% 
Or  stand  so   mammeringS  on.    What!    Michael 

Cassio. 
That  came  a-wooing;  with  you;  and  many  a  time, 
When  I  have  spoke  of  you  dispraisingly, 
Hath  taVn  your  part;  to  have  so  much  to  do 
To  liring  liim  in  f    Trust  me,  I  could  do  much — 

0(h.  Pr'ythee,  no  more:  let  him  come  when  he 
will; 
I  will  deny  thee  nothing. 

Des.  Why,  this  is  not  a  boon ; 

'Tis  as  T  should  entreat  you  wear  your  t^loves, 
Or  feed  on  nourishing  dishes,  or  keep  you  warm, 
Or  sue  to  you  to  do  peculiar  protit 
To  your  own  person:  Nay,  when  I  have  a  suit, 
Wherein  I  mean  to  touch  your  love  indeed, 
It  f^iiail  be  full  of  poise^  and  difficulty, 
And  loarful  to  be  granted. 

Oik.  I  will  deny  thee  nothing  : 

Whereon,  I  do  beseech  thee,  grant  me  this, 
To  leave  me  but  a  little  to  myself. 

Defi.  Sbali  I  deny  you?  no:  Farewell, my  lord. 

0/A.  Farewell,  my  Desderaona:  I  will  come  to 
thee  straight. 

Des.  Emilia,  come: — Be  it  as  your  fancies  teach 
you  ; 
Whate'er  you  be,  I  am  obedient. 

[Exit,  yuth  Kmiua. 

Ofh.  Excellent  wretch  !  Perdition  catch  my  soul, 
But  I  do  love  thee !  and  vv-hen  I  love  thee  not, 
Chaos  is  come  again. 

lugo.  My  noble  lord, 

Ofh.  What  dost  thou  say,  lago  1 

logo.  Did  ^Michael  Cassio,  when  you  woo'd  my 
lady. 
Know  of  your  love  1 

Ollu  He  did,  li-om  first  to  last:  Why  dost  thou 
ask  ] 

7r/iro.  But  for  a  satisfaction  of  my  thought ; 
No  furtlier  harm. 

Ofh.  Why  of  thy  thought,  lago? 

lago.  I  did  not  think  he  had  been  acquainted 
with  her. 

Oih.  O,  yes  ;  and  went  between  us  very  oft. 

logo.  Indeed! 

Ofh.  Indeed:  av,indced:—Discern'st  thou  aught 
in  that? 
Is  he  not  honest! 

htgo.  Honest,  my  lord  ? 

Olb.  Ay,  honest. 

logo.  My  lord,  for  aught  I  know. 

Ofh.  What  dost  thou  think? 

logo.  Think,  my  lord? 

Olh.  Think,  my  lord! 

By  heaven,  he  echoes  me, 
As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  his  thought 
Too  hideous  to  be  shown.— Thou  dost  mean  some- 
thing: 
I  heard  thee  say  but  now, — Thoulik'dst  not  that, 
Wlieii  Cassio  left  my  wife:  What  didst  not  like? 
And,  when  I  told  thee— he  was  of  my  counsel 
In  my  whole  course  of  wooing,  thou  cry'dst,  In- 
deed ? 
And  didst  contract  and  purse  thy  brow  together, 
As  il  tiioii  then  hadst  shut  up  in'thy  brain 
Sonic  liorriliie  conceit:  If  thou  dost  love  me, 
Show  nil-  thy  thought. 

logo.  My  lord,  you  know  I  love  you. 

Qth.  I  think  thou  dost ; 

And,— for  T  know  thou  art  full  o(  love  and  honesty. 
Ana  weitih'st  thy  words  before  thou  giv'st  ihem 

breath, — 
Therefore  thes^e  stops  of  thine  fright  me  the  more: 
For  sucli  things,  in  a  false  disloyal  knave. 
Are  tricks  of  custom  ;'  but.  in  a  inan  that's  just. 
They  are  close  denotements,  working  from  the 

heart, 
That  passion  cannot  rule. 

«  Best  uicn.  a  IKsitatlng.  «  Weight. 


logo.  For  Michael  Cassio, — 

I  dare  be  sworn,  I  think  that  he  is  honest. 

Oth.  I  think  so  too. 

logo.  Men  should  be  what  they  seem : 

Or.  those  that  be  not, 'would  they  might  seem  none! 

Oth.  £)ertain,  men  should  be  what  they  seem. 

lago.  WJ)y  then, 

I  think  that  Cassio  is  an  honest  man. 

Otii.  Nay,  yet  there's  rpore  in  this: 
I  pray  thee,  speak  to  me  as  to  thy  thinkings. 
As  thou  dost  ruminate;   and  give  thy  worst  of 

thoughts 
The  worst  of  words. 

lago.  Good  my  lord,  pardon  me; 

Though  I  am  bound  to  every  act  of  duty, 
1  am  not  bound  to  tliat  all  slaves  are  tree  to. 
Utter  my  thoughts?     Why,  say,  they  are  vile  and 

talse. — 
As  Where's  tiiat  palace,  whereinto  foul  things 
Sometimes  intrude  not  ?  Who  has  a  breast  so  pure, 
But  some  uncleanly  apprehensions 
Keep  leets,"*  and  law-days,  and  in  session  sit 
With  meditations  lawful  ? 

Otk.  Thou  dost  conspire  against  thy  friend,  lago, 
If  tliou  but  think'st  him  wrong'd,  and  mak'st  his  car 
A  stranger  to  thy  thoughts. 

logo.  ,  I  do  beseech  you, — 

Though  I.  perchance,  am  vicious  in  my  guess. 
As  I  conless,  it  is  013'  nature's  plague 
To  spy  into  abuses ;  and.  oft,  my  jealousy 
Shapes  faults  that  are  not, — I  entreat  you  then, 
From  one  that  so  imperfectly  conjects.e 
Vou  take  no  notice;  nor  build  yourself  a  trouble 
Out  of  his  scattering  and  unsure  observance  : 
It  were  not  Ibr  your  quiet,  nor  your  good, 
Nor  tor  my  manhood,  honesty,  or  \«isdom. 
To  let  you  know  my  thoughts. 

Oih.  What  dost  thou  mean? 

logo.  Good  name,  in  man,  and  woman,  dear  my 
lord. 
Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls: 
Who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash :  'tis  something, 

nothing; 
'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thou- 
sands ; 
But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  tJiat.  which  not  enriches  him, 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

Ofh.  By  heaven,  I'll  know  thy  thought. 

logo.  You  cannot,  if  my  heart  were  in  your  hand; 
Nor  shall  not,  whilst  "'tis  in  my  custody. 

Ofh.  Ha! 

lago.  O,  beware,  my  lord,  of  jealousy ; 

It  is  the  green-eyed  monster,  which  doth  mock 
The  meat  it  fceils  on  :  Tliat  cuckold  lives  in  bliss, 
Who,  certain  of  his  fate,  loves  not  his  wronger; 
But,  O.  what  damned  minutes  tells  he  o'er, 
Whodotes.yet  doubts;  suspects,  yet  strongly  loves! 

Ofh.  0  misery! 

lago.  Poor,  and  content,  is  rich, and  rich  enough; 
But  riches,  tineless,"  is  as  poor  as  winter 
To  him  that  ever  fears  he  sliall  be  poor: — 
Good  heaven,  the  souls  of  all  my  tribe  defend 
From  jealousy. 

Offu  Why,  why  is  this? 

Think^st  thou,  I'd  make  a  life  of  jealousy. 
To  follow  still  the  changes  of  themoon 
With  fresh  suspicions?  No:  to  be  once  in  doubt. 
Is — once  to  be  resolved:  Exchange  me  for  a  goat, 
When  I  shall  turn  the  business  of  my  soul 
To  such  exsutHicate  and  blown  surmises, 
Matching  thy  inlerence.     'Tis  not  to  make  me 

jealous, 
To  say, — my  wife  is  fair,  feeds  well,  loves  com* 

pany. 
Is  free  of  speech,  sings,  plays,  and  dances  well; 
Wliere  virtue  is,  these  are  more  virtuous  : 
Nor  from  mine  own  weak  merits  will  I  draw 
The  smallest  fear,  or  doubt  of  her  revolt; 
For  she  had  eyes,  rind  chose  nie  :  No,  lago ; 
I'll  see,  before  I  doulit;  when  I  doubt,  prove; 
And,  on  the  proot",  there  is  no  more  but  this, — 
Away  at  once  with  love,  or  jealousy. 

logo,  I  am  glad  of  this,  for  now  I  shall  have 
reason 
To  show  the  love  and  duty  that  I  bear  you 
With  franker  spirit :  therefore,  as  I  am  bound, 
Receive  it  from  mc  : — 1  speak  not  yet  of  proot". 
•  Courts  of  iixiuiry.  6  Conjectures- 

■>  KuUleas,  uuboundcj. 


Scene  III. 


THE   MOOa   OF   VENICE. 


r63 


Look  to  your  wife;  observe  her  well  witii  Cassio; 

Wear  your  eye — thus,  not  jealous,  nor  s^ecure : 

I  would  not  have  your  I'rce  and  noble  nature,    . 

Out  of  scil-bounty,  be  abused  ;  look  lo't: 

I  know  our  country  disposition  well: 

In  Venice,  they  do  let  iieaven  see  the  pranks 

They  dare  not  show  their  husbands;   their  best 

conscience 
Is — not  to  leave  undone,  but  keep  unlmown. 

Oik.  Dost  thou  say  sol 

Iiii^o.  She  did  deceive  her  father,  marrying  you; 
And  when  she  seem'd   to  sliake,  and  fear  >T>ur 

looks, 
Slie  lov'd  them  most. 

0th.  And  so  she  did. 

/(/,i,'^o.  VVliy,  go  to,  then  ; 

She  Uia*.J^o  young,  could  give  out  such  a  seeming, 
To  seel^  her  father's  eyes  up  close  as  oak, — 
He  thought 'twas  witchcratl: — But  I  am  much  to 

blame ; 
I  humbly  do  beseech  you  of  your  pardon, 
For  too  much  loving  you. 

Olh.  I  am  bound  to  thee  for  ever. 

Iafi:o.  T  see  this  hath  a  little  dash'd  your  spirits. 

0th,  Not  a  jot,  not  a  jot. 

/f/^o.  Trust  me.  I  fear  it  has. 

I  hope,  you  will  consider  what  is  spoke 
Conies   from  my  love:— 13ut,  I   do  see,  you  are 

mov'd : — 
I  am  to  pray  you,  not  to  strain  my  speech 
To  grosser  issues.s  nor  to  larger  reach, 
Than  to  suspicion. 

Olh.  1  will  not. 

lago.  Should  you  do  so,  my  lord, 

My  speech  should  fall  into  such  vile  success 
As  my  thoughts  aim  not  at.    Cassio's  my  worthy 

friend:— 
My  lord,  I  see  you  are  mov'd. 

Oth.  No,  not  much  mov'd : — 

T  do  not  think  but  Desdemona's  honest. 

Itif^ii.  Long  live  she  so!    and  long  live  you  to 
tliink  so ! 

Oth.  And  yet,  how  nature,  erring  from  itself,— 

lugu.   Ay,  there's   the  point: — As, — to   be  bold 
with  you, — 
N"ot  to  affect  many  proposed  matches, 
Of  her  own  clime,  complexion,  and  degree; 
VVhcreto,  we  see,  in  all  things  nature  tends: 
Foil  I  one  may  smell,  in  sucJi,  a  will  most  rank 
Foul  disproportion,  thoughts  unnatural. — 
But,  jmrdon  me :  I  do  not,  in  posiiion, 
])istii.ct:y  -'^peak  of  her:  though  I  may  fear, 
Ih-r  V  ill.  recoilini^  to  her  heller  judgnient. 
May  fill  to  match  you  with  her  country  forms, 
And  (happily)  repent. 

Olh.  Farewell,  farewell: 

If  more  thou  dost  perceive,  let  me  know  more; 
Set  on  tliy  wife  to  observe:  Leave  me,  lago. 

/rg^o.  My  lord,  I  take  my  leave.  {Going. 

Olh.  Why  did  1  marry! — This  honest  creature, 
(.loubtlcss, 
Sees  and  knows  more,  much  more,  than  he  unfolds. 

Jugu.   My  lord,  I  would,  1  might  entreat  your 
honor 
To  s*an  this  thing  no  further;  leave  it  to  time: 
And  Iliougii  it  be  fit  tiiat  Cassio  have  his  place, 
(For,  sure,  he  tills  it  up  with  great  ability,) 
Vol  if  you  please  to  hold  him  olfa  while, 
You  shall  by  that  perceive  him  and  iiis  means: 
Note,  if  your  lady  strain  his  entertainment' 
With  any  strong  or  vehement  opportunity  ; 
MiK-h  will  be  seen  in  that.    In  the  mean  time. 
Let  me  be  thought  too  busy  in  my  fears, 
(As  worthy  cause  I  have,  to  fear — I  am,) 
And  hold  her  free,  I  do  beseech  your  honor. 

Olh-  Fear  not  my  government. 

lago,  I  once  more  take  my  leave.  \^Exit, 

Olh.  This  fellow's  of  exceeding  honesty. 
And  knows  all  qualities,  with  a  learned  spirit, 
Of  liuman  dealings  :  If  I  do  prove  her  haggard,2 
Thougli    that   her  jesses^  were  my  dear   heart- 
strings, 
IM  whistle  her  off,  and  let  her  down  the  wind, 
To  prey  at  fovtunc.    Haply,  for  I  fim  black  ; 

B  An  expression  from  falconry:  to  seel  a  h.iwk  is  to  sew 
up  his  evf  lids,  »  Conclusions. 

»  Vmh.^  Liai'd  his  readDiisi?ion  i(>  his  office. 

«  A  ppAJL'S  of  h:iwk;  also  a  term  of  rt-proach  applied  to 
a  waotuu.  \ 

>  Straps  of  leather  by  which  a  hawk  is  held  ou  the  fist,    i 


And  have  not  those  soft  parts  of  conversation 
Tliat  chamberers  have: — Or,  for  I  am  declined 
Into  tlie  vale  of  years  ; — yet  that's  not  much 
Slie's  gone;  I  am  abused;  and  my  relief 
Must  be — to  loath  her.    O  curse  of  marriage. 
That  wc  can  call  these  delicate  creatures  ours, 
And  not  their  appetites!  I  liad  rather  be  a  toad, 
And  live  upon  the  vapor  of  a  dungeon, 
Tlian  keep  a  corner  in  the  thing  1  love 
For  others'  uses.    Yet,  'tis  the  plague  of  great  ones; 
Prerogativ'd  are  they,  less  Ihan  the  base  ; 
'Tis  de.stiny  unshunnable,  like  death  ; 
Even  then  this  forked  plagu"?  is  fated  to  us. 
When  we  do  quicken.^    Desdemona  comes: 

Enter  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 
If  she  be  false,  O,  then  heaven  mocks  itself!  — 
I'll  not  believe  it. 

Des.  How  now,  my  dear  Othello  1 
Your  dinner,  and  the  generous  islanders 
IJy  you  invited,  do  attend  your  presence. 

Olh,  1  am  to  blarne. 

Bts*  Why  is  your  speech  so  faint  1  are  you  not 
well  1 

Oth,  I  have  a  pain  upon  my  forehead  here. 

Des.  'Faith,  that's  wiiii  watching;   'twill  away 
again ; 
Let  me  but  bmd  it  hard,  within  this  hour 
It  wdl  be  well. 

Otk,  Your  napkin  is  too  little  ; 

[He  puts  the  Handkerchief  Jrom  him,  and 
it  drops. 
Let  it  alone.    Come,  I'll  go  in  with  you. 

Des.  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  arc  not  well 

[Exeunt  Oxn.  and  Dks. 

Emit.  I  am  glad  I  have  found  this  napkin  ; 
This  was  her  tirst  remembrance  from  the  Moor: 
My  wayward  husband  hath  a  hundred  times 
Woo'd  me  to  steal  it;  but  she  so  loves  the  token, 
(For  he  conjured  her,  slie  would  ever  keep  it,) 
That  she  reserves  it  evermore  about  her. 
To  kiss  and  talk  to.    I'll  have  the  work:  ta'en  out, 
And  give  it  lago: 

What  he'll  do  with  it,  heaven  knows,  not  I; 
I  nothing,  but  to  please  his  lantasy. 
Enter  Iago. 

lago.  How  now!  what  do  you  here  alone? 

E/nil.  Do  not  you  chide;  1  have  a  thing- for  you. 

Iago.  A  thing  lor  me  I — it  is  a  common  thing, — 

Emit.  Ha! 

laga.  To  have  a  foolish  wife. 

Emit.  O,  is  that  all !  What  will  you  give  me  now 
For  that  same  handkerchief?  . 

Iago.  What  handkerchief] 

Eniil.  What  handkercliief? 
Why,  that  the  Moor  Iirst  gave  to  Desdemona; 
That  which  so  otten  you  did  bid  me  steal. 

logo.  Hast  stolen  it  from  her  ! 

Kmil.'lSo,  faith;  she  let  it  drop  by  negligence; 
And  to  the  advantage,  I,  being  here,  took't  up. 
Look,  here  it  is. 

lago.  A  good  wench;  give  it  me. 

Emit.  Wliat  will  you  do  with  ii,  that  you  have 
been  so  earnest 
To  have  me  filch  it! 

lago.  Why,  what's  that  to  you! 

[Snatching  it. 

Emit.  If  it  be  not  for  some  pinT^sc  of  import. 
Give  it  me  again:  Poor  lady!  she  U  run  mad, 
When  she  sliall  lack  it. 

Iago.  He  not  you  known  of't;  I  have  use  tor  it. 
Go,  leave  me.  [Exit  Emilia. 

I  will  in  Cassio's  lodging  lose  this  napkin. 
And  let  Iiim  find  it :  Tntles,  light  as  air. 
Are,  to  the  jealous,  confirmations  strong 
As  proofs  of  holy  writ.    This  may  do  something: 
The  Moor  already  changes  with  my  poison: — 
Dangerous  conceits  are,  in  their  natures,  poisons, 
Which,  at  the  first,  are  scarce  Ibund  to  distaste; 
But,  witli  a  little  act  upon  the  blood. 
Burn  like  tlic  mines  ot  sulphur. — 1  did  say  so;^ 

Enter  Othello. 
Look,  where  he  comes!  A^ot  poppy,  nor  manUra- 

gor;i,^ 
Jvor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world. 
Shall  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Whicli  thou  ow'dsfi  yesterday. 

*  When  Wf  betrin  to  live. 

»  The  mandrake  has  a  soporific  quality,    c  Possessed«t, 


7G4 


OTHELLO, 


Act  III 


Oth.  Ha  !  ha  !  false  to  me  1 

To  me? 

lago.  Why,  how  now,  general  1  no  more  of  that. 

Oth.  Avaunt!  be  gone!  thou  hast  set  me  on  the 
rack: 
I  swear,  "lis  better  to  be  much  abused. 
Than  but  to  Imow't  a  little. 

IcffO.  How  now,  my  lord? 

Oth.  What  sense  had  I  of  her  stolen  hours  of 
lust? 
I  saw  it  not,  thought  it  not,  it  harm'd  not  me: 
I  slept  the  next  niijh^^ell,  was  free  and  merry; 
I  found  not  Cassio^s  kiSKes  on  her  lips: 
He  Ihat  is  robb'd,  not  wanting  what  is  stolen. 
Let  him  not  know  it.  and  he's  not  robb'd  at  all. 

lagii.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  this. 

0!h.  I  had  been  liappv.  if  the  general  camp, 
Pioni'crs'  and  all,  had  tasled  her  sweet  body. 
So  1  had  nothing  known:  0  now,  for  ever, 
Farewell  the  tranquil  mind!  farewell  content! 
Farewell  the  plumed  troop,  and  the  big  wars. 
That  make  ambition  virtue!  0,  farewell ! 
Farewell  the  neighing  steed,  and  the  shrill  trump, 
The  Kjiirit-stirring  drum,  the  ear-piercing  fife. 
The  royal  banner;  and  all  qualify. 
Pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war! 
And  O  you  mortal  engines,  whose  rude  throats 
The  immortal  .love's  dread  clamors  counterfeit. 
Farewell !  Othello's  occupation's  gone ! 

/"ff«.  Is  it  possible?— My  lord, 

01  h.  Villain,  be  sure  youprove  my  love  a  whore; 
Be  sure  of  it;  give  me  the  ocular  proof; 

[Takin!!:  hira  by  the  Throat. 
Or,  by  the  worth  of  mine  eternal  soul. 
Thou  hadst  been  better  have  been  born  a  dog. 
Than  answer  my  waked  wrath. 

I"fKu.  Is  it  come  to  this? 

Olli.  Make  me  to  see  it;  or  (at  the  least)  so 
prove  it. 
That  the  probation  bear  no  hinge,  nor  loop, 
To  hang  a  doubt  on :  or,  woe  upon  thy  life  I 

logo.  My  noble  lord, 

Oth.  If  thou  dost  slander  her,  and  torture  me, 
Never  pr,a^-  more:  abandon  all  remorse; 
On  horror  s  head  honors  accumulate: 
Do  deeds  to  make  heaven  weep,  all  earth  amaz'd. 
For  nothing  canst  thou  to  damnation  add, 
Greater  than  that. 

lago.  O  grace !  O  heaven  defend  me  ! 

Are  you  a  man?  have  you  a  soul,  or  sense! — 
God   be  wi'  you  ;    lake  mine  office.— 0  wretched 

fool. 
That  liv'st  to  make  thine  honesty  a  vice!— 

0  monstrous  world  I  Take  note,  take  note,  0  world. 
To  be  direct  and  honest,  is  not  sale. — 

1  thank  you  for  this  proHt;  and,  from  hence, 

I'll  love  no  friend,  since  love  breeds  such  offence. 

Olh.  Nay,  stay  :— Thou  shouldst  be  honest. 

Icigo.  I  should  be  wise,  lor  honesty's  a  fool, 
And  loses  that  it  works  lor. 

Oth.  By  the  world, 

I  think  my  wife  be  honest,  and  think  she  is  not; 
I^  think  that  thou  art  just,  and  think  thou  art  not; 
1  II  have  some  proof;  Her  name,  that  was  as  fresh 
As  Dian's  vi^sage,  is  now  begrimed  and  black 
As  inlne  own  face.— If  there  be  cords,  or  knives, 
Poison,  or  tire,  or  sullbcating  streams, 
I'll  not  endure  it.— 'Would,  1  were  satisfied  ! 

Iiigii.  I  see,  sir,  you  are  eaten  up  with  passion : 
I  do  repent  me,  that  I  put  it  to  you. 
you  would  be  satisfied  ! 

Oth.  Would?  nay,  I  will. 

lago.  And  may :  But,  how?  howsatished,  my  lord  ? 
Would  you,  the  supervisor,  grossly  gape  on  ? 
Eehdld  her  tupp'd  i 

Oth.  Death  and  damnation!  0! 

lagii.  It  were  a  tedious  ditHculty,  I  think. 
To  bring  them  to  that  prospect:  Damn  them  then, 
H  ever  mortal  eyes  do  see  them  bolster. 
More  than  their  own  !  What  then  ?  how  then? 
What  shall  I  say  ?  Where's  satislaction  ! 
It  is  impossible  you  should  see  this,— 
Were  they  as  prime  as  goats,  as  hot  as  monkeys. 
As  salt  as  wolves  in  pride,  and  fools  as  gross 
As  ignorance  made  drunk.    But  yet,  I  say, 
If  imputation,  and  strung  circumstances, 
Which  lead  directly  to  the  door  of  truth. 
Will  give  you  salistiiction,  you  may  have  it. 

'  The  vilest  of  th'j  camp. 
gruduU  soldiers. 


rioneers  were  generally  dc- 


0th.  Give  me  a  living'  reason  she's  disloyal. 
lagn.  I  do  not  like  the  office: 
But,  sith  I  am  enter'd  in  this  cau.«;e  so  far, — 
Prick'd  to  it  by  ibolish  honesty  and  love, — 
I  will  go  on.    I  lay  with  Cassi'o  lately; 
And,  being  troubled  with  a  raging  tooth, 
I  could  not  sleep. 

There  are  a  kind  of  men  so  loose  of  soul. 
That  in  their  sleeps  will  mutter  their  aliiiirs; 
One  of  this  kind  is  Cassio: 
In  sleep  I  heard  him  say,— .Stwrf  Desilemonfi, 
Let  us  be  tvary,  tet  us  hide  nur  lores; 
And  then,  sir,  would  he  gripe,  and  wring  my  hand. 
Cry,— O,  sweet  creature!  and  then  kiss  me'hard, 
As  if  he  pluck'd  up  kisses  by  the  roots. 
That  grew  upon  my  lips:  then  laid  his  leg 
Over  my  thigh,  and  sigh'd,  and  kiss'd;  and  then 
Cr\o^,— Cursed/ale.'  that  gave  thee  to  lite  Muor! 
Olh.  O  monstrous  !  monstrous ! 
logo.  Nay,  this  was  but  his  dream. 

^    Oth.  But  this  denoted  a  foregone  conclusion  ; 
Tis  a  shrewd  doubt,  though  it  be  but  a  dream. 

lago.  And  this  may  help  to  thicken  other  proofs. 
That  do  demonstrate  thinly. 
Oth.  1^11  tear  her  all  to  pieces. 

lagn.  Nay,  but  be  wise:  vet  we  see  nothing  done: 
.«he  may  be  honest  yet.    Tell  me  but  this,— 
Have  you  not  sometimes  seen  a  handkerchief, 
Spotted  with  strawberries,  in  your  wife's  hand  ? 
Olh.  I  gave  her  such  a  one;  'twas  my  first  gift. 
lagn.  1  know  not  that;  but  such  a  liandkerchief, 
(1  am  sure  it  was  your  wile's.)  did  1  to-day 
See  Cassio  wipe  his  beard  vaih. 
Oth.  Ifitbethat,— 

lagii.  If  it  be  that,  or  any  that  was  hers. 
It  speaks  against  her  with  the  other  proofs. 

0/A.  O,  that  the  slave  had  Ibrty  thousand  lives; 
One  is  too  poor,  too  weak,  tor  my  revenge! 
Now  do  I  see  'tis  true.— Look  here,  lago; 
All  my  Ibnd  love  thus  1  do  blow  to  heaven: 
'Tis  gone. — 

Arise,  black  vengeance,  from  thy  hollow  cell ! 
Yield  up,  0  love,  thy  crown,  and  hearted  tliroue,9 
To  tyrannous  hate!  swell,  bosom,  with  thy  fraught. 
For  'tis  oi  aspic's  tongues ! 
lago.  Pray,  be  content. 

Oth.  0.  blood,  lago,  blood  ! 

lago.  Patience,  I  say;  your  mind,  perhaps,  may 

change. 
Oth.  Never,  lago.    Like  to  the  Pontic  sea, 
Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but.  keeps  due  on 
To  the  Propontic,  and  the  Hellespont; 
Even  so  my  bloody  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 
Shall  ne'er  look  back,  ne'er  ebb  to  humble  love. 
Till  that  a  capable-  and  wide  revenge 
Swallow  them  up.— Now,  by  yond'  marble  heaven. 
In  the  due  reverence  of  a  sacred  vow  [Kneels. 

1  here  engage  my  words. 

lago.  Do  not  rise  yet. — {Kneels. 

\\  itness,  you  ever-burning  lights  above  ! 
Von  elements  that  eliiJ  us  round  about! 
Witness,  that  here  lago  doth  give  up 
The  execution  of  his  wit,  hands,  heart. 
To  wrong'd  Othello's  service  !  let  him  command. 
And  to  obey  shall  he  in  me  remorse,-' 
What  bloody  work  .soever. 

Oth.  I  greet  thy  love. 

Not  with  vain  thanks,  but  with  acceptance  boun- 
teous, 
And  will  upon  the  instant  put  thee  to't: 
Within  these  three  days  let  me  hear  thee  say, 
That  Cassio's  not  alivo. 
lago.  My  friend  is  dead;  'tis  done  at  your  re- 
quest ; 
But  let  her  live. 

Olh.  Damn  her,  lewd  ininv  !  O,  damn  her! 

Come,  go  with  me  apart ;  I  will  withdraw. 
To  furnish  me  with  someswirt  means  of  death 
For  the  liiir  devil.    Now  art  thou  my  lieutenant. 
lago.  1  am  your  own  Ibr  ever.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.— T/ie.fomf. 
Enter  Desdk.mo.sa,  K.mii,i,v,  ami  Clown. 
Des.   Do   you   know,  sirrah,    where    lieutenant 
Cassio  lies  ? 

8  Speaking,  manifest. 

9  'the  he.irt  on  which  thou  wast  enthroned. 

'  Fivii^ht.  load.  ^  Ciipiicioas.  a  Kmbr.ico, 

«  Not  of  malice  to  others,  but  of  tenderness  for  him. 


Scene  IV. 


THE   MOOR   OF   VENICE. 


765 


Ch.  I  dare  not  say,  he  lies  anywhere  1 

I)i:s.  Why.  man  1 

C/o.  He  is  a  soldier;  and  for  me  to  say  a  soldier 
lies,  is  stabbins:. 

IJts.  Go  to ;  Where  lodges  he  1 

do.  To  tell  you  -Riiere  he  lodges,  is  to  tell  you 
vv'here  I  lie. 

Des.  Can  any  thing  be  made  of  this? 

Clo.  1  know  not  where  he  lodges;  and  for  mc 
to  devise  a  lodging*  and  say — he  lies  here,  or  he 
lies  there,  were  to  lie  in  my  own  throat, 

Des.  Can  you  inquire  him  out,  and  be  edified 
by  report  ! 

Vl4).  I  will  catechize  the  world  for  him;  that  is, 
make  questions,  and  by  them  answer. 

Des.  Seek  him,  bid  him  come  hither:  tell  him 
I  have  moved  my  lord  in  Iiis  behalf,  and  hope,  all 
will  be  well. 

C'o.  To  do  this  is  within  the  compass  of  man's 
wit;  and  therefore  I  will  attempt  the  doing  it. 

[Exit. 

Des,  Where  should  I  lose  that    handkerchief, 
Emilia] 

J^miL  I  know  not,  madam. 

Deft.  Believe  me,  1  had  rather  have  lost  my  purse 
Full  of  cruzadoes.5    And,  but  my  noble  Moor 
Is  true  of  mind,  and  made  of  no  such  baseness 
As  jealous  creatures  are,  it  were  enough 
To  put  him  to  ill-thinking. 

J-^/nil.  Is  he  not  jealous  1 

Des.  Who,  hcl    I  think,  the  .sun,  where  he  was 
born, 
Drew  all  such  humors  from  him. 

Emil.  Look,  where  he  comes. 

Des.  I  will  not  leave  him  now,  till  Cassio 
Be  caird  to  him. — How  is't  with  you,  my  lordl 

Enter  Othello. 

Oth.  Well,  my  good  lady :— [^5i(/f.]   0,  hard- 
ness to  dissemble ! — 
liow  do  you,  Desdemona  % 

Des.  Well,  my  good  lord. 

Otk.  Give  me  your  hand:   This  hand  is  moist, 
my  lady. 

Des.  It  yet  has  fo\t  no  age,  nor  known  no  sorrow. 

01  h.  This  argues  fruitftilness,  and  liberal  heart; — 
Hot.  hot,  and  moist :  This  hand  of  yours  requires 
A  sequesler  from  liberty,  fasting  and  prayer, 
Much  castigatioii.  exercise  devout; 
For  bere's  a  young  and  sweating  devil  here, 
Tiiat  commonly  rebels,    'Tis  a  good  hand, 
A  frank  one. 

Des.  You  may  indeed  say  so; 
For  'twas  that  hand  that  gave  awa)'  my  heart, 

Oth.  A  liberal  hand:   The  hearts,  of  old,  gave 
hands; 
But  our  new  heraldiy  is — hands,  not  hearts. 

Des.  I  cannot  speak  of  this.    Come  now,  your 
promise. 

Oth.  What  promise,  chuck  1 

Des.  I  liave  sent  to  bid  Cassio  come  speak  with 
yon. 

Otk.  I  have  a  salt  and  sullen  rheum  oflcnds  me: 
Lend  me  thy  handkerchief. 

Des.  Here,  my  lord. 

Otfi.  That  which  I  gave  you. 

Des.  1  have  it  not  about  me. 

Olh.  Not? 

Des.  No,  indeed,  my  lord. 

Otiu  Tiiat  is  a  fault: 

Tliat  handkercliief 
Did  an  Egyptian  to  my  mother  give; 
She  was  a  ciiarmer,"^  and  could  almost  read 
The  thought-s  of  people:  she  told  her,  .while  she 

kept  it, 
'Twould  malie  her  amiable,  and  subdue  my  father 
Entirely  to  her  love;  but  if  she  lost  it, 
Or  inatle  a  gift  of  it,  my  father's  eyo 
Should  hold  her  loathly,  and  his  spirits  should  hunt 
After  new  fancies:  She,  dying,  gave  it  me; 
And  bid  me,  when  my  fate  would  have  me  wivo, 
To  ^ive  it  her.    I  did  so :  and  taKe  heed  oft, 
Make  it  a  darling  like  your  precious  eye; 
To  lose  or  give't  away,"  were  sueh  perdition, 
As  nothing  else  could  match. 

De^.  Is  it  possible? 

Oth.  'Tis  true:  there's  magic  in  the  wpb  of  it: 
A  sibyl,  that  had  uumberM  in  the  world 
The  sun  to  make  two  hundred  compasses, 

»  A  Portugaoso  coin.  «  EncUantroas, 


In  her  prophetic  fury  sew'd  the  work  : 
Tiie  worms  were  haflowM  that  did  breed  the  silk; 
And  it  was  died  in  mummy,  which  the  sldlful 
Conserv'd  of  maidens'  hearts. 

Des.  Indeed  !  is't  true  ? 

Oth.  Most  veritable;  therefore  look  lo'l  well. 

Des.  Then  'would  to  heaven,  that  I  liad  never 
seen  it. 

Oth.  Ha!  wherefore? 

Des.  Why  do  you  speak  so  startingly  and  rash?"^ 

Oth,  Is't  lost?  is't  gone?  speak,  is  it  out  of  the 
way  ? 

Des.  Heaven  bless  us ! 

Oth.  Sav  you  ? 

Des.  It'is  not  lost;  But  wliat  an  if  itwere? 

Oth.  Ha! 

Des.  1  say,  it  is  not  lost. 

Ofh.  Fctch't,  let  me  see  it. 

Des.  Why,  so  I  can,  sir,  but  I  will  not  now  ; 
This  is  a  trick,  to  put  me  from  my  suit; 
I  pray,  let  Cassio  be  receiv'd  again. 

Oth*  Fetch  me  that  handkerchief:  my  mind  mis- 
gives. 

Des.  Come,  come; 
You'll  never  meet  a  more  suflicient  man. 

Oth.  The  iiandkerchief, 

Des.  I  pray,  talk  me  of  Cassio. 

Oth.  The  handkerchief, 

Des.                                  A  man  that,  all  his  time, 
Hath  founded  his  good  fortune  on  your  love ; 
Shared  dangers  with  you  ; 

Oth.  The  handkerchief, 

Des.  In  sooth. 
Yon  are  to  blame. 

Otti.  Away!  [£.r?Y  Othello. 

Emit.  Is  not  this  man  jealous? 

.  Des.  I  ne'er  saw  this  before. 
Sure,  there's  some  wonder  in  this  handkerchief: 
I  am  most  unhappy  in  the  loss  of  it. 

Emit,  'Tis  not  a  year  or  two  shows  us  a  man : 
They  are  all  but  stomachs,  and  we  all  but  food ; 
They  eat  us  hungerly,  and  when  they  are  full, 
They  belch  us.  Look  you !  Cassio,  and  my  husband. 

Enter  Iago  and  Cassio. 

logo.  There  is  no  other  way;  'tis  she  must  do't; 
And,  lo,  the  happiness  !  go,  and  importune  her. 

Dcfi.  How  now,  good  Cassio  ?   what's  the  newa 
w  ith  you  ?  ♦ 

Cfis.  Madam,  my  former  suit:  I  do  beseech  you. 
That,  by  your  virtuous  means,  I  may  again 
l-^xist,  and  be  a  member  of  his  love, 
Wlioni  1.  with  all  the  duty  of  my  heart, 
I'^ntiroly  honor;  I  would  not  be  delay'd  : 
If  my  otlence  be  of  such  mortal  kind, 
Tliat  neither  service  past,  nor  present  sorrows, 
Nor  purpos'd  merit  in  futurity. 
Can  ransom  me  into  his  love  again, 
But  to  know  so  must  be  my  bcnelit ; 
So  shall  I  clothe  me  in  a  torced  content, 
And  shut  myself  up  in  some  other  course, 
To  tbrtune's  alms. 

Des.  Alas  !  thrice  gentle  Cassio, 

My  advocation  is  not  now  in  tune; 
My  lord  is  not  my  lord;  nor  should  I  know  him, 
Were  he  in  favor-  as  in  humor  alter'd. 
So  help  me,  every  spirit  sanctilied. 
As  I  have  sjioken  for  you  all  my  best; 
And  stood  within  the  blank  of  his  displeasure,^ 
For  my  free  speech  !  You  must  a  while  be  patient : 
What  1  can  do,  I  will;  and  more  I  will, 
Thau  for  myself  1  dare  :  let  that  suffice  you, 

Ingo.  Is  niy  lord  angry'' 

Emit.  He  went  hence  but  now, 

And,  certainly,  in  strange  unquietness. 

In^o.  Can  he  be  angry?  I  have  seen  the  cannon, 
When  it  hath  blown  \\\^  ranks  into  the  air; 
And.  like  the  devil,  from  his  very  arm 
Puifd  liis  own  brother  ;^And  can  he  bo  angry? 
Something  of  moment,  then  ;  I  will  go  meet  him; 
There's  matter  inH  indeed,  if  he  be  angry. 

Des.    I    pr'ythoe    do    so.— Something,   sure,  ot 
stale, —  [Ejcit  Iago. 

Either  from  Venire;  or  some  unhateh'd  practice* 
Made  demonstrable  here  in  Cyprus  to  liim, — 
Hath  puddled  his  clear  spirit :  and,  in  such  cases, 
Men's  natures  wrangle  with  inferior  things, 
Though  great  ones  are  their  object,    *Tis  even  so; 

1  Yihemently,  violently.  •  In  countenance, 

•  Withia  the  sljot  of  his  anger.  *  'f  reason. 


766 


OTHELLO, 


Act  IV. 


For  let  our  finger  ache,  and  it  endues 

Our  other  healthful  members  even  to  that  sense 

Of  pain:  Nay,  we  must  think,  men  are  not  gods; 

Nor  of  them  look  lor  such  observances 

As  tit  the  bridal.^ — Beshrew  me  much,  Emilia, 

I  was  (unhandsome  warrior  as  I  am) 

Arraigning  his  unkindness  with  ray  soul; 

But  now,  I  lind,  I  l)ad  subornM  the  witness, 

And  he''s  indicted  falsely. 

Efuil,  Pray  heaven,  it  be  state  matters,  as  you 
think; 
And  no  conception,  nor  no  jealous  toy, 
Concerning  you. 

Des.  Alas  the  day!  I  never  gave  him  cause. 

Emil.  But  jealous  souls  will  notbe  answer'd  so; 
They  are  not  ever  jealous  for  the  cause, 
But  jealous  for  they  are  jealous :  'tis  a  monster, 
Begot  upon  itself,  born  on  itself. 

Des.  Heaven  keep  that  monster  from  OthclIo''s 
mind ! 

Emit.  Lady,  amen. 

DeS'  I   will  go    seek  him.  —  Cassio,  waUi  here 
about : 
If  I  do  find  him  fit.  V\\  move  your  suit, 
And  seek  to  etlect  it  to  my  uttermost. 

Cos.  1  humbly  thank  your  ladyship. 

{Exeunt  Desdemona  and  Emilia. 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bum.  Save  you,  friend  Cassio  ! 

Vets.  What  make  you  from  home"! 

How  IS  it  with  you,  my  most  tair  Bianca  T 
I  'taith,  sweet  love,  I  was  coming  to  your  house. 

Bian.  And  I  was  going  to  your  lodging,  Cassio. 
What!  keep  a  week  away !  seven  days  and  nights'? 
Eight-score  eight  hours'!  and  lovers' absent  hours, 


More  tedious  than  the  dial  eight  score  times? 

0  weary  reckonihg ! 

Cas.  Pardon  me,  Bianca  ; 

1  Iiave  this  while  with  leaden  thoughts  been  press'd; 
But  I  shall,  in  a  more  continuate  tnne^ 

Strike  off  this  score  of  absence.    Sweet  Bianca, 

[Giving  her  Desdemona's  Handkerchief. 
Take  me  this  work  out.'i 

Bian.  O,  Cassio,  whence  came  thisi 

This  is  some  token  from  a  newer  friend. 
To  the  felt  absence  now  I  feel  a  cause : 
Is  it  come  to  this  !  Well,  well. 

Cus.  .  Woman,  go  to ! 

Throw  your  vile  guesses  in  the  devil's  teeth, 
From  whence  you  have  them.  You  arcjcalous  now, 
That  this  is  from  some  mistress,  some  remem- 
brance: 
No,  in  good  troth,  Bianca. 

Bian.  Why,  whose  is  it  ? 

Cas.  Ilmownot,sweet:  I  founllitin  my  chamber 
I  like  the  work  well;  ere  it  be  demanded, 
(As,  like  enough,  it  will.)  I'd  have  it  copied:  ' 
Take  it,  and  do't;  and  leave  me  for  this  time. 

Bian.  Leave  you  I  wherefore  !  • 

Cas.  I  do  attend  here  on  the  general; 
And  think  it  no  addition,  nor  ray  wish. 
To  have  him  see  mewoman'd. 

Bian.  Why,  I  pray  youl 

Cas.  Not  that  I  love  you  not. 

Bian.  But  that  you  do  not  love  me. 

I  pray  you,  bring  me  on  the  way  a  little  ; 
And  say,  if  I  shall  see  you  soon  at  night. 

Cw-'f.  'Tis  but  a  little  way,  that  I  can  bring  you, 
For  I  attend  here  :  but  I'll  see  you  soon. 

Bian.  'Tis  very  good;  I  must  be  circumstanced. 
*  [Exeunt, 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  l.—Thesame. 
Enter  Othello  and  Iago. 

la^o.  Will  you  think  so? 

0th.*  Think  so,  Iago? 

Iago.  What, 

To  kiss  in  private  ?' 

0th.  An  nnautlioriz'd  kiss. 

Iago.  Or  to  be  naked  with  her  friend  abed, 
An  iiour.  or  more,  not  meaning  any  harm  ! 

0th.  Naked  abed,  Iago,  and  not  mean  harm? 
It  is  hypocrisy  aganist  tlie  devil: 
They  that  mean  virtuously,  and  yet  do  so. 
The  devil  their  virtue  tern pts,and  they  tempt  heaven. 

Iago.  So  they  do  nothing,  'lis  a  venial  slip: 
But  if  I  give  my  wife  a  handkerchief, 

Otii.  What  then? 

Iago.  Wliy  then  'tis  hers,ray  lord ;  and,  being  hers, 
She  may,  I  think,  bestow't  on  any  man. 

Otii.  She  is  protectress  of  her  honor  too ; 
May  she  give  that? 

iago.  Iter  honor  is  an  essence  that's  not  seen; 
They  have  it  very  oft,- that  liave  it  not: 
But.  for  the  handkerchief, 

Otli.  Bv  heaven,  I  would  most  gladly  have  forgot 
It:— 
Thou  said'st, — O,  it  comes  o'er  ray  memory. 
As  dolh  the  raven  o'er  the  inlected  house. 
Boding  to  aH,3— he  had  my  handkerchief. 

Iago.  Ay,  what  of  that  ] 

0th.  That's  not  so  good,  now. 

Iago.  What,  if  I  had  said,  I  had  seen  him  do  you 
wrong? 
Or  heard  him  say, — As  knaves  be  such  abroad. 
Who  having,  by  their  own  importunate  suit, 
Or  voluntary  dotage  of  some  mistress, 
Convinced  or  supjjlied-*  them,  cannot  choose 
But  they  must  blab 

0th.  Hath  he  said  any  thing? 

Iago.  He  hafh.  my  lord  ;  but,  be  you  well  assur'd, 
No  more  tlian  he'll  unswear. 

0th.  What  halh  lie  said  ? 

Jago.  'Faith,  that  he  did,— I  know  not  what  he 
did. 

»  Tho  nuptial  feast. 

■  The  raven  was  tbuuglit  to  Le  a  constant  attendant  on 
a  house  infectod  with  the  jiLij^'ue. 
*  Old  spelling  of  Buppled,  i.  c.  softened. 


0th.  What?  what? 

Iago.  Lie 

0th.  With  her? 

Iago.  With  her,  on  Iier;  wiiat  you  will. 

0th.  Lie  with  her  I  lie  on  her! — We  say,  lie  on 
her,  when  they  belie  her:  Lie  with  her!  that's 
fulsome. — Handkerchiel, — confessions,  —  handker- 
chief.— To  conless,  and  be  hanged  lor  his  labor,— 
First  to  be  hanged,  and  then  to  confess: — I  tremble 
at  it.  Nature  would  not  invest  herself  in  such 
shadowing  passion,  without  some  instruction.  It  is 
not  words,  that  shake  rae  thus: — Pish! — Noses, 
ears,  and  lips: — Is  it  possible  ?— Conless  !— Hand- 
kerchief !—0,  devil !—  [Falt^  in  a  Trance* 

Iago.  Work  on, 
My  medicine,  work!    Thus  credulous  fools  are 

caught; 
And  many  worthy  and  chaste  dames,  even  thus. 
All  guiltless  meet  reproach. — What,  ho  !  my  lord  ! 

Enter  Cassio. 
My  lord,  I  say  !  Othello !— How  now,  Cassio  ? 

Cas.  What  is  the  matter? 

Iago.  My  lord  is  liiilen  into  an  epilepsy; 
This  is  his  second  fit;  he  liad  one  yesterday. 

Cas.  Hub  him  about  the  temples. 

Iago.  No,  forbear: 

The  lethargy  must  have  his  quiet  course. 
If  not,  lie  loams  at  mouth  ;  and,  by-and-by. 
Breaks  out  to  savage  madness.    Look,  he  stirs. 
Do  you  withdraw  yourself  a  little  while, 
He  will  recover  straight;  when  he  is  gone, 
1  would  on  great  occasion  speak  witJi  you. — 

[Exit  Cassio. 
How  is  it,  general  ?  have  you  not  hurt  your  head  \ 

0th'.  Dost  thou  mock  rae  ? 

la^o.  I  raock  you  !  no,  by  heaven; 

'Would  you  would  bear  your  Ibrtunes  liUe  a  man. 
^  0th.  A  horned  man's  a  monster,  and  a  beast. 

logo.  There's  many  a  beatst  then  in  a  populous 
city, 
And  many  a  civil  monster. 

Oih.  Diii  he  conless  it? 

logo.  Good  sir,  be  a  man. 

Tinnk,  every  bearded  fellow,  that's  but  yoked, 

»  Time  less  interrupted. 

6  The  meaning  is.  not  pioli  out  the  work,  hut  copy  thii 
work  in  another  handkerchief. 


Scene  I. 


THE   MOOR   OF  VENICE. 


767 


May  draw  with  you  :  there's  millions  now  alive 

That  nifjhtly  lie  m  those  unproper  beds, 

Which  tliey  dare  swear  peculiar;  your  case  is  better. 

O,  'tis  the  spite  of  hell,  the  nend's  arch-mock, 

To  lip  a  wanton  in  a  secure  couch, 

And  to  suppose  her  chaste  !  No,  let  me  know ; 

A  nd.  linowing  what  I  am.  I  know  wiiat  she  shall  be. 

0/k.  0,  thou  art  wise  ;  'tis  certain. 

Ja.^0.  Stand  you  a  while  apart; 

C'online  yourself  but  in  a  patient  list." 
Whilst  you  were  here,  ercwhile  mad  with  yourgrief, 
(A  passion  most  unsuitms  such  a  man.) 
Cassio  came  hither:  I  shilled  him  away. 
And  laid  ^ood  'scuse  upon  your  ecstasy; 
Bade  him  anon  return,  and  here  speak  with  me; 
The  which  he  promised.    Do  but  encave^ yourself. 
And  mark  the  fleers,  the  gibes,  and  notable  scorns, 
That  dwMll  in  every  region  of  his  face  ; 
For  I  will  make  him  tell  the  talc  anew, — 
Where,  how,  how  otl,  how  long  ago,  and  when 
He  hath,  and  is  again  to  cope  your  wife; 
I  say,  but  mark  his  gesture.    Marry,  patience ; 
Or  I  shall  say,  you  are  all  in  all  in  spleen, 
And  nothing  of  a  man, 

Ofh.  Dost  thou  hear,  lago  ■! 

I  will  be  found  most  cunning  in  my  patience, 
But  (dost  thou  hear  J)  most  bloody. 

lagd.  That's  not  amiss; 

But  yet  keep  lime  in  all.    Will  you  withdraw  1 

[Othello  withdraws. 
Now  will  I  question  Cassio  of  Bianca, 
A  housewife,  that,  by  selling  her  desires, 
Buys  herself  bread  and  clothes  :  it  is  a  creature 
That  dotes  on  Cassio, — as  'tis  the  strumpet's  plague, 
To  beguile  many,  and  be  beguil'd  by  one;  . 
He,  when  he  hears  of  her,  cannot  refrain 
From  the  excess  of  laugliler: — Here  he  comes: — 

Re-enter  Cassio. 
As  he  shall  smile,  Othello  shall  go  mad; 
And  liis-unbookish^  jealousy  must  construe 
poor  Cassio's -smiles,  gestures,  and  light  behaviour 
Quite    in    the   wrong. — How  do   you  now,  lieu- 
tenant? 

Co.t.  Tiie  worser,  that  you  give  me  the  addition, ' 
Wiiose  want  even  kills  me. 

la^o.  Ply  Desdemona  well,  and  you  are  sure  oft. 
Now,  if  this  suit  hiy  in  Biaiica's  pnwer, 

[Speaking  lower. 
How  quickly  sliould  you  speed! 

Ciis.  Alas,  poor  caitiff! 

0(h,  Look,  how  he  laughs  alreiuly  !  [Aside. 

logo,  i  nt-ver  knew  a  woman  love  man  so. 

C«.y.  Alas,  poor  rogue  !  1  think,;'  faith, she  loves 
me. 

0th.  Now  lie  denies  it  faintly,  and  laughs  it  out. 

[Aside. 

lago.  Do  you  hear,  Cassio? 

Ot/i.  Now  he  importunes  him 

To  tell  it  o'er:  Go  to  ;  well  said,  well  said.  [Aside. 

lago.  She  gives  it  out,  that  you  shall  marry  her: 
Do  >ou  intend  it  ? 

Cas.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

0th.  Do  you  triumph,  Roman'!  do  you  triumph? 

[Aside. 

Cas.  I  marry  her  I  —  what  ?  a  customer  !^  I 
pr'ythee,  hear  some  charity  to  my  wit;  do  not  think 
It  so  unwholesome.    Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

0th.  So,  so,  so,  50 ;  They  laugh  that  win.  [Aside. 

lago.  'P'aith,  the  cry  goes,  that  you  shall  marry 
her. 

Cas.  Pr'ythoe,  say  true, 

lago.  I  am  a  very  villain  else. 

0th.  Have  you  scored  me  ?  Well.  [Aside. 

Cas.  This  is  the  monkey's  own  giving  out:  she 
is  persuaded  I  will  marry  her,  out  of  her  own  love 
and  flattery,  not  out  of  my  promise. 

0th.  lago  beckoiis  me;  noW  he  begins  the  story. 

[Asiih. 

Cas.  She  was  here  even  now:  she  haunts  me  in 
e\ery  place.  I  was,  the  other  day,  talking  on  the 
sea-bank  with  certain  Venetians ;  and  thither  comes 
this  bauble  ;  by  this  hand,  siic  falls  thus  about  my 
neck : 

0th.  Crying,  O  dear  Cassio!  as  it  were:  his 
gesture  imports  it.     '  [Aside. 

Cas.  So  hangs,  and  lolls,  and  weeps  upon  me; 
Bo  hales,  and  pUlls  me :  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

I  Withiu  tlie  lif'unds  of  patience.    »  Hide,   -s  Ignorant. 
*  Title  of  lieutenant.  a  A  common  woman. 


0th.  Now  he  tells,  how  she  pluck'd  iiim  to  my 
chamber :  O,  I  see  that  nose  of  yours,  but  not  that 
dog  I  shall  throw  it  to.  [As}de» 

Cas.  Well,  I  must  leave  her  company. 

lago.  Before  me  !  look  where  she  comes. 
Enter  Biaxca. 

Cas.  *Tis  such  another  fitchew  !3  marry,  a  per- 
fumed one. — What  do  you  mean  by  this  haunting 
of  me  ? 

Bian.  Let  the  devil  and  his  dam  haunt  j'ou! 
What  did  you  mean  by  that  same  handkerchief, 
you  gave  me  even  now  ?  I  was  a  fine  fool  to  take  it. 
i  must  take  out  the  whole  work  ? — A  likely  piece 
of  work,  that  you  should  find  it  in  your  chamber, 
and  not  know  who  letl  it  there!  This'is  some  minx's 
token, and  I  must  take  out  the  work?  Tiiere,~give 
it  your  hobby-horse:  wheresoever  you  had  it,  I'll 
take  out  no  work  on't. 

Cas.  How  now,  my  sweet  Bianca?  how  nowl 
how  now  ? 

0th.  By  heaven,  that  should  be  my  handkerchief! 

[Aside. 

Bian.  An  you'll  come  to  supper  to-night,  you 
may:  an  you  will  not,  come  when  you  are  next 
])repared  for.  [Exit. 

la>^o.  After  her,  after  her. 

Cas.  'Faith,  I  must,  she'll  rail  in  the  street  else. 

lago.  Will  you  sup  there? 

Cas    'Faith,  1  intend  so. 

lago.  Well,  I  may  chance  to  sec  you;  for  I  would 
very  lain  speak  with  you. 

Cas.  Pr'ythee,  come;  will  you? 

la}xo.  (Jo  to;  say  no  more.  [Exit  CaSSIO. 

0th.  How  shall  I  murder  him,  lago  \ 

lago.  Did  you  perceive  how  he  laughed  at  his 
vice  f 

0th.  O,  lag..! 

I/igii.  And  did  you  see  the  handkerchief? 

Ot/i.  Was  tiiat  inine? 

lago.  Yours,  by  this  hand :  and  to  see  how  he 
prizes  the  Ibolish  woman,  your  wife!  she  gave  it 
Inm.  and  iie  liath  given  it  his  whore. 

0th.  I  would  liave  him  nine  years  a-killing:— 
A  line  woman  !  a  fair  woman!  a  sweet  v.oman ! 

logo.  Nay,  you  must  forget  tliat. 

0th.  Ay,  let  her  rot  and  perish,  and  be  tLamned 
to-night;  for  she  shall  not  live:  No,  my  heart  is 
turned  to  stone;  I  strike  it.  and  it  iiurls  my  Iiand. 
O,  the  world  liath  not  a  sweeter  creature:  sho 
might  lie  by  an  emperor-s  side,  and  counuand  him 
tasks. 

lago.  Nay,  that's  not  your  way. 

0th.  Hang  her!  I  do  but  say  what  she  is: — So 
delicate  with  her  needle  ! — An  admirable  musician! 
O,  she  will  sing  the  savageness  out  of  a  bear! — 
Of  so  high  and  j)Ienlcous  wit  and  invention! — 

Jiigo.  She's  the  worse  fur  all  this. 

Otti.  (),  a  thousand,  a  thousand  times: — And 
then,  of  so  gentle  a  cojidition  !* 

logo.  Ay,  loo  gentle. 

Otk.  Nay,  thal*s  certain :  But  yet  (he  pity  of  it, 
lago  ! — O,  lago,  the  pity  of  it,  lago  ! 

lago.  If  you  are  so  fond  over  her  iniquity,  give 
her  patent  to  oltend ;  for,  if  it  touch  not  you,  it 
comes  near  nobody. 

Oth.  I  will  chop  her  into  me.sses: — Cuckold  me! 

lago.  O,  'lis  foul  in  her. 

Oth.  With  mine  olhcer! 

I'l^o.  That's  fouler. 

^Oth.  Get  me  some  poison,  Lago;  this  night: — 
rUnotexpostuIate  with  her,  lest  iier  body  and  beau- 
ty unpnnide  my  mind  again: — this  night,  lago. 

lago.  Do  it  not  with  poison,  strangle  her  in  het 
bed,  even  the  bed  she  hath  contaminated. 

Oth.  Good,  good:  the  justice  of  it  pleases;  very 
good. 

lago.  And,  for  Cassio, — let  me  be  his  under- 
taker: 
You  shall  hear  more  by  midnight. 

[A  Trumpet  within. 

Oth.   Excellent  good.— What    trumpet   is   that 
same  ? 

lago.  Something  from  Venice,  sure.    'Tis  Lo- 
dovico. 
Come  from  the  duke:  and,  see,  your  wife  is  with 
him. 

Enter  LoDovtco,  Desdemona,  and  Attendants. 

Lod.  'Save  you,  worthy  general ! 

3  A  polecat.  «  Of  so  sweet  a  disposition. 


768 


OTHELLO, 


Act  IV. 


Oih.  With  all  my  heart,  sir. 

Lod.  The  duke  and  senators  of  Venice  greet  you. 
[Give,<i  h-ini  a  Packet. 
Olli.  I  kiss  the  instrument  of  their  pleasures. 

[Opens  t/ie  Packet  and  reads. 
DCS.  And  what  s  the  news. good  cousin  Lodovico? 
I:igo.  I  arn  very  glad  to  see  you,  signior; 
Welcome  to  Cyprus. 
Lad.  1  thanli  you  :  How  does  lieutenant  Cassio7 
J't,i;n.  Lives,  sir. 

Dts.  Cousin,  there's  fallen  between  him  and  mv 
lord 
An  unkind  breach:  but  you  shall  make  all  well. 
Olh.  Are  you  sure  of  that? 
Ves.  My  lord  ? 

0th.  T/iis  fait  you  not  to  do,  as  you  tvill— 

[Reads. 
Lod.  He  did  not  call:  he's  busy  in  the  paper. 
Is  tlicre  division  'twixt  my  lord  and  Cassio] 

Dcs.  A  most  unliappy  one;  I  would  do  much 
To  alone"!  them,  for  the  love  I  bear  to  Cassio. 
Ofh.  Fire  and  brimstone ! 
Ves.  My  lord  ? 

Of/i.  Are  you  wise  7 

Des.  What,  is  he  ansry? 

Lod.  'May  be,  the  letter  mov'd  him ; 

For.  as  I  think,  they  do  command  him  home, 
Deputing  Cassio  in  his  government. 
Vis.  By  my  troth,  I  am  glad  on't. 
Ot/i.  Indeed? 

Ves.  My  lord  1 

Oth.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  mad. 
-Df.'-  How,  sweet  Othello? 

0//i.  Devil !  [  striking  her. 

I^es.  I  have  not  deserv'd  this. 

Lod.  My  lord,  this  would  not  be   believ'd  in 
Venice, 
Though  I  should  swear  I  saw  it:  'Tis  very  much  : 
Make  her  amends,  she  weeps. 

O/li.  O  devil,  devil ! 

If  that  the  earth  could  teem  witli  woman's  tears, 
Eacli  drop  .she  falls  would  prove  a  crocodile  :— 
Out  ol  my  sight! 
Des.  I  will  not  stay  to  otTcnd  you. 

T^    ,  ~    ,  [Going, 

/.Of/.  Truly,  an  obedient  lady:— 
I  do  beseech  your  lordship,  call  her  back. 

Otti.  iMistress, 

Ves,  My  lord  ? 

01  li.  What  would  you  with  her,  sir? 

Lod.  Who,  I,  my  lord  ! 

0//(.  Ay;  you  didwisli  that  I  would  make  her  turn: 
Sir,  she  can  turn,  and  turn,  and  yet  go  on. 
And  turn  again ;  and  she  can  weep,  sir,  weep ; 
And  slie's  obedient,  as  you  say,— obedient,— 
Very  obedient:— Proceed  you  in  your  tears.— 
Concermng  this,  sir,— 0  well-painted  passion! 
I  am  commanded  home:  Get  jou  away; 
I'll  send  (or  you  anon.— Sir,  I  obey  Iho  mandate, 
And  will  return  to  Venice;— Hence,  avaunt! 

.      ,    „  ,  [E.rit  Desdemona. 

Cassio  shall  have  my  place.    And,— sir,  to-night, 
I  do  entreat  lliat  we'  may  sup  together. 
You  are  welcome,  sir,  to  Cyprus.  —  Goats  and 
monkeys!  [Exit. 

I.od.  Is  this  the  noble  Moor  whom  our  full  senate' 
Call— all-in-all  sutTicient?- This  the  noble  nature 
Whom  passion  could  not  shake?  whose  solid  virtue 
The  shot  of  accident,  nor  dart  of  chance, 
Could  neither  graze,  nor  pierce  ? 
I'iKo.  He  is  much  changed. 

Lod.  Are  his  wits  safe  ?  is  he  not  light  of  brain? 
lugo.  He  is  tliat  he  is;  I  may  not  breathe  my 
censure. 
What  he  might  be,— if,  what  he  might,  ho  is  not,— 
I  would  to  heaven  he  were. 
J'Ol.  What,  strike  his  wife  ! 

laso.  'Faith,  that  was  not  so  well ;  Yet,  'would  I 
knew 
That  stroke  would  prove  the  worst. 

^ -''"''■„     ,  Is  it  his  use? 

Or  did  the  letters  work  upon  his  blood. 
And  iievv-create  this  fault? 

•f"S"-  Alas,  alas! 

It  is  not  honesty  in  me,  to  speak 
What  I  have  seen  and  known.    Y'ou  shall  observe 

him ; 
And  his  own  courses  will  denote  him  so, 

*  Roconcilo.' 


That  I  may  save  my  speech :  Do  but  go  after, 
And  mark  liow  he  continues. 
Lod.  I  am  sorry,  that  I  am  deceiv'd  in  him. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.— .4  Room  in  l/ie  Ca.Htle. 
Enter  Otheli.o  and  Emilia. 

Oth..  You  have  seen  nothing  then  ? 

Emit.  Nor  ever  heard  ;  nor  ever  did  suspect. 

Olh.  Ves,  you  have  seen  Cassio  and  she  together. 

Enill.  But  then  I  saw  no  harm:  and  then  I  heard 
Each  syllable  that  breath  made  up  between  them. 

Oth.  What,  did  they  never  whisper  ? 

Emit.  Never,  my  lord. 

Olh.  Nor  send  you  out  of  the  way  ? 

Emil.  Never. 

Oth.  To  fetch  her  fan,  her  gloves,  her  mask,  nor 
nothing  ? 

Emit.  Never,  my  lord. 

Olh.  That's  strange. 

Emit.  I  durst,  my  lord,  to  wager  she  is  honest, 
Lay  down  my  soul  at  stake:  If  you  think  other. 
Remove  your  thought;  it  doth  abuse  your  bosom. 
If  any  wretch  hath  put  this  in  your  head. 
Let  heaven  requite  it  with  the  serpent's  curse! 
F'or,  if  she  be  not  honest,  chaste,  and  true, 
There's  no  man  happy:  the  purest  of  their  wives 
Is  tout  as  slander. 

Otii.  Bid  her  come  hither: — go. — 

„.  [Exit  Emilia. 

She  says  enough:— yet  she's  a  simple  bawd 
That  cannot  say  as  inuch.   This  is  a  subtle  whore, 
A  closct-lock-and-key  of  villanoiis  secrets: 
And  yet  she'll  kneel,  and  pray;  I  have  seen  herdo't. 
•  Re-enter  Emilia,  with  Desdemona. 

Ves.  My  lord,  what  is  your  will? 

Olh.  Pray,  chuck,  come  hither. 

Ves.  What  is  your  pleasure  ? 

Olh.  Let  me  see  your  eyes : 

Look  in  my  face. 

Ves.  What  horrible  fancy's  this? 

Oth.  Some  of  your  function,  mistress : 

(To  Emilia. 
Leave  procreants  alone,  and  shut  the  door: 
Cough,  or  cry— hem,  if  anybody  come: 
Your  mystery,  your  mystery ;— nay,  despatch. 

[E.ril  Emilia. 

Ves.  Upon  my  knees,  what  doth  your  speech  im- 
port ? 
I  understand  a  fury  in  your  words. 
But  not  the  words. 

Olh.  Why,  what  art  tliou? 

Ves.  Your  wife,  my  lord ;  your  true 

And  loyal  wife. 

Olh.  Come,  swear  it,  damn  thyself; 

Lest,  being  like  one  ofheaven,the  devils  themselves 
Should  tear  to  seize  Uiee:   therefore   be  double- 

damn'd. 
Swear— thou  art  honest. 

Ves.  Heaven  doth  truly  Imow  it. 

Oth.  Heaven  truly  knows  that  thou  art  lalse  as 
hell. 

Ves.  To  whom,  my  lord  ?  with  whom  ?    How  am 
I  lalse? 

Oth.  O  Desdemona! — away!  away!  away! 

Ves.  Alas,  the  heavy  day  !— Why  do  you  we 
Am  I  the  occasion  of  these  tears,  my  lord  ? 
If,  haply,  you  my  father  do  suspect. 
An  instrument  o'f  this  your  calling  back. 
Lay  not  your  blame  on  me;  if  you  have  lost  liim, 
Why,  I  have  lost  him  too. 

Olh.  Had  it  pleas'd  Heaven 

To  try  me  with  affliction;  had  he  rain'd 
All  kinds  of  sores,  and  shames,  on  my  bare  head 
Steep'd  me  in  poverty  to  the  very  lips; 
Given  to  captivity  me  and  my  utmost  hopes; 
I  should  have  found  in-some  part  of  my  soul 
A  drop  of  patience :  but  (alas  !)  to  make  ine 
A  li.xed  beure,  for  tho  time  of  scorn 
To  ]ioiiit  liis  slow  and  moving  finger  a*, — 
0 !  O ! 

Vet  could  I  bear  tliat  too ;  well,  very  well : 
But  there,  where  I  have  garncr'd'  up  my  heart 
Where  either  I  must  live,  or  boar  no  lile; 
Tlie  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  tuns. 
Or  else  dries  up;  to  bo  discarded  thence! 
Or  keep  it  as  a  cistern  lor  foul  toads 

•  Treasured  up, 


veep? 


Scene  II. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


769 


To   knot   and   gender  in!— turn   thy  complexion 

tiicrc! 
Patience,  thou  young  and  rose-lipp'd  cherubim; 
Ay,  tJiere,  look  grim  a.*!  hell ! 

i)f,<f.  I  hope,  my  noble  lord  esteems  me  honest. 

Oik.  O.  ay;  as  .summer  flics  are  in  the  shamhles, 
That  quicken  even  with  blowing.    O  thou  weed, 
Who  art  so  lovely  fair,  and  smelTst  so  sweet, 
Tliat  the  sense  aches  at  thee.— 'Would  thou  hadst 
nC'Cr  been  born ! 

DfT.f.  Alas,  what  ignorant  sin  have  I  committed  ! 

Oih.  Was  this  fair  paper,  this  most  goodly  book, 
Made  to  write  whore  uiion  ?  What  committed! 
Committed  !— O  tliou  public  commoner! 
I  should  make  very  Ibrgcs  of  my  cheeks, 
That  would  to  cinders  burn  up  modesty* 
Did  I  but  speak  thy  deeds.— What  commitled  ! 
Heaven  stops  the  nose  at  it,  and  the  moon  winks; 
Tlie  bawdy  wind,  that  kisses  all  it  meets, 
Is  hush'd  within  the  hollow  mine  of  earth. 
And  will  not  hear  it :  What  committed  !^ 
Impudent  strumpet! 

lies.  By,  heaven,  you  do  me  wrong. 

0th.  Are  not  j'ou  a  strumpet? 

Dcs.  No,  as  I  am  a  Cliristian : 

If  to  preserve  this  vessel  for  my  lord, 
From  any  other  Ibul  unlawful  touch. 
Be — not  to  be  a  strumpet,  I  am  none. 

0th.  What,  not  a  whore  ! 

Des.  No,  as  I  shall  be  saved. 

0th.  Is  it  possible? 

Defi.  O,  lieaven  forgive  us ! 

0th.  I  cry  you  mercy,  then ; 

I  took  you  for  that  cunning  whore  of  Venice, 
That  married  with  Othello. — You,  mistress. 

Re-enter  Emilia. 
That  have' the  office  opposite  to  .Saint  Peter, 
And  keep  the  gate  of  hell;  You!  you!  ay,  you: 
We  liave  done  our  course:  there's  money  lor  your 

pains ; 
I  pray  you,  turn  the  key,  and  keep  our  counsel. 

[Kx-it. 

Emit.  Alas,  wliat  does  this  gentleman  conceive? — 
How  do  you,  madam  ?  liow  do  you,  my  good  lady? 

Des.  'I'aith,  half  asleep. 

Untit.  (lOOft  madam,  wJial's  the  matter  with  my 
lord  ! 

Dcs.  With  who? 

Kmit.  Why,  witli  my  lord,  madam. 

Des.  Who  is  thy  lord  ? 

Kiiiil.  He  that  is  yours,  sweet  lady. 

Des.  I  have  none:  Do  not  talk  to  me,  Kmilia; 
I  cannot  weep;  nor  answer  I  have  none. 
But  what  should  go  by  water.    Pr'ythee,  to-night 
Lay  on  my  bed  my  wedding-sheets, — remember; — 
And  call  thy  husband  hither. 

Emit.  Here  is  a  change,  indeed  ! 

[Exit. 

Des.  'Tis  meet  I  should  be  used  so,  very  meet. 
How  have  I  been  beliaved,  that  he  miglit  stick 
The  sinall'st  opinion  on  my  great'st  abuse  ? 

Re-enter  Emilia,  with  Iago. 

lago.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam  ?  How  is  it 
with  you  ? 

Des.  I  cannot  tell.    Those  that  do  leach  young 
babes. 
Do  it  with  gentle  means,  and  easy  tasks: 
He  might  have  chid  me  so ;  for,  ni  good  faith, 
1  am  a  child  to  chiding. 

Rign.  What's  the  matter,  lady  ? 

Emit.  Alas,  Iago,  my  lord  hath  so  bewhor'd  her, 
Thrown  such  despite  and  heavy  terms  upon  her. 
As  true  hearts  cannot  bear. 

Des.  Am  I  that  name,  Iago? 

Rigo.  What  name,  fair  lady  ? 

/)>*  Such  as,  she  says,  my  lord  did  say  I  was. 

Emit,  lie  caird  her,  whore  ;  a  beggar,  in  his  drink. 
Could  not  have  laid  such  terms  upon  his  callet.' 

Rigo.  Why  did  he  so? 

Des.  I  do  not  know ;  I  am  sure,  I  am  none  such. 

Riga.  Do  not  weep,  do  not  weep.   Alas  the  day  ! 

Eniil.  Has  she  Ibrsook  so  many  noble  matches. 
Her  lather,  and  her  country,  and  her  friends. 
To  becaird — whore?  would  it  not  make  one  weep? 

Des.  It  is  my  wretched  fortune. 

logo.  Beshrew  him  for  it ! 

How  comes  this  trick  upon  him? 

1  Itjs  dmb. 

40 


Dcs.  N;iy,  J:eavcn  dolh  know. 

Emil.  I  will  be  hans-cl,  il'  some  eternal  villain, 
Some  busy  and  insinuation  ro^ue, 
Some  cotr;;in;;.  rozenitifc  slave,  to  ^et  some  ofTiee, 
Have  not  devisM  tlii.s  slander;  PIl  be  huiiL^M  else. 

If'K'K  Fye,  there's  no  such  man;  it  is  impossible 

Br.s:  If  any  sucli  there  be,  lie.iven  pardon  him  ! 

Eniil.  A  halter  pardon  him!  and  hell  gnaw  his 
bones ! 
Why  should  he  call  her,  whore?   wlio  keeps  her 

company ! 
What  place  ?  what  timel  what  form?  what  like- 
lihood I 
The  Moor''s  abused  by  some  most  villar.ons  knave, 
Some  base  notorious  knave,  some  scurvy  foHow : — 
O,  heaven,  that  such  companions^  thouMst  unfold ; 
And  put  in  every  honest  iiand  a  whip, 
To  lash  the  rascal  naked  throui^h  the  world, 
Even  from  the  east  to  the  west! 

Idi^n.  Speak  within  doot. 

Emit.  O.fye  upon  him  !  somesuchs(inirc  Jie  was, 
That  turn'd  your  wit  the  seamy  side'^  without. 
And  mode  you  to  suspect  me  with  the  iMoor. 

In^o.  You  are  a  fool ;  go  to. 

Des.  0,  good  Iago, 

What  shall  I  do  to  win  my  lord  again  ! 
Good  friend,  go  to  him;  lor,  by  this  light  of  heaven, 

I  know  not  how  I  lost  him.    Here  I  kneel : — 
If  eVr  my  will  did  trespass  Vainst  his  love, 
Either  in  discourse  of  thought,  or  actual  deed; 
Or  that  mine  eyes,  mine  ears,  or  any  sense, 
Delighted  them  in  any  other  form; 

Or  that  1  do  not  yet,  and  ever  did, 

And  ever  will. — thouj;h  he  do  shake  me  ofl" 

To  beggarly  divorcement. — love  him  di'ariy. 

Comfort  lorswear  me!  Urdiiudness  mny  do'  mucli; 

And  Ids  unliindness  may  dcleat  my  liJe, 

But  never  taint  my  love.     I  can't  say,  whore; 

II  does  abhor  me,  now  1  speak  the  word; 
To  do  the  act  that  might  Ihe  addition'  earn. 
Not  the  world's  mass  of  vaniiy  could  make  me. 

Iago.  I  pray  you  be  content;  'tis  but  his  humor; 

The  business  of  the  stale  does  hini  cHence, 

And  he  does  chide  with  you. 
Dts.  If  *tvvcrc  no  other. — 

hi'^i).  It  is  but  so,  I  warrant  you.         [Trumpe/s 

Hark,  how  these  instruments  summon  to  supper  ! 

And  (he  great  messengers  of  Venice  slay: 

Go  in,  and  weep  not;  all  things  shall  be  well. 

[Exeunt  Dksdemona  a7ifl  EiuaiA. 

Enter  Rodeiugo. 

How  now,  Roderigo  ? 

Kod.  I  do  not  tJnd  that  thou  deul'st  justly 
with  me. 

Ifigfi.  What  in  the  contrary? 

Rori.  Everyday  thou  dofl'st- me  with  some  device, 
Iago;  and  rather  {as  it  seems  to  me  now)  kt^ej^'st 
from  nic  all  conveniency,  than  suppllest  me  with 
the  h^ist  advantage  of  hope.  I  wdl,  indeed,  no 
longer  endure  it:  Nor  am  I  yet  persuaded,  lo  put 
up  in  peace  what  already  I  have  foolishly  suUered. 

Itifi;if.  Will  you  hear  nie,  Roderigo? 

Ro  I.  I  liave  heard  too  much  ;  for  your  wuads  and 
perlormances  are  no  kin  together. 

/c/ga  Von  charge  me  most  unjustly. 

Rtiil.  With  naught  but  Irulli.  I 'have  wasted 
myself  out  of  my  means.  The  jewels  you  have  had 
fmm  me.  to  deliver  to  Desdemona,  wo'uld  half  have 
ci-rrnpled  a  votarist:  Vou  have  told  me— she  has 
iecei\ed  tliem,  and  returned  me  expectations  and 
eotntorts  of  sudden  respect  and  acquittance  ;3  buti 
find  none. 

Ingo.  Well;  go  to;  very  well. 

Rixl.  Very  well !  go  to  !  I  cannot  go  to,  man;  nor 
'lis  Mi^t  very  well :  fcJy  this  hajid;,  L  say.  it  is  very 
si-iirvy  ;  and  begin  to  find  mjself  lobbed  in  it. 

Rigo.  Very  well. 

Ritl.  I  tell  you,  'tis  not  very  well.  I  will  make 
myself  known  to  Desdemona:  If  she  will  reiurn 
me  my  jewels,  I  will  -ive  over  my  suit. and  reju'Mt 
my  unlawful  solicitation:  if  not,  assure  yourself, 
1  will  seek  satisfaction  olyou. 

Rign,  You  have  said  now. 

Rthi.  Ay,  and  I  have  said  nothing,  but  v.hat  I 
protest  intendment  of  doing. 

Utg<).  WJiy,  now  I  see  there's  mettle  in  thee;  and 

a  Fi-Ilows.  9  iDside  out.  ^  Title. 

a  Put' St  me  off.  !  Kiquital. 


1 1 


70 


OTHELLO, 


Act  IV.  Scene  IIL 


even,  from  this  instant,  do  build  oa  thoc  a  better 
opinion  timn  ever  before.  Give  me  thy  hand,  Ro- 
de ri;i:o :  Thou  hast  taken  against  me  a  most  ju3t 
exee|itirtn  ;  but  yet,  I  protest,  I  have  dealt  riiost 
directly  in  thy  ailair. 

Jloif.  It  hath  not  appeared. 

la^n.  1  grant,  indet-d,  it  hath  not  appeared;  and 
your  RUKpicion  i^;  not  witfiout  wit  and  ind;;ment. 
Uut,  Roderifio.if  tiiou  hast  that  withiTi  ihee  indeed, 
which  I  have  greater  reason  to  beh'eve  now  than 
ever, — I  mean,  purpose,  eourage,  and  valor, — this 
ni;;ht  sliow  it:  if  thou  the  next  night  following 
enjoyeMt  not  Desdeniona,  take  me  from  this  world 
with  treachery,  and  devise  engines  for  my  life. 

Jio.l.  Well,  what  is  it^  is  it  within  reason,  and 
compass  ] 

It/go.  Sir,  there  is  especial  commission  come 
from  Venice,  to  depute  Cassio  in  Othello's  place. 

Ro'i.  Is  that  true!  why,  then  Othello  and  Des- 
deniona return  again  to  Venice. 

IdRo.  O,  no;  he  goes  into  Mauritania,  and  takes 
away  with  him  the  fair  Desdernona.  unless  liis 
abode  be  lingered  here  byHomc  accident:  wherein 
none  can  be  so  determinate,  as  the  removing  of 
Cassio. 

Ro'f.  How  do  ynu  mean — removing  of  him  1 

Idfxn.  Why,  by  makmg  him  uncapalile  of  Othello's 
place;  knocking  out  his  brains. 

Rod.  And  that  you  would  liave  me  do? 

J(m:(i.  Ay;  if  you  dafe  do  yourself  a  profit  and 
a  right.  He  sups  to-night  with  a  harlot,  and 
thifht^r  will  I  go  to  him ; — he  knows  not  yet  of  his 
honorable  fortune:  if  you  will  walch  liis  going 
thence,  (which  I  will  fashion  to  fall  out  between 
twelve  and  one.)  you  may  take  him  at  your  ple.T- 
sure;  I  will  be  near  to  second  your  attempt,  and 
he  slinii  fall  between  us.  Come, stand  not  amazed 
at  it.  but  go  along  with  me  ;  I  will  show  you  such 
a  necessity  in  his  death,  that  you  shall  think  your- 
self bound  to  put  it  on  him.  It  is  now  high  supper- 
time,  and  the  night  grows  to  waste;  about  it. 

Rod.  I  will  hear  further  reason  for  this. 

/ago.  And  you  shall  be  satisfied.  \_ExeU7iU 

SCENE  in.— Another  Room  in  the  Ca.sfle. 

Enter  Othello,   Lodovico.   Desdemona,   Emilia, 
and  Attendants. 

Lod.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir,  trouble  yourself  no 
further. 

0/A.  O.  pardon  me;  'twill  do  me  good  to  walk. 

Lod.  Madam,  good-night;  I  humbly  thank  your 
iadysliip. 

Dr.s.  Your  honor  is  most  welcome. 

01  h.  Will  you  walk,  sir?— 

0, — Desdemona, 

J>.?.  My  lord  ? 

Olh.  Get  you  to  bed  on  the  instant,  I  will  be  re- 
turned forthwith:  dismiss  your  attendant  there; 
look,  it  be  done. 

Des.  I  will,  my  lord. 

[Kxeunf,  0th.,  Lod.,  and  Attendants. 

EniiL  How  goes  it  now?  he  looks  gentler  than 
he  did. 

Dcs,  Fie  says  he  will  return  incontinent;* 
He  bath  commanded  me  to  go  to  bed, 
And  bade  me  to  dismiss  you. 

JCmif.  Dismiss  me! 

hes.   It  was  his  bidding;  tlierefore.  good  Emilia, 
Give  me  my  nightly  wearing,  and  adieu  : 
We  must  not  now  displease  him. 

Emit.  I  would  you  had  never  seen  him  \ 

Des.  So  would  not  I ;  my  love  doth  so  approve 
iiim, 
That    even     his    stubbornness,    his    checks,    and 

frowns, — 
Pr'ythee.  unpin  me. — have  grace  and  favor  in  them. 

ilmlL  I  have  laid  those  sheets  you  bade  me  on 
the  bed. 

Des.  All's  one: — Good  father!    how  foolish  are 
our  minds  !  — 
If  I  do  die  belbre  thee,  pr'ythec,  shroud  me 
In  one  of  those  same  sheets. 

Kiiiit.  Come,  come,  you  talk. 

Dfs.  My  mnthor  had  a  maid  calTd— Uarbara; 
Shr  w;is  in  luvc ;  and  he,  shi?  lov'd,  proved  mad,'' 
And  did  forsake  lu-r:   sjie  had  a  song  of— willow, 
An  (lid  thing  'twas,  but  it  express 'd  her  fortune, 
And  slic  died  singing  it:  That  song,  to-night, 

*  ImuK'diately.  b  Vi\\<\,  inconstant. 


Will  not  go  from  my  mind ;  I  have  much  to  do, 

But  to  go  hang  my  head  all  at  one  side, 

And  sing  it.  like  poor  Barbara.  Pr'ythee,  despatch. 

Einil,  Sliall  I  go  fetch  your  night-gown  1 

Des.  No,  unpin  me  here.— 

This  Lodovico  is  a  proper  man. 

Emit.  A  very  handsome  man. 

Des.  And  he  speaks  well. 

Etiiil.  I  know  a  lady  in  Venice,  who  would  ha^e 
walked  barefoot  to  Palestine,  for  a  touch  ef  his 
nether  lip. 

I. 

Des.  The  poor  soul  sat  sighin;^  by  a  sycamore-trep.f 
Sing  nil  a  green  ivillow ;  [Singing 

Her  hand  on  her  husftm,  her  head  on  her  knee, 

Sing  it'i/low,  willtiiv,  ivillow : 
The  fresh  streams  ran  by  her,  and  murmured  her 
moans ; 
Sing  wilUno,  See. 
Her  .^alt  tears  fell  from  her,  and  soften'^d  ihestmxeSy 
Lay  by  these  : — 

Sing  willow,  ivilloiu,  ivillow ; 
Pr'ythee.  hie  thee;  heMl  come  anon.^ 

Sing  all  a  green  willow,  must  be  my  garland, 

n. 

Let  nnhody  blame  him,  hl^  seorn  I  approve, — 
Nay,  that's  not  next. — Hark!  who  is  it  that  knot^ka  I 
Emit.  It  is  the  wind. 

Des.  1  caWd  my  love,  false  love;  but  wfuJ  said 
he  then ? 
Sing  ivilloiv,  iS-c. 
If  I  court  mffi  women,  ynit'll  coueh  with  'fi')  men. 

So,  get  thee  gone ;  good-night.    Mine  eyvs  do  itch  ; 
Doth  that  bode  weeping? 

Emit.  'Tis  neither  I  i'^c  nor  there. 

Dei:  I   have   heard  it  said  so-—  u,  U.cae  men, 
these  men  ! — 
Dost  thou  in  conscience  think,— t  i   me,  Emilia, — 
That  there  he  women  do  abuse  t>  it  .'iUs'jands 
In  such  gross  kind  ? 

Emil.  There  be  som*.  M-.ch,  no  question. 

Des.  Wouldst  thou  do  suci'i   t  'Jeed  for  all  the 
world  ? 

Emil.  Why,  would  not  you  "^ 

Des.  No,  V  *  '.'  is  heavenly  light! 

Emit.  Nor  I  neither  by  «  if  Leavenly  light; 
I  might  do't  as  well  i'  thi*  -.vK. 

Des.  Wouldst  thou  do  /jc'i  a  deed  for  all  the 
world  ? 

£m(7.  The  world  is  all  ^-,c  thing:  *tis  a  great  price 
For  a  small  vice. 

Des.  Good  troth.  1  t\  *^k  thou  wouldst  not. 

Emil.  By  my  troth,  i  j./uk  I  should  ;  and  undo't, 
when  1  had  done.  Mai  ry,l  would  not  do  such  a  thing 
for  a  joint-ring;  nor  for  measures  of  lawi. ;  nor  f-  c 
gowns,  petticoats,  nor  ca|>s,  nor  any  pe'.ty  ext)'.>» 
tjon:  hut  Ibr  the  whole  world. — Why.  who  "  ji'Id 
not  make  her  husband  a  cuckold,  t«  ma'.*"  nj'n  a 
monarch  !     I  sliould  venture  purgatory  fo    t 

Des.  Bcshrew  me,  if  1  would  do  duch  a  wrong 
for  the  whole  world. 

E/nil.  Why,  the  wrong  is  but  n  »  ^^ng  i'  the 
world:  and,  having  the  world  for  y-'  /  .abor,  'tis  a 
wrong  in  your  own  world,  and  jo',.  Miay  quickly 
make  it  right. 

Des.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  6'ich  woman. 

Emit.  Yes,  a  dozen  ;  and  as  m?  // 
To  the  vantage,  as  would  stor-i  the  world  they 

playM  for. 
But,  I  do  think,  it  is  their  busbards'  faults, 
If  wives  do  tall:  Say,  that  they  'Jack  their  duties, 
And  pour  our  treasures  into  foreign  laps; 
Or  else  break  out  in  peevish  jejJousies, 
Throwing  restraint  upon  us  ;  or,  say  they  strike  us. 
Or  scant  our  former  having'  in  despite; 
Why,  we  have  galls;  and,  though  we  have  some 

grace, 
Yet  we  have  some  revenge.    Let  husbands  know 
Their  wives  have  sense'*  like  (hem:  they  sec,  and 

smell. 
And  have  their  palates  both  for  sweet  and  sour, 
As  liusbands  have.    What  is  it  that  they  do, 


6  ^lo,  f(>r  more. 

■>  Uur  tbrmer  allowance  of  expense. 


•  Sensation. 


Act  V.  Scene  I. 


THE   MOOR  OF   VENICE. 


771 


When  they  change  us  for  others'!     Is  it  sport! 
I  ttiink  it  is;  And  doth  allcction  breed  it! 

I  think  it  dolh;  Is't  frailly,  that  thns  errs] 

II  is  so  too ;  And  have  not  wc  afloctions  ? 
Desires  for  sport  1  and  frailty,  as  men  have? 


Then.  let  tlieni  nse  us  well :  else  let  them  know. 
Tile  ills  we  do,  their  ills  instruct  us  to. 
Des.  Good-night,  good-night:  Heaven  me  such 
usage  send. 
Not  to  pick  bad  from  bad  ;  but,  by  bad,  mend  ! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  I.— A  S/reef. 
Enter  Iago  and  Roderigo. 
lago.  Here,  stand  behind  this  bulk;  straight  will 
he  come : 
Wear  thy  ^ood  rapier  bare,9  and  put  it  home  ; 
Quick,  quick;  fear  nothing;  I'll  be  at  thy  elbow; 
It  makes  us.  or  it  mars  us;  think  on  that, 
And  fix  most  lirni  thy  resolution. 
Rod.  Be  near  at  hand;  1  may  miscarry  in*t. 
la^o.  Here,  at  thy  hand;  be  bold,  and  take  thy 
sword.  [Retires  to  a  fiftl^  distance^ 

Rod.  I  have  no  great  devotion  to  tlie  deed; 
And  yet  he  has  given  me  satisfying  reasons:— 
'Tis  but  a  man  gone  : — tbrth,  my  sword ;  he  dies. 
[Goes  to  Aw  stand. 
Iago.  I  have  rubb'd  this  young  quat  almost  to 
the  sense,' 
And  he  grows  angry.   Now,  whether  he  killCassio, 
Or  Cassio  him,  or  each  do  kill  the  other. 
Every  way  makes  my  gain:  Live  Roderigo, 
He  calls  me  to  a  restitution  large 
Of  gold,  and  jewels,  that  I  bobbM-  from  him. 
As  girts  to  Desdemona  ; 
It  must  not  be  :  if  Cassio  do  remain, 
He  hath  a  daily  beauty  in  his  lile, 
That  makes  me  ugly  ;  and,  besides,  the  Moor 
May  unfold  me  to'liim;   there  stand  I  in  much 

peril : 
No,  he  must  die: — But  so,  I  hear  him  coming. 
Enter  Cassio. 
Rod.  I  know  liis  gait. 'tis  ho;— Villain, thou  diest, 
[Rushes  from  his  post,  and  makes  a  pass 
at  Cassio. 
Cos,  Timt  thrust  had  been  mine  enemy  indeed, 
But  that  my  coat  is  better  than  thou  think'st; 
I  will  make  proof  of  thine. 

[Draws,  and  wounds  Roderigo. 
Rod.  (),  I  am  slain! 

[Iago  rashes  frimi  his  post,  cuts  Cassio  be- 
hind in  the  Lcf;,  and  Exit. 
Cas.  I  am  maim'd  lor  ever: — Help,  ho!  murder! 
murder!  [Falls. 

Enter  Otheixo,  at  a  distance. 
0th.  The  voice  of  Cassio: — Iago  keeps  Iiis  word. 
Rod,  0,  villain  that  1  am  ! 
0th.  Hark  !  'tis  even  so. 

Va.s.  O.  help!  ho!  light!  a  surgeon! 
0th.  'Tis  he;— 0  brave  Iago,  honest,  and  just. 
That  hath  such  noble  sense  of  thy  friend^s  wrong! 
Thou  teaciiest  nie. — Minion,  your  dear  lies  dead. 
And  your  late  hies  apace  : — Strumpet.  I  come: 
Forlh^  of  my  heart  those  charms,  thine  eyes,  are 

blotted ; 
Thy  bed,  lust-stainM,  shall  with  lust's  hlood   be 
spotted.  [Exit  Othei.lo. 

Enter  LoDovico  and  Guatiako,  at  a  distance. 
Cas.  What,  ho!   no  watch]   no  passage?-*  mur- 
der !  murder  I 
Gra.  'Tis  some  mischanoe;  thecry  is  very  direful. 
Cas.  0,  help  I 
lad.  Hark  I 

Rod.  0  wretched  villain  ! 

Lod.  Two  or  three  groans;— it  is  a  heavys  night: 
These  may  be  counterfeits;  let's  think't  unsafe 
To  come  m  to  the  cry.  without  more  help. 
Rod,  Nobody  eome  1  then  shall  1  bleed  to  death. 

Enter  Iago,  ivith  a  Litrht. 
iMd.  Hark ! 
Gra.  Here's  one  comes  in  his  shirt,  with  light 

and  weapons. 
Iago.  Who's  there!   whose   noise  is  this,  that 
cries  on  murder"! 

•  Unsheathed.  *  To  the  quick.  «  Fished. 

*  Out.  «  No  passengers.        •  Thick,  cloudy. 


Lod.  We  do  not  know. 

Iago.  Did  you  not  hear  a  cry  \ 

Cas.  Here,  here;  for  heaven-s  sake.  Iielp  me. 

Iago.  What's  the  matter  i 

Gra,  This  is  Othello's  ancient,  as  I  take  it. 

Lod.  The  same,  indeed;  a  very  valiant  fellow. 

iago.  What  are  you  here  that  cry  so  grievously  ? 

Cas.  Iago  !  0, 1  am  spoil'd,  undone  by  villains  ! 
Give  me  some  help. 

Iago.  O  me,  lieutenant!  what  villains  have  done 
this? 

Cas.  I  tliink,  that  one  of  them  is  hereabout, 
And  cannot  make  away. 

Iago.  0  treacherous  villains  !^ 

What,  are  you  there?  come  in, and  give  some  help. 

[To  LoDOVico  and  Gratiano. 

Rod.  O,  help  me  here  ! 

Cas.  That's  one  of  tlicm. 

logo.  O  murderous  slave!  0  villain  ! 

[Iago  stabs  Rodeuigo. 

Rod.  O  damiTd  Iago  !  0  inhuman  dog  ! — 
O  :  O !  O  ! 

Iago.  Kill   men   i'  the  dark! — Where   be  these 
bloody  thieves  \ 
How  silent  is  this  town  ! — Ho!  murder!  murder! 
What  may  you  he]  are  you  of  good,  or  evil ! 

Lod.  As  you  shall  prove  us,  praise  us. 

Jago.  Signior  Lodovico? 

Ij)d.  He,  sir. 

Iago.  I  cry  you  mercy;  Here's  Cassio  hurt 

By  villains. 

(ira.  Cassio ! 

logo.  How  is  it,  brother  ? 

Cas.  ATy  leg  is  cut  in  two. 

Iago.  Marry,  heaven  f<u'bid  I — 

Light,  gentlemen  ;  Til  bind  it  vvith  my  sliirL 

Enter  Bianca. 

Bw/n.  What  is  the  matter,  ho  ]  who  is't  that  cry'd  ? 

Iago.  Who  is't  that  cry'd  ! 

Bian.  O  my  dear  Cassio !  my  sweet  Cassio  ! 
0  Cassio  !  Cassio  !  Cassio  ! 

logo.  O    notable    strumpet! — Cassio,  may  you 
suspect 
Who  they  should  be,  that  have  thus  mangled  you"! 

Cas.  No. 

Gra.  I  am  sorry  to  find  you  thus:  I  have  been 
to  seek  you. 

Togo.  Lend  me  a  garter:  So.— O,  for  a  chair, 
To  bear  him  easily  hence  I 

Bian.  Alas,  he  hunts: — O  Cassio  !  Cassio!  Cassio! 

Iago.  Gentlonien  all,  I  do  suspect  this  trash 
To  be  a  party  in  this  injury. — 
Patience  a  wiiile,  good  Cassio. — Come,  eome; 
Lend  me  a  light. — Know  we  this  face,  or  no  ] 
Alas!  my  friend,  and  my  dear  countryman, 
Roderigo"]  no: — Yes.  sure;  O  heaven!  Roderigo. 

Gra.  What,  of  Venice] 

Iago.  Even  he,  sir;  did  j'ou  know  him] 

Gra.  Know  him]  ay. 

Iago,  Signior  Gratiano]   I  rry  you  gentle  par- 
don ; 
These  bloody  accidents  must  excuse  my  manneis, 
That  so  neglected  you. 

Gra.  I  am  glad  to  see  you- 

Iago.  How  do  you,  Cassio]— 0,  a  chair,  a  chair  ! 

Gra.  Roderigo  ! 

Iago.   He,   he,  'tis  he: — 0,  that's  well   snhl;— 
the  chair: —  [A  Chair  brought  in. 

Some  good  man  bear  him  carefully  from  hence; 
I'll  fetcll  the  gencral'iS  surgeon.— For  you,  mistress, 

[To  Bianca. 
Save  you  your  labor. — He  that   lies  slain  here, 

Cassio, 
Was  my  dear  friend:  What  malice  was  between 
you  ] 

Cas.  None  in  the  world  ;  nor  do  I  know  the  man. 


•72 


OTHELLO, 


Act  V 


lago.  [To  BiAN.I  What,  look  you  pale  7 — 0,  bear 
him  out  0^  the  air. — 

[Cassio  and  Rod.  are  bnrne  off". 
Stay  you,  g:ood  gentlemen: — Look  you  p^le,  mis- 
tress f 
Do  you  perceive  the  ghastness  of  her  eye  ?— 
Nay,  if  you  stare,  we  siiall  Iiear  more  anon; — 
Behold  iher  well;  I  pray  you,  look  upon  her; 
Bo  you  see, gentlemen?  liay, guiltiness  will  speak, 
Though  tongues  were  out  ol  use. 

Enter  Kmilia. 
Emil.  'Las,  whafs  the  matter;  what's  the  mat- 
ter, husband? 
I(f^o.  Cassio  hath  here  been  set  on  in  the  dark, 
By  Roderigo,  and  fellows  that  are  'seapM; 
He's  almost  slain,  and  Roderi?:o  dead. 
Emit.  Alas,  good  gentleman!  alas,  good  Cassio! 
Jago.  This  is  the  fruit  of  whoring. — Pr'ythee, 
Emilia, 
Go  know  of  Cassio  where  he  supp'd  to-night:—    • 
VViiat,  do  you  shake  at  tiiat  ? 
Bian.  lie  suppM  at  my  house;  but  I  therefore 

shake  not. 
Iftgn.  O.  did  he  so?  I  charge  3'ou  go  with  me. 
Emil.  Fye,  fye  upon  thee,  strumjiet! 
Bian.  I  am  no  strumpet;  but  of  life  as  honest, 
As  you  that  thus  abuse  me. 

Emit,  As  I?  foh?  fye  upon  thee! 

Ja^o.  Kind  gentlemen,  let's  go  see  poor  Cassio 
dressM : — 
Come,  mistress,  you  must  tell  us  another  talc. — 
Kmiiia.  run  you'to  the  citadel. 
And  tell  my  lord  and  Indy  what  has  happM. — 
Will  you  go  on,  I  pray !— Tliis  is  the  night, 

{Aside. 
That  either  makes  me,  or  fordoes^  me  quite. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IL — A  Bed-chamhcr:   Desi>emona  in  Bed 
asleep.    A  Li^lit  burning. 
Enter  Othello. 
Of/i.  It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul, — 
Let  me  not  name  it  to  you,  you  chaste  stars  !^ 
It  is  the  cause. — Yet  Til  notshed  her  blood  ; 
Nor  scar  that  whiter  skin  of  hers  than  snow, 
And  smooth  as  monumental  nlaliaster. 

[Tail eft  off  ti.i.s  Sivord. 
Yet  she  must  die,  else  she"'!!  betray  uii)re  men. 
Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  ligfit:' 
If  I  quench  thee,  thou  tlaming  minister, 
1  can  again  thy  former  light  restore. 
Should  I  repent  me: — hut  once  put  out  thine, 
Thou  cuiMung'st  pattern  of  excelling  nature, 
I  know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  lieat 
Tliut  can  thy  light  relume.    When  I  have  ]filuck'd 

thy  rose, 
I  cannot  give  it  vital  growth  again, 
It  needs  must  wither:— ril  smell  it  on  the  tree. 

[Ki.fsing  tier. 

0  balmy  breath,  that  dost  almost  persuade 
Justice  to  break  her  sword ! — One  more,  one  more. — 
Re  thus  when  thou  art  dead,  and  1  will  kill  thee. 
And  love  thee  aJler: — One  more,  and  this  the  last: 
So  sweet  was  ne'er  so  fatal.     I  must  weep, 

Rut  they  are  cruel  tears:  This  sorrow's  heavenly; 
It  strikes,  where  it  doth  love. — She  wakes — 

Df.T.  Who's  there  .'    Oihello? 

0th.  Ay,  Desdemona. 

J)es.  Will  you  come  to  bed,  my  lord  ? 

01  li.  Have  you  prayM  to-night,  Desdemona? 

Drs.  Ay,  my  lord. 

Oik.  If  you  belhifik  yourself  of  any  crime, 
Unreconcded  as  yet  to  heaven  and  grace, 
Solicit  for  it  straight. 

i>.T.  Alas,  my  lord,  what  may  you  mean  by  thnt? 

Offi.  Well,  do  it,  and  be  brief;"  I  will  walk  by ; 

1  would  not  kiil  thy  unprepared  spirit  ; 

No. — Heaven  forfend  !^ — I  would  not  kill  thy  soul. 

Des,  Talk  you  of  killing? 

Otfi.  Ay,  I  do. 

Deft.  Tlien  heaven 

Have  morcy  on  me  ! 

OM.  Amen,  with  all  my  heart! 

•  Undoes. 

I  i.  p.  TheliKhtofIif<\ 

This  is  tlio  punctuiitimi  of  thcPilloof  ir,23.  and  of  Pope, 
Stevens.  Ac.  Itut  some  I'ditorp  jmiiit  it  thup; — 

Put  out  1  he  Uijht,  and  tbuu  : Put  out  tho  li^ht : 

«  Furbid 


Des.  If  you  say  so,  I  hope  you  will  not  kill  me. 

0th.  Hiimph! 

Den,  And  yet  I  fear  you :  for  you  are  fatal  then, 
Wlien  your  eyes  roll  so:  Why  Ishouldfear,  I  know 

not, 
Since  guiltiuess  I  know  not;  but  yet,  I  feel,  I  fear 

Otti.  Thinii  on  thy  sins. 

jOt'.f.  They  are  loves  I  bear  to  you. 

0th.  Ay,  and  for  that  tllou  diest. 

Des.  Thatdeath^s  unnatural,  that  kills  forloving.— 
Alas,  why  gnaw  you  so  your  nether  lij)  ? 
Some  bloody  passion  shakes  your  very  frame: 
These  are  portents;  but  yet,  1  hope,  I  hope, 
They  do  not  point  on  me. 

Otii.  Peace,  and  be  still ! 

Des.  I  will  so:  AVhat's  the  matter? 

Otti.  That  handkerchief  which  I  .so  lov'd  and 
gave  thee. 
Thou  gav'st  to  Cassio. 

Des.  No,  by  my  life  and  soul; 

Send  for  the  man  and  ask  him. 

Oth.  Sweet  soul,  take  heed, 

Take  heed  of  perjury;  thou  art  on  thy  death-bed. 

Des,  Ay,  but  not  yet  to  die. 

Oth.  Yes,  presently: 

Therefore  confess  thee  freely  of  thy  sin  ; 
For  to  deny  each  article  with  oath, 
Cannot  remove,  nor  choke,  the  strong  conception 
Tiiat  I  do  groan  withal.    Thou  art  to  die. 

Des.  Then,  Lord  have  mercy  on  me  ! 

Oth.  I  say,  amen. 

Des.  And  have  you  mercy  too! — I  never  did 
Olicnd  you  in  my  life;  never  lovM  Cassio, 
Rut  with  such  general  warranty  of  heaven 
As  I  might  love:  I  never  gave  him  token. 

Oth.  By  heaven,  I  saw  my  handkerchief  in  his 
hand. 

0  perjurM  woman!  thou  dost  stone  my  heart, 
And  mak'sl  me  call  what  I  intend  to  do, — 

A  murder,  which  I  thought  a  sacrifice: 

1  saw  the  handkerchief. 

Des.  He  found  it  then; 

I  never  gave  it  him: — Send  for  him  hitlicr, 
Let  hmi  conless  a  truth. 

Otti.  He  hath  confess'd. 

Des.  What,  my  lord  ? 

Oth.  That  he  hath— used  thee. 

Des.  How?  unlawfully? 

Oth.  Ay. 

Des.  We'll  not  say  so. 

Oth.  No,  his  mouth  is  stopped; 

Honest  lago  hath  taVn  order  for't. 

Drs.  I\Iy  lear  interprets  then. — What,  is  he  dead? 

0/A.Had  all  his  hairs  been  lives,  my  great  revenge 
Had  stomach  for  them  all. 

Des.  Alas!  he  is  betray'd,  and  I  undone. 

Oth.  Out,  strumpet!    "Weep'st  thou   for  him  to 
my  face  ? 

Des.  O,  banish  me,  my  lord,  but  kill  me  not. 

Oth.  Down,  strumpet ! 

Des.  Kill  me  to-morrow,  let  me  live  to-night. 

Oth.  Nay,  if  you  strive, 

Des.  But  half  an  hour. 

Oth.  Being  done, 

There  is  no  pause. 

Des.  But  while  T  say  one  prnyer. 

Oth.  It  is  too  late.  [lie  .•^motliers  'tier, 

Ei/iil.  [Within.]  My  lord,  my  lord!  what  ho! 
my  lord  !  my  lord  ! 

Oth.  What  noise  is  this? — Not  dead!  not  yet 
quite  dead  ? 
I,  that  am  cruel,  am  yet  merciful; 
1  would  not  have  thee  linger  in  thy  pain.-— 
So.  so. 

Emil.  [  Wittiin.']  What  ho!  my  lord,  my  lord  ! 

Oth.  '        Who''s  there? 

Emil.  [  Within.']  O.  good  my  lord,  I  would  speak 
a  word  with  you. 

Oth.  Yes; — 'tis  Emilia: — by-and-hy. — She's  dead. 
'Tis  like  she  comes  to  speak  of  Cassio's  death: 
The  noise  was  high. — Ha  !  no  more  moving  ? 
Still  as  the  grave.    Shall  she  come  in?    Were't 

good  ? 
1  think,  she  stirs  again:— No. — What's  the  best? 
If  she  come  in,  she'll  sure  speak  to  my  wife: 
My  wife  !  my  wife  !  what  wife?— I  have  no  wife  : 
O.  insupportable  !  0  heavy  hour  ! 
Metliinks  it  should  be  now  a  huge  eclipse 
Of  sun  and  moon  ;  and  that  the  aflrighted  globe 
Should  yawn  at  alteration. 


Scene  IT. 


THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE. 


773 


Eiuil.  I  IVithin.]  I  do  beseech  you  I  may  fepeak 
Willi  you. 
0,  g^ood  my  loid  ! 

Of!t.  I  had  forgot  thee:  O.corae  in,  Emilia:— 
S„ft,_l,y-;iiid-bv  :— Let  mc  the  curtains  draw.— 
Where  art  thou  ?  Wliat's  the  matter  with  tliee  now  1 
[  Unlocks  Ike  door. 

Enter  Emilia. 

Em  U.  O,  ffood  my  lord,  yonder's  foul  murder  done. 
01  li.  Wliatl  now! 

Emil.  But  now,  my  lord. 

Otk.  It  is  the  very  error  of  the  moon; 
She  comes  more  near  tlie  cartli  than  she  was  wont ; 
And  makes  men  mad. 
Emil.  Cassio,  my  lord,  hifs  kiU'd  a  young  Vene- 
tian, 
CalI'd— Roderigo. 

Oik.  Roderigo  kilPd! 

And  Cassio  kill'd ! 
Emil.  No,  Cassio  is  not  kill'd. 

0th.  Not  Cassio  kill'd  !  tlicn  murder's  out  of  tune, 
And  sweet  revenge  grows  harsh. 
Des.  O,  falsely,  lalsoly  murder'd  ! 
Emil.  Alas,  what  cry  is  that ! 

Otk.  That!  what? 

EmiJ.  (Jut, and  alas!  that  was  my  lady's  voice- 
Help!  help,  ho!  help!— O  lady,  speak  again! 
Sweet  Desdemona!  O, sweet  mistress,  speak! 
De.s.  A  guiltless  death  I  die. 
Em  it.  O,  who  hath  done 

This  deed  1 

Des.  Nobody;  I  myself;  farewell: 

Commend  me  to  my'kind  lord;  (),  farewell.    [Die.v. 
Oik.  \Vhy,  how  should  she  be  murder'd  1 
Emit.  Alas,  wiio  knows  ! 

Olh.  You  heard  her  say  herself,  it  was  not  I. 
Emil  She  said  so,  I  must  needs  report  the  truth. 
Oik.  She's  like  a  liar,  gone  to  burning  hell ; 
'Twas  I  that  kill'd  her. 

Emil.  O,  the  more  angel  she, 

And  you  the  blacker  devil ! 

Oik.  .She  turn'd  to  lolly,  and  she  was  a  whore. 
Emit.  Thou  dost  belie  her,  and  thou  art  a  devil! 
Olh.  She  was  liilse  as  water. 
Emil.  Thou  art  rash  as  lire,  to  say 

That  she  was  false ;  O,  she  was  heavenly  true  ! 

Oik.  Cassio  did  tap  her;  ask  thy  husband  else. 
O,  I  were  damn'd  heneath  all  depth  in  hell. 
But  that  I  did  proceed  upon  just  grounds 
To  this  extremity.   Thy  husband  knew  it  all. 
Emil.  My  husband  ! 
Otk.  Thy  husband. 
Emil.  That  she  was  false  to  wedlock? 
Otk.  Ay,  with  Cassio. 

Nay,  had  she  been  true. 

If  heaven  would  make  me  such  another  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite,' 
I'd  not  have  sold  her  for  it. 
Emil.  My  liusband! 

Otk.  Ay,  'twas  he  that  told  me  first: 

An  honest  man  he  is,  and  hates  the  slime 
Tliat  sticks  on  filthy  deeds. 
Emil.  My  husband? 

Otk.  What  needs  this  iterance,'  woman!   I  say, 

thy  husband. 
Emil.  O  mistress,  viUany  hath  made  mocks  with 
love ! — 
My  husband  say  that  she  was  false  ! 

Olh.  He,  woman ; 

I  say,  thy  husband  :  Dost  understand  the  word  ! 
My  friend,  thy  husband,  honest,  honest  lago. 
Emil.  If  he  say  so,  may  his  pernicious  soul 
Rot  half  a  grain  a  day  !  he  lies  to  the  heart ; 
She  was  too  fond  of  tier  most  filthy  bargain. 
Otk.  Ha! 

Emit.  Do  thy  worst: 

This  deed  of  thine  is  no  more  worthy  heaven, 
Than  thou  wast  worthy  her. 

Oik.  Peace,  you  were  best. 

Emil.  Thou  hast  not  half  the  power  to  do  me 
harm, 
As  I  have  to  be  hurt.2    O  gull !  0  dolt ! 
As  ignorant  as  dirt!  thou  hast  done  a  deed, — 
I  care  not  for  thy  sword;  I'll  make  thee  known. 
Though  Host  twenty  lives: — Help!  help, ho!  help! 
The  Moor  has  kill'd  my  mistress;  Murder!  murder ! 

*  Repetition. 


Enter  Montaxo,  Gratiaxo,  and  Iauo. 

Mnn.  What  is  the  nialter!— How  now,  general  ? 

E7itil.  0,are  you  come,  lago !  you  have  done  well, 
Tliat  men  must  lay  their  murders  on  your  neck. 

Gz-ff.  What  is  the  matter! 

Emit.  Disprove  this  villain,  if  thou  be  st  a  man. 
He  says,  thou  told'st  him  that  his  wile  was  liilse  : 
1  know,  thou  didst  not,  thou'rt  not  such  a  villain: 
Speak,  for  mv  heart  is  full, 

lago.  I  told  him  what  I  thought;  and  told  no 
more 
Than  what  he  found  himself  was  apt  and  true, 

Emil.  But  did  you  ever  tell  him  she  was  false  ? 

lago.  I  did. 

Emit.  You  told  a  lie;  an  odious,  damned  lie; 
Upon  my  soul,  a  lie;  a  wicked  lie: — 
She  false  with  Cassio!— Did  you  say  with  Cassio? 

logo.  With  Cassio,  mistress;  Go  to,  charm  your 
tongue. 

Emil.  I  will  not  charm  my  tongue;  I  am  bound 
to  siieak ; 
My  mistress  here  lies  murder'd  in  her  bed. 

Att.O  heavens  Ibrfcnd!^ 

El/lit.  And  your  reports  have  set  the  murder  on. 

Otk.  Nay,  stare  not,  masters;  it  is  true,  indeed. 

Gra.  'Tis  a  strange  truth. 

Miin.  O  monstrous  act ! 

Emil.  Villany,  villany,  villany ! — 

I  think  upon't, — I  think,— I  smell't;— O  villany! — 
I  thought  so  then  ;— I'll  kill  myself  for  grief.— 

0  villany,  villany  ! 

lago.  What,  are  you  mad?  I  charge  you,  get  you 

llOllU". 

Emil.  (lood   gentlemen,  let  me  have  leave  to 
speak : 
'Tis  proper  I  obey  him,  but  not  now: — 
Perchance,  lago,  1  will  ne'er  go  home, 

Otk.  O  I  0 !  C) !  [Hanging  over  hi.i  tvife. 

Emit.  Nay,  lay  thee  down  and  roar; 

For  thou  hast  kill'd  the  sweetest  innocent 
Thai  e'er  did  litl  up  eye. 

Otk.  0,  she  was  foul ! — 

[Hiiing. 

1  scarce  did  know  you,  uncle:  There  lies  your  niece. 
Whose  breath,  indeed,  these  hands  have  newly 

stopjvd : 


I  know  this  act  shows  horrible  and  grini. 
Poor  I       "  ■    "  ■    ■ 

dead ; 


Cru.  Poor  Desdemona !   I  am  glad 


^^y 


father's 


8  A  precious  stone. 

»  "  Mjrc  can  I  bear  Uian  you  dare  execute 


Thy  match  w,is  mort.al  to  him,  and  pure  grief 
Shore  his  old  thread  in  twain:  did  he  live  now. 
This  sight  would  make  him  do  a  desjierate  turn, 
Yen,  curse  his  beller  angel  from  his  side, 
And  fall  to  reprobation, 

Otk.  'Tis  pitiful:  but  vet  lago  knows. 
That  slie  with  Cassio  liatli  llie  act  of  shame 
A  thousand  limes  eommitled  :  Cassio  confess'd  it; 
And  she  did  gratily  his  amorous  works 
With  tliat  recognisance  and  pledge  of  love 
Which  1  first  gave  her;  I  saw  it  in  his  hand; 
It  was  a  handkercliief,  an  antique  token 
My  father  gave  my  mother. 

Emit.  O  heaven  !  O  heavenly  powers ! 

lago.  Come,  hold  }our  peace. 

Emit.  'Twill  out, 'twill  out;— I  liold  my  peace, 
sir!  no; 
No,  I  will  speak  as  liberaP  as  the  air; 
Let  heaven,  and  men,  and  devils,  let  them  all. 
All,  all,  cry  shame  against  me,  yet  I'll  speak. 

lago.  lie  wise,  and  get  you  home. 

Emil.  'I  will  not. 

[Iago  offers  to  stab  his  wife. 

Gra.  I'yc ! 

Y'our  sword  upon  a  woman  ? 

Emil.O  Ihou  dull  Moor!  that  handkerchief  thou 
speak'st  of, 
I  found  by  fortune,  and  did  give  my  husband; 
For  olten,  with  a  solemn  earnestness, 
(More  than,  indeed,  belong'd  to  suchfl  trifle,) 
He  begg'd  of  me  to  steal  it. 

Iago.  Villanoue  whore ! 

Emit.  She  give  it  Cassio  !  no,  alas;  I  found  it, 
And  I  did  give't  my  husband. 

Iago.  Filth,  thou  liest. 

Emil.  By  heaven, I  do  not:  I  do  not,  gentlemen. 
O  murd'rous  coxcomb !  what  should  such  a  Ibol 
Do  with  so  good  a  wife  ? 

[Iago  slabs  Emilia,  then  runs  out. 

»  Forbid,  *  Free. 


774 


OTHELLO,  THE  MOOR  OF  VENICE.     Act  V.  Scene  II. 


Glh.  Are  there  no  stones  in  heaven, 

Butwhataerve  for  the  thunder'? — Precious  villain! 

Gru.  The  woman  falls!  sure,  hehaskiU'dhis  witie. 

Etiiil.  Ay,  ay :  0,  lay  me  by  mv  niistress'  side  ! 

iira.  Hp^s  gone,  but  his  wife's  kilPd. 

Mon.   'Tis  a  notorious  villain.    Take  you  this 
weapon. 
Which  I  have  here  recovered  from  the  Moor: 
Come,  truard  the  door  without;  let  him  not  pasSj, 
Jiut  kill  him  rather;  Til  after  that  same  villain, 
Kor  'tis  a  damned  slave. 

[Exeunt  Montaxo  and  Gratiano. 

0th.  1  am  not  valiant  neither, 

Hut  every  puny  whipster  gets  my  .sword  : — 
Jkit  why  should  honor  outlive  honesty  1 
Let  it  go  all. 

Eniil.  What  did  thy  song  bode,  lady? 

Hark,  canst  thou  Jiear  mef  I  will  play  the  swan, 
And  die  in  music; — IVilhiw,  willow, widow. — 
Moor, she  was  chaste;  she  lovM  thee,  cruel  Moor; 
So  come  n»y  soul  to  bliss,  as  I  speak  true ; 
So  speaking  as  1  tiiink,  I  die,— 1  die.  [Dies. 

0th.  I  have  another  weapon  in  this  chamber, 
It  is  a  sword  of  Spain,  the  ice-brook's  temper;^ — 
0.  here  it  is: — Uncle,  I  must  come  fortli, 

Grtf.   [JVilhiTi.]  If  thou  attempt  it,  it  will  cost 
thee  dear; 
Thou  hast  no  weapon,  and  perforce  must  suffer. 

0/h.  Look  in  upon  me  then,  and  speak  with  me, 
Or,  naked  as  I  am,  I  will  assault  thee. 
Re-enter  Guatiano. 

Cth.  What  is  tiie  matter? 

0th.  Itchold  !  I  have  a  weapon; 

A  better  never  did  itself  sustain 
Upon  a  soldier's  thigh  :  I  have  seen  the  day. 
That,  with  this  little  arm,  and  this  good  sword, 
I  have  made  my  way  Ihrough  more  impediments 
Than  twenty  times  your  stop: — But,  0  vain  boast! 
Who  can  control  his  fate  ?  'tis  not  so  now. — 
Be  not  afraid,  though  you  do  see  me  wcapon'd; 
]Iere  is  my  journey's  end,  here  is  my  butt, 
And  very  sea-mark  of  my  utmost  sail. 
Do  you  go  back  dismay'd  ?  'tis  a  lost  fear  ; 
Man  but  a  rush  against  Othello's  breast, 
And  he  retires; — W/ierc  should  Othello  go?— 
Now,  how  dost    thou    look    now?      0  ill-starr'd 

wench  ! 
Pale  as  thy  smock!  when  w-e  shall  meet atcompt,^ 
Tills  look  of  thine  will  hurl  my  soul  from  heaven, 
And  fiends  will  snatch  at  it.    Cold,  cold,  my  girl? 
Even  like  thy  chaslily. — 
O  cursed,  cursed  slave  ! — Whip  me,  ye  devils, 
From  the  possession  of  this  Iieavenly  sight ! 
Blow  me  about  in  winds  !  roast  mc  in  sulphur! 
Wash  me  in  steep-down  gulls  of  liquid  tire  ! — 
(tDesdemona!  Desdemona!  dead? 
Dead  ?  O  !  O  !  0 ! 

Enter  Lodovico,  Montano,  Cassio  carried  in  a 
Chair,  and  Oflicers,  tiJiM  Iago  p7-i&oner. 

Lod.  Where  is  this  rash  and  most  unfortunate 
man? 

Ofh.  That's  he,  that  was  Otiiello  ;  here  I  am. 

I>m/.  Where  is  that  viper?  bring  the  villain  forth. 

Otfi.  I  look  down  towards  his  feet;'' — but  that's  a 
fable: 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  devil,  I  cannot  kill  thee. 

[Othkllo  wounds  Iago. 

Lod.  Wrench  his  sword  from  him. 

It'fi:o.  1  bleed,  sir;  but  not  kilPd. 

0//i.  I  am  not  sorry  neitlicr;  I'd  have  thee  live  ; 
For,  in  my  sense,  'tis  happiness  to  die, 

Lod.  O  thou  Otiiello,  that  was  once  so  good, 
Fall'n  in  tlie  practice^  of  a  cursed  slave, 
AVhat  shall  be  said  to  thee? 

Oth.  Why,  any  thing: 

An  houorable  murderer,  if  you  will; 
For  nau:,'ht  1  did  in  hate,  but  all  in  honor. 

f.od.  This  wretch  hath  part  confess'd  hisvillany : 
Did  vou  and  he  consent  in  Cassio's  deatli  ? 

Ot/i.  Ay. 

Oas.  Dear  general,  I  never  gave  you  cause, 

»  stud  is  hardeuud  by  being  put  rod-hot  iuto  very  cold 
unter. 
«  Account.    '  To  soo  if  his  fyct  be  doven.    ■  Stratagem. 


Ofh.  I  do  believe  it,  and  I  ask  your  pardon. 
Will  you.  I  pray,  demand  that  dcnii-devil. 
Why  he  hath  thus  ensnar'd  my  soul  and  body? 

logo.  Demand  me  nothing;  What  you  know, you 
know : 
From  this  time  forth,  I  never  will  speak  word. 

Lod.  What!  not  to  pray? 

Gra.  Torments  will  ope  your  lips. 

0/h.  Well,  thou  dost  best. 

Lod.  Sir,  you  shall  understand  what  hath  befalPn, 
Which,  as  I  think,  you  know  not:  Plere  is  a  letter, 
Found  in  the  pocket  of  the  slain  Roderigo  ; 
And  here,  another:  the  one  of  them  imports 
The  deatfi  of  Cassio  to  be  undertook 
By  Roderigo. 

0th.  0  villain ! 

Cc.*?.  Most  heathenish,  and  most  gross ! 

Lod.  Now  here's  another  discontented  paper, 
Found  in  his  pocket  too:  and  this,  it  seems, 
Roderigo  meant  to  have  sent  this  damned  villain. 
But  that,  belike,  lago  in  the  interim 
Came  in  and  satisfied  him. 

0th.  0  the  pernicious  caitiff! 

How  came  i;ou,  Cassio,  by  that  handkerchief 
That  was  my  wife's? 

Cas.  I  found  it  in  my  chamber: 

And  he  himself  confess'd,  but  even  now. 
That  there  he  dropjTd  it  for  a  special  purpose, 
WJiich  wrought  to  his  desire. 

Ofh.  O  fool !  fool !  fool ! 

Cas.  There  is  besides,  in  Roderigo's  letter,— 
How  lie  upbraids  lago,  that  he  made  him 
Brave  me  upon  the  watch  ;  whereon  it  came 
Tiiat  I  was  cast:  And  even  but  now  lie  spake, 
Alter  long  seeming  dead,— lago  hurt  him, 
lago  set  him  on. 

Led.  You  must  forsake  this  room  and  go  with  us 
Your  power  and  your  command  is  taken  off. 
And  Cassio  rules  in  Cyprus.    For  this  slave, — 
If  there  be  any  cumiihg  crnelty. 
That  can  torment  him  much,  and  liold  him  long, 
It  shall  be  his:  You  shall  close  prisoner  rest, 
Till  that  the  nature  of  your  fault  he  known- 
To  the  Venetian  state:  Come,  bring  away. 

0th.  Soft  you;  a  word  or  two  before  you  go. 
I  have  done  the  state  some  service.and  they  know  it; 
No  more  of  that: — I  pray  you,  in  your  letters, 
When  you  shall  these  unlucky  deeds  relate, 
Speak  of  me  as  I  am;  nothing  extenuate. 
Nor  set  down  auglit  in  malice:  then  must  you 

speak 
Of  one,  that  lovM  not  wisely,  but  too  well ; 
Of  one,  not  easily  jealous,  but,  being  wrought, 
Perplex'd  in  the  extreme;  of  one,  whose  hand, 
Like  the  base  Jfidean,  threw  a  pearl  away, 
Richer  than  all  his  tribe;  of  one,  whose  subdued 

eyes, 
Albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood, 
Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees 
Their  medicinal  gum:  Set  you  down  this: 
And  say, besides, — That  in  Aleppo  once, 
Where  a  malitcnant  and  a  turban'd  Turk 
Beat  a  Venetian,  and  traduced  the  state, 
I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog. 
And  smote  him— thus,  [Stabs  himself. 

Lod.  O  bloody  period  ! 

Ora.  All,  that's  spoke,  is  marr'd. 

0th.  I  kiss'd  thee,  ere  I  kill'd  thee ;— No  way  but 

this,  [Fatting  upon  Desdkmona. 

Killing  myself,  to  die  upon  a  kiss.  [Vies. 

Cos.   This  did  I  fear,  but  thought  he  had  no 
weapon : 
For  he  was  great  of  heart. 

Lod.  0  Spartan  dog. 

More  fell  than  anguish,  hunger,  or  the  sea  ! 
Look  on  the  tragic  loading  of  this  bed;    [To  Iago, 
This  is  thy  work  :  the  object  poisons  sight; — 
Let  it  be  hid. — Gratiano,  keep  the  house. 
And  seize  upon  the  fortunes  of  the  ]\Ioor, 
For  they  succeed  to  you. — To  you.  lord  governor, 
Remains  the  censure  of  this  hellish  villain; 
Tiie  time,  the  place,  the  torture,— O  enforce  it! 
Myself  will  straight  abroad;  and,  to  the  state. 
This  heavy  act  with  heavy  heart  relate. 

[Exeunt 


POEMS. 


TO   THE   EIGHT   HONOKABLE   HENRY   WPJOTHESLY, 


Eakl  of  Socthajiptox,  axd  Baron  of  Titchfield. 


Right  Hoxokable, 


I  KNOW  not  how  I  shall  odcnd  in  dedicating  my  unpolished  lines  to  your  Lordship,  nor  how 
the  world  will  censure  me  ibr  choosing  so  strong  a  prop  to  support  so  weak  a  burthen:  only  if  j'our 
lionor  seem  but  pleased,  I  account  myself  higlily  praised,  and  vow  to  take  advaniageof  all  idle  hours, 
till  I  have  honored  you  with  some  graver  labor.  But  if  the  first  heir  of  my  invention  prove  deformed, 
I  shall  be  sorry  it  had  so  noble  a  godliither,  and  never  after  ear  so  barren  a  land,  for  fear  it  yield  me 
BtiU  so  bad  a  harvest.  I  leave  it  to  your  honorable  survey,  and  your  honor  to  jour  heart's  content, 
which  I  wish  may  always  answer  your  own  wish,  and  the  world's  hopeful  expectation. 

Your  Honor's  in  all  duty, 

William  Shaespeare. 


VENUS    AND   ADONIS. 


Vilia  Diiretur  TulgUB  mibi  flavus  Apnllo 
Poculo  Castalia  plena  ministrat  aqua. — Ovid. 


Even  as  tho  sun  with  purple-colorVl  face 
Had  taVn  his  last  leave  oJthe  weeping;  morn, 
Rose-cheek'd  Adonis  hied  him  to  tiie  chase  : 
Hunting  he  loved,  hut  love  he  laugh'd  to  scorn ; 
Sick-thou{;hted  Venus  makes  amain  unto  him. 
And  like  a  bold-faced  suitor  'f;ins  to  woo  liim. 

Thrice  fairer  than  myself,  (thus  she  be;;an.) 
The  tield's  chief  llower,  sweet  above  compare. 
Stain  to  all  nyiuphs.  more  lovely  tlian  a  man, 
More  wliite  and  red  Ihan  doves  or  roses  are; 
Nature  that  ninde  tJiee,  with  herself  at  strilc, 
Saith  that  the  world  hath  ending  with  lliy  hfe. 

Vouchsafe,  Ihou  wonder,  to  a!is;ht  thy  steetl, 
And  reijirn  his  proud  head  to  tlio  saddle-how; 
If  thou  wilt  deifiu  this  favor.  Ii»r  Ihy  meed 
A  thousand  honey-secrets  slialt  thou  know: 
Here  come  and  sit,  where  serpent  never  liisscs. 
And,  bein^  set,  Til  smother  thee  with  kisses: 

And  yet  not  cloy  thy  lips  with  loath'd  satiety, 

But  rather  Jiimish  them  amid  tlieir  plenty. 

Making  them  red  and  pale  with  Iresh  variety; 

Ten  kisses  short  as  one.  one  lorn:  as  twenty": 
A  summer's  day  will  seem  an  hour  but  short, 
Being  wasted  in  such  time-beguiling  sport. 

With  this,  she  seizeth  on  his  sweating  palm, 
The  precedent  of  pith  and  livelihood. 
And,  trembling  in  her  jiassion,  calls  it  balm. 
Earth's  sovereign  salve  to  do  a  goddess  good: 
Being  so  enraged,  desire  doth  lend  her  force 
Courageously  to  pluck  him  from  his  horse. 

Over  one  arm  the  lusty  courser's  rein, 

Under  hor  other  was  the  tender  boy. 

Who  bUish'd  and  pouted  in  a  dull  disdain, 

With  leaden  ajipetite,  unapt  to  toy  ; 
She  red  and  hot  as  coals  of  glowing  fire, 
He  Ted  for  shame,  but  frosty  in  desire. 


The  studded  birdie  on  a  ragged  bough 

Nimbly  she  fastens;  (O  hovvquick  is  love  !) 

The  steed  is  stalled  up,  and  even  now 

To  tie  the  rider  she  begins  to  prove: 
Backward  she  push'd  him,  as  she  would  be  thrust, 
And  govern'd  himinstrenglh,  thougli  not  in  lust. 

So  soon  was  she  along,  as  he  was  down, 
Kach  leaning  on  their  elbows  and  their  hips: 
Now  doth  she  stroke  his  cheek,  now  doth  he  frown. 
And  'gins  to  chide,  but  soon  she  stops  liis  lips ; 
And  kissing  speaks,  witli  lustful  language  bioken, 
"  If  thou  will  cJiide,  thy  lips  .siiatl  never  open." 

He  burns  with  hasliful  sliame ;  she  with  her  tears 
Doth  {(liencb  the  maiden  burning  of  Iiis  checks: 
Then  with  her  windy  sij^hs,  and  golden  ftairs, 
To  lim  and  blow  thc'in  dry  again  she  seeks : 

He  saith,  she  is  immodest,  blames  tier  'miss; 

What  Ibllows  more,  she  smotJiers  with  a  Idfis. 

Even  as  an  empty  eagle,  sharp  by  fast. 
Tires  with  her  beak  on  feathers,  llcsh  and  bone. 
Shaking  her  wings,  devouring  all  in  haste, 
Till  either  gorge  be  stull'd,  or  prey  be  gone  ; 
Even  so  she  kiss'd  liis  brow,  his  cheek,  his  chin, 
And  where  she  ends,  she  doth  anew  begin. 

Forced  to  content,  but  never  to  obey. 
Panting  he  lies,  and  breathing  in  her  face; 
She  feedelh  on  tiie  steam,  as  on  a  prey, 
And  calls  it  heavenly  moisture,  air  of  grace. 
Wishing  her  cheeks  were  gardens  full  of  liowers, 
So  they  were  dcw'd  with  such  distilling  showers. 

Look  how  a  bird  lies  tangled  in  a  net, 

So  la^ten'd  in  her  arms  Adonis  lies; 

Pure  shame  and  avv'd  resistance  made  him  fret. 

Which  bred  more  beauty  in  his  angry  eyes  : 
Kain  added  to  a  river  that  is  rank, 
Perforce  will  force  it  overflow  tlie  bank. 

775 


/  I'o 


VENUS   AND   ADONIS. 


Sfill  she  entreats,  and  prettily  entreats, 
For  to  a  pretty  ear  slie  tunes  lier  tale  ; 
Still  is  he  suUen,  still  he  low'rs  and  frets, 
'Twixt  crimson  shame  and  anger,  ashy  pale; 
Being  red,  she  loves  him  best;  and  being  white, 
]{er  best  is  bctlcr'd  with  a  more  delight. 

Look  hov^  he  can.  she  cannot  choose  bvl  love; 
And  by  lier  lUir  immortal  hand  she  sw.ai's 
From  his  soi't  bosom  never  to  remove, 
Till  he  take  truce  with  tier  contending  tears, 

Whieii  long  liave  raia'd,  making  her  clieeks  all 
wet ; 

And  one  sweet  kiss  shall  pay  this  countless  debt. 

Upon  this  promise  did  he  raise  his  chin, 
I, ike  a  dive-dapper  peering  through  a  wave, 
V/ho,  being  look'd  on,  ducks  as  quickly  in  ; 
So  olPers  he  to  give  what  she  did  crave ; 
But  when  iior  lips  were  ready  for  his  pay. 
He  winks,  and  turns  his  lips  another  way. 

Never  did  pnsjsen^er  in  summer's  heat 
More  thirst  for  drink,  than  she  for  this  good  turn : 
Her  help  she  sees,  but  help  she  cannot  get; 
She  bathes  in  water,  yet  her  tire  must  burn: 

**  Oh  pity,"  'gan  she  cry,  "  tiint-hearted  boy ; 

'Tis  but  a  kiss  I  beg ;  why  art  thou  coy  1 

I  have  been  woo'd,  as  I  entreat  thee  now, 
Kvcn  by  the  stern  and  direful  god  of  war, 
Whose  sinewy  neck  in  battle  ne'er  did  bow. 
Who  con(]uers  where  he  comes,  in  every  jar , 
Yet  hath  he  been  my  captive  and  my  slave. 
And  begg'd  tor  that  wliich  thou  unask'd  shalt 
have. 

Over  my  altars  hath  he  hung  his  lance, 
His  batter'd  shield,  his  uncontrolled  crest. 
And  for  my  sake  hath  learned  to  sport  and  dance, 
To  coy,  to  wanton,  dally,  smile,  and  jest ; 
Scorning  his  churlish  drum,  and  ensign  red, 
Making  my  arms  his  tield,  his  tent  my  bed. 

Tims  he  that  overrul'd,  I  oversway'd. 
Leading  him  prisoner  in  a  red-rose  chain  : 
Strong-teniper'd  steel  his  stronger  strength  obey'd, 
Yet  was  he  servile  to  my  coy  disdain. 

O  be  not  proud,  nor  brag  not  of  tliy  might, 
For  mast'ring  her  that  Ibil'd  the  god  of  liglit! 

Touch  but  my  lips  with  those  Aur  lips  of  thine, 
(Though  mine  be  not  so  iair,  yet  are  they  red,) 
The  kiss  shall  be  thine  own  as  well  as  mine  :— 
What  see'st  thou  in  the  ground]  hold  up  thy  head  ; 
Look  in  mine  eye-balls,  there  thy  beauty  lies: 
Then  why  not  lips  on  lips,  since" eyes  in  eye's? 

Art  thou  ashamed  to  kiss!  then  wink  again, 
And  I  will  wink,  so  shall  the  day  seem  night: 
Love  keeps  his  revels  wliere  there  are  but  twain, 
Bo  bold  to  play,  our  sport  is  not  in  sight : 
These  blue-vein'd  violets  whereon  we  lean, 
Never  can  blab,  nor  know  not  what  we  mean. 

The  tender  spring  upon  thy  tempting  lip 

Shows  thee  unripe;  yet  maystthou  well  be  tasted; 

Make  use  of  time,  let  not  advantage  slip; 

Beauty  within  itself  should  not  be  wasted  : 
Fair  flowers  that  are  not  gathor'd  in  their  prime, 
Hot  and  consume  themselves  in  little  time. 

Were  1  hard-favor'd,  foul,  or  wrinkled-old, 
111-nurtur'd,  crooked,  churlish,  harsh  in  voice, 
O'er-worn,  desj)ised,  rheumatic,  and  cold. 
Thick-sighted,  barren,  lean,  and  lacking  juice, 

Then  inight'st  thou  pause,  tbr  then  I  Were  not 
for  thee  ; 

But  having  no  defects,  why  dost  abhor  me  ? 

Thou  canst  not  see  one  wrinkle  in  my  brow; 

Mine  eyes  are  grey,*  and  bright,and  quick  in  turning; 

My  beauty  as  the  spring  doth  yearly  grow. 

My  Hesh  is  sod  and  plump,  my  marrow  burning ; 
i\Iy  smooth  moist  hand,were  it  with  tiiy  hand  lelt. 
Would  in  thy  palm  dissolve,  or  seem  lo  melt. 

Bid  me  diseoursn.  I  will  enchant  thine  ear, 
Or,  like  a  fairy,  trip  n))on  the  green, 
Or,  like  a  nymph,  with  long  dishevell'd  hair. 
Dance  on  the  sands,  and  yet  no  footing  seen: 

*  Ore}/  is  sHJd  to  be  bt'i-e  used  as  Uue.     AVe  havo  subsG- 
qiionlly — 
"Uer  two  blue  wiodows  f;diitly  sbo  uphoaveth." 


Love  is  a  spirit  all  compact  of  fire, 

Not  gross  to  sink,  but  light,  and  will  aspire. 

Witness  this  primrose  bank  whereon  I  lie ; 
These  forceless  (lower  like  sturdy  trees  support  me; 
Two  sirengttilcss  doves  will  draw  me  through  the 

sky, 
F"":i  morn  till  r'ght,  even  where  I  list  to  sport 
me: 
Is  love  so  ligh'.,  sweet  hoy,  and  may  it  be 
That  thou  shouldst  think  it  heavy  unto  theel 

Is  thine  own  heart  to  thine  own  face  aflected'^ 
Can  thy  right  hand  seize  love  upon  thy  lelll 
Then  woo  thyseli;  be  of  thyself  rejected, 
Steal  thine  own  freedom,  and  complain  of  theft. 
Narcissus  so,  himself  himself  forsook. 
And  died  to  kiss  his  shadow  in  the  brook. 

Torches  are  made  to  light,  jewels  to  wear, 
Dainties  to  taste,  fresh  beauty  for  the  use,  • 
Herbs  for  their  smell,  and  sappy  plants  to  bear  ; 
Things  growing  to  themselves  are  growth's  abuse: 

Seeds  spring  from  seeds,  and  beauty  brccdeth 
beauty. 

Thou  wast  begot— to  get  it  is  thy  duty. 

Upon  the  earth's  increase  why  shouldst  thou  feed, 
Unless  the  earth  with  thy  increase  be  fed '! 
By  law  of  Nature  thou  art  bound  to  breed, 
That  thine  may  live,  when  thou  thyself  art  dead, 
And  so  in  spite  of  death  thou  dost  survive. 
In  that  thy  likeness  still  is  left  alive." 

By  this  the  love-sick  queen  began  to  sweat. 
For,  where  they  lay,  the  shadow  had  forsook  them, 
And  Titan,  'tired  in  the  mid-day  Jieat, 
With  burning  eye  did  hotly  overlook  them; 
Wishing  Adonis  had  Jiis  team  to  guide, 
So  he  were  like  him,  and  by  Venus'  side. 

And  now  Adonis,  with  a  lazy  spright, 

And  with  a  heavy,  dark,  disliking  eye. 

His  low'ring  brows  o'erwhelming  his  fair  sight, 

Like  misty  vapors  when  they  blot  the  sky. 

Souring  his  cheeks,  cries,  "Fie!  no  more  of  love; 

The  sun  doth  burn  my  face  ;  I  must  remove." 

"  Ah  me,"  quoth  Venus,  "  young,  and  so  unkind  ! 
What  bare  excuses  mak'st  thou  to  be  gone  I 
I'll  sigh  celestial  breath,  whose  gentle  wind 
Shall  cool  tlic  heat  of  this  descending  sun; 
I'll  make  a  shadow  for  thee  of  my  hairs: 
If  they  burn  too,  I'll  quench  them  with  my  tears. 

The  sun  that  shines  from  heaven,  shines  but  warm, 
And  lo,  I  lie  between  that  sun  and  thee; 
The  heat  1  have  from  thence  doth  little  harm. 
Thine  eye  darts  forth  the  lire  that  burnetii  me: 
And  were  I  not  immortal,  life  were  done. 
Between  this  heavenly  and  earthly  sun. 

Art  thou  obdurate,  flinty,  hard  as  steel, 
Nay,  more  than  flint,  for  stone  at  rain  relenteth  ? 
Art  thou  a  woman's  son,  and  canst  not  feel 
What  'tis  to  love  I  how  want  of  love  tormenteth? 
O  had  thy  mother  borne  so  hard  a  mind, 
She  had  hot  brought  forth  tiiee,  but  died  unkind. 

What  am  I,  that  thou  shouldst  contemn  me  this? 

Or  what  great  danger  dwells  upon  my  suit  ? 

Wliat  were  thy  lips  the  worse  lor  one  poor  kiss  ? 

Sj)eak,  fair,  but  speak  words,  or  else  be  mute  : 
Give  me  one  kiss,  I'll  give  it  thee  again. 
And  one  tbr  interest,  if  thou  wilt  have  twain. 

Fie,  lifeless  picture,  cold  and  senseless  stone, 
Well  painted  idol,  image  dull  and  dead, 
Statue  contenting  but  the  eye  alone, 
Thing  like  a  man.  but  of  no  woman  bred; 
Thou  art  no  man.  though  of  a  man's  complexion, 
For  men  will  kiss  even"  by  their  own  direction." 

This  said,  impatience  chokes  her  pleading  tongue, 
And  swelling  passion  doth  provoke  a  pause  ; 
lied  cheeks  and  fiery  eyes  blaze  forth  her  wrong ; 
Being  judge  in  love,  she  cannot  right  her  cause ; 

And   now  she  weeps,  and  now  she  fain  would 
speak, 

And  now  her  sobs  do  her  intendments  break. 

Sometimes  she  shakes  her  head,  and  then  his  hand. 
Now  gazeth  she  on  him.  now  on  the  ground; 
Sometimes  her  arms  inlold  him  like  a  band ; 
SJie  would,  he  will  not  in  her  arms  be  bound: 


VENUS   AND   ADOxVIS. 


777 


And  when  from  thence  he  struggles  to  be  gone, 
Slie  locks  her  lily  lingers  one  in  one. 

"Fondling."  she  saith,  "since  I  have  hemm'd  thee 
Within  the  circuit  of  this  ivory  pale,  [here, 

I'll  be  a  park,  and  thou  shalt  be  my  deer; 
Feed  where  thou  wilt,  on  mountain  or  in  dale; 
Graze  on  my  lips;  and  if  those  hills  be  dry. 
Stray  lower,  where  the  pleasant  fountains  "lie. 

Within  this  limit  is  relief  enou°;h. 
Sweet  bottom-i^ras;^,  and  high  delightful  plain, 
Ilound  rising  hillocks,  brake  obscure  and  rough, 
To  shelter  thee  from  tempest  and  from  rain  ; 
Tlien  be  my  deer,  since  I  am  such  a  park  ; 
No  dog  shall  rouse  thee,  though  a  thousand  bark." 
At  this  Adonis  smiles  as  in  disdain, 
That  in  each  cfieck  appears  a  pretty  dimple  : 
Lo\e  made  those  hollows,  if  himself  were  slain. 
He  might  be  buried  in  a  tomb  so  simple ; 
Fore-knowing  well  if  there  he  came  to  lie. 
Why  there  Love  liv'd  and  there  he  could  not  die. 
These  lovely  caves,  these  round-enchanting  pits, 
Open*d  their  mouths  to  swallow  Venus'  liking: 
Being  mad  before,  how  doth  she  now  lor  wits  1 
Struck  dead  at  tirst,  what  needs  a  second  striking"? 
Poor  queen  of  love,  in  thine  own  law  forlorn. 
To  love  a  ciieek  that  smiles  at  thee  in  scorn  ! 

Nov/which  wayshall  she  turn?  whatshall  shepayl 
Her  words  are  done,  her  woes  the  more  increasing, 
Tlie  time  is  spent,  her  object  will  away, 
And  from  her  twining  arms  doth  urge  releasing: 
"•  Pity,"  she  cries,  "  some  favor — some  remorse^" 
Away  he  springs,  and  hasteth  to  his  horse. 

But  !o,  from  forth  a  copse  that  neighbors  by, 
A  breeding  jennet,  lusty,  young,  and  proud, 
Adonis'  trampling  courser  doth  espy. 
And  forth  she  rushes,  snorts,  and  neighs  aloud: 
The  strong-neckM  steed,  being  tied  unto  a  tree, 
Breaketh  liis  rein,  and  to  her  straight  goes  he. 

Imperiou-^ly  he  leaps,  he  neighs,  he  bounds. 
And  now  liis  WDven  girths  he  breaks  asunder, 
The  bearing  carlh  with  his  hard  hoof  he  wounds, 
Whoyc  iiollow  womb  resounds  like  heaven's  thun- 
der; 
The  iron  bit  he  crushes  'tween  his  teeth, 
Controlling  what  he  was  controlled  with. 

His  ears  up-prick'd  ;  his  braided  hanging  mane 
Upon  his  compass'd  crest  now  stands  on  end ; 
His  nostrils  drink  tlie  air.  and  forth  again. 
As  from  a  furnace,  vapors  doth  he  send : 
His  eye,  which  glisters  scornfully  like  lire. 
Shows  his  hot  courage  and  his  high  desire. 

Sometimes  he  trots,  as  if  he  told  the  steps, 
W^ith  gentle  majesty,  and  modest  pride  ; 
Anon  he  rears  upright,  curvets,  and  leaps. 
As  who  would  say,  lo!  thus  my  strength  is  tried  ; 
And  this  I  do  to  captivate  the  eye 
Of  the  fair  breeder  that  is  standing  by. 

What  recketh  he  his  rider's  angry  stir. 
His  flattering  "  iioUa,"  or  his  ^'■Siand,  I  say  ?^^ 
What  cares  he  now  for  curb,  or  pricking  spur  1 
For  rich  caparisons,  or  trapping  gay  ? 
He  sees  his  love,  and  nothing  else' he  sees, 
For  nothing  else  with  his  proud  sight  agrees. 
Look,  when  a  painter  would  surpass  the  life, 
In  limning  out  a  weU-proportionM  steed. 
His  art  wittl  nature's  workmanship  at  strife, 
As  if  the  dead  the  living  should  excc-:^d  ; 
So  did  this  horse  excel  a  common  one, 
\i\  bhape,  in  courage,  color,  pace,  and  bone. 

Round-hoofd,  short-jointea.  fetlocks  shag  and  long, 
iiroad  breast,  full  eyes, small  head, and  nostril  wide. 
High  crest,  short  ears,  straight  legs,  and  passing 

strong, 
T  hin  mane,  thick  tail,  broad  buttock,  tender  hide: 
Look  what  a  horse  should  have,  he  did  not  lack, 
Save  a  proud  rider  on  so  proud  a  back. 

Sometimes  he  scuds  far  off,  and  there  he  stares; 
Anon  he  starts  at  stirring  of  a  feather; 
To  bid  the  wind  a  base- he  now  prepares. 
And  whe'r  he  run,  or  Ily,  they  knew  not  whether; 

»  In  the  game  of  ba^n-,  ov  prison  txtsc,  one  nins  and  chal- 
lenf^es  another  to  pursue.  ''To  bitl  the  wind  a  base,*'  is 
therefore  to  challeiigo  the  wind  to  speed. 


For  through  In"s  mane  and  tail  the  high  wind 

sings. 
Fanning  the  hairs,  who  wave  like  fealher'd  wings. 

He  looks  upon  his  love  and  neighs  unto  her; 
She  answers  him  as  if  she  knew  his  mind  : 
Being  proud,  as  females  are,  to  see  liim  woo  her, 
She  puts  on  outward  strangeness. seems  unkind; 
Spurns  at  his  love,  and  scorns  the  heat  he  feels, 
Beating  his  kind  embracements  with  her  heels. 

Then,  like  a  melancholy  raalecontent. 
He  vails  his  tail,  that,  like  a  Jailing  jilume, 
Cool  shadow  to  his  melting  buttock  lent; 
He  stamps,  and  bites  the  poor  Hies  in  his  fume: 
His  love,  perceiving  how  he  is  enraged, 
Grew  kinder,  and  his  fury  was  assuaged. 

His  testy  master  gocth  about  to  take  him  ; 

When  lo.  the  unbackM  breeder,  full  of  tear. 

Jealous  of  catching,  swiftly  doth  forsake  him; 

With  her  the  horse,  and  left  Adonis  there: 
As  tliey  were  mad,  unto  the  wood  they  hie  them, 
Out-stripping  crows  that  strive  lo  over-lly  them 

All  swoln  with  chasing,  down  Adonis  sits, 
Banning  his  boisterous  and  unruly  beast; 
And  now  the  happy  season  once  more  fits. 
That  love-sick  Love  by  pleading  may  be  blest; 
For  lovers  say  the  heart  liath  treble  wrong, 
When  it  is  barr'd  the  aidance  of  the  tongue. 

An  oven  that  is  stopp'd,  or  river  stay'd, 

Burneth  more  hotJy,  swelleth  with  more  ragu  : 

So  of  concealed  sorrov;  may  be  said; 

Free  vent  of  words  love's  fire  doth  assuage; 
But  when  the  heart's  attorney^  once  is  mute, 
The  client  breaks,  as  desperate  in  his  suit. 

He  sees  her  coming,  and  begins  to  glow, 
Even  as  a  dying  coal  revives  with  wind, 
And  with  his  bonnet  hides  his  angry  brow; 
Looks  on  the  dull  earth  with  disturbed  mind; 
Taking  no  notice  that  she  is  so  nigh. 
For  all  askaunce  he  holds  her  in  his  eye. 

O  what  a  sight  it  was.  wistiv  to  view 

How  she  came  stealing  to  the  wayward  boy  ! 

To  note  the  fighting  conJlict  of  her  hue  ! 

How  white  and  red  each  otlier  did  destroy  ! 
But  now  her  cheek  was  pale,  and  by  and  by 
It  dash'd  Ibrth  fire,  as  lightning  from  the  sky. 

Now  was  she  just  before  him  as  he  sat, 
And  like  a  lowly  lover  down  she  kneels; 
With  one  lair  hand  she  he'aveth  up  his  hat, 
Her  other  tender  hand  his  fair  cheek  feels: 
His  tender  cheek  receives  her  soft  hand's  print, 
As  apt  as  new-fallen  snow  takes  any  dint. 

O  what  a  war  of  looks  was  then  between  them ! 

Her  eyes,  petitioners,  to  his  eyes  suing  ; 

His  eyes  saw  her  eves  as  they  had  not  seen  them  , 

Her  eyes  woo'd  still,  his  eyes  disdain'd  tlie  wooing  ; 
And  all  this  dump  play  had  his-*  acts  made  plain 
With  tears,  whicli,  chorus-like,  her  eyes  did  rain. 

Full  gently  now  she  takes  him  by  the  hand, 

A  lily  prison'd  in  a  gaol  of  snow. 

Or  ivory  in  an  alabaster  band  ; 

So  white  a  friend  engirts  so  white  a  foe: 
This  beauteous  combat,  wilful  and  unwilling, 
Show'd  like  two  silver  doves  that  sit  a  billing. 

Once  more  the  engine  of  her  thoughts  began: 
'*  O  fairest  mover  on  this  mortal  round, 
Would  thou  wert  as  I  am,  and  I  a  man. 
My  heart  all  whole  as  thine,  thy  heart  my  wound; 
For  one  sweet  look  thy  help  I  would  assure  thee, 
Tho'  nothing  but  my  body's   bane  would  cure 
thee." 

"Give  me  my  hand,"  saith  he,  "why  dost  thou  feel 

itl" 
"Give  me  my  heart,"  saith  she,  "and  thou  shalt 

have  it; 
O  give  it  me,  lest  thy  hard  heart  do  steel  it, 
And  being  steel'd,  soft  sighs  can  never  'grave  it: 
Then  love's  deep  groans  I  never  shall  regard. 
Because  Adonis"  heart  hath  made  mine  hard." 

"  For  shame,"  he  cries,  "  let  go,  and  let  me  go; 
My  day's  delight  is  past,  my  horse  is  gone, 

1  The  tongue.  «  His  for  its. 


778 


VENUS   AND   ADONIS. 


And  'tis  your  fault  1  am  bereft  him  so; 

I  pray  you  hence,  and  leave  me  here  alone  : 
For  all  my  miud,  my  thought,  my  busy  care, 
Is  how  to  get  my  paltrey  from  the  mare," 

Thus  she  replies  :  "  Thy  palfrey,  as  he  should. 
Welcomes  the  warm  approach  of  sweet  desire, 
Artccfion  is  a  coal  that  must  be  cool'd; 
Else,  sulfer'd,  it  will  set  the  heart  on  hre : 
The  sea  hath  bounds,  but  deep  desire  hath  none, 
Therefore  no  marvel  though  thy  horse  be  gone. 

How  like  a  jade  he  stood,  tied  to  a  tree, 
.'ervilely  master'd  with  a  leathern  rein  ! 
i3ut  when  he  saw  his  love,  his  youth's  fair  fee. 
He  held  such  petty  bondage  in  disdain; 
Throwing  the  base  thong  from  his  bending  crest, 
Enfranchising  his  mouth,  Ins  back,  his  breast. 

Who  sees  his  true  love  in  her  naked  bed, 
Teaching  the  sheets  a  whiter  hue  than  white, 
But,  when  his  glutton  eye  uc  full  hath  fed, 
His  other  agents  aim  at  "like  delight^ 
Who  is  so  liiint  that  dare  not  be  so  bold 
To  touch  the  tire,  the  weather  being  cold  1 

Let  me  excuse  thy  courser,  gentle  boy ; 

And  learn  of  him,  I  heartily  beseech  thee, 

To  take  advantage  on  presented  joy ; 

Though  I  were   dumb,  yet  his  proceedings  teach 
tliee. 
O  learn  to  love  ;  the  lesson  is  but  plain. 
And,  once  made  perfect,  never  lost  again." 

"I  know  not  love,"  quoth  he,  "nor  will  not  know  it, 

Unless  it  be  a  boar,  and  then  I  chase  it; 

'Tis  much  to  borrow,  and  I  will  not  owe  it ; 

My  love  to  love  is  love  but  to  disgrace  it; 
For  I  have  heard  it  is  a  life  in  death, 
Thatlaughs,  and  weeps,  and  all  but  with  a  breath. 

Who  wears  a  garment  shapeless  and  unfinish'dl 
Who  plucks  the  bud  before  one  leaf  put  forth  1 
If  springing  things  be  any  jot  diminish'd, 
They  wither  in  their  prime,  prove  nothing  worth  : 
The  colt  that's  back'd  and  burthen'd  being  young, 
Losetii  his  pride,  and  never  waxeth  strong. 

You  hurt  my  hand  with  wringing;  let  us  part. 
And  leave  this  idle  theme,  this  bootless  chat ; 
Remove  your  siege  from  my  unyielding  heart; 
To  love's  alarm  it  will  not  ojie  the  gate. 

Dismiss  your  vows,  your  feigned  tears,  your 
flattery ; 

For  where  a  heart  is  hard,  they  make  no  battery." 

"What!  canst  thou  talk,"  quoth  she,  "hast  thou  a 
tongue  ? 

0  would  thou  hadst  not,  or  I  had  no  hearing! 
Thy  mermaid's  voice  iiath  done  me  double  wrong; 

1  had  my  load  belbre,  now  press'd  with  bearing: 
Melodious  discord,  heavenly  tune  harsh  sound- 
ing. 

Earth  s  deep-sweet  music,  and  heart  s  deep-sore 
wounding. 

[lad  I  no  eyes,  but  ears,  my  ears  would  love 
Tiiat  inward  beauty  and  invisible: 
Or,  were  I  deaf,  thy  outward  parts  wonld  move 
Each  part  in  me  ttiat  were  but  sensible  ; 
Tliough  neither  eyes  nor  ears,  to  liear  nor  see, 
Yet  should  I  be  in  love,  by  touching  thee. 

Say  that  the  sense  of  feeling  were  bereft  me. 
And  that  I  could  not  see,  nor  hear,  nor  touch. 
And  nothing  but  the  very  smell  were  left  me. 
Vet  would  my  love  to  thee  be  still  as  much; 
Ft)r  from  the  still'tory  of  thy  face  excelling 
Comes  breath  perfum'd,  that  breedeth  love  by 
smelling. 

lUit  O,  what  banquet  wert  thou  to  the  taste, 
lieing  nurse  and  feeder  of  the  other  four  ! 
Would  they  not  wish  the  feast  might  ever  last. 
And  bid  Suspicion  double-lock  the  doorl 
Lest  Jealousy,  that  sour  unwelcome  guest. 
Should,  by  his  stealing  in,  disturb  the  feast." 

Once  more  the  ruby-color'd  portal  open'd. 
Which  to  his  speech  did  honey  passage  yield; 
Like  a  red  morn,  that  ever  yet  hetoken'd 
Wreck  to  the  seaman,  tempest  to  the  field. 
Sorrow  to  shepherds,  woe  unto  the  birds. 
Gust  and  foul  Haws  to  herdsmen  and  to  herds. 


This  ill  presage  advisedly  she  marketh: 
Even  as  the  wind  is  hushed  before  it  raineth, 
Or  as  the  wolf  doth  grin  belore  he  barkcth. 
Or  as  the  berry  breaks  before  it  staineth, 
Or  like  the  deadly  bullet  of  a  gun, 
His  meaning  struck  her  ere  his  words  begun: 

And  at  his  look  she  dally  fallcth  down. 
For  looks  kill  love,  and  love  by  looks  reviveth  ; 
A  smile  recures  the  wounding  of  a  frown. 
But  blessed  bankrupt,  that  by  love  so  thriveth 
The  silly  boy  believing  she  is  dead, 
Claps  her  pale  cheek,  till  clapping  makes  it  red 

And  all  amaz'd  brake  offhis  late  intent. 
For  sharply  he  did  think  to  reprehend  her. 
Which  cunning  love  did  wittily  prevent : 
Fair  liill  the  wit  that  can  so  well  deli-nd  her. 
For  on  the  grass  she  lies  as  she  were  slain. 
Till  his  breath  breatheth  life  in  her  again. 

He  wrings  her  nose,  he  strikes  her  on  the  clieeks, 
He  bends  her  lingers,  holds  her  pulses  hard ; 
He  chafes  her  lips,  a  thousand  ways  he  seeks 
To  mend  the  hurt  that  his  unkindness  marr'd; 
He  kisses  her;  and  she,  by  her  good  will. 
Will  never  rise,  so  he  will  kiss  her  still. 

The  night  of  sorrow  now  is  turn'd  to  day: 
Her  two  blue  windows  lainlly  she  uiilieaveth, 
Like  the  fair  sun,  when  in  his  fresh  array 
He  cheers  the  morn,  and  all  the  world  relieveth: 
And  as  the  bright  sun  glorifies  the  sky. 
So  is  her  (iice  illumin'd  with  her  eye, 

Whose  beams  upon  his  hairless  face  are  fix'd. 
As  if  from  thence  they  borrow'd  all  their  shine. 
Were  never  four  such  lamps  together  mix'd. 
Had  not  his  clouded  wilh  his  brows'  repine; 

But  hers,  which  Ihrough  the  crystal  tears  gave 
light. 

Shone  like  the  moon  in  water  seen  by  night. 

"O  where  am  I,"  quolli  she,  "in  earth  or  heaven, 
Or  in  the  ocean  drench'd,  or  in  the  tire  ! 
What  hour  is  this  !  or  morn,  or  weary  cveni 
Do  1  delight  to  die,  or  lile  desire? 

But  now  I  liv'd,  and  lite  was  death's  annoy; 

But  now  I  died,  and  death  was  lively  joy. 

O  thou  didst  kill  me: — kill  me  once  again; 
Thy  eyes'  shrewd  tutor,  that  hard  heart  of  thine, 
Hath  taught  them  scornfullricks,  and  such  disdain 
That  they  have  murder'd  this  poor  heart  of  mine; 
And  these  mine  eyes,  true  leaders  to  their  queen, 
But  lor  thy  piteous  lips  no  more  had  seen. 

Long  may  they  kiss  each  other,  for  this  cure  ! 

Oh  never  let  their  crimson  liveries  wear! 

And  as  they  last,  their  verdure  still  endure, 

To  drive  infection  from  the  dangerous  year  ! 
That  the  star-gazers,  having  writ  on  death, 
May  say  the  plague  is  banish'd  by  thy  breath. 

Pure  lips,  s\^'eet  seals  in  my  soft  lips  imprinted. 
What  bargains  may  I  make,  still  to  be  sealing  ] 
To  sell  myself  I  can  be  well  contented. 
So  thou  wilt  buy,  and  pay,  and  use  good  dealing; 
Which  purchase  if  thou  make,  for  fear  of  slips, 
Set  thy  seal-manual  on  my  wax-red  lijis. 

A  thousand  kisses  buys  my  heart  from  me ; 

And  pay  them  at  thy  leisure,  one  by  one. 

What  is  ten  hundred  touches  unto  thee? 

Arc  they  not  quickly  told,  and  quickly  gone? 
Say,  lor  non-payment  that  the  debt  should  double, 
Is  twenty  hundred  kisses  such  a  trouble?" 

"Fair  queen,"  quoth  he,  "if  any  love  you  owe  me, 

Measure  my  strangeness  with  my  unripe  years; 

Belbre  I  know  myself  seek  not  to' know  me  ; 

No  lisher  but  the  ungrown  fry  forbears: 
The  mellow  plum  doth  fall,  the  green  sticks fasfc 
Or  being  early  pluck 'd  is  sour  to  taste. 

Look,  the  world's  comfo.ler,  wilh  weary  gait. 
His  day's  hot  task  hath  ciulid  in  llie  west: 
The  owl,  night's  herald,  slu  ieks— '/«•  rcri/  late ; 
The  sheep  are  gone  to  liild,  birds  to  theii-  nest; 
The  coal-black  clouds  that  shadow  heaven's  light 
Do  summon  us  to  part,  and  bid  good  night. 

Now  let  mo  say,  gnnd  niehf,  and  so  say  you; 
If  you  will  say  so,  you  sliall  have  a  kiss." 


VENUS   AND   ADONIS. 


779 


"Good  night,"  quoth  she;  and,  ere  he  saj-s  adieu, 
The  iKincy  lee  of  parting  teiider'd  is: 

Her  anus  do  lend  his  neck  a  sweet  embrace  ; 

Incorporate  then  tliey  seem,  (ace  (.tows  to  face. 

Till,  breathless,  he  disjoin'd,  and  backward  drew 
The  heavenly  moisture,  that  sweet  coral  mouth. 
Whose  precious  taste  her  thirsty  lips  well  knew, 
Whereon  they  surfeit  yet  complain  on  drouth  ; 
He  with  lier  plenty  press'd,  she  laint  with  dearth, 
(Their  hps  together  glued,)  fall  to  the  earth. 

Now  quick  Desire  hath  caught  the  yielding  prey. 
And  glutton-like  she  li-eds  jet  never  lilleth  ; 
Her  lips  arc  conquerors,  his  lips  obey. 
Paj  ing  what  ransom  the  insulter  willeth  ; 

VVhose  vulture  thought  dotn  pitch  the  ]irice  so 
high, 

That  she  will  draw  his  lips'  rich  treasure  dry. 

And  having  felt  the  sweelness  of  the  spoil, 
With  blind-fold  fury  she  begins  to  Ibrage; 
Her  face  doth  reek  and  smoke,  her  blood  doth  boil. 
And  careless  lust  stirs  up  a  desperate  courage; 
Planting  oblivion,  beating  reason  back. 
Forgetting    shame's    pure    blusli,    and  honor's 
wrack. 

Hot,  faint,  and  weary,  with  her  hard  embracing. 
Like  a  wild  bird  being  tamed  with  loo  much  hand 

hug. 
Or  as  the  lleet-foot  roc  that's  tired  with  chasing, 
Or  like  the  Iroward  infant  still'd  with  dandling, 
Jlc  now  oLieys,  and  now  no  more  resistetli, 
While  she  takes  all  she  can,  not  all  she  lisleth. 

What  wax  so  frozen  but  dissolves  with  tempering, 
And  yields  at  last  to  every  light  impression  ! 
Tliingsoutolhope  are  compass  doll  with  venturing, 
Chietly  in  love,  whose  leave  exceeds  commission: 
Atlt'ction  liiints  not,  like  a  pale-liiccd  coward, 
But  then  woos   best  when  most  his  choice   is 
froward. 

When  he  did  frown,  0,  had  she  then  gave  over, 

Such  nectar  irom  his  hps  she  had  not  suck'd. 

Foul  words  and  frowns  must  not  repel  a  lover; 

What  though  the  rose  have  prickles,  yet 'tispluck'd: 
Were  Beauty  under  twenty  locks  kept  (iist. 
Yet  Love  breaks  through,  and  picks  them  all  at 
last. 

For  pity  now  she  can  no  more  detain  him; 

The  poor  fool  jirays  her  lliat  he  may  depart: 

She  is  resolv'd  no  longer  to  restrain  him ; 

Bids  him  liirewell,  and  look  well  to  her  heart. 
The  which,  by  Cupid's  bow  she  doth  protest. 
He  carries  thence  incaged  in  his  breast. 

"Sweet  boy,"  she  says,  "this  night  I'll  waste  in 
sorrow, 

For  my  sick  heart  commands  mine  eyes  to  watch. 

Tell  me,  love's  master,  shall  we  meet  to-morrow  ! 

Say,sliallwe!sliallwe?  wilt  lliou  make  the  match  I" 
He  tells  her,  no;  to-morrow  he  intends 
To  hunt  the  boar  with  ct  Ham  of  Ins  friends. 

"The  boar!"  quoth  she;  whereat  a  sudden  pale, 
Like  lawn  being  spread  upon  the  blushing  rose, 
Usurps  lier  cheeks;  she  trembles  at  his  tale. 
And  on  Ins  neck  her  yoking  arms  she  throws: 
She  sinketh  down,  still  hanging  by  his  neck. 
He  on  her  belly  falls,  she  on  her  back. 

Now  is  she  in  the  very  lists  of  love,     ' 

Her  champion  mounted  for  the  hot  encounter: 

Ail  is  imaginary  .^he  doth  prove. 

He  will  not  manage  her,  although  he  mount  her  ; 
That  worse  than  Tantalus'  is  her  annoy, 
To  clip  Elysium,  and  to  lack  her  joy. 

Even  as  poor  birds,  deceiv'd  with  painted  grapes 
Do  surtcit  by  the  eye,  and  jiiiie  the  maw, 
Even  so  she  languisheth  in  her  mishaps. 
As  those  poor  birds  that  helpless  berries  saw: 
The  warm  ellects  which  she  in  him  finds  missing. 
She  seeks  to  kindle  with  continual  kissing. 

But  all  in  vain;  good  queen,  it  will  not  be: 
She  hath  assay'd  as  much  as  may  be  proved  ; 
Her  pleading  halh  deserv'd  a  greater  li>e  ; 
She  s  Love,  she  loves,  and  yet  she  is  not  lov'd. 

"Fie,  tie,"  he  says,  "you "crush  me;  let  me  go; 

You  have  no  reason  to  withhold  me  so." 


"Thou  hadst  been  gone,"  quoth  she,  "sweet  ioy, 

ere  this, 
But  that  thou  told'stme  thou  woul  1st  hunt  the  boar. 
O  he  advis'd!  thou  know'st  not  wnat  it  is 
With  javelin's  jioint  a  churlish  swine  to  gore, 
Whose  tushes  never  shcath'd  he  vvhettelh  slil]. 
Like  to  a  mortal  butcher,  bent  to  kill. 

On  his  bow-back  he  halh  a  battle  set 
Of  bristly  pikes,  that  ever  threat  his  foes; 
His  eyes  like  glow-worms  shine  when  he  doth  fret. 
His  snout  digs  sepulchres  where'er  he  goes; 
Being  mov'd,  he  strikes  whate'er  is  in  his  way, 
And  whom  he  strikes  his  cruel  tushes  slay. 

His  brawny  side,  with  hairy  bristles  arm'd, 

Are  better  proof  than  thy  spear's  point  can  enter; 

His  short  thick  neck  cannot  be  easily  harm'd  ; 

Being  irel'iil,  on  the  lion  he  will  venture: 
The  thorny  brambles  and  embracing  bushes. 
As  fearful  of  him,  part;  through  whom  he  rushes. 

Alas,  he  nought  esteems  that  face  of  thine. 
To  which  Love's  eye  pays  tributary  gazes; 
Nor  thy  soft  hands,  sweet  lips,  and  crystal  cyne, 
Whose  full  perli'ction  all  the  world  amazes; 
But  having  thee  at  vantage,  (wondrous  dread  !) 
Would  root  these  beauties  as  he  roots  the  mead. 

O,  let  him  keep  his  loathsome  cabin  still ! 

Beauty  halh  nought  lo  do  with  such  foul  liends; 

Come  not  within  his  danger  by  thy  will ; 

They  that  thrive  well,  take  counsel  of  their  friends. 
When  thou  didst  name  the  boar,  not  to  dissemble, 
I  fear'd  thy  fortune,  and  my  joints  did  tremble. 

Didst  thou  not  mark  my  face  !  Was  it  not  white? 

Saw'st  thou  not  signs  of  fear  lurk  in  mine  eye  ? 

Crew  1  not  faint !  And  fell  I  not  downright'? 

Within  my  bosom,  whereon  thou  dost  lie. 
My  boding  heart  pants,  beats,  and  takes  no  rest. 
But,  like  an  earthquake  shakes  thee  on  my  breast. 

For  where  Love  reigns,  disturbing  Jealousy 
Doth  call  himself  All'ection's  sentinel ; 
Oives  false  alarms,  suggcsteth  mutiny. 
And  in  a  peaceful  hour  doth  cry.  kill,  kill; 

Distempering  gentle  Love  with  his  desire. 

As  air  and  water  do  abate  the  fire. 

This  sour  informer,  this  bate-breeding^  spy. 

This  canker  that  eats  up  love's  tender  spnng,6 

This  carry-tale,  dissentious  jealousy, 

Thatsometime  true  news,sometimelalse  doth  bring, 
Knocks  at  my  heart,  and  whispers  in  mine  car. 
That  if  1  love  thee  I  thy  death  should  fear: 

And,  more  than  so,  presentrth  to  mine  eye 
The  picture  of  an  angry-chaling  boar. 
Under  who.se  sharp  fangs  on  his  back  doth  lie 
An  image  like  thyself,  all  stain'd  with  gore; 
Whose  blood  upon  the  fresh  liowers  being  shed, 
Doth  make  them  droop  with  grief,  and  hang  tho 
head. 

What  should  I  do,  seeing  thee  so  indeed, 

That  tremble  at  the  imagination  ? 

The  thought  of  it  dolh  make  my  faint  heart  bleed, 

And  fear  dolh  teach  it  divination  : 
1  jirophcsy  thy  death,  my  living  sorrow, 
H  thou  encounter  with  the  boar  to-morrow. 

But  if  thou  needs  will  hunt,  he  rul'd  by  me; 

Uncouple  at  the  timorous  flying  hare. 

Or  at  the  fox.  which  lives  by  subtilly. 

Or  at  the  roe,  which  no  encoiinler  dare; 
Pursue  these  fearhil  creatures  o'er  the  downs. 
And  on  thy  well-brcath'd  horse  keep  with  thy 
hounds. 

And  when  thou  hast  on  foot  the  purblind  hare, 
i\lark  the  poor  wretch,  to  overshoot  his  troubles 
How  he  outruns  the  wind,  and  with  what  care 
He  cranks  and  crosses,  wilh  a  thousand  doubles: 
The  many  inusits  through  the  which  he  goes 
Are  like  a  labyrinth  to  amaze  his  foes. 

Sometime  he  runs  among  a  flock  of  sheep, 
To  make  the  cunning  hounds  mistake  their  smell, 
And  sometime  where  earth-delving  conies  keep, 
To  stop  the  loud  luirsuers  in  their  yell; 

And  sometime  sorlelh  with  a  herd  of  deer; 

Danger  deviseth  shirts;  wit  waits  on  fear: 
'  Strife  breeding.  •  Bud,  or  youug  shoot. 


780 


VENUS   AND   ADONIS. 


For  llicre  his  smtll  with  others  being  mingled. 
Tile  iiot  Kcent-snutting  iioundsarc  driven-to  doubt, 
CcasinK  tlieir  clamorous  ery  till  they  have  singled 
With  nmch  ado  the  cold  Ikult  cleanly  out; 
Tlu-ii  do  they  spend  their  mouths :  Kcho  replies, 
As  il  auotlier  chase  were  in  the  slvics. 

By  this,  poor  Wat,  far  ofi'upon  a  Iidll, 
Stands  on  his  hinder  legs  with  listening  ear, 
To  hearken  if  his  Iocs  pursue  him  still ; 
Anon  their  loud  alarums  he  doth  hear  ; 
And  now  his  griel  may  be  compared  well 
To  one  sore-sicl>,  tliat  hears  the  passing  bell. 

Then  shalt  thou  sec  the  dew-bedabbled  wretch 
Turn,  and  return,  indenting  with  the  way; 
Kach  envious  briar  his  weary  legs  doth  scratch. 
Each  shadow  makes  him  stop,  eacli  murmur  stay: 
For  misery  is  trodden  on  by  many. 
And  being  low,  never  reliev'd  by  any. 

Lie  quietly,  and  hear  a  little  more  ; 
Nay,  do  not  struggle,  lor  thou  shalt  not  rise : 
To  make  tliee  hate  the  hunting  of  the  boar, 
Unlilie  myself  thou  hear'st  me'morahze, 

Applying  this  to  tlial,  and  so  to  so ; 

i'ur  love  can  comment  upon  every  woe. 

Where  did  I  leave  1"— "No  matter  where,"  quoth 

he ; 
"Leave  me,  and  then  the  story  aptly  ends  : 
The  night  is  spent."  "Why,  what  of  that!"  quoth 

she. 
"I  am,"  quoth  he,  "expected  of  my  friends; 
And  now   iis  dark,  and  going  I  shall  lall." 
"In  night,"  quoth  she,  "Desire  sees  best  of  all. 

But  if  thou  fall,  O  then  imagine  this. 

The  eartli  in  love  with  thee  thy  looting  trips, 

And  ail  is  but  to  rob  thee  of  a  kiss. 

Kii-h  ]>reys  make  true  men  thieves;  so  do  thy  lips 
J\Inkc  modest  Dian  cloudy  and  Ibrlorn, 
Lest  she  should  steal  a  kiss,  and  die  Ibrsworn. 

Now  of  this  dark  night  I  perceive  the  reason: 
Cyiilhia  lor  shame  obscures  her  silver  shine, 
Till  forging  nature  be  condemn'd  of  treason, 
lor  sleiiling  moulds  from  heaven  that  were  divine, 
Whci  em  .-he  Iram'd  thee  in  high  heaven 'sdespite, 
To  sliame  the  sun  by  day,  and  her  by  night. 

And  therefore  hath  she  brib'd  the  Destinies, 
To  cross  the  curious  workmanship  of  nature, 
To  mingle  beauty  with  iiuirmities. 
And  pure  pcrfeciion  with  impure  defeature; 
Waking  it  subject  to  the  tyranny 
Of  mad  mischances  and  mucli  misery; 

As  burning  fevers,  agues  pale  and  faint. 
Life-poisoning  pestilence,  and  frenzies  wood,' 
Tlie  marrow-eating  sickness,  whose  attaint 
Disorder  breeds  by  healing  of  the  blood: 
Surleits,iinposthumes,grief.anddamird  despair. 
Swear  Nature's  death  lor  framing  thee  so  fair. 

And  not  the  least  of  all  llicse  maladies. 
But  in  one  minute's  light  brings  beauty  under: 
Both  liivor,  savor,  hue,  and  qualities. 
Whereat  the  impartial  gazer  late  did  wonder. 
Are  on  the  sudden  wasted,  tliaw'd,  and  done. 
As  mountain  snow  melts  with  the  mid-day  sun. 

Therefore,  despite  of  fruitless  chastity, 
Love-lacking  vestals,  and  self-loving  nuns. 
That  on  the  earth  would  breed  a  scarcity 
And  liarren  dearth  of  daughters  and  of  .sons, 
Be  prodigal:  the  lamp  that  burns  by  night, 
Dries  up  his  oil,  to  lend  the  world  his  light. 

What  is  thy  body  but  a  swallowing  grave, 

Seeming  to  bury  that  posterity 

VVhicii  by  the  rights  ol  lime  thou  needs  must  have, 

II  thou  destroy  tliem  not  in  dark  obscurity  ? 
If  so,  the  world  will  hold  thee  in  disdain, 
Sith  in  thy  pride  so  liiir  a  hope  is  slain. 

So  in  thyself  thj'self  art  made  away; 

A  niischiel' worse  than  civil  home-bred  strife, 

Or  theirs  whose  desijcrate  hands  themselves  do 

slay. 
Or  butcher-sire,  that  reaves  his  son  of  life. 
Foul  cankering  rust  lli(>  hidden  treasure  frets, 
Fut  gold  that's  put  to  use  more  gold  begets." 
1  Mad. 


"Nay  then,"  quoth  Adon,  "you  will  fall  again 

Into  your  idle  over-handled  theme  ; 

The  kiss  I  gave  you  is  bestow'd  in  vain. 

And  all  in  vain  you  strive  against  the  stream ; 
For  by  this  black-faced  night,  desire's  Ibul  nurse, 
Your  treatise  makes  me  like  you  worse  and  worse. 

If  love  have  lent  you  twenty  thousand  tongues. 
And  every  tongue  more  moving  than  your  own. 
Bewitching  like  the  wanton  mermaid's  songs. 
Vet  from  mine  ear  the  tempting  tune  is  blown; 
J''or  know,  my  heart  stands  armed  in  mine  ear, 
And  will  not  let  a  false  sound  enter  there; 

Lest  the  deceiving  harmony  shall  run 
Into  the  quiet  closure  of  my  breast; 
And  then  my  little  heart  were  quite  undone. 
In  his  bed-chamber  to  be  barr'd  of  rest. 

No,  lady,  no;  my  heart  longs  not  to  groan. 

But  soundly  sleeps,  while  now  it  sleeps  alone. 

What  have  you  urg'd  that  I  cannot  reprove'! 
The  path  is  smooth  that  leadeth  unto  danger; 
1  hate  not  love,  but  your  device  in  love. 
That  lends  embracements  unto  every  stranger. 

You  do  It  tor  increase ;  O  strange  excuse! 

When  reason  is  the  bawd  to  lust's  abuse. 

Call  it  not  love,  for  love  to  heaven  is  fled. 
Since  sweating  lust  on  earth  usurp 'd  his  name  ; 
Under  whose  simple  semblance  he  hath  led 
Upon  fresh  beauty,  blotting  it  with  blame; 
Which  the  hot  tyrant  stains,  and  soon  bereaves 
As  caterpillars  do  the  tender  leaves. 

Love  comforteth  like  sunshine  after  rain. 

But  lust's  etfect  is  tempest  after  sun; 

Love's  gentle  spring  doth  always  fresh  remain, 

Lust's  winter  comes  ere  summer  half  be  done. 
Love  surfeits  not;  lust  like  a  glutton  dies: 
Love  is  all  truth ;  lust  full  of  forged  lies. 

More  1  could  tell,  but  more  I  dare  not  say; 

The  text  is  old.  the  orator  too  green. 

Therefore,  in  sadness,  now  I  w'ill  away; 

jMy  lace  is  full  of  shame,  my  heart  of  teen  ;' 
-Mine  ears  that  to  your  wanton  talk  attended, 
Do  burn  themselves  for  having  so  ollended." 

With  this  he  brcakelh  from  the  sweet  embrace 
Of  those  fair  arms  which  bound  him  to  her  breast. 
And  homeward  through  the  dark  laund  runs  apace, 
Leaves  Love  ujion  her  back  deeply  distress 'd. 
Look  how  a  bright  star  shooteth  from  the  sky. 
So  glides  he  in  the  night  from  Venus'  eye; 

Which  after  him  she  darts,  as  one  on  shore 
Ciiziiig  upon  a  late-embarked  friend. 
Till  the  wild  waves  will  hove  him  seen  no  more, 
Whose  ridges  with  the  meeting  clouds  contend; 
So  did  the  merciless  and  pitchy  night 
Fold  in  the  object  that  did  lecd  her  sight. 
Whereat  aniaz'd,  as  one  that  unaware 
Haih  dropp'd  a  precious  jewel  in  the  flood. 
Or  stonish'd  as  night-waiiderers  ollcn  are. 
Their  light  blown  out  in  some  mistrustful  wood; 
Kven  so  contbundcd  in  the  dark  she  lay. 
Having  lost  the  lair  discovery  of  her  way. 

And  now  she  beats  her  heart,  whereat  it  groans. 

That  all  the  neighbor-caves,  as  seeming  troubled, 

Make  verbal  repetition  of  her  moans  ; 

Passion  on  passion  deeply  is  redoubled  : 
"Aliiiie!  'she  cries,  and  twenty  times,"  «!oc,jt)oe."' 
And  twenty  echoes  twenty  times  cry  so. 

She.  marking  them,  begins  a  wailing  note. 

And  sings  e.\teinp'rallv  a  woeful  ditty; 

How  love  makes  young  men  thrall,  "and  old  men 

dote ; 
How  love  is  wise  in  folly,  foolish-witty  : 
Her  heavy  anthem  slill  concliKles  in  woe, 
And  still  the  choir  of  echoes  answer  so. 
Her  song  was  tedious,  and  outwore  the  night. 
For  lovers'  hours  are  long,  though  secniiiig  short: 
It  pleas  d  themselves,  others,  they  think,  delight 
In  such  like  circumstance,  with  such  like  sport. 
Their  copious  stories,  oftentimes  begun, 
F^nd  without  audience,  and  are  never  done. 

For  who  hath  she  to  spend  the  night  withal, 
But  idle  sounds,  resembling  parasites, 
•  Sorrow. 


VENUS  AND   ADOXIS. 


781 


Like  slinll-tongucd  Uipstprs  answering  every  call, 
Soothing  the  humor  of  fantastic  wits? 
She  says,  "'tis  so;"  they  answer  all,  "'tis  so:' 
And  would  say  after  her,  if  she  said  "  no." 

Lo!  here  the  gentle  lark,  weary  of  rest, 
I-'rom  his  moist  cabiMet  mounts  up  on  high, 
And  wakes  the  morning,  from  whose  silver  breast 
The  sun  ariseth  in  his  majesty; 
\Vho  doth  the  world  so  gloriously  behold. 
The  cedar-tops  and  hills  seem  biirnisird  gold. 

Venus  salutes  him  with  this  fair  good-morrow : 
"O  thou  clear  god,  and  patron  of  ail  light. 
From  whom  each  lamp  and  sliining  star  doth  bor- 
row 
The  beauteous  influence  that  makes  him  bright. 
There  lives  a  son,  that  suck'd  an  earthly  mother. 
May  lend  thee  light,  as  thou  dost  lend  to  other." 

This  said,  she  hastcth  to  a  myrtle  grove. 
Musing  (he  morning  is  so  much  o'erworn. 
And  yet  she  hears  no  tidings  ol  her  lovo  : 
She  hearkens  for  his  hounds,  and  for  his  horn : 
Anon  she  hears  them  chant  it  lustily. 
And  all  in  haste  she  coasteth  to  the  cry. 

And  as  she  runs,  the  bushes  in  the  way 
Some  catch'her  by  the  neck,  some  kiss  her  face, 
Some  twine  about  her  thigh  to  make  her  stay  ; 
She  wildly  breaketh  from  their  strict  embmce. 
Like  a  milch  doe.  whose  swelling  dugs  do  ache, 
Hasting  to  ieed  her  fawn,  hid  in  some  brake, 

Bv  this  she  hears  the  liounds  are  at  a  ha}-, 
Whereat  she  starts,  like  one  that  spies  an  adder 
Wrealh'd  up  in  fatal  folds,  just  in  his  way. 
The  fear  whereof  doth  make  him  shake  and  shud- 
der: 
Even  so  the  timorous  yelping  of  the  hounds 
Appals  her  senses,  and  her  .spright  confounds. 

For  now  she  knows  it  is  no  gentle  chase. 
But  the  blunt  boar,  rough  hear,  or  lion  proud, 
Because  the  cry  remainelh  in  one  place. 
Where  fearfully  the  dogs  exclaim  aloud: 

Finding  tlieir  enemy  to  be  so  curst, 

They  all  strain  courVsy  who  shall  cope  him  first. 

This  dismal  cry  rings  sadly  in  her  ear, 
Tlnough  which  it  enters  to  surprise  her  he.irt, 
Who,  overcome  by  doubt  iind  bloodless  fear, 
With  cold-pale  weakness  numbs  each  feeling  part: 
Like  soldiers, whentheircaptainonce  doth  yield. 
They  basely  tly,  and  dare  not  stay  the  field. 

Thus  stands  she  in  a  trembling  ecstasy  ;^ 
Till,  cheering  up  her  senses  sore  dismay 'd, 
She  tells  them  'tis  a  causeless  fantasy. 
And  childish  error  that  thev  are  afraid  ; 

Bids  them   leave  quaking,  bids  them   fear  no 
more ; — 

And  with  that  word  she  spied  the  hunted  boar; 

Whose  frolhv  month,  bepaintcd  all  with  red. 
Like  milk  and  blood  being  mingled  both  together, 
A  second  fi  ar  through  all  her  sinews  spread. 
Which  madly  hurries  her  she  knows  not  whither; 
Tills  way  she  runs,  and  now  she  will  no  further, 
But  back  retires,  to  rate  the  boar  for  murther. 

A  thousand  spleens  bear  her  a  thousand  ways; 
She  treads  the  path  that  she  untreads  again ; 
Her  more  than  haste  is  mated  with  delays. 
Like  the  proceedings  of  a  drunken  brain  ; 

Full  of  respect,  vet  not  at  all  respecting. 

In  hand  with  all  things,  nought  at  all  etTccting. 

Here  kennel'd  in  a  brake  she  finds  a  hound, 
And  asks  the  weary  cailitTfor  his  master; 
And  there  another  licking  of  his  wound, 
'(gainst  venom'd  sores  the  only  sovereign  jilaster: 
And  here  she  meets  another  sadly  scowding. 
To  whom  she  speaks,  and  he  replies  with  howling. 

When  he  hath  ceased  his  ill-resounding  noise. 
Another  flap-niouth'd  mourner,  black  and  grim, 
Agninst  the  welkin  volleys  out  his  voice; 
4nother  and  another  answer  him. 
Clapping  their  proud  tails  to  the  ground  below. 
Shaking  their  scratch'd  ears,  bleeding  as  they  go. 

Look,  liow  the  world's  poor  people  are  amaz'd 
At  apparilijns,  signs,  and  prodigies, 


Whereon  with  tearful  eyes  they  long  have  gaz'd, 
Infusing  them  with  dreadful  prophecies; 
So  she  at  these  sad  signs  draws  up  her  breath, 
And,  sighing  it  again,  e.xclaims  on  Death. 

"  Hard-favor'd  tyrant,  ugly,  meagre,  lean. 
Hateful  divorce  of  love,"  (thus  chides  she  Death,) 
"Grim-grinning  ghost,  earth's  worm,  what,  dost  thou 

mean 
To  stifle  beauty,  and  to  steal  his  breath. 
Who  when  he  lived,  his  breath  and  beauty  set 
(Jloss  on  the  rose,  smell  to  tlie  violet? 

If  he  be  dead, — O  no,  it  cannot  be, 
Seeing  his  beauty,  thou  shouldst  strike  at  it — 
O  ycs^  it  may  ;  thou  liast  no  e>  es  to  see, 
Biit  hatelully  at  random  dost  thou  hit. 
Thy  mark  is  feeble  age; — but  thy  false  dart 
Mistakes  that  aim,  and  cleaves  an  inliint's  hcait 

Hadst  thou  but  bid  beware,  then  he  had  spoke. 
And  hearing  him  thy  power  had  lost  his-'  power. 
The  Destinies  will  curse  thee  lor  this  stroke; 
Tliey  bid  thee  crop  a  weed,  thou  pluek'st  a  flower: 
Love's  golden  arrow  at  him  should  have  fled. 
And  not  Death's  ebon  dart,  to  strike  him  dead. 

Dost  thou  drink  tears,  that  thou  provok'st  such 

weeping  ? 
What  may  a  heavy  groan  advantage  thecl 
Why  hast  thou  east  into  eternal  sleeiiing 
Those  eyes  that  taught  all  other  eyes  to  seel 
Now  Nature  cares  not  Icr  thy  mortal  vigor, 
Since  her  best  work  is  ruin'd  with  thy  rigor." 

Here  overcome,  as  one  full  of  despair. 
She  veil'd  her  eye-lids,  who,  like  sluices,  slopp'd 
The  crystal  tide  that  Irom  her  two  cheeks  liiir 
In  the  sweet  channel  pf  her  bosom  dropp'd  ; 

But  through   the   llood-gales   breaks   the  silver 
rain. 

And  with  his  strong  course  opens  them  again. 

O  how  her  eyes  and  tears  did  lend  and  borrow! 

Ile-r  eyes  seen  in  her  tears,  tears  in  her  eye ; 

Both  crystals,  where  Ikey  view'd  each  other's  sor- 
row. 

Sorrow,  that  friendly  sighs  sought  still  lo  dry; 
But  like  a  stormy  tlay,  now  wind,  now  rain, 
Sighs  dry  her  cheeks,"  tears  make  them  wet  again. 

Variable  passions  throng  her  constant  woe. 
As  striving  who  should  best  become  her  grief; 
All  entertain'd,  each  passion  labors  sv> 
Tliat  every  present  sorrow  seenieth  chief. 
But  none  is  best ;  then  join  they  all  tcrgetlier, 
Like  many  clouds  consulting  for  foul  weather. 

By  this,  far  olTshe  hears  some  huntsmen  hollo; 
A  nurse's  song  ne'er  pleased  her  babe  so  well: 
The  dire  imagination  sl-.e  did  follow 
This  sound  of  hope  doth  labor  to  expel ; 

For  now  reviving  joy  bids  her  rejoice. 

And  Hatters  her,  it  is  Adonis'  voice. 

Whereat  her  tears  began  to  turn  their  tide. 
Being  prison'd  in  her>yc,  like  pearls  in  glass; 
Vet  sometimes  falls  an  "orient  drop  beside, 
Whieli  her  check  mclt.s,  as  scorning  it  should  pass 
To  wash  the  foul  lace  of  the  sluttish  ground. 
Who  is  but  drunken  when  she  seemeth  drown'd. 

O  hard-believing  love,  how  strange  it  seems 

Not  to  believe,  and  yet  too  credulous  ! 

Thy  weal  and  woe  are  both  of  lliem  extremes, 

Despair  and  hope  make  thee  ridiculous: 
The  one  doth  Hatter  thee  in  thoughts  unlikely. 
With  likely  thoughts  the  other  kills  thee  quickly. 

Now  she  unweaves  the  web  that  she  hath  wrought , 

Adonis  lives,  and  Death  is  not  to  blame ; 

It  was  not  she  that  cali'd  hinr  all-to  nought ; 

Now  she  adds  honors  to  his  hateful  name  ; 
Sheclepcs  him  king  ofgiaves, and  grave  for  kings, 
Imperious  supreme  ol^all  mortal  things, 

"  No,  no,"  quoth  she,  "  Sweet  Death,  I  did  but  jest; 
Vet  pardon  me,  I  lelt  a  kind  of  fear. 
When  as  I  met  the  boar,  that  bloody  boast. 
Which  knows  no  pity,  but  is  still  severe; 
Then  gentle  shado'w,  (truth  I  must  confess,) 
I  rail'd  on  thee,  fearing  my  love's  decease. 


782 


VENUS    AND   ADONIS. 


liorn, 
orlorn. 


Tis  not  mv  fault:  the  hoar  provok'd  my  tongue ; 

Be  wreak'd  on  him,  invisible  commander ; 

'Tis  ho,  /bul  creature,  thai  hath  done  thee  wrong; 

I  did  Ijut  act,  he's  author  of  thy  slander  : 
Grief  iiatti  two  totigues,  and  never  woman  yet 
Could  rule  them  boUi,  without  ten  women's  wit." 

TIuis,  hoping  that  Adonis  is  alive, 
Her  rasli  suspect  she  doth  extenuate  ; 
And  that  his  beauty  may  the  better  thrive. 
With  Death  she  humbly  doth  insinuate; 
Tells  him  of  trophies,  statues,  toml)s;  and  stories 
His  victories,  his  triumphs,  and  iiis  glories. 

"  0  Jove."  quoth  she,  "how  much  a  fool  was  I, 

To  be  of  such  a  weak  and  silly  mind. 

To  wail  his  death  who  lives,  and  must  not  die. 

Till  mutual  overilirow  of  mortal  kind! 
Kor  he  being  dead,  with  hira  is  beauty  slain. 
And,  be.auty  dead,  black  chaos  comes  again. 

Fie,  fie,  fond  love,  thou  art  so  full  of  fear 

As  one  with  treasure  laden,  hemm'd  with  thieves, 

Triiles,  unwitnessed  with  eye  or  ear. 

Thy  coward  heart  with  false  bethinking  grieves." 
Kven  at  this  word  she  hears  a  merry  hr  " 
Whereat  she  leaps  that  was  but  late  lb 

As  falcon  to  the  lure  away  slie  flies ; 

Thc'  grass  stoops  not,  shctreads  en  it  so  light ; 

And  in  her  haste  unfortunately  spies 

Tile  foul  boar's  conquest  on  her  liiir  delight ; 
Which  seen,  her  eyes. asmurder'd  with  the  view. 
Like  stars  ashamed  of  day,  tliemselves  withdrew. 

Or,  as  the  snail,  whose  tender  horns  being  hit. 
Shrinks  backward  in  his  shelly  cave  with  pain. 
And  there,  all  smother'd  up,  in  shade  doth  sit, 
Long  alter  fearing  to  creej)  Ibrth  again; 
So,  at  his  bloody  view,  iter  eyes  are  (led 
Hito  the  deep  dark  cabins  of  her  head  ; 

Where  they  resign  their  odiee  and  their  light 
T<t  the  disposing  of  her  troubled  brain  ; 
Who  bids  them  still  consort  with  uglv  night. 
And  never  wound  the  heart  with  looks  again ; 
WMio,  like  a  king  perjilcxed  in  his  throne, 
liy  their  suggestion  gives  a  deadly  groan, 

Whereat  each  tributary  subject  quakes: 
As  when  the  wind,  imprison'd  in  tlie  ground. 
Struggling  for  passage,  eartli's  foundation  shakes, 
Which  with  cold  terrbi'doth  men's  minds  conlbund. 
The  mutiny  each  part  doth  so  surprise, 
Tlial  from  their  dark  beds  once  more  leap  her 
eyes ; 

And,  being  open'd,  threw  unwilling  light 
Upon  the  wide  wound  that  the  boar  had  trencli'd 
In  his  soil  rtank;  whose  wonted  lily  white 
With    purple   tears,   that    his  wound  wept,  was 
dreneh'd  : 
No  flower  was  nigh,  no  grass,  herb,  leaf,  or  weed. 
But  stole  his  blood,  and  seem'd  with  him  to  bleed. 

This  solemn  sympathy  poor  Venus  noteth  ; 
Over  one  shoulder  doth  she  hang  her  head  ; 
Dumbly  she  passions,  franticly  she  doteth  ; 
She  thinks  he  could  not  die,  he  is  not  dead. 

}ler  voice  is  stopp'd,  her  joints  forget  to  how; 

Her  eyes  are  mad  that  they  have  wejit  till  now. 

Upon  his  hurt  she  looks  so  steadfastly 

That  her  sight  dazzling  makes  the  "wound  seem 

three; 
And  then  she  reprehends  her  mangling  eye. 
That  makes  more  gashes  where  no  breach  should  be: 
His    face  seems   twain,  each    several    limb    is 

doubled. 
For  olt  the  eye  mistakes,  the  brain  being  troubled, 

"Mv  tongue  cannot  express  my  grief  for  one. 
And  yet,"  quoth  she.  "  behold  two  Adons  dead  ! 
AJy  sighs  are  blown  away,  my  salt  tears  gone. 
Mine  eyes  arc  tnrn'd  to  tire,  my  heart  to  lead: 

ileavy  heart's  lead  melt  at  mine  eyes'  red  lire  ! 

So  shall  I  die  by  drops  of  hot  desire. 

Alas,  poor  world,  what  treasure  hast  thou  lost  ! 
Wliit  lace  remains  alive  that's  worth  the  viewing? 
W  Inise  tongue  is  music  now!  whatoaust  thou  boast 
Oi't'iings  long  since,  or  any  thing  ensuing  ! 

The  flowers  arc  sweet,  tlieir  colors  tVesh  and  trim; 

IJi.  I  true-sweet  beauty  liv'd  and  died  with  him. 


Honnet  nor  veil  hcneetorth  no  creature  wear  ! 

Nor  sun  nor  wind  will  ever  strive  to  kiss  you  : 

Having  no  fair'  to  lose,  you  need  not  fear; 

The  sun  doth  scorn  you,  and  the  wind  doth  his 
you : 
But  when  Adonis  liv'd,  sun  and  sharp  air 
Lurk'd  like  two  thieves,  to  rob  him  of  iiis  fiiii : 

And  therefore  would  he  put  his  bonnet  on. 
Under  whose  brim  the  gaudy  sun  would  peep; 
The  wind  would  blow  it  oti;  and,  being  gone. 
Play  with  his  locks;  then  would  Adonis  weep; 
And  straight,  in  pity  of  his  tender  years. 
They  both  would  strive  who  first  should  dry  his 
tears. 

To  see  his  face,  the  lion  walk'd  along 
Behind  some  hedge,  because  he  would  not  fear  him 
To  recreate  himself,  when  he  hath  sung. 
The  tiger  would  be  tame  and  gently  hear  him. 
If  he  had  spoke,  the  wolf  would  leave  his  prey. 
And  never  fright  the  silly  lamb  that  day. 

When  he  beheld  his  shadow  in  the  brook 
The  fishes  spread  on  it  their  golden  gills; 
When  he  was  by,  the  birds  such  pleasure  took 
That  some  would  sing,  some  other  in  their  bills 

Would  bring  him  mulberries,  and  ripe  red  cher- 
ries ; 

He  fed  them  with  his  sight,  they  him  with  berries. 

But  this  fonl,  grim,  and  urchin-snouted  boar. 
Whose  downward  eye  still  looketh  lor  a  grave, 
Ne'er  .saw  the  beauteous  livery  that  he  wore; 
Witness  the  entertainment  that  he  gave; 
H  lie  did  see  his  liice,  why  then  I  know 
He  thought  to  kiss  him,  and  hath  kill'd  him  so. 

'Tis  true,  'tis  true  ;  thus  was  Adonis  slain  ; 
He  ran  upon  the  boar  with  his  sharp  spear, 
Who  did  not  whet  his  teeth  at  him  again, 
But  by  a  kiss  thought  to  persuade  him  there; 
.\iul  mizzling  in  his  Hank,  the  loving  swine 
Sheath  d,  unaware,  the  tusk  in  his  soft  groin. 

Had  I  been  tooth'd  like  him  I  must  confess 
With  kissing  him  1  should  have  kill'd  him  first; 
But  he  is  dead,  and  never  did  he  bless 
My  youth  with  his;  the  more  am  I  accurst." 
With  this  she  falleth  iu  the  place  she  stood. 
And  stains  her  (iice  with  his  congealed  blood. 

She  looks  upon  his  lips,  and  they  are  pale ; 
She  takes  him  by  the  hand,  and  that  is  cold; 
She  whispers  in  his  ears  a  heavy  tale, 
As  if  they  heard  the  woeful  words  she  told  : 

She  lifts  the  cofli;r-lids  that  close  his  eyes. 

Wiiere,  lo !   two  lamps,  burnt  out,  in  darkness 
lies. 

Two  glasses,  where  herself  herself  beheld 

A  thousand  times,  and  now  no  more  rellect; 

Their  virtue  lost,  wherein  they  late  excell'd, 

And  every  beauty  robb'd  of  his  efl'ect: 
"  Wonder  of  time,"  quoth  she,  "this  is  my  .spite, 
That  you  being  dead  the  day  should  yet  be  light. 

Since  thou  art  dead,  lo  !  here  I  prophesy. 
Sorrow  on  love  hereatler  shall  attend  ; 
It  shall  be  wai  ted  on  with  jealousy. 
Find  sweet  beginning  but  unsavory  end; 

Ne'er  settledequally,  but  high  or  low  ; 

That  all  love's  pleasure  shall  not  match  his  woe. 

U  shall  be  fickle,  false,  and  full  of  fraud  ; 

Hud  and  be  blasted  in  a  breathing  while; 

The  Dottom  poison,  and  the  top  6'erstraw'd 

With  sweets  that  shall  the  truest  sight  beguile 
The  strongest  body  shall  it  make  most  weak. 
Strike  the  wise  dumb,  and  teach  the  fool  to  speak 

H  shall  be  sparing,  and  too  full  of  riot. 
Teaching  decrepit  age  to  tread  the  measures; 
The  staring  rultian  shall  it  keep  in  quiet, 
I'liiek  down  the  rich,  en  rich  the  poor  with  triasurcs 
It  shall  be  raging  mad,  and  silly  mild, 
Make  the  young  old,  the  old  become  a  child. 

It  shall  suspect  where  is  no  cause  of  fear; 

It  shall  not  fear  where  it  should  most  mislrust; 

It  shall  be  merciful,  and  too  severe, 

Antl  most  deceiving  when  it  seems  most  Just; 

*  Ucauty. 


THE   TvAPE   OP   LUCRECE. 


r83 


Perverse  it  shall  br  when  it  seems  mont  toward, 
put.  fear  to  valor,  courage  to  the  coward. 

It  shfiU  be  cause  of  war  and  dire  events. 

And  set  dissension  'iwixt  the  son  and  sire ; 

Subject  and  serviJe  to  all  discontents, 

As  dry  combustious  matter  is  to  fire; 
Sith  in  his  prime  death  doth  my  love  destroy, 
They  that  love  best  their  love  shall  not  enjoy." 

By  this,  the  boy  that  by  her  side  lay  killM 
\Va>-  ninlted  hke  a  vapor  from  her  sight. 
And  in  his  blood  that  on  tlie  ground  lay  spill'd, 
A  purple  (lower  sprung  up,chequer"d  with  white, 
Resen)bling  well  his  pale  cheeks,  and  the  blood 
Which  m  round  drops  upon  their  whiteness  stood. 

She  bows  her  head,  the  new-sprung  flower  to  smell, 

Comparing  it  to  her  Adonis'  breath; 

And  says,  within  her  bosom  it  shall  dwell. 

Since  he  himself  is  rel^  from  her  by  death  : 
She  crops  the  stalk,  and  in  the  breach  appears 
Green  dropping  sap,  which  she  compares  to  tears. 


"Poor  flower,"  quoth  she,  "this  was  thy  father's 
guise, 

f  Sweet  issue  of  a  more  sweet-smelling  sire,) 

For  every  little  grief  to  wet  his  eyes: 

To  grow  unto  himself  was  his  desire, 
And  so  'tis  thine;  but  know,  it  is  as  good 
To  wither  in  my  breast  as  in  his  blood. 

Here  was  thy  father's  bed,  here  in  my  breast; 
Thou  art  the  next  of  blood,  and  tis  thy  right: 
Lo !  in  this  hollow  cradle  take  thy  rest. 
My    throbbing    heart    shall   rock    thee    day   and 
night: 
There  shall  not  be  one  minute  in  an  hour 
Wherein  I  will  not  kiss  my  sweet  love's  flower." 

Thus  weary  of  the  world,  away  she  hies, 
And  yokes  her  silver  doves;  by  whose  swift  aid 
Their  mistress  mounted,  through  the  empty  skies 
In  her  light  chariot  quickly  is  convey'd. 

Holding    their  course    to  Paphos,  where   their 
queen 

Means  to  immure  herself,  and  not  be  seen. 


THE   RAPE    OF    LUCRECE. 


TO   THE   RIGHT   HONORABLE    HENRY   WRIOTHESLY, 
Eaul  of  Socthampton,  and  Baron  of  Titchfield. 

TiiF  love  I  dedicate  to  your  Lordship  is  -without  end;  whereof  this  pamphlet,  without  beginning,  is 
but  a  superfluous  moiety.  The  warrant  I  have  of  your  honorable  disposition,  not  the  worth  of  my 
untutored  lines,  makes  it  assured  of  acceptance.  Wiiat  I  have  done  is  yours,  what  I  have  to  do  is 
yours;  ocing  part  in  all  I  have,  devoted  yours.  Were  my  worth  greater,  my  duty  would  show  greater: 
meaniime,  as  it  is,  it  is  bound  to  your  Lordship,  to  whom  I  wish  long  life,  stili*  lengthened  with  all 
happiness. 

Vour  Lordship's  in  all  duty, 

William  Shakspeare. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 


Lunus  TARQnxirs  (for  his  pxcessive  priJe  siirnaraed  Superbus)  after  he  Lad  caused  bis  own  father-in-law.  St^rriug 
Tulliiis.  to  be  cruelly  murdi.'rvil.  and.  contrary  to  the  Itoman  laws  and  customs,  not  requiring  or  stayint;  for  the  people's 
suffrages,  bad  possessed  biniself  of  the  kingdom;  went,  accompanied  with  his  sons  and  other  noblemen  of  Home,  to 
bcsie':;e  Ardi-a.  During  which  siege,  the  principal  men  of  the  army  meeting  one  evening  at  the  tent  of  Sextus  Tar- 
quiriiup,lhe  kinnr's  sou,  in  their  discourses  after  supper,  everj' one  commended  thevirtuesof  bis  own  wife;  amon;:  whom 
Coli.Htinus  extolled  the  incomp;irHl>ie  chastity  of  liis  wife  Lucrece.  In  that  pIc.H=ant  humor  they  all  posted  to  Kuine; 
and  intending,  by  their  secret  and  sudden  arrival,  to  make  trial  of  that  which  every  one  had  before  avouched,  only 
Cullaiinus  finds  his  wife  (though  it  were  late  in  the  night)  spinning  amongst  her  maiiis:  the  other  ladies  were  all 
found  dancing  and  revelling,  or  in  several  disports.  ■  Whereupon  the  noblemen  yielded  Collitinus  the  victory,  and  liis 
wife  the  fame.  At  that  time  Sextus  Tarquinius  being  inHaraed  with  Lu.^rece's  beauty,  yet  smothering  his  passions  fur 
the  pie.'^ent,  departed  with  the  rest  back  lo  the  camp;  from  whenre  he  sb-irlly  after  privily  withdrew  liimself.  and  was 
(according  to  his  estate)  royally  entertained  and  lodged  by  Lucrece  at  Colla'tium.  The  same  night,  he  t reach erously 
Bte.aleth  into  her  chamber,  violently  ravished  her,  and  e^rly  in  the  morning  speedeth  aw.iy.  Luci'ece,  iu  this  lameut- 
abU  plight  hastily  despatched  messengers,  one  to  Kome  fnr  her  father,  another  to  the  camp  for  Collatiue.  They  came, 
the  one  accompanied  with  Junius  Brutus,  the  other  with  Publius  Valerius;  and.  finding  Lucrece  atfired  iu  mouruing 
habit,  demanded  the  cause  of  her  sorrow.  ?he,  first  taking  an  oath  of  them  for  her  revenge,  revealed  the  actor,  and 
whole  manner  of  his  dealing,  and  withal  suddenly  stabbed  herst-lf.  Which  done,  with  one  consent  they  oil  vowed  to 
roi)t  Ciut  the  whole  hated  family  of  the  Tar<^iujns;  and,  bearing  the  dead  body  to  Rome,  Brutus  acquainted  the  p<-i>ple 
with  the  doer  aud  manner  of  the  vile  deed,  with  a  bitter  invective  against  the  tyranny  of  the  king:  wherewith  the 
penple  weie  so  moved,  that  with  one  consent  and  a  general  acclamation  the  Tarquios  v.erj  all  exiled,  and  the  stato 
government  changed  from  kings  to  consuls. 


From  the  bosieg'd  Ardea  all  in  post, 
Borne  by  the  trustless  win^s  of  lalse  desire. 
Lust-breathed  Tarquin  leaves  the  Roman  host, 
And  to  Collatium  bears  the  lightless  tire 
Which,  in  pale  embers  hid,  lurks  to  aspire, 
And  frirdle  with  embracing  Hames  the  waist 
Of  Collatine's  fair  love,  Lucrece  the  chaste. 


Haply  that  name  of  chaste  unhapp'Iy  set 
This  bateless  edge  on  his  keen  appetite; 
When  Collatine  unwisely  did  not  let 
To  praise  the  clear  unmatched  red  and  white 
Which  triumph'd  in  that  sky  of  his  deliijht. 
Where  mortalstars.as  bright  as  heaven's  beauties 
With  pure  aspects  did  him  peculiar  duties. 


For  he  the  night  before,  in  Tarquin's  tent, 
UiilockM  the  trca.^ure  ol'his  happy  state; 
What  priceless  wealth  tlie  iicavens  had  him  lent 
In  tlie  possession  ofhis  beauteous  mate; 
Keckoning  his  fortune  at  such  high-proud  rate, 
That  kings  might  be  espoused  to  more  fame, 
But  king  nor  peer  to  such  a  peerless  dame. 

O  happiness  enjoy'd  but  of  a  few! 
And,  if  possess'd,  as  soon  decayed  and  done 
As  IS  the  morning's  silver-melting  dew 
Against  the  golden  splendor  of  the  sun! 
An  expir'd  date,  cancel'd  ere  well  begun  : 
Honor  and  beauty  in  the  owner's  arms, 
Are  weakly  tbrtress'd  from  a  world  of  harms. 

Beauty  itself  doth  of  itself  persuade 

7'he  eyes  of  men  without  an  orator; 

Wiiat  needeth  then  apologies  be  made 

To  set  lorth  that  which  is  so  singular? 

Or  why  is  CoUatine  the  publisher 
Of  that  rich  jewel  he  should  keep  unknown 
From  thievish  ears,  because  it  is  his  own"! 

perchance  his  boast  of  Lucrece'  sovereignty 
Suggested'  this  proud  issue  of  a  king; 
For  by  our  ears  our  hearts  ott  tainted  be  : 
Perciiance  that  envy  of  so  rich  a  thing. 
Braving  compare,  disdainfully  did  sting 

His    nigh-pitch'd   thouglits,    that   meaner    men 
sliould  vaunt 

That  golden  hap  which  their  superiors  want. 

But  some  untimely  thought  did  instigate 
His  all-too-timelcss  speed,  if  none  of  those: 
His  honor,  his  allairs,  his  friends,  his  stale, 
Neglected  all,  with  swift  intent  he  goes 
To  quencli  the  coal  which  in  his  liver  glows. 
O  rasti-Ialse  heat,  wrapt  in  repentant  cold. 
Thy  hasty  spring  fctill  blasts,  and  ne'er  grows  old ! 

When  at  Collatium  this  false  lord  arrived, 
Well  w'as  he  welcomM  by  the  Roman  dame, 
Within  whose  face  beamy  and  virtue  strived 
Wliich  olthem  both  shoukt  underprop  her  fame: 
Wlieavirruebragg*d,beauty  would  blush  for  shame  ; 
When  beauty  boasted  blushes,  in  despite 
Virtue  would  stain  tJiat  o'er  with  silver  white. 

But  beauty,  in  that  white  intituled. 
From  Venus'  doves  dotJi  ciiallenge  that  fair  field: 
Tlieii  virtue  claims  from  bt^auty  beaut-y's  red, 
W'liicli  \irtue  gave  the  golden  age,  to  gild 
TJieir  silver  cheeks, and  calf'd  it  then  their  sliield; 
Teaching  them  thus  to  u.-e  it  m  the  light, — 
When  shame  assail'd,  the  red  should  fence  the 
white. 

Tliis  heraldry  in  Lucrece'  face  was  seen, 
Argued  by  beauty's  red,  and  virtue's  white: 
Of  cither's  color  was  the  other  queen. 
Proving  from  world's  minority  their  right: 
Yet  their  ambition  makes  them  still  to  fight; 
The  sovereignty  of  either  being  so  great, 
Tiiat  oft  they  intercliange  each  other's  seat. 

This  silent  war  of  lilies  and  of  roses 
Wliicii  Tarquin  view'd  in  her  fair  face's  field, 
In  Iheir  pure  ranks  his  traitor  eye  encloses; 
W'iiorc,  lest  between  them  both  it  should  be  kill'd, 
Tlie  coward  captive  vanqnislied  doth  yield 
To  those  two  armies  that  would  let  Iiim  go, 
Rather  than  triumph  in  so  false  a  foe. 

Now  tliinks  he  that  her  liusband's  shallow  tongue 
(The  niggard  prodigal  that  prais'd  her  so) 
ill  that  higli  task  hath  done  Iier  beauty  wrong, 
Wliieh  far  exceeds  his  barren  skill  to  show : 
Theieibre  that  praise  which  CoUatine  doth  owe, 
Enchanted  Tarquin  answers  with  surmise, 
In  silent  wonder  of  still-gazing  eyes. 

This  earthly  saint,  adored  by  this  devil, 
LiUle  suspi'clclh  the  lalse  worshijiper; 
For  unslain'il  thoughts  do  seldom  dream  on  evil ; 
Birds  never  lim'd  no  secret  bushes  lear: 
So  guiltless  she  securely  gives  good  clieer 
And  reverend  welcon'ie  to  her  princely  guest, 
Whose  inward  ill  no  outward  harm  cxpress'd: 

For  that  he  color'd  with  his  hi:;h  estate. 
Hiding  base  sin  in  phiit-s  Dtniiijcsty ; 
That  nettling  in  him  seem'd  inordinate, 


Save  sometime  too  much  wonder  of  his  eye, 
Which,  having  all,  all  could  not  satisfy  ; 
But,  poorly  rich,  so  wantetli  in  his  store 
That  cloy'd  with  much  he  pinelh  still  for  more. 

But  she,  that  never  cop'd  vrilh  stranger  eyes. 
Could  pick  no  meaning  from  their  parling-  looks, 
Nor  read  the  subtle-shining  secrecies 
Writ  in  the  glassy  margents  of  such  books ; 
She  touch 'd  no    unknown    baits,  nor    fear'd  no 
hooks, 
Nor  couJd  she  moralize  his  wanton  sight. 
More  than  his  eyes  were  open'd  to  the  light. 

He  stories  to  her  ears  her  husband's  fame. 

Won  in  the  lirlds  of  fruitful  Italy; 

And  decks  wilh  praises  CoUatine's  high  name, 

Made  glorious  by  his  manly  chivalry. 

With  bruised  arms  and  wreaths  of  victory: 
Her  joy  with  heav'd-up  hand  she  doth  express, 
And,  wordless,  so  greets  heaven  for  iiis  success. 

Far  from  the  purpose  of  his  coming  thither, 
He  makes  excuses  for  his  being  there. 
No  cloudy  show  of  stormy  blustering  wTather 
Dotli  yet  in  his  fair  welkin  once  appear; 
Till  sable  Night,  mother  of  Dread  and  Fear, 
Upon  fhe  world  dim  darkness  doth  display, 
And  in  her  vanity  prison  stows  the  day. 

For  (hen  is  Tarquin  brought  unto  his  bed, 
Intending^  weariness  with  heavy  spright; 
For.  after  supper,  long  he  questioned 
With  modest  Lucrece.  and  wore  out  the  night: 
Now  leaden  slumber  with  lite's  strength  doth  fight 
And  every  one  to  rest  himself  betakes, 
Save  thieves,  and  cares,  and  troubled  minds,  that 
wakes. 

As  one  of  which  doth  Tarquin  lie  revolving 

The  sundry  dangers  of  his  will's  ohfaimng; 

Yet  ever  to  obtain  his  will  resolving, 

Though  weak-built  hopes  persuade  him  to  abstain- 
ing; 

Despair  to  gain  doth  traftic  oft  for  gaining; 
And  when  great  treasure  is  the  meed  proposed, 
Tho' death  be  adjunet,there's  no  death  supposed. 

Those  that  much  covet  are  with  gain  so  fond 
That  what  they  have  not,  that  which  the}-  possess 
Thej-  scatter  and  unloose  it  from  their  bond. 
And  so,  by  hoping  more,  they  have  but  less  ;        • 
Or,  gaining  more,  the  profit  of  excess 

Is  but  to  surfeit,  and  such  griefs  sustain. 

That  they  prove  bankru])t  in  this  poor-rich  gain. 

The  aim  of  all  is  but  to  nurse  the  life 
W^ilh  honor,  wealtli.  and  ease,  in  waning  age; 
And  in  this  aim  there  is  such  thwarting  strife, 
That  one  for  all,  or  all  lor  one  we  gage  ; 
As  hfe  tor  honor,  in  f(?ll  battle's  rage ; 
Honor  for  wealtli ;  and  oft  that  wealth  doth  co^t 
The  death  of  all,  and  all  together  lost. 

So  that  in  vent'ring  ill  we  leave  to  be 
The  things  we  are,  for  that  which  we  expect 
And  this  ambitious  foul  infirmity, 
In  having  much,  torments  us  with  defect 
Of  that  we  have;  so  tlieii  we  do  neglect 
The  thing  we  have,  and,  all  tor  want  of  wit, 
Make  something  nothing,  by  augmenting  it. 

Such  hazard  now  must  doting  Tarquin  make, 
Pawning  his  honor  to  obtain  his  hist; 
And  for  himself  himself  he  must  forsake: 
Then  where  is  trutli  iJthere  be  no  self-trust] 
When  shall  he  tliink  to  find  a  stranger  just. 
When  he  hiniseU' himself  conlbunds.  betrays 
To  slariderous   tongues,  and  wretched  nateful 
daj  s  ] 

Now  stole  upon  the  lime  the  dead  of  night, 
When  hea\  \  sleeji  had  clos'd  up  mortal  eyes; 
No  comli)rlal>!e  sl;ir  did  lend  his  light, 
No  noii^e  hut  owls' :ind  wolves' dealh-botHng  cries: 
Now  serves  Ilie  season  that  tliey  may  surprise 
The  silly  lambs;  pure  thoughts  are'dead  and  still. 
While  lust  and  murder  wake  to  stain  and  kill. 

And  now  this  lustful  lord  leap'd  from  his  bed, 
Throwing  his  mantle  rudely  o'er  his  arm; 
Is  madly  toss'd  between  desire  and  dread; 

iflM'ukiiig.  ■  Pretending. 


THE   EAPE   OF  LUCKECE. 


785 


Til'  one  sweetly  fiatt^rs,  th*  other  foareth  harm  ; 

But  honest  Fear,  hewitch'd  with  lust's  foul  cJiarm, 
Doth  too  too  ol\  belalvo  him  to  retire. 
Beaten  away  by  brain-sick  rude  Desire. 

His  falciiion  on  a  flint  he  softly  smiteth, 
That  trom  the  coM  stone  sparks  of  tire  do  fly. 
Whereat  a  waxen  torch  forthwith  he  lij;hteth, 
Which  must  be  lode-star  to  his  lustful  eye; 
And  to  the  llame  thus  speaks  advised'Iy; 
"As  from  this  cold  flint  I  enforced  this  fire, 
So  Lucrecc  must  I  force  to  my  desire." 

Here  pale  with  fear  he  doth  premeditate 
The  dangers  of  his  loathsome  «  nterprise, 
And  in  his  inward  mind  lie  doth  debate 
What  Ibliowing  sorrow  may  on  this  arise; 
Then  looking  scorniully.  tie  doth  despise 
His  naked  armor  of  still-slaughter'd  lust. 
And  justly  thus  controls  his  thoughts  unjust: 

,  "Fair  torch,  burn  out  thy  light,  and  lend  it  not 
'  To  darken  iier  whose  light  excelleth  thine! 
And  die  unhallow'd  thoughts,  before  you  blot 
With  your  uncleanness  that  which  is  divine! 
Oiler  pure  incense  to  so  pure  a  shrine: 
Let  fair  humanity  abhor  the  deed 
TJiat  spots  and  stains  love's  modest  snow-white 
weed.-* 

O  shame  to  knighthood  and  to  shining  arms! 

O  foul  dishonor  to  my  liousehold's  grave ! 

O  impious  act,  including  all  foul  harms! 

A  martial  man  to  be  soil  fancy's  slave  I 

True  vaior  still  a  true  respect  should  have; 
Then  my  digression  Is  so  vile,  so  base, 
That  it  will  live  engraven  in  my  face. 

Yea,  though  I  die,  the  scandal  will  survive, 

And  be  an  eye-sore  in  my  golden  coat; 

Some  loathsome  dash  the  herald  will  contrive, 

'io  cipher  me  how  fondly  I  did  dote; 

That  my  posterity,  shamed  with  the  note. 
Shall  curse  mj'  hones,  and  hold  it  for  no  sin 
To  wish  that  1  their  liither  had  not  been. 

What  win  I  if  I  gain  the  thing  I  seek  ? 

A  dream*  a  breath,  a  froth  of  fleeting  joy : 

Who  buys  a  minute's  mirth  to  wail  a  week  T 

Or  sells  eternity,  to  get  a  toy  ? 

l-'or  one  sweet  grape  who  will  tlie  vine  destroy? 
Or  what  fond  beggar,  but  to  touch  the  crown. 
Would  with   the  sceptre  straight   be  slrucken 
down  I 

If  Collatinus  dream  of  my  intent 
Will  he  not  wake,  and  in  a  desperate  rage 
Post  hither,  this  vile  purpose  to  prevent  ? 
This  siege  that  halh  engirt  his  marriage, 
This  blur  to  youth,  this  sorrow  to  the  sage, 
This  dying  virtue,  this  surviving  shame. 
Whose  crime  will  bear  an  ever-'during  blame! 

O  what  excuse  can  my  invention  make 
When  thou  shalt  charge  me  with  so  black  a  deed  ? 
Will  not  my  tongue  be  mute,  my  frail  joints  shake  1 
Mine  eyes  tbrego  their  light,  my  false  heart  bleed  1 
The  guilt  being  great  the  fear  doth  still  exceed; 
And  extreme  tear  can  neither  light  nor  dy, 
But  coward-like  with  trembling  terror  die. 

Had  Collatinus  Kill'd  my  son  or  sire, 
Or  lain  in  ambush  to  betray  my  life, 
Or  were  he  not  my  dear  friend,  this  desire 
Might  have  excuse  to  work  upon  his  wife; 
As  in  revenge  or  quiltal  of  such  strife: 
But  as  he  is  my  kinsman,  my  dear  friend. 
The  shame  and  fault  linds  no  excuse  nor  end. 

Shameful  it  is ; — ay,  if  the  fact  be  known: 
Hateful  it  w;— there  is  no  hate  in  loving: 
I'll  beg  her  love  : — hut  she  i?  tiot  her  own  ; 
The  worst  is  but  denial,  and  rej)roving  : 
My  will  is  strong,  past  reason's  weak  removing. 
Who  fears  a  sentence  or  au  old  man's  saw 
Shall  by  a  painted  clolli  be  kept  in  awe." 

Thus,  graceless,  holds  he  disputation 
'X^^'eeii  frozen  conscience  and  liol-burning  will, 
And  with  good  thoughts  makes  dispensation, 
Urging  the  worser  sense  for  vantage  still; 
Which  in  a  moment  doth  conlbund  and  kiU 
«  Garment. 

50 


All  pure  ellects,  and  doth  so  far  proceed, 
That  what  is  vile  shows  like  a  virtuous  deed. 

Quoth  lie,  "  Shq  took  me  kindly  by  the  hand, 

And  gazu  lor  tidings  in  my  eager  eyes. 

Fearing  some  hard  news  from  the  warlike  band 

Where  iur  bclovea  Collatinus  lies. 

O  how  her  tear  did  make  her  color  rise  ! 
First  red  as  roses  that  on  lawn  we  lay. 
Then  white  as  lawn,  the  roses  took  awaj*. 

And  how  lier  hand,  in  mv  hand  being  locked, 

Forced  it  to  tremble  witli  her  loyal  fear! 

Which  struck  her  sad,  and  then  it  faster  rock'd, 

Until  her  hnsl.iaiid\<  wellare  she  did  hear; 

Whereat  slie  smiled  with  so  sweet  a  cheer. 
That  had  Narcissus  seen  her  as  she  stood. 
Self-love  had  never  diOwnM  him  in  the  flood 

Why  hunt  I  then  for  color  or  excuses? 

All  orators  arc  dumb  when  beauty  pleadcth  ; 

poor  wretches  have  remorse  in  poor  abuses; 

Love  thrives  not  in  the  heart  that  shadows  dreadeth* 

Aifection  is  my  captain,  and  he  Icadeth  ; 
And  when  his  gaudy  banner  is  disphiy'tl, 
The  coward  hghts,  and  will  not  be  dis'may'd. 

Then,  childish  fear,  avaunt!  debating,  die  ! 
Respect  and  reason  wait  on  wrinkled  age! 
My  heart  shall  never  countermand  mine  eye  : 
Sacl  pause  and  deep  regard  beseem  the  sage  : 
My  part  is  youth,  and  beats  these  from  the  stage: 

Pesire  my  pilot  is,  beauty  my  prize; 

Then  who  lears  sinking  wiiere  such  treasure  liesl" 

As  corn  o'ergrown  by  weeds,  so  heedful  fear 

Is  almost  chf)k'd  by  unresisted  lust. 

Away  he  steals  with  open  listening  ear. 

Full  of  foul  hope,  and  full  of  forvd  "mistrust; 

Both  which,  as  servitors  to  the  unjust, 
So  cross  him  with  their  opposite  persuasion. 
That  now  lie  vows  a  league,  and  now  invasion. 

Williin  his  thought  her  heavenly  image  si  Irs, 
And  in  the  self-same  seat  sits  CoUatine  : 
That  eye  which  looks  on  her  confounds  his  wits  ; 
That  eye  which  him  beholds,  as  more  divine, 
Unto  a  view  so  false  will  not  incline  ; 
Hut  with  a  pure  appeal  seeks  to  the  heart, 
Wliich  once  corrupted  takes  the  worser  part; 

And  therein  heartens  up  his  servile  powers. 
Who,  flatlcr'd  by  their  leader's  jocund  show, 
Stulfup  his  lust,  as  minutes  till  up  hours; 
And  as  their  captain, so  their  pride  doth  grow, 
Paying  more  slavish  tribute  than  they  owe. 
By  reprobate  desire  thus  madly  led. 
The  Roman  lord  marcheth  to  Lucrece'  bed. 

The  locks  between  her  chamber  and  his  will. 
Each  one  by  him  enforced,  retires  his  ward  ; 
But  as  they  open  they  all  rate  his  ill. 
Which  drives  the  creeping  thief  to  some  regard  ; 
The  threshold  grates  the  door  to  have  him  heard  ; 

Night-wand'rini^  weasels  shriek  to  see  him  there; 

Tiiey  fright  him,  yet  he  still  pursues  his  fear. 

As  each  unwilling  portal  yields  him  way. 
Through  liltle  vents  and  crannies  of  the  place 
The  wind  wars  with  his  torch,  to  make  him  stay. 
And  blows  the  smoke  of  it  into  his  lace, 
Kxtinguishing  his  conduct^  in  this  case; 
But  his  hot  heart,  which  fond  desire  doth  scorch, 
Puffs  (brth  another  wind  that  tires  the  torch: 

And  being  lighted,  by  the  light  he  spies 
Lucretia's  glove,  wherein  her  needle  sticks; 
He  takes  it  from  the  rushes  where  it  lies; 
And  griping  it,  the  neeld&  his  t^.nger  pricks  : 
As  who  sJiould  say,  this  glove  to  wanton  tricks 

Is  not  inur'd  ;  return  again  in  haste  ; 

Thou  seest  our  mistress*  ornaments  are  chaste. 

But  all  these  poor  forbiddings  could  not  stay  him ; 

He  111  the  worst  sense  construes  their  denial  ; 

The  doors,  the  wind,  the  glove  that  did  delay  him, 

He  takes  for  accidental  things  of  trial ; 

Or  as  those  bars  which  stop  the  hourly  dial. 
Who  with  a  ling'ring  stay  his  course  doth  let, 
Till  every  minute  pays  the  hour  his  debt. 

"  So,  so,"  quoth  he,  "  these  lets  attend  (he  time. 
Like  little  frosts  that  sometime  thr  at  the  springy 
«  Conductor.  6  Keedle-. 


780 


THE   RAPE   OF   LUCRECE. 


To  add  a  more  rejoicing;  to  the  prime, 

And  sive  the  siieaped''  birds  more  cause  to  sing. 

Tain  pays  the  income  of  eacli  precious  thin^  ; 

Hu^c  rocks,  hitch  winds,  strong  pirate;:^,  shelves 
and  sands. 

The  merchant  fears,  ere  rich  at  home  he  lands." 

Now  is  ho  come  imto  the  chamber  door 
Tliat  sliuts  him  from  the  heaven  of  his  thought, 
AVliich  wilti  a  yieldini;  latch,  and  with  no  more, 
ilath  barr'd  him  from  Ihc  blessed  thing  he  sought. 
So  from  himself  impiety  hath  wrought, 
That  for  bisprcy  to  pray  he  doth  begin. 
As  if  the  heaven  should  countenance  his  sin. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  unfruitful  prayer, 

Huvimr  solicited  the  eternal  power. 

That  his  toul  thoughts  might  compass  his  fair  fair, 

And  they  would  stand  auspicious  to  the  hour. 

Kven  there  he  starts: — qpnjh  he,*'I  mustdellowcr; 
The  powers  to  vdiom  I  pray  abhor  this  lact, 
How  can  tJiey  then  assist  me  in  tlie  act  1 

Then  Love  and  Fortune  be  my  gods,  my  guide! 

My  will  is  back'd  witJi  resohiliou: 

Thou^ihts  are  but  dreams  till  their  elTects  be  tried, 

Tiie  blackest  sin  is  clear'd  with  absolutmn; 

Against  love's  lire,  fear's  frost  hath  dissolution. 
The  eye  of  heaven  is  out.  and  misty  lut^ht 
Covers  the  shame  that  follows  sweet  delight." 

This  said,  liis  guilty  hand  pluck'd  up  Ihc  latch, 
And  witii  his  knee  the  door  he  opens  wide : 
Tlie  dove  sleeps  fast  that  this  night-owl  will  catch: 
Thus  treason  works  ere  traitors  be  esi»ied. 
Wiio  sees  the  lurkuig  serpent  steps  aside  ; 
But  she.  sound  sleeping,  fearing  no  sucii  thing, 
Lies  at  the  mercy  of  Jiis  mortal  sting. 

Into  the  chamber  wickedly  he  stalks. 
And  ga/.cth  on  her  yet  unstained  bed. 
Fhe  curtains  being  close,  about  he  walks, 
Rolling  his  greedy  eye-balls  in  his  head  : 
By  their  high  treason  is  his  heart  misled; 

Winch  gives  tlie   watcli-word  to  his  hand  full 
soon. 

To  draw  tlie  cloud  that  hides  the  silver  moon. 

Look,  as  the  fair  and  tiery-poinled  sun, 
Rusliing  from  fortli  a  cloud,  bereaves  our  sight; 
Kven  so,  tlie  curtain  drawn,  his  eyes  begun 
To  wink,  being  blinded  with  a  greater  light : 
Wlielhcr  it  is  that  she  redects  so  bright. 

That  dazzleth  them,  or  else  some  sliame  sup- 
posed ; 

But  blind  they  are,  and  keep  themselves  enclosed. 

O,  had  tlioy  in  that  darksome  prison  died, 
Then  had  they  seen  the  period  of  their  ill! 
Then  CoUatine  again  by  Lucrece'  side 
In  his  clear  bed  might  nave  reposed  still : 
But  they  must  ope,  this  blessed  league  to  kilt; 
And  holy-fhoughted  Lucrece  to  their  sight 
Must  sell  her  joy,  her  lil^.^  her  world's  delight. 

Her  lily  hand  her  rosy  check  lies  under. 

Cozening  the  pillow  ofa  lawful  kiss; 

Who  thcrelbre  angry,  seems  to  part  in  sunder, 

Swelling  on  either  side  to  want  his  bliss  ; 

Between  whose  hills  her  Jiead  entombed  is : 
Where,  like  a  virtuous  monument,  she  lies, 
To  be  admir'd  of  lewd  unhaliow'd  eyes. 

Without  tlic  bed  her  other  fiur  hand  was, 
fhi  the  green  coverlet;  whose  perfect  white 
Show'd  like  an  April  daisy  on  the  grass, 
With  pearly  sweat,  resembling  dew  nf  utght. 
Her  eyes,  like  marigolds,  had  sheath'd  their  light, 
And  canopied  in  darkness  sweetly  lay. 
Till  they  might  open  to  adorn  the  day 

Her  hair,  like  golden   threads,  play*d   with   her 

breath  ; 
O  modest  wantons!  wanton  modesty  ! 
Showing  life's  triumph  in  the  map  of  death 
And  death's  dim  look  in  life's  mortality: 
Each  in  her  sleep  themselves  so  beautify, 
As  if  between  tbcin  twain  tliere  were  no  strife, 
But  that  iile  hvM  in  deatJi,  and  death  in  life. 

Her  breasts,  like  ivory  globes  circled  with  blue, 
.•\  pair  of  maiden  worlds  unconquercd, 

» Chec];ea. 


Save  of  their  lord  no  bearing  yoke  they  knew, 

And  him  by  oath  they  truly-honored. 

Tliese  worlds  in  Tarquin  new  ambition  bred: 
Who  like  a  foul  usurper  went  about 
From  this  fair  throne  to  heave  tJie  owner  out. 

What  could  he  see  but  mightily  he  noted  ? 

What  did  lie  note  but  strongly  he  desired  1 

What  he  beheld  on  that  he  firmly  doted, 

And  in  his  wdl  his  wilful  eye  he  tired. 

Wilh  more  than  admiration  he  admired 
Her  azure  veins,  her  alabaster  skin, 
Her  coral  lips,  her  snow-white  dimpled  chin. 

As  the  grim  lion  fawneth  oVr  his  prey, 

Sl>arp  hunger  by  the  conquest  satisiied, 

So  oVr  this  sleeping  soul  doth  Tnrquin  stay, 

His  rage  of  lust  by  gazing  qualilled  ; 

Slack  a,  not  suppfcssM  ;  for  standing  by  her  side, 

His  eye,  which  late  this  mutiny  restrains, 

Unto  a  greater  uproar  tempts  his  veins. 
And  they,  like  straggling  slaves  for  pillage  lighting," 
Obdurate  vassalB,  fell  exploits  effecting, 
In  bloody  death  and  ravishment  delightinir, 
Nor  children's  tears,  nor  mother's  groans  respect- 
ing. 
Swell  in  their  pride,  the  onset  still  expecting : 

Anon  his  beating  heart,  alarum  striking. 

Gives  the  hot  cliarge,  and  bids  them  do  their 
liking. 

His  drumming  lieart  cheers  up  his  burning  eye, 
His  eye  commends  the  leading  to  his  hand ; 
His  hand,  as  proud  of  such  a  dignity. 
Smoking  with  pride,  niarch'd  on  to  make  his  stand 
On  her  bare  breast,  the  heart  of  all  her  land  ; 
Whose  ranks  of  blue  veins,  as  his  hand  did  scale, 
Lett  their  round  turrets  destitute  and  pale. 

They,  mustering  to  the  quiet  cabinet 
Whera  their  dear  governess  and  lady  lies. 
Do  tell  lier  she  is  dreadfully  beset. 
And  fright  her  with  confusion  of  their  cries  : 
Slie.  much  ainaz'd,  breaks  ope  her  iock'd-up  eyes, 
Who,  peeping  forth  this  tumult  to  behold. 
Are  by  his  llamiug  torch  dimm'd  and  foiitroll'd 

Imagine  her  as  one  in  dead  of  night 
From  tbrth  dull  sleep  by  dreadful  fancy  waking, 
That  thinks  she  hath  beheld  some  ghastly  sprite, 
Whose  grim  aspect  sets  every  joint  a  shaking  ; 
What  terror  'tis  ?  but  she,  in  worser  taking, 
From  sleep  disturbed,  lieedfully  doth  vievv^ 
Tiie  sight  which  makes  supposed  terror  true. 

Wrapp'd  and  confounded  in  a  thousand  fears, 
Like  to  a  new-kill'd  bird  she  trembling  lies  ; 
She  dares  not  look;  yet,  winking,  tliere  a])pcars 
Quick-shifting  antics,  ugly  in  her  eyes  : 
Such  shadows  are  the  weak  brain's  Ibrgeries ; 
Wlio.  angry  that  the  eyes  fly  from  tlieir  lights, 
In   darkness  daunts  them  with  more   dreadfUl 
sights. 

His  hand,  that  vet  remains  upon  her  breast, 
(Rude  ram,  to  batter  such  an  ivory  wall  I) 
May  leel  her  heart,  poor  citizen  !  distressed, 
Wounding  itself  to  death,  rise  up  and  fall. 
Beating  her  bulk,  that  his  hand  shakes  withal. 
This  moves  in  him  more  ruge,  and  lesser  pity, 
To  make  tiie  breach,  and  enter  this  sweet  city. 

First,  like  a  trumpet,  doth  his  tongue  begin 
To  sound  a  parley  to  his  heartless  Ibe, 
Who  o'er  the  white  sheet  peers  her  whiter  chin, 
The  reason  of  this  rash  alarm  to  know, 
Which  lie  by  dumb  demeanor  se('ks  to  show ; 
But  she  with  vehement  prayers  uriielh  still 
Under  what  color  he  commits  tliis  ill. 

Thus  he  replies;  "The  color  in  thy  face 
(That  even  tor  anger  makes  the  Ijly  pale, 
And  the  red  rose  blusii  at  her  own  disgrace) 
Slmil  pinad  tor  me.  and  tell  my  loving  tale; 
Under  that  color  am  1  come  to  scale 
Thy  never-conquerVI  liirt ;  the  fiult  is  thine, 
For  those  thine  eyes  betray  thee  unto  mine. 

Thus  I  forestall  thee,  if  thou  mean  to  chide ; 
Thy  beauty  hath  ensnar'd  thee  to  this  night, 
Where  thou  with  patience  must  my  will  abide. 
My  will  that  marks  thee  for  my  earth's  delight, 
Which  I  to  coiKiucr  sought  wilh  ail  my  might 


THE   RAPE   OF   LUCRECE. 


7S7 


But  as  reproof  and  reason  beat  it  dead. 
By  tliy  bri;;lit  beauty  was  it  newly  bred. 

I  see  wiiat  crosses  ray  attempt  will  bring  ; 

1  know  what  thorns  the  growing  rose  delends ; 

I  think  the  honey  guarded  with  a  sting  ; 

All  this,  beforehand,  counsel  comprehends; 

Uut  will  is  deal',  and  hears  no  heedful  Iriends; 
Ocdv  he  hath  an  eye  to  gaze  on  beauty, 
And  dotes  on  what  he  looks,  ganist  law  or  duty. 

I  have  debated,  even  in  my  soul, 

What  wrong,  what  shame,  what  sorrow  I   shall 

breed ; 
But  nothing  can  AfTection  s  course  control. 
Or  stop  the  headlong  fury  of  his  speed. 
1  know  repentant  tears  ensue  the  deed, 

lleproaeh,  disdain,  and  deadly  enniitY,; 

Yet  strive  I  to  embrace  mine  infamy. 

This  said,  he  shakes  aloft  his  Roman  blade, 
Which,  like  a  laleon  towering  in  the  skies, 
Coueheth  tlie  fowl  below  with  his  wings  shade. 
Whose  crooked  beak  threats  if  he  mount  he  dies: 
So  under  his  insulting  falchion  lies 
Harmle.-s  Lucietia,  marking  what  he  tells. 
With  trembling  fear,  as  fowl  hear  lalcons'  bells 

"Lucrece,"  quoth  he,  "this  night  I  must  enjoy 

thee : 
If  thou  deny,  then  force  must  work  my  way. 
For  in  thy  bed  I  purpose  to  destroy  thee;  _ 
That  done,  some  worthless  slave  of  thine  1 11  slay, 
To  kill  thine  honor  with  thy  life's  decay; 
And  in  thy  dead  arms  do  1  mean  to  place  him. 
Swearing  I  slew  him,  seeing  thee  embrace  him. 

So  thy  surviving  husband  shall  remain 

The  scornful  mark  of  every  open  eye  ; 

Thy  kinsmen  hang  their  heads  at  this  disdain, 

Thy  issue  bhirr'd  with  nameless  bastardy: 

And  tliou,  the  author  of  their  obloquy, 
Shall  have  Ihy  trespass  cited  up  in  rhymes, 
And  sung  by  children  in  succeeding  times. 

But  if  thou  yield  I  rest  thy  secret  friend: 
The  limit  uiiknown  is  as  a  thought  unacted; 
A  little  harm,  done  to  a  great  good  end, 
I'or  lawful  policy  remains  enacted. 
Tie  poisonous  simple  sometimes  is  compjicted 

In  a  pure  compound ;  being  so  applied, 

His  venom  in  ellect  is  puritied. 

Then  for  lliy  husband  and  thy  cliildren's  sake. 
Tender  my  suit:  bequeath  not  to  their  lot 
The  shame  that  from  them  no  device  can  take, 
The  blemish  that  will  never  be  Ibrgot ; 
Worse  than  a  slavish  wipe,  or  birth-hour  s  blot: 
VoT  marks  descried  in  men's  nativity 
Are  nature's  faults,  not  their  own  infamy." 

Here  with  a  cockatrice'  dead-killing  eye. 

He  rouseth  up  himself,  and  makes  a  pause. 

While  she,  the  picture  of  pure  piety. 

Like  a  white  hind  under  the  grype's  sharp  claws. 

Pleads  in  a  wilderness,  where  are  no  laws. 

To  the  rough  beast  that  knows  no  gentle  right. 
Nor  aught  obeys  but  his  foul  appetite: 

Look,  when  a  black-faced  cloud   the  world  doth 

tlircat. 
In  his  dim  mist  the  aspiring  mountains  hiding, 
From  earth's  dark  womb  some  gentle  gust  doth  get. 
Which  blows  these  pitchy  vapors  tiom  their  biding. 
Hindering  their  present  lirll  by  tliis  dividing; 
So  his  unhallow'd  haste  her  words  delays. 
And  moody  I'luto  winlcs  while  Orpheus  plays. 

Yet,  Ibul  nighf^waking  cat,  lie  dolh  but  dally. 
While  in  his  holdliist  loot  the  weak  mouse  jwnteth; 
Her  sad  behavior  li?eds  his  vulture  folly, 
A  swallowing  gulf  that  even  in  plenty  wanteth  : 
His  ear  her  prayers  admits,  but  liis  heart  granteth 
No  penetrable  entrance  to  her  plaining  : 
Tears  harden  lust,  though   marble   wear  with 
raining. 

Her  pity-pleading  eyes  .are  sadly  fixed 
In  the  remorseless  wrinkles  of  his  liice; 
Her  modest  eloquence  with  sighs  is  mixed, 
VVhieh  to  her  oratory  adds  more  grace. 
She  puts  the  period  often  from  his  place. 
And  'midst  the  sentence  so  her  accent  breaks. 
That  twice  she  dolh  begin  ere  once  she  speaks. 


She  c.'injures  him  by  high  almighty  Jove,    ^ 
l!y  knighthood,  gentry, and  sweet  friendship  s  oath 
liy  her  untimely  tears,  her  husband  s  love, 
liv  holy  human  laws,  and  common  troth. 
By  heaven  and  earth,  and  all  the  power  of  both. 
That  to  His  borrow'd  bed  he  make  retire, 
And  stoop  to  honor,  not  to  Ibul  desire. 

Quoth  she,  "  reward  not  hospitality 
With  such  black  payment  as  thou  hast  pretended; 
Mud  not  the  tbuntain  that  gave  drink  to  thee  ; 
Mar  not  the  tiling  that  cannot  be  amended; 
End  thy  ill  aim.  belbre  thy  shoot  be  end>'d : 

Ho  is  no  woodman  that  doth  bend  his  bow 

To  strike  a  poor  unseasonable  doe. 

My  husband  is  thy  friend,  for  his  sake  spare  me; 

Thyself  art  mighty,  for  thine  own  sake  leave  me; 

Myself  a  weakling,  do  not  then  ensnare  me; 

Thou  look'st  not  like  deceit;  do  not  deceive  nic  ; 

My  sighs,  like  whirlwinds,  labor  hence  to  heave 
thee.  , 

If  ever  man  were  mov'd  with  woman  s  moans, 
Be  moved  with  my  tears,  my  sighs,  my  groans: 

All  which  together,  like  a  troubled  ocean, 
Beat  at  thy  rocky  and  wreck-threatening  heart. 
To  solien  it  with  their  continual  motion  ; 
For  stones  dissolv'd  to  water  do  convert. 
0.  if  no  harder  than  a  stone  thou  art. 

Melt  at  my  tears  and  be  compassionate  ! 

Soil  pity  enters  at  an  iron  gale. 

In  Tarquin's  likeness  I  did  entertain  liiee: 
Hast  thou  put  on  his  shape  to  do  him  shamel 
To  all  the  host  of  heaven  I  complain  nie. 
Thou  wrong'st  his   honor,  wound'st  his  princely 

name. 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  seem  st;  and  if  the  same 

Thou  seem'sl  not  what  thou  art,  a  god, a  king; 

For  kings  like  gods  should  govern  every  thing. 

How  will  thy  shame  be  seeded  in  thine  age. 
When  thus  thy  vices  bud  belore  Ihy  sjiring! 
If  in  thy  hope  thou  dar'st  do  sueli  outrage. 
What  dar'st  thou  not  when  once  thouart  a  king! 
O  be  remember'd  no  outrageous  thing 

From  vassal  actors  can  be  wiped  away ; 

Then  kings'  misdeeds  cannot  be  hid  in  clay. 

This  deed  will  make  thee  only  lov'd  for  fear. 
But  happy  monarchs  still  are  fear'd  lor  love: 
With  Ibul  oH'enders  thou  perforce  must  bear, 
When  they  in  thee  the  like  ollences  prove : 
If  but  lor  It'ar  of  this  Ihy  will  remove; 
For  princes  are  the  glass,  the  school,  the  book. 
Where  subjects'  eyes  do  learn,  do  read,  do  look. 

And  wilt  thou  be  the  school  where  Lustshall  learn  ! 

Must  he  in  thee  read  lectures  of  such  shame! 

Will  thou  be  glass,  wherein  it  shall  discern 

Autiiority  for  sin,  warrant  for  blame. 

To  privilege  dishonor  in  thy  name ! 
Thou  back'st  reproach  against  long-lived  laud. 
And  mak'st  liiir  reputation  but  a  bawd. 

Hast  thou  command?  by  him  that  gave  it  thee. 
From  a  pure  heart  command  thy  rebel  will : 
Draw  not  thy  sword  to  guard  iniquity. 
For  it  was  lent  thee  all  thai  brood  to  kill. 
Thy  princely  odiee  how  canst  thou  fulfil. 
When,  pattern'd  by  thy  fault,  Ibul  Sin  may  say. 
He  learn'd  to  sin,  and  thou  didst  teach  the'  way  ! 

Think  but  how  vile  a  spectacle  it  were 
To  view  thy  present  trespass  in  another: 
Men's  faults  do  seldom  to  themselves  appear; 
Their  own  transgressions  partially  they  smother: 
This  guilt  would  seem  death-worthy  in  thy  brother. 
O  how  are  thev  wraj'p'd  in  with  infamies. 
That  from  tlieir  own  misdeeds  askaunce   their 
eyes  ! 

To  thee,  to  thee,  my  heav'd-up  h,inds  appeal, 

Not  to  seducing  lusl,  thy  rash  reher; 

1  sue  for  exil'd  majesty's  repeal ; 

Let  him  return,  aiid  llatlering  thoughts  retire  : 

His  true  respect  will  'prison  iiilse  desire. 

And  wipe  the  dim  mist  from  thy  doling  eyne. 

That  thou  shall  see  thy  state,  and  pity  mine." 

"  Have  done,"  quoth  he;  "my  uncontrolled  tide 
Turns  not.  but  swells  the  higher  by  this  let. 
Small  lights  are  soon  blown  out,  huge  fires  abide, 


rss 


THE  RAPE   OF  LUCRECE. 


And  with  the  wind  in  greater  fury  fret: 
The  petty  streams  that  jiay  a  daily  detit 
To  their  salt  sovereign,  witlitlicir  fresh  tails' haste, 
Add  to  his  flow,  but  alter  not  his  taste." 

"Thou  art,"  quoth  she,  "a  sea,  a  sovereign  king; 
And  lo,  there  talis  into  thy  boundless  Hood 
lllack  lust,  dishonor,  shame,  misgoverning. 
Who  seek  to  stain  the  ocean  of  thy  blood. 
If  all  these  petty  ills  shall  change  thy  good. 
Thy  sea  within  a  puddle's  womb  is  hersed, 
And  not  the  puddle  in  thy  sea  dispersed. 

So  shall  these  slaves  be  king,  and  thou  their  slave ; 

Thou  nobly  base,  they  basely  dignihed; 

Thou  their  fair  life,  and  they  thy  fouler  grave; 

Thou  loathed  in  their  shame,  they  in  thy  pride; 

The  lesser  thing  should  not  the  greater  hide; 
The  cedar  stoops  not  to  the  base  shrub's  tijot, 
But  low  shrubs  wither  at  the  cedar's  root. 

So  let  thy  thoughts,  low  vassals  to  tliy  state" — 
"No  more,"  quoth  he,  "  by  heaven,  1  will  not  hear 

thee : 
Yield  to  my  lo/e;  if  not,  enforced  hate, 
instead  of  love's  coy  touch,  shall  rudely  tear  thee; 
That  done,  despitefully  I  mean  to  bear  thee 
Unto  the  base  bed  of  some  rascal  groom. 
To  be  thy  partner  in  this  shameful  doom." 

Thus  said,  he  sets  the  foot  upon  the  light, 
For  light  and  lust  are  deadly  enemies  : 
Shame  folded  up  in  blind  concealing  night. 
When  most  unseeii,  then  most  doth  tyrannize. 
The  wolf  hath  seiz'd  his  prey,  the  poor  lamb  cries. 
Till  with  her  own  whi  to  lleeee  her  voice  controUd 
Entombs  her  outcry  in  her  lips'  sweet  Ibid  : 

For  with  the  nightly  linen  that  she  wears 
lie  pens  her  piteous  clamors  in  her  head  ; 
Cooling  his  hot  foce  in  the  chastest  tears 
That  ever  modest  eyes  with  sorrow  shed. 
O,  that  prone  lust  should  stain  so  pure  a  bed! 
The  spots  whereof  could  weeping  purify. 
Her  tears  should  drop  on  them  perpetually. 

But  she  hath  lost  a  dearer  thing  than  life. 
And  he  hath  won  what  he  would  lose  aKain. 
This  forced  league  doth  force  a  further  sinic, 
This  momentary  joy  breeds  months  of  pain. 
This  hot  desire  converts  to  cold  disdain: 
I'ure  Chastity  is  rilled  of  her  store. 
And  Lust,  the  thief,  far  poorer  than  before. 

Look  as  the  full-fed  hound  or  gorged  hawk, 
Unapt  lor  tender  smell  or  speedy  flight. 
Make  slow  pursuit,  or  altogether  balk 
The  prey  wherein  by  nature  they  delight; 
So  sur/tMt-taking  Tarquin  fares  this  night: 
His  taste  delicious,  in  diiiestion  souring. 
Devours  his  will  that  liv'd  by  foul  devouring. 

O  deeper  sin  than  bottomless  conceit 

Can  comprehend  in  still  imagination  ! 

Drunken  desire  must  vomit  his  receipt. 

Ere  he  can  see  his  own  abomination. 

VVIiilc  lust  is  in  his  pride,  no  exclamation 
Can  curb  his  heat,  or  rein  his  rash  desire, 
Till,  like  a  jade,  self-will  himself  doth  tire. 

And  then  with  lank  and  lean  discolor'd  cheek. 
With  heavy  eye,  knit  brow,  and  strcngthless  pace, 
Keeble  desire,  all  recreant,  poor,  and  meek. 
Like  to  a  bankrupt  beggar  wails  his  case  : 
The  tlesh  being  proud,  desire  dolh  fight  with  grace. 
For  there  it  revels ;  and  when  that  decays, 
The  guilty  rebel  for  remission  prays. 

So  fares  it  with  this  faultful  lord  of  Rome, 
Who  this  accomplishment  so  hotly  chased  ; 
For  now  against  himself  he  sounds  this  doom. 
That  through  the  length  of  limes  he  stands  dis- 
graced : 
Besides,  his  soul'."  fair  temple  is  defaced  ; 
To  whose  weak  ruin  muster  troops  of  cares, 
To  ask  the  spotted  princess  how  she  fares. 

She  says,  her  subjects  with  foul  insurrection 
llaVe  batter  d  down  her  consecrated  wall 
And  by  their  mortal  fault  brought  in  subjection 
Her  immorlality,  and  make  her  thrall 
To  living  death,  and  pain  perpetual : 
Which  in  her  prescience  she  controlled  still 
Hut  her  foresight  cculd  not  forestall  their  will. 


Even  in  this  thought  through   the  dark  night  In 

stealeth, 
A  captive  victor  that  hath  lost  in  gain  ; 
Hearing  away  the  wound  that  nothing  hcaleth, 
The  scar  that  will,  despite  of  cure,  remain. 
Leaving  his  spoil  perplex'd  in  greater  pain. 
She  bears  the  load  of  lust  he  lell  behind, 
And  he  the  burthen  of  a  guilty  mind. 

He  like  a  thievish  dog  creeps  sadlj^  thence ; 
She  like  a  wearied  lamb  lies  panting  there: 
He  scowls,  and  hates  himself  lor  his  otience, 
She,  desperate,  with  her  nails  her  llesh  doth  tear; 
He  faintly  flies,  sweating  with  guilty  tear; 

She  stays,  exclaiming  on  the  ilirel'ul  night ; 

He  runs,  and  chides  his  vanish'd,  loath'd  delight 

He  thence  departs  a  heavy  ^onvertite. 
She  there  remains  a  hopeless  castaway; 
lie  in  his  speed  looks  lor  the  morning  light; 
She  prays  she  never  may  behold  the  day: 
"  For  day,"  quoth  she, "  n'ight'sscapcs  doth  openlay 
And  my  true  eyes  have  never  practis'd  how 
To  cloak  oilences  with  a  cunning  brow.     ■ 

They  think  not  but  that  every  eye  can  see 
The  same  disgrace  which  they  themselves  behold, 
And  therefore  would  they  still  in  darkness  be, 
To  have  their  unseen  sin  remain  untold ; 
For  they  their  guilt  with  wec))iiig  will  unfold. 
And  grave,  like  water,  that  doth  eat  in  steel. 
Upon  my  cheeks  what  helpless  shame  I  feel." 

PJere  she  exclaims  against  repose  and  rest, 
And  bids  her  eyes  hereafter  still  be  blind. 
She  wakes  her  heart  by  beating  on  her  breast. 
And  bids  it  leap  from  iheiice,  where  it  may  And 
Some  purer  chest,  to  close  so  pure  a  mind. 
Frantic  with  grief  thus  breathes  she  forth  her  spite 
Against  the  unseen  secrecy  of  night: 

"O  comfort-killing  night,  image  of  hell! 

Dim  register  and  notary  of  shame  ! 

Black  stage  for  tragedies  and  murders  fell ! 

\'ast  sin-concealing  chaos!  nurse  of  blame  '. 

Blind  muflled  bawd!  dark  harbor  for  defame! 
Cum  cave  of  death,  whispering  consjiiralor 
With  close-tongucd  treason  and  the  ravishcr! 

O  hateful,  vaporous,  and  foggy  night. 
Since  thou  art  guilty  of  my  cureless  crime. 
Muster  thy  mists  to  meet  the  eastern  light. 
Make  war  against  proportion'd  course  ol'timc! 
(Jr  if  thou  wilt  permit  the  sun  to  climb 
His  wonted  height,  yet  ere  he  go  to  bed. 
Knit  poisonous  clouds  about  his  golden  head. 

With  rotten  damps  ravish  the  morning  air; 
Let  their  exhal'd  unwholesome  breaths  make  sick 
The  life  of  purity,  the  supreme  fair. 
Ere  he  arrive  his  weary  noon-tide  j>rick;S 
And  let  thy  misty  vapors  march  so  thick. 
That  in  their  smoky  ranks  his  smother'd  light 
Way  set  at  noon,  aiid  make  jicrpetual  night. 

Were  Tarquin  night,  (as  he  is  but  night's  child,) 
The  siher-shiniiig  queen  he  would, distain; 
Her  tuinkliuLC  handmaids  too,  by  him  delil'd. 
Through  night's  black  bosom  should  not  peep  again; 
So  should  I  have  copartners  in  my  pain: 
And  fellowship  in  woe  doth  woe  .assuage. 
As  palmers'  chat  makes  short  their  pilgrimage. 

Where'  now  I  have  no  one  to  blush  with  me. 
To  cross  their  arms,  and  hang  their  heads  with  mine, 
To  mask  their  brows,  and  hide  their  intiimy; 
But  I  alone  alone  must  sit  and  pine. 
Seasoning  the  earth  with  showers  of  silver  brine. 
Mingling  my  talkwith  tears.my  griefwith  groans, 
Poor  wasting  monuments  of  lasting  moans. 

O  night,  thou  furnace  of  foul-reeking  smoke, 
Let  not  the  jealous  day  behold  that  liice 
Which  underneath  thy  black  all-hiding  cloak 
Immodestly  lies  martyr'd  with  disgrace! 
Keep  still  possession  of  thy  gloomy  place. 
That  all  the  faults  which  in  thy  reign  are  nado 
May  likewise  be  sepulchred  in  thy  shade  ! 

Make  me  not  object  to  the  talc-tell  day ! 
The  night  will  show,  charijcler'd  in  my  brow. 
The  story  of  sweet  chastity's  decay. 
The  impious  breach  of  holy  wedlock  vow: 
•  The  point  of  noon.  »  \Vheri«s- 


THE  RAPE  OF  LUCRECE. 


780 


Fea,  the  illiterate,  that  know  not  how 
To  'cipher  what  is  writ  in  learned  books, 
Will  quote  my  loathsome  trespass  in  my  looks. 

The  nurse,  to  still  her  child,  will  tell  my  story. 
And  fright  her  crying  babe  with  Tarquin's  name; 
Tlie  orator,  to  deck  his  oratory. 
Will  couple  my  reproach  to  Tarquin's  shame: 
Feast-tinding  minstrels,  tuning  my  defame, 
Will  tie  the  hearers  to  attend  each  line. 
How  Tarquin  wronged  me,  1  Collatine. 

Let  my  good  name,  that  senseless  reputation, 
>'or  CoUatine's  dear  love  be  kept  unspotted  : 
If  that  be  made  a  tlieme  for  disputation. 
The  branches  of  another  root  are  rotted, 
And  undeserv'd  reproach  to  him  allotted. 
That  is  as  clear  from  tliis  attaint  of  mine, 
As  I,  ere  this,  was  pure  to  Collatine. 

0  unseen  shame  !  invisible  disgrace  ! 
0  unfclt  sore  !  crest-wounding,  private  scar! 
Keproach  is  slamp'd  in  CoUatinus'  tiice, 
And  Tarquin's  eye  may  read  the  mot'  afar, 
How  he  in  peace  is  wounded,  not  in  war. 
Alas,  how  many  bear  such  stiameful  blows. 
Which  not  themselves  but  he  tliat  gives  them 
knows  ! 

If,  Collatine,  thine  honor  lay  in  me. 
From  me  by  strong  assault  it  is  bereft. 
My  honey  lost,  and  I,  a  drone-lilie  bee. 
Have  no  perfection  of  my  summer  lell. 
But  robb'd  and  ransack'd  by  injurious  theft: 
In  thy  weak  hive  a  wandering  wasp  hath  crept. 
And  suck'd  tlie  honey  which  tfiy  chaste  bee  kept. 

Vet  I  am  guilty  of  thy  honor's  wrack; 
Yet  Ibr  thy  honor  did  I  ciiterlaiii  him  ; 
Coming  from  thee,  I  could  not  put  him  batk, 
For  it  had  been  dishonor  to  disdain  him  : 
Besides  of  weariness  he  did  complain  him. 
And  talk'd  of  virtue;— (),  unlook'd  for  evil, 
When  virtue  is  profan'd  In  such  a  devil ! 

Why  should  the  worm  intrude  the  maiden  bud] 
Or  hateful  cuckoos  hatch  in  sparrows'  nests  .' 
Or  toads  infect  fair  fouiils  with  venom  mud  ! 
Or  tyrant  folly  lurk  in  gentle  breasts? 
Or  kings  be  breakers  of  llieir  own  behests? 
But  no  perfection  is  so  absolute. 
That  some  impurity  doth  not  pollute. 

The  aged  man  that  colTers  up  his  gold. 
Is  plagued  with  cramps. and  gouts.and  painful  flts. 
And  scarce  hath  eyes  his  treasure  to  behold, 
But  like  still-pining  Tantalus  he  sits, 
And  useless  barns  the  harvest  of  his  wits; 
Having  no  other  i>!easure  of  his  gain 
But  torment  that  it  cannot  cure  his  pain. 

So  then  he  hath  it  when  he  cannot  use  it. 
And  leaves  it  to  be  master'd  by  his  young. 
Who  in  their  pride  do  presently  abuse  it : 
Their  father  was  too  weak,  and  they  too  strong, 
To  hold  their  cursed-blessed  fortune  long. 
The  sweets  we  wish  lor  turn  to  loathed  sours, 
Even  in  the  moment  that  we  call  them  ours. 

Unruly  blasts  wait  on  the  tender  spring; 
Unwholesome    weeds    take    root    with    precious 

(lowers; 
The  adder  hisses  where  the  sweet  birds  sing ; 
What  virtue  breeds  iniquity  devours : 
We  have  no  good  that  we  can  say  is  ours, 

But  ill-annexed  Opportunity 

Or  kills  his  life,  or  else  his  quality. 

O  Opportunity  !  thy  guilt  is  great : 

'Tis  thou  that  execut'st  the  traitor's  treason  ; 

Thou  set'st  the  wolf  where  he  thelamb  may  get; 

Whoever  plots  the  sin,  thou  point'st  the  season; 

'Tis  thou  that  spurn'st  at  right,  at  law,  at  reason; 
And  in  tliy  shady  cell,  where  none  may  spy  him, 
Sits  Sin,  to  seize  the  souls  that  wander  by  him. 

Thou  mak'st  the  vestal  violate  her  oath  ; 

Thou  blow'st  the  fire  wiien  temperance  is  thaw'd; 

Thou  smother'st  honesty,  thou  murther'st  troth; 

Thou  foul  abettor!  Ihou  notorious  bawd! 

Thou  plantest  scandal,  and  displacest  laud : 
Thou  ravisher,  thou  traitor,  thou  firlse  thief, 
Thy  honey  turns  to  gall,  thy  joy  to  grief! 
'  JIutto. 


Thy  secret  pleasure  turns  to  open  shame, 

Thy  private  feasting  to  a  public  fast; 

Thy  smoothing  titles  to  a  ragged  name; 

Thy  sugar'd  tongue  to  bitter  wormwood  taste : 

Tiiy  violent  vanities  can  never  last. 
How  comes  it,  then,  vile  Opportunity 
Being  so  bad,  such  numbers  seek  for  thee  ? 

When  wilt  thou  be  the  humble  suppliant's  friend, 
And  bring  him  wiiere  his  suit  may  be  obtain'd  1 
When  wilt  tliou  sort  an  hour  great  strifes  to  end  ? 
Or  free  that  soul  which  wretchedness  hath  ehain'd] 
Give  physic  to  the  sick,  ease  to  the  pain'd  ! 
The  poor, lame,  blind,  halt,  creep, cry  out  for  thee, 
But  [hey  ne'er  meet  with  Opportunity. 

The  patient  dies  while  the  physician  sleeps; 

The  orphan  pines  while  the  oppressor  feeds; 

Justice  is  li'asting  while  the  widow  weeps ; 

Advice  is  sporting  while  infection  breeds; 

Tliou  grant'st  no  time  for  charitable  deeds: 
Wraih.  envy,  treason,  rape,  and  murder's  rages, 
Thy  heinous  hours  wait  on  them  as  their  pages 

When  truth  and  virtue  have  to  do  with  thee, 
A  thousand  crosses  keep  them  from  thy  aid ; 
Tliey  buy  thy  Jiolp  ;  but  Sin  ne'er  gives  a  fee, 
He  gratis  comes;  and  thou  art  well  appay'd 
As  well  to  Ijear  as  grant  what  he  hath  said. 
My  Collatine  would  else  have  come  to  me 
When  Tarquin  did,  but  he  was  stay'd  by  thee. 

Guilty  thou  art  of  murder  and  of  theft; 

Guilty  of  perjury  and  subornation  ; 

Guilty  of  treason,  Ibrgery,  and  shill; 

Guilty  of  incest,  that  abomination: 

An  accessarj-  by  thine  inclination 
To  all  sins  past,  and  all  that  are  to  come. 
From  the  creation  to  the  general  doom. 

Misshajien  Time,  copesmale  of  ugly  night. 
Swill  subtle  jiost,  carrier  of  grisly  care  ; 
Eater  of  youlh,  false  slave  to  false  delight. 
Base  watch  of  woes, sin's  pack-horse,  virtue's  snare; 
Tliou  nursest  all,  and  murtherest  all  that  arc. 

0  hear  me  then,  injurious,  shifting  Time  ! 
Be  guilty  of  my  death,  since  of  my  crime. 

Why  hath  thy  servant.  Opportunity, 
Betray 'd  the  hours  thou  gav'st  me  to  repose? 
Cancell'd  my  Ibrlunes,  and  enchained  me 
To  endless  date  of  never-ending  woes? 
Time's  ollice  is  to  line-  the  hate  of  foes  ; 
To  eat  uj)  errors  by  opinion  bred. 
Not  spend  the  dowry  of  a  lawful  bed. 

Time's  glory  is  to  calm  contending  kings. 
To  unmask  lalsehood.  and  bring  truth  to  light. 
To  stamp  the  seal  ol'  lime  in  aged  things. 
To  wake  the  morn,  and  sentinel  tbe  night, 
To  wrong  the  wronger  till  he  render  right; 
To  ruinate  proud  buildings  with  thy  hours. 
And  siiu^ar  with    dust    their  glittering  golden 
towers: 

To  fill  with  worm-holes  stately  monuments. 
To  feed  oblivion  with  decay  of  things. 
To  blot  old  books,  and  alter  their  contents. 
To  pluck  the  quills  li^om  ancient  ravens'  wings. 
To  dry  the  old  oak's  sap,  and  cherish  springs  ;3 
To  spoil  antiquilies  of  haininer'd  steel. 
And  turn  the  giddy  round  of  Fortune's  wheel: 

To  show  the  beldame  daughters  of  her  daughter. 
To  make  the  child  a  man,  tlie  man  a  child. 
To  slay  the  tiger  lliat  doth  live  by  slaughter. 
To  tame  the  unicorn  and  lion  wild  ; 
To  mork  tin-  subtle,  in  Ihemselves  beguil'd  ; 
To  cheer  the  plougJiman  with  increaseful  crops, 
And  waste  huge  stones  with  little  water-drox^s. 

Why  work'st  thou  mischief  in  thy  pilgrimage. 
Unless  Ihou  could'st  return  lo  make  amends  ? 
One  poor  retiring  minute  in  an  age 
Would  purchase  thee  a  thou.sand  thousand  friends, 
Lending  him  wit,  that  to  bad  debtors  lends  : 
0,  this  dread  night,  would'st  thou  one  hour  come 
back, 

1  could  prevent  this  storm,  and  shun  this  wrack! 

Thou  ceaseless  lackey  to  eternity. 

With  some  mischance  cross  Tarquin  in  his  flight: 


»  To  biiug  an  end. 


a  Shoots,  saplings. 


790 


THE   RAPE   OF  LUCRECE. 


Devise  extremes  beyond  extremity, 
To  niiike  nim  curse  tliis  cursed  crimeful  night: 
Let  gliastly  shadows  his  lewd  eyes  alfright, 
And  the  dire  thought  ol'liis  committed  evil 
Shape  every  bush  a  hideous  shapeless  devil. 

Disturb  his  hours  of  rest  with  restless  trances, 
Afflict  hiin  in  his  bed  with  bedrid  groans; 
Let  there  bechance  him  pitiful  niischauccs, 
To  malie  liim  moan,  but  pity  not  his  moans  : 
Stone  lumwith  harden'd  hearts,hardcr  than  stones; 
And  let  mild  women  to  hiui  lose  their  mildness, 
Wilder  to  hira  than  tigers  in  tiieir  wilduess. 

Let  him  have  time  to  tear  his  curled  hair. 
Let  him  have  time  against  himself  to  rave. 
Let  him  have  time  of  Time's  help  to  despair; 
Let  him  have  time  to  live  a  loathed  slave, 
Let  hiui  liave  time  a  beggar's  orts  to  crave  ; 
And  time  to  see  one  that  by  alms  dotli  live 
Disdain  to  him  disdained  scraps  to  give. 

Let  him  have  time  to  see  his  friends  his  foes. 
And  uierry  fools  to  mock  at  liim  resort; 
Let  him  have  time  to  mark  how  slow  time  goes 
In  time  nf  sorrow,  and  how  swift  and  short 
His  time  of  folly  and  his  time  of  sport: 
And  ever  let  his  unrecalling  crime 
Have  time  to  wail  tlie  abusing  of  his  time. 

O  Time,  thou  tutor  both  to  good  and  bad, 
Teach  me  to  curse  him  that  lliou  taught'st  this  ill ! 
At  his  own  shadow  let  the  thief  run  juail. 
Himself  himself  seek  every  hour  to  kill ! 
Such  wretched  hands  such  wretched  blood  should 
spill: 
For  who  so  base  would  such  an  office  have 
As  slanderous  death's-man  to  so  base  a  slave ! 

The  baser  is  he,  coming  from  a  king. 
To  shame  his  hope  with  deeds  degenerate. 
The  miglitier  man,  the  mightier  is  the  thing 
That  makes  him  honor'd,  or  begets  him  hate: 
For  greatest  scandal  waits  on  greatest  state. 
The  moon  being  clouded  presently  is  miss'd. 
But  little  stars  may  hide  them  when  they  list. 

The  crow  may  bathe  his  coal-black  wings  in  mire. 
And  unperceiv'd  Ily  with  the  tilth  away, 
Hut  it  the  like  the  snow-white  swan  desire, 
The  stain  upon  his  silver  down  will  stay. 
Poor  grooms  are  sightless  night,  kings  glorious  day. 
(Juats  are  unnoted  wheroso'er  they  ily. 
But  eagles  gaz'd  upon  with  every  eye. 

Out,  idle  words,  servants  to  shallow  fools  ! 

Unjirolitahle  sounds,  weak  arbitrators  ! 

Busy  yourselves  in  skill-contending  schools. 

Debate  where  leisure  serves  with  dull  debaters; 

To  trembling  clients  be  you  mediators : 
For  nie,  I  force  not  argument  a  straw. 
Since  that  my  case  is  past  the  help  of  law. 

In  vain  I  rail  at  Opportunity, 

At  Time,  at  Tarquin,  and  uncheerful  night; 

In  vain  1  cavil  with  my  infamy. 

In  vain  1  spurn  at  my  conlirm'd  despite : 

This  helpless  smoke  of  words  doth  me  no  right. 

The  remedy  indeed  to  do  me  good. 

Is  to  let  forth  my  foul,  dehled  blood. 

Poor  hand,  why  quiver'st  thou  at  this  decree  1 

Honor  thyself  to  rid  me  of  this  shame; 

For  if  I  die  my  honor  lives  in  thee, 

liut  if  I  live,  thou  liv'st  in  my  defame: 

.Sinre  thou  couldst  not  defend  thy  loyal  dame, 
And  was  afeard  to  scratch  her'wic'ked  liie. 
Kill  both  thyself  and  her  for  yielding  so." 

This  said,  from  her  betumbled  couch  she  starteth, 
To  hnd  some  desperate  instrument  of  death  : 
Hot  tliis  no-slaughter-house  no  tool  iinparlelh. 
To  make  more  vent  (or  passage  of  her  breath. 
Which  thronging  through  her  lips  so  vanisheth 
As  smoke  from  TEtna,  that  in  air  consumes. 
Or  that  which  from  discharged  cannon  fumes. 

'  In  vain,"  (|uoth  she,  "  I  live,  and  seek  in  vain 
Some  happy  mean  to  end  a  hajjless  life. 
I  fear'd  by  Tarquin's  ildcluon  to  bo  slain. 
Yet  for  the  self-same  purjiose  seek  a  kriitc: 
But  when  I  fear'd  1  was  a  loyal  wife; 

So  am  I  now:— O  no,  I  bat  cannot  be; 

(If  that  true  type  hath  Tarquin  rifled  mo. 


0  !  that  is  gone  for  which  I  sought  to  livo, 
And  the  -efore  now  I  need  not  fear  to  die. 
To  clear  this  spot  by  death,  at  least  I  give 
A  badge  of  fame  to  slander's  livery; 

A  dying  life  to  living  infamy; 
Poor  helpless  help,  the  treasure  stolen  away. 
To  burn  the  guiltless  casket  where  it  lay  1 

Well,  well,  dear  CoUatine,  thou  shall  not  know 
The  stained  taste  of  violated  troth; 

1  will  not  wrong  thy  true  affection  so 
To  flatter  thee  with  an  infringed  oath; 

This  bastard  grafl'shall  never  come  to  growth: 
He  shall  not  boast  who  did  thy  stock  pollute 
That  thou  art  doting  father  of  his  fruit. 

Nor  shall  he  smile  at  tlice  in  secret  thought. 
Nor  laugh  with  his  companions  at  thy  state; 
But  thou  shalt  know  thy  interest  was  not  bought 
Basely  with  gold,  but  stolen  from  forth  thy  gate. 
For  me,  I  am  the  mistress  of  my  fife. 
And  with  my  trespass  never  will  dispense, 
Till  life  to  death  acquit  my  forced  olliince. 

I  will  not  poison  thee  with  my  attaint. 
Nor  fold  my  fault  in  cleanly-coin'd  excuses.; 
My  sable  ground  of  sin  I  will  not  paint. 
To  liide  the  truth  of  this  false  night's  abuses  : 
My  tcpugue  shall  utter  all ;  mine  eyes  like  sluices, 
As  from  a  mountain-spring  that  feeds  a  dale. 
Shall  gush  pure  streams  to  purge  my  impure 
tale. 

By  this,  lamenting  Philomel  had  ended 
The  well-tun'd  warble  other  nightly  sorrow. 
And  solemn  night  with  slow-sad  gait  descended 
To  ugly  hell;  when  lo,  the  blushing  morrow 
Lends  light  to  all  fair  eves  that  light  will  borrow; 
But  cloudy  Lucreee  shames  herself  lo  see, 
And  therefore  still  in  night  would  cloister'd  be. 

Revealing  day  through  every  cranny  spies. 
And  seems  to  point  her  out  where  she  sits  weeping, 
To  whoin  she  sobbing  speaks :  "  O  eye  of  eyes. 
Why  pry 'st  thou  through  my  window?  leave  thy 

peeping: 
Mock  with  thy  tickling  beams  eyes  that  are  sleep- 
ing:  -^ 

Brand  not  my  forehead  with  thy  piercing  light. 
For  day  hath  nought  to  do  what's  done  by  night." 

Thus  cavils  she  with  every  thing  she  sees : 
True  grief  is  fond  and  testy  as  a  child. 
Who  wayward  once,  his  mood  with  nought  agiees. 
Old  woes,  not  infant  sorrows,  bear  them  mild 
Continuance  tames  the  one  ;  the  otiier  wild,    ' 
Like  an  unpraclis'd  swimmer,  plunging  still 
With  too  much  labor,  drowns  for  want  of  skill. 

So  she,  deep-drenched  in  a  sea  of  care. 

Holds  disputation  with  each  thing  she  views, 

And  to  herself  all  sorrow  doth  compare; 

No  object  but  her  passion's  strength  renews; 

And  as  one  shifts,  another  straight  ensues: 
Sometime  her  grief  is  dumb,  and  halh  no  words: 
Sometime  tis  mad,  and  too  much  talk  alibrds. 

The  little  birds  that  tune  their  morning's  joy 

Make  fier  moans  mad  with  their  sweet  melody. 

For  mirth  doth  search  the  bottom  of  annoy ; 

Sad  souls  are  slain  in  merry  company  ; 

Grief  best  is  pleas'd  with  griefs  society  : 
True  sorrow  then  is  feelingly  sullic'd. 
When  with  like  semblance  it  is  sympathiz'd. 

'Tis  double  death  to  drown  in  ken  of  .shore; 
He  ten  limes  pines  that  pines  beholding  food  ; 
To  see  the  salve  doth  make  the  wound  ache  more: 
Great  grief  grieves  most  at  that  would  do  it  good  • 
Deep  woes  roll  forward  like  a  gentle  flood. 

Who,  being  stopp'd,  the  bounding  banks  o'er- 
llows ; 

Grief  dallied  with  nor  law  nor  limit  knows. 

"  You  mocking  birds,"  quoth  she, "  your  tunes  en- 
tomb 
Within  your  hollow-swclling  feather'd  breasts, 
And  in  my  hearing  be  you  mute  and  dumb! 
(My  restless  di.scord  loves  no  stops  nor  rests; 
A  woeful  hostess  brooks  not  merry  guests:) 
Relish  your  nimble  notes  to  pleasing  ears; 
Distress  likes  dumps-i  when  time  is  kept  with  teais.    • 
*  Mekiucholy  aitfl. 


THE   EAPE   OF   LUCREGE. 


?91 


Come,  PIiiloniL'l,  that  sing'st  of  ravisliment, 
Make  thy  sad  f^rove  in  my  dishovell'd  hair. 
As  tlic  dank  cartli  weeps  at  thy  languishnient, 
So  1  at  eacfi  sad  strain  will  strain  a  tear, 
And  with  dei'i)  groans  the  diapason  bear  : 
For  hurtiicn-wisc  Til  lium  on  Tarquin  still, 
While  thou  on  Tereus  descaiit'st  better  skill. 

And  whiles  against  a  thorn  thou  bear'st  thy  part, 
To  keep  thy  sliarp  woes  waking,  wretched  I, 
To  imitate  thee  well,  against  my  heart 
Will  hx  a  sharp  knife,  to  atl'ri'ght  mine  eye; 
^Vho,  if  it  wink,  shall  thereon  lall  and  die. 
These  means,  as  frets  upon  an  instrument. 
Shall  tune  our  heart-strings  to  true  languish 
ment. 

And  for,  poor  bird,  thou  sing'st  not  in  the  day, 
As-shaming  any  eye  should  thee  behold. 
Some  dark  deep  desert,  seated  from  the  way. 
That  knows  nor  parching  heat  nor  IVeeziHg  cold, 
We  will  lind  out;  and  there  we  will  unlblti 
To  creatures  stern  sad  tunes,  to  change  their 

kinds; 
Since  men  prove  bc.tsts  let  beasts  bear  gentle 
minds." 

As  the  poor  frighted  deer,  that  stands  at  gaze, 
Widly  determining  which  way  to  fly, 
Or  one  encompass'd  'vith  a  winding  maze. 
That  cannot  tread  the  way  out  readily ; 
So  wiih  herself  is  she  in  mutiny, 
To  live  or  die  wiiich  of  the  twain  were  better. 
When   lile    is    shamed,  and  death   Reproach's 
debtor. 

"To  kill  myself," quoth  she,  "alack!  what  wereit, 
But  with  my  body  my  poor  soul's  pollution  ! 
They  that  lose  halt",  with  greater  patience  bear  it 
Than  they  whose  whole  is  swallow'd  in  confusion. 
That  mother  tries  a  merciless  conclusion 

Who,  having  two  sweet  babes,  when  death  takes 
one. 

Will  slay  the  other,  and  be  nurse  to  none. 

My  body  or  my  soul,  which  was  the  dearer  1 
Wiien  the  one  pure,  the  other  made  divine. 
Whose  love  of  either  to  myself  was  nearer! 
When  both  were  kept  for  heaven  and  Collatine. 
All  me  1  the  bark  peel'd  from  the  lolly  pine, 

His  leaves  will  wither,  and  his  sap  decay; 

So  must  my  soul,  her  bark  being  peel'd  away 

Her  house  is  sack'd.  her  quiet  interrupted. 

Her  mansion  batter'd  by  the  enemy  ; 

Her  sacred  temple  spotted,  spoil'd,  corrupted. 

Grossly  engirt  with  daring  infamy  : 

Then  let  it  not  be  call'd  impiety 
If  in  this  blemish'd  liirt  I  make  some  hole, 
Tlirough  which  I  may  convey  this  troubled  sou> 

Yet  die  I  %vill  not  till  my  Collatine 
Have  heard  the  cause  oi'my  untimely  death  ; 
That  ho  may  vow,  in  that  sad  hour  of  mine. 
Revenge  on  him  tliat  made  me  stop  my  breath. 
My  stained  blood  to  Tarquin  I'll  bequeath. 
Which  by  him  tainted,  shall  tor  him  be  spent. 
And  as  his  due,  writ  in  mv  testament. 

My  honor  I'll  bequeath  unto  the  knifn 
That  wounds  my  body  so  dishonored. 
'Tis  honor  to  deprive  dislionor'd  life; 
The  one  will  live,  the  other  being  dead: 
So  of  shame's  ashes  shall  my  fame  be  bred; 
For  in  my  death  I  murtlier  shameful  scorn: 
My  shame  so  do  id,  mine  honor  is  new-boru 

Dear  lord  of  that  dear  jewel  I  have  lost. 
What  legacy  shall  I  bequeath  to  theeT 
My  resolution.  Love,  shall  be  thy  boast. 
By  whose  exami)le  thou  reveng'd  mayst  be. 
How  Tarquin  must  bo  used,  read  it  in  me  : 
Myself,  thy  friend,  will  kill  myself,  thy  foe. 
And,  lt>r  my  sake,  serve  thou  false  Tarquin  so. 

This  brief  abridgment  of  my  will  I  make: 
My  soul  and  body  to  the  skies  and  ground  ; 
My  resolution,  husband,  do  thou  take; 
Mine  honor  be  the  knife's  that  makes  my  wound;  - 
My  shame  be  his  that  did  my  liime  conlimnd  ; 
And  all  my  fame  that  lives  disbursed  be 
To  those  that  live,  and  think  no  shame  of  me. 


Thou.  Collatine,  shall  oversee  this  will ; 
How  was  I  overseen  that  thou  shalt  see  it ! 
My  blood  shall  wash  the  slander  of  mine  ill ; 
My  life's  foul  deed,  my  life's  fair  end  shall  free  it. 
Faint  not.  faint  heart,  but  stoutly  saj',  *  so  be  it.' 

Yield  to  mj"  hand;  my  hand  s'iiall  conquer  thee  . 

Thou  dead,  both  die,  and  both  shall  victors  be." 

This  plot  of  death  when  sadly  she  had  laid. 
And  wiped  the  brinish  pearl  from  her  bright  eyes. 
With  untun'd  tongue  she  hoarsely  call'd  iier  inaiii, 
"Whose  swift  oliedience  to  her  mistress  hies  ; 
For  lli-et-wing'd  duty  with  thought's  leathers  flics. 
Poor  Lucrcee'  ciieeks  unto  her  maid  seem  so 
As  winter  meads  when  sun  doth  melt  their  snow. 

Her  mistress  she  doth  give  demure  good-morrow, 
With  soJt-slow  tongue,  true  mark  of  inodcsty, 
And  sorts  a  sad  look  to  her  lady's  sorrow, 
(For  why  1  her  face  wore  sorrow's  livery,) 
But  durst  not  ask  of  her  audaciously 
Why  her  two  suns  were  cloud-eclipsed  so, 
Nor  why  her  fair  cheeks  over-wash 'd  with  woe. 

But  as  the  earth  doth  weep,  the  sun  being  set. 
Each  flower  moisteuM  like  a  melting  eye; 
Even  so  the  maid  with  swelling  drops  gan  wet 
Her  circled  eyne,  enlbreed  by  sympathy 
Of  those  fair  suns,  set  in  her  mistress'  sky, 
Who  in  a  salt-wav'd  ocean  quench  their  light. 
Which  makes  the  maid  weep  like  the  dewy  night. 

A  pretty  while  these  pretty  creatures  stand, 
Like  ivory  conduits  coral  cisterns  tilling: 
One  Justly  weeps;  the  other  takes  in  hand 
No  cause,  but  company,  of  her  drops  spTlling: 
Their  gentle  sex  to  weep  are  often  willing; 
Grieving  themselves  to  guess  at  others'  smarts. 
And  then  they  drown  their  eyes,  or  break  their 
hearts. 

For  men  have  marble,  women  waxen  minds, 
.Vnd  therefore  are  they  I'orm'il  as  marble  will : 
The   weak  oppress'd,  the   impression  of  strange 

kinds 
Is  form'd  in  them  by  force,  by  fraud,  or  skill: 
Then  call  thein  not  the  autbors  of  their  ill. 
No  more  than  wax  shall  be  accounted  evil. 
Wherein  is  stamij'd  the  semblance  of  a  devil. 

Their  smoothness,  like  a  goodly  champaign  plain. 
Lays  open  all  the  little  worms  "that  creep  ; 
In  men,  as  in  a  rough-grown  grove,  remain 
Cave-keeping  evils  that  obscurely  sleep  : 
Through  crystal  walls  each  liltle  mote  will  peep: 

Though  men  can  cover  crimes  with  bold  stern 
looks. 

Poor  women's  faces  are  their  own  faults'  books 

No  man  inveigh  against  the  wither'd  flower, 
lint  chide  rough  wuilcr  that  the  flower  hath  kili'd! 
Not  lliat  devour'd,  but  that  which  doth  devour 
Is  worthy  blame.    0,  let  it  not  be  hild' 
Poor  women's  faults  that  they  are  so  fulliil'd''' 
With  men's  abuses!  those  proud  lords,  to  blame, 
Make  weak-made  women  tenants  to  their  shame. 

The  precedent  whereof  in  Lncrece  view, 
.\ssaird  by  night  with  circum^tanees  strong 
Of  present  death,  and  shame  that  iiilght  ensue 
By  that  her  death,  to  do  her  liushand  wrong: 
Such  danger  to  resistance  did  belong. 

That  dying  liiur  through  all  her  body  spread; 

And  who  caiuiot  abuse  a  body  dead  ! 

By  this,  mild  patience  bid  fair  Lncrece  speak 
To  the  poor  eouiUerleit  of  her  complaining; 
"  My  girl,"  quoth  she,  "  on  what  occasion  liroalc 
Those  tears  from  thee,  that  down  tliy  cheeks  are 

raining  ! 
If  thou  dost  weep  for  grief  of  my  sustaining. 
Know,  gentle  wench,  it  small  avails  my  mood: 
if  tears  could  help,  mine  own  would  do  me  good. 

Put  tell   me,  girl,  when  went"— (and  there  she 

stayed 
Till  after  a  deep  groan)  "  Tarquin  from  hence  V 
"Madam,  ere  I  was  up,"  replied  the  maid, 
"The  more  to  blame  my  sluggard  negligence: 
Yet  with  the  fault  I  thus  far  can  dispense; 
Myself  was  stirring  ere  the  break  of  day. 
And,  ere  I  rose,  wa.s  Tarquin  gone  away. 
•  Hold.  •  (.oni^jletely  filled. 


792 


THE   KAPE   OF   LUCRECE. 


But,  lady,  if  your  mnid  may  be  so  bold. 

She  would  request  to  know  your  hcavinrss." 

"  O  peace  !"  quotli  Lucrcce  ;  "  if  it  should  be  told, 

The  repetition  cannot  make  it  less; 

For  more  it  is  than  I  can  well  express: 

And  tiiut  deep  torture  may  be  callVl  a  hell, 
When  more  is  lelt  than  one  halh  power  to  tell. 

Go,  get  me  hither  paper,  ink,  and  pen — 
Yet  save  that  labor,  for  I  have  them  here. 
VViiat  should  I  say  1 — One  of  my  husband's  men 
Bid  thou  be  ready,  by  and  by,  to  bear 
A  letter  to  my  lord,  my  love,  my  dear ; 
Bid  liim  uiih  speed  prepare  to  carry  it: 
Tbe  cause  craves  haste,  and  it  will  soon  be  writ/' 

Her  maid  is  jrone,  and  she  prepares  to  write, 
First  ]iovprin;<  o'er  the  paper  uilh  her  quill : 
Cnnccit  and  t;r!efan  eai<er  combat  h;^ht; 
What  wit  sc's  down  is  blotted  strai;j;tii  with  will ; 
Th^s  is  t')o  curioiis-^oud,  this  bhuit  and  ill : 
Much  like  a  press  of  people  at  a  door, 
Tliron^  her  inventions,  wliich  shall  be  before. 

At  last  she  thus  beprius:  "Thou  worthy  lord 
Crf  that  unworthy  wile  that  grceteth  thee. 
Health  to  thy  person i  next  vouchsafe  to  allbrd 
[If  ever,  love,  thy  Lucrece  thou  wilt  see) 
Some  present  speed  to  come  and  visit  me: 

So  I  comutend  me  from  our  house  jn  fjrief; 

My  woes  are  tedious,  thout^hmy  words  are  brief." 

Here  folds  slie  up  the  tenor  of  her  woe. 

Her  certain  sorrow  writ  uncertainly. 

By  this  short  schedule  Collatinc  may  know 

Her  grief,  tiut  not  her  jjrief's  true  quality ; 

She  dares  not  thereof  make  discovery. 
Lest  he  should  bold  it  her  own  ^ross  abuse, 
Ere  slie  with  blood  hath  stain'd  her  stain'd  ex- 
cuse. 

Besides,  the  life  and  feeling  of  her  passion 

She  hoards,  to  spend  when  he  is  by  to  hear  her; 

\Vhensii;hfi  and  groans  and  tears  may  grace  the 

lashion 
>f  her  disgrace,  the  better  so  to  clear  her 
From  that  suspicion  which  the  world  might  bear 
her. 
To  shun  this  l)lot,  she  would  not  blot  the  letter 
With  words,  till  action  might  become  them  better. 

To  see  sad  sights  moves  more  than  hear  them  told; 
For  then  the  eye  interprets  to  the  ear 
The  heavy  moUon  that  it  doth  behold, 
When  every  part  a  part  of  woe  doth  bear. 
'Tis  but  a  part  of  sorrow  that  we  hoar: 
Deep  sounds   make  lesser  noise   than  shallow 

fortis. 
And  sorrow  ebbs,  being   blown   with  wind  of 
words. 

Her  letter  now  is  seal'd.  and  on  it  writ, 
''At  Ardea  to  my  lord  with  more  than  haste: 
The  post  attends,  and  she  delivers  it, 
ilhar^iiig  the  sour-Iiiced  groom  to  hie  as  fast 
As  laggnu;  Ibwls  belbre  the  northern  blast. 

Speed  n)ore  than  speed   but  dull  and  slow  she 
deems : 

Extremity  still  urgeth  such  extremes. 

Tlie  homely  villein  court'sies  to  her  low; 
And  blusiung  on  her,  with  a  steadfast  eye 
lleceives  the  scroll,  without  or  yea  or  nn. 
And  (brth  with  bashful  innocence  doth  hie. 
But  they  whose  guilt  within  their  bosoms  lie, 

Imagine  every  eye  beholds  their  blame; 

For  Lucrece  thought  lie  blush'd  to  sec  her  shame; 

When,  silly  groom  !  Ood  wot.  it  was  defect 

ftf  spirit,  life,  and  hold  audacity. 

iSuch  harmless  creatures  have  a  true  respect 

To  lalK  in  deeds,  wliile  others  saucily 

Promise  more  speed,  but  do  it  leisurely: 
Even  so.  this  pallern  of  the  worn-out  age 
PawnM  honest  looks,  but  laid  no  words  to  gage. 

His  kindled  duty  kindled  her  mistrust. 
That  two  rvfi  (irewiti  boih  ihcir  fares  blazed; 
She  thought  he  bhish'<l  as  Knowing  Tarquin's  lust, 
Autl,  lilushiug  with  him,  \\'isily  on  biin  gazed; 
ilrr  earnest  eye  did  titakp  him' more  amazed  : 
The  more  sJie  saw  the  hlood  his  checivs  replenish, 
The  more  she   thought  he  spied  in  lier  some 
blemish. 


But  long  she  thinks  till  he  return  again. 
And  yet  the  duteous  vassal  scarce  is  gone. 
The  weary  time  she  cannot  entertain. 
For  now  "'tis  stale  to  sigh,  to  weep,  and  groan : 
So  woe  hath  wearied  woe,  moan  tired  moan. 
That  she  her  plaints  a  little  while  doth  stay. 
Pausing  for  means  to  mourn  some  newer  way. 

At  last  she  calls  to  mind  where  hangs  a  piece 
of  skilful  painting,  made  for  Priam's  Troj  ; 
Betbre  the  which  is  drawn  the  power  of  Greece, 
For  Helen's  rape  the  city  to  destroy, 
Tlireat'iiiiig  elmid-kissini;  llion  with  annoy; 
Which  the  coumied  jiainter  drew  so  proud. 
As  heaven  (it  seem'd)  to  kiss  the  turrets  bow'J, 

A  thousand  lamentable  objects  there. 
In  scorn  of  Nature,  Art  gave  lifeless  life : 
Many  a  dry  tlrop  scemM  a  weeping  tear. 
Shed  (or  the  slaughtered  husband  by  the  wife. 
The  red  blood  reekM  to  show  the  painter's  strife; 
ATid  dying  eyes  gleaniM  forth  their  ashy  lights, 
Like  dying  coals  burnt  out  in  tedious  nights. 

There  might  you  sec  the  laboring  pioneer 
BegrimM  with  sweat,  and  smeared  all  with  dust; 
And  I'rom  the  towers  of  Troy  there  would  appear 
The  very  eyes  of  men  through   loop-holes  thrust, 
Gazing  upon  the  Greeks  with  little  lust : 
Such  sweet  observance  in  this  work  was  had, 
Tiiat  one  might  see  those  far-olTcyes  look  sad. 

In  great  commanders  grace  atid  majesty 
Vou  might  behold,  triumphing  in  tbeir  faces; 
In  youth,  quick  bearing  and  dexterity; 
And  here  and  there  the  painter  interlaces 
Pale  cowards,  marching  on  with  treiYibling  paces; 
Which  heartless  peasants  did  so  well  resemble. 
That  one  would  swear  he  saw  them  quake  and 
tremt)le. 

In  Ajax  and  Ulysses.  O  what  art 

Of  pbyjiognomy  might  one  behold  ! 

The  face  of  either  'cipher'd  cither's  heart; 

Their  face  their  manners  most  expressly  told: 

In  Ajax'  eyes  blunt  rage  and  rigor  roll'd  ; 
But  the  mild  glance  that  sly  Ulysses  lent 
Show'd  deep  regard  and  smiling  government. 

There  pleading  might  you  see  grave  Neator  stand. 
As  'twere  cncouragir.g  the  Greeks  to  fight; 
Making  such  sober  action  with  his  hand 
That  it  beguil'd  attention,  charm'd  the  sight: 
In  speech,  it  seem'd.  his  beard  all  silver  wliite, 
Wng;;'d  up  and  down,  and  from  his  lips  did  tly 
Thin  winding  breath,  which  puri'U  up  to  the  sky 

About  him  wore  a  press  of  gaping  faces, 
AVhich  seem'd  to  swallow  up  his  sound  advice; 
All  jointly  listening,  but  with  several  graces, 
As  if  some  mermaid  did  their  ears  entice  ; 
Some  high,  some  low,  the  painter  was  so  nice: 
The  scalps  of  many,  almost  hid  behind, 
To  jump  up  higher  seeni'd  to  mock  the  mind. 

Here  one  man's  hand  lean'd  on  another's  head. 

His  nose  being  shadow'd  by  his  neighbor's  ear; 

Here  one  being  throng'd  bears  back,  all  boll'n"  and 
red ; 

Another,  smother'd,  seems  to  pelt  and  swear; 

And  in  their  rage  such  signs  of  rage  they  bear. 
As,  but  for  loss  of  Nestor's  soldeii  words. 
It  seem'd  they  would  debate  vrith  angry  swords. 

For  much  imaginary  work  was  there; 
Conceit  deceitful,  so  compact,  so  kind,^ 
That  lor  Achilles'  image  stood  his  spear, 
Grip'd  in  an  armed  hand;  himself,  behind, 
Was  led  unseen,  save  to  the  eye  of  mind: 

A  hand,  a  (bot,  a  face,  a  leg,  a  head, 

Stood  lor  the  whole  to  be  imagined. 
And  tVom  the  walls  of  strong-besieged  Troy, 
When  their  brave  hope,  bold  Ilector,  mai-ch'd  to 

field. 
Stood  many  Trojan  mothers,  sharing  joy 
To  see  their  youthful  sons  btight  weaj)ons  wield; 
Ami  (o  their  hope  Ihey  sucn  add  action  yield. 

That  throiiiih  Iheir  light  joy  seemed  to  ap]>ear 

(Like  bright  things  stain'd)  a  kind  of  heavy  fear 

And,  from  the  sirond  of  Dardaii  where  they  fought, 
To  Simois'  reedy  banks  the  red  blood  ran,' 

'Swollen.  ^Natural. 


THE    RAPE   OF   LUCRECE. 


93 


Whose  waves  to  imitate  the  hattle  soiiglit 
With  swelhng  ridges;  and  tlu-ir  ranks  began 
To  breai<  upon  the»f;:ailed  sliore,  and  thans 
.  Retire  again,  till  meeting  greater  ranlis 
Tliey  join,  and  slioot  tlicir  ibam  at  Siniois'  banks. 

To  this  well-painted  piece  is  Lucrece  come, 
To  find  a  liicc  where  all  distress  is  stel'd. 
Many  she  sees  wliere  cares  have  carved  some, 
liut  none  where  all  distress  and  dolor  dwell'd, 
Till  she  despairing  Hecuba  beheld 
Staring  on  Priam's  wounds  with  her  old  eyes, 
Which  bleeding  under  Pyrrhus'  proud  foot  lies. 

In  her  the  painter  had  anatomiz'd 
Time'sruin,  beauty's  wrack,  and  grim  care's  reig-n ; 
Her  cheeks  with  chaps  and  wrinkles  were  disguis'd; 
01' what  she  was  no  semblance  did  remain  : 
Her  blue  blood,  chang'd  to  black  in  every  vein. 

Wanting  the  spring  that  those  shrunk  pipes  had 
led, 

Shovv'd  life  imprison'd  in  a  body  dead. 

On  this  sad  shadow  Lucrece  spends  her  eyes. 
And  sliapes  her  sorrow  to  the  beldame's  woes. 
Who  nothing  wants  to  answer  her  but  cries, 
The  bitter  words  to  ban  her  cruel  foes; 
The  painter  was  no  god  to  lend  her  those; 
And  therefore  Lucrece  swears  he  did  her  wrong, 
To  give  her  so  much  grief,  and  not  a  tongue. 

"Poor  instrument,"  quoth  she,  "without  a  sound, 
I'll  tunc  thy  woes  with  my  lamenting  tongue: 
And  drop  sweet  t)alm  in  Priam's  painted  wound. 
And  rail  on  Pyrrhus  that  hath  done  him  wrong. 
And  with  my  tears  quench  Troy  that  burns  so  long; 
And  with  my  knife  scratch  nut  the  angry  eyes 
Of  all  the  Greeks  that  are  thine  enemies. 

Shew  me  the  strumpet  that  began  this  stir, 
That  with  my  nails  her  beaut\*l  may  tear. 
Thy  heat  of  lust,  fond  Paris,  did  incur 
This  load  of  wrath  that  burning  Troy  doth  bear; 
Thy  eye  kindled  the  tire  that  burnetfi  here : 
And  here  in  Troy,  for  trespass  of  thine  eye. 
The  sire,  the  son,  tile  dame,  and  daughter,  die. 

Why  should  the  private  pleasure  of  some  one 
Become  the  public  plague  of  many  mo  !' 
Let  sin,  alone  committed,  light  alone 
Uj)on  his  head  lluit  hath  transgressed  so. 
Let  guiltless  souls  be  freed  from  guilty  woe: 

For  one's  olli?nce  why  should  so  many  fall. 

To  plague  a  private  sin  in  general ! 

Lo,  here  weeps  Hecuba,  Iiere  Priam  dies. 
Here  manly  Hector  faints,  here  Troilus  swounds; 
Here  friend  by  friend  in  bloody  channel  lies. 
And  friend  to' friend  gives  unadvised  wounds, 
And  one  man's  lust  these  many  lives  confounds: 
Had  doting  Priam  check'd  his  son's  desire, 
Troy  had  been  bright  with  tame,  and  not  with 
lire." 

Here  feelingly  she  weeps  Troy's  painted  woes  : 
For  sorrow,  like  a  heavy  hanging  bell, 
Once  set  on  ringing,  with  his  own  weight  goes ; 
Then  little  strength  rings  out  the  doleful  knell: 
So  Lucrece  set  a-work  sad  tales  doth  tell 
To  penciU'd  pensiveness  and  color'd  sorrow  : 
She  lends  them  words,  and  she  their  looks  doth 
borrow. 

She  throws  her  eyes  about  the  painting,  round. 
And  whom  she  finds  forlorn  she  doth  lament : 
At  last  siie  sees  a  wretched  image  bound. 
That  piteous  looks  to  Phrygian  shepherds  lent; 
His  face,  though  full  of  cares,  jet  sliow'd  content: 
Onward  to  Troy  with  the  blunt  swains  he  goes. 
So  luild  that  Patience  seem'd  to  scorn  his  woes. 

In  him  the  painter  labor'd  wiih  his  skill 
To  hide  deceit,  and  give  the  harmless  show 
An  humble  gait,  calm  looks,  eyes  wailing  still, 
A  brow  unbent,  that  seem'd  to  welcome  woe; 
Cheeks  neither  red  nor  pale,  but  mingled  so 
That  blushing  red  no  guilty  instance  gave. 
Nor  ashy  pale  the  fear  that  false  hearts  have. 

But,  like  a  constant  and  confirmed  devil, 
He  enlertfiiii'd  a  show  so  seeming  just. 
And  therein  so  ensconced  his  secret  evil, 
That  jealousy  itself  could  not  mistrust 

»  Tbeu.  '  More. 


False-creeping  craft  and  perjury  should  thrust 
Into  so  bright  a  day  such  black-iaced  storms. 
Or  blot  with  hell-born  sin  such  saint-like  forms. 

The  well-skill'd  workman  this  mild  image  drew 
For  perjur'd  Sinon,  whose  enchanting  story 
The  credulous  old  Priam  after  slew ; 
Whose  words,  like  wildtire,  burnt  the  shining  glory 
Of  rich-built  Ilion,  that  the  skies  were  sorry, 
And  little  stars  shot  from  their  fixed  places, 
When  their  glass  fell  wherein  they  view'd  their 
faces. 

This  picture  she  advisedly  perus'd. 
And  chid  the  painter  for  fiis  wondrous  skill; 
Saying,  some  shape  in  Sinon's  was  abus'd. 
So  fair  a  Ibrm  lodg'd  not  a  mind  so  ill ; 
And  still  on  him  she  gaz'd,  and  gazing  still. 
Such  signs  of  truth  in  his  plain  face  she  spied, 
That  she  concludes  the  picture  was  belied. 

"It  cannot  be,"  quoth  she,  "that  so  much  guile"— 
(She  would  have  said)  "can  lurk  in  sucn  a  look  ;" 
But  Tarquin's  shape  came  in  her  mind  the  while. 
And  from  her  tongue  "can  lurk"  Irom  "cannot" 

took ; 
"It  cannot  be"  she  in  that  sense  forsook. 
And  turn'd  it  thus:  "  U  cannot  be,  I  rtnd. 
But  such  a  face  should  bear  a  wicked  mind: 

For  even  as  subtle  Sinon  here  is  painted. 
So  sober-sad.  so  weary,  and  so  mild, 
(As  if  with  grief  or  travail  he  had  tainted,) 
To  ine  came  Tarquin  armed;  so  beguird 
With  outward  honesty,  but  yet  delil'd 
With  inward  vice;  as  Priam  him  did  cherish, 
So  did  I  Tarquin  ;  so  my  Troy  did  perish. 

Look,  look,  how  listening  Priam  wets  his  eyes, 

To  sec  those  borrow'd  tears  that  Sinon  sheds. 

Priam,  why  art  thou  old,  and  yet  not  wise  ! 

For  every  tear  he  falls  a  Trojan  bleeds; 

His  eye  drops  lire,  no  water  thence  proceeds: 
Those  round  clear  pearls  of  his  that  move  thy  pity 
Are  balls  of  c|uenchless  tire  to  burn  thy  city. 

Such  devils  steal  effects  from  lightless  hell ; 
For  Sinon  in  his  lire  doth  quake  with  cold, 
And  in  that  cold  hot-burning  tire  doth  dwell; 
These  contraries  such  unity  do  hold 
Only  to  Hatter  tools,  and  make  them  bold  : 
So  Priam's  trust  tiilse  Sinon's  tears  doth  Hatter, 
That  he  liiids  means  to  burn  his  Troy  with  water." 

Here,  all  cnrag'd,  such  passion  her  assails. 
That  patience  is  quite  beaten  from  her  breast. 
She  tears  the  .senseless  Sinon  with  her  nails, 
Comparing  him  to  that  unhappy  guest, 
Whose  deed  hath  made  herself  herself  detest ; 

At  last  she  smilingly  with  this  gives  o'er; 

"Fool!  Ibol!"  quoth  she,  "his  wounds  will  not 
be  .sore." 

Thus  ebbs  and  Hows  the  current  of  her  sorrow. 
And  timcdoth  weary  time  with  her  complaining. 
She  looks  for  night,  Tuul  then  she  longs  for  morrow, 
And  lioth  she  Ihiiiks  loo  long  with  her  remaining; 
Short  time  seems  long  in  sorrow's  sharp  sustainii:g. 

Though  woe  be  heavy  yet  it  seldom  sleeps; 

And  they  that  watch  see  time  how  slow  it  creeps. 

Which  all  this  time  hath  ovcrslipp'd  her  thonght, 
That  she  with  painted  images  hath  spent; 
lieing  from  the  li^^ling  other  own  grief  brought 
By  deep  surmise  of  otiiers'  detriment ; 
Losing  her  woes  in  shows  of  discontent. 
It  easetli  some,  though  none  it  ever  cured. 
To  think  their  dolor  others  have  endur'd. 

But  now  the  mindful  messenger,  come  back. 
Brings  home  his  lord  and  other  company  : 
Who  Hnds  his  Lucrece  clad  in  mourning  black; 
And  round  about  her  tear-distained  eye. 
Blue  circles  stream'd,  like  rainbows  in  the  sky. 
These  water-galls  in  her  dim  element 
Foretell  new  storms  to  those  already  spent. 

Which  when  her  sad-beholding  husband  saw, 

Amazedly  in  her  sad  face  he  stares^: 

Her  eyes,  though  sod  in  tears,  look'd  red  and  raw, 

Her  lively  color  kiU'd  with  deadly  cares. 

He  hath  no  power  to  ask  her  how  she  fares, 


794 


THE   RAPE   OF   LUCRECE. 


But  stood  like  old  acquaintance  in  a  trance, 
Met  iar  froni    home,  wondering    cacli  otiier's 
cliance 

At  last  1)8  takes  her  l>y  the  bloodless  hand, 
And  thus  begins:  "  What  uncouth  ill  event 
Hath  thee  befallen,  that  thou  dost  trembling  standi 
Sweet  love,  what  spite  halh  thy  fair  color  spent? 
Why  art  thou  thus  attir'd  in  discontent  1 
Unm,ask,  dear  dear,  this  moody  heaviness, 
And  tell  thy  grief,  that  we  may  give  redress." 

Three  times  with  sighs  she  gives  her  sorrow  fire 
Ere  once  siie  can  discharge  one  word  of  wo.e: 
At  length  address'd  to  answer  his  desire, 
Slie  modestly  prepares  to  let  them  know 
Her  honor  is  ta'en  prisoner  by  the  foe  ; 
While  Collotine  and  his  consorted  lords 
With  sad  aUcnIion  long  to  hear  her  words. 

And  now  tiiis  pale  swan  in  her  watery  nest 
Begins  the  sad  dirge  ol  her  certain  ending: 
"Few  words,"  quoth  she,  "shall  fit  the  trespass 

best, 
Where  no  excuse  can  give  the  fault  amending ; 
In  me  more  woes  than  words  are  now  dcpendmg; 
And  my  laments  would  be  drawn  out  too  long, 
To  tell  them  all  with  one  poor  tired  tongue. 

Then  be  this  all  the  task  it  hath  to  say : — 
Dear  husband,  in  the  interest  of  thy  bed 
A  stranger  came,  and  on  that  pillow  lay 
Where  thou  wast  wont  to  rest  thy  weary  head; 
And  what  wrong  else  may  be  imagined 
By  foul  enforcement  might  be  done  to  me, 
From  that,  alas  .'  thy  Lucrece  is  not  free. 

For  in  the  drpodful  dead  of  dark  midnight. 
With  shining  falchion  in  my  chamber  came 
A  creeping  creature,  with  a  flaming  light. 
And  sofily  cried,  Awake,  thou  Roman  dame, 
And  entertain  my  love  ;  else  lasting  shame 
On  thee  and  thine  this  night  1  will  iiiiliet, 
If  thou  my  love's  desire  do  contradict. 

For  some  hard-favor'd  groom  of  thine,  quoth  he, 
Unless  thou  yoke  thy  liking  to  my  will, 
I'll  murder  straight,  and  then  I'll  slaughter  thee. 
And  swear  I  found  you  where  you  did  fulfil 
The  loathsome  act  of  lust,  and  so  did  kill 
The  lechers  in  their  deed;  this  act  will  be 
My  fame,  and  thy  perpetual  infamy. 

With  this  I  did  begin  to  start  and  cry. 
And  then  against  my  heart  he  set  his  sword, 
Swearing,  unless  I  took  all  patiently 
I  should  not  live  to  speak  another  word  : 
So  should  my  shame  still  rest  upon  record, 
And  never  be  forgot  in  mighty  Rome 
The  adulterate  death  of  Lucrece  and  her  groom. 

Mine  enemy  was  strong,  my  poor  self  weak, 
And  far  the  weaker  with  so  strong  a  fear; 
My  bloody  judge  forbade  my  tongue  to  speak; 
No  rightful  plea  might  plead  for  .justice  Uiere  : 
His  scarlet  lust  came  evidence  to  swear 
Tliat  my  poor  beauty  had  purloin'd  his  eyes. 
And  when  the  judge  is  robb'd,  the  prisoner  dies. 

0  teach  me  how  to  make  mine  own  excuse ! 

Or,  at  the  least,  this  refuge  let  me  find  ; 

Though  my  gross  blood  be  stain'd  with  this  abuse. 

Immaculate  and  spotless  is  my  mind; 

That  was  not  forced  ;  that  never  was  inclin'd 
To  accessary  yieldings,  but  still  pure 
Doth  in  her  poison'd  closet  yet  endure." 

Lo  here,  the  hopeless  merchant  of  this  loss. 
With  head  declin'd,and  voice  dam m'd  up  with  woe, 
With  s. id-set  eyes,  and  wretched  arms  across, 
From  h\'>  new-waxen  pale  begins  to  blow 
The  griff  away  that  stops  his  answer  so; 

But  wretctied  as  he  is  he  strives  in  vain; 

What  he  breathes  out  his  breath  drinks  up  again. 

As  through  an  arch  the  violent  roaring  tide 
Outruns  the  eye  that  doth  behold  his  haste  ; 
Yet  in  the  eddy  boiindelh  in  his  pride 
Back  to  the  strait  that  lorced  him  on  so  fast; 
In  rage  sent  out,  recall'd  in  rage,  being  past: 
Even  so  he  sighs,  his  sorrows  make  a  saw. 
To  push  grief  on,  and  back  the  same  grief  draw. 


Which  speechless  woe  of  his  poor  she  attendeLh, 
And  his  untimely  frenzy  thus  awaketh: 
"  Dear  lord,  thy  sorrow  to  my  scTrrow  lendeih 
Another  power;  no  flood  by  raining  slaketh; 
My  woe  too  sensible  thy  passion  makelh 
More  feeling-painful:  lut  it  then  sulhce 
To  drown  one  woe,  one  pair  of  weeping  eyes. 

And  for  my  sake,  when  I  might  charm  thee  so. 
For  she  that  was  thy  Lucrece— now  attend  me; 
He  suddenly  revenged  on  my  foe. 
Thine,  mine,  his  own;  suppose  thou  dost  de  lend  mo 
From  what  is  past:  the  help  that  thou  shall  lend  me 

Comes  all  too  late,  yet  let  the  traitor  die; 

For  sparing  justice  feeds  iniquity. 

But  ere  I  name  him,  you,  fair  lords,"  quolh  she, 
(Speaking  to  those  that  came  with  Collatine,) 
"  .^hall  plight  your  honorable  faiths  to  me. 
With  swill  pursuit  to  vcnge  this  wrong  of  mine; 
For  tis  a  meritorious  fair  design 
To  chase  injustice  with  revengeful  arms: 
Knights,  by  their  oaths,  should  right  poor  la- 
dies iiarms." 

At  this  request,  with  noble  disposition 
Each  present  lord  began  to  promise  aid. 
As  bound  in  knighthood  to  her  imposition, 
Longing  to  hear  the  hateful  foe  bewray'd. 
But  she,  that  yet  her  sad  task  hath  not  said, 
The  protestation  stops.    "  0  speak,"  quoth  she, 
"  How  may  this  forced  stain  be  wiped  from  me  1 

What  is  the  quality  of  mine  offence. 

Being  constrain'd  with  dreadful  circumstance? 

.'.lay  my  pure  mind  with  the  foul  act  dispense. 

My  low-declined  honor  to  advance  ! 

May  any  terms  acquit  me  from  this  chance  1 

The  poison'd  fountain  clears  itself  again; 

And  why  not  I  fr»m  this  compelled  stain  ]" 

With  this,  they  all  at  once  began  to  say. 
Her  body's  stain  her  mind  untainted  clears  ; 
While  with  a  joyless  smile  she  turns  away 
The  face,  that  maj)  which  deep  impression  bears 
Ot  hard  misfortune,  carv'd  m  it  with  tears. 
"  No,  no,"  quoth  she,  "  no  dame, hereafter  living, 
By  my  excuse  shall  claim  excuse's  giving." 

Here  with  a  sigh,  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
She  throws  forth  Tarquin'a  name ;  "  He',  he,"  she 

says. 
But  more  than  "he"  her  poor  tongue  could  not 

speak: 
Till  after  many  accents  and  delays. 
Untimely  breathings,  sick  and  short  assays. 
She  utters  this:  ■•  He,  he,  fair  lords,  'tis  he. 
That  guides  this  hand  to  give  this  wound  to  me." 

Even  here  she  sheathed  in  her  harmless  breast 
A  harmful  knife,  that  thence  her  soul  unsheath'd; 
That  blow  did  bail  it  from  the  deep  unrest 
Of  that  polluted  prison  where  it  bieath'd  : 
Her  contrite  sighs  unlo  the  clouds  bequeath'd 
Her  winged  sprite,  and  through  her  wounds  doth 

Life  s  lasting  date  from  cancell'd  destiny. 

Stone-still,  astonish'd  with  this  deadly  deed, 
Stood  Collatine  and  all  his  lordly  crew; 
Till  Lucrece'  father,  that  beholds  her  bleed. 
Himself  on  her  sell-slaughter'd  body  threw; 
And  from  the  purple  liiiintain  Brutus  drew 
The  murderous  knife,  and  as  it  left  the  place 
Her  blood,  in  poor  revenge,  held  it  in  chase ; 

And  bubbling  from  her  breast,  it  doth  divide 
In  two  slow  rivers,  that  the  crimson  blood 
Circles  her  body  in  on  every  side. 
Who  like  a  lato-sack'd  island  vastly  stood 
Bare  and  unpeopled,  in  this  fearful  flood. 
Some  of  her  blood  still  pure  and  red  remain'd. 
And  some  _look'd  black,  and  that  false  Tarquin 
stain'd. 

About  the  mourning  and  congealed  face 
Of  that  black  blood,  a  watery  ruol-  goes. 
Which  seems  to  weep  upon  the  tanned  placa : 
And  ever  since,  as  pitj-ing  Lucrece'  woes. 
Corrupted  blood  some  watery  token  shows; 
Aiui  blood  untainted  still  doth  red  abide, 
Blushing  at  that  which  is  so  putrclied. 
a  Circle. 


SONNETS. 


795 


"  Daughter,  dear  daughter,"  old  Lucretius  cries, 
"  That  life  was  mine  which  thou  hast  here  dcpriv'd. 
If  in  the  child  the  lather';;  image  lies, 
Wliere  shall  I  live  now  Lucrece  is  unliv'd  ? 
Thou  wa-t  not  to  this  end  from  me  deriv'd. 
If  children  predecease  progenitors, 
We  are  their  otispring,  and  they  none  of  ours. 

Poor  hroken  glass,  I  often  did  behold 
In  thy  sweet  semblance  my  old  age  new  born  ; 
But  now  that  fair  fresh  mirror,  dim  and  old, 
Shows  me  a  barebon'd  death  by  time  outworn; 
0,  from  thy  cheeks  my  image  thou  hast  torn! 
And  shi\cr'd  all  the  beauty  of  my  glass, 
That  I  no  more  can  see  what  once  I  was. 

0  time,  cease  thou  thy  course,  and  last  no  longer, 
If  they  surcease  to  be  that  should  survive. 

Shall  rotten  death  make  conquest  of  the  stronger, 
And  leave  the  talterlng  feeble  souls  alive] 
Xlie  old  bees  die,  the  young  possess  their  hive : 
Then  live  sweet  Lucrece,  live  again,  and  see 
Thy  lather  die,  and  not  thy  father  thee  !" 

By  this  starts  Collatine  as  from  a  dream, 
And  bids  Lucretius  give  his  sorrow  place  ; 
And  then  in  key-cold  Lucrece'  bleeding  stream 
lie  falls,  and  bathes  the  pale  fear  in  his  lace, 
And  counterfeits  to  die  witli  her  a  sijat-e  ; 
Till  manly  shame  bids  him  pos*>es.s  his  breath, 
And  live,  to  be  revenged  on  her  death. 

The  deep  vexation  of  his  inward  soul 
Hath  fcerv'd  a  dumb  arrest  upon  his  tongue ; 
Wlio,  mad  that  sorrow  should  his  use  control, 
Or  J'leep  him  from  heart-easing  words  so  long. 
Begins  to  talk;  but  through  his  lijis  do  throng 

Weak  words,  so  thick  come,  in  his  poor  heart's 
aid. 

That  no  man  couM  distinguish  what  he  said. 

yet  sometimes  Tarquin  was  pronounced  plain, 
But  through  his  teeth,  as  if  the  name  he  tore. 
Ttiis  windy  tempest,  till  it  blew  up  rain, 
Held  back  his  sorrow's  tide,  to  make  it  more: 
At  last  it  rains,  and  busy  winds  give  o'er: 
The  son  and  lather  wcej)  with  equal  strife. 
Who  siiould  weep  most  for  daughter  or  for  wife. 

The  one  doth  call  her  his,  the  other  his, 
Vet  neither  may  possess  the  claim  they  lay. 
The  father  says,  "  she's  mine  :"'  "  O  nnne  she  is," 
Replies  her  husband  :  "  Do  not  take  away 
My  sorrow's  interest ;  let  no  mourner  say 
ile  weeps  for  her,  for  she  was  only  mine, 
And  only  must  be  wail'd  by  Collatine," 

"O,"  quoth  Lucretius,  "I  did  give  tliatlife 
Which  she  too  early  and  too  late  hath  spill'd." 
*'  Woe,  woe,"  ouolh  Collatine,  ''she  was  my  wife, 

1  ow'd  her,  and  'tis  mine  that  she  halh  killM." 
"My  daughter"  and  "my  wife"  with  clamors  fiU'd 


The  disners'd  air,  who,  holding  Lucrece'  life. 
Answer  d  their  cries,  "my  daugiiter"  and  "my 
wife." 

Brutus,  who  pluck'd  the  knife  from  Lucrece'  side, 
Seeing  such  emulation  in  their  woe, 
Began  to  clothe  his  wit  in  state  and  pride. 
Burying  in  Lucrece'  wound  his  lolly's  show. 
He  with  the  Romans  was  esteem'd  so 

As  silly  jeering  idiots  are  with  kings. 

For  sportive  words,  and  uttering  Ibolish  things. 

But  now  he  throws  that  shallow  habit  by. 
Wherein  deep  policy  did  him  disguise; 
And  arm'd  his  long-hid  wits  advisedly, 
To  check  the  tears  in  Collatinus' eyes. 
"Thou  wronged  lord  of  Rome,"  quoth  he,  "arise; 
Let  my  unsounded  self,  suppos'd  a  fool. 
Now  set  thy  long  experienced  wit  to  school. 

Why,  Collatine,  is  woe  the  cure  for  woe  ? 

Do  wounds  help  wounds,  or  grief  help  grievous 

deeds ! 
Is  it  revenge  to  give  thyself  a  blow. 
For  his  foul  act  by  whom  thy  lair  wife  bleeds  1 
Such  childish  humor  from  weak  minds  proceeds. 
Thy  wretched  wile  mistook  the  nniUer  so. 
To  slay  herself,  that  should  have  slain  her  foe. 

Courageous  Roman,  do  not  steep  thy  heart 
In  such  relenting  dew  of  lamentations, 
But  kneel  with  me,  and  help  to  bear  thy  part, 
To  rouse  our  Roman  ijods  with  invocations, 
Tliat  they  will  suller  these  abomination^:, 
(Since  Rome  herself  in   them  doth  stand  dis 

graced,) 
By  our  strong  arms  from  forth  her  fiiir  streets 
chased. 

Now,  by  the  Capitol  that  we  adore. 
And  by  this  chaste  blood  so  unjustly  slain'd. 
By  heaven's  fair  sun  that  breeds  tlie  I'atearth'sstore, 
liy  all  our  country  rights  in  Rome  maintain'd. 
And  by  chaste  Lucrece'  soul  tJiat  late  complain'd 
Her  wrongs  to  us,  and  by  this  bloody  knife. 
We  will  revenge  the  death  of  tJiis  true  wife." 

This  said,  he  struck  his  hand  upon  his  breast, 

And  kiss'd  the  fatal  knife  to  end  his  vow; 

And  to  his  protestation  urt^ed  the  rest. 

Who,  wondering  at  him,  did  his  words  allow; 

Tlien  jointly  to  the  ground  their  knees  they  bow. 
And  that  deep  vow  which  Brutus  made  before, 
He  dotli  again  repeat,  and  that  they  swore. 

Wlien  they  had  sworn  to  this  advised  doom. 
They  did  conclude  to  bear  dead  Lucrece  thence ; 
To  show  her  bleeding  body  thorough  Rome, 
And  so  to  publish  Tarquin's  ibul  olfence: 
Which  being  done  with  speedy  diligence. 
The  Romans  plausibly^  did  give  consent 
To  Tarquin's  everlasting  banishment. 
»  With  expressions  of  applause. 


SONNETS. 


FnOM  fairpst  croaturos  wc  dosiro  increase, 
Thut  tluTcLiy  boiiiily's  rose  mi^'lit  never  die, 
Hut  as  the  riper  should  by  time  decease, 
His  lender  iieir  niiRht  hear  liis  memory  : 
Hut  thou,  contracted  to  thine  oivn  bright  eyes, 
Feed'st  thy  lijihl's  llame  with  sell-substantial  fuel, 
MafcinR  a  famine  where  abundance  lies. 
Thyself  thy  foe,  to  thy  sweet  self  too  cruel. 
Tliou  that  art  now  tlie  world's  fresh  ornament. 
And  only  herald  to  the  gaudy  spring, 
Witliin  thine  own  bud  buriest  thy  content, 
ind,  tender  churl,  mak'st  waste  In  niggarding. 


rity  the  -world,  or  else  this  glutton  be. 

To  cat  the  world's  due,  by  the  grave  and  thee. 

II. 

When  forty  winters  shall  besiege  thy  brow, 
And  dig  deep  trenches  in  thy  beauty's  field, 
Thy  youth's  proud  livery,  so  gaz'd  on  now. 
Will  be  a  tattcr'd  weed,  of  small  worth  held: 
Then  being  ask'd  where  all  thy  beauty  lies, 
Where  all  the  treasure  of  thy  lusty  days  ; 
To  say,  within  thine  own  deep-sunken  eycSj 
Were  an  all-eating  shame  and  thrilUcss  praise. 


796 


SONNETS. 


How  much  more  praise  deseiv'd  thy  bcauty*s  use, 
irthou  couldst  answer — "This  fair  cliild  ol  mine 
Shall  sum  my  count,  and  make  my  old  excuse — " 
Proving  liis  beauty  by  succcssiun  "thine  ! 
This  were  to  be  new-made  wJion  tliou  art  old, 
And  see  thy  blood  warm  when  thou  ieel'st  it  cold. 

III. 

Look  in  thy  g:lass,  and  Icll  the  face  thou  viewest, 
Now  IS  the  time  tliat  lace  should  Ibrm  anotlior; 
Whose  iiesh  repair  if  now  tliou  not  rencwcst, 
Thou  dost  beguile  the  world,  unbless  some  mother. 
For  where  is  she  so  lair  whose  unear'd  womb 
Disdains  the  tillage  of  thy  husbandry? 
^r  who  is  he  so  lond  will  be  the  tomb 
Of  his  self-love,  to  stop  posterity  7 
TJiou  art  thy  mother's  glass,  and  she  in  thee 
Calls  hack  the  lovely  April  of  her  prime: 
So  lliou  through  windows  of  thine  a^e  shalt  see, 
Despite  of  wrinkles,  this  thy  golden  time. 
But  if  tJiou  live,  rcmember'd  not  to  be. 
Die  single,  and  thine  image  dies  with  thee. 

IV. 

Unthrifly  loveliness,  why  dost  thou  spend 
Upon  thyself  thy  beauty's  legacy  ! 
Nature's  bequest  gives  nothing,  but  doth  lend, 
And  being  frank  she  lends  to  those  are  free. 
Then,  beauteous  niggard,  why  dost  thou  abuse 
The  bounteous  largess  ^iven  thee  to  give  ] 
Protitless  usurer,  why  dost  thou  use 
So  great  a  sura  of  sums,  yet  canst  not  live? 
For  liaving  trallic  willi  thyself  alone. 
Thou  of  tlij'self  thy  sweet  self  dost  deceive. 
Then  liow,  wlien  nature  calls  tliee  to  be  gone, 
Wliat  acceptable  audit  canst  tlu»u  Ic.wc  1 
The  uiuis'd  beauty  must  be  tomb'd  with  thee, 
Which,  used,  lives  thy  executor  to  bo. 


Those  hours  that  with  gentle  work  did  frame 
Tlie  U>veiy  gaze  wJierc  every  eye  doth  dwell, 
Will  play  the  tyrants  to  tiie  \cry  same, 
And  tliat  unlair  which  lairly  doth  excel; 
For  never-resting  time  leads  summer  on 
To  hideous  winter,  and  confounds  him  there  ; 
Sap  check'd  with  frost,  and  lusty  leaves  quite  gone. 
Beauty  o'ersnow'd,  and  bareness  everywhere: 
Then,  were  not  summer's  distillation  lelt, 
A  liquid  prisoner  pent  in  walls  of  glass, 
Beauty's  ellect  with  beauty  were  ber^jft, 
Nor  it,  nor  no  remembrance  what  it  was. 
But  llowers  distiil'd,  though  they  with  winter 

meet, 
Leese'  but  their  show;  their  substance  still  lives 

sweet. 

VI. 

Then  let  not  winter's  ragged  hand  deface 
In  llice  thy  summer,  ere  thou  be  distiU'd: 
]\Iake  sweet  some  phial ;  treasure  thou  some  place 
With  beauty's  treasure,  ere  it  be  sell-luU'd. 
That  use  is  not  forbidden  usury, 
Which  happies  those  that  pay  the  willing  loan  ; 
That's  tor  thyself  to  breed  another  tJiee, 
Or  ten  times  happier,  be  it  ten  lor  one; 
Ten  times  thj'sclf  were  iiappier  than  tliou  art. 
If  ten  of  thine  ten  times  rehgur'd  thee: 
Then  what  could  dealli  do  if  tJiou  shouldst   de- 
part, 
Leaviuii  thee  living  in  posterity  ? 
Be  not  scU-will'd,  fur  tliou  art  much  too  fair 
To  be  Di'ath  s  conquest,  and  make  worms  thine 
heir. 

VII. 

Lo.  in  the  orient  when  the  gracious  light 
Litis  up  his  burning  head,  each  under  eye 
Dt>th  homage  to  his  new-appearing  sight. 
Serving  with  looks  his  sacred  majesty; 
And  liaving  ciimbM  the  s:eep-up  heavenly  Iiill, 
Hesembling  strong  youth  in  his  middle  age, 
Yet  mortal  looks  adore  his  beauty  still, 
Attending  on  his  golden  pilgrimage  ; 
*  Lose. 


But  when  from  high-most  pitch,  with  weary  car 
Like  feeble  age,  he  reeleth  from  the  day, 
Tlie  eyes,  'lore  duteous,  now  converted  are 
From  his  low  tract,  and  look  another  way  : 
So  thou,  thyself  outgoing  in  thy  noon, 
Unlook'd  on  diest,  unless  tiiou  get  a  son. 

VIII. 

Music  to  hear,  why  hear'st  thou  music  sadly  1 
Sweets  with  sweets  war  not,  joy  delights  in  joy. 
Why  lov'st  thou   tJiat  which  tliou  receiv'st  not 

gladly  \ 
Or  else  receiv  st  with  pleasure  thine  annoy  1 
If  the  true  concord  of  well-tuned  sounds, 
By  unions  married,  do  otlend  thine  ear. 
They  do  but  sweetly  chide  thee,  who  confounds 
In  singleness  the  parts  that  thou  shouldst  bear. 
Mark  how  one  string,  sweet  husband  to  another, 
Strikes  each  in  each  by  mutual  ordering; 
Resembling  sire  and  child  and  happy  mother, 
Who  all  in  one,  one  pleasing  note  do  sing : 

Whose  speechless  song,  being  many,  seeming 
one, 

Sitigs  this  to  thee,"thou  single  wilt  provei<one." 

IX. 

Is  it  for  fear  to  wet  a  widow's  eye 
That  tliou  consum'st  thyself  in  single  life  / 
Ah!  if  thou  issueless  shalt  hap  to  die. 
The  world  will  wail  thee,  like  a  matelesg  vviTt, 
The  world  will  be  thy  widow,  and  still  \tfep 
Tliat  thou  no  form  of  thee  hast  left  behind, 
Wiien  every  private  widow  well  may  keep, 
By  children's  eyes,  her  husband's  sJiape  in  mind. 
Look,  what  an  unthritl  in  the  world  doth  spend 
Shitts  but  his  place,  for  still  the  world  enjoys  it; 
But  beauty's  waste  hath  in  the  world  an  end, 
And  kept  unus'd,  the  user  so  destroys  it. 
No  love  toward  others  in  that  bosom  sits, 
That  on  himself  such  murderous  shame  commits 


For  shame!  deny  that  thou  bear'st  love  to  any, 
WIio  li»r  thyself  art  so  unprovident. 
Grant  if  thou  wilt  tliou  ait  belov'd  of  many. 
But  that  thou  none  lov'st  is  most  evident ; 
For  -thou  art  so  possess'd  with  mm-derons  hate, 
That  'gainst  thyself  thou  stick'st  not  to  conspire, 
Seeking  that  beauteous  roof  to  ruinate. 
Which  to  repair  slmuld  be  thy  cliief  desire. 
O  change  thy  thought,  that  I  may  change  my  mind! 
Shall  hate  be  lairer  lodg'd  tiian  gentle  love! 
Be.  as  thy  presence  is,  gracious  and  kind. 
Or  to  thyself,  at  least,  kind-hearted  prove; 
Make  thee  another  self,  lor  love  of  me, 
Tliat  beauty  still  may  live  in  tliine  or  thee. 

XI. 

As  fast  as  thou  shalt  wane,  so  fast  thou  grow'st 
In  one  of  thine,  from  that  which  thou  departest; 
And  that  fresh  blood  which  youngly  thou  bestovv'st, 
Thou  mayst  call  thine,  when  thou  from  youth  con- 

vertest. 
Herein  lives  wisdom,  beauty,  and  increase; 
Without  this,  lolly,  age,  and  cold  decay  : 
If  all  were  minded  so  tJie  time.-;  should  cease. 
And  threescore  years  would  make  the  world  away. 
Let  those  whom  Nature  hath  not  made  tor  store, 
Harsh,  featureless,  and  rude,  barrenly  perish: 
Look  whom  she  best  endow'd,  she  gave  thee  more; 
Which   bounteous  gilt  thou  shouldst  in   bounty 
cherish; 
She  carv'd  thee  for  her  seal,  and  meant  thereby 
TJiou  shouldst  print  more,  nor  let  that  copy  die 

XII. 

When  I  do  count  the  clock  that  tells  the  time, 
And  see  tlie  brave  day  sunk  in  hideous  night; 
When  1  behold  the  vi'olei  past  prime. 
And  sable  curls  all  sllver'd  o'er  with  white 
When  lolty  trees  I  see  barren  of  leaves, 
Which  erst  from  heat  did  canopy  the  herd, 
And  summer's  green  all  girded  up  in  sheaves. 
Borne  on  the  bier  with  white  and  bristly  beard; 


SONNETS. 


797 


Then  of  lljy  beauty  do  I  question  make, 
That  tijou  anionj;  the  wastes  of  time  must  ?o. 
Since  sweets  and  beauties  do  tliemselves  forsjike, 
And  die  as  liist  as  they  see  others  j^row ; 

And  notliing  'gainst  Time's  scythe  can  make  de- 
Ibnce, 

Save  breed,  to  brave  him  wlien  tie  takes  thee  hence. 

XIII. 

0  tliat  you  were  yourself!  but,  love,  j'ou  are 
No  longer  yours,  than  you  yourself  here  live: 
Against  this  coming  end  you  should  prepare, 
Aiid  your  sweet  semblance  to  some  other  give. 
So  should  that  beauty  whicii  you  hold  in  lease 
Find  iio  determination  :  then  you  were 
Yourself  again,  alter  yourselfs  decease. 
When  your  sweet  issue  your  sweet  form  shall  bear. 
Who  lets  so  fair  a  house  fall  to  decay. 
Which  husbandry  in  honor  might  uphold 
Against  the  stormy  gusts  of  winter's  day, 
And  barren  rage  of  death's  eternal  cold  1 
O  !  none  but  unthriils: — Dear  my  love,  you  know 
You  had  a  liither;  let  your  son  say  so. 

XIV. 

Not  from  the  stars  do  I  my  judgment  pluck, 

And  yet  methinks  I  have  astronomy. 

But  not  to  tell  of  good  or  evil  luck. 

Of  plagues,  of  dearths,  or  season's  qualit}'. 

Nor  can  I  fortune  to  brief  minutes  tell. 

Pointing  to  each  his  thunder,  rain,  and  wind, 

Or  say  with  iirinces  if  it  shall  go  well, 

By  oil  predict  that  I  in  heaven  tind : 

But  from  thine  eyes  my  knowledge  I  derive. 

And  (constant  stars)  in  them  I  read  such  art 

As  truth  and  beauty  shall  together  thrvc. 

If  from  thyself  to  store  thou  wouldst  convert: 

Or  else  of  thee  this  I  prognosticate, 

Tliy  end  is  truth's  and  beauty's  doom  and  date. 

XV. 

When  I  consider  every  thing  that  grows 
Holds  in  perl,  ction  but  a  little  moment. 
That  this  huge  state  presentetii  nought  but  shows 
Whereon  the  stars  in  secret  intlnence  comment; 
When  I  perceive  that  men  as  plants  increase, 
Checr'd  and  check'd  even  by  the  self-same  sky ; 
Vaunt  in  their  youthful  sap,  at  height  decrease, 
And  wear  their  brave  state  out  of  memory; 
Then  the  conceit  of  this  inconstant  stay 
Sets  you  most  rich  in  youth  before  my  sight. 
Where  wasteful  time  dcbatelh  with  decay. 
To  change  your  day  of  youth  to  sullied  night; 
And,  all  in  war  with  Time,  lor  love  of  you, 
As  he  takes  from  you,  1  engraft  you  new. 

XVI. 

But  whercfire  do  not  you  a  mightier  way 
]Wake  war  upon  this  bloody  tyrant.  Time!  * 

And  fortify  yourself  in  your  decay 
With  jiicans  more  blessed  than  :ny  barren  rhyme? 
Now  stand  you  on  the  top  of  liappy  hours; 
And  many  maiden  gardens,  yet  unset. 
With  virt'uous  wish  would  liear  you  living  flowers, 
Much  liker  than  your  painted  counterfeit: 
So  should  the  lines  of  life  that  life  repair. 
Which  this.  Time's  pencil,  or  my  pupil  pen. 
Neither  in  inward  worth,  nor  outward  fair,^ 
Can  make  you  live  yourself  in  eyes  of  men. 

To  give  away  yourself  keeps  yourself  still ; 

And  yon  must  live,  drawn  by  your  own  sweet 
skill. 

XVII. 

Who  will  believe  my  verse  in  time  to  come. 
If  it  were  lili'd  with  your  most  high  deserts'! 
Though  yet.  Heaven  knows,  it  is  but  as  a  tomb 
Which  hides  your  life,  and  shows  not  half  your 

part?. 
If  I  could  write  the  beauty  of  your  eyes. 
And  in  Iresh  numbers  number  all  your  graces. 
The  age  to  come  would  say,  this  poet  lies. 
Such  heavenly  touches,  ne'er  touch'd  earthly  faces. 
So  should  my  papers,  yellow'd  with  their  age. 
Be  scorn'd,  hke  old  men  of  less  truth  than  tongue; 
■>  Bciuty. 


I  And  your  true  rights  be  term'd  a  poet's  rage, 
;   iVnd  stretched  metre  of  an  antique  song: 
I      But  were  some  child  of  yours  alive  that  time. 
You  should  live  twice;— in  it,  and  in  mj  rhyme 

XVIII. 

Shall  I  compare  thee  to  a  summer's  day? 
Thou  art  ni(M'e  lovely  and  more  temperate: 
Rough  winds  do  shake  the  darling  buds  of  May, 
And  summer's  lease  hath  all  too  short  a  date  : 
Sometime  too  hot  the  eye  of  Heaven  shines, 
I  And  often  is  his  gold  complexion  dimm'd; 
And  every  fair  from  liiir  sometime  declines. 
By  chance,  or  nature's  changing  course  untrimm'd; 
But  thy  eternal  summer  shall  hot  liide. 
Nor  lose  possession  of  that  fair  thou  owest ; 
Nor  shall  Death  brag  thou  wander'st  in  his  shade, 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  growest ; 
So  long  as  men  can  breathe,  or  eyes  can  see, 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  lile  to  thee. 

XIX. 

Devouring  Time,  blunt  thou  the  lion's  paws. 
And  make  the  earth  devour  her  own  sweet  brood, 
Pluck  the  keen  teeth  Irom  the  tierce  tiger's  jaws, 
And  burn  the  long-liv'd  phojnix  in  her  blooil; 
Make  glad  and  sorry  seasons,  as  thou  licet'st, 
/*nd  do  whate'er  thou  wilt,  swift-looted  Time, 
To  the  wide  world,  and  all  her  fading  sweets  ; 
But  I  forbid  thee  one  most  heinous  crime  : 
O  carve  not  with  thy  hours  my  love's  liiir  brow 
Nor  draw  no  lines  there  with  thine  antique  pen; 
Him  in  thy  course  untainted  do  allow, 
i'or  beauty's  pattern  to  succeeding  men. 
Yet,  do  thy  worst,  old  Time;  despise  thy  wrong, 
My  love  shall  in  my  verso  ever  live  J  oung. 

XX. 

A  woman's  face,  with  nature's  own  hand  painted, 
Hast  thou,  the  master-mistress  of  my  j'assion; 
A  woman's  gentle  heart,  but  not  acquainted 
With  shitling  change,  as  is  false  women's  liishion; 
An   eye    more    bright   than  theirs,   less    ialse  ill 

rolling. 
Gilding  the  object  whereupon  it  gazeth; 
A  man  in  hue,  all  hues  in  his  controlling, 
Whicli    steals    men's    eyes,  and  women's    souls 

amazeth. 
And  for  a  woman  wert  thou  first  created ; 
Till  nature,  as  she  wrought  thee,  fell  a-doting, 
And  by  addition  me  of  thee  deleated. 
By  adding  one  thing  to  my  purjiose  nothing. 
But  since  she   jiiick'd    thee  out   for  women's 

pleasure. 
Mine  be  thy  lovc,and  thy  love's  use  their  treasure. 

XXI. 

So  is  it  not  with  me  as  with  that  miise, 

Stirr'd  by  a  painted  beauty  to  his  verse; 

Who  heaven  itself  llir  ornament  doth  use. 

And  every  liiir  with  his  Ijiir  doth  rehearse, 

Making  a  coupli'incnt  of  proud  cjiniiare. 

With  sun  and  moon,  with  earth  and   soa's  rich 

gems. 
With  April's  first-born  flowers,  and  all  things  rare 
That  heaven's  air  in  his  huge  rondure'  hems. 
O  let  me,  true  in  love,  but  truly  write. 
And  then  believe  me,  my  love  is  as  fail 
As  any  mother's  child,  tliough  not  so  bright 
As  those  gold  candles  lix'd  in  heaven's  air : 

Let  them  say  more  that  like  of  he.irsay  well; 

I  will  not  praise,  that  purpose  not  to  sell. 

XXII. 

My  glass  shall  not  persuade  me  I  am  old. 
So  long  as  youth  and  thou  are  of  one  date; 
But  when  in  thee  time's  furrows  I  behold. 
Then  look  1  death  my  days  should  expiate. 
For  all  that  beauty  that  doth  cover  thee 
Is  but  the  seemly  raiment  of  ni>-  heart. 
Which  in  thy  breast  doth  live,  as  thine  in  me; 
How  can  I  then  be  elder  than  thou  art ! 
O  theretbre,  love,  be  of  thyself  so  wary 
As  I  not  for  myself  but  for  thee  will ; 
*  Circumference. 


798 


SONNETS. 


Bearing  thy  lieart,  which  I  will  keep  so  chary 
As  tender  iiurse  her  babe  from  taring  ill. 

Presume  not  on  thy  heart  when  mine  is  slain; 

Thougav'st  me  thine,  not  to  give  back  a^^ain. 

XXIIT. 

As  an  imperfect  actor  on  tJie  stage, 

Who  with  his  fear  is  put  beside  his  part. 

Or  ponie  tierce  tiling  replete  with  too  much  rage, 

Whose  strength's  abundance   weakens  his  own 

heart; 
Po  I,  for  tear  of  trust,  forget  to  say 
The  perfect  ceremony  ot  love's  rite, 
And  in  mine  own  love's  strength  seem  to  decay, 
OVrcharg'd  with  burthen  of  mine  own  love's  might. 
0  let  my  booits  be  then  the  eloquence 
And  dumb  presagcrs  of  my  speaking  breast; 
Who  plead  Ibr  love,  and  look  tor  recom pence 
Wore  than  that  tongue  that  more  hatli  more  ex- 
press'd, 
O  learn  to  read  what  silent  love  hath  writ : 
To  hear  with  eyes  belongs  to  love's  tine  wit. 

XXIV. 

Mine  eye  hath  ployM  the  painter,  and  hath  steUM 
TJ.y  beauty's  form'  in  table  of  my  heart; 
Aly  body  is  the  frame  wherein  'tis  held, 
A-iid  perspective  it  is  best  painter's  art. 
For  through  the  painter  you  must  see  his  skill, 
To  lind  where  yonr  true  image  pictur'd  lies, 
\\  hu-h  in  my  bosom's  shop  is  hanging  still. 
That  halh  his  windows  glazed  with  tliiue  eyes. 
Now  see  what  good  turns  eyes  for  eyes  have  done; 
^line  eyes  have  draw-n  thy  shape,  and  thine  for  me 
Are  windows  to  my  breast,  where-through  the  sun 
Delights  to  peep,  to  gaze  therein  on  thee ; 
Yet  eyes  this  cunning  want  to  grace  their  art, 
They  draw  but  what  they  see,  know  not  the  heart. 

XXV. 

Let  thoFc  who  are  m  faVor  with  their  stars, 
Of  public  honor  and  proud  titles  boast, 
Whdst  I,  whom  fortune  of  such  triumph  bars, 
Unlook'd-tbr  joy  in  that  1  lionor  most. 
Great  princes'  liivoritcs  iheir  lair  leaves  spread 
But  as  the  marigold  at  the  sun's  eye  ; 
And  in  themselves  their  pride  lies  buried, 
For  at  a  frown  they  in  their  glory  die. 
The  painful  warrior  famoused  tor  tight, 
Alter  a  thousand  victories  once  foil'd. 
Is  trom  the  book  of  lionor  razed  quite. 
And  all  the  rest  forgot  for  which  he  toil'd  : 
.     Tlien  happy  I,  that  love  and  am  beloved, 
Where  1  may  not  remove,  nor  be  removed. 

XXVI. 

Lord  of  my  love,  to  whom  in  vassaln^c 
Tiiy  merit  halh  my  duty  strongly  knit, 
To  thee  I  send  this  written  embassage. 
To  witness  duty,  not  to  show  my  wit. 
Duty  so  great,  which  wit  so  poor  as  mine 
Alay  make  seem  bare,  in  wanting  words  to  show  it; 
But  that  I  lioi>e  some  good  conceit  of  thine 
In  my  soul's  tliought.all  naked,  will  bestow  it: 
Till  whatsoever  star  that  guides  my  moving, 
Points  on  me  graciously  with  fair  aspect, 
And  puts  apparel  on  my  tattered  loving. 
To  show  me  worthy  olthy  sweet  resi>eet : 
Then  may  I  dare  to  boast  how  I  do  love  thee, 
Till  then,  not  show  my  head  where  thou  mayst 
prove  me. 

XXVIL 

Weary  with  toil,  I  ha=;tc  me  to  my  bed. 

The  (fear  repos;e  lor  limbs  with  travel  tired; 

Bui  then  begins  ajourney  in  my  head. 

To  work  my  mind,  when"  body's  work's  expir'd: 

For  then  my  tiiouglds  (from  tar  where  I  abide) 

Inti'ud  a  zealous  pilgrimage  to  thee. 

And  keep  my  droojtini;  eye-lids  open  wide. 

Looking  on  darkness  which  the  blind  do  see  : 

Save  that  my  soul's  imaginary  sight 

Presents  thy  shadow  to  my  sightless  view. 

Which,  like  a  jewel  hung  in  ghastly  night, 

Makes  black  night  beauteous,  and  her  old  iUco  new. 


Lo,  thus,  by  day  my  limbs,  by  night  my  mind, 
For  thee,  and  for  myself,  no  quiet  tind. 

XXVIU. 

How  can  I  then  return  in  happy  plight, 
That  am  debarr'd  the  beneht  of  rest  ? . 
When  day's  oppression  is  not  eas'd  by  nisht. 
But  day  by  nightand  night  by  day  oppress'dl 
And  each,  though  enemies  to  cither's  reign, 
Do  in  consent  shake  hands  to  torture  me, 
The  one  by  toil,  the  other  to  complain 
How  tar  I  toil,  still  farther  olfirom  thee. 
I  tell  the  day,  to  please  him,  thou  art  bright, 
And  dost  him  grace  when  clouds  do  blot  the  heaven. 
So  (latter  I  the  swart-complexion'd  night ; 
When  sparkling  stars  twire  not,  thou  gild'st  the 
even. 
But  day  doth  daily  draw  my  sorrows  longer. 
And  night  doth  nightly  make  grief's  length  seem 
stronger. 

XXIX. 

When  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes, 

I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  stfite. 

And  trouble  deaf  Heaven  wiih  my  bootless  cries, 

And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  late, 

Wishing;  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 

Featur'd  like  him.  like  him  with  friends  possess 'd, 

Desiring  this  man's  art,  and  that  man's  scope, 

With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least; 

Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising. 

Haply  I  think  on  thee,— and  then  my  state 

(Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 

From  sullen  earth)  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate, 

For  thy  sweet  love   remember'd  such   wealth 
brings, 

That  then  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings 

XXX. 

When  to  tlie  sessions  o(  sweet  silent  thought 
T  summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past, 
I  sigh  the  lack  of  many  a  thing  I  sought. 
And  with  old  woes  new  wail  my  dear  time's  waste, 
Tlien  can  I  drown  an  eve  unus'd  to  flow, 
For  precious  friends  Iiid  in  death's  dateless  night, 
And  weep  afresh  love's  long-since  cancell'd  woe, 
And  moan  the  expense  of  many  a  vanish'd  sight. 
Then  can  I  grieve  at  grievances  foregone, 
And  heavily  Irom  woe  to  woe  tell  o'er 
The  sad  account  of  fore-bemoaned  moan, 
Which  I  new  pay  as  if  not  paid  before. 
But  if  the  while  1  think  on  thee,  dear  friend, 
All  losses  are  restor'd,  and  sorrows  end. 

XXXL 

Thy  bosom  is  endeared  with  all  hearts. 
Wtiich  1  by  lacking  liavc  supposed  dead  ; 
And  there  reigns  love,  and  all  love's  loving  parts. 
And  all  those  friends  which  I  thought  buried. 
How  many  a  holy  and  obsequious  tear 
Hath  dear  religious  love  stolen  from  mine  eye. 
As  interest  of  the  dead,  which  now  appear 
But  things  remov'd,  that  hidden  in  thee  lie! 
Thou  art  the  grave  where  buried  love  dorh  live, 
Hung  with  the  trophies  of  my  lovers  gone, 
Who  all  their  parts  of  me  to  thee  did  give  ; 
That  due  of  many  now  is  thine  alone: 
Their  images  I  lov'd  I  view  in  thee. 
And  thou  (all  they)  hast  all  the  all  of  me. 

XXXIL 

If  thou  survive  my  well-contented  daj'. 

When  that  churl  Death  my  bones  with  dust  shall 

cover. 
And  shalt  by  fortune  once  more  re-snrvpy 
These  poor  rude  lines  of  thy  deceased  lover. 
Compare  them  with  the  bettering  of  the  time; 
And  thou^i^h  they  be  outslripp'd  by  every  jien, 
Reserve  tliem  lor  my  love,  not  for  their  rhyme, 
Exceeded  by  the  heijiht  of  happier  men. 
()  then  vouchsafe  me  but  tJiis  ioving  thought! 
"  Had  my  friend's  muse  grown  with  this  growing 

age, 
A  dearer  Iiirth  than  this  his  love  had  brought, 
To  march  in  ranks  of  better  equipage ; 


SONNETS. 


799 


But  since  he  died,  and  poets  better  prove. 
Theirs  lor  their  style  I'll  read,  his  lor  his  love." 

XXXIII. 

Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain-tops  with  sovereign  eye, 
Kissing  with  golden  face  the  meadows  green, 
Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  alchymy; 
Anon  permit  the  basest  clouds  to  ride 
With  ugly  rack  on  his  celestial  lace, 
And  from  the  lorlorn  world  his  visage  hide, 
Slealing  unseen  to  west  wilh  this  disgrace: 
Kveii  so  my  sun  one  early  morn  did  shine, 
With  all  triumphant  splendor  on  mv  brow; 
But  out !  alack  !  he  was  but  one  hour  mine, 
The  region  cloud  hath  mask'd  him  I'rom  me  now. 

Yet  bun  for  this  my  love  no  whit  disdaineth  ; 

Suns  of  the  world  may  stain,  when   heaven'." 
sun  slaineth. 

XXXIV. 

Why  didst  thou  promise  such  a  beauteous  day. 
And  make  rac  travel  Ibrth  without  my  cloak. 
To  let  base  clouds  o'crtake  me  in  my  way. 
Hiding  tliy  bravery  in  their  rotten  smoke"? 
Tis  not  enough  that  Ihrougli  the  cloud  thou  break, 
To  dry  the  ram  on  my  stnrm-bealen  face. 
For  no  man  well  of  suc-h  a  salve  can  speak. 
That  heals  the  wound,  and  cures  not  the  disgrace: 
Nor  can  thy  shame  give  physic  to  my  grief: 
Though  thou  repent,  yet  I  have  still  the  loss: 
The  ollender  s  sorrow  lends  but  weak  relief 
To  bim  that  bears  the  strong  offijnee's  cross. 

Ah  !  but  those  tears  are  pearl  which  thy  love 
sheds, 

And  they  are  rich, and  ransom  all  ill  deeds. 

XXXV. 

No  more  be  griev'd  at  that  which  thou  hast  done : 
Roses  have  thorns,  and  silver  fount.^ins  mud  ; 
Clouds  a;id  eclipses  stain  both  moon  and  sun, 
And  loatlisome  canker  lives  in  sweetest  bud. 
All  men  make  faults,  and  even  I  in  this. 
Authorizing  thy  trespass  with  compare, 
Mysell  corrupting,  salving  thy  amiss,! 
Kxciising  thy  sins  more  than  thy  sins  are: 
For  to  thy  sensual  fault  I  bring  in  sense, 
(TI'V  adverse  party  is  thy  advocate,) 
And   gainst  myself  a  lawful  plea  commence; 
Such  civil  war  is  in  my  love  and  bate. 
That  I  an  accessory  needs  must  be 
To  that  sweet  thiel  which  sourly  robs  fron 


0111  mc. 


XXXVI. 


Let  me  confess  that  we  two  must  be  twain. 
Although  our  undivided  loves  are  one; 
So  shall  Ihose  blots  that  do  with  me  remain 
Without  thy  help,  by  mo  be  borne  alone. 
In  our  two  loves  there  is  but  one  respect, 
Tliough  in  our  lives  a  separable  spite, 
Which  though  it  alter  not  love's  sole  effect. 
Yet  doth  it  steal  sweet  hours  from  love's  delight. 
I  may  not  evermore  acknowledge  thee 
Lest  my  bewailed  guilt  should  do  thee  shame: 
Nur  thou  with  public  kindness  honor  me, 
Unless  thou  lake  Ihat  honor  from  thy  name  : 
But  do  not  so  ;  I  love  thee  in  such  sort. 
As,  thou  being  mine,  mine  is  thy  good'report. 

XXXVII. 

As  9  decrepit  father  takes  delight 
To  see  his  active  child  do  deeds  of  youth. 
So.  I  made  lame  by  tbrtune's  dearest  spite. 
Take  all  my  comliirt  of  thy  worth  and  Iruth  ; 
>or  whether  beauty,  birth,  or  wealth  or  wit 
Or  any  of  these  all,  or  all,  or  more,  ' 

Entitled  in  thy  part*  do  crowned  sit, 
I  make  my  love  engrafted  to  this  store, 
i^o  then  I  am  not  lame,  poor,  nor  despis'd, 
Whilst  that  this  shadow  doth  such  substance  give 
riiat  1  in  thy  abundance  am  sultic'd. 
And  by  a  part  of  all  thy  glory  live. 

Look  what  is  best,  that  best  I  wish  in  thee ; 

This  wish  I  have ;  then  ten  times  happy  me. 
<  F.iult. 


xxxvin. 

How  can  my  muse  want  subject  to  invent. 
While  thou  dost  breathe,  that  pour'st  into  my 

verse 
Thine  own  sweet  argument,  too  excellent 
For  every  vulgar  paper  lo  rehearse? 
O,  give  thyself  the  thanks,  if  aught  in  me 
Worthy  perusal  stand  against  thy  sight; 
For  who  s  so  dumb  that  cannot  write  to  thee. 
When  thou  thyself  dost  give  invention  light? 
lie  thou  the  tenth  muse,  ten  times  more  in  worth 
Than  Ihose  old  nine,  which  rhymers  invocate; 
And  he  that  calls  on  thee,  let  him  bring  forth 
Eternal  numbers  to  outlive  long  date. 
If  my  slight  muse  do  please  these  curious  d.ays, 
Tlie  pain  be  mine,  but  t'hine  shall  be  the  praise. 

XXXIX. 

O.  how  thy  worth  with  manners  may  I  sing. 

When  thou  art  all  the  better  part  of  me  ! 

What  can  mine  own  praise  to  mine  own  self  bring? 

And  nliat  is't  but  mine.own  when  I  praise  thee? 

Even  for  this  let  us  divided  live. 

And  our  dear  love  lose  name  of  single  one, 

That  by  this  separation  I  may  give 

That  due  to  thee,  which  thou  deserv'st  alone. 

0  absence,  what  a  torment  wouldst  thou  prove, 
Were  it  not  thy  sour  leisure  gave  sweet  leave 
To  entertain  the  time  with  Ihoughts  of  love, 
(Which  time  and  tliouslus  so  sweetly  doth  deceive.) 

And  that  thou  tcachest  how  to  make  one  twain. 
By  praising  him  here,  who  doth  hence  remain. 

XL. 

Take  all  my  loves,  my  love,  yea  take  them  all ; 
What   hast   tliou    then    more    than    thou    liadst 

before  ? 
No  love,  my  love,  that  tjioH  may'st  true  love  call ; 
All  mine  was  thine,  before  thou  hadst  Ibis  more. 
Then  if  for  my  love  thoii  my  love  receivcst, 

1  cannot  blame  thee  forS  my  love  thou  usest; 
But  yet  be  blam'd,  if  thou  tlivselfdeceivcst 
Hy  wilful  taste  of  what  thyself  refusest. 

I  do  forgive  thy  robbery,  gentle  thief. 
Although  thou  steal  thee  all' my  poverty; 
And  yet,  love  knows,  il  is  a  greater  grief 

To  bear  love's  wrong,  than  hate's  known  injury. 
Lascivious  grace,  in  whom  all  ill  well  shows. 
Kill  me  with  spites;  yet  we  must  not  be  foes. 

XLL 

Those  pretty  wrongs  that  liberty  commits 
When  I  am  sometime  absent  from  Iby  heart. 
Thy  beauty  and  thy  tears  full  well  befits. 
For  still  temptation  follows  where  thou  art. 
Centle  thou  art,  and  therefore  to  be  won. 
Beauteous  thou  art,  therefore  to  be  assaii'd; 
And  when  a  woman  woos,  wliat  woman's  son 
Will  sourly  leave  her  till  she  have  prevail'd  ? 
Ah  me  !  but  yet  thou  migbtst  my  seat  forbear, 
And  chide  thy  beautv  and  thy  straying  youth. 
Who  lead  thee  in  their  riot  even  there 
Wlierr  thou  ait  forced  to  break  a  two-fold  truth. 
Hers,  by  thy  beautv  tsmpting  her  to  thee, 
Thmc,  by  thy  beauty  being  false  to  inc. 

XLII. 

That  thou  hast  her,  it  is  not  all  my  grief. 

And  yet  il  may  be  sairl  I  lov'd  her  dearly; 

Thai  she  hath  thee,  is  of  mv  wailing  chief, 

A  loss  in  love  that  touches  "me  more  nearly. 

Loving  ollenders,  thus  I  will  excuse  ye:— 

Thou  dost  love  her,  because  thou  knew'st  I  love 

her; 
And  for  my  sake  even  so  doth  she  abuse  me. 
Sullering  my  triend  for  my  sake  to  approve  her. 

II  I  lose  thee,  my  loss  is  mv  love's  gain. 

And,  losing  her,  my  fricndhalh  tbiind  that  loss; 
Both  find  each  other,  and  I  lose  both  twain. 
And  both  tor  my  sake  lay  on  me  this  cross; 

But  here  s  the  joy;  mv  friend  and  I  are  one; 

Sweet  tlattery  !  then  she  hues  but  mc  alone. 
•  Because. 


ROO 


SONNETS. 


XLIII. 

When  most  I  wink,  then  do  mine  eyes  best  see, 
Kor  all  the  day  tiiey  view  things  unrespccted ; 
But  wiien  I  sleep,  in  dreams  they  look  on  thee, 
And,  darkly  bright,  are  bright  m  dark  directed  ; 
Then   tliou  whose  shadow    shadows  doth  make 

bright. 
How  would  thy  shadow's  form  form  happy  show 
Til  llie  clear  d.iy,  wrth  thy  muoh  clearer  light, 
Wlieii  to  unseeing  eyes  thy  shade  shines  so! 
How  would  (I  say)  inine  eyes  be  blessed  made 
liv  looking  on  thee  in  the  living  day, 
VVheii  in  dead  night  thy  liiir  imperlect  shade 
Through  heavy  sleep  on  sightless  eyes  doth  stay? 
All  days  are  nights  to  see,  till  i  see  thee. 
And  nights,  bright  days,  when  dreams  do  show 
tiiee  me, 

XLIV. 

If  the  dull  substance  of  my  flesh  were  thought. 
Injurious  distance  should  not  stop  my  way  ; 
For  then,  despite  of  space,  1  would  be  brought 
From  limits  liir  remote,  where  tliou  dost  stay. 
No  matter  then  although  my  foot  did  stand 
Upon  the  farthest  earth  remov'd  from  thee. 
For  nimble  thought  can  jump  both  sea  and  land. 
As  soon  as  think  the  place  where  he  would  be. 
But  ah!  thought  kills  me,  that  1  am  not  thought. 
To  leap  large  lengths  of  miles  when  thou  art  gone, 
But  that,  so  much  of  earth  and  water  wrought, 
I  must  attend  time's  leisure  with  my  moan; 
deceiving  nought  by  elements  so  slow 
But  heavy  tears,  badges  of  cither's  woe  : 

XLV. 

The  other  two,  slight  air  and  purging  fire, 
Are  both  with  thee,  wherever  I  abide  ; 
The  first  my  thought,  the  other  my  desire. 
These  present-absent  with  swilt  motion  slide, 
For  when  these  quicker  elements  are  gone 
In  tender  embassy  of  love  to  thee, 
My  life,  being  made  of  four,  with  two  alone 
SiiiUs  down  to  death,  opprcss'd  with  melancholy; 
Until  life's  composition  be  recured 
By  those  swiit  messengers  return'd  from  tliee. 
Who  even  but  now  come  back  again,  assured 
Of  thy  fair  health,  recounting  it  to  me  : 
This  told,  I  joy  ;  but  then  ho  longer  glad, 
I  send  them  back  again,  and  straight  grow  sad. 

XLVI. 

Mine  eye  and  heart  are  at  a  mortal  war. 
How  to  divide  the  conquest  of  thy  sight; 
Mine  eye  my  heart  thy  ]iicture's  sight  would  bar. 
My  heart  mfiie  eye  the  freedom  of  that  right. 
My  heart  doth  plead  that  thou  in  him  dost  lie, 
(A  closet  never  pierc'd  with  crystal  eyes,) 
But  the  defendant  doth  that  plea  deny, 
And  says  in  him  thy  fair  appearance  lies. 
To  'cide  this  title  is  impannelled 
A  quest  of  thoughts,  all  tenants  to  the  heart ; 
And  by  their  verdict  is  determined 
The  clear  eye's  moiety,  and  the  dear  heart's  part : 
As  thus;  "mine  eye's  due  is  thine  outward  part. 
And  my  heart's  right  thine  inward  love  of  heart. 

XLVII. 

Betwixt  mine  eye  ,ind  heart  a  league  is  took. 
And  each  doth  good  turns  now  unto  the  other: 
When  that  mine  eye  is  famish'd  for  a  look. 
Or  heart  in  love  with  sighs  himself  doth  smother, 
With  my  love's  picture  then  my  eye  doth  feast. 
And  to  the  painted  banquet  bids  my  heart: 
Another  time  mine  eye  is  my  heart's  guest. 
And  in  his  thoughts  of  love  doth  share  a  part: 
So,  either  by  thy  picture  or  my  love. 
Thyself  away  art  present  still  with  me; 
For  thou  not' larther  than  my  thoughtseanst  move. 
And  1  am  still  with  them,  and  they  with  thee ; 
(Ir  if  they  sleep,  thy  iiieture  in  my  sight 
Awakes  my  heart  to  Ijeart's  and  eye's  delight. 

XI.VIII. 

How  careful  was  I  when  I  took  my  way, 
Fach  Irille  under  truest  bars  to  thrust. 


That,  to  my  use,  it  might  unused  stay 
From  hands  of  falsehood,  in  sure  wards  of  trust! 
But  thou,  to  whom  my  jewels  trifles  are, 
Most  worthy  comfort,  now  my  greatest  grief, 
Thou,  best  of  dearest,  and  mine  only  care. 
Art  left  the  prey  of  every  vulgar  thief. 
Thee  have  1  not  lock'd  up  in  any  chest. 
Save  where  thou  art  not,  though  I  feel  thou  art, 
Within  the  gentle  closure  of  my  breast. 
From  whence  at  pleasure  thou  mayst  come  and 
]iart ; 
And  even  thence  thou  wilt  be  stolen  I  fear, 
For  truth  proves  thievish  for  a  prize  so  dear. 

XLIX. 

Against  that  time,  if  ever  that  time  come. 
When  1  shall  see  thee  frown  on  my  defects. 
When  as  thy  love  hath  cast  its  utmost  sum, 
C'all'd  to  that  audit  by  advis'd  respects; 
Against  that  time,  when  thou  shall  strangely  pass, 
And  scarcely  greet  me  with  that  sun.  Iliiiie  eye. 
When  love,  converted  from  the  thing  it  was, 
Shall  reasons  find  of  settled  gravity  ; 
Against  that  time  do  1  ensconce  me  here 
Within  the  knowledge  of  mine  own  desert. 
And  this  my  hand  against  myself  uprear, 
To  guard  the  lawful  reasons  on  thy  part: 
To  leave  poor  me  thou  hast  the  strength  of  laws, 
Since,  why  to  love,  I  can  allege  no  cause. 

L. 

How  heavy  do  I  journey  on  the  way._ 
When  wtiat  I  seek — my  weary  travel's  end — 
Doth  teach  that  ease  and  that  repose  to  say. 
"Thus  far  the  miles  are  measur'd  from  thy  friend! ' 
The  beast  that  bears  me,  tired  with  my  woe. 
Plods  dully  on,  to  be.nr  that  weight  in  me, 
As  if  by  some  instinct  the  wretch  did  know 
Ills  rider  lov'd  not  speed,  being  made  from  thee: 
The  bloody  spur  cannot  provoke  him  on 
That  sometimes  anger  thrusts  into  his  hide. 
Which  heavily  he  answers  with  a  groan, 
More  sharp  to  me  tlian  spurring  to  his  side  ; 
For  that  same  groan  doth  put  this  in  my  mind. 
My  grief  lies  onward,  and  my  joy  behind. 

LI. 

Thus  can  my  love  excuse  the  slow  olTence 
Of  my  dull  bearer,  when  from  thee  I  speed  : 
From  where   thou   art   why   should   I  haste  me 

thence  ? 
Till  I  return,  of  posting  is  no  need. 
O  what  excuse  will  my  poor  beast  then  find. 
When  swift  extremity  can  seem  but  slow  ! 
Then  should  I  spur,  though  mounted  on  the  wind ; 
In  winged  speed  no  motion  shall  I  know: 
Then  can  no  horse  with  my  desire  keep  pace; 
Therefore  desire,  of  perfect  love  being  made, 
Shall  neigh  (no  dull  flesh)  in  his  fiery  race  ; 
But  love,  for  love,  thus  shall  excuse  my  jade ; 
Since  from  thee  going  he  went  wilful  slow. 
Towards  thee  I'll  run,  and  give  him  leave  to  go 

LII. 

So  am  I  as  the  rich,  wliose  blessed  key 
Can  bring  him  to  his  sweet  up-locked  treasure 
The  which  he  will  not  every  hour  survey. 
For  blunting  the  fine  point  of  seldom  pleasure. 
Thereiore  are  leasts  so  solemn  and  so  rare, 
Since  seldom  coining,  in  the  long  year  set. 
Like  stones  of  worth  they  thinly  placed  are, 
Or  captain^  jewels  in  the  careanet. 
So  is  the  tinie  that  keeps  you,  as  my  chest. 
Or  as  the  wardrobe  which  the  robe  doth  hide, 
To  make  some  special  instant  special-blest. 
By  new  unfolding  his  imprison'd  pride. 
"Blessed  are  you.  whose  worthiness  gives  scope 
Being  had,  to  triumph,  being  lack'd,  to  hope. 

LIII. 

What  IS  your  substance,  whereof  are  you  made. 
That  millions  of  strange  shadows  on  you  tend' 
Since  every  one  hath,  every  one,  one's  shade, 
And  you,  but  one,  can  every  shadow  lend. 
'  Chief. 


SONNETS. 


801 


Describe  Adonis,  and  the  counterfeit 
Is  poorly  imitated  after  j'oii; 
On  Helen's  clieck  all  art  of  beauty  set, 
And  you  in  Grecian  tires  are  painted  new: 
Speali  of  the  spring,  and  foizon  of  the  year  ; 
The  one  doth  shadow  of  your  beauty  show, 
The  other  as  your  bounty  doth  appear. 
And  you  in  every  blessed  sliape  we  know. 
In  all  external  grace  you  have  some  part. 
But  you  Uke  none,  none  you,  for  constant  heart. 

LIV. 

0  how  much  more  doth  beauty  beauteous  seem. 
By  that  sweet  ornament  which  truth  doth  give  ! 
The  rose  looks  Ihir,  but  fairer  we  it  deem 

For  tiiat  sweet  odor  which  doth  in  it  live. 
The  canJicr-blooms  have  full  as  deep  a  dye 
As  the  perfumed  tincture  of  tlie  roses, 
Hang  on  such  thorns,  and  play  as  wantonly 
When  summer's  breath  their  masked  buds  dis- 
closes. 
But,  for  their  virtue  only  is  their  show. 
They  live  unwoo'd,  and  unrespected  liide 
Die  to  themselves.    Sweet  roses  do  not  so; 
Of  their  sweet  deaths  are  sweetest  odors  made; 
And  so  of  you,  beauteous  and  lovely  youth, 
AV'lien  that  shall  fade,  by  verse  distils  your  truth, 

LV. 

Not  marble,  nor  the  gilded  monuments         * 

Of  princes,  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rhyme; 

But  ynu  shall  shjiie  more  bright  in  these  contents 

Than  unsvvept  stone,  besmear'd  with  sluttish  time. 

When  wasteful  war  shall  statues  overturn, 

And  broils  root  out  the  work  of  masonry. 

Nor  Mars  his  sword  nor  war's  quick  Are  shall  bum 

The  living  record  of  your  memory. 

'Gainst  death  and  all-oblivious  enmity 

Shall  you  pace  tbrth;  your  praise  shall  still  find 

room, 
Even  in  the  eyes  of  all  posterity 
That  wear  this  world  out  to  the  ending  doom 
So,  till  the  judgment  that  yourself  arise. 
You  hve  in  this,  and  dwell  in  lovers'  eyes. 

LVI. 

Sweet  love,  renew  thy  force;  be  it  not  said, 
Thy  edge  should  blunter  be  than  appetite, 
Which  but  to-day  by  feeding  is  allay'd, 
To-morrow  sharpen'd  in  his  former  might: 
So,  love,  be  thou;  although  to-day  thou  hll 
Thy  hungry  eyes,  even  till  they  wink  with  fulness, 
To-morrow  see  again,  and  do  not  kill 
The  spirit  of  love  with  a  perpetual  dulness. 
Let  this  sad  interim  like  the  ocean  be 
Which  parts  the  shore,  where  two  contracted-new 
Come  daily  to  the  banks,  that,  when  they  see 
Return  of  love,  more  blest  may  be  the  view; 
Or  call  it  winter,  which,  being  full  of  care, 
Jlakes  summer's  welcome  thrice  more  wish'd, 
more  rare. 

LVII. 

Being  your  slave,  what  should  I  do  but  tend 
Upon  the  hours  and  times  of  your  desire  ? 

1  have  no  precious  time  at  all  to  spend. 
Nor  services  to  do,  till  you  require. 

Noi  dare  I  chide  the  world-without-end  hour. 
Whilst  I,  my  sovereign,  watch  the  clock  for  j'ou, 
Nor  think  the  bitterness  of  absence  sour. 
When  you  have  bid  your  servant  once  adieu ; 
Nor  dare  I  question  with  my  jealous  thought 
Where  you  may  be.  or  your  allUirs  suppose, 
But,  like  a  sad  slave,  stay  and  think  of  nought. 
Save,  where  you  arc  how  happy  you  make  those: 
So  true  a  fool  is  love,  that  in  your  will 
(Though  you  do  any  thing)  he  thinks  no  ill. 

LVIII. 

That  God  forbid,  that  made  me  first  your  slave, 
I  should  in  thoughtcontrolyour  times  of  pleasure. 
Or  at  your  hand  the  account  of  hours  to  crave. 
Being  your  vassal,  bound  to  stay  your  leisure! 
O.  let  me  suHer  (being  at  your  beck) 
The  imprison 'd  absence  of  your  liberty, 
51 


And  patience,  tame  to  sulTerancc,  bide  each  check 
Williout  accusing  you  of  injury, 
lie  where  you  list ;  your  charter  is  so  strong. 
That  you  yourself  may  privilege  your  time: 
Do  what  you  will,  to  you  it  doth  belong 
Yourself  to  pardon  of  sell-doing  crime. 

I  am  to  wait,  though  waiting  so  be  hell; 

Not  blame  your  pleasure,  be  it  ill  or  well. 

LIX. 

If  there  be  nothing  new,  but  that  which  is 
Hath  been  before,  how  are  our  brains  beguil'd, 
Which  laboring  for  invention  bears  amiss 
The  second  burthen  of  a  former  child  ! 
(),  that  record  could  with  a  backward  look, 
Kven  of  rive  hundred  courses  of  the  sun. 
Show  me  your  image  in  some  antique  book, 
Since  mind  at  first  in  character  w.a.s  done  ! 
That  I  might  see  what  the  old  world  could  say 
To  this  composed  wonder  of  your  frame; 
Whether  we  ace  mended,  or  who'r  belter  they, 
Or  whether  revolution  be  the  same. 
O  !  sure  I  am,  the  wits  of  former  days 
To  subjects  worse  have  given  admiring  praise. 

LX. 

Like  as  the  waves  make  towards  the  pebbled  shore, 
So  do  our  minutes  hasten  to  their  end; 
Kach  changing  jilace  with  that  which  goes  before, 
In  sequent  toil  all  forwards  do  contend. 
Nativity,  once  in  the  main  of  light, 
Crawls  to  maturity,  wherewith  being  crown'd. 
Crooked  eclipses  'gainst  his  glory  tight, 
And  Time,  that  gave,  doth  now  his  gill  confound. 
Time  doth  transtix  the  flourish  set  on  youth. 
And  delves  the  parallels  in  beauty's  brow; 
Feeds  on  the  rarities  of  nature's  truth, 
And  nothing  stands  but  for  his  scythe  to  mow. 
And  yet,  to  times  in  lio])e,  my  verse  shall  stand, 
Praising  thy  worth,  despite  his  cruel  hand. 

LXL 

Is  it  thy  will  thy  image  should  keep  open 

My  heavy  eyelids  to  the  weary  night  ■? 

Dost  thou  desire  my  slumbers  should  be  broken. 

While  shadows,  like  to  Ihee,  do  mock  iiiy  sight ! 

Is  it  thy  spirit  that  thou  send'st  from  thee 

So  far  from  home  into  my  deeds  to  jiry ; 

To  find  out  shames  and  idle  hours  in  me, 

The  scope  and  tenor  of  thy  jealousy  ! 

O  no  ;  thy  love,  though  nuicli,  is  not  so  great ; 

It  is  my  love  that  keeps  mine  eye  awake. 

Mine  own  true  love  that  doth  my  rest  defeat, 

To  jilay  the  watchman  ever  for  thy  sake: 

For  thee  watch  I,  whilst  thou'dost  wake  else- 
where. 

From  me  far  off,  with  others  all-too-near. 


LXII. 

Sin  of  self-love  possesscth  all  mine  eye. 
And  all  my  soul,  and  all  my  every  part ;. 
And  for  this  sin  there  is  no  remedy, 
II  is  so  grounded  inward  in  my  heart. 
Methinks  no  face  so  gracious  is  as  mine. 
No  shape  so  true,  no  truth  of  such  account, 
.\nd  for  myself  mine  own  worth  do  define, 
.'Vs  I  all  other  in  all  worths  surmount. 
But  when  my  glass  shows  me  myself  indeed, 
Heated  and  chopp'd  with  tann'd  antiquity, 
Mine  own  self-love  quite  contrary  I  read, 
Self  so  self  loving  were  iniquity. 
'Tis  thee  (myself)  that  liir  myself  I  praise. 
Painting  my  age  with  beauty  of  thy  days. 

LXIII. 
Against  my_  love  shall  be,  as  I  am  now. 
With  Time's  injurious  hand  crush'd  ando'erworn  ; 
When  hours  have  drain'd  his  blood,  and  till'd  his 

brow 
With  lines  and  wrinkles;  when  his  youthful  morn 
Hath  Iravell'd  on  to  age's  sleepy  night ; 
And  all  those  beauties,  whereof  now  he's  king, 
Are  vanishing  or  vanish'd  out  of  sight. 
Stealing  away  the  treasure  of  his  spring; 


802' 


SONNETS. 


For  such  a  time  do  I  now  fortify 
Against  confounding  af^e's  cruel  linife, 
That  iie  shall  never  cut  from  memory 
My  sweet  love's  beauty,  thougli  my  lover's  life. 
His  beauty  shall  in  tiiese  black  lines  be  seen, 
And  they  shall  live,  and  he  in  them,  still  fjreen, 

LXIV. 

When  I  have  seen  by  Time's  fell  hand  defaced 
Tlie  rich-proud  cost  of  outworn  buried  age  ; 
When  sometime  loity  towers  I  see  down-rased, 
And  brass  eternal,  slave  to  mortal  rage  ; 
When  I  have  seen  the  hungry  ocean  gain 
Advantage  on  tiie  kingdom  of  the  shore. 
And  the  lirm  soil  win  of  the  wat'ry  main, 
Increasing  store  with  losr^,  and  loss  with  store 
When  I  have  seen  such  interchange  of  state, 
Or  state  itself  confounded  to  decay  ; 
Ruin  hath  taught  mc  thus  to  ruminate— 
Tliat  time  will  come  and  take  my  love  away. 
This  thought  is  as  a  death,  which  cannot  choose 
liut  weep  to  have  that  which  it  fears  to  lose. 

LXV. 

Since  brass,  nor  stone,  nor  earth,  nor  boundless  sea, 
But  sad  mortality  o*ersways  their  pT)wcr, 
How  with  this  rage  shall  beauty  hold  a  plea, 
Whose  action  is  no  stronger  than  a  tlowcr  ? 
0,  how  shall  summer's  honey  breath  hold  out 
Against  the  wreckful  siege  of  battering  days, 
Wlien  rocks  impregnable  are  not  so  stout. 
Nor  gates  of  steel  so  strong,  but  time  decays? 
0  fearful  meditation!  where,  alack; 
Shall  Time's  best  jewel  from  Time's  chest  lie  hidi 
Or^what  strong  hand  can- hold  his  swiit  foot  back  ] 
Or  who  his  spoil  of  beauty  can  Ibrbid  ] 
()  none,  unless  this  miracle  have  might, 
'riiat  in  black  ink  my  love  may  still  shine  bright. 

LXVL 

Tired  with  all  these,  for  restful  death  I  cry, — 
As,  to  bcliold  desert  a  beggar  born. 
And  needy  nothing  trimm'd  in  jollity, 
And  purest  taith  unhappily  foresworn, 
And  gilded  honor  shamefully  misplaced, 
And  maiden  virtue  rudely  strumpeted. 
And  nglu  perfection  wrongfully  disgraced. 
And  strength  by  limpini;  sway  disabled. 
A.iid  art  made  tongue-tied  by  authority, 
And  folly  (dootor-liKc)  coutroiling  skill, 
Ana  simple  trulli  mist-aird  simplicity. 
And  captive  good  attending  captain  ill: 
Tired  of  all  theae,_froui  these  would  I  be  gone. 
Save  that,  to  die, -I  leave  my  love  alone. 

Lxvri. 

Ah  I  wherefore  with  i-n-fection  should  he  live, 
And  with  his  presence  grace  impiety, 
Tliat  sin  hy  him  advantage  should  achieve. 
And  lace  itself  with  his  society  1 
Why  should  false  painting  imitate  his  cheek. 
And  steal  dead  seeing  of  his  living  hue] 
^Why  should  poor  beauty  indirectLy  seek 
■Roses  of  shadow,  since  his  rose  is  true  1 
Why  should  he  live  now  Nature  bankrupt  is, 
•Beggar'd  of  blood  to  blush  through  lively  veins'? 
'p'or  she  hath  no  exchequer  now  but  his, 
And.  proud  of  many,  lives  upon  liis  gains. 

O,  Inm  she  stores,  to  show  what  vyealth  she  had 
In  days  long  since,  before  these  last  so  bad. 

LXVIH. 

Thus  is  his  cheek  the  map  of  days  outworn, 
When  beauty  liv'd  and  died  as  llowers  do  now 
Relbrc  these"  bastard  signs  of  fair"  were  borne, 
Or  durst  inhabit  on  a  living  brow  ; 
Betbre  the  goUlen  tresses  of  the  dead, 
The  right  ol' sepulchres,  were  shorn  away, 
To  live  a  second  life  on  second  head, 
Kre  beauty's  dead  tlcece  made  another  gay : 
In  him  those  holy  antique  hours  are  seen» 
Without  all  ornament,  itself,  and  true. 
Making  no  summer  of  another's  green, 
Kobbing  no  old  to  dress  his  beauty  new; 
1  Umuty. 


And  him  as  fora  map  doth  nature  store, 
To  show  false  Art  what  beauty  was  of  yore. 

LXIX. 

Those  parts  of  thee  that  the  world's  eye  dolh  view 
Want  nothing  that  the  thought  of  hearts  can  mend: 
All  tongues  (the  voice  of  souls)  give  thee  that  due, 
Uttering  bare  truth,  even  so  as  foes  commend. 
Thineoutward  thus  with  outward  prait^eiscrown'd; 
But  those  same  tongues  that  give  tliee  so  thine  own, 
In  otiier  accents  do  this  praise  confound, 
By  seeing  farther  than  the  eye  hath  shown. 
They  look  into  the  beauty  of  thy  mind, 
And  that,  in  guess,  they  measure  by  thy  deeds  , 
Then  (churls]  their  thoughts  although  their  ej'ea 

were  kind. 
To  thy  fair  flower  add  the  rank  smell  of  weeds : 
But  why  thy  odor  matcheth  not  thy  sjiow, 
The  solve''  is  this, — that  thou  dost  common  grow 

LXX. 

That  thou  art  blam'd  shall  not  be  thy  defect, 
For  slander's  mark  was  ever  yet  the  liiir; 
The  ornament  of  beauty  is  suspect, 
A  crow  that  dies  in  heaven's  sweetest  air. 
So  thou  be  good,  slander  doth  but  approve 
Thy  worth  the  greater,  being  woo'd  of  time; 
For  canker  vice  the  sweetest  buds  doth  love, 
And  tifbn  presenl'st  a  pure  unstained  prime. 
Thou  hast  past  by  the  ambush  of  young  days, 
Either  not  assail'd,  or  victor  being  charg'd  ; 
Yet  this  thy  praise  cannot  be  so  thy  praise, 
To  tie  up  envy,  evermore  enlarged: 
Ifsomc  suspect  of  ill  mask'd  not  thy  show. 
Then  thou  alone  kingdoms  of  hearts  siiouldst 
owe.9 

LXXI. 

No  longer  mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead 
Than  you  shall  hear  the  surly  sullen  bell 
Give  warning  to  the  world  tliat  I  am  lied 
From  this  vile  world,  with  vilest  worms  to  dwell : 
Nay,  if  you  read  this  line,  remember  not 
The  hand  that  writ  it ;  for  1  love  you  so, 
That  I  in  your  sweet  thoughts  would  be  forgot, 
If  thinking  on  me  then  should  make  you  woe. 
O  if  (I  say)  you  look  upon  this  verse, 
When  I  perhaps  compounded  am  with  clay, 
Do  not  so  much  as  my  poor  name  rehearse  ; 
But  let  your  love  even  with  my  life  decay: 
Lest  the  wise  world  should  look  into  your  moan, 
And  mock  you  with  me  after  I  am  gone. 

LXXII. 

O,  lest  the  world  should  task  you  to  recite 
VVhat  merit  lived  in  me,  that  you  should  love 
After  my  death,^<lear  love,  forget  me  quite. 
For  youin  me  can  nothing  worthy  prove; 
Unless  you  would  devise  some  virtuous  tie, 
To  do  more  for  me  than  mine  own  desert, 
And  hang  more  praise  upon  deceased  I 
Than  niggard  truth  would  willingly  impart: 
0,  lest  your  true  love  may  seem  false  in  this, 
That  you  for  love  speak  well  of  me  untrue, 
My  name  be  buried  where  my  body  is, 
And  live  no  more  to  shame  nor  mc  nor  you. 
For  I  am  shamed  by  that  which  I  bring  forth. 
And  so  should  you,  to  love  things  nothing  w  jrth 

LXXIII. 

That  time  of  year  thou  may'st  in  me  behold 
When  yellow'leavcs,  or  none  or  few.  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  tlie  cold. 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang 
In  me  thou  seest  the  twilight  of  such  day, 
As  after  sunset  fadeth  in  the  west. 
Which  by  and  hy  black  night  doth  take  away, 
Death's  second  self,  that  seals  up  all  in  rest. 
In  me  thou  seest  the  glowing  of  such  (ire, 
That  on  the  ashes  of  his  youth  doth  lie, 
As  the  death-bed  whereon  it  must  expire, 
Consum'd  with  that  which  it  was  nourish'd  by. 
« Sclutioa.  •Own. 


SONNETS. 


803 


This  thou  pcrceiv'st  which  makes  thy  love  more 

To  love  that  well  which  Ihou  must  leave  ere 
long: 

LXXIV. 

But  be  contCJited:  when  that  fell  arrest 
Withimt  all  bail  shall  carry  me  away. 
My  lile  liath  in  this  line  some  iiitereist. 
Which  for  memorial  still  with  tlicc  shall  stay. 
When  thou  reviewest  this,  thou  dost  review 
The  very  part  was  consecrate  to  thee. 
The  earth  can  have  but  earth,  wliich  is  his  due; 
My  spirit  is  Ihine,  the  better  part  of  me  : 
So  then  tiiou  hast  but  lost  the  dregs  of  life, 
The  prey  of  worms,  my  body  being  dead; 
The  coward  conquest  of  a  wretch's  knife, 
Too  base  of  thee  to  be  remembered. 
The  worth  of  that,  is  that  which  it  contains, 
And  that  is  this,  and  this  with  thee  remains. 

LXXV. 

So  are  you  to  my  thoughts,  as  food  to  life, 

Or  as  sweet  season'd  showers  are  to  the  ground ; 

And  for  the  peace  of  you  I  hold  such  strife 

As  "twixt  a  miser  and  his  wealth  is  found ; 

Now  proud  as  an  enjoyer,  and  anon 

Doubting  the  filching  age  will  steal  his  treasure ; 

Now  counting  best  to  be  with  you  alone, 

Then  better'd  that  the  world  may  see  my  pleasure: 

Sometime  all  full  with  feasting  on  your  sight, 

And  by  and  by  clean  starved  tor  a  look  ; 

Possessing  or  pursuing  no  delight, 

Save  what  is  had  or  must  from  you  be  took. 

Thus  do  I  pine  and  surfeit  day  by  day, 

Or  gluttoning  on  all,  or  all  away. 

LXXVI. 

Why  is  my  verse  so  barren  of  new  pride  1 
So  lar  from  variation  or  quick  change  ? 
Why,  with  tiic  time,  do  1  not  glance  aside 
To  new-found  methods  and  to  compounds  strange? 
Why  write  I  still  all  one,  ever  the  same, 
And  keep  invention  in  a  noted  weed,' 
That  every  word  doth  almost  tell  my  name, 
Showing  their  birth,  and  where  they  did  proceed? 
O  know,  sweet  love,  I  always  write  of  you. 
And  you  and  love  are  still  my  argument : 
So  all  my  best  is  dressfng  old  words  new, 
Spending  again  what  is  already  spent ; 
For  as  the  sun  is  daily  new  and  old, 
So  is  my  love  still  telling  what  is  told. 

Lxxvir. 

Thy  glass  will  show  thee  how  thy  beauties  wear, 
Thy  dial  how  thy  precious  minutes  waste ; 
The  vacant  leaves  thy  mind's  imprint  will  bear. 
And  of  this  book  this  learning  may'st  thou  taste. 
The  wrinkles  which  thy  glass  will  truly  show, 
Of  mouthed  graves  will  give  thee  memory; 
Thou  by  thy  dial's  shady  stealth  mayst  know 
Time's  thievish  progress  to  eternity. 
Look  what  thy  memory  cannot  contain. 
Commit  to  these  waste  blanks,  and  thou  shalt  find 
Those  children  nurs'd,  delivered  from  thy  brain. 
To  take  a  new  acquaintance  of  thy  mind. 
These  offices,  so  oil  as  thou  wilt  look. 
Shall  profit  thee,  and  much  enrich  thy  book. 

LXXVIII. 

So  ofl  have  I  invok'd  thee  for  my  muse, 
And  found  such  fair  assistance  in  my  verse, 
As  every  alien  pen  hath  got  my  use. 
And  under  thee  their  poesy  disperse. 
Thine  eyes,  that  taught  the  dumb  on  high  to  sing. 
And  heavy  ignorance  aloft  to  lly, 
Have  added  feathers  to  the  learned's  wing, 
And  given  grace  a  double  majesty. 
Yet  be  most  proud  of  that  which 'l  compile, 
Whose  influence  is  thme,  and  born  of  thee: 
In  others'  works  thou  dost  but  mend  the  style, 
And  arts  with  thy  sweet  graces  graced  be;" 
But  thou  art  all  my  art,  and  dost  advance 
As  high  as  learning  my  rude  ignorance. 
»  A  dress  known  and  familiar. 


LXXIX. 

Whilst  I  alone  did  call  upon  thy  aid, 
Aly  verse  alone  had  all  tJiy  gentle  grace ; 
Hut  now  my  gracious  numbers  are  decay*di 
And  my  sick  muse  doth  give  another  place. 
I  grant,  sweet  love,  thy  lovely  argument 
Deserves  the  travail  of  a  worthier  pen  : 
Yet  what  of  thee  thy  poet  doth  invent. 
He  robs  thee  of,  and  pays  it  thee  again. 
He  lends  thee  virtue,  and  he  stole  that  word 
From  thy  behavior;  beauty  doth  he  give. 
And  Jbuhd  it  in  thy  cJieek ;  he  can  atiord 
No  praise  to  thee  but  what  in  thee  doth  live. 
Then  thank  him  not  fnr  that  which  he  doth  say, 
Since  what  he  owes  thee  thou  thyself  dost  pay. 

LXXX. 

O,  how  I  faint  when  I  of  you  do  write, 
Knowing  a  better  spirit  doth  use  your  name. 
And  in  the  praise  thereof  spends  all  his  might. 
To  make  me  tongue-tied  speaking  of  your  tame! 
But  since  your  worth  (wide  as  the  ocean  is) 
The  humble  as  the  proudest  sail  doth  bear, 
My  saucy  bark,  inferior  far  to  his, 
On  your  broad  main  dolh  wilfully  appear. 
Your  shallowest  help  will  hold  me  up  alloat. 
Whilst,  he  upon  your  soundless  deep  doth  ride; 
(ir,  being  wreck  a,  I  am  a  worthless  boat, 
He  of  tall  building,  and  of  goodly  pride: 
Then  if  he  thrive,  and  I  he  cast  away. 
The  worst  was  this; — my  love  was  my  decay. 

LXXXI. 

Or  I  shall  live  your  epitaph  to  make. 
Or  you  survive*  when  1  in  earth  am  rotten  , 
Fro'm  hence  your  memory  death  cannot  take, 
Although  in  me  each  ]>art  will  be  Jbrgotten. 
Your  name  from  hence  immortal  lile  shall  have-. 
Though  I,  once  gone,  to  all  the  world  must  die: 
The  earth  can  yield  me  but  a  common  grave. 
When  you  entombed  in  men's  eyes  shall  lie. 
Your  monument  shall  be  my  gentle  verse, 
Which  eyes  not  yet  created  shall  o'er-read; 
And  tongues  to  be.  your  being  shall  rehearse, 
When  all  the  breathers  of  this  world  are  dead; 
You  still  shall  live  (such  virtue  hath  my  pen) 
Where  breath  most  breathes,  even  in  Uie  mouths 
of  men. 

LXXXII. 

I  grant  thou  wert  not  marrfed  to  my  muse, 
And  theretbre  mayst  without  attaint  o'erlook 
The  dedicated  words  which  writers  use 
Of  their  lair  subject,  blessing  every  book. 
Thou  art  as  fair  in  knowledge  as  in  hue, 
Finding  thy  worth  a  limit  past  my  praise; 
And  therelbrc  art  enforc'd  to  seek  anew 
Some  fresher  stamp  of  the  time-bettering  days. 
And  do  so,  love ;  yet  when  they  have  devis'u 
What  strained  touches  rhetoric  can  lend. 
Thou  truly  fair  wert  truly  sympathiz'd 
In  true  plain  words,  by  thy  true-telling  friend; 
And  their  gross  painting  might  be  better  us*d 
Where  cheeks  need  blood;  in  thee  it  is  abus'd. 

LXXXIII. 

I  never  saw  that  you  did  painting  need, 
And  theretbre  to  your  fair  no  painting  set. 
I  Ibund,  or  thougtit  I  fouijd.  you  did  exceed 
The  barren  tender  of  a  poet's  debt : 
And  theretbre  have  1  slept  in  j'our  report. 
That  you  yourself,  being  extant,  well  might  show 
How  tar  a  modern  quill  doth  come  too  short 
Speaking  of  worth,  what  worth  in  you  doth  grow. 
This  silence  for  my  sin  you  did  impute, 
Which  shall  be  most  my  glory,  bemg  dumb  ; 
For  I  impair  not  beauty  being  mute. 
When  others  would  give  life,  and  bring  a  tomb. 
There  lives  more  lile  in  one  of  your  fair  eyes 
Than  both  your  poets  can  in  praise  devise. 

LXXXIV. 

Who  IS  it  that  says  most?  which  can  say  more 
Than  this  rich  praise, — tliat  you  alone  are  you  \ 


804 


SONNETS. 


Iti  whose  confine  immured  is  tlie  store 
Wliicli  should  example  where  your  equal  grew  1 
Lean  penury  wiiljiii  that  pen  doth  dwell, 
Tliat  to  his  subject  lends  not  some  small  glory ; 
Itut  he  that  writes  of  >oti,  il"he  can  tell 
That  you  arc  you,  so  dignihes  his  story, 
Let  Inm  hut  copy  what  in  you  is  writ, 
Kot  making  worse  what  nature  made  so  clear, 
And  such  a  couiueipart  .-hall  lame  his  wit, 
INIalviug  Ins  style  admired  every  where. 
You  lo  your  heauleous  blessings  add  a  curse, 
Being  tbnd  tf  praise,  which  makes  your  praises 
worse. 

LXXXV. 

My  tongue-tied  muse  in  nianners  holds  her  still. 

While  comments  of  your  praise,  richly  compil'd, 

Reserve  their  character  with  golden  quill, 

And  precious  phrase  by  all  the  muses  lil'd.- 

I  tliiiik  good  thoughts,  while  others  write  good 

words, 
And,  like  unletter'd  clerk,  slill  cry  "Amen" 
To  every  hymn  that  able  spirit  atlbrds. 
In  polish'd  form  of  well-rehned  pen. 
Hearing  you  prais'd,  I  say,  '-'tis  so,  'tis  true," 
And  to  the  most  of  praise  add  something  more  ; 
liut  that  is  in  my  thought,  whose  love  to  you. 
Though  words  come  hindmost,holds  his  rank  before. 
Tlien  others  for  the  breath  of  words  respect, 
file  lor  my  dumb  thoughts,  speaking  in  eticct. 

LXXXVI. 

Was  it  the  proud  full  sail  of  his  great  verse. 
Hound  (or  the  prize  of  all-too-precious  you. 
That  hid  my  ripe  thouglUs  in  my  brain  inhearse, 
Making  their  tomb  the  womb  wherein  they  grew] 
Was  it  his  spirit,  by  spirits  taught  to  write 
Above  a  mortal  pitch,  that  struck  me  doadi 
No.  neither  he.  nor  his  compeers  by  night 
(living  liiin  aid,  my  verse  astonished. 
He,  nor  that  atlable  familiar  ghost 
Which  nightly  gulls  him  with  intelligence, 
As  victors,  of  my  silence  cannot  boast; 
1  was  not  sick  of  any  tear  from  thence. 
But  when^your  countenance  lifd-  up  his  line, 
Then  lack'd  I  matter ;  that  enfeebled  mine. 

LXXXVII. 

Farewell !  thou  art  too  dear  for  my  possessing, 
And  like  enough  tiiou  kuow'st  thy  estimate  : 
The  charter  of  thy  worth  gives  thee  releasing; 
My  bonds  in  thee  are  all  determinate. 
For  iiow  do  I  hold  thee  but  by  thy  granting] 
And  lor  that  riches  where  is  my  deserving  ] 
The  cause  of  this  fair  gift  in  me  is  wanting. 
And  so  my  patent  back  again  is  swerving. 
Tliyself  thou  gav'st,  tliy  own  worth  then  not  kmow- 

Or  me,  to  whom  thou  gav  st  it,  else  mistaking; 
So  thy  great  gift,  upon  misprision  growing. 
Comes  home  again,  on  belter  judgment  making. 
Thus  have  I  had  tliee,  as  a  dream  doth  Hatter, 
In  sleep  a  Idng,  but,  waking,  no  such  matter. 

Lxxxvni. 

When  thou  shall  be  dispos'd  to  set  me  light, 
And  place  my  merit  in  the  eye  of  scorn. 
Upon  thy  side  against  myself  I'U  fight. 
And  prove  thee  virtuous,  though  thou  art  forsworn. 
With  mine  own  weakness  being  best  acquainted. 
Upon  thy  part  I  can  set  down  a  story 
Of  faults  conceai'd.  wherein  I  am  attainted  ; 
That  thou,  in  losing  inc,  shalt  win  much  glory: 
And  I  by  this  will  be  a  gainer  too  ; 
For  bending  all  my  loving  thnuglits  on  thee. 
The  injuries  that  to  myself  I  do, 
Doing  thee  vantage,  double-vantage  me. 
Such  is  my  love,  to  thee  I  so  belong, 
Tliat  for  thy  right  myself  will  bear  all  wrong. 

I-XXXl.X. 

Say  that  thou  didst  forsake  me  for  some  fault. 
And  1  will  comment  upon  that  oll'ence : 
3 1'olirthud. 


Speak  of  my  lameness,  and  I  straight  will  halt, 
Against  thy  reasons  making  no  dctenee. 
Tliou  canst  not,  love,  disgrace  me  half  so  ill, 
To  set  a  form  upon  desired  change. 
As  I'll  myself  disgrace:  knowing  tiiy  will, 
1  will  acquaintance  strangle,  and  look  strange; 
Be  absent  from  thy  walks;  and  in  my  tongue 
Thy  sweet-beloved  name  no  more  shall  dwell; 
Lest  I  (too  much  prolane)  should  do  it  wrong. 
And  haply  of  our  old  acquaintance  tell. 
For  thee,  against  myself  I'll  vow  debate. 
For  I  must  ne'er  love  him  whom  thou  dost  hate. 

XC. 

Then  hate  me  when  (hou  wilt;  if  ever,  now; 
Now  while  the  world  is  bent  my  deeds  to  cross, 
Join  with  the  spite  of  tbrtune,  make  me  bow, 
And  do  not  drop  in  for  an  atter-loss : 
Ah  !  do  not,  when  my  heart  hath  scap'd  this  sorrow, 
Come  in  the  rearward  of  a  conquer  d  woe  ; 
Give  not  a  windy  night  a  rainy  morrow. 
To  linger  out  apurpos'd  overthrow. 
If  thou  wilt  leave  me,  do  not  leave  me  last. 
When  other  petty  grids  have  done  their  spite. 
But  in  the  onset  come;  so  shall  I  taste 
At  hist  tlie  very  worst  of  Ibrtune's  might; 
And  other  strains  of  woe.  which  now  seem  woe, 
Compar'd  with  loss  of  thee  will  not  seem  so. 

XCI. 

Some  glory  in  their  birth,  some  in  their  skill. 
Some  in  their  wealth,  some  in  their  body's  force; 
Some  in  their  garments,  though  new-fangled  ill; 
Some  in  their  hawks  and  hounds,  some  in  their 

horse ; 
And  every  humor  hath  his  adjunct  pleasure. 
Wherein  it  finds  a'joy  above  the  rest; 
But  these  particulars  are  not  my  measure. 
All  these  1  better  in  one  general  best. 
Thy  love  is  better  than  high  birth  to  me. 
Richer  than  wealth,  prouder  than  garments'  cost, 
Of  more  delight  than  hawks  or  horses  be; 
And,  having  thee,  of  all  men's  pride  I  boast. 
Wretched  in  this  alone,  that  thou  luayst  take 
All  this  away,  and  me  most  wretched  make. 

XCII. 

■  But  do  thy  worst  to  steal  thyself  away. 
For  term  of  life  thou  art  assured  mine ; 
And  lile  no  longer  than  thy  love  will  stay. 
For  it  depends  upon  that  love  of  thine. 
Then  need  I  not  to  fear  the  worst  of  wrongs. 
When  111  the  least  of  them  my  life  hath  end. 
I  see  a  better  state  to  me  belongs 
Than  that  which  on  thy  humor  doth  depend. 
Thou  canst  not  vex  me  with  inconstant  mind. 
Since  that  my  life  on  thy  revolt  doth  lie. 
O  what  a  happy  title  do'l  find, 
Happy  to  have  thy  love,  happy  to  die  ! 
But  what's  so  blessed-lirir  Ihat  fears  no  blot  ?— 
Thou  may  st  be  liilse,  and  yet  I  know  it  not: 

XCIII. 

So  shall  I  live,  supposing  thou  art  true. 

Like  a  deceived  husband  ;  .so  love's  liice 

May  still  seem  love  to  me,  though  alter'd-new, 

Thy  looks  with  mc,  thy  heart  in  other  place: 

For  there  can  live  no  haired  in  thine  eye. 

Therefore  in  that  I  cannot  know  thy  change. 

In  many  s  looks  the  false  heart's  history 

Is  writ,  in  moods  and  frowns  and  wrinkles  strange : 

But  Heaven  in  thy  creation  did  decree 

That  in  thy  face  sweet  love  should  ever  dwell ; 

Whatc  er  thy   thoughts  or  thy  heart's  workings 

be. 
Thy  looks  should  nothing  thence  but  sweetness 
tell. 
How  like  Eve's  apple  doth  thy  beauty  grow 
If  thy  sweet  virtue  answer  not  thy  show  ! 

XCIV. 

They  that  have  power  to  hurt  and  will  do  none, 
That  do  not  do  tiie  thing  they  most  do  show. 
Who,  moving  others,  are  themselves  as  stone, 
Unmoved,  cold,  and  to  temptation  slow  ; 


SONNETS. 


805 


They  rightly  do  inherit  Heaven's  graces. 
And  husband  nature's  riches  from  expense  ; 
They  are  tile  lords  and  owners  ol'tiieir  laces, 
Others  but  stewards  of  their  excellence. 
The  summer's  rlower  is  to  the  sumnter  sweet, 
Though  to  itself  it  only  live  and  die  ; 
But  if  that  llower  with  base  infection  meet. 
Tile  basest  weed  outbraves  his  dignity  : 
For  sweetest  things  turn  sourest  by  their  deeds  : 
Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds. 

XCV. 

How  sweet  and  lovely  dost  tliou  make  the  shame 
Which  like  a  canker  in  the  fragrant  rose. 
Doth  spot  the  beauty  of  thy  budding  name  I 
O,  in  what  sweets  dost  thou  thy  sins  enclose  ! 
That  tongue  that  tells  the  story  of  thy  days, 
Making  lascivious  comments  on  thy  sport. 
Cannot  dispraise  but  in  a  kind  of  praise  ; 
Naming  thy  name  blesses  an  ill  report. 
O,  what  a  mansion  have  those  vices  got 
Which  for  their  habitation  cliose  out  thee  ! 
Where  beauty's  veil  doth  cover  every  blot. 
And  all  things  turn  to  fair,  that  eyes  can  .see  ! 

Take  heed,  dear  heart,  of  this  large  privilege  ; 

The  hardest  knife  ill-used  doth  lose  his  edge. 

XCVI. 

Rome  say  thy  fault  is  youth,  some  wantonness ; 
Some  say  thy  grace  is  youth  and  gentle  sport ; 
Both  grace  and  faults  are  lov'd  of  more  and  less: 
Thou  mak'st  faults  graces  that  to  thee  resort. 
As  on  the  finger  of  a  throned  queen 
The  basest  jewel  will  be  well  esteem'd; 
So  are  those  errors  that  in  thee  are  seen, 
To  truths  translated,  and  for  true  things  deem'd. 
How  many  lambs  might  the  stern  wolf  betray, 
If  like  a  lamb  he  could  his  looks  translate! 
How  many  gazers  mightst  thou  lead  away. 
If  thou  wouldst  use  the  strength  of  all  thy  state! 
But  do  not  so ;  I  love  thee  in  such  sort. 
As,  thou  being  mine,  mine  is  thy  good  report. 

XCVII. 

How  like  a  winter  hath  my  absence  been 
From  thee,  the  pleasure  of  the  tieeling  year  ! 
What  freezings  have  I  felt,  what  dark  days  seen! 
What  old  December's  bareness  everywhere  ! 
And  5-et  this  time  remov'd^  was  summer's  time; 
The  teeming  autumn,  big  with  rich  increase. 
Bearing  the  wanton  burden  of  the  prime, 
Like  widow'd  wombs  after  their  lords'  decease  ; 
Yet  this  abundant  issue  seem'd  to  me 
But  hope  of  orphans,  and  unfather'd  fruit; 
For  summer  and  his  pleasures  wait  on  thee, 
And  thou  away,  the  very  birds  are  mute  ; 
Or  if  they  sing,  'tis  with  so  dull  a  cheer, 
That  leaves  look  pale,  dreading   the   winter's 
near. 

XCVIII. 

From  you  have  I  been  absent  in  the  spring. 

When  proud-jiied  April,  dress'd  in  all  his  trim. 

Hath  put  a  !>pirit  of  youth  in  every  thing. 

That  heavy  Saturn  laugh'd  and  li^ip'd  with  him. 

Yet  nor  the  lays  of  birds,  nor  the  sweet  smell 

Of  difierent  llowers  in  odor  and  in  hue. 

Could  make  me  any  suinnicr's  story  tell. 

Or  from  their  proud  lap  pluck  them  where  they 

grew : 
Kor  did  I  wonder  at  the  lilies  white. 
Nor  praise  the  deep  vermilion  in  the  rose  ; 
They  were  but  sweet,  but  figures  of  delight, 
Drawn  after  you,  you  pattern  of  all  those. 
Yet  seem'd  it  winter  still,  and.  you  away. 
As  with  your  shadow  I  with  these  did  play : 

XCIX. 
The  forward  violet  thus  did  I  chide  : 
Sweet  thief,  vi'hence  didst  thou  steal  thy  sweet  that 

smells. 
If  not  from  my  love's  breath  ?     The  purple  pride 
Which  on  thy  soft  check  tor  complexion  dwells. 
In  my  love's  veins  thou  hast  too  grossly  dy'd. 
'  Time  of  absence. 


The  lily  I  condemned  for  thy  hand. 
And  buds  of  marjoram  had  stolen  thy  hair: 
The  roses  fearfully  on  thorns  did  stand. 
One  blu-shing  shame,  another  white  despair; 
A  third,  nor  red  nor  white,  had  stolen  of  both, 
And  to  his  robbery  had  annex'd  thy  breath; 
But  for  his  theft,  in  pride  of  ail  his  growtii 
A  vengeful  canker  eat  him  up  to  deatii. 
More  flowers  I  noted,  yet  I  none  could  see, 
But  sweet  or  color  it  had  stolen  from  thee. 

C. 

Where  art  thou.  Muse,  that  th.m  forget'st  so  long 
To  speak  of  that  wliicli  gives  thee  all  thy  niightt 
S^iend'st  thou  thy  fury  on  some  worthless  song. 
Darkening  thy  power,  to  lend  b.ise  subjects  light  t 
Return,  forgetful  Muse,  and  straight  re'dcem 
In  gentle  numbers  time  so  idly  spent; 
Sing  to  the  ear  that  doth  thy  lays  esteem 
And  gives  thy  pen  both  skill  and  argument. 
Uise.  restive  Muse,  my  love's  sweet  Ace  survej', 
If  Time  have  any  wrinkle  graven  there  ; 
If  any,  be  a  satire  to  decay. 
And  make  Time's  spoils  despised  everywhere. 
Give  my  love  fame  faster  than  Time  wastes  life, 
So  thou  prevent'st  his  scythe, and  crooked  knife. 

CI. 

0  truant  Muse,  what  shall  be  thy  amends. 
For  thy  neglect  of  truth  in  beauty  dy'd  ! 
iJoth  truth  and  beauty  on  my  love  depends; 
So  dost  thou  too,  and  therein  dignified. 
Make  answer.  Muse  :  wilt  tiiou  not  haply  say, 
"  Truth  needs  no  color  with  his  color  fix'd. 
Beauty  no  pencil,  beauty's  truth  to  lay : 

Hut  best  is  best,  if  never'intermix'd  1" — 
Because  he  needs  no  praise,  wilt  thou  be  dumb? 
Excuse  not  silence  so  ;  for  it  lies  in  thee 
To  make  him  much  outlive  a  gilded  tomb. 
And  to  be  prais'd  of  ages  yet  to  be. 
Tiien  do  thy  oflice,  IVIuse;  I  teach  thee  iiow 
To  make  him  seem  long  hence  as  he  shows  now. 

cn. 

My  love  is  strengthen 'd,  though  more  weak  in 
seeming  ; 

1  love  not  less,  though  less  the  show  appear: 
Tiiat  love  is  merchandiz'd,  whose  rich  esteeming 
The  owner's  tongue  dotli  publish  everywhere. 
Our  love  was  new,  and  then  but  in  the  spring, 
When  I  was  wont  to  greet  it  witii  my  lays; 

As  Philomel  in  summer's  front  dotii  sing, 
,\nd  stops  his  pipe  in  growtii  of  riper  days: 
Not  that  the  summer  is  less  pleasant  now 
Than  when  her  mournful  hymns  did  hush  tlic  night. 
But  that  wild  music  burthens  every  bough. 
And  sweets  grown  common  lose  their  dear  delight. 
Tlierefore,  like  her,  I  sometime  hold  my  tongue, 
Because  I  would  not  dull  you  witli  my  song. 

CIIL 

Alack !  what  poverty  my  muse  brings  forth, 
Tliat  having  such  a  scope  to  show  her  pride, 
The  argument,  all  bare,  is  of  more  worth. 
Than  when  it  hath  my  added  praise  beside. 
O  blame  me  not  if  I  no  more  can  write ! 
Look  in  your  ghass.  and  there  appears  a  face 
l^hat  over-goes  my  blunt  in\ention  quite. 
Dulling  my  lines,  and  doing  me  disgrace. 
Were  it  not  sinful  liicn,  striving  to  mend. 
To  mar  tiie  subject  tliat  before  was  well  1 
For  to  no  other  pass  my  verses  tend, 
Than  of  jour  graces  and  your  girts  to  tell ; 
And  more,mLicIi  more,  than  in  my  verse  can  sit, 
Your  own  glass  shows  you,  when  you  look  in  it. 

CIV. 

To  me,  fair  friend,  you  never  can  be  old, 
For  as  you  were  when  first  your  eye  I  eyed, 
Such  .seems  your  beauty  still.    Three  winters'  cold 
Have  from  the  forests  shook  three  summers'  pride. 
Three  beauteous  springs  to  yellow  autumn  turn'd 
In  process  of  the  seasons  iiave  I  seen  ; 
Three  April  perfumes  in  three  hot  Junes  burn'd. 
Since  first  I  saw  you  fresh,  which  yet  are  green. 


806 


SONNETS. 


Ah  !  yet  doth  beauty,  like  a  dial  hand, 
Steal  from  his  tigure,  and  no  pace  perceiv'd  ; 
Soyoursweet  hue, which  mcthinksstilldolh  stand, 
Hath  motion,  and  mine  eye  may  be  deceivM. 
For  fear  of  which,  hear  this,  thou  age  unbred. 
Ere  you  were  born,  was  beauty's  summer  dead. 

CV. 

Let  not  my  love  be  callM  idolatry, 
Nor  my  beloved  as  an  idol  show, 
Smce  all  alike  my  song  and  praises  be, 
To  one,  of  one,  still  such,  and  ever  so. 
Kmd  is  my  love  to-day,  to-moirovv  kind, 
Still  constant  in  awondrous  excellence  ; 
Therefore  my  verse,  to  constancy  contin'd. 
One  thing  expressing,  leaves  out  ditTerence. 
Fair,  kind,  and  true,  is  all  my  argument. 
Fair,  kind,  and  true,  varying  to  other  words ; 
And  in  this  change  is  my  invention  spent, 
Three  themes  in  one,  which  wondrous  scope  af- 
fords. 
Fair,  kind,  and  true,  have  often  Uv'd  alone. 
Which  three,  till  now,  never  kept  seat  in  one. 

CVI. 

When  in  the  chronicle  of  wasted  time 
I  see  descriptions  of  the  fairest  wights. 
And  beauty  making  beautiful  old  rhyme. 
In  praise  of  ladies  dead  and  lovely  knights, 
Then  in  the  blazon  of  sweet  beauty's  best, 
Of  hand,  of  foot,  of  lip,  of  eye,  of  brow, 
I  see  their  antique  pen  would  have  express'd 
Even  such  a  beauty  as  you  master  now. 
So  all  their  praises  are  but  prophecies 
Of  this  our  time,  all  you  pretiguring ; 
And,  fur  they  look'd  but  with  divining  eyes, 
They  had  nut  skill  enough  your  worth  to  sing: 
For  we,  which  now  behold  these  present  days, 
Have  eyes  to  wonder,  but  lack  tongues  to  praise. 

cvir. 

Not  mine  own  fears,  nor  the  prophetic  soul 
Of  the  wide  world  dreaming  on  things  to  come, 
Can  yet  the  lease  of  my  true  love  control, 
Suppos'd  as  tbrfeit  to  a  contin'd  doom. 
The  mortal  moon  hath  her  eclipse  endur'd. 
And  the  sad  augurs  mock  their  own  presage ; 
Incertamtics  now  crown  themselves  assur'd, 
And  peace  proclaims  olives  of  endless  age. 
Now  with  tJie  drops  of  this  most  balmy  time 
My  love  looks  fresh,  and  Death  to  me  subscribes,^ 
Since  spite  of  him  I'll  live  \n  this  poor  rhyme, 
While  he  insults  o'er  dull  and  speechless  tribes. 
And  thou  in  this  shalt  hnd  thy  monument. 
When   tyrants'  crests  and  tombs  of  brass  are 
spent. 

CVIII. 

What's  in  the  brain  that  ink  may  character. 
Which  liath  not  f];;ur'd  to  thee  my  true  spirit'? 
What's  new  to  speak,  what  now  to  register. 
That  may  express  my  love,  or  thy  dear  merit? 
Nothing,  sweet  boy  ;  but  yet,  like  prayers  divine, 
I  must  each  day  say  o'er  the  very  same ; 
Counting  no  old  thfng  old,  thou  mine,  I  thine. 
Even  as  when  first  I  hallowed  thy  fair  name. 
So  that  eternal  love  in  love's  fresh  case 
Weighs  not  the  dust  and  injury  of  age. 
Nor  gives  to  necessary  wrinkles  place, 
liut  makes  antiquity  for  aye  his  page  ; 
Finding  the  first  conceit  of  love  there  bred, 
AVMiere  time  and  outward  form  would  show  it 
dead. 

CIX. 

O,  never  say  that  I  was  filse  of  heart, 
Though  absence  seein'd  my  flame  to  qualify  ! 
As  easy  might  I  from  myself  depart. 
As  from  my  soul,  which  in  thy  breast  doth  lie : 
That  is  my  home  of  love :  if  I  have  rang'd, 
Like  him  that  travels,  I  return  again; 
Just  to  the  time,  not  with  the  time  exchang'd,— 
So  that  myself  bring  water  for  my  stain. 
Never  believe,  though  in  my  nature  reign'd 
All  frailties  that  besiege  all  kinds  of  blood, 
«  Submits. 


That  it  could  so  preposterously  be  stain'd, 
To  leave  for  notJiing  all  thy  sum  of  good; 
For  nothing  this  wide  universe  I  call, 
Save  thou,  my  rose ;  in  it  thou  art  my  all. 

ex. 

Alas,  'tis  true,  I  have  gone  here  and  there, 

And  made  myself  a  motley  to  the  view, 

Gor'd^  mine  own   thoughts,  sold  cheap  what  ia 

most  dear. 
Made  old  offences  of  affections  new. 
Most  true  it  is,  that  I  have  look'd  on  truth 
Askance  and  strangely  ;  but,  by  all  above. 
These  blenches  gave  my  heart  another  youth, 
And  worst  essays  prov'd  thee  my  best  of  love. 
Now  all  is  done",  save  what  shall  liave  no  end: 
Mine  appetite  I  never  more  will  urind 
On  newer  proof,  to  try  an  older  ii h'ihI, 
A  god  in  love,  to  whom  I  am  conlin'd. 

Then  give  me  welcome,  next  my  heaven  the 
best. 

Even  to  thy  pure  and  most  most  loving  breast. 

CXI. 

O  for  my  sake  do  you  with  Fortune  chide, 
The  guilty  goddess  of  my  harmful  deeds, 
That  did  not  better  for  my  lite  provide. 
Than  public  means,  which  public  manners  breeds. 
Thence  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brand. 
And  almost  thence  my  nature  is  subdued 
To  what  it  works  in,  like  the  dyer's  hand: 
Pity  me  then,  and  wish  I  were  renew'd; 
Whilst,  like  a  willing  patient,  I  will  drink 
Potions  of  eysen,"*  'gainst  my  strong  infection  ; 
No  bitterness  that  I  will  bitter  think, 
Nor  double  penance,  to  correct  correction. 
Pity  me  then,  dear  friend,  and  I  assure  ye. 
Even  that  your  pity  is  enough  to  cure  me. 

CXII. 

Your  love  and  pit*>'  doth  the  impression  till 
Which  vulgar  scandal  stamp'd  upon  my  brow; 
For  wiiat  care  I  wlio  calls  me  well  or  ill. 
So  you  o'ergreen  n^  bad, my  good  allow? 
Voii  are  my  all-the-world,  and  I  must  strive 
To  know  my  shames  and  praises  from  your  tongue; 
None  else  to  me,  nor  I  to  none  alive, 
That  my  steel'd  sense  or  changes,  right  or  wrong. 
In  so  profound  abysm  I  throw  all  care 
Of  others'  voices,  that  my  adder's  sense 
To  critic  and  to  flatterer  stopped  are. 
Mark  how  with  my  neglect  I  do  dispense: — 
You  arc  so  strongly  in  my  purpose  bred, 
That  all  the  world  besides  melhinks  are  dead. 

CXIII. 

Since  I  left  you,  mine  eye  is  in  my  mind ; 
And  that  which  governs  me  to  go  about 
Doth  part  his  function,  and  is  partly  blind, 
Seems  seeing,  but  etlectually  is  out; 
I-'or  it  no  form  delivers  to  the  heart 
Of  bird,  of  flower,  or  shape,  which  it  doth  lack 
Of  his  quick  objects  hath  tlie  mind  no  part. 
Nor  his  own  vision  holds  what  it  doth  catch ; 
For  if  it  see  the  rud'st  or  gentlest  sight, 
The  most  sweet  favor,  or  detbrmedst  creature. 
The  mountain  or  the  sea,  the  day  or  night, 
Tlie  crow,  or  dove,  it  sliapes  them  to  your  feature. 
Incapable  of  more,  replete  with  you. 
My  most  true  mind  thus  maketh  mine  untrue. 

CXIV. 

Or  whether  doth  my  mind,  being  crown'd^vith  you, 
Drink  up  the  monarch's  plague,  this  flattery, 
Or  whether  shall  I  say  mine  eye  saith  true, 
And  that  your  love  taught  it  this  alchymy, 
To  make  of  monsters  and  things  indigest, 
Such  cheruhims  as  your  sweet  self  resemble, 
Creating  every  bad  a  perfect  best, 
As  fast  as  objects  to  his  beams  assemble? 
0,  'tis  the  first ;  'tis  flattery  in  my  seeing. 
And  my  great  mind  most  kingly' drinks  it  up  : 
Mine  eye  well  knows  what  with  his  gust  is  'greeing, 
And  to  his  palate  doth  prepare  the  cup: 

»  Woundu'tl.  «  Vinegar. 


SONNETS. 


807 


If  it  be  poison'd,  'tis  the  lesser  sin 

That  mine  eye  loves  it,  and  doth  first  begin. 

CXV. 

Those  lines  that  I  before  have  writ,  do  lie, 
Even  those  that  paid  1  could  not  love  you  dearer; 
yet  then  my  judgment  knew  no  reason  why 
My  most  full  liame  should  afterwards  burn  clearer. 
But  reckoning  time,  whose  million'd  accidents 
Creep  in  'twixt  vows,  and  change  decrees  of  kings, 
Tan  sacred  beauty-,  blunt  Ihe  sharp'st  intents, 
Divert  strong  minds  to  the  course  of  altering  things; 
Alas!  why,  fearing  of  Time's  tyranny, 
Might  I  not  tlien  say,_"Xow  I  love  you  best, 
When  I  was  certain  o'er  inccrtainty. 
Crowning  the  present,  doubting  of  the  rest! 
Love  is  a  babe ;  then  might  1  not  say  so. 
To  give  full  growth  to  that  which  still  doth  grow  ? 

CXVI. 

Let  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 

Adnnt  impediments.    Love  is  not  love 

Which  alters  when  it  alteration  hnds. 

Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove : 

O  no;  it  is  an  ever-fixed  mark. 

That  looks  on  tempests,  and  is  never  shakeir; 

It  is  the  star  to  every  wandering  bark, 

Whose  worth's  unknown,  althuugli  his  height  be 

taken. 
Love's  not  Time's  fool,  though  rosy  lips  and  cheeks 
Within  his  bending  sickle's  compass  come  ; 
Love  alters  not  with  his  brief  hours  and  weeks, 
But  bears  it  out  even  to  the  edge  of  doom. 

Jf  this  be  error,  and  upon  me  prov'd, 

I  never  writ  nor  no  njan  ever  lov'd. 

CXV  11. 

Accuse  me  thus;  that  I  have  scanted  all 
Wherein  I  should  your  great  deserts  repay; 
Forgot  upon  your  dearest  love  to  call. 
Whereto  all  bonds  do  tie  me  day  by  day; 
That  I  have  frequent  been  with  unknown  minds, 
And  given  to  time  your  own  dear-purchas'd  right; 
That  I  have  hoisted  sail  to  all  the  winds 
Which  should  tratisport  me   farlhest  from  your 

sight. 
Book  both  my  wilfulness  and  errors  down, 
And  on  just  proof  surmise  accumulate. 
Bring  me  within  the  level  of  your  frown. 
But  shoot  not  at  me  in  your  waken'd  hate: 
Since  my  appeal  says,  1  did  strive  to  prove 
The  constancy  and  virtue  of  your  love. 

CXVIU. 

Like  as,  to  make  our  appetites  more  keen. 
With  eager  compounds  we  our  palate  urge: 
As,  to  prevent  our  maladies  unseen. 
We  sicken  to  shun  sickness,  when  we  purge; 
Even  so,  being  full  of  your  ne'er-cloying  sweet- 
ness. 
To  bitter  sauces  did  I  frame  my  feeding. 
And,  sick  of  welfare,  (bund  a  kind  of  meetness 
To  be  diseas'd,  ere  that  there  was  true  needing. 
Thus  policy  in  love,  to  anticipate 
The  ills  that-were  not,  grew  to  faults  assured. 
And  brought  to  medicine  a  healthful  state. 
Which,  rank  of  goodness,  would  by  ill  be  cured. 
But  thence  I  learn,  and  find  the  lesson  true, 
Drugs  poison  him  tliat  so  fell  sick  of  you. 

CXIX. 

What  potions  have  I  drunk  of  Siren  tears, 
Distill'd  from  limbecs  foul  as  hell  within. 
Applying  lisars  to  hopes,  and  hopes  to  fears, 
Still  losing  when  I  saw  myself  to  win! 
What  wretclied  errors  hath  my  heart  committed. 
Whilst  it  hath  tliought  itself  so  blessed  never! 
How  have  mine,  eyes  out  of  their  spheres   been 

fitted,' 
In  the  distraction  of  this  madding  fever  ! 
O  benefit  of  ill!  now  I  find  true 
That  better  is  by  evil  still  made  better; 
And  ruin'd  love,  when  it  is  built  anew, 
Grows  fairer  than  at  first,  more  strong,  far  greater. 
1  Subjected  to  fits. 


So  I  return  rebuk'd  to  mv  content. 

And  gain  by  ill  thrice  more  than  I  have  spent. 

CXX. 

That  you  were  once  unkind,  befriends  me  now, 
And  for  that  sorrow,  which  I  then  did  feel. 
Needs  must  I  under  my  transgression  bow, 
Unless  my  nerves  were  brass  or  hammer  d  steel. 
For  if  you  were  by  my  unkindness  shaken. 
As  I  by  yours,  you  have  passed  a  hell  of  time; 
And  I,  a  tyrant,  have  no  leisure  taken 
To  weigh'how  once  I  sulfer'd  in  your  crime.    ^ 

0  that  our  night  of  woe  might  have  remember  d 
My  deepest  sense,  how  hard  true  sorrow  hits. 
And  soon  to  you,  as  you  to  me,  then  tcnder'd 
The  humble  salve  which  wounded  bosoms  fits! 

But  that  your  trespass  now  becomes  a  ft-e  : 
Jline  ransoms  yours,  and  yours  must  ransom  me. 

CXXL 

'Tis  better  to  be  vile  than  vile  estecm'd. 

When  not  to  be  receives  reproach  of  being,   _ 

And  the  just  pleasure  lost,  which  is  so  deem  d 

Not  by  our  li'eling.  but  by  others'  seeing. 

For  why  should  others'  lalse  adulterate  eyes 

Give  salutation  to  my  sportive  blood  ! 

Or  on  my  frailties  why  are  frailer  spies. 

Which  in  their  wills  count  badwliat  I  think  goodi 

No.— I  am  that  I  am ;  and  they  that  level 

At  my  abuses,  reckon  up  their  own; 

1  may  be  straight,  though  they  themselves  be  bevel; 
By  their  rank   thoughts  my  deeds  must  not  be 

shown ; 
Unless  this  general  evil  they  maintain,— 
All  men  are  bad,  and  in  tlieir  badness  rcigii. 

CXXIL 

Thy  gift,  thy  tables,  are  within  my  brain 
Full  character'd  with  lasting  memory. 
Which  shall  above  that  idle  rank  remain, 
Beyond  all  date,  even  to  eternity : 
Or  at  the  least  so  long  as  brain  and  heart 
Have  faculty  by  nature  to  subsist; 
Till  each  to  raz'd  oblivion  yield  his  part 
Of  thee,  thy  record  never  can  be  miss'd. 
That  poor  retention  could  not  so  much  hold. 
Nor  need  I  tallies  Ihy  dear  love  to  score  ; 
Therefore  to  give  them  from  me  was  I  bold. 
To  trust  those  tables  that  receive  thee  more: 
To  keep  an  adjunct  to  remember  thee, 
Were  to  import  forgetfulness  in  me. 

cxxin. 

No!  Time.  Ihou  shall  not  boast  that  I  do  change) 
Tliy  pyramids  built  up  wilh  newer  might 
To  me  are  nothing  novel,  nothing  strange  ; 
They  are  but  dressings  of  a  former  sight. 
Our'datesflre  brief,  and  therefore  we  admire 
What  thou  dost  foist  upon  us  that  is  old  ; 
.\nd  rather  make  them  born  to  our  desire. 
Than  tliiiik  that  we  before  ha\e  heard  them  told. 
Thy  registers  and  thee  1  both  defy. 
Not  wondering  at  the  present  nor  the  past ; 
For  thy  records  and  what  we  see  do  lie. 
Made  more  or  less  by  thy  continual  haste: 
This  I  do  vow,  and  this  shall  ever  be, 
1  will  be  true,  despite  thy  scythe  and  Ihee. 

CXXIV. 

If  my  dear  love  were  but  the  child  of  state. 
It  might  for  Fortune's  bastard  be  unfalher'd. 
As  subject  to  Time's  love,  or  to  Time's  hate. 
Weeds   among  weeds,  or   flowers  with   flowers 

galher'd. 
No,  it  was  builded  far  from  accident; 
It  suffers  not  in  smiling  pomp,  nor  falls 
Under  the  blow  of  thralled  discontent. 
Whereto  the  inviting  time  our  fashion  calls: 
It  fears  not  policy,  that  heretic. 
Which  works  on  leases  of  short-number  d  hours, 
But  all  alone  stands  hugely  politic. 
That  it  nor  grows  with  heat,  nor  drowns  with 
showers. 
To  this  I  witness  call  the  fools  of  time. 
Which  die  for  goodness,  who  have  hv'd  for  crime. 


808 


SONNETS. 


cxxv. 

Were  it  aught  to  me  I  bore  the  canopy, 
With  my  extern  the  outward  honoring. 
Or  laid  great  bases  lor  eternity, 
Whicii  prove  more  short  tiian  waste  or  ruining? 
Have  I  not  seen  dwellers  on  form  and  tavor 
Lose  aJl,  and  more,  by  paying  too  much  rent, 
For  compound  sweet  forgoing  simple  savor, 
Pitiful  thrivers,  m  their  gazing  spent? 
No; — let  me  be  obsequious  in  thy  heart, 
And  taiie  thou  my  oblation,  poor  but  free, 
Which  is  not  mix'd  with  seconds,  knows  no  art, 
But  mutual  render,  only  me  for  Ihee. 
Hence,  thou  suborn'd  inlbrmer!  a  true  sou!, 
Wlien  most  impeached,  stands  least  in  thy  con- 
trol. 

CXXVI. 

O  thou,  my  lovely  boy,  who  in  thy  power 
Dost  hold  Time's  fickle  glass,  his  sickle,  hour  : 
Who  Iiast  by  waning  grown,  and  therein  show'st 
Thy  lovers  withering,  as  thy  sweet  self  grow'st! 
If  Nature,  sovereigu  mistress  over  wrack. 
As  thou  go'st  onwards,  still  will  pluck  thee  back. 
She  keeps  thee  to  this  purpose,  that  her  skill 
May  time  disgrace,  and  wretched  minutes  kill. 
Vet  fear  her,  0  thou  minion  of  her  pleasure  ; 
She  may  detain,  but  not  still  keep  her  treasure : 

Her  audit,  though  delay'd,  answer'd  must  be, 

And  her  quietus  is  to  render  thee. 

CXXVII. 

In  the  old  age  black  was  not  counted  fair, 
Or  if  it  were,  it  bore  not  beauty's  name  ; 
Hut  now  is  black  beauty's  successive  heir, 
And  beauty  slander'd  with  a  bastard  shame: 
For  since  each  hand  hath  put  on  nature's  power. 
Fairing  the  ibul  with  art's  false  borrovv'd  lace, 
Sweet  beauty  hath  no  name,  no  holy  hour, 
But  is  jnolau'd,  if  not  lives  in  disgrace. 
Thereiore  my  mistress'  eyes  are  raven  black, 
Her  eyes  so  suited:  and  they  mourners  seem 
At  such,  who,  not  born  fair,  no  beauty  lack, 
Slandering  creation  with  a  false  esteem  : 
Yet  so  they  mourn,  becoming  of  their  woe, 
That  every  tongue  says,  beauty  sliould  look  so. 

CXXVIII. 

How  oft,  i\hen  thou,  my  music,  music  play'st, 

Upon  that  blessed  wood  wJiose  motion  sounds 

With  tliy  sweet  fingers,  when  thou  gently  sway'st 

Tlic  wiry  concord  that  mine  ear  conlbunds, 

Do  I  envy  those  jacks,^  that  nimble  leap 

To  kiss  the  tender  inward  of  thy  Jiand, 

Whilst  my  poor  lips,  which  snould  that  harvest 

reap. 
At  the  woocfs  boldness  by  thee  blushing  stand  ? 
To  be  so  tickled,  they  would  change  their  state 
And  situation  with  those  dancing  chips. 
O'er  whom  thy  fingers  walk  with  gentle  gait, 
Making  dead  Avood  more  bless'd  than  living  lips. 

Sine*'  sauty  jacks  sn  happy  arc  in  this. 

Give  them  thy  fingers,  me  tiiy  lips  to  kiss. 

CXXIX. 

The  expense  of  spirit  in  a  waste  ofshame 
Is  lust  Ml  action  ;  and  till  action,  lust 
Is  perjur'd,  murderous,  bloody,  full  of  blame 
Savage,  extreme,  rude,  cruel,  not  to  trust; 
Knjoy'd  no  sooner,  but  despised  straight ; 
past  reason  hunted;  and  no  sooner  had, 
Piist  reason  hated,  as  a  swallow'd  bait, 
On  purjiose  laid  to  make  the  taker  mad : 
Mad  in  pursuit,  and  in  possession  so  ; 
Had.  having,  and  in  quest  to  have,  extreme; 
A  bliss  in  proof, — aufl  prov'd,  a  very  woe; 
Before,  a  joy  propos'd;  behind,  a  dream  : 

All  this  the  world  well  knows;  yet  none  knows 
well 

To  shun  the  heaven  that  leads  men  to  this  hell. 

cxxx. 

ATy  mistress'  eyes  are  nothing  like  the  sun; 
Coral  is  fur  more  red  than  her  lips'  red  : 

B  Smnll   liatiimtTs,  moved   by   keys,  wbiih  strlho  the 
Btrings  of  n  viiginiU. 


If  snow  be  white,  why  then  her  breasts  are  dun; 
If  hairs  be  wires,  black  wires  grow  on  her  head, 
I  have  seen  roses  damask'd,  red  and  white, 
But  no  such  roses  see  I  in  her  ciieeks ; 
And  in  some  perfumes  is  there  more  delight 
Than  in  the  breath  that  from  my  mistress  reeks. 
I  love  to  hear  her  speak, — yet  well  I  know 
That  music  hath  a  far  more  pleasing  sound; 
I  grant  I  never  saw  a  goddess  go, — 
My  mistress,  when  she  walks,  treads  on  the  ground; 
And  yet,  by  Heaven,  I  think  my  love  as  rare 
As  any  she  beUed  with  talse  compare. 

CXXXI. 

Thou  art  as  tyrannous,  so  as  thou  art. 
As  those  whose  beauties  proudly  make  them  cruel; 
For  well  thou  know'st  to  my  dear  doting  heart 
Thou  art  the  fairest  and  most  precious  jewpl. 
Yet,  in  good  faith,  some  say  that  thee  hVhoiil. 
Thy  face  hath  not  the  power  to  make  love  groan  : 
To  say  they  err,  I  dare  not  be  so  bold, 
Although  i  swear  it  to  myself  alone. 
And,  to  be  sure  that  is  not  false  I  swear, 
A  thousand  groans,  but  thinking  on  thy  face. 
One  on  another's  neck,  do  witness  bear 
Thy  black  is  tlrirest  in  my  judgment's  place. 
In  nothing  art  thou  black,  save  in  thy  deeds. 
And  thence  this  slander,  as  I  think,  proceeds. 

CXXXII. 

Thine  eyes  I  love,  and  they,  as  pitying  me, 
Knowing  thy  heart,  torment  me  with  disdain; 
Have  put  on  black,  and  loving  mourners  be, 
Looking  with  pretty  ruth  upon  my  pain. 
And  truly  iH»t  the  morning  sun  of  heaven 
Better  becomes  the  grey  cheeks  of  the  east, 
Nor  that  full  star  that  ushers  in  the  even, 
Dotli  half  that  glory  to  the  sober  west. 
As  those  two  mourning  eyes  become  thy  face; 
O,  let  it  then  as  well  beseem  thy  heart 
To  mourn  lor  me,  since  mourning  doth  thee  grace. 
And  suit  thy  pity  like  in  every  part. 
Then  will  I  swear  beauty  herself  is  black. 
And  all  tliey  foul  tliat  thy  complexion  lack. 

CXXXIII. 

Beshrew  that  heart  that  makes  my  heart  to  gfoan 
For  that  deep  wound  it  gives  my  'friend  and  me! 
Is  't  not  enough  to  torture  me  alone, 
But  slave  to  slavery  my  sweet'st  friend  must  be? 
Me  from  myself  thy  cruel  eye  hath  taken, 
And  my  next  self  thou  harder  hast  engross'd ; 
Of  him,  myself,  and  thee,  I  am  tbrsaken; 
A  torment  thrice  three-livid  thus  to  be  eross'd. 
Prison  my  heart  in  thy  steel  bosom's  ward. 
But  then  my  frienrl's  heart  let  my  poor  heart  bail; 
Whoe'er  keeps  me,  let  my  heart  be  his  guard; 
TJiou  canst  not  then  use  rigor  m  my  gaol : 
And  yet  thou  wilt,  for  I,  being  pent  in  thee, 
Perforce  am  thine,  ar»d  all  that  is  in  me. 

cxxxiv. 

So  now  I  have  confess'd  that  he  is  thine. 
And  I  myself  am  mortgag'd  to  thy  will; 
Myself  I'll  forfeit,  so  that  other  mine 
Thou  wilt  restore,  to  be  my  comlbrt  still : 
liut  thou  wilt  not,  nor  he  will  not  be  free, 
For  tliou  art  covetous,  and  he  is  kind  ; 
He  learn'd  hut,  surety-like,  to  write  for  me, 
Under  t-Jiat  bond  that  him  as  fast  doth  bind. 
The  statute^  of  thy  beauty  thou  wilt  take, 
Thou  usurer,  that  put'st  lorth  all  to  use. 
And  sue  a  friend,  came  debtor  for  my  sake; 
So  him  I  lose  through  my  unkind  abuse. 

Him  have  I  lost;  thou  Iiast  both  him  and  me; 

He  pays  the  whole,  and  yet  am  1  not  free. 

cxxxv. 

Wiioever  hatli  her  wish,  thou  hast  thy  will. 
And  will  to  bout,  and  will  in  over-plus; 
More  than  enough  am  I  that  vex  thee  still, 
To  thy  sweet  will  making  addition  tlius. 
Wilt  thou,  whose  will  is  large  and  spacious, 
Not  onco  vouchsafe  to  hide  my  will  in  thine] 
»  OlHgation. 


SONNETS. 


809 


Shall  will  in  others  seem  riglit  gracious, 
And  in  my  will  no  fair  acceptance  shine  1 
The  sea,  all  water,  yet  receives  rain  still, 
And  in  abundance  addeth  to  liis  store  ; 
So  thou,  heing  rich  in  will,  add  to  thy  will 
One  will  of  mine,  to  make  thy  large  will  more. 

Let  no  iHikmd,  no  fair  beseechers  kill ; 

Think  all  but  one,  and  me  in  that  one  Wilt. 

CXXXVI. 

If  thy  soul  check  thee  that  I  come  so  near. 
Swear  to  thy  bliiid  soul  that  I  was  thy  IViH, 
And  will,  thy  soul  knows,  is  admitted  there; 
Thus  far  for  love,  my  love-suit,  sweet,  fulfil. 
IVill  will  fulfil  the  treasure  of  thy  love, 
Ay,  fill  it  full  with  wills,  and  my  will  one. 
In  things  of  great  receipt  with  ease  we  prove  ; 
Among  a  number  one  is  reckon'd  none. 
Then  in  the  number  let  me  pass  untold. 
Though  in  thy  stores'  account  I  one  must  be  ; 
For  nothing  hold  me,  so  it  please  thee  hold 
That  nothing  mc,  a  something  sweet  to  thee: 
Make  but  my  name  thy  love,  and  love  that  still, 
And  then  thou  lov'st  me, — lor  my  name  is  IVill. 

CXXXVII. 

Thou  blind  fool.  Love,  what  dost  thou  to  mine  eyes, 
Tliat  they  behold,  and  see  not  what  they  see  ] 
They  know  what  beauty  is,  .see  where  it  lies, 
Yet  what  the  best  is,  take  the  worst  to  be. 
If  eyes,  corrupt  by  over-partial  looks 
Be  anchor'd  in  the  bay  where  all  men  ride. 
Why  of  ejes'  liilsehood  hast  thou  tijrged  hooks, 
Whereto  the  judgment  of  my  heart  is  tied  ! 
Why  should  my  heart  think  that  a  several  plot. 
Which  my  heart  knows  the  wide  world's  common 

place  ! 
Or  mine  eyes,  seeing  this,  say  this  is  not. 
To  put  fair  Irulh  upon  so  loiil  a  face  ; 
In  Ihiiigs  right  true  my  heart  and  eyes  have  err'd. 
And  to  thislklse  plague  are  they  now  transferr'd. 

CXXXVIII. 

When  my  love  swears  llial  she  is  made  of  truth, 
I  do  believe  her,  though  1  know  she  lies ; 
That  she  might  think  me  .some  untutor'd  youth, 
Unlearned  in  the  world's  false  subtiUies. 
Thus  vainly  thinking  that  she  thinks  me  young, 
Although  she  knows  my  days  are  past  the  best, 
Simply  I  credit  her  false-speaking  tongue. 
On  both  sides  thus  is  simjile  truth  supprest. 
But  wherelbre  says  she  not  she  is  unjust? 
And  wherefore  say  not  I  that  I  am  oi'd  1 
O,  love's  best  habit  is  in  seeming  trust. 
And  age  in  love  loves  not  (o  have  years  told: 
Therefore  I  lie  witli  her,  and  she  with  me, 
And  in  our  faulUi  by  Ucs  we  llatter'd  be. 

CXXXIX. 

O,  call  not  me  to  justify  the  wrong 
That  thy  unkindhess  lays  upon  my  heart; 
Wound  me  not  with  thine  eye,  but  with  thy  tongue; 
Use  power  with  power,  and  slay  ine  lu.t  by  art. 
Tell  me  thou  lov'st  elsewhere  ;  hut  in  my  sight, 
Dear  heart,  Ibrbear  to  glance  lliine  eye  aside. 
What  need'st  thou  wound  with  cunning,  when  thy 

might 
Is  more  than  my  o'erpress'd  defence  can  'hide  ? 
Let  me  excuse  thee ;  ah  !  my  love  well  knows 
Her  pretty  looks  have  been  mine  enemies; 
And  therefore  from  my  face  she  turns  my  Ibes, 
That  they  elsewhere  might  dart  their  injuries: 
Vet  do  not  so;  but  since  1  am  near  slain. 
Kill  me  outright  with  looks,  and  rid  my  pain. 

CXL. 

Be  wise  as  thou  art  cruel ;  do  not  press 
My  tongue-tied  patience  with  too  much  disdain; 
Lest  sorrow  lend  me  words,  and  words  express 
The  manner  of  my  pity-wanting  pain. 
If  I  might  teach  thee  wit,  better  it  were. 
Though  not  to  love,  yet,  love,  to  tell  me  so; 
(As  testy  sick  men,  when  their  deaths  be  near. 
No  news  but  health  from  their  physicians  know;! 
For,  if  I  should  despair,  I  should  grow  mad. 
And  in  my  madness  might  speak  ill  of  thee : 


Now  this  ill-wresting  world  is  grown  so  bad, 
Mad  slanderers  by  mad  ears  believed  be. 
That  I  may  not  be  so,  nor  thou  belied. 
Bear  thine  eyes  straight,  though  thy  proud  heart 
go  wide. 

CXLL 

In  faith  I  do  not  love  thee  with  mine  eyes. 
For  they  in  thee  a  thousand  errors  note; 
But  'tis  my  heart  that  loves  what  they  despise, 
VV'ho  in  despite  of  view  is  pleas'd  to  dote. 
Nor  are  my  ears  with  thy  tongue's  tune  delighted 
Nor  tender  feeling,  to  base  touches  prone; 
Nor  taste  nor  smell,  desire  to  be  invited 
To  any  sensual  feast  with  thee  alone: 
Hut  my  live  wits,  nor  my  live  senses  can 
Dissuade  one  Ibolish  heart  from  serving  thee, 
Who  leaves  unsway'd  the  likeness  of  a  man. 
Thy  proud  heart's  slave  and  vassal  wretch  to  be: 
Only  my  plague  thus  lar  I  count  my  gain. 
That  she  that  makes  me  sin,  awards  me  pain. 

CXLIL 

Love  is  my  sin,  and  thy  dear  virtue  hate, 
Hate  of  my  sin,  grounded  on  sinful  loving: 

0  but  with  mine  compare  thou  thine  own  state, 
And  thou  shall  find  it  merits  not  reproving; 
Or,  if  it  do,  not  from  those  lips  of  thine. 

That  have  profan'd  their  scarlet  ornaments. 

And  .seal'd  liilse  bonds  of  love  as  oft  as  mine ; 

Robb'd  others'  beds'  revenues  of  their  rents. 

Be  it  lawful  I  love  thee,  as  thou  lov'st  those 

Whom  thine  eyes  woo  as  mine  impijrlune  thee; 

Root  pity  ill  Ihy  heart,  that,  when  it  grows. 

Thy  pity  may  deserve  to  pitied  be. 
If  thou  dost  seek  to  have  what  thou  dost  hide, 
By  self-example  may'st  thou  be  denied! 

CXLIIL 

Lo,  as  a  careful  housewife  runs  to  catch 
One  of  her  feather'd  creatures  broke  away, 
Sels  down  her  babe,  and  makes  all  swift  despatch 
In  pursuit  ol  the  thing  she  would  have  slay  ; 
Whilst  her  neglected  child  holds  her  in  chase, 
Cries  to  catch  her  whose  busy  care  is  bent 
To  follow  that  which  Hies  before  her  face, 
Not  prizing  her  ])iior  infant's  discontent; 
So  runn'st  thou  after  that  which  Hies  from  thee, 
Whilst  I  thy  babe  chase  thee  afar  behind; 
But  if  thini  catch  thy  hope,  turn  back  to  me. 
And  play  the  mother's  part,  kiss  me,  be  kind  : 
So  will  I  pray  Ihat  thou  may'st  have  thy  IVill, 
If  thou  turn  back,  and  my  loud  crying  still. 

CXLIV. 

Two  loves  I  have  of  comfort  and  despair. 
Which  like  two  spirits  do  suggest  me  still; 
The  better  angel  is  a  man  right  fiiir. 
The  worser  spirit  a  woman,  color'd  ill. 
To  win  me  soon  to  hell,  my  female  evil 
Tempteth  my  better  angel  from  my  side. 
And  would  corrupt  my  saint  to  be  a  devil, 
Wooing  his  purity  with  her  foul  pride. 
And  whether  that  my  angel  be  turn'd  fiend, 
Suspect  I  may.  yet  not  directly  tell ; 
But,  being  boih  from  me,  both  to  each  friend, 

1  guess  one  angel  in  the  other's  heU. 

Yet  this  shall  I  ne'er  know,  but  live  in  doubt, 
Till  my  bad  angel  fire  my  good  one  out. 

CXLV. 

Those  lips  Ihat  Love's  own  hand  did  make, 

Breath'd  Ibrlli  the  sound  that  said,  "I  hate," 

To  me  that  langihsh'd  for  her  sake  : 

But  when  she  saw  my  woeful  state. 

Straight  in  heart  did  mercy  come. 

Chiding  Ihat  tongue,  that  ever  sweet 

Was  used  in  giving  gentle  doom: 

And  taught  it  thus  anew  to  greet: 

"I  hate"  she  alter'd  with  an  end. 

That  (bllow'd  it  as  gentle  day 

Dolh  follow  night,  who  like  a  fiend 

From  heaven  lo  hell  is  liown  away. 
"  I  hate"  from  hate  away  she  threw. 
And  sav'd  my  life,  saying— "not  you." 


810 


SONNETS. 


CXLVI. 

Poor  soul,  the  centre  of  my  sinful  earth, 
Fool'd  by  those  rebel  powers  that  thee  array. 
Why  dost  thou  pine  within,  and  sutler  dearth, 
Painting  thy  outward  walls  so  costly  gay  1 
Why  so  large  cost,  having  so  short  a  lease. 
Dost  thou  upon  thy  fading  mansion  spend? 
Shall  worms,  inheritors  of  this  excess. 
Eat  up  thy  charge!     Is  this  thy  body  s  end"! 
Then,  soul,  live  thou  upon  thy  servant's  loss, 
And  let  that  pine  to  aggravate  thy  store; 
Buy  terms  divine  in  sellmg  hours  of  dross; 
Within  be  fed,  without  be  rich  no  more: 
So  shalt  thou  feed  on  Death,  that  feeds  on  men, 
And,  Death  once  dead,  there's  no  more  dying  then. 

CXLVII. 

My  love  is  as  a  fever,  longing  still 

For  tliat  which  longer  nurseth  the  disease; 

Feeding  on  that  which  doth  preserve  the  ill, 

Tlie  uncertain  sickly  appetite  to  please. 

My  reason,  the  physician  to  my  love. 

Angry  that  liis  prescriptions  are  not  kept. 

Hath  left  me,  and  I  desperate  now  approve ; 

Desire  is  death,  which  pjiysic  did  except. 

Past  cure  I  am.  now  reason  is  past  cure, 

And  frantic  mad  with  evermore  unrest; 

]\Iy  thoughts  and  my  discourse  as  mad  men's  are, 

At  random  from  the  truth  vainly  expressed  ; 

For  I  have  sworn   thee  fair,  and  thought  thee 
bright, 

Who  art  as  black  as  hell,  as  dark  as  night. 

CXLVIII. 

O  me!  what  eyes  hath  love  put  in  my  head. 
Which  have  no  correspondence  with  true  sight! 
Or,  if  tliey  have,  where  is  my  judgment  tied, 
That  censures  falsely  what  they  see  aright ! 
If  that  be  lair  whereon  my  false  eyes  dote, 
What  means  the  world  to  say  it  is  not  so  ] 
If  it  be  not,  then  love  doth  well  denote 
Love's  eye  is  not  so  true  as  all  men's  :  no. 
How  can  if!     O  how  can  Love's  eye  be  true, 
That  is  so  vex'd  with  watching  and  with  tears  1 
No  marvel  then  though  I  mistake  my  view; 
The  sun  itself  sees  not,  till  heaven  clears. 

O  cunning  Love !   with   tears  thou  keep'st  me 
blind, 

Lest  eyes  well-seeing  thy  foul  faults  should  find. 

CXLIX. 

Canst  thou,  O  cruel !  say  I  love  thee  not. 
When  I,  against  myself,  with  thee  partake? 
Do  I  not  think  on  thee,  when  I  forgot 
Am  of  myself,  all  tyrant,  i'or  thy  sake? 
Who  hateth  thee  that  I  do  call  my  friend  1 
On  whom  frown'st  thou  that  I  do  fawn  uponi 
Nay  if  thou  low'rst  on  me.  do  I  not  spend 
Revenge  upon  myself  with  present  moan? 
What  merit  do  1  in  myself  respect, 
Tliat  is  so  proud  thy  service  to  despise, 
When  all  my  best  doth  worship  thy  defect, 
Commaniled  by  the  motion  of  thine  eyes? 

But,  love,  hate  on,  for  now  I  know  thy  mind  ; 

Those  that  can  see  thou  lov'st,.and  I  am  blind. 

CL. 

0,  from  what  power  hast  thou  this  powerful  might. 

With  insutliciency  my  heart  lo  sway  ? 

To  make  me  give  the  lie  to  my  true  sight. 

And  swear  that  brightness  doth  not  grace  the  day  ? 

Whence  hast  thou  this  becoming  of  things  ill, 

That  in  the  very  refuse  of  thy  deeds 


There  is  such  strength  and  warrantise  of  skill, 
That  in  my  mind,  thy  worst  all  best  exceeds? 
Who   tauglit    thee    how  to  make    me  love   tiie« 

more, 
The  more  I  hear  and  see  just  cause  of  hate? 
C).  though  I  love  what  others  do  abhor, 
With  others  thou  shouldst  not  abhor  my  state 

If  thy  unworthiness  rais'd  love  in  me, 

More  worthy  1  to  be  belov'd  of  thee. 

CLI. 

Love  is  too  yoimg  to  know  what  conscience  is  ■ 
Yet  wlio  knows  not,  conscience  is  born  of  lovel 
Then,  gentle  cheater,  urge  not  my  amiss, 
Lest  guilty  of  my  faults  thy  sw^eet  self  prove. 
For  thou  betraying  me,  I  do  betray 
My  nobler  part  to  my  gross  body's  treason; 
My  soul  doth  tell  my  body  that  he  may 
Triumph  in  love;  Hesh  stays  no  farther  reason; 
But,  rising  at  thy  name,  doth  point  out  thee 
As  his  triumphant  prize.    Proud  of  this  pride, 
He  IS  contented  thy  poor  drudge  to  be, 
To  stand  in  thy  atlairs,  fall  by  thy  side. 
No  want  of  conscience  hold  it  that  I  call 
Her — love,  for  whose  dear  love  1  rise  and  fall. 

CLII. 

In  loving  thee  thou  know'st  I  am  forsworn. 
But  thou  art  twice  forsworn,  to  me  love  swearing; 
In  act  thy  bed-vow  broke,  and  new  faith  torn. 
In  vowing  nevv  hate  after  new  love  bearing. 
But  why  of  two  oaths'  breach  do  I  accuse  thee, 
When  1  break  twenty?     I  am  perjur'd  most; 
For  all  my  vows  are  oatiis  but  to  misuse  thee. 
And  all  my  honest  faitli  in  thee  is  lost : 
For  I  iiave  sworn  deep  oaths  of  thy  deep  kindness, 
Oaths  of  thy  love,  thy  truth,  thy  constancy; 
And,  to  enlighten  thee,  gave  eyes  to  blindness, 
Or  made  them  swear  against  the  thing  the^'  see; 
For  I  have  sworn  thee  fair:  more  perjur'd  I, 
To  swear,  against  the  truth,  so  foul  a  lie. 

CLIIL 

Cupid  laid  by  his  brand,  and  fell  asleep: 
A  maid  of  Dian's  this  advantage  tbund, 
And  his  love-kindling  tire  did  quickly  steep 
In  a  cold  valley-fountain  of  that  ground  ; 
Which  borrovi'  d  from  this  holy  lire  of  love 
A  dateless  lively  heat,  still  to  endure. 
And  grew  a  seething  bath,  which  yet  n»en  prove 
Against  strange  maladies  a  sovereign  cure. 
But  at  my  mistress'  eye  Love's  brand  new-tired, 
Tiie  boy  tor  trial  needs  would  touch  my  breast; 
I.  sick  withal,  the  help  of  batli  desired. 
And  thither  hied,  a  sad  distemper'd  guest. 
But  found  no  cure;  the  bath  for  my  help  lies 
Where  Cupid  got  new  fire, — my  mistress'  eyes, 

CLIV. 

The  little  love-god,  lying  once  asleep. 
Laid  by  his  side  his  heart-inflaming  brand. 
Whilst  many  nymphs   that  vow'd   chaste  life  to 

keep. 
Came  tripping  by;  but  in  her  maiden  hand 
The  fairest  votary  took  up  that  hre 
Which  many  legions  of  true  hearts  had  warm'd; 
And  so  the  general  of  hot  desire 
VVas  sleeping,  by  a  virgin  hand  disarm'd. 
This  brand  she  quenched  in  a  cool  well  by, 
Which  from  Love's  hre  tookJieat  perpetual, 
Growing  a  bath  and  healthful  remedy 
For  men  diseas'd;  but  I.  my  mistress'  thrall. 
Came  there  for  cure,  and  this  by  that  I  prove 
Love's  fire  heats  water,  water  cools  not  love. 


PASSIONATE  PILGRIM. 


I. 

Did  not  the  heavenly  rhetoric  of  thine  ej'e, 
'Gainst  vvliotn  the  world  could  not  hold  argument, 
Persuade  my  lieart  to  this  false  perjury  1 
Vows  for  thee  broke  deserve  not  punishment. 
A  woman  I  forswore ;  hut  I  will  prove. 
Thou  being  a  goddess,  I  Ibrswore  not  thee  : 
My  vow  was  earthly,  thou  a  heavenly  love  ; 
Thy  grace  being  gain'd  cures  all  disgrace  in  me. 
My  vow  was  breath,  and  breath  a  vapor  is: 
Then,  thou  fair  sun,  that  on  this  earth  doth  shine, 
Exhale  tins  vapor  vow  ;  in  thee  it  is: 
If  broken,  then  it  is  no  fault  of  mine. 

If  by  me  broke,  what  fool  is  not  so  wise 

To  lose  an  oath  to  win  a  paradise  I 

II. 

Sweet  Cytherea,  sitting  by  a  brook, 

With  young  Adonis,  lovely,  fresh,  and  green, 

Did  court  tlie  lad  with  many  a  lovely  look. 

Such  looks  as  none  could  look  but  beauty's  queen. 

She  told  him  stones  to  delight  his  ear; 

She  show'd  him  favors  to  allure  his  eye ; 

To  win  his  heart,  she  touch'd  him  here  and  there  : 

Touches  so  soft  still  conquer  chastity. 

But  whether  unnpe  years  did  want  conceit, 

Or  he  refus'd  to  take  her  figur'd  protfer. 

The  tender  nibbler  would  not  touch  the  bait. 

But  smile  and  jest  at  every  gentle  otier  : 

Then  fell  she  on  her  back,  lair  queen, and  toward; 

He  rose  and  ran  away ;  ah,  fool  too  froward ! 

III. 

If  love  make  me  forsworn,  how  shall  i  swear  to  love  ! 

0  never  lUith  could  hold,  if  not  to  beauty  vow'd  : 

Though  to  myself  forsworn,  to  thee  I'll  constant 
prove ; 

Those  thoughts,  to  me  like  oaks,  to  thee  like  osiers 
bow'd. 

Study  his   bias  leaves,  and  makes  his  book  thine 
eyes. 

Where  ajl  those  pleasures  live  that  art  can  com- 
prehend. 

If  knowledge  be  the  mark,  to  know  thee  shalLsuf- 
fice ; 

Well  learned  is  that  tongue  that  well  can  thee 
commend ; 

All  ignorantthatsoul  that  sees  thee  without  wonder; 

Which  is  to  me  some  praise,  that  1  thy  parts  ad- 
mire : 

Thine  eye  Jove's  lightning  seems,  thy  voice  his 
dreadful  thunder, 

Which  (not  to  anger  bcntHs  music  and  sweet  fire; 
Celestial  as  thou  art,  O  oo  not  love  that  wrong, 
To  sing  the  heavens*  praise  with  such  an  earthly 
tongue. 

IV. 

Scarce  had  the  sun  dried  up  the  dewy  morn. 

And  scarce  the  herd  gone  to  the  hedge  lor  shade, 

When  Cytherea,  all  in  love  forlorn, 

A  longing  tarriance  for  Adonis  made, 

Under  an  osier  growing  by  a  brook, 

A  brook  where  Adon  used  to  cool  his  spleen. 

Hot  was  the  day  ;  she  hotter  that  did  look 

For  his  approach,  that  often  there  had  been. 

Anon  he  comes,  and  throws  his  mantle  by, 

And  stood  stark  naked  on  the  brook's  green  brim; 

The  sun  look'd  on  the  world  with  glorious  eye, 

Yet  not  so  wistly  as  this  queen  on  him  : 

He,  spying  her,  bounc'd  in,  whereas  he  stood; 

Oh  Jove,  quoth  she,  why  was  not  I  a  tlood  I 

V. 

Fair  is  my  love,  but  not  so  fair  as  fickle ; 
Wild  as  a  dove,  but  neither  true  nor  trusty; 
Brighter  than  glass,  and  yet,  as  glass  is,  brittle, 
Sotter  than  wax,  and  vet,  as  iron,  rusti' 


A  illy  pale,  with  damask  dye  to  grace  her, 
None  lairer,  nor  none  falser  to  deface  her. 

Her  lips  to  mine  how  often  hath  she  join'd, 
Between  each  kiss  her  oaths  of  true  love  swearing ! 
How  many  tales  to  please  me  hath  she  coin'd. 
Dreading  my  love,  the  loss  thereof  still  fearing! 
Yet  in  the  midst  of  all  her  pure  protestings, 
Her  taith,  her  oaths,  her  tears,  and   all  were 
jeslings. 

She  burnt  with  love,  as  straw  with  fiie  flamcth. 
She  burnt  out  love,  as  soon  as  straw  out  burneth; 
She  fram'd  the  love,  and  ynt  she  foil'd  the  framing, 
She  bade  love  last,  and  yet  she  fell  a  turning. 

Was  this  a  lover,  or  a  lecher  whether! 

Bad  in  the  bcs4,  though  excellent  in  neither. 

VI. 

If  music  and  sweet  poetry  agree, 
As  they  must  needs,  the  sister  and  the  brother, 
Then  must  the  love  be  great  'twixt  thee  and  me, 
Because  thou  lov'st  the  one,  and  I  the  other. 
Dowland  to  thee  is  dear,  whose  heavenly  touch 
Upon  the  lute  doth  ravish  human  sense; 
Spenser  to  me,  whose  deep  conceit  is  such. 
As,  passing  all  conceit,  needs  no  defence. 
Thou  lov'st  to  hear  the  sweet  melodious  sound 
That  Phoibus'  lute,  the  queen  of  music,  makes; 
And  in  deep  deiiglit  am  chiefly  drown'd, 
Whenas  himself  to  singing  he  betakes. 

One  god  is  god  of  botih,  as  poets  feign  ; 

One  knight  loves  both,  and  both  in  Ihee  remain. 

VII. 

Fair  was  the  morn,  when  the  fair  queen  of  love.i 
«  *■  *  -;i:-  ~.i  # 

Paler  for  sorrow  than  her  milk-white  dove. 
For  Adon'ssake,  a  youngster  proud  and  wild: 
Her  stand  she  takes  upon  a  steep-up  hill: 
Anon  Adonis  comes  with  horn  and  hounds; 
She,  silly  queen,  with  more  than  love's  good  will. 
Forbade  the  boy  he  should  not  pass  those  grounds; 
Once,  quoth  she,  did  I  see  a  lair  sweet  youth 
Here  m  these  brakes  deep-wounded  with  a  boar, 
Deep  in  the  thigh,  a  spectacle  of  ruth  ! 
See  in  my  thigh,  quoth  she,  here  was  the  sore: 
She  showed  hers;  he  saw  more  wounds  than  one, 
And  blushing  lied,  and  left  her  all  alone. 

VIII. 

Sweet  rose,  fair  flower,  untimely   pluck'd,  soon 
faded, 

Pluck'd  in  the  bud,  and  faded  in  the  spring  ! 

Bright  orient  pearl,  alack  !  too  timf  ly  shaded  I 

Fair  creature,  kill'd  too  soon  by  death's  sharp  sting! 
Like  a  green  plum  that  hangs  upon  a  tree. 
And  falls,  through  wind,  before  the  fall  should  be. 

I  weep  for  thee,  and  yet  no'cause  I  have ; 
For  why  !  thou  lefl'st  me  nothing  in  thy  will. 
And  yet  thou  lell'st  me  more  than  I  Jid  crave; 
For  why  ]  I  craved  nothing  of  thee  still: 

O  yes.  dear  friend,  I  pardon  crave  of  thee; 

Tiiy  discontent  thou  didst  bequeath  to  me. 

IX. 

Venus,  with  Adonis  sitting  by  her. 

Under  a  myrtle  shade,  began  to  woo  him : 

Slie  told  the  youngling  iiow  god  Mars  did  try  her, 

And  as  he  tell  to  her,  she  fell  to  him. 

Even  thus,  quoth  she,  the  warlike  god  embraced 

me  ; 
And  then  she  cUpp'd  Adonis  in  her  arms: 
Even  thus,  quoth  she,  the  warlike  god  unlaced  me: 
As  if  the  boy  should  use  like  loving  charms. 
*  The  second  line  is  lost. 

811 


812 


PASSIONATE   PILGRIM. 


Even  thus,  quolh  she,  he  seized  on  my  lips, 

And  with  her  lips  on  his  did  act  the  seizure; 

And  as  she  fetched  breath,  away  he  skips; 

And  would  not  takehernieaniuf^  nor  her  pleasure. 
Ahf  that  I  had  my  lady  at  titis  bay, 
To  kiss  and  clip  me  till  I  run  away  I 

X. 

Crabbed  ase  and  youth 

Cannot  live  together ; 
Youth  is  full  of  pleasance, 

Age  is  full  of  care  : 
Youth  like  summer  morn, 

Age  like  winter  weather; 
Youtii  like  summer  brave, 

Age  like  winter  bare. 
Youth  is  full  of  sport, 
Age's  breath  is  short, 

Youth  is  nimble,  age  is  lame: 
Youth  is  hot  and  bold, 
Age  is  weak  and  cold  ; 

Youth  is  wild,  and  age  is  tame. 
Age.  I  do  abhor  thee, 
Youth,  I  do  adore  thee_^ 

O,  my  love,  my  love  is  young! 
Age,  I  "do  def'y  thee; 
O  sweet  shepherd,  hie  thee. 

For  methmks  tliou  stay'st  too  long. 

XI. 

Beauty  is  but  a  vain  and  doubtful  good, 

A  shining  gloss,  that  fadoth  suddenly  ; 

A  Uower  that  dies  when  first  it  'gins  to  bud ; 

A  brittle  glass,  that's  broken  presently  : 
A  doubtful  good,  a  glos^,  a  gla'^s,  a  tiower, 
Lost,  faded,  broken,  dead  within  an  hour. 

And  as  goods  lost  arc  seld  or  never  found, 
As  (aded  gloss  no  rubbing  will  refresh. 
As  (lowers  dead,  lie  witht'r'd  on  the  ground, 
As  broken  glass  no  cement  can  redress, 
So  beauty,  blemish 'd  once,  for  ever's  lost. 
In  spite  of  phj-sic,  painting,  pain,  and  cost. 

XII. 

Good  night,  good  rest.    Ah  !  neither  be  my  share  : 
She  bade  good  night,  that  kept  my  rest  away ; 
And  dall  me  to  a  cabin  hang'd  with  care, 
To  descant  on  the  doubts  of  my  decay. 
F:irewell,  quoth  she,  and  conie  again  to-morrow, 
Farewell  I  could  not,  for  1  supp'd  with  sorrow. 

Yet  at  my  parting  sweetly  did  she  smile. 
In  scorn  or  friendship,  nill  I  construe  whether: 
*T  may  be,  she  joy'd  to  jest  at  my  exile, 
*T  may  be,  again  to  make  me  wander  thither: 
U'an'ler,  a  word  for  shadows  like  myself, 
As  take  the  pain,  but  caunot  pluck  the  pelf. 

XIII. 

Lord,  how  mine  eyes  throw  gazes  to  the  east ! 
My  heart  doth  charge  the  watch;  the  morning  rise 
Poth  cite  each  moving  sense  from  idle  rest, 
Not  daring  trust  the  office  of  mine  eyes. 
While  Philomela  sits  and  sings,  I  sit  and  mark, 
And  wish  her  lays  were  tuned  like  the  lark  ; 

For  she  doth  welcome  daylight  with  her  ditty, 
And  drives  away  dark  dismal-dreaming  night: 
The  night  so  pack'd,  I  post  unto  my  pretty  ; 
Heart  hath  his  lM)pe,  and  eyes  their  wished  sight ; 
Sorrow  changed  to  solace, solace  mix'd  with  sor- 
row ; 
For  why  ?   she  sigh'd,  and  bade  me  come  to- 
morrow. 

Were  1  with  her.  the  night  would  post  too  soon ; 
But  now  are  minutes  added  to  the  hours  ; 
To  spite  me  now,  each  minute  seems  a  moon; 
Yet  nnt  for  me,  shine  sun  to  succor  llowers  I 
Back  nighl,  peep  day:  good  day,  of  night  now 

borrow : 
Short,  ui;.-ht,  to-night,  and  length  thyself  to-mor- 
row. 


XIV. 

It  was  a  lording's  daughter,  the  fairest  one  of  three, 
That  liked  of  her  master  as  well  as  well  might  be, 
Till  looking  on  an  Englishman,  the  fairest  that 

eye  could  see. 
Her  fancy  (ell  a  turning. 
Long  was  the  combat  doubtful,  that  lo\e  with  love 

did  tight, 
To  leave  the  master  loveless,  or  kill  the  gallant 

knight: 
To  put  in  practice  either,  alas  it  was  a  spite 

Unto  the  silly  damsel. 
But  one  must  be  refused,  more  mickle  was  the  pain, 
That  nothing  could  be  used,  to  turn  tiiein  both  to 

sain, 
For  of  the  two  the  trusty  knight  was  wounded  with 

disdain: 
Alas,  she  could  not  help  it ! 
Thus  art.  with  arms  contending,  was  victor  of  the 

day, 
Which  by  a  gitlof  learnins  did  bear  the  maid  away: 
Then  lullaby,  the  learned  man  hath  got  the  lady 

gay;' 

For  now  my  song  is  ended. 

XV. 

On  a  day  (alack  the  day!). 
Love,  whose  month  was  ever  May, 
Spied  a  blossom  passing  fair, 
Playing  in  the  wanton  air: 
Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind, 
All  unseen,  'gan  passage  find; 
Tliat  the  lover,  sick  to  death, 
Wish'd  himself  the  heaven's  breath. 
Air,  quoth  he,  thy  cheeks  may  blow; 
Air.  would  I  might  triumph  so! 
But  alas,  my  hand  hath  sworn 
Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  tliy  thorn : 
Vow,  alack,  for  youth  unmeet. 
Youth,  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet. 
Do  not  call  it  sin  in  ine, 
Tliat  I  am  Ibrswoni  for  thee  ; 
Thou  for  \vhom  Jove  would  swear 
Juno  but  an  Ethiope  were  ; 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 
Turning  mortal  lor  thy  love. 

XVI. 

My  flocks  feed  not. 
My  ewes  breed  not. 
My  rams  speed  not, 

All  is  amiss : 
Love  is  dying. 
Faith's  defying. 
Heart's  denying, 

Causer  of  this. 

All  my  merry  jigs  are  quite  forgot, 
All  my  lady's  love  is  lost,  God  wot: 
Where  her  faith  was  firmly  fix'd  in  love, 
There  a  nay  is  placed  without  remove. 
Out^  silly  cross 
Wrought  all  my  loss; 

0  frowning  Fortune,  cursed  fickle  dame! 
For  now  I  see, 
Inconstancy 

More  in  women  than  in  men  remain. 

In  black  mourn  I, 
All  fears  scorn  I, 
Love  hath  forlorn  me, 

Living  in  thrall: 
Heart  is  bleeding, 
All  help  needing, 
(O  cruel  speeding !) 

Fraughled  with  gall. 
My  shepherd's  pipe  can  sound  no  deal,2 
I\Iy  wether's  bell  rings  doleful  knell; 
My  curtail  dog,  that  wont  to  ha^e  play'd, 
Plays  not  at  all.  but  seems  afraid; 
With  sighs  so  deep, 
Procures  to  weep. 

In  howling-wi-^e.  to  see  my  doleful  plight. 
How  si:ihs  resound 
Throui;h  fuMrlh-ss  t^rouud. 
Like  a  thousand  \;iuiiuish'd  men  in  bloody  fight! 
iTn  no  degreo. 


PASSIONATE   PILGRIM. 


813 


Clear  wells  spring  not, 
Sweet  birds  sin^  not, 
Green  plants  bring  not 

Forth;  they  die : 
Herds  stand  weeping, 
Flocks  all  sleeping, 
Nymphs  back  peeping 

Fearfully. 
All  our  pleasure  known  to  us  poor  swains, 
All  our  merry  meetings  on  the  plains, 
All  our  evenmg  sport  from  us  is  tied, 
All  our  lo^e  is  lost,  for  Love  is  dead. 
Farewell,  sweet  love, 
Thy  like  ne'er  was 

for  a  sweet  content,  the  cause  of  all  my 
moan : 
Poor  Coridon 
Must  live  alone. 

Other  help  for  him  I  see  that  there  is  none. 

XVII. 

When  as  thine  eye  hath  chose  the  dame, 
And  stall'd  the  deer  that  thou  shouldst  strike, 
Let  reason  rule  things  worthy  blame. 
As  well  as  fancy,  partial  wiglit : 

Take  counsel  of  some  wiser  head, 

Neither  too  young,  nor  yet  unwed. 

And  when  thou  com'st  thy  tale  to  tell, 
Smooth  not  thy  tongue  with  tiled  talk, 
Lest  she  some  subtle  practice  smell; 
(A  cripple  soon  can  find  a  halt;) 

But  plainly  say  thou  lov'st  lier  well. 

And  set  her  person  forth  to  sell. 

What  though  her  frowning  brows  be  bent, 

Her  cloudy  looks  will  calm  ere  oight; 

And  then  too  late  slie  will  repent. 

That  thus  dissembled  her  delight; 
And  twice  desu'e,  ere  it  be  day, 
That  which  with  scorn  she  put  away. 

What  though  she  strive  to  try  her  strength, 
And  ban  and  brawl,  and  say  thee  nay, 
Her  feeble  force  will  yield  at  length, 
When  craft  hath  taught  her  thus  to  say: 

"Had  women  been  so  strong  as  men, 

In  laith  you  had  not  had  it  then." 

And  to  her  will  frame  all  thy  ways; 
Spare  not  to  spend, — and  cluedy  there 
Where  thy  desert  may  merit  praise, 
By  ringing  in  thy  lady's  ear: 

The  strongest  castle,  tower,  and  town, 

The  golden  bullet  beats  it  down. 

Sen'C  always  with  assured  trust, 

And  in  thy  suit  be  huml)lr,  true  ; 

Unless  thy  lady  prove  unjust, 

Press  never  thou  to  choose  anew  : 

When  time  shall  »crve,  be  thou  not  slack 
To  profler,  though  she  put  thee  back. 

The  wiles  and  guiles  that  women  work, 
Dissembled  with  an  outward  show. 
The  tricks  and  toys  tliat  in  them  lurk, 
Tlie  cock  that  treads  them  shall  not  know. 
Plave  you  not  heard  it  said  full  ol^, 
A  woiiian's  nay  doth  stand  tor  nought] 

Think  women  still  to  strive  with  men. 
To  sin,  and  never  for  to  saint : 
There  is  no  heaven,  by  holy  then, 
When  time  with  age  shall  them  attaint. 

Were  kisses  all  the  joys  in  bed. 

One  woman  would  another  wed. 

But  soft;  enough. — too  much  I  fear. 
Lest  that  my  mistress  hear  my  song; 
Siie'U  not  stick  to  round  me  i'  Ih'  car, 
To  teach  my  tongue  to  be  so  long: 

Yet  will  she  blush,  here  be  it  said, 

To  hear  her  secrets  so  bewray 'd. 

xvin. 

Live  with  me,  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dales,  and  fields. 
And  all  tiie  craggy  mountains  yields. 

There  will  we  sit  upon  the  rocks, 

And  see  tlic  shepherds  feed  their  flocks, 


By  shallow  rivers,  by  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

There  will  I  make  thee  a  bed  of  roses, 
With  a  thousand  fragrant  posies, 
A  cap  of  (lowers  and  a  kirtle 
Kmbroider'd  all  with  leaves  of  mjTtle, 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs; 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move. 
Then  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love 

Love's  Answer. 
If  that  the  world  and  love  were  young, 
And  truth  in  every  shepherd's  tongue, 
Tliese  pD'Ity  pleasures  might  me  move 
To  live  with  thee  and  be  thy  love. 

XIX. 

As  it  fell  upon  a  day, 

In  the  merry  month  of  May, 

Silting  in  a  ])leasant  shade, 

Wliich  a  grove  of  myrtles  made, 

Beasts  did  leap,  and  birds  did  sing. 

Trees  did  grow,  and  plants  did  spring: 

Kvery  thing  did  lianish  moan. 

Save  the  nij;hlnigaie  alone : 

She,  poor  bird,  as  all  forlorn, 

Lean'd  her  breast  up-till  a  Ihorn. 

And  there  sung  the  dolefull'st  ditty, 

7'iiat  to  hear  it  was  great  pity : 

Fie,  lie,  lie,  now  would  she  cry, 

Teru,  Teru,  by  and  by; 

That  to  hearjier  so  complain, 

Scarce  I  could  from  tears  refrain; 

For  her  grids  so  lively  shown. 

Made  me  think  upon  mine  own. 

Ah!  tiiought  I,  thou  mourn'st  in  vain  ; 

None  take  pity  on  thy  pain  : 

Senseless  trees,  they  cannot  hear  thee; 

Rnthicss  bears,  they  will  not  clieer  thee; 

King  Pandion,  he  is  dcyd  ; 

All  thy  friends  arc  Inpji'd  in  lead  : 

All  tliy  lellow-birds  do  sing. 

Careless  of  thy  sorrowing, 

P>'en  so,  poor"  bird,  like  thee, 

None  alive  will  pily  me. 

Whilst  as  fickle  fortune  smil'd, 

Thou  and  I  were  both  beguil'd. 

Every  one  that  flatters  thee, 

Is  no  friend  in  misery. 

Words  arc  easy  like  the  wind; 

Faitliful  friends  are  hard  to  find. 

V^vcry  miui  will  be  thy  friend, 

Wtnlst  thou  hast  wherewith  to  spend; 

But  if  store  of  crowns  be  scant. 

No  man  will  supply  thy  want. 

If  that  one  be  prodigal. 

Bountiful  tliey  will  him  call; 

And  with  such  like  flattering, 

"Pily  but  he  were  a  king." 

If  he  be  addict  lo  vice, 

Quickly  him  they  will  entice; 

H  to  women  he  be  bent, 

They  have  iuin  at  commandement, 

But  if  fortune  once  do  frown. 

Then  larevvell  his  great  renown: 

They  that  fawn'd  on  him  before. 

Use  his  company  no  more. 

He  that  is  thy  friend  indeed. 

He  will  help  thee  in  thy  need; 

If  thou  sorrow,  he  will'wcep; 

If  thou  wake,  he  cannot  sleep: 

Thus  of  every  grief  in  heart 

He  with  thee  doth  bear  a  part. 

These  are  certain  signs  to  know 

Faithful  friend  from  flattering  foe. 

XX. 

Take,  oh,  take  those  lips  away, 
That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn  , 

And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day, 
Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn: 

But  my  kisses  bring  again. 

Seals  of  love,  but  seai'd  in  vain. 

Hide,  oh,  hide  those  hills  of  snow 
WhicJi  tliy  frozen  bosom  bears, 


814 


A   LOVER'S   COMPLAINT. 


On  whose  tops  the  pinks  that  grow, 

Are  of  those  tliat  April  wears, 
But  first  set  my  poor  heart  free. 
Bound  in  tliose  icy  cliains  by  thee. 

XXI. 

Let  the  bird  of  loudest  lay, 

On  the  sole  Arabian  tree. 

Herald  sad  and  trumpet  be, 

To  whose  sound  ciiaste  wings  obey. 

But  thou,  shrieking  harbinger. 
Foul  precurrcr  of  the  hend, 
Augur  of  the  li^ver's  end. 
To  this  troop  come  thou  not  near. 

From  this  session  interdict 
Every  fowl  of  tyrant  wing, 
Save  the  eagle,  leathered  king: 
Keep  the  obsequy  so  strict. 

Let  the  priest  in  surplice  white, 
That  defunctivc  music  can,3 
Be  the  death-divining  swan. 
Lest  the  requiem  lack  his  right. 

And  thou,  treble-dated  crow. 

That  thy  sable  gender  mak'st 

With  th.'  brealh  thou  givest  and  tak'st, 

Mongst  iiur  mourners  shalt  thou  go. 

Here  the  anthem  doth  coinmence: 
Love  and  constancy  is  dead  ; 
rhrenix  and  the  turtle  tied 
In  a  mulual  Ilanie  from  hence. 

So  they  lov'd,  as  love  in  twain 
Had  the  essence  but  in  one; 
Two  dislincts,  division  none: 
Number  there  in  love  was  slain. 
Hearts  remote,  yet  not  asunder ; 
Distance,  and  no  space  was  seen 
'Twixt  the  turtle  and  his  queen: 
But  in  them  it  were  a  wonder. 
>  Kdows. 


So  between  their  love  did  shine, 
That  the  turtle  saw  his  right 
Flaming  in  the  pho'nix'  sight: 
Either  was  the  other's  mine. 

Property  was  thus  appall'd, 
That  the  self  was  not  the  same  ; 
Single  nature's  double  name 
Neither  two  nor  one  was  call'd. 

Reason,  in  itself  confounded. 
Saw  division  grow  together; 
To  themselves  yet  either-neither. 
Simple  were  so  well  compounded : 

That  it  cried  how  true  a  twain 
Seenieth  this  concordant  one  ! 
Love  hath  reason,  reason  none, 
If  what  parts  can  so  remain. 

Whereupon  it  made  this  threne' 
To  the  phoenix  and  the  dove, 
Co-supreines  and  slars  of  love  ; 
As  chorus  to  their  tragic  scene. 

Threxos. 

Beauty,  truth,  .and  rarity, 
Grace  in  all  simplicity, 
Here  inclos'd  in  cinders  lie. 

Death  is  now  the  phoenix' nest; 
And  the  turtle's  loyal  breast 
To  eternity  doth  rest, 

Leaving  no  posterity:— 
'Twas  not  their  inhrniity, 
It  was  married  chastity. 

Truth  may  seem,  but  cannot  be : 
Beauty  brag,  but  'tis  not  she: 
Truth  and  beauty  buried  be. 

To  this  urn  let  those  repair. 
That  are  either  true  or  liiir; 
For  these  dead  birds  sigh  a  prayer. 
*  Funeral  song. 


A  LOYER'S  COMPLAINT. 


From  ofTa  hill  whose  concave  womb  re-worded 

A  iilaintful  story  from  a  sistering  vale, 

My  spirits  to  attend  this  double  voice  accorded. 

And  down  I  lay  to  list  the  sad  tun'd  tale: 

Ere  long  espied  a  tickle  maid  full  pale, 

Tearing  of  papers,  lireaking  rings  a-twain. 

Storming  her  world  with  sorrow's  wind  and  rain. 

Upon  her  head  a  platted  hive  a  straw, 

Which  fortified  her  visage  from  the  sun, 

Whereon  the  thought  might  think  sometime  it  saw 

The  carcase  of  a  beauty  sjient  and  doiio. 

Time  had  not  scythed  all  that  youth  begun, 

Nor  youth  all  quit;   but,  spite  of  Heaven's  fell 

rage. 
Some  beauty  pcep'd  through  lattice  of  scar'd  age. 

Oft  did  she  heave  her  napkin  to  her  eyne, 
Whichon  it  had  conceited  characters, 
Laund'ringi  the  silken  figures  in  the  brine 
That  season'd  woe  had  iielleted^  in  tears. 
And  olten  reading  what  contents  it  bears; 
As  often  shrieking  uiidistinguish'd  woe. 
In  clamors  of  all  size,  both  high  and  low. 

Sometimes  her  levell'd  eyes  their  carriage  ride, 
As  they  did  battery  to  the  spheres  mlend ; 
Sometime  diverted  their  poor  balls  are  tied 
To  th'  orbed  earth;  sometimes  they  do  exiend 
Their  view  right  on;  anon  their  gazes  lend 
'  Washing.  a  Formed  into  pollets,  or  small  h.ills. 


To  every  place  at  once,  and  nowhere  fix'd. 
The  mind  and  sight  distractedly  commix'd. 

Her  hair,  nor  loose,  nor  tied  in  formal  plat, 
Proclaim'd  in  her  a  careless  hand  of  piide  ; 
For  some,  untuck'd,  descended  her  sheav'd-i  liat, 
Hanging  her  pale  and  pined  cheek  beside; 
Some  in  her  threaden  fillet  still  did  hide, 
.\nd,  true  to  bondage,  would  not  break  from  thence, 
Though  slackly  braided  in  loose  negligence. 

A  thousand  fitvors  from  a  maund'  she  drew 

Of  amber,  crystal,  and  of  bedded  jet. 

Which  one  by  one  she  in  a  river  threw. 

Upon  whose  weeping  margent  she  was  set; 

Like  usury,  applying  wet  fo  wet, 

Or  monarch's  hands,  that  let  not  bounty  fall 

Where  want  cries"  some,"  but  where  excess  begs  all. 

Of  folded  schedules  had  she  many  a  one. 

Which  she  pcrus'd.sigh'd,  lore,  and  gave  the  flood; 

C'rack'd  many  a  ring  ol  jiosied  gold  and  bone, 

Bidding  them  find  tlieir  seinilchres  in  mud  ; 

Found  yet  more  letters  sadiv  penn'd  in  blood. 

With  sleided  silk  feat  and  atfectedly 

Ensvvath'd,  and  seal'd  to  curious  secrecy. 

These  often  balh'd  she  in  her  fluxive  eyes, 
And  often  kiss'd.  and  often  'gan  to  tear; 
Cried,  "O  false  blood!  thou  register  of  lies, 
AVhat  unapproved  witness  dost  thou  bear!  ' 

s  Mndu  of  straw.  *  Uasket 


A  LOVER'S  COMPLAINT. 


815 


Ink  would  have  seem'd  more  black  and  damned 

here !" 
This  said,  in  top  of  rage  the  lines  she  rents, 
Big  discontent  so  breaking  their  contents. 

A  reverend  man  that  graz'd  his  cattle  nigh, 

Sometime  a  blusterer,  that  the  ruffle  knew 

Of  court,  of  city,  and  had  let  go  by 

The  swiltest  hours,  observed  as  they  Hew, 

Towards  this  afflicted  tancy»  fastly  drew ; 

And,  privileg'd  by  age,  desires  to  know 

In  brief,  the  grounds  and  motives  of  her  woe. 

So  slides  he  down  upon  his  grained  bat,6 
Ai.d  comely-distant  sits  he  by  her  side; 
When  he  again  desires  her,  being  sat, 
Her  grievance  with  his  bearing  to  divide: 
If  that  Ifom  liim  there  may  be  aught  applied 
Winch  may  lier  sullcriug  ecstasy  assuage, 
'Tis  prorais'd  in  the  charity  of  age. 

'•Father,"  she  says,  "though  in  me  you  behold 
The  injury  of  many  a  blasting  hour, 
Let  it  not  tell  your  judgment  I  am  old  ; 
Not  age,  but  sorrow,  over  me  hath  power; 
[  might  as  yet  have  been  a  spreading  llower, 
Kresh  to  myself,  if  I  had  selt-applied 
Love  to  myself,  and  to  no  love  beside. 

But  woe  is  me!  too  early  I  attended 

A  youthful  suit  (it  was  to  gain  my  gracel 

Of  one  by  nature's  outwards  so  comiaenaed, 

That  maiden's  eyes  stuck  over  all  his  lace  : 

Love  lack'd  a  dwelling,  and  made  him  her  place; 

And  when  in  his  lair  jiarts  she  did  abide, 

She  was  new  lodg'd,  and  newly  dciftcd. 

His  browmy  locks  did  hang  in  crooked  curls; 
And  every  light  occasion  of  the  wind 
Upon  his  lips  their  silken  parcels  hurls. 
What's  sweet  to  do,  to  do  will  aptly  tind : 
Kach  eye  that  saw  him  did  enchant  the  mind  ; 
For  on  his  visage  was  in  little  drawn. 
What  largeness  thinks  in  paradise  was  sawn. 

Small  show  of  man  was  yet  upon  his  chin; 
His  phcenix  down  began  but  to  appear, 
Like  unshorn  velvet,  on  that  termless  skin,  , 
Whose  bare  out-bragg'd  the  web  it  seem'd  to  wear ; 
Yet  sliow'd  his  visage  by  that  cost  most  dear; 
And  nice  allections  wavering  stood  in  doubt 
If  best  'twere  as  it  was,  or  best  without. 

His  qualities  were  beauteous  as  his  form. 

For  maiden-tongued  he  was,  and  thereof  free; 

Yet,  if  men  mov'd  him,  was  he  such  a  storm 

As  ort  'twixt  May  and  April  is  to  see. 

When  winds  breathe  sweet,  unruly  though  they  be. 

His  rudeness  so  with  his  authoriz'd  youth, 

Did  livery  falseness  in  a  pride  of  truth. 

Well  could  he  ride,  and  ollen  men  would  say 
'Tliat  horse  his  mettle  fnnn  his  ruler  takes  : 
Proud  of  subjection,  noble  by  the  sway. 
What  rounds,  what  bounds,  what  course,  what  stop 

he  makes  !' 
And  controversy  hence  a  question  takes, 
Whellier  the  hoVse  by  him  became  his  deed, 
Or  he  liis  manage  by  the  well-doing  steed. 

But  quickly  on  his  side  the  verdict  went; 

His  real  habitude  gave  life  and  grace 

To  apperiaiuings  and  to  ornament, 

Accomplish'd  in  himsell',  not  in  his  case  ;^ 

All  aids,  themselves  made  fairer  by  their  place. 

Came  lor  additions;  yet  their  purpos'd  trim 

Piece!  not  his  grace,  but  were  all  graced  by  him. 

So  on  the  tip  of  his  subduing  tongue 
All  kind  of  argumenLs  and  quesiion  <icrp^ 
All  replication  prompt,  and  reason  strong. 
For  his  advantage  slill  did  wake  and  sleeji: 
To  make  the  weeper  laugh,  the  laugher  weep, 
He  had  the  dialect  and  dillerent  skill, 
Catching  all  passions  in  his  craft  of  will ; 

That  he  did  in  the  general  bosom  reign 
Of  young,  of  old ;  and  sexes  both  enchanted. 
To  dwell  with  him  in  thoughts,  or  to  remain 
In  personal  duty,  lollowiug  where  he  haunted  : 
f;onsents  bewitch'd,  ere  he  desire,  have  granted  ; 

»  Odo  possessed  by  £mcy.  •  Club. 

'  Outward  show. 


And  dialogued  for  him  what  he  would  say, 
Ask'd  their  own  wills,  and  made  their  wills  obey. 

Many  there  were  that  did  his  picture  get. 

To  serve  their  eyes,  and  in  it  put  their  mind  ; 

Like  fools  that  in  the  imagination  set 

The  goodly  objects  which  abroad  they  find 

Of  lands  and  mansions,  theirs  in  thought  assign'd; 

And  laboring  in  more  pleasures  to  bestow  them, 

Than  the  true  gouty  landlord  which  doth  owe  them' 

So  many  have,  that  never  touch'd  his  hand. 
Sweetly  suppos'd  them  mistress  of  his  heart. 
My  woeful  self,  that  did  in  freedom  stand. 
And  was  my  own  fee  simple,  (not  in  part,) 
What  with  his  art  in  youth,  and  youth  in  art, 
Threw  my  atlections  in  his  charmed  power, 
Reserv'd  the  stalk,  and  gave  him  all  my  dower. 

Y'et  did  I  not,  as  some  my  equals  did. 

Demand  of  him,  nor  being  desired,  yielded; 

Finding  myself  in  honor  so  lorbid. 

With  safest  distance  I  mine  honor  shielded  : 

fcixperience  for  me  many  bulwarks  budded 

Of  proofs  new-bleeding,  which  remain'd  the  foil 

Of  this  liilse  jewel,  and  his  amorous  spoil. 

But  ah  !  who  ever  shunn'd  by  precedent 

The  destin'd  ill  she  must  herself  assay  ! 

Or  forced  examples,  'gainst  her  own  content, 

To  put  the  by-pass'd  perils  in  her  way  ! 

Counsel  may  stop  a  while  what  will  not  stay  ; 

For  when  we  rage,  advice  is  often  seen 

By  blunting  us  to  make  our  wits  more  keen. 

Nor  gives  it  satisfaction  to  our  blood. 
That  we  must  curb  it  upon  others'  proof, 
To  be  forbid  the  sweet-s  that  seem  so  good, 
For  fear  of  harms  that  preach  in  our  belioof. 

0  appetite,  from  judgment  stand  aloof! 
The  one  a  palate  hath  that  needs  will  taste. 
Though  reason  weep,  and  cry  '  it  is  thy  last.' 

For  further  I  could  say,  'this  man's  untrue,' 
And  knew  the  patterns  of  his  foul  beguiling; 
Heard  where  his  plants  in  others'  orchards  grew, 
Saw  how  deceits  were  gilded  in  his  smiling; 
Knew  vows  were  ever  brokers  to  defiling  ; 
Thought  characters,  and  words,  merely  but  art, 
And  bastards  of  his  foul  adulterate  hearL 

And  long  upon  these  terms  I  held  my  city. 
Till  thus  he  'gan  besiege  me;  'Gentle  maid. 
Have  of  my  suHering  youth  some  feeling  pity. 
And  be  not  of  my  holy  vows  afraid  ; 
That's  to  you  sworn,  to  none  was  ever  said  ; 
For  feasts  of  love  I  have  been  call'd  unto, 
Till  now  did  ne'er  invite,  nor  never  vow. 

All  my  ofTences  that  abroad  you  see, 

Are  errors  of  the  blood,  none  of  the  mind  : 

Love  made  them  not;  with  acture  they  may  be, 

Where  neither  party  is  nor  true  nor  kind  : 

They  sought  their  shame  that  so  their  shainc  did 

find ; 
And  so  much  less  of  shame  in  me  remains, 
Hy  how  much  of  me  their  reproach  contains. 

Among  the  many  that  mine  eyes  have  seen. 

Not  one  whose  fiame  my  heart  so  much  as  warm'd, 

Or  my  allcclion  put  lo  the  smallest  teen. 

Or  any  of  my  leisure  ever  charm'd: 

Harm  have  I  dime  to  them,  but  ne'er  was  harm'd* 

Kept  hearls  in  liveries,  but  mine  own  was  free, 

And  reign'd,  commanding  in  his  monarchj'. 

Look  here  what  tributes  wounded  fancies  sent  me, 

Of  paled  pearls,  and  rubies  red  as  blood; 

Figuring  that  they  their  passions  likewise  lent  mo 

Of  grief  and  blushes,  aplly  understood 

In  bloodless  white  and  the  encriirison'd  mood; 

EIli*cts  of  terror  and  dear  modesty, 

Encamp'd  in  hearts,  but  fighting  outwardly. 

And  lo  !  behold  these  talents  of  their  hair. 
With  twisted  metal  amorously  imjileucird,^ 

1  have  recciv'd  from  many  a  several  fair, 
(Their  kind  acceptance  weepingly  bcseech'd,) 
With  the  annexions  of  fair  gems  enrich'd. 
And  deep-brain'd  sonnets  that  did  amplify 
Each  stone's  dear  nature,  worth,  and  quality. 

•  Interwoven. 


816 


A   LOVER'S   COMPLAINT. 


Love*s  arms  are  peace,  'gainst  rule,  'gainst  schawl 

'gainst  shame, 
And  sweetens,  in  llie  suffering  pangs  it  bears, 
The  aloes  of  all  forces,  shocks,  and  fears. 

Now  all  these  hearts  that  do  on  mine  depend* 
Feeling  it  break,  with  bleeding  groans  thej  pine, 
And  supplicant  their  sighs  to  you  extend, 
To  leave  the  battery  that  you  make  'gainst  mine, 
Lending  soft  audience  to  my  sweet  design. 
And  credent  soul  to  that  strong-bonded  oath, 
That  shall  prefer  and  undertake  my  troth.' 

This  s:iid,  his  watery  eyes  he  did  dismount. 
Whose  sights  till  then  were  levelfd  on  ^ny  face, 
Each  clieek  a  river  running  from  a  fuunt 
With  brinish  current  downward  tloA-'d  apace: 
O  how  tlie  channel  to  the  stream  gave  grace  ! 
Who,  ghiz'd  with  crystal,  gale'  the  glowing  roses 
That  llame  through  water  which  their  hue  incloses. 

0  liither,  what  a  hell  of  witchcraft  lies 

In  the  small  orb  of  one  particular  tear! 

But  with  the  inundation  of  the  eyes 

What  rocky  heart  to  water  will  riot  wear? 

What  IjriM-^t  so  cold  that  is  iiot  warmed  here? 

O  clelt  cllrct!  cokl  modest>,  hot  wratli. 

Both  hre  from  hence  and  chill  extincture  hath  I 

For  lo  !  his  passion,  but  an  art  of  craft. 

Even  there  resolv'd  my  reason  into  tears ; 

There  my  white  stoic  of  chastity  I  dalfd, 

Shook  olf  my  sober  guard,  and  civil-  lears; 

Appear  to  him,  as  he  to  me  appears, 

All  melting;  though  our  drops  this  diireronce  bora. 

His  poison'd  me,  and  mine  did  him  restore. 

In  him  a  plenitude  of  subtle  matter, 

Applied  to  cautels,3  all  strange  form  receives, 

Of  burning  blushes,  or  of  v/eeping  water, 

Or  swooning  paleness ;  and  he  takes  and  leaves, 

In  cither's  aptness,  as  it  best  deceives, 

To  blush  at  speeches  rank,  to  weep  at  woes, 

Or  to  turn  white  and  swoon  at  tragic  shows  ; 

That  not  a  heart  which  in  his  level  came, 
Could  scape  tJie  hail  of  his  all-hurting  aim. 
Showing  lair  nature  is  both  kind  and  tame. 
And,  veil'd  in   them,  did  win  whom  lie  would 

maim: 
Against  the  thing  he  sought  he  would  exclaim; 
When  he  most  burn'd  in  heart-wish'd  luxury. 
He  preacli'd  pure  maid,  and  prais'd  cold  chastity. 

Thus  merely  with  the  garment  of  a  Grace 
The  naked  and  concealed  fiend  he  cover'd, 
That  the  unexperienc'd  gave  tJie  tempter  place. 
Which,  like  a  cherubim,  above  them  hover'd. 
Who.  young  and  simple,  would  not  be  so  luver'd? 
Ah  me  !  I  toll ;  and  yet  do  question  make 
What  I  should  do  again  for  such  a  sake. 

O,  that  infected  moisture  of  his  eye, 
0,  that  false  tire  which  in  his  cheek  so  glow'd, 
O,  that  Ibrc'd  thunder  from  his  heart  did  tly, 
O,  that  sad  breath  his  spungy  lungs  bcstow'd, 
O.  all  that  borrow'd  motion,  seeming  ow'd, 
Would  yet  again  betray  tJie  fore-betray'd, 
And  new  pervert  a  reconciled  maid  V 
*  Got,  procured.       »  Decorous.       '  Deceitful  purposes. 


The  diamond,  why  'twas  beautiful  and  hard, 
Whereto  his  invis'd^  properties  did  tend; 
The  deei)-green  emerald,  in  whose  fresh  regard 
Wcaiv  siglits  tJioir  sickly  radiance  do  amend: 
The  heavm-hued  s;i]iphire  and  the  opal  blend 
With  objecis  niamlold  ;  each  several  stone. 
With  wit  well  blazon'd,smird  or  made  some  mo;^n. 

Lo!  all  these  trophies  of  affections  hot, 

Of  pensive  and  subdued  desires  the  tender. 

Nature  lialh  charg'd  me  that  I  lioard  them  not, 

But  yield  them  up  where  I  myself  must  render. 

That  is,  to  you,  my  origin  and  ender: 

For  these,  of  force,  must  your  oblations  be. 

Since  I  their  altar,  you  enpatron  me. 

0  then  advance  of  yours  that  phraseless  hand, 
Whose  white  weighs  down  the  airy  scale  of  praise; 
Take  all  these  similes  to  your  own  command, 
Hallow'd  with  sighs  that  burning  lungs  did  raise: 
W^iiat  me  your  minister,  for  you  obeys, 
Works  under  you;  and  to  your  audit  comes 
Their  distract  parcels  in  combined  sums. 

Lo  !  this  device  was  sent  me  from  a  nun 

Or  sister  sanctified  of  holiest  note; 

Which  late  her  noble  suit  in  court  did  slum. 

Whose  rarest  havings  made  the  blossoms  dote  ; 

P'or  she  was  sought  by  spirits  of  richest  coat. 

But  kept  cold  distance,  and  did  thence  remove, 

To  spend  her  living  in  eternal  love. 

But  0,  my  sweet,  what  labor  is't  to  leave 

The  tiling  we  have  not,  mastering  whatnot  strives? 

Paling  the  place  which  did  no  form  receive, 

Playing  patient  sports  in  unconstrained  gyves  : 

She  that  her  fame  so  to  herself  contrives, 

Tlie  scars  of  battle  'scapeth  by  the  fight. 

And  makes  her  absence  valiant,  not  her  might. 

0  pardon  me,  in  that  my  boast  is  true  ; 
The  accident  which  brought  mc  to  her  eye, 
Upon  tJie  moment  did  her  force  subdue, 
And  now  she  Tvould  the  caged  cloister  lly: 
Religious  Jove  put  out  religion's  eye  : 

Not  to  be  tempted,  would  sJie  be  immur'd. 
And  now,  to  tempt  all,  liberty  procur'd. 

How  mighty  then  you  are,  O  hear  me  tell ; 
The  broken  bosoms  that  to  me  belong 
Have  emptied  all  their  fountains  in  my  well. 
And  mine  I  pour  your  ocean  all  among : 

1  strong  u'er  them,  and  you  o'er  me  being  strong, 
Must  for  your  victory  us  all  congest, 

As  compound  love  to  physic  your  cold  breast. 

My  parts  had  power  to  charm  a  sacred  nun, 
Who  discipiin'd  and  dieted  in  grace, 
Believ'd  tier  eyes  when  they  to  assail  begun, 
All  vows  and  consecrations  giving  place. 
O  most  potential  love  !  vow,  bond,  nor  space. 
In  thee  hath  neither  sting,  knot,  nor  conline. 
For  thou  art  all,  and  all  things  else  are  tliine. 

When  thou  impressest,  what  are  precepts  worth 
Of  ^tale  example  ?  When  thou  wilt  infiame, 
How  coldly  those  impediments  stand  tbrth 
Of  wealth'of  filial  fear,  law,  kindred,  fame! 
e  Invisible. 


THE  END. 


GLOSSARY. 

OF  OBSOLETE  WORDS,  AND  OF  WORDS  VARYING  FROM  THEIR  ORDINARY  SIGNIFICATION^. 

A. 

Anthropophagi,  cannibals. 

R. 

Abate,  to  depress,  sink,  subdue. 

Antick.  the  fool  of  the  old  play. 

Baccare,  stand  back,  give  place. 

A  B  C,  a  catechism. 

Antiquity,  old  age. 

Bairn,  brushwood. 

Abbor,  to  protest  against. 

Antres,  caves  and  dens. 

Baldrick,  a  belt. 

Aljects,  debased  servile  persons. 

Appeache,  to  impeach. 

ISale.  misery. 

Able,  to  qualify  or  uphold. 

Apfx-al,  to  accuse. 

Hiileful,  baneful. 

Abortive,  isi^uins  liefdre  its  time. 

Apjieared,  made  apparent. 

italked,  lathed  or  piled  Up. 

Absolute,  complete,  perfect. 

Apple-john,  an  apple  that  will  keep 

Uallase,  ballast. 

Abuse,  deception. 

for  two  years. 

llalm,  the  oil  of  consecration. 

Abused,  deceived. 

Apply,  to  attend  to,  to  consider. 

Ban,  curse. 

Aby,  to  pay  dear  for,  to  rue,  to  suffer. 

Appointment,  preparation. 

Band,  bond. 

Abysm,  abyss. 

Apprehension,  opinion. 

Bandog,  village-dog. 

Accite,  to  cite  or  summon. 

Apprehensive,   quick    of   comprehen- 

Bandy,  to  exchange  smartly. 

Accuse,  accusation. 

eion. 

Bank,  to  sail  along  banks. 

Achieve,  to  obtain. 

Approbation,  entry  or  probation. 

Banning,  cursing. 

Aconitum,  wolf 's-banR. 

Approof,  approbation,  proof. 

Banquet,  a  slight  repast. 

Acquittance,  requital. 

Approve,  to  justify,  prove,  establish. 

Bar,  barrier. 

Action,  direction  by  mute  signs,  charge, 

Approved,  experienced. 

Barbasou.  the  name  of  a  demon. 

or  accusation. 

Approvers,  those  who  try. 

Itarbe.  a  kind  of  vail. 

Action- taking,  litigous. 

Aqua-vita?,   strong  waters,    probably 

Barltcd,  warlikely  caparisoned. 

Acturcs,  actions. 

usquebaugh. 

Uarber-mnnger.an  associate  of  barbers. 

Additions,  titles  or  characters. 

Arabian  bird,  the  phenix. 

Bare,  to  shave. 

Address,  to  prepare,  to  make  ready. 

Arch,  chief. 

Bnre,  mere. 

Addressed  or  addrest,  ready. 

.A.rgentine,  silver. 

Barful,  full  of  impediments. 

Admittance,  favor. 

Argentine,  the  goddess  Diana. 

Barm,  yeiLst. 

Advance,  to  prefer. 

Argier,  Algiers. 

Barn  or  bairn,  a  child. 

Advertising,  attentive. 

Argosies,    ships     laden    with    great 

Barnacles,  a  slu-ll-fish. 

Adversity,  a^ntrariety, 

wealth. 

Barns,  keeps  in  a  barn. 

Advertisement,  admonition. 

Argument,  subject  for  conversation, 

Barred,  ignorant. 

Advice,   consideration,    thought,   dis- 

evidence, pratf. 

Base,  dislionored. 

cretion. 

Arm,  to  take  up  in  the  arms. 

Base,  a  ru.sUc  gtime  ailleil  prison-base. 

Advise,  to  consider,  to  recollect. 

Araunt,  avaunt.  liogone. 

Bases,  a  kind  of  loose  breeches  worn 

AdvLseU,  cool,  cautious. 

A-row,  successively. 

by  equestrian  knights. 

At;ry,  or  Aiery,  a  hawk's  or   eagle'^ 

Art,   practice    as    distinguished   from 

B.a.'iilisks,  a  species  of  cannon. 

nest. 

theory:  also,  theory. 

Btista,  *tis  enough. 

Affect  the  letter,  to  practice  allitera- 

Articulate, to  enter  into  articles. 

Bastard,  nusin  wiue. 

tion. 

Artificial,  ingenious,  artful. 

Bat.  a  club. 

Affect,  love. 

As,  as  if. 

Bate,  strife. 

Affection,  affectation,  imagination. 

Ascauut,  askew,  sideways. 

Bate,  to  flutter  as  a  hawk. 

Affectioued.  affected. 

Aspect,  countenance. 

Batlet,    an    instrument    with    which 

Affects,  affections. 

Aspersion,  sprinkling. 

washers  used  to  beat  clothes. 

Affeered,  confirmed. 

As  point,  completely  armed. 

Batten,  to  grow  fat. 

Alfied,  betrothed. 

Assay,  test. 

Battle,  army. 

Aflined,  joined  by  affinity. 

Ascapart,  a  giant. 

Bawcock,  a  jolly  fellow. 

Affrort.  to  confront. 

Assinego,  a  male  ass. 

Bay,   the    space    Ijetweeu    the    main 

Affy,  to  betroth. 

Astringer,  a  gentleman  falconer. 

beams  of  a  house. 

Aglef-baby,  a  diminutive   being,   not 

.\ssurance.  convevance  or  deed. 

Bay-curU-il,  a  bay  docked  horse. 

exceeding  the  tag  of  a  point,  from 

.\ssured,  affianced. 

Biiy-window,  a  bfrw-wiudow. 

aiguiUties. 

Ates,  instigate  from  Ate,  the  goddess 

Beadsmen,    religious    persons,    main- 

Agnize, acknowledge,  confess,  vow. 

of  bluodshed. 

tained  to  pray  for  their  benefactor. 

A-good.  in  good  earnest. 

Atomies,   minute   particles  visible    in 

Beak,  the  forec-mtle. 

Aim,  guess,  suspicion. 

the  sun's  rays. 

Bear  a  braiu,  to  perfectly  resemble. 

Airy  fame,  mere  verbal  eulogy. 

Atta.sked,  taken  to  task. 

Beard,  to  defy. 

Aider-liefest,  best  beloved. 

Attended,  waited  for. 

Bearing,  demeanor. 

Ale.  a  merry-meeting. 

Attent,  attentive. 

Bearing-cloth,  a  mantel  used  at  chris- 

A'life. at  life. 

Atone,  to  reconcile. 

tenings. 

Allow,  to  approve. 

Attest,  attestation. 

Beat  (in  falconry),  to  flatter. 

All.'wance,  approbation. 

Attorney,  deputation. 

Beating,  hammering,  dwelling  upon. 

Amaze,  to  perplex. 

Attorneyship,  tiie  discretional  agency 

Beaver,  helmet  in  general. 

Amazonian  chin,  a  beardless  chin. 

of  another. 

Beck,  a  Salutation  made  with  the  head.  • 

Amcs-ncc,  the   lowest  chance   of  the 

Attornied,  supplied  by  substitution  of 

Becomed,  l>ecoming. 

dice. 

embassies. 

Beetle,  to  hang  over  the  base. 

Amiss,  misfortune. 

Audacious,  spirited,  animnted. 

Behave,  to  manage. 

Amort,  dispirited. 

Audrey,  a  corruption  of  Kthelrea.. 

Behests,  commands. 

An'.  a.<iif. 

Angurs,  prognostications. 

Beholding,  viewing  with  regard. 

Anchor,  a  hermit. 

.\ukward,  adverse. 

Behowl,  to  bowl  at. 

Ancient,  an  ensign  or  standard-bearer. 

Aunts,  strumpets. 

Being,  abode. 

Angle,  a  fishing  rod. 

Authentic,  Iciirned. 

Beldame,  ancient  mother. 

Anight,  in  the  night. 

Awful,  reverend. 

Bedee'd,  becalmed. 

Anawer,  retaliation. 

Awlcis,  failing  to  produce  awe. 

Belongings,  endowments. 

(819) 

820 

GLOSSARY. 

Bc-DiPte,  be-measure. 

Break,  to  begin. 

Casques,  helmets. 

Be-moileJ,  bedraggled,  bemirod. 

Break  up,  to  carve. 

Cassock,  a  horseman's  loose  coat.      "^ 

Bcndiug,  unequal  to  the  wvight. 

Ureak  with,  to  break  the  matter  to. 

Cast,  to  empty;  also  to  dismiss,  reject. 

Benefit,  beoefiriary. 

IJreast.  voice. 

Ca.st,  reckoned. 

Bent,  utmost  degree  of  any  passion. 

Breath,  speech  ;  also  exercise. 

Ciu^tilian.  an  opprobions  term. 

Benumbed,  intlexiblc. 

Breathing-courtesy,  mere  verbal  com- 

Casliliano vuigo,  a  cant  term  of  con- 

Betthrew, may  ill  befall. 

pliment. 

tempt. 

Besmirch,  to  foul  or  dirty. 

Breeched,  foully  sheathed,  mired. 

Cast-lips,  left  off  lips. 

Best    bravest. 

Breeching,  liable  to  be  Cogged. 

Cast  the  water,  to  find  out  disoiders  by 

Bestoweil,  stowed  away,  lodged. 

Breathed,  inured  by  constant  practice. 

inspecting  the  urine. 

Bestraught,  distracted. 

Breathe,  to  utter. 

Catalan,  a  liar. 

Beteem,  togive,pourout,permit,suffer. 

Breed-bate,  an  exciter  of  quarrels. 

Catling,  a  small  lutestring,  made  of 

Bewray,  betray. 

Bribe-buck,  a  buck  sent  as  a  bribe. 

catgut. 

Bezonian,  a  mean  fellow. 

Bridal,  the  nuptial  fe:ist. 

Cavalero-justice,  a  cant  term. 

Bias-cbeek,  swelling  oat  like  the  bias 

Bring,  to  attend  or  accompany. 

Cavaleroes,  gay  fellows. 

of  a  bowl. 

Brize.  the  gad  or  horse-fly. 

Caviare,  loo  good  for,  or  above  the  com- 

Bid, to  invite. 

Broach,  to  put  on  the  spit,  to  transfix. 

prehension  of;    so  called  from  a 

Bid  the  base,  to  challenge  in  a  contest. 

Brock,  the  badger. 

delicacy  made  of  the  roe  of  stur- 

BifolU, two-fold. 

Brogues,  a  kind  of  shoes. 

geons,  eaten  by  the  quality. 

Bi-rgin,  a  cap. 

Broken,  communicated. 

Cautel.  subtlety. 

Billierry,  the  whortleberry. 

Broker,  a  match-maker,  a  procuress. 

Cautel  or  canile,  the  corner,  or  piece 

Bilbo,  a  Spanish  blade,  made  at  Bilboa. 

liruoched,  adorned. 

of  anything. 

Bilboes,  fetters. 

Brought,  attended. 

Cautelous,  insidious,  cautious. 

Bill,  articles  of  accusation. 

Bruw  of  youth,  the  height  of  youth. 

Cearment,  the  wrapping  of  an  embalm- 

Bill, a   weapon,  formerly    carried  by 

Brown-bill,  a  battle-ax. 

ed  body. 

watch  meu. 

Brownist,  a  follower  of  Brown,  a  sec- 

Cease, decease. 

Bin,  is. 

tarian. 

Censure,  to  give  an  opinion. 

Bird-bolt,  an  arrow  shot  at  binls  from 

Grui.Mug-irons,  an  allusion  to  the  an- 

Centuries,  companies   of   a   hundred 

a  cro-^ss-bow. 

cient  mace. 

meu  each. 

Bison,  blind. 

Bruit,  report  with  clamor. 

Ceremonious,  superstitious. 

Blank,  the  white  mark  in  a  target.    . 

Brush  of  time,  decay  of  time. 

Certes,  certainly. 

Blauk  and  level,  mark  and  aim  (terms 

Bug.  bugbears,  false  terrors. 

Ce.es,  measure,  tax  or  subsidy. 

of  gunnery). 

Bumbard,  a  large  drinking  vessel. 

Chair,  throne. 

Blaze  of  youth,  the  spring  of  early  life. 

Bum;,  a  cut-purse. 

Chaliced,  i.  e.,  flowers  with  cups,  from 

Blear,  to  deceive. 

Bunting;  a  bird. 

ciilix. 

Blench,  to  start  off,  to  fly  off. 

Burgonet,  a  helmet. 

Challenge,  the  right  of  refusing  a  ju- 

Blent, blended. 

Busky.  woody. 

ryman. 

Blind   worAs,   the    concilia,   or    slow- 

Butt-.--haft,  an  arrow  to  shoot  at  shafts 

Chamber,  ancient  name  for  London; 

worm. 

with. 

also  a  piece  of  ordnance. 

Blood-boltered,  daubed  with  blood. 

Buxom,  obedient. 

Chnmberers,  intriguers. 

Blowu,  puffed  up,  swollen. 

By "rlakeu,  by  our  lady. 

Cbauipian,  an  open  country. 

Blows,  swells. 

Chantry,  a  small  chapel  juacathedraL 

Bloody,  sanguine. 

C. 

Character,  hand-writing. 

Blue  caps,  the  Scotch. 

Caddis,  worsted  lace. 

Characu-ry,  the  matter  with  which  let- 

Blunt, .stupid,  inseofible. 

Cade,  a  barrel. 

ters  are  made. 

Blurt,  blurted,  an  expression  of  con- 

Cadent, falling. 

Chares,  task-work. 

tempt. 

Cage,  a  prison. 

Charge-house,  free  school. 

Board,  to  accost. 

Cain-colored,  yellow. 

Chariest,  most  cautious. 

Bcbb,  to  trick. 

Caitiff,  a  scoundrel. 

Chariness,  caution. 

Bwlgcd,  boggled,  clumsy. 

Calculate,  to  foret^-U. 

Charitable,  dear,  endearing. 

Uodkin,  a  small  dagger. 

Caliver.  a  musket. 

Charles-wain,  the  constellation  called 

Jtolds.  emboldens. 

Call,  to  visit. 

the  bear. 

Itolten,  swollen. 

Callet,  a  woman,  a  witch. 

Charm  your  tongue,  be  silent. 

Bolted,  sifted. 

Calling,  appellation. 

Charmer,  one  who  deals  in  magic. 

Boltered,  bedaubed. 

Calm,  qualm. 

Charneco.  a  sweet  wine. 

Bolting-hutch,  the  receptacle  in  which 

Camelet,  a  place  where  King  Arthur 

Chance,  fortune. 

the  meal  is  bolted. 

issupposed  to  have  kept  his  court. 

Chary,  cautious. 

BoDiliard  or  bunibard,  a  barrel. 

Canary,  a  dance. 

Chases,  a  term  in  tennis. 

Bombast,  the  stuffing  of  clothes. 

Candle-wasters,  those  who  sit  up  all 

Chaudron,  entrails. 

Bona-robas,  strumpets. 

night  to  drink. 

Cheater,  for   escheatour,  an  officer  in 

Boud,  bounden  duty. 

Canker,  the  dog-rose. 

the  exchequer. 

Bony  or  bonny,  handsom**. 

Caustick,  candlestick. 

Checks,  probably  for  ethics. 

Book,  paper  of  conditions. 

Cantons,  cantos. 

Cheer,  countenance. 

Boot,  profit,  something  over  and  above. 

Canvas,  to  sift. 

Cherry-pit,  a  game  with  cherry-stones. 

Bore,  demeaned. 

Canvas-climber,  a  sailor 

CheveriI,soft  leather;  also,  conscience. 

Bore,  the  caliber  of  a  gun. 

Cap.  the  top,  the  chief. 

Chew,  to  ruminate,  consider. 

ISore.a,  stabs. 

Cap,  to  salute  by  taking  off  the  cap. 

Chewet,  a  chattering  bird. 

Bordered,  restrained. 

Capable  impressure.  hullow.mark. 

Chide,  to  resound,  to  echo ;   also,  to 

Bosky,  woody. 

Capitulate,  to  make  head  against. 

.'fcold,  be  clamorous. 

Bosom  wish,  heart's  desire. 

Capocchia,  a  =ot. 

Chiding,  Sound,  noisy. 

Bots,  worms  in  a  horse's  ttomach. 

Capon,  metaphor  for  a  letter. 

Child,  a  knight,  a  hero. 

Borne  in  hand,  deceived. 

Capricious,  lascivious. 

Cliiki,  a  femiile  infjint. 

Bottled-spider.  a  large  bloated  spider. 

Captious,  cHpacious. 

Childiiig,  unseasonably  pregnant. 

BouUed.  sifted. 

Ciirack,  a  ship  of  great  bulk. 

Cliopiiie,  a  high  shoe. 

Bourn,  boundary,  rivulet. 

Caracls,  characters. 

Chough,  a  bird  of  the  daw  species. 

Bow,  yoke. 

Carbonado,  a  piece  of  meat  cut  cross- 

Christom  or  ehrisom,  the  white  cloth 

Bowlius  or  bowlines,  tackle  of  a  ship. 

ways  for  the  gridiron. 

put  on  a  new  baptized  cliild. 

Bower,  a  chamber. 

Card,  a  sea-chart,  perhaps  also    the 

Chuck,  chicken,  a  term  of  endearment. 

Brace,  armor  for  the  arm. 

compass. 

Chuff,  rich,  avaricious. 

Brach.  a  hound. 

Carded,  mixed. 

Choppiag,  jabbering. 

Bnu-k,  to  salt. 

Care,  inclination. 

Cicatrice,  the  .«car  of  a  wound. 

l;r:ntJ,  ernfty,  deceitful. 

Careiries,  the  motion  of  a  horse;    to 

Circummurcd,  walled  round. 

Bniin's-llow.  tears. 

pass  the  careires,  means  to  over- 

Circumstance, conduct,  detail,  circum- 

Brake, an  instrument  of  torture;  also 

step  the  bounds  of  decorum. 

locution. 

•        a  thicket. 

Carkanet,  a  necklace. 

Cite,  incite 

Brandfj,   a  part  of   the    andirons   on 

Carl,  clown,  boor. 

Cilal.  recital. 

which  the  wood  for  the  fire  was 

Ciirlut.  pea.'iant. 

Civil,  grave,  solemn. 

supported. 

Carnal,  sanguinary. 

Civil,  human. 

Bra.«ier,  a  raauufacturor  of  brass;  also 

Carowses.  drinks. 

Cittern,  a  musical  instrument. 

a  vessel  ta  which  charcrial  i-<  burnt. 

Carriage,  import. 

Clack-dish,  a  beggar's  dish. 

Brave,  to  defy;    also  to  make  fiue. 

Carried,  conducted. 

Clamour,  a  term  in  bell-ringing. 

Bravely,  splendidly,  gallantly. 

Carry,  to  prevail  over. 

Clap  in.  fall  to. 

Bravery,  finery. 

Cart,  a  chariot. 

Clapped  i'  the  clout.hit  the  white  mark. 

Brawl,  a  kind  of  dnnce. 

('ase,  skin,  outward  garb. 

Ciap,  to  join  hands. 

Braying,  harsh,  grating. 

Case  of  llvc.-^,  a  set  of  lives. 

Claw,  to  flatter. 

GLOSSARY. 

821 

Clean,  completely. 

Convents,  agrees,  is  convenient. 

Curb,  to  bend  or  truckle. 

Clean  kaui,  awry. 

Convented,  summoned. 

Curiosity,  curiousuess,  finical  delicacy. 

Clear,  pure. 

Conversion,  change  of  condilion. 

Curious,  scrupulous. 

Clearest,  purest. 

Converse,  associate,  interchange. 

Curled,  ostentatiously  dressed. 

Clepe,  to  call. 

Couvertiie,  a  convert. 

Currents,  occurrences. 

Clerkly,  loarneil,  scholar-lilt  p. 

Convey,  to  steal. 

Cursed,  under  the  influence  of  a  male- 

Cling,  to  dry.  to  slirink  up. 

Conveyance,  a  slight  of  hand,  theft. 

dii'tion. 

Clinquant,  glittering. 

Conveyers,  thieves. 

Curst,  petulant,  ill-tempered,  crabbed, 

Ctipt,  embraceJ. 

Conveyed  himself,  derived  his  title. 

harsh. 

Clout,  the  white  mark  at  whirh  arch- 

Convicted,  overpowered.  balBed. 

Curstness,  ill-humor. 

era  shoot. 

Convince,  to  convict,  to  subdue. 

Curtail,  a  little  cur. 

Clouted,  hobnailed. 

Convive,  to  feast. 

Curtal,  a  docked  horse. 

Coach-fellow,  one  who  draws  with  a 

Ctipatain  hat,  a  hat  with  a  conical 

Curtle-axc,  a  cutl.'v.«s.  broad-sword. 

confederate. 

crown. 

Customer,  a  strumpet. 

CoaFtinj.  conciliatory. 

Cope,  encounter,  covsring. 

Cut.  a  horse. 

Codling^  an  unripe  apple. 

Copped,  ri>in5  to  a  top  or  head. 

Cut  and  longtail,  poor  and  rich. 

Cobdoaf,  a  crusty  uneven  loaf. 

Copy,  theme. 

Cuttle,  a  knife  used  by  sharpers. 

Cock,  cock-boat. 

Coragio,  courage,  be  of  good  cheer. 

Cyprus,  a  transparent  stuff. 

Cock-and-pye.  a  vulgar  oath. 

Corinth,  a  brotbel. 

Cockshut-timc.  twili-ht. 

Corinthian,  a  wrencher. 

D. 

Cockle,  a  corn  wed. 

Corky,  dry,  withered. 

Daff  or  doff,  to  put  off. 

Cockle-hat,  a  pilgrim's  hat. 

Corollary,  surplus. 

Dally,  to  trifle. 

Codding,  amorous. 

Corporal,  corporeal. 

Damn,  to  condemn. 

Codpiece,  a  part  of  a  dress. 

Corrigible,  corrected. 

Danger,  control. 

Coflan.  the  cavity  of  a  raised  pie. 

Costard,  a  head. 

Dank,  wet,  rotten. 

Cog,  to  cheat  with  dice,  to  He. 

Coster-monger,  a  dealer  in  costers  or 

Danskers.  natives  of  Denmark. 

Cognii^ancc,  badge  or  token. 

apples. 

Darkling,  in  the  dark. 

Cogging,  lying. 

Cote,  to  overtake. 

Darraign,  to  arrange. 

Coigne  of  vantage,  convenient  corner. 

Coted,  quoted,  regarded. 

Daub,  to  disguise. 

Coignes,  comers. 

Cotsale,  Cotwood  in  Gloucester. 

Daubery,  falt;ehood,  counterfeit. 

Coil,  bluster,  stir. 

Couch,  to  lie  with. 

Day-bed.  a  couch. 

Cold,  naked. 

Count,  to  reckon  upon. 

Dity-light,  broad  day. 

Collection,  consequence  or  corollary. 

Countenance,  favor  ;  false  appearance. 

D;iy-woman,  dairymaid. 

Collied,  black,  smutted. 

hypocrisy. 

Dealt,  fought  by  proxy. 

Colt,  to  trick. 

Counter,  a  hunting;  t'^rm. 

Dear,  immediate,  consequential. 

Co-mart,  a  joint  bargain. 

Counter-ca-ster,  one  who  reckons  with 

Dearn.  direful,  lonely,  solitary. 

Come  of)  to  pay. 

counters. 

Death-token.^,  spots  on  those*  iafected 

Come  of  will,  to  succeed. 

Counter-check,  a  term  in  chess. 

with  the  plague. 

Co-meddled,  mingled. 

Counterfeit,  a  portrait. 

Death's-man.  executioner. 

Combinate,  betrothed. 

Counterpoints,  counterpanes. 

Debitor,  debtor. 

Comfort,  to  aid. 

County,  count,  earl. 

Deboshed,  debauched. 

Comforting,  abetting. 

Couplement.  a  couple. 

Decay,  poverty,  misfortunes. 

Comma,  connection. 

Courses,  the  mainsail  and  foresail. 

Deck  of  cards,  a  pack. 

Commission,  authority. 

Court-cupboard,  sideboard. 

Decked,  sprinkled. 

C'Omniend.  commit. 

Court  confect,  a  spurious  nobleman. 

Decline,  to  run  through  (as  in  gram- 

Committed, lain  with. 

Court  holy-water,  flattery. 

mar  )  from  first  to  last. 

Commodity,  self-interest. 

Covered,  hollow. 

Declined,  the  fallen. 

Commonty.  a  comedy. 

Cowed,  awed. 

Deem,  opiuiun,  surmise. 

Compact,  made  up  of. 

Cower,  to  sink  down. 

Deer,  animals  in  general. 

Cf>mpanies,  companions. 

CowIstaCf.  a  staff  used   in  carrying  a 

Default,  ( in  the  )  at  a  need. 

C-ymparo,  comparison. 

ba.'^kot. 

Defeat,  to  free,  todisembarra-is. 

Comparative,  a  dealer  in  comparisons. 

Coy,  to  scothe. 

Defeature  altiration  of  features. 

Compassed,  round. 

Coyed.  yeilded  reluctantly. 

Defence,  the  art  of  fencing. 

Compassed  cape,  a  round  cape. 

Coystril,  a  coward  cock,  a  poltroon. 

Defend,  to  forbid. 

Compassed  window,  a  bow-window. 

Cozier,  a  tailor,  a  botcher. 

Deftly,  adroitly,  dexterously. 

Compassionate,  plaxntivo. 

Crack,  dis.<oIution  :  also,  a  boy-child. 

Defy,  to  reject. 

Compose,  to  come  to  a  composition. 

Cranks,  windings. 

Degrees,  steps. 

Composture,  composition. 

Cranking  or  crankling,  the  rush  of  a 

Delay,  to  let  slip. 

Composition,   bargain ;     also,    consis- 

river. 

Demerits,  merits. 

tency. 

Crants,  garlands. 

Demurely,  solemnly. 

Competitors,  confederate."). 

Crare.  a  small  trading  vessel. 

Denay,  denial. 

CoDipienients.  accomplishments- 

Crash,  to  be  merry  over. 

Denaycd,  denied. 

Complexion,  humor. 

Craven,  a  cowai-dly  cock,  mean,  cow- 

Denier, a  coin. 

Comply,  to  compliment. 

ardly. 

Denude,  to  strip,  divest. 

Comptible,  submiSi^ive. 

Create,  compounded,  made  up  of. 

Deny,  to  refuse. 

Conceit,  imagination,  wit,  idea. 

Credent,  credible. 

Depart,  to  p:irt. 

Conceited,  ingeniovis. 

Credit,  account,    information,  credu- 

Departing, separation. 

Concent,  connected  harmony. 

lity. 

Depend,  to  be  in  service. 

Conclusion!*,  experiments. 

Cressets,  lights  set  upon  a  beacon. 

Deprive,  to  disinherit. 

Concupy,  concupiscence. 

Crossive,  increasing. 

Deracinate,  to  root  up. 

Condolement.  sorrow. 

Crest,  the  summit. 

Derogate,  degraded. 

Conduct,  conductor. 

Crestless.  those  who  have  no  right  to 

Descant,  to  harangue   upoa ;   also  a 

Coney-catched.  tricked. 

armorial  bearing. 

term  in  music. 

Coney-catcher,  a  cheat. 

Crewel,  worsted. 

Deserved,  deserving. 

Confession,  profession. 

Crisp,  curled,  winding. 

itesign.  to  mark  out. 

Contineless,  Ijonndless. 

Critic,  cynic. 

Despatched,  bei-eft. 

Confound,  to  destroy. 

Critical,  censorious. 

Detected,  suspccted- 

Conject.  conjecture.' 

Crone,  a  very  old  woman. 

Dich.  do  it^ 

Consent,  will,  conspiracy. 

Crosses,  money  stamped  with  a  cross. 

Dickon,  Iticliard, 

Consider,  reward. 

Crow-keeper,  a  scare-crow. 

Die.  gaming. 

Cou5iucncd,  sealed. 

Crownet,  last  purpose. 

Diet,  to  compel  to  fast 

Consist,  stand. 

Crulontious,  cruel. 

Diffused  wild,  irregular. 

Consort,  company. 

Crusado.  a  Portuguese  coin. 

Digress,  to  deviate  from  what  is  right. 

Conspectuity,  .sight. 

Crush,  to  drink. 

Digression,  transgression. 

Constancy,  consistency. 

Crush,  a  cup,  to  crack  a  bottle. 

Dildos,  the  burden  of  a  song. 

Constantly,  certainly. 

Cry,  a  pack  of  hounds. 

Dint,  impression. 

Contemptible,  contemptuous. 

Cry  aim,  to  encourage. 

DL-ytble.  to  undervalue. 

Continuate,  uninterrupted. 

Crystals,  the  eyes. 

Disappointed,  unprepared. 

Continue,  to  spend. 

CulMlrawn.  alluding  to  a  bear  whose 

Discaudy,  to  diL^solvc. 

Continent,  containing. 

dugs  are  dry. 

Disclose,  to  hatch. 

Contraction,  marriage-contract. 

Cue,  a  theatrical  terra,  the  last  word 

Discontents,  malcontents. 

Contrarious.  different. 

of  the  preceding  speech. 

Discourse,  reason. 

Contrary,  to  contradict. 

Cuisses,  armor  for  the  thighs. 

Disease,  uneasiness,  discontent. 

Contrive,  to  spend,  to  wear  out. 

Cullion.  a  paltry  fellow. 

Diseases,  sayings. 

Control,  confut/*. 

Cuaning.  knowledge. 

Disgrace,  haidship,  injury. 

822 

GLOSSARY. 

Dishnbitei),  dislodgeJ. 

Engross,  to  fjitten. 

Fftp,  beaten,  drunk. 

Dislike,  displease. 

Dng.-iged,  delivered  as  a  hostage. 

Fari-ed,  stuffed. 

Dislimn.  to  unpaint,  obliterate. 

Engrnssmeuts,  accumulation. 

Fardel  or  Farthel,  a  burden. 

Disme,  tenth,  or  tithe. 

Enkindle,  to  stimulate. 

Fashions,    the   farcens,   a  diseaie    of 

I)isnature(l.  wantiug  natural  afTection. 

Enme.-<h,  to  inclose,  as  in  meshes. 

horses. 

l)i.'=park,  to  destroy  a  park  or  incloaure. 

Enmew,  (in  falconry)  to  force  to  lie  in 

Fat,  dull. 

Bisper^'e,  to  sprinkle. 

cover. 

Favour,  countenance. 

Disponge,  to  discharge  as  a  sponge. 

Enridged,  bordered. 

Favours,  features. 

Dispose,  disposal,  comnnand. 

Ensconce,  to  secure  in  a  safe  place,  to 

Fear,  to  intimidate,  danger. 

Dispose,  to  make  terms. 

fortify. 

Feared,  afraid. 

Disposition,  fi-ame. 

Enseamed,  greasy. 

Fearful,  timorous  ;  also,  formidable. 

Dissoat.  displace,  depose. 

Enseer,  to  dry  up. 

Feat,  dexterous. 

Dijaemble.  to  gloss  over,  disguise. 

Enshield.  concealed. 

Feated,  made  neat. 

Dissembling,  putting  dissimilar  things 

Ensteeped,  immersed. 

Feature,  beauty. 

together. 

Entertainment,    pay;    also,    being   re- 

Federacy. confederate. 

Distained.  unstained. 

ceived  into  service. 

Free-grief,  a  peciiliar  sorrow. 

Distriste,  to  corrupt. 

Entrcatments,  favors;  also,  objects  of 

Feeder,  a  dependant. 

Distemper,  iutoxication. 

entri-aty. 

Feeding,  maintenance. 

Distemperature,  perturbation. 

Envy.  av.T-ion,  malice. 

Feere,  or  pheere,  a  companion. 

Distempered,  out  of  humor. 

Enviou';l>,  angrily. 

Feet,  footing. 

Distraught,  distracted. 

E|ihesi;ui.  a  cant  t«rm. 

Fell,  skin. 

Diatraclions,     detachments,    seprrati^ 

Krring.  errant,  wandering. 

Fell  of  hair,  capilitium,  any  part  cover- 

bodies. 

Ei-xai)e,  jlleiritimate  child. 

ed  with  hair. 

Divert,  to  turn  aside. 

Escoted,  paid. 

Fell-feats,  savage  actions. 

Division,  a  term  in  music. 

Esil.  or  Eisel.  a  river. 

Fence,  the  .irt  of  self-<lefense. 

Dolf,  to  put  off. 

Esperance.  motto  of  the  Percy  fame. 

Fcodary.  a  confederate. 

Dole.  alms,  distribution,  lot. 

Kspials,  spies. 

Festinately,  hastily. 

Dolpbiu,  the  Dauphin. 

Essential,  existent,  real. 

Festival  terms,  elegant  phrase. 

Don,  to  put  on,  to  do  on. 

Estimate,  price. 

Fet,  fetched. 

Done  to  death,  killed. 

I'istimatiou,  conjecture. 

Few,  in  brief. 

Done,  expended,  consumed. 

Kstridges,  ostriches. 

Fico.  a  term  of  contempt. 

Done  upon  the  gad,  suddenly. 

Eterne,  eternal. 

Fielded,  in  the  field  of  battle. 

Dotant,  dotard. 

Even,  to  make  even,  or  evident. 

Fights,  clothes  hung  round  a  ship  to 

Double,  full  of  duplicity. 

Even  christian,  fellow-christian. 

a>nceal  the  men  from  the  enemy. 

Double  vouchers,  a  law  term. 

Evils.  Jakes. 

File,  a  list. 

Doubt,  to  fear. 

Examined,  doubted. 

Filed,  defiled. 

Bout,  to  do  out,  extinguish. 

Excelleut  differences,  distinguished  ex- 

Filed, gone  on  equal  pace  with. 

Dowie,  a  feather. 

cellencies. 

Fills,  the  shafts. 

Down-gyved,  banging  down,  like  wlira 

Excrement,  the  beard. 

Filths,  common  sewers. 

confines    the    fetters    rouud    the 

Execute,  to  use,  or  employ. 

Finch  egg,  a  gaudy  fellow. 

ancles. 

Executors,  executioners. 

Fine,  the  conclusion,  to  make  shewy. 

Draught,  the  Jakes. 

Exercise,  exhortation. 

artful. 

Draw,  to  withdraw. 

Exliale,  to  breathe  one's  la'it. 

Fine  issues,  great  consequences. 

Drawn,  emboweled. 

Exhaust,  to  draw  forth. 

Fineless,  boundless,  endless. 

Drawn  fux.  one  which  is  trailed  over 

Exbibi;ion,  allowance. 

Finer,  final. 

the  ground,  to  deceive  the  hounds. 

Exigent:,  end,  exigency. 

Firago,  fiir  Virago. 

Drachmas,  a  Crreek  coin. 

Exorcism,  the  ra  ("st/jf?  of  spirits. 

Fire-dr:ike,  will-o'-the  wisp,  or  a  fire- 

Dressings, appearances  of  virtue. 

Expect,   expectation . 

work. 

Drew,  assembled. 

Expedience,  expedition. 

Fire-new,  quite  new. 

Drive,  to  fly  with  impetuosity. 

Expedient,  expeditious. 

Firk,  to  chastize. 

Drollery,  a  puppet-show. 

Expediently,  expeditiously. 

First-house, chief  branch  of  the  family. 

Drugs,  drudges. 

Expostulate,  to  di.<icuRs. 

Firstlings,  first  produce. 

Drumble,  to  act  lazily. 

Exsumicate,  bubble-like. 

Fit.  a  divisinn  of  a  song. 

Ducdame,  (due  ad  me)  bring  him   to 

ICxtend.  to  seize. 

FiUhew.  a  polecat. 

ine,  the  burden  of  a  song. 

Extent,  violence,  seizure. 

Fit  o'  th«  face,  a  grimace. 

Diid^'eon.  tho  handle  of  a  dagger. 

Extern,  external. 

Fits  o'  the  season,  disorders  of  the  sea 

Dm*,  to  endue,  to  deck. 

Extremity,  calamity. 

son. 

Duke,  a  leader. 

Expiate,  to  end. 

Fives,  a  distemper  in  horses. 

Dull,  gentle  soothing. 

Kxposture.  expose. 

Fixture,  pof-ition. 

Dullard,  a  stupid  per.<:on. 

Express,  to  revciil. 

Flap-dragnn.  intlammable  stuif  .swal 

Dump,  a  mournful  elegy. 

Kxpul.'sed.  expelled. 

lowed  by  topcr.s. 

Dup,  to  do  up,  to  lift  up. 

Extracting.  diHtrnctins. 

Flap-jack,  a  pancake. 

Dumb,  to  make  silent. 

Extravagant,  wandering. 

Flaw,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind. 

Durance,  some  lasting  kiud  of  stuff. 

Eyas  musket,  a  young  hawk. 

biecked.  spctted,  streaked. 

Eyases,  nestlings. 

Fleet,  fur  float. 

K. 

Eyliatls.  eyes. 

Fleslitnent.  perform.iuce. 

Er.ger,  (from  aigrc.  Fr.)  sour,  harsh. 

Eyne,  eye's. 

Hewed,  deep-mouthed. 

Kaniings,  lamba. 

Eyry.  a  nest  of  hawks. 

Klil.hf.-ti-ilibet.  a  fiend. 

Ear,  to  plow. 

Eysel,  vinegar. 

Flickering,  fluttering. 

Ear-kissing,  whispering. 

Flight,  a  sort  of  shooting. 

Easy,  slight,  incousidcrable. 

F. 

Flote.  Wave. 

Ech'e,  to  eke  out. 

Face,  to  carry  a  foolish  appearance. 

Flourish,  to  ornament;  also,  to  sono 

ICcstasy,  madness. 

F;ice-royal.  a  privileged  face. 

tioo. 

Eftects.  affectioDs ;  s(lso,  actions,  deeds 

Faiinorous",  wicked. 

Flnut.  to  wave  in  mockery. 

effected. 

Fact,  suilt. 

Flush,  mature. 

Eftcst,  renJiest. 

Eactious,   active. 

Kneman.  an  enemy  in  war. 

Egypt,  a  gipsy. 

Faculty,  exercise  of  power. 

Foin.  tn  thrust  in  feuciug. 

Eld,  old  time  .  also,  aged  persons. 

Fndire.  to  suit. 

FniKon.  plenty. 

Element,  initiation. 

Fariitvz:=.  a  dance. 

Folly,  depravity. 

Elf.  done  by  elves,  or  fairie.s. 

Faiih.  tidelity. 

Fund,  foolish. 

Elvi-'h-marke'l.  marked  liy  elcef>. 

Fnithfullv,  fervently. 

Fuols'zanies,  baubles  surmounted  with 

Emballing.  distinguished  by  the  ball. 

Knin.  fund. 

a  fools'  head. 

the  emblem  of  royalty. 

Fair,  fcr  fairness. 

Foot-cloth,  horse-covering. 

Embare,  to  expose. 

F;iiinrs,  traitors. 

For,  because. 

Embarquemcnts,  inipodimont<i. 

Falsing,  falsifying. 

Force,  to  stuff. 

Kmbossed.  iuelosetl,  swollen,  pully. 

Fiilsrly.  illegally,  dislionestly. 

Forced,  false. 

Kmbowelled.  exhausled. 

F;ioii:iar.  a  demon. 

Forbid,  accursed. 

Embra«H'd.  indulged  in. 

Fancies   and  good-nights,  little  poems 

Fordid,  dcstniyed. 

Empericulick,  empiiirnl. 

so  called. 

Fordo,  tn  undo. 

I'hnpery,  sovereign  power. 

Fancy, love. 

Foredone,  overcome. 

Emulous,  enviou8,  jealous. 

Fancy-free,  clear  of  love. 

Forfended.  forbidden. 

Emulatiou.  envy. 

Fang,  to  Seize. 

Forepa-st,  already  had. 

Eueave,  to  hide. 

Fans,  ancit-nt. 

Fnre-slow.  to  loiter. 

Endart,  to  dart  forth. 

Fantastical,  imaginative. 

Forgetive.  inventive. 

Eufeoff,  to  invest  with  po.sscssion. 

Fantasticocs,  affected  persons. 

Forked,  horned. 

GLOSSARY. 


823 


Formal,  in  form. 

Former,  foremost. 

Forspent,  exhausted. 

Forspoke.  contradicted. 

Forslow,  delay. 

Forwearied,  worn  out. 

Fox,  a  sword. 

Foxship,  mean,  cunning. 

Frampold,  peevish. 

Frank,  r  sty. 

Franklin,  a  small  freeholder. 

Frayed,  frightened. 

Free,  artless. 

Fret,  the  stop  of  a  musical  inBtrumcDt. 

Friend,  a  lover. 

Friend,  for  friendship,  to  befriend, 

Frlppyry,  an  old  clothes  shop, 

Frize,  a  Welch  cloth. 

From,  in  opposition  to. 

Fronted,  opposed. 

Frontier,  forehead. 

Frontlet,  a  forehead  cloth. 

Frush,  to  break  or  bruise. 

Fulham,  false  dice. 

Fulsome,  obscene. 

Furnishings,  colors,  pretenses. 

Fustilariau,  fusty  fellow. 

Fulfilling,  filling  to  the  brim. 

Full,  complete. 

Fumiter,  fumitory. 

Furnished,  dressed. 

G. 

Gabardine,  a  loose  cloak. 

Gad,  a  sharp-pointed  instnimenfe. 

Gain-giving,  mL^giving. 

Gamester,  a  wanton. 

Gait,  passage. 

Galliard,  a  dance. 

Galliasses.  ships. 

Gallimaufry,  a  medle. 

Gallow,  to  scare. 

Gallow-glasses,  Irish  foot  soldiers. 

Garboils,  commotions. 

Oapingj  shouting. 

Garish,  gaudy. 

Garnered,  treasured  up. 

Gasted,  frighted. 

Gaudy,  a  festival. 

Gaunt,  meagre. 

Gawd,  a  bauble. 

Gaze,  attention. 

Gear,  things  or  matters. 

Geek,  a  fool. 

General,  generality. 

Generc-ity,  high  birth. 

Generous,  nobly  born. 

Gcnnets,  Spanish  horses. 

Gentle,  noble,  high-born. 

Gentry,  complaisance. 

German,  akin. 

Germins,  seeds  begun  to  sprout. 

Gest,  a  stage  or  journey. 

Gib,  a  cat. 

Giglot,  a  wanton. 

Gilder,  a  coin,  value  2s. 

Gilt,  gold  money. 

Gimmal,  a  ring  or  engine. 

Ging,  a  gang. 

Gird,  a  sarcasm. 

Glajre,  a  sword. 

Glcek.  to  joke. 

Glib,  to  geld. 

Glooming,  gloomy. 

Gloze,  to  expound. 

Glut,  to  swallow. 

Gnarled,  knotty. 

God  'ield  you,  God  vield  you. 

Gongariiin,  Hungarian. 

Good-deed,  indeed. 

Good-den,  good  evening. 

Good-jer.  the  venereal  diseaso. 

Gorbelliec,  corpulent. 

Gospel  led,  puritanic. 

Goss,  furze. 

Gossamer,  atoms  that  float  in  the  sun 

beams. 
Gourds,  dice. 
Oouts,  drops. 
Go  your  gait,  go  away. 
Grained,  furrowed  like  the  grains  of 

wood  ;  also,  dyed  in  grain. 
Gramercy,  great  thanks. 
Grange,  a  lone  farm  house. 
Gratillity.  gratuity 


Grats,  pleases. 

Gratulate,  to  be  rejoiced  in. 

Grave,  to  entomb. 

Grave-man,  a  man  in  the  grave. 

Graves  or  Greaves,  leg-armor. 

Greasily,  grossly. 

Greek,  a  bawd. 

Greenly,  unskilfully. 

Green-sleeves,  an  old  song. 

Grise  or  Grize,  a  step. 

Grossly,  palpably. 

Groundlings,  those  who   sat  or  stood 

on  the  ground  in  the  old  theaters, 

the  common  people. 
Guard,  to  fringe. 
Guarded,  ornamented. 
Guerdon,  a  reward. 
Gules,  (in  heraldry)  red. 
Gulf,  the  swallow,  the  throat, 
Guiled,  treacherous. 
Guinea-hen,  a  prostitute. 
Gun-stones,  cannon  balls. 
Gurnet,  a  fish. 
Gust,  to  taste. 
Gyve,  a  shackle. 
Gyves,  shackles. 

IT. 

Hack,  to  become  cheap. 

Haggard,  wild  ;  also,  wild  hawk. 

Hair,  complexion,  or  charucter. 

Hall!  make  room. 

Happily,  accidentally. 

Happy,  accomplished. 

Hardiment,  bravery. 

Harlocks.  wild  mustard. 

Harlot,  a  male  cheat. 

Harness,  armor. 

Harrows,  subdues. 

Harry,  to  harrass. 

Having,  possessions. 

Haviour,  behavior. 

Haught,  haughty. 

Haughty,  elevated. 

Halcyon,  a  bird. 

Hallidon,  doom  at  judgment-day. 

Handsaw,  hernshaw,  (a  hawk.) 

Uangcrj?,    that    which    suspends    the 

sword. 
Harlotry,  vulgar,  filthy. 
Hatch,  to  engrave. 
Haunt,  company. 
Hay.  a  fencing  term. 
11. -at.  heated. 
Ilulnnon,  henbanp. 
Hefted,  heaved,  agitated. 
Hfll,  a  dungeon  in  a  prison. 
Helmed,  steered  through. 
Hence,  henceforward. 
Henchman,  a  page  of  honor, 
llent.  to  seize. 
Herb  of  grace,  rue. 
Hermits,  beadsmen. 
Hi'st,  command. 
Ili^iht,  called. 
Hildiog,  a  poltroon, 
lliren.  a  harlot. 
His,  often  used  for  its. 
Hoar,  hoary,  mouldy. 
Holvnob,  as  it  may  happen. 
Hni.t,  hoisted. 
Hr.l.l.  to  esteem. 
Hold-taking,  bear-handing. 
Holla!  a  term  of  the  manege. 
Holy,  faithful. 
Howl-man,  blindman'sbuff. 
Horologe,  clock. 
Hothouse,  a  bagnio. 
Hos,  a  ham-string. 
Huggermugger.   secretly. 
Hull,  to  float  without  guidance. 
Humming,  overwhelming. 
Humorous,  humid. 
Hungry,  unprolific. 
Hunt^counter,  worthless  dog. 
lluiits-up,  a  hunting  tune. 
lUirly,  noise. 
Hurtle,  to  dash  against. 
Hurtling,  boisterous  merriment. 
Husbandry,  thriftiness. 
Huswife,  a  jilt. 
Hyen,  hya-na. 


Icebrook,  temper. 


Idle,  barren, 

Ifccks,  In  faith. 

Ignomy.  ignominy. 

Hl-inhabited,  ilModged. 

Hlustriou.fl,  without  luster. 

Images,  children,  representatives. 

Imbare,  to  expose. 

Immanity,  barbarity. 

Immediacy,  close  connection. 

Imp,  progeny. 

■Impair,  unsuitable,  unequal. 

Impartial,  partial. 

Impawned,  wagered. 

Imperious,  Imperial, 

Impetticos,  to  impetticoat,  or  impocko* 

Importance,  importunity. 

Important,  importunate. 

Impose,  injunction. 

Impositions,  commands. 

Impo.^sible    incredible. 

Imp  out,  to  supply  the  deficiency. 

Impress,  a  device  or  motto. 

Incapable,  unintelligent. 

Incarnadine,  to  dye  red. 

Incensed,  incited. 

Inclip,  to  embrace. 

Include,  to  conclude. 

Inclusive,  inclosed. 

Incompt,  subject  to  account. 

lucony  or  Kony,  delicate,  pretty. 

Incorrect  ill-regulated. 

Indent,  to  sign  an  indenture. 

Indt'x.  .something  preparatory. 

Indifferent,  impartial. 

Indigest,  shapeless. 

Indite,  to  convict. 

Induction,  preface,  prelude. 

Indurance,  delay. 

Informal,  deranged. 

Infinite,  extent  or  power. 

Ingaged,  unengaged. 

Ingraft,  rooted. 

Inhabitable,  not  habitable. 

Inherit,  to  possess. 

Inhibit,  to  forbid,  decline. 

In  his  eye.  in  his  presence. 

Inhooped,  inclo.'ied. 

Ink-horn  mate,  a  book-mat«. 

Inkle,  worsted  tape. 

Initiate,  young. 

Inland,  civilized. 

Innocent,  a  fool. 

In  place,  present. 

Insane,  that  which  mokes  insand 

Insanie,  insanity. 

Insconce.  to  fortify. 

Insculped,  engraved. 

In.^eparate,  inseparable. 

Instance.',  motives. 

Insuit,  solicitation. 

Integrity,  consistency. 

Intend,  to  pretend. 

Intending,  regarding. 

Intendment,  intention. 

Intention,  eager  desire. 

Inteutively.  attentively. 

Intere.^sod.  interested. 

Intergatories,  interrogatories. 

In  that,  becau.«e. 

Intrenchant,  which  cannot  bo  cut. 

Intrinse,  intricate. 

Inwardness,  intimacy. 

Iron,  clad  in  armor. 

Irregnlous.  licentious. 

Issues,  conseqiiences. 

Iteration,  repetition. 

Itiuation,  recitation. 


Jack-a-lent,  a   puppet  thrown  at  In 

Lent, 
.Tack-guard ant,  a  jack  in  office. 
.Tack  sauce,  a  saucy  fellow, 
.laded,  worthless. 
Jar,  the  noise  made  by  the  pendulum 

of  a  clock. 
Jaunce,  jaunt. 
.Tanncing,  jaunting, 
.lay,  a  wanton. 
Jesses,  straps  of  leather  fastened  round 

hawks'  legs. 
Jest,  to  play  a  part  in  a  mask. 
Jet,  to  strut. 

Jig,  a  ludicrous  dialogue  in  verse. 
Journal,  daily. 


824 

GLOSSARY. 

JoTial,  belonging  to  Jove. 

Loofle,  to  laugh. 

Miscrcate,  illegitimate,  spurious* 

Jump,  to  suit,  just. 

Loggats,  a  game. 

Misdoubt,  to  suspect. 

Justicer,  a  judge. 

Long  purples,  a  flower. 

Miser,  a  miserable  being. 

Jnt,  to  encrojicbi 

Longing,  belonging. 

Misery,  avarice. 

Jutty,  to  project. 

Longly,  Ibogingly, 

Misprised,  mistaken. 

Juveual,  a  youth. 

Loofed,  brought  close  to  the  wind. 

Misprising,  despising. 

Loon,  a  base  fellow. 

Missives,  messengers. 

K. 

Looped,  full  of  apertures. 

Mistempcred,  augrj. 

Kftin,  awry. 

Lop,  the  branches. 

Mistful,  ready  to  weep* 

Keech,  a  lump  of  tallow. 

Lording,  a  little  lord. 

Misthink,  to  think  ill. 

Keel,  to  cool. 

Lot,  a  prize. 

Mistress,  the  jack  in  bowling* 

Kei^ar,  Cfcsar. 

Lottery,  allotment 

Mo,  more. 

Kernes,  light  armed  soldiers. 

Love  in  idleness,  a  flower. 

Mobled,  veiled,  muffled. 

Kcv-coM,  colli  as  iron. 

Lover,  sometimes  for  mistress. 

Model,  mould. 

Kicksy-wickay,  term  of  endearment 

Lowt,  a  clown. 

Modern,  new-fangled. 

for  a  wife. 

Lowtcd,  treated  with  contempt. 

Modesty,  moderation. 

Kindly,  natural. 

Lozel,  a  worthless  fellow. 

Module,  model. 

Kinged,  ruled. 

Lubbar,  a  leopard. 

Moe,  to  make  mouths. 

Kirtle,  a  woman's  garment. 

Lullaby,  cradle. 

Moiety,  a  portion. 

Knap,  to  break  short. 

Lunes,  lunacy. 

Moist  star,  the  moon. 

linave,  servant. 

Lurch,  to  win,  to  purloin. 

Mollification,  softening. 

Knots,  figures  planted  in  box. 

Lure,  a  decoy  for  a  hawk. 

Mome,  a  blockhead. 

Known,  to  acknowlt-dge. 

Lush,  rank,  luscious. 

Mtimentauy,  momentary. 

Known  of,  to  consider. 

Lust,  inclination,   will. 

Monster,  to  make  monstrous. 

Lustic,  lusty,  cheerful. 

Month's  mind,  a  popish  anniversary. 

L. 

Lusty,  saucy. 

Slood,  anger,  manner. 

Labras,  lips. 

Luxurious,  lascivious. 

Moody,  melancholy. 

Laced  mutton,  a  prostitute. 

Luxury,  lust. 

Moonish,  variable. 

Lackeying,  moving  like  a  lackey. 

Lym,  or  Lyme,  a  bloodhound. 

aiops  and  Moes,  ludicrous  anticks. 

Lag,  the  rabble. 

Moral,  secret  meaning. 

Lakin,  ladykin,  or  little  lady. 

M. 

Morisco,  Moorish. 

Lancps,  lance-men. 

Mace,  a  sceptre. 

Morris-pike,  Moorish  pike. 

Landy,  landing-places. 

Mad,  wild,  inconstant. 

Mort  of  the  deer,  a  tune  on  the  death 

Land-rakera,  wanderers  on  foot. 

Magnt-pic,  a  magpie. 

of  the  deer. 

Large,  liccntiou?'. 

Magnifico.  a  Venetian,  potentate. 

Mortal,  murderous,  fatal. 

Lass-horn,  forsaken  by  his  mistress. 

Magnificent,  boastful. 

Mortal,  abounding. 

Latch,  to  lay  hold  of. 

Mailed,  wrapt  in  armor. 

Mortal-staring,  killed  by  a  look. 

LaU-hed  or  Letched,  licked  over. 

Slake,  to  bar,  to  shut. 

Mortified,  ascetic. 

Lated,  benighted. 

iMiikcless,  mateless,  widowed. 

Most,  greatest. 

Latten,  thin  as  a  lath. 

Male,  a  bag. 

Mot,  a  motto. 

Launch,  lance. 

Malkin,  a  trull. 

IMother,  the  hysteric,  passion. 

Laund,  lawn. 

Mallecho,  mischief. 

Motion,  divinatory  agitation. 

Laundering,  wetting. 

Maltworms,  tipplers. 

Motion,  desires. 

Lavoltas,  a  kind  of  dances. 

Mammering,  stammering. 

Motion,  a  puppet. 

Lay,  a  wager. 

Mammets,  puppets. 

IMotions,  indignation. 

Leaguer,  a  camp. 

Mammock,  to  tear. 

Motive,  a  mover. 

Leading  falsehood. 

Man.  to  tame  a  hawk  ;  the  devil. 

Mouldwarp,  the  mole. 

Leather-coats,  apples. 

Mandragora,  a  soporific  plant. 

Mouse,  to  tear  to  pieces. 

Leavened,  matured. 

Mandrake,  a  root. 

Mouse,  a  term  of  endearment. 

Leech,  a  physician. 

Mankind,  a  wizard. 

Mouse-hunt,  a  weasel. 

Leer,  feature,  complexion. 

Manacle,  a  handcuff. 

Moy,  a  piece  of  money;  also,  a  measure 

Leet,  petty  court  of  justico. 

Manner,  in  the  fact. 

of  corn. 

Leg,  obeisance. 

Man-fiueller,  a  man-killer. 

Much,  strange,  wonderful. 

Legerity,  nimbleness. 

Marches,  confines. 

Muck-water,  drain  of  a  dunghill. 

Leges,  alteges. 

JIarchpaue,  a  sweetmeat. 

Muffler,  a  wrapper  for  the  lojrer  part 

Leiger,  resident. 

Margcnt,  margin. 

of  the  face. 

Leman,  lover  or  mistress. 

ilartial  hand,  a  careless  scrawl. 

Muletcrs,  muleteers. 

Leno.  a  pander. 

Martlemas,  tbe  latter  spring. 

Mulled,  softened. 

Lenten,  spare. 

Mated,  confounded. 

Multiplied,  multitudinous. 

Let,  to  hinder. 

Material,  full  of  matter. 

Multiplying,  nuiltipliiHl. 

Lethe,  death. 

Maugre,  in  spite  of  notwithstanding. 

Multitudinous,  full  of  multitudes. 

L'Envoy,  end  of  a  poem. 

Mauud,  a  basket. 

Mure,  a  wall. 

Lewd,  idle. 

Meacock,  a  dastard. 

Murky,  dark. 

Libbard,  or  Lubbar,  a  leopard. 

Mealed,  mingled. 

Must,  a  scramble. 

Liberal,  licentious  in  speech. 

Mean,  the  middle;  the  tenor  in  music. 

Liberty,  libertinism. 

Means,  interest. 

N. 

License,  licentiousness. 

Measure,  the  reach j  a  solemn  dance; 

Napkin,  handkerchief. 

Liefest,  dearest. 

means. 

Napless,  threadbare. 

Lieger,  an  embassador. 

Sleazels,  lepers. 

Native,  naturally. 

Lifter,  a  thief. 

Medal,  portrait. 

Nature,  natural  parent. 

Light  o'love,  a  dance  tune. 

MlsMIc.  to  mingle. 

Naughty,  unfit. 

Lightly,  commonly. 

Medicine,  a  she-physician. 

Nay-word,  a  by-word. 

Like,  to  compare. 

iMt'ct,  a  match. 

Neb.  the  mouth. 

Liking,  condition  of  body. 

M'-iiiey,  domestics. 

Xeelds.  needlcs. 

Likelihood,   similitude. 

Memories,  memorials. 

Ne'Jileetion,  neglect. 

Likeness,  speciousness. 

Memory,  memorial. 

Xeif.  the  fist. 

Limbeck,  a  vessel  used  in  distilling. 

Mi-nds,  the  mean.«. 

Nephew,  any  lineal  descendant. 

Limbo,  a  place  supposed  near  hell. 

:\Icpliistophilus,  a  familiar  spirit. 

Nether-stocks,  stockings. 

Lime,  bird-lime  ;  to  cement. 

Mercatante,  a   merchant. 

Newness,  innovation. 

Limiled,  appointed. 

Merchant,  a  low  fellow. 

Newt,  the  eft. 

Limits,  estimates. 

Mt-ro,  entire,  absolute. 

Next,  nearest. 

Lined,  dilineated. 

Men-d  question,  solo  question. 

Nice,  trifling. 

Linstock,  the  staff  to  which  the  match 

Merely,  entirely. 

Nick,  to  set  tha  mark  of  folly  on  ;  reo 

jfl  fixed  when  ordnance  is  fired. 

iMoril.  a  reward. 

koning. 

List,  limit. 

Merhiaid,  a  syren. 

Night-rule,  frolic  of  the  night. 

Litlicr,  llexible. 

Metaphysical,  supernatural. 

Nighted,  made  dark  as  night. 

Little,  miniature. 

Mete  yard,  measuring  yard. 

Nill,  shall  not. 

Livelihood,  appearance  of  life 

Mewed,  confined. 

Nine  men's  morris,  a  game. 

Livery,  a  law-phrase. 

Mielier,  a  truant. 

Noble,  a  coin. 

Living,  estate,  property. 

Miehing  Mallecho,  a  secret  mischief. 

Nobless,  nobleness. 

Living,  speaking,  munifi-st. 

Mince,  to  walk  atTectedLy. 

Noble-touch,  unalloyed  metal. 

Loach,  a  Bmall  prolifie  fish 

MiiKling.  reminding. 

Noddy,  fool,  a  game  at  cards- 

Lob,  a  dullard,  a  looby. 

Minnow,  a  very  small  fish. 

Noise,  music. 

Loekram,  a  kind  of  linen. 

Minstrelsy,  office  of  minstrel. 

Nonce,  on  purpose. 

Lodo-star,  the  polar  star. 

Miuute-juckj  Jack-o'-lantern. 

In'ou  com;  nonplus. 

GLOSSARY.      • 

825 

Nook-sbotter»  that  which  shoots  into 

Pashed,  crushed. 

Portance,  behavior. 

capes. 

Pass,  to  decide,  assure,  convey. 

Possess,  to  inform. 

Nol-thein  mau,  a  clown. 

Pass  on,  to  dCL-ide. 

Pntch,  to  push. 

Note,  DOtice. 

Passed,  eminent. 

Potents,  potentates. 

Nott-pated,  round-headed. 

Passing,  surpassing. 

Foulter,  poulterer. 

Nouri.sh,  to  nurse. 

Passion,  sutlering. 

Pouncet-bos,  a  perfume-bos. 

Nousle,  to  fondle  as  n  nurse. 

Passionate,  grieving. 

Power,  an  army. 

Novum,  a  game  at  dice. 

Passioning,  being  in  a  passion. 

Practise,  stratagems. 

Now!,  a  head. 

Passy  Measure,  a  dance. 

Prauk.  to  adorn. 

Nut-nook,  a  thief. 

Paritor.  an  apparitor,  or  oScer  of  the 

Precept  a  justice's  warrant. 

bishop's  court. 

Precisian,  a  puritan. 

0. 

Pastry,  the  pastry  room. 

Preeches,  flogged. 

OdJ-GTen,  the  interval  between  twelve 

Patch,  a  fool. 

Prefer,  to  offer. 

and  one  in  the  morning. 

Patched,  in  a  fooPa  coat. 

Pregnant,  ready. 

Od's-pitikins.  God  me  pity. 

Path,  to  walk. 

Prenomioatc,  fore-named. 

Oeliads,  glances  of  the  eye. 

Pathetical.  promise-breaker. 

Prcst  ready. 

O's,  circles,  pockmarks. 

Patient,  to  .soothe. 

Pretend,  to  intend. 

Obligations,  bonds. 

Patine,  a  dish  used  with  the  chalice  in 

Prevent,  to  anticipate. 

Obsequious,  funeral. 

administering  the  Eucharist 

Pritket,  a  buck  of  the  second  year. 

Observation,  celebration. 

Paucas,  few. 

Pri^.  a  pilfer. 

Obstacle,  obstinate. 

Pavin,  a  dance. 

Prime,  sprightliness  of  youth. 

Occurrent*,  iuL-idents. 

Pay,  to  beat. 

Primer,  of  more  consequence. 

Occupation,  mechanics. 

Peat,  pet,  darlinjj. 

Primero,  a  game  at  cards. 

O'er-raught,  over-reached. 

Pedascule,  a  pedant. 

Princox,  a  coxcomb. 

O'ercrow,  overcome. 

Peer-out,  to  peep  out. 

Prob.'U.  probable. 

O'erlooked,  fascinated. 

Peevish,  foolish. 

Prodigious,  pretentious. 

Of  through. 

Peize,  to  Weigh,  keep  in  suspense. 

Pror;ii-e,  much  good  may  it  do  you. 

Offering,  the  assailant 

Pcnthesilia.  Amazon. 

Piofanc.  grossly  talkative. 

Offici',  service. 

Pelting,  paltry. 

Progress,  a  royal  journey  of  state. 

Offices,  culinary  apartments. 

Pennons,  small  flags. 

Prognostication,  almanac. 

Of  all  loves,  by  all  means. 

Perdu,  one  of  the  forlorn  hope. 

Project,  to  shape. 

Old,  frequent. 

Perdurable,  lasting. 

Prolixious,  coy,  delaying. 

Old  age,  ages  past. 

Perdy,  (Par  Dieu)  a  French  oath. 

Proof,  puberty. 

Once, -'sometime. 

Perfect,  certain  ;  well-informed. 

Prompture,  suggestion. 

Oneyers,  bankers. 

Perfections,  liver,  brain,  and  heart. 

Prone,  humble,  also  prompt. 

Opal,  a  precious  stone. 

Perfapts,  charms  worn  about  the  neck. 

Propagate,  to  atlvauce,  to  improve. 

Operant,  active. 

Perjure,  a  perjurer. 

Proper,  handsome. 

Opinion,  obstinacy,  conceit. 

Person,  parson. 

Proper-false,  deceitful. 

Opposite,  adverse. 

Perspectives,  spy-glasseft. 

Propertied,  possessed. 

Opposition,  combat. 

Pervert,  to  avert. 

Properties,  incidental  necessaries  to  a 

Or  e'er,  before. 

Pestilence,  poison. 

theater. 

Orbs,  fairy  circles. 

Pew-fellow,  a  companion. 

Property,  due  performance. 

Orchard,  a  gardeu. 

Pheere,  companion. 

Propose,  to  imagitie,  to  converse. 

Ord'nance,  rank. 

Pheeze.  to  teaze,  to  currycomb. 

Proposing,  conversing. 

Order,  measures. 

Phisonomy,  physi<jgnomy. 

Provand,  provender. 

Orgulous,  haughty. 

Phill-horse,  shaft-horse. 

Provost,  sheriff  or  goaler. 

Osprey,  an  eagle. 

IVk,  to  pitch. 

Prune,  to  plume. 

Ostent,  ostentation,  appearance. 

Pick-axes,  fingers. 

Pugging,  thievish. 

Ostentation,  appearance. 

Picked,  foppish. 

Puke,  a  sort  of  russet  ^.-olor. 

Overblow  to  drive  away. 

Pickers,  the  hands. 

Purchase,  stoleu  goods. 

Overscntcbed,  whippeifat  a  cart'e  tail. 

Picking,  insignificant. 

Puri;hase«l,  unjustly  acquired. 

Overture,  opening,  discovery. 

Pickt-hatch,  a  place  noted  for  brothels. 

Purl,  to  curl. 

Ounce,  a  tiger-cat. 

Pick-thank,  a  parasit<». 

Purlieu,  border. 

Ouph,  fairy. 

Piece,   a    contemptuous    term    for  a 

Pursuivants,  heralds. 

Ousel-cock,  the  cock  blackbird. 

woman. 

Pussel,  alow  wench. 

Out,  full,  complete. 

Pied  ninnfi',  a  fool. 

Put  to  know,  forced  to  acknowledge. 

Outvied,  defeated,  a  term  at  the  game 

Pieied,  shaven. 

Putter-out  one  who  lends  money  on 

of  gleek. 

Pight,  pitched,  fixed. 

interest. 

Outward,  not  in  the  secret. 

Pilcher,  the  scabbard. 

Putling-on.  incitement. 

Owe,  to  possess,  to  own. 

Piled,  deprived  of  hair. 

PuttocU,  a  hawk. 

OsJip,  the  great  cowslip. 

Pilled,  pillaged. 

Pin.  a  term  in  archery. 

Q. 

P. 

Pin  and  web,  disorder  of  the  eye. 

Quail,  to   sink,  to  faint,  to  be  van- 

Pack, to  bargain  with. 

Pinfold,  a  pound. 

quished. 

Pack,  an  accomplice. 

Pix,  the  box  that  contains  the  host. 

Quaint,  fantastical,  also  graceful. 

Packing,  plotting,  fraud. 

Place,  a  mansion. 

Quaintly,  skilfully. 

Paddock, a  toad. 

Placket,  a  petticoat. 

Quaint-mazes,  a  game. 

Pagan,  a  dissolute  person. 

Plague,  puni:h. 

Quaked,  terrified. 

Pageant,  a  dumb  show. 

Plainly,  openly. 

Quality,  confederates,  condition. 

Paid,  punij-hed. 

Plaited,  complicated. 

Quarrel,  a  quarreler. 

Palabras,  words. 

Plantage.  plantain. 

QiKirry,  the  game  after  it  is  killed. 

Pale,  dominions. 

Planched,  ui:ule  of  planks. 

Quartd'ecu.  the   fourth  of   a  French 

Pale,  to  encircle  with  a  crown. 

Plant,  the  foot. 

crown. 

Pall,  to  wrap,  to  invest. 

Plates,  silver  money. 

Quat,  a  scab. 

Palled,  vapid. 

Platforms,  schemes. 

Qiifjisy,  squeamish. 

Palmers,  pilgrims. 

Plausive,  gracious,  applauded. 

Quell." to  murder. 

Palmy,  victorious. 

Plurisv.  pTethory. 

Quench,  to  grow  cool. 

Paly,  pale. 

Pleached,  folded. 

Quern,  a  hand-mill. 

Palter,  to  juggle,  to  cheat. 

Plot,  portion. 

Quest  pursuit. 

Pang,  to  afflict. 

Point,  negative. 

Question,  conversation. 

Paper,  to  commit  to  writing. 

Pojnthooks  used  tofasten  up  breeches. 

Questrist,  one  who  seeks  auotner. 

Parcel,  part,  to  reckon  up. 

Point-de-vice.  exactly. 

Quests,  reports. 

Parcel-bawd,  half-bawd. 

Points,  tags  to  laces. 

Quiddits,  subtleties. 

Parcel-gilt,  partially  giit. 

Poize.  wei_'ht. 

Qui(?tus.  discharge. 

Parish-top,  a  large  'top,  formerly  kept 

Polnck,  a  Polander. 

Quillet*",  law  chicane. 

in  every  village,  to  be  whipped  for 

Polled,  bared. 

Quintain,   a  post  set   up   for   varioufl 

exercise. 

Pomander,  a  perfume  ball. 

exercises. 

Parle,  parley. 

Pomewater,  an  apple. 

Quips,  scoffs. 

Parlous,  perilous,  shrewd. 

Poor-jnhn,  salted  tish. 

Quire,  to  play  in  concert. 

Part,  to  depart. 

Popinjay,  a  parrot. 

Quiver,  nimble,  active. 

Parted,  endowed,  shared. 

Popularity .intercoursewith  the  vulgar. 

Quote,  to  observe. 

Particular,  private. 

Propentine.  porcupine. 

Partizan.  a  pike. 

Port,  dept)rtment. 

K. 

Parts,  party. 

Port,  a  gate. 

R.  dog's  letter. 

Pash,  to  strike  ;  a  head. 

Portable,  bearable. 

Habato,  a  neck  ornament. 

82G 


GLOSSARY. 


Race,  original  disposition,  also  flavor. 

Rack,  wreck. 

Rack,  to  exaggerate. 

Rack,  to  harass  by  exaction.*!. 

Rack,  the  fleeting  away  of  the  clouds, 

Racking,  in  rapid  motkin. 

Rag,  an  opprobrious  epithet. 

Raggud,  rugged. 

Rake,  to  cover. 

Ram.  rain. 

Ranipallion,  a  strumpet. 

Rank,  rate  or  pace. 

Rank,  rapidly  grown. 

Rapt,  enraptured. 

Rapture,  a  tit. 

Rarely,  curioasly, 

Kapcal,  lean  deer. 

Rash    remonstrance,  permaturo   dis- 
covery. 

Raught,  reached. 
.  Ravin,  to  devour  eagerly, 

Ravinod,  glutted  with  prey. 

Rawly,  suddenly. 

Rayed,  betrayed. 

Razed,  slabbed. 

Raze,  a  bale. 

Rear-mouse,  a  bat, 

ReaRin,  discourse. 

Rebeck,  a  musical  instrument. 

Kecheat,  a  horn,  a  tune  to  call  the  do? 
back. 

Recei['t.  receptacle. 

Receiving,  ready  apprehension. 

Reccat,  a  hunting  term. 

Reck,  to  care  for. 

Reckless,  careless. 

Record,  to  ring. 

Recorders,  a  kind  of  flute, 

Recure.  to  receiver. 

Red-hittice  phrases,  alehouse  talk. 

Red-pUiguc,  the  St.  Antony's  fire. 

Reechy,  discolored  ivith  smoke. 

Reel^,  wheels. 

Refi.*l.  to  confute. 

Refer,  to  reserve  to. 

Regard,  look. 

Regiment,  government. 

Regreet,  exchange  of  salutation. 

Regimrdon,  recompense. 

Rheiuiiatic,  capricious. 

Reluni';,  to  relight. 

Remorse,  pity. 

Remotion,  removal. 

Removes,  journeys. 

Reu'ler,  to  describe. 

r.<.-in_'L'.  to  renounce. 

Ri'l'i'iis,  reporters. 

Ib-prnf,  confutation. 

Repugn,  to  resist. 

Reputing,  boasting. 

Reserve,  to  preserve. 

Resolve,  to  be  assured. 

Resolve,  to  dissolve. 

Heppcctive.  respectful. 

Respectively,  respectfully. 

Resty.  mouldy. 

Retailt^d,  handed  down. 

Retort,  to  refer  back. 

Reverb,  to  reverberate. 

Revttlt  of  raein,  change  of  complexion. 

Revolt-',  rebel-s. 

Rib.  t'l  enclose. 

Ribald,  a  lewd  fellow. 

Rid,  to  destroy. 

Rift,  split. 

Riggi-h,  wanton. 

Itigol,  a  circle. 

Kim.  money. 

Ringed,  encircled. 

Riva:_'e.  the  bank  or  shore. 

Itivalily,  equal  rank, 

RivaN,  partuers. 

liive.  to  burst,  to  fire. 

Rouiage,  rummage,  buetlo. 

ISonyou,  a  drab. 

Rood,  t lie- cross. 

Rook,  to  i-qunt. 

Ropery,  roguery. 

Roi)e-iricks.  ahusivenesB. 

Rcuiiil,  a  diadem. 

Round,  rouch. 

Rouuiied,  wliisppred. 

Roun'ii'l,  a  country  dance. 

Konn^iiii'/,  wlii-ipciia:;. 

KouTiuure,  a  circle. 


Rouse,  carousal. 

Roynish,  mangy. 

Royal,  a  coin. 

Ruddock,  red-brea-st. 

Rufl",  the  folding  of  the  tops  of  boots. 

Ruffle,  to  be  noisy. 

Ruffling,  rustling. 

Rump-fwl,  fed  with  offals. 

Ruth,  pity. 


Sacarson,  the  name  of  a  bear. 

Sacred,  accursed. 

Sacrificial,  wor.shiping. 

Sacring-bell,  the  bell  announcing  the 
approach  of  the  host. 

Sad  ostent,  grave  appearance. 

Sagg,  or  Swagg,  to  siuk  down. 

Sallet,  a  helmet. 

Salt,  tears, 

Saltiera,  satyrs. 

Samingo,  St.  Domingo, 

Sandied,  sandy  color. 

Sans,  without. 

Saucy,  lascivious. 

Savage,  sylvan. 

Savageness.  wildne.cg. 

Saw,  tenor  of  a  discourse. 

Say,  siik. 

Say.  a  sample. 

Scaffoldagc,  the  gallery  of  a  theater. 

Scald,  beggerly. 

Scale,  to  disperse. 

Scaled,  overreached. 
Scaling,  weighing. 

Scall,  scab. 

Scamble.  to  scramble. 

Scan,  to  examine  nicely. 

Scantling,  proportion. 

Scarfed,  decorated  with  flags. 

Scath,  destruction. 

Scathful,  mischievous. 

Sconce,  til*  head. 

Sconce  a  fortification, 

Scotch,  to  bruise. 

Scrimers,  fencers. 

Scrip,  a  writing,  a  list. 

Scroyles,  scurvy  fellows. 

Scrubbed,  stunted. 

Sculls,  shoals  offish. 

Scutched,  whipped. 

Seal,  to  etrengtheu,  or  complete. 

Seam,  lard. 

Seamels,  a  bird. 

Sear,  to  stigmatize,  to  close. 

Season,  to  temper,  to  infix,  to  impress. 

Seat,  throne. 

Sect,  acutting  in  gardening. 

Seel,  to  close  up. 

Seeling,  binding. 

Seeming,  seemly. 

Seen,  versed,  practiced. 

Seld,  seldom. 

Semblably,  resembliugly. 

Seniory,  seniority. 

Sennet,  a  flourish  on  cornets. 

Sense,  sensual  desirea. 

Septeutrion,  the  north. 

Sciinrstratiou,  separation. 

Sure,  or  sear,  dry. 

Serpigo,  a  tetter. 

Serve,  to  fulfill. 

Setebos,  a  demon. 

Set  of  wit,  a  term  at  tennis. 

Sessa,  be  quiet. 

Several,  separated. 

Several,  or  severell,  a  field  sot  apart 

for  corn  and  grass. 
Sewer,  the  placer  of  tho  dishes. 
Shame,  modesty. 

Sliard-borne,  borne  on  scaly  wings. 
Shards,  beetle's  wings. 
ShanU,  broken  pots  or  tiles. 
Shark  up.  to  pick  up. 
Shaven  ifercules,  Samson. 

been,  shining,  gay. 
Slieer,  transparent. 
Shcnt,  to  scold,  rebuke. 
Sherris,  sherry. 
Shive,  ft  slice. 
Shog.  to  go  ofl". 
Shoten.  projected. 
Shotteudicrring,  a  herring  that  has 

spawned. 
Shoulder-clapper,  a  bailiff. 


Shoughs,  shocks,  a  species  of  dog. 

Shove-groat,  a  game. 

Sbovel-boards,  shillings  used  at  the 
g^me  of  shovel  board. 

Shrewd,  shrewish. 

Shrift,  auricular  confession. 

Side,  purpose. 

Side-sleeves,  long  sleeves. 

Siege,  a  stool. 

Sieve,  a  common  voider. 

Sightless,  unsightly. 

Sights,  theperfurated  parts  of  a  helmet 

Silly,  simple  truth. 

Sinew,  strength. 

Single,  weak. 

Sink-a-pace,  cinque  pace,  a  dance. 

Sir,  the  title  of  a  parson. 

Sister,  to  imitate  or  re-echo. 

Sith,  since. 

Sithence,  thence. 

Sizes,  allowance  of  victuals. 

Skain's-matea,  kin's-mates. 

Skill,  reason. 

Skills  not,  is  of  no  importance. 

Skinker,  a  tapster. 

Skirr,  to  scour. 

Slave,  to  treat  with  indignity. 

Sleave,  the  knotty  part  of  silk. 

Sledded,  carried  on  a  sledge. 

Sleidod,  untwisted. 

Slights,  tricks. 

Slip,  counterfeit  coin. 

Slips,  a  contrivance  in  leather,  to  start 

two  dogs  at  the  same  lime. 
Sliver,  to  slice. 
Slops,  loose  breeches. 
Slough,  the  skin  which  the  serpent  an- 
nually throws  off. 
Slower,  more  serious. 
Slubber,  to  do  carelessly,  to  obscure, 
Sluggabed,  sluggard. 
Smirched,  soiled. 
Sneap,  rebuke. 
Sneaping,  nipping. 
Sneck-up,  go  hang  yourself. 
Snipe,  a  paltroon. 
Snuff,  anger. 
Snuffs,  dislikes. 
Soil,  spot,  turpitude,  reproach. 
Solicit,  courtship. 
Solicit,  to  excite. 
Soliciting,  information. 
Solidares.  a  coin. 
Sometimes,  formerly. 
Sooth,  truth. 
Sooth,  sweetness, 

Sorel,  a  deer  during  his  third  year. 
Sorry,  sorrowful. 
Sort,  to  happen,  to  agree. 
Sort,  the  lot. 

Sort  and  suit,  fi;,'ure  and  rank. 
Sot.  a  fool. 
Soud,  sweet. 

Soul-fearing,  soul-appalling. 
Sound,  to  publl-sh. 
Soused  gurnet,  a  gudgeon. 
Sowl,  to  pull  by  the  ears. 
Sowie,  to  drag  down, 
Sowter,  the  name  of  a  hound. 
Spanieled,  dogged. 
Specialty,  particular  rights. 
Speculation,  sight. 
Speculative,  seeing. 
Spe<.l,  the  fate  decided. 
Speed,  event. 

Sperr,  to  shut  up,  defend  by  bars. 
Spill,  to  destroy. 
Spotted,  wii-ked. 
Sprag,  apt  to  learn,  alert. 
Sprighted,  haunted. 
Sprights.  spirits. 
Spriughalt,  a  disease  of  hor.«efi. 
Sprightly,  ghostly. 
Spurs,  the  greater  roots  of  trees. 
Square,  to  quari'ol, 
S<iuarer,  a  quarreler. 
Squash,  an  immature  peascod. 
Squiney,  to  look  asquint. 
Squire,  a  rule  or  square. 
Stage,  to  place  conspicuously. 
Stiile,  a  decoy  for  birds. 
Stannyel,  a  hawk  or  stallion. 
Star.  scar. 
Stark,  stiff. 
Starred,  destined. 


GLOSSARY. 

827 

statists,  statesmen. 

Tested,  attested,  brought  to  the  test. 

Unbated,  not  lilunted. 

Statua,  statue. 

Tcsterned,  gratified  with  a  tester,  or 

Unbitted,  unbridled. 

Statue,  a  portrait. 

sixpence. 

Unbolt,  to  explain. 

Stay,  a  bin'Icrer.  a  supporter. 
Stoniaiie.  tbe  binder  part. 

Tetchy,  touchy,  peevl.sh. 

Unbolted,  coarse. 

Tether,  a  string  by  which  any  animal 

Unbonnetted.  without  dignities. 

frlickiiit^-placc,  the  stop  iu  a  macbine. 

is  fastened. 

Unbookish,  unlearned. 

Sticklers,  the  arbitrators,  judges,  par- 

Tbarborough,  a  constable. 

Uobreathcd,  unpracticed. 

tisjins,  umpires. 

Theorick,  theory. 

UncHpc.  to  dig  out,  a  term  in  for- 

Stiijmatical,  stigmatised. 

Thowes,  muscular  strength. 

hunting. 

Stigmatic,    marked    with    deformity, 

Thick,  pleaf^bed.  thickly  interwoven. 

Uncharged,  unattacked. 

brau'led. 

Thill,  the  shafts  of  a  cart. 

Unclew,  to  unwind. 

Stilly,  gladly,  lowly. 
Stinted,  stopped. 

Thin  Helm,  tbin  covering  of  hair. 

Uncoined,  unrcGned,  unodorned. 

Thought,  melancholy. 

Unconfirmed,   unpracticed   in  wordly 

Stint,  to  stop. 

Thrasonical,  boasting. 

craft. 

Stitb,  an  aniril. 

Thread,  to  pass. 

Ihicurrent.  irregular. 

Stithicd,  forced  at  the  furnace. 

Three-man-beetle,  an   implement    for 

Undercraft.  to  wear  beneath  the  crest. 

Stithy,  a  smith*s  shop. 

driving  piles. 

Under-skinker,  a  tapster. 

Stoccata,  a  stab. 

Three-pile,  rich  velvet 

Understand,  stand  under. 

Stock,  a  stocking. 

Thrift,  prosperity,  economy. 

Undertaker,  the  defender  of  another,  a 

Stomach,  pride. 
Stone-bow.  a  cross  bow. 

Thrum,  extremity  of  a  weaver's  warp. 

quarrel. 

Thrummed,  mado  of  course  woolen. 

Underwrite,  to  subscribe,  to  obey. 

Stoup,  a  fljicgon. 
Stover,  a  thatch. 

Tib.  a  strumpet. 

Uneath,  scarcely. 

Tickle,  ticklish. 

Unexpressive,  inexpressible. 

Strain,  descent,  lineage. 

Tickle-brain,  a  .strong  tlriuk. 

Unfair,  to  deprive  of  beauty. 

Strain,  difficulty,  doubt. 

Tillv-vally,  pooh  I 

Ungenitured,  without  genitals. 

Strait,  narrow,  avaricioua. 

Tilth,  tillage. 

Uiibaired.  youthful. 

Stranijo.  shy. 

Timeless,  untimely. 

Unliappy,  unlucky,  mischievous. 

Strutaiiero,  great,  or  dreadful  event. 

Tinct,  tincture. 

Unhoused,  free  from  domestic  cares. 

StrawY,  straying. 

Tire,  head-dress. 

Unhouselled,  without  having  the  sacra- 

Striker, a  borrower. 

Tire,  to  fasten. 

ment. 

Stuck,  or  Stock   a  term  in  fencing. 

Tire,  to  be  idly  employed  on. 

Union,  a  species  of  pearl. 

Stuff,  baggiiiie.  substance  or  essence. 

Tired,  adorned. 

Unkind,  unnatural. 

StulTed.  sufficiency,  ample  abilities. 

Tire-valiaut.  a  head-dress. 

Unlived,  lifeless. 

Subscription,  obedience. 

Tirra-lirra,  the  song  of  the  lark. 

Unlustrous,  without  lustre. 

Success,  succession. 

Toged,  habitcil. 

Unmanned,  a  t«rm  iu  falconry. 

Sudden,  Tiolent. 

Tokened,  spotted. 

Unm:istcred,  licentious. 

Sufliiiency,  abilities. 

Tolling,  taking  toll. 

Unowed,  unowned. 

Suuj,i->t,  to  tempt. 

Topless,  supreme. 

Unpregnant,  not  quickened. 

Su^^^i'^liuu.  temptation. 

Topple,  to  tumble. 

Unproper,  common. 

Suitei],  dressed. 

Touches,  features. 

Unqualified,  unmanned. 

Sumptt^r,  a  horse  that  carries  necessa- 

Toward, in  readiness. 

Unquestionable,    averse    to   conver8j> 

ries  on  a journey. 

Toys,  whims,  rumors. 

tion. 

Superfluous,  over-clothed. 
Supposed,  counterfeit. 

Toze.  to  unravel. 

Unready,  undrest. 

Trade,  establi.-hed  custom. 

Unrespwctive.  inconsiderate. 

Sur-reined,  over  ridden. 

Tradition,  traditional  usages. 

Unrest,  disquiet. 

Suspire,  to  breathe. 
Surcease,  an  end. 

Trail,  scent  left  by  game. 

Unrough,  beardless. 

Traitress,  a  term  of  endearment. 

Unsistiiig,  unrL'sistln'jr,  unfeeling. 

Suspect,  suspicion. 

Trammel,  to  catch. 

Unsmirchcd,  umlcfilrd. 

Swart,  darkbrowi; 

Tranect,  a  ferry  or  sluice. 

Unfquared,  iinadapt<-il. 

Swashing,  bullying. 

Translate,  to  transform. 

Unstanchi'd,  incontinent. 

Swarth,  grass  cut  at  one  stroke. 

Trash,  to  check. 

Uuteuipering,  not  softening. 

Sway,  weight. 

Traversp.  to  march. 

T'ntented,  not  probed,  virulent. 

Sweeting,  an  apple. 

Traversed,  across. 

Untraded,  not  iu  common  use. 

Sweltered,  weltered. 

Tray-trip,  a  game  at  draughts. 

Untrimmed,  uudrest. 

Swift,  ready. 

Treachers,  traitors. 

Unvalued,  invaluable. 

Swinge-bueklcrs,  riotous  fellows. 

Trenched,  carved. 

Upspriug,  a  dance. 

Swoundeil,  swooned. 

Trick,  peculiarity  of  feature. 

Swoop,  the  decent  of  a  bird  of  prey. 

Trick,  to  dress  out. 

V. 

Tricking,  dress. 

Vail,  to  how,  to  sink,  to  condescend  in 

T. 

Tricksy,  adroit. 

look. 

Table,  the  palm  of  the  hand. 

Trigoo.  Aries,  Leo,  and  Sagittarius,  in 

Vailing,  lowering. 

Table,  a  picture. 

the  Zodiac. 

Vain,  vanity. 

Tables,  tablets,  memorandum  books. 

Trip,  to  defeat. 

Vain,  lying. 

Tauiboriue,  a  small  drum. 

Triple,  one  of  three. 

Valance,  fringed  with  a  board. 

Tag,  Ihs  rabble. 

Triumphs,  revels. 

Vanity,  illusion. 

Take,  to  strike  with  disease,  to  blast. 

Trnjan,  cant  term  for  thief. 

Vanta'ge.  opportunity,  advantage. 

Take-in,  to  conquer. 

Trol-my-dames,    the   game    of    nine 

Vautbrace,  armour  for  the  arm. 

Take-vip,  to  contraiJict, 

holes. 

Varlct,  a  servant. 

Talent,  talon. 

Troll,  to  sing  trippingly. 

Vast,  waste,  dreary. 

Tall,  courageous. 

Trossers,  trowsers. 

Vaunt,  the  avant,  the  fore-part. 

Tallow-kcech,  tub  of  tallow. 

Trot,  a  term  of  contempt. 

Vaward,  the  fore-part. 

Tame,  ineffectual. 

Trow,  to  imagine. 

Velurc,  velvet. 

Tame-snake,  a  paltroon. 

Trundle-tjiil.  a  dog. 

Venetian,  admittance. 

Tarre.  to  excite,  provoke. 

Trusted,  thrusted. 

Vent,  rumor. 

Tartar.  Tartarus. 

'fry  conclusion,  try  experiments. 

Ventigcs.  holes  of  a  flute. 

Task,  to  keep  busied  with  scruples. 

Tub-f;ust,  the  sweating  process  in  the 

Verbal,  verbose. 

Tas.'iel  Gentle,  or  Tarcel  Gentle,  a  spe- 

venereal disease. 

Verify,  to  bear  witness. 

cies  of  hawk. 

Tucket,  or  tu<-ket  sonnuanco,  a  flourish 

Venew,  a  bout  lin  fi-ucing.) 

Tasked,  taxed. 

on  a  trumpet. 

Veugeance,  mischief. 

Taurus,  sides  and  heart  in  medical  as- 

Tup, a  ram. 

Venes,  hits. 

trology. 

Tup.  to  cover  an  ewe. 

Veronese,  a  ship  from  Terona, 

Tawdrv,   necklaces  worn   by  country 

Turre,  to  whisper. 

Ver.'iinff,  writing  verses. 

girls. 

Turlygood.  or  Turlupin.  a  gipsy. 

Very,  immediate. 

Tawiiey  Coat,  the    dress  of  an   appa- 

Tw.iiigling jack,  a  scurvy  musician. 

Via.  a  cant  phrase  of  exultation. 

ritor. 

Twicken-botile.  a  wickered  bottle. 

Vice,  the  fool  of  the  old  moralities. 

Taxation,  censure,  satire. 

Twigging,  wickered. 

Vice,  grasp. 

Tear  a  cat,  to  bluster. 

Tythiug,  a  district. 

Vie.  to  brag. 

Teen,  grief,  trouble. 

Viewless,  invisible.  . 

Temper,  to  mould. 

U. 

Villain,  a  worthless  fellow,  a  servant 

Temperance,  temperature. 

Umber,  a  dusky-colored  earth. 

Vild,  vile. 

Tend,  attend. 

Umbered,  discolored. 

Violcuteth,  raged. 

Tender,  to  regard  with  affection. 

Unaccustomed,  unseemly. 

A'irginal,  a  kind  of  spinnet. 

Tent,  to  take  up  residence,  to  search. 

Uiianeled.  without  extreme  unction. 

Virtue,  valor. 

Tercel,  th(!  male  hawk. 

Unavoided.  unavoidable. 

^'i^tuous,  healthy. 

Terms,  the  phraseology  of  courts. 

Uubarbed,  beardless,  unshaven. 

Virtuous,  well-bred. 

828 


GLOSSARY. 


Tixcn,  or  Fixen,  a  female  fos. 
VizaniiiTit,  advisement. 
Vox,  tone  or  Toice. 
Vulgar,  common. 
Vulgarly,  commonly, 

W. 

Wafl,  to  T'pckon. 

Waf^c,  to  combat, 

Waj^es.  is  eqaal  to. 

Waist,  that  part  of  a  ship,  between  the 

quarter  deck  and  the  foreastle. 
Wai^l,  the  middle. 
Walk,  a  district  in  a  forest. 
Wanned,  pale. 
Wanuion.  Tengeance. 
Ward,  posture  of  defense. 
Ward,  guardianship. 
Warden,  a  pear. 
Warn,  summon. 

Was?el  candlp,  candle  nsed  at  feetivala. 
Wapsel?,  rustic  revelry. 
Watch,  a  watch-light. 
Water -work,  water-colore. 
Was.  to  f^row. 
Waxen,  increase. 
Waxen,  soft,  yielding. 
Wanton,  a  feeble  or  effeminate  man. 
Wappened,  decayed,  diseased. 
Wiirjer.  a  pentinel. 
Warp,  to  change  from  the   natural 

state. 
Wee,  Tory  little. 
Weeds,  clothing. 
Ween,  to  imagine. 
Wei^h,  to  vaioe.  or  esteem. 
Weird,  prophetic. 
Welkin,  the  sky. 
Welkin-eye,  Mue  eye. 
Well-a-ncar.  lack-a-day! 
Well-likin;^,  plump.  [ 


Wend,  to  go. 

Westward   hoe,  the   name  of  a  play 
acted  in  Shakspeare's  time. 

Wether,  used  for  a  ram. 

Wear,  the  fashion. 

Welked,  yaried  with  protuberances. 

Wie'r,  whether. 

Where,  whereas. 

Whiffler,  an  officer  in  processions. 

Whiles,  until. 

Whinidst.  mouldy. 

Whip,  the  crack,  the  best. 

Whi)-.?tock.  thecarter'3  whip. 

Whirring,  hurrying. 

Wliist.  being  silent. 

While,  the  white  mark  in  the  target. 

\\  bite-death,  the  green  sickness. 

Wbiting-time.  bleaching  time. 

Whitsters,  linen  blpachers. 

Whittle,  a  pocket  knife. 

Whooping,  measure  and  reckoning. 

Wide,  remote  from. 

WiMernesp,  wildness. 

Will,  willfnineps. 

Winipio,  a  hood  or  veil. 

Winchester  Goose,  a  strumpet. 

Winking-gates,   gates    hastily   closed 

from  fear  of  danger. 
Winnowed,  examined. 
Winter-ground,     to     protect     against 

winter. 
Wis,  to  know. 

Wise  woman,  a  witch,  a  fortune-teller. 
Wish,  to  recommend. 
Wit,  to  know. 
Witch,  to  bewitch. 
Withy,  judicious,  cunning. 
Wit5.  senses. 

Wiitol,  knowing,  conscious  of. 
Wittol,  a  contented  cuckold. 
Woe,  to  be  sorry. 


Woman,  to  affect  deeply. 

Woman-tired,  henpecked. 

Wondered,  able  to  perform  wonclers. 

Wood,  trazy,  frantic. 

Wooden  thing,  awkward  buFiness. 

World  to  see,  wonderful. 

Woodman,  an  attendant  on  the  forests. 

Woolward.  wearing  wool. 

Work,  fortification. 

Workings,  thoughts. 

Worm,  a  serpent. 

Worth,  wealth. 

Worship,  dignity. 

Wreak,  to  revenge  ;  resentment. 

Wrest,  an  instrument  for  tuning  the 

harp. 
Wrested,  obtained  by  force. 
Wretch,  a  term  of  fondness. 
Writ,  writing. 

Write,  to  pronounce  confidentlr. 
Writhled,  wrinkled. 
Wry,  to  deviate, 
WroHg,  hurt. 
Wroth,  misfortune. 
Wrought,  agitated. 
Wrung,  pressed,  strained. 


Yare,  nimble,  handy. 
Varely,  nimbly,  adroitly. 
Vearn.  to  grieve  or  rex. 
Yeild,  to  inftirm  of. 
Yellowness,  jealousy. 
Yeoman,  a  bailiff's  iollowers, 
Yerk,  to  kick. 
Yesty,  foaming,  frothy. 
Young,  early. 

Z. 
Zmy,  a  baffoon. 
Zealous,  pious. 
Z'ld,  a  term  of  contempt. 


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